#mysnakes

A post Season Two missing scene

It took FP two days to knock on her door after Hal was arrested.

The knock was soft and at first she wasn't sure anyone was really there at all. She waited for a moment and pulled her blanket up to her neck, willing any stranger outside to leave her in peace but when she heard his second rap against the door, clear this time, she rose ready for a fight.

Alice sighed in relief when she saw him on her stoop, one hand sliding through his hair, the other holding a white paper bag. He was the last person she expected but, she realized, the only person she really had been hoping to see. She could tell immediately he was uncertain of his own presence and his hesitation made her heart heavy. He cleared his throat and extended the bag to her.

"Onion rings? Pops?" He hesitated as she took them from him, hoping she'd say anything, give him any kind of guidance as to what to do in this particular situation. "I don't know if they're still your favorite. I don't know if you're even hungry."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, turned and looked over his shoulder at the small crowd behind him, and looked back at her as his hand made another pass through his hair. That old nervous tick was a tell that had gotten him in trouble more than once. She grabbed his hand as it fell away from his hair and slid her fingers into his, watching him relax as she did. He granted her a small, thankful smile. She returned it even though it unsettled her tear-stiffened skin. Just touching him made breathing easier. Despite their interlocked hand, he still looked so sincere, so earnest and unsure in front of her, that she suddenly wished she could assuage his doubts about being there, about caring about her. She couldn't, she knew, there was so little reason or sense in their lives, but she wished she could. FP's hand squeezed hers and she was sure her face had somehow given her away.

"I'm glad you came." She heard herself say. "Come in."

He followed her, gently letting go of her hand as she led them into the living room. He sat right next to her but she couldn't bring herself to look at him on her sofa. The house was all fake, none of it styled to her actual taste, so little real living done inside it. FP had always been real, sometimes a little too real, and to have him here in her soft world of pastels and plush pillows felt wrong. Instead of looking at him, she looked around the room. The iron fire set was missing its scoop, taken in as evidence after she and Betty had used it to beat Hal down. The floor of the kitchen was bare, the rug that had once kept her children's tiny feet warm now serving as a bloody shroud. The coffee table was littered with newspapers and tissues, an open confession of how she had been spending her time since Hal's arrest. It all made her feel impossibly sadder but she couldn't bring herself to feel embarrassed or ashamed. In front of others, surely, but this was him, and if he couldn't understand he wasn't the person she'd always thought he was.

"How are you seems like a dumb question to ask."

That earned him a wry laugh. He took her hand again and squeezed it but she refused to meet his gaze.

"Alice, I've been worried about you. I wanted to come here the second I heard but I didn't know what you'd want." He took a breath and made a pass at humor. "I wanted to kill Hal too, but I didn't think you'd want that either." She tried to smile again, to reward him for his attempt at cheering her up, but she couldn't. She dug her nails into palms.

"Al, look at me."

Her old nickname pulled her eyes to his.

"You know none of this is your fault, right?"

FP's eyes were too honest, they knew her too well. Only he would know she was blaming herself for everything, imagining all the ways she should have done better, all the damage that she could have prevented. The tears she had been able to choke back for a few hours were in her eyes immediately.

"FP, he could have hurt them. He did hurt them. Betty-" Her voice cracked and left her. She felt the sob start deep in her body and his arms were around her as it hit her. Suddenly she was shaking, crying harder than she could remember ever crying, and FP said nothing. Instead he pulled her face into his chest. She faintly registered the familiar smell of leather and Old Spice drifting around her, his body heat reaching out to wrap her up. His hands roamed her back, rubbing soothing circles and pulling her impossibly closer.

"Al, breathe, Baby. Just breathe." He whispered in her ear over and over again, coaxing her back to him. He didn't rush her, just waited, as she slowly stilled in his arms. Eventually, her breathing slowed.

"I should have known." She said, voice uneven, face still buried in his chest. "What kind of wife, what kind of mother..."

She felt FP's hands on her shoulders pulling her back, then his finger beneath her chin. The tears in his eyes shocked her.

"You can't blame yourself for someone else's crimes."

Once, long ago, she'd said the same thing to him. Now, Alice knew it wasn't just Hal he was talking about. Her hand came to his face, her thumb wiping at the few tears that had snuck down his cheeks. FP turned into her touch, almost kissing her palm but catching himself. His eyes flickered to hers, and Alice almost looked away but couldn't bring herself to. His guard was down and so was hers and the look in his eyes was too intense. It had always been too intense, his love. The few moments it had ever been hers it had scared her. His love had made her crazy, ruined her for anyone else, and here he was offering it after two decades of withholding, after years of separation, of children, and failed marriages.  

"FP, you don't have to."

She wasn't sure what she was trying to say but she wanted to give him one last out, one last chance to tuck tail and run. He didn't take it.

"Al, I wouldn't be here for anyone else."