Chapter 12. Let me help... or at least let me near.
He was uncertain. Strangely nervous. At a loss.
In his hand was the note she had left in his room while he was asleep. Just a short, simple note.
I'm sorry Quickie. Don't worry about me, I'll play nice. And don't tell Lance.
Three sentences. Brief and direct, written in the same writing she employed with casual matters, little explosives dotting the 'i's and taking the place of the apostrophes.
They didn't have school. And she didn't have work, he was pretty sure... pretty sure. She probably didn't... she wouldn't, right? Who had work the day after Thanksgiving? ...no one, right? Not that he could decide on what to do anyway. Three days he had, three days to think of something and act, before Monday came again and the usual schedule of school and work would prevent him from mustering up the courage to talk to her again.
Well, that is unless she had work on Friday and Saturday. Today and tomorrow. She probably didn't... but the fact was he wasn't sure. But really, she wouldn't have work the day after Thanksgiving, would she? ...he wished he knew for sure.
...he should.
"Hey boss."
"Good afternoon, Smith. How was your Thanksgiving?"
She shrugged, taking off her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. "It was all right. Yours?"
"Pleasant. I had a nice dinner with my wife."
She raised an eyebrow at that, glancing over at him even as she picked up the broom. "I thought your kids would be with you. You did go on that whole deal about family and Thanksgiving."
He looked at her, a little startled at first, but soon chuckling. "Miss Smith, I'll have you know, my wife and I don't have any children."
She paused, leaning on the broom, slight curiosity in her eyes. "Really? Man, boss, for a guy that doesn't have any children of his own, you boast a lot of knowledge about teenagers."
"Do you think so? In my defense, my wife is a high school teacher," he answered, before they heard the familiar tinkle of the front door bell, the door opening, and he turned back to the front desk. Leaving Tabitha to muse over the bit of information she had just received, sweeping the back room. When he glanced back once more, she was already finished, sitting down at her desk, flipping through a few stapled pages.
"Smith, it's Monday by the way. The first Monday of December."
She took the joke leisurely, though she already knew what he really meant to say. "Ah. See I thought it was Tuesday today. And November too."
He hid the grin and took the direct road. "Smith, aren't you going to ask me which school my wife teaches at?"
She continued reading as she answered. "Well I thought I'd do some work and earn my pay, boss."
He hid half-heartedly the smile this time. "Fair enough."
"That," she looked up with a grin, "-and I've never heard of a 'Grieco' in my school, so I know she can't be teaching there. I may skip school on occasion, but I still hear enough talk around me that I know who teaches."
Open laughter, and she did not mind. "You're a sly kid, Smith, but she uses her own last name, not mine. Still, I know she doesn't teach at your school, although that's not going to stop me from telling you about her anyway. Her name is Sandra Winston, and she teaches in a public school in the next town. Though I kind of wish she taught at yours; I'd like to hear about how you act in school."
This time it was her turn to chuckle. "Boss, it's a real good thing she doesn't teach at my school, believe me. Otherwise you'd probably have fired me a looong time ago."
"Is that so," he took her joke, but she knew he could tell it was partly serious—he in turn looked at her with half serious eyes, though the spark of concern in them she did not like, and looked away, turning back to her work. He did not pursue the topic further and they chatted about simple matters in between customers and work as usual.
Three days. And he had done nothing.
Nothing at all. He couldn't figure out what to do. He had lost his chance. And now she was back to acting as always. Acting.
Why couldn't he just know what was wrong as she did with him? She never expressed any need for extensive comfort from anyone, but that didn't mean she really didn't need it, did it? She was human... she was a Brotherhood at that. One of them. They all had issues. It was just that he couldn't figure out hers. And without knowing, he didn't know how to help.
He would have asked Lance. He would have, had she not explicitly asked him to not. Such a direct request he could not deny her, and he had instead tried to work it out on his own. Futile, his efforts had been.
And yet he had still come. Knowing that he had nothing to say, that there was nothing he could do. Because he couldn't bear not going.
So here he was, standing outside the door, waiting for her to come out. Nearly seven, it was now. He knew she said she would be working late, which usually meant seven instead of the usual six thirty, but it suddenly occurred to him that she could be later. Oh well, he was already here.
Fortunately for Pietro, as the days were indeed chillier and the evenings even more so, the door opened five minutes past seven, and the familiar voice of "Later, boss," could be heard, warning him a few seconds ahead of time before she stepped out. And stopped still.
"...Pietro."
"Um, hey Tabby."
The hesitant pause skipped over and she walked up to him, though he was still not meeting her eyes.
"You shouldn't come to pick me up like this. I make you late for dinner. And you were standing out in the cold."
"It's not that cold yet," he answered. "And I can start later than everyone and still finish faster anyhow."
"Right..." she started walking when he did not move, making her way out toward the road, "So, I got my second paycheck today. I think I'm getting good at this working thing-"
"...Tabby."
"Yeah Quickie?"
"About... you know..."
She looked back then, stopping. "...don't worry about it Quickie."
"Tabby-"
"Don't worry," her tone was firmer this time. "I'll play nice now. Lance says, once a Brotherhood, always a Brotherhood, right?...she was there before me, I shouldn't mess that up for you guys... Quickie, it is cold out today; what are you talking about. Stop coming to pick me up, if you catch a cold, you'll probably give it to everyone."
She was there before me.
He looked up, startled.
Suddenly, it made sense.
But she was already walking off again. Always leaving him behind somehow. She was the only one that could do that, giving him space but leaving him behind.
"Tabby!"
She answered, but did not stop. "Yeah Quickie?"
School. Work. Dinner. Sleep. School. Work. Dinner. Sleep.
Lather, rinse and repeat.
She had taken Lance's role, but they hadn't realized. Instead they had spent the extra time with Lance and the X-Men. They had not taken closer notice of her as they had for Lance when he had been working. The roles had changed, but they had not adapted to it. More stress, worries, concerns... more of everything that Lance used to go through, she must surely have now, but they had given her less. In their rush to adapt to their new lives at the mansion... in their rush to get along with the X-Men... in their rush to live their own lives, they had forgotten her.
And she had forgotten her own life to help theirs.
"Come on Quickie, you're going to really catch a cold."
She had paused now, though she did not turn around.
"...Tabby..."
"Yeah Quickie?"
He was holding onto her in the next second, his arms wrapped tightly around her, hands latching onto the cloth of her jacket, closing around it.
She was still.
"...I'm sorry..." he was not crying, but his voice trembled anyway.
"...what for, Pietro," she was quieter. "Don't be. Come on, let's go. If you catch a cold standing outside with me, I won't forgive myself."
"Tabby, Rogue is our friend."
She was stiffer, but she did not push him away, still not moving.
"I know, Pietro."
"Rogue is our friend," he repeated. "But you're our friend—and our sister."
She did not say anything, nor did she pull away, not even to hug him back at feeling the slight shaking of his shoulders.
"...And just as you would for us," he whispered, holding her.
"We would do anything for you."
