. gun street girl .

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"Listen, I want you to go on your vacation. You deserve it. But I'm telling you, the big guy hasn't seen these proofs yet, and when he does he'll request a billion amends. More amends than you can possibly imagine," Tristan said, trying not to disturb other diners with his inane work chat as he dipped sushi into soy sauce, splashing some onto the table. He tried to eat away from his desk as much as he could, but even then he was always plagued with calls, many of which the callers considered urgent. Right now he was having to turn down an exec's request for annual leave, one of the things he most hated having to do, but he knew the workload was going to go through the roof and he couldn't spare her. Guiltily, he promised her she could take extra days without putting them on the system, but as he hung up he realised the conversation had somewhat soured his appetite. Settling up the bill, he smiled his thanks to the waitstaff. It was his favorite place in New York and they knew him well, sometimes multiple times a week he'd stop by for lunch, or for takeaway dinner, or he'd order platters to the office. It had a comforting anonymity too-- despite how much he was here, they never asked any prying questions, and in the last few months that had been a true solace for him. Finishing off the beer he knew he shouldn't have had, a waitress shyly took the glass. "Your wife, outside," she said, nodding to the door. He gave her a quizzical look... perhaps all blonde western women looked the same to her? He shook his head, putting down a hefty tip as he stood, pulling his suit jacket on. "No no," he said, though the thought alone felt like a punch to the stomach. "Just have to get back to the office." The girl shrugged. Half bemused, half traumatised by the suggestion, he had a half smile on his face as he left the building. So distracted by the idea of Tessa waiting outside for him was he that he in fact missed the fact that yes, Tessa was waiting outside for him. Walking a few steps, he froze. The ground beneath him felt like thin ice and it was cracking loudly around him as he turned back, his eyes settling on the woman in front of him. Just like that he was plunged into ice water. Frozen with panic, drowning without moving, he stood staring at her for what felt like an hour though it was only seconds. Shock clouded his brain and made it impossible to think, he had no idea what to do, no idea how even to feel. Overwhelmed, he finally made a decision. "No." Turning, he walked away from her and fell into a brisk walk, his heart thumping in his ears and the bustle of people around him feeling suffocating. Every step echoed that same thought: no, no, no.

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It was that point in the season where the weather was just one big tease. The sun high and strong one day, and the clouds a gloomy shade of grey the next. Today it was the latter, the sky fell so heavily that it seemed close to the ground. Tessa's mood was fine. Just fine. Not elated but not depressed, just like undressed slice of toast. Well, maybe it started just fine. Because thick in those dark smokey clouds she'd somehow pushed her to do something she'd been avoiding for the past month. Now she was wrecked with anxiety. The blonde was a bit under-dressed for the weather. She was doing that thing, where you think if you dress like it's spring then it'll be spring. Light jeans, a camel coloured sweater and a pair of white Keds; she tucks her hands into her sleeves when it begins to mist outside. The strategy of spring dressing wasn't tricking the temperature into rising and she leans against the sushi restaurant, under the hood of it. She tucks her chopped lob of blonde hair behind her ear. She'd had long boob length hair before she'd left. She'd had this insane idea that if she cut her hair, the change was real. Luckily the length seemed to suit her, new hair, new me. Tessa had started to enter the restaurant but when she saw Tristan with a phone in one hand and chopsticks in the other, she just couldn't. She'd told herself that it was because she didn't want to cause a fuss in the restaurant, but really she was procrastinating the moment. So she told the waitress to let him know that she was waiting outside. Maybe that would help prepare him, or maybe he'd just head out the back door. The blonde sighed. Her hands were shaking nervously in the cold wet air and though she'd never smoked a day in her life, she was suddenly craving a cigarette. She crossed her arms tight against his body when the door swings open and Tristan follows. Her aqua eyes lock with his for a second and she's stuck, everything she's prepared is forgotten and she has nothing. When he spins around, her eyes drop to the sidewalk. She observes the grains of concrete and cracks, trying to think of what to do. This shouldn't be this way, or should it? After a minute of feeling numb, she pushes herself off the building wall and jogs forward to catch up. This probably isn't right and she shouldn't be chasing him down the street. “Tristan,” his name feels familiar but foreign, it's been ages since she's said it. “Please just stop.. please just at least slow down,” she wants to grab out and pull him to a halt, but she resists. The idea of contact feels like she might as well be assaulting him. “Come, I know you shouldn't but please stop.”

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He felt like Orpheus stealing a glimpse at Eurydice. Why did he look back? Of course Orpheus had wanted to get his wife back and as soon as he looked she was lost to him, whereas for Tristan, having his wife back in his life at all was the traumatic event. Everything was a blur around him as he walked determinedly away, sacrificing logic to his most base desire to avoid this situation. What did he think was going to happen? Of course she'd catch up, or if she gave up, he knew he'd eventually hate himself for not taking this chance to get the answers he'd been looking for. But he felt blindsided, angry and embarrassed... glancing down he realized he was still wearing his wedding band, something he would have taken off if he knew he'd be seeing her. There were a lot of things he'd do differently if he'd had some warning, but hearing her say his name made him pause. This was his wife, running away wasn't going to change anything. Stopping, he took a deep breath and turned around. It was difficult to look at her, like staring directly into the sun. She looked beautiful and he hated her for it. She suited the shorter hair, it gave her a new air of sophistication compared to the girlish long tresses she'd sported before. Her skin was as glowing as ever, though she looked less tired than he remembered her. Clearly, she was thriving without them. Blood hot and throat dry, when he speaks it comes out angrier than he'd intended, "what the fuck do you want?" People around make a poor show of hiding their interest in the fight unfolding before them, everything about their body language must be screaming with subtext. He sighed, closing the distance between them so he can lower his voice, though his tone is no less harsh. "You have some fucking nerve showing up like this. Speak to my lawyer."

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Tessa had predicted this level of anger, but she was not at all prepared for it. Walking after him in her white sneakers, she feels the puddle seeping in and her ankle socks getting wet. When he turns around to swear at her, her brows fall downward like she's a kid and some bully has just knocked her ice cream from it's cone. She's typically the type of person that someone can turn to if they need to talk or if there's a crisis. She's calm, she barely raises her voice and she's always gentle. Tess is a warm person and it's hard to hate her when she's like one of those sunny spring days. But she's done irreparable damage and she can't calm this situation. When he moves close she suddenly feels like she can't breathe. She's claustrophobic and needs to talk a step back, so she does. “I couldn't think of a better way,” she really couldn't. She'd been too worried about him hanging up on her if she called or him causing a scene at the office and ruining reputations. “I don't want to talk to a lawyer, I want to talk to you,” she sighs a little, frustrated more at herself than him. She looks back down at the ground, trying to collect herself but not succeeding. She looks back up at him, “I'm sorry for just showing up. I know the last thing you'd want to do is go for coffee, but if you do I'd appreciate it. Or if you'd let me walk with you to the office.”

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As she takes a step away from him he can hardly believe this is happening. More hot headed than her, he was keenly aware of the imbalance between them, of his height, strength and his temper compared to her lack of all three. During their relationship it had fostered a softness in him that he kept exclusively for her, a resistance to raising his voice or doing anything to intimidate her, even when he was at his wits end. He had wanted to explain this to all the women at work, who he suspected thought he must have been a horrible husband to Tessa, must have abused her. The way she steps back reinforces this idea, and for a moment he has to wonder if maybe he did, maybe he was this horrible monster she had to escape from. But that just didn't feel true. Hurt and offended that she was behaving like this even now, he shakes his head. He was wrong to second guess himself, not when the only person worth second guessing was stood right in front of him. He looks at her and sees a stranger. "Walk me to the office? Do you have any idea what my life has been like since you left?" He laughs hollowly, the idea of being seen with her by his colleagues too much to comprehend. He pauses, trying to decide what to do. Reluctant to indulge her in any way, he has to be honest with himself that he craves closure, that he has a million questions and some teeny, tiny part of him is actually pleased to see her. Tired, he sighs heavily. "We can go for a drink. One drink, I have to get back to work."

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When he asks if she knows what his life has been like since she left, she frowns harshly. She can imagine that the past eight months have likely been the hardest of his life. The sudden call to be a father instead of a friend couldn't have been easy. She understood what being the sole parent was like, she understood packing lunches and wiping bums and waking up to talk her son crying because of a nightmare. She has a very clear understanding of how life has been for him, but she keeps this to herself. She's a woman of flight and this isn't a fight that she'd pick in the middle of Manhattan. She's hurt by his laugh. Tristan was often a man of ignorance and selfishness but he wasn't cruel and this laugh was mean spirited. “Okay,” she agrees to it. She forces her posture to relax by raising her shoulders and letting them fall, her arms unfolding so she appeared more open. Blue eyes break from him to look down the street for any sign of a bar. “There? Or do you think you'd rather go somewhere people know you?”

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There's a cacophony of emotions vying for dominance right now; rage is at the fore, but close behind is nervousness, panic, a sense of total dread. And though he hates it, there's also those old feelings of affection... despite how it came across, Tristan had been smitten with Tessa since the day they first met, he'd hardly been able to comprehend that someone as beautiful, vibrant and special as her could ever be interested in him, even after years of togetherness. When she first left, he had cursed himself for not expressing that more outwardly, for not telling his work to fuck off so he could spend some time with his family. He glances over her as she unfolds her arms, clearly trying to be open. He folds his. She looks cold and he wants to offer her his coat, but he decides to let her suffer. Still, when she suggests a bar nearby he doesn't fight it, though there are plenty he'd prefer... all of which involved a walk, and he did have some sense of sympathy for her choice of outfit. It was so Tess to be optimistic about the weather, since she was optimistic about everything. Maybe that's why they hadn't worked-- like this cold day, Tessa had entered their marriage woefully underprepared. "I don't want to be seen with you," he says, ignoring how childish he sounds. He nods, walking over to the bar and holding the door open for her. "I've got twenty minutes max."

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Though she doesn't blame him for acting so bitter toward her, she could see herself acting differently if the roles were reversed. While Tristan acted with anger, she would have answered with exhaustion. That's what she had been worn down to in the last few months of their family. When she'd tried to make conversation it was ignored and not taken seriously. This made her tired of it, it made her depressed and wanting to stay in bed all day. But she couldn't stay in bed, so eventually that exhaustion drove her from her life. “That's fine, I don't want to be seen with you either,” she's joking, but her voice is as flat as her twang allows. She thanks him for holding the door and heads to the bar. This is the type of bar that was probably on a high last summer but the hype has since died down. The bartender jumps with excitement when she sits down and he pushes a pair of menus into her hand. Tessa is polite and when she asks how the bartender is, she's genuinely interested. Though when he asks her the same question she's not giving herself away, “I'm fine, thank you. Would you mind getting me one of these? And maybe a side of fries? I'm starving,” she points at an unfamiliar pilsner on the menu and gives the bartender a rosy smile when he cooperates. Then she turns to Tristan, “how has life been since I left, anyway?”

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Tristan rolls his eyes at her retort, irritated that she's not being more dramatic, feeling she should be begging for his forgiveness. It unnerved him that she didn't seem to want forgiveness... if she didn't want to come back, what was this about? Just as he had been before, his body plunged into iciness. What if she was here to say she wanted Forrest? The thought makes him feel sick, panic taking over from rage. Though he hated himself for it, he had to admit there were times early on in her abandonment where he wished she'd taken their son with her. Forrest was a lot more to handle than he'd ever given Tessa credit for, and after a few nights of endless tantrums and crying, followed by early rises for the school run before he got to work, he was at his breaking point. Though now he couldn't think of anything worse than losing him. The bond they'd forged in these months was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and now Tristan was just as dependent on Forrest as he was on his dad. He takes his seat at the bar, his surly silence covering up his internal dismay. He barely hears her asking the bartender how he was, a quirk he once found utterly charming. He doesn't make an effort to take his coat off, his arms back to their folded position. "Whiskey," he says to the bartender. "Whichever's strongest." He finally looks at Tessa as she speaks, studying her face as she feigns nonchalance. He wants to laugh, incredulous that she'd ask such a huge question so casually. Instead he ignores it. "You can't have him. If that's what this is about. You left him, you can't have him."

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Though she's caught off guard by the sudden outburst, she doesn't act like it. She looks at him and studies his face. She's forgotten all his little details. The fine wrinkles that crease at his eyes, the little freckles that look like splashes of paint and the circles that sit faintly under his eyes. She hasn't looked at him properly for so long that she needs to just take the moment to stare. He looks scared and she tries to look calm, though her heart is racing and she can barely breathe. Sweeping a golden strand behind her ear, she looks away and thanks the bartender for her drink. “I know I haven't made the best example of myself, but I'm not cruel,” she knows he could beg to differ, “I'm not going to take him. I miss him but I'm not going to steal him away. That's not fair.” She takes a sip and it's a little watery tasting, but when the bartender asks she still says it's good. “I've been here for a month and I've been trying to think of a good way to say, 'hey, I fucked up', but I don't really think there's a good way to say it. Hi, I fucked up. I know I did, I'm not expecting you to be okay with it. I fucked up, I was really fucked up.”

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As soon as she assures him that she isn't going to take Forrest away, a wave of pure relief rushes over Tristan. Before he knows what he's doing he's unfolded his arms, feeling less guarded now that he's been told his greatest fear isn't about to become a reality. It's an intense sense of relief, more intense than he'd expected, and he realises he must have been holding on to that fear for quite some time now, buried deep in his psyche. He knew how easy it was for moms to win custody battles, and though he didn't think of Tessa as a cruel person, he also had never thought of her as the type of person who'd walk out on her family and he'd been wrong about that. He picks up the whiskey and downs it in one, gesturing to the bartender for another. Immediately his body language is less defensive. Sitting more loosely, he leaned back in the chair a little, shrugging off his coat and then his suit jacket. "It would kill me if you did," he said finally, avoiding her eye as he said it. He feels a little choked up at the idea, also that it's come to this, his wife promising him she won't steal their child away. He never wanted this. Less angry now, sadness was threatening to come and fill the void his rage had left. "It's ok," he says to her apology, taking a slower sip of his fresh whiskey. "You did what you had to do." He sighs, a nagging at the back of his mind catching up with him. "Sorry, I need to check this," he said, retrieving his phone from his pocket and frowning at the thousands of notifications. In truth he wasn't actually checking his emails but sending one, telling his team he'd been held up and wouldn't make it back to the office today. "Sorry," he repeated once he was done, abandoning the phone on the counter.

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Tristan relaxes before her and it somehow makes her feel more tense. Not that she particularly enjoyed him being angry with her, but the motions made her fill with guilt and dread. The selfishness in her to make her leave her own family to fulfill her own life and the inevitability of where their choices would leave them. Tessa had put off thinking about how she would fit in now and here it was before her. She wasn't a mom and she wasn't a wife. She just felt like some bitch who put her needs before her own blood. She felt doomed. Her eyes are sad when he says she did what she had to do. She still felt this way, as unfortunate as leaving was. When did they become so pathetic together? When did they become me instead of we? It felt long before she left and closer to when Forrest was born. She's a little irritated when he goes onto his phone. While other familiarities were missed, this wasn't. She turns to pick at her fries, picking them up and dunking them in mayonnaise before lifting them to her mouth. “I know this isn't a comfortable conversation and I know I said I wanted to talk to you, not lawyers. But I'm not going to be complicated. All I want is what I married you with and I want to see him often. I want to be his mom again. That's a lot to ask after everything, I know, but I'm still his mom.”

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With the worst of his panic subsiding, Tristan's head cleared and he was able to digest what she'd said so far. She was here to say sorry, she wanted to know how things were, she wasn't going to take Forrest. Those were all fine. But she'd been here a month? The reality of that fact stung worse than her leaving in the first place. How could she have sat mere blocks away from them for a whole month, after seven months of no contact? He imagines himself in that position and decides he'd have done anything to see Forrest again. Eight months was a long time in kid years, he'd even started school. A mixture of resentment and hurt lingered over them, though he decided not to call her on it. Yet. He can feel her frostiness as he gets his phone out. It was a real bone of contention between them, on his rare evenings off he'd make a show of taking her out to dinner, only to take calls and obsessively check his phone all through the meal. It had been easy to be frustrated with her irritation, since this was his job and it was his paycheck that kept them afloat. But he saw it differently now. He can imagine how upsetting it would have been for her, especially when he did it during father-son time. This year had taught him that work wasn't everything, but it was a lesson that had come late. 'You barely married me with anything," he said, glancing at the fries and wondering where she put it all. "You're entitled to half my earnings, have them, I don't care. You can even have the apartment, the car. But you can't force yourself on Forrest. I went ten years without seeing my dad, and that was much easier on me than the years I spent being pulled between him and mom. You made a decision, it's yours to stand by."

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She sips her drink slowly. She probably wouldn't finish it. Tessa was a notorious lightweight and since giving birth to her son had mostly quit drinking. It wouldn't take long before her lips became loose and her fingers tingley. Though she was more a happy than emotional drunk, somehow being silly seemed a lot worse than crying. She listens to Tristan speak and it's annoying how authoritative he sounds. This is something else she didn't miss. While they once worked as a team and made an amazing couple, she turned sour when she lost her voice and his decisions often overturned hers. “I'm not going to do that,” some of her prior softness has turned stern. She's a little annoyed, but trying to listen and to understand where he's coming from. Tess thinks of the things she could say. Like how while she left for months, he was absent for years. But she doesn't. She doesn't like to be vindictive, but this time she bites her tongue and has to force herself not to be. Though it's clear that she's annoyed by it as she stops eating to rubs her temple. “You know that's not right and you know that's not fair. We're his parents, it's not you and it's not me, it's us. Sit on the idea for a few days and then let me know if I should call my lawyer.”

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"You made a choice," he repeated, taking a sip of the whiskey. In truth he knew that he wasn't as hardline as he liked to make himself out to be, his team knew this better than anyone - though he'd snap and he'd often talk the talk, in reality he very rarely followed through on any of his warnings. The truth was that most of the time he just couldn't be bothered. This was different, of course, seeing as he could very much be bothered to fight for his son, but really, he couldn't be bothered punishing Tessa. Not at a cost to Forrest. But he's not ready to admit that, not yet. He can sense her mood change, the sharpness added to her tone. This was something he had never particularly liked about her - her tendency to avoid conflict meant she often didn't say what she was thinking, which could lead to him feeling like she was lying to him, that despite her smile she was secretly plotting against him. Which, as it turns out, she was. Hardened by this resurfacing of a negative trait, he helps himself to one of her fries, generously dipping it into the mayo and eating it in one. He was determined to bother her now. Things often went this way, with him trying to provoke her into speaking her mind either through irritating her, or making her laugh. He wasn't in the laughing mood. "Call your lawyer," he said. "And you should start readying yourself for the idea that he doesn't want to see you. You really hurt him, Tessa. I'm not trying to be vindictive, I'm trying to protect my son from the things that hurt him, and unfortunately you're one of those things now."