23 Hardest Bastard
Delilah had only been in her room for a little while when there was a knock at her door.
"Oh, hello," she said. It was Bailey who had just driven her home.
"Hello again," he said. "I've been sent to come and get you."
"Come and get me?" she repeated. "Why?"
"Orders from the Boss," he said, shrugging powerlessly, "who shall remain nameless..."
In the car she had to wonder how he knew what room she was in.
Actually she found that she didn't really care if it ended up that Giovanni was doing paranoid stuff to her because it wasn't like she really had anything interesting to hide from him. The things Delilah usually hid from people were really quite mundane, for example she never told people about the time in kindergarten when she had peed her pants simply because she didn't feel like asking where the bathroom was. But maybe it would be cathartic to talk about it in her next interview.
Maybe Giovanni was trying to establish a harmonious rapport with her and buy her things so she wouldn't change her mind about keeping quiet about Team Rocket. She wondered for a moment how much of that sort of thing was present in Ivy's life. Ivy seemed intelligent and it seemed like she and Giovanni probably loved each other, but she did have shades of trophy wife about her, and Delilah figured there was some amount of politics involved in their marriage.
Benson took her to a restaurant where she found Giovanni and Adam sitting very subdued and tense. "You are looking especially beautiful today, Delilah," Giovanni greeted her warmly. "Isn't she beautiful, Adam?"
Adam didn't say anything.
"What an idiot you are," Giovanni muttered.
Delilah was very uncomfortable. She made a stupid face at Adam and said, "Aren't I beautiful, Adam?"
He cracked a reluctant smile and looked at the menu.
"Don't bother with him," said Giovanni. "He's not worth it."
"Everyone's worth a laugh," she disagreed. "Even Adam."
"Well, don't tell him so. Adam can't take a joke for anything."
"Luckily, that won't stop me making them..."
"It would be nice if he would involve himself in the conversation," said Giovanni as the waiter brought their drinks. "I wonder how much he likes us talking about him as if he weren't here."
"I certainly don't like it," said Delilah.
"No?" He laughed slightly. "Why's that?"
"Talk about awkward," she said. "I feel like I'm asking you for his hand in marriage."
He laughed. "Hmm," he said. "I think I'd have to say no."
"Oh? On what grounds?"
"If you took his hand, I'd be stuck with the rest of him."
She laughed. "All or nothing, huh?"
"You know I would only allow the best," said Giovanni. "Would it be a love match?"
"Of course! Head over heels."
"You're not after money, then?"
"Why, what did you think I was in love with?"
He laughed genuinely. "I guess nobody would take Adam for himself," he said.
"Shut up," Adam mumbled.
"Speaking again?" asked Giovanni rhetorically. "I suppose you think you're a regular Melanie Wilkes?"
"Shut up," Adam repeated, still looking motionlessly down at the menu. "You don't know anything."
"I know how rude you can be," Giovanni scolded him sharply. "You were so rude to poor Delilah this morning that she left in tears."
Adam didn't say anything.
He continued not saying anything and not looking at either of them for the remainder of the meal. Delilah continued chatting awkwardly with Giovanni until he had to go to a business meeting and she felt a certain dread at being left with Adam.
"Thank you for coming," said Giovanni, kissing her on the cheek. "It was nice to see you."
He went to kiss Adam, but then seemed to think better of it.
"Well, I'll see you later. And you be nice to her," he added grimly to Adam.
Adam didn't answer, and Giovanni left. She felt extremely uneasy.
Why had she come?
What was she doing there?
Should she say something?
She made anxious play with the edge of her napkin.
Adam still didn't move.
What was she supposed to do?
What was the point of all this?
Was it supposed to be some kind of peace offering?
Did that woman think nobody could see her cleaning her fingernails with the edge of her menu?
Could she really fault Team Rocket when she ate meat and wore leather?
Did she need to give Toast a bath?
"You don't have to be nice to me," she finally said, attempting a joke. "You can just be yourself."
He started to laugh.
It turned into something else.
"Fuck!"
He wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. Delilah wasn't sure what to say, so she didn't say anything.
"I'm...I'm s-so bored of all this," he sobbed. "And I'm just—so—angry...!"
He wept into his hand for the next few minutes while Delilah looked at the table.
She didn't know what to do. It seemed that the generally accepted reaction would be for her to hug him and say, "I know how you feel."
But she didn't know how he felt. Barring scientifically questionable psychic bonds, it was just not possible for anybody to know specifically how another person felt. There were too many possible factors a person could be ignorant of. Every instance of an emotion was as unique as the situation that resulted in it. She could never know how anybody else felt and nobody could ever know how she felt, about anything.
Eventually the crying became sniffing and she dared to look at him. His eyelids were swollen and his scleras were red, making his green eyes more vibrant than usual.
"Do...do you want me to hug you, or something?"
He didn't respond for a moment. Then he shook his head.
"Okay," she said.
He stood up. "Let's get out of here," he said.
She followed him outside where he started to cry afresh, bitter and lonely and ashamed, and she was hit with a sudden, indescribable fear, a desperate feeling that she couldn't identify. It was a very distressing thing to see and she felt helpless to do anything about it. There didn't seem to be anything she could ostensibly say that would make him stop.
How long had it been since the time she had kissed him, since they had touched? Two months? Two months that could become six months that could become a year that could become ten years that could become the rest of her life. There was nothing pulling them to each other or keeping them together. There was no reason they ever had to see each other ever again. There was no force and there was no obligation. There was nothing.
"Let's get out of here," he said again, gulps of air turning into frenetic hiccups.
"Okay," she said. "Where do you want to go? Do you want to go home?"
"No," he said, wiping his face on his arm. "Let's leave this whole—stupid—country—!" He took a few deep breaths so he wouldn't start crying again.
She looked up, into his hurt and crazy face, and smiled.
He laughed.
"Where do you want to go?"