Who: Wren and Kyle What: Dinner and a heart to heart Where: Kyle's apartment and then a restaurant When: Before the dreams Rating: Low Status: Complete
Maybe it was self preservation, maybe it was just trying to avoid going completely crazy, but he was reaching out to anyone he could. He’d even stupidly texted Gwen. Daryl was gone, and while he had plenty to keep him occupied he knew that his mind was nowhere near in the place it needed to be. He didn’t know really what he was doing with himself all he knew was that he was getting worse. Whatever sickness he had that was made worse by the booze and the pills, he also knew that they were the cause.
He’d managed to make plans with Wren, and she always had a way of making him feel like being responsible. It sure as hell wasn’t his job, after everything that had happened lately he was feeling less and less like he was doing his city any good at all. No one had any control over this place, and the minute any ground was being made, it all unraveled and there was nothing he could do about it while sitting behind a desk and making public appearances and going on the news every time something heinous happened. Vowing over and over again that his force would do what they could. It was a gong show and everyone knew it. And he was just a dancing monkey.
As he waited for Wren he sat on his couch reading the newspaper, dressed as nice as he ever did when he wasn’t at work, clean jeans and a pressed button down shirt. His hair hung loose to his shoulders like it did whenever he wasn’t at work as well. He wasn’t drunk, not really. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been drinking, he’d have been in terrible shape if he hadn’t been drinking at all. That thought scared him but as always he pushed it to the back of his mind, determined to show her a good time. When she knocked he got up quickly and answered the door with a smile. He looked tired, more tired than he usually did, but for the most part this was as together as he’d been in a week.
Wren had left the Edison early that day, stopping by Rainier and making some connections before heading to a comic book store in search of fangs. By the time she arrived at Kyle’s door, she’d been out for a few hours and her cheeks were red from the cold Seattle wind. She looked rested, happier than she’d looked the last time Kyle had seen her, and she hugged him as soon as he opened the door. She held onto the embrace long enough to smell the booze on his skin, and to notice a little weight loss at his collar bones.
She’d been worried about him, as was evident in the fact that she was always asking him if he was eating right; she had a feeling he never was. She hadn’t realized how much he’d been drinking, though, not until just then. His skin smelled a little of old drink, like the Sheriff she’d belonged to all those years ago in Florida had, and she pulled back and gave him a long, thorough look over, before looking back up at his face with a smile that was a mixture of worry and fondness.
“You haven’t been eating right,” she said, and she reached for his hand and slipped her own, smaller hand into his.
Kyle hugged her back and tried to look as put together as possible when she started looking him over. He tried to give her a smile to reassure her and even went so far as to squeeze her hand. He didn’t want her to worry about him. She looked better than he’d ever seen her. He knew he looked rough, everything about him felt rough. But he didn’t want her to worry. “I’ve been really busy, it’ll slow down soon,” he said knowing he was full of shit. And knowing that she’d know he was full of shit. But he tried.
She knew better, but she let him tell her the pretty lie, and she slipped her fingers into his and tugged him out the door. “We can walk to the Italian place,” she said, because it was close and small and private, and she didn’t want him having to go very far. She didn’t know how much he’d had to drink, but she knew it was enough to keep him steady, and that alone made her realize this was a problem. She’d been selfish, hadn’t noticed, and the new layer of worry marred her brow as she walked down the hall and the stairs with him. “Have you talked to Gwen?”
He nodded at her and tried to ignore the worry that was on her face, he didn’t want her to worry. At least not about him. There wasn’t a lot he could do about it, but he did his best to stand up a little straighter and smile a little brighter as they walked down the stairs. “I talked to her briefly the other day, she seems good.” It hadn’t been an in depth conversation by any stretch of the imagination. He didn’t know why he’d texted her in the first place. It had been a stupid move, he still hadn’t decided if it was easier to keep in contact or easier to just not talk at all. Once they reached the lobby area he held the front door open for her to exit first. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been better,” she admitted, smiling at him over her shoulder. “Work is better. Less one-on-one stuff, more things that just let people look, and I have friends here. I’ve been working on things, too, to make more of a difference without getting hurt so much myself.” She sounded proud, and she looped her arm with his and looked up at him. “How much have you been drinking?” she asked, quietly blunt.
He smiled back at her, this one wasn’t forced, he liked that she was doing better. He’d prefer it if she was holed up in his guest room trying to get her fresh start, but he wasn’t going to push. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said genuinely. “I don’t like to see you getting hurt,” he wanted her safe. He cared too much about her not to. He sighed and looked at her for a long moment. “A lot,” he said quietly. He wanted to leave it at that, more than anything he wanted to leave it at that, mostly just because it was honest. But he didn’t want to worry her either, and he didn’t know what the implications of complete honesty were in this situation. “But it’s okay, seriously. Just a rough few days. I’ll be alright.”
She didn’t think it was just a few rough days, and she wondered if the people he saw every day knew. She realized, then, that she didn’t know who he saw every day. She was pretty sure he saw Gwen every day when they were together, but they weren’t together now. She pressed a cheek to his upper arm in a small, almost hug, and she tried to figure out how to ask if he had friends outside of work that she could check with. “I don’t like to see you hurt, either,” she said, stopping in front of the doors to the Italian restaurant and looking up at him. “We don’t have any secrets, right?” she asked, because he’d known about all of her bad stuff before almost anybody. She wanted that to go both ways.
He paused before they walked in and put his hand on the side of her face and smiled down at her, “I’m not hurt,” he said and almost believed it. “Things haven’t been too easy, but I’m working it out.” He kissed her forehead and at her last question he didn’t know what to say to her. “Wren,” he said gently. “We don’t have any secrets, but I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m...” he sighed, “I’m a little sick right now, but I’ll get better. Just feeling sorry for myself is all. That’s part of the reason I like spending time with you, you cheer me up.” he said with a smile.
“How do I help you get better?” she asked, after a second of looking up into his eyes. She backed toward the door, tugging him with her and opening it with her weight. The owner asked their number, and she told him they wanted a booth. A second later, they were settled on red vinyl with menus in their hands, and she pushed his down. “No pizza. Real food,” she said, sounding very parental.
He gave her a soft smile and a shrug, “I’ll be okay,” he answered. He didn’t know the answer to that question, he didn’t know what the options were, and he didn’t know if there was any getting better at all. The drinking could stop, but then there wouldn’t a barrier there. He’d have even less control over his mind, his ability, everything. He had long since given up the hope of being able to function without the booze. Not just from the shakes and the sickness that came when he didn’t drink. He was a smart man, he knew that would eventually go away once he started getting better, but it had been a long time of trying to use alcohol as a catalyst and something to keep the rest of it at bay.
“No pizza,” he agreed. “I’ll get a big old salad, eat like a rabbit for the night.”
She ignored his statement about a pizza, turning her face up toward the waiter when he came close, and she asked for chicken cacciatore and minestrone, because both of those things seemed like they’d be better for him than lettuce.
Once the waiter left, she reached across the table for his hand and squeezed his fingers. She wished so many things for him. He was a good man, even with the drinking, who didn’t judge the way a lot of other people did. “I can come by the station with lunch?” she suggested. Amazingly, she’d liked it there. It was every hooker’s biggest fear, getting collared, but Kyles big office was safe and warm, and she was pretty sure no one there knew what she did. If they thought she was too young, they didn’t say anything, and she wasn’t devious enough to think they suspected and were keeping the information in their pockets.
He didn’t care what anyone at the station thought about Wren coming to see him, she would always be welcome and if anyone had anything to say about it, he’d deal with them personally. He wasn’t under any misapprehensions about what her life had been like, how she made her living, and he had never judged her for it. He didn’t have to like it, he didn’t have to think it was safe, and he sure as hell worried about her. But he never judged her. He held her hand gently, and nodded at her with a smile, “Well if that’s what it takes to get you to visit more often, I’m all for it.”
She decided, right then and there, to take him lunch every day. She didn’t have a kitchen, and it would be hard to sneak the use of one, but maybe Luke would let her, or Cassidy, or MK. Someone would, and she’d at least make sure he had something warm in his belly. Dinner would have been better, and she knew it, because chances are he would drink more once he got off work, but she had to be on stage, and she didn’t think she could get away with the consistency that she wanted. She wanted to know who was in his life, who could help, and she slid out from her side of the booth and went to sit beside him on his side. She tipped her head back to look at him, and she smiled. “I can be a pest.”
He was surprised when she came to sit by him but he stared at the table for a long minute, he hated that he had worried her. In his mind he knew there was plenty wrong, but there was nothing anyone could do much about and he really was fine. Just a little more rough around the edges than usual. When she called herself a pest he turned his head and looked over at her, “No. Not a pest. I’m still pissed you wound up not only moving out but leaving town. You can come around anytime you want, Wren.” He wasn’t actually pissed, and that much showed in his tone, but it was the first word he could grab that conveyed he preferred when she was around rather than not.
The food came, and she poked at it for a long while before talking. “I thought it would be easier not to see Quinn and Luke together anymore,” she admitted, because it was Kyle, and she trusted Kyle. “And because Quinn was going to die someday, and I didn’t think I could handle it.” It was a selfish confession, and she tipped her head back and looked at his face, looking for judgement in his kind eyes. She crinkled her nose, and it made her look younger than she normally did. “I missed you, too,” she said, because she had. “And you’re not allowed to die on me either.” That last part is an order, and it sounds like one.
Kyle knew about running away to avoid hard truths. And he didn’t judge her one bit for it, he’d thought about leaving town more than once. And not just because of his major screw up with Gwen, but because of everything else. But he also knew, better than anyone, that hard truths followed you everywhere you went. They’d followed him from Musings, and they would probably follow him everywhere he went for the rest of his life. He just wanted to fix everything, and nothing was in his power to fix. The situation with Gwen had made him realize that he could lose her at any moment and he didn’t have it in him to cope with another loss like that. He knew it would kill him, so maybe it was selfish, but it was also self preservation. “I get that, I do. I’m glad you decided to come back. And I’m not going to die. At least not if I can help it,” he was talking more about his job than anything. Refusing to acknowledge that he was his own worst enemy in some regards.