Ain't that the truth, darling, ain't that the truth. ♥ And this is from an AU that just decided to move into my head.
Bob closed the door to the apartment behind him and tried to muster up enough energy for his usual sarcastic 50's "Honey, I'm home!" comment, but couldn't manage it.
"Hey," he said instead, when he saw Lyn on the couch in the living room. She was leaning her head against the wall, as if it hurt to hold her head up.
She opened her eyes and looked up blearily.
"Work?" he asked, as he slid his messenger bag off and toppled down onto the couch next to her.
Lyn made a tiny noise and nodded.
"Asshole fuckers stole my goddamn ideas again and then yelled at me for not finishing the crap project they gave me last week," she said.
Last week, even, her voice would have been sharp, but it was tired, so tired now.
He got a hand up and pulled on her arm.
"Come on," he said, and she folded herself down, head in his lap. He kept his hand running through her hair as he told her about his day, about how many times he'd had to adjust the levels for a drummer who was never going to be anything but mediocre, and then he fell silent.
"You shouldn't work there anymore," he said quietly, and she rolled over and looked up at him.
"Yeah, you shouldn't stay at that goddamn pub either."
"I met this guy today," Bob said instead of responding with his usual rueful smile, because, you know, maybe. Hope was stupid, but maybe.
"Yeah?" Lyn had closed her eyes again, but she was listening. Best friends for ten years meant she must be able to hear it in his voice, the maybe, singing, singing.
"Yeah. Name's Schechter, and his partner's this guy named Way. They work with, you know Amanda Palmer?"
And that was it, Lyn's eyes were open and sharp, and there, there was the smile she wasn't letting out, not yet. Hope was stupid, and yet. Maybe.
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Bob closed the door to the apartment behind him and tried to muster up enough energy for his usual sarcastic 50's "Honey, I'm home!" comment, but couldn't manage it.
"Hey," he said instead, when he saw Lyn on the couch in the living room. She was leaning her head against the wall, as if it hurt to hold her head up.
She opened her eyes and looked up blearily.
"Work?" he asked, as he slid his messenger bag off and toppled down onto the couch next to her.
Lyn made a tiny noise and nodded.
"Asshole fuckers stole my goddamn ideas again and then yelled at me for not finishing the crap project they gave me last week," she said.
Last week, even, her voice would have been sharp, but it was tired, so tired now.
He got a hand up and pulled on her arm.
"Come on," he said, and she folded herself down, head in his lap. He kept his hand running through her hair as he told her about his day, about how many times he'd had to adjust the levels for a drummer who was never going to be anything but mediocre, and then he fell silent.
"You shouldn't work there anymore," he said quietly, and she rolled over and looked up at him.
"Yeah, you shouldn't stay at that goddamn pub either."
"I met this guy today," Bob said instead of responding with his usual rueful smile, because, you know, maybe. Hope was stupid, but maybe.
"Yeah?" Lyn had closed her eyes again, but she was listening. Best friends for ten years meant she must be able to hear it in his voice, the maybe, singing, singing.
"Yeah. Name's Schechter, and his partner's this guy named Way. They work with, you know Amanda Palmer?"
And that was it, Lyn's eyes were open and sharp, and there, there was the smile she wasn't letting out, not yet. Hope was stupid, and yet. Maybe.