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Martha/Aaron fic for the Redemption Challenge at the FLOSS boards. I'm fairly certain that the ending is the cheesiest thing I've ever written, but oh well :P We can use that after day 6.
In the end it was Charles who saved her; he demanded that no charges be pressed. Authorities argued but apparently ex presidents hold a certain amount of sway, even those held under house arrest for treason.
The only stipulation – and of course there were strings attached, nothing was ever that simple with him – was that she had one dinner with him. One dinner and she’d be free to live her life.
She refused.
***
When word came that Charles had flat lined, Martha didn’t react. Aaron stood outside the cell (not quite jail, but she’d prefer it to the asylum) and demanded to see her, barely contained panic breaking through her voice. She noted that when he was just an agent he was unflappable; only she was able to break that façade.
It took 34 hours before she could see him and by that time the reality had hit her. “No one’s telling me anything,” she whispered into his shirt, tears congealing on her face. “Aaron, I don’t know what – I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do it.” She repeated it over and over again, like that would make it true.
He just held her and when she finally gave out, tucked her into bed. The chair next to it was made of hard plastic but he didn’t leave it for the next fourteen hours.
***
When she refused he didn’t try to convince her to go through with it; he knew her too well. No one but her could change her mind. Instead he rented a movie, one of those romantic comedies that she would watch with bright eyes; he would watch her with the same expression.
They ate popcorn and she giggled like she used to. When the sad part came she cried, silent and shaking, and when the credit rolled she whispered that she would do it.
***
The press barely noticed that Charles Logan was in the hospital, not with everything else that was going on. It was one of those passing mentions in the long articles about the late Wayne Palmer, Valencia, and all of the clichés about a crippled nation rising to its feet. Martha was never even mentioned; she guessed that no one gave a damn how he was injured.
She was allowed home three weeks after Charles woke up. Aaron escorted her right past their old apartment into a brand new one, complete with new furnishings and dinner in the oven. “Why?” she asked, voice cracking, and he simply kissed her.
***
He was still awake when she got home at 12:42, impeccably made up face more worn than he had ever seen it. “How did it go?” he quietly inquired, moving behind her to undo the clasp of her necklace. Martha shook her head, curls slipping from her bun.
“It’s over,” she sighed. “It’s over.”
***
They didn’t leave Meadowcreek for two years, comfortable with the routine and security it offered. It was Martha who suggested they move, after her horse died; ‘just as long as we go somewhere with riding space and no houses in a five mile radius for my mother to move into.’ The house they settled on, just outside Miami, was one story and had a private beach.
Settling into routine proved easier than they had thought. Her doctors had been worried that the drastic change might trigger another breakdown, but her response (in which she told them in no uncertain terms what they could do with their nonsense) had assuaged their fears for the most part.
One night a few months after the move, Martha dragged Aaron out to the beach. “Martha, what are you doing?” he asked, amused, as she walked them straight past their gazebo and to the edge of the water. Cocking an eyebrow, she looked at him, and his eyes widened. “Honey, you can’t be serious – it’s eleven at night!”
“So?” she shrugged, and waded out a few feet, looking over her shoulder and winking before splashing him. He gasped, laughing, and waded out to meet her.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warned her, and she took off, giggling, into the water. “Come back here!” He finally caught up with her about twelve feet out, just when she could barely touch the bottom anymore.
Martha beamed at him, hair plastered to her face and t-shirt swirling around her. He didn’t think she’d ever looked as beautiful as she did now, the moon reflecting in her eyes and a high flush in her cheeks. “What are you going to do to me, then?” she mused, a note of laughter in her voice.
“Depends,” he replied, bending down and kissing her. She returned it the way she always did, pliant and eager, eyes fluttering shut, and pulling away only when the need for oxygen overwhelmed her. Aaron kissed the top of her head, before whispering, “Sorry, but I’m not one to go back on my word.”
Her eyes widened, confusion disappearing in an instant, and she barely had time to squeal before he dunked her, laughing and content.
In the end it was Charles who saved her; he demanded that no charges be pressed. Authorities argued but apparently ex presidents hold a certain amount of sway, even those held under house arrest for treason.
The only stipulation – and of course there were strings attached, nothing was ever that simple with him – was that she had one dinner with him. One dinner and she’d be free to live her life.
She refused.
***
When word came that Charles had flat lined, Martha didn’t react. Aaron stood outside the cell (not quite jail, but she’d prefer it to the asylum) and demanded to see her, barely contained panic breaking through her voice. She noted that when he was just an agent he was unflappable; only she was able to break that façade.
It took 34 hours before she could see him and by that time the reality had hit her. “No one’s telling me anything,” she whispered into his shirt, tears congealing on her face. “Aaron, I don’t know what – I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do it.” She repeated it over and over again, like that would make it true.
He just held her and when she finally gave out, tucked her into bed. The chair next to it was made of hard plastic but he didn’t leave it for the next fourteen hours.
***
When she refused he didn’t try to convince her to go through with it; he knew her too well. No one but her could change her mind. Instead he rented a movie, one of those romantic comedies that she would watch with bright eyes; he would watch her with the same expression.
They ate popcorn and she giggled like she used to. When the sad part came she cried, silent and shaking, and when the credit rolled she whispered that she would do it.
***
The press barely noticed that Charles Logan was in the hospital, not with everything else that was going on. It was one of those passing mentions in the long articles about the late Wayne Palmer, Valencia, and all of the clichés about a crippled nation rising to its feet. Martha was never even mentioned; she guessed that no one gave a damn how he was injured.
She was allowed home three weeks after Charles woke up. Aaron escorted her right past their old apartment into a brand new one, complete with new furnishings and dinner in the oven. “Why?” she asked, voice cracking, and he simply kissed her.
***
He was still awake when she got home at 12:42, impeccably made up face more worn than he had ever seen it. “How did it go?” he quietly inquired, moving behind her to undo the clasp of her necklace. Martha shook her head, curls slipping from her bun.
“It’s over,” she sighed. “It’s over.”
***
They didn’t leave Meadowcreek for two years, comfortable with the routine and security it offered. It was Martha who suggested they move, after her horse died; ‘just as long as we go somewhere with riding space and no houses in a five mile radius for my mother to move into.’ The house they settled on, just outside Miami, was one story and had a private beach.
Settling into routine proved easier than they had thought. Her doctors had been worried that the drastic change might trigger another breakdown, but her response (in which she told them in no uncertain terms what they could do with their nonsense) had assuaged their fears for the most part.
One night a few months after the move, Martha dragged Aaron out to the beach. “Martha, what are you doing?” he asked, amused, as she walked them straight past their gazebo and to the edge of the water. Cocking an eyebrow, she looked at him, and his eyes widened. “Honey, you can’t be serious – it’s eleven at night!”
“So?” she shrugged, and waded out a few feet, looking over her shoulder and winking before splashing him. He gasped, laughing, and waded out to meet her.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he warned her, and she took off, giggling, into the water. “Come back here!” He finally caught up with her about twelve feet out, just when she could barely touch the bottom anymore.
Martha beamed at him, hair plastered to her face and t-shirt swirling around her. He didn’t think she’d ever looked as beautiful as she did now, the moon reflecting in her eyes and a high flush in her cheeks. “What are you going to do to me, then?” she mused, a note of laughter in her voice.
“Depends,” he replied, bending down and kissing her. She returned it the way she always did, pliant and eager, eyes fluttering shut, and pulling away only when the need for oxygen overwhelmed her. Aaron kissed the top of her head, before whispering, “Sorry, but I’m not one to go back on my word.”
Her eyes widened, confusion disappearing in an instant, and she barely had time to squeal before he dunked her, laughing and content.
sleepy