#advent 2018

April 9, 1992- Seattle, Washington:

Robin stares at Belle for a moment, shaking his head as his jaw trembles. For hours now, he’s been crying--sometimes sobbing, his body heaving as angry tears roll down his cheeks, and sometimes not even aware of it until he feels cold tears collecting on his chin--but somehow having to tell another person makes it so much worse. It makes it real. So, when his lips part to explain what happened that afternoon, nothing comes--instead, he shakes his head as fresh tears well in his eyes and his sister pulls him into a tight hug.

She understands.

She knows the struggle that’s been the last four months.

And she’s an adult; she doesn’t need to be told.

But Roland, his six year-old son whose sleeping down the hall won’t have that same understanding. He won’t simply know what happened, and he’ll need his father to explain it to him--and Robin isn’t quite sure how he’s going to do that because he doesn’t quite understand it himself.

He doesn’t understand how less than a week ago, Marian was fine; and now, she’s gone.

“H-how am I supposed to tell him his mother died?” he asks, pulling back and searching his sister’s eyes. “How do you tell a kid something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Belle answers, her voice soft and barely audible.

“He still believes in Santa and the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. He--” Robin stops, his eyes pressing closed as he draws in a breath. “He doesn’t know how cruel the world can be. He’s too young.”

“I know he is,” Belle says, pulling him back to her. “But he has you still, you know.”

“I don’t think--”

“You two will get through this together.”

Robin nods as he pulls back. “You’re right,” he tells her, not really believing that. “I, um… I should…”

“Yeah…”

Swallowing hard, he makes another failed attempt to compose himself as Belle leads him to the back bedroom, and he searches for something to say, for a place to even begin…

Marian hadn’t wanted to tell Roland she was sick.

First because she didn’t want to ruin his Christmas--the last Christmas she might have with him--and then because her doctors were encouraged by her response to a new, experimental treatment. By spring, they had every reason to believe she’d make a full recovery, that she’d defy the odds of her diagnosis. They told them that they should be hopeful and optimistic, so again, telling Roland seemed a moot point, and Marian argued there was no reason to worry him unnecessarily.

And who was he to argue?

Then, two weeks ago, Marian woke up in the middle of the night with flu-like symptoms. Robin got up with her and made her some tea as he called into work, then called her doctor. He’d wanted to take her to the emergency room, but Marian argued and the doctor on-call told them to watch it through the night, and if by morning her fever hadn’t dropped, to bring her in.

He’d gotten into bed and held her as she sipped the tea, and before she drifted off to sleep, she told him that she was feeling better. He knew then that she’d said it for his benefit--she never liked to make people worry about her or fuss over her--but something hadn’t sat well with him. So, he called again and again, the doctor advised to bring her in in the morning.

A neighbor had taken Roland to school--and thankfully, this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence--and by then, even Marian conceded that they should probably go into the ER.

She was admitted and given fluids, and he’d fallen asleep at her bedside, holding onto her hand. He’d awoken when a nurse came in, and then, at Marian’s request, he’d stepped out for the examination. He went down to the cafeteria and gotten a cup of coffee before finding a payphone and calling Belle, asking if she could pick up Roland. As she always did, Belle agreed, promising to keep things light and make no mention to Roland about where his parents really were--and then, as he thanked her, he felt a sinking in his stomach.

That feeling never went away.

For two days, he sat at Marian’s bedside, watching idly as she got sicker and sicker, and one thing led to another. Her body was weak from treatment and her immune system was shot; she simply hadn’t been able to fight off the virus. His entire body had gone numb as the doctors told him and that terrible feeling he’d been pushing back since the moment Marian was first diagnosed came rushing forward, leaving him inconsolable.

Telling Roland would be the single most difficult thing, though.

Roland knew something was wrong. He was a smart little boy, and though he loved sleepovers at Aunt Belle’s--and the movies and ice cream and pizza that came with them--they never happened in the middle of the week and they never happened so abruptly.

Drawing in a long, deep breath, he tries to compose himself, watching as Roland fidgets on the bed--and when he tries to smile, he finds that he can’t, even for his son. As their eyes meet, Roland’s jaw starts to tremble and his eyes widen as he notices the tears in his aunt’s and father’s eyes.

“D-daddy?” he asks, his voice cracking as Belle pulled the door closed to give them a little privacy. “W-what’s wrong? Where’s mom?”

“Mom got sick,” he says, somewhat abruptly, not really knowing what else to say as he crouches down in front of his son, still trying to figure out what he’s supposed to say, how he’s supposed to explain this, and how he’s supposed to live with himself after shattering his son’s entire world. “She--”

“Is she in the hospital?” Roland asks, his voice full of alarm. “Did she have to stay there?”

Robin shakes his head and his face crumbles. His heart aches as he looks to Roland. “It, um… happened so fast,” he tells him, thinking of how cruel it seems that after her grim diagnosis, she’d die from something as common as the flu. “Roland, the doctors, they, um… they couldn’t help her. She was too sick and--”

“No--”

“Roland--”

“No,” he says again, this time louder as his voice fills with panic. “They had to help her. That’s what doctors do! They make people better when they’re sick.”

“They tried, but--”

“No.”

“I’m so sorry, Roland,” Robin says, his voice catching in his chest as tears well up in his eyes. “They couldn’t. They tried. They really did, but… they couldn’t make her better.”

“But that’s what they’re supposed to do!”

“I know, Roland, and they tried.”

“But--”

“She’s gone. They did everything they could, but they couldn’t save her.” For a moment, Roland just stares at him as tears stream down his cheeks. Robin strokes his hands over his knees and up his thighs, just like he used to when his son was a baby because it always seemed to calm him. “I’m so sorry, Roland.”

Roland’s face reddens as it scrunches up, and when his lips part to say something, all that comes out is a cry. Robin pulls him into his arms, holding him as tightly as he can, rocking him back and forth as he rubs his back--and, despite his efforts to calm him, nothing seems to work.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know it isn’t.”

“Why her?” he asks, burying his face into the crook of Robin’s neck. “Why mom?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, his throat tightening as struggles to maintain the little composure he has. “I’ve been asking that same question.”

“It’s not fair,” Roland says again, his time quieter as he hugs himself closer to his father. “It’s… just… it’s not…”

“I know, son,” Robin sighs. “I know it’s not.”

He holds Roland a little tighter as he stands up and shifts himself to the bed, sitting back against the pillows as he swings Roland’s legs over his lap. He cups the back of his head and presses a kiss to his hair, and for a while, neither of them says anymore.

Every now and then, he glances to the alarm clock on the bedside table, watching as the minutes pass. It’s odd to him, that time is moving normally because since the moment Marian died--since he stood at the back of her hospital room watching as the heart monitor let out a long, languished beep and as her doctor took her pulse and shook his head--time seemed to stand still.

But he and Roland had been in Belle’s guest room for more than two hours.

Roland’s cries had quieted, and he thought maybe he was asleep. When he was a toddler, he often cried himself out, exhausting himself and falling into a long, hard nap whenever he was really upset. Marian called it the calm after the storm; but now, he couldn’t help but think that was only the beginning of it, and he couldn’t see a way any of this would ever be okay.

_____

April 9, 1992- Greenwich, Connecticut:

Regina stares down at the divorce papers in front of her--her signature in blue ink, and Leopold’s in black--and a little sigh escapes her. She thought she’d feel something when she saw them--something, though she’s not sure what--but instead, she just feels numb.

Her marriage hadn’t been a happy one, not even at the start.

She and Leopold met at a fundraiser that her mother was hosting. He’d been dateless and so had she, and her mother couldn’t help but push them together. She was young and pretty and he was wealthy and established, and according to her mother, Leopold Blanchard was all her mother had ever wanted for her.

At first, she’d scoffed at the idea of dating him. He was twice her age and lacked a personality, but she’d just gotten out of yet another disastrous relationship and she figured Leo would be something different. Two nights after they met, he called to invite her to an art gallery opening; and while she wasn’t interested in any of it, she agreed to go, figuring she could use a change of pace. After all, she wasn’t having much luck find love on her own, and she figured there was little harm in his invitation.

And her mother had been delighted.

When she got home, her mother was waiting and she’d sat on the edge of her bed asking for all sorts of details and beaming as Regina embellished the dull evening.

Then, the next day, Leopold sent her flowers--and her mother gushed about it, making it nearly impossible to decline a second date or a third… or a fourth. After that, she knew that she could never fall in love with Leopold Blanchard and that she was wasting his time as well as hers, but her mother took it as a personal insult, reminding her that she wasn’t getting any younger--after all, she was pushing at thirty, and after that point, finding someone would be much harder.

Of course, Regina was barely twenty-four, but her mother’s words combined with her lack of success dating had an effect on her. So, she agreed to another date, and before she knew it a year had passed.

Everyone constantly told her what a catch Leopold was and how lucky she was to have landed such a desirable bachelor, taking her aside a parties and asking her how she did it--so, naturally, she thought the problem was her and she wondered why she didn’t see what everyone else seemed to.

Leo proposed to her at gala opening in front of her mother and a large handful of other guests whose names adorned buildings in Hartford and Manhattan, and though she knew she was more than certain she wasn’t in love with him and could never be, she’d simply nodded and said yes. Everyone clapped and her mother rushed forward to hug her, and for the first time that she could remember, she told her she was proud of her.

And that had been that.

They’d married that summer and it’d been the event of the season. Everyone who was anyone was there and their wedding picture made the front page of the society section of the newspapers--and she knew she should be happy.

But she wasn’t--and that was a common theme of her marriage.

Henry had been the lone bright spot--an unplanned bright spot that made her stay longer than she should have. She put up with his affairs and dismissiveness, and she came to expect her birthday to go forgotten. Long before they even filed for divorce, they’d gone their separate ways. Still, though, now that it was over she thought she should feel something, yet here she was sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for Mal and feeling nothing.

She sighed and tucked the papers back into the envelope, then tucked the envelope into her purse, and for the  millionth time, she wondered if love would always evade her, if she was meant to always be alone. Sure, she had her son, and on most days, he was more than enough. But Henry was nearly ten and if the first ten years were any indication, the next eight would fly by.

And being alone in an empty nest seemed immeasurably bleak.

“Tall decaf cappuccino!”

Looking up, she watches as the barista sets her cup down on the counter, and shifting her purse into the chair beside her, she gets up--and as she reaches for her coffee, so does someone else.

“Oh, no, that--”

“Regina.”

Her eyes widen as memories flood her. “Daniel, I--”

“How are you?”

“I’m--” She stops, suddenly remembering the night they broke up and how terrible she’d felt afterward. “I’m good. I’m… good.”

“Is this…?”

“My coffee?” she supplies. “It is, or I think it is.”

“Seems like we ordered the same thing.”

Slowly, and a bit awkwardly, she reaches for the cup of coffee--and in the back of her head, she hears Mal’s voice telling her that this is a sign--and though she doesn’t personally believe in signs (or fate or destiny or anything of the like), it was quite the coincidence that she’d run into an ex-boyfriend--who she often lamented was the one who got away--on the day her divorce was finalized.

“Do you, um… have plans for that coffee?” Almost immediately she grimaces at her own awkwardness. “I mean—“

“Are you asking if I want to sit down and have a cup of coffee with you?” Her cheeks are still warm and she offers him a sheepish and uncharacteristic little half nod. “Because I’d love that.”

“Oh.”

“Is… is that what you meant? Because—“

“It is!” she says, a bit too quickly. “I just—“

“Let’s sit.”

She nods as Daniel chuckles softly—and all the way back to her table, she chides herself for acting like a fumbling idiot.

“So, how have you been? It’s been—“

“Years.”

“Yes,” she nods, remember the last time they saw each other on the night when she broke up with him. “Too many.”

“It’s, uh, Blanchard now, right? You’re married?”

“Married and divorced,” she tells him, her fingers rubbing the cardboard coffee cup. “So it’s Mills again.”

“Ah—“

“And you?”

“Married? No.”

“Oh, that’s—“

“Incredibly lucky—or well, I can’t help but think so now. I might have had a different answer ten minutes ago.”

She grins—and again, a part of her agrees. It is lucky and maybe it’s even a sign.

They slip into an easy conversation, reminiscing about the past—telling old stories about high school. They talk about things she hasn’t thought about in years. Talking to him is comfortable and she feels a flicker of the person she was before her marriage—and somewhere in the middle of it all, she realizes that she hadn’t been aware that that person was lost.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Mal come into the coffee shop. Very briefly she looks away from Daniel, watching as her friend’s brows arch and when she grins, a look of understanding resonates on Mal’s face, and she moves to the counter to order her own coffee before slipping into a seat on the other side of the shop.

Giving Mal one last glance and she laughs to herself as she wonders what she might be thinking.

Mal has never made any effort to cover up her feelings about Regina’s love life. She didn’t try to hide her dislike of Leopold and she regularly reminded her that her life didn’t go awry until she broke up with Daniel and that her efforts to please her mother always came back to bite her. Given Mal’s own personal—quirky and hippie-like belief system—she would be greatly amused to learn how her friend an adamant denier of fate—came to a place where she was sitting across from a former love she often lamented was the one who got away.

She doesn’t linger on it, instead turning her attention back to Daniel, focusing on a story he’s telling of his first job out of college—a decision that made his family happy, but crushed his heart in ways he never conceived possible.

At that, she laughs—she knows a thing or two about that—and she tells him about her own decisions that led her to a relatively dull and unfulfilling existence.

She finishes her coffee before he does and she can’t help but notice the way he nurses it, almost as if willing it to last.

And she can’t help but find that sweet—and she can’t help but realize that she, too, doesn’t want this impromptu coffee date to end.

“Would you want to have dinner tomorrow night?” Daniel blurts out, his cheeks flushing as her eyes widen with surprise. “I… am having a really good time right now and—“

“I am, too,” she admits. “Dinner sounds… wonderful.”

He looks relieved and that makes her smile—she can’t remember the last time a man wanted to have dinner with her muchless looked like he’d won the lottery when she accepted.

Daniel reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, fishing out his wallet and pulls out a card. “My personal number is the first one,” he tells her, extending the card. “Just… um… in case you need to get in touch with me or, um… wanted to talk or…”

“I’d like that,” she says, grinning down at the business card. “Do you… like Italian food?”

“I like any kind of food,” he admits, laughing. “There’s a new place—“

“In Hartford.”

“You know it.”

She nods. “A friend from college owns it. I’ve been looking for an excuse to go.”

“You need an excuse?”

“Well, my nine year old isn’t exactly the fine-dining type and he’d be sorely disappointed to learn that pizza is not real Italian food.”

“A disappointment I know well, but I am sure the good company will more than make up for it.”

“I’d hope.”

“So, shall I pick you up around seven?”

She blinks—she thought maybe they’d meet. “Alright,” she hears herself say, not quite sure how she’s going to tell Henry that she’s accepted a date—on a school night and the day after her divorce was finalized. “I think that’ll work. Can I call you tonight to work out the details. I need to find a sitter and double check my son’s schedule. Between Little League and homework and the equestrian lessons I’m forcing on him—“

“Equestrian,” Daniel says, brightening. “Do you still ride?”

“When I can force my son into coming with me.”

“Fantastic.”

“Is it?” She asks, laughing quietly. “I’m sort of afraid the forced bonding experiences are going to backfire on me one day.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, shrugging absently. “But now I’ve got an idea for a second date.”

“A second date—“

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that a bit premature? What if you find more than twenty minutes with me completely insufferable?”

“I highly doubt that’ll be the case. We always got on well and I am having a fantastic time right now.”

She grins. “I am, too.”

“I only wish that I hadn’t made plans this evening.”

“Ah—“

“I’m meeting with a client to discuss all the brilliant ways I’ve come up with to stretch his dwindling inheritance.”

“Oh. Fun.”

Daniel’s eyes roll. “That’s one word for it.”

“So if I call you around nine—“

“I look forward to that.”

“Me, too,” she admits as he rises up from the table. “I’m glad we ran into each other today.”

“I am, too,” he tells her, tossing a few bills down onto the table to cover his portion of the tip.

They exchange awkward little waves as he leaves and before he’s even out the door, Mal is at the table, sliding into his seat.

“That was—“

“Yes.”

“Oh, my, what an interesting turn of events!”

“You’re telling me.”

“Here I thought I’d be helping you nurse your wounds, but it seems you’ve found someone else to help you nurse them.” She grins a bit coyly. “Someone far more qualified.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but we do have a date tomorrow… provided I can find a sitter.”

“Are you asking me to babysit my favorite child?”

Regina’s brow arches. “How would your daughter feel about that?”

Mal sighs. “Lily will be coming with me and it’s no secret that she and I aren’t on the best of terms.”

“Oh?”

“Last night, Lily nearly set my drapes on fire hiding her cigarette and then still tried to deny that she was smoking.” Again, Mal sighs as she leans back in the chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “So, yes, spending an evening with your innocent, adorable son sounds absolutely delightful.”

“Well, this is a change of pace.”

“You dating?”

“Well… yes, but… I meant this talking about your problems instead of mine.”

But he? He fell through. He was too rebellious. By now he spent much time at the Holt’s and with Shiro. He hated it at home and now he had to be away for two whole weeks during summer. His foster dad’s family lived in Seattle and Keith missed the heat of the Arizona sun. It was summer! It was supposed to be hot! Really hot! And not the lousy 77 degrees that it had here.

So his mood was bad and he let his so-called family feel it.

 Thank god there was the maid, a woman of about thirty years. She was kind to him, always had been. She gave him an extra piece of chocolate which Nyma always got and he never. She took a few minutes to sit with him and play. Keith, despite his youth could see that she had had a troubled life as well, but he never asked her about it. He was more in need of comfort, they both concluded.

 At one point Keith started to help her with her chores. He had to do so at home as well so he didn’t think much of it and ignored all the comments about cleaning must be his place. They didn’t get it. They didn’t get him. They didn’t want to get him...

But Krolia did! He didn’t know how it happened but he started to open up to her. Told her how much he loathed being with these people who treated him like shit and showed him how much he didn’t fit in on a daily basis.

 “I don’t get why people treat children like this...” Krolia said. “They are a gift! You are a gift, Keith!” She smiled and brushed her fingers through his hair. They were sitting at the front porch in the sun during her short lunch break.

 “Do you have children?” he suddenly asked.

 She looked down on the grass. Then she slowly shook her head, pressed her lips together. “No. Not anymore...”

 “What do you mean?”

 “I... was pregnant. I had a son. He must be your age now. But I was only eighteen. His father was a bit older and had a job. So when we had to move here, my son stayed with him. We stayed in contact of course but from one day to the other it broke. I stopped receiving letters and never heard of my son again. I... don’t know what happened to him.”

 “Do... you still think of him?” Keith asked.

 “Yes. I... I imagine what his life looks like. I hope he’s happy... has friends... enjoys his life...”

 Keith nodded. “He would love you! I’m sure of it.” He liked this woman who was so warm towards him. Did he remind her of her son? “What is his name?”

 “It’s funny... His name is Keith as well.” They laughed because of that coincidence. But Keith was not a very rare name.

 Then she returned to her work and left him on the porch. He was thinking. If only she could be his mother!

 ~~~

 “Say, Keith... When is your birthday?” Krolia asked. Keith’s stay here was almost over. They would leave the next day.

 “October 23rd.” Why did she ask? It was of no importance.

 She raised an eyebrow. “Were you born in Austin, Texas?”

 “Yes. How do you know?” He had never told that anyone. If anyone asked him he’d say he was from Arizona.

 “And your dad was a fire-fighter as you said. His fist name didn’t happen to be Heath?”

 “What? Yes... Born on April 3rd...”

 Krolia shook her head disbelieving. Was she tearing up?

 “What is it? Krolia?” Keith wanted to know what was going on. How did she know... these things? Or... They had talked much about family, his family and hers. Could it be that she had puzzled things together? They were not unsimilar when he looked at her he found features he also saw in the mirror, and she had a small heart-shaped birthmark behind her right ear... could it be... “Mom?”

 She nodded. “Yes... yes! May I... hug you?”

 He did it for her. It was strange having someone else than Shiro hug him but it was... nice. Having a mother was... nice. Although it was hard to believe. They both cried a bit. “Let me take you in!” She said when she let go of him again. “I... want you to be happy! I can’t afford much but...”

 “I...” That was a bit sudden. “I need to think about it... Talk to Shiro...” The first thing he thought of was his best friend. He wouldn’t be able to see him this often if he lived with his mother. A person he barely knew. And Shiro was his oldest and best friend... And perhaps by now he had a tiny innocent crush on him.

 “I see. I’ll give you my number and address. Let’s stay in contact?”