extemporally (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
extemporally) wrote2010-05-29 05:08 pm
extemporally) wrote2010-05-29 05:08 pm
Entry tags:
fic: The Road To
The Road To
girl!Ryan/Z
PG
6149 words
I owe so so so many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
softlyforgotten, who betaed this for me and made it a million times better. nova33 and willowbell audienced, too. ♥
As much experience as she had with sensitive and painful band splits, Ryan was persistently curious about Charlotte.
As much experience as she had with sensitive and painful band splits, Ryan was persistently curious about Charlotte. It was like the normal rules didn't apply to her.
"Jesus Christ, Ryan," Z snapped, and rolled over in bed. "What more do you want to know? We were friends for a while, okay, then we weren’t, we stopped hanging out and Charlotte stopped coming to band meetings and then we just decided it would be -- better." Not better, exactly, Z thought, more like easier and less painful. Charlotte had been the first to say, "I'm out," looking like she could spit fire at the both of them. Tennessee had looked away.
Ryan reached out and held Z's hand, and Z closed her eyes when her knuckles grazed against Ryan's side. "Sorry," Ryan said, and Z could tell she wasn't really sorry. Her voice was far too mechanical and detached for that. And always, always so curious. "Ten years is awfully long to be friends, I'm just saying," and there it was again.
"Now you're just pissing me off," Z said, and Ryan smiled. "I'm really, really tired and I want a nap, so I'm going to sleep and you're either going to close your eyes too, or just keep really quiet and stop asking me inane questions about Charlotte Froom, Jesus."
Z heard Ryan's quiet laugh as she drifted off to sleep, eyes shut resolutely tight against the summer light pouring through the window.
---
The thing was. Z couldn't even begin to refuse Ryan Ross whenever she got all curious and questioning like that, not even if she tried to, and over a couple of weeks Ryan had garnered a whole bunch of knowledge about her ex-bassist and ex-best friend. Ex, ex, ex. Things weren't what they used to be, any longer. Z was okay with that.
For example, Ryan had learnt that Charlotte was a vegetarian, not solely out of love for animals (she knew too that Charlotte was off in college, studying either math or zoology Z couldn't say), but also her preference for green vegetables over any other kind of food. She knew that Charlotte had loved plaid before it'd made its big fashion comeback, and that she liked wearing plaits. She knew something of Charlotte's personality, which had started being a huge turnoff in those decisive final days of Charlotte's status as a member of the band, but which Ryan (judging by her rapt expression and desire to know ever more) found enigmatic, and fascinating. Z was pretty sure she knew more than Z'd told her, too. "Charlotte Froom" came up as a search term on Ryan's laptop.
Z knew all this, had known it since she was fourteen, and she was done with it. It didn't excite her any more.
---
"How would you like it," Z demanded, sitting up after she'd managed to fall asleep after all, "If I said, 'tell me about Brendon and Spencer'?"
Ryan gave her a politely befuddled look. She was sitting at the table, noodling about on Z's laptop, and said, "But you didn't."
For someone who claimed to have been really good at English in high school, Ryan could be annoyingly good at missing the point sometimes. Z narrowed her eyes and tried to figure out if Ryan was dissimulating on purpose. She tugged her t-shirt down her stomach and crossed her arms. "I'm asking you now," she said. She knew the basics of it, but didn't know them, not really.
"How to -- huh," Ryan said, twirling around in her chair. She looked thoughtful. "I don't know," she said. "I've known them both too long. It's just -- hard to say, I don't know."
"That's how I feel like when you ask me about Charlotte," Z snapped, even though it wasn't true.
"Oh, now that just isn't fair," Ryan said. "I ask you about her in bits and pieces, it's totally different."
That gave Z pause, enough that Ryan gave a slight smile, her way of gloating. If someone were to ask her how she felt about Charlotte, right now, she wouldn't know what to say. She wouldn't know where to begin.
"... fine," she conceded. "But you're curious, too."
"I am!" Ryan agreed. "I kind of wish I could meet her."
"No," Z said. She got the feeling that Ryan had been building up to this moment.
"Oh, come on!" Ryan said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "You've met Brendon and Spencer."
"Yeah, and we didn't exactly get along, so I don't know why you're even asking," Z said, pulling the covers over her knees. She'd only just woken up five minutes ago from a nap that was proving way too short, in retrospect. To be fair, Brendon and Spencer had been very nice and polite. They just hadn't really clicked, that one time, and Z hadn't seen them again.
"But the point is you got to," Ryan said, sounding sulky. "I just really want to know, okay? I mean -- you wrote all those songs, and I just want to meet her, I don't know." Z knew what that tone of voice was now. It was Ryan's miserable one.
"Hey," Z said softly. Ryan looked up. "You get me, okay? It doesn't matter that we haven't known each other for so long, because you get me and I get you, and." Jesus, Berg, sound more hackneyed, she thought, annoyed. At least she hadn't said, You've got me. Also true, but also cheesy.
"If you get me, and you get why I want to, do I get to meet Charlotte?" Ryan said, sounding hopeful.
"No," Z said, and threw her pillow at Ryan. Ryan flailed around with her spindly arms and plucked it off her face, grinning. "Besides, how would we even? She's going to college."
There was an expectant pause.
"In this state," Ryan said, beaming. “And, very near here.” She’d checked online, and once again Z regretted the invention of the Internet.
---
"God, we're so cool," Ryan said, once they got into her car. "Impromptu roadtrip. It's just like we're runaways."
Z sincerely doubted the cool, but she had to admit that it was pretty thrilling. She started up the engine and they backed out, driving into the street. Because she'd deleted Charlotte's number all those months ago, in a fit of pique, she'd had to message Tennessee for the number all over again, earlier. Now her phone buzzed and she told Ryan, "Check it for me, yeah?"
Ryan picked it up and said, "Tennessee's given you a number and also asked why."
Z pulled out into the main road, and looked over. "Tell her it’s because of you."
"You're an asshole," Ryan said. "I'm going to write, because you're a loser."
"Gimme my phone," Z said, and made a grab. Ryan tut-tutted, and said, "Eyes on road!"
"Tell her," Z sang, and Ryan scowled (she wasn't looking at Ryan, she wasn't, but she could just tell) but shut up and started keying a reply into the phone.
"You're the one who wanted to drive to Claremont on a whim," Z said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "If anything happens or we get lost, I'm going to kill you."
"Less than an hour, Jesus," Ryan said. "Shut up and drive."
"Slave driver," Z muttered, but she was glad she was driving. Ryan didn't do well driving. It wasn't that she was bad at it, exactly, in the way they said women were bad at driving -- she was good at parallel parking and all that crap -- she just got distracted.
When they pulled up at the red light Z checked her phone again. Tennessee had sent two texts: haha loser, whipped and hope it goes well. Z pretended not to even understand what that meant.
They pulled out into the highway and Ryan loaded a CD into the car stereo. It was a mixtape, and the first strains of the first song came on. Gentle strings, plucking.
"San Bernardino?" Z asked, referring to the music. She looked over at Ryan for a second. "You look ridiculous, by the way." Ryan had tied her hair up with a tangled shoelace, the ends of it flying everywhere.
Ryan closed her eyes and toed her sneakers off, bringing her socked feet up on the seat. She hugged her knees close to her chest. "Eyes on the road," she said. "And yeah. I've never been to San Bernardino, I wish we could go."
"You're the one who wanted to go to Claremont," Z said. The spike of anxiety in her stomach surged up again and the part of the steering wheel beneath her palms grew slippy with sweat. Claremont, and Charlotte. She didn't even know what she'd say to Charlotte, when she saw her. An hour wasn't enough to decide, and she wasn't going to call before they got there.
"I want to go everywhere," Ryan said. "First stop, Claremont. We start small." Z didn't bother pointing out that they were about the same distance from L.A., more or less.
Ahead of them, the mountains stretched out, blue under the fading light of day.
---
Z took one wrong turn and then another, and eventually she had to pull up at the side of the road and get Ryan to pull the map out of the glove compartment, and spread it over the gearstick as they both bent over it, tiny lines for roads criss-crossed over California state, almost indistinguishable from paper creases.
"This sucks," Z said, rubbing at her forehead, and Ryan gave her a sympathetic look and pulled her close.
"S'all your fault," Z scowled against Ryan's arm.
"Whatever," Ryan said. "Hey, look, I think you just go straight and keep turning left, and we'll end up pretty close to where we started?" She tapped the map with her index finger, and Z was forced to listen, because Ryan may not have been a very good navigator but she was the one holding the map. It was either that or have her drive. This didn't mean she had to like it, though, and Z made a grumpy noise against Ryan's sleeve.
"Want me to drive?" Ryan offered, hand outstretched and fingers waggling, and Z sat right back up. "Oh hell no," she said fervently, and Ryan laughed.
"Knew that'd move you," she said.
---
Eventually they found their way successfully to Claremont under a quick-darkening sky. Z couldn't disguise that peculiar little thrill of triumph, even though she knew it was a lame and lousy reason to feel so. But they had reached.
"Next stop, find a parking lot," Ryan said, and laughed. That wasn't too hard, though, and all too soon they parked the car and got out, and Z fumbled with her phone because she supposed it was now or never.
Ryan watched her as she clutched the phone to the ear, her eyes wide.
"... her phone's off," Z said, disappointed. It felt a little bit anti-climactic. Also she felt foolish, because of course Charlotte would have her phone off now, of course she wouldn't answer. Maybe she had better things to do than to accommodate a friend and a stranger off on a wild-goose chase for her. Like a mid-term, or something.
Suddenly she really wanted to speak to Charlotte. Z leaned against the side of her car, and made herself take a deep breath.
Ryan slipped her hand into Z's. "Hey, I'm sure we'll see her," she said, voice oddly gentle. As if Z even wanted to, what the fuck, but she didn't bring herself to protest. "It's a small town, after all."
How long are we planning to stay here, Z wanted to demand, but she let her hand be taken instead.
"Come on," Ryan said, "Let's explore!"
---
They were literally heading blind into Claremont, and it was dusk. Z clutched her purse about her, just in case.
Somewhere Z knew Charlotte must be here, one of the many students who were starting to throng the streets, in search of a good time. Meanwhile she and Ryan wandered into a residential area and looked at the houses, neat and clever and lived in by professors -- and rated their gardens. "That's my favourite," Ryan said, pointing at a straggly lawn covered with daffodils grown across it in a spray pattern, and Z looked at her face and saw that she was deadly serious.
"Yeah, so," Z said, "How are we going to find Charlotte?"
Ryan blinked at her. "We need a plan?"
Z rolled her eyes. Ryan always just assumed things would work out the way they were, especially if she was in the thick of what she liked to call adventures. Before they left L.A. the tension in Ryan said hurry, hurry, hurry. Now she held herself differently. She was loose and relaxed and wanted slow, slow.
Z had to tell herself to slow.
"You're right," she said, swallowing, "We don't."
They headed over to the Pomona campus and wandered around the college grounds and tried not to feel like intruders anyway; there weren't many students but whenever Z passed them she was acutely conscious of the backpacks they carried and the books they held. This could be my life, she thought, and knew Ryan was thinking that too: they'd had far too many semi-coherent late-night conversations about going back to school, for Z not to know that.
"Biology," Ryan said, pointing in what she probably thought was a discreet manner at one of the boys scurrying by. Then she looked back at Z, raised an eyebrow at her.
Z sighed, but joined in. "History," she said, jerking her chin over at a girl who was holding a history textbook.
"Now that's just cheating," Ryan argued.
"I call it useful deduction." Z said. "Also? This is a liberal arts college. I bet you all these losers change their majors every week." Charlotte wouldn't, she thought. Charlotte had always known she was going to be a vet. She was always going to major in biology, or math. Z tried to imagine Charlotte working on differential equations -- no, remembered it, from high school, braids slipping over her shoulder as she leaned her chin on her hand.
"We should go look at the dorms," Ryan suggested, and Z followed mutely.
---
Now it was really dark. Z and Ryan stumbled through street after dark street, and after a while it was just -- nice. Neither of them really expected to find Charlotte, Z thought, not in that way. Maybe later she would try calling Charlotte again, if it wasn't too embarrassingly late, but for now it just made sense to be where they were, squinting at the dorms.
A face popped out of one of the windows and Ryan started back, bumped into Z even before the boy started yelling, in their direction but not precisely at them. He was drunk.
"Ugh," Z said, watching him spew out of the window where his sick landed on the gutter beneath, "Don't fancy having to wake up to that later."
Ryan was still trembling, though, and Z took her hand. Their fingers were interlaced together, and they started moving again.
This was surreal, Z thought, as she felt Ryan's cold, dry fingers moving against her own. Or: unreal. She was reminded of all the poetry she read in high school, desperately trying to prove she was cleverer-better-smarter, while Charlotte and Tennessee sat back in her bedroom and laughed as she read and quoted the best bits to them, holding the book open with one hand and scratching the insect bite on her ankle with the other. Unreal city, under the brown fog of a winter dawn. Jerusalem, Athens, Alexandria, Vienna London. Unreal. Claremont, too, was unreal.
Seven years later she would meet Ryan Ross and discover that she had read the same poem -- who hadn't read Eliot, though? But that wasn't the point -- around the same time.
They were passing along a pavement under some trees, but through the boughs and leaves it began to drizzle lightly on them.
"Shit," Z muttered, and Ryan pulled a small folding umbrella from her bag, unfurled it. She smiled proudly as she held it over Z's head and Z turned around, smiled at her. Their shoulders were close enough to knock against each other. Z wondered what time it was, maybe eight o' clock.
After a while the rain didn't get heavier and Z said, "We don't really need an umbrella, do we," and Ryan nodded, brought it down and snapped the umbrella shut. She didn't fold it or put it away though, just held it loosely by her side. Meanwhile Z had quickened her stride, and Ryan hurried to catch up. It was nice, Z thought, nice to stride along ignoring the sting of rain on her face. This way they were less cold.
Ryan hummed agreement, sounding pleased, and moved in closer to Z. They were still holding hands, and Ryan's hair was brushing against Z's cheek now. Z wondered what it would be like if they kissed, right now, but then she saved that thought for later.
"Hey, what's that?" Ryan stooped, disentangling her hand from Z's as she did so. Z tried not to feel disappointed, since she'd never been clingy.
Ryan straightened up, piece of postcard in her hand, and Z took it. She noticed that Ryan's hands had grit on them. "Can't see," Z said, because while it wasn't wholly dark the street was imperfectly lit.
"Come over to the light," Ryan said, and pulled away. Z blinked -- she got some dust in her eye -- and by the time her eyes were properly opened again, Ryan was already standing under the street lamp.
Z followed, clutching the postcard.
It was a pretty generic one -- Alice from Atlanta, Georgia, had written to Marilyn here. 'Wish you were here,' it said, and included a reference to beaches Z couldn't quite decipher. In another time, perhaps, Z thought she would have smiled disdainfully and be slightly contemptuous of this, but Ryan beamed and said, "Amazing," and Z knew she was wondering how the postcard had come to wait on the pavement, to be dredged up by these two people.
They fell into step again.
"You know," Z said confidentially, "The whole thing makes so much more sense if you assume 'Alice' is Alice Cooper, and Marilyn's --"
"Marilyn Manson?" Ryan said, the side of her mouth lifting into a smile. She always looked pleased whenever she managed to preempt Z.
"I was going to say Monroe," Z said -- even though she hadn't -- "but maybe yours will do too."
Ryan laughed again. "We went to Atlanta once," she said. "We were touring."
"Yeah?" Z said. She was running out of words and didn't feel much like speaking, and she thought Ryan might understand.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, her boots went, sometimes narrowly avoiding the puddles on the pavement and sometimes splashing right into the middle of them.
Ryan looked up at the sky, the base of her throat to the tip of her chin one straight line, and Z peered up too. She could see five stars in the sky, clustered over the rainy quad.
Z looked back down, still smiling, and began to sing.
---
The peaceful mood didn’t last long. For one, Z was starting to get blisters on her heels -- damn these boots -- and secondly she felt cold and hungry. Subject to the elements, she thought, but even that couldn’t comfort her because it was too acute. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, and neither had Ryan.
Ryan turned around, smiled at her, and Z opened her mouth –
"My foot hurts," Z moaned. "Seriously, Ryan, can we just stop for a little while already."
"What about Charlotte?" Ryan said, like that was even a temptation any longer.
"Charlotte isn't leaving town any time soon, she's going to school here," Z snapped, and it came out more meanly than she'd intended. She kind of remembered the fight they'd had when Charlotte had announced she was going to make a proper go of learning to be a vet, this time, instead of patching up pets they met on tour, which never happened as often as she wanted them to anyway. Z had said, you're going to settle down and shrivel up and get old and boring, and possibly she hadn't meant it that way but she'd said it anyway.
There was a momentary lull. Z was jolted back into the present state of things when the silence between them became too obvious. She looked at Ryan.
"Here's a diner," was all Ryan said.
---
The diner was warm and comforting, and that was a relief when they stepped in. Z unbuttoned her black jacket and shook her hair out, while Ryan folded up the umbrella she'd gotten out before they both decided it was better to stride along with the drizzle falling like a sting on both their faces.
There was a jukebox in the corner. Z wandered over to it while Ryan went to the counter to place both their orders -- "Hot chocolate," Z said absent-mindedly, "and cheese fries." Then when Ryan looked at her reproachfully, she added, "Please. Thank you." She looked at the selection and got out a quarter, eventually settling on a David Bowie. She slipped her coin into the slot.
"THIS AIN'T ROCK N ROLL," roared the jukebox, "THIS IS GENOCIDE!"
Z slipped into a booth and sat down, looking at the faces of the college students, mostly talking and laughing, some of them reading intently amidst the noise and buzz of the diner. She wondered if Charlotte knew anyone here.
"We should have brought a camera," Ryan said suddenly, and Z looked at her. Ryan was going through a phase at the moment where she didn’t like being in photographs, unless it was for publicity. When Z first met her she'd be a real freak around cameras, taking photos again and again until they looked just right, but never wanting to come across as someone who posed for them willingly outright. Z supposed part of it was -- wanting to control how you were seen, kind of, when you were photographed so often, but part of it was also really just Ryan Ross.
Ignoring all that --
"Cameras probably wouldn't work," Z said. "Not tonight, anyway," meaning that Ryan would never have been satisfied with the quality of photos they would have come away with tonight, and before she could clarify further Ryan was nodding already, furious, as though she really thought there was something magical in the air.
"Maybe, maybe we should go," Z said finally. "It's getting late." The diner was emptying, she noticed, the man leaning over the counter and twitching a dishcloth over it purposefully, but not deliberately yet. What time was it? She didn't bother checking her watch. Maybe watches didn't work tonight either.
Ryan hummed happily and leaned, weight heavy, against her. The remaining crumbs of her pie lay in the swishy, sticky puddle of vanilla ice cream on her plate, and if Z stared hard enough she fancied she could see the entire diner reflected in there.
"We should go," Z said. "Like, really."
She thought about Charlotte some more, surprised herself by how much she suddenly wanted to see her. It was okay, though. She'd call again, some other day -- when phones worked, she thought wildly -- and it wouldn't be easy, she thought, maybe Charlotte would be loud and rude and angry, but it would be fine. She knew Charlotte had spoken to Tennessee.
When the door to the diner opened there was a bell above it that tinkled, like it was an old-fashioned barber's shop. All night it had been ringing, but right now the diner was near-empty, and quieter as a result. That was the only reason, not foresight or intuition, that when the bell sounded again both Z and Ryan looked up.
Charlotte was there.
"Charlotte," Z croaked, mouth suddenly dry, and Charlotte didn't notice, couldn't have noticed, until she strode further into the diner, and looked in the direction of Ryan and Z and looked again and did a double take, and Z waved weakly as Ryan looked uncertain, like she wanted to run away. Z kept a firm hand on Ryan's thigh, though. She'd started all this. She wasn't allowed to bolt.
Charlotte still looked the same, after a year or so of not seeing her. She was wearing plaid, still, and once again Z briefly resented her for looking wonderful in that shirt, when Z had only ever managed to feel like a farmer, or someone’s country bumpkin cousin, in the same pattern. Her hair was in plaits, also, just like they used to be, only this time they were pinned up across the crown of her head.
Charlotte reached their table. She looked cool and mean and a little bit uncertain. "Hi," she said.
"Hello," Z drawled. Two could play at this game, even if one's third was currently vibrating with nervousness beside her. It was an instinct that Charlotte had always aroused in her, that feeling of wanting to be better and more unaffected than her.
"We decided to pay you a little visit," Z said. "Charlotte, this is Ryan. Ryan, Charlotte." She made the introductions without looking away at Charlotte.
"Hello," Ryan said, a little bit too loud, and the spell was broken. Z looked at her and smiled.
"It was Ryan's idea to come visit you," Z said, and Charlotte looked slightly startled. Ryan looked at her all offended, and Z grinned. "But it was a pretty good one, so. How are you, Charlotte?"
"I'm -- good," Charlotte said, still off-balance but evidently deciding that a stiff upper lip was probably the way to go. Z couldn't help being amused. Oh, Tennessee, she thought, if only you could see us right now. Tennessee had never had anything approaching a stiff upper lip. Back in the day it had made life with her two best friends very frustrating indeed.
"I'm good," Charlotte said again. This time defiantly, Z thought. "College is really great. I'm learning new things and meeting new people all the time?"
"That's really -- great," Z said, pausing and wincing when she realised that it could have been taken sarcastically. Charlotte didn't seem to react by snarling, though, like she would have all the time in the past. "I'm really pleased for you, Charlotte, that's great." She realised as she said it that it was really, really true.
Charlotte tipped Z a half-smile, as if she wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe it, and then said, "Your new girlfriend, Z?"
Z was a bit startled by that, and Charlotte smirked. Z looked at Ryan, almost by instinct, and Ryan said, "Not yet!", and slung an arm around her without losing the big grin on her face. She couldn't tell if Ryan was trying to play it cool, or what, but that shut Charlotte up.
"We wanted to call you," Z said, "Except that your phone was off."
"What?" Charlotte said distractedly. "Oh -- I was studying, and I forgot to charge my phone."
There was an awkward silence.
"I'm going to the bathroom," Ryan announced, apropos of nothing, and removed her arm from Z's shoulder, and Z found that she missed its weight immediately. "Have a nice talk!" She slipped from the booth and disappeared, and Z made a face at her retreating back.
"This is pretty weird," Charlotte said dryly. Z had to guess it kind of was, considering that they'd last spoken a year ago and it hadn't ended well. Z still remembered how she'd sat on her bed, eyes shielded by her best shades, careful enough that all the bottom half of her face showed was a distinctly bored expression, as Charlotte had twisted her fingers and said, well, Z, I don't think I really care when her face had said otherwise.
"Yeah," Z said meaninglessly. She paused, then said, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Charlotte asked sharply. "Sorry for, like, turning into a bitch and throwing me out of my band, or sorry for stumbling back into my life again without any warning?"
"The latter, I think," Z said slowly. If this had been Charlotte of two, three years ago, she probably would have laughed at the Z who employed words like latter in conversation, that looked good on paper but sounded pompous in talk, but as it was she merely twitched her mouth up sardonically, and Z knew it was because of that word. They knew each other too well. "You were a bitch all by yourself, and we didn't throw you out. At least fifty per cent of it was you wanting to leave."
Charlotte slumped back into the booth, careless fingers trailing along the shiny fake green leather of the seats, and once again Z had to envy that grace of hers, the effortlessness of it. Coming into Claremont she'd briefly but seriously entertained the selfish thought that perhaps Charlotte would be plainer, perhaps, her shine dulled by school. No such luck. Charlotte was as charismatic as ever.
"Then why did you come?" Charlotte asked.
"I told you," Z said, even though it didn't feel like enough. "Ryan wanted to come. She thinks you're this dark, mysterious stranger."
"She doesn't seem to be very interested in me now," Charlotte observed, craning her neck in the direction of the bathroom. Ryan wasn't coming out any time soon, and Z hoped a little meanly that the bathroom was a dirty one.
Z shrugged, with one shoulder. "Yeah," she said. "Who knows what's going through her head," and Charlotte was gazing at her again. Someone had put their coins into the jukebox and now another song she couldn't recognise was playing. Who knew what was going through anyone's head.
"But you said yes," Charlotte said, and Z nodded.
"I thought it might be nice to see you," she said.
She couldn't possibly be sitting in a diner, Z thought, having this conversation with Charlotte. Even though every moment of her night, every single second she'd had with Z since they got into the car back in L.A. had been building up to this, logically, this wasn't what it felt like at all. Z didn't feel nervous, but there was this dread deep in the pit of her stomach that told her she wasn't ready.
Charlotte let her wait, made her suffer, before she said, "Me too. I guess."
"Yeah?" Z said. She looked at Charlotte -- she'd been looking at her manicure when she made that speech, hands spread wide on the greasy table before her. Charlotte tipped a half smile back, and Z remembered why she'd been so attracted to Charlotte and Tennessee in the first place. She remembered being fourteen and wanting to be their friends so badly it hurt.
Charlotte shrugged. "It’s been real,” she said. “Look -- I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Z, and I don’t mind talking, or fighting -- you know I never back down, but --”
“You never back down,” Z acknowledged.
“I came here for a reason,” Charlotte said. “I’ve got a group paper -- thing -- to work on, and it’s due tomorrow, and my friends are waiting for me over at that table --” she pointed, and Z realized ten minutes too late that the people over at the other table were gazing at Charlotte with the blank, curious expectancy Z might have expected of anyone under the same circumstances, and Z nodded. Charlotte stood up, and Z rose too.
“The softcore heart-to-heart can wait,” she said, and Charlotte gave her a wry half-smile.
“Maybe,” Charlotte said, and she walked away. That was when Ryan slipped out of the bathroom. Z noticed immediately, and glared at her to come on over.
---
"That was pretty nice," Ryan said tentatively, when they were in the car on the way home. The road stretched in front of them, city lights glittering in the distance. Ryan had switched on the light in the car to read her novel, but it lay splayed face-down next to her, instead of being read.
Z hummed, non-committal, and felt smug. She could tell that Ryan wanted to ask about what had happened, but she didn't really feel like divulging just yet. She wanted to punish Ryan for abandoning her back at the diner, even though it didn’t really matter. Something mischievous rose up inside of her, and she couldn't help grinning slightly.
"There's something you're not telling me," Ryan said accusingly. "Oh, Z!"
"There are lots of things I don't tell you," Z said. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other rooting around in her purse she retrieved her lipstick, said, "Hold the wheel for me, won't you," and pulled down the mirror to apply her lipstick again. Ryan tutted at her but grew flustered when she realised Z actually meant to relinquish control of the steering wheel to her, and reached across to clutch it in both hands, shoulder nearly digging into Z's chest.
"Atta girl," Z said, when she was done, and took back the wheel. Ryan curled up into her seat again and said, "Jesus Christ, Z," and Z laughed.
"Nothing you couldn't manage," she said. Ryan had a car, but she’d only used it once or twice in the entire time Z knew her. Z thought she was maybe embarrassed of it, without really knowing why.
All was silence for a while. Z was starting to think that Ryan had dropped off into sleep when she said, voice small, "Z?"
"Yeah?"
"I know we went there because I said I wanted to, but why did you listen to me?"
Z kept her eyes on the road. "I was sleepy," she said. "You know how I get when I just get up from a nap. If you'd asked me to rob a bank then I might have gone out and told people to stick their hands up, but you asked me to bring you to where Charlotte was."
"That's not a real answer," Ryan said. She sounded genuinely curious, and a bit upset.
"Enough of that," Z said sharply. "Why did you want to go see her?"
"I don't know," Ryan said, and her voice sounded more distant than it'd ever sounded, when she was stuck in an enclosed space with Z. A quick glance at her revealed the fact that she wasn't looking at Z any longer, but out the window as the road sped by. "I just -- I thought everything might make sense if we went to see Charlotte, you know? I thought it might have been like a key to everything making sense, I don't know. I've never seen Charlotte before, and I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Z asked.
Ryan laughed, and it was nearly unhappy and a bit wet. "I don't want to see Brendon or Spencer or -- Brent," she said. "I'm sorry if I made you, you know," and Z didn't have to look to tell that Ryan was getting teary, and pulled over even though they were getting really near the city.
"No crying," Z said, and it came out more tersely than she'd expected it to. It was a rule that she and Charlotte and Tennessee had made up when they were fourteen and fifteen, no crying. Not when they got into arguments or screaming fights about band matters or, hell, interpersonal matters -- but all too often she and Charlotte gloried in goading each other, see who could break the caveat first.
But the rules were different now. She leaned over, hip pressing against the gearstick, and gathered Ryan into her arms.
"Or you can cry," Z said softly, "It's okay." Ryan didn't sob loudly, or at all, but she pressed her face against Z's shoulder, and formed a damp patch on her sleeve, before pulling away.
"One day it'll be like that," she said, "It’ll be cool, and I'll talk to all of them again, right?" and shot a hopeful look at Z.
"Even if you don't," Z said, "It's fine. People move on, and sometimes you can't look back, Ryan, you can't."
"Okay," Ryan said, and leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, but this time Z kissed back, properly, instead of just allowing herself to be kissed. Afterwards she settled back into her seat and put her seatbelt on again, and Ryan pulled the gearstick into motion as Z started the engine and drove them all the way back to Los Angeles without stopping.
girl!Ryan/Z
PG
6149 words
I owe so so so many thanks to
softlyforgotten, who betaed this for me and made it a million times better. nova33 and willowbell audienced, too. ♥As much experience as she had with sensitive and painful band splits, Ryan was persistently curious about Charlotte.
As much experience as she had with sensitive and painful band splits, Ryan was persistently curious about Charlotte. It was like the normal rules didn't apply to her.
"Jesus Christ, Ryan," Z snapped, and rolled over in bed. "What more do you want to know? We were friends for a while, okay, then we weren’t, we stopped hanging out and Charlotte stopped coming to band meetings and then we just decided it would be -- better." Not better, exactly, Z thought, more like easier and less painful. Charlotte had been the first to say, "I'm out," looking like she could spit fire at the both of them. Tennessee had looked away.
Ryan reached out and held Z's hand, and Z closed her eyes when her knuckles grazed against Ryan's side. "Sorry," Ryan said, and Z could tell she wasn't really sorry. Her voice was far too mechanical and detached for that. And always, always so curious. "Ten years is awfully long to be friends, I'm just saying," and there it was again.
"Now you're just pissing me off," Z said, and Ryan smiled. "I'm really, really tired and I want a nap, so I'm going to sleep and you're either going to close your eyes too, or just keep really quiet and stop asking me inane questions about Charlotte Froom, Jesus."
Z heard Ryan's quiet laugh as she drifted off to sleep, eyes shut resolutely tight against the summer light pouring through the window.
---
The thing was. Z couldn't even begin to refuse Ryan Ross whenever she got all curious and questioning like that, not even if she tried to, and over a couple of weeks Ryan had garnered a whole bunch of knowledge about her ex-bassist and ex-best friend. Ex, ex, ex. Things weren't what they used to be, any longer. Z was okay with that.
For example, Ryan had learnt that Charlotte was a vegetarian, not solely out of love for animals (she knew too that Charlotte was off in college, studying either math or zoology Z couldn't say), but also her preference for green vegetables over any other kind of food. She knew that Charlotte had loved plaid before it'd made its big fashion comeback, and that she liked wearing plaits. She knew something of Charlotte's personality, which had started being a huge turnoff in those decisive final days of Charlotte's status as a member of the band, but which Ryan (judging by her rapt expression and desire to know ever more) found enigmatic, and fascinating. Z was pretty sure she knew more than Z'd told her, too. "Charlotte Froom" came up as a search term on Ryan's laptop.
Z knew all this, had known it since she was fourteen, and she was done with it. It didn't excite her any more.
---
"How would you like it," Z demanded, sitting up after she'd managed to fall asleep after all, "If I said, 'tell me about Brendon and Spencer'?"
Ryan gave her a politely befuddled look. She was sitting at the table, noodling about on Z's laptop, and said, "But you didn't."
For someone who claimed to have been really good at English in high school, Ryan could be annoyingly good at missing the point sometimes. Z narrowed her eyes and tried to figure out if Ryan was dissimulating on purpose. She tugged her t-shirt down her stomach and crossed her arms. "I'm asking you now," she said. She knew the basics of it, but didn't know them, not really.
"How to -- huh," Ryan said, twirling around in her chair. She looked thoughtful. "I don't know," she said. "I've known them both too long. It's just -- hard to say, I don't know."
"That's how I feel like when you ask me about Charlotte," Z snapped, even though it wasn't true.
"Oh, now that just isn't fair," Ryan said. "I ask you about her in bits and pieces, it's totally different."
That gave Z pause, enough that Ryan gave a slight smile, her way of gloating. If someone were to ask her how she felt about Charlotte, right now, she wouldn't know what to say. She wouldn't know where to begin.
"... fine," she conceded. "But you're curious, too."
"I am!" Ryan agreed. "I kind of wish I could meet her."
"No," Z said. She got the feeling that Ryan had been building up to this moment.
"Oh, come on!" Ryan said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "You've met Brendon and Spencer."
"Yeah, and we didn't exactly get along, so I don't know why you're even asking," Z said, pulling the covers over her knees. She'd only just woken up five minutes ago from a nap that was proving way too short, in retrospect. To be fair, Brendon and Spencer had been very nice and polite. They just hadn't really clicked, that one time, and Z hadn't seen them again.
"But the point is you got to," Ryan said, sounding sulky. "I just really want to know, okay? I mean -- you wrote all those songs, and I just want to meet her, I don't know." Z knew what that tone of voice was now. It was Ryan's miserable one.
"Hey," Z said softly. Ryan looked up. "You get me, okay? It doesn't matter that we haven't known each other for so long, because you get me and I get you, and." Jesus, Berg, sound more hackneyed, she thought, annoyed. At least she hadn't said, You've got me. Also true, but also cheesy.
"If you get me, and you get why I want to, do I get to meet Charlotte?" Ryan said, sounding hopeful.
"No," Z said, and threw her pillow at Ryan. Ryan flailed around with her spindly arms and plucked it off her face, grinning. "Besides, how would we even? She's going to college."
There was an expectant pause.
"In this state," Ryan said, beaming. “And, very near here.” She’d checked online, and once again Z regretted the invention of the Internet.
---
"God, we're so cool," Ryan said, once they got into her car. "Impromptu roadtrip. It's just like we're runaways."
Z sincerely doubted the cool, but she had to admit that it was pretty thrilling. She started up the engine and they backed out, driving into the street. Because she'd deleted Charlotte's number all those months ago, in a fit of pique, she'd had to message Tennessee for the number all over again, earlier. Now her phone buzzed and she told Ryan, "Check it for me, yeah?"
Ryan picked it up and said, "Tennessee's given you a number and also asked why."
Z pulled out into the main road, and looked over. "Tell her it’s because of you."
"You're an asshole," Ryan said. "I'm going to write, because you're a loser."
"Gimme my phone," Z said, and made a grab. Ryan tut-tutted, and said, "Eyes on road!"
"Tell her," Z sang, and Ryan scowled (she wasn't looking at Ryan, she wasn't, but she could just tell) but shut up and started keying a reply into the phone.
"You're the one who wanted to drive to Claremont on a whim," Z said, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "If anything happens or we get lost, I'm going to kill you."
"Less than an hour, Jesus," Ryan said. "Shut up and drive."
"Slave driver," Z muttered, but she was glad she was driving. Ryan didn't do well driving. It wasn't that she was bad at it, exactly, in the way they said women were bad at driving -- she was good at parallel parking and all that crap -- she just got distracted.
When they pulled up at the red light Z checked her phone again. Tennessee had sent two texts: haha loser, whipped and hope it goes well. Z pretended not to even understand what that meant.
They pulled out into the highway and Ryan loaded a CD into the car stereo. It was a mixtape, and the first strains of the first song came on. Gentle strings, plucking.
"San Bernardino?" Z asked, referring to the music. She looked over at Ryan for a second. "You look ridiculous, by the way." Ryan had tied her hair up with a tangled shoelace, the ends of it flying everywhere.
Ryan closed her eyes and toed her sneakers off, bringing her socked feet up on the seat. She hugged her knees close to her chest. "Eyes on the road," she said. "And yeah. I've never been to San Bernardino, I wish we could go."
"You're the one who wanted to go to Claremont," Z said. The spike of anxiety in her stomach surged up again and the part of the steering wheel beneath her palms grew slippy with sweat. Claremont, and Charlotte. She didn't even know what she'd say to Charlotte, when she saw her. An hour wasn't enough to decide, and she wasn't going to call before they got there.
"I want to go everywhere," Ryan said. "First stop, Claremont. We start small." Z didn't bother pointing out that they were about the same distance from L.A., more or less.
Ahead of them, the mountains stretched out, blue under the fading light of day.
---
Z took one wrong turn and then another, and eventually she had to pull up at the side of the road and get Ryan to pull the map out of the glove compartment, and spread it over the gearstick as they both bent over it, tiny lines for roads criss-crossed over California state, almost indistinguishable from paper creases.
"This sucks," Z said, rubbing at her forehead, and Ryan gave her a sympathetic look and pulled her close.
"S'all your fault," Z scowled against Ryan's arm.
"Whatever," Ryan said. "Hey, look, I think you just go straight and keep turning left, and we'll end up pretty close to where we started?" She tapped the map with her index finger, and Z was forced to listen, because Ryan may not have been a very good navigator but she was the one holding the map. It was either that or have her drive. This didn't mean she had to like it, though, and Z made a grumpy noise against Ryan's sleeve.
"Want me to drive?" Ryan offered, hand outstretched and fingers waggling, and Z sat right back up. "Oh hell no," she said fervently, and Ryan laughed.
"Knew that'd move you," she said.
---
Eventually they found their way successfully to Claremont under a quick-darkening sky. Z couldn't disguise that peculiar little thrill of triumph, even though she knew it was a lame and lousy reason to feel so. But they had reached.
"Next stop, find a parking lot," Ryan said, and laughed. That wasn't too hard, though, and all too soon they parked the car and got out, and Z fumbled with her phone because she supposed it was now or never.
Ryan watched her as she clutched the phone to the ear, her eyes wide.
"... her phone's off," Z said, disappointed. It felt a little bit anti-climactic. Also she felt foolish, because of course Charlotte would have her phone off now, of course she wouldn't answer. Maybe she had better things to do than to accommodate a friend and a stranger off on a wild-goose chase for her. Like a mid-term, or something.
Suddenly she really wanted to speak to Charlotte. Z leaned against the side of her car, and made herself take a deep breath.
Ryan slipped her hand into Z's. "Hey, I'm sure we'll see her," she said, voice oddly gentle. As if Z even wanted to, what the fuck, but she didn't bring herself to protest. "It's a small town, after all."
How long are we planning to stay here, Z wanted to demand, but she let her hand be taken instead.
"Come on," Ryan said, "Let's explore!"
---
They were literally heading blind into Claremont, and it was dusk. Z clutched her purse about her, just in case.
Somewhere Z knew Charlotte must be here, one of the many students who were starting to throng the streets, in search of a good time. Meanwhile she and Ryan wandered into a residential area and looked at the houses, neat and clever and lived in by professors -- and rated their gardens. "That's my favourite," Ryan said, pointing at a straggly lawn covered with daffodils grown across it in a spray pattern, and Z looked at her face and saw that she was deadly serious.
"Yeah, so," Z said, "How are we going to find Charlotte?"
Ryan blinked at her. "We need a plan?"
Z rolled her eyes. Ryan always just assumed things would work out the way they were, especially if she was in the thick of what she liked to call adventures. Before they left L.A. the tension in Ryan said hurry, hurry, hurry. Now she held herself differently. She was loose and relaxed and wanted slow, slow.
Z had to tell herself to slow.
"You're right," she said, swallowing, "We don't."
They headed over to the Pomona campus and wandered around the college grounds and tried not to feel like intruders anyway; there weren't many students but whenever Z passed them she was acutely conscious of the backpacks they carried and the books they held. This could be my life, she thought, and knew Ryan was thinking that too: they'd had far too many semi-coherent late-night conversations about going back to school, for Z not to know that.
"Biology," Ryan said, pointing in what she probably thought was a discreet manner at one of the boys scurrying by. Then she looked back at Z, raised an eyebrow at her.
Z sighed, but joined in. "History," she said, jerking her chin over at a girl who was holding a history textbook.
"Now that's just cheating," Ryan argued.
"I call it useful deduction." Z said. "Also? This is a liberal arts college. I bet you all these losers change their majors every week." Charlotte wouldn't, she thought. Charlotte had always known she was going to be a vet. She was always going to major in biology, or math. Z tried to imagine Charlotte working on differential equations -- no, remembered it, from high school, braids slipping over her shoulder as she leaned her chin on her hand.
"We should go look at the dorms," Ryan suggested, and Z followed mutely.
---
Now it was really dark. Z and Ryan stumbled through street after dark street, and after a while it was just -- nice. Neither of them really expected to find Charlotte, Z thought, not in that way. Maybe later she would try calling Charlotte again, if it wasn't too embarrassingly late, but for now it just made sense to be where they were, squinting at the dorms.
A face popped out of one of the windows and Ryan started back, bumped into Z even before the boy started yelling, in their direction but not precisely at them. He was drunk.
"Ugh," Z said, watching him spew out of the window where his sick landed on the gutter beneath, "Don't fancy having to wake up to that later."
Ryan was still trembling, though, and Z took her hand. Their fingers were interlaced together, and they started moving again.
This was surreal, Z thought, as she felt Ryan's cold, dry fingers moving against her own. Or: unreal. She was reminded of all the poetry she read in high school, desperately trying to prove she was cleverer-better-smarter, while Charlotte and Tennessee sat back in her bedroom and laughed as she read and quoted the best bits to them, holding the book open with one hand and scratching the insect bite on her ankle with the other. Unreal city, under the brown fog of a winter dawn. Jerusalem, Athens, Alexandria, Vienna London. Unreal. Claremont, too, was unreal.
Seven years later she would meet Ryan Ross and discover that she had read the same poem -- who hadn't read Eliot, though? But that wasn't the point -- around the same time.
They were passing along a pavement under some trees, but through the boughs and leaves it began to drizzle lightly on them.
"Shit," Z muttered, and Ryan pulled a small folding umbrella from her bag, unfurled it. She smiled proudly as she held it over Z's head and Z turned around, smiled at her. Their shoulders were close enough to knock against each other. Z wondered what time it was, maybe eight o' clock.
After a while the rain didn't get heavier and Z said, "We don't really need an umbrella, do we," and Ryan nodded, brought it down and snapped the umbrella shut. She didn't fold it or put it away though, just held it loosely by her side. Meanwhile Z had quickened her stride, and Ryan hurried to catch up. It was nice, Z thought, nice to stride along ignoring the sting of rain on her face. This way they were less cold.
Ryan hummed agreement, sounding pleased, and moved in closer to Z. They were still holding hands, and Ryan's hair was brushing against Z's cheek now. Z wondered what it would be like if they kissed, right now, but then she saved that thought for later.
"Hey, what's that?" Ryan stooped, disentangling her hand from Z's as she did so. Z tried not to feel disappointed, since she'd never been clingy.
Ryan straightened up, piece of postcard in her hand, and Z took it. She noticed that Ryan's hands had grit on them. "Can't see," Z said, because while it wasn't wholly dark the street was imperfectly lit.
"Come over to the light," Ryan said, and pulled away. Z blinked -- she got some dust in her eye -- and by the time her eyes were properly opened again, Ryan was already standing under the street lamp.
Z followed, clutching the postcard.
It was a pretty generic one -- Alice from Atlanta, Georgia, had written to Marilyn here. 'Wish you were here,' it said, and included a reference to beaches Z couldn't quite decipher. In another time, perhaps, Z thought she would have smiled disdainfully and be slightly contemptuous of this, but Ryan beamed and said, "Amazing," and Z knew she was wondering how the postcard had come to wait on the pavement, to be dredged up by these two people.
They fell into step again.
"You know," Z said confidentially, "The whole thing makes so much more sense if you assume 'Alice' is Alice Cooper, and Marilyn's --"
"Marilyn Manson?" Ryan said, the side of her mouth lifting into a smile. She always looked pleased whenever she managed to preempt Z.
"I was going to say Monroe," Z said -- even though she hadn't -- "but maybe yours will do too."
Ryan laughed again. "We went to Atlanta once," she said. "We were touring."
"Yeah?" Z said. She was running out of words and didn't feel much like speaking, and she thought Ryan might understand.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, her boots went, sometimes narrowly avoiding the puddles on the pavement and sometimes splashing right into the middle of them.
Ryan looked up at the sky, the base of her throat to the tip of her chin one straight line, and Z peered up too. She could see five stars in the sky, clustered over the rainy quad.
Z looked back down, still smiling, and began to sing.
---
The peaceful mood didn’t last long. For one, Z was starting to get blisters on her heels -- damn these boots -- and secondly she felt cold and hungry. Subject to the elements, she thought, but even that couldn’t comfort her because it was too acute. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, and neither had Ryan.
Ryan turned around, smiled at her, and Z opened her mouth –
"My foot hurts," Z moaned. "Seriously, Ryan, can we just stop for a little while already."
"What about Charlotte?" Ryan said, like that was even a temptation any longer.
"Charlotte isn't leaving town any time soon, she's going to school here," Z snapped, and it came out more meanly than she'd intended. She kind of remembered the fight they'd had when Charlotte had announced she was going to make a proper go of learning to be a vet, this time, instead of patching up pets they met on tour, which never happened as often as she wanted them to anyway. Z had said, you're going to settle down and shrivel up and get old and boring, and possibly she hadn't meant it that way but she'd said it anyway.
There was a momentary lull. Z was jolted back into the present state of things when the silence between them became too obvious. She looked at Ryan.
"Here's a diner," was all Ryan said.
---
The diner was warm and comforting, and that was a relief when they stepped in. Z unbuttoned her black jacket and shook her hair out, while Ryan folded up the umbrella she'd gotten out before they both decided it was better to stride along with the drizzle falling like a sting on both their faces.
There was a jukebox in the corner. Z wandered over to it while Ryan went to the counter to place both their orders -- "Hot chocolate," Z said absent-mindedly, "and cheese fries." Then when Ryan looked at her reproachfully, she added, "Please. Thank you." She looked at the selection and got out a quarter, eventually settling on a David Bowie. She slipped her coin into the slot.
"THIS AIN'T ROCK N ROLL," roared the jukebox, "THIS IS GENOCIDE!"
Z slipped into a booth and sat down, looking at the faces of the college students, mostly talking and laughing, some of them reading intently amidst the noise and buzz of the diner. She wondered if Charlotte knew anyone here.
"We should have brought a camera," Ryan said suddenly, and Z looked at her. Ryan was going through a phase at the moment where she didn’t like being in photographs, unless it was for publicity. When Z first met her she'd be a real freak around cameras, taking photos again and again until they looked just right, but never wanting to come across as someone who posed for them willingly outright. Z supposed part of it was -- wanting to control how you were seen, kind of, when you were photographed so often, but part of it was also really just Ryan Ross.
Ignoring all that --
"Cameras probably wouldn't work," Z said. "Not tonight, anyway," meaning that Ryan would never have been satisfied with the quality of photos they would have come away with tonight, and before she could clarify further Ryan was nodding already, furious, as though she really thought there was something magical in the air.
"Maybe, maybe we should go," Z said finally. "It's getting late." The diner was emptying, she noticed, the man leaning over the counter and twitching a dishcloth over it purposefully, but not deliberately yet. What time was it? She didn't bother checking her watch. Maybe watches didn't work tonight either.
Ryan hummed happily and leaned, weight heavy, against her. The remaining crumbs of her pie lay in the swishy, sticky puddle of vanilla ice cream on her plate, and if Z stared hard enough she fancied she could see the entire diner reflected in there.
"We should go," Z said. "Like, really."
She thought about Charlotte some more, surprised herself by how much she suddenly wanted to see her. It was okay, though. She'd call again, some other day -- when phones worked, she thought wildly -- and it wouldn't be easy, she thought, maybe Charlotte would be loud and rude and angry, but it would be fine. She knew Charlotte had spoken to Tennessee.
When the door to the diner opened there was a bell above it that tinkled, like it was an old-fashioned barber's shop. All night it had been ringing, but right now the diner was near-empty, and quieter as a result. That was the only reason, not foresight or intuition, that when the bell sounded again both Z and Ryan looked up.
Charlotte was there.
"Charlotte," Z croaked, mouth suddenly dry, and Charlotte didn't notice, couldn't have noticed, until she strode further into the diner, and looked in the direction of Ryan and Z and looked again and did a double take, and Z waved weakly as Ryan looked uncertain, like she wanted to run away. Z kept a firm hand on Ryan's thigh, though. She'd started all this. She wasn't allowed to bolt.
Charlotte still looked the same, after a year or so of not seeing her. She was wearing plaid, still, and once again Z briefly resented her for looking wonderful in that shirt, when Z had only ever managed to feel like a farmer, or someone’s country bumpkin cousin, in the same pattern. Her hair was in plaits, also, just like they used to be, only this time they were pinned up across the crown of her head.
Charlotte reached their table. She looked cool and mean and a little bit uncertain. "Hi," she said.
"Hello," Z drawled. Two could play at this game, even if one's third was currently vibrating with nervousness beside her. It was an instinct that Charlotte had always aroused in her, that feeling of wanting to be better and more unaffected than her.
"We decided to pay you a little visit," Z said. "Charlotte, this is Ryan. Ryan, Charlotte." She made the introductions without looking away at Charlotte.
"Hello," Ryan said, a little bit too loud, and the spell was broken. Z looked at her and smiled.
"It was Ryan's idea to come visit you," Z said, and Charlotte looked slightly startled. Ryan looked at her all offended, and Z grinned. "But it was a pretty good one, so. How are you, Charlotte?"
"I'm -- good," Charlotte said, still off-balance but evidently deciding that a stiff upper lip was probably the way to go. Z couldn't help being amused. Oh, Tennessee, she thought, if only you could see us right now. Tennessee had never had anything approaching a stiff upper lip. Back in the day it had made life with her two best friends very frustrating indeed.
"I'm good," Charlotte said again. This time defiantly, Z thought. "College is really great. I'm learning new things and meeting new people all the time?"
"That's really -- great," Z said, pausing and wincing when she realised that it could have been taken sarcastically. Charlotte didn't seem to react by snarling, though, like she would have all the time in the past. "I'm really pleased for you, Charlotte, that's great." She realised as she said it that it was really, really true.
Charlotte tipped Z a half-smile, as if she wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe it, and then said, "Your new girlfriend, Z?"
Z was a bit startled by that, and Charlotte smirked. Z looked at Ryan, almost by instinct, and Ryan said, "Not yet!", and slung an arm around her without losing the big grin on her face. She couldn't tell if Ryan was trying to play it cool, or what, but that shut Charlotte up.
"We wanted to call you," Z said, "Except that your phone was off."
"What?" Charlotte said distractedly. "Oh -- I was studying, and I forgot to charge my phone."
There was an awkward silence.
"I'm going to the bathroom," Ryan announced, apropos of nothing, and removed her arm from Z's shoulder, and Z found that she missed its weight immediately. "Have a nice talk!" She slipped from the booth and disappeared, and Z made a face at her retreating back.
"This is pretty weird," Charlotte said dryly. Z had to guess it kind of was, considering that they'd last spoken a year ago and it hadn't ended well. Z still remembered how she'd sat on her bed, eyes shielded by her best shades, careful enough that all the bottom half of her face showed was a distinctly bored expression, as Charlotte had twisted her fingers and said, well, Z, I don't think I really care when her face had said otherwise.
"Yeah," Z said meaninglessly. She paused, then said, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Charlotte asked sharply. "Sorry for, like, turning into a bitch and throwing me out of my band, or sorry for stumbling back into my life again without any warning?"
"The latter, I think," Z said slowly. If this had been Charlotte of two, three years ago, she probably would have laughed at the Z who employed words like latter in conversation, that looked good on paper but sounded pompous in talk, but as it was she merely twitched her mouth up sardonically, and Z knew it was because of that word. They knew each other too well. "You were a bitch all by yourself, and we didn't throw you out. At least fifty per cent of it was you wanting to leave."
Charlotte slumped back into the booth, careless fingers trailing along the shiny fake green leather of the seats, and once again Z had to envy that grace of hers, the effortlessness of it. Coming into Claremont she'd briefly but seriously entertained the selfish thought that perhaps Charlotte would be plainer, perhaps, her shine dulled by school. No such luck. Charlotte was as charismatic as ever.
"Then why did you come?" Charlotte asked.
"I told you," Z said, even though it didn't feel like enough. "Ryan wanted to come. She thinks you're this dark, mysterious stranger."
"She doesn't seem to be very interested in me now," Charlotte observed, craning her neck in the direction of the bathroom. Ryan wasn't coming out any time soon, and Z hoped a little meanly that the bathroom was a dirty one.
Z shrugged, with one shoulder. "Yeah," she said. "Who knows what's going through her head," and Charlotte was gazing at her again. Someone had put their coins into the jukebox and now another song she couldn't recognise was playing. Who knew what was going through anyone's head.
"But you said yes," Charlotte said, and Z nodded.
"I thought it might be nice to see you," she said.
She couldn't possibly be sitting in a diner, Z thought, having this conversation with Charlotte. Even though every moment of her night, every single second she'd had with Z since they got into the car back in L.A. had been building up to this, logically, this wasn't what it felt like at all. Z didn't feel nervous, but there was this dread deep in the pit of her stomach that told her she wasn't ready.
Charlotte let her wait, made her suffer, before she said, "Me too. I guess."
"Yeah?" Z said. She looked at Charlotte -- she'd been looking at her manicure when she made that speech, hands spread wide on the greasy table before her. Charlotte tipped a half smile back, and Z remembered why she'd been so attracted to Charlotte and Tennessee in the first place. She remembered being fourteen and wanting to be their friends so badly it hurt.
Charlotte shrugged. "It’s been real,” she said. “Look -- I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, Z, and I don’t mind talking, or fighting -- you know I never back down, but --”
“You never back down,” Z acknowledged.
“I came here for a reason,” Charlotte said. “I’ve got a group paper -- thing -- to work on, and it’s due tomorrow, and my friends are waiting for me over at that table --” she pointed, and Z realized ten minutes too late that the people over at the other table were gazing at Charlotte with the blank, curious expectancy Z might have expected of anyone under the same circumstances, and Z nodded. Charlotte stood up, and Z rose too.
“The softcore heart-to-heart can wait,” she said, and Charlotte gave her a wry half-smile.
“Maybe,” Charlotte said, and she walked away. That was when Ryan slipped out of the bathroom. Z noticed immediately, and glared at her to come on over.
---
"That was pretty nice," Ryan said tentatively, when they were in the car on the way home. The road stretched in front of them, city lights glittering in the distance. Ryan had switched on the light in the car to read her novel, but it lay splayed face-down next to her, instead of being read.
Z hummed, non-committal, and felt smug. She could tell that Ryan wanted to ask about what had happened, but she didn't really feel like divulging just yet. She wanted to punish Ryan for abandoning her back at the diner, even though it didn’t really matter. Something mischievous rose up inside of her, and she couldn't help grinning slightly.
"There's something you're not telling me," Ryan said accusingly. "Oh, Z!"
"There are lots of things I don't tell you," Z said. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other rooting around in her purse she retrieved her lipstick, said, "Hold the wheel for me, won't you," and pulled down the mirror to apply her lipstick again. Ryan tutted at her but grew flustered when she realised Z actually meant to relinquish control of the steering wheel to her, and reached across to clutch it in both hands, shoulder nearly digging into Z's chest.
"Atta girl," Z said, when she was done, and took back the wheel. Ryan curled up into her seat again and said, "Jesus Christ, Z," and Z laughed.
"Nothing you couldn't manage," she said. Ryan had a car, but she’d only used it once or twice in the entire time Z knew her. Z thought she was maybe embarrassed of it, without really knowing why.
All was silence for a while. Z was starting to think that Ryan had dropped off into sleep when she said, voice small, "Z?"
"Yeah?"
"I know we went there because I said I wanted to, but why did you listen to me?"
Z kept her eyes on the road. "I was sleepy," she said. "You know how I get when I just get up from a nap. If you'd asked me to rob a bank then I might have gone out and told people to stick their hands up, but you asked me to bring you to where Charlotte was."
"That's not a real answer," Ryan said. She sounded genuinely curious, and a bit upset.
"Enough of that," Z said sharply. "Why did you want to go see her?"
"I don't know," Ryan said, and her voice sounded more distant than it'd ever sounded, when she was stuck in an enclosed space with Z. A quick glance at her revealed the fact that she wasn't looking at Z any longer, but out the window as the road sped by. "I just -- I thought everything might make sense if we went to see Charlotte, you know? I thought it might have been like a key to everything making sense, I don't know. I've never seen Charlotte before, and I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Z asked.
Ryan laughed, and it was nearly unhappy and a bit wet. "I don't want to see Brendon or Spencer or -- Brent," she said. "I'm sorry if I made you, you know," and Z didn't have to look to tell that Ryan was getting teary, and pulled over even though they were getting really near the city.
"No crying," Z said, and it came out more tersely than she'd expected it to. It was a rule that she and Charlotte and Tennessee had made up when they were fourteen and fifteen, no crying. Not when they got into arguments or screaming fights about band matters or, hell, interpersonal matters -- but all too often she and Charlotte gloried in goading each other, see who could break the caveat first.
But the rules were different now. She leaned over, hip pressing against the gearstick, and gathered Ryan into her arms.
"Or you can cry," Z said softly, "It's okay." Ryan didn't sob loudly, or at all, but she pressed her face against Z's shoulder, and formed a damp patch on her sleeve, before pulling away.
"One day it'll be like that," she said, "It’ll be cool, and I'll talk to all of them again, right?" and shot a hopeful look at Z.
"Even if you don't," Z said, "It's fine. People move on, and sometimes you can't look back, Ryan, you can't."
"Okay," Ryan said, and leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t the first time they had kissed, but this time Z kissed back, properly, instead of just allowing herself to be kissed. Afterwards she settled back into her seat and put her seatbelt on again, and Ryan pulled the gearstick into motion as Z started the engine and drove them all the way back to Los Angeles without stopping.
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Excellent writing, bb!
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ilu ♥
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I only want to break your heart in a good way, bb.
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Thank you, bb! I will see what I can do. ♥
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I really loved the whimsy in this, how they kept getting distracted by tangents (postcards!). Also I got the feeling they explore the college campus the way they would an alien landscape, because it is this unknown territory.
And Ryan wants to see Charlotte for herself because she's a part of Z's life, but also because she parallels Brendon and Spencer and just... WOW.
I adored this fic.
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