A plotless one-shot set in the same 'verse as My Mind on Your Body. Works as either a prequel or a sequel, whichever you prefer.
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.
Nux wakes to a million technicolor pictures dancing behind his eyelids. He lays in bed with his eyes closed for a few minutes more, cataloging each image for that fleeting moment before they disappear. As he opens his eyes, he reaches for his phone, punches the first speed dial, and waits for the line to connect.
"Hello?"
"It was the satellite dream last night."
"Oh yeah?" Capable's voice on the other end is sleepy, but not so out of it as she sometimes is. She barely stifles a yawn. "Were you up in space again?"
"Yeah, like I was floating. Purple blue pink. Nnnn, shooting stars?" He's babbling nonsensically, stream of consciousness as he tries to string together the fragments of his night visions. "Pieces of shrapnel too. Like a scrap yard in the stars. It wasn't like... like Gravity where everything was fuckin' insane. It was more quiet like. Like, the, uh, when they play that song, that one, that duh duh nuh nuh nuh—"
"—Schubert. No, no, uh... Strauss. Uhh, The Blue Danube."
"—Yeah."
"Mm. Any messages?"
Nux squints, the ugly popcorn ceiling becoming splotches of blurred yellow-gray. He rubs absently at the dark circles around his eyes that make him look ghastly and absolutely refuse to go away. (The soreness has become so familiar he barely even feels it anymore, a product of his terrible sleep schedule.) "Not sure. I can't remember if there was."
"Was I there this time?"
"Don't think so. You were probably still down on earth, doing earth things. Good things."
"Mmm."
He shifts onto his side, where the pillow feels cool against his cheek. "You got work today?"
"Yeah, Bunnings. I have a full shift today, open and close. Fuck Sunday shifts," Capable groans.
He chuckles under his breath. "Stay away from the nail guns."
"You on-call?"
"Yeah, technically? But I think Ace is gonna try to give me a break when he can, 'cause I worked like 90 hours this week."
"'Kay. Text me."
"I will."
He places his phone back on the nightstand and settles back into bed for a few more hours of sleep.
By the time he wakes up again, it's almost noon. Capable is at work by now, and will probably be on her lunch break soon, so he sends her a quick text so she has something to read when she takes it.
It's too late for him to make a Jack's run, and the same probably goes for Macca's. (Not too late to go at all, but they've stopped serving those breakfast wraps by now.) He eats cold cereal from a coffee mug instead.
Capable replies to his text earlier than he expects. He tries to keep his replies short. He doesn't want her to risk getting fired from hiding her phone in her apron.
By the time noon rolls around, he's still sitting with his phone at the table, working through his third mug of cereal.
(12:07) [Cape] Sad desk lunch
(12:07) [Nux] u dont have a desk
(12:07) [Cape] Sad break room lunch
(12:07) [Nux] well
(12:07) [Nux] i had cereal.. in a mug
(12:08) [Cape] Why didn't you go get something?
(12:08) [Nux] woke up 2 late
(12:08) [Nux] for brekky wraps
(12:08) [Nux] and nuthin here
(12:08) [Cape] Cook something...
(12:08) [Nux] i cbb
(12:08) [Cape] SMH…
(12:09) [Cape] Those wraps are so bad for you
(12:09) [Nux] w/e :(
(12:09) [Nux] BREKKY WRAPS R FUCKN DELICIOUS!
(12:09) [Cape] Tell that to Dag :P
(12:09) [Nux] no thx i like having my balls still attached 2 my body
Her sister Dagny is a devout vegan. She's the type to grab the loudest megaphone and picket against inhumane corporate food practices. Recently her sights have been set on Hungry Jack's and their refusal to use cage-free chicken and eggs in their food. Her other four sisters avoid whichever establishments Dag ostracizes, out of courtesy, and Capable never tries to push her sister's ideals on him, but that doesn't stop Dag from trying on her own. He remembers the time Dag literally slapped a chicken sandwich right out of his hands, screaming about the cruel practices done on the poor creatures to get him that food. After that, it took both Capable and Cheedo tugging on their arms to put an end to their little shouting match.
(12:18) [Cape] Did I leave my quilt at your place?
(12:18) [Nux] yea
(12:19) [Cape] Ok because I need it
(12:19) [Nux] what will u give me for it
(12:19) [Cape] Nux...
(12:25) [Nux has attached a photo: ]
(12:26) [Nux] we have ur quilt
(12:26) [Nux] 1million brekky wraps or the quilt gets it
(12:26) [Nux] 1 thread at a time
(12:26) [Cape] OMG :(
(12:32) [Nux] how do u tell the difference between blood and rasberry jam?
(12:33) [Cape] Why...
(12:34) [Nux] theres a?
(12:34) [Nux] questionable stain
(12:34) [Nux] in my food cabinet
(12:34) [Nux] n it looks like blood but it cud be rasberry jam
(12:35) [Cape] Why would it be blood..
(12:35) [Nux] idk
(12:39) [Nux] ok i licked it
(12:39) [Nux] its jam
(12:39) [Cape] Mystery solved
(12:50) [Cape] There's a guy standing at the corner
(12:50) [Cape] With a sign that says "Homeless because of gay people in the media"
(12:51) [Nux] pics
(12:51) [Cape] No that's rude
(12:51) [Nux] pls :(
(12:52) [Cape] I'm not sure if I should give him money
(12:52) [Cape] He's homeless
(12:52) [Nux] dont
(12:52) [Nux] wait
(12:52) [Nux] do it
(12:52) [Nux] and take pics
(12:53) [Nux] u'll thank me when it goes viral
Capable stops answering his texts after that, so her lunch break must be over.
The remainder of his afternoon is rather uneventful, as far as his standards go. He gets two calls from Ace for tows: one roadside assistance for a guy who broke down on the highway, and one wreck downtown. Even if it does make his afternoon far less exciting, he's thankful for a day of not having to deal with illegally parked cars and the angry owners that go with them. He's still sporting the peculiar scar across the bridge of his nose when one such guy slashed at his face with a J-hook.
By evening, he's sitting on his couch, watching some action-drama program while channel surfing.
He hears her before he sees her, the rattle of the doorknob as Capable works the lock and storms into his apartment.
"Bad day?" he observes.
"Tim Tams," she grunts, rooting through his kitchen. He always keeps a package stocked at his place, left cabinet next to the fridge, bottom shelf so she can reach. She stalks back into his living room with the package in her hands and a biscuit cookie dangling between her lips.
"Customers are stupid," Capable seethes with her mouth full. She flops down on the couch with her head in Nux's lap, clutching the package of Tim Tams like she's afraid somebody might try and rip it out of her hands. Nux puts the television on mute and tosses the remote aside.
"What happened?"
"Stupid piece of shit old guy with long hair and a bald spot on his head. Walks into the store and looks around, so I go over to ask if he needs help with anything. 'Oh, honey, I'm looking for somebody who works here.' I'm like, 'Sir, I do work here.' But no, guy won't have it, looks at me like I'm fuckin' five. Keeps insisting I get a man to help him. So finally I get Morsov, and every time the guy asks him a question, Morsov has to come to me to help answer anyway. Every. Single. Time."
Nux lets out a huff of breath that is both understanding and annoyed. "Ugly smeg," he agrees. He'd been the one to suggest her job at the hardware store when he quit. It's not what she wants to do for the rest of her life, but it helps pay the bills in-between teaching people guitar and her sparse music gigs, and besides which, she's a fast learner and perfectly knowledgeable at her job.
Capable swats at his hand as he tries to sneak a cookie out of the container balanced on her belly.
"Gimme one."
"No, I need them," she whines, but she lets him take a Tim Tam. He crunches into the biscuit, careful not to get any crumbs on her, licking the remnants off his palm. (He's not all that fond of sweet things, but they're Capable's favorite.)
He folds over at a rather awkward angle and affectionately bumps his nose against her forehead. "Let's murder him," he hums with the air of somebody casually suggesting dinner plans. "Yeah. Let's shred him apart and feed his intestines to the crows."
Capable makes a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. "We can't murder people, Nux."
"Why not?"
"Because it's illegal."
"Stupid people should be illegal."
"This is why you don't get to solve my problems," she murmurs, but there's a spark of laughter in her eyes now, and the sight of it makes him grin wide. "Why's he doing that?" Capable says, gesturing vaguely to the TV, which is still on mute. The guy on TV is slicing his way through a hall full of baddies, armed with nothing but a suit jacket and a knife.
"I dunno. I think they kidnapped his partner or something. You take a shower?"
"No, came right over." She rolls off his lap and heads to Nux's bedroom, carrying the now-empty package of Tim Tams with her. She's sweaty and she smells like sawdust.
He flips the sound back on the TV, watching the rest of the program, even though he's missed a large chunk of the middle and he doesn't really understand what's going on anymore. "What about Italian tonight?" he hollers over the TV, loud enough for her to hear.
"Had Italian with Toast and Angharad like two days ago."
"I can go to the store."
Capable pokes her head out the doorway. From the sight of her bare shoulder he can see she's already ditched the top, the strap of her bra peeking out from behind a curtain of red curls. "You don't have to," she says, looking shy.
"Can you make that crispy chicken-thing with the rice please?"
"Okay."
He fishes his keys from his pocket and heads down to his car.
Nux comes back carrying paper bags full of groceries in his arms. Capable has already emerged from the bathroom, clad in one of Nux's old sweaters (too big on him and much too big on her) and a pair of yoga pants she keeps stashed in one of his drawers. She's pulling odds and ends from the food cabinet, and he sees she's already cleaned the red stain off the cabinet wall.
She takes one of the bags from him and starts unloading it onto the table. He's bought the chicken breast she needs (free-range) and a small bag of rice (not the brand she prefers but she'll make due) and another package of Tim Tams.
"Capable?"
She looks up from her sorting to glance at him. He's holding up a splitting axe.
"Decapitation is also murder, Nux."
He puts the axe down. "'Kay."
The chicken is baking in the oven and Capable is at the stove stirring sauce in a little saucepan. He chops the scallions nice and small. He's been relegated to veggie duty because Capable doesn't trust him around fire, but sharp things seem to be a-okay. When the stalks are all chopped up, he arranges the pile to look like a dick and laughs at his own artfulness. Grinning, he looks over to Capable to show off his handiwork, but she has her full attention on the pan. He carefully sweeps the dick-scallions into a bowl and sets it aside.
"Hey, Cape?"
She doesn't look up from the saucepan, doesn't acknowledge she heard him, but he goes on anyway.
"Will you marry me?"
"Try this," she says, holding up a ladle of honey-garlic sauce. He comes over and samples a bit. "What does it need?"
Nux smacks his lips. "Mmmm. I like it," he says with a nod.
"Think it needs more soy sauce. Oh." She stops and looks up at him and blinks. "Yeah, I think I will one day."
"Hm." He wipes at the corner of his mouth with his thumb and his smile goes a bit dreamy. "Yeah. Me too."
"What's this one? An angel?" Capable taps the inside of his elbow with a delicate fingernail.
He's trying to eat his dinner with one arm while the other is stretched across the table where Capable can reach and trace her fingertips over the inked lines. He can't use chopsticks worth shit, so he's eating with a spoon instead. Capable somehow manages to daintily maneuver her chopsticks with one hand while inspecting his sleeve.
"A Valkyrie," he garbles around a mouthful of rice. "They're from Norse mythology."
"Chooser of the slain, bringing of those who die in battle to the hall of the afterlife," Capable recites wistfully.
"Yeah. You're so smart. How'd you get so smart."
"I went to uni. You were there, remember?"
"Technically I wasn't." He dropped out at the end of his second year.
She runs the pad of her thumb over the curve of an inky wing. The touch shoots a pleasant little shiver down the back of his skull. "What if all your tattoos are like that girl on Blindspot? Like they all hold a message," she hums.
"Subconscious?"
"Yeah. You'd be like the satellite in your dreams. The one with the messages."
"Haven't a clue what message I'd be saying though," he laughs.
Capable seems to seriously ponder this. She plucks off a piece of scallion from her bowl with her fingers and chews on it thoughtfully.
"'Has science gone too far?'" she supplies.
"'Valhalla or riot,'" he chimes in.
"'Unhealthy obsession with brekky wraps.'"
"'I've got a splitting axe and I'm not afraid to use it.'"
"'Need a tow? Call now.'"
"'Redhead? Eating my Tim Tams? It's more likely than you think.'"
She flicks a grain of rice in his direction and calls him an asshole, in a loving way.
After dinner, they settle in against each other and watch a few shows on his Netflix queue. Capable has her quilt wrapped around her shoulders while she's curled up against his side. She wants to relax after an exhausting day, so they forgo the usual rounds of Mario Kart or Super Smash Brothers in favor of riffing over episodes of How I Met Your Mother. He asks if she thinks Neil Patrick Harris is the cause for that homeless guy at work and Capable jabs him in the ribs.
She's dozing against him in the middle of Barney Stinson's heartfelt speech about his undying love, and she looks so peaceful he hates the thought of jostling her but he does, as gently as he can manage.
"You need me to drive you back?" he murmurs, brushing his nose against her temple. He doesn't mind if she wants to stay over, but he likes to make sure she knows she has a choice, always. He feels her nod against his shoulder, so he carefully peels himself off the couch and grabs his keys.
"Gas guzzler," Capable sings sleepily as they climb into his gas-guzzling SUV.
"One million gallons of guzzoline in exchange for the safe return of your quilt," Nux hums warmly, carefully tucking the quilt over her shoulders as she curls up in the passenger seat.
Capable is asleep by the time he pulls out onto the street. There's not much traffic out, and he's careful to avoid the potholes in the shitty road to keep the ride nice and smooth. When he arrives at her apartment, he doesn't even need to shake her awake. She's already fluttering her eyes open; it's like she just knows. Together they walk up the one flight of stairs to her apartment.
"I want this back," he says as he's wrapping her up in his arms for her goodnight hug, tugging lightly on the sleeve of the sweater she's stolen from him.
Capable balances her chin on his shoulder, tries not to speak too loud as she murmurs in his ear, "What will you give me for it?"
His hides his smile against her neck.
For a long moment, they simply hold each other. It's comfortable and familiar, but no less pleasant than every time they've done it before. (They never take these moments for granted.)
"You sure you don't want me to kill that guy?" he asks again.
She's quiet for a long moment before she answers. "I'm sure."
"I'd do it, y'know. For you."
Another pause. He feels her nod against his shoulder. "I know."
"'Night, Cape."
"G'night, Nux."
He takes the stairs back down two at a time.
There aren't any new text messages waiting for him by the time he makes it back to his apartment. She was exhausted, so he can't blame her. He doesn't bother taking off his jeans and just crawls under the covers starting from the foot of the bed.
Sleep doesn't come easy. He stares up at the ugly ceiling for what feels like hours.
For a long time, he's known he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, whatever that means to them. There's no doubt in his mind, and everyday they spend together just makes him that the rest of his life is going to be fucking awesome.
He closes his eyes and tries to get as much sleep as he can.