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xp_logsEarly in the morning, before Carter Blaire leaves for a day of work at court. A quiet moment of reflection, both wistful and yet strangely hopeful as well.
He'd thought about it long and hard, going home that night and closeting himself in his office without a word to this wife. Even today, there is still confusion present, underlying the predominant self-righteous anger. But through it all there is sorrow and regret now, and he knows well enough to admit this to himself at least, though he still hasn't to anyone else. With a small nod to himself, Carter Blaire looks down on the file on his desk, the small label attached to it still blank, staring up at him in the silence.
What will you do, old man?, it seems to ask him. Will you let her fall? Or will you finally help her, this time?
Releasing his breath in a small sigh, the man smiles, both sadness and pride reflecting in his eyes. Perhaps, after all, she has not strayed as far from what he wished for her as he thought. He remembers the straightness of her back and the way she held her head high despite everything he said, refusing to let him taunt her into anger. Steady as a rock, what he always thought had to be there but could never see. But all this time it was there, if not in the shape he was wishing for it to be.
And if the end result is the same, does the path taken truly matter, in this case?
Picking up his fountain pen, he looks at it for a long time, the words carved delicately in the side glittering up at him.
Judge Carter Blaire.
The nib is pressed to the paper, ink flowing smoothly on the surface, letters trailing after it with each motion he makes. Blue on white, curves and loops writing in a script that is near similar to the one on the folder itself, to the notes he has read through, each more meticulous than the rest.
Like father, like daughter, they used to say.
Once he has finished writing the note he nods slightly to himself and sets the pen down on the folder, standing up to pick up his robe, ready to face the day. An odd calm fills him, something he hasn't felt in a long time, and as the door closes behind him, a similar silence reigns in the office.
To: Alison. Here is what you need. I'm sorry, peanut. Can we start over? Love, Dad.
~*~
Note: Written to Bread & Wine, from the Passion OST.
He'd thought about it long and hard, going home that night and closeting himself in his office without a word to this wife. Even today, there is still confusion present, underlying the predominant self-righteous anger. But through it all there is sorrow and regret now, and he knows well enough to admit this to himself at least, though he still hasn't to anyone else. With a small nod to himself, Carter Blaire looks down on the file on his desk, the small label attached to it still blank, staring up at him in the silence.
What will you do, old man?, it seems to ask him. Will you let her fall? Or will you finally help her, this time?
Releasing his breath in a small sigh, the man smiles, both sadness and pride reflecting in his eyes. Perhaps, after all, she has not strayed as far from what he wished for her as he thought. He remembers the straightness of her back and the way she held her head high despite everything he said, refusing to let him taunt her into anger. Steady as a rock, what he always thought had to be there but could never see. But all this time it was there, if not in the shape he was wishing for it to be.
And if the end result is the same, does the path taken truly matter, in this case?
Picking up his fountain pen, he looks at it for a long time, the words carved delicately in the side glittering up at him.
Judge Carter Blaire.
The nib is pressed to the paper, ink flowing smoothly on the surface, letters trailing after it with each motion he makes. Blue on white, curves and loops writing in a script that is near similar to the one on the folder itself, to the notes he has read through, each more meticulous than the rest.
Like father, like daughter, they used to say.
Once he has finished writing the note he nods slightly to himself and sets the pen down on the folder, standing up to pick up his robe, ready to face the day. An odd calm fills him, something he hasn't felt in a long time, and as the door closes behind him, a similar silence reigns in the office.
To: Alison. Here is what you need. I'm sorry, peanut. Can we start over? Love, Dad.
~*~
Note: Written to Bread & Wine, from the Passion OST.
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