Chapter 1: Emergency Contact
Chapter Text
Home again. One thought, two words, and they smothered Imogen in an oppressive blanket of melancholy. She knew for most folks, those two words were a breath of fresh air, like relief. But they crawled hot into her lungs, and gasping around them made her feel like she was swallowing a wet cough, phlegmy, green, sick.
Or, she thought with a wry smile. Could just be the humidity. Her hair was already curling wildly, and the fact that Fearne wasn’t there to tease her about it made the tight heat in her chest even more acute. Just that morning, she’d been leaning into Fearne’s side on a battered old couch in California. Imogen had smiled in spite of herself, listening to her provide color commentary on Orym’s usual morning tai chi routine, in an attempt to throw him off his groove.
It hadn’t worked, of course. But it had helped push back Imogen’s anxiety about her trip ending, a bit. Pushed it back right until now, in fact, just in time for her to come unspooled in the middle of the airport terminal, stopped in the flow of people like a rotted river log.
Imogen hated herself because somehow even in expecting it, it still caught her off guard, the way it buffeted her, to be here among so many eyes. She thought she could walk the terminals to get to the express parking lot, avoid the packed shuttle that had made her throat close up just looking at it, but she had barely made it as far as D before the coalescence of her exhaustion, the pain of carrying her bag, and the unrelenting press of her anxiety knocked her flat on her ass.
The bag, like avoiding the shuttle, had seemed a good idea at the time - no wheels or hard shell, just a soft duffle she could jam under the seat in front of her, so she wouldn’t have to worry about the overhead compartment or picking up checked luggage. A quick grab, a getaway bag. But even her bare-minimum packing job—laptop, clothes, journal—was starting to feel unbearably heavy. Rolling her arm to try and stretch out the muscle made pain-tight from the strap biting into her shoulder, she came back to herself just enough to slump towards the wall. She let the bag slide to the ground and leaned back against the cool tile, willed herself not to slide down after it.
People rushed by. The familiar look of them, the church ladies and ranchers and harried mothers and bullish men with more bullish slogans plastered on their red hats and flag t-shirts, swam together into a smudge of regret. She didn’t want to be here.
Imogen could feel herself instinctually curling inward. She knew, she knew that she was probably fine. Nobody was staring at her, probably, and if they were it was probably just because of the freshly redyed purple hair. They couldn’t tell. And if they could, it was probably still safe. Probably, probably, probably.
But it was still noticeably different, being back in Texas. It wasn’t like being in the security line at LAX, being caught watching a salt-and-peppered butch unclip her carabiner to put her keys in the bin, and getting that dyke nod of recognition. It wasn’t like seeing a rainbow flag hanging outside a church of all places, and then having the experience repeated tenfold, somehow always a bright spark of hope. It didn’t make Imogen feel loose, unclenched and unwatched, to be back here, the way it felt in California. It felt like smog, like choking.
She could feel her breathing start to change. Were her ears ringing? She was definitely sweating. Her throat was closing up. Her hand scrabbled up to her neck, pulling at her already loose collar. She was going to choke, she couldn’t breathe. She was going to die here in the middle of the airport. She was going to —
Eye contact.
When they still roomed together, once Fearne had begun to learn the signs of an oncoming panic attack in Imogen, she had decided that the best way to prevent Imogen from spiraling out the rest of the way was to shock the hell out of her. Fearne being Fearne, she had endless ways to do so, and it even worked, some of the time. Imogen couldn’t say she liked suddenly having ice poured into the front of her bra, but damn if it didn’t keep her too busy to hyperventilate.
This was like that, sort of. A shock to the system that completely short circuited her, sent a jolt through her that shivered from her fingertips up her arms to zap along her spine. All the air she’d been gulping at so greedily left her in a long, shuddery exhale.
In the midst of the flow of people that had smudged together in a blur of threatening color was a woman. She looked almost like a black-and-white photograph, stock still, calm, nearly monochrome, and blinking slowly at Imogen with a slight considering tilt to her head.
Imogen couldn’t look away. The woman was built of contrasts, chin and cheekbones and shoulders all almost impossibly sharp, hair and eyes so deep and dark it made her light skin seem nearly translucent. Standing there, heart drumming in her ears, she watched the woman’s smile split her face, the gift of middle age carving laugh lines deep enough Imogen could make them out even this far away. And then that smile, shark-wide but somehow completely charming, was suddenly right in front of her. Imogen gulped.
“Good evening! Your hair is lovely.”
Imogen couldn’t place the accent, and dimly she remembered that her hubris had led her into the international terminal. It was beautiful, that’s all she could tell, it lilted like music.
“Uh.” She bit her lip and pushed her hair behind her ear, before remembering she blushed there the reddest. She could feel the heat there already and that made her blush more. “Th-thank you?”
She was taller than Imogen by a good margin, thin and bending towards her in a curling lean. In most other circumstances, Imogen would say she loomed - but the complete absence of malice made the word seem wrong. Could a person loom affably? Perhaps it was more she draped down, like the willow tree on the crick that Imogen used to climb.
“I’m so sorry to bother you but I was wondering if I could trouble you for a favor?”
“Sure, yeah? What, uh, what do you need?”
“Would you mind terribly giving my phone here a call? I’ve only just put in the new SIM card for the States, you see, and I don’t know if it’s working.” She shook the phone side to side. “Won’t take but a moment.”
Imogen handed the woman her phone automatically, barely registering what was happening as she watched, wow, long deft fingers enter a number and press send, the rushing in her ears drowning out the sounds of the airport and blurring the edges of her vision.
When the phone lit up, so did the woman, and Imogen found herself staring again. How was it her eyes were so dark but so full of light? It didn’t seem possible.
Imogen’s now-dry mouth tasted like a swamp and she was sure she didn’t smell much better. It figured this would be when a hot older woman approached her asking for her phone number. And not even for gay reasons. Probably? Probably not for gay reasons, not here, not like this, certainly not to a mess of a human like Imogen.
Imogen bit her lip, worrying it. She was leaning awfully close, though. Maybe she was just trying to be smooth, maybe this was a chat up line. The woman returned Imogen’s phone with a closed-mouthed smile that made her eyes and nose crinkle, her upper lip catching on her slightly jutting canines. The resulting wibbling line of her mouth making her look puckish and sparkling. She put a hand on Imogen’s arm, said, “Thank you so much, truly!”
God, Imogen hoped it was a chat up line. Shit. Fuck. She’d averted one homosexual meltdown for one of a completely different kind.
She should respond, she knew that, and she could see the woman's smile faltering in the silence. Before Imogen could press through the fog of hope-want-confusion enough to even know where to start looking for a response, the woman had slid her phone in her pocket, given her a small twiddling wave of her fingers, and slipped back into the river of people, leaving Imogen behind. It took her far longer than she'd ever admit to process the shock enough to pick her bag back up and trudge towards home.
Later that night, when her head finally hit the pillow and sleep had broken through her mental barriers just enough to make her honest, she let herself hope that maybe she’d get another message from that number.
~*~
As it happened, she didn’t have to wait long.
She’d slept in late the next morning, jet lag weighing heavy on her eyelids, and had finally willed herself into the shower when she heard the phone buzzing insistently on the bathroom sink. Imogen stuck her head out past the curtain and stared at it a moment in confusion, because who in their right mind would call her? Her friends knew better, and her daddy would only ring her in an emergency. Fear had already begun to creep in as she snatched it, still dripping wet and naked, not even bothering checking to see who it was.
“Hello?”
"Hello darling!”
She recognized the lilt of the voice straight away and absurdly felt a swoop of self-consciousness about her state of undress. She scrambled to grab a towel without dropping the phone, very glad that the voice continued so she didn’t have to respond yet because oh my god what. WHAT.
“I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of a mishap and the lovely EMS folks here are reticent to let me walk off despite my REFUSAL OF MEDICAL ASSISTANCE—” the voice pulled away from the phone slightly, it sounded like, to loudly direct that last phrase at whoever was nearby, “—so if you could be a dear and come pick me up that would be grand.”
Later, she’d blame it on the fact that she never much spoke to anyone but her father on the phone, so she didn’t have a script for politely declining a call for help from a stranger. Not that this was the kind of situation one could expect enough to have a script for - but regardless, near on autopilot, she stuttered out, “Uh. Ok, sure? Where are you?”
The stranger paused, and Imogen just barely made out her surprised little “oh!”
A brush of susurrus hissed through the speaker, like the woman’s hair had fallen across the mouthpiece as she shifted it from one ear to another, maybe. A touch of the theatrics had left her voice when she next spoke, replaced by something almost shy.
“You’re just the best. I’ll text you the address as soon as I hang up. Don’t worry,” and she pulled away to shout back to her audience once more, “I’m ABSOLUTELY FINE.”
The call ended, and Imogen blinked stupidly for several long seconds before her phone buzzed again, this time with a series of rapid-fire texts.
So sorry
Just trying to get them to leave
Your number is the only one I had
You don’t need to actually come get me obviously
Before Imogen was even fully conscious of her own typing, her thumb landed on send. She gaped down at her own words.
I mean I could come give you a ride. I’m off work today
The three dots of a message in progress appeared, disappeared, appeared again. It gave Imogen just enough time to properly begin to freak out about what she’d just done. The mystery woman probably thought she was weird as hell, probably thought she was strange and pathetic and-
The message came through.
Are you sure? I mean that would be marvelous but
I know I’m not the least serial killer-looking stray around
Imogen barked out a laugh, then slapped a hand over her mouth, startled at herself. What was going on with her?
I don’t rightly know what you mean, you seem plenty unkillery to me :)
You wouldn’t be the first to think I have a scary murderer vibe
I won’t be the first OR the last cuz I don’t think that at all
You’re too kind
nah
I won’t stand for a nah when you just offered me, total stranger, a ride
we spoke once irl and have texted for longer than a minute, are we truly strangers anymore?
By my parameters we’re already friends :) here I thought southern hospitality was just a bit of propaganda
might be at that but I’m a child of the internet so
my friendship parameters could be bit skewed too
Well if it really wouldn’t be any trouble, I’m afraid the authorities here insisting I get checked out at one of your delightfully expensive hospitals aren’t entirely wrong. I did ring the shit out of my dome. not enough to need a check up but. A ride would be nice.
not even in the country 24 hours and you’re already lyin to cops huh
Old habits die hard you know
on account of the serial killering?
Among my various other tawdry crimes of course
text me the address, sounds like you need a local to keep you outta trouble
Probably should ask tho, what’s your name? Im imogen
Delighted to meet you Imogen. I’m Laudna <3
She smiled, said the name aloud, just to try out the sound. It had a nice swoop to it, a crescendo that dropped into air. And if she muttered “Laudna” to herself a couple more times as she saved the number to her contacts, well, she could say she was gettin’ used to working her mouth around the unique syllables, and she could almost pretend to believe that was the only reason.
~*~
Imogen spent the better part of the drive into the city proper at war with herself—though not quite for the reasons she expected.
She’d expected that she’d be kicking herself for doin’ something so damn foolish as to offer a stranger a ride, driving across half the city to do so, even. It was dangerous, it was dumb, it was a waste of a precious day off and a good way to get robbed or kidnapped or something worse. The what-if scenarios ought to be running round her mind in the well worn-tracks her anxiety had wrought. But instead, as a strange sort of fizzing excitement bubbled inside her, she was trying to argue herself into that line of thought.
By all rights, she should be absolutely freaking out that she was doing something so dumb, and she felt tremendously guilty that she wasn’t, like she was letting herself down. This was dangerous, right? She distantly remembered some kinda childhood warning about “stranger danger.” There might have been a song or somethin’? But try as she might to bring up her usual fears, to temper herself with caution, she couldn’t quite manage it.
She found herself checking her phone at stop lights, and almost every time there was another text from Laudna waiting. A comment about how the weather made her feel like a lizard stretched out on a sunning rock. A selfie from earlier in the morning in front of the giant eyeball statue downtown, in case Imogen couldn’t remember what Laudna looked like. A running commentary on the developing dramas of the grackles nearby—Laudna loved them, said they looked like stretched out little crows, decked in oil-slicked iridescence that befitted their rusted-machine caws.
Everything she saw, she painted with such vivid brushstrokes of wonder that Imogen simply forgot that they never used to sparkle. Forgot that the grackles were pests and the eyeball was tacky and the heat was oppressive. Forgot that she was out of practice smiling so much, and that might be why her cheeks were already starting to hurt.
When finally she pulled up to the park where Laudna had situated herself, time had stretched and squashed itself around their back-and-forth such that it no longer felt like a favor to a stranger, but rather a long awaited reunion.
She leaned across her truck’s center console, and pulled on the handle in a mostly failed effort to open it for Laudna halfway chivalrously. She was still awkwardly splayed there as Laudna yanked the door open the rest of the way. Imogen quirked an apologetic look towards her as she scrambled back to give Laudna space to pile in. Laudna plopped her bag at her feet and shimmied adorably down on the seat. She stacked her hands in her lap with prim deliberateness, and smiled.
“Hi,” they both said at once. Laudna’s hand darted up to hide her immediate chuckle, and Imogen ducked her head, pleasure and embarrassment playing table tennis with her heart.
After a minute of mutual fluster, they managed to get Laudna’s hotel plugged into Imogen’s phone and Imogen pulled the truck out back into the slow stop and go of downtown traffic. For once she was glad of the congestion - she’d have Laudna to herself a solid 20 minutes, even with the actual distance so short, and she was determined to make the most of them.
“So what happened, anyhow? You said you hurt your head?”
“Oh I very nearly got hit by a car.” Catching Imogen’s look of alarm, Laudna flapped her hand dismissively, the joint loose and cracking. “Don’t worry, it quite missed. I managed to duck back in time but I stumbled on the curb, I’m afraid, and my head made very unfortunate acquaintance with a light pole. The driver wasn’t sure whether they’d clipped me or not and the authorities made such a fuss. I know my body though, it’s just a bit of a concussion. I didn’t lose consciousness. I’m just a little dizzy.”
She squinted. “And it feels a bit brighter outside than before. Honestly the worst bit is that now I might have to fly the rest of the way after all, instead of roadtripping. A hospital trip would be salt in the wound. They’d just tell me to rest and I am certainly not paying what, a couple hundred dollars? To ride in an ambulance and sit in a petri dish of a hospital just to hear that.”
Imogen winced. “I can understand that, but head injuries are nothing to play with. Maybe you oughta close your eyes for a little while or something? Give your brain a rest.”
“Sounds like perhaps this is, perhaps, not your first rodeo.” Imogen glanced over to see that Laudna had tilted her head back with a self-satisfied smirk, and indeed closed her eyes - but only a moment, as the one closest Imogen cracked open to catch her reaction. She chuckled.
“You’re makin’ fun, huh? Well, happens that it was at the rodeo that I got my bad knock.”
Laudna gasped, the theatricality from the phone call dancing its way back into her voice. “Why Imogen, are you an actual, proper cowgirl?”
“Not so much anymore. But I still got the boots and hat.” Imogen tilted an imaginary brim towards her passenger, and winked. Laudna laughed, a high tinkling sound like wind chimes.
A thought began to form in Imogen’s head, a truly insane idea, one she shouldn’t give a moment’s credence. But. Hm. Imogen drummed on the steering wheel. “Where you headed, anyhow? Y’said you were planning on roadtripping somewhere?”
“New York City. I need to be there for an engagement of sorts, in a couple days.”
Imogen caught herself last second, nearly whirling around to stare at Laudna in shock, eyes on the road be damned. “New York? That’s halfway across the damn country. Why in the hell’d you fly into Texas?”
“Dallas’s the only place other than California that takes nonstops from Australia, darling, and it’s a lot fucking closer to New York than L.A.” She made a face. “I do think I’d rather die than fly through L.A. again, anyway. Customs there is horrid.”
“Y’sure don’t sound like you’re from Australia.”
“Oh, no! I don’t sound like I’m from anywhere, actually. Which is of course because I’m not.”
Imogen’s face screwed up as she tried to parse that. “I don’t follow.”
“I’ve spent the last few decades on the road. I had myself a nice little camper van I would flit across Europe in.” Laudna made a show of leaning back in her seat and waggled her eyebrows at Imogen. “Being in the passenger seat like this is an incredibly novel experience.”
“Wouldn’t you been in the right seat anyhow, driving out there?”
“In Australia and Britain, certainly, but my travels mostly were on the Continent, as they say.” She made another face, possibly more disgusted than the last. “I can’t believe I’m coming back here willingly.”
Imogen tried to swallow down the hope burning up her throat like acid. “Is it just a visit? Or do you reckon on moving to the city?”
Laudna hummed. “The city, no. I’m simply going there to pay my disrespects. But I am coming back to the States - Brexit rather fucked my usual way of faffing about, and if America has nothing else, it has a lot of road.”
Not like acid, then - hope like a sweet taste tea down her throat on a hot day. “Spose you aren’t wrong there. Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, I think we’ll be lucky to have you.”
Before Imogen could manage to start kicking herself too hard for being so obvious, Laudna ducked her head, and her voice dropped quieter and lower than it had been. “That’s very sweet, Imogen, thank you.”
Imogen chanced a better look than the corner of her eye could provide, and felt a stutter of pride when she realized a slight blush dusted the older woman’s cheeks. She tucked that feeling away to look at again later, and refocused on listening to her passenger as she reacted with glee at all manner of local peculiarities. Laudna seemed excited to have someone to talk to, and Imogen was all too happy to listen. The lilting cadence of her voice strummed through her, soothing the anxious clamp of every part of her, even as the minutes ticked down to the end of their ride.
When they arrived at Laudna’s hotel, Imogen parked the car. She could feel Laudna peering at her curiously, but she didn’t say anything about it, to Imogen’s great relief. She knew the normal thing to do would have been to just drop her off out front and head home, and she wasn’t sure what she’d say if she was called out on this bit of self indulgence. She bit her lip, glanced at Laudna from the corner of her eye.
“Do you wanna get lunch-?” and Imogen was going to follow that up with a “sometime,” honest, and with an explanation that would hopefully make her seem less strange, less desperate to keep a hold of this new connection, but Laudna was already nodding before she could finish the sentence.
“Oh, yes, please! I’m afraid my head is a bit too tender to go out and about, but if you wouldn't mind ordering take-out up in my room, I would love to steal you away a little longer.”
Imogen let out a long breath, lips quirking into a smile, not quite believing it. “Great. Yeah. Ok.”
~*~
“People shit on Tex-Mex cause they think it’s just like, American-cheesed fake Mexican food but that’s bullshit, there’s more to it than that!” Imogen gestured with her chip, the queso slopping off onto her front. She swiped the dribble off her t-shirt, and, her dignity already gone, shrugged and licked the queso off her thumb. When she lifted her eyes to see Laudna staring at her, head cocked to one side and a slight smile on her face, she blushed. “Ah, shit. Sorry. Not so great on the manners, am I?”
“No need to apologize, dear, the passion is quite a sight. I get the same way over pastries.” Laudna saluted her with her fajita. “Would that we all had a food genre we loved enough to rant over it.”
Imogen licked her thumb again and smudged at her shirt, trying to clean it even knowing the stain was already beginning to form. “Lot of good food here in general. It’s one of the few things about Texas I actually missed, when I was gone.”
“You don’t like it here?” And Laudna was serious, asking that, Imogen realized with a start. She was so used to outsiders making snide remarks about her home, to be asked in earnest, like it wasn’t a given, felt strange. And that seriousness made her pause, made her look up again to meet Laudna’s gaze, as she considered her answer.
“I think… it’s a better place than a lot of folks give it credit for. But the best parts of it are parts I’m on the outside of, lookin’ in.” She ran a hand down her face, feeling suddenly tired. “Some of that’s just me, though, you know? A lot of it, maybe. It’s not Texas that’s the problem, always. I mean sometimes it is. It’s not safe here. I dunno. I don’t think I’m makin’ much sense.”
“No, I think I understand what you mean. The best parts of most places are the communities, aren’t they? That’s where the real culture lies, but… hm. Not everyone gets to take part.” Laudna’s gaze was fixed somewhere beyond where Imogen could see, her fingers tapping on her face. “And that’s something I am a bit set apart from myself, as well.”
She wasn’t going to read into that, she was not. Just because Imogen had walked face-first into a wall of her own monstrously gay feelings, didn’t mean there was anything to read into. She kept repeating that to herself as the conversation drifted back towards the mundane.
Eventually, Laudna excused herself to go to the restroom, and the full force of the situation slammed back into Imogen hard enough that she briefly wondered if maybe she should just take herself to the emergency room in Laudna’s stead. Dizzy with it, the only thing that kept her from following her spinning head into an anxious spiral was the buzz of her phone in her back pocket. She’d not looked at it since Laudna had gotten into her car a couple hours before. A quick glance showed Fearne’s name popping up on her lock screen again and again, starting with one late the previous night. Imogen had absolutely spaced out on replying to it, twisted up in her own feelings and exhaustion.
you forgot to text me that you made it home safe, so rude :P
The next must have come through while she’d been showering, before Laudna called,
I’m not worried but text me back when you get this,
followed by, later in the morning,
Ok ORYMS worried so time to wake up sleepy head.
And the most recent, just now arrived:
if you’re dead i’m gonna be so mad
Imogen swore and moved to quickly text Fearne back, wanting to slap herself for forgetting something so simple, and for impatiently swiping away the notifications that weren’t from Laudna, before. She was being such an asshole, Jesus.
shit sorry! Did something kinda weird
!
Well don’t leave me hanging
You can’t just say you did something weird and not tell me
That’s against the contract
What contract’s that
The friendship contract we made
I sure didnt sign anything
Oh no I put your thumbprint on it while you were sleeping the very first day of college
You know what i take it back what i did isnt weird comparatively
You still better tell me right now
Well
In the airport last night this woman asked for my phone number to test her phone cuz she just got to the states
Oh wow. You gave it to her? Good for you!
Is she hot
…
I’ll send you a picture
Ooooo a MILF
She doesnt have kids Fearne
You’re so behind the times
M in milf can just be for Mommy
Jaskljf ugh
you exist to torment me
Yeah pretty much
Long story short I ended up giving her a ride this morning when she got stranded downtown and we’re hanging out in her hotel room rn
Im so proud of you
But id be more proud of you if you had sex with her
FEARNE
What!
What if she came out right now and saw that text!
You don’t know, maybe she’d see it and be like “best idea”
I am gonna kill you
Have to catch me first bitch
Stop texting me you have better people to do >:3
I am ignoring you now
but not for sex reasons
suuuuure
She heard the click of the bathroom light being turned off, and that slight warning was the only thing that kept her from throwing her phone in fear when Laudna reemerged. She pressed it to her chest instead, some incomprehensible notion that she needed to hide her pounding heart guiding her hand.
Laudna was rubbing her eyes, brow furrowed and lips pursed. “I can’t quite tell if my pupils are dilating properly. I can’t get close enough to the mirror and my damned eyes are just too dark for me to catch the change.”
“I like your eyes.” Shit, fuck, she didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Do you want me to test them? I could use my phone light, it would probably show up better that way than just opening and closing ‘em or whatever.”
“Oh!” The tenor of Laudna’s surprise made Imogen think perhaps that asking for help had not even occurred to the other woman. “If you wouldn’t mind, yes, please.”
Imogen patted the bed next to her, turning herself on the edge so one leg dangled, the other tucked under her, so she could face Laudna and still get close. Laudna sat down dutifully, her ankles crossed and hands folded in a way that seemed made to keep her still, folded tight. She began tapping her fingers on the side of her own hand as soon as Imogen scooted a bit closer, though, and something about that made the corner of Imogen’s lips twitch into an almost smile.
She reached out and gently tipped Laudna’s chin up to get a better angle, and passed the light over her eyes. The pupils reacted just fine, and Imogen watched with hungry curiosity as they constricted, the light caught on the gold flecks in the brown of Laudna’s irises. She realized, as they flicked side to side, that Laudna was looking at her as well, and god, she was close enough to feel the tickle of her breath on her chin. She jerked back.
“Looks uh, looks great to me.” She cleared her throat, hoping her mouth would stop being so dry. “Why were you checking? Though you were sure your head was ok.”
“It mostly is, but I do still have a headache and all that sort of unpleasantness. I’m not sure I’m up to driving but fuck if I don’t want to avoid getting on another airplane at all costs.” Laudna flopped sideways onto the bed, then rolled onto her back with a frustrated huff.
“Yeah, I’m not much for planes either.” Imogen chewed her lip. The idea from before poked at her insistently. “You know, I had a thought about that, actually…”
“Oh? I’m all ears.”
Imogen’s eyes drifted over Laudna sprawled out, heat creeping up her neck as she tried to remind herself it had only been a few hours that they’d met properly. “No, never mind, it’s stupid, you’re gonna think I’m nuts.”
Laudna propped herself up on her elbows, eyes so wide with earnestness, her eyebrows looked liable to crawl off her face into her mussed hair. “I promise I won’t!”
“I…look, can I text it to you? I’m too embarrassed to say it out loud.” Imogen pulled her shirt up over her face. “Oh god that’s even more embarrassing, actually, sorry, ignore me.”
“No, don't apologize! Texting is a great idea. I, well.” Laudna reached out, her hand resting on Imogen’s, and she couldn’t help but peek back out. Attention regained, Laudna withdrew, twisting her fingers together. “I’ve been told I’m a lot, and also my mouth outruns my brain sometimes. I do actually quite like texting, it makes the thoughts more…solid, I suppose.”
Imogen let out a long breath. “Yeah. I get that. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’ve thunk a thought properly until it’s out of me.”
She grabbed her phone, and before she could talk herself out of it, began to type.
Alright then if you’re sure it’s not weird
I mean what i’m about to say might make it weird
Or definitely will
God i’m sorry even in text i’m strugglin
To be frank darling I would think it must be obvious that I generally like weird
Imogen chuckled, feeling more fond than she probably had a right to be, wrapped up in enough softness that she ventured a glance back to Laudna. She was smiling. Ok. She could do this.
Fair enough
Ok well
I know we just met but
what if I drove you up there?
Laudna looked up at her, mouth agape. “Imogen. That is far, far too generous.”
Imogen picked at the hotel comforter, not daring to meet Laudna’s eyes again just yet.
“Well I mean, I still have some time off after my trip and the thing is, I was getting real anxious already, being back home and having nothing to do with myself. I’ve never been to New York, and if you’re paying for the gas and hotel anyway, well, best chance I’ve ever had of getting a glimpse. Me driving would just make it even, I think? And…”
Another hard thing to admit, but Imogen felt compelled to be honest. She swallowed hard, then picked up her phone again when the words wouldn’t come.
I hope you don’t mind me saying but
It would be nice to hang out a bit more
I really like you, Laudna
Sorry if that’s dumb
Laudna cradled her phone in both hands, like it was something precious.
It’s not
It’s maybe the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard
~*~
So did you hook up? dish
No…
Wow
Those ellipses are doing so much work
Ok so
Before you say anything its not what you think
Oh shit
What did you DO
It was a good question, and even as she gave Fearne the run-down, Imogen wondered if she herself even really knew.
~*~
The next morning, Imogen felt almost groggy with the surreality of what she was doing. It hadn’t taken long to repack her bag - she only needed to swap the clothes for clean ones. There wasn’t much more to do than that, which felt strange in its own right. She’d given herself a wide buffer of vacation days around her trip anyway, so work wasn’t an issue. The knowledge that it took so little to uproot herself from her life like this sat hollow in her chest.
It wasn’t all easy - trekking back downtown had been a pain in the ass. She really hoped Laudna wouldn’t pry too deep into how she’d gotten back to the hotel without her truck. She didn’t want to think about the size of the rideshare bill. Nor did she want to think about the note she’d left her daddy, and how she knew he wouldn’t bother questioning any of it.
What she did want to think about was the way the morning light caught on Laudna’s hair. How, when she’d stuck her tongue out at Imogen for poking fun at just how many bags she had, Laudna hadn’t managed to stop smiling, so her tongue had barely made it past her teeth.
The car Laudna had rented was roomy, at least, bigger than what Imogen had imagined, and a far sight nicer in the bells and whistles department than her old truck. She was still fiddling with the seat controls when Laudna slid into the passenger seat, taking a dramatic breath that shrugged her shoulders. “I think we’re all set to hit the road! Last chance to back out.”
Imogen laughed, feeling light. “Fraid that train’s left the station, there, Laudna. You’re stuck with me, at least for the next couple days.”
Laudna beamed back. As Imogen went to put the car in drive, however, Laudna clapped her hands together, as if remembering something.
“Oh, the final touch! You can’t have a road trip without a copilot.” Laudna leaned down to the bag at her feet, rummaging around.
Imogen chuckled as she readjusted the mirrors on the rental. “You not my copilot?”
Laudna blinked, the surprise of that idea visibly stuttering through her. “Oh! I suppose I am.” She smiled, then looked at the thing she’d pulled out of her bag. “Well, Pâté, you’re not off the hook because tradition is tradition, but let’s split the duties, hm?”
“Pâté?”
With a flourish, Laudna revealed her prize, a little figure of a mouse or a rat, Imogen wasn’t sure she knew the difference, its head obscured by an overly large bird skull. The velvety fur flocking had worn off in large patches, and its back was sunbleached a yellowy gray, the original black coloration on its belly making it seem starkly shadowed. Laudna tipped it upside down and smudged some sticky tack to all four feet before sticking it to the dashboard. The skull bobbled as Laudna tapped its beak.
“Noice to meetcha Ms. Imogen! I’m rubbish at maps but Laudna here’ll tell you I’m good company a‘least.” Laudna tipped her head to one side as she spoke in the new voice, like she was leaning close to tell a secret. “Specially to someone as pretty as yourself, eh.”
Imogen blushed, and Laudna gasped dramatically, back to her regular voice again. “Pâté! We’ve not even left the car park yet, you incorrigible flirt.”
She spoke to Imogen conspiratorially behind the back of her hand. “I made him years ago so I might have a bit of company on the road, since taking living pets across borders can get tricky. I’m afraid he’s taken on quite the personality.”
Imogen reached forward and, with no little paws free enough to shake, opted instead to tweak the creature’s beak, setting the head to bobbling again. She scrunched her nose at it. “Nice to meet you as well, Pâté. I can’t say I think you’re my type, exactly, but you’re pretty interestin’.”
Laudna chewed her lip, looking back and forth between her new friend and her old, like something had just occurred to her, maybe, but whatever it was seemed to settle when Imogen smiled lopsidedly.
“I suppose that is one word for him. I forgot, well. Hm. Are you still sure that… what was it? That the train’s left the station?”
“Been and gone. Like we’re gonna be.” Imogen winked, then slid her sunglasses in place with a sense of finality. “Buckle up and tell me which way we’re headed.”
~*~
After the first ten minutes on the road, the lingering misgivings Imogen had about her impulsive decisions over the past 24 hours had completely faded, scorched away by the sunshine of Laudna’s company. By the second hour on the road, Laudna had gone hoarse, which she admitted to Imogen was likely because she hadn’t had the chance to talk so much in years. Imogen’s disappointment in the quietude didn’t last long, either, as they turned up the music and an easy peace settled over the relative silence between them.
Usually, when Imogen was driving, she’d be too close to her own thoughts, and would find them dogging her down the straight lines of the freeway. But her awareness of Laudna next to her was a pleasant thrum that kept that habit at bay, like the best kind of white noise. She just felt… calm, of all things. It was not the way she usually felt in the presence of anybody, let alone someone she was so attracted to. The best Imogen usually got was a sort of tensed up acceptance, her anxiety dozing but still present. This though. This was even better than being alone, somehow.
Three hours in, they took their first rest stop. Imogen figured she could have waited longer, but Laudna had immediately chided her. She’d gone off on a bit of a sermon about how in the UK at least they tell you to take a fifteen-minute break every two to three hours and just because you could push yourself didn’t mean you should, that Americans tried to get everywhere too fast and anyway, she’d planned the whole thing out to be more leisurely than all that. Imogen had relented immediately after she’d finished laughing.
They figured they might as well fill up, in the meantime, so Imogen went about tending to the car while Laudna ran to the restroom. Imogen leaned against the car as the gas glugged into the tank, taking a moment to take in the fresh air and the slight breeze on her face. She never really reckoned on finding a gas station peaceful, before, but she found herself closing her eyes and sighing in an unfamiliar, bone deep contentment.
Her pocket buzzed - Fearne must be awake, now.
How goes the grand adventure?
fine! We just passed texarkana
Are you sure that’s a real place
Or is it like a texas/arkansas relationship namesquish thing
It’s a real place
Don’t make me think about people shipping states my brain will break
how are y’all?
fantastic of course
Look at this cool geode ashton acquired for me
“Acquired?”
You saying they stole it?
I am very purposely not saying that cia man in my phone
Anyway acquiring it is more romantic dont you think?
How you figure THAT
More effort more thrill more threat
I dont know how i feel about threat being there
boring
Does laudna know youre boring
She doesnt think I’m boring
THAT DOESNT MEAN ANYTHING
DON’T READ INTO IT
:eyes:
I’m reading into you thinking i’d read into it
You know i should have laudnas number. For emergencies.
you having her number would BE an emergency
Fearne had a point, though. What if something happened on the road? What if Imogen’s phone broke or she lost it and something happened back home? What if Imogen lost her phone and couldn’t remember any of her friends’ numbers because who even remembered numbers anymore, and they really did think she was dead or kidnapped and called the police on Laudna? What if she lost her phone and then lost Laudna in a crowd and then never saw her again?
She texted Orym Laudna’s number, just in case.
~*~
The first round of gas station snacks devoured, Laudna decided to find something else to do with her hands. Imogen had noticed, from the corner of her eye, that Laudna had been tapping along to the music before their break, and had been charmed by it, but that seemed to no longer be enough to keep her passenger occupied. She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a skein of yarn in a cheerful yellow and some wooden knitting needles, setting to work on some project or other.
Imogen tried very hard not to say anything. It was probably fine. And Laudna deserved to have something to do as they ambled down I-30 past the tree-lined fields. But the parts of Imogen’s brain that saw fit to torment her about every stupid little thing had finally found a way to push its way to the forefront again, and visions of all the ways those needles could end up hurting one of them if they got into a car accident started to nip at Imogen until she was shifting in her seat uncomfortably.
Laudna looked up, her brows furrowed. “Are you quite alright? Do you need to make another stop? You’re not being all stubborn again, are you?”
Imogen shook her head vehemently. “Nah, I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”
Laudna pursed her lips at Imogen before returning to her task. Imogen tried to focus on not moving so as to not make her passenger worry, but only a couple minutes later, Laudna folded the knitting in her lap again, her voice taking a slightly sterner edge.
“Really Imogen, what’s got you chewing your lip like that?”
Imogen released her lip with a start - she hadn’t realized she’d been doing it. “Don’t worry about it, really, it’s silly.”
Rather than cause Laudna to drop the subject, that seemed to increase her focus. She leaned across the center console towards Imogen. “Is it something I’m doing? Please, I'd rather you tell me than I cause you discomfort.”
And damn but if that wasn’t sweet. Imogen bit her lip again, immediately realized she’d done it by the increased consternation on Laudna’s face, and sighed.
“I mean. Yes, but it IS silly and I should just get over it.”
“Why should you get over it, if it’s something I can fix or change?”
She didn’t have an answer to that, at least, not one she thought Laudna would accept. After a moment of silence, she finally said, “The needles, they just sort of make me anxious while we’re driving? I can’t stop imagining them going through an eye socket or something if we had to stop real sudden. Which is absolutely dumb, I know it is, and you should keep using them. I’ll get over it.”
“There’s no need to get over it. I don’t need to knit right this moment, Imogen, certainly not if it’s making you uncomfortable. You’re allowed to ask me to stop, I won’t be offended or upset.”
Imogen swallowed hard. It was dumb, it was so dumb, but hearing that made her want to cry. Laudna dropped the knitting supplies back into her bag and shuffled around in it; Imogen was grateful for the moment to compose herself. Eventually Laudna pulled out a pair of needle nose pliers. “Would these cause the same issue, do you think?”
Imogen considered them. They probably should, but… “No, I think those are fine.”
Laudna grinned and pulled out some other bits and bobs that Imogen couldn’t parse in her peripheral vision, then said, “Thank you.”
“Huh? Why’re you thankin’ me?”
“For trusting me enough to tell me. For not letting it simmer and wrap us both up in knots. It’s nice to be given the chance to fix things, instead of just stumbling into the wrong thing over and over.”
If Laudna noticed Imogen wiping at her eyes a bit over the course of the next few minutes, she respected her dignity enough not to mention it.
~*~
“What in god’s name IS that?”
“Our destination! Well, of sorts. Consider it a diversion conveniently just next to our place of rest for the evening.”
The setting sun painted harsh shadows in the so-called diversion, a great mess of metal looming several stories above all the buildings in the near vicinity. They’d pulled off the main road into this small town an hour past Memphis. At first, Imogen hadn’t understood why they’d keep going out into the boonies past the big city—felt a little unsettled at the idea of staying in the country, to be honest—but now, eyes on this strange metal art piece growing closer and closer, it all made sense.
“Didja choose the diversion or the restin’, first?” Imogen asked, not trying to hide her smirk. Laudna ignored her in favor of dramatically whipping out her phone to read from it, which was fine, since Imogen had more’n an inkling as to the answer.
“Billy Tripp’s Mindfield!” Laudna accompanied that with a grand flourish of her free hand. “‘The Mindfield is the creation and life’s work of Brownsville, Tennessee artist Billy Tripp. The structure was begun in 1989 and will continue to evolve until Billy’s death, at which point it will become the site of his interment. Included in the network of steel are individual pieces representing various events and periods of Billy’s life, especially the death of his father, Rev. Charles Tripp, in 2002.’ ”
“Looks like one hell of a jungle gym.” Imogen laughed and pulled into the motel parking lot, the first leg of their journey officially complete.
Hugged by the sculpture and the odd little museum, it was the motel that felt out of place with its pepto bismol pink paint and red orange doors. Imogen was a bit surprised by how well maintained it looked - the color appeared fresh and on purpose, rather than washed out, inexplicable though the palette seemed. She had no idea how Laudna had found the place, but her initial wave of misgiving receded.
While Laudna went into the office to get them checked in, Imogen fussed about pulling their overnight bags from the pile in the bag seat - they’d both been too distracted by banter to remember to put them in last when packing the rental up with all of Laudna’s worldly possessions. Imogen had finally freed them when Laudna returned, tutting at Imogen for trying to carry it all by herself.
Their room was honestly pretty impressive. Imogen figured they must get more than a few long-term guests, because there was an actual damn kitchen, and a little flier on the counter saying that the place had an onsite laundromat, too. It was a fair sight cleaner than she tended to expect from motels, with no stale old cigarette smell. The bed looked like it was king sized too and — Imogen’s mind stuttered to a halt.
The bed. The only bed.
She couldn’t get another thought completed for a good minute, just a pile of almosts - how is this-, is there really -, just-, together?, what? WHAT? - careening through her brain in a panicked flurry.
Laudna followed her line of sight and froze. “Ah. Oh, dear, I did not think about that.”
While Imogen tried valiantly to reboot and re-school her features, Laudna’s hands ended up on her face, nails clawing a nervous trail down her cheeks.
“When I booked the reservations for the trip it was just for me, oh, Imogen, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to change them.” She started the tug on her hair, quick sharp jerks. “And he said they were full, oh, fuckballs.”
Imogen couldn’t stand to hear the note of panic beginning to creep into Laudna’s voice. She forced the far-flung pieces of her composure back into place and smiled, tight.
“S’alright, Laud. It’s a big bed, reckon we’ll both fit just fine.”
“Are you sure? I could sleep on the couch? I wouldn’t mind. I'm terribly sorry, darling, truly. I didn’t mean to make this awkward.”
“No, really. It’s just sleepin’. Hell, I was sharin’ a bed with my friend on my other trip too, it’s not a big deal.” Imogen hoped the fervent attempt to convince herself sounded like conviction. Because while crashing with Fearne was natural and comfortable, the simple fact was Imogen could trust herself to behave rationally around Fearne, no matter how chaotic Fearne got. But Laudna? She had somewhere in the realm of 500 miles worth of reasons to think she might give in to some very dangerous impulses with Laudna.
Laudna, who was studying her closely. She forced herself not to swallow obviously.
“Well. Alright then. If you’re sure,” Laudna said, one hand still combing through the ends of her long hair. “I… think I’m going to go take a shower before we find ourselves a meal and take a look at the sculpture?”
Imogen nodded, half-worried that if she spoke right now, she would end up asking Laudna if she could join her. She sat down heavily on the bed in question while Laudna fluttered about gathering the things necessary for her shower, and only when the sound of water began did she let loose the breath she’d been half holding.
What the fuck.
She was too young to be having a midlife crisis, right? She was only 30, she was supposed to be finally settling into herself, not grasping desperately at fleeting youth by being reckless. Except, well, that’s not what this was, was it? She doesn’t have enough of a self to settle in to, and she was pretty sure most people looking for midlife flings didn’t end up with somebody that had decades on them. Right? Maybe she was wrong, maybe midlife crises were just one more thing she had been misunderstanding her entire life. Maybe this was exactly a midlife crisis and she was being an idiot.
Before her better judgment could kick in, she texted Fearne the question, then flopped an arm over her eyes.
~*~
The giant gray sculpture wasn’t the only bit of metal hanging about the site of Laudna’s “diversion,” it turned out. Something about the larger artwork seemed to have given the little barber-shop-and-museum next door permission to lean into its own weirdness, and Imogen had to stop and give this piece a closer look. It was a metal horse, barrel-round and cartoonish and far taller than the real variety. There was a sign next to it, and a little stool for climbing up atop it, too.
“Dollor, the fastest slowest horse in Tennessee,” she read aloud, charmed despite herself. “That’s cute.”
Laudna fluttered behind her, hair still stringy-wet. Imogen had excused herself from the room a few minutes into Laudna’s shower, not trusting herself to be there when Laudna emerged. Good thing, too, because seeing Laudna as she was now, makeup gone and jangly earrings and bracelets removed, freshly scrubbed and wearing a threadbare old t-shirt, set off a frighteningly domestic longing in Imogen. It was nearly worse for Imogen’s nerves than Laudna emerging in only a towel. She was glad she got her first eyeful outside the motel room, where the possibility of being seen by strangers made schooling her reaction habitually automatic.
Laudna cocked her head. “A funny name. I wonder the story behind it.”
“Oh, it’s a John Wayne reference, probably.” Imogen waved absently and moved on, picking past the yard of other metal bits towards the big sculpture proper.
“You’re a John Wayne fan? Imogen, you are very much testing the limits of my incredulity as to the truthfulness of stereotypes.” Laudna was grinning at Imogen again, sharp-like, Imogen blushed. She bumped her shoulder into Laudna’s arm.
“Nah, I’m not, but my daddy loves ‘em. Now HE’S got the stereotype down pat.” She squished up her face, trying to squeeze the bitterness out of her voice. “Pretty much every aspect of it, really.”
She hadn’t heard from him yet. She wondered if he had even bothered to read her note, even.
Laudna hummed, brow furrowing just a bit, but not pushing. Imogen shook her head, then said, “Is there like, a particular spot we’re supposed to go to look at this damn thing? We’re kinda just in a parking lot. Don’t seem too official. ”
“Folk art can be that way. It’s part of the charm. Hmmmm. Let me see. I think I can manage.” Laudna wasn’t looking at the sculpture, Imogen realized, but rather the fence blocking it off, a “no visitors on the Mindfield” sign hanging from the links. She almost realized what Laudna was thinking in time to protest, but not quite - the older woman had hopped the fence with a limberness Imogen didn’t expect, a moment too quick for Imogen to intervene.
“Laudna!” Imogen hissed. “What are you doing?!”
Laudna smirked back at her. “I would think that’s rather obvious. I’m trespassing.”
Imogen groaned and dragged a hand down her face. “But why?!”
“I’ll only be a moment. I just need to find a home for this fellow.”
Laudna shoved her hand down into her pocket and produced a bit of twisted metal. Imogen stepped closer to squint at it. The twinge of familiarity clarified, and Imogen realized that the wire was what Laudna had been fiddling with as they drove. It had been transformed into a humanoid figure, and despite the lack of specific features, the posture of the little person somehow conveyed a sense of awe. Laudna produced more of the sticky tack she had used to mount Pâté to the dashboard and after a moment considering the angles, attached it to the sculpture, so that it looked like it was observing the larger work.
Laudna hopped back over the fence to Imogen, looking self-satisfied. “There we are. Finished.”
Imogen didn’t get it. “Why would you leave that behind? It’s really nice.” Nicer than the big sculpture, by Imogen’s reckoning, but being she wasn’t the artistic sort, she kept that thought to herself—she didn’t want to sound like a rube.
Laudna just shrugged. “I don’t keep most of what I make. I live in a van, I haven’t really got the luxury of holding on to it all. I like finding places where they fit and leaving them there, rather than just tossing them in the bin. I like to leave a bit of myself where ever I’ve been, making a mark, I suppose? Even if no one else ever notices them.”
Imogen chewed that over as they circled around the Mindfield, Laudna pointing out various parts of it she found particularly interesting. None of it was really Imogen’s sort of thing, but she liked listening to Laudna, at least, even if she wasn’t moved.
Then she saw the sign.
Her first instinct was to recoil; it was huge, and shaped like one of those damn fish bumper stickers and the opening was filled with a faded American flag, two things that had conditioned a fear response in her. But then the words registered.
“I SUPPORT GAY RIGHTS THOUGH I MYSELF LIKE GIRLS” painted along the outside of the sign in bold, simple strokes.
Imogen didn’t figure this was the sorta thing people generally thought of when they said art could bring you to tears, but that didn’t stop the sudden sob that burst out of her. It was stupid, it was so stupid—but. To see something like that here, in a tiny town in goddamn Tennessee, it watered the flower of hope in her in a way she could never have expected.
Her hands immediately went to cover her face and she tried to get out the word “sorry, sorry” but she imagined it was too watery for Laudna to understand.
Even so, Laudna understood something, as a hand landed on Imogen’s shoulder and directed her to face Laudna. Imogen’s vision was too full of tears for her to discern Laudna’s expression, but the slight squeeze and wobbling question told her enough. “Oh, Imogen—may I give you a hug?”
Imogen nodded, and Laudna wrapped her long arms around her, one cradling her shoulder and head, the other twisting around her torso to her hip, engulfing Imogen completely in gentle pressure. Imogen’s crossed hands, pressed to her own chest, squeezed into fists, trying to clench around her rapidly expanding heart. She cried out all the fear that had been eating at the edges of her awareness since the moment she set foot back in Texas, Laudna absorbing the tears and rocking her back and forth.
When she pulled away, snotty and smudged, Laudna tucked an errant lock of hair back behind Imogen’s ear, and smiled. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Yeah.” Imogen met Laudna’s soft brown eyes, one last emotional breath stuttering out of her. “Yeah, really, really lovely.”
~*~
When they got into bed that night, Imogen stayed sitting up against the headboard with her phone out, hoping to distract herself until Laudna fell asleep. After mindlessly scrolling for a while, she finally received a response from Fearne.
No you are not having a midlife crisis
more like youre catching up
Speedrunning
watching speedrunners make me so motion sick tho
Is that supposed to be a metaphor
maybe
youre not sick youre just gay
I mean you’re a lesbian this is like the song of your people or something
embrace the peoplesong
Tell orym i said goodnight
tenderly embrace it!
GOODNIGHT FEARNE
She put her phone face down on the bedside table, and stared at the ceiling in the dark for a long time.
~*~
Imogen didn’t have any nightmares that night. She did, however, wake in a position that set her heart racing just as hard. Really, she had seen it coming, but that didn’t make the panic any less acute. Without her waking mind to play chaperone, her traitorous body had slung itself fully across Laudna. Imogen could feel the shallow puff of her breath tickling her hair, and, oh god, the softness of her skin under her fingers, where her hand had slid under Laudna’s shirt to rest on her stomach.
Imogen rolled away, gulping hard, feeling hot all over.
It wasn’t enough distance. The spell of closeness still gripped Imogen. It curled up Imogen’s nose, piercing her through like a bull ring with the smell of Laudna’s breathe and body, tugging her temptingly back towards the crook of Laudna’s neck. It reminded Imogen of the smell of rain. Not that it was the same smell at all, mind—just that like petrichor, like sun-warmed cotton, like seabreeze, there was some undefinable headiness to it that made breathing her in addictively, heartbreakingly wonderful. Something that made her curse her own lung capacity because she wanted to breathe it in forever. It coated the back of her tongue with the ghost of a taste she’d never had, and Imogen mortifyingly could feel an urge pulsing through her entire body to chase it on Laudna’s skin with her mouth.
Rather than give in, she closed her eyes and took one last lungful to appease her greedy heart, then slowly, so slowly, peeled herself out of bed. Laudna didn’t stir.
She stared at Laudna’s face, sharp angles softened by the gentleness of the predawn light, and tried to remind herself that she could still count the hours since they’d met. That the raging want she could barely keep at bay was strange and overly powerful, that she shouldn’t, couldn’t be feeling something so strongly, so fast, and have it be real. That she should be patching her walls back together, fortifying herself against the barrage of glittering happiness that the next day was going to bring. That she should pick up her well worn shield, emblazoned with the heraldry of a lonesomeness tempered by hard-won acceptance.
But she couldn’t. Even as the panic tightened in her like a bowstring pulled taut, she caught herself smiling down at Laudna, who made a little sleepy snuffle and curled into the warm spot Imogen had left behind.
Shit. She was in so much trouble.
Chapter 2: Resonance
Summary:
So what do you think about our girl?
That was—Laudna didn’t know how to answer that. That question was much too big to answer in words, and it had been pinballing noisily through her skull for 48 hours, nonstop. Imogen was far too much something to confine to mere language – sentences, a too-small prison; punctuation, an unwieldy shackle. After four deleted attempts to encapsulate it all, she gave up and settled on just one beautiful shining piece of it.
She is very kind
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Laudna awoke alone. That was, of course, rather the normal state of affairs for Laudna, but as sleep slowly pulled back its curtain to let in the glimmerings of morning, for the first time that she could remember, it was a surprise.
Imogen was nowhere to be seen. Laudna felt a wave of forlorn something wash through her at the absence and tried to make sense of it, brow furrowed.
Since that first moment in the airport, when she’d caught sight of the bright burst that was Imogen’s hair and had seen her own overwhelm mirrored on Imogen’s face, a buoyant feeling Laudna didn’t recognize had been wending through her veins to make the whole of her light. Friendship, yes, and that was amazing enough, but also something else, something new and growing fast fast fast. A resonance, of sorts, a harmony.
She truly would be inclined to think she had imagined Imogen entirely, if her presence didn’t still reverberate through the motel room. There, her bag, flung open haphazardly. There, her toothbrush on the counter. There, in the warmth in the sheets surrounding Laudna, who always woke up cold. Seeing another person’s mess strewn about would normally put the kettle of her temper on, start the process for a boiling meltdown, but she was simply too happy to have proof that it hadn’t all been a dream to be bothered.
On Laudna’s shoulder, too, the evidence laid delicate and sweet, a couple of lilac hairs clinging to the worn material of her sleep shirt. She plucked them off, rolled them gently between her finger and thumb, and tried to herd her unruly flock of jocund thoughts into some semblance of an order.
This felt so strange.
She was used to hoarding little crumbs of human contact—and she always thought it was enough, that her appetite for other people was bird—like and easily sated. Or, at least, whenever she had tried to reach for more than that, the end result had left her feeling nauseous and seen in the worst sort of way. So why wasn’t she sick on the feeling of having so much from Imogen? Why didn’t the consequences of overindulgence crawl up her throat and have her scrambling for a moment alone? She couldn’t remember the last time she had been in one person’s company so long, and yet glancing around the room, she found herself wishing Imogen were there. Odder still, Imogen seemed content to have Laudna around, as well.
There had been a few times over the course of the day where she had caught herself a moment too late, realized she’d done something that historically had put people off. Introducing Pâté, for instance, had for a few short seconds felt like a catastrophic misstep—she had forgotten how many strong reactions he engendered, especially when she made him talk. She’d learned and relearned that people found him strange or disgusting or, in one memorable instance when she’d showed him to someone who shared her gothic flair, “try-hard.”
Imogen did not seem to really understand Pâté, exactly. What was it she’d said—“not my type?” But she’d treated him with all the politeness she might extend a real friend, and hadn’t made Laudna feel childish for pretending. She hadn’t told Laudna she was being annoying even once, had told her what was wrong with the needles instead of expecting her to guess, and when Laudna had offered to hug her she had sunk into it gratefully, even though Laudna thinks now she might have had her arms in the wrong places.
Hugging had felt wonderful. She’d meant it as a gesture for Imogen more than for herself, but like every other thing she’d done with Imogen in mind over the course of the last two days, the relief of it had echoed back to her, soothed her as much Imogen, plucked some string deep in her heart that hadn’t had a chance to play a tune in a very long time. That resonance, again, that harmony—it made her pulse jump to an allegro tempo.
Strange, strange, strange.
She had managed to sit up and rub away the crusts in her eyes when the door squeaked open. Imogen poked her head in, and, seeing Laudna awake, stopped restricting her movements for the sake of silence. She bumped the door open the rest of the way with her hip, coffee in each hand and a fast food bag clamped in her elbow. She was holding the car keys in her teeth, and seemed to forget they were there until she tried to talk and they got in her way. Laudna chuckled as Imogen’s ears turned pink and she lifted up an arm to catch the keys as they fell from her mouth.
“Mornin’! Sorry I didn’t ask whatcha wanted for breakfast, but you were sleeping like the dead and it didn’t seem right to wake you.”
She set one cup next to Laudna and pawed through the bag to pull out various containers. Laudna sipped at the hot coffee, noting Imogen’s drink was iced. She felt unexpectedly touched that Imogen had remembered she didn’t like it when coffee or tea was served cold – it was against the natural order of things!—and had gotten the balance of cream and sugar just right. Perhaps it was a low bar to expect someone to clear, but it had been a very long time since anyone had any interest in remembering any of her peculiarities. She smiled.
“That is more than quite all right—thank you for getting all this.”
“No problem. I uh, I wasn’t sure what you’d want so I got a couple things?” Imogen started wringing her hands. “Pancakes, hash browns, couple different sandwiches? So just grab what you like, I’ll eat whatever’s left, I don’t mind.”
That twitchy energy that had taken hold of Imogen a few times the day before had returned, and Laudna cocked her head, trying to determine just what was making her nervous. She set her coffee down and grabbed her phone, remembering how Imogen had settled the day before when they’d exchanged a few words that way instead.
Is something the matter? You seem a little out of sorts
She heard a buzz from Imogen’s back pocket, and when Imogen’s eyes flicked down and then back to Laudna, Laudna danced her phone at her. Imogen pulled it out and read the message. The tips of her freckled ears turned a winsome shade of pink again, which Laudna found utterly charming, though somewhat baffling.
Yeah sorry guess I just was I dunno
thinking too hard
About breakfast! Overthinking what I chose I guess I dunno
I do that kind of a lot
Sorry
You needn’t apologize
I do that kind of a lot too
fuck. almost did it again, even. Sorry
SHIT
That’s quite all right. Just because you don’t need to apologize, doesn’t mean that it’s a problem when you do.
Imogen looked up at her with a half smile and just slightly pinched brows. Laudna was starting to understand that repeated look to be disbelief, but a happy sort, a kind of exultant confusion. It echoed the same strangeness that had overcome Laudna, reverberating and amplifying in a joyful, clamorous feedback loop. It was too much to hold in a body, so Laudna understood, though she lamented, when Imogen’s gaze skittered away.
~*~
The rest of the morning’s preparations sped along mostly in companionable silence—though Laudna couldn’t quite resist telling Imogen she’d probably be able to pack a bit more easily if she hadn’t dug in her bag like a dog unburying a bone when taking things out the night prior. Imogen had let loose a startled, full-chested laugh, a bark of a laugh, and then Laudna had dissolved into a fit of snickering at how apt that was, given the imagery she’d invoked. It had taken her more than a minute to regain her composure enough to explain the joke, particularly since Imogen had tilted her head in confusion at her just like a puppy would.
They’d packed everything to the car together, and Imogen went to check out, leaving Laudna to do a final survey of the room, which she completed quickly enough. All there was left to do, then, was her stretching routine. She’d done it yesterday before Imogen had arrived, a bit self conscious about her flailing, but she felt fairly confident now that Imogen wouldn’t judge. Besides, it was an integral part of her mornings, and the thought of giving up that one piece of ritual that could follow her everywhere was anathema to Laudna.
First, she bounced on the balls of her feet, ten seconds, blood flowing now. Twisting her trunk around slowly one way, then the other; the same for her neck, her spine making a bubble-pop with each click around the circle. Shoulder shrugs, and maybe she made faces with them, exaggerated, duckish pursed lips. Then hands on the wall, palms flat, one leg lunged forward, one back; then switch. Thirty seconds holding her right foot behind her, making her quad burn pleasantly, then the same with her left.
Arms, now, throwing them around in a circle forward, spinning like propellers, then back the other way. And indeed, when Imogen returned to the room looking for her, she did not give her any sort of judgemental look, though the perplexed half smile came back. When Laudna started shaking each of her limbs, thinking again about dogs, shaking out their fur, Imogen chuckled, and finally asked, “What’s all that about?”
“I’ve learned that spending all day in a car makes it extra important to get limber so you don’t get stuck all rusted up in one position by the end of the journey, especially at my age.” Laudna spread out her legs in aV then leaned down towards her foot, easily grasping her ankle, twenty seconds, then spider walking her fingers across the ground to her other foot to do the same, twenty seconds. When she looked up again, Imogen was staring. “You might consider stretching a bit yourself!”
Imogen didn’t reply, and didn’t seem to be blinking either. Laudna straightened, pressed her shoulders back and groaned in satisfaction, her chest going forward. Imogen tracked the movement, which Laudna filed away for later. “Really. You’d be surprised how nice it feels.”
“Sure, I guess.” Imogen half heartedly pulled one arm across her chest, vaguely mimicking but still paying more attention to Laudna than herself. “How, uh, how old are you, anyhow?”
That… was an excellent question, and frankly one Laudna had been avoiding thinking about for the better part of, well. How many years was it? She wasn’t actually sure. She lay down on the floor on her front — towel down first, she’d never do this on the motel carpet, gods above — pushed her front up into a sphinx pose while she considered. What year was her birthday again? She rolled it around in her mind, looking for the answer. When she didn’t respond right away, she saw Imogen’s face fall and she said, “I’m sorry, is that rude of me to ask?”
Laudna shook her head with a laugh. “No, darling, it’s just I need to do the math. I don’t pay overmuch attention to my birthdays. Give me a moment on the subtraction.”
She bowed down into a child pose, hands forward, head tucked down, as she worked it out. “Ummm… 52? 52 seems correct.”
Imogen hummed. “Can’t decide if that makes perfect sense or if you seem far younger, to be honest. Both feel kinda true.”
Laudna rocked back to sit on her heels, the nervous urge to play with her hair overpowering the routine. The locks in between her fingers were woven through with gray, and she felt suddenly very self conscious. “Is it, well. Is it strange? That I’m that age?”
She knew Imogen was younger, that nebulous young-but-not-in-school age that made it hard for Laudna to pin a number down. It was very hard in general for Laudna to parse the ages of anyone not older than her or a child; some piece of her mind couldn’t let go of the idea that everyone was her peer and therefore her own age, nevermind what that age actually was. Time was much too squishy a concept to attach to something as solid as people.
She knew, however, that for most of said people, it mattered, and she wondered if it mattered to Imogen, that Laudna had crow’s feet and gray hairs and actual memories of the fashion crimes of the 80s. That she had, as she had been warned so many times before she’d finally received her freedom, gone past her prime without making something of herself.
But Imogen just shrugged. “What? Nah. Pretty sure it ain't illegal to like, continue to exist into middle age, Laud.”
She offered a hand down to Laudna, pulling her to her feet. Her hand was warm and strong and Laudna did not let go. She watched as Imogen’s eyes flicked down to them, clasped as if in an oath, watched her throat bob as she swallowed. She squeezed Laudna’s hand once before relaxing her grip.
Laudna gave herself a mental shake. “Oh. All right then. Excellent. How old are you?”
Imogen ran her freed hand through her hair, gesturing to the door with the other as she talked, following Laudna out to the car. “Oh, 30. Which, honestly, I understand the not rememberin’ your age thing. I only remember mine cuz it’s supposedly a big one.” Imogen snorted. “Spent the end of my 20s having folks tell me I was going to start feeling oh-so-tired ‘n shit once I hit it, but joke’s on them, cause I’ve been exhausted for more than a decade.”
“You DID go to sleep after me and wake up well before.”
“Aw hell, I only do that out of habit. I used to have to get up before the damn sun, to take care of the horses.”
Laudna’s grin stretched slowly ever wider, delight creeping through her like ice cracking. “You take care of horses? You weren’t kidding about being a real cowgirl.”
“Well. I’m not anymore, I reckon.” Imogen frowned at the map app she was fiddling with. “I work at my daddy’s tack shop now. Don’t get to see horses themselves too often, these days, just all manner of their gear.”
This struck Laudna as a great tragedy, given the soft way Imogen had said “horses,” the expression she’d had on her face when they’d seen the metal horse, the gentle strength of her hand. “Why is that?”
“Ranch let me go. Said I was takin’ too many sick days, that they needed someone who’d be more consistent, for the animals’ sake.” Laudna opened her mouth, ready to let loose the indignant anger she felt on Imogen’s behalf like a swarm of bees, but a shake of Imogen’s head made her shut it again with a click of teeth. “They weren’t wrong, much as I hate it. Still though, it’s ingrained there too deep, so I end up awake near with the sun, even though I sleep terrible and don’t gotta open the store til 10.” Imogen shrugged. “Four hours a night or so ain’t great but I’m chugging along.”
She punctuated that statement with a turn of the key, bringing the car's engine to life, and flashed Laudna a smile that faltered when the indignation Laudna had been feeling found a new target. Laudna scowled at Imogen, sucking her teeth. “Imogen. That is not enough sleep to get and remain a functioning human being. You’ll shave twenty years off your life running your body so ragged.”
“That don’t seem so bad. What am I gonna do with twenty extra years? Didn’t figure on being around this long anyway, so it’s all bonus, I guess.” Imogen laughed, but Laudna could tell it was a hollow sound, brittle, and it broke to sad pieces the moment it left her mouth. She wondered how often those pieces, jagged and sharp, had cut at Imogen, made a joke of her continued existence. The thought made her heart constrict unbearably tight.
“That is not funny at all. I don’t like that." She twisted in her seat to face Imogen, and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it until Imogen turned to face her. "You must take care of yourself, Imogen, it’s important. If not for yourself, then for the people who care about you. Please?”
Take care of yourself for me, she wanted to say, but that was absurd, wasn't it? She had no claim on Imogen beyond a friendship freshly hatched, the shell barely cracked, egg-tooth still attached. But the thought had already taken wing, and even if she did not say it aloud, Laudna felt it. Do it for me if you can't do it for yourself.
“Well, damn, when you ask me like that, it’s hard to say no.” Imogen placed her hand on Laudna’s, dropped her eyes, bit her lip, and Laudna watched the movement with fervent focus. “How about I at least try to do some more of them stretches you were doing, and we’ll see from there?”
Laudna smiled, and squeezed Imogen’s shoulder again, one last touch for the road. “I’ll hold you to that.”
~*~
An hour later, Laudna felt her pocket buzz, and the surprise made her stutter on the lyrics of the terrible pop song she and Imogen were belting along with on the radio. Imogen was driving. Imogen was the only person she could think would be texting her. She hadn’t even had time enough at this number to have it sold to spammers. Why the fuck was she getting a message right now? She pulled up the text and squinted at it, confusion further deepening.
jsyk imogen isn't a murderer :)
don’t tell her I said that
I hadn’t thought she was since I survived the night, but this is a bit suspicious!
Might I ask who this is?
Wow formal
You might or you mightn’t
your call
you could maintain the fun mystery if you wanted
I think I’d rather know if it’s all the same to you
nobody ever wants the fun mystery :(
just ask imogen she’ll know
“Imogen? Someone is texting me—”
Imogen groaned dramatically. “God fucking DAMMIT, Fearne!”
and probably be mad oopsie probably should have warned you :)
Imogen took one hand off the steering wheel to drag it down her face, longsuffering but in a fond sort of way that diffused the little knot of tension between Laudna’s shoulder blades that had sprung into being at the idea of Imogen being mad for reasons she didn’t understand. “That’s uh, my friend I was coming back from visitin’ when we met. My college roommate. She isn’t supposed to have your number, I gave it to our other friend Orym just in case something happened—not that I thought you would do something but maybe I’d lose my phone or… I dunno—sorry I’m ramblin’. She just loves to cause trouble is all.”
“Well!” Laudna chuckled, a pleasant wiggle of joy worming its way into shoulders at the knowledge that Imogen had told other people about her. “So long as it’s not a stranger telling me you aren’t planning to kill me and stuff me in your trunk then that’s perfectly unsuspicious.”
Imogen groaned again and Laudna smiled down at her phone.
Lovely to meet you Fearne
imogen really ought to have figured this would happen
but I think she’s a little distracted~ rn
which is why I’m texting you
Well, if you need to ask her something while she’s driving, I can certainly play middleman!
No that’s not what I meant
I wanted to talk to the distraction
So what do you think about our girl?
That was—Laudna didn’t know how to answer that. That question was much too big to answer in words, and it had been pinballing noisily through her skull for 48 hours, nonstop. Imogen was far too much something to confine to mere language – sentences, a too-small prison; punctuation, an unwieldy shackle. After four deleted attempts to encapsulate it all, she gave up and settled on just one beautiful shining piece of it.
She is very kind
…
You’re really not going to give me more than that?
Geez louise orym was right I shouldnt have tried
Perhaps it was not quite a big enough piece. Laudna pursed her lips, thinking hard, but the words still wouldn't come. Finally, she just asked,
What were you looking for, exactly?
I dunno, SOMEthing more interesting than that
what can I even do with that?
I might be more helpful if I knew what you’re trying to do?
Fearne didn’t reply right away, leaving Laudna to float along the currents of the question that was Imogen, like she was on her back in a mountain lake, all the sound muted from her ears under the cold water, the clouds making shapes of her feelings she could almost turn into pictures solid enough to hang names on. Almost, almost. A few minutes of contemplation passed before Fearne messaged again.
ok
new question then
imogen is giving you a ride, have you considered returning the favor ;) ;) ;)
oh I would love to! :)
But I can’t drive right now, that’s how this road trip started
oh my god
What? Did I say something wrong?
No you’re just really sincere! I get why she’s
actually
no im not going to say that, she’ll get mad for real if I say that
Launda carefully set her phone face down on her lap and looked out the window, to hide her burning cheeks.That was—well.
It wasn’t that Laudna didn’t get the innuendo, exactly—though, admittedly, it had only clicked at Fearne’s response. But the idea of talking about Imogen like that, to someone else no less, felt… uncomfortable, in a way fraught with what might be meaning, if she could figure out the contours of it. She understood friends might sometimes goof about sexual things with each other, she did! But. They hadn’t joked like that between themselves. She couldn’t even—There were no lines yet, no clear boundaries. She feared crossing them, and yet also something in her rebelled against drawing that first line herself. Because she—what if Imogen might think—
She chewed at the inside of her mouth in frustration. There was something she couldn’t seem to see yet except out of the corner of her eye, some phantom of an idea or a feeling that was playing hide and seek in her brain. And fuck, maybe if her head ached a little less, or if that feeling was less big, so she could make out more details of it from up so close, this might be less difficult. But the totality of this, of this great onrushing something with Imogen, eluded her.
Laudna could, if she let herself, visualize sketches of what this friendship could become, could draft it in so many ways, but it didn’t have enough form to shade it in, and she didn’t want to do that alone, anyway. She’d made that mistake, before, fully painted a picture of a future only to find she’d completely misunderstood what other people wanted from her. And the idea of doing that with Imogen, of getting it wrong and pushing her away, or of making Imogen think that she didn’t—that there wasn’t—that—it was unfathomable, nonsensical, too much for her to even process.
So she could play dumb with Fearne. Needed to, really, for her own sake, at least for now, especially because god, what if Imogen asked her what she and Fearne had talked about?
The sudden vibration of her phone again in her lap made her yelp and jump and her hands windmill until her phone bounced down to her feet, fuckballs, landed right on her big toe fucking ow—
She managed to wave off Imogen’s noises of concern and retrieve it, only to see another text from Fearne.
do you prefer being in the passenger or driver’s seat? :)
Maybe she would turn her phone off for a little while, actually.
~*~
The next incursion on their peace came from Imogen’s phone, not Laudna’s. An incoming call cut through the stream of music, and Imogen’s face fell into something inscrutable and blank. Laudna watched closely, trying to decipher from the slight pinch around Imogen’s eyes what it could be about receiving a call that could wipe away her easy contentment so easily. Imogen let the call go to voicemail, then reached to her phone, swiping at the notification there.
A gruff voice sounded from the car speakers.
“Imogen, I don’t know what in the hell you’re playin’ at–”
“Oh goddammit, the bluetooth—” Imogen started scrambling ineffectually at her phone, trying to pause or disconnect it, as the voicemail continued to play, but needing to keep her eyes on the road thwarted her efforts.
“—but you best be home safe by Monday. I ain’t got anyone else to cover that shift. Don’t go gettin’ into any trouble in the city.”
The message ended there abruptly, and Imogen let out a long breath. She swallowed, her eyes flicking towards Laudna just a moment. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t—didn’t mean for you to hear all that. Was just trying to get the notification to go away.”
It had been a bit brusque but not enough to twist up so much pain on Imogen’s face. Which must mean Laudna was missing context. She remembered how often Delilah would say something that sounded like praise or kindness to others, but would cut through Laudna like the knife it was meant to be.
She tapped Pâté’s head so it went a-wobble, and pitched her voice into the worst hybrid of rat-and-cowboy accent she could manage. It sat far too back on her teeth to be properly southern, but that was all right—she was trying to make Imogen smile, not show off. “So I reckon that there was yer real cowboy daddy, eh?”
The corner of Imogen’s lip twitched. Not quite a smile, but. It would have to do. “Yeah, that’s him. Checkin’ in on me, since I just left him a note on the kitchen table, I imagine. Doesn’t usually bother.”
“Ah.” That inspired many questions and she could see the sharp edges they might have, so Laudna reached for the safest of them. “Do you live together, then?”
“Yeah. Never seemed to make sense to get my own place, really, so long as he was ok letting me stick around. We don’t see much of each other anyhow, sorta got different schedules and keep to ourselves.” Imogen’s mouth worked over her teeth, pulling to one side in an unkind look she seemed almost annoyed she couldn’t direct at herself. “I know that seems real pathetic, grown woman livin’ with her parent, still.”
Fuckballs. Even safety scissors could cut, she really ought to remember that. She wanted to take Imogen's hand, but she had both on the wheel, clutching tight. “Not at all, darling. It’s quite the norm in many places around the world. But, hmm. If you don’t mind me saying so, you seem rather more out of sorts to hear from him than I might expect. Do you not get along well?”
Imogen sighed, and the leather of the steering wheel creaked under her twisting hands. Laudna had a sense like it was all creaking through Imogen, a ceaseless tension, and the desire to wind their fingers together grew further.
“I mean. It’s… parents, you know? Gets more and more complicated older you get, feels like.”
Laudna laughed. “I wouldn’t know! Both my parents are dead.”
The tightness left Imogen’s face, but it wasn’t a victory, because instead it fell slack into stricken alarm. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Laudna waved her hand like she was trying to clear the air of a bad smell—would that she could clear the anxiety from Imogen so easily. “No darling, it’s fine, it happened ages ago. When I was still a child. And really it’s topical, since in a way, that’s why I’m on this little journey with you in the first place. I’m on my way to a funeral.”
“To pay your disrespects, you said?”
She’d forgotten she’d said that, and it curled up to the corners of her mouth with equal parts pleased surprise that Imogen had remembered and satisfaction with her own cleverness for the earlier joke.
“That’s right. For my guardian after my parents passed. Her name was Delilah Briarwood, have you heard of her?”
“No. Should I have?”
Laudna blinked. Truthfully, she had expected the name to ring a bell—Delilah loomed large in both New York and Laudna’s mind, like a great engulfing cloud.
“Oh. I… suppose not?” She said slowly. “The rich old bat was a big deal in the city she called home, but I guess that doesn’t mean she’d be known outside it? She was a patron of the arts. She would very much not like you not knowing her name, that is fantastic.”
She cackled and Imogen finally smiled. “Take it her passing ain’t exactly a tragedy for you, then?”
Laudna snorted. “The only tragic part of it is that it took so damned long.” Gently, she asked, “Would it be a tragedy for you? To lose your father?”
“Of course,” Imogen said reflexively, and then, after a wound spring moment, she sighed. “The thing with my daddy is that he loves me, and I love him, and he’s treated me best he can, given me a job and home and everything, even now. But there’s one real big part of me he can’t even stand to look at, he hates it so much.”
She ran a hand down her face, stopping to hold her own jaw. “Funny thing is… feeling’s sort of mutual? The part of him that hates that part of me, I can’t look at it either. Hard to have a real conversation, when you both feel that way, I guess.”
Laudna sat quiet a moment, chewing on that, sucking to free the gristle of it getting stuck in her teeth. “You know, I think I understand the feeling somewhat, but rather the inverse? There is only one part of me that Delilah wanted. The rest was all inconvenient at best.”
“How could anybody only want one part of you?” Imogen blushed. “I mean, you’re wonderful and it’s…it’s all a package deal, right? The pieces of people, they don’t mean nothing all alone, they’re just part of a bigger picture. You’ve got to love it all.”
That sank into Laudna like warm tea, a seeping comfort, sweet and languid. She sat a moment in it, wishing the car was parked so she could look at Imogen properly. Her breath left her with steadying purpose. “That’s… perhaps one of the most beautiful things anyone’s ever said to me.” She gave in to impulse, and took the hand closer to her, sandwiched it between her palms. “You know that’s true for you as well, right?”
Imogen’s eyes flitted from the road to their clasped hands, lingered there a half moment longer than was strictly safe. She gulped.
“I… I do. Yeah. It’s hard sometimes, when he don’t agree, but I… yeah. I try to believe it.”
“Let me know if you need extra help, darling, because I believe it wholeheartedly. You are an incredible summation of parts and I am absolutely blessed to have met you.”
She released Imogen’s hand, and Imogen flexed it tight into a fist before returning it to the wheel.
“Yeah. Yeah, back atcha.” Imogen cleared her throat. “So this Delilah then, what did she want from you?”
“Ah. That requires a bit of explaining, I think.”
Laudna settled back into her seat, but thinking about it made her feel buzzy, so she reached over and started tapping on Pâté’s head absently while she sorted through the hum of memories layered all on top of each other. After a moment, she said, “I was, in my youth, rather prolific and skilled at sculpture. My mother worked as Delilah’s assistant and leveraged that relationship to get my private tutoring on the subject paid for when she realized my aptitude, so I was already an investment to Delilah before they passed. She made sure I was connected to the right people, that I was treated like a prodigy.”
Laudna wasn’t sure if it was simply time that made it feel like she was talking about another person, or if she’d left the dust gather on the panes of memory so long that the view was dirty and smudged. Either way, she felt almost like she had double vision, like her half-gone memories overlapped with the sense that was dispassionately observing some other child in some other life. She tapped Pâté’s head a bit faster.
“After the accident, she took me in, but it was because she wanted to continue to control my artistic development —there was no fondness for myself or my mother involved. As I said, Delilah was a patron of the arts—but she didn’t create things. Except for me. She wanted a legacy and fashioned me to secure it for her.”
Laudna’s smile was a flat line. “I did actually quite enjoy my craft, before she wrapped me up in all the strings her patronage had attached. But it became clear that I would need to choose between maintaining my name and artistic reputation and cutting myself out of her clutches. I chose the latter, as soon as I came of age and could afford to do it. Fled to my mother’s home country and did my best to disappear so she wouldn’t track me down. And there we are! The story is a bit plotless from there, I’m afraid. I’ve been on the move ever since.”
Imogen’s jaw was working up and down, like she was swallowing back something, and her eyes were sparking. After a moment of silence, she said in a low voice, “That’s… that’s real fucking unfair to you. I’m sorry you had to give that all up.”
“Thank you.” The buzzing in Laudna didn’t leave, but it settled somewhat. It was… nice, to not be told she’d squandered a chance to be someone, or had been ungrateful. That she had chosen a supposedly meaningless life. Still, the last of that staticky defensiveness that always arose when talking about Delilah shivered through her. She liked her life. She didn’t want Imogen to think she didn’t. It was important to her that Imogen know that she liked her life, even if she didn’t quite understand why. She tapped Pâté one last time then left him wobbling before she responded.
“But… it wasn’t all bad. It was only really running for a short time. I traded all her privileges for freedom, and for traveling the world. I’ve been so lucky as to see a great many of the most marvelous old and interesting places that exist many times over, and I mightn’t ever have seen them even once, if home had been more amenable to me. I have made things for myself, like Pâté here. Even if it seems like a waste of time, it isn’t to me.”
Imogen snorted. “Don’t see how anyone could call experiencin’ the world a waste of time. Especially compared to dropping out of school and never doing more’n selling folks things.”
Laudna pursed her lips, scowling. “Imogen. Please don’t take the foolish barbs people have thrown at me and apply them to yourself. It’s not true for either of us. Being alive is never a waste.” She paused, considered. “Unless you’re a rich miserable fuck making things worse for others.”
“Like Delilah.”
She had to cackle at that, and was gratified to hear Imogen join her.
“I shan’t argue, I don’t think! Let her rotting give the rest of us some proper fucking peace. Now then!” Laudna clapped her hands together, her elbows sticking out dramatically wide. “Given that we seem to have packed a good eighty years of trauma between the two of us into a single conversation, I think we deserve a break. I might not be able to take you to see my favorite wonders of Europe at the moment, but, well. Nashville has seen fit to import a few of them, after a fashion.”
Laudna pointed to a billboard to the right of the road, and Imogen laughed with her whole chest, a brighter sound, before easing the car over into the exit lane.
~*~
The Nashville Parthenon was indeed a very different experience than its inspiration, but not perhaps entirely in the way that Laudna expected. Outside, yes, that had the expected sort of dissonance. It did not hold court over the city like in Athens, no Acropolis to stand high on, nor did other ruins, nearly as old and just as lovely, gird it on all sides. Instead there was a car park, a bench dedicated to Taylor Swift where fans were taking selfies. And of course, this Parthenon was not a ruin at all but a solid building, crumbled neither by time nor by war nor by greedy acquisition. The less charitable parts of Laudna thought there was something of a theme park's perfection to it all, sapping away any reverential quality by insisting on meticulous curation of facade.
Imogen, however, looked startled by it, mouth closed but jaw a bit slack. Her eyes darted to Laudna's and she asked quietly, like she was afraid to admit to having a genuine question, "Is it really that big? The real one?"
The reluctant awe underpinning the question pulled Laudna’s nose out of the air, and she smiled at Imogen. “It is, though the effect on approach is a bit different. Marble stone ruins and open air atop a great hill makes for a different feel, I think.”
“Huh. Don’t know why I expected it to be smaller.” Imogen scratched at her jaw with her thumb, seeming a bit sheepish. “Hard to imagine people doing something like that without electricity, I guess.”
They meandered closer to the structure. Laudna said, “People have always been more clever than their descendants give them credit for, I think.”
“Spose that’s true,” Imogen said. “Those sculptures up top, they still exist for real?”
“On the pediment? Some of them, in part, but not on the Parthenon itself. It’s actually a bit of a spicy story! So after an explosive blew up half the damn thing at the end of the 1600s—”
Imogen stopped walking. “There were bombs in the 1600s?!”
Laudna laughed and bumped her shoulder into Imogen’s. “Clever ancestors, darling, remember! China had gunpowder by the 9th century, you know.”
“History is so damn weird.” Imogen shook her head. “Wish I knew how weird, when I was still in school. All right, so it blew up, then what?”
Laudna happily launched into the saga of the Elgin marbles and their dastardly provenance as they circled the whole of the building, delighting in unpacking bits of history and terminology from the dusty attic boxes of her memory.
Imogen nodded along, tossing in questions and little comments here and there, but mostly seeming content to let Laudna ramble. She had a habit of drifting while she walked, and more than once she stumbled a bit into Laudna’s side, blushing and apologizing and cursing herself for not even being able to walk straight. Laudna had half a mind to offer Imogen her hand to steady her, but the idea of it made an uncharacteristic shyness bloom through her. The vines of it wrapped around the words and held them fast to her insides, and she had not yet succeeded in cutting them free when they finally paid for their tickets and made their way inside the building.
Laudna blinked, then scowled. Her first thought was that it was too damn dark. Not because of the lack of lighting—there was plenty of light—but the concrete used in place of marble had none of that material’s slight translucence, didn’t bounce the light, and the particularly pebbled style of concrete darkened it further, giving it a texture that just read as wrong, to Laudna. She reached out and briefly ran a hand over one of the pillars, and the combination of the slightly rough bite of the concrete and the smooth feel of the pebbles filled her hand with pinpricks, a terrible sensation.
The wrong-feel of the pillars did not hold her attention long, however, because looming large in the middle of the room was the star of the building’s interior.
Imogen let loose a low whistle. “Big fuckin’ thing.”
She was, the helpful informational plaque supplied, indeed a big fucking thing at over 40 ft tall, the crest of her helmet coming almost uncomfortably close to the ceiling. She held the top of her shield in one hand, and a winged figure in the palm of the other. A spear leaned against her shoulder. Her grimacing shield might be nearly as big as their car, with a great alert serpent tucked comfortably behind it at her side. Her facial features were painted, and all the things she held and wore were gilt, the gold blazing painfully bright. A recreation of Athena, large as the one lost to antiquity, and to Laudna’s eyes, absolutely obnoxious.
But in a way, maybe it was a little satisfying, too? When she had learned, all those year ago, that the Greeks and Romans had not left their statuary bare but painted in bright colors, her first thought had been, Delilah must absolutely hate this. The initial twinge felt at the gaudiness of this particular interpretation was softened by the echo of that smug gratification.
At least, for a moment or two. She tried to hold onto that gratification, she really did, but she couldn't help it—she hated the damn thing.
As she and Imogen drew closer, Laudna leaned to Imogen and whispered ineffectually, "That face is a cry for help."
Imogen eyed her. “Yeah?”
Laudna flourished her hands wide towards the sculpture. "The statue of Athena at the Acropolis was lost millennia ago and the recreations we have are varied, so the artist had some leeway and they chose to create… this."
The corner of Imogern’s lip twitched. She drawled, "Not a fan, huh?"
Laudna’s hands went to her face and she pulled her cheeks down with her fingertips. "It is a plaster and fiberglass monstrosity."
Imogen chuckled, "I can't believe you liked our eyeball down in Dallas but this chaps your ass."
"That was done with intention, this was painted years after the fact and you can tell. That face is much too… too art deco-y to be painted, the stylization is all wrong for it." She threw up her hands. "And I like art deco, but it's just all wrong, a complete mismatch, and I think I quite loathe it actually!"
“Well, I don’t know about all that. I like her all right.” Imogen’s shoulders shook just a bit, and Laudna gasped dramatically.
“Imogen, are you laughing at me?”
“Nah, nah, or I mean… not in a bad way! You’re just so riled, it’s c—” Imogen cut herself off, bit her lip. Tried again, tentative. “Charmin’?”
“Oh! Well!” Laudna felt the curl of her smile spin into a looping happiness in her chest, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I suppose that’s all right then.”
Imogen cleared her throat and turned to squint back up towards the statue.
“They might have considered havin’ her look down a bit though, even if it don’t suit a god to do so. Didn’t they realize we were just going to see the bottom of her chin? It's the most unflattering angle I've ever heard of.”
“Well that’s certainly true.” Laudna pointed to the smaller figure perched on Athena’s palm. “Maybe the original had Nike in her hand so that she’d have an excuse to look down at something, rather than staring off into space like our friend here? One has to assume they would have considered their goddess’ good side while crafting it. A bad angle probably would have been smite-worthy to a Greek god. They were a vain pile of fucks.”
Imogen laughed truer and louder at that, and it echoed through the hall. A few of the other patrons of the museum looked up at them — Imogen covered her mouth with her hand, but above it her eyes and nose still scrunched up with mirth. When she quieted, she stage whispered to Laudna “I’d call ‘em fuckers, not fucks, because they sure did a lot of that, didn’t they?”
Laudna tried her best to swallow her own laugh. “True enough.”
They finished exploring the whole of the main floor, taking in the casts from the Elgin marbles and the various informative plaques. When they came close to Athena’s aegis shield, with its great gorgon face framed prominently in the center, Laudna crossed her eyes and exaggeratedly stuck out her tongue to mimic it. Imogen swatted her arm, grinning, and said “Stop tryin’ to make me laugh again, we’re gonna get scolded right out of here like a coupla kids.” They collapsed down towards each other in the attempt to keep their giggling contained, heads bowed low together, and Laudna had never felt so light.
There was a floor below, with a whole art gallery and gift shop, but they opted to give it a miss, since Imogen had pointed out that they needed to get back on the road if they weren’t going to be driving all hours. Approaching the massive bronze doors at the point of egress, Imogen slowed to study them closer.
The door sported great ringed handles of entwined serpents and panels sporting beautifully sculpted heads of a ram, a gorgon, and a lion. The lion’s nose shone a bright, more golden color than the dark oiled look of the rest of the door. Imogen nodded to it.
“Why’s the muzzle of that lion a different color than the rest of it, you reckon?”
Laudna smiled, and reached to pet it. “He’s had quite a bit of love is all.”
Imogen reached out as well, and her pinky brushed against Laudna’s hand as she pulled away, and it made Laudna feel just as polished and shiny, herself.
“Be funny if people brightened like that where you gave ‘em a pat.”
There were quite a few statues Laudna could remember of people that had a similar effect, and not all in such innocent places. She remembered the look of Juliet’s well—worn breast in Vienna, and how smoothed away it had become, how cool that too felt under her fingers. She felt her face heat a bit at the idea of telling Imogen that, but then another thought lept into her mind—
“We have our own way of brightening up.” Laudna reached over and brushed the backs over her fingers over the apple of one of Imogen’s cheek, which erupted immediately into a riotous red blush more prominent than Laudna’s own. “See?”
Imogen’s eyes went wide and her voice pitched up a bit more squeaky than Laudna had yet heard. She took a backwards step towards the stairs to the lower level, and then another, her smile oddly broad. “Hey, actually, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick. I’ll be right back?”
She was gone before Laudna could respond, which was just as well, because all she could muster was a long, fortifying exhale. After a moment, she rocked on her heels, then started on another circuit around the building, hoping to burn the jittering energy before they returned to the car.
Laudna wondered idly if perhaps she was meant to go to the restroom with Imogen. She knew that was a thing people joked about — girls going to the bathroom in packs, ha ha isn’t it funny that they needed safety in numbers! But Imogen hadn’tt asked her to come, and really, the poor girl could probably use a moment alone. She would have to check to see if Imogen seemed out of sorts when she returned, and then she could ask if it had been wrong to stay behind.
She reached the far end and turned to meander back towards the front of the building, the echo of her steps creating a rhythm that in her head, sounded like the syllables of Imogen’s name. She smiled a little at that, and under her breath, spoke the name aloud to the beat of her feet, like a holy mantra. She was in a temple, after all. It seemed apropos, and there was something soothing about the way it felt on her tongue, a balm on her mind as it kept her from deeper thought.
When she reached the front and turned to repeat the pacing the second time, she felt a touch on her elbow and nearly shrieked as she jumped and whirled. Imogen stood there, bemused, her hand hovering between them. Laudna placed her own palm flat to her chest, and squeezed Imogen’s shoulder with the other with a breathy chuckle.
“Oh! My! You scared the shit out of me.”
“Ah, figured you’d hear me coming.” Only now did Laudna notice the jangly whirl of the keys Imogen spun around her finger. Imogen caught the keys in her hand and crinkled her nose apologetically. “Sorry about that. You ready to hit the road?”
Her heart still thudded with near painful insistence in her chest, but Laudna smiled and nodded. “Certainly. Lead the way, darling.”
As they made their way out the door, a mother and child of perhaps twelve who had been in the building with them were also exiting. The mother, clothes pressed like Sunday best, was looking at Laudna askance, and the attention pricked at her in a way that was regrettably familiar. She smiled, and the woman turned away. Her son, not paying attention to either of them, brow furrowed in concentration, said, “Why was there such a big snake next to that statue?”
The woman turned to him, “Well, you remember the serpent in the garden, don’t you? That’s just a reminder not to give in to the idolatry the ancient Greeks were led astray by.”
Laudna stopped and turned, incensed by the obvious lie. “Actually, it’s a representation of one of the early kings of Athens, said to be born from the earth after a rather gruesome—”
“Don’t speak to her, Caden.” The woman snapped and glowered at Laudna. “You leave my boy alone.”
Laudna didn’t understand. “I was simply providing a factual correction to—”
Imogen reached out and put a gentle hand on Laudna’s shoulder. “She’s not worth your time, Laudna, leave her to her bullshit.”
The woman turned to Imogen, face distorting now into a full sneer, and Laudna felt an urge to step between them. But Imogen had her hand up in front of Laudna, cautioning her back, so she only clenched her teeth instead.
“Of course people like you would use such crass language. I can’t believe that you’d cuss so openly. We could all hear you inside, you know. Absolutely shameful. “
A spike of guilt went through Laudna at that — perhaps they should have been more cognizant – but Imogen smiled, and it stuttered her line of thought. It wasn't a kind smile, more like an animal baring its teeth in warning than a polite bit of geniality. There had been times, when she was young, that Delilah had done things she said were for Laudna’s safety. But had she never felt quite like she had a protector, before, and guard-dog looked magnificent on Imogen, the intensity of focus crackling off her. Something low in Laudna pulsed.
"Well ma'am, I'm sorry you feel that way, but I reckon you might want to consider gettin’ that stick surgically removed before it does permanent damage. Organ perforation's no joke." She pressed her lips together in faux concern. "Leaving it shoved up your ass, you might get blood poisoned something awful."
The woman began sputtering, her son snickering to himself behind her, and Imogen grabbed Laudna’s hand, tugging her out to the parking lot.
~*~
When they got back on the road, Laudna pulled out her phone with the intent of hopping online a moment to distract herself from that whole exchange and the myriad confusing things it made her feel, only to see she had more messages from Fearne waiting.
Ok I have a new approach are you ready
you’re not american so you probably laugh about how a lot of americans are super uptight about sex right?
imogen is very american
Fearne, it seemed, was nothing if not persistent. As a distraction, though, she would be most welcome.
Well that’s not strictly true
OH?
The part about me not being an american I mean
oh
but imogen said you’re european?
I have dual citizenship with the uk. I just haven’t been back here in a long time, is all.
Are you planning on staying?
Yes, though not in one place for very long!
I did already tell Imogen that I think
eXXXcellent
You know, I don’t think you’re very American yourself Miss Calloway
OooOoo “Miss Calloway” ok ma’am
wait a minute
so you have been getting it this whole time?
have you just been ignoring me?
Actually wait no, you are quite American after all
In that you are as subtle as a brick
guilty as charged. what can I say, I think sex is neat ;)
but youre deflecting pretty impressively
respect
dont think this is over tho
I daren’t hope such but
I don’t want this to be awkward for Imogen.
So might I request you cool off a bit for a while, please?
you might
I was half joking about the “respect” up there but actually
respect
for pushing back for her
youre taking this kinda serious
Well yes. I do take Imogen’s feelings very seriously
Hm!
What? Is that strange?
No no its just that
I think i got my interesting answer after all
know what?
I think i like you laudna
you can stay
I am very happy to hear it!
She tucked the phone away and turned to Imogen, feeling a bit more steady, though her head was beginning to throb again. “Good news, I am told I’m allowed to stay.”
They’d made it back onto the interstate while she’d been texting, and the task of driving seemed to be eating up enough of Imogen’s concentration that it took her a moment to pick up on the implication. When she did, she groaned.
“Aw hell, is Fearne texting you again? What she sayin’?”
“All manner of innuendos. She’s quite… creative, your friend.”
Imogen groaned again, louder and deeper, and slumped in her seat, both hands on the wheel and arms out in front of her, stiff and straight as could be.
“I’m sorry about her. She’s just—” Imogen was blushing again. “She’s just real forward about that kinda thing and doesn’t really understand why I don’t try to hook up more, cuz she thinks it would be good for me, or somethin’? She’s not mean or judgemental about it, though! She tries real hard, she’s real sweet. She just doesn't get it, is all.”
Laudna said, voice soft and serious and searching, “Get what?”
The shade of red Imogen sported now was so deep Laudna couldn’t help but remember that it was blood that caused it, blood singing up to the face, and she bit her lip, wondering whether drawing blood to the surface was like drawing blood in battle, if it could wound. The way Imogen shook her head, it seemed like it pained her.
“That I don’t wanna do it with just anybody, I mean, that I don’t want it all on its own. Anyway, I hope she’s not makin’ you too uncomfortable with all that.”
“It’s all right. I don’t mind, truly. I just don’t want her to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’ll manage. Normally Orym’d rein her in but I reckon he’s busy prepping for auditions right now so she’s extra bored, which is the most dangerous thing she can be.”
The way Imogen squirmed gave Laudna no pleasure as it had in other instances — she seemed truly, wretchedly ill at ease, and so Laudna was seized with a desperate urge to change the subject.
“You know, Fearne and Orym are both quite interesting names.”
Imogen laughed, and while there was something still fraught to it, Laudna thought perhaps it sounded relieved, and so she let herself be happy at guessing the correct thing to do.
“I must collect friends with them, I guess. You’re the first Laudna I’ve ever met too. It’s kinda unusual.” Imogen stammered. “But that’s good! It’s real pretty.”
“I like the sound of your name too.”
“Yeah I uh. I heard you sayin’ it, before?” Imogen cleared her throat a little, fingers tapping the wheel. The flush to her cheeks had receded but not gone away. “Thought you were talkin’ to me at first but. Sounded like you were talking to yourself?”
Laudna froze a moment, before grimacing. “Oh dear, I did not mean for you to hear that. I barely realized I was doing it. Sometimes I just like to say something along with my steps, to keep the rhythm you know, and your name seemed to fit the cadence just right.” Laudna frizzed her hair in fingers, looking down, the familiar feel of it soothing, even as horrid embarrassment licked through her. “And I was thinking about you as well. I’m sorry, I know it’s a bit odd.”
“No, don't apologize! I’ve done somethin’ similar before. Sometimes a word just feels nice in your mouth, right, and it feels good to say it a few times. I don’t care that it’s weird.” Imogen pressed the heel of her hand hard against her cheek, making the meat of it scrunch up so her eye on that side squinted, and Laudna felt a wild urge to kiss her on the nose, she looked so cute. “It’s well. It’s sweet.”
“Well, I certainly shan’t complain that you think so.” An idea grabbed Laudna then, and she smirked just a little. “You know, that woman was quite pissed about us talking too freely in public, but we aren’t in public now, are we? We can just say whatever we like.”
Imogen looked at her from the corner of her eye, a note of question in her drawl, “I reckon so, yeah.”
“We can be a bit odd and sweet all we like. So!” Laudna clasped her hands together and let loose in a goofy sing—song, ”Imogen Imogen Imogen! HOLY SHIT IM O GEN!”
After a startled snort, Imogen picked up the baton of the game easily, smiling as she echoed back, “Laudna Laudna Laudna Laudna!” She dissolved into a fit of giggles. “Jesus, if anyone could hear us they’d think we were losing our damn minds.”
“One of the benefits of car travel ImoImoImogen, you can yell whatever you like and other motorists can hear FUCK ALL!”
“PENIS! I WIN!” Imogen fell from yelling into blushing immediately, and stammered, “Like, like when you play the game to see who can say it loudest before you get in trouble? I don’t just got dick on the brain, I swear.”
Laudna nodded sagely, took a deep breath, then, her volume outsizing her body by several amplitudes, yelled, “PENISSSSSS!”
Imogen blinked in shock, before the giggles took her over again. “Goddamn,” she gasped out between breaths. “I think you shook the rafters. So to speak.”
Laudna settled deeper into her seat with smug satisfaction.
“Teach you to declare victory before the game’s over, hm?” She winked. “I do think I like the sound of your name in my mouth a bit better though, Imogen.”
Imogen’s cheeks flamed. “Yeah. Feeling’s mutual, Laudna.”
~*~
As they pulled the car up to their motel for the evening, Laudna sighed. “You know, I really wanted to stay in Boring. It’s just down the road, but they haven’t got a hotel at all, can you imagine? What a waste.”
Imogen threw her a look, “You’re not telling me your itinerary is just based on what’s funny, are you?”
“Nooooo.” She paused. “Not entirely. If it were, we’d be in Blountville tonight rather than Kingsport.”
Imogen snorted and threw the car in park.
The Motel 6 wasn’t anything fancy, and when they slouched tiredly into the room, Laudna noted right away that there were two double beds rather than one. She went to exclaim to Imogen how lucky it was she hadn’t made the mistake a second time, but her mouth snapped shut at the downcast look she just barely managed to catch on Imogen’s face. In an instant it was gone, and Imogen excused herself to take the first shower.
In the solitude of the room, Laudna felt… heavy. Without Imogen’s company on hand to keep her thoughts at bay, she could feel the scraps of small confusions from the day pile on top of her. The sneer from that woman, the memory of Delilah coming loose, and now, the look she’d just seen pass over Imogen’s face. And her head hurt. It had been ignorable for the better part of the day, but now her body saw fit to remind her of why Imogen was driving her in the first place. She glanced at her phone a moment, but even the light from that felt like a spike behind her eyes. She opted instead to reach into her bag and pulled out a pencil and pad of paper, and settled on the bed to sketch for a little while.
Normally, Laudna found drawing soothing, meditative. It wasn’t her favorite artistic outlet, but when she couldn’t delve into a more complex, tool—heavy project, it gave her something to do with her hands and her mind, a way to tap the barrel of the day and let all the feelings out into the tangible realm, where she could study them or set them aside as needed. Today, though, with half—thoughts and fears looming over her and a throbbing in her head, she found that the pencil sat wrong in her hand. None of the marks she laid down looked quite how she wanted and she felt her temper mount.
It was anger, but it wasn’t — just a frustrating, unnameable tension of unrightness that made her suddenly stab her pencil into the page with a growl. She was an over—tightened violin string, vibrating just before it snapped in a discordant, violent twang. It shuddered under her skin, almost physically painful, as things suddenly became too much, too much, too much, too much—
Imogen came out of the bathroom in her pajamas, toweling her hair, but when she caught sight of Laudna, her brow furrowed. “Y’all right there, Laudna?”
“I would be better if I could fucking remember how to fucking draw—”
She jabbed her pencil again, and the force of the motion snapped it in half. She threw the sketchbook down in disgust at the overwhelming aggravation of it all, the smell of her own body odor from a day on the road, the unfamiliarity of the space, the electric whine of something outside — lights? an AC unit? — the memory of the woman at the Parthenon, the way her fucking head wouldn’t stop pounding, the fucking not even being able to draw, the one thing she was supposed to be good at, Delilah would be laughing at her from the other side — she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.
When she brought them away, Imogen stood there still, stricken and frozen. Laudna could feel her face crumble like a rockslide, the regret tumbling down to sit at her feet. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, oh dear…”
Laudna shook her head, her apologies sounding half—hearted and strained to herself, but the discomfit reverberated through too strongly still for her to muster something less stilted.
Imogen slowly removed the towel from her hair, leaving it draped over the chair. She took a step towards Laudna with her hand outstretched, and when Laudna flinched instinctively, she seemed to think better of it and put her arm down. After a further moment of ringing silence, she left the room without another word, and the sound of the door closing behind her cut into Laudna’s hypersensitive hearing in a way that made her grit her teeth again. She was dimly aware that she would be upset that she’d driven poor Imogen out, when she could feel her other feelings properly again, that the shame and disappointment would eat all the rest of her up once the anger had its fill. She tucked her head down to her knees and hissed in pained frustration.
But then, a few minutes later, after the door slammed again — perhaps not actually slammed in truth, but slammed through her head all the same — Imogen returned. She squatted next to the bed, and gently pressed something into Laudna’s hands. She looked down.
It was Pâté.
On instinct, Laudna’s left thumb began rubbing across his familiar, beloved back, while she tapped at his little skull with her right fingers. When she looked back up, Imogen was holding out a pair of yellow noise—canceling headphones with a questioning look. Laudna swallowed, then nodded and ducked her head, letting Imogen gingerly put them on her.
The relief was almost instant. She closed her eyes and losed a long, shuddering exhale, her shoulders retreating from where they’d been defensively hunched by her ears. After a minute, she felt the mattress dip next to her, could feel the warmth radiating off of Imogen near, but not touching, just close. When she opened her eyes, the lights had been turned off, and the room was cloaked in blessed darkness. She laid down, placing Pâté on her chest, felt Imogen lay down next to her, and another piece of her settled. For a long while, she just breathed. When a warm hand tentatively took hers, she squeezed it, a different sort of overwhelm, something wholly unfamiliar and desperately needed, washed over her. And if a few tears leaked out as they held hands in silence, Imogen didn’t mention it.
~*~
They didn’t fall asleep like that. After a time – Laudna could not be sure if it was minutes or hours – she sat back up, and declared she needed a shower. She felt fragile and spent, but refortified, and Imogen had just nodded and risen to brush her teeth in the meantime.
When Laudna had finished, Imogen had already piled herself under the covers of the other bed, her phone in hand. Laudna smiled tremulously, returned to her own bed, and said goodnight.
Imogen had put her phone down and fallen asleep quickly, a surprise after the night before, when the dim halo of light from her phone had remained in Laudna’s periphery until she’d fallen asleep. Tonight, the two of them separated, Imogen seemed to drop off almost instantly.
Laudna hoped it wasn’t something she’d done wrong that had kept her up, before. Now, she found herself staring at the ceiling, unable to will her eyes closed. The strange thing was that while Laudna had no trouble falling asleep with Imogen tucked in next to her the night before, somehow having her across the room made Laudna hyper aware of being not—quite—alone. She lay awake, listening to the snuffle of Imogen’s breathing, and tried once more to find an order to her thoughts that made sense. She'd entered a half dozing state when she startled awake to the sound of a cry. Laudna shot up, alert, immediately looking to Imogen.
Imogen was still sleeping but the sheets were twisted in and around her fists, the tense pull of the fabric echoed in the drawn lines on her brow. She let loose another wounded animal noise and Laudna was already by her side by the next breath she gasped out as she jerked awake, panting and trembling.
Laudna perched on the edge of the bed and gently wrapped an arm around Imogen’s back. “You’re ok, darling, you’re safe.”
Imogen collapsed into Laudna with a sob, which so startled her she teetered towards falling off the bed altogether. She just managed to right herself in time, and to then shimmy the crying bundle of Imogen further back into the bed so she could hold her properly. One arm wended around Imogen, cradling her to Laudna’s chest. She ran her other hand through lavender hair, the motion soothing her own panic at not knowing what had caused this, and perhaps if she was lucky, providing some comfort to Imogen as well.
Imogen pulled back after a few moments and looked up at Laudna with an expression that cracked her heart apart. It was like in the airport, when she’d first seen her, but worse, a hopeless overwhelm that seemed to hollow out her expression and make her seem frail and weathered beyond her years.
Laudna took Imogen's face in her hands. It and her neck were damp with sweat, the sharp, fear-scented kind, and her hair stuck to it. She brushed the lock aside, and dropped a kiss to her forehead, a slight wobbling huff leaving her to fall against Imogen’s skin, then she stood. Imogen made another wounded noise, and she shushed her. “I’m just going to get you some water, don’t worry—I’ll be right back.”
The faucet squeaked and the water sloshed not cold enough into the plastic motel cup, and Laudna willed her heart to stop beating so frantically. When she brought the cup back to Imogen, the side table light was on and Imogen had situated herself against the headboard. She looked sheepish, and opened her mouth to speak, but Laudna shook her head and put the water in her hands.
As she drank, Laudna fussed about in her bag, then pulled out her old yellow kerchief. She settled back onto the bed, a bit behind Imogen, and gingerly swept her hair back again from her forehead and neck, pulling it into a loose ponytail. A small whimper from Imogen made Laudna pause. "Is this all right?" she asked, and when Imogen nodded, she wrapped the kerchief around the hair and tied it off. "That ought to help you stay a bit cooler." Her hands drifted to Imogen's shoulders, and her lips almost hurt with the urge to lean forward, to drop them there where a smattering of freckles, newly visible, speckled across the gentle slope of Imogen's trapezius.
That muscle slumped down as Imogen finished the water, sighing and cradling the cup. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever are you sorry for?"
"For—for being such a nuisance. For waking you." The cup bobbled from hand to hand, empty. Laudna slowly plucked it from her, placed it on the dresser, and sat down again, drawing Imogen back against her.
"That's nothing to apologize for, Imogen darling,” she said into her hair. “Do you want to talk about it?"
Imogen shook her head side to side, hair brushing across Laudna’s lips, shaking loose the smell of her right into Laudna’s nose. “Not right now.”
Laudna hummed in assent, and they sat like that in silence awhile. When it seemed that Imogen had let go of the last of the fear—laced tension in her body, she gave a long, tremulous sigh and disentangled herself, rolling to the other side of the bed. Laudna slowly, reluctantly, began to extricate herself with a mind to return to her own bed now that Imogen seemed soothed, but Imogen caught her arm. Her voice was small and soft, and she looked down to where she picked at her own thumbnail with a finger rather than at Laudna’s face as she spoke.
"This is gonna sound so dumb but. Could you stay? I just, I have the nightmares most nights, but I didn't yesterday so—"
"Of course, Imogen,” She whispered, a relief whose origin she was just beginning to trace welling up in her. “It would be my pleasure."
She reached to turn out the light, then shuffled down under the covers, the both of them lying side by side on their backs. After a moment, just as she had earlier that evening, Imogen’s hand came to rest on Laudna’s, first just a pinky hooked on a pinky, and then fingers fully intertwined.
“Thank you,” Imogen whispered, so quiet the words barely had enough breath behind them to give them shape. She squeezed Laudna’s hand. Laudna squeezed back, and finally drifted into a true unconsciousness.
~*~
Laudna woke before Imogen. They had shifted in their sleep, drifting center, so they were laying back to back with their elbows stacked on top of one another. Not exactly standard snuggling — but Laudna could not feel disappointed, for it was strangely comfortable in its own unexpected way. They were odd angles fitting together like puzzle pieces, and the brace of Imogen along Laudna’s spine created a kind of satisfaction not unlike popping her back, but constant and warm. It felt like… support.
She held her breath a moment, just so she could better feel the soft press of Imogen as her lungs expanded and contracted. A great, walloping urge struck her in the chest, an urge to flip over and move in close against Imogen’s back, to bury her nose in her hair and wrap her arms around her waist, gather her up, to take the desperate desire of her body for oxygen and put it to work breathing Imogen in instead.
She shouldn’t; she should get up, perhaps, so she brought her arm forward instead, untangling their elbows. Behind her, Imogen made a humming sound and shimmied towards her in her sleep, somehow managing to smush them together even more. She sighed, a purr-like rumble of contentment, and the thought of extracting herself from the bed left Laudna entirely.
She smiled to herself. Her mind drifted back over the events of the day before as she curled her own hands together under her chin, catching the inside of her lip with her teeth. Pâté still sat sentry on the side table, a reminder of how Imogen had seen Laudna come unraveled and had, instead of lashing out in disgust or irritation or fear, quietly found ways to help her rebraid the threads of her composure. That roil of anger that sometimes grew in Laudna had earned her scorn from others, but Imogen had just known what to do, had seen it for the frustration and overwhelm it really was. She had gently led Laudna into the safety of the dark where her temper lost its teeth, and she had held her hand.
And she, in turn, had been able to give that back to Imogen. When fear struck through Imogen, Laudna had been able to gather her up in her arms and soothe it away. What a marvel, to have the power to make things just a little bit easier for someone else, and someone as incredible as Imogen, no less.
Laudna felt… blithesome, light and full at the same time. It spread through her the way heat and then relief did when she eased her achy body into a warm bath, the euphoria of muscles releasing all the tension held unknowingly. Or the way a breeze felt as she tilted her face toward the sun and she closed her eyes, and the contentment of being alive seeped down to her toes like a physical thing. She loved this feeling. She loved that she could trust Imogen to see her, to understand or if not, to try to. She loved that she somehow knew how to clear the storm clouds from Imogen’s face. She loved the way when Imogen laughed, it was so big it showed all her teeth, like she was making up for how rare it was to see them in a full smile. She loved the way her drawl slowed languorous when she had something clever to say, that she could hear her smirk even without looking. She loved how her own delight seemed to startle her. She loved the crinkle at the corner of her eyes when she smiled, the crinkle of her nose scrunched up.
And oh. Now that she gave herself the time to think on it, to turn over each piece of what she’d been feeling with care and consideration, of course that was what it was.
She just loved Imogen. That was it, that was all. Something too big for words but simple enough for three of them.
And she only had two more days with her before the journey would end.
Notes:
Well that took a fair sight longer than I expected it to. OOPS. Can you believe I thought this was going to be half the size of the first chapter? I am nothing if not a fool.
Huge shout out to Abby (cairophoenix) for being a constant sounding board about this fic, and for providing a very in-depth beta read - seriously doubt this would have ever come anywhere near completion without you, my friend! Additional huge shout out to Astoria (astoriacolumnstaircase) as resident Laudna-understander extraordinaire for vibe checking this for me.
If you noticed the chapter count went up, no you didn't, don't look at me, it's fine, everything is fine here.
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