Work Text:
In, out. In, out. It’s been only three minutes since she’s started to lazy-jog herself to the park and she’s already hyperventilating. Since the mom boot camp thing is no longer an option –for obvious reasons– she’s decided to torture herself by walking/jogging at the park after she puts down the kids for the night. Quitting booze and coffee is obviously not an option either, so somehow she needs to get her blood pressure under control before another visit to the ER.
After contemplating for a whole day and taking her time to convince herself that tonight is the night, she puts on her big girl panties along with her brand-new running shoes she got two weeks ago, and finally drove herself to the neighborhood park where the kids play to start this agonizing thing and get it over with.
She parks her car a couple of blocks away from the park cause she’s heard it’s a good excuse to force yourself to walk a longer distance ¬–she scoffs at the thought.
She passes by a few other people doing the same, watches them with spite as they speed by her while she walk/jog/drags herself to catch up.
Finally, she makes it to the park. It’s dark outside and the only source of light are the streetlights and the ones at the park.
At this point, she’s bent over, holding her knees with both hands trying to catch her breath while talking herself to push through for another twenty minutes when she sees him. Sitting on their bench, legs spread in front of him, fingers laced together resting on his lap, and his head leaning down staring at his hands. He looks deep in thoughts.
She blinks multiple times just to make sure she’s not hallucinating from her jog, and yeah, it’s definitely Rio.
Her brain’s going seventy miles per hour trying to think about all the possibilities he might’ve somehow known she’ll be here tonight, and she comes up with nothing.
She’s never even told Ruby and especially not Annie –the last thing she needs right now is being mocked for working out! Plus, this has been completely a spontaneous decision to come to the park this evening. Unless this man actually lives in her head! Huh!
It doesn’t seem like he’s aware of her presence, so she cautiously makes her way toward him. The closer she gets, the more it dawns on her. He looks sad ! That causes her face to drop and felt a tight squeeze in her chest. The only other time she’s ever seen him sad was when she told him she’s lost the….
She’s standing in front of him now. He doesn’t lift his head to look at her, knowing. The only reaction is the jump of his masseter muscles as he clinches his teeth.
She wipes the little sheen of sweat from her forehead and hairline with the sleeve of her shirt before sitting next to him.
Neither of them speaks a word. The only sounds are the cars passing by and a few people busy with their evening walks.
She’s wondering what’s going on in his head that’s gotten him this twisted. She wants to ask but knows the odds are against her, so she changes her mind.
Things haven’t been the easiest between them as per usual, though, she’s conflicted about why she feels the urge to sit next to him as if he might find the same comfort as she is in their silent solitude. As if all the horrid parts of their history have vanished into thin air at this very moment.
She should hate him, want nothing to do with him, but she can’t find that inside her. Instead, her hand itches to hold his; comfort him, and tell him everything’s going to be alright. Which makes zero sense !
Her brain must have short-circuited cause suddenly she has no control over her hand as it reaches toward him.
Rio stiffens, his hands jolt with her touch for half a second, then he lets out a long, deep breath through his mouth as if he was holding it this whole time.
She looks at him then, his eyes glued to their hands, blinking slowly, and she catches as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.
She turns her head to stare at the nothingness in front of her as she pulls one of his hands to rest on her own lap –he lets her.
Their fingers intertwine on autopilot, holding onto each other.
Then she stares at both of their hands and wonders; how it could be that the same hands that interrogated, menaced, admired, threatened, violated, and pleasured each other are both the poison and the antidote to their wounds. With that thought, she puts her other hand above his to envelope his much bigger one.
As if reading her mind, Rio squeezes her hand gently, and she rubs her thumb against his hand resting under hers.
Her blood pressure and high cortisol level are long forgotten.