DISCLAIMER: Don't own them. At this point, not sure I'd want to….
NOTES: A short little reflective post-ep piece for "Mysterious Ways." Jordan's thoughts in this one. I'll do a separate one for Woody's thoughts as soon as I have the time. (And feedback?)
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed recently. I've had more ideas than time lately, but when I have the time to write and post, it's great to get your kind words. Specials shouts to Cavanaughgirl, 2kool4skool, prymtns and bourbon. (Apologies for misspelling anyone's nicknames!)
He wants us to be like we used to be.
Why? It's all I keep thinking. Why? There were always too many expectations, too much we never said, too much time spent in wanting and fear. I wasn't kidding when I asked him which point of our dysfunctional relationship he wanted to go back to. Would we change anything? Maybe he'd stay that night he brought me my mother's locket. Maybe I wouldn't answer my cell phone in L.A. Maybe I'd tell him I'd changed my mind about the ring before he could tell me it would never work between us. Maybe he wouldn't push me out of his life after the shooting. Maybe I'd tell Pollack the day we got back from Littleton about what had happened. Maybe he wouldn't give me some stupid line about being my rebound guy.
Or maybe I wouldn't go to the bank with Garret that day. Maybe he wouldn't follow me out to LA and save me from myself. Maybe he'd take that tentative offer at Sunset Division and I'd never tell him that home was right behind him.
Too many maybes and ifs and might-have-beens. I've lived my life on those words. Maybe if we could get some DNA from old evidence in my mother's murder… if I knew who killed her I could find some peace… I might have been easier to get along with if I hadn't been lied to so much. We are who we are when we are. How can we be like we used to when we aren't the same people anymore?
He's glad we're …okay, about… you know… him and….
So okay that neither of us can even say it. I don't know how to tell him that I'm numb. It should hurt. I should be angry. But I'm not. I can't be. I don't feel enough to care one way or the other. Although if she patronizes me one more time about issues and bottling things up, I'm going to find a less tantalizing way of shutting her up than kissing her.
He feels like we've grown apart.
It shouldn't have, but those words left me dumbstruck for a moment. He seemed confused as to how that could happen. I thought about making him a list.
Telling me my declaration didn't change anything. Playing me to get at Riggs. Telling me he was getting "the toxins" out of his system and giving me one of his not-so-subtle looks as he said it. Sniping at me about Pollack. Sleeping with me and then… then.
It's mean to say it, but I don't believe he's thinking with his brain these days. Maybe I could have drawn him pictures instead. How do you draw pictures of the myriad ways someone breaks your heart though? How do you show someone that the very moment you gave up all your old fears and doubts and let intimacy be truly intimate, that person broke you? And would it mean anything to him if he knew?
I've grown up.
And I haven't? He asks.
For the first time I don't say something glib and comforting. I don't agree with him that we'd kill each other within two weeks. I don't pretend he's in shock and just needs time to heal. I have nothing to say.
And he doesn't want to hear that.
Maybe he'll hear my silence though. Maybe someday we can stop using sign language. All we do is garble it anyway.