Savannah Posey (jurisdoctor) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-11-05 13:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | # 2018 [11] november, calvin davidson, savannah posey |
Who: Cal and Savannah
Where: White Trail
What: two friends catching up
When: November 2nd, lunch time
Two days after his last excursion to the White Trail, they were careful to schedule their meeting for daytime—he had absolutely no intention of splurging on another room for the evening, especially on a work night. He didn’t even plan on drinking this time, having experienced the reminder that drunk Cal was sloppy and effusive and affectionate and that wasn’t always a clever combination. But lunch with a friend he hadn’t seen in far too long (and had in fact conscientiously stayed away from, lest he aggravate the wounds that lay between LBJ and the Capitol and the spectre of Grayson Wolfe) was a nice prospect. Cal had parked his SUV—which was conspicuously dented, its nose wrinkled from a collision that hadn’t been there the last time he visited the library—and waited outside the doors of the bar, propped against the wall and smoking a cigarette. He should quit again. Couldn’t bring himself to do so yet. Wondered, briefly, if this habit would stick around until his sister was back from the Dog Park permanently. He was about halfway through when Savannah arrived. Savannah stopped her blue Jetta behind Cal’s Jeep before exiting and walking towards him. The drive hadn’t been anything special but she was looking forward to spending time with Cal and escaping the pitying eyes around the library. See--it was her birthday. The first birthday she’d had to spend without Gray and the first birthday she’d had to spend since getting tangled up in the complicated politics of Austin. Wandering eyes around LBJ looked at her with sadness and sympathy, but it was like salt in the wound. It was just another day in the grand scheme of things but despite her best efforts of growing thicker skin, she was feeling more vulnerable than normal that day. “Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart,” she chided, stopping a few feet away from Cal, though offered him a smile. She’d promised him she wasn’t an alcoholic widow going off the edge, after all, but that didn’t mean she didn’t look a little worse for wear: thinner and more tired looking than the last time he’d seen her. His pale blue eyes roamed over the woman, taking in the details as if he were triaging her state: war widow. It was written all over her, with that same drawn but determined look he’d seen over and over when returning from Iraq. The appearance of someone with a piece missing, hastily filled-in. “Once you put it out, I’ll give you a hug.” “In the larger scale of things, I think I’m statistically more likely to go at the hands of a zombie.” Or raiders, he thought, but just barely managed to bite that back, earning a wrinkled-nose frown from Savannah. Any hypothetical situation in which Cal ceased to exist was an unpleasant one. Ordinarily, there would have been a support network for her, soldiers and brothers-in-arms to help carry the burden. Day was there, but still. Cal wondered. Most widows had to deal with PTA meetings and raising kids, not an entire shelterful of souls on their shoulders. All of those thoughts passed, flickering through him like lightning. Cal drained the last drag from the cigarette (these things were precious, there was no reason to squander them as before), then dropped it and ground it out beneath his boot. He smelled of smoke and leather when he tugged Savannah into a hug; it ended up hard, crushing, with something like relief. For a time, it seemed he might never be welcome around his friend again. “It’s good to see you, Sav.” Always one who’d found more comfort in physical touch than pretty words, Savannah didn’t fight the hug and instead leaned in and wrapped her arms around his middle just as fiercely, attention starved now with Gray gone. The feel and smell of him was overwhelming, bombarding her with nostalgia of nights from their past (or what felt like another life) spent dancing and drinking, when the world was a far less complicated place. (God, how she wished she could go back.) “You’re lookin’ good, Sargeant,” she smiled against his chest, relief at them even just being here together obvious in her voice. As messed up as things were between LBJ and the Capitol, she didn’t want to lose the few people left that actually meant something in her life. “Hey, don’t I always?” That’s a lie. Bleeding and pallid and shivering from wounds, he doesn’t. Pacing up a storm in the quarantine room, he didn’t. But there’s less tension in Cal today, some sort of relief ebbing out this weekend, between a night at the White Trail and the sight of his friend alive and coping. So his grip tightened on the back of her blue shirt, reluctant to let her go and impose that distance between them again—they’re both creatures of touch, tactile and solid—but in the end, he did let go. And then, true to form, spoke right up about the elephant in the room: “I don’t give a shit about what’s goin’ on between our shelters. So it’s on record. You’re still you, so’s Day, and even that crotchety nurse you’ve picked up. As far as I’m concerned, that’s unchanged.” Savannah mourned the loss of contact between them, but followed suit and took a step away from Cal to give them each their personal space back. Biting at her lower lip, her doe-eyes fixed on his, watching him nervously as he spoke. “You know they're out for blood--the Hellhounds and your Mayor,” she said, making a face as if the last word she spoke left a foul taste in her mouth, “And I am too,” she added, her face much more hardened than the one Cal knew from years ago. “If you talkin’ to me is gonna put you at risk, I couldn't forgive myself. I don’t want you to stay away from me but you ought to know that’s where this is goin’.” “I’m not at risk.” Or was he? Cal was spouting platitudes to keep Savannah from worrying, but that assessing, calculating voice was in the back of his head again and it wouldn’t let him disregard the possibility. More likely, if the wrong people knew how close he was with the new shelter leader, they’d want to use him. “Out for blood. Does that mean—what, that you’re planning on mountin’ an attack? Catapults and cavalry?” His voice was dry, trying to laugh it off, but he couldn’t. Not with Grayson and dozens of government employees dead. Savannah didn’t even crack a smile at Cal’s joke. Gray was dead and there was nothing to laugh about. “The less you know the better. Can we go inside now? I was promised a drink,” she replied, tight lipped. This wasn’t the kind of reunion she’d been hoping to have with her friend, but when did things ever go as planned these days? And it wasn’t what he wanted to hear either, those words driving him to a halt. The less you know the better. It was ominous, something that set his hackles up and suspicion rising. But he pressed it aside. “Let’s get inside,” he agreed simply, without further elaboration. Kicking at his discarded cigarette, Cal moved towards the small side-door that led into the White Trail; one hand held the door open while the other found the spot between Savannah’s shoulderblades, a gentle pressure as he nudged her into the building ahead of him. Another little tic he hardly even thought about anymore: he knew the indoors was safe, so he positioned himself between the civilian and the outdoors, the area most likely to contain runners and crawlers. Savannah led them over to a booth in the corner, not sure if the privacy would be strictly necessary, but if their conversation made its way back to what they’d been talking about outside, she would be glad for it. Once she was settled into her seat she reached into her bag and pulled out a can of beets. Setting it on with a light thunk she looked across the table at Cal. “This is enough for something, right? It’s my first time here as a customer.” “How else, if not a customer? You taking up ownership shares in the business?” The new owner was a withdrawn figure that he didn’t know well; Cal had the impression that Sam knew the guy, but he was still mostly an unknown quantity to the soldier. “No, smartass, I just didn’t buy anything last time,” Savannah said, rolling her eyes. “But yeah, one can’s about the exchange rate. Let’s see, I’ve got…” Fishing around in his own bag, he found a couple cans of his own to trade. “Most people use this place to drink, but I’m just eating today. Had the hangover of a lifetime yesterday and, well, I’m not exactly lookin’ for a repeat in the afternoon,” he said sheepishly. It was a little bit of a breather, this banal twist to the conversation—it was safer than the subject they’d just skirted away from. Resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands, she looked at Cal, quirking an eyebrow. “Did you have a little too many treats on Halloween?” She teased, before continuing, “But don’t worry. I’m not about to get sloppy. I have to drive home and I have plans later. So I think you’ll be safe from a repeat.” “Mayyyybe.” His smile was a little knowing, a little weary, a little reserved—not the usual sort of cocksure lackadaisical reaction one got from Cal. “But yeah, that’d be best. Best not overdo it on a work night. What sorta plans you got later?” He waved at the waitress (and how weird was that, that they still had waitresses in today’s day and age?), summoning her over to take their orders in exchange for the cans. You always paid upfront. No such thing as credit, or waiting on good faith to pay the check at the end of the meal. “That's all I get?” Savannah asked with a pout, though it didn't last long. “Fine, keep your secrets Davidson.” It wasn't as if she didn't have her own. Like the fact that today was her birthday. But at this point, she couldn't tell him without it being weird. Or him feeling guilty for getting midway through them hanging out without having realized. So, it was best to keep that little fact to herself. “Maizie and I have plans to have dinner together,” she answered instead. “Fair enough.” He didn’t even question or doubt it; there was no reason to dig any further into her story than that. Nothing rang any alarm bells. “You been doin’ okay with her? Managing a teenager by yourself’s got to be a fuckin’ handful and a half.” She gave a half-shrug at the question, feeling all kinds of things when it came to Maizie. She wasn't her biological daughter nor even her step-daughter since she and Gray were never married, but Maizie still felt hers. “Bein’ a teenager is hard under normal circumstances. She does a lot better than I would have thought, considerin’ everything. And we’ve actually been really good lately. She kinda hated me there for a while but I think she’s realizin’ all we have is each other now.” The words were sad but Savannah didn't let her tone slip away from anything less than conversational. This was supposed to be a nice reunion and they'd already had enough tension between them earlier. “Anyway, what have you been up to lately, honey?” “Good damn question. Delivering supplies, meeting with friends.” How could he summarise those eye-opening conversations he’d had with Demi and Nina? How could he articulate his own growing reservations? He couldn’t, plain and simple. So he didn’t. Cal couldn’t complain, either, not considering the weight resting on Savannah’s shoulders. His own duties frankly paled in comparison. Although: “I’m gonna take a vacation soon, I think. Just go driving and camp with a friend for a couple days. Get out of this city. Breathe some fresh air. Get my head on straight.” There was no need to elaborate on what bothered him about Austin, this strangling net of raiders and zombies and politics. —and then, because there was that ever-lurking risk of their conversation slipping back to subjects too grim and painful for a pleasant meeting, Cal decided to give her the truth after all. “I might’ve slept with a friend I shouldn’t,” he added, barking a laugh. It was right then that the waitress reappeared carrying their food, and she shot him a quizzical look. He shrugged his shoulders back in return, unabashed. Savannah had all kinds of remarks about his potential vacation at the tip of her tongue but at Cal’s mention of sleeping with a friend she threw all those away and just let out a laugh. That hadn’t been what she was expecting, but she was happy for the topic of conversation, eager for the details on this scandal. “Really now? Do I know this friend? And why was this sleepin’ together thing not a good idea? Were you the man on the side? Cal Davidson, are you a homewrecker?” She asked in dramatically scandalized voice. She’d definitely done the whole sleep-with-someone-you-shouldn’t thing (read: sleeping with Pete while he was still her Chemistry class’ Teacher’s Assistant) so she wasn’t here to judge. She was just glad for them talking about something that didn’t automatically lead to doom and gloom. At least, Cal laughing about it made her think that it wasn’t all that bad, anyway. Because who hadn’t had those nights? His laugh broadened and grew. “Yeah, that’s me. Pretty blond side-piece, wreckin’ families wherever I go. She’s a Stepford wife from the Capitol. I’m expectin’ her husband to hunt me down any damn minute, which means I’ll have to take refuge at the LBJ.” It was all a joke; having known him for so many years, Savannah could read it in that thrumming laugh beneath his words, plus Cal’s usual slipperiness when it came to subjects of importance. “Nah, it was just a one-off.” He’d started picking at his canned fruit salad, mulling. Considering how much to reveal. But what the hell was the use, anyway? He wasn’t really in the army anymore, and his father was far-off in Richland. If he couldn’t be honest in his thirties, when could he? So Cal continued, trying for a casual tone despite the fact that this had never come up between them before, “I mean, I can do friends-with-benefits just fine, but he’s not too keen. So I’m considering that embarrassing chapter closed.” Savannah was a pretty damn good listener and it was something she prided herself on. You had to be when you were a lawyer. Listening to your client’s side of the story was important, not only to know what you’re working with, but also to gather information and make connections that others might not see. In hindsight, this all made perfect sense. Hadn’t they been out together and Cal would agree casually as Savannah gushed about how hot some guy was? At the time she thought he was some cool progressive southern boy who didn’t have a problem owning up to when another man was attractive. But now-- “Really? Well ain’t that a shame? At least you got one good night out of it, right? And it’s not like I’m pryin’ for information or anything but, well, I am. Because, one, way to tell me about your legitimate interest in men five years ago because we could’ve had a lot of fun with that. Two, and don’t judge me because I know I’m in no place for it, but I haven’t gotten any in like six months and I’m kind of dyin’ and three, you never answered my question of whether I know this mystery man. So. I don’t think any of that made sense and there might be a question in there somewhere but basically, I’m livin’ vicariously through you so don’t spare me any details.” And to think, she hadn’t even had a sip of her drink yet. Savannah’s little no-nonsense speech left her friend cracking up, and it was one of the first honest, unbridled laughs he’d had in awhile. It was a good feeling. “You might know him,” Cal hedged, still not giving up his cards fully. “So I don’t want to complicate matters by blabbing. Austin’s enough of a claustrophobic fishbowl as is, so pardon me if I don’t—wait, hang on, a lot of fun with that?” Cal’s mind went straight and firmly to the gutter, where it lived most days anyway. “Shit, if that’s your way of saying we could’ve been having threesomes way back when, I clearly fucked up on my window.” Savannah reached across the table, lightly slapping at Cal’s arm, as she laughed. “You’re terrible. What I meant was we could have looked for guys together and we could have gone to that really fun gay bar that played all the 80s music but it’s good to know where your mind went.” Not that she was even opposed to that because Cal was quite a treat for the eyes, but for once, her intentions had been relatively innocent. He grinned, taking a few more bites of canned peaches. “Although I wasn’t really…” He stalled out, unsure how to explain it. Cal wasn’t much for explaining; he hated picking out and dredging up the exact right words to pin down a complicated emotion. Action was easier. “It’s not really a thing I was all that open about, so five years ago it wouldn’t’ve happened anyway. Sorry to crush all your hopes and dreams of me dancing badly to the Eurythmics.” Savannah, calmed down a bit now that the initial shock and franticness of the conversation was over, finally took a sip of her drink and relished the way the liquor burned down her throat before replying. “Mmm, well, it’s not like you’re even my type. You’re not a teacher,” she said with a smirk. Technically Pete wasn’t a real teacher, just the assistant to the professor, but still there was something attractive about a person of authority. And he’d been so cute. Then of course there was Gray, who was never actually her professor, but the scandal of the student-teacher relationship had always been a risk Savannah enjoyed. That was all a lifetime ago, though, and now she was just living vicariously through her friend. But such was life. “So, I guess it was never in the stars for us to end up in bed together. But if you and your mystery man hook up again I expect you to report back to me.” He laughed again. “It probably won’t happen, but if it does—for the sake of your starved sex life, I’ll be sure to get you the sordid details. Everything except a name.” Then Cal was taking a sip of his water to wash down the food (culinary masterpieces just really, really weren’t a thing these days, even at the Capitol), and giving Savannah another look. “So, seriously? Teachers, that’s what does it for you? Is it a schoolgirl-in-miniskirts fantasy thing?” It wasn’t as if Savannah was shy about sex, and she’d brought it up after all, but still her cheeks flushed slightly at Cal’s words. “I will have you know I never dressed up in a plaid skirt for Pete or Gray,” she said, her tone somewhere between a huff and a laugh, then paused to take another sip of her drink, hoping that the warmth on her cheeks would go away. “I just--I don’t know. Maybe it was just an accidental trend. Gray was too much of a Boy Scout for us to fool around much in his office so there were a lot of fantasy opportunities missed.” “Hey, I’m the last to judge. You do you. And if I was in y’all’s shoes, I totally would’ve done the same.” He bit back one of the jokes he could’ve made, about her being a lech at Benjamin Blake next. How soon was too soon, after the death of someone who was practically a spouse? So instead, noticing that blush—it was hard to miss, helped somewhat by Savannah’s pale skin and the fact that she was drinking—Cal decided to graciously even the odds a little. “Alright, so since we now know what makes Savannah Posey freaky... Fact: I like sex outdoors. There, now we’re equally fuckin’ bared about our respective tastes, and our friendship is all the stronger for it.” It felt good to be grinning like this, talking about dumb shit that didn’t matter, minds temporarily clear of other problems. For a small stretch of time, life was almost normal again. Savannah just laughed at Cal’s words, biting at her lower lip to stop the grin that threatened to take over her entire face. “Outdoors? Like up against trees? Doesn’t that hurt? What about on the beach? Doesn’t sand just get everywhere? That hardly seems sexy.” No, the outdoors had never appealed to Savannah, but just as Cal said, Savannah wasn’t here to judge either. If it made him happy, and he could find someone to indulge him in those pleasures, then good for him. Her laugh had faded to a soft chuckle, still amused at this entire conversation. Backstepping just a bit, she looked across the table, her head tilted as he examined her friend. “So you would’ve had a threesome with me back then if I’d asked you?” Now it was Cal’s turn to clear his throat and pause for a moment, weighing his answer before immediately handing out a response. He arched an eyebrow, though, expression finally shifting and becoming mildly incredulous. “In all seriousness, Sav: who wouldn’t?” he said wryly. Once again, using humour to edge his way past something that might be a little strange to broach otherwise. It had been a selfish question, one intended to boost her ego, and Cal’s response hadn’t disappointed. What girl didn’t like to be told how desirable she was? These days, she needed to hear that more than ever. She was a widow and so many saw her as damaged goods after the loss of Gray, but the idea of growing old alone was a depressing one. Even if nothing would ever come of it, Cal’s words were still nice to hear. “Yeah? That really was a missed opportunity, then,” she teased back, and because she’d only ordered a small drink due to the fact that she need to drive herself back to the LBJ, on her next sip of her drink she drained the glass. “Well I guess that’s all she wrote,” she added, setting the glass down. For a second, Cal wished he had a drink, too, to mirror hers—but then it passed, and then it was just the two of them over lunch, on a day that he thought was like any other, no particular importance attached to the date. He still didn’t know. Their existence was an obstacle course these days: sidestepping the topics they couldn’t discuss, the things that were off-limits, the various troubles that dogged them, their split loyalties. Cal gave those subjects a wide berth whenever he could. But things were also looking up a little, at least. |