A/N: Another early post! My muse has been very happy lately. hehe. Thank you all so much for the reviews, follows/favorites. There's a tiny bit of NSFW at the bottom of this chapter, just fair warning. Enjoy!
"Do you know what this is about?"
"Not a bloody clue."
"Title doesn't give anything away, does it?"
"Would anyone like a mint? I brought Andes mints. They're my favorite."
"I'll take one Clara," I extend my hand towards her, over Rory and Amy's laps.
"I'll unwrap it for you," she drops a warm, unwrapped mint into my palm.
"...Thanks."
Between us, both Rory and Amy are scrutinizing a shared program.
"Quiver – An Evening. I hate to admit it, but I think Jack's bordering on pretentious here," Rory says under his breath.
"Since when has pretentious every bothered you?" Amy asks, snatching the minimalist program from him.
"Hmm," he scratches idly at his wrist.
"Stop that," I elbow him. The seats are uncomfortable. Unpadded, long wooden seats that I highly suspect were at one time church pews.
Oh, pew, who could have known that when you were supporting the pious asses of the devout you would someday find yourself here, in a warehouse by the river, supporting four heathens while they waited for 'Quiver – An Evening' to begin?
Speaking of pious asses…
Jimmy is finally relocating to my mum's tomorrow. He's been in my house for almost a week. Six days, five nights… not including the night he spent on the porch. Mum keeps putting me off… she needs to clean or she has a gynecologist appointment… or…
Or she's meddling in my life and hoping that I'll magically fall right back into bed with him because she thinks I'll never find anyone else.
Mother...
I've spent a lot of time in my room, in bed, with the door closed… watching Blackadder on my laptop. Ultimately… it's just easier to not be around him.
To be a big girl and hide in my room under the covers.
Well, not literally under the covers. That would get hot.
There are about fifteen or so other people here, sitting on pews scattered around what is ostensibly a stage. I know it's a stage because there is a black wooden box in the center of a pool of light.
Everyone looks very, very hip. Amy and Rory and even Clara have outdone me. I never know what to wear to these things. Never. I feel like I'm dressed like someone's mom, and not in an ironic way.
Maybe I'll just play it off as ironic. I can be ironic.
"Rosie," Amy leans across Rory's lap, intentionally pressing more of herself against him than is entirely necessary, "I didn't ask… how's the thirteenth disciple?"
Rory laughs.
"Ugh. Moving out tomorrow. I'm driving him over after work."
"To your mum's?" she grins, "I would love to meet Mother Tyler."
The house lights go out, "Got any plans for Thanksgiving?"
They both look at me, and say at the same time, with the same manic intensity, "No!"
And the house goes black.
A woman comes out. She's really familiar…
Oh! It's the French blonde from Noble's party… the one playing the guitar.
Did Jack write a musical? Her voice is so pretty—
Oh. There goes her shirt.
Oh.
There go her pants.
"Did Jack write a dirty play?" I whisper to Rory.
He leans close to my ear, "I think he may have. Shh."
"I want to tell you a story…" she purrs, making eye contact with just about everyone, "…and most of it is true."
I hear a click.
Behind me, in the dark. Behind and above. Click.
I turn, straining my neck.
What is that?
Rory elbows me, and I turn back around.
Click.
Behind me. I… okay, I know it's a camera.
And maybe it's stupid… but…
My eyes adjust to the dark. I can see him, over by the big loading-bay doors, up the little ramp. David.
I can tell by the hair.
Does he know that I'm here?
Probably not.
Why is he here?
Obviously, Rose, he's taking production photos.
His hobby. Right. Yes.
I hear water falling on stage and turn, finally, to see the beautiful blonde pouring a glass of water down her back as she sits on the box, facing upstage.
Click.
He's closer. I can hear him like sonar. I know where he is based solely on sound. I'm like a bat. Or a dolphin. I'm definitely more of a dolphin than a bat.
Click.
He's wearing all black, of course. Focused entirely on what he's doing… I…
I know that I should be watching the play. The performance piece. The… Evening. But I can't look away from him.
I'm a total creep.
Yes. No doubt.
But this is the first time I've ever had the chance to… watch him. He doesn't know I'm here and he's doing what he does and… fuck, it's hot.
Hot and fascinating.
I'm more than a little turned on.
Because I'm a creep.
Watching the stage, he moves silently to the end of our pew and sits, camera in his hands (his hands) and just watches for a little while.
He's smiling, watching her.
And then his head turns.
And here I am, a scrawny stupid dolphin. Staring at him.
He just stares back.
There's about two feet between us but it feels like two miles.
The stage light grows brighter, expanding the pool of light's size and intensity as she stands, wet and naked, and walks upstage.
I look away from him, and at the stage, drawn like a June bug to the bright light.
Click.
I look back at him.
He smiles.
He took my picture.
OoO
Her name is Jeanne, I find out from Jack. He says she's his muse.
She's wrapped in a kimono in the makeshift lobby. A bunch of shoji screens put up between the stage area and the doors with a couple of tables with wine and cookies, and she's talking animatedly with Amy and the director, and incredibly good looking man with a ponytail and an earring named Aldric.
Rory and Clara are talking to Jack. I'm standing with them, but trying really hard to just… agree with them. I'm ashamed, but I have no idea what happened on stage over the last two hours. It wasn't over my head… I was just…
David's leaning against a table, focused on the screen of his camera.
I was distracted.
"Rose," Clara says, "would you get me a cookie?"
"Huh? Oh, sure…"
She smiles sweetly up at me, and Rory puts his arms around her, pulling her in close as they continue to talk to Jack about Quiver – An Evening.
A cookie.
Cookies are on the table.
The table that David is leaning against.
Clara just Wingmanned me!
I clear my throat.
Buh. It's fine, just… getting a cookie. I have a task. A quest. Cookie time.
He looks up.
"Did you…" his hands, are holding his camera, "good pictures?"
He shrugs, "The lighting wasn't great. It never is here… as it's not actually a theater, hard to get the lighting right."
"Do you… take pictures here often?"
Hey, David, come here often?
"Yeah. Sometimes. Well, whenever an artist comes in. I, uh… I saw that this was Jack's. I didn't know if you…"
"He invited us. Moral support."
"Yeah, yeah," he looks back at his camera, "what'd you think?"
"She, um… she was very naked."
He clears his throat, "Yeah. Very. Emotionally it was a naked performance."
"That's… exactly what I meant."
He smiles, "Thought so."
"I've seen my fair share of naked plays. I'm not... prudish. Don't get me wrong. I was in a naked play, once-"
That gets me eye contact.
"Really?"
"Yeah. A, uh… oh, it was this awful Bacchanal thing. Very embarrassing. My mum came."
"Your mother came to your naked play?"
"She's very supportive."
"Well. That's good of her."
Much to my horror, she had also recorded the damn thing. Always a completest, the naked-Bacchanal now sits on our shelf on a VHS beside my high school production of Oklahoma! And, distressingly, by my third grade turn as two of the three little pigs.
He turns off the camera.
I stand there for a second with my arms kind of out at my sides. I drop them.
"I… came for a cookie."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, just," I step forward and lean in towards the plate of cookies and paper napkins. She didn't specify what kind.
White Chocolate Macadamia Nut it is!
"Hey, um…" he doesn't move, and I'm kind of reaching around him to get to the cookies. He smells good, kind of warm and spicy. I breathe weird, shallow, "Rose," he touches my arm.
I swallow, and I know he can hear it.
"Y-yeah?"
"Do you…" he's turned towards me, and I can feel his breath on my neck, "what are you doing tomorrow night? I thought… if you're not busy…"
"Fuck!"
"What?!"
"I have…" I have to move my ex-boyfriend into my mum's house and have dinner with both of them as per her demands, er, request, "I have a thing. Tomorrow night."
"Oh. I was just… I have the night open. I thought we could… you could come over and…" he lifts his camera, then shrugs, "Some other time then."
"Yeah! Oh, yeah. The picture. I," I am squeezing the fuck out of this cookie, "I really want to."
He smiles, "You don't have to. You can… if you want… but… I think…" he looks away, "You look good."
I break Clara's cookie in half. "Youdotoo," I blurt out.
He laughs, not looking at me, "Thanks."
OoO
By the time we leave, I've eaten, like, five of those cookies and I'm warm and happy and a little bit wired.
David walks out of the warehouse, raising his hand at me and, definitely, getting my eye contact as he goes.
My fists are buried in my pockets and I flail to get one of them out in time to wave back, but he's already gone by the time I do... so I end up just doing a weird little pelvic thrust instead. And grinning.
Dolphin.
"Ready?" Rory's given Clara his coat and the sleeves hang way past her fingertips.
"Where's Amy?"
"She's being a theater groupie tonight... waiting by the stage door, etcetera," he smiles.
"Do you guys want to come over?" I'm giddy. I've had... a lot of sugar.
"On a school night, Rose?"
"We could... watch a movie?"
"With your ex?"
"In my room."
"Oh!" now he sounds interested, "I'm in. Clara?"
"Oh, sure. We're opening tomorrow, though, Rose, so... let's not stay up too late, yeah?"
We go back to my apartment, sneak past the dark living room, and lay on my bed watching Monty Pythons Holy Grail on my laptop until, at some point, overcome by the cozy warmth of a bed with three people in it, and the utter exhaustion of our late-twenties, we fall asleep.
OoO
That feels nice...
Wait.
What?
Someone small and soft sighs and tucks their head under my chin.
And someone else long and blonde and significantly less soft snores behind me, breathing against the back of my neck.
I crack one eye open.
I look over Clara's shoulder at my clock. 4:55 am.
She's lying on my arm which is more or less totally asleep
.
I wince and try to move to a better position to get some circulation back, but Rory pretty much keeps me locked in. He's a complete dead weight back there.
This is perfectly normal behavior for three adults who are not sleeping together, right?
Well… if it isn't, I don't really care anymore. It's… nice. I make the active decision to not think about it and just lie there, wedged in between two friendly sleeping bodies.
It reminds me of the camping trips we used to take, before we moved. We had two tents, Mum and Dad in one and the two of us in the other. Tony talked in her sleep, but it was comforting. I felt really calm having my family there like that, with me, safe and happy. Some kind of pack instinct or something.
I guess this is the same kind of thing.
Rory grunts and scoots closer, throwing his arm over both Clara and I, settling in with his cheek against my shoulder blade.
The alarm will go off in four minutes.
I'm almost asleep again when it does.
OoO
Clara repurposes parts of her outfit and manages to come up with a respectable looking permutation for the day in my car on the way over. We left Rory sleeping, no reason to make anyone get up this early unless they have to for some life and death reason, like serving coffee to people.
I make us a couple of espressos to get us through the day. Clara is chipper, (a little too chipper) and I drag myself through the first couple of hours.
David comes in, promptly at 10:00, wearing a black sweater I've never seen before. It looks old, kind of thin, and the hem at the neck has separated from the rest of the sweater a little. But he doesn't look disheveled. He just looks…
I want to vault over this counter and pin him down on the floor next to the cream and sugar island.
Yeah. That's how he looks.
"Hey."
"Hey."
I get his Tea. He pays.
"So, uh…" he glances up at me, and then back down at his cup, "have fun, at your thing. Tonight."
"Hah. Yeah."
What could be more fun than chicken picatta with Mum and Jimmy, Team 'Let's Make This Happen'?
"Is it… a date?"
I can barely hear him.
"Huh?! Oh, no! No! No, no, no… No. Not even… not even a little bit. No.. I'm… having dinner with my mum."
"Oh, OH! Great, wonderful," he smirks quickly, then gnaws on his bottom lip, perfect, full bottom lip…
"That's fun."
"Oh, yeah," I roll my eyes. God I hope that didn't look as stupid as I think it did.
"Okay. Well," he sips and starts to turn, "Tea's a bit strong today."
"Is it?"
"Yeah," his eyes are just so fucking pretty, so warm and brown, "It's good."
I want to do something. Something special, something I haven't done in a while… it was a hobby, and I'm not very good at it. I rub my fingers against my palm. After I leave Jimmy at Mum's… I'll go home, have a glass of wine and paint.
I'll paint something Brown.
OoO
After our shift, I drop Clara off and then drive home.
Rory never showed up in the shop today. He said he had some running around to do today. Maybe he just got busy, or his arm is still bothering him.
I can't park in my normal spot.
Because a car is already parked there.
No. A car is still parked there.
"Huh."
I park around the corner and walk. Rory never left.
Well, I'm sure Amy had some exciting stories… assuming he was brave enough to venture back into her apartment after his near death experience.
I open the door and walk in.
"Jimmy?"
I hear Mickey bounding towards me, enormous feet on the hardwood.
"Hey, buddy!" I let him lick my face, because I love him and I didn't care about his breath which is, especially awful today, "Someone's getting some more green-chewies," I kiss the top of his head and push him down.
"Jim? Are you ready?"
His stuff is packed up in a neat pile next to the couch.
But the couch is empty.
And the place is eerily quiet.
Rapture? Dammit! The bastard was right all along.
"Jimmy?"
It's not that big of a place. And he doesn't have a car… unless he went for a walk.
Not in the yard. Not in the bathroom.
No.
My door is closed.
NO.
I open the door.
"Oh, Jesus!"
I look away as fast as I can, staring at my Trainers but not fast enough to not see… everything.
So much skin. Black hair and blonde hair. Two long bodies twisted together in the sheets. In my sheets! Heads close together at the foot of the bed, face to face, Rory above Jimmy pinning his forearms to my mattress. Startled, they both look at me, Jimmy staring at me upside down and slack-jawed.
"ROSE! Uh…"
I have my hand over my eyes, and I back up, hitting my funny bone on the door-frame, "Ow! Fuck! Uh. No, uh…" it smells like sex… my room smells like sex… sex that I'm not involved and that's..
So wrong! "I'll uh…"
I hear skin on skin, muttered apologies.
Jesus, guys!
I'm trying to get out of there. I hear a zipper zip up.
Out of the room, Mickey thunders past me, delighted to have the door to his bed open again.
"Oh, fuck no! No! Rose!" I hear Rory yelp weakly behind me, "Call him off!"
Naked and afraid of dogs!
I start laughing.
Hard.
Uncontrollably.
I'm crying and doubled over, leaning against the wall in the hallway, until I slowly start sliding down to the floor.
"M-Mi… Mickey! Come… come're! Come here!"
I can't stop laughing. It hurts. My gut hurts, my sides hurt! I'm wheezing! Sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around my ribs, legs splayed and… I'm going to laugh myself to death.
Their faces! They both just looks so… surprised!
Mickey comes back to me, worried for my well-being it seems, and maybe he should be because as far as I can tell I've gone hysterical and I let him lick my face again because it makes him feel better.
"Oh, god. Oh… god!"
I hear Rory muttering curses under his breath.
"Rose…" Jimmy is standing here awkwardly, dressed again, "Rose I'm so-"
"Jesus, Jimmy I wipe tears and dog spit off of my face with the back of my hand, "I… I don't care. I'd rather you guys hadn't done it in there. I… sleep in there."
And I'm off again.
"Jesus, Rory, you're a m-machine!"
He's hanging back, dressed again.
"We didn't… uh…" Jimmy is completely red, "we didn't, not all-"
"Don't tell me!" why is this so funny?! I must look insane! "I don't.. I don't…"
Rory's stripping the bedding.
"What are you d-doing?"
He looks up at me, trying hard not to smile, "I'm going to wash your sheets. And your quilt."
"Not the quilt!" I slip down the rest of the way, lying on the floor and laughing, "My Grannie Tyler made that quilt for me, you per-perverts!"
Rory starts laughing, hair falling over his face as he strips the bed, "Well, Grannie Tyler made a sturdy quilt. That's… craftsmanship!"
"Ahaha!"
Mickey lies down next to me, quietly accepting his master's descent into madness.
Jimmy balls his fists at his sides, and then walks over me, going into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly and turning on the shower.
"You're… Rory… you're. Amazing!" I'm babbling and laughing from the floor, shaking and struggling to pull in a full breath. "What… w-what the fuck happened?!"
Rory walks over me, carrying an enormous armload of all of my bedding, and says, "He made me waffles," like that explains everything, "Going to the Laundromat. Want to come with me?"
I'm dying.
"Y-yes. Give me… a minute!"
I see my headstone.
Rose Marion Tyler
1988 – 2013.
Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend.
Died laughing.
Thanks, Rory.