Cal Masterson (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} cantcatchme) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} audeamus,@ 2008-01-25 09:54:00 |
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[Fairytales & Horrors]
Who: Cal & Cate.
What: Cate is upset, Cal is upset, Cal gets angry, Cate gets angry, there is much slamming of doors and just the right amount of hugging.
When: After this.
Where: Cate's Diner, downtown Vegas.
Cate handled most things easily. It was easier to laugh and make a sarcastic comment than get all worked up over something, and even most things at the diner weren't enough to phase her. Drunks came and went, guys checked out her ass when she went to get their bill, people heckled her, small children got corn in her hair. All came with the job. She hadn't been entirely expecting anyone to attempt to her into their lap via her apron strings, however. That she had not reacted very well to. The ties were grabbed two steps from the table, tugged, and off came the apron as Cate went stumbling backwards with it, and it was only a quick grab at the bench that kept her from collapsing down into the drunken idiot's legs. And his friends just laughed and laughed.
So she slapped him. Probably would have done more if Jenna hadn't seen the debacle and grabbed the manager in a split second of quick thinking. Ray came lumbering out of the office, more apologetic mass than threatening bulk, and quickly separated the two before Cate could get herself fired for assault. Jenna had hauled her into the breakroom; reports trickled in of all three drunken guys being thrown out on their ass by Ray and the cook, but Cate was already hyperventilating on one of the beaten up, broken down couches, head in her knees, journal tossed to the side. When Jenna had left to check on Cate's tables, she'd pulled it out, jotted down the first words that came to mind (admittedly not the best words)--and then Cal had answered, right away. Sometimes she wondered if he didn't have anything better to do but troll the journals. And now he was on his way here, and he was pissed, and she couldn't do anything, and--
Shit. This was just not going to end well. She tugged her hair out of its ponytail and raked her hands through it. Ugh. Ugh. Not good.
If Cate was ever going to actually ask Cal if he had anything better to do than troll the journals, now was clearly not the right time. A ballpoint pen wasn't the best tool to express rage, but most people preferred it to his fists, which he wasn't all that careful about restraining. Cal's temper, once lost, generally stayed that way until he pounded it away on something. One of these days someone might tell him that's not healthy. From a good distance away, ideally.
It wasn't long after his last bold-inked message that some raised voices could be heard from the kitchen. Apparently Cal hadn't bothered to stay on the right side of the counter (he seemed to think he owned every kitchen in existence) and whatever he was saying it wasn't complimentary. Jenna's voice interrupted, and there was a brief pause before the door got the hell out of Cal's way and he walked into the break room. Even if his footsteps weren't enough, the door slammed against the wall, rebounded, and got shoved again with his fist. Ray and the cook were hovering somewhere behind him, with Jenna chewing her lower lip.
Cal's brown eyes looked dark and empty. "Let's go."
And there he was, knight in--well, typical ratty long-sleeved shirt and jeans that had probably seen better days. Cate halfway unfolded herself from the couch, one leg coming down, the other bending under her, one arm protectively around her middle like she'd been grabbed there too, and just stared. It took several long moments for things to sink in.
"You actually fucking came?" she asked, incredulous. Perhaps not the reaction he was looking for. Ray bustled up behind him, almost matching Cal in height and girth, but seemingly much smaller in sheer presence. Jenna poked her head out from what little space was left in the doorway, made a little face in Cate's direction that the other waitress hardly noticed. It was a long, long moment before Cate was even able to see them; and then she was abruptly on her feet, crossing right past Cal and giving them all a very stern look before slamming the door in their faces. So what if she was just a waitress. Cate had clout. She could slam doors where she wanted.
She stuck against the door once she got there. Sure, it would have felt much better to go over and be picked up and folded in that bearhug thing she knew he could do, but the door seemed about the only thing holding her up just then. She had never thought getting randomly felt up would be this bad. "Christ, he's already gone, Cal. ...Hi."
Cal's hard edges caught light and glinted for a moment. "Of course I fucking came, don't ask stupid questions." He turned around as she passed him, fingers curling in. The jerks themselves weren't here (he'd checked) and Cal was not beyond the immaturity of taking the whole thing out on Ray, who in his opinion was a fucking idiot for letting assholes into his diner without breaking their arms for them. That was when the door slammed between them.
Reluctantly, Cal let the set of his shoulders lower slightly, and his fingers uncurled. He still spoke with a serrated edge, though. "Lucky him. If you hurry up I might be able to find him and break his face in." Ludicrous, yes, but he was dead serious. He was irritated at her for not helping him be angry and/or violent, but he had enough control (in this particular situation, at least) to realize it wasn't a justifiable irritation.
"Don't snap at me," she snapped, and there was a bit more hurt in her voice than she wanted to admit. She straightened her back and pushed off from the door to make up for it, toughening up and sharpening her edges in response to his. She'd just let one guy push her around; she wasn't about to let another, even if it was Cal. "And you're not finding anybody. Christ, I told you not to come. I told you you couldn't do anything." Fingers through hair again. It was getting progressively messier. "And I've still got an hour on my goddamn shift. God."
Cal was not in the mood to be told he couldn't do anything. In fact, that was exactly the wrong thing to say, because that was why he was here: he hadn't done anything. There was the thought again, coming to spell out his failures somewhere behind the jagged anger he kindled to keep it out. It was either the comment or the hurt in her voice that unhinged him long enough to defuse the angry demand that was moments from being growled at her.
Pause. "Fuck the damn shift," he said, in a tone that was not in the least argumentative--it was not a tone that asked for a reply. "I told him you're leaving, and you are."
"You don't work here, Cal, I do," she said, almost on top of him. She sounded a little weary. Sure, he could go off and call in dead or whatever; he could walk out of jobs that pissed him off. But Cate needed this. She needed the money, she needed the stability, and she wasn't about to jeopardize it by letting her small-boulder of a friend haul her out like a caveman back to the cave. "You can't just order my boss around."
"I just did," he said coldly, the air practically vibrating with restrained anger. He had to say it down to her and he was perfectly capable of taking advantage of his height without even thinking about it. His shoulders came forward and his chin came down, his attitude unmistakably threatening. She wasn't cooperating with him, and it was an automatic reaction. She wasn't okay here so she needed to go somewhere else, now. "Tables aren't even half-full, the cook's got two orders on the slide that just went out, it's slow as fucking molasses out there--" (where had he heard that phrase?) "--and you're leaving. Now."
Was he telling her what to do? After she'd just been groped? Cate could have slapped him. She did NOT need this alpha male bullshit right now, and as much as she wanted Cal there, if he was just going to throw his weight around and treat her like some kind of invalid (she had quite enough of that elsewhere, thank you), he could get right in his car and stew angrily at home, until she could get off work and give him a proper piece of her mind.
"I can't," she said firmly, jabbing his chest with one hand. "We're about to hit dinner rush, I'll get fucking fired--and for Christ's sake, he just touched my ass! I'm fine. Pissed, but seems like you're angry enough for the both of us." That's right, Cate. You use those flimsy arguments. At least they held slightly more water than his. Ray probably would let her go home if she asked; he was pretty easy like that. But goddammit, she needed the cash another hour or so would bring in, and so what if she was a little rattled? A little. So not more than a little.
Cal's rage spilled over into nothing but air. He would never lay a hand on Cate in anger, and the fact she refused to respond to his unspoken (and empty) threat left him without alternative. He spun away from her on a heel, narrowly missed the end of the couch, considered putting his fist through the wall, managed to prevent it, then spun back around to stalk toward her again. The muttering under his breath was probably just cursing, but the words 'stubborn,' 'fucking assholes,' and 'what kind of place--' could be heard.
"Fine, you want to fucking stay to make a lousy sixty bucks, then FINE." The people in the kitchen probably heard that last word. His approximation of her profit during the dinner rush in an hour was spot on; Cal knew how a diner worked, even in a blind rage. He halted in the exact middle of the room, folded his thick arms over his chest and stood there, apparently waiting for her to get back out there, if she was going to be such a stubborn ass about it.
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Or seeing, for that matter. Cate opened her mouth to rip him a new one, shut it again, opened it another time and then clamped it right back down. What the hell was he on about? If he was trying to intimidate her into going--well, he should have known better. Not even that first time at Oasis Palms had he been really able to scare her into doing anything, and since she started talking to him, Cal had lost any and all advantage that his otherwise scary visage might have had with anyone else. He was just Cal, and he was going to have to get over it.
"Hi, excuse me, what the HELL is your problem?" she hissed, giving the door behind her a glance when he shouted. She could almost see the chefs on the line pause in what they were doing to eye the break room askance. She was full of restless movement, pacing, hand gestures, but she only took a few bewildered steps forward, hands tensing up and trying to gesticulate the impotent frustration she couldn't quite voice. "You do NOT get to order me about!"
To all appearances, Cal was so angry he couldn't articulate a word. All that came to him was a jumble of anger and fear and frustration she couldn't understand any of it. He broke out of his statue act in the middle of the room, catching her as she passed with one arm and pulling her into a very rough, very brief crush of a hug. It was over almost before it began, with him letting her go and stepping back quickly. "Do whatever you want then," he growled, still seething.
He took a couple steps one way, and then another, before finally ending up half-sitting on the edge of the table set against one wall. His fingers rubbed into his closed eyes. "Jesus fuck I need a smoke." There wasn't enough anger in that comment to hide all of the fear, but by then maybe she'd get back to her damn tables and sixty bucks.
Oh.
That quieted her. The hug had knocked the wind right out of her, both by sheer force and shock factor. It was not what she had been expecting him to do. When he waffled and sat, she merely stood, wide-eyed in suprise, watching him waver from place to place. He was worried. Somewhere she'd known that--her father always got angry when he was scared, too, but she hadn't quite put it together in her own frustration with him. Worried! Over her! She couldn't decide if it was more hilarious or endearing.
The distance between herself and the table was short, and crossed in half a moment. "You just quit," she said, standing over him (just over, really; even sitting he was still a very formidable size). Cate hesitated a long moment; she wasn't even sure how to handle this, now she was here. They hadn't seen each other since he'd spent the night, and aside from gingerbread-related banter on that horrid woman's journal, they certainly hadn't spoken. Were they even acknowledging the other night? It wouldn't be the first time someone hadn't. Still. She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead, lifted his chin up and gave him a Very Stern Look--which was really more of a half-grin, caught between exasperation and amusement. She couldn't stay mad. The more she thought of fretting Cal, the more she simply wanted to start laughing. "I'm ok," she said after a moment. "Ray'll probably let me go if I ask."
"I know I did," he said, in the dull voice one uses when they're using the first response that comes to mind. He still sounded as if he'd been chewing on tarmac, but at least he wasn't ready to start yelling at her again. Again, the startled look when she touched his face. It was such a peculiar response to casual affection, and yet, when you thought about it, it could only be expected considering how damn good he was at getting everybody to stay out of reach. Especially when something scared him enough to piss him off.
His eyes, which were reassuringly brown and human, narrowed a little bit as he gave her a suspicious look. It was probably the amusement he saw coming. Cate could laugh at anything. He turned his head to take his chin back, not unkindly, and said gruffly, "No you're not." His tone was more resigned now than angry, but the frustration was making him clip the words short. "So you going to ask?" A question now, not a command.
He could give her all the suspicious looks he wanted. She shoved his forehead back gently with her thumb, a little admonishing gesture, more good-humored than anything. Before she could articulate a proper response, the door handle clicked, and Jenna popped her little blonde head in, pink face pinched up in worry she might be interrupted something. When everything looked calm enough, she poked her torso in, door only open enough for the top of her. Her eyes kept darting towards Cal, seated on the table. Cate gave her a weary smile--ok, so Cal was right; she wasn't really ok, but she was close enough to fake it. "Hey, Jen."
"Hey. How you feeling? Um. Ok, so twelve closed out their tab and I just took over fourteen--I'll split the tips when you come in for your next shift. That ok?"
Cate paused, gave Cal a look. Had he actually told Ray she was leaving? "My next shift?"
"Yeah, Ray's sending you home. Um." Another furtive glance in Cal's direction. "He figured it'd be best, since you were like, so shaken up and stuff. You're ok, right?"
Cate assured her she was, and Jenna left with another awkward look and a quick click of the door. She nicked his chin up with a little tap under his jaw. Attention, please. Her eyebrows climbed, and her lips twisted awkwardly to one side as she debated between a grin and a scowl. "You really told him."
It might have been the tap, but it was probably her tone. Cal looked back from the door (Jenna was getting a completely blank, narrow look until she went away) and bristled defensively. "I said I did, didn't I?" if Ray had any brains at all, he'd listen to Cal when he delivered ultimatums inches from his face. Inches, plural, only because Cal seemed to get bigger when he was that angry. "Don't let your employees get treated like that if you want them to stick around," he muttered, in a way that made it seem as if he was quoting someone.
He stood up, let his fingers twitch after a cigarette they couldn't have, and then made himself stand still. "Can we go now?" he asked, testily, folding his arms so that he wouldn't be tempted to haul her out immediately.
She crossed her arms right back. Her feet remained planted, though she did have to lean back slightly to meet his eyes. "You gonna be pissed and shit the whole way home? Because my car's still here, and I'll drive myself back if it means not sitting in a car when you're acting like a shit." A bit much, perhaps. But his insistence on a foul mood when her good one was already tenuous was not what she need at that moment. "I'm glad you came, Cal. Just don't be a dick."
His anger, apparently, wasn't that far below the surface. Again, it was not directed at her. "I'm be pissed as long as I fucking want," he said, grinding his teeth. "I'm not acting like anything. Nobody got thrown through the front window, and there's no paramedics outside. Give me a fucking break." Pause. Somehow he managed to look offended that she called him a dick.
Right. Amusement shot. Cate's eyebrow shot up. "I'm sorry. Who just got groped at their job?" She faltered for a second on whatever else she had been planning to say, scoffed, and stepped aside. Another step, and another, and then she was stalking over to her locker in the corner, spinning the lock and tugging her stuff out. "Go over there," she said, waving at the other side of the room as she flapped out her jeans to step into them. "If we're going, I'm changing. Christ. You are so unbelievable sometimes."
Hearing it like that made Cal want to rip something apart again with his bare hands. She wasn't all the way through her sentence before he stalked out of the breakroom. The door slammed behind him. A small shower of dust came down off the ceiling. Silence.
Oh, that asshole. Cate jumped when the door slammed, and then renewed anger helped her jump into her jeans and tug off the poodle skirt and apron like she was trying to tear them in half. The white sweater she left on; she didn't feel like dealing with buttons much at the moment; her hoodie went right over the top. Hair went back in a bun, a quick scrub with a baby wipe (kept in her purse) in her hand mirror took off the excess make-up, and then sneakers replaced flats. Hardly a minute later, and she looked far more weary than she had when Cal came in. The things a costume could do for a girl. And then, of course, there was the seething. Cate could seethe with the best of them when she wanted to, and boy, did she WANT to. She flopped onto the couch once she was changed, curling up with her head on her arm and knees to her chest, taking deep breaths and trying very hard not to want to throttle the man outside the door. Ok, he was worried. He got pissed. He should get OVER it! She was the one having to deal with this right now, and his machismo protection complex was exactly NOT what she needed on top of it.
She sat there for a good five minutes later than she really needed to. Got up once, sat back down again. How could he POSSIBLY think this was appropriate?
Cate got a minute or two of blessed peace, and then the sound of Cal's voice filtered through the door again. Another argument, no doubt, but this time not nearly loud enough to make out the words. The cadence was typical irritated Cal, and there was an occasional bang of a pot or a pan in the pauses. The breakroom was right next to the kitchen, and it sounded as if he'd got himself into more trouble.
...He hadn't. He couldn't possibly. He didn't have the gall.
As soon as the bang of pot on metal hit her ears, Cate faltered in her own angry mutterings. The second snapped her to her feet. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the break room, awkwardly bumping into Jenna on the girl's way to check up on her, apologizing while still stepping angrily by, and slamming open the doors to the kitchen. If he was so much as criticizing one of the guys on the line, she was going to tear him a new one six ways from SUNDAY.
Oh, that asshole.
Cal was standing at one of the grills with a cook. Ray was too, with his arms crossed, but amusingly he looked interested and not offended. (Sure, there was plenty of trepidation there too, but that was because no one in the diner could be entirely sure Cal wasn't going to burn the place to the ground yet.) Cal was ranting, yes, but in totally fluent Spanish, and the cook was arguing right back. A hamburger patty was sizzling between them, and they both seemed--between the cursing--to be halfway enjoying themselves. The cook was a stout man who had been behind a grill for years, and he was the one reaching past Cal for pots and banging spoons in things.
Cal broke off mid-sentence when Cate made an appearance. He had the grace to look guilty. So did Ray and the cook.
There wasn't really one word for just how Cate looked at that moment. Bemused? Yes. Bewildered? Yes. Irritated? Certainly. Her arm fell, bag hitting against her legs awkwardly, and she stared at the kitchen.
What. What.
"What are you doing," she said finally, voice completely flat. She couldn't even muster up enough utter confusion past everything else to make it into her voice. Just--what?
Cal muttered something in Spanish behind him--something Ray must have caught too, because he was nodding right along with the cook (who made himself busy immediately)--then crossed the kitchen in two or three long strides. "Talking about the grill. Come on." Without slowing, he bent and picked up Cate's arm (the one that held the bag) and ushered her out of the kitchen before she could start yelling at him further. They went out the back.
"Let GO," she snapped, as soon as they were out the door. She had the sense not to yell it where Ray was right within hearing distance--threatening or not, Ray wasn't about to let one of his girls get manhandled by some small house of a guy, no matter how much Spanish he spoke or how well he got on with the cook. She threw off Cal's arm angrily when they hit the open air, and set about furiously rearranging her hoodie and bag and hair, none of which really needed it. Who did he think he was, grabbing her like that? "What's the MATTER with you?"
Immediately, he let her go. The defenses came up again, but she had plenty of room to swing if she wanted to; it seemed as if he'd given up on the intimidation tactic. For now. "What?" He dug into a pocket for a pack, remembered he'd quit, swore, and paced one step right, then back. "Don't act like you wanted to hang around in there, why can't you stop being stupid for ten seconds?"
"Oh, fuck you." Nobody called her an idiot when she was the one who'd had the trouble thrown at her. It wasn't like she'd asked for any of that, or for Cal to come barging in, or for him to go hang out with the cooks or whatever the hell he'd been doing. "Where the fuck is your car."
Cal made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat that was pushing it without actually pursuing the argument. He gestured off into the orange Vegas dark. That way. He stepped back, even farther away from her, in a move that doubled as "after you" and "I'm not touching." Whether for her benefit or his, he didn't know.
It was not a fun car ride. Cate stormed right past him, and when she caught sight of his car, idling a little ways away, she stalked right over and waited impatiently for him to unlock it before chucking her stuff in the backseat and herself in front. She completely ignored him when he sat down and started to drive, curling up into a ball in the passenger seat and picking at the thread around the knee of her jeans. She was so angry. People were supposed to comfort you after stuff like this, and instead she just got that stupid idiot making her feel WORSE. If he said anything, she was likely to stop the car FOR him and break his jaw. She didn't care how many tries it took. She was in No Mood.
They pulled up to the apartment complex, and Cate was out of the car almost before it came to a stop. She had half a mind to just stomp into her house and lock him the hell out.
In contrast, Cal was not in a hurry. Tess would be at work for eight hours, he himself had nowhere to be, and the pulse of Cate's anger only served to calm his. It was an odd effect, and he would have had more time to ponder it if he wasn't imagining taking one long breath of air and tar and nicotine the entire way to her apartment building. She was in a hurry, and he let her be, leaving the little car locked behind them as he trailed to the stairs in her wake. He was following her, but it was obvious that he didn't have any idea if she wanted to be followed. If she slammed the door, well, then he'd know, wouldn't he?
She didn't slam it. She wanted to--oh, how she wanted to. But after fumbling with her keys for longer than she thought possible, she simply flung open the door and trudged inside without a second glance. Not exactly locking him out, though far from welcoming him in, either. The calmer he got, the more tightly wound she found her frustration, until it was a little knot of irritation and hurt and outrage, not all entirely his fault, in the pit of her chest. Part of her wanted to hit things, but most of her just wanted to curl up on the couch with some idiotic movie on. This whole emotions business was so fucking irritating.
The bag got chucked behind the couch as soon as she was inside, sneakers slipped off in the doorway and kicked to the side, and Cate made a beeline for the freezer. There was half a pint of cookie dough ice cream in there somewhere--aha. Set that on the counter. Then it was tugging off her sweatshirt on her way to the bedroom, pulling her hair out of its ponytail, digging a spoon out of a drawer and tossing it on the counter next to the ice cream.
"Lock the door behind you," she said without preamble, when Cal finally made his way inside. "I'm taking a bath. Just...sit on the couch or something. I don't know."
Cal had never been comfortable in doorways. He didn't like putting himself on somebody's doorstep, like he was begging for something or waiting for anything besides his own whim--or courage. He had never waited on Cate's doorstep before, not even with the door open, and he hated it. Fucking hated it. But he stayed there, and watched her move around, kicking things and pulling things. It was all bizarrely familiar.
Once she said something, he moved in, still without a word. He did what he was told, sending the deadbolt home and sliding the chain in its slot automatically. The couch met his weight with a sigh, especially when he put his back to one corner so he could watch half the hallway in case she came up or down it.
She was already in the bathroom when he sat down, turning on the hot water and plugging up the drain, undressing briskly and without much care. Her robe was on a hook on the door; she kicked her jeans and sweater to the side and tugged it on, retied her hair in a bun on top of her head. The tub filled up slowly. She threw a couple bath beads in. Another few minutes, then pulling the curtain round the tub to keep the steam in, shutting off the tap, and wandering back down the hall. She only came halfway down it, hands shoved in the deep terry pockets of her robe, looking significantly smaller without make-up or proper clothes or outrage.
"Thanks for coming to get me," she said, dragging the words out. Her eyes went everywhere but at the couch. The ceiling seemed a particularly fascinating spot.
He watched her come. "I didn't want to leave you there," was all he said.
There was a long pause. That was not what she'd been expecting. Reluctantly, hands still out of the way, she took a step forward. She was still resolutely looking in any other direction. "Just a couple of drunks," she said. "No big deal."
Cal stood up again. It was not to argue, or to vent the anger that made his eyes go deep. It was more so he could see her, or that she could see him, though he didn't move farther than that. "Yeah, it is."
Cate didn't move anymore, but her face softened, exasperation sliding into simple reluctance to accept what he was saying. She crossed her arms; crude protection. The more she thought of it as a big deal, the bigger a deal it became, and she really, really wanted it to be anything but. "I'm fine," she said stoutly.
He waited until she looked at him, because he was waiting for it, waiting with something in his eyes that was too much like acceptance to be right. "Okay." She was not fine. He didn't have to say it out loud or argue with her about it. It was a big deal. She was not fine. It was not okay. That's why he was here. Not to fix it, because when he tried it only got worse, but to pretend with her that the whole thing was just small enough they could forget it. It came to him just then, distantly, that being angry was what made it worse. Huh.
That was it. Her resolve broke. Cate took a deep breath, nodded awkwardly, and turned right around to the bedroom. As soon as she hit the water in the tub, her head was in her arms, the water just hot enough still that she couldn't tell if she was crying. She hated this. Feeling like such a damn invalid. So what! So her ass was grabbed! So she slapped a customer on the job! These things happened every day, right? She had bigger problems to deal with. Much bigger. Yeah.
The water got cold. Every now and again she sank herself down to her eyes, blew out little bubbles of air in slow, rythmic beats. Calming. The water got colder. She should probably get out. Cal would be worried.
His voice outside the door, strangely distant. "Cate." He had never said her name that way before. Not in question, even though it was asking her for something. A reply, perhaps. No further sound, for he didn't touch the door.
She faltered abruptly, caught out, and started wiping at her face as if he could see through the door. The water splashed about reassuringly; at least she hadn't fallen asleep. "Yeah?" she said. Her voice was thicker than normal.
A brushing sound that was his sleeve against the wall. "Nothing." He'd been afraid of something, but her reply must have put it at ease... somehow. His step retreated down the hallway, oddly light.
There was a second there where she almost called him back. But her voice quailed and she sank back in the tub for another few minutes, until the increasingly cold water became simply too much to take. Out of the water, into a towel. She gave her hair a quick brush and left it down to dry, threw on her robe, and ambled out of the bathroom a few minutes after Cal vacated. The difference in tread had been lost on her; she just knew he'd been there and then gone back to the couch. She'd probably pissed him off again.
The ice cream was sufficiently melted when she came out to eat it with ease. She took up the tub and the spoon and plopped on the opposite end of the couch from Cal, poking at the mushy vanilla. "Hi," she said after a very long moment.
Cal was on the couch by the time she came out of the bathroom. The sound of the hinges gave him enough time to sit down and stay there like he'd never left. The television wasn't on, and he was playing with a beat-up orange lighter between the fingers of his right hand. Not a breath of cigarette smoke as she sat near, so he must just have it in his hand to distract him. He closed his fingers over it and pulled his knee off the couch so the vast majority of it was hers.
"Hey." He looked across the space between them at her. It was a lot of space, and he wondered if he had put it there.
He hadn't, but Cate wasn't really sure what else to do with it. She took a bite of ice cream, and mid-swallow decided she didn't want anymore. Set that back on the table. "So what'd you say to the cooks," she said after a while of uncomfortable silence. It was forced levity, but it was better than none at all.
He had no way to tell whether or not she wanted to be touched, so he stayed still. It took a lot of effort. "Not using the grill right," he said, not knowing what else to do but reply. "Well done ends up charred on the outside and raw on the inside if you don't pay attention." Brief pause. "Think he knew already." His tone was distracted, because he wasn't thinking about the grill. His eyes were on her.
She was already nodding before he finished, and by the time he was done speaking, she'd solved the problem for both of them. The space was big, but closed quickly, and on hands and knees Cate scrambled from one end of the couch to the other. A brief moment of hesitation when she was close enough to touch him, and then she was fixing herself under his shoulder and against his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and curling up to him like they hadn't been fighting an hour before; because dammit, she felt disgusting and awful and hated fighting and she just wanted Cal there to pretend it was fine with her. That was good enough.
Both arms came around her in a relieved embrace. At least when she was here, she was as safe as he could make it.
Who: Cal & Cate.
What: Cate is upset, Cal is upset, Cal gets angry, Cate gets angry, there is much slamming of doors and just the right amount of hugging.
When: After this.
Where: Cate's Diner, downtown Vegas.
Cate handled most things easily. It was easier to laugh and make a sarcastic comment than get all worked up over something, and even most things at the diner weren't enough to phase her. Drunks came and went, guys checked out her ass when she went to get their bill, people heckled her, small children got corn in her hair. All came with the job. She hadn't been entirely expecting anyone to attempt to her into their lap via her apron strings, however. That she had not reacted very well to. The ties were grabbed two steps from the table, tugged, and off came the apron as Cate went stumbling backwards with it, and it was only a quick grab at the bench that kept her from collapsing down into the drunken idiot's legs. And his friends just laughed and laughed.
So she slapped him. Probably would have done more if Jenna hadn't seen the debacle and grabbed the manager in a split second of quick thinking. Ray came lumbering out of the office, more apologetic mass than threatening bulk, and quickly separated the two before Cate could get herself fired for assault. Jenna had hauled her into the breakroom; reports trickled in of all three drunken guys being thrown out on their ass by Ray and the cook, but Cate was already hyperventilating on one of the beaten up, broken down couches, head in her knees, journal tossed to the side. When Jenna had left to check on Cate's tables, she'd pulled it out, jotted down the first words that came to mind (admittedly not the best words)--and then Cal had answered, right away. Sometimes she wondered if he didn't have anything better to do but troll the journals. And now he was on his way here, and he was pissed, and she couldn't do anything, and--
Shit. This was just not going to end well. She tugged her hair out of its ponytail and raked her hands through it. Ugh. Ugh. Not good.
If Cate was ever going to actually ask Cal if he had anything better to do than troll the journals, now was clearly not the right time. A ballpoint pen wasn't the best tool to express rage, but most people preferred it to his fists, which he wasn't all that careful about restraining. Cal's temper, once lost, generally stayed that way until he pounded it away on something. One of these days someone might tell him that's not healthy. From a good distance away, ideally.
It wasn't long after his last bold-inked message that some raised voices could be heard from the kitchen. Apparently Cal hadn't bothered to stay on the right side of the counter (he seemed to think he owned every kitchen in existence) and whatever he was saying it wasn't complimentary. Jenna's voice interrupted, and there was a brief pause before the door got the hell out of Cal's way and he walked into the break room. Even if his footsteps weren't enough, the door slammed against the wall, rebounded, and got shoved again with his fist. Ray and the cook were hovering somewhere behind him, with Jenna chewing her lower lip.
Cal's brown eyes looked dark and empty. "Let's go."
And there he was, knight in--well, typical ratty long-sleeved shirt and jeans that had probably seen better days. Cate halfway unfolded herself from the couch, one leg coming down, the other bending under her, one arm protectively around her middle like she'd been grabbed there too, and just stared. It took several long moments for things to sink in.
"You actually fucking came?" she asked, incredulous. Perhaps not the reaction he was looking for. Ray bustled up behind him, almost matching Cal in height and girth, but seemingly much smaller in sheer presence. Jenna poked her head out from what little space was left in the doorway, made a little face in Cate's direction that the other waitress hardly noticed. It was a long, long moment before Cate was even able to see them; and then she was abruptly on her feet, crossing right past Cal and giving them all a very stern look before slamming the door in their faces. So what if she was just a waitress. Cate had clout. She could slam doors where she wanted.
She stuck against the door once she got there. Sure, it would have felt much better to go over and be picked up and folded in that bearhug thing she knew he could do, but the door seemed about the only thing holding her up just then. She had never thought getting randomly felt up would be this bad. "Christ, he's already gone, Cal. ...Hi."
Cal's hard edges caught light and glinted for a moment. "Of course I fucking came, don't ask stupid questions." He turned around as she passed him, fingers curling in. The jerks themselves weren't here (he'd checked) and Cal was not beyond the immaturity of taking the whole thing out on Ray, who in his opinion was a fucking idiot for letting assholes into his diner without breaking their arms for them. That was when the door slammed between them.
Reluctantly, Cal let the set of his shoulders lower slightly, and his fingers uncurled. He still spoke with a serrated edge, though. "Lucky him. If you hurry up I might be able to find him and break his face in." Ludicrous, yes, but he was dead serious. He was irritated at her for not helping him be angry and/or violent, but he had enough control (in this particular situation, at least) to realize it wasn't a justifiable irritation.
"Don't snap at me," she snapped, and there was a bit more hurt in her voice than she wanted to admit. She straightened her back and pushed off from the door to make up for it, toughening up and sharpening her edges in response to his. She'd just let one guy push her around; she wasn't about to let another, even if it was Cal. "And you're not finding anybody. Christ, I told you not to come. I told you you couldn't do anything." Fingers through hair again. It was getting progressively messier. "And I've still got an hour on my goddamn shift. God."
Cal was not in the mood to be told he couldn't do anything. In fact, that was exactly the wrong thing to say, because that was why he was here: he hadn't done anything. There was the thought again, coming to spell out his failures somewhere behind the jagged anger he kindled to keep it out. It was either the comment or the hurt in her voice that unhinged him long enough to defuse the angry demand that was moments from being growled at her.
Pause. "Fuck the damn shift," he said, in a tone that was not in the least argumentative--it was not a tone that asked for a reply. "I told him you're leaving, and you are."
"You don't work here, Cal, I do," she said, almost on top of him. She sounded a little weary. Sure, he could go off and call in dead or whatever; he could walk out of jobs that pissed him off. But Cate needed this. She needed the money, she needed the stability, and she wasn't about to jeopardize it by letting her small-boulder of a friend haul her out like a caveman back to the cave. "You can't just order my boss around."
"I just did," he said coldly, the air practically vibrating with restrained anger. He had to say it down to her and he was perfectly capable of taking advantage of his height without even thinking about it. His shoulders came forward and his chin came down, his attitude unmistakably threatening. She wasn't cooperating with him, and it was an automatic reaction. She wasn't okay here so she needed to go somewhere else, now. "Tables aren't even half-full, the cook's got two orders on the slide that just went out, it's slow as fucking molasses out there--" (where had he heard that phrase?) "--and you're leaving. Now."
Was he telling her what to do? After she'd just been groped? Cate could have slapped him. She did NOT need this alpha male bullshit right now, and as much as she wanted Cal there, if he was just going to throw his weight around and treat her like some kind of invalid (she had quite enough of that elsewhere, thank you), he could get right in his car and stew angrily at home, until she could get off work and give him a proper piece of her mind.
"I can't," she said firmly, jabbing his chest with one hand. "We're about to hit dinner rush, I'll get fucking fired--and for Christ's sake, he just touched my ass! I'm fine. Pissed, but seems like you're angry enough for the both of us." That's right, Cate. You use those flimsy arguments. At least they held slightly more water than his. Ray probably would let her go home if she asked; he was pretty easy like that. But goddammit, she needed the cash another hour or so would bring in, and so what if she was a little rattled? A little. So not more than a little.
Cal's rage spilled over into nothing but air. He would never lay a hand on Cate in anger, and the fact she refused to respond to his unspoken (and empty) threat left him without alternative. He spun away from her on a heel, narrowly missed the end of the couch, considered putting his fist through the wall, managed to prevent it, then spun back around to stalk toward her again. The muttering under his breath was probably just cursing, but the words 'stubborn,' 'fucking assholes,' and 'what kind of place--' could be heard.
"Fine, you want to fucking stay to make a lousy sixty bucks, then FINE." The people in the kitchen probably heard that last word. His approximation of her profit during the dinner rush in an hour was spot on; Cal knew how a diner worked, even in a blind rage. He halted in the exact middle of the room, folded his thick arms over his chest and stood there, apparently waiting for her to get back out there, if she was going to be such a stubborn ass about it.
She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Or seeing, for that matter. Cate opened her mouth to rip him a new one, shut it again, opened it another time and then clamped it right back down. What the hell was he on about? If he was trying to intimidate her into going--well, he should have known better. Not even that first time at Oasis Palms had he been really able to scare her into doing anything, and since she started talking to him, Cal had lost any and all advantage that his otherwise scary visage might have had with anyone else. He was just Cal, and he was going to have to get over it.
"Hi, excuse me, what the HELL is your problem?" she hissed, giving the door behind her a glance when he shouted. She could almost see the chefs on the line pause in what they were doing to eye the break room askance. She was full of restless movement, pacing, hand gestures, but she only took a few bewildered steps forward, hands tensing up and trying to gesticulate the impotent frustration she couldn't quite voice. "You do NOT get to order me about!"
To all appearances, Cal was so angry he couldn't articulate a word. All that came to him was a jumble of anger and fear and frustration she couldn't understand any of it. He broke out of his statue act in the middle of the room, catching her as she passed with one arm and pulling her into a very rough, very brief crush of a hug. It was over almost before it began, with him letting her go and stepping back quickly. "Do whatever you want then," he growled, still seething.
He took a couple steps one way, and then another, before finally ending up half-sitting on the edge of the table set against one wall. His fingers rubbed into his closed eyes. "Jesus fuck I need a smoke." There wasn't enough anger in that comment to hide all of the fear, but by then maybe she'd get back to her damn tables and sixty bucks.
Oh.
That quieted her. The hug had knocked the wind right out of her, both by sheer force and shock factor. It was not what she had been expecting him to do. When he waffled and sat, she merely stood, wide-eyed in suprise, watching him waver from place to place. He was worried. Somewhere she'd known that--her father always got angry when he was scared, too, but she hadn't quite put it together in her own frustration with him. Worried! Over her! She couldn't decide if it was more hilarious or endearing.
The distance between herself and the table was short, and crossed in half a moment. "You just quit," she said, standing over him (just over, really; even sitting he was still a very formidable size). Cate hesitated a long moment; she wasn't even sure how to handle this, now she was here. They hadn't seen each other since he'd spent the night, and aside from gingerbread-related banter on that horrid woman's journal, they certainly hadn't spoken. Were they even acknowledging the other night? It wouldn't be the first time someone hadn't. Still. She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead, lifted his chin up and gave him a Very Stern Look--which was really more of a half-grin, caught between exasperation and amusement. She couldn't stay mad. The more she thought of fretting Cal, the more she simply wanted to start laughing. "I'm ok," she said after a moment. "Ray'll probably let me go if I ask."
"I know I did," he said, in the dull voice one uses when they're using the first response that comes to mind. He still sounded as if he'd been chewing on tarmac, but at least he wasn't ready to start yelling at her again. Again, the startled look when she touched his face. It was such a peculiar response to casual affection, and yet, when you thought about it, it could only be expected considering how damn good he was at getting everybody to stay out of reach. Especially when something scared him enough to piss him off.
His eyes, which were reassuringly brown and human, narrowed a little bit as he gave her a suspicious look. It was probably the amusement he saw coming. Cate could laugh at anything. He turned his head to take his chin back, not unkindly, and said gruffly, "No you're not." His tone was more resigned now than angry, but the frustration was making him clip the words short. "So you going to ask?" A question now, not a command.
He could give her all the suspicious looks he wanted. She shoved his forehead back gently with her thumb, a little admonishing gesture, more good-humored than anything. Before she could articulate a proper response, the door handle clicked, and Jenna popped her little blonde head in, pink face pinched up in worry she might be interrupted something. When everything looked calm enough, she poked her torso in, door only open enough for the top of her. Her eyes kept darting towards Cal, seated on the table. Cate gave her a weary smile--ok, so Cal was right; she wasn't really ok, but she was close enough to fake it. "Hey, Jen."
"Hey. How you feeling? Um. Ok, so twelve closed out their tab and I just took over fourteen--I'll split the tips when you come in for your next shift. That ok?"
Cate paused, gave Cal a look. Had he actually told Ray she was leaving? "My next shift?"
"Yeah, Ray's sending you home. Um." Another furtive glance in Cal's direction. "He figured it'd be best, since you were like, so shaken up and stuff. You're ok, right?"
Cate assured her she was, and Jenna left with another awkward look and a quick click of the door. She nicked his chin up with a little tap under his jaw. Attention, please. Her eyebrows climbed, and her lips twisted awkwardly to one side as she debated between a grin and a scowl. "You really told him."
It might have been the tap, but it was probably her tone. Cal looked back from the door (Jenna was getting a completely blank, narrow look until she went away) and bristled defensively. "I said I did, didn't I?" if Ray had any brains at all, he'd listen to Cal when he delivered ultimatums inches from his face. Inches, plural, only because Cal seemed to get bigger when he was that angry. "Don't let your employees get treated like that if you want them to stick around," he muttered, in a way that made it seem as if he was quoting someone.
He stood up, let his fingers twitch after a cigarette they couldn't have, and then made himself stand still. "Can we go now?" he asked, testily, folding his arms so that he wouldn't be tempted to haul her out immediately.
She crossed her arms right back. Her feet remained planted, though she did have to lean back slightly to meet his eyes. "You gonna be pissed and shit the whole way home? Because my car's still here, and I'll drive myself back if it means not sitting in a car when you're acting like a shit." A bit much, perhaps. But his insistence on a foul mood when her good one was already tenuous was not what she need at that moment. "I'm glad you came, Cal. Just don't be a dick."
His anger, apparently, wasn't that far below the surface. Again, it was not directed at her. "I'm be pissed as long as I fucking want," he said, grinding his teeth. "I'm not acting like anything. Nobody got thrown through the front window, and there's no paramedics outside. Give me a fucking break." Pause. Somehow he managed to look offended that she called him a dick.
Right. Amusement shot. Cate's eyebrow shot up. "I'm sorry. Who just got groped at their job?" She faltered for a second on whatever else she had been planning to say, scoffed, and stepped aside. Another step, and another, and then she was stalking over to her locker in the corner, spinning the lock and tugging her stuff out. "Go over there," she said, waving at the other side of the room as she flapped out her jeans to step into them. "If we're going, I'm changing. Christ. You are so unbelievable sometimes."
Hearing it like that made Cal want to rip something apart again with his bare hands. She wasn't all the way through her sentence before he stalked out of the breakroom. The door slammed behind him. A small shower of dust came down off the ceiling. Silence.
Oh, that asshole. Cate jumped when the door slammed, and then renewed anger helped her jump into her jeans and tug off the poodle skirt and apron like she was trying to tear them in half. The white sweater she left on; she didn't feel like dealing with buttons much at the moment; her hoodie went right over the top. Hair went back in a bun, a quick scrub with a baby wipe (kept in her purse) in her hand mirror took off the excess make-up, and then sneakers replaced flats. Hardly a minute later, and she looked far more weary than she had when Cal came in. The things a costume could do for a girl. And then, of course, there was the seething. Cate could seethe with the best of them when she wanted to, and boy, did she WANT to. She flopped onto the couch once she was changed, curling up with her head on her arm and knees to her chest, taking deep breaths and trying very hard not to want to throttle the man outside the door. Ok, he was worried. He got pissed. He should get OVER it! She was the one having to deal with this right now, and his machismo protection complex was exactly NOT what she needed on top of it.
She sat there for a good five minutes later than she really needed to. Got up once, sat back down again. How could he POSSIBLY think this was appropriate?
Cate got a minute or two of blessed peace, and then the sound of Cal's voice filtered through the door again. Another argument, no doubt, but this time not nearly loud enough to make out the words. The cadence was typical irritated Cal, and there was an occasional bang of a pot or a pan in the pauses. The breakroom was right next to the kitchen, and it sounded as if he'd got himself into more trouble.
...He hadn't. He couldn't possibly. He didn't have the gall.
As soon as the bang of pot on metal hit her ears, Cate faltered in her own angry mutterings. The second snapped her to her feet. She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the break room, awkwardly bumping into Jenna on the girl's way to check up on her, apologizing while still stepping angrily by, and slamming open the doors to the kitchen. If he was so much as criticizing one of the guys on the line, she was going to tear him a new one six ways from SUNDAY.
Oh, that asshole.
Cal was standing at one of the grills with a cook. Ray was too, with his arms crossed, but amusingly he looked interested and not offended. (Sure, there was plenty of trepidation there too, but that was because no one in the diner could be entirely sure Cal wasn't going to burn the place to the ground yet.) Cal was ranting, yes, but in totally fluent Spanish, and the cook was arguing right back. A hamburger patty was sizzling between them, and they both seemed--between the cursing--to be halfway enjoying themselves. The cook was a stout man who had been behind a grill for years, and he was the one reaching past Cal for pots and banging spoons in things.
Cal broke off mid-sentence when Cate made an appearance. He had the grace to look guilty. So did Ray and the cook.
There wasn't really one word for just how Cate looked at that moment. Bemused? Yes. Bewildered? Yes. Irritated? Certainly. Her arm fell, bag hitting against her legs awkwardly, and she stared at the kitchen.
What. What.
"What are you doing," she said finally, voice completely flat. She couldn't even muster up enough utter confusion past everything else to make it into her voice. Just--what?
Cal muttered something in Spanish behind him--something Ray must have caught too, because he was nodding right along with the cook (who made himself busy immediately)--then crossed the kitchen in two or three long strides. "Talking about the grill. Come on." Without slowing, he bent and picked up Cate's arm (the one that held the bag) and ushered her out of the kitchen before she could start yelling at him further. They went out the back.
"Let GO," she snapped, as soon as they were out the door. She had the sense not to yell it where Ray was right within hearing distance--threatening or not, Ray wasn't about to let one of his girls get manhandled by some small house of a guy, no matter how much Spanish he spoke or how well he got on with the cook. She threw off Cal's arm angrily when they hit the open air, and set about furiously rearranging her hoodie and bag and hair, none of which really needed it. Who did he think he was, grabbing her like that? "What's the MATTER with you?"
Immediately, he let her go. The defenses came up again, but she had plenty of room to swing if she wanted to; it seemed as if he'd given up on the intimidation tactic. For now. "What?" He dug into a pocket for a pack, remembered he'd quit, swore, and paced one step right, then back. "Don't act like you wanted to hang around in there, why can't you stop being stupid for ten seconds?"
"Oh, fuck you." Nobody called her an idiot when she was the one who'd had the trouble thrown at her. It wasn't like she'd asked for any of that, or for Cal to come barging in, or for him to go hang out with the cooks or whatever the hell he'd been doing. "Where the fuck is your car."
Cal made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat that was pushing it without actually pursuing the argument. He gestured off into the orange Vegas dark. That way. He stepped back, even farther away from her, in a move that doubled as "after you" and "I'm not touching." Whether for her benefit or his, he didn't know.
It was not a fun car ride. Cate stormed right past him, and when she caught sight of his car, idling a little ways away, she stalked right over and waited impatiently for him to unlock it before chucking her stuff in the backseat and herself in front. She completely ignored him when he sat down and started to drive, curling up into a ball in the passenger seat and picking at the thread around the knee of her jeans. She was so angry. People were supposed to comfort you after stuff like this, and instead she just got that stupid idiot making her feel WORSE. If he said anything, she was likely to stop the car FOR him and break his jaw. She didn't care how many tries it took. She was in No Mood.
They pulled up to the apartment complex, and Cate was out of the car almost before it came to a stop. She had half a mind to just stomp into her house and lock him the hell out.
In contrast, Cal was not in a hurry. Tess would be at work for eight hours, he himself had nowhere to be, and the pulse of Cate's anger only served to calm his. It was an odd effect, and he would have had more time to ponder it if he wasn't imagining taking one long breath of air and tar and nicotine the entire way to her apartment building. She was in a hurry, and he let her be, leaving the little car locked behind them as he trailed to the stairs in her wake. He was following her, but it was obvious that he didn't have any idea if she wanted to be followed. If she slammed the door, well, then he'd know, wouldn't he?
She didn't slam it. She wanted to--oh, how she wanted to. But after fumbling with her keys for longer than she thought possible, she simply flung open the door and trudged inside without a second glance. Not exactly locking him out, though far from welcoming him in, either. The calmer he got, the more tightly wound she found her frustration, until it was a little knot of irritation and hurt and outrage, not all entirely his fault, in the pit of her chest. Part of her wanted to hit things, but most of her just wanted to curl up on the couch with some idiotic movie on. This whole emotions business was so fucking irritating.
The bag got chucked behind the couch as soon as she was inside, sneakers slipped off in the doorway and kicked to the side, and Cate made a beeline for the freezer. There was half a pint of cookie dough ice cream in there somewhere--aha. Set that on the counter. Then it was tugging off her sweatshirt on her way to the bedroom, pulling her hair out of its ponytail, digging a spoon out of a drawer and tossing it on the counter next to the ice cream.
"Lock the door behind you," she said without preamble, when Cal finally made his way inside. "I'm taking a bath. Just...sit on the couch or something. I don't know."
Cal had never been comfortable in doorways. He didn't like putting himself on somebody's doorstep, like he was begging for something or waiting for anything besides his own whim--or courage. He had never waited on Cate's doorstep before, not even with the door open, and he hated it. Fucking hated it. But he stayed there, and watched her move around, kicking things and pulling things. It was all bizarrely familiar.
Once she said something, he moved in, still without a word. He did what he was told, sending the deadbolt home and sliding the chain in its slot automatically. The couch met his weight with a sigh, especially when he put his back to one corner so he could watch half the hallway in case she came up or down it.
She was already in the bathroom when he sat down, turning on the hot water and plugging up the drain, undressing briskly and without much care. Her robe was on a hook on the door; she kicked her jeans and sweater to the side and tugged it on, retied her hair in a bun on top of her head. The tub filled up slowly. She threw a couple bath beads in. Another few minutes, then pulling the curtain round the tub to keep the steam in, shutting off the tap, and wandering back down the hall. She only came halfway down it, hands shoved in the deep terry pockets of her robe, looking significantly smaller without make-up or proper clothes or outrage.
"Thanks for coming to get me," she said, dragging the words out. Her eyes went everywhere but at the couch. The ceiling seemed a particularly fascinating spot.
He watched her come. "I didn't want to leave you there," was all he said.
There was a long pause. That was not what she'd been expecting. Reluctantly, hands still out of the way, she took a step forward. She was still resolutely looking in any other direction. "Just a couple of drunks," she said. "No big deal."
Cal stood up again. It was not to argue, or to vent the anger that made his eyes go deep. It was more so he could see her, or that she could see him, though he didn't move farther than that. "Yeah, it is."
Cate didn't move anymore, but her face softened, exasperation sliding into simple reluctance to accept what he was saying. She crossed her arms; crude protection. The more she thought of it as a big deal, the bigger a deal it became, and she really, really wanted it to be anything but. "I'm fine," she said stoutly.
He waited until she looked at him, because he was waiting for it, waiting with something in his eyes that was too much like acceptance to be right. "Okay." She was not fine. He didn't have to say it out loud or argue with her about it. It was a big deal. She was not fine. It was not okay. That's why he was here. Not to fix it, because when he tried it only got worse, but to pretend with her that the whole thing was just small enough they could forget it. It came to him just then, distantly, that being angry was what made it worse. Huh.
That was it. Her resolve broke. Cate took a deep breath, nodded awkwardly, and turned right around to the bedroom. As soon as she hit the water in the tub, her head was in her arms, the water just hot enough still that she couldn't tell if she was crying. She hated this. Feeling like such a damn invalid. So what! So her ass was grabbed! So she slapped a customer on the job! These things happened every day, right? She had bigger problems to deal with. Much bigger. Yeah.
The water got cold. Every now and again she sank herself down to her eyes, blew out little bubbles of air in slow, rythmic beats. Calming. The water got colder. She should probably get out. Cal would be worried.
His voice outside the door, strangely distant. "Cate." He had never said her name that way before. Not in question, even though it was asking her for something. A reply, perhaps. No further sound, for he didn't touch the door.
She faltered abruptly, caught out, and started wiping at her face as if he could see through the door. The water splashed about reassuringly; at least she hadn't fallen asleep. "Yeah?" she said. Her voice was thicker than normal.
A brushing sound that was his sleeve against the wall. "Nothing." He'd been afraid of something, but her reply must have put it at ease... somehow. His step retreated down the hallway, oddly light.
There was a second there where she almost called him back. But her voice quailed and she sank back in the tub for another few minutes, until the increasingly cold water became simply too much to take. Out of the water, into a towel. She gave her hair a quick brush and left it down to dry, threw on her robe, and ambled out of the bathroom a few minutes after Cal vacated. The difference in tread had been lost on her; she just knew he'd been there and then gone back to the couch. She'd probably pissed him off again.
The ice cream was sufficiently melted when she came out to eat it with ease. She took up the tub and the spoon and plopped on the opposite end of the couch from Cal, poking at the mushy vanilla. "Hi," she said after a very long moment.
Cal was on the couch by the time she came out of the bathroom. The sound of the hinges gave him enough time to sit down and stay there like he'd never left. The television wasn't on, and he was playing with a beat-up orange lighter between the fingers of his right hand. Not a breath of cigarette smoke as she sat near, so he must just have it in his hand to distract him. He closed his fingers over it and pulled his knee off the couch so the vast majority of it was hers.
"Hey." He looked across the space between them at her. It was a lot of space, and he wondered if he had put it there.
He hadn't, but Cate wasn't really sure what else to do with it. She took a bite of ice cream, and mid-swallow decided she didn't want anymore. Set that back on the table. "So what'd you say to the cooks," she said after a while of uncomfortable silence. It was forced levity, but it was better than none at all.
He had no way to tell whether or not she wanted to be touched, so he stayed still. It took a lot of effort. "Not using the grill right," he said, not knowing what else to do but reply. "Well done ends up charred on the outside and raw on the inside if you don't pay attention." Brief pause. "Think he knew already." His tone was distracted, because he wasn't thinking about the grill. His eyes were on her.
She was already nodding before he finished, and by the time he was done speaking, she'd solved the problem for both of them. The space was big, but closed quickly, and on hands and knees Cate scrambled from one end of the couch to the other. A brief moment of hesitation when she was close enough to touch him, and then she was fixing herself under his shoulder and against his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and curling up to him like they hadn't been fighting an hour before; because dammit, she felt disgusting and awful and hated fighting and she just wanted Cal there to pretend it was fine with her. That was good enough.
Both arms came around her in a relieved embrace. At least when she was here, she was as safe as he could make it.