Baking and Feminism

"Wha - " She stepped back and looked around. The spotchka she'd drunk at the pub had blurred her perception so she hadn't noticed the colorful mugs lined up on his windowsill, or the  plant hanging just where the drainpipe would drip water into it, either of which should have tipped her off that she was at the wrong place. 

"Shit," she said. "I must've turned a row too early. I was on my way - well. Never mind. Sorry, Brass."

"It's all right." He cocked his head. "You're out late."

She crossed her arms. "I was having a few drinks. Is that all right?"

He didn't take the bait. He usually didn't. 

Ahhh, what was she getting bitchy for? It was just Brass being big-brotherish as usual. "Really. Sorry to bother you. See you."

"Have a good night," he said, forehead still folded in concern.

She turned to go and wobbled dangerously. Damn. How many drinks had she had?

"Here, Bix," he said behind her.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe I'd better walk you home. Or wherever you're going."

She was just drunk enough to want to snap, I'm not going to stagger into the drainage ditch and drown like your sot of a dad.

Just sober enough not to hurt her friend in that way.

And because his dad had met his end in that ditch, Brasso worried. What could it hurt to let him walk her home so he wouldn’t worry?

"Yeah, okay," she said finally. "Home's probably . . . best. Right now."

"Mmm." He snagged a raggedy cardigan and folded it over his arm. He didn't lock the door behind himself. This was Ferrix, after all. 

They walked down the row, and she felt him glancing over at her now and then. "So," he said, elaborately casual, when they'd turned down Rix Road. "You and Timm Karlo, is it."

She wasn't surprised. A lot of people thought Brasso was stupid because he was big and quiet and kind, and he let them think it, as far as she could tell. But he knew Timm lived one row over, in another of the tiny flats that all looked the same.

"You don't approve," she said. 

"You're a grown woman," he said, instead of denying the accusation. "You conduct your affairs as you see fit."

"So to speak?"

He gave her an intensely mild look. Oh yeah. He hated it. 

She hugged her elbows against the cool night air. "It's just casual," she found herself explaining. "It's just for fun, okay?"

"Okay." He held out the cardigan. 

She batted it away. "Kriff, Brass, it's Ferrix. My only options are someone I've known since diapers or someone who's only going to be in town for an evening."

"Or Cassian," Brasso observed. "But that ship has flown."

"Yeah. And exploded."

They both snorted with laughter, muffling it behind their hands for the sake of the dark-windowed houses they walked past. It wasn't funny, really, but when it came to her history with Cassian Andor, laughter was better than throwing things. 

"Where is he, these days?" she asked. "And what's he up to?"

"Oh, who knows. Nothing good, probably."

"But when he comes back, you'll invite him round for a drink again." She tried to make it a joke and didn't quite succeed. 

"Cassian's - " He paused, sighed. "Cassian's always needed something more than what we've got here. I don't blame him for it, is all. Don't get me wrong. He's done plenty to blame him for."

"I really blame him for all that money he owes me," she contributed.

"Same," he said. "But I don't blame him for what he needs, just because I - we - can't give it to him."

She hugged her elbows tighter and screwed up her mouth. That was probably a healthy way of looking at it. One she should adopt. But then, Brasso had always been a kinder person than her. 

He held out his cardigan again. This time she took it. He was so much taller than her that it fell to her knees and wrapped double over her front. It smelled like him, oil and hot metal, familiar and comforting. 

"Anyway," she said. "What's your problem with Timm?"

He veered into the subject change easily, as if he'd seen it coming.  "I've got no problem with Timm."

"Bullshit."

"I don't. He's fine. Works hard, doesn't cheat locals." 

"Then what's your problem with me and Timm?"

He didn't say anything for a few minutes, and she thought she was going to have to prod him, when he said, "So, it's casual. That's what you said."

"Yeah," she said, fisting her hands in the pockets of the cardigan. If he was going to get judgmental on her - 

"It's just, he doesn't feel casually about you."

She blinked, mouth hanging open for a good five seconds before she snapped it shut. "What has he said?"

"He hasn't said anything. Not to me."

"So you, what? You just know?"

"I keep my eyes open," he said. 

"You think I'm going to break his heart."

"I'm not fussed about Timm's heart. That's his lookout. I'm worried he'll try to pull you along into something you don't want."

She stopped on a street corner to look up at him. Everyone else she'd talked to about Timm had gone on about how steady he was, how he had a good job. Would be a good provider. 

She didn't need to be provided for. She was doing all her own providing. She just wanted someone to get naked with on occasion, not somebody to give her babies and forever. Not yet.

Misinterpreting her silence, Brasso said, "Now, if you do want it, just tell me. Shut your mouth, Brasso."

He had his hands in his pockets. She shifted closer and threaded her arm through his, giving a little tug to keep them walking. "Like I could. Don't worry, Brass. I'll make sure he knows casual is all he's getting from me."

"Mmm," he said. "You so sure he'll listen?"

"Of course he will."

"Mmm," he said again, and didn't say anything more until they cut into the alley next to her shop and stopped at the side entrance. "Here's you."

She let go of him to unlock the door and then remembered something she'd been fixing for him. "Hey, I've got that caf maker all ready for you."

He looked pleased. "Have you?"

"Yeah, come in and get it. That way you'll have nice warm caf in the morning instead of the instant shit."

He followed her through the yard, putting his hand out only once when her foot caught on a junked up speeder, flat on the ground. 

"Thanks." She unlocked the back door of the shop and patted around the shelf next to the door until she found it. "Hah. Here. She'll work twice as good now."

"I have no doubt," he said, tucking the caf machine under his arm. "What do I owe you?"

"I put it on your account. And I don't want to see a chitty of it before payday, you hear?" He was making inroads on his dad's medical bills since he'd got promoted to shift head, but he was still struggling. 

"All right. Take a pain tab and drink a bottle of water before bed."

"Yes, Dad."

He tugged her braid lightly. "Never mind your sass, you'll thank me for it in the morning."

She would, and after the walk and the talk, she was just softened up enough that she didn't spit at him for it. 

The bored, restless, jagged feeling that had been haunting her all evening had dissipated, too. Maybe she needed to spend time with Brasso more often, instead of just exchanging hellos when she saw him in passing.

She walked him back to the street entrance so she could lock up behind him. As he turned down the street, she leaned out the door. "Hey, Brass!"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for walking me home."

"Anytime."

She closed the yard door, crossed the yard carefully, and went into her house. Ah, kriff. She still had his cardigan.

She shrugged and pulled it around herself. She'd get it back to him, sooner or later.