Canaries In The Mines

Chapter Six

By: Jondy Macmillan

-Oliver-

"Oliver?"

"Nghaghguh."

"Grouchy much? Geez. I was just calling to remind you to pick up Miley from the airport."

He blinked at the ceiling.

"Her flight arrived five minutes ago, so I hope that was your just-drove-through-airport-traffic groan, and not your just-woke-up snarl. They sound really similar sometimes."

He blinked again. Shit.

"I forgot," Oliver groaned, which wasn't strictly true. He had not forgotten that Miley was due to fly in. He had been stressing about it for the past week and a half. It was all he could do to keep his mind off of her, the way she smiled and the blue of her eyes. The previous night, he hadn't even been able to fall asleep, too nervous about the idea of her presence.

He had, however, forgotten to set his alarm clock.

He began to climb out of bed, clutching the phone to his ear, as Lilly said, "The amount of how much that surprises me is not very much at all. She's going to be so mad at you. You know how she feels about taxi drivers. You poor bastard."

"Thanks, Lilly. Talking to you is always so uplifting."

"I am a beam of sunlight in a harsh, unforgiving world," she agreed, with a laugh, "I'd get your ass to JFK, stat."

"Will do. Thanks."

"Sure. Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

Oliver held the phone to his ear, listening to her soft breath before the click of a call ended, and even then. Like the dead silence would somehow alleviate his guilt.

He wanted to call her back, to tell her that he was sorry. That he couldn't help loving Miley.

She was two worlds thrown together, sea salt and hay bales. Oliver had this picture of her, in his head, of the way she flitted around her beach house back in California like some kind of butterfly in turquoise, purple, and pink, every shade of neon. She was color and laughter and a brilliant smile. Home and somewhere else, somewhere that Oliver kind of imagined was straight out of a cowboy movie, with horses and saddles and frontier justice, duels at high noon, and girls wearing bustles. He knew Tennessee wasn't anything like all that, but it didn't stop him from imagining Miley in a corset.

Groaning again, he pulled on a faded Iron Weasel t-shirt that he was pretty certain was not his judging by the logo and the tightness, venturing out into the hallway clad in that and his boxers.

The apartment had been freakishly quiet since Friday, since the arrival of their unexpected house guest. Oliver didn't have a problem with Nick Lucas, except for maybe how he made Joe act. Nick's presence was driving Joe insane. Every time he grabbed a free minute, it was to wail, "He won't leave, why won't he just leave?"

Since Oliver and the rest of their roommates knew firsthand that Joe wanted to bone the kid's brains out, they couldn't see what the huge problem was. Kendall had started a pool over how long it would take Joe to cave.

Oliver sort of thought Joe might break with his sanity first. Like at that exact moment, for instance, when he stumbled upon the singer making a break for it onto the fire escape.

"What- are you doing?"

"Running away," Joe said, straddling the window frame.

Oliver did not actually find this to be an implausible scenario.

"Um. Really?"

"No. Idiot," Joe said, like he couldn't believe Oliver was so stupid, "I'm going to get groceries."

"Out the fire escape?"

Joe gave him this shifty expression and said, "Nick's in the kitchen with your girlfriend. He's blocking the door."

"With my- what? Miley's here?"

"Has been for like, half an hour, dude. Did you know she laughs really loudly? Like, really loudly. My little brother is not as funny as she's making him out to be. He's going to get an inflated ego," Joe glanced a little wistfully towards the kitchen. Then he continued to climb out of the window, leaning back in so that his hands rested on the frame, watching Oliver expectantly. He wanted an answer.

Right.

"So why didn't you put a stop to it?"

"Because he's stalking me. You do not enable your stalkers, Oken."

Oliver rolled his eyes.

"Have fun shopping. Make sure you pick up some ravioli."

"Why? You're not going to- cook?" Joe looked horrified.

"No. You are," he opened his mouth in protest, but Oliver cut Joe off quick, "In exchange for me keeping this information from Nick."

"You dirty blackmailer."

Oliver shrugged, "It better be some good pasta."

Then he shut the window, barely missing Joe's fingers.

Joe made a suitably offended face at him through the window, and mouthed some very not nice words to boot, but Oliver couldn't hear a thing through the thick pane. He grinned, flipped Joe off, and proceeded down the hall towards the kitchen.

Where Joe's little brother was macking on Oliver's girl.

"Miley," Oliver said, clearing his throat exaggeratedly.

"Oliver," she glanced up, a smile blossoming over her lips. It did not stop him from noticing how very close she was sitting to Nick.

Joe's little brother was infinitely smarter than Joe was. He zoomed right in on the heart of the problem. That or he noticed how strongly Oliver was glaring at him, and figured he should fix the situation as quickly as possible.

"We were talking about a- song," Nick said lamely, holding up his hands like he knew exactly what he was intruding in on. Oliver's eyes narrowed.

"We were thinking about doing a duet," Miley smiled, oblivious, like the way her knee had been pressed up against Nick's was totally okay. Hell, she probably did think that. Oliver sighed. And then he noticed Kendall and Tripp leaning over the back of the couch like over-eager puppies.

Miley wasn't paying them any attention, so he assumed official introductions had already been made.

"Just woke up?" she asked kindly, putting together a plate of scrambled eggs and some bacon from pans on the counter that looked like something Justin had cooked up a few hours before.

"Your observational powers are astounding," Oliver agreed, glancing down at his boxers and wishing they were plain flannel instead of tiny ducklings.

"Dude, insulting the girl is not the way to get into her pants," Kendall hissed theatrically from the couch, like he knew anything at all about getting into someone's pants. Much less a girl's.

"Aren't you allergic to vagina?" Oliver hissed back, and he might have said it a bit more loudly than he'd intended. Miley wasn't paying attention, still fixing up the eggs, but Nick shifted uncomfortably. Like he thought maybe a person shouldn't say the word vagina in front of someone who had one. Kendall laughed, not fazed in the least.

"Not that I'm aware of. Maybe I should conduct an experiment."

He licked his lips, eyes trailing deliberately over Miley. She didn't seem to mind. Which bothered him. Immensely.

"Your roommates are cute, Oliver," she rolled her eyes, not in the least intimidated by Kendall's act, "Cute and very much not my type."

Kendall arched an eyebrow, like, touché.

Oliver muttered, "You're not his either."

"I'm everybody's type," Miley crossed her arms, pouting a little bit. Her eyes were dancing, and he'd missed this, missed seeing what she looked like when she was making a joke.

"You're not his," Oliver walked fully into the living room, jabbing Kendall in the shoulder with his index finger, "Unless you grow half a foot, cut your hair, and buy tighter jeans. Oh, and you'll probably need a peni-"

Kendall clapped his hand over Oliver's mouth and said, "Now you're just being mean."

Miley said, "They sell tighter jeans than these?"

She frowned at her skinny pants. Kendall snorted, and Oliver could tell he was somewhere a million miles away in his own head, thinking about what James would have to say about that.

After a beat Tripp said, "Dude, can I have your eggs?"

Oliver glanced at the plate that Miley was holding out for him, the scrambled bits all neatly pushed to one side, the bacon on the other, and none of it touching.

"No? It's my breakfast. Get your own."

"Didn't you already have two plates?" Miley asked him, a little bit incredulous.

Tripp frowned, "I am a growing boy."

"You're a growing something, alright," Miley muttered under her breath, "I'm thinking wildebeest."

"Hey!"

"She's feisty. You should take her to your special place," Kendall intoned, laughing.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Tripp agreed, pouting, "Take her to your special place. Away from here."

"You have a special place?" Miley cocked an eyebrow, eyes sparkling. Nick was quietly snickering into his hand.

And Oliver? Oliver was blushing. He could feel the burn on his cheeks. He protested, "No one calls it that."

"Yes we do," Kendall disagreed, "I mean I always call it Oliver's special place. Don't you?"

He turned to Tripp, who nodded, unable to stop from snorting, "Oh yeah. All the time."

"I'm kind of scared," Miley laughed, making a face, "What exactly do you do at your special place?"

Oliver opened his mouth to repeat that no one called Central Park his special place when she wasn't there, but before he could Miley was being told-

"Mostly he emos out and contemplates if the pond's deep enough to drown in, I think-" Tripp was saying, but Oliver elbowed him in the stomach and his voice cut off with a wheeze.

"Pond? They have ponds in New York City?" Miley asked.

"I know, I was shocked too," Kendall said, making little pushing gestures to Oliver, "Go on, take the girl out on the town. Have a fun little date."

"What do you say?" she grinned. Oliver shifted uncomfortably. Kendall was dead. He was so, so dead. Oliver couldn't believe he'd just said the d-word.

"Alright, time to go," Tripp announced, grabbing Kendall by the arm.

"Where?"

"We just need to go. Out, into the world, where you can't talk to anyone anymore," Tripp muttered, glaring at him, and sometimes Oliver thought that Tripp was actually a lot nicer than he let on, when his personality didn't get in the way.

Miley was still watching him.

"Oliver?"

"Sure," Oliver shifted uncomfortably, "If you want."

"Have fun at your special place," Kendall said, dragging his feet on the way to the door. Roommates, ugh.

"Stop fucking calling it that," Oliver yelled. He was seriously contemplating drowning Kendall in the pond. See how he felt about his special place then. God, could he have been any more embarrassing?

Kendall paused in the doorway.

"He's grouchy today," he told Miley and Nick, "Good luck."

He saluted them and walked straight out the door, Tripp at his heels.

"I like him. He's weird," Miley laughed.

"You're probably related. He's from Minnesota," Oliver grumbled.

"Contrary to popular belief, the land between New York and California is not all one state."

"So wait," Nick asked, and it was only then that Oliver's attention beamed back in on him. He realized he was still snickering into his hand. Jerk. He said, "What is your special place?"

He glared at Nick and instead of saying something remarkably mature, like none-of-your-business, he said, "Joe snuck out the fire escape to go pick up groceries. You can probably still catch him."

Nick's eyes widened. He smiled gratefully and said, "Thanks."

"Sure," Oliver shrugged, putting as much macho intimidation as he could into his voice. Nick kept smiling, so he wasn't certain it had worked.

Then again, his eyes were already on the front door, probably already thinking about how he was going to be hot on Joe's heels in two seconds flat. They'd played a wildly competitive game of charades two nights ago, and it was clear to Oliver that Nick hated to lose.

Oliver knew the route to the park by heart. He probably could have walked it in his sleep. But with Miley behind him he kept stumbling, like he was hiking a mountain instead of a city sidewalk, like maybe he'd never once been down the way before.

When they arrived, Miley exhaled, her voice a little skeptical when she asked, "This is it?"

"This is it," Oliver said, glancing around the park, at the little benches and the hotdog stand on the corner and the dew fresh flowers, "Kendall and Tripp were making a big deal out of nothing."

"No, it's-" Miley paused, eyes alighting on a couple in a rowboat out on the manmade lake, "Can we get one of those?"

Oliver blinked. All the times he'd been here, and he wasn't even sure where to rent one.

After half an hour of wandering around the park, over grassy knolls, trampling on a few tulips, Oliver and Miley secured a boat. It was bigger than he'd thought it would be, and they had to row, which kind of sucked. They were both in good shape; they had to be. They were constantly performing in front of millions. But even so, rowing was hard work, and by the time they reached a wide empty stretch of water, Oliver decided he'd had enough.

So did Miley. She dropped her oar, threw back her head and said, "It's nice out today."

Sunlight shaded the stretch of her neck. Her knee was pressed against his, but it was somehow so much closer, more intimate than the way she'd been touching Nick.

"We should have brought a picnic," she decided, pursing her lips, "Just like in the movies."

"Whoops," he frowned. Miley leaned back on her elbows, and after a second, Oliver scooted down off the bench, a little farther, resting his neck against her hip.

She shifted, letting him roll his head back onto her stomach and began to thread her fingers through his hair, "Wow. This has gotten really soft. I like it when you don't put all that gunk in it."

Her shirt rode up a little, and Oliver could feel the burn of her skin against his. It took him a few seconds to regain his train of thought, to say, "Yeah."

She was like, petting him. Lilly pet him all the time, but in like a good dog kind of way. Not like- wow, her fingers felt good. He tried to think of something to say, something that wouldn't be awkward, that wouldn't ruin this.

"So, um, I'm sorry for missing you at the airport."

Her eyes widened and she punched him in the shoulder, "Yeah. I forgot about that. Jerk."

"My alarm clock, um-"

"It's not a big deal."

"Really? Because Lilly said you really hate taking cabs, and I kind of remember-"

"Oliver," her eyes were dancing again, clear blue in the afternoon light, "its okay. Lilly says a lot of things."

"She has a big mouth."

"She does," Miley agreed, "Like the other day, she told me the strangest thing."

Oliver felt his heart jump into his throat, because no way. No way would Lilly do this to him. She wouldn't. She wasn't that cruel.

"Oliver," Miley asked, peering down at him through the wave of her auburn bangs, "Do you like me?"

His head jolted up off of her tummy.

"Lilly is insane. Certifiable, even, and why would she say something like that to you? Did she actually say that? Someone needs to take her to see the crazy doctor, because whoo-" Miley clapped a hand over his mouth, which served the double purpose of bringing his head down to pillow on her skin again as well as making him shut the hell up. Which he figured was advisable.

"I'm going to ask again," she said slowly, words barely louder than an exhalation, "Oliver? Do you like me?"

He thought of all the times Lilly had told him to man the fuck up already. And then Oliver did a weird thing. He decided to be calm and mature about this.

It might have had something to do with the way the boat was still rocking from his last panic fit.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" He shifted, the boat moving with his weight, his head resting against Miley's taut stomach.

"I used to think so. I mean, you were my friend and a total goofball, though not- unattractive," She smiled that huge, toothy smile of hers, no shame, no censorship, "It felt kind of like incest."

Oliver thought of Justin, and Joe, and how he and Miley were so close they were practically related, and how he'd seen both her and Lilly as sisters, until he hadn't. He wondered if that's why he felt so deeply connected to them, and then decided it didn't matter how or why.

She paused, "That wasn't an answer, though."

"Miley, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. Of course I like you. You're Miley. You're-" everything, he wanted to say, but instead he said, "An amazing singer and a horrible cook and a great friend and," he proceeded to list every trait he'd ever liked about Miley ever until she said-

"Oliver. Oliver, stop talking. How'm I supposed to get a word in with all this chatter?" She made little talking motions with her fingers, and god, he'd missed the way she was always talking with her hands.

"I was kind of- hoping you wouldn't."

"Say what?"

"If you don't say anything," Oliver mumbled, more than a little embarrassed, "You can't shoot me down."

"And who said I'd do that?"

"Common sense."

"And who said I have any of that?" Miley deadpanned.

"Good point."

"Look, when they told me that I was going to have to kiss you on stage, I refused. I don't buy into publicity stunts, and, alright, I was kind of repulsed by the idea. Then, I had to convince Daddy to put away his shotgun. And soothe Lola's nerves. It was all a bit hectic."

She smiled, but Oliver was still focused on repulsive, his heart sinking low in his chest.

"Don't look at me like that, Ollie," she emphasized his name, "I'm not done yet. Of course I was repulsed- you're, you've always been one of my best friends. I mean, I was there when you barfed in the cafeteria and burped the ABC's thought farting was hilarious- and yeah, I know you still think it is. Shut up."

"I'm not talking."

"Your eyes are. A mile a minute. So, I've always had trouble reconciling the image of you as an actual guy and the cool but disgusting kid I've always known. Personal growth takes me a while, if you haven't noticed."

He had. He thought it was kind of adorable, actually.

"Afterwards- I mean, it was good. Who knew you could kiss like that?"

"Didn't Lily ever say- "

"No. She tried. Probably. I, uh, got a bit nauseous whenever that conversation arose, know what I'm saying? And…I don't know, I figured it was fine, because you'd never had feelings for me, and it was just this- blip. The things I thought, when we kissed. But then, the more and more I thought about it, the more I got that it wasn't. A blip. I'd been thinking of you like I think of my brother, revolting, a little hard to tolerate, and not even close to attractive and y'know. My brother. When I thought about it though, you weren't any of that. I can tolerate you, I more than tolerate you. You're actually pretty cool. And attractive. And I've been kind of an idiot for not seeing it for so long. Oliver, I never meant to hurt you. Really. Can- you forgive me?"

"Miley, there's nothing to forgive. I don't blame you for anything. Except maybe calling me repulsive. And revolting. Geez. Hit a guy where it hurts."

"Seriously? I was young and naive, okay?"

"Right, and you're a hag now."

"I am," she insisted, "I will have you know I am a very mature nineteen. I'm even getting wrinkles."

She pointed to her face, "See?"

All he could see were the familiar crinkles in the corners of her eyes when she laughed and smiled, each line etched into her face since birth.

"Stop it. You're- beautiful."

He wasn't sure if he was allowed to say that. Miley hadn't actually said anything about them being more than what they were. She mostly just admitted he wasn't hideous anymore, which, ouch. She lowered his eyes, and for a beat, he thought he'd made a terrible, irreversible mistake. Then she said, "I wasn't beautiful enough to stop you from running away across the country to hide out."

"I didn't move here because of you- my label's here and-"

"Stop," she wiggled her fingers, "Lilly told me."

"Lilly is a filthy traitor," he muttered.

"Yeah," Miley grinned, "But she loves us. A lot. I thought- when I asked her if it was okay, that I do this, I thought she'd shoot me down. Hard. That's why it took me so long to even ask."

"Wait, to do what?"

Miley crossed the gap between them, her lips pressing into his, and she smelled like sunshine and sea salt and home.

Oliver, in an astounding act of stupidity, pushed her away, flailing, nearly tipping the boat over. She looked at him with something like hurt when he said, "It's not that easy."

It came out sounding like a question. He was breathing hard and holy shit, Miley Stewart had just kissed him.

"It is. That easy," She smiled, and it was a little cracked. She said, "You do still want me. Right? I mean- oh god, Lilly didn't make it all up, did she? Dangflabbit, that girl's got an imagination like a-"

Miley Stewart had just kissed him, and he'd pushed her away. He was the biggest idiot in the entire world. This needed to be fixed, immediately.

"Miley. She didn't make it up."

Oliver hoped he hadn't caused that. He hoped he hadn't made her doubt that she could have any guy in the world, including him. And it didn't matter that she was famous, and it didn't matter that she could probably buy Montana. She was one of his best friends; the girl who lived in a million memories, from the disastrous time he tried and failed to teach her to surf to day she helped Lilly bombard him with text message quizzes for two months, just to make sure he'd be able to get his GED.

And he hadn't loved her then, not the way he did now, not this heart pounding, punch-in-the-gut, breath stealing way, but he'd always loved her as a friend, for being in his life. For always being there, from the first time he got dumped to the day he found out he had diabetes. He wasn't sure of the exact moment his feelings had changed. He didn't care. He just knew that they had, and that Miley was staring at him like she actually cared that he'd been hurting all these months. Like maybe she'd been feeling some of that same fear that had lived in his heart; the tension, the anxiety, and the terror.

He hadn't expected this, her, in the midst of Central Park, telling him that maybe he hadn't just spend the last few years of his life pining away for nothing. He hadn't expected it, but right now, he was so grateful for it. He felt like his lungs might burst, like his heart might pound out of his ribcage beneath her piercing gaze.

"You sure?" she shrugged, like maybe she was trying to tell him his rejection as okay, somehow.

"I'm sure," he said softly, "You just- surprised me, is all. Can we, um. Try again?"

She smiled.

It was the best thing Oliver had ever seen.