"sometimes."

mostly with stevie, who comes and goes, is stevie and isn't stevie, is kind to her and then sometimes, accidentally, exceptionally cruel.

(they're on good terms, now. for the last couple of weeks, which is more of a triumph than ellie can bear to admit to anyone. already, she feels as though she's giving him too many chances, trying too hard, contorting herself into this version of herself that she doesn't quite like. but that's not the conversation she and alex are having, and maybe never will be.)

"i'm not lying to you."

the bragins –– save for ridley, most of the time –– are not shy about their feelings. they have grown up in a household where earnestness was encouraged. and, truthfully –– she can't quite grasp why making them feel special would be a bad thing, given everything.

"i'll talk to him." she says. "before he decides he wants to leave after dinner."

"Thanks, El. Ellie. Seriously. — I don't know, it just feels like I'm an alien talking to strangers. A stranger astronaut talking to aliens. Do you know what I mean?"

He did. Miss you. We all did.

Alex tries to smile, but it's mostly a grimace. They don't like being reminded of the things that they've made people feel. They don't like feeling responsible. (They're like their mother, in this way.)

"You're just saying that to try and make me feel better. To make me feel special. You don't have to lie to me." Actually, Ellie is right — she is better off lying to spare Alex's feelings, lest a spiral ensue.

"yeah, of course."

she's not really sure how ridley will take it, but ellie seems like a good enough buffer; he will be honest with her, or honest in the way that ridley knows how to be with any of them, and if it's not something alex wants to hear –– well, ellie can lie. if it spares alex's feelings, it'll feel like the right thing to do.

"after dinner." she glances at ridley, who still isn't looking at them. "but –– i mean. i'm sure he did. miss you. we all did."

"Right."

Far be it from me or you or Ellie or even Alex and Ridley themselves to define the parameters of their relationship, their dynamic, whatever it is they've had going on since childhood that only seems to be significant to one Alex Haven.

They look at Ellie with apprehensive eyes. Apprehensive, yes, but hopeful.

"Would you really do that?" Would you really talk to your own sibling for me?

"probably not."

ellie feels the best approach, while maybe not the most delicate one, is to be honest. she's not going to pretend to know the in's and out's of ridley and alex's relationship –– truthfully, she hadn't realized there was actually much of a relationship at all, much less one that would involve missing –– and now feels like the worst time to ask about it.

she finishes texting stevie under the table and looks over at alex.

"do you want me to ask him instead?"

Yes, but most importantly, Ridley hasn't looked at Alex all afternoon. Alex is so self-absorbed that they miss all the telltale signs of an Andrew-Ridley blow-out entirely. It's their first Thanksgiving back with everyone, after all; everything is a bit shocking, a bit overwhelming.

"—I don't know. I want to know if he missed me. There's not a good way to ask that without sounding completely pathetic, though, right?"

"what?" ridley hasn't looked at any of them all afternoon, other than her mother and shilah. he and andrew argued upstairs, before alex got here. they are both in a foul mood because of it and trying to pretend otherwise, which is –– normal, as far as these things go. "what would you say?"

@sweetbittr

"He hasn't looked at me all afternoon. Should I say something?"

RIDLEY:

          it still hurts.  cleaning,  dabbing,  wrapping.  but isabel does it all with methodic movements,  a practiced art.  he wonders how many times she’s had to do it for their mother,  for herself,  for ellie.  (  andrew is the one he less sure of,  an outlier in the sense of their similar mutation.  ) 

          “  an accident at work.  “  he should be thankful;  if not for this mutation,  it might have killed him.  “  i got electrocuted and  –  i’m not sure what happened.  my body reacted on it’s own to release the charge.  “   

          it takes longer than it usually does. because of how bad it is –– there is a moment where isabel thinks she can’t take care of it, that this is beyond her; a small, sparking panic where she does want to call someone else, or have octavia in the room –– and because it’s ridley, the routine unfamiliar between them. she wants to ask more questions that she is not sure ridley would answer. she does not want to think of this as an olive branch, though maybe ridley believes it to be, another means of him repairing something. 

          “–– has that happened before?” she should not be asking these questions; she should simply know the answers to them, but so much of ridley is still a mystery to her. if he were ellie, or andrew, she would never think of asking; she would just know. “or ––?” 

PAPA:

           before she had come,  he had already sent a warning text to josephine and roman,  let them know he was handling whatever was happening here.  but looking at her,  holding her and feeling her shake,  he knows that this is more serious than just a bruised ego or a fight between siblings. 

            “  it’s okay.  it’s alright.  “  he repeats,  rubbing her back.  “  tell me what’s going on,  sweetheart.  “ 

          it feels inevitable, all of it. maybe there was a time where she thought that things would get better again, right themselves, everything sorted out. even a few hours ago, she thinks that she might’ve been holding onto that, wonders if she had just ignored those first few texts, deleted them as she has before, let him come skulking around as he usually does, if it would’ve been better. not right, far from it, but –– something. different. marginally favorable to this, what she’s sure it will lead to. 

           and –– really, she can’t tell shilah all of it. she would tell izzy, would pass her the phone and let she and octavia scroll through. she can picture the looks on their faces perfectly, can see the cold, brittle anger in izzy’s eyes, how she will go quiet, octavia speaking for both of them. she cannot do the same with him.  

            “it’s just ––” she pulls back, presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, sucks in a breath. counts to five and then feels like she can speak without her voice shaking. “–– i’m done. with stevie and his bullshit. i’m just –– i’m really, really done this time. i have to be.” 

RIDLEY:

           as comfortable as he was with his mother now,  he did not want to bring this to her.  there was enough going on at this point with andrew and ellie and all of that drama;  he did not feel like he needed to multiply it for something trivial.  but he did need help.  he would not be able to take care of willow like this,  not with will on a little contact trip. 

           “  it’s not the same as you.  “  he is careful as he displays them,  voice monotone,  sticking to facts.  “  or mom.  it’s  –  electricity.  “  

           isabel was fourteen the first time her mother showed her how to do this. gentle but matter of fact, the same way her mother did everything, like this was something a normal fourteen-year-old girl ought to know, some innate skill they all needed to learn. she is well-practiced, familiar with it. she could probably do it in her sleep or with a hand tied behind her back or with her eyes blindfolded. it does not bother her that she is doing the same for her brother, now. not like it maybe should. 

           “they’re going to get infected if you aren’t careful.” she is already going through her own schedule, thinking of which meetings she can push aside and what work she can do from home and if octavia is out of the city anytime within the next week. ridley could take willow to their parents, she knows, no matter what’s going on, but she understands his hesitation. she would do the same. 

          another glance up at him. isabel realizes that ridley has never outright told him what he can do and she has never asked or seen; has only known the abstracts, all of them like their mother in some way. destructive, all-consuming, whatever they would like to call it. “–– what happened?” 

PAPA:

@sweetbittr​ / ellie. 

          he does not like to see any of his kids upset;  not curled up into themselves trying to catch a breath,  like life had just taken one good hit after the other at them.  “  come here,  honey.  “  he holds his arms out.  “  it’s alright.  “  

          shilah takes one look at her and ellie immediately feels like crying again. she has not called andrew –– knows he will feel both furious and guilty, is a little afraid that he will maybe come up with some excuse like he always does for stevie and that she will somehow not be the exception to it –– but she had called shilah. or she’d called his office –– not thinking straight, dialing the first number she could think of, getting claire instead. it had been an embarrassing game of telephone and here she is, standing in his office instead of going back to work, looking as pathetic as she feels. 

          she goes to him without saying anything. head on his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. her shoulders shake. 

STEVEN:

fuck. fucking fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. 

(she was his first love. his only love. spirit has kissed him a few times, and so has mable, once. he’s never slept with anyone else. he’s never wanted anyone else, not ever, not once. he’s never thought about another person the way he thinks about ellie; it’s what gets him through every stint of lockup or rehab, every house arrest, every overdose. her smile, the light in her eyes when she sees a beautiful piece of art, the sway of her shoulders when she dances in the kitchen to music. he has never wanted anyone else.) 

   “why did you do that?”   he shouts over the music in spirit’s face.   “why would you say that to her?”   anger, white hot and fucking furious, flashes over him, grabs spirit’s wrist.   “why would you fucking say that?” 

he has to fix this. he can fix this. he can fix everything. in an instant, he lets go and storms off, out, to the street where it’s fucking pissing down raining and he fumbles with his phone. scrolls until he finds ellie’s name. hits dial. 

pickup pickup pick up

          she is out the door and down the sidewalk –– walking quickly, furiously, her head bent to hide the red flush of her face, the hot tears welling in her eyes. she shoulders past other young women dressed nearly identical to her, their sensible shoes and trendy blouses or sweaters or coats and smart trousers and thinks of how many of them might have spent their lunch breaks crying over some guy who absolutely doesn’t deserve them but who they absolutely still love and she hates herself a little, honestly, feels so pathetic that this is what she’s doing. 

           (she wishes she could be like isabel, who never lets anyone see the things that bother her unless she wants them to. ellie has spent so much of her life looking up to isabel, wanting to be isabel, being envious of isabel. isabel would not let some guy say fuck you to her, let alone one who is supposed to care about her, and she would not let some stupid text from someone she doesn’t even know rattle her this much.

          but ellie is not isabel. and so she walks down the sidewalk, chin trembling, eyes hot, and thinks of what she’s going to do.) 

          her phone buzzes. stevie’s face lights up her screen, that same charming grin, and ellie wants to hurl it into traffic. 

          she presses ignore, but that doesn’t feel good enough. she turns the phone off, which does. let him call and call and call if that’s what he wants to do. 

STEVEN:

“what?” he says, incredulous. what the fuck? you know? it’s bullshit. sometimes being out in the world is worse than being in prison; everybody still watches every goddamn move only the guilt trips are ten thousand times worse. he’d rather a baton to the back of his legs than that sad fucking look ellie gives him when she’s disappointed. or angry. or frustrated. (seems to be all she is with him these days. he misses kissing her, misses holding her hand along coney island, misses the way she says i love you, misses the soft sighs and happy laughs and everything about her.) 

   but that’s not what he’s thinking about right then. stevie scoffs at his phone and gets into it now; whole body hunched over the cracked screen, shoulders rounded, frowning hard. the arm around him gets shrugged off and the hand that reaches for his face, his jaw, spirits maybe to make him look at something, gets slapped away harshly.  

[ ellie. ]  i always want to be right??? as if you dont?? lieky ou havent always done that told you so routine every single fucking time youre no saint either [ ellie. ]  you know what your problem is??? you want everybody to sing along to your hymn sheet and have zero input on the song. me your brother your parents. everybody has to do what you want them to do and if they dont theyre the bad guys [ ellie. ]  im sick of being the bad guy. im sick of everybody telling me how fucking worthless i am and u were the one person 

spirit steals his phone. he hadn’t seen her coming. she types too quickly for him to snatch it back in time. 

[ ellie. ]  he doesnt need a babysitter. especially not one he doesnt get to fuck xoxo

          ducked behind the computer screen, she is in the middle of typing something back –– something mean and nasty and cruel, something she has never wanted to tell him but has always somehow been tempted to, too –– when the dots appear again. the next message that comes through stops her in her tracks and ellie sits up, feels like someone has slapped her across the face. 

          she laughs, a quick, startled sound. it dissolves very quickly into hot, humiliated tears. 

          she doesn’t need to ask who he’s with. does not care, really, pictures some faceless girl in a club or a bar or in his apartment or at hers and none of the details actually fucking matter because it is one more thing on top of a lot of other things and ellie is so sick of it, so tired, mortified at herself for allowing herself to be made the fool of again.

          it is close enough to her lunch break that she feels as if she can stand, gather her things, and excuse herself for the next hour or maybe the rest of the day. she goes through the motions as if this is any normal, every day occurrence, wipes again at her eyes, and takes her time replying.

[TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: You can do what you want, Steven.  [TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: This time I’m done.

STEVEN:

float until you don’t. breathe until you can’t. smack keeps you placid, keeps you wanting more, keeps you desperate, yearning with the kind of need people talk about in those old timey books that suffocated aristocratic ladies used to write. weed can mellow you out or make you hungry, sleepy, relaxed to the bones. lsd makes you see the things that you only catch glimpses of coming out of rem, fiery mountains and deep blue seas, conversations with elvis, an endless dance number in your brain saying let’s fucking party! 

coke will do all kinds of things for you but what it does to stevie is it makes him angry. makes him violent. it’s not his drug of choice, avoids it if he can, because the last time him and spirit snorted lines off a bathroom counter at a club, they got kicked for him beating a guy to a pulp at the bar. he cannot control his temper. cannot control his strength. 

(and when you’re the son of earth’s mightiest avenger, controlling your power is the one thing no one can afford you to forget.) 

he’s had around five grams. which is enough to kill somebody that isn’t him. and ellie is being a fucking bitch. he’s not in the mood. somebody is talking too loud. he’s only half-aware of what he’s typing, caught up in his own manufactured narrative. spirit is talking in his ear, reading over his shoulder, telling him what he should type. oh my god is she for real what a bitch, baby if my ex talked to me like that i’d totally freak hahahaha

[ ellie. ]  having some fucking fun isnt a crime and i dont get y every1 has to be so fucking touchy about it [ ellie. ]  you should try it some time [ ellie. ]  i hate it when u make me feel like shit for no reason

[TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: You think this is for no reason?

          she thinks of all the times he has shown up on her doorstep or she has found him in whatever apartment carol and phil are renting for him at the time, his eyes glazed and his body slack, here but not here, present but somehow still half a world away. she thinks of the ugly arguments they have had –– he’d missed her first real show after he’d promised that he would be there, had not answered her calls or her texts, had not come around to apologize the next day or the day after that and it was andrew who finally wrangled it out of him, angry on her behalf; the birthdays he has not been around for; the holidays he has always been late to. no reason, just some fun, and ellie burns with it, wants to scratch and claw and kick and scream, wants to say the meanest, cruelest things she can think of and let him see how it feels. 

          fuck you, i hate you i hate you i hate you, and she could be done with it. she could end the conversation here, ignore whatever he has to say next, send his phone calls straight to voicemail. she could block his number and avoid asking about him and pretend that she isn’t home when he comes by looking for her. she could swear andrew to secrecy and she could be done with the entire rotten thing and she would be better off. happier. 

          (she could go on that date with the guy she keeps running into at the coffee shop around the corner, closest to the gallery, who always smiles at her and tells her good morning and who had asked her out and then looked embarrassed when she’d told him no without giving much of a reason otherwise. maybe it would be terrible, so boring and dull, but maybe it would be the best date she’s been on in her life, too.) 

[TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: I don’t know why I bother because you’re just going to do what you want, like you always do.  [TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: That’s your problem - you always want to be right no matter what the cost is to the people around you.

RIDLEY:

          isabel has always done the better job of what he should have been;  the protector,  the defender,  always making sure that things were balanced within the family.  he was the eldest;  those things should have fallen to him,  but he had only caused more of a strife within the home.  maybe it had taken years to see that,  but he could at least acknowledge now what he had done. 

          with willow released,  he ungloves his hands and shows them to her.  “  –  i don’t want to stress mom out.  “  they’re burned worse than he can remember,  but he has ignored the pain.  “  i just need you to wrap them.  maybe help out with willow,  if you can.  “  a beat.  “  –  is that fine?  “  

          “jesus, ridley ––” he should go to mom. she’s not going to lecture him, not going to call on his behalf –– she’d gotten in trouble enough with that with andrew, and she will not make the same mistake twice, let alone with ridley –– but they’re bad this time, there’s no denying that. she feels a little sick looking at them, though she hides it reasonably well. 

          “here –– yeah, yeah. of course it’s fine.” she is grateful for the spare room, for the fact that octavia is home and lingering in the living room, waiting, grateful that she takes willow without asking any questions –– though they will come later, she knows –– so that she doesn’t wake up as isabel leads ridley down the hall and to the bathroom. 

           “sit.” she flicks on lights, bends to retrieve her kit from beneath the bathroom sink. “this looks really bad.” like he doesn’t know. 

          @wristful from here

          fuck you and for a moment, ellie sees red, stomach churning with an acidic sort of anger that is not entirely familiar to her. she wants to laugh and feels like if she starts she won’t be able to stop –– a little hysteric, a little disbelieving, because stevie isn’t actually saying something like this to her, is he? he couldn’t be. he wouldn’t. 

          (except ellie has been lying to herself for a very long time, she thinks, about the sort of person steven is now. she has hoped and waited and braced herself for disappointment again and again and has smiled through it and made the phone calls and visited him and replied to each closely-monitored text and watched christmas movies and pretended that everything is all right but the truth of it is –– she’s tired. she’s exhausted by it. she is sick of watching andrew worry himself over it and she is sick of wanting things to be different and knowing they won’t be and she is sick of deserving better –– because she does, she does –– and being too caught up in how good things are when they’re good to give herself the chance to have anything else. 

[TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: Wow. [TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: Maybe I would “let you out of the dog house once in a while” if you stopped doing things that land you there in the first place.

          it is a little humiliating, to be sitting behind a desk in the middle of the workday with tears in her eyes, her throat tightening around the urge to cry. she ducks her head and swipes at her eyes and takes a deep breath and tries to talk herself out of saying something she’ll regret. 

[TEXT - STEVEN DANVERS]: Or do you just think I’m going to put up with your bullshit forever, Steven?

RIDLEY:

@sweetbittr​, izzy.

          he stands at her doorstep.  it is not like it is the first time he’s ever been here,  but it is the first time that he has been here like this.  none of his siblings even knew that he was capable of such things;  he had asked his parents to keep it from them,  wanting to hold it to his chest,  wanting to pretend that it wasn’t there at all.  (  he had learned what it had done to him,  trying to be someone he was not.  ) 

          “  hey.  “  he is quick to hand off a sleeping willow to her,  the pain in his hands worsening.  “  –  i need a favor.  “ 

          she’s used to unexpected knocks on her door, even more so to an array of visitors letting themselves in without much additional fanfare. will after another weekend flight or andrew when he doesn’t want to be alone or ellie after whatever latest stunt stevie has decided to pull but when she sees ridley, she’s surprised. ridley is a planner. ridley lets her know ahead of time. ridley doesn’t just drop by. 

           “hi.” she takes willow from him, careful not to wake her, and steps aside so that ridley can come inside. a favor could be anything, but something tells her that she isn’t going to like whatever it is he asks. “–– okay. are you –– you didn’t call first.” you always call first goes unsaid but remains obvious. “what’s going on?” 

OCTAVIA:

@sweetbittr​.

          “  should i call you mr fix it?  “  

         “i know you think you’re being very funny,” she is still half-hidden, shouldered awkwardly into the space beneath octavia’s kitchen sink as she tries to fix a leak in the pipe, “but this is going to be a problem if you don’t actually fix it.”

WILL:

      he rolls off the bed in one big motion, catching himself on his toes to step up behind her.  “yeah but then i’d have to live in new york.”  he won’t say it’s because he’d rather live in idaho than new york; he misses his family, his friends, ridley, but the city has so much attached to it that will can’t quite face the idea of living there full time. it’s never felt like home. not the way boston did, not the way d.c. does.  

     “i’m not unhappy.” he says it dismissively, eyes casting up to hers in the mirror.  “i’m just – feeling nostalgic. it’s the holidays. i’m a hallmark tinsel movie away from a mental breakdown this time of year – you look incredible, by the way.”    

          she’s not sure she believes him, though it’s not her place to say, and will won’t appreciate the interrogation, anyway. she doesn’t want to spoil their evening, if she doesn’t exactly feel like reminiscing on old times, talking about all their old haunts and the trouble they used to get into. she has missed him. does, still. it is not the same to see him in passing, to call in these favors, to ask him to come along with her because someone else can’t. 

          “if you say so.” you’d tell me if you weren’t, she wants to say, but knows that will would shrug and brush her off and tell her to go back to being a bitch because this doesn’t exactly suit her. “thanks. it’s not too much, right? i’m not going for flashy.” 

STEVIE:

      “it’s the holiday version, yeah – i think i’d pull off holly jolly very well.”   he grins at her, the best puppy dog eyes he can manage, and turns to sit his chin on his hands.   “would you still love me if i was a worm? but like not a gross worm. a cute one, that could talk and tell you how pretty you are.”  from the kitchen, he thinks he can hear andrew retch.

         “oh, yeah, totally. i can see it now.” she laughs, wants to push him away as much as she doesn’t want to, gives him a look like those eyes aren’t going to work on me even though they already have, always do. she pretends to consider, looks at him like she is imagining the real life implications, the possibilities. 

          “maybe. probably. but only if you were a cute worm. i wouldn’t accept anything else.”