Control

'Jolty' didn't eat that cookie,
And now there's none left for Mommy.
Lying about it only made me sad.
You have to take responsibility.
No one but you
decides your behavior.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Marie asks, shrugging a sweatshirt on over her kimono.

Calamari Inkantation plays around her from the clip-on speaker Marie gave her. Callie hums along. As long as she has this, she knows it's real. She's full on cinnamon rolls and apple slices and grilled cheese sandwiches with tomatoes, and everything tastes good.

"I'm fine, Mar!" Headache? Doesn't matter, that's constant anyway. "You and Drown have had this date since forever, and he already promised it'd just be coffee, since you're so nervous about leaving me." It's honestly sweet, that Drown refused to let her cancel because he had to see Marie was taking care of herself properly. She needs to meet him. But right now, she just stretches her arms and leans back. "Did you clean this place at all while I was gone?"

Marie huffs out a breath. "Of course I did."

"Could've fooled me," she teases, propping her hands on her hips. "Can I go in your room? Most of this place needs a scrub, but that place is probably outright gross."

Marie rolls her eyes. "And to think I missed you," she grumbles, but she's smiling at Callie, and Calamari Inkantation plays around her and it's real, it's her. "Go ahead, you silly. But don't overdo it. You're still not supposed to exert yourself. And don't leave the apartment. And—"

"I'll be fine, you clownfish." Callie rolls her eyes. She didn't lose that much weight, and it must've been all fat anyway, not muscle, considering the amount of exercise she got down there. Callie makes a shooing motion. "Go on!"

Marie laughs one more time, then leaves, looking back just over the threshold. Callie shuts the door in her face.

Well! That's that. She hasn't been alone, except when she's slept, for over a week. And the apartment really does need cleaning, but there's so much else she can do: catch up on squiddor, see what big, earth-swimming news she's missed, surf the net... okay, maybe not the last one. Callie doesn't think she's ready to see what everyone thinks of her reappearance.

Maybe she's not ready to see the news, either. But she turns on the TV anyway, and turns it to ranked matches. They're playing... clam blitz? That must be a new mode, she knew they were testing one before she got the job with Fortu—before—anyway, she knew there was a new mode planned. Callie watches a match, but it looks like glorious chaos more than anything. Glorious chaos that would be a blast with a roller. She'll have to learn the rules.

She keeps it on while she deals with the living room, moving coffee table and big chair for what must be the first time since the last time she did it, before everything got so busy, and grabs the pens and notebooks and novel that fell behind the chair, then vacuuming. Calamari Inkantation loops around her over and over, sometimes just barely audible, and Callie turns the volume up a few notches. As long as she can hear this, she knows she's safe.

Callie shoves the chair back into place, grabs the back of the couch, and yanks.

There are more pens back here, another of Marie's sketchbooks, several sheets of blank sheet music, and a small black case with a green ribbon around it. Callie's hearts freeze.

Change the ribbon color, and she saw a case just like it after Final Fest.

Callie backs away, trips over her own feet, and falls backwards on the floor. She keeps her eyes on the case. It's marked for Marie. For Marie. She never put away all her gifts right after a splatfest, some always lived in the living room for months. Sometimes she didn't even open them all.

And even if she had opened it, since the ribbon is untied, its ends dangling, shades are Callie's thing. Always have been.

Callie's headache fills her whole head, and she closes her eyes. She can still see that case, even with them closed. She has to check. She needs to check. She needs to know if the shades are in there. She needs to... she needs...

Callie's on her knees behind the couch the case open in her hands and she peels her eyes open to see those shades staring at her and she needs to get rid of them. She needs to.

She needs...

She needs them.

Callie hates these shades. They're what took her from Marie, from home, caused Marie months of fear and anguish looking for Callie, made Callie so alone. They're what the enemy used to—to...

Callie needs them.

Calamari Inkantation plays around her, and Callie clings to those notes. She tries to breathe.

Callie wills her hands to open, to drop them on the ground, to smash them underfoot like the trash they are.

But her hands shake as she flips the arms open so they're wearable, and she can't stop, she needs to. She just. She needs to see.

No, no, no she doesn't, she doesn't need this, but her hands shake and her head pounds and she's on the floor and wetness slides down her face but she has to. She has to.

She can't bring herself to get rid of them.

She needs them. She needs them. She needs them.

She needs...

They're dangerous, they...

Callie holds them in front of her eyes, not putting them on, just looking, and she just.

She needs them.

Her stomach drops. Her hands pull the shades closer to her face. She can't stop. She can't look away. Just watches as her hands come to her face, the view from the shades—just her normal apartment, a little darker, nothing wrong here, then the shades are on.

And she's fine. She's fine. Even her headache's gone! Callie rubs one hand along her tentacles, pulling something off one that stings just a little, and tries to relax, because she's fine.

But her hearts are pounding and her legs feel wobbly and she just sits, on the floor, and leans against the back of the couch and breathes until the tears stop. Then she reaches up and takes them off, and it's easy, and she snaps the case shut, because this is fine.

Nothing happened.

Callie gets to her feet and wobbles; when she straightens, she looks around. Right, she put the vacuum down the hall. Was there always a door to the hallway? Course there was. Callie opens it and trots through, to the closet, then, just for fun, spins a couple times before making her way back down it. She's laughing to herself, giggling, as she goes. Nothing happened. She's fine. She's

shoved over, and Callie yelps, something tangled in her tentacles, pinned to the ground. Callie throws back an elbow, hitting whoever's got her, but there's a hand on her face, then Callie blinks and she's

On the floor.
In front of the elevator.
The hall outside their apartment.

"Callie, it's Marie," says a voice behind her, and Callie stops struggling. "It's Marie, what—let's get you inside."

Marie gets off her. Offers down a hand. Grabs Callie's shoulder and pulls her up, when Callie doesn't respond. Pushes Callie ahead of her, back to the apartment.

Callie walks on legs that shake, not looking behind her, until Marie closes the door inside and walks past Callie, inside, and Callie sees the shades in her hand.

"You dropped your speaker," Marie says, bending down behind the couch. Marie stands and holds it out to her.

Callie's eyes stay locked on the shades. "Marie," she says, and her voice sounds tiny in her ears. "Please."

Marie sucks in a sharp breath. "Please what?"

"I need them."

Marie stays where she is, holding out the speaker, still for a long moment.

Then she steps forward and clips the speaker to Callie's shirt. "No," she says. "You don't."

Marie walks away, carrying the shades with her.

And Callie trails behind, her eyes on the shades.