Chapter Text
Spring arrived the way it always seemed to in that neighborhood—without ceremony, without anyone pointing to a particular morning and declaring it official, just a slow and steady softening of everything that had been hard for too long. The cold receded not in retreat but in surrender, loosening its grip on the ground, on the houses, on the people who had learned to brace themselves against it. What replaced it was gentler, though no less persistent: air that carried the scent of damp earth and something quietly blooming beneath it, sunlight that lingered a little longer each evening, and the faint but undeniable hum of life returning to places that had gone still.
Murdoc’s house stood where it always had, slightly apart in character if not in distance, its edges still a little rough compared to the homes around it. It had not transformed into something pristine or picturesque, but it had shifted in subtler ways, ways that revealed themselves only if you knew what it had been like before. The front steps, once layered with the debris of neglect, had been swept more than once this season, though not recently enough to be called tidy. The railing, which had once threatened to give way under even the lightest pressure, had been reinforced with mismatched screws and a determination that seemed more stubborn than skilled. The yard, while still uneven and stubbornly unkempt, bore the early insistence of spring in scattered patches of green, weeds pushing their way through cracks in the walkway and along the edges of the porch as if claiming territory that had long gone unchallenged.
The front door, however, still told a story that had not yet been fully resolved.
The damage was impossible to ignore. The wood near the lock bore the splintered marks of force, not age, the frame around it slightly warped where it had once given way under pressure that had not asked for permission. For months, the door had functioned in a way that could only generously be described as “good enough,” hanging slightly off balance, sticking when it closed, refusing to align properly no matter how many times it was shoved into place. It had been secured more by routine than by structure, more by habit than by repair.
Now, finally, that was changing.
“Hold it straight,” Murdoc muttered, his voice edged with concentration as he crouched near the hinge, one hand braced firmly against the frame while the other tried to guide the metal into place. “If it tilts again, we’re not fixing it, we’re starting over.”
Alice adjusted her grip on the door, fingers tightening along the worn edge as she leaned her weight into it, boots planted firmly against the porch boards to keep it steady. The leather jacket she wore creaked softly with the movement, its familiar weight settling around her shoulders as naturally as if it had always belonged there. It was worn now, softened by time and use, the sleeves slightly creased at the elbows, the collar bent just enough to show it had been handled often. It still hung a little large on her frame, but she wore it with the quiet certainty of someone who had no intention of replacing it.
“It’s not tilting,” she replied, her tone edged with the same kind of stubborn certainty he carried in his. “You’re pushing it uneven.”
“I am not pushing it uneven,” he shot back immediately, not looking up from his work. “The frame’s off.”
“The frame’s off because you never fixed it after it broke.”
“That was not exactly top of my priority list at the time,” he muttered, adjusting his stance slightly as he tried to align the hinge again. “Bit busy with other things.”
“Like running from the cops?”
“Like not getting arrested, yeah.”
Alice’s mouth twitched faintly at that, though she didn’t look away from the door. The memory of that night lingered in the structure itself, in the splintered wood and the slight give in the frame. Shirley hadn’t hesitated when she’d forced her way in, hadn’t paused to consider whether the door would hold or what it would cost to repair it later. She had simply done what needed to be done, and the house had carried the evidence of that choice ever since.
For a long time, Murdoc had left it like that, as if fixing it would somehow require acknowledging everything that had happened alongside it. Now, a year removed from the chaos that had once defined every corner of their lives, he had finally decided it was time.
“Alright,” he said after a moment, shifting his grip and squinting slightly at the hinge. “On three. Don’t move.”
Alice rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see it from where he was crouched. “I’m not moving.”
“You always say that.”
“Maybe because you always blame me.”
“One,” he began, ignoring that entirely.
A breeze moved through the yard, soft but persistent, carrying with it the scent of fresh growth and distant blossoms from somewhere further down the street. It lifted a few loose strands of Alice’s hair, tugged lightly at the hem of her jacket, and slipped through the open space where the door should have been as if testing the threshold for itself.
“Two.”
From the neighboring house, voices drifted faintly into the morning air, indistinct at first, then sharpening just enough to be understood if one listened for it. Conversations had a way of carrying differently in spring, no longer muffled by closed windows or heavy air, but open, uncontained, moving freely between spaces.
“Murdoc, wait,” Alice said suddenly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she felt the balance shift before it became obvious.
“Three.”
The hinge slipped.
The shift was subtle at first, a small misalignment that might have been corrected if either of them had caught it a second sooner. Instead, the weight of the door shifted just enough to throw off the balance entirely, and in the next instant, the entire structure lurched forward.
“Murdoc—”
“I’ve got it—”
“You don’t—”
The door came down hard, the impact echoing against the porch as Murdoc stumbled backward, losing his footing just enough to force him into an awkward retreat while Alice, still holding her side of the weight, was pulled forward with it. She hit the ground with a sharp exhale, the breath knocked out of her lungs as the door slammed flat beside her.
For a moment, the world stilled.
Then Murdoc let out a sharp, frustrated breath, dragging a hand down his face as he straightened. “That was going fine,” he said, his voice caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “That was actually going fine until you—what, decided to let go?”
Alice pushed herself up onto her elbows, glaring at him through a strand of hair that had fallen loose across her face. “I didn’t let go, you dropped it.”
“I did not drop it.”
“It slipped.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“It is not the same thing.”
She sat up fully, brushing dirt from her jeans and then her jacket with quick, efficient movements. “It is when it lands on me.”
Murdoc opened his mouth to argue again, then stopped, something in her expression catching him just enough to break the rhythm of the exchange. A second passed, and then, despite himself, a short, rough laugh slipped out.
“Yeah, alright,” he muttered, shaking his head as he stepped forward and offered her a hand. “Up you get.”
Alice hesitated only briefly before taking it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. The motion was smooth, practiced in a way that neither of them acknowledged out loud, the kind of ease that came not from effort but from repetition. She steadied herself, adjusting her jacket as she rolled her shoulder once, testing for soreness.
“If that happens again,” she said, her tone returning to something lighter, “I’m charging you.”
“With what money?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
He snorted softly. “Yeah, I’m sure you will.”
She shot him a quick look, something almost playful flickering beneath her otherwise steady expression.
The voices from next door drifted closer now, no longer abstract, but distinct enough to carry meaning.
“…that’s the house, right?”
“…yeah, that’s him…”
“…I heard they just left. Packed up and gone…”
Alice’s attention shifted almost imperceptibly toward the sound, her gaze flicking briefly to the side. Murdoc followed a moment later, slower, his expression tightening just slightly as he caught the tail end of the conversation.
“…after everything that came out…”
“…well, I don’t blame them…”
“…still, though—”
Murdoc clicked his tongue under his breath, sharp and dismissive, as he bent to grab the door again. “Nosy,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Whole street’s got nothing better to do.”
Alice watched the neighbors for a second longer before stepping forward to help him lift the door back into place. “They’re curious,” she said, her tone neutral. “It’s new.”
“It’s none of their business.”
“That’s never stopped anyone.”
He huffed in agreement, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t entirely ease. “Let them talk,” he said after a moment. “Doesn’t change anything.”
Alice adjusted her grip on the door, steadying it as he repositioned himself near the hinge. “No,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t.”
Marilyn and Conrad had been gone for months now, their absence settling into the neighborhood as quietly as their presence had once dominated it. They hadn’t left in a single moment, hadn’t drawn attention to their departure with any kind of announcement or finality. Instead, they had faded out of the rhythm of the street piece by piece—fewer appearances, longer stretches of silence, curtains drawn more often than not. The whispers had started before they were gone, soft at first, then louder, then impossible to ignore. By the time the house had finally gone dark for good, there had been nothing left to say that hadn’t already been said.
Alice didn’t dwell on it. Not outwardly.
But she noticed the way people spoke now, the way their voices shifted when they thought no one important was listening. She noticed patterns, repetitions, the small details that revealed more than the words themselves ever could.
“Your angle’s off again,” she said after a moment, her attention returning fully to the task at hand.
“It is not.”
“It is.”
Murdoc adjusted it anyway.
“Better,” she said.
“Don’t get used to being right.”
“I am used to it.”
He let out a quiet breath, something almost like amusement slipping through before he shook it off. “On three,” he said again, his tone steadier now.
Alice nodded, tightening her grip.
“One.”
The breeze moved through again, warmer this time, carrying with it the distant sound of laughter from somewhere further down the block. A car passed slowly, tires humming against the pavement, and somewhere above them, a bird called out sharply before settling back into the soft background noise of the morning.
“Two.”
Alice’s fingers shifted slightly, adjusting for balance before the movement even became necessary.
“Three.”
This time, the hinge slid into place cleanly.
No resistance.
No slip.
Murdoc paused, as if waiting for something to go wrong, then carefully drove the screw into place, tightening it with measured precision. He tested it once, twice, applying pressure to ensure it would hold.
It did.
He leaned back slightly, eyeing it with cautious satisfaction. “There,” he said, a note of quiet pride threading through his voice. “Told you.”
Alice pushed the door lightly.
It held.
She pushed it harder.
Still steady.
A faint, almost impressed sound slipped from her. “Huh.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Maybe a little.”
He smirked faintly, wiping his hands against his jeans as he stood. “Yeah, well. It’s fixed now.”
From inside the house, the low hum of a radio filtered out through the open doorway, static weaving through the music in a way that made it feel older than it was. The sound filled the space behind them, settling into the corners of the house like something that had always belonged there.
Alice stepped back slightly, brushing her hands off against her jacket as her gaze drifted—briefly, subtly—toward the street again.
Watching.
Not idly.
Not passively.
Just… aware.
Murdoc noticed that. He didn’t say anything about it right away, but his eyes lingered on her for a second longer than necessary before he turned back to the door, opening it fully and then closing it again to test the movement.
It swung easily.
No resistance.
No catching.
Just smooth, quiet motion.
“…Alright,” he muttered. “That’ll do.”
Alice nodded once, though her attention had already begun to shift elsewhere.
“Baugh’s coming by later,” Murdoc said after a moment, like the thought had just occurred to him.
Alice didn’t look surprised. “He usually does around this time of week.”
Murdoc paused, glancing at her. “Yeah. Right.”
A brief silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but not entirely empty either.
“I’m filing for full custody,” he said then, more directly this time.
The words didn’t land like a shock.
They didn’t disrupt the moment or break the rhythm of the morning.
They simply settled into it, becoming part of the space between them.
Alice’s posture didn’t change. Her expression remained steady, her gaze calm as she looked at him.
“I figured,” she said.
Murdoc frowned slightly. “You figured?”
“You’ve been getting everything in order,” she replied. “You just haven’t said it out loud yet.”
He blinked, then huffed softly. “Yeah, well. I’m saying it now.”
She nodded once, accepting that without hesitation.
“It’s not going to be easy,” he added, his tone quieter now, more grounded. “Not like last time.”
“I know.”
“They’ll push.”
“They always do.”
Murdoc studied her for a moment, something thoughtful, almost uncertain, settling behind his eyes. “You’re not worried.”
Alice tilted her head slightly. “Should I be?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
He exhaled slowly, glancing briefly toward the street before looking back at her. “There’s more at stake now,” he said. “It’s different.”
Alice held his gaze, something steady and unshaken in her expression. “I’m still here,” she said simply.
Murdoc’s expression shifted, the tension easing just slightly. “…Yeah,” he said. “You are.”
The breeze moved through again, softer now, carrying the quiet promise of warmer days to come. The door behind them stood solid in its frame, no longer hanging unevenly, no longer threatening to give way under pressure.
Alice stepped past him into the house, her shoulder brushing lightly against his as she went.
“Try not to break it,” he muttered.
She glanced back at him, the faintest hint of a smile touching her expression.
“No promises.”
Behind her, the door closed cleanly.
And this time, it held.