Chapter Text
She calls him Ripley.
It’s her way of compartmentalizing. Packing away all her love and grief and sadness and affection into a cardboard box. Closing it with extra strong archiving tape. Then packing it again in paper. Not the Christmas or Birthday type, with a festive bow on top of it - there is no surprise hiding inside it, waiting to be opened with excitement. In the thick, brown, mailing paper type, so that the box can’t be easily opened, so that you have to rip the paper off before opening, so that you have to think about whether it’s worth it to open it and then have to go through the packing process again.
She calls him Ripley.
Because if she does, she can pretend she’s talking about the Fire Chief. Their former boss. Their former leader. A man who effortlessly commanded large scenes, not letting emotions take over. A man who they respected and used to take orders from. A man she trusted her life with.
She calls him Ripley.
When talking to her team (not that she’s done that in a really, really long time). Even talking to Travis. She’s happy again, seemingly content and in love. Even if a bit anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She doesn’t need to unpack all the despair and emptiness again. She doesn’t need to think about how she was ripped apart over and over again. She doesn’t need to think about what she missed out on with him.
She calls him Ripley.
She takes the box, and buries it deep, deep down. Sometimes, she even forgets it’s there. Like the Christmas decorations, hidden at the far end of the attic. You know they are there, but consciously seek them out only once a year. She avoids it, so that she can feel happy again. So that she can move on, her heart patched up with so many stitches she lost count. So that she can avoid the tears streaming down her face, whenever she calls him Lucas.