thatsamilkshake | Room 505, Sunday Night

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Room 505, Sunday Night

This was stupid and Francine shouldn't be here; she should hole up in Momoko's room until this weekend thing wore off and she woke up back where she was supposed to be. But here she was.

Francine hadn't been here since yesterday morning. Francine hadn't been to the version of here she used to call hers since the sun had come out in Greenland months ago and she'd walked out of that other Fandom without looking back. But here she was.

Knowing now that this wasn't a nightmare or some kind of last-ditch effort by the vampires to drag them all back... didn't make knocking on this door any easier, or any less tempting. Or any less stupid.

But here she was, doing it anyway.

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Katchoo's responding noise could have been an amused grunt or an attempt to clear her throat. Probably both, though. "Like I'd let you."

"Like you... like she has much of a choice about that?" Francine wrapped her arms around herself. "Where I come from, you're dead. Twice. Once when a vampire killed you, and once when Arthur and I did."

Stupid. Stupid to stand here saying that, stupid to stand here at all, looking. Close enough to reach out and touch her skin and see if it was cold.

"I --" And maybe Katchoo was closing a little of that remaining distance. Maybe she shouldn't be doing this, because it'd be making it worse, but like she could ever pretend Francine being upset didn't kill her at least a little bit?

And what the hell did you say to that? What wouldn't sound trite?

"God."

Yeah, that did too.

Francine, do not unwrap your ar-- that. That thing you just did right there. Or at the very least, stop your hand before it gets to her cheek. Exactly! Like that! Like that... thing you didn't just do there.

"You're warm." Grass is blue, sky is green, the usual.

"Dingy broad." She never meant that as an insult, but it came out unusually gentle even for Katchoo, and that might have had something to do with Francine's hand and her leaning into that touch, closing her eyes instinctively. "You only just now noticed?"

"I--" Francine closed her eyes, just for a second. What if I could stay here? What if what if what if what if... And then opened them and snatched her hand away like she'd been burned. "I was a little more focused on the fact that you existed, before."

At least she understood why Francine pulled away this time -- the low steady thrum of this is cruel this is cruel isn't it? in her head helped remind her. Didn't mean it didn't still hurt, just a little.

"Frikkin' Fandom." Katchoo ran the hand she'd been about to cup over Francine's through her hair instead; it was a completely transparent move, but what else was she going to do with it? "That shouldn't be a bad thing, dammit."

Francine snorted. "There are good things about Fandom?"

"Sometimes." Katchoo shook her head. "I meant me existing shouldn't be a bad thing."

"Never." And that was a lie, because the second time, yes, it had. Francine felt herself reaching again, and quickly shoved her hands under her arms. Something else. Talk about something else. Anything else.

"Merlin's still alive here too?" She knew the answer to that in July; in her own Fandom, it might easily not be the same today.

And Katchoo was looking at the second streak again, jaw tensing. Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick, this Francine's world was one messed up place.

"Yeah. Still alive."

"Please tell me he and Arthur are finally doing it like repressed medieval bunnies?" That would be something. Something that wasn't the same as things she wasn't talking about, but was. "Or is she still being a moron?"

Orrrrr that could slip out, as she jerked her head towards the room behind Katchoo.

Katchoo glanced over her shoulder toward the pushed-together beds. "The clue train pulled through the station here a while ago, for all of us. Did you -- figure it out sooner than we did?"

"Not soon enough." Like, before Katchoo left Houston, that would've been a good time. "But yeah. Arthur... your Arthur, he said I was dating Merlin here."

"That was --" Holy god. Had that whole coma-thing really happened that long ago? "You were, but it's been months now. You broke up with him at Homecoming for me."

It was safe to unwrap one hand if she used it to facepalm, right? "Smooth, Peters. Smoooooth."

"Just like butter," Katchoo intoned, unable to avoid a tiny, shaky laugh. "You're still friends, though. It worked out."

Homecoming. They had dances here. With spiked punch and gropy guys and teachers hanging out and looking pervy in the corners, if it was anything like she remembered Puncture High.

"We were there too. Except our breakup happened before we ever dated and involved a wall, Merlin's nose nearly getting busted, and you kissing me and telling him he needed to go *&$% Arthur into the mattress."

Katchoo ducked her head and let out a gruff, rasping chuckle. "Gawd. I like that version way better than mine -- did he spend months thinking I was going to strangle him afterward?"

She kind of wanted to ask how accurate other-her's directive had been, but no.

Which was good, seeing as Francine had no idea.

"There weren't months to waste on that kind of thing," Francine pointed out, because it couldn't just stay light. Who the hell was she kidding; it couldn't ever get to light, not when every breath and every joke had the backbeat of Memorize this. Forget this. Pretend this never happened. Touch me don't touch me touch me don't kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me oh I missed you not fair not fair not fair...

Katchoo huffed briefly, running a hand through her hair, because it seemed the smarter option compared to reaching out to touch Francine's cheek. Fandom being the island she cursed out for its semi-regularly-scheduled weekends of insanity, it just seemed wrong to want to give her that, just for a moment, when it could damn well be ripped away in the morning.

But damn, it was tempting.

"Guess I was a little smarter in that world, 'steada being a pansy-ass wimp forever." Weird to think of it as something more than a might-have-been glimpse she hadn't been able to see in the mirror that night.

Francine darted a glance over Katchoo's shoulder to the bed. The one she'd woken up in yesterday morning, and wished like anything that she hadn't scrambled out of so soon, now.

"Obviously not forever."

"No." Katchoo's glance followed hers, accompanied by a slight smile. "Not forever, but . . ."

Did this Francine ever know about everything she'd done in those missing years? Katchoo wasn't sure, and didn't know if she should be the one to drop that bomb if not.

She shrugged. "Wasted enough time, and I should've known better."

A little. Enough to know it wouldn't have mattered if she'd known everything.

"Funny, 'cause on the way over here I was thinking of leaving myself a note that said 'Dear Francine, stop being a fucking dumbass. Love, you.'" She paused. "And then another one for Arthur. Only his would've mentioned never cooking scones again, ever."

And there were a lot of things Katchoo could have said to that.

What she did say, though, was --

". . . someone let Arthur make scones? HOLY #$&*@#."

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