Work Text:
And you think to yourself, well. Third time's a charm.
.
Garret meets you at the airport, spinning his keys around his index finger and staring at the arrivals board. You're rolling the same carry-on bag you left with 8 months ago along the linoleum and he pointedly leads you outside without asking about any other luggage. There's the possibility that he thinks you've sent the rest of it in the mail, and you comfort yourself with what you know is a lie as the quiet tiles transform into pavement and the occasional thunk-thunk when the plastic tires run over the seam made from slab bumping up against slab. When he lifts the bag into the back you don't even fight him, docilely climbing into the passenger seat with your gaze already glued out the window and the continuous line of neon as the car starts and your vision blurs into a comfortable dreamlike state.
The couch has been prepared and wasn't it a shock to realise you didn't have an apartment anymore, shunned off to tiny soaps and sandpaper towels. The sheets aren't on, though, and it makes you wonder if he'd been considering not coming all. It wasn't like you'd asked him.
"Abby is here for the long weekend." You stare at him before realising he's trying to explain why the guest room door isn't open instead of this stop in the living room. "I know she mentioned lunch but-"
"The couch is great," you interrupt, smiling on instinct. "Really great. And cleaner than a hotel." It's an old coroners joke, an old anyone who has a blue flashlight that shows bodily fluids joke and it makes him smile out of habit.
Settling onto the couch you pat down cushions and turn on the nearby table lamp in one smooth motion, bouncing to show your gratitude. You listen to him nod and wander out, hand pausing on the light switch. "It's good to have you back, Jordan."
You don't reply.
.
"Hey, it's Woody. I hear you've moved back. Way to give us notice, Jordan. Of course I'm going to be out of town until next week. We'll get takeout when I get back so don't let Lily over feed you. Mads has taken to Indian, Bug is the proudest dad you ever saw but I'm pretty sure Mads would take to anything he- well, anyway. We'll talk then. Okay, bye."
.
"Hey, you're here."
Looking up from a book you're pretending to read, you see Abby standing in the doorway, flannel pyjama pants and tousled hair. She thinks for a second, but comes in, leaning over the back of the couch to give you a quick hug. "Didn't think you'd make it," she continues, honest to a fault.
You smile wanly at her, holding your place in the story with a thumb. "The airline wouldn't let me change my flight again."
Abby smiles at you, really smiles, with such strange fondness for a person she hasn't known in years that it makes you pull a little tighter into yourself, fist the blanket on your lap tightly. At least someone thinks you're funny.
Making a show out of glancing down at your empty coffee cup, you get to your feet, heading to the kitchen. It's just before noon, and the sun lights up the small room through the window over the sink, bouncing off the basin and steel appliances. Abby follows you in, grabbing a mug of her own from an overhead cupboard and waits patiently while you pour for yourself. Back in the living room your cell phone rings, which you ignore, and hand her the pot. She stares at you, waiting for an explanation, and frowns when none comes, watching you as you return to your book.
"I'm sorry," she calls at your back. "I liked her too."
.
"Hey, Jordan, it's Woody again. I guess you're busy looking for apartments or something. You know, I don't even know where you're staying. Lil and Bug didn't even know you were in town. Well, I guess you know that. Look, just. Call me, okay? I'll be back by Tuesday, we can talk then. I'll even take you out for dinner, I just thought maybe. I don't know. Bye."
.
You don't start back at the morgue for at least another week, but you're bored and Abby keeps looking at you like she feels she should distract you but her father has told her not to talk about it, dropping newspapers in your lap with listings circled and making sandwiches that you're not hungry for, so you put on your jacket and tell her there are some last minute papers to sign, contracts, government. You even mean to go there, getting so far as the front door, but the building is too big, it's shadow cast giving the feeling of looming, and so you turn at the last minute and fixate on the coffee shop that had become your favourite over the years and is infinitely less intimidating.
It should have occurred to you that the reason this place became your favourite, the black death that Nigel brewed, might have become a reason for your former coworkers as well, but it doesn't until you turn to exit, pastry and a latte in hand, and Kate looks up at you from one of the small tables lining the window.
"This is a long way to come just for coffee, Jordan."
You hold up the brown bag. "That's why I came for the apple cheddar danish. The latte was a happy coincidence."
Kate is quiet, but in that soft way that she would get, and moves her purse from the other chair to the back of her own. "I'm sure you have to be somewhere, though," she offers you as a way out, and you open your mouth to take it but find yourself sitting at the same time.
The silence creeps in and you chuckle, taking a sip of coffee to occupy the space. "I wish I'd brought a deck of cards."
"Can you honestly say that you tried?" she asks, reaching into your paper bag to tear off a piece of the pastry.
More silence, and you sigh. "Yeah. I really did."
Kate hums, chewing thoughtfully. "These are good."
"I... I wasn't here, okay?"
"Of course."
.
"Hi, Woody. It's Jordan."