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She watches, because it's all she has left to do.

She watches her son as he falls apart, just as she expected, and her heart is breaking. She reaches out to him, now, whispers her love, her apologies, her praise. It's easier to say it when he can't hear. Easier now that she's had time and distance to realize how terrible she was at ever telling him. She watches him hurting, and all she wants is to go back in time, for him to be her baby again, and this time, she would do it right. She would walk away from Gordon before he ever had the chance to lay a hand on him, and she would tell him every day that his mother loves him, is proud of him, will take care of him.

But she can't turn back time; she can only watch it go forward.

Arthur has never been a slow healer; he's always bounced back, from everything, but she can't say she's surprised he didn't bounce back so quickly from this. They are all each other has. They've built their small family around them to make up for the blood relatives that couldn't care less -- a handful of friends for Arthur, less than you would think, if you're only counting true friendship, the people you would want around you when your life falls apart; even fewer for her. But in the end, they always counted on each other.

She never thought about how that would leave him, when she was gone.

But slowly, surely, he does start to heal.

He starts seeing friends again. He goes to visit hers, to thank them for the meals, for checking in on him, when he could barely leave the house. He goes back to the airfield, and when the plane takes off, his smile is as bright as it ever was.

Carolyn watches, and her heart is still breaking, as her son starts to smile as much as ever, starts to laugh as loud as he used to. She watches him learning to run MJN (with careful guidance and more-than-occasional help from Martin and Douglas, but learning all the same, learning to run it as well as she ever did). She watches him make more friends, watches him meet the woman of his dreams, even finds herself fidgeting nervously along with him the night he proposes. She watches on the day he sees his father and greets him as an equal, and there's joy and pride for Arthur and burning hatred for Gordon when he finally looks at his son like he's worth something. She watches the day Arthur buys his second aeroplane, laughs her way through the impromptu 'we're finally an airline' party the first trip out on it becomes.

She watches as he visits her grave, every other week, without fail; listens as he tells her about all the things she's watched, about how brilliant life is, how much more brilliant it would be if she was there. She watches the first time he brings her granddaughter to her grave, a tiny bundle that fits in one arm; the first time he brings her up in GERTI. She watches him slowly turn MJN into a proper airline, multiple planes and all, and she watches the way his smile turns sad at the corners when they ask about the picture of her he keeps in his office.

She watches him move on. And she wonders if it's time for her to do the same, sometimes.

And then Arthur will do something brilliant, and she'll settle down to watch instead.