Licorice 19
Author: sunsetsinthewes
Challenge: Licorice 19. This little piggy had none
Word Count: 899
Rating: PG-13
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is Leaving It.
Summary: Isabella confronts Stefano about his avoidance.
Notes: Takes place in December of 2013. Loosely related to the events in The Problem With Russians, Venomous Creatures, Party, and Antivenin.
***
“You’ve got to be joking.”
Isabella affects her best Not Amused look and peers through the crack in the door. “What did you expect? Now let me in, I’m freezing.” Her eyes narrow at his hesitation. “I’m coming inside either way, you might as well invite me.”
Stefano sighs and steps back, holding the door wide.
The first thing she notices is the overwhelming mess. Clothes lay strewn about the floor, dishes sit piled on every flat surface, and there’s a vague aroma that implies the trash should have been taken out a week ago. While Stefano’s never been overly neat, he’s never allowed his surroundings to turn into a pigsty either, and Isabella is more than a little alarmed.
She gingerly steps around a pile of towels, frowning at her first good look at her brother. “When’s the last time you brushed your hair? And how long have you been wearing those clothes?”
Stefano sighs and closes the door. “What do you want, Is?”
“What do you think I want?” Isabella sweeps a stack of papers off of a nearby chair and carefully sinks down. “When you ignore my calls, fine, you’re just being pissy about something. But when you start ignoring Ma...” Glancing around, she mutters, “Well, then something’s just wrong.”
Turning his back to her, Stefano begins to clear the coffee table, straightening and re-straightening a heap of books. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to call Ma?” Isabella cocks an eyebrow. “Bullshit. Besides, I know for a fact that you haven’t been to work in two weeks.”
Stefano whirls around, outraged. “You’re spying on me? Again?”
She waves this away. “Technically it’s not ‘again’ if I never stopped.”
“You-- you have no right.”
Isabella ignores this, tracking his every movement as she softly asks, “What’s going on, Stef?”
There’s a long stretch of silence. “It’s nothing. Really.”
“Bullshit!” Isabella cries out again, smacking a palm against the arm of the chair. “Stop lying to me. Do you think I can’t see right through you? Look at you! You’re a mess, you’re avoiding a job that you love more than anything, you won’t talk to me or Ma-- fuck, you just let me call you ‘Stef’. That’s not ‘nothing’.” Anger and frustration simmering just below the surface, she crosses her arms and stares him down. “I’m done with the fucking lies, all right?”
Stefano’s frozen during her outburst, eyes wide and complexion pale. Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself onto the couch and drops his head into a hand. A few moments pass before he haltingly murmurs, “You’re right. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve-- I’m sorry.”
Isabella quickly crosses the room and crouches before him, one hand resting on his knee. “Just tell me what’s wrong, please?” Craning her neck to meet his eyes, she continues, “Is this about our fight last month? About Katya and--”
“No!” Stefano jumps, suddenly tensing as he looks away and shakes his head. “No. It’s not about the fight. I-- look, can we not talk about that?”
“Yeah, okay,” she agrees, taken aback by his reaction. She knew he disapproved of the way the family handled avenging David, but she didn’t know he felt that passionate-- he’s always disapproved of their methods so why does this seem so different? “We won’t talk about it. But if it’s not the fight--”
“Is...” He bites his lip, clearly wavering over something. Eventually, he grasps her hand with his own, admitting, “You’re right. I’m not fine. I haven’t left this apartment in days, I’ve been skipping work, god knows when I last ate or showered, but...” Sharply inhaling, he steadily holds her gaze. “But I really, really need you to leave it alone for now. Please. I’m asking as your little brother.”
Low blow.
Isabella purses her lips, searching his face. At the sight of that open, vulnerable, pleading expression, she links their fingers together and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Fine. For you. But I don’t like it, Stefano. This isn’t you.”
“I know.” There’s obvious relief in his tone “Thank you.” He pulls away, standing to glance around the room, lip curling with disgust. “I think it’s time that I clean up.” Cautiously, he adds, “Before work tomorrow.”
Smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, Isabella nods. “Good. I think you’re only a few days away from creating sentient life.” Peripherally watching him gather a bundle of clothes, she scoops up an armful of dishes and heads for his minuscule kitchen, ordering, “No more ignoring me or Ma, got it? Or next time, I’m bringing her with me.”
“Got it,” Stefano chuckles. “This is the last time.” He disappears into the bedroom and returns with a handful of trash bags, holding one out to her.
They work in silence for nearly twenty minutes, uncovering the living room inch by inch, before Isabella quietly asks, “Will you ever tell me?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s too late.”
Making a thoughtful humming noise, she mentally files this with all the other unexplainable conversations they’ve shared and focuses her attention on the bookcase before her.
***
Challenge: Licorice 19. This little piggy had none
Word Count: 899
Rating: PG-13
Story: Polyfaceted; the title of this story is Leaving It.
Summary: Isabella confronts Stefano about his avoidance.
Notes: Takes place in December of 2013. Loosely related to the events in The Problem With Russians, Venomous Creatures, Party, and Antivenin.
***
“You’ve got to be joking.”
Isabella affects her best Not Amused look and peers through the crack in the door. “What did you expect? Now let me in, I’m freezing.” Her eyes narrow at his hesitation. “I’m coming inside either way, you might as well invite me.”
Stefano sighs and steps back, holding the door wide.
The first thing she notices is the overwhelming mess. Clothes lay strewn about the floor, dishes sit piled on every flat surface, and there’s a vague aroma that implies the trash should have been taken out a week ago. While Stefano’s never been overly neat, he’s never allowed his surroundings to turn into a pigsty either, and Isabella is more than a little alarmed.
She gingerly steps around a pile of towels, frowning at her first good look at her brother. “When’s the last time you brushed your hair? And how long have you been wearing those clothes?”
Stefano sighs and closes the door. “What do you want, Is?”
“What do you think I want?” Isabella sweeps a stack of papers off of a nearby chair and carefully sinks down. “When you ignore my calls, fine, you’re just being pissy about something. But when you start ignoring Ma...” Glancing around, she mutters, “Well, then something’s just wrong.”
Turning his back to her, Stefano begins to clear the coffee table, straightening and re-straightening a heap of books. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to call Ma?” Isabella cocks an eyebrow. “Bullshit. Besides, I know for a fact that you haven’t been to work in two weeks.”
Stefano whirls around, outraged. “You’re spying on me? Again?”
She waves this away. “Technically it’s not ‘again’ if I never stopped.”
“You-- you have no right.”
Isabella ignores this, tracking his every movement as she softly asks, “What’s going on, Stef?”
There’s a long stretch of silence. “It’s nothing. Really.”
“Bullshit!” Isabella cries out again, smacking a palm against the arm of the chair. “Stop lying to me. Do you think I can’t see right through you? Look at you! You’re a mess, you’re avoiding a job that you love more than anything, you won’t talk to me or Ma-- fuck, you just let me call you ‘Stef’. That’s not ‘nothing’.” Anger and frustration simmering just below the surface, she crosses her arms and stares him down. “I’m done with the fucking lies, all right?”
Stefano’s frozen during her outburst, eyes wide and complexion pale. Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself onto the couch and drops his head into a hand. A few moments pass before he haltingly murmurs, “You’re right. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve-- I’m sorry.”
Isabella quickly crosses the room and crouches before him, one hand resting on his knee. “Just tell me what’s wrong, please?” Craning her neck to meet his eyes, she continues, “Is this about our fight last month? About Katya and--”
“No!” Stefano jumps, suddenly tensing as he looks away and shakes his head. “No. It’s not about the fight. I-- look, can we not talk about that?”
“Yeah, okay,” she agrees, taken aback by his reaction. She knew he disapproved of the way the family handled avenging David, but she didn’t know he felt that passionate-- he’s always disapproved of their methods so why does this seem so different? “We won’t talk about it. But if it’s not the fight--”
“Is...” He bites his lip, clearly wavering over something. Eventually, he grasps her hand with his own, admitting, “You’re right. I’m not fine. I haven’t left this apartment in days, I’ve been skipping work, god knows when I last ate or showered, but...” Sharply inhaling, he steadily holds her gaze. “But I really, really need you to leave it alone for now. Please. I’m asking as your little brother.”
Low blow.
Isabella purses her lips, searching his face. At the sight of that open, vulnerable, pleading expression, she links their fingers together and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Fine. For you. But I don’t like it, Stefano. This isn’t you.”
“I know.” There’s obvious relief in his tone “Thank you.” He pulls away, standing to glance around the room, lip curling with disgust. “I think it’s time that I clean up.” Cautiously, he adds, “Before work tomorrow.”
Smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, Isabella nods. “Good. I think you’re only a few days away from creating sentient life.” Peripherally watching him gather a bundle of clothes, she scoops up an armful of dishes and heads for his minuscule kitchen, ordering, “No more ignoring me or Ma, got it? Or next time, I’m bringing her with me.”
“Got it,” Stefano chuckles. “This is the last time.” He disappears into the bedroom and returns with a handful of trash bags, holding one out to her.
They work in silence for nearly twenty minutes, uncovering the living room inch by inch, before Isabella quietly asks, “Will you ever tell me?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s too late.”
Making a thoughtful humming noise, she mentally files this with all the other unexplainable conversations they’ve shared and focuses her attention on the bookcase before her.
***