it's gravity keeping you with me

The beats of music that she could still hear - needed to listen out for, for her cue to go back on stage - were out of time with the stamping of her heels against the floor. Mimi was just over a minute in, not having shed anything past her gloves, and with Trixie up straight afterwards, it meant she had around five minutes to gather herself, take a few breaths, and calm the fuck down.

It wasn't just her hands that were shaking (and for once, it had nothing to do with the dismal lack of facilities backstage, though she did have to admit that Boise was trying); she could feel it throughout her whole body, this unstoppable, unquenchable rage that had been there all night. She hadn't been able to stop it from spilling out when the spotlight hit, and if she was being completely honest she did like the edge it gave her. During her last bit she had noticed that at least two guys in the audience had physically winced while she'd been in full-flow, a little like they'd got something rather valuable trapped in a vice and she'd been the one to pull the lever. If she hadn't been so furious she would have relished the reactions more.

At the same time, she didn't want to perform this way again, just for the sake of making a few small details larger in her memory. It was exhausting enough to do it all once.

Fucking Sophie Lennon. It was bad enough that she had let herself agree to be the warm-up for her stupid show in the first place, knowing full well what the outcome would be, but now she was letting her get under her skin. She was mad that she'd done it for the money, mad that she misguidedly thought that, just perhaps, there was a tiny little bit of sisterly feeling hidden somewhere in Sophie's overly-medicated body.

Worst of all, she was mad about being mad that, no matter how many sets she killed, it was like she'd never match up to that so-called 'icon', not for thousands of people. Her own parents being amongst them. The people who had given her life and, apparently, so much of themselves, though she was really at a loss to see it right now.

If she couldn't convince her flesh and blood of how good she was - that she was certainly streets ahead of Sophie fucking Lennon and her washed-up schtick - then how could she expect to make an impact on anyone else?

Suddenly, it didn't matter that she'd had the room in the palm of her hand tonight, the pained-looking gentlemen included. All she could think about was how the most important people in her life would never take her seriously, would always see her as second-best, maybe not even that close in the running. It was true that Sophie had her issues, but there was no fucking way that she was coming out on top when it came to having really annoying inner demons who were ready to pounce full-pelt on the smallest of insecurities.

She made a grab for her purse on her way to the stage door, not bothering with her coat. One cigarette, maybe half of another, and she'd be on a level, if not completely appeased. It was too far gone into the night to expect a miracle.

Speaking of which, it seemed like she needed one to get the lighter she had to strike. She wasn't one to give up, but given that she was on the clock, she might not have a lot of choice.

"Oh come on, you have to be kidding me!" she found herself yelling at the inanimate object in her hand. "One little, largely harmless and definitely beneficial for my current state of mind vice. You can at least let me have that, can't you? Or is that just one ask too far?"

"I believe that I have a solution to this particular problem, if it wouldn't be causing offense."

She looked up, thinking that she had to be driving herself crazy, conjuring up his voice in her head at her moment of deepest need.

"Although, generally speaking, I'm not the best at not doing that."

There he was, real as anything, though the black of his suit risked camouflaging against the night that he was a part of, standing over the threshold of the stage door. She didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity or be comforted by his presence, so often there when she needed it the most. She felt so relieved to see him right now, her current crisis of confidence being at its pinnacle, that she almost forgot that she was still mad at him for storming off the way he had, not to mention more than a little hurt that he apparently didn't value their friendship as much as she did.

For another fraction of a moment, the word friendship tripped her up, as she was reminded in a rush of everything that had preceded that disaster of a morning.

She had expected that all of those hopes of anything more between them had been shot to pieces in the sunlight of that utterly terrible, absolute shitshow of a morning, and yet the night time always seemed to linger, imprinted on her brain. She belonged most of all to the night time and so did he.

Looking irresistible and just like everything she wanted, and certainly like everything she desired, making all the words he'd forgotten he'd said come charging back to her and lighting the spark again, as he held the small flame towards her, holding himself back. She took a moment to look at him, to let him revive her flagging spirit, before she availed herself, taking a longed-for and much-needed inhale.

"I come in peace, believe me."

"And with a list of pre-approved things we can talk about? Politicians and perversion, in, pediatricians and potty training, definitely out."

The upward quirk of his eyebrow attracted her attention, even as she tried her utmost to keep a poker face firmly in place.

"First off, I am deeply impressed by the alliteration. Also, you put all of that together," he moved his hand in a swirling motion, before pointing a finger at her, "and there's a lot of mileage to be had. Could fill a quarter of a set, easily."

She huffed out a little sigh as he gave her another of his patented searching stares, coupled dangerously with a smile that effortlessly straddled the boundaries between angelic and devilish. Well, she wasn't going to give in so easily, even if he had caught her on a night when it felt like her life was seconds away from imploding.

"You can say anything you want." His voice was earnest, his expression serious, and she was having such a hard time staying in control. "You most certainly did out there. Whoever it was who pissed you off so royally, I'm in eternal debt to them. I had braced myself to be hearing you chime in with 'hey, you know who's a real grade-A asshole? None other than Lenny Bruce. That schmuck might be good at running his mouth, but running while keeping his shoes on? Not so much.'"

She found herself lost for words for a couple of moments, before saying, in a volume little higher than a whisper, "I wouldn't."

Lenny smiled a smile that only half fit on his face, like he was wearing the wrong size suit. Traces of the unbearable sadness that she'd glimpsed through the haze of liquor-induced euphoria that night were seeping through, and just like on that night, she wanted to fervently pretend that she couldn't see them.

"You're saving it for another night," he said. "Well, I'm not sure that I deserve it, but a heads-up would be appreciated."

"I could say the same for you. How many more nights are you going to turn up, unannounced, watching me from the shadows? A note, a call, a carrier pigeon. Any or all would be nice."

"I thought you might prefer not to know, and for my presence to be as close to invisible as possible. And this time, it was for mostly selfish reasons of self-preservation, as I have already made reference to. Mrs. Maisel at the peak of her most vitriolic rage is something that would make the fiercest of bubbes batten down the hatches."

"Nice, if not just a little horrifying to get a look into my future. And without a crystal ball in sight."

"There are worse fates to have."

"Significantly. And I have to carry on the legacy." She looked at him, framed against the dark, arms folded against herself in a feeble attempt to stave off the cold she was definitely feeling. "I'm not mad at you."

That eyebrow shot up again.

"I'm not that mad at you," she corrected herself in light of his silent protestation. "A lot has happened since that morning, and honestly, I don't have the energy to sustain it."

He bobbed his head, pursing his lips.

"It took us both off guard," she continued, hearing the weariness in her voice, wanting them to be over this particular hurdle already.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry. For acting the way I did, disrespecting the perfectly generous hospitality of you and your parents. Not to forget your…maid? She did do a wonderful job on this jacket. I haven't had to make use of the housekeeping facilities at my latest stayover, which speaks to the quality and steadfast dedication to the cause."

She wasn't entirely sure, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt in believing that he was being genuine in his little-too-verbose apology, rather than employing the sarcasm that came naturally.

He stepped in closer to her, and she held in her inhale until she started to feel slightly dizzy.

"And I'm sorry for anything I said to you while I was…otherwise occupied. If I was out of line, you have to know that I didn't mean it."

A sharp shiver cut down the center of her, hearing the sincerity of his words and seeing the sentiment reflected in his eyes. She felt like she was going to burst into tears and run away, leaving him utterly perplexed. You could mean it a little bit.

It was so stupid; she knew before he did that he wouldn't remember what he'd said, how open he was with his affections towards her. Yet to hear his denials, and how heartfelt they were, seemed to hurt more than the ways in which he tore into her as they argued outside of her apartment building.

"I know," she said, hugging her arms to her, "it's okay. We're okay."

She saw the smile start to light up his eyes, wishing she could return it with as much conviction.

"Don't let me get away too easy. Can we go somewhere once you're finished here? Just for one drink, I swear."

"Not tonight," she said, sounding more abrupt than she'd intended, "I'm just not feeling too great. I don't want to end up biting into you."

"Think of it as fair play," he said, but relented the next second. "Your next free night then, if you have no other plans. I know you're a busy woman though, so I don't mind the wait."

Part of her wanted to keep him on his toes, make him suffer just a little bit. Most of her was just too tired.

"Next Thursday. I don't have any plans."

"Excellent. I will make myself completely unavailable and off the radar."

"Even if something unmissable comes up?" she asked.

"Especially then," he returned.

"Sacrificing yourself for me, that's quite the apology."

"I wouldn't do it just for anyone. You don't mind if I watch the rest?"

She turned her gaze upwards, pretending to be perturbed. It was good to know that someone was still on her side; more than good that it was Lenny.

"I'll throw in a political potty training joke just for you. If I can't see you then I'd better be able to hear you laugh."

He smiled, looking up at her having stubbed his finished cigarette beneath the sole of his shoe.

"I'll be laughing throughout it all, I promise."

Sure enough, she kept her ears finely tuned and heard the distinctive laugh at all the right times, better than the markers she'd pinpointed, yet there was nothing forced in his reactions. She was a little sad not to see him back at the stage door afterwards, but he'd kept to her word, which lifted her mood all the higher.

Next Thursday rolled around not quite as quickly as she'd wanted. On Monday Susie had called to say that she was working on a possible gig for her, a little further out of town than was ideal and much later in the night than she'd like, but it filled the vital criteria: it wasn't a supporting slot.

On Tuesday, Susie called again to say that the club hosting said gig had been swiftly shut down, the owners apparently vanishing from the face of the earth. She'd busied herself genning up on the latest additions to several tupperware ranges, as well as window shopping for Hallowe'en costumes for the kids, knowing full well that she couldn't justify anything bought this year.

On Wednesday, Mama pointed her to a note that was sitting on the dining table. She recognised the hasty scrawl of handwriting, smiling when she took in the brief contents.

She spent most of Thursday wishing the day would go faster. An hour before she was due to leave, she applied her make-up, did her hair and spritzed on her signature scent of Chanel No. 5, then spent too long looking at the blue satin dress she'd pulled from her wardrobe earlier in the day. She then spent too long looking at herself in the mirror, ready to change into something else at least twice.

This is not a date, she reminded herself as she studied her reflection, noticing that there was a small but very noticeable wrinkle on the bow detail that sat above her waist. If she knew that nobody else was around to listen in, she would have said it out loud to really drive the fact home. She reminded herself that she was not going to date a comic. She didn't think of Lenny as a comic, at least he didn't belong with the rest of the crop. He was so far above them, in another league entirely. So that gave her a get-out clause, surely?

No. It was not the time. Maybe not the place; she couldn't say, she didn't know where they were going. It was kind of annoying, really, because it didn't help when it came to picking out a hat. He clearly prefers to hide things, other when he's blitzed out of his mind. She shook her head, as if all of the bitter and sad and confused thoughts would fall right out of it.

What she needed was a friend. Right now more than ever, when it was like the whole world was against her. Anything else could wait.

Maybe for a very long time.

Lenny needed a friend too, and even if it hadn't gone the way she had planned on that too-bright, sour-tasting morning, there were always other chances to try again.

The rain that had threatened all day held off, a good thing as she hadn't brought an umbrella. Her heart still quickened when she saw him, waiting for her when she exited the cab.

"All alone?" she said, not knowing why.

"Naturally," he replied. He was trying to come off nonchalant, but there was a note that she couldn't quite miss. "I'm trying to keep a low profile, set a change of pace."

"And how's that going?"

"Early days, but I might be onto something."

She smiled, dipping her chin to her chest. It was colder than she was expecting it to be, even for mid-October.

"You never said where we're headed. Unless that's also part of the pace change."

"One thing at a time." He took out the carton of cigarettes, offering it out to her. "I was thinking somewhere familiar. Not too far away."

"Always good, especially in shoes like these."

She let herself be distracted by him - yet again, and so much so that she didn't notice the destination until it was staring her in the face, and then her heart sunk to the bottom of her soles. She could feel Lenny looking at her expectantly, so she did what she could to plaster on a smile, hoping that her dejection didn't spill through the cracks.

It was a little bit of a pipe-dream, but she was expecting that the next time she found herself at Upstairs at the Downstairs was when she'd be on the bill. Maybe not headlining but somewhere near the top, at least. As it stood, she'd be so far down the listings that Papa would need to significantly increase the strength of his reading glasses to come close to spotting her. Hell, she was more likely to be playing in the alley outside, to a distinguished audience of rats - actual garbage-can dwellers - and assorted drunks.

A flashback came into her head, making her shiver as she caught Lenny's eye. He'd led them to a booth towards the back of the club, which was still a prime spot for seeing all of the comings-and-goings on the stage.

"Gin martini?"

"If I said water's fine, would you follow my lead?" Her words lingered in the space between them; the bitter thoughts had not disappeared, and they'd decided to set the tone for the night. "Gin martini's great," she swiftly amended, glancing to the side to momentarily avoid his burning gaze, though she turned to watch him as he walked towards the bar.

She should have volunteered to go instead, thinking it lucky that she wasn't parched for thirst. It wasn't a surprise that he got noticed and she found herself looking with admiration and only a touch of jealousy. She hated herself for that, and considered it was little wonder that her fortunes were going the way they were.

He was all sheepish looks and apologetic smiles on coming back towards her; he looked so humble that she was tempted to push everything to the side, pretend it was all the same as it ever had been. They made it through the first act, who was probably a four and a half out of ten, before more fans had spotted him. Midge sat back, picking the olive from her glass as he did his thing, signing a couple of stained napkins. Some of the starstruck fellow audience members caught her eye, smiling uncertainly when she told them she was his chiropractor.

"That's a new one," he said, once the second act (a solid six) had taken their bow.

"I figured I may as well get paid this time, even if it's not real money. You say something enough, it gets close to happening, right?"

"An interesting choice of career ambition, but not one I'll argue with, if it's what you really want."

"It's what I've dreamt of since I was a little girl. The Russian Literature was just an elaborate and adequately glamorous cover."

They watched another two comics, Midge feeling like she'd opened a door to some parallel universe (she'd absorbed so much of that awful TV show that Papa was obsessed with that she was now making associations by osmosis). It wasn't just the location, more that they'd barely spoken for the best part of the hour that they'd been there. It had to be a personal record for them, and not one that she was comfortable with.

She was squinting in the lights when they came back up, signalling the halfway point of the evening. A good thing this definitely wasn't a date, as it was far from being an attractive look.

"That's a nice dress," he remarked, before the silence edged its way to being unbearable, "if I'm permitted to have personal favorites, it may well be up there."

"Thank you. I was thinking of accessorizing it with an apron, but I couldn't find one that matched."

He stuttered out a laugh after a couple of seconds delay, running a hand across his face.

"Shit, Lenny," she said, hanging her head until he spoke again.

"It's fine. I'm a big boy, I can take it. My actions have warranted it." His smile made her feel a tiny bit better about being a bitch. She wanted to blame it on having been in recent close proximity to Sophie Lennon, but she knew that wasn't it. "My preference would be for you to unleash all of the venom in one fell swoop, in the full blinding spotlight, rather than spending the next year of our acquaintance dodging grenades, but then I also know I'm not in the position to choose."

The word acquaintance prickled at her skin, her throat tightening. He probably hadn't used it consciously, his vocabulary so extensive that it would overwhelm countless scholars. Still, it had a profound effect on her, one that she'd been hoping to avoid.

"We've got to talk," she said, seeing a cloud already come over his expression, "I have to talk, anyhow. You can sit and listen, it's really up to you, but I have to get this out before it eats me alive." She paused to take a sip of her fresh martini, then to fiddle needlessly with her purse. "I just don't know where to begin."

"I would offer direction, but there are a lot of black holes in my memory."

That curdling shiver flared to life, having taken up residence in her since that night.

"You scared me," her voice came out quiet, as fragile as her feelings, "really scared me."

She watched him take a drag of his cigarette, fingers twitching as he laid them against the table. His eyes averted from her. It felt strange not to be looking into them, yet at the same time she was glad of the momentary relief.

"It's occurring to me that so much of life is not about choice," he said, head raised but gaze pointed elsewhere. Against the chatter and the music and the laughter that surrounded them - the irony of it all not lost on her - she heard his soft exhale like it was the only sound in the room. "I would not have chosen for you to see me that way."

"But I did."

"But you did," he echoed after a minute, possibly longer, "and maybe it's better now than it would be in another week, or a month."

"Well, that puts my mind at rest."

She wanted to do something, action speaks louder than words. Short of flying over the table and physically shaking him, she was right out of options.

"Midge." She doesn't like the sound of her name in his mouth right now, too frightened of all the things that he won't say instead. At least he's looking at her again, even if the consolation isn't as much of a compensation as it would usually be. "I'm sorry for the blow-up, I really am. But you can't put that kind of pressure on me."

"I'm not," she began and then faltered. The weight of this was so different, so new from anything she'd ever experienced, and put together with everything else it felt like it would crush her. Sure, she'd seen him sad and jaded, but this active self-destruction came as a shock, and somehow she knew that she hadn't witnessed the worst of it. "I'm not going to give you a lecture, tell you what to do or what not to do."

"Good," he interjected sharply, lighting another cigarette, though he'd finished the last less than a few seconds ago.

"So long as you know that it works both ways." She softened her voice purposely, knowing she was taking things close to the edge. "Do you honestly think that if I saw you like that again that I'd keep walking? Look the other way as if we didn't know each other?"

His silence wounded her worse than the tirade he'd directed at her, still fresh in her memory. Perhaps all this time what she'd taken to be an affinity, a kinship that bonded him to her in a way felt indefinable, was really a facade, only visible in a certain light and conditions.

"Lenny." She said his name almost like a plea.

"No," he relented. Even though he sounded exhausted, she felt better for hearing the admission. "It might be better, though."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

His hands were restlessly moving upon the surface of the table, and they made her tap the points of her heels against the floor underneath it. For a moment, she pictured someone working strings above their heads, by way of explaining how surreal this was.

"Pretense may be what got us here in the first place. The great contradiction of our craft." He leant back and her heart went to her throat. The hand that held the smouldering cigarette lifted to swipe at his brow. "Then you've always been honest, so this is on me."

She waited for him to say more. She wanted to take the hand that lay, now still, upon the table.

"We haven't done this."

"With good reason."

She shook her head. "It might be time to start. Unless you've invented a time machine that I don't know about."

"Nothing that I can take credit for, or that works for anywhere near long enough."

She smiled faintly. "This isn't about me being a mother, or being from the Upper West Side. It's not how I would have chosen it to go either. I never want to make you feel uncomfortable. I know, it all seemed like a lot to deal with, especially right there and then."

"It's not that simple, Midge."

"Tell me, then."

He shook his head, the rapid movement of his hand causing vapours of smoke to swirl, putting up another barrier between them.

"Without sounding like a conceited and unreasonable asshole? I don't know if that's possible right now."

The lump that engulfed her throat grew bigger; she heard her mother's voice in the back of her head telling her to breathe, but it was beginning to feel like a physical impossibility.

She placed her hands flat on the table, giving herself one, two, three.

"I'm allowed to worry about you. I'm allowed to care about you. It would be the same no matter what my apartment looked like or if we didn't have Zelda. And if we didn't have her then things really would fall apart." She paused for a moment, hearing the wavering in her voice. "I worry and I care because that's what friends do for each other."

She took in the stare that he gave her, that seemed to stretch out beyond all space and time. He stubbed out the cigarette, and she half-expected him to start on another.

"Friends also know when to stop and leave someone to their own devices."

"I guess I'm different to your other friends then."

"Oh, there's no doubt about that."

She wished she was at home or at The Wolf, surrounded by the girls backstage. Whenever she was with Lenny, she never wanted it to end. She supposed there really was a first time for everything.

"Wow. Of all the people, I never expected this from you."

"I don't know why, Midge. It isn't what you want from me."

"What I want from you?"

She could feel the blood simmering in her veins, her skin thrumming while her eyes were pinned to him, hiding his face behind a lifted arm. As much as she wanted to deny that she wanted anything from him other than to return what she was offering, it would have been a lie to carry it through and speak so.

"I don't take up that space in your life, and I don't want to. You have enough going on there. If you're going to worry, do it about yourself."

She reeled a little at the tables being turned at lightning speed, reaching for her near-empty glass to steady herself.

"Have you performed any other gigs recently, outside of The Wolf?"

"Not lately, but I'm working on it. Well, Susie's working on it, I'm doing all I can to keep my eyes open."

He bobbed his head. "So you've got some lined up?"

"Not right now. Things are going really good at The Wolf though. The audiences are getting bigger, and there are women there. Lots of them. So many that Boise is having to create a ladies' bathroom, instead of handing out a bucket to be passed around at random."

"I noticed."

"So, that's a good thing, isn't it? A different crowd. A crowd who are listening to what I'm saying, and who enjoy themselves night after night. That's a pretty big win."

"There are worse positions to be in," he said after some consideration which she thought took a little too long to come, "but there are better ones too. Ordinarily I'd say there's nothing wrong with preaching to the converted, because it sure as hell beats getting your voice come back to you in an empty room. But, fuck, Midge. You are anything but ordinary."

She should have felt happy at hearing him say that. She should be surging with fire and energy, ready to take on the world with the approval of Lenny Bruce, certified comedy legend. Why was she feeling so deflated, so hollow? Her temples were starting to ache, her vision blurring at the edges.

"You are a hundred times better than everyone who's been on that stage tonight, probably everyone who's coming up too, and you know it. It's fascinating to me that you know it. And it makes it all the more…"

He stopped short, and the better part of her told her to leave it alone.

"All the more what?"

"I would like nothing more than to be at your next headline gig. But, Christ, if I can't manage bialys with your parents, then a tupperware party with a room crammed full of Upper West Side housewives is out of the question entirely."

Autopilot kicked in after what she was sure was one of the singular worst moments of her life. She took a handful of notes from her purse and put them down on the table, threw down the remainder of what was in her glass, after removing the olive. That she aimed squarely at Lenny's forehead.

"Ow."

"It didn't hurt," she said, before she stood, grabbed her coat, and headed to get the hell out.

Not the way she was hurting.

"Fuck, Midge. I was way out of line. Wait, Midge."

I don't want to hear it. I'm not going to hear it. It took all she had to keep walking and not turn around, knowing that he was following her, just a few steps behind as she made it out of the club and onto the street.

She had got pretty damn good at moving at speed in heels, but right then it wasn't quick enough.

"Midge," his voice was strained, louder now that there wasn't a cacophony of background noise surrounding them, "I shouldn't have."

"What was it you said, about knowing when to…"

She couldn't finish the sentence, too choked up and heartbroken to even think about him not being her friend.

One of his hands was on her arm before she was fully aware, the other holding out the notes that she had left behind.

"At least let me get you a cab."

"I can get a cab," she snapped, moving away from his touch to lean into the road, "even if I have a way to go to catch up to your illustrious tally, I can get a cab."

The way that the universe was currently testing her she expected it to take a painfully long time for anything to show, but thankfully someone somewhere must have been looking out for her, as one pulled up at the curb within thirty seconds. She nearly pulled the door clean off, slamming it behind her. It really fucking hurt her hand.

Don't look out. Don't look back.

He stood at the curbside, watching the cab she was in move further into the distance. He watched after it was clear out of sight, expecting time to reverse somehow. Or to turn the other way and find her coming around the corner, dazzling and flattening him to the ground with her whip-smart words and almost incomprehensible beauty.

Except he wasn't anywhere near being loaded, and definitely (regrettably?) not high.

Fuck, don't even think about that.

If she wouldn't accept his apology tonight - and after the way he'd behaved, she had absolutely no reason to - then he could get a step closer to redemption for another day.

Keep clean. Keep his feet on the ground, literally and figuratively. She gave him gravity at the same time that she had him spinning out, spiralling; getting him out and bringing him back to himself.

Up until five minutes ago that had been the scariest part of it all.

"Fuck."

The rain that had threatened all day and night held itself no longer, and he made the way back to his temporary digs getting steadily soaked, more than just inconvenienced without an umbrella.

A/N: Narratively speaking, I suppose the gap between the start of 4.6 and 4.8 is fine, but the main drive of this series is to add in the MidgeLenny scenes that were sorely lacking...angst is not usually my bag, so, of course, this state of affairs must be remedied.