Chapter Text
Gary Smith has admittedly never been to a school dance. He’s never seen the point.
Yet Zoe Taylor is standing on the edge of the fountain in his front yard.
“Wanna go to my junior prom with me?” She asks easily, setting off a party popper.
Oh gott.
“Uh- are- with me?” He sputters, pointing to himself like an idiot.
“Yeah, baby girl,” she says with a large smile. It shows off her angel fangs. She brushes her heavily hairsprayed bangs out of her eyes, adjusts the surrounding fringe of her bats nest.
“Me? Not- what?”
Oh god, his mouth is dry. His knees are weak.
“Uh, how’d you get past the gate?” He asks uselessly.
“Your nanny let me in,” she says with a shrug.
He goes red. Covers his face with his hands.
“So, uh, you wanna go with me or?” She sounds like she’s losing confidence, so he nods too enthusiastically.
“Yeah- yes, mhm,” he answers too earnestly.
Zoe snorts and jumps off the edge, kissing his cheek with a swift motion.
He melts into her, buries his face into the crook of her neck. Oh god. He’s dying.
He has to be dying.
That has to be it.
“So, uh, you really- this-“
He pushes her off, heart in his throat.
Saucer eyed.
Trembling hands.
“Yes, oh my god, Gary Smith you are who I want to take to my junior prom,” she groans. Pushes him playfully.
“Not Jimmy?” He asks weakly.
She shrugs, “I’m pretty sure he’s going with some friends, c’mon, it’s your sophomore year you’ll still get two proms to go with someone you’re into,”
Gary forces a laugh. Yes. Ridiculous.
He’d never be into someone like Zoe.
Ha!
He swallows.
“So, bro, can I come in?” She asks, lighting a cigarette with her playboy lighter.
“Ach, uh, sure,” he stumbles over himself, gestures for her to follow him, “My mother and father are at work. It’s just the staff right now,”
She laughs and repeats him in his very light accent “Just the staff,”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Always,”
He opens the door for her, “Ladies first,” he says mockingly. She scoffs, rolls her eyes, but walks in anyway.
“Want me to take my boots off, or?”
“Yeah, they’re muddy, mom will kill me,”
“Oh, then maybe I should leave ‘em on,”
He hip checks her lightly, “Fuck you,”
Placing a hand to her chest, she gasps and feigns offense. She fails to hold in ugly laughter.
“How couldst thou!” She says.
It earns her a light shove.
Through laughter, she takes off her shoes and places them into Gary’s outstretched hands.
He presses a buzzer on the wall, “Melea, I need you to take my guests boots to the mud room,”
She scoffs, “The mud room?”
“Yeah. It’s for outdoor stuff,”
With a slight glare, her smile tenses, “You can’t take it yourself?”
“Well…it’s- it’s quite far,”
Then a blonde woman comes into the room. She looks nothing like what Zoe expected a housekeeper to look like.
She’s not wearing some French maid outfit. No frilly cap or apron.
Instead, she’s in a long sleeve affliction shirt and scrub pants. She has a nametag on and a rag in her pocket.
Melea takes the boots from him.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, turning around immediately, “Um. Let’s go to my room now,”
His voice is awkward. A little tense.
Zoe tucks fringe behind her ear and follows him up the velvet stairs. The house is honestly…pretty dark?
Lots of dark wallpaper. Dark wood.
Deep blue paint coats the wall going up the staircase, family photos decorate it.
“Where are you in these?” She asks.
He changes the subject, “Is wearing fishnets with no sucks comfortable?”
With a sigh she answers, “I mean, sometimes, I’m pretty used to it,”
—
In his bedroom she rummages through his closet.
“Ha! What even are these goofy brands, Brooks Bailey? Fuck is this one?”
He’s bright red, sitting on his bed like an idiot.
“Oh, well, I’m not here most days, mother just requested I come home tonight to feed the dogs,”
She turns around, smirking, “Wait, you don’t have a staff member feed them?”
“No, they’re attack dogs.”
Her face lights up, “can I see them?”
“I guess so, sure. We have to get their steaks from the freezer though,”
She cackles and bounces in her combat boots, “The puppies get gourmet food? Holy shit!”
Then something unexpected happens, she walks over to him and grabs his hands.
“I fuckin’ knew you weren’t a sociopath,”
He huffs, unsure of whether that’s a dig or not.
Laughing, he says, “Ah, sure. Um. Well, their dinner time isn’t for another hour.”
She pouts.
“We could listen to music?”
“Yeah, ok,” she says, smiling flirtatiously, “There’s a lot more we could do with an hour though,”
His face goes red and he looks away.
“Mein gott,” he mumbles, swallowing hard.
She laughs hard and clutches her tummy.
Gary just gets up and walks over to his large CD collection.
“Let’s listen to Bauhaus?”
She shrugs, “Eh, sure. You got anything harder?”
“What, like Siouxie and The Banshees?”
“Nah,”
“Strawberry Switchblade?”
“No, stupid, that’s a pop band,”
He groans, “Fine, you pick if you’re so concerned about it,”
With a snort she walks over. Bumps their shoulders. Presses up against him. It makes him fumble with the CD case he was holding and take a sharp breath.
So, so much of her wants to kiss him right then and there.
Press him up against the wall and watch him get all nervous.
It’s so unlike anything she’s ever seen from him.
She wants to know everything about him now.
“Sure thing, baby,”
She drags a hand across the spines, lets the other one make home on the small of his back.
He tenses.
“This ok?” She asks softly.
“I think so,” he whispers.
Zoe nods, looking through the discs.
He’s such a dweeb, gosh.
Arctic Monkeys? Really?
Jack Off Jill. That’s a good band.
The Cure.
Lots of Siouxie.
Wait. Avril?
She laughs, stands up, then asks “You listen to Avril Lavigne?”
“Yeah, you don’t?”
“No, I’m not really into pop-punk,”
He looks nervous for just a second, but quickly recovers.
“Oh, too edgy and urban?” Gary teases.
He moves to sit on the shelf the cases are on, it’s low enough to where it’s no effort.
“Sure, if that’s what helps you sleep at night, pansy,”
He scoffs, “How am I a pansy if-“ then he halts. Looks away.
“Ach, uh, it’s time to feed the dogs,”
“You said an hour, doll face,”
He lets out a breath, rolls his shoulders, “Man, c’mon,”
“You embarrassed?”
“You wish,”
Zoe snickers, “Hell yeah I do. You’re cute flustered. Quieter too,”
She runs a hand up his thigh, smiles a little too wide to not be dorky. He stares at her with big eyes and pink cheeks.
“You’re so annoying,” He says softly.
It makes her burst into more laughter, lean into him.
“Oh my god! You bitch,” she squeals.
—
Once their hour’s up they make their way back down.
Zoe has abandoned her fishnets and skirt in his bathroom, leaving only her spandex shorts.
The stairs feel nice as she walks. The wood railing smooth under her palm.
Gary’s house smells almost exactly like his luxury perfume.
Old books and mothballs.
An old oak closet.
Mawmaw’s house.
She sighs wistfully, following him into the parlor.
“So, where’s your big fancy kitchen?” She asks, bouncing on her toes and swinging her arms.
“Oh, we won’t be going in. Staff and father only,” he says with forced laughter. It’s short. Bitter.
“For real?- wait, so have you never cooked?” She asks, baffled.
He tries to maintain a smile, “No, ma’am,”
“Seriously?”
With a groan, he says, “Yes, seriously.”
“Not even Mac and cheese? Grilled cheese? Toast?”
Her voice raises in pitch as she lists. Her gestures more frantic.
Huffing, he grits his teeth. Then presses the buzzer on the wall again.
“Carmen, could you please bring the dogs’ food upstairs? I’ll meet you at the door,”
A woman’s accented voice calls back from the other line, “Yeah, I’ll be right there,”
Then he quickly adds, “Oh, and Melea if you could bring a pair of slippers for Zoe that would be lovely,”
Once it fizzles out, Zoe stares at him.
“Wait- what?” She asks.
He shrugs, “C’mon, let’s not keep her waiting,”
She gives him a puzzled look, but follows behind.
“I really don’t need shoes or anything to feed some dogs,”
“Trust me, you’ll want them, it’s really cold,”
In awkward silence, they walk to the kitchen door.
A woman, likely Carmen, hands him a bag.
“Here, Gary,”
“Thank you, ma’am,”
She has long dark hair and is in a bleach stained t-shirt and jeans.
“I like your Mary Jane’s,” Zoe says, pointing down.
“Thanks, they’re like- knock off non slip versions,” Carmen shares, sticking a foot out to better show.
“Cool,”
Then she turns around to find the blonde from earlier behind her.
“Holy fuck!” She gasps, stumbling, “Shit, sorry, man,”
The lady, Melea, laughs, “I’m sorry I startled you.”
She hands her light yellow slippers.
Gary thanks her and waves, she walks off.
When the kitchen door is shut, Gary begins laughing.
“You’re funny when you’re startled,” he says fondly.
She rolls her eyes and lightly punches his shoulder.
“You’re funnier,”
He punches back.
“Nah,”
They both awkwardly look at each other. Giggling.
She puts on the slippers. Wrings her hands together.
“Uh, let’s go see the doggies?”
He snorts, “Sure, Zoe,”
—
In the basement, he unlatches their kennels.
Jean-Luc jumps onto him despite the decade of training.
“Platz,” he says firmly. She follows, getting off him, “Braver hund,”
Zoe giggles, bouncing in place, “They’re so perfect,”
“Don’t hold your arm out, they’ll bite it,”
“Got it,”
He places strips of cooked steak into each of their bowls.
Princess, Engel, Nine-Nine, Bawler, Jean-Luc.
Always that order. Oldest to youngest.
He sighs, stands. Smiles down at his good friends.
He’s caught of guard by Zoe laughing loudly.
“Wait! This one’s name is Princess?” She cheers, smiling impossibly wide.
He flushes.
“Yes, that’s his name, what about it?”
Swallowing his shame, he stands straighter.
“He’s perfect! Gosh, he’s such a pretty baby,” she squeals, petting the pitbull, “Oh you sweet thing. Just a bunch of muscle and velvet, ough,”
He licks her face, shoves his little head into her chin.
“Ach- sorry, Princess, sitz,”
Princess does so immediately, looking up at him with big sad puppy eyes.
Looking away from Zoe, he tries to calm his burning cheeks.
“Oh my god this one’s named angel?”
“Engel. They’re pronounced differently. She won’t reply to Angel.”
Fuck he’s an idiot. It’s not his fault.
He’s- gosh, admittedly a little socially awkward.
Maybe being homeschooled in Germany with his only socialisation being training attack dogs with an old Russian man made him a little weird.
Zoe lays down and pets Engel, a gorgeous German shepherd.
She’s about thirteen.
He knows the second this batch is gone he will have to train another.
It makes him swallow a lump in his throat.
“Are you ok?” Zoe asks from the floor.
“Yes,” he says quickly, rubbing his eyes.
“Sure. Come lay with me. Let the doggies love on you,”
He complies, gets on the floor. Their school uniforms becoming rumpled on the ground of the basement.
Nine-Nine rests his head on Gary’s chest. It makes him feel like he’s dying.
“Taylor,” he says bitterly.
“Yeah, Gary?”
“You will not speak of this to anyone.”
“Got it,”
She rolls over onto her side, flops an arm over him.
“This ok?”
“Pretty sure,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.
“You ok?”
“Golden,”
She hums and rubs her thumb against his button up sleeve.
“Wanna go smoke?” He asks.
“Can we not smoke in here?”
He shoves her off and sits up, bringing Nine-Nine closer.
“Are you mental? In front of the dogs? Their poor little lungs couldn’t handle the nicotine,” he scoffs, kissing his head.
She smiles softly.
“You sweetheart.”
He blows a raspberry and buries his face into the dogs soft fur.
“Still wanna smoke?” She asks, leaning forward.
“Sure, maus,”
“Y’know, I don’t think I like mouse much,”
“Why not? It’s classic, it’s- it’s like the German version of baby,”
She gives him a sigh and a frustrated look.
“I don’t like being compared to a mouse,”
“Why? They’re cute,” he says, grinning, “I like how they kick when you hold them up.”
“See? That’s why. You’re making it creepy,”
She gets to her feet and brushes off her legs. Frowning.
“No- ach, I- you’re not a mouse,” he gets to his feet too.
She’s already going up the stairs.
“Fuck, Zoe, I’ll stop calling you that if you hate it, really,”
She whips around and glares at him, “Yeah, you fuckin’ better,”
They walk upstairs in silence, she slams the door.
He visibly tenses, his eye and fingers twitch.
Uh oh.
Shit.
“Sorry, baby,” she whispers, looking down, “Frustrated, not mad,.
“It’s ok,” he covers his face, “It’s my medicine. Let’s just go smoke.”
“Uh, ok,”
During the walk down the long hallway, she latches their pinkies together.
He bumps their shoulders.
Squeaks when she catches him looking at her.
—
They sit outside, smoking on the porch.
Zoe watches the sprinklers move.
Watches the water glide over the roses and various other plants.
“Hey, rich boy, tell me about your plants,” she says, voice raspy from smoking.
“Ah, I think we have magnolias over by the Virgin Mary statue,”
He points to the tall statue of her in the center of the backyard. It’s surrounded by a wall of hedges.
She nods, “So, you’re catholic?”
Frowning, he keeps his mouth shut.
“Gary?”
He blows smoke in her face, “Obviously,”
She coughs and swats at the smoke uselessly, “Ew!”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Your yard is huge,” she says, idly playing with her lighter.
He nods.
“Lotsa plants,”
“Yeah, I guess,”
“You know all of them?”
He laughs, “Man, I don’t know. I haven’t been home in a while. Ask again in summer,”
With a smile, he leans back on his palms.
“You know, there’s a hedge maze,” He says quietly, “We could go through it.”
She shrugs, puts out the cigarette in the crystal ashtray between them.
“Sure,”
“There aren’t cameras in it,”
She shoots him a teasing grin, “Oh? You implying something?”
Then he goes red.
Perfect.
“You’re totally implying something,”
Zoe giggles, pokes his shoulder.
He rolls his eyes and puts out his own cigarette. It’s been smoked down to the filter.
“I wasn’t, but I wouldn’t turn it down- whatever it is you’re thinking,” he says bashfully, turning his head away.
Zoe teases him, cooing, “Aweee, schucks, you’d let me run you over with a lawn mower?”
“What? What the fuck?” He shrieks, giggling.
She snorts and climbs onto him, tickling his sides.
“You’re such a freak,” Gary whines, kicking his feet as she places raspberry kisses to his arms.
“Sure, I’m the freak,”
Then she gets off, not trying to overwhelm him.
Brushing her legs off as she stands up, she asks, “So, hedge maze?”
“Hedge maze,”
The walk there is quiet.
Zoe walks backward behind him.
Gary yaps about plants.
“That’s lemongrass,”
“We have a clover lawn for our flowerbeds as bluegrass is invasive,”
“Is clover not,”
He shrugs.
She laughs. Bumps his shoulder with hers.
“So you know the way out, right?” Zoe asks.
“Yeah, it’s been the same since we moved in,”
She hums, turns around to walk the right way.
“So, when did you move to the states?”
“When I was ten,”
“Damn, you’ve only been here for six years?”
“Yeah, is that so shocking?”
She shrugs, jogs for a second to catch up with his pace. He’s oddly fast for someone so thin and tired-looking.
“Yeah, you don’t really have an accent and you speak English really well,”
He rolls his eyes and gives a practiced smile, “Of course I speak English well, I learned it when I lived in Germany,”
“Why?”
“I- I don’t know. Look, let’s um,”
He stops in his tracks, puts his hands in and out of his pockets.
“Taylor, what’s your favorite color?” He asks, voice cracking.
She frowns, but answers with as much levity as possible.
“Probably pink or orange, you?”
“Pink? Really?” He scoffs playfully, resuming the walk.
“Most girls like pink, dingus,”
She hooks an arm around his neck.
“I just wasn’t expecting it from you, that’s all,”
“Whatever, dweeb, what’s your favorite color?”
“Green,”