❝embrace reality, even if it burns you.❞
ｐｉｅｒｒｅ ｂｅｒｇｅ
___
ＩＴ takes me a moment to register that the person with their arms around my neck is not an armed attacker trying to ambush me, but my actual blood relative, Aunt Victoria, trying to give me a hug.
By the time this registers, my hand luggage is already falling halfway to the floor and I'm inwardly chiding myself for still being in the constant state of fight or flight that training at the Dome had drilled into me.
"Welcome home, honey," Aunt Victoria says, giving me a final squeeze before breaking away. She holds me by my shoulders and inspects my face in a motherly way. "It's nice to see you back home."
"Hi, Aunt V," I reply, grinning. "It's nice to be back home."
"Well, not quite home yet," Uncle Ted says, leaning down to pick up my fallen luggage, "we'd have to leave this airport first. But it's great to see you again, Ems. Was your flight okay?"
"Y-yeah, it was. Good! Th-thanks," I reply in a stilted voice, avoiding direct eye contact with him.
After my discovery a few days ago, I can't look at my uncle the same. It isn't because he has changed. To me, Uncle Ted is the same as always: warmth, smiles, a soothing voice and caring eyes. It makes me feel guilty for my behaviour around him now, but the fact still remained that I couldn't trust him. Not anymore. Not after the lies.
"Okay...." Uncle Ted's eyebrows furrow. "Is there anything you need help with? This isn't all your things, is it?"
"No, it's not. I still need to collect the rest of my main luggage from over there," I reply uneasily, pointing to the collection point.
Uncle Ted nods, and with a slight frown makes his way over there.
This would be a lot easier if he acted like a Bond villain instead.
"So how was school?" Aunt Victoria asks me while we trail out the building after him.
"School was good..." I reply, with a vague nod of my head.
The last days of school were relatively uneventful. I'd like to say everyone was teary-eyed and emotional, but it was mostly just Cass. And I think her tears stemmed predominantly from the thought of foregoing her holidays for a month on the island. Of course, Cass wasn't going to be the only one on the island the whole time, some students had no choice but to stay back—especially if their powers were still too temperamental for them to not be under regular surveillance or if they had no family to go back to. And there was Cole as well, who still couldn't remember where he used to live, and at this rate, didn't seem to want to.
Our goodbyes was one of my most awkward ones to date. Unsure of whether or not it would be inappropriate to hug him, I settled for a nice, friendly fist bump .
Inevitably, Cole left me hanging again. With a roll of his eyes, he said, "Don't be an idiot, Emma." And then he brought me into a hug that lasted for a good minute.
He leaned down to whisper his final parting advice into my ear, "Don't do anything stupid," before retreating back inside to the safety of the Dauntley Academy.
The only thing stupid was that he'd insulted me twice in the space of a minute and it still somehow managed to make my heart flutter.
"I want to get some things from a shopping plaza nearby," Aunt Vic informs me. "Haven's been low on stock lately, who knows when we'll be in a real town again."
I nod in reply. "I'll just wait in the car."
Uncle Ted helps me stuff the rest of my luggage into the trunk, before I wordlessly slip into the back seat.
A couple minutes later after a short conversation with my aunt, he joins me in the car, taking a seat behind the wheel, which he taps absentmindedly to fill the silence.
He looks up at me through the rear view mirror with worry in his eyes. Conflicted, I turn away, facing the window.
"Enjoying the scenery out there?" Uncle Ted asks me.
"Yep," I reply, drawing out the vowel. "The sun really shines nicely on the gravel in this parking lot. It really makes that grey colour...pop."
Uncle Ted sighs.
"Okay, Emma. I know there's a problem? What is it?"
Silence.
"At least look at me," Uncle Ted pleads and the guilt kicks in again.
Grudgingly, I meet his eyes. "I know you were an Agent."
Immediately, Uncle Ted stiffens. Turning round to face me, he asks, "How did you find out?"
"Does it matter?" I reply, unable to hide my hurt. "Is it true? Has all of this really been a lie? Have you been working for Morgana this entire time?"
"Whoa there, Em, hold your horses. First, I wouldn't say I ever worked for Morgana. Even back in the day, she was high, but not high enough that I'd be working under her..."
"But you did work in the same organisation she did. That's why she calls you Edward, and why you acted so weirdly the first time she visited when I was there," I realise.
Uncle Ted hesitates. "Yes," he replies wincing.
"Why didn't you ever tell me? Why keep it a secret?"
"We never meant to—"
"And even if not when I was younger, why didn't you tell me when I found out about my abilities?"
Uncle Ted rubs his forehead. "It's a bit more complicated than that—"
Before he can elaborate, Aunt Victoria slides into the front seat and Uncle Ted's mouth clips shut. At the same moment, we look down to see what Aunt Victoria has bought and Uncle Ted's forehead crinkles.
"I thought you were going to get baking supplies. For that huge order you've got next week," he asks.
Aunt Victoria's hand flies to her mouth. "You're right," she gasps. "I totally forgot. I just remembered we were missing a couple groceries and then I saw this cute new collar that would be perfect for Cleo and —" Aunt Victoria stops herself. "Give me a minute. I'll be back in a jiffy."
And then she's out the door again, leaving the two of us to fall into a short spell of silence.
"Does she know?" I ask.
"Of course she does."
"I don't know whether that's better or worse," I mumble. Looking back up, I continue my tirade of questions, "Was any of this real? Or is your marriage also another necessary lie to 'protect me'? Do you even see us as family?"
My eyes are watering but I didn't want to give my uncle the privilege of seeing me break down.
"Is that what you think, Emma? Oh sweetheart, of course it was real. I know your aunt and I always talk about we're all you've got, but that applies for all of us. You two? You're the only real family I have left. That part was never a lie. And neither is your Aunt's and my marriage."
I begin to relax when at the last phrase, Uncle Ted's voice changes. I narrow my eyes. "You wavered."
"I did?"
"When you talked about your marriage."
Uncle Ted sighs. To himself, he mutters something that sounded a lot like 'you're losing your skills, Teddy' before turning round to face me.
"To be honest, Ems? The whole story is a long and complicated mess, and I promise I'll tell you everything one day under one condition."
My eyebrows furrow. "What condition?"
"Don't tell your aunt about this, okay?"
"But—"
"Hear me out on this. I promise the real story isn't as bad as you think, but there's a reason we don't talk that about it often. Times were hard on everyone—your aunt especially. A lot about then would bring up... difficult memories." A sad look flickers in his eyes. "We can tell her together, if that's what you really want, but I think it would be better if I break it to her. Okay?"
There's a chance Uncle Ted could be lying to me. The same way he has been for the past eleven years. Yet... the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice... it tells me he's not. This is the truth. Finally.
And so with a hesitant nod, I reply, "Okay."
Relieved at my answer, Uncle Ted says nothing else until Aunt Victoria returns.
"Sorry for taking so long, the queue was a nightmare," she apologises. "Here, Emma," Aunt Victoria leans back to pass a brown paper bag with food in it. "I realised you must be starving so I bought you something too."
While I mumble my thanks, Aunt Vic takes a moment to glance between me and Uncle Ted.
"Did I miss anything?"
❧
Haven is still the same as usual, and I'm not sure if that comforts me or depresses me further.
When we finally get back home, Aunt Vic insists on us having a big home cooked meal to celebrate my return. I try to tell her it's not necessary, but she insists on doing it anyway, dragging both my uncle and herself into the kitchen and leaving me to unpack my things.
I imagine Uncle Ted will probably also be using this time to break the news of my recent discovery to her as well. I wonder how that is going.
With a sigh, I peek out my room window to see if there's been any change in the past 5 minutes since the last time I looked out. There isn't. A sleepy spell hangs over the neighbourhood, and I doubt the residents would be waking up soon.
I break away from the window and head back into centre of the room, eyeing my luggage with distaste. I really don't want to unpack yet. But it isn't like I have much better to do.
I decide to start with the bag I'd smuggled my file into. After all the effort I'd gone through to get it, I hadn't dedicated much time to actually reading it. Cole and I agreed this was something I should do by myself. After a brief flick through the file, I make a mental note to look into it later. For now, it would just have to join the rest of my belongings in the compartment underneath my bed, away from the eyes of prying relatives (and cats).
Cleo was especially notorious for snooping through my stuff, having coveted my room in the time I was gone. She'd greeted me with a startled hiss when I'd encountered her earlier on my bed before leaping out the door. However, from the way she lingered in the hallway and periodically poked her furry head through the gap between the door, it was obvious she was simply just waiting for me to leave so she could take over again.
At the clicking sound of me opening the cabinet under my bed, Cleo lets out a meow. Her curiosity takes over, and right on cue, she slinks back into the room, peering into the now open compartment.
"Still the same, I see," I say when she begins to attempt to climb into it. "That's a relief, I suppose."
I pull her out of the box and gently place her on the opposite side of me, where she's less likely to cause damage. She lets out a disgruntled noise.
"At this point, it seems everyone's got some secret agenda or alter ego going on. I don't suppose you have one too, do you?"
The grey cat purrs.
"Typical." I heave a sigh. Then to myself, I say, "Get a life, Emma. You need to stop talking to cats. They aren't listening and they won't reply back."
"Meow," Cleo purrs in agreement.
"Oh shush, Cleo. Not helping," I reply back. "I should stop talking to myself while I'm at it."
After putting away my file, my hand lands on a familiar wooden chest which I then proceed to take out.
"I bet you've been messing up all my stuff while I've been gone," I mutter, sending the cat a mistrusting side-glance as I unclip the chest.
I pull out a couple photographs from atop the pile. With a wistful sigh, I examine the first picture. It's of me and Cole when we were younger. "Why can't things be uncomplicated again?" I ask myself, stroking the corner of the photograph as I am overcome with a wave of nostalgia.
Most of the photos in the box were either like this one: showcasing Cole, with his sandy light brown hair that always fell into his eyes and me, all buck teeth and toothy smiles, or they were of my parents before I was born, or the three of us together on whatever holiday vacation coincided perfectly with their work destination.
I wonder how Cole would react if he saw them. Would they bring up fond memories for him as well? Or would he be saddened by the thought that the other half of these memories, involving his parents and his home, were lost somewhere in his mind or thousands of miles away with no way to retrieve them.
I should have brought him anyway, Cole has a right to see them too.
'So why didn't you?' whispers a voice in the back of my head.
Why didn't I invite him to come home with me? It wasn't like we didn't have the space. And maybe it was years ago, with a different set of people, but Cole had been considered family at one point, there's no reason it couldn't be like that again.
Deep down, I know the reason: fear. Fear of what it would mean. The unspoken acknowledgement that things aren't really the same, we aren't really the same, and nothing could ever be the same again.
Besides, I'm not even sure I would be allowed to. Sure, Logan mentioned Cass tagging along with him, but they used to be neighbours and Cass was Morgana's daughter — the rules always bent a little whenever she was involved.
And maybe it was selfishness on my part for wanting to preserve Cole's and my original friendship, or maybe it was selfishness on all our parts for never bringing it up on our lunchtime conversations, but in reality, I think we were all cowards. We were too ruled by our fears to ask how Cole felt about being left behind at the DA while we ran away to find comfort in the mundane. Asking meant allowing things to be out in the open. And terrified by that thought, we crept back into the safety of silence. After all, we'd convince ourselves, open wounds took longer to heal. . .
I hear the soft padding of feet exiting the door, and I realise it's Cleo. She must have gotten bored of waiting to see if I'd stop having long internal debates with myself and go back to entertaining the idea of us conversing. Now alone, I go back to flicking through the photographs in the box.
A particular photograph catches my eye, and it causes me to slow down. The picture is of me and Cole standing side by side in the foyer of my old house: I am wearing a poofy baby blue dress, grinning from ear to ear, Cole, meanwhile, looks a little less amused in his cute little tuxedo and his usually unruly hair trimmed and slicked back into a smart style, however there is still a certain excitement in his eyes that not even a decade old photograph could hide.
I frown.
Something about this photo felt different from the rest. Compared to some of the others, this looked more recent. Rather than two or three or five, we looked older. Around seven, maybe. The room we were stood in was more decorated than usual. Our clothes were too formal, our hairstyles too manicured for us to be playing dress up. This wasn't just some informal gathering, this event, whatever it was, was important.
And yet I couldn't remember it.
My hands begin to shake.
Something about this photo...
The longer I stare, the faster my heart continues to beat and the more my fingers continue to tremble. Soon, I am forced to drop it.
That's enough of a walk down memory lane for one day.
Calmer, I return the photographs back to their original location, then I quickly do the same with the rest of my luggage. I am overcome with the urge to leave my room. I need fresh air. I need to breathe.
As I hurry down the stairs, I can hear my uncle and aunt's voices getting louder and louder. They are chatting and giggling to themselves like a pair of lovestruck teenagers as they continue to prepare whatever meal they are making. From the inviting aroma wafting through the air, the food smells like it's almost ready.
I linger outside the door for a second before immediately changing my mind. I wasn't in the mood to make small talk and pretend everything's okay when it was pretty much the opposite.
I do a quick turn and head out the door towards the front patio instead. I wasn't that hungry anyway.
I take a seat on the first porch step, close my eyes and let out a deep breath.
When I open them again, I lift my eyes up at the sky. It is nearly evening already. The once vibrant sun is melting into a deep, dark orange. It is slowly sinking despite the wisps of light dancing in the sky, urging it to hang on for just a few more hours. Behind the pale blue hue, the sky bleeds pink, signalling the arrival of the ever-looming darkness.
By this point, Andrew would be walking up with some far fetched excuse of how he was randomly in the neighbourhood and decided to pop by. He'd be doing his routine one hand stuck in pocket, other hand cemented rigidly to his side. Then would come the routine wave-with-lopsided-smile as he says hi. Once I've said 'hi' back, he'd take it as his cue to sit down right beside me. And then we'd be talking for hours and hours.
By this point, that's what would have happened.
By this point, nothing happens.
Not anymore.
"Hey, kiddo. Mind if I take a seat over there?"
My eyes shoot to his instantly, and my guard relaxes. It's Uncle Ted. I had been so absorbed in my own thoughts I barely even noticed him approaching.
Uncle Ted is looking at me expectantly and it dawns on me he's waiting for my answer. In response, I shrug and wordlessly shuffle along the step. He takes this as a 'yes'.
We seat in silence for a couple minutes while Uncle Ted mulls over his thoughts.
"Do you know what I love most about here?" he finally asks.
I cock my head sideways and shoot him a quizzical look, not saying a word.
"The peace," he says, keeping his gaze trained towards the dimming sky. "That other life was always so... chaotic. Coming out here allows me to breathe without feeling that a hand is about wrap around my neck again and take me away. Here, it might be quiet, it might get uneventful, but your time is yours. You—I... can just be free."
I've never thought of it that way.
"Uncle Ted?" I say quietly.
"Yes?"
"Are you still an agent?"
"What? God, no. Do I look in shape for that?"
I bite my inner cheek. He had a point there. Uncle Ted might not be an obese elderly with seven chins, but he's evidently gained a couple pounds since his glory days. His face is slightly more rounder, his muscles less defined from not being pushed as much, and the little grey hairs sprouting from his roots greatly contrasted his jet black hair in the photo I'd seen of him.
"Okay. Good," I reply. I bring my knees up to under by chin and blow out a breath under my lips. "I don't know what I would've done if you were. I don't think I could've handled it."
"I don't think I could have either," Uncle Ted replies. "That life never made me happy. But it brought me to you and your aunt, so in a way, I suppose it led me to it instead."
"What... what exactly did you do in your old job?" I ask hesitantly.
"Sorry, Emmy. No chance. Classified is still classified." Uncle Ted sends me an apologetic look. "Though I can tell you other things if you want."
"Like...?"
Uncle Ted pauses. He thinks over this for a second. "It was May."
"It's April."
"I mean when we first met."
"Oh! Oh...Sorry."
"The morning after... that night." He pauses. "We were in charge of secondary surveillance, after local forensics had come and gone. Clean-up duty, really. Everything was going straightforward." His face morphs from serious to sad to bearing a wistful smile in a matter of minutes. "And then she showed up."
My brows furrow. "I don't understand. Who is 'she'?"
Uncle Ted turns to give me a pointed look. "You wanted to know the real story, didn't you?"
I nod.
"Well...this is it. This is the story of how I met your aunt."
:: 💫 ::
Next up,
Interlude II
This chapter doesn't feel as long as it's 3500 words, but I think that's because not much really takes place if I'm being perfectly honest. In theory, this chapter has been edited but then I was half asleep while doing it, so I would be super appreciative if anyone spots any glaringly obvious spelling/grammar mistakes that are bound to have gone unspotted.
Secondly (thirdly?): I'd like to apologise for not being as active lately, and not replying to comments as much. I am actually super appreciative and I enjoy reading them and I swear I'm not ignoring anyone on purpose. I'm just an awkward, lazy, antisocial procrastinator who promises to reply one day. Maybe today. Maybe you're reading this comment after getting a spam of replies back from me—
Yeah. I'll leave now.
Thanks for reading!
♕ Carmen ♕