Everything is Illuminated
It was a warm Sunday morning in Eureka, and Café Diem was crowded for Sunday brunch. At the far end of the café, Zane was ensconced in the couch by the fireplace, strategically located in such a way that it simultaneously prevented him from being seen from the door whilst giving him an excellent view of the door via the numerous framed photographs and knick-knacks Vincent had accumulated in the café. After Jo had left the previous afternoon, Zane's mind had skipped like a record knocked off course, assimilating everything he'd learned during that tension-filled conversation into his own observations and making comparisons to the Lupo he'd once thought he knew. The Jo Lupo he'd come to appreciate over the last few weeks was softer; not just more feminine but more humane – sympathetic, even. Those were the changes which had jolted him out of his complacency with the status quo sometime after she'd rescued him from Mansfield's accusations. She hadn't just stood up for him against the authorities; she'd actually put her trust in him – had raised the stakes to previously unimaginable heights, risked her job, all on the faith she'd had in a version of him who no longer existed. Her certitude in the value of his redemption was – humbling, to say the least. He'd meant it, when he told her from behind bars that day that she was wasting her time. He still wasn't convinced that he'd been wrong, but her obvious confidence in him gave him pause. It wasn't every day that you pursued someone who might know you at least as well as you knew yourself.
He was drawn out of his thoughts by the tinkling bell sound of the door to the café, and his eyes flashed quickly to the glass reflection he'd been using to watch the door, registering Jo's figure entering the café. Zane propelled himself from his armchair and turned on his heel to face the door. Jo's back was to him as she greeted Vincent, but what a nice back it was. Her hair was down with a slight curl and she was in a pale yellow dress, strapless, with an empire waist. Zane inhaled sharply, surprised, for what now felt like the thousandth time, by Jo Lupo. He strode across the room, twirling her around and into his arms with a quick tug. Jo stiffened in shock, and, he suspected, reached for her absent gun, but then Zane's hands were twisted into her tumbling mane of hair and his mouth was insistent on hers. It was an embrace her body knew in an instant – even if it took her mind a moment to catch up – and then she melted into him once more. He breathed her in – she smelled of lemon, ginger and gunpowder, which made him smile briefly against her lips, and he pulled her closer without thinking about it. All he really knew was that he wanted her so close that the lines between the two of them could begin to blur. As he pulled her closer, Jo wrapped her arms around his neck and molded her body to his, inch for inch.
Pleasantly oblivious to the world around them – which did actually appear to be standing still, as most of the patrons of the café had dropped their silverware and their jaws in shock – it seemed as if several hours had passed when they finally pulled away from each other, breathing hard. Zane kept Jo snug against him as she pulled out of the kiss, willing her not to flee and willing his own mind to begin to function again. He rested his forehead against hers and for a moment they were locked eye to eye. With reluctance he pulled away and added another inch of distance between them.
"So," he said, seemingly blasé but well aware of their sizeable audience. "Brunch?" He suggested with raised brows. Jo's hazel eyes goggled at him, transformed by the sunlight into a warm honey gold. Zane didn't even bother stifling his trademark lopsided smirk, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair from her dazed face. The whole café watched, breathless, not recognizing that this die had already been cast a long time ago. Zane doesn't blame them, because even though he knows this moment is, in a sense, rigged, it still seems in defiance of all his known laws of nature when a little twitch of a smile appears on Josefina Lupo's face, combined with an ironic glint to her eyes. He let out a breath he'd never even realized he was holding and wrapped her hand in his.
Pulling her toward the fireplace where he'd been staking out the café, he smiled engagingly. "Come on now, I don't bite," he teased. Jo threw him an arch look which wordlessly suggested that she had it on very good authority that this was not strictly speaking the case, causing Zane to trip over his own feet in surprise. He narrowed his eyes. "Well, I won't bite." He conceded then smirked. "Unless you want me to." He took a seat on the couch, and she followed suit, sinking into the dip in the couch created by the worn out springs and stiffening slightly at the closeness artificially created between them by gravity. But Jo was reluctant to relinquish her opportunity to have the upper hand. Instead, she threw him a brazen look and responded,
"You know I prefer to save that kind of thing for dessert, pookie." She raised her eyebrows, daring him to contradict her. Zane just gave her an appreciative look – he'd always known she was a worthy opponent – and settled down to his eggs scrambled with mozzarella and bacon. Her dress brushed against his arm and piqued his innate sense of curiosity.
"Since when do you wear dresses, anyhow?" Jo shrugged, looking a little tense, which seemed odd to Zane until it occurred to him that he probably knew exactly 'since when,' down to the day – at least in this universe.
"I was at the morning service at the church before I came," she responded, and Zane was taken aback.
"You don't go to church!" he blurted before he could stop himself. Jo bit her lip.
"Well that explains why Reverend Harper was looking at me so oddly," she muttered. It was hard for her to imagine a world in which she didn't go to church. She wished more than ever that she could get a look into the head of new timeline Jo Lupo and figure out where things went so wrong.
It wasn't much longer before Vincent appeared with Jo's brunch, looking understandably uncomfortable, though curious in spite of himself. In any case, Vincent knew better than to inquire. He'd just have to get by on the wildfire of speculation that would be springing up in their wake. Zane, ignoring Vincent entirely, did a double take when he saw her meal.
"Uh, want some pancake to go with that chocolate, Jo?" She grabbed her fork and knife and threw a puzzled glance in his direction.
"What?" she asked. He jerked his chin at her plate. She had a stack of three pancakes, chocolate chip, coated heavily in chocolate syrup and – was that Nutella?
"Seriously?" he said, and she rolled her eyes at him.
"I wanted chocolate. Anyway I haven't been eating well lately – " here she shifted her eyes away awkwardly, not really wanting to remind him, or even herself, of the change in her eating habits brought on by both the stress of the timeline change, and what she now realized had been morning sickness, "– so I really should take what I can get while my appetite lasts."
"Well – I mean, I guess I can see that. But Nutella?" She took a bite of the disturbingly slathered concoction, smiling faintly and looking distant. "My mother loved Nutella," she said wistfully. "It was always sort of a staple in our house when I was little." Zane watched her reminisce as he ate, somewhat awed. The woman was a walking contradiction – a backbone of steel and a gun eternally at her hip; seasoned with an ineffable allure and apparently a marshmallow-soft center. He was vaguely aware he might be gaping. "Besides," she teased, looking back up at him, "You eat toasted peanut butter with bacon. Since when are you at liberty to judge?"
"Hey don't you be knocking the peanut butter and bacon! That is a gourmet food, just ask Vincent over there." He waved a hand toward the counter. Jo rolled her eyes.
"Vincent's the one who created that abomination, I suspect he may be what you'd call biased." She responded, digging into her own bizarre concoction. Zane finished his own meal, and pushed forward the plate on the table, leaning back against the couch and stretching with satisfaction. That was when Jo got a good look at his shirt and choked on her pancakes. Eyes watering, she grabbed her glass of milk. Zane, oblivious to the cause, looked at her with consternation.
"You alright?" he asked, as she gulped in air, coughing.
"Your… shirt," she wheezed, gesturing vaguely. His dark blue shirt, which read, "If it weren't for law enforcement & physics, I would be unstoppable!" complete with a little graphic of handcuffs. Zane winced in realization. The first time Lupo had caught him wearing that shirt, he had been 'accidentally' tased, but even Lupo couldn't reasonably lock him up over a t-shirt, and she'd eventually chosen to ignore it. He'd forgotten she'd be seeing it again for the first time, and suddenly hoped she did not have the taser on her. He hadn't really missed her weapon of choice. Jo just wiped her watering eyes and shook her head.
"Like I said before, you're much too irritating to be boring." She remarked, and shook her head. Zane found he was delighted: Jo Lupo with a decent sense of humor – who would've thought? She took a few deep breaths and finished the last few bites of her meal, throat feeling rather scratchier than it had a few minutes ago. She gathered up the trash and dirty dishes left over from her meal and crossed the room, leaving Zane behind packing his work and his laptop. When she returned, Zane was perched on the arm of the couch, waiting patiently.
"All set?" he asked, and she nodded in response, not wanting to aggravate her throat further by speaking. He flashed a quick smile at her, and the two of them headed for the door.
Within moments of their departure, Vincent was on the phone and ready to spread the news through town. Outside the café, Zane and Jo walked down the sidewalk to Jo's bright blue car. As she rummaged through her bag for her keys, Zane leaned against the car, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. He watched her closely. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up.
"I have something for you," he said, with a hint of discomfort, and reached into his pocket, pulling out the ring she'd thrown at him a little more than a week ago. Suddenly the lighthearted mood from the café dispersed.
"Oh," she said softly. Her eyes darted to his and away again. "You don't – I mean – it's your ring, Zane." She stammered awkwardly, and shifted on her feet.
"Hang on, Jo, let me finish." He said, stepping closer. "First of all, you might be interested to know it's not, strictly speaking, my ring; there's an identical ring in my safety deposit box here in Eureka. As a matter of fact, I checked after our talk in Carter's office. It's still there." He looked contemplative for a moment then shook his head, resigned to the mysteries of time travel. "This is my grandmother's ring, Jo. There may be things I don't know or understand; I can't make you any promises. But if there's one thing I do know, it's this: if he – I – gave you this ring, I meant it. I may not remember the hows or the whys, but it belongs with you." He extended his hand, palm up, and the diamond solitaire glittered gold in the sunlight. Jo reached out tentatively and accepted it from his hand, fingertips brushing the palm of his hand and leaving behind a trail of sensation. Zane broke through the sudden tension. "Just the same," he added with humor in his voice, "I would recommend keeping it around your neck, out of sight. After the show we just gave the town, you might actually get trampled if they see you with a ring."
"That is, if Zoe doesn't kill me first," she sighed, and Zane looked away, not wanting to rehash yesterday's argument; knowing full well that neither of them loved the way this situation was playing out. Jo finally looked him in the eye. "Thank you, Zane." She said seriously. She opened her mouth again, but closed it, not knowing what to say. Her eyes felt suspiciously moist and she began rummaging through her purse again, trying to stifle the sudden surge of emotion. Jo pulled out her keys shakily and flashed Zane a forced smile. "I should really get going," she said abruptly. Her hand brushed against his waist as she reached for the keyhole on the driver's side, but he initially did not step away in response. Jo set her shoulders back and raised her chin with defiance to look him in the eye, ready to argue if necessary – though at that moment she had no idea what her argument might be. Now that things were beginning to stabilize between them, her apparent inability to master her own emotional responses was more mortifying than ever. He stepped away but continued to watch her, his gaze oddly expectant. Trying to ignore him, she opened her car door and slid into the driver's seat with more care than usual, acutely aware of the way the hem of her dress rode up slightly over her thighs. Oh, for the love of God, how she hated dresses! She shut her door a little too hard in irritation, and started the engine. He was still watching her. Jo rolled down the window.
"What?" she asked sharply.
"See you tomorrow, Jo-Jo." Zane said, the strange smile still on his face, and she shook her head with irritation and pulled out of her parking spot. As she pulled into the traffic, she could see him still in her rearview mirror, watching her like a cat at a mouse hole. Jo shivered, and goose bumps popped up on her arms in spite of the temperate day. What had she gotten herself into?
On the far side of the café in a seat by the window, a lone figure sat with chai tea, a laptop and work lying forgotten on the table in front of her. Her brown eyes were narrowed as she watched the hushed conversation between the pair in the window, though she couldn't see whatever item had been exchanged. She'd been there since long before Jo's arrival from church around eleven, and had seen firsthand what could only be described as a scandalously over-familiar greeting between the two of them, news of which was no doubt already traveling through the town. Lips pursed in thought, Pilar opened a blank email and began to write.
Dear Zoe, she typed, I hope things are going well at Harvard. Meet any Harvard hotties lately? I hope so, for your sake, because things here in Eureka have just taken a turn for the weird…
Disclaimer: I do not own Eureka. I do not own the idea for that totally awesome shirt. I don't even own the idea for Jo's revolting breakfast. Someone somewhere actually eats that. Nor do I own Nutella, or even have any strong feelings about it. ;)
A/N:
I was going to wait until I'd finished Chapter 5 (and boy has that been a painful process) to post this, but I needed something about the next two days to have some kind of redemptive value... course selection week, exams, the usual. I wish I could get these chapters to be longer but I seem to have a mental block when it comes to scene breaks. Oh well. I hope you enjoy it, just the same.
Yes the shirt is real. Yes Zane should wear it on Eureka. (He does wear science shirts fairly regularly, I think I've noticed, although they're usually a little faded and hard to read.)
http:/ / t-shirts / If-It-Weren-t-For-Law-by-Snorg-Tees-643653
(Take out the spaces to follow the link to the t-shirt.)