Avos'

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

"EVENTUALLY, WE NEED TO FORGET THE PAST AND LOOK TOWARD THE FUTURE."

Tommy can't stop replaying those words in his head. He's making a conscious effort, biting the inside of his check, clenching his jaw, all to make those powerfully insignificant words go away. Despite his best attempts, he's failed.

It's all he can hear as he drives himself, Oksana, and Charlie home. It's all he can think about as he opens the door for her, trying to take Charlie from her arms, but his son relents.

Once they're inside, Tommy immediately wants to head to bed, maybe try to get a drink first, do anything possible to erase the very dark thoughts threatening to burst free. He doesn't want to look at Oksana, not out of revolution, but he doesn't think he can handle it at the moment.

He just needs silence. He needs a second. He needs to breathe.

After that, when he's composed and himself again, he'll head to bed with her like he always does.

Nothing needs to change.

"Tommy."

He stops in his tracks, already halfway to the office door before Oksana stops him. He turns slowly, eyebrows raised as she stands awkwardly in the foyer, trying to balance a sleeping Charlie on her hip.

"Yes?"

"Are you going to be up soon?"

"In a bit."

"Okay."

He furrows his eyebrows at her tone. She seems intensely nervous, biting her bottom lip, and he doesn't understand why there's a pink flush on her cheeks.

"I am just going to put him to bed," she says quickly, too quickly, avoiding eye contact with Tommy as best as she can. "I am going to put him to bed, and then I will join you?"

Immediately, his intrigue peaks. He might be torn and restless but that doesn't mean he's devoid of concern for her. "Everything alright?"

"Yes, yes," she mumbles, once again struggling to get a good grip on Charlie. "It is nothing. I will be right down in a second."

He nods numbly, turning once more as she ascends the stairs. He's almost out of earshot, so close to the gin he can almost taste it, but once again he freezes.

"Oksam?"

"Sleep, little dove. You have had a long day."

He knows he should head straight to his office but something tugs at him to remain motionless, his hand on the knob at the sound of affection in Oksana's voice. It eases some of the tension in his chest, and he lets himself a breath. It's an easy breath, carefree, and he can almost forgive himself for letting Polly get him so worked up.

That is until-

"Okay. Good night, mummy."

Suddenly, all thoughts of peace and happiness and fucking giddiness disappear. All with one little word.

Mummy.

Charlie needs a mum, after all.

He feels like he can't breathe. He can't fucking breathe. The air is ripped out of him or- more aptly put- knocked out of him as if he's been hit in the chest by a horse. He scrambles into his office, too uncoordinated, bumping into every surface as he races toward the gin.

His skin is prickling like tiny needles being shoved in his skin, up to his nose, into his eyes.

It's been ages since he's had a panic attack, ages since he felt like he could die simply from overthinking and over-worrying and drowning himself in the tidal wave that suffocates him.