h_hollister: (Wandering)
[personal profile] h_hollister
So very, very much has happened since she'd seen him last. Barely a week later, and she was a multimillionare. And she has to resist the urge, every single minute it seems like, to call him on his phone or text message him and tell him.

But then, she promised him time. And it wouldn't exactly be fair to promise that, and then call him and tell him every little bit of news that popped up, now would it?

Although nine million pounds wasn't exactly a little bit of news.

Still, she waits.

She just has to hope that her definition of 'soon' matches up with his.

Besides, she feels better knowing that he's nearby, at least. And she still has his Christmas present. Although now she could get it gold plated if she wanted... No no no. No squandering.

She's sitting at the kitchen table, with a list of things to do with her money in front of her, pencil in hand. She'd gotten a lot of good advice from the Nexus. Too much good advice. She wanted to follow all of it, but simply couldn't. After claiming her prize from the lotto office, and filling out endless forms and producing piece after piece of identification, she'd walked away with a check for almost the full amount. Minus one hundred and fifty thousand pounds, which was due immediately for taxes. And she knew that there was more coming. But that would be handled later, by the accountant that she was planning on hiring. Although maybe not from Norman's list.

She's just underlining 'buy a business' on her list when the mail flap in the front door slaps open and shut, catching her attention. She moves to the door and picks up the sole letter, addressed to her, noting the postmark. Pennsylvania? Who the smeg does she know in Pennsylvania?

She slits the envelope open with her thumb and pulls the letter out. And as soon as she does, her heart starts pounding and sinking at the same time.

It was from Thunder.

And he wasn't coming home any time 'soon.'

She sinks onto the sofa, shaking. Angry, at first. She wants to throw things, and scream and holler and cuss the air blue. She wants to jump up and try to track his ass down, demand an explanation. Demand he not do this to her. But she just keeps reading the letter, over and over and over.

...my form is changing daily...

...I need to learn everything...

...Something dangerous...

...Be with who you want...

...I cant be what you want me to be...

...partner seems to need equality, and I cant offer that yet...


At first, those are the only words that really stay with her. Even with all the qualifiers that he's tacked on to them. And her heart breaks all over again. She has this sudden, terrible suspicion that she's never going to see him again. His use of the past tense when referring to her is making her want to throw up.

But then... like a switch being thrown, her perspective changes entirely... and her eyes close.

He's doing it all for her. If she wasn't in the picture, he might never have come to these conclusions. He might still be trying to get back into his old form. But because of her, he's trying to figure out what it is that caused... everything... and see if he can stay human.

For her.

She's lost all anger, now.

She now knows what the course of her life is going to be. If he's doing all this for her... she owes it to him to return the gesture. To put herself in a place where she's just as ready for an equal partner as he is. And she can't be an equal partner if she's clinging to him, hoping and praying that he loves her back, even without either of them understanding it fully.

Even if that equal partner ends up being somebody else...

She folds up the letter, tucks it into the back pocket of her jeans, and gets back to work on her list. She's got a lot of work to do.



((The subject line and LJ cut text come from the song "I Guess I'll Miss the Man" from the musical Pippin. It's sung by Catherine at the very end of the second act, and the lyrics are as follows.

"I guess I'll miss the man, explain it if you can.
His face was far from fine.
But still I'll miss his face, and wonder if he's missing mine.
Some days he wouldn't say a pleasant word all day.
Some days, he'd scowl and curse.
But there were other days, when he was really... even worse.
Some men are heroes. Some men outshine the sun.
Some men are simple good men.
This man... wasn't one.
And I won't miss his moods, his gloomy solitudes
His blunt abrasive style.
But please don't get me wrong. He was the best to come along.
In a long, long while."

Which, aside from the "face was far from fine" line, is so perfect I can't even stand it. XD))
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Hippolyta Hollister

April 2018

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