In The Clear | ✓

21 | the pursuit of happyness

Jensen and Miles' anniversary passed and Jensen didn't feel better. Christmas came and went and Jensen didn't feel better. The new year started and Jensen's resolution was to feel better and she still didn't.

            Jensen spent her anniversary shoving Miles and Rocky out the door to go see a movie while she tried desperately to bond with Beckett at home. Christmas was spent half-assing excitement for Rocky's gifts from Santa while Miles picked up her slack. She hid away and slept through most of the gift-giving when their friends came over. Miles kissed Jensen at midnight but Jensen couldn't remember if she kissed back. She knew soon after she'd walked herself to the bathroom and begged herself to get some help in the new year if she didn't feel better.

            Which she didn't. Which she hadn't gotten help for. Because Jensen Rhodes was too stubborn for her own good and she admitted that with every meaning of the word good in her head. (She wasn't sure that was progress.) Instead of making any progress toward helping herself—which Jensen knew wholeheartedly was self-sacrificial and she couldn't bring herself to care—Jensen spent most of her days while Miles went to work wrapped in a blanket, sitting on their couch, mindlessly watching whatever show Rocky put on. Usual something with animated animals. Jensen didn't care. She didn't have the energy to. She didn't have the energy to do anything, really.

            Rocky knelt at the coffee table. Happily humming a song and making up her own words to go with it. She looked up at Jensen, holding out a crayon. "Mama colour?"

            "Not now, Rock," Jensen said, not tearing her eyes from whatever was on the TV.

            "Please?"

            "Rocky—"

            "Please?" Rocky asked.

            "I—" Jensen looked down at Rocky. Who stared back up at her with wide, doe-like eyes. Still holding the crayon out toward her. She took the crayon from Rocky and got off the couch, sitting down beside her daughter. "What do you want me to colour?"

            "You pick." Rocky had many—probably too many—colouring books scattered across the table. She pushed them toward Jensen and smiled up at her.

            Jensen pushed the corners of her mouth up. Not really a smile. But Rocky wouldn't know the difference. She took a Spider-Man colouring book that she rarely saw Rocky colour and opened it to a random page. Rocky had handed her a pink crayon that Jensen thought would go perfectly with Spider-Man's suit.

            Once Jensen took crayon to paper, Rocky turned her attention back to her own creation. A wonderful tornado scribble outside the lines with all the colours she could get her hands on. Jensen didn't know why it worked, but colouring was as distracting as staring blankly at the TV. Rocky handed her white, orange, and magenta to go with her hot pink. They were Rocky's favourite colours. As were blue, green, yellow, red, black, brown, and every other colour in the crayon pack Rocky had spread across the coffee table.

            Rocky hummed softly while they coloured. Some melody that never ended and didn't really follow any rhyme or reason. Jensen tried to focus on what she was colouring. Tried not to be irritated by Rocky's humming. It was innocent and uncaring. Rocky was enjoying her time. Jensen needed to stop being so—

            Jensen snapped a crayon as she pressed too hard on the paper. She sat back, leaning against the couch, fighting back tears. Rocky looked at the broken crayon, then to Jensen.

            "I'm sorry," Jensen said.

            "It's okay, mama." Rocky pushed herself up with the coffee table. "Daddy fix."