Chapter Text
Set Place, Empty Space
I always thought it was a figure of speech, that whole dark roiling smoking bit, but sure enough it was black and it did swirl around as the tiny kitchen fan futilely whirled away. Hands clapped over my ears, I suffered through the blaring smoke alarm long enough to smack it several times with the business end of my cheap plastic broom. The bristles were wonky and the plastic green handle cracked, but it did the job I needed it to do -- namely sweep up any stray glass. I didn’t use it too often, partly because I was the kind of slob who preferred to swill wine from boxes and swig beer from cans, but the first time I slashed my barefoot open, I hopped around spraying every inch of the white tiles and white walls and oak cabinets with crimson. Blood was a pain to remove from white tile, I discovered, and only the advice of my neighbor saved me. Did you know hydrogen peroxide from the 99cent Store removes blood stains?
Story of my life -- a cheap fix for a messy problem.
With a defeated screech, the white plastic shrieking electronic harpy clattered to the ground and fell silent. Fingers grasping, I yanked on the tiny window to the outside, knocking off the cheery little pink plastic flower that bobbed and wafted something fruity across the room for those days when I didn't get to the dishes fast enough.
Look, I'm not a slob, okay?
But I am a bartender, so I work really weird hours, and when I'm not working I'm indulging in the fun parts of life... partying, socializing and boozing it up with my two best buds Gray and Loke. No, don't get me wrong here, I'm not seeing either of those two, although I love the two idiots to death. I'm just not really into that scene, if you catch my drift? Not enough up top and too much down low if that helps clarify. They just didn’t have the goods I’m into. And I did clean… once a month.
Anyway, I'm also not a cook either.
But since my shitty pops left me on my own for the holidays - again - I didn't really have a choice, now did I? It's not like cooking is a super special skill. I could boil water after all, and in a pinch I knew how to fry up some greasy hangover goodies first thing in the morning. Weird, I know, but whatever. I'm too cool to be knocked down so easily when fried eggs, sausage and hashbrowns beckoned after a night of hard dancing and flirting.
"Shit," I muttered to myself, coughing up a lung and grateful I'd never stuck with smoking. That crap was rank, and I told Gray he should quit it; of course he just retorted I should lay off the drink. I really should've seen it coming, and what could I say? It's a vice of mine, one of many. "I really fucked up this time."
Finding the window wasn't enough to air things out - in fact I might have just been sucking in city pollution to mix with the smoke into a more potent poison for all I knew - I stumbled to the door, swearing the whole way like a sailor and a trucker in a wrestling match. Clutching the doorknob, I yanked it open only to come face-to-face with my neighbor's big, too-innocent smile.
Within seconds of registering it, I promptly tried to shut the door right back up.
Let me tell you a little bit about my neighbor. One, she's hot. Two, she's super hot. Three, she has a sadistic streak wider than the Amazon River, which I'm pretty sure is in Africa, but no one could think about geography when faced with one of her infamous expressions of pending pain.
"Cana~" her sing-song angel voice drifted through the crack of the door. Did I mention she jammed her foot in there to cut off my escape? Because she did. And she was a lot stronger than she looked. "Why is black smoking filling the hallway?"
"Puh-leeze, Mira, babe, why're you at my door for this? It's obviously Natsu and his pyro streak acting up again..."
"Oh, I'd believe that, if Natsu and Lucy weren't away for the holiday visiting her family out of town. Which I know because I'm watching Happy while they're gone. Besides your apartment reeks!" I probably should’ve been paying attention to her words more than her glossy, pink, perfect lips, but she was just going to yell at me for trying to burn down the building. And then I’d get another responsibility lector, yikes.
On the other hand, when she took that strict tone and struck that pose with her fingers resting just-so on her trim waist and jaw tilted with stern disapproval it was hard to resist a shiver of excitement and the banging of my poor little heart.
Oh, did I forget to mention? I might have a teeny, weenie crush on her… the size of Austria. You know, that place with kangaroos and killer crocs? Yeah, a little glance at her, and I was reduced to that loser in middle school who stared at the too-cool popular girl but never had the balls to do anything about it.
Haha, who was I kidding? I was still that loser. I couldn’t even cook a stupid holiday meal without burning it to cinders.
“It’s just the reek of failure,” I breezed back, wheezing and blinking away the tears burning my eyes. I wasn’t sure if the poison smoke was burning or the tears. “Just a different kind than the usual.”
“Cana… why are you crying?” Before I could answer, not even aware I was crying, she shoved her way into the apartment. I told you she was strong, did I? “Phew, CANA, what did you do? Hang on, you still have the stove on --”
My attempted tackle to save her from the stove going up in flames served to trip her instead, sending both of us crashing to the floor like football stars, complete with deep grunts of pain and a deceptively loud thump.
Goddess, I was full-body touching a goddess, and if Death took me now my life was not a waste…
I was only vaguely aware of the fact a small, slender body vaulted over us super hero style, clicking the stove off with a snap and snatching up the fire extinguisher from the pantry to hose the whole kitchen down.
With a sigh, mostly of relief but tinged with a bit of despair - because what else did I expect from myself? - I let my forehead fall against her chest. The first brush was so light I imagined I dreamed it up in my desperation, but slowly my awareness focused on the fingers carding through my hair.
“He’s on another business trip, isn’t he?”
I forgot she knew. Mira knew everything about me because we’d been friends and neighbors forever. But this was the first time I’d cried to her; I didn’t need her pity nor anyone else’s. Pity was for suckers and losers, and Cana Alberona was a lot of things but not that!
I mumbled in response, listening to Lisanna and Elfman shout at each other across the kitchen island. I guess Elfman didn’t want to accidentally step on us, since we were kind of barricading the entryway. As funny as it’d be to watch him do the leap Lisanna had, the thought was incredibly terrifying too. Mira’s sibling was nothing like her in looks or temperament. The only thing they had in common was their generous, soft heart.
“And you were cooking dinner. Why didn’t you order takeout like normal?”
I pretended she wasn’t making a jab at the pile of empty, stained boxes littering the corner where the trash can was overflowing. Mmm, probably should’ve taken that out earlier, but the apartment complex had strict rules and fines about tossing trash on the wrong day.
“Wanted home cooked,” the admission was muttered into her blouse, because I wasn’t passing up the opportunity to touch her chest. A light scent of lavender and sage tickled my nose, reminding me of the time she held me when I got that life-destroying call.
You know the one; the one everyone never thinks about but secretly dreads.
That call that shatters everything good in life and leaves nothing but numbness in its wake. The sympathetic voice on the other end of the phone, so quiet and impartial. Just another part of their job. Just another stranger sobbing in grief, miles away, out of sight.
Mira was always there for me, and I couldn’t even be honest about my feelings for her.
The petting stopped in response to my words, fingertips brushed up against my scalp, an arm tightening around my shoulders, drawing me in closer. The woman’s breath hitched under me, like I’d punched her in the gut, but softer, sharper somehow. More painful than any bar fight that had graced my eager ears at work.
Voice light and easy, she whispered loudly, “You are so silly. You know there’s always a spot at our table for you, don’t you?”
My eyes slid shut, shielding me from her chiding, playful look because she wouldn’t get it. How to explain the way that empty spot taunted me? A seat at the family table… but as a friend. An outsider.
I’d rather choke down charred flesh, hunched over watching re-runs of the same holiday movies that flashed across the screen every year as a nostalgia trip, than sit there stiff and awkward at a table that wasn’t mine.
We were neighbors. After ten years, we saw each other in the hall while fetching the mail and said hi while bumping into each other in the stairwell. I oogled her silently, offered a cheap beer now and then, while she kept it together with school and family, shooting a stunning smile my way in return. There wasn’t anything more to it.
I could see a charity gesture when it was offered.
More than a few holidays were spent at the table of goodwill and obligation when I was skipping between foster homes and group homes before I emancipated and found my pops. It stunk more than my apartment did at the moment. Being ungrateful for charity wasn’t very nice of me, but I’d had my fill of feel-goods for others at my expense. They could get their jollies and fuzzies elsewhere.
At least I belonged here in my own apartment, even if I was alone.
When I didn’t answer her right away, she pressed, hovering so close her warm breath brushing against my cheek, “Right? You are always welcome, Cana. Always, no matter what.”
“Yeah, well…” I almost told her then, how much I admired and adored her. How just a glimpse of her lit up my entire day no matter how crappy it’d been before. That every single bit of her was perfect and gorgeous and brilliant. And instead I pushed off of her with a huff and folded my arms while looking away, “Thanks. But I’m fine, okay? I never asked for your pity.”
Col-looos-saaaaal mistake, mouthing off like a petty, whiny child.
If hitting the ground before had been painful, this was like being socked by a peeved gorilla.
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me. Look at me, you look me dead in the eye Cana Claire Alberona and say those words again. Tell me I don’t care about you. Tell me I haven’t watched out for you since the moment you moved in. Tell me I wasn’t there when you needed me most. Tell me I have wronged you, Cana. Say it. And don’t lie. If that’s how you really feel about it, I want to know.”
I couldn’t do it.
Each hurried, furious accusation made me shrink down with guilt, lower than low. Images flashed in my mind at her words. Our first meeting. My mother’s death. That drunk, sloppy, accidental kiss. The cookies that appeared at my door. Homemade chicken noodle soup when I was sick.
“Do you truly think that was pity? If so, then you deserve it.” Now tears were pooling in her eyes, Elfman’s panicked face bobbing behind her and Lisanna’s soothing voice trying to make things right.
Great, I ruined their evening, and I was about to be honored with the dubious title of the only one to make MiraJane the “Devil” sob like a baby. All because I was the stupidest, most immature coward on the face of this earth. And maybe Mars too. Definitely the moon as well.
“Hey, babe, don’t cry, please don’t cry… it’s not... I mean, it’s me, not you. Of course you care; you’re the sweetest and kindest kickass chick I know.” Crawling over, I swallowed, hard. There was only one solution I could see to this, and I wasn’t going to self-sabotage this time, dang it. Not today, crippling self-doubt; Mira needed me to be there for her for once. And I was going to be like Xena swooping into save her girlfriend from impending peril on Aragon… I think that was the horse’s name, right? Or was that an elf from Harry Potter? Never mind. “I’m stupid, okay? And reckless and a grade A+ mess, you know that. Don’t listen to a moron like me.”
“Cana,” my name was a hiccup-sob, so ugly and novel from Miss Perfection, and she scrubbed her face with a sleeve before continuing, “Shut up.”
My mouth snapped shut but I still held my arms out, unsure what exactly to do.
“Big sister already set you a plate at the table.” Lisanna’s voice was hushed, pleasant as she stacked the pan of goo and some dirty dishes in the sink, which was filling with suds and warm water. “She does it every holiday. For years and years, since your mom died and your dad’s been gone so much, she kept hoping you’d come over. I said I’d invite you but… you always seemed busy with work or friends...”
Mira hissed at her, flushing red and diving into my arms to hide her face in my cleavage. Atta girl, best place to do that.
“Plus, she really, really likes to talk about you… especially your backside…”
“Lisanna…” there was pure fratricide in that voice but Mira didn’t move from my cleavage. Either her face was red as a lobster or she was enjoying it in there. Given the butt comment, I’d guess the latter.
“That so?” My butt was one of my best features, if I did say so myself, but I’d never pegged Mira as the type.
Lisanna hummed in agreement, “I think we should all have dinner. Together. Otherwise, we’ll have that empty space again, and it just feels so weird. Like a part of the family is missing.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, spontaneously dropping a kiss on Mira’s hair as she tried to crawl into my lap in embarrassment. Maybe… maybe I was ready to be a part of a family again. A real family. And not in a sisterly way either, judging by the butt comment. “It’d be a shame to let that plate go to waste, right?”