Author's note: I don't own Coose, but they are darn awesome!
Thanks for all your reviews, they really made me smile! I've tried to make this chapter not as overly dramatic, all weepy and sad, and so I really hope it isn't; I wrote it putting myself in their shoes in terms of thoughts and emotions so I hope you guys can feel it too! (:
Enjoy this!
Days can fade into months, months can dissolve into months if we're not careful.
In the beginning, she'd wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for her phone at 3 am, with this crazy, insane desire to hear his voice. He'd find himself, strolling down the streets of Philadelphia, breathing in the smells, the noise, the life of the whole city where he was just another face in the crowd, and just like that she'd be in his mind and he wouldn't be able to stop all the thoughts. She often found herself in tears over the stupidest things. He often found himself tired, wanting to be quiet- which was a rare, for him at least.
But time passed, and the both of them learned to move on. They learned how to leave the past behind, like a scar that hasn't quite healed and hurts when you press down on it, but for the most part, the scar went unnoticed, untouched, hidden under the thickening flesh of time.
They learned how to sift away the memories, how to smile when their heart ached, how to lie and say that all was well. They discovered the art of being busy, and how that took away the dull ache and made time pass a little faster. And she stopped crying as much, went out more often and he started laughing, telling jokes, really dancing again.
But this wasn't going to be for long.
1 year, 2 months, 14 days and 3 hours
"Zac, that was great!" He reaches up to exchange a familiar handshake with a student, even as applause ricochets around the practice room, and the teenager smiles, wiping the sweat dripping off his face. He moves to the front of the class, even as Zac takes his seat. "Look at that guys. Zac barely knew the basics when he stepped into this room, and look at him now- you just burning up the room dude!" The class bursts into cheers, catcalls and Zac stands to affect an old fashioned, deep bow.
He is so proud of his students. He couldn't be prouder if they were actually his kids and he grins around the room. "Alright then, that concludes our," Here he raises his fingers to make imaginary quotation marks. "Presentation week." He winks at them in general. "Hope you guys had fun, and all of your performances kicked ass. " He whoops loudly himself, his voice bouncing off the corners of the huge room and the class laughs. "If there are no more questions, I'll see you all next week…"
Zac raises his hand then. "Yes, Zac? You wanna give another encore?" Laughter again, and the guy stands to his feet. "No, Moose, its just that you said this was presentation week. And not all of us have performed."
He flips through the names and faces mentally then, who has he missed out? But one look at the knowing look on his student's face and the air of excitement and anticipation that is catching around the class, he knows what will come next and true to his guess, "Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!" starts coming from his class and he pauses, wondering if he should and when the chanting only gets louder and louder in a way that will surely bring the head in here, he smiles and pulls off his jacket in a silent agreement even as the class cheers once again and a few of them break away to the sound system at the corner of the room. He can hear them whispering about what song to give him and he smiles to himself. He has trained them well and finally they stand away, huge smiles on their faces even as a lone voice comes through the speakers.
There's this girl
The one and only wonder of this world
My world
The words catch him right from the beginning.
He tries not to let the meaning behind the lyrics pound into him and he closes his eyes to catch the dance moves flowing through his head and he slowly starts letting his body move to the beat of the song. But for the first time, well, the first time in months, she is there in his head, in his dance and he lets himself really feel for the first time in what feels like months- longing, missing, hurt- colorful emotions that surge through him and he opens his eyes to dance to them.
And it don't matter if the road gets rough
If me rich or poor
She stay down with me if me go to war
My girl
He pops, and locks, every move on beat with the song, but he can feel that something is wrong, even if everything looks perfect to his students. Snatches of her dance steps, her feet, her arms, her moves flow through his mind now and he tries to fight them, tries to stop the dance that is flowing through his veins that doesn't belong to him but belongs to her, and the result is heightening helplessness in him, frustration and even as he whirls around and flips his cap, he spots Zac and a few of the other students frowning a little, whispering and he knows that they know. He fights even harder then to stop himself from thinking about it, but now he just feels clumsy, like a robot trying to dance ballet and he wants to stop, he wants to just walk out of this room and stop thinking about her like she's embedded not just in his heart but in his muscles and dance too.
The music plays on, and finally, frustrated and furious at himself, he does the one thing he told his students never to do: he completely stops dancing in the middle of the song and he pulls off his cap, tossing it to the side of the room. By now, he isn't even thinking about his students and he just wants… he just wants to dance. And be free. He just wants to feel it.
There's this girl
The one and only wonder of this world
My world
And so he stops fighting. He stops trying so hard.
And it don't matter if the road gets rough
If me rich or poor
She stay down with me if me go to war
My girl
And it comes.
He steps out, arms cutting out, a move that came from their spontaneous dance in the Vault and his mind clouds over with the memory of him kissing her that night on her forehead, the silly infectious grin that seemed permanent on his lips that thankfully she couldn't see. He spins, lets his feet go wild like that afternoon on the streets of New York, mimicking the tap dancing movements that she did and he smiles a little then, thinking of the woman who sprayed them both with her hose, the portraits of Henry VII and his wife and everything. He pops and locks again, but this time it feels better. It feels more comfortable and he cannot stop dancing even if he tried and he dances out the emotions he's fought for so long, kept in the dark for all this time. And finally, finally, he allows himself to remember everything.
The music dies down and he tones down his movements and finishes, grinning to himself, smiling at his students who are silent, wide-eyed and slowly but surely there's clapping and cheering and he stands in the midst of it all and he wonders seriously for the first time in a long while, about her. About them.
1 year, 2 months, 20 days and 16 hours
She jogs down the unfamiliar street, the hoodie obscuring the side of her face and music pounding in her ears and she stops, letting the sweat slide down her face, crouching a little and she straightens, checking her watch and pedometer. Not bad, its 6 minutes faster than last week for the same distance. The thought makes her smile and she looks around her, taking in the unfamiliar sights.
She loves to jog around New York, and she always tries to take a different route each time she starts out. One left turn here, one right turn, across the road, under the pass- there are so many possibilities and so far she hasn't had to repeat her route yet. She looks at the diner she's stopped beside and decides to go in for a drink. She could use some proper breakfast too.
She walks in, and her mind immediately jumps to the proposal that she's supposed to be writing for that new client who's just come on board with them and the ideas for their publicity fills her with excitement. While it might seem boring to some people, she actually loves the different campaigns, the conceptualizing, the negotiating- all these things are part of her job which she loves. She can't imagine being anywhere else but here. She seats herself, and pulls out a creased menu tucked between the window and the napkin holder and studies it.
"What can I get you?"
The voice sounds incredibly familiar and she lifts her head, her hoodie falling back.
Its one of the Santiago twins. Which one she's not entirely sure, she's not even sure how to pronounce their names accurately (she remembers an afternoon where they spent a good 20 minutes trying to teach her how to pronounce their names, only to no success) and her heart jumps a little. His eyes mirror her recognition and he lowers his notepad and pen with a toothy grin. "Camille, senorita!"
She has always wondered why they called her that but she smiles, even as the first feelings sprout up in her- that familiar feeling of dread she always had when she knew she was close to- remembering. She stamps it down- this is her friend here, and she is acting like some spoilt brat. "Santiago!"
He leans down to hug her quickly and they exchange smiles at one another and she tries to stop the flood of memories that are slowly but surely coming back to her. She has not seen a Pirate since he left. She didn't really want to, considering how they were closer to Moose than her, and she supposed that he would have told them anyway, and besides work did keep her too busy to visit most of the time. This was one of the times for which she was grateful that New York was such a huge city. She bites on her lip then, and even as he seats himself opposite her in the booth (well, Pirates were never really the most conscientious of regular workers and the diner was mostly empty) she starts praying that he will not ask her about- him.
"So where have you been?" His question jerks her out of her desperate prayers and she tries to gather her thoughts. "Haven't seen you around lately."
"Work is busy," She is grateful for the seemingly normalcy of their conversation and relief makes her gabble on nervously, "I work in a PR company just off Broadway. We've got a new client in. It's really exciting. And busy." She pushes a strand of hair that has fallen from her bun and she resumes her silent prayers, thanking God that thoughts are never visible.
"I see, I see." He nods, looking a little preoccupied. "So how are you doing?"
"Sorry?" She frowns a little then. "I don't quite get what you're asking."
"I mean," He pauses , "How're you feeling, now that he's gone?"
Her breath catches in her throat. It is a question no one has had the tact, the nerve to ask her even right after he left. They skated around it, used figurative language, and she got it and she sketched out her answer- something genial, something adequate (Oh, I'm doing fine. I'm feeling better. Yes, I miss him, but what can we do.) But no one has directly asked her before, or told her to her face before that he is gone, she is here and how has she been dealing with it.
Suddenly she is so tired and her eyes catch on a spilled patch of sugar and she slides her finger through it, tracing funny little squiggles amongst the powder and everything blurs a little and plop! There is the hot, wet weight of a tear- the first tear in months- on her thigh and its partner soon follows, like some intricate, mismatched partner dance. She cannot believe, she is sitting here in a booth in a diner, with her German dance friend, crying, crying over something that has happened 1 year ago and she hates herself for not being over it and the tears come faster.
She thinks maybe she can get away with the tears- she remembers oblivious moments of the Santiago twins- and she hopes that she has when he slides out the booth and she lets herself cry for a while more, mopping her tears on a napkin and slowly the barb of shame and embarrassment fades away until all that's left is pure sadness, longing and a deep ache that seems to come from her toes and reach up all the way to her throat.
A plate slides in front of her- two eggs sunny side up, a bacon rasher curved just so slightly and placed downwards so it looks like a sad face. A glass of orange juice follows and she cannot help the small smile that spreads across her face at this little display that reminds her of when she was a kid and her mom made her breakfast. She looks up at him, and his face now is kind, gentle almost.
"Look, I don't know what happened between you two." His voice though heavily accented, still speaks clearly and she feels herself choke up a little at the words. "But I know that whatever that hurts- it can be fixed." Even as he speaks, he flips the bacon rasher right side up that it becomes a smile and he touches her shoulder lightly. "You should talk to him."
She nods, tries to shake her head and take it back, but he merely smiles at her, pats her on the shoulder again and leaves her, wondering properly for the first time in months if maybe, she should.
Ooooh. Next part up soon I hope (: Review please!