A/N: The initial inspiration for this story came from "Lullaby" by the Dixie Chicks, but grew from there, centered around the idea that even the smallest of moments can be defining over the course of a lifetime together. There are some fluffy moments to be sure, but because Francine Louisa made an appearance as I was writing, a tissue warning is in effect. But the pictures for this one were some of the strongest she's provided in a long time, and I hope that I've done them justice. -AnaG
For Wills and for Kate.
Lifetimes, she thought. They happen in the space of a breath. Major milestones marked in the traditional manner, but the memories, those came in the hidden moments. The times when satin and lace in the moonlight were traded for worn flannel and faded sweats and familiar comfort. Stolen naps on languorous Saturday afternoons and nights when exhaustion left room for only the briefest of kisses before sleep claimed them. Angry exiles to the sofa, extra blanket and spare pillow in hand, that were somehow worse than the lonely separations forced by work and obligation. Tears and whispers and laughter and silence shared in the sleepy, quiet hours that are sometimes forgotten until they are needed most.
xxx
He hesitated, and then pulled the box of cookies from the cabinet. It wasn't a big deal, he told himself. A friendly gesture from one partner to another. Oatmeal raisin, although of the sugar-fat-gluten-and-completely-taste-free variety. He didn't understand how she could eat them, much less that they were her favorite. But damn if he wasn't the slightest bit pleased with himself, not only for noticing, but remembering to have some on hand for their next marathon paperwork session.
So. Coffee. Cookies. Throw in a couple napkins. For a split second, he considered getting out one of those tray things, making a whole production of it, but quickly abandoned the idea because one, he wasn't a girl, and two, he had no idea where the stupid tray was anyway.
Gathering everything up, he walked from the kitchen into the living room where they'd been working. But then he stopped short, the quick quip already forming on his lips forgotten the moment he saw her. He didn't know how long he stood there, completely amazed and even a little guilty, as if he was stealing away a private moment. It was impossible to look away though, and truth be told, he didn't want to. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so still, so peaceful, as she was there, curled into the corner of his sofa, her head resting against its curved arm as she slept.
One hand curled beneath her cheek in the forgotten gesture of a child; the other, still loosely gripping a pen, rested on an open case file at her side. Lips parted slightly, as if sleep had overtaken her in the middle of a forming thought. A lock of hair that had fallen forward, hiding the curve of her cheek. He could almost….
The implications of the incomplete thought broke the spell, and he quickly moved forward before it could be finished. He placed the mugs on the coffee table, careful not to disturb her, and slid the box next to them. Hands at his waist, he released a deep sigh, knowing that the best thing to do was simply wake her and then offer her a ride home.
Instead, without knowing why, he found himself reaching forward to gently ease the pen from her hand. When she stirred, he froze, holding his breath until she quieted again. Slowly he slid the file away, a faint smile forming when he saw the wayward line her sleepy pen had trailed across the page.
He stepped away, placing the file and pen on top of his own stack of files. Taking the woven blue blanket from the back of the sofa, he draped it over her sleeping form, softly settling it over her shoulders. He drew his hand away, then hesitated, before reaching forward once again, this time to trace the wave of hair away from her face, his fingers lightly grazing her skin before retreating.
Suddenly ill at ease with the unexpected tenderness, he straightened and went to his own chair. Taking her file from atop his own, he propped his feet on the table, determined to find focus. But, when his eyes settled on the page, they didn't see the lines of the form, but the bright blue ink traveling in a directionless path across the paper.
It reminded him of the blue spark in her eyes, that first time he'd seen her, when he'd understood, without knowing exactly why or how, that something indefinable had shifted. He'd assumed, wanted it to be related to work, in their common need to make things right. But over the few short months of their partnership, he could sense the mark that she was leaving on his life, as bright as the line on the page he held now, even if he couldn't define its direction.
Yet, sitting there, the folder resting against his chest as he watched over her, the steady rhythm of her breathing like a faint and measured lullaby in the quiet room, he could almost…
xxx
She walked with exaggerated stealth across the space from the bed to the dresser. Biting her lip, she slowly opened the top drawer on the left, reaching in to retrieve what she wanted before easing it closed. Balancing her weight against the wooden edge of the furniture, she raised first one foot and then the other as she hastily slid a patterned sock over each. Once finished, she looked down, an unconsciously satisfied smile forming as she moved her toes in the warm cotton. In the darkness, she couldn't tell if they were grey with red stripes or the ones with blue and green, but it wasn't the colors that mattered to her.
Mission now accomplished, she hurried back to the waiting bed, quickly sliding beneath the light warmth of the coverlet. Head resting on her pillow, she looked across the short distance, her breath catching as his familiar features resolved in the shadows, the sight of him there bringing a flash of dreamlike astonishment even now. Partners for years, lovers for only weeks, there was still a part of her that couldn't quite believe that it was real.
Here she was, wearing one of his shirts, the worn cotton soft against her body, as she lay only inches away from where he slept. She could slip from his bed, to 'steal' a pair of his socks, knowing, even though he would grumble about it later, he really wouldn't mind the small indulgence. And, if she wanted to, all she had to do reach out and touch him, rest her hand on his arm or shoulder or chest; the intimacy of the heat from his bare skin, the strong planes of muscle and the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath her fingertips, all allowable, because he was hers. And she, his.
So, because she could, she did. Closing the space between them, she curved her body against his, and as he reflexively drew her nearer still, she sighed, accepting the quietly contented pleasure of knowing that this was where her life had brought her.
xxx
His back had stiffened and the hard surface of the floor bit into the muscle of the leg bent beneath him. Numbness had settled one arm, and the collar of his shirt, pulled tight against his neck, chafed against the skin. But he wouldn't move, not an inch, for fear of disturbing whatever brief peace she'd finally found.
She was quiet now, and though he couldn't see the face buried against his chest he knew that the tears had dried. But even as she slept, her hand still clutched at him, her fingers wrapped in the fabric of his shirt as if it were a lifeline.
They were on their way to dinner, had almost made it to the door, when the phone rang. Both of them had rolled their eyes, but after years of working and living together, such an intrusion was second nature.
He wished now that he'd been the one to answer, that he had been able to protect her from the news the warden had called to deliver. Instead, she had gotten there first, and he stood by, waiting, his mind thinking ahead to the meal they had planned. Her back to him as she talked, he hadn't known anything was wrong until he saw her arm fall, the phone slipping from her hand.
For the rest of his life, he would remember her face as she turned, reaching for him wordlessly, her fingers grasping against air. He got to her just as her knees buckled, the weight of her grief dragging them both to the floor.
My father. Two words in a choked whisper before the first sob tore from her, the pain in the sound so raw that he tightened his arms around her, afraid that it's purity would shatter her. A lifetime's anguish, and it poured from her, tears soaking into his shirt, into him, as she wept. Through it all, he held her; the lament for the years she hadn't had, the rage at the unfairness of another loss, the regret for holding a part of herself away from him for so long. Then, as she began to drift, exhausted by the wake of rushing sorrow, came the orphaned fear of being left all alone.
So he would sit there, as long as it took, ignoring the cramped muscles and the faintly droning dial tone from the abandoned phone, to provide her this respite and hold away the return of the grief as long as he could. Proving to her in the only way he knew, that she would never be alone.
xxx
Eyes narrowed, she cast a glance at the closed door and then made her way back to the bed. Channeling her irritation at the heavy quilt, she shoved it back and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress.
It was his fault he was sleeping in the den. She didn't know why he'd looked so surprised when she pushed the pillow and blanket into his arms and sent him on his way. Certainly not the first time that had happened, especially since they had retired.
Releasing a heavy sigh, she fell back against her pillow. She knew he was feeling adrift, without the daily routine of the office, the purpose of the cases he supervised. But it was time. Time for them together without the weight of the responsibility hanging over their shoulders. That had been the plan anyway, she thought, looking over at the empty space next to her.
It had really been a stupid argument. If pressed, she couldn't say exactly how it had started. But, he shouldn't have said what he did. Maybe a night on the lumpy pull-out mattress would reinforce that.
But here she was, the one still awake. She had traded pillows, shifted from her back to her side, and even given in to the urge to slide on a pair of his socks. All of her usual tricks for curing insomnia. An hour later, she finally acknowledged the reason. The empty space beside her made the room too quiet.
She stood, dragging her pillow from the bed with one hand as she hid a long yawn behind the other. Without turning on the light, she walked from the bedroom and down the darkened hallway, an absent smile forming when a soft rumble made its way from the next room.
This was only a practicality, she told herself as she settled on the thin mattress next him, maneuvering around an uncomfortable spring, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. Not a concession, she thought, even as she drifted to the familiar cadence of his breaths and her eyes began to close.
xxx
A tiny, brown-red spot, an almost perfect circle along one edge, the other tapering away into a broken trail. Strange how the mind chooses what to see at times like these, and how the smallest things have the power to break a heart. She couldn't take her eyes away from the little drop of blood, trapped under the threads of the surgical tape holding the needle in place. Careful not to disturb the lines of plastic tubing, she gently lifted his hand from the thin cotton blanket and held it in her own. Tears blurred her vision until she didn't see age spots or wrinkles or the lines of frail bones; until she didn't feel skin that was too dry and loose, or a weight too light, but was once again holding the strong hand of the man that had held and soothed her, supported and loved her more than half of her life.
She ran her hand over his palm, wove her fingers around his, and when he didn't respond, when those fingers didn't clasp hers in return, the first tear fell. It didn't seem fair; the connection was still there, she could sense it. But now, in this awful room, in this sad, lonely place, she needed to know that he could still feel it too.
Gently, she rested his hand back onto the bed, but only long enough to release a latch, and push down the molded plastic rails that separated them. Aware of the crepe-soled steps sounding their efficient pace against the tiled hallway outside, she dismissed them without alarm. The nurses wouldn't stop her, and would, in fact, turn their eyes away. It was as if they had brokered an unspoken agreement that the time for strict adherence to the rules had passed.
Once again taking his hand in hers, she carefully shifted her weight onto the narrow bed, settling into empty space next to him, the one that belonged to her. She drifted down until she rested against him, her head nestled against his shoulder, her body curving protectively around his, willing it to accept whatever strength she had in her own.
She closed her eyes, not to sleep, but so that she could listen closely for the one thing she needed. And when she heard it, felt it, the beat unsteady and shallow, but strong in just its presence, the fear faded to a shadow.
It was the same lullaby that had ushered into sleep on so many nights of their years together; and in its rhythms she heard the wake of charming smiles and frustrating debates, the first time he called her Bones and the last time he'd been able to say that he loved her. Lifetimes, she thought. They happen in the space of a breath, and it wasn't nearly enough.
Forever wouldn't be enough.
Her mantra and pledge and plea. The words had become such a part of her that she didn't know if she whispered them aloud or if they were simply echoing in her mind, but she was certain that for the briefest and longest of moments his hand tightened around hers in quiet agreement.