Heathens: Chapter Ten

X. Just Like Up On The Screen

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is that his neck is sore from being bent at an odd angle for hours. The second is that A is talking to someone on the phone. 

It’s  a small blessing that they’re not travelling in an awful cab, like he did on the way to New York, and that their driver is more interested in getting his paycheck than starting a conversation with either of them. There’s even a divider to minimize the annoyance even further, although that also means if B wants to glare at anything just for the sake of it, all he has is the tinted glass of the sliding window. 

A turns to him briefly, noticing that he’s awake, but continues on with whoever they’re talking to on the phone. They’re typing at their laptop with one hand. It’s an e-mail. The address line says to the LAPD.

He frowns, briefly remembering a few unsavory things, but pushes those away. “You have leads in L.A?”

A reaches their hand up to make a shh motion before resuming their typing. B huffs. 

They take another two minutes for them to actually wrap up their call. “No, I’m cleaning things up in Los Angeles. We’re going to Oregon.”

“Is that where your man is?”

“That’s where I heard he was going,” A says, “It doesn’t mean the cult doesn’t have operations in Los Angeles - or any other state -  in fact, I’ve given the police enough to let them make arrests by themselves, but I have a personal grudge to settle with Wickerton. And so far, the cult has exhibited behavior that points to the fact that they really, really respect hierarchy and ritual. If the high priest has to be there to offer the sacrifice, they that’s where I’m going.”

B shifts so he can look at the bandage on their cheek properly, since it’s visible from where he’s sitting beside them. He pokes at it lightly. 

A hisses in pain and frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“What happened with that?”

“I tried to bite someone’s fingers off when they tried to stick needles in my gums. They backhanded me with brass knuckles,” they say.

He stays quiet, focusing on the gauze and the Hello Kitty bandaids A had used to tape it onto their skin. After a while, he clicks his tongue and asks. “Where are they?”

“I kicked them in the face and shot their spine out a few nights ago,” they say, fake-cheerful.

B hums. “Good on you for making sure,” he mumbles, and then turns his attention to their laptop just as they hit send. “Are you going to fill me in on anything I’ve missed out on the case?”

“Didn’t I give you six cases to work on when you were at the house?” they ask. 

B gives them a flat look, mirth crashing. “Are you serious?”

“Those were still ongoing, you know those are equally important.”

“Standard murder, standard burglaries - you have all the interesting cases.”

“Look me in the eye right now and tell me you can look at eels the same way,” A says, lifting their chin a little and dropping their voice as they stare him down. He frowns. “That’s what I thought.”

“Disgusting doesn’t equal interesting.”

They throw their hands up. “Finally, he gets it and hopefully will be able to internalize it to fix his most prominent fake persona.”

“You are incredibly rude.”

“You are letting people die when you could do something about it.” They actually flick his nose at that and he draws back slightly, frown deepening, teeth bared a little. 

“Don’t use the morality argument on me, we both know our moral compasses are shit,” he says. When A raises an eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. “You shot someone’s spine out a few nights ago - ah, ah, ah and don’t say it was for the greater good. That was highly unnecessary, from a moral standpoint. It was already dead.”

A falls silent. 

They look away after a minute, typing on their laptop again. 

“We’re going to Oregon,” they say, “And for as much as I can, I will be working on the case from the hotel we’ll stay in, but there may be instances when I have to get out.”

“Like when you can finally shoot Wickerton in the face yourself.”

“You, meanwhile, have five more cases to go. All your requests have been approved and as of today, processed. MONIKA has sent all your files to your e-mail. If you have any further requests, you have my permission to go ahead with them without having to run it by me,” they say, ignoring him, but his attention snaps to their last sentence. “MONIKA, do you understand?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of clearance, A.”

“He’s bored and I’m in a hurry, I’ll take responsibility if all goes to shit. Don’t report this back to Wammy’s and just process it,” they say, “Contact Matt to have him help if you have to. And you know what to do with his ankle monitor anyway.”

“Yes, A.”

A doesn’t strike him as an idiot, but maybe exasperation just wears a person’s logic down. That, or confidence in THE AI since he probably has to be extra careful again with MONIKA. Back to square one with his restrictions, although maybe he can work with this.

“You said you would let me help you,” he says.

“Why are you invested in this?” A turns to him. They spread their hands out and lift their shoulders in an incredulous gesture. “You’re outside of the house, and you’ve got five cases to work on. I’m not forcing you to go back to your dolled up prison by yourself and I just made your permissions a bit more lax. What is it?”

He thinks his response over. “It’s interesting,” he says, shrugging carefully. “It’s a cult. You got kidnapped. It’s more entertainment than what I’ve gotten in years.”

They stare at him for a minute, studying his answer, before shaking their head. “You’re insufferable,” they say. “MONIKA, how long until we get to the hotel?”

“Seven minutes and twelve seconds, A.”

“So am I helping you or not?” B asks.

“No.”

“We had a deal,” he says. “You wanna go back on another promise, A - ”

A sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of their nose as they close their eyes. 

B waits for them to speak. They don’t, focusing on steadying their breaths instead, at least until the car has stopped.

“Fine,” they say, through gritted teeth. “Get your cases done, and if you manage to finish them before I wrap up, you can get on board. In the meantime - ” They pull on his ear harshly and he lets out a surprised cry of pain. “ - stay on the ground.”

Right on time, the car door on their side opens, and B sits up, removing his head from where he hasn’t bothered to move it from their shoulder since he’d fallen asleep earlier, so A can close their laptop and slide out of the car, flashing their driver a polite smile as he holds the door open for them.

He scoots over to the open door to stick his head out.

“Hey.”

A pauses in their step and turns to him, slight irritation clear on their face.

He grins, knowing. “Revenge looks good on you.”

-

A’s hotel rooms are different from what he had gotten when he’d gone to New York, which is to be expected since Matt probably just stole someone’s money to afford him things, especially because he was sneaking around, but it still makes him feel a little miffed. He’s quick to forget the indignation once he learns there’s a jacuzzi in the suite, though, and A just waves him off while they talk to room service over the phone.

“I feel like a new man,” he says, messing up his hair on purpose right by A’s desk, so the flecks of water hit some of their handwritten notes. They shoot him a venomous look over their cup of coffee. 

“You’re going to feel like a dead one if you keep that up.”

“Finally,” he says, and then goes over to bed to fall face first into it, crutch and dislocated arm and all. The mattress is incredibly soft, even though the impact still hurts, and he doesn’t get up for a solid ten minutes. 

Room service delivers their food in that time, and he hears A flatly laugh and say, “He’s trying to suffocate himself, don’t worry about it, I’m not going to sue anyone but him.” before closing the door.

“Eat,” they say, pushing the cart over to him while they take their tray to their desk.

He looks up, seeing new pajamas folded up by his pillow first, and then the food cart next. He moves so he can sit on the bed, propping his crutch on the edge, and get his tray. “How much of a budget do you even have?”

“Enough,” they say, and point their fork towards his bed without looking away from their laptop. “Change into the pajamas if you don’t have anything more comfortable than your hoodies. I don’t know how much you’ve been making sure your skin hasn’t been irritated in the last few days.”

“I’ve been fine,” he says, picking through his food to check what’s in it. It looks more expensive than anything he’s ever eaten before, and he happily tears off a chunk of the steak to eat.

“Have you really been?”

“You sound like my doctor,” he says, mouth full. A spins in their seat just to make a disgusted face. 

He does try them on later, when he takes his pressure garments off for sleep, since he’s still incredibly exhausted from days of being on the move when he had just been getting used to having little to do, and then being on painkillers because of his leg and his arm. They really are soft, which is a relief for his skin since it’s had to withstand more sunlight and sweat than necessary in the past few days. Even with the burn gel, it was still sensitive, so this was a nice change.

It’s not even weird to feel like an actual responsible adult, for the first time in his admittedly short life, taking care of himself and dutifully taking his painkillers and slathering on the burn gel so he can sleep comfortably, because these pajamas were just pampering. He does have to suffer through A getting to his back since his arm is still injured, though. 

At least they’re not trying to punch his lungs out this time. 

“So where’s Wickerton now?” he asks. 

“Good try, but like we agreed, finish your caseload first.”

“You didn’t make good on our first agreement,” he says. 

A responds by reaching over and smearing gel on his face. He leans away, even when it’s too late. 

“Oh, gross.”

“Shut your mouth if you don’t want to eat the gel.”

“Why do you have to avoid the subject so disgustingly.” He wipes the gel off his face. It’s quite nice since it’s cool on his skin, but it’s just going to feel gross later since he likes sleeping on his side. 

“I’m not - ”

“You are.”

A threatens to put gel on his face again and he swats their wrist away. 

“I’m not,” they still insist.

“We already have a cover story, stop being so paranoid,” he says, looking at them over his shoulder as best as he can. “Wammy’s doesn’t give enough of a shit about me to care if you took me out on a joyride.”

A looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“That could have been said better, but you know what I mean.”

“They care enough to make sure there’s security measures,” A says. 

“I thought that went for both of us.”

“I’m not a prisoner, B,” A says, focusing back  on their work. 

He laughs, a hint of malice seeping through. “Are you sure about that?”

“Not like you are,” they say, snapping the cap on the gel tube back on and then shoving his shirt in his arms as they stand. Their hands feel nearly feverish in contrast to how cool his skin feels right now, especially with the air conditioning.

“That’s funny,” he says, slipping his injured arm through a sleeve carefully before he can put the other one through and start buttoning the shirt back up. “I was getting the impression that we were both in the same cage and you were just making me more comfortable.”

“Are we really doing this here?” A asks. 

“You tell me.” He shrugs. “You’ve been agitated since you got back.”

They pause at that. Close their eyes. Take a deep breath. Let it out.

“You never did take well to stress, huh?”

“No,” A says, laughing a little. They sit on their bed and lean back on their hands, sighing. “No, I never did. It hasn’t piled up in a while quite like this too.”

“Hm.” B moves to his left so he can lean over better and poke at their cheek bandage again. They give him a warning look, but he just slowly peels off one of the bandaids holding the gauze down, before lifting the pad so he can look at the bruise. 

It looks a lot worse up close. He hadn’t really gotten a proper look at it when they were in the Red House basement, and they’d had to get treated in separate rooms when they were in the hospital. It’s healing, though. 

“It’ll feel worse if you sleep with the gauze on,” he says, “If you sleep on your side.”

A takes off the rest of the bandaids. “I forgot. I’m not turning in this early, anyway, I’ve still got things to work on.”

He hums, nodding, before tapping their cheek with a finger. “You’ll live.”

A laughs. After a beat, B does too.

-

“Taping an ice cube to my face isn’t going to help, I’m just going to start sneezing.”

B stretches out the tape with an obnoxious noise anyway. A glances at him briefly with a grimace. 

“Tests must be done before you can conclude anything,” he says.

“Not if you already know what’s going to happen,” A says, “The bruise is going to get worse from the tightness the tape’s going to cause, the ice cube is going to melt, the tape is going to fall off when it gets wet but that’s if I’m lucky.”

“You don’t have to work with one hand.”

“B, the interval is ten minutes-twenty minutes, I’d still have to take it off.” They spin their chair to look at him from where he’s lounging on the chaise by the floor to ceiling windows, stretching and rewrapping the tape roll. It’s early dawn, neither of them have slept, and the sun is rising behind him, the view clearly seen since they’re in the highest floor of the hotel.  They motion for him to move as soon as they realize this.

“What?”

“Get out of the way, I want to see the sunrise.”

B turns, squinting outside with a frown. The sun always was irritating. “I’m going to...burn from that,” he says, ignoring how he hesitates briefly. 

“Then get out of the way and get to sleep or something,” A says. He hears a click and sees them by the light switch when he directs his attention back to them. They’ve turned off the lights, leaving the room dim with only the rising sun and their laptop for illumination. “I want to see the sunrise.”

“Since when did you want to see the sunrise rather than just waste it away studying?” he asks. They walk over to the chaise and make a shooing motion. When he doesn’t move, they jokingly swat at his good leg. He still doesn’t move, so they push it off and sit, leaning back on their arms and sighing as they looked out at the glass walls.

“Since a while ago,” they say.

“Was ‘a while ago’ five minutes prior when you decided it would be good to push someone who had an injured leg off the chaise?”

“You’re very much still on the chaise, B, don’t be dramatic,” they say, motioning to where his other leg, the injured leg, was behind them, and to him.

“It was still attempted eviction,” he says, rolling the tape up and putting it on their their head like a crown.

A snorts but keeps the tape roll crown on, adjusting it so it doesn’t fall. “You’re chatty today.”

“It happens when you suddenly start staying up after a solid schedule of sleeping early,” he says. 

“Do you actually miss sleeping early?” they ask, “At least, way earlier than you’re used to?”

“A bit,” he says, “It feels like wasting time.”

“Yeah, I can get that,” they say, looking down but not quite focusing, “It’s always annoying to just sleep early when you know you have a lot of things to do and you can do them if you just stay up.”

“Except I didn’t really have a lot to do,” he says. He counts how long it takes A to notice the bitterness in his tone. 

They just sigh, which is an underwhelming response, but they did just crash from the emotional high of anxiety. “Enjoy your vacation, then,” they say. “Even with the ankle monitor.”

“It’s amazing how no one has asked yet, even when they’re obviously curious,” he says, snorting. 

“Have you ever tried to look at a mirror?”

“I don’t need to, I know I’m gorgeous.”

A gags. “No, dumbass, I meant you look terrifying,” they say, motioning with a hand to indicate his height. “You’re tall and off-putting. You give off a natural fuck off vibe. You have an ankle monitor. You know what that screams to people with common sense? Convict under house arrest. Which admittedly isn’t too off the mark.”

“Don’t judge the book by its - ”

“Plastic.”

“ - cover - how dare you.”

“Easily,” A says. 

He lifts his good leg and drops it on their lap in response. A lets out a little ‘oof!’ noise at the sudden weight and tries to push his leg away, but he stubbornly keeps it in place. 

“Payback,” he says, when they glare at him. 

They give up after a minute, instead just huffing and shooting him a glare, before their attention shifts to the walls and the view outside. The sun is up, and the hotel room is drenched in orange now, the light making the shadows on A’s face more prominent, but washing out the rest of their skin in the glow of the sunrise. 

B can only stare outside for a few minutes, before everything is too much for his eyes, and the light reminds him too much of fire burning off his skin and flesh. A just looks mesmerized, like they haven’t seen the sunrise in a very, very long time. 

“A friend once told me,” A starts; the sun is still slowly climbing its way upwards, and they’re still bathed in the light, although they’re looking down at the floor now. “Sometimes things will go too fast, and we’ll start thinking that we don’t have any time at all, even when we have all the time in the world. And when that happens, we tend to just overthink, and have tiny nuclear reactions within our brain, because that’s the worst echo chamber we could get trapped in.” 

They laugh softly, fond. “We lose more time than spend it meaningfully at that point,” they say, “Because we can do a million things at once and it’ll go by in a blur, but the ones that mean the most to us are sometimes just those isolated events where we can just stop and be ourselves and breathe. And those are the moments when we do more for ourselves than all the million other things.” 

He watches them reach a hand up to wipe at their eyes, even when they’re still dry. 

“So I asked him, well, when that happens, what do you do, then?” They draw in a breath and let it out shakily, leaning back on their hands and looking up. “He said, find one thing that has never ceased to amaze you, but something you haven’t had the time to indulge yourself in. Go find that thing, even for just a few minutes. And of course, he meant the sunrise, because he knew I loved sunrises and sunsets.”

“That’s funny,” B says, “You never noticed them, when we were at Wammy’s.”

A nods. “Yeah, I never really let myself indulge in them but every time I see them, it’s just - it’s amazing,” they say, “I was already going off the rails during that time, when we talked, so the next day, I went out of the cabin we were staying in. We were on vacation - don’t look too surprised, I didn’t always have this detective gig - “

They laugh again at his reaction. That’s another piece of news to him.

“Anyway, we were on vacation, and one of my friends had a cabin right by the beach, it was literally four meters away from the beach and everything. So I got out at dawn, and then I just sat on the sand in my pajamas,” they say.

“I thought you were going to talk about the sunrise,” he says. He lies down on the chaise so he’s resting on his back, although he still doesn’t remove his good leg from where it’s propped on A’s lap. 

A snickers. “Yeah, but I got out at like five in the morning.”

“Oh hell, were you trying to get sick? You were right by the ocean.”

“I was sneezing for a good while, yeah, but it was actually therapeutic,” they say, “We weren’t at a resort or anything, we were just in a really rural area, so it was so quiet. No one was around. There were fisherman boats, but they were on the other side of the island. The place was so clean, and I was just...alone.” 

He tries to imagine it. He hasn’t really been to the beach, now that he has to think about it. The house was close to the ocean, but it’s not like it’s resort material, and Wammy’s was nowhere near any beaches. For the last few years, he’s been mostly travelling from the UK to the US and bounced from job to job until he decided maybe a challenge to L was in order.

There’s so many things neither of them really haven’t experienced before. It’s normal, right, to be able to go to the beach and see the ocean and not feel like a prisoner? To actually just have fun there? 

“It was peaceful and I haven’t really felt that kind of peace, ever,” A says, “It makes me miss the ocean.” 

“Was that your first beach vacation?” he asks.

“An overnight stay? Yeah,” they say, “We were there for a week, it was...I think everyone thought it was pretty normal, but it was just exciting for me.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything else.

“I saw the sunrise a little bit after six o’clock,” they continue, “It was beautiful. I wish I had taken photos. I think that was the first time in years I had properly seen a sunrise and just didn’t feel hurried.”

He sits up slowly, propping himself up by his good arm so he can lean forward. He reaches a hand out to touch A’s cheek, their skin still feverish. They flinch at the sudden touch. 

“You’re crying,” he says, trying to get the words out at the surprise of them actually flinching.

“Oh,” they say, wiping their tears. “I’m sorry, it’s just - I miss it. It’s been a stressful few years.”

“We have an ocean back at the house,” he says.

“Right by a cliff, B.” A laughs. “But that is better than nothing, I suppose.”

“It’s got a dramatic view, if nothing else.”

“That’s a good point, I love being dramatic considering I’m an emotional disaster,” they say. “The ocean just makes for a good backdrop.” 

“Pity they didn’t get us beach trips for school, huh?”

A thinks it over for a few seconds and then shrugs. “Maybe that was for a best,” they say.

He nods, remembering a pool, two children, and A pale and not breathing on the tiled floor of the natatorium. “That’s actually ironic, since you miss the ocean now.”

“It’s surprisingly not all that bad,” they say. 

He holds his tongue on asking whether or not they just love it because they know it’s the one thing that’s come so close to killing them before, and it can always kill them again. At least, the water. 

He watches as they glance outside again; their tears have stopped, although their eyes are still red and they’re still sniffing, nose runny. Outside, the sun as already risen past their building, their hotel room less bright than it had been before. 

“What happened?” he asks, “You had friends. You sounded close enough to go on vacations with them. I don’t recall you being comfortable enough with other people to be in close quarters with them.”

A smiles. It looks sad.

“That’s for another time, B,” they say.

They start to stand, gently pushing his leg off and taking off the tape roll crown, but B just pins them down on purpose. The tape roll crown falls off their head and clatters to floor in a series of dull thumps.

They shoot him a glare and he laughs, loudly.