Mending fences
I hope everything's okay with Sabby and me. Did the best I could, but she knows something's wrong. Don't know how much more I can milk the Aaron thing before it fails or just chokes me with the hypocrisy. I'd deserve it, God knows.
The column's going to press as is. I had to shout down Gilcrest pretty hard, and more than once, but that is what they want in the paper, and as wretched as my life currently is, I want to hang onto it longer, thanks.
I think. I don't know. I heard a bit of the copy I wrote for the pirate-radio guys, on some local news show talking about a broadcast, and something in me died.
Because I was proud of it.
10/10/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Greenwich Apts #330 - Sabitha
The flat is large and unhindered by walls and doors. A raised area in the corner serves as Sabitha's bedroom, and it's sectioned off by tall wooden screens painted with elaborate oriental designs. A huge picture window is draped in sheer fabrics of cream and deep red, and a large, elegant rug is centered on the hardwood floors. The walls are bare, for now, and the furnishings - a simple couch and wingchair, a coffee table, an armour housing a television, a bookshelf overflowing with historical texts - are sparce. In one corner is a kitchen area, in the other a door leading to a bathroom, and others concealing closet space.
--
It's not far from the elevator to the door on Sabitha's hallway, but Leah makes the distance last with slow steps and downcast eyes. A small pastry box leads the way in one hand; the other's stuck in the pocket of her denim jacket. When she gets to the door, she looks up, and she looks tired. A headshake clears that away. She pulls out her free hand. Knocks, as slow as her walk and the cheer forced into her face.
Sabitha is tucked onto the couch, with a bowl of stiryfry in her lap and the tv on. The knock earns a surprised look for the door, midbite, and then Sabby's bounding up to peer through the peephole. Further surprise echoes, and she pulls it open. "Leah! Hey. I was just thinking about you last night," she greets.
"So /that's/ what that was," Leah remarks whimsically. "I felt something, that's for sure; must've been you. Sorry I didn't call. This a bad time?"
"Vincent," Sabby corrects, and steps aside to wave Leah in. "Asked about you. Nah, come in. I was just finishing dinner and bumming around. You in the city for something?"
Leah trundles in obediently, unbuttoning her jacket with agile motions of her free hand. She turns and offers the box, answering, "For you, primarily, but also dropping off a story before the presses closed." Hesitation stills her a little too well, but then there's that gamine smile of Brooklyn brass. "Work, I guess you'd say. Figured you'd want to hear, and I grabbed something on the way over, too. Do you like red velvet cake?"
Sabitha's face lights into a grin as she latches the door behind Leah. "A story? Yeah? That's great! Where're you getting it published?" And then, belatedly, "Damn, Leah. Who doesn't like red velvet cake." She appears next to her, hands shoved into her pockets. "What's the cake for?"
"The Times. It's not much, just an op-ed like the old days, but hey, pays the bills, right?" Right. Leah holds to her smile. "Cake's for you. Because I was a shithead to you and Percy in the hospital, and when we went out for margaritas." Deep breath. "Was that abrupt enough? Jeez."
"The /New York/ Times?" Sabby questions with an arch of impressed brows. She whistles, low and long, between her teeth. "Hot damn, Leah." She disappears into the kitchen to collect two plates - because cake means, obviously, that it must be eaten now, and that Leah must have a piece. She pauses in mid-movement at the rest of the explanation. Plates come down on the counter with a clatter. "Leah. You were not a shithead. Did I make you think you were a shithead?"
Leah focuses intently on prying open the white cardboard box's lid. Scotch tape is vexing, but she'll get it! "Yeah, the Times. I know an editor. The way it works in this town, huh? Who you know -- there." Box open! Carefully she folds the lid back, revealing three tall, fat slices of red velvet cake, frosted with thick cream-cheesy goodness speckled with white chocolate shavings. She dabs up one such stray speck and eats it. "I was," she insists softly, not quite meeting her eyes. "Self-absorbed, bitchy, rude to your friend..."
Sabitha stares at Leah for a moment, and then shakes her head briskly. "Everyone has off days. That doesn't make you a shithead. And Percy just asks for people to be rude to him. Hell. I've been a lot worse." Clanks and clatters produce two forks.
Leah sighs. "Yeah? Well, I still got guilt. It's the Catholic in me, if you want. Or the girl. Thanks. Just wanted -- I don't know. Wanted to make sure we're cool. No hard feelings."
"We're cool, Leah. Hell. I'm not going to drop you because you've had a crappy day. /Especially/ when you've had a crappy day. Week. Whatever." She moves to the fridge, speaking without really looking at Leah. Busy, after all. "I'm really glad about the piece, though. Looking up, right?"
Dragging the plates to her, Leah starts extricating one piece and then another for meticulous placement (and another stolen chocolate flake from the box). Her response comes more sprightly now. "Glad to hear it, Sabby. Thanks again. And yeah, could be, could be. I've got a steady stream of ideas going on; if I can just shop 'em around, I'll be back to my happy reporter self in no time. No more moping and pissing, huh?"
Sabitha snorts softly. "Sometimes moping and pissing's all you can manage, huh? I mean, not like anyone chooses to be depressed as hell about the way life's going." She glances at Leah over the refrigerator door. "You want a beer or soda? Or water or something?"
"Water's fine." Leah picks up a fork, studies it, puts it on one of the plates. "I hate the moping, though. It's not productive, and it's really fucking annoying, if you ask me. I probably /should/ mope more, but ... not the way I was raised, I guess."
Sabitha delivers a glass of water in silence. She hesitates over the subject and then remains silent. Better, perhaps, to leave it alone. "So Vincent asked me if I'd seen you lately last night," she brings up again. "You two ever see each other out there? Am I missing all the slumber parties, holed up here in the big bad city?"
Leah busies herself with the other fork: hers, as it turns out, since she dips it into the nearer plate's cake, wedging off a bite of the piece's apex. "You know, we really don't," she answers with a surprised look blinked up at the other woman. "Run into each other in the hallway or out in the sidewalk, maybe, but that's it. I don't see Rossi so much, either. Busy." She grimaces apologetically. "But if we did have slumber parties, you would definitely be invited. No question."
"Really?" Sabby questions, and her expression echoes Leah's surprise. "Huh. Well. Invite me if you do, because I have an itch to paint that man's toenails." She grins around the joke, and levers her fork into a bite of cake.
Leah laughs and then nibbles at her bite. "What color? I gotta know. I promise not to tell anyone."
Sabitha wiggles her toes against the kitchen floor. "Slut red," she pronounces on a grin.
"Perfect," Leah grins back. "Julia Rossi would approve."
Sabitha lifts her brows over a bite of red velvet. "Are they still sleeping together?"
Leah tips her head. "Honestly, I have no idea. I haven't talked to her in -- man, a couple weeks, maybe. I've been a bad friend to everyone," she informs her solemnly and reaches for her water.
"Leah," Sabby begins, with a quiet frown, and then abandons the name to linger, lonely, by itself until she picks up a new thought. "So. Haven't seen Chris for awhile. Got a piece in the Times. What else is up with you?"
Leah clenches her jaw. Carves off a bigger bite. "Sorry, sorry." And she drags in a long breath shaking 'round its edges and then shoves it out again. Back comes the cheerful face; in goes the bite. Chew, chew. Swallow. "Nothing, really. I got kicked out of a baseball game for fighting, and the guy I'm dating is in a coma in the hospital."
Sabitha watches this clenching and breath-dragging in silence, and then concerned sympathy floods her features and her fork drops to her plate. "Oh, /Leah/. When? What happened? I didn't even know you were dating someone!"
Sudden, easy tears stand out in Leah's eyes, cast down again for focus on her cake, and she moves uncertain shoulders under her jacket. "A couple weeks? I guess. I'd been seeing him for a while before that. Aaron Grossman. He's a garbageman -- how's that for blue-collar? My family'd love him. I like his, from what I've seen when I visit. Good people. I hope he wakes up," she finishes in a small voice and works on another bite.
Sabitha is around the counter and snaking her arms around Leah (and bite be damned) before she's done speaking. "/Leah/," she repeats. "You should have /called/ me. I could've... shit." She breaks off and settles for hug delivering.
The fork clatters onto the plate, and the half-eaten bite with it, as Leah surrenders to the hug. Buries herself in it, in fact, with tight arms and head shoved onto Sabby's shoulder. And she cries, quietly, for a little bit.
"Oh... honey." Sabby's arms tighten around Leah, and her hand strokes quite lines down her back as she holds her and murmurs nonsensical comforts to her friend.
"It's so /stupid,/" Leah mumbles, and sniffles.
"What is?" Sabby asks without relinquishing her grasp.
Leah sniffs more strongly. There. "Just ... I hardly even know the guy. But he was so nice. Is nice. And his family, too. I thought we might ... I dunno." She pulls back, trembling and bleary, and sighs. "I just feel fucking helpless and useless. Like when you were in there."
Sabitha leaves a hand lingering along Leah's arm as she pulls back. "I know," she answers quietly. "Fucked up, stupid world. What do the doctor's say?"
Leah shrugs. "They don't know. It's an art, not a science. All that shit. He got knocked around pretty bad," and she bites her lower lip to stop more weeping. Scowls, even: dammit.
Sabitha's hand slides down to squeeze Leah's. "What happened?"
Leah squeezes back. "It was -- shit. I'm afraid to say it."
Sabitha blinks quietly at Leah. "What?"
"It was a mutant."
Sabitha's hand squeezes again, tight. "What happened?" she repeats.
Leah's hand is limp, stark contrast with the live wire of her voice. "From what I understand, he tried to stop a mugging, and got flattened, himself. Friendly fire. Big damn hero, huh?"
Fuck hand-squeezing. Sabby's arms move round for another hug, quick and hard. "You really liked... like this guy, huh?"
Leah hugs back and whispers, "Yeah," with eyes tightly shut and mouth unhappily twisted. "So, hey." A half-laugh; a game attempt. "What's new with /you/?"
"You ever want company on a visit or anything," Sabby offers quietly, "You let me know, ok? Or after. Whatever." She pulls back, then, and allows a smile in response to the attempt. Subject-changing is a defense mechanism she knows well. "Oh!" she states suddenly. "I finally slept with a cop. How's that for a weekend's accomplishment?"
Leah's hands trail away at the last, and she tucks them around her ribs, arms folded. This news gets a blank look -- empty eyes, slack muscles -- then she summons a sly grin. "He got a trigger callus?"
"No," Sabby answers in exagerated disappointment. Light conversation, easy. "He's an ex-cop. Schoolteacher now."
Leah pulls a sympathetic face and goes back to cake-nibbling. "Well, where's the fun in that? He a nice guy?"
Sabitha nods toward the table, where lilies still bloom fresh. "Brought me flowers, took me dancing," she offers by way of answer. She returns to her side of the counter to attack her own cake.
The flowers get a look of frank admiration, tinged with jealousy (no hiding it!). "Wow, Sabby. That's great. You seeing him again?"
Sabitha shrugs a shoulder, half-hearted. "Dunno. We'll see if he calls. And what he wants. Maybe." A pause, considering over a bite of cake. "It was a good night, anyway."
"That's all that matters," Leah says firmly, after a second's assessment of mood. "Can't have too many of those in this world. Good for you."
"Yeah," Sabby agrees, with a flickering smile. A moment, and she adds with a certain amount of glee, "He's Irish."
Leah's bite pauses in mid-air. "Like, Irish from Ireland?"
"Mmm," Sabby agrees, smiling over a bite. "With an accent."
Leah makes a low, appreciative noise. "You know how to pick 'em. Damn, girl."
Sabitha's smile flickers broader. "It /was/ a good night," she repeats happily.
"And you deserve it." Leah eats a minute in silence. Then, belatedly: "Where'd you meet him?"
"Library," Sabby answers, on a quiet laugh. "If you can believe it. Excellent flirter. Before the whole hospital thing, actually, so it's been awhile, but he had some surgery done on his throat. Called me up last week."
Leah winces a little. "Surgery, ouch. Guess he's doing okay if he can sweep you off your feet, though, huh?"
"Seems to be," Sabby answers, and her smile is smugly self-satisfied now. "Seems to be." There's a moment's pause, a beat of hesitation, and then Sabby decides to push it anyway. "What about you? Where'd you meet yours?"
"Oh, a sports bar. We were both cursing out the Yankees -- Mets fans," Leah explains with no small pride, and a little wryness, too, as she wriggles one hand's fingers. "Love those Mets. I got kicked out of Shea for fighting with two other fans. They were listening in on a voicemail I was leaving Aaron, see. Hadda do something about that."
Sabitha's lips twitch. "Leah," she declares. "You're fantastic."
Leah flexes that hand. Smug. All right: smug. "Well, yeah. He came over, and we made struedel in my kitchen." Her eyes smile sadly at her friend. "Isn't that sweet? Then ... hospital. With tubes in him and machines going 'beep.'"
Sabitha returns the gaze, quiet and sympathetic. "I hope things work out. With him. And you."
Leah nods tightly. "Thanks. I'm sure he'll come out of it soon. They know their stuff, and he's a tough guy, really."
"Yeah. Of course they do." Sabby's full of chipper reassurance, and her fork falls to her plate. "Mm. I think that's all I can take at the moment. Damn, Leah, you have good taste in sweets."
"It's pretty heavy-duty," Leah admits and pushes away her plate, too. "Can you give the other piece to Percy? If he'd want it. I can apologize in person if you think that'd be best."
"Oh, is that why you brought three?" Sabby questions, and then nods. "Sure, no problem. He lives upstairs." She shakes her head, grinning. "Seriously, Leah. Don't worry about it. Hell, I think he likes people who're bitches to him. Hangs out with me, doesn't he?"
Leah rolls her eyes. "You are the hardest person to grovel for, Sabitha, I swear to God."
Sabitha grins briefly across the counter at Leah, and then moves off in search of tupperwear for cake. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Good." Leah has more water, taking her time with it and watching Sabby search as she does. At length, she says, "He did seem like a good guy. I mean, staying with you all that time. I should meet him under better circumstances."
"He is," Sabby confirms over her rummaging. Retrieved, finally, she moves to the task of transferring cake into container. "Hell, I could call up, see if he's home now if you want? I'm ashamed to admit that I've gotten into the terribly habit of bothering him about absolutely nothing at all hours."
Leah swallows, though the glass is already back on the counter in loose hand's grasp. "Maybe some other time? I don't know if I'm up to big company tonight." A jagged chuckle. "I'd feel all kinds of performance anxiety."
Sabitha giggles briefly, and shakes her head. "Over /Percy/? Oh, you shouldn't. He's very good at making you feel good about yourself. It's a gift, really." She seals the container, and then nods. "Some other time, then. We'll do dinner or something, maybe."
"Sounds great," and Leah can't, or won't, hide her relief. "Just lemme know. The three of us -- be fun."
"Yeah, sure," Sabby answers, and turns to tuck the cake away on a countertop. "I should probably give you the run down of warnings, though. And make him promise to be behave. He hit on Vincent in the hospital."
Leah snorts. "Bet he loved that. Vincent, I mean."
Sabitha echoes Leah's snort as she returns to lean against the counter. "Dunno. He and Chris left pretty fast. Job call and all that."
Cue another eye-roll. "How convenient."
Sabitha shrugs, and reaches for her glass. "I guess."
"Rossi's not the most diversity-embracing guy out there," Leah explains cruelly, "but he probably thought it was funny. Poor Vincent. He just gives off that vibe, I guess: everyone wants him."
Sabitha laughs quietly. "If you said that to him," she suggests, "He might..." She trails off, and shakes her head. "But then, I guess he's sleeping with Julia, isn't he? So poor Vincent nothing. Percy likes Chris, I think. They talked for a bit in the hospital."
Leah grins. "I should tell him that? I can. We're neighbors. I'll even leave you out of it."
Sabitha lifts her brows. "Dare you," she answers.
Leah matches the lift. "What do I get?"
"I'll buy you a pastry?" Sabby offers. "Bake you a casserole? You'll have to get my dish from him first, though. Can you get my dish while you're at it?"
"I can get your dish," Leah says calmly. "I'm good at that. How about I just do it and report back to you what he says?"
"Sure. I can still make you a casserole, though," Sabby offers. "I make a damn good... oh, now I've got the craving. I should get groceries."
Leah shakes her head, smiling. "I got plenty of food, don't worry. When's the last time you went shopping?"
Sabitha waves a hand dismissively. "Can't remember. Too long. Entirely too much take-out, y'know?" she answers.
Leah wrinkles her nose. "Yeah. Busy life. Oh. That job you were up for...?"
Sabitha's hand flickers again. "Going fine," she dismisses breezily.
"Good." And full stop. Leah fidgets.
Sabitha leans. Well. "Everyone was out of the office for a meeting the other day," she offers in inane conversation. "So I spent all afternoon reading webcomics and sending Percy stupid emails."
Leah tries, "That sounds fun," but it falls flat, and she winces. Puts a hand to her face. "God. Sorry. I'm ... tireder than I thought."
Sabitha straightens and nods, again sympathetic. "Hey, no problem. Busy times and stuff. I should let you get going, huh? Thanks for the cake."
"You're welcome. Thanks for the talk." This time, Leah makes the move for a hug, quick and warm (though her body's tense; small quivers and trembles--). "You're a good friend, Sabby. I appreciate it. Okay?"
Sabitha wraps Leah firm and tight. "Anytime. Give me a call if you need company or anything."
Leah promises, "I will," and starts for the door. She just about makes it before stopping. She looks back, hunted. "About the thing in the paper tomorrow..."
Sabitha lifts her brows, expectantly. Encouragingly.
And Leah sighs. "Just read it with an open mind, okay? I was doing my job. That's all."
Sabitha blinks at Leah, slow, and now just a tad wary. "Ok," she allows, and leaves it at that.
Leah does, too, with a nod, and then she does go, letting herself out.
[Log ends.]
The column's going to press as is. I had to shout down Gilcrest pretty hard, and more than once, but that is what they want in the paper, and as wretched as my life currently is, I want to hang onto it longer, thanks.
I think. I don't know. I heard a bit of the copy I wrote for the pirate-radio guys, on some local news show talking about a broadcast, and something in me died.
Because I was proud of it.
10/10/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Greenwich Apts #330 - Sabitha
The flat is large and unhindered by walls and doors. A raised area in the corner serves as Sabitha's bedroom, and it's sectioned off by tall wooden screens painted with elaborate oriental designs. A huge picture window is draped in sheer fabrics of cream and deep red, and a large, elegant rug is centered on the hardwood floors. The walls are bare, for now, and the furnishings - a simple couch and wingchair, a coffee table, an armour housing a television, a bookshelf overflowing with historical texts - are sparce. In one corner is a kitchen area, in the other a door leading to a bathroom, and others concealing closet space.
--
It's not far from the elevator to the door on Sabitha's hallway, but Leah makes the distance last with slow steps and downcast eyes. A small pastry box leads the way in one hand; the other's stuck in the pocket of her denim jacket. When she gets to the door, she looks up, and she looks tired. A headshake clears that away. She pulls out her free hand. Knocks, as slow as her walk and the cheer forced into her face.
Sabitha is tucked onto the couch, with a bowl of stiryfry in her lap and the tv on. The knock earns a surprised look for the door, midbite, and then Sabby's bounding up to peer through the peephole. Further surprise echoes, and she pulls it open. "Leah! Hey. I was just thinking about you last night," she greets.
"So /that's/ what that was," Leah remarks whimsically. "I felt something, that's for sure; must've been you. Sorry I didn't call. This a bad time?"
"Vincent," Sabby corrects, and steps aside to wave Leah in. "Asked about you. Nah, come in. I was just finishing dinner and bumming around. You in the city for something?"
Leah trundles in obediently, unbuttoning her jacket with agile motions of her free hand. She turns and offers the box, answering, "For you, primarily, but also dropping off a story before the presses closed." Hesitation stills her a little too well, but then there's that gamine smile of Brooklyn brass. "Work, I guess you'd say. Figured you'd want to hear, and I grabbed something on the way over, too. Do you like red velvet cake?"
Sabitha's face lights into a grin as she latches the door behind Leah. "A story? Yeah? That's great! Where're you getting it published?" And then, belatedly, "Damn, Leah. Who doesn't like red velvet cake." She appears next to her, hands shoved into her pockets. "What's the cake for?"
"The Times. It's not much, just an op-ed like the old days, but hey, pays the bills, right?" Right. Leah holds to her smile. "Cake's for you. Because I was a shithead to you and Percy in the hospital, and when we went out for margaritas." Deep breath. "Was that abrupt enough? Jeez."
"The /New York/ Times?" Sabby questions with an arch of impressed brows. She whistles, low and long, between her teeth. "Hot damn, Leah." She disappears into the kitchen to collect two plates - because cake means, obviously, that it must be eaten now, and that Leah must have a piece. She pauses in mid-movement at the rest of the explanation. Plates come down on the counter with a clatter. "Leah. You were not a shithead. Did I make you think you were a shithead?"
Leah focuses intently on prying open the white cardboard box's lid. Scotch tape is vexing, but she'll get it! "Yeah, the Times. I know an editor. The way it works in this town, huh? Who you know -- there." Box open! Carefully she folds the lid back, revealing three tall, fat slices of red velvet cake, frosted with thick cream-cheesy goodness speckled with white chocolate shavings. She dabs up one such stray speck and eats it. "I was," she insists softly, not quite meeting her eyes. "Self-absorbed, bitchy, rude to your friend..."
Sabitha stares at Leah for a moment, and then shakes her head briskly. "Everyone has off days. That doesn't make you a shithead. And Percy just asks for people to be rude to him. Hell. I've been a lot worse." Clanks and clatters produce two forks.
Leah sighs. "Yeah? Well, I still got guilt. It's the Catholic in me, if you want. Or the girl. Thanks. Just wanted -- I don't know. Wanted to make sure we're cool. No hard feelings."
"We're cool, Leah. Hell. I'm not going to drop you because you've had a crappy day. /Especially/ when you've had a crappy day. Week. Whatever." She moves to the fridge, speaking without really looking at Leah. Busy, after all. "I'm really glad about the piece, though. Looking up, right?"
Dragging the plates to her, Leah starts extricating one piece and then another for meticulous placement (and another stolen chocolate flake from the box). Her response comes more sprightly now. "Glad to hear it, Sabby. Thanks again. And yeah, could be, could be. I've got a steady stream of ideas going on; if I can just shop 'em around, I'll be back to my happy reporter self in no time. No more moping and pissing, huh?"
Sabitha snorts softly. "Sometimes moping and pissing's all you can manage, huh? I mean, not like anyone chooses to be depressed as hell about the way life's going." She glances at Leah over the refrigerator door. "You want a beer or soda? Or water or something?"
"Water's fine." Leah picks up a fork, studies it, puts it on one of the plates. "I hate the moping, though. It's not productive, and it's really fucking annoying, if you ask me. I probably /should/ mope more, but ... not the way I was raised, I guess."
Sabitha delivers a glass of water in silence. She hesitates over the subject and then remains silent. Better, perhaps, to leave it alone. "So Vincent asked me if I'd seen you lately last night," she brings up again. "You two ever see each other out there? Am I missing all the slumber parties, holed up here in the big bad city?"
Leah busies herself with the other fork: hers, as it turns out, since she dips it into the nearer plate's cake, wedging off a bite of the piece's apex. "You know, we really don't," she answers with a surprised look blinked up at the other woman. "Run into each other in the hallway or out in the sidewalk, maybe, but that's it. I don't see Rossi so much, either. Busy." She grimaces apologetically. "But if we did have slumber parties, you would definitely be invited. No question."
"Really?" Sabby questions, and her expression echoes Leah's surprise. "Huh. Well. Invite me if you do, because I have an itch to paint that man's toenails." She grins around the joke, and levers her fork into a bite of cake.
Leah laughs and then nibbles at her bite. "What color? I gotta know. I promise not to tell anyone."
Sabitha wiggles her toes against the kitchen floor. "Slut red," she pronounces on a grin.
"Perfect," Leah grins back. "Julia Rossi would approve."
Sabitha lifts her brows over a bite of red velvet. "Are they still sleeping together?"
Leah tips her head. "Honestly, I have no idea. I haven't talked to her in -- man, a couple weeks, maybe. I've been a bad friend to everyone," she informs her solemnly and reaches for her water.
"Leah," Sabby begins, with a quiet frown, and then abandons the name to linger, lonely, by itself until she picks up a new thought. "So. Haven't seen Chris for awhile. Got a piece in the Times. What else is up with you?"
Leah clenches her jaw. Carves off a bigger bite. "Sorry, sorry." And she drags in a long breath shaking 'round its edges and then shoves it out again. Back comes the cheerful face; in goes the bite. Chew, chew. Swallow. "Nothing, really. I got kicked out of a baseball game for fighting, and the guy I'm dating is in a coma in the hospital."
Sabitha watches this clenching and breath-dragging in silence, and then concerned sympathy floods her features and her fork drops to her plate. "Oh, /Leah/. When? What happened? I didn't even know you were dating someone!"
Sudden, easy tears stand out in Leah's eyes, cast down again for focus on her cake, and she moves uncertain shoulders under her jacket. "A couple weeks? I guess. I'd been seeing him for a while before that. Aaron Grossman. He's a garbageman -- how's that for blue-collar? My family'd love him. I like his, from what I've seen when I visit. Good people. I hope he wakes up," she finishes in a small voice and works on another bite.
Sabitha is around the counter and snaking her arms around Leah (and bite be damned) before she's done speaking. "/Leah/," she repeats. "You should have /called/ me. I could've... shit." She breaks off and settles for hug delivering.
The fork clatters onto the plate, and the half-eaten bite with it, as Leah surrenders to the hug. Buries herself in it, in fact, with tight arms and head shoved onto Sabby's shoulder. And she cries, quietly, for a little bit.
"Oh... honey." Sabby's arms tighten around Leah, and her hand strokes quite lines down her back as she holds her and murmurs nonsensical comforts to her friend.
"It's so /stupid,/" Leah mumbles, and sniffles.
"What is?" Sabby asks without relinquishing her grasp.
Leah sniffs more strongly. There. "Just ... I hardly even know the guy. But he was so nice. Is nice. And his family, too. I thought we might ... I dunno." She pulls back, trembling and bleary, and sighs. "I just feel fucking helpless and useless. Like when you were in there."
Sabitha leaves a hand lingering along Leah's arm as she pulls back. "I know," she answers quietly. "Fucked up, stupid world. What do the doctor's say?"
Leah shrugs. "They don't know. It's an art, not a science. All that shit. He got knocked around pretty bad," and she bites her lower lip to stop more weeping. Scowls, even: dammit.
Sabitha's hand slides down to squeeze Leah's. "What happened?"
Leah squeezes back. "It was -- shit. I'm afraid to say it."
Sabitha blinks quietly at Leah. "What?"
"It was a mutant."
Sabitha's hand squeezes again, tight. "What happened?" she repeats.
Leah's hand is limp, stark contrast with the live wire of her voice. "From what I understand, he tried to stop a mugging, and got flattened, himself. Friendly fire. Big damn hero, huh?"
Fuck hand-squeezing. Sabby's arms move round for another hug, quick and hard. "You really liked... like this guy, huh?"
Leah hugs back and whispers, "Yeah," with eyes tightly shut and mouth unhappily twisted. "So, hey." A half-laugh; a game attempt. "What's new with /you/?"
"You ever want company on a visit or anything," Sabby offers quietly, "You let me know, ok? Or after. Whatever." She pulls back, then, and allows a smile in response to the attempt. Subject-changing is a defense mechanism she knows well. "Oh!" she states suddenly. "I finally slept with a cop. How's that for a weekend's accomplishment?"
Leah's hands trail away at the last, and she tucks them around her ribs, arms folded. This news gets a blank look -- empty eyes, slack muscles -- then she summons a sly grin. "He got a trigger callus?"
"No," Sabby answers in exagerated disappointment. Light conversation, easy. "He's an ex-cop. Schoolteacher now."
Leah pulls a sympathetic face and goes back to cake-nibbling. "Well, where's the fun in that? He a nice guy?"
Sabitha nods toward the table, where lilies still bloom fresh. "Brought me flowers, took me dancing," she offers by way of answer. She returns to her side of the counter to attack her own cake.
The flowers get a look of frank admiration, tinged with jealousy (no hiding it!). "Wow, Sabby. That's great. You seeing him again?"
Sabitha shrugs a shoulder, half-hearted. "Dunno. We'll see if he calls. And what he wants. Maybe." A pause, considering over a bite of cake. "It was a good night, anyway."
"That's all that matters," Leah says firmly, after a second's assessment of mood. "Can't have too many of those in this world. Good for you."
"Yeah," Sabby agrees, with a flickering smile. A moment, and she adds with a certain amount of glee, "He's Irish."
Leah's bite pauses in mid-air. "Like, Irish from Ireland?"
"Mmm," Sabby agrees, smiling over a bite. "With an accent."
Leah makes a low, appreciative noise. "You know how to pick 'em. Damn, girl."
Sabitha's smile flickers broader. "It /was/ a good night," she repeats happily.
"And you deserve it." Leah eats a minute in silence. Then, belatedly: "Where'd you meet him?"
"Library," Sabby answers, on a quiet laugh. "If you can believe it. Excellent flirter. Before the whole hospital thing, actually, so it's been awhile, but he had some surgery done on his throat. Called me up last week."
Leah winces a little. "Surgery, ouch. Guess he's doing okay if he can sweep you off your feet, though, huh?"
"Seems to be," Sabby answers, and her smile is smugly self-satisfied now. "Seems to be." There's a moment's pause, a beat of hesitation, and then Sabby decides to push it anyway. "What about you? Where'd you meet yours?"
"Oh, a sports bar. We were both cursing out the Yankees -- Mets fans," Leah explains with no small pride, and a little wryness, too, as she wriggles one hand's fingers. "Love those Mets. I got kicked out of Shea for fighting with two other fans. They were listening in on a voicemail I was leaving Aaron, see. Hadda do something about that."
Sabitha's lips twitch. "Leah," she declares. "You're fantastic."
Leah flexes that hand. Smug. All right: smug. "Well, yeah. He came over, and we made struedel in my kitchen." Her eyes smile sadly at her friend. "Isn't that sweet? Then ... hospital. With tubes in him and machines going 'beep.'"
Sabitha returns the gaze, quiet and sympathetic. "I hope things work out. With him. And you."
Leah nods tightly. "Thanks. I'm sure he'll come out of it soon. They know their stuff, and he's a tough guy, really."
"Yeah. Of course they do." Sabby's full of chipper reassurance, and her fork falls to her plate. "Mm. I think that's all I can take at the moment. Damn, Leah, you have good taste in sweets."
"It's pretty heavy-duty," Leah admits and pushes away her plate, too. "Can you give the other piece to Percy? If he'd want it. I can apologize in person if you think that'd be best."
"Oh, is that why you brought three?" Sabby questions, and then nods. "Sure, no problem. He lives upstairs." She shakes her head, grinning. "Seriously, Leah. Don't worry about it. Hell, I think he likes people who're bitches to him. Hangs out with me, doesn't he?"
Leah rolls her eyes. "You are the hardest person to grovel for, Sabitha, I swear to God."
Sabitha grins briefly across the counter at Leah, and then moves off in search of tupperwear for cake. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Good." Leah has more water, taking her time with it and watching Sabby search as she does. At length, she says, "He did seem like a good guy. I mean, staying with you all that time. I should meet him under better circumstances."
"He is," Sabby confirms over her rummaging. Retrieved, finally, she moves to the task of transferring cake into container. "Hell, I could call up, see if he's home now if you want? I'm ashamed to admit that I've gotten into the terribly habit of bothering him about absolutely nothing at all hours."
Leah swallows, though the glass is already back on the counter in loose hand's grasp. "Maybe some other time? I don't know if I'm up to big company tonight." A jagged chuckle. "I'd feel all kinds of performance anxiety."
Sabitha giggles briefly, and shakes her head. "Over /Percy/? Oh, you shouldn't. He's very good at making you feel good about yourself. It's a gift, really." She seals the container, and then nods. "Some other time, then. We'll do dinner or something, maybe."
"Sounds great," and Leah can't, or won't, hide her relief. "Just lemme know. The three of us -- be fun."
"Yeah, sure," Sabby answers, and turns to tuck the cake away on a countertop. "I should probably give you the run down of warnings, though. And make him promise to be behave. He hit on Vincent in the hospital."
Leah snorts. "Bet he loved that. Vincent, I mean."
Sabitha echoes Leah's snort as she returns to lean against the counter. "Dunno. He and Chris left pretty fast. Job call and all that."
Cue another eye-roll. "How convenient."
Sabitha shrugs, and reaches for her glass. "I guess."
"Rossi's not the most diversity-embracing guy out there," Leah explains cruelly, "but he probably thought it was funny. Poor Vincent. He just gives off that vibe, I guess: everyone wants him."
Sabitha laughs quietly. "If you said that to him," she suggests, "He might..." She trails off, and shakes her head. "But then, I guess he's sleeping with Julia, isn't he? So poor Vincent nothing. Percy likes Chris, I think. They talked for a bit in the hospital."
Leah grins. "I should tell him that? I can. We're neighbors. I'll even leave you out of it."
Sabitha lifts her brows. "Dare you," she answers.
Leah matches the lift. "What do I get?"
"I'll buy you a pastry?" Sabby offers. "Bake you a casserole? You'll have to get my dish from him first, though. Can you get my dish while you're at it?"
"I can get your dish," Leah says calmly. "I'm good at that. How about I just do it and report back to you what he says?"
"Sure. I can still make you a casserole, though," Sabby offers. "I make a damn good... oh, now I've got the craving. I should get groceries."
Leah shakes her head, smiling. "I got plenty of food, don't worry. When's the last time you went shopping?"
Sabitha waves a hand dismissively. "Can't remember. Too long. Entirely too much take-out, y'know?" she answers.
Leah wrinkles her nose. "Yeah. Busy life. Oh. That job you were up for...?"
Sabitha's hand flickers again. "Going fine," she dismisses breezily.
"Good." And full stop. Leah fidgets.
Sabitha leans. Well. "Everyone was out of the office for a meeting the other day," she offers in inane conversation. "So I spent all afternoon reading webcomics and sending Percy stupid emails."
Leah tries, "That sounds fun," but it falls flat, and she winces. Puts a hand to her face. "God. Sorry. I'm ... tireder than I thought."
Sabitha straightens and nods, again sympathetic. "Hey, no problem. Busy times and stuff. I should let you get going, huh? Thanks for the cake."
"You're welcome. Thanks for the talk." This time, Leah makes the move for a hug, quick and warm (though her body's tense; small quivers and trembles--). "You're a good friend, Sabby. I appreciate it. Okay?"
Sabitha wraps Leah firm and tight. "Anytime. Give me a call if you need company or anything."
Leah promises, "I will," and starts for the door. She just about makes it before stopping. She looks back, hunted. "About the thing in the paper tomorrow..."
Sabitha lifts her brows, expectantly. Encouragingly.
And Leah sighs. "Just read it with an open mind, okay? I was doing my job. That's all."
Sabitha blinks at Leah, slow, and now just a tad wary. "Ok," she allows, and leaves it at that.
Leah does, too, with a nod, and then she does go, letting herself out.
[Log ends.]