2019-05-02 - What we have here is a failure to communicate.

Violet doesn't have a car, but all it took was Alex uttering the words "I think I'm not okay" for her to find a way to the house on Bayside. She comes in a pair of leggings and a long sweater, her hair swept back in a messy bun, her pretty face drawn with worry and with tears that are quick to fall when she finds Alex and her kitty in the state that they are. At least Blue Bell didn't seem as quite in dire straights as Alex did in the moment, and so it was with great care that she gets him in the bathtub, to at least wash the blood from his wounds.

That's where they were now, Violet on her knees on the bathroom tile and Alex in the water which she had to refill after it became too coppery red, a second wash cloth fetched after the other one got too bloodied, so that she can wipe him down. He can tell her as much or as little as he wanted in the moment - she was there to listen, to understand, offering quiet words or warm touches to let him know that she was here now. That this was real. "I knew you were gone," she admits in a quiet lull, looking shameful. "I couldn't.. couldn't feel you."

Surely, Alex would have gotten himself into the shower under his own impetus had it not been obvious that Violet was incoming. Like, he's not stupid enough to just lay on his floor forever and bleed to death. By the time she arrives, he's at least peeled himself off the ground, made his way into the bathroom for some Tylenol - after getting violently ill, which he at least did in the toilet and not all over the bathroom, so go him. \o/ And now he's in the bath, which she even had the presence of mind to drain so he didn't have to fuss about sitting in a bathtub full of gross. She's such a keeper.

"It's okay," he says dully of her shameful look, having recounted the major plot points of his descent into hell and back. "That is. Does it do any good to know if there's nothing you can do about it?" He's so ready to intellectualize this problem now.

"I didn't expect..." Violet's brows tumble towards the bridge of her nose; she draws back briefly to catch the falling sleeve of her sweater and drag it back up over her elbow. Then she wrings out the cloth and dips it back into the water, gingerly fussing at a spot on his upper arm. ".. When you didn't answer, you didn't text. I just wanted to make sure you weren't hurt. I figured you.." had finally decided she wasn't worth his time? ".. Were just busy. I didn't expect that I couldn't feel you at all."

She blinks back a few more tears as she raises her free hand, to run her fingers underneath his cracked bottom lip. She's gentle, these are soft touches, perhaps more for her own reassurance than anything else. "Somehow Blue Bell was there. Somehow she got to you, and I don't know how or why. But who's to say that there's nothing I could do to help? I just haven't figured out how to yet."

Quickly, realizing after the fact that maybe she doesn't shift gears as quickly as he does, Alex tacks on, "It's not a criticism. It's just frustrating. Powerlessness." He starts to try to smile apologetically at her, then thinks the wiser of it when it tugs at the corner of his mouth uncomfortably, leaves him blotting at his lip with the pad of his thumb and then dunking the diluted bloody thumbprint into the bathwater. Then it's just a deep breath, and he sinks back against the tub, letting hot water do what hot water does, and Violet's attention do what it does: help him unwind.

A slow nod answers about Blue Bell, and he suggests, "Between us we speak - " He counts them off on his fingers. " - four and a half languages? And not one of them happens to be feline." With an uncomfortable laugh. "Do you think she did it on purpose? Or just... happened to be there? Because I haven't exactly taken the time to endear myself to your cat." (There is so a joke there.)

Violet shifts on her knees there on the tile, mirroring his frown as it deepens there upon his features. There's a sigh that's brought with the crack of his skin, the sudden ooze of crimson from the cut. "I feel that way, too. Powerless. Frustrated," she murmurs, and then stretches to lean over the lip of the tub, breezing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. It's enough to knit the skin back together there, a cooling sensation as the wound heals. She couldn't stop him from getting hurt, but she can fix him in small ways, and maybe that was something. Even if it wasn't enough.

But there's a guilty look in her eyes when he talks about not speaking feline. "I.." she leans back on her haunches, casting a look over her shoulder. ".. can't speak cat. But I can hear what she is thinking, sometimes. I know what she is feeling now. She's scared. Hurt. Confused. I don't think she meant to be there any more than you meant to be there. But how were you there together?" it's a mystery to even her. "I've never had a Dream where I was there with someone else. Not someone else who was as real as me."

"Thank you," for the little fix. And the little kiss. Alex rubs his finger across the mended place now, just a quick pass of his index finger as it was with his thumb - only, this time, no blood!

And then his eyes widen, and he leans away from Violet a little, toward the far edge of the bathtub. "You can...?" It's a real come-again moment (again, there is so a joke there), leaving him blinking damply across the bath-water at her. "So, wait." Como se dice, Alex. "You can do whatever it is that you do to your cat? To all cats?" This, being news to him, is gonna take a minute to sink in, while he gawks at her anew.

"I hate to see you hurt," Violet demurs the thanks, it was nothing really, and returns to fishing the washcloth out of the water so that she can continue rubbing the blood and grime off of him. If only she could do more than fix that tiny tear - it's not something she says, but it's certainly a feeling she projects in the way she's so careful with his cuts, in the way her blue eyes mist over with tears as she washes him.

But the talk of the cat distracts her, and the surprise in his reaction makes her lean back just a touch. Her nose crinkles as she inclines her head in a short nod. "Sometimes," her teeth drag over her bottom lip, "Not just cats though. I can hear the monkeys at the zoo. And I made the peacock there run off when it was trying to get fresh with me."

It's not the perfect response, but it's true - she hates to see him hurt: "I'm glad?" Because the alternative is that she likes it, and that gets into a whole other kind of darkness that Alex isn't ready to deal with right now. But, seriously, "It's mostly just going to be uncomfortable, I'm sure." Alex lifts a light shrug, submerges arms that took some nail-scratches from monsters so they don't get too tight, and then attends this information about the animals.

"What do the monkeys... say?" Then, with a soft chuckle, he adds, "What did the peacock say?"

There's a curt nod when he says that part about just being uncomfortable; she wasn't going to argue there, or tell him what to do. He was a doctor, so hopefully he's already thinking about how to keep himself from getting an infection. And now that most of the blood was washed away? It really was just about making sure he stayed comfortable. So he sinks his arms under the water and she wrings out the washcloth, setting it up and out of the way where it won't drip water on the floor. "Mm," she folds her forearms up onto the lip of the tub, props her cheek there so that she can stay close and watch him.

"The monkeys are.. sad," she says in a quiet voice. "They want out, to be free. But when I bring them fruit, they get excited." What did he think, it'd be rainbows and sunshine and happiness? "The peacock is a bit of a bastard, though. He's always thinking about biting people. Especially children," she frowns. "So I told him to go away, and he listened. I can usually tell animals to do something very simple and they do it. But I try not to listen very often. It's... it's already risky enough, staying in touch with Alice like I do."

Damp-handed hair-stroking is just the worse, but Alex does it a little bit anyway, mostly just tucking a few of her frizzy stray-bits of hair behind her ear for a second before he rests a hand loosely on the edge of the tub, covering fingertips with fingertips. "I never started the Monkey Freedom Collection Can." And he frowns - but not an intense frown, not a MONSTERS TRIED TO KILL ME EARLIER frown, just a small, thoughtful one. "At this point, I'm not so sure I'm up to asking Marilyn if I can put the can on her desk. We may have to explore other means of liberation."

Too bad neither of them can mind-unlock the cage doors.

The whole thing about the peacock makes his frown turn up a little at the corners, a tiny smile - but it's fleeting. "Why is it risky? I don't understand." Still.

There's no protest from the damp-handed hair-stroke - it may be just the worst, but it still brings a small smile to twitch at the corners of her lips. Her fingers stretch to hook around his own when he lays his hand near, squeezing gingerly. "It's okay," she says of his broken promise. Poor, captured monkeys. "We can still think of a way to help them. You do realize that wasn't actually Marilyn, right?" That last question is asked gently, not accusatory. "At least.. I don't think. I think They just use people, memories, whatever it takes.." she breathes out, her fingers gripping his more firmly.

She lifts her head at his lack of understanding, lashes fluttering in a few quick blinks. "I told you. I think it.. it brings attention to us. Their attention. And the Dreams always happen more frequently, when I've been using it a lot," a deeper frown fits upon her lips, and there's a moment where she just stares up at him, brows twitching. "Did you know you're... brighter? Than you were yesterday. Just a little."

It's a fair question, so Alex doesn't get all offended or whatever. It just brings a small laugh exhaled through his nose, coupled to a brief dip of his chin to acknowledge the affirmative. "I gathered," that it wasn't Marilyn. "But that's twice? So I'm starting to look at her a little askance, to be honest. Plus." Conspiratorily, "I don't particularly like her in the real world." He shrugs as if to apologize for being such a horrible human as to not like someone, gasp!

His, "Hmm," is another exhale through his nose, contemplative, and he looks at Violet for a spell, mulling her comments. "Them." What more is there to say? So he shakes his head, filing this away as something to think about when he's not in the bathtub. "No?" About his relative brightness. "Is this a thing of which I should be aware?" Like, is he just that goddamn ignorant?

There is a very dry laugh that comes mostly from Violet's nose at the conspiratorial whisper that follows the talk of Marilyn. It brings a brief levity to the moment, a brightening of tear-stained blue eyes, before she's back to looking somber. "It does make you wonder, about the people that They use. Like I never see Alice directly. Or you. Just shapes, voices. But my father? He is there. I wonder if there are shadows under his skin, or if he's flesh and blood," those last few words are hushed, and she looks away and across the surface of the bathwater before she sighs and lays her head back onto her forearm. This was confusing.

But as for his brightness relative to yesterday? She was at least certain of that. "You're just brighter, than you were. You'd understand if you saw Alice. She's brilliant, like a beacon," there's a quiet mournful sadness to her tone. "She told me once it's why They went after her so strongly. That They were drawn to her, more so than others. Like moths to a flame."

Speaking of very dry, it's probably about time Alex peeled himself out of this bathtub before he turns into a prune. Or, well, he's kind of a small person, so a raisin? Anyway, the point is: he can't stay in the bath all day, and he sits forward about now to indicate his exit is incoming. He pauses there, just sitting forward, head cocked. "So when he - hm. The night that we rode the ferris wheel, and you said that your father had been the on that hurt you, was that real? When he hurt you?"

While waiting for that answer, he reaches across gingerly to start the bath water slurping on down the drain. "No, I understand. Relative brightness. Me," hand just above the rim of the tub, "Sophia," higher still, "You," higher still. "So Alice?" He waits for his hand to get moved to the approximate level.

Oh, that question was not a good one for Violet. Her knee-jerk reaction is to flinch and lean away, the frown dragging deeper as she looks to her wrist. The Dream wounds are still there, though the deep blue is fading, little blossoms of pain. "My father is a drunk," she says quietly, moving to get to her feet so she can fetch him a towel. "He's always been a drunk. The only difference between the real him, and the Dream him, is that he's always stone sober when he hits me in my Dreams." And that is where she'll end that conversation.

Shuffling back over, she reaches to take his hand and draw it as high as it will go. "Alice," she replies, and then passes him the towel. "But she says there are people brighter than her. Which I find very difficult to believe."

That's where she'll end the conversation, and that's essentially where Alex lets it end. "I see." That's somewhere in his repertoire of standard answers for people who have standard excuses, along with the short nod that suggests nothing in particular, just acknowledges the explanation.

Then his hand is on the rise, and his brows lift in tandem with it while he looks up at his own extended arm. "And that's why she's in an institution?" Is not exactly the question he wants to ask, so his brows draw while he takes the towel and peels himself out of the draining tub. "I don't fully understand. Is she actually mentally ill? Or is it just that - well, if I were to tell someone that I got these injuries because Satan attacked me in my sleep, they would absolutely try to put me away."

There's nothing further added to the subject of her father. Alex sees, and his Very Standard Statement (tm) was enough for her to determine that he understands. At least in point not to push. So she steps away to the sink to wash her hands, and then pull down the bandages and alcohol she assumes he'll want to use when he's dried off. Helpful Violet is helpful. Besides, it keeps her hands busy as her brows furrow inward, the frown ever-present as he asks of her sister.

"Alice was having Dreams. Terrible Dreams, constant. She would slip away often - in bed, in class, at home. I didn't understand then, but I was trying very hard to ignore what we could do," she explains. "Alice didn't want to ignore it. She wanted to know more. She was always... on. She was always feeling people. Talking to me here," she taps at her temple. "I told you before, that she could always make people feel happy. But not because of who she was. Because of the things she could do."

A deep breath, and she turns to look at him. "She wasn't crazy. They made her believe that she was. They made her believe the only way she could stop it all was if she died. But I didn't let her die. And now she is away, and that is my fault." There's no room to argue that point, at least based on her tone. "If she's crazy now? It's because of what They do to her. What They still do to her. She says They are everywhere, up there."

Alex listens - really, truly, honestly listens - even while he goes through the motions of drying himself off. (Also, wtf; why are all their bathtub scenes not even a little bit hawt? We're the worst.) At the end, after the whole explanation about all the things THEY have done to Alice, the whole reason she's "upstate" to begin with...

...Alex is quiet. He lifts questioning brows at Violet, and he tilts his chin at a curious upward slant, but he doesn't outright state the obvious: so the answer is yes, she's mentally fucking ill. Instead, wrapping himself in a towel, he suggests the other room with the changed tilt of his head, because he's going to put on some underwear before he starts attacking himself with isopropyl; no one needs to be in that kind of pain while they're nekkid.

The quiet does not seem to bother Violet, but the tilt of his chin seems to make her tense. "Where do you think you would be, Alex, if what happened to you today was your life?" And she leaves it at that, a quiet sniffle escaping her as she turns on her heel and walks out of the bathroom, to find him a pair of underwear. It's going to take her a minute to come back, her blue eyes swimming with recently spilled tears, the undergarments handed over to him wordlessly.

Okay. Alex intended to go get his own shorts, and was just kind of inviting Violet to continue the conversation out there, but he's not going to argue about that. On top of calling her twin sister crazy with his expression if not his words. So he'll just stay in here, arranging the things that Violet pulled out for him, putting things in order on the edge of the counter so all will be ready after he's got his unders on.

By the time she comes back, he's quite composed (see above re: Good Success ) and accepts the boxers she went to fetch with a quiet, "Thank you." And he steps into those, hangs up his towel, and looks at her tearful eyes. "Violet, I'm not blaming your sister for what's happened to her. I just didn't understand if it was just that she was telling the truth, and it just sounds insane, or if she's actually been damaged by it."

Violet takes in a breath, letting it fill her lungs, and then slowly breathe it back out again. It was enough to keep her from raising her voice again, that moment of steady breathing, and she leans in the doorway of the bathroom with her pale gold brows rising above the frames of her glasses. "How do you not understand, Alex? Especially now, with what you went through?" There's a very small shake of her head, and she looks past him, to his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"Why are you asking me this, anyway?" It's more direct than she typically is, but it's getting harder to dance around these things. "What are you worried about? Does this have to do with me?" Her blue eyes flick back to the real him, rather than the mirror-him, her eyes on his.

Alex does that, too. Takes a breath. He does them often, which we can assume is why he has all that composure, and he looks directly back at the reflection of Violet's eyes. With commendable gentleness, he explains, "I understand that - right now. If I told someone uninitiated with all of this what happened to me and insisted it was true? They would recommend anti-psychotics, even though I don't need them. But I also understand that, if it kept happening and I couldn't get any help, the pressure and powerlessness would eventually leave me damaged enough that I would some sort of intervention. That is what I understand. I just don't understand where your sister is - or was - on that spectrum."

Her follow-up questions? Those draw his brows together while he answers the direct eye-contact instead of the mirrored version. "No," it doesn't have anything to do with her. "Do you think that I think that you're insane, Violet?"

"That's such a .. remarkably neutral statement, Alex," Violet sighs out. His question there at the end leaves her frowning further, and all that direct eye contact was ceased in the moment. She stares down at her feet, and bites hard enough on her bottom lip that she threatens to break the skin. There's a flinch with the motion, the muscles in her shoulders tightening as she focuses on the spot where the bathroom tile meets the bedroom carpet. "I think.." she starts, and sucks in another breath, but no amount of steady inhale-exhale can hold back the emotion in the moment.

"I think it's incredibly unfair for you to ask me that," she begins, "And I think, for once, I'd like you to just tell me what you think. How you feel. Not your ... all this doctor speak, all this rationalization." That's when her eyes meet his again. "Do you think I'm insane, Alex?"

"It is." A remarkable neutral statement. Alex must have been prepared for her eyes to drop, because he dips his head just a little, just enough to make sure she knows he noticed, and then settles himself down on the lid of the toilet to start cleaning out the mess of his arms, the places where nails dragged gashes through his imaginary shirt. "Why is it unfair?" he asks in response, not challengingly, just reasonably. Legit question: why?

He exhales through the process of alcohol-to-cotton-ball, shaking his head. He's a beat or two late in meeting her eyes, having not expected her to look back, to be honest. Still, he gets there by the time he answers, "No, I don't think you're insane, Violet."

Why is it unfair? "Because you already know what I think, Alex. I've been more open with you than I have been with anyone outside of Alice. Maybe even more open with you than her," Violet replies. In spite of the building emotion, she maintains a quiet voice, almost mouse-like in quality. She stays in the doorway, wincing as he pours the alcohol on is wounds, sympathetically feeling the burn. "And because you know what I Dream about. You know what They use to hurt me. I haven't hid that from you. And I've trusted you regardless."

His response is initially met with silence. She keeps his gaze held though, not looking away again. A difficult thing for her, perhaps. Eventually, her chin tilts, a vague nod. "You do know that what I think you feel and what you really feel, Alex, may be entirely different? I haven't looked, not even a peek. I can't do that, not to you."

Alex quits it with the alcohol for now, dropping a cotton ball into the trash so his attention is wholly on Violet and not on the business of keeping himself from getting psychic infections. There falls a long moment after that, where he looks at her and his thoughts play out behind his eyes wordlessly, ending with another of those slow breaths that seem to be all the rage between them through this conversation. At the end of that fight, "I'm sorry." And he reaches out with a hand, offering it toward hers, an effort just to catch her hand with his. "This conversation is going badly. It's not the time to have it, I think."

She says what she says about no peeking, and he adds, "I appreciate that." Which isn't to say he doesn't know she hasn't been peeking, just that he respects her not doing so. "And. It doesn't matter. If your sister is actually insane or just presumed to be. I'm sorry that I suggested that it does."

She was searching for something in the look that she gives him, but even if his thoughts were playing out behind his eyes, there was nothing Violet was able to easily glean from them. She allows him to catch her hand without hesitation, the next breath she takes heavy and edged with a subtle tremor. "Maybe not," maybe it wasn't the right time to have this conversation. Her fingers curl around his own. "But it would be a lot easier to have it, if you were willing to share what you were thinking. What you're feeling," it was a reiteration of what she's said already, but it was important to say again. There's also an immediate look of guilt that darkens her blue eyes, after the words are spoken.

Which is perhaps why she shakes her head, and gives his fingers a ginger tug. Despite her press for more, she's quick to change the course of the conversation. "You don't have anything to be sorry for," which is usually the speech he gives her. "But you should be laying down. Resting. Let me go and change the sheets."

"I'm thinking that I'm worried for you. That is what it boils down to." He must be feeling tired, because that's how Alex sounds when he puts that out there, like the effort of candor is just too much. He glances briefly to the joined hands, looking for inspiration and ordering his thoughts, then stands with a slow shake of his head. "No no no," about the sheets. "I just need something to eat, and to put on some clothes. I'm - " WORDS, which ones?! Not 'all right,' that's not the way to put it. " - off-kilter, but I'll be fine."

Importantly, starting toward the bedroom where the clothes are if not the food, "I'll help you with the sheets, and we should probably do something about your cat. She did essentially ward off the minions of Hell today, probably we should give her some tuna and milk, at the very least."

"Mm. Well I am worried about you, too," Violet says in reply, casting her eyes down to their held hands, the rest of her words spoken in a hushed murmur, "So I guess there's at least one feeling we share for one another." And then he's standing, and talking of food, and she draws back into the bedroom. She should think about this instead, she should focus on this instead, and so she goes to get the spare sheets from wherever they are kept and doesn't argue when he says he wants to help instead of rest. Even if she thought he's wrong. Even if she thinks he should be laying down. She keeps all those thoughts to herself.

Instead? She gives him the sheets, and she heads to the door. "I'll go make you some soup, and get Blue Bell something special," because he can put the sheets on the bed. And she needs some space to collect herself.

Things Alex can fix: The sheets, the fact that he has no clothes on, perhaps his friendship with the cat? He will at least attempt that last one, scooping her off the bed gently and petting her head a minute before he sets her off on a pillow in the process of peeling the sheets off the bed. Things he can't? The fact that he shouldn't have had that conversation at all, that Violet is off making him soup and food for the cat, and clearly things have gone sideways today.

Right now, he works on the things he can fix. Later, when he's got clothes on and food in him, he'll have to circle back to the things he can't fix. In the interim, he needs some more Tylenol, because - lo and behold! - he's developed a tremendous headache. So he will be up here, fixing things he can, and giving Violet that necessary space. When everything is pristine up here, then he will go downstairs and try to explain himself.

Maybe they need a safe word for face-to-face conversations, too!

Some number of minutes later...

Alex makes his way down those stairs. It would be weird if he had opted for shirt-and-tie, so he goes for - like - a Polo shirt and some super-cool Dockers. He is so fashionable. No socks, no shoes. He steps into his own kitchen, heading to the end of the counter, and he repeats something he was saying earlier: "That conversation went badly." You know, like bringing it up again will make it better. GG, Alex.

Some number of minutes later, Violet is in the kitchen pulling a pot off the stove. It's chicken soup, it's nothing to write home about, and it's probably something that came from out of a can that she took out of his pantry. But it's made with care and it's made with feelings even though Alex won't share his own. She had a good cry while she was down here by herself, and her nose is red and swollen, but she's otherwise under control for the time being, pouring the soup carefully into a bowl when she hears him coming down the stairs.

"It's fine," she remarks dully, "Sometimes conversations go badly." She goes to get a spoon out of the designated spoon drawer.

Alex is quietly grateful that, at some point, he saw chicken soup and thought 'i shall buy this, it will look nice in my pantry.' He does not share this feeling because it is a dumb feeling, but I will share it with you, because it entertained me.

Here, he'll share something, okay? "I don't think it's fine. I think it's because I'm not in control of all the things right now, and that's bothering me immensely." He looks at her with an apologetic shrug, and then he looks at the soup with hopefully large eyes. "Thank you for making me soup. I'm very hungry. And - " With a tap to his temple (also; I think this is right 'cause they tell me how to say this at work). "Me duele la cabeza."

Unlike Dream Violet, who was careless and messy, Real Violet is an attentive house guest. She carries the bowl to the table and pointedly tries not to look at the scratch she put there a few nights ago. The soup is set onto the placemat, the spoon beside it. And she will even scoot the chair out for him, before she finally brings her full attention to him. "I can't help you with that feeling," she admits in a quiet voice. "Because I have not been in control of all the things for a very long time. But I can make you soup," and maybe that would be enough.

It takes a bit of effort for her to shuffle across on bare feet, and tip herself up onto her toes to brush his still-damp hair from his brow. She lays her hand upon his cheek, and presses a kiss to the very center of his forehead, breathing out as she goes. "I don't have any idea what you said," she admits, dry humor. "But I'm very sorry for your cabeza."

Don't worry about the scratch. Just as soon as Alex stops getting attacked by monsters, the Woman That Buys His Furniture will get called to get him a better table. And he'll just... give this one to poor people. Logan! He will give this one to Logan.

"I have a headache." That's what he said before. Only this time, he says it in English. Probably, his player should translate mid-dialogue like the cool kids do, but no. lrn 2 spanish violeta. The kiss makes him smile a very little bit, and he sits down to eat the soup. "I usually am." Beat. "In control of all the things. Or at least enough of them that I tell myself that it's all of them." For a second, for a blow across the surface of a spoonful of soup, it seems like that's the end of his dialogue. But, just before he puts the bite in his mouth, he adds, "What did you give the cat?"

It seems odd to get rid of a table with so many memories~ but Logan does wear a sweatshirt so he'd probably appreciate a hand-me-down. Either way, Violet lowers herself back down onto the flats of her feet while he retreats to the chair and his soup, moving to lean over the kitchen counter while she watches him. "I know," she says of his desire to be in control, or how things usually are. And there's nothing more to it. She knows, and the tone of her voice is awfully apologetic about it all.

As for the cat? "I made her a little saucer of milk and found some tuna. Can I put it upstairs in the loft for her?" she casts a look back up the stairs with a small frown. "I doubt she wants to go very far. She's probably very happy in your bed." There's a small pause, before she blinks. "I mean I'll take her with me, so don't worry about that. When I go home. Tonight. Or whenever."

Wow, they've had text conversations less stilted than this. 🙁

Alex eats some soup quietly, because that thought about the text conversations occurs to him, too. Plus, he really was hungry and nothing can possibly make this any less uncomfortable, including a prolonged silence. Right?

After about forty seconds, he realizes that's not right, and a prolonged silence is making it worse. So, "She can stay here? But I don't have any supplies for her. We could go into town in a little while and get some supplies." [...] "Or take her back to your apartment."

It was uncomfortable, the silence, which is probably why Violet was about to pull herself away from the counter and pack up her pussy and go home. But at least he finds words again, and that stills her. And she replies with a bit of silence all on her own, just to draw out that uncomfortable moment.

At least it should help brace him for the sudden rush of words that happen next.

"Look, I ... I don't know what happened in there, Alex, other than what you told me," she begins, walking over to the table to drop to the edge of the chair closest to him. "I know you must feel .. hurt, and maybe scared, and like nothing at all makes sense. But I.. I care about you, Alex. Very very much. And I don't know what happened but if something did and it.. it's going to affect us? Whatever we are. I.. I think I deserve to know," she ends that with a guilty look, because, "I know that maybe this isn't the right time, to have this conversation, because you're hurt and hungry and you have a headache. And I'm sorry if it is very selfish of me, but I.." There's a heartbeat of a pause. "I feel something for you, Alex. And I just.. I just want to know."

Wait, though! Alex just said the pussy could stay!

And then Violet says all those things, while he's still contemplating the logistics of transporting the cat back to her apartment - or transporting the things the cat needs back to his house - and he lowers his soup spoon slowly. So that he doesn't have one more thing to split his focus. "Violet." Saying her name is just him temporizing right now, buying a second or two. "What happened was awful, but that's not what's wrong right now?" He gestures between the two of them with one hand, brushing his fingers through the air. Then starts to explain... stops... starts again, "There is no way for me to say - " See? None.

He exhales, looks at her directly, and says frankly, "I am bothered that your sister and your father harm you or put you in harm's way, and that you either accept this harm or offer excuses for it."

That was not the response that she expected. It was like he slapped her across the face, what with how quickly she leans back, lashes fluttering rapidly behind the frames of her glasses. Her brows shoot up, and then collapse into a furrow, as she stares across at him. "I.. I tell you I have feelings for you, strong feelings for you, and you.. you blame me for.. for being abused?" she swallows and sits up, her spine impossibly straight. "I told you before. Plainly and clearly. I don't talk to my father, and I haven't for years. I was going to the Pourhouse every night to send him home but I stayed away, and I only did that for my mother. But since he hurt me, I haven't stepped foot near there. But I.. I can't.. I can't control what They do to me, Alex, I have no more control of what I Dream than you do."

She folds her hands into her lap, her shoulders tight, her bottom lip trembling. "And my.. my sister is not.. What has she ever done to hurt me? That is not her in those Dreams."

"No." That word is the same in a bunch of languages (though French people spell it 'non' but still, it's pronounced the same), so Alex is comfortable saying it promptly and without any dithering. "What you said was that you care about me but. You want to know if that dream is what's affecting us right now. And I'm answering that. It is not. I understand that that," he makes a little loop with his hands on the edge of the table, a neatly confined space, "is separate from this." He moves the space right over here.

"And I'm not blaming you. I'm trying to explain that it bothers me, and I'm biting my tongue about it, but it bothers you that I'm not telling you what is bothering me. And now it's bothering you that I'm telling you." So he just looks confused and worn down and winds up shaking his head at her. "I can't answer you, but I can't not answer you. There's no..." Something. There's no something.

There's a flick of her glance to the loop he makes with his hands. The space there, and the one over there, and she squeezes her eyes shut before giving her head a vigorous shake. It takes a couple seconds before she reopens her eyes, hanging on the edge of his unspoken something. "It doesn't bother me that you're telling me, Alex, it bothers me that you.. that you're blindsiding me with this. After we already went through this, after you said you understood. I-I don't even know where this is coming from," she drags her teeth over her bottom lip, drops her eyes to her lap.

"I don't want to be hurt, Alex. I don't ask for this, I don't seek it out. I hate my father, but he is my father, and I can't escape that," she swallows, lifting blue eyes up to him. "I am who I am. I am not perfect, Alex. I have heavy, heavy baggage. And I am complicated and I am hurting and I am broken. But I am me," her voice trembles as she says this, and a few tears fall, but she continues on. "And I accept you for who you are. For all your flaws and all your baggage and all your ... everything. Everything that makes you perfect. Everything that makes you imperfect. And I thought there was something here for me. But.. I.. There has to be something."

"I think that you're misunderstanding me." Which couldn't possibly have anything to do with how ass-fucking-backward Alex has come about this conversation, could it?! "I'm not telling you this because I expect you to change. Or because it's a deal-breaker. I'm telling you because you wanted to know. But if you don't want to know, then I don't have to tell you." He exhales a small, frustrated breath, stressing, "I know." About all those things she just said, complicated and hurting and broken, he totally gets it.

"And I like all of those - " No, wait. That's about to come out way wrong. "I care about you entirely. About the parts of you that are hurting and complicated and broken, and the ones that aren't, that are sweet and compassionate and strange." It sounds like there should be a 'but'... but there's not. That is all. He cares about her entirely, no buts.

It is by pure grace of the successful composure roll that Violet doesn't abruptly snap at him. She waits until he's finished, and then she waits just a little longer, because that last thing sounded like there should be a 'but'. So she will wait for the but, just long enough to make things awkward. And when the but doesn't come?

Well. She'll make things a little more awkward.

"I don't understand any of this. I don't understand you, I don't understand this. I don't understand this fucking conversation!" she throws her hands up in the air, and then leans forward, the emotion heavy in her voice: "Are we breaking up? Are we ... is there even anything here to break up? Because I am so confused, Alex," and she was so, so frustrated.

Hold up. "What?" That's Alex's whole pose.

What? "What do you mean what?" Violet rubs her eyes underneath her glasses, dragging her fingers down her cheeks out of pure frustration. "I just.. I don't understand where we are. I don't understand what we are. But if this is what's been bothering you... What do we do, Alex? What are we doing?"

With the knitted eyebrows, Alex leans over the table. Wait, first he shifts the bowl of soup a little to the side, so that, when he leans over the table, he doesn't wind up leaning into the little soup left in the bottom of the bowl. Then he leans over the table, shaking his head and saying, "We don't do anything. Why would we do anything? You wanted to know what was bothering me, so I told you. It's not something that requires any action. It just is."

Was she sitting across from him? If so, then hopefully his arm is long enough to reach across the table, because he extends it, hand on offer there. "Many things bother me." He does not look at the scratch in the table. Pointedly. "You're not responsible for solving them. But I can't both tell you about them and not tell you about them."

Alex wasn't the only one with knitted eyebrows now. She cants her head, thinking that maybe if she didn't look at him straight-on and instead at an angle, of this would make sense. "So.. the.. weirdness upstairs, the way you were acting. It's because you .. you were bothered about that, and you didn't know how to tell me? But .. but you don't want me to do anything about it?" She looks to the hand that extends across the table, and there is no reluctance to take it, though it may take a moment for her to get there. "I want you to tell me things, Alex. I want to know when something bothers you, even if it bothers me to hear it. I want you to be honest with me. And I.. I want to be able to be honest with you, too." Her fingers curl around his own, and she frowns.

"So.. You.. you don't want to break up?" she asks again, because he hasn't answered.

"Yes." That's why Alex was acting that way. Also probably because he battled Satan and, like, clutched his aborted child in his hands and got attacked by the receptionist at the hospital, but ALSO because he was bothered and didn't know how to tell her. "You say that," about wanting to hear them. "But then I tell you and - " Here they are, talking about whether or not they want to break up.

Or, even worse, whether or not there's anything to break up. Which also bothers him. But you know what he's learned from this conversation? TO KEEP THAT SHIT TO HIMSELF.

So, "No," he answers earnestly. He doesn't want to break up. "I want whatever is the exact opposite of that."

Okay, so they had a few things to work on. Alex could stand to improve his communication a bit, and Violet could.. probably work on not jumping from point A to point 'are we breaking up'. What was it she just said? She was broken. They weren't perfect. But maybe there could be something.

So she abuses her bottom lip with her teeth, and she scoots closer to the edge of the seat, and she exhales a steady breath at his last words. "Okay," she whispers, "Okay, good. Because I... I want whatever is the exact opposite of that, too." She squeezes at his fingers and then gets out of the chair, because she wanted to be closer. She doesn't climb up into his lap - he's pretty hurt, after all - but she does slip her arms around his neck and lean close. Gentle, gingerly, careful not to hurt him. "I'm sorry," she whispers, touching her lips to the bridge of his nose, to the top of his upper lip. "I'm sorry, okay? But just.. talk to me, Alex. Tell me the things that bother you, and I'll.. I'll tell you the things that bother me. A-and maybe.. maybe if we tell each other.. maybe they'll stop bothering us. Eventually."

Alex takes a breath when she offers those apologies - want to guess what he was about to say?! - but expels it without putting words behind it. Instead, nodding softly, taking the kiss lightly, he assures, "I'll work on it," and does. Briefly. Shift a look to the scratch on the table. As an example of the many, MANY things that bother him.

But you know what he's decided doesn't bother him? "We should solve this situation with the cat." By which he means, go get all the cat's crap and bring it here, because he's about to make Violet's cat live with him. Which should be a seriously Big Moment in relationshipland, but Alex - tattered, tired, terrible at communicating shit (especially today) Alex - suggests this plan like it's NBD.

And now we wait till the next time we either play these two or someone writes a vignette to learn whether or not Alex stole Violet's cat.

Also. [Insert pussy joke here.]