ladyfirestarter | (no subject)

(no subject)

The desert's chilly at night. She's brought a jacket.

Charlie sits on a particular rock a few miles from the Taos complex, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them, looking at the moon.
I am looking for someone who can take as much as I give
And'll give back as much as I need, and still have the will to live
She hasn't been able to reach Prometheus for over a month now. Not from here; not from Milliways. She's still in the habit of taking out the little clay figurine at odd moments, running her fingers over its rough-smooth surface in something like meditation.

She's doing it now.
'Cause I am intense, I am in need, I am in pain, I am in love
But I feel forsaken, you know like the things I gave away
The fallout of things at Tet has left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. The security guy, Stuart, that's upsetting; the Board member, Adamson ... that's sickening. Treachery from inside. Treachery from above.

Lot of good people, she told Charles Wallace.

And blood and fire are too much for these restless arms to hold

Her blocks have to stay up while she's on the campus, for fear the kids will pick up on her negative emotions. She's alone now, and can let down the blocks and look at what's behind them: anger, and fear, and a bewildered sense of loss.

And I'm calling you, calling you, from ten thousand miles away

Over and over her fingers slide along the kouros, as though counting off prayer beads, and no answering warmth comes.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"On that rock by the road, few miles out of the complex -- where are you?"

Warmth is spreading through her in waves, and her voice rises with a wild combination of relief and joy and laughing outrage.

"I haven't been able to reach you for weeks --"

"I'm -- Chicago. Weeks? You're serious?" His own voice sounds shaken.

"Close to a month, yeah ..."

Charlie straightens unconsciously at that tone in his voice.

"Are you -- is everything okay?"

"Shit."

A pause, maybe a little longer, a little tireder than could be normal.

"I'm fine. I had to take care of something, but it's over, least for a while. I'm sorry I fell off the grid. Charlie, it hasn't been that long for me. I don't know what happened with the time."

"Oh."

She sounds ... more taken aback than anything else.

"How long was it for you?"

"Uh..." He genuinely has to think about this. "A week, ten, eleven days, maybe? Which was long enough. Hey," and his tone shifts to something hopeful, "everything's good on your end, right?"

"Yeah, um ... mostly."

She hunches unconsciously, drawing in closer to the figurine in her hand.

"There's been some stuff."

He frowns, audibly. "That doesn't sound like 'company picnic softball rivalries' kind of stuff."

A slightly harsh laugh. "Definitely no picnic. And ... I don't know how much of it I should talk about. Probably none."

A considered pause.

"I don't want to have this conversation over the phone. Where can I come see you, fast?"

It's urgent, certainly, but it's also skittish. Sheepish.

Charlie slides down from the rock.

"Can you get here? Or -- the bar? I can get to our door in maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes."

"Bar it is. I'm going to lurk by the door, and probably scare everyone who comes through before you. Catch you soon?"

"Very soon."

She's already walking back along the road, walking in long swift strides.

When she steps into Milliways, her breath's a little ragged from exertion, but only a little.

He'd been wall-sitting, feigning patience with his arms crossed over his chest, but he's all motion and long limbs now.

"Hey." He's got her held tight before the word's all out of his mouth.

"Hey," she says, half-muffled by his shoulder, and then draws back just enough to look into his face.

"'S good to see you."

"It feels like a month, now." He presses a kiss to her temple. "Let's go hide someplace."

Her fingers twine with his.

"Upstairs or outside?"

"Upstairs." That crooked half-grin puts in an appearance. "Who are you? It's way too cold outside."

"I like cold," she protests amiably, but starts toward the stairs anyay.

"You're a freak," he shoots back, keeping his arm around her shoulder (warm).

The room they open up is comfortable: warm sunlight pools in from nowhere. It feels private, and just anonymous enough. The couch is long enough for sprawling, should the need arise. Good to know someone thinks of these things.

"So," he says at last. "Who's going first?"

"Flip you for it?" she offers, slipping out from under his arm.

"I -- am fresh out of coins right now, I have to say." He makes a show of patting down his pockets. "Though it's possible I may have--"

Charlie reaches into her own pocket, comes up with a quarter.

"Call it?" she says, and tosses it into the air.

"Heads."

It's always heads with him.

She catches the coin, slaps it onto her wrist, and looks down.

"Heads it is. You start."