Love Your Way - Chapter 2a
Acepilot

AN - Chapter 2 was originally written in one marathon session, but to make more narrative sense and to make this story easier to publish, I'm chopping it up into three sections. Just thought you might like to know. Thanks again to Chuckangie for the superb beta job on this chapter.

Disclaimer - The characters are by KlaskyCsupo, and the lyrics are by Powderfinger.

---
Tommy
---

I line my cue up with the white ball and glance across the table, feigning disinterest in Phil's movements. "Hey, Phil, can I ask you a question?"

He nods, taking a sip of his bourbon and coke. "Shoot."

I send the white ball skidding into the ten and grin as it sails into the pocket. "I was thinking of asking Kimmi to marry me."

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't even take another sip of his drink. He just nods, and pulls a cigarette out of the pack on the bench behind him. "Yeah?" he finally vocalizes. "Cool."

"Look, I just thought I should check with you first," I tell him, honestly. "I know you have this whole history thing with her and everything, so I don't want to do anything that might ruin our friendship or something - "

"Tommy, what happens between you and Kimmi is none of my concern," he...I don't want to describe it as speaking. He almost spits it out, as if each word is some kind of venomous insect that accidentally flew into his mouth. "You don't need to check with me about anything concerning her."

I don't buy it for a second. "Look, Phil, I know - "

"Tommy, what happens between you and Kimmi is none of my concern," he repeats, even more disgustedly this time, "so don't worry about asking me. I'm glad she found someone who treats her as well as you do and loves her as much as you must. So propose to her. She loves you, you love her. Don't wait."

He doesn't meet my eyes once through the whole speech. "You're not happy with this. So I won't."

"Tommy, if you don't stop worrying about what I think of this whole situation, then I'm going to ram this pool cue somewhere highly unpleasant for both of us," he mutters. "Yes, I had feelings for Kimmi. But that shouldn't matter here."

"Seriously?" I ask, watching him closely over the table. I almost can't believe I'm hearing this. "You're seriously okay with this?"

He meets my eyes at last. But he's standing in shadow and I can't really see what kind of expression he has on his face. "Just ask the girl and make her happy, Tommy."

I nod slowly. I want to believe him. But something tells me that this is all going to end in disaster.

---
Kimmi
---

"Are you sure you don't mind eating in tonight? We can go somewhere if you want?"

"No, Tommy, for the last time. It's touching that you've cooked me a meal. It means a lot. A real lot. And it doesn't taste bad, so stop worrying."

He wipes a few invisible beads of sweat off his brow and smiles at me nervously. "Good. I just want tonight to be kind of...well, perfect."

I grin at him. "You're one of a kind, Tommy Pickles."

"I should hope so," he tells me, and the tension that was beginning to settle dangerously over the table finally dissipated.
We share a brief chuckle and I feel more free than I have since I sat down.

I don't know why I'm so nervous. It's not like I've never had dinner with him before. I mean, I've had dinner with him...more often than not, these days, I guess. So why does tonight feel so different? As if something's going to happen.

"Can I get you some more wine?" Tommy asks, reaching for the bottle.

I finally snap. "What, are you trying to get me drunk?" I ask, disbelievingly, and maybe a little aggressively. He sets down the bottle and flashes me yet another nervous grin. I take a deep breath. "Sorry, Tommy. You're just so on edge tonight, I don't know what's going on."

He nods. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. But there's a reason for it," he assures me.

I smile and nod. "Sure thing, dear. It's not just because you're a clutz by nature."

He glares at me, but only mockingly.

I kind of wonder how we got to this point. I mean, I know, he asked me out, and we went out. And we had a good time, so we went out again, and again, and again. And now we're here. But, I've got to admit, I never thought it would work. It was always just a crush. A schoolgirl crush. And I don't think I ever noticed it become anything else. But I guess it must have.

You would have thought the experience with Phil would have taught me to never go out with a good friend again. But hey, Phil and I patched it up. We're friends. We're roommates. So maybe relationships don't destroy friendships. In the case of Tommy and me, it couldn't be further from the truth. We're better friends now than we ever were before we started going out.

Later that night, curled up in the afterglow, I smile as he wraps an arm around me. "I thought you guys needed longer to recover."

I can feel rather than see him grin against the back of my neck. "With you? Never." He kisses my shoulder and I giggle. "As insatiable as I am, I'm afraid I had something less fun in mind."

"Oh?" I ask. "What could that be?"

"Well, it's kind of fitting that you're naked when I do it, actually..."

---
Chuckie
---

I hear the phone ringing through the vague haze of sleep.

I try to convince my arms it's not worth the bother to answer it, but they don't seem to be able to listen, and instinct takes over. I kind of grope for the handset on the bedside table, finally managing to get enough feeling down to my fingers to pick the damn thing up. I force myself to come fully awake and immediately regret it - my tongue feels fuzzy, my mouth tastes like something died in it. My body feels like it just plain died.

"Yeah?" I mutter into the phone. If I use less syllables I conserve energy, for sure.

"Chuckie?" The puzzled voice on the other end of the line asks.

I sigh and roll over to lay on my back again. "Hey Kimmi. Do you know what time it is?"

"Four thirty in the morning," she tells me. "I know, I've been up all night. Anyway, I have great news."

I squint at the fuzzy ceiling. "What's that?"

"Tommy proposed to me!" she squeals over the line, and I cringe slightly. "Isn't that great!"

"Yeah," I agree.

"Well don't sound so enthusiastic or anything," she suggests.
I sigh. "Sorry, Kim. It's just that, like most sane people, I was asleep at four thirty in the morning. So my enthusiasm for living is not at it's highest level. But seriously, Kim. Congratulations. It's not too fast?"

She almost giggles. God, almighty. "No! I mean, I thought it might have been, but nope! When he said it, I just said yes, and everything felt fine."

"I'm sincerely hoping you haven't told anyone else at this hour of the day," I tell her.

"Just Phil," she tells me. "My number was the only one I could think of."

"What'd he say?"

"Pretty much just 'Congratulations'. I think he was already awake. He seemed happy for me. Tommy already told him he was planning to propose, I think."

I fall silent for a second. This doesn't seem right at all. Phil? Fine with it? Happy for her? Is he really that good an actor or is she just euphoric.

I shake myself out of a self-induced stupor. "Well, that's really good, Kim. I'm glad for you. Now do you mind if I...maybe...go back to sleep?"

She chuckles. "Go for it," she permits. "Good morning, brother dear."

I roll my eyes. "Yep. See ya later, Kim."

I raise myself slightly to hang up the phone then slump back down into bed. As if the force of my landing dislodged her, the body next to mine rises slowly. "Your sister, at this hour of the morning?"

"Tommy proposed," I tell her, but I don't look. I never look.

"He's got more spine than I thought he did," she says. I can practically see her smirking smugly. "I assume she's happy?"

I shake my head slowly. "Shut up, Angelica."

I don't have to look at her face to know her expression. "Well, aren't we Mr. Cranky this morn - "

"Shut up and get out," I order her quietly. "Stop trying to be normal."

"Well, gee, thanks."

"You know what I meant," I tell her. "Stop trying to make pillow talk or whatever the hell this is. It doesn't work. We aren't a couple, Angelica? Remember? I think that was your idea?"

"No more than it was yours," she hisses, the humor from her voice long gone.

"Get out of my bed, get your clothes, and get out of my apartment," I tell her, rolling over to face the wall.

She runs her toes up the back of my calf, a finger along my side. "Do you really want that?" She asks, laying it on thick, whispering in my ear in the most sultry, slutty voice I can imagine and she can manage.

For a moment, I think about what would happen if I roll over, and screw her again - or does she screw me? I'm not really sure. It'd be great. It'd be earth-shattering. But it'd be the same again when I woke up later. The same as it is every morning I wake up with her beside me. This isn't some kind of warm, loving bed. That stuff's for dreams.

"Get out," I repeat.

And she does.

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