a matter of time

Freedom (n.): To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing. - Ayn Rand   Caitlin Grey-Cohen | Twenty years old | Loyalist to Orion Hearst | S Gene Carrier of Time Manipulation | Resides in Dorm Room 200

[caitlingrey-cohen]

"God damn it!"

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin shifts the baby in her arms and huffs, but doesn’t say anything when Desmond brings up his family, reflecting upon her own family gatherings. She remembers hot, itchy dresses and tightly pinned hairstyles and tight grips on her shoulder from her mother. If she hadn’t behaved up to their standards, punishments were severe. She’s happy that her son has better holidays. “And here I thought things couldn’t get worse,” Cait mutters when Desmond mentions inviting Dominic and his… boyfriend? She isn’t sure what the hell they are, but she knows that would’ve been ugly. She sighs and tucks the baby back into his chair before draining the ruined stuffing and dumping it into the trash. “I still don’t understand that game. Why build a tower just to break it down?” She shakes her head. “Gen is definitely awful. But that’s true.” Caitlin notes. “Thank God for children.” She murmurs, then suddenly, a thought hits her. “Oh.” The woman says, then quickly walks out of the room, returning with a small gift. “Forgot to give this to you this morning.”

[desmond-cross-blog]

“See? You can’t win ‘whose sister/brother-in-law is worse’ game with me. I don’t think they are married though…” He has a strict policy of ‘don’t ask my brother about my ex-drug-dealer who is now dating my brother’. It makes life so much simpler. He throws in the chopped bread in a pot and prepares vegetables. He turns to Caitlin with an eyebrow raised. “The point is not to break down the tower, babe. You lose if you break it down.” He explains with a small sigh, shaking his head. “Gen’s a fun to be around. You and I just don’t share the same standard of fun… Try eggnog. Apparently it helps with horrible family members.” He says cheerfully. He is certainly in a festive mood which Caitlin doesn’t seem to share. “Oh?” He turns from the counter putting down the knife. He blinks few times before taking the gift. “Caitlin Grey-Cohen, are you gift-ambushing me? I thought we were doing gift exchange later.” A grin spreads across his face. “You are so in love with me.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

"Oh, I could come close." Caitlin challenges, but lets the subject go all the same. As he explains Jenga, her head tilts and she squints. "Huh. Well. I guess that does make more sense." Beginning to wash the bowl that she'd burnt the stuffing in, Caitlin shakes her head. "No, we most definitely do not. Alcohol may be a good resort. Thanks for the suggestion." She turns from the sink and dries her hands off, then disappears for a moment as she retrieves the gift. "One: no more Grey-Cohen. I signed the paper. My name is changed, thank you. Two: We are exchanging gifts later. But I want you to have this one now." The woman states factually, holding out a white package with shiny gold ribbon. (A woman at the mall had wrapped it. Caitlin couldn't wrap gifts to save her life.) At his comment, her lips quirk downward. "Don't push your luck. I can still return it." She comments, though a smile flickers at the corners of her mouth.

As her husband opens the package, Caitlin clears her throat nervously and rubs the back of her neck. When the gift becomes visible, she speaks up. "Um, I thought you could hang it in the bar. Or something. You have an office, right? I don't know. It's a nice picture. You said you liked it. So... Merry Christmas." She gives a tight smile, nodding down at the framed picture he's holding. It's the first picture ever taken of their little family. In the photograph, Caitlin holds the baby in her arms as she sits in a hospital bed. Both she and her husband look down at their child, smiles upon their faces. It is a good picture. It's one of her favorite pictures. So, she thought it would make a good gift. Hopefully.

[caitlingrey-cohen]

"God damn it!"

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin raises an eyebrow as she sees the Santa hat perched upon her husband’s head. He’d tried to make her wear reindeer antlers, but she’d firmly rejected the idea. “And? It’s Christopher’s first Christmas. It could be nice and peaceful with just the three of us. But no, we must be good family members and host a party.” With a stressed sigh, she rakes a hand through her pixie cut hair and bounces the baby in her other arm. “‘We’ is a strong word. I think it’s probably best if you do it.” The woman suggests before smiling at her son, who has grabbed onto her hair, but coos and reaches out when his father touches him. “We could try coloring books. Alcohol. A tranquilizer dart.” Caitlin offers seriously, though her smile returns as she gets a kiss on the cheek. She doesn’t mind her brother’s kids. She’s spent a few Christmases with them now. But Genevieve is still too much for her to handle, even after all these years. “It’s probably for the best if I face it head-on. Her attacks will only get worse if she discovers that I’ve been hiding from her.”

[desmond-cross-blog]

“Well, because it’s Chris’ first Christmas, I thought we should have a family thing.” Des shrugs as he takes out a loaf of bread, starts to chop it. “Y’know how it is for my family. We never had a family gathering.” He remembers the Christmas he and Dom used to have. Well, pickpocketing shoppers and better food at the shelters, mostly. He is happy that his son has better holidays. “And, you should be thankful that I didn’t call up Dom– and Greg.” He points at Caitlin with the spatula. The peril that could have brought gives him a chill. “We’re out of tranquilizers. You used it all on Quinn the last time we played Jenga, remember?” He points out. “Gen is not that bad. Beside, she’d probably be busy with Nat.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin shifts the baby in her arms and huffs, but doesn't say anything when Desmond brings up his family, reflecting upon her own family gatherings. She remembers hot, itchy dresses and tightly pinned hairstyles and tight grips on her shoulder from her mother. If she hadn't behaved up to their standards, punishments were severe. She's happy that her son has better holidays. "And here I thought things couldn't get worse," Cait mutters when Desmond mentions inviting Dominic and his... boyfriend? She isn't sure what the hell they are, but she knows that would've been ugly. She sighs and tucks the baby back into his chair before draining the ruined stuffing and dumping it into the trash. "I still don't understand that game. Why build a tower just to break it down?" She shakes her head. "Gen is definitely awful. But that's true." Caitlin notes. "Thank God for children." She murmurs, then suddenly, a thought hits her. "Oh." The woman says, then quickly walks out of the room, returning with a small gift. "Forgot to give this to you this morning."

[caitlingrey-cohen]

"God damn it!"

Caitlin swears as she lifts the lid off of a pot of stuffing and a cloud of black smoke hits her in the face. She coughs, sighing as the smoke alarm begins to go off and the baby begins to cry. “Hold on, Christopher, I know, I’m sorry,” she calls to the child (as if he’ll understand her) while she picks up the pot and tosses it into the sink. She turns on the cold water before quickly walking over and lifting the baby from his high chair. “Looks like there will only be one batch of stuffing,” the blonde comments to her husband as she smooths back her son’s hair. “Tell me once again: why are we hosting this?”

[desmond-cross-blog]

Desmond peeks in the kitchen with a Santa hat. He makes a quizzical look at the mess Caitlin is unleashing. “Well, honey, it’s Christmas.” He states simply as he goes over to the sink, trying not to laugh. He gets a chair to turn off the smoking alarm. “Don’t worry about the stuffing. We can just cook it separately. That’ll buy us some time–” He gets down from the chair. “We just need to find something to keep Gen quiet for a while… and the kids.” He pats Chris on the head, kisses Cait on the cheek. Then he rolls up the sleeves of his hideously Christmas-y sweater. “I’ll prep the turkey, but you can hide here if you want.” He knows how Cait is with their sister-in-law. 

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin raises an eyebrow as she sees the Santa hat perched upon her husband's head. He'd tried to make her wear reindeer antlers, but she'd firmly rejected the idea. "And? It's Christopher's first Christmas. It could be nice and peaceful with just the three of us. But no, we must be good family members and host a party." With a stressed sigh, she rakes a hand through her pixie cut hair and bounces the baby in her other arm. "'We' is a strong word. I think it's probably best if you do it." The woman suggests before smiling at her son, who has grabbed onto her hair, but coos and reaches out when his father touches him. "We could try coloring books. Alcohol. A tranquilizer dart." Caitlin offers seriously, though her smile returns as she gets a kiss on the cheek. She doesn't mind her brother's kids. She's spent a few Christmases with them now. But Genevieve is still too much for her to handle, even after all these years. "It's probably for the best if I face it head-on. Her attacks will only get worse if she discovers that I've been hiding from her."

[caitlingrey-cohen]

"God damn it!"

Caitlin swears as she lifts the lid off of a pot of stuffing and a cloud of black smoke hits her in the face. She coughs, sighing as the smoke alarm begins to go off and the baby begins to cry. "Hold on, Christopher, I know, I'm sorry," she calls to the child (as if he'll understand her) while she picks up the pot and tosses it into the sink. She turns on the cold water before quickly walking over and lifting the baby from his high chair. "Looks like there will only be one batch of stuffing," the blonde comments to her husband as she smooths back her son's hair. "Tell me once again: why are we hosting this?"

[caitlingrey-cohen]

“What the hell?”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

This isn’t the first time that Desmond has performed a concert for her coworkers. All the same, Caitlin is just as flustered every time; maybe even more so now, since she’s finally been moved up to detective. She’s got a reputation to uphold! But so does her husband, apparently. “If you come up with one, let me know.” She replies in reference to the mortgage, then sits at her desk and raises an eyebrow. “I’m never opposed to you visiting, but perhaps we could do without the concerts?” She offers, stacking some papers and putting them to the side, parallel to their framed wedding photo. The blonde finally laughs at the idea of her husband as a cop. “Keep dreaming, babe.” She replies, then suddenly a thought strikes her. “Oh – grabbed this for you.” She turns behind her and grabs two paper plates, one on bottom and one covering something as some makeshift sort of package. Once Caitlin lifts the plate on top, a donut with sprinkles is revealed. “Your favorite. Thought I’d have to bring it home, but here you are.” She hands the plate forward then sits back again. “So what was the boss making you do today?”

[desmond-cross-blog]

Des curls up the edge of his lips. “Well, the station is far too depressing and serious. I’m just trying to brighten it up a bit, babe.” He makes an offended face, gasping. “Hey, I can be a cop! Well, play one. Actually did few times. One time was actually in a show-tune but still. I look good on uniform.” He finishes with a brazen smile. His eyes follow her curiously. He lets out a hearty laugh at her present. “Awww, babe, that’s so sweet of you. Hey, we can split.” He leans in to place a kiss on top of her head. As he sits on the edge of her desk, Des cuts the donuts into half, passes one to her. The other goes into his mouth. “Well, I had to do the inventory, then some more boring retail shits. I miss working at a bar.” He has been trying out other jobs than bartender in hope of making some more cash, but none of it seems to work out. Maybe he should join Dom in the heists, but Cait being police… well, that still is the last resort. “How was your day? Of course, other than your hubby coming to work and rocking awesome tunes.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

"Oh, I see. Can't handle the heavy stuff, huh?" She jokes, then gives a look of disbelief. "Could you? Why am I the one in this chair, then?" Cait likes her job, that's why. Though it isn't what brings her the most joy in life, it gives her a routine. It gives her goals. Even without St. Mary's, she needs those. The blonde smirks. "I'm sure that you do look good in a uniform." She gives a suggestive quirk of eyebrow and leaves it at that, handing over a pink donut instead. Her smile is warm as her husband kisses her head, and she props her legs up on her desk after taking her half of the pastry. She chews as she listens to Desmond rehash the details of his day, following it with a nod. "I have always told you you'd be better off being your own boss." She offers before taking another bite of the donut. "My day? Well." Caitlin swivels in her chair and picks up a thick file. "This is a two-year-old cold case. They want 'fresh eyes' looking over it, trying to find new details. Something they missed. Something to crack it. But, as you can see on -- what did you call it -- The Board of Misery," the woman pauses and gestures towards the pinboard that holds a copious amount of evidence and various strings. "I've got a shit ton of information and yet not even a bit of an answer." She sets the large file down and rakes her hand back through her hair, which falls just past her jaw now, unlike how long it had been at her wedding. "Maybe I should just go home," she yawns, glancing at the clock. A pause follows the statement before Caitlin sits up and shakes it off. "In a few hours."

[caitlingrey-cohen]

“What the hell?”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin stands and watches the spectacle for a moment, feeling color rise on her cheeks as she gets nudged and smirked at by her coworkers. Eventually, she’s taken enough elbows to the ribs and strides forward, grabbing her husband’s arm. “That’s enough out of you.” She says, leading him back up the stairs of the precinct and into her office, blush growing worse as her coworkers applaud. They enter the room, which is still barren – she’s only recently been moved up in status to detective, and besides, she doesn’t have much to decorate with. Besides a photo of the two of them at their wedding that sits in a frame on her desk, there are no personal touches to her office. It’s a workspace, nothing more. Which doesn’t explain why Desmond is here. “So, that was fun,” she raises an eyebrow. “May I ask why you’re at my work?”

[desmond-cross-blog]

As he finishes his little concert, he looks the audiences intently. “Oi, if you enjoyed the show, pay up!” He is half-joking, half-serious. But most just laugh delightedly, as Desmond follows up. The VIP in the crowd though, is red as an apple. As Caitlin drags him away from his fans booing and whistling at them, Des gives them a wave. “I know, right? I should really make those bastards pay up though. Any way to leverage them to pay our mortgage?” He grins playfully as usually, putting down his guitar. His smile turns upside down at her question though. “What, I can visit my wife at work now?” The frown only lasts for a second though. “My work was boring as Dom’s books. God, I hate working for other people… Hey, maybe I should be a cop too!” He is joking though. He is very much well standing on the other side of the law.

[caitlingrey-cohen]

This isn't the first time that Desmond has performed a concert for her coworkers. All the same, Caitlin is just as flustered every time; maybe even more so now, since she's finally been moved up to detective. She's got a reputation to uphold! But so does her husband, apparently. "If you come up with one, let me know." She replies in reference to the mortgage, then sits at her desk and raises an eyebrow. "I'm never opposed to you visiting, but perhaps we could do without the concerts?" She offers, stacking some papers and putting them to the side, parallel to their framed wedding photo. The blonde finally laughs at the idea of her husband as a cop. "Keep dreaming, babe." She replies, then suddenly a thought strikes her. "Oh -- grabbed this for you." She turns behind her and grabs two paper plates, one on bottom and one covering something as some makeshift sort of package. Once Caitlin lifts the plate on top, a donut with sprinkles is revealed. "Your favorite. Thought I'd have to bring it home, but here you are." She hands the plate forward then sits back again. "So what was the boss making you do today?"

[caitlingrey-cohen]

“What the hell?”

“Can’t I get a moment of peace?” Caitlin mutters to herself, begrudgingly trailing after a few of her coworkers after they repeatedly insist that she follow them. She’s only just come back from making an arrest, and is not at all prepared to see her husband outside, putting on some sort of spectacle. Pushing to the front of the crowd, Caitlin takes in the scene before speaking up. “What the hell are you doing, Desmond?”

[desmond-cross-blog]

Desmond’s busking days were years and years behind, but he still plays guitar time to time, when he feels like it. And since this is a special day, he picked up his guitar and, of course, had to busk in front of the station. Her colleagues soon came out wondering what’s going on. “But, baby, you hardly even notice, when I try to show you this, song is meant to keep you, from doing what you’re supposed to. Going to work too early. Maybe we can sleep in, make you banana pancakes, pretend like it’s the weekend now” His voice isn’t exactly professional but it’s not bad for an amateur. When Caitlin finally arrives, Des just flashes a big wide grin and continues. “And we could pretend it all the time. Can’t you see that it’s just raining? Well, it ain’t raining right now. But just maybe, like a ukulele, momma made a baby, really don’t mind the practice ‘cause you’re my little lady. Lady, lady, love me, 'cause I love to lay here lazy. We could close the curtains pretend like there’s no world outside.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin stands and watches the spectacle for a moment, feeling color rise on her cheeks as she gets nudged and smirked at by her coworkers. Eventually, she's taken enough elbows to the ribs and strides forward, grabbing her husband's arm. "That's enough out of you." She says, leading him back up the stairs of the precinct and into her office, blush growing worse as her coworkers applaud. They enter the room, which is still barren -- she's only recently been moved up in status to detective, and besides, she doesn't have much to decorate with. Besides a photo of the two of them at their wedding that sits in a frame on her desk, there are no personal touches to her office. It's a workspace, nothing more. Which doesn't explain why Desmond is here. "So, that was fun," she raises an eyebrow. "May I ask why you're at my work?"

[caitlingrey-cohen]

“What the hell?”

“Can’t I get a moment of peace?” Caitlin mutters to herself, begrudgingly trailing after a few of her coworkers after they repeatedly insist that she follow them. She’s only just come back from making an arrest, and is not at all prepared to see her husband outside, putting on some sort of spectacle. Pushing to the front of the crowd, Caitlin takes in the scene before speaking up. “What the hell are you doing, Desmond?”

[desmond-cross-blog]

Her tears, as rare as they were, fell with such magnitude. The guilt pressed against his chest reminded him what he should do, and what he wanted to do. It took him over 30 years to realize that freedom is not about responsibility and duty. It was about choices and will. And he chose her.

Of all everything they share, holding each other’s hands is probably Desmond’s favorite. It’s the kind of intimacy he had never had with someone else. When they hold hands their hearts beat in unison and the warmth gave him a certain kind of assurance.

He took her to the living room. There was a box he had brought. The label and the picture on the box said it was a cradle. “I, uh, went to the store on my way here.” He explained with an apologetic look. That didn’t change anything about him disappearing, but it was a start. “We’re gonna need more baby stuff, but… we can start with this one.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin’s fingers intertwine with Desmond’s without a second thought. He’s here, something deep within reminds her. He’s back. He’s not going to leave again. She reminds herself of this as she follows him, her eyes quickly discovering a large box in the middle of the floor. Suddenly, her stomach is in knots. It’s real. The baby smiling at her from the box will likely look very similar to the child -- her child -- that will come to be in a matter of months.

The woman freezes up for a moment, terror clawing at her throat, but then she takes a deep breath and lets go of her husband’s hand. She kneels in front of the box, squinting at the picture on the front. She’s quiet for a long moment before nodding.

“It’s good.”

Cait looks over her shoulder to Desmond, her words echoing again. “It’s good.” The cradle. The baby. Them. It’s good. It’s going to be good. It’s going to be terrifying, and challenging, but it’s going to be good. “Right?”

[desmond-cross-blog]

Silence filled the air and enveloped the two. She didn’t say much, unless it’s something important, something meaningful. He said much, probably more than most of people. But rarely it carried a weight. 

That was the balance between them. All his life, Desmond Cross was taught to cast away any weight, any burden on his shoulders. He dumped it on his brother. He dumped it in some imaginary box he had in his mind. Every time something upset him, he boxed it up and put it away. He was weightless. An irony for the center of the gravity. He floated around and drifted away for years.

Caitlin brought him back to the earth.

So no, he can’t leave her.

“I’m not.” He affirmed in composed calm beneath it was a shaky voice. “I won’t.”

Her admission of fear shook him more than his own footloose, unstable life. He approached her carefully, as if he were afraid of her pulling back. He reached out and pulled her in. How fragile they were. How fragile and defective and damaged they were. The embrace was soft and gentle. 

“You’re not on your own.” whispered him. “I’m not that great either. But together, we’re gonna do it together, you hear? I’m not leaving you again.”

Desmond took her hand and pulled her softly toward the door. “Come, I’ve got something to show you.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

She’s so afraid. She was told her whole life that she had to be her own anchor, that she had to be good enough, that other people were nothing but competition. But Caitlin knows that that just isn’t true. Without this person, she doesn’t know where she would be. She knows for sure that she needs this person now.

His statement makes her feel like maybe she can breathe again. Her words are soft and small and frightened, but as he pulls her in she feels as if a weight is lifted off of her shoulders. Her face presses into his neck, her eyes closing, hands pressing to his chest. His heartbeat beneath her palm serves as a reminder: You are not alone.

Caitlin listens to him talk, and she’s unsure of when her tears come, but when she opens her mouth, her voice shakes, and she suddenly feels the dampness on her cheeks. “O-Okay. Okay.” She’s so scared. But she agrees. Because it is being alongside Desmond that makes her brave. She nods against his shoulder, then blinks as he pulls back. She looks away, quickly wiping her eyes, which dart up as he takes her hand. She hesitates, then nods and follows wordlessly, wondering what awaits her.

[desmond-cross-blog]

He was so close. Close to dropping out off the grid, close to sabotaging probably the only healthy relationship he had ever had with anyone, close to falling into the good ol’ routine of self-destruction. It was like driving through a slippery slope in the icy cold day.

A child.

A fucking child.

Desmond Cross can bullshit through anything. Tell him he should take a role of a lawyer or a curator for a day and he will pull the shit off that part, you won’t even recognize him. That was the kind of person Desmond was raised up to become. He was a crook, a liar– and for some parts of his life which he did not take pride in, he was a conman. But if there is one part he can’t play, it is a father. It was the name he barely remembered. 

The closest he had ever had to a father figure was his brother and look how amazing he was at fucking that up. He still woke up sporadically at one of those nights, found himself shivering over the memory of their silent, damaged feuds. The world was literally falling apart, crumbling down between the crash of the two different forces, his nose bleeding furiously, the look on Dom’s face, wondering what the fuck had gone wrong between them as he was dragged by his brother.

So, no, it wasn’t the sense of responsibility or a fucking fatherhood that brought him back. No, that shit was what sent him run away.

It was the promise he made to her that brought him back.

I’ve been running all my life, and I’m pretty damn sure I’m tired.

And I think you’re the perfect home for me.

So from now on, I promise the only running I’ll be doing is to you. 

“I did.” Desmond admitted without an excuse. “I– look, I have no excuse. It scared the living shit out of me.”

“I messed up, Cait. I fucking messed up. And I’m sorry.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin watches her husband silently, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the ring on her finger. Her eyes sting, exhausted from hours of crying and staring and reading, but still, she looks to Desmond. 

Scared. She understands that. More than anything, that’s what she understands. But she also understands him. After all of these years, she is familiar with his his issues with commitment. But right now, it does not help her. It does nothing to soothe her fears. 

Of course, these are fears that she should be familiar with. They’ve plagued her for her entire life. The fear that she just won’t be enough. That she is not good enough. That she will mess this up, as she has so many other things.

So, she hears his apology. She accepts it. But that’s not what concerns her.

“You’re... You’re not going to leave, then?” She swallows hard, her lips parting for a moment before she verbalizes the fears that she would’ve ignored and tucked deep inside many years beforehand. “Because I don’t think I’m good enough to do this on my own.”

He makes her better. She knows that. 

She needs him. Now, more than ever.

[desmond-cross-blog]

Desmond stared at his dead phone. He forgot to charge it— and he didn’t bring the charger when he left. He shouldn’t have done that. He freaked out, like the old days. It was a part of his bones, running away. It had become his second nature, straying, drifting away. He had always been a drifter, always momentarily staying then skipping to the next city. That was his life before Caitlin. For the first time in his life, he found something that scared the living shit out of him but at the same time, what made him want to settle down. A cheesy love story, it was. He met a girl. She met a guy. And they became each other’s anchor.

So when she said she was carrying his child, he shouldn’t have run away— but he came back.

“Hey,” He called her from the door. She was working, of course. He didn’t expect nothing more. She had a tendency to bury herself in the work when she was upset. And of course she was upset.

“I’m sorry.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Your fault.

That's what her conscience tells her yet again when she moves a file. She stops herself from physically wincing this time around, just swallowing hard and continuing to do what she has been for hours. It's been fifteen. Fifteen hours since she'd informed Desmond that she is -- she winces now -- pregnant.

Caitlin had been quiet for a long time after he'd left. She'd just breathed. Slowly, at first. Until, suddenly, she'd begun to sob. Because here it was: her greatest mistake. With one incident, she'd managed to lose the one person that she'd consistently had. There were so few people who she loved, and here and now, she'd managed to fuck up so catastrophically that she'd lost the one who she loved the most. And a part of her is hurt. Betrayed. Not only had she loved Desmond, but she'd trusted him. Truly, completely trusted him. He was perhaps the only person in the world who she could've said that about. But she'd been proven wrong. You're a fool. A voice from the back of her mind had informed her. An idiot for thinking that someone could've loved you that much when you are who you are. When you make these mistakes.

It was Matthew who had been so unfortunate as to be on the receiving end of these feelings, as Caitlin, white-knuckled, clutched a phone in her hand and wept. Three hours had been spent sobbing to her brother, until she'd ran out of words. Until she'd come to the realization that, no matter what, this child could not know that she'd ever once considered it a mistake. That, even if perhaps that was true, not an ounce of blame was to be placed upon this child. Never. If there was one thing that Caitlin was certain of, it was this: she would never make her child fear that something was wrong with them. She would never blame them or scold them for something out of their hands. It wasn't their fault that their mother was a fool and that their father had left. There was no doubt about that.

Exhaustion occurred eventually. Too many emotions had hit her so abruptly. But, Caitlin was aware that any attempts at sleeping would be hopeless. So she'd begun to work.

It's been just over eleven hours straight of organizing and reorganizing and filing and filling out and doing anything but thinking when she hears a voice. At once, Caitlin abruptly freezes, her back turned towards the doorway. It's only then that she realizes just what she looks like: she's in one of his t-shirts. A pair of her own sweatpants. Her hair is in some sort of sloppy knot atop her head. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen, lips chapped. She's self conscious only for a moment, until she turns and looks at her husband. Her few words are neither an acceptance nor a rejection, merely a statement:

"You left."

[desmond-cross-blog]

Des purses the lips, making his ‘I don’t give a shit’ look. Honestly, the whole ‘greater good’ theory always bothered him. After all, what he and Dom had to went through was a part of the greater good. And believe it when he says there was no good in it. It’s people’s life they require sacrifice. People’s life is not a number you can count and move on. “Ugh.” He lets out a groan, feeling a bit of headache from thinking too hard. The hell with it. He turns to her, laughing lightly with her oblivious look. “You have no idea what bong is, don’t you?” Kissing her softly, he puts his arm around her and pulls her closer. "Never mind. It was a stupid thought. You don’t have to run or anything. You do what you gotta do." He says with a bit of a wry look. Happiness, of all everything, is what matters to him. "If you want to just get away with it all, just say the word. We can go like, Barbados by the weekend. Or Hawaii." Then he places his forehead on hers, closing his eyes too. "But until then, I’ll be here so that we can cuddle."

[caitlingrey-cohen]

When Desmond groans, Caitlin raises an eyebrow, but when he turns to her and laughs, it settles. She shakes her head. "Not even faintly." She admits bluntly. As she's pulled closer, her leg tucks against Desmond's, thumb brushing against his shoulder. "Mm. If only I knew what I 'gotta do'. That'd make it easier." At his offers, she sighs softly. "Hawaii, hm? I'd go to the mountains before I'd visit the beaches..." She briefly recalls another time in another set of mountains, recalls what it felt like to be away for a while. Caitlin can't help that part of her yearns for it. As Desmond's forehead rests against hers, she gives a low laugh, deep in her throat. "That sounds acceptable. For now." She murmurs, just closing her eyes and exhaling softly. "One day we'll leave." She murmurs. "And we'll never have to go back to this place. Hopefully." Unless Hearst's lacky kills you before you and Desmond can manage to escape. Her conscience reminds her, and she can feel her shoulders stiffen at the thought, jaw clenching. "We're together, though." She mutters, trying to loosen up. "I've been told that that's what matters."

[desmond-cross-blog]

Desmond hums lightly, placing his hands with laced fingers on the back of his head. Lying is like a second nature to him. He can tell when people lie if he pays attention enough, by their ticks and tells. Not with Caitlin, though. He just gets a hunch, when something is wrong, when she has something on her mind. If he wants to find it out, that’s a whole different matter. “It’s ‘hella better to live coward than die brave’ for me. You gotta know when to fold.” He repeats the life lessons he got from life. What’s the point of ‘the greater good’ if it kills people? What’s the use of ‘the better world’ if you can get to be in it? "Well, sure, someone should. It just doesn’t have to be you. It’s not like you owe people anything.” He mutters with a pout. Yes, running is easy. There’s no wrong in taking an easy way, in his mind. “Am I selfish?” asks him, turning to face her. “I will kill someone if anything happens to you again, I swear to my bong.”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

Caitlin lays her head to side, looking at Desmond's profile. She listens to his opinion, pursing her lips. She probably would've thought the same thing, at one time. But after creating the time warp and this ability of -- somewhat -- knowing the future, after being tortured, she feels as if she needs to be a part of the greater good. Whatever that is. She's still unsure at times. "I suppose you're right. I don't owe anyone." She murmurs in agreement. As Desmond turns and their eyes meet, her eyebrows lift. "I hardly think so." She replies calmly. At his next comment, she feels a surge of emotions. They're momentarily stopped up at his use of a foreign word -- bong? -- but she just shakes her head and leans forward, kissing him gently. "I'll be fine." She murmurs gently against his lips as she pulls back, then just ends up leaning against his shoulder. "But I don't think it's an option for us to leave." She sighs, her eyes closing. Tired. She's tired. "If only it were that easy." Caitlin is aware of what the simpler option would be: grab Desmond's hand and leave. But now...she's not so sure that she's capable.

[desmond-cross-blog]

Des laughs happily with the kiss. His eyes follow Cait for a moment, before he starts to try to make his room less messy— if that’s even possible. He kicks some unwashed clothes to the side and picks up the cartoons and papers. He just puts them on the corner. He looks up when she mentions Hearst, a look of concern slowly shadowing on his face. “Uh, no, not really. Is there anything I should know?” He goes over to the bed and flops down. Lips pursed, eyes frowned slightly. Honestly, he can give no shit about Hearst or Genesis. He didn’t before the whole time travel business. And the fact that it’s threatening his life and Cait’s, it bothers him. Actually, it really pisses him off that it burdens Cait. The first solution comes to his mind, of course, is running. “This is bullshit.” He blurts out, “I don’t get it. Why do you have to worry about everything? Can we just… I dunno, bail it?”

[caitlingrey-cohen]

She drums her fingers against her legs, feeling the creeping fear come over herself again. "Don't think so." That's all she gives as a response. As Desmonds lays down, she moves to lay next to him. She keeps her eyes on the ceiling. What is there to do? If she's found out, found to keep secrets, to lie... forget her parents. Hearst will be the one to punish her. That thought quickly forgotten, she turns and looks at Desmond when he speaks. Her eyebrow inclines, and she continues to listen. She sighs softly. "No... I don't think so. If we're found...God knows what they'll do. And even then, doesn't that, I don't know...doesn't it make us cowards? The Genesis is obviously around. Shouldn't we stay and fight? Though...Leaving would certainly be easier." She sighs, her eyes roaming Desmond's face as she lays next to him.

[caitlingrey-cohen]

"Hmph."

[henry-storm]

Henry found a certain… joy when a victim was staring at him as if they could stop whatever he had planned for them. ‘Victim’, yes. Caitlin had known who he was, what he had done, and because of that she knew what he could do. Obviously she hadn’t said anything to spread rumors around the school because he had done a number to her — which made so, so happy. The little accomplishments! It’s been too long since he had been this giddy! There were butterflies fluttering around his stomach when he closed his eyes to relieve the torture he put Caitlin through. "Project, hm." Attempting to suppress his chuckle at her next string of words, he shook his head and walked towards her, leaning onto the counter. A foot away from her and he leaned in and took in a deep breath. "Perfume, Caitlin, dear? I didn’t quite peg you for someone into the fragrances. Is it for that special someone?" Raising his brow, he let another low chuckle as he pulls back away from her. Still, he resided a foot away from her. "Ah, Caitlin, dear. I told you, merely checking up on you. What happened in the latest Project Play has Orion stumped and baffled, which of course leaves me the same way. I’m just walking around the halls, checking in. Seeing if anyone knows anything.” Turning his body towards her, he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. "You alright there, Caitlin? You seem a bit tense." 

[caitlingrey-cohen]

She's not surprised by his lack of answer. Her eyes continue to trail him, and as he grows closer, she stops pretending to work, the grip on her pencil tightening. She swallows as he leans in, biting on the inside of her lip to keep herself from reacting. She can feel her heart hammering in her chest, and she hates herself for it. When had she become so weak? As he breathes in, she's holding her breath, leaving his question with no answer. She's ready to make an irritated response to his next question -- Obviously I don't know anything. I wasn't in the Play. -- but then Henry's hand lays on her shoulder. She jumps involuntarily, the pencil dropping from her hand and dropping to the floor. "Fine." She answers brusquely. "I don't know anything about the Play. You can tell Mr. Hearst that." She stands, taking her back and beginning to pack her stuff up, shoving it in carelessly, only caring about her speed.

[desmond-cross-blog]

He beams at her for a while, a bit longer than people do to study the other’s face. His eyes brighten up subtly when she is in his sight. It’s just one of many things she does to him. “Nah, I woke up before the knock. You must have a hella good timing, babe.” He grins widely, rubbing her palm softly with his thumb. “I always enjoy waking up next to you.” Laughing lightly, he glances over his shoulder, checking the state of his room. Nowhere close to organized or clean, but it will do. “Wanna come in?” He asks as he tugs her arm a bit, toward him.

[caitlingrey-cohen]

The way he looks at her thrills her and terrifies her at the same time, especially with the fear of Henry Storm still lingering in her mind. "Oh. Alright, then. That's good." She nods, squeezing his fingers as he brushes her palm. His next words bring a genuine, involuntary smile to her lips. "I'm glad to know that." She murmurs. As she's tugged forward, she glances over her shoulder once. Seeing no imminent threats in the hallway, she turns back to Desmond and nods. "Sounds good." She gives him a feather-light kiss before stepping into the room. She sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at her denim covered knees. "So, ah, have you heard any news about Hearst lately?" She pauses, eyes still down. "Apparently the Project Play a while ago left him suspicious." She murmurs, then looks up to Desmond, her expression blank, eyes searching his face. "Nothing alarming, though." She wishes that was true. At this rate, she can't be sure.