Christmas was supposed to be a happy time of year. A time where people gathered with their families and celebrated the holiday. For Devyn, she wasn't happy. Not like she usually was. With Nixon not home, it was different. It wasn't the same like it always was. And she knew it wouldn't be until he finally came home and didn't have to worry about going back for a while. Until that happened, Devyn wouldn't be her usual happy self.
A small sigh escaped her lips as she sat at the counter at her parents house. Of course they would drag her out of her apartment she had shared with Nixon before he was deployed. She knew they hated seeing her like this. Not her normal self. "Dev, cheer up. It's Christmas." Erin, her sister spoke. Looking over at her sister, she just shrugged. There wasn't any point in cheering up now. Not until she at least heard from him. Or even skyped with him. If the only thing they could do was skype for Christmas, then that would be fine. "I think I'm just gonna go home. And maybe nap for a bit."
Sliding off the chair, Devyn made her way towards the front door, grabbing her jacket, she slipped it on before slipping her boots on. Walking out the door, the snow starting falling as she made her way to her car. Getting in it, she sat there for a moment. She sat there and thought about the past year. With how she had to deal with being alone while Nixon was across the ocean. Miles and miles away from her. After a few minutes, she finally started the car up. Pulling out of the driveway, she made her way back to the apartment. It didn't take too long for her to get there.
Pulling into one of the parking spaces, she parked the car. Getting out, she made her way inside the building. Walking up the stairs, she made her way to the apartment. Unlocking the door, she walked inside. Taking off her boots, she sighed as she made her way back to the bedroom. Getting out one of his shirts, she quickly changed into it before crawling onto the bed. Laying there, she stared up at the ceiling. "I miss you so much, Nix." She whispered. Oh how she wished that he was there with her right now. Holding her in his arms. That was what she had wished for more than anything.
Waking up that morning, Fallon knew it would be a good day. It was something about the way the sun was shining, the way the soft waves hit the shore, something about the way she felt. Call it a hunch, call it a theory, but whatever it was, she knew that today, it was her day. It was her day until she stopped at the corner coffee shop, only to have someone's drink spilled down her front. Still, though, that was okay. Accidents happen, and with a tight smile lacing her features, she did her best to let stranger know she wasn't mad. Once making it to her first class, that's when things went wrong; from forgetting she had a paper due, to losing her purse somewhere on campus, things seemed to get worse and worse, and by the time her classes were over, the only thought on her mind was going home, and most probably never leaving again. It wasn't until she was at the front door she remembered her keys were in her purse, which was missing, so now her options were to either wait outside for the rest of forever to avoid confrontation, or knock on the door and hope for the best. Honestly, the girl wasn't sure which would be better, but knowing the temperature would only continue to drop, she hesitantly knocked on the wooden door, hoping for the best.
This was it. Today was the day, and to say that Marlow was excited, well, that'd be nothing less than a complete and utter lie. He'd woken up that morning entirely too early for his liking -- ten o'clock is too early for anyone sane -- only to be met with a slight burning feeling in his wrist, accompanied by a sinking feeling in his gut. Of course with a bad start, things seem to only get worse as the day went on; starting with his coffee maker not working, his hair not cooperating, and maybe he was being a bit dramatic, but damn it he had rights. Those rights including the right to eat his own Cheerios and not have them thieved by his roommate, but did that seem to matter? Nope, apparently not. Marlow Scott no longer has rights, and so here he is at noon making his way to the closest corner store he can find, all for some cereal.
It was nearly a week since Holden left and he felt more alone than ever. His drinking had gotten worse, his temper and adjacent emotions were erratic and he couldn't sleep, no matter how much whiskey he downed. Everything was fucked up and he didn't know how it had all happened.
He hadn't seen Eve or spoken to her or even gone by her place on his way to work every morning and it was killing him. He loved her, of course, but the way she treated him the past few weeks had made him start to hate her. All he wanted was for things to go back to normal, to how they were in New York, but he knew that was never going to happen.
But he also knew that Henri missed him; Holden missed him, too. Honestly, Holden missed Henri more than he missed Eve. Henri had never hurt him or disappointed him and he knew that Henri would love him no matter what he did. And even if Holden were to choose to leave, he'd have to say goodbye to Henri.
After an hour long internal debate, Holden decided to go to Eveline's. His feet dragged on the pavement as he walked the couple blocks between their homes and when he'd finally arrived, his heart leaped in his chest. He didn't know if he expected the building to look different, but it didn't. The front door was still the off-white it had always been, the shutters on the windows were still open and the makeshift garden against the porch was still withered and clinging to life. He sighed, happy with the familiarity of the building and contemplated the consequences of walking inside.
Before he could finish his thought, his knuckles were tapping against the front door and he was shaking slightly, not sure of the reaction he would get from the people on the other side.
[ "no it's not the worst. there was this one dinner where my parents told me they were getting divorced." ]
It was silent, air filled with tension and the three people sitting around the table would not speak. Something was weighing heavily on each of their minds. But the young boy, sitting in what felt like the middle of his parents, stared blankly at the center of the table. He couldn’t figure out what his parents were thinking. He could look at his mother, she’d avoid his glance and stay quiet. Looking down at her plate as she chewed quietly. He could look at his father, who stared at his mother with a serious glare. Deep down he knows the signs, they’re going to fight soon. Over something he couldn’t understand, something he’d never understand either. Since each time they begin to fight, his mother would say “Scott, go to your room.” And Scott McCall would oblige because he’s a good son.
Tonight is different, Scott could feel it in his gut. Everything about this dinner points to wrong things, they’re not going to fight like usual. Something about the silence and the tension made Scott uneasy. He went to push his chair out, about to ask if he could be excused when his father put down his fork. Easily capturing Scott’s attention. He looked up at his dad, face full of questions and concerned but his father just kept looking at his mother. “Are you going to tell him, Melissa, or should I?” Scott looked between both of his parents, a sick feeling rising from his gut to his chest. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his inhaler. Scott shook it a few times before taking a breath in while pressing down on it, allowing the medication open up his airways.
Melissa McCall looked at her son with worried eyes, getting a small smile in return. A signal Scott gives his mother to tell her that he’s okay, he’s fine. It was just a precaution, to avoid any sort of asthma attack. Then her eyes had moved to her husband, quickly changing from worried to angry. “Don’t talk like that, don’t you see you’re making his asthma act up?” Scott tried to speak up, tell his mother that it was all good. He was okay. Everything is fine. But the words were lost in his throat when his father’s hands pressed tightly against the table.
“You’re babying him again, Melissa. When will he ever learn to take care of himself if you’re constantly make it too easy for him.” And there it starts. The fighting. The back and forth arguing over everything until they have no voices left.
“Like you could do better? You’re never home.” A very typical response from Melissa McCall. She worked a lot herself, but not nearly as much as Mr. McCall would. As a field agent in the FBI, he spends a lot of his time doing a lot of paper work and solving various crimes and crises. He doesn’t have time to be home and watch his son grow up. It’s a problem Melissa has with her husband, that he doesn’t even try for Scott. She never makes the argument about her treatment from him, she always puts Scott first.
“Maybe there’s a reason why.” There was his father’s retort, something short and full of some sort of emotion Scott couldn’t read. Was it anger or exasperation? Maybe a mixture of both. They fight the same tune, day in and day out, over the same things. You work too much, you work too early. There isn’t enough money to pay the bills. You’re never home. You missed Scott’s game. It’s enough to drive the thirteen year old mad. He wanted to get up and leave the table, not even give his parents the satisfaction of an excuse. If they could only see what their fighting does to him. How it tears him up and makes him feel ill.
When Melissa went to respond to her husband, Scott decided to speak up. “Stop. What do you have to tell me?” He wanted to know. He wanted to take away the tension created by both of his parents and the confusion they gave him. Why are they making this so difficult? They fight all the time, arguing about their parenting and their marriage. All Scott wanted was for it to all end. “I deserve to know, okay?” Scott looked to both of his parents and watched their facial features change, relax even. But both faces held a bit of solemnness and it didn’t easy any of the discomfort the boy felt.
“Your father and I are getting a divorce, Scott.”
It’s every kids nightmare, the harsh realization that their parents are no longer fully in love. That no amount of counseling or talking about it would make it any better. That the only way to make the fighting and the hurt stop is to call it quits all together. And to be the child caught in between, knowing that it won’t be easy on either parent, is no easy task himself. He wanted to be there for his mother, to calm her and tell her that it’s okay. He understands. He loves her. But at the same time, he looks to his father and sees his hero. A man of the FBI. The person that he’s looked up to for so long. He didn’t want his family to end and yet sitting here, Scott knew it was for the best. He just knew that the fighting would stop. Which felt easier on him. Yet he could see the sadness in his mother’s eyes, enough to break his own heart, and the seriousness in his father’s face. This is it. His family is broken now.
Scott sat there for a few moments, thinking about how to respond in this situation. He couldn’t look at his mother and he couldn’t look at his father. He kept his eyes on the center of the table, all appetite gone and the food in front of him almost making him sick. A part of Scott wanted to cry. The child in him, the one that reminds him that yes he’s thirteen but he’s not an adult. He doesn’t have to be brave for his parents. But he needed to be that brave person, that brave adult stuck in a child’s body. With a small nod, he looked at both of his parents. “Okay.” Was all he could get out.
He questioned it though. Why couldn’t it work? Why couldn’t they work on the marriage instead of just pulling for a divorce? Scott couldn’t help but think that they went thirteen plus years together, what about it makes it so hard to keep on going? But he’d look up, see the sad face his mother wore and he knew. She’s been fighting for years and not getting any happier. He’d look to his father and see a man who’s put more into work than his own marriage. In that moment, at the dining room table, Scott McCall finally realized something. This isn’t because it can’t work anymore, it’s because they’re done fighting. They’re done being sad and hurt. So he understood. As much as he could possibly understand, Scott knew this is for the best.
“It’s okay.” He told them, giving both of his parents a smile. “It’ll be better this way.”
