she wishes she weren't right. and she wishes she knew what to say, but her throat's gone dry and the salt on her cheeks is making them itchy. her hands stay; her nose twitches. all those bottled feelings stay bottled because now isn't the place, especially after he couldn't return her closeness with some of his own.

"i know you didn't. i just regret not knowing, you know? but i know you couldn't have told me - how do you tell someone that?" she sags a bit.

surely, she thinks, rocket has more on its plate than really doing anything to scare bo. her reasoning doesn't make her feel completely better, but the logic is sound enough. with a meteor threatening to destroy them all, bo can't be that high up on the totem pole.

"i have the shed," she offers and then looks sheepish. "i mean, if you want to stay for a weekend. and not the stable shed. mine. the one you slept on that first night, after the gloom incident." her smile is somewhat forced, but at least it shines through.

she leans forward, rests a hand on his knee, and gives it a squeeze. like he said: "we'll figure it out."

boruta maher

☉

he draws away because she's pushed too far. he draws away because he doesn't believe her and because the distance she's put between them is too great. in an effort to protect herself, she'd dug this cavern between the two of them and now, stuck on the other side, she can only cower under the voice that says isn't this what you wanted? 

so she pulls back too, with a quiet acceptance, and clambers back up onto the couch. she tucks her legs under her and tersely holds her hands in her lap. green eyes are still shining with unshed tears, but now there's a miserable grimace on her face.

"it already is, bo," she says softly. because now she bears the weight of his secret. now she is armed with the knowledge that their son might one day find out. and what then?

"i need time, i think. to process all of this. gods, i don't know what i'm going to tell roman. he loves his weekends here." she bites her lip. "and i don't want him to lose that. i don't want you to lose that."

boruta maher

☉

everything is so lovely. they laugh over food and drink. for a while, they spend time on the boardwalk overlooking the sea, holding hands and nibbling on some street vendor desserts. their knees brush and his closeness is a soft comfort.

and now here they stand, refreshed and energized. will holds the weight of the dart in her hand and narrows her eyes at her target.

turns out she makes a better gardener than a balloon popper because the dart misses by a mile. it doesn't even stick into the cork on the back wall. 

"i told you," she complains and leans back into lance, chin tilting up, "i'm terrible at these things."

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

willow forgets herself, but she remembers herself too. her eyes squeeze shut as she breathes him in, as she wills him to accept the impossible words she can't say. (things she has said, with dried petals and wrapped stems, knowing he doesn't and wishing he'd know how to decipher them.)

when he sniffles, she sinks. leaves the crown of his head and folds down to her knees. elbows prop on his legs and her hands come down to cup his cheek, to wipe his tears.

"you mean too much to me, bo." her thumb stops running circles and she clumsily adds, "and i can't say it doesn't matter what happened in the past, but i'm here to share your burdens because damn if you haven't spent every fiber of your being doing everything for us since you came back."

she sniffles now too and looks away, using her shoulder to rub at her nose and hide her face.

boruta maher

☉

she's not her father, though, and that tempest anger drains as quickly as it had come. her chest still heaves, throat raw as she bites her lip, as she tries to hold onto it. her fingers flex into his shoulders, but still it slips from her grasp and she's left with a red flush on her cheeks and the thump-thump-thumping in her ears.

like the last leaf come winter, she struggles once more against the wind and gives in. her head hangs and she presses her lips to bo's hair; her own slips from her shoulders - like curtains, shutting them away from the rest of the world.

her arms slacken and she stays there, tense, every nerve ending acutely aware of their closeness.

"i'm not either," she says.

boruta maher

☉

the way his face falls. the way the light dies in his eyes and he deflates. socked toes curl and every bit of her tenses, fighting against something simmering. cinders that have never sparked because she simply hasn't allowed them. 

samuel had been prone to letting his anger get the better of him. it helped, being among the flowers and moving to the country where he could work with his hands. where he could work alone. but there were glimpses, hazy childhood memories, of his red-faced anger. shaking doorframes and cannon fire, pinprick shrapnel on eleanor's shoulders. 

"no," she says. her father's hands are curling over hers, nails biting into her skin. feet thump to the ground and then she is upright, arcing, bending, shoving both hands into bo's shoulders. 

pushing him back into the armchair and staring him down, brows knit and green eyes drawn with too many emotions to parse. 

"no, you don't get to do that. you don't get to tell me to just 'live my life' after this. to say it's just your shit. it's roman's. and it's mine now, too, because we're a - we're a fucking family, bo." 

grip tightening, heart in her throat/on her sleeve. willing everything and anything away right now - consequences be damned.

"and i'm not going to lose that again. i am not going to lose you again."

boruta maher

☉

she's half-standing, patting down her pockets for her phone, when bo pulls her from her thoughts. she pauses, considers him rather harshly, and then sinks back down into the couch. this time she lays back into it, fingers draped over her face. her breath whistles as she sighs with intent.

"um. a few days ago. he had roman's jacket. he's...he said roman was staying with him. that's where he was, bo. when he ran away." and talking through it makes her second guess it all. they're not connected. they can't be connected. in the moment, it had rubbed her the wrong way, but she hadn't picked up the phone and called bo. she'd let it fade into the background, into that untouchable past.

that damned month - all she has are the pities of a stranger to go off of. anything could have happened to roman then.

"it could have been nothing. the conversation - he - was so off-putting. he treated it like it was...like it was normal that roman stabbed him. i feel like i'm crazy right now. like i'm making something out of nothing."

she stops and she rubs her thumbs against her jeans. she'd taken her muddy shoes off and left them by the front door so she drags her knees up and curls, knotting up the anxieties so they don't stretch out of her. and forcibly, she bites out:

"ro can't come back here." and realizing what she'd said, her gaze flickers. it softens. she goes to reach a hand out and then curls it on her armrest instead.

"what do i do?" she whispers.

boruta maher

☉

two years. "gods, bo," she whispers, but otherwise allows him to exhaust the rest of the story. or, well, not the rest of it. two years working for a crime syndicate - the details of which she can't even begin to fathom - sound long and arduous. she'd thought, before, that after however many years together, maybe they'd be able to walk through the past.

and now...

her eyes harden at the mention of samuel and she struggles not to bristle otherwise. because he had made it known, to the both of them, what he thought about willow's decision to keep roman. that awful aftermath of a month is kept tucked away in a journal, fringed with pressed flowers.

"of course i wanted you around," she says, voice cracking around the edges. "i never stopped...wishing you'd walk down the road." but guilt crawls inside her, hot on her neck. young and dumb and still in love, she'd convinced herself he'd come for her eventually, but to pick up the phone herself, to put pen to paper - that had always been too much.

not that she knows about samuel's letter of reconciliation, of the changing/wasted leaves and years passed.

but they're not there anymore. the past can't be changed, no matter how many hours they spend pouring over the pages. she holds on to the edge of the couch and stares down. 

"why now? after all these years, why are they coming for you now? bo, are you in danger? is - " 

her stomach drops and she darts a hand out, fingers tense, jaw taut. absolute terror takes her over. "i - the man. it was a man roman stabbed. he came by the house. bo, i thought something was off when we talked, but this. i - are we in danger?" 

panic continues to flutter. "we have to get roman. i need to call adelaide. bo - " 

boruta maher

☉

those tattooed hands. they've never looked intimidating to her. even that day of his return, all she could do was smile at them. at how ridiculous it all was. but maybe if she'd taken a moment to tug off the rose-tinted glasses, maybe if she'd put the shutters down and let all the light in, she would have seen what's been hiding in the shadows. 

is it better this way? knowing it was always there, in some capacity? 

he is facing her and he is looking at her while he says it. and oddly, finally, that lump in her throat dislodges. she swallows tersely and nods and does not offer much now, for the moment. she looks down and to her lap. 

to her hands that know only how to grow and how to cultivate. to build and craft and make. to fix. she looks them over, forward and back, and then tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

"is that..." she clears her throat again, not expecting the sudden wave of emotion that rocks through her.

"is that why you...waited so long?" to come home?

boruta maher

☉

her fickle attempt at humor gets swallowed by the terse atmosphere. under the table, her hands wring again, thumbnails biting into cuticles. she offers a weak smile at his comment and an even weaker smile still when he gets her a glass of water. condensation slips down her fingers, reddened thumbs. 

words are hard to come by right now so she nods. her throat is full, stoppered up with fear and anxiety and a dozen other unspoken things that have been piling up between them.

in the living room, she looks between the small, but comfy-looking couch and the armchair. her hesitation is painstakingly obvious, but eventually she opts for the couch. her spine is rigid and she perches right on the edge there, as though any minute she might bolt.

not that she intends to do any such thing.

and as though saying it will make it true, she says, "i'm not going anywhere, bo. i just...want the truth."

boruta maher

☉

her hands are shaking. her hands are shaking and she is wringing them because she hates that they're shaking, but she can't make them stop. roman's therapist - bless her heart - has recommended breathing exercises for her. and she'd written it off, thought it silly, but she tries it now. alone, in boruta's home, her breaths lengthen and eventually she can get by with just fiddling with her shirt of her woven bracelets or her hair. 

she busies herself with looking at the furnishings of the apartment, wondering at how odd it feels she's not more familiar with the interior of his place. wondering why she feels that's odd. 

he always does this to you. makes her question herself. makes her thoughts scatter. makes her wonder what if?

what if he has a secret he hasn't told you? 

her heart sinks and she swallows, green eyes flicking up when he enters the room. she smiles weakly. 

"those are terrible for you, y'know." a pause. "wait, is that why roman's been asking me to buy them?"

boruta maher

☉

lou knickers beside her and willow instinctively raises a hand to his big head, hushing and consoling him while the blastoise sprayed torrents of water on the side of bo's house. that humongous R does something to her, even as it fades. her jaw sets, but her green eyes brim with concern and worry. even a little bit of fear as they finally meet bo's. 

she swallows and doesn't move for a heartbeat. and then her hand goes to her belt. she withdraws lou's ball and returns him to his capsule. and then she takes her time clipping it back on, staving off the moment she's been waiting for for years.

truth. insight to boruta's past, if that's what this is. please don't let that be this. but she doesn't even know what she's hoping for. she's so out of her depth here, she can't even fathom what something like this means. 

"yeah. okay," she says. she walks past him and up to the door. pauses and turns her head. "i'll wait inside...clean it all off before someone else sees it."

boruta maher

☉

"well, we have all day to eat," she says with a laugh as lance leads them to the krabby stand. she makes a mental note to try cooking some gumbo for him down the road if they don't manage to get some today. but for now, she takes the offered cakes with a wide smile and bites into them. 

"oh, man," she says with a thankful moan, green eyes brimming with delight. "i'll get the next round," she offers after he'd fished out some bills.

she's still not used to being doted on like this and money's a weird thing for her.

LANCE VOLLANS

☉