Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 13

Within record time, the bottom of the tub had been submerged in a shallow pool of warm water with Liz sitting in the middle of it, happily splashing around while Brian supported her back. He ran the soft cloth in his free hand across her skin with care, trying his hardest to focus on the baby girl and not the deafening thoughts from before that returned with a ruthless vengeance.

This is your life now, he reminded himself. This little girl, your wife downstairs, they need you just as much as you need them. He, on the other hand, didn't need you. You gave him a chance to stay, twice, and he turned you down, twice. You tried, and you failed. Give it up already.

"What do you think, Liz?" Brian muttered, dipping the cloth into the lukewarm tub, "Do you think it's time I give it up?" The little girl giggled and slapped the water surrounding her, speckling the light blue button-down the professor had yet to change out of with a few darker blue spots. The corner of his lip perked upward as he brought the washcloth to her arm and sighed. "I can't wait for the day you start talking. Then we can have real conversations."

"She's only three months old, Brian," an unexpected voice pointed out, drawing his attention over his shoulder to spot Chrissie in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest; a smirk on her face.

The blush he'd gotten rid of quickly crept back into his cheeks. He embarrassedly glanced back down at Liz and continued to bathe her, muttering, "She's just growing up so quickly. 'Seems like yesterday we were taking her home from the hospital."

Chrissie smiled at the memory but refrained from providing a response, watching instead as Brian draped the wet cloth over the edge of the tub and lifted their daughter up out of the water—droplets falling from her little toes in an uneven pattern. He instinctively held her close to him, dripping wet, and went to grab for a towel—only to find there wasn't one. The professor's eyebrows knit together, swearing to himself that he'd set one out before he started the bath, but his confusion was short-lived; forgotten when his wife offered him one from the closet. He feigned a grin and accepted the towel, wrapping the baby girl up in it with a skill that came with practice.

After putting Liz to bed, the nighttime ritual taking longer than normal—thanks to her pampered treatment at her grandparents' house—Brian joined the withdrawn headmistress downstairs, where she stood in the living room, just like she had in the bathroom's doorway. This time, however, her gaze focused out the front window, and there was no smirk. The professor quietly joined her side and tried to see what enraptured her so, but all he saw was darkness.

"You're not telling me something," Chrissie muttered, finally breaking the silence that consumed the home. She kept her head straight and waited for Brian to respond. She was even willing to accept a reaction, something to let her know that he knew what she was talking about, but when all he did was stand there, doing neither, she heaved a sigh and dared to look up at him. "What aren't you telling me?"

Brian bit his lip and tilted his head down, folding his arms over his chest—his shirt still wet from his daughter's bath. "It's...I..." He struggled to find the answer his wife was looking for. He wanted to be honest with her, because it was something they agreed on when they first began sneaking around with one another, but both of them had broken that promise long ago. Yet another disappointment from theirs truly. So, with a shaky breath, he finally spat out, "I just can't stop thinking about him."

The headmistress rolled her eyes—the instinctive response out of her control. She should've known those seven words were coming, for they always seemed to be the explanation to her husband's distractedness. She had grown tired of him still invading her life, like some incurable disease, but nothing she did seemed to get rid of him. Nothing.

"I had this dream, Chrissie," Brian confessed, shaking his head in embarrassment, "And he was in it, and ever since that night, I just...I can't get him out of my head." He glanced up, hoping to meet her gaze, but she'd disappeared—abandoning his side and taking a seat on the far end of the couch, her head turned away from him to hide the tears that started to distort her vision. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and clenched his hands tucked underneath his arms into fists, asking, "What if it was him who called this morning?"

Chrissie sniffled so softly the professor didn't hear, swiping her thumb underneath her glistening eye. "Why would he have called us?"

"I don't know."

"He left, Brian," the headmistress muttered after a long pause, her reddened gaze flickering over to meet her husband's that had slowly traveled over his shoulder, "He's gone. He's not coming back."

Thanks to you, the professor thought pettily. That was another thing Brian's mind often dwelled on, how—even if that first night happened as it did—Roger would still be here if it wasn't for Chrissie firing him. Because she let him go, he felt that he had no choice but to fall back into Tim's arms and be whisked away to America. Had she let him keep the job, though, who knew what things would be like? Of course, Brian would still have Chrissie and Liz, but maybe—just maybe—he'd also have Roger, in whatever way he could have him, just so long as he was there.

He felt guilty for thinking that way, especially knowing what led to the demise of Chrissie's relationship with her last husband, but he couldn't deny his longing for the blonde. Even after nearly a year—a busy year, at that—he still wanted him, and Chrissie could sense it. She hadn't said anything before, not wanting to believe it, but she wasn't a fool. She saw the signs. She heard his late-night talks with Liz. She didn't know all the details, but she knew, and this was the first time she expressed her feelings on the matter, even without saying so directly.

Brian spun around. "But what if—"

"No," she cut him short, shaking her head, "He's not a part of your life anymore, and you're not a part of his. Do you understand that?" She stood up from the couch and turned towards him. "I need you to understand that, Brian. Please tell me you understand that."

The professor hung his head, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt that had started to come loose. "He was my friend," he murmured, avoiding her question.

Chrissie rolled her eyes once again. "Brian, you only knew him for two months. You have no idea the kind of person he really is."

But I do, he wanted to say. He remembered Roger's confession to him, explaining to him exactly what landed him the gig at the university. However, he also remembered the blonde's resentment towards the life he lived, and how he took the music instructor position Chrissie offered him to get away from it. Brian knew exactly who Roger was, and who he wanted to be. Chrissie was the one with no idea. She only thought of him as the man she regretted taking a chance on, her act of kindness backfiring and destroying her life even more.

The headmistress crossed the room and took her husband's hands in hers, looking him in the mistrustful eyes and murmuring, "Believe me when I say you're better off without him." Brian turned his head to the side, trying to disguise the pained expression that appeared on his face, but Chrissie brought her hands up to cup his cheeks and redirect his attention to her. "Look, I know everything happened with us so quickly, and you think you're doing it all wrong, but you're not. Okay?" She hesitantly rose to her tiptoes and planted a gentle kiss on his lips, slowly pulling back and repeating softly, "You're not."