ALL THAT MATTERS

It was remarkable the way a single gesture, the simple way delicate fingers curled around his own, could drain all the aches and woes his shoulders labored under. Somehow Sylvia retained the ability to clear the darkest skies with the most subtle of smiles, even in exhaustion. It never failed to amaze James over and over again. But that exhaustion was increasingly more and more disconcerting, and he felt foolish for worrying her while she was in such a state. His laments were not to become and addition to her own, no matter how pure her intentions were in requesting he share them.

So he covers her hand with the one he still has free, and offers her a reassuring smile. He hopes it looks convincing enough to ease her worries. She doesn’t need to be loosing sleep over his private troubles. 

“i promise you it’s nothing of importance. my mind is just too excitable to go out when i close my mind.”

  she can tell that he’s trying to avoid confronting his concerns, whatever they may be. perhaps the fragility of her state is the cause behind his hushed-lips. perhaps he is unwilling to pitch his predicaments against her own. yet he neglects to consider the very fact that had she no intention or desire to share his troubles when she had her own to suffer through, she would never have thrown herself so willingly into this terribly timed relationship. 

  a hand lifts to cup his jaw, thumb tracing down the length of his cheekbone with absolute docility. what a shame such small and affectionate gestures couldn’t be enough to ease his tensions and the worries that creased his features

“She is taking very good care of them– she’s become less callous with them. It might be because they don’t ALLOW her to be any longer, but that could just be my observational skills needing some fine-tuning. I’ll speak with the doctors, though. request that you be able to see the boys more than once a week. Hopefully they comply.”

“Don’t worry about the boys. They understand you’re here to get better and that their ability to visit is out of your control. Any time they have with you will be filled to the brim with all they want to share with you and to catch you up. They LOVE  visiting. I can discuss their visiting further with the doctors, if you’d like. I can speak to them about allowing the boys more time with you during visits? Or maybe just to allow them to come more often?”

“My presence could never substitute that of your boys. It’s of an entirely DIFFERENT nature, and one I know will be beneficial to you, despite what any doctor may say.”

Doctors weren’t always right. He’s learned that over the years. If doctors were always right, they wouldn’t have to deliver crushing news so often. They wouldn’t be denying a mother to see her beloved children.

While her statement manages to pull a brief ghost of a smile to his lips, he continues to be plagued by his own mind and memory. GUILT sends pins and needles along the nerves in his fingertips as she proposes her offer.

SHE should be resting. She needed the rest more than he did, really, and therefore he had no right to be complaining or to DISTURB her. Not after she’s had to endure a long day of running around after her (wonderfully)   rambunctious children and ensuring they are properly cared for. Moving forward, he places a gentle hand on her arm and supplies a tight, but no less  appreciative, smile.

“–You don’t need to do that, Sylvia. Just rest.” 

❛ nonsense. it would be no trouble at all. ❜

 but strength fails her, energy well past being spent. how  remarkably absolute her exhaustion was, just as prominent  in her muscles as in her heavy eyelids, unable to stir or stand,  having allowed for over exertion during the daylight hours for  the sake of her sons, mustering up every ounce of wellness  she could to feign the cheerful disposition and ability to keep  up that the boys were so accustomed to.

 while she can’t offer james any amount of energy, she can offer  her attention, which wavers only slightly under the weight of the  want for sleep. slowly, she grasps at his hand, thumb brushing  across his knuckles, a small gesture in an effort to ease the edge  of his tension.

@mcternal

       “i WON’T apologize. i didn’t do ANYTHING WRONG.           he’s NOT my father. i won’t PRETEND that he is.”

❛ peter ! ❜

  there’s a sternness to her tone, weakened only by   her exhaustion and exasperation. 

   “but her company isn’t the same as your company. i know, mother.     sometimes i don’t REALIZE it’s getting dark UNTIL it’s dark. i’ll try     to pay more attention.”

   “ isn’t that a little bit… silly? ”

playing pretend? her oldest children were his age– he’d  just  turned  fifteen,  and  he couldn’t imagine playing pirates at his age.   he and his sister often played, when she was alive, but it had been games of  tag  and  hide  and  seek around the island.    his mother  had ALWAYS told him that heads were for thinking and not for pretending, and his grandmother had reiterated the belief. but after a moment, though, he realizes that maybe he sounded a little rude, and he smiles awkwardly, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves.

  “ –not that it’s a bad thing,  miss,  i just don’t do a lot of playing pretend. my mam liked for me to stay home, instead. they’re lucky to have you, miss sylvia, i can tell by  the way you talk of them.     but would they REALLY make you walk the plank? ”

❛ nothing wrong with a bit of SILLINESS, dear. ❜

  in that moment, the boy holds a STRIKING resemblance to   peter. less spoken out of glumness and intentional cynicism,   of course, but they’re WORDS she’s heard countless times   on a day to day basis. a chuckle leaves her lips --- despite   the remark, sylvia’s smile is UNFALTERING. she’s far too   used to bluntness on this particular subject from her own son   to be overly taken aback by the child’s remark.

   he flinches slightly at her words. he knew the truth, but he wasn’t     sure he ACTUALLY wanted to hear it. he runs into her arms, burying     his face into her, refusing to believe the same thing that took his father     could take his mother.

       “are you going to DIE too?”

  no pain that has surfaced with her illness could QUITE    compare to the HEARTACHE of confessing to her son,   watching the devastation twist the child’s features into   absolute DISTRESS. a hand lifts gently to cradle his head,   fingers stroking gently at his hair as she holds him close,   silent and otherwise still for a long moment.

   “he just said you weren’t well, but i knew that already.”

       he’d been keeping a close eye on her since his father passed away,         worried the same thing would happen to her. he noticed that is was         HARDER for her to run around and pretend with them. he noticed that         sometimes they couldn’t go to kensington because SHE WASN’T FEELING         WELL. he noticed grandmother being around more no matter how much they         told her it wasn’t needed.

   “i DON’T want to be lied to anymore, mother. i WON’T be lied to, i just WON’T.”

❛ peter --- ❜

  she doesn’t know WHAT to say. doesn’t WANT to have to confess   to her son, her BABY BOY, that she just MIGHT be dying. she can’t   BEAR to be responsible for taking away his happiness when it had   taken SO LONG for him to FINALLY gain it back. with a slow exhale,   she extends her arms towards him, ready to take her son in her arms.