forthsofar | in days to come when your heart feels undone

Entry tags:

caleb

in days to come when your heart feels undone

At first, she'd given that late-night text from Caleb--a friend in trouble, Caleb okay but out of school for the week--a healthy amount of sympathy, but no real concern. She sought out Clint in the senior hallway and divvied up the task of collecting assignments and notes from Caleb's classes, ignoring to the best of her ability the vague sniggers about sex cults she overheard from a few of the other members of the team as she walked away.

It was all working rather smoothly, with very little room for worry--until she stopped by Caleb's apartment that night and actually saw him. Whatever had happened, it left him drawn and tired, something almost lost behind his eyes. Rosie hadn't pried, despite the flurry of questions that rose to her mind, just handed over the collected assignments and made the appropriate vague noises of sympathy before he pushed the front door slowly shut again. Still, the sight was enough to make her worry, to increase that faint concern from before to something far harder to ignore.

Clint had agreed to drop things off the next two days, leaving Rosie time to think--and to plan. By Thursday, she had at least the seed of an idea, something that might provide Caleb with a little more comfort after a situation that had so clearly rattled him. She got Clint's half of the assignments from him after school, then stopped by the small market a few blocks from Candlewood to pick up a few additional things before heading home.

That night, she loads everything into a few tote bags she and Neil had picked up from one Darrow event or another and heads downstairs. She knocks once, twice, then tries the knob, finding it unlocked and barging in before she can quite stop herself.

"It's just me," she calls, nudging the door shut with her foot.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

But Caleb laughs, shaking his head. "No, uh. That's actually how he found out about my ability. That winter dance? Someone spikes the punch, and, well." He shrugs, because he knows Rosie will be able to make the connection here.

Then he thinks about Anterwold, the things she's said so far, and he hums thoughtfully.

"Does that professor guy, does he know you've been there?"

"That would have done it," she says, laughing a little even though it's not really all that funny. It's one thing to choose to have a glass or two of the punch that's always spiked with one thing or another at the Petros dances, and quite another to have it effectively forced on you through no fault of your own. "Though if you had to get caught by any of the chaperones, I suppose Guy's the best one for that sort of situation."

The question Caleb asks is the kind of practical thing she might have thought of, if their situations were reversed, and she smiles even as she's shaking her head. "No, he doesn't," she admits. "Not specifically. I tried to...sneak up on telling him, in a way, after the first time. I asked about apparitions, but got nervous a minute later and said it was because I'd read something about one in a mystery novel, which only led to us talking about that for an hour instead of me confessing anything about the doorway in the cellar." That had been the way of all of their conversations, the lazy afternoons she'd spent in Lytten's study with a cup of tea in one hand, soaking up whatever bits of knowledge the meandering path of his thoughts led him towards. It had made her feel grown up, more so than anything her formal education had done for her, let alone her parents.

"And I hadn't made it back home the second time to tell anyone anything at all," she says. "I think I was about to, I'd found the doorway again and had stepped through, but something wasn't right and I turned up in Darrow instead."

"That's fucking nuts," he says bluntly, because it is. "Like, I know a lot of people like it here, and, and even the fucking locals don't realize how weird it is, but, like, fuck this place."

He doesn't mean to sound so fervent, but thinking about how Darrow pulled Rosie from her life, from her chance to talk to the professor about what she's seen and where she's been, makes him so angry. It's like slapping her in the face. And Caleb may not actually have mirror-touch synesthesia, but he does have a slightly over-inflated sense of fairness, and Darrow does not meet those standards by a long shot.

She hadn't quite expected Caleb's reaction to be so strong, and for the briefest moment she's startled--but his disgust is directed at Darrow itself, at the same kinds of unfair and bizarre things that still needle her from time to time, things she more than understands being angry at. And it all was unfair, terribly so. She hadn't even been taken from her home, like so many other people, merely plucked out of thin air and sent somewhere strange for the second time in a day.

Taken in that light, the tantrum she'd had within minutes of arriving, sitting in a pile of silk and tears and fury in the middle of the park, seems all the more justified.

"Early on, I kept reminding myself of what a lot of people here think, that some version of us keeps going or whatever, from whenever it seems that we leave and come to Darrow," she says, her face crinkling a little at how convoluted it sounds. "Still do, sometimes. But if it's true, hopefully that version of me finds a way to tell Lytten all about it and get some answers."

"Wait, wait, hold up," he says, raising a hand. "What d'you mean, some version of us keeps going?"

He knows it's technically her turn to ask a question, but he needs to have this explained before they move on.

He'd heard that time stops, or that he'd go back to the exact moment he'd left with no memory. But he hadn't heard that he was still there, too. That sends a little thrill through him, even as he feels a little jealous.

If he's still back there, too, then that means he's gotten to work through the Damien bullshit, that some version of him is still with Adam — still green. It means that everything is okay.

Whatever she'd been about to say flies out of her head when Caleb holds up his hand and she hears the barely-restrained excitement and curiosity in his voice. "Goodness, nobody told you?" she says, her eyes going a little wide. She chews on her lip a moment, thinking of the best way to put it all. "So I don't know for sure, because it's not like I've had anyone come from home to confirm it," she says, getting down from the chair and going back to the stove, stirring the sauce as it keeps simmering. "But sometimes, if there are other people who come to Darrow from home, they're from...later on than when you left, and they have memories, from home, about things that you've done there."

It's not the cleanest explanation, and she frowns a little. "So it's a bit like you're in two places at once. Home, living the life maybe you would've had if it hadn't been for Darrow hauling you away, and here, doing something completely different."

"No, I mean— Everyone's said that time stops, or something, but they've never said anything about me still being there, what the fuck."

That changes a lot. It probably shouldn't, but it does. It means that his friends and family aren't worried about him. It means Adam's okay. It means some version of him knows what happened to Damien after he'd left.

It means Caleb can finally relax a little.

"It's really very strange to think about," she says. "But, you know, it's kind of a relief, the idea you haven't just vanished. I think my parents would've had a fit if I'd done that."

Rosie knows that to be true, but for just a second, there's a faint twinge of a doubt she doesn't want to acknowledge. It was her brother who'd always done what had been expected of him; leaving school at the appropriate time, going to work, doing the things boys were meant to do. Rosie, by contrast, had dreamed a little too big even as she played at obedience helping her mother with errands or the housework. She'd passed her exams, insisted on continuing at school and being educated, made friends with someone who only encouraged her insatiable curiosity by supplying her with books and jazz records and tales of a fantastical world that turned out to be all too real. Maybe if she'd simply vanished into Anterwold, it hadn't been quite the loss to her family that she wants to believe it is.

"I don't think it stays that way," she says after a moment. "If we leave, I think we just go back to being...who we were before, not that there'll be two of us forever." She smiles, soft and small, as she turns back around to face him again. "That'd just be an awful complication, two Rosies. I mean, which of us would get my bedroom?"

She's trying to joke, but Caleb's still hung up on that flash of doubt, and suddenly, he understands so much. He gets why her feelings are always slightly tinged with that off-gray color. He frowns, watching her, wanting to reach out and touch her shoulder, or something.

"Hey," he says. "Why d'you feel like that?"

It's still her turn to ask a question, but he's still the one asking, because this isn't right. She shouldn't feel like this.

Rosie sees the way he frowns, the sudden softness and concern in his eyes, and she knows in an instant exactly what he's picked up, hard as she'd tried to paper it over with that silly little joke. In some strange way it's a relief, permission to be more honest than she might have been with anyone aside from Charlie, Nick, or Sabrina. "I think I just realized exactly how much I've changed since the last time I saw my family."

She still has the spoon for the sauce in one hand; carefully, she sets it back down on the stove before going back to her seat at the counter. Unthinkingly, she scoots her chair a little closer to Caleb's as she settles. "I was never very good at being who they thought I ought to be, and...I think it's only gotten worse here." She laughs, thinking of rumors and innuendo, of running from one boy's house and into the arms of another. "No, it's definitely gotten worse."

From everything she's told him so far, Caleb thinks that he has an idea of the kind of daughter Rosie's parents wanted her to be. He's heard only whispers of the rumors at school — the team know Rosie's his friend, so they don't talk about her around him — so to him, they're just rumors. He frowns a little more, watching her, feeling her feelings, and he reaches out to place a gentle hand on her wrist.

"You're not a bad daughter," he says. A part of him regrets it immediately. He's supposed to be careful about the shit he says, be more tactful, but. Rosie's worried about that, under everything. That she's not a good daughter because she's not doing exactly what her parents want. So maybe she just needs to hear it.

She'd come over to make sure he was alright after whatever had happened with--or to--his friend, and as Caleb's hand comes to rest along her wrist Rosie's briefly embarrassed at how their positions had reversed. What he says both surprises her and doesn't; even though she hadn't said it in so many words, she supposes that between whatever feelings he's getting from her and the shift in their conversation, it wouldn't have been a hard thing to guess.

"I'm almost certain they wouldn't see it that way," she says quietly, moving just enough to lean against him a bit without disturbing the position of their hands on the countertop. "But thank you."

"You're welcome," he mumbles, maybe blushing a little. "But I mean it. You're not. There's no way." He nudges against her, gently, and tips his head to look at her. "Anyway, they're not here, so you don't have to worry about what they think of you right now. All you've gotta worry about is what you think of you." He huffs a little laugh, because, fuck, he sounds like a fucking fortune cookie, or something.

Lamest fortune ever.

"They're not here," she echoes. There's still a twinge of sadness behind it, because for all that they'd never really understood one another, they were still her parents; that still meant something, even years in the future and an entire world away from anything they would've seen as familiar. "But there are plenty of people who are, people who've become a bit like family anyway, and...that's better." Rosie looks up at Caleb, a steadier, stronger smile on her face as she leans into him, drawing as much reassurance from the contact as the things he's said.

Even the ones that are slightly ridiculously phrased.

"Okay, I'm owed at least a few questions," she says, straightening up again, her gaze going far away and thoughtful as she considers what to ask. "How many other empaths did you know, back home? Or other people with...powers, or abilities, whatever you want to call it. I suppose not everyone's got the same ability, unless they all do where you're from."

It was the wrong thing to say, but Rosie isn't upset. There's a guitar-string twang of sadness that vibrates the same way it does when Caleb thinks of his own family — well, okay, maybe not the same way. Caleb has a better relationship with his parents and sister than Rosie does with her family. But the feeling is similar, anyway. She misses them, because they're her family. Found-family is good, too, but it'll never be quite the same.

He smiles when she moves on, and he feels that curiosity bubble down his arms again, so he settles in for the serious stuff.

"Nah, everyone's got a different ability," he assures. "I've only met a few other Atypicals. That's what we're called: Atypicals. I know, um... a telepath. She can read minds, like... so fast. She'll carry on whole conversations with you and you don't even have to say a word, she just. Responds to your thoughts. It's cool, but can be a little overwhelming." Fuck, he misses Chloe. "Then, she has a friend who can travel through time? Like, literally, go back in time, anywhere she wants. I guess she can't do anything. It's like she's stuck behind a curtain, she can just observe. And then there's this guy who can copy any Atypical's power. So when he's around, we get this sort of empathy feedback loop. He feels what I feel, and I feel him feeling what I feel, and then he feels that, and it sort of... snowballs?"

He's talking a lot, but Rosie isn't bothered. She's fascinated, and it's so cool to feel that, he can't help but want to continue.

But that means bringing up Damien, and...

He looks down at his hand. He still has a tiny scar on his knuckle, where he'd broken the skin against Damien's teeth, but the break has long since healed. The nightmares still visit, undercut and tangled with nightmares about Michael and Alex. He takes a bracing breath and finally continues.

"And then there's Damien," he says. His voice is weighty, warning, and he looks at Rosie to give her a chance to process not only what he's said, but what she's about to hear.

The term Atypicals strikes Rosie as a little cold even if it is accurate--Caleb and the other people he describes aren't typical, at least compared to what Rosie herself always thought of as normal before she discovered Anterwold or Darrow--but she doesn't dwell on it for too long. Not when Caleb's so eagerly sharing so much. His excitement fuels her own, or maybe the other way around, and she hangs eagerly on every word.

"That's amazing," she says when he pauses for breath. "I mean, I'm sort of a time traveler being from 1960 and all, but that's different than being able to control it." One side of her mouth lifts in a wry little smirk. "Not sure I'd want to read people's thoughts, though. If I had to pick."

Engrossed though she is, Rosie doesn't miss the heavy shift in Caleb's tone when he continues on, nor that glance down at his hand. She thinks back to his first day in the city, the first time they'd met; the scrapes and blood along his knuckles and the awkward splint he'd worn for weeks afterwards. It feels like another thing sliding into place, and her eyebrows draw down just slightly. "Damien," she repeats. "Who has...something else he can do? Not empathy, or time travel, or any of the rest?"

Caleb bites his lip and nods. "Yeah, he, um. His ability is sort of like mind control. It's not, not really. He can... make you want to do things. Usually, things he wants, so it feels a lot like mind control, but... it's more like reverse empathy. Instead of feeling the things people want, people feel the things he wants, and..." He shrugs and shakes his head. "You can't tell, at first, y'know? That's the worst part. You don't know it's not you until it's over."

He thinks back to that night, the way he'd felt his whole body stand stock still against his own wishes. The way the anger had overwhelmed the want that wasn't his. The way Adam had been so scared, but still obeying Damien's ability.

He thinks about the way he'd rushed forward, fist colliding with dull, fleshy thuds against Damien's face, his side, his stomach.

He clears his throat. Enough of that.

"A-anyway, there's this whole organization, I guess, back home? They keep an eye on Atypicals and... sometimes it's not always good, so I'm not supposed to tell anyone about my ability. I don't... think they're here? But I don't actually know."

To say she thinks about that night she'd confronted Nick--or not Nick, just the thing wearing his face and slinking around in his body--would be inaccurate. Even all these months later, there's a gap, something her mind skitters away from just as she's about to grasp the edges and pull it into view. What Caleb describes in talking about Damien isn't quite the same, maybe, but it's close enough.

"That sounds horrible," she says at last, snagging her lower lip in her teeth for a moment before letting it go again. "To doubt your own mind like that."

Caleb takes a breath and moves on, and Rosie tries to do the same, nodding faintly at what he says next. "Well, I'm not going to tell anyone," she says. "Even if they're not here. And not always good doesn't sound particularly encouraging anyway."

"Thanks," he says when she promises not to tell anyone. He smiles a little, then shrugs and says, "Anyway, um. New question, please?" He laughs, trying to brush it off, but he doesn't like talking about Damien or the AM.

He'd expected that, and it's his own fault for bringing them both up, but there's a big part of him that also wants to make sure Rosie knows about them, just in case they show up the way he did. Fuck, the idea of Damien in Darrow is terrifying in its own right.

"Absolutely," she says, because she doesn't need any kind of ability to see how uncomfortable Caleb is at the turn in the conversation. After checking the time on her phone, she slides off her chair once more, taking another empty pot to the sink and starting to fill it with water as she thinks of what to ask next.

"What about Adam?" Rosie glances back at him, something gently understanding in her expression. "Not that we have to talk about him either, if you don't want, but is he Atypical too, or just..." She laughs, turning the water off. "Typical? Like the rest of us."

"No," he answers. "He's just your standard issue non-Atypical human." He smiles to think about him, even if it is a little sad. "But, he knew about my ability. I wanted him to, before we became a thing. It didn't feel right to keep that from him, y'know? Dr. Bright, too. She's my therapist back home. She works with a lot of Atypicals, but she isn't one, herself. She's the one who helped me figure out how to balance my empathy."

He laughs a little ruefully.

"I wish I had my phone from home. I'd show you pictures of him. Adam, I mean." There's a part of him that's afraid to admit it, but he's starting to forget the finer details of Adam's appearance. He can see the freckles, and the hair, and his eyes, but. The edges are starting to blur.

"It would've been a big thing to keep from him," she agrees, setting the pot of pasta water on another burner before turning it on. "From anyone you loved." Anterwold wasn't as big or dangerous a secret as Caleb's ability--as far as she knows nobody's keeping an eye on her because of it, here or there--but she's been careful about who she's told, waiting until there was understanding and trust and a particular kind of closeness. It only made sense.

Leaning against the edge of the counter, Rosie smiles softly. "I'd have liked to see what he looks like," she says. "If you'd had your phone." She doesn't say anything about hoping Adam will show up in Darrow one day, not wanting to spoil Caleb's mood, but the wish is still there at the back of her mind.

He watches her, sorting out the things she's feeling. Then he smiles again, another sad one, and shrugs one shoulder.

He doesn't know exactly what she's thinking, but he can guess. She wants something, for him, but she doesn't want to upset him. There's that slight protective feeling coming from her, that she wants to take care of him, and between the two things, he can guess what it is. She wants Adam to be here, for his sake, but she doesn't want to say so, because she doesn't want to upset him.

"Me, too," he says. "I... I want him here, too."

"It's still odd how you can do that," she says, her tone a little lighter, trying to bring them both out of where they'd sunk. "Make a guess at what I'm thinking, because of how I feel, and be right."

She goes quiet and thoughtful, something companionable in the silence that falls between them. They were already friends, and close, but tonight's felt like something deepening between them. It's nice.

"I'm not always right," he says with a little shrug. "When people are feeling something for me, like, on my behalf, it's a little easier to figure out. Context helps, too. If you'd just suddenly started feeling that way when we were talking about, I dunno, school, or something, I wouldn't get it. I'd have to ask you. I... I do that, sometimes. Ask people why they're feeling what they're feeling. I hope that's okay."

If she doesn't want him to, he'll try not to, but it'll be harder not to, now that she knows about his ability. He won't feel obligated to keep quiet about emotions around her.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject