![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Posting as part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wip_amnesty weekend.
Fandom: The Sentinel
Title: Flesh and Stone (Gen)
This is the thing that I most wish I could finish. I wrote most of this back when TS was still on the air, and I come back to it a couple times a year. If I could just get some structure in mind for the final vignette, I think I could clean it up into something fairly worthwhile. *sniffle*
Sort of a song fic, inspired by (and borrowing scattered lines from) the song "Still Life" by Lucy Kaplansky.
****************************************
Sadness is a little boy looking
Out the window high above a city
~Grown-up dinners sure are quiet.~
Jimmy Ellison took another bite of steak and chewed it thoughtfully, listening to the noises around him. The clink of silverware on china, the occasional reverberating chime of wine glasses striking against plates or each other, hushed conversations over candlelit tables. Overall, his first grown-up dinner was turning out to be pretty boring.
Jimmy swallowed the bite of meat with some difficulty. The tie around his throat felt like it was choking him to death, and every swallow felt like he was swallowing a ping-pong ball. His dad always pulled it too tight, but mom hadn't been around to do it this time, so he hadn't been able to get her to fix it. Unconciously, Jimmy's hand strayed up towards his collar. One finger hooked around the knot responsible for his discomfort and tugged surreptitiously. Not surreptitously enough. Across the table, his father cleared his throat, bringing Jimmy's attention to the unconscious action. He dropped his hand immediately, picking up the knife and starting to cut another piece of meat. He was old enough to do it for himself now. Beside him, five-year-old Stevie had had to have Dad cut it all up into little bits for him. Jimmy had seen that Dad was a little embarrassed by that. He'd been so insistent that they would act like grown-ups for this dinner, and there he was, cutting up the meat for Stevie like he was a little baby. At least Stevie was still using his fork. He used his fingers a lot at home. Sally made a lot of stuff you could eat with your fingers.
"So, this was a nice weekend, huh guys?" Dad asked, his voice in the same low-pitched tone that everyone else in the room was using. He smiled a little along with the words, although it didn't really look like he wanted to be smiling. Jimmy swallowed another bite of food before replying.
"Yeah, it was fun."
It really had been. Mom had left for a vacation on her own earlier in the week, and Dad had decided they should have some "guy time". He'd let them stay home from school on Friday, and they'd come into the city to see the sights. They'd gone to the natural history museum and a basketball game and down to the ocean. They hadn't even gone home at night, but stayed at a real hotel. Their room was way up on the 20th floor! And tonight, they were having a real, grown-up dinner in the fancy turning restaurant that let you see the whole city down below.
"Yeah!" Stevie chimed in. "Hey, dad, remember? Remember the tiger?? Huh? That was cool, huh? Raaarrrrgh!"
Stevie lifted his arms over his head, imitating the stuffed model of the sabre-tooth tiger at the natural history museum, frozen in mid-pounce. Dad looked around quickly and grabbed one of Stevie's arms, pulling it back down, shushing him irritatedly.
"I *remember* explaining what the appropriate behaviour is for grown-up restaurants, Steven," he scolded.
Stevie looked for a minute like he might cry. He stopped mid-roar, mouth partly open, lip trembling. Jimmy prayed that he wouldn't. Not now. Finally, Stevie just dropped both of his arms dejectedly and went back to pushing the meat around his plate with his fork. Jimmy dropped his own attention back to his plate, cutting another piece of meat, noting how the clinking of metal on china added to the general background noise. They ate in silence again for a while.
When his plate was empty, Dad set down his silverware and took a long swallow from the glass of ice water at his elbow. He cleared his throat again and just *looked* at the two of them for a long time. He seemed nervous.
"Look, guys," Dad finally said. "there's something I need to tell you. Your mom…"
He paused, took another swallow of water, tugged at the knotted tie at his collar. Jimmy felt a flutter of butterfly wings in his stomach and pushed back a sudden rush of fear. He looked over at Stevie and found his brother looking back. Then they both looked back at Dad.
"Your *mother*…" Dad continued. His face was set now, resigned. "…isn't on a vacation. She went to visit Grandma Ruth, like I told you, but she's not coming back. Not ever. It's just you…" He used his hands to indicate both Jimmy and Stevie. "…and me now."
He paused, waiting to see if they had anything to say. Neither of them did. Jimmy just stared at him. Mom wasn't coming home? How could she not be coming home?
"I know…I know this is going to take some getting used to," Dad said, filling the void left by their silence. "But if you think about it, nothing's really going to change. We'll still have Sally to take care of you and make you dinner and help with schoolwork and all those "mom" kind of things, right?"
Jimmy had always loved Sally with all his heart, but in that moment, he hated her. How dare she try to take over Mom's position?
Beside him, Stevie let out a little whimper. "Why isn't Mommy coming back? Doesn't she love us anymore?"
"Of course she loves you, Stevie," Dad said. Jimmy noticed his heart jump up a pace again. The little boy was suddenly angry. It was obvious that Dad didn't believe his own words. He thought Mom didn't love them. "She's your mom, isn't she? She just…she just…"
"He won't let her come back." Jimmy interrupted coldly. Dad's head shot up, eyes fixing on Jimmy with alarming intensity. The little boy refused to back down. "He told her to get out and never come back. He told her we'd be better off without her. He told her she could rot in hell for all he cares."
Dad's hand shot out, grabbing Jimmy's arm across the table in a grip so tight it was painful, shocking him into silence.
"That's enough." He stated coldly, his voice hard and loud. He glanced around again. A few people were watching them, but trying not to, glancing sideways, heads down. Stevie was really going to cry now. Fat, silent tears welled up in his blue eyes and trembled on his little-boy lashes. Dad's hold on his arm was really hurting now, and Jimmy squirmed, trying to pull free. Dad let him go. If Jimmy hadn't known better, he would've thought that Dad looked like he wanted to cry, too. But even if he did, Jimmy didn't care.
This was all Dad's fault. Jimmy had laid in bed, listening to them argue so many nights, and it was always, always Dad's fault. And now he'd made her leave, and she was never coming back.
The restaurant was suddenly too crowded. He felt like the people around him were shoving in. All the quiet clinkings of glass and metal on china were suddenly a cacaphony of noise ringing around him…the quiet voices becoming a roaring wind, and the clinks of metal and glass like a hundred wind chimes blown out of tune by the force of that wind. With every breath, he inhaled thick lungfuls of air, heavy with the mingled scents of cooking food, cigarette smoke, perfumes, and all the other smells associated with different human beings. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and Dad was looking at him with vicious anger in his eyes. And mom was never coming back.
Without thinking, he stood and fled. There wasn't really anywhere to go, but he had to get away from all of them. He had to be somewhere where he could breathe, but there wasn't anywhere, and he finally ended up retreating to one of the large windows that opened to show off the rest of the city below. It was the closest he could get to *away*, and he leaned against it, wishing he could break through and fly away.
But he couldn't. Dad had followed him, and he was crouching next to Jimmy, now, grabbing him by both shoulders and turning him around so that they were face to face.
"What do you think you're doing?" Dad hissed angrily, giving Jimmy a shake. "This is not the place for a scene, James Ellison! Do you think I need you filling your brother's head with these kinds of lies at a time like this?"
"I wasn't lying!" Jimmy charged back, instinctively keeping his own voice hard and flat, understanding that that was what it took to stand on his own. Dad's face got even harder.
"I *never* told your mother not to come back, Jimmy. That was her decision. Blame her for this, not me."
Against his will, tears will sliding down the little boy's cheeks. "I heard you!" He accused. "I heard you!"
Dad looked stricken. "When?"
"Before she left. You thought I was asleep, but I wasn't."
Dad straightened, a funny look in his eyes. "We were on the other side of the house. You couldn't have…" He stopped himself, turning away for a moment. When he turns back, he's gotten control of his emotions.
"Listen to me, young man. I don't care what you *think* you heard. Your mother left of her own free will because *she* didn't want to be with us anymore. That's a hard thing to hear, but it's the truth. So, you put the blame for this where it belongs and stop trying to cause trouble where it *doesn't* belong. I'm going to need you to help Sally take care of your brother, and I'm going to *expect* you to be up to the responsibility. Now, you think about that, and don't come back to the table until you're able to keep your accusations to yourself."
He left, and Jimmy turned sullenly back to the window. Cascade sprawled below him, lights starting to come on across the city as darkness fell. From up here, it all looked like one big concrete mass, extending to the bay, with the dark line of the ocean providing a backdrop beyond. If he tried, he could make out details – the places where the buildings separated, the streets and parks and ditches that provided open space. Looking closer, he could make out individual details – trees growing in the street, a bright red towel hanging out over someone’s balcony railing, a woman wearing little more than a bra and panties kissing a man, framed in an open window. The man’s hand reached to unhook the bra, and Jimmy blinked forcefully, blushing deeply and keeping his gaze fixed now on the street. Another woman attracted his attention, this time a statue in a park across the way. A woman standing still and strong on her pedestal, gazing into the distance.
She reminded Jimmy of his mom. She was beautiful and strong and solid. (Talk about the statue and make it clear how much Jimmy’s hurting at losing his mom…the dreams he had that one day she would be there and hold him and love him like other moms.)
"Jimmy?" A small voice pulls Jim out of a reverie that I make clear to the reader is a zone out.
Jimmy jumped, coming out of his daydream to find himself leaning against the glass window, Stevie waiting behind him. The little boy saw he’d been noticed.
"Dad says you better hurry up. It’s time to go."
Jimmy glanced down at the statue again.
"Hey, Stevie, look at that lady down there. Isn’t she pretty?"
He comes closer and peers over the edge nervously.
"I don’t see any lady."
"The statue. In the park across the street."
"What park? Jimmy, are you fibbin’ again? Dad says it’s not nice to fib."
Jimmy opened his mouth to protest that he *wasn’t* fibbing, but changed his mind.
"Never mind. It’s not important. C’mon. Let’s go."
And with a final sigh and glance to the statue, they go.
****************************************
Stranded is a man no longer searching
For the life he had hoped for and imagined
"Aren’t you going to say something?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Maybe…don’t go? Maybe…we can work this out? Hell, even "Good riddance!" Just SAY SOMETHING! Convince me I’m not having this conversation by myself!"
James Ellison sighed and ran two hands through his thinning hair, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees from where he was sitting on the couch.
"I don’t know what to say, Carol." He repeated, eyes following his wife as she paced back and forth restlessly in front of him. ~Ex-wife~ his mind amended conscientiously. "If this is your decision, then I’ll go along with it. I just…"
He stopped because Carolyn had stopped in her tracks, and he knew he’d said something wrong. Which was why he hadn’t wanted to say anything in the first place.
"You’ll go *along* with it?" she challenged, her voice cold and angry. "I’ve been searching my soul for the last month over this – trying to find some way to make this work, to convince myself this marriage was worth saving – and all it means to you is you’ll *go along* with it? Did that whole "’til death do us part" thing mean *anything* to you?!?"
"Hey!" Jim finally rose to the challenge. "I’m not the one who’s calling it quits here!"
She turned on him again.
"No, Jim, you’re not. You’re just the one who half the time gives me the same amount of attention you’d give a pet poodle, and the other half of the time, don’t seem to hear me at all. You may strangle this marriage with apathy, but actually end it? That would indicate some sort of emotional involvement, wouldn’t it? And that’s obviously just a little too much to ask."
The last words rose dangerously in pitch, cracking a little as Carolyn struggled to maintain her composure. She pressed one trembling hand to her mouth to hold back threatening sobs, and locked onto Jim's gaze with glistening eyes, searching for something that just wasn't there.
Jim was the first to look away, and she shook her head sadly.
"Coward."
Jim visibly flinched at the accusation, but she didn't see. She had already turned away - picking up the suitcase she’d been packing when Jim came home. She set it down again at the door to take the time to pull on her coat with a forced casualness. Still, Jim said nothing.
Finally, she opened the door, picked up the suitcase, and turned to him one last time.
"I'll be staying at my sister's for a while. I'll call you in a few days to talk about the details. Since you're being so good about *going along* with me on this, I hope we can handle this amicably." She brushed quickly at threatening tears, and turned away, throwing one last "See you, Jimmy." over her shoulder. The door closed behind her with a (word?) clunk.
Jim sat still for a long time after she left. So, this was it. He’d realized, of course, that this wasn’t working...that Carolyn was unhappy. There had been talks...long talks...vehement talks...in which she explained exactly why she was unhappy and how Jim should go about fixing it. He had tried...of course he had tried...to do what it took to make her happy. She was his wife. It was his job to make her happy. And he’d failed.
The loft suddenly seemed too big, too empty. The silence reverberated in his ears, making him feel light-headed and dizzy, as if Carolyn had taken all the air in the room with her when she left. The thought spurred Jim to action and he stood up, inhaling deeply, proving to himself that he could. Nervous energy propelled him across the room, and he stepped out onto the balcony in time to see Carolyn's small, silver Taurus pull out of the parking lot and disappear into the late afternoon traffic. The sudden burst of energy left him and he dropped to sit on the iron grating, back pressed against cold brick.
~So now what?~
She had picked a bad time for this. Not that there ever would have been a good time for it, but he was due to relieve Sanders at that stakeout down at Jimmie Mahoney’s, which didn't give Jim much time to figure out his next move.
He could probably call in sick. Was that done? He didn't think he'd ever seen "Wife just left me." listed among the department-approved reasons for personal time, but it ought to be there somewhere, shouldn't it?
~Hell, come to think of it, Old Man Ellison took a whole weekend off when his wife left.~
The thought hit Jim hard, blindsided him with a wash of childhood memories...the painful fallout in the weeks and months after his mother had left. It wasn’t a time he liked to think of. Actually, he pretty much didn’t like to think about anything that had happened before he’d left home, let alone that most painful chapter of a painful childhood. But there it was. Like father, like son. At least William Ellison’s marriage had lasted ten years. "Jimmy"’s had barely lasted one.
Come to think of it, it was probably their anniversary that had started Carolyn down this path. Jim groaned softly, remembering the elaborate dinner, the candlelight creating a warm, intimate halo around the table , the rest of the loft shrouded in darkness…the phone call that had shattered the evening, calling him to a crime scene. That had been his mistake, taking that phone call, leaving Carolyn to finish their dinner alone. But what could he have done? That evening had led to the arrest of a man Jim had been hunting for weeks, and whether Carolyn liked it or not, he would do it again if it meant getting a killer off the streets.
Which led right to the bigger problem. The one that there was no getting around, no backing down from. Carolyn’s priorities were...
Jim’s thoughts veered away from "wrong", painfully aware that it was probably himself who had his priorities wrong. But, damn it, he couldn’t see how.
He had thought Carolyn understood. She was a coworker, a dedicated member of the force. It was the job that had brought them together. Their courtship had blossomed over cases and coffee: their first meeting during the Magruder case, sharing a pot of mocha mint java in Simon’s office; celebrating a job well done in the Cory Matthews kidnapping with cafe lattes in the diner across the street; tense hours of just plain coffee in the breakroom as Major Crimes struggled to find the key to any number of crimes. And through it all, Carolyn had been as devoted to seeing justice done as he was. As understanding about his schedule as he was about hers.
And then they’d gotten married, and things had changed. Not all at once, but over the last six months it had become increasingly obvious that Carolyn wasn’t satisfied. The flexibility that had been one of the things that Jim loved most about her had faded, and her enchantment with taking whatever time they could find between his schedule and hers had disappeared entirely. It was their responsibility to MAKE time together, she’d said, for the sake of their marriage. She’d become more and more angry with each case that took him away from home, going so far as accusing him of taking the big cases on purpose to get away from her.
And maybe he had.
Maybe he had.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Jim reached a hand up to grab the balcony’s railing and pulled himself to his feet. He stepped back into the apartment, moved to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot he’d started brewing shortly before Carolyn had come down with her packed suitcase, saying that they "needed to talk". He stood still, holding the steaming cup with two hands, and took stock of the room around him with a detached gaze.
His eyes were captured by a painting that hung on the far wall. It was a large, sedate landscape of some vaguely midwestern locale that Carolyn had inherited from her Great-Aunt-Somebody. On a whim, Jim set the mug down without having actually drunk any of the coffee inside, and crossed to the painting, grabbing it firmly by both edges and lifting it down from the wall. It left a satisfyingly bare wall behind. Jim had always hated that painting.
Maybe he had gone out of his way to be away from home.
It was a definite possibility, he decided, running his eyes around the rest of the loft, noting how much of it was filled with furniture, knickknacks, and decorations that Jim had grown to despise in the last year. Grandma Sophie’s china cabinet, Uncle Lester’s ship-in-a-bottle, the bizarre, furry footstool that had been a wedding present from Cousin Marie. He wouldn’t miss any of it. He wouldn’t miss the random drive-by visits by Carolyn’s flighty sister Wendy, or the painfully loud dinners with various other members of the boisterous Plumber clan. He most definitely wouldn’t miss Carolyn’s own reproachful silences when he stopped by her office to tell her he would be staying late, or the spiteful bickering that came later, when he finally did make it home.
All things considered, it was probably good that she was leaving. She hadn’t been happy, and now that he thought about it, neither had he. It would be better for both of them to move on and get back to the rest of their lives.
That didn’t change the fact that it hurt like hell, of course.
But Jim had been an Army Ranger…had lived with pain before. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with it, and it wouldn’t be the last. Life was like that.
And Sanders was right this minute probably looking at his watch and wondering what the hell was taking Ellison so long…he really wanted to get home to his wife and kids sometime tonight. Jim could always take some downtime tomorrow or the next day if he found he needed it, but right now there was work to do and a fellow detective to relieve.
His decision made, Jim quickly filled a thermos with the still-warm coffee, grabbed his keys, left his apartment, and resolutely closed the door on another chapter in his life.
****************************************
Frightened is an old man limping
Through the park on a dark December day
Jim had eaten at the Cascade View restaurant many times over the years he'd lived in the city. He liked it. It had a nice, quiet atmosphere and a great menu. But as he stepped off the elevators on this particular day, a wash of memory overcame him, and he was nine years old again.
"Can I help you, sir?" The maitre'd asked, helping Jim step back into his own skin. Years had passed since he'd dwelled on his mother's leaving, and he wasn't about to start now. Jim calmly gave his name, and followed the man to a table where his father was already waiting.
They exchanged nervous greetings, and Jim sat down across from his father, noting that their table-for-four had only three place settings.
"Sally not coming?"
Dad says "Uh, no... no, she had to cancel. Sick cousin... or something." Jim nodded, accepting the rather transparent excuse for what it was - a reason to force the two of them to be alone. "What about your friend... Sandburg?"
"He had some... stuff to do at school. He’ll get here eventually."
"Oh...that’s...good, I suppose."
There was a note in his voice that set off warning alarms in Jim’s head, but he did his best to ignore them. Nice, quiet dinner, he reminded himself. He resolutely kept the conversation on track. "Yeah. He’s really been looking forward to meeting you, again."
The imitation-enthusiastic nod his father offered wasn’t fooling anyone. "Oh, me too. I was pretty out of it before."
Jim grasped the opportunity to change the subject. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, pretty good, pretty good."
(Some more here about that. Basic conversation stuff, and revelations of what’s been going on since the end of the episode.)
As this is winding down, the waiter brings menus. As they’re looking at them, Dad says:
"So, this Sandburg...he’s studying you?" (or somesuch)
Jim bristles and says he's "Helping me."
Things start to escalate. General gist is that dad doesn’t want Blair to be coming here psychoanalyzing him, even if Jim doesn’t mind being some college kid’s lab rat. Jim gets irritated and says that it isn't about that, and BLAIR isn't about that. Blair is his friend who is helping him to cope with the Sentinel thing. (Maybe an aside where dad doesn’t know what a "Sentinel" is and scoffs at the idea).
Jim hates this. It's as if he's ten years old all over again. It's taken the old man a whole fifteen minutes to take his gift and reduce it to something unclean and humiliating.
Jim says he thinks they better just drop the conversation and order, glancing to the door, wishing Blair would show up soon. He was sure Sandburg could charm the old man if he had half a chance.
They drop it, silence reigns, and they place their orders.
Jim brings up some topic of conversation and it goes on for a while, then strays into past mistakes and his mother leaving and right back into what an awful parent dad was. Dad finally storms out.
Jim just sits there, stone still. The waiter approaches hesitantly, and Jim stands up, telling him to forget their order, fumbling a moment with his wallet and tossing some money to the man for the drinks they’ve already had.
He goes over to the window, looking down at the park he remembers so vividly. His father is just crossing the street, and stands to gaze up at the statue, then sits down on a nearby park bench, his back stubbornly turned away from the restaurant doors.
Jim thinks pensively about that lost night and remembers the events again from an adult's perspective... remembers how awkward his dad had been, how out of his depth. He feels sorry for his father, wishes he could make him understand. But maybe it’s gone for too long. Maybe it’s too late.
Jim leans his forehead against the glass, still watching his father’s ramrod straight back down below, and curses softly.
Jim has not moved, nor has his father, ten minutes later when Blair shows up. Jim hears his friend's voice inquiring after them at the concierge... the low reply hovering just on the edge of correctness, but wanting very much to cross that line. Footsteps cross the room.
"Jim?"
"I fucked up, Sandburg."
A moment of silence. Blair sighs.
"What happened?"
"Does it matter? He’s gone."
"Yes." That’s Blair for ya...never letting him get away with the avoidance tactics.
"He said things, I said things. It doesn't matter." But Jim hasn't walked out yet... hasn't told Blair to "forget about it. Let's go home." He's still watching the old man in the park below. Before Blair has a chance to force him to elaborate, he volunteers the information. "He started in on the Sentinel stuff and what an opportunistic S.O.B. you are, then things got into my mom leaving, and it kind of went downhill from there."
Another moment of silence.
"Opportunistic S.O.B.?"
"For taking advantage of my freak-of-nature status for fun and profit."
"Oh, that. Yeah, I guess that could be a problem to some people."
"Apparently."
Silence again. Longer this time. Sandburg has been a little more circumspect in his tendency to meddle in Jim's family situation, but the Sentinel knows that his friend won't keep quiet for long. Blair comes closer, as if intending to join him beside the window, but hesitates a few feet away. Jim can practically sense his distaste for heights warring with his desire to stick his two cents in.
"You should go after him, Jim."
"I don't need to hear this, Sandburg."
"He's your father, man."
****************************************
You cannot live in bronze or stone.
Make your life in flesh and bone.
(Jim & Dad talk. Blah blah blah. Happily ever after.)
wip_amnesty weekend. Fandom: The Sentinel
Title: Flesh and Stone (Gen)
This is the thing that I most wish I could finish. I wrote most of this back when TS was still on the air, and I come back to it a couple times a year. If I could just get some structure in mind for the final vignette, I think I could clean it up into something fairly worthwhile. *sniffle*
Sort of a song fic, inspired by (and borrowing scattered lines from) the song "Still Life" by Lucy Kaplansky.
****************************************
Sadness is a little boy looking
Out the window high above a city
~Grown-up dinners sure are quiet.~
Jimmy Ellison took another bite of steak and chewed it thoughtfully, listening to the noises around him. The clink of silverware on china, the occasional reverberating chime of wine glasses striking against plates or each other, hushed conversations over candlelit tables. Overall, his first grown-up dinner was turning out to be pretty boring.
Jimmy swallowed the bite of meat with some difficulty. The tie around his throat felt like it was choking him to death, and every swallow felt like he was swallowing a ping-pong ball. His dad always pulled it too tight, but mom hadn't been around to do it this time, so he hadn't been able to get her to fix it. Unconciously, Jimmy's hand strayed up towards his collar. One finger hooked around the knot responsible for his discomfort and tugged surreptitiously. Not surreptitously enough. Across the table, his father cleared his throat, bringing Jimmy's attention to the unconscious action. He dropped his hand immediately, picking up the knife and starting to cut another piece of meat. He was old enough to do it for himself now. Beside him, five-year-old Stevie had had to have Dad cut it all up into little bits for him. Jimmy had seen that Dad was a little embarrassed by that. He'd been so insistent that they would act like grown-ups for this dinner, and there he was, cutting up the meat for Stevie like he was a little baby. At least Stevie was still using his fork. He used his fingers a lot at home. Sally made a lot of stuff you could eat with your fingers.
"So, this was a nice weekend, huh guys?" Dad asked, his voice in the same low-pitched tone that everyone else in the room was using. He smiled a little along with the words, although it didn't really look like he wanted to be smiling. Jimmy swallowed another bite of food before replying.
"Yeah, it was fun."
It really had been. Mom had left for a vacation on her own earlier in the week, and Dad had decided they should have some "guy time". He'd let them stay home from school on Friday, and they'd come into the city to see the sights. They'd gone to the natural history museum and a basketball game and down to the ocean. They hadn't even gone home at night, but stayed at a real hotel. Their room was way up on the 20th floor! And tonight, they were having a real, grown-up dinner in the fancy turning restaurant that let you see the whole city down below.
"Yeah!" Stevie chimed in. "Hey, dad, remember? Remember the tiger?? Huh? That was cool, huh? Raaarrrrgh!"
Stevie lifted his arms over his head, imitating the stuffed model of the sabre-tooth tiger at the natural history museum, frozen in mid-pounce. Dad looked around quickly and grabbed one of Stevie's arms, pulling it back down, shushing him irritatedly.
"I *remember* explaining what the appropriate behaviour is for grown-up restaurants, Steven," he scolded.
Stevie looked for a minute like he might cry. He stopped mid-roar, mouth partly open, lip trembling. Jimmy prayed that he wouldn't. Not now. Finally, Stevie just dropped both of his arms dejectedly and went back to pushing the meat around his plate with his fork. Jimmy dropped his own attention back to his plate, cutting another piece of meat, noting how the clinking of metal on china added to the general background noise. They ate in silence again for a while.
When his plate was empty, Dad set down his silverware and took a long swallow from the glass of ice water at his elbow. He cleared his throat again and just *looked* at the two of them for a long time. He seemed nervous.
"Look, guys," Dad finally said. "there's something I need to tell you. Your mom…"
He paused, took another swallow of water, tugged at the knotted tie at his collar. Jimmy felt a flutter of butterfly wings in his stomach and pushed back a sudden rush of fear. He looked over at Stevie and found his brother looking back. Then they both looked back at Dad.
"Your *mother*…" Dad continued. His face was set now, resigned. "…isn't on a vacation. She went to visit Grandma Ruth, like I told you, but she's not coming back. Not ever. It's just you…" He used his hands to indicate both Jimmy and Stevie. "…and me now."
He paused, waiting to see if they had anything to say. Neither of them did. Jimmy just stared at him. Mom wasn't coming home? How could she not be coming home?
"I know…I know this is going to take some getting used to," Dad said, filling the void left by their silence. "But if you think about it, nothing's really going to change. We'll still have Sally to take care of you and make you dinner and help with schoolwork and all those "mom" kind of things, right?"
Jimmy had always loved Sally with all his heart, but in that moment, he hated her. How dare she try to take over Mom's position?
Beside him, Stevie let out a little whimper. "Why isn't Mommy coming back? Doesn't she love us anymore?"
"Of course she loves you, Stevie," Dad said. Jimmy noticed his heart jump up a pace again. The little boy was suddenly angry. It was obvious that Dad didn't believe his own words. He thought Mom didn't love them. "She's your mom, isn't she? She just…she just…"
"He won't let her come back." Jimmy interrupted coldly. Dad's head shot up, eyes fixing on Jimmy with alarming intensity. The little boy refused to back down. "He told her to get out and never come back. He told her we'd be better off without her. He told her she could rot in hell for all he cares."
Dad's hand shot out, grabbing Jimmy's arm across the table in a grip so tight it was painful, shocking him into silence.
"That's enough." He stated coldly, his voice hard and loud. He glanced around again. A few people were watching them, but trying not to, glancing sideways, heads down. Stevie was really going to cry now. Fat, silent tears welled up in his blue eyes and trembled on his little-boy lashes. Dad's hold on his arm was really hurting now, and Jimmy squirmed, trying to pull free. Dad let him go. If Jimmy hadn't known better, he would've thought that Dad looked like he wanted to cry, too. But even if he did, Jimmy didn't care.
This was all Dad's fault. Jimmy had laid in bed, listening to them argue so many nights, and it was always, always Dad's fault. And now he'd made her leave, and she was never coming back.
The restaurant was suddenly too crowded. He felt like the people around him were shoving in. All the quiet clinkings of glass and metal on china were suddenly a cacaphony of noise ringing around him…the quiet voices becoming a roaring wind, and the clinks of metal and glass like a hundred wind chimes blown out of tune by the force of that wind. With every breath, he inhaled thick lungfuls of air, heavy with the mingled scents of cooking food, cigarette smoke, perfumes, and all the other smells associated with different human beings. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and Dad was looking at him with vicious anger in his eyes. And mom was never coming back.
Without thinking, he stood and fled. There wasn't really anywhere to go, but he had to get away from all of them. He had to be somewhere where he could breathe, but there wasn't anywhere, and he finally ended up retreating to one of the large windows that opened to show off the rest of the city below. It was the closest he could get to *away*, and he leaned against it, wishing he could break through and fly away.
But he couldn't. Dad had followed him, and he was crouching next to Jimmy, now, grabbing him by both shoulders and turning him around so that they were face to face.
"What do you think you're doing?" Dad hissed angrily, giving Jimmy a shake. "This is not the place for a scene, James Ellison! Do you think I need you filling your brother's head with these kinds of lies at a time like this?"
"I wasn't lying!" Jimmy charged back, instinctively keeping his own voice hard and flat, understanding that that was what it took to stand on his own. Dad's face got even harder.
"I *never* told your mother not to come back, Jimmy. That was her decision. Blame her for this, not me."
Against his will, tears will sliding down the little boy's cheeks. "I heard you!" He accused. "I heard you!"
Dad looked stricken. "When?"
"Before she left. You thought I was asleep, but I wasn't."
Dad straightened, a funny look in his eyes. "We were on the other side of the house. You couldn't have…" He stopped himself, turning away for a moment. When he turns back, he's gotten control of his emotions.
"Listen to me, young man. I don't care what you *think* you heard. Your mother left of her own free will because *she* didn't want to be with us anymore. That's a hard thing to hear, but it's the truth. So, you put the blame for this where it belongs and stop trying to cause trouble where it *doesn't* belong. I'm going to need you to help Sally take care of your brother, and I'm going to *expect* you to be up to the responsibility. Now, you think about that, and don't come back to the table until you're able to keep your accusations to yourself."
He left, and Jimmy turned sullenly back to the window. Cascade sprawled below him, lights starting to come on across the city as darkness fell. From up here, it all looked like one big concrete mass, extending to the bay, with the dark line of the ocean providing a backdrop beyond. If he tried, he could make out details – the places where the buildings separated, the streets and parks and ditches that provided open space. Looking closer, he could make out individual details – trees growing in the street, a bright red towel hanging out over someone’s balcony railing, a woman wearing little more than a bra and panties kissing a man, framed in an open window. The man’s hand reached to unhook the bra, and Jimmy blinked forcefully, blushing deeply and keeping his gaze fixed now on the street. Another woman attracted his attention, this time a statue in a park across the way. A woman standing still and strong on her pedestal, gazing into the distance.
She reminded Jimmy of his mom. She was beautiful and strong and solid. (Talk about the statue and make it clear how much Jimmy’s hurting at losing his mom…the dreams he had that one day she would be there and hold him and love him like other moms.)
"Jimmy?" A small voice pulls Jim out of a reverie that I make clear to the reader is a zone out.
Jimmy jumped, coming out of his daydream to find himself leaning against the glass window, Stevie waiting behind him. The little boy saw he’d been noticed.
"Dad says you better hurry up. It’s time to go."
Jimmy glanced down at the statue again.
"Hey, Stevie, look at that lady down there. Isn’t she pretty?"
He comes closer and peers over the edge nervously.
"I don’t see any lady."
"The statue. In the park across the street."
"What park? Jimmy, are you fibbin’ again? Dad says it’s not nice to fib."
Jimmy opened his mouth to protest that he *wasn’t* fibbing, but changed his mind.
"Never mind. It’s not important. C’mon. Let’s go."
And with a final sigh and glance to the statue, they go.
****************************************
Stranded is a man no longer searching
For the life he had hoped for and imagined
"Aren’t you going to say something?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"Maybe…don’t go? Maybe…we can work this out? Hell, even "Good riddance!" Just SAY SOMETHING! Convince me I’m not having this conversation by myself!"
James Ellison sighed and ran two hands through his thinning hair, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees from where he was sitting on the couch.
"I don’t know what to say, Carol." He repeated, eyes following his wife as she paced back and forth restlessly in front of him. ~Ex-wife~ his mind amended conscientiously. "If this is your decision, then I’ll go along with it. I just…"
He stopped because Carolyn had stopped in her tracks, and he knew he’d said something wrong. Which was why he hadn’t wanted to say anything in the first place.
"You’ll go *along* with it?" she challenged, her voice cold and angry. "I’ve been searching my soul for the last month over this – trying to find some way to make this work, to convince myself this marriage was worth saving – and all it means to you is you’ll *go along* with it? Did that whole "’til death do us part" thing mean *anything* to you?!?"
"Hey!" Jim finally rose to the challenge. "I’m not the one who’s calling it quits here!"
She turned on him again.
"No, Jim, you’re not. You’re just the one who half the time gives me the same amount of attention you’d give a pet poodle, and the other half of the time, don’t seem to hear me at all. You may strangle this marriage with apathy, but actually end it? That would indicate some sort of emotional involvement, wouldn’t it? And that’s obviously just a little too much to ask."
The last words rose dangerously in pitch, cracking a little as Carolyn struggled to maintain her composure. She pressed one trembling hand to her mouth to hold back threatening sobs, and locked onto Jim's gaze with glistening eyes, searching for something that just wasn't there.
Jim was the first to look away, and she shook her head sadly.
"Coward."
Jim visibly flinched at the accusation, but she didn't see. She had already turned away - picking up the suitcase she’d been packing when Jim came home. She set it down again at the door to take the time to pull on her coat with a forced casualness. Still, Jim said nothing.
Finally, she opened the door, picked up the suitcase, and turned to him one last time.
"I'll be staying at my sister's for a while. I'll call you in a few days to talk about the details. Since you're being so good about *going along* with me on this, I hope we can handle this amicably." She brushed quickly at threatening tears, and turned away, throwing one last "See you, Jimmy." over her shoulder. The door closed behind her with a (word?) clunk.
Jim sat still for a long time after she left. So, this was it. He’d realized, of course, that this wasn’t working...that Carolyn was unhappy. There had been talks...long talks...vehement talks...in which she explained exactly why she was unhappy and how Jim should go about fixing it. He had tried...of course he had tried...to do what it took to make her happy. She was his wife. It was his job to make her happy. And he’d failed.
The loft suddenly seemed too big, too empty. The silence reverberated in his ears, making him feel light-headed and dizzy, as if Carolyn had taken all the air in the room with her when she left. The thought spurred Jim to action and he stood up, inhaling deeply, proving to himself that he could. Nervous energy propelled him across the room, and he stepped out onto the balcony in time to see Carolyn's small, silver Taurus pull out of the parking lot and disappear into the late afternoon traffic. The sudden burst of energy left him and he dropped to sit on the iron grating, back pressed against cold brick.
~So now what?~
She had picked a bad time for this. Not that there ever would have been a good time for it, but he was due to relieve Sanders at that stakeout down at Jimmie Mahoney’s, which didn't give Jim much time to figure out his next move.
He could probably call in sick. Was that done? He didn't think he'd ever seen "Wife just left me." listed among the department-approved reasons for personal time, but it ought to be there somewhere, shouldn't it?
~Hell, come to think of it, Old Man Ellison took a whole weekend off when his wife left.~
The thought hit Jim hard, blindsided him with a wash of childhood memories...the painful fallout in the weeks and months after his mother had left. It wasn’t a time he liked to think of. Actually, he pretty much didn’t like to think about anything that had happened before he’d left home, let alone that most painful chapter of a painful childhood. But there it was. Like father, like son. At least William Ellison’s marriage had lasted ten years. "Jimmy"’s had barely lasted one.
Come to think of it, it was probably their anniversary that had started Carolyn down this path. Jim groaned softly, remembering the elaborate dinner, the candlelight creating a warm, intimate halo around the table , the rest of the loft shrouded in darkness…the phone call that had shattered the evening, calling him to a crime scene. That had been his mistake, taking that phone call, leaving Carolyn to finish their dinner alone. But what could he have done? That evening had led to the arrest of a man Jim had been hunting for weeks, and whether Carolyn liked it or not, he would do it again if it meant getting a killer off the streets.
Which led right to the bigger problem. The one that there was no getting around, no backing down from. Carolyn’s priorities were...
Jim’s thoughts veered away from "wrong", painfully aware that it was probably himself who had his priorities wrong. But, damn it, he couldn’t see how.
He had thought Carolyn understood. She was a coworker, a dedicated member of the force. It was the job that had brought them together. Their courtship had blossomed over cases and coffee: their first meeting during the Magruder case, sharing a pot of mocha mint java in Simon’s office; celebrating a job well done in the Cory Matthews kidnapping with cafe lattes in the diner across the street; tense hours of just plain coffee in the breakroom as Major Crimes struggled to find the key to any number of crimes. And through it all, Carolyn had been as devoted to seeing justice done as he was. As understanding about his schedule as he was about hers.
And then they’d gotten married, and things had changed. Not all at once, but over the last six months it had become increasingly obvious that Carolyn wasn’t satisfied. The flexibility that had been one of the things that Jim loved most about her had faded, and her enchantment with taking whatever time they could find between his schedule and hers had disappeared entirely. It was their responsibility to MAKE time together, she’d said, for the sake of their marriage. She’d become more and more angry with each case that took him away from home, going so far as accusing him of taking the big cases on purpose to get away from her.
And maybe he had.
Maybe he had.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Jim reached a hand up to grab the balcony’s railing and pulled himself to his feet. He stepped back into the apartment, moved to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot he’d started brewing shortly before Carolyn had come down with her packed suitcase, saying that they "needed to talk". He stood still, holding the steaming cup with two hands, and took stock of the room around him with a detached gaze.
His eyes were captured by a painting that hung on the far wall. It was a large, sedate landscape of some vaguely midwestern locale that Carolyn had inherited from her Great-Aunt-Somebody. On a whim, Jim set the mug down without having actually drunk any of the coffee inside, and crossed to the painting, grabbing it firmly by both edges and lifting it down from the wall. It left a satisfyingly bare wall behind. Jim had always hated that painting.
Maybe he had gone out of his way to be away from home.
It was a definite possibility, he decided, running his eyes around the rest of the loft, noting how much of it was filled with furniture, knickknacks, and decorations that Jim had grown to despise in the last year. Grandma Sophie’s china cabinet, Uncle Lester’s ship-in-a-bottle, the bizarre, furry footstool that had been a wedding present from Cousin Marie. He wouldn’t miss any of it. He wouldn’t miss the random drive-by visits by Carolyn’s flighty sister Wendy, or the painfully loud dinners with various other members of the boisterous Plumber clan. He most definitely wouldn’t miss Carolyn’s own reproachful silences when he stopped by her office to tell her he would be staying late, or the spiteful bickering that came later, when he finally did make it home.
All things considered, it was probably good that she was leaving. She hadn’t been happy, and now that he thought about it, neither had he. It would be better for both of them to move on and get back to the rest of their lives.
That didn’t change the fact that it hurt like hell, of course.
But Jim had been an Army Ranger…had lived with pain before. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with it, and it wouldn’t be the last. Life was like that.
And Sanders was right this minute probably looking at his watch and wondering what the hell was taking Ellison so long…he really wanted to get home to his wife and kids sometime tonight. Jim could always take some downtime tomorrow or the next day if he found he needed it, but right now there was work to do and a fellow detective to relieve.
His decision made, Jim quickly filled a thermos with the still-warm coffee, grabbed his keys, left his apartment, and resolutely closed the door on another chapter in his life.
****************************************
Frightened is an old man limping
Through the park on a dark December day
Jim had eaten at the Cascade View restaurant many times over the years he'd lived in the city. He liked it. It had a nice, quiet atmosphere and a great menu. But as he stepped off the elevators on this particular day, a wash of memory overcame him, and he was nine years old again.
"Can I help you, sir?" The maitre'd asked, helping Jim step back into his own skin. Years had passed since he'd dwelled on his mother's leaving, and he wasn't about to start now. Jim calmly gave his name, and followed the man to a table where his father was already waiting.
They exchanged nervous greetings, and Jim sat down across from his father, noting that their table-for-four had only three place settings.
"Sally not coming?"
Dad says "Uh, no... no, she had to cancel. Sick cousin... or something." Jim nodded, accepting the rather transparent excuse for what it was - a reason to force the two of them to be alone. "What about your friend... Sandburg?"
"He had some... stuff to do at school. He’ll get here eventually."
"Oh...that’s...good, I suppose."
There was a note in his voice that set off warning alarms in Jim’s head, but he did his best to ignore them. Nice, quiet dinner, he reminded himself. He resolutely kept the conversation on track. "Yeah. He’s really been looking forward to meeting you, again."
The imitation-enthusiastic nod his father offered wasn’t fooling anyone. "Oh, me too. I was pretty out of it before."
Jim grasped the opportunity to change the subject. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, pretty good, pretty good."
(Some more here about that. Basic conversation stuff, and revelations of what’s been going on since the end of the episode.)
As this is winding down, the waiter brings menus. As they’re looking at them, Dad says:
"So, this Sandburg...he’s studying you?" (or somesuch)
Jim bristles and says he's "Helping me."
Things start to escalate. General gist is that dad doesn’t want Blair to be coming here psychoanalyzing him, even if Jim doesn’t mind being some college kid’s lab rat. Jim gets irritated and says that it isn't about that, and BLAIR isn't about that. Blair is his friend who is helping him to cope with the Sentinel thing. (Maybe an aside where dad doesn’t know what a "Sentinel" is and scoffs at the idea).
Jim hates this. It's as if he's ten years old all over again. It's taken the old man a whole fifteen minutes to take his gift and reduce it to something unclean and humiliating.
Jim says he thinks they better just drop the conversation and order, glancing to the door, wishing Blair would show up soon. He was sure Sandburg could charm the old man if he had half a chance.
They drop it, silence reigns, and they place their orders.
Jim brings up some topic of conversation and it goes on for a while, then strays into past mistakes and his mother leaving and right back into what an awful parent dad was. Dad finally storms out.
Jim just sits there, stone still. The waiter approaches hesitantly, and Jim stands up, telling him to forget their order, fumbling a moment with his wallet and tossing some money to the man for the drinks they’ve already had.
He goes over to the window, looking down at the park he remembers so vividly. His father is just crossing the street, and stands to gaze up at the statue, then sits down on a nearby park bench, his back stubbornly turned away from the restaurant doors.
Jim thinks pensively about that lost night and remembers the events again from an adult's perspective... remembers how awkward his dad had been, how out of his depth. He feels sorry for his father, wishes he could make him understand. But maybe it’s gone for too long. Maybe it’s too late.
Jim leans his forehead against the glass, still watching his father’s ramrod straight back down below, and curses softly.
Jim has not moved, nor has his father, ten minutes later when Blair shows up. Jim hears his friend's voice inquiring after them at the concierge... the low reply hovering just on the edge of correctness, but wanting very much to cross that line. Footsteps cross the room.
"Jim?"
"I fucked up, Sandburg."
A moment of silence. Blair sighs.
"What happened?"
"Does it matter? He’s gone."
"Yes." That’s Blair for ya...never letting him get away with the avoidance tactics.
"He said things, I said things. It doesn't matter." But Jim hasn't walked out yet... hasn't told Blair to "forget about it. Let's go home." He's still watching the old man in the park below. Before Blair has a chance to force him to elaborate, he volunteers the information. "He started in on the Sentinel stuff and what an opportunistic S.O.B. you are, then things got into my mom leaving, and it kind of went downhill from there."
Another moment of silence.
"Opportunistic S.O.B.?"
"For taking advantage of my freak-of-nature status for fun and profit."
"Oh, that. Yeah, I guess that could be a problem to some people."
"Apparently."
Silence again. Longer this time. Sandburg has been a little more circumspect in his tendency to meddle in Jim's family situation, but the Sentinel knows that his friend won't keep quiet for long. Blair comes closer, as if intending to join him beside the window, but hesitates a few feet away. Jim can practically sense his distaste for heights warring with his desire to stick his two cents in.
"You should go after him, Jim."
"I don't need to hear this, Sandburg."
"He's your father, man."
****************************************
You cannot live in bronze or stone.
Make your life in flesh and bone.
(Jim & Dad talk. Blah blah blah. Happily ever after.)
Tags: