drownedindreams | and then, it rolls on. (Dated Father's Day)

It didn't matter that the kitchen was still covered in blood. It was streaked with her blood, and Jax was waiting for Scott - he'd made the phone call because he hadn't known who else to try, but it didn't matter - the dog still needed walked, and the fact that Macha's paws and tail were spotted a dark, rusty red and Tara's boots had left footprints on the stairs, the hem of her jeans was darkened. There was the smallest streak on her cheek that she didn't know about, and another one the back of one of her hands.

It was hers.

It was hers, in her kitchen; the fork, too - $4.99 at Macy's, two years ago, on clearance was her only thought - that was hers, hers from home.

Home. That was an odd concept now, because she knew. It wasn't just blood and the fork and thicker things that had come from 'Home', to her home, here. It was the file. It was the file with photographs and a coroner's report and police reports, it was the thing that said she died the day after she'd come here. Home - here - wasn't home -- and the home she remembered in California... that wasn't either. Home was where she was buried, where she was nothing but a memory and a crushing regret for some and her absence a triumph for others.

Her eyes were dead, red-rimmed and swollen from the tears she'd shed when she'd thrown up in the bathroom, when she'd stared at Jax and threw the tumbler against the wall where it'd shattered. Still, Macha needed to walk, and Tara wasn't thinking about where she was or where she'd been, or that they both had blood on them - she just let the dog lead the way.

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She lets Frigga guide her because she doesn't have enough presence of mind to do anything else, and she sits because it's automatic, because that's what your brain does on autopilot. She swallows thickly, and she exhales, her brows furrowing. "I'm-" Alright, is the next word she'd been about to say, but Tara doesn't even know if that's true right now. All she can think is just how not alright she is, and she's dead, really. She's dead, so... so there's that.

"I should go home." But she doesn't move, and Macha lays her head on Tara's knee, still looking between her and Frigga like she'll somehow fix this.

Tara is not all right, no matter what she had been about to say. Touch can be grounding, and Tara needs something to bring her back from whatever has her so unfocused, so Frigga lays a hand on her back.

"Soon. When you are ready." She will be no good to her children in this state, and is, at best, likely to frighten them. "First, tell me what has happened. Are your sons well? Jax?"

She actually laughs, a stressed sound that was somewhere close to a sob, and Tara looks up at the ceiling. "I'm- They're fine, The boys are with a sitter, and J-Jax-" She pulls in a breath, and it just comes out. "There's- There was- We came home, and-" She swallows, and her eyes flick to Frigga. "Back- back where I came from, the day after I leave- I'm dead," she says simply, and her hands shake as she says it. "We came home and the kitchen- it's covered in blood, and there's- the file, with the pictures and the coroner's report and the-"

She starts to cry, burying her face in her hand.

The hand on Tara's back slides to her shoulder to tuck the woman against Frigga's as one would a child in need of comfort. "Oh, my dear one. I am sorry," Frigga says quietly, going back to slow and easy strokes along Tara's back.

For a time, she simply lets Tara cry. Tears can be healing of themselves, and holding them in helps no one. After a time, she speaks again, keeping her tone simple and calming, as though telling a story. In a way Frigga is. She is the final chapter to her own story, or what should have been the final chapter. "In the hours before I arrived here, my home was attacked by an army of creatures known as the Dark Elves. They sought a great power, which had somehow come to be inside a mortal woman, the beloved of my son. I took it upon myself to protect the woman, as my husband and son, and the other warriors met the army in battle.

"I succeeded, but at great price. I felt the killing blow that cut me down. Even my kind could not have survived such an injury. Yet I woke on the train coming into Darrow, whole again, except for the blood staining my gowns around the rip the blade cut in the fabric on its way into me. Blood can be cleaned, Tara. Here in Darrow, you and I still live. Your sons have not lost their mother."

She half listens, because she's wrapped in so much pain and hurt that it's hard, right now. It's so difficult and painful, and Tara shakes her head when Frigga tries to tell her it's not over because she's here. "You don't understand," she says thickly. "You don't- It's not here. I'm not worried for me, I knew. I knew that I was going to die, but my sons- It's my sons, and Jax."

She takes a deep breath. "The world doesn't stop, outside of here. I'll go back, and I'll die, and-" Her chin wobbles. "He needs me. They- They won't have a mother. Thomas- My baby-"

Her voice cracks, and she's shaking badly as she covers her mouth with her hand. "My baby won't remember me." Abel was her son, of course he was, but he'd never been her baby, and Thomas - Thomas wasn't even two years old, when she would have died.

The thought of a child separated from a mother who loves him cuts at Frigga in a way few things would, and yet Tara needs her strength as much as her understanding. There's something else Tara says that stands out, and Frigga rolls the words around her thoughts instead of answering right away.

I knew that I was going to die...

She would like to tell Tara her sons will remember her, will carry a part of her with them as they grow, and of her sacrifice too. She would like to say there are forces in the universe that watch over the young who have suffered such loss. But false hope is no hope at all, and Frigga is not cruel.

"So you grieve for the loss your boys must bear in that other world. But you cannot lose yourself in that grief and the guilt you are trying to shoulder. Cry, scream, rail, collapse... do what you need to do in the quiet moments, so you can be strong for Jax and your sons here, lest you deprive them of your presence as well. And when it gets to be too much, call on me. I will give what aid is within my power."

"What can you do?" Tara just sounds lost - not like she's challenging her, but that she doesn't understand that there's anything to be done but this, but this.... but keeping going, but knowing that somewhere else in this world, somewhere else, back home... she's dead, and her sons and Jax - they will be forever where she'd hoped for better, for them. Her sons will have a life like Jax's. The cycle will keep going, but they won't even have a mother - they'd have Gemma.

"They're- they're with friends, right now. Thank god, thank god they weren't home," she runs a hand over her face, knowing- knowing that she had to pull herself together. That she had to continue. There was no other option.

"Perhaps nothing more than I am doing now," Frigga admits, although she is uncertain Tara understands how much she needs this time where she need not be the strong one, so when it passes she has the strength she needs for her family. "Sheltering and protecting you when you are vulnerable and everything is too much."

What she says next is weightier, solid as the foundations of Asgard. "Yet I give you my promise, Tara, I will protect your sons as I would have my own when they were young." She does not know what it is about this family, but they are under her protection, and will remain so as long as she and they are in Darrow.

and then, it rolls on. (Dated Father's Day)

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