noteasytobepink | Wheelsy AU ~ Phonecall 1

Wheelsy AU ~ Phonecall 1

Starla tapped her fingers on the counter and held the phone tucked next to her ear. It was clean, and neat, but not exactly the color she'd wanted for her kitchen. She'd have to see if the rental agreement would let her change the counters to something lighter, something less black marble and more wood perhaps? A light pine? Regardless, it was something to think about while the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Of course Bill wasn't home, it was the middle of the day over on that coast! Why had she thought he might be? She nibbled a lip and heard the distinctive rattle of the answering machine getting ready to click over. All the money the government had thrown at Wheelsy to get it rebuilt from it's 'natural disaster' and Bill still hadn't upgraded to a better machine. "You still have a tape, Bill?" she laughed when it finally clicked on. "Still? Haven't I been telling you to upgrade since before I came out here? What happened to the one I got you for Christmas? I eve put a nice recording on it for you!" He was still Bill. Ever, and always, Bill.

"Anyway, that part I told you about? I got it! Not even an understudy, isn't that great?" She was beaming ta her kitchen, a bright, accomplished smile. "It's just like I dreamed back when we were little!" Oh, click, message ended. Oh she hadn't even...

...right, dialing back, listening to the rings. "Sorry about that. You need a better machine Bill! Anyway, I was wondering if you could get the 15th and 16th off next month? I've been saving a bit and I do still need an escort to the premier of our movie. Call me back alright?"

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He listened to her words, then looked over and met her gaze.

"An' what if it makes her decide not to?"

"Sounds to me like she'd mostly to that decision already Bill...but if it does, then at least there's an answer. Better than a limbo that only makes you suffer."

Her words were a shot that turned his head away from her.

She could be right, but confronting that hard truth is something he just didn't have the courage or heart to do. He didn't want an answer if it was the one that was going to crush the last piece of hope he was still holding onto.

"I'm not sufferin'." If he said it he could believe it.

"An' a short weekend stay where she's already got a lot goin' on ain't the time t'spill my guts. That just ain't how I wanna do it."

Uh huh. Yeeeeah, sure, she'd let him get away with that kind of shoulder shrinking answer. When Hell froze over and Apocalypse performed Disney on Ice maybe. "Witness the beloved town sheriff making half answers, not looking me in the eye, and tossing back beer without one trace of a smile since he hung up the phone. Sure you're not suffering in the least."

She eyed his beer, the level therein, then reached forward to start refilling his bottle from hers. Skills...she had them? "So how do you want to do it?"

Her sarcasm set a tick in his jaw, and his hand tightened a fraction on his bottle.

"What I do is my own damn business."

Up until now Bill had been standing on one side of a line with Clarice. In just a few words, he'd retreated to the other side, and began laying a foundation for a wall that was about to go up.

"Right now she an' I are friends. I've got to at least wait until she gets back before I go an' try screwin' that up."

"Mmmmmhmmm. Think about this, Bill, before you decide to set that particular requirement in your heart." Hmmm, his bottle was mostly full now. Good enough. She didn't need more than a few sips herself right now, she'd get angry.

And maybe go gather information on the girl who could make Bill shrink like that.

Best to not drink much then.

"Most of Wheelsy now is new. It has the same type of people in it, the same accents, the same slow manners and smiles, but not the same people. Something horrible, terrible, and dark shattered the world of Wheelsy here. If that isn't a recipe for nightmares and PTSD I don't know what is. I'm more surprised you managed to stay here, and sane, than I am to hear that most the rest of those that survived are not here and not likely to return." If he was waiting for the girl to come home, he might be waiting a while because in a very real way 'Home' didn't exist any more. "Could be she's waiting for you to grow some sense and leave here. More likely she can't come back for fear of her mind breaking."

He pulled his bottle back away from her when she was finished pouring, and drained the neck in one go.

She was saying a lot, and he had something to say back to all of it.

Wheelsy had taken a hit, but she wasn't broken. She'd come back from it, and Bill was convinced Wheelsy was the same town now as before.

He didn't have nightmares, he didn't, and living alone no one could prove that he did. PTSD was just psycho-babble, and he didn't have it, and neither did Starla.

She was strong, and independent, and that was why she was out in California. She was following a dream, but nothing she had said or done had made him even think that she wasn't going to come home eventually.

Extended visit didn't mean gone for good.

And he had as much sense as the next man. He had no reason to leave, and Starla, who'd known him his whole life, knew he had ties to this place. Knew he belonged here and loved it, and wouldn't expect him to just pick up stakes and leave.

"She's comin' back."

Each thought had been another brick in the wall he'd started to build, and now he was set to defend it.

"You think just because you been so many places you know things. But you don't know me, an' you don't know her, an' you don't know us. Wheelsy's just a small town, but it's full of strong people, includin' her. She wouldn't just run off an' leave."

He shook his head, but it didn't help him shake the thought, and so he voiced the one point he had that convinced himself he was right on this one.

"At the very least, she wouldn't lead me on lettin' me believe she was comin' home. She'd tell me."

"No. I think I've lost everything, and everyone at one point or another and I have so many damn regrets you could float an ocean liner on them." That was clear. Cold. Concise. If he ever asked she might tell him some of them, but that was neither here nor now. "I know how much it hurts to keep a bleeding wound you think is 'Hope' and you're a good enough guy I can't just sit and watch it. Sorry for thinking you were worth it." Her nostrils had a way of flaring, and flattening when she was angry, and her face went a paler pink. Less angry flush more...close to rage.

And did we mention the glowing eyes? They always glowed, true, but sometimes it was really obvious.

"I'm the outsider. I'm pointing out the likely scenario garnered from what You have told me, and not told me. I'd also like to point out she may need the time to work up her own nerve. I bet she decides to talk to you when you're visiting." That said she finished her bottle and stood, striding over to the sink to rinse it properly. "I know strong people Bill. I know them well. You have to, to lead them. And yes, you're strong, and like us all, you're an idiot sometimes." Hmmm, her room had a window didn't it? If she went back to her room she could slip out...take a run...probably some shadow boxing off in the woods...yeah. Sounded like a good night out in the woods right?

Hmmm, now to get past him, back down the hall, and into her room without seeming to run away. Tricky that one.

Bill could feel the ground he was trying to stand on crumbling underneath his feet, but he held on with the kind of stubborness that would get a mule beat to death.

It was that cussedness that let him meet her gaze and ignore the flare in her eyes and the set in her features.

"Starla knows what it's like t'get left, an' she knows that I do, too. She wouldn't just do that t'me."

Except she had, more times than he cared to count, but those wounds had scarred and calloused over and he wouldn't tend them again until they were reopened.

"Even just as a friend."

He wasn't going to let her storm out on him, which is what he thought she was set to do.

Grabbing his beer he stood up and walked out on her, heading for the living room and purposefully dropping down into the armchair that had its back to the kitchen and hallway; turning on the TV.

"Yet here you are Bill. Here you are." She sighed quietly and finished rinsing her bottle, setting it upside down in the sink to dry. She'd toss it in the recycle bins in the morning. Bill's words just weren't ringing entirely true in his ears and sounded a lot like...

...well, it sounded like a kicked puppy looked? Not really believing the people he loved would hurt him. She knew that sound well.

"Think I'll call it a night then." Hmmm, she could run down to the little market, see if they were still open? Maybe restock Bill's beer, since he seemed to want it tonight? "Shout if you suddenly need me to fight ninja monkeys or something." End on a joke?

Something she'd learned from Morph really. always end painful things on a joke. It didn't hurt less or make anyone less angry, but it provided a neutral point instead of a challenge. Challenges right now would end in screaming and that'd be bad.

He was half waiting for her to keep persuing the subject, and so her joke had the intended effect of ending things without starting them again.

"G'night."

He dialed the volume louder on SportsCenter, and slumped deeper into the chair.

She was right about the beer, he'd be spending the rest of the evening clearing out the fridge of them.

And she was totally changing back into real clothing and going out the window like a teenager. There'd be more beer in the fridge in the morning. And probably aspirin laid out on the table for him as well.

It felt good to be moving after all that. Good to be moving, and to do fighting routines, and to explore just how many of the trees near his house had branches she could run along...

...and to watch the sun come up from atop his roof, a beer in her hand as her one concession to the pain in her shoulder now.

He had a nice roof? If she fell asleep up there she would totally blame him somehow.

For Bill's part he passed out in the armchair; empty bottles lined up along the edge of the coffee table, and one tucked against his side.

He awoke with a groggy groan, scrubbing his face and blearily looking around, trying to place his surroundings.

It only took him a minute or two to remember last night, and he winced in regret when he rememberd how things had ended.

Dragging himself out of his chair, he headed down the hallway and, after much hesitation, lightly knocked on her door.

"Clarice?"

Her door swung open easily, not locked, not latched and...well, breeze from the window. She'd apologize later? And pay for wasted heat if the heater was on? She hadn't checked honestly.

Luckily enough she heard him though, his voice carrying through the open window. It was enough to make her lean down, head and hair dangling upside down in the window. "Huh? Yeah?"

He blinked at the empty room, then blinked again when she appeared in the window.

Upside down.

"Wh-- what're you doin'?"

"...I was sitting on the roof and sipping a beer?" And now she was obviously half-dangling off a roof to talk to him? "Join me? It's an awesome roof."

"It's-- " Bill glances around, but there aren't any clocks and he can't read his watch.

"Mornin'."

Which is not really a time for drinking, or for hanging out on the roof.

"Yes, it's technically morning, but I haven;t slept and you haven't slept properly I bet, so we can still make a valid argument for it being night. Get up here."

He'd deny it, but if he looked how he felt there would be no point.

Instead he declined.

"I'm like t'fall off right now. Come in, I'll make somethin' t'eat."

Something to eat might be a good idea, with the unpleasant waves rolling over and through him from last night.

"Oh...good point. Here, hold this." She reached back up with her good arm to snag her beer and pass it through the window to him. That way her only good arm was free to snag the eaves and slowly lower herself. She made that amount of muscle control look easy? It was a hero thing.

"What's for dinner/breakfast then? Hmmm, dinfest? Breakdin?" God, she missed Morph.

He took her beer and held his arm out to catch or steady her if needed.

Wrinkling his nose at her mix and match name suggestions, he stepped out of the way when she was inside.

"Biscuits."

They were quick, easy, and kind to the hungover.

Heading for the kitchen, Bill began to pull items from the cabinets and fridge; working mostly on autopilot, eyes set at half-mast.

She didn't need steadying or catching, but she would need some sleep after the meal if her yawn was anything to go by? She reclaimed her beer anyway and casually bumped him on her way past. It was a reassurance bump?

"Bill, I did put aspirin out for you," she remarked once they were safely in the kitchen. How did she know he hadn't seen them? They were STILL ON THE TABLE. And...biscuits. That was it?

"Sit down Sheriff, it hurts to look at you on autopilot. I can make biscuits."

Bill shook his head, adding flour to a bowl with no need to measure.

"No offense, but you ain't got the right accent t'make proper biscuits."

Other ingredients go in, including buttermilk, and Bill starts mixing up the dough.

"If you could get some coffee goin' I'd appreciate it, though."

He needed it. And yes, the aspirin when he had something to take it with.

"...because apparently the way I talk to the dough makes it turn out wrong." She noted, torn between amused and slightly offended. She'd never had anyone tell her her biscuits were bad? Anyway.

Coffee.

Luckily it was an easy process to figure out and there were directions on the back of the coffee tin anyway. She added a little extra for stronger coffee and...yay it worked. Or started working. They'd see how it was when it was done.

He quirked a small smile, and dusted the countertop with flour, getting ready to roll out the dough.

"There're a few things we take real serious here in the South; biscuits, fried chicken, an' pecan pie. You can't get 'em right anywhere else but down home."

With the dough rolled out, he opened the cupboard and pulled out a glass and used that to start cutting his rounds.

"I'm sure yours are just fine, but these are my mama's, an' just can't any other compare."

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