urbancate | Fic: Goodbye (McCoy/Jocelyn)

Characters: McCoy, Jocelyn
Length: 550
Rating: PG-ish
Written for prompt from

stxi_sinfest. McCoy/Jocelyn, Take A Bow (Madonna) lyrics.

Goodbye

He opens the door for her, because he still does that sort of thing, because she is still his wife, because the bitterness and anger will find him - punch him the gut - later. "I think they bought it."

"I think so, too." She's moving away from him, turning on lamps. There is a sequence to how she does this any time they come home after an evening out - from the table in the hall to the floor lamp on the near side of the living room to the pendant lamps over the island in the kitchen. There are some things he can always depend on, like Jocelyn moving through the dark and leaving illumination in her wake. Some things will never change. Other things will never be the same.

"You were good, Joss," he swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. "He won't ever know, that's - just, thank you."

"I tried, LH." Her smile is small, and she is talking about so much more than putting on a performance for the sake of his pride in front of his dying father. For a long time, they've been able to plead busy and careers and next time, but there was no begging out of this birthday party. And, really, they didn't consider it much - there would be no more parties for David McCoy. Joss loves his family, too, and for that he will always be grateful. "He won't ever know," she assures him.

It's ridiculous, honestly, the extended lie and the little-boy need he carries for his father to not know how miserably he has failed at this, at marriage. He has followed her into the kitchen, slumped into a seat at the bar. Joss prefers wine, but she's pulling out whiskey and glasses and pouring out forgetfulness, neat and generous.

"What happened to us?" It's a question they have both asked, many times over, over many months. The answer is still the same, though neither of them will voice it. Love, as it turns out, was not enough, was not all they needed.

She only sighs in response, sitting next to him and taking a drink. They drink in silence, because what else is there to say? Everything has been said. And there are papers on the desk two rooms away that they will sign tomorrow, that will make it official and final and dead.

"What if - " he starts, but stops before he even knows what he's really asking. There are those papers, and the preceeding months and arguments and failures.

"We've already tried everything, haven't we?"

Is this what happens when you've loved someone since you were sixteen? How can this be it? How
can he still love her, how can they still love each other and be here, at the end, in a kitchen full of silence and regrets and broken things.

"I don't know how to say goodbye, babe."

"You don't have to. Not yet." She squeezes his hand on the countertop between them. "Save it for tomorrow."

He holds on tight like that, just their hands, tears on her face and a lump in his throat.

Many moments later, when he kisses her for the last time, she tastes of salt and oak and molasses. He never does actually say goodbye.

Fic: Goodbye (McCoy/Jocelyn)

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