Chapter Text
It’s raining. The dreary kind of rain that’s eminently grey and has clothes wet in seconds as nature tries to wash away whatever has gone before it. It makes Rip Wheeler feel as glum as the monochromatic skies as he looks out of the window from the kitchen in the Foreman’s cabin, at the Mercedes that’s parked right in his eyeline. The black paint is cleaner than it’s ever been, and compared to his truck that’s next to it, the sleek road car looks like it’s never been used before. The thought brings a solemnity with it that looms over his soul long enough for him to let go of an inch of hope; hope of change, hope of a return to the life he thought he was going to have, hope of...
There’s a noise at the kitchen table, and he looks over, lightness returning as his eyes settle on a six-month-old baby in a bouncer, trying to eat her own hand. He thought she was the biggest surprise he’d ever experience; a cosmic shock to his world that made her presence known on a chilly Spring day, instantly warmed by her first breath in the air of this ranch. He’d have never thought before that moment that there could be something else that would twist his world in ways he couldn’t ever have anticipated.
But she’s the thing that keeps him going right now, his only tether to a memory of the past that he’s trying his damned hardest to somehow keep rooted in the present. Maybe one day, to tie it to the future. Because she’s the reason he needs to get out of bed in the morning, the very definition of him fighting harder than he ever has for anything else, and he knows it’s within his gift, no matter what battles may come, to give her the life he knows she deserves.
He quickly makes up the bottle he’s been holding in his hands, packing it into the diaper bag before double checking he has everything they’re going to need for their daily ritual. He’s so used to it all now that he’s on autopilot as he throws in a blanket and muslin cloth, slinging it over his shoulder as he moves towards his daughter who’s watching him eagerly with big green eyes. Her chubby legs kick with excitement, before a string of noises tumble out of pink rosebud lips and she looks up at him like he’s her whole world. For now, he is.
“You ready?” He murmurs softly, scooping her up into his arms and cradling her against his chest. The baby sighs, resting against him contently as he presses a tender kiss to her dark curling tendrils, before he walks them out to his truck and begins to strap her into the car seat that’s never anywhere else these days.
The little girl starts to wail, fighting with her body as she wriggles to try and fight being buckled in, but Rip knows this game. Has seen it all too often over the past few weeks and today he’s not sure he has the energy to fight it if he truly needs to, “I know,” He chuckles instead, hoping the rubber horse in his hand will suffice for the battle armour to be put away, “But once you’re in, ya know you like it,” He says, handing her said favorite toy to chew on and watching as the crocodile tears almost instantly stop. “See, it ain’t that bad.”
She blinks up at him with so much sass that he can’t help but grin, shaking his head as he brushes the back of his finger down her cheek, “Yeah, you lookin’ at me like that ain’t gonna make no difference,” He mutters, checking she’s strapped in properly one final time before closing the door and moving round to the driver’s door.
He climbs in and starts the engine, turning on the stereo system and flicking to track number three on the disc that’s already loaded. The familiar chords of a country song start playing, and he glances in the mirror to check on the baby. She’s happy, eyes alert as she listens to the music and chews on her horse. They’re both ready now.
“Let’s go see Mama.”
The route through the hallways of Bozeman General Hospital is so familiar that Rip doesn’t think twice about which button to press in the elevator, or which way to turn at an intersection of corridors, before the signage welcoming him to the Trauma Ward is right in front of him.
He loathes that he could tell anyone who asked how many steps it is between the double doors and the elevator, and yet, every time he sees that sign, a little part of him glows for a moment because it means they’re almost back with her. He buzzes the intercom as the baby in his arms fusses, and he wonders if she knows where they are as well. Her smile when the electric doors are released to let him stroll through towards the front desk tells him she knows exactly what’s about to happen.
“Oh hello Miss Wyatt,” A warm voice coos from reception as a silver-haired nurse with a western twang stands up to greet the visitors, “You here to see your Mama today?” She smiles, reaching over to poke Wyatt’s belly gently.
“Yeah, she is,” Rip smiles, cupping the back of the baby’s head, “Any change today?” He asks, eyes zoning out on the name tag that reads Susannah. He hates that he knows how much the woman in front of him detests her full name, how she takes her coffee with at least two sugars, how she’s promised him she won’t be leaving this ward until…
“Not today, Rip,” She sends him a sympathetic smile, “But you keep doin’ what you’re doin, and we all know she’s gonna be wakin’ up when you least expect it.”
Rip nods, eager to end the conversation. He doesn’t need to be told over and over again what the likelihood of waking up from a coma is, or how there’ll probably be no signs that a patient may emerge from unresponsiveness just before they do. Or that they may never open their eyes again at all. No, he doesn’t want to listen to any of the statistics that have been thrown his way since he’s started coming here. He’s lived and breathed it for three months and whilst he’ll never stop believing that things will change, all he wants to focus on is making sure Wyatt gets to spend some time with her Mama today.
“Well, we’ll see ya in a bit,” He nods at the nurse, eager to move on.
“You need anythin’, just press the buzzer.”
He walks the fifty-nine steps down the hallway to room 407, brushing his lips against Wyatt’s brow as they step into the familiar four walls of the private room they’ve been visiting since the start of July. It’s changed since that first day; pictures of Wyatt propped up on the side, something Monica insisted on making with Wyatt’s painted feet hanging above the bed, and for this week, a pink blanket tucked around a silent body. One that hasn’t changed at all.
“Hi, darlin’,” He murmurs, heading over to the occupant in the bed who’s attached to more wires than he wants to think about. “How ya doin’?” He asks, dumping the diaper bag on the floor before leaning down to kiss her warm forehead gently.
There’s no response, and it almost breaks him in two, because Beth Dutton isn’t supposed to lie there mutely and not say a word. She’s supposed to grab him by the hands, supposed to pull him in for one of those kisses that make his stomach flip, supposed to look at him and their daughter like she can hardly believe they’ve been given this life. But he hasn’t had that since someone tried to blow up her office in town, sending her flying across the building and leaving her with scars that run deeper than just the skin on her back.
The burns are mostly healed now, and no one can tell him why she won’t wake up. It’s trauma, they say, and no one knows when the trauma will retreat just enough for her to open her eyes, or move her fingers, or raise a smile and come back to him and their daughter.
His finger and thumb brush down her hair, playing with a fine strand before he squeezes her hand with his. She’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on, but he misses her coy grin and the way she laughs, how she says so many things that blow his mind and remind him every day how lucky he is that she’s picked him above everyone else.
He hasn’t heard her talk in 76 days, since she left their home with a promise that she’d be coming straight back after helping her father with a meeting with the Senator over that damn airport being built on the edge of their land, and grabbing a couple of boxes of things that she was clearing out from her office in town. Now that morning was the last time she’d kissed him, the last time she’d looked into his eyes and told him that she loved him. The last time she’d held Wyatt.
He misses seeing her being a Mama too. Settling into a role they hadn’t planned for, but she’d wanted with every part of her being. He couldn’t imagine her being a better mother to their daughter, so determined to treasure and protect the gift they’d unexpectedly been given. But now, he can’t watch her cradle their baby girl, talking with a tenderness like nothing else he’s ever seen. He can’t watch her sing to her in that terrible off-pitch key, just because Wyatt goes to sleep easier when her Mama rocks her with a lullaby. He can’t stand back and take in the moment when she sways her in her arms as they form an unbreakable bond that’s forged through unconditional love and shows her the life they have the fortune of living on the ranch.
The gaping wound left behind in Beth’s vacancy is what reminds him that this hour for them to be together is the most important part of his day. Nothing will change that.
He moves her arm gently, creating a nook to rest Wyatt in, before he places her down and then lifts the dead weight of Beth’s hand onto the baby’s belly, “There ya go,” He murmurs, placing his hat on the side table as he sits down on the empty chair next to them and reaches into the diaper bag for the bottle he’s made up. He shuffles forward, starting to feed the little girl who drinks hungrily, hands coming up to rest over Rip’s around the plastic, “Almost like Mama’s feedin’ ya, huh?” He smiles at her, brushing her hair to the side with his other hand.
“She’s growin’ fast, baby,” He starts to talk to Beth, eyes glancing between her stoic form and the dark-haired mini me tucked in against her side, “She wants to hold her own bottle and last night she was reachin’ for my dinner, wantin’ to try it all. Not sure I’m ready for her to be eatin’ real food,” He chuckles, eyes tenderly settling on his daughter, “Always thought you’d be there tellin’ me not to let her first food be steak, but now here I am figurin’ out what baby rice is.”
Wyatt tries to push her bottle away and Rip pauses, pulling her back into his arms to rub her back and burp her. He waits for the familiar sound of gas leaving her mouth like its second nature now, before he places her right back down with her Mama and pulls the pink blanket that’s been draped over Beth’s form over the content babe as well.
“This one ain’t smellin’ much like you these days,” He murmurs, pulling out a white one from the diaper bag, “Figured it was time we changed ‘em over.”
Wyatt coos and he smiles down at her, resting his elbow on the bed as he passes her, her rubber horse and watches her squeeze it between her two little pudgy hands. It was the last thing Beth bought her, right as she’d started to worry Wyatt would be teething and keeping them up all night. Well, she’s kept him up, but not her Mama. Not yet.
“You happy bein’ with your Mama?” He asks sweetly, “She’s gonna be home soon, baby, an’ then you can be with her just like it was before.”
Sometimes he wonders if he should make these promises, but it’s to keep his own belief alive as much as anything, because if he says it out loud enough he knows it’ll come true. He reaches over to take Beth’s other hand, sandwiching it between his palms as he brings the skin to his lips. One day she’ll squeeze his fingers, but not today.
“Monica’s still helpin’ a lot,” He starts quietly, eyes falling to the baby as she lets out a big yawn, “She watched Wy for me this mornin’ when I had to go out with your father to see the herd. Said she was good as anythin’ until she couldn’t reach her blanket an’ then she screamed blue murder,” He chuckles, placing Beth’s hand down so that he can tuck Wyatt in. The baby looks up at him, blinking heavily, before she turns her head to the side and settles against Beth’s warm body.
“I guess you just missed your Mama, huh?” He croons, unable to resist reaching out to stroke her sweet cheek with his thumb. “This is the best part of her day, baby,” He murmurs softly, reaching for her Beth’s hand again, “And mine.”
There’s no response, like there never is, but the beeps in the room that answer him tell him she’s alive and breathing, and for now, that’s all he can ask for. “Your father said he’d be comin’ down soon,” He clears his throat, “Has a check up himself. I offered to drive him but I think he wanted to give Wy her time with ya.” He watches as their daughter starts to breathe heavier, sleep taking over as her afternoon nap with her Mama kicks in, “Just like how I used to find ya.”
Solemnity takes over for a moment as he thinks about their old cabin and the life they were making there. That’s been taken from him too, the wooden panels and all that was treasured inside going up in smoke by the same people who hurt Beth. They’re all dead now, and for that he’s grateful, but he knows he hasn’t allowed himself time to grieve their home properly; to be sad about what they lost there too. He doesn’t care about the furniture, or the building itself, but there were photos and Wyatt’s first things that they can never get back, and he’s still angry, so angry…
Well, he thinks, glancing at the mobile phone resting on the side table. There are some photos they still have of their daughter, but they’re currently locked on Beth’s phone behind a PIN number no one can figure out. He reaches for it now, pressing a button to light up the screen to reveal a picture that makes him swallow a lump in his throat. It’s elicits the same painful response every damn time he picks it up, because whilst to someone else it’s just a picture of a baby smiling, to him it’s all the other parts; his shirt in the background, Beth’s hair falling into the frame, his beard at the top of the photo and Beth’s hand cupping Wyatt’s sweet cheeks that are lighting up at god knows what. It’s the three of them, so intertwined that there’s no room for anything else with their happy girl front and center. They were happy, so happy, after fighting demons both of them were brave enough to face for the other, and like some sick tithe that always seems to be due in his life, he clearly hasn’t paid enough to be gifted that serenity in the future.
He shakes his head, brushing the dark thoughts away, before pressing the camera logo on the bottom right of the screen. He has no care for technology, but he’s grateful that some idiot from California decided to let Beth’s phone still take pictures without needing to unlock it. As soon as he’d realised a few weeks ago, he’s taken a picture of Wyatt visiting her Mama everyday.
“Time for your photo today, Wy girl,” He whispers to the sleeping baby, adjusting Beth’s hand so its right where it should be around her, before he presses down the shutter button.
He takes one look at it to make sure it’s what he wants, and then places the phone back on the side, plugging in the charger as he glances at the time. John will be here soon, and he’d really like to leave before he has the opportunity to corner him again about rebuilding the cabin. Rip can’t bring himself to think about going back to that home without Beth, let alone starting to make decisions about the size, and layout, and how many bedrooms it should have, and where Wyatt’s room should be. Right now, he’s happy in the Foreman’s house, with his daughter sleeping in her crib right next to their bed.
Still, he pushes it as long as he can, not wanting to take any second away from his daughter getting to be with her Mama, until he looks at the clock on the wall and knows they have to go. So he quietly packs up their things, before pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Beth’s mouth and scooping a still sleeping Wyatt up into his arms.
He places Beth’s hands back where they were when he first walked in, pulling up Wyatt’s old blanket just that little bit higher so that it hopefully smells more like her Mama than it does the hospital bed. “I love you,” He murmurs the same three words he makes sure to say before he leaves, just in case she can hear. Just in case she needs that final push to open her eyes and come back to them.
And then with one final glance, they’re gone, slipping out the door and heading off to finish the rest of their day before planning to return for their daily ritual tomorrow.
In the quiet of the room left behind, a finger twitches.