Laura (homeandhearth) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-09-12 01:02:00 |
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Entry tags: | death, rose red |
Who: Laura and Max
What: Reunion!
Where: Less-than-seedy bar
When: Today
Warnings/Rating: Some allusions to past abuses
Laura hadn’t been in town more than a week, but she’d already started a mental list of bars she might want to go to, and ones she would definitely stay away from. It wasn’t anything scientific, just based on the awkwardly idiotic propositions she’d had to field from locals and tourists alike. Apparently being blonde and female (even several years older and with scars that were faded but still visible in the right light) still meant she was fair game for unwanted advances. She hadn’t had to punch anyone yet, but she wondered if it was just a waiting game.
Either way, she’d given Max the name of a place that seemed... doable. Nothing fancy, but something nice enough that she felt comfortable once she sat down at a table and got her back to the wall. She ordered two bottles of beer before Max arrived, ensuring that the waitress wasn’t going to have her kicked out for loitering alone at a table. The Vegas heat kept sneaking in the door, even with the bar’s air conditioning running, and the glass bottles sweated down onto the pulpy paper coasters. Laura checked the time and ignored the guy that was trying to catch her eye from the stretch of the shiny polished bar.
Max was torn about meeting Laura. On the one hand, seeing her friend from Seattle sounded unbelievably fantastic. Aside from Gwen, Laura was the best friend Max had known in the rainy state. On the other hand, seeing Laura meant secrets. It meant lying about what she was doing, and Max knew that meant she couldn't actually get drunk and let go. In some ways, it would be just like Seattle. In others, it would be nothing like that at all. She didn't think Laura was still involved in the vigilante scene, but Laura had been once, and Max was starting to realize just what a hard position this assignment put her in. Maybe the conversation with Luke had left her just a little disillusioned too, and she was wary of rebuilding friendships on a lie.
It all meant that Max, when she walked into the bar, was more nervous than she was on most missions. At least Davis wasn't in her ear; that was something. She looked around, and she spotted Laura at the table and made her way back, through the crowd. Laura looked so much better than the last time Max had seen her, and that made her smile a genuine smile as she stopped in front of the table. "You remembered," she teased, nodding toward the familiar beer brand, and she slipped into the booth and set her elbows on table's top. "Well," she said, tipping back a gulp of beer before saying anything else, "here's to getting older." And she was older. In her thirties now, there was the shadow of lines around her mouth that even the bar's dim lighting couldn't hide. But otherwise, she looked the same in jeans and snug black t-shirt, killer boots on her feet and her brown hair loose and tucked behind her ears.
It was easy enough to track Max’s progress across the bar once she arrived, and by the time she got to the table, Laura was smiling. “Oh screw you, getting older,” she replied, quieter than she had been before her eventful turn in Seattle, but welcoming to a missed, friendly face. “You barely look a day older than the last time I saw you.” She took a drink from her own bottle and then tapped its bottom twice against the coaster before letting it rest. It was half friendly flattery and half not. She could notice the few changes to her friend, but there was nothing that immediately screamed of anything too awful in the intervening years. For her own part, Laura was obviously a different person than she had been the last time Max had seen her. Scars that had still been healing five years ago were well on their way to fading, and the energy she used to have had settled into something quieter. It was a deceptive sort of quiet though, one that was less relaxation and more a conservation of energy in case she needed to react to an attack. She guarded her back even half a decade out of prison, a habit that her therapist doubted she would ever get past.
She’d moved on from some things though: striking out at anyone that came within 5 feet of her, dressing in baggy, form-masking clothing, locking herself away at home. It was an unnoticeable thing to anyone that didn’t know her, but being out in the bar, in a fairly close-fitted tshirt of her own, hair a blonde spill over her shoulders, was something that had been a fight for a long time. “...it’s good to see you,” she finally continued, eyes steady in their sincerity.
Admittedly, Max was surprised to see a calmer, more reserved person where the old, loud, boisterous Laura had been. She didn't like the changes she'd encountered in anyone from Seattle so far, she realized, and this wasn't any different. Laura had always been bigger than life, louder than life too, and this was just wrong somehow. She had changed too, she knew, but her own changes had been all about reclaiming all the pride she lost during her relationship with Thomas. It was good change, and she sat up taller and slouched less than she had five years ago. The booth settled against her back, and she took a long sip of her beer. "The wrinkles around my mouth and eyes say otherwise," she replied about not looking older, and she followed it up with a grin. "And I swear I have five grey hairs now. You're lucky and blonde, you won't even notice yours coming in," she teased, but there was something not entirely light about it, as if she realized this was going to be a different kind of night than she anticipated. "So, how's it been?" she asked, the question somehow containing the knowledge that the answer wasn't going to be a great one.
Laura’s smile spread wider. “Oh, five. Fuck that. I can’t see any from here.” She shook her head. “And eyes and mouth mean you’re smiling.” She felt that needed no further comment. There was nothing wrong with smiling. She kept her own smile, in fact, though it dimmed a hair in the light of Max’s question. Not because of her answer, but because of the tone of the question: something with a serious edge to it. “Stop that. Right now. I’m not sitting here with you getting all gloom and doom on me.” She knew she’d changed, but she’d had to in order to pull through and keep going. In that way, she (most often) looked on them as being good too. “It’s been quiet. Which I choose to believe is a good thing.”
"Oh, they're there. Trust me. I've been yanking them out whenever they grow back," Max explained with a grin. "And smiling? More than in Seattle," she admitted. Being back in the CIA fold didn't make for an easy life, but she'd done much better on her own than she had in her quasi-relationship in Seattle. "Being single works for me," she said easily, which she wouldn't have been able to pull off half a decade earlier. She shrugged. "Some of us do better without a ring on it." Laura's insistence that she not get serious was met with a quirked brow. "Quiet is good, but make up some exciting shit if you have to. Visits to Europe? Romantic men in Monaco? Finding a cure for the common cold in Egypt?" It was a game she played with Amanda, who was way too smart for her own good, and who said it wouldn't work for two old friends reconnecting too?
“Vicious,” Laura replied with another smile. She didn’t admit to sometimes doing the same thing, because Max was right - they tended to blend in with her already light hair, at least for the moment. She left enough of them alone, strands that would catch the light with silver if they were anywhere brighter than a dim bar. Taking a drink of her beer again, she raised her left hand as she swallowed, the back of it toward Max, displaying her very bare ring finger. “Single is good,” she finally replied, letting her hand drop again. There was an amused spark in her eyes at the list of exciting things she might have been doing. “So you want me to lie? Alright. Um...” She took a moment to think and take another sip of her beer. “I did a favor for an overseas billionaire, and he gifted me with a harem of my very own?” Her lips tipped up along with her voice, the question obvious of whether it was a successful invented story or not.
"A harem?" Max said, following it up with an impressed whistle. "Then why are we here and not there?" she quipped, her smile coming easily and followed by another sip of the beer. "I was going to get one of my own, a harem, but Manda insisted on a pony instead. It takes up a lot of space," she added with a smile, making it pretty clear where this particular game had come from. The waitress wandered by, and Max asked for some wings, and then she turned her attention back to the blonde. "Alright, five seconds of serious? If you need anything while I'm here, don't hesitate. I might not be here past the fall semester, but hey, it's something." She paused and took another sip of her beer. "Lots of old faces," she added, letting the statement linger between them and speak for itself. It was an understatement, of course.
Max’s whistle solidified another smile on Laura’s face, and even made her laugh. Sincere enough, but nothing like the loud show of amusement she used to have. “I, uh... gave them the night off? All of them.” She shook her head as she smiled. “Ponies are probably a better investment anyway. They probably eat less.” Something settled in her stomach at the mention of Manda, though. She’d lost track of exactly what had happened, even though it seemed everyone lived mostly in the same city. Hearing that Max was still seeing her daughter enough for pony demands seemed to be a good sign. Laura watched the waitress get farther from the table again after Max’s request for wings, and Max’s words fell to the table between them before Laura could draw her attention back. Her gaze was serious when she did, though. A flat sort of assessment, an old habit of reading a possible ally, determining strengths and weaknesses and the likelihood of being turned against. It was chilling, but gone in the next second and hidden behind a smile. “I appreciate it. I didn’t plan on staying long myself. Only a few days, really. But...” She tilted her head and gestured toward it with the bottle she’d picked up again. “Plans changed.” A drink, another serious look from behind the lip of the bottle, and a nod. “I noticed the familiar names. Almost like a reunion.” Everything about her tone said it was a reunion she didn’t want to attend. She hadn’t patrolled the streets since leaving jail, but she knew, if those old names needed help, she’d likely find it difficult enough to say no.
"But riding them isn't nearly as fun, but we won't tell Manda about that yet," Max teased, grabbing a wing as soon as it came, and remembering first dates and barbeque ribs, memories only someone from Seattle could stir up. She looked up just in time to see Laura's reaction to the waitress, and her eyes went focused and sharp for a second, wondering just how much the other woman had lost in that prison in Seattle. "Plans have a tendency to do that," she said of them changing. As for the old names, she just nodded. "It's strange, talking to kids that aren't kids anymore," she said truthfully, very obviously talking about Luke, but she knew Laura had some of that too with Orin's daughter. "Makes me feel old and young at the same time. Can't pull rank anymore, but they don't listen any better than they did back then." Max had never been Luke's mother, but she'd filled some strange in-between role, and this was definitely a learning curve. "Saw Corvus the other day, Jack, but that's it for my up-close and personal. How about you?" she asked, tossing bones into the basket and grabbing another wing.
Laura laughed again, this one better, closer to something familiar. Maybe not quite what it should be yet, but it at least held hints of what it should have been. “I’m not going to be the one to tell her,” she shook her head, but the smile held. “Unless she needs someone to be the cool aunt. I’m trying with Nell, but I think there’s too much strangeness for that. And it’s not like Gwennie’s going to be making me an aunt any time soon.” Her eyebrows raised slightly at the mention of Jack. He was one of those people that was tied into her old memories of Seattle, and her eyebrows quickly shifted together, a wrinkle deep between them. “Haven’t seen anyone yet. Not here, at least. Tried talking to my ‘targets’ in my book, but they’re even less willing to give out any info than I’d been hoping...”
"Manda is smaller than Nell. It's easier to be the cool aunt with her." Max pointed her beer at Laura. "But, I warn you, she's just like her fucking father. She'll logic you to death, tell you that fries have cholesterol, and be generally unimpressed with anything that resembles a doll." The thought of Gwen as a mom made her smile, but it was a bittersweet smile. She could still remember Gwen talking about a family, and that had all been stolen from her, the way so many things in Seattle had been from all of them. The mention of Nell and Anton being unwilling to part with information wasn't surprising to Max, who was quickly learning that no one in Vegas liked to talk about anything. "Apparently it's a faux pas to discuss the head things, and no one wants to talk too deeply about anything so far. It feels like infiltrating a club or something," she admitted.
“Never talked much to him, and it was all serious business the few times I did,” Laura said with a nod. “But it’s scary to think of a little girl just like him. Sounds like she needs a dose of cool aunt, and quick.” She caught the bittersweet smile, and could at least guess at what it was for. She didn’t reply to it though, choosing instead to take another drink from her bottle. Making a soft sound of agreement into it, she wiped at her lip with one finger as she swallowed. “I don’t even care about head things. I’m more worried about finding out if they’re taking care of themselves.” She rolled her eyes at herself. “I’m beginning to think the man should just show up to check on them himself though. I was never one for ferreting out information.” She made a face that was halfway between annoyed and amused. “I haven’t been part of the cool club in ages. I don’t think I’m going to be infiltrating any time soon.”
"I'm learning that taking care isn't as easy out here as it seems. Corvus mentioned crazy parties at the hotel, and things coming into the city. Didn't exactly sound like a good time. My advice? Show up and cook them breakfast. No one can defend themselves before coffee, and pancakes are a great way to break the ice." It was simple, but Max had learned simple worked best, especially since having a kid. "While you're at it, sit some of my people down too, would you? I did talk to Anton, though. He sounded good. Not great, not happy, but good. It's a start, right?"
Laura shook her head with a smile. "Even if pre-breakfast is a good ambush time, I'm not much use that early either. And obviously you were never told about my ongoing feud with pancakes." She was still smiling, but there was something deadly serious in her eyes. Not the sort of serious that was linked with the long days behind bars, but the seriousness born of a decades long ‘conflict’. "Good is better than not," she finally agreed, nodding. "So many worse things to be."
Max laughed, and it was the honest laugh of a woman who had stopped giving a shit what other people thought about almost everything. "Pancakes? Is it all cooking, or just pancakes?" she asked, tipping her beer to a man at the bar who looked over to see what all the laughter was about. She considered her comment about Anton, about good being better than the alternative. "Yeah," she agreed, though she was a little discouraged at how many of the people she knew were just ok. "Any love stories to tell?" she asked a second later, watching out of the corner of her eye as the man at the bar paid for their round.
“I maybe have issues with making most food, but yeah, especially pancakes. The little fuckers.” Laura laughed her own laugh, still quieter than it once was, but it came easier. It was hard to tell if it was the beer, just getting used to Max again, a combination of the two, or something completely different. She caught the interaction with the man at the bar, and her smile went softer again with familiarity of memories of other nights on the town with Max. “Love stories?” Again a shift of that smile, this time back to the one that was playful but that somehow missed her eyes. “I already told you about my harem. How many hours do you think I have in a day?”
"Harems are about sex. Everyone knows that," Max joked. "No time for romance in harems." Still, she would have liked to see one of her friends happily paired off. Maybe it was old fashioned. She'd never been old fashioned before, and she blamed motherhood and the big 3-0 for that. But it would have been nice. "No time for pancakes either," she said with a teasing smile. "I still can't cook. I admit it. I'll never be domestic. My fridge is beer and chicken nuggets you can pop in the oven these days." She was never going to be Martha Stewart, that was for sure. But she did a good job at wielding a wrench and a paint brush, which had to count for something.
“That’s exactly my point. Too busy with the harem. All those pretty boys and girls, who has time for a love story?” Laura’s smile stayed a wry angle across her face, and if she maybe neglected to mention that her imaginary harem was actually equal to two failed dates in five years (one that ended with her walking out of the restaurant and the other in a kiss on the cheek and no follow-up phone call), well she was getting older. Her memory must be going. But she definitely wasn’t going to be the friend to fulfill Max’s romance quota. She was too damaged for too long to manage that. She shook her head to clear the jadedness she could feel sneaking in, smile gone true again. “I can make a few things. Soup from scratch. Most things I can throw in a crockpot. If I didn’t, Gwennie and I would probably never eat anything other than takeout.”
"The harem is having a negative effect on your love life," Max said with a laugh. "Says the woman who is perpetually fucking single." Between traveling for work and having Manda whenever she wasn't traveling, well, dating just wasn't happening these days, which explained why the guy at the bar was looking better by the minute. "Still, a little clean fun isn't a bad thing," she said, shooting the guy another look before turning her attention to Laura again. "I can't make anything. Manda will learn how to cook before I ever do. Just as long as she doesn't develop Brandon's fondness for protein drinks," she said, taking another wing and licking buffalo sauce off her fingers. "So, what's the plan now that you're here?"
The warmth slipped back into Laura’s gaze as she finished off the last drink from her bottle and set it to the side. “It is doing no such thing,” she smiled as she shook her head. Her chuckle snuck across the table toward Max. “Clean fun, hm?” She turned in her seat to look directly at the man at the bar, not hiding what she was doing, frank gaze sliding up and then down. Once she was done, she looked him right in the face for a too-long, too-frank moment. She turned back to Max once she was done, “He’s alright,” an almost mischievous smile hinting around her lips. “And there’s no plan. I wasn’t even meant to stay this long, much less longer.”
Max shoved at Laura's arm across the table during that long, frank look. "I just want to sleep with him. Not marry him. All that perusal isn't necessary, and I can still kick his ass if he tries anything, grey hairs or not." She finished off her drink and she pushed the basket of wings away. "You could go say hello," she offered, in case Laura was interested. There was always another guy waiting around the corner; Max had learned that ages ago. "And I know there's no plan - or that there wasn't a plan - but you're here now, and you're staying, so?"
Laura laughed at Max, knowing that the guy at the bar was only a temporary hookup for Max at best. And it was easy enough to tell that the other woman was more than capable of taking care of herself. But it didn’t stop her from giving the guy The Eye, to make sure he understood where things would stand if he so much as looked at Max wrong. The movement of the wing basket caught her attention, and then Max’s words. They pulled a shocked laugh from her, startled enough to sound almost exactly the way she had those years ago in Seattle. “Me? No! No, he’s all yours.” She was still laughing to herself and shaking her head at the next question. “Hadn’t thought that far. I should. I don’t think my oh-so-generous financial backer is going to let me live here on his dime for very long. If I stay, I should at least find a job.” With that thought came a run of others: calling her old (current?) job, calling Gwen, finding some place to live that wasn’t a hotel. It was too much to think about, and she tried to push the thoughts away. Or maybe she’d leave and head back to New York again...
Max pulled enough money from her pocket to cover the tip, since mister generous at the bar had covered the rest, and she laughed at Laura's reaction to the suggestion that she go cozy up to their benefactor. "You should think that far," she told Laura, because there was no way anyone with someone in their head was leaving Las Vegas. She'd already figured that out about this place. "But a job is a good start. It'll give you something to do other than trying to get shit out of your reluctant charges." She thought it might be good for Laura to have some distraction too, especially if it reduced the glimpses of sadness that Max kept getting throughout the conversation. She watched Laura's expression go thoughtful, and she reached out and touched the other woman's wrist. "Hey. Earth to Laura," she said, drawing the blonde's attention back. "How about a workout partner. Running? I haven't found anyone to hit the pavement with, and I hear it's better if you don't do it alone." Maybe it was dangerous, getting close to someone who wasn't in the life, but Laura reminded her of simpler times, and she didn't want to lose contact, even if it meant lying through her teeth on occasion.
The touch to her wrist was unexpected, and Laura visibly startled, her hand jerking under Max’s fingers. She settled again almost immediately, recognizing that it was only Max, but her attention was sharp when she pulled it back from her thoughts suddenly. A look directly at Max, one that bordered on almost too long, and she blew out a tiny sigh. “Job. Yes. And working out might be good. I’ve been...” She wanted to say ‘getting lazy’, wanted to defend why she was out of ‘fighting’ shape, why she likely wouldn’t be able to hold her own the way she once could. She wanted to do all those things, but the real excuse was that going softer kept her from her old night job. She never finished that thought though, simply shaking her head and sighing. “Running might be good.”
Max gave her a look that was worried, then understanding. "I'm not in that life anymore," she told her friend, and that was true enough. "I've rethought, after seeing how badly it fucked up the people I loved, and I don't think the system was any better at the end, so..." She let it linger, shrugged her shoulders. "Figured you should know." And if Laura was still involved, or if any of the others were, it was better that information stayed away; Max was counting on that. Luke was already a huge secret to keep, and she didn't want to add to the pile. "So, easy running, yeah? No need to kill ourselves." She glanced toward the bar again, and she nodded as their drink buyer slipped on his jacket. "I better-" She motioned to the guy, and she figured Laura might need some time after that reaction to a simple touch. Max wanted to apologize, but she kept quiet, not wanting to draw attention to it or make it worse. "Monday. We'll find a trail. Call me?" She rattled off her number as she stood.
Laura was nodding even before Max got through more than a couple words. Something easy. She could do that. Her smile was maybe a hint too brittle when she glanced between Max and the guy at the bar. “Stay safe,” she said, more of a demand than anything else. She appreciated the soft tact, the understanding instead of pity. “Have to be early around here so we don’t die in the heat. I’m going to expect coffee afterwards.” She waved her hand loosely, dismissing anything strange hanging between them still. “I’ll call. Go now. ...have fun.” The last part was sincere, and delivered with a smile that was again truer. She contemplated a hug, a kiss on Max’s cheek, but in the end she simply lifted her hand to nudge Max’s arm and then wave a sketch of a goodbye.