Chapter Text
The day was a quiet one to start. Raining, as usual. Rowan and Fillip were getting along, drawing together at the kitchen table while you made something for tea at Isla’s tomorrow.
“Alright, wee beasties. Try this,” you said, setting a plate of banana bread in front of them.
“Could use chocolate chips,” Rowan commented once she had taken a few bites.
“Gram doesnae like chocolate, ‘member?” Fillip spoke up.
“How about this? I’ll make two loaves. One for Gram and her sisters, and one for us, with tons of chocolate chips?”
That got both the kids excited, and you set about making two more loaves of banana bread. The kids finished, and ran off, entertaining themselves for a bit. You checked your phone again, the picture of Johnny and the kids from the hike staring back at you.
Nothing. Still. You knew that 141 was on a high-stakes mission, Johnny had called you from London before he had to go dark. It didn’t ease your worry.
Mo ghràdh: Miss you. Not that I haven’t sent that a million times already. Just thought you’d like to know we’re thinking about you.
Mo ghràdh: Can’t wait to celebrate your birthday. Kids are dying to help with your cake, let me know what kind you want.
Mo ghràdh: Saving all the Christmas shopping for our weekend in Edinburgh. I’ll need a strong man to carry all of my bags.
Mo ghràdh: Ro is yelling for me. Tha gaol agam ort. Stay safe, mo duine.
“Ma, there’s someone oot in the garden!” Rowan called, poking her head back into the kitchen. “I dunno who it is.”
“Alright, I’ll go take a look.” You handed Rowan another slice of bread, setting your phone down on the counter as you went to see who was calling.
The sight that greeted you when you opened the front door was one you had been dreading for seven years now. Your blood ran cold, your heart in your throat, you took a step back into the mudroom, trying not to break down.
Not that it helped.
“Jonathan Price, where the fuck is my husband?!” you shouted, hating the sight of him as he came up the short steps.
Price put his hand on your shoulders, and you let out a strangled scream, hitting him in the chest. His grip tightened, and you ignored whatever soft words he was trying to say. At some point, you were conscious of the fact that the kids had come to see what the commotion was about. But that didn’t stop you, shouting in Price’s face, demanding Johnny. You kicked out at Price, trying to get him to just let go , tears streaming down your face, feeling your foot connect with his knee. Price let out a groan of pain, bending over to hold his knee.
“Where is he?!” you screamed again.
Price ignored your thrashing, wrapping you into his arms, half to keep you from thrashing about and hurting him or yourself. “ I’m sorry . Oh, Dove, I’m so sorry.”
If you weren’t broken before, you were now. The noise that came out of you wasn’t fully human, and if Price hadn’t been holding you, you would have collapsed on the ground. Your knees gave out, and Price gently guided you to the ground, stroking your hair and continuing to whisper.
“Ma!” Rowan shouted, Fillip following after her. You reached out to grab her, but she moved away, kicking out at Price. “Wha’ did ye do to my ma?!”
Price flinched, and guilt and pain was written all over his face. Fillip clung to you, sobbing simply because you were, Rowan still shouting at Price, who was speaking to her, trying to get her to calm down. Too much. This was all too much, and you couldn’t handle it.
“ Enough !”
The shout had come from you, and you didn’t even realize it until they all quieted down, staring at you. Fillip let out another sniffle, burying his face in your chest. A wave of guilt washed over you, and you tugged Rowan into your lap, holding her close.
“Enough,” you pleaded, letting out a broken sob. “Please. I need to talk to you two, about something very important.”
Neither of them fully understood. At five and three, the concept of death wasn’t something they could grasp. Johnny had been gone for so much of their lives, they couldn’t wrap their mind around the fact that this time, he wasn’t coming back.
“But why , Ma?! He still loves us, righ’? So why ain’t he comin’ home?” Rowan sobbed, clutching to you desperately.
“Rowan-”
“Is he jus’ playin’ wit’ us?” Fillip asked, his little hand touching your face. “Da loves messin’ around.”
“God, no , you two-”
You weren’t sure how long you went around in circles with the kids. Trying to explain why their father wasn’t coming home, not now, not ever. Eventually, the sobs tapered off, both of the kids dozing off in your arms having exhausted themselves from the crying. If you could, you would do the same. Sleep until the pain went away, until the world was right again.
“Let me,” Price murmured, getting up with a pained grunt. Gently, he picked Rowan up, shifting her to one arm as he helped you up.
Putting both the kids in their rooms to nap seemed like too far a walk when your legs felt as weak as they did. Instead, you had Price put Rowan down on one side of the couch, and you lay Fillip down on the other, covering them with some throw blankets, pillows on the floor just in case they rolled off. They wouldn’t nap long, they never did, so you had to use what quiet moments you had well.
In the kitchen, Price already had the kettle going, opening a few cupboards as he searched for the tea and mugs. Slowly, you sat down at the table, looking down at your hands. Neither of you spoke, the air heavy around you.
Dead. Your husband, the father of your children, the light of your life, your Johnny was dead . What were you going to do now? You had changed your entire life to fit Johnny’s, and you had done so happily because you loved him so damn much. And now he was gone, and you were alone, and what the hell were you going to do?
“Where is he?” you croaked out, looking up at Price. The sip of tea tasted like sawdust, and you were distantly aware of pain when it burned your tongue.
Price winced, dropping his eyes. “He had it in his file he wanted to be cremated-”
A flash of anger went through you, and you slammed a hand on the kitchen table, surprising both you and Price. “And you just did that, without telling me first, without letting me say my goodbyes?” you shouted, your voice cracking. “I don’t even get to say goodbye to him?”
“Dove, I’m sorry, trust me, I wouldn’t have wanted that,” Price insisted, raising his hands in an effort to placate you. “But you wouldn’t have wanted to see him.”
That just made it worse. Imagining Johnny’s broken body, lifeless and cold. He had always been so strong and confident, he had survived so much already. How the hell had it happened? You weren’t even sure if you wanted to know.
“Was it quick?” you found yourself asking next, your anger fizzling out, replaced by a hollow feeling.
“Aye. It was quick. He didn't feel a thing, love.”
Was that for the best? The rational part of you said it was. You didn’t want Johnny to have felt any pain. But the selfish part of you wanted him to have some sort of last words, some message for you and the kids.
You weren’t sure how long you sat there in silence, staring into the cup of tea as if it might take the pain away. Price didn’t offer anything else, though you knew he was watching you, guilt and pain written all over his face. Raising the cup to your lips, your hands shaking, a sudden shout made you drop the mug. It shattered, but you didn’t pay the hot liquid or ceramic shards any mind as you pushed yourself away from the table, bolting to the living room.
You crouched next to Rowan, grabbing her shoulder. “What? What’s wrong?”
Her blue eyes were wide and scared, and she scrambled off the couch, into your arms. You could feel her shaking, her heart beating like a rabbit’s. Rather than answer, she buried her face in your chest. In an attempt to soothe the crying girl, you pet her hair, murmuring softly. A hand on your shoulder made you start, and you jerked your head towards Price.
“Your hand, Dove,” he whispered, his brows furrowed.
Shit. You hadn’t even realized your hand was bleeding, much less that it was bleeding badly. At least Rowan hadn’t noticed either, or she’d start wailing again. Adjusting the whimpering girl in your arms, you held your hand out to John, who pressed a tea towel down on it, trying to stop the bleeding.
“The first aid kit is in the bathroom,” you whispered, trying not to alert Rowan to what was happening.
He nodded, and went to grab it. The tea towel was already soaked through with blood, and you wondered why you weren’t even feeling it. When he came back, Price took your hand again, wincing as he peeled away the tea towel.
“This might need stitches,” he murmured, pressing another towel over it, applying pressure in an effort to get it to stop bleeding.
Going to the urgent care in the next town over, or the hospital a ways away and waiting to be seen would take too long. Plus you would have both kids, who were already having an understandably difficult time. It just wouldn’t work.
“No, I need to go see Isla,” you argued. “There’s no time, and the kids wouldn't last a minute. You can do them, right?”
Letting out a huff, Price shook his head. “I can do battlefield stitches, not real ones. You need a doctor.”
“I can’t even feel my hands, John, it’s fine.”
“You’re in shock, that’s why. I guarantee you, the second the needle pierces your skin, you’ll start feeling it,” Price insisted. When you didn’t budge, he ran a hand over his beard, looking up at the ceiling for a moment in exasperation. “Fine, no stitches for now. Do you have any superglue?”
Price was right. Once he started pinching your hand closed to glue the skin back together, the pain rushed through you. The wound was deep, cutting across your palm. Once he closed it the best he could, Price wrapped it tightly with gauze.
“Tomorrow, we’re taking you to a doctor to get that looked at,” he ordered, letting out a sigh. He put everything away, and got to work cleaning up the blood that you hadn't noticed on the floor.
Fillip had woken up at some point, and joined Rowan in your lap, sucking on his thumb, his hair a mess. You didn’t have the heart to stop him like you normally would. Whatever brought them comfort right now was fine by you.
“You’ll still be here tomorrow?” you asked.
Price gave you a sheepish look, and a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. The man looked as tired as you felt, and you wondered when the last time he slept was. For the first time, you realized that Johnny’s death wasn’t just affecting you and the kids. Price was hurting, and Simon and Kyle were as well, wherever they were.
“If I’m invited back, that is. Suppose I should have asked first,” he replied. “I passed that motel on my way into town, I’ll head there after we talk to Isla.”
“No, no, stay in the guest room,” you quickly offered. There was a sense of relief when Price said he would be there when you spoke to Isla. You weren’t sure you would be able to get the words out if you were doing this alone.
Gently, you began to nudge the kids off your lap. As much as it hurt you, it was time to talk to Isla, and tell her what happened. The drive was swift and silent, though you had silently prayed for Price to take a wrong turn or two in order to delay the inevitable.
Isla MacTavish had been through this three times already. As soon as she saw you and the kids, accompanied by Price, she knew. Once inside, over more tea, tears streaming down her cheeks, Isla asked similar questions as you had.
“I’ll give you two a moment,” Price excusing himself. From the kitchen window, you could see him getting his cigarettes out.
Isla reached across the table, squeezing your fingers. “M’eudail. I ken better than anyone how yer feelin’,” she whispered. “There’s nothin’ to say, not right now. Do ye ken the story of Naomi an’ Ruth?”
You hadn’t thought it possible to cry as much as you had that day, and yet more tears threatened to spill over. Isla had lost her husband and now all three of her sons the same way, and she was the one comforting you. You shook your head, using a sleeve to try and wipe your eyes.
“I’ll send ye the whole thing later. Short of it is, Naomi is an old widow, an’ when her sons died, she was left wit’ her daughter-in-law. An’ they loved one another, supported one another, and got through it together. An’ tha’ is exactly wha’ were gonna do, okay? Yer my daughter, ye understand tha’?”
Now it was impossible to hold back the tears. Nodding, you did your best to get the words out. “Thank you, Màthair.”
When Price came in, there was yet another hard discussion to be had. It was best to get it over with now, rather than wait until Johnny’s ashes were ready to be picked up. What he had wanted, what he wrote down in his will, and what you wanted were two very different things.
“Johnny wanted his…shit.” You pressed the heels of your palm against your eyes, the gash on your hand aching in protest, tears soaking the gauze. “I can’t do it. That’s all we have left of him, I can’t just let him go.”
Price’s large hand patted your shoulder, and you heard him taking the paper away from you, reading it over. He must've passed it to Isla, because she spoke next.
“Isle of Skye. Aye, m’eudail, he loved tha’ place. Said the pair of ye were gonna get married there, before ye had the shotgun weddin’,” Isla murmured sadly. She was quiet for a moment, and you pulled your hands away from your eyes as she passed Johnny’s will back to Price. “I cannae do it either. I wasnae able to fer any of them.”
Letting out a tired sigh, Price scratched his beard, looking between you and Isla. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then finally spoke, his voice gentle and soft. “I could do it, bring Simon and Kyle with me. You have the…majority of him, naturally. But it could help all of us, letting a small part of John go.”
There was wisdom in what he was saying. Johnny’s wishes could be honored, and you could keep a part of him as well. Task Force 141 could say goodbye to their fallen brother. It tore at your heart to give any part of Johnny away, knowing he would be scattered to the winds over the cliffs where he had once taken you, where he hoped to take you again one day.
It’s what Johnny wanted. But it wasn’t what you wanted. Exchanging a glance with Isla, you willed her to say no, to be as selfish as you were. But the old woman gave you a sad smile and a nod, reaching across the table to cup your cheek.
“It’s up to you, in the end,” she whispered. “But I think it’s the best thing to do.”
Maybe it was. But you still hated it. “Alright,” you choked out, sinking further down into the chair. All you wanted to do was curl up in your bed that still smelled like Johnny, and sleep. “Alright.”
The next few days passed slowly. Isla took charge of calling the rest of the family, and accepting condolences and the usual offering of food. Price did whatever he could to help, making calls, running errands, and the like. And while they worked, you simply…existed. You lay in bed, in one of Johnny’s jumpers, staring at the wall or ceiling, or clinging to the kids when they crawled into bed with you. Not sleeping, aside from a few hours when you simply couldn’t keep your eyes open. Price had forced you to the doctor yesterday so you could get your hand taken care of, but beyond that, you hadn’t even been downstairs.
Johnny had always said you were like Isla. Strong, calm under pressure, unshakable. How wrong he was. Because without him, you were falling apart. A distant part of you knew you should be up, taking care of Rowan and Fillip if nothing else. It wasn’t fair what you were doing, leaving Isla to handle everything. She should have been able to mourn as well. You should be doing this together. And the fact that Isla and Price weren’t pushing you to do anything made you feel even guiltier.
There was a knock on your door. Day or night, you weren’t quite sure. Everything sort of melded together. If it was Isla or the kids, they wouldn’t have knocked. Which meant it was likely Price, or one of Johnny’s cousins who somehow made it past your guards. They knocked again, and you let out a groan. Whoever it was seemed Insistent.
“Give me a minute,” you called out, sitting up slowly.
There wasn’t a way to make yourself presentable. You hadn’t showered or seen the sun in days, after all. But you did your best, squinting as you opened the curtains, the windows squeaking as you opened them to air out the room a bit. When you glanced in the mirror, you stopped short.
To say you looked sickly was putting it lightly. The dark circles under your eyes were a stark contrast with your pallid demeanor. Your hair was a mess, your entire appearance screaming defeat. Not that it was different from how you felt. But it was a different thing seeing it.
It wasn’t something that could be fixed in a moment. But it was a wake-up call. With a sigh, you sat down in a chair by the window, glancing outside to see who it might be. The car was unfamiliar, giving you no hints. Unable to find any more reasons to hold off, you called out for the visitor to come in.
Slinking in like a whipped dog, Simon set a box down on the small table. Refusing to look at you, he left again, coming back with another box, even smaller than the last. Silently, he held it out to you, not meeting your eyes.
There weren’t any words to properly describe how you felt at that moment. Holding the remainder of your husband in your hands, the box plain and unmarked. Nothing like Johnny, who had always been larger than life, vibrant, lighting up any room he walked into, never failing to make you smile and laugh.
“He's so small,” you whispered, your voice catching. “Not even ten pounds.”
Simon was tense, staring out the window, looking like he was ready to bolt. There was never forcing the stoic man to do anything he didn’t want to do, and that included talking before he was ready.
“Johnny was my best friend, my brother, and I let him down,” Simon finally stated, his voice thick with emotion. “I let you down too, Birdie. I promised you I had his back, and when it mattered, I wasn’t there.”
You hadn't pressed Price for any details. You didn’t want to know how it happened, didn’t want your imagination to conjure up worse images than it already was, thinking of the various ways Johnny could have died. Maybe one day, you would be brave enough to.
Taking your silence as a sign of your anger, Simon took a step back, his hands curling into fists. Emotional vulnerability didn’t come easy to him, but that wasn’t the only reason he was struggling.
“You were his world, you and those kids. Never stopped talking about you lot, showing us pictures. Asked me once if I thought he was a good dad. Guess he felt pretty shitty about being gone so much. I told him I had no idea, my father was a worthless cunt,” Simon continued, sucking in a breath, his hands shaking as he unfurled them. “But I let him know that it seemed like he was doing well enough. Loved you and the kids, left as soon as he could to come back and spend even a little bit of time with you. Everything Johnny did was for his family, and that includes his sacrifice. So, I’m sorry, Birdie. And I wish I had been there. But I wasn’t, and I’m so damn sorry.”
“Simon, I-”
Before you could finish, Simon cut you off with a sharp jerk of his head. “No. I know what you’re gonna say, Birdie, and I don’t want to hear it. Not right now, not yet. Maybe once I do what I need to do,” he snapped. Finally, Simon met your eyes, and his face softened, just a fraction. “Thank you, for letting me be a part of your family.”
The fact that his words sounded so final, so much like a goodbye scared you. Sitting up a little straighter, you tried to stop him. “Simon, wait, you’re still a part of the family,” you insisted. “You’re the godfather of the kids, their uncle. You can’t just stop being cared for because you think you did something wrong. Our love for you isn’t conditional.”
Rather than answer, Simon stared at you for a long while, before turning and leaving. He passed Price as he left, shaking off the older man’s hand when Price tried to stop him. Taking a seat at the chair opposite you, Price ran a hand over his beard, glancing at the box in your lap.
“He’s hurting, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it,” Price murmured as an apology. “Don’t hold it against him.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Price nodded, and looked out the window, a hand over his mouth. It was a familiar sight from your time working as his secretary, and you knew he was gathering his words, trying to find the right thing to say.
“It’s not going to be an easy time, for a bit. Things are in play, and I’ve got to take care of a few things. Getting revenge isn’t going to bring John back, but we can honor his memory and sacrifice by finishing the job,” he explained. Price reached a hand out, patting your knee. “But I promise you, Dove, that I’m here for you. As much as I can be, whatever you need. You call, and I’ll try my hardest to be here.”
Right. Price had to leave as well. And now you couldn’t just hide yourself away, leaving him and Isla to handle everything, you had to go learn how to be a person again. You had to start living without Johnny, and learn how to go through life without him.
“I don’t know what to do,” you confessed, feeling tears brimming your eyes. Your heart twisted in your chest, and you clutched the box in your hands harder.
Price gave you a sympathetic smile, clearing his throat before he answered. “You take it a day at a time, love,” he murmured, his voice gentle but firm. “One day at a time, one foot in front of the other. If not for yourself, do it for your kids.”
God, the poor kids. Not only were they still struggling to comprehend what happened to Johnny, but they were seeing you falling apart as well. For you to shut down so completely was likely scaring them, and they didn’t deserve that, not when they were already going through a difficult time.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. But this isn't healthy. The kids are worried, Isla is worried, and I’m worried,” Price expressed. “No one’s trying to rush you into anything. But I think it would help all of us if you came downstairs and ate something.”
The first steps, small as they were, were the hardest. Getting out of bed. Taking a shower. Going downstairs. But you couldn’t deny that you felt-and looked- a little more alive once you were clean and dressed in fresh clothes.
As soon as they saw you, the kids rushed you. “Ma! We were so scared,” Rowan cried out, grabbing onto your leg as you picked up Fillip. “Gram an’ John said ye were jus’ tired, an’ missin’ Da.”
“Yeah, I was.” Still were. But you couldn’t tell them that. You glanced at Price, raising your eyebrows. “It’s John now, is it?”
From his spot at the stove, John gave you a small smile, shrugging. “Not exactly gonna have the sprogs calling me Captain all the time,” he replied. “Sit down, Dove. Don’t worry, it’s not my cooking. Something one of Isla’s sisters dropped off.”
When she came in from the front garden, Isla pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Halo, nighean. You look better,” she told you.
A warm meal and listening to Rowan and Fillip’s rambling helped you feel a bit better as well. As time went on, there would be difficult questions from the kids that you would have to answer. And at some point, you would have to talk to Johnny’s family. As much as it hurt, life would happen, and you would have to face it. No one was forcing you to be okay just yet, but they were helping you to see that ignoring everything, including your own family, wasn’t going to help anything.
Snow crunched underfoot as you walked John out to his truck, and you wrapped your shawl a bit tighter around your shoulders. The sun was out for now, but the clouds in the sky promised more snow before long.
“Take care of yourself, Dove. That’s an order,” Price dictated, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing lightly. His storm blue eyes were sad, though he gave you a small smile. “I meant what I said. You need anything, you let me know.”
Despite the offer being genuine, and not one out of pity, guilt or obligation, you weren’t quite sure you would. Being dependent on someone else, as tempting as the idea was, wouldn’t be conducive to learning to go through life alone. If you called John every time you needed something done around the house, you would never be able to do anything on your own.
“Alright. Thank you, John. For everything,” you replied. “Be careful out there. Tell the same to Kyle and Simon.”
There was more you wanted to say, but hopefully he understood. You wanted to thank him for watching Johnny’s back for all these years, for being a friend and mentor to him. For stepping in and helping when you needed time to process everything. For showing up to tell you himself, rather than letting some member of the brass that you didn’t know, who didn’t really care about Johnny, tell you in their emotionless, businesslike manner.
“I will. And don’t think I’m not going to check on you, Dove,” he warned, seeing right through you. “I’ll be in touch.”
Retreating back to the porch, you watched him go, before heading back inside. For a moment, you lingered in the cold. Flurries began falling from the sky, melting on your cheeks, sticking to your lashes. Going back inside would mean returning to your new reality. A reality without Johnny, and all the light he brought to your life.
But it was one you had to face, even if you weren’t sure you were brave enough to. But there was comfort in knowing Johnny had thought you were. And that gave you enough strength to turn around, and head back inside.