Synopsis: Time to confront the past, some truths are shared, some tears are shed, but there seems to be light at the end of the tunnel (unofficial continuation to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, could be read as a standalone)
Genre: Angst, with a happy ending tho
Word count: 3266
Mood-setter: Isolation - Linus Johnson
It had been a whole year since you've seen Lady Liberty and she seemed to welcome you back, strong and stern as ever, but with a gentleness in her eyes, as if you were her own.
The Brooklyn Bridge looked different, perhaps you'd remembered it wrong.
The Majestic Theater stood tall and daunting as she always had, but maybe it was the intensive rains that have dulled her exterior.
All the little bodegas and shops, and stalls looked just as bright as they did when you left, but different somehow. Never had you considered neon lights could look dead and cold.
It had been a year since the smog of pollution and noise and people and motion that NYC was built from had invaded your mind, and all had seemed to pass in the same colorless wordless blur that made up the ambience of the city. Too fast to see and hear, but too slow to stand out.
The stairs leading up to that old brick building looked just as tired and haggard as you had been as you walked them many times. The door was different, this one seemed newer, it was a different color it seemed to have been made from sturdier metal, harder for anyone to break it with malicious intent, but the door knob, the edges, the small window already seemed to be showing some of the same damage as the old one.
Your landlord was new, Jim, or Jack, or Jeff, or whoever, some trust-fund hotshot who appeared to have bought the building from Mrs. Estecito, the old lady who sometimes seemed too far off and away to remember to collect rent so her son had to do it for her. The apartament hadn’t been changed much either, the insulation was new, and that hideous wall-to-wall carpeting had been swapped out for some sterile and rigid looking white tiles.
It had been more than a year since you’d walked out of your window onto the fire escape to just look at the city, the people, the lights, the traffic. There was a point in time in which you could barely handle the sight of the skyline, the buildings looking too sharp and jagged to be safe, the light too harsh to make contact with, the idea that someone would run through it all and into your open arms unbearable to even consider. The big city, inconvenient, and expensive, and over-populated, and hollow as it may sometimes appear, was really good at giving one perspective.
Life goes on.
With or without you.
A year after New York had lost her shimmer and glow and had become just another city, you were back into her open arms to once again greet her bright eyes, but they looked empty now - you had fallen for her charms before, you had seen her as a mother, a teacher, a matchmaker even. She had called you back to her side: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses," she said. And it was one of her sons that had shown you her true colors - dark, and dull and drained of meaning.
“I heard you’re back.”
Under any other circumstances you would have jumped, you would have grabbed the nearest weapon-like object, you would have screamed maybe. But this one was something special.
It had been a year since you’d heard that voice.
“I am.”
There were a myriad of questions you could ask: how he knew that you were back, how he knew you’d moved to the same place, why he’d come at all, why he'd done the thing he did in the first place; but all of it was inconsequential in the long run. Only one thing mattered:
“What’s it to you?”, your voice was relatively quiet in the constant rumble of traffic, drained and powerless from the trip there or maybe it was just his presence that had stripped all the life out of you, the memory of your last words towards each other still hung heavy in your mind, smothering any fight you had to give.
“I just… wanted to check… if you’re okay.”
Lie.
One of the many, it seemed.
You paid no mind to the halting in his sentence, not bothered to try and uncover what it hid beneath the cover of silence. This is not your problem anymore, he is not your problem anymore.
“I’m okay.”
No point in prolonging the inevitable, whatever he had to say was meaningless to you, he’d proved his own words empty, whatever he had to say you didn’t want to hear.
Or so you told yourself. But why hadn’t you left then, you knew he wouldn’t stop you.
“Okay.”
You could almost feel the strain in his voice, as if he was forcing himself to keep the conversation going. Something he was never good at. His actions always spoke better than his words.
It had been a year since you’d shared those steps with him, silent in contemplation, content in each other’s presence, just a pair of shadows in the blurring barrage of light and colour.
You sat on the larger platform with your back to him, which is how he’s managed to sneak up on you, he was the only thing separating you from your living room window.
Something in you though, something deep, buried and long deprived of warmth, something pushed you to help him out, give him one final show of grace.
"What do you want, Don?" well, grace was perhaps more than he could ask for in his position, but the gesture was there nonetheless. It was up to him whether he'd cherish it or not.
"To say I'm sorry."
Well, isn't that quaint. Funny how him not wanting to speak to you was the whole issue and now he's trying to perhaps overcompensate.
"You just did."
You were not being purposefully snide but a part of you wanted him to experience the same cold, piercing betrayal and pain you had more than a year ago. Something dark, and vengeful, something cruel in you, wanted him to suffer and crush under the weight of freezing cold words from the lips of the one you love the most. It's a part of you you feared, but for once you let it out to play. He'd bled you dry of any compassion, it was his fault it had a way in, in the first place.
"Look, I…" of course, it's all about him, you thought. You didn't quite believe it but once more let the dark thoughts run wild. "I messed up, and I hurt you. And you didn't deserve that."
He sounded like a child apologising to another for pushing them. Did he even know what he was apologising for? Had it dawned on him? Sure, he may be a genius, but due to his upbringing he was a bit emotionally stunted. You had been more than happy to work with him, help him through the tough parts once, you had been gentle with him, but goodwill ran out.
"Try harder." your tone wasn't angry or bitter, not quite sad either, just tired. Even in scale and timbre, monotonous as had been the last year: all noise and motion, yet nothing stood out, nothing made a difference, it was all the same, all insignificant.
You heard a shuffle of feet on the metal platform, soft thuds now detectable, perhaps due to his frustration, or maybe he'd just gotten sloppy in the stealth department.
"I was an idiot, and I…" two massive steps sounded right next to you, and then his heavy, tall figure slinked down to almost your level. He sat next to you. The gall. "... I should have appreciated what I had. But I got… scared and… I pushed you away. I'm sorry. "
He barely believed that one himself.
Your tired eyes rolled in their sockets, annoyed and frustrated, to look at the red brick wall you were leaning on.
What movie did he lift this one from?
"What are you sorry for?"
A beat of New York silence. Then another. Then two more, and you had finally hit the freaking jackpot. He didn't even know.
"What do you mean?"
With little patience for the conversation you leaned closer to the brick and away from him.
"Why was I mad, Donnie?" the nickname hadn't come out of your lips for a year, and yet when it finally did, it held none of the affection and love it once held, it sounded snide and harsh, almost like an accusation itself.
He took a second to process your words, seemingly for the first time, and just the fact that he'd had all this time to sit and think, like you had but hadn't actually bothered, filled you with unfiltered rage and hatred towards the man. But it is as they say, a thin line between hatred and love.
"Those two weeks-"
"It wasn't about the two weeks, Don!" your pent-up frustration and fury, finally bubbled over, as you shouted your disappointment at him, finally looking at him for the first time.
He'd lost weight, his eyes were darker, somewhat sunken into his skull, he'd shed most of his gadgets perhaps knowing he wouldn't need them with you. Or maybe you just hadn't seen him in a while, maybe it was all in your head.
"It was about the lying." you could see his eyes widen a fraction behind his glasses, as the reason for your sudden departure finally dawned on him. And that set your blood on fire.
"When have I ever given you a reason to lie to me about something so small as needing a break? Was I not tolerant enough for you?! What more could I have possibly done?!" the questions you have been swimming around for a year came crashing to you in a tidal wave of doubt and pain, heart palpitating, aching with the idea that you will never get an answer.
"And then that bullshit you gave me when I finally came to talk to you? Do you know how many fucking nights I spent thinking about how I fucked this all up for us? How awful I must’ve been to get you to act that way?! I started going to fucking therapy, dude! Just to be told that, NO, it wasn't actually my fault it ended like this. "
Your throat started hurting, voice crackling a hot fiery inferno, rewarding his cold detached silence with a burning wave of heat and fury.
Though that fire was quickly stamped out by the now familiar cool of a melancholic shower.
None of this mattered.
Why bother telling him all this, you're not getting back together.
His stunned silence was an odd kind of comfort: you could almost pretend you were back in those final two weeks of your relationship, when you were blissfully ignorant to his lies and deception, to the sharp, ugly words he'd throw your way. It was nice to pretend.
"Whatever it is you wanted," a wet sob almost split from your throat as you tried to formulate your thought, "whatever the reason, I would've understood. If you wanted to split, you could've said so. If you didn't love me anymore," your voice came out soft and quiet, almost soft enough to be drowned out by the city noise, "we could have still been friends. Now I can't even look at your brothers."
Speechless again. Hood, that seems to be his permanent state when it comes to you.
"Why have you come, Donnie? Coz it's clearly not to apologise."
He seems to settle in to think for a second, pursing his lips, squinting his eyes in contemplation, until they finally, finally, come to meet yours.
"I am here to apologise. But now I see, we don't fully understand each other." his eyes landed on the steps once more, be it in shame or contemplation again, you couldn't tell, perhaps both. And then his chin lifts up quickly, eyes bright and hopeful, and you could almost fall for them once more," But that's fine, we could work on that! We could try again, and we could…" by the middle of the sentence, he'd noticed the subtle shake of your head 'no', as you put your face in your hands, no longer able to look at him.
This is a stupid idea.
You should have left him outside to stew in his own shame and guilt, you should have never uttered a word to him, you could still leave!
But why, oh why, were you so compelled to sit there and listen to his excuses, his crazy ideas, and why the hell were those ideas giving you hope? Why were you finding solace in the thought of picking up where you left off? Of being with him again? Of having his family around once more? We're those great memories not tarnished by the bitter end of your tale?
"I don't know that I can trust you again." you croak out without meaning to, your hands stifling the sound of your confession, enough to bring out the tired quality of your voice to the forefront.
A beat of noise passed through.
Then another.
Then several more.
Perhaps he has finally settled with what he did. But instead of feeling the triumph of having destroyed his plans like he did yours, instead of rejoicing your revenge you felt hollow, dead, cold, it hurt to even breathe, and every thought that passed through your head, stabbed at your harshly-beating heart as if to finish the job once and for all.
We could start over, you thought.
And you could. You could start over again like the last two years didn't happen. You could have a second first date, a second first kiss under the stars, you could get to know each other all over again. And sure it might be awkward and stiff at first, those would be the consequences, but you could do it.
But why would you? After all he's proved not to dwell on a thing for too long. Any problem he can't solve, any project he can't figure out, he hyper-focuses on until it's done and then he moves on to the next big thing. You couldn't help but think through that long lonely year that you were just another project: he wanted to figure you out so bad, he wanted to make it work with you, and once he did the challenge was no longer there, so he moved on.
"Why did you do it?"
He shuffled in his seat a bit, scratching at his arm, sniffling a bit: pacifying and self-soothing gestures to brace for the truth. For whatever reason you were sure it would not be a straightforward answer.
"We met someone recently. A new friend who just so happened to be a trained psychologist. One time we were all drinking and having fun and… then everyone went to bed and…" Oh god, please, no. Please don't say you slept with them, I couldn't bear it. "I told them everything. I told them I didn't know why I did it, just that it felt correct doing it but not once I was confronted." his leg started bouncing nervously, brows pinching together, as if glaring the fear away, and your heart tightened at the struggle on his face,"They threw a lot of jargon at me, which I was unfamiliar with, but the gist is, because of the way I grew up I don't have the coping mechanisms to deal with adult relationships."
You sat there in the cold, cold night, trying to process what he'd just told you.
He'd received one night of drunk counseling and suddenly he had his ducks in a row? That fast? Does it help to be a genius?
You felt stupid for having dwelled on relationship drama for a year, meanwhile he dealt with childhood trauma in a night.
"They told me, the first step is understanding the problem." another heady sigh, seemingly added only to pull at your heartstrings, “But understanding means nothing if you don’t confront the problem.” for the first time since he’d arrived, the facade was dropped, he was finally sincere with you again, just like he used to be “So, here I am. For closure. For both of us.”
You couldn’t find it in you to say anything, not a word, only a sad wet sob, as you finally betrayed your inner pain, head falling on his shoulder, once more seeking his warmth and comfort, consequences be damned.
It was quiet for a while. No more words were exchanged between you for a while.
He was never good with words, it was his actions you had to look out for.
As you mourned the loss of a year together, his arm seemed to have settled back into the good old days, sneaking around your back to shield you from the chilly smoke of New York, that spoke of all her bad habits.
There were no thoughts in your head for a while, there was only grief, over what it was, what it could have been, and what could never be.
“I don’t know that I can trust you again.” your voice had gotten away from you somehow, speaking your thoughts without your approval, but for once in your existence, you let it, what’s there to lose anyway, “But I want to.” a heaving sob wracked what was left of your heart, the sight of his chest blurring with new incoming tears, “I miss you so much, but…” how do you put all of the betrayal, pain, panic, love, hope, doubt into words, “I’m scared you’ll do it again.”
His arms closed in on you tightly, holding you in earnest as his own chest seemed to struggle pacing itself. He was scared too.
“I’m scared too.”
His strength could be felt as the quacking of his lung and heart never hindered his hold on you, always warm, always steady.
“I hate what I did, I hate how I did it…” a pause for a shaky breath, “I hate that I let you down. And my family…” Keep going, Donnie, let it out, “... we don’t get many friends, and I… I took you away from them too. And you were gone so long I…” Go on, baby, use your words, “ I thought the worst.”
Your heart suddenly jumped at the mountainous implication of these words, and your shaking arms couldn’t help but stretch around him further as if to pull him back from these thoughts.
But you couldn’t.
You could not bring back that time. You couldn’t take away all the things you’d done and said in that year. You couldn’t start over.
But maybe you didn’t need to.
“I don’t know that I can trust you again, but…” and for the first time in a while New York held some warmth in her bright electric eyes, skyscrapers, hotels, and billboards blinking away her intentions, winking at you, not promising, but encouraging, like an older sister. She didn’t have all the answers but she had all the opportunities. It was up to you now. “...we can fix that. We can… work our way back.”
he pulled back so quickly he almost gave you whiplash.
“You mean it?” these bright golden eyes filled with hope were all you could see all of a sudden, and now you remembered why you had been so entrapped by them before.
“Not immediately, but… in time.”
And then he was hugging you again, tight and genuine and warm.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
FIRST CHAPTER IS OUT!
You want some Donnie angst? Some massive pain? Some slow build up to a big part that inspired the entire thing? I love Leo and Donnie, they're my little scrimblos and thats why im making both of them suffer the most and a family is left in pain assuming their brother and son is-
read it cowards /lh
Anyways suffer. This is the first fic I've ever made, beta'd by @shyartz03
