The Universe's Mixer

This place was almost uninhabitable.

The window was in dire need of repair, there were stains on the wood floor, some of the planks were warped from excessive moisture and needed to be replaced. Thick layers of dust coated anything with a surface, and despite then use of the fireplace after a year of being gone (before he had ended up in that broken world), the yawning mouth of the hearth seemed too empty. The pile of ashes were still there from the fire he had started long ago. And that was curious. He had burned all of the photos, the letters, anything that could remind him of her and that night.

But you couldn't wipe a place clean of the memories. You could burn the structure to the ground, which was a thought that kept coming back into his mind again and again, but you could never truly rid yourself of the ghosts.

Some of the floor was covered in shards of glass, bits so minute that even the naked eye couldn't see them. Pages from torn books sat in a heap in the corner. The only room that was truly intact was the kitchen, a room Eric and Shelly rarely used for it's true purpose. Shelly was a terrible cook. Eric loved that about her. The brunette could burn water trying to boil it so it was rare they had a home cooked meal together in their apartment unless Eric was the one making it. He was alright in food preparation, much better in comparison with Shelly, but he was gone so often it was pointless really to try to have a formal dinner. Being on the road got tedious but it also allowed one to get swept into the idea of takeout or fast food.

The kitchen was where Eric sat now. His back was pressed against the closed oven door, the glass fogged from disuse with dust. Everything in the kitchen was just how they had left it. The pots and pans were still in the cabinets around the oven and stove unit, the plates and cups neatly stacked in the cubbards above the sink. The refrigerator had power, oddly, as if the City was expecting someone whom actually consumed food to move in and take up residence. Maybe it knew Leeloo would be there far before Eric did. That was impossible, but not.

Eric had needed a break from trying to tidy the place up. He wanted to make it look nice for Leeloo, his invited guest, and yet...somehow, the process was a lot harder than he had originally thought. It wasn't a physical toll, he couldn't succumb to exhaustion, but an emotional one. Shelly had been gone for years and every where he looked he saw her there. Even here, now. Everything he touched he felt her.

Eric closed his eyes and waited to see if the strong feeling would fade. He hoped it would or he felt he would be unable to go on. He felt unable to move from this spot, too heavy and too weighted down by the dredge of burden to even attempt to rise and continue. He felt defeated and he hadn't yet even made a dent in the things that needed to be done.

He couldn't. Not yet. But he would.

He would for Leeloo. But not yet.

When he opened his eyes, Jesse realized that something was off. No. A lot of things were off. Despite the fact that he was in his own bed, in his own place, there were things within the room that even his blurry sleep-addled vision picked out immediately. Items that looked like they belonged in Zoe's apartment, not his. There was his John Wayne figure, but Zoe's style and grace were everywhere else. He realized then that despite the fact that it was his bed, these were Zoe's sheets.

"Darlin?" He called out, his mouth filled with cotton. "I think the City's fuckin with us. Seems it saw fit to squish our places together."

He rolled over, looking for an alarm clock to check the time with.

"Zoe? Where you at, sugar?"

Jesse really didn't want to get out of bed. His head felt muddled. Like he'd been drinking too much for months on end, which was something he hadn't done in a while. The alcohol was still his friend, but they didn't get black out drunk together anymore. Just warmly tipsy, and occasionally stumbling. He hadn't had a real reason to drink himself into a stupor in a long, long time. Yet that's how he felt. As if he'd been on a week long bender after several weeks of heavy consumption. It was miserable.

"Zoe? Baby? Could ya bring me some coffee? And my cigarettes? Why ain't they on the nightstand?"

He had found himself in his above-garage room in Charlie's house, and it had been very clear to him that the situation had been that. His stuff was there, and Charlie's bullet-riddled car had been outside. Which was not the place he'd been. He'd been with Jo. In her little house. There had been a little girl in the next room, sleeping soundly. He'd been content. More than that, he'd been happy.

Ted's heart had sunk to find he was back in California, but he'd gone back to his life the best that he could. There was a Charlie here, of course, just not... Charlie. This Charlie knew nothing about the City or what they'd done. This Charlie didn't have a Jennifer at his side, he was still wrapped up in his ex wife. This Charlie commented occasionally about how Ted didn't seem very Ted-like recently, but Ted just shook it off as flu symptoms.

So when he opened his eyes this time and saw the morning sun streaming through the silly lacy curtains that had been hung in Jo's slightly ridiculous little perfect house, his heart rose.

Of course, it sank again when he found no sign of Jo at all. And no Jo in the contacts of his phone. No little girl with special powers, either. Ted realized that the City had brought him back, but it had taken everything from him that he had loved. He was where he wanted to be, but not who he wanted to be with.

He knew that he couldn't stay in the little house forever. It would be too painful. But he would stay for a while at least, until he found somewhere else. Which... well, he wasn't going to do that right away, he didn't think. For now, well. Ted was going to check up on things around town.

Coffee first, he thought. Yes. Ted went looking for his favorite shop, finding it almost immediately. His face did not show that pleasure, though. It showed only his loss.