Chapter Text
The only time you got any peace was when Rowan and Fillip were asleep. The house was quiet, and you finally had a chance to do things you couldn’t when they were awake, asking a million questions or causing chaos. But after the upheaval of your lives six months ago, you were just happy that they were happy.
The quiet also gave you time to catch up on things that had been left to the wayside. Most of the time, that meant taking a moment for yourself. But tonight, you had a call to make. Your fingers drummed nervously on the table, and for the umpteenth time, you wondered if this was a good idea. Or if it was silly, and a waste, and all you were going to do was make John feel obligated to do something he didn’t need to do.
John answered on the second ring. “Dove? Is everything okay?”
He sounded worried, and understandably so. You never called or texted him first, always slightly worried about annoying the man, despite his insistence that you were never a bother. Every week, Price called and texted, checking in with you, making sure everything was okay, asking if you needed anything.
You never did. Until now.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine,” you assured him. A twinge of guilt passed through you, and again, you wondered if this was a good idea. “Are you in an okay place to talk?”
Silence for a moment, and you could hear bed springs creaking, and John grunting. “We’re holed up in a safehouse in Kazakhstan. ‘Bout two in the morning here,” he answered.
Of course. Of course you had to call at the most inopportune moment for him. The poor man had probably been running around for days now, and you were interrupting his first and maybe only chance at sleep before he came home.
“Shit, god, John, I’m sorry. Forget it, just-”
“No. No, none of that, Dove,” he interrupted you, his voice firm. “I told you to call me anytime, for whatever you need, and I meant it. I was still up anyway. Just got done patching Gaz and myself up.”
Great. Now he was likely exhausted and injured. And now you were going to ask him for something that likely didn’t matter to him, and take up some of his precious days off-
“Dove.” Price’s steady voice broke you out of your racing thoughts. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
Letting out a sigh, and gathering your courage, you finally began to speak. “Well, next weekend is Rowan’s promotion ceremony, and Fillip’s first match. And, uh, obviously Isla and I are going, but I thought it would be nice for them to have someone else there, and they’ve been asking about you, and…I’m sure you’re busy.”
“We’re wrapping up our business here. Should be home in a day or two,” Price replied. “Send me the details.”
“Oh.”
His immediate acceptance, without a hint of annoyance or hesitation in his voice didn’t surprise you, but did make you choke up a bit. Apparently when John Price said to ask him for anything anytime, he meant it.
Price let out a huff of laughter. “What, you thought I’d say no? ‘Course not, love. I’m honored, truly.”
Now it was your turn to laugh, shaking your head though Price wouldn’t be able to see it. “Laying it on a little thick there, John,” you replied dryly. “No one’s getting a medal. The most Rowan is going to get will be a printed certificate.”
“Oh, no, I’m going to take it as seriously as I would a military ceremony,” he promised, humor lacing his voice. “Though, I can’t say I’ve ever taken those very seriously.”
“Just don’t show up in your dress uniform,” you joked. “I’ll send along the details, and get the guest room ready for you. Thank you again, John. Get some rest.”
“Anytime, Dove. And I’m glad you called. Really.”
Two days later, John Price turned up on your doorstep, the dying sunlight casting a warm glow on his face. He was dressed casually, a flannel and jeans, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. But even if you had been the one to invite him, and he was greeting you with a smile on his face, it was a bit jarring to see him standing there again, and you couldn’t help but freeze up. John’s face fell as he saw the look on yours, and he took a step back, holding his hands up placatingly.
“You’re alright, Dove,” he said gently. “It’s okay.”
Despite his gentle words, you felt the world shifting under you, the feelings of before rushing in. Fear and anger and grief, and even if six months had passed, and you had gotten to the point where you weren’t crying every day, tears sprung into your eyes now. All you could hear was your own wailing, and John apologizing over and over.
And then his hands were on your shoulders, gentle but firm, bringing you back to reality. “You’re okay. Can you tell me what month it is?”
Your own hands were shaking as you curled them into fists as your side. “Uh, May. End of May,” you answered. Clearing your throat, you attempted to come back to reality. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s alright. Just a small bout of panic,” he replied, dropping his hands, and grabbing his duffel bag again, following you inside. “Seen it plenty of times.”
“You have?”
“Lots of new soldiers get it. They can be tough as nails during boot camp, and fall apart in their first real fight. It’s understandable,” John replied. “They usually learn to control it. Soap had one. Not during the battle, but after. Woke him up for his nightwatch shift, and he lost it. Gave me a black eye before he calmed down.”
Attempting to not smile at that was in vain. Small things that reminded you that your late husband wasn’t as unshakable as memory portrayed him to be. He had his moments where he was so very human. Already, you could see it happening. When a person died, all their little flaws and quirks went away, and they became some sort of perfect ideal to live up to. You were doing your best to prevent that, lest Rowan and Fillip look at pictures of Johnny with the same fear he looked at photos of his own father with. Johnny deserved to be remembered for who he was. Bright and funny, and charming, but also reckless, and impulsive, and quick to anger. At the end of the day, Johnny had simply been a man , and you didn’t want your children to feel as though they needed to live up to impossible standards set by someone who wasn’t truly like that anyway.
“John!” Rowan’s excited shout brought you out of your own thoughts, and she ran at John, who caught her in his arms. “Ye didnae forget aboot us! Did ye ken I’m goin’ to primary?”
“I’ve heard,” he assured her, casting a glance at you. Forget them? , he mouthed, looking worried.
Later , you mouthed back. Rowan’s words had you nervous as well. She had been doing well with her therapist, but that was definitely something to mention. The idea that Rowan thought Johnny forgot about you all was concerning. After this long, with so few questions from the six year old, you had thought she had begun to understand that Johnny wasn’t coming back.
“So, sunshine. Primary school’s a big step. You ready for it, sunshine?” John asked, bending down enough to let Fillip climb into his other arm. Straightening up, he easily carried both kids into the living room.
“Aye, I ken all my letters an’ numbers,” she boasted, grinning, showing off her missing front tooth.
John nodded, taking it all very seriously. “Those are important. And you, Fillip? Are you going to nursery?”
Fillip shook his head, laying his cheek against John’s shoulder. “I wanna stay wit’ ma,” he answered. “I donnae ever wan’ to go to school.”
Chuckling, John shook his head, casting a warm glance your way. He looked happy. Actually happy, and not like he was doing this out of guilt. That made you feel a bit better about having called him in the first place.
The kids followed John around like a couple of lost puppies, Rowan asking the majority of the questions, though Fillip had a few of his own. About what he had been doing, where he had been, what their Uncle Simon was up to. John answered patiently, letting the kids clamber on him as he spoke.
“Got something from Simon for you kids. Give me a second,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, John read aloud. “Why can’t you play poker in the savanna? He must've thought this one up when we were in Africa.”
“Wha’s poker?” Fillip asked, tilting his head.
“A card game, lad.”
“Wha’s a savanna?”
“A dry grassland. Lions live there, and zebras.”
“Wait, how does the rest of the joke go?” Rowan interrupted.
“Oh. Right, right. Let’s see here.” John read the paper again, squinting a bit. Maybe it was time for him to look into reading glasses. “There are too many cheetahs.”
“Wha’ was the set-up again?”
Neither kid laughed, and both looked a bit disappointed. Clearly his jokes needed a bit of work.
After dinner, John finally had a moment to head into the guest room and put his stuff away, while you occupied the kids with their bedtime routine. Once they were in bed and presumably asleep, you headed back downstairs to clean up. John was already there, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed the dishes.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, grabbing a towel to dry them, putting them away.
“I helped make the mess, I can help clean it up,” he assured you, setting a mug into the rack that definitely had been from before he arrived. “Besides, you do enough.”
The dishes were washed, dried, and put away, you and John working in companionable silence. He didn’t push you to talk, and for a while, you didn’t offer anything. It was nice to not have to go through the typical routine. Oh, we’re so sorry, we’ll miss him, he’s in a better place. They meant well. You knew they did, but you got tired of the repetition.
You broke the silence first, putting the last pan away, and leaning against the counter. “I thought Rowan understood, or was starting to,” you began slowly, thinking about what your daughter said earlier. “I guess I was just hoping she was, since it would be easier for me if she did. She never said anything to me about feeling like Johnny just forgot about us.”
“Maybe it’s easier for her to deal with than the truth,” John murmured, mirroring your position, folding his arms over his chest. He looked out the window, a frown settling on his features. “I was about her age when my dad left us for the final time. My mum tried to hide the truth from me, telling me he was working in Manchester. But I was smart enough to know the truth. Rowan’s smart enough too. But she’s still a kid. Her mind is working to protect itself.”
How he explained that better than the professionals you took the kids and yourself to, you didn’t know. But John did, and you were grateful for it. Maybe because he didn’t use all the technical jargon that made your head hurt.
“You’re thinking she’ll grow out of it?” you asked.
“I did.”
—
Rowan’s promotion went well. Standing up there with blue ribbons in her hair, acting like she was graduating from university as she shook hands with her teacher. She was given an additional award for being a great leader, which she proudly showed off.
After the ceremony, her teacher approached you, shaking your hand as Rowan talked with her friends. “Missus MacTavish, so good to see you. Rowan’s done so well, despite what happened,” she said, giving you a kind smile. She was a bit older than you, and had been good at curbing Rowan’s…more aggressive tendencies, while also being understanding. A good teacher. “She’s going to do well next year.”
“Thank you. Rowan will miss you, but hopefully you’ll have Fillip in a couple of years,” you replied, glancing behind you, seeing John holding Fillip as he spoke to Rowan and her friends.
Rowan’s teacher followed your gaze. “Perhaps I will. Oh, I meant to ask,” she said, reaching a hand up to fix her hair. “Who is that you brought with you?”
Ah, there it was. Biting back a laugh, you gave John a small nod when he met your eyes. “Oh, an old friend of Johnny and mine. Rowan wanted to invite him, and he had a few days off. Military man.”
“Military,” she repeated, reaching a hand up to fix her hair. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. To Fillip, of course. Since he’ll be in my class. If you’ll excuse me.”
You rolled your eyes, tempted to watch whatever happened there, but you were pulled away by another parent. After some more conversation, refreshments in the form of watered-down juice and cookies, you all piled back into John’s truck.
Giving you an odd look, John cleared his throat and turned his eyes to the road as he started driving. “That woman isn’t going to be at the match tomorrow, right?” he asked, shifting in his seat.
“No, not to my knowledge,” you replied with a laugh. “I could invite her if you want.”
“Please don't.”
“She told John tha’ she liked his beard,” Rowan announced, making you laugh even harder.
John groaned, shaking his head. “She also said it was nice to see a man who was good with children, and asked if I was single. Right in front of the kids.”
“Can’t blame a woman for trying,” you replied with a shrug. “Be prepared for more of that at the match tomorrow.”
The next morning was sunny and bright, and Fillip was up and ready before anyone else, kicking his football around in the garden. When breakfast was ready, you called him in, putting bananas and peanut butter on his oatmeal.
“You’re going to tire yourself out before we even get to the field,” you said gently, fixing Fillip’s hair as he ate.
“I jus’ wanna make sure I do good, Ma. Wha’ if I miss a kick, an’ lose the match?” Fillip fretted, looking up at you with wide, scared eyes.
Were there even scores for a match between kids this age? You didn’t think so, and regardless, all of them would be getting trophies at the end of the season for participating. But Fillip was clearly worried about this.
“It’s a team effort, Fili. It’s not all on you,” you told him gently, sitting in the chair next to him. “You’re going to do wonderful, you’ve been practicing so much. But you know what’s more important? The fact that you’re going to have fun while playing. Okay?”
“Okay,” he whispered, nodding, and tucking into his food.
“Yer gonna do great, Fili!” Rowan said excitedly. “Ye can even beat me when we play, an’ Da taught ye all his tricks. Dinnae fash yerself.”
If there was one thing that mattered to Fillip, it was the approval of his older sister. His eyes brightened considerably, and he smiled at her. You squeezed her shoulder, and went to make your own breakfast and coffee.
“Morning,” John greeted you all, heading to the pot to scoop out some oatmeal. “Dove, I noticed your sink is leaking a bit in the bathroom.”
Right, you had meant to fix that, but it got pushed to the side as your to-do list steadily grew longer. “Sorry, John, I keep meaning to take a look, but it slipped my mind.”
“Not to worry. When we get back today, I can fix it,” John assured you, shaking his head. “Anything else need fixing while I’m here?”
If he looked hard enough, you were sure he could find something. The light in the basement was out, the door that led into the office stuck, there was a section of the stair bannister that was wobbly. But you sure as hell weren’t going to ask for help. Eventually you would get to fixing all those things. You could do it alone.
“Not that I can think of,” you answered. “I’ll let you know if I do.”
John’s eyes narrowed, and you got the feeling he saw right through your lie. But he let it slide. For now, at least.
The game went well. Fillip had fun, running around with the other kids. As you predicted, there wasn’t any real score kept, but Fillip swore up and down that his team won. You got ice cream to celebrate, the kids sitting on the tailgate of John’s truck as you ate.
“Alright, smile,” you told them, taking a few steps back to snap a photo. It was a good photo, and you sent it to Simon and Kyle. The former hadn’t answered you in months, but you still tried with him.
John finished his cone, wiping his hands on a napkin and pulling out his phone. “Your turn, Dove. There we go, that looks nice.”
They did look nice. While you had plenty of photos of Johnny and the kids, individual or together, you had few of yourself. Johnny’s phone was full of them, but he had never been the best at taking pictures, most of them being a bit out of focus, or a finger in the way. So it was nice to have a new one of you and the kids.
“Ye cannae go, John. We’re gonna be bored all summer!” Rowan yelled down the stairs as John changed the lightbulb in the basement.
“Rowan, don’t,” you warned her, hearing John’s rich laugh from the basement. “We’re not gonna be bored, I’ve got plenty of stuff planned.”
The light downstairs came on, and Price trudged up the steps, shaking his head. “I promise you, Rowan, you’ll get bored spending enough time around me. I’m not the most exciting bloke around,” he replied, going to wash his hands. “But I’d be more than happy to come around whenever your mum invites me.”
Giving you a soft smile, John headed upstairs, finally noticing the wobbling bannister. Once the kids were asleep, and John was done with his stint as a handyman, you thanked him with a couple of glasses of whisky.
“How are you doing, Dove? Truly?” John finally asked. “You always skirt around it, talking about the kids and Isla. But I want to know about you .”
It was true. You spent a lot of time deflecting questions, or redirecting people. Mostly because talking about your own emotions wasn’t something you necessarily enjoyed doing. Swirling the whisky in your glass around, you took a moment to answer. To hell with hiding the truth. John would sniff it out anyways.
“I miss Johnny. More than anything. I do,” you began, guilt creeping into your tone. “But after that first week, I didn’t…fall apart again. Yes, I cry over him all the time, and I wish everyday that he was still here with me. But once I had my feet on solid ground, that’s where I stayed. There weren’t any stages of grief for me. Sometimes I would wake up and expect him to be there, next to me again, but that was more out of being half-asleep than anything. And I feel shitty about it.
“I have been doing this all alone for years now. Raising our kids, and managing the household all by myself. Johnny wasn’t around. He was there for birthdays, and holidays, and whenever he could, and I knew what I was getting myself into when I got together with him, but he wasn’t there everyday,” you ranted, feeling hot tears slipping down your cheeks, and you angrily wiped them away. “And I don’t even know where I’m going with this, except that I just feel shitty for not falling apart more than I did. For being able to mourn and miss him, but being able to live my life still. Because when his cousins see me in the market, I know they’re judging me for smiling and simply being okay. My husband is dead, and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. But I can’t let it consume me.”
Silence so complete, you could have heard a pin drop from upstairs. Shame and embarrassment at your outburst washed over you, and you couldn't hold Price’s gaze anymore, dropping your eyes to the floor. Wiping your eyes was a bit fruitless as the tears kept falling.
“Been holding all that in for a while now, haven’t you?” John asked gently, setting his glass down, and reaching over the table to squeeze your hand. “It’s alright, Dove. I asked, didn’t I?”
“You did,” you replied, sniffling a little. When you met his eyes again, John’s were calm and steady, the color of the sky before a storm. You found some solace in them. “Doesn’t mean you wanted a bunch of word vomit.”
“I wanted you to tell me the truth, and you did. That’s exactly what I asked for. If you had told me the same bullshit you tell anyone else, I would've kept pressing you until you told me what you were really feeling,” he stated, unabashed about his prying. “Do you feel any better now?”
Strangely enough, after doing a mental check-in with yourself, you found you did. Like removing a thorn from your heart, and starting to let the wound heal. You gave John a nod, and a weak smile.
“Good. Now, I can’t help you with what other people are thinking of you, or what you think they’re thinking,” John began, pulling his hand away, taking another drink. “But I’m going to tell you my thoughts on the matter, and I hope you take it to heart, because I doubt that Johnny’s family are judging you as harshly as you presume they are.”
Some part of you wanted to admit that John was right. But another, stubborn and cruel part of you told you that he was wrong. Price didn’t see the looks they gave you, or heard some of the whispers.
“Dove, I think that you’re one of the strongest people I have ever met. You’re not a bad person for being able to live your life, you’re not disrespecting John’s memory. It’s okay to be okay,” John said firmly. “It’s what John would have wanted, for you to be happy. If anyone doubts your love for him for being able to smile, then they’re dumb fucking twats.”
That was enough to make you let out a surprised bark of laughter. John smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he poured you both another finger of whisky. The bottle was Johnny’s favorite brand, and it had been sitting on a shelf, collecting dust. Drinking it was bittersweet, remembering the way Johnny’s lips tasted when he kissed you after having a glass.
“Thank you, John,” you whispered.
“Of course, Dove. It's the truth,” he replied with a nod. Clearing his throat, he glanced at his watch. “This is my last glass, I’ve got to wake up early to get back to base on time. Should we toast?”
He would be gone before you and the kids woke up. You had known, of course, and the kids said their goodbyes before they went to bed. But it did make you a bit sad. It was nice, not to be the only adult in the house.
Nodding, you raised your glass. “To Johnny.”
Rasing his as well, John clinked his glass against yours. “To John MacTavish. He was the best of us.”