*FORGIVENESS / PERMISSION

        Tongue snakes past to wet lips, the slightest of twitches occurs at the edge of brows, head tilts. The words are there, perched underneath her chin and ready to be unearthed. But just like everything else, and every other time, she has to overthink the delivery. 

                           All sorts of people came pounding on the door. Most of the time they were looking for her father and or mother and dealing with those types of people put her on edge. So yes, unfortunately she had a habit of opening the door with a pissed off look on her face and a tone to go right along with it. It usually worked on scaring them off and letting her have some peace and quiet. Nancy didn’t know that, though, so it was no surprise she took it personally.

But that question, it was loaded and brows arch as she head tilts down just slightly. “Been stringin’ me along for a little over a year, booty call me when you want somethin’ to happen…need I go on?” she asked, head tilting to the side before she’s shaking her head. It didn’t matter, wasn’t the first nor would it be the last she was put in this sort of arrangement. And in truth, she didn’t think Wheeler would be back so soon or at all, that it would be at least another month before she heard from her.

However it’s clear something happened and of course four eyes was nowhere to be found. With a sigh and nothing else, Faith turns and walks away from the door before she’s out of sight, walking down the hallway. She’s only gone for a moment before coming back, boots half-assed tied and flashlight in hand. “Let’s go rescue four eyed Fred,” she muttered moving past Nancy and shutting the front door before she’s moving down the split and cracked path then out the gate.

        Okay, she deserved that. And she had asked. Didn’t make it hurt any less. “’’preciate it if you didn’t.” It’s a quiet murmur, a soft crack as it pushes past the lump that’s accumulated in the center of her throat. 

        Jaw clenches, tendons flexing in the hollow of her cheeks as hands stuff themselves into the pockets of her jean jacket before falling in step with the other. ‘Yeah, thanks, Faith, I’d love a flashlight, too.’ She sticks close, half because Faith wielded the only light source, half because-- she didn’t wanna say, didn’t wanna admit.

                           There was something there or it was all in her head. Wishful thinking and a game she wanted to play ( Wheeler’s words, not her own ) possibly. But when she looked into the others eyes, she saw a glint of that something, how it reflected in the way she grinned. Though this was kept to herself, least they have a repeat of slinging minuscule venom at one another because of misunderstanding and jumping to assumptions.

So she’s quiet as she watches Nancy walk down the rickety front porch that lead to the cracked and neglected path before the gate. “Mmhmm,” she hummed, wiggling her fingers in a small wave goodbye. Though her parting words were very much an invitation, she knew they wouldn’t be taken up. That if she did see the other again, it would be in regards to some other ground breaking story.

After she closed the door, Faith had gone back to doing what she’d been doing when the wannabe reporter duo showed up; absolutely nothing. She had thought about running to the store and snitching another six pack, but with the cops stationed outside like gargoyles, she thought better of it. So instead she settled on flipping through the same ten channels before giving up and deciding to take a nap.

The nap turned into several hours with a rude awakening. “Again…” she grumbled as she pulled herself up off the couch and to the door. There were no pleasantries, as always, when she threw the door open. “Wheeler?! Again?” she asked, flipping the porch light on since it was now pitch black outside. “Dude, I told you everythin’ I knew so I don’t know wh–” she stopped, eyes adjusting that suddenly took notice of the look on her face. “–what happened?” she asked with a softer tone, brows furrowing.

        She’s a little taken aback. Slash a lot taken aback when she’s greeted the same way for the second time in a row. A sharp breath, a deep crease etching from one temple to another to indent across her forehead, mouth opening but words caught on that bubble of air stuck in the back of her throat where that breath is being held captive. Confused, astonished. Honestly, it was the nerve of it all. 

        “Okay, seriously, what the fuck did I ever do to you?” Both hands lift into view, fingers spread and curl as if to grip an invisible neck to choke the shit out of it. Then that breath is finally released, one hand falling back to her side while the other stayed raised to point a stern index finger while eyes squeezed shut and her head shook back and forth. Ah. Mm-mm. Don’t answer that, there wasn’t time. We’ll circle back to that later. 

                           She hadn’t left yet, why hadn’t she left yet? It was a silent question, one she wouldn’t voice as in truth, she enjoyed having someone around. Fred was someone, but she didn’t know him, she knew Nancy though. So having her there, a familiar face, she felt a little less alone.

Faith was moving back into the living room, still noting that the brunette hadn’t left yet. She arched a brow, though, when Nancy looks back at her, head tilting as she listened to her. There was a question on her tongue, but she swallowed it when the other woman continued, answering her own question it appeared. She smiled, the genuine sort, with a shake of her head and small chuckle.

Setting the unopened beer on the coffee table, she moved towards the door, towards Nancy. “Well, you better get goin’ before four eyes starts worry or gets lost,” she said, hand resting on the door just above her the reporters. “Also, don’t be afraid to come ‘round…off duty.”

        A grin of her own blooms to mirror Faith’s. It’s bright and booming, it fills up any and all negative space with light. It’s half awe, half pride. She knew there was sincerity hiding somewhere behind that mask handcrafted from sarcasm and ridicule the other woman wore. 

        She allows the gap to be bridged this time around. She lets Faith pass through one barrier, then another, because this time the doors were unlocked and the welcome mat was out. And she doesn’t still, she doesn’t flinch or harden. “Noted.” The smile doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows in both width and luminosity as she finds herself now having to tilt her chin and lean her head back until it rests against the door frame to look up at Faith. 

                           Despite the reassurance from the other, she knew she was an asshole, had been raised by the best after all. It also didn’t help that she was terrified of what was going on in Hawkins yet again and only a few trailers away from hers. Both her parents had been off on one of their multiple bingers for the last two weeks so she’d been alone for a while. Any other time she would have been fine with it, but with the random deaths popping up around town and in the trailer park now, she was a bit unnerved.

Beer is nearly empty as she leans against the counter that her father had said he’d replace two years ago. Faith had expected the other to storm out, slam the door, and that’d be it of this little exchange. Brow arched, however, as there’s a piece of paper being held out and handed to her. Feet shuffled forward as arm reached out and fingers took hold of the paper before stuffing it in her back pocket. “Yea…will do,” she muttered, head tipping back as can was placed against lips. Empty beer can was then tossed into the sink before she was rummaging in the fridge again for the last one.

“Don’t get killed, Wheeler…” she tossed out of her shoulder, “be a shame an’ waste of a pretty face.”

        She wants to ask more, pry more. The reporter in her is desperate, the ice that encases a heart is not easily thawed. But the person, the few strings that are exposed from glacial caps are plucked and pulled, tells her to let it go. 

                           All she can do is stand there and listen. The fun of this little encounter was long gone now, arms returning to fold across her chest as eyes dropped to look at the orange brown carpet under her feet. She was relieved to know that Nancy didn’t think Eddie had killed that girl, Chrissy, because everyone else sure the hell did. Even the cops which wasn’t much of a surprise to her, the force around here having gone to shit when Hopper died.

“…Heather. I think, is her name,” she spoke up after a moment or two. Teeth grinded as she let out a breath. “Met her outside the bar over on main street,” she sighed, trying to remember the night before, “might be a bartender? Hell, I don’t remember. But there ya go…” she waved a hand as she moved to walk into the adjoined kitchen, eyes turning towards the door where Nancy stood.

“Sorry ‘bout your friend. Hope they catch the actual creep that killed her,” she muttered before she was disappearing behind the fridge door. Reaching in she grabbed out a beer and popped the tab before taking a generous drink from it.

        A pang of guilt shoots off like a bottle rocket that hadn’t been positioned properly behind the plate of her chest, ping-ponging around her rib cage as she watches Faith move from one room to another with softened expression. All of those far too hard and way too sharp of angles smooth out, blue eyes returning to their naturally darkened state, a deeper shade of navy. 

        Gaze snaps and reality reels her back in that gives her whiplash, but she’s able to quickly scramble to flip open her notebook, to jot down those pieces of bone that Faith had been generous enough to throw down at her feet. She remains silent for a handful of moments, tapping the end of her pencil against paper, staring at the scribbled words across dotted lines. Stalling, borrowing a minute more of quiet to sort her thoughts. “Thank you.” She means it, across the board.

                           Tongue rolled out and over bottom lip as grin grew more. Anymore of this and her cheeks were going to be aching. She was aware of the personal space she was closing in though she didn’t care all too much. “I’m not gatekeepin’ anything, princess,” she stated with an arched brow, “I was drunk off my ass for the entire night so even if I did know her name, I don’t remember it.” Hell she could barely remember what she did prior to going out the night before.

As she’s shoulder checked, Faith rolled her eyes with a shake of her head. Turning, she faced Nancy, brow arched before they furrowed. “You think I’m that big of an asshole?” she asked, but of course she did. Everyone did, just like they thought Eddie Munson of all people killed that girl in his uncle’s trailer. “If you’d been shit faced, believe it or not, I wouldn’t have let things go as far as they did, Nancy,” she stated, hands resting at her side, “and another thing? Eddie didn’t kill that girl…dude would never hurt anyone. So put that in your little school paper.”

        Heat rises in her cheeks, but it’s a different kind of warmth than from before. It’s anger, it’s fury, it’s rage that starts in the balls of her feet and travels up through her core before it boils over. “I know Eddie didn’t kill Chrissy. That’s why I’m here. To not only clear his name but to keep other names out of the obituaries.” She half realizes that her voice is raised. Half cares. “People are dying, Faith. My friends are dying. So I’m sorry that our one night stand falls pretty far down the list of things that I currently care about.” 

        The room falls silent for a moment, the only sound to be heard is her heartbeat like a hollow drumming of wings beating against her eardrums. But she’s the one to break it, a husky puff of air pushes past lips. Defeated, resentful. 

                           If she blushed any harder or more, she was sure to resemble a tomato in no time. As back is turned towards her, her grin only grew as she put the cigarette out as feet uncrossed and she leaned forward. Arms rested on her knees as she looked up at Nancy with a smug look on her face. “Oh don’t give me that bullshit, Wheeler. You remember that night ‘cause you had, maybe, a sip of beer,” she chuckled, head shaking slowly as she moved to stand. Arms came to fold across her chest as she stared the other girl down, brow arched. “This party was memorable seein’ as I know it was your first time with another chick,” she continued, head tilting.

Of course she was more focused on the story what with her wanting to be some big time writer. “Nope. Was too busy,” she shrugged, letting out a breath as it seemed she was going to have to talk about that night regardless of if she did or didn’t. “Yea, she did leave before morning, but I never got her name,” she mused, taking a small step towards her. “So hard tellin’ if she saw anythin’ or not. Then again…I’m pretty good at distracting company.”

        Breath hitches but she masks it. A cold sweat creeps into the palms of her hands but she hides it. Jaw clenches and nostrils flare, standing her ground as Faith draws closer and crosses at least five personal boundaries in the process. Gaze narrows, eyes twitching to a squint. She didn’t have to justify herself to an arrogant asshole, she grinds egotistical jerks like Faith into the dirt for a living. And if it wasn’t for her career, it’d be one of her favorite past-times. 

                           The look on her face was priceless and made her grin grow more. It was like watching a wild animal be caught in either a trap or the headlights of a car speeding down the highway. Either way, it was comical and tickled her pink to see the flustered look on Nancy Wheelers face. Which she knew why that flustered look was in place, their previous interaction at a certain party would be the reasoning.

“Alright, fair,” she mused, shrugging as she realized Nancy had announced herself. “How he’s survived this long…god only knows how,” she snorted, shutting the door once the other girl was inside. “Lacks a lot, Wheeler,” she mused, moving to flop back down in the chair, ankles crossing as she looked up at the brunette. Faith listened to her ramble, the same shit that Fred had told her, so she only half paid attention to her as she spoke. Though to be honest, her mind was elsewhere, grin still firmly in place.

Reaching over, she pulled a lit cigarette from the ashtray before placing it between her lips. Brows arched as she continued to listen, smoke curling and dancing up above her. “Already told your little pal; didn’t see shit nor did I hear anythin’. Was a little busy entertaining if ya know what I mean, princess. But you do…” she trailed off, flicking access ash off into the tray, “that was a wicked party.”

        Face flushes, that shade of light pink from earlier deepens and spreads across the highest peaks of chiseled cheekbones as flashbacks from that night start to flicker and flip like a movie reel that’s undergone mild water damage. “No,” she turns, positioning her back to the older woman, using the opportunity to her full advantage to suck in a deep breath and regain composer before heels pivot to face the right way around again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lips pull into a tight smile, that small but prominent vein throbbing in the center of her forehead. “There’s been so many parties, half of which I was wasted, so I don’t remember any specifics.” Except she does. But the story comes first, emotions second.

                           Crazy shit seemed to happen in this town too much. From the moment they moved here, things had been weird and gone off the handlebars real fast. First there was the missing kid then the incident at the mall and everything that followed. Now there were people getting Freddy Krugered left and right, left looking like broken stick figures. The brunette didn’t know what the hell was going on, but she knew they’d move to the wrong town.

Now there was people coming to their door, trying to ask questions about the girl that had been found in the Munson’s trailer. She’d already ran off one of them, pimply faced four eyed twelve year old who could barely get a question out before she told him to stick it. Now there was more knocking on her door and a voice coming through it, a groan leaving her. “Goddamn it…” she hissed, pushing herself up out of the recliner to move over to the door.

“I already told four eyes I wasn’t talkin’ to anyone,” she yelled back through the door before she ripped it open, brow arching before an amused grin curled her lips. Well slap her ass and call her a lucky duck. “Wheeler,” she grinned, leaning against the doorframe as she eyed her up and down. “Hell, you shoulda just told me it was you an’ I woulda opened the door sooner,” she mused, stepping aside as she waved a hand, “C’mon in.”

        Eyes widen to resemble the size of saucers when the door swings open with force. The color drains from dark blues, leaving them nearly stark white, a glacial hue that glows in the setting sun as dusk creeps closer. A deer caught in the headlights is an understatement. She’s a rabbit that’s been caught in a trapper’s ploy of metal teeth snapped shut around her ankles, humming bird heart pounding and anxiety spiking. Oh. It’s her.

        “I--” a disbelieving (nervous) laugh spills free from rose-tinted cheeks as head shakes and brows raise. “I literally just did-- that. Exactly that.” Anxious hands fidget to fix the strap of her bag that slings over shoulders and chest as she steps forward and through, brushing past to cross the threshold. “And Fred means well, he really does, he just lacks-- a backbone.” She’s distressed, there’s literally no other reason why she would be defending her co-editor other than the fact that she had to keep her mouth in pace with her racing thoughts and rising blood pressure. 

        Sapphire orbs nearly roll right out of her skull, her indignation emphasized with a neck roll and groan fighting its way up the back of her throat, stifles it enough to be released as a low hiss through gritted teeth instead. What do you mean ‘too rude,’ Fred? You nearly blew our cover getting into the trailer park and now this? See if she takes you on a fieldtrip again. 

        Whatever. 

        How’s that saying go? If you want something done right, do it yourself? Or never send a man to do a woman’s-- No, that was a little too-- ignorant, even for you, Nance. 

        A small puff of air is exhaled when she arrives at the front door of the last mobile home in the neighborhood, hands lifting to tug at the lapels of her own denim jacket, to smooth out any wrinkles before brushing fingertips down the hem of her skirt to do the same. She forces a smile, so that her words come through in a receptive manner. It isn’t-- totally bogus-- there’s still some authenticity there-- like a customer service voice that you wear. 

        A knock, firm and swift. She doesn’t wait for it to open, the knock itself was a warning rather than a courtesy. “Nancy Wheeler from the Hawkins Weekly Streak,” her voice is loud enough to carry through the closed door, and yes, I promise that you can hear the smile there. “I think you met my fr-- my uh-- colleague. I just wanna ask a few questions.” Hands raise again, gesturing idly as if the person behind the aluminum material could see her. “You can even stay in there and I’ll stay out here and you can yell at me through the door.”