Work Text:
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Tell me about despair, yours,
and I will tell you mine.
…
When a loud thump wakes Simone up, her first thought is of her grandmother. She thinks, for one terrifying second, that she’s hurt, that her grandmother somehow got out of bed and into some mess and she’s going to have to spend the whole night coaxing her back to bed.
Then Simone remembers.
Dr. Pierce and worn in keys and Lucas next door and Yasuda upstairs and house parties and thrifted furniture; all the pieces of this new, old house that only sometimes feels like a home.
There’s another bang, this time accompanied by a hiss of a curse. Simone sighs. Yasuda and Lucas both sleep like the dead and unless they’re being robbed by a very loud, very incompetent thief, all this noise is courtesy of their new house guest and she’s going to be the one to do something about it. Tugging on her robe and adjusting her headscarf, she rolls out of bed, heads downstairs.
As she descends, Simone can smell something baking, faint hints of vanilla and cinnamon wafting in the air, getting stronger once she enters the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Jules says the second she spots Simone. “I know it’s late but I couldn’t sleep and usually when I’m up I head to the communal kitchen to bake—y’know, to do something with my hands? But I totally forgot that noise carries in a house and that’s probably what woke you up, so uh, sorry. Again.”
“It’s fine.” It isn’t, but Jules is still radiating raw pain and Simone has a day off tomorrow; she can catch up on her sleep then. Making Jules feel worse she’s already so low is unnecessary.
The news of Maxine’s death had cut Jules deeply, had her holed up in an on-call room, soaking those thin pillows through with her sobs. She wouldn’t talk to anyone, not even Kwan, who the rest of them were (admittedly unfairly) counting on to fix things. Everyone tried, and when it was Simone’s turn, she’d almost chickened out.
Jules didn’t look up when Simone entered, just kept crying, face squished into the pillow. Simone stalled at the door for a second, thinking of what to say before deciding Jules was probably sick of platitudes and just went to sit next to her.
Offered her open hand and waited for Jules to decide if she wanted to take it or not.
She took it.
Cried against Simone’s shoulder until her lab coat was wet with tears and snot and it was a little gross, but it didn’t matter. Jules had spent all week coming up with wedding suggestions, sharing snacks, talking her ear off and just generally breaking through Simone’s walls, trying to get to know her. Trying to be a friend. Simone could deal with a little snot.
It took about ten minutes but Jules’ cries eventually turned to sniffles and she’d finally looked up at Simone, red faced and red eyed and miserable.
Simone didn’t do comfort. Not on a personal level. Anxious patients she could soothe but friends and peers were another thing. She’d been drowning in her own sea of (understandable) self pity and hadn’t worked that social muscle in months. But she could try.
They’d sat in silence for a while, until Jules got up to leave and Simone stopped her. Said a mental goodbye to her plans of binging Living Single while stuffing her face with leftover lo mein, and invited Jules, who had looked like the personification of sorrow, over to the house.
Simone didn’t really have a plan after she’d said, “you should stay over,” but she’d figured Jules shouldn’t be alone. Or stuck at the retirement home with reminders of Maxine everywhere. It’d been a while since she’d had to entertain a friend (Yasuda is kind of amazing at keeping herself busy and Lucas, well. He’s Lucas. And anyway, roommates don’t count) but Jules needed someone and comforting or not, Simone was someone.
So even now, at 2:26 AM, as Simone stands in her messy kitchen with flour on the floor and dishes in the sink, she knows that asking Jules over was the right decision.
Jules’ eyes are still puffy from what Simone assumes is a recent sob session and she’s chopping up walnuts with incredible force, like she’s actually trying to cut through the counter.
“What are you baking?” Food seems like a safe topic but Jules’ face crumbles and her hand wobbles on the knife. Immediately, Simone thinks she’s messed up, has inadvertently brought up Maxine somehow and hurt Jules’ feelings but then Jules steadies herself.
“Banana bread,” Jules says, with a tiny sniffle, waving off the tissue Simone offers. “My mother’s recipe. Technically they’re supposed to have pot in them but I figured that wouldn’t be your thing.”
Simone raises her eyebrows. “This is for me?”
Jules nods. “A thank you of sorts, for letting me snot all over you.” She smiles a little and it’s a little pained, but it looks genuine.
Simone smiles back. “Thanks, but you really didn’t have to do this.”
“Oh, I did. I was going crazy in that guest room just ruminating, you know?”
Simone does know. Rumination is a solid part of her routine, has been for as long as she can remember.
She wants to tell Jules that she understands, that she misses her grandma in sharp stinging waves, misses the woman who would crack clever jokes with a straight face, who never really could mind her own business—“now, see, why that baby ain’t got no coat on? It’s freezing out here.”—and would guilt her into going to church on Sunday’s. The woman who didn’t constantly call her by her mother’s name, who recognized Simone as her granddaughter and loved her as such. She wants to tell Jules how she’s so desperate for any sort of lucid conversation with her grandmother that that she’s planned an entire wedding she isn’t entirely sure she wants because it’ll make her grandmother happy and she needs those little moments, those little pockets of joy now more than ever. Love and self regard be damned. She wants to tell Jules about that emptiness she feels when she thinks of how things are now, how she feels like she’s sinking, sometimes, floating in the deep end with no way up. That she understands the devastation of losing someone you love; the rage, the numbness.
But she can’t make herself say any of that, because she can already feel the lump in her throat and what kind of person bursts into tears when trying to comfort their friend? Not a very good one, Simone thinks.
So she just nods.
Takes a seat and watches as Jules stirs nut into the mix, stealing walnuts while she waits.
They speak quietly about her wedding, Jules making more and more ridiculous suggestions until Simone breaks and snickers.
“You hate every single idea of mine, don’t you?” Jules says, pulling the pan out of the oven.
Simone grins. “So much.“
Jules laughs and this time there’s no shadow of sorrow on her face afterwards, which Simone considers a win.
They split the dishes, Jules washing and Simone rinsing. The bread has cooled by the time they’re done and they cut themselves thick slices, pair it with milk.
“This is amazing,” Simone says, already working on her second slice. “Seriously, Jules, you could sell this.”
The corner of Jules’ mouth lifts into a half smile. “Maxine used to say the same thing.”
“Oh. Shit, sorry I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine. It’s actually nice to be reminded of her I just—” Jules starts crying hard, shoves her plate away.
Simone panics—the tears came on so quickly—then redirects.
Hops off her seat to round the counter and wrap her arms around Jules. Simone isn’t a hugger, so she’s a little stiff, but Jules leans in and Simone relaxes, runs what she hopes is a calming hand down her back.
“I’m so sad,” Jules’ voice cracks. “I didn’t think I’d be so sad.”
“Or empty?”
When Jules looks up Simone meets her eyes. “Like you’re so mad you could rip the world in two but also so sad you feel you can’t go on?”
Jules nods, and a new wave of tears starts up. This time Simone has to blink hard against her own.
“I’m sorry about your grandma,” Jules says, into Simone’s chest.
“It’s not the same—”
“Simone.” It’s muffled but Simone can imagine Jules’ face, stern and warm all at once.
“Thanks.” A tear rolls down her cheek and she doesn’t say anything else, just holds on to Jules a little tighter.
Shared grief strains against the scent of cinnamon and vanilla, and in the dimly lit kitchen Simone lets herself exhale.
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