The Wreckage

"It's done."

Vic was framed by the front door, back lit by the lingering grey haze of the morning. More a shadow, than a man.

Julie searched for his eyes.

He took her in from the safety of the outer darkness -- laundry basket held against her waist. Long hair that she'd let grow, wrestled into a pony tail, that one unruly strand forever dangling past her brow like a life line.

After all they'd been through, what he'd just done, he wasn't sure why this moment seemed impossible.

Julie finally captured his gaze. "All of it?" she asked.

Vic nodded slowly, knowing a lie would be futile because she would've already checked.

And then... it sat there.

Like a black hole, sucking the life out of everything around them. Except there was nothing left around them and its negative energies were now bent on destroying the only two still standing. If it were left to Vic that carnivorous maw would likely devour them both, digesting them into an abyss of endless mourning.

He was acutely aware of his emotional deficiencies -- his stubbornness, tendency to withdraw into a whirlwind of house cleaning (it was his tell, Julie knew it but all these years, she continued to humor him knowing nothing soothed the savage beast like the hum of a vacuum). But those pathways are hard to reprogram especially in the face of what happened. There'd been plenty of introspection and self-loathing that hadn't amounted to much change, but recognizing the problem was progress and that had to count for something.

Thankfully Julie was always there to anchor them from the hard pull of all that darkness. She was so much stronger than him in that way. He never would've lasted a week if it hadn't been for her resolve. Her grace. Her courage. He clung to that hard, hoping that would be enough. That she'd be enough to withstand the unending assault of guilt and all its needling minions.

Julie placed the laundry basket on the floor. Crossed to her husband and pulled him into the light of the room. "I love you", she whispered and held him tight. For that fleeting moment he was almost reassured he did the right thing.

The quiet house seemed quieter that night. Vic cracked a window so the crickets' thrum could hypnotize his wandering mind. Julie pulled up her covers a tad but didn't complain. For once, he thought, sometimes it'd be nice if she did. That kind of inane back and forth might help him numb into a routine again.

Shit, what if I didn't lock it? A volley of doubt rained down on him. Don't start this now, its only been a few hours... He'd checked the lock probably twenty times before he left the barrens. Maybe I should go check again, just to be sure...  Vic swung a leg off the bed but went no further.

He found the remote, flipped through the guide on the tv, settled on a marathon of old Doctor Who. Vintage Tom Baker, the best Doctor in his humble opinion. They'd aired these on public tv when he was a kid and to this day he marveled at how little it mattered just how terribly cheesy the make-up and special effects were. The stories were good and a good story usually could outshine the shit around it. Usually.

He glanced at Julie who flipped a page of her book. She would've said if there was something she wanted to watch. The book had become a signal for him to have at it with any tv nonsense he could find.

"What'd you do with the key?" she finally asked.

Vic heard her over the stinging, electro rant of the Daleks but it took a moment for him to reckon with that question. Her tone was neutral, almost disarming but he knew it was a test.