Their Fairytale, by greyannabel, rated PG
Title: Their Fairytale
Author: greyannabel
Fandom and Pairing: 24, Tony & Michelle
Rating: PG
Prompt: # 002 AU (world)
Warnings: None
Notes: This is rather long, about 4000 words.
Summary: After a few weeks without Michelle, Tony decides that all they need is a fresh start. Post season 3, AU.
Their Fairytale
Starting over seemed to be a pretty good idea when the thought first came to him, sitting alone in his friend’s house, a bit drunk and generally just bored and frustrated. But now it seemed like one of the worst ideas he had ever had - after all, Prince Charming never started drinking and pushed the fair princess away only to realize he wanted her back. And if he had, she probably would have kicked him out. This was why, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door, he hesitated.
What was the worst that could happen? Of course she could turn him down; probably would turn him down. Then he could always ask her to reconsider, perhaps even beg a little. Though Tony Almeida hated begging, he hated being without Michelle even more. So with this newfound epiphany, he took a step forward and knocked, first a shallow knock, but after lingering for a while, he knocked again, twice, this time with more confidence.
He heard nothing, but the lights were on and he knew that she was home. Deciding that she was probably just lazy or hadn’t heard him, he knocked again, taking a few steps back when he heard the pad of feet on the other side of the door. For the past three weeks, he had been incredibly restless. All he had been able to think about was Michelle; before he went to sleep he thought of Michelle, when he woke up he thought of her, even when he drank beer he thought of her, albeit guiltily.
Three weeks ago, on a night where the sky was about as pale as on this night, she had left him, claiming that it was for the best if they never had anything to do with each other again. He had accepted it, had willingly let her go without fighting for her, because Prince Charming never selfishly dragged the princess through a living hell, or at least Tony didn’t think he did. It never said so in the fairytales, anyway.
There had been no fight and no tears; she had even hugged him goodbye and lingered a moment too long in his arms, a moment where he took advantage of their vulnerability and ran a hand down her back, trying to convince her to stay, saying with his touch what he couldn’t communicate with words. She had left, though, with a sad smile on her face. He had tried to kiss her, but she had turned her face away when she smelled the ever-present beer on his breath.
“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” she had told him, walking away with his heart in her hands. At first he had argued, logically, that she’d probably come back; after all he was still in her house. But days passed and she never returned, and he realized, after some time, that she was not coming back. He had left and moved in with a friend, had spend his nights drinking cheap wine and forgetting everything.
He had been forgetting until tonight when his consciousness had not been merciful anymore, and had refused to let him forget Michelle Dessler. Maybe it had something to do with the papers he had received earlier the same day, carving into stone that it was definitely over, asking him to divorce her. He wished he could just sign the damn papers and close let door, but part of him refused to do so. There were simply too many unsettled matters, too much love that hadn’t died.
So that was why he found himself outside Michelle’s house in the middle of the night, bitterly regretting that he hadn’t brushed his teeth before coming over. She’d smell the beer on him and ask him to leave; he would have ruined his last chance of fixing this. It wasn’t too late to turn around, and he had already made the decision to leave, when the door was opened and a tired-looking Michelle stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Tony? What are you doing here?”
And he wanted to answer, because he had planned a nice little speech in the car on his way over, but words completely escaped him for the moment. He opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling stupid and foolish. He was waiting for the door to shut, and was just looking at her, taking her appearance in while waiting for her inevitably disappearance. But the door didn’t close and she continued to stare, looking more and more bemused as the seconds passed.
“I guess it would be polite to invite you in,” she commented, and he could hear the wariness in her voice and he desperately wanted to answer, but just cocked an eyebrow and dug his hands into his pockets, fiddling nervously. She sighed loudly and opened the door more, stepping aside so he could enter.
“I’m still going to want to know what you’re doing here,” she said, closing the door behind him and walking into the living room. He followed her without saying a word, just looking around the house to see if anything had changed; he looked for any signs that his presence had been erased from her life. It all looked the same, even the flowers on the shelf and the blanket on the couch. The TV was turned on, but muted, and he could easily imagine that she, before being disturbed by his knocking, had been watching TV, wrapped in the same blanket he had so often wrapped her in when she fell asleep on the couch.
She shifted on her feet, looking at him intently for a long time. When he didn’t say or do anything, she moved towards the kitchen, muttering under her breath, “I’m sure I’ll get an explanation before next year.”
He wanted to say something, struggled with the words again, but still didn’t know what to say. Why is it I’m here again? he asked himself, keeping one hand in his pocket but using the other to touch the blanket. It was still warm from her body heat and it served as a subtle reminder to why he was there; he couldn’t accept that the closest he could be to her was when he touched the blanket.
“Do you want something to drink?” he heard her call from the kitchen. He realized that she was possibly nervous, too, and certainly confused. After all, he was here without giving her any explanation or even saying anything. If the roles had been reversed, he would have demanded and explanation.
“No thanks,” he replied, letting go of the blanket with a soft sigh. He was there for a reason, and he really needed to talk to her. Though it was easier to stand here and say nothing, it was only a matter of time before she returned to her senses and threw him out. He needed to talk to her before that happened.
When she returned and handed him a cup of coffee even though he hadn’t asked for anything, he smiled sadly at her. Part of him wanted to reach for her and kiss her senseless, but he knew that it wasn’t the time for that; if he wanted to do this, he would have to do it properly.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and she sat down on the couch, waiting for him to speak. He moved closer, thought of sitting down but decided it was a better idea to stand up so he wouldn’t need to get up when she threw him out.
“You want to know why I’m here?” he asked, although he didn’t need to ask at all. She nodded and tucked her feet under her, gesturing for him to go on. He took a deep breath, smelled the hot coffee and began speaking: “I’m here because we need to start over.” The words were a little rushed and scrambled, but he thought she had heard him just as well.
With a puzzled look on her face, she let out a “huh”. He felt like an idiot for expecting this to be easy; nothing about life was ever easy. “We need to start over,” he repeated more certainly this time, meeting her eyes.
“Tony…” she said, breaking away from his gaze. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she was about to say, and he brazed himself for the worst. “Why?” There was a definite sadness and confusion in her voice, and his hands felt clammy as guilt began to overwhelm him.
Why? he thought to himself. He had been busy planning what to say, including explanations about how they were going to start over and when, but why had completely escaped his mind, yet he should have known that would be the first question she would ask.
“Because we can’t just give up,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. She stared at him, looking hurt and unsure.
“We didn’t “just give up”,” she answered, and he could hear the strain in her words. “We tried for quite some time. It was evident that you didn’t have the energy to continue. You didn’t want to continue.” Something about her answers sounded rehearsed to him, as if she had repeated these very words to herself again and again. Hearing her like this gave him hope, though he knew that maybe he was just grasping at empty air and believing what he wanted to believe.
“What if I have the energy now? What if I want to know?” he wanted to know, moving closer without realizing it. She laughed mirthlessly, small puffs of fake and sad laughter, and he just wanted to hold her. But he stayed where he was, a little closer to her but still far away, waiting for her to reply.
“Don’t you think that’s a little late now?”
Another thing he should have been expecting, but it felt like a hard blow to his stomach anyway. He had hoped it would be easy to persuade her, had been sure that it would be the practical part of his plan that was going to be tough. This was supposed to be simple. But he hadn’t remembered how hurt she was, and had chosen to forget how he had pushed her away. All the nights of fighting and hurting returned to him, and it dawned on him how incredibly insensible it was of him to show up like this, expecting everything to be fine.
“Yeah, I guess it’s a little late. But is it too late?”
“I’m afraid it is…” she turned away and where his heart had been beating wildly in his chest minutes ago, it felt like it had simply stopped beating now. He wished that he had realized sooner what it was he losing, wished that he asked her to start over with him weeks ago, before everything spiraled out of control.
“I don’t think it’s too late, Michelle.” He moved closer, knowing that he had nothing left to lose. He sat down next to her and touched her knee gingerly. She tensed but didn’t move or remove his hand. “Let’s try again. It’s never too late to start over.”
“You pushed me away. You made it clear that you didn’t need me,” she replied through gritted teeth. He didn’t know what to reply and drew small patterns on her knee, trying to make her relax under his touch. She stayed tense, but still didn’t move away.
“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Oh, so you’ve changed?” There was bitterness in her voice and even though it probably shouldn’t have, it baffled him. He removed his hand and was about to get up when she pulled at the sleeve of his shirt. “You do realize that I know you’ve been drinking, right? I can smell it?”
“I know. But I’m sober now.”
“Are you? You’re not just saying these things because you’re drunk? You’ll still feel this way in the morning?” For the first time, he noticed the unshed tears in her eyes. She had seemed calm and stoic, but he realized that the conversation was affecting her just as much as it was affecting him. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached out for her hand and twined her fingers with his.
“I’m saying these things because I need to say them. Yeah, I’ve had a beer, but I’m sober and I know what I’m saying. I think we should start over.”
He could see how she was thinking about what he was saying; she was obviously fighting a battle with herself about what to do. “I don’t know…” she said and looked doubtfully at him. His heart was beating fiercely again, and a bitter taste was spreading out in his mouth; he felt as if in purgatory while waiting for her final decision.
“Just give me a chance, okay?” his voice was a near whisper now, and she sat still, staring into the empty air.
“How exactly would… would we be starting over?” she asked tentatively, but looked down at their hands, the fingers still tangled together. He could feel the dread that had inhabited his body begin to slowly evaporate and he took the chance and scooted a little closer. Slowly, he knew the distance between them could be erased.
“Well, you see, I gave that a lot of thought and wasn’t really sure… but then I thought that maybe we could just get… reacquainted,” he finished simply, shrugging and smiling a careful smile at her. Once again she looked confused.
She dried her eyes with her hand before asking him what he meant. Tony, who thought it was pretty straightforward, found himself at a loss for words again. He hated this feeling of not being in control. Nothing was working out the way he had hoped it would, but he was here and she was right next to him, so things were definitely looking a bit brighter now.
“We start over - from the beginning. Hopefully with less drama this time,” he added as an afterthought.
“Do you think that’ll work? You can’t just erase the past like that. And what about your drinking problem? Will you just stop drinking? And are you expecting me to quit my job?” she rambled.
“Woah, slow down - these are the details we need to work out, together. But yes, of course I’ll stop drinking.” Accompanied by a sigh, he added: “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
He waited with bated breath for her response. She looked unsure and confused, looking anywhere but at him. He was beginning to think that maybe it would be easier if he just kissed her and showed her how good things could be, but they needed to do this the right way. The physical aspects of their relationship had never been what caused problems, and it would be too easy to rely on sex to fix everything.
She let go of his hand and he released his breath, feeling that the earth was about to swallow him. This was what he had been afraid of: she was going to turn him down. But just as he prepared himself to get thrown out, she stretched out her hand towards him. Perplexed, he took her hand and she shook it. With a small smile, she said: “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Michelle Dessler.”
Something inside of him felt as if it was given wings and began to fly. He could feel himself start to relax and shook her hand. Maybe the princess did believe in second chances, as unrealistic and undeserved as it seemed. “Tony Almeida. Nice to meet you, too.” He wanted to say more, needed to say more, but they just continued to sit there and smile at each other with stupid, goofy expressions slowly turning into smiles. The remaining tears in her eyes were still glistening, but for the first time in months, she looked somewhat happy and his heart swelled at the sight.
“So, Tony,” she began, “what do you do for a living?”
And he smirked ever so slightly. “Well, you see, miss Dessler, I’m currently unemployed - but I plan to do something about that. Until then, I’ll just focus on being the best husband I can be and make my wife as happy as possible.”
“Oh, so you’re married?” she returned, and Tony laughed inwardly at the flirtatious tone she spoke in. He loved that tone, always had, but of course only when she used it while speaking to him.
“Yeah, I’m married to a wonderful woman. Are you married?”
“Earlier today I thought that perhaps I wasn’t anymore, but now… yes, I think I am.”
His heart skipped a beat, though he managed to appear calm. “Ah,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And who’s the lucky man?”
“I don’t know if he’s lucky or just stupid…”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he grumbled. “But I guess if you’re married, there’s no chance that you would go on a date with me, is there?” Despite her behavior and sweet smile, he still felt nervous that she would turn him down.
“Hm, I don’t think my husband would mind… so yes, I think I’d like to go on a date with you.” When she smiled a brilliant smile, he bit his lip, trying to concentrate on not kissing her. He refused to pressure her. He grew serious as he noticed that she still appeared to be a bit confused; a dazed look on her face made it seem like she had just fallen from the sky. The mood went from lighthearted to gloomy, and he knew that it was time to say the things he had been unsure of how to express. If he wanted her back, he’d have to be completely honest.
“I wish I could take back all the stupid things I’ve done, Michelle,” he admitted somberly. He knew, of course, that once the past had been written, there was no use in second-guessing how it could (or should) have been written instead.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out someway.”
“Wow,” he mumbled.
“Wow, what?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Just…” he shook his head, thinking. “I wasn’t expecting you to just say yes. I was hoping for it, of course, but not expecting it.”
They stayed like that, untethered and unmoving for some time, hands touching softly and carefully the reached out to each other. After what seemed like forever, Michelle gave a slight cough that startled Tony.
“Yesterday I was cleaning the bathroom and I found a box that belongs to you,” she announced importantly. Tony, who didn’t understand the relevance of this, just shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind, but I opened it…”
“That’s fine,” he said, still not understanding why they had to discuss this box right now.
“There were a few quite interesting things in it,” she continued, raising her eyebrows at him. He felt like some kind of haze was lifting from his mind, and he began to realize what exactly it was Michelle was talking about.
“Uh-huh,” he said, feeling a hot blush creep up his neck when he thought of the box’s contents. He could admit to himself honestly that he didn’t like that she had looked in the box; it was so very private and made him feel like she had been rummaging around in his brain.
“Those interesting things included a love note sent by a Lisa something in the fifth grade,” she teased. By now his face was red and he fought the feeling of invaded privacy. After all, he had forgotten completely about the box when he moved out. For years, actually, for as long as he remembered, he had been stuffing things into it; he knew it must have been filled with odd things that only made sense if he decrypted them. But he had also known, during all those years, that someday, someone would, inevitably, trip over the box and notice it. Really, it was pure luck that it had taken Michelle so long to find it.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t keep something to remember your first boyfriend by,” he retorted, and it was her time to blush. He wondered if, perchance, Michelle had a box like his, filled with memories of everything and nothing, and if she did, where it would be and how it would feel to open it. He had always wanted to know her completely, had wanted to know every little detail, and he hoped it would happen someday.
“We weren’t talking about me,” she said, stirring the conversation back on track. “Among many other interesting things in the box - tell me, why did you keep all those many Christmas candles?” she asked rhetorically before continuing, “but there was also a letter… A letter addressed to me.”
He felt sick at the thought of that letter. He had never meant for her to read it like that. Before he found himself able to stop the words from escaping his mouth, he let out a few not so nice words. Michelle pretended not to have heard. He had written that letter a few years ago, shortly after their wedding. It had been after another particularly hard day at work, where he had, once again, questioned whether they would both make it through. When he came home, he had written a letter to Michelle, a letter for her to read in case of his dead.
“I didn’t want you to read that letter,” he growled, feeling mad and angry at the world. “At least not like this…”
“Tony, it happened, okay? I’m sorry; I never meant to pry in your things. But I did read it, and I realized a few things I hadn’t understood before. I didn’t understand, and to be honest I still don’t understand why you pushed me away if you loved me enough to risk your own life to save me. Some of the things you wrote in that letter, though, made me see things in a different light…” She trailed off, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself.
“Especially the part about how you had never felt worthy of my love. That made me think that maybe you really meant it when you said you didn’t think you were enough for me and that’s why you pushed me away. For so long, I stubbornly kept thinking it was just an excuse so you wouldn’t have to admit that I wasn’t enough for you. I think it’s too late to chance the past now, but I know how much you love me, and, and… and I love you more than anything else in the whole world. And I like to think we still have a future together.” When she finished talking, she looked at him with anticipation in her eyes. “I’d like to start over. I think we can make it work," she added.
For years, he never bought a book without skipping ahead to the last page and reading the ending. If he liked it, he’d buy it. When he met Michelle, he learned that not knowing the end could sometimes be better; then there was more anticipation and less disappointment. He hadn’t known how the fairytale with Michelle would end, but he was glad that the ending had yet to be written. And he knew he probably looked nothing like the prince in Michelle’s dreams, looked nothing like the knight in shining armor from her long-lost childhood daydreams, but he had a feeling that they would like this fairytale even better.
They were, after all, the ones writing it.
“Okay,” he agreed, smiling. And with that, they tentatively took their first steps towards a better world together.
The end
Author: greyannabel
Fandom and Pairing: 24, Tony & Michelle
Rating: PG
Prompt: # 002 AU (world)
Warnings: None
Notes: This is rather long, about 4000 words.
Summary: After a few weeks without Michelle, Tony decides that all they need is a fresh start. Post season 3, AU.
Their Fairytale
Starting over seemed to be a pretty good idea when the thought first came to him, sitting alone in his friend’s house, a bit drunk and generally just bored and frustrated. But now it seemed like one of the worst ideas he had ever had - after all, Prince Charming never started drinking and pushed the fair princess away only to realize he wanted her back. And if he had, she probably would have kicked him out. This was why, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door, he hesitated.
What was the worst that could happen? Of course she could turn him down; probably would turn him down. Then he could always ask her to reconsider, perhaps even beg a little. Though Tony Almeida hated begging, he hated being without Michelle even more. So with this newfound epiphany, he took a step forward and knocked, first a shallow knock, but after lingering for a while, he knocked again, twice, this time with more confidence.
He heard nothing, but the lights were on and he knew that she was home. Deciding that she was probably just lazy or hadn’t heard him, he knocked again, taking a few steps back when he heard the pad of feet on the other side of the door. For the past three weeks, he had been incredibly restless. All he had been able to think about was Michelle; before he went to sleep he thought of Michelle, when he woke up he thought of her, even when he drank beer he thought of her, albeit guiltily.
Three weeks ago, on a night where the sky was about as pale as on this night, she had left him, claiming that it was for the best if they never had anything to do with each other again. He had accepted it, had willingly let her go without fighting for her, because Prince Charming never selfishly dragged the princess through a living hell, or at least Tony didn’t think he did. It never said so in the fairytales, anyway.
There had been no fight and no tears; she had even hugged him goodbye and lingered a moment too long in his arms, a moment where he took advantage of their vulnerability and ran a hand down her back, trying to convince her to stay, saying with his touch what he couldn’t communicate with words. She had left, though, with a sad smile on her face. He had tried to kiss her, but she had turned her face away when she smelled the ever-present beer on his breath.
“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” she had told him, walking away with his heart in her hands. At first he had argued, logically, that she’d probably come back; after all he was still in her house. But days passed and she never returned, and he realized, after some time, that she was not coming back. He had left and moved in with a friend, had spend his nights drinking cheap wine and forgetting everything.
He had been forgetting until tonight when his consciousness had not been merciful anymore, and had refused to let him forget Michelle Dessler. Maybe it had something to do with the papers he had received earlier the same day, carving into stone that it was definitely over, asking him to divorce her. He wished he could just sign the damn papers and close let door, but part of him refused to do so. There were simply too many unsettled matters, too much love that hadn’t died.
So that was why he found himself outside Michelle’s house in the middle of the night, bitterly regretting that he hadn’t brushed his teeth before coming over. She’d smell the beer on him and ask him to leave; he would have ruined his last chance of fixing this. It wasn’t too late to turn around, and he had already made the decision to leave, when the door was opened and a tired-looking Michelle stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Tony? What are you doing here?”
And he wanted to answer, because he had planned a nice little speech in the car on his way over, but words completely escaped him for the moment. He opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling stupid and foolish. He was waiting for the door to shut, and was just looking at her, taking her appearance in while waiting for her inevitably disappearance. But the door didn’t close and she continued to stare, looking more and more bemused as the seconds passed.
“I guess it would be polite to invite you in,” she commented, and he could hear the wariness in her voice and he desperately wanted to answer, but just cocked an eyebrow and dug his hands into his pockets, fiddling nervously. She sighed loudly and opened the door more, stepping aside so he could enter.
“I’m still going to want to know what you’re doing here,” she said, closing the door behind him and walking into the living room. He followed her without saying a word, just looking around the house to see if anything had changed; he looked for any signs that his presence had been erased from her life. It all looked the same, even the flowers on the shelf and the blanket on the couch. The TV was turned on, but muted, and he could easily imagine that she, before being disturbed by his knocking, had been watching TV, wrapped in the same blanket he had so often wrapped her in when she fell asleep on the couch.
She shifted on her feet, looking at him intently for a long time. When he didn’t say or do anything, she moved towards the kitchen, muttering under her breath, “I’m sure I’ll get an explanation before next year.”
He wanted to say something, struggled with the words again, but still didn’t know what to say. Why is it I’m here again? he asked himself, keeping one hand in his pocket but using the other to touch the blanket. It was still warm from her body heat and it served as a subtle reminder to why he was there; he couldn’t accept that the closest he could be to her was when he touched the blanket.
“Do you want something to drink?” he heard her call from the kitchen. He realized that she was possibly nervous, too, and certainly confused. After all, he was here without giving her any explanation or even saying anything. If the roles had been reversed, he would have demanded and explanation.
“No thanks,” he replied, letting go of the blanket with a soft sigh. He was there for a reason, and he really needed to talk to her. Though it was easier to stand here and say nothing, it was only a matter of time before she returned to her senses and threw him out. He needed to talk to her before that happened.
When she returned and handed him a cup of coffee even though he hadn’t asked for anything, he smiled sadly at her. Part of him wanted to reach for her and kiss her senseless, but he knew that it wasn’t the time for that; if he wanted to do this, he would have to do it properly.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, and she sat down on the couch, waiting for him to speak. He moved closer, thought of sitting down but decided it was a better idea to stand up so he wouldn’t need to get up when she threw him out.
“You want to know why I’m here?” he asked, although he didn’t need to ask at all. She nodded and tucked her feet under her, gesturing for him to go on. He took a deep breath, smelled the hot coffee and began speaking: “I’m here because we need to start over.” The words were a little rushed and scrambled, but he thought she had heard him just as well.
With a puzzled look on her face, she let out a “huh”. He felt like an idiot for expecting this to be easy; nothing about life was ever easy. “We need to start over,” he repeated more certainly this time, meeting her eyes.
“Tony…” she said, breaking away from his gaze. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she was about to say, and he brazed himself for the worst. “Why?” There was a definite sadness and confusion in her voice, and his hands felt clammy as guilt began to overwhelm him.
Why? he thought to himself. He had been busy planning what to say, including explanations about how they were going to start over and when, but why had completely escaped his mind, yet he should have known that would be the first question she would ask.
“Because we can’t just give up,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders. She stared at him, looking hurt and unsure.
“We didn’t “just give up”,” she answered, and he could hear the strain in her words. “We tried for quite some time. It was evident that you didn’t have the energy to continue. You didn’t want to continue.” Something about her answers sounded rehearsed to him, as if she had repeated these very words to herself again and again. Hearing her like this gave him hope, though he knew that maybe he was just grasping at empty air and believing what he wanted to believe.
“What if I have the energy now? What if I want to know?” he wanted to know, moving closer without realizing it. She laughed mirthlessly, small puffs of fake and sad laughter, and he just wanted to hold her. But he stayed where he was, a little closer to her but still far away, waiting for her to reply.
“Don’t you think that’s a little late now?”
Another thing he should have been expecting, but it felt like a hard blow to his stomach anyway. He had hoped it would be easy to persuade her, had been sure that it would be the practical part of his plan that was going to be tough. This was supposed to be simple. But he hadn’t remembered how hurt she was, and had chosen to forget how he had pushed her away. All the nights of fighting and hurting returned to him, and it dawned on him how incredibly insensible it was of him to show up like this, expecting everything to be fine.
“Yeah, I guess it’s a little late. But is it too late?”
“I’m afraid it is…” she turned away and where his heart had been beating wildly in his chest minutes ago, it felt like it had simply stopped beating now. He wished that he had realized sooner what it was he losing, wished that he asked her to start over with him weeks ago, before everything spiraled out of control.
“I don’t think it’s too late, Michelle.” He moved closer, knowing that he had nothing left to lose. He sat down next to her and touched her knee gingerly. She tensed but didn’t move or remove his hand. “Let’s try again. It’s never too late to start over.”
“You pushed me away. You made it clear that you didn’t need me,” she replied through gritted teeth. He didn’t know what to reply and drew small patterns on her knee, trying to make her relax under his touch. She stayed tense, but still didn’t move away.
“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Oh, so you’ve changed?” There was bitterness in her voice and even though it probably shouldn’t have, it baffled him. He removed his hand and was about to get up when she pulled at the sleeve of his shirt. “You do realize that I know you’ve been drinking, right? I can smell it?”
“I know. But I’m sober now.”
“Are you? You’re not just saying these things because you’re drunk? You’ll still feel this way in the morning?” For the first time, he noticed the unshed tears in her eyes. She had seemed calm and stoic, but he realized that the conversation was affecting her just as much as it was affecting him. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached out for her hand and twined her fingers with his.
“I’m saying these things because I need to say them. Yeah, I’ve had a beer, but I’m sober and I know what I’m saying. I think we should start over.”
He could see how she was thinking about what he was saying; she was obviously fighting a battle with herself about what to do. “I don’t know…” she said and looked doubtfully at him. His heart was beating fiercely again, and a bitter taste was spreading out in his mouth; he felt as if in purgatory while waiting for her final decision.
“Just give me a chance, okay?” his voice was a near whisper now, and she sat still, staring into the empty air.
“How exactly would… would we be starting over?” she asked tentatively, but looked down at their hands, the fingers still tangled together. He could feel the dread that had inhabited his body begin to slowly evaporate and he took the chance and scooted a little closer. Slowly, he knew the distance between them could be erased.
“Well, you see, I gave that a lot of thought and wasn’t really sure… but then I thought that maybe we could just get… reacquainted,” he finished simply, shrugging and smiling a careful smile at her. Once again she looked confused.
She dried her eyes with her hand before asking him what he meant. Tony, who thought it was pretty straightforward, found himself at a loss for words again. He hated this feeling of not being in control. Nothing was working out the way he had hoped it would, but he was here and she was right next to him, so things were definitely looking a bit brighter now.
“We start over - from the beginning. Hopefully with less drama this time,” he added as an afterthought.
“Do you think that’ll work? You can’t just erase the past like that. And what about your drinking problem? Will you just stop drinking? And are you expecting me to quit my job?” she rambled.
“Woah, slow down - these are the details we need to work out, together. But yes, of course I’ll stop drinking.” Accompanied by a sigh, he added: “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
He waited with bated breath for her response. She looked unsure and confused, looking anywhere but at him. He was beginning to think that maybe it would be easier if he just kissed her and showed her how good things could be, but they needed to do this the right way. The physical aspects of their relationship had never been what caused problems, and it would be too easy to rely on sex to fix everything.
She let go of his hand and he released his breath, feeling that the earth was about to swallow him. This was what he had been afraid of: she was going to turn him down. But just as he prepared himself to get thrown out, she stretched out her hand towards him. Perplexed, he took her hand and she shook it. With a small smile, she said: “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Michelle Dessler.”
Something inside of him felt as if it was given wings and began to fly. He could feel himself start to relax and shook her hand. Maybe the princess did believe in second chances, as unrealistic and undeserved as it seemed. “Tony Almeida. Nice to meet you, too.” He wanted to say more, needed to say more, but they just continued to sit there and smile at each other with stupid, goofy expressions slowly turning into smiles. The remaining tears in her eyes were still glistening, but for the first time in months, she looked somewhat happy and his heart swelled at the sight.
“So, Tony,” she began, “what do you do for a living?”
And he smirked ever so slightly. “Well, you see, miss Dessler, I’m currently unemployed - but I plan to do something about that. Until then, I’ll just focus on being the best husband I can be and make my wife as happy as possible.”
“Oh, so you’re married?” she returned, and Tony laughed inwardly at the flirtatious tone she spoke in. He loved that tone, always had, but of course only when she used it while speaking to him.
“Yeah, I’m married to a wonderful woman. Are you married?”
“Earlier today I thought that perhaps I wasn’t anymore, but now… yes, I think I am.”
His heart skipped a beat, though he managed to appear calm. “Ah,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And who’s the lucky man?”
“I don’t know if he’s lucky or just stupid…”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he grumbled. “But I guess if you’re married, there’s no chance that you would go on a date with me, is there?” Despite her behavior and sweet smile, he still felt nervous that she would turn him down.
“Hm, I don’t think my husband would mind… so yes, I think I’d like to go on a date with you.” When she smiled a brilliant smile, he bit his lip, trying to concentrate on not kissing her. He refused to pressure her. He grew serious as he noticed that she still appeared to be a bit confused; a dazed look on her face made it seem like she had just fallen from the sky. The mood went from lighthearted to gloomy, and he knew that it was time to say the things he had been unsure of how to express. If he wanted her back, he’d have to be completely honest.
“I wish I could take back all the stupid things I’ve done, Michelle,” he admitted somberly. He knew, of course, that once the past had been written, there was no use in second-guessing how it could (or should) have been written instead.
“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out someway.”
“Wow,” he mumbled.
“Wow, what?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Just…” he shook his head, thinking. “I wasn’t expecting you to just say yes. I was hoping for it, of course, but not expecting it.”
They stayed like that, untethered and unmoving for some time, hands touching softly and carefully the reached out to each other. After what seemed like forever, Michelle gave a slight cough that startled Tony.
“Yesterday I was cleaning the bathroom and I found a box that belongs to you,” she announced importantly. Tony, who didn’t understand the relevance of this, just shrugged. “I hope you don’t mind, but I opened it…”
“That’s fine,” he said, still not understanding why they had to discuss this box right now.
“There were a few quite interesting things in it,” she continued, raising her eyebrows at him. He felt like some kind of haze was lifting from his mind, and he began to realize what exactly it was Michelle was talking about.
“Uh-huh,” he said, feeling a hot blush creep up his neck when he thought of the box’s contents. He could admit to himself honestly that he didn’t like that she had looked in the box; it was so very private and made him feel like she had been rummaging around in his brain.
“Those interesting things included a love note sent by a Lisa something in the fifth grade,” she teased. By now his face was red and he fought the feeling of invaded privacy. After all, he had forgotten completely about the box when he moved out. For years, actually, for as long as he remembered, he had been stuffing things into it; he knew it must have been filled with odd things that only made sense if he decrypted them. But he had also known, during all those years, that someday, someone would, inevitably, trip over the box and notice it. Really, it was pure luck that it had taken Michelle so long to find it.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t keep something to remember your first boyfriend by,” he retorted, and it was her time to blush. He wondered if, perchance, Michelle had a box like his, filled with memories of everything and nothing, and if she did, where it would be and how it would feel to open it. He had always wanted to know her completely, had wanted to know every little detail, and he hoped it would happen someday.
“We weren’t talking about me,” she said, stirring the conversation back on track. “Among many other interesting things in the box - tell me, why did you keep all those many Christmas candles?” she asked rhetorically before continuing, “but there was also a letter… A letter addressed to me.”
He felt sick at the thought of that letter. He had never meant for her to read it like that. Before he found himself able to stop the words from escaping his mouth, he let out a few not so nice words. Michelle pretended not to have heard. He had written that letter a few years ago, shortly after their wedding. It had been after another particularly hard day at work, where he had, once again, questioned whether they would both make it through. When he came home, he had written a letter to Michelle, a letter for her to read in case of his dead.
“I didn’t want you to read that letter,” he growled, feeling mad and angry at the world. “At least not like this…”
“Tony, it happened, okay? I’m sorry; I never meant to pry in your things. But I did read it, and I realized a few things I hadn’t understood before. I didn’t understand, and to be honest I still don’t understand why you pushed me away if you loved me enough to risk your own life to save me. Some of the things you wrote in that letter, though, made me see things in a different light…” She trailed off, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself.
“Especially the part about how you had never felt worthy of my love. That made me think that maybe you really meant it when you said you didn’t think you were enough for me and that’s why you pushed me away. For so long, I stubbornly kept thinking it was just an excuse so you wouldn’t have to admit that I wasn’t enough for you. I think it’s too late to chance the past now, but I know how much you love me, and, and… and I love you more than anything else in the whole world. And I like to think we still have a future together.” When she finished talking, she looked at him with anticipation in her eyes. “I’d like to start over. I think we can make it work," she added.
For years, he never bought a book without skipping ahead to the last page and reading the ending. If he liked it, he’d buy it. When he met Michelle, he learned that not knowing the end could sometimes be better; then there was more anticipation and less disappointment. He hadn’t known how the fairytale with Michelle would end, but he was glad that the ending had yet to be written. And he knew he probably looked nothing like the prince in Michelle’s dreams, looked nothing like the knight in shining armor from her long-lost childhood daydreams, but he had a feeling that they would like this fairytale even better.
They were, after all, the ones writing it.
“Okay,” he agreed, smiling. And with that, they tentatively took their first steps towards a better world together.
The end