couples_therapy 23.2 Why Didn't It Work Out?
A companion piece to Three First Impressions. senseofliberty used with permission. Takes place Friday night.
Three Final Impressions
1.
Well it's been building up inside of me
For oh I don't know how long
The end comes amid a flood of new beginnings: The birth of a new son. The discovery of a long-lost brother. A job offer. A need to fight for re-election.
Their relationship had begun via email, words and smiles posted on journals for the world to see, and then hearts poured out on private channels. Even at opposite edges of the country, they had never seemed so far away from each other. Rachel, trapped in a prison of her own making, and Robert, desperately fighting for survival, had found each other and held on for dear life.
The first time, holding was almost all they had done. Robert's shoulder, pierced only days before by a bullet meant for his heart, had been tearing apart, but he'd held on, hugged her in airports and clung to her in her bed. They'd promised in whispers and tears: "I'm never letting you go."
But he can't make her happy.
There are excuses and reasons built up in a barricade between them. She's twenty years younger than him. Her brother violently disapproves of him. She wants a career, a family. She needs someone who can give her all of himself, not just two evenings stolen from his wife and kids on Wednesdays and Sundays. She needs more than the shadows.
And as for him? Well, there's the woman who loves him, who has loved him for twenty years, who has borne him two children despite everything he's put her through: terrorism and alcoholism and depression and other lovers. There's Beth, who needs him now more than ever. There's Dylan, who wants to get to know his Dad. And there's his work, the work he'd started with a bullet he was only able to brave with the thought of seeing her. He should finish it. He should be the hero she's always seen him as.
It's all very rational, and very clear. Days of discussion can only make it more so. She's leaving for Gotham, to find a place for herself in the world, and he will have to survive in her wake. He feels like crumbling, imagines himself collapsing to his knees watching her go.
They sit on her couch, and she squeezes his hand, and he smiles.
He tries to make himself believe that it's not entirely for her sake.
2.
I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you...
Her flight is delayed late on a Friday evening, when Gotham's stormy weather seems to have come to a Washington summer. Her other friends in DC either have other engagements, or she's told them not to come. He tells himself not to hope for the latter.
The coffee mugs between them are lukewarm and almost untouched by the time the clock ticks around to eleven, and he waits for her to tell him that she really should go. Once she's gone, he has no real hope of ever seeing her again. Gotham is a dangerous place, and she's too stubborn to ask him for help. He's told her to call him, anyway, because it makes him feel better even as she frowns and tells him that she can take care of herself. He's almost sure she's right.
She'll find someone else, sooner or later. Someone unattached, closer to her age. She deserves that. Someone who'll be there for her like he always wanted to be. He has to find it funny that he was always the one to worry about things like that, that he'd dreamed of one day having children with her, and had kept his mouth shut for fear of scaring her with too much commitment. She'd laughed off his concerns, anyway. "I love you," she'd told him, fingers on his lips. "Desperately."
There's no reason for her to come back, to ever even call. She'd agreed to be his son's godmother once, but had quietly told him that she wouldn't be able to fulfill that position any longer. She's given her dog to another friend. Robert will write to her, send her photos of the kids, but there's only politeness when she talks to him, now. Where did she go? What happened to my Rachel? And he knows she's been replaced by Rachel's Rachel, instead. He wonders if they're even friends, these days.
When her flight is called, she picks up her bags, and hugs him goodbye. He had never hoped for a kiss, had thought, maybe, that she might whisper, for old time's sake...
She doesn't, but he pretends for a moment that he hears it nevertheless: cool lips on his cheek, a familiar smile. "Don't worry, baby."
3.
There are words we both could say
But don't talk, put your head on my shoulder
The house in the suburbs is almost entirely dark when he returns to it after midnight, and he closes the door behind him as quietly as he can. Not so long ago, he might have slumped onto the couch in the dim light of the front room, and stayed there in a melancholy haze for the night. He could slip in front of the computer and see if Jean-Paul is online, let the young man cheer him up with anecdotes from Savage Love (or, at least, talk him out of getting drunk).
But he goes upstairs instead, past Beth's room where her Spider-Man doll is half hanging out from underneath the duvet, and past Dylan's crib, where the little boy is firmly clutching his elephant stuffie.
At the end of the corridor, a thin beam of golden-yellow light escapes from between door and wall, and he pushes open the door.
Nic's buried in a fort of pillows and books. She looks at him over the ramparts, and smiles a little, fixing his gaze in hers.
"You done?" she asks.
He nods, weary, and sits down on the edge of the bed. "I'm done."
Three Final Impressions
1.
Well it's been building up inside of me
For oh I don't know how long
The end comes amid a flood of new beginnings: The birth of a new son. The discovery of a long-lost brother. A job offer. A need to fight for re-election.
Their relationship had begun via email, words and smiles posted on journals for the world to see, and then hearts poured out on private channels. Even at opposite edges of the country, they had never seemed so far away from each other. Rachel, trapped in a prison of her own making, and Robert, desperately fighting for survival, had found each other and held on for dear life.
The first time, holding was almost all they had done. Robert's shoulder, pierced only days before by a bullet meant for his heart, had been tearing apart, but he'd held on, hugged her in airports and clung to her in her bed. They'd promised in whispers and tears: "I'm never letting you go."
But he can't make her happy.
There are excuses and reasons built up in a barricade between them. She's twenty years younger than him. Her brother violently disapproves of him. She wants a career, a family. She needs someone who can give her all of himself, not just two evenings stolen from his wife and kids on Wednesdays and Sundays. She needs more than the shadows.
And as for him? Well, there's the woman who loves him, who has loved him for twenty years, who has borne him two children despite everything he's put her through: terrorism and alcoholism and depression and other lovers. There's Beth, who needs him now more than ever. There's Dylan, who wants to get to know his Dad. And there's his work, the work he'd started with a bullet he was only able to brave with the thought of seeing her. He should finish it. He should be the hero she's always seen him as.
It's all very rational, and very clear. Days of discussion can only make it more so. She's leaving for Gotham, to find a place for herself in the world, and he will have to survive in her wake. He feels like crumbling, imagines himself collapsing to his knees watching her go.
They sit on her couch, and she squeezes his hand, and he smiles.
He tries to make himself believe that it's not entirely for her sake.
2.
I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you...
Her flight is delayed late on a Friday evening, when Gotham's stormy weather seems to have come to a Washington summer. Her other friends in DC either have other engagements, or she's told them not to come. He tells himself not to hope for the latter.
The coffee mugs between them are lukewarm and almost untouched by the time the clock ticks around to eleven, and he waits for her to tell him that she really should go. Once she's gone, he has no real hope of ever seeing her again. Gotham is a dangerous place, and she's too stubborn to ask him for help. He's told her to call him, anyway, because it makes him feel better even as she frowns and tells him that she can take care of herself. He's almost sure she's right.
She'll find someone else, sooner or later. Someone unattached, closer to her age. She deserves that. Someone who'll be there for her like he always wanted to be. He has to find it funny that he was always the one to worry about things like that, that he'd dreamed of one day having children with her, and had kept his mouth shut for fear of scaring her with too much commitment. She'd laughed off his concerns, anyway. "I love you," she'd told him, fingers on his lips. "Desperately."
There's no reason for her to come back, to ever even call. She'd agreed to be his son's godmother once, but had quietly told him that she wouldn't be able to fulfill that position any longer. She's given her dog to another friend. Robert will write to her, send her photos of the kids, but there's only politeness when she talks to him, now. Where did she go? What happened to my Rachel? And he knows she's been replaced by Rachel's Rachel, instead. He wonders if they're even friends, these days.
When her flight is called, she picks up her bags, and hugs him goodbye. He had never hoped for a kiss, had thought, maybe, that she might whisper, for old time's sake...
She doesn't, but he pretends for a moment that he hears it nevertheless: cool lips on his cheek, a familiar smile. "Don't worry, baby."
3.
There are words we both could say
But don't talk, put your head on my shoulder
The house in the suburbs is almost entirely dark when he returns to it after midnight, and he closes the door behind him as quietly as he can. Not so long ago, he might have slumped onto the couch in the dim light of the front room, and stayed there in a melancholy haze for the night. He could slip in front of the computer and see if Jean-Paul is online, let the young man cheer him up with anecdotes from Savage Love (or, at least, talk him out of getting drunk).
But he goes upstairs instead, past Beth's room where her Spider-Man doll is half hanging out from underneath the duvet, and past Dylan's crib, where the little boy is firmly clutching his elephant stuffie.
At the end of the corridor, a thin beam of golden-yellow light escapes from between door and wall, and he pushes open the door.
Nic's buried in a fort of pillows and books. She looks at him over the ramparts, and smiles a little, fixing his gaze in hers.
"You done?" she asks.
He nods, weary, and sits down on the edge of the bed. "I'm done."