in the dark (i can hear your heartbeat)
What happened was, they met at a bar. That's one way to clear the air. [Katherine Moennig/Leisha Hailey, Katherine Moennig/Holly Miranda, RPF, PG-13, for mangobaby]
in the dark (i can hear your heartbeat)
“So I met a girl.”
Leisha discovers the five words that can sufficiently end a conversation without being goodbye or talk to you later.
But let’s go back, because really, the story doesn’t start here.
;;
There are things nobody knows, like the fact that they went out to dinner a few times, saw a couple of movies, stayed at each others’ apartments two nights out of seven. It seemed like a natural progression, acquaintances to friends to lovers (is that what they were? She-) and neither of them stopped to think about it. Leisha doesn’t think they had the power to stop. It’s like being in the backseat of a car; you can’t just decide you want the car to slow down. The driver chooses the destination.
And in this case, apparently Leisha and Kate had different destinations.
The car stopped, and Kate got out somewhere between Henry’s Tacos and that one song all over the radio a few years back, Ohio is for Lovers, only they’re not in Ohio, and Leisha moved to the passenger’s seat and waved goodbye, watching the houses fly by in a rush of color. People move at different speeds, to different places, and this is something that Leisha forgets.
She’s not even making sense, is she?
Here’s what she means: she kind of, sort of, definitely fucking loves Katherine Moennig.
(That’s one way to clear the air.)
;;
“A girl,” Leisha repeats, a buzzing filling her head.
“Yeah. She’s - I don’t know.” Kate sounds hesitant. “She’s a musician.”
A car drives by Leisha’s window, going well over the thirty-mile speed limit.
“I have to go,” she says.
Click.
What else was there to do?
;;
(What happened was, they met at a bar.
…No, seriously. They did.)
;;
The bartender signals at Kate with a slight nod of his head. She blinks once before realizing he’s motioning to her, and not the people beside her, whose drinks are almost dangerously empty again. The girl’s voice singing into the microphone somewhere to the left of her sounds like - for lack of a better description - sex. It’s low and husky and polished, somehow, and it reminds Kate of beaches at night, desolate and empty and beautiful; or clouds and castles, stars and sunsets, things that shouldn’t always go together but do anyway.
The bartender’s looking at her strangely.
“Cosmopolitan,” she tells him, after a second of thought. He flips his bar rag onto his shoulder while he makes her drink, muttering to himself. There’s a smattering of applause as the singer finishes her set, a couple catcalls and whistles, and Kate finds herself clapping along absentmindedly.
“Hey,” someone says. Kate looks up, immediately recognizing the voice. “I like your show.”
She smiles, strangely flustered. “Thanks. I like your music.”
The girl - what’s her name, it was announced when she came onstage, think, think - Heather? Holly? Holly - grins and orders a drink for herself, her elbows resting on the bar. She leans forward in her seat, resting her chin in her hand.
Kate stares at her, overcome with something, she can’t quite place the feeling. She opens her mouth to say -
-she doesn’t know, but what comes out is:
“Would you like to - I don’t know - go somewhere?”
;;
(Yes. That’s really what she said. But it didn’t matter because sometimes that’s all it takes - a simple invitation.)
;;
Leisha meets Kate for breakfast the day after the phone call. (They do this once a week, if their schedules aren’t too busy or too conflicting.) Kate orders an omelette. Leisha orders a croissant. They both drink their coffee black. The air feels heavy.
“How long?” Leisha finally asks, breaking the silence. Kate shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Tell me. I can handle it.”
Kate looks away, focusing on a point somewhere to the right of Leisha’s shoulder . “Six months.”
...
.
Oh.
Six months.
Leisha takes a moment to think about Kate, and them together, over the past six months; everything falls into place: the reason Kate didn’t return half of her calls, the reason Kate refused to spend the night and ignored her advances, the reason Kate’s wardrobe seemed to suddenly double by size; she remembers conversations - I have plans with a friend - I’m busy, sorry - I’m not going to be home - You really need a girlfriend, Leisha.
“You could have told me.” Her voice catches in her throat, smoldering there. “You should have. You should have told me.”
Kate’s tone is low, and Leisha has to strain to hear it. “I know.” A car skids loudly around the corner, tires screeching. And then: “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” Kate’s doing that thing, you know, where she apologizes and lowers her gaze until her eyelashes brush her cheek, and her hands are clasped in her lap and she looks the part of Oliver; please sir, can I have some more? and no one ever said she was a bad actress for a reason. “Don’t do that.”
Kate’s acting like Leisha wants her to. Kate isn’t really this withdrawn, or timid; she just knows she should be. And Leisha’s tired of people lying to be things they’re not.
“Fine,” Kate says, suddenly aggressive. “Fine. I won’t apologize. I don’t have anything to apologize for - it’s none of your business what I do or who I do it with. You and me? We’re not together. We were never together.”
(Yes. Yes.
This -
This is what she wanted to say all along.)
;;
I like you, Holly says, her nose crinkling with her smile.
I’ll follow you on Twitter, Kate replies, and Holly laughs and then they kiss.
;;
“Okay,” Leisha says at last. “I know. We were never together.”
Kate breathes out, her shoulders dropping slightly, rubbing the palm of her hand against her forehead.
“I’m sorry. That was harsh.”
“It was true.”
“Still.”
They both watch the slow progression of the cars on the street, stuck in morning traffic. Their waitress arrives to take away their plates, and pours them more coffee, and it’s Kate’s turn to pay the bill but Leisha puts in her half and Kate lets her.
;;
We were never together she’ll replay in her mind hours later, between commercials for reruns of Buffy and Grey’s Anatomy, and everything in her life will feel like the morning after.
;;
(This is nice, Leisha says, watching the sun draw patterns of light across Kate’s bare back, her dark hair contrasting with the white sheets.
It’s nice, Kate agrees, her voice heavy with sleep.)