[Fairytales & Horrors]
who: Cal & Cate
where: His place.
when: Directly after this.
what: A short, line by line, primarily dialogue, almost script-like assembly that Rian and I put together instead of an actual log. It is, nevertheless, effective.
rating: R, for language and implication.

His door is locked. She going to come pound on it?

Yep. Real fuckin' loud, too. Probably raise a racket. It's what she does.

Then he'll let her in. Tess is at work. He has been smoking, even if he's not right that second. He doesn't look pissed, just tired and blank.

Oh, she can't stand that. Worries her sick when he looks that way. Totally disarms her. Just, "Smoking already, huh."

She gets a flat look. "This the part where you act surprised?" He leaves the door open and walks away from her, to the couch. The tv is on mute.

She shuts it. Locks it. Habit. "How many?"

Blank look. No answer. He sits.

She follows. Turns off the tv and stands in front of it. "So you couldn't quit. Big fucking deal."

He takes in a breath. Lets it out like he needs the air to deal with whats coming, like a petulant teenager. He might be doing it to annoy her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She crosses her arms. If he's going to act like a petulant teenager, she can at least act like a bitchy adult. "What's eating you?"

"I'm tired of you acting like I'm your pet project and everybody else on the fucking thing having a go at me every time I fuck up my life, like it's something new." Still no anger, just... like he's saying it.

That catches her off-guard. She doesn't say anything for a second, and it's pretty obvious that hit her hard. "My pet project."

"Or whatever you hang around for." He looks away.

"You really think I hang around because...because I want to fix you?"
'
"I don't know what the hell you hang around for. Just trying to keep you from wasting your time." He holds his hands up, like that keeps the statement from hurting.

"I'm not wasting my time." She's not brooking any arguments on that. She doesn't move, but there it is.

Shrug. One-shouldered, no energy.

She sighs, crosses to the table and pushes whatever's on it out of the way to sit on it in front of him. She just looks tired. "You know I don't just dick around for no reason."

She gets a look from under his brow. "Sex is good." Not a question.

"I like you, jackass." He gets a look right back.

Even that doesn't sink in properly. "Why?"

A small shrug. She picks at a hole in the knee of her jeans idly. "Why not?"

Brutal laugh. He starts listing. "Smoke, fight, angry, not real pretty, broke, no job, no life, lot of piss poor excuses and nasty shit to say." Pause. "What I miss."

She just gives him a flat look. "Still don't see why not."

He leans forward, and looks her in the eye. Oh look. There's all the anger in them. "Temper."

She doesn't move. Her elbows are still on her knees, and she just completely disregards that. She knows better. "You forgot about taking care of me when I feel like shit, keeping me company at the diner, coming by whenever, your cooking, and the fact I can sleep through the night most of the nights you're there. Pros outweight the cons, baby. Sorry to disappoint."

Silence.

She waits. He'll talk eventually.

"...So what's that supposed to mean? It's not just sex?"

An awkward moment. Confronting it like this is a little odd. "Guess not."

"Then what?"

"Then I like you. So." An uncomfortable shrug. "So you're not worthless or anything even if you smoke. Or something."

He smiles. It's the wrong kind, the ugly one. "Right."

"Right what?"

He stands up, for the kitchen. "What do you care if I smoke? One more thing that's wrong with me?"

She latches onto his shirt. Not so much to pull him down as to keep him from walking away. "Remember that part about me liking you, and you being good enough? Jesus."

He stops moving, but looks down from what seems like a lot of distance. "Only because you don't know me."

"You say that like you've got a whole huge advantage in that area. Think I've told you everything?"

Unsurprised. Heavy. "No."

"I don't expect you to tell me everything, either. Doesn't stop you from mattering."

"Maybe if we knew each other, it would."

"That's a really big maybe. You ever think maybe if we knew each other, it wouldn't?"

Immediately. Serious. "No. I haven't. And I don't. Like the smoking thing."

She lets him go. "You should. You're hung up on the smoking thing. I told you, it doesn't matter."

"No, you are. And yeah, it does."

"No, I'm not, and no it doesn't."

Short. "Fine. I'm not going to fucking argue with you about this. You think what you want." He steps back and turns away, fast, defensive.

She stands up but doesn't close the gap. "Cal."

"What." No move.

Defeated. "Just. Forget about the smoking, ok? Whatever. Why can't I like you? Is it a problem?"

"...just never works."

"Seems to work ok so far."

"So far."

"So far's all I'm worried about."

"If you say so."

A long pause. She sits back down on the table. "Hey, it's cool, don't worry about it. Reciprocating. Whatever. Just meant it's been all right on my end."

Cal seems to change his mind about the kitchen. He turns back around. "Nothing wrong with it, except you don't--" he stops.

"I don't what." Her eyebrow shoots up. Telling her what she thinks?

"...Don't worry about yourself enough. ...Going to get hurt one of these days." Him. He's talking about him.

She shrugs. "Think I can't handle a little hurt?"

Silence. He just looks at her.

"I worry about myself enough, Cal. Worried anymore and I'd never leave the house."

"Don't seem like it."

"Just because I took up with you?"

"Maybe."

"You give yourself too much credit."

Beat. "Maybe."

A pause. She shifts. "Sit down, Christ."

He doesn't, but not to irritate her. "Why do you keep telling me what to do?"

"I like bossing you around." She chances an awkward, lopsided-grin, half there. It doesn't stay long.

He tilts his head, but doesn't smile.

"Habit," she amends. Shrugs. "Does it bother you much?"

"Sometimes," he admits. He sits.

"Don't mean to." Fingers go back to the hole in her jeans. "You're just easy to boss around because, well. The liking thing, I guess?" She sighs out the side of her mouth. "Don't mean to."

He shrugs, but he's watching her steady, without seeming to blink. Elbows settle on knees, he leans in, with the ease of familiarity. Just to talk. "It's okay. Don't listen unless I want to."

"I know. Couldn't get you to do anything you don't want to." A small, wry grin.

"Goes both ways, Cate."

She blinks, straightens up. Her eyebrows go up into her hair the way they do when she's getting ready to be insulted.

What did he say? He mirrors the straightening, but doesn't add anything.

"I'm plenty more pliable than you."

Snort-laugh.

Oh, that earns him a swat, right on the arm. "Shut up."

Laugh again, truer.

Another swat. "Shut up. Ass."

"No." Laugh!

"I'm going to hurt you. No, seriously." Punch on the arm.

"I'm petrified." Taunt.

Both hands. He gets shoved. It probably doesn't do anything but shove her back. "You are such an asshole."

Grin.

"Stop that. Swear to God, you get sick enjoyment out of this."

Catch. Pull. "Nohing sick about it."

She starts laughing and stops it. Tries to be stern. "Loads. Totally twisted, laughing at me like that."

"Mm. Shut up and c'mere."

She does, of course.