One Day at a Time -- Desperate Housewives
One Day at a Time
Chapter Four
Fandom: Desperate Housewives
Pairing: Bree/Katherine
Rating: PG
Format: Chaptered
Summary: Katherine moves in with Bree to help her quit drinking, and learns there are a few things she herself could use help with as well.
Note: Work-in-progress.
Four nights later Katherine wakes up with a scream caught in her throat. Nothing terrifies her more than waking up in the middle of a full-blown panic attack, but it's happening more lately. It hadn't been so bad through the years she was with Adam, even though she'd never woken him up if she could avoid it, and if he did happen to wake up she'd leave for the bathroom before he knew what was going on. Still, there had been some comfort in his presence, though not enough to keep the attacks from coming on with increasing frequency as soon as she moved to Fairview. And, ironically, it was only after she'd shot Wayne that she'd begun to feel that they were spiraling out of control. He wasn't coming back -- of course, he wasn't coming back -- she wasn't stupid, for God's sake, and he was dead -- and yet...
Shaking, she flicks on the bedside lamp, then pulls the covers around her more tightly and wills herself to focus on the details of the room around her. Green sheets. Pale ivory wallpaper with a delicate pattern of yellow flowers and green leaves. White curtains. Her breathing slows a bit; her vision clears a little more. Everything's as it should be. Wayne is not hiding in the damn closet like some zombie ex-husband. Everything is --
Katherine gives up. Shrugging into a bulky terrycloth bathrobe -- one of Orson's, and it's at least three sizes too large, which is why she favors it -- she makes her way down to the test kitchen. She'll work on the marzipan cookies for the Lorens' party, or whip up a lemon meringue pie just for the hell of it, or -- or anything. Something that'll calm her down, get her focused on whipping egg whites and kneading dough.
(If she'd been a different woman -- the thought surfaces flash-quick, before she can push it away -- she might crawl into bed with Bree. Whether she'd be looking for sex or just the comfort of another human being at her side isn't clear to her, but it's irrelevant anyway, because even if she'd been the sort of woman who would knock on Bree's door, Bree would have to be a different woman to let her in. So it's lemon meringue pie, and Katherine hopes they're not out of cream of tartar.)
Just outside the kitchen Katherine pauses, hand on the doorknob. There are rummaging noises coming through the door, indistinct but audible. Obviously Bree;s up, and Katherine runs through the scenarios in her mind. Is she up drinking? Again? Katherine cleared out the stashes again yesterday, but as long as Bree is determined to keep making liquor runs (three towns over, so no one will recognize her) there isn't much Katherine can do about it, and frankly she's getting tired of babysitting. She moved in to help Bree, but trying to help Bree when she's refusing to *be* helped is like trying to empty the ocean out with a thimble. Still, Katherine can't think of a time in recent days when Bree's disappeared for the hour or two it would take to drive over to the liquor store in Briarwood. Is there a stash Katherine's missed? If there is --
Oh, to hell with it. Katherine twists the knob and swings the door open wide, taking a fast step into the room to try to get a good look at what's going on before Bree can hide the alcohol.
Bree's up baking.
"Oh." Feeling foolish, Katherine tries to arrest her stride and move at a more normal pace. "Up so late?"
Bree's expression makes it clear that she knows what Katherine thought, and for a second Katherine's pretty sure she's going to call her on it, but then she drops her eyes back to the batter she's mixing and lets it pass. "I might ask the same of you."
"Fair enough." Belatedly, Katherine takes full stock of the situation. Bree is having a hell of a bad night; the slump of her shoulders and the way she is keeping her head carefully turned away from Katherine make that obvious. And yet she's baking, not drinking. It's not so late that the bars aren't open, and she could have driven to one of them if she'd really wanted to, but she's here, baking. For the first time in the last couple of weeks, Katherine feels a cautious prick of hope that Bree might actually make this sobriety thing work after all.
"What are you making?" Katherine asks, moving closer to Bree to get a better look at the mixing bowl.
"Sugar cookies."
Odd choice. "Any particular reason?"
"No. I thought I'd just give batches out to a few friends." Bree gives a wan smile that doesn't reach her eyes . "They're simple. I felt like doing something I can't screw up." Katherine doesn't miss the implication.
"Is there room at the counter for two?" she asks, in lieu of offering words of comfort Bree won't want to hear.
"Suit yourself."
Katherine sifts the flour for a moment in silence as Bree continues beating in the eggs.
"I see you've got the vanilla beans scraped," she says, into the suspended silence. One of them has to say something. "You must have been up for awhile.
Bree's face is still hidden behind her hair. "Not so long."
"Are you using lemon zest or orange peel?"
She can feel that Bree is actually considering this, and takes it as a good sign. "Lemon, I think. The only issue is that I was thinking of adding a little rose water, too. Do you think that's too much?"
Katherine rolls her eyes. "Rose water's fine if you want your friends to think your cookies taste like soap."
Bree looks offended. "It doesn't taste like soap. It's... exotic."
"You know that and I know that, but your friends don't." Katherine thinks for a moment, pursing her lips. "Cut the lemon zest and the rose water, and sub in lemon verbena. Have you got any?"
Bree turns her head a little, and Katherine thinks she sees a hint of a smile. "Of course. Over with the herbs for tea."
"Right." Katherine moves to get it, and they fall into silence again, but it's a more comfortable silence this time.
Katherine is trying to remember whether they have any pearl sugar in the kitchen and, if so, where it's kept when Bree interrupts her thoughts. "So is there any particular reason you're up baking in the middle of the night?"
Haven't they been through this? "Why -- do you have some particular reason?"
"No, I have a general reason. I'm estranged from my family and the Red Owl doesn't close until two." And Katherine wants to tell Bree that she's proud of her, but she's still trying to think of the right way to put it when Bree continues. "You, on the other hand..." She pauses. "Does this have anything to do with the call from Dylan?"
Katherine stops looking for the sugar, laying her palm flat on the stainless-steel countertop instead. Of course it has something to do with the call from Dylan, but how does Bree know that? On the surface it had appeared to be a totally unremarkable conversation. No voices were raised, no barbs were traded; they might have been any mother and daughter with a polite, friendly relationship. If Katherine had wept (silently, in the bathroom) after the call, it was because she knew what was being left unsaid in the pauses and between the lines, and she was horribly afraid that the wall that had come up between her and her daughter was going to be there for good. Whenever Katherine dreams of entering Dylan's old bedroom to find her eighteen-year-old daughter, rather than her five-year-old one, crushed under that bookcase, she wakes up knowing exactly why. After so many years of trying to protect Dylan -- from Wayne, and also from the truth -- Katherine is afraid that she's lost her anyway. She kept her adopted daughter alive and whole from early childhood into adulthood, but what she hadn't foreseen was that the lies she was forced to tell and the secrets she was forced to keep might in the end drive a permanent wedge between her and her daughter. And she's not sure she can stand losing Dylan again.
"If you'd like to talk about it..." Bree breaks into Katherine's reverie. "I --"
"Thanks, I wouldn't." That's right, the pearl sugar's with the icing and other decorating supplies. They mostly use it for toppings. She shoulders past Bree to get it.
Bree is quiet for a second. "What I was going to say is that..." The dough is finished, and she'd begun dividing it into sections and wrapping them in wax paper. Her eyes are on the lump of dough under her fingers as she continues. "I know how these things can eat you up from inside, Katherine. God, no one knows that better than I do. And I just thought, if you -- if we could talk about it..."
"I'm not interested in talking. I'm interested in baking." Goddammit, where is the rolling pin? Why can't she find anything in this goddamn kitchen? She slams a drawer shut and feels the countertop shudder. Maybe she ought to calm down a bit. If she knew how.
"The thing is..." Katherine cuts Bree a glare that could have frozen lava, but Bree's turned away to slip the dough in the freezer, and her shoulderblades seem unperturbed by the look Katherine's giving them. And when Bree turns back to face her full-on, Katherine knows she's not going to be put off. "Why is it, Katherine, that it's perfectly okay for me to be as vulnerable around you as I've ever been with anyone in my life, and you get to stay closed-off and perfectly put-together? Why is it that if I try to close myself in my room, you do everything but pull me out kicking and screaming, but if you're crying in your room I'm supposed to walk past the door and pretend it never happened?"
Katherine's shaking now. "What I do in my room isn't your concern. I'm not drinking."
"Damn it, it is my concern, and you might as well be drinking!"
"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" Both of their voices are raised now, and Katherine doesn't like the tremble in her own.
"It means that I might be falling apart right now, but at least I'm honest with myself about it -- and with you. Do you know how hard it was for me to agree to let you stay here? Do you have any idea how much I wanted to shut you out, lock the door, and hide in a bottle of chardonnay for good? I'm just --" Bree's eyes are shining now. "I'm tired of being the only one who takes risks, can't you understand that? I'm tired of letting you in on the worst parts of my life and knowing that you're keeping yourself shut off from me."
No, no, no. This is not going to happen right now. This is why she came down to the kitchen, so she wouldn't have to deal with this stuff. "Bree, there is nothing to discuss. I'm fine."
"For God's sake, don't lie to me! Katherine, I was there last summer --"
And at that Katherine breaks. She tries to make a run for the door, but Bree's there, blocking her, arms wrapped around her. And then she doesn't have the strength to fight anymore, and she's crying, and Bree is stroking her hair and Katherine is letting her. Katherine can't remember the last time she cried on someone like this -- if she ever has. And all of a sudden it occurs to her that she's lost Dylan, and she's lost Adam, and she's losing Dylan again, and that the woman who is holding her right now is the only person left who'd care enough to hold her as she cries. And in that moment she realizes that she doesn't know how to let go. She prays that, for once, she won't have to.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three (previous chapter)
Chapter Five (next chapter)
Chapter Four
Fandom: Desperate Housewives
Pairing: Bree/Katherine
Rating: PG
Format: Chaptered
Summary: Katherine moves in with Bree to help her quit drinking, and learns there are a few things she herself could use help with as well.
Note: Work-in-progress.
Four nights later Katherine wakes up with a scream caught in her throat. Nothing terrifies her more than waking up in the middle of a full-blown panic attack, but it's happening more lately. It hadn't been so bad through the years she was with Adam, even though she'd never woken him up if she could avoid it, and if he did happen to wake up she'd leave for the bathroom before he knew what was going on. Still, there had been some comfort in his presence, though not enough to keep the attacks from coming on with increasing frequency as soon as she moved to Fairview. And, ironically, it was only after she'd shot Wayne that she'd begun to feel that they were spiraling out of control. He wasn't coming back -- of course, he wasn't coming back -- she wasn't stupid, for God's sake, and he was dead -- and yet...
Shaking, she flicks on the bedside lamp, then pulls the covers around her more tightly and wills herself to focus on the details of the room around her. Green sheets. Pale ivory wallpaper with a delicate pattern of yellow flowers and green leaves. White curtains. Her breathing slows a bit; her vision clears a little more. Everything's as it should be. Wayne is not hiding in the damn closet like some zombie ex-husband. Everything is --
Katherine gives up. Shrugging into a bulky terrycloth bathrobe -- one of Orson's, and it's at least three sizes too large, which is why she favors it -- she makes her way down to the test kitchen. She'll work on the marzipan cookies for the Lorens' party, or whip up a lemon meringue pie just for the hell of it, or -- or anything. Something that'll calm her down, get her focused on whipping egg whites and kneading dough.
(If she'd been a different woman -- the thought surfaces flash-quick, before she can push it away -- she might crawl into bed with Bree. Whether she'd be looking for sex or just the comfort of another human being at her side isn't clear to her, but it's irrelevant anyway, because even if she'd been the sort of woman who would knock on Bree's door, Bree would have to be a different woman to let her in. So it's lemon meringue pie, and Katherine hopes they're not out of cream of tartar.)
Just outside the kitchen Katherine pauses, hand on the doorknob. There are rummaging noises coming through the door, indistinct but audible. Obviously Bree;s up, and Katherine runs through the scenarios in her mind. Is she up drinking? Again? Katherine cleared out the stashes again yesterday, but as long as Bree is determined to keep making liquor runs (three towns over, so no one will recognize her) there isn't much Katherine can do about it, and frankly she's getting tired of babysitting. She moved in to help Bree, but trying to help Bree when she's refusing to *be* helped is like trying to empty the ocean out with a thimble. Still, Katherine can't think of a time in recent days when Bree's disappeared for the hour or two it would take to drive over to the liquor store in Briarwood. Is there a stash Katherine's missed? If there is --
Oh, to hell with it. Katherine twists the knob and swings the door open wide, taking a fast step into the room to try to get a good look at what's going on before Bree can hide the alcohol.
Bree's up baking.
"Oh." Feeling foolish, Katherine tries to arrest her stride and move at a more normal pace. "Up so late?"
Bree's expression makes it clear that she knows what Katherine thought, and for a second Katherine's pretty sure she's going to call her on it, but then she drops her eyes back to the batter she's mixing and lets it pass. "I might ask the same of you."
"Fair enough." Belatedly, Katherine takes full stock of the situation. Bree is having a hell of a bad night; the slump of her shoulders and the way she is keeping her head carefully turned away from Katherine make that obvious. And yet she's baking, not drinking. It's not so late that the bars aren't open, and she could have driven to one of them if she'd really wanted to, but she's here, baking. For the first time in the last couple of weeks, Katherine feels a cautious prick of hope that Bree might actually make this sobriety thing work after all.
"What are you making?" Katherine asks, moving closer to Bree to get a better look at the mixing bowl.
"Sugar cookies."
Odd choice. "Any particular reason?"
"No. I thought I'd just give batches out to a few friends." Bree gives a wan smile that doesn't reach her eyes . "They're simple. I felt like doing something I can't screw up." Katherine doesn't miss the implication.
"Is there room at the counter for two?" she asks, in lieu of offering words of comfort Bree won't want to hear.
"Suit yourself."
Katherine sifts the flour for a moment in silence as Bree continues beating in the eggs.
"I see you've got the vanilla beans scraped," she says, into the suspended silence. One of them has to say something. "You must have been up for awhile.
Bree's face is still hidden behind her hair. "Not so long."
"Are you using lemon zest or orange peel?"
She can feel that Bree is actually considering this, and takes it as a good sign. "Lemon, I think. The only issue is that I was thinking of adding a little rose water, too. Do you think that's too much?"
Katherine rolls her eyes. "Rose water's fine if you want your friends to think your cookies taste like soap."
Bree looks offended. "It doesn't taste like soap. It's... exotic."
"You know that and I know that, but your friends don't." Katherine thinks for a moment, pursing her lips. "Cut the lemon zest and the rose water, and sub in lemon verbena. Have you got any?"
Bree turns her head a little, and Katherine thinks she sees a hint of a smile. "Of course. Over with the herbs for tea."
"Right." Katherine moves to get it, and they fall into silence again, but it's a more comfortable silence this time.
Katherine is trying to remember whether they have any pearl sugar in the kitchen and, if so, where it's kept when Bree interrupts her thoughts. "So is there any particular reason you're up baking in the middle of the night?"
Haven't they been through this? "Why -- do you have some particular reason?"
"No, I have a general reason. I'm estranged from my family and the Red Owl doesn't close until two." And Katherine wants to tell Bree that she's proud of her, but she's still trying to think of the right way to put it when Bree continues. "You, on the other hand..." She pauses. "Does this have anything to do with the call from Dylan?"
Katherine stops looking for the sugar, laying her palm flat on the stainless-steel countertop instead. Of course it has something to do with the call from Dylan, but how does Bree know that? On the surface it had appeared to be a totally unremarkable conversation. No voices were raised, no barbs were traded; they might have been any mother and daughter with a polite, friendly relationship. If Katherine had wept (silently, in the bathroom) after the call, it was because she knew what was being left unsaid in the pauses and between the lines, and she was horribly afraid that the wall that had come up between her and her daughter was going to be there for good. Whenever Katherine dreams of entering Dylan's old bedroom to find her eighteen-year-old daughter, rather than her five-year-old one, crushed under that bookcase, she wakes up knowing exactly why. After so many years of trying to protect Dylan -- from Wayne, and also from the truth -- Katherine is afraid that she's lost her anyway. She kept her adopted daughter alive and whole from early childhood into adulthood, but what she hadn't foreseen was that the lies she was forced to tell and the secrets she was forced to keep might in the end drive a permanent wedge between her and her daughter. And she's not sure she can stand losing Dylan again.
"If you'd like to talk about it..." Bree breaks into Katherine's reverie. "I --"
"Thanks, I wouldn't." That's right, the pearl sugar's with the icing and other decorating supplies. They mostly use it for toppings. She shoulders past Bree to get it.
Bree is quiet for a second. "What I was going to say is that..." The dough is finished, and she'd begun dividing it into sections and wrapping them in wax paper. Her eyes are on the lump of dough under her fingers as she continues. "I know how these things can eat you up from inside, Katherine. God, no one knows that better than I do. And I just thought, if you -- if we could talk about it..."
"I'm not interested in talking. I'm interested in baking." Goddammit, where is the rolling pin? Why can't she find anything in this goddamn kitchen? She slams a drawer shut and feels the countertop shudder. Maybe she ought to calm down a bit. If she knew how.
"The thing is..." Katherine cuts Bree a glare that could have frozen lava, but Bree's turned away to slip the dough in the freezer, and her shoulderblades seem unperturbed by the look Katherine's giving them. And when Bree turns back to face her full-on, Katherine knows she's not going to be put off. "Why is it, Katherine, that it's perfectly okay for me to be as vulnerable around you as I've ever been with anyone in my life, and you get to stay closed-off and perfectly put-together? Why is it that if I try to close myself in my room, you do everything but pull me out kicking and screaming, but if you're crying in your room I'm supposed to walk past the door and pretend it never happened?"
Katherine's shaking now. "What I do in my room isn't your concern. I'm not drinking."
"Damn it, it is my concern, and you might as well be drinking!"
"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" Both of their voices are raised now, and Katherine doesn't like the tremble in her own.
"It means that I might be falling apart right now, but at least I'm honest with myself about it -- and with you. Do you know how hard it was for me to agree to let you stay here? Do you have any idea how much I wanted to shut you out, lock the door, and hide in a bottle of chardonnay for good? I'm just --" Bree's eyes are shining now. "I'm tired of being the only one who takes risks, can't you understand that? I'm tired of letting you in on the worst parts of my life and knowing that you're keeping yourself shut off from me."
No, no, no. This is not going to happen right now. This is why she came down to the kitchen, so she wouldn't have to deal with this stuff. "Bree, there is nothing to discuss. I'm fine."
"For God's sake, don't lie to me! Katherine, I was there last summer --"
And at that Katherine breaks. She tries to make a run for the door, but Bree's there, blocking her, arms wrapped around her. And then she doesn't have the strength to fight anymore, and she's crying, and Bree is stroking her hair and Katherine is letting her. Katherine can't remember the last time she cried on someone like this -- if she ever has. And all of a sudden it occurs to her that she's lost Dylan, and she's lost Adam, and she's losing Dylan again, and that the woman who is holding her right now is the only person left who'd care enough to hold her as she cries. And in that moment she realizes that she doesn't know how to let go. She prays that, for once, she won't have to.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three (previous chapter)
Chapter Five (next chapter)