#manifested a bit too well when i told my mom id surely get a job before the year was over. someone shouldve shot me for that

[celticwoman]

fucked up that a 21 year old teen girl has to work

[jujywrites]

Always Falling Down, part I

This was part of a rarepair gift exchange. mricj and I got matched because sometimes u CAN manifest what u want for urself~~~

This is Rosawatts for sure, but also very poly, very id-ficcy and very long (just under 7k....). with a small part 2 pending because WE BUILT THIS SHIP WE SAIL IT HOWEVER WE WANT oh and a playlist (click plz~)

PS: the plotbunny emerged from "i thought you (loved me)" by livj707. One of my top 10 TTM fics and the rest of them are in there too!

AO3

FF.net

or keep reading

(Part II here)

~~~~~

~We hold on to the good times and the right now and the long nights~

Can you hear when I say "I have never felt this way"? (I can't see you and me and her without each other)

Roxie

You were 8 or 9 when you realized that you responded to people’s emotions in an unusual way. Your mom’s anger made you feel like there was a small fire in your belly, no matter the amount or what the anger was directed at. Her joy when hummingbirds visited the garden you both made to attract them made you feel invincible. When she felt sad, everything looked gray.

So what, you thought. She was your mother; of course you’d be attuned to her mood. The same with the rest of your family. But there was a slight wrinkle in that logic— you sensed the emotions of your friends at school, and that affected you similarly, if with less intensity.

Soon after realizing that, though, came the realization that even friends of friends, even complete strangers, had emotional signals that you picked up without trying. You brought this up with one of your dad’s sisters (one of your favorite family members, were you ever pressed to admit it), because you couldn’t quite stomach having your mom worry about you. You were pretty sure what happened to you wasn’t normal.

Your aunt introduced you to the term empath, said her wife had the same ability that you did. She taught you ways to handle the side effects (as she put it), how to channel and control it, to some extent. Even with this, though, things got more complicated as you grew older. People’s emotions got louder.

The maelstrom this caused in you was nigh unbearable and (luckily?) manifested itself as stereotypical moody teenage behavior, when you weren’t wrestling with the attendant physical ailments. That led you to what’s turned out to be a lifelong interest in astronomy and stargazing. Or more accurately, it increased your at-the-time budding interest exponentially. Others’ emotions couldn’t sink their hooks into you, not when your mind was buried in a book or when you were alone outside on a clear warm night. Stargazing served as meditation, too, and slowly you gained a better grasp on this whole empath thing.

That was how you met Neil. He lived in another school district; somehow both of you claimed a little park in town as a prime stargazing spot. He said his gramps took him gazing every summer, and Neil found he wanted to do it more often than that. You didn’t know much about him besides that and some shows and video games he was into, but that was hardly a deterrent to your talking a blue streak in the rare times when both of you were done watching the sky. You talked about your hobbies, how school went, how your little brother was doing, what music you were obsessing over. You told him everything except your biggest secret, and even though he didn’t always acknowledge it all, you could feel he took it all in. He was the first person who had ever done that.

Then he moved away with hardly a goodbye, and that was that. You remember feeling hurt and sad for longer than a day, maybe a week or two, but time has worn away the memories of how you felt. College, of course, was the next big chapter in your life, when your present-day reputation for being bubbly and carefree developed. That had always been with you; college life simply made you turn it up to eleven, a coping mechanism of sorts in navigating the world as an empath.

Strange how the peace you found back then has led you right back to that feelings maelstrom, into the difficulty of parsing what belongs to you and what doesn’t.

You didn’t see Neil until you got to SigCorp, at which point all the moments he was in your periphery during training slapped you across the face, along with hazy childhood memories.

“You’re Roxie, right?”

And all the years without him collapsed together. Maybe you didn’t see much of each other, but your friendship still easily restarted, helped along by your shared sphere of work.

You’d say he’s your best friend, if you were asked.

Meeting Eva was a different kind of slap.

You could count the number of crushes you had on one hand, your relationships on six fingers. You hadn’t felt love yet.

You fell fast and hard for Eva. Then you got back up, and cut that off quicker than breathing, because no way would someone as cool, collected and straight-laced as her would ever be interested in you. (Plus, you had no idea if she was queer and that’s not something to ask someone you just met.)

And then there was Neil.

The two of them had capital-h History, obvious from the moment you saw them together. If anyone knew how much time you spend thinking about your friends’ relationship, the effort you put into trying to push them together, how much time recently you’ve invested in worry (especially over Eva, but Neil too) you’d get therapist recommendations at the very least—

It’s not just wishful thinking. Your empathy gives you a sixth sense as to which people are meant for each other, and/or are dealing with feelings towards each other (which also gave you a leg up in office gossip). And Neil and Eva fit so well; that’s why they were paired together, why you convinced Rob they should be a team, despite how much you liked working with her. Not that he needed convincing. That’s how obvious their compatibility was. And yes, this was despite their bickering (and Neil’s pranks on his partner).

What drew you to Rob, as a colleague and as a person, and helped you decide to permanently partner with him, is how quiet his emotions are. He’s hardly unfeeling, despite what others (like Neil) might say. No, it’s just that his emotions are blissfully subtle. Sometimes when you feel them flare up it’s like a gift.

His emotions toward you aren’t subtle, not these days. And sometimes you feel terrible for relying on him as much as you do. But that’s another thing.

Eva

The cases that go wrong from the beginning are always easier on you than the ones that go wrong when you’re so close to closing them out. Talking to loved ones afterwards is the common denominator, the same intensity of pain no matter what went wrong when. But you’ve grown used to that pain, used to letting it glance off your skin because this is your job, and perfection is impossible.

You thought you had, anyway. The case you failed barely twenty minutes ago, the one from which you’re walking to the car with Neil now, found a chink in your armor. A stupid rookie-level mistake that both of you believed you’d fixed came back to bite you; you almost didn’t log out of the machine before your client flatlined. You owned up to it, the client’s brother took a swing at Neil and tried at you, and the only reason you’re both out of there alive is the brother’s wife calming him down.

There’s still paperwork to finish. You did the bare minimum before getting the hell away from that place. And Neil has one whopper of a black eye that he’s too bullheaded to do anything about, because he had a spare pair of glasses and that makes everything just fine.

In the car, the practically-visible wall between you and Neil is even more unbearable given the post-case mood, and it makes you feel sick. This is far from the first case you’ve failed, with or without him. Hell, it’s not even the first case involving bodily harm directed at either of you. It still feels like the last straw. But you’re not going to quit, you tell yourself. Someone has to keep fighting.

Neil may have stopped trying, but there��s nothing stopping you from fighting enough for you both.

Robert

For the most part, you’re an analytical person. You’re able to compartmentalize your thoughts from your emotions, and often able to see past others' emotions to what might be eliciting them. And that’s why your work at Sigmund fits you so well, why you chose memory traversal over being a tech, as much as machines in general and Sigmund’s in specific interest you.

Your personality and Roxie’s make you an excellent team. Even though her default mode is happy-go-lucky, you’ve been partners long enough to know that she’s the kind of person who can feel everything, all at once, and weather it. That talent must have always been there, under the surface; it’s probably what drew you to her in the first place.

Being able to compartmentalize, however, only gets you so far. You’re hardly immune to base emotions, yours or others’. You get frustrated when you know something is wrong, someone’s having a problem, and that your clear-headed distance from the situation isn’t helping fix it.

Watts and Rosalene, one of your best teams, one of the best you’ve ever seen since you joined Sigmund, have been backsliding for some time. Their ratio of completed cases to failed ones is still good (and they’ve had some brilliant successes), but their previous case was a failure and the mood leading up to their next one is not promising, to say the least. They’ve had innumerable rough patches, no question, but even you can tell there’s a good bit of the personal getting muddled with the professional in this patch. You’re in the unenviable position of having to monitor them, getting closer to explaining to the higher-ups why they are still viable.

Viable. What a cold word. Makes you clammy to think of it in reference to your colleagues. Your almost-friends. It’s... bothersome, to see them fracturing, or whatever less-ominous thing might be happening.

On top of that, there’s something off about Roxie. A dimming of her natural light. The only other time that’s happened is when her brother got sick; he’d been in dire straits before he recovered, and the recovery had been hard.

You know this because Roxie told you. You seem to be good at listening. If only you weren’t abysmal at asking. Not that Watts— Neil— would divulge anything, and Rosalene— Eva— seems even less likely to.

You’d ask Roxie but with her, you’re terrified of not knowing what to say.

Neil

You could’ve decked that guy. Definitely could have. For once it isn’t braggadocio— the things he said about you and Eva made you see red. He telegraphed really badly too, so you could sidestep him (he was like two feet taller than you and you aren’t a total idiot), but taking a swing at Eva?! Good thing the guy’s wife stepped in or things would’ve gotten even more fucked. Because of you and for you.

Of course, with the adrenaline gone, your mutual antisocial...ness, toward each other (what? You can’t word when you’re tired) rushes in to fill the vacuum. It’s frigid out too, which is great. And your face kind of—

“Ah, fuck me,” you mutter as your piece-of-crap company car decides to break down in the middle of an empty road.

Eva sighs epically. Her breath clouds. “Shit.”

Ha, she legit swore.

Your momentary amusement is bulldozed by the inconvenient need to talk. The second you’re alone alone with her, in lulls before or after cases, in downtime at the office, the words bubble up in your throat, more insistent every time. And every time you try to open your mouth, they disappear. It’s been like this for weeks, ever since The Incident.

She found the not-from-Sigmund company letter. She found the (other) pills. Unlocked door or not, you haven’t forgiven her for the breach of privacy. She hasn’t forgiven you for keeping (those kinds of) secrets from her. And here you are now.

You don’t know how much more you can take.

Eva speaks before you can get your voice working. “I’m calling Roxie.”

“How?” Flipping open your phone, you glare at it. “No reception out here.”

“We passed a payphone on the way here. Shouldn’t be more than a 5 minute walk.”

You just gape at her while she bundles up in her scarf and hood. “It’s minus fifty!”

Her eyes meet yours for half a second. “Don’t exaggerate, Neil. Not tonight.”

And, predictably useless, you watch her get out of the car and start walking, snowflakes shining around her in the dimming headlights.

Roxie

One of the things about being an empath is, it’s easier to tell when someone’s romantically interested in you. (Too bad there’s no one-night-stand-interest sensor.) That feeling has a certain color to it, distinguishing it from friendship or dislike. And it’s the reason why you haven’t dated much. Every time you’ve felt it, it’s been like a flipped switch, a lightning bolt, leaving you unprepared and uncomfortable every time. Sometimes it’s been because you don’t return their feelings, sometimes because you need a few days to adjust to the idea. Even with one of the ones you liked back (a post-college roommate, because you may be an empath but that doesn’t exempt you from so-called clichés), it petered out eventually when you didn’t fit together anymore.

With Rob, it’s different. So subtle you don’t realize right away. And so soft it’s easy to lean into and pretend you don’t quite know how he feels, keep your already intimate friendship separate from that other kind of intimacy.

You like him. Want to like him as more than a friend, the way he likes you. If you could only let go of your ridiculous double crush.

There’s only so much room a heart should have, anyway.

Eva

The incongruity of using payphones hits whenever you have to use one, which thankfully is extremely rare. You’ve learned the hard way to keep a small stash of quarters within easy reach on cases, whether they’re located in the boonies or not. Even with gloves on, your hands are so cold that there’s a lot of fumbling involved in getting them into the machine, more fumbling while you pull up Roxie’s contact info on your phone. Not that you need to; you’ve got it memorized. She’s picked you up more than once.

It hits you square between the eyes this time, so you can’t ignore it: Roxie’s been like emotional glue, from back when you were a greenhorn changing partners every couple of weeks to now. She was the constant for you back then, and then became your tech specialist for a hefty amount of cases until you got paired with Neil. She’s patched things up several times when you wanted to strangle him, by talking you down, or being a mediator, or just listening to you rant. And since tonight is turning into one giant negative thought spiral, you get stuck on how much emotional support you’ve taken from her without giving anything back, alike or different. After this, well, you have to come up with something. A restaurant gift card? Ice cream from that new place down the road from yours? Why is food the only thing you can think of? True, food has meaning, but you sh—

“Hello?”

“Roxie. It’s me. Eva.”

“Hey! What’s up?”

“Hope I didn’t wake you,” you say on automatic. Nope, she’s probably—

“Nah, binging a few Shadow Junction episodes before hitting the hay,” she replies with a giggle.

Over this line, the brief silence is crackly. “I need a favor. Our car died on us…”

“Oh my god wait, you just finished a case!” There’s some scuffling and a small thump; when she speaks again her voice is closer. She must have taken you off speaker. “Where are you? I’ll pick you up ASAP.”

You give her a handful of landmarks, the compass direction. With the dark, the gathering snow, your barely-held-back exhaustion, you're starting to think you might be back in the simulation.

Your hands hurt. At least they still have feeling.

“There’s a storm coming, isn't there? Are you okay?”

“Tired. Cold. But, yeah, okay.”

“Hey, Eva?” Hearing your name wakes you up a little; the weight in Roxie’s tone wakes you up more. “I’ll call a tow for you on the way, but do me a favor and don’t hang up.”

“Sure,” you whisper.

She chatters about the latest plot developments on Shadow Junction for a few minutes; you feel like you're absorbing some of the energy in her voice. Then she says, “I’m getting on the highway now,” and then she says, slightly more subdued, “Do you want to tell me about your case?”

Nope. “It went badly, that’s all.”

More crackly silence. Then: “I know I’m repeating myself, Eva, but… are you okay?”

I’m fine.

I’ll be fine when I’m back home.

I’m used to this. It’s fine.

You say, “I think I’m losing Neil.”

The metal of the phone booth bites into your hand even through the glove. “I… found some things I shouldn’t have.” Roxie can keep secrets, contrary to her reputation. This one shouldn’t be her burden, and so you don’t share what you found. “He’s been conflicted about what we do for a while. I think he might be trying to leave Sigmund. And that’s his prerogative, but I just—”

You trained together, joined Sigmund together, starting planning to join Sigmund together. It’s been an enormous part of both your lives, and now you’ve been a team almost as long as your dream to be a part of this company existed. If Neil walks away, what will you have left?

Roxie. Robert. The McMillans. Eddie, Lisa, Logan. You won’t be alone, and you still have your purpose to guide you. But...

You were so certain you’d see that purpose through with Neil at your side, you don’t see how it would possibly be the same. How you could be the same. Sure puts a dent in your faith that you’re your own person.

You can’t simply ask him to stay. Some small irrational part of your brain thinks bringing up the subject at all will make it come to pass. And those pills. If he does leave, if Sigmund is part of his will too, what if—

You wipe at your wet cheeks and nose. “He’s my partner. I need to fix this, and I don’t— I don’t fucking know how.”

Your voice doesn’t sound nearly as broken as you feel.

Robert

It’s another night of Roxie on your couch, eating takeout from your favorite place and watching a movie together. Neither of you have defined your relationship. You’re fine with that, and you think she is too. And yet...

“Roxanne, I—” You love her, have for a long time now. But you’ve seen how she looks at Eva, and at Neil, and you know she doesn’t have room for you right now, don’t know if she ever will.

You had a chance. You realized your feelings for her well before she fell in love with them (or at least before she began to show signs). The obstacles were too many: she’s half your age, you work together but are sort-of kind-of boss and subordinate. All true. All excuses, too, because you weren’t brave (stupid) enough to take that chance.

But she’s come to you for comfort, and you aren’t an asshole; you won’t deny her that because she has a different measure of your relationship. You love her. You would care for her even without that.

Then she kisses you, and she says, “I’m sorry,” and curls up against you.

Roxie

You’re making a mistake, and you don’t care.

You needed that kiss. It soothed these pangs, this hollowness that’s grown over the past few weeks from whatever is going on between Eva and Neil. And the way Rob’s emotions have started to swirl feels dangerous. Addictive. You want more of that, the power to make his emotions dance with one touch.

It’s getting harder to ignore the voice calling you an awful person.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest. “I know, in every rule book ever made, that I’m leading you on. But I’m not trying to! I’m so sorry. I…” You swallow, sudden clarity hurting your throat. “I think I want to be with you. But, Neil and Eva…”

Saying their names brings fog back over you, reddened by wine. “I can’t explain it,” you whisper, arms around his shoulders. “I can’t... decide.”

You can’t give Rob what he deserves, what you finally know you want to give him, if you can’t make your mind up.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Despite the uncertainty you can practically taste, it feels like a promise. He holds you tighter, and you let yourself sink into him.

Neil

You’re tired, exhausted, and that makes your brain go all overdramatic, but even with that you’re pretty sure this is the shittiest night of your life. You can’t talk to Eva, and she won’t talk to you, and now you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere trying not to freeze to death, watching her freeze to death while she waits for Roxie to rescue both of you from freezing to death. The least you could do is stand by Eva and suffer with her. Then again, maybe she’d rather turn into an Evasicle in peace right now.

You resent how much this case haunts you. You resent even more your inability to walk away from Sigmund and from Eva. They wouldn’t care, but she (probably) would. Does. You wish that didn’t matter so much to you. It shouldn’t anymore, after what she did. The one time you don’t lock your office door. Like a goddamn house of cards. If she’d told you right after instead of sitting on it for a few days, making you wonder what the hell was wrong with her…

You’re such a hypocrite, with all the secrets you’ve kept and keep.

Everything feels gray. Heavy. Tunnel vision, maybe, from the cold and your lack of sleep. Stepping out into the wind chill would probably help you stay awake at this point, except you’re not so far gone as to actually follow through on that.

Eva’s left the phone booth and is standing in the snow, hood blown off from the wind, and she’s too bullheaded to pull it back up. You stare at her hair streaming out, your eyes grow blurry from snowflakes, and your thoughts drift back to distant nights spent with a talkative girl who shared your love of stars.

Roxie

You’re up late at home, watching the Shadow Junction episodes in your queue, when Eva calls you, voice tinny over a payphone. You can’t sense emotions tangibly without being in person, but her and Neil’s voices have a similar effect on you regardless, by now.

You talk with her until you’re on the road.

Something’s wrong besides their dead car, and Eva reveals the tip of the iceberg. You’re relieved. Your instinct hasn’t yet devolved into paranoia.

“He’s my partner. I need to fix this, and I don’t— I don’t fucking know how.”

The turnoff to where they are is coming up. “I can’t imagine how that must feel,” you say into your head mic. A white (gray?) lie. Her pain is making it hard for you to breathe. “But I’m getting you back to the office, and we’ll go from there. One step at a time. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

You call the tow place as soon as you end her call. After that, things blur together until your car meets theirs.

The snow hasn’t stuck; it’s the light, fluffy kind that would be nice in another time and place. You can see Eva and Neil hunkered down in their seats.

You can’t get out of your car fast enough.

Eva’s first to get out once you reach them. She hugs you, and, yeah, you could probably die happy now. You’re such a mess.

“Thank god for you, Rox. Seriously.”

You’re such a mess. Neil’s relief nearly makes your knees crumple with its warmth, but there are... layers to it. Those layers and the ever-present knot of worry in your stomach keep you alert. Besides, it’s not (won’t ever be) the time or place to let them know everything you’re feeling. So you smile past your shivers and wave off his comment. “No problem. Of course I’ll bail you guys out of this weather!” Then you force your offer of a ride back out of lungs tightened with the fear that they’ll know what lies behind it. “Brought you some cider. Blankets too. To thaw you out for the paperwork, y’know.”

They accept. Of course they do; they don’t have a choice. If either of them suspect anything they aren’t showing it and dear god you are so overthinking this. “Tow truck should be here any minute, if you don’t mind waiting a bit longer.”

“You have heat in your car. That’s all I care about,” says Neil, and Eva says, “A few minutes more doesn’t matter.”

Then she puts her hand on his elbow as they walk the short way to your car, and all your stupid mushy probably-touch-starved brain can think is, there’s hope.

They settle in the back instead of splitting up over the passenger seat, and dumb hope unfurls further in your chest. You waste no time in unfolding blankets and handing them each a thermos. Eva acknowledges with a grateful smile, and you pretend not to notice how Neil flinches when you drape the blanket over him. You ignore the flashing burn when your hands meet their bodies, ignore how fast your heart is beating.

You have a plan, even though it’s a selfish one.

Eva

Roxie still believes her bright shiny mask is impenetrable, but you know her better than she thinks you do; something is worrying her. A lot. And here she is, practically saving both of your lives, and trying to hide it so you don’t feel any worse—

You’re faced with the sudden urge to kiss her.

She’s been a shoulder to lean on, a friend, a good friend. Why did this feeling burst through now? Did the weight of what you and Neil failed to do, the weight of what you know and what he’s not telling you, crack and cause this shift?

(What would she think if you tried?)

You push the urge away, but feel it beaming through when you take your first sip of cider.

Maybe in another life.

Robert

Roxie’s on the verge of breaking, and you can’t do one thing to help.

She stands by you, thermos in hand, while she waits for Eva and Neil to tie up some legalities and gather what they need. At this hour, the offices are silent to the point of suffocation. Having these three around is reminiscent of oxygen. Even so:

"I was really scared, you know?" she says, smiling, eyes painfully bright. "All I knew was I had to get them. So I did. They’ve been dealing with something tough and I couldn't ask them even though I wanted to and they were nearly hypothermic, Rob!" The noise that comes out of her is a shrill mockery of laughter. "So after they're done here, we're going back to my place. All of us. I don't want them to sleep alone. I'll hogtie Neil if I have to, I swear to god.”

There’s nothing you can say, so you just nod. And then you realize: there is something you can do.

You want Roxie to yourself, of course; most one-sided relationships are likely that selfish. You want her to be happy even more than that. So you excuse yourself to the bathroom, and then double back to the offices and poke through Eva’s ajar door, knocking on the jamb.

They’re both in there, which makes it easier for you. Neil’s already got a file folder stuffed with papers in his arms (which he nearly drops upon seeing you). You also notice the overnight bag next to him, and that Eva’s looking over hers.

(Of course. The weekend’s coming up. You should get your bag too.) That’ll make it easier for Roxie.

You’re also worried about them, so this isn’t only for Roxie’s sake. Eva looks like a shell of herself, and Neil’s posture seems to indicate he’s in pain.

“What’s up, Bob?” Neil plops the file folder into his bag. “We taking too long or something?”

You shake your head. “Take the time you need. I heard from Roxie tonight’s case didn't end well, so I thought I should check in.”

“We’re as all right as we can be,” Eva says, zipping up her bag. “And anyway, we’re done here.”

She stops when you don’t move from the doorway.

“She’s really worried about you two. I don’t know any details, but… go easy on her. She means well even when she’s overbearing.”

You turn and head back to the lobby, feeling overheated.

Neil

Roxie seems like a supernova in the frozen night (and if you weren’t half-frozen you'd be slapping yourself for your dumb metaphorical thoughts), and that light is enough, combined with Eva’s presence, to propel you into Roxie’s car.

You flinch because, somehow, her brief touch feels like it unlocks all your secrets. Ridiculous, because Eva got there first and you really hardly know Roxie.

The paperwork is second nature. You and Eva go to your respective offices; you squint as if that’ll make your handwriting look any less blurry (okay, guess your glasses need cleaning); at the last second you grab your overnight bag, and instead of heading back to the lobby you gravitate to Eva’s office and stand there like a dumbass while she finishes up.

You thump your bag on the floor. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says without turning around.

You busy yourself with organizing your papers. But every so often you glance at her, and when you see she’s going through her overnight bag the urge to ask if she wants to stay at your place, or if you can stay at hers, is overpowering. Don’t ask, don’t— “Do you—”

There’s a knock, and of all people Rob’s standing there, as if tonight isn’t freaky enough. Still. Saved by the Bobert bell.

What he says, along with the sheer incongruity of his presence, knocks you out of your numbness for a few minutes. “Jeez,” you say once he leaves as fast as he came by, “he’s really got it bad for her, doesn’t he?”

A barely-heard whisper in your mind hisses, You should know.

She’s wearing an indecipherable expression. “I suppose so.”

It all makes slightly more sense when you get back to the lobby. Before you or Eva can open your mouths, Roxie’s talking.

“It’s been a really bad night for you two. I’ve been there, you don’t have to tell me anything, and... I won’t ask. But I’ve got a spare room and a couch at my place and you should take advantage of that for the night. I’ve already convinced Rob, and I won’t bother any of you, a-a-and I really think it’s for the best so, so please…”

As exposed as you’re feeling, you can see the appeal of staying at her place. It’s closer than yours, and yeah, okay, your brain cannot handle the logistics of dropping off and heading home. Besides, it’s pretty uncomfortable how upset she seems (even if it’s just about her sinking ship, har), and if this makes her feel better, well. You don’t know what’s going on, feel like you haven’t for hours, but you’re with people you know and who know you, even though they don’t know everything. There’s something to be said for having friends in the same line of work.

This rift between you and Eva hurts far more than you can admit to yourself, never mind anyone else. And even though Roxanne and Rob have no idea what’s happened, happening, between you two, them being with you feels like a bulwark holding back any further damage.

Maybe they might even help fix what’s broken.

Roxie could, maybesomehowsomeway. She seems like that kind of person, the kind who wants to fix people’s issues and is good at it, though who the hell knows where you got that impression. She’s standing closer, an arm’s length— a fact you only realize when she reaches up and takes off your glasses.

Roxie

You didn’t notice how close you’d gotten to Neil and Eva while you were talking, or that you’d been moving at all, until a shadow near Neil’s eyebrow catches your attention. At that instant, your accidental proximity doesn’t matter. Your heart stops for a split second. “Neil, your eye!”

“What about my—”

You remove his glasses. Eva gasps, like it’s A Bad Thing you just did (and okay, you can’t remember ever seeing his eyes before), and you can even sense Rob standing protectively close behind you. “Holy schnikes, Neil!” His right eye is nearly swollen shut, the bruise radiating nearly to his temple on that side and nearly across his nose on the other. “What happened?”

A tidal wave of guilt from Eva makes the room wobble, but Rob catches you.

“Sorry, more tired than I thought,” you say to their combined are you okays. Your nervous smile lands on Rob, who doesn’t look convinced. Still, he helps you upright silently.

Neil squints at you with his good eye. “What do you mean ‘what happened?’”

How can he not know? “It’s totally black??” You look from Neil to Eva and back, panic surfacing slowly. “It’s barely open??? Doesn’t it hurt?????”

Eva sighs, pulls a hand mirror from her bag, and holds it in front of him.

A pause.

“Huh,” he finally says. “Guess that explains why it’s a little harder to see.”

“Our client’s brother punched him.” Eva rubs at the bridge of her nose.

“He did not—”

“He said he was fine, but I thought he was just shrugging it off. I didn’t know he didn’t know! Don’t you remember your glasses broke?”

“He was huge! I dodged him easy! I…” Neil digs through his pockets indignantly for a few moments, then stops. “I don’t have my spare pair. Which… means that those…”

“Are your spare pair,” you finish gently, handing them back to him. “Neil, I think you might have a concussion.”

“Well, shit,” he says, at the same time Eva says, “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“That settles it.” You step back a couple paces, reluctantly. “You’re definitely coming back with me. I have ice and I have some bruise cream that’s pure magic, I swear.”

Neil huffs. “I already said I would.”

“You only thought it because I didn’t hear you.” You eke out a grin. “I’m not a mind-reader, you know!”

“Okay, well, this is my official yes let’s crash at your pad agreement.”

“Heard and acknowledged!”

Putting her bag over her shoulder, Eva says, “Then let’s go,” and leads the way to the elevators.

She and Neil take the backseat again, leaving Rob to sit in the passenger seat. Now that you’ve executed your plan, you seem to have lost whatever energy you had left.

The silence that falls, though, feels comforting instead of stifling.

~~~

The first step through your front door pulls a deep sigh out of you. Rob, Eva, and Neil’s various flavors of tension decrease slightly.

“I’m just gonna… stop for a minute.” So saying, Neil plops onto the floor in front of your stupid-huge couch.

“Sit wherever you like,” you say as you go to the kitchen for an ice pack.

You’re glad you turned the room into something slightly more presentable, even when you weren’t expecting three people to come by— cleaned up junky desserts from the coffee table, put pillows back, et cetera. You wrap a hand towel around the ice pack and bring it back to Neil, telling him to use light pressure. “I’ll go get the supplies.”

As soon as you flick on your bathroom light and see yourself in the mirror, your throat tightens with the need to cry. A few gasping sobs come out of you but, “Okay okay okay,” you whimper, clutching the sink rim, they’re here, you got them, you’ve made them safe now. “Get it together. Snap the hell out of it. You’ve got a job to do.”

You gather everything you think you need and then go back over it: disposable gloves, the arnica bruise cream, antiseptic wipes, washcloth, cup of warm water, 8-hour painkiller/swelling reducer. Then you splash off and dry your face, finagle all of it into your arms, and get back out there.

Neil’s made it onto your couch, probably because Eva’s sitting there now. She’s on his left. There’s space for you between them.

You’re friends. Colleagues. You’ve all been through highs and lows working at Sigmund, in parallel with each other. They can’t read your mind.

You unload your supplies onto the coffee table and take the seat.

Eva lets out a breath.

“Sorry for grabbing your glasses,” you say to Neil as you put on the gloves.

“Eh. Extenuating circumstances.” He shrugs. Takes them off. “‘Kay, do your worst.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can. First, these.” You hold up the wipe pack. “Your skin’s not broken so it shouldn’t sting, but I’ll make sure any excess is gone anyway. Oh—” You grab the pain pills. “Take these first, actually. I can get you water.”

“I have my own… water,” he mumbles, digging through his bag and retrieving a bottle. “Thanks.”

Once he’s taken the pills, you run the wipe all around the bruise, holding your breath while you dab at his closed eye. “Don’t move.” You wet the washcloth then and apply that, making sure no residue stays to get into his eye. That would suck.

“Okay, move if you need to. Magic cream’s the last thing!” You hold it up with a flourish. “Never had to use it on something this, uh,” you fumble for the word, “extensive, but I promise it’ll help.”

“Who died and made you Florence Nightingale?” he said with a chuckle.

You pause in the middle of daubing cream on your finger. “Who?”

“It’s an old reference. Really old. Like, my gramps knew the history, that’s how old.”

“Early 20th century nurse, I believe,” Rob says in a musing tone. “Founded the profession.”

“You’re almost as old as him, so you don’t count.”

“She opened the first nursing school, too,” says Eva.

“And you’re a nerd so you also don’t count.”

“She sounds pretty cool,” you say quietly; you’re close to Neil’s face again, applying the cream from the outside of the bruise in. “Glad someone’s remembering her, still.”

You don’t even notice the silence fall, you’re concentrating so hard.

Neil holds his breath this time when you put the tiniest amount of cream on and around his eyelids, using the barest pressure to rub it in and still wincing in his place.

You’re very close to him. Your hand tingles. Whatever’s charging the atmosphere is impossible to analyze.

“Um. All done.” You pull your hand away, look away, throw the glove into the little trash can under the table.

“Rox?”

You look back at him and try to breathe evenly.

“Just… thanks. For all this. And…” He leans forward to catch Eva’s gaze. “...sorry I got my head bashed in and forgot about it.”

“We should get that checked out tomorrow.” Her voice is worn, but her eyes are soft.

Your worry changes form in that instant, from low-key constancy in your veins to the choking kind of worry that comes from realizing you love them, are in love with them, your best friends who are in love with each other and either don’t know or can’t admit it. They certainly don’t have the room to accept your feelings.

You’ve known this for long enough; it’s hardly a revelation. But something about tonight has crystallized your feelings, made them impossible to bury. Now you know the origin of the physical ache that’s been dogging you for weeks, to the point of becoming a second skin, and you desperately wish you could do anything to ease Neil and Eva’s pain as much for yourself as for them. You just squeeze Neil’s hand, pretend Eva taking yours doesn’t stop your heart, and stare at Robert who graciously doesn’t stare back.

You nod, because you don’t trust your voice. But then you speak anyway. “We’re a team. Mismatched as we may be. We gotta stick together, you know?”

Looking at them both, you see Eva smile, and even Neil has a tiny flash of one when he says, “The four musketeers, or something?”

“Close enough.” Robert, soft, as he eases onto the couch next to Eva.

“No, exactly. One for all, and…” You swallow, looking at Neil, wishing so hard for Eva’s sake. “And all for one.”

Your hands left Eva’s and Neil’s to settle on the couch minutes ago, but now, almost synchronized, their hands cover yours again.

Every ounce of tension rushes out of you, in spite of the fact that your brain is in red alert mode, your heart’s beating fast enough it hurts, and heat’s flashing through you from head to toe.

Maybe one day you’ll tell Neil and Eva everything you feel. Maybe one day you’ll share your biggest secret with all three of them. But for now, all that matters is that you’re all together, safe for tonight, warm and dry. All that matters is the others’ emotions are blending into a shared, soft calm, that you’re almost, just about, being held by them. All that matters is that you all have each other.

For once in a long while, your mind is quiet.