Former Choices
By Marita Linde/SinginSista
Chapter One
Thanks: Just to whatever gave me inspiration to write this. I think it was the bus, but I kind of forget. And to Amber for always listening and being supportive. Notes: I have no idea how long this is going to be. Just a YoBling Love fic, you know, because I love them (C/W)
He stared at his surroundings as he walked into the large room. People dressed in black were scattered here and there, talking mindlessly to each other as they wiped away tears. He attempted a semi-smile but gave up and instead straightened out his black suit jacket.
A sigh escaped his lips when he saw the small number of people that were present. He counted the heads and came up with something less than twenty. Not many people had known his brother, and very few of those that did had loved him.
And then he saw her, swaying slowly and sadly in the corner. Her head was down, staring at the ground, and she wasn't bothering to pay attention to the others present. The fact that she was crying made the sight of her seem tragic. He began to walk towards her. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he never could look at her without touching her.
"Vanessa," he said simply, and her head shot up. The warm brown of her eyes stared back at him as she outstretched her hand.
"Warrick." He took the hand but didn't shake it, just let it lay limply against his own. "I'm so glad you're here. I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Of course I came, he's my brother." The words shot out of his mouth instantly. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying when he was looking into her eyes. He put the hand on her shoulder, watched her blink, felt her breathe. "How are you holding up?"
"Better than I thought I would be," she said softly. "We all kind of knew it was coming, what with the cancer and all." Her words sounded warm, but when he felt her breath on his neck it felt cold. "But still, my husband is dead."
He nodded shortly, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry." I'm so, so sorry.
She half-smiled. It tickled the corners of her mouth and then disappeared. The tear-stains on her cheeks made the sparkle in her eyes seem fake and contradicting. He watched as she excused herself with a shaky voice and made her way over to the minister who would be reading the sermon.
He didn't know if he should stay. Most of all, he didn't know if he could stay. He hadn't even looked inside the casket yet. The sight of his brother would make him cry, he knew it, and he didn't want to cry in front of these people. Not in front of them, and not in front of her.
Out of loyalty and something else, he took a seat in one of the rows and half-listened to the minister, half-thought about what it meant that his older brother was dead. Thoughts weren't coming easily to him, however, because he was distracted by the shaking head of the woman in front of him, her black hair tied into a tight bun. She was crying, but that didn't surprise him. Like she had said, her husband was dead.
He got up and left. He actually walked down the aisle and out of the room, ignoring the surprised stares thrown in his direction. He was vaguely aware of the fact that she didn't turn around to watch him go, that her eyes stayed locked on the minister in the front of the room who just continued to speak about the life of Jonathan Brown, despite all distractions.
And then he was in his car, driving to who knows where, driving just for the sake of driving. He ended up at the lab somehow, maybe because it felt like he should be there instead of driving around aimlessly. He swung the door open and walked down the hallway and into the break room, where he knew she would be.
"Catherine," he said loudly, taken aback by the volume of his own voice. She turned around slowly and observed the sight of him standing in the doorway.
"Hey Warrick." Her words were soft, sympathetic. He shook his head a little and reached out for her. "You're back too early, what's wrong?" She let him put an arm around her waist, pull her in closer.
"I couldn't stay," he said, seeing the sadness in her eyes. "I just... it didn't feel right. Being there didn't feel right. Like I was some sort of phony. Trying to make peace with my brother after he's died." She nodded, and he watched as a tear fell down her cheek and stopped near her lip.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly, her voice sounding gravelly for the first time since before he could remember. "I know how hard this must be for you. I don't know if there's anything I can do to make it easier." She pushed her face against his neck, thankful for the warmth, and felt his hand against her back.
He reached up into her hair, letting the soft strands of blonde fall against his fingertips. He knew he was hugging her a little too tightly, but he didn't know if he could let go. Looking up, he saw her eyes watching him, worry flashing through them. He took her hand. "Let's go home."
She nodded. "My shift's over, anyhow." He pulled her along, to the doorway, and then through the hallway. Once outside he pressed her against his side and put an arm around her shoulder. As much as he was hurting right now, she was hurting, too. And he hated that.
"That smells good," Warrick said, picking at his fingernails as he sat on a chair beside the counter. Catherine was cooking something, he didn't know what, in a pot on the stove. She looked up to smile at him.
"Warrick, was she at the funeral?" Her words caught him off guard. He hadn't been expecting any questions about her, or the funeral. He only looked down at the ground and sighed, not wanting to answer.
"Yes," he said finally, not wanting to see the look she threw him. He wanted -no, needed- to change the subject. "You look really cute in that apron..." She smiled slightly, stirred the contents in the pot, and spoke again.
"Did you talk to her?" she asked. He had noticed early on in the evening that her attitude, not just towards him, but to everything, was different. She walked around the house a little slower, her steps a little heavier. She needed to touch him more often. He knew she was upset, and he wished he could do something about it. The only thing he could think of doing right now was to answer her questions as honestly as possible.
"Yes," he repeated. "And, to answer your next question, she seemed devastated." She didn't like his tone.
"Warrick, I was just asking." She took the pot off of the stove and set it on the table, fanning it with the end of her apron. In a million years he would never have pictured Catherine wearing an apron. "She is your ex-wife for pete's sake."
He looked at her softly. "Spaghetti?" She nodded. "Sounds good, hook me up with some." She began heaping the pasta onto a plate and when she was done, handed it to him. He took a bite and smiled. "It's good," he said between chews.
"Warrick..." she said softly, putting her hand on his. "I understand that this is hard for you to talk about, but..." Her eyes said the rest.
He looked down at his hands. "Catherine, just give me some time, OK? Just..." He raised his hand above his head and sighed. "I'm sorry about the way I've been acting. I'm so sorry, come here."
She didn't, though. She waited for him to come to her. She was completely baffled at his behaviour. One minute he was snapping at her, the next minute he had his arms wrapped around her waist and was swaying slowly with her in the middle of the kitchen. And then she heard it, the softest, tiniest hint of a sob emanating from his mouth. When she pulled him closer it only grew louder, grew to more and more sobs, till he was crying uncontrollably against her shoulder.
Thanks: Just to whatever gave me inspiration to write this. I think it was the bus, but I kind of forget. And to Amber for always listening and being supportive. Notes: I have no idea how long this is going to be. Just a YoBling Love fic, you know, because I love them (C/W)
He stared at his surroundings as he walked into the large room. People dressed in black were scattered here and there, talking mindlessly to each other as they wiped away tears. He attempted a semi-smile but gave up and instead straightened out his black suit jacket.
A sigh escaped his lips when he saw the small number of people that were present. He counted the heads and came up with something less than twenty. Not many people had known his brother, and very few of those that did had loved him.
And then he saw her, swaying slowly and sadly in the corner. Her head was down, staring at the ground, and she wasn't bothering to pay attention to the others present. The fact that she was crying made the sight of her seem tragic. He began to walk towards her. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he never could look at her without touching her.
"Vanessa," he said simply, and her head shot up. The warm brown of her eyes stared back at him as she outstretched her hand.
"Warrick." He took the hand but didn't shake it, just let it lay limply against his own. "I'm so glad you're here. I wasn't sure you'd come."
"Of course I came, he's my brother." The words shot out of his mouth instantly. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying when he was looking into her eyes. He put the hand on her shoulder, watched her blink, felt her breathe. "How are you holding up?"
"Better than I thought I would be," she said softly. "We all kind of knew it was coming, what with the cancer and all." Her words sounded warm, but when he felt her breath on his neck it felt cold. "But still, my husband is dead."
He nodded shortly, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry." I'm so, so sorry.
She half-smiled. It tickled the corners of her mouth and then disappeared. The tear-stains on her cheeks made the sparkle in her eyes seem fake and contradicting. He watched as she excused herself with a shaky voice and made her way over to the minister who would be reading the sermon.
He didn't know if he should stay. Most of all, he didn't know if he could stay. He hadn't even looked inside the casket yet. The sight of his brother would make him cry, he knew it, and he didn't want to cry in front of these people. Not in front of them, and not in front of her.
Out of loyalty and something else, he took a seat in one of the rows and half-listened to the minister, half-thought about what it meant that his older brother was dead. Thoughts weren't coming easily to him, however, because he was distracted by the shaking head of the woman in front of him, her black hair tied into a tight bun. She was crying, but that didn't surprise him. Like she had said, her husband was dead.
He got up and left. He actually walked down the aisle and out of the room, ignoring the surprised stares thrown in his direction. He was vaguely aware of the fact that she didn't turn around to watch him go, that her eyes stayed locked on the minister in the front of the room who just continued to speak about the life of Jonathan Brown, despite all distractions.
And then he was in his car, driving to who knows where, driving just for the sake of driving. He ended up at the lab somehow, maybe because it felt like he should be there instead of driving around aimlessly. He swung the door open and walked down the hallway and into the break room, where he knew she would be.
"Catherine," he said loudly, taken aback by the volume of his own voice. She turned around slowly and observed the sight of him standing in the doorway.
"Hey Warrick." Her words were soft, sympathetic. He shook his head a little and reached out for her. "You're back too early, what's wrong?" She let him put an arm around her waist, pull her in closer.
"I couldn't stay," he said, seeing the sadness in her eyes. "I just... it didn't feel right. Being there didn't feel right. Like I was some sort of phony. Trying to make peace with my brother after he's died." She nodded, and he watched as a tear fell down her cheek and stopped near her lip.
"I'm so sorry," she said softly, her voice sounding gravelly for the first time since before he could remember. "I know how hard this must be for you. I don't know if there's anything I can do to make it easier." She pushed her face against his neck, thankful for the warmth, and felt his hand against her back.
He reached up into her hair, letting the soft strands of blonde fall against his fingertips. He knew he was hugging her a little too tightly, but he didn't know if he could let go. Looking up, he saw her eyes watching him, worry flashing through them. He took her hand. "Let's go home."
She nodded. "My shift's over, anyhow." He pulled her along, to the doorway, and then through the hallway. Once outside he pressed her against his side and put an arm around her shoulder. As much as he was hurting right now, she was hurting, too. And he hated that.
"That smells good," Warrick said, picking at his fingernails as he sat on a chair beside the counter. Catherine was cooking something, he didn't know what, in a pot on the stove. She looked up to smile at him.
"Warrick, was she at the funeral?" Her words caught him off guard. He hadn't been expecting any questions about her, or the funeral. He only looked down at the ground and sighed, not wanting to answer.
"Yes," he said finally, not wanting to see the look she threw him. He wanted -no, needed- to change the subject. "You look really cute in that apron..." She smiled slightly, stirred the contents in the pot, and spoke again.
"Did you talk to her?" she asked. He had noticed early on in the evening that her attitude, not just towards him, but to everything, was different. She walked around the house a little slower, her steps a little heavier. She needed to touch him more often. He knew she was upset, and he wished he could do something about it. The only thing he could think of doing right now was to answer her questions as honestly as possible.
"Yes," he repeated. "And, to answer your next question, she seemed devastated." She didn't like his tone.
"Warrick, I was just asking." She took the pot off of the stove and set it on the table, fanning it with the end of her apron. In a million years he would never have pictured Catherine wearing an apron. "She is your ex-wife for pete's sake."
He looked at her softly. "Spaghetti?" She nodded. "Sounds good, hook me up with some." She began heaping the pasta onto a plate and when she was done, handed it to him. He took a bite and smiled. "It's good," he said between chews.
"Warrick..." she said softly, putting her hand on his. "I understand that this is hard for you to talk about, but..." Her eyes said the rest.
He looked down at his hands. "Catherine, just give me some time, OK? Just..." He raised his hand above his head and sighed. "I'm sorry about the way I've been acting. I'm so sorry, come here."
She didn't, though. She waited for him to come to her. She was completely baffled at his behaviour. One minute he was snapping at her, the next minute he had his arms wrapped around her waist and was swaying slowly with her in the middle of the kitchen. And then she heard it, the softest, tiniest hint of a sob emanating from his mouth. When she pulled him closer it only grew louder, grew to more and more sobs, till he was crying uncontrollably against her shoulder.