Title: Afterwards 
Author: Scully3776 
Author Email: scully03776@aol.com 
Status: NEW - Standalone 
Size: 4k 
Rating: PG-13 
Archive at Gossamer: Yes to Gossamer/Ephemeral 
Category: Vignette , Angst 
Keywords: Pre-XF 
Spoilers: "Release" 

Summary: ever wonder about what went through *her* mind when their
world fell apart at the seams?

The paperwork came in the mail today. I opened the heavy envelope with the silver
letter opener your sister gave me for Christmas three years ago. Pulled out the 
documents. Saw your awful handwriting, your familiar chicken-scratch, your
signature, your name. All it needed now was my handwriting, my signature, my
name.  But what is my name now? I haven't decided whether or not to take back
my maiden name or to keep yours out of spite. I've been told that divorce
proceedings take forever and a day. But this all happened so fast. Too fast. In 
the same time it takes for a child to be snatched away, in a blink of an eye. 

I blinked my eye while watching Luke ride his bike around the block. In the
half-second it takes to close your eyelids and then reopen them, he was gone,
taking with my life, my soul, my love, my husband.  I still can't believe this
is happening. 

This isn't happening, I whispered over the phone when you called
to tell me that they found Luke but it wasn't good news. I repeated that mantra 
over and over until the funeral and he was dressed up in his little suit he
wore maybe twice in his life, Easter and Christmas. He was so still, like a
little doll. I insisted on the cremation, you were so against it, but I didn't
want to put my baby in the ground. I wanted his spirit to be released. To ride
the winds as fast as he used to ride his bike. I gave our son's spirit to you.
Did you let him go? Did you set him free? Or do you cling to that small box,
clutching at the sorrow still? Or does it even matter anymore. Or rather,
should it matter to me anymore? I'm the one who let you go.  I know I'm the one 
who went to the lawyer, insisted that the papers I hold in my hands be drawn
up. 

And deep down, I know that it's better that we go our separate ways. Maybe
now you'll pursue your dreams of joining the FBI. You've been talking about
that for years. Ah, but it was me that held you back. I know that you, southern 
boy, would have been happier living in Virginian countryside than in this urban 
jungle. But I had put my foot down. I don't want to leave Long Island. I don't
want to move away from my family. I don't want to uproot Luke from his school.
And having you being a cop is bad enough, how in the hell am I supposed to deal 
with you being a fed? What if something happens to you? How will I tell Luke
that his daddy is gone? I never dreamed it would be the other way around. And
the irony, the ultimate irony, living near Quantico would have probably been
safer than here in New York.  Probably, not definitely. There are no definites
anymore.  I had been so definite that you were going to contest the divorce.

But what if you would have contested? I would still have to deal with the rest
of my life, those piercing blue eyes of yours impaling me. Silently asking me
why didn't I watch Luke better? Why wasn't I paying attention? How could I have 
let this happen? Everyone reassures me that you don't blame me. That you blame
yourself. We all know you blame yourself. But you wouldn't let anyone absolve
you of your imaginary guilt. And I never it heard it from you that you didn't
blame me and I needed to hear that so badly. I wanted to cling to you and cry
on your shoulder until we were both drowning in an ocean of tears and we could
drown the grief together. But you chose to freeze your misery instead of
letting it go. And in the process, you froze me out. And I had no one. You
might as well have died along with Luke, as unreachable as you are. Luke at
least, still loves me.  

And yet, even though I know signing this document is
the right thing to do, I hesitate. I fight against myself. I summon up every
ounce of self-control I possess not to tear these damn papers up into shreds.
Not to run to the phone and call you at work. Tell you the divorce proceedings
were just a bluff. To get your attention. To beg you to come back to me, we can 
start over, I know the good man I married is still there underneath all those
layers of ice coating your heart after you saw our little boy cold and alone in 
that field. To cry like a weakling and tell you I'll do anything, anything you
wanted me to, even if you asked me to cut out my own heart, I would. And I'd
give it to you on a silver platter. 

What do I need a heart for anyway? My son is dead and my marriage, just as 
good as.  This is the hard part. The admission  of failure. I failed as a mother 
and as a wife. After I sign this paper, I can acknowledge my guilt and pick up 
the shards of my shattered life and start putting it back together. 

It won't be the same, won't look the same, but I must 
put myself back together. When I pick up my pen and put my name on this
document, everything will be finalized and afterwards, I can start to heal.

Maybe I will stop crying every night; maybe I'll stop missing you. I'll never
stop missing our son.  And maybe, you and I, maybe we'll be friends. 
Afterwards.  

**The End** 



### The End ###