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rainbowfic2012-01-25 09:50 pm
geena) wrote in rainbowfic2012-01-25 09:50 pm
Entry tags:
- author: geena,
- color: mouse grey,
- story: polyfaceted,
- style: portrait,
- style: reimagining,
- style: saturation,
- supply: acrylic,
- supply: brush,
- supply: canvas,
- supply: chalk,
- supply: fabric,
- supply: feathers,
- supply: frame,
- supply: modeling clay,
- supply: nubs,
- supply: oils,
- supply: seed beads,
- supply: stain,
- supply: stickers,
- supply: watercolors
Mouse Grey
Author: geena
Color: Mouse Grey
Supplies and Styles: Canvas, Frame, Brush (intercalate), Acrylic (Alpha, Beta, Omega), Watercolors (Write about someone who takes the "jack of all trades" concept to the extreme), Oils (if you let me), Stain ("The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you." - Rita Mae Brown), Stickers (Irregardless: Word or Not), Feathers ("Your character is bleeding"), Fabric (#073), Modeling Clay (impression), Nubs (multiple), Seed Beads, Chalk (Jesus must be pissed!), Saturation, Reimaging, Portrait
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Word Count: 5,632
Story: Polyfaceted (Index~Timeline); the title of this story is Found Wanting.
Summary: A series of thirty points in canon in which the theme of wanting is prevalent.
Notes: Hoo boy, okay. First thing first, there is a trigger warning for suicide in one section-- said section is marked. This entire fic spans 1972 and 2062. Italics are for spoken Italian, and bolding is for emphasis.
***
1. He lives in you
June 2019
There are only two reasons that Stefano bothers to come back and they’re currently standing on either side of him.
His father looks good. Older, yes, with a hint of something plastic to him, but good. They’ve done well with the makeup. He imagines Mrs. Corlioni was the one to choose the immaculate suit-- it does the man justice, even now.
His mother reaches over, squeezing his hand. Isabella, tears in her eyes, brushes a finger along the edge of the casket. Stefano stands stock-still, heart hammering, expression hopelessly blank.
His father is dead. After all these years, after all the hatred and resentment, his father is actually dead. This is the end and there will never be another chance, there will never be any more.
Something inside Stefano is breaking.
2. The age of not believing
September 1987
Three weeks into being an altar boy and Johnny realizes it’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit. The rituals, the sermons, the entire fucking basis of the entire fucking Church. Bullshit.
He’s supposed to believe that some God gives a shit about what he eats on what weekday, let alone who he loves? So he’s gay. He’s always been gay and unless something drastically changes, he always will be. If God created him-- and that’s starting to look pretty fucking doubtful when he really puts some thought into it-- He made him gay. So why the fuck would He give a shit?
Rising from the dead? Miracle wine? Walking on fucking water? It’s fucking ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as the fact that it’s taken Johnny this long for a revelation.
Three weeks into being an altar boy and he’s already had his fill.
3. Are you in or out
December 2023
“You can’t have it both ways,” Abigail tells him, gentle yet firm. “We both deserve better than that.”
Romeo tenses, pulling away from her embrace. “I- I don’t understand you.”
“Yes, you do.” Leaning in, she kisses a spot just beneath his ear. “You’re distracted, like only half of you is with me. You shy away, Romeo. You hold back.” Running a hand through his hair, Abigail whispers, “Loving me doesn’t mean you can’t love Penny. But you have to decide if you want this or not-- you owe me that much.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. As they exchange a passionate kiss, he clings to her. “You’re right.”
4. Whistle while you work
March 2006
There’s a stack of fucking contracts on his desk, three meetings coming up in the afternoon, and David’s got an hour in which to make sixteen calls. So when Angela opens the door to disturb him yet again, it takes all his willpower to not hurl his coffee mug into the side of her fucking temple.
“What do you want now?”
Angela rolls her eyes, making her way toward his desk. “Save it. No need to fucking rip the messenger a new one just because you’re throwing a temper tantrum over paperwork.” She tosses a couple folders before him, adding, “These are for that deal with the Chinese. Torey needs them by five.”
“I’ll get to them when I fucking get to them,” David snarls, shoving the papers aside. “Like I don’t have other shit to do, fucking--”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a big, bad, busy man. I think we get it.” Resting her hands flat before him, she leans forward, arching her chest. “You gonna keep being a pissy little bitch? Because you’re welcome to get over yourself any time now so we can get this shit over with.”
David stares at her. “Fucking bitch.”
“You know it.”
“Blow me.”
Angela shrugs. “Yeah, all right. Move your chair.”
Maybe, David allows, just maybe the day isn’t a total wash.
5. She really is a funny girl
August 2011
Karen isn’t normal. She knows this, she accepts this. Something inside her is fundamentally broken and will never be fixed. Something is missing, something that most people have, and because of that, Karen is forced to fill the void with whatever comes along.
The first time she tries any drugs, she’s fourteen and grasping at straws, desperately trying to numb the ache deep within her. It’s not working, not like it usually does, so when someone automatically hands her a joint, she throws all caution to the wind. It’s good, really good, like Karen’s floating just above herself. Like she doesn’t have to be herself anymore.
That doesn’t last long, so she gradually moves on to the harder stuff. Being sober hurts, in a way that she’ll never be able to put into words. But when she’s high, practically passing out from the sheer amount of chemicals racing through her bloodstream, it’s like everything is momentarily better. She thinks of it as though she’s taking mini vacations from herself.
The other kids know something is wrong with her-- she imagines it’s plainly written on her face, in her mannerisms, in every fiber of her being. Karen is wrong, bad, ruined. Karen will never, ever be like normal girls.
It’s that very fact that is killing her faster than any drug ever could.
6. You ain't never had a friend like me
May 2014
Silence. For five long, horrible minutes, they’ve been sitting in silence.
It’s the first chance they’ve had to talk since the whole mess with David at the meeting and instead, they’re staring at one another, Vito on the bed while Gino nervously perches on the desk chair.
“You should have told me,” Vito finally mutters, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t care, I wouldn’t have-- you should have told me.”
“I wanted to.” Gino’s staring at his hand, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. “I really did, but I-- I didn’t want you to have to lie or keep secrets.” He sighs. “No, that’s only kind of true. I just... I didn’t want you to hate me or think I’m gross or something.”
Vito jerks upright. “Hate you? Why, because you like guys? Are you nuts?” He grasps for Gino’s arm, grip tight around his wrist. “Dude. I could never hate you. No matter what. You’re Gino, remember?”
Gino smiles.
7. I can go the distance
February 2048
After he finishes telling Isabella their plan, there’s a long moment of silence.
“Well,” L ventures, shoving his hands into his pockets, “what do you think?”
Isabella purses her lips, brow knitted. “It’s definitely a route we can take. It would just be the illegal side of things-- Cris has a pretty good handle on the legitimate side. I’m hoping to be out of here by the end of May at the latest, so the sooner we decide on someone, the better.”
“We’ve been working here almost our entire adult lives,” L quickly points out. “That’s a combined forty-eight years of experience. I’ve been running things solo without any problems-- if anything, I’ve helped increase profits. And we both know that Maria’s the only one to ever give Leo a real run for his money.” He mentally winces. “After you, of course.”
“Cheap flattery will get you nowhere,” she mutters thoughtfully. Sighing, Isabella pushes her chair back and fixes them both with an unyielding gaze. “You’re sure about this? Taking over everything-- everything that’s not legit-- is a pretty big deal. We’d have to be sure you can handle it. Both of you.” Her eyes flicker toward Maria.
L knows exactly what she’s getting at and, to be honest, he can’t fault her for having a few reservations. Maria’s nót exactly predictable at the best of times. Hell, other than himself, no one’s really been able to get a handle on her. Of course Isabella would be hesitant.
“Look--”
“I can do this,” Maria says suddenly, an intense look on her face. “We can do this. I know it.”
“Okay.” Isabella nods. “Okay, I’ll talk to the others.”
8. When will my life begin
October 2019
Little Augusto spends most of his time locked in his room. Not for reasons you’d think-- okay, sometimes for reasons you’d think, he is seventeen after all-- but because living in the bitch’s house, surrounded by her sprog, is a complete and utter hell.
Most of the time, his father is gone. A small blessing, sure, but that means he’s stuck dealing with Angela, the only woman he’s ever hated even half as much as his mother. She’s loud, she’s annoying, she relishes in heaping abuse on him, and she usually sticks him with the brats, threatening to tattle to David if he doesn’t do exactly as she asks. The kids are another issue entirely-- he never knew that kids that little could be total assholes.
And all of that pales in comparison to the fact that every morning and every night he has to walk past Terri’s room and know that she’s never coming back.
“It’s only until you graduate,” L tells him one evening, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table in his apartment, heaping plates of lasagna between them. “Then you can get the fuck out of there.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m not graduating for eight months.” Miserable, he prods his food. “Eight fucking months.”
L softens. “Yeah.”
Little Augusto sighs, dropping his fork with a sharp clang. “And then, what? I join the business? Spend the rest of my life working with drugs, murderers, and David?” The more he thinks about it, the bleaker things seem.
“You don’t have to join the business. You could go to school, figure out what you want to do. Not like you don’t have the money.” A hint of a smile surfaces.
Shrugging, Little Augusto decides to let the conversation drop.
It isn’t until later that night, curled up in his own bed while he ignores the rest of the house, that he dares to think, ‘Or I could leave.’
9. Bring me that horizon
August 2062
Trigger warning for suicide
It hurts.
It hurts to wake up. It hurts to go to sleep. It hurts to walk, to think, to eat, to breathe. It hurts.
Every single moment he keeps going is another moment without Vito, without his mothers, without Nic. He’s not living, he’s just existing. He takes his meds, he rests, he goes to therapy, he cries, and he watches the toll it all takes on his family. Sometimes, just for a change, he’s hospitalized and free to stop pretending he wants to get better-- he prefers those times most of all. It’s destroying Zara and the kids, he knows this, but no matter how hard he tries (or wants to try) he can’t stop feeling like this. He doesn’t think he ever will.
When he wakes up that morning, he knows. He’s not sure how he knows, but he does. Everything is different, now.
He smiles-- not like before, much more tentative, but smiles nonetheless. He kisses Zara goodbye as she leaves the house, inhaling the sweet scent of her. He calls his kids, making an effort to be involved in the conversation.
Then he calls Ethan.
It isn’t until he’s upstairs, cradling the gun in his hand while tears stream down his cheeks, that he realizes how unavoidable it was. This is what everything has been building toward.
In that split second before he pulls the trigger, Gino feels enormous relief.
10. Why should I worry?
November 2018
David and Nic don’t exactly have the type of relationship where they exchange gifts and cards on a regular basis. Sometimes she sends one of their girls his way and sometimes he makes sure she gets a few hours alone with their latest torture victim, but as far as birthday greetings go, they let it slide.
That’s why this birthday is so unusual.
“What it is?” Nicoletta cautiously asks, eyeing the box.
“A puppy,” David deadpans. “Just fucking open it, Christ.”
She flips him off and reaches for the blade at her hip. Slicing through the ribbon and paper, she carefully opens the package. For a long time, she can only stare.
David scoffs. “Well, fuck, you don’t have to fucking keep it. Thought you’d have the fucking decency to--”
“Oh. My. God.” Nicoletta looks over at him, eyes sparkling. “You-- I-- I can’t believe-- you are the best.” Jumping to her feet, she hurls herself across the room, hugging him before he has the chance to stop her. “You are the fucking best! I can’t-- I have to try this out right now.” She’s bouncing and honest-to-god squealing, grinning wide as she rushes to pull the working replica of Wolverine’s claws free from their wrappings. “Who can I kill? Tell me there’s someone we need to kill!”
David can’t help but laugh. “I’m sure we can find someone.”
In response, Nicoletta simply shrieks.
11. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
March 2025
“She thinks I’m smart,” Vito continues, pride evident in his voice. “She says I’m, like, some old thinking dude. You know, like the old guys we learned about. The Russians or whatever, the guys with the gods?”
Nic presses a hand against her temple. “I think you mean the Greeks. Or, fuck, the Romans, who even knows with you.”
“Yeah, them! She says I’m a philanderer.”
“Philosopher and, no, you’re not,” David mutters from the head of the table. “Stop shitting with us, there’s no way any girl thinks you’re smart, unless she’s literally brain dead.”
“Alyssa does,” Vito protests.
“She does,” Gino reluctantly admits. “I’ve met her. She’s, uh. Well, I can see why she’s attracted to his intelligence.”
Nicoletta glances up, staring. “You’re lying, right? There’s no way-- no offense, Vito-- there’s no fucking way she actually said that.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” David breathes. “Your generation is fucked.”
12. When somebody loved me
November 2033
It’s gone sour.
Cristina can’t say she’s surprised, not when she really thinks about it. To be honest, she should have known it would blow up in their faces-- she and Seamus are just not suited. They’re two very, very different people.
But that doesn’t make it any easier.
“So that’s it?” he spits out, keeping close to his side of the bed. “You’re just going to give up, just like that? Nice to know our fucking marriage means so goddamn--”
“Stop.” Cristina runs a hand through her hair. She’s exhausted, has been exhausted for months now. “Don’t try to play the fucking victim here. I’m not the one giving up.”
Seamus laughs, short and bitter. “Right, I forgot it’s all my fault. It’s always my fault.”
“Just stop it!” she yells.
“No, no, keep telling me how I’m the wrong one here for having a problem with the fact that my wife is a goddamn murderer.”
“Fuck off, Seamus.” Weariness seeps through her tone. “Just fuck off. It’s over.”
13. Gonna stand out
July 1988
With as many siblings as Teresa has, it’s natural that she sometimes get lost in the shuffle. She’s not smart like David, or cunning like Torey, or even strong like Johnny. She hasn’t saved any lives like Lea has. She’s just Teresa-- a little slow and very sweet.
But she can draw. She can draw, paint, sculpt, and mould. She can see things in a way that no one else can. She can make a flat image on paper come to life. She can create, make something beautiful and heart-wrenching out of nothing. Teresa may not be like all her other siblings, but she’s got a gift.
Teresa’s an artist.
14. Second star to the right
April 1995
“Sometimes, do you wish--” Arianna stops.
“Do I wish?” Flavia prompts. She refills their mugs, setting the kettle back on the stove before joining her at the table.
Arianna wavers. “Do you wish it was different?”
“Ah.” Flavia wipes at an invisible speck as they share an uncomfortable moment.. “Every day.”
“I hate that I do,” continues Arianna. “I hate it so much, wasting my life thinking about what could be instead of how it is. But then there are those moments the morning after, when he’s getting ready to leave and I know it’ll be days at least until we have another chance together, and I think-- I think to myself how much I wish I had never even met him.”
“I know what you mean,” Flavia eventually replies. “I know exactly what you mean.”
15. Just around the riverbend
June 1972
Her wedding day.
Despite all the planning and preparation, Martina can’t believe the day has come. She wasn’t like most girls, daydreaming about her wedding from the age of six, but she has thought about it once or twice. And now, standing at the end of the aisle, her future husband waiting at the altar, she just can’t believe it.
Martina feels faint.
“You’re sure about this, darling?” her father whispers, gently squeezing her arm. “We can turn around now. We’ll go home and put this nasty marriage business behind us.”
“Papa,” she warns, smiling all the same. “You just want me to stay your little girl forever.”
“Can you blame me?” The music starts. “But if you insist, I suppose this Corlioni lad isn’t a terrible choice.”
Martina laughs. “You like Augusto, Papa.”
“Not when he’s marrying my daughter, I don’t,” he grumbles. Sighing as they begin to walk, he asks, “You love him?”
Catching Augusto’s gaze, she smiles. “More than I could say.”
16. Let me be good to you
May 1976
“I can give you things she couldn’t even dream of,” Gabriella murmurs in English. “I could be everything you want.”
“What I want is her.” Augusto pulls away, shielding himself from her touch. “You could never be her.”
“I could be better.”
He scoffs. “There is no better. Are you listening to me? I love her.”
It’s Gabriella’s turn to snort in derision. “You love your wife so much you come into my bed?”
“I--” He has no answer for that.
“You said you felt for me. You said you cared. Were those just more of your lies, Augusto? Am I just a plaything for you?”
Miserable, Augusto shakes his head. “No. No, but it’s more complicated than you want it to be. I can’t turn my back on her. I won’t.”
For a long moment, Gabriella is quiet. Slowly trailing a finger up his arm, she allows, “Then you will have to have us both.”
17. Once upon a dream
November 2009
Sometimes, Lena dreams that she’s back in the apartment with her mother. She dreams that her father never found them, that she’s still going to school every day and coming home to her mother’s open arms, a warm meal, and a comfortable bed. She dreams of her mother’s sweet touch and soft voice, of someone comforting that loves her.
Lena imagines what it would be like to get away. She’d sneak out of the hotel one night, after he’s passed out from drinking. From there, she’d find the nearest airport and fly back home, back to Australia and her mother. Then everything would be okay.
But the dreams always end. Lena always wakes up to find that she’s still in that bathroom, still hungry and lonely. He’s always out there, angry and violent, just waiting for her to mess up.
One day she realizes how pointless it is to dream.
18. Be prepared
August 2038
Johnny is dead.
No matter how many times he thinks about it, Torey still can’t believe it. Johnny’s gone, gunned down in a broad daylight, right there in the middle of a restaurant. Dead, as in never coming back, and no matter what Torey does, nothing will fix that.
His mother’s handling it pretty well, considering, but Lena and Michael are another matter entirely. David’s taking it hard, despite what he’d have everyone think, and it’s all Torey can do to rein Nicoletta and Isabella in. In the span of a heartbeat-- Johnny’s heartbeat-- everything and everyone have changed. Nothing will ever be the same.
And for that reason, more than other, Torey calls the meeting.
“We know what happened. We know why we’re here,” he announces, scanning the faces of his siblings as they crowd around the conference table. “The Genovese wanted to send us a message? Well we heard it, loud and clear. Now it’s time we send them one in return.” He pauses as he lets this sink in. “They think they know who they’re dealing with? Well we’re going to show them what happens when you mess with the Corlionis. They’re going to regret the day they decided to take us on, I promise you that.”
Johnny is dead, and this means war.
19. Somewhere out there
July 1987
On nights when Augusto doesn’t come home, Martina has a routine.
She fixes dinner for the kids, something complex and involved. After wrangling them into helping with the clean up, she sends the boys off to do their homework and retires to the den with Teresa. They spend at least an hour on her studies, finishing with a crash course in art history, Martina learning as they go. Showers and baths follow, with hopefully minimal mess from David. Then comes the bargaining and pleading that always accompanies bedtime, until finally, Martina is left alone in a blissfully quiet house, the children tucked into bed, her husband god-knows-where.
She pours herself a glass of wine and tries to read. Without fail, she gives up the pretense within three pages, and wanders the house, checking on the boys and Teresa. Securing the locks and turning off the lights, Martina allows herself a few minutes of wondering.
Eventually, she surrenders the war and drags herself off to bed, cold and alone.
Martina dreads those nights.
20. Look for the bare necessities
April 1973
“Well,” Sal mutters, glancing around the room. “It’s certainly something.”
Augusto shrugs. “It’s a space. We can make it work.”
They stand in the middle of the store, confidence plummeting.
“New York isn’t what I thought.” Sal peers through the dingy window, a wary expression on his face as he watches the passing pedestrians.
“What did you expect?”
“Something... bigger,” he decides. “Something different. It’s a lot like home, in ways you wouldn’t expect.”
“This is home now.” Augusto stresses. He switches back to Italian, unsure of his English. “This is our home. This is our store. We’re the Corlioni brothers, right?”
Sal smirks. “Nothing less.”
“Then we’ll make it work.” The finality in Augusto’s voice leaves no room for argument.
21. A dream is a wish your heart makes
August 1997
“You’re takin’ me out an’ we’re gettin’ drunk tonight,” Johnny informs him over the phone, forgoing all greetings.
Matt’s quick to agree-- he’s never heard Johnny sound like this before-- and within an hour he’s sitting in a too-empty apartment, passing a bottle of scotch between them.
“What happened?” he finally ventures, carefully watching Johnny out of the corner of his eye.
“Brian left.” A sigh. “No, more’n that. He got a job offer an’ I tol’ him ta take it. I-I couldn’ expect him ta stay when we both wanted different things.”
Matt nods. “He wanted you to come out?”
“Yeah.” Johnny stares into his empty glass. “I can’t. But I couldn’ do that ta him. I couldn’ expect him ta live like that.”
“Any regrets?”
Johnny swears. “You have no fuckin’ idea.”
22. Everybody wants to be a cat
May 2014
Yvette.
It’s a pretty name, if painfully French-- almost as pretty as she is. Though, to be honest, David couldn’t give less of a shit for what her name is so long as she keeps doing that thing with her tongue.
In the distance, almost as an afterthought, he hears his phone ringing.
“Are you going to get that?” she asks, tearing away from him. “If it’s important--”
David hesitates. “It’s not important.”
“How do you know?” She cocks her smile, fingers dancing over his skin.
“I just do,” he manages, groaning. “C’mere.”
Two hours later, he notes the three missed calls, all bearing Angela’s name.
23. Friends forever
June 2006
That Saturday, they decide to spend the afternoon at the shooting range.
“You’re sure Talia will be okay?” Isabella asks, loading her gun.
“Ma’s got her,” Nicoletta calls back. “I’m due a girls’ day out, anyway.”
Isabella smiles to herself. “Very true. I don’t know how you do it, between work and taking care of Talia-- I’d go insane.”
“It’s easier than you’d think. One look at that little, toothy grin and it’s suddenly all worth it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
They each fire off a round, reeling in their lines to compare. Nicoletta fingers one of the holes. “You think you’ll ever want to do it, have kids? After you graduate law school, that is. I’ll kick your ass if you even think of it before then.”
Isabella pauses as they set up their next targets. “I think so. It’ll depend on the guy, of course. But I can wait, I’m not in a rush.”
“Good. Because it may be worth it, but it is still hard work.” Nicoletta squeezes off a shot before adding, “I was lucky. I had a great support system.” They exchange a look that says everything.
“Last one to get a head shot buys dinner?” Isabella says after a minute.
“You’re on.”
24. God help the outcasts
January 2007
Melissa isn’t another one of Augusto’s harem, something she prides herself on. Sure, she has his kid, but in the grand scheme, that doesn’t mean a thing.
She’s not at his beck-and-call. She doesn’t even love the man. He’s nice, rich, generous, and seems to truly care about her, but she’s not like his other women. This isn’t anything serious-- it certainly isn’t passion.
The others love him, Melissa’s pretty sure of this. They pretend that they have something real with him, playing house when given the chance, and in return, he genuinely feels for them. And if that’s what they want, so be it. She wishes them all the best.
It just isn’t the way Melissa does things. it isn’t what this is about.
25. You can learn a lot of things from the flowers
November 1983
Torey’s sick. Everyone knows that. According to all the adults, Torey’s so sick that he might never get better. That’s why everyone had to have those tests, so they could find out if anyone could help.
And it turns out that Lea is the only one who can.
“It’s not going to be easy,” her father warns her. “We don’t even know for sure that this will help him. But there’s a chance.”
“Then Torey will be better?”
Her parents exchange a look. “Maybe. No one can say for sure.”
“It’s going to hurt,” her mother continues. “It’s not like getting a shot. You’ll have to stay home for a long time, and be very careful. This isn’t something to decide lightly. It’s a very big deal, Lea.”
She’s decided, has been decided ever since her parents first approached her with the news that she and she alone is a match. “I want to do it. I want to help Torey.”
Her father beams.
26. He's a tramp, he's a rover
March 1983
“Y-you’re married?” Arianna repeats, her blood running cold. “But I thought-- but you were--”
Augusto reaches across the table, clasping her hand in his. Despite this recent revelation, she can’t bring herself to pull away. “I know what you thought. I should have said something sooner, and that is on me. But it’s not what you think.”
“Oh?” A steady drumming of ‘he’s married, he’s married, he’s married’ races through her mind. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re divorcing her? Or she’s really a horrible shrew that emotionally and physically abuses you? That it’s loveless?”
“No,” he quickly stresses. “None of those things. I love my wife, dearly. But we have an... arrangement.”
Arianna barks out a laugh. “An arrangement where you date and flirt with other women? Oh, of course.”
“An arrangement in which I... well, in which I’m not monogamous. It’s true. Just how everything I’ve said before now-- how much I enjoy our time together, how beautiful you are, how I feel about you-- is also true.” Augusto drops her hand. “I have a wife, yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be together. It certainly doesn’t mean I don’t deeply care for you. If you think this is something you could live with, I’d like to continue seeing you. But you have to be sure.”
As though she ever really had a choice.
Swallowing hard, Arianna looks away. “I’m sure.”
27. I've got no strings to hold me down
December 2008
Matt isn’t the marrying type. He’s known that pretty much since puberty, and he’s always been straight-forward with the women he dates-- he’s not looking for anything serious. He doesn’t want a relationship, he doesn’t want kids, he doesn’t even want a dog. With his career and his ties to Corlioni Enterprises, Matt just doesn’t have room in his life for more. He likes it that way.
Which is why it’s a surprise to him to find Naomi still in his apartment, seven hours after he left for work.
“Uh...”
“I made dinner, sweetie!” She greets him with a deep kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“I noticed.” Matt glances around his kitchen, eyes widening at the array of dishes. “You’ve been busy.”
Naomi beams. “I wanted to surprise you. After last night, well.” At the implication, she giggles. “I thought it was my turn to do something for you.”
“I see.” Matt closes his eyes briefly. “Look, Namoi, you’re nice and all, and I had a great time last night, but, uh, I think we should talk.”
Pulling back, her expression falls.
28. Part of your world
March 1992
It’s not that Maggie Gilchrist is stupid or blind. She knows Johnny isn’t interested in her-- in any girls, if she’s honest with herself-- but that doesn’t change anything.
She comes from money, just like the Corlionis, but it’s not enough. There’s something about the family that is unique, something her family will never capture. The name alone demand fear and respect. She wants that, god does she want that, so bad that she can practically taste it at times. The desire is all-consuming.
Maggie has always gotten what she wants-- this will be no exception.
29. Seize the day
August 2003
Julia knows it’s coming-- it’s not an ‘if’ but a ‘when’ as far as Augusto’s concerned. To his credit, she knows he’s not doing it out of spite or revenge, but simply out of love for the kids.
That doesn’t make losing her babies any easier.
So she waits until she knows he’s in a meeting, secure in the knowledge that if she waits, he will show up, ready to take Eva and Adamo away. She doesn’t leave a note-- there’s nothing left for her to say-- and doesn’t bother to lock the door behind her. They won’t be coming back, so what’s the point?
Once the kids are strapped into the rental that she paid for in cash, Julia pauses.
“I’m so sorry,” she says to herself, eyes lingering on the doorway.
She’s said goodbye to a lot of people and places, but for the first time, the finality rings true.
30. Oo-de-lally
January 1996
The first time Johnny and Torey are arrested, they’re nineteen and twenty-one respectively. They’re drunk, of course, having spent the better part of a day in a bar in an ill-advised one-upping drinking contest. It isn’t until they’re stumbling out to the street, leaning heavily on one another, that the real trouble starts.
“We should go for a ride,” Johnny says suddenly. “Jus’ go cruise around, see what we can find.”
Torey snorts. “Yeah? Whose car do you want to total, mine or yours?”
“Neither,” Johnny decides after a moment. He grins. “We take one.”
“Jack a car?” Torey pauses, thinking this over. He knows there’s a reason why they shouldn’t, but at the moment, nothing comes to mind. “Yeah, all right. But nothing shitty. Last time I destroyed a car it was a Jag-- I want equal or better.”
Neither of them bother repeating this story when, three hours later, they’re forced to call their mother for bail.
***
geenaColor: Mouse Grey
Supplies and Styles: Canvas, Frame, Brush (intercalate), Acrylic (Alpha, Beta, Omega), Watercolors (Write about someone who takes the "jack of all trades" concept to the extreme), Oils (if you let me), Stain ("The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you." - Rita Mae Brown), Stickers (Irregardless: Word or Not), Feathers ("Your character is bleeding"), Fabric (#073), Modeling Clay (impression), Nubs (multiple), Seed Beads, Chalk (Jesus must be pissed!), Saturation, Reimaging, Portrait
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Word Count: 5,632
Story: Polyfaceted (Index~Timeline); the title of this story is Found Wanting.
Summary: A series of thirty points in canon in which the theme of wanting is prevalent.
Notes: Hoo boy, okay. First thing first, there is a trigger warning for suicide in one section-- said section is marked. This entire fic spans 1972 and 2062. Italics are for spoken Italian, and bolding is for emphasis.
***
June 2019
There are only two reasons that Stefano bothers to come back and they’re currently standing on either side of him.
His father looks good. Older, yes, with a hint of something plastic to him, but good. They’ve done well with the makeup. He imagines Mrs. Corlioni was the one to choose the immaculate suit-- it does the man justice, even now.
His mother reaches over, squeezing his hand. Isabella, tears in her eyes, brushes a finger along the edge of the casket. Stefano stands stock-still, heart hammering, expression hopelessly blank.
His father is dead. After all these years, after all the hatred and resentment, his father is actually dead. This is the end and there will never be another chance, there will never be any more.
Something inside Stefano is breaking.
September 1987
Three weeks into being an altar boy and Johnny realizes it’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit. The rituals, the sermons, the entire fucking basis of the entire fucking Church. Bullshit.
He’s supposed to believe that some God gives a shit about what he eats on what weekday, let alone who he loves? So he’s gay. He’s always been gay and unless something drastically changes, he always will be. If God created him-- and that’s starting to look pretty fucking doubtful when he really puts some thought into it-- He made him gay. So why the fuck would He give a shit?
Rising from the dead? Miracle wine? Walking on fucking water? It’s fucking ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as the fact that it’s taken Johnny this long for a revelation.
Three weeks into being an altar boy and he’s already had his fill.
December 2023
“You can’t have it both ways,” Abigail tells him, gentle yet firm. “We both deserve better than that.”
Romeo tenses, pulling away from her embrace. “I- I don’t understand you.”
“Yes, you do.” Leaning in, she kisses a spot just beneath his ear. “You’re distracted, like only half of you is with me. You shy away, Romeo. You hold back.” Running a hand through his hair, Abigail whispers, “Loving me doesn’t mean you can’t love Penny. But you have to decide if you want this or not-- you owe me that much.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. As they exchange a passionate kiss, he clings to her. “You’re right.”
March 2006
There’s a stack of fucking contracts on his desk, three meetings coming up in the afternoon, and David’s got an hour in which to make sixteen calls. So when Angela opens the door to disturb him yet again, it takes all his willpower to not hurl his coffee mug into the side of her fucking temple.
“What do you want now?”
Angela rolls her eyes, making her way toward his desk. “Save it. No need to fucking rip the messenger a new one just because you’re throwing a temper tantrum over paperwork.” She tosses a couple folders before him, adding, “These are for that deal with the Chinese. Torey needs them by five.”
“I’ll get to them when I fucking get to them,” David snarls, shoving the papers aside. “Like I don’t have other shit to do, fucking--”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a big, bad, busy man. I think we get it.” Resting her hands flat before him, she leans forward, arching her chest. “You gonna keep being a pissy little bitch? Because you’re welcome to get over yourself any time now so we can get this shit over with.”
David stares at her. “Fucking bitch.”
“You know it.”
“Blow me.”
Angela shrugs. “Yeah, all right. Move your chair.”
Maybe, David allows, just maybe the day isn’t a total wash.
August 2011
Karen isn’t normal. She knows this, she accepts this. Something inside her is fundamentally broken and will never be fixed. Something is missing, something that most people have, and because of that, Karen is forced to fill the void with whatever comes along.
The first time she tries any drugs, she’s fourteen and grasping at straws, desperately trying to numb the ache deep within her. It’s not working, not like it usually does, so when someone automatically hands her a joint, she throws all caution to the wind. It’s good, really good, like Karen’s floating just above herself. Like she doesn’t have to be herself anymore.
That doesn’t last long, so she gradually moves on to the harder stuff. Being sober hurts, in a way that she’ll never be able to put into words. But when she’s high, practically passing out from the sheer amount of chemicals racing through her bloodstream, it’s like everything is momentarily better. She thinks of it as though she’s taking mini vacations from herself.
The other kids know something is wrong with her-- she imagines it’s plainly written on her face, in her mannerisms, in every fiber of her being. Karen is wrong, bad, ruined. Karen will never, ever be like normal girls.
It’s that very fact that is killing her faster than any drug ever could.
May 2014
Silence. For five long, horrible minutes, they’ve been sitting in silence.
It’s the first chance they’ve had to talk since the whole mess with David at the meeting and instead, they’re staring at one another, Vito on the bed while Gino nervously perches on the desk chair.
“You should have told me,” Vito finally mutters, leaning back against the wall. “I don’t care, I wouldn’t have-- you should have told me.”
“I wanted to.” Gino’s staring at his hand, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. “I really did, but I-- I didn’t want you to have to lie or keep secrets.” He sighs. “No, that’s only kind of true. I just... I didn’t want you to hate me or think I’m gross or something.”
Vito jerks upright. “Hate you? Why, because you like guys? Are you nuts?” He grasps for Gino’s arm, grip tight around his wrist. “Dude. I could never hate you. No matter what. You’re Gino, remember?”
Gino smiles.
February 2048
After he finishes telling Isabella their plan, there’s a long moment of silence.
“Well,” L ventures, shoving his hands into his pockets, “what do you think?”
Isabella purses her lips, brow knitted. “It’s definitely a route we can take. It would just be the illegal side of things-- Cris has a pretty good handle on the legitimate side. I’m hoping to be out of here by the end of May at the latest, so the sooner we decide on someone, the better.”
“We’ve been working here almost our entire adult lives,” L quickly points out. “That’s a combined forty-eight years of experience. I’ve been running things solo without any problems-- if anything, I’ve helped increase profits. And we both know that Maria’s the only one to ever give Leo a real run for his money.” He mentally winces. “After you, of course.”
“Cheap flattery will get you nowhere,” she mutters thoughtfully. Sighing, Isabella pushes her chair back and fixes them both with an unyielding gaze. “You’re sure about this? Taking over everything-- everything that’s not legit-- is a pretty big deal. We’d have to be sure you can handle it. Both of you.” Her eyes flicker toward Maria.
L knows exactly what she’s getting at and, to be honest, he can’t fault her for having a few reservations. Maria’s nót exactly predictable at the best of times. Hell, other than himself, no one’s really been able to get a handle on her. Of course Isabella would be hesitant.
“Look--”
“I can do this,” Maria says suddenly, an intense look on her face. “We can do this. I know it.”
“Okay.” Isabella nods. “Okay, I’ll talk to the others.”
October 2019
Little Augusto spends most of his time locked in his room. Not for reasons you’d think-- okay, sometimes for reasons you’d think, he is seventeen after all-- but because living in the bitch’s house, surrounded by her sprog, is a complete and utter hell.
Most of the time, his father is gone. A small blessing, sure, but that means he’s stuck dealing with Angela, the only woman he’s ever hated even half as much as his mother. She’s loud, she’s annoying, she relishes in heaping abuse on him, and she usually sticks him with the brats, threatening to tattle to David if he doesn’t do exactly as she asks. The kids are another issue entirely-- he never knew that kids that little could be total assholes.
And all of that pales in comparison to the fact that every morning and every night he has to walk past Terri’s room and know that she’s never coming back.
“It’s only until you graduate,” L tells him one evening, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table in his apartment, heaping plates of lasagna between them. “Then you can get the fuck out of there.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m not graduating for eight months.” Miserable, he prods his food. “Eight fucking months.”
L softens. “Yeah.”
Little Augusto sighs, dropping his fork with a sharp clang. “And then, what? I join the business? Spend the rest of my life working with drugs, murderers, and David?” The more he thinks about it, the bleaker things seem.
“You don’t have to join the business. You could go to school, figure out what you want to do. Not like you don’t have the money.” A hint of a smile surfaces.
Shrugging, Little Augusto decides to let the conversation drop.
It isn’t until later that night, curled up in his own bed while he ignores the rest of the house, that he dares to think, ‘Or I could leave.’
August 2062
Trigger warning for suicide
It hurts.
It hurts to wake up. It hurts to go to sleep. It hurts to walk, to think, to eat, to breathe. It hurts.
Every single moment he keeps going is another moment without Vito, without his mothers, without Nic. He’s not living, he’s just existing. He takes his meds, he rests, he goes to therapy, he cries, and he watches the toll it all takes on his family. Sometimes, just for a change, he’s hospitalized and free to stop pretending he wants to get better-- he prefers those times most of all. It’s destroying Zara and the kids, he knows this, but no matter how hard he tries (or wants to try) he can’t stop feeling like this. He doesn’t think he ever will.
When he wakes up that morning, he knows. He’s not sure how he knows, but he does. Everything is different, now.
He smiles-- not like before, much more tentative, but smiles nonetheless. He kisses Zara goodbye as she leaves the house, inhaling the sweet scent of her. He calls his kids, making an effort to be involved in the conversation.
Then he calls Ethan.
It isn’t until he’s upstairs, cradling the gun in his hand while tears stream down his cheeks, that he realizes how unavoidable it was. This is what everything has been building toward.
In that split second before he pulls the trigger, Gino feels enormous relief.
November 2018
David and Nic don’t exactly have the type of relationship where they exchange gifts and cards on a regular basis. Sometimes she sends one of their girls his way and sometimes he makes sure she gets a few hours alone with their latest torture victim, but as far as birthday greetings go, they let it slide.
That’s why this birthday is so unusual.
“What it is?” Nicoletta cautiously asks, eyeing the box.
“A puppy,” David deadpans. “Just fucking open it, Christ.”
She flips him off and reaches for the blade at her hip. Slicing through the ribbon and paper, she carefully opens the package. For a long time, she can only stare.
David scoffs. “Well, fuck, you don’t have to fucking keep it. Thought you’d have the fucking decency to--”
“Oh. My. God.” Nicoletta looks over at him, eyes sparkling. “You-- I-- I can’t believe-- you are the best.” Jumping to her feet, she hurls herself across the room, hugging him before he has the chance to stop her. “You are the fucking best! I can’t-- I have to try this out right now.” She’s bouncing and honest-to-god squealing, grinning wide as she rushes to pull the working replica of Wolverine’s claws free from their wrappings. “Who can I kill? Tell me there’s someone we need to kill!”
David can’t help but laugh. “I’m sure we can find someone.”
In response, Nicoletta simply shrieks.
March 2025
“She thinks I’m smart,” Vito continues, pride evident in his voice. “She says I’m, like, some old thinking dude. You know, like the old guys we learned about. The Russians or whatever, the guys with the gods?”
Nic presses a hand against her temple. “I think you mean the Greeks. Or, fuck, the Romans, who even knows with you.”
“Yeah, them! She says I’m a philanderer.”
“Philosopher and, no, you’re not,” David mutters from the head of the table. “Stop shitting with us, there’s no way any girl thinks you’re smart, unless she’s literally brain dead.”
“Alyssa does,” Vito protests.
“She does,” Gino reluctantly admits. “I’ve met her. She’s, uh. Well, I can see why she’s attracted to his intelligence.”
Nicoletta glances up, staring. “You’re lying, right? There’s no way-- no offense, Vito-- there’s no fucking way she actually said that.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” David breathes. “Your generation is fucked.”
November 2033
It’s gone sour.
Cristina can’t say she’s surprised, not when she really thinks about it. To be honest, she should have known it would blow up in their faces-- she and Seamus are just not suited. They’re two very, very different people.
But that doesn’t make it any easier.
“So that’s it?” he spits out, keeping close to his side of the bed. “You’re just going to give up, just like that? Nice to know our fucking marriage means so goddamn--”
“Stop.” Cristina runs a hand through her hair. She’s exhausted, has been exhausted for months now. “Don’t try to play the fucking victim here. I’m not the one giving up.”
Seamus laughs, short and bitter. “Right, I forgot it’s all my fault. It’s always my fault.”
“Just stop it!” she yells.
“No, no, keep telling me how I’m the wrong one here for having a problem with the fact that my wife is a goddamn murderer.”
“Fuck off, Seamus.” Weariness seeps through her tone. “Just fuck off. It’s over.”
July 1988
With as many siblings as Teresa has, it’s natural that she sometimes get lost in the shuffle. She’s not smart like David, or cunning like Torey, or even strong like Johnny. She hasn’t saved any lives like Lea has. She’s just Teresa-- a little slow and very sweet.
But she can draw. She can draw, paint, sculpt, and mould. She can see things in a way that no one else can. She can make a flat image on paper come to life. She can create, make something beautiful and heart-wrenching out of nothing. Teresa may not be like all her other siblings, but she’s got a gift.
Teresa’s an artist.
April 1995
“Sometimes, do you wish--” Arianna stops.
“Do I wish?” Flavia prompts. She refills their mugs, setting the kettle back on the stove before joining her at the table.
Arianna wavers. “Do you wish it was different?”
“Ah.” Flavia wipes at an invisible speck as they share an uncomfortable moment.. “Every day.”
“I hate that I do,” continues Arianna. “I hate it so much, wasting my life thinking about what could be instead of how it is. But then there are those moments the morning after, when he’s getting ready to leave and I know it’ll be days at least until we have another chance together, and I think-- I think to myself how much I wish I had never even met him.”
“I know what you mean,” Flavia eventually replies. “I know exactly what you mean.”
June 1972
Her wedding day.
Despite all the planning and preparation, Martina can’t believe the day has come. She wasn’t like most girls, daydreaming about her wedding from the age of six, but she has thought about it once or twice. And now, standing at the end of the aisle, her future husband waiting at the altar, she just can’t believe it.
Martina feels faint.
“You’re sure about this, darling?” her father whispers, gently squeezing her arm. “We can turn around now. We’ll go home and put this nasty marriage business behind us.”
“Papa,” she warns, smiling all the same. “You just want me to stay your little girl forever.”
“Can you blame me?” The music starts. “But if you insist, I suppose this Corlioni lad isn’t a terrible choice.”
Martina laughs. “You like Augusto, Papa.”
“Not when he’s marrying my daughter, I don’t,” he grumbles. Sighing as they begin to walk, he asks, “You love him?”
Catching Augusto’s gaze, she smiles. “More than I could say.”
May 1976
“I can give you things she couldn’t even dream of,” Gabriella murmurs in English. “I could be everything you want.”
“What I want is her.” Augusto pulls away, shielding himself from her touch. “You could never be her.”
“I could be better.”
He scoffs. “There is no better. Are you listening to me? I love her.”
It’s Gabriella’s turn to snort in derision. “You love your wife so much you come into my bed?”
“I--” He has no answer for that.
“You said you felt for me. You said you cared. Were those just more of your lies, Augusto? Am I just a plaything for you?”
Miserable, Augusto shakes his head. “No. No, but it’s more complicated than you want it to be. I can’t turn my back on her. I won’t.”
For a long moment, Gabriella is quiet. Slowly trailing a finger up his arm, she allows, “Then you will have to have us both.”
November 2009
Sometimes, Lena dreams that she’s back in the apartment with her mother. She dreams that her father never found them, that she’s still going to school every day and coming home to her mother’s open arms, a warm meal, and a comfortable bed. She dreams of her mother’s sweet touch and soft voice, of someone comforting that loves her.
Lena imagines what it would be like to get away. She’d sneak out of the hotel one night, after he’s passed out from drinking. From there, she’d find the nearest airport and fly back home, back to Australia and her mother. Then everything would be okay.
But the dreams always end. Lena always wakes up to find that she’s still in that bathroom, still hungry and lonely. He’s always out there, angry and violent, just waiting for her to mess up.
One day she realizes how pointless it is to dream.
August 2038
Johnny is dead.
No matter how many times he thinks about it, Torey still can’t believe it. Johnny’s gone, gunned down in a broad daylight, right there in the middle of a restaurant. Dead, as in never coming back, and no matter what Torey does, nothing will fix that.
His mother’s handling it pretty well, considering, but Lena and Michael are another matter entirely. David’s taking it hard, despite what he’d have everyone think, and it’s all Torey can do to rein Nicoletta and Isabella in. In the span of a heartbeat-- Johnny’s heartbeat-- everything and everyone have changed. Nothing will ever be the same.
And for that reason, more than other, Torey calls the meeting.
“We know what happened. We know why we’re here,” he announces, scanning the faces of his siblings as they crowd around the conference table. “The Genovese wanted to send us a message? Well we heard it, loud and clear. Now it’s time we send them one in return.” He pauses as he lets this sink in. “They think they know who they’re dealing with? Well we’re going to show them what happens when you mess with the Corlionis. They’re going to regret the day they decided to take us on, I promise you that.”
Johnny is dead, and this means war.
July 1987
On nights when Augusto doesn’t come home, Martina has a routine.
She fixes dinner for the kids, something complex and involved. After wrangling them into helping with the clean up, she sends the boys off to do their homework and retires to the den with Teresa. They spend at least an hour on her studies, finishing with a crash course in art history, Martina learning as they go. Showers and baths follow, with hopefully minimal mess from David. Then comes the bargaining and pleading that always accompanies bedtime, until finally, Martina is left alone in a blissfully quiet house, the children tucked into bed, her husband god-knows-where.
She pours herself a glass of wine and tries to read. Without fail, she gives up the pretense within three pages, and wanders the house, checking on the boys and Teresa. Securing the locks and turning off the lights, Martina allows herself a few minutes of wondering.
Eventually, she surrenders the war and drags herself off to bed, cold and alone.
Martina dreads those nights.
April 1973
“Well,” Sal mutters, glancing around the room. “It’s certainly something.”
Augusto shrugs. “It’s a space. We can make it work.”
They stand in the middle of the store, confidence plummeting.
“New York isn’t what I thought.” Sal peers through the dingy window, a wary expression on his face as he watches the passing pedestrians.
“What did you expect?”
“Something... bigger,” he decides. “Something different. It’s a lot like home, in ways you wouldn’t expect.”
“This is home now.” Augusto stresses. He switches back to Italian, unsure of his English. “This is our home. This is our store. We’re the Corlioni brothers, right?”
Sal smirks. “Nothing less.”
“Then we’ll make it work.” The finality in Augusto’s voice leaves no room for argument.
August 1997
“You’re takin’ me out an’ we’re gettin’ drunk tonight,” Johnny informs him over the phone, forgoing all greetings.
Matt’s quick to agree-- he’s never heard Johnny sound like this before-- and within an hour he’s sitting in a too-empty apartment, passing a bottle of scotch between them.
“What happened?” he finally ventures, carefully watching Johnny out of the corner of his eye.
“Brian left.” A sigh. “No, more’n that. He got a job offer an’ I tol’ him ta take it. I-I couldn’ expect him ta stay when we both wanted different things.”
Matt nods. “He wanted you to come out?”
“Yeah.” Johnny stares into his empty glass. “I can’t. But I couldn’ do that ta him. I couldn’ expect him ta live like that.”
“Any regrets?”
Johnny swears. “You have no fuckin’ idea.”
May 2014
Yvette.
It’s a pretty name, if painfully French-- almost as pretty as she is. Though, to be honest, David couldn’t give less of a shit for what her name is so long as she keeps doing that thing with her tongue.
In the distance, almost as an afterthought, he hears his phone ringing.
“Are you going to get that?” she asks, tearing away from him. “If it’s important--”
David hesitates. “It’s not important.”
“How do you know?” She cocks her smile, fingers dancing over his skin.
“I just do,” he manages, groaning. “C’mere.”
Two hours later, he notes the three missed calls, all bearing Angela’s name.
June 2006
That Saturday, they decide to spend the afternoon at the shooting range.
“You’re sure Talia will be okay?” Isabella asks, loading her gun.
“Ma’s got her,” Nicoletta calls back. “I’m due a girls’ day out, anyway.”
Isabella smiles to herself. “Very true. I don’t know how you do it, between work and taking care of Talia-- I’d go insane.”
“It’s easier than you’d think. One look at that little, toothy grin and it’s suddenly all worth it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
They each fire off a round, reeling in their lines to compare. Nicoletta fingers one of the holes. “You think you’ll ever want to do it, have kids? After you graduate law school, that is. I’ll kick your ass if you even think of it before then.”
Isabella pauses as they set up their next targets. “I think so. It’ll depend on the guy, of course. But I can wait, I’m not in a rush.”
“Good. Because it may be worth it, but it is still hard work.” Nicoletta squeezes off a shot before adding, “I was lucky. I had a great support system.” They exchange a look that says everything.
“Last one to get a head shot buys dinner?” Isabella says after a minute.
“You’re on.”
January 2007
Melissa isn’t another one of Augusto’s harem, something she prides herself on. Sure, she has his kid, but in the grand scheme, that doesn’t mean a thing.
She’s not at his beck-and-call. She doesn’t even love the man. He’s nice, rich, generous, and seems to truly care about her, but she’s not like his other women. This isn’t anything serious-- it certainly isn’t passion.
The others love him, Melissa’s pretty sure of this. They pretend that they have something real with him, playing house when given the chance, and in return, he genuinely feels for them. And if that’s what they want, so be it. She wishes them all the best.
It just isn’t the way Melissa does things. it isn’t what this is about.
November 1983
Torey’s sick. Everyone knows that. According to all the adults, Torey’s so sick that he might never get better. That’s why everyone had to have those tests, so they could find out if anyone could help.
And it turns out that Lea is the only one who can.
“It’s not going to be easy,” her father warns her. “We don’t even know for sure that this will help him. But there’s a chance.”
“Then Torey will be better?”
Her parents exchange a look. “Maybe. No one can say for sure.”
“It’s going to hurt,” her mother continues. “It’s not like getting a shot. You’ll have to stay home for a long time, and be very careful. This isn’t something to decide lightly. It’s a very big deal, Lea.”
She’s decided, has been decided ever since her parents first approached her with the news that she and she alone is a match. “I want to do it. I want to help Torey.”
Her father beams.
March 1983
“Y-you’re married?” Arianna repeats, her blood running cold. “But I thought-- but you were--”
Augusto reaches across the table, clasping her hand in his. Despite this recent revelation, she can’t bring herself to pull away. “I know what you thought. I should have said something sooner, and that is on me. But it’s not what you think.”
“Oh?” A steady drumming of ‘he’s married, he’s married, he’s married’ races through her mind. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re divorcing her? Or she’s really a horrible shrew that emotionally and physically abuses you? That it’s loveless?”
“No,” he quickly stresses. “None of those things. I love my wife, dearly. But we have an... arrangement.”
Arianna barks out a laugh. “An arrangement where you date and flirt with other women? Oh, of course.”
“An arrangement in which I... well, in which I’m not monogamous. It’s true. Just how everything I’ve said before now-- how much I enjoy our time together, how beautiful you are, how I feel about you-- is also true.” Augusto drops her hand. “I have a wife, yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be together. It certainly doesn’t mean I don’t deeply care for you. If you think this is something you could live with, I’d like to continue seeing you. But you have to be sure.”
As though she ever really had a choice.
Swallowing hard, Arianna looks away. “I’m sure.”
December 2008
Matt isn’t the marrying type. He’s known that pretty much since puberty, and he’s always been straight-forward with the women he dates-- he’s not looking for anything serious. He doesn’t want a relationship, he doesn’t want kids, he doesn’t even want a dog. With his career and his ties to Corlioni Enterprises, Matt just doesn’t have room in his life for more. He likes it that way.
Which is why it’s a surprise to him to find Naomi still in his apartment, seven hours after he left for work.
“Uh...”
“I made dinner, sweetie!” She greets him with a deep kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“I noticed.” Matt glances around his kitchen, eyes widening at the array of dishes. “You’ve been busy.”
Naomi beams. “I wanted to surprise you. After last night, well.” At the implication, she giggles. “I thought it was my turn to do something for you.”
“I see.” Matt closes his eyes briefly. “Look, Namoi, you’re nice and all, and I had a great time last night, but, uh, I think we should talk.”
Pulling back, her expression falls.
March 1992
It’s not that Maggie Gilchrist is stupid or blind. She knows Johnny isn’t interested in her-- in any girls, if she’s honest with herself-- but that doesn’t change anything.
She comes from money, just like the Corlionis, but it’s not enough. There’s something about the family that is unique, something her family will never capture. The name alone demand fear and respect. She wants that, god does she want that, so bad that she can practically taste it at times. The desire is all-consuming.
Maggie has always gotten what she wants-- this will be no exception.
August 2003
Julia knows it’s coming-- it’s not an ‘if’ but a ‘when’ as far as Augusto’s concerned. To his credit, she knows he’s not doing it out of spite or revenge, but simply out of love for the kids.
That doesn’t make losing her babies any easier.
So she waits until she knows he’s in a meeting, secure in the knowledge that if she waits, he will show up, ready to take Eva and Adamo away. She doesn’t leave a note-- there’s nothing left for her to say-- and doesn’t bother to lock the door behind her. They won’t be coming back, so what’s the point?
Once the kids are strapped into the rental that she paid for in cash, Julia pauses.
“I’m so sorry,” she says to herself, eyes lingering on the doorway.
She’s said goodbye to a lot of people and places, but for the first time, the finality rings true.
January 1996
The first time Johnny and Torey are arrested, they’re nineteen and twenty-one respectively. They’re drunk, of course, having spent the better part of a day in a bar in an ill-advised one-upping drinking contest. It isn’t until they’re stumbling out to the street, leaning heavily on one another, that the real trouble starts.
“We should go for a ride,” Johnny says suddenly. “Jus’ go cruise around, see what we can find.”
Torey snorts. “Yeah? Whose car do you want to total, mine or yours?”
“Neither,” Johnny decides after a moment. He grins. “We take one.”
“Jack a car?” Torey pauses, thinking this over. He knows there’s a reason why they shouldn’t, but at the moment, nothing comes to mind. “Yeah, all right. But nothing shitty. Last time I destroyed a car it was a Jag-- I want equal or better.”
Neither of them bother repeating this story when, three hours later, they’re forced to call their mother for bail.
***
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2. Johnny, Ilu, my bb.
3. ABIGAIL I LOVE YOU, why do you have so little fic?!
4. David's day always improves with a little bit of help of that sort. Isn't he glad he ends up with her?
5. Aww, Karen, I love you, you poor thing.
6. VITO, that is, like...the perfect answer. Now he just needs to hear it from the rest of the siblings who matter to him.
7. And they are a damn good combination, too!
8. The kids are another issue entirely-- he never knew that kids that little could be total assholes.
L has a few things to say to you, Augusto... Fortunately, those things do not impact the rest of this. Aw, the brothers. Much love for them.
9. Oh, Gino, sweetie...
But I'm still mad at you for calling Ethan.
10. “A puppy,” David deadpans.
Will forever be lulz, I have to say. I LOVE their relationship, too. It's pretty unique among the siblings. (There's a reason he's her second-favorite brother...)
11. loooooooool. At least she's sweet!
12. SEAMUS. You knew who she was and where she worked when you got into this. (Not that both sides don't have points. Just.)
13. Gah, so sweet. Much love for this one.
14. Awww, poor them. It's so hard to be any of Augusto's girlfriends.
15. Martina feels faint.
My favorite line from this one.
16. Gabriella, I can't even fault you. I can fault HIM, a lot, but at this point, no fault to her.
17. Oh man, poor Lena. Poor girl. And it's still so long before she gets found and taken to New York and everything, and she's never back with her mother. Poor, poor girl.
18. Do NOT fuck with Torey's siblings. Ever. Seriously. Love him.
19. Man, I feel for her. Poor woman. I feel so bad, even if it is a choice.
20. And good GOD, do they make it work.
21. And now for awww, my bb. Poor guy.
22. David. David. You are SO FUCKING LUCKY she NEVER finds that out, oh my god. She would have KILLED YOU DEAD.
23. I love their friendship. So excellent.
24. Melissa, I...actually don't have my usual revulsion for this one. Which is kind of impressive. I mean, she's using him, but it's not as bad as she usually is, you know?
25. SO HER. From an early age, soooo Lea, taking care of everyone around her.
26. Aww, Arianna. <3 He so should have told her right away--with her, this is never fair.
27. loooooooool oh Matt, you're gonna lose all your dishes, and your kitchen's gonna be such a mess...
28. Ohgod, I so want fic with Maggie setting her sights on Torey now.
29. Aww, Julia. He wouldn't have kept them, just...gotten you clean, that's all. That's for the kids, too.
30. VITO NEEDS TO HEAR THIS STORY, GEENA. HE SO DOES. BECAUSE HE WILL BE TORN BETWEEN LAUGHTER AND EXASPERATION, AND IT WILL BE AMAZING.
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I will forever be mad at Gino for calling Ethan. Because, seriously, c'mon dude. What the hell.
Imagine if David did get Nicoletta a puppy.
The whole Cristina and Seamus thing just makes me sad more than anything, really.
I kind of love the 'Martina feels faint' line too, so yay!
Lol, this is before Gabriella starts demanding Augusto leaves Martina, so... fault at some point?
I kind of love 18, personally. And imagine there's some sort of a beating drum accompanying Torey's speech, idk.
Looool, Maggie going after Torey. Wonder how long that would actually last, seriously.
Vito can't handle how awful at stealing cars his brothers are. Because, c'mon, those earlier models are so easy, what the hell!
Yaaaay, this comment is amazing.
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Angela shrugs. “Yeah, all right. Move your chair.”
Evoked the reaction "Awwwwww." And then I sat there for a minute, contemplating my hands as if they were covered in the blood of the innocent. Also, I LOLed.
THAT WAS ONE HELL OF A ROLLER COASTER RIDE HOW MUCH DO I OWE YOU? I have tickets and fax wine and beads.
I think I lie #10 the best. Finding #21 was like getting smacked upside the head in a good way. But, don't make me pick unless there's a gun involved. Spirit of the law and all that.
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Evoked the reaction "Awwwwww." And then I sat there for a minute, contemplating my hands as if they were covered in the blood of the innocent. Also, I LOLed.
This is... pretty much the entire canon. Like, seriously, I think all of us usually have this reaction.
YAY, ROLLERCOASTER. Seriously, I love hearing that, so consider the trip free. :p
Number ten was one of my favorite to write, really, so I'm glad you like it so much.
LOVE THIS COMMENT, THANK YOU.
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I love how you managed to combine heartbreaking and LOL and sweetness and Gino's one (which... oh man, I've been there, and I just hope that I'm never, ever there again). Amazing job.
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Gino is my baby, so of course I have to destroy him. But, yeah, it's not a pleasant place for him to be and just... heartbreaking to write, too.
Yay, thank you.
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That is hilarious and perfect.
All of these are perfect, actually, just in different ways--the one with Flavia and Arianna was just heartwrenching, as equally heartwrenching as Martina's routine when he's gone. And the relationship beats, the character beats...all excellent. Great job!
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Thank you!