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On Mother’s Day, Michael buys a dozen daisies and drives back to Caulfield.
For years he’s been going back to the Homestead and just sitting there, wondering. Hoping. Fooling himself into thinking that maybe on some far away world his mom was watching that spot and could see him. He doesn’t know if they have Mother’s Day on Antar but he always liked to tell himself his mom was watching and waving back on that day in particular. Now he just has the image of a prison and a hand pressed to the glass. But he’s not one to shy away from conflict so he drives out there.
He doesn’t know what to do with the flowers.
He realizes this as he stands there looking at where the wreckage used to be. There’s nothing there anymore. It’s been swept clean. He doesn’t know what to do with that, the idea that his mother is in another box somewhere. Michael’s believed in aliens and the heavens and someone up there watching him. But he’s never believed in God. Or an afterlife. He’s never had to. This feels like he’s losing her all over again. Like she and Max are in a loop winking out in his head. Irrationally the old pain comes back and he finds himself wishing that he told someone he was coming here. Though Michael has done everything in his power not to need other people. He feels stupid and small as he sinks to the warm ground in front of his truck and draws his knees up, wondering how he’s also become a failure at visiting a grave.
He hears the car and is almost glad. Being thrown in military jail would be the least he deserves.
Then he hears Alex’s one-two step.
Alex isn’t the person he wants to see him cry, but he knows there’s no avoiding it. He doesn’t move as he hears him come to the front of the car and sit down next to him. He’s been avoiding Alex like the plague and even if this is the nicest thing, he still feels annoyed that once again Alex is deciding things without him. He didn’t tell anyone for a reason. But Alex doesn’t talk, which is new. He doesn’t say anything. Or do his deep breath thing. Or any of the things that prelude him saying something. Michael finally gets enough of himself to sit up and look at him.
“How did you figure out I was here?” He asks.
“It’s Mother’s Day,” Alex says.
“Shouldn’t you be—“ he trails off.
Gone is an ambitious term. Alex always says his mom is gone. He doesn’t follow it up with anything else. Michael knows shit about moms, but he knows a lot about moms leaving him behind. Or maybe that’s just his bitterness at seeing Ann Evans and Isobel earlier in town. Alex looks like his mom, all his brothers do. No-one resembles Jesse Manes on the outside at Michael is selfishly grateful for the fact—though Alex has and is doing more to separate himself from his father appearance wise. From the brief image of his mom and the wave of memories, Michael knows of the pair of them he looks like his dad. But he has his mom’s mouth. And her eyes.
“Do you visit your mom?” He asks.
“My mom’s alive, Guerin,” Alex says. Michael looks over at him, “she left,” he tells him. Michael keeps looking at him and he shifts, “I send her a card,” he says.
Michael looks down at his flowers, feeling vaguely embarrassed. Buying flowers isn’t something he does regularly. And he’s never had a grave to put them on. Does he even have one now? Does this count? Isn’t a grave where people’s remains are? He bites into his bottom lip and looks ahead.
“I want to know where they took the debris,” he says.
“I can try to find out,” Alex tells him. He nods, “do you want me to tell you what I know?”
“Might as well,” he says.
So Alex does. He tells him about his mother. Mara. And Michael is selfishly glad that they have the same first initial. Alex tells him everything about her and logically Michael knows that he should focus on what he isn’t saying but just for the moment he lets himself listen to what is known about her. Mara was nice, she was powerful, on the day of the crash she always wept for the boy she had lost. That and one specific other day in June. He has a birthday. He knows his birthday. Alex settles his hand on his shoulder when he says that and Michael leans into the touch. Alex is silent when he’s done and Michael closes his eyes, committing everything he’s said to memory.
“I can give you the file when we get back,” Alex says.
“Thanks,” Michael says., opening his eyes and looking over at him, “and thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” Alex says.
Michael works his throat before he looks down at the flowers, wiping under his cheeks.
“I never had a grave to go to before. I thought she was out there but—“ he swallows back the sob, “what do I do with these?”
“Help me up,” Alex says.
Michael gets to his feet and helps Alex to his. Alex pumps the air out of his prosthetic. He walks with Michael over to the spot that’s been wiped clean, pausing at several spots along the way. Michael watches, impressed in spite of himself. He’s seen Alex in soldier mode, but with just the two of them there’s something much calmer about him doing this. He’s confident in his abilities, Michael realizes. He knows what he’s doing. Alex marks a spot with his foot and leads him in, taking measured steps and making several other stops along the way. Finally he stops and turns to Michael.
“It’s here,” he says.
Michael’s stomach bottoms out. He doesn’t need to ask what Alex is talking about. He approaches and stops, looking down at the ground. It doesn’t feel any different and that feels wrong somehow. Alex steps back and Michael grabs his hand. Alex said they were family and he has to ride on that now. Alex waits as he lets go of his hand and steps forward to where his mom spent most of her life. He lays the bouquet down on the spot. He had so many stupid dreams about doing this. Dreams he tried to stamp down or hold close depending on the year. Doing this on a grave wasn’t even his worst nightmare, it was doing this and having it be rejected. Or never getting the chance to do it at all. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Alex lower his head in respect, because Alex has some idea of what the fuck to do in front of a grave but Michael stands there as raw as he can.
Maybe somewhere his mom can see him.
He wants her to know he was here.
Finally he looks at Alex who meets his gaze. It’s dangerous to leave these here. He knows that. Being here is dangerous. So he ignores Alex’s protest and picks up the flowers. If his mom can see him then he knows she’ll understand why he can’t leave them here. Alex stumbles and he steadies him, helping him as they walk back to their cars. It feels better to keep a hand on him before he remembers that Alex stumbling isn’t a good thing. In any circumstances. It’s late in the day and Michael feels marginally better, though he wishes they weren’t driving back separately.
“I’m not gonna make it back without food,” he says abruptly, “do you want to grab something on the way back?”
“Sure,” Alex says, “I’m—“ he stops as Michael shoves the flowers towards him, “starved?” He frowns, “Guerin?”
“You came out to get me,” Michael says, “and I wouldn’t have known about any of this if it wasn’t for you. You should have them.”
Alex opens and closes his mouth several times. Michael braces himself for the rejection but Alex, who seems to know more about rejection than Michael gives him credit for, closes his hands over the flowers instead of handing them back to him. It shouldn’t warm Michael’s chest like it does, but fuck it if he’s indulging in bad emotions he’s going to indulge in all emotions.
“Thank you,” he says, “the last person who gave me flowers was a nurse.”
“Yeah?” He says, “were they nicer than these?”
“No,” Alex says and doesn’t even scoff, “I always liked daisies.”
Michael tucks that away into the back of his head with everything else important he’s learned today.