#anyway i am not cishet but i have seen the damage that gets done to cishet aro and ace people and it's really bad and poorly understood

[wanderingchronicle]

reminded viscerally of the time i got a really persistent hate anon specifically because this person was convinced I was a straight person trying to be special like

mate.

[mellicose]

That Woman Over There - Chapter 4

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: Teen, for language

Word count: 3611

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4

They held each other until they were cried out. There was a blooming pain in Connie’s chest that did not subside despite the copious tears. The damage was done, and she didn’t know how to start making up for it.

She caressed Liv, then chuckled at her blotchy face. “So pretty.” Liv took her hand and kissed her palm.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing,” Connie said intensely.

“I told him. That was for you to share, if you wanted.” A fat tear dripped off her nosetip.

Connie shrugged. “We all know you’re challenged at keeping secrets. But you keep the big ones, don’t you?” she said, and hugged her again. “Don’t you ever keep all that pain inside you again. Tell me when I’m being a bitch.”

“You were so hurt, and angry. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“So were you. And you were pregnant. And you didn’t know whether you and Alex would stay together. You needed me, but I was too busy screaming my own bullshit at you.”

She shrugged bashfully. That was Livvie, in a nutshell. “After you and Ella split, I knew you were already so frayed, and then the divorce happened. You were not well, but I was swollen and miserable and I couldn’t be there for you.”

Connie shook her head. “You’re something else, you know that? That’s not how it works. If I’m being selfish, you call me out on it. If you need me to shut up for a second and listen, you tell me. This friendship goes both ways.”

She nodded, but her face was still twisted with emotion.

“Sweet Livvie,” she said, and squeezed her again.

“What’s going on here?” Alex said. She dropped her cloth shopping bags on the floor and knelt in front of them.

“I told John,” Olivia said, and hiccuped.

“You told John what, sweetheart?” Alex said, drying her tears. It could be anything.

“About …” she realized she had not told Alex everything. She smiled through her tears. Everyone thought she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. It was running joke. But she had kept this from her.

Connie squeezed Alex’s hand, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Alex pulled a pillow into her lap, then patted it. Olivia lay down, and Alex pulled her hair out of the ponytail and started to run her fingers through it.

“You were destroyed. You walked around doing the tough woman bit, and it was excruciating to see it, and not know how to make it better. Especially when I felt it was mostly my fault.”

Alex’s mouth dropped open.

“Nonononono,” she said, shaking her head. “What happened with Jo is not your fault. Never. Ever,” she said. “Getting pregnant was … a surprise, but I know now that if it had not happened, I wouldn’t have done the growing up I needed to do. I was too comfortable with letting you take care of me. It was selfish.”

“I was obsessed. I am obsessed. You’re … I thought I was going to lose you, and it made me desperate. You’re what I’ve been waiting for all my life.” Olivia sat up. “You know what I told you about Connie not being able to make it because of the installations in Paris?”

“Yeah. You were really upset. I didn’t understand-” she looked toward the kitchen, and saw that Connie had stepped into the garden - “I don’t understand how she couldn’t make it. You wore me out talking about her and the firstborn thing, then all of a sudden she was too busy.”

“You told me that John was really important to you right then, and how important it was for him to be included in the birth.”

She nodded. “It was your call, though.”

“Yes, it was. We were fragile - you were fragile - it was really important that you felt that I was there for you, and accepted you as you are.”

Alex’s brow furrowed. “So what does that have to do with Paris?”

“I had to make a decision. Choose who and what was most important to me. And it was you. It’s always been you.” Tears rimmed her eyes again, and she wrung her hands. “There was no Paris.”

Alex was lost.

“Connie didn’t have an art show. She just … she felt she couldn’t be at the birth if John was also present. It was too much for her.”

“Okay,” Alex said slowly.

“She said she was afraid she would ruin the moment if she attempted to twist his head off.”

“Uhuh.”

“It was my call, and you were hurting too, and you really wanted John there. So I made a decision.”

“Ohhh,” Alex said. So, Connie didn’t show because of John. Really?

“You could’ve told me when we discussed it. I woulda found some way to keep ‘em apart. Shit, even if it meant taking turns - an hour in, and hour out-”

Olivia shrugged.

“It was too much. My head was foggy and I was ready to burst and it seemed everyone was pulling me in different directions-” she squeezed Alex’s hand -”not you, but, I just wanted you to be happy.”

“Still. You should’ve told me,” Alex said. “Is this why you were crying to Connie?”

“She apologized for being so stubborn.”

“Too late now.”

“I’m fine. We’re fine now.”

“You know what? I don’t blame you for keeping it to yourself. She should’ve gotten over herself and come and seen you. Her parents divorced? Big fuckin’ whoop. I never knew my da. John’s a twat? Not news. But he’s our twat. And he adores Monty.”

“You don’t know how it was with them. Right after Ella had the affair, too. It’s like the bottom fell out of her life.”

Alex stood up. “And? Shit happens!” she said pointing at her flat belly. Her cheeks were red with anger.

“This is why I didn’t tell you before,” Olivia said. “And your anger is justified. I won’t tell you to calm down, but I need you to understand.”

“Understand what?”

Monty’s crying drifted down from the bedroom. “I don’t know. All I know is I’m over it. All of it,” she said, and got up with a groan. “I’m gonna go feed the baby.”

Alex stood in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips. She didn’t realize she’d picked up the mannerism from John. She was still confused. So, Connie didn’t come because she was mad at John, a man she never met before? She didn’t understand what the big deal was, really.

She carried the groceries to the kitchen and looked outside, where Connie lay in a lounger, eyes closed to the sun. John thought like most cishet men - they were a bunch of cleaned up neanderthals, the whole lot of ‘em - he was just clever enough to make some lolly out of it.

She slammed the cupboard doors as she put things away.

Twat or not, he was kind to her during a time when being around Olivia hurt. He didn’t have to be, but he chose to be there for her. He still is, in his way. She never thought she would call that overgroomed douche lord her best friend … but he kinda was.

They even had a matching tattoo.

She looked down at at the inside of her left wrist. She barely felt it when she got it - she hurt too bad to feel much. But he held her hand from the other chair, while someone else tattooed him. He kept her centered. He loved them both - both her and Jo - she felt that. And it felt good.

Connie came inside for a bottle of water.

“Connie?”

“Yes?” Her body language was different. She was reticent.

“We should talk about tomorrow, hammer out the last details after dinner.”

Connie put on some socks and a pair of scuffed brown engineer boots. “You know what? I think I’m gonna talk a nice long walk. I haven’t seen the town in daylight yet. You two have a nice dinner together.  But yeah, absolutely.” She changed into a button-up shirt and brushed her hair on the sofa. Although she wanted to be angry at her, she couldn’t. There was a pulsing fragility about her that made her want to hug the woman instead. And it irritated her.

It reminded her a bit of Olivia. Strong, talented, ambitious ... but ultimately, soft. No wonder they were so close.

She was about to go back to the kitchen when Connie grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to sitting on the sofa beside her. She looked at her so intently it made her tingle.

“Lovely Alex,” she said softly. “Can you keep a secret, for me? I’ll completely understand if you tell me to go ... suck on an egg or something.” Her accent came back, and it was nice, both hard and soft. At another time, she would’ve thought it sexy, but …

Eh. It was.

They both looked toward the stairs for signs of Olivia, but everything was quiet.

“I still remember when Livvie called me and told me about you. How you are a brilliant artist on the brink, and how clever you are, and sexy, and hot…” she smiled. “She mentioned that a lot, your hotness. But she didn’t need to say it. I heard it in her voice. It was different, with you.”

Alex bit her lip.

“That whole thing, with the firstborn, we made that promise when we still young and … in our own little world,” Connie said, squeezing her wrist. “You know how it is the first time. The first woman.”

“Oh yeah,” Alex said. “Chandra. My first girl. Yes.”

“Are you still friends?” Connie asked, then thought better of it. “Wait, you don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s fine. No. It was not a long relationship, but it was big. Huge. I came out to everyone including my mum, and it was a whole thing - her parents are Muslim - and Chandra got shipped off to fucking Yorkshire with her grandparents and I never heard from her again.”

“Fuck,” Connie said. “That’s awful.”

Alex gave her a half smile. “Yeah. Grim.”

“I think even when were were… you know, we both knew that we were meant to be something else. That’s why the transition was easy. For me, that’s the curse of the bisexual. When I make a friend, woman or man, I have to question whether I like them, or whether I like them,” she said, nodding her head slowly.

“I thank the powers that be every day I was born a total lezz,” Alex said, patting Connie’s shoulder. “But I sympathize. That must suck.”

Connie chuckled. “Anyway, we were young when we made those promises. We couldn’t see further than each other. But gladly, things change,” she said, and gave Alex a meaningful look. “It was you who was meant to be there.”

She took both of Alex’s hands and squeezed. Her grip was firm and warm, and for some reason, her heart was going a million miles a minute.

“She loved you from the first moment you met. She might’ve gotten a little overzealous when she inseminated without your explicit consent, but I think she knew that it was time, and that time was running out for her in other ways,” she said, and patted her own empty belly. “Even when you were upset, and things happened, she never thought that you were a temporary thing. She was waiting for you.”

Alex was dizzy. This all felt like déjà vu, in a lovely, twisted way.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you, corazón. And please forgive me for making you both upset. I can be bullheaded sometimes, but I try every day to be better.”

For some reason, now her eyes were filled with tears. Connie was a charming bitch.

“If Olivia is fine, then I am totally fine. Really,” she said, and actually pulled Connie in her arms for a hug.

“Awww,” Olivia said. She cradled an eagerly sucking Monty in her arms. “You two discussing super secret birthday business?”

“You look beautiful. Madonna and child,” Connie said.

“Tits out for Monty,” Alex said, not wanting to be outdone. Connie laughed and stood up.

“I won’t be in for dinner,” she said, and grabbed her purse. “I’ve got some errands to run. For the party.”

Alex looked at her, then nodded briskly. “Yeah. Important stuff.”

“You’re going to walk?” Olivia said. “You can take my car if you like.”

“No. I’m not up to breaking any laws today,” Connie said, then kissed both Olivia and Monty. “I could use the walk, and the shops are close.”

“Suit yourself,” Olivia said with a smile, then walked into the kitchen. “After you eat, mummy gets to eat,” she said. “Yum yum!” She smacked her lips.

“I’m on it,” Alex said, following them into the kitchen.

Connie sat down on the sun-warmed park bench with a sigh.

She had gone to the patisserie to confirm pickup on Livvie’s birthday cake - a black forest gateau topped with billowing cream, chocolate shavings and cherries - and then, to the flower shop to order the flowers for her crown. It was nice to be lost, and take time to walk down the unfamiliar streets of Liv’s town. She was so used to the noise and smell of New York that the clean air and smiling faces felt like a gift.

The sound of happily screaming children was both balm and blow. She missed Poppy. With all her heart.

She watched a little girl with curly brown hair very much like Poppy’s go down the slide, then run to the swings. Her mother swept her up in her arms for a kiss before placing her in the plastic seat.

She helped raise Poppy - Ella’s child from a previous relationship gone wrong during the pregnancy - from when she was still tender and babbling at 2 years.

Boy, did that sound familiar. 

They had not made any legal arrangements, and since the woman Ella was seeing when she got pregnant wanted nothing to do with the baby, she slid seamlessly into the role of caregiver. She did it out of love for Ella, but it had not taken long to love the child.

For four years, she had been co-parent, making decisions with Ella for her welfare. She wiped her bum. She stayed up with her when she was sick. She paid for her Montessori, and she looked forward to seeing her grow into a woman, alongside Ella.

But she lost her when Ella lost the plot. Poppy wasn’t her daughter. And with nothing on the books, there was nothing else to say. Concerned friends had suggested filing a suit of custody - she had the receipts to prove her case to the court. But after the restraining order, Ella disappeared. Being a nomadic sculptor that she was, she could be anywhere.

Poppy could be running around in the Guyanese jungle while her mother hacked at stone in a open shed nearby, for all she knew. She had done all she could, but the trail was cold - even the PI said there was no use spending more money.  Poppy was lost to her.

A little boy ran up, the skin of his legs jeweled with long, shallow scratches. His blond hair was gritty with sand.

“Why yer crying?” he said, squinting up at her with concern. His round belly peeked out of the bottom of his Hulk t-shirt.

“Oh!” she said, grinning. She wiped her chin - it was wet. She was so deep in thought she didn’t notice.

“Got sand in my eye,” she said, winking at him.

“That’s bad,” he said, wiping his eyes in sympathy. “You talk funny.” His father walked up, smile crocodile-wide.

“I apologize if he’s bothering you,” he said, eying her hungrily. “He’s a feisty tyke.”

“He’s a little gentleman,” she said. The boy wriggled with delight, then ran off.

“Where’s yours?” he said. She didn’t have the accoutrement of motherhood - the giant purse, the water bottles, the comfortable clothes. He gave her legs an appreciative glance and walked closer, intending to sit down. She glanced at his left hand, where there was a very solid, very gold band.

Jerk.

“She’s somewhere,” she said vaguely, then pulled her cell out of her purse in the universal ‘leave me alone’ way.

“Right then. Have a good evening,” he said, and walked off, glancing longingly back at her one more time. 

John was sick of driving. He rubbed his eyes and realized his face was itchy with salt.

It was strange. All his life, in one way or another, he felt like the odd person out. The burden. The interloper. The mild inconvenience. His own family acted that way, and even now, they were still distant and uninterested - except when they needed something.

Although he teased them mercilessly, Olivia and Alex had turned into his chosen family. Alex embraced his energy, and didn’t make him feel like he tried too hard. Olivia had warmed up to him, and given him her trust and kindness. For the first time in his life, he was enough. And their impact on his life was massive. They had knocked him out of a downward spiral that had nearly killed off the last bit of sympathy in him.

He parked on the curb and stepped out of his car. The afternoon was gloriously warm, and there was a pickup football game in the green. Men hooted and kicked the ball around as their partners watched on the sidelines, reclining on picnic blankets.

He sat on the grass under a tree and hugged his knees.

The men moved so gracefully, confident in their strength. He remembered a time when he wished with all his might that he could run around so freely, and take part in all the things boys do. But he was stuck, aching and bent. Instead of kindness, or at least pity, those healthy, straight-spined kids made his life miserable. And to make things worse, there was no respite at home, since his father was just the grown version of the bullies. After a while, he had seen himself through their eyes - skinny, weak, whinging - and started to hate himself.

It had taken years and years to feel anything more than bitter disappointment when he looked in the mirror.

He suffered in silence, enduring the painful surgeries and therapies by focusing on the day he would be able to walk tall. The very same day that his orthopedic doctor gave him the all clear, he ran to the nearest football pitch, ready to play.

And it was a disaster. He realized, after years of envious observation, that he didn’t like the game. He actually preferred his books and messing around with his Apple II, bent or not. Yet, when he came home with a bleeding elbow and mud on his clothes, it was the first time his father had looked on him with pride. His heart sank. His anger and resentment melted alway with his temporary approval. And he knew he couldn’t stop.

He showed up, took the hits, swallowed his ennui, and become good enough to join a local league. It was all his father spoke about at the pub - how his boy went from a cripple to an athlete. Now, he was used to it. On the weekends, he heard football on the radio while he worked in the shop. Did he really care? Maybe not so much. But only in those times - with the commentator screaming, and the distant roar of the crowd - could he think of his father with affection.

A young man ran near him and started to play keepie uppie. He panted and smiled, and both knees were red with friction. He was quite good, hitting the ball steadily higher, bouncing it deftly on his head, then catching it with his foot and starting over. John watched him with a smile, and groaned when it dropped.

“Good on ye, mate,” John said, and stood up to leave.

The man jogged after him.“Why didn’t you join?”

“You already started,” John said. The man was compact, with wavy blond hair and gold eyes. He looked back at the green, then at him.

“I saw you. Looking earlier.” He searched John’s face for a sign. “Staring.”

“Oh yeah. I was … thinking. Reminiscing.”

“About what?” the man said. He raked his fingers through his hair and licked the sweat from above his upper lip. Although his stance was truculent, it didn’t hide the fact he was obviously flirting. His eyes traveled from John’s narrow hips to his bearded face. He’d love some beard burn. Anywhere.

“My da,” John said, knowing it would kill the mood. “I’m sorry if I, uh, gave you the wrong idea.”

“Me too. No worries, though,” the man said, putting his hands up. “Best of luck to ye.”

John nodded.

When he got into his car, he looked at himself in the rearview, turning his head from side to side slowly. He licked, then puckered his lips. Full and pink. He wiggled his brow and admired the amber gleam of his eyes.

“Oooh. So fuckable,” he said, and turned on the car. There was no reason to be blue. His father was dead, and Connie was leaving in three days.

He was off to the pub, and hopefully, a good shag.

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