WHO: Rachel and Will Woodson (AKA Trish Walker & August Booth) WHEN: Sunday afternoon. WHERE: Their house. WHAT: Rachel makes a decision. WARNINGS: Some talk about alcoholism, adultery, and divorce.
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It was amazing what coming to a decision did to a person's mood. Rachel had a spring in her step the last few days, and it wasn't because the snow had finally melted. Peace of mind came with settling on a course of action. Everything seemed small in comparison. There was hope on the horizon, even if the abrupt turn wasn't one that she thought she'd ever take. It certainly wasn't the one less traveled by, but it definitely made all the difference.
Storybrooke might seem like an idyllic fairytale of a small town, but look anywhere below the surface and things were anything but. On the outside, the Woodson family had it all. Money, looks, smarts, the white picket fence, connections and roots in the community. The house was always immaculate because Rachel was particular about how things looked when everything had gone to shit inside. No one would suspect that an alcoholic and an adulterer lived within these walls trying not to let the kids know that things had gone sour.
Rachel finished up in the kitchen, setting the french press and all the accoutrements for coffee on a tray, along with a few cookies and pastries she'd had in the pantry. She suspected the coffee would go mostly undrunk and the food untouched. Still, politeness dictated. Sunlight from the kitchen window filtered onto the table which bore the marks of their years together. It was the first piece of furniture that she'd bought with a mind for sharing it with Will. It seemed a fitting way to tie up the relationship, at the same table.
Everything put in its proper place, she sank into what had become known as her seat at the table. The back door opened, and it was like everything suddenly became all too real. A sliver of ice ran up her spine as she tried to remember Jess's words. You're not giving up. You're moving forward. The kids will be better off for it, and some day so would Rachel and Will. Still didn't stop her hands from shaking.
The last six months had been a miserable span of time for Will Woodson. All of the gossip spreading and the dirty looks he received from seemingly half the town during the times he was home were enough to make anyone feel horrible, and that was only the beginning. The secretary heâd hired after Kara was awful, and his press had taken a hit in the recent months. None of that held a candle to the fact that all of his trials and tribulations were both well deserved and absolutely nothing in comparison to the damage heâd caused. So Will didnât complain. He lamented the loss of friendships and the fact that he couldnât go anywhere in Storybrooke anymore without leaving someone with fresh gossip, but he deserved every damn bit of it.
Will wasnât the type to push his actions off on another. He wasnât looking for forgiveness or to have his actions explained away. He didnât think he deserved those things. What heâd done⌠heâd done. It was a fact. Heâd told Rachel as soon as he landed, after the trip to Paris. Heâd never tried to lie about it. But that didnât change the fact that itâd happened, or that heâd let his relationship with Kara build to the point that it could happen. He was at fault, he knew it, and all he wanted to do was whatever it would take to make Rachel happy. Whatever that meant.
Heâd been trying, and trying hard, but the ball was ultimately in her court.
He arrived home as promised, slipping into the back door to find Rachel waiting for him. âHey,â he offered, as much an easy smile as he could muster on his face as he joined her at the table. âItâs quiet here with the boys gone.â
"That's what I was hoping for. Some quiet."
She moved to pour him a cup of coffee — black — and set the cup in between the pair of them so he could easily reach for it. It was beginning to dawn on her that the Lasts were coming. The last time they shared dinner together, the last time they brushed their teeth together in the morning. Some of these things would always be gone and past. The last time they kissed, made love, cuddled on the couch. The last time they whispered, "I love you."
"I'm not giving up," she started, parroting Jess's words and not realizing the hope that could have sprung from them. Rachel held her own cup between her hands, thankful for some warmth. "I'm moving forward, Will. I can't do this. It's not fair to me or the kids. It's not fair to you. I think we should call it. It's not a perfect finish like one of your books, but it's an ending that I think will help all of us."
Will had always taken his coffee black, though he really didnât think anything of Rachel having that ready for him the way he liked it. After all, theyâd been together so long that some things were just habit. He wasnât quite prepared for the impending inevitability that those habits wouldnât be quite as constant anymore.
His eyebrows lifted when she started, and he paused in drinking his coffee. His heart admittedly leapt a bit at them, the hope coming unrealized but not altogether unsurprising. Heâd been sure that this wouldnât be a conversation like that, not one that would end in a way that was promising. And then, when she continued, that original assumption â that this would be the discussion that put a nail into the whole situation â was proven accurate. Will was quiet, setting his mug down and bringing his other hand to rub at the stubble on his chin.
âThat has the best chance of making you happy again?â he asked.
"I think it's the best way of making us all happy." She paused, glancing down at her mug. "In time anyway." There was something slightly detached about the way she felt as she spoke, and maybe if she could keep a hold of this feeling, she could get through this without crying. Crying made her feel weak, and she had to be strong in this.
A drink would come later. Maybe more than a drink. Keeping this resolve was going to be hard until the paperwork was finished, and everything was settled. God, she wished she'd had drinks instead of goddamn coffee. Coffee made her feel too present. "I know that you're trying, Will. You really are, and I appreciate it a lot more than I — than my behavior would tell you."
"I thought that we'd —" There went the quivering lower lip, and the wavering in her voice. Even her eyes were beginning to betray her; she blinked too much.
Will nodded, falling quiet again. He paused, clearly lost in thought before drawing his mug back to his lips and taking a half-hearted sip of it. He needed the distraction. He set it back down then, adjusting in the old chair that had needed a new leg for some time. Heâd kept saying heâd get around to it.
âYou donât have to explain, Rach,â he said gently, shaking his head. âYou donât owe me a damn thing.â He reached for her hand when he saw her lip quiver, covering it with his. âThis is the right decision. I hate it â god, I hate it more than I can put into words. And I donât want it. But itâs the right decision for us right now.â
She looked up, hoping that the action of lifting her eyebrows would somehow swallow the tears that were blurring her vision. She was supposed to remain strong, and she felt anything but. Rachel dropped her other hand over his and clenched his hand tightly. He had agreed to it. She thought that should make her feel better. Instead it made her feel like a failure. Like she'd slipped on that damn slimy spot on the pier that claimed way too many victims and couldn't catch herself in time.
"I wanted us to have a Fiftieth, where we could laugh at everyone who said we wouldn't make it." Because she'd really believed that they could, and until 6 months ago, they seemed so on track for it. She'd spent half of her life with him already, including high school, and it was daunting and terrifying to think about waking up without his stubble against her cheek when he kissed her good morning before heading to shower. "I didn't want it to end like this."
Will felt sick, very sick. Heâd had the thought a lot more frequently, that maybe divorce was the best option, but having the thought and actually making a decision on it were two very different things. This absolutely was not the way he hoped this would go, but he could understand Rachel making this choice. She was, after all, the only one of the two of them who could truly make it. Heâd already made enough choices in their relationship.
He held her hand, his brow furrowing with the pain he felt at having this conversation and knowing what it all meant. âI did too, more than anything in the world,â he agreed. âI never thought it would.â He shook his head. âIâm so sorry, Rachel. I promised Iâd never hurt you, and I did exactly that. I ruined this for us, and Iâm sorry. I just want you to be happy again.â
This is the right decision. That alone was enough to give her the sense that she could get through this. Rachel also knew that Will would always be there for her, even if he was the cause of all of this. She wasn't going to ask for much. Maybe the house for the kids, and a little money until she could get another job. They were fairly cushioned, so she wasn't worried too much about it. She just hated the idea of kicking him out of the house they shared. The pain was pretty raw.
But that's what drinks were for, to numb that pain.
"I think you're right. I think this is the right decision. You can stay here until we talk about lawyers and whatever else we need to. I don't want the kids to know until it's much later on, once things are clearer. Until we know who is living where and how things are going to change for them." She gave his hand a squeeze and then eased her hand from behind his. "They're smart kids, but they overreact to things."
That, more than anything, was something he wanted Rachel to know and understand. He would always be there for the family, no matter what. âIâll sleep in the guest room,â he said, nodding. âAnd Iâll take a few weeks off of the tour so that we can work out the details and figure out how to explain it to the kids.â He agreed with her.. it wasnât time yet to tell them. He retreated his hand to his side of the table. âUnfortunately, theyâre accustomed to me being out of the house already from the tour. You three plan to stay here. And the rest, weâll figure out. We can do this the right way.â
"No, Will. You should sleep in our bed. The kids will notice if you don't, and they'll start asking questions. I don't want to lie to them, but the less questions the better." She paused. She wasn't ready for him to move out of their room already, to be honest, but they still had more talks to come and that was the only safe room she could think of. "Details can be worked out there."
âAre you sure, Rach? I donât want this to be any harder on you than it has to be,â he said, but she was right, so he nodded. âI think youâre probably right, but we can find a way if itâll be too weird.â
"I've slept in the same bed with you for six months. I think I can handle a few more." Okay, so some of that time, she'd gotten up in the middle of the night and headed to the couch. That's what started her drinking, being unable to sleep or stomach herself. "I'll be able to handle it."
Just as she predicted the coffee mostly went undrunk and none of the pastries were touched. What a waste of perfectly good coffee. "So⌠that's settled." She felt lighter than she had in months. Making the decision, getting it out⌠it was relieving. "Is there anything you need to say?"
Will nodded, because that much was true. âRight,â he said. âOkay, then nothing changes yet, not where the kids can see it.â
His coffee was cooled too much now to be delicious, so he didnât bother picking it back up. He nodded, exhaling. âYeah, I guess it is,â he brushed his hand back through his hair. âHonestly, as upsetting as the idea is, itâs⌠almost clarifying to have a decision made. Does that make sense? I donât like any of it, but it feels like we can make progress now.â
That seemed like a sign that they were making the right decision, so why did Rachel feel like bursting into tears? It wasn't that she didn't love Will anymore. That had never been an issue for her, even after the affair. She knew that she wasn't the easiest person to get along with sometimes. She was particular, and she didn't reprimand their children in a constructive way. She was terrified of becoming her abusive mother to the point that the kids were likely going to grow up to be entitled little shits who would vote for Donald Trump.
"I was thinking the same thing. It's not the outcome I wanted, but it's a decision, and it doesn't feel like I'm standing on a bridge, wondering if it's going to collapse out from under me."
Will had spent much of his life eager to be a husband and father, so the fact that heâd managed to put both in such jeopardy and had ruined his marriage to his first and greatest love wasnât something he was at all proud to claim. It was the truth, though, and this process was just the great fallout of his actions.
âRight. Decisions mean we can have a direction, even if that direction isnât one weâd have ever expected,â he said, nodding.
Were they supposed to keep talking? Was one of them supposed to leave the room? How did this work? Maybe she should have asked Jess for more details on how it happened for her and Danger. "Are we supposed to shake hands or hug or something? I'm not sure where to go from here." But it was something that they'd been alone for some time now, and no one had raised their voice. She. She hadn't raised her voice. "I can make some fresh coffee. We've got the afternoon, and I haven't been able to eat all morning, thinking about this."
Will wouldâve left the room if sheâd asked, and honestly there was a part of him that wanted to retreat somewhere and drown a bit in something a little stronger. But he stayed, and heâd stay until she felt like theyâd gotten through the conversation the way she wanted to. âI have no idea. This is sort of⌠uncharted territory,â he said. He smiled then, if only to break the tension. âThatâs probably good. Mineâs gone cold, and Iâm not sure cold coffee should ever be the drink of the day. Want me to make something to eat?â
"Yeah, you know, I think we have some roast beef in the fridge. Could make a pretty decent sandwich out of it." It wasn't the conversation she thought they'd have. Honestly, she thought there'd have been a lot more crying or some begging or something. Rational and calm had not been the expectation.
She pulled herself out of her chair, not quite scraping it across the floor as she did so. The French press would need to be cleaned so she grabbed that and headed to the sink. "There's some sourdough in the pantry that might be good."
As she poured out the coffee and turned the sink on, all that relief snapped. Rachel felt like she had just ripped herself in half slowly, painfully, and without anesthesia. Her overbright eyes spilled over with tears and her shoulders shook. With the running faucet, it was hard to tell what was happening.
Will nodded and stood to move to the refrigerator and pull out the meat. It all was very surreal, making a lunch in the same kitchen theyâd shared for years, the same kitchen in which theyâd just decided to end their marriage. It was all a numbing experience, something that was both blissful in that it numbed those sore places that had been rubbing raw for months but also added a distinct new pain to the mix. He was glad to have his back to her for a moment, so that he could collect himself.
The faucet mightâve hidden her crying but for the fact that Will knew the sound of it too well. He was over to her quickly, a hand on her back in a comforting gesture. âHey, breathe,â he said gently, pulling the press from her hand and setting it into the sink.
She turned into him, one arm going around his waist, the other to her face. It wasn't to hide it so much as keep her nose and eyes from running all over the front of his shirt. That wasn't his job anymore, and that just made her cry harder. "It's the right decision," she mumbled, trying to convince herself. "It's the right decision."
Her repeated words were only doing so much to convince him too, though it all hurt a great deal too much to seem possible that this was the right decision. Either way, he held her close, unable to say anything more. There wasnât much left to add at the moment anyway.