Chapter Text
Isabel Conklin practically poures her tired body recklessly into the wooden chair. She winces as it creaks ominously on the uneven cobblestones in front of a beautiful Parisian café. She should probably be more careful, it looks handmade.
She looks mournfully at the café that she can't even bring herself to properly appreciate because there are no soft golden curls tickling her cheek, or a tanned and muscled arm wrapped around her shoulders. There is no beautiful sunshine man, her beloved companion sat next to her. She should be listening to the sound of his bright laughter, staring at the sight of him with a foam mustache that should be leftover from this admittedly delicious latte she can't bear to finish because he always finishes it for her.
Isabel Conklin is in Paris, France. A place she never really thought she'd ever be. But all she can think is who cares about the city of love when there's no Jeremiah Fisher sitting beside her.
Pulling out her phone, she stares at her background. Her favorite picture of them, they're both so happy. Before expectations and familial judgment. When they were without all the well meaning advice and downright sabotage.
She opens a frequented album and scrolls through the various memories. They are always smiling, if not from their mouths than definitely from their eyes. His eyes are so gorgeous when he smiles.
So many photos through the years, a clear story of her messy but beautiful love. They may not have always been on the same page, but they've always been in the same chapter. Always writing the same book.
Not a fairytale like the one she was told all her life from a well meaning, but truthfully unfair mother figure. Where she thought extreme lows were acceptable because they were followed by dizzying highs. Love bombing with grand gestures and epic speeches, but no substance, no real change or growth. The same endless cycle, but she's expected to swoon over it all anyway because it's coming from dreamy eyes and prince charming hair.
No, they've been writing an entirely different story. One with laughter and long conversations about shared hopes and dreams. Moments of miscommunication, but never of disrespect. Compromise, but never at the expense of the other. No one is the martyr. No one on a pedestal. Just a true, passionate partnership. Neither of them are perfect but so painfully real. The connection between them is a love meant to weather any storm, to survive the truest test of time.
As Isabel Conklin sits in front of the Parisian Café, she can't bring herself to regret leaving Cousins. She doesn't even necessarily regret not fighting harder for her almost wedding.
If she's being honest with herself, it wasn't ever really their wedding. Nothing about it represented who they are and the connection they have. No one ever asked if they were comfortable with the decisions being made. If it matched the ceremony either of them had pictured.
Not the beautiful fantasy of a wedding on their beach, with the salty sea air curling Jeremiah's hair even more than it already is, just begging for her hands to bury themselves into it. There were no lovingly chosen seashells bearing witness as they dig their bare feet into the soft sand and promise themselves to one another.
Belly doesn't regret leaving, but she does regret not bringing Jeremiah Fisher with her.
She knows she'll regret it for the rest of her life if she doesn't at least try to reclaim what she's dangerously close to letting slip through her fingers. But the look in his eyes, the way he kissed the palm of her hand like it was the last time he'd ever feel her skin against his lips. It's almost impossible to imagine walking it back. He's the one that left first but she pretty much opened the door for him.
She still has to try. She loves him. Belly's in love with him and the distance between them is unbearable.
With shaking hands and a terrified heart, she presses call and holds the sun warmed screen to her cheek, listening and hoping he answers.
"Belly?" Her shoulders sink in relief.
Jeremiah always answers.
Easily, like slipping on her favorite sweater, they fall back into familiar banter and her heart soars, they laugh together, fragile and shaky, though the false peace lasts only for a too fleeting moment. Like a bubble popping, he quickly brings her back down to earth.
"What is this?" His voice empty and hopeful and heartbroken all at the same time. Like he fears her answer, needs to hear it, but is still–somehow–holding out hope for a different ending.
The conversation gets away from them. Emotion taking the wheel and words failing them. She wishes she had rehearsed beforehand. Jeremiah's pain is too raw, too aching for her to think clearly. He speaks too quickly for her to figure out a way to say what she means. He's going to ask her to come back and more than anything she'll want to give in just to lessen her beautiful boy's sadness.
But she can't. Can't give him what he'll ask for. She's lost so many pieces of herself to people and a place that only wants to take more.
Cousins, Finch, her mom's house. None of them are home anymore. Paris may not be home either, but she can hear it calling her name. The anonymity, the freedom too good to ignore. Something in her, everything in her, is screaming that she has to be here, the next stage of her life is about to begin. Except for one thing.
But does she dare?
"Look, you were wrong." She begins, probably not the strongest start, but she's never been known to do things right the first time around.
"When you said I was just marrying you to erase Conrad. When you implied that just because I have a past means my heart can't belong to you. That's not true and it's not fair. Conrad is family, which means a part of me was literally raised to love him. I didn't even really fall in love with him, because I was always just told I was in love with him."
His pained voice cuts in. "I don't want to hear about Conr–"
She cuts him off right back. "Wait, just– please, I promise there's a point to this. You said your piece, now it's my turn to say mine. Okay?" She keeps her voice stern, but patient.
It's quiet for a moment before he gently clears his throat, calm and accepting. "Okay, you're right. Go ahead."
Belly takes a deep breath, centering herself. “You said I can't even say his name without getting a look on my face.” Belly brings up; the statement having gotten under her skin.
“Because you can't!” He cries out, “All I've ever wanted was for you to look at me like that. Like I'm all you've ever wanted.” He says tearfully, brokenly.
Belly closes her eyes and shakes her head. He doesn't understand. But how could he when she barely does herself.
“That look isn't what you think it is.” Belly insists. “But even if it were, you don't get to punish me for it. Conrad is complicated for me, he will always be complicated. But whatever look you're seeing on my face when I hear his name, it's nothing compared to when I hear yours.”
Belly hears him exhale loudly, she doesn't think it's in annoyance, but in disbelief. He doesn't argue with it, but she knows he doesn't truly believe it. She feels for him, she really does, but there comes a point where you have to stop listening to what other people think of you and instead decide who you are. He has to choose to believe he's worthy of being loved by her.
“I love you more than words can say. I only want a future with you. But I don't want to have to keep saying that. Not like that, not the way you keep asking me to. Not like it's something that needs to be proven.” She hesitates, the words almost too honest, but they feel necessary. “I don't want to keep having to convince you that you're the one I'm in love with. It's disrespectful and it hurts me.”
“Belly–” Jeremiah gasps out, shocked. Truthfully, she's shocked, too. She's always been afraid to tell people how they've hurt her, especially when they don't see it.
“It causes me actual pain, Jeremiah. Please stop doing that to me.” Belly asks and demands all at the same time.
She swallows thickly and looks around self consciously. A couple of people glance at her, but she forces herself to ignore it. This is more important than social etiquette. “You asked me to look you in the eyes and tell you I didn't love him. I can't do that.” Belly says firmly. She forces herself to be unapologetic about it. “I can probably never do that. And it isn't fair for you to ask it of me. I love everyone I've ever loved. Romantically, platonically, even people I don't talk to anymore and probably never will again. It doesn't matter. Once I love someone, I always love them. But that does not mean I want to fuck all of them,” She spits out harshly, wincing when she hears someone gasp off to the side, “–or spend my life with all of them. There is only one person I want. One person I choose. And that person is you. It's been you for four years, it'll keep being you, but none of that matters if you keep on competing with your brother.”
Belly can practically hear him become defensive, can picture his shoulders and chest puffing up. “I'm not–”
“You are.” Belly allows herself to insist. He insisted before, he insisted on so many things and she hated all of it. It led to them separating. He has lost his insisting privileges. “You said, 'I came back. I always come back. Conrad's the one who leaves.' You said that, Jere.” She accuses softly.
She clenches her jaw and continues. “I know you're trying to prove you're nothing like him, but you haven't realized that you're different from him–actually act better than him–when you stop trying and just let yourself be. I know that you always come back. But what I need from you is for you to stop walking out to begin with. I want you to stay and fight with me, Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah is quiet for a tense minute. When he speaks she can tell he's crying. “I feel so desperate, I feel empty and lost without you. I want to take back everything I said. But a part of me also feels like I never want to see you again.”
Belly recoils, her mouth drops before her lips twist in a poorly suppressed sob. The words wound. They're ugly and painful and even a little petty, but they also sound like they hurt him even more to say.
Before she can even think of a response, he continues, “But I know that's just because if I see you again I'll never be able to let you go. I'll get on my knees and beg for any scrap of love you're willing to give me.”
Belly takes a shaky breath, pressing her hand to her mouth. "That's what I mean, Jere. You're not getting scraps. My love isn't in bits and pieces just because I didn't love you first. The only thing that should matter is I intend to love you last.”
He chokes out a sob, “Oh, fuck. You don't– That's not…”
Belly blows out air between her lips and sniffles. “Okay. Look, when I think of love, when I think of my future–of happiness, children, of my hopes and dreams. Jeremiah, I think of you. Only you. It's been that way for four years now, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. I don't want it to change anytime soon."
Belly suddenly has too much energy for sitting, she stands forcefully, the chair scrapes obnoxiously as it's pushed back. She garners weird looks from the locals as she grows impassioned. They must hate her.
Nevertheless, she persists.
"I want to be with you, Jeremiah. There is no doubt in my mind. No hesitation in my heart. I'm not unsure. I'm not longing for something else. I know what I want. But you need to respect that when I say I choose you, that means I choose you. My choices are my own, and you don't get to say I don't love you the way you love me just because I've loved someone else before."
Belly can hear him about to interrupt again, likely to disagree but she's on a roll now. She's found her point and she is damn well going to make it.
"I'll admit that for a little while there, it was like I was sixteen again–lost–hearing Susannah's voice in my head saying I'm meant for Conrad. And I'm not gonna lie, it messed me up. I think it messed me up a long time ago and just kept getting worse as I got older and she kept pushing us together. But I know now that there is a difference between what I'm feeling and what I'm supposed to be feeling."
Her voice grows quiet, guilt bubbling up when she invokes Susannah's name, but just because she's gone, doesn't mean she was perfect. Doesn't mean she didn't do damage. She can't rewrite history to spare feelings.
"Well... What are you feeling, Belly?" His deep voice rasps out, from his tears and the depth of his emotions, but it gives her goosebumps from so many miles away.
He's not there to see, but she smiles. This part is easy. She just needs to keep being honest.
"I'm in love with you, Jeremiah Fisher. That's what I'm feeling. Can you respect me enough to believe me when I say that the only one who owns my heart is you?"
She can hear his shaking breaths get louder and she can picture so clearly his tearful eyes and scrunched up face. It nearly destroys her, not being able to take him into her arms and make it better.
"I want to, I miss you so much I can hardly breathe. I hear what you're saying. But I'm just so..." His voice breaks off.
"So what, baby?" Belly asks gently, her heart suddenly overflowing with so much love for him.
"Insecure!" He practically roars through the phone, a sob ripping itself from his chest. She flinches at the pain she can hear beneath the word, knowing what it cost him to admit. "I'm insecure and I fucking hate it, Bells. I hate it. But everywhere I go, there he is! The better Fisher."
"Oh, Jere." She breathes out, finally feeling like she's broken through. He's finally let her in.
“That letter, from my mom. How it was addressed to Conrad. I know it was probably an accident. I know how hard things were for her at the end. But to know that even at the end, I'm always just an afterthought.”
“You're not an afterthought…” Belly breathes out, frustrated she can't just reach inside of him and convince him she's grown to love him in a way that's breathtaking and all consuming and that that kind of love is worth more than what anyone else has to offer her.
He continues as if he didn't hear her. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he did and the words are just too painful for him when he feels like they can never be true.
“And then to read Conrad's. To know she wanted him to remember–as if he'd ever forget–you're the only person he's ever loved. I don't even need to read mine to know she probably wants to remind me to only ever be a brother, a best friend. To step aside.”
He gasps raggedly. “When I opened that letter–when I had it in my hands, it was everything, Belly. Everything.” He's stresses, his voice pitched up and pained. “When I opened it, when my heart dropped–”
He breaks off and coughs, poorly suppressing how heartbreaking that moment must've been for him.
“I needed something from my mom. I needed words, I needed advice. I don't know what, but there was so much I was hoping she would say. I needed my mom.” His voice trembles violently and she has never wished so hard for anything in her life as she wishes he were there beside her. “But what I got… Dear, Conrad.” He spits out, but the words come out more exhausted than angry.
“He was her favorite. He's everyone's favorite.” He laughs and it's so far from being a happy sound that her stomach fills with ice and her heart drops.
“Not mine.” She reassures as much as she admits to the world. He is her favorite. The love she has for him is so special to her, so precious.
"You don't mean that." Jeremiah says mournfully.
"Hey." Belly scolds softly. "You don't get to decide for me who my favorite is, and as far as I'm concerned, you outrank everyone in my life."
He pauses for another heavy beat then breathes out a long breath, longer than seems possible. "You really mean that?" He then asks, his defenses suddenly all down, sounding so much like the little kid yearning for affection and approval that she knows is still inside him. For some reason people hate that kid, that fragile and wanting side of him, but it's always only ever made her want to wrap him up into her arms and cherish him. He's the one that holds, but she's the only one that knows how much he needs to be held, too.
"Yes." Belly says emphatically, relief rushing through her. Every word, every sentence all have the ability to either make or break them. They're too raw, too tender. The connection between them is so bright and pure, but frayed and threatening to snap.
"I love our families, but so much of the problem is them, Jeremiah. We made all of this about them when it should've been about us." Belly brings up. “I know we sucked at communication. We kept things from each other. But fuck, they made it so suffocating, so hard for us to be human and stumble our way through a relationship the same way everyone else does when they're young and in love and moderately stupid.”
Jeremiah chuckles tiredly, "You know what, I can actually see it now. I couldn't before, but now I can. I just thought–if we gave in, if we gave them everything they wanted, maybe then they'd approve of me for you. Maybe then they would all think I was worthy of being your husband. Instead I guess I was really just starting to become my dad. Absent and immature." He admits regretfully.
"Hey, now, I wouldn't go that far." She quips gently, smiling when she hears him laugh. “You're not your dad, Jere. You're so good, there's no one better for me.”
"Can we try again, then? Just us, without everyone's opinions and with more communication?" He asks hopefully, fearfully, she can practically feel his hands shake.
Belly's tentative smile drops, but she's come this far and won't stop now.
"I don't want to go back." Belly confesses, sure she's able to hear his heart drop. She knows this is one of the worst things she could possibly tell him.
"I can't go back. Every time I'm around both our families, whenever I'm back there I lose myself. And I don't want to do that anymore." She admits painfully, but adamantly. She won't budge on this.
"I'll remind you who you are!" Jeremiah bursts out, frantic. As if he's suddenly aware of how close they are to breaking apart completely. An argument, a tearful and high pressure conversation is never as final as the conversation that comes after. That's the one that truly decides.
A tear follows the curve of her cheek and she does nothing to wipe it off.
"This wedding should have been a beautiful, exciting experience. But instead it was a battleground being fought on all sides. It was for your dad and his image. It was for his girlfriend–someone who should've had no business taking charge of something so important to us. And my mom–” She scoffs bitterly. “it was like we purposely did it to spite her. She acted like it was the worst thing to ever happen to her.”
“Everything was about everyone else and we were supposed to be grateful for it, we were supposed to say thank you. I'm so angry about all of it." She seethes then calms herself. “I don't want to be there. Not anymore.”
They both let that sink in. She listens to the sound of his breathing, tries to memorize it in case she doesn't get to hear it again and wonders if he's doing the same.
When he speaks it's so quiet she almost wonders if he spoke at all. “But if I'm here and you're there… where does that leave us?" He asks with barely repressed panic and anxiety.
Belly shakes her head and wonders how confused he might be by her. She confuses herself. She wishes she had better words. She wishes she made more sense. But this is what she has. She has to ask for what she wants or she might never get the chance to again.
"I guess what I'm trying to say–if you can believe it…” Belly stops and breathes in slowly, she doesn't hear Jeremiah breathe at all. “Would it be too much if I were to ask you to come to Paris?" She asks. Each word spoken with meaning, finally saying what she hasn't been able to get out of her head since she got here.
The line is dead quiet for a few terrifying moments before his incredulous voice comes through.
"Come to Paris?" He asks, more shocked than she's ever heard him.
"Yes." Belly says simply, knowing it's far from it. But it's the only answer she has. He asked why she said yes when he proposed, despite the problems in their relationship, but the truth is she just always wants to say yes to him. It's always a yes when it comes to him.
"Just come to me, baby.” She finally allows herself to plead. She wants him back. Please let him come back to her. “I know it's too much, I know I shouldn't ask, but I'm asking anyway because even though I need to be here right now, it doesn't mean I don't also need to be with you.”
He doesn't say anything. She can hear him breathing but it sounds too fast and unsteady.
“I don't want to be Belly Conklin, Steven's little sister, Conrad's ex that he can't let go of. I don't want you to feel like the younger, less loved Fisher. I want us to grow–freely. To just be Isabel and Jeremiah. Young, in love, and not giving a shit what anyone has to say about it. Let's be us and see if we can build a life here. Can we just see what happens?" Belly feels like the main character of a movie, making one last ditch effort to keep her love. She's never wanted anything more than this. She doesn't know what she'll do if he turns her down.
There's no response from his end, just concerningly fast breathing, before she hears a series of notifications coming from his side of the line. Rapid dings and vibrations.
"Jere? Was that– I'll understand if it's too much. You can just tell me to fuck off–" Please don't tell her to fuck off.
"My flight gets in tomorrow at 7pm." Jeremiah Fisher says confidently, vibrantly. The sudden sound of manic rummaging and zippers being zipped and unzipped filter through the line.
Or maybe it's happening inside her head, because he can't possibly mean…
"What?" Belly mumbles out, wondering if she's dreaming.
Jeremiah sounds chipper now, joy animating his previously morose voice.
"Yeah, I started looking up tickets as soon as you asked if it would be too much." He confesses absently, something drops on his side and he curses softly.
Tears run down her face, it can't be this easy. "You mean..." Belly can't even get the question out. Too afraid it's not real. Terrified he'll take it back.
"Nothing will ever be too much if it leads me to you, Bells." Jeremiah says warmly, stealing her breath away.
"I don't care what anyone says, you're my everything. I'm my happiest when I'm with you, so it's really in my best interest to just follow you wherever you go."
Belly shakes her head in disbelief. She can't believe this boy. Dazed, she mutters, "Where I go you go, huh?"
Belly hears him hum. She's never heard a more beautiful sound.
"Yeah, where you go, I go." Now the sounds of drawers being shut, hangers starting to clink together, dragging against wood fills the line. “I know we have things we need to work on, but I have never regretted anything as much as I regret letting go of your hand.”
"What about your job?" Belly forces herself to ask, despite not wanting to question it. The moment she accepts it, lets it truly sink in, she'll never be able to let go of that dream. "I know how hard you worked for the opportunity..."
He sighs heavily, "Honestly, I fucking hated that job. I just thought if I became a fancy business man, maybe you'd be proud to be with me."
The confession isn't surprising, but it makes her sad to know a part of him thinks she would ever care about something so shallow. She'd love him if he were a plumber or a garbage man. "I'm always proud to be with you, Jere. I just want you to be proud of you, too."
"Well, I wasn't proud I was turning into my dad, that's for sure. If you say you're proud to be with me, super senior, head a little bit in the clouds, then, well, I'm choosing to believe you. Fuck the job."
Belly laughs, relieved he is finally trusting her choice and choosing her back. "Fuck the job!"
People are definitely staring now. More than a couple.
Fuck it though. Fuck the staring. Her man is coming.
Still, she has to ask one more time. To be clear. He needs to know. To be sure.
"Are you sure, Jere? I don't know when I'm coming back. We could be here for a while. A long while." She confesses, hoping he gets what she's not saying.
Jeremiah chuckles through the line, the sound of a bag zipping closed with finality on his side, before he replies.
"I'm gonna say what I should've said to you when you told me you were thinking about backing out of going abroad so you could stay with me."
"What's that?" Belly asks when he pauses, clearly waiting for her to.
"Wanna run away to Paris with me?"
Isabel Conklin practically floats back into her chair, relishing in the way it jolts back and forth on the uneven cobblestone. She tilts her head back, letting the warm sun dry the tears on her face. The air is suddenly so fresh and clear. The sights around her are vibrant and beautiful.
"I thought you'd never ask." Her voice drifts lovingly through the line, traveling thousands of miles away, miles beginning to decrease as a door shuts forcefully and long legs begin to bring her sunshine man back to her side