Courtney: "Shouldn't you be updating your stories, NOT writing random 5,000 word one-shots about me and Duncan?"
Euregatto: "NO BECAUSE I LOVE THIS DAMN PAIRING. And FYI, it's only 4,926 words!"
Duncan: "Does that include this little conversation we're having?"
Euregatto: "No. Nor the lyrics up top. NOW STOP COMPLAINING THIS TOOK MY SEVEN FULL HOURS TO WRITE. Be thankful! I'm tired!"
Courtney: "Yes, I'm absolutely thrilled that you wrote something so... romantic, I think?"
Duncan: "Ssh, I'm trying to read!"
Courtney: (rolls eyes) "I'm surprised you can."
Please review!
Song lyrics: "Closer to you" - Adelitas Way
Disclaimer because I feel like it: I don't own anything except a shark plushie... named Sharkie.
Can I get closer to you?
Tell me the truth
Can I get an answer from you?
Show me a sign.
Here I stand with my heart in my hands
And all I do to get closer to you…
Things, at first, fell together like pieces of a puzzle.
A complex puzzle that he couldn't figure out because, well, he just couldn't understand such a perplexing contraption without step-by-step instructions (or if he was allowed to set it ablaze. Setting his problems on fire seemed to be the quickest way to get things done).
The first piece to fit was Courtney.
She was the spoiled, goody little two-shoes of the family – a privilege that came by default with being an only child – and Duncan was content with dying on spot when he finally managed to convince her to break the rules for the first time in all eighteen years of her beautifully sheltered life (Duncan himself was by no means an only child, but his older brothers were already in the police academy and living out on their own). What he didn't expect was that one day she would decide to drag him into her own masquerade of mischief… in a thunderstorm.
He should've anticipated her moves hours before, when the second puzzle piece fit into place. Senior year in high school was never dull since she was out front every morning with buttons or cookies (according to her people only purchased cookies on Thursdays and Fridays, because those seemed like baked goods days) to advertise for her final run for class president – since, you know, vice-president or treasurer apparently weren't good enough positions for "someone of my standards".
This particular morning however, she wasn't out front; her stand sat beside the entrance idly, its vacant presence eerie enough to send a chill shooting up Duncan's spine.
Click, second piece. He could already tell he didn't like where this was going. Maybe he was just blowing the situation out of proportion… (he also really, really hoped it was just a severe case of paranoia getting the better of him).
This wouldn't be the case. Courtney just wasn't in school at all.
The initial thought of perfect-attendance Courtney skipping her precious classes freaked Duncan out. He had his best friend Geoff slap him – hard – across the face in hopes he would wake up from this horrible nightmare. He spent half the day worrying the universe wouldn't be able to contain the rift in space and it would collapse, and then the other half anxiously carving weird skull-shaped designs into his desk top. For extra measure he made his other friend DJ pinch him until his arms were swelled black and blue.
No, it wasn't a dream. And to make matters worse it started raining.
Click, third piece.
Raining turned to downpours ebbed into a thunderstorm with winds hitting their mile limit. Skies were pitched into total darkness that was only illuminated every few minutes by intense streaks of lightning (which were followed by roars of thunder that would have made a grown man piss himself). Duncan should have retreated to the safety of his home, to fix his now sagging Mohawk and to tuck himself under the comforting covers of his bed.
But he was far too worried about Courtney – so, he decided to allow that fourth puzzle piece into the equation and sauntered down to her house at the opposing end of the street.
He paused at the threshold of the driveway, where the fresh asphalt melded into the ancient pavement. His situation hit him with all the weight of Dorothy's house from Wizard of Oz.
What in the hell was he doing? She didn't even genuinely like him to being with! The brunette detested his guts with a fiery passion fueled by the sun, and she made it quite clear his presence around her was unwanted ("Leave me alone you ugly brute!" "You have the table manners of a walking corpse. Why are you even sitting with me? You'll ruin my reputation!" "You behave like an ogre!").
Unfortunately, Duncan had inherited his father's most stubborn genes, so he puffed out his chest and shuffled around to her bedroom window on the home's second floor.
Her curtains were open so he could peer inside from his odd angle. He caught of glimpse of her cocoa hair, but that was it. After a moment's hesitation he picked up a pebble – or four – and chucked them at the window pane.
The glass reflected them like a trampoline and a faint tck reverberated from each hit. Courtney flung the thing open without delay, nostrils flaring. "Hey, what's the big idea you dolt? You could scratch the – DUNCAN?" Her voice lacked any real anger or edge, which wasn't particularly normal (in fact, he expected the world to eat itself into a black hole within that moment), but rather she seemed curious and candidly surprised.
Courtney had answered his call. Click.
He gestured his arms up to her. "Juliet, my fair Juliet! From what yonder window breaks?"
"…You quoted that wrong."
"Oh I'm sorry Princess!" He raised his hands defensively. "I guess you know exactly what happens in a class you don't attend. It seems someone can truly strive for straight A's if they set their mind to it."
Courtney's eyebrow peaked, forming her typical incredulous expression. "Of course I get straight A's… unlike a certain delinquent I know."
Duncan wanted to reply – to shoot a sassy comment about the pole up her ass or about the school properties he had burned while she was gone – but she had a sudden, blank look cross into her normally elegant features. She seemed like there was something on her mind, troubling her, and it kind of scared him. And NOTHING scared Duncan. So instead of irking her to her boiling point, he merely tilted his head to the side, waiting peevishly for her to speak again.
After a beat she did. "Do you feel like getting into trouble with me?"
Click. And there it was: final piece, problem solved, puzzle complete.
Duncan grinned with an immediate surge of familiar adrenaline that only ever came out of the thought of romping around town breaking anything – and everything – important. "I'm always up for causing rampant destruction. What did you have in mind?"
If it weren't for the stupid puzzle, causing mayhem wouldn't have been nearly as fun.
Geoff had informed Duncan on numerous occasions that Courtney wasn't the perfect, stuck-up young woman her parents had raised her to be. She had a dark-side that allowed for her to have fun, to ease the tension in the atmosphere. However, had she not been so perfect, she wouldn't have control issues with these urges; the bad-girl counter part had a habit or normally taking control with no real intentions of ever letting go.
Had Duncan heeded Geoff's warning, Dark-Side Courtney never would've resurfaced.
He didn't blame himself though, Courtney was aware of what she was doing and, being the lawyer-striving genius that she was, knew every law (by heart, no doubt) she was breaking. Duncan didn't care though, because she decided to break the rules with him.
The plundering of the storm had died down only a few minutes before the duo arrived at their destination: the building was the only one on the street that was painted as white as freshly fallen snow with pale pink shingles and doors. Duncan's first reaction was to feign vomiting. Courtney slapped him in the shoulder, scolding him for "You can't make so much noise! Now stay on task!" and "If you blow this for me I'm going to take your manhood off with a clever!"
Scary Courtney was scary. Dark-Side Courtney was breath-taking. Angry Courtney – or the correct terminology: just Courtney – was downright sexy.
He wouldn't admit this to her, however, because the last time he checked… she hated him. Hated: a term not to be used lightly and only when referring to his status in relationship with Courtney. Despite knowing each other since kindergarten when she moved to the neighborhood and her parents greeted his one fine summer morning, he was never capable of earning over her friendship (unless this rule-breaking situation counted as bonding).
Trust was another issue.
Did she trust him? She did just openly ask him to do something (wait, what the hell was she planning to do, anyway? Rob a garden of its tiger lilies?) record-scarring without so much as a moment's notice. And why had she skipped school? Weren't her parents angry with her? Wasn't she upset with herself?
WHY WAS THIS CHICK SO DAMN CONFUSING?
Duncan noticed that Courtney was pressed against the side of the building, nothing more than a shadow with the clothes she was wearing. She removed a spray can labeled 'RED' from her bag and tossed it to him as he approached. "Start spraying."
He snatched it out of the air. "Graffiti tagging, are we Princess?"
"Just decorate the damn thing! Paint whatever you feel like displaying… Like those creepy skulls you put at the top of every homework assignment you don't complete. A freaking unicorn will do, Duncan!" She whipped out her own can labeled 'PURPLE' and shook it, spraying a trail of violet color over the white canvas.
Duncan wasn't very sure how to react: Courtney was graffiti tagging the colorless wall that appeared to be new, perhaps just recently finished. She was breaking the law.
Courtney was breaking the law.
Courtney was breaking the law.
And it wasn't Duncan's idea this time!
The first time this happened was when he convinced her to steal from the school's cafeteria – this incident was also the first time Dark-Side Courtney surfaced, according to Geoff – as pay back for the head Chef serving them gruel instead of actual food. They weren't caught, however, the meals were downgraded as a result of this mischievous mishap (Duncan didn't think that was actually possible for Chef Hachet's cooking to taste any worse, but the students weren't happy about it).
Duncan realized Courtney wasn't painting a picture – instead she was focused on creating a word. SHAME from what he could tell. "What's the point of this?"
"This place is an animal clinic… or, so they claimed." Courtney exchanged her can for a second one labeled 'BLUE'. "The news has been all over the story that the people here torture animals! It's cruel and I'm protesting." She worked on shading the letters' linings.
Duncan pressed his lips into a thin line. "There are other ways to go about this that are much more… legal."
She merely scoffed. "Duncan James Henderson are you trying to talk me out of breaking the rules?"
He rolled his clurean eyes skyward and pressed the nozzle of the spray can, streaking vermillion pain across the brick wall. "Nah, I'm just trying to make sense of it. I mean, the whole Chef-and-the-Café incident brought out the bad-girl side of you, but I didn't think you'd be the one to ask me to assist you in graffiti tagging."
"Are you complaining?" She asked, hissing her question through her teeth.
He shrugged impassively, "Eh, this other side of you makes you sexy." She chucked her can at him but he dodged with ease. "Gotta do better than that, Sweetheart!"
Irritated onyx orbs speared him with a glare. "Don't tempt me, Sweetheart, your manhood is next!"
Duncan glanced up when the bereaved ceiling of clouds overhead decided to release another maelstrom of rain, soaking them both. Courtney went right back to tagging with a can she pulled out labeled 'ORANGE' – although now the paint was starting to leak like overdramatic blood splatter in horror movies.
He finished the outline of a skull with crossbones, turning back to her, "You got green or yellow?"
She reached into her bag, rifling through the contents, "Ah, here we are! I made sure to bring two cans of every color!"
"Of course you did…"
She handed him both green and yellow, stepping back to admire what she did. "There, that'll get some attention, right?" Duncan ignored her because he knew she would either challenge his reply or scold his artwork for not being as visibly attractive as hers. He wondered if the spray paint was part of some neon colors collection. "Hey, Fish Fin! You didn't answer my question!"
"Fish Fin?"
"You heard me." She placed her fists on either side of her hips. "Your Mohawk reminds me of a fish's dorsal fin!"
"What kind of fish have you been studying on Discovery Channel?" He ran his fingers through the sagging hair part resting on the top of his head, pulling out tangles in the process. Were Mohawks even capable of getting tangled? "That's it, you're not allowed to watch that program anymore."
She crossed her arms. "Oh, really? What are you going to do about?"
He pointed a can at her almost like he was wielding his switch blade. "Hey, Princess, I know where you live, remember? I'll just come over and tie you to a chair until you promise you won't ever touch the television remote again."
"Pfft, that won't happen."
"Why, you think I won't do it?"
"Oh no, I don't doubt it. Promises can be broken. However, if you write a contract stating the conditions of why I am banned from television and then convince me to sign on the dotted line promptly after reading the fine print, only then will you be secured that I won't touch the remote."
Duncan scratched the back of his head. "I didn't catch all that."
Courtney slapped her hand over her face and uttered under her breath, "Of course not… Now hurry up and finish, I want to get out of here before someone sees us."
The delinquent chuckled. "Come on Princess, getting caught is the fun part!"
"Fun until you're arrested and can't get a job because you don't have a clean record." Her calculated stare told him that the idea of being thrown behind bars for the night didn't faze her in the slightest. Last time she started to fidget, which was followed by senseless mumbling about consequences, then panic set in, and the cycle finally ended with a scream fest where she broke down sobbing and berated herself for not being the very definition of perfection.
Duncan couldn't contain his playful smirk. "My family's a bunch of cops. Trust me Princess, half of the stuff I did isn't on my record because of the system's lenience. You get in trouble, it'll disappear over night."
"Stop calling me Princess! I hate that."
"Weren't you listening to what I just said?"
Courtney's head whipped around when a car sped down the road that crossed the one they were currently on. On the bright side no one was out because of the storm. Downside, they were caught in the storm. There it was: the fidget, antsy stage of her mental breakdown. She exhaled her held breath when nothing happened, "Come on, Duncan, I'm cold."
He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "You can always warm up in my arms." This time he didn't anticipate the spray paint projectile and keeled over, clutching his forehead as it swelled. "OK! OK! Playing hard to get, I got it!"
She appeared satisfied with her accurate aim and spun on the ball of her foot. "You're taking too long! I'm leaving!"
He shuffled after her, head in his palm, a mild headache creeping its way into his brain.
And then, half way between where they had left their markings on the building and their neighborhood, Courtney came to an abrupt halt. She faced Duncan once again with an expression that was caught between blank and unreadable. He had come to label this typical feature of hers "sudden stroke of genius", although you obviously couldn't tell at first glance. Something went off in her mind, let it be a craving or an idea or an epiphany.
"Are you up for dinner at my house?"
She had never personally asked him to dinner before, but he had been over numerous times when her parents invited his family over (and vice versa. Duncan could poke fun at Courtney because "I have to be polite, I'm in a guest's home!" and it would have been rude to raise her voice at the table. Over the years, though, she found it suitable to sit next to him so she could occasionally jab him in the leg with her fork).
Duncan was almost afraid to answer. "Sure, why not?"
Well, everything just seemed to spiral downwards from there.
When Courtney asked if Duncan was up for dinner she didn't mention that his parents had already been invited. In fact, after Duncan dressed into dryer clothes, they returned to Courtney's house to find that his mother and father were already there. Courtney snuck upstairs to change and Duncan moved instinctively into the kitchen (the layout of the house was familiar to him after thirteen years of early suppers and homework helpings from the only daughter).
Their fathers were seated at the table already, debating over the calls of last night's football game, and their mothers were preparing – from what Duncan could tell – pasta. "Hey."
They glanced at him in synch (which was still kind of creepy, especially since they did it so perfectly, almost as if it was rehearsed a head of time). Duncan's mother smiled. "Oh, honey! I'm glad you're here! You snuck out without telling me where you were going."
"I actually did leave a note on the fridge this time." He wrote in his sloppy boy handwriting 'going for a walk, will be back soon'. If he could predict the future he would've instead said, 'going to do some graffiti tagging with Courtney. She's clearly deranged, may not return in one piece'.
"Oh, I didn't check."
"I know where you were," Courtney's father remarked, his tone laced with a slyness Duncan knew only he was capable of producing, "You were with my daughter in town. She mentioned that you two were going for a walk… in the rain."
Courtney's mother swooned. "That's adorable!"
Duncan didn't deny the implements in the conversation. He was surprised that they weren't going to kick his ass over the mere thought that he was dating their daughter (which he wasn't, but they had been convinced for years that there was a spark between them. Duncan, of course, made frequent attempts to tell them about Courtney's unyielding need to mount his head on a mantel). After all, they were total opposites.
She was perfect: straight A student, hard worker, volunteered multiple hours to community service, capable of achieving goals, and beautiful.
He was a complete joke: grade A screw up, stereotypical bad-guy get up, not the brightest crayon in the box (that award went to Lindsay, actually), desire for causing destruction, and a criminal record like the dictionary.
At least he had never done anything to hurt her. That had to count for something, right?
Duncan snapped himself back into reality and leaned through the kitchen doorframe, cupping his hands to his mouth. "YEAH, I'M TELLING YOU COURTNEY IS TOTALLY INTO ME!"
"I AM NOT!" She snapped, her voice carrying right through her bedroom door from the other end of the house. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO KEEPS FLIRTING WITH ME, DUNCAN! I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND PUT YOU IN YOUR PLACE!"
He snorted in failed attempt not the laugh. The sounds of her stomping down the upstairs hallway reverberated off the walls, erasing the smug expression he had been wearing. "Oh, dear, I think she's genuinely pissed…"
Courtney's father called out, "Courtney Swanson! What have I told you about throwing tantrums?"
Courtney appeared at the top of the staircase. "Yes Daddy, I know: ''Young Lady, you are not to throw hissy fits while we guests in the house'!" She shot Duncan a glare so icy it could've frozen Hell over instantly. "Watch yourself, Fish Fin."
"I'm telling you it looks nothing like a fin!"
Duncan's father rolled his eyes, "Come on you two, time to eat."
They took their seats on the left side of the table so Courtney could sit between Duncan and her father, and Duncan could sit between his father and the girl who was shooting him an irritated stare. Their mothers set the plates of food down on the table before filling their usual spots across from their children.
For a few minutes there was silence, nothing but the clattering of plates and utensils, until Courtney's mother broke the silence. "So, Courtney dear, did you tell Duncan the good news?"
From the corner of his eye he noticed Courtney visibly stiffen. "Uh, Mom, I'd rather… not tell him right now."
"But there's nothing to be embarrassed about! It's just college!"
Duncan swallowed whatever was in his mouth before speaking, "You were accepted into college? Was it one of those really fancy prep schools or the kind where they take straight A students and turn them into full fledged Picasso impersonators?"
"Neither," she seethed. Her fork raised threateningly in his direction. "Now drop it."
"Make me!" He parried her jab with his own fork and they engaged in a fairly impressive duel of silverware fencing.
The adults returned to their meals. Courtney's mother sipped her drink before addressing the table, "Courtney's going away to a boarding college." At this both teens faltered – Courtney's fork drove itself into Duncan's palm and he collapsed under the table, cringing. This antic went unnoticed. "She's determined to become a lawyer, that girl… And the school's completely affordable."
Duncan's mother hummed. "Oh, that sounds nice. Lawyer schools are difficult to get into. How long will she be boarding for?"
"A few years. It's not so bad after the first two."
"Can Duncan and I be excused?" Courtney asked, hiding his injured hand behind her back.
Courtney's mother nodded, "Of course dear."
They ducked from suspicious gazes and rushed to the upstairs bathroom; Courtney slammed the door and locked it. The click from the handle signaled Duncan to start practically screaming in agony. "YOU STABBED ME WITH A FORK YOU CRAZY BITCH!"
"Shut that gigantic hole in your face before I use my first!" She scouted for a first aid kit under the sink, chucking sponges, gloves, half-empty bleach containers, and band aid boxes over her shoulder. "Ah-ha! Got it!"
Duncan had never been stabbed in the hand before – he had light scars left over from defense wounds he received in knife fights in juvie, although those incidents didn't compare to this – and he wasn't expecting a fork to rob him of that privilege. However, he had always figured that Courtney would be the one holding the knife – er, fork – handle when it did happen, so at least he wasn't caught off guard entirely.
She grabbed the silverware by the neck. "On the count of three!"
Duncan was panicking. "YOU'RE GONNA RIP IT OUT? NO NUMBING SHOTS OR ANYTHING?"
"Does this look like a hospital to you?"
"That's a great idea! WE SHOULD GO TO THE HOSPITAL!"
"Stop freaking out! I CAN'T HANDLE THIS PRESSURE!" She slapped him – hard – across the face, sending him for a loop. "Now suck it up! One-!" Forgetting about two and three she jerked the fork from his hand, sending a splatter of blood across the tiled floor. Duncan's face paled. "OH SHIT!"
"Wrap it up!"
"I'M TRYING! STOP SCREAMING AT ME ALREADY!"
"I'm not the one yelling anymore! You shriek like a banshee! THINK CHINA CAN HEAR YOU YET?"
There was a sudden rapping of knuckles on the door. "Uh… Are you kids OK in there?" It was Duncan's dad. "We heard your shouting from all the way in the kitchen."
"SHE'S TRYING TO KILL ME!"
"IT'S A FORK YOU WHIMP! NOW SHUT UP SO I CAN WRAP THE DAMN THING!"
Outside, the quadrant of parents leaned as close to the door as they could get. The sounds of bickering wavered from scolds to screams, ranging from "Don't you dare pass out on me! I have training in the medical field!" to "You're a camp counselor! THAT DOESN'T COUNT!" and then to "Suck it up you pansy criminal!" and finally everything fell quiet. They could here the brief sound of rummaging, but nothing more.
The door was flung open. Courtney had a blood stain on the white collar of the shirt she wore under her vest, "I. Am. Out." She shoved past the quizzical parents and stormed down the hall to her room which was indicated by a DO NOT ENTER UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH sign suspended from a nail.
Duncan limped up to the door, taking advantage of the gap in the adults. "You're the one who stabbed me like a savage! I was only defending myself! You have no right to be mad at me!"
"You're an idiot!"
"And you're bat-shit crazy!"
"This is all your fault!" She aimed at accusing finger at him. "You hear me? YOUR FAULT!"
"What's my fault?" He shot back defensively, "I'M SO CONFUSED! WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU WOMAN?"
She screamed, clearly frustrated, and stomped into her room. The door slammed shut with enough force to splinter the door frame. For a moment nothing happened; no one dared to neither move nor breathe, afraid that the slightest sound would cause a massive earthquake that would split the entire continent in two.
Duncan raised his injured hand to flash the bloodied gauze wrapped around it, "Forks are uh… dangerous weapons." But then again, anything was dangerous when Courtney took hold of it. He remembered back in freshman year when he successfully managed to piss her off; she turned her notebook into a "fly swatter just for you Duncan!" and gave him several bruises on the back of his skull. At the end of the period she got up, hit him one more time, and walked out like nothing had happened.
He sighed, trekking down to her bed room door. "Princess?" She didn't respond. "Come on Princess, open the door. Let's talk this out…"
"Should we do something?" Courtney's mother uttered, ducking slightly behind her husband.
Duncan's father snorted. "No! Let 'em work it out, this is too damn funny!"
Duncan knocked, "Courtney, come on, let me in." At the mention of her real name – and the not the silly little pet name he knew she absolutely despised – the door clicked open, allowing him entrance. He stepped in, shutting it gently. Courtney repositioned herself on the edge of her bed, arms folded back against her chest, one leg crossed over the other. Duncan had come to dub this body language "enraged, mother-material psychopath". "Look, Princess, I don't know what you're so upset about-"
She glared at him through slotted eyes. "Oh, I'm not upset. What would ever give you that idea?"
"You stabbed me."
"That was an accident."
"Why weren't you in school today?"
The question had clearly caught Courtney off guard. She parted her lips but no sounds came out – she really just didn't know how to answer him. I mean, how could she tell him? Her reasons would give him the wrong idea. Or perhaps the right idea? "Actually, I was in school, just not in my classes. I sat in the Principal's office discussing college plans since being the top of my class is an apparent breakthrough. I mean, as soon as we graduate I'm going to be living it up at a university, taking my first steps into Lawyer-hood."
"Are you telling me you're getting cold feet?"
"Not quite." She stood, turned a full 180, and threw herself onto her bed, digging her face into her pillow.
Duncan sat beside her, patting her back with his good hand. "It's alright Princess, at least you're going to have a great job. I, however, will end up as a janitor if I'm lucky." She didn't respond. "Come on, what's the problem? Great job, set for life, I'm sure there's someone out there who could put up with your attitude, and they'll marry you and you'll have a beautiful family!" He just prayed the kids wouldn't end up acting like her, though.
She flipped over, frowning, "I do not have an attitude."
"Do too."
"Do not."
"You totally do!"
She rolled onto her side, scooching away from him, "I absolutely do not! But I'm not having this argument with you because I'm always right, you're always wrong, and you just like to push my buttons. I'm on to you, Fish Fin!"
"For the last time it looks nothing like a fin!"
They fell into silence.
"Hey, Duncan?" Courtney remarked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "Can you be my someone?"
"Someone?"
"The someone who puts up with my attitude then marries me and gives me a wonderful family?"
In that moment Duncan should have done one of three things: one) jump into his parents' arms screaming bloody murder, two) jump out her window screaming bloody murder, three) tell her he would think on it, run out of the house screaming bloody murder all the way to Geoff's place, play some video games, run back still shrieking like a sissy, and then tell her his decision. But no, Duncan wouldn't do any of the above, although it would have been freaking hilarious.
Instead he switched off her lamp light, flooding the room with darkness, and flopped down beside her. He hooked his arm around her waist, embracing her, bringing her closer so he would never have to let go.
"Of course I'll be that someone, Princess."
A few years later they returned to the wall they had left their marks on, only to find that it had been painted over.