Olivia [Narrative] Thinking things through, and a mini-breakdown. Saturday night around 9:30pm; Her flat at the complex PG (BUT ALL THE FEELS!)/Complete
Olivia had taken a few days to settle into some sort of routine. It wasn't much of one, but it was all she could do to keep it all together. She had a flat on the same hall as Peter, mostly because she didn't know much of anyone else and also because she really didn't want to be all that far from him. Fully grown man or not, even older than her, he was still her baby. Her Rabbit, who she had been so sure would not have made it out of that house alive. But he had. He had made it and she and James' sacrifices for him had not been for nothing.
James.
The spoon she'd been stirring her tea with clattered against the glass and she jumped. She was so damn jumpy. She hoped that stopped soon. But then, who wouldn't be jumpy when they were pulled through time and dimensions? When they had awoken from death. She couldn't fathom this being a common sort of thing, but from what she'd been told about this...world, this...seal that brought them all here, it was more common than one might think.
She had focused so much on Peter the last few days, she really hadn't taken then time to focus on herself. Collecting herself, making herself deal with...everything. Only now was she beginning to realize something she'd known, but had not truly clicked in her mind. James was dead. Her husband was gone. But hadn't she died as well? And here she was, standing, unhurt and whole. She wasn't sure how. Magic, she supposed, even if the idea of it still seemed farfetched, despite everything else. But James... he was gone. Just...gone. And she didn't know how to deal with that.
She could still remember the first day they met. Oh, how he had infuriated her! Such a typical smooth talking type who thought he could have any girl in the place at the drop of a hat. Well, not Livvy. He would not have her. Ever. Because she wasn't that girl. And she'd told him as such, but the fact that she shot him down hadn't ended it all, as it should have. In fact, it seemed to make him push more. More and more until finally, just to prove to him they were a terrible match, she agreed to a date. Just one, to prove a point. She was so bloody stubborn. And what good had it done her except to make her more curious about him. And one date to prove a point turned into several dates to actually get to know him and it all eventually led up to her accepting a proposal that was perhaps a little too quick, but she didn't care because he was James Vincent and she loved him and she would spend her life with him.
She could still recall the absolutely ecstatic look on his face when she, all worry and tears, sobbed to him two months after getting married that she thought she was pregnant. There she was, crying and babbling about “What are we going to do?” and “James, we don't have the money to raise a child” and all the other practical worries that had been running through her mind all that day until he'd gotten home. But James was always so damn calm to Livvy's own occasional neuroses and he always knew the right things to say to calm her down when she started panicking. “Livvy... stop, stop, okay?” he'd said, holding her face between his hands, “Stop worrying about all that. It's just stuff. We'll figure it out, okay? People do it everyday. But listen to me. We're having a baby. You and me. We're going to have a family.” There had been such a light in his eyes, such hope, such excitement, such...pure absolute joy, she couldn't be upset anymore. Because he was right. They were going to have a family, the one they'd dreamed of. So what if it was happening a little sooner than they had anticipated?
Peter had been born April the next year and Olivia couldn't have asked for a better father for the boy. James was so attentive, so bloody wonderful, she used to tease him that he put even her to shame and that was saying something because she was the mother. And things had been so good all those years.
Until that night.
Olivia was still standing there in the kitchen, hands gripping the edge of the counter as her mind was flooded with memories, so many memories of the husband she held so dear, and the thought that shattered it all: He was dead. James was dead. He was gone and he wasn't coming back. She let out a wail of a cry, but it was quieter than she would have expected, and sank down to the kitchen floor, burying her face in her knees. She was choking on sobs, suffocating with the realization of that loss.