[Luck Harris]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","post-frosttalonn-o"]

[attr="class","frosttalonn-post"]

THERE'S A FEELING THAT I DON'T GET

when i'm reeling from the night sweats

Luck's eyes flung open, quick enough that the immediate sting had him pinching them shut again. With a stifled groan, he levered himself up and pressed the heel of a hand to his face, wincing into the pressure as he battled back the imagery of a too-familiar dream. The dream. One that always seemed to precede waking up to a migraine. As if the sharp, piercing pain in his head while he slept was what could be trusted to squirrel it from memory. [break][break]

Flashes of it played behind his eyes with each throb of his skull and he buried himself harder into his smothering palm, feeling his breath slow to a threatening pace in his tightening, already too tight chest. When he could make himself open his stinging eyes, he cracked them slowly, and lowered his hand to take account of the woman asleep beside him. [break][break]

"Hey," the single word was hoarse, spoken flat, but with an undertone of urgency that he wasn't able to mask as his hand fell on her shoulder. He gave her a small shake and, before she could even completely open her eyes, he continued. "Jess, hey... you gotta go."[break][break]

It wasn't exactly tactful. He watched confusion transform the drowsy flutter of her eyelids to a bewildered and rapid blink. She squinted at him. "What?" Luck breathed hard through his nose and, after a moment, lifted his brow. He tried to reach for explanation. Maybe an excuse. But he didn't want to invite the argument. "Yeah. Can you leave?" Though he framed it as a question, he was already moving; quickly finding her clothes in the semi-dark and shoving them her way. She pulled herself to a sitting with a shake of her head. "What, Luck it's... no."[break][break]

He swung himself to sit at the bed's edge, elbows on his knees while he pinched shut his eyes against the pitchy whine in his ears. Behind him, Jess continued, sputtering some curses, stating the time, and growing more and more angry for herself. Her voice edged louder and more demanding and, with each hike, Luck felt his face screw tighter and his head swim fuller. Her words became one endless drone, largely unheard, as he tried to recall Tawny's instructions. The little exercises she'd taught him for these moments. How to think and not just react. How to rationalize through the thrash in him. How to speak quieter, to breathe where he needed, muzzle the fight, and how to state (without barb) that he just needed a moment. [break][break]

But Jess barreled on and Luck couldn't focus. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, chest rising and falling with quicker, shallow breaths, and finally, he snapped his eyes open. "Are you even liste—"[break][break]

"Jess!" He barked, fingers clawed on the air while he dipped his head with a sharp snap that made it throb. It was too loud in the small room, too loud for even a larger room, and he could feel her flinch behind him. She was quiet then but Luck couldn't find the relief in it now. Not with the echo of his snap in his ears. He blew out a breath. Lifted and turned his face, just enough to gauge the shape of her in his periphery. "I know it's not ideal," he acknowledged thickly, trying to swallow and not quite able to. "And I know it's late. This isn't..." [break][break]

She reached for him.[break][break]

And though her hands were surely warm, drawn close to her body while she slept, against Luck's always too-hot skin, the tentative touch was like ice. It was enough of an unwanted contact, a cold shock, that he flinched forward and out of bed; arcing away from the barely-there graze of her fingertips down the center of his retreating back. "Fuck's sake," he whispered, voice terse and low, but not quite the growl it was before. He shuddered while he fished for his own clothes. Snapped his head in her direction, eyes lowered so not to actually look at her, and smiled thin. A smile that was less a smile and more a mock of one. "Fine. I'll go then."[break][break]

She breathed, the sound of it thoroughly exasperated, but... in a matter of seconds... Luck had his shirt pulled on (inside-out and backwards), his pants to his hips, had grabbed his phone, and was moving into the dark of his apartment hall — pausing with a curse when the door handle tried to stop him with a jarring punch to the meat of his arm. His lips tucked, his nostrils flared, and he curled his fingers into his palm when his hand lifted to grab the edge of the door. [break][break]

He could recognize the desire that was there, to fling it closed behind him. It was a familiar desire. A habitual want. But he knew that wasn't fair. He could imagine (quite clearly) the little, startled leap she'd give at the sound of it. The way she'd watch the doorway afterward with a dipping sensation in her chest. And just how much quieter the room might feel after.[break][break]

And he also knew, from experience, that the image would be one he'd regret. He knew he'd pause on the other side of it and want to apologize. Or, if not apologize, then at least crack the door back open and assure her that it hadn't been aimed at her. And he knew, ultimately... he would be unable to.[break][break]

Leaving the door alone, he continued on; snatching up his keys, stepping into a pair of slippers, and slipping out the front. [break][break]

* * *

[break]

Luck winced against the store's bright, fluorescent lights, face screwed while his eyes adjusted and the jingle of the door's bell faded. He hadn't really needed anything but, halfway through his brisk pacing about, he'd decided he could do with actual aim. That he needed a destination and task. He'd had to silence his phone against the barrage of chimes that was Jess in the pocket of his jeans but still it gave the occasional buzz against his thigh.[break][break]

He moved through the dinky, twenty-four hour convenience store, to the back, and scanned the aisles. Not finding what he wanted, nor even seeing an empty spot where it should be, he shook his head and moseyed to the familiar man behind the plexiglass divider at the front. [break][break]

"Hey, Luck. Long night?" The man greeted, not looking away from the small television propped in the corner as he pulled down a pack of Marlboro Lights and tossed them on the counter between them. [break][break]

"Yeah... well, no, but." Luck shook his head, holding his breath in his chest for a long moment as he acknowledged the pack. "Yeah, I guess." As he spoke, he patted at his pockets for the wallet he'd been in too much of a hurry to grab. Rolling his eyes, he took out his phone, dismissed the barrage of messages before he could read any of the words, and opened his Google Pay. When the man turned, Luck tipped his head quizzically and screwed shut an eye. "You guys quit carrying Charlie's dog food?"[break][break]

The man winced dramatically, drawing in a suffering breath as he smacked at the gum in his teeth. "Oooh, yeah, we did. Sorry." Luck's eyelids fluttered and he looked away with a lift of his shoulders, lip tugging up at one corner. [break][break]

They'd been getting the dog's food from here for years. It was why they'd chosen it. A simple ten-minute walk from the apartment. An excuse for fresh air and a wander-about. The trek was a little bit longer since Luck moved but still better than driving to some bigger place across town that carried it. He'd have to ask Nate if he was going to change brands or if they were going to commit to picking up the same elsewhere. [break][break]

"Okay," Luck breathed, before looking back to the cigarettes. "A lighter, too, then." Nodding, the cashier plucked down one of the cartoony ones next to the register and slid both under the glass to him. "No cash? Not like you. One of them nights, hm. Thing's broke though. Phone won't work." Luck lifted his eyes, hand paused in a hover over the cigarettes as he met the man's steady gaze. After a moment, he lifted his own shoulder and popped his gum. "Just settle with Yosh tomorrow. Know you're good for it."[break][break]

Luck offered a grin and tried to put a little life in it (but felt it failing) as he pulled the pack to him. "Thanks, T. I'll come back in the morning." The man nodded, already turning back to his show, and Luck moved through the store's front and pushed back into the night; cursing when the toe of his slipper caught an uneven break of concrete and nearly sent him stumbling.[break][break]

But he caught himself and shook his head. Good thing. With how tonight was going — frustration attracting further frustration and all that — he imagined... if he did fling headlong into the street... he'd probably get struck by a bus.

take a roll around a cigarette[break]
and i still don't feel quite like me yet

Tag: Open[break]
Just wanted to play with some Grumpy!Luck~

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[Kat Orlea-Kubik]

Joszef hated when Kat was the on-call agent. Kat had explained to him time and again how it was only fair that the assignment was rotated between all of them, and it was only one week every twelve weeks. Kat had even explained that children needed a smiling and friendly face when their worlds were crumbling around them and the police were taking their mommy and daddy away. Not that Joszef needed to be told that, but she was appealing to his empathy and compassion for children, hoping that it would dim his frustration when she wore the phone the entirety of dinner and laid it directly next to her head on the nightstand for bed. It did not, and so the urge to gently stroke her magic out and ease his obvious discontent was there.

Not that she would of course. When Joszef had learned of her abilities he was more open minded that she had anticipated, but still made his positions clear. He did not begrudge that she used a gift she was born with, but she would not use it on him or their family. He didn’t even like when she used it on herself, transforming herb properties in her baked goods to provide one effect or another. He knew she would do what she liked regarding herself of course, but the tight lips and loud exhale of breath made his opinion abundantly clear.

This was the face he made when the on call phone rang and broke up their precious time together. Still, it was her job to answer that phone no matter what face her husband was making so she did so. “Department of Children and Family Services on call phone, this is Kat Orlea-Kubik, how can I assist?” As she spoke she stood up and began gathering her clothing, fairly confident that if someone was calling the on call number this late her assistance was going to be required.

Sure enough, it was indeed an officer at an active situation. “Hey Kat, it’s Officer Smith again, remember me?” He didn’t really wait for an answer though and continued talking. “I’ve got a kid here that needs somewhere to go. His parents are going away for awhile and it’s just him here and he’s asking for Abuela. He says he’s four? This really isn’t my jurisdiction though and I need someone out here to make that call.”

Kat nodded as he spoke, already starting to change back into her work attire. She glanced to Joszef only to see that he had turned over and was no longer looking at her. She restrained the eye roll and kept her voice neutral as she answered Officer Smith. “Of course. I’ll head that way now. Can you text this phone number the address please?” He spoke words of appreciation and confirmation, but she barely heard them as Joszef rolled back over and looked at her. “Thank you Officer Smith. I’ll be there soon. No, please do not put him in the squad car while you guys search the scene. An ambulance or an unmarked car only. We don’t need him thinking he’s in trouble. Thank you.”

She hung up the phone and looked to Joszef. She could see the words lingering behind his eyes, the emotions tempting her to be stroked from their hiding place within him. She resisted the urge. “I’m sorry Joszef. I have to go to this one and it looks pretty far. Don’t wait up?”

Silence hung for a good thirty seconds while Joszef looked at her, reigning in his own frustrations so he didn’t lash out. “Please be safe and let me know when you’re heading home. I love you Macska.” Kat smiled just a little more at the use of his pet name for her, cat in his native tongue.

She leaned down and kissed him gently. “Én is szeretlek.” She then took both of her phones and headed out the door.

The trip itself was fairly easy as most of the roads were empty. It was night out and while the city was not fully asleep, it was certainly quieter than during the day. Her book kept her company for the drive and she arrived at the crime scene quicker than she had expected.

The scene itself was not so easy. Officer Smith had left out that there was only one parent going away in the police car, the other parent leaving under a sheet. Kat’s heart ached for the young boy, as did the heart of all the other law enforcement and support staff present. At least the young boy was alive though and for now did not seem to grasp what had just happened.

Kat immediately began her interview with him, bringing her language and body down to his level to make him feel more comfortable. Once she got his name she was able to find that unfortunately he was already in the system and assigned to another case manager that Kat worked with. Luckily, it seemed he did indeed have a grandmother that would watch him as she had had temporary guardianship of him the year before. Kat began the process of contacting her and taking him to her.

It was hours before Kat was finally done interviewing him, the grandmother, and the officers to include in her report. She still had to go home and type it up, but she was tired and needed something to pep her up before she made the drive home. Glancing around, she realized that she actually recognized the neighborhood she was in and knew there was an all-night corner store just up the way. She made her way there, holding her car key in her hand just in case.

When she spotted the main in front of her leaving the store and stumbling, she gripped the key tighter, worried that some drunk was going to notice the woman walking alone. She opened her gift up a little more and went to go around the man, startling when she realized that she knew the man in front of her.

Why was Luck going to the corner store at this god-awful time and why was he so frustrated? She hadn’t seen him since Quentin’s party and he had most certainly not looked this haphazard then. Had her attempt to rekindle Nate’s and his relationship caused this? Surely not, but then she also couldn’t ask. After all, it wasn’t her fault that Nate and Luck had had to share a cabin on that trip. Nope.

“Luck? You… okay?” She didn’t touch him or move any closer, but she was already near enough that he could see her in the store’s obnoxiously bright lights when he looked up. If he looked up. This was a Luck that Kat had never seen before and it made her worry more than she cared to admit. Was this what Nate had been talking about? The emotions she felt coming off of Luck were harsh and mean, not at all like the Luck that Kat knew. She didn’t know what was wrong and causing him to feel this way, but she had to help.

[Luck Harris]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","post-frosttalonn-o"]

[attr="class","frosttalonn-post"]

THERE'S A FEELING THAT I DON'T GET

when i'm reeling from the night sweats

Luck had only just corrected himself from his stumble and was preparing to mumble a low-throated apology to the woman who'd hesitantly stepped around him, when the sound of his name lifted his attention. As he kicked his foot more securely into his slipper, he couldn't help the prickle of disdain that ghosted down his sweat-touched spine. Had Jess followed him here? All he'd wanted was to be alone and he couldn't have been more clear about it, why —[break][break]

His brow lifted and his face twitched; the apology half-formed in his mouth transforming into something with a little more warning bite. But when his gaze met a different, far more familiar, pair of dark eyes, his lips only parted silently.[break][break]

Kat.[break][break]

"Oh..." his gaze trailed from her face and to the empty air beyond her, mind abruptly blank and slow to churn. His fingers twitched around the cigarette pack held in them and, without thinking, he angled so they were more concealed at his thigh and out of her line of sight. He wasn't certain why — it wasn't exactly a secret that he'd taken up the bad habit again after so many years — but it was a thoughtless reflex. [break][break]

A silly one, too. Kat was a mother. And there wasn't much a person could hide from Moms; they had a keen eye for things like kids hiding stolen cookies behind their backs. [break][break]

As his gaze pulled slowly through the still night air, he realized he was searching for Nate. Waiting for him to come around the store's corner, lagged behind Kat for some reason and catching up. Why else would she be in the Heights so late? [break][break]

But he wasn't there. And Luck looked back to Kat and realized that had been a silly reflex, too. She wasn't exactly dressed for a stay-over or late-night hang. Wasn't loose and breezy with the barely-there smile and visible ease a nice time with one's "bestie" might imply. She was in work clothes. Tired. But undoubtedly put together. [break][break]

Far better than him, at least... if her look of somewhat taken aback concern was anything to go off of. [break][break]

The thought nearly startled him, as he truly registered the way she watched him. It booted his brain back up, kicked it into immediate overdrive, and he blinked rapidly, brow pinching at its center as he dropped his chin to his chest. "Oh, hey... Kat... yeah." He frowned as he spoke, trying to clear the more troublesome of his emotions as he lifted the cigarette pack before him and smacked it to the heel of one palm. He bought himself a couple of seconds, pretending to focus intently on ripping free the cellophane and shoving the litter in his pocket. [break][break]

In those couple of seconds, he took silent, agonizing account of himself. Acknowledged he probably looked a mess, with his unbrushed hair and backwards, inside-out shirt, and his head a wreck — which was another thing he couldn't hide from Kat especially, even though doing exactly that had been all he'd done with everyone half his life and he'd been so good at it at one time and, and — [break][break]

His head throbbed and his phone buzzed in his jeans.[break][break]

Luck tipped his head sharply, blowing a harsh breath through his nose as he plucked a cigarette between his lips and tried not to bristle. Running into her right now wasn't ideal. But, knowing she could feel it if she wanted to, he tried to curb the frustration before it could stab through him. "I'm fine," he proclaimed, shooting her a grin (that felt too quick and too sharp) while he stepped away from the store's door and started down the sidewalk, away from her. [break][break]

Maybe he was running. Maybe. But...[break][break]

He only took a couple of steps before he slowed, looking back at her over his shoulder. With his lighter raised and a hand cupped over the end of his cigarette, he quirked a brow. "Are... you okay?"[break][break]

She was dressed for work. And it was late. It was likely she was on her way home from — or on her way to — a call. Luck was more than familiar with that. Nate had had his turns, too. And Luck... when he'd been working the power lines... he'd been called from bed plenty of nights himself. It'd been one of the reasons he'd taken his current position with the Sector when it fell in his lap.[break][break]

He knew full well that both Nate and Kat were good at their jobs. Were more than accustomed to handling the stress (and often the heartache) that came with it. But he also knew there were bad nights and there were worse nights. Nights when Nate came home at a God-awful hour and Luck — stirring from where he'd migrated from their bed and to the couch (despite being told not to wait up) — would reach for him with his empathy. Graze upon the aftermath coiled silently within him, reel his Gift back with a preparing swallow, and simply open his arms as he pulled himself to a sitting. [break][break]

Nights when Luck was the one who came home, drenched from whatever snow or rainstorm had wrecked havoc, and could do nothing but drip in the entryway; exhausted from the taxing night and dreading the morning when he'd have to pull another shift from somewhere within him.[break][break]

Kat looked fine. But Luck knew better than to assume.

take a roll around a cigarette[break]
and i still don't feel quite like me yet

Tag: Kat Orlea-Kubik [break]
Sorry if this is a mess! I probably shouldn't have attempted to write yet lmaoo, my brain's still all jet-laggy, but NONETHELESS~

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[Kat Orlea-Kubik]

The look of concern never left Kat’s face because this wasn’t Luck. This wasn’t the Luck that her children called Uncle or that she antagonized on a Sunday afternoon with comments of another left turn. This Luck was… haggard. Worn out and out of patience, ready to snap at someone he didn’t even know for a slight that by all technicalities was his fault.

And the cigarettes. Oh, how her heart ached to see him holding them, opening them, and placing one to his lips, the hard work of quitting out the window. Why? What had caused Luck to spiral so badly that he was pushing people away and turning to old habits for solace? What other bad habits had he turned back to? The weight of that question clung to Kat in the same manner that the wisps of the cigarette smoke would.

Was she even supposed to still be his friend? Nate had been her friend before Luck had entered the picture. Nate was even the reason they knew each other, Nate having met and befriending Kat before Nate and Luck became an item. But that item that they had become… that item was a part of Kat’s family, and she realized that she had been so busy trying to be there for Nate that she had completely forgotten that Luck needed someone to be there for him too.

She had no right to call herself his friend if it took seeing him in the depths of his despair to realize that he even needed solace. Luck had always been the strong one, but her own experiences had taught her that the strong ones were often forged in trauma and simply hiding the magnitude of their pain. She shouldn’t have needed to be told that and in not checking in on him after the breakup she had forsaken him. Lying and then walking away from her now only illustrated the truth of that thought.

When he turned back around to check on her, Kat didn’t let the opportunity pass again. She couldn’t reverse time and rectify the grievance, but she could absolutely alter her path moving forward and provide the comfort that Luck clearly needed.

She knew he would never go along with spending time with her for his own sake, that wasn’t who Luck was, and certainly not with her. No, if she wanted Luck to willingly alter his plans and spend time with her, she had to be the one in need. Years of social work made the humility required for that second nature. “I… could use a friend. I know it’s late and you probably need some more sleep before work tomorrow… but could you maybe walk a little with me? Joszef is gonna be asleep when I get home and he doesn’t understand why I take the bad nights personally.”

Which wasn’t technically a lie, but also wasn’t the full truth. He understood the why, he just thought she should stop being a hypocrite and go see a counselor. After Nate and Luck’s break up Joszef had had an epiphany and started working on his issues. Being Catholic he didn’t believe in divorce but he also wasn’t naïve enough to think that his pagan wife didn’t. At least not after watching Nate and Luck walk away from a decade old relationship. So he had made a point in finding and working with a therapist and kept encouraging Kat to do so as well. Which was never going to happen.

“You can even smoke the cigarette, we’re outside anyways.” Maybe that comment was a little over the top, Kat’s dislike for cigarette smoke fairly well known. Too late now though. She would tolerate cigarette smoke if it meant that she had an opportunity to rekindle her friendship with Luck.

She’d just have to figure out how she avoided telling Nate about it the next day at work. He hadn’t told her not to talk in Luck, and in fact had told her the opposite, but it still felt weird. Or rather, it had. Seeing him now she realized that what felt weird was the two of them being separate. Talking with him at Quentin’s birthday had felt natural and easy, because Nate and Luck had both been there. Because to Kat that was how they were supposed to be. But just because something was supposed to be one way, didn’t mean it stayed that way. No matter how much she wanted it to.

[Luck Harris]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","post-frosttalonn-o"]

[attr="class","frosttalonn-post"]

THERE'S A FEELING THAT I DON'T GET

when i'm reeling from the night sweats

Somehow, Luck wasn't prepared for her response. For some reason — and he couldn't say exactly why — he expected Kat to assure him that 'she was fine', as he had done. Even if she wasn't. Had expected that he'd simply nod in response and then for them to part ways without much more of an exchange. Just a quick dip of their heads and a brief, lingering look — an unspoken acknowledgment that neither of them were completely fooled... didn't believe each other entirely... but that it wasn't their place to dig. [break][break]

He'd turn and leave her, then. Walk on home and go back to his (hopefully empty) bed. It was going to be a long night. One in which he knew he'd be unable to quiet his mind enough — loosen that thick knot in him enough — to find sleep again. And, as he watched his ceiling and made the occasional toss... checked the time and watched the minutes tick by too slow... he'd think upon this chance meeting, over and over... and perhaps wish he'd done something different. Either for himself or for her. Been just a little more honest. A little more insistent. Searched her gaze a little longer before turning. Reached for something more to say instead of nothing. [break][break]

Wonder why he didn't. [break][break]

But instead, Kat answered that she could use a friend. Asked him to walk with her, while providing him a couple perfectly-defensible excuses that he might reach for to refuse her in the same breath. She affirmed his suspicions of a "bad night" and Luck's crawling pace slowed to a stop. His frustrations and churning disdain stalled, battling now against more immediate surprise and a slow-budding concern. His quirked brow smoothed and he turned to her more squarely, searching her face while his mind worked (painfully slow) for a reaction. For his purposely-distanced feelings. For how he wanted to and then how he should respond. [break][break]

His gaze pulled between her eyes, breath slow and even. His nostrils flared, his eyelids fluttered, and finally, he started a slow nod. Dropping his raised hands (and his gaze to watch them), he carefully replaced the unlit cigarette back into its empty spot in the pack. "Well... suppose I can be one of those," he answered, low voice impassive but undoubtedly mulling. "And... I can do that." [break][break]

He wasn't certain how much longer he'd be able to say that. Wasn't certain how the statement, that he was her friend, would hold under scrutiny or pressure. Or, more simply, how it'd hold with time.[break][break]

They were friends. Kat had been a package deal with Nate from the very beginning. Someone who knew Luck almost as well as Nate did — knew how he'd been, in the beginning, and knew how changed he was now. They were all changed. Ten years made one hell of a difference for anyone. And they'd been in each other's orbits through the entirety of it. Grown alongside one another. Shared good times and bad. Become cherished friends themselves, too. Luck loved Kat... for what she was to him... for her children and what he was to them... and for what she was to Nate most of all. For knowing Nate had her when Luck wasn't there (in those places and those moments he couldn't be). And knowing Nate was as much of an important person to her as he was to him. [break][break]

She was less friend, more family.[break][break]

But.[break][break]

They didn't see each other anymore. Didn't talk reliably. There was the occasional text sent. He asked about her, about her kids, when he dropped or picked up Charlie on the nights or weekends Nate wanted him to. And there'd been the cabin trip he'd been graciously invited to join (probably due to Quentin's insistence than anything else). But, just like with everything it seemed, it was a decline. And Luck could feel it. A slow drift. [break][break]

It was only a matter of time before his coming around was more weird than his not. Before everyone acclimated to his absence and it was less strange that he wasn't there. Then they'd stop asking. He'd stop asking. And the whole lot of them would move on with their lives, with the occasional nostalgia or wistfulness nipping on their heels only every once in a while — when something reminded them of him. [break][break]

A NASCAR news article on a Google newsfeed (had he seen it?). A video of some drunk making a funny fool of himself (remember when Luck...?). A fishing lure caught in a tree (he'd have it freed like nothing). A broken sink (damn, if only they knew someone). [break][break]

He couldn't really think about it. Couldn't afford to. It wasn't a new and startling fear by any means. He'd exhausted it in the long months since October. These days, it felt more probable than possible. Inching ever and ever closer to inevitable. To something he'd just have to accept because there was no alternative. Something he'd have to learn to deal with. Eventually. Somehow. [break][break]

He sniffed, carefully tucking the thoughts away before they could stick. Inviting that familiar, dread-filled ache and adding it atop everything else he was feeling tonight would just be too much. He pocketed his cigarettes and — too aware of his empty hands, then — fought the urge to run his palms over his face as he lifted it to look at her. He tipped his head toward the brightly-lit windows beside them. "Were you needing a pit-stop, or...?" [break][break]

He wondered (again), if her being in the Heights, meant she was intending to stop at Nate's. If she was needing a friend, then it seemed likely. It was easy to imagine her texting him, even at this hour, to let him know she was dropping by. Just for a little powwow with someone who understood, who knew, and who didn't need to be convinced of anything, before she went home to her husband and kids and her bed. Luck knew the impulse. Knew what a solace and safe place Nate could be. The ease he could provide. The presence and comfort that he was, in really the only way Nate could ever seem to be. It wasn't so easy to find that in someone else. Maybe one couldn't.

take a roll around a cigarette[break]
and i still don't feel quite like me yet

Tag: Kat Orlea-Kubik [break]
So messy and angsty omg sdfsssdf, please let me know if you need less or more ;v; Or for any other tweaks/changes!

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[Kat Orlea-Kubik]

Kat watched the hesitation play across his face and held her breath for just that brief moment. Would he deny her request on the grounds that they were no longer friends? Would he call out her manipulation and refuse to give her the opportunity to help him? She could feel his reservations, feel the loneliness ebbing in his heart. But thankfully her request for a friend was enough and Luck agreed to walk with her. He even put the cigarette away to do so, a small action that she appreciated greatly.

She could still feel his reservations though. Still feel the loneliness trying to consume Luck like the monster she knew it was. She had been in that dark place before, a long time ago. She recognized it. Back in the days before Luck, before Nate even, Kat had given up on self-preservation. In fact, she had been at self-sabotage and likely would have gotten herself killed and not altogether on accident either. That loneliness was dangerous.

When he motioned to the store, she remembered that she had indeed been about to go in and she internally thanked whatever inner voice had told her she needed a pick me up. Now she knew the real reason she had been drawn to the convenience store when she knew she should already be back on the road. “No, I’m good. I was going to grab some sugar for a dopamine hit but a conversation with you sounds much better. In fact… we have something very important we need to talk about. Because you sir… you started a thing and now you need to follow through.”

She started walking around the block in the direction Luck had already been walking, coming in step beside him and continuing on as if this had been planned all along. “You see… there are currently four decoy geese sitting in my front yard that apparently need clothing and I have absolutely no idea where in the world I can find such a thing. Nor do I think decoy geese require clothing… but I have been told definitively that I am wrong, and they do, and Uncle Luck would know what to do. So. When are you coming over to play dress up with five very silly gooses? There will of course be cookies.”

The best part was, she wasn’t even lying as she told him all of this. Quintin had absolutely put all four of the decoy geese in the front yard and had been asking Kat almost daily when they were going to go pick out the geese’ Halloween costumes. No amount of logic had seemed to persuade her son that goose clothing was not something they needed to spend money on. Now she could pass that buck back to the sneaky uncle who had thought it funny to begin with.

[Luck Harris]

[nospaces]

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THERE'S A FEELING THAT I DON'T GET

when i'm reeling from the night sweats

Kat waived a trip inside the store, claiming his company would be the fix she needed, and Luck huffed a quiet breath through his nose. The implication there might be that he was sweet. And he felt anything but right now. Still, he tried to be amused — tried to let her words, her presence, and (more importantly) her voiced need for a friend, nudge that pacing dissonance in him into something a little more quiet. A little more ignorable. [break][break]

His whole life, he'd been good at keeping everything else tucked safely away; unfelt and unacknowledged until he was alone and could do so with privacy. But never harshness. Never resentment. Those were barbed and reactive feelings. Feelings he couldn't bury in himself enough to keep the prickles and spines from snagging on everything outside of him; growing longer and sharper, more sensitive and attuned, every time something brushed at them. [break][break]

But maybe he could muzzle it. Stifle it. Dull the sensitivity enough, just enough, that he could last a walk. It was just a walk. A conversation. Hopefully, he'd keep himself level enough, and long enough, that he could be there for her while she needed it. Making her feel better was, perhaps, a bit of a long-shot — he didn't think himself particularly great at that, even when he was feeling fine. But maybe, if he tried really hard, he could stop himself from making things worse. [break][break]

Like he often did when he was truly and irrationally cross. [break][break]

She stepped beside him and they began a leisurely pace in the direction he'd angled himself before. He dropped his eye to the sidewalk before them, trailing from crack to crack as she steered the conversation, not to her bad night, but to something else 'important'. [break][break]

When the geese he'd given Quentin for his birthday were mentioned, nothing could have battled away the answering tug at the corners of his mouth. In a better, arguably "normal" mood, he might have tipped his head back and let his lips part around an immediate, low-throated chuckle. He wouldn't have had to think about it or allow it; the quiet laugh would just be in his chest, then his throat, and then in the air before them without instruction. It'd leave his face feeling a little slacker than it'd been. His neck and shoulders a little more eased. [break][break]

But presently, the upturn of his lips was what he could do. [break][break]

"Only five silly gooses?" He cast her a quick and slick sidelong glance, one brow quirking faintly with question. "Might need to check your count." He wanted the words to sound amused. Wanted to match her off-handed tease with the same pitch. To make this easy and light. But still, his voice was a bit more toneless than he wished. They were fun words... but the delivery wasn't quite up-to-par. Didn't pair seamlessly with them. [break][break]

Still, the whole thing was an invitation. Kat pointing out a door that wasn't locked to him. And he recognized it. [break][break]

The idea of that and the feelings it stirred were far less superficial than the quick, fleeting amusement of before. Not a temporary, paper-thin balm spread over the raw, angry wound that he was presently, but something that wanted to carve deeper. Seep into him and settle. [break][break]

And for a moment, he wanted to let it fill him. Hurt him and soothe him in the same stroke. Simultaneously though, he acknowledged there was simply so little space in him for it. He was so full already, everything he was ignoring and letting build tucked into every corner and crook of his chest, that he didn't know where to put it. The soft ache and wistful hope. There was no place for them in the heat. In the churn and yawn he was trying to keep under the surface. [break][break]

Most of the time... nearly every time... there was something stubborn and unrelenting about the worst of Luck's brooding, bad-spot headspaces. Something mean and unwilling to give. Unwilling to subvert itself to anything else. His being upset... his being in a terrible, thunder-cloud mood... that awful, nasty resentment he wrapped himself in sometimes... it was like a starved beast hunkered over its meal. Lip curling over its teeth when something (or someone) else tried to edge close and encroach. A warning snarl in its throat, just loud enough to ward them off and leave it to feed. [break][break]

Usually, he couldn't be turned away from it... brought out of it.. until it simply exhausted itself by itself. And it was heavy in him, still. He could feel its primal want to plant its feet — its need to stand firm and demand he stay. [break][break]

But... it was a habit of his that he was (very slowly) learning to recognize and name. Even more slowly, he was learning methods to tame it. Exercising and practicing them was difficult. He hadn't yet had much success. Tonight, with Jess, he'd have to chalk it up as another failure.[break][break]

But here was another chance. And he wanted, really wanted, to carve a spot in himself for those feelings. To slacken enough to find, or make, the space.[break][break]

Luck lifted his eyes from the concrete to squint into the night sky and drew a long, steady breath. He focused on the feeling in his lungs, trying to let the sensation of it loosen him. "Sorry to say, but I don't think you'll be finding anything," he continued, trying to flash her a smirk (and aware it was a bit failing). "Goose-dressing is most definitely a craft job." And that'd been part of his sneaky aim, obviously. He'd imagined what a joyous mess the kids might make of the task (and her dining room table). [break][break]

Her kids had always been creative, something evidenced by the dozens of trinkets he and Nate had been steadily "gifted" across the years. Fridge magnets. Picture books. Homemade frames and cards. Knot bracelets and other quick-craft jewelry. The less practical conglomerations of hot-glue globs (far too much), painted sticks, and various other odds and ends that didn't really have a purpose (but still made great paperweights or shelf decorations). They'd throw themselves at goose-dressing with great enthusiasm. [break][break]

And, no doubt, hound their mother for her adult wisdom and infallible know-how through the entire process.[break][break]

"I know a seamstress who owes me a couple of favors," he continued after a mulling moment. "Maybe Q and I can pop into her store. Willing to bet he already has some costume ideas," his lips threatened to thread up again as his mind quickly filtered through a catalog of possibilities. Zombie geese... Frankenstein geese... ghost geese.... geese dressed as turkeys for Thanksgiving... pointy-eared elves and antlered reindeer for Christmas. "He can run them by her. And she could probably make us up some patterns. Cut us some fabrics."[break][break]

He hesitated before the next bit, eye wanting to draw sidelong to watch her as he said it, but he swallowed and focused on the flutter of some flying insect in a streetlamp instead. He considered, for an agonizingly long and uncertain moment, how to say it without sounding desperate or hopeful. He didn't want to acknowledge, to himself or to her, that there was actually... a lot of him... hinged somehow (in a way he wasn't sure he could really word if asked), in this. [break][break]

"You just tell me when, Kat. And I'll come by. Whenever and for whatever. I'm still," he shrugged, eyelids wanting to twitch as something did loosen in him, but only to allow an unbidden throb of ache, and then a reactionary desperation to make it less. To make it unreadable. Beneath her radar that he knew worked so well. "... here."

take a roll around a cigarette[break]
and i still don't feel quite like me yet

Tag: Kat Orlea-Kubik [break]
Wowie, I'm not even gonna apologize anymore, y'all probably just know to expect messes from me by now sdfkjhksdjfh. Give me a nudge for any tweaks/changes!

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[Kat Orlea-Kubik]

Kat laughed at his mention of checking her count, because they both knew he wasn’t wrong. Quentin was certainly the silliest of her two children, but Ella was also quite silly when she set her mind to it. It was one of those traits that they had both inherited from their father and she adored that about them. Through all of her protests and frustrations, the fact that she had children that could genuinely enjoy the simple pleasures of life and childhood brought her immense pleasure. They could find something to laugh at within all of their play and creativity, just like a child should. As long as she could help it, they would never experience the hard upbringing that made that joy harder, like she had.

Her eyes narrowed quite intently when Luck made comment of not finding a costume, in that sisterly I can’t believe you would do that to me kind of way that she had. Because of course, she absolutely could believe that Luck would buy her son a gift that would be messy and outrageously creative. Quentin and Ella thrived with gifts like those, and Nate and Luck laughed hysterically at all of the stories that ensued from them as well. Only… Luck hadn’t had those laughs in a while because he hadn’t been around to hear them as much after the split. A fact that clearly hurt him because she could feel the hope he shoved down as he made the casual comment on her just telling him when. How could she do that to someone she had loved for so long? She shoved her own guilt down and smiled at him.

“Visiting a seamstress, making a costume, and catching up? That sounds like an all-day endeavor, especially since you never remember how to tell my children no. It sounds to me like we need a proper Uncle Luck day, maybe this Saturday or next? I’d say Sunday but then more than half the day would be spent watching cars try not to crash into each other and that would clearly cut too much into Uncle Luck time and we can’t have that.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t already have plans for either Saturday, it was that all of those plans were her usual plans and they could shift and alter to make this work. Grocery shopping could move to Sunday, laundry could move to the Friday she’d have off after being on call. Her life was always full because she was a working mom with two kids and a social services career. That didn’t mean she couldn’t have friends over, it just meant that she had to be mindful about making it happen.

“You have to promise me though that nothing he comes home with will be half as terrifying as the stuff he has been drawing in that notebook of his. He did two or three renditions of a zombie goose and let me just tell you… Ella will be in my bed crying if he actually paints all that gore and blood on them and that’s not okay. Keep it PG please. Otherwise you’ll be the one explaining to a little girl that fake ceramic geese can’t actually chase you and turn you into a zombie as well.”

---

I love all the angst and turmoil so please don't apologize.

[Luck Harris]

[nospaces]

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THERE'S A FEELING THAT I DON'T GET

when i'm reeling from the night sweats

Though he pretended, quite intentionally, not to see the intense look she leveled at him as he described the (sure to be messy) task of goose-dressing, Luck couldn't completely dispel the knowing smirk that tried to pull at his mouth. She pitched the possibility of a prospective "Uncle Luck" day and he tipped his head, lips tucking tight while his chest dipped at the idea. When she commented that Sundays were probably off the table, his eyes pinched briefly closed and an amused huff slipped from his nose. [break][break]

His mouth edged up at the corners and he shrugged a shoulder. "Might just watch highlights the rest of the season. Maybe catch the final race. Not a great year for my guys. And I don't know that I could stand to listen to anoth—" he stopped himself, shaking his head to clear the ramble from his mouth before it could derail him. [break][break]

He looked to her. "Any day that works for you, I will make work for me." If he made plans for the weekends, they weren't often the type he'd feel bad for backing out of. And hardly ones he wouldn't back out of in favor of this. "Even Sunday."[break][break]

He considered adding that he could make it quick. Easy. That they wouldn't go overboard and he wouldn't allow Quentin to go crazy with it. That he was perfectly capable of saying they "had more than enough" and needed to "pack it in". But. He supposed it would sound a little suspect. And he'd have to put his foot in his mouth later, when he brought the boy back home with far too many supplies (that Kat would probably have to shove in some box and/or closet somewhere when everything was finished).[break][break]

She was right, of course. He didn't often say no. It wasn't really part of the "fun Uncle" job description, after all. And it'd gotten him into numberless silly and suffering situations through the years (especially with Ella, who was happy to have anyone sit across from her at pretend "salon" appointments; spouting off gibberish gossip while she fixed his nails and put tiny ties and ribbons in his short curls). [break][break]

But he could be firm with the kids. He knew where — at least approximately where — to draw the line between letting them have a little bit of fun (stuff maybe they couldn't normally get away with) and when something was too much. He couldn't be a complete pushover. Or allow something that wouldn't sit well with either of their parents (and not in a harmless, "ya got these damn geese in your yard now" sorta way).[break][break]

There were times, too, when he'd been "grumpy" with them. They weren't completely excused from it. Like when they woke him up early after a sleepover, far too eager and excited to wreck the kitchen with elaborate breakfast plans. When play-fighting ended with a kick somewhere unfortunate. When someone door-dinged his truck in a full parking lot. Or when a haphazardly-swung fishing pole slapped back into his face with a hard 'whack'. [break][break]

But he'd never been mean. He'd always been able to swallow, shake, or staunch it before it could bleed. Nate had almost always been there, too, to wordlessly clock that he wasn't in the mood and redirect the kids under his own (far more tolerant) wing. Until Luck could drag himself out of bed on his own and join them. Until he could walk off the sting. Or until he could curse and kick a little in private and get it out of his system.[break][break]

There'd been one time (that Luck could easily recall, at least), when he'd gotten... perhaps a little too upset with Quentin. Overstepped, maybe, and been too firm. [break][break]

They'd been walking the lakeside, the kids tossing rocks into the shallows while Charlie sniffed at the water and snapped at the ripples. Luck had been chuckling under his breath, kicking at stones with his hands in his pockets as they moseyed along, when Quentin had casually — and in no real, harm-meaning way — said that his Mom was "being a bitch" about something.[break][break]

And Luck had whirled. His face had slacked, his eyes had widened, and he'd spun the boy around to face him so fast and firm that the rocks in his raised hand had fallen to the dirt from jerked fingers. He'd dropped to his level, drug a largely-bewildered/faintly-outraged look between his eyes, and — in a voiced low and edged — told him he didn't mean that. That he could never, ever say that about his Mom. Damn sure not in front of him, and damn sure not in front of her, ever. [break][break]

Quentin had, at first, battled back a laugh. He'd grinned in his face, thinking Uncle Luck was making a joke. And then he'd realized he was serious. That Luck was actually upset with him. His little brow had pinched and, for a moment, he'd wanted to argue. His mouth had worked at it, trying to find the words. But then tears had sprung to his eyes and his lip had set stubbornly as he bit everything back; the struggle between hurt, shock, and his own, reactionary upset storming across his face.[break][break]

The rest of the evening, Quentin had been a little mulish and morose. And Luck and Nate had talked about it in the night, when it became clear Luck was just as bothered by it as the boy had been. [break][break]

It had been incredibly out of character of Quentin. Something he'd no doubt picked up from someone else or from some media. But the boy was young. And all kids didn't like their parents on occasion. While it couldn't be dismissed or allowed, all it'd really required, maybe, was a firm 'hey, woah, none of that' sort of admonishing to set straight. [break][break]

In the end, they'd decided a part of Luck's immediate and overblown reaction was likely projection — that maybe, as he went off on a quiet rant about Quentin respecting his mother and all that she did for him, half of which he was too young to realize, and that telling him 'no' was hardly to punish him — that it was less about Quentin and Kat and more about sons and mothers in general. About his own mom and the way he'd been brought up with her.[break][break]

And, after a long break of simply blinking up at the ceiling, arm folded under his head, Luck had rolled closer to bury his eyes in Nate's shoulder; stifling a sigh against him before he promised to apologize and talk through it with Quentin in the morning. With a sympathetic chuckle, Nate had assured him things would be fine. [break][break]

And they had been.[break][break]

At one time... it'd always been so easy to lay things out like that. To discuss and reflect and come to some conclusion together. To reassure and be reassured. When — and why — had it become less so?[break][break]

Luck did well not to dip into the wondering — knowing it was a door he wasn't like to get shoved closed again once he opened it — and was silently relieved when Kat continued, adding some Ella-centric cautions to their potential goose-dressing. Eager to leap on the opportunity, he mulled the stipulation over.[break][break]

"PG... no blood, fake or otherwise... you got it," he repeated, nodding, even as his mind shuffled through some possible workarounds. Maybe they could make the "blood" a little more orange than red. Lay out a couple cans of emptied Spaghetti-O's to point out to Ella (explaining that zombie geese hungered simply for pasta and not brains). He tipped his head. "Maybe Q will be open to throwing a princess or ballerina goose in the mix. Or a superhero goose. A racecar-driving goose? Just to keep things light and balanced."[break][break]

He tipped sidelong to shoot her a small, contained grin — just a twitch and tuck at one corner of his mouth. "We'll have to brainstorm it." He hoped that, even though the smile wasn't a beam, she could see in it that he was grateful. For the opportunity and promise. That extending the offer was far more than simple plan-making and how much he wanted (and maybe needed) it. [break][break]

He could just say something to that effect, he supposed. But he knew those sorts of words just had a way of being clumsy in his mouth. Never came out sounding quite right. Instead, he kicked out an elbow to knock gingerly against hers and huffed a breath through his nose as he looked forward again. "So... any trick-or-treating this year? Or parties? What's everyone dressing up as?"

take a roll around a cigarette[break]
and i still don't feel quite like me yet

Tag: Kat Orlea-Kubik [break]
Give me a nudge for any tweaks/changes! Or if any of my assumptions here don't float!

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