iselldrugstothecommunity | But Time Takes Time, You Know [Musebox]

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But Time Takes Time, You Know [Musebox]

It's hard to research things that haven't happened yet, Howard discovers. Rather than hitting the library, like he would have on Stacy, he has to spend a lot of time thinking, sitting around talking to Barbara about every detail he remembers of his family history. Every year that passes by, the memories get a little more obscure, a little less refined, and he starts to panic, thinking that he won't have enough information to track down his family at all soon.

Over endless cups of tea, Barbara asks questions ("do you remember your mother's maiden name? do you know where your father's parents were from before they came to California? do you remember what their professions were?") to try and drag out the useful information, but it ends up being a stray memory of a Christmas dinner that puts the pieces in place.

"My grandma has to be in San Francisco. They had a one year wedding anniversary ornament on the Christmas tree of the Golden Gate Bridge, and I'm pretty sure they got married in 1969."

What they were doing in San Francisco is beyond his knowledge, but it's the closest they have to a shot. He doesn't know what hospitals his parents were born in, or where his paternal grandparents might be now, or even what year his parents are going to meet. It takes a lot of agonizing before he decides to spend all that money he's been saving in a can under the sink on plane tickets for him and Barbara to go there, but when he invites her she agrees that it's important to him, and besides, how often does one get to vacation in America?

So they both have suitcases packed and a promise to be back in ten days, waiting for Ian in the kitchen to come drive them to the airport. Howard's nervous, naturally, because he's not sure how he'll introduce himself to total strangers as their grandkid from the future. But he's come to relax a bit - a bit - over the last few years, and as such he just chews his lip and bounces his leg a bit rather than panics. He even got six hours of sleep last night. It's truly a miracle.

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"You know that time you called a few months ago and I said I was hoarse because I had bronchitis?" He tilts the little plastic tray over so the juices puddle in the corner, then licks that up, ignoring a dirty look from someone across the aisle.

"Yes, I remember." Barbara fought the urge to clean up Howard's mess and simply focused on folding and unfolding the napkin.

In Howard's defense, none of the juice is wasted. He just ends up licking more of the seat back table than most people would be comfortable with.

"I didn't actually have bronchitis. I'd just got back from a night in the hospital." He wipes the seat back table down with a napkin. "But I'm okay now, so you don't have to worry. Just figured it's better not to lie about it."

"What were you doing at the hospital?" Barbara asked, suddenly alarmed.

He winces, taking her alarm as a rebuke. "Getting my stomach pumped. I drank a can of paint thinner. But I'm okay now, so don't- don't panic..."

Don't panic? Too late.

"What?!"

"Keep your voice down," he says, glancing at how some of the passengers around them are looking at them either with irritation or curiosity. "I told you, I'm okay, it was like four months ago."

Granted, part of disclosing this in public was him trying to weasel out of getting yelled at. Barbara has only gotten loud with him very rarely, but he figures swallowing paint thinner is enough of an egress for some harsh words.

She leaned in to hiss: "why on Earth were you drinking Paint. Thinner?"

He crumples up his face like he has a really good answer to that, but the truth is he doesn't. What made sense at the time is so far divorced from what makes sense now.

"It sounded like less of a mess than jumping in front of a train, okay? Then I freaked out and changed my mind and called an ambulance. Happy?"

"No, I'm not." She looked up at the cabin roof and blinked away the tears beginning to well in her eyes.

Once she had full control over her emotions again, she placed a hand on Howard's arm. He didn't like contact, she knew he didn't like contact, but it was important that she held on to him. It was important to Barbara because it had been such a long time since she felt as though Howard was slipping away from her.

"I'm very glad you called an ambulance. I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you."

All the frustration sweeps away from him when he sees tears in her eyes. He waits for her to find her center and stares at the back of the seat, then at the armrest, then at his knees. When she puts a hand to his arm, he moves it, not to pull away but so he's holding her hand back.

"You'd be okay, in the long run. You have Ian and John to take care of, so you can't fall apart. I was- I was writing you and Ian a note so you knew it wouldn't be your fault or anything you did or me moving out, and..." And honestly he'd realized the cats may run out of food before he was found, and that had led to panic, thinking about the obligations he had, and by extent the people, wondering who would send Barbara a basket on Thanksgiving, who would help Ian fix the water heater, who would call them on the phone every weekend, and how delusional it was to think they wouldn't miss him at all. "I'm sorry."

"Anyway. It was pretty much the least fun hospital trip ever. Activated charcoal kind of looks like a slushie but it actually tastes like despair."

She gave him a Look because he was joking about his failed suicide attempt, but her face softened almost instantly.

"You're just as important to me as Ian and John," Barbara went on quietly, looking him right in the eye. "I'd miss you more than you can possibly imagine."

Maybe she should ask him why he did it, but perhaps that would lead down a road they'd already taken: How John Replaced Howard in the Chesterton Household.

He doesn't like holding that eye contact, so he turns his gaze to the cuffs of his sleeves. "I know. I know you do. It wasn't about you, or about John or anything like that, really. I got over the jealousy bit a while ago, mostly."

It had been an element, perhaps, but the leading cause was, as always, a tangled mass of reasons. "I just...I don't know what to do, sometimes. I get thrown off-kilter and I try to ride it out, but sometimes it goes on for weeks and I didn't sleep for three days leading up to it, and I just thought I'd never be okay. And I didn't know how to talk to anyone about it."

Barbara couldn't understand, nor would she ever be able to. At least, not fully. Depression wasn't something she knew.

"I'm always here, you know that," she told him.

"I know. I really do know that." He takes a deep breath and leans over, resting his head on her shoulder. It gets a strange look from across the aisle, but he doesnt't much care - he assumes they're beyond being impressed by him and Barbara.

"I wanted to call the night I did it, but I think my head was playing tricks on me. I kept thinking you'd be busy or be tired of me or you'd think I was being manipulative to get your attention or, you know, you're a mom to a little kid now, you need your sleep more than you need to come sit up late with your adult foster kid."

The curse of feeling like an adult is feeling like you have to handle everything yourself, even that which is much beyond you.

Edited 2012-11-07 13:47 (UTC)

Barbara didn't say that she saw herself as Howard's mother, too. It was an unspoken bond between the two of them that Barbara wasn't about to speak upon now. Instead she turned her head a little to kiss the top of Howard's head, then wrapped her arms around him as best she could in the confines of the seats.

It's not a comfortable or practical position, but he relishes it.

"You're proud of me, right?"

Proud probably wasn't the right word. Grateful, perhaps? Or maybe just happy. Barbara didn't know, but at the risk of starting an argument, or tredding on toes, she said: "of course I am. Now, why don't you try and rest some more? We've still got hours to go."

"No, I mean. Not about the ambulance. Proud in general. Because John's going to grow up and be a teacher or scientist or something, and I'm going to stay a part-time mechanic forever whose great accomplishment is getting out of bed in the morning, and I'll never give you a family or anything." He doesn't move from leaning on her shoulder. "Can't sleep anyway."

"I suppose with the former, yes," she replied cautiously, "but I'm proud of you because you have a job, and previous to all of this you saved my life more than once. I'm proud because you've grown into a kind and caring young man who will sometimes even engage strangers in conversation, who has pushed through their paranoia to the point where they can eat and drink slowly."

"Wow, try not to set the bar too high, Barbara." He sighs and angles at her remaining chicken. "Are you going to finish that?"

He doesn't really quite know what he wanted to hear from Barbara, but, he thinks, at the very least those are accomplishments he can believe, rather than flattery. It's a shame they only stack up to the bare minimum of normal behavior.

"Maybe I will try and sleep a little more. I brought some books, you know, for when we're over the ocean for nine hundred hours." Being stuck in a world before high definition TV and wireless internet has made Howard a bit more keen to actually delve into literature. He actually finishes books now. Sometimes.

"You can have it," she replied. She wasn't hungry, and even if she was, the meals were plenty big enough for her. Were Ian here, he'd be finishing her meals instead of Howard, so he may as well have eaten it.

"Alright, well, I'm here if you need anything else I can provide," she told him before letting him go to get his rest."

He finishes off her chicken and then lies very still, not asking to take the seat blanket Barbara's used. For a while, it's just an exercise in not moving for an extended period of time, but after about half an hour he does drift off. He looks almost calm, except for the occasional twitch in his fingers.

The flight is mostly uneventful, though there is some mild turbulence. A baby cries somewhere near the back of the plane. They pass into night on the plane - due to the direction, it's actually into the previous morning. After a few hours a stewardess comes around with a little pocketbook and stops by Barbara's seat.

"Coffee and pudding, ma'am?"

"Please," Barbara smiled, putting down the magazine she'd managed to fish out without disturbing Howard too much. "Can I please have two? He'll be awake soon and upset if he misses out."

The stewardess made a note in her book and left to ask someone else.

"Howard," Barbara said quietly, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Howard, some food is on its way, I thought you might be hungry."

He still always startles when he wakes up, but realizes very quickly that it's Barbara. He rubs at his eyes. "We're already at the second meal? It's dark out?"

He blinks and yawns. "How long was I asleep?"

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