A/N: This is... a weird story. Not AU either. It might seem like it but in my head it iiiiisn't. I think I did well in writing it, but it was beta'd by my lovely Jen-Monster. Thank you!
"Elizavetta?" The dark haired brunette walked into the wing of the house his wife occupied. In his hands were several sheets of music she had asked him to learn. He asked what it was, but all she said was that when he memorized it like his other music, she would sing it for him. Now it was time for him to have her fulfill her end of the bargain.
He admitted he never saw his wife nor child nearly enough. He was busy all the time, and ever since they got back together she seemed distant. She would always smile when she was around him, but something was off. Just like it was now. Something seemed off in the rooms he walked through. They were all dreary and dim, nothing like the sunny girl he had known before who kept airiness and light around her.
"Lizzie?" The gentleman knocked on closed doors as he came to them, opening to find unused rooms gathering dust. When he got to the kitchenette, he saw that it was the worst. Everything was empty save for a few cans of he didn't know what. What was the poor girl living off of?
"Lizzie…?" He wandered to the end of the hall, where he found the door open a crack. Pushing it open, he found who he was looking for.
Lying on the cold hardwood floor, Elizavetta was looking out the large window that stretched from floor to ceiling, watching as it stormed outside. She didn't wear much - a long white skirt and a plain white tank, which was pulled up. Delicate hands ran over something he couldn't see along her stomach. From where he stood he could see the patch she had worn on her arm was abandoned, along with an empty box of cigarettes. Judging by the pale smoke that traveled from her lips, this was probably her last. Again.
"Shush. You'll wake up Eli." A thin hand motioned to the chair where a young boy was curled up, fast asleep.
"I have learned the music. Time for you to keep your end of the deal," he said softly. He didn't care. He wanted to hear her alive again. He wanted to end this hollow void between them. "Sing for me Elizavetta. Sing for me like you used to." Walking over, the brunette clicked on a dim lamp above the dusty piano that was stationed in the room. He used to come here and play for her every night. When did that stop?
Testing a few keys, he was content with its tune, and by the time he was done Lizzie had roused herself, brushing her wild curly hair out of her face. Roderich noticed that it lacked a flower, and that the remnants of the one that had been there was evident in the wilted petals strewn across the floor.
"I'm ready when you are, Maestro." Her voice was soft and sad, just like the lines of her face in the pale light.
And with that the music… the truth… began.
"She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks
She hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god
So she named the baby Elvis
To make up for the royalty he lacked…"
In her mind, that silver haired man danced before her. No, he hadn't been a god, and no, he wasn't any sort of aristocrat like her Roderich, but, when Roderich left her, he was all she had and she didn't complain. When she found out she was pregnant with his child she couldn't even complain. That silver haired man, addicted to rock instead of classical music, teasing her and then letting her beat him up, he had accepted her for what she was.
"...And from then on it was turpentine and patches
From then on it was cold Campbell's from the can
And they were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play..."
He had gotten sick slowly, and at times it was as hard for him to breathe as it was for him to see. When that happened, Elizavetta rubbed turpentine mixes on his chest to help it clear, and kissed him hoping it would give him a little something like air to live off of.
But in the end, keeping him alive wasn't keeping them alive. She was pregnant and he was sick, and they were broke. They didn't eat much that wasn't out of a can.
In a way, it was a big game, a risk that they took pride in. They didn't want it to change, because they knew that was what made it worthwhile. The work, the struggle.
"...And it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window
And she knew they were destined to become
Sacred road kill on the way
And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking
Thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes..."
She knew what these risks would cost her. Loving a sick man.
And in the end, he was not the only victim of his sickness.
It was raining the day it ended, and her tears ran down her bare skin along with the rain. After he was gone, just like her first husband, there was no one to tell her to get out of the rain. There was no one to tell her that if she got sick, her baby would be affected too.
So, she stood out in the rain. She let the thunder boom around her, sending trembles through her pale skin, and she watched the lightening flash about her like fireworks.
Instead of worrying about the danger, she was watching the puddles gather under the eaves, thinking about how they would be her tears if they could be seen. She counted each pool of water as a mistake she made that she could have amended for. She counted them as the harsh words she never was able to apologize for, and as they all melded into one shallow lake of water in her front yard, a pool of regret had settled into her stomach.
"...Cause it's been turpentine and patches
it's been cold, cold Campbell's from the can
And they were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play..."
That was admittedly all that had happened after the end. She continued along, pretending that everything was the same. Every week she told herself that she would stick to quitting cigarettes, that it was bad for her baby. Every week she told herself she would find a better job so she could eat something better.
But, she couldn't change the situation. Even though he was gone, it felt like he was still there and that the risks were still what were keeping her grounded in sanity. It was all she knew how to do anymore, she couldn't change.
It was why even though he was gone, she kept the jar of turpentine open. She needed something, even if it was that scent, to pretend he was still there.
"...Elvis never could carry a tune
She thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon..."
She glanced towards the window she had been laying in front of just minutes before, the moon that had been shining only moments before slowly being covered in clouds. Dark black clouds.
She didn't want to look anywhere else, though, because through this simple melody, she had told so many secrets. She didn't want to see the hatred, the disgust, the sadness that she expected from the other. She had just admitted that the child that was waking sleepily to the music wasn't his, she had admitted that she had loved that man, the man he hated so.
And it would only get worse.
"...She was tracing her years with her fingers on her skin
Saying why don't I begin again..."
There was an audible gasp and the music faulted for a moment, and following was a crash of thunder outside. She flinched.
For she knew he understood.
She knew he understood that she wanted to go back, that this was not where she was happy. He was not who she loved.
"...With turpentine and patches
With cold, cold Campbell's from a can
After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
It's just that he's not around to play along..."
Things began to make sense to Roderich now. The state of the apartment, the way she was so distant. Things began to click into place. Far from having moved on, she was still mourning. She was still attached to the man he had somewhat known was the cause for his misery, even after…
He couldn't stop playing, though, no matter how depressed. He couldn't stop in the middle of the song, and he had to let her get it all out, no matter how much he didn't want to hear the truth.
The rain outside began to poor and the thunder boomed, foretelling the torn ends of this chapter of their life.
"...I'm still an ass hole playing with candles!"
The room lit up with a flash of lightning, and the small child on the chair made a small noise, scared not only by the thunder and lightning, but by his normally calm mother's passion.
Roderich wasn't paying attention to that though. His piano music faltered again as the whole room became clear to him. What he had just thought was clutter on the table surfaces were actually millions of burnt down candles. Matches littered the floor everywhere, as well as max drippings.
"Blowing out wishes!
Blowing out dreams!"
What had he let them go through alone? The piano had faded out now and he watched the lonely woman sing to the wind and rain.
"Just sitting here and trying to decipher
What's written in Braille upon my skin..."
Roderich was stunned. He didn't understand what he felt. He felt angry that he was lied to. He felt sad that he had lost her. He felt pity for her loss.
Before he could do anything though, she walked over to Eli and scooped him up. She only glanced at Roderich before walking out, trying to soothe the child.
Now he knew. Now it was over.