Trigger Warnings: miscarriage, mention of suicide

Alex pulls into the diner parking lot around nine in the morning, and waits for a blue Pontiac to pull out of the spot right near the front door. He gazes out his window as he waits, an elderly couple hold hands as they exit the diner, Alex watches them until they make it safely to their car. The parking lot is sludge, grey and squishing under his boot as he steps down from his police vehicle after he parks. He frowns as he walks, eyes pointed down, something that can't quite decide if it's rain or snow is falling down on him, dusting his head and shoulders with wet. He hates winter.

As he enters the diner hot air bombards him, a vent above the jangling door blasting at him. The booths are full, but he's only ever sat at the counter, only ever ate alone, he sits himself down and looks around. The place is familiar now, the layout, the people, the white formica counters and the red pleather seats, he's come here at least twice a week for as long as Norma has worked here. She hasn't been the one to serve him since he snapped at her. Her avoidance had been impossible to miss, her irritation with his mere presence a visceral thing in the air between them whenever he came in for a late breakfast. And then last week she'd finally told him what had been so obviously simmering under her skin.

It would be easier, he thought, to hold his budding unreciprocated emotions in check if they weren't friends, if she didn't trust him and lean over the counter and talk to him whenever he came in. He was wrong.

Norma works Monday, Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday, five to eleven. Alex knows this because the schedule for all the waitresses is pinned to a bulletin board in the hallway that leads to the diner bathroom.

Today is Tuesday.

Norma isn't in the diner.

He gives a distracted nod to the girl that places a mug in front of him, a girl barely out of teenagerhood wearing a sour expression.

She turns away after filling the cup, filling it to the brim, leaving no room for any cream, she turns without speaking to him, walking a few steps down to an older waitress that is passing dirty dishes through a slot in the wall to the dishwasher. "I had plans today, you know," she spits, a hand with rings on every finer thuds to the counter, "my boyfrie-"

"I'm sick of your belly aching," the older waitress snaps, turning her head to glare, "orders up for table five, get going."

That older waitress is the one that comes to take his order about five minutes later, smiling at him, "Morning, Deputy," she greets, "you getting the usual?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers, nodding as he lifts his mug to his lips. "Where's Norma today?" he asks.

Alex takes a look at her nametag, Wilma, he recognizes her, she licks her lips and shakes her head, looking over his shoulder towards the irritable girl, "She called in today. She left early yesterday, pale as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. I didn't want her to drive herself home, but there wasn't much else for her to do."

A stab of guilt pierces through his belly, an actual ache that has him grimacing and placing his mug down with more force than he'd intended, he would have come for her, given her a ride home. He wishes she knew that, how would she know that, if he's never told her.

"She was sick last week too, I ran into her as she was leaving the restroom," Alex says, trying to lead Wilma into saying more. She doesn't disappoint, she leans forward against the bar, grey hair framing her face, but for a few last strands that stubbornly remain brown.

"I've been real worried about her, been losing weight and getting winded so fast," she shakes her head. "I told her to see a doctor but she says she doesn't have the money for that, she says 'Wilma, worrying like this is gonna turn you grey!' ain't that funny?" Wilma breathes out a puff of laughter and shakes her head.

Alex nods his agreement, he takes another sip of scalding coffee.

She straightens and smooths down her apron, her smile already turned towards new customers just entering the place, "Sit anywhere you'd like," she calls to them as she reaches for the little bowl of creamers further down the counter and slides it Alex's way. And to Alex, "I'll have your food right out."

Alex doesn't come here for the food. But it arrives and he eats it.

People get sick, he knows that, it's probably a stomach bug, but it's on a loop in his brain, how she'd looked when she'd yelled at him the week before, pale and shaking, red rimmed eyes that threatened tears, sweat at her hairline. Something a lot like betrayal in those blue eyes as she'd snarled at him.

He makes it through his day, he's half distracted and slightly pissed off the entire time. He hides it all under a calm facade. He hides it under a stern gaze and a motionless mouth. His shoulders are going to ache for how rigid he holds them, his jaw grinds mindlessly as he patrols and later, when he's at his desk, his left hand clenches and unclenches on top of his paperwork.

It's dark out when he leaves the station, he isn't sure the time, but he knows it's not too late. He's known since that morning that he was going to check on her, but something had been holding him back, he'd dragged his feet, but the moment is here now. It's go home or go to her. He goes to her.

The road to Nancy's is one he remembers well, even in the dark he knows the turns, he knows the potholes, he knows every bump. If he were a more fanciful man he thinks he could close his eyes and remember years ago, remember his mother singing to the radio and navigating this same road with him in the passenger seat. He could close his eyes and remember how her dark hair would fly because of the rolled down windows as the summer heat beat at them. Could remember her laughing and her happy eyes as they bounced up the mountain. If he were a stronger man he would close his eyes and think of her and of the good and happy times that live locked away in vivid technicolor at the darkest corner of his brain.

Instead, he shakes the memories away as he pulls into the parking area.

He trudges through half frozen mud, he slips twice and curses. He knocks against the door of her cabin, solid knocks. He doesn't wait more than thirty seconds.

She opens the door wearing about four sweaters and a pink hat. Her face is makeup free, bags under her eyes are a shade of purple that speak of absolute exhaustion, the rest of her face is frighteningly pale. She's bent forward slightly and leaning her weight against the door frame as she looks out at him through the still shut screen. Yellow light seeps from behind her and over the porch. "Deputy," she greets, eyebrows raised and obviously surprised to see him. "What are you doing in my neck of the woods?" something about her tone suggests she'd rather he be anywhere but in her neck of the woods. That's not quite a surprise.

"Wilma told me you called in today," Alex responds, he keeps his face carefully neutral, he's trying to sound nonchalant, but he doesn't think he quite pulls it off. He's here on her doorstep to make sure she's alright, nothing really nonchalant about that.

"And you came all this way to check on me?"

"Yeah," he licks his lips and nods, "I guess I did."

Norma rolls her eyes, "Got your own little network of spies watching me?" she asks, irritated and maybe even slightly unnerved, he can tell by the way she looks him over, by the way she reaches for the doorknob, ready to slam it shut. He takes a deep breath in and looks around the porch for a second, his hands come up to grip at his waist, to rest on his belt.

"Could I come in?" he asks.

"Need a warrant for that type of thing, don't you?"

He tilts his head, giving her an unamused look, and she relents with another roll of her eyes, stepping inwards and leaving the door open for him. He opens the screen and steps inside, looking around as he does so. The pull out sofa is a mess of blankets, but everything else is clean, as clean as a shack in the woods can be. Alex shivers, it can't possibly be colder in here then it is outside, his mind is playing a trick on him, his breath fogs as it leaves his mouth. "Jesus," he murmurs as Norma pads softly towards the kitchenette. He follows after her and when she offers him a seat, he takes it.

She pulls out the chair opposite his and sits with her arms crossed, "I really am okay, aren't I allowed to take a sick day every once in awhile without the police being called in?"

The truth of it is that she looks like she's about to pass out, the truth is that Alex is more worried for her now then he had been on the drive up here. The truth of it is that Alex wants to bundle her up and carry her to a doctor this very moment. Alex doesn't think she'll like the truth of it. "Aren't I allowed to be worried about a friend?" he sends back to her, leaning forward and putting his weight against the table, it wobbles.

She smiles without any humor, "Sure, you are."

Alex works his jaw, looking around. He'd been the one to send her here, and here is looking pretty much like a shit hole, a cold shit hole that she's freezing to death in, no wonder she's sick. He'd promised to protect her…

"I don't want you staying here anymore," Alex says.

A startled sound that's almost laughter, but mostly derision, escapes her, "Oh, okay then, I'll just pack our bags."

"Really, Norma," he starts, and she cuts him off.

"We'll move into a house down on Riverview, an eight bedroom, twelve bath, Colonial sty-"

"Stop," Alex shakes his head, wincing at her tone, wincing at the way he's fucked all this up. "I'm sorry, okay?"

She shrugs, eyebrows rising, "For what?"

"For snapping at you," he opens his hands towards her on the tabletop, frustration oozing from him despite his best efforts to keep it in check. She does this to him, gets him riled up, makes him show more than he wants. "I was having a tough day, and I just wanted to eat."

That's bullshit, and he thinks she knows that, but she shakes her head, limp blonde hair falling from below her hat, falling in front of her eyes, she swipes at it angrily. "You don't have to explain anything to me, I'm just your local wait staff so-"

"You're more then that!" Alex says, voice notching up in volume, she jumps and he sighs, he rubs at his eyes and threads his fingers back through his hair, he flops against the back of his chair, "Sorry," he mutters, "you're more then that," he licks his lips, "to me, you're more then that to me."

She swallows, looking ready to jump out of her chair and run. "Oh yea?" she asks, still with that sharp tone.

"I want to be a friend to you, Norma," Alex says softly, wondering if the truth is written on his face, wondering if she can see it there. The truth, he's been dreaming of blonde, blue eyed women since he met her. "You can count on me, from now on. What I said at the rest stop? That wasn't bullshit, Norma."

Her eyebrows crumple, a breath rushes out of her, Alex is suddenly afraid she's going to cry. But she drags in a deep breath, she sniffs and looks over to the heater when it snaps on with a crackle, blue spreading along the coils before they burn red hot. It looks dangerous. This whole shack is a fucking death trap.

"It wasn't bullshit," Alex says again. Her eyes close softly. She plucks gently at the fraying edge of one of her sweaters, green thread wrapping and unwrapping about her finger, her foot is bouncing under the table. "Now, come on," Alex urges, "tell me, how sick are you? Do you need me to bring you to a doctor?"

She takes another deep breath in, and exhales it shakily as she blinks open her eyes, she tilts her head and looks at him. Her eyes are wet, she hiccups in a breath and promptly bites her lip and turns her head to the side again. "Everything's fucked up," she finally says, the words gushing out of her.

"Tell me," Alex urges, her tears are getting to him, and she's not even letting them fall, her eyes are wet and filled with tears.

She shakes her head, tilting her head up and wiping at her nose, looking at the ceiling as she blinks her eyes and sniffs. A sob bounces out of her chest, her graceful hands clench into fists on the tabletop. "I was pregnant, I-" her breath hiccups up again, she sobs out another breath, her whole chest shuddering, "I lost it yesterday, I think, I don't know, I- I-"

"Norma," he says, reaching for her hand, but laying his fingers gently around her wrist when her hands don't unclench. "I'm bringing you to the hospital."

Norma shakes her head wildly, "I can't-"

"Are you bleeding?"

She drags in another shuddering breath, she looks down to him, her chin trembling softly, those eyes, god, those eyes, staring into him, as if that blue can reach his soul, and he thinks he can see as deep into her. That vulnerability that he'd seen a glimpse of at the rest stop, it's laid bare before him now. It's like looking into an open wound. Violent and human. Her eyes are like deep water, and he's being pulled under. She swallows and nods, her whole face crumpling as she lurches forward in her seat, hunching over the table.

Alex stands, his chair scraping back against the peeling linoleum, it takes two steps to get around to her. He kneels beside her, his hand still over her wrist, he's pushed up the sweaters and it's her soft skin he squeezes gently, feeling her pulse, a motion he's not even aware he's doing until he realizes her pulse is rapid and weak. "We're packing a bag and we're going to the hospital."

"The boys," she objects, shaking her head.

He glances towards the clock glowing green on the microwave display, it's nearing six now, it's dark outside, "Where are they?"

"Norman's with Nancy, he's bringing me dinner back."

"And Dylan?"

Alex stands, he drags her up from her seat even though she steadfastly refuses to cooperate, "I don't know where he is. I can't go," she tells him, "I don't know where Dylan is."

"What do you mean?" Alex's brows crumple, adrenaline has invaded his blood by now. His ex-wife had a miscarriage once, he'd woken up next to her pale and nearly lifeless in the bed they shared, he'd woken in a pool of cooling blood on their sheets. Memories of her are merging with Norma right in front of him, and it's Norma in the bloody bed, it's her pale and dying and whispering his name through chapped lips.

"He didn't come home!" Norma flaps her arms wildly to escape his guiding hands, she steps away from him and looks like she considers stumbling to the sofa bed before she launches towards the counter instead. She catches her weight on its edge and raises a hand when he tries to follow her. "He wasn't on the bus, I don't know where he is. He used to do this all the time, I know he'll come home, but I have to be here, if I'm not here-"

"I will go and I will find him after I bring you to the ER, Norma-"

"I said no!" she screeches, pushing at him violently when he steps close.

He backs off, sighing exasperatedly, he's rattled and she makes him show more then he'd want.

"You don't tell me what to do!" she snarls, "You're not my husband!"

Alex takes another step back, he's breathing hard and he tries to slow it down, he holds his hands up, in supplication, in surrender. Norma, his ex-wife, an amalgamation of the two is lurking at the back of his thoughts, they're dying, dying in a pool of blood. Like lightning across his brain then, he remembers how his mother had looked when he'd found her body, how she'd looked with her dark eyes open and sightless, how she'd been covered in dried vomit and lay in a pool of it in her bed. Like lightning across his brain, he feels it on his fingertips, he remembers how cold she'd been when he reached to touch her.

He takes a step forward, and another when Norma doesn't object. He grabs at her hand and something in him, some tightly wound spring of panic, lessens when he feels her skin warm and alive. "Alright," he agrees.

She lets him fold his fingers around hers, watching him cautiously.

"I don't need the hospital," she says.

"Will you go to Nancy's, please?" he asks, he's begging. "Will you please go there until I come back with Dylan?"

She nods, her gaze skittering over his face. Alex wonders what he's showing her now, what emotion has leaked out of his tightly held control.

It takes an hour and at least a tank full of gas to find the kid, and in that time it's begun to rain. Like God up in heaven trying to drown the world kind of rain, and Alex's annoyance and his worry have been playing off each other since he left Norma with Nancy.

Dylan wasn't at any of his friends houses. He wasn't at the library or the only arcade in town.

The kid is walking down Ambrose, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his head slanted down. It's the hair, plastered down and wet, that Alex recognizes as he's creeping down the road and trying to see through the water running down his windows.

Alex turns on his lights, red and blue splatter across the puddles, reflecting off of every wet surface. Dylan looks up, startled for a moment, he doesn't stop walking as Alex comes up beside him. A blast of cold wind and rain come at Alex as soon as he lowers his window, "Hey!What do you think you're doing, Dylan?!"

"I'm taking a walk, what does it look like!" Dylan screams back.

"Your mother is worried about you!"

"Oh yea?" Dylan yells back, the snort accompanying it twists his face, his plodding steps still carrying him down the sidewalk.

Alex shakes his head, petulant little shit, Alex peels forward with a screech of tires on wet road, he speeds the little bit to the next driveway and pulls in, still partly in the road as he blocks the sidewalk. Dylan stutters to a stop, his mouth open and something like fear in his eyes as Alex unclinks his seat belt and throws his door open, stomping to stand in front of the kid so much shorter then him. Rain soaks him in seconds, he's got water in his eyes and in his shoes and now that he's so close he can see that Dylan is shivering and soaked through.

"Listen," Alex says, his tone softer than he'd wanted it to be, "you know your mother isn't feeling well and you pull this kind of shit?"

Dylan's bottom lip pouts out before he blinks and looks away, he hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder as he shrugs. "Thought she'd be happier," he shrugs again, "without me there."

This kid looks a lot like Norma, Alex realizes, not for the first time, and it's not just the eyes, but the mannerisms, the animation of their expressions, everything they're feeling is plain to see, "What the hell makes you think that?"

"She doesn't want me there, and I don't want to be there," Dylan spits, he tries to walk around Alex, Alex steps with him, holding up a hand between them.

"That's crap, Dylan," Alex tells him, he wipes water from his forehead and blinks as the rain beats down harder, "she's your mother and she loves you. Now get in the damn car before I throw you in there."

Dylan huffs, looks Alex up and down as if to see if he could follow through with the threat, but then he rolls his eyes, the eyes his mother gave him, "whatever man," he grumbles.

"Alright, come on," Alex grabs Dylan's shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he turns and them both walk to the SUV still playing red and blue across the soaked world.

Alex cranks up the heat as they climb in, Dylan's teeth are chattering.

A seething sort of anger is taking the place of the worry Alex had felt, buried feelings of remorse and regret are starting to bubble up, feelings Alex has about his mother, about how he treated her. The image of her dead body is stuck to the back of his eyelids now. He's not a strong enough man to remember that, he's not strong enough to look back. Alex aches for some whiskey. Enough of it to burn his memories away.

Dylan is pretty angry too, "You don't even know anything, you know?" he thumps himself back against the seat, his arms crossed, staring out his window and shaking his head, "My mother doesn't want me there, she doesn't even like me. I can see the way she looks at m-"

"Shut the hell up," Alex snaps.

The kid sighs.