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wordynerdygurl · 2 years ago

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Someone to Watch Over Me

Part 2: “Seek & You Will Find”

Author’s Note: Listen, this chapter- it’s a doozy! A whopper! In the words of our favorite Metalhead, a “Big Boy”! My endless thanks to @sweetsweetjellybean for the sage-like advice. Couldn’t have gotten here without you! Seriously, I’m beyond thankful for your guidance!

Also, anyone want a playlist for this story? Lemme know!

If you need to catch up: Part 1 - Love is Blind Pairing: Eddie Munson x Plus Sized OC Amanda Patterson Summary: It’s love at first sound, pitch perfect and fated, everything in harmony. If only life were a love song.

When Amanda has a rotten rehearsal, Eddie finds a way to turn things around with the help of his friends. Is it possible that these two lost lambs have found someone to love?

Warnings: There’s some mild fat-shaming/ fat-phobia happening here. Lots of making out and references to 80s relics such as MTV VJs. Also, there’s junk food discussed and frankly, in my heart, I know Eddie is Twizzlers guy. No, it’s not up for discussion!

Happy Reading!

1990 There was no end in sight.

Chuck kept asking questions. Insipid and uninspired things like ‘What’s your favorite color?’ ‘Favorite food?’ ‘Favorite Soda?’

And every member of the band answered enthusiastically except for Eddie. He couldn’t seem to stop his brain train from running down a track towards self doubt. Why didn’t he just say that their new single was his favorite song? Name a tune from any one of the thousands that routinely blasted from his Walk-Man or stereo or car radio. Instead, like an idiot, Eddie had let his mouth speak for his stupid, stupid heart. The one organ that had no business talking out of turn. Not in front of the guys. Not to Chuck, the affront to fashion in front of him. Not to all of America once the production team edited the band’s responses together into a clip package that could be shown over and over and over in between music videos and commercials for Diet Coke. The unending false cheerfulness of the interviewer ground down Eddie’s normally thick skin, turning him sullen, moody. Of course, Eddie recognized that this could also be blamed on his bare honesty when asked a simple question about his favorite song. Was Chuck, the walking graffiti wall, really to blame? After all, the band had agreed to this list of softball questions. It’s just that Eddie hadn’t expected to be so honest. Hadn’t counted on sabotaging himself. And he was kicking himself internally for the over share. If anyone, including the doofus with his artfully styled mullet, realized how Eddie was feeling they didn’t acknowledge it. Everyone just sort of carried on like normal, especially Chuck who cleared his throat, barrelling onward, “Indiana isn’t really known for it’s rock ‘n roll. How did the band get started? What brought Corroded Coffin together?” “Oh, that’s easy!” Eddie felt the familiar hands of Gareth land noisily on his shoulders from behind, “Eddie and I went to high school together, started playing for fun in my garage. Next thing you know we’re here, getting ourselves on MTV!” Bless him, Eddie thought, a half smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Gareth took the heat off of him, answering a couple more of Chuck’s neverending inquiries, effectively easing some of the tension that had wrapped itself around the front man. It was nice, even if it didn’t last long. “Eddie, you’re a founding member of the group, the lead singer, lead guitarist, and primary song writer here. I gotta ask-” Chuck leaned forward as if they were close friends gossiping over beers, the fakeness of it making Eddie’s jaw clench, “-Is there anything you don’t do for the band?”

It wasn’t meant to be prying, Eddie got that. This whole thing was supposed to be cushy, simple, fun. Another great way to get the band in front of audiences who were demographically appropriate for their fan base. They had all agreed to sit down and promote the record, the music video, the tour they were opening for each night. Did Chuck, and by extension, America, really need to know that Eddie wasn’t looking forward to going back to Indiana? Was that part of his obligation? Putting his memories, his history, his heartbreak out there for everyone to look at in between Billy Idol’s new single and Madonna’s latest video drop?

Maggie kicked at his boot. It was a warning from his faithful head of security, a soundless reminder to play nice with the other kids. Especially since this was too big a moment to blow by being a pouty pants.

So Eddie did what he always did when he hated what was being forced on him by the institutions pulling his strings. He leaned into malicious compliance while mentally giving everyone around him, including his beloved Maggie, an imaginary middle finger. He smiled broadly, his laugh too loud. It was such a tonal shift that Chuck jumped in his seat, nearly frantic, “Eddie? Are you ok to continue?” Batting his kohl rimmed eyes at the poor man’s Kurt Loder before him, Eddie resigned himself to giving the producers a sound bite for the ages. “Yea, yea. Fine, Chuckie! What, uh, what don’t I do for the band? I guess-” running a ringed hand over the back of his neck, Eddie shook his head, holding his cheeks up through force of will, “-I don’t cook. Not anymore. Not since the uh, Grilled Cheese Incident of 1988.” The smile that Chuck flashed was pure, unadulterated Americana wholesomeness. It was a Donny Osmond, Crest commercial smile. Eddie hated it. Itchy from discomfort, he craved nicotine. Caffeine. Anything but sitting still in front of this dork who managed to keep his creepily perfect smile intact despite Eddie’s threatening to slip away. “Oh, ho! Sounds like there’s a great story there!” Shrugging, going for shyness, Eddie looked off camera, finding Maggie’s eyes below the lip of her scally cap. It was a line almost as hard as her smile. She was displeased but that gave Eddie new life. Message received, he nodded, resettling his widest, grossest grin onto his face, “Yea! Almost set fire to the hotel room in Atlanta by making a sandwich with the in-room iron. How was I supposed to know that toast burns under the wool setting? Am I right, Chuck?” A robust laugh from Chuck got the rest of the boys chuckling too, “An important lesson for the kids at home! And, speaking of the kids at home, I hear you and the band have a surprise for some lucky Indianapolis Metal fans in the new year, is that right?” Faking it in a tone of voice typically reserved for ill fated travelers about to meet their doom around the DnD table, Eddie grinned wickedly, “Oh, that’s absolutely correct, Chuck.”

“Care to tell us more, Eddie?” Raising an eyebrow and its sterling hoop with it, Eddie clicked his teeth, “Ya know what, Chuck, it’d be my pleasure.”

He heard Maggie’s eyes roll even if he didn’t see it for himself. —

1987

“Well? Are you really not gonna tell me?” Carly was staring through Amanda as if she could pull the information out of her brain by willpower alone.

Heat flared through Amanda, landing prettily along her cheeks as she shrugged, “Tell you what?” Snorting, just shy of angry, Carly’s wide set eyes bulged comically, “About the guy from the concert- Eddie? Yea. Eddie.” At the mention of his name Amanda felt a rush of shimmering excitement slip down her spine. Eddie. It seemed like that was all she thought about these days but Carly and the others didn’t need to know that little fact. In the two weeks since their concert in Hawkins, the band had taken a little time off for class work and work work. Amanda hadn’t seen any of them since that night. Clearing her throat, flipping through the sheet music in front of her, Amanda sighed, “Who?” She didn’t sell the put on bored tone, not to Carly anyway, who pushed back, “Uh uh. No way. I want details. All of them. Because that boy-” Carly’s voice turned wistful, “-was gorgeous. And he only had eyes for you.” Even though she knew this was all fact, Amanda still felt the need to self-protect. Shield whatever was growing between her and Eddie from anyone who might try and trample on the spring green bud of their romance because this was new for her, exciting. The heady rush of liking someone and having them return the sentiment had been so far out of her experience that Amanda found herself treasuring even the smallest of gestures from Eddie. Something her more experienced and frankly filthy friend would not be able to understand. And also, Amanda wasn’t entirely sure that she liked the way Carly got all glazed and gooey when she talked about Eddie. It made her feel protective of him. It made her want to keep him safe, and by her side, and away from cute, coquettish Carly at all costs. Stiffer than usual, Amanda turned to her friend, “Well, if you must know-” “I absolutely must! You practically disappeared with him.” Siddling closer, Carly’s voice dropped conspiratorially, “Mark was worried.” Snapping her head up, Amanda looked across the practice space to where Jim and Mark were chatting like normal, “He was?” “Yup. Thought something bad was gonna happen to you after you went off with a stranger.” “Um, ok, I mean, I was fine. More than fine, actually” The barest hint of a smile played out over Amanda’s lips, a phantom made of memory and moonlight and milkshakes. Carly smiled smugly, a knowing tint to her tone, “Oh, I know. That uh, hickey speaks volumes.” Reflexively Amanda rubbed a hand over the narrowly exposed lavender stain on her collarbone, biting into her bottom lip, “Shh! Not so loud!” “Please! Just, level with me, Amanda. How was he?” Wagging her eyebrows, Carly wasn’t going to stop until she heard all the sorted details, leaning over her keyboard with obvious interest, practically drooling. Rolling her eyes skyward, shutting them long enough to gather a thoughtful response, Amanda slowly leveled her gaze at her friend. Risking a sideways glance at the boys, she pushed closer to the almost vibrationally excited Carly, swooning like a cartoon princess, “He was wonderful.” “And?” “And what?” Carly huffed in frustration, “What do you mean ‘and what’? What did you do? What did you do to him? What did he do to you?” She was very emphatically implying that she wanted the meat of the story. The gory, bloody bits of what had transpired between Amanda and Eddie. Pieces that she wasn’t sure about sharing. Amanda though, was all too happy to play dumb, “Oh, well we went to the diner and had milkshakes and then-” Over eager, Carly cut her off with an excited flick of her hand, “Then you guys did it, right? Was it in that shitty van?” A confused look clouded Amanda’s face, “What? No. We uh, we did hold hands under the stars and-” “Then you did it?” Laughing at her friend’s crestfallen face, she shook her head, “We didn’t do it, Carly. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Groaning, Carly lightly shoved at Amanda’s shoulder, “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Why the hell not? He was clearly down for you and bad too. What happened? How come you didn’t-” Amanda watched as her friend made sure the boys weren’t able to hear them as she taunted, “-ya know, seal the deal?” Tilting her head, Amanda let her memories of that night fill her mind. Full of small touches that lingered and the scent of vanilla ice cream, the heavy taste of greasy fries and the sound of rumbling laughter from below. It had been perfect and complete, just as it was. After the diner, Eddie had driven out to Lover’s Lake, his hand never leaving Amanda’s, even when he had to flip the cassette tape. He had popped open the back doors, inviting her to sit beside him under a quilt that usually cradled his amplifier. Then Eddie started talking and Amanda found herself lost in the even cadence of his voice. And when he spoke about the last time he had been at the lake, about seeing things that hurt to remember, it was Amanda who threaded her fingers into his net of hair. It was Amanda that turned Eddie’s starry eyes to hers. It was Amanda who whispered, “I’m, I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Amanda did all that, working from some intrinsic biological knowledge. But Eddie was the one who stole her breath under the moonlight. And when sitting up was too much work, keeping them too far away from each other to be comfortable, the cargo space in his van was the only witness to their necking. Humid kisses that scalded along the tender tension of Amanda’s throat. Tiny, closed lip smacks to the skin under Eddie’s chin where even stubble refused to grow. The unpracticed nip of his canine tooth tugging on Amanda’s earlobe, the ungainly groan Eddie uttered when she pulled his hair. No one knew about that but the van, the night sky, and the pair of them. She would have gone further. She wanted to, saying as much to Eddie in between ragged breaths and sugar spun sighs, but he shook the mop of curls that framed his flushed face, “Why buy the cow if you get the milk for free?” Protests started to form, Amanda’s mind ready to fight his logic, only to be subdued by another hot press of his swollen lips to hers. Eddie’s endless eyes searching hers in the starlight confessed, “Need to see you again, Mandy. If I- if we, well, ya know- then there won’t be much to look forward to.”

That wasn’t true. Amanda’s head and heart rebelled against the thought because could already think of a million reasons to see Eddie Munson again. Almost none of them had to do with getting him out of his exceptionally well fitted jeans. Almost.

And maybe she would have fought back harder against his denial if he hadn’t freely admitted his own need. Knowing that Eddie wanted more- another date, another chance to see her, another night shared under starlight, made the throbbing ache in her body a little bit easier to ignore. Amanda didn’t have to have immediate satisfaction, despite how much she may have craved it, when Eddie slurped hungrily against the fragile skin of her throat, marking her as taken. Oh, yea. Amanda could wait. It would absolutely be worth it. Eddie had pinky promised. But Amanda was not about to tell Carly any of that. Those were porcelain, precious pieces of her night with Eddie. She was holding them close to her heart but that didn’t mean she couldn’t give her friend something to chew on. Shifting an eyebrow up, a sly smile curving over her lips, “Um, Eddie didn’t- well, we didn’t need to.” “What does that even mean?” But Amanda didn’t get a chance to answer. Mark and Jim were ready to start the session which brought their conversation to a stop even if she knew Carly wasn’t going to let it go. “Later, k?”

Checking her watch, Amanda was surprised to see that their booked practice time was nearly up. It had been a good one, at least for her. Singing all those pretty love songs while thinking about a certain long and lean leather wearing guy who could kiss like a sailor on shore leave helped Amanda put her heart into every note. Not everyone in the band was having as good a night. All practice long Mark had been full of criticism. Carly was rushing the melody on one song, dragging down the rhythm on the next. He questioned Jim’s ability to keep up during a run through of “Fever”, citing the bassline as too easy for it to sound so bad. With harsh comments about late entries or off key starting notes, a scowl practically plastered to his face anytime Amanda looked in his direction, Mark was clearly going through something. Everyone was entitled to a bad day, Amanda had had a few herself over the years, but there was a meanness to Mark tonight that felt off. Wrong. There had been only one major critique from the stocky drummer about Amanda’s work this session, coming after the last note of Someone to Watch Over Me. Mark’s ruddy face was redder than usual as he tossed down his sticks, “Yea, yea, we get it. You’re desperate for love or whatever. Do you have to sound so, so, I don’t know, shameless when you sing it Amanda?” “I’m sorry?” “It’s like you’re begging for a man by the end of that song. Like you’ll take anyone home.” Carly was shaking her head, refusing to meet Amanda’s searching gaze, second hand embarrassment pinkening her cheeks. Jim couldn’t stop staring at Mark, his mouth hanging open, his fingers frozen on the strings of his instrument. Amanda shrugged, adjusting her microphone stand, “Uh, I sang it like I always do.” “Yea, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Mark’s too light eyes bored into Amanda’s, silently struggling to communicate something she wasn’t picking up. Jim cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention, and diplomatically offered, “Uh, we’re running out of time, guys. Maybe let’s go over ‘I Can See Clearly Now’? Carly? Amanda? That sound ok?” Nodding, Amanda agreed quietly, flipping through her lyric book for the right song. Tossing her tight coils of hair, Carly nodded, squeaking out her reply without any of her usual playfulness, “Yup. Fine with me. Count us in Mark.” His sticks clicked together loudly, not bothering to count out loud for the benefit of his bandmates, not really acknowledging any of them, just jumping straight to the intro. It didn’t matter, they all fell into the tune, years of practice making it easy even if the room’s energy was still wasn’t. Mark worked the drums hard, without looking at his hands, instead watching Amanda like a hawk everytime she dared risk a glance in his direction.

A heavy, weighted thing, his stare followed her as she confidently started to sing over the other instruments. Amanda might have been unsure about whatever was bothering Mark, she may have been cautious about oversharing with Carly, but one thing Amanda knew with certainty was that she sounded good tonight. So did the band, despite what Mark had alleged with his prickly, nit-picking comments. So, despite how happy she had been with her own performance, Amanda was eager to get home where there was a hot shower and cold beer waiting. Beyond ready to put this bizarro rehearsal behind her, when Jim called it, Amanda wasted no time packing up her things. After all, Eddie would be calling soon and that was the wonderful thing to look forward to at the end of this long day. She was crouched down, wrapping up her chords and stowing things in their proper place, when Mark’s beat up Converse sneakers appeared in front of her. He cleared his throat a bit too loudly to get her attention, “Uh, hey Amanda?” Was this the start of an apology? God, she hoped so. And not just for her but for Jim and Carly too. “Yea?” It hit somewhere between disinterested and already engaged but still friendly, welcoming. Without shifting her focus, Amanda carried on, situating her things inside the case which held her microphone and not the drummer standing with his hands in the pockets of his corduroys. “Where- uh, where’d you disappear to? Ya know, after the show the other night?” Looking up at him, Amanda blinked purposefully, not confused by the question but by the need to ask it. “I uh, I went out with a friend.” Mark shuffled in place, dragging a hand through his close cropped hair, something clearly on his mind. Watching him war with himself was tiresome and before he could say anything else, Amanda reached out, “Help me up?” Dragging her to her feet like he had done countless times, Mark didn’t let go of her hand right away so Amanda pulled it back, cocking her head with a small smile, “Uh, thanks for the assist!” Still he was silent. Brooding. Fidgety and nervous, behavior that wasn’t normal Mark. Paired with his, frankly, shitty attitude all night long, it tripped Amanda’s emotional alert system. Something was definitely wrong. The sympathetic friend to all in need, Amanda breathed out a sigh, “Are you ok, Mark? You just seem a little-” She reached for his shoulder comfortingly like she would do for any of her friends. Only Mark brusquely jumped away from her touch, cutting through her comment in a harsh rush, “So, uh who’s the guy?” Stopping short, Amanda dropped her hand as if she’s been burned, cheeks flaming from the question. From the tone of it. From the implication it carried. Shaking it off, she countered with a question of her own, asking lightly, “From the concert? His name is Eddie.” “Eddie?” Parroting her answer, Mark let his eyes linger on something over Amanda’s shoulder, unable to look at her now. “Is he, like, your-” pausing, really working to dig out the word that he was reluctant to say, Mark finally settled his pained look on Amanda’s face, “-your boyfriend?” Was he? Labels hadn’t been discussed, it had only been a few dates after all, but Amanda felt connected to Eddie in a way that was difficult to describe. It was everything and nothing. Life changing but life affirming, too. So, was she Eddie’s girlfriend? Not in a junior high school dance sort of way. She wasn’t going to start drawing hearts with his initials on her notebook or anything like that, but she also couldn’t deny that they were linked. Bonded. Fated. And Amanda felt all of that, her fingers brushing over the discolored skin at her edge of her blouse as evidence of her connection with Eddie, but what she said to Mark was, “Yea. I- I think he is.” Curious stares from Jim and Carly followed the exchange happening smack in the middle of their shared practice space. Their heads swiveled between the drummer and vocalist, not wanting to miss a moment, as Mark added hotly, “You think? What the hell is that, Amanda? Is he or isn’t he?” That tone was new. She couldn’t think of a time when Mark had been anything less than complimentary, kind. Until tonight, anyway. Now he was tight lipped, clenched hands at his sides, the shoulders of his Rush t-shirt nearly grazing his ears. Facing him full on, Amanda straightened her spine, a pinched purse to her lips, struggling to keep things smooth. Easy. And feeling her way around the enigmatic energy that Mark was putting out. “Well, uh, I, I met him at work. Yea, must be a couple of weeks back. He plays guitar and came in for a score book. I was uh, putting up flyers for our show and, he, ya know, came to see us.” Scoffing at her, his voice raised, Mark’s already white skin was stained scarlet in hot patches along his throat and face, “A random guy? A, a stranger? You just, I don’t know, talk to men you don’t know and, like, invite them to see you sing?” Flinching, Amanda tilted her head his way, clarity coming all at once, “Are- are you mad at me, Mark?” “Yea. Hell yea, I am. I’m fucking pissed. You, you just disappeared with some long haired dude out of the crowd like it was no big deal. Not a word about where you were going or, or, when you’d be back.” Stepping closer, voice dropping to little more than a whisper, Mark reached out a hand to rub along the sleeve of Amanda's sweater, “I-” he swallowed audibly, “-I was worried about you.” Oh. That made some sense, Amanda figured. Mark was looking out for her, keeping an eye on her. Protecting her. Fiercer than needed, maybe, but protecting her just the same. It was kind of nice, even if it was entirely unnecessary where Eddie was concerned. A friendly grin filled her face, relief replacing Amanda’s anxiety, “Mark! That’s like, super sweet of you, but honestly? Eddie is so-” giddiness welled up inside of Amanda at the thought of Eddie. It turned her smile into something dreamy as she gushed, “-he’s so-” Biting into her bliss, Marks’ bitterness sliced into Amanda’s sentence, “So what? Huh, Amanda? What does this guy do? Where does he live? What do you even know about him?” Amanda wasn’t used to being on the spot, not like this and never with an audience made up of her friends. It was nearly an interrogation and every time she offered a response Mark was there, waiting, with words to try and trap her. “I know enough, Mark. I know that Eddie’s been a perfect gentleman. That- that he’s kind. Gentle.” “Gentle? Gentlemen don’t bruise girls like that.” He pointed at the purple splotch peeking from under her collar as if it were evidence of some kind. Tugging her shirt closer, embarrassed heat roared through her, “That’s- that’s private. It’s not what you think.” “It’s hardly private, Amanda, when you parade around here, showing it off for all of us to see.” Squaring his stance, Mark looked down his freckled nose at her, questioning her the way a furious father might, “Did- did he hurt you?” The idea of it was so absurd that Amanda laughed directly in Mark’s face. “Hurt me? No. No, Mark. I- I wanted Eddie to uh, ya know-” bashfully, she let her sentence and its implication go unfinished. God, it was so difficult to talk about this stuff when her buddy and bandmate looked so irrationally mad. Furious. Frighteningly so. She had thought, perhaps naively, that he would be happy for her the same way Carly had been. In that teasing, ball-busting way that friends were supposed to support each other when a new relationship was starting. It had never occurred to Amanda that Mark, or anyone, really, would be pissed about Eddie. “You, you wanted that? From a guy like him? I just don’t understand, Amanda.” There was another layer to Mark’s voice this time, something closer to sadness than she had ever heard before. Hurt. That was the sour note, the discordant jangle, which flattened all the words that left his mouth. More confused than ever, Amanda swiftly switched into comfort mode, a place that was more than familiar. After all, her’s was the dependable shoulder that people cried on and she put that emotional muscle memory to work, soothing, “Mark, it’s ok. I’m ok, really. Eddie, he’s a really great guy and, yea, we’re still getting to know each other. This, this thing with Eddie and I- it’s brand new and like, yea, I- we have a good time together. I fully plan on having more good times with him. He’s just like, really sweet and thoughtful and-” “Enough, ok. I get it. I just, I don’t know, never figured you for someone who’d get hooked up with some townie trash. It’s stupid, Amanda. Dumb.” Carly’s eyes went saucer wide and Jim physically winced at the heated words Mark flung at Amanda. This was the first time any of them had argued over more than a late entry or repeating a chorus too many times. This was serious. “Townie trash?” Sputtering, fury filling all the available space in Amanda’s body, she couldn’t actually believe what Mark had said about Eddie.

“You don’t even know him!” Shrill and thin, Amanda was nearly hollering now, unable to keep the anger bottled up. Tears gathered in her eyes, not from sadness but from the cruel unkind things Mark kept tossing her way. Braver than he had any right to be, Mark took a step forward, cold eyes narrowing sharply, “Do you even know this guy? Know who he is? I do. I asked around, Amanda. He’s a fucking drug dealer for one thing! And someone told me that he, like, barely beat a murder charge years ago. Murder, Amanda.” Waving a hand in front of her face as if she was trying to erase the terrible things coming out of Mark’s mouth, Amanda snapped back with a hiccup in her voice, “Well, he told me all about it. Unlike you, I got my information from the source.” Scoffing, Mark rolled his head to the ceiling as if he was struggling to make a toddler understand, “And you think he told you the truth? Amanda, come on! You can’t really-” “Really what? I can’t really like a guy who used to sell dime bags in the woods of his high school? I couldn’t possibly be into someone who told me he had a reputation, told me that, that he had been through some seriously bad shit?” She had gained ground as her rage swelled with the need to defend Eddie from Mark, glaring at someone who should have been on her side, should have been excited for her and instead was berating her. Amanda’s heart was heavy from it when she asked, “Why do you even care? What does it matter to you, Mark?” Mark took a tentative step closer, crowding into her personal space as his voice dropped lower trying to capture Amanda’s line of vision, “I think you know why.” “Mark-” “Amanda. Come on. You can’t not know, right?” “Know what?” But in saying it, Amanda realized exactly what Mark was trying to say through all his clumsy blustering. Something that he had been struggling to say wordlessly for a long time if she looked at it through the prism of Carly’s revelation. Although, it still didn’t account for Mark’s not acting on any of his feelings in a meaningful way. And in that second Amanda was furious at him anew. At all of them, really. Because it was becoming more apparent that Carly and Jim had known about the depth of Mark’s feelings without ever once letting her in on the secret. Even now, she had to watch as Mark stumbled through his admission, a nervous hitch in his throat that made the normally stoic guy sound small. “That I- that I’m into you, even though I shouldn’t be. Ya know?” Carly sucked in a breath. Jim groaned and looked around the room for an exit. Amanda blinked dumbly. “What did you say?” A cocky grin, starting small, started to spread over Mark’s freckled cheeks. “Look, I know that you’re a, a bigger girl, and like, your choices are limited. Most guys wouldn’t want that, but-” he was reaching up to tuck a strand of Amanda’s hair behind her ear when she jerked her head away, “-Amanda, I do. I want you in spite of that.” All at once the room was too small. Too hot. And Mark was standing entirely too close. Again, Mark made to touch her, forcing a rough whisper out of Amanda, “Don’t.” “But, Amanda, I just told you that I-” Shaking her head, Amanda took a huge backward step, kicking her microphone case, “Stop! Please, Mark. Stop. Don’t, don’t say anything else.” Her breaths were short, not enough air making its way into her lungs, and Amanda could sense the racing of her pulse. Worry was late in arriving on Mark’s face but when it had, he reached out a hand, only for Amanda to bat it away, “No.” Carly was in front of her then, “Hey, Amanda, you need to breathe, alright? Gotta take a deep breath for me, k?” Nodding her head, Amanda let herself be led to one of the metal legged chairs that was stacked near the door of the rehearsal space, Carly crouching at her side. From a distance she could see Jim talking to Mark, a hand on the drummer’s chest, and managed to puff out an apology, “I’m- I’m so sorry, Carly. I’m so terribly sorry about this-” Friendly fingers squeezed Amanda’s, “Hey, none of that. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re ok. You’re good. Just a little upset is all.” Amanda closed her eyes, focusing on the inhales and exhales until she no longer felt a hitch in her sternum. When she looked up again, Mark was gone and Carly was handing her a paper cup of water, “Jim, uh, well, he told Mark to take a hike.” A wet giggle burst out of Amanda and she drank greedily as Carly went on, “How ya feelin’? That was, shit, Amanda, I’m so sorry. Because that was wild.” It was late enough that no other students would be looking to get into the practice rooms, something that she was grateful for, since Amanda knew that she was a mess. Tears and hyperventilation took a toll, not to mention the stuffy nose crying had created. There was no way she could face anyone else but Carly just now. “Carly?” “Yea, babe?” “Did Mark really-” She didn’t finish her sentence. Didn’t think she could, really, when the recollection of all that had been said filtered through her head. Carly seemed to know that too because she sighed heavily and nodded once.

Carly eyed her cautiously, rocking back on her heels, testing the waters slowly, “Look. Mark went way over the line tonight. He’s clearly-” “Don’t defend him, ok? Please, Carly.” Amanda rubbed her temples, a throbbing headache making its presence known, “I just don’t understand. Why would he say those things?” She struggled to condense her thoughts into meaningful words, words that made some sense, but came up lacking. Something her friend picked up on. “Hey. I’m on your side here, Amanda. And I’ve been telling Mark to talk to you for a while now. It’s what you deserved, ya know?” When the singer didn’t respond, Carly nudged her gently, “Wanna go get drunk? Pour some sugar in Mark’s gas tank? Order five dozen pizzas to his frat house?” Swallowing down some more water, feeling more in control of herself, Amanda’s weak smile met Carly’s, “Thanks, I- I think I need to get out of here. Feed the cat, maybe call Eddie?” A slow grin grew across Carly’s friendly face, it was a knowing thing, but full of sweetness, “Uh huh. Of course. Maybe he could come over and make you feel gooooood!” The way she drew out the vowels made Amanda laugh, feeling lighter at the idea of seeing Eddie, “Maybe.” Carly pushed up on her knees, standing quickly, “Well, I imagine he could help you relieve some stress, is all I’m sayin’.” Heat crept through Amanda at the insinuation but she didn’t reject the idea outright. Perhaps her little friend had a point. Perhaps there was some comfort to be gained by having Eddie wrapped around her. When Carly offered her a hand, Amanda took it before pulling the girl into a hug, “Thanks for hanging around.” “It’s the least I could do.” “Still, I’m so embarrassed about all this, Carly. I can’t-” A firm shake of her head silenced Amanda, “No. Don’t do that. You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Mark should be. He’s the asshole here.” Agreeing numbly, Amanda grabbed her case by its handle, almost out the door when Carly called, “Amanda? Are you going to be here next week? Like, are you going to come to practice?”

She already had her answer ready, as much as she didn’t want it to be true, “Uh, we’ll see. I’ll- I’ll have to let you know.” A long look passed between the keyboard player and song bird. Carly bobbed her head once, “You call me, yea?” “Of course.”

____ Eddie was clingy, ok? He knew that about himself. Always the last person to let go during a hug, never in a rush to pull away, Eddie realized he had the potential to become a human sized barnacle, given the chance. And it wasn’t just physical. He craved reassurance from any and everyone, returning it in equal measure. Check in calls from Nancy or Robin, a drop-in at Family Video during every one of Steve’s shifts, dinners at the Henderson house each week, Corroded Coffin practice and, on rare occasions, a performance. It kept Eddie connected to all of the little sheep in his flock. But Amanda was something different, wasn’t she? A woman who lived on her own, went to school, went to work, went to band rehearsals and was content with making her own way. So independent it worried Eddie because he wanted her to depend on him. Yea, Eddie was clingy and protective and he had a hard time not showering those he loved in his affection. People who knew him, really knew him well, understood his blanket of affection. For new faces though, it could be a lot. Eddie could be a lot. And he’d had more than one relationship end before it began because of his smothering, suffocating, face hugging alien level of attachment. This time, Eddie vowed that wasn’t going to let that happen. He had a plan. A campaign for himself, with the end goal of winning Amanda, heart and soul. So, he had told her, flat out, that he, Eddie Munson, was an all or nothing kinda guy.

It was over the phone, the morning after the concert, because Eddie also didn’t have great impulse control. He’d just laid it out in plain English; he liked her. Alot. He liked talking to her and he liked kissing her even more. Because he wanted to continue doing both things, and not lose sleep over it, Eddie proposed some guidelines. Graciously, grandly, his Amanda agreed to one phone call a day. A check in, usually after dinner or a night shift, depending on the night, where they both unloaded the day’s events into the sympathetic ear of the other. It was one call a day, yes, one call that usually lasted four or five hours, a fact which couldn't be laid entirely at Eddie’s feet. After all, it was Amanda who refused to hang up first. Said it made her sad to say goodbye, which was just about the sweetest thing Eddie had ever heard, since most people couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. Now they ended their calls with “Night, Night” as if they were children taking a nap at daycare or something, instead of nearly full grown adults who desperately needed sleep before heading out to work or school. That was if they even remembered to hang up at all. Wayne had come home on at least two occasions to find Eddie asleep, cradling the receiver to his ear, snoring away. When he heard a matching set of heavy breaths on the other end of the phone, Wayne got the picture clear enough, telling his nephew to try and rehang the handset, if possible. No need to keep the line engaged and stretch the cord like that just to fall asleep together. Amanda had giggled at that, promising solemnly to try and avoid any future overnight calls, despite how lovely it was to listen to Eddie sleep. And the romantic in Eddie ate that shit up. It was the stuff of legend. And shit, did Eddie want to be legendary for Amanda. It was the heartsick, love hungry guy in him who had different ideas about what counted as romantic and that underfed goblin wanted all the rules thrown out of the window, even if they were ones Eddie had insisted on. That green and greedy bastard who lived in his heart demanded longer conversations. It didn’t want to wait until Friday night or Saturday morning to see Amanda, with her soft curves which he had recently discovered looked just as lovely in flowy dresses as they did in tight jeans, making Eddie thank a god he didn’t believe in for the hard work of the Jordache company.

No, the already attached barnacle, the needy slice of his personality, wanted to wake up every morning with arms, soft and warm, curled around him. Amanda’s arms. And it required a goodnight kiss from Amanda’s sweet lips, no longer satisfied with a whispered wish of sweet dreams through the breaking, beige knot of curling cord that stretched tightly from the trailer’s kitchen to his bed. But Eddie was trying to deny that feral critter. He had to or the damnable thing would take over his body and mind, saying or doing something stupid, way too soon for either of them to be comfortable. Something that might spook Amanda, something that he might regret.

Because Eddie Munson wasn’t ready for this thing with Amanda Patterson to end. To be over. Not so soon. Not when there was still so much to see and do and talk about together. Gnawing on his already shredded cuticle, Eddie worried at his nail, mind going as fast as a Hetfield guitar solo and twice as loud. If he really let himself break it down, Eddie supposed that he could charge the over eager attachments he formed with all creatures in need, great and small, on his lacking, slacking parents. Wayne, the best man in Indiana and possibly the world, had gifted him with stability as a kid. A much needed anchor in the swirling sea that was young Munson’s life until that point, but even the patient grit of his uncle’s love couldn’t quite scrape away the sticky residue of being leaveable. Of being left. Of being easy to walk away from.

Eddie did not want to think like that, he didn’t. Because he had worked hard to keep those idle thoughts out of his brain. But like an invasive plant, they managed to crowd his mental garden, taking over whatever good seeds were sown in love or friendship.

It was the kudzu of bad thoughts that he liked to blame for driving a wedge into all of his important relationships, blanketing the peace and happiness that he craved with waxy green leaves that choked and strangled in their desperate climb towards the light. Sure, he fought against it. Hacked away at it bit by bit, and in time, some love had taken root. And yea, he could thank the people who put in the time; Wayne, Dustin, Robin and Steve, hell even Nancy Wheeler and the Hellfire guys. But, credit where credit is due? Those connections flourished in the sandy soil of his heart mostly because Eddie was one helluva gardener. That reminded him, he should put killer plants in his next campaign, Eddie thought quickly, grabbing for a napkin and Sharpie marker that he swiped from Family Video, “Little fuckers won’t see that coming.” It struck him right then. As he was tucking the now defiled and scribbled upon tissue into his vest pocket, Eddie realized just how lost he was for Amanda. Knew with a fatal certainty that his heart was planting seeds with deep, thirsty roots. Growing a field of wildflowers for a woman he’d known, what, two weeks? Only, if he was honest with himself, he knew it was a lost cause at the diner when they kissed over vanilla milkshakes. Maybe he knew it before then, Eddie considered, teeth toying with his fingernail now. From the second they met, her impossibly amazing eyes catching his own as Amanda grabbed him, holding on for dear life, instead of tumbling to the ground at his feet. Or, most likely of all, when that voice of hers dripped like honey, wrapping Eddie in a smothering blanket of loveliness that he still hadn’t been able to shake off. Yea, he nodded to no one but himself, the sound of Amanda’s singing had pulled him under like a mermaid mirage and he had gone willingly into the deepest end of the ocean for just one more note. And that is why he was breaking his own rule about waiting until the weekend.

Because when Amanda had called after tonight’s practice, her normally full and pleased voice was tight and thin. Because when Eddie asked what was wrong he heard the two breaths she took and could picture how her brain flashed from keeping him out of it to letting him in. Because when Amanda told him she’d had an awful night, Eddie gave the only answer he could, “I’ll be right there.” Now, despite the lateness of the day, Amanda was running into a gust of autumn air that tugged her hair wildly and scoured her cheeks raw. Passing in front of the van’s headlights, she paused just long enough to smile at him, lit up golden against the India ink night. Eddie returned the look, leaning over the console to pop open the door, welcoming his girl, as she surely was in his mind anyway, into the warm van, “Hey gorgeous.” Before he could retreat to the driver’s seat, Amanda’s cold hands were tugging against the patched denim cut, keeping him on her side of the cab. Lips that Eddie dreamed about pressed to his own and as much as his manliness might want to deny it, he groaned against her mouth, pleased at her wanting him so recklessly. There was something else in the kiss that Amanda greeted Eddie with, something bitter, something sad, and it shook him up to realize that she’d been crying. That’s why he slowly pulled away from her upturned face, his ringed right hand curling to match the curve of her cheek, “Mandy, is- is everything ok?” With shining eyes and her bottom lip pinned between her teeth, Amanda shook her head, nearly sobbing, “No. Nope. Not even like a little bit.” “Oh baby, I’m sorry.” Letting her forehead lay against Eddie’s, his coarse curls curtaining them both, Amanda inhaled heavily, “Not your fault, just, stupid shit but, well-” Now she looked up at him with a trembling bottom lip and shiny trails over her cheeks making Eddie’s thoughts jump between murderous anger at whoever did this to his girl and comforting marshmallow softness for the pain she was in.

He settled on an encouraging head nudge, urging her to continue, “-I think I have to leave the band.” “What?” Her sigh was a wretched, wet thing and Eddie saw the effort it took for Amanda to steady herself, closing her eyes as she repeated, “I’m not going to be in the Indiana Four anymore. I, uh, I have to quit” The last word cracking through a shallow sob. A million questions flooded Eddie’s brain. This was a big deal. Huge even. And Eddie wasn’t about to make it worse for Amanda by asking any of them out loud right now. Swallowing his own need for clarity, Eddie brushed his thumb across Amanda’s bottom lip, his personal favorite, and hummed, “Hey, hey, you’re ok. I got you, baby. It’ll be alright, yea?” Amanda didn’t answer in words. She merely scooted closer, her arms threading under Eddie’s, hugging him tightly. It was a few seconds before the fresh wave of tears dried up and all he did was hold on despite the damp spot on his shoulder. Like all storms do, it passed, and when it had, Amanda sighed heavily, “I’m so sorry-” “Shh, I don’t care. I just- damn, Amanda, I, like, hate seeing you so sad. It’s breaking my heart, baby.” “Don’t- don’t say shit like that, Eddie.” “Why not? It’s true.” Swallowing thickly, wiping at the twin tracks of dampness on her cheeks, Amanda huffed, “‘Cause you’re gonna make me cry again!” “Ok, ok. I won’t say anything nice to you right now.” There was a hint of mirth in his voice that he prayed Amanda would notice, a softening that Eddie was desperate to offer his lady in distress with the hopes of cheering her up a little. Sniffling, she tilted her head in that tell-tale way, biting her bottom lip to halt her half smile from growing, “Thank you for your, uh, understanding.” “No problem. It’s good to know, for like, the future. Mandy’s sad? Don’t be nice. That’ll only make it worse.” Giggling despite her heavy heart, Amanda playfully pushed against Eddie’s chest, her nose stuffy from crying, “That’s not what I said.” “Well, that’s what I heard, sweetheart. And, lucky for you, I’m pretty good at being not nice, so I think this arrangement is going to work out just fine.” Now he was openly teasing her, grateful to see that she was fighting back. It meant she was feeling better and Eddie’s heart soared for knowing he was helping. Those eyes. The ones that pinned Eddie in place, making his breath catch in his throat, were locked on to him when she said, “You’re pretty nice to me, so don’t sell yourself short, Munson.” Leaning in close, the console be damned, Eddie let his nose graze hers, “Hmm, you’re pretty and that’s nice, Miss Mandy.”

Humming, Amanda rested a palm against Eddie’s cheek, “See? That’s what I mean. You say the sweetest things.”

“What can I say? Maybe you bring it out in me?” Shaking her head, Amanda snorted out a short laugh, disbelieving but flattered all the same. Still, Eddie wasn’t entirely surprised when she changed the subject, “So, thank you for coming over. For coming to get me. I just-” her shoulders dropped as she deflated after a deep exhale, “-I want to forget about today.” Shyly he peeked at her from under the flap of fringe that hung haphazardly over his eyes, “If you wanted to, ya know, talk about it, I’m all ears Mandy.” And he saw the struggle behind Amanda’s eyes, the way she tipped her head, thinking it through. Eddie wondered if there would ever be a time when telling him about her day might be a natural, easy, thoughtless thing. Because that’s what he wanted. He wanted to be the person she ran to, good or bad. But as they sat in her building’s parking lot, the van’s motor idling loudly, Amanda biting the inside of her cheek, Eddie saw the moment she decided against sharing. Saw how she blinked away unshed tears before swallowing shakily. Watched the way she tossed her head, like she was clearing away some bad thought or another. Damn it, she’s too pretty to be sitting so far away.

“Uh, I- I appreciate the offer, Eddie. But maybe-” “Hey, I’m here whenever you need me. You know that, right?” Her head dropped, focused on her fingernails, Amanda’s voice small as she answered, “Yea. Yes. I know that, Eddie.” Taking her hand in his, Eddie squeezed it firmly, happy when she lifted her lovely face his way. “And, just so you know, I am gonna make you tell me all about it, Mandy. Just yet, if that’s ok? If you can hold onto it for a little bit longer, I uh, I think it’ll be worth it.” “Sounds like you have a plan, Ed.” A tentative smile, damp at the corners, broke through the mask of pain she was carrying. It felt like a gold medal win to Eddie.

Of course he did. Eddie had already spent too much time thinking about how to spend this stolen night with Amanda. He knew what his body wanted, what his brain wanted, but now, it wasn’t the time for all that. There was another option, something different, something social. But only if Amanda was up for it. “Yea, maybe? Maybe I do. Might be more of a distraction. Dunno if it’ll work yet, but it's worth a try.”

“Just want to be where you are, Eddie. That’s all.” And even though she was resting her head against the seat with her eyes shut, he still felt like she was watching, waiting. For him to deny her, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

So, Eddie did what came naturally, pressing a kiss to her forehead, one to the very tip of her nose, “Sounds good to me, Miss Mandy.”

The radio was on low, barely audible over the van’s heater which was working really hard at filling the space with warmth, but all Eddie could hear was Amanda’s tiny moans of relief that ebbed out of her with every peck. Somehow that made her lighter, unburdened, as he kissed lightly over the features of her face. He was starting to think that he was the cause of that small, satisfying sound. And Goddess above, but he wanted to hear it again. Soon Amanda was leaning into the palm of his hand, being petted like a contented kitty cat, soft and warm. He hated to do it, disrupt the peace, but he was going to need both of his hands to drive carefully enough that his precious passenger side cargo was safe. Though it went against all of his instincts, Eddie subtly lifted her chin, waiting for those eyes to flutter open, finding him in the pale dashboard light. This kiss was firmer, fiercer maybe, and Eddie allowed himself to steal a bit more of her taste with every pass of his tongue. If he was trying to wipe away some of her heartache and take it for himself, so what? Amanda didn’t object. It was the opposite, in fact, because her petal lips parted giving him the green light to kiss her properly.

With his tongue moving slowly, rhythmically, his hands cradled the back of Amanda’s head, her hair tangling under his touch. She tilted, attempting to offer him the exposed column of her throat, but Eddie held firm, steady. He wanted- no, needed, to show her how much he could care. Eddie took control and Amanda let him. Pouring his feelings into her like he could fill her up, refreshing what today had wilted, Eddie carefully, consciously, guided Amanda with gentle hands. Tipping her head back, swallowing her shallow whimpers, he damned the way his van was built. It kept him from getting his hands on her the way he wanted to and the denial was frustrating. She felt it too, her own hands flexing, uselessly, unsure of where to touch Eddie. The sounds Amanda made, music in their own right, became higher pitched, whinier, the longer Eddie limited where and how she could move. Entirely at his mercy, when she melted into him, a strangled sob, “Eddie, please.” it took all the willpower he possessed to keep his ass in the driver’s seat. Breaking away was hard but Eddie was harder. He couldn’t help the raw want that Amanda created in him. She was vulnerable, open and she was here, with him. Letting Eddie Munson kiss her, touch her, talk to her. The seeds in his heart were sprouting already.

Still, if he didn’t stop now, they were going to be late. And Eddie would hate for Amanda to make a bad first impression. Reluctantly, he thumbed at her bottom lip, his fingers lifting her chin, “I’m sorry, sweet thing, but we have to get a move on.” Petulant, Amanda huffed out her short lived displeasure. Her lids were heavy against the heightened color of her cheeks. Eddie hadn’t thought she could look more beautiful, yet, here she was, begging him for more without making any noise. It would have been much too easy to pull her to his chest and never let her go. Battling with his greedy gargoyle, Eddie shook his head, giving Amanda a shy grin, “Sit back, huh babe? And, here-” leaning across her, Eddie snagged the shoulder belt, pulling it snugly over Amanda, “-lemme get you buckled in.”

“Ok, yea. Thank you. Ya know, for everything, Eddie.” There was no fight in her now, just comfortable compliance while she let Eddie baby her a bit. She was still riding a wild combination of elation and heartbreak, Eddie knew that, but he couldn’t help staring at the pretty girl in his front seat. Linking his hand with hers, squeezing her fingers, “For you, Mandy? Shit. I’d do anything.”

—

Amanda was dreaming. She was so sure that what was happening couldn’t possibly be real life, because her life wasn’t like this- full of secret smiles and silly in-jokes. Tiny touches that bordered on too much, lingering kisses that were definitely not enough. This had to be someone else’s life. Only, when she pinched herself, the vibration of pain was real. She had waited approximately ten seconds to call Eddie once she'd gotten home from the disaster practice, flinging her bag off in a huff and collapsing onto her tragically broken-in couch. Even Armando the Wonder Cat knew to steer clear, his one good eye looking her over before deciding to retreat into the bedroom. Amanda couldn’t blame him. The waves of despair, anger and sadness kept rolling over her. So, for ten seconds she deliberated. Make the call or don’t. Dial him up or wait around for his nightly call. And she only let her mind go for ten seconds because Amanda was not the sort of lady who put their problems on other people. Her life was entirely the opposite, really. She held the secrets of the folks around her, burdened with their picadillos and problems like an emotional pack animal on a mountainous trail. Having learned through painful trial and egregious error that sharing her own worries was too much to expect in former friends, Amanda didn’t want to unload a no good, terrible, horrible, very bad day onto a guy who she’d only been seeing for what, two weeks now? Still, she needed someone to hear her side of the story. To commiserate. To sympathize with where Amanda was coming from and validate her choices. To distract her or make her feel better, hell, maybe both?

Plus, she reasoned, Eddie was very easy to talk to, something he proved at the diner and during every conversation since then. That alone was enough to pick up the handset and circle the dial. Sure, her fingers nervously drummed along the tattered wool plaid of the couch’s arm as she waited through ring after ring after ring, but the reward was hearing Eddie’s mid-range rumble when the receiver connected, “Big Ed’s House of Horrors! We scare because we care! How can I haunt you tonight?” He sounded so happy. So full of life and warmth and all the lovely things that for an over long second Amanda couldn’t speak. Wouldn’t, knowing that she had the power to put out his beautifully blazing fire with the rain cloud of her shitty night. “Amanda? Is that you? Are you ok?” There was genuine worry in his voice and that cracked through the fog of her self doubt. Shaky but forcing herself to sound light-hearted, she managed, “Hey Eddie.” Eddie was not buying what she was trying to sell, because he sounded even more upset when he asked in a rushed tone, “What’s wrong, babe?” “Just-” pausing to drag in a ragged breath then another, Amanda barely managed to keep the sob inside herself, “-a real shitty day.” “I’ll be right there.” She hadn’t even had to ask him. Eddie just came. And when she was inside his van she thanked him with her mouth, parted and plush, feeling herself relax just being near him. Taking charge, Amanda gladly relinquished her head and heart to whatever Eddie Munson had in mind. Settling back into the seat, she felt the press of his fingers against her own, happy to be in this place with someone who was just for her. Only for Amanda, utterly and entirely. She didn’t ask any questions when Eddie pulled away from her place, the van rattling down the familiar streets of town. His music played, the volume lower than ever before, but Eddie’s hand never left hers, grounding them together. There was no conversation but it wasn’t weird. It was nice, calming really, and Amanda willed all of the day’s tension out of her shoulders as Eddie drove. They’d taken a turn or two, sliding onto the main drag where Family Video and the arcade flashed their glowing signs. Sensing the van slowing down, she turned Eddie’s direction, “Um, we getting groceries?” When he said he had a plan, Amanda hadn’t anticipated a trip to the market, which must have shown on her face because Eddie chuckled and lifted their knotted hands so that he could brand a kiss onto her skin, “I’m on snack duty.” “Snack duty? Snacks for what, exactly?” Sheepish now, the fringe of his bangs made those wide brown eyes look rounder than usual, “So, you can totally say no, I know you’ve had a shitty day and I don’t want to make it worse. But, it’s just, well, my friends and I, we kinda have this weekly tradition. We get a movie, some junk food and, ya know, hang out.” “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to like interrupt your plans-” Waving a ringed hand in Amanda’s face, Eddie stalled her sentence, “No, no. Don’t. It’s not like that.” Swiveling in his seat to make sure that Amanda was really looking at him, he carried on, words falling out of his mouth faster and faster, “See, we- uh, this group of people, we’re like more than friends. They’re sorta my family? “And, we’ve been through some shit together. Real bonding type stuff, right? So, Harrington, who you’ll meet, if you want to come, which I really hope you do- anyway, Harrington is like, hey let’s do this movie night thing and whoever can come comes and if you can’t, it’s no big deal. “Only, he never buys the good snacks. It’s always microwave popcorn and M&Ms and shit, but no sour cream and onion chips? What’s that about? And, sorry to say, but I’m a Twizzler guy and Robin, uh, yea, she’s so cool, you’re gonna like her, but like she brings Red Vines. Red Vines! So, yea-” And now that he was running out of steam, Eddie seemed to realize just how long his tirade had gone on, embarrassment tinting his cheeks pink in the glow of the store’s lit up sign as his always moving hands dropped limply, “-We need snacks, good ones, hence the grocery store trip.” Amanda had never heard anything so heart warming or chaotic in her entire life. He wanted her to meet his friends, no, his family. Grabbing for him, Amanda let her fingers notch between his, “Does that mean I can get some Goobers? ‘Cause I sorta love chocolate covered peanuts.” Watching the dimples of his smile deepen was becoming one of her favorite things, so she wasn’t disappointed when Eddie’s grin widened, “Oh, absolutely you can.” It didn’t take long to march along the aisle loaded with bags of tortilla chips, assorted tinned dips and packages of cookies. By the time they reached the check out, the basket Eddie had resting on the bend in his elbow was overflowing with rubbish treats and a two liter bottle of Mountain Dew, something he insisted was essential, before grabbing a Kit-Kat bar with a shrug, “For Robin. She’s picky.” His thoughtfulness shouldn’t be so surprising, but Amanda was continually amazed at the small gestures that came naturally to Eddie, like remembering to grab someone’s favorite candy bar. No, he seemed perfectly content to spoil everyone he knew, including Amanda. Anything that she dared to look at during their shopping spree somehow found its way into the purchase pile, which explained the box of Cookie Crisp cereal, sack of rainbow marshmallows and family size bag of pretzel twists which Eddie insisted on paying for, “Hey, lemme do this, alright?” “But there’s no way we’re going to eat all this, is there? Is there?” Amanda was half horrified, half hopeful at the prospect. Clicking his tongue as he handed off a wad of cash to the vested cashier, Eddie leaned into her ear, husking low, “All this and more, Mandy. Wait ‘til you see what Nance and Jonathan roll up with, it’s wild!” He did let her carry one of the bags, the lightest one of course, because Eddie wasn’t a jerk. Though he did bump against her hip with every step they took towards his van, the brown paper sacks rustled as she squealed playfully, “Eddie! Jeez!” “What? Is it my fault that you can’t seem to walk in a straight line?” “Hey, I can walk in a line!” “Coulda fooled me, sweet thing.” It was a comment dripping with flirtatious energy as Eddie loaded their purchases into the back giving Amanda time to eyeball the man in front of her. Frankly, she was mesmerized with how his body moved. The way his leather jacket sleeves rode up, revealing loops of chain that formed a bracelet around his wrist, a black bat, one of many, flying just under the cuff. It was striking. Something about how those hands looked so rough and raw, calloused from guitar strings, nails split from over washing because getting the grease off is hard on delicate skin. Yet, for Amanda they were also achingly gentle. Eddie’s touch was quiet, calming, even if the man doing the touching was normally a riot of movement and motion. She was so lost in the small things that made up Eddie Munson that Amanda didn’t realize he had crowded into her, the inside panel of the van’s backdoor digging into the space between her shoulder blades, those clever, distracting fingers grazing her waist. Amanda could say something. She could tell Eddie exactly where her wayward brain had wandered, but he already seemed to know. His look clouded over into something darker, duskier, and it caused the muscles in Amanda’s belly to tighten reflexively. Normally so smiley, Eddie’s jaw was tense, his breathing short. It made her think about a hungry animal that’s found its dinner, just waiting for the right second to snap their jaws shut. “Eddie?” But it’s barely a whisper. She didn’t need volume to be heard when he was standing this close, those narrow hips of his resting against her own, pinning Amanda in place.

Dropping further into her space, his nose brushing her own, “Yea, Mandy.”

Her palms skated over the busted leather of his belt, fingers hooking into the loops and tugging Eddie closer. Notching her head higher, Amanda let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a whine, licking over her lips, “Will you-” “What do you need, pretty lady? I’ll give you anything you want. Promise.” And god, he smelled so good, Amanda ground her pelvis into his, panting now, “Kiss me, yea?” “Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Only, it didn’t end at kissing. Not tonight when Amanda’s mind was overloaded from worry and sadness, her body ready to take charge. Her fingers latched onto the denim vest he always seemed to have on, wrinkling the heavy fabric with her grip, needing Eddie closer and closer. Needing him inside of her where the wounds of everyday living threatened to rupture, bursting Amanda apart at the seams. Eddie’s arms posted over her shoulders, giving Amanda the chance to wrap her hands around his forearms, as he let his lips travel from her mouth to the hinge of her jaw. Biting gently at the sensitive skin there, he licked against her ear, making Amanda shiver. Deeper than she’d ever heard, Eddie grumbled, “You just taste so sweet, Mandy. Like a cupcake or some shit. Makes me think-” Sounding more than a little possessed herself, she answered innocently, “Think about what, Ed?” “How your body tastes.”

Said body reacted on instinct. Her thighs squeezed together and the breath caught in her lungs making her stutter dumbly, “Uh, wh- what?” His swagger was in full swing now that he was free to move outside of the van’s front seat. Grin showing too much teeth as Eddie looked down at her like she was on the menu, Amanda’s heart beat wildly at the idea that she just might be. “Get a room, pervs!” A shout from across the parking lot made both of their heads swivel. Eddie, shielding Amanda from anyone’s view, answered, “Go fuck yourself dickhead!” “Nice language, asshole!” From behind his shoulder Amanda heard the slam of a car door and a rapidly firing engine. The unwelcome interruption peeling off into the autumn night. Unable to suppress her giggle, Amanda drew Eddie’s attention back to herself, “Maybe they have a point?” “Yea, Mandy? What’s that, huh?” Looking around at the nearly empty parking lot, the bright lights beaming down in organized rows, she shrugged, “This isn’t really the best place to uh, get all, ya know, romantic.” Standing too close, breathing her air, Eddie pushed a shock of hair behind her ear, “I may have an answer for that.”

Who knew Amanda Patterson would love kissing in a rusting out van so much? Meeting Eddie’s scalding mouth with her own in a space smelling of motor oil and boy sweat, trying not to kick over the bags of groceries they had recently bought, Amanda considered this a sacred space. Holy. A moving monument to the feelings she could feel growing steadily stronger every time she was around Eddie.

Feelings she was nearly desperate to explore further, her hand trailing down Eddie’s back, dragging him tighter by the belt loop of his jeans. The leather was worn in, soft and supple, as she traced his waist before gripping the cooler metal of his handcuff buckle. A firm hand gripped her wrist, foggy breath unfurling against her cheek in playful pants, “Mandy? Whatcha doin’?” “Don’t you want to-” looking up at Eddie’s sweat damp skin from under her lashes, Amanda cooed her question, “-ya know?” A groaned laugh forced Eddie’s head back, his neck exposed, and Amanda didn’t hesitate to put her lips on his Adam’s Apple, sucking lightly. She could feel every inch of Eddie where his hips straddled her wide thigh, the thought making her throat dry as she mewled, “‘Cause I want to- I want you, Eddie. Please?” “Fuck, Mandy, of course I want you- want to do it. Just-” rolling onto his back and taking his warm hands and pink lips with him, Eddie stared up at the exposed metal roof, chest pumping quickly, “-not here, ya know?” Leaning up on her elbow, fingers spread wide over the expanse of Eddie’s chest, she nodded, accepting his comment quietly. And he must have recognized the bruising brittle texture of her silence because he sat up, holding her hand over his heart. “Baby, you have no idea how much I want- how much I need-” but the sentence trailed off as Eddie dragged Amanda’s palm lower, lower, lower, the hard heat of his desire undeniable. “And that’s because of, of me?” Wispy, the whisper carried over the thinning distance between her mouth and Eddie’s ear. Amanda sounded almost unsure, like she didn’t entirely believe it. Like she couldn’t believe Eddie might want her as much, in the same ways that she did, only to find out that she was dead wrong. The evidence was stiff and throbbing below her. Groaning when her fingers reflexively pushed against his straining length, Eddie gritted through clenched teeth, “Yes, Mandy. And it’s like this all the time.” Giggling, feeling a bit powerful from the knowledge, Amanda ran her nails over the stressed denim, nipping at Eddie’s collarbone through a smile. He bucked his hips into the friction, an embarrassing sound breaking from the back of his throat, “Fuck- I think you’re tryin’, tryin’ to kill me, baby.” Shaking her head ‘no’, biting her bottom lip, Amanda tipped her head like she did when there was a question worth asking hiding on her tongue, “You really do want to- with me, I mean?”

“Uh huh. Someplace nice. Soft. That, ya know, smells better than my dumpster on wheels.” Eddie gently shifted them both so they were sitting up, shoulders knocking against each other in the stillness of the grocery store parking lot, not looking at each other, but still touching. “I- I wanna make you feel special, like how you make me feel. And this-” Eddie’s hand waved at the dented walls, “-isn’t special enough. Ya know what I mean?” Her head fit perfectly into the notch between Eddie’s chin and his shoulder. Laying there, his heartbeat below her ear, a leathered arm around her back, Amanda agreed with a hum, “It’s more than ok, Eddie. It sounds pretty freakin’ great, actually.” A sweaty press of his lips to her forehead precedes the air stealing one armed hug that Eddie trapped her in, their combined laughter filling the cool cargo space.

— They were late for movie night anyway. Not by hours, but late enough that Robin was practically pacing the hallway at Harrington Manor, “Where the hell have you been, Munson? Dingus here was worried!” “Worried? No. No way. And you’re the one who was pacing by the door, waiting for a Kit-Kat, not me.” Steve’s response came from deeper in the house, maybe the kitchen, and it sounds defensive against Robin’s obvious and erroneous assertion. Eddie knew it was all an act though. Robin liked to fuss over him and Steve liked to fuss along with her. It was part of being loved by this motley crew of fantastic people, having a mom and dad who were actually years younger, but cared with all their hearts. “Uh, sorry? I had to pick up a stray.” God, he loved the reaction that got. Stopping dead still, Robin’s bright eyes flared comically, “You- you brought someone to movie night? STEVE!! Get in here!!” “What? What happened?” Steve slid into the foyer on socked feet, knocking into Robin clumsily, worry lines etched into his handsome face. “Munson has a date.” Her tone was playful, an ashy eyebrow lifted in cartoonish glee as Robin grinned at the metal head still standing in the doorway. Steve’s head whipped toward his friend, luscious locks flying, all traces of fear erased. In their place genuine curiosity bloomed, “You do? Uh, you did? Tell us man! Who is this mystery date?” “Can I put this shit down first?” He felt Amanda’s fingers tense in his grip, Eddie’s posturing keeping her out of view for another few seconds while he balanced his two bags of junk food. “Nuh uh. Spill the beans.” “Don’t listen to Robin man, give me that.” Steve swooped in, taking one of the bags from Eddie’s arms and moving back down the hall to give everyone a little more room. It allowed Eddie to pull Amanda forward, her natural shyness keeping her wrapped snugly around the taller guy, as he tried to get past Robin without dropping anything. “Guys, this is uh, this is Amanda Patterson. Mandy, these are my um, obnoxious friends, Steve and Robin.” “Hi.” Smacking Eddie’s arm loudly, Robin practically squealed, “Eddie! She’s so cute! You’re so cute! Are you sure you’re with this guy?” “Ouch! Hey Buckley, I’m standing right here and can totally hear you.” She just rolled her eyes, grabbing Amanda by the arm and dragging her towards the palatial dining room, away from where Steve was unloading the treats Eddie had delivered. Eddie let her pass, flashing a small but encouraging smile in her direction as Amanda was yanked away, Robin’s mouth already going a mile a minute with questions and quips. He already missed her. “So?” Steve was leaning across the marble countertop, his elbows supporting his weight as he stared smugly at his friend. Grabbing for a glass, Eddie answered over his shoulder, “So what, Steve?” “How long has this-” he moved his hands between Amanda, caught up in Robin’s web and unable to get away, and Eddie, “-been going on?” Obviously, there were going to be questions. Eddie knew that and thought he had prepared for the inevitable interrogation that bringing Amanda to movie night would inspire. Still, the dramatic demon that lived inside of him wanted to drag this out, really savor the moment where he did what so many of the people around him thought was impossible: bring home a girl. So, Eddie took his time filling the glass with ice and slowly opening the electric green bottle of soda, keeping an even gaze on Steve the entire time. Only when he was satisfied with the fizzing head on his drink, did he slurp down a sip, shrug, and answer, “Uh, like two weeks now I guess.” “Two weeks!” It wasn’t shouted, but it was as close as Steve could get before drawing Robin’s attention. “Yea?” “Well, were you gonna tell us about her? About your girlfriend?” Girlfriend. The word alone conjured up images of high school dances and misguided make out sessions under the bleachers. But was there a better word? Damned if Eddie could think of one. “I just did, Steve.” “No, like when? When were you going to tell us that you met someone?” Stretching back, Steve took another good look over Amanda, now pouring a bag of Doritos into a dish on the dining room table, before adding with an appreciative air, “A very pretty someone with a great butt-” “Hey. Eyes on me, Cassanova. You’re my friend so I’m gonna give you that one, but that's the only time I wanna hear about you looking at Amanda’s ass.” Surrendering, Steve lifted his hands with a smirk that was too handsome by a mile, “Fair enough. But like, what’s the deal with Mandy? You guys really a serious thing?” Eddie let his hip carry his weight, shifting so he could spy on her and Robin, “Yea. Yea, man. I think we are. Remember that uh outdoor concert thing?” When Steve nodded, crunching around a handful of pretzels, Eddie’s stare met his friend’s, “I went for her. I mean, I had already bumped into her at The Music Shop and she told me about her show, so- I went.” “Aha! Henderson told me there was a girl involved, but then, you never said anything. Figured he was full of shit.” Eddie’s hair shook as he laughed lightly, “Nope. Kid was dead on with that. Anyway, I’ve sorta been seeing her ever since that night.” Once more, Steve’s eyes traveled from his old friend to Amanda and he wasn’t entirely surprised to see that her own gaze was locked on the leather and denim clad dude already adding more Mountain Dew to his glass as if Eddie was a knight from one of those novels he loved so much. He knew the look. Steve had been on the receiving end of it more times that he could count, speaking volumes silently and boy, was he happy for Eddie. “Wow. That’s- shit, man, I’m happy for you.” “She’s totally amazing, Harrington. I-” nervousness crept into the older guy’s voice as he peered down at the beige tiled kitchen floor, “-I don’t want to fuck it up.” Smooth and slick, Steve swung around the island counter, elbowing him roughly in order to get his full attention, “You won’t man. You won’t.” “You sure about that? Us Munson’s do have a way of-” “No. No way. I’m not gonna hear that shit. The only Munson you are connected to is Wayne, and he’s one the best men I’ve ever known. He took you in, after all.” and when he saw that his joke had landed, Steve bumped Eddie again, “You’re my friend, man. You deserve good things.” “Shit, why do you have to say stuff like that?” “What? You get choked up on me?” “Nope. Never.” But it was clear that he had. Something about Steve pointing out that maybe, just maybe, Eddie Munson was good enough for a girl like Amanda made him believe it too. “Good. Hey, Mandy? What kind of movies do you like?” With a wicked grin, Steve picked up a bowl of popcorn and headed straight towards Eddie’s girlfriend. — Robin Buckley could talk. Thankfully, Amanda was an immaculate listener. The entire time that Eddie stood by the large stainless kitchen sink, Robin was rambling, moving from one topic to another seamlessly, stopping just long enough to draw breath. But, honestly, it was refreshing. Amanda found that she had things to add to the tirade that flowed constantly, asking her own questions here and there, including, “How long have known-” “Eddie? God, years. I mean, we went to high school together, but then, Eddie was in high school way longer than anyone should ever truly be. He told you that, right?” without waiting for a response, Robin carried on, “Anyway, I knew Stevie first. We worked together at the mall, slinging ice cream and busting balls. Then, well, some shit happened but he and I became platonic life partners and have remained entirely co-dependent since then.” “And Eddie-” “Oh, well, Eddie joined our group a bit later, but hey, ya know, the more the merrier. Honestly, he’s just the best guy, ya know? Of course you do, obviously, you’re like dating him or whatever. Wait, are you dating?” There was a longer pause this time as it appeared that Robin was actually expecting an answer, so Amanda dipped her head, a pleased pull on her lips, “Yes. Yea, we are. We have been since-” “Good! I mean, he’s been by himself for so long. Not like, alone alone, more like just solitary, ya know what I mean? Steve, he meets girls all the time and-” she rolled her eyes at the romantic debacles of her buddy, “-is still searching for his soulmate or whatever, but Eddie, he’s just been biding his time. Maybe-” This time Amanda cut in, “Maybe waiting for the right woman?” Snapping her fingers, Robin grinned broadly, “Yes! Exactly!” She felt the weight of Eddie’s eyes and turned to find Steve looking her way. And yes, Amanda wouldn’t deny that he was a pretty boy, all swooping hair and fine features, but she could honestly say that he wasn’t her type at all. At least not anymore. Now she wanted something rougher. Untamed. Wild and free with a deep soul. Amanda wanted Eddie Munson. Swallowing, she willed her mind to refocus on Robin’s rambling, but Steve interrupted, calling out, “Hey Mandy, what kind of movies do you like?”

“Uh, Oh, well, I like all kinds really.” “Top three, go!” It was Robin’s favorite way to vet new people and Amanda felt like it was a test, one she didn’t want to fail for Eddie’s sake. “Ok, wow, um, Casablanca, that’s like a classic.” Robin and Steve shared a happy glance. It was obviously a good choice and a sign of Amanda’s excellent taste in movies. But she was into more than that and thought it about for a second, nibbling on her bottom lip before adding, “I really liked Caddyshack, if I’m being honest.” Steve gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Robin wrinkled her nose. Apparently comedy was a dividing topic. “And, shit, I guess I’d have to say Star Wars. But, like all three of them. Princess Leia is a total badass.” “Oh my god. She’s perfect.” There was awe in Robin’s tone as she made her declaration, staring at Steve with her hands clasped to her chest. Agreeing with a tilt of his head, Steve grinned at Eddie, “Absolutely and totally perfect. Munson, you have to like, I don’t know, marry her. Right now. If you don’t-” Eddie stepped further into the room at that moment, his arm curving protectively around Amanda’s waist, his voice full of friendly warning, “Do not finish that sentence, Steve.” “I’m just saying!” Eddie pulled Amanda closer and she let herself tuck into his side, cheeks hot from the insinuations of his friends. Still, she couldn’t help sassing back, “What makes you think we aren’t already married, huh?” That stunned the dynamic duo into shocked silence and despite knowing that they weren’t related, the look on their faces was so similar that Amanda could have sworn Steve and Robin were siblings. “What?” “No way!” Simpering, Amanda looked up at Eddie, “Do you want to tell them, darling? Or should I?” Those damn dimples deepened, a clear sign that Eddie was on board with her plan for messing around with his friends. Both of his arms twined around Amanda, dragging her as close as possible and his impish gaze never left her eyes, “Yea, ok, Mandy. You’re right, honey. We should just tell them everything, right?” “Uh huh.” She lifted up on her toes to press a small kiss to his cheek, snuggling into Eddie’s embrace and really selling their ruse. Turning to face a silent and still Robin and Steve, Eddie cleared his throat, his tone pitched to seriousness, “You guys-” looking at Amanda who nodded reassuringly, he carried on, “-you should know- what first class suckers you are!” A shower of tossed popcorn met their announcement as Steve yelled, “You shit head! I- We, like, really believed you! Both of you!” Robin’s face had gone over red, her loud laugh echoing around the well appointed room, “Shit, Eddie. That was a good one. You two- you’re both troublemakers, aren’t ya?” Groaned out laughter filled the space and Amanda put her hands up in surrender, “I couldn’t help it. You guys were just asking for it, but like, sorry if it was too much.” “No, Mandy. It was, ya know, right in line with the sorta crap Munson’s always pulling.” Steve gently shoved his friend, adding, “Any chance he has to make things memorable, he’s gonna take it.” “Hey, it was her idea! I just ran with it. So-” bowing deeply at Amanda, Eddie grabbed her hand as he straightened up and kissed her knuckles, “-bravo, my lady. Well played.” And the theater kid that lived dormant inside Amanda preened, “Why thank you, sir. Twas nothing.” “Jesus, Robs, there’s two of them now.” “Yea, how are we gonna live through this?”

— Jonathan and Nancy arrived shortly after, equally as excited to meet Amanda, and carrying a sack of homemade cookies from Mrs. Wheeler along with two large pizzas. Catching Amanda’s eyes from across the room, he nodded their direction and mouthed silently, “told you so.” Shaking her head as she bit into the fat of her bottom lip, Amanda handed a plate over to Robin, asking for a slice. Even at a distance Eddie could feel the thing that tied them together. Connected to each other despite sitting on opposite sides of the room, he found that anytime his face sought hers, he found it. Smiling, laughing and once even spitting soda from her mouth after one of Steve and Robin’s Scoops Ahoy stories got out of hand. Now, Nancy was almost interrogating his girl in the very specific way she had, making every question seem like it was going to be on the midterm final. Jonathan had offered a thumbs up when Amanda wasn’t looking, a small gesture that Eddie appreciated for its simplicity. Steve was playing host, enjoying running around and refilling drinks for everyone while Robin was doing her best to distract him from blatantly staring at this ethereal creature who was full of sweet smiles and thoughtful inquiries to the people he loved the most.

It made Eddie feel grounded, right, having her here with these guys. Friends who had seen him at his very best and very worst. That they liked her as much as he did was the cherry on top of his sundae. And they even managed to keep the theatrics to a minimum, opting instead to settle in for movie night instead of sharing shameful stories or flipping through awkward photo albums from days gone by. Honestly, it was a bit of a relief. Tonight’s movie selection was in Harrington’s hands and they were out of vetoes, so his choice was unchallenged per the rules of their friendship. And while not everyone was over excited to see One Crazy Summer, as a group they all loudly agreed to give it a chance. Eddie didn’t care what they decided to watch, he was only interested in Amanda.

Eddie was all too aware her day had ended on a sour note. When he suggested that she come to movie night he was half certain that she would say no, not wanting to be out when she was feeling so low. But what he was discovering about Miss Amanda was that she trusted Eddie. If he thought a night with his friends was going to be worth it, then she was all in. Not once had she mentioned her band. Not once had she made the conversation about her and her troubles. And she could have, absolutely, because his gang of goofballs were the type to sit through long winded explanations and offer the best advice possible. Goddess knows Eddie had used their free therapy sessions on more than one occasion. But Amanda had, instead, seemingly let go of the hurt and the pain in favor of being here, with him. She shrugged the worries from earlier off, along with her jacket, and made herself at home on the Harrington sofa. Pressing herself small against the left arm with one leg folded underneath her and ample space next to her on the cushions. Eddie could tell that she expected him to sit at her side. Had planned on it, actually. But Jonathan was already pulling Nancy into his lap, taking up the middle seat and Robin had staked her claim, draping herself over the other arm of the sofa. Steve was slipping the tape into the VCR, blabbing about how the movie blended animation and live action, and how cool that all was when Eddie dropped to the floor at Amanda’s feet. “Hey?” It was softly worded one syllable question that asked so much more. Shrugging, but smiling up at her, “I don’t mind the rug.” “You sure?” She asked because she clearly wasn’t and Eddie liked her even more because of that. “Uh huh.” Flattening his back to the couch, Eddie tipped his head up, his face framed by those wild locks. He was tall enough to let his cheek lay against the warm width of her thigh, his arm wrapping around her calf. Unable to sit still, Eddie’s fingers traced words and shapes into the exposed skin of Amanda’s ankle, a mindless movement that was rewarded with a breathy exhale from his girlfriend. After Steve plopped into the armchair, grumbling about being boxed out of the comfy couch, the opening credits rolled. There were some chuckles as the narrator started talking about fuzzy bunnies and love, so Eddie wasn’t entirely paying attention to Amanda, beyond the supple sensation of having her so close. But then he felt her fingers running through his tangle of curls.

It started at the ends, Amanda twirling a strand or two around her index finger before letting the spiral unravel, only for her to do it again. Then she was raking back the soft tendrils, almost petting him like a shaggy dog, and it took all of Eddie’s self control not to start drooling like one. He was barely holding it together, the grip on her ankle tightening, until her fingernails dragged over his scalp. The tender touch sent electricity pulsing through his body, all that energy landing in the most conspicuous location making him squirm. Eddie felt it was only fair to return the favor, letting his warm palm ride higher under the hem of her jeans, sometimes using the rough edges of his fingernails to apply added pressure. She didn’t move away, in fact, it seemed like Amanda sought out more of Eddie’s barely there brushes, wiggling closer as the movie progressed. By the time the credits rolled on Demi Moore and John Cusack’s happy ending, Eddie’s head was laying in Amanda’s lap, her leg draped over his chest. Robin was asleep, had been since somewhere around the mid-way point of the flick, but then, so was Jonathan. The awake members of the party looked at each other, stifling a giggle. “I don’t know how she does it. Robin can sleep through anything, I swear.” Her platonic life partner ran a rough hand through his hair, looking down at her fondly. Nancy nodded at their slumbering friend, “Yea, but she’s cute and quiet when she’s knocked out.” Amanda leaned over, hoping only Eddie could hear her, and whispered, “Uh, think you can let me up for a trip to the ladie’s room?” “Nope. Sorry. I’m too comfortable.” And Eddie managed to snuggle in tighter, hugging Amanda’s leg to his chest, his cheek at the bend of her knee. Her giggle was quiet enough that it wouldn’t disturb the sleepers as she drawled, “Don’t make me laugh! I have to pee!” Of course, that made Eddie cling all the harder. Groaning at the precious public display of affection, Steve butted in, “I don’t want any accidents in here Munson. Let the poor girl up.” “Fine. Fine.” It was reluctantly said as he rolled to the side, giving his girl the chance to stand up. She used the top of his head as a ballast, steadying herself, as she asked their host, “Uh, which way?” Steve pointed down the hall, following Amanda’s retreating form with his thirsty eyes before turning to Eddie, “She seems really great man, like way out of your league.” A snort from the couch let him know that Nancy was also listening in, so Eddie tipped his head in that direction, “What? You agree with Sir Steve?” “Actually, no. I don’t. I think she’s kinda perfect for you. And honestly, it doesn’t matter what I think.” That made Eddie sit up straighter, already on defense, “Well, I was hoping to bring her around more and if you guys don’t-” “No, you misunderstood me. It doesn’t matter what I think because it’s pretty obvious.” Eddie exchanged a befuddled glance with Steve who shrugged, “What’s obvious?” “You’re clearly in love with her already.” Getting punched in the face would have been less dramatic to his psyche. Eddie immediately recognized that what Nancy was saying was the honest to goodness truth because that was her way, direct and to the point, but that didn’t make it easier for the boy from the wrong side of town to hear. Or believe. Or trust. Love didn’t come easy to a guy like Eddie. Guys with absentee parents who faded into memory long before lessons about connection could be learned. Guys who found their family through battle and blood, sacrifice and scars, not genetics. And any time he had even considered loving someone it managed to go south, and fast. “Shh! She could hear you!” Rolling her eyes, Nancy, still trapped in Jonathan’s sleepy grip, turned away from Eddie, “I don’t think it’s a surprise. In fact, she seems pretty smitten too.” “Smitten! Yes! That’s the word! She’s totally smitten for you, dude.” Steve snapped his fingers happily. Drawing his knees into his chest, Eddie dropped his forehead to the bony plates there, “Guys, I don’t know if-” “Can’t you just, like, I don't know, follow your heart here man?” Looking up at Steve standing in the doorway, holding up the wall with his right shoulder, Eddie raised his eyebrows, “My heart is not the most reliable of organs, Stevie. You know this. It made me think that I had a chance with Chrissy Cunningham and look what happened there.” Nancy winced, an audible huff of surprise leaving her lips as Steve dropped into a crouch at Eddie’s side. “Hey. No. That- that was different. You know that, Eddie.” “I know what you’re saying, but, like, what if-” “What if? What if the sky falls? Or, or you get hit by a bus? Or, ya know, some other fucking awful thing happens? Are you not going to try because of ‘what if’?”

“Nancy, I don’t remember you being such a great orator before.” That made his friend smirk, full of sass when she snapped back, “Fuck you, Munson. You aren’t the only one capable of verbal glory, ya know?” That made him snicker, rebalancing a bit of the energy in the room. It also made him courageous enough to ask, “So, you guys like her too, then?” “Like her? Shit, when you screw it up, I’m going to swoop in so fast-Hey!” Eddie had pushed Steve off his feet, forcing him to the floor with a grunt and thump. The noise woke up Robin, blinking through bleary eyes, “What’s happening?” Steve had quickly maneuvered around Eddie, trying to work the boy into a headlock, only to be stalled by the placement of the couch. Swinging to his knees, Eddie, gentler this time, tackled Steve around the knees, bumping them into the coffee table and Jonathan at the same time. “What? What the hell?” His voice was froggy but that only made everyone else laugh harder. “Boys! Boys! Enough of this!” Robin’s motherly tone crept into her half hearted attempt at breaking up their roughhousing as she gingerly stepped around them. “Uh uh, Buckley!” Eddie and Steve, working together, each snagged a pant leg and before she could stop it, Robin was in the middle of a dog-pile free for all. Nancy shook her head at the noises; squealing laughter, threats to keep on tickling, a groan from one of the boys after a misplaced kick. Jonathan flopped back into the couch cushions, an amused smile on his face, as Nance skirted the squirmish, “Anyone need anything?” — Amanda washed her hands in the overly ornate sink, overcome by the well appointed space that was so pretentious in a way that Steve Harrington was not. In a shocking twist of fate, she found that all of Eddie’s friends were far kinder and welcoming than she could have imagined. Each one of the gang had made her feel accepted, and not just because Amanda was with Eddie. An excited smile reflected back from the gilded mirror. Eddie. Just the thought of his relaxed, easy grin made Amanda happy. “Oh! I didn’t see you, I'm so sorry!” Opening the bathroom door, Amanda was shocked to find Nancy standing in the hallway, seemingly waiting for her. Waving her off with a raised hand, Nancy dismissed the apology, “No, I’m sorry for scaring you!” As she moved past Amanda, one hand on the ornate woodwork of the doorway, Nancy turned to face the newcomer, “Uh, Amanda?” “Yea?” It took the brunette a second to crystalize her thoughts, allowing worry to slide down Amanda’s spine in the growing silence, but once she had, Nancy’s searching eyes found Amanda’s. In a steady voice, she started, “Eddie- he’s, well, he’s a really great guy.” Unsure of where this was going, Amanda swallowed thickly around the lump in her throat, encouraging Nancy to continue with a wordless nod. And Nancy did, explaining in her straightforward way, “We, uh, this group, we’ve been through quite a bit together. I’m not sure how much he’s told you-” She paused, perhaps expecting Amanda to volunteer some insight into what Eddie may or may not have shared. When she didn’t offer any response, Nancy carried on solemnly, her round eyes unwavering, “-But, Eddie- he’s faced more than most and lived to tell the tale. There was a time when he almost, uh, didn’t.” Amanda absorbed the words with an anxious knot coiling in her stomach, reading the implied message there while Nancy pressed on. Facing Amanda now, a firm look on her pinched face, sharp shoulders squared, “I won’t speak for everyone in there, I can’t, it isn’t my place. But you should know that beneath all of his, his bravado, Eddie is sweet. Tenderhearted. And I wouldn’t be the only one who would hate to see him get hurt.”

There was a grittiness to the way Nancy said it, not a threat, per se, but edged with a protective venom that was impossible to ignore. If Amanda wasn’t on the receiving end of her speech, she might have found it endearing. And it was, in a semi-scary kind of way. It really spoke to the love that Eddie’s found family had for him and clearly for each other.

All Amanda could do was blush hotly at the implied meaning for Nancy’s concern. The idea that she had the power to hurt Eddie, to cause him any kind of harm, had never crossed her mind. Yet, here she was, feeling like she had been put on the spot by the curly haired woman’s directness. Desperate to defend herself and her intentions with Eddie, Amanda stumbled over the sentences, not able to get the words out fast enough, “Nancy. I, oh my god, believe me, I know. I would never hurt him. I couldn’t. I- I love him too much.” It fell out of her mouth before her wayward brain could stop itself, confessing Amanda’s heart’s deepest secret to one of Eddie’s friends as if it were no more important than asking for a beer or to pass the chips. And maybe that’s what made it feel real enough for Nancy to offer an appraising smile, tilting her head towards Amanda, “Yea, I got that feeling.” Realization about what she had admitted out loud must have shown on Amanda’s face, because Nancy laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Hey, I’m not going to say anything to Eddie. That’s something for you two to talk about-” a half smile that spoke of shared secrets flooded Nancy’s face as she tacked on cheekily, “-if you can manage to do any talking when you’re, ya know, alone together.” And then she slipped into the bathroom leaving Amanda speechless and stunned in Steve Harrington’s hallway. — Eddie left the tickle torturing of Robin to her platonic soulmate, his stomach muscles aching from laughing so hard, “A drink. I need to wet my whistle. Buckley? Harrington? You guys good?” Had he planned on tiptoeing down the hall, eager to find Amanda and maybe press a pretty kiss to lips he was suddenly desperate for? No. But Eddie did it anyway.

And he would have followed his plan to the letter if he hadn’t overheard the conversation unfolding outside of Steve’s bathroom. Instead, he found himself tucked into the adjoining room’s entryway, holding his breath because the last thing Eddie wanted to do was interrupt. Not when Nancy was treading the line between welcoming Amanda and warning her to be good to her friend. But then Amanda’s voice fluttered, rushed but strong, as Eddie heard her say, “I’m in love with him.” Him. Eddie. Amanda had told Nancy that she couldn’t imagine hurting him because she was in love with him.

That was… unbelievable. Unreal. Unfathomable.

Footsteps moved his direction but Eddie didn’t hesitate. Snagging Amanda’s arm, he tugged her into the unused room, taking her bewilderment in stride. Pushing her into the wall making the sterling framed photos there jump, Eddie caged her under his narrow hips, his mouth silencing any of Amanda’s sounds.

Hot and hungry, Eddie was greedy with his lips, licking and kissing across Amanda’s. His hands tipped her chin, moving her to where he wanted, where he had the best angle for slipping his tongue over her own, the warm wet of her mouth open just for him. And unlike their spit swapping in this van, this was fevered, frenzied. Eddie kissed her like he might never get the chance again. He kissed her with all the love he felt, safe in the knowledge of Amanda’s feelings, even if they had only been shared with his friend in a hushed confession. Feelings he shouldn’t even know about since neither he or Amanda had talked about anything as serious as loving each other. Even if he was already madly, crazy, deeply in love with Amanda. How could he deny the woman with the gorgeous voice and expressive eyes that saw more in Eddie than he could see in himself? Not possible. Not even a little bit. Breathing hotly across her ear, acting boldly, Eddie did something he never expected to do, he told Amanda what his heart could no longer hold. Between hotly huffed breaths that moved the stray hairs on her cheeks, Eddie Munson fervently husked out his declaration, “I fucking love you, you know?” Panting from having the air kissed out of her lungs, Amanda slowly opened her eyes, taking in Eddie’s face with that questioning tilt of her head, “What? What did you say?” “You heard me, Mandy. I love you.” There was no dramatics at play, no flourished hang movements or silly voices. It was raw and real and terrifying. “I love you. So much, Eddie. It’s- it’s scary.” —

They wasted no time in saying their goodbyes, Eddie practically running to grab his stuff, dragging Amanda behind him in a rush of arms and socked feet. If his friends thought it was weird, they didn’t say so. Instead, Robin had squeezed Amanda in a tight hug, “It was so nice to meet you! Please come again! Eddie, you have to bring her next time too. Promise me!” “I will, Buckley. I swear to god, I will.” He mimicked a boy scout salute, snapping to attention and making Robin laugh, “Good!” Nancy and Jonathan had lingered in the hallway while they sorted out jackets and shoes, offering waves and kind words but they let Steve walk them outside. He’d draped his arm over Amanda’s shoulder, talking to Eddie the entire time, “Henderson’s gonna want an update on this, uh, situation. You know that right?” “Who’s Henderson?” Amanda asked innocently, stopping to look up at Eddie’s profile glowing yellow around the edges from the porch lights. The trio were standing at the passenger’s side door, Eddie already popping the handle, as Steve answered, “Uh, I’ll let Munson tell you all about him. He’s one of the nuggets. Great kid, amazing hair, attitude as big as his ego.” “That’s a fair description, but, like so many things, Sir Steve, there’s a bit more to the story than that.” A look passed between the boys, something unspoken but agreed upon and Amanda had the distinct impression that she had passed a test because the next thing she knew, Steve Harrington was wrapping her up in a bear hug. “Hey, Mandy, take care of this guy, ok? We kinda like him.” Solemnly, as if she was taking a sacred oath, Amanda pledged, “I swear I’m going to take care of him, Steve.” And, taking Eddie’s offered hand, Amanda stepped into the van. Lingering, Steve shut the door for her, leaning at the window, “Good. And if Eddie doesn’t take care of you, you know where I live.” The megawatt smile that had been dropping panties for the whole of the 80’s flashed solely for Amanda’s benefit, bringing heat to her cheeks. “Hey, Harrington?” Eddie had slid into the driver’s seat but bent forward to talk out of Amanda’s window. “Yea?” “Stop flirting with my girl.”

Oh, that only made Steve’s smirk widen, the patent charm practically oozing out of him, “Fine. Fine, whatever you want Eddie.” Turning his attention back to her, Steve kissed the back of her hand chivalrously, “Amanda, Mandy, it was lovely to meet you. Hope to see you again soon.” Tapping on the door frame twice Steve added, “Oh, Eddie man? Be good.” Grinning and goofy, Eddie started the van, “Dude, you know I can’t be good, so I’ll be careful.” “And if you can’t be careful, name it after me.” They said it in unison, a chorus they had clearly repeated hundreds of times before, and even Amanda laughed at their brotherly bickering. But she got the last word. Wrinkling her nose up, swinging her head between the two goofballs, Amanda sighed, “Steve Munson? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” Two pairs of eyeballs, stunned silent, turned her way before the cackling laughter started. Eddie threw his head back, long hair moving with every shake of his shoulders and Amanda found herself staring at the sight of his open, happy face. And Steve, recognizing that he had been dismissed, stepped away from the van, still smiling broadly, “Get outta here. Go home!”

—

Eddie only ran two stop signs before pulling up to Amanda’s apartment building. His heart was racing, the adrenaline making him feel higher than anything Reefer Rick had been lucky enough to sell, and he couldn’t hide the dimple deep smile that was plastered across his face. Amanda was in love with him! The gargoyle inside his heart was satisfied at last. Shifting into park, he twisted in his seat, already hating that he had to say goodnight. But the night wasn’t over yet, not when Amanda’s expressive eyes met his burnt brown sugar ones, “Wanna come inside?” “You’re serious?” He couldn’t help the giddy rush that fluttered through his gut at the idea of having Amanda alone in a comfortable place that hadn’t carried any of the gear or guys from Corroded Coffin. Holding out her little finger, Amanda lit up with a sweet smile, “I am. Promise.”

---

Thank you for reading! Part 3 is a work in progress!!

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marypsue · 5 years ago

Text

house rule #3

So Darcy Lewis' new roommate might secretly be a supervillain. At least she always takes out the trash.

I timewarped in from 2012 to bring you this silly fic. Canon divergent(...ish? If anything contradicts canon pretend it's an AU) after Thor. I've never kept a timeline straight in my life and I don't intend to start now.

Happy New Year or whatever.

[on AO3]

...

Darcy goes back to school after New Mexico, and her roommate is gone.

Not, like, vanished by the government the way Darcy nearly was (thanks, Jane), probably, because apparently Melissa stopped and had a nice long chat with the landlady about why she was suddenly packing up and moving out mid-school-year. Oh, and took back the damage deposit that Darcy paid half of. Thanks, Melissa.

Darcy pays up for the damage deposit, goes back up to the apartment, puts on some angry music, and drafts an ad for a new roommate. She posts it online, then makes herself some noodles, eats them while watching Jenna Marbles videos on Youtube, and then goes to bed.

The next morning, there’s exactly one email response to her ad sitting in her inbox.

That’s how Darcy meets Lucy Walker.

Lucy’s an exchange student, over from England for a single semester. Her accent is as charmingly Mary Poppins-ish as her extremely convenient arrival. Darcy’s so relieved to have somebody to pick up the other half of the rent that she thinks she doesn’t even care if Lucy’s Single-White-Female-ing her right now. She says as much, and Lucy just gives her a good-naturedly baffled look before changing the subject to utilities.

Lucy’s good with Darcy’s 50/50 arrangement for utilities, isn’t horrified that Darcy doesn’t have cable and expects Lucy to pay for it if she absolutely can’t live without it (though she is horrified that Darcy doesn’t have an electric kettle, and by Darcy’s suggestion that she microwave the water for her tea), and seems satisfied with the smaller bedroom. She signs the lease before she leaves the viewing, and by the end of the week, she’s fully moved in.

The first night that Lucy stays at the apartment, Darcy orders in Thai and makes them both Long Island iced teas. It’s got tea in the name, she figures. The Brit will probably like it. Also maybe get drunk enough to let slip if she’s planning to wear Darcy’s skin like a suit.

But the alcohol barely seems to touch Lucy. If anything, she gets quieter, moodier. This was the opposite of what Darcy was going for, so she turns on some music to bring the mood back up.

“Oh, house rule number one,” she says, as she hits shuffle on her dance-pop playlist. “Stereo’s mine. I control the music. Unless you have, like, really good taste in music, and even then, ask first.”

Lucy smiles at her, slowly, over her novelty tiki mug of extremely powerful booze. “I find it better by far to beg forgiveness than ask permission. How will I know if I have, ‘like, really good taste in music’?”

“Oh, I’ll let you know,” Darcy says. “Here, gimme your iPod, let’s take a look.” She holds out a hand, wiggling her fingers. Lucy shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“I don’t…have one of those,” she says, warily, and Darcy draws her hand back.

“Yeah? No big. I almost didn’t either, after the government stole it.” She shakes her head. “What bands do you like?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with many American bands,” Lucy says, and Darcy beams.

“Even better! You’re a blank slate.”

“Yes, I certainly am that,” Lucy says, into her tiki mug, her eyebrows rising.

“Okay, cryptic,” Darcy says, and skips to Party Rock Anthem. “Hey, do you need more booze?”

Lucy, it turns out, is in the States studying business, though if the way she talks about her one Shakespeare-focused lit class is anything to go by, her true love is drama. She’s here because her older brother did the exchange program and got so much out of it, though so far she seems pretty unimpressed with the States.

“Well, I mean,” Darcy says. “We are barbarians who microwave our tea.”

Lucy laughs so hard at that that Darcy suspects she’s not as unaffected by the Long Island iced teas as she’d like to pretend.

…

Darcy ends up using the electric kettle almost as much as Lucy does. She doesn’t convert from coffee, though. Starbucks still owns her ass. She should really invest in shares.

Lucy makes herself incredibly easy to get along with. Sure, she takes forever in the bathroom every morning – probably making her hair do that thing it does, Darcy’s got no idea how she keeps it in place, she’s starting to suspect witchcraft - but she wakes up at hours that Darcy’s only ever seen from the other side, so it’s not really an issue. Lucy pulls long (and slightly odd) hours in the library, doesn’t bitch about Darcy’s music, always washes her dishes and takes out the trash and replaces the toilet paper roll. She doesn’t throw wild parties or steal Darcy’s jackets or leave clumps of hair in the shower or perishable food out on the counter for hours or invite her boyfriend to basically move in rent-free like some roommates Darcy could name.

But she also…doesn’t seem to have any…friends.

Lucy never brings anybody to the apartment, which is a point in her favour as far as Darcy’s concerned. But she also never talks about meeting anybody at the library or for coffee. She doesn’t have people over, but she also doesn’t go out. She’s not bad-looking - pretty, even, in a pointy kind of way, with those dark Snow White curls and pale skin and big sad-puppy green eyes – but as far as Darcy can tell, there’s no boyfriend in the picture, not even a long-distance one.

And she doesn’t call her family.

At first, Darcy thought it was a time zone thing, but after some of the things Lucy’s said in passing about her dad – well, it sounds like things between her and her family are kind of…strained. Darcy isn’t sure, but she thinks Lucy might actually be adopted. Maybe. Lucy seems to live for cryptic answers to straightforward questions.

Ordinarily, Darcy would consider all of this not her problem. But ordinarily, Darcy would also not be coming home after classes on a Friday to find her practically-perfect-in-every-way new roommate curled up on the couch hugging Darcy’s pug pillow to her chest and staring blankly at the wall. Lucy’s not crying, but her cheeks are suspiciously shiny.

She doesn’t seem to notice Darcy’s come in until Darcy says her name twice, and then she jumps up with a guilty expression, like Darcy’d just walked in and caught her jerkin’ it. Wanking? She is British, after all.

“Don’t mind me,” Lucy says, scrubbing a hand under each of her eyes in turn, an extremely bright and extremely fake smile settling over her face. “I was just heading back to the library – how was your class?”

“Not interesting enough to distract me into changing the subject?” Darcy says. “And don’t try to tell me you’re fine, because you’re obviously not. What gives?”

Lucy’s smile takes a turn for the embarrassed. “I’d really prefer not to discuss it.”

Darcy shrugs, dropping her satchel on the coffee table. “Sure. But – house rule number two. I’m like Dolly Parton. Nobody cries alone in my presence.”

Lucy rubs the sleeve of her dark blazer across her cheek. “Well, no one’s crying here,” she says.

“Yeah,” Darcy says, rolling her eyes as she unwinds her scarf from around her neck. “Anymore.”

“Really,” Lucy says, but her fake smile looks a little less fake. “Please don’t concern yourself. It’s not anything – not anything you can help.”

“Okay,” Darcy says, tossing her scarf over the hook by the door, her hat on top of it. “Wanna eat our feelings and make fun of ANTM highlights?”

Lucy gives her a blink that Darcy’s starting to recognize as her ‘I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference-but-I-don’t-want-to-look-like-I-don’t-get-that-pop-culture-reference’ look.

“America’s Next Top Model?” Darcy says. “Tyra Banks? We were all rooting for you?” Lucy still looks blank, so Darcy grabs her satchel and pulls out her laptop. “Oh, this is happening. Reality television is everything that’s wrong with society today, which is what I love about it.”

She plops down on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table and her laptop on her knees. When she looks up, Lucy still hasn’t moved. Darcy pats the seat beside her. “C’mon, you’re not gonna be able to see anything from up there.”

Lucy does her best impression of a spooked horse ready to bolt, staring at the cushion next to Darcy like it’s a coiled viper.

“I should get to the library,” she says, half-heartedly. “Study…”

“No, what you should get is that pint of Cherry Garcia out of the fridge and bring it over here,” Darcy says. “Oh, and two spoons.”

…

Bad Reality TV Night quickly becomes an apartment tradition. If by ‘tradition’ you mean ‘whenever we feel like it’, which Darcy does.

They catch up on the highlights of the Bachelor, Jersey Shore, and Survivor, though Lucy also seems to like ANTM best. It’s a good excuse to spend time together that doesn’t involve chores or schoolwork. And Darcy’s never been one for standing on ceremony, but a good icebreaker is a good icebreaker.

Better than a taser, at least.

…

“What on earth is that smell?”

Darcy looks up from the choking clouds of smoke billowing out of the oven, waving an arm to try to waft it out of the way. Lucy’s standing in the doorway with her scarf pulled up over her mouth and nose and both of her eyebrows raised in a look that somehow manages to convey a whole range of emotions, from ‘disappointed and only a little surprised’ all the way to ‘looks into the camera like she’s on The Office’.

“Bread,” Darcy says, in the face of all the evidence. And then, with a last mournful glance into the depths of the oven, “Okay, the artist formerly known as bread. But, I put the fire out.”

“The oven was on fire?!” Lucy asks, her expression going straight to ‘alarmed’, and Darcy coughs into her hand.

“Key word was. Oh, and by the way, we need more baking soda.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You use it to smother oven fires? C’mon, even I knew that.”

Lucy pauses, her expression going carefully blank for a moment. “I don’t…bake at all. Never have.”

“What? Like you don’t even stress bake?”

Lucy’s expression stays blank. “It wasn’t something I was ever encouraged to learn.”

Darcy slams the oven door shut on the last few sad poofs of smoke, straightening up. Forget the aftermath of her bread. This is way more important. “You seriously don’t stress bake? What do you do when somebody makes you so mad you just wanna stab them?”

“Usually, I stab them,” Lucy says, in a voice so dry that Darcy honestly can’t tell if she’s joking.

“Okay,” Darcy says, with a shrug. “But you usually get way less arrested if you take it out on some dough instead.”

“Was that what you were trying to do here?” Lucy asks, waving a hand in front of her face like she can just shoo the smoke away. Funny, for a second it almost seems to be actually working, but then she snorks up a lungful and almost doubles over coughing.

“Oh yeah,” Darcy says. “Professor Doucheface was on his A game today, so I needed something to knead.”

Lucy looks slightly stunned, coming down from her coughing fit, but the ghost of a smile makes its way across her face. “I gather that ‘Professor Doucheface’ is not his given name.”

“Oh, it’s his given name all right. I gave it to him. At the beginning of the semester when he circlejerked about Machiavelli with these two fratbros in the front row for twenty minutes.” Darcy rolls her eyes. One of these days she’s going to figure out how to roll them right back so all you can see are the whites. It’s gonna look so badass. “It was all downhill from there.”

Lucy hums a little in the back of her throat. “Machiavelli made some interesting points.”

“Not you too.” Darcy tries to wave some of the smoke towards the open window. It very much does not work. “I keep forgetting you’re a business student. Is your whole degree just learning how to be an evil mastermind?”

Lucy taps a finger against her chin, thoughtfully. “…it rather is, now that I consider it. But I suppose there are worse things one could be.”

“No offense, but, like what.”

Lucy laughs at that, but it doesn’t escape Darcy’s notice that she doesn’t actually have an answer. Which is not actually surprising. Because seriously.

“All right,” Darcy says, peeking inside the oven and coughing when she gets a faceful of smoke. “I’m gonna clean this out, and then – we’re making chocolate chip cookies.”

…

Introducing Lucy to stress baking is probably the best idea Darcy’s ever had, ever. After the first couple of oven fires and garbage batches, there are always freshly-baked sweet treats around the apartment, and it constantly smells delicious. Darcy would worry about Lucy’s mental state if all that baking hadn’t led her to master the chocolate-chip-to-cookie ratio in all its ooey gooey goodness. She’s since moved on to cupcakes, and Darcy has high hopes for Lucy’s buttercream technique.

It’s a couple of weeks later that Darcy comes home and finds the kitchen full of racks upon racks of cookies and cupcakes both. She only pauses long enough to stuff a chocolate-chip cookie in her face before she asks, “Okay, is it your own Professor Doucheface, or something else?”

Lucy doesn’t answer right away, and doesn’t take her eyes off her dough.

After what feels like an entire ice age, she says, “I tried. To recreate a pastry that I remembered from home.” She shakes her head, a long, dark curl falling out of her messy braid. “And I couldn’t.”

Darcy chews on that for a moment as she chews on cookie. “You’re homesick?”

Lucy pauses, tucking the stray lock of hair behind one ear and smearing a white streak of flour along one Morticia Addams cheekbone. She flashes a rueful grin in Darcy’s direction, before going back to almost angrily kneading the ball of dough on the countertop in front of her. “You must think it’s silly. It was my choice to leave, after all, and yet here I am, wallowing.”

Darcy shrugs, leaning over to snag another cookie from the cooling rack. They’re still warm, the chocolate all melty and goopy inside. Heaven. “I dunno. Like, you’re halfway across the world all on your own.” She turns her full attention to separating a particularly sticky chocolate chip from her teeth before saying, “Mostly I’m just surprised because your home sounds like it sucks a fat one.”

Lucy gives a sharp, brittle laugh, and shoves the heels of both hands into the dough with surprising viciousness. She doesn’t talk for a long moment after that, just kneading and kneading and kneading until Darcy has to look away or risk getting hypnotized.

“I get it, though,” she says, ignoring the flat, disbelieving glance Lucy shoots in her direction. “I mean, the farthest I’ve ever been from home was New Mexico, and no offense to Jane or Puente Antigua, but that place sucked.” She demolishes the last bite of cookie, and licks the remnants of chocolate chip from her fingers. Hey, waste not, want not, right? “Although that was at least fifty percent the government’s fault. But! The other half was not having anybody to just hang out with. Jane’s great, don’t get me wrong, but can you say obsessive. Okay, and the internet connection made dialup look like the wave of the future, and you couldn’t get Starbucks without driving three hours, and -”

Lucy’s giving her a blank look. Darcy snags another cookie and waves it dismissively, barely managing to catch the top piece when it unexpectedly breaks in half in her hand. “Point is, we gotta get you out and meet some people. And I guess maybe some decent fish and chips.”

Lucy snorts dismissively at that, her hands rolling back into motion. That bread’s gonna be way overworked, but Darcy figures that’s one she’ll let Lucy figure out for herself.

“Also, it probably wouldn’t kill you to call your mom once in a while,” she says, chomping down on her cookie. How many is that now? Better question, does it matter. They’re best right out of the oven anyway. “I know shit’s weird with your dad and everything, but it sounds like your mom wouldn’t mind knowing you haven’t been eaten by a bald eagle or fallen off Mount Rushmore or whatever. And it sounds like your brother cares about you a lot. Even if he is a doofus.”

Lucy’s face cracks in a big, surprised, unamused grin, and she shakes her head, turning away with a soft huff of laughter.

“My brother cares about the person he wishes me to be,” she says at last, giving the dough another vicious shove.

“You don’t have to talk to him. Just let your mom know you’re not dead, she can pass it on.”

Lucy doesn’t look up from the dough. “I’m not certain it’s a good idea for me to try to contact my family.”

“Really? ‘cause I am,” Darcy says. “Are you worried about the long-distance charges? I know tuition’s higher for international students, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Lucy glares down the dough. “You have no idea what price I paid to be here.”

“I mean, I have some idea,” Darcy says. “You do give me your half of the rent every month.”

Lucy looks up, and then bursts out laughing.

“I like you, Darcy Lewis,” she says, once she’s got herself back under control. “Do you want to apply your flawlessly straightforward logic to every aspect of my life?”

Darcy shrugs. “Point me at the problem. I guarantee you that in twenty-four hours, either the problem’ll be gone, or you’ll have a way bigger, different problem to worry about instead.”

…

Lucy still demurs every time Darcy tries to invite her along any time she’s meeting friends, though. By the third or fourth time she makes up some bullshit excuse, Darcy’s starting to get fed up.

So she invites everybody over to the apartment instead.

Lucy comes back from the library somewhere between pizza and wine. She freezes in the doorway with one arm outstretched, overcoat and houndstooth scarf arrested halfway to the hook on the wall. A brief flicker of panic races across her face before she smooths her expression out, hanging up her coat and shaking out her hair.

“Darcy?” she calls, breaking into a broad smile when she catches Darcy’s eye. “Having a few friends over?”

“Yeah, come grab a glass of wine,” Darcy calls back from the living room. “We could use one more for Cards Against Humanity.”

“Cards against…” Lucy echoes, hovering in the entryway. Obviously she’s not going to take the initiative, so Darcy gets up and makes for the kitchen.

“Do they not have Cards Against Humanity in the UK?” Jared asks from the floor beside the coffee table, as Darcy pours out the dregs of a bottle of red into one of the only clean glasses. After a moment’s thought, she tops it off with white. Hey, that’s all rosé is, right?

“Yeah, and actually, what is the difference between the UK, England, and Britain?” Ayesha asks. “I’ve never been able to get it right.”

“Rude,” Darcy says, making her way back into the living room. Lucy’s still standing in the entryway, but her posture doesn’t look quite so stiff anymore, and her shoulders are creeping down from around her ears. Still, she looks awfully relieved when Darcy hands her the novelty plastic cactus-shaped cup of wine. “Nosy here is Ayesha, that’s Jared, strong and silent in the recliner is Vince, and half-passed-out-on-the-couch-already is Rachel. Guys, say hi to Lucy.”

“The practically perfect in every way?” Rachel asks, lifting her head from the hilarious pillow with a picture of a pug in a bedazzled tiara. Lucy’s cheekbones and the tips of her ears go brightly pink, but her grin is wicked.

“Ooh, Darcy. What have you been saying about me.” She takes a sip of her wine, makes a face at it, and then settles herself down on one of the cushions Darcy’s tossed around the coffee table, carefully arranging her pencil skirt. “How do you play this game, then?”

…

They add ‘Cards Against Humanity night’ to the roster of apartment traditions. Nobody really seems to mind that Lucy wins almost every time. Beating her is an interesting challenge. Like Rachel says, she makes them get creative.

…

They’re catching up on Big Brother highlights when Lucy asks Darcy, “Would you ever audition for one of these shows?”

Darcy snorts. “Thanks, but no thanks. You?”

Lucy narrows her eyes, smiling thoughtfully at the screen. “I think I could win one. The only thing would be convincing the producers I’d be interesting enough to watch.” She turns that grin on Darcy. “You have an advantage there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Darcy asks, crossing her arms with a good-natured glare.

Lucy flicks her eyes ceilingward with an expression of affected innocence. “Only that these shows seem to reward distinctive and outsized personalities.”

Darcy mentally translates that into English, then shrugs. “Hey, I’ve been accused of worse. I think.”

Lucy smiles, and says nothing.

“You’d need a gimmick,” Darcy says, watching one of the Big Brother girls hitting another with an inflatable palm tree. “Like…always referring to yourself in the third person, or insisting people call you ‘princess’, or something.”

Lucy’s smile goes a little tight around the edges, but she doesn’t comment.

“No. I don’t think I could stoop to that for any length of time,” she says, at last. “I suppose that’s another plan to cross off the list for once I complete my degree.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna do once you get outta here?” Darcy asks, with a glance over at Lucy. The inflatable palm tree fight got old fast.

Lucy doesn’t take her eyes from the laptop screen. “I thought I did.”

She really knows how to torpedo a mood, Darcy decides.

“Maybe I should audition for a reality show,” she says. “At least you know stuff about running a business. Probably. I mean, I don’t know, you could be failing out.”

Lucy huffs something that’s halfway to a laugh. “I assure you, I’m not failing out.”

“That’s what they all say,” Darcy says, reaching for a handful of popcorn.

Lucy glances in her direction, waiting until Darcy’s got her handful of popcorn before stealing the bowl and settling it into her lap. “What about that – Jane you worked for? Would she hire you back?”

Darcy snorts. Again. “Yeah, sure. If she couldn’t get anybody else.”

Lucy hums in the back of her throat. “Oh, never underestimate the power of being the only option. What were you doing for her, anyway?”

Darcy grimaces. “Making coffee, mostly. She’s an astrophysicist and I…am not.”

“Astrophysics?” Lucy asks, raising an eyebrow, a handful of popcorn apparently forgotten halfway to her mouth. “Now that sounds interesting.”

“Most of it went over my head,” Darcy says. “The wormhole stuff was pretty cool, though.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, but her face is like a big flashing neon sign saying ‘tell me more’. Darcy’s not sure how much she’s actually allowed to say without a bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D. guys rolling up, smashing through all her windows, and whisking her off to some top-secret torture pit, though, so she just says, “Let’s just say science fiction didn’t get it totally wrong, for once.” She takes a sip of her coffee, staring Lucy down. “So what were you planning to do before whatever, and why aren’t you anymore?”

Lucy shakes her head. “Oh, no. Not if you get to leave me on that kind of a cliffhanger.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Okay. Guess we’re just gonna watch Big Brother, then.”

They watch Big Brother.

It’s about seven and a half minutes before Lucy says, slowly, “There is a…family business. My brother is the eldest, we always knew he would inherit, but -” She shakes her head again, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “He’s never had much of a head for business. I had assumed I’d be – taken on in a managerial capacity, but with the state of things between me and my family now…”

“See, I’ve never got that,” Darcy says. “Why not just let the person who’s actually good at the thing do the thing?”

“Our father is, unfortunately, something of a traditionalist,” Lucy says.

Darcy rolls her eyes.

“But perhaps it’s all for the best,” Lucy continues, darting a smile in Darcy’s direction. “I’m finding that this really is the land of opportunity. Even if you occasionally have to make your own.”

It’d be a little unfair to leave her hanging after that – even that much of a confession is a lot, coming from tight-lipped Lucy – so Darcy does end up telling her a little about New Mexico. Leaving out the bits about the Men in Black and the buff space aliens, of course.

Lucy’s a good listener – she makes all the right faces at all the right times, and asks relevant questions without interrupting. Darcy actually ends up telling her a little more than she strictly meant to. Although, to be fair to Lucy, Darcy usually ends up telling everybody a little more about everything than she strictly means to. One of these days, she’s gotta get herself a brain-to-mouth filter.

“It sounds as though you enjoyed yourself,” Lucy says, when Darcy finally runs herself out.

“I guess,” Darcy says. “I mean, it kinda stank at the time – literally, it’s hot in New Mexico and Jane’s trailer had the shittiest shower hookup. But it was also kinda an adventure.” She shrugs. “Except the parts where we all nearly died. Jane really needs to learn not to hijack vans to drive directly at tornados.”

Lucy leans forward, setting the popcorn bowl back on the coffee table. “Is Jane still researching these Einstein-Rosen bridges?”

“Think so. She wants to make her own, eventually, but it didn’t sound like that was gonna happen anytime soon. Sounded like she’d need her own nuclear reactor to get enough oomph behind it.”

Lucy nods consideringly. “Well, if she’s still working in that area, you might reach out and see if she needs an assistant.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. She’s got a couple articles published now. And funding. If she needs an assistant, she’s gonna pick somebody who knows the difference between a quark and a quasar.”

Lucy pouts dramatically at her. “Now, that doesn’t sound like the Darcy I know. Where’s that boundless confidence?”

“Taking a backseat to realism for five minutes? Like I said, I was the only applicant last time.”

“You only need an edge,” Lucy says, like it’s so super easy. “Make yourself stand out from the competition, demonstrate how you are the best candidate. You already have Jane’s confidence, that’s half the battle.” She winks at Darcy before adding, “Of course, you could always simply eliminate the other candidates, but I know your feelings on poison.”

“I’m never totally sure you’re joking when you talk about murder,” Darcy says.

“Because I’m not,” Lucy says, perfectly deadpan. “I am entirely sincere at all times.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna blame the accent.”

“What did you do when you applied the first time?” Lucy asks, going for another handful of popcorn and neatly sidestepping the conversation about her honestly worrying tendency to default to ‘when in doubt, stab them’. No wonder she likes Shakespeare.

“I just emailed Jane with the names and numbers of a bunch of my references,” Darcy says, going for her coffee again. “Like I said. Only applicant.”

The look Lucy gives her is probably the same look she gives to, like, baby animals that trip on their own tails. Like Darcy’s adorable, but only because she’s so pathetic.

“If there’s one thing you learn in business school,” she says, “it’s how to ace a job interview.”

“Excuse you,” Darcy says. “I interview great.”

Lucy says nothing, just looks Darcy up and down and then looks to her left with her eyebrows raised, like there’s a whole lot she could say but she’s politely restraining herself.

“Oh, what,” Darcy says, wiggling back further into the couch and re-crossing her arms. “Don’t give me that discreetly, Britishly rude shit. Spit it.”

A grin slowly sneaks its way across Lucy’s face, and she shakes her head with a laugh. “So forthright. And yet, so perceptive.”

“Well, you were broadcasting…pretty loud and clear,” Darcy points out.

“You’d be amazed what some people fail to pick up on,” Lucy says, half to herself.

“Whatever,” Darcy says. “Lay your wisdom on me, o business major. What’m I doing so obviously wrong?”

Lucy gives her a smile that only turns pitying a little at the end.

“Well, no one could doubt your confidence,” she says. “My only question is how you choose to channel it. I’m sure it’s admirable not to care about the impression one leaves upon others, but when one attempts to take on a new role, that impression is everything.”

Darcy waits, and when no more follows, shrugs.

“You don’t – ah – dress for success,” Lucy says, settling back on the couch with her back against the armrest, so she can look Darcy full in the face as she counts points off on her fingers. “You tend to treat punctuality as though it’s optional. Your forthrightness, while refreshing, could be seen to evidence a lack of tact or forethought – a tendency to charge in without thinking. Which, while a quality many seem to value in their leaders, is not in fact a strategy that frequently yields great success.”

“Unless you’re super buff and hot,” Darcy points out, thinking of Thor.

Lucy rolls her eyes, with a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. As your reality television proves quite handily, a great many rules have their exceptions if you are, as you say, ‘super buff and hot’.”

“Well, I’m already hot,” Darcy says. “So all I gotta do is hit the gym.”

Lucy gives her a flat, disbelieving look. Darcy makes direct eye contact, and flexes one arm, duckfacing before she leans over to kiss her nonexistent bicep.

She’s not sure which of them cracks up first, but she hopes it’s Lucy.

“Is that why you always dress like you’re just stopping in to the office to finish up the Johnson contract?” Darcy asks, when she gets her breath back. “Like, I know suits are required wearing for the business school, but you are allowed to wear, like, jeans or leggings or stuff on Saturdays.”

“I think it’s wise, to require a certain degree of presentation,” Lucy says, primly. “In many cases, the trappings of authority wield as much power as the authority itself. Others’ perception of you, of your legitimacy, is critical to exercising that authority.” She grins, wickedly. “Just ask Macbeth. Or any of the fools demanding your president’s birth video.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Please. Don’t remind me.” She very quickly seizes on the flaw in that logic, though. “But you’re not royalty - no, I know you’re not related to Queen Liz, don’t try that one on me again,” she adds, firmly, and Lucy rolls her eyes ceilingward with an innocent expression. “Or a president, or any other kind of leader of a country. You can get away with wearing jeans every once in a while, it’s not like nobody will ever take you seriously again.”

“So says the woman who wears nothing but jeans,” Lucy says, and then, her eyes crinkling up in a smile, “And has never once in her life been taken seriously.”

Darcy throws the pug pillow at her.

Lucy catches it with the ease of long practice, settling it behind her and making a big show of getting comfortable.

“Only a tiny fraction of a job interview – or, really, of any interaction - is its content. Like it or not, others draw conclusions from how you present yourself,” she says. “You want to present yourself in such a way that they draw the conclusions you wish them to draw.”

She looks at Darcy’s face, and sighs. “You need to learn to smize. But with your clothing, your body language, your choice of words. Smile without your mouth, speak without your words.”

Darcy blinks at her.

“Actually,” she says, “when you put it like that…that makes way more sense than just ‘you’re wearing that?’.”

Lucy gives her a broad, triumphant grin.

“Well,” she says. “If all it takes is a translation into Tyra Banks, there may be hope for you yet.”

Darcy looks around for something else to throw, but there’s nothing close to hand. Instead, she bobs her head in Lucy’s direction with a sarcastic glare. Lucy smiles back angelically.

“Don’t you ever get, like, tired of it, though?” Darcy asks, and Lucy’s smile suddenly goes blank behind the eyes. “I mean, always being on your best behaviour. Always overthinking what other people think of you -”

The smile drops off Lucy’s face so fast Darcy thinks it breaks the sound barrier. She could swear the temperature in the room drops ten degrees in ten seconds.

Lucy glares at the laptop for a long, chilly moment before she turns a haughty, challenging look on Darcy. “I do not have the luxury of airing my dirty laundry for the world to see.”

“So you’re just gonna fake it, forever?” Darcy asks, feeling a little sideswiped. This conversation has taken a turn, and she’s not totally sure she likes the direction it’s going now. “That’s stupid.”

“You may try that flawless line of reasoning on my father,” Lucy says coldly.

Darcy shrugs. “I mean, if you’ll pay for my plane ticket. Or, like, call him, ever.”

“You have no idea what it’s been like, the kind of pressure -” Lucy starts, her voice low, her stare intense under lowered brows, but Darcy cuts her off.

“What, you think just because I don’t care what other people think about me, that I don’t notice it? Yeah, I know most people don’t absolutely love it when you just say whatever and never shut up. Total shocker.”

“All the more reason to have a care what face you present to the world.”

Suddenly, Darcy’s irritated, with Lucy, with Lucy’s whole Hamlet act, with the whole stupid world. “Oh, get over yourself. Like I’ve never tried. Do you really think I wouldn’t love to just always know what I’m doing wrong before I do it and be able to turn it off?”

Lucy’s expression softens, subtly, at that. “Believe me when I say I do understand. You’re far from the only one who’s unacceptable to the world the way they are.”

“Who gets to decide what’s ‘acceptable’, anyway? Because I feel like we should find them and like, gag them and toss them in a basement somewhere.” Darcy shakes her head. “I don’t want to pretend I’m something I’m not just to impress some randos. Sooner or later, they always find out I’m, well, me, and then I’ve wasted a bunch of time I could’ve spent watching cat videos. With people who actually like me.”

Darcy’s aware that Lucy’s watching her, very intently, and shrugs again, suddenly embarrassed by how much personal garbage she’s just spewed at a near-stranger. Darcy Lewis’ Lack of Filter strikes again.

“So like…yeah,” she concludes, lamely.

The smile Lucy gives her is a weak imitation of her usual confidence.

“An admirable philosophy, Polonius,” she says, sounding just a little too wistful for the sarcasm to really bite.

“Oh, fuck you,” Darcy sighs, flopping back against the arm of the couch with her arms akimbo, huffing a stray curl out of her face. “Sorry we can’t all be practically perfect in every way.”

There’s a moment of unbelievably glassy silence.

“I’m far from perfect,” Lucy says, quietly, at last.

“Sure,” Darcy says. “I just don’t know it, because I’ve never seen the ‘real’ you. Because you won’t chill out around anybody. And then you’ll get mad and resentful that I don’t get the ‘real’ you and it’ll all end in tears.” She bobs her head back up so she can look Lucy in the face. “Or, you could stop treating your life like it’s a job interview, follow my lead, and dump all your messy, complicated feelings on somebody you’ve known for like a month with no warning.”

Lucy’s face doesn’t change, and Darcy, unable to stop her face from saying words even under the best of circumstances, adds, “Y’know. Like we’re friends.”

The look Lucy gives her is entirely unreadable. Darcy gives it her best effort for maybe ten seconds anyway, then gives up trying.

“Just a suggestion,” she says, as Lucy rises from the couch.

“It’s been a long day,” Lucy says, avoiding eye contact. “And tomorrow will be as well. I’d best turn in.”

“Coward,” Darcy calls after her, as she starts down the hall. “Don’t be afraid of the overshare!”

She considers getting up and grabbing the pug pillow to throw at Lucy again, but decides it seems like too much effort.

…

The next morning, Darcy catches Lucy in the kitchen before she leaves for class, which is unusual. Still, Darcy Lewis has never been one to look the proverbial gift horse in its proverbial gift mouth.

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night,” she says, as she pours coffee into her cocoa puffs. “If I was outta line, or stepped over some boundaries…you know.”

Lucy blinks at the bowl of bobbing pale-brown cereal in dark-brown coffee, but says nothing, just passes Darcy the milk so she can add it to her creation.

“I apologise, as well,” she says, at last, with a brief, bright, not-entirely-convincing smile. “Some measure of what you said…touched a nerve.”

“I figured,” Darcy says. “It’s what I do best. Touch nerves, get jobs I’m not qualified for, make killer playlists.”

She meets Lucy’s eyes, and they share a smile.

“I’m not… I don’t share myself the way you do,” Lucy says, at last, turning to the cupboards for a spoon to stir her coffee. “I don’t believe I could, or that I’d wish to. But…”

She pauses to take a long sip of her coffee, the spoon still in it. “This past year, I’ve learned a few things about myself that I…am having difficulty coming to terms with. Things I’m afraid have not provoked a positive response from those I’ve chosen or been obliged to share with. I – it helps, to present myself carefully, to know I have some choice in how others perceive me. To have some measure of control.” Lucy gives the coffee another stir, staring into its spiral. “To be certain they aren’t seeing – certain aspects of myself that I’d prefer not to exist.”

“Wait,” Darcy says, trying to shuffle all of those pieces into order in her mind. “You’re insecure about your appearance?”

Over the top of her coffee mug, Lucy skewers her with a glare.

“Yeah, okay, fair. I guess it was a shitty thing to say anyway.”

Lucy turns her stare down into her coffee. “Perhaps this does make me a coward.”

“What? No way,” Darcy says. “It’s smart. Just, like, as a sometimes thing. Did you miss the part where I said if I could pretend to be a normal person, I would?”

“You shouldn’t,” Lucy says. “If you could, you wouldn’t be Darcy.”

Darcy bites her bottom lip.

“Thanks,” she says. “I think.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lucy says, smoothly, a mischievous smile starting to play around her lips. “Take it as a compliment.”

Darcy aims a kick in her direction, which misses by a mile, then settles down to eat her cereal experiment.

“Well, this is terrible,” she says, a few bites in.

“I honestly don’t know what you expected,” Lucy says.

…

Professor Doucheface isn’t at the front of the class one afternoon not long after that. The smiling woman who’s taken his place explains that he’s taken a leave of absence and will be back when he’s back, which might not be before the end of the semester.

Darcy cracks a bottle of wine as soon as she gets home and hauls Lucy out of her room to do a toast with her. And then do karaoke with her. She’s pretty sure Lucy’s big, smug grin is just her being happy for Darcy, but still. It’s nice to see her smile.

She sucks at karaoke, though. Doesn’t know any of the words.

…

When Jane turns up at the apartment, it’s Lucy who answers the door. Darcy’s in her room working very hard, thank you, on a presentation about the Euro crisis using ‘Call Me Maybe’ as a learning aid. So she can’t really be blamed if she doesn’t hear the first time Lucy knocks on her door. Or the second. Or the third.

When Darcy finally ventures forth on a quest for snackage, Jane and Lucy are both sitting in the living room, Jane holding forth about some science-y thing, complete with hand gestures, while Lucy looks fascinated and occasionally nods encouragingly. She’s either the best polite listener in the history of polite listeners, or she’s actually interested in this wormhole stuff.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were into astrophysics,” Darcy says, when Jane pauses for breath, and both Jane and Lucy turn to look at her with identical guilty expressions. Darcy can’t help but laugh. “Oh my god, you guys should see yourselves. You look like my mom’s dog when she shredded the cat’s catnip mouse. The cat loved it, though. She was trippin’ for hours.”

Now they’re both kind of looking blank. Jane shakes it off first. “I do actually need to talk to you, Darcy.”

“Hit me,” Darcy says, collapsing onto the couch beside her.

Jane doesn’t move, but her eyes dart in Lucy’s direction. “Do you want to go grab a coffee or something?”

“Ah,” Lucy says, looking from Jane to Darcy and back again. “I have plenty of studying to do. I’ll be in my room.” She pushes herself up from the armchair, smoothing down her skirt – a super cute A-line that Darcy would never wear but that totally works on somebody as tall and bony as Lucy. “Thank you, Dr. Foster, I found our conversation most…enlightening.”

“Oh, please, call me Jane,” Jane says, standing up herself and sticking out her right hand. Lucy blinks at it for half a second before taking it and giving it a very professional shake, with a brilliant smile. Darcy can’t help but notice that the height difference between them is hilarious. She always forgets how tiny Jane is. “Always a pleasure to meet young people with an actual interest in my field.” The look Jane gives Darcy is a little too fond to be a glare.

“Hey, I have an actual interest in your field,” Darcy argues. “I’m very interested in the easy science credits it bagged me.”

“ ‘Easy’ science credits?” Jane says, in mock disbelief, as Lucy heads down the hallway. “I seem to recall somebody saying she refused to die for six college credits…”

Lucy’s bedroom door shuts with a solid thunk, and Jane waits a couple of minutes before turning back to Darcy. Minutes? Probably seconds. Minutes are always longer than Darcy thinks. Or shorter, depending on the day and whether people are talking. “I know I only met her once, but I thought your roommate was…shorter. And less British.”

“Oh yeah. Melissa. She totally flaked on me while you and I were out playing X-Files in the desert,” Darcy says. “Lucy’s doing an exchange…thing. So what’s up?”

“Do you have something lined up for after graduation?” Jane asks.

“Depends. Do you still want to pay me in college credits?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “No. I actually have a budget now, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D., but it’s been hell on wheels trying to get somebody cleared to come work for me. They want it to be all ‘need-to-know’. But they need to know!”

“What about Selvig?” Darcy asks. Her stomach chooses this unfortunate moment to remind her why she came out of her room in the first place, and she furiously thinks at it to be cool. She might have an actual job lined up if she plays her cards right, here. One where she can goof off for money and gorgeous men literally rain from the sky. No way she’s letting a little Oreo craving get between her and that.

Jane shakes her head. “There’s some mystery project the director’s apparently been courting him for. Even if he’d want to, he doesn’t have time to run around after me chasing storms.”

“Ooh, mystery project,” Darcy says. “That sounds prestigious. And expensive. D’you think he’s hiring?”

Jane gives her a flat look. “They won’t even tell me what it is. No way they’re letting you within a hundred feet of it.”

Darcy shrugs. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Just wanna know what my options are, in case I decide to play hardball.” She considers it a moment. Not so long ago, Darcy would’ve jumped – well, okay, not jumped, casually agreed to, nobody who’s built like Darcy does much jumping – at the opportunity. But not so long ago, Darcy had not had a business major for a roommate. Lucy’s taught her a thing or two about negotiating and knowing her worth. Pretty much all of which she’s throwing out the window right now, but hey, it’s the thought that counts. “How much can you pay me, anyway?”

Jane names a figure. Darcy chokes on her own spit.

“Do you need me to drop out and start now?” she asks, when she can breathe like a normal person again. “ ‘cause I can drop out and start now.”

Jane huffs a soft laugh. “Finish your degree. I’m sure I’ll burn through the last few S.H.I.E.L.D. lab techs who’re willing to put up with me, and the spot’ll be open for you to step into before you even take off the cap and gown.”

“How sure?” Darcy asks, because, well, she doesn’t want Lucy to have had to break her best job interview tips down into pieces of Tyra’s advice for nothing. “Do I get, like, something to sign? Anything in writing?”

Jane actually laughs this time. “Yes. That’s why I didn’t just call. Well, that and the possibility of wiretaps.” She reaches down by her feet for the brown canvas messenger bag Darcy hadn’t really paid much attention to. “There’s, uh, a formal offer…”

Her smile turns apologetic, and Darcy just has time to feel a wave of the ominouses build over her before Jane pulls out a stack of printer paper an inch and a half thick. “And, uh, a couple of non-disclosure agreements. Oh, and a background check. And another background check, except this one’s off the record, because it’s being done technically illegally by a defected Soviet spy.”

“You’re joking, right,” Darcy says.

Jane gives her a smile that’s half a wince, and a pen.

…

By the time Lucy pops back out of her room in search of dinner, Darcy’s wrist aches something fierce, to match the throb behind her eyes from all the tiny, tiny, extremely important print, and she’s pretty sure the index finger on her right hand is never going to be the same again. But none of that matters, because Darcy Lewis Has A Job.

“Right out of school!” she crows, shaking out her hand. “How about that, Mom? Oh, and, there’s science in poli-sci, so, like, it’s even using my major. Using half my major. Does that count?”

Lucy looks at her over the mug of tea she’s just poured herself. “For purposes of proving your parent wrong? Oh, absolutely.”

“What?” Darcy says, and then remembers Lucy’s life across the pond is a soap opera. “Oh, no, my mom just – she was worried. Poli-sci was my…third? Third major in two years. She really wanted me to make my mind up, or at least pick something that would guarantee I wouldn’t be moving back in with her after graduation. She’ll be so super proud.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything, just blows softly across the surface of her tea and kind of stares into the middle distance.

“You know what this calls for?” Darcy says, before the buzz can get any more killed. “Champagne. Lots of champagne.”

Lucy focuses back on her, quirking an eyebrow up with a hint of a smirk. “Job offer or not, you still can’t afford champagne.”

“Nope,” Darcy says, popping the ‘p’. “But I can afford fizzy wine, and I can’t tell the difference.”

…

“Gotta ask,” Darcy says, as they stand in the walk-in cooler, staring at the bottles of prosecco, “does your family really suck that much? Because I’m gonna feel like a real asshole for trying to make you phone your mom.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just studying the glass bottles on the shelf in front of her. Maybe it’s the coat (it’s a nice coat, really thick and heavy, as Darcy learned when she had to pick it up every time it fell off the hooks by the door), or the scarf, or maybe Lucy’s just naturally cold-blooded, but she hasn’t shivered yet. Darcy, on the other hand, wore a spring jacket and is regretting it.

“I wouldn’t say, ‘suck’,” Lucy says, at last, slowly.

“No, you’d say, like, ‘bollocks’ or something,” Darcy says, stuffing her hands in her pockets. Lucy’s face unfreezes, and she darts a bright grin in Darcy’s direction, though there’s still something sad around her eyes.

“I like you, Darcy,” she says. “But unfortunately, not everything is so simple as you like to think.”

Darcy shrugs, without taking her hands out of her pockets. “I dunno. Sometimes people just make things complicated for themselves.”

They spend another quiet moment studying the fizzy wine, before Darcy shakes out her hands with a puff of breath. “Okay, do you actually have an opinion on what we drink, or are you just trying to avoid talking to me? Because if it’s the second one, I’m picking the cheapest bottle and getting out of here. I’m freezing.”

“Oh,” Lucy says, like she forgot they were standing in a refrigerator, and then reaches up and grabs a bottle of prosecco that is pretty clearly not the cheapest bottle on the shelf. “Here. I’ll treat.”

Darcy watches her suspiciously. “I thought you were broke.”

“Not so broke that I’ll drink that barely-alcoholic swill you call fizzy wine, thank you,” Lucy says primly, and Darcy can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks,” she says, once they’re through the checkout and back out on the sidewalk, Lucy pressing the bag holding their prosecco into her hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Lucy gives her a smile that’s just a little unsettling. “I should be thanking you, Darcy. You’ve done more for me than you know.”

Darcy squirms internally under the attention. “We’re roommates. We do roommate stuff. Nothing special.”

Lucy bobs her head back and forth, like she doesn’t agree but she won’t come right out and object. “You opened your home to me. You’ve shown me hospitality above and beyond what was required of you. I won’t forget it.”

Darcy shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well, don’t mention it. But if I’m ever in London and need a place to crash -”

Lucy’s smile is brilliant. “Oh, I expect that if you’re ever in London, you’ll look me up. I’ll take you out for fish and chips and we can tour the Tower.”

“Haunted murder prison. Sounds like a blast,” Darcy says. “You better take me on that giant Ferris wheel, too. I promise not to barf on anybody this time.”

Lucy blinks at her. “ ‘This time’?”

…

Exam season hits them both hard. Darcy spends a lot of time in the coffee shop, loading up on espressos in a desperate bid to keep herself awake after the string of all-nighters she’s pulled. Lucy practically moves into the library. Darcy doesn’t see her except in the apartment doorway, once, when she’s grabbing some books for class, and even then it’s only for long enough to say ‘hi’ and then ‘bye’ again.

Jane calls about a week and a half, maybe two weeks after Darcy signs the unbearable stack of documents. For one horrifying second, Darcy thinks the ex-Soviet spy turned up some dreadful, sordid thing in her family history and she’s not getting the job after all. But Jane doesn’t even mention the job. She barely even says hello. “Have you heard from Erik? I’ve been trying to get in touch, but he’s not answering his phone. Or his emails.”

“You did say he’s working on some top-secret classified mystery thing,” Darcy points out. “If I had to sign that many NDAs, I bet they’re taking no chances on him blabbing.”

“I know, it’s just – it’s not like him,” Jane says, and her worry’s a little bit contagious, even through the phone. “Wouldn’t he have warned somebody if he was going to have to go dark? Warned me?”

“Jane. C’mon,” Darcy says. “He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

“Darcy,” Jane says, shortly. “You were there when he told us about his friend.”

“Yeah, but S.H.I.E.L.D. did that,” Darcy counters. “The people who hired him. Who vanishes their own employees?”

“People like S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Jane says grimly. “Let me know if you hear from him, all right?”

“Well, if he’s not talking to you, the chances of him friending me on Facebook or whatever are pretty low.”

“Darcy,” Jane sighs, “just say, ‘Yes, Jane’.”

“Yes, Jane,” Darcy parrots into the phone.

…

It’s been almost another week, almost a week since the last time she saw Lucy. Darcy’s holed up in her favourite campus coffeeshop, nursing her fourth – fifth? – latte of the afternoon, when the TV silently playing old episodes of Friends cuts to a news break.

It’s a short clip, repeating over and over. Some dude who looks more like an extremely glam pop star in a ridiculous costume than anything, and at first, with the sound off, that’s what Darcy thinks it is. Some dude trying to get in on the Gaga-Katy Perry weird costume trend. Looks like he might be singing to a big crowd in an outdoor arena. He’s really givin’ it, if the face he’s making is anything to go by. Probably a high E or something. The blue spotlight they’ve got on him is not flattering.

It’s about time the weird costume trend took off for dudes, if you ask Darcy. If she has to see another candy-shaped bra, she’s gonna throw up in her mouth.

She’s turning back to her textbooks when something makes her look back up. Some nagging feeling in the back of her head, like there’s something she should be remembering. She’s seen a tacky horned helmet like that before. Somewhere.

The dude in the costume doesn’t really look like he’s singing anymore, either. The camera zooms shakily towards his face, and Darcy’s forced to admit that most pop stars don’t glower at their audiences quite so much. It’s a crappy, glitchy feed, and the moment the guy makes eye contact with the camera, it washes out in a haze of electric blue. But it’s still long enough for Darcy to get an eyeful of pale, pretty, and pointy.

She’s seen a face like that somewhere, too. Recently.

“Oh,” Darcy mutters into her latte, and finally settles on, “shit.”

…

“Hi, this is Dr. Jane Foster -”

“Jane?” Darcy tries not to yell into the phone. “Listen, I need to know how far you are into getting this bridge thing working -”

“I’m unable to come to the phone right now,” Jane’s voice continues, blithely, “but leave your name and number at the tone and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

“Dammit, Jane, are you screening your calls? That’s a new level of paranoia, even for you,” Darcy says, over the beep. “Come on! It’s me! It’s Darcy! Pick up!”

Jane does not pick up. All Darcy gets is a dirty look from everyone within earshot. Including the librarian.

“Is there something I can help you find?” she asks, pointedly. Obviously she’s just trying to embarrass Darcy into shutting up and going away, because she looks a little startled when Darcy hangs up her phone and pockets it, stomping up to the desk like a woman on a mission. Which she is.

“Yeah, actually, there is,” Darcy says, leaning heavily against the counter and making aggressive eye contact with the librarian. “I need everything you’ve got on Norse mythology.”

The librarian looks startled for a moment, before her expression turns professional again. She turns to her computer, taps a few keys on her keyboard, glancing briefly up at Darcy. “Okay, so all our translations of the Eddas are checked out right now, but there are a few interpretive texts available, and some articles -”

“Don’t you have, like, a ‘Norse Mythology for Dummies’?” Darcy asks, and the librarian gives her a look that clearly says she, the librarian, knows Darcy is going to fail whatever class this is for.

“Try the education library,” she says.

…

The education library is full of children’s books. Darcy would be insulted, except that she finds the exact book Selvig had brought back to show her and Jane, wedged on a shelf between a fat picture book on Greek mythology and the gold spine of Egyptology. Darcy pauses a moment to let a flood of fond memories pass over her – hey, any book that was shiny gold and had a big plastic gem stuck in the front cover was the coolest ever when you were, like, twelve – before pulling out the book on Norse mythology and finding herself a table. Thankfully, the furniture is all scaled for adult-sized people.

Darcy slams the book open, flipping past the sections on Yggdrasil and the nine realms, pausing briefly on the pages about Thor, before she finally finds what she was looking for. The illustration’s…weasellier-looking than she remembers, the face way pointier, but that is definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the helmet she’d just seen on TV.

Darcy shakes her head, turning her attention to the text that goes with the image. The book’s laid out more like an encyclopedia than a storybook, which is good, because right now Darcy just needs as much information as possible in as little time as possible.

She’s just about finished reading the section when her phone rings. It’s Jane, sounding almost frantic. “Darcy! What’s going on, are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” Darcy says, and Jane lets out a sigh that’s one part relief, two parts frustration.

“Then what was the panicky phone message about?”

“Panicky? On what planet?”

“Darcy, you were already talking when the recording started, and you just kept yelling at me to pick up. I thought you were being abducted.”

Darcy thinks back to the phone call, and is forced to admit Jane has a point. “I’m okay,” she says. “Aside from the part where I might be sharing an apartment with a homicidal Norse god.”

Jane’s end of the line goes dead silent.

“Jane?” Darcy asks.

“No,” Jane says, and then, like she’s warming up, “No, the bridge still isn’t working, they couldn’t -”

“Jane,” Darcy repeats, interrupting before Jane can really get going. “Checked the news lately?”

She can almost hear Jane deflate through the phone.

“Why wouldn’t he have contacted me?” she says, in this terrible small voice that Darcy feels a wash of secondhand embarrassment just listening to. “If he could get through, why not -”

“Jane,” Darcy says, a third time. “Focus.”

Jane seems to remember she has an audience. She clears her throat, dropping the pitch of her voice. Darcy can picture her, easily, shutting her eyes and shaking her head as she pulls herself together. “What do you mean, sharing an apartment?”

“I mean, how much did you tell Lucy about generating Einstein-Rosen bridges?” Darcy says. “Also, how loud were we talking about Selvig’s big break?”

“Not – I mostly kept to the theory, you know I signed a few non-disclosures of my own – Darcy, what -”

“I’m just asking,” Darcy says, drumming her fingers against the little weaselly illustration. “Because from what I’ve been reading, people tend to just, like, tell Loki stuff if he asks while he’s shapeshifted into a woman.”

There’s another, longer pause.

“No,” Jane says, again.

Darcy nods, before remembering Jane can’t see her. “Kinda think so. I know I should’ve been worried when she turned up so conveniently after Melissa flaked, but I just thought she was gonna skin me and wear my face over her face or something like that.”

Jane pauses again before she speaks, but it doesn’t somehow sound so heavy. “Did I know how graphic your imagination was when I first hired you?”

“Only applicant, remember?” Darcy says. “Look, it all lines up. The family drama, the my brother spent some time here and he believes it did him a world of good, the accent, the way she keeps just disappearing at really weird times for hours or days at a time – I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen her in a classroom or with a textbook – and she doesn’t know anything about music. Or get cold like a normal person, and there’s something here about…frost giants? Also, one of his nicknames is ‘Sky-Walker’, and apparently, in like Norwegian, that ‘oh’ in his name should be an ‘oo’ -”

“Darcy,” Jane says, firmly. “Breathe.”

“I am totally breathing,” Darcy protests. “Look, after you offered me the job, she bought us a bottle of sparkling wine and thanked me really cryptically and I basically haven’t seen her since. And in that time, Selvig’s dropped off the map, and a supervillain calling himself Loki who could be her fraternal twin pops up and starts chewing German scenery in a helmet that looks exactly like the one in this book.” Darcy sits back in her chair, bouncing off the back. “Also, I told her about this professor who was a total pain in my ass, and like two weeks later he was on leave for ‘undisclosed reasons’ and he still hasn’t come back.”

“This…could all be a coincidence,” Jane says, lamely.

“Oh yeah. Same way that weird homeless guy you kept hitting with your car showing up inside that storm was all a coincidence,” Darcy says. “Oh, my god. I’ve been watching ANTM highlights with a supervillain.”

“Okay, stay calm,” Jane says, in a voice that does absolutely nothing to make Darcy feel any more calm. “Does she know you know?”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t even put it together until, like, twenty minutes ago. God! I ate her chocolate-chip cookies!”

“Is she with you? Do you think you’re in any immediate danger?” Jane asks, being infuriatingly reasonable for somebody who was helpless with heartbreak not five minutes ago.

“No,” Darcy admits. “I don’t think so. Oh, shit!”

“What?” Jane gasps.

Darcy groans. “Left my taser at the apartment.”

…

Darcy stays late at the coffee shop, reluctant to go back to the apartment. Sure, she hasn’t seen Lucy in weeks and has no reason to think that’s going to suddenly change. And sure, nothing she’s read makes it sound like the god who might be her roommate can read minds. There’s no way, even if she did run into Lucy, that Lucy would be able to tell that Darcy knows.

Except for the part where she’s the literal god (goddess?) of lies and Darcy’s a mediocre actress at best. Yep. No way she’s gonna notice anything’s different. Or anything.

Fuck. Darcy is so, so screwed.

When the coffee shop closes and kicks her out, Darcy migrates to the library. When the library closes and kicks her out, Darcy complains very loudly that they aren’t staying open 24/7 for exam season. Her one-woman protest has absolutely no effect whatsoever.

Darcy stands on the sidewalk outside the library doors, shivering in the chilly night air, and wonders if one of her friends would let her crash at their place overnight. She considers it for a minute before realizing that just figuring out how to ask would probably end up making things even more complicated than they already are.

Finally, Darcy decides she’s cold enough, tired enough, and grumpy enough to take her chances heading back to the apartment. So what if Lucy’s there? So is her taser.

“Tased a Norse god once,” Darcy mutters, under her breath, as she slouches determinedly towards the bus depot, hoping they haven’t stopped running for the night as well. “Can do it again.”

By the time she gets back to the apartment, Darcy’s so wound up that she jumps involuntarily when she opens the door. But there’s nothing to freak out about. Lucy’s coat isn’t hanging on the hooks by the door, which is a sure sign that she’s still out. Darcy wonders, for half a second, where she is if the library’s closed, and then feels incredibly stupid.

“Supervillainy. Right,” she says, into the empty apartment, tossing her coat in the general direction of the hooks. She double-checks the lock on the apartment door, brushes her teeth and washes her face, and then very carefully locks herself in her bedroom. After a moment’s consideration, she wedges her deskchair under the handle, too.

It takes Darcy a very long time to fall asleep.

…

She’s woken at some ungodly hour by a crash that has her leaping up out of bed, half-convinced somebody’s trying to break down her door. It takes Darcy a moment to boot her brain up out of sleep mode and realise it was just the chair falling over.

…

It takes another panicked phone call from Jane before Darcy remembers she was supposed to check in when she got home last night. She only just manages to talk Jane down from calling in S.H.I.E.L.D., which might seem a little crazy at first blush, but makes a lot of sense if you think about it. Yeah, okay, so maybe Darcy’s been living with the Big Bad of the week, but she doesn’t actually know that for sure, and it’s not like she has any useful information about any nefarious plans, and said Big Bad hasn’t even been around lately, and – look, it just doesn’t seem like a good idea. Darcy’s keeping an eye on the news, and it looks like they’ve got it under control. They don’t need Jane and Darcy butting in. They’re handling it.

Plus, she really, really doesn’t want her iPod confiscated again.

Darcy’s been walking on eggshells all day, jumping at every little noise, before she finally decides she’s done. She’s over it. Either her roommate is a homicidal extraterrestrial, or she isn’t. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and wear her skin like a – okay, she’s overusing that one. Either she’s going to totally murder Darcy and use her skull as a drinking horn or whatever, or she isn’t. And either way, there’s not a whole lot Darcy can do about it. So worrying about it like this is pointless.

What would be less pointless would be finding out 1) whether Lucy really is secretly an evil alien god, and 2) if she is, what to do about it.

…

To: lucy

From: darcy

house rule #3: if ur a supervillian u have 2 tell me.

Read at 5:47 PM

…

It isn’t even a full day later that the Chitauri attack New York.

…

Darcy gets home from the library late, on purpose, though she doesn’t really expect to find Lucy there after the day’s top news stories. The apartment’s dark when she swings the door open, and gets darker when she slams the door behind her, blocking out the light from the hall.

Darcy slouches into the kitchen without turning on a light, throwing open the fridge instead. After staring blankly into its cold white glow for what feels like half an hour but is most likely less than five minutes, and still not having the secrets of the universe or of what she wants to eat revealed unto her, she shuts the door again and turns toward the hall and her bedroom.

“Darcy.”

Darcy is not too ashamed to admit that she screams like a little girl. She jumps backwards, fumbling for her taser, at the sound of a voice from the pitch-dark mouth of the hall.

The hall light blooms to life, revealing Lucy standing by the lightswitch. Under the circumstances, this is not actually a reassuring sight.

“Holy shit, you scared the pee out of me,” Darcy gasps, and Lucy’s eyes crinkle up at the corners in an apologetic smile. “Don’t lurk dramatically in the shadows like that, you’re gonna give somebody a heart attack.”

“I was waiting for you,” Lucy says, which is also not very reassuring, under the circumstances. Darcy’s questing fingers find her taser tucked into the pocket of her jacket, and close over it. “I wanted to talk.”

“You could’ve just texted me back,” Darcy points out.

“In person,” Lucy says.

“Great,” Darcy’s traitor mouth says. “Great, nothing about that sounds unnecessarily ominous, or anything.”

Lucy huffs a soft laugh, turning her face away from Darcy for a moment. Darcy can’t read her expression through the shadows the hall light casts over her eyes and the curtain of dark hair that falls in front of her face.

“I have the feeling,” she says, her eyes flicking in Darcy’s direction, bright even in shadow, “that you suspect I’m keeping something from you.”

“What?” Darcy laughs, nervously. “Why would you think that?”

“Possibly the fact that you’re right.” Lucy’s voice is wry, her mouth twisted in a smile, but all Darcy can see in her eyes is fear. “Darcy…I’ve lied to you.”

So this is happening. Darcy makes herself breathe at a normal human person rate. All things considered, she feels like she’s doing pretty good keeping her cool here. Like, sure, okay, she was totally chill around Thor, but she also never really got the vibe that he might stab her if she looked at him funny. And, as far as Darcy knows, he never actually has stabbed anybody for looking at him funny. So there’s that.

Lucy takes a deep breath, meeting Darcy’s eyes with an expression half steely resolve, half unspoken regret. “I’m not really a business student.”

“Yeah,” Darcy says, her heart hammering in her throat, fingers curling tighter around the reassuring shape of the taser in her pocket. “I know.”

Lucy’s head snaps up, eyes going wide. “You know? But – I was so careful -”

Darcy makes a face. “Were you, though?”

Lucy – Loki? - looks away again, with a soft huff that’s almost a laugh. “No. I suppose I wasn’t.” There’s that strange wistfulness in her voice again as she says, “I did everything – everything – to try to impress my father, became everything he wanted, and it was never enough. I suppose…deep down, I wanted someone to see through the lie. To know. And not to care. Who – and what – I truly am.”

She turns back to Darcy, her smile wide and white and, for once, purely and genuinely happy.

“I’m a thespian,” she says.

Darcy blinks at her.

“Sorry, run that one by me again,” she says, sticking her pinkie into her ear and giving it a good wiggle.

Lucy’s still grinning ear to ear. “I’ve changed my major. You were right, Darcy. ‘To thine own self be true’. I’ve spent my life living for other people, but I have to live with the choices I make. It’s time I did something for myself.”

“So you’re…going into theatre,” Darcy says, slowly, still trying to catch up.

“Have gone into theatre,” Lucy says. “I changed my major after that night, when we talked. I’m in theatre arts now. I’m going to be an actress.”

“I,” Darcy says, and realizes that, for the first time in a very long time, she, Darcy Lewis, is at a loss for words. “Uh.”

Lucy’s expression doesn’t really change, but her jaw sets in trembling defiance. “You think I’m foolish.”

“What? No, I was just expecting something a little more mythological.”

Lucy frowns at her, Darcy’s perceived rejection apparently forgotten in confusion. “Sorry?”

“Nothing. Forget I said that.” Darcy blinks a few more times, and then manages, “Congratulations, though. You’re the most dramatic person I know, it’s a perfect fit.”

“Well, that’s still a more positive response than my father had when he learned of my intentions to drop business school,” Lucy says, her eyes shining, but some genuine humour in the quirk of her mouth. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’d’ve found the courage without you. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Wow,” Darcy says, suddenly feeling extremely guilty about suspecting her of being an alien supervillain. “Uh, thanks.”

Lucy’s smile falters, and she looks down at her feet. “Now, though, I suppose I shall have to break the news to my family. With the semester over, at least they can’t threaten to cut me off again.”

“Well,” Darcy manages, mentally shoving her thoughts off the rail they’d been on and onto a parallel set of tracks. “You already seem happier. If your family really cares about you, they’ll see that and be happy for you too.”

“My theatre final is a one-act stageplay,” Lucy says. “It’s tomorrow night at the campus theatre. I’d like for you to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Darcy says.

…

The play is…all right. As plays go. It’s all about adults having Serious Conversations, which is so not Darcy’s scene. Give her elaborate costumes and musical numbers any day.

Lucy’s good, though. Especially compared to some of the other actors on the stage. She has a real talent, able to go from weepy to icy on a dime.

Darcy tells her as much after the curtain closes, when she brings a bundle of grocery-store chrysanthemums up to the stage in congratulations. Lucy’s smile practically glows. She’s totally in her element, and Darcy kind of feels like anybody’d be stupid to try to keep her away from the stage.

She goes with Lucy to the airport, when Lucy leaves a few days later. It’s kind of bittersweet, and Darcy can’t totally deny getting a little misty as they swap contact details outside of the lineup for international security.

“You better mail me a London Bridge keychain,” Darcy says, and Lucy laughs.

“Done.” She looks over towards the line winding slowly through the security checkpoint, then glances at the time on her phone, before turning back to Darcy. “Darcy, I need to thank you again.” She musters up a watery smile. “I know I was something of a handful. But you took me as I came, tried to make me feel welcome in an unfamiliar place, drew me out of myself, treated me as a friend… I won’t forget that. I won’t forget you.”

“Hey, I’m not going to forget you either,” Darcy says, with 100% unpasteurized honesty. “You definitely made my last semester interesting.” She pauses to give it 0.2 seconds of thought, and then decides, yeah. “It was fun.”

Lucy’s smile grows wider, more confident. “ ‘Interesting’ is certainly the word. But…yes. It was fun.”

She casts one more glance over at the security lineup, before she says, “You know, you’ll probably laugh. But for a short while there, I was afraid that you might be involved in the attack on New York.”

Darcy manages not to choke on her own spit, but it’s a near miss. “Say what?”

Lucy shrugs. “You’d always make these cryptic comments about aliens and how terribly the government treated you and whatnot, and then hastily change the subject if I pressed you. And you and your Dr. Foster were both so secretive about her work, but I knew it was in regards to wormholes to other galaxies – and that your Dr. Foster apparently regularly broke the law and had little to no regard for human life, if the stories about the van were anything to go by. What was I meant to think when I didn’t see you for a week and then the news was suddenly full of reports of a wormhole opened in New York to let an alien invasion force through?”

Darcy considers this for a moment.

“Also,” Lucy adds, “you put coffee in your cocoa puffs, which is not the act of a sane and rational human being.”

“Okay, that was one time,” Darcy says.

Lucy does that extremely irritating eyebrow thing that means she doesn’t believe that for a minute.

Darcy decides to let it slide. “You actually thought I helped organize an alien invasion? I can’t even organize my iTunes library.”

Lucy shrugs. “Every good mad scientist needs an Igor.”

Darcy shoves her, hard, in the arm, and Lucy bursts into laughter.

They push back and forth for a bit before Lucy looks at her phone again, and grimaces. “I’ve only got an hour. I should go.”

“Right,” Darcy says. “Well, if I’m ever in London…”

Lucy nods. “If you’re ever in London.”

Darcy’s not sure who starts it. All she knows is that all of a sudden she and Lucy are hugging, her face kind of awkwardly mashed against Lucy’s chest. Good grief, she’s tall.

The hug only lasts a second or two, and then Lucy is off, dragging her rolling carry-on behind her, glancing back only once to wave goodbye.

Darcy flashes her the peace sign, and watches her as she goes through a few turns of the slow-moving security line.

Then she feels like it’s getting kind of weird, and wanders off to find a Starbucks.

…

some time later

“Darcy, you don’t – I can’t afford for you to have your own intern! I can barely afford you!”

“It’s okay,” Darcy says, for like the fourteen millionth time. “Ian’s working for experience. Besides, he’s a friend. Friend of a friend.”

Jane sighs, shaking her head.

“So long as I don’t have to pay him,” she says. “And so long as he’s not – I don’t know, secretly a spy or a supervillain in disguise trying to steal or sabotage my research.”

Darcy snorts.

“Please,” she says. “If one of my friends was secretly a supervillain, I would definitely know.”

#i can't keep looking at this fic here take it #mcu thor #mcu #this is mary's fic tag

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