Title: Perfect
Author: Syntyche
Rating: PGish
Disclaimer: I don't own Desperate Housewives and I am not making any money off of this fic, but I too would jam popsicle sticks down my sink for a visit from Wisteria Lane's local plumber.
Reviews will be adored and cherished.
Takes places sometime near the end of Season Two, after episode 21, "I Know Things Now," but before Edie burns the Mayers' house down. Could be considered slightly A/Uish at the beginning, possibly becoming very A/U by the end. ;D
Perfect
By: Syntyche
Perfection.
Though many of us know that we cannot even come close to achieving this glorious end, some of us can fool ourselves into believing that we can somehow manage, that we can somehow be … perfect.
Like my friend, Bree Van de Kamp. Although she had once confided to me, in a rare moment of raw openness, that she hadn't always tried so hard to be faultless, from my current view, I could see that she had redoubled her efforts to be as spotless as the silver she polished every Spring.
In fact, I could also see that if she didn't slow down soon, I would be having company quite sooner than I expected.
Fortunately for Bree, the Road is filled with many surprises, one of which is that sometimes when we stumble off of the safe path, the most unlikely people, those who barely know us at all, are the ones who reach out a hand to guide us back.
Chapter One: The Illusion of Calm
Solemnly, Bree regarded the still full bottle resting before her on the perfectly polished tabletop. She had tried very hard lately to refrain from indulging in her new-found vice, but of late the sweet lure of blissful intoxication had been so comforting, the only thing familiar in a world that had changed so rapidly despite her best efforts to hold everything together. She'd lost Rex, the love of her life; she'd lost Peter, when she'd thought they had a chance; and in the same cruel blow, she'd lost her only son.
Andrew… she sighed, dropping her face into her hands. The last time she'd felt this helpless, she'd been a child scrubbing her mother's blood off of an icy street just before Christmas.
Giving the bottle a last rueful glance, but knowing the battle wasn't over yet, Bree pushed herself away from the table, rising slowly and tiredly. It seemed to her that she was always tired these days – that is, unless she was wrapped up in the heavenly calm derived from a freshly-emptied wineglass. She knew that when she sank into the depths of inebriated peace, she was slowly destroying herself and becoming less and less of the poised and controlled woman she had been, getting farther away from the Bree Van de Kamp that her friends knew so well, but she couldn't seem to help herself.
I need to splash some water on my face.
Reluctantly leaving the wine behind, Bree walked quietly to the bathroom. The temptation of the bottle called to her, welcomed her, and wrapped her in a warm and comforting, familiar embrace. It especially helped on nights like tonight, when Danielle was away at a friend's house, and the huge Van de Kamp home seemed so alone and empty.
Ugh. Not that Danielle hadn't left souvenirs behind. Bree frowned as she dropped her eyes from the mirror to the sink. Long strands of dirty blonde hair liberally laced the ceramic basin, and Bree had the sinking feeling that there was more than she could see on the surface. Hesitantly she turned the cold water knob; as she expected, water rushed down the drain for only a moment before leaking back into the basin, filling it slowly and draining even more slowly.
I have told that girl so many times not to brush her hair over the sink, she sighed, but without any heat behind it. She wanted to fuss, to fume, but she told herself to be patient. Trying to reign Andrew in so tightly had only had the opposite effect, and she knew she'd been walking on thin ice with Danielle as well of late. It was better to just leave Danielle alone and solve the problem herself. All she needed was a little bit of Draino and voila! Problem solved. Everything would be back as it should.
Bree sighed, raising her eyes back to the mirror and shaking her head slowly at the hollow, lonely woman who stared accusingly back at her. I am losing my mind.
Lord, this house is empty.
As she passed the table, completely clean except for a centerpiece she'd designed herself, and that still, silent bottle of wine, she unconsciously snagged the bottle on her way past. Even gripping the cool neck in her hand eased some of the tension that had been tightening her shoulders, and Bree relaxed just a little as she stooped down to reach into the cabinets below the kitchen sink. Pulling out the small bottle of drain cleaner, her full lips turned down in a frown as she gave the bottle a quick shake. Empty. Apparently, Danielle's sink clogging activity was nothing new.
Bree looked at the full bottle in her left hand, and the empty bottle in her right.
Well, I'll take care of it tomorrow.
Which meant that there was plenty of time left tonight to … relax.
Bree primly retrieved a wineglass and reseated herself at the table, relishing the anticipation of once again drowning herself in the quiet center amidst the whirlpool that her life had become.
Still, something was amiss. The clogged sink in her otherwise spotless bathroom was nagging at the back of her mind.
Bree shook her head quickly to clear it, as if she could dismiss the irritation like a buzzing fly, and redirected her attention to happily removing the stopper.
Still, that sink demanded her attention.
The redhead pulled the stopper out at last, laying the corkscrew gently on a woven coaster beside the bottle, and sniffed appreciatively at the strong, woody scent of the wine that clung to the cork. Already she imagined the delicious warmth spreading through her, fighting away the cold that seemed to permeate every inch of her slim body.
Bree tipped the mouth of the bottle towards her glass …
But that sink refused to be ignored.
With a tiny sigh, Bree replaced the cork in the bottle and rose swiftly. It wouldn't take more than twenty minutes to run to the store and back, and then she could return to her self-made haven.
Bongo whimpered, and his tired owner lifted his dark head to regard the German Shepherd warily, but with a smile.
"What's a matter, boy? Need to stretch your legs too, huh?"
Mike Delfino set aside the book he'd been skimming. He hadn't really been able to concentrate on it; his thoughts had been so chaotic since he'd …confronted … the PI Edie'd hired to spy on her neighbors to find out who Karl was fooling around with. The fact that the PI had singled out Susan as the likely culprit was almost laughable – she'd seemed to detest her ex-husband so much, Mike had a hard time believing that she'd willingly fall back into his charming, cheating arms – especially after that amazing tirade she'd launched that karaoke night on Julie's birthday.
But then, who knew? He was so damned confused about the whole thing – everything had been happening so fast, and so agonizingly slowly at the same time. He'd moved here not so long ago, desperate to find any last traces of the woman he'd loved, and found not only Deirdre, but also his son – their son – and a new woman who had laughed, teased, and stumbled her way into his heart. After being sad and in the dark for so long, having Susan in his life was like letting in the Sun. She was so … good-natured, so silly despite the rough knocks that life threw her way; she still persisted in slipping and tripping onward with a glowing determination and her bright, pretty smile.
Why had he let her go? He'd fed her that bullshit line about not giving people a second chance – what the hell had he been thinking?
Obviously, he hadn't.
But when she'd told him about Zach, about giving him bus fare to leave the state, he'd been so upset, so afraid he was going to lose his last link to Deirdre, he'd lost his temper. He couldn't even bear to look at Susan at that moment; he'd just had to get away. Since then, she'd apparently moved on with her spleen doctor, and now the PI had said that she was back with Karl …
Mike stood abruptly, shaking off his line of thought as he stretched his long legs and tried to work the kinks out of his shoulders. "C'mon," he said, jerking his head to catch Bongo's attention. The Shepherd immediately jumped up, his tail wagging excitedly, though he held carefully still as Mike gently fastened the leash to his collar.
"Alright, let's go," Mike laughed, brushing his fingers through Bongo's short fur affectionately. He followed Bongo outside, the end of leash wrapped loosely in his hand, and wandered idly behind Bongo as the dog poked and sniffed at anything and everything that was even remotely pokable or sniffable. Mike smiled, relishing in the simplicity and familiarity of this ritual they shared every evening since they'd moved here. Rain or sun, they walked down the length of their street, past the Van de Kamps on the left, and the Mayers on the right. The only difference now in their nightly routine was that he walked alone every night, and he tried not to think. It was so much easier to just not think, about Susan, Deirdre, even Zach. He just … couldn't. He couldn't even bring himself to look at Susan's house anymore, in case he might catch a glimpse of her through her brightly-lit windows – or worse, any "company" she might have. She'd made it pretty clear that she was no longer interested in him, and was quite content to move on, and so had he, for that matter.
The trouble was, he regretted it now. Regretted every footstep he'd taken away from her, and hated the way her pleading voice, screaming his name, echoed in his ears and in the quiet moments of his empty nights.
It hurt. It hurt so damned much he could only try not to think about it. He didn't know what would happen when he finally did, but he did know that he wasn't planning on doing any personal reflection anytime soon.