I am on a freaking roll this week: I've updated all my running stories. I apologize for the wait on this. I recently started a drabble fic of Sherlock Holmes and I've gotten a bit involved, and neglected this.
"Yep, this is how it feels," Lindsay says. "Got to give you some credit Astrid, you didn't try to break Hiccup's nose like I did." She presses it with her fingers cautiously. "It's okay now, right?"
"Fine," he reassures.
Astrid scowls. Right. Keep the touching to a minimum. Still, her hand creeps to curl around his. She should let go, but she doesn't want to.
"I can't believe you," Astrid growls at her. "Were you trying to sabotage me this whole time?"
Hiccup blinks. "Huh?"
Lindsay looks at him, her face guarded. "Hiccup. Please go upstairs for a minute, okay?"
"Okay, I'm fine with getting kicked out of my own kitchen…" He cocks his head but leaves the room.
Lindsay and Astrid's eyes meet. "Astrid," Lindsay pleads.
"I hate you," she spits. Her voice is venomous, but Lindsay sees her eyes are glassy with tears. She is dissolving, inside out.
"Hit me." Lindsay says it clearly. She is calm and detached and ready for the blow. "I deserve it. Go ahead. I won't stop you." She just hopes it won't bruise too badly. She closes her eyes and waits.
Astrid does not strike.
The sound hits her ears first, air-sucking in and being released. Weeping, keening like a lost child. She peeks open her eyes and Astrid is listing, the tide leaping out of her ocean-eyes.
She approaches her carefully, like she would a wounded animal. She takes the tiny form in her arms and tells her, "I'll drive you home."
The car idles outside of Astrid's house. She has stopped crying. She is not indifferent. She's hiding.
"I know you hate me right now," Lindsay says.
"Sort of, yeah," Astrid shots at her.
"It's okay. You need to hate me right now. I understand."
"How do you understand?" Astrid glares. Don't be pretentious, acting like you know me and my life. You don't.
Lindsay's eyes fill with a bitter sadness. "You don't remember. Why should you? I was just background to you." She shakes her head. "You should eat the expensive ice cream and watch The Notebook," She advises. "And…" she hesitates. "Call me if you need a friend."
Astrid stares. "You."
"Astrid, I think I'm the closest thing to real you have, believe it or not."
Lindsay's sad surprise needles Astrid.
What does she mean, you don't remember?
She has only been in this district since ninth grade. It has to have been since then. She pulls out that year's yearbook.
It feels soothing to re-immerse herself to good memories, in a time before she cared what Hiccup did at all, much less who he kissed. Friends, honor roll, track, games. She turns the page and smiles: the winter formal. She wore a gorgeous lake blue dress that swept the floor and matched her eyes, and her date was Matt Hybrod: tall, dark-haired, and smart. That night had been their first kiss; the next day, they became a couple. They lasted two months.
There's the picture of them as Ice Queen and King, in their first dance, spotlighted and smiling.
Wait.
She focuses past them, and she recognizes a white, miserable face in the background behind them, looking directly at them but unnoticed by them both.
I was just background to you.
Lindsay.
In a sickening wave she remembers. Lindsay and Matt were talking, until…
Oh, Christ.
I understand.
Lindsay might have stolen her almost-boyfriend, but she did the same first.
The hoodie is as familiar as her face in the mirror, as soft and warm as its owner. She strokes the sleeve as two narrow arms encircle her. Hair tickles her cheek and she giggles. "Thanks for the jacket," she says.
"I don't want you cold."
"Chivalrous," she murmurs.
"I try."
She turns her head to kiss the lips of Hiccup Haddock. "Don't get too confident over that," she warns, thinking about how his smell is embedded in this worn jacket.
"Duly noted, Mistress."
She groan-laughs. "Smart aleck."
"There is one thing I don't understand."
"Something you don't understand?"
He rolls his eyes. 'How did Astrid know all those things? Like my phone number? And my favorite cookies?"
"Well…Astrid wasn't exactly working alone. I was the accomplice," she confesses. "Astrid told me she loved you and I…offered to help."
"You hate Astrid."
"I did."
"Then why would you—?"
Her eyes widen on his. "For you," she says. "You wanted her so badly." She sighs, doodling with her fingertip on the skin of his hand. "So I started coaching her. I sort of borrowed your mom's recipe from your kitchen. She's good cook," she adds positively. "Eventually, you got suspicious, so she told you how she felt. You know the rest."
"You did that for me?" His voice is oddly husky. She shrugs. "Well, yeah. You're my best friend, Hiccup. You'd have done it for me." He tries to imagine that; helping, say, Snoutlout, get his best friend. He feels a bit like retching.
"Yeah, I would have," he says. It's true. Sometimes, love is a sacrifice. Sometimes, it's the greatest act of love. "Is Astrid okay?"
Lindsay pauses. "I think she's going to be. I also think she might take a hit out on me."
"Don't be overdramatic."
"I'm not kidding. She threw volleyballs at me for talking to you, how do you think she's going to react to all this?"
He has no answer that he'd like to say. He satisfies himself with a kiss.
Lindsay knows she said call me if you need anything, but it's seven on a freaking Saturday and she answers the phone groggy and slightly annoyed, "What?"
Astrid's voice is like sound of wind against willow branches: soft, reminiscent of tears. "I remembered."
"Oh." She can't thank of anything else to say. Not it's okay, because Astrid cast her off like a leper and never apologized and Lindsay isn't going to take that meekly.
"You should hate me," Astrid whispers. "Do you?"
"No." The reply is automatic, but not in the "yes-grandma-I-love-the-sweater" kind of way, but the way of immediate, unquestionable truth. "I used to."
"What changed?"
"I realized you weren't perfect."
Astrid pauses. "Do you want to meet somewhere for breakfast?"
The Denny's is nearly deserted, with the cook, two other customers who have clearly just finished jogs and a waitress there. They both order the sampler platter. Lindsay eyes Astrid's sweatpants and ponytail. "So, how are you actually doing?"
Astrid shrugs. "I'm past angry, cried all night, and now I'm just exhausted."
Lindsay smiles into her orange juice. "So pretty good."
Astrid's face twitches with what might be a little smile. "Guess so."
"So, do you hate me?" Lindsay asks, eyebrows raised along with her fork.
Astrid pauses, searches inside herself for the pulsating anger. "No."
"Why?"
"I started to understand you."
"Astrid," Lindsay says seriously. "I want us to stop just tolerating each other. I want to be your friend. If you'll let me. But I'm not giving up Hiccup for that."
"I'm not happy about you two."
Lindsay waits.
"But I thought on the way here, and…" She shakes her head. "I screwed up my chance with Hiccup. Not you, ME. He's liked me for God knows how long—"
"Since second grade," Lindsay says, matter-of-factly.
"—and I knew that the whole time. And I never did anything. I was just…cruel. You were right on target what you said about me. I've used him. I've hurt him. He deserves," she breathes in. "someone who won't ever hurt him. Someone who helps him up instead of pushing him down."
Lindsay nods. "I can promise that."
Astrid nods. "Good. Or I'll have to kick your ass."
Lindsay tries to keep a straight face but busts out laughing. "You sound just like me!"
Astrid shrugs. "Could be worse things."
Lindsay grins out the window. If you told her last month she'd be sort-of friends with this girl, she would have asked what pharmaceuticals you were abusing. Ah, but things change; people change. And a good thing too.
Not my last chapter, darlings, but the end is near. Review and get love!