Part Four - Everything Must Change

A/N: No, it's not the end. There are probably two more parts.

Jon grabbed her hands as the third test came up positive, beaming as she shook. 

“Sel, this is golden,” he declared vehemently. 

“I...I know. At least I think I know. There are just so many changes.” Giselle croaked. 

"Everything must change. You, of all people, know that,” he said, beginning to pack a bag for himself. They were in their master bedroom and they’d finally spent the night in their bed without memories smothering them. 

“Jon, what are you doing?” 

“Isn’t it obvious, my dear? I’m packing. We’re going on a trip.” He didn’t turn towards her, but merely continued. 

“Where the hell to?” she asked, coming to stand in front of him with a hand on her hip. 

“I don’t know. Let’s just drive, Sel.” 

Jon was excited. The sparkling eyes were a dead giveaway. 

“You’re packed. I’m packed. Baby, let’s go!” he nearly shouted. 

“Jon, can you just leave like this? What about the boys?” Giselle sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Jon’s normally ever present logic to kick in. 

“Dorothea took them until I could ‘get myself together’,” he said with a sad smile. “And I think we both need this to get ourselves together. Too many memories right here.” 

Jon was like a little boy with a secret. He flung himself onto the bed, hooking his arm around Giselle’s waist that he could already imagine growing. She flopped back onto the mattress and was immediately reeled in. 

“You know I love you, right?” he asked close to her ear. 

“Yes,” she answered, not sure where he was going. 

“And I promise to protect you from everything including myself, right?” Jon continued. She sighed before repeating her last reply. “Then trust me on this...If you’re not happy, we can come home, but I think it’ll be good to get away. Just be.” His hand rubbed along her sides, the touch unconscious and soothing.

His left hand wound into her copper strands as he traced her lips with a fingertip on his right. Giselle's pale, sea glass green eyes blinked up at him, refusing to cross at his proximity. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Jon murmured reverently. A blush suffused her cheeks and she turned her head to the side. “I’m serious. You really are.” He traced her high, rounded cheekbones and kissed the side of her freckled nose. “I want you without all of the distractions. I want it to truly be us reconnecting.” 

She nodded her assent wordlessly, but he still brushed her hair back from her forehead. The touch was familiar, but the hesitance was not. 

“You’re allowed to kiss me, you know...” Giselle whispered, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. Jon hadn’t initiated anything more intimate than little touches for fear of ruining what they were building. 

He tentatively brushed his lips against hers, his stubble scraping against her creamy skin. 

“Kiss me like you used to,” she whispered. Her left hand slid underneath his shirt, encountering the smooth skin of his back. Jon was shocked to feel a cold press against his muscles, and his eyes flew open. 

“You’re wearing them again?” She smiled and nodded, still rubbing circles on his back. 

He pressed his lips to hers and settled in, her mouth opening to his. The kiss grew in intensity, and he swallowed her whimpers. Her nails raked down his back as she arched up into him. 

“Easy, baby.” 

His ragged breathing matched hers as he lowered himself onto his back. She straddled him gracefully, watching lust and apprehension flicker in his eyes. Butterflies engaged in a pas de deux, unknown to the partners. 

Brushing the tip of her nose over his, her hands slid over his shoulders, gripping softly. Fusing their mouths together slowly, Jon's lips parted with an uncharacteristic gasp. Their tongues flicked against each other as the ragged ache grew. It was fraught and worn, but there were new elements every time. 

It was like looking through a photo album and details that had been forgotten suddenly returning with potency. The cliché of the world falling away was true. It had always been this way. It was hands gliding over a smooth back, fingers tangling in hair, the press of undone bodies, lips brushing together in a fine frenzy. Them.

Suddenly his hands that were constantly roaming, cupping her buttocks then wandering up her back, fell away. 

“Do you want me?” Jon murmured. 

She nodded carefully, but hurriedly, aware of close their faces were before returning to his mouth. 

“No, I mean really want me. Now. Like this. Before we’ve gotten all our shit together...?” he asked, all alarmingly blue eyes, scruff, and a sort of warm unease. 

She held back her hair, her back arching and breasts jutting forward with the motion as she thought. Her hands fell to knead his shoulders as she weighed the pros and cons of the situation, Giselle’s mind flashed through all of the possibilities. 

“I want...us...but I want us to be okay. And I think you’re right. This, whatever this is, probably just my desperation, could undermine it all,” Giselle said slowly, measuring as she went. 

Jon nodded before he flipped her onto her back. “Let’s go,” he breathed zealously. Following him as he grabbed bags and closed things up, she was relieved to see a man of spirit return. They’d really needed each other all along. Putting a leather coat on her, he surveyed his handiwork. “It’ll do.” He pecked her lips before shrugging his jacket on. September weather was unpredictable, but there was a warm breeze blowing outside.

 Tossing bags in the trunk of the first car he encountered in the garage, Jon helped Giselle in then peeled out. The gates automatically closed behind him, and they drove off into the night. Her hair fanned out against the headrest, her bewitching eyes were closed, and even under the harsh highway lights, he’d never seen her so beautiful. North, south...he didn’t care. As long as he had her and time, he felt nearly invincible.

 It was a heady sensation, closer to the one her mere proximity gave him when they’d first met, and better than a number one album. Smiling triumphantly, he watched the highway signs and suddenly knew their destination. They hadn’t had a chance to make memories there. Their hands intertwined on the console in Giselle’s sleep as Jon lost track of the miles, pieces of the puzzle fitting back into place while other unfamiliar ones shifted.

A wounded heart will heal,

Oh, but never much too soon.

No one, and nothing, goes unchanged. 

Part Three - Sleep Like A Child

Waking just as twilight settled outside, Giselle extricated herself from Jon’s tight embrace. Twisting her neck, she watched Jon sleep on peacefully, absently cuddling her pillow. Leaving the warmth of the bed fully, she placed her feet on the familiar rug before stepping onto the cold wood floor. Giselle couldn’t believe she could think of something as trivial as the heat as she considered what she had just signed herself up for. She stood in front of the wall of windows overlooking the river, biting her bare fingernails. 

Jon propped himself on his elbow, watching her think. The river was glistening under the moonlight, out of reach beyond the barrier of glass that was keeping her with him. Her eyes flashed like quicksilver in the pale light the moon gave against the darkness of the night. He spent long moments observing her, praying she wouldn’t change her mind. Jon inhaled her pillow one last time before steeling himself for rejection and leaving the cocoon of sheets.
 

Giselle didn’t know how long she’d stood there, all she knew was that her feet were numb with cold and strong arms were cradling her. Jon rested his head on her shoulder, enjoying the way they fit together. 

“Sel...” She hummed in response. “I love you.” 

It may have been seconds, but it felt like ages before she replied, “I love you, too.” Turning in his arms, she tried to leave his embrace, needing to figure out how they were going to get back on track.  

Clinging to his forearms as a wave of nausea gripped her, the color drained from her face. Jon held her fast as she paled. 

“Sel, are you okay?” he asked worriedly. Her grip lessened by degrees as she returned to her normal state. 

“I’m fine, it passed.” The way she said it made it seem like it was a frequent occurrence which worried him more. She moved to the bathroom to splash water on her face, wondering why it kept happening. Jon leaned against the door frame of the bathroom, watching her cool her face as he connected dots. He'd seen this before.

“You’re pregnant,” he said simply, observing her deep breathing. 

“Please enlighten me: when would I have become pregnant?” she asked, cocking her head, copper strands changing position. 

“That week after the funeral... we didn’t talk and then... well, you were packing..we got mad...” He looked down at his bare feet. 

“On the floor in the closet. I was on the pill then.” She blinked at him, questioning his logic. 

“You weren’t. You started to forget a lot.” Giselle’s face drained of all color again, as she sat on the counter. She was surprised he remembered any of that time. He'd been drunk enough for the both of them.

“Oh God,” she breathed.


 “Why ‘oh God’? If we’re having a baby, shouldn’t you be happy?” Jon knew he shouldn’t be upset at her, but he felt dread churning in his belly. He hoped she wouldn’t. Not after everything. Jon moved to stand in front of her, sensing that crowding was what she needed to bring her back to Earth.  

“It doesn’t feel right, not right now... We only just got back together and she’s barely gone. Don’t you think it would be like replacing her? I don't want any more children.” Her fists clenched and released as she felt anxiety build within her. 


Giselle made a conscious effort to relax and rested her palms flat on his strong chest. 

“You know it’s not. This is probably her way of bonding us. She’s sending us an angel. Let’s not worry until we know for sure, okay?” 

Giselle nodded, tears filling her eyes as Jon held her close. He lifted her like a child and returned to the bed. Whispering platitudes, he enfolded her in his embrace, not willing to let her go.

‘Cause I, I go insane, crazy sometimes,

 Tryin’ to keep you from losing your mind, 

Open your eyes, see what’s in front of your face, 

Save me my fistful of tears*


Fistful of Tears - Maxwell

Part Two - Last Request

   
 “Because you’ve hurt me more than you’ve helped recently.” She willed herself not to look at him. 

“But I want to change that,” he declared earnestly. 

“Jon, I can’t let you! We need to move on,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Don’t you think it’s time we say some things we haven’t said?” 

“Quoting your own songs now?” she retorted derisively, hoping to deter him with her attitude. Giselle walked away from him. When he simply followed her, she responded, “Like what, Jon? What could you have to say to me?” 

“I’ve been killing myself over this. I’m sorry and I can’t say it enough. Giselle, we’re never going to move on until we talk this out.” He grabbed her hand, hoping that he could get through to her physically, if not verbally yet. Fire illuminated his eyes for the first time in a long time. 

“I’m done talking.” She retracted the hand without so much as a glance. He followed her up the stairs and watched her struggle with the bags she’d managed to shove the rest of her clothes into. Jon grabbed them wordlessly and took them downstairs to the door. 

Nicholas knocked on the door they were behind, wondering why she was taking so long. “One night. That’s all I’m asking of you,” he pleaded with her as he took her cold, trembling hands. 

“Are you in a...” 

“Am I in a position to ask you anything?" He supplied the rest of her sentence with the ease borne of years together. "No. Clearly not. But I’m begging.”

Jon never begged. 

“What do you need all night for?” She sighed. 

“To talk to you. To make things right. To end this the right way.”

Giselle opened the door and cleared her throat. “Nicholas... you can go home. I’ll be fine.” 

He looked at her confusedly before replying, “Uh, sure Mrs. B... Ms. Spring.” 

“Nick, you know you can call me by my first name. We’ve known each other for more years than I care to count. I won’t be seeing you too much after the... this. Thank you for everything.” Giselle could tell Jon was getting antsy behind her, so she gave Nicholas a friendly hug. The embrace expressed her gratitude for his eight years of help. She waved, then shut the door. 

“Talk.” Giselle stood in the foyer, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Not here.” He pulled her up the stairs, much to her dismay. 

“Jon, if you’re trying to get me to sleep with you, let me tell you now: it’s not happening.” 

“Giselle, I genuinely want to talk to you. I’m not going to try anything.” Jon looked at her earnestly, trying to reflect truth with his blue eyes. 

She blinked in resignation and followed him away from the master bedroom to a guest bedroom. Giselle's green eyes glittered as they passed what had once been their daughter’s room. The guest bedroom was oddly unaffected by time, everything the way it had been when their life had been good. It had been good...hadn’t it? The cropped lock of copper hair fell into her left eye as she gazed at the bedroom before her. She wished it were a portal, able to take her back in time. 

The drapes were airy and iridescent as sunlight permeated the enchanted fog that had settled over the room. The memories hit her hard. 

“What kind of color is that? It looks like my great aunt Ginevra’s hair.” Jon wrinkled his nose at her. 

“Jon, it’s sea foam and it does not. It’s soothing.” She handed the swatch to the mixer as she pouted at her husband. 

“Whatever Sel wants, Sel gets,” Jon said obligingly. He kissed Giselle tenderly, resting both hands on her full womb.

“Remember the day we went to get the paint for this room? You said the old color was giving you bad vibes.” Jon smiled at the memory. 

“Yes, but we’re not here to reminisce.” Giselle had to shut it down before he got too far under her skin. 

“Maybe that’s what you need, Giselle. Maybe you should reminisce a little,” he snapped back, tired of her frigidness. 

“Well, then, let’s get to it. Talk.” 

“Jesus, Giselle, I don’t bite.” She snorted at the statement. 
“Not like that. Sel, come sit with me on the bed. You don’t want to stand the whole time.” 

She climbed onto the high king bed with Jon’s, reluctantly accepted, assistance, and they stared at each other for a long, tense moment. 

They both broke the silence at the same instant, and Giselle let Jon speak first since he'd initiated the talk. 

“I’m going to be to the point. You gave me a beautiful daughter, and in the end, I didn’t do right by her. Or any of the kids. Or by you. And, for that, I’m sorry. I don’t know what was going through my head. There was just so much pain for all involved, and I didn’t handle it well at all.” He took her hand, kissing the back of it almost urgently, afraid she’d slip away. 

“I broke our vows, and I’ll never forget it. I can tell you now I was using her because I was a coward. You were all I ever wanted, you still are. I couldn’t bear seeing the child you’d given me wither away. No one ever should. But I left you alone to do it. I’ve repented. I torture myself every day. The guilt...it’s killing me. Today was the first time I’d seen the sun in over a week. I need to know what you felt when you were alone... when I left you in the cold...” Halfway through his speech, tears had begun to stream down his face. By the time he was finished, the dam had broken. He’d thought he had no more. He’d cried forever it seemed, though in the past he could count the number of times he'd really cried on one hand.  

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing his head gently to her chest, his scruff scraping against the creamy skin of her ample breasts. Tears made a slow journey down her face, too, falling onto the golden head nestled so carefully against her. Giselle kissed his gleaming crown as they clung to each other.

 “Shhhh...shhhh... It’s alright...shh.” She comforted him as she would Arabella, his thick blond tresses reminding her of the child she’d lost. The gray interspersed with those waves reminded her that this was still the man she'd vowed to love. “Ara wouldn’t have wanted her daddy so sad. Ara would’ve wanted you happy.” 

“I just keep letting her down. I let everyone down.” Her eyes slammed shut, knowing even if she absolved him of guilt he wouldn’t himself. Nothing tortured him more than failure.

Pale green eyes pierced blue, the despair she saw there overwhelming. Her lips crashed down upon his as he tumbled onto his back with her straddling him. 

“You stop it...” she murmured against his lips. “I'm working on forgiving you, but you have to forgive yourself.” She punctuated her words with a long kiss. Jon’s hands flew to her waist as his eyes searched hers for the truth. Giselle nodded at him and pushed overgrown hair back from his face with gentle fingers. 

“Do you remember what I told you at our rehearsal dinner?” He glanced at her with a mutinous expression that said 'duh.'  

“That you were pregnant with Ara?” 

“No, not that. I said, 'I’d always come back to you because you were where I found my faith.' I’m not saying it will work... God, I must be crazy, but I’m willing to give it a try. I'm no more ready to leave than you are ready to let me. I know you’re sorry. It can never happen again. I came here to leave, but I can’t leave you like this.” Just can’t stay away. Please don’t hurt me. 

“I won’t make the same mistake again, ever. You mean the world to me.” Did that just happen? She made it too easy. What’s she really thinking? 

“Jon. Stop. I can see the wheels turning in your head. I’m not going to punish you anymore than I already have. And you have your own guilt to work through. You’ve tormented yourself enough. Hating you won’t bring her back. I can see that now. And Jon...” 

“Yeah?” he questioned absently, mesmerized by the curtain of copper locks falling around them. 

“Help me,” Giselle pleaded. 

“Help you how?” It dawned on him what she meant, she was crying out for another soul. “I can’t do it alone. We have to help each other, Sel.” 


     Jon rolled her off of him and drew her close. Giselle rested her head on his chest, stroking the silky hair she found there as his voice rumbled underneath her, reminiscing fondly about their daughter.  

Disclaimer: Pure fiction. In other words...don't sue me...in other words...just let me be.

Part One - Talk To Me

He watched from the armchair, draped somewhat awkwardly. He watched her finely boned fingers tremble while she packed away the last of her things efficiently. He stared as she shut her last suitcase resolutely, the trembling more evident as she took off her wedding rings. She smiled at the photo of her with their family, his children, even the beautiful little girl who looked just like her father. She’d hoped they could make it. 

Resting them on the bedside table, her eyes drifted towards the armchair where she could always find the man who had been her life for the past eight years and was startled. 

She began to work her mouth silently, not knowing what to say. “J-Jon.” It hurt to say his name, the name that’d been the sun and the moon to her. “Haley told me you had meetings today.” Her normally forceful voice came out shaking. He remembered how that husky voice had whispered to him in love.

Bloodshot, piercing blue eyes pinned her to the spot. She hadn’t wanted him to see this. She’d always love him. Richie had called her repeatedly, begging her to give Jon another chance, talking about how depressed he’d gotten, how he wasn't the same... “Jon should’ve thought of that before he had an affair. It was supposed to be in sickness and in health, Rich. I can’t have this conversation right now. It’s too raw. Let him deal with his own demons.” 

Had she been cold? A little. But was she supposed to run back to him with open arms knowing that while their child was fighting for her life, he was out screwing her friend’s cousin? 

She stared at the man who was once the picture of vitality. Now he looked gaunt and ragged, his blue eyes dull and lifeless. Tentatively, she rose from the bed that they’d shared for nearly a decade and knelt in front of him as he remembered making love to her there and the mornings where they’d romped with the kids. Arabella.

As she was removing the almost empty bottle of wine from his hand, his right thumb traced features he had memorized years before. She shivered at his touch and tried to mask it.  He stared into jade green eyes which were glazed with tears, while his thumb drifted over her freckled, almost too straight nose. It continued on its path to the bow shaped lips that had enticed him upon their initial meeting and her proud chin. There the lock that she’d cut for Ara rested against alabaster skin.

“I thought I’d imagined you...” Jon watched her in wonder and couldn’t figure out why he’d ever strayed. “Oh God Giselle, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to...” Jon broke down, his hand clasping her now ringless hand. 

Giselle noticed he still wore his platinum band and it hit her like a freight train. She felt nauseous, but tamped it down.  

“Shhh... it’s over. It’s okay now.” It’ll never be okay... Over, but not okay, they both thought simultaneously. Giselle’s graceful hands cupped Jon’s haggard face, pressing her forehead to his, the closest she’d been to him in 4 months. Her touch was like a balm, and he calmed by degrees. 

“Jon, it’s really over...” 

“I can see that,” he snapped, not wanting to think about it. 

“What I’m saying is that I’m not going to be here anymore, so you need to take care of yourself.”

She sniffed him, remembering David’s phone call imploring her to come home because he’d found Jon passed out next to the pool. Her reply was always I can’t. “You smell like a wine barrel. Promise me you’ll lay off of the drinking? This isn’t you.” 

“You don’t know me anymore.” Jon said angrily. 

“I don’t think I want to know this Jon. Clean yourself up. Someone will come get my car in the morning,” Giselle declared and dragged 3 bags to the door. “Nicholas is waiting for me outside. He won’t need to drive me, so he’s just going to help with this, and I’ll be out of your hair.” Giselle watched him slowly descend into despondency once more with sadness and irrational anger.

She marched back towards him and gave him the mother of all slaps. “Fucking Christ, Jon! You did this to yourself, but by God you won’t become this person because of me. You have children, pull yourself together.” When he didn’t respond, she tugged at him. “Get up,” she ordered with deadly intensity.

Giselle strode to the bathroom and turned on the water for Jon, automatically setting it to what he liked in the shower. 

“Get in, get clean. I’ll make dinner.” 

She sighed as she left the door ajar so she could hear him. I know I’ll never stop caring, but why do I still nurture him? This is his problem. She went down the stairs, feeling like a stranger as she opened blinds and windows, letting fresh air and light pour into the dark house. 

Giselle went to the kitchen, finding things with ease. The room appeared to be untouched, and she was upset that he'd internalized everything. What kind of ex sticks around and makes dinner? She snorted as she chopped onions, tears coming to her eyes not solely due to the vegetable. Her hand rested on her womb as she stirred marinara sauce simmering in a pan. 

Jon emerged as she was plating the food, looking much better than he did when she had seen him earlier. He was shielding his eyes from the sunlight. His craggy face was still unshaven, and he looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. He watched the woman he loved, her beautiful face pale and  her eyes, which always seemed to bore into his soul, surrounded by dark circles. 

“H-have a seat.” Jon could hear the tears straining her voice and obeyed wordlessly. She set the table detachedly and placed a steaming plate of pasta in front of him. A bowl of steamed broccoli and a glass of water followed as Giselle frowned at how thin he was. “I saw the pizza boxes and the McDonalds bags, don’t even think of complaining about the broccoli. Eat.” Jon frowned at the bowl like Romeo would, she smiled inwardly, missing her stepson.

Giselle slid into the chair at the other end of the table, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. There was tense silence throughout the meal that was only broken with Jon’s strained "Thank you." 

She stood to clear the dishes and was deterred by Jon’s brokenly rasped, “Please talk to me.” 

Giselle cleared her throat, stiffening slowly before she replied, “About what?”

“About everything,” he responded quickly. 

“What’s there to talk about? You cheated, I buried our daughter, we split, I moved out: you need to move on.” 

Jon laughed humorlessly, “Well, fuck, darlin’. Because it’s all that simple right? I didn’t lose her, too, right?” 

“You sure as hell didn’t act like it,” she retorted coldly. 

“You ever think that maybe the way I acted was my way of dealing with it all?”

“So Diamond Harris was a coping mechanism? She sounds like a porn star, was she good? I still don’t understand why!” 

I promised I’d never show emotion to him. Never again.

“Because I needed you!” he yelled at her retreating back as she abruptly cleared the dishes and took them over to the sink.

Giselle gripped the edge of the stainless steel sink as her entire body tensed. “Well, I needed you, too. I was alone when she died. I had to watch my only baby...”

Before she could finish her sentence, she felt the bile rising in her throat. Giselle ran towards the bathroom off the kitchen, retching up everything she’d just had. She felt Jon’s hand rubbing the tense muscles between her shoulder blades while the other held her hair back. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Everything.” 

For a second, she let him hold her weakened body before pushing him away, upset that she’d let him see her vulnerability once more. 

“Damn it, why won’t you let me help you?” Their roles had reversed once again.