Little Black Box
Characters - John Price X OC
Summary - 5 times Person A was afraid + 1 time they faced their fear.
Word Count - 1,033
Warnings - Angst, grieving
A/N - Another story written late at night I thought I’d share. Be warned, this one is full of angst! This is, once again, inspired by a prompt from @love-me-a-good-prompt
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Ever since she and John had gotten engaged, Eliza was always a little scared to answer a random knock at her door, always fearing the worst in the back of her mind. She could picture Kyle standing there, a pained look on his face, those three awful words, “I’m so sorry,” tumbling out of his mouth. But that day had never come, even if her heart did beat a little harder when she got deliveries.
The first time that happened, CIA Director Kate Laswell, of all people, had shown up on her doorstep. Eliza knew she looked terrified by the way Kate talked to her, trying to assure her that nothing was wrong. Eliza invited her in, made tea for the both of them, and started an awkward, halting conversation that became easier the more tea she had. Kate never came out and said it, but Eliza knew she was taking her own measure of her. She knew John and Kate trusted each other greatly, that Kate knew he was a grown man able to make his own informed decisions, but she could tell Kate was looking out for John in her own way. And, after the tea and Kate’s seat had gone cold, Eliza was grateful John had someone in command who cared about him that much.
The second time, Simon had appeared in her doorway, almost immediately assuring her that John was ok, but injured. The brief seconds between her worried look at Simon and his assurance felt like an eternity. After dropping their son and daughter off with Eliza’s sister-in-law, Simon drove her to their main base just outside of London, explaining that John had been shot down while in a helicopter. Even though he was injured, he was a tough man, and he would be just fine. She was able to hold back her tears until she saw him in a hospital bed, dressings on an arm, a leg, his torso, small burns and cuts on his face, but she couldn’t help but laugh at the irony that his beard was still immaculate.
The third time came, and when Eliza opened the door with their youngest child on her hip, the smile she held for Kyle immediately fell when she saw his demeanor and his crisp dress uniform. She could see tear stains on his cheeks, and the little black box he held was the most dreadful thing she had ever seen. She still had a hard time remembering that day, the “I’m so sorry,” he almost sobbed sounded distorted, even after many years, but she does remember clinging to her children for dear life, her oldest son taking the youngest before she collapsed and her daughter helping her to the floor. They sat there in a heap for a what seemed like an eternity, clinging to each other and the dog tags from that loathsome little black box.
The fourth time was at John’s funeral. She could barely force herself to think that word, that that was what she going to. She did her best to stay strong for their children, but she felt like a ghost, a sad imitation of herself, where the only thing she felt was fear and immense grief. She knew the children wanted his casket to stay open during the service, but she was too afraid to look at him, worried she’d lose herself when their children needed her most. All she could do was sit with her youngest in her lap, grasping her oldest son’s hand, and try to remember that it wasn’t John’s.
The fifth time was a month after the funeral. The kids wanted to go by the cemetery to put up some new flowers for their father, but she couldn’t bring herself to go with them. She was scared to see his tombstone, scared to leave the house, dreading the day she came back and nothing smelled like him anymore. So Kyle took them, their favorite Uncle knowing the way by heart now. When they all arrived back at the house, Kyle had gotten them ice cream, and even though their cheeks shone with drying tears, they all had smiles on their faces.
Six months had gone by since John’s death when she finally willed herself to go see him. His birthday was coming up, and she knew their children would want to visit. Their daughter had already talked about baking a cake for them to have at the cemetery, and Eliza knew she needed to prepare herself, so she didn’t fall to pieces on the day. She didn’t trust herself to drive, fearing she might just turn around and go home, so she asked Simon to take her. He was steadfast and seemed to know how much she could take better than the others, so she knew he would help her finish this. Although she was weepy the entire ride there, Eliza managed to hold her tears back long enough to see John’s headstone, the words, “Beloved Husband, Father, and Soldier,” written on it, but the thing that drew a sob from her was seeing her youngest child’s favorite stuffed animal lovingly placed against the stone. It was one of the many John had gotten for her on his travels – a pastel pink bunny, with long, droopy ears and a fluffy tail, now slightly muddied by its time outdoors. She gently picked it up and held it close, sobbing loudly, desperately wishing it was John instead. Simon stood by her, glaring at anyone who dared look her way, and when her loud gasps had dwindled to quiet sniffs, he coaxed her up and away from the graveside, helping her adjust the bunny by the stone once more. That might have been the first time she visited John, but it wasn’t the last. The grief was always there, but, with the help of her family and found brothers, it eased over time, enough to where she would smile at the thought of John instead of breaking down in tears. Instead of being afraid when her youngest asked for stories of her father, she smiled gently at her, and proudly told her of the man named Johnathan Price.
