II. Show the Way
He knew she was there long before he heard her moving around in his flat's small kitchen. Actually, it wasn't so much that he knew she was there as it was that he had known she was coming. The last time was a month ago, longer than she ever usually went without dropping by, so he knew that he was due for a visit. Sometimes, he looked forward to her impromptu arrivals - or invitations depending her whim and her mood; sometimes he simply wanted her to get lost and leave him alone. In either case both reactions typically had less to do with her and more to do with whatever his current state of mind happened to be when she teleported into his apartment and woke him up in the early morning hours, or alternatively when she rang him up and begged him to come out LA and spend the day with her.
At least he could never say that she was predictable and for that he was grateful. Predictability was well overrated.
He liked to pretend that it was the clanging of the pots and pans in the kitchen that woke him, but they both knew that it was simply that - pretending. He knew her better than she knew herself; he knew all of them better than they knew themselves. And even her wild unpredictability was somewhat predictable because somehow he always knew when she topped off on another life crises.
It was a connection they had; he couldn't explain it and he stopped trying awhile back.
Rolling out of bed, he took time to brush his teeth and wash the last of the sleep out of his eyes before making his way to the kitchen. He watched her from the doorway for quite some time, knowing that she knew he was watching, but not truly seeming to care. She moved with ease in the kitchen, almost as though she belonged there, or if not so much that she belonged there then certainly as though it was a familiar to her as her own. The last of which wasn't quite so far from the truth.
"What time is it?" He asked at last. Or at least he intended to ask. Mostly it came out as a yawn.
"Almost six." She stopped, giving him a brief glance over her shoulder, "Not too early for you, I hope?"
She was teasing so he didn't bother with an answer. She knew that he was a morning person, and that it was far easier to catch him in a good mood before noon than it was after supper. So rather than responding to the rhetorical question, he instead did the math, worked out the time change quickly in his head. "And you're making ... breakfast?"
"I was in London all night," she said as though that explained everything. The amazing part was that he knew her well enough that it did.
He wisely didn't comment on that. It wasn't time yet and she hadn't opened the floor for any serious discussion yet. He learned the hard way a few times past that trying to discuss things before she was ready went badly. Instead he crossed the kitchen and peeked over her shoulder and frowned in confusion. "Blueberry pancakes?"
"I felt like blueberries."
"I didn't have any blueberries. Hence the confusion."
She shook her head, a soft smile turning up the corners of her mouth as she flipped two of the said pancakes onto a plate and handed it to him. "I brought them with me."
"You're thorough."
"I try. Now, go eat before it gets cold. I made tea as well."
"I'm impressed."
Her response was matter-of-fact, "You are not."
"You're right, I'm not." He took one of the two chairs at his small kitchen table, placing the plate in front of him. A thought and a frown later, he realized that he was going to have to get back up to get a cup of tea and he was feeling more than a little bit lazy. "But the blueberries ... that was a nice touch."
"I had a sweet tooth." The shrug that accompanied the words said more than the words themselves did. Well, actually the fact that she was standing in his kitchen at nearly six o'clock in the morning, cooking up pancakes spoke volumes about the current state of her mind, but it wasn't quite time to touch that slowly ticking bomb yet.
It was a dance they often did, whether he initiated it or she did, and it was one that they both gained enormous proficiency with overtime. They gauged one another, tested one another and plotted the most direct course that would not result in opening wounds too soon, or venturing down paths best left unexplored.
They ate in silence, in quiet camaraderie and he waited, knowing it would only be a matter of time before she finally said something - anything - to explain what she was doing there.
He only had to wait through half a plate of pancakes.
She signaled her readiness by pushing her plate away and dropping her fork loudly onto the table. Her dark eyes looked everywhere except at him, settling at last on the wedding ring that she still wore on her finger. "I didn't get it and Robin's getting married."
He chewed, swallowed and digested what she said. Then, after taking a sip of tea, decided to tackle the easy one first. "Why didn't you get it?"
The laugh she gave was devoid of any mirth and sounded hallow and empty, echoing in the tiny kitchen. "I wasn't, how did they put it? I wasn't 'hard' enough. They had trouble believing my 'darkness.' I guess I'm not hardened criminal material."
"What did Marta say?" He asked although he really wasn't sure that he wanted to know. Sometimes he wondered why she kept Marta on when it was often blatantly apparent that the two women saw things from totally different viewpoints.
"Marta didn't think that I should read for the part. It was only by a random fluke that I even learned about it at all." She waved her hand dismissively, momentarily drawing her lower lip in and chewing on it. "She said that I should be flattered that I'm still considered 'soft' and 'pretty,' but - I didn't spend all that time in theatre school and I didn't work my ass off to spend the rest of my life doing quirky romantic comedies."
She rested her temple against her hand, "I just want do something serious, you know? Something that proves -- something that makes it worth it."
"You've been listening to your mother again, Ami." It wasn't a question and he didn't phrase it as one. One would think that with all his varying parental issues that the ability Ami's mother had to turn an otherwise confident and successful woman into a confused and unsure bundle of nerves would no longer surprise him. Yet, the fact remained that it always did.
"Sometimes I can't help but wonder if she isn't right," Ami gave another one of those shrugs that was meant to convey nonchalance or lack of conviction but really did nothing of the sort. "Maybe this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. Maybe my career is a waste of time and maybe it is what messed up my marriage."
"Because Robin fucking his co-star didn't have anything at all to do with that," he remarked dryly, took a stab at another bite of the slowly getting cold pancake and shoved it in his mouth.
That brought her up short and she frowned in disapproval more than offense. "You've been spending too much time around Megabyte and Jade, Kevin."
"And you haven't been spending enough." Kevin regretted the words the moment they left his lips. There were certain lines that were not to be crossed, certain conversations that they simply didn't have and this was one of them. He always found it oddly ironic though that just as he was finding his way back to The Tomorrow People, Ami was slipping away.
He held up his hands in surrender, letting her know that he was quickly backing away from that conversation before she shut down, shut him out and skulked away in anger. "The only thing I'm trying to say here Ami, is that your problems with Robin went above and beyond the fact that you were working your ass off to get noticed on the big screen."
She relaxed, chewed on her lip again for a moment. "I know that but . . . but I was obsessed with getting roles and making a name for myself. Maybe if I hadn't done that, I would have been there to take care of my marriage."
"Or, if you hadn't done that, you wouldn't have ever met Robin and then this would all be moot anyway." Another swallow of tea and then teacup and plate were shoved aside. Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hand, gripping fingers just above where her wedding band glinted and sparkled under the kitchen lights. Ignoring the very faint ripples of annoyance and agitation that rolled off of her, he drew her attention to the band with a gentle but firm tug on the ring. "In the end, it's always Robin. He's always what sets you off like this."
"I can't help it." Ami jerked her hand free, burying the offender in her lap. "I know he's an ass. I do. But Robin is my husband and I love him."
"Was your husband," he corrected her. "The divorce is final today, isn't it?"
"Is it so wrong for me to still want to be with him?"
"Wrong? No. Unhealthy? Yes."
"Is that your way of telling me that I'm being a complete idiot?"
"No, that's my way of telling you that you're being a complete martyr." Kevin leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm. "And our breakfast is cold."
That won him a half-smile that never reached her eyes and a choked laugh that hovered on the edge of a sob, but it wasn't a sob and that made all the difference. "I just that I'm having a little trouble letting go."
"Start by taking off the ring. And ... staying away from blondes." When Ami blinked at him in feigned ignorance, he rolled his eyes. "Last night, the guy you picked up, he was blonde, wasn't he?"
"That had nothing to do with Robin. And what were you doing, spying?"
"You know me better than that, and it had everything to do with Robin. Take off the ring, Ami. It'll get easier after that. Trust me." Kevin pushed back from the table and stood up. "And thank you for breakfast, but I've got to get ready to face a classroom full of first years who think that the main reason to not take me seriously is because I'm not a full professor."
"At least until they take the first exam?"
"See, you do know me." Kevin studied the woman still seated at the table, tentatively reaching out and brushing against her mind. Her problems weren't solved with one conversation and her emotions were still a tangled mass, but he also knew from past experience that it was time to step back and let her think about things. [I'll talk to you later?]
"Nell is making chicken piccata tonight." Which was naturally Ami's way of inviting him to dinner.
"I like chicken piccata."
He knew she was there long before he heard her moving around in his flat's small kitchen. Actually, it wasn't so much that he knew she was there as it was that he had known she was coming. The last time was a month ago, longer than she ever usually went without dropping by, so he knew that he was due for a visit. Sometimes, he looked forward to her impromptu arrivals - or invitations depending her whim and her mood; sometimes he simply wanted her to get lost and leave him alone. In either case both reactions typically had less to do with her and more to do with whatever his current state of mind happened to be when she teleported into his apartment and woke him up in the early morning hours, or alternatively when she rang him up and begged him to come out LA and spend the day with her.
At least he could never say that she was predictable and for that he was grateful. Predictability was well overrated.
He liked to pretend that it was the clanging of the pots and pans in the kitchen that woke him, but they both knew that it was simply that - pretending. He knew her better than she knew herself; he knew all of them better than they knew themselves. And even her wild unpredictability was somewhat predictable because somehow he always knew when she topped off on another life crises.
It was a connection they had; he couldn't explain it and he stopped trying awhile back.
Rolling out of bed, he took time to brush his teeth and wash the last of the sleep out of his eyes before making his way to the kitchen. He watched her from the doorway for quite some time, knowing that she knew he was watching, but not truly seeming to care. She moved with ease in the kitchen, almost as though she belonged there, or if not so much that she belonged there then certainly as though it was a familiar to her as her own. The last of which wasn't quite so far from the truth.
"What time is it?" He asked at last. Or at least he intended to ask. Mostly it came out as a yawn.
"Almost six." She stopped, giving him a brief glance over her shoulder, "Not too early for you, I hope?"
She was teasing so he didn't bother with an answer. She knew that he was a morning person, and that it was far easier to catch him in a good mood before noon than it was after supper. So rather than responding to the rhetorical question, he instead did the math, worked out the time change quickly in his head. "And you're making ... breakfast?"
"I was in London all night," she said as though that explained everything. The amazing part was that he knew her well enough that it did.
He wisely didn't comment on that. It wasn't time yet and she hadn't opened the floor for any serious discussion yet. He learned the hard way a few times past that trying to discuss things before she was ready went badly. Instead he crossed the kitchen and peeked over her shoulder and frowned in confusion. "Blueberry pancakes?"
"I felt like blueberries."
"I didn't have any blueberries. Hence the confusion."
She shook her head, a soft smile turning up the corners of her mouth as she flipped two of the said pancakes onto a plate and handed it to him. "I brought them with me."
"You're thorough."
"I try. Now, go eat before it gets cold. I made tea as well."
"I'm impressed."
Her response was matter-of-fact, "You are not."
"You're right, I'm not." He took one of the two chairs at his small kitchen table, placing the plate in front of him. A thought and a frown later, he realized that he was going to have to get back up to get a cup of tea and he was feeling more than a little bit lazy. "But the blueberries ... that was a nice touch."
"I had a sweet tooth." The shrug that accompanied the words said more than the words themselves did. Well, actually the fact that she was standing in his kitchen at nearly six o'clock in the morning, cooking up pancakes spoke volumes about the current state of her mind, but it wasn't quite time to touch that slowly ticking bomb yet.
It was a dance they often did, whether he initiated it or she did, and it was one that they both gained enormous proficiency with overtime. They gauged one another, tested one another and plotted the most direct course that would not result in opening wounds too soon, or venturing down paths best left unexplored.
They ate in silence, in quiet camaraderie and he waited, knowing it would only be a matter of time before she finally said something - anything - to explain what she was doing there.
He only had to wait through half a plate of pancakes.
She signaled her readiness by pushing her plate away and dropping her fork loudly onto the table. Her dark eyes looked everywhere except at him, settling at last on the wedding ring that she still wore on her finger. "I didn't get it and Robin's getting married."
He chewed, swallowed and digested what she said. Then, after taking a sip of tea, decided to tackle the easy one first. "Why didn't you get it?"
The laugh she gave was devoid of any mirth and sounded hallow and empty, echoing in the tiny kitchen. "I wasn't, how did they put it? I wasn't 'hard' enough. They had trouble believing my 'darkness.' I guess I'm not hardened criminal material."
"What did Marta say?" He asked although he really wasn't sure that he wanted to know. Sometimes he wondered why she kept Marta on when it was often blatantly apparent that the two women saw things from totally different viewpoints.
"Marta didn't think that I should read for the part. It was only by a random fluke that I even learned about it at all." She waved her hand dismissively, momentarily drawing her lower lip in and chewing on it. "She said that I should be flattered that I'm still considered 'soft' and 'pretty,' but - I didn't spend all that time in theatre school and I didn't work my ass off to spend the rest of my life doing quirky romantic comedies."
She rested her temple against her hand, "I just want do something serious, you know? Something that proves -- something that makes it worth it."
"You've been listening to your mother again, Ami." It wasn't a question and he didn't phrase it as one. One would think that with all his varying parental issues that the ability Ami's mother had to turn an otherwise confident and successful woman into a confused and unsure bundle of nerves would no longer surprise him. Yet, the fact remained that it always did.
"Sometimes I can't help but wonder if she isn't right," Ami gave another one of those shrugs that was meant to convey nonchalance or lack of conviction but really did nothing of the sort. "Maybe this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. Maybe my career is a waste of time and maybe it is what messed up my marriage."
"Because Robin fucking his co-star didn't have anything at all to do with that," he remarked dryly, took a stab at another bite of the slowly getting cold pancake and shoved it in his mouth.
That brought her up short and she frowned in disapproval more than offense. "You've been spending too much time around Megabyte and Jade, Kevin."
"And you haven't been spending enough." Kevin regretted the words the moment they left his lips. There were certain lines that were not to be crossed, certain conversations that they simply didn't have and this was one of them. He always found it oddly ironic though that just as he was finding his way back to The Tomorrow People, Ami was slipping away.
He held up his hands in surrender, letting her know that he was quickly backing away from that conversation before she shut down, shut him out and skulked away in anger. "The only thing I'm trying to say here Ami, is that your problems with Robin went above and beyond the fact that you were working your ass off to get noticed on the big screen."
She relaxed, chewed on her lip again for a moment. "I know that but . . . but I was obsessed with getting roles and making a name for myself. Maybe if I hadn't done that, I would have been there to take care of my marriage."
"Or, if you hadn't done that, you wouldn't have ever met Robin and then this would all be moot anyway." Another swallow of tea and then teacup and plate were shoved aside. Reaching across the table, he grabbed her hand, gripping fingers just above where her wedding band glinted and sparkled under the kitchen lights. Ignoring the very faint ripples of annoyance and agitation that rolled off of her, he drew her attention to the band with a gentle but firm tug on the ring. "In the end, it's always Robin. He's always what sets you off like this."
"I can't help it." Ami jerked her hand free, burying the offender in her lap. "I know he's an ass. I do. But Robin is my husband and I love him."
"Was your husband," he corrected her. "The divorce is final today, isn't it?"
"Is it so wrong for me to still want to be with him?"
"Wrong? No. Unhealthy? Yes."
"Is that your way of telling me that I'm being a complete idiot?"
"No, that's my way of telling you that you're being a complete martyr." Kevin leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm. "And our breakfast is cold."
That won him a half-smile that never reached her eyes and a choked laugh that hovered on the edge of a sob, but it wasn't a sob and that made all the difference. "I just that I'm having a little trouble letting go."
"Start by taking off the ring. And ... staying away from blondes." When Ami blinked at him in feigned ignorance, he rolled his eyes. "Last night, the guy you picked up, he was blonde, wasn't he?"
"That had nothing to do with Robin. And what were you doing, spying?"
"You know me better than that, and it had everything to do with Robin. Take off the ring, Ami. It'll get easier after that. Trust me." Kevin pushed back from the table and stood up. "And thank you for breakfast, but I've got to get ready to face a classroom full of first years who think that the main reason to not take me seriously is because I'm not a full professor."
"At least until they take the first exam?"
"See, you do know me." Kevin studied the woman still seated at the table, tentatively reaching out and brushing against her mind. Her problems weren't solved with one conversation and her emotions were still a tangled mass, but he also knew from past experience that it was time to step back and let her think about things. [I'll talk to you later?]
"Nell is making chicken piccata tonight." Which was naturally Ami's way of inviting him to dinner.
"I like chicken piccata."