Work Text:
The rattling of the doorknob woke her up. It often did. She took a few moments to collect herself before opening the door.
He stood there, arm slung against the doorframe in an attempt to hide his wobbling. A pained smile was etched onto his face. “Sorry. Work ran late,” he lied. Work always ‘ran late’.
“It’s okay,” she said. Moving to let him enter she asked, “You’re hungry, right?”
He nodded. He flicked on the kitchen lights before sitting down at the table.
The kitchen was only slightly larger than a postcard. It was full of antiquated furniture and appliances. A pot of soup sat on the stove, leftovers from the dinner he didn’t attend. She turned the stove knob and they waited for the soup to warm.
“Where’d you go?” she asked, taking a knife out of the drawer.
His answer was muffled as he buried his face in his hands.
“What did you say?” She took the bread out of the breadbox and began to slice it.
“Le Dernier.” he sounded ashamed to admit it, but she could be mistaking that with the slurring of his voice.
She hummed to herself as the knife hit the cutting board.
His eyes were boring into her back as she worked. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I was…” he didn’t finish the sentence.
She turned back to look at him. The ashtray on the table had a single Red Astra stub stuck in it. Evidence of her own nonadherence to her promise to quit. She’d forgotten to clean it before he came home. He was probably too drunk to notice, and disposing of it would only draw more attention. So there it stayed.
“I want to be better,” he said mostly to himself, “I’m gonna stop.”
Part of her wanted to brush this off as another one of his drunken promises. Just admit to herself that he was incapable of getting better, and that she was going to have to suffer through lonely nights forever. Another part of her believed him. When she listened to his wavering tone and looked at the sad, serious expression on his face, she felt a dark hope. He really wanted it, and maybe he could change.
She turned back towards the stove and started ladling his soup into a bowl.
“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m quitting, like you.” He was still talking.
Her yellowed fingers trembled as she set the bowl and bread down in front of him.
“I love you so much Billie. You’re so good to me. Even when I fuck up.”
Victor gave her a warm smile. The same smile he had when they first met, the same as on their wedding day, and the same as when their daughters were born.
Billie bit her lip, “I love you too.”