Pacifier

🌿 Van 🌹

I sat on the sofa, Izzys head in my lap, watching the news in the early hours of the morning, the sunrise coming up was warm through the window and as I lit a cigarette I smiled to see the images on the screen.

Reds had burnt to the ground. Numerous bodies, all unidentifiable, expected to be boys from the Reid Lewis family.

It wasn't the end of the war but it was a victory all the same. A victory for us which might ease the peace we craved. Might cause a couple of threats to think twice about moving in on us when they thought we were vulnerable. Might make us look a little more stable, a little more unbreakable than I felt we were.

It was hard to keep the smile of my lips, relief washing over me, warming me as I let my hand linger in Izzys hair.

She was half asleep, getting better but exhausted by the effort of healing. She was washed out but her leg wasn't infected and I knew I could put the colour back in her cheeks.

The sun was rising outside, the warmth already seeping through from the garden, though it shouldn't have been warm at all.
It was one of those freak biblical weekends, the sun glowing in a winter sky, warming the earth for a day or too so that it might survive the long dark winter.
And I knew it wouldn't last long.

I looked down at Izzy, her sleeping expression peaceful, gorgeous, serene and soft in the tragic morning light. I let my fingers caress her cheek, longing to touch her but hesitant to wake her. She didn't sleep so well at night, waking from dreams, restless with worry before she fell asleep.

In the mornings she would wake in my arms and I would hold her there, let her doze on my chest for as long as she liked and that morning I had carried her from the bed to the sofa downstairs let her lie with her head in my lap because I knew no matter how much she slept, she wouldn't feel awake any time soon.

Still the news was a good thing to watch that morning and I couldn't help but feel my shoulders relax a little as I leant back into the sofa cushions and watched the story roll out and into the next.

Reds had burnt down. Billy Reid was dead. Sam had done his job and Johnny and Camille were going to pull through. At least if I kept repeating that to myself it meant I worried less.

Because I knew there was a chance that we'd be waiting in our little safe house forever. I knew there was a chance that they might not pull through. That Sam and Della might never make it to us. That our little family might be torn apart even now, even when our enemy was dead and it looked like we'd won.

We hadn't won until we'd escaped and I knew though I desperately wanted to lie to myself and pretend it wasn't so, that we would never truly be able to escape our lives. Our family. My father had said it a thousand times to us growing up, you don't just leave the bottlemen. You're a bottleman from the day you're born until the day you die whether you like it or not. There's always going to be some vengeful fucker out there putting prices on your head. You can leave, you can hide but you'll always be tied to the family.

And whose fault was that if not his?

It was those thoughts which troubled me now as I sat with Izzy in the garden on a rug.
This thought that it could all fall apart, that it felt inevitable almost that this would all fall apart. That I couldn't keep her safe from everything. That I could take her away, hide her away, but evil could still reach her, I couldn't keep her safe from grief. If her brother didn't come home I couldn't save Izzy.

She'd be lost and gone. She wouldn't survive that and I wasn't sure I could survive it either.

The warmth of the sun was soft on our skin, I lay back on the rug, my feet in the grass, her feet between mine as she sat between my legs, leaning back against my chest.