Part I
Ian expected the rush to wear off after the first twenty-four hours of landing home, but it had already been a week. He'd signed off the cargo delivery himself, unpacked the cardboard boxes, painted the walls with his girlfriend, gone shopping for bedding and groceries, made breakfast for six mornings, and still hadn't managed to suppress the effervescence of adrenaline. He now understood what 'too excited' meant.
Standing in front of the door, he could hardly hear his knuckles rapping over the thumping of blood in his ears. When Melanie opened the door he stood there for ages, almost unable to recognize her. No longer was she the willowy tomboy who could give him a run for his money at soccer. Everything about her, from the way she stood in the doorway to what she was wearing presented the image of a mature, grown woman.
That illusion was soon shattered when she tackled him for a bear hug and squealed. With her firm grip on his torso, it was evident that she could still have him sweating in the playing field until the sun went down.
"Oh my God!" she shrieked, prodding at his pecks and pulling his hair to make sure he was real. "I can't believe it! I can't! Get! Out!"
"We haven't even come inside." The comment instigated a few chuckles, but it wasn't Ian's. It couldn't have been him because the accent was foreign, the voice female, and clearly not as out of breath as his.
Melanie finally set Ian free to grab the young woman behind him. "You must be Olivia."
"Missed you too, Mel." Ian regained his breath while the women exchanged kisses.
The couple was then nearly dragged into the living room. Looking around, Ian noticed a few changes. Different curtains, a new sofa, some rearrangements with a few pieces of furniture, but it was the same house, the same floor, and the same smell. It was the air of his childhood and he breathed it in ecstatically. He felt as if he'd found a broken piece of himself latching back into place.
"How goes it, Ian?" someone behind him asked. The deep baritone voice inflected like Jamie's, but when he turned around the boy staring up at him was clearly ten inches too tall.
"Jamie!" Ian exclaimed, and they high-fived. He was still a bit shorter than him so he tousled his hair, saying "My main man."
"Check it out," Jamie said, pointing to the three meagre hairs on his chin.
"Nice," Ian replied, and they fist-bumped this time. "The ladies do dig facial hair."
Jamie tried to smile, and Melanie eyed Ian with a brief glare that lasted only a second.
"Jamie, is this how we treat our new guest?"
He turned around to face Olivia. "Oh right, can I get you anything, Olivia?"
"A glass of water would be just fine."
"Why don't you show her around while you're at it?" Melanie suggested, a clear cue that she wanted to be alone with Ian. Jamie gestured for Olivia to follow him into the kitchen.
Melanie hit Ian across the shoulder when they were gone.
"What was that for?"
"In the closet, dumbass."
"What?"
"Jamie," she said, with gritted teeth.
"You mean he's-"
"Don't say it out loud," she whispered. "He'll hear you."
"Okay..." Ian furrowed his eyebrows and sank into the sofa. "How do you even know that?"
"Tell me you didn't notice the artifice of his reaction to 'the ladies.'"
Ian processed this, slack-jawed and itching his chin. "He could just be shy."
"He's constantly trying to prove his manliness."
"Like most teenaged boys."
Melanie crossed her arms. "I checked his internet history," she admitted.
Ian was disgusted. "Melanie." He said, in a tone of disappointment. She sighed, taking a seat next to him.
"Well, your girlfriend is something, alright," Melanie said, a deliberate attempt in changing subjects. "A glass of water." She did a poor imitation of Olivia's British intonations.
"It's more like whoa-turr."
"Whoa-tuh?"
"What is that? New York?"
"Ah, forget it, it's hopeless," Melanie grumbled. "How did Ian O'Shea hit that?"
"Oh, y'know," Ian shrugged. "Regular O'Shea charm."
"You lured her to some varsity soccer game didn't you?" Melanie looked at him disapprovingly.
"It worked, didn't it?"
They had a good laugh and quickly transitioned into the remember whens and the don't even remind me's like most old friends do, letting out one chuckle after the other, until they could scarcely breathe. They kept going farther and farther back in time, until the inevitable name was uttered. Melanie was actually surprised they'd made it this far without mentioning her.
"Wanda really loved that baseball glove, didn't she?" Melanie chortled.
Ian laughed in agreement, and their fit ended in a sad sigh. "Can I see her?"
Melanie's expression went from mildly amused to sullen. "We need to talk."
At that moment the doorbell rang. "Jamie!" She shouted across the living room. "The door!"
She gave Ian a beady look.
"You didn't happen to invite Kyle, did you?"
"Let Kyle near Olivia? Do I look like I'm on drugs?"
Melanie only shrugged, a mock suggestion that it was possible. "How is he?"
"In Oregon with his premature mid-life crisis."
"What, Sunny?" Melanie asked, wide-eyed. "The receptionist?"
"Yeah, my bet was on Jodi too."
"You can't ever tell with that guy, can you?"
The bell rang again, with more persistence.
"I'll get the door, then," Melanie said to herself, standing upright. To her relief, it wasn't Kyle, Jodi or Sunny. Just a man with flaming red hair whose face she vaguely recalled seeing before.
"You must be Wanda's sister, Melanie," He said.
"Um, yes," Melanie replied. "And you?"
"We've met before, actually. I'm Mr. Burns. Her Art History teacher."
"Oh," Melanie said to herself, opening the door wider. "Why don't you come inside?"
"That's fine actually. I won't be long." His hand shuffled around his coat pocket. "Before graduation, Wanda contributed a few pieces for my wife's gallery in NYC. I just wanted to let you know some buyers are interested. I just haven't been able to get in touch with her."
"Wanda never told me anything about-"
"That's quite alright. Just let her know I was here and have her call this number."
Mr. Burns produced a card from his pocket and handed it to Melanie.
"Are you sure you don't want to-"
"I must get going, Ms. Stryder. Thank you for your time."
Melanie watched him leave and shut the door only when it started to get cold.
In the living room, Olivia, Jamie and Ian were staring at her, waiting for an explanation.
"That guy sure looked like the Art History teacher from school," Jamie commented.
Melanie looked as if she wasn't quite in the same room as them. She excused herself, climbing up the stairs with too much force. Sensing the tension in the room, Jamie decided it was up to him to maintain the illusion of normalcy.
"So Ian," He said. "Olivia here tells me you've decided to be a stay-at-home boyfriend for a year."
"Uh huh," Ian replied, distracted. It felt as if he'd been here nearly an hour, and he still hadn't been able to do what he'd come here for.
"So, tell me. How'd you two meet?"
"Well, Ian and I both support Manchester United and-"
"I'm going to go make myself a drink," Ian announced with too much urgency, heading towards the stairs.
"The kitchen's that way," Olivia pointed to the left, even though she intuited he was going after Melanie.
Ian found her with her face in her hands, sitting in the hall near Wanda's door. Wanda, whose heart he'd broken when he decided to leave the states for college. Wanda who hadn't returned his calls, messages, or letters in three years. Wanda, whose eighteenth birthday he'd missed, whose graduation he wasn't able to witness, whose entire teenhood went by without him by her side.
"Mel?"
She looked up at him, stressed. "She won't talk to me."
He took a seat beside her. "That makes two of us." A comforting arm wrapped around Melanie. "Why not?"
She sniffled. "Ever since I brought up Art School, she thinks I'm trying to get rid of her."
"Are you?"
At first she glowered at him, then her expression was more pained. "Of course not. I'm just… worried."
"We've always known Wanda's a little different. She goes at her own pace."
"She needs to grow up sometime. And I'm afraid if I don't make her do it, she never will."
"Have you asked her what she wants?"
"Time. That's all she ever says," Melanie said, massaging her temples. "She needs time."
"Then give her time. She can go to college when she's nineteen. Or twenty. Or whenever she thinks she's ready. The first rule with Wanda is to never rush."
Melanie pursed her lips and looked directly at him. "You were always so good with her."
"Before she stopped talking to me."
Melanie looked away from guilt. "I never told you this because I didn't want you to worry."
"Told me what?" Ian's muscles tightened. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to face him. "Told me what, Melanie?"
She sighed. "High school's been hard for her. Without you, she's had to fight her own fights."
It was now Ian's turn to feel the waves of guilt swallow him. "That's why she stopped talking to me? Because she was worrying about me?"
"Typical Wanda, right? Selfless beyond comprehension. Fragile, sensitive, and let's be honest - a little weird. We love her, but can you imagine those teenaged assholes understanding her… condition."
"Don't," Ian warned. "Don't you dare reduce her personality to a condition."
"She's an eighteen-year-old with the emotional intelligence of a child. What am I supposed to call it?"
"Well, not autism. It's an insult to people who actually have to deal with that."
"Like you're the expert, here."
"She didn't have much of a childhood, Melanie. It's alright for a person who didn't have one to extend that time period beyond what's considered the norm."
"God, who made you a shrink?"
"I'm starting to understand why she stopped talking to you."
"Stop acting like you know everything!" Melanie shrieked, receding to her bedroom.
"Who's being the child now?" Ian yelled back.
"Oh, fuck off!"
"Real classy, Melanie."
"WILL YOU TWO STOP IT, RIGHT NOW?!"
It was more of an order than a question. Heavily engaged in defeating one another in their churlish verbal battle, they hadn't noticed Wanda's door open. Or that she had been standing there for a full minute listening to them theorize about her. But Wanda had their full attention, now.
"I won't talk to either of you until you realize that everything is not about you!"
Wanda was certain that was the loudest and most commanding she'd been in her entire life. She was too upset herself to survey Melanie's dumbfounded reaction or even look at Ian, whom she had been dying to see in years. She immediately went back inside her room, slamming the door behind her.
Melanie stared at the door vacantly, while Ian stood very still, trying to process the image of the teenaged girl who'd just yelled at him. In his mind, Wanda still looked nine years old, with plaited hair and mismatched socks. The girl at the door had a considerably small frame, but with the filled-out figure and feminine curves of a young woman. The voice though – the high-pitched, girlish voice – definitely belonged to his Wanda.
"Hey, guys," Jamie called from downstairs. "I have some bad news."
Melanie made her way towards him. "If the food's burnt we can just get pizza."
"No, it's real bad news," Jamie replied. Ian and Melanie both now noticed Jamie's downcast mood.
"Jamie, baby, what happened?" Melanie cooed, rushing to take his hand.
"Walter's dead," He announced. "Gladys just invited us to the funeral."
Ian sighed. "That explains a lot."
Part II
He knocked on her door three times.
"I'm coming in," Ian warned.
Her arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders, as he'd expected. He remembered, almost a decade ago now, when Jeb had first brought her to Arizona and she'd gone into her catatonic state of mourning. Jamie was too young to understand what was going on, Melanie too scared to to approach her, and Jeb too lax to intervene in what he believed to be a necessary process.
On the third day, Ian had come to Melanie's with a soccer ball in hand and found Wanda in the exact same position. He felt he should at least try to help. He didn't know how to make her talk or eat, but felt she deserved some companionship in her state of grieving. He dropped the ball, went to where she was sat, and adopted the exact same posture. This was something none of them had tried, and after a few hours she became annoyed with him.
"What do you want?" She'd demanded.
"To make you feel better," he'd said. "Like the rest of them."
"Then leave me alone."
"You're being very rude, you know," he pointed out. "All they want is to make you a part of their family."
Wanda remembered feeling very ashamed. She cried her eyes out and Ian propped up his head on his bent knees and watched. When she started hiccupping, he felt it was time for a hug. They'd been best friends ever since.
This time went slightly differently, but Ian had years of practice dealing with an upset Wanda.
He settled his limbs on the floor and leaned against the bed frame, close to where Wanda was sitting cross-legged, but careful not to invade her space.
Then when the time was right, he opened the bag of Cheetos he'd been hiding in his pocket as noisily as he could. The smell soon wafted through the entire room. He anticipated some snappy reaction of anger or irritation, but her response was to burst into tears. Loud, ugly, uncontrollable sobs.
Ian knew how to work with that. Wanda's silent treatment was the hardest wall to get through. Her tears meant she was allowing herself to be vulnerable. It meant she wanted to be comforted.
Ian's arms carefully circled around her waist, and pulled her into his lap. He let her cry into her chest, stroked her hair, rested his chin on top of her head, and said nothing for a full hour. Her hiccupping phase began, and he tightened his hold. When she'd settled down, he reached out for the Cheetos. She ate in silence for a while and then settled back into the tight embrace.
Her voice was hoarse, but sweet as ever. "Do you still like mint chocolate chip?"
Ian smiled. "Is Cheetos still your favourite thing in the whole wide world?"
She broke his hold, feigning anger. "You're my favourite thing in the whole wide world."
"I thought that would have changed after I missed four birthdays and your graduation."
"I missed four of your birthdays, and your graduation, too. Does that mean I'm not your favourite anymore?"
He repositioned himself so he could face her. "Why wouldn't you talk to me, then? For four years?"
"What would I tell you? That the girls at school are mean, and the boys just talk to me to look under my skirt? You know I can't lie."
"You could tell me about all this." He pointed to the hundreds of drawings pinned on Wanda's walls. "C'mon, Wanda. We always said we were forever."
"You didn't answer my question."
"What?"
"Am I not your favourite anymore?" A tiny part of her actually believed their years of separation could have changed things.
Ian had no such doubts, though. "Of course you're my favourite. What sort of a stupid question is that?"
Wanda gave Ian a sly smile. "I heard about Olivia," She teased. "Your English girlfriend."
"Ollie's Scottish," Ian corrected. "And the fact that you think my girlfriend could replace you is just offensive."
"Do you still practice on the mirror before you kiss her?" Wanda giggled as she watched Ian blush. "How has she not died yet from your rotten mint chocolate chip breath?"
Ian struggled to find leverage. "Melanie showed me your prom pictures, you know. I know about Wes. I wonder how he liked your Cheeto mouth."
"Wes has an older girlfriend," Wanda said smugly.
"Does the fact that you think I replaced you with Olivia mean you'll replace me with your future boyfriend?"
"Boys are gross."
"Your girlfriend, then."
"Girls are rude."
"Is that why don't want to go to college?" Ian asked. "Because you think the boys are gross and the girls are all rude? I can tell you right now it's not."
"Easy for you to say," Wanda pouted. "You're normal. Normal people have a swell time at high school and in college."
"Would a normal person do this?" Wanda could feel what came next, but Ian was too fast. Before her hands could shield her face, he swooped in to lick her cheek.
"Ew!" Wanda squealed, wiping the moist cheek. He did the same to the other cheek and quickly retreated into the bed, kicking his shoes off. "Ew, ew, ew! Ian! You are the worst!"
He could feel Wanda climbing on, and hid his face under the mass of cushions on the bed.
"The worst!"
Wanda had him right where she wanted. She sat down on his torso, putting her entire weight on him and grabbed a pillow.
"How do you like me now?" she squealed and began beating the pillow down on him through the cushion shield.
Five minutes into the pounding, he decided he needed to breathe and grabbed her back so she was lying on top of him, hands in a tangle, momentarily handicapped. After a good five minutes of her wriggling against his hold, he decided it was time to let her win. She gained a good position sitting on his chest again, and removed the cushions. Ian closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst. Wanda spat into both her hands and proceeded to massage Ian's face. Just when she was about to lick his nose, there was a knock on the door and she jumped up.
It was Jared. Wanda's heart nearly burst out of her chest.
"I am not even going to ask," Jared said, staring at her positioned on top of a pained Ian. He mouthed "Help."
"Dinner's ready," Jared announced.
"Revenge first," Wanda bargained, and Jared gave her a menacing look. "Okay, we'll be right down."
"Still a pansy, O'Shea," Jared added before leaving.
"You're such a butt, Ian," Wanda said, taking her weight off him.
"You're a bigger butt," Ian retaliated, slightly out of breath. They headed to the bathroom together.
"You're the biggest butt there is." They began soaping up at the sink.
"You mean a Wanda butt?"
Wanda gave him a wild look and climbed onto his back with soapy hands, lathering him with foam. "You take that back."
"Make me."
She proceeded to lick the back of his ear.
A/N: Stay tuned for the next chapter, "Dinner". Some info: I expect this story to be less than ten chapters. Another rom-com-esque AU is on its way. I'm going for a college theme. kthanxbye