Disclaimer: I do not own any part of The Sorcerer's Apprentice and I am not making any form of profit off of this fic. Except for reviews.
20.
"Any reaction is better than none." ~Gavin Rossdale
Almost time to hand her in, Dave thought mournfully as he ran one hand down his favored Tesla coils. He had been too preoccupied with the daily troubles of life—training, relationship problems, old flames—to actually come down to the lab and work on his project. Although the coils were nearly complete, it didn't change the fact he'd been neglecting some things. He sighed to himself before pulling a rusty chair over. He sat down and ran a hand through his curls. Dave's lab used to be a source of comfort for him. When he was in a black mood, and neither Bennet nor television could help him, he would go down to his lab to blow off some steam. The coils provided a nice distraction for him. When they were gone, the lab would be of little use; merely empty and unused.
He swallowed. He shouldn't think of such upsetting things. What Dave really needed was a smile on his face. He came down to the lab to get back into the retired habit, but seeing his soon-to-be abandoned coils saddened him even more. Dave slumped back in his chair. He considered talking to someone. Wasn't that what girls did in the movies? Grab a friend, sit down, and moan about emotional experiences? He just didn't have anyone to call. While Balthazar was always willing to give out advice and be a figure in his life, Dave knew he couldn't mention Drake to him. Balthazar still carried a sort of dislike against him. There was Veronica, but he felt embarrassed talking about his relationship with Drake with her. Even if he did call her, she would relay the conversation to Balthazar.
There was Becky. Dave grimaced at the thought of going to complain to her. That was a huge no-no.
An idea flickered in his mind. Dave imagined a bright light bulb hanging over his head. He quickly pulled out his cell phone and began dialing. He knew exactly who to call.
.
.
.
When Drake arrived at the door of his penthouse room, he expected Dave to greet him with a lesser degree of kindness. Or ask him to come inside to work things out. Something that included interaction with his partner. However, that was not the case, as he knocked several times and no one came to open the door. Drake wondered if Dave was really that mad at him. It had been a stupid fight, but would he actually go as far as to ignore him? Drake used his key to get inside. He checked out the living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, but there was no sign of Dave.
So he had fled. Hmph.
Drake picked up his phone and called Dave. He didn't get a response at all, so he abandoned the plan of making up over the phone. Drake groaned, then returned to his room to pick up his mood. His form of regaining happiness was painting his nails. His black nail polish usually cheered him up, but the magic wasn't working today. He set it down after completing the task. Drake thought about calling an associate to complain to, yet decided not to. It was late and they would be either sleeping, getting drunk at a bar, or indulging in some midnight relations.
Ah, Drake thought. It was midnight. Dave's residue must've worn off by now. Of course, it meant that Dave was out of his own accord. Drake stuck his face into a pillow. Fights sucked.
.
.
.
"Oh. I thought I got the address wrong," Constance said as she stepped inside. "I didn't know you had this large a space."
"Yeah," Dave said, nodding. He closed the door behind her. "My dad gave me the money for it; just an average subway turnaround. Listen, Constance, thanks for coming over on such short notice."
"It's not a problem. I'm happy to help." She walked down the stairs carefully. Dave chewed on his lip as he descended the stairs. Constance's clothes looked average enough, but they were probably from designer origins, considering her status. He wondered if she was upset about the dust that was sure to be gathering under her high-heeled boots. But he didn't have any other place to invite her to.
Dave pulled two chairs in the middle of the lab, including a hard wooden table. He'd bought coffee before she arrived; it was sitting on the surface, steam rising from the Styrofoam containers. Constance placed her purse on top of the table and sat down. As she pried off her gloves, Dave walked over to seat himself as well. He offered her the coffee. She thanked him and took it.
"What's this place for?" Constance asked. "It's huge."
"I needed a place to make my Tesla coils. Over there," Dave said, jerking his head to his invention. "It's for a project my college professor gave us."
"That looks...complicated."
Dave grinned sheepishly. "Everyone's into different things. It's basically my lab."
"I wish I had this lab. I could definitely use it to get away from the dramas of designing," Constance said, sipping her coffee.
"That's kind of what I use it for. Somtimes I just sit here to get away from everything."
Constance wiggled her eyebrows at him. "I'm guessing that's what you're doing now. So what is this specific problem with Drake?"
"Well...a few months ago, I reconciled with an ex-girlfriend. We're friends now and it's better that way. We just talk about stuff. You know," Dave said, shrugging his shoulders. He had no idea if Constance understood what he was saying, but that was that. She nodded, so he took it as a good sign. "Drake found out about her when she called to meet me up for coffee. I told him it wasn't a big deal..." He let his sentence trail off, hoping she'd get the main idea.
"I see," Constance said. "I can understand his frustration. I mean, Dave, you did keep it a secret."
"I did," he admitted. "But it's not like we were going out or anything. I'm her friend. He basically told me he didn't trust her because she was an ex-girlfriend."
"I haven't seen this girl. How she is like?"
He frowned. This was not the conversation he wanted to have. He was sort of hoping Constance would be on his side, but she was apparently keen on defending Drake. "She's really nice. Becky personally told me she didn't want the relationship we used to have. We're simply friends."
"Why didn't you tell Drake in the first place?" Constance inquired. "It would've been the honest thing to do. I don't want to accuse you of anything, Dave, but it would've been easier just to say, 'Hi, Drake, guess what? Becky wants to be friends. Isn't that nice?'"
Dave's hands tightened around the cup. He focused on counting to ten in his mind, like his childhood therapist suggested. It rarely worked. He was starting to have a headache and the numbers made it worse. He forced himself to speak, but did it very slowly. "I suppose so. But he did act very dramatic about the whole thing. He thought she had hidden motives or something. If I told him, he'd act like that anyways. I guess I didn't think it was the right time. I would've told him some day."
"Some day," Constance said lightly. The words seemed to roll off her tongue. "Some day."
She drank her coffee and kept her eyes on the cracks in the floor. Dave's face reddened, just a bit. It felt like she was implying something. He was positive it wasn't an accident.
"It was the way he blew up," Dave said weakly. "He should've told me how he felt. That he was annoyed I'd kept it a secret, as opposed to acting the way he did. He stormed out of the penthouse, you know."
"You left as well..."
Ugh. There was no arguing with this woman. "Constance," Dave said hastily, "I need to get home now to make up things with Drake. Thanks for your help."
"Sure," she said, a smile on her face. "No problem. I'll be going now. And thank you for letting me into this lab of yours. It was admittedly nice to see one."
He smiled at her, although it was not very enthusiastic. Constance put on her gloves, picked up her purse, and exited the lab.
"I should've called Becky," Dave mumbled.