A/N: Two updates in as many days. I'm as surprised as you are, but inspiration just keeps coming. Also, please permit me to announce for no particular reason that my room is bloody freezing. Damn lack of insulation in the floor!
Lucas Beineke was unlike anyone she'd ever known. And that was saying something.
Thirty minutes into their conversation, he made her laugh- probably a record in all the interactions she'd had over twenty-five years of life. As the laughter died away, she met his gaze so intently that he forgot to watch his step and ended up ankle-deep in a large puddle.
"Damnit!" He jumped out of it and began ineffectually trying to shake water off his sneaker. Wednesday looked away, shaking her head.
"Who are you?"
"I feel like that should be my line," he replied, once again looking her over. "You don't…um…exactly look like…"
This elicited another dry chuckle. "The type to be hanging out in Central Park? The type to be part of modern society in general? The type to be married?"
"You're married?" Lucas stopped short, forcing her to do the same or risk leaving him behind. Rolling her eyes, Wednesday held up her left hand. Even in the dim, post-rain light, the gold ring on her third finger was clearly visible.
"Three years today."
"Oh." He began walking again. "Well, congratulations."
Something about his tone didn't seem quite right; Wednesday followed him, walking quickly to catch up and dodging puddles.
"What?"
"What what?"
An exasperated sigh. "You sound surprised."
"No," Lucas said as she finally came up even with him again. "Well, yes, but not for the reason you probably think."
When she raised her eyebrows, he continued. "It's just that most people I know wouldn't have gotten married at…how old are you?"
Mother would be scandalized. But Wednesday wasn't her mother. "Twenty-five."
"Yeah. How many twenty-two-year-olds do that?"
She blinked. "A surprisingly large number. That's how old my parents were when they got married. Granted, they only dated for about a week…"
"A week?" Lucas repeated, his eyes widening.
An older man walking past with a stroller glanced at Wednesday and quickened her pace; the young woman bit her lip, but kept talking. "Yes. They were surprised I waited six months to marry my husband."
Her conversational partner let out a low whistle. "I can't imagine marrying someone after only six months."
"We started dating when we were twelve."
"Oh."
There seemed to be nothing else to say, and they walked in silence for a few minutes. Until, that is, a little old lady with a walker almost ran into them.
As she turned at the last minute, wiping a bit of mud off her floral-print muumuu, she called, "You and your husband need to be more careful, young lady."
"He's not my husband!" But she was already gone, tottering down the path and mumbling about the lack of consideration young people these days had for their elders. Wednesday bit her lip and glanced at Lucas.
"Sorry about that."
He laughed. "It's fine. I'm flattered that she thought I could be married to you."
"…what?" She stared at him, and the young man's cheeks turned red.
"Oh god, did I say that out loud?"
"Yes," Wednesday replied, silently praying she wasn't about to get hit on. The only thing that could make this day worse would be some fumbling, awkward guy trying to chat her up- after being told she was married, no less. Thankfully, Lucas made his intentions clear a moment later.
"I-I just meant because you're attractive and I'm not, you know. Not that I wish- or that I'm trying to…um…"
She held up a hand to silence him. "Don't worry; I understand. Though I do have to wonder what kind of recreational drugs you're on."
"What?"
"If you think I'm attractive. A wave of the same hand indicated her body in general. "Not exactly Miss America, in case you hadn't noticed."
Lucas stared at her, holding her gaze for so long that Wednesday began to feel uncomfortable. "What?"
"Nothing," he replied. With a little shake of his head, he shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the muddy ground again. At that moment, a shaft of sunlight pierced the rapidly-moving clouds and Wednesday groaned.
"Perfect. All this and it's about to get sunny."
"What's wrong with that?" he asked. She looked at him and grimaced.
"I'm not wearing sunscreen and my parasol is at home. Trust me, the sun and I aren't friends by any stretch of the imagination."
He laughed. "You would use a parasol."
Wednesday rolled her eyes; if not for the fact that Lucas was almost a complete stranger, she would have smacked him. For some reason, the impulse wasn't the same as her desire to inflict serious injury on Joel, though.
"So," he continued, "what's your story? You wear all black, hate the sun, and carry knives with which to rescue strangers from rampaging pigeons. Not to mention you're wandering around Central Park, alone, on your wedding anniversary."
When the only response was silence, Lucas shrugged and kept talking. "I mean, you could just be a goth chick who had a fight with her husband, but-"
Wednesday cut him off. "I hate that word."
"Which one? Husband? Goth? Chick?"
"The last two. I'm not a bird and I don't write bad poetry on LiveJournal," she said, and kicked idly at a puddle.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Not all goths do that, you know. It's not a bad thing."
"I'm not a goth," Wednesday insisted; he shrugged again, but the sly, crooked smile was back.
"Whatever you say." A sudden, theatrical cough into his elbow sounded a lot like the word, "denial."
That did it. Stopping abruptly in front of a cherry tree that overhung the path, she turned to face him. "Are you always this infuriating?"
"Are you always this obstinate?" he shot back.
They stared at each other for a moment, locked in a silent and somehow not-very-serious battle of wills. Surprising even herself, Wednesday looked away first.
"Fine," she said. "I grew up here."
"In the city?" he interrupted.
"In Central Park." When he looked at her doubtfully, she folded her arms over her chest. "It's true. Do you want to hear the rest or not?"
Because he stayed quiet, she continued. "My family home was built before the park was here- almost before the city was here. And stop looking around; you can't see it from here. Anyway, this was my life for twenty-two years. My family…isn't exactly what you'd call normal. But they sent my younger brother and I to summer camp when we were twelve, because our baby brother's nanny was a serial killer. Don't look at me like that," she added as his expression grew even more dubious; "It's a long story. But that's where I met Joel, and the rest is history."
"Joel being your husband?" Lucas asked. She nodded.
"The one you don't want to spend your anniversary with?" The look he got in reply made him feel like the pigeon she'd killed an hour before.
"Enough about me. This is obviously your first time in New York…" she trailed off, looking at him expectantly. Lucas took his sweet time answering, messing his hair up even more and shuffling his feet awkwardly.
Finally, he said, "It's my father."
"You're here with him?" As an overly muscular man pushed past them on a bicycle and shot the pair a dirty look, Wednesday sat down on the mostly-dry bench beneath the tree and gestured for Lucas to do the same.
"No, actually. I'm running away from him."
She gave him a long, appraising look. Just as he began to look very uncomfortable, she asked, "Businessman or dentist?"
"W-what?"
"Your father." Wednesday wiped some mud off one of her spats. "My guess is that he's trying to push you into the family business, so which is it? Businessman or dentist?"
"I- that's not-" he stammered; "how did you figure that out?"
"If he was abusive, you wouldn't want to talk about it, not to a random woman you just met an hour ago. You were trying to feed a pigeon, which suggests that you're at least a bit naïve. And you ran to New York, which, coupled with your shirt, implies idealism. And probably some degree of creativity. Ergo, you don't like the way he's trying to make your life go," she finished. Lucas rolled his eyes.
"I didn't expect to meet Sherlock Holmes today." He fiddled with the zipper on his jacked and watched a couple walk by, hand in hand, looking as if no-one else in the world existed. Staring at them, Wednesday was reminded of Joel and felt oddly guilty.
I'm not doing anything wrong, she reminded herself. This was just a chance encounter and conversation with a potential friend. The fact that he'd gone from "idiotic stranger" to "potential friend" in a little over an hour was something she didn't care to think about.
"Businessman. Contractor, actually," Lucas finally said.
"And you want to be…?"
"A writer." His eyes seemed to light up, and it struck her for the first time since they'd met that the man was actually somewhat attractive. Not like the muscle-bound bodybuilders or sensitive pop idols that most women drooled over, but still…
"I can imagine that went over well," she said dryly, trying to get control of her thoughts. Lucas snorted.
"Yeah. We had a huge fight and I came out here to get some space," he said.
"From where?" she asked.
"Ohio."
Wednesday couldn't help laughing yet again. "Yes, that's definitely getting some space."
Lucas nodded, and when she stopped laughing, silence stretched between them again. But somehow, it was a comfortable silence, one she didn't feel the need to break. Sitting with Lucas, watching a few drops of water fall from the tree's budding branches and splash into a puddle below, she felt more at ease than she had in years.
Finally, she pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the clock in the screen. Sliding it back into said pocket, she stood and glanced at Lucas.
"I should probably go. My husband…" she trailed off, but he just nodded.
"Yeah."
There was a pause, then, "It was nice meeting you."
"Likewise," he replied. Wednesday started back up the path, then turned, seized by a sudden impulse. Pulling an old receipt from her pocket, she tore off a scrap of it and began feeling around in both pockets.
"Do you have a pen?" she asked. Looking a bit confused, Lucas pulled an extremely battered Bic from his own pocket and handed it to her.
As she wrote, she said, "Here. I haven't done this often- well, ever, actually –but if you want to keep in touch…" She thrust the paper at him, with a string of numbers scrawled on it.
"That's my cell number. Call, text, whatever. I'm dying for conversation that doesn't involve melodramatic pet names every three words."
As she turned to go, Lucas called out, "Hey, wait!"
Wednesday walked back to the bench yet again. "Do you have more paper?" he asked.
"Yes, I…" The remnants of the receipt were nowhere to be found- until she looked down into the puddle at her feet and noticed the soggy paper. It must have fallen out of my pocket. Damn.
"No. Sorry."
He hesitated for a moment, and then reached for her hand. "May I?"
"No." It was what she would ordinarily say to this kind of request. But before she had time to think, the young woman heard herself saying, "Sure."
And then try very hard not to think about the fact that his hand was warm and surprisingly soft, or that he held hers far more carefully than was necessary as he wrote on it. Finally, he let go; firmly denying that she missed the contact, Wednesday looked at her palm.
"That's my number," he said. "Like you said, call or text." Suddenly, a mischievous smile crossed his face. "My gothic princess."
"Shut up," she snapped, but smiled in spite of herself. And as she walked away, the smile even grew slightly.
It's not every day I make a friend, she thought- trying to ignore a voice in the back of her mind that questioned just how platonic her interest really was.
A/N: Mwahahaha. It begins.