A/N: Not a new story by any means, just an old piece written back in the day, frantically scribbled by hand one summer as scene after scene fell into my head, and only finally typed up years later.
This fic still feels a little raw to me - like a collection of character studies and flashbacks, tied together with only a loose thread of narrative - but I like to think that complements the themes; Odd's depression, twenty-something ennui, his sense of abandonment and his long-buried feelings. With a few years of authorial hindsight, I'd deem his angst levels somewhat excessive, but I was channelling a lot of those emotions through him when I wrote this fic, haha. I hope anyone who reads this little jaunt enjoys it. Unrefined as it is, I'm happy to finally have the story out there. One more thing to note: this fic is the one most strongly connected to other stories within my own Code Lyoko canon, via small references.
Thanks for reading!
The Long Way Home
"You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you."
- E.M. Forster, A Room With A View
It was cold, rainy and nearing midnight when Odd arrived on their doorstep.
Aelita saw him first, a blurry silhouette against the frosted glass of the front door, which she opened to find Odd with his finger poised an inch from the buzzer. He started, rodent-like in the sudden glare of light from the hallway, and stared at Aelita's polished pink toenails as he jammed both hands into his pockets.
"Hey," he began. He shuffled uncomfortably in place drawing his suitcase into hiding against the backs of his knees, guilty about the hopeful expectation that they would let him in. He looked more of a stray than Kiwi did – the dog had already crossed the threshold and was sniffing curiously at a fake potted plant in the hallway. It shook itself suddenly, a sharp movement that sent raindrops and wet dog odour careening towards the walls and spattering Aelita's calves.
She wouldn't let Odd say anything more until he'd stepped inside and peeled himself out of his sodden jacket, stained dark berry purple with rain, after which she flung her arms around him. He moved his cold, spread palms lightly to her back, relaxing after a moment into warmth incomparable to that of the wood-panelled hallway.
"Odd!" she exclaimed when at last she drew back from him, with a smile that didn't stay long as she took the measure of him, soaking and shivering. His hair was long and plastered flatly to his skull, the space beneath his eyes a mockery of the signature colour he so often wore. "You look... is everything okay?"
He shrugged off the question, head still as his gaze flickered over his shoulder towards his now entirely too conspicuous suitcase.
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't... important." The words left him in a rush, already touched with untruthfulness, uncertainty, his tone pleading and serious. "Could I maybe crash here for a while?"
Aelita blinked hard, the motion buying time whilst she tried to figure out just what was happening, but it was all too much to process in the space of a few seconds. There was no question though; Odd would always be welcome here. All of them were. "Of course," she said. "Jérémie will be glad to-"
As though on cue, Jérémie made his appearance at the top of the stairs, barefoot and shirtless and clearly just having stepped into the jeans settled on his hips, their fly and button undone.
"Aelita, are you coming to- oh." His mouth gaped slightly, slack with sleep and surprise, one hand lightly on the banister as the other pressed his glasses onto his face. He glanced at the clock on the wall, as though to confirm to himself that yes, there was something untimely and unexpected about this visit. He stepped down into the full light of the hallway, and his greeting was a question, though not a hostile one.
"Odd?"
"Her, Jér."
"Wow. You look terrible." At a sharp glance from Aelita, he hastily amended himself. "I-I mean, this is so unexpected, it's been a while, we were wondering about you, you know... Come in, I'll make some coffee..."
He led the way to the kitchen, attempting a subtle gesture to Aelita, and the short stride from the hall was filled with a silent conversation, the kind couples develop the ability to have with their eyes, and that everyone present will make great effort to pretend they're not eavesdropping on. Odd, no exception, trailed slightly after him, and busied himself with pretending to keep an eye on Kiwi. Aelita's hand skimmed Jérémie's bare shoulder and with a sudden inward jolt Odd took, at last, full measure of the situation – the near-lack of clothing beneath Aelita's robe, the casual indecency of the silk garment covering, just barely, the tanned skin of her thigh. Jérémie, hair mussed and demeanour distracted.
Odd rode on a wave of sudden mortification towards a kitchen chair, hid the reason for his flushed face in the steam of a coffee mug placed suddenly before him. He opened his mouth to apologise, found himself taking a grateful gulp of the hot drink instead, and opted after that for the slightly less exhausting option of uncomfortable silence.
"So, Odd..." Jérémie and Aelita took their own seats at the small rounded table, too homely and intimate in the spacious, modern kitchen. This time the soundless communication between them – should we ask him? A suitcase? Do you think something's happened? - went unnoticed by the subject.
"So.." Jérémie began again, clearing his throat. "How have you been- I mean, do you want to, uh..."
With a great effort Odd tore his gaze from the intricate patterns of coffee mug foam and looked at them. They were back to being Jérémie and Aelita, as opposed to JérémieandAelita, a careful space between his chair and hers. He wouldn't be surprised, though, to look beneath the table and spot clasped hands or a palm spread lightly against a thigh. They were always like that, intimate only where no one else could see them. It made Odd distinctly uncomfortable now, adding weight to the already awkward bulk of his arrival.
His head snapped up. He'd zoned out again and he was exhausted, but realised suddenly that he couldn't stomach the coffee. Had he the energy, he would stand up and leave, walk out of the door back into the night but the resolve it had taken to get here had drained him, and now he was trapped in on all sides by consequences.
"Sorry, sorry," he managed. "I'm just... tired, you know? One of those days. If you don't want me here, it's fine..."
"I told you Odd, you're welcome here any time. Any of you." Aelita's hand slipped out across the table to cover his. He shivered.
"Aelita's right," Jérémie added. "Listen, the spare rooms are made up already," - they had two spare rooms, Odd remembered, two spare rooms in their own house with a mortgage paid at twenty three years old; what did that feel like? He wondered - "just get some rest and we can talk things over in the morning."
Gratefully, Odd stumbled up to bed, Kiwi, Jérémie and Aelita following and three barely touched mugs of coffee left behind to greet them, cold, on the kitchen table the next morning.
Kiwi was asleep near-instantly, curled up on the foot of the bed. Odd wasn't so lucky. His mind strived to escape from everything that had brought him here, veering instead with a shamefully perverse curiosity to the bedroom across the hall. He wondered if they would resume their nightly activities after his off-schedule arrival, lay quietly in the dark expecting telltale bumps and suppressed moans. Only a faint murmuring pushed past a thick blanket of night sounds – traffic and trees and a persistent, dizzying ringing in his own ears – and as sleep wrapped its reassuring hands around him, pulling him into the soft confines of unconsciousness, it occurred to him that, of course, they would be talking about him.
When he woke the next morning, he had approximately ten seconds of peaceful, blissful ignorance until the sledgehammer of memory hit him full force. He lay naked in the tangled sheets, his limbs gratefully warm beneath the covers. The room was awash with lilac light. A wry smile twitched at the corner of Odd's mouth at the realisation that he had gravitated towards the room bedecked in his own colour scheme.
He spied his clothes from the night before huddled in a sodden pile on the floor of the white-tiled ensuite bathroom. The bedroom smelled of a dog that hadn't been let out that morning, but Kiwi was nowhere to be seen.
"Kiwi?"
Silence echoed.
It was this and this alone that pulled Odd out of bed. He kept the thin cotton sheet wrapped around himself, adorning his shoulders like a cloak, and padded down the hallway which emerged as a fog of memory from the night before. Odd felt a glimmer of pride as he made his way past framed photographs and art, many of the latter being his own contributions, prints of artists he appreciated parceled up as a homewarming gift, one or two of his own works sneaked in amongst them.
It had been a long time since he had visited them here, or so it felt like. It was long enough, anyway, for unfamiliar trinkets and photographs to have emerged on and walls and along mantelpieces and tabletops, interesting oddities like new species of plant growing of their own accord in a semi-regularly attended garden. In the kitchen he found a note from Aelita and the reassuring sight of Kiwi trotting by the window. The dog prodded his nose into a bucket which lay on its side amongst a host of gardening utensils in the backyard. Odd watched for a moment, his hands tracing the edge of the note.
Odd,
Good morning! Hope you slept well and are feeling better. We let Kiwi out, and we'll be back this evening around six. Help yourself to food, the tv, etc. Jér and I usually get takeout on Thursdays so take a look (menus in top drawer) and see what you'd like.
Rest up! You looked very worse for wear yesterday.
xx
He read the note twice over, scrunched it up but paused over the bin, and Aelita's kindness found a home not amongst two-day old potato peelings but instead in the palm of Odd's hand. From there it would later be smoothed out, refolded a little more neatly and preserved in a dust-lined, purple jacket pocket. Next port of call, after a second cast around for Kiwi, was the fridge. Odd found himself starving, and emerged with an armful of sandwich supplies (he hadn't thought to look at a clock since he woke up, but he felt like it was lunchtime) and he took a plate piled high with peanut butter and jam into the sitting room. Odd supposed that Aelita and Jérémie's hospitality probably didn't stretch to guests sprawled naked on their sofa cushions, so he pulled boxers and a long-sleeved hooded sweater from his still-unpacked suitcase (now stowed surreptitiously beneath the stairs) and considered himself, then, suitably dressed for channel-hopping for the next few hours. He watched without seeing. The charismatic hosts, the cheerful advertisements, only threw into sharp relief all the depths of his melancholy.
/
Aelita and Jérémie were late home.
The sound of laughter preceded them, spilling through the opening front door and subsiding gradually as they kicked off shoes and set down briefcases. Jérémie pushed open the living room door and Odd caught the residue of a smile not meant for him. Jérémie ducked his head, adjusting his glasses.
"Hey, Odd. Doing okay?" He sunk into the adjacent chair, fingers scrabbling at his tie.
"I slept all right," Odd countered. "How was work?"
"Not bad," Jérémie and Aelita replied in unison, the latter emerging now in the vacant doorway. "Hello, Odd," Aelita added.
"Yeah, not bad, but it's pretty hectic right now." Tie finally, thankfully, loose, Jérémie began to count off events on his fingers. "We were in a meeting with our marketing director all morning, you wouldn't believe her, and then there was the patent paperwork to be finalised and sent off before lunch..."
"Basically," Aelita cut in, "I think we're ready for this week to be over." She smiled tiredly and Odd suddenly had the answer to his earlier question – having your own house and paid-off mortgage at twenty three is damned hard work – and then they were both asking him if there was anything good on T.V.
Aelita was closest, so Odd passed her the remote. He was expecting something like a documentary and so was relieved when she immediately flicked over to a game show, the contestant taking on a sleight-of-hand magician searching for a key hidden beneath a series of swiftly-rearranged cups. Kiwi wandered in and they didn't object when he curled up on the sofa. Aelita scratched him behind the ears, and Jérémie grinned when Kiwi came over and licked his hand. They didn't comment on how old the dog had become, how much slower his movements. Odd was aware, always so aware. He didn't need reminding.
They ate Chinese food, Odd put on pants and didn't pay for anything, and neither Aelita nor Jérémie had the energy to ask many questions. Sleep evaded Odd, as it usually did these days, and long into the night he felt the weight of things unsaid pressing him down as he stared at the dim ceiling.
Friday was nearly a carbon copy of the day before, with slight variables. Jérémie left the note for Odd, for one, and Odd put chocolate spread on his sandwich, for another. Finally, Aelita and Jérémie arrived home from another day of hard work and success looking a little less pleased to see Odd sitting in front of the TV. Nothing was said, their greetings lacked no warmth, but the slightest frown on Aelita's face, laced through with concern and, Odd noted with a stab of anger which startled him, pity. He curled his legs beneath himself on a pile of cushions, feeling the guilt of a teenager who hasn't done any chores before his parents return home.
He lampshaded this deliberately, setting it down beside his unheralded peace offering of tea and biscuits.
"I should have done something whilst you were out. I didn't know which chores needed doing, but if there's a list-"
They were quick to protest. "No, no. You're a guest here."
"Still. And, thanks for putting me up."
"Any time."
But did any time encompass any length of time, that was the question. Even thinking it made Odd feel ashamed of himself. He didn't deserve to be here, in this suburban house in a bustling, famous, lively city, yet here he was wondering how long he could protract his stay. He didn't deserve... and they- of course they didn't. Sitting here on angularly modern leather sofas in front of these two, immaculately groomed, so far out of his league people, Odd felt grubby and ashamed. Not that he thought it would help even if he had bothered to shower since he'd gotten here. No, this was the kind of deep-seated uncleanliness where all one's faults and insecurities crawled bare across their skin, illuminated all the more for being in the presence of two brilliant people so obviously better than yourself.
And now another question arose, a familiar one that haunted him as of late – when did Jérémie and Aelita (and Ulrich and Yumi and William and Laura) rise so far up, up, up, leaving Odd behind?
"So have you heard from them? Odd?"
"Huh?"
Jérémie quirked an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Yumi and Ulrich," he prompted again. "Do you know how they're doing?"
"Oh. Oh. Yeah, they're doing okay. Last I heard, they were making plans to fly out to England, to visit William. They're doing well. Ulrich's parents have almost recovered from the shock of him dropping out of law school."
"Huh. Only took them two years. Not as long as I thought."
"I feel so bad for him." Aelita sighed. She leaned on the armrest and ran a hand through her hair. It was shorter now, pixie-like. Jérémie's, in what Odd found an amusing contrast, was longer, and curled softly at the nape of his neck. Odd took them both in, admiring this subtle change. It surprised him how old they had all become; he himself still felt like a teenager. Lyoko was a decade ago. The thought sent terror through him like a shockwave and he fought through it with monumental effort, clawing his way back to the present moment in time to add to the ongoing conversation.
"He looks much happier, though," Odd reassured her. "Besides, he's got Yumi and she's as level-headed and organised as ever."
"Yeah. Speaking of..." Aelita's words were lost to an ominous, fading silence at about the same time that a wave of ice washed over Odd's stomach. He made a valiant effort to be subtle about swallowing the nervous lump in his throat. Here it comes, he thought, the way someone afraid of rollercoasters might inform themselves of the upcoming drop. The inevitable.
"Odd. Jéremie and I are here if you need to talk. We haven't pressed the point or anything-"
"Given you time to think it over-"
"-Yes exactly, let you gather yourself and everything. But you haven't made a single stupid joke since you got here and it's been a whole two days. You're not yourself. We're worried about you, that's all. If there's anything we can do to help, anything at all. If it's money, you know we'd-"
"It's not," Odd cut in, bringing himself to his feet with all the graceful ferocity of a scorned cat. "And, I appreciate it-" he made an effort to calm himself, ladling all of his sincerity into his words - "I really, really do, but I just need some space, and some time, to sort a few things out. Anyway." His speech had carried him, without his realising it, to the living room doorway. "I'm going to head up to bed. Goodnight, you two."
He left the room, eyes downcast.
Aelita and Jérémie turned to one another, turning up the volume on the TV to discourage any would-be eavesdroppers lingering on the staircase.
"Well, that went well," said Jérémie.
Aelita chewed her bottom lip and tapped out an anxious rhythm against her knees. "I was hoping he'd open up more. Maybe Ulrich will get more out of him."
"That's what I thought, except... why come to us and not them?"
"You don't think they're..."
Jérémie shrugged. "Could be."
"But Odd and Ulrich never argue," Aelita protested. "If they do, it's over something so inconsequential that they've forgotten it after about five minutes."
"Relationship problems, then?"
"Sissi?"
"It would make sense."
In the relentless pursuit for romantic fulfilment, and without the pitfalls of Lyoko to contend with, Odd had eventually ventured to date Sissi Delmas. It was a chaotic and surprisingly long-lasting relationship, which had fizzled out at last a few months ago when, or so the story went, they had finally run out of things about which to argue. They had both taken it hard, but Sissi at least appeared to be moving on. She was very meticulous about ensuring the entire social networking world was updated minute by minute on all the most mundane details of her existence, and there was nothing horribly telling on any of her profiles.
"Maybe he hasn't fully processed everything with Sissi yet," Aelita said as she thought about this. "I know it's been a while since it ended, but the aftermath of these things can be so painful. Their relationship was so intense."
Jérémie nodded.
"Maybe. Or job issues?"
"He loves his job."
"Well, that's the only other thing I can think of."
Aelita stretched, heaving a sigh as she switched off the television. "All we can do right now is be here for him. He'll come around. We should get in touch with the others, just in case."
Jérémie followed her up to bed. In the dark warmth of their bedroom Aelita cupped his face in her palm and kissed him deeply, her other hand reaching for him beneath the gradual warmth of the sheets.
"Quietly," he hissed, and she laughed softly as she felt him blush. His hands hovered; impatiently Aelita took one and placed it against her breast, moaning gratefully as his fingers kneaded the soft skin there.
If something was amiss in their lovemaking, they put it down to concern for their friend, nothing more.
/
Odd lay awake and berated himself.
You haven't cracked a single stupid joke since you got here.
It was true, he realised. And they had come back, exhausted, from a house that neither had clearly had time to dust for a while, with him sitting there, and there was no sugar-coating it, moping. He needed to try harder, to reconstruct some semblance of his old self and hope he would fit back into his personality like a second skin, smoothing out the creases and adjusting himself to fit. He sat up in bed for a while, staring at nothing, trying to conjure some enthusiasm for the upcoming day.
They always seemed to be out of the house long before he woke up; he wondered what time they got up. Stupid o'clock, some ungodly hour where he was still so deeply asleep that the loudest alarm clock in the world couldn't rouse him. Odd felt the emptiness of the house and beyond that the reassuringly normal sounds of the city, Paris already alive and swept up in the routine of another working day. Odd dressed in jeans and a loose shirt, delved in himself for a sense of purpose, and got to work.
There was something reassuring about daily routines, the rhythmic dipping of dishes into soapy water before wiping them dry, sorting mail into piles once it landed on the doormat. He even cooked, recovering some of the old satisfaction he had once enjoyed from coalescing myriad ingredients into something wholesome and satisfying. And he drew, too, forsaking television in favour of a sketchbook. He drew Kiwi until the dog woke up, and he drew the flowers on the hallway table, and he drew – with a little embarrassed nostalgia – elven princesses and boys at computers.