Jainie (spooky_cupcake) wrote in lilpinkfic, @ 2008-05-11 12:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | bashert, l word fanfic, shane/jenny, shenny fanfic |
Bashert - (6/?) - Early to Rise
Title: Bashert - Chapter 6: Early to Rise
Summary: Paige and Jenny have a heart-to-heart talk.
Fandom: The L Word
Pairing: Shane/Jenny
Rating: R for language.
Notes: This is a 'missing' scene from season four. Jenny and Paige have a heart-to-heart talk. Paige's sudden shift in demeanor in the finale episode of s4 bugged me, so here's my attempt to explain it - at least a little bit. So this is set sometime between 4x07 and 4x08, roughly.
It's so early that only the smallest, dimmest rays of sunlight are trickling out over the horizon – just enough to turn the sky thrilling shades of pink, mixed with the rich blue of night that's still trying to hang on. I find myself getting up and moving like I'm still caught in Dreamworld somewhere, knee-deep in the quicksand of sleep, rubbing at my eyes as I fix a pot of coffee in the kitchen. I have to be quiet, because Shay is laying in his cot, fast asleep in the living room, but it seems as though he's just as heavy a sleeper as you are – I accidentally drop a spoon on the floor and it makes a loud clatter, but he doesn't even stir.
I steal a couple of your cigarettes from the pack sitting on the kitchen table and sneak out with my coffee, taking a seat on the back porch and gathering my sweater around myself. The cigarette held between my lips, it stays there until I find the lighter hidden in one of the pockets of my pajama pants and I light it, taking a deep drag and chasing it with a sip of coffee.
I don't get up this early, usually, unless there's something I have to do, but today, my schedule is open and empty and it's just me and my coffee and wondering if you might like to go to the Planet later, after you've dropped Shay off at school.
Shifting about on the porch step, I glance over my shoulder through the back door which I've left sitting open, eyes lingering on your brother as he sleeps. I set my coffee cup aside and draw my knees up to my chest, taking a drag off of my cigarette as I watch him breathe, marveling at the depth of each breath. Inhaling the entire world with all the gusto of a child. I've never seen you sleep – I've only seen you after, in the morning, when you're trying to rouse yourself into facing the day with cup after cup of eye-poppingly strong espresso – and I find myself wishing I could see you, watch you like this sometime.
Bette was right. You make such a wonderful mother. At first, I worried about you both. About you and Shay. You were so sad, when you came home. Broken. And there was nothing I could do. I felt... completely at a loss, so fucking helpless. There was nothing I could do to stop the train wreck, no way to shield you even as you opened yourself up for that agony, sliced to bloody ribbons by your own doubts. For a while – just a little while – I was angry. Because you left. You just left! You didn't say a word to anyone but Alice -- and I... something in me hurt so much, because of the way you left like that. Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you ask for my help? Why didn't you let me help you?
It didn't take long to forgive you. Not after I saw the bruises on your face and that hollowed-out look in your eyes. I didn't know where the bruises came from and I didn't ask. You didn't tell me, but then I didn't really have to ask, either. You hit the wall, just like I knew you would. I guess it really didn't matter which wall it was. Somehow, somewhere along the way, you just did - some way, it just happened and it was what had to happen, I guess. I knew, then, when I saw your face that I would never stay angry - that I couldn't - because you were beating up on yourself hard enough without any help from any of us, that you were heaping more guilt on yourself than you could ever begin to make up for in this lifetime.
“He's asleep?” I asked softly. You nodded and took a seat across from me at the table, the fingertips of one hand fidgeting with the corner of one of the place mats: curling it up and then letting it fall back into place again. You never fidgeted, before. The sight of it was strange and unnerving and endearing all at the same time.
“I don't know what I'm gonna do, Jenny,” you whispered and then you blinked and looked over at me, almost as though those weren't the words you were expecting would come out and you were checking to make sure I'd heard them, too. The tone of your voice – you sounded so desperately afraid, like it was choking you. "I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do."
I looked away and started doing some fidgeting of my own – picking up the cork from the bottle of sauvignon and fiddling with it. I'd picked up the bottle in San Francisco, after the book signing and, god, how I wished you could have gone with me to be there with me for that first book signing, Shane. It was so fucking surreal. I'd needed to see you there, standing out at the edges of the crowd, arms folded and listening and smiling as I read an excerpt of the book, looking so proud of me. I'd needed you there so much.
I think that... I think that's where it came from. The anger. Not from you leaving Carmen, but from leaving us -- all of us – without a word or an explanation. Nothing. Just c'est la vie, au revoire and bon nuit and that's it. Just making us – me – have to do without you for however long, until you decided to come back. I didn't like the way that felt. It reminded me too much of everyone else I've ever known in my fucking life.
... you are the most loyal... friend... I've ever had in my life... and you've never left our sides when things have become dark...
And yet you left us when things in your own life had gotten dark – as dark as they'd probably ever been – and never gave me a chance to help, never even let me try and as much as I didn't want to admit it – it hurt...
I didn't know what to say to you. The thought of children had always scared the shit out of me and still did, even then, but here you were, now, with a kid and you were saying that to me – like I'd know what to do, somehow. I was just as clueless as you were. And I was sorry. Sorry that I didn't have the answers for you. More than anything, I wanted to be able to have them so that I could give them to you, but I just... I just didn't.
“Maybe you could... look for his --” I got hung up on the words. Look for who? His father, who'd abandoned you not once, but twice? The mother, who'd been the one to leave him on our doorstep, minus the bassinet tied with baby-boy-blue silk ribbons? Pursing my lips, I brought the wineglass up to them and took a sip of my wine, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Look, don't worry about it, okay? There's plenty of room for him here. He can stay here.”
“Really?” You asked me, then, looking up from beneath the jungle of your dark, tangled hair and I couldn't help but wonder when was the last time you brushed it? Washed it? Your eyes were uncertain, shuttered.
“Yeah. Really,” I said, feeling a smile immediately settle into place on my lips and it felt at home, there, that smile. “As long as he needs to. It's totally cool. Okay?”
“Thanks, Jen,” you said softly, smiling despite the cut on your lip as you bowed your head. Always so grateful, so obliged, so indebted and even now, I still don't fucking know why. “Thank you.”
“Hey,” I whispered, leaning over to lightly rest the tips of my fingers lightly on your arm, carefully avoiding your injured wrist. After a moment, you looked up, meeting my eyes hesitantly and I could see the worry blooming in them, the dread. Oh, god, what did you think I was going to say? Something about Carmen? Were you expecting me to tear into you over leaving her, now, in the state you were in? I couldn't even imagine, but I had to banish the thoughts of it, the fear of that... whatever it was. “I'm so fucking glad that you came home.”
There came that slow, relieved smile and you reached for my hand with your uninjured one, seeking and capturing my fingers with yours and bringing my hand to your lips, lightly kissing my knuckles. “So am I,” you whispered back as you lowered my hand, giving my fingers a careful squeeze. You sounded so tired, but relieved.
Somehow, that touch reminded me and I looked down at your other hand, your injured wrist swollen up to about twice its usual size. “Do you think it's broken? Did you need me to take you to the ER?” I asked quietly.
“No,” you said, shaking your head as you lowered my hand further, resting it on the forearm of your injured arm and lightly covering it with your free hand. “No, I don't – I don't have any insurance. It's cool. I'll just put some ice on it or something.”
“Max left some of his old ACE bandages in my room, you know,” I began quietly. “I could get them and wrap up your wrist for you, if you want me to.”
You considered that for a moment and then offered me a soft, grateful smile, still tinged with uncertainty. “Okay,” you murmured, nodding. “Thanks.”
“You're welcome,” I said, smiling as I took one last sip of my wine and stood, setting the glass on the table beside your elbow. “Here, drink that. It might help with the pain, a little. I'll go get that thing so we can take care of your wrist. Okay?”
Reaching for the glass of wine with your good hand, you looked up at me and your smile was tiny, but there, your eyes shining with warmth. “Yeah,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” I said, my smile broadening as I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, reaching up for a moment to carefully smooth your hair with both hands before I could force myself to walk away for even a moment.
So I let it all go and I forgave you, because I love you more than anything on this earth and I knew you needed at least one person who'd be there. Who could accept the absence of answers from you, the wounded silence.
When I got home from my book signing that night and found you with this little boy who looked eerily so much like you, I couldn't even begin to think of what to say. I didn't know how he'd wound up there at my -- our -- house, but when you told me who he was and that his mother had left him there, abandoned him, I just wrapped you up in my arms and held on. I could feel you shivering and could see the tear streaks on your face, even in the dim light, but I just held on until you could breathe again. You were so terrified and all I could do was hang on. I think I was scared, too, then... even if I didn't realize it, at the time. I was scared for both of you.
If you'd asked me before Shay came how I'd deal with having a kid in the house, I would have probably said not very well, but ... no, I like him. I really do. He's sweet and quiet and surprisingly serious for a nine-year-old. Well, any nine-year-old that's not your brother. And sometimes he does remind me so much of you; when he smiles and especially when he gets that wary look in his eyes. I feel sad for him – that he's so young and already he has reason to doubt that the world is anything but absolutely perfect and safe and good. I don't mind kids as much as I did, before. Not that I really minded them, exactly, I just didn't really know what they were all about.
Seeing you with him, taking care of him, it's like watching a magic act. The way you deal with his sour, sulky moods with patience and gentleness, turning grumpy frowns into grudging smiles and then bright, unburdened laughter. The way you hug him, like you're trying to draw him into yourself... like he's a piece of you that's been missing for years and you want it back, now. That's what I see when I look at him: you, undamaged and still innocent and still pure in so many ways.
I wish there was some way to give you back that part of yourself, but it's as gone as gone can be. But being with Shay, having him here, is good for you - even I can see that. And you love him and he loves you and what else is there, really?
"Hey...! I didn't think anybody else would be up this early!"
And there's the other reason why I think you might be getting better. Looking up, I find Paige, smiling hesitantly, sheepishly, as she tip-toes out onto the back porch in her bare feet. She's wearing a pale yellow camisole and a pair of snug blue lacy boyshorts and her hair is a sweet blond rumple. She whispers as she speaks, but somehow, her voice still comes out louder, croakier than it should - as if her voice doesn't know how to work with a whisper. Just like you, she has a voice that's not meant for whispering.
"Hi," I whisper, smiling brightly as I lift my hand up in a wave. “Good morning!”
"Am I disturbing you? Because if I am, I can --" Paige begins, gesturing behind her into the house, already starting to backpedal.
"No, no...! No, come outside -- it's okay," I reply, shaking my head even as I gesture for her to join me. I pat a place on the porch step. "You're allowed! You're not bothering me."
"Okay... thanks," she says, her smile taking on a relieved edge to it. She moves to step out onto the porch, but then sees the cup of coffee in my hand and points at it, arching her eyebrow. "Actually, I think I might grab a cup of coffee, first, if that's okay?"
"Sure, absolutely," I say, nodding. "Help yourself! There's soy milk in the fridge and the sugar's on the counter, by the stove, if you want any."
"Okay, thanks," she replies, flashing another quick, dazzling smile as she ducks back into the kitchen. It takes her a couple of minutes, but she's soon tip-toeing back out onto the porch, licking some soy milk off of her thumb as she comes out. She takes a seat next to me on the porch and I scoot back a bit on the step to make room for her.
The first time I met Paige, I was really surprised at how tall and big she was. Even taller than me than you are. I think she could probably rest her elbow on the top of my head without even having to bend or lean. She's like this blond, fierce Amazon woman and yet, at the same time, even though she's so much taller and bigger, she doesn't intimidate me – there's something about her that's so gentle and genuine and I'm glad for it.
"So how are you, this morning?" Taking a sip of her coffee, she cradles the cup in her two hands, shoulders hunching and she seems to draw in on herself like you do, sometimes, trying to make herself smaller. For some reason, I immediately feel sorry for thinking what I did... you know, about how big she is.
"I'm good," I reply, taking a sip of my own coffee, reaching up to smooth my hair out of my face with my free hand as I swallow. Sitting there, watching her, that's when I realize: I really don't know what to say to her. She's nice enough and I'm pretty sure she's nice to you, Shane, but... I just don't know what to say. "How are you?"
"Uhh, wow... well, that's... that's a really good question, actually," Paige says, letting out a husky, breathless laugh. Her expression turns serious, her eyes murky with concern as she looks over at me. "Jenny, can I -- do you think I could talk with you about something?"
"Yeah, sure! Absolutely, yes," I reply, eyes widening slightly as I nod. "Whatever you want to talk about. What's on your mind?"
"I -- it's -- I wouldn't ask, normally," she says, looking a bit uncomfortable as she scratches at her cheek, "because, I mean -- I hardly know you, right? It's just that I think this is pretty important and you seem to be one of the best people to ask."
"Ask me about what?" I tilt my head, favoring her with a curious look as I take a drag from my cigarette.
"It's just that... Shane. She's really quiet, isn't she?" Paige asks, brows furrowed as she looks over at me.
I feel my lips shaping into a warm smile once the last of the cigarette smoke has escaped from them. "Sometimes," I agree.
"I mean, is she -- is that a-a bad thing? Is it something I should be worried about?" I can see her distress growing more severe and I reach out, lightly placing my hand on her forearm.
"Paige, no. No, no, it's not," I say, shaking my head. I take another deep drag on my cigarette, trying to collect my thoughts and find the best way to put them into words. "Shane is a very -- she's just a very... private person."
Paige looks up at me and I can see her searching my face. "Yeah?" Her look is expectant, brows lifting slightly. Maybe she wants to be reassured, I don't know. All I can tell her is what I know.
"Yes," I confirm. "She was... alone in her life for a long time and I think she just got used to things being that way. She doesn't really know how to be... you know, around people, sometimes. She doesn't mean to do it. It's just how she is."
"Do you..." Paige begins carefully, only to let out a ragged, embarrassed laugh. "This is gonna sound so pathetic, but... do you think she's... do you think she's happy? With me? With us?"
Lips twisting, I sit back in my seat a bit, and think about all of the times I've seen the two of you together. I see the way Paige clings to you, the way she looks at you, and it reminds me so much of the way it feels when I look at you. Like you're just... magic. And I see the way you lean into Paige when you don't realize you're doing it, the way you stroke her hair when she turns her head away from you to talk to someone, the way your fingers find their way into tangling with hers whenever they're not doing something. The way you care for Jared just like he was your own blood, buying him presents and doting on him. I'd say you're a pushover, but I know that's not true. Because Shay and Jared both adore you and somehow manage to do so without being tempted to walk all over you or try to wind you around their grubby little fingers at the same time, the way children of that age usually do. It's almost like they know... you're something special and it's like they know not to take advantage, because who knows when they'll ever find something like it again?
"Yeah, I --" I feel something in my throat catch and I cough a little, flicking ashes from the end of my cigarette as I swallow. "Yeah, I, uhh... yeah, I do. I really do."
"It's just, y'know, it's hard enough, being a single mom, trying to find a guy who wouldn't take one look at Jared and make a run for it, but with Shane, it's... scarier, you know?" Paige says, eyebrow lifting slightly as she looks over at me and I can see the dread in her eyes.
"Why scary?" I ask, meeting her eyes steadily as I shrug.
"Because it's not just my life. It's Jared's life, too. And when Shane got involved with me, she got both of us in the bargain and I'm scared that it's going to be too much for her," she murmurs, bowing her head, that lush blond hair falling into her face, hiding it. Another way that she reminds me of you.
"I know she wants a family, Paige," I say as I set my coffee cup aside, wrapping my arms around my knees and hanging on. "She's said before that she'd like to have kids someday. I don't know... maybe she thinks she's ready, now."
"I hope so," Paige says, trying to force levity into her tone, though her expression is approaching anguished. I get the feeling that expression is one she makes a lot. "I hope so, y'know, 'cause I can't afford to hedge my bets with somebody who's not going to be there. I... she's been so great with Jared and Shay and... I could see us, having a life. Having a good life, you know? Together? With carpools and skateboarding playdates at Wax with the boys' friends and just this very, very normal, very simple, very --"
"Gay life?" I finish for her, tilting my head as I regard her. "Because that's what it'll be, Paige, if you stay with Shane. It'll be a gay fucking life and I think you really do need to ask yourself if that's what you want."
"I've already told Shane I don't really think of myself as gay or straight," Paige notes, taking a sip of her coffee.
"Right, but... she is," I point out. I lift my cigarette to take a drag and see that it's burned down clear to the filter and so I drop the butt into the ashtray sitting beside me with a sigh. "Shane is gay. Shane is very gay and she can't hide that and she doesn't want to. I mean, please, don't hate me, okay. I'm not trying to scare you off or put you on the spot, I just really want you to think about this for a minute. Have you ever been in a relationship with another woman?"
"Well, no, but I really don't see --"
"Okay, sorry, but just... I'm sorry, just..." I interrupt, holding up my hand. "That's all you needed to say." Taking a deep, deep breath, I let it out slowly as I gaze out over the backyard and the shed where Max is most likely still asleep, just like Shane and Shay in the main house. "I think you should be wondering whether or not this is the right thing to do. For yourself and Jared, but for Shane, too, because she's been hurt so fucking much, man, and so horribly. Think about it and think about what it will be like, walking hand-in-hand with her down a street that's somewhere not in West Hollywood."
"I'm not afraid of any homophobic assholes," Paige replies, an edge of determination and heat in her voice, eyes flashing. Wow. You've found yourself a real fucking warrior woman, here, Shane. She's... kind of scary, like this.
"But it's not just that," I say, sighing as I rake my hands through my hair. "It's not just that, Paige, it's not just the assholes. It's your family, it's the schools, it's the fucking police, it's everybody and everything and everywhere. It's living the life, every single second of every day and knowing that Jared is a part of that life and being proud of it all."
"Do you -- do you think she's proud of me? Of us?" She asks haltingly and I don't have to ask her who she means.
"Yes," I say, without a moment's hesitation as I emphatically nod my head. "She is. That's one thing about Shane: with her, it's all or nothing. She puts all of her heart into things, people." Pursing my lips, I bow my head a bit. “It's one of the best things about her but one of the things that fucks her up the worst, too.”
“How do you mean?” Paige asks, husky voice taking on a concerned tone, as though she's ready to take up a sword and shield and defend your honor or fend off a dragon for you or something.
“I... no, it's nothing,” I reply hastily, shaking my head vigorously along with my hands, waving them in front of me in a cutting gesture. “I – I shouldn't have said anything. Just forget I said it. Oh, fuck.”
“No – Jenny, come on, you can't just – I mean, what? What's the big deal?” A rasp of dry, humorless laughter and I can hear the desperation, there, now.
Covering my face with my hands, I take a deep breath and slowly let it out in a long, long sigh. I gather my hair up in both hands, squeezing it until I can feel my scalp pulling taut, tugging and tense and painful and waking me up a bit more. Making this all a bit more real. “Before Shane met you, even before Shay showed up, Shane was... she was seeing this woman. And her name was Carmen.”
“Okay...” Paige says. I don't continue and I can see movement out of the corner of my eye, an expectant gesture from her of 'go on'. “And? What about this Carmen?”
“She was Shane's first girlfriend, Paige,” I finish with a frown, feeling my brows knit down together. “She was – maybe about a month before you met Shane, we – all of us, we were up in Whistler, Canada and we were getting ready for Shane and Carmen's wedding.”
It's quiet for a very long time and I almost expect to hear the long, ear-splitting whistle of a bomb plummeting to earth. “Oh... oh, my god,” Paige stammers, blinking and her tanned skin seems a shade or two paler, now, almost ashen as she leans against the porch railing. “She was... really?”
I nod deliberately. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Helena – our friend, Helena Peabody, I don't know if anybody's introduced you to her, yet – paid for the whole thing, because Shane doesn't... she doesn't have any family and Carmen's family basically disowned her when Carmen told them what was going on between her and Shane. I think they were... pretty religious, so the idea of their little girl being a lesbian didn't really go over very well.”
“Oh, my god,” Paige murmurs again, shaking her head. Another blink and she looks over at me and suddenly, she seems self-conscious. “I'm – I'm sorry, I know I'm saying that a lot right now, but... oh, my god... she was... she was really gonna go through with it?”
“She was,” I confirm, nodding. “We threw her this incredible bachelor party and everything. The chateau was beautiful. The tent was beautiful. The ceremony probably would have been beautiful, too.” I don't know why I'm telling her all of this. I really should just shut the fuck up and why can't I shut up? Why do I want her to hear this? Why do I want her to know?
...because maybe if you tell her she'll figure out why Shane left that night and then she'll know because Shane never says it and would never say it, not in a million eternities...
“Well – okay, obviously it didn't happen,” Paige says and I can see her brain working, trying to fill in the gaps of the story for her. “She didn't go through with it.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head as I lace the fingers of both of my hands together, stretching my arms out in front of me. And I'm not telling her any more. I just can't. I've already told her too much. Taking a deep breath, I look over at her, narrowing my eyes. “I – I just really think that you should talk to Shane, okay. Not about that, but about you guys. What happened with Carmen happened and it's over now and it's done. It's history. But you guys... with you guys, this is what's important, now.”
“Yeah,” Paige says, fair brows knitting together in a troubled wrinkle as she meets my eyes. “Yeah, I'll do that.”
“Good,” I say with a deliberate nod. I look away again, that piercing stare making my skin feel itchy underneath. I reach up and dig my fingers into my hair, itching at my scalp as if to relieve that feeling. It doesn't work. “Shane's heart is so fucking big, Paige. That makes it a really good target. But I know that she's got room in her heart for you and Jared and Shay and her friends and all the million and one kids I'm sure she's imagining you guys having together someday.” The furrows over Paige's eyebrows smooth away and there's a warm smile shaping her lips, now.
“You really love her a lot, don't you?” She asks, eyes shining and the way she says it – it's in this teasing, all-knowing, all-seeing 'mom' tone. I think I really could like her. Or maybe secretly, quietly hate her. I don't know. I can't make up my mind.
“She's my best friend,” I say softly, dutifully, as I reach for my coffee again and it feels like I'm reading it off of the page of some invisible script or cue cards someone's holding up a few feet away from us. It's the answer, it's always supposed to be the answer for everything. It's safe. Safer. For Paige, for me, for you. For Shay and Jared. I cradle my coffee mug to me and stare down into it and I can feel Paige's eyes burrowing into me again. She doesn't have your subtlety, Shane. You're like a microscope – distant and precise and untraceable – but she's like an electric drill, just grinding away at a point in her earnest and forthright way until she gets to the bottom of where she wants to be. Where all the answers are. “We've been there for each other through a lot of really fucked-up things.”
My right hand strays down almost of its own accord and my palm smooths over my thigh and without even closing my eyes, I can see the white, angry scars that I know are still there, under my clothes, and I feel this sharp ache in my chest. Like this gigantic drill bit, grinding away deliberately, stubbornly at my sternum.
“Do you... really think she thinks about us having kids?” Paige asks, sounding almost shy, but encouraged at the same time.
Thankfully, the ache dulls a little so that I can speak. “Absolutely,” I say, turning to look over at her with a smile. “It's something that I think she's wanted for a really long time but she just never let herself believe she could have it.”
“So what do you think's changed?” She asks, aiming a serious, questioning look my way.
I open my mouth to speak and I just can't. I just can't say any more. This is none of my business at all and oh, my god, I can't believe myself. “I don't know,” I reply at last, forcing a puzzled note into my response as I shrug. I don't want to say that it's because of Paige and who she is, because I don't know. I don't know what's changed and I don't want to guess and be wrong, because I'm afraid she might hold you to it. As if I'm speaking for you. I'm in so way over my head, here. Fuck. “I --”
“Hey...” Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you for showing up when you do, Shane. Thank you. Your voice is like this rough, muzzy-sounding gift from heaven and I feel my lips pulling back into a smile as I turn my head.
There you are, standing in the doorway, and you're rubbing at your left eye with the heel of your hand and whether you're trying to clear the sleep away or attempting to massage your brain into wakefulness from the outside, I'm not sure, but you look so adorable. You're dressed in some baggy black pajama bottoms and a blue tank and your feet are bare as you shuffle outside to join us on the porch. I don't know how you manage it, seeing as how you're rubbing one eye and the other is squinched closed, but something about the idea of you knowing your way around the house even without seeing pleases me in a weird way.
“Good morning, sleepy head!” Paige greets and god, she is just such a mom, isn't she? “Are you up?”
“Mmmph... sorta,” you mumble as you pad over to us and let your hand drop from your face, both eyes opening to half-mast as you ease yourself down a couple of steps and take a seat between Paige and I. You sit down heavily, hands folding together in your lap. You're obviously too sleepy to really negotiate as gracefully as you usually would and Paige is laughing as she reaches out to stroke your hair out of your face.
“Oh, honey, you're still so out of it,” she murmurs, grinning indulgently as she strokes your cheek. “Do you want me to get you some coffee or something?”
“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head in the negative carefully so as not to dislodge Paige's hand from your cheek.
“Shane, here,” I say, biting my lip as I reach out and lightly rest my hand on your shoulder as I hold out my mug to you. Your skin is fresh out-from-under-the-covers warm to the touch and I feel a bit of a strange thrill at it. There's something so intimate about it, seeing you at this point in your day. “Have some of mine.”
“Oh...” Your head turns and your eyebrows try to lift a bit but nope, no luck. That portion of your brain still isn't on board yet. They quirk maybe a quarter of an inch and then drop back down again. The same thing with your smile which is blindingly bright and sweet, if sadly fleeting as you reach out and take the offered mug. You reach out with your free arm, hooking it around my neck and drawing me in close as you press a sleep-muzzy kiss of gratitude to my temple. “Mmm. Thank you. I'll be right back. I'm gonna go get some...” you begin, already drawing back to stand and presumably head to the kitchen to doctor your coffee.
“No, no, Shane, there's soy milk and sugar in there, already,” I say, reaching out to pat your thigh. “It's okay.”
“Oh,” you say again, sounding fuzzily surprised but delighted all the same as you stare down into the mug for a moment before bringing it to your lips to take a long drink. Even that tiny bit of caffeine is enough to get your cylinders firing and as you lower the mug, you glance at Paige and then turn and look over at me, a curious expression on your face. “So, what's up? What have you guys been talking about out here?”
My lips draw back into a bright smile in spite of myself and I laugh. “Umm, I was just...”
“We were just --” Paige begins at the exact same moment and we share a brief glance and her sheepish laughter matches mine perfectly. We both fall silent and it quickly turns awkward and you're looking back and forth between the two of us like you're at a Wimbledon tennis match, arching your eyebrows – ahh, so the caffeine is finally kicking in, after all. “You know what? I'm... going to go and put some clothes on and then I'm going to make us all some breakfast.” Fuck. Nice save. Paige leans over and gives you an affectionate, smacking kiss on the cheek – complete with 'mmmmmmmwah!' - and grins as she rises to her feet and starts into the house.
“Ohh, no, Paige – you don't --” You start to say, twisting around a bit and watching her as she goes, still looking a little confused. You turn back to me, brows knitted. “She doesn't have to do that. Why is she doing that?”
“Paige, did you want my help?” I call, giggling a bit as I rest my hand on your knee.
“No, I'm fine! You two just relax. I know where everything is,” she yells back, her voice growing distant as she disappears down the hall, headed towards your room.
A hint of a grin starts to creep up onto your lips and another giggle escapes me. “She's such a mom,” I whisper, quickly covering my mouth with my hand. I can't help it. She is!
“Yeah, she is,” you drawl, your grin turning into a warm, proud smile and I feel something tugging on my heart, as if a clothes hanger has been fed through my ribcage, like car thieves do when they're trying to unlock someone's door. You take another sip of your – my – our coffee and your hand settles gently at the crown of my head, just resting there. Something about the weight of your hand there causes this incredible warmth to spread all along my skin, starting at the top of my head and sliding all the way down to my toes – making me feel loved, held, grounded. “So what were you guys talking about?”
“We were talking...” I begin, leaning into you as I reach up and link my arm with yours. I draw your hand away from my head and lean my head on your shoulder, instead. “Uhh, Paige and I were talking... about you... and how fucking amazing you are.”
“Jen --” You start, sounding impossibly embarrassed as you duck your head.
“Yes, Shane?” I ask softly, my lips drawing back into a bright smile as I laugh. I'm trying to sound angelic but it's probably not working. You know me better than that.
You purse your lips and I can see you're fighting a smile, a fondly exasperated glint in your eyes as you lift your head to look at me. “Nothing,” you say at last and I'm disappointed by it, a little. Lifting the mug you still hold in your other hand, you finish off the last of its contents and, licking your lips, you grin as you meet my eyes. Even with the coffee, your eyes are still heavy-lidded and black and lovely. “Let me go get you some more coffee.”
“Okay,” I reply sweetly, still smiling as I reach up and cup your right cheek, pressing a kiss to the left even as you're shifting on the step to stand. “Thank you, Shane.”
“Welcome,” you say, a chuckle in your voice as you gather yourself to your feet. My hand slips from your face and you gently disentangle your arm from mine and I feel something in the quiet part of my heart tighten in a tiny moment of panic as I lose touch with you.
Before I realize it, you're shifting around on the step and bending over at the waist to press a kiss into the hair at the crown of my head – the same spot where your hand had been resting a couple of minutes before. My lips draw back into a warm smile and as I tilt my head up to look at you, your right eyelid dips in a quick wink as you head back up the steps, bound for the kitchen.
I wind both of my arms around myself tightly, trying to make up for the loss, but they don't quite do the trick. Twisting about on the step a bit, I lean forward and watch as you pad into the kitchen, feet cat-quiet on the linoleum, eyes straying over to where Shay is burrowed down beneath his wasabi-green El Panda comforter. I think I see a tiny smile twitch up one corner of your mouth as you move over to the counter where the coffee press sits, out of my view. I find myself wishing that your father forgets that you and Shay ever existed, so that Shay can stay with you. Taking care of him makes you so happy and I know you'd be the kind of guardian he'd always deserved. The kind of parent you deserved when you were his age.
I see Paige make her way back into the kitchen, having slipped into a pair of well-worn jeans, fingers combing through her hair and drawing it back into a messy ponytail as she crosses over to where you're standing at the counter. Out of sight, tucked behind the back door where I can't see either of you.
“Hey...” I hear Paige say, voice low and rumbly and intimate and I look away, trying to tell myself it's rude and wrong to eavesdrop, but there's still another part of me that says that she has to know I'm still sitting out here, just feet from where you two are standing, so if I overhear something, it's not entirely my fault. I imagine her slipping her arms around your waist and I hear the sound of lips kissing.
“Hey,” you say to her, warmth evident in the still-dozy murmur of your voice. I can hear the smile in it. There are sounds of coffee being poured and the scent sneaks out through the back door and drifts over to me.
“Did you want me to wake up Shay?” Paige asks. There's a beat and then she chuckles and it's a mischievous sound.
“Hey --!” You blurt out, but quickly lower your voice to a whisper so that you don't disturb Shay. “That's Jenny's!”
“You can pour her another cup,” she says and her tone is even but playful and I feel my face grow hot, like I've opened up an oven and the hot air has wafted over my cheeks. Closing my eyes, I duck my head down until my cheek is pressed against my knee.
You don't say anything for a moment, but I hear the clink of ceramic against ceramic, pulling another mug down from the cabinet for me. “I'll wake him up,” you say after a moment, the sound of coffee filling the second mug accompanying your words. “I'll let him sleep a few more minutes.”
“Enjoying the quiet for as long as you can, huh?” Paige asks with a throaty chuckle.
“No...” You reply after a moment of hesitation, the protest sounding half-hearted. I know you love Shay. You don't think of him as a burden or an inconvenience, like maybe Paige thinks of her kid. He really doesn't make that much noise. Shay, I mean.
“Oh, honey, I'm only joking,” she says, that same sweetly sporting tone in her voice and I hear the sounds of a mug being set down on the counter, footsteps receding.
I find myself wondering – really wondering – about whether I've ever called you 'honey' before. For a few moments, I'm wracking my brain, trying to remember if I've ever called you by anything but your name. I can't think of any time I might have done that. It feels strange, but at the same time... I love your name and I don't really see any point to calling you anything else. I know Alice calls you 'Shaney' sometimes and you use plenty of pet names yourself – calling Tina 'T' or Alice 'Al', calling people 'honey' or 'sugar' or 'baby' when the mood takes you – but I don't remember you calling me any other names but my own. Jenny or, sometimes, Jen. No matter which one you choose, I still love the way you say it. Would it be weird, if I called you something other than your name? If I called you honey? Or baby? I don't know.
“You want my help?” I hear you ask and I feel my lips draw back into a smile in spite of myself.
“No, no – you go. Sit out back with Jenny for a little while and get woken up. I've got everything under control in here,” Paige says and I can hear the sounds of the fridge opening as she speaks.
“Okay, as long as you're sure...” There are sounds of footsteps approaching the back door and I straighten up a bit, seeing you through the small panes of glass set into the door.
“Go on, shoo!” Paige replies with a chuckle. “I'll let you know when it's ready.”
“Okay,” you let out a husky huff of laughter as you slip out through the back door and I can see that you're carrying two cups of coffee.
“You didn't have to do that,” I say with a smile. I light the other cigarette I'd stolen from your pack and take a couple of quick puffs to get it started as you join me on the steps.
“It's cool,” you say easily, shoulder hitching up briefly in a shrug, your voice still a warm, rumbly purr and it sounds as though you could fall asleep any minute. Maybe that's why you take a long, deep drink from your coffee mug as soon as you're seated, holding the other mug out to me as you do so.
I take the mug from you and my lips shape into a smile again as I pull the cigarette from between them. I hold it up to you with the filter facing towards you, even as I nestle closer to you. I fit myself against your side as I rest my head on your shoulder, my right arm anchoring around your waist . You duck your head an inch or so and wrap your lips around the cigarette's filter, taking a drag from it as it's held securely between my fingers. You let out a soft, contented hum as you draw back a bit, releasing the filter, and exhale, carefully aiming the smoke out of the corner of your mouth so that it doesn't get blown back into our faces. There's a softer answering noise from me and I let my head settle against your chest and close my eyes, your strong, steady heartbeat resounding through my head.
“You awake yet?” You ask and I hear the sound of you setting your mug down on the step. Pretty soon, I feel you reaching around behind me to take my mug and set it down beside yours, your hand gently smoothing over my rumpled hair.
“Mm-mm,” I hum, shaking my head just a tiny bit. If I move it too much, I'll break the spell, snap myself out of this wonderfully quiet, calm trance and I want to hang on to this for as long as I possibly can. The closeness, the scent of your skin just centimeters from my nose, that same smell clinging to the wash-worn softness of your clothes. “Not even a teeny, tiny bit.”
“Okay,” you whisper, the softest chuckle escaping with the response, and your hand moves in continuous gentle strokes over my hair. “That's okay. I can wake you up when it's time for breakfast.”
“Kay,” I whisper back, wrapping my left arm around your waist to join my right as I snuggle in and burrow closer, face nuzzling your throat. I feel a touch to my arm and realize that you haven't stopped stroking my hair... you've just slipped your other arm around me, too. I feel a sigh escape me and my arms tighten around your waist a bit.
It's not that I begrudge Paige the time that she has with you. Or that I begrudge her any attention or affection you give her. I don't resent her – I actually think she's a very nice lady and I think the two of you are great together.
It's just that... when there's this... it makes it so hard to remember that you're not mine. And that makes this a dangerous thing. A very dangerous thing that I shouldn't be doing. That we shouldn't be doing. But then I remind myself that your arms are holding me just as tightly as my arms are holding you and there's this tiny twinge... that maybe I'm not the only one who forgets.
And thinking about that helps. A little.
At least until the next time.