a one shot fic that I poured way too much emotion into *falls asleep*
53. Ice
Title: Melting Ice
Rating: Pg-13 for language, and mature subjects (rape, abuse)
Notes: Just something I came up with, a different ending than I thought would happen to them originally. Unfortunately for me, I forgot how tired I feel after I pour emotion into a fic. Oh well, hopefully it turned out well because of it, not just for the ending, but for the character interaction along the way. Enjoy!
EDIT: This is no longer part of my canon (nor is it very good), so read at your own risk. I will be posting a new Ice prompt at some point, and then I'll probably delete this.
“…Of course, these results do not at all excuse her actions, but perhaps they explain why her psyche…” Giovanni barely heard the Mental Ward’s psychiatrist as he went on a Psychobabble tangent of some sort. While his wife was able to parse out what the doctor was saying, right now he himself could not. He was dreading this talk with the woman who had nearly destroyed him, both directly and indirectly. It had almost been ten years, maybe a little longer, since she had broken him, caused him to hate her almost completely. He had carried that hatred for all these years, and it had nearly killed him. The heart attack had not been especially severe, but it had worried both Seren and his other doctor, as he had no family history of heart trouble, and he was in very good health and not in the danger zone at all; also, when he had had it, he had been out for several days afterwards, murmuring like a scared child in a nightmare. When he had awoken, his wife had enveloped him tight, and told him what had happened, the attack and the murmurings. Seren had already gotten a psychiatrist’s number for him, saying he needed a professional to help him.
Being a proud man, he had immediately asked why she couldn’t do it. After all, she was a doctor. His wife shook her head, “I specialize in Epilepsy, Neshama, not psychology, nor Psychiatry. I’d lose my license if I did something like that. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t been to psychologists before.”
He had frowned, not just from her answer, but from being stuck in a hospital, IV in his wrist, in the hospital bed, in the sterile room, the whole nine yards. He hadn’t been in one himself in over a year, and that had been something totally different, an attempt on their lives by terrorists while they were in Israel, not for a heart attack and, as it would turn out afterwards, a psychologist evaluating him. The psychologists before had been for her, and only once for him, back when the event he hated his…no, he still couldn’t say, couldn’t even think, the word…before The Founder of Team Rocket had instigated this whole fucked-up mess.
His wife sensed what he was about to think, and frowned, putting an olive-toned hand on his own of similar shade, “Don’t think about it, Ahuvi. It’ll just make the anger come back full force.”
“And I am supposed to not think about it?” He hissed quietly, his voice cold, odd, since he almost never spoke that way to his beloved, “I’m supposed to just go in there and pretend nothing’s happened? That she hasn’t treated me like shit all my life?”
“Hold that thought. Sir?” The doctor stopped his tangent, “Could you grant us some time alone? My husband and I would like to speak in private.”
“Sure, but make sure you let me know if you want to speak to her afterwards or not.” He closed the door behind him.
Giovanni, as always, wasted no time getting to his point, and didn’t bother to lower his voice anymore, “Seren, she raped me. She raped you. How the hell am I supposed to forgive that? Am I supposed to just waltz in there and pretend I’m her son, pretend like she actually cared about me as a boy, pretend she hasn’t hated you from day one, pretend that she didn’t deceive us in the later years before it happened?” He stood up, facing away from her, “I am not you…I can’t forgive her so simply.”
“...What is that supposed to mean?”
“I may have converted in order to marry you, but that doesn’t mean all of the mental stuff has rubbed off to where I can simply forgive.” It was said simply, not meant as a derogatory comment of her heritage in the least. In a way, he was actually commending her people for being able to forgive as they did.
To his surprise, she stood up, came around to where he faced, and slapped him across the face. He simply stared at her in shock, she had never done such a thing before. Their eyes were at the same level thanks to similarities in height, and she fumed, “What the hell? Do you honestly think it’s because I’m Jewish I forgave your mother and Brenden? It’s not something my people do over night. Do you know how long I prayed and meditated and went to the psychologist to get rid of the anger and hatred and pain? Do you have any idea how long it took me to stop crying every time I saw my eldest daughter Brenden got me pregnant with when he raped me the second time?
"And yes, I hated her for a long time after she raped me the first time when I was 18. But you know what, I got over it to take care of my new family when you proposed to me, because I knew I couldn’t hold onto that anger without it destroying me from inside, destroying what you and I have worked so hard on. After your heart attack last year, did you even see how our children scurried away when you got in a bad mood? You’ve gotten a lot better, Ahuvi, please, for my sake, and for our children’s, don’t let this step destroy that progress. You are not asked to completely forgive her now, but you have to get out the anger and pain before it kills you.” She stopped for a second, and she sighed, embracing her husband apologetically, “I’m sorry…Do you understand what I’m saying…Neshama?” She spoke the last word quietly, but with all the love and support it brought with it, the idea of their souls being one and the same.
He sighed back, sitting down, her following and continuing to hug him as she sat in his lap as she often did when she comforted him, “Yes…I’m sorry, dearest, I…I think I’m alright now.” The sudden burst of fear that had started the fight was gone. The odd thing was that exact same fight happened every so often -minus the slap-, but now it finally clicked, as he prepared to face that fear head on. He had faced his wife’s attackers many times, been on dangerous missions with her, almost been killed by Mewtwo (he had remembered the incident through files he had found back at HQ), rescued her from a madman, saved their twins from a raging fire, been hit by bomb shrapnel, had a heart attack. He had waltzed with death many times, and it still didn’t scare him half as bad as the woman he was about to talk to did.
He sat in her embrace for several minutes, before he took a deep breath, “Alright…I am as ready as I’m ever going to be. Better do it now before I panic again.” She nodded, and called the doctor, who came back into the room.
“Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes. Give me half a moment.”
He turned back to Seren, who asked, “Do you want me in there with you?”
Shaking his head, he said, “I just want two things before I go in…” She asked him what, and he replied by fingering her necklace, a Italian crafted Star of David he had gotten her many years ago, when they had first married, a first way of merging their cultures and hearts, something they would do often over the years. She nodded, taking it off and handing it to him. He carefully placed it in his pocket, and when she asked what else, he replied, smiling gently, “a good luck kiss.”
She chuckled quietly, granting his request with a tender kiss on the lips, “As they say, Godspeed. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me, Neshama.”
He nodded, and turned to the doctor, eyes weary, “Let’s get this over with.” Giovanni followed him down the prison corridors, Seren quietly following. As they walked, the doctor spoke of how the medication had improve the woman’s mental health drastically, that she was no longer brooding and angry like before, before they had found out she actually did have severe mental problems. Not that it discounted her actions, the doctor reminded himself aloud, but Giovanni barely listened, figuring it was her way of getting him off his guard. When they got to the visitation room, Seren gave his hand a squeeze. He took a deep breath and, reluctantly letting go of her hand, walked in to the room. It was a fairly large room, comfortably furnished, warm and friendly, not what he had expected. A woman with black hair in a pink dress stood looking out the window, her back to him. Not much different than before, he found himself thinking as he closed the door.
When he did, she turned her head and, realizing who it was, she turned around to face him, and he immediately wished he hadn’t thought that. Her lips turned upwards, not in a cruel grin, but in a sad smile of one who remembered and regretted great past sins. His mind flooded with memories of her before she had gotten so sick when he was nine, before she had changed so much into a totally different person, memories long hidden and thought untrue, and he felt his defenses painfully fall as he realized the doctor hadn't been lying. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy and tears as she spoke, “Giovanni?”
For a moment, he could not speak, and when he did, with tears in his eyes, it was a name he hadn’t called her in a good many years…
“Mother?”
Title: Melting Ice
Rating: Pg-13 for language, and mature subjects (rape, abuse)
Notes: Just something I came up with, a different ending than I thought would happen to them originally. Unfortunately for me, I forgot how tired I feel after I pour emotion into a fic. Oh well, hopefully it turned out well because of it, not just for the ending, but for the character interaction along the way. Enjoy!
EDIT: This is no longer part of my canon (nor is it very good), so read at your own risk. I will be posting a new Ice prompt at some point, and then I'll probably delete this.
“…Of course, these results do not at all excuse her actions, but perhaps they explain why her psyche…” Giovanni barely heard the Mental Ward’s psychiatrist as he went on a Psychobabble tangent of some sort. While his wife was able to parse out what the doctor was saying, right now he himself could not. He was dreading this talk with the woman who had nearly destroyed him, both directly and indirectly. It had almost been ten years, maybe a little longer, since she had broken him, caused him to hate her almost completely. He had carried that hatred for all these years, and it had nearly killed him. The heart attack had not been especially severe, but it had worried both Seren and his other doctor, as he had no family history of heart trouble, and he was in very good health and not in the danger zone at all; also, when he had had it, he had been out for several days afterwards, murmuring like a scared child in a nightmare. When he had awoken, his wife had enveloped him tight, and told him what had happened, the attack and the murmurings. Seren had already gotten a psychiatrist’s number for him, saying he needed a professional to help him.
Being a proud man, he had immediately asked why she couldn’t do it. After all, she was a doctor. His wife shook her head, “I specialize in Epilepsy, Neshama, not psychology, nor Psychiatry. I’d lose my license if I did something like that. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t been to psychologists before.”
He had frowned, not just from her answer, but from being stuck in a hospital, IV in his wrist, in the hospital bed, in the sterile room, the whole nine yards. He hadn’t been in one himself in over a year, and that had been something totally different, an attempt on their lives by terrorists while they were in Israel, not for a heart attack and, as it would turn out afterwards, a psychologist evaluating him. The psychologists before had been for her, and only once for him, back when the event he hated his…no, he still couldn’t say, couldn’t even think, the word…before The Founder of Team Rocket had instigated this whole fucked-up mess.
His wife sensed what he was about to think, and frowned, putting an olive-toned hand on his own of similar shade, “Don’t think about it, Ahuvi. It’ll just make the anger come back full force.”
“And I am supposed to not think about it?” He hissed quietly, his voice cold, odd, since he almost never spoke that way to his beloved, “I’m supposed to just go in there and pretend nothing’s happened? That she hasn’t treated me like shit all my life?”
“Hold that thought. Sir?” The doctor stopped his tangent, “Could you grant us some time alone? My husband and I would like to speak in private.”
“Sure, but make sure you let me know if you want to speak to her afterwards or not.” He closed the door behind him.
Giovanni, as always, wasted no time getting to his point, and didn’t bother to lower his voice anymore, “Seren, she raped me. She raped you. How the hell am I supposed to forgive that? Am I supposed to just waltz in there and pretend I’m her son, pretend like she actually cared about me as a boy, pretend she hasn’t hated you from day one, pretend that she didn’t deceive us in the later years before it happened?” He stood up, facing away from her, “I am not you…I can’t forgive her so simply.”
“...What is that supposed to mean?”
“I may have converted in order to marry you, but that doesn’t mean all of the mental stuff has rubbed off to where I can simply forgive.” It was said simply, not meant as a derogatory comment of her heritage in the least. In a way, he was actually commending her people for being able to forgive as they did.
To his surprise, she stood up, came around to where he faced, and slapped him across the face. He simply stared at her in shock, she had never done such a thing before. Their eyes were at the same level thanks to similarities in height, and she fumed, “What the hell? Do you honestly think it’s because I’m Jewish I forgave your mother and Brenden? It’s not something my people do over night. Do you know how long I prayed and meditated and went to the psychologist to get rid of the anger and hatred and pain? Do you have any idea how long it took me to stop crying every time I saw my eldest daughter Brenden got me pregnant with when he raped me the second time?
"And yes, I hated her for a long time after she raped me the first time when I was 18. But you know what, I got over it to take care of my new family when you proposed to me, because I knew I couldn’t hold onto that anger without it destroying me from inside, destroying what you and I have worked so hard on. After your heart attack last year, did you even see how our children scurried away when you got in a bad mood? You’ve gotten a lot better, Ahuvi, please, for my sake, and for our children’s, don’t let this step destroy that progress. You are not asked to completely forgive her now, but you have to get out the anger and pain before it kills you.” She stopped for a second, and she sighed, embracing her husband apologetically, “I’m sorry…Do you understand what I’m saying…Neshama?” She spoke the last word quietly, but with all the love and support it brought with it, the idea of their souls being one and the same.
He sighed back, sitting down, her following and continuing to hug him as she sat in his lap as she often did when she comforted him, “Yes…I’m sorry, dearest, I…I think I’m alright now.” The sudden burst of fear that had started the fight was gone. The odd thing was that exact same fight happened every so often -minus the slap-, but now it finally clicked, as he prepared to face that fear head on. He had faced his wife’s attackers many times, been on dangerous missions with her, almost been killed by Mewtwo (he had remembered the incident through files he had found back at HQ), rescued her from a madman, saved their twins from a raging fire, been hit by bomb shrapnel, had a heart attack. He had waltzed with death many times, and it still didn’t scare him half as bad as the woman he was about to talk to did.
He sat in her embrace for several minutes, before he took a deep breath, “Alright…I am as ready as I’m ever going to be. Better do it now before I panic again.” She nodded, and called the doctor, who came back into the room.
“Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes. Give me half a moment.”
He turned back to Seren, who asked, “Do you want me in there with you?”
Shaking his head, he said, “I just want two things before I go in…” She asked him what, and he replied by fingering her necklace, a Italian crafted Star of David he had gotten her many years ago, when they had first married, a first way of merging their cultures and hearts, something they would do often over the years. She nodded, taking it off and handing it to him. He carefully placed it in his pocket, and when she asked what else, he replied, smiling gently, “a good luck kiss.”
She chuckled quietly, granting his request with a tender kiss on the lips, “As they say, Godspeed. I’ll be right outside the door if you need me, Neshama.”
He nodded, and turned to the doctor, eyes weary, “Let’s get this over with.” Giovanni followed him down the prison corridors, Seren quietly following. As they walked, the doctor spoke of how the medication had improve the woman’s mental health drastically, that she was no longer brooding and angry like before, before they had found out she actually did have severe mental problems. Not that it discounted her actions, the doctor reminded himself aloud, but Giovanni barely listened, figuring it was her way of getting him off his guard. When they got to the visitation room, Seren gave his hand a squeeze. He took a deep breath and, reluctantly letting go of her hand, walked in to the room. It was a fairly large room, comfortably furnished, warm and friendly, not what he had expected. A woman with black hair in a pink dress stood looking out the window, her back to him. Not much different than before, he found himself thinking as he closed the door.
When he did, she turned her head and, realizing who it was, she turned around to face him, and he immediately wished he hadn’t thought that. Her lips turned upwards, not in a cruel grin, but in a sad smile of one who remembered and regretted great past sins. His mind flooded with memories of her before she had gotten so sick when he was nine, before she had changed so much into a totally different person, memories long hidden and thought untrue, and he felt his defenses painfully fall as he realized the doctor hadn't been lying. Her blue eyes sparkled with joy and tears as she spoke, “Giovanni?”
For a moment, he could not speak, and when he did, with tears in his eyes, it was a name he hadn’t called her in a good many years…
“Mother?”