Sentry
Title: Sentry
Fandom: Private Practice
Pairing: Charlotte/Cooper.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set during 5.15 "You Break My Heart"
Summary: She doesn't sleep much, and she fills her waking hours with reminders to focus on one day at a time, one minute at a time. Get them all through this minute, and then this day, and then tomorrow, and the day after that.
She still has nightmares these days, but they're different now. They're not about her pain anymore, they're about his.
They're about responsibility, and loss, and her utter inability to find the right words to say to a boy who's lost his mother far, far too soon. For weeks, she's dreamed of death, and innocence ripped away by grief, and of having to be the bearer of bad news. Every morning she wakes up feeling a little more worn down, a little more depleted.
She's keeping it together, for him - for both of them - for her boys. And, God, they are now - they're her boys, the both of them. Stuck in the middle of this maelstrom of pain, and there's nothing she can do but try to anchor and guide them. She can be the strong one, she can be the rock. She's good at that. She's always been good at that.
So she stands sentry, and keeps quiet. Cooper tells her how scared he is, and she tells him they'll get through it. Mason runs into the night, and she follows and brings him back home. She dreams, and wakes with a start, tears caught in her throat, but she doesn't wake anyone. She doesn't say anything. She just sits up and squints into the darkness, makes sure Mason is still there, and settled, and then breathes deeply and shuts her eyes again. Goes over one more time how she'll shatter his world, and how they'll pick up the pieces.
She doesn't sleep much, and she fills her waking hours with reminders to focus on one day at a time, one minute at a time. Get them all through this minute, and then this day, and then tomorrow, and the day after that.
That's what she's thinking while she sits here, in this sequestered waiting room they've managed to procure. It's been hours now, and she's going numb in places she'd rather not mention. Mason knows the truth, all of it, and waiting seems to have gotten easier. He's settled in next to Cooper, and God bless that kid, he's got his daddy distracted with whatever game is going on his DS. Charlotte's done her part, soothed his nerves, and hidden her own, and now she's watching the clock, calculating how long they've been in there, wondering how long they've got left.
Wondering if she's about to be in the middle of a waking nightmare.
And then Amelia walks in, and smiles, Charlotte's stomach lurches with so much relief she almost pukes. Instead, she swallows hard and smiles back, and takes in the words "everything went well," and "in recovery," and "we'll know more when she wakes up, but we're really optimistic."
For the first time in what feels like weeks, she stops holding her breath, lets her muscles go soft and feels like her spine will just sink in on itself if she's not careful. She looks at Cooper and sees the same relief on his face.
She watches her boys, takes in their cautious excitement, and grins. She got them through this one, and she'll get them through whatever comes next.
A single, selfish thought wiggles its way into her brain, and she lets it, can't fight it if she wants to: Tonight, finally, she might get some rest.
Fandom: Private Practice
Pairing: Charlotte/Cooper.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set during 5.15 "You Break My Heart"
Summary: She doesn't sleep much, and she fills her waking hours with reminders to focus on one day at a time, one minute at a time. Get them all through this minute, and then this day, and then tomorrow, and the day after that.
She still has nightmares these days, but they're different now. They're not about her pain anymore, they're about his.
They're about responsibility, and loss, and her utter inability to find the right words to say to a boy who's lost his mother far, far too soon. For weeks, she's dreamed of death, and innocence ripped away by grief, and of having to be the bearer of bad news. Every morning she wakes up feeling a little more worn down, a little more depleted.
She's keeping it together, for him - for both of them - for her boys. And, God, they are now - they're her boys, the both of them. Stuck in the middle of this maelstrom of pain, and there's nothing she can do but try to anchor and guide them. She can be the strong one, she can be the rock. She's good at that. She's always been good at that.
So she stands sentry, and keeps quiet. Cooper tells her how scared he is, and she tells him they'll get through it. Mason runs into the night, and she follows and brings him back home. She dreams, and wakes with a start, tears caught in her throat, but she doesn't wake anyone. She doesn't say anything. She just sits up and squints into the darkness, makes sure Mason is still there, and settled, and then breathes deeply and shuts her eyes again. Goes over one more time how she'll shatter his world, and how they'll pick up the pieces.
She doesn't sleep much, and she fills her waking hours with reminders to focus on one day at a time, one minute at a time. Get them all through this minute, and then this day, and then tomorrow, and the day after that.
That's what she's thinking while she sits here, in this sequestered waiting room they've managed to procure. It's been hours now, and she's going numb in places she'd rather not mention. Mason knows the truth, all of it, and waiting seems to have gotten easier. He's settled in next to Cooper, and God bless that kid, he's got his daddy distracted with whatever game is going on his DS. Charlotte's done her part, soothed his nerves, and hidden her own, and now she's watching the clock, calculating how long they've been in there, wondering how long they've got left.
Wondering if she's about to be in the middle of a waking nightmare.
And then Amelia walks in, and smiles, Charlotte's stomach lurches with so much relief she almost pukes. Instead, she swallows hard and smiles back, and takes in the words "everything went well," and "in recovery," and "we'll know more when she wakes up, but we're really optimistic."
For the first time in what feels like weeks, she stops holding her breath, lets her muscles go soft and feels like her spine will just sink in on itself if she's not careful. She looks at Cooper and sees the same relief on his face.
She watches her boys, takes in their cautious excitement, and grins. She got them through this one, and she'll get them through whatever comes next.
A single, selfish thought wiggles its way into her brain, and she lets it, can't fight it if she wants to: Tonight, finally, she might get some rest.