Mrs. Van den Haag, Bound in Holy Matrimony

His idea, particularly when it came to their relationship, of what was right and wrong was so twisted, that he would have been almost thrilled to know that she thought that she herself was the problem. In a sense, he believed the same, but worshipped her too much to blame her for it. Not outright, anyways.

...Unless she was threatening to leave. Then he did.

On the way back to the car, he made all the necessary calls to have her stuff moved, sounded exhilarated the entire time. After helping to load the children and strollers in, he made a point of going to the driver's side--if there was one thing about her that he'd been thoroughly disillusioned about, it was her driving. It was while he was adjusting the seat from the outside (he couldn't even fit inside when it was set to accommodate her height) that she began to cry.

Looking dismayed, he struggled to get the seat quickly rolled back so that he could get in and close the door. Taking her face gently, he wiped away whatever residual tears she'd missed, and kissed her forehead, murmuring to her, "It's okay, we'll get through this... Every relationship has ups and downs..." As if he forgave her and as if he would know. As if he were totally fine with their relationship having downs.

Backing out and away from the parking lot--the sooner he got her home, the better--he drove them carefully back to their veritable mansion. As he pulled them into the driveway, he encouraged the kids through the rearview mirror, "We're home!" A chorus of happy gurgling shrieks and, "Home!" agreed with him.

Let the children reiterate it: this was their home, and she had no right to leave it.

"Ups and Downs"... she'd never heard that from him before. She supposed it was true, but there hadn't been a full cycle yet. It was straight up for a while, a long time, and then suddenly a plunge into the dark. Maybe it was that they just didn't know how to handle it, and now he was claiming he knew all about it?

She watched the neighborhoods get better and better as the car sped on, until there was only one house per multi-acre estate. The perfect place to be married, the perfect place to raise children, or so she'd always been told. Well, she did love living there. She helped unload the children back into their strollers and into the house, which must have been completely empty without the constant giggling and shrieking. But for that, she was in no mood. Luckily, they had lost the same amount of sleep that she had over the week, so it was easy to get the three boys to their room, and the two girls in theirs.

The newest baby, however, started screaming every time she was away (an accomplishment and a good sign, for an Indonesian mother--), so she kept him in her arms. Finding Niels again, she smiled slightly. "I think I feel much better now..." But she was exhausted. "I'm going to go lay down," and most likely not sleep, but dwell on those thoughts she still couldn't reconcile. "I..." She was so used to saying 'I love you'. "I did miss being home."

So she found her way to their bedroom, which was nearly the size of her entire former apartment. Putting the infant down on one of the pillows, she joined him before he could start protesting, and drew him close, kissing his small brown curls. His hand wrapped tightly around her finger and he stared at her with all the reverence of a believer looking at the divine. "You look just like your Pappje..." He smiled at her words.

She turned on her back and took in the room for the first time in a while, suddenly finding the large, ancient portrait of herself, from early in their marriage that was sitting above her dresser as if it was a stranger. Unsure whether to feel nostalgic or slightly sickened at the changes she'd gone through, she decided to ignore it, and tickled the infant's stomach to fill the room with happy shrieks instead of the static silence between the two Citras.

He helped her with getting the children in and tucked away, and putting the groceries away, suddenly seeming to have gained back all the energy that had deserted him in the past weeks in one fell swoop. It delighted him to see them take back so quickly to their rooms--and who could blame them? He'd never lived in an apartment, but he could imagine. Beyond his need to just have her around all the time, he was genuinely concerned that one apartment was no place to raise so many children, and especially not alone. The more rational side of him worried that the cramped quarters and lack of available adult presence would take a toll on all of them, physically and psychologically.

And it seemed he was right, when she told him she wanted to lie down--not that that in itself was strange. She was fond of naps, but the way she said it...she looked tired. Smiling lovingly at her, he nodded, "I'll wait downstairs for the movers." Who would never be needed again after this. She was never going to miss not being home ever again--he'd see to that.

After the door had shut and he had listened to it for a moment to make sure she was actually lying down (he didn't know what else she could be doing, but the paranoia of not having her securely home hadn't quite worn off yet), smiling to himself when she talked to the baby, he went downstairs and waited for her life to be brought back where it belonged. With him.

Apparently falling asleep with one's baby was not a safe thing to do-- but she wasn't about to let society tell her what to do with her children. Besides, she slept like a rock, motionless. Full glasses of liquid could be placed around her and not be shaken one bit.

She woke up, finally to the sound of the moving truck leaving the driveway, remembering she was no longer in the uncomfortably cramped apartment. The infant was still fast asleep next to her (and had possibly inherited her stone-sleep), so she didn't have to worry about keeping him entertained. She took him to the room he shared with their two girls, wrapped him up tightly and tucked him into his crib. They were all too tired to notice they were without their safety blankets and toys, things that were all left in the apartment. If only she had stopped to think for a moment she would realize she used to be a princess, sought after by nearly every European power (she'd only ever seen Niels, that British man, and someone Portuguese... but Niels had told her this was so)... and now she feared not getting her children's toys to them in time.

She made her way back down to the foyer, where various boxes were sitting. One for clothing (she was a little shaken at the idea that some stranger had gone through her dresser), another for toiletries, children's clothing, tiny shoes, bedding, and, "Ah--" Toys, blankets, pacifiers, dolls. She slid it across the floor to the bottom of the steps to take up later. With that done, she sat in front of her box of clothes, going through it to make sure nothing was missing. It was a bit depressing, going through it, because when she'd left she'd taken everything, not intending to come back. And really, all of that everything came from him. If she'd felt down on herself before, she was more than that, now-- he didn't even have to try. She felt absolutely terrible; it was hard not to cry again. She hadn't even apologized.

"Niels...?"

Niels, having overseen the hired help moving the boxes back in, was using the free time to do work. Some things just never changed. Even at home, he only took off his jacket and tie after work, and went about the house in his shirt and slacks. Because there was really no such thing as "after work", there was just work he did at work and work he did at home. Of course, he made time for Citra and the kids, but he might as well have worn two rings on his finger: one for her and one for his job.

He'd been transferring paperwork between home offices (he had and needed more than one) when she called for him. Arms full of papers, he stuck his head out of a doorway, "Just a moment, liefje!"

After dumping the legal work unceremoniously in a stack on his desk, he rushed over and lifted her in the air, spinning her around once before setting her down, grinning like a boy in love. Like he always used to, when they'd first been married. Minus the kiss at the end--he wasn't sure if she was ready for intimacy again yet.

"I guess we'll need to unpack everything soon," he looked to the boxes, before smiling again at her, "The house was so empty without you..."

When she was young, she would have burst into laughter before kissing him for as long as she could. This time, he had caught her by surprise, but all she could manage was a small laugh-- although she saw a bit of how he used to be (or was it that she was the one that had only changed?) in the way he smiled at her.

"I can... I mean... I'll do it, you don't have to..." There were almost too many boxes. Most weren't even emptied while she'd lived in the apartment. "And I never said..." Her voice became quiet as she was surrounded by all the evidence that she had tried to leave for good a man who loved her without condition (mostly). And failed. "I never said how bad i feel about all this... I'm really sorry..."

Then, she tried to smile-- it didn't reach his level of brilliance, but it was convincing. "I don't want this to happen again, and I can't make sure of that, alone... So I hope that you'll try to change with me."

She looked up the stairs, and remembered something else she wanted to talk to him about. "And... something else needs to change too-- That picture of me in our bedroom... I don't want it there anymore. That's not me, anymore... and I want you to try and love me, and not her..." Of course, if he wanted to leave her because of that (if he even understood what she meant), he could always leave her for some other petulant sixteen-year-old. Which probably wasn't legal anymore... but if anyone would know that, it was him. "I don't want it in the house, either... it doesn't matter what you do with it, I just don't want it around." As if to sort-of sweeten the deal, she wrapped her arms around his chest, and stood on her toes to kiss him. If only their marriage was all intimacy, no emotion-- that would be so much easier. "What do you think...?"