Charles/Laura fic, Chapter 7 'Through Time & Seasons'
Through Time & Seasons, by Missbevcrusher
Rated: [M]
In case you need the links to the previous parts... prologue, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6.
Many, many thanks to bytesofspencerfor the amazing, amazing beta. I am beyond grateful. Also, I will add someone to my list of people to thank. unavitasegreta. Thanks for the nudge and words of encouragement.
You girls are so made of win.
Roughly a week and a half between chapter releases. That's not bad considering I may be the slowest fic writer on the planet. Let's hope the trend holds. (And I think it will cause I'm super motivated right now LOL)
Standard Disclaimer: Charles Lattimer, Laura Brown and the wonderful story that is 'For All Time' are property of their respective owners. I am simply writing what I would have loved to see at the end of the movie and then some.
And now... to the fic!!!
Chapter 7 ~ The Heart Awakens
Laura had been caught unaware, the shift so sudden there hadn’t been time to blink. One moment, she had been reminiscing about her childhood and the next…
“I miss you, Laura.”
While she had feared such an admission, Laura had thought herself capable of steering the conversation away from such forbidden waters.
She had been wrong, should have known better.
In a desperate attempt to evade this topic, she had practically leapt from her chair, had traversed the room as far back as she could to get away from him. But despite her refusal to play a part in this discussion, Charles had persisted, had confessed to being absolutely lost without her.
After a verbal pause broken only by the sound of cautious footsteps, his voice had cracked. “I can’t get over you.”
This had been devastating. Not only because it had been the last thing she wanted to hear, but because those very same words kept repeating in her own thoughts.
Her emotional control frayed to the point of giving way, a faint whimper had escaped her lips. She had inwardly cursed this reaction, had fought to gather herself. Finally-after a steadying breath-she had turned to face him. “You have to.”
Whilst Laura had not known what to expect, his counter question had shaken her just the same. “Are you over us?” he had asked.
To answer his query had seemed distressingly pointless, and so she had responded, “Does it really matter?”
“It does.” Earnest and naked, Charles’ declaration had caused her already damaged resolve to fracture and crumble.
Her eyes brimming with moisture, Laura’s sorrowful gaze had held on to his-a soft utterance coming soon after. “No, I’m not…”
In a perfect world, this would have been the end of their exchange. For in a perfect world, he would have been free to love her, and she would have been able to accept his love.
Laura would have closed the distance between them, would have looked into his eyes with unguarded yearning, touched his cheek and held her breath until he kissed her senseless.
She would have melted against him, would have wound her arms around his shoulders and revelled in the feel of being encompassed in his embrace.
Because in a perfect world, Laura would have been his and as unconventional as it seemed, Charles would have been hers-this man, so widely dissimilar to anyone she had ever known. A progressive thinker, a gentle soul, he would have made a wonderful husband.
But this world was far from perfect and he would never be her husband for he was married to someone else.
And there it had been-the inescapable truth.
In the wake of its sting Laura had willed her regretful, wistful musings to the side, had summoned all of her inner strength to say, “But what does it change?”
Two or three seconds of numbing emptiness had followed.
Then, “We’re stuck in an impossible situation. We could never be.”
With those words, Laura had sought to seal their chapter, to bring it to the most merciful end it could have.
She had hoped that he would see the futility in hanging on to her and to this idea of them, not only for his sake but for hers.
How Laura had managed to keep her eyes fixed on him had been beyond her. But as he had pondered her words, lowering his gaze momentarily, she had not wavered.
Finally, he had lifted his stare to meet hers once again-not a goodbye in his eyes but something else…
Before she could decipher his puzzling expression, Charles had opened his mouth to speak, had whispered, “What if we could?”
…
Charles and Laura stood face to face, scantly an arm’s length between them. The light drumming of raindrops lingered in a sound both soft and constant-the delicate resonance filling the room which would have otherwise been soundless.
What if we could?
Regardless of how many times she turned them over in her mind, Laura could not make sense of these words. That Charles was stuck on this notion of them filled her with an ache that was gnawing and deeply felt. It was upsetting.
Why can’t you accept it?
It could never happen.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “You gotta stop this.”
Intent on bringing the discussion to a close, Laura attempted to walk past him. But as her shoulder brushed against his, she felt his hand on her arm-a gentle grasp that made her stop in her tracks and look sideways at him.
Charles’ eyes told the story of a man who was weighed down by something, a man who hungered for liberation. The supplication in his gaze was tangible and made all the more substantial by the word he tied to it. “Please.”
Struck by the vulnerability in his demeanour, Laura found that she could not deny him. She stood there, the visual connection holding as she waited.
“Remember that day, when you found me stranded by that wagon?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You asked me why I came back.”
How could she forget? It was one of the few moments spent with him since his mysterious return, moments she suspected would forever be chiselled in memory.
Indeed, Laura had posed that very question. It had been plaguing her and she craved an answer. But the thought of what Charles might have said had frightened her, had made her backtrack in her query. It had been too much, too soon. It still was in a way, but…
As she nodded, Laura blinked once, slowly, allowing a trickle of tears to fall to her cheeks, down her face.
Charles’ eyes remained anchored to hers as he resumed. “In a way, I was relieved that you’d backed down because I wasn’t ready to answer, wouldn’t have known where to begin.”
“And now, you do?” she breathed.
It took a few seconds for his reply to form. “Not really,” he admitted. “But we can’t go on like this. It’s time you knew the truth.”
“The truth,” Laura echoed.
When it came to Charles, the truth filled her with trepidation-the pain of his revelation by the river now as raw as ever.
Her features bearing the tint of painful memories, she exhaled a slow, quivering breath. “I don’t know if I can handle that.”
An extended pause followed Laura’s admission, the two of them finally lowering their eyes.
“How about this,” Charles swallowed before he continued. “You let me explain and if you can’t handle what I have to say then I’ll leave… I’ll leave Somerville and let you move on.”
Her chest thrumming, Laura debated this. On the one hand, she did not want to march on with this topic, instead wanted to retreat and seek the relative refuge of ‘not knowing’. But what he proposed offered a possible resolution and a chance for her to regain normalcy in her life.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness, just a few moments,” he clarified.
Laura finally agreed, albeit reluctantly, her accord coming by way of a slight nod. But if she was to do this, she would have to put more distance between them, said so with a look to the hand that lightly rested on her arm.
Charles seemed to understand this, pulled away, allowing her to widen the gap.
“Do you believe in fate?”
While Laura had not known what to expect, these words were not it.
Ordinarily, they would have felt artificial, like something a man would say to impress a woman. They would have irked her and she would have most likely rolled her eyes. But her heart told her this wasn’t an attempt to charm-a feeling that was reinforced by what Charles said next.
“This isn’t a line, Laura. I mean it. Do you?”
To answer was difficult. “I… never really stopped to think about it.”
“Well I didn’t,” he stated. “But all of that changed when I found this place… when I found you.”
And so began his account.
“When we met… it was as if I already knew you-your hair, your eyes, the contours of your face. I recognized your features as though I had known you all my life.”
Laura could not quite follow this, shook her head slightly from side to side. “You’d seen me before? But I thought that was your first time in Somerville.”
“It was.”
“Then how-”
“Do you think we could sit down for this?”
At first, Laura eyed him without moving. But then, she acquiesced, gestured toward the chairs. Her stomach in knots, she sat facing him, wiped her cheeks and watched as he momentarily looked down at his hands which were now fidgeting.
“It was around the end of April or early March,” he began. “I was at work one morning, staring at this ad campaign I’d been working on. I didn’t particularly care for it…” There was a pause as he searched for the right words. “Seemed empty, disconnected.”
His eyes wistful, Charles smiled sadly. “Much like the world I lived in.”
This statement reminded Laura of the time he’d spoken of where he came from. Different is what he had called it, had said it was colder, harder to touch, fast, instant, faster the better… very different.
“So I decided to start from scratch, took a blank sheet of paper and started sketching. At first, I had no clear idea of what I was doing, simply drew by instinct.”
A look of wonder washed over his face then. He blinked, his mouth upturned ever so slightly. “And soon enough, there you were.”
Laura could not grasp this. She tried, really did. But this statement rested outside the realm of reason.
“When I saw you writing on the blackboard that day, my heart nearly stopped. I couldn’t believe it,” Charles continued.
Desperate to understand, Laura tried to make sense of his story by repeating it. “You made a drawing that looked like me and so you gave up everything, your wife, your life back in St. Louis-”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“It wasn’t.” Befuddled, she said this slowly, flatly, her eyes narrowed.
“No.” Charles leaned forward, looked at her with intense fervency. “First of all, the drawing, it didn’t just look like you, it was you, Laura. I can’t really explain it other than I’d never drawn with such clarity before. Your face…it was so vivid in my mind. It compelled me.”
Laura’s breath caught in her chest as he told her this. While her mind still couldn’t quite follow, her heart raced ahead. It filled her ears with the loud thrumming of her pulse, made her skin feel warm, heated even. This was a lot to take in-challenging her thought process, it made her quiver inside.
“Secondly, I did not give up on my wife like she was yesterday’s news. It wasn’t…” Charles nervously passed a hand through his hair and took a breath before looking at her once more. “After I left that third time, I felt horrible, harboured unimaginable guilt for the pain I’d caused you. The sight of you hurting like that… it nearly crushed me. And when you told me you never wanted to see me again, I had every intention of respecting that.”
Hanging on to his every word, Laura felt conflicted. A part of her wanted to hear this, another did not.
In the end, she listened.
“I knew it didn’t make up for not telling you that I was married, but it was your wish and I was determined to abide by it-a decision I didn’t waver from even after my wife and I admitted that our relationship had run its course.”
“And yet, you came back.” Again, Laura was at a loss.
“I had to. I couldn’t…”
“Couldn’t what?” she urged softly.
“I couldn’t let you…” Charles was unable to finish his sentence, the words too difficult to utter. “The explosion,” he stated simply.
Laura understood, recalled that fateful day and how he had saved her after seeing twisted valves from his seat on the train. What he said next however, was something she could not have expected or imagined.
“I knew…” Charles murmured. “I knew about the explosion before I boarded the train.”
“Wha… how?”
“I knew what the outcome would have been if…”
Laura’s eyes remained fixed onto his, her mouth slightly agape as she waited for him to continue.
“I can’t go back. I mean I could board the train today and go to St. Louis, but it wouldn’t be the place I knew as home.”
“But-”
“I’m not of this time, Laura.”
What?
Laura’s mind began to spin. It rebelled against his latest confession and made the room fall into a haze. What he said next barely penetrated her confusion.
“I was born in 1952…”
“…I’d bought this pocket watch at an antique store, a conductor’s watch to be more precise…”
“I ended up here by chance. In fact I’d never even heard of Somerville until I saw it from the train… in the year 2000.”
“After we met, I saw your picture in a book…”
“I read the caption beneath it countless times…”
“After Kristen and I had separated, the line changed.”
“Laura Brown, editor of the Somerville Gazette, the first newspaper in Missouri to publish a cartoon-March 6, 1896. Killed in a gas line explosion at a presidential rally for William McKinley.”
“I couldn’t let you die that way…”
“…couldn’t let Mary lose her mother too.”
“One way trip…”
“I can’t go back…”
“…don’t want to…”
“You’re everything to me.”
Words, bits and pieces of sentences, they all swirled in a dizzying medley.
“Stop.” Overwhelmed, Laura lifted her palms in a halting gesture, got up abruptly and crossed the room. Her back to him, she folded her arms protectively around herself-an attempt to calm the shivers and tremors coursing through her body.
“Laura?” Charles spoke tentatively. “Look at me.”
Her breath hitching, she indicated ‘no’ with a shake of her head.
Several agonizing seconds passed as his revelation engulfed her.
“Say something.” He murmured.
A whimpering gasp escaped her lips before she managed, “What do you want me to say?”
“That you believe me.”
At this, Laura bowed her head, her shoulders rising and falling as she cried silently. It took a few moments for the words to form, but even then, they came out choked. “How can I?”
“I know it sounds crazy. But it’s the truth.”
Again, she found herself unable to respond.
“Why would I make this up?”
The sound of Charles’ footsteps echoed in the room, his slow and tentative gait mingling with the watery drumming of rain on the roof and widows.
He was standing just behind her now. Laura knew this, would have been aware of it even if she had not heard his approach. She felt his hand on her shoulder then-a light touch that was as heartbreaking in its quiet devotion.
Warmth, comforting and soothing, emanated from his fingers seeped through the light cotton of her blouse, extended to her skin.
Charles pulled softly, slowly, made her turn around.
His face almost became her undoing-the look of quiet anguish in his eyes hard to witness.
“That day at the rally, I asked you to trust me, and you did. Why? Because deep down, you knew I was telling the truth. Now look me in the eye and tell me I’m lying.”
There it was-that same expression, the one he had worn that day, seconds before saving her life.
Her composure fractured and further crumbling, Laura opened her mouth to speak. Her voice strangled, there was no sound at first. Finally, her lips moved, a trace of a whisper finding flight, if only barely. “Please go.”
“Laura-”
“I said I want you to leave.” This time, the breathless words were clearer, laced with a slight edge.
The pain of rejection on his face, Charles closed his eyes. He nodded once, and took a step back.
Her reddened cheeks glistening with tears, Laura watched as he went to grab his coat and hat.
Never before had she seen him so crushed. It hurt her to see him this way, but she was hurting too.
What he had revealed to her…
How was she supposed to accept it?
When Charles reached the door, he opened it. A curtain of rain shimmered beyond, the sound more pronounced now that it wasn’t shielded by wood and glass. He paused then, looked over his shoulder, his eyes not quite reaching hers.
“Goodbye, Laura.”
His words were filled with so much grief, and regret that just hearing them broke Laura’s heart all over again.
Unable to look at him any longer, Laura turned to face the window. Her heartbeat drummed loudly in her ear, drowned out the rain but not the sound of the door closing.
It seemed to reverberate long after he had gone-an imaginary echo so final that it opened a floodgate.
Alone, Laura fell into a chasm of sorrow. She cried quietly, her face in her hands.
~~~
Charles was soaked through and through, his feet traversing puddles of mud and cloudy water on the deserted road leading up to the Davis’. On occasion, the messy sloshing was replaced by the spongy quiet of wet grass. The green patches were scattered along the very center of the beaten road, the one place where wagon wheels didn’t grind the ground.
The weather was still fickle, the wind so temperamental it intermittently whipped stinging rain across Charles’ face.
It would have been uncomfortable and chilly, but Charles was numb to it, did not notice. The only thing he felt was the devastating blow he had just sustained, the bleeding wound in his heart, tremendous loss.
He was also blind to everything around him-the expansive countryside, the blanket of grey above, and even the occasional flash of lightning in the distance-because all he could see was Laura.
Charles saw her face set in sorrow, her eyes filled with incredulous tears. The image, already a painful memory, would be forever carved in his mind. How unbearable it was to have left her in heartbreak not once, but twice now. It was unfair, made him curse whatever force had brought him here in the first place.
Charles had accomplished nothing aside from hurting her, the woman he loved above all others.
It’s over…
This realization hit him hard, made him stop in his tracks.
I’ve really lost her.
Charles could no longer cling to the hope that had kept him going thus far. He had placed his bet, had put his cards on the table, and he had lost.
What did you expect, Charlie?
He rubbed his face and yelled out in frustration.
You just told her you come from the future, you moron.
Resuming his walk, one question bubbled forth.
What are you gonna do now?
While the complete answer was not forthcoming, Charles knew one thing.
He would have to leave this place, leave Somerville.
This had been his promise to Laura and he intended to keep it.
~~~
Minutes, hours, they were jumbled now, an abstract concept that left Laura clueless as to how long she had been standing by the window.
She could not think, could only feel as she looked outside without really seeing. Her vision was blurred, distorted by the rivulets of water running down the window pane as well as by her own tears.
Her arms as her only comfort, Laura crossed them over her midsection, feeling small tremors course through her body.
She did not know how to deal with what she had been told, the logical part of her mind rebelling, rioting against it.
You’ve got to get a hold of yourself, Laura.
It would be dark soon and she would have to get home.
The rain unceasing, the trip back to the homestead would undoubtedly be wet and cold. But Laura didn’t care about that.
Her only concern was masking what she felt. How she would manage that was beyond her. But Mary and her mother could not see her like this.
Wiping her face, Laura took a calming breath, spun around and paced a bit.
Calm down, calm down, calm down.
This mantra as her anchor, she slowly regained some semblance of control-external composure that hung on by a thread.
Numb, she gathered her shawl and her hat, locked up and went to her wagon.
It didn’t take long for her dress to be soaked, for the water to seep through the straw of her hat drenching her hair beneath.
“Sorry about this, Turnip,” Laura spoke over the whipping wind and looked at her horse apologetically as she hitched him to the wagon. “The barn will be nice and warm, I promise.”
Once seated, she clicked her tongue and flicked the reins, prompting the horse into a brisk walk.
As eager as she was to get out of the downpour, Laura dreaded arriving home, knew that holding it together would be more than a little difficult.
You can do this.
In an attempt to keep from losing it, Laura focused on the road in front of her. Mud, water, wagon tracks-a mess.
Such was her life-a big ole’ mess, a storybook of loss and hardships.
Laura was tired, so very tired.
The ride home was both interminable and fleeting, a contradiction born of the emotions coursing through her.
After getting Turnip in the barn, she crossed the yard and finally reached the porch. There, she removed her muddied boots before reaching for the doorknob.
Don’t think, just be.
This was the thought that gave her the courage to open the front door, to step inside and look around.
There was no one in the kitchen or parlour.
In silence, Laura leaned back against the door, her heart pounding wildly.
Take a deep breath.
She did but it offered little solace.
“You’re gonna catch your death if you don’t get out of those wet clothes,” Mrs. Clark’s voice resounded from the parlour.
Laura turned her head sideways and saw her mother emerging from her bedroom “Where’s Mary?”
The older woman crossed the room, sank into one of the upholstered chairs and reached for her needlework. “Getting ready for bed.”
“That’s good.”
From where she sat, Mrs. Clark eyed her daughter for a second. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, fine.” Laura straightened, her face marked by an unconvincing smile. “I better go change before saying goodnight to Mary.” She then walked through the parlour and toward her bedroom, feeling her mother’s questioning gaze the entire time.
~~~
With nightfall came a slight tempering in the weather. The barrage of thunder and lightning had ceased and the pounding rain had lessened to a drizzle.
Unable to sleep, Laura lay curled up on her side, eyes rooted to the oil lamp on her nightstand.
The tiny flame cast its gentle glow on the ceiling above, on the walls around. It swathed Laura’s bed in a calm ginger, bathed her troubled features as well as the damp tresses sprawled on her pillow.
While the room had this air of serenity, the woman lying in its solitude was besieged with memories and impossible notions.
She had never felt confusion and conflict to such an extent before. It was unsettling, it was…
Burying her face in her pillow, Laura surrendered to her thoughts and started to relive her relationship with Charles-this time with a whole new perspective.
…
“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
Indeed, the stranger who had been inquiring as to the date stood wide-eyed, his gaze transfixed as though the sight of her stunned him.
He stammered a bit as he responded. “I’m sorry, it’s just you look exactly like…” Unable to finish, the handsome man let his statement trail.
Though he didn’t say any more, his eyes remained fixed on hers, as if spellbound.
“Aren’t you going to buy the paper?” Mary’s voice broke through his trance, made him snap out of it.
…
Though slightly puzzled by his reaction toward her, Laura had brushed it off and hadn’t thought further of it-until today.
His story about sketching her before they had even met…
It can’t be.
It had to be an odd coincidence, nothing more-the alternative being too farfetched, too mind-boggling.
And so Laura turned the page, revisited yet another moment spent with Charles.
…
“Look at the size of that sky.” Charles looked up in wonder, seemingly awestruck by the surrounding countryside.
“You don’t get out to the country very often, do you?” Laura found it amusing-a city man captivated by fields, fences, trees, and a rather drab looking sky.
He laughed. “No, not like this.”
“I’ve never been to St. Louis.”
“It’s too far,” said Mary from the back of the wagon.
At this, Charles tried to hide an amused smile.
“Something funny?” Laura asked.
He shook his head though kept smiling. “No, no. I’m just having perhaps the most interesting day of my life.”
“If this is your idea of interesting, Mr. Lattimer, your life must be rather dull.”
…
Back then, Laura had attributed Charles’ fascination with the seemingly ordinary to a lifetime spent in the big city.
Could it have been more?
That she was even debating this seemed absurd. Turning to lie on her back, Laura covered her face with her hands and exhaled sharply.
While she outwardly projected frustration, inside, she was barely holding on-the lump in her throat increasingly distinct with every passing second.
This is ridiculous.
A pause and then another thought.
Is it?
...
They sat on a gentle slope by the river-the sounds of ducks echoing in the distance-watching as Mary played by the bank.
They had been talking for a little while now, slowly getting to know one another.
The conversation had drifted from cartoons to life in general. Charles had spoken of how he envied Laura, her life. He had described his perception of it as being rich, full, and warm-a very different thing from where he came from.
“You know if I could pick a time to live, any time, I’d pick right here, right now. The brink of a whole new century, with so much promise ahead.”
Laura smiled as she hung on to his every word. In truth, she was rather impressed with him. “Then you must be quite content.”
...
Lost in melancholy, cohesive memories faded to small snippets, words and sentences that Laura had never made sense of.
...
“Keep an open mind about McKinley.”
...
“Listen, listen you fight for what you believe in. Freedom and equality is what this country was founded on. Stir things up, make some noise. It’s the only way change will come and believe me…it will come.”
...
“If only I were a hundred years younger.”
...
“Listen to me, my life is not right there. It doesn’t fit. I was searching and somehow I found this place and I found you. For the first time in my life, I felt at peace inside… like I belonged. I knew you, before I even met you.”
...
“There’s going to be a gas-main explosion… Trust me.”
...
The puzzle pieces were falling into place, creating an image that was so outlandish, Laura could not believe it.
Out of all the stories Charles could have conjured up, why did he choose this one?
If he had been lying, logic dictated that he would have found something more credible.
Time travel?
What troubled Laura most in all this was that she had never perceived him as a liar. Yes, at one time, he had lied by omission, but as far as she knew, he had never looked her in the eye and outright lied. At least, that’s what her heart told her.
Not only that, but there had always been something about him, something that made him unique.
“Could it be?” Laura’s quivering whisper preceded a small gasp as her breath hitched.
Closing her eyes over the mist of tears, she brought her hand to her mouth.
Her thoughts then shifted to that bizarre dream she had had-a train, clocks, Charles… and that nagging feeling that it meant something.
Time ticked by and Laura just lay there.
Is this possible?
How?
Was he telling the truth?
Was he?
This makes no sense.
Gradually, Laura’s thoughts funnelled into one inescapable conclusion.
Since she did not deem Charles to be delusional in any way…
Laura, this is crazy… you’re crazy for even considering believing in this.
Insane or not, mad or not, she could not help it.
She was coming to grips with this and it stunned her.
Sitting upright, Laura clutched the blanket to her chest and looked sideways. She caught her reflection in her vanity-saw herself staggered.
Another few seconds passed as she sat there, unmoving.
Finally, with tears rolling down her cheek, Laura came to accept her conclusion.
It was farfetched and she did not know exactly why she chose to believe it, but believe she did.
You were telling the truth, weren’t you?
Hope you enjoyed chapter 7.
continue to chapter 8