Disclaimer: Still don't own.
SPOILER WARNING: MAJOR PLOT POINT FROM SEASON 3 IS MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER!
"Uh..." Otis fidgets, then arranges his hands in his lap and says, in the measured, slightly prim tone he used to use for therapy, "Okay, well... I want to ask you what happened in your life after Moordale shut down, but I've noticed that you keep avoiding any questions about yourself, so I'm trying to figure out how to ask it in a way that expresses both how extremely curious I am, and also the fact that I completely respect your decision to keep some—or all—of it private."
Maeve shakes her head. "That was the most Otis response I've ever heard. Alright then. Here's what I'm willing to tell you..."
"After all that shit went down at Mooredale," Maeve begins, then falters.
Otis makes an encouraging noise. "Mm-hm?"
"Otis, why do you have a poster of a blonde elf-child on your wall?"
"Uh—" Otis gives a sort of surprised gasp of laughter. "That's Zelda."
"Who?"
"You know, Princess Zelda."
Maeve shakes her head. "Uh-uh?"
Otis groans in mock dismay. "All those times we hung out and I can't believe I didn't mention Zelda. She's, like, the greatest video game character ever. Actually, I've got another poster which you'll like—" he springs up and rummages in the drawers under his desk. "There! It's fan art."
Maeve examines the poster which Otis sticks under her nose. It's the same blonde girl in warrior pose, holding a sword and standing on a pile of skulls. "Not bad," she admits. "And I think you did mention Zelda a few times, actually. You and Eric were always playing it, but I never understood the appeal."
"Have you ever played a video game?"
Maeve shakes her head. "Nope."
"Well, I don't have them here but I do sometimes play with some other guys. Guys and girls I mean. You'd be welcome to join sometime."
"Maybe." Maeve pauses, picks at her nails. "Still want to hear my life story?"
"Of course."
"Okay. Well. Here goes. After Mooredale went bust, I... Well, I never told you, because we weren't really speaking, but I'd got into this exchange scheme in America. I wasn't going to go, because I didn't have the money. Isaac offered, actually, I don't know where he'd have got it from, but of course I said no. But then I did get the money, at the last minute, so ... yeah. I went to America, and it was wonderful. It was basically meant to be like going to college early—I sat in on some freshman English classes at Columbia, and there was this professor, and I got kind of an internship. The original program was only two months, but she wanted me to stay on and be a sort of research assistant and do office tasks and so on. And I didn't exactly have a school to go back to, so I said yes."
"How long did you stay?"
"Three months after the first two. I couldn't stay longer. It was paid, but not enough to live on, and after I got through the money I got from— Anyway. I needed to get home."
"Do you wish you could have stayed? Finished school in America? Fresh start?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. I wanted to come back at the time. For Elsie, and Isaac." She hesitates as she says the second name, more quietly than the first. "Anyway, before I left, Elsie's foster mum, Anna, had invited me to live with her, and I didn't want to have to take her up on it at first. But when I got back I realised it was the best option I had."
"Well, I suppose being with your sister—and having a parental figure around..."
"Also, Cynthia got a tenant for my old caravan."
"Yeah. I know. I ... uh, came looking for you once."
She darts a quick, surprised glance at him. "Oh."
"Yeah. Well. Now I know you were having the time of your life in America. You definitely deserved that, too, Maeve. I mean it—" when she shakes her head. "So what happened after that?"
"I got a proper job, at the pub. Started off front of house, but ended up as a kitchen hand. They needed more kitchen hands, and apparently I glared at the customers too much." (Otis swallows a laugh at this.) "And I finished school by correspondence. Sat the exams and did really well, but I decided to take another year off. I wanted to save money and have some more time with Elsie before I moved away. And things were good with Isaac, and I just... didn't feel quite ready to move on. He, um, kept pushing me to apply for scholarships and go a year earlier than I did, but—" She shrugs and trails off.
Isaac again. The guy she'd brought to Otis's party, where he'd drunkenly insulted her and ruined their friendship. He swallows, feeling like he's forcing down broken glass, and manages to sound almost casual as he asks, "So are you and Isaac still together?" And Maeve looks down at her hands, then looks up and presses her lips together and smiles in a way that he knows means she's hurting, and says,
"No. We don't speak any more."
And Otis, on an impulse he doesn't quite understand, says, "But it was good while it lasted?"
A complicated expression flits across Maeve's face. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."
They sit silently for a minute, held by a silence that both feel is fragile. Eventually, Maeve breaks it. "How about you? Are you still with Ruby?"
"No." Otis huffs a laugh. "We still talk sometimes, but no. It just ran its course, really. I think she's happy though. More than she used to be."
"I heard that her dad is unwell."
"He is. It's pretty bad. But I think she's kind of made peace with it in a way? She talks to me about it sometimes, and it's like, it's tough, and it makes her sad, but she's not torn up over it any more. She's, um, started dating another guy now, and I think he's very supportive."
"That's good, I guess. So, was it good while it lasted?"
Otis considers for a moment, then smiles. "Yes. Yes, it really was. But it wasn't meant to be forever."
"Forever is a notion perpetuated by patriarchy and people with Cinderella complexes."
"Oh, I don't know. I think it can happen."
"Oh, so you're an optimist now? What happened to you...?"
By midafternoon, the rain has eased a little. Maeve sits on the back of Otis's bike, one arm tight around his waist, the other holding an umbrella over them both. He's also insisted on giving her his raincoat, with the reasoning that his own jacket is mostly waterproof anyway.
When they arrive, Otis looks with some curiosity at the little flat. From the outside, it's nice in a dilapidated way. Roses, not very well pruned, rambling over the walls; ivy. The bin is overflowing. Maeve follows his gaze and winces. "My housemates aren't very tidy."
"Neither are mine. I mean, the other guys who live in my wing at college are legitimately hopeless."
"Ha." Maeve bites her lip. "Well, I'm not inviting you in. But thanks for the lift. You didn't have to."
"I know. It was really nice to see you today, Maeve."
"You too, Otis." Maeve fidgets a little, looking almost shy. "Well, go on. Piss off."
Otis laughs. "That's more like it."
MAEVE: FUCK I just realised I kept your jacket. I'm so sorry!
OTIS: It's really fine. I forgot too.
MAEVE: Do you want to come by tomorrow and pick it up? Or I can come to yours. It's my fault after all.
OTIS: Honestly, you can keep it for the week. I barely use it. And you've got to get to work and stuff.
MAEVE: I'll wear it to my shift tomorrow then. But I'm bringing it back first thing Monday.
OTIS: Okay.
That night, Otis stares at the ceiling almost til dawn, too wound up to sleep.
The last few years have been a strange evolution for the son of an oversharing sex therapist mother, and an arsehole sex therapist father. His transition from neurotic sixteen-year-old, unable to masturbate without a panic attack, to basically dating his sister, to having thrilling, steamy, casual sex with Ruby was... quite a lot to process, even in hindsight. After Ruby, though—a relationship that, despite her terrifying reputation, had been a bright spot in a very difficult year for both of them, neither taking it too seriously, sad but not devastated when it fizzled—his sex life had also more or less fizzled. His first year of university had involved a bit of sleeping around, sure, generally following drunken college parties, but by and large he found himself occupied with other things. Like the endlessly panic-inducing struggle to find his way around campus, and the similarly endless pile of readings. And the oddly isolating nature of college life—scores of instant acquaintances, flitting in and out like bright, casual butterflies; no deeper friendship to soothe the hollowness that Otis, for the first time, was actually conscious of feeling.
And now, as Maeve walks—explodes—back into his life, so do old emotions, like a starburst. In place of hollowness come exhilaration and hopefulness and long-suppressed grief, like a torn muscle, a gunshot wound. The imprint of her arm against his waist from when she rode behind him on the bike is burned into him. Images cascade like a stack of falling Polaroids—bitten nails, teasing smile, the hair. She's changed her hair again. Messy bun, lighter brown, hints of auburn. Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown, lilac and brown hair...
The rest of the week passes slowly. On Monday, Maeve comes by to drop off his raincoat, but she's in a rush and they don't talk for long. Over text on Tuesday, she tells him that she has to work again on Friday. Daringly, he asks if she'd like to come over again on Saturday. She says yes.
On Wednesday, Otis sits down and forces himself to start on the psychology paper he's been putting off for the past week. He spends most of that night and the next day in the library in a welter of stress, but, as usual, gets the paper done well before the Friday midnight deadline. 10am Friday morning, to be precise. For him, that's cutting it fine, a fact which causes endless mirth to his college buddies, who generally turn in anything due at midnight on Friday at 11:55 p.m. after getting back from the pub.
Friday evening, he goes to the final Bartholomew Lecture, which is on George Eliot. To his surprise, Maeve's friends, Stephen, Simon, and Ruth, catch hold of him as he's leaving and invite him out to drinks. Over drinks, he debates the merits of various fantasy novels with Ruth and Stephen (conclusion: Patrick Rothfuss's The Name of the Wind is definitely superior to Ranger's Apprentice...) and listens patiently to detailed plans for a party once the current slew of assignments has been waded through. Ruth gets his number, on the pretext of messaging him party-related details later.
RUTH: We should go out to coffee sometime. What do you think?
OTIS: Sure.
[Pause. Typing bubble]
[Typing bubble disappears. Long pause]
RUTH: Should we go to the place you like? The cafeteria near the science building?
OTIS: Sure, sounds good.
[Long pause. Typing bubble.]
OTIS: Just as friends, right? I don't want to waste your time, or give you the wrong idea.
[No reply]
On Saturday, again, they talk for hours, despite both being wrung out. Maeve's shift had gone extra late the previous night, thanks to a drunken dare which involved a customer eating two Carolina Reaper chillis and subsequently leaving a trail of vomit from the bar to the gents' toilets. As for Otis, after getting back from drinks, he'd had another bout of insomnia and stayed up til four making puff pastries in the student kitchen. At least now he gets to watch Maeve devour the results with visible appreciation.
He realises, with some alarm, that afternoon has shaded into evening, and Maeve still hasn't made a move to leave. "Don't you have work tonight?"
Maeve licks the crumbs of pastry from her fingers before answering. "Nope. I covered for Celia last week, so she owes me a shift. You're not doing anything tonight, are you?"
"Not really. Probably just, uh, readings."
Maeve nods. "Well, that's good, because I have a suggestion." She hesitates.
Otis nods, encouragingly. "Go on."
"I, um." She stands up and walks over to his desk, pretending to inspect it, then pivots to face him. "I think we should have sex."
A/N: So what do you think? I'm on the edge of my seat here, guys, biting my nails—was that too bold a move? I feel like the characters are writing themselves, honestly. Feel free to write in the comments what you think Otis's reaction to this will be! xD
The quote, 'Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown, lilac and brown hair...' is from T.S. Eliot's 'Ash Wednesday'. Read the whole thing—it's great, and a bit of an Otis mood in my head at the moment. The line also appears in Donna Tartt's 'The Secret History', quoted by the protagonist, Richard, with reference to his own impossible love interest.