2022-04-27 - Functional Dysfunction

Evening and morning and another evening. It is actually possible to cohabit the same house and not actually see the other person, especially when the other person has decided to make themselves scarce.

Whoever texted Nikki must've passed her an invitation or something because she left Myles and Lady at the boardwalk and... well. Left. Didn't go home, or went home and then went out again, because by the time he got back from his drop-off she wasn't there. The lights were off, everything locked up tight, just like it was when they went in the first place. If she came home overnight she was quiet as a mouse and left well before dawn, leaving him to take the dog out again in the morning and to make his own coffee. She didn't turn up for lunch, or for dinner, which might worry some people in a town like this, but it's not exactly the first time.

Probably won't be the last time.

It's near on dark again when Lady perks up. She's been clingy, unwilling to leave his side except when commanded to, but she sits up and her ears go up and then she goes scrambling toward the door just a few moments before the slam of the door of her enormous boat-esque SUV. Maybe thirty seconds before her key is in the lock, turning it over. Before she's letting herself in, still dressed in yesterday's jeans and black t-shirt, sunglasses down over her eyes even though the sun is setting.

Myles wasn't idle the entire time. Granted. He was idle some of the time. There's an empty bottle of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey in the kitchen, if she goes in there at any point. It will likely upset her. But there will be a whole different distraction that likely will have her attention over the empty bottle.

The fridge from hell is gone. It's just not there. In its place is a new fridge. A nice fridge. Like with the crushed ice. The sleek double door fridge is all set up and taking the place of the old one. She had asked if that was in the budget. It probably wasn't. But apparently if you leave for a day and a half Myles is going to make executive decisions.

Myles is on the couch, watching some ESPN something something with a pizza on the coffee table. Myles is laid back with his head posted up on the arm of the couch, one of her pillows wedged between his head and the arm of the couch. One of her pillows is really nice, he can't ever articulate why he likes it better than his. He just does. That specific one. And he often steals it. There have been fights. But she's been gone. She'll float back in eventually. Probably.

Perhaps as a ritual to summon her back, or maybe as just a minor peace offering, half of the pizza is sausage and black olives. While the other is some barbecue chicken monstrosity that is nearly entirely gone.

There are a few empty beer cans on the coffee table. One in his hand that he sips on as he watches the TV. When she walks in, his eyes flit to her. Then his eyes flit back to the TV.

There are so many things here that have the potential to start another fight. It really is just a question now of which one it will be, like pulling a card from a deck, pulling a card out of a house of them. It's inevitable.

The things in the kitchen will have to wait a bit for proper discovery. She comes in the front and greets Lady with a few scritches of the ears and quiet, affectionate, apologetic murmurs. Ear scritches. A belly rub when the dog flops herself over and rolls on the floor like some enormous puppy. It's really hard to be mad at that, and she isn't. But she is slow to look at Myles. Slow enough that it's real deliberate: she can hear the TV, can smell the pizza, can probably feel that flick of his gaze, but her first response is to turn away, to toss her keys into the little basket on the table there by the stairs, to take off her coat to hang up on the banister, then sits down on the stairs to remove her boots.

There's no hurry. No rush, really, to pull the card, to spin the cylinder. It'll happen on its own.

Unfortunately she is tired, and hungry: she has that vague frazzled look that gives away the fact that she probably didn't sleep at all last night, or if she did, it was a few hours crashed out in the seat of her vehicle. Eventually, however, she comes in. Pokes the cans with a fingernail to see if any of them are not empty, then collects a slice of pizza, the bite she takes borderline starved, but restrained, like she doesn't want him to know just how grateful she is for it.

Each card has its opposite though. Perhaps not as strong a card. But there are attempts. Minor attempts but they're there. An empty bottle in the kitchen. Her favorite kind of pizza instead of all his. A new fridge he didn't ask her about, inside it everything to make their special dinner. His mom's special dinner. Something they've made together in the best of times and the worst of times.

Chicken, potatoes are visible in the fridge and a few bags he didn't bother to unpack. Though not much else.

She pokes the empty beer cans and his slowly comes up, offering his half full can over to her.

He reaches over to mute the TV, glancing back up to her.

"How is he?"

She'll find that eventually. It'll be a nice change to have stuff in the fridge. To have a fridge, full stop. It would be easier if everything were weighted in favor of disaster, if there were not things to leverage against them, these things that sometimes make it seem like it might be going to be alright.

The collection of empty cans is worth a slight roll of her eyes but she's busy eating. She makes awfully short work of that piece of pizza then grabs a second one: Lady gets the bone, such as it is, which is a deviation from her usual 'no table scraps' routine. This, however, seems to be something of a habit, a treat for the dog, who parks herself at Nikki's feet when she sits on the loveseat over yonder. Myles takes up so much of the sofa that she doesn't even bother. Doesn't get close. Just drops into the corner.

"He's the same fucking asshole he was last time I talked to him."

Myles slowly pushes himself up. "Long ass time" He's on his feet then. Moving to the kitchen. When he comes back, there's another beer. Placed on the loveseat against her leg before he heads back to the couch. Leaning back into it just in time to glance down to Lady then back up to Nicasia. He lets out a quiet grunt. At least two fights have been started by him doing that. But---

He leans back into the couch. Looks up at the muted TV as if he's watching it, giving her time to get back to him.

By the time he's back she's halfway through that second slice. Slowed down now that her hunger has been appeased, able now to appreciate the flavor. The fact that he got sausage and black olives. She even picked one of those off to eat separately, so that when he gets back she's examining it, contemplative. It goes into her mouth when he puts the beer down and she reaches for that, hesitating at the touch of the cool metal.

When she picks the can up, it's to frown at it. And then at him. Like there's a story there he's not sharing, but if she asks why he's buying beer it's just going to be a problem and she is exhausted.

Long ass time. Fine. "Someday I'll figure out why all the men in my life are assholes."

"Ava gave it to me." Myles explains without looking at her. As if he could feel her gaze on him. "I went over to talk and she didn't know what I drank." He lets out a wry laugh. "She brought out wine." There's a shake of his head. "And a bunch of beer, that she wasn't going to drink." He gives a shrug. "Rich people." He grunts.

all men in my life are assholes

He rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh, looking over to Lady. He lets out a low grunt. "Why'd it take so long?" Beat. "What happened?"

He could feel her gaze on him if she was looking. As such he can probably feel her roll her eyes. "Of course she did." That same tone again. Flat, unsurprised, unimpressed. But she's not about to turn it down: it's cold, and she's tired, and it will balance out the salt of the pizza slice.

But they're not going to talk about that: there's something a great deal more convenient to play pin the blame on. "I don't even know how he knows I'm here," she mumbles. "But sure enough, he texted. Then called. Then called again. Said he wanted to fucking talk. Said we'd do it in public. So we went to dinner." She drinks again. It's not a sip, it's a long pour of the cold beer down her throat, though it's not high enough proof to really do much except psychologically. "He's glad I'm back. He thinks we could work things out. Get to know each other again. He apologized."

There's a long pause.

"Then he asked if you came back too."

He called. Called again. Wanted to fucking talk. Myles is slowly looking away. There are consequences to your in the middle of the night actions. Myles. Even still, he can't help the smile that starts to creep up. He suppresses it rather quickly, slowly looking over to her. He scrubs his features slowly as she speaks. Watching her. "Mm." He growls lowly to Hank asking about him.

"He had to know about Leonard. Or did he ask you about what you were even gonna do for work here?" Beat. "Or.. What did he say?" He shoves his beer in his mouth to hide his lips.

There's no chance she's going to finish that piece now. She goes from hungry to completely not in about the amount of time it takes him to ask. To dig a little deeper.

It was not a conversation Nikki wanted to have. It's not a conversation she wants to remember. It's definitely not one she wants to have with Myles, but that describes a lot of them, doesn't it? "It's the same bullshit every time. I could do so much better. I could join the force here. Become a real cop. I could go back to school. He and I could go into business together." All of these things have one thing in common. Or more specifically they have the absence of something in common. "He wanted to know if you came back and I dumped my scotch on him and walked out."

There's a roll of his eyes. Be a real cop. "You would look hot in the uniform though." It's not the first time he's shared this sentiment. She says that last bit, and his lips curl up a little, his eyes flicking over to her. It's a soft thing. Not one he'll say out loud, but a soft appreciation in how ardently she defended him. Or if not him just how quickly she got fed up of his shit. Myles lets his smile fade after a moment. He takes another sip of beer, looking over to her. He flicks his gaze back to the TV.

It doesn't explain why she was gone all night. Why she slept in her car. But--

"Y'alright?"

Perhaps she'd feel better about this if she looked, if she caught that softening of his expression, but she doesn't. She's looking at the TV set, half-eaten pizza in one hand, beer in the other, rumpled and disheveled and unhappy. Perhaps she wasn't looking for a fight before, and if he'd left it there it would've been all right. She could finish this, go take a shower - or not since he keeps using hers - and go to sleep. Tomorrow might be a better day. Might also not, but at least it wouldn't still be this day.

Ah, but no. He has to press.

"You ask that like you fucking care," Nic answers, voice quiet but now wrapped around an edge, like a glass shard hidden in silk.

There's a slow tightening of his knuckles around his can. A slow furrowing of his brow. He's starting to glare down at her. Starting to--

He takes a breath. He can practically hear his own voice going off on her. But he refrains. Instead he rolls his eyes, leans back in the couch.

"If you wanna pretend I don't care about you, go on then." He rumbles, waving his hand dismissively. "That ain't ever been our problem." He takes a long pull from the beer. Finishing it. He's quiet for a moment. Then.

"Ma texted." Beat. "She wants to do a video call tomorrow." He grunts, quietly. She wanted to do it tonight. But Nicasia was 'not feeling well'. "Up for it?"

There's definitely something threatening there, like a storm on the horizon, inevitable as hurricane season on the other coast. He tries to dismiss her and Nikki finally sits up, setting the can down, the slice, to stare at him. "Do you? Because I really wonder, sometimes. After you..." Does she need to spell that out? "Maybe someday you'll ask that question and I won't feel like it's you looking for a new button to push."

Fortunately this is not one of those things. Not one of those questions. The one successful parent out of four. Six, really. "She okay?" It's a tiny bit wary, but after a moment she rolls a shoulder, trying to shrug it off. "I guess we'll have to see how tomorrow goes. But yeah. I guess. Maybe."

Myles tightens up, tilting his head back. "I was bringing it up because..." He lets out a slow breath. "She should have someone to talk to. Someone to explain all this shit. I wasn't tryna say we go and kidnap her or give her a new life or.. Anything like that. Fuck. I don't know, maybe you and I don't even actually meet her. But if she could be neck deep in shit she doesn't understand. We owe it to her to help her. Somehow. And yeah, I dunno what that fuckin' looks like right now. Alright? I'm not trying to say we go take her or any crazy shit like that--- Okay? I'm just sayin'. If there's even a chance that she needs our help, she should have it. You just.. Threw me off my game when you said Chicago."

With his whole speech out, he brings his hand up to his face. "I can tell her another day, Nick." He gives a little nod. "She's fine. Ness got engaged. To that dude. Little white guy? I think she just wants to talk about it." He rolls his shoulders into a shrug. "And, I'm guessin, wants to see if we've killed each other yet."

"Like we had someone to talk to when we were her age? I'm pretty sure I wasn't interested in spooky powers, I was way more into..." There's a full stop as she does the math and blanches. "Aw, fuck." Nikki crumples backward onto the arm of the loveseat, hitting her head against it, intentionally. A slow repetitious sort of head-bang. "I don't know if we do, Myles. Her family? They were good people. At least they were when I met them. And I did, okay? I lied when I said I didn't know anything about them because... what the fuck, you didn't need to know that, did you? You were off in Iraq and I was here and pregnant and scared and they..." She closes her eyes. "I wished I'd had parents like them." It's a very quiet admission. A confession.

It still hurts her. Costs her a lot to give it.

Easier not to, to talk about his family. The normal ones, who got out with their souls intact. "It's fine," she says. And, "Did she? He seemed okay. Safe. Nice." Boring. "I guess we ought to... congratulate her or something." Her knowledge of wedding protocol is essentially nil.

A heavy breath is let out and she deflates there, leaned into the corner where the angles of the loveseat join. "No. We're not dead yet."

Myles looks over at her for a moment. Looks back down at the coffee table. "Just.. You lied. But--" He slowly lays back in the couch his hand going to cover his face. "Did you really think I didn't look into em at all?" He asks, from below his hand. "After all the--" The bitching he did. How hard he took it. How personally he took it. "I was just surprised you lied to me, feel me? I aint pissed or anything and-- I mean. I've kept shit from you."

Hm?

"They moved from Chicago." He rumbles, low. "They live in Salt Lake now." The rest is abandoned for now. Because he's bracing. Bracing for whatever reaction she's going to have. Maybe she'll take it alright. Maybe she'll explode. Either way he's leaning up, ready to jump out of his seat if need be.

"No shit." She knows he keeps things from her. Has already accepted that. Probably it contributes to her getting pissed at him, sometimes. Maybe not this time. The problem here of course is that she doesn't necessarily knows what he keeps from her, so this just runs her further off the rails.

"...they what?" It is at this point that Nicasia evidently realizes that he has indeed been following them, at least a little, and the effect is... well. Familiar. "Well. Shit." There is a whole truckload of implication there and it runs her over, then backs up and empties itself on her, and for many long seconds she merely sits, motionless, trying to process it. In increments, by degrees, until it's just too much to bear. "You keeping tabs on them?" At first it's a question. Then, "You go there? Go see them? Follow them around? Snoop into their goddamned lives?" Then it's accusations. Needles and knives. "You telling me she might have powers because you know something I don't?"

Keeping tabs on them?

Yes. "Yeah. Just.."

You go there? Once to Chicago. Three or four times to Salt Lake City.

Go see them? Myles sat in a truck on the path where she walked to school. Was in a different spot when school was over. He found a hill that overlooked a park where they played at.

Follow them around? Myles got a shirt, a tie and a suit jacket to go to a church service. Everyone's welcome at a church service. Even if he got quite a few looks, they'd all forget him in a little while anyways. The Bishop came to talk to him, reach out to him personally. It was probably a treat to have a stranger that looked like Myles randomly walk in to a service.

Snoop into their goddamned lives? He had a conversation with the man. The father. For two minutes and thirty seconds. The man owns a tire store. Myles manufactured a problem while he talked to the man, getting his measure.

All those questions. "Nah." He states, lowly. "Nah, Nico. I just looked into em a bit, alright? You think I wouldn't? Come on. I had to know I--" His voice breaks unexpectedly and he just shuts down. "I had to do somethin'." He finally rumbles. "No. I don't know somethin' you don't know." That part is the truth. As far as her powers situation goes. "I'm just worried."

Nah.

It might be okay if he just let it go at that but he doesn't. He keeps talking, and he keeps digging. Not for long, but something in there seems to trip a trigger and catch her attention and she stares at him. Stares.

And then stares a little harder. Her head tilts. Tilts a little more, leaving her looking at him in a way that certainly isn't the deep soulful gazes of times past, though maybe sure as hell feels like she's looking into him somehow.

But it's enough. His voice breaks and he shuts down but she in turn flares right back up again, pushing up off the couch like she's now ready to go a couple of rounds. Her fingers even flex, curling into fists and then stretching out, claws readied for rending. "And you're fucking surprised I lied to you? Jesus, Myles, you can't do that." Go snooping on the kid, or lie to her? Maybe some of both. "Oh, but now you're worried. Because of course there's nothing we can do, because I signed her away and gave up all your rights and mine with a few strokes of a pen and..."

And she must really be pissed. A dark drop of blood appears in her left nostril, and begins tracing a dark crimson streak down toward her mouth.

What.

Myles slowly looks up. At her head tilting. At her flaring up, pushing herself up. He lets out a flutter of a breath. He brings his hand up to hide his face at least partially from her. Fuck. When she goes to the end he lets out a groan. "Fuck. Fuck. Nico stop. Would you fuckin' stop that?" He's standing. How did he get up here? He doesn't remember standing up. Taking a step forward. "I know it hurts you. I know it tears you apart. But you gotta let me-- I've gotten better. Haven't I? I'm not as fuckin' crazy bout it as I used to be. But you gotta fuckin let me feel without takin' it as an attack. I can't talk about her without you fuckin'..." He lets out a frustrated breath. "And I want to talk about her god damnit."

He's glaring up at her, only to see the blood coming down her mouth. "Aw, fuck. Nico. You're bleedin'." He steps away from her, heading to the kitchen.

Frustration is only mirrored in frustration; she gears up for the next round of the fight and then he calls her out for the blood and she hesitates. "What?"

Nic looks down and sure enough a drop falls into the front of her t-shirt, less a color than a wet spot. Like a tear, though she never cries. Her hand goes to her face and her fingers come away red too and so his sentiment is echoed. "Aw, fuck." Down she goes, right back onto the loveseat, pinching the offended nostril shut and closing her eyes.

Some leftover napkins from their many Chinese deliveries are soon rushed in and one knee is sinking into the loveseat as Myles looms over her. One napkin tucked into her hand while he uses the others to wipe up the blood already going down to her lip. But a drop goes down on her shirt and he frowns.

"I'll take it off and wash it right away, good?"

This was a not uncommon problem back in Vegas. Not a real common one either, but she always thought it had something to do with the dry desert air and stress, given when they happened. Not really all that randomly.

It doesn't matter right now. She takes the napkin he offers and starts to hold it up to her nose, but his hand and the other mess of them is already there and she retracts it like he's burned her. "I'll be fine," she murmurs. "It's just a little blood. I can do my own laundry." At least now she doesn't sound angry. Only tired. Tense, strained, all of her taut to the point where one more little thing will break her again and they'll be right back where they started from, headed in the same direction.

She pulls back sharply and he's pulling away for a second. He rolls his eyes to her protests. "I can help." He stats with a small amount of irritation in his voice that surely helps the situation along. He scowls just a little when she says she can do her own laundry. He holds the napkins there for a moment, insistent for another moment.

"Fine." The napkins are set on her lap and he stands up, stepping away from her.

The first bit of cheap paper is already red; the wad of napkins dropped in her lap is picked up and added to the pack, which helps. Sort of. Except for the slow spread of crimson.

He backs up. She doesn't move otherwise for a few moments, like she's going to let him go. Her eyes don't even open up; her head stays bowed, a miserable droop of frizzy dark coils the inevitable, unenviable consequence of sleeping in the car. He could leave. Again. Might even before her hand drops, just a little, covering her mouth instead, The same wad of napkins, the same bright bloody flower they've become, now keeping back a noise. A sob, perhaps, or some venom. Her shoulders roll with it, then tense.

Lady has had just about enough of this thank you very much and pads over there now, setting her head on Nicasia' knee. The same flinch response is there, that startled, burnt twitch, but it doesn't bother the dog. There's a soft whimper though, and a lick of her hand when the woman reaches to stroke her ears.

Myles is stepping away, he's on his way to leave. Even though.. he was here. First. All his stuff is out here.

He's padding towards the kitchen. But there's that restrained sound. Lady goes over to her. Myles pauses, looking back over to her. He furrows his brows. He turns a little more to face her, letting out a slow breath. He pads back over to the love seat.

And sits down. He doesn't touch her. Just sits there, putting his elbows on his knees. Hunching over just to be next to her.

All his stuff was out here, but he's gotten real good at leaving her here in a huff. By now Nikki mostly expects it; almost like she seems to expect Lady being there to try and cheer her up, like they've been there before, gotten over that together, just like this.

Not so much like with Myles coming back and sitting down; it wins him a look from the dog, yes, like she can't figure out what the problem here is, but she doesn't surrender her spot.

It is a very long bit of time before Nicasia speaks, though. Before she finally says, "I'm sorry."

But of course she cannot just leave it there; they never can; the simplest words are just never enough. "It's just hard. Every day. Every single one. Hasn't been one in fourteen years that I haven't wondered how she is, whether I did the right thing. When I didn't regret not trying just a little bit harder, just for a moment. And it just..." She doesn't cry, but her voice breaks here, a little hitch of breath as maybe that moment gets a second showing today. "...and then you bring all of this out, over and over again, and I don't know what to do with it."

Hunched over his elbows he tilts his head over to that word. It doesn't get said often. He blinks over at her. Looking down at his feet. His lips twitch, contorting. He looks away when her voice breaks. He draws in a quiet breath. He purses his lips as he stares over at the window to the street.

She cuts into him. A little. He looks away from her falling quiet. He slowly pulls his shoulders, hunching them towards his ears. He drops his shoulders. He lets out a low grunt. Not really able to answer immediately. He's quiet for a few long moments. Slowly looking over to her.

"Sorry." He allows her. She gave him one, maybe sh deserves one too.

He's quiet. She's quiet. An ocean of quiet whose currents are riptides, waiting to pull them both right back under and drown them again.

Nicasia is quiet until she's satisfied that the nosebleed has stopped. With treatment, a little bit of pressure, it doesn't last very long, and she has the dog to pet: Lady closes her eyes and sits, patiently, unmoving and unrelenting, and it has the required soothing effect such that when it ends she doesn't instantly go for another attack. She takes a breath instead, tentative, and lets it out again just as carefully.

"What are we gonna do, Myles?"

Myles is quiet for a few moments longer after the question.

He slowly looks over to her. Back down to the ground. "You don't think we should do anything? You don't think we should try to..." He looks down at his hands. "We could get someone else to talk to her maybe. Someone from here. Someone to suss out if she's struggling with shit or..." He brings one hand up to scrub at the side of his face.

"I couldn't help myself Nico." He finally groans. "Every time things went bad with us... A bunch of those times I said I needed to go on vacation. I think you just thought I was on a bender. And.." Maybe he was. "I just went to Salt Lake. I just..." He stares down at his feet. "I had to. I'm sorry."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't do anything." Nicasia reaches for her beer can and swallows down a few more sips like it has the slightest chance of dulling any of this. "I just... think about it from the other side, Myles. From theirs. From hers. I don't..." She hesitates again, looking around, at everything but him. "I don't even know if they told her she was adopted, you know? Even if she doesn't have powers, even if she might have them and isn't aware of them, she's turning into a teenage girl. The last thing she needs is a couple of strange people showing up to pry into her personal life."

Seriously. That's how you get dystopian superheroines caught in stupid love triangles.

But he keeps on and she ought to get mad, but doesn't. Instead she sinks back in the seat again, tossing her handful of bloody tissue at the end table. When she asks, "How is she?" It is a much gentler question.

Myles frowns deeply. "I'm not sayin' we just.." He shrugs. "There's gotta be somethin' we can figure out. Some sort of-- Creative solution. I don't fuckin' know."

He looks back down to the coffee table at that question. He takes in a ragged breath. "She looks like she's doing good." He admits, quiet. "She's cute as fuck." He lets out, a touch of laughter going into his voice. "She has to know she's adopted, Nico. They're white. She aint. She had to have asked by now." Beat. "And I just feel like they would tell her the truth. They seem like good people. Mormon. But not like the crazy ones. They seem.. Normal. I heard her laugh." His lips curl up into a warm smile at the thought. "Shit's beautiful."

"Yeah, maybe," Nikki murmurs. "It just doesn't feel like going there and butting in is gonna be in anyone's best interests. If things are hard for her - and I don't necessarily think they are, but..." She's seen just how hard it can be, outside looking in, but still up close and pretty personal. "If we're not careful we'll make it worse. They are good people. At least they were good people." People change, after all.

It's when he says he heard her laugh that the last of the wind goes out of her, deflating her, leaves her pooled in the corner there with her eyes closed once more.

Myles slowly looks over at her with a frown when she deflates. Back to his feet. He waits. Allows her a few moments of silence.

"Maybe we talk to them." He rumbles, low. "If they're good people... We tell em the truth and show em. Right? They'll remember long enough, at least in that conversation. Right?" He's not sure. He grunts, quietly. "Maybe we should ask Ravn and Ava." He looks over to her. Slowly. Ever so slowly his hand comes out to settle on her thigh.

"Ay." Beat. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes open again, some heat in them once more. It shouldn't be there, but she can't help it. "We talk to them," she echoes. "And how do you think that's gonna go? We show up, show off your sticky hands, explain that yes people do have weird crazy psychic powers that apparently attract monsters and we're very sorry but has their daughter been exhibiting any signs of anything unusual? Or we show up and admit to being her parents, just checking up, you know, seeing how she's doing, making sure they've been taking care of our baby..."

Nic doesn't pull away when he sets his hand on her leg though. Only takes another breath and lets it out, trying to let go of that rise of heat. Of hostility. Of whatever it is that just can't let well enough alone. He tries to apologize and she shakes her head. "It's not... it's not your fault."

"Nico. Come on." He rumbles low. "You're acting like there's no way to do it right." He leans forward, looking over to her. "You know there could be. You could come up with a good plan on how to make it work. You know you could." He assures her. "Even if it takes a little while. I know you could think of a way." He glances down. "We should talk to the others. Ask more questions about how it works, tellin normal people about it. See if they have any advice. Or maybe they'll think she's fine and we shouldn't bother." He shrugs. "If they do... Maybe I'll feel a little better."

He gives her leg a little squeeze when she says its not his fault. "Some of it is." He disagrees, quietly. Slowly the hand on her thigh is removed and goes up to her shoulder, slowly sliding along it to the back of her neck. Her opposite shoulder. Slowly does he tug her mass closer to his. Pulling her into him. All of the motions are careful and slow. As if trying to coax a defensive animal out of its aggressive state. Slowly trying to soothe the beast, aware that any moment he could get bit.

Nicasia lets out another breath in a soft sigh. "Maybe," she allows. This isn't a fight she necessarily wants to win, though; this one has already been sabotaged from the inside, for years and years, that minute every day where she stops and wonders what that little girl is doing right that particular moment, wherever she is. Salt Lake. "We can ask. I don't know that you can tell normal people. They sure talk about a lot of crazy shit in public and nobody seems to care, or even notice. Or they rationalize it away. See sharks instead of man-eating fish people."

Then he's coaxing her closer and she leans ever so slightly toward him, or is drawn by that gentle pressure, pulled over into his side. Against him. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder, face turned in and up like there is a second phase to this that doesn't quite reach ignition. Instead her eyes close again. "We could just start by finding out if Salt Lake is even half as weird as here, you know? It wasn't like this in Vegas, was it?"

"We can ask." He rumbles in low agreement. He lets the rest of it alone. We can ask.

Slowly she comes to rest on his shoulder. Slowly his hand falls from her shoulder to her side, securing her against him. At her question he lets out a grunt. "I dunno.. I think--" He frowns. "I think I always did this when I was painting. When I would get in the zone. I just wouldn't pay attention. I was just so.. focused. I dunno. Not like here. I think I've done it.. Way stronger here. But.." He grunts. "I dunno."

He gives her side a little squeeze. "Nico gimme your shirt. Let me get this started for you before it sets." He reaches out with his free hand, physically pulling the coffee table closer. "Eat." He chides, gently.

"I don't know either," she admits. "I think I've done stuff before, just didn't pay attention. Just maybe didn't really realize it was a thing. Or not a thing other people didn't do. Or." She sighs quietly. "I don't know." At least they agree about that.

For a moment Nic is just content to lean against him, just to be there. But then he squeezes and starts being bossy and maybe he can feel her eyes roll, but she's now beyond the point of argument. "Fine." There's no bite in it. Just that terseness that could be attitude or could be deflection, but she pulls away and straightens off, peeling off the short to drop in his lap. "Call your mother back, tell her we can talk tomorrow after dinner. Give her time to get that hellion that is your brother rounded up." The one who's going to be valedictorian of his last year of college in a few months.

Her shirt comes off and Myles is picking it up, going to stand, giving her side a little squeeze as he goes. "Mother huh?" He grunts, looking down at her with an amused smile. "Yeah, I'll call my mother." He grunts with a little roll of his eyes as he's moving away from the living room.

He's gone for a little while. Getting her shirt tended to. She can hear him tumbling around, moving things. Until eventually he comes stomping back into the living room. He has a shirt of his, and is tossing it onto her lap as a replacement. He's on his phone, texting apparently. "Tomorrow after dinner." Shake of his head. "He's busy. But Ness might be able to stop by." His phone is tucked into his pocket before he's looking down at her.

"You wanna talk about how a half hour dinner took a day and a half, or you good?" There's no heat in it, just a touch of amusement as he looks down at her.

He's gone, which means Nicasia can eat in peace; two slices is probably enough for her, and Lady gets the crispy dough rind from that second piece as well which is more than enough for her but don't tell. The shirt launched at her is caught and pulled on, as much a dress on her much leaner frame as it is just a shirt. "Alright." It seems good enough for argument's sake. Or no argument's sake. A general enough time for an activity that they can both be civil for, because nobody wants to risk the wrath of Regina Webber.

Aaaand then there's that other question and she shrugs. One shoulder. A little bit dismissive. "I was pissed. I thought - I knew - that if I came home it wasn't going to go well, so I went for a drive. That's all." And it still took a day and a half.

"Uh huh." Myles grunts to her explanation. Looking out at the SUV in the drive. Then back to her. "Alright." Well at least they're not in a fight anymore. Myles is starting to go back to the couch.

Before he remembers the fridge. There's a pause. Looking down at the couch. Over to the kitchen. He heads back into the kitchen once more, picking up that empty bottle of Jack. It is carefully placed down in the trashcan, going so far as to move things aside to cover it up with the trash. Standing up, Remove at least one stumbling block before she makes her way in. Finally Myles makes his way back in to the living room to settle down.

"I went and just did it." He reports. "Got rid of that fuckin' fridge." He tries, maybe she's too tired to get mad about it. "We just needed to pull the trigger, Nic."

There are so few sure things when it comes to knowing what's going to make her mad. The bottle of Jack is almost guaranteed to, even if he's mostly sober now. The fridge, though...

"Did you?" Nic sounds equal parts awed and slightly concerned. She is, however, not too tired to get up and come in to see for herself, finally. She was probably expecting to come in and find the space empty, like the gap in a row of teeth where one's been punched out, easy accommodation to the rest of the emptiness on all the shelves, in all the cupboards. Instead there's that sleek new thing humming away and she stops to stare at it, then eyes Myles sidelong. "This isn't one of those Dreams they keep telling us about, right? You're not going to sprout fur and start yodeling or something, are you?"

It doesn't matter. Over she goes, pulling open both doors to peer inside; the fact that he even stocked it, even a little bit, is another surprise and she's left framed in the clean white glow, staring in further bewilderment.

"Fuck off." Myles drawls easily with a dismissive wave of his hand when she insinuates he's a Dream Myles because he went and got an appliance. He holds up his middle finger to her in a half-hearted retaliation as he ambles back into the living room over to the couch. "It's got the crushed ice thing." That part is important to him, apparently.

He falls back onto the couch and looks back up to the TV.