A/N: It's like, crap. But hopefully, a little better. I wish I could blame it on the fact that I haven't had much time to write lately and still feel rusty, but sometimes, I just suck. (sigh) Plotless.

Late Night
1frickengirl

He doesn't like it when I come home like this. He'd rather I call first, so he can get up from his desk, slap on his old leather jacket and jump on his hunk of junk of motorcycle and pick me up from the shop. He doesn't like it when I come home alone. Says it's because it's late and he doesn't want me taking the public transit by myself at night.

Sometimes, I don't believe that's the reason though.

I kick off my boots and shimmy out of my coat, shivering as the cold apartment air bites my skin. I always tell him to talk to the superintendent about taking a look at our radiator, but he promises me that he can fix it up himself with a kick or two. And sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. And I usually have to take a vow of celibacy before he agrees to ring up the superintendent downstairs.

He hears me from the kitchen, walking out from behind the corner and giving me a slight glare of annoyance. He settles the plate of grilled cheese sandwich in his hand down on the kitchen table beside his books, resuming his seat. He doesn't turn around. "You seem cold," he says.

I fold my hands behind my back, walking toward him with my gaze concentrated on the ground. I nod, even though I know he isn't looking at me in all his grumpiness. "Not really," I say, "The bus came on time. And Grej bought me a cup of coffee before I left."

"Grej?"

"Yeah, you remember Grej." I rest my hands on his shoulders, sliding them down to meet halfway down his chest. I kiss his cheek. "He drove me home last week."

He turns away from me, glancing back down at his books and the messy piece of paper before him, filled with eraser marks and smudged lines where words used to be. "I don't like Grej."

I shrug, playing with the buttons of his shirt as I press myself against him, relishing the heat. Taking in his wonderfully addictive scent after a whole day of nothing but the stench of oil and gas. "You didn't like him last week either." I sigh, pulling myself off of him and heading toward the bedroom. "But he's a nice guy, y'know. He invited us to a party this Friday. D'you wanna go?"

I hear him sigh and tap his pencil wildly against the wooden table as he calculates the number of assignments he has due this week and the time it's going to take him to finish them. Sometimes – and he would think I'm completely weird for this – I wish we switched roles.

"If you want."

I frown, peeking out the bedroom door to look at him. "I'm asking you."

He leans his head in his palm, staring down at the ugly words on his paper. It makes me feel slightly guilty, but I know he feels the same way whenever he sees me wake up at six in the morning to pack my peanut butter and banana sandwich lunch. Usually, I'm very quiet about it. But I always end up accidentally poking him or jabbing him, or shaking the bed too much when I get up that he gets up along with me anyway. Just to make sure I don't feel lonely before I leave the apartment.

"He's your friend."

I raise my eyebrow at him, placing one hand on my hip as I give him a stern glare. "C'mon, make up your mind already. I'm not going anywhere if you can't." I soften my tone a bit at the end because I know I shouldn't be getting upset with him. He's had just as bad of a day as me, probably even worse with all those funny lookin' formulas and equations he has to remember. "I can stay home and finish some chores instead. No biggie," I say.

He lets out a sigh of amusement, and finally turns to face me from his spot on the chair. "But I bet Grej'll have good food."

I skip back toward him, snatching the sandwich off his plate and taking a large bite. "And I have your grilled cheese delights." I give him a big, nasty kiss on the cheek and he lets out a groan of disgust. I giggle excessively.

"I worked hard making that, you know. And I'm pretty damn hungry," he tells me with an exaggerated frown. He stands up, cradling me in his arms as his hands rest at my sides. He leans down to press his face against mine. "And I thought you were on a diet." He says the word like it's a death sentence.

I slowly nod, thinking for a moment before replying, "But I never said what kind of diet." I trail my fingers up his back, staring back into his gaze. "So you got too many assignments or what?"

"Yeah, I got a lot."

"Okay. Then we won't go." I release him and take another bite before setting the sandwich back down on his plate. I turn back to look at him, the somber expression on his face making me feel awkward. Because I know he wants to go but he can't. And I know he knows that I want to go but I can't if he can't. I don't really mind sticking by him though, supporting him every time this sort of stuff happens. That's what married couples do, right?

"Cheer up," I say, patting his cheek playfully. Then, in a low voice, "We can always have our own private party."

He sweeps me into his arms then, swiftly carrying me backward over to the couch and tossing me down before climbing over me. He keeps a steady face as I try to stifle my giggles to no avail. He hovers above me before burying his head in my chest, shaking it ruthlessly as he lets out an animal like growl that I immediately scowl at him for.

"I can't help it," he says, lifting his head to kiss me. "I haven't seen you all day."

I bend my head to the side, smirking at him as he casually slides his hand underneath my blouse. "But you've been hitting the books hard, haven't you? Isn't that a good enough distraction for you?"

He scoffs, "I've got a lab report due tomorrow which I've barely started on." He glances at the clock. Ten thirty. "Which I doubt I'll finish by tomorrow anyway."

I push him off of me the instant he unhooks my bra. He lets out a surprised yell as he lands on the hardwood floor, staring up at my irritated glare in confusion. I let out a small "Hmpth" before getting up and heading toward the bedroom. "You're not allowed to touch me until you've finished that report," I tell him.

I can feel him narrowing his eyes even once I've disappeared into our room, and can hear the scrapping of the chair against the floor as he obediently resumes his seat. It makes me smile a bit in amusement, but I can't help but also feel a little sad inside. My day is over and I can get some rest, while he still has to stay up and think. But then again, that's just how it worked out between us. Pops always said I didn't have the smarts in the family anyway.

I take a quick shower, rinsing the odor of the repair shop out of my hair as the steam rises around me as if I were in the center of some cheap magician's trick. I leave the bathroom with a satisfying sigh and a towel hanging loosely around my body. I skip into the bedroom, sitting on the bed as I bend over to rummage through the drawers for my red nightgown. It's his favourite, he says. Semi-translucent and spaghetti-strapped with soft frills along the bottom that teases the eyes.

After finding it, I decide that I should probably save it for later. Not tease him yet. At least until he's finished his lab. If that ever happens tonight. And if it doesn't, then no nightgown tonight. And that thought makes me frown a little.

With a sigh, I slip on an ordinary T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, tying my hair into a loose ponytail afterwards. I take a peek out the bedroom and into the kitchen where I notice he's on the phone, talking and staring outside the window. I decide that he's probably talking to his classmates, asking them for help on the assignments or something of the sort. Of the sort that I wouldn't know. And that he can't ask me. Because I don't got the smarts in the family, remember?

He hangs up soon after, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling this time, his hands resting on his lap as he closes his eyes. I want to walk up to him and grab him and kiss him and make love to him right there on the floor (cause the table isn't as nice as one would imagine) before going off to sleep. Before having to lie down in an empty bed and wake up to an annoying alarm that reminds me I have to leave the apartment and be away from him again. I miss him already, just thinking about work.

But I'm not allowed to distract him. I did that once, the day before his midterm, and ohhh boy. Honestly, I just wanted to relax him. But I guess relaxation isn't going to tell you the antiderivative of a trigonometric function. Oh, poopie.

He suddenly stands up, hesitating for a moment before turning around to face me. He catches my eye and gives me a bit of a strange smile as he heads toward the apartment door. "I'm gonna go for a walk," he says.

I raise my eyebrow at him, because he's got too much work to do that he doesn't have time for a walk. (Time that could be spent with me instead.) "Are you sure you should be doing that?" I ask, stepping out of the bedroom to follow him.

He nods, grabbing his jacket from the closet and pulling it on. He shoves his foot into his boots. "Yeah. I'll be back in a few hours."

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the wall beside him and give him a suspicious glare. "That's an awfully long walk. You're going to visit your other wife?"

He smirks, punching my shoulder playfully as he sticks out his tongue. I laugh and he kisses me. "Yeah, but you're a better kisser anyway," he says.

I touch his arm, grasping it lightly as I stare up at him. "Can I come too?"

He shakes his head, pouting. "Cunno, pypa," he whispers, rubbing my cheek gently. "I kinda want to be alone."

"'Kay," I mumble, turning down to stare at my feet beside his boot covered ones. Maybe he's just stressed out and needs to take a breather. Students are always encouraged by their parents to do that; I see it all the time on TV sitcoms. I guess I should give him some space too. "But don't expect me to be awake when you come back."

He chuckles lightly, nodding as he ruffles my hair. And suddenly I wish I'd worn the skimpy red nightgown. "You should get a good sleep anyway. But I'll be back before you know it, don't worry."

"Who worries about you?" I retort, spinning on my heels and stomping my foot on the ground a bit immaturely. I hear him laughing as he reaches out to hold my waist, kissing my neck from behind.

"E muja oui…" he whispers in my ear.

"Yeah, yeah," I say, standing firm in my spot, all pretending to be furious and all. I hear him leave shortly, locking the door from outside.

When he's gone, I plop down on the couch and bury my head into the cushion. My fingers lazily press the buttons of the remote controller as I switch from late night talk show to late night talk show. One show mocking the government. Another defending a celebrity's new bald look. Another being all philosophical in French.

The apartment is quiet and lonely and it's all disasterific that I am such – and I mean, such – a good wife that I put aside my personal desires because I'm more concerned about the future of my husband's career. I tell you, it's not easy when you've got a man like him – such a man – that you can't even spend enough time with. A man who'd rather go out for a walk all by his lonesome instead of cooling off his mind by cuddling up with you.

And then suddenly I've jolted off the couch and am staring wide-eyed at the wall as a realization strikes me. Because it's been a while since we've done any fooling around, with me at work and him in school, and a man can't possibly last too long without… Unless… he's getting it from someone else.

My palm immediately presses against my mouth as I feel a childish flood of hot tears breaking the surface of my eyes. Flowing down my cheeks and fingers and I can't stop sobbing at the mere thought of him actually having a second wife, the pycdynt. And I wish I'd eaten the rest of his crappy sandwich, and I wish I'd never worn that red nightgown around him, and I wish I'd pushed him off the balcony instead of onto the floor. Because he doesn't deserve the floor. Doesn't deserve this very apartment that I pay the rent for. ME. The working wife while he goes off and screws some college bimbo. And I bet she's got the smarts in her family and – and…

I try to suppress my sobs when I feel my nose getting drippy and fingers getting sticky from dried tears. With a few deep breaths, I manage to get up from my spot on the couch and walk over to the kitchen table for a box of tissues. But the sight of his books and homework and I just get all childish again. And feeling childish, I forcefully shove all his things off the table, leaving scattered papers spread out all over the ground. And that's when I collapse onto the floor with them, leaning my head against one of the table legs as the flood comes again, and my body trembles into a tight little ball on the hardwood floor.

That's probably who he was on the phone with. She probably invited him to come over for a quick fuck. That's probably why he claimed his walk would take him a few hours. Probably why he wouldn't let me come along. And come to think of it, she's probably the reason why he gets angry when I come home unannounced. Because he probably brings her over here to fuck sometimes. And he thinks I'll never find out – and god!! How could he??

The phone rings a few minutes later, and I don't bother getting up. The person eventually gives up. At least, I thought he/she had, until it starts ringing again. And then it eventually stops and rings yet again for the third time. I drag myself to a sitting position then, planting my elbow on the seat of the chair as I blindly reach for the cordless phone on the surface of the table. I turn it on and press it to my ear, waiting for the speaker to reveal his/her self first.

"Rikku? Rikku?" his voice says in a panicked tone. I don't answer for a while. "Rikku?? Rikku!"

"What?" I mumble with the sudden urge to break the phone in two.

"What the hell – why didn't you pick up before?"

I hesitate, curling my fingers into a ball as I stare at my feet. "I don't know," I say stubbornly.

"…Are you alright?" he asks, quiet. I don't reply. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I'll be home in a few minutes..." I hear him chuckling softly, making me feel a little less furious. "I guess I should've asked you to come with me… it's boring out here without you, pypa."

I pause for a moment, pulling my knees to my chest as I rest my head on them. I sniffle in a remaining sob, feeling a bit embarrassed as it seems now that I might have overreacted a tiny bit before.

"Hey, pypa…?"

"I'm here," I say, pressing the phone closer to my ear as I hug my legs, pretending they were him. I even smile a little bit. "So you're coming home?"

"Yeah… Want me to pick up a pizza on the way?"

I nod, replying, "Yeah." I wipe the leftover tears at the edge of my eyes. "Mushrooms."

"… and extra cheese, I know." He quiets for a moment, and I can hear laughing voices in the background, and the sound of tires running through the wet roads. "And pypa? I, um… kinda want to talk to you…. tonight. About something... important. That I've wanted to tell you for a while now."

A lump drops back into my throat at that request, and my fingers are back to trembling. I lift my head off my arms and lean against the table leg, closing my eyes as I force out a muffled, "Okay."

"Okay, I'll see you soon then," he says. Pause. "I love yo-"

I hang up.

It's a while before I'm able to move again, crawling around the floor as I silently gather the papers.

NOTE: Yes, that's my ending. Whether or not Gippal's faithful to Rikku can be left up to the reader. I originally had an actual ending written but it kept coming out wrong and awkward and rushed so I decided to officially leave this open ended instead.

BBBUT… as you may have noticed, the next chapter contains the original ending. Short, rushed, and completely spells out my lazy nature. But I actually kinda liked it. And it provides an explanation, at least.

Thanks for reading. Please Review.