ship: lucas/maya
word count: 3,144
dedicated: anonymous donator

home

a beginning

The rent is doable. That's basically the reason they get their first place. It's nothing to look at. Small and cold and the wallpaper is hideous. But it's affordable and they need a place, so they sign the one-year lease, cross their fingers, and climb the five flights of stairs with the help of their friends to fill their tiny apartment with their things.

They picked up a cheap couch from a second-hand store and shove it against a wall. It has a lumpy seat that Maya always makes Lucas sit on while she takes the other end, sprawling out and resting her legs in his lap. He mutters, 'Maya…' under his breath, but he takes the seat every time. 'That's love,' Riley will sigh, and Maya will roll her eyes, but maybe it is. Maybe it's just one way that Lucas shows it.

The coffee table they own has more coffee rings on it than any coffee table should. Maya makes art of it, connecting the rings to form pictures, and suddenly their table is beautiful instead of old and run down. Lucas hands her the paints as she fills in every groove with a new color. The way he watches her as she paints makes her stomach flip-flop, and she doesn't know why. They've been together for so long now, it feels like forever, but he still makes her feel strange and hopeful and warm.

The dining table and chairs were left in the apartment when they got there; the chairs have some awful plastic covering the seat and back, but they're sturdy, so they keep them. They don't have company over often, but when Farkle, Riley, and Zay fill up their small kitchen and they run out of chairs, Maya takes half of Riley's seat, until Riley complains she's slowly edging her off and Lucas will drag Maya over into his lap. She knows she does it just for that moment Lucas rolls his eyes, grinning all the while, and pulls her over. His arms wrap around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder and she won't admit she loves it when he gets schmoopy but she does.

The bedroom just barely fits their double bed and dresser. A draft comes in from the window that leaves her with a runny nose every morning. She wears layers to bed and burrows herself into Lucas' body to keep warm. She never sleeps wearing less than two pairs of socks. Lucas fills the cracks and holes of the window over and over again, but the draft persists. There's no getting away from it so they just learn to live with it.

Parts of the ceiling are lower than others; Lucas knocks his head on it so often, she's starting to think he'll dent. It takes him a few months to figure out which spots to avoid and where to duck. Sometimes he forgets though, and she'll come home to find him frowning as he rubs his forehead or the top of his head. And Maya will laugh, because she finds it funny, before she climbs into his lap and kisses his goose eggs better.

Just as the year-long lease is coming up, Lucas is accepted into Texas A&M's Vet program. Maya signs on for one more year, the only name on the lease, and tells him it's okay. She'll be there when he's done. The nights will be colder and she'll need to wear more socks, but at least his head will have time to heal from the ceiling.

"I don't have to do this…" His breath is warm on her neck as he holds her on the couch, arm bound around her waist just a little too tightly. Like he thinks she might slip away if he doesn't.

"Yeah, you do." She strokes her paint-splotched fingers up and down his arm. "This is what you want; you need to do it."

"Maya—"

"I'm not asking, Sundance. I'm telling." She rolls herself over to face him, her legs coiling around his. "New York's not going anywhere. I'll still be exactly where you left me, in this drafty apartment, winging it as an artist."

His jaw ticks, eyes falling. "You are an artist."

She reaches up, hand falling to his cheek. "And you're gonna be a vet." She stares at him searchingly. "It's whatever, right? There's Skype and holidays and—"

He kisses her, to shut her up or to thank her or to say goodbye, she's not sure. But it gives her a chance to close her eyes on the prickle of tears that were starting, so she appreciates it. It's a little messy and a lot awkward, but they shove each other's clothes out of the way and make love on their lumpy couch, and he promises, his mouth warm and wet against her neck, he promises he'll come back for her, that he's not leaving her. She drags her nails down his back and promises herself that she'll survive this. Just like everything else. She'll get through this too.

a middle

He Skypes her every night, and then every second night, and then just the weekends, when classes and work aren't so heavy. And she tells herself it's okay. It's going to be okay. She loves him. She almost can't remember a time when she wasn't stupid in love with this cowboy. But it's okay. Because she's seen love fall apart. She sees what it's like when it gets stretched too thin. And she doesn't want to be one of those people that holds on to someone who probably should have left a long time ago. So, she stops. She stops waiting for his calls or his texts or his Skypes. She just stops. And days and weeks go by and she tells herself he's better off and so is she and eventually it's going to stop hurting so damn much.

But then there's a knock on her door and she thinks maybe it's the maintenance guy come to try and fix her drafty window for the third time this month. When she opens the door, it's Lucas. He's tired and angry and he shoves inside like his name is still on the lease.

"You stopped answering!" His voice is loud, louder than she's ever heard it, and his hands are shaking at his side. "I kept callin' and you wouldn't pick up. I don't…" He shakes his head, grinding his teeth, and she closes the door behind her gently.

"Didn't think you'd come all this way over a few missed calls, Huckleberry."

"Stop. Don't act like it doesn't mean anything. I know you. I— I know you better than anyone in my whole life. And I know what you're doing. I just don't understand why."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she lifts her chin defensively. "What's to get? Life gets busy. There was no time to—"

"There's always time!" He walks toward her, gets three steps and stops. "You make time, Maya. You fit it in because you want it to work, because you don't want to lose someone, because you love them, because… Because you said you'd be here." His chest heaves and he blinks a little quicker, and she takes a step back, because Lucas can't cry. If he starts crying, she's not sure what she's going to do. But this was not part of the plan. He was supposed to fade away. To stop calling, stop trying, and just let go.

"I am here. I'm here and you're there."

"You told me to go," he whispers.

"And you did, you should." She waves her hands. "I'm not telling you to come back, I'm not even asking. But Lucas… come on… We talked every day and then it was every other day and now I'm lucky if you fit me in on the weekends. If that's not a sign, then I don't know what is!"

"I had homework and school and a job. You don't think if I could be talking to you I would?"

"You're the one that said that you make time! That if you love someone, if you want to be with them, you make the time. Well, you stopped. So, I just took my cue from you, Hop Along. I cut ties before they strangled us both." She wipes her hands on her jeans and moves toward the couch, flopping down in the corner with a huff of a noise. Her hand rubs across her forehead as she feels a headache coming on and wonders if she has any Tylenol in her purse. A shadow falls across her and she looks up to see him staring down at her, a frown on his mouth.

"That's my side," he says.

Maya's brow furrows. "What?"

"That's my side of the couch." He crosses his arms over his chest. "I get the lumpy seat."

"Lucas," she sighs.

"What? It's my side, it's always been my side."

"It's not your couch anymore! It's mine! It's my apartment! Mine. You left." She threw her hands up. "None of this is yours anymore! You don't get to come back and say who sits where!"

He stares back at her, his brow furrowed, and then he shifts, moving down to his knees as he rests in front of her on the floor. His hands find her knees and she turns her head, closing her eyes.

"I didn't leave you. I left New York. I left because you told me to go, because you told me I had to do this, and if I knew leaving here would mean leaving you—"

"Don't act surprised. Don't act like you didn't know this was coming." She rubs her hand under her nose. "It was always going to end up here, whether you were here or in Texas or—"

"No." He shakes his head, staring at her firmly. "I don't believe that. I don't believe we were ever temporary. That's not how this— how we go." He reaches for her hands, holding on tight as she tries to pull them back. "Maya… I've been in love with you since I was sixteen years old. Hell, a part of me fell for you the day we met on the subway. And I love you just as much today as I did then. And I know you don't want to believe that. I know you're used to things falling apart and you want to tell yourself it's okay, that we're just one more thing to add to everything else. But I don't wanna be that. I don't want me in your dungeon of sadness. I don't want you to have a dungeon at all. I want us. I always wanted us. And I'm not giving up. All right? This is me telling you that I'm not walking away. And if that means moving back here today, if that means pulling out of vet school, then I'll do that."

Her head turns abruptly, eyes searching his. "Lucas, you can't do that! You can't just give up your dream of—"

"You're my dream." He smiles, slow and easy. "And you can call me a sap and tell me I'm being an idiot, that's fine. But I walked out of class today and caught a flight out here because I couldn't go one more day with you ignoring me. So just… talk to me. Okay? Because I'm not going anywhere until you do."

Maya stares at him, her heart hitching, and she wants to push him away, she wants to build up a wall, she wants to be strong. But she also wants him. She wants him wrapped around her when nights are cold, and eating Ramen with her at their kitchen table, and making her favorite tea when she's so deep in her latest art piece that she's lost track of time completely. She wants what they had before she sent him off to Texas knowing he probably wouldn't come back. Except, here he was, in front of her, telling her she was wrong. He was always telling her she was wrong.

And he would have to go back, he would. He couldn't give up vet school and she would never let him. But maybe this wasn't their end. Maybe they could make the time. And maybe this was exactly what they needed to remind them that relationships were hard work and if they wanted theirs to survive than they had to make it happen.

Maya untangles her hands from his, her chest tightening as his face falls, and then she pushes up to stand and she takes a step to the side. "You get the lumpy seat," she murmurs, before she sits back down.

And he stares at the couch for a long moment, swallows tightly, and then he stands and takes his seat beside her. And when he pulls her over to sit in his lap, she goes. She buries her face against his neck and she grips tight to his shirt as he holds onto her, rubbing a hand up and down her back. They don't talk right away, they just hold each other, but they will. They'll talk all through the night. And when she's struggling to keep her eyes open, he'll stand and carry her to her their room, bumping his head just before the door, and she'll laugh sleepily against his shoulder, because he's home. He's home.

an end

The sun is slowly crawling up the cloudy sky, she watches it reach across the floor and climb toward her, lying in bed, a sheet tucked around her. She stretches her fingers out and lets sunbeams play across them, warming her skin. There's a small draft coming from one of the windows; she keeps forgetting to tell him about it. It's nothing like the draft in their first apartment.

Sometimes she misses that apartment. Not the draft or the shitty ceiling, but the feeling she got when they were there. The first place that was theirs. It was nothing to boast about, but they were proud all the same. With their second-hand microwave and their tiny bedroom and a bathroom barely fit for a mouse.

Back then, it was a full ride that got her through art school and two jobs that helped pay the bills. She was always tired and cranky and hungry, but she got through it, she always had. And in the end, it was for the better. Because here she was, paying half the mortgage on a place that was going to be home. A real home. The kind they would eventually fill with kids, or at least one kid. She was holding on one while he kept pushing for three. Until he could push the other two out of his body, she was sticking to one.

He shifted behind her, arm squeezing around her waist, and she half-smiled, sleepy and content. She covered his hand with her own and rubbed her fingers over his, searching out the gold band she knew just as well as her own. Once upon a time, she didn't see herself ending up here. She thought she'd get as far as that first apartment, barely big enough to fit her, with nothing but Ramen noodles and day-old baked goods filling her cupboards. Working two jobs she hated and the constant feeling that she had amounted to nothing. For so long, she'd refused to believe her life could really be better, could be good, that when it happened, it still felt surreal. Even now, years into it, with an art gallery of her own, clients that booked appointments to see her new work, and a husband that had stuck with her through it all. A good man. The kind of man she'd never imagined looking twice at her. A Huckleberry of a man that probably should've found someone more like him but here he was.

Here he always was.

She folded her fingers through his and he sighed against her neck, stretching his long legs down to the end of the bed before he leaned forward. She could feel his breath against her neck before he kissed her shoulder and hummed. "What're you doing up with the roosters?"

Her mouth ticked up at the corners. "Contemplating life, Sundance. It's what we deep-thinking artists do."

"What deep thoughts are you thinking then?" He kisses down her shoulder and into the crook of her neck, nuzzling her hair out of the way with his nose.

Her eyes fall to half-mast and she tips her head to give him better access. "Just how weird it is, how far we've come." She rubs her thumb over his. "You remember our first apartment?"

He snorts. "That hole in the wall? Yeah, I think I still have a goose egg to show for it. Hit my head on the ceiling so many times, it reshaped it."

She laughs, low and deep. "I loved that place."

"Really?" He lifts his head, resting his chin on her arm. "Why? It was cold and small. You never went to bed without socks on." His feet nudge hers then, finding them bare, and she curls her toes back to rub against his legs.

"Yeah, but it was ours. It was the first place we lived in, just us. And it wasn't much, but we made it ours." She shrugged and turned her head to see him. "It was home."

He stares at her a beat, heavy and serious, and then he smiles, slow and sure. "You're home."

Maya rolls her eyes, even as her heart thuds in her chest.

"Hey, no, I mean it. You and me. It's not the place. It's us. We're home."

And she can make a joke. She can call him a sap and any number of nicknames she's given him over the years. But today, this morning, she's feeling particularly fond of him. And her heart is still doing that swoopy thing it has since she was sixteen years old. So, instead, she says, "You're my home too, Huckleberry."

He grins, looking rather proud that he got a real declaration out of her instead of a snarky joke. He lifts her hand up and kisses her knuckles, and then he folds their fingers together and pulls her in close.

This house is great. It's big and warm and from the paint to the furniture, it's all them. But, in the end, she knows she'd share a cardboard box with him and it'd still be enough. Because he's right. As sappy as her husband is, home isn't four walls and a roof. It's a person. It's each other. And she's pretty damn happy that she found hers where she did. It took work to get where they have, time and compromise too. But they made it.