youngerdrgrey
(mostly) a fic blog
not really online as much as I used to be. used to talk about Batwoman, queen sugar, the good place, and random MCU things. I tag by first names linked with an X; not ship names. + everything I write is on ao3.
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wip - station 19, andy/vic
notes: hadn't so much as considered this possibility until I saw thier names tagged on ao3. now here we are. I'm sharing this wip draft for now until I finish more of it and post on ao3.
context: kicks off after the season 4 finale. Marina wedding reception still in progress. Andy fucked up. Vic just made out with Theo now that she has Travis' blessing (and poor sweet Dean saw it when he went to confess his feelings for her).
.
The vibes are off when Maya, Carina, and Andy get back from storming the chief’s office. Sure, they turn on the music, and everyone starts dancing again, but Vic can’t really surrender herself to the party anymore. She can’t just make out with Theo when it feels like something really big just happened. Something nobody’s talking about.
Andy dances as far away from Sullivan as she can. He keeps eyeing her like some wounded dog. When Vic tries to talk to Dean about it, Dean gets weird. So, Vic really only has one option.
She corners Andy in the bathroom.
She’s polite enough to wait until Andy’s flushed the toilet, but the second Andy opens the stall, Vic stares the other woman down.
Andy flinches at the sight of her. “Shit, Vic, say something next time.”
“Maybe you should say something,” Vic says. “What happened with the chief?”
Andy averts her eyes to the sink. She gets the water running.
Vic watches Andy’s jaw work. Her eyes start to narrow because it’s a simple question.
Maya and Andy stormed the chief’s office, and then… what? Fill in the blank.
“He’s not giving Maya her captaincy back,” Andy says. “I’m proud of her for still enjoying tonight. It was really a beautiful wedding. You did amazing, Vic.”
“I know I did amazing. It’s the best freaking wedding at a pierogi place that will ever exist,” Vic says. “But Maya’s spot doesn’t explain you acting weird. If Sullivan really caused this—“
“He did,” Andy insists. Her tone’s sharp as it always when she mentions her husband. She shakes her hands.
Vic grabs paper towels and hands them over to Andy.
Andy sighs out, “Thanks. I don’t really want to get into all of this. Robert put this whole thing in motion. He said the chief wanted to know what Robert thought about Maya, and Robert….”
Andy’s nostrils flare. Her eyes cut to the paper towels in her hands.
Then it makes sense. Andy’s anger only tracks if Robert looked out for himself over everyone else.
So Vic finishes the sentence for Andy. “Robert tried to get her spot.”
Andy laughs, but it’s probably the angriest, most disbelieving laugh Vic has heard in years.
Andy says, “He keeps saying he did it for me. For us. For our house. But—“
“But that’s bullshit,” Vic deadpans. “If he wanted to protect the house, he would’ve argued to keep Maya where she was.”
“Exactly!” Andy throws her hands to the sky.
“Or-or mentioned you — you’re an actual lieutenant. The rightful heir of Station 19.”
Andy rolls her eyes. “Not heir, Vic, come on.”
Vic bumps Andy’s hand. “It’s true! You’ve been our little captain that could for as long as I’ve been here. Having Maya as Captain was one thing, but someone else entirely….”
Vic doesn’t want to imagine it. They’ve had enough change in their lives recently. Her awful older sister of a restaurant got torched a month ago. Ben and Dean almost drowned. It’s been absolute hell, but they’ve gotten through every bit of it because of their family.
She sighs. “You know what, we’re not going to let one potential new person throw us off. We’ve gotten through so much shit together. We can deal with this too.”
Pain flashes across Andy’s face.
Vic’s brows scrunch. “What? What was that face? Don’t say you don’t need help, because Andy, I swear—”
“We won’t be together,” Andy admits. “That’s… that’s the other thing that happened with the chief. He reassigned me to Station 23. Effective on Monday.”
Vic’s whole body freezes.
It just ceases to function for a second.
She starts to laugh, because this has to be a joke.
There’s no way that Andy Herrera is leaving Station 19.
“You’re not serious. Right? You can’t be serious. Why—“
“He said that I’ll never be out of my dad’s shadow. And told me this move would be good for me,” Andy says.
“Bullshit!”
“Yeah, well, his decision’s final, so…” Andy sighs. She opens her mouth to say it, but no sound comes out.
It’s like a spark ignites with that. One second, Andy’s fine. Angry, but she’s holding it all together. It’s just another captain’s order for her to carry out. But the next, she’s clutching at her chest. Tears completely blur her vision. The bathroom tiling feels too close and getting closer.
Vic catches Andy when Andy stumbles forward. It’s not perfect, and it takes a careful shuffle of their bodies to keep Andy from dragging them both down to the ground.
A dry sob wracks Andy’s body. Vic wraps her arms around Andy as tightly as she can. Every ragged breath, every broken sound. Vic takes it all. She squeezes her eyes shut and lets Andy fall apart.
“I can’t — I can’t do it,” Andy sobs. “I can’t leave 19.”
.
.
more eventually
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favorite quotes: Lilo & Stitch (2002)
dir. Chris Sanders, Dean DeBlois
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the trust
#changed my life (not kidding)#and yet I will never make it past s1 in a rewatch lmao#swan queen#sq#emma x regina#emma swan#regina mills#fav
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STATION 19
2.15 | 5.15 | 7.02
#station 19#my sweet sweet firefighters#vic hughes#travis montgomery#andy herrera#maya bishop#jack gibson#ben warren#carina deluca
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06x06//Everybody Says Don’t aka pansexual Vic confirmed pt. 2
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This Thanksgiving National Day of Mourning, please consider donating to:
The Native American Rights Fund
Native Wellness Institute
Warrior Women Project
Sitting Bull College
First Nations COVID-19 Response Fund
The Redhawk Native American Art Council
Partnership With Native Americans
First Nations Development Institute
Native American Heritage Association
National Indigenous Women’s Resource Center
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The Marvels
“Oh captain, my captain”.
Still can’t get over with their chemistry and I miss them already !!
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#slocg#no this part is so fucking funny#short people rights and what not#midori francis#renee rapp#alicia x leighton
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mean girls (for the gay girls!)
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I must wait for the sunrise // the marvels (mcu), carol/maria, carol/valkyrie, chapter one
about: Moments from the Blip and beyond in the lives of Carol, Maria, Monica, and Valkyrie. Genuinely here to unpack and explore the richness of memory and the ever-expanding relationships of our girls.
One of the hardest things for Carol to grapple with is what she and Maria were to each other. And it’s Valkyrie (King, friend, more depending on the year) who asks her if it matters what they were, when what they are now is more important. There’s so much that they still can be. Together and apart.
(alt title: higher, further, faster, remember?)
fic notes: interconnected memories! Lock in for ValCarol rights, Danbeau angst and fluff, and a joking use/creation of the tag 'Monica has three moms??' This chapter's within the Blip and takes place after That Memory Scene in The Marvels. (Other chapters will include early ValCarol, more CarolMaria memories, Carol and Monica confrontations, etc.) ~ subscribe + read on AO3
︽✵︽
Carol can’t remember the last time she was in Maria’s bed, but she imagines there must have been one. They slip into bed together as if they’d been doing it for years. Carol would love to remember that. Or anything from the memories she doesn’t have anymore.
Maybe there were other nights like this. With borrowed pajamas and the hint of mint in the air from Maria’s toothpaste. The brush of Maria’s fingers against Carol’s cheek as she unbraids the left side of Carol’s hair. Even that this one-handed unbraiding, Maria does with practiced ease. She loosens Carol’s armor, gives Carol a place to hide within the conversation.
Not that she can hide much when they’re only a pillow’s length apart. Face to face, as Maria runs tired fingers through Carol’s blonde hair.
Maria chuckles. “I can’t believe a white girl’s aging better than me.”
Carol rolls her eyes. They both know her powers are the only reason she hasn’t aged. As thankful as she is for them, they’re the reason she missed out on six years with her family, and every year since then too.
“Don’t flatter me,” she says. “You look better than I ever could.”
Maria scoffs. Then coughs bad enough that she has to shift from laying in the bed to propping herself up. Carol’s quick to sit up as well. One hand to Maria’s back, the other to her elbow. There’s something familiar about this.
“You still —“ Maria clears her throat. She turns to get her water from her nightstand and take a sip. “You still look lost. Just say it. Whatever’s bouncing in that big brain of yours.”
“Was I… here? I know I was here when she was little, but when you were pregnant?”
Maria chuckles again, but this time is winded. Weathered. She sets one hand on the hand on her elbow, and she leans back into the hand between her shoulder blades.
“Sometimes,” she answers. “Frank said only one of us needed to be in the air. His early firefighter days were long. And cruel. And you and me, we were still getting to know each other. You were still so upset that I had left you in that cockpit by yourself.”
“He’s staying home with the baby,” Carol said. “You need to be back up there with me. Promise me you’re not going to be one of those women who gives it all up for diapers and sack lunches.”
Carol tenses. She must’ve meant it as a joke, but that sounds horrible now. Begging Maria to abandon Monica. “I’m sorry.”
Maria waves her off. “You must not remember me egging you on. I wanted the reminder of what was out there. I was too big for the pilot seat. Frank was off at all hours all around Louisiana. And then you would come over to keep me from losing my damn mind. And Monica—“ Maria’s voice catches, and Carol instinctively rubs circles on Maria’s back. “She was your co-conspirator even then. She’d move around in there all day until you came around to talk about the stars and everywhere else we’d go. I wish….”
She trails off, but Carol nods.
“I wish we’d gotten to go too.” They still could. Just the two of them. Carol could show her every planet that Carol’s seen in the last twenty years. But she knows what Maria’s answer would be. Not until Monica gets back.
Maria shakes her head with a laugh. “Good luck taking her with you. She grows her hair so big, even though she knows she has to put those caps on to even fit in the helmet. So hard headed.”
Carol smiles. “Her mother’s daughter.”
“If she doesn’t—“
“Maria.”
“Carol, I’m serious—“
“We’re not talking about this,” Carol says.
“Who’s in charge here?” Maria asks.
“I’m a Captain.”
“Not in here you aren’t. You’re —“ Her eyes soften, and Carol’s breath catches as she waits for the next word. What is she? Who is she in their lives? “You’re just Carol here. And it’s my house until I’m dead and gone, and then it’s Monica’s. And I’m going to hold on as long as I can, but if I slip up, you have to promise me you’ll come back, and you’ll be here when she needs you.”
Not without you. I can’t be here without you.
Carol swallows that down. Clenches her jaw as she resolves to figure out some kind of fix for what Thanos took from them. The other Avengers are trying, but they haven’t gotten anywhere. They need to move faster. They need to bring Monica back before it’s too late.
“I promise.”
.
.
notes: subscribe on ao3 for more. I really do forget to update tumblr as much. any specific moments/memories you're curious about?
#carol danvers#the marvels#maria rambeau#valcarol#carolmaria#danbeau#monica rambeau#valkyrie mcu#valkyrie#mine#fic: I must wait for the sunrise
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Kamala Khan, Monica Rambeau, and Carol Danvers ✨
THE MARVELS (2023) dir. Nia DaCosta
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Kamala Khan 🤝🏻 Carol Danvers ✨
#you already know what the fuck is going on#we're up#the marvels#captain marvel#carol danvers#kamala khan#monica rambeau#mcu
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all the pieces aren't even in the box // the morning show, bradley/laura, chapter six
about: Bradley and Laura's last few months in Montana and how the world reacts along the way (and maybe how they find their way back to each other) ~ read earlier chapters on AO3
chapter six summary: Bradley’s surprise visitor turns out to be the least of her worries. Laura gets a surprise of her own. (read chapter five on AO3)
chapter notes: well, that s3 finale was an episode of television. (Ricky. When I catch you, Ricky—)
This chapter’s a doozy, so buckle up for grief in the first two sections. If you missed having Bradley at the ranch last chapter, she’ll be home sooner than you think.
Also, I understand if Covid talk and things of that nature make you uncomfortable, so if you want a spoiler, let me know, and I'll tell you.
Fun fact: In s1, when Bradley’s dad calls, her dad’s got a (773) area code, which is a Chicago one. Shout out.
~
“Fuck me.”
Laura was right. Bradley never should’ve left Montana. She should’ve stayed in their cozy queer bubble with the pomegranate trees and simmering discontent, and she never should’ve brought herself into the same fucking state as Peter Jackson.
The last time Bradley saw her dad was at a gas station in Chicago. He’d been living out there after his release. She was in town on a shoot. It wasn’t even on purpose. The story was about ex-cons struggling to find jobs and housing in major cities. Her dad went to the same group as some of the people she interviewed. So she went to get a drink from a gas station down the street from the meeting spot, and there he was.
And just like now, it was like every thought he’d ever had just scrunched up into his cheeks. Every regret and accusation and apology — all of it hoisted up his cheekbones while his eyes got further and further away.
Fifteen years ago, Bradley told him off. She was an angry twenty-something with a need to be heard. But today?
She stumbles back from the mic. Her weight shifts too quickly onto her heels, and she has to turn to keep herself from falling.
Hal jumps up from the front pew. His eyes wider than they’ve been all day. Bloodshot and protective and confused. Normally, Bradley would go to him. She would tell him that they’ll be okay and to ignore anything their dad says because they’re not the problem; he is. But the thought of propping up Hal sucks the energy right out of her.
Bradley is tired of helping her brother. Tired of holding onto her dad’s shit for nearly thirty years. Tired of feeling like she has to say something to these people who don’t give a fuck about any of them.
She steps away from the podium towards the side door. The church choir uses it all the time to go in and out for performance.
“Bradley!” Hal calls out.
She shakes her head. “Not now. I’m not—“ She glances at him long enough to remember her purse is beside him. He spots where she’s looking and grabs it first.
“Brad—“
She holds her hand out as she walks to him. “Gimme my bag, Hal.”
“Bradley—“
“Give me my bag!”
It’s so fucking quiet in the room. Her dad hasn’t moved, but everyone else seems to have their cameras and phones at the ready. Bradley cannot become another trending topic. She has seen that clip of herself screaming, “I am exhausted,” more than enough times.
“Hal. Please.”
Her brother doesn’t budge. Cheryl does though. She tugs the bag from Hal’s grip and hands it to Bradley with her hand over the open part. Bradley should say thank you, but all she can do is meet Cheryl’s understanding eyes and book it out of the side door as quickly as possible.
.
.
The door slams shut behind her.
The hallway’s a different kind of quiet. Not as tense. Bradley gasps for air like she’s suffocating. She throws her bag onto her shoulder and rips her mask down from her face to breathe. She’s gotta get out of here.
“This still counts as inside,” Peter says. Bradley all but jumps out of her skin at the sound of his voice. He’s all the way down at the other end of the hall. Slipped right back out the door he’d slithered through. But sound carries in a church better than anywhere Bradley’s ever known.
She whirls around to snap at him. “I know more about masks than you do!”
He shrugs without moving any closer. “Well, you talk about ‘em enough on your show.”
“I told you not to contact me again.”
“I’m here for your mom. I knew her a lot longer than either of you did.”
“And where were you the last fifteen years, huh? Or any of the ones before that?” She shakes her head before he can even answer. Turns back around to scan for the closest exit. The main entrance is too close to him. She’s not walking back over there. “I’m leaving.”
He nods. “You look happy. With your girlfriend.” That makes her stumble all over again. Panic and heat rise to her cheeks. Some half-planned defense is on her tongue. But her dad just does that same half-raised grin she does and says, “I don’t do all that social media stuff. But I got the Google alert about some article. A picture of the two of you on her ranch. Smiling.” Their last day together. “I’m happy you’re happy, kiddo.”
Everything inside her just stops.
He’s happy that she’s happy?
What in the fuck does he know about her happiness?
Her lips part as her frustration rises. She has been responsible for her happiness for a hell of a lot longer than she should have been. She rounds on him.
“You know I was a kid,” she yells. “I should not have been pickin’ up Hal, or cleaning up Mom, or—“
“Turning me in for what I did to that boy,” he finishes for her. “And to you. You’re right. You took care of everybody in that house. You were so good at it that I forgot it wasn’t your job. Your job was to be a kid. My kid.”
Her jaw aches, so she clenches it tighter. Somehow her whole body shakes instead.
Her dad has her eyes, and Hal’s chin, and the right words after nearly thirty years of being an absolute shit stain of a man. He had her whole life to get his shit together. It’s not fair that he wants to come back now. He waits until she gets something good with TMS, and something great with Laura, and something awful with her mom’s death, and now he’s the fucking Ghost of Christmas Past.
He’s so old now. Small like he was when he was drinking, but he looks more sturdy. His hair’s not sandy blonde like hers used to be. It’s got more gray in it. Well, where it still exists. He’s balding in a way that Hal would hate to see.
She hates to see him.
She hates her dad.
Right?
This scream inside of her feels like the same way it always did. Since she saw him drunk for the first time. This is rage and disappointment and — and she hates this man more than anything. He ruined them long before Bradley got a chance to.
But she can’t move, and he doesn’t say anything else. He lets the first real apology for what he did fill the hallway between them.
She was just a kid. She did what was right. She always does what’s right, and she has been made to feel wrong about that every single day since. With him, with network censors, with Mitch, with Hannah, with fucking Cory and the fucking mask that’s still around her neck, choking her.
He blinks their eyes, and he says, “Your girl looks at you like you’re the belle of the ball.”
“I am,” Bradley spits out.
It’s the first thing she’s been able to say since his apology. It’s fucking pathetic that it’s all she can say. She never wanted to be the belle of the ball, or the stars in the sky. She just wanted to be held. To have somebody help her with her homework and come to her track meets on time and stone cold sober and to drive her all the way home after it.
Maybe if her parents had done their job, she wouldn’t have gone looking for home in the first guy who smiled at her crooked. She wouldn’t have gotten knocked up at fifteen and snuck off to get her own abortion. She wouldn’t be in her first real loving relationship in her forties.
“I gotta get out of here.”
She spins back around. Even though he doesn’t follow her, his next words do. They stick to her heels and burrow into her skin.
“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. It could be different now. If you let me.”
Bradley does the only thing she can think to do. She uses the keys Cheryl slipped into her purse to take Hal’s car. She drives home, and she locks herself in the bathroom like she’s fifteen again.
She grabs one of her mom’s decorative towels and drops it onto the ground. Then she lays on the cold floor with her face on that towel until the world stops crushing down on top of her.
She hasn’t done this in months. Not since she accidentally told the whole world about her abortion on her first day at TMS. It’s only lying here now that it hits her — she never looked in the casket. She never saw her mom.
Did Hal pick the right look? Did he make sure her makeup was okay? If they weren’t cremating her, then she had to look alright. She would hate if they buried her looking a mess.
Doesn’t matter what she hates anymore. She’s dead. Gone. And she is never coming back.
Bradley sobs without warning. The force of it splits her in half. She curls up to hold herself together, her arms wrapping around her stomach as her whole body quakes with each new cry.
What is she doing here? She hated this house. She hated growing up here. She hated living here as an adult because so much kept going wrong that she could never stay away. She hated these fucking decorative towels.
She pushes herself off the floor to get away from it. She did always love this bathroom though. It has a little ledge outside the tall window. The window is meant to help air out the room, so it’s up high and too small for a person to fit through. But it’s where teen Bradley used to hide things she didn’t want her mom to find. A pack of cigarettes, a phone number from the butch mechanic that Bradley had already memorized. Cigarettes don’t expire, do they?
She takes the trash bag out the trash can and flips over the bin so she can reach up to the window. Slides it open and reaches her hand around for the pack she’d left there before she went to UBA. But she finds a wad of toilet paper instead.
Her brows furrow as her fingers wrap around it and pull it back through. “What the fuck?”
There’s something inside the paper. She unravels it to see a Covid test, with a faint positive line.
Bradley stares down at it. It’s gotta be a trick of the light, right? It’s gotta be because if it’s not—
The front door opens, and Bradley is out of the bathroom in a blink. Hal can’t even fully step into the house before Bradley jams the Covid test into his flushed face.
“What the fuck is this, Hal!?”
He has to lean back to see it, but his eyes double in size the moment he does. “Don’t freak out.”
“Tell me this is Mom’s. Tell me you’re not positive right now.”
“It’s barely there, Brad,” he says, and her rage blocks out every word he says after.
She has spent every moment with Hal since she got to Grantsville. Why would he do this? He could’ve infected her. He could’ve infected everyone.
He’s still talking when the blood stops rushing in her ears. “And I couldn’t take another one ‘cause if I knew—“
“You already knew, jackass,” she hisses. “You knew, and you still let me come in here. What the fuck, Hal!? I can’t go home like this!”
He steps closer. “You are home. If you can host from Laura’s, you can do it from here.”
“I DON’T WANT TO DO IT FROM HERE!” She screams. “I want to go home with my girlfriend. I just told her that everything would be fine.”
“It is fine!”
“It is not fine!”
He pleads, “I don’t have any symptoms. I can’t spread it without symptoms.”
“You fucking asshole! You’re just asymptomatic. You can still spread the virus. To me, to Cheryl, to every single person you come in contact with.” She starts pacing away from him. “I never should’ve come here. I’m gonna die in West Virginia.”
“You’re not gonna die.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t get to talk to me right now. I-I’m leaving.” Bradley drops what’s left of Hal’s trash onto the ground. Hal rushes after her before she gets more than a few steps, but she throws his hand off her arm. “I can’t be around you. Where’s my mask?”
“At the door, but Brad—“
She shoves past him to get it off the shelf by the front door. She’d worn it the whole service. She helped mitigate the spread. But she had to get a test for herself now. She had to know. She hasn’t been here long enough for it to incubate. By the time she has, it’ll be time to drive home.
Shit. She has to tell Laura. Shit. “FUCK!”
She fumbles in her pocket for her phone. RJ first. RJ can help her figure everything else out.
“What are you doing?” Hal asks.
Bradley stomps past him again to head for her old room. Her stuff’s still mostly in the suitcase. It won’t take long to zip it back up. Her phone rings in her ear while she unplugs her charger from the bedside and grabs her laptop from on top of the bed.
RJ sounds concerned as he answers. “Hey, is everything okay? I didn’t think you’d call today.”
“Neither did I,” Bradley huffs. “I need a hotel. ASAP. Anything will do, just—“
Hal cuts her off from the doorway. “Bradley, stop.”
She talks over him. “As soon as possible, RJ. Please.”
“O-okay. Are you…. Are you physically safe?”
Bradley cringes as the memory of Hal throwing mugs at TMS flashes in her mind.
“It’s not like that. Don’t start a panic. I can’t have people fussing at me. Not today.”
“Okay, let me see what I can find.”
“Alright, call me back.” Bradley hangs up on her assistant and zips her bag shut.
Hal hasn’t moved from the doorway. He didn’t do this on purpose, did he? Her brother wouldn’t try to trap her into staying. That’s… that’s cruel. He wouldn’t be cruel to Bradley, would he?
She glances up at him as she pulls her bag off the bed.
“Don’t follow me. Don’t call me. Just take another test, and text me a picture of it once the timer’s up.”
“You can’t go back,” he tells her. “You’ll kill her if you have it. Symptomatic or not.”
She gulps around the fear that flares up. “Well, I’m not staying here. Tell Cheryl to get a test too.”
Bradley gets around him and out the house to her car. It’s not until she sits down and locks her doors that she really looks at her phone again. She hadn’t read her texts earlier, not even Laura’s.
Laura — 11:34 AM: Hal’s scrambling now that you’ve left. Someone’s standing in front of the computer, so the Zoom is blocked. Did you really leave?
Laura — 11:50 AM: Twitter tells me that you did. Bold move, Jackson. Where are you hiding out?
Laura — 12:15 PM: I promise not to say I told you so. I just want to know how you’re holding up. Let me know once you’ve caught your breath.
Shit. Laura really did watch. Laura woke up early on a Saturday to watch the funeral that she didn’t even want Bradley to go to. And now Bradley’s supposed to, what, tell Laura that she can’t go home? That Hal’s a reckless, ignorant asshole who ruined everything? That Bradley let him do it, just like she always does, because she can’t actually leave him alone?
She can’t say that. Not over text.
Bradley — 1:36 PM: Still catching. You can say I told you so. I won’t be mad, I promise.
She hesitates, then adds.
Bradley — 1:36 PM: I’ll see you, okay?
She watches as her messages send. Waits the minute it takes for Laura to read them and heart-react to her second one.
Laura — 1:37 PM: I’ll see you too, Bradley.
Bradley flips her phone over. She turns the car on and reverses out of her family’s driveway. It’ll take RJ some time to find the right hotel. Like Laura said, drive until she can breathe again.
.
.
For Laura’s talk of silence over anger, she doesn’t do well when Bradley goes quiet. It makes her restless. Which is unheard of for someone who’s spent this long perfectly content on her own.
It’s honestly embarrassing how many times she checks her phone the next few days. She even has her volume up in case a call comes in when she leaves the room. She gets so many unnecessary notifications. If Amazon sends her one more discount coupon message, she’s cancelling her Prime Membership.
She’s not. She won’t. She just needs an outlet until Bradley reaches out. This, of course, leads her to the most embarrassing possible way to spend her time. She starts preparing the guest house for Bradley.
First, it’s just dusting. Freshening up the sheets and the towels. Then it’s logging into the streaming services on the TV. She brings over a few books that Bradley had been meaning to read. She stocks the bathroom with Covid tests and the cabinets with whiskey and mixers. She nearly bakes cookies before some semblance of self-respect clicks back into her body. She does gather some laundry though.
Monday morning, before the sun’s even had a chance to rise, she pads out of the house with the laundry basket to drop the clothes off. It doesn’t take as long to get ready when there’s only one of them getting dressed in the morning.
She presses in the code on the lock. It’s simpler than having a key, especially since she can send it to friends and family who need a break from the world. She has to balance the laundry basket on her hip to get the door and screen door open. She probably could have done with just one door. Notes for the remodel.
As she steps in, her brows furrow at the shoes inside the door.
“Bradley?” No, that wouldn’t make sense. When would Bradley even —
“Stop!” Bradley shrieks from the bedroom. Laura jumps to face the bedroom door. It’s pulled up, but Laura can hear Bradley scramble on the other side of it. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Bradley, what—“
“I’m serious, Laura.” Bradley’s voice shakes. She’s pleading, and Laura’s still processing the fact that Bradley is here. Bradley is home, and she didn’t say anything. “Get back outside. Now!”
Laura stumbles back with the laundry basket. The door knob jams into her hip. She curses as she turns to get back onto the short porch of her own property. She shuts the screen door behind her, but she doesn’t move any farther. She stares through, waiting for some kind of explanation.
“Bradley, talk to me,” Laura says.
“I— fuck.”
Bradley opens the bedroom door. She steps out with a mask on and the shirt she wore to the funeral. She hasn’t changed in days? Laura’s heart pounds. This isn’t just being cautious. This — something’s wrong.
“Honey, please.”
Bradley gulps. Her eyes frantically take Laura in. She must see how tired Laura is. How tightly Laura worries the basket in her hands.
Laura would’ve at least brushed her hair if she knew Bradley was here. Her hair’s all over in a way that makes her feel like she’s hiding.
Bradley blurts out her explanation. “I got exposed to Covid. They were asymptomatic. I'm still negative, but….”
But she can’t come any closer. She can’t leave the guest house. If she really does get sick, then she’d be on her own. Laura can’t save her from this. Laura can’t even save herself.
Bradley’s eyes well up above her mask. Laura tries to think of something to say. Anything, but all she has are questions. Who exposed Bradley? When did it happen? Why hasn’t she said anything? Why did she slink in unannounced like a shameful ghost?
But the questions won’t change anything. They won’t help this growing pain in Laura’s chest. They won’t stop the tears in Bradley’s eyes.
So Laura says the only other thing she can think of.
"I was still making up the room.”
Bradley breaks their eye contact to look around the guest house. She must have gotten in late. That’s why Laura didn’t know. Her car’s not in the driveway, so she probably parked and walked the rest of the way. She didn’t want to wake Laura.
The guest house is mostly a one bedroom with a small living room/kitchenette. Basic studio equipment’s on the narrow dining table. Bradley’s favorite throw blanket is on the couch. A few of her mugs are on the counters. Most telling, there's a framed picture of their ranch selfie from before she left.
Bradley sniffles. “What else could I need?”
Laura gently sets down the laundry basket on the porch. “There’s just a few more things.” She steps back so Bradley can pick it up.
Bradley props the basket between herself and the wall to go through it. She reaches past her own sweaters and T-shirts to grab the pair of Laura’s sweats that she’d put back on Laura’s side of the closet before leaving. Her hands shake as she holds them.
“They look better on you,” Laura says.
Bradley fractures at that. She turns her face back to Laura, and it is so hard to only see the top of her face. To know without looking that Bradley’s jaw trembles and her nose must be red.
"I'm so sorry. I fucked up. I really, really fucked up."
Laura’s not there yet. Not ready for an apology. Not ready for what comes next. She needs a moment, and Bradley needs some kind of reassurance that Laura doesn’t know if she has.
She tries anyway. Speaks level and calm, “You'll keep testing, and it'll be negative. It will.” Bradley shakes her head, and Laura’s voice firms. “Say it, Bradley.”
“It will be negative,” Bradley repeats.
Say it, believe it, will it into existence. If Laura let Bradley go, and it took Bradley away from her —
Matching alarms pierce the air. Both women jolt. They have a show to do. They have to get ready.
Bradley glances down at herself as if she’s seeing herself for the first time in days.
“I need to change. I—“ She looks back to Laura, and her eyes hold the apology she can’t say again.
Laura doesn’t know what to do with her hands without the basket. She pulls them together in front of her. Squeezes tight as she nods to Bradley.
“It’s fine. Go. I should change too. I haven’t brought the, um, food over. I….” She should’ve made the cookies. “I thought I had more time.”
Bradley kneads the sweatpants in her hands.
“Me too.”
Laura turns to head for the house.
Bradley’s voice cracks as she calls after her. “We’ll talk after the show. Right?”
Maybe by then Laura will have something to say. The shock will be gone, and she’ll be able to feel something other than… numb. Unprepared. Adrift.
Bradley’s return was supposed to be triumphant. Joyful and exciting as they reconnected and found new ways to tease each other for two weeks. The guest house was meant to be a technicality. Now it’s a threat.
“Have a good show, Bradley.”
She doesn’t wait for Bradley to say it back. She heads for the house and shuts the door behind her. Sinks into it as the weight of what could be knocks the wind out of her. For once, she wishes she could scream. Yell. Smash vases and slam doors and let out this tempest inside of her. But all she has is tension that locks her bones and clamps her lungs. She gasps ragged. Shudders as the snoozed alarm comes back to life.
She was wrong with Gordon. The silence is a lot worse than anger.
.
.
Author's Notes:
let me know how you're feeling. how was this chapter for you?
#bradleylaura#bradley x laura#bradley jackson#laura peterson#tms#mine#tms: s3#the morning show#fic: all the pieces
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BRADLEYLAURA in
The Morning Show - 3x08: DNF
#never forget what they allegedly want to take from you#bradleylaura#bradley x laura#bradley jackson#laura peterson#tms#tms: s3#tms: 308#ff#just let them be gay and happy!!!!!!!
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all the pieces aren't even in the box // the morning show, bradley/laura, chapter five
about: Bradley and Laura's last few months in Montana and how the world reacts along the way (and maybe how they find their way back to each other) ~ read earlier chapters on AO3
chapter five summary: Bradley makes the journey to West Virginia, and Laura comes to some realizations of her own. (read chapter five on AO3)
chapter notes: so you know, this does include some of Sandy's funeral! I think it's chill, but if you're sensitive to that, just know everything after "she's on" will be at the funeral.
~
Laura’s phone buzzes the next night.
Bradley - 8:15 PM: So much for keeping a low profile. Mia sent me this. I can never tell whose side they’re on.
Laura shakes her head with a smile on her face.
Laura - 8:20 PM: You know what I don’t understand… how am I the fake fan if I know you better than anyone?
Bradley - 8:21 PM: Prove it. Name three of my best segments.
Laura - 8:22 PM: Ha ha
Laura - 8:22 PM: I’m partial to your Vegas coverage, but that may be about the offscreen moments.
Seeing Bradley step into the spotlight had been amazing. Her political coverage and insightful analysis were great. That being said, Bradley in nothing but a robe was the highlight for Laura. Their not so spontaneous trip had proven they were more than just fun.
Bradley - 8:25 PM: Are you nostalgic already? I haven’t even been gone a day
Laura - 8:26 PM: I’d answer your question, but you may not like my answer…
Bradley - 8:26 PM: To which question?
Laura - 8:30 PM: I missed you before you even left. Last night, in our bed, when you wouldn’t open your eyes to look at me…. So yes, forgive me if I’m nostalgic for the first time I truly had you to myself.
.
.
Bradley runs a hand through her hair as she waits for Laura to pick up the phone. Her skin’s flushed after that last text, and if she can’t see Laura, the least she can do is hear her girlfriend over the car speakers.
The second Laura answers, Bradley’s on her.
“You cannot say something like that, and just expect me to keep driving.”
Laura laughs on her side of the call. “You know you shouldn’t text and drive.”
“I was parked,” Bradley points out. “But I gotta get back on the road, and somebody has made that incredibly hard.”
If they weren’t fighting, Bradley would’ve joked about turning the car around. But it wouldn’t be right to joke like that after yesterday. Even if a part of her means it.
“One question though,” Bradley starts, “wouldn’t the first time be that day at your place?”
Laura cocks her head to the side, not that Bradley can see it. “Which day was that?”
“The one when you told me that I know my way around.”
“Ah, yes, and you said you weren’t actually a lesbian.”
“Well, I’m not,” Bradley says with a slight smile. She’s not just a gay bisexual type either. Twitter’s still on her ass to define herself, but she’s told Laura, and that’s enough for her.
“You’re something,” Laura echoes, “but no, that doesn’t count as the first time I had you to myself. It was the middle of the day, and you left right after to go back to work. We were still… having fun back then.”
Bradley laughs without meaning to. “That how you say ‘screwing around?’”
“Yes, because I’m a lady, and it was fun,” Laura begins, before dropping her voice. “Until you broke my vase.”
Bradley rolls her eyes. “I’ve apologized for that a hundred times.”
“And I’ve accepted a hundred times. It’s still broken, Bradley.”
Are they? Broken?
A beat passes where neither of them speak, and neither of them ask what they need to.
Laura breaks the silence. “Are you still in Minnesota?”
“Barely. Traffic’s been light, thank God. I might make it to Hal earlier than I thought.”
“That’s good.” It is. Bradley doesn’t say it enough, but she misses her brother. His good days are really good. Honestly, his bad days might even be behind them.
Bradley clears her throat. “How much heat do you think we’ll get now that the word’s out?”
Laura moves her phone to speaker to go to Twitter. “Let’s see.”
When she searches Bradley’s name, the first thing she sees is that same tweet from the screenshot. Under that, there are mostly tweets about their broadcast that morning. Fans speculating that their ‘vibes were off,’ and coupling that with the Minnesota tweet that’s gaining traction.
“What are they saying?” Bradley asks.
Laura goes for honesty. “They can’t tell if you’ve left me or just gone to the funeral.”
Bradley inhales sharply on her side. Laura holds her breath for a response.
“I’d be an idiot to leave you, Laura.”
Bradley’s not always the smartest. Laura can’t say that without sounding both insecure and like she’s instigating another argument. If Bradley says she’s coming back, then she’s coming back. Laura has to believe that.
“Do you want to tell them that or should I?” Laura asks.
Bradley comes to a red light on the long road masquerading as a freeway. It’s fine since it gives her a chance to reach for her phone on its car stand. “One second.” It only takes a moment to go to her Favorites folder and hit send.
Laura’s phone lights up as their picture from yesterday pops into their text chain. The two of them by the fence. They look so happy and in love. No one would ever know what happened next. Looking at it, Laura almost forgets herself.
“I’m framing this,” Laura says.
“You better. I want to see it hanging in the foyer when I get back.”
Laura shakes her head. “Family photos in the foyer are so overdone.”
“Just this once? For me?”
Bradley has to stop asking her for things she has no interest in giving up. This one, however, is easier to give than Laura’s blessing.
“One photo. That’s it. Any more, and Architecture Digest will revoke my cover.”
“They need to do an updated version anyway. Wait ’til they get a load of all the postcards in the studio.”
Laura rolls her eyes. Bradley left a repurposed shoebox of postcards on a table in the studio. It’s an eyesore. The only reason Laura hasn’t moved it is because Bradley’s only brought one thing into that space.
“You mean your postcards?” Laura clarifies.
Bradley hums in a way that sounds triumphant. “That’s not even all of them. I’ve been collecting postcards since I first started driving. Everywhere I went. Used to be little cities, but then it became the bigger stuff. First out of town assignment, first major story, first time on UBA.”
Laura switches her phone back off speaker. “You never told me that. When you pulled out that stack of postcards, all you said was, ‘Don’t let me lose these.’ And you put them in a box.”
“I mean, you’ve got all kinds of amazing decorations and cool art from all around the world. They’re just, I don’t know, something silly I do. I wasn’t gonna do much with ‘em anyway. They normally do just stay in the box.”
“When you get back, let’s find a place for them,” Laura suggests. “Somewhere you can see them and really see how far you’ve come.”
“Laura,” Bradley sounds choked up. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. Just not in the foyer, alright?”
Bradley laughs. “Deal. They’d clash with our fence picture anyway.”
.
.
The next day, Bradley calls, and Laura misses it. Her phone’s tucked too far down while she takes Sue out on a ride.
Laura calls back once she sees, but Bradley doesn’t pick up.
“Missed your call. I’d say Sue says hello, but she hasn’t taken to you the way that Scout has. Let me know you got in safe.”
.
.
Bradley - 4:15 AM: I’m here. Hal wasn’t joking about how many casseroles are in the fridge. And sourdough starters. Why is everyone making bread???
Laura - 5:00 AM: Bring one home.
Bradley - 5:16 AM: Funny. This place used to be my home.
Bradley - 5:17 AM: I’m happy it isn’t anymore.
Bradley - 5:17 AM: I miss you
.
.
Bradley - 10:19 AM: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/55536512
Bradley - 10:19 AM: since everybody knows I’m here, I have to talk. There’s the link in case you want to see it before Twitter does
Laura - 10:21 AM: Ooh is Two Fucks Jackson making her comeback?
Bradley - 10:22 AM: Say fuck again.
Laura - 10:22 AM: Fuck.
Bradley - 10:22 AM: God, I miss you.
Laura - 10:23 AM: You said that already.
Bradley - 10:23 AM: I miss all of you.
Bradley watches as the message goes from delivered to read. As Laura starts typing, stops, waits, then types again.
Laura - 10:24 AM: Bradley… don’t start something you can’t finish.
How does Laura do that? How can she read Bradley’s mind from two thousand miles away?
Bradley misses that. Text messages and two phone calls aren't enough. Not when she’s spent every day with Laura for months. Laura’s so touchy feely. It’s not like Bradley isn’t, but she’s gotten used to that touch now. To that steady reassurance that Laura is there whenever and however she needs her.
Maybe it’s being back here that does it. Makes her feel smaller and lonelier and needier. Makes every text feel like Laura’s whispering in her ear.
Laura - 10:24 AM: Tell me more.
Laura’s right. Bradley shouldn’t do this.
Bradley - 10:25 AM: I’m going into a church in 15 min
Laura - 10:25 AM: It doesn’t take that long to use your words.
Laura - 10:26 AM: What do you miss, Bradley?
Bradley crosses her legs and flips her phone back over. She can’t do this. She’s in the car with her brother, on the way to her mother’s funeral. She’s not sexting her girlfriend right now. She reaches over to roll down the window so the breeze can cool her flushed cheeks.
What do you miss, Bradley?
Everything. Her laugh. Her lips. Her hands. God, her hands.
Does the window go down any further? Do they have any ice in the car?
Hal calls from the front seat. “You okay, Brad?”
Cheryl turns over her shoulder to look back at Bradley, and Bradley uncrosses her legs and tries to act natural.
“Just… letting off steam before we go in there.”
Four days.
A funeral and then four days to go.
.
.
Laura eyes her last text to Bradley once again. She knew she was pushing it, but she also knew Bradley clearly needed a distraction. The younger reporter still had trouble asking for what she needed at times.
Laura, on the other hand, knows exactly what she needs. That’s why she has a strong bourbon in her hand and Gordon on FaceTime when she opens Sandy Jackson’s Zoom funeral. Her long-time friend and producer raises his own glass to his web camera in a morbid toast.
“I can’t believe we’re doing Zoom funerals now,” he says. “What’d they make the flyer on? Canva?”
“I have no idea what that is,” Laura says with a sip of her drink.
He rolls his eyes. “Only the lowly worker bees have to know what Canva is.”
He’s hardly lowly, and Laura’s quirked brow says it loud enough for him to wave her off. She imagined that would be the end of it, but Gordon studies her. What does he see when he looks at her?
She made sure to wash her hair today. No makeup, aside from a slight lip so that she doesn’t look as sun-starved as she could. Her black suit jacket should feel silly along with her black joggers, but she is allowing herself one small mercy since no one can see the bottom half of her anyway. Her camera’s not even on. Not unless Bradley needs her. To the rest of the world, she’ll be a black square with her name on the bottom. To Gordon, though, she at least looks the part of girlfriend dragged along to an uncomfortable family event.
He clicks his tongue. “You seem to be doing well.”
She can’t quite tell if he means it, but she has no use in lying. “The house is too quiet. I’ve mostly been sitting outside, or playing music.” She turns her glass in her hand. “Bradley’s not even that loud, but she makes noise, you know. She’s… alive.”
“And what are you?”
She levels a tired look at him. “My therapist thinks I’d gotten used to the silence as a child. Then I made too much noise as a teen to get attention.” Which did not work, by the way. “And while I’d found a balance as an adult, pre-Bradley... it’s a different thing to find a balance with another person.”
Gordon stares blankly into the call. “Right. So you miss her.”
Laura flops her head back on the couch. “Desperately.” It’s pathetic. She lifts her head to glare at the phone. “I’m too old to feel this… swept up.”
“You don’t believe that.”
She doesn’t. Love doesn’t have an age limit. But love is… elusive. Laura’s parents were in love once, and they were out of it for a hell of a lot longer. When the passion is gone, when the laughs fade and the spark snuffs out, what will they have left? Will it be this incessant ache in her gut, hollowing her through to her spine? Is that how she’ll feel? How she’ll want?
When they end — because all things do — will it fade, or will it be like the last few days?
“You haven’t seen how she’s been acting, Gordon. She’s so angry.”
“And you grew up with silence over anger.”
“Discontent was the reigning emotion. I don’t — I don’t know how to talk to her when she gets like that. There is no talking to her when she gets like that. We fought the night she left, you know.”
He tips his drink back. “And?”
She frowns. “And what?”
He drinks and smacks his lips together. “People fight. But you forced me to be your date to her mom’s online funeral, so clearly you’re still together.”
“Of course.” Though there were doubts before. She shakes her head. Glances at the muted laptop and people's backs as they wander through the funeral hall. “She’d wanted me to go with her. She said she wanted to hold her girlfriend’s hand in front of her mother.”
Gordon’s face is torn between a smile and grimace. “She could hold it all the way to the emergency room.”
Laura chuckles. “That’s what I said. But Gordon—“
“Don’t ‘But Gordon’ me. I have watched you twist yourself into knots to be there for Bradley, and I refuse to watch you do it again.” He leans in close to his camera. Takes up the whole frame to give her his full attention and his toughest love. “She may be a grown woman, but she acts like a child.”
“She does not.”
He scoffs. “She broke your vase on week one.”
“That wasn’t childish; it was….” She scrambles for a word. Impulsive, brash, reckless, misplaced.
“Unhinged,” he finishes for her. “And before you start, yes, she had a bad childhood. Yes, she was regressing. Yes, you like her anyway. But she has a lot of work to do on herself that you cannot walk her through. You can’t will her into growing up.”
Can’t she? They’ve gotten this far. Bradley even apologized after their last fight. She is doing the work. Laura shouldn’t have to cut her off just because Bradley needs more time to catch up.
Laura takes another sip of her drink. “I never should have told you about the vase. I regret that.”
Gordon barks out a laugh. “I regret I can’t tell anyone else. The great Laura Peterson bought for a three-hundred dollar gift card.”
“It wasn’t the gift card. She needed me.”
“And you wanted to be needed.”
She did. But what happens now?
Her heart thuds in her chest. Her voice lowers as she asks, “What happens when she doesn’t need me anymore?”
Her friend softens. He leans his head close to his shoulder.
“Well then, she just wants you.”
Bradley wants Evening News. She wants to be the face of politics at UBA. She wants Montana snow without the bone chills and to see her old hair color again without the board freaking out about it. She wants the stable home life she’d never had growing up. She doesn’t want Laura. Does she?
She says she loves Laura. Or almost says. Love and want aren’t necessarily synonymous. They’re congruous if anything.
Bradley needs someone to help her grow. She needs a place away from the pandemic and a sounding board and someone to hold onto who won’t lash out if she holds too tight.
Laura can provide those things. They haven’t known each other long, and this is all still new. It’s been a long time since Laura’s been in something even semi-stable and long-term. She hadn’t even meant for this. Feels like one moment she joked about getting Canadians out of a pool and the next she was hosting The Morning Show again with Bradley by her side.
The thought of being more than a stop post, or a loading dock… of being more than someone warm and willing… of being truly, deeply wanted for every part of who she is? It widens her eyes. It stills her breath. It makes her look at the damn Zoom funeral that she’s tuned into at eight in the morning on a Saturday.
Laura groans.
Gordon quirks a brow. “What now?” And it’s a concerned question, really, it is.
Laura’s almost afraid to say it. To whisper it into the air of the ranch that’s started to feel less like hers and more like theirs. Bradley had almost said it, and Laura had felt the rush, but she hadn’t felt like saying it back. She hadn’t known then. But now?
“I think I love her.”
Gordon laughs, and she glares at him, which only makes him laugh harder.
She curses. “Fuck!”
He keeps laughing. “Oh, honey, what did you think you were doing?”
Her hands reach for her face. She has to set her cup down to explain herself.
“I thought it was fun! It was nice. I didn’t move her in because I wanted to move her in. We were in a pandemic!”
But even as she says it, her heart betrays her. Her voice ticks up an octave too high. Because truthfully, she had already cleared space in her brownstone before Montana had even been on the table. She had wanted Bradley by her side. She would’ve slow played it, of course, but she was already headed down this path. She was already falling for Bradley fucking Jackson.
She presses her fists to her eyes. “If that blonde woman wrecks me….” It’s meant to be a curse. A threat to the universe, but it mostly sounds like a warning. A ticking timer that speeds her pulse and quickens her breathing.
Gordon’s incredulous. “Why did you think I kept calling her your wife?”
“I thought you were being an asshole. I thought you wanted to scare her away, so I wouldn’t upend the very fabric of our lives over a woman with unprocessed abandonment issues.”
“Oh, honey,” he would’ve held her hand if they were in person. Would’ve patted it twice and then clinked his glass to hers. “You have unprocessed abandonment issues.”
Laura gasped. “You take that back. I have spent far too much in therapy—“
“And now you’re in a new relationship, so it has to be done all over again. You know this.”
“I hate this.”
His nose scrunches happily. “I love it. Oh how the mighty have fallen. I knew we were done for the moment you brought us on TMS. The interview in Vegas, I could handle. You can wine and dine whoever you want on the company’s tab. But waking up before sunrise? That’s not a fling.”
The last time Laura was in love….
She fights back the immediate churn in her stomach. Chases down the bile in her throat with the rest of her drink before rising to make herself another at her bar.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Ooh, refill quick! She’s on.”
.
.
Bradley hasn’t felt this nervous since her first broadcast with Alex. Her jaw trembles, but thank God, nobody can see it under her mask. A bunch of the attendees have asked if she plans on keeping it on. She pinches at the bridge of the nose as she clears her throat at the podium.
“Wow.” Her voice sounds rough, and she can’t fully blame it on the bad church mic or the dehydration. Her mom’s in a casket behind her. For all she said about needing to see for herself, she hasn’t been able to actually look in yet.
Hal did. He stumbled as he did it. Cheryl helped hold him up, but his eyes raced until he caught Bradley’s where she stood in a corner. Her baby brother needed her. She couldn't move. She didn't move again until Father Evans called her name to speak.
She’d put a teleprompter app on her phone with a speech she’d written when she couldn’t sleep last night. That way, this could feel like another day at work. Another segment for a live audience this time.
Live except one, of course.
Bradley clears her throat to try and focus. Stay present. Forget Hal and her mom. Forget how many hands she’s shaken since arriving. Her skin’s all cracked from hand sanitizer, and her lotion’s in Hal’s car since he hadn’t put on any that morning.
This is Bradley’s first trip without a producer since she started on The Morning Show. She’s alone. With every eye in the room on her, waiting for her to break.
She coughs, then winces.
“Sorry, not trying to scare anybody, just not used to talking to this many people without a camera in my face. I, uh, I’m Bradley Jackson, Sandy’s daughter. I wasn’t going to do a speech at first, but somebody’s gotta say something, right?”
A few heads nod. Bradley seeks out Hal, who’s in the front row with Cheryl. He won’t look at her. She doesn’t remember exactly when Hal had started crying, but it feels like it’s been hours.
Bradley’s chest burns. She reaches to soothe it. Her fingers brush against the cool leather of her favorite jacket. Maybe Laura would laugh at it. Or whisper that she told Bradley to bring it. Or maybe she wasn’t watching at all.
Anyway, Bradley doesn't start her prompter. Surprise, surprise, she's off script already.
“I always thought my mom was too stubborn to die. But that’s the strength of this virus — it can take down anyone.” Somebody groans, and Bradley rolls her eyes. “She died of Covid complications. I’m gonna talk about Covid. It’s my mom’s funeral, not yours, so just deal with it.”
Hal snorts from the front row. He glances up at least. Bradley must be on the right track.
She says, “A lot of y’all are here for the same reason I am — to make sure she doesn’t claw her way up.” Some laughs mix in with the gasps. “Those were her words, not mine. Sandy Jackson was a lot of things, but meek wasn’t one of ‘em. People used to hear her down the block, calling out for us. And you know Hal and I would run home as quick as we could when we heard her. She wasn’t perfect, but… she did try.”
She failed even more though.
Something like spite bursts in Bradley’s chest. Burns cold in her veins. Nobody in this room gives a flying fuck about her mom. They barely knew her. Sandy put up such a show for everyone around her. She changed her looks, her voice, everything, to distance herself from other people. Then she would take Hal out of rehab because she got lonely. She endangered his safety and everyone else’s time and time again. Bradley would never have done that.
Except Bradley is doing that, isn’t she? Hal freaked out once, and Bradley threw her whole life into the wind. Instead of ruining his progress, she’s ruining her own, just so that Hal doesn’t feel alone. Mom came calling, and even in her forties, Bradley couldn’t resist going to clean up the vomit and see what’s left of her.
“Fuck,” Bradley whispers. The mic picks it up of course. She winces. “Sorry. Laura, that doesn’t count. That wasn’t even in the mic. Laura’s —“ Bradley stops herself from explaining. They know who Laura is. Her mom knew too. Even if Sandy refused to say Laura’s name once she knew they were dating.
“Bradley,” Hal calls in a stage whisper from the front row. He’s finally stopped crying. In fact, he looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “You’re dying up there.”
“Following in Mom’s footsteps,” Bradley says immediately. A few people laugh at that.
Hal calls out louder, “Don’t you dare!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promises him. “But if Mom taught me one thing, it’s who not to be. She was so disconnected from everything, including herself. We deserve better than that. We deserved better than her. Our whole world has a choice right now. We can stay the same as we’ve always been. Reopen to more school shootings and endless burnouts. Or we can do something different. We have brighter sunsets now that everybody’s not driving all the time. Some people have free time for the first time in decades. Families are getting to really know each other. You know it sucks that my mom won’t get to see what’s on the other side of this, but each and every one of us in here has that chance. Don’t waste it by falling into old patterns.”
The church is quiet as she finishes. Stunned probably.
Until one clap rings out from the back of the room. The opposite corner from where Bradley had hid out pre-speeches. Her eyes jump to it, as do most others. Her jaw clenches instinctively.
Hal groans from his seat. “Ah, shit.”
Whispers rip through the church. A chorus of people all wondering who, or what, would make Bradley and Hal uncomfortable that quickly. Even Cheryl asks for clarification.
“Is that…?”
Hal nods. “Our dad, yeah.”
Hearing it aloud unhinges Bradley’s jaw, so two more words can slip out. “Fuck me.”
.
.
Author's Note:
Bradley's having a very rough day, but part two of her West Virginia trip MUST be better, right? what do you think? any guesses on what happens next, or how long until Bradley rushes out of there?
#tms#bradleylaura#bradley jackson#laura peterson#bradley x laura#the morning show#mine#fic: all the pieces#tms: s3
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