The first.
This was SUPPOSED to be a drabble... and, well, it mutated.
Title: Forget
Fandom: Batman Beyond
Summary: Melanie tries to forget, she really does.
Rating: PG-13
She doesn't forget.
He comes home late and doesn't try to explain where he's been, even when she leans against the door and waits for him for hours, and his silence is like a brick wall that she can't break through. He loses jobs steadily, one by one. Five years of this and a lifetime of that, and she's still waiting for him to tell her.
Because Melanie tries to forget, she really does, but there are some things that she wishes she just doesn't want to see. Like their savings depleting figure by figure until she has to take two jobs to get them by. Like the cuts and bruises that she sees across his back when he comes home, like the silence that pierces their morning window like an arrow. Like the newspaper headings that he rips into tiny pieces.
He pours himself into her in the early morning, his fingers in her hair. His moans are like sobs.
She married him at a bus stop just outside of Gotham, the rain pouring down on their heads and the obituaries from the Gotham Times curled up in his fist.
She married him for a reason. She doesn't forget it.
Title: Forget
Fandom: Batman Beyond
Summary: Melanie tries to forget, she really does.
Rating: PG-13
She doesn't forget.
He comes home late and doesn't try to explain where he's been, even when she leans against the door and waits for him for hours, and his silence is like a brick wall that she can't break through. He loses jobs steadily, one by one. Five years of this and a lifetime of that, and she's still waiting for him to tell her.
Because Melanie tries to forget, she really does, but there are some things that she wishes she just doesn't want to see. Like their savings depleting figure by figure until she has to take two jobs to get them by. Like the cuts and bruises that she sees across his back when he comes home, like the silence that pierces their morning window like an arrow. Like the newspaper headings that he rips into tiny pieces.
He pours himself into her in the early morning, his fingers in her hair. His moans are like sobs.
She married him at a bus stop just outside of Gotham, the rain pouring down on their heads and the obituaries from the Gotham Times curled up in his fist.
She married him for a reason. She doesn't forget it.