A/N: About four years post-canon, set in the dub universe with some manga canon used for backstory purposes.
Vertex
Once Serenity had decided to jump into the dating game, she'd hit the ground running. Deciding to date two guys at once would have scandalized her friends and family—if she had told them. The few that did know varied from hesitantly permissive to condemning—well, except for Mai, who had laughed and said, "You would."
But even Mai had had reservations. Love's not like the movies, she had told Serenity. Sure, it can be messy and mindblowing and romantic, but most of the time it's gonna be work. For you it's gonna be twice the work. And Mai was right, it was work: tense angry silence and misunderstood words and the mundane everyday chore of correct communication.
Some days it was easy. Some days she wouldn't trade what she had for anything in the world, but sometimes, some days, she just wanted to sit down on the sidewalk and cry. Serenity's whole day—no, her whole week—had been the latter.
It wasn't anyone's fault, not really. It wasn't even about romance. It was just a series of bad events piling one on top of the other until she'd been buried in an avalanche of bad luck. A late night studying on Monday, a canceled date Tuesday, a fight with her mother Wednesday. As the end of the week drew closer, her misfortune seemed to triple: a reprimand from her supervisor, a missed bus, a bad test score. Yesterday morning she'd been so tired she'd made the mistake of picking another fight with her mother. She'd been late to school and spent the whole day apologizing for missed commitments.
Her only solace was that today would be different. Today was Saturday, the day she took the train to Domino, where she would spend the evening with her boyfriends and Sunday with her brother before coming back home for the evening shift. As far as her mother knew, Serenity's entire weekend was spent with Joey, but he had (grudgingly) agreed to cover for her so long as she spared him the details of just what she did with two of his closest friends when he wasn't there.
Needless to say, she lived for the weekends. Saturday night had been the only night of the week they'd all three been able to keep their schedules clear. Serenity was the busiest—besides living nearly an hour away from the other two, she had her senior year of high school and a part-time job to deal with (not to mention the overbearing mother)—but Tristan was close behind, juggling tech school with a full-time job. If Duke had a more flexible schedule, it was only because he singlehandedly ran the family business. When she graduated and summer hit, their schedules would clear up, but until then, moments together were few and far apart.
Three more weeks, she told herself. Three more weeks and then freedom.
Not that it didn't feel like summer already. This year the season had struck early, and what had started out as pleasant spring afternoons had turned into a heavy, sweltering heat wave that was as unforgiving as it was oppressive. Her mother had called it a "false summer" and predicted that in a few days it would be back to wind and rain, but the rain never came. The plants on the windowsill curled in on themselves and wilted. The heat loomed.
Today in particular was building up to be a hot one. Serenity was already regretting the outfit she had picked out that morning, although considering the cut-off shorts and short-sleeved blouse, there was little she could do to dress down.
Even the train, supposedly air-conditioned, felt muggy, and the heat had sapped the best of her energy by the time she reached inner Domino.
At the beginning, the boys had made a point of picking her up, but when Serenity realized they were both bending over backwards to help her do something she could easily do herself, she told them not to bother. She could walk the seven blocks from the train station to Tristan and Joey's apartment on her own, thank you. (Even that hadn't been enough to deter them; it wasn't until she refused to tell them what train she was taking that they got the hint).
It was a walk she normally enjoyed, even if it cut along the industrial district. It gave her the occasional glimpse of the ocean, the sharp clean smell of salt and shellfish, and the time to clear her head before she engaged in what was admittedly a very complex relationship.
Today, however, she would have accepted the ride. Somehow the city was even warmer than it was at home, and by the time she reached the apartment complex she had worked up a thorough sweat, her bangs clinging to her forehead as she climbed up the stairs to the second floor. Before she bothered to dig through her bag for her copy of the apartment key, she walked to the edge of the balcony and peered around the side of the building. The complex was as cheap and industrial as its surroundings, and boasted few perks. A decent view was not one of them.
Serenity's focus, however, was on the parking lot. She saw no sign of Tristan's truck. So he was still at work. She couldn't see the bike rack from here, but she was sure Joey would be out. He might have had a hard time comprehending their arrangement, but he at least tried to give them some space.
She didn't expect the silver tailfins of the Cadillac, and couldn't help a giddy little hop when she saw it. Duke's car was as ostentatious as its owner, and seeing it settled her nerves enough to abandon the railing and head for the door. She'd been worrying that her troubles would start the night on a bad note, but if there was anything Duke was good at, it was lifting the mood.
She tried the door and found it unlocked. The living room, like most of the apartment, had the sparse, slightly grimy touch of a college dorm. Colors were faded and the furniture well-worn: maximized for utility, not aesthetic.
Duke was hunched over a laptop on the threadbare couch. He raised his eyes as she entered, but instead of the smile she expected, all she got was a blank stare.
"Oh," he said. "Hey. What time is it?'
"Twelve-thirty. I caught the early train." Serenity said, cataloging his messy hair, the dirty dishes on the coffee table, the rumpled t-shirt and conspicuous lack of jewelry. There was no way he'd ever go in public dressed like that. "You spend the night?"
He smiled then, but briefly, and put the computer aside to gather up the dishes. "My manager owed me a favor," he said. "And I needed a change of scenery. So I took some time off."
"Lucky you." She dumped her bag on the floor and followed him into the kitchen, where he'd put the dishes in the sink and was now staring at it, frowning vaguely as if he expected the plastic dinnerware to wash itself. "You won't believe the kind of week I've had."
"…Oh?"
Yikes. Serenity bit back a sigh. "Everything okay?" she said. "You seem out of it." He was clearly distracted, and Serenity couldn't afford to let his mood deteriorate. He was hard enough to handle on a good day.
She needn't have worried. Her question caught his attention and she watched his chin jerk up, his eyes widening as he turned to look at her, really look at her, his expression smoothing over to something present. It was probably—almost certainly—an act for her benefit, but still, if he wasn't completely honest, at least he was reliable, and she couldn't help feeling a sense of relief as he pulled her close with one hand and kissed the top of her head, warm fingers curling under her chin and urging her jaw upward as he kissed her again, more firmly, on the mouth.
Then he launched into a series of greetings and platitudes so obviously rehearsed Serenity had hard time not laughing at him.
"Hey, gorgeous," he said. "Sorry about that. I'm fine, just tired. It's nice to see you. You look beautiful. Sorry about canceling on Tuesday. I love you. Tell me about your week. I thought about you all night and I missed you so, so much."
"You're pushing it," Serenity warned, but he just grinned at her and she couldn't help returning the grin, placated. "Way to cover all your bases."
"Thank you." His expression softened and he lingered, his fingers brushing against her arm. "Seriously though," he said. "Was it that bad?"
"It wasn't great," she admitted, leaning back to get a little more air between them. It was nearly as warm in the apartment as it was outside, and twice as stuffy. "But I don't want to just complain to you about it."
"Hey, it's not like I have anything better to do but listen."
"I'm sure that's not true," Serenity said, but Duke had started grinning again as he leaned into her, his body both comfortingly close and oppressively warm.
"Well, I could think of one other thing we could do…"
"Watch it," Serenity said, laughing as she extricated herself from his grasp and retreated to the other side of the counter. "Anyway, it's way too hot in here for any of that."
He didn't follow her across the kitchen; he put his hands on his hips and shrugged one careless shoulder. "You think I don't know?" he said. "I've been boiling in here all morning."
Serenity glanced at the window, the blinds pulled carefully shut. "I thought they had air conditioning."
"So did I." Duke shrugged again. "Maybe it's broken. When I got here last night all the windows were open." He spun on one heel to glance again at the sink, working his jaw. "I couldn't even find a fan. This place is a dump."
Silently, Serenity agreed, though there wasn't much any of them could do about it. She and Duke both lived with their parents by necessity, and while Tristan was as frugal and conscientious as they come, he wasn't couldn't afford to live in an upscale neighborhood. Joey was even worse off; even if he didn't admit it, Serenity knew he gave most of his extra income to their dad.
Not that more money would make a difference; neither boy was particularly adept at interior decoration. Serenity didn't mind; she would take privacy over throw pillows any day.
"Maybe we should go out when Tristan gets back," she said, and Duke murmured something noncommittal before turning toward a cupboard, where he pulled out two plastic tumblers with one hand before glancing over his shoulder back at her.
"Want something to drink? I think there's soda in the fridge."
"Water's fine." Serenity pulled herself onto the lone barstool. Tristan had made it in a welding class in high school, else she was sure he wouldn't have one at all. Joey's…was currently serving as a coat rack.
She'd expected Duke to start the dishes as they chatted, but he ignored them, leaning on the counter across from her, listening attentively as she related the major events of her week, skimming over most of the negatives. The fights with her mother she didn't mention at all—it would be too difficult to delve into that well of neuroses. Duke seemed to understand her reluctance, slipping seamlessly into idle conversation when she faltered. He was a bottomless fount of interesting anecdotes and witty one-liners, but he talked more for the sake of noise than for the sake of actual communication. Most days it didn't bother her—he seemed to need the chatter—but today it felt like an insult, like he was just trying to distract her without really caring why she was upset.
Not that she knew, herself. It had been a bad week, sure, but it was something else, too. She'd felt her stomach sink when she'd entered the apartment and saw Duke sitting there. It wasn't jealousy—she'd never begrudge them that, not when she didn't have the time to spend with them anyway—but it still made her uneasy. They'd only just begun to explore the sex thing (Joey had been quite adamant that about a "hands off 'till she's eighteen" policy) and Serenity wasn't quite sure what Tristan and Duke had been doing on their own time. But it wasn't that, either. It was more abstract; a nagging worry that she had missed something, that she was staying stationary while they were moving forward.
The day seemed to grow warmer the longer they sat there, and making it clear that it was going to be one of those sticky summer afternoons where even breathing required Herculean effort. Being on the second floor, where the heat rose from the street and stockpiled against the ceiling, was worse, but Serenity was unwilling to sacrifice a few degrees by opening the window on the slim chance that there might be a breeze. Instead, she settled for using a planner from her purse as a makeshift fan.
Even that wasn't enough, and after a few minutes she gave into temptation and kicked off her sandals. Within a few minutes, her jewelry followed suit. If Duke was going to walk around in shorts and a day-old T-shirt, she didn't see why she should stay dressed up. On a day like this, she deserved a pass.
Nearly a half hour later, Tristan still hadn't shown up, so she shred her last bit of propriety and peeled off her blouse, letting her bra straps hang loose around her shoulders as she used the shirt to wipe off the sweat dripping down her hairline.
True to form, Duke didn't miss one word in the story he was telling, but she saw an eyebrow go up, and when he was done, he selected a sliver of ice from his glass and crushed it between his teeth, his eyes never leaving her body.
She flicked the notebook toward him and watched a few strands of black hair move ever-so-slightly. "Tristan had better hurry up," she said. "I'm going to die of heat stroke before he gets here."
"It would ruin the mood," Duke agreed amiably, picking out another flake of ice and sucking on it as he eyed the expanse of skin immediately above and around her bra. It was her favorite: hot pink, with tiny hearts and just enough lace to make it sexy instead of childish, but at the moment Serenity was wishing she'd picked something less cute and more comfortable.
"What mood?" she said, with another flick of the notebook. "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking, Devlin, but the feeling's not mutual."
She expected a shameless grin. Instead, he frowned.
She shouldn't have said anything. Now he was going to turn on the charm and she'd have to either wrangle him into a serious conversation or pretend like nothing was wrong. Neither option sounded appealing at the moment.
He surprised her by straightening up and saying, flatly, "If you're mad at me, you're gonna have to tell me why."
"I'm not—" He was rolling his eyes. Serenity folded her hands on the counter and tried again. "It's not you," she said. "Not really. I just—it's been a rough week. And you feel like you aren't even here."
He said nothing. When several seconds passed and he still hadn't said anything, she gave in and added, a little pathetically, "I don't want to beg or anything, but it'd be nice if you weren't just going through the motions."
He had that vague frown on his face again. She hated when he did this. It was next to impossible to talk to him if you had anything substantial to say.
Instead, he did what he normally did in cases like this, circling the counter to stand beside her. "Look, I'm sorry," he said, and she wanted to resist, but he sounded sincere, so she turned to face him, accepting his hand on the back of her neck. He moved gently, brushing aside a few damp strands of hair from her ponytail. "I'm just tired. More tired than I thought, I guess."
Duke's fingers were icy and damp, and Serenity shivered as she touched his wrist lightly, pulling his hand into hers and pressing his fingers against her lips. He hadn't needed to apologize.
Still, she wanted to make sure he knew the apology had been received, and she smiled as she glanced up at him. "Play a little too hard last night?"
The smirk she expected to get didn't come immediately—he looked more surprised than anything—but when it did arrive, it was slow and sly and a little too playful for comfort.
"Serenity, don't tell me you're jealous."
"No," she said, but Duke mistook her immediate answer for a defensive one and laughed as he pulled his hand free of hers and leaned closer, brushing her bangs out of her face, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered in her ear.
"Believe me," he said. "You've got nothing to worry about."
As he spoke, Serenity felt cold fingers slipping under her bra strap, and she squealed with false outrage and pushed him back, swatting his hands away when he reached for her again. Still, she was laughing, and she did feel better, so when she told him (again) that it was too hot to be messing around, she was only half-serious.
"You told me to pay more attention to you," he protested, a grin flickering across his face when she swatted him again. Barred from touching her, he settled for playing with the frayed ends of her cutoffs.
"This isn't what I meant and you know it," Serenity said. Somehow he'd managed to position himself squarely between her knees, the fingers on the edge of her shorts more often under the denim than over it. "I want you to listen to me."
"I am listening." To prove it, Duke got to his knees, stared up at her with an expression that would have been adoration if she couldn't see the laughter threatening to escape his throat with every breath. "Talk to me," he said, running his knuckles down the curve of her calf. "Say anything you want."
"You're ridiculous."
He did laugh then, pulling one of her legs closer to kiss her knee.
"Yes," he said, and kissed her knee again, his eyes on hers as he leaned closer, his breath hot on her thigh. "…what else?"
Serenity felt as if her voice was caught in her throat, so she shrugged, curling her fingers through his hair as he pressed his mouth against her skin. He was testing her, and they both knew it, but she didn't want to give him this, not on a day like today, when her heart felt uprooted and there were things between them still left unsaid.
"Hold on," she said.
And he stopped, unoffended, though she could still see the grin lurking in his eyes. "Don't tell me it's too hot."
"That's not the problem," she said, pushing her foot against his chest, and he laughed again as he fell back on his heels, grabbing at the edge of the countertop for balance.
Serenity watched him pull himself to his feet. "Maybe you're right," she said.
"Oh?" he asked, folding his arms as he leaned one hip against the countertop. "About what?"
She could tell from the quirk to his lips that he was expecting a punchline.
"That I'm jealous," she said. "I mean…because you get to see him so often. I feel like my problems wouldn't seem half so big if I could see you more than once a week."
He seemed startled by the shift in the conversation, and it takes him a moment to give her an overly cautious "Maybe..." in response.
"I know how it sounds, I just… I'm tired of playing catch-up." It's not just that, she thought. She was afraid of being left behind, of watching them grow at different speeds. One day, when they looked at her, they wouldn't know her. Not like they knew each other. "I'm not…I don't know. I'm happy, but—like last night—I wish I was as close to you two as you are to each other."
He was staring at her, a dark furrow between his eyes as he slowly curved his fingers around the edge of the counter. His silence irritated her.
"What?"
His frown grew deeper, and he pursed his lips briefly before he gave in and said, flatly, "We aren't that close."
It was her turn to frown at him, the nagging sense of wrongness returning in full force. "What does that mean?'
"It means," Duke said, "That this isn't a competition. Isn't that's what you're always saying?"
"That's not—I don't care about that—"
"You wouldn't bring it up if it didn't matter."
"You don't understand!" Duke was twisting her words—last year, when she'd first realized that Tristan and Duke were seeing each other on their own time, she'd been pleased. She'd told them, from the very beginning, that it didn't matter if things weren't quite equal, if the edges of their relationship were a little rougher than the norm. She wasn't jealous; she was lonely.
He was exasperated. "Just admit it," he said. "You're taking your bad mood out on me."
"What is wrong with you?" Serenity said. "You're the one that got mad—"
"Because you keep trying to, I don't know, imply things. Why would you say that we're close?"
"Why wouldn't I?" she snapped. "Come on, Duke, it's not like we're strangers, and you spend so much more time with him—"
She cut herself off, but it was too late. He smiled down at her, his eyes cold, his voice quiet. "See?" he said. "If there's something bothering you, you might as well spit it out."
Serenity turned her head and refused to reply, but he just stepped closer, stood over her, leaning down until he was in her line of sight.
"What do you think?" he said, so quietly his voice was just one more murmur in the heat of the day. "If it came down to it, which one of us do you think he would choose?"
Serenity ground her jaw and met him eye for eye. She didn't want to respond, to take the bait, but she couldn't help thinking about Tristan.
"Did you make him play this game too?" she asked. "Or were you too afraid of his answer?"
Duke smiled, his expression softer but no less bitter, and pulled away. He'd gone distant again, his posture erect, his face planed smooth. Worse than a kid picking a scab. He was obsessed with finding imperfections, pulling out loose threads until the entire framework unraveled. He'd done this before: baited her into saying something she didn't mean, but anytime she or Tristan tried to call him on it, he just stonewalled.
"I don't know why you have to act like this," she said. "What are you trying to prove?"
He did turn his head toward her, just a little, but before he could say anything, they both heard the faint roar, now growing louder, of a familiar engine, recognizable even from the apartment. Time seemed to slow as they listened, breath held, as it pulled into the parking lot, sputtered to a stop, went silent.
Without looking at her, Duke spun away from her and disappeared into the bedroom. She watched the door slam behind him with resignation. Looks like that conversation was over.
She slid off the barstool and pulled her shirt back on, grimacing when she felt the damp spots on the back and under the arms, and leaned against the counter as she tore out her ponytail and readjusted it, finishing at just about the same time Tristan came through the front door.
He was vigor in a dirty tank top and jeans: flushed and sweat-drenched, hair shaggy and windblown, hands calloused and overlarge and he grinned at her with all his teeth, and for a moment Serenity's joy was irrepressible.
Duke emerged from the bedroom, slightly more presentable in a fresh set of clothes. He made a beeline for the door, scooping up a leather jacket off the back of the couch.
Serenity watched Tristan's smile fade.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said, closing the door behind him and standing squarely in front of it, keys dangling from his hand. "What did you do this time?"
When Duke tried to push past him, Tristan caught his arm and held on even when Duke tried to jerk away.
Duke's voice was dangerously low. "Let go."
Tristan stood his ground and glanced at Serenity, who shrugged and shook her head. She didn't see the point in making Duke stay, not when he was like this. If he was feeling trapped it was better to just leave him alone. The damage he could cause otherwise would hurt more than she wanted to admit, and she wasn't feeling so kind herself. Better not to risk turning a two-way fight into a three-way one.
Across the room, she could hear Tristan mutter something under his breath, but Duke tore his arm out of Tristan's grip, and this time Tristan didn't try to stop Duke as he pushed past him and out the door.
When Tristan turned back to face Serenity, she saw the clenched jaw, the closed fists, and realized that whatever preconceptions she'd had about the night before were probably wrong.
She said nothing as he crossed the room to enter the kitchen, where he turned on the tap and watched the water flow over the dirty dishes for a few seconds before bending over to drink out of the faucet. When he was done he cupped his hands under the water and brought them to his face as he straightened back up, and Serenity watched his hands run over his eyes and through his hair until his fingers wove together at the back of his neck and he stood there, eyes closed, face pointed at the ceiling.
"I swear, I'm going to kill him one of these days," he said, in a tone that suggested his words were less a declaration and more a mantra that kept him from doing that very thing.
"Join the club," Serenity said, and Tristan's eyes opened as he glanced at her. Then he gave her one of his trademark hesitant, lip-biting smiles and dropped his arms, turning just enough to gingerly embrace her as she joined him by the sink.
"Sounds like your day was as bad as mine."
Serenity forced a laugh. "Try 'week'."
"One of those, huh?" He had an arm around her shoulder, but there was more distance between them than normal, which Serenity thought had more to do with his lingering tension than the heat. "Tell me about it?"
"I think I'd rather skip right to the fighting, thanks."
Tristan laughed shortly, his hand tightening for a moment before slipping away, but Serenity followed it, leaning against him even when he made tactful protests about needing a shower. She could put up with the heat and the sweat and the smell for just a few minutes if it got him to relax.
"I guess this means we're not going out tonight," she said. "He'll throw a fit if we ditch him."
"Let him," Tristan said. "Why? You want to get out of here?"
"Not really—it's just the heat, you know? I feel like I'm baking alive in here." Serenity peeled herself out from under his arm and turned to look at him. "I don't know how you've managed to get through this week without air conditioning."
She noticed the strange look Tristan was giving her and paused. "Duke thought it was broken."
"Oh," Tristan said. "I guess I didn't tell him."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Ha ha well, yeah, sorry—we just figured it'd save more money if we didn't use it. Joey flipped the breaker, too—that must be why Duke thought it was broken—hold on, I'll go fix it—"
"Well, if it's a money thing—"
"Hey, I can't have people baking alive in here. Really, it's no big deal. We're just never home during the day. Anyway, never thought it'd get this hot. Thought we'd wait for real summer to come, you know…figured there'd be another cold spell before then."
"That's what my mom thought, too," Serenity said, following him to the hallway, where he flipped open a panel in the wall and turned a switch. It was quiet, but she heard it; the soft trickle of the system whirring to life. "It killed the garden."
It was barely a garden: a zoo of potted plants cramming the balcony of their apartment, stuffed onto every free windowsill, shedding dead leaves onto the kitchen counter and behind the couch, wilting in the sun day after day as the afternoons boiled. Serenity had volunteered to take care of the flowers, had religiously watered them every chance she got, but this year there were no blooms.
It was dark in the hallway; the lights were turned off and the bedroom doors closed, shadows creeping over their faces, Tristan's silhouette dim as he turned toward her, the nervous tap of his fingers against the breaker panel her only indication of his mood.
"Listen, Serenity…what did he say to you?"
Serenity felt self-conscious about complaining. She didn't want Duke's accusations to ring true, and she was afraid that in Tristan's ears they would. "He, um, said I was jealous of you two. And that I was trying to make him feel guilty because of it. I don't know, I wasn't trying to, but maybe I—"
"Wait," Tristan said, sounding bewildered. "Jealous of what?"
"Last night, I guess."
Tristan didn't answer immediately, but gradually she saw his hands loosen, saw the shape of his shoulders as he leaned back against the wall and sighed.
"I get it," he said. "He didn't tell you."
"Tell me what? Are you two—?"
"Aw, come on," he interrupted, and although it was too dim to tell Serenity knew Tristan was blushing. "It's not like that—I mean—not that it's not, but—"
He lapsed into silence, reluctant to continue. Serenity reached forward and touched Tristan's torso, moved her hands up his shirt, the fabric rough and damp under her palms, until he shivered and caught her hands in his. His voice was low, almost embarrassed.
"You know how he is," he said. "If he doesn't want to talk about something he just comes on to you."
Serenity felt her irritation mount even as her stomach sank. She was angry because she hadn't made the connection: afraid because Tristan had. She'd noticed something was wrong, but she hadn't pursued it. She'd done the bare minimum of prodding, knowing that it wouldn't be enough. With Duke you had to pry, had to dig long and deep and most of the time you didn't get any thanks for your effort, and who could blame her if she didn't want to put herself through that today?
"Did you fight?" she said, finally.
"What do you think?"
"I don't know what to think," Serenity snapped. "Since no one's telling me."
Tristan's pause was long enough for her to feel guilt for losing her temper, but before she could apologize he sighed and pulled her closer. "I don't know what to tell you, I guess," he said. "I don't get him." His hand was still wrapped around her arm, and she felt his fingers sliding down to find her wrist, his thumb pressing into her palm as his voice dropped another octave. "You aren't missing much, believe me."
She leaned into him in return, wishing he didn't sound so defeated. "And here I thought you two were having all this fun without me."
The sound Tristan made wasn't quite a laugh, but it might have been what he was aiming for.
Serenity closed her eyes. "Is it bad?"
"It's like he only comes over here to sulk." Tristan said. "Lately it's been worse. Last night he didn't even call first, just stormed in. You know how he gets. Joey says to just throw him out, and I couldn't—he's so good with words, you know, and I'm not, and I can't get him to tell me anything. I don't know if he even went to bed—I mean, he was pretending to be asleep when I left this morning. I don't know what he did today but he must have gotten it under control—I mean, I guess he did, if you didn't notice—"
"But why—"
"I don't know why!"
Tristan's head rolled back against the wall as he sighed again, more deeply, dropping her hands to rub his temples, and Serenity realized that he was just as frustrated as she was, that he'd had to deal with Duke's manipulations on a near-constant basis. And he cared. Sometimes, Serenity thought, he cared more than she did.
"I thought maybe it was his dad," Tristan said. "He used to complain about him more, you remember? But he doesn't do that so much anymore. I don't know. Maybe it's work. He just pissed off at everything now."
"You didn't ask him?"
Another sigh. "I tried." He glanced down at her. "Maybe if you did..."
"If he wouldn't tell you, he's not going to tell me," she said, but Tristan shook his head.
"He would tell you if you asked. He trusts you more."
"You know that's not—"
"He does." Tristan said flatly, and she didn't bother to look up at his face, imagining all too vividly the way his expression was twisting, burnt by the frustrated resignation she had already seen too often on him. Instead, she reached up to wrap her hands around his neck, pulling him down until she could kiss him, trying to express what she didn't know how to say: she understood what it felt like, she felt it too, the inability to hold on to someone you cared about, the inability to make them come back, to explain themselves, to stay.
Duke never did any of these things, not without them pulling and prodding at him every second of the way. Usually Serenity had the energy to see the best in him, but today she was ready to give up, and Tristan must have felt it too, judging by the desperate way his hands found her neck, drifted up to catch her face, his fingertips curling behind her ears as he pulled away only enough to speak, his breath warm, his shoulder illuminated by the dim light sneaking in through the blinds, under the doors.
"Listen," he said. "You wanted to go somewhere, right? Let's do it, have some fun. I'm sick of drama."
She smiled, but his grip was tight, and it made her afraid of what would happen if she said yes. "Duke won't like it if we—"
"Who cares what he thinks? He's the one who left." She felt him hesitate, his arms slackening for just a second. "Besides, I don't want to go after him. Do you?"
She didn't, but she still thought someone should.
There was no one else. She couldn't put the responsibility of fixing this mess on Tristan. He, of the three of them, had the least to apologize for.
She'd hesitated too long: Tristan wasn't waiting for her answer anymore, he was only looking at her. Gently, with one hand, he pushed her hair behind her ear.
"Are you sad?"
She wasn't sure what she was feeling, but it was easier to say yes, to move forward and rest her head on his chest, to let him put his arms around her. They leaned against the wall, resting in low hum and faint breeze of the air conditioner. Not for the first time, Serenity thanked the universe for Tristan. He might have been a bundle of nerves in the beginning, but once they'd gotten past those anxious first steps, he'd proven to be as faithful as she'd hoped, with a stubborn loyalty and easy romanticism that gave her a deeper appreciation of him every day.
"Aren't you?" she asked. "Sad?"
"I'll get over it," he said. "That's why I'm saying we should go do something."
He said it lightly, but it didn't fool her one bit. "You boys and your feelings," she said. "You're as bad as he is."
"No, I'm not," he corrected. He said it as if it was meant to be a joke, but when she looked up, he wasn't smiling. "He doesn't even try."
"That's not fair," she said, but he just shook his head.
"Look, I don't want to talk about him right now." Tristan shrugged, the movement of his shoulders propelling him forward and then back. "He can sulk forever for all I care. I just want to get out of here."
Unbidden, the image of her mother's windowsill sprang back into Serenity's mind. She'd watched those flowers fail to bloom over a course of weeks, plagued by this impossible fear that the weather wasn't really to blame. It was something about her, the way she handled things, the way she panicked when faced with conflict, the way she hated loose ends—it was as if the flowers had taken their cues from her, had felt her curse, had withered and died as if to say I told you so.
"I've got to go find him," she said. "What if—"
"No," Tristan said immediately, his hands moving up again to cradle both sides of her face, his palms warm against her cheek as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Please," he said. "Let him go. Just this once, let him go."
Serenity closed her eyes, sensing the fear behind Tristan's words, wondering what fueled it—before, he'd always been the first to drop everything to go after Duke.
Before, they'd been better at keeping their insecurities to themselves.
"Okay," she said, assenting for the moment. They needed to relax; they had time. The universe wouldn't collapse in one night. "Okay," she said again. "Let's go somewhere. That's fine. It'll be a day off."
It was telling, how he seemed to instantly sag with relief against her, the weight of his arms heavy against her shoulders. "Yeah," he said. "Ok, good. Think about where you want to go. I'm going to take a shower and then we'll leave."
"Okay," she said, and he paused long enough to kiss her forehead, to raise her chin so his eyes met hers.
"Thank you," he said, and paused. "It'll be fine, you know? Whatever happens."
She didn't know what made him so sure. "Okay," she repeated.
Tristan disappeared down the hall, slipping into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. Serenity leaned against the wall and listened until she heard the bathroom door open and close, heard the rush of running water and the rumble of the bathroom fan, and then she went into the living room and sat on the couch.
Duke's computer was still sitting open on the coffee table, the screensaver flashing bright revolving fractals that endlessly made and unmade themselves. She watched it for a few minutes, thinking.
Back when they'd first started this whole thing, when Serenity had refused to choose between them and insisted that a three-way relationship could work, was possible, she'd expected Duke, who was so generous and flirtatious and worldly, to back her immediately. Instead, he'd been even harder to win over than Tristan. With Tristan, the only hurdle had been handling his uncertainty: what this would mean for his sexuality, his masculinity, his friendship with her brother, his relationship with his family. She'd promised him they'd cross each bridge as they came to it, and so far he'd approached each challenge with a determined willingness to see it through. Tristan's family still didn't know that Duke was anything more than a friend, but still, between the three of them they had a routine, a flexible set of rules, a comfortable intimacy in the safety of their own space.
Duke had been opposed to the idea every step of the way. Sure, he had instantly owned up to his attraction to the concept, to the both of them, but he'd been the one insisting that it'd never work, that they didn't understand how hard it would be, how they wouldn't be able to "handle" him — and he'd been right. He was the one who kept the most secrets, who remained closed off even while he gave off every appearance of opening up, who — Serenity suspected — had lied to them both on multiple occasions.
She knew it was mostly self-sabotage—he'd as much as admitted it—but it hadn't stopped him from doing it, even as it hadn't stopped her from holding it against him. So yes, she could understand why Tristan wanted to give up on on him.
She scooted closer to the coffee table and nudged it with her foot, just enough for the computer to wake up, the screen brightening.
It was open to an email server, and Serenity leaned forward, her arms crossed in front of her chest. As long as she didn't touch the computer, she told herself, it didn't count as snooping.
There were a few emails—less than she expected, but then again Duke was fastidiously organized with these kind of things—but they were all unread, with subject headings like "RE: Order #532-D230" and "New Summer Catalogue! Buy Now!" All impersonal, professional, not that she was looking for anything specifically, but still…she'd thought there'd be something.
She glanced at the bottom of the screen. There were two other programs open: some chess simulator and a spreadsheet called "Quarterly Sales". Useless.
Serenity considered her options. Behind her, she could still hear the faint roar of the shower.
She stood up and found her sandals, glancing only once at the hallway before she snuck out the door, closing it quietly behind her. Duke deserved the benefit of the doubt, and she couldn't sit by waiting.
Stepping into the heat was like hitting a wall, and she had to stop long enough to adjust to the sunlight, to the air, to a humidity so thick it felt tangible. She went to the end of the balcony and looked around the corner of the building. Duke's car was still there, so he had to be within walking distance.
He was closer than she thought. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she turned the corner toward the parking lot and there he was, under the overhang, slouched against a bike rack, jacket draped over one arm and a cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers. He glanced at her as she approached, but didn't volunteer a greeting.
She stopped when she was close enough to speak to him, close enough to see the way his expression darkened with every step she took.
The bike rack lay in shade all day long. Here, the temperature dropped at least ten degrees. Serenity placed a hand on the concrete wall, trying to draw strength from its coolness. This wasn't what she'd come out here to say, but she couldn't help herself.
"When did you start smoking?"
He didn't answer her immediately; he ignored her, examining the cigarette and nonchalantly tapping away loose ash. "If you came down here to nag me," he said, "You might as well leave."
The muscles in Serenity's hand contracted, pressing her fingers against the rough surface of the wall. She focused on the abrasive texture. She couldn't afford to let him provoke her.
When she said nothing, Duke moved ever-so-slightly to face her. "Where's Tristan?"
"In the shower," she said. And then she added, helplessly, "He said you needed space."
Duke's expression didn't change. "He's probably right."
Serenity tried not to react, but some of her irritation bled through anyway. "What, you want me to leave?"
"I'm just saying," Duke shrugged his shoulders, just barely. "You give in too fast, Serenity."
When she didn't respond, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she caught a glimpse of a smirk. It infuriated her.
"It's a good thing I don't," she said. "He told me not to come after you."
Duke's expression didn't change, but he straightened his posture, looked her full in the face. She'd said the wrong thing.
"It's not like that," she said. "You know how he is. He's just upset—"
"I don't care why he said it," Duke interrupted. "I want to know why you came anyway."
"Because I was worried—"
"Does he know you're out here?"
"No—" She didn't understand what he was upset about. They hadn't even gotten to the real problem. "Why does it matter?"
"Becauseit's Tristan," Duke said, taking a step closer, and then another. "And I don't care what you do to me, because hell, I probably deserve it, but don't ever go behind his back and pull shit like this, alright? You can't do that to him—"
"And you can?" Serenity shot back. "Don't try to pin this on me, Duke. You're the one who—"
"I know!"
The thing about cigarette smoke, Serenity thought, is that as much as she told herself she hated it, she found the smell intensely comforting. It was nostalgic; both of her parents had smoked, and even though her mother tried to quit on a dozen different occasions, Serenity couldn't help but associate the smell with home, with watching late-night re-runs of game shows on their ratty old couch, curled in an even rattier quilt, her mother doing dishes in the kitchen with the front window open, squealing tires and distant sirens the constant background to their nights, the cold stars indistinguishable from the city lights.
The conflict grounded her, froze her in place as Duke turned away from her and crossed his arms.
"Look," he said. "You don't have to convince me that it's my fault. I know it is. I know I'm the one who has to fix things."
"Why don't you?"
He shrugged. Serenity felt her fingertips drag against the concrete, the porous surface reminding her to be softer, gentler, smoother, to listen when her instinct was to accuse. She tried again.
"What can I do?"
She watched Duke pull a loose curl of hair straight, twist the ends around his fingers.
"Go back inside," he said. "I'll figure it out eventually." He exhaled sharply, the breath not quite a laugh, but his shoulders relaxed and his hand dropped to his side.
"Seriously," he added. "If he finds out you came down here, he's gonna think you'd rather be with me."
"That's not—"
"Just take my word for it, okay? I know how his mind works."
"And I don't?" She didn't mean to say it, but the words slipped out.
He turned to look at her, his expression tempered by some mix of compassion and regret. "That's not what I meant."
She hadn't expected sincerity. She tried again. "Then tell me what you meant."
Duke looked up, in the direction of the apartment, his fingers flexing at empty air, his arm jerking with wound-up nerves. "I mean," he said slowly, formulating his words as he said them, "That he already thinks that."
Serenity's expression must have conveyed her confusion, because when Duke looked back at her, he sighed. "He thinks I don't trust him."
"Do you?"
His grimace confirmed her suspicions. "Look, I know I'm shit at this relationship thing, but I can only do so much."
"Maybe you aren't trying."
"Maybe," he said, his voice poisonous, "I'm tired of playing catch-up."
Hearing her own words echoed back at her was maddening, and Serenity could feel the mounting urge to scream welling up inside her lungs; she was too tired to deal with this now, again.
She drew her hand down the side of the wall carefully, the concrete scraping against her palm, and said, her words and her voice carefully measured, "Say what you want, Duke, but you should know that if you keep shutting us out, we'll have to give up on you."
His eyes rose to meet hers, the corner of his lips curving in a crooked smile. "Is that a threat?"
She thought of the way the shadows fell on Tristan's shoulders, of buds that never bloom. "It's the truth."
His gaze tore away from her and fixed itself on the ground. Serenity watched as he swallowed, lifting a hand to push his bangs out of his eyes. She could see from here that his body was packed tight with tension, limbs shaking at the edges, his breath slow and calculated. He was as frustrated as she was, maybe more so, but she couldn't give in anymore. If anything was going to change, he was going to have to be the one to change it.
"Duke," she said, and he flinched.
She stopped, tried again, made her voice softer. "Duke. Please. Just talk to us."
He didn't say anything for the longest time. Serenity was on the verge of giving in and breaking the silence when he sighed.
"Serenity, look," he says, "You know how fucked up my life is—"
"I don't care—"
"That's not the point," he said, cutting her off. "I just hate watching people feel sorry for me."
She wanted to deny that she'd ever do something like that, but that's what he expected her to say. It would be a lie, anyway. On the days when he was the least manageable and she was at her wit's end, pity was the best that she could come up with.
"Duke, the way you act," she said, finally, "People are going to feel sorry for you whether you give them a reason or not."
He gave her a twisted smile. "So we're back where we started," he said. "Catch twenty-two."
"I'm just saying," she snapped. "You don't have an excuse."
Duke looked taken aback, and he seemed like he might say something else when his eyes flickered past her and his expression hardened again.
She turned. Tristan was standing just under the shadow of the overhang, hands at his sides. He was wearing a fresh tank top over basketball shorts, hair wild from a recent towel-scrubbing.
"Hey," he said to her. His voice was carefully neutral. "Your phone's been ringing off the hook up there."
She couldn't really care less about the phone, but he tossed it toward her before she had a chance to say as much. Caught off guard, she nearly dropped it, and behind her she heard Duke mutter something.
Tristan glanced at Duke. "You said you quit smoking."
"Fuck off," Duke snarled. Serenity didn't look up; she was busy going through her missed calls. Two from Joey, four from her mother. There was a voicemail, too, but she wasn't sure she wanted to listen to it.
"Joey called me looking for you," Tristan said. He'd come up beside her without her realizing it. "Said your mom called him trying to reach you. He doesn't think it's important but he's a little freaked out."
Serenity released a breath she didn't know she was holding and looked down at the voicemail.
"Guess I better listen to this."
Tristan nodded and started to draw away, but Serenity caught his hand in hers, pulled him back. For a minute she was afraid he'd reject her and leave anyway, that he'd feel betrayal more keenly than concern, but he stayed, leaning against the wall next to her while she opened the voice message box and pressed the phone to her ear.
As the automated greeting started to play, she glanced at Duke and caught him watching her. When they made eye contact he turned away. He brought the cigarette to his mouth.
The voicemail was from her mother.
"Serenity," she said. "Pick up the phone. I don't like these games you're playing. Is Joseph putting you up to this? I know he's your brother, dear, but…well…never mind."
The message lapsed into silence, and Serenity thought it was over until the static crackled and she heard her mother sigh.
"I've been thinking about that little tantrum you threw yesterday," she said. "Honey, why don't you come home? I don't know why you've been so on edge lately, but we can talk it out. I don't mind the temper but I don't like it when you try to punish me by shutting me out. I only want what's best for you, you know that. Call me, all right? I only want you to—"
The message cut off there, and Serenity closed the phone before it started repeating. Feeling somehow violated, she pushed it into Tristan's hands without looking at him.
He pocketed it without comment, but she couldn't help wondering how much he heard, or if he would understand her disgust. After enduring a lifetime of passive aggressive attempts to win her love, Serenity had only now started to understand why her mother's particular brand of affection felt more slimy than solid.
Feeling both boys' eyes on her, Serenity readjusted her ponytail in order to avoid looking at either of them, but she could only stand in the heat of their gaze for so long. Someone had to be the bigger person.
"She's trying to guilt me into coming home," she said. "I can't believe her sometime."
Beside her, Tristan shifted his weight from one leg to the other. On the other side of the overhang, Duke spit out a derisive laugh. Serenity tugged her hair back into place with a little more vitriol than was necessary, glaring at him without looking directly at him.
"What are you laughing at?"
"The thing about parents," Duke said, so mechanically that it was obvious he was quoting someone, "Is that no matter how hard you try you always end up just like them." He grinned past her at Tristan, but the expression was entirely devoid of friendliness. "Right?"
Tristan's voice was low. "Don't bring her into that."
"So what, she's exempt? Does it only apply to you? Or were you saying it about me?"
"I'm not —," Serenity started, but even as she said the words she could feel the hypocrisy in them, and as she paused she felt Duke's sympathetic glance on her.
"Serenity," he said. "You literally just threatened to leave me if I didn't do what you wanted."
She refused to look at Tristan. "I wasn't—"
Duke ignored her. "And hell, I'm so fucked up I almost bought it. Looks like you were right, Tris, I'm just as bad as my old man."
"I never said that," Tristan said, reddening.
"Then enlighten me," Duke shot back, "Because I'm not coming up with any better way to interpret it."
"Can you just shut up?" Serenity snapped, but it was too late; Tristan had already turned on his heels and was walking away, with long sure strides that only served to betray how wound up he was. She knew that for him retreat was the only alternative to fighting, and he can't fight anymore, not without tapping in to the muscle memory of a half-dozen years of street brawls. He was terrified of losing his temper in front of them, and even if she felt a flash of guilt at the idea, Serenity was grateful he chose to leave rather than risking what Duke's tongue might trigger.
Within seconds Tristan had disappeared around the corner; a few seconds more and they heard the slam of the apartment door.
"I hope you're happy," she told Duke. "He didn't even do anything wrong."
Duke smiled without looking at her. "I hope that's a confession."
"I told you, I'm not—"
She couldn't even bring herself to finish the sentence. God damn. Was this how it always was? Her and Duke playing mind games around Tristan, acting out all the micro-aggressions they'd learned from their parents while pretending to play the victim? Feeding each other's neuroses: Duke creating conflict because he knew how it ate away at her, Serenity withholding approval because she knew how desperately he needed it?
Serenity leaned back into the concrete wall. It had started to warm from constant contact, the solidity of the stone more oppressive than refreshing.
"I am just like her, aren't I?"
Duke's tone was almost friendly. "I won't tell if you won't." He shrugged his shoulders and glanced up at her, as if trying to gauge her mood, and adds, carefully: "Fine pair we make, huh?"
She watched him grind the toe of his shoe against the concrete, a manifestation of their leftover tension, and she felt sorry for him all over again. It wasn't his fault his survival instincts had been warped from decades of emotional abuse. She'd known that he tended toward panic at the first sign of emotional intimacy. She'd barged forward, knowing that he'd lash out but forgetting that, like her, he couldn't stand himself when he hurt others, couldn't stand to be hurt.
"You're not your dad," she says. "And I still love you."
He blinked at the pavement, shocked into silence, or just afraid to look at her, and then he laughed, his voice catching, and his hand flew up to cover his mouth. He turned away so that she couldn't see his face, and she didn't dare approach.
"Thanks," he said, his voice quiet, "I wish it meant more."
"I know," she said. In time, perhaps it would. "I need to go talk to Tristan. Come with me?"
"In a minute," he said, without moving. "It'd be too much, you know?"
She knew. When it was just two of them, the boundaries of their relationship were manageable, but barely. The pressure of all three of them standing in the same room was almost too much to bear. Not for the first time, she wishes she'd done things differently, had set different boundaries, different expectations, had said "no" to one and "yes" to the other, or "no" to both and "yes" to someone else, someone who wouldn't have driven her crazy or broken her heart or allowed her to push them into the corner of a relationship with too many sides.
She left Duke there. When she opened the door, the air inside the apartment washed over her like a baptism, the darkness a relief from the unrelenting light of day. While she waited for her eyes to adjust, she slipped off her flip-flops and crept along the hall. She paused outside Tristan's bedroom, listening, and when she heard nothing she nudged the door open and crept just as silently inside.
Tristan was sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, his chin in his hand. He met her eyes as she entered, saw her hesitate, and gave her a lopsided smile.
"You okay?"
"Are you?" she echoed, and when he shrugged, looking away again, she sighed and sat down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chin, her legs just barely brushing against his. She wondered what he'd been doing in here, if he'd been punching the mattress, screaming into pillows. She didn't want to think about him crying.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have done that."
His voice was dull, clipped. "You didn't do anything wrong."
"Yes, I did," she said, and when he didn't contradict her again, she took a breath. "He was angry, you know," she said. "At me. He said…he said…it didn't matter what I did to him, as long as I didn't betray you."
Tristan's eyes were on hers, intently. Serenity forced a smile, shrugged. "I didn't realize." she said. "He…he was trying, wasn't he?"
Tristan didn't respond. Instead, his shoulder pressed against hers as he shifted his weight, adjusting his legs, and then he held out his hand. Relieved, she slid her palm over his, their fingers curling together with comforting familiarity. She leaned into him, pressing her face into his shoulder, the sides of their bodies flush against each other.
"He's an idiot," Tristan murmured, and Serenity choked back a laugh, and his grip on her hand tightened. They waited like that, sitting together in the dark, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and communicating with just the barest pressure of skin, the quiet cadence of breath, until Duke came back.
He hesitated in the doorway longer than she had, his face unreadable, his hand clutching the doorknob as if it was an anchor, but Tristan, with his usual brevity, patted the space on the floor on his other side, and Serenity watched Duke's fingers loosen and then fall free.
He sat beside Tristan without saying anything, his hands folded loosely over his knees. He made no move to make physical contact, but they'd expected as much and didn't demand more of him.
But as the silence drew on, Serenity could feel Tristan's body going tense beside her, and slowly she turned her head to kiss his shoulder, curling her fingers tighter against his, praying that he'd understand.
And he must have; he leaned back against the bed, their bodies relaxing by increments, waiting for words that would never be sufficient but must be enough. From where she was, Serenity couldn't see Duke's face, but she could see his hands, the cautious, methodical way he played with them telling her all she needed to know about his train of thought.
Her phone started to ring, vibrating in Tristan's pocket, rumbling against her thigh. In the quiet darkness, the sound sounded like a shotgun; they all three jumped, but only Serenity laughed nervously once she realized what it was.
"Guess I'd better answer it this time, huh?" she murmured, sitting up and disentangling their hands as Tristan lifted his hip to get at the phone.
His only answer was a grim smile as he held it out to her. She took it, looked at the screen. Her mother again. She sighed and flipped the device open, pressing it to her ear with her right hand and taking Tristan's hand again in her left.
"Hi, mom."
"Serenity?" Her mom sounded surprised to hear from her. It made Serenity almost wish she'd let it go to voicemail, but no—that wouldn't be fair to Joey. She couldn't make him take the brunt of their mother's anger forever.
"What have you been doing?" her mother demanded. "Why didn't you pick up?"
"I was busy," Serenity said, trying to maintain her calm even as she heard the sharp disapproving click of her mother's tongue against her teeth. "You know I asked you not to call me when I'm with Joey."
"I was worried about you, Serenity," her mom said. "Is this Joseph's idea? The way he treats you worries me, honey, you know he's—"
"I'm not doing this." Serenity interrupted. "We're fine. I'm fine. We can talk when I come home."
"I really don't think that's a good idea. You seemed really upset this morning, and I don't want you sulking over there when we could talk it out. He's not—look, I really think we need to talk about all this time you spend with him. You've become so secretive lately and I know he's got something to do with it, family is one thing but there's a reason I left your father and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. God knows he's not good for you—I've told you this, he's a—"
"I told you not to talk about him like that."
Her mother's voice was shrill in her ear, only rising in pitch and intensity with every word.
"Why are you treating me like this? I'm just worried about you— You have no right to treat me like garbage and behave like a —like an ungrateful brat when I'm only trying to help. You don't understand how hard it is to raise a daughter, to sacrifice everything and work so hard — You know I only want what's best for you, darling, and I know best, honey, I really do—"
Serenity didn't realize how tight her grip on the phone was until Tristan had to pry it out of her hand. Before she could stop him he had snapped the phone closed and taken out the batteries, sliding the phone and the battery cartridge back into his pocket with an bitter grumble.
"Sorry," he said. "I really don't like that woman."
Serenity felt like she should be angry, but at this point she was just relieved. "Yeah," she said, making a weak attempt at laughter. "Thanks."
His hand closed over hers, and she leaned against him again, trying to purge the frustration from her system. She couldn't deal with this. She didn't have the faculties to deal with her mother and Duke at the same time. She wasn't even sure if Duke had been listening to their conversation. His elbows were propped on his knees, his hands buried in his hair. She couldn't see his face, couldn't tell what he was thinking.
Tristan's hand tightened around hers. "Are you all right?"
She would have to deal with one thing at a time. "Yeah," she said. "I guess I'm pretty used to it at this point."
"You shouldn't have to live with her."
"I'll be in a dorm when summer's over. That's soon enough."
"We could—" Tristan said, but Serenity was already shaking her head.
"Not with Joey here," she said. "It's so crammed here already, and anyway my mom would go berserk—"
Duke lifted his head.
"You can stay at mine," he said. "If you want. It's closer to your school, anyway."
The way he said it was so casual, so quiet, that Serenity didn't realize the implications of what he'd said. Then she saw the nervous twist of his hands. Tristan sucked in a breath and sat forward.
"Duke, your dad—"
Duke smiled, stretched his fingers out against his legs. He spoke without looking at either of them, without raising his voice, but his outward calm fooled no one.
"I had to put him in a home," he said. "It was getting so I couldn't leave him alone anymore, and he didn't…he's starting to forget things. Just little things, like the date, or where he left something, but it was making him angry, and it wasn't…it wasn't like before, but still…I couldn't deal with it. I mean, it's only going to get worse, and—" He laughed, the sound sharp and nervous. "Basically what I'm saying is I've got the place to myself now, so, you know, if you need a place to stay—"
"You stupid ass."
Tristan was pale with anger, shrugging Serenity off when she reached out a tentative hand. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Because I knew you'd freak out!" Duke snapped back. "It's not like you could do anything—"
"Stop," Serenity said, speaking more from a point of exhaustion than authority, but it was enough to get their undivided attention. "He's right," she told Duke. "You should have told us earlier."
Duke frowned at his lap, didn't answer. Beside her, Tristan rubbed at his temples.
"Duke," Serenity said, trying again, her patience almost frayed to pieces. "Do you need anything? From us?"
He hesitated, and then shook his head, the movement barely perceptible. "It's all taken care of, really," he said. "I have the money—"
"You know what I mean."
He shrugged one shoulder and reached up to push some loose hair back behind his ears. He was slow to reply. They were all too quiet; too afraid to shatter their momentary peace with words.
"I don't want to do this," Duke said. "Not right now."
"Ok," she said, flashing Tristan a warning glare when he bridled. "We don't have to talk about it tonight. Right?"
She waited a few seconds, but finally Tristan sighed. "Yeah," he said. "Fine."
He sounded tired, more tired than she felt, and she didn't blame him. He had to put up with Duke more than she did, and to pull back right when they'd finally made some forward motion felt wrong. But she knew—they both knew—it was necessary. They were all too emotionally drained to address any of this.
Not for the first time, she wondered why she thought this would be easy.
"I should probably call Joey," she said. "Tristan, can I use your phone?"
Behind her words there was an implicit question —can I leave you two alone?— and Tristan glanced at Duke with obvious reluctance, but when Duke didn't move—didn't even look up—Tristan sighed and nodded toward the door. "It's in the kitchen, I think," he said. "On the counter."
She got to her feet slowly, slipped out of the room. When she found the phone she dialed Joey and pressed it to her ear with both hands, listening to the ringtone. She stood in the center of the kitchen, her feet together, her posture erect. She hung up when it went to voicemail and waited. He was at work; it usually took him a minute to get away.
He called her back almost instantly, halfway through a sentence before she'd finished saying hello.
"Dude, what's going on over there? Is Ser—"
"It's me," Serenity said.
"Oh, good." Joey didn't miss a beat. "What's going on? You okay?"
"I'm fine. Thanks for covering for me."
"Yeah, no sweat. What'd she want?"
"The usual. It wasn't important." When Joey didn't reply immediately, Serenity gave in to a sigh. "It's complicated."
"Those guys aren't giving you any trouble, are they?"
There was an irritated bite to Joey's words, and Serenity had to speak lightly. She loved her brother dearly, but his overzealous nature had a way of making a bad situation worse.
"The worst is over," she said. "I think."
"'Cause I could come break it up—"
"Please don't." Serenity said, but she was smiling, and Joey chuckled softly into the receiver, his voice warm in her ear. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
"Is Tris okay?"
If his sister's wellbeing was Joey's top priority, Tristan's was right behind. Serenity switched the phone to the opposite ear and shrugged with one shoulder, knowing Joey couldn't see it. "You know how he gets," she said. "He's stressed."
"Yeah, I get it," Joey said. "Shoulda heard them going at it last night…they still fighting today?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Sometimes I think they just need to punch it out, yanno? Maybe it'll get that stick outta dice-boy's ass," Joey laughed again, a little grimly, but when Serenity said nothing he sighed. "Ser, it's okay to fight sometimes."
"Not the way they do it."
"Even the way they do it. They're tougher than ya think. Just let them, ehe, 'duke' it out."
"Hilarious. You give awful advice, Jo."
"Sorry, did you say I'm a bona fide genius?" Behind him, Serenity could hear distant voices. One of them calls Joey's name.
"Do you have to go?"
"Nah, not really." He was lying, but he was lying for her sake, and she appreciated it. "Are you sure you don't need me to come over there?"
"I'll be fine. You should go back to work."
Joey grumbled consent and sighed. "Just trust me on this one, Serenity. They can work it out on their own."
"And where does that leave me?"
"Right between two dudes, I guess," Joey said. "You know, I can't believe I collect porn and you still turned out to be the biggest perv in the family."
"Oh, whatever! I've seen the tapes you keep under the bed, Joey. Believe me, you're still—"
"Wait, the—?! — Serenity, you better not have watched those—"
Serenity didn't both pointing out that he could hardly have damaged her sense of propriety at this point; she was laughing too hard to make a decent reply. After a bit of huffing, Joey promised he'd come straight home after his shift, as long as she promised to stay away from his movie collection.
When she hung up the phone, she waited in the kitchen for a few minutes. She was deeply grateful for few minutes of peace Joey had given her, but it wasn't doing much to placate her anxiety.
She wasn't even sure what was bothering her. They'd gotten to the root of the problem, hadn't they? Wasn't the worst of it over? Yet something was still nagging at her, that selfish jealous niggling at the back of her neck warning her that if she let go, if she stepped back, they would blossom before her eyes into something she couldn't control; couldn't participate in.
When she'd steeled her nerves she approached the bedroom again, moving quietly, staying close to the wall. She paused in the doorway, not quite wanting to give herself away. She needn't have bothered—neither of them saw her. Through the half-open door, she could still see them both, hear Tristan speaking to Duke in low tones, the murmur of Duke's barely audible reply. With the air conditioner running right above her, she couldn't quite make out what they were saying.
She leaned into the shadows and watched Duke's fingers twist in his lap, his head bowed, and and kept watching as Tristan slouched down against the bedspread. She watched him reach out, watched his hand settle over Duke's, their fingers curling together with a careful gentleness that she rarely saw either of them exhibit. She felt that brief pang of jealousy again as she stood in the hall, knowing that what they were trying to convey to each other with this intricate string of motions were words that neither of them had the power to say out loud. They hadn't looked at each other once, but it felt like something had settled between them.
Tristan was leaning into Duke's shoulder now, and Duke said something, in a voice that was nothing but a soft murmur, that made Tristan laugh. Joey's words rang in Serenity's ears, and she shivered. She knew she should have felt relieved. She wanted to feel relief, willed it to come, but all she felt was the chill running down her spine, that memory of a dying garden.
Duke lifted Tristan's hand to his mouth, kissed his fingers, and raised his eyes to meet Serenity's. He didn't look surprised to see her, didn't say anything, didn't even smile—just raised an eyebrow and jerked his head in an unspoken invitation.
She forced a smile, shook her head, turned away.
She should have known better. She was only halfway down the hall when she heard the door swing open, bang against the opposite wall, the floor trembling under her feet as someone strode up behind her.
"Don't you dare pull my own bullshit on me," Duke said. "Not when we both know what its about."
Serenity looked back. Duke was shoving his hands into his pockets, standing square in the middle of the hall, his face half in shadow. His posture was relaxed, his tone light. It annoyed her.
"I'm not pulling anything," she said. "You didn't have to follow me."
"You didn't have to leave."
"Didn't I?"
She sees the corner of his lip curling up in a sneer. "Are you seriously guilt-tripping me right now?"
"Why not?" she said, knowing that she was forcing him to get defensive, that she sounded bitter. She didn't care. "It's a genetic predisposition, apparently."
He couldn't find a reply for that. Behind him, Serenity saw Tristan in the doorway to the bedroom, his arms crossed, shoulder pressed against the doorframe.
"You're not her," Tristan said, and Serenity didn't really have the strength to argue with him, so she just shrugged.
"What do you want me to say?" she said, hating the way her voice caught as she said it. "I can't— I never thought—"
Duke groaned, lifted a hand to press the heel of it into his forehead. "Neither did we," he muttered.
Serenity watched Tristan's shoulders clench, watched his gaze suddenly shift from her to Duke. And Duke—he couldn't even look at either of them. They felt betrayed. This wasn't what she wanted.
"I'm sorry," she told Duke, her fingers clenching into fists. She wanted to approach him, wanted to hold him, but she didn't think he could take it. "I'm not jealous, really—It's just—I'm scared—" She hesitated. "And I—I don't know. It's making me think things, say things…and I—"
She didn't want to finish.
"I know what you mean," Tristan said. He was staring at the floor. "You don't want to be left out," he continued, his voice low. "You're scared, so you get selfish." He was shuffling his feet, his hands clenching at his arms, "I do it, too."
Serenity felt the soft breath of relief; she took a step forward and stopped. Beside her, Duke raised his head and stared at Tristan.
"I didn't mean it like that," he said, sounding agonized. "I wasn't—"
"It's okay," Tristan said. "You were right."
Another conversation she hadn't been there for. She wondered what they'd fought about, who had wanted what. Then she looked at Duke's broken gestures, Tristan's exhausted eyes, and realized it probably didn't matter.
"Why are you two the ones apologizing anyway?" Duke said. "I'm the one who—"
"Duke, it's fine," Serenity said, realizing it was true even as she said it. "We're fine."
He stared at her, frowning, and Tristan sighed.
"Relax, man," he said. "We can go over your issues later."
The way he said it was flippant enough that Duke spent a long minute studying him. Tristan quirked an eyebrow right back, and finally Duke decided to let the comment slide.
"Okay," he said, cautiously. "Thanks."
Tristan's tone was dry. Too dry. "What are friends for?"
Duke's mouth twitched; he glared at Tristan, disgruntled. "We're not friends."
Tristan's eyes met Serenity's, and she saw the exhaustion in his eyes lift, only to be replaced with something lighter—the ghost of something playful.
"What do you mean, 'we're not friends'?" he asked, reaching out the catch Duke by the arm, pulling him closer when Duke tried to jerk away. Serenity had to take a step back as they scuffled silently in the corridor. Finally Duke laughed, breathlessly, and let Tristan pin him to the wall. Serenity watched their grips relax, becoming an embrace as they leaned into each other, foreheads nearly touching, Tristan grinning, Duke trying and failing to keep a straight face.
"Asshole," Duke whispered, and Tristan's grin spread.
Serenity stood still, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. They'd turned their attention to her. Tristan was holding a hand out, gesturing insistently when she hesitated.
She looked at Duke. He quirked an eyebrow.
"Jealous?"
She wasn't sure how much of it was defeat and how much was defiance, but she stepped forward and took Tristan's hand.
She was relieved and a little bit gratified at how quickly they returned the embrace, Duke's arm curling around her shoulders, Tristan's face pressed against her hair, her world suddenly overcome by the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke on one side and aftershave on the other.
Duke's lips pressed against her temple; he whispered in her ear.
"Don't you dare scare me like that again."
Serenity, recalcitrant, grumbled, but Duke had already shifted his attention to Tristan.
"That goes for you, too," he said. "Next time you both gang up on me, I'm walking."
It took them a second to take in his words, but then Serenity bit her lip and Tristan groaned, letting his head drop against Duke's shoulder, pressing his face into the side of Duke's neck. Duke's expression softened, he glanced at Serenity, his eyes apologetic. She smiled.
He smiled back. "Too soon?"
None of them laughed, not out loud, anyway—but Serenity found herself relaxing, leaning forward to press her face against Duke's chest.
"Too soon," she mumbled. Duke hummed something noncommittal, and Tristan sighed, the mood calming, more somber but less anxious. Tristan edged closer, his arm curling around Serenity's waist from behind and his shoulder pressing against hers. It's not quite right, she knew, but it was close enough. Maybe next time they could pull themselves together in a pattern that would be impossible to break, but for now, for today, they could deal with this.
So she felt the sway and the beat of Duke's body as he leaned forward, the rhythm of his heart as Tristan kissed him, the heat of Duke's hand, curled into the back of her neck, the rough way Tristan clutched at her hip, the silent breath of Duke's laughter, the responsive rumble at the bottom of Tristan's throat.
"I think…" she murmured, "I think we should stay in tonight."
Duke's hand curled under her chin. He kissed her jaw, and Tristan's fingers caught in her shirt, and all three of them took a breath.
Above them, the air conditioner hummed. It would be hot again tomorrow.
End
Vertex (n.): The geometrical angle formed by the collisions of two paths, lines, or forces.
A/N: This was probably one of the hardest stories I've ever written. Took a couple years of trying to wrangle these characters into line and making them feel real without detracting from their canon personalities.
Speaking of canon, I know this is a godawful mess of dub verse and manga canon. I apologize. Kept the dub names and Westernized setting so that it could technically take place in the same universe as my other crushshipping fics "Mechanisms" and "Angle of Action". While a standalone, this story is something of a spiritual successor to them, although those stories were the first fics I posted to the fandom and would therefore not actually recommend anyone read :P
S/O to K5Rakitan for being the one to suggest I write more of this pairing, since that's what got me writing this story in the first place.