Work Text:
It’s been approximately nine years since Kate had set foot in her childhood home. She’d been three years old, waiting on the porch with her babysitter. One day turned to two, then two days turned into a week, and suddenly she found herself in an orphanage. Still, she had waited on the porch. She’d sat there with her bags packed, waiting. It took her a while to realize no one was coming for her.
Now she knew, of course, her dad had never meant to stay away. It wasn’t his fault. She wasn’t angry. Not at her father, anyway. Milligan hadn’t chosen to have his memory swept. He hadn’t meant to get caught. It was Mr. Curtains fault and that was that. It was a gorgeous day, and she was not going to waste it thinking of that awful man.
Fields of mustard swam past them in droves, interrupted now and then by driveways of smooth, packed dirt. Kate could spot barns on the other end of these paths from the truck. The window was rolled down to let the summer breeze in. She had her head resting on the lip of the window. The warm wind whipped her hair about, pressed against her face hard and fast, and it felt like comfort.
Her father was sitting near-silent next to her in the driver's seat. Things were coming back. But everything still felt like shattered glass. Like a broken vase, trying to fit all the pieces together again, slot them perfectly back into place. But there would always be that gap, that gulf of nine years. All there was to do was fix what had been broken, to build upon what there already was.
As the sun is dipping over the horizon, casting out that blanket of warm orange, she sees it. The little farmhouse, the yard, the barn. Her heart stutters for a moment. It sputters like an old car trying to start up again. She wants to think it’s exactly like she remembers it, but she doesn’t remember all that much. She looks at her dad. He’s staring straight ahead as they pull into the driveway. Smooth, packed dirt, just like all the others.
Kate steps out first. She opens the door, and slips one foot out. The dirt crunches faintly under her feet, little bits of stone that had been swept into the path. She moves slower than she ever has. The other foot. Now she is standing entirely on the path, peeking around her door to stare at the farmhouse. Nine years. Nine years. Nine years. She takes a deep breath.
Then she breaks into a run. The long grass ripples like ocean waves as she crosses the unkempt lawn. And it is something that feels like swimming to shore. Her bucket rattles on her hip. She doesn’t linger on the porch. The door creaks mightily as she slams it open.
This she remembers. It’s fuzzy, the way all things get fuzzy with age. But she knows this living room. The wallpaper is peeling away, the curtains have been moth-bitten, and everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. She breathes it all in, even though it itches her lungs and squeezes her heart. Milligan owned the property. So even if the water and electricity had long since been shut off, everything was left in touch. No one wanted the little farmhouse anyway. No one could get much use of it, or ever conceive of owning property during the Emergency.
She could see the kitchen. There were no dishes. Kate had been half-expecting to find them piled up in the sink. She swore she could remember that. They’d had breakfast, the babysitter had arrived, then her dad had left for work and not come back.
“Just how we left it.” Her father says behind her. It’s the most recognizable his voice has been since regaining his memory, edging back into that gaping void of melancholy.
“Smells more like mold than I remember.” Kate says, and nudges him with her elbow, because it’s easier to make a joke than to address the ache in her chest. The floorboards creak, familiar and strange, under her sneakers. There is, in fact, a spot of mold growing on the old loveseat by the window. It had been left open. Allowing in rain, and snow, and dirt. No one had ever bothered to close it. There’s a good chance they would have to throw it out, and for some reason the thought of that makes Kate want to scream.
“Katie-cat…” her dad begins. Kate moves further into the house. Down a hall to the right. To the last door on the left. And there it is. The paint on the wood is peeling away, chipping in spots, but the walls of her room are still blue and spotted with clouds. Her bed is still shoved into the corner. A white frame that sits low to the ground. The sheets and pillows are gone, but the mattress is untouched. Her old toy box is tilted over, plastic figures and building blocks spilling out.
She goes and pushes the toy box back into place. Then, she begins to pick up the toys. One by one, with shaking hands, she picks them up and places them carefully back into the box. Right where they belong. She kneels to pick up the last toy. A little plastic farmer laying abandoned on the floor. He’s thick and stout. Big enough that a toddler could not fit it in their mouth and small enough that their little hands could hold it.
Kate picks him up and cradles him in her hands. She does not put him back in the box. She shifts to sit criss-cross, and she stares at the farmer.
“He was my favourite.” She says, before her father can even speak. She’d heard his footsteps down the hall. Milligan could step quietly. He wanted her to hear him coming. A courtesy, or, a comfort. She spoke the truth. The little farmer had been her favourite. Instead of putting him back in the toy box each night, she would very carefully- as carefully as a three-year-old could- set him on the bedside table. “I liked him ‘cause he looked- ‘cause he looks like you.”
She stands again, and sets the farmer on the bedside table that was somehow still standing. Her face is plaintive. One might’ve thought she was unaffected by it all if they didn’t know her. But quiet was not Kate Wetherall’s natural state of being. But there she was, standing silent at her old bedside. Stationary.
Milligan watches her carefully as he crosses the room, and sits on the edge of her old bed frame. It creaks heavily. Kate plants her hands on her hips abruptly and turns a grin his way.
“Man, this place could use a good dusting, I’m surprised I haven’t sneezed yet.” She says. Milligan frowns.
“Katie-cat…”
“I mean, jeez, talk about run-down. I can’t believe not a single person ever thought to take care of this place while it was empty. Y’know, for historic preservation or something.”
“Katie-”
“Guess it wasn’t old enough, though. And hey-” she breaks off with a laugh that’s really more of a sharp exhale, “who wants to drive all the way out here for some crummy little farmhouse? I mean-”
“Kate.” A hand grasps hers and finally she slows down and looks at her father. He squeezes her hand gently. “It’s okay. I know this is a lot. You haven’t been here in a very long time.”
“Well,” she says, not pulling her hand away, “neither have you. You’re not getting all broken up about it, though.”
Milligan’s brow creases, knitting together with worry. Again, he looks more familiar than he has in the past few months. A knot tightens in the back of Kate’s throat. He leads her to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. The dip in the mattress pulls them closer together, and Kate wonders if the thing could even hold both of their weight now. She’s grown since the last time she slept in it. Milligan reaches gently and tucks a stray hair behind Kate’s ear.
“Since we set foot on the property, all I’ve wanted to do is lay down on the floor and stare at the ceiling.” Her father says, “It’s been a very long time since either of us have been here. It’s okay to have feelings about that.”
Kate opens her mouth to say something, and finds that words are failing her. She looks away out the window. Past the rippling waves of green grass and wheat field, she can see the mill. Silhouetted against the setting sun. Tears are slipping down her cheeks before she even thinks to stop them. Milligan wraps her arm around her shoulder and pulls her close.
“It’s not fair,” She mumbles, turning her face to bury it into his shoulder. His other arm comes around her. She loved the circus. She didn’t regret it one bit. Joining it was probably one of the best decisions she’d made in her life thus far. But still, there’s a certain ache to it. Never staying in one area for long. Never going back to that little place in the countryside. “I should’ve grown up here. ”
She hears her dad take a deep breath, and she wonders if he’s trying not to cry too. When he speaks, the shakiness in his voice gives him away.
“You’re only twelve, Katie-cat. You’ve still got plenty of growing up to do.” He says. That gives her pause. Only twelve sounded like such a strange sentence. She’d long since learned to carry herself. She swung from great heights, she’d fought her own fights, she’d helped stop the Emergency, she’d saved the world with kids even younger than her. Only twelve felt like discounting it all.
She pulls away to look at Milligan. His eyes are shining. Kate doesn’t know her dad half as well as she’d like. What she does know is kids are meant to go off on their own when they're done growing. She remembers other children in the orphanage daydreaming about it, in the years before she’d run away.
“When I grow up,” they’d whisper in the hours they were supposed to be silent and asleep, “I’m going to get as far away from here as possible.”
She wants to know how much time she has left.
“How much?”
“Years and years.” Her dad cups one side of her face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. His hands are rough and calloused, and they make her think of tree bark under her palm, of a beautiful day that’s not too hot and not too cold. “We’ve got time.”
Time was all Kate could ask for. And with the new, endless scope of potential that had opened up for them, it was easier to accept what was offered. She reaches up to squeeze her fathers hand.
“Well, I guess we should get the bedrolls out then.”
He smiles at her. It’s becoming more familiar with every moment.
“I guess we should.”
The bed cracks dangerously and they both scramble to get up. When they turn, the bed has dipped considerably, near-folded. Kate grimaces. Milligan squeezes her shoulder, and leads her gently out of the room. She quickly pockets the little farmer as they pass by. She’d keep it in her bucket, with all the other important things.
The bed could wait. They had sleeping bags. And they had time.