#and theres an easter egg in there for you riss smooches

[jennamacaroni]

prompt list, angst #1: “I love you!  Is that what you wanted to hear?”

(this is for an anon and @soulofacircus who both requested this #)

The Kansas City crowd is brutal.  Deborah’s set is full of awkward silences and forced laughter from those simply not equipped to handle so much secondhand embarrassment.  The bit about DJ’s third overdose that Ava helped Deborah rework late after last night’s show in St. Louis bombs so hard that a boomer couple gets up from the front row and walks out without paying their bill.  This unfortunate series of events then does what Deborah said weeks ago back in Las Vegas that no one could ever do:  they mess her up.  At one point towards the end of the set, Deborah actually freezes up there for a few seconds, going somewhere else entirely.  Ava watches her eyes lose focus somewhere in the middle distance, and Ava’s only thought is that she wishes Deborah would look at her instead. Deborah ends up closing the set and walking offstage to polite applause without even bothering with her final three jokes.

The green room is nothing but a worn orange velour couch, the floor length mirror Deborah made Ava lug in from the tour bus earlier that evening, and a minifridge full of Pepsi Zero.  Deborah already has her purse slung over her shoulder and refuses to make eye contact. “Listen, that was–” “Let’s just get to the bus,” Deborah interrupts, her voice tight but authoritative.  “I need to get the fuck out of here and put this middle America’s asshole of a city and it’s cretins behind me.” Ava grabs the mirror without further comment, tucking it under her arm and following Deborah out the back door.

Weed has them on the open highway in less than four minutes, every one of which Deborah spends mixing a round of martinis.  It was just the four of them again with the driver, now that Damien had flown back to Vegas to prepare for their upcoming trip back next week: it was Luna’s birthday and Deborah insisted they couldn’t possibly miss it. Ava decides for once not to push and to give Deborah a few minutes of space, kicking off her boots and slipping into the tiny bathroom to change into sweatpants. She finds Deborah at the table looking down at her hands, which are folded delicately around the base of her martini glass.  Ava slips onto the bench on the opposite side of the table where there’s another martini waiting, glass frosted and dressed with a single speared green olive. Ava takes a sip of the cocktail and waits for Deborah to make the first move, content to study the delicate lines of Deborah’s face while she’s not looking, the ones the Botox touch-ups just don’t quite fill that are worn into her skin from a lifetime of laughter. “This is exhausting,” Deborah says, finally looking up fully at Ava.  She maintains eye contact as she lifts the martini glass to her still painted lips and takes a long swallow, and all Ava can think is how quickly she can make Deborah laugh again. “Aren’t you tired of this?”  Deborah asks, before Ava can make a really corny joke about Kansas City having a regional barbeque inferiority complex. “Of showers on this tour bus?  Uh, yeah, dude.  You never leave me any hot water.” The left corner of Deborah’s lips twitch with the tiniest wry smile and Ava counts that in the win column. “Of giving me pep talks.  You can save it tonight, by the way,” Deborah adds before Ava can even try, lifting her glass and taking another long drag. “Okay.  But I’m not going to stop believing in you.  I can’t turn it off either.  And nothing matters more.  Even if it should.” It’s hit home, Ava can tell.  Deborah breaks eye contact, the moment too intimate, and steels her face to cry without moving her eyebrows. “You should just quit once we get on the gay cruise and live as you were meant to amongst your own kind.  Wild horses, and all that.” “I don’t know what that means.  But speaking of horses, we still need to watch ‘Desert Hearts.’” “Ava–” “D, you promised!” Deborah takes the olive from her drink into her mouth and throws the toothpick at Ava, hitting her in the forehead.  “Can you be serious for once?” “Definitely not.” “Why are you still doing this?” Ava doesn’t even bother to answer at first, just looks knowingly at Deborah and takes a drink.  It’s a look in which she knows hides absolutely none of the very real love she now holds for her boss.  “You know why.” “Well it can’t possibly because you love sleeping over a tanning bed.” “It’s Weed’s weed.  I get it now, Pete Wentz.” “You’re impossible.  You know that?  Answer my question:  why are you still here?  You’re certainly not helping me tell any fucking funny jokes.  If I wanted a useless Zillennial or whatever the fuck you’re calling yourself this moon cycle, I would’ve–” “I’m going to stop you right there,” Ava interrupts, because Deborah’s starting to get mean now and Ava’s just not feeling up to being the punching bag.  Not tonight.  “I’m fucking tired of this.” “Yeah, well, me too.” “No, not this,” Ava says, voice rising as she gestures generally around the bus.  “I’m tired of this,” she says, instead pointing back and forth between them.  “Of you picking fights when I try to be real with you.  Of you still running, when I thought we were done with that.” Since Deborah can’t insult her, she simply purses her lips and says nothing at all.  Ava thinks, fuck it.  She chugs the rest of her martini and holy shit that’s a lot of vodka, then smacks the glass down as hard as she possibly can without shattering it. “It’s because I love you.  Is that what you wanted to hear?  I am in love with you and I believe in you and I think you’re the funniest fucking woman this world has ever seen, sorry, Lucille.  And I know you’re going to call me a moron and say it’s a silly crush or whatever other watered down bullshit that you tell yourself to hide yourself away, but I see you, Deborah.  You can keep me at arms length or push me away with both hands and that’s okay, if that’s what you really want.” Ava pauses, chewing at the inside of her cheek and staring across the cramped table at Deborah.  When she still says nothing, Ava gives up, sliding out from  the booth.  As she moves to pass by Deborah on the way towards her bunk at the back of the bus, she pauses and leans into Deborah’s space, her lips just a breath from the shell of Deborah’s ear.  “But for the record, I don’t think that’s what you really want.” Deborah pulls in a sharp breath and for once, Ava has the last word.