fanfictess (fanfictess) wrote in desperate_fic,
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desperate_fic

The Sequel: Part IX

Title: 'The Sequel'
Fandom: Desperate Housewives
Pairings: Bree Van deKamp and Lynette Scavo
Chapter: Part IX
Rating: PG-13ish
Author's Note: MORE Very. very. emo. Angsty. Sad. Boo hoo. :(



Bree watched as Lynette’s mouth opened and words began to form, without thinking the redhead rushed forward, throwing her arms around the blonde and silencing her with a kiss. Lynette’s surprise caused her to hesitate a moment before her arms tightened around Bree and pulled the woman closer to her. The meeting of their lips held such delicate emotion it was a miracle they weren’t both shattered to pieces.

Lynette’s hands pressed against the small of Bree’s back and found their way into her hair; Bree sank against her with relief. She hadn’t wanted to hear those words, whatever they would have been. She didn’t want to see Lynette’s fragility personified, it would have ruined everything.

The first time Lynette had finally taken what she wanted in regards to Bree had been in that psychiatric hospital. The twisted thrill she’d felt at the sight of Bree cuffed to the bed, in that moment her imagination had taken flight. She’d felt the distinct tactility of hope render itself prostrate on the ground before her. It was those first seconds in which she’d made the decision to pursue this journey with Bree, pushing aside all the fear and doubt that threatened to drown that decision in repugnance.

Bree felt only fear at the look in Lynette’s eyes when she’d broken into the psych hospital that one evening; the blonde had been there for a reason and it hadn’t been purely innocent. In fact, innocence took a backseat to Lynette’s imagination and desires. Bree had felt fear as well as a yearning she didn’t dare begin to comprehend. When that last pearl had been picked up with her mouth and placed in Lynette’s hand, Bree had known then that there was no turning back.

Now, her naked body pressed against Lynette’s clothing, the rasp of fabric against her flesh acting as a reality check. Bree felt her heart swell within her chest and as her shoulders began to shake, she felt it rising to choke her. Her hands unclasped from around Lynette’s neck to press against the blonde’s face; finally, the kiss was broken as her sobs violently tore from her, shattering the heart that had been firmly lodged in her throat.

Turning, Bree dashed upstairs, her weeping lingering behind in her wake. Touching her fingers to her bruised mouth, Lynette stared in shock at the empty place where Bree had just been standing. Her hands hung in limbo in the place where Bree’s hips would have been and slowly, they fell to her sides. Lifting her eyes to the staircase, Lynette listened as doors were slammed and feet ran from room to room. Bree was leaving.

Hysterical, Bree thrust her legs into pants and pulled a shirt over her head. Blinded by her tears, she tossed the rest of her things into the overnight bag she’d meticulously packed to bring over to the Scavo’s. She zippered the mess into the leather case, not taking a moment to even register its disarray. Flying down the stairs and passed Lynette’s frozen statue, Bree shoved her feet into her shoes and pulled open the door.

It was the view of the empty street that propelled Lynette’s voice from the depths of her own despair. “Bree…”

Pausing at the door, Bree’s heartbroken expression looked up through a curtain of red and whispered; “I’m sorry.” Then she was out the door and shutting it behind her. Checking herself, Bree refrained from running across the street. Keeping her head down, she walked hurriedly towards her house.

The moment the door closed, Bree Van deKamp sank to her knees, curling into herself as she lay on her side and hide her face in her hands. Her sobs shook her entire frame, sucking the energy out of her and leaving her a ghost of her former self. The image of Lynette’s face as Bree left the Scavo’s house was burned like a brand in her mind, painful and deep. It was an expression she would never forget and likely, one she would never forgive herself for.


* * *

Sunday morning Bree awoke blinded by the shaft of light filtering in through the open window. She was horrified to find herself in the same clothes she’d hurried home in from the Scavos and curled around the toilet with a bottle of extremely expensive chardonnay dripping its meager remnants onto the terracotta tiles. She didn’t even remember leaving the house to purchase the wine. Untangling herself, Bree sat up and realizing she should have done so with caution, immediately hurled herself at the toilet bowl, retching into its gaping porcelain mouth.

Gasping, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and felt the bitter sting of self-loathing course through her veins. She was now back to square one. Standing slowly, she splashed cold water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were blood shot and full of unshed tears; her cheeks were pale and gaunt. She looked haunted. She felt destroyed. Groaning, she felt a lurch in her stomach and dropped to her knees, bending over the toilet and letting the nausea take control.

Her face smeared with tears from her inability to breathe, Bree yanked the faucets and turned on the shower. Peeling off her clothes with disgust, the redhead poured herself into the bathtub and stood under the shower breathing hard. Her palms pressed against the shower tiles, her head hanging limply as the water coursed down onto her neck and ran in rivulets down her back. And once more, she allowed the sobs to overwhelm her.

Two hours later, Bree Van deKamp was elbow deep in muffin mix, cookie dough and a new strawberry cheesecake recipe. Blowing an errant strand of rouge off of her face, she kneaded her cookie dough violently, intently tossing and turning it on her floured counter top. Each bit of dough was formed into a perfect ball before placed on her immaculately greased cookie sheet. Four dozen were swallowed by the oven as she closed the door with a nod and turned to the muffin mix.

Four dozen checkerboard cookies, two dozen buttermilk berry muffins and one Martha-Stewart-perfection strawberry cheesecake later, Bree began setting the table in anticipation of Danielle and Andrew’s return that evening. Pulling out the best china, the redhead focused - with obsessive precision – on the serving plate under the soup bowl, the forks and knives all in their correct place, the water glasses, wine glasses and serviettes. Standing back from the table with her hands clasped, Bree pushed her sorrow away with a fake smile. It looked like a setting out of a ‘home living’ magazine. Tweaking a fresh tulip back into place, Bree left the dinning room and lost herself in the kitchen once more.

Danielle and Andrew arrived home an hour later to the succulent aroma of dinner – Venison Carpaccio to start, followed by a Beef Wellington entrée and fluffy Chocolate Mousse as dessert – and their mother seated at the head of the table waiting for them with a glass of wine in her hand.

...To Be Continued...

x-posted to flickacross bree_lynette desperate_fic girlslash
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