Five Stages
Pairing: Sandra/Bennet
Rating: PG
Words: 1300+
Spoilers: Through Cautionary Tales
Summary: Five moments of Sandra and Noah.
A/N: Thanks to maudvandutch, for inspiring me to get off my...butt and write this down.
I.
It’s been a week. A long, awful week, and she still can’t believe it, it’s just all kinds of wrong.
She was popular, a cheerleader, a homecoming queen (well, part of homecoming court, not that the rest of the girls need to know, and what’s the point of going to school all the way out here if you’ve to be 100% honest?), and she does not get crushes on…on people like him.
Football players. Baseball players. Men on motorcycles. Movie stars. Those make sense, they’re not exactly original and usually end up unrequited but it’s normal.
She likes normal, she’s used to it, and falling in love with her lab partner, shy smile and steel blue eyes and all, is just not normal, no matter how awesome his note-taking skills are.
And they are, too, awesome, and once, when she missed class, he made her copies, in precise, careful handwriting, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he went and illustrated the darn things.
Mostly just stick figures and smiley faces but they made her smile, laugh unexpectedly because really, who does that, and it was just so darn cute that she couldn’t help herself.
She said yes, to coffee, then dinner, then the walk back to her dorm and she would’ve just kissed him on the cheek because he was sweet and all but it’d never really work out, when she heard Delores and Allison laughing at her from the common room and what did they know, like they got any dates at all, like they had any right to judge.
He went to shake her hand at the front door, and she’d decided that that was the most adorably awkward thing he’d done all night, not blushing redder than a strawberry when he’d accidentally brushed against her breast while helping her with her sweater.
And she couldn’t really be blamed, could she, for standing on her tip-toes and giving him a big old (slightly sloppy, she’d giggle later) kiss right then and there?
But maybe she should be blamed, because it wasn’t exactly supposed to be a joke but it wasn’t exactly supposed to mean anything either.
Because she’s back home right now, “turnin’ down another sweet young man,” as Mama keeps complaining, and it’s been a week, and it’s not like he promised to or she wants him to, but he hasn’t called.
II.
She’s on her fourth major in three years and he’s the only one who never really mentions it.
Everyone else tells her she’s flighty or flaky but what they mean is dumb, and he doesn’t ever say anything about it, just asks her how she’s doing and how she’s feeling and if she’s happy, like that’s the reason her parents are sending her to school, to be happy, and it makes her so mad sometimes that she could just scream.
And maybe it’s her fault, for not keeping him at a distance, because it’s not going to last, she really is flighty and flaky and dumb, and he deserves better than that, could get better than that, he’s smart enough and sweet enough and handsome enough, even if it does take people a while to figure it out.
But just because it’s her fault doesn’t keep her from hating him, sometimes, for acting like she’s something all out special, like she’s perfect the way she is, and that’s more pressure than she wants, and she hates it.
She hates it enough, the pedestal he’s put her on, that she really should’ve broken up with him a long time ago, that she shouldn’t be standing there, smiling down at her man as he sinks to one knee and pulls out a too-large ring that matches his too-sincere grin and too-bright eyes.
She hates it enough, how much she’s come to need him, that she really shouldn’t be jumping up and down in a very unladylike way and squealing her response.
But it’s not like she’s ever had any sense at all, so that’s exactly what she’s doing.
III.
Her days are simple, now; she’ll wake up while he’s in the shower, make breakfast in the soft, silk robe he’d bought her on one of his first trips, chatter over eggs and chocolate milk, get a quick kiss on the forehead, straighten a tie, smile brightly at a closed door, and get on with her morning.
He’s been coming home late, every night, so eating alone and leaving a plate to warm in the oven has become part of her day, too, folded into her usual routine; she has the time to walk William before it gets dark and fall asleep in the living room with tea in her hand now, the time be awoken by soft words in her ear and a simple smile in her direction.
People had said it’d be the first year that was the worst, but it wasn’t until they moved that things got hard; she misses her friends, misses her mother, misses the little house on Apple Street that they’d talked about buying, not that she doesn’t love Odessa.
But it’s different, Texas, drier and vaster and full of empty spaces, and if she could just figure out what’s missing, what he needs from her, she could fix it, fix them.
He’s different now, but so is she, so she can’t really blame him, and she doesn’t.
Because she knows, know for sure, that it’s her fault.
It’s her fault, that he’s so quiet; if she talked less, he’d have to talk more.
It’s her fault, that he’s so distant; if she’d been able to give him a reason to stay connected to her, he would be.
It’s her fault, that he’s so guilty; if she could keep herself from being so damn emotional, he wouldn’t have any reason to feel he was to blame.
And in a way, she’s almost thankful, for whoever it is, for the possibility that at least sometimes, somewhere, he’s happy in a way she can’t make him anymore.
IV.
Twenty years, they’ve been together; twenty years together, seventeen married, fifteen as parents and how many of those, how many of those days and moments and words have been lies?
To protect them, she knows, to keep them safe, because he wouldn’t have it any other way but what good had it done, if her daughter is dead and her husband is gone and the world might as well stop spinning?
To protect them for the consequences of his actions, and the scope of them, the magnitude of what it all means, what she remembers and what she doesn’t, can’t even terrify her anymore, because it doesn’t matter.
Because if she can’t trust the one person in the world she’s ever needed to, trust that he’ll come back and trust that he’ll save them all, there’s no point in him doing so.
So she prays, for forgiveness, for redemption, and for faith.
V.
It’s going to be okay, she thinks.
Costa Verde is beautiful, warm, green everywhere and, she’s been told, all the time.
Claire’s adjusting, different in a way that doesn’t matter and normal in all the ways that count.
Lyle’s happy, accepting, calls his sister a freak on a regular basis, and that’s as it should be, really, the way she was with her brothers and the way her sister was with her.
Mr. Muggles is as darling as ever, a quiet comfort to his mama in their afternoons at home, waiting for everyone to come home.
And Noah…Noah’s adorable in his purple shirt, easier with his affection than he’s been in forever, calmer at night and honest in the way she’s always wanted, in the way that justifies what doesn’t really need to be justified.
Which is why, when he starts getting the phone calls, excusing himself from the table early, traveling for manager training, she doesn’t worry.
Which is why, when it’s obvious that he’s been lying to them again and she wonders why she hasn’t left him and taken the kids, she remembers that this is their family and always will be.
I.
Which is why, when he acts like he might not be coming back, she refuses to accept it, because this is their family and she’s not about to let him off the hook that easy.
Rating: PG
Words: 1300+
Spoilers: Through Cautionary Tales
Summary: Five moments of Sandra and Noah.
A/N: Thanks to maudvandutch, for inspiring me to get off my...butt and write this down.
I.
It’s been a week. A long, awful week, and she still can’t believe it, it’s just all kinds of wrong.
She was popular, a cheerleader, a homecoming queen (well, part of homecoming court, not that the rest of the girls need to know, and what’s the point of going to school all the way out here if you’ve to be 100% honest?), and she does not get crushes on…on people like him.
Football players. Baseball players. Men on motorcycles. Movie stars. Those make sense, they’re not exactly original and usually end up unrequited but it’s normal.
She likes normal, she’s used to it, and falling in love with her lab partner, shy smile and steel blue eyes and all, is just not normal, no matter how awesome his note-taking skills are.
And they are, too, awesome, and once, when she missed class, he made her copies, in precise, careful handwriting, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he went and illustrated the darn things.
Mostly just stick figures and smiley faces but they made her smile, laugh unexpectedly because really, who does that, and it was just so darn cute that she couldn’t help herself.
She said yes, to coffee, then dinner, then the walk back to her dorm and she would’ve just kissed him on the cheek because he was sweet and all but it’d never really work out, when she heard Delores and Allison laughing at her from the common room and what did they know, like they got any dates at all, like they had any right to judge.
He went to shake her hand at the front door, and she’d decided that that was the most adorably awkward thing he’d done all night, not blushing redder than a strawberry when he’d accidentally brushed against her breast while helping her with her sweater.
And she couldn’t really be blamed, could she, for standing on her tip-toes and giving him a big old (slightly sloppy, she’d giggle later) kiss right then and there?
But maybe she should be blamed, because it wasn’t exactly supposed to be a joke but it wasn’t exactly supposed to mean anything either.
Because she’s back home right now, “turnin’ down another sweet young man,” as Mama keeps complaining, and it’s been a week, and it’s not like he promised to or she wants him to, but he hasn’t called.
II.
She’s on her fourth major in three years and he’s the only one who never really mentions it.
Everyone else tells her she’s flighty or flaky but what they mean is dumb, and he doesn’t ever say anything about it, just asks her how she’s doing and how she’s feeling and if she’s happy, like that’s the reason her parents are sending her to school, to be happy, and it makes her so mad sometimes that she could just scream.
And maybe it’s her fault, for not keeping him at a distance, because it’s not going to last, she really is flighty and flaky and dumb, and he deserves better than that, could get better than that, he’s smart enough and sweet enough and handsome enough, even if it does take people a while to figure it out.
But just because it’s her fault doesn’t keep her from hating him, sometimes, for acting like she’s something all out special, like she’s perfect the way she is, and that’s more pressure than she wants, and she hates it.
She hates it enough, the pedestal he’s put her on, that she really should’ve broken up with him a long time ago, that she shouldn’t be standing there, smiling down at her man as he sinks to one knee and pulls out a too-large ring that matches his too-sincere grin and too-bright eyes.
She hates it enough, how much she’s come to need him, that she really shouldn’t be jumping up and down in a very unladylike way and squealing her response.
But it’s not like she’s ever had any sense at all, so that’s exactly what she’s doing.
III.
Her days are simple, now; she’ll wake up while he’s in the shower, make breakfast in the soft, silk robe he’d bought her on one of his first trips, chatter over eggs and chocolate milk, get a quick kiss on the forehead, straighten a tie, smile brightly at a closed door, and get on with her morning.
He’s been coming home late, every night, so eating alone and leaving a plate to warm in the oven has become part of her day, too, folded into her usual routine; she has the time to walk William before it gets dark and fall asleep in the living room with tea in her hand now, the time be awoken by soft words in her ear and a simple smile in her direction.
People had said it’d be the first year that was the worst, but it wasn’t until they moved that things got hard; she misses her friends, misses her mother, misses the little house on Apple Street that they’d talked about buying, not that she doesn’t love Odessa.
But it’s different, Texas, drier and vaster and full of empty spaces, and if she could just figure out what’s missing, what he needs from her, she could fix it, fix them.
He’s different now, but so is she, so she can’t really blame him, and she doesn’t.
Because she knows, know for sure, that it’s her fault.
It’s her fault, that he’s so quiet; if she talked less, he’d have to talk more.
It’s her fault, that he’s so distant; if she’d been able to give him a reason to stay connected to her, he would be.
It’s her fault, that he’s so guilty; if she could keep herself from being so damn emotional, he wouldn’t have any reason to feel he was to blame.
And in a way, she’s almost thankful, for whoever it is, for the possibility that at least sometimes, somewhere, he’s happy in a way she can’t make him anymore.
IV.
Twenty years, they’ve been together; twenty years together, seventeen married, fifteen as parents and how many of those, how many of those days and moments and words have been lies?
To protect them, she knows, to keep them safe, because he wouldn’t have it any other way but what good had it done, if her daughter is dead and her husband is gone and the world might as well stop spinning?
To protect them for the consequences of his actions, and the scope of them, the magnitude of what it all means, what she remembers and what she doesn’t, can’t even terrify her anymore, because it doesn’t matter.
Because if she can’t trust the one person in the world she’s ever needed to, trust that he’ll come back and trust that he’ll save them all, there’s no point in him doing so.
So she prays, for forgiveness, for redemption, and for faith.
V.
It’s going to be okay, she thinks.
Costa Verde is beautiful, warm, green everywhere and, she’s been told, all the time.
Claire’s adjusting, different in a way that doesn’t matter and normal in all the ways that count.
Lyle’s happy, accepting, calls his sister a freak on a regular basis, and that’s as it should be, really, the way she was with her brothers and the way her sister was with her.
Mr. Muggles is as darling as ever, a quiet comfort to his mama in their afternoons at home, waiting for everyone to come home.
And Noah…Noah’s adorable in his purple shirt, easier with his affection than he’s been in forever, calmer at night and honest in the way she’s always wanted, in the way that justifies what doesn’t really need to be justified.
Which is why, when he starts getting the phone calls, excusing himself from the table early, traveling for manager training, she doesn’t worry.
Which is why, when it’s obvious that he’s been lying to them again and she wonders why she hasn’t left him and taken the kids, she remembers that this is their family and always will be.
I.
Which is why, when he acts like he might not be coming back, she refuses to accept it, because this is their family and she’s not about to let him off the hook that easy.