Work Text:
the slam of the door of my truck greets me with a loud thud. i slide onto the worn out seats. on the passenger side is a bouquet of peonies wrapped in kraft paper i paid extra for. as i reverse out of the driveway, it crinkles quietly, though the sound is faint compared to the engine rumbling at a steady volume.
i’m running late.
eta is just under an hour.
it’s been a while since i’ve visited… and i’m sorry about that, sweetheart. a weighty part of me feels guilty.
guilty for being busy handling other shit.
you’d call it stubborn though.
stubborn for thinking that life for me now consists only, solely, of the bare minimum. nothing more. it’s harmful, this idea i’ve ingrained like scars on my skin… that i’m purely going through the motions of life, not living it.
despite this, there was still a tiny fragment of me that thought retribution would fulfill this black void inside. that i’d feel whole, feel okay again. sure, that uncomfortable knot remains in my gut—but after handling billy? i’ve never felt more fucking alleviated.
not that i’m suddenly free from the damage i’ve done—i’ll permanently work to make up for that. what i mean is… i finally get to become more than just the soldier i was for years.
and i’m so fucking sorry for that too, sweetheart.
for quitting war life too late.
since billy, slowly, this initial certainty of mine has… shifted. for better or for worse, i’ve kept myself occupied.
you’d probably give me shit for the all places i’ve been jumping between: sketchy motels, cramped mobile trailers, shitty apartments, abandoned warehouses…
but one thing you’d flash that warm smile for is knowing that i’ve got folks—folks i find myself caring about, even if i don’t admit it. it’s not comparable to our family, of course, but it’s awfully close. i carry this lone wolf persona, but i’m secretly grateful for curtis, amy, karen, hell… even that peter kid.
that being said, this new nomadic life i live while working creates distance incrementally. i don’t mean in my heart, but physically. it explains why i’m no longer down the street, or a short walk away. i can only go back to the house we made into a home in my dreams.
i hope you know it’s not an excuse though, sweetheart. i’ll drop everything to see you, always.
i’m pushing 70mph on the freeway.
eta is thirty minutes.
the morning horizon flies by in an orange and pink blur. it’s fall: the type of weather that would have you pissed if i’m not wearing enough layers (according to you).
what i would give to have you yell at me about putting on a beanie again.
instead, i’ve got this kid; peter, who swings by the shipyard. after the incident with DODC, he’s made it a habit to check on me every couple of weeks. i had dinner with him the other night, actually.
we were sitting at the docks. the waves slosh just below us. city lights across the water glimmer brightly, contrasting against the nighttime sky.
“so… how ya been, frank?” peter muffles in between bites of some cheap takeout he bought for us.
i rarely—if ever—am truthful when it comes to this question.
if i loved you less, i might be able to talk about it more.
so instead, i just force an “i’m fine,” before somehow circling the topic back to peter.
i can’t deny that the kid’s pretty tough, though. he’s got these weird spider abilities… but he’s proved to be one of most selfless guys i’ve ever met. frankie jr. would’ve liked him a lot. i can picture our little boy running around with that stupid red mask and refusing to take it off.
peter took a bullet for this other kid—so of course i felt like the world’s biggest asshole for being the one who pulled the trigger. i learned her angry retaliation at the world was out of losing someone close to her.
sounds like someone you know, right?
eta is under ten minutes.
the engine cuts abruptly with a twist of the keys. there are a few cars scattered around, but no one to be seen. i’m on a hill, and everything in front of me is just hundreds of acres of cemetery plots. i sigh, staring out at nothing specific. silence fills the air more than i’d like.
but i sit there for a moment… maybe a minute max. my eyes follow rows of gravestones until they become a tiny point along the horizon, when an aching awareness crosses me.
there’s going to be a point where i’ll remember you for longer than i’ve known you. that thought terrifies me.
regardless, i reach over the middle console, picking up your favorite flowers in an array of colors. as fingers grip the packaging, i step out the truck. the autumn air stings as it hits exposed skin.
you’re a two minute walk away.
see you soon, sweetheart.