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It had taken longer than anyone had expected, but it was officially way colder than normal for November, and projected β barring some miracle β to just keep getting colder.
Unsurprisingly, everyone was unhappy about it. It was bad enough to be worried that the world might be ending without also having to worry about whether your electric baseboard heaters would be able to keep up with the cold. Without worrying about dying of exposure in your own home.
The ED was chilly even on a good day, but everyone had spent this shift bundled up in layers, even though the infrastructure team promised that the heat would ramp up eventually.
It was a difficult building to heat thoroughly, they'd explained. It would take time.
Everyone would just have to be patient.
β
Baran had gone home after shift to take a quick shower (she had to feel a warm touch somehow) before she could be ready to go back out. It was Trinity's birthday.
(For what it was worth, Trinity hadn't wanted to do anything that day, hadn't even mentioned it was her birthday. She seemed affected even more than everyone else by the cold, the dark. But Dennis had mentioned that someone should plan something, and Melissa had brought up karaoke, and that was enough to get nearly everyone interested in celebrating.
But Baran wasn't thinking about Trinity in the shower. She was thinking about how delicious the hot water was, how she didn't really want to step back out onto the cold tile floor of the bathroom.
But when she slid her hands, wet and slippery, over her skin, luxuriating in the warmth, did she imagine that someone specific was touching her? It had been such a long time since she'd conjured anyone other than a faceless lover that she almost stopped, embarrassed.
But, she reasoned, it's not like anyone could see into her mind. And, further, she'd gone home with lots of time to spare before the gathering. She could afford to stay in the shower a little while longer.
Perhaps,
maybe,
just this once,
she could indulge.
So when she touched herself, she pictured Cassie's hands. She pictured Cassie's hands uncertain, exploring new territory, and made sure to touch herself differently, not exactly how she'd like it. Not exactly how she wanted.
It was enough. When she dipped two fingers into herself properly, she found herself wet and wanting. She flung her other hand out to brace herself against the shower stall and fucked herself until the water from the shower started to run cold, started to raise goosebumps along her arms and back.
She didn't come.
She told herself it was probably for the best. Turned the shower off, stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel,
and exhaled.
Her mirror was fogged over with condensation, so she couldn't see herself (she wasn't sure she could face herself).
She checked her phone. She wasn't running late yet, but she would if she kept dwelling on the moment.
Best not to dwell.
β
She wasn't sure exactly when her feelings for Cassie had changed. Cassie hadn't done anything, explicitly, to change them. She'd just shown up, diligently, in the ambulance bay for their lunchtime walk. They'd just gone around the block, sometimes twice, and had talked about anything at all, whatever was on their minds.
Maybe Cassie was a persistence hunter, Baran considered, then dismissed it immediately. Nothing Cassie had said or done had indicated any sort of interest.
Even when Baran had asked Cassie if she'd be coming to Trinity's birthday, she'd hesitated.
"It's not really my scene," she'd said, looking for anything like a cornered animal.
"I'd like it if you'd come," Baran had replied. She'd mean it as a face-value statement, but now, standing with shower steam swirling around her, she heard the double-entendre as clearly as a cymbal crash. She wondered if that's what Cassie had heard. If that's why she'd looked so spooked.
"I'll see if I can make an appearance," she'd said finally, not making any promises. But it had been enough for Baran then.
She hoped Cassie would come.
β
Baran was a little surprised that Mel King seemed drunk. (Then she chastised herself: her staff were adults; this wasn't a work event per se. Of course they could be drunk.)
"Last time we were here," Mel slurred, "Santos sang this Alanis Morissette song. It was so goodβ" she hiccuped and covered her mouth, embarrassed "βoops! Anyway. I don't think she'd sing that in front of all of us, but it was really, really good."
"I'm sure!" Baran replied, glancing around. She couldn't see Cassie among the crowd gathered in the rented room.
"Do you sing?" Mel asked after another hiccup.
Baran hesitated. She was classically trained. That said, she didn't know how to handle a karaoke bar.
"I'll look at the binder," she promised Mel, who was already turning away to watch Trinity perform, clapping before she even brought the mic to her mouth.
Meanwhile, Trinity was on-stage, her body fully a question mark over the microphone as she sang What's Up?
Baran approached the little table with the karaoke binder, flipped through the sticky pages. She felt weirdly like choosing exactly the right song was deathly important.
"And so I cry sometimes when I'm lying in bed," Trinity moaned into the mic. "Just to get it all out, what's in my head. And I, I am feeling a little peculiar."
Baran scanned the crowd again for Cassie, didn't see her, and turned back to the binder, pointed out a song.
By the end of Trinity's performance, everyone was either cheering or singing along. Baran felt like her lungs were constricting, shriveling, maybe, insider her chest.
What if nobody loved her like that?
Then she chided herself a little: it wasn't her birthday tonight, after all. She shouldn't be out there asking to be loved.
β
Baran took to the stage, which was really just a foot of cleared space in front of some padded vinyl seats and bear-smeared tabletops.
"I'm so tired of playing," she sings, "Playing with this bow and arrowβ¦"
The room is weirdly quiet, but she see that she has everyone's attention. She can see furrowed brows, a lack of recognition, and realized that most of her staff are so, so young. She almost falters, but continues following the text on the karaoke machine's screen.
"Give me a reason to love you," she sings, pulling the notes up out of her diaphragm. She scans the audience again, not really expecting anything to have changed, but β oh.
Cassie is there, after all. She's at the back of the room, no drink in hand. She's leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly against her chest, nodding along as Baran sings like she might actually know the words.
Baran remembers how she'd imagined Cassie's hands would feel on her, and it takes every ounce of professionalism she has to keep her composure, to funnel the yearning into music instead.
"Give me a reason to love you," she ends. And when she looks up into the crowd again, Cassie is gone.
"Cool choice," Trinity says approvingly. "Never heard it before," she adds, "but it fucks."
"Thank you," Baran says, demure once more, no longer performing. She's looking past Trinity, but pretending not to be doing exactly that.
Then there's a gentle hand at her elbow.
And a voice: "Hey." It's Cassie. She tilts her head toward a side door, unremarkable except that it has a brightly lit emergency exit sign above it. Baran decides that this feels enough like an emergency.
She follows Cassie outside.
β
Cassie has a cigarette between her fingers before the door is even fully shut behind them. She'd given up the pretense of being an ex-smoker: she was fully a smoker again. Baran didn't mind so much. Health concerns aside, the smell reminded her of the smoke-filled rooms of her childhood. It was weirdly comforting.
"You have a good voice," Cassie said simply. Baran didn't know what to make of the remark, just nodded and tried not to breathe in the cigarette smoke (although it wouldn't be too bad, would it, to breathe in air that had been inside Cassie's lungs first?).
She blew out a plume of smoke. Cassie held her breath. "Weird song, though," she added. Baran shrugged. She was helpless here.
"I didn't know most of the songs in the list," she said.
"Sure, you didn't," Cassie replied. Smiled a wolf's smile. "Were you singing for someone?"
It was too much for Baran to say yes in that moment. She couldn't bring herself to do it.
"Want to walk around the block?" she said instead. That, at least, was familiar territory.
Cassie nodded, a flicked the ashes from her cigarette.
β
The block around the karaoke bar was unfamiliar. The streetlights, at least, were powered on, so they walked from puddle of light to puddle of light.
"Something's different," Cassie said, and out of the corner of her eye, Baran could see Cassie's hands, one swinging freely at her side, the other holding that half-smoked cigarette loosely between clever fingers. She tried to keep Cassie's hands in her peripheral vision, tried not to turn her head to look at them straight-on. It was too much that she was already remembering those hands as she'd imagined them in the shower earlier that night.
"Nothing's different," Baran said, consummate professional, lying through her teeth.
Cassie let that statement simmer, took a leisurely drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke in a steady stream.
"Nothing's different," Baran repeated, but she could hear the quaver in her voice. She was losing her nerve.
"The world might be ending," Cassie said carefully, thoughtfully. "It's fine if nothing's different, but if it is," She paused, pressed her lips together in consideration. "If it's different," she continued, "Then this might be the best time to say something, don't you think?"
It was an invitation. Baran was beyond smart enough to see that. She imagined Cassie's hands on her for real.
"It's different," she whispered. Cassie nodded, stubbed out her cigarette against the sole of her shoe and slipped the stub into the pocket of her jacket. She turned to Baran.
"Let's get back," she said. "We'll come back to this. But for now, let's be there for everyone else."
Baran nodded. She'd denied herself this long β what was another night?
