when i'm with anybody else Who: Isobel & Leira; June & Chris; Daniel & Aaliyah; Rafe & Fey What: FRONDS touch base and talk about past things, like bug dreams, dates and other happenings. Where: Various apartments. When: A day. Some day. One day.
Switching the bottle of Arbor Mist Strawberry White Zinfandel from one hand to the other, Isobel rolled on the balls of her feet as she raised a fist to knock on Leira's door. She was barely keeping herself from bouncing; one could have accused her of opening the bottle beforehand, but it was merely excitement at catching up with an old friend that electrified her senses.
Both hands came around the neck of the bottle, nervousness edging her feelings as she waited in the hall for Leira to answer. They had far too much to talk about, and much of it Isobel knew she'd need the alcohol for. The remnants of the dream lingered in her mind—her alternate persona, the dogs, and finally the insects that had attacked them. She hadn't had another similar dream since, and she had no desire to scare Leira. If anything, she was hoping her long lost friend might provide a distraction from everything that seemed to be creeping back into her life.
The door swung wide to reveal an apartment—and a host—clearly intent upon doing exactly that. The flat was airy and bright, the window shades drawn all the way up to let sunlight stream in. It was warm, cozy, and clean, the only sign of any dust the slight motes dancing in the sunbeams. Even those seemed somehow orderly, like an artistic accent rather than the grime they were.
"Izzy!" Leira cried, throwing her arms wide to welcome her friend; Isobel returned the gesture without hesitation. "Come in, come in… and oh my god what is this..."
Leira extricated herself from Isobel's embrace, reaching down to grasp the neck of the frosted-glass bottle. "Oh I cannot wait to crack this open. Come on in, let me get the glasses. How have you been?"
"Good," Isobel started, at first her voice the high-pitched tone of a not-quite lie, closing the door after herself. She discarded her shoes near the entryway, and followed Leira deeper into her living quarters, her eyes roaming over the warm, welcoming interior. She instantly felt at home. "I mean, I must be, right? Also, I wish you had seen Obed's face when I said that was what I was bringing over—the embarrassment was tangible, but I refused to bag my shame. That kind of drinking right there got me through too many nights just to forget about it now that I have access to quote unquote better stuff."
Leira laughed, the sound as light and bright as the rest of her colorful home. Isobel followed her into the kitchen, one hand reaching out to pass lightly over a counter; her gaze landed on her friend. "Is there anything I can to help?"
"You just have a seat and get comfortable," Leira said. "I'll take care of the rest. Oh—" She wheeled to face her friend, her hands busy with two hand-blown wine glasses, their surfaces swirled with shades of blue and green. She carefully set down the glasses on the center island. "You know what? Tell me what kind of greenery I can have in here that won't require too much work. I need something vibrant, you know? But not demanding. Maybe something tropical-looking…" She turned again, reaching for a bottle opener from inside a nearby drawer. "Am I asking too much? I just want color and I don't want to have to spend every waking moment working to keep it alive."
Leira poured their two glasses and swept each of them up, taking a seat at a high barstool next to her friend's. She handed one glass to Isobel, and left her own raised, waiting for a toast.
"To old friends," she said, clinking her glass to Isobel's.
Isobel grinned, returning the toast with a nod, and only brought the glass to her nose to swirl it for a moment. The smell was instantly nostalgic, in ways both good and bad—a small, dingy apartment with people better left forgotten, community college classrooms that smelled musty and old in an unused way, late nights full of laughter that she'd wanted to hang onto and wrap herself in so they might never end. Pulling herself out of her reverie, Isobel cast a more critical eye over the space.
"I think some succulents might do you well—they're pretty hardy, just need some watering and light..." Isobel glanced back at Leira, shrugging as she finally took a sip of her wine, the tangy strawberry blossoming across her tongue. "I take it you're enjoying yourself here, at the Bradbury?"
Leira nodded, her lips still pressed to the glass. She found the cheap wine more difficult to swallow than it had been in the past, but she drank it down all the same, and smiled all the wider for it. Their tastes may have changed but the memories remained, and this bit of nostalgia was welcome, whatever its flavor.
"I really am," she said, once that slow sip was gone. "It's such a beautiful space. You've done a wonderful job with it. It's so open, you know? And this really lovely mix of old and new. I've never seen anything like it. And it's nice, you know, having Gabe so close by. He's hard to pin down, and getting to see him regularly has been such a nice change.
"But what about you? What's it like running a place like this?"
Isobel shook her head, shrugging. "I really don't do anything; I helped with some of the decorating, but Obed's got the financial and the maintenance stuff contracted out to places he's used in his other real estate work. I spend more of my time at the Environmental Nature Center these days; I have to say, I enjoy just working, instead of running a company. I don't need the headache."
She sipped at the glass again, nodding at Leira. "What about you? Everything's going all right?"
"Very well, actually. I was invited to join this fertility clinic, you know, so I'm a full-fledged partner now. Thirty-two and partner. I never thought…" She bit her lower lip but could not hide the pleased grin that brightened her whole face. "They're so forward-thinking, but rooted in traditions, you know? It's such a unique mix. I'm really lucky to get to be part of that. And to get to do that within easy distance of annoying my brother is just great. Now if I could just get my non existent love life off the ground, everything would be pretty perfect."
"Well, I do not envy you that," Isobel replied, shaking her head as she lifted her glass to her lips for another sip. "I am so glad to be off the market. Still, if you need a wing woman, I could try...?" She shrugged, then started warming to the subject. "I don't think there are too many single people in the Bradbury right now, but management in the old building threw a singles mixer last year. I didn't go, but we could always put some more events on. What do you think? Maybe even get some new blood in the mix."
"I'd love that," Leira said. "You'll be a great wing woman. I mean if there aren't many eligible people here we could always just call it a mixer. No singles required. Then see who shows up solo." She rubbed her hands together in a mock display of greed; Isobel giggled, shaking her head in a similarly mocking look of disapproval. "It sounds perfect already.
"So tell me, lady, what's partnered life like? Your other half seems really… quiet. I've seen him a few times but I can't get a read on him at all."
Leaning back against the counter, Isobel nodded. "He's... He'd probably be upset for me using this word, but he's shy. Very guarded, for a number of reasons; he just takes some warming up, that's all." She spread her hands, shrugging, a smile lighting up her face that was clearly tied to the thought of her other half. "He's really very sweet, once you get to know him."
Leira quirked a brow. "Sweet and shy is definitely not the vibe I got from him." She raised a hand, waving off her own words. "I don't mean to offend. I'm sure he's great to you. He'd better be great to you. But he just comes off sort of… harsh. You know? But shyness will do that. And I mean look at you." She gestured to her friend. "You look happy just from me mentioning him. You never seemed that way with Bryan, even in the good ol' days."
"Yeah..." Isobel nibbled her bottom lip. "He's really not; Obed, I mean. I know he comes off that way. He knows what he wants and he's prepared to do what has to be done to get it. Bryan..." Her brows furrowed, and she quickly emptied her glass, reaching for the bottle for a refill. "Obed is leagues better than Bryan. Bryan was a manipulative asshole that refused to take 'no' for an answer. Thank god he's gone for good, though." She tipped her glass into her mouth again, unaware she'd left her statement hanging.
"Oh?" Leira asked. She set down her wine glass and turned its stem in her hands. Sunlight caught the pale wine and cast small diamonds of it all around the loft. "That sounds like a story. What happened? Marriage? Restraining order? Jail?"
Isobel froze, realization painting red across her cheeks for a moment. She fixed a level gaze at Leira for a moment, the cogs working in her mind visible in her expression. Coming to some decision, she reached for the wine bottle again to once more top off what she had not yet finished; her hand shook a little, though whether it was from the topic or something else was not immediately clear.
"I got pregnant. We got pregnant, Obed and me." She half lifted the glass to her mouth, and then seemed to think better of it when it wobbled too much to finish the trip. The worry on Leira's face only grew more pronounced. "Bryan had been stalking me for months, me and him and my friends and... it was such a shit show. I was stressed and I hadn't told Obed about the baby and..." Her voice warbled a little. She stopped, and took a deep breath. "Bryan attacked me. I lost the pregnancy. So yeah. He's in jail."
Her last words were said with a finality that she hoped brooked no additional questions; her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, less out of a need to prevent threatening tears and more that she was afraid Leira would see through them to the lie she was carefully telling. Leira misread this small gesture, though her boundless curiosity and concern provided a different sort of obstacle.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered. Her hand had drawn tight around the stem of her glass; she relaxed her grip and set it down. The line of her jaw was still hard enough to cut. "Izzy, why didn't—no, I'm sorry. Jesus. I don't know what to say. What a piece of shit. Stalking you, I just… does Obed know?" The furrow in her brow deepened. She moved her chair closer to Isobel, one arm coming to rest on the countertop. "Did you tell him after? Why didn't you call me?" She clutched Isobel's hand in her own, squeezing it tight.
"Oh, pobrecita, I can't imagine… tell me you're going to therapy. Both of you."
Isobel issued a soft laugh, her hand squeezing Leira's back. "No, I— there was a woman at the last place we lived at that we were both seeing, but everything's been... kind of crazy." Her gaze flicked up to Leira's face to gauge her response, feeling guilty for manipulating her friend in such a way. "But yes, he knows. I told him everything, and he took me to the hospital, and he was there when I lost it. We broke up for awhile after that." She paused, her hand loosing from Leira's and wiped at her eye, surprised that dredging up these old memories was still as painful as though they'd been fresh.
"But everything worked out, and I'm sorry to be such a downer." She laughed again, this time more like a hiccup. "This isn't how I thought this evening would go."
Leira was shushing her before the apology had fully left her mouth. "None of that," she said. "I love you, and this is what friends do. Especially since castrating him isn't an option until he's out of jail." She smiled shakily, but something in her tone did not make the threat sound entirely like a joke. Isobel's gaze immediately averted, staring down hard at the ground. "Look. You talk about this as much or as little as you need to, OK? Now or whenever, but if you want…" She reached for the wine bottle, pouring its dregs into both their glasses. Then she rose from her chair and moved to fetch another bottle, her eyes on Isobel all the while.
"We'll have a bit more to drink, since neither of us has to drive anywhere, and I can take your mind off all this shit if that's what you want. Sound good?"
"Yeah, that sounds a lot better," Isobel started, nodding. "In fact, we should plan that mixer—even if we can't find someone's pants for you to get into, you can meet everyone else in the building. There's a lot of...characters." She drained the glass of the Zinfandel, and then pushed the empty vessel in Leira's direction, eager for the other woman's attention.
Chris plopped himself down into one of June's chairs, nestling his cane against the arm while he stretched his legs. His long hair, half tied back into a messy bun, fell across his face; a quick brush tucked the loose bit behind one ear. He tipped some of the Maquahuitl Black IPA he'd brought over into his mouth, one proud brow raised.
"I'm telling you June, I'm pretty sure I've got him nailed dead to rights," he said, with no small amount of haughtiness, as he described his Valentine's Day date with Daniel. "The man is still head over heels for me and refuses to admit it."
"Bullshit," she chided. She swooped around the edge of the sofa directly across from his armchair, a bowl of popcorn in one hand and and a can of his IPA in the other. "He got a dream date out of you—which, how old is he?—and you got a maybe. I mean how far did you get? Tell me you at least got some over the pants handsy action. If he's still so crazy about you he at least copped a little feel."
She paused for one small breath and a sip of dark beer. She swept her tongue over the foam it left behind on her lips, then started back in all at once. "I'm telling you, guapo, I think you're working too hard. No dick is good enough for all this."
Chris gave a pained sigh that edged on a whine; the strands of long hair fell back across his face, and he tucked them back again. "He did get handsy, OK," he shot back, cradling his drink between both hands. "Like, I fucked up, and maybe he's right to want to take it slow. Like, I really fucked up, June." He took a long swig. "Besides, if things go right for this second date, I'm pretty sure you'll be seeing me in a wheelchair next time." He reached for a grin, meeting her eyes across the room. It failed in the next beat.
"That or, I guess it'll be done with. I told him... This was probably stupid, but I said we'd play 20 questions, no limits. He can ask anything he wants."
June sucked in a breath through tightly clenched teeth. Shaking her head, she filled the silence with a noisy slurp of beer as she gathered her thoughts. "You really stepped in it this time," she said. "You sure you're ready for that? You sure he is? I mean… are you really gonna answer those questions?"
"I..." Chris forced himself to stop, swallowing back the fervent of course that had come barrelling up his throat. The lies were coming too easily, too quickly, and he needed to check himself. At the very least, a small voice in the back of his head congratulated him for doing that much.
"I don't know," was what he settled on, leaning forward in his chair; the beer bottle dangled between loose fingers, much like his own thoughts and worries. The loose strands came forward again, boyishly framing his face, and Chris let them be. "I lied to him, repeatedly, last time. This... This'll prove I can be honest, you know? And if I can't do it, then, might as well put the last nail in the coffin, right?" He made a face, his eyes on the floor for a moment.
"Why, you think I'm too far gone?" He teased gently, groping for some kind of reassurance, brows rising with his beer bottle as he took another sip.
June scarcely missed a beat. "Not if you don't want to be."
She leaned forward, too, one leg folded beneath her as she perched on the edge of the couch. A thick rug lay between them, and a long, low coffee table, but she stretched out her free hand and grabbed at his all the same. She gave him a single, sharp tug, as though she might so easily pull him out of his own roiling thoughts.
"You're a good liar, tramposo, and it's a useful skill. But you're more than that, too, and if you really wanted to turn it off I think you could." She sat back, flopping against the thick couch cushions. "Besides, what would it hurt? He already dumped you. He can't do any worse now. Right?"
Chris tried to smile, the expression instead turning out to be a wince. "Right," he said, squeezing June's hand back before releasing it. He had not fully entertained the idea that Daniel wouldn't take him back—the thought flared painfully in his chest, and his jaw tightened. If this was what love was, he did not care for it overly much in that moment.
"Anyway," he said, changing the subject to something less about him and his failings. "How'd you make out? Any interesting finds lately?"
"Finds yes, making out no." June frowned in dramatic fashion. "There's a new girl here, Theo? Have you seen her?" She scrunched up her nose, then hid the gesture with a sip from her beer. "No, you weren't at that party. Maybe you saw her forum post though. She's somebody's sister, this Abel dude that used to live in Pax. Really pale—what's with me and these white girls—and has these gorgeous tattoos. I'm telling you, I completely lost my cool around her. She's a freak, man, and I think I'm into it."
Leaning back into his seat (even going so far as to sink down in it, manspreading his legs in the process), Chris looked less than convinced. He stymied his initial reaction with a pull from his beer bottle, but the extra time to think didn't rearrange his thoughts.
"So, a freak like...because of the tattoos, or are you getting at something else? Don't start playing coy with me, Miss June," he taunted, arching one brow. "Not after that tongue lashing you just gave me."
June poked an index finger in the air toward him. "You had it coming," she said, forcing as much gravitas into her voice as she could manage. Chris rolled his eyes. The grin that broke over her features undermined her efforts entirely. "But uh…" She chewed her tongue, then shifted uncomfortably atop the couch cushions.
"So she's got all these scars, right? And she said some of them were from suspension. I guess she does it as a kind of performance art, gets off on people watching her. Ever seen anything like that?" His eyes went wide, immediately implying his answer. She shook her head. "I mean I've heard of people doing it for religious purposes. You've heard of the Sun Dance, right? But like… that's clearly not what she's about. And I gotta say, I'm curious."
"Wait," Chris said, sitting up in his chair to the point where he was teetering on the edge; as he moved, a hand rose, pointing fingers into the air as his gaze rolled around the room and landed on her face. "You're saying she likes to hang herself from hooks—and you think that's hot?!" The look on his face made clear what he thought of her predilections. "So when were you gonna tell me you're getting into hardcore BDSM?"
"I'm not," June snapped, her face flaring red. "I didn't say that. I said I was curious. I mean… for one thing she's fine as hell, and for another I've never been with anybody into that, and she called me out on it, and you know how I feel about that shit." She gave a coltish toss of her hair. Her embarrassment faded a bit, though it did not disappear altogether. She found she could not meet Chris's eyes easily, and for that very reason she forced herself to do so.
"Whatever. I didn't tell you so you could judge me too, I already got her teasing me about fuzzy handcuffs and shit..."
Chris tried to cover his laughter with a drink, but it bubbled up all the same. "Jesu christo, it sounds like you deserved it. What'd you do, proposition her?" He held up a hand, trying to call back his question as he shook his head. "Damn, June, are you... Like, have you seen Hellraiser? No offense, but I'd run so fast in the other direction if a guy came at me with that stuff.
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with sticking with fuzzy handcuffs, maybe some spanking," he added. Setting his beer bottle by his feet, he put his hands came together before him in a prayer position, though the huge grin on his face underlined the teasing for what it was. "Please don't make it that I have to show up at a crime scene to identify your dead body."
June snorted and gave a roll of her dark eyes. "She's not like that. I don't think." Her teeth sank into her lower lip, but she forged ahead before she could give in to second thoughts. "I just told her I'd be interested in seeing something like that, and I mean, I don't know… she didn't say no, but she didn't exactly give me an engraved invitation, either. If she was gonna go full Pinhead on me she'd probably have openly invited me to see, right?"
But she barreled past her own comment, afraid to let the rhetorical question become anything more. "Forget it," she said. "Trust me, if anything does happen, you'll be the first to get a text. Well, maybe the second. BB would kill me if I didn't spill details. But you better do the same for me and Daniel, got it? I gotta know how Date Number Three goes."
"Gonna cross my fingers you're still alive for me to tell the story," Chris replied, laughing a little under his breath as he retrieved his beer.
"He took you to a... a... go kart rink?" Aaliyah clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she set a second glass of sangria down on the coffee table in front of Daniel, across from where he was seated on her couch in her living room. Yoga pants and a wide-mouthed, stretched tee that elegantly showed one shoulder made her the picture of comfort, even more so as she took a seat next to him, pulling her legs into an Indian position as she carefully cradled the first glass.
"Just how old does he think you are? For someone trying to make it up to you after all his fuck ups, you think he would've spent a little more money." Shaking her head again, she tipped the rosy-colored liquid into her mouth, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. "Or just put some thought into it. Are you sure you're not being courted by a high school boy? What's next, roller skating?"
"I mean maybe," Daniel said. Leaning up, he reached for the glass and brought it immediately to his lips. After several generous sips were gone he licked the sweet liquor from his mouth, shaking his head. "And that might be cool, too. He did put thought into it, that's exactly what I'm sayin'. He'd never suggest a date like that himself. It's not his style. But I like a challenge, and every now and then it's nice to act like a dumb kid."
He sat back, cradling the glass in his hands. He drew a deep breath, exhaling on a sigh. "I know you don't get it. But I liked it, so whatever. An' now I get to grill him and ask anything I want. I'm more than pleased."
Aaliyah frowned, holding her glass between both hands. "I don't know, Sin, after what you told me before, it sounded like you were more than done with him. Is this just some long strategy to get what you want out of him before shutting him down completely, or am I missing something?" Her brows furrowed, and she took a neat sip from her glass.
"I get second chances, I do, sometimes you wanna see if there's something still there, but what is this—strike three for him? Four? In all the time I've known you, you've never been a doormat with any of your boyfriends—or girlfriends, for that matter." One leg extricated itself, sliding along the couch to gently kick him in the hip.
"And I'm still not," he shot back, his voice full of a certainty he wasn't sure he felt. Aaliyah's brows climbed her un-made up forehead in clear disbelief. "Yeah it's a lot. But it's no more than I gave Aurora. I mean Chris hasn't set fire to anything of mine yet, so." He shrugged. "I was done when I thought he wouldn't stop lying. I really was. And findin' out all that shit from somebody else, somebody who tried to kill us, was fuckin' unacceptable and I've told him as much.
"But I l—" He bit his tongue against the word that wanted to come so easily. The uncomfortable silence that followed was filled, at least a little, by his sudden attentiveness to the drink in his glass. After a moment, he continued. "I really like him. He's better than he thinks he is. I mean if we have this… date or Q&A or whatever, and nothing's changed, then sure. Fuck 'im. It's over for real. I promise. But if he does what he says he will…"
Sighing, Aaliyah switched the glass in her hand from one to the other, pulling her leg back as she settled the now free hand on Daniel's shoulder.
"OK, but promise me this—you're going to pre-bate before you get in the same room as that problematic dick. 'Cause you need to be thinking with what's up here," the hand floated up from his shoulder to flick him in the head. "And not with what's down there, alright?" The same hand floated out and pointed down to Daniel's crotch. He snorted a laugh and slapped her hand away.
"Otherwise I preserve the right to rub your face in a good lot of 'I told you so,'" she finished, leaning back into her seat as her wine glass neared her face. "And maybe some fried chicken. Nothing like comfort food to wash away disappointment."
"Damn right," Daniel said. "But fried chicken can be a good celebratory food, too. So why don't you just go ahead and get that ready for us, no matter what happens." He winked at her, dodging even as he did, knowing how well his demand would likely be taken. He was smart to do so, as Aaliyah reached out even with her drink in hand to make a half-hearted attempt to swat at him. "And if it all goes to shit I will send you an engraved invitation to say 'I told you so' while I wolf down an entire chicken by myself."
He settled back in his seat. He gave a small sigh; his shoulders loosed their tension. "I know what I'm doin'," he said, convincing neither of them. "I'll get my questions together, I'll… pre-bate—" Here he could not stop the laugh that came, a boyish bark of a thing— "And then I'll report back. Hopefully the morning after, but we'll see."
"Mhmmm," she replied, shaking her head as she calmed the tiny storm that had erupted inside her glass from her attempted hit on Daniel so she could still drink out of it. "Aight. You do you, boo; just so we're clear. Now, I wanna hear more about this last place—Pax Letale? I was doin' a little pokin' around but the papers left it mostly alone, it seems like. All of you getting kicked out over here, I mean, that's gotta be because of something, right?"
"Nobody got—" Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose, making a show of his minor frustration; Aaliyah quelled a laugh, covering it instead with a sip of her drink. "Yeah, somethin' was goin' on. Too much weird shit happened to just pretend it was Mr. Savoy and his weird little minion redecorating overnight. Multiple times." He drew his leg up beneath him, turning to sit facing his friend. "It would've been a lot of work, even if he hired a crew. But you know me. Up and out all hours of the night, and I never saw anybody doin' that stuff.
"You know as weird as it was, I've thought about goin' back? That girl Theo... I didn't like her brother, but I get her wantin' some closure. And I did already poke around in there a bit."
"Oh?" She replied, curious and not at all worried that she'd have to drag the information out of him. "Back when you were living there, or now? And this sounds like you're about to get the Scooby gang together to go trespassing on private property. You don't think the owners would tell you anything, considerin' what y'all been through together?"
"Oh, I dunno. I don't really know them. And it was all so fuckin' weird I don't think anybody wants to talk about it anymore. I haven't been back since we all moved. I don't think anybody has, even the Brandts." He paused for a bolstering sip of sangria.
"Back when we lived there I went on a little scouting mission with one of Chris's friends and BB. You know the real hyper girl that posts on the boards? That's BB. So we got into this one room, a storage closet or somethin'. It was way bigger than it looked like it'd be. We found a bunch of weird shit in there, I guess from whoever'd been there before. The worst part was we almost… I don't wanna say recognized some things, but that's almost what it felt like. Like we knew who'd owned those things."
He raised a hand to his nape, rubbing at it in his obvious discomfort. "I dunno. It was weird. But I saw this one box full of stuff and I couldn't let it go. I climbed up on some shelves, shelves an' I both fell hard, I broke my leg, we got outta there. End of story. So there's more in there to find, cos Savoy up and left so quick I know he didn't have time to clear the place out. Unless the Brandts have since."
Aaliyah's mouth had opened to try and interject more questions at different junctures, but eventually she'd just let Daniel talk. Each new tidbit had her brows rising higher and higher on her forehead.
"Oh my goodness," she breathed, switching her grasp on her wine glass from one hand to the other so she could reach out and grab his free hand, giving it a squeeze. He answered with a slide of his thumb over her skin. "God, you haven't changed a bit, have you? Always gettin' inta shit. I'm glad you're still in one piece; unlike some." She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as she quickly passed over the comment about Obed Brandt. She'd met the couple Daniel was talking about only briefly, but the man left a lasting impression because of his scars.
"And you really think there's more to be found? Why not just...leave it alone?" She knew it was a dumb question; Daniel had one of those personalities, those tenacities, where letting things lie was never an option. If he could set it to rights, he'd pour every last ounce of himself into the doing. "Y'all got this new place, and I think you've already got more than you can handle with that twink you're so hellbent on getting back. Maybe it's time to dial it down a touch."
"First of all," Daniel said, "he's definitely more otter than twink. And second of all, I thought you knew me." Grinning sharp and broad, he squeezed her hand tight. "I'll dial it down just as soon as my corpse is burned and my ashes are used to paint giant dicks over the faces on Stone Mountain, as per my clearly stated wishes. Till then I plan to keep turnin' over whatever rocks present themselves. And seriously, there are some big fuckin' rocks back in Newport Beach."
He shifted in place, his knee brushing hers. One dark brow arched as he studied her face. "Babygirl, people disappeared. People got… got really hurt, or worse, maybe, I dunno. Don't you think that's worth a little more digging?"
Aaliyah sighed, shaking her head once more. "Just doin' my due diligence, boy, you can't blame me for that. And if it's gotta be someone, I guess it bein' you ain't all that bad. Least we all know the job will get done, and you know I'm here to pick up the pieces. Though your twink can roll you around in a wheelchair if you break your leg again, I got places to be," she added, squeezing his hand once more before turning it loose, instead patting his thigh. He answered with one raised middle finger, the effect of which was markedly softened by his bright grin.
"Now, how about we order out and turn on some Real Housewives of Atlanta? Nothing like a touch of home to cheer up this damp conversation."
"I don't know that I'll ever get used to having this much space," Fey said as she dished some refried beans onto a plate alongside the already steaming enchilada. "Makes me feel like I should get a roommate or two, but I think Bear would disagree."
The storm cloud-colored Maine Coon was perched atop the couch, staring imperially at his mistress with his eyes half closed. His tail flicked back and forth, clearly pleased to be the topic of discussion. Fey carried both plates to where Rafe was sitting, landing with a soft bounce next to him. She put both plates down on the coffee table before them, close to their drinks and already laid out napkins and cutlery.
"Now, how did it all go? He got the ropes right? You sounded so excited, querida, but I think you might give him too much credit sometimes," she said with a mostly straight face; only Rafe, who'd known her as long as he had, would have been able to see the slight curve on the side of her mouth to indicate the fact that her statement was a tease instead of a reprimand. He was already laughing, slipping one arm around her shoulders the moment she was close enough.
"I don't," he insisted. He kissed her cheek, then drew away, bringing his plate to settle in his lap. His level of comfort showed in every motion, every line of his body; their native tongue flowed easily from his grinning mouth. "He did his homework. Very careful, very thorough, very communicative…"
Beaming still, Rafe cut into his enchilada, spearing a small bite on the tines of his fork. He quirked a brow as he met his friend's gaze. "He did a Lotus tie, did I mention? He did so well. Tight, but not too tight, and always checking in on me..."
Fey clucked her tongue, picking up a fork to stab and steal a bite from his plate; she scarfed it down and then pulled her own plate possessively toward herself.
"You think he was practicing before? He always did have some little secrets up his sleeves," she finally commented, sounding pleased. Rafe nodded cheerfully, sucking a droplet of sauce from his thumb. "I'm glad he's stepping up this time, Fel, really. If he says anything about what you want to do for a living, I—" she made a scoffing noise, words inadequate for her feelings on the subject. Her brow furrowed for a moment.
"You don't think this is his way to, I don't know, lure you away from all of that? He needs to make his peace, and you need someone who's going to be able to accept that you're your own person." Her fork pointed at Rafe, her face clear in her intentions. Then she went to take another large bite, careful to avoid dripping sauce.
His food momentarily forgotten, Rafael looked to her, an intensity in his pointed gaze. "He's not," he insisted. "I only quit the work I'm not comfortable doing anymore. He's not asked or even mentioned it." Fey arched an eyebrow in response as she focused on keeping her food in her mouth. He set down his fork on the side of his plate, freeing his hands to gesture as he spoke. It was an unconscious action, something that reflected more of Gabriel than Rafe himself recognized. "Really. He asks about my days, like it's any other job. He's met some of my coworkers, too. He's really trying this time."
He glanced down to his plate, retrieving his fork to scoop up a small bite of beans. "I am, too," he said, sheepishly.
The gestures weren't lost entirely on Fey, but she kept the commentary to herself for the time being. When she spoke next, it was softer, though no less sisterly than it had been before.
"Good. It takes two to tango, after all," she tried, grinning at the end as she gently checked his shoulder with her own. "I just want you to be happy, querido, and I'm just wary after what happened last time. He whisks you off to god knows where, and then..." She stopped, the tired subject bearing nothing Rafe hadn't heard from her before. He only cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and set to picking at his dinner once more. "I didn't like you being out here all on your own. But you made it, and now I'm here, so if this doesn't work out, you've got me.
"I'm glad it sounds like he's doing more. A quickie is fun on its own, but sometimes you need to spice it up—and he always seemed kind of prudish?" Fey made a teasing face at Rafe.
His grin returned with a flash, his nose scrunching slightly as he shook his dark head. "Vanilla," he corrected; Fey rolled her eyes. "But not prudish. He just has his preferences, like anyone else. But it's going to work out this time. It's… different. I can tell." He shouldered into her as she had done before, refusing to allow his smile to flag. "Trust me, Fey. We were stupid kids then, both of us. Things are different now.
"You should come over for dinner some time. See our new place. Bring someone if you'd like. If there's anyone you consider worthy." It was his turn to tease, now, and he took full advantage, chuckling as he stabbed another bite of his food.
"Mm, I guess I deserved that," Fey replied, laughing softly. Her fork poked through her food, considering. "Is Bear an option? Otherwise, no, no one yet. But I only just got here. Not all of us have long-lost soul mates, querido." He chuckled as she shoulder bumped him again, picking up a piece of chicken from the enchilada. It dripped sauce for a moment, her own words giving her pause.
"You know, I think I had a dream about us the other night." The bite of chicken went into her mouth, her sidelong glance at him considering her memory before doing anything more.
"Oh?" The arch to his brow was far too high; it gave him away. He had thought the shared dreams over and done. He had thought moving would mean they were safe from this strangeness. But he had felt stirrings, now and then, small tugs at the presence within him that he had thought tamped down or disappeared altogether.
Knowing she would read the truth in his face no matter what he said, he leaned into the topic, embracing the weirdness it hinted at. "I think… I think I had one about you, too. Was it about a ship? And, ah... insects?"
"Yeah..." Fey sat back, turning slightly to better look at Rafe. "How'd you... I mean, that's pretty strange. Same dreams and all, but I guess we've been through quite a bit recently... I had this chariot driven by cats that looked a lot like Bear, and you had a boat... we had to escape from it after these moth-like things started to attack us..." She shook her head, smiling.
"I don't know what metaphor moths are, but I think I need to invest in some better sleep aids, huh?"
The corner of Rafe's mouth twitched. He swallowed another mouthful of beans, then carefully set his fork down on the side of his plate. "I don't think that's going to help, meu querida. You can try them, but I really think all it will do is make it a little harder to wake from those dreams." He swallowed hard. "That… that was my experience, anyway." He cut her a sidelong look, trying to read her response in her typically stoic expression.
"This kind of thing happened before," he admitted. "At the old building."
Fey's brows knit together as she stared at Rafe.
"The dreams?" He murmured assent. More questions immediately beat at her throat; logical explanations, their past history, the shared trauma they'd just experienced, the move they'd both just made. There was more than enough evidence to explain why these things were happening, but she could immediately tell that Rafe was getting at something completely different.
She mirrored his posture, holding her own fork down as she went quiet and serious; receiving mode, her sisters would call it, telegraphing to the other party that she was listening intently. "Tell me."
"It sounds crazy," he warned. "But everyone at the old building had these dreams, off and on. Usually involving familiar… people. Things. Places they recognized, but really couldn't have. After a few months some of us figured out we were… sharing these dreams, somehow. Nish and I, a boy I'd only met in the hallways now and then, me and Gabe.. it's happened a lot. Nobody wanted to talk about it, really, because it's just so strange, and it really does sound insane. Who would've believed any of us?"
His brow furrowed, he gestured to his friend. "If it hadn't happened to you, you probably wouldn't have believed me. It's just surreal. And yet..."
"I'm not sure I do believe, but..." Her shoulders rose and fell; she opted to humor him, for the moment. "Sharing dreams isn't the worst thing, Fel. Unless you're about to tell me that they did something to the people in them, or..." She shook her head, confusion edging her expression. "What exactly did happen at the old building?"
Rafe stared down at his plate, as though the half-eaten enchilada could somehow direct him, as though he could read their shared future in sauce, like tea leaves. But it said nothing, and after a moment the silence was too heavy to ignore.
"I think I still believe in God," Rafe said, looking up to meet her dark, piercing eyes. "So I don't really know what to make of any of this. But Ifeya… being in that building woke something up in us. Or put something in us, maybe. They're gods, too, I think, and old ones. There's something in me—in you, in Gabe&madsh;that isn't us. I can't explain it, but everything that happened there, and these dreams, here, now… it's all connected. That's all it can be."
He twitched an uncomfortable smile. He tossed his head, ridding his gaze of a fallen lock of hair. "I swear I'm sober right now."
Fey's eyes had grown increasingly wide, her brows hitching up by millimeters as she listened. She remained quiet for a beat after he was done, and then finally nodded her head.
"I know you are, Fel," she said, her voice soft. "And I think you believe what you're saying. I just... It was a dream, querido. I can't promise that nothing bad will happen to us here, but you've got me, you've got Gabe, everyone else in the building. If something's happening, we'll figure this out together." Abandoning her fork on her plate, Fey reached over to grasp Rafe's hand, squeezing it tight. He took it, squeezing back.
He found he could not believe her words, though he badly wanted to. That the dreams had followed them seemed nothing but an ill omen, proof that what had begun at Pax had not been ended by Savoy's disappearance. But for now, there was nothing to be done, nothing to say that would convince her of this.
So Rafe only smiled, squeezed her hand again, then turned their talk to other, brighter things.