Work Text:
It's Belly's first time at the airport, and on any other occasion she's sure she would enjoy it. Marvel at how expansive it all seems, blindingly bright and full of possibilities. Find beauty in the chaos, the flurry of people rushing towards an adventure, the ones relieved to be coming home to comfort. Any other day she'd take time to take it all in. But today is different.
It's her wedding day. Her failed wedding day, and instead of being at the airport to catch a flight to her honeymoon with her husband, she's here alone, a runaway bride.
What a cliche.
She sighs, her stinging, bloodshot eyes blinking back tears. There's no use in crying any more. Her tears won't solve anything.
With a quiet 'sorry' to a passerby she accidentally knocks her suitcase into, she makes her way to her gate. Double-checking her boarding pass, she confirms she's at the right place and lets out a breath of relief. At least something's going right.
Her flight has started to board, so she joins the line instead of sitting down. As she waits, her gaze skirts around the gate. The screens behind the attendants' desk informing passengers the flight to Paris is scheduled to be on time. The tired travelers curled up in uncomfortable positions on the seats or even sprawled out on the floor. The fidgeting guy that looks hauntingly like —
Belly blinks. Blinks again, sure she's hallucinating like she sometimes does when it comes to him. But no. Even after clearing her eyes, he's still there.
Conrad.
Out of their own accord, her feet start moving in his direction.
She's stopped by a tap on her arm. "You're up," the man behind her says.
"Um." She hesitates, then lets him pass her. "Go ahead."
This isn't a good idea, her brain tells her. But listening to her brain hasn't really helped her out recently, and this may be the last time she sees him for a while, so she lets her legs cross over to where he's sitting.
He notices her before she gets there, though. His eyes widen and that's when the rest of her catches up.
See, not a good idea.
She takes a step back, trying to retreat back to the line where she's supposed to be. But it's too late. She stumbles into her suitcase, and he's there. Stabling her with a hand to her elbow.
"Belly? What are you doing here?" Conrad asks.
Belly looks at him, words failing her. Her gaze flickers down to where he's still holding her. She tries not to fixate on the sparks fizzling through her arm, but the warmth of his fingers seeps through her sweatshirt. She feels it down to her bones just like she still feels the tingle of his lips at her hairline from earlier this morning.
The clearing of his throat breaks Belly out of her trance. His hand falls from her elbow, only to grip his own.
"Where's Jere?" he asks, looking around behind her.
And Belly cracks. Her legs wobble, her body sags. She's drained with no energy left to hold herself upright.
"He's—He's not here," she says shakily. "He hates me. Everyone hates me, Cornad. Everyone—" Her words tumble over one another, her breaths heavy and mingling with the tears she's trying to fight back.
"Okay, woah. Woah. Hey. Sit down. Here." Conrad guides her over to a chair, seating her down. "Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Good."
Belly exhales, her breathing going back to normal. Sighing, she pushes her hair back, trying to calm down.
Beside her, Conrad leans against her suitcase. "What—What happened?" he asks quietly.
"He, uh, he called it off," she says, eyes trained on her shoes. "The wedding."
There's a sharp inhale next to her. "Is this — Is it my fault?" Conrad straightens, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "I'll call Jere," he says, voice shaky but decisive. "I'll—I'll talk to him. Maybe he'll listen. I'll fix this, okay? We'll get you married."
"Conrad, stop. " Belly waits until he quiets and meets her eyes. She shakes her head. "We're the last people he wants to hear from right now. You can't fix this." Her voice falls into a whisper, then she lets out a snort. "Besides, you don't want us to get married, anyways."
"Belly." Glass. That's how he says her name. Like it's a fragile thing. That's how his eyes look when he tilts his head down to look at her, a sheen over his pupils. That's how his voice sounds, cracked and minutes away from shattering. "I only want you to be happy. That's all. And if marrying Jeremiah is what makes you happy, then I want that. For you."
"Yeah. Well. It doesn't matter what you or I want," Belly says miserably, "because I messed it all up. I messed up everything."
The tears threaten to break free again. She leans forward, dropping her forehead against her knees.
She feels his presence following suit.
"You didn't mess up anything."
She raises her head a fraction to peek at him. He's only inches away, kneeling in front of her.
"I did," she insists. "You didn't see what happened. How—How terrible it all was."
The side of Conrad's mouth quirks in a sardonic half-smile. "I got sucker punched twice. I think I have a slight idea." His face falls serious again and he repeats his statement. "You didn't mess up anything."
Belly holds his gaze. "You know what's really terrible? Part of me feels relieved," she confesses in a hushed whisper.
The past few days, this whole summer, she's been so stressed. She thought it was the just the nature of wedding planning. That it was because her mom was against it. But then yesterday she kept waiting for someone to object to the wedding again, and when no one did, she felt weirdly disappointed. Antsy. Again, she chalked it up as a normal feeling. Pre-wedding jitters are a common occurrence, after all. But during her cab ride here she thought about how her mom and Susannah always reminisced about their wedding days with such fondness. How, despite the nerves, they were ultimately excited and eager to be brides and start a new chapter of their lives. It occurred to her, that as her wedding morning was unfolding, she didn't feel the same type of eagerness. She was excited to marry Jere, to spend the rest of her life with her best friend, but that feeling was so heavily overshadowed by this intense level of stress that she couldn't shake. And wasn't that weird? She always assumed that the thought of her husband would bring her peace, be a salve of calm for her. And yet, it hadn't.
And now she's sitting at this airport gate, having left behind ruins in her wake, and besides the anxiety of not knowing what's next in her future, all she feels is relief. She gives a shake of her head, huffing out a humorless laugh. "How much of a bitch does that make me?"
"Hey," Conrad says firmly. He smooths back a strand of hair from her forehead, the pad of his thumb gently wiping away a tear that's escaped in the process. "You're not a bitch. You made a mistake, that's it. You were rushing into something you weren't ready for it, and no one can blame you for realizing that it wasn't what you wanted right now."
She leans back with a sad sigh. "I thought I was ready for it."
"I know," he murmurs. "But maybe some time apart will help. When you're ready for each other, you'll find your way back to each other."
He says the words slowly, like it's a struggle to get them out.
For the first time in a while, Belly allows herself to memorize Conrad. The way he's sitting on his heels. His reddened, swollen eyes that look like they could be a match for hers. The concern creasing his forehead, that soft affection that's always present in his gaze. How has she looked past it for so long?
This summer while she was stretched thin and burdened with stress, she had felt so alone. With Jere and Steven working, Taylor busy with her mom's salon, her own mom not being present, she felt like she didn't have anyone. But she hadn't completely been alone, had she? He was always there. Nearby with an offering of comfort. Either through a home-cooked meal or a lending hand with errands or convincing her mom to come to the wedding. For the past two months, he helped her plan a wedding that she knows he didn't fully support. He took care of her, just like he's doing right now. Just like he always has.
She thought he hadn't changed. And he hasn't. Not completely. The essence of him is the same. But he's grown. He's not the same boy who broke her heart in high school, she sees that now.
The anger she's been harboring towards him melts. It's what leads her to say her next words.
"I don't think so," Belly answers. "You were right. Christmas, this summer..." A shuddering breath escapes her. "It all meant something."
Conrad doesn't say anything, and Belly knows from the look on his face that he's taking a moment to process.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, "for being...heartless and insensitive to your feelings."
His eyes soften. "Nah. You're not heartless. You're Isabel Conklin. You have a heart. It's made of sunshine and too much sugar."
She manages a genuine smile at that. It's weak, but it's there.
"I'm sorry, too," Conrad says. Belly goes to stop him, because he already apologized, but it's him who stops her with a shake of his head. "I need to say this. I'm sorry for being so hot and cold with you back when we were teenagers, for not treating you the way you deserved. For all the things I said to hurt you back then, and this past week, too. I'm sorry."
Belly's heart squeezes. She didn't realize how badly she needed to hear this specific apology from him. "Thank you." And then, hesitantly, she asks, "Did you really mean what you said this morning? About me being worth it?"
"Of course I did." He says it in a whisper. A delicate affirmation that's meant only for her.
She matches his tone, because he deserves to know it, too, even if she can't say it as eloquently as him. "So were you. I don't—I don't regret any of it."
And as the words tumble past her lips, she realizes just how true they are. All the confusion, all the hurt she's experienced because of him—because of them—she wouldn't trade it for the world. She's grateful for all that he's given her—the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between.
Hope swirls with the pain in his gaze as he offers a nod. "I'm glad."
"But," she quickly adds, "I'm going to Paris."
As relieving and euphoric as it is to say that out loud for the first time, it also hurts slightly telling him, knowing that he wants them to be together. But that's exactly why she does. She doesn't want him to get his hopes up.
She might want the same, but she's always wanted him. It's an innate part of her. Her DNA is made up of sugar-phosphates and nitrogen bases and Conrad Fisher. But her four-year relationship just ended on its wedding day, and only fools would jump into a rebound relationship with their ex-fiancé's brother mere hours later. Belly might make stupid decisions, but even she knows that would be beneath her.
At least, she thinks she does. At this point, she doesn't know who she is. She needs to find out who she is without Cousins, without the Fisher boys. And Paris feels like the place to do that.
She steels herself for Conrad's reaction, eyes shut, too afraid to see the emotion on his face in real time.
"Good," he replies. A simple four letter word with none of the malice or frustration she'd been expecting. Instead, he sounds almost proud.
Belly opens her eyes, twisting her head to see him now sitting next to her. "Yeah?"
He smiles at her. "Hell yeah. Laurel must be stoked, huh?" He bumps his shoulder with hers.
Belly's gaze dips. "I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"She doesn't know. I, uh, I didn't tell anyone I was leaving."
It sounds ridiculous as she says it out loud. Her head falls into her hands.
"You didn't tell anyone? " Alarm bleeds into Conrad's voice. "Belly."
"I know," she whimpers. "But I just — I couldn't think. After Jere said he didn't want to marry me, nothing made sense." She straightens, hands slipping off her face. "I told my mom I needed space and she said she'd take care of everything, so I went to the house. But when I got there—" Belly inhales. "When I got there, it felt wrong. Like I shouldn't be there. And suddenly, I didn't know where I was supposed to be. I just — I couldn't be there."
The pain of the empty house, the voices of their childhood selves echoing off the walls, of setting down the key on the island, of letting go, it's all so fresh in her heart. She doesn't know what to do with it. How to cope with knowing she'll never have another one of the summers she used to look so forward to.
"That house is as much yours as it is ours, you know that," Conrad tells her.
She responds with a half-hearted shrug, because the truth is, it's not. No matter how much she might think it is, it isn't really. Not in the same way that it's his. He's the one who fought for it all those summers ago. The one who spent all of this summer working on it. It was Susannah's house, and now it's his and Jeremiah's. Belly's only a guest.
"It is," he insists. "It always will be. But call Laurel. Tell her you're safe, at least. She's probably worried."
"Okay."
Conrad turns around to look at the boarding line for her flight. "You should get going. They're almost done boarding."
She nods, but makes no move to get up.
"Belly?"
His gentle prod has the words rushing out, the unconscious knowledge that they'll be caught in safe hands pulling them free. "I've never gone anywhere by myself," she tells him. "I've always had my parents and Steven. Summers, I had you and Susannah. Even college, I went to Finch already knowing Taylor and Jere. I've always had people. I've always been safe. But I don't know anyone in Paris. I—I've never had to do anything on my own." She looks at him with wide eyes, the reality of what she's set out to do finally settling into her, panic starting to prickle under her skin. "I've never even been on a plane." She feels like a little kid when she admits quietly, "I'm scared."
She's met with an understanding smile and warm eyes. "That's how you know you've gotta do it," Conrad says softly. "And planes aren't that scary, I promise."
"What if I mess up?"
He shakes his head. "This isn't something you can mess up," he says confidently. "This is you living life. Learning yourself. You can't mess that up. And even if you do, it's okay. My mom used to always say that a person's twenties are meant for messes." In a purposefully terrible imitation of Susannah, he quotes her, "'Clean linen is only important for holiday dinners. The fabric of your life needs stains. Otherwise, you'll have one hell of a boring story to tell people.'"
That pulls a laugh from Belly and Conrad looks pleased. "You've got this. I know you do."
"If you say so."
It feels good to hear the conviction in his voice. To know that someone believes in her. Trusts that she's doing the right thing. It gives her the confidence to go through with the plan that brought her to the airport.
With a deep breath, Belly begins to gather her things.
"Wait a second."
Conrad rushes over to his backpack. Rummaging through the pockets, he grabs something, then pulls out something else from another pocket. Walking back to Belly, he drops a protein bar into her palm.
"I'm assuming you haven't eaten anything. That's all I have, but they'll give you pretzels on the plane soon and dinner will be served an hour or so after takeoff."
Her fingers gratefully curl over the offering, because she has in fact not eaten anything since the muffin Taylor forced down her throat this morning. "Don't you want it?"
Conrad shakes his head. "It's okay. My flight got delayed; I'll grab something to eat." Then, he fiddles with the other item in his hand. A gum packet. He shakes out two pieces of gum and holds them out to her. "One for takeoff and one for landing," he explains. "They'll help with the ear pressure."
She tucks them into the pocket of her sweatshirt. "Thanks."
He offers her a hand, helping her up just as the attendant at the desk gives the 'Last Call' announcement for her flight.
"Got everything?" he asks.
Gripping the handle of her suitcase, she nods and waves her other hand. "Yup. Passport and boarding pass right here."
"Alright." Conrad steps back. He gives her one of his tender grins. "Go get some stains, Belly Conklin. Make some memories."
She smiles in reply, feeling much lighter, much more at ease, than she did when she got here. She can do this.
"I will."