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wyntir_knightSo this is more of what I'm tinkering on. Maybe it'll turn into something real one day.
---
Morgan Lowell-Hale. Major in the US Marines. Lawyer in the Judge Advocacy. Potential candidate for city council. Mother.
She was all those things, and yet, somehow she felt like she was none of them. Especially the mother part. The doctors said it was postpartum and completely natural, but somehow Morgan knew differently. Her neighbours and friends all had advice. Suggestions on how to be the perfect mother. And through it all, Morgan felt nothing. Oh, she would protect her child. She'd die for him. Kill for him. Destroy nations if it meant keeping the boy safe. But she didn't feel the love and connection she knew she was supposed to be feeling. It was as if the boy was a stranger to her. Even when she was pregnant it had been like it had been happening to someone else. Everything had been too easy. None of the cravings and mood swings she was supposed to have had. The bloating and weight gain had been minimal. Even the birth itself hadn't been particularly painful. Long, but in no way painful.
All the mothers she'd met spoke proudly of the pain of childbirth; the constant pressure of the contractions, and the feeling of being ripped apart with the birth itself. She never dared tell anyone that for her it had been flutters and what could only be described as funny feelings. That the contractions themselves had been like giant massaging hands rather than the horrible need to push that other women had described. The doctor had said that she was built to have babies. Apparently that was supposed to be a good thing, but Morgan hadn't even wanted Shaun. Why would she want more?
Her husband was devoted to the army and she had a long political future ahead of her. More babies would get in the way of her plans. of her future.
Morgan sighed and shook her head slightly. the whole point of these morning runs was to get away from her neighbours and her duties. It was her time - time to be herself and get away from all of the expectations and plans and needs. And here she was, heading back to Sanctuary from Walden Pond and she had allowed herself to get caught up in her own head.
Step. Step. Breathe, Step. Step. Breathe. That was all that should have mattered. It was all she allowed herself to focus on. Just the run and her own body. Her steps and the path ahead of her.
She slowed as she entered Concord. She was near the end of her run and she had a quick errand she needed to run before she went home. She had arranged for a little surprise for her sister and she needed to pick it up while it was still early. Her contact wouldn't appreciate her coming in while other customers were there. After all, as far as anyone was concerned, there was no bacon to be bought, borrowed, or stolen anywhere in the Commonwealth.
The bells at the door tinkled merrily as she entered the shop. She was immediately hit with the smells of cured meats and cheeses. Di Santorino's as a piece of an old world that had ceased to exist almost a century before, but Jim Santorino was insistent on keeping his family's tradition alive. He claimed that his family had been butchers since before they came to America in the 1800s and that every generation since had kept up that tradition. He still insisted on making as much from scratch as possible - though his selection had been drying up of late. Hardly surprising since he was no longer able to import many of the staples he needed; and even if the shipping routes had been open, the prices had made the entire venture untenable.
"We're closed! Come back later!" a voice spat out from the back of the store, Boston accent heavy with each syllable.
"It's me, Jim," Morgan called back.
She began to walk the small space. The shelves were sparse and the deli counter was barely half full. He still had salamis and both chicken and turkey, but the hams and the beefs were gone, and the loafs were questionable. Morgan was sure that they'd all taste wonderful, just as she was sure she didn't want to know what meat went into them. It was clear that Jack wasn't going to survive much longer and that his family's shop was going to end up as empty as so many of the other shops in both Concord and Lexington alike.
"Oh, sorry, Morgan. Didn't know it was you," Jim said as he came up to the front. His apron was splattered with something vaguely pink, and he was wiping his hands on a cloth affixed to his belt. "Howahya? How's Jackie doin?"
"She's good, Jim. Settling in just fine. How about you? How's your ma? I heard from Eleanor that she took a tumble last week?"
Jim waved his hand negligently as if waving the question past. "Oh, she's fine. Drivin' the docs at Milton crazy, wantin' to gt out an' take ovah the kitchens. She's convinced they're tryin' t' poison all of 'em and wants t' have a sit down with the head cook."
Morgan laughed at that. "Yeah, I'm sure that that'll go over well. Maria's just as likely to kill the poor man as she is to talk to him."
"Yup. What's I'm figurin'. Now," he said, clapping his hands together, "you're here for that bacon I promised. I wasn't able to get a lot, but this'll make a good breakfast for you and Jackie."
He reached under the deli display and pulled out a package wrapped in brown butcher paper.
Morgan pulled out her wallet only to have Jim hold up his hand in protest.
"Won't take it, so don't even insult me by tryin'," he said firmly.
"Jim, come on," Morgan replied, never putting her wallet away. "I agreed to ~buy~ this, not ~take~ it. Now how much?"
"Toldja, not takin' anythin' for it. I owe you Morgan. For what you did for me and my my wife. You didn't need t' stick your neck out, but you did, and you did it free of chage. I ain't gonna forget that any time soon."
Morgan sighed and nodded, clearly there was no point in arguing with the man. Jim was married to Sunny Lee, a Chinese-American who had nearly been taken away by the feds when the Chinese started getting hauled in for treason. Morgan had defended her and had somehow managed to convince the judge to let her go - that Sunny Santorino was American through and through and a needed member of the community. Of course, even with being found not-guilty, the community only saw her as Sun-yi Lee, and she had gone into isolation after the trial. She was still alive but one could hardly call it freedom, not when she was stuck living in the butchery's storm cellar.
Jim must have read her look because he shook his head. "Ain't your fault the folks around here are bigots and mass-holes. You kept Sunny here. We owe you. Now take the god damned bacon already!"
Morgan chuckled a little ruefully and took the proffered package. She slipped it into the small backpack she wore and reached out to shake Jim's hand.
"You stay safe, okay? And give Sunny my love."
---
Morgan Lowell-Hale. Major in the US Marines. Lawyer in the Judge Advocacy. Potential candidate for city council. Mother.
She was all those things, and yet, somehow she felt like she was none of them. Especially the mother part. The doctors said it was postpartum and completely natural, but somehow Morgan knew differently. Her neighbours and friends all had advice. Suggestions on how to be the perfect mother. And through it all, Morgan felt nothing. Oh, she would protect her child. She'd die for him. Kill for him. Destroy nations if it meant keeping the boy safe. But she didn't feel the love and connection she knew she was supposed to be feeling. It was as if the boy was a stranger to her. Even when she was pregnant it had been like it had been happening to someone else. Everything had been too easy. None of the cravings and mood swings she was supposed to have had. The bloating and weight gain had been minimal. Even the birth itself hadn't been particularly painful. Long, but in no way painful.
All the mothers she'd met spoke proudly of the pain of childbirth; the constant pressure of the contractions, and the feeling of being ripped apart with the birth itself. She never dared tell anyone that for her it had been flutters and what could only be described as funny feelings. That the contractions themselves had been like giant massaging hands rather than the horrible need to push that other women had described. The doctor had said that she was built to have babies. Apparently that was supposed to be a good thing, but Morgan hadn't even wanted Shaun. Why would she want more?
Her husband was devoted to the army and she had a long political future ahead of her. More babies would get in the way of her plans. of her future.
Morgan sighed and shook her head slightly. the whole point of these morning runs was to get away from her neighbours and her duties. It was her time - time to be herself and get away from all of the expectations and plans and needs. And here she was, heading back to Sanctuary from Walden Pond and she had allowed herself to get caught up in her own head.
Step. Step. Breathe, Step. Step. Breathe. That was all that should have mattered. It was all she allowed herself to focus on. Just the run and her own body. Her steps and the path ahead of her.
She slowed as she entered Concord. She was near the end of her run and she had a quick errand she needed to run before she went home. She had arranged for a little surprise for her sister and she needed to pick it up while it was still early. Her contact wouldn't appreciate her coming in while other customers were there. After all, as far as anyone was concerned, there was no bacon to be bought, borrowed, or stolen anywhere in the Commonwealth.
The bells at the door tinkled merrily as she entered the shop. She was immediately hit with the smells of cured meats and cheeses. Di Santorino's as a piece of an old world that had ceased to exist almost a century before, but Jim Santorino was insistent on keeping his family's tradition alive. He claimed that his family had been butchers since before they came to America in the 1800s and that every generation since had kept up that tradition. He still insisted on making as much from scratch as possible - though his selection had been drying up of late. Hardly surprising since he was no longer able to import many of the staples he needed; and even if the shipping routes had been open, the prices had made the entire venture untenable.
"We're closed! Come back later!" a voice spat out from the back of the store, Boston accent heavy with each syllable.
"It's me, Jim," Morgan called back.
She began to walk the small space. The shelves were sparse and the deli counter was barely half full. He still had salamis and both chicken and turkey, but the hams and the beefs were gone, and the loafs were questionable. Morgan was sure that they'd all taste wonderful, just as she was sure she didn't want to know what meat went into them. It was clear that Jack wasn't going to survive much longer and that his family's shop was going to end up as empty as so many of the other shops in both Concord and Lexington alike.
"Oh, sorry, Morgan. Didn't know it was you," Jim said as he came up to the front. His apron was splattered with something vaguely pink, and he was wiping his hands on a cloth affixed to his belt. "Howahya? How's Jackie doin?"
"She's good, Jim. Settling in just fine. How about you? How's your ma? I heard from Eleanor that she took a tumble last week?"
Jim waved his hand negligently as if waving the question past. "Oh, she's fine. Drivin' the docs at Milton crazy, wantin' to gt out an' take ovah the kitchens. She's convinced they're tryin' t' poison all of 'em and wants t' have a sit down with the head cook."
Morgan laughed at that. "Yeah, I'm sure that that'll go over well. Maria's just as likely to kill the poor man as she is to talk to him."
"Yup. What's I'm figurin'. Now," he said, clapping his hands together, "you're here for that bacon I promised. I wasn't able to get a lot, but this'll make a good breakfast for you and Jackie."
He reached under the deli display and pulled out a package wrapped in brown butcher paper.
Morgan pulled out her wallet only to have Jim hold up his hand in protest.
"Won't take it, so don't even insult me by tryin'," he said firmly.
"Jim, come on," Morgan replied, never putting her wallet away. "I agreed to ~buy~ this, not ~take~ it. Now how much?"
"Toldja, not takin' anythin' for it. I owe you Morgan. For what you did for me and my my wife. You didn't need t' stick your neck out, but you did, and you did it free of chage. I ain't gonna forget that any time soon."
Morgan sighed and nodded, clearly there was no point in arguing with the man. Jim was married to Sunny Lee, a Chinese-American who had nearly been taken away by the feds when the Chinese started getting hauled in for treason. Morgan had defended her and had somehow managed to convince the judge to let her go - that Sunny Santorino was American through and through and a needed member of the community. Of course, even with being found not-guilty, the community only saw her as Sun-yi Lee, and she had gone into isolation after the trial. She was still alive but one could hardly call it freedom, not when she was stuck living in the butchery's storm cellar.
Jim must have read her look because he shook his head. "Ain't your fault the folks around here are bigots and mass-holes. You kept Sunny here. We owe you. Now take the god damned bacon already!"
Morgan chuckled a little ruefully and took the proffered package. She slipped it into the small backpack she wore and reached out to shake Jim's hand.
"You stay safe, okay? And give Sunny my love."