#volt x oc!reader

When he hears the voices tumbling over one another outside the club, however; Eddie escalates to alarmed. The others create a chorus that only grows in number and volume until it sounds like a full house at the Breaker Box packed onto the landing. While Winnifred has gone back to her baseline power usage, Lux and Hector haven’t switched off yet. With an annoyed sigh, Eddie shoves up from the bar and shuffles out of the electrical closet to find out what the fuck is going on. 

In comparison to the stillness of the Breaker Box, the too bright light, sheer density of bodies and their tumbling voices are more than enough to set Eddie’s nerves alight. 

This is Hell. 

And they’re not just on the landing. A snake of other objects slithers down the stairs. Though most of the crowd chatters loudly, Eddie sees some remain silent. Betty, for example. She fidgets with her pink hair or chews her nails, casting worried glances to the closed bedroom door every few minutes. And Betty isn’t alone in her concern it seems. Leaning against Wallace, Florence paws at her tired eyes and twirls her tassels nervously. 

Though Eddie would love to know what is happening, he shudders just thinking about wading into the crowd. Thankfully, no one has noticed him, so he sets himself up as a barfly on the wall and listens as Bathsheba and Lux hold court. They seem to be the experts on whatever summoned the horde, their gossip bouncing around the throng of objects, words muddling together leaving Eddie with nothing more to go on than clipped syllables. 

The size of the crowd and the palpable fear plaguing so many expressions is enough to make Eddie’s stomach flop with dread. 

What the hell is going on in that bedroom?

Knuckles white, eyes red, Dorian guards the door, face set in his signature scowl.  When his mouth moves, Eddie hears nothing as the dizzying noise swallows his words. A moment later, Wallace lets out a booming “WALL!” 

The assembled objects go silent, many blinking in confusion. 

“Thank you, Wallace,” Dorian says, voice rougher than normal. His eyes never leave the crowd. “Now, I am aware that you are a curious lot, particularly as it pertains to the human’s activities this evening. Some of you worry and some of you are here for less savory pursuits. Regardless of motive, all of you must depart to the ground floor. This includes any denizens of the first floor bedroom, lavatory, closet and gym. Those dwelling in the attic may remain so long as they stay in the attic.” 

Without a second thought, Betty and Abel push through their fellow things and trundle downstairs wearing matching stoic expressions.

From nearby, Tony brushes back his coal black hair and stares, confused. “Ehhhaaahh, Dorian. This ain’t the first floor.”

Scandalabra tuts his tongue. “You are beautiful as brrrrilliant silver, dear boy, but you clearly lack the lineage of a laudable bauble such as myself. This is the first floor for those of us with a rrrrefined pedigree.” 

“Eh, I’m gonna go.” Tony nervously looks at Scandalabra and slides downstairs. By the time he sidles up to Bev’s, he’s completely forgotten why he wanted to be upstairs in the first place. 

“Dorian, you mean all of us got to go downstairs” Curt asks. Florence pats his shoulder and coaxes him away. As Celia follows, she takes Stella gently by the arm and the pair disappears down the stairs. It takes some time, but the crowd thins out. For every thing that leaves the landing, Eddie’s mind churns up a new terrible thought about what could have happened to the human. 

Dorian’s fingers surreptitiously touch Kopi’s arm as she moves to the stairs. 

“Wait a tick, love,” he whispers.

A few stragglers remain, noses to the sky, expressions haughty and entitled. Brows knitting together, Dorian’s knuckles tighten with a splintering sound. “This is not a request,” he simmers. “Everyone. Downstairs. Now.”

“Um, I’m streaming! Hello!” Lux crosses their arms dramatically. “My followers deserve constant updates–especially my premium subscribers. They are IN.VEST.ED!”

Bubbles pop, giving off the scents of vanilla, strawberries and honey as Bathsheba pleads her case. “I can’t simply walk away. Not when I’m so clearly needed. Besides, the tea is going to be piping hot and delicious,” Bathsheba adds, wiggling her fingers at Scandalabra. 

Scandalabra titters with laughter. “Go. Run along my claw-footed kindred. I’ll be sure to bring you tales most twisted.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Dorian doesn’t blink. “You are all testing what little patience I have. Fuck off right quick before you incur my ire.” 

Lux and Bathsheba huff identical sighs and slowly make their way downstairs, complaining the whole time.

Scandalabra sneers down his nose at the door. “There’s no reason for me to go and we both know it. By casting me out, you only prolong the inevitable, Dorian. Before the cock crows, the flame of knowledge will burn bright ‘pon my brow.” 

Dorian bristles. His voice is menacingly quiet. “Listen here, wick.”

Eyes wide, Scandalabra gulps, his flame guttering as if blown by an arctic wind. 

“I have your attention, I see,” Dorian says. “Now, you seem to be under the impression that this situation is one of your silly scandals. It’s not.” 

Searching for some clue, Eddie’s eyes dart back and forth between Dorian and Scandalabra. The latter has gone from haughty to haunted. His silvery stare softens with genuine worry. “It’s…not? Um…might one inquire?”

“Only one resident of this domicile is privy to the goings on behind that door. And that’s the lady of the house. Now, get the fuck downstairs or I’ll have your knop off.” 

Scandalabra’s expression remains genuinely concerned as he makes his exit, coattails between his legs. 

“Kopi,” Dorian says. “Did the human happen by your establishment earlier this evening?”

They put a finger to their lips and look at the ceiling as their memory percolates. “Hmmm. I don’t think so. I know she had her favorite chai for breakfast.”

Perplexed, Wallace gently engulfs Kopi’s shoulder with one boulder-like hand. “Wall? Wall wall.”

“No. You can check with Freddy and Mitchell, but I’m pretty sure she only had the tea.”

Dorian nods sadly. “Thank you, Kopi. Would you mind putting a kettle on? Some of us are in for a long night.”

“Sure thing. Come see me when you need to. Also, with everyone in the kitchen, I have a feeling Stefan is going to be busy. Just let me know if you get hungry.” 

Kopi returns to the kitchen, leaving just Eddie, Dorian and Wallace looking at one another across the landing. 

“Wall.” Wallace’s bulk sags and his expression falls as he gazes toward the bedroom. 

“Me too,” Dorian says, exhausted. “I can count on your discretion, yes?”

With a nod he replies, “Wall. Wall wall wall wall wall wall?”

Dorian heaves a relieved sigh. “Again, Wallace, you have my gratitude.”

The gargantuan guardian solemnly lumbers away to keep watch at the bottom of the stairs. 

Dorian cracks his neck and shakes out his shoulders as if relieving himself of a burden.

Eddie takes a few hesitant steps onto the landing. “Well, that was certainly something.”

“Evenin’, Watts.”

Keeping his voice low, Eddie asks, “Sounds like I missed some excitement. Why clear everyone out?”

“Our human could use her space.”

What’s this our shit?

 “Does that space mean that half the lights in the house have to stay on for no reason? Or that Hector needs to blow hotter than the sun? Hell, I even got a call from Winnifred. Seems I’m the belle of the ball tonight. Fun.” 

“I know this means more work for you, however this is not about her carelessly leaving a light or two burning. On this occasion she….” After a pause, he scratches his beard, tired. “Bloody hell,” he breathes. “How to put it delicately?”

“Delicately?” Eddie looks toward the bedroom door. He shouldn’t care, should stay frosty. Instead, he quietly asks, “She alright?”

As if in response, a wail from the next room shatters into keening sobs. 

Dorian closes his eyes slowly, his expression one of pained sympathy. 

Eddie’s stomach twists with a cold, creeping nausea. Static seems to envelop him and his current races with concern he’s not allowed to feel. His tone remains sarcastically neutral. “Shit. I guess not.” 

Shaking his head, Dorian’s voice is barely a whisper. “Nightmares are nothing new for her. I’ve watched her have more than I’d like to count. I’ve seen her cry plenty of times. Tears of sorrow. Joy–though less so of late. Betrayal. Loss. A break-up or two. And some things I care not to name.” 

Eddie’s chest tightens. Dorian doesn’t need to say more. Eddie remembers Cas and the scars he left behind. Wallace still carries a few of his own. Simmering with a comfortable rage, Eddie’s fists clench tighter. 

“But in all the time since she took possession of this domicile,” Dorian continues, “I have never seen my human in such a state.”

“You’re telling me that,” Eddie points toward the bedroom, “is from a bad dream?” 

“It’s not exactly like I can inquire, now is it?”After an annoyed tsk, Dorian says, “I’d rather not discuss things so openly. She deserves her privacy and for her dignity to remain intact.” 

Fuck. Eddie’s dread only grows. What’s worse than the fuckface? 

“Understood,” Eddie says with a tight nod. He hitches a thumb toward the Breaker Box. “Mind if I just hang in the club?” 

“About that.” Dorian ponders his words carefully. “I know your dance card is rather full this evening. You’ve got duties all about the house including the first floor bedroom and bath. I would…Watts, I would appreciate your help keeping an eye out up here. I fear some of our fellow objects will attempt to intrude upon her all in the name of wagging their tongues.”

Eddie blinks. Trying to hide the lump that has suddenly filled his throat, he says, “I know I’m the master of kicking things out, but isn’t it your job to keep them out in the first place?” 

Dorian’s scowl returns. “It is my job and my job it shall stay. Wallace and I can handle the others, but I...I need someone to keep watch on her. At least until dawn.” 

Eddie’s breath catches. Of all things. Why this? Why me? He’s terrified to say yes, but doesn’t want to say no. “I’ll…”

The air between them quakes as the human lets out another tearful howl. 

Dorian sheds a single tear. “This…it just breaks my damn heart.”

Eddie’s weary sigh is drowned out by another yell. Clenching his teeth, he tries to convince Dorian that he–Eddie–is the last person for this job.

“You want me to stay here and what? Babysit the human because she had a bad dream? Teddy might be better for that, don’t you think?”

Dorian’s dark eyes bore into him with barely controlled emotion. “Don’t be thick,” he spits. “You and I both know there’s more to it.” 

“What do you expect me to do? It’s not like I can help her.”

“Then help me,” Dorian pleads.

He can still hear her. Each sob is an assault on Eddie’s resolve. “Why me?”

“Because of all the things in this house, Watts, you are the most reclusive. You aren’t likely to tell tales if you are rarely seen by the others. And, I know how you feel about her.”

For an instant, Eddie’s throat closes with the fear of a rabbit that’s just met a fox.  “How I f–?”

“You’re not overly fond of her,” Dorian answers. “The whole house knows. But you do the work anyway. If I asked this of the others, it’s possible they might be…”

“Distracted? Like you are?”

Dorian simply nods. 

“So, I'm the best choice for this because I’m not social and I hate the human?” Saying those words–that lie–coats Eddie’s tongue with self-disgust. It tastes of burned plastic and ash. But, if everyone believes that’s how he feels about her, he sees no reason to correct them.

A long silence stretches between them. Dorian’s eyes trail to the floor. He lets out a long, shaky breath as the homeowner’s crying continues. When he speaks, Dorian’s voice cracks. “Please, Eddie.”

He lets a few heartbeats pass before letting out a sigh. “Fine.”

Dorian heaves a breath before sagging with relief. “Thank you.” 

“Whatever.” 

The door clicks open as Dorian moves aside. “After you.” 

Eddie’s stomach turns somersaults. Struggling to maintain his icy resolve, he shambles past Dorian and into the human’s bedroom. He actively avoids her room. It’s too close. Too much her. 

And yet, never enough. 

“WHAT THE BLOODY BLUE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING HERE?”

Eddie starts, surprised by Dorian’s sudden roar. For a moment, he is almost afraid of the rage pulsing off his shoulders. 

Defending himself, Eddie calls out, “You asked me to–.” 

“Not you,” Dorian storms. 

That’s when Eddie sees the figure in the bed. Carved alabaster skin, a pair of torn jeans and that unmistakable white sphere atop its shoulders. Doug lounges with his arms behind his fucking douchebag bowling ball head. Somehow, he manages to look smug and aloof. 

“Don’t get all unhinged, jerk.” Doug chuckles. ”Heh. Unhinged. Get it?”

“Why are you here?” Eddie surprises himself with the cold, steel edge to his voice. 

“Unlike all the other losers in this house, I have a date with the human. Should be pretty hot.” 

Dorian seethes. “Doug, get the fuck out. Right now.” 

“Look, she called me, alright? Granted, it was a while ago. But I like to leave chicks on read. They’re so much more grateful when you finally show up.”

“You’re such a fucking dick,” Eddie breathes. 

“Spare me, glowstick. You call me all the time. I just let it go to voicemail.” 

“OUT!” 

Spitting feral swears through his teeth, Dorian stalks to the bedside, grabs Doug and bodies Existential Dread out of the room. 

Eddie shakes his head and takes a good look around. He doesn’t see the human. Every light burns as hot as the dry air blasting from the vent.  

How can she stand this? 

The bed looks like it’s seen battle; sheets twisted, blankets a tangled mess that drapes to the floor. And so. many. pillows. Tissues litter the bedside table along with a half empty bottle of water and a long, thin vape pen with golden contents. As Eddie pads to the windows, the air cools and he can feel the slightest bite of winter seep from behind the curtains. At the same time, though, the cloying warmth of steam curls around Eddie’s scruff. River. She silently pulls his attention to the gentle splash and swirl of moving water.  

Shit. 

The human sits in the clawfoot bath, knees drawn up to her chest and head bowed. A wavy curtain of her wet, dark hair obscures her face. Despite the steam rising from her skin, her hunched shoulders quake with teeth-chattering shivers. She clutches both sides of her head, hands like claws, and drags them through her hair. 

The icy rock of Eddie’s heart plunges into his belly as he sees the expression on her face. Eyes clenched shut, jaw tight. A grimace of despair.  He’s heard Bathsheba gossip about ugly crying. While he’s pretty sure this is what she’s referring to, Eddie sees nothing ugly about it. It’s not that the homeowner is beautiful even like this or some similarly trite cliche. Pain is never pretty, nor is it necessarily ugly. What Eddie witnesses is…real. 

And staggeringly familiar. 

I shouldn’t have agreed to this. If he wants someone who won’t get distracted I might be the worst choice in the house.

“Watts!”

Eddie jumps, startled, and turns to find Dorian staring daggers at him. “Sorry, I didn’t expect–I…she…River…” 

He shuts himself up and puts his back to the bathroom. The pair of them keep their eyes to the ground, awkwardly trying to ignore the sounds of her quivering breaths and the light plink as her tears fall into the water. 

“So…uh….” Eddie fidgets, straining against his memories and empathy. “Can you tell me anything?”

Dorian blows out a long, weary breath. “She woke up screaming and shivering. Tried calming herself, but started crying. Went downstairs, turning on every light along the way. A couple of shots from Bev, a bite of chocolate from Freddy. Then she came back up here. You’re now just as informed as I.” 

“She didn’t say anything?”

“Who would she say it to?”

Eddie scoffs. “I’ve heard her talk to herself.”

Dorian nods with a fond smile. “That she does. But, no. She’s not said anything of note. Mainly trying to calm herself down and a lot of colorful expletives.”

‘Just keep it together, kid. You, too,’ she’d said to him. ‘Let’s just both keep it together.’

“MOTHER FUCKER!” There’s a loud splash. “God–fucking shit! Piece of shit!”

Ah, so these are the colorful expletives. 

“I….think I’m going to go stand over there,” Eddie says, nodding to the opposite wall near the closets. 

Dorian’s face is crimson with embarrassment. “I think I’ll join you.”

Both lean their backs against the wall and cross their arms. Neither seems inclined to conversation. Despite all of his attempts to wrap himself in the icy protection of his mind, Eddie can’t focus. His attention flits to the bathroom door, but even without seeing her, his feelings twitch and tug. He looks at the bed. Different emotions swim from the depths, threatening to drag him into waters best left unexplored. He’d drown in all that he can’t have. 

As his gaze travels haphazardly from the opposite wall, the closed closets, the ceiling lights, a feeling of unease prickles across Eddie’s body. His eyes settle over the grate.

“Hey!” he barks, shoving off the wall. 

Dorian’s head snaps, following Eddie’s angry stare. 

Something surges through Eddie’s current. Something dark, crackling. Protective.

Obscured by the vent’s shadows, a pair of eyes, big and sad as a tasslehound’s, peep into the bedroom. Hands reach through the grate, waving frantically. “It’s not what you think,” a small voice calls.

“Have we forgotten where the attic is, Mr. Condicionado?” Dorian growls, “I suggest you follow my earlier direction and scarper off before I am tempted to use more effective methods of persuasion.” 

Eddie cracks his knuckles. Tone arctic, his stare hard, he rumbles, “Sure would be a shame if one of my breakers accidentally tripped right about now.” 

“Please, Dorian. Eddie. I–you don’t understand. I’m merely…a…concerned party. I-I-I can be discreet. My coils will rust before I utter a word, I sw–.”

Eddie takes another step toward the grate. “Hector. You’re already on my shit list for cranking it so hard tonight. So, before I blow a fuse, could you politely fuck off?” 

“My cranking,” Hector says, offended at the term, “is in service to my belo–the lady of the house.”

Dorian boils, radiating a heat that cannot be adjusted via thermostat. “Mr. Condicionado. Did the human request this particular temperature setting this evening?”

“Well…no.” Hector fidgets, his index fingers tapping one another sheepishly. “Not specifically.”

Eddie snarls. “Why are you doing it, then? Specifically.” 

Clearing his throat Hector announces, “I am–ahem–self-regulating. For her pleasure,” he adds quickly. 

With a flat stare and sharp edge, Eddie says, “She has blankets.”

“Blankets? Mateo can only handle so much. Blankets alone cannot protect her soft, fragile skin against the bone-deep cold of winter. She’ll freeze. And I won’t let–.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and puts a hand to one of the switches on his vest. 

“No. Please! Who will keep her warm? She’s already shivering terribly, goosebumps pebbling her skin. Teeth chattering. I can’t bear it!  Could you? Could anyone?”

“Wait a tick,” Dorian says, eyes narrow and jaw tight. 

Hector ignores him. “And you would expect her to suffer the cruelty of evaporative cooling on such an icy night? Without so much as a stitch of clothing to protect her? Monsters! You’re monsters! Why–if she kne–.”

Dorian cuts him off. “That was quite a description, Hector. But how, I wonder, do you know she’s shivering so badly?” 

Eddie sideyes Dorian. “That’s what you’re asking?” Fixing Hector with unrestrained disgust, he says, “How do you know she’s naked?” 

Hector’s eyes widen. “I–I just…”

“Are you spying on my human while she bathes,” Dorian growls. 

Eddie takes a step toward the vent. A blue hue dusts his cheeks. 

“Well, I…heard…something in the vents.” 

“Don’t care, Hector,” Eddie snarls.

“This is a misunderstanding!”

“OUT!” Eddie and Dorian shout in tandem. 

“I’d never harm her. I…I lo–.” 

With a snap of his fingers and a hissing crack, the scent of ozone fills the air as Eddie zaps Hector’s fingers. “Get. Out. Now.” 

He slams the grate shut then–careful to keep his eyes from wandering–he does the same to the vent in the bathroom. 

She gasps at the sound, but even as her wide eyes dart about the room she remains oblivious to the things nearby. Hesitantly, he looks over his shoulder to see fear where anguish had been. As she clenches her eyes tight, small twitches punctuate her shivers.

Eddie reluctantly returns to the wall with an annoyed growl, he and Dorian can hear Hector sulking as he retreats through the vents. Despite his reticence, the HVAC returns the temperature to the human’s preferred setting.

“Bloody hell, am I off my game tonight. I should’ve accounted for him.” Dorian pulls his hands down his face, already exhausted. “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t just switch him off.”

Avoiding Dorian’s stare, he mumbles, “Don’t want her to be cold.” 

Dorian pops his chin toward the grate. “He might be one to watch for overnight.”

“You think he’ll be back?”

“Better than fifty-fifty odds, I’d wager. Hector has an…unhealthy attachment to the human. Tends to move about through the vents so he can get a look.”

Eddie suppresses a shiver of his own. “That’s…a bit unnerving.” 

“Whatever you do,” Dorian warns, his eyes haunted, “never mention poetry within earshot of a grate. Frankly, I find his writings to be disturbing, especially since she can neither consent nor reciprocate.”

Nausea creeps up Eddie’s chest. “Consent…so, it’s that kind of writing.”

Dorian rumbles in assent. 

“Does he do this…often?” 

“Probably more than I’m privy to, unfortunately. He’s one of them that prefers to watch. Him and the fucking Scandalabra.”

From the next room comes the sound of falling water. Eddie hears River swirling away with small hiccuping sobs of her own. Moments later the human exits the bathroom wrapped in a towel. 

Face flushing brightly, Dorian turns sharply to face the window, yanking Eddie by the arm to do the same. Hangers rattle behind them, followed quickly by the closet door shutting with a bit too much force. Dorian winces. 

A wet towel lands on the bed. Before Eddie can fully register the implication, the bare human breezes in front of them on her way to the dresser. Eddie puts his face to the wall and Dorian follows suit. Simultaneously, they begin whistling different tunes. They both stop, look at one another and begin whistling again, only this time, they’ve traded melodies. 

The human adds a counterpoint, the rhythm of drawers opening and closing. In his periphery, Eddie can see fabric fluttering. There’s something about the human’s energy. She moves swiftly, with purpose. Of course she’s probably cold, but he can’t help but sense the current of panic in the room. Moments later–pajamaclad–she takes her towel to the bathroom. 

“Interesting,” Dorian whispers. “She just locked the door adjoining the gym and the lavatory."

Eddie’s brow furrows as he turns to face the room in time to see her close off the bathroom. “But, there are no other humans here.” 

She shuts the other closet before checking the lock on the door to the landing. Breath shaking, she surveys the room with little nods here and there as if checking items off a list.

Curtains? Closed.

Closets? Shut.

Doors? Locked. 

The grate seems to give her pause before her attention sweeps to the wall. 

To Eddie. 

With a sharp inhale, he freezes as she looks straight at him. Impossibly, their eyes meet across the invisible chasm between them. Eddie sees the glint of fresh tears welling up in her puffy, haunted eyes.

She….she can’t actually see me. Coincidence, he assures himself. But, he can’t deny something happened. Some spark of understanding passed between them. Almost recognition. On some level, conscious or not, she saw him. He knows it. 

And it terrifies him. 

Eddie’s insides writhe. He’s too hot. Too wobbly. Too everything.

 “Shit,” she hisses. 

Shaking himself free of his thoughts, he sees her draping a sheet over the mirror. In three quick strides, she is back to the bedroom door. Hesitant, she turns off the overhead lights and scurries to the bed like a child frightened of the dark. She sits with her back to the headboard, nervously squishing the fabric of her dark blue pajama pants as she tries to slow her breathing. 

 She takes a deep, long drag from her vape pen. Closing her eyes, she exhales slowly, releasing a bluish haze into the room.  While she fusses with things on the nightstand, Eddie paces a circle around the room, eyes trained on the floor.

 From behind him, Dorian’s voice creaks. “I think the worst is over.” 

When Eddie studies her, he can see the human’s stare reaching into infinity. She doesn’t see anything in this room, does she? She’s not here. 

Stretching his stiff limbs, Dorian yawns, “I’m going to go see Kopi about that kettle. Anything you fancy, Watts?”

He glances at the bed–well, at the human in it. After a moment that stretches just a little too long, he waves off Dorian. “No. But, thanks.”

After taking only a few steps, Dorian turns back to Eddie. Gesturing to the human, he asks, “You’re sure yo–”

“I’ll keep the light on,” Eddie says, voice uncharacteristically compassionate.

“Thank you.” Dorian nods gratefully. “Knock if you need a nip.”

And then they’re alone, Eddie and the human. Despite the planar divide between them, his current races in his chest. 

With trembling hands, she puts her phone on the bedside table. Calm music plays; somber piano arpeggios in a minor key. 

Eddie pops his chin toward her. “Song’s pretty. I think I’ve heard you play that before downstairs.” 

She leaves the bedside lamp on, crawls under her covers and musters her army of pillows to a fluffy, protective fort. As she curls herself into a tight ball, Eddie leans against the dresser, his back to the covered mirror, and pushes a hand through his hair. 

“So,” he says aloud. “Looks like it’s you. And me. Just…sitting here til dawn. I’m supposed to watch you, I guess, and try not to feel like a fucking creep or something. I probably shouldn’t be here, honestly. And yet…” 

Eddie pushes off the dresser then, once again, walks lazy circuits around the bedroom. Though she’s no longer shivering or sobbing, he can still hear her quivering breaths. With a glassy, hollow stare, she seems lost in thoughts that are far, far from here. 

“You have no idea.” Eddie chuckles but there’s no humor in it. “Your windows and bathtub are downstairs speculating about what’s going on up here. As far as you know, you’re all alone. And that’s the only reason you feel safe to cry like that. You wouldn’t just let someone see you screaming and sobbing. But here I am. Seeing it. Like an asshole.”

Again, his insides writhe with shame. It hasn’t even been five minutes and he’s already feeling that tugging ache in his chest. The feelings he only allows himself to feel when he’s alone. Those feelings have names, but if he says them aloud, they become real. If they’re real, they still remain worthless and one-sided. 

Unrequited. It’s all Eddie’s love for her can ever be. 

After glancing around the room–lingering on the grate for an extra second or two–Eddie looks back to the human to see her face slip into that expression of deep anguish.

Shit.

With one of his patented sighs, Eddie sits on the empty side of the bed with his back against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. Crossing his arms, he allows himself to gaze down at her. 

Despite her height and lush figure, she’s made herself so small, curled tight in a nest of pillows. Eddie can see fresh tears quietly rolling along the contours of her face and onto her sleeve.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers. 

The song changes to an acoustic guitar playing a slow, lilting dance. A woman’s breathy voice sings. At first, the song is just that. Music and a handful of words. But soon, his current falls in sync with the music. It sways lazily, like a hammock in a cool night breeze. Then, a verse gives him pause. 

A stranger light comes slowly. A stranger’s heart without a home. You put your hands into your head And then its smiles cover your heart.

“Is that what we are? Strangers?” Is that what this ache in his chest is? A heart without a home? 

His thoughts, along with the music, are drowned out by the roar of a muscle car doing a burnout down the street. Just outside the window, the car backfires with a sound like a shotgun. The human screams and snaps into a tighter ball, her arms over her head protectively. Instinctively, Eddie reaches out a comforting hand, stopping just short of her shoulder before realizing it won’t matter. She won’t feel it.

Her whole body quakes. What starts as rapid breathing and quiet crying quickly escalates to a sustained yell made of jagged glass shredding her throat. 

“FUCK!”

She yells until her voice gives. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not really good at this. I don’t know what the fuck Dorian was thinking, really. I don’t know how this is supposed to help.”

Breathless and spent, she goes limp beside him. Without looking, she reaches up to the nightstand, grabs the phone and restarts the song. She lets the phone fall into the bed, then curls into herself once more. As the melody begins, her fingertips move about the pillow as if she’s playing along. It seems to help her steady her breathing and slow her racing heart. 

Something about the song reminds Eddie of candlelight. Something that is both hopeful and melancholy, warm yet dim. 

Music continues, featuring string quartets, more piano pieces and peaceful songs meant to wrench emotions from your soul and let them sing. And though she is lost in thought, she is able to unclench her body slightly. It takes time, but she succumbs to her exhaustion and drifts to sleep. As her playlist continues, there is not a single time Eddie mentally chides her for the waste of Phonecia’s battery power. She needs this. This is medicine.

An hour later, the human is still asleep. But Eddie’s thoughts spin. 

Why am I even worrying over a human? Humans broke me. Humans only cause problems. And this one…she is the problem. The most infuriating problem.

But…

She’s so vulnerable. Delicate. Does he see her as something damaged? To be fixed? Or did Eddie hear that wail and know it? He’s no stranger to those sounds. Those cries welcomed Volt to the world. Much like Eddie had then, tonight and most nights she carries this burden alone. Despair in solitude erodes part of the soul, scours away Hope. 

“If you don’t mind, I’d…kinda like to stick around. I mean, you think you’re alone, sure. But, doesn’t mean you have to be, you know?”

The human uncoils her long form and rolls to her side. Stretching out one arm, her hand passes through Eddie’s. There is no physical sensation, but he sucks in a breath anyway. The bedside lamp flickers with a fzzt!

To anything that walked in, it would look like Eddie was holding her hand. His eyes flash to the closed vent. No eyes are trying to peek through the slivers of space. No fingers trying to push the slats open. Doors closed. Just himself and his human. 

For a few quiet moments, he just…looks at her. Wisps of hair fall across her face and he has to remind himself it’s impossible for him to brush them back no matter how much he longs to. Her expression is calm with the slightest hint of a peaceful smile. A stark contrast to what he saw earlier. 

“I wish I could touch you,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

She sighs in her sleep.

Eddie answers with one of his own. 

Settling into his spot in her bed, Eddie rests against the headboard, and closes his eyes. He listens to her slow and steady breathing and the music. 

“It’s not so bad in here,” he tells her. “I mean, it’s not the Breaker Box, but it’s quiet. The music’s nice. The company’s not bad, although I think your conversation skills could use a bit of work. But hey,” he blows out a breath, “I get to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet away from all the lights someone left on.” He gives her a side eye she’ll never see.  

When the grey-blue light of dawn creeps through the curtains, Eddie knows his watch is over. However, he lingers until the first rays of golden sunlight are visible before taking his leave. He carefully slips out of the bed, watching so he won’t wa–

“You can’t feel me moving on the bed. Right.” He shakes his head. “Must be more tired than I realized.” 

As he stands to full height, Eddie’s joints crackle with a mixture of pain and relief. He rolls his shoulders and pops his neck. Gazing down at his human one last time, his chest tightens. She hadn’t moved too much in the night. A turn here, a stretch there. A few more instances of passing her hand through Eddie. 

Scratching at his scruff, Eddie begins to shuffle to the door, but stops when he realizes that she’s rolling over following his path like a sunflower follows the sun. She reaches out in her sleep and mumbles something that sounds like, “not yet.” She pulls the nearest pillow into her arms and draws it against her chest. 

“I wish I could stay and hold you.”

As he approaches the door, he looks at her one more time. “I hope today is better,” he says. And then, against everything he wants, Eddie leaves her alone in her bed.

“G’morning, sunshine,” Dorian says as Eddie approaches. “I dare say you and me are about to get a well-deserved rest. Did…uh. How was it in there?” 

Eddie shrugs. “Eh. She fell asleep. Snored. Drooled a bit. Honestly, that was it.”

Dorian nods and Eddie can see the relief in his eyes. “Thank you, Watts.”

“Don’t mention it. Especially to Volt.”

Dorian squints, curious. But he chooses the better part of valor and nods. “You have my word. Listen, if that’s how you feel, maybe you should skedaddle back across to the closet. Wallace and I are about to release the rabble back into the first floor.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

As it shuts behind him, Eddie leans on the Breaker Box door. Exhaustion is too mild a word for what he feels. With leaden limbs he staggers to the bar and attempts to paw away his double vision. His drink sits in a ring of condensation, mostly water and a limp orange wheel. Plucking up a cherry, he pops it into his mouth then makes his way backstage. He opens the locked door and stalks down a dark, brick-walled corridor to a large steel door covered in warnings. 

Solitude awaits him on the other side.

Sleep? That’s a separate negotiation.

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

Masterlist

Read on AO3

He chuckles, dragging his thumb over the glossy woodgrain of the bartop. “You’ve done a decent job the past couple of days. Better than decent, actually. Thanks to you, I’m caught up on most of the big problems around here.” “Most?” She arches an eyebrow. “What didn’t we get?” “There might be a couple power drains that are more stubborn than I’d like. I need to take care of those myself. And there's the day to day stuff. But yeah. You did it.” “You said ‘we’ wrong, sensei.” When she raises her glass, Eddie clinks his against hers. Leaning his elbows against the bar, he sighs.  He takes a drink, hoping to douse some of his jealousy. But as it wriggles into his mind, something else comes with it. Something that loathes Eddie’s light mood. And her. “At least now you can get back to the club and whatever with Volt.” “Huh.” She seems pleasantly surprised. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Right, sure you haven’t. Because I could make you forget Volt. 

Letting out a long, tired breath, Eddie says, “Volt always puts on a good show. I mean, it’s no Rainbow Kite blanket fort, but you’ll have a good time. I’m sure.” “Hey, don’t knock the pillow fort until you’ve experienced the pillow fort. You should come sometime.” Eddie shakes his head. “At least take a break and hang next time I come in for a show. We can sit at the bar and reminisce over screws.”

He wants to. Holy hell, he wants to, but jealousy and fear swirl like storm clouds in his mind. His throat tightens. “I appreciate the invite, but like I told you, I don’t do well with crowds. Trust me. I do better on my own. I’d only slow you down.” Chewing on her lip, she bobs her head slowly. “Got it.” Is that disappointment? The hell?

Nervously, she stirs her mocktail with one of the cherries. “Can I…maybe…come back and help with the day to day stuff sometimes?” “What? Why would you want to do that? You came here to help Volt and you did.” “Oh, is that why I came here? Thanks for telling me.”

The clouds swell into thunderheads, anvils waiting to drop. With a derisive scoff, Eddie snarks, “Right. You’re telling me Volt isn’t the reason you stop by all the time? Cause it sure as hell isn’t for Johnny Splash.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe I actually enjoy your company?”

He’s utterly blindsided. Volt is the front man. The irresistible one. I’m the invisible one. I can go days without talking to anyone but Volt. It keeps us safe. And I like it that way, right? 

“Maybe because…” He pauses, pondering the answer to her question. Even before Volt he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. While Eddie wasn’t a bad host, he couldn’t hold a candle to Volt. Mixing and fixing: those have always been his strongest skills. But thinking on it, Eddie is faced with a sad truth. “Maybe because no one ever has before.”

She brought me coffee and made sure I didn’t slice my hand open. She wants to come back. Not for Volt, but for me?

Eddie doesn’t even try to hide his smile as color rises in his cheeks. “But, hey. If you want to waste your time here, I can’t stop you.” “Wow. A few days ago, you couldn’t get enough of kicking me out. Don’t tell me you’re ditching your favorite hobby.”  He tilts his head back and forth as if pondering the matter. “Maybe I’ll kick you out every now and then. As a treat.”

The storm inside him stirs and swirls as dark clouds gather. He feels the prickly feeling of lightning waiting to strike. 

And now you’re joining her fan club? You can’t let her any closer. She’s dangerous. You know why, the storm warns.

Grinning, oblivious, she says, “Thanks. For allowing me to come back. Hell, for letting me help at all. I mean it. Thank you.” His chest tightens, throat squeezing around the words he wants to say. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t mention it. It would be best if you didn’t tell Volt about this. Especially if you want to keep coming around.” “Ooookaaaay,” she says, a crease forming between her brows. “Can I ask why?” “Volt can be…protective of this place and what we do here. It’s a point of pride for him. If he found out the reason the power stabilized is because you were here helping, that would hurt him. A lot.” “Because it would mean admitting there’s something he can’t do?”

This is why she is dangerous.  How much more do you think she’s sussed out? How soon until she knows everything. Ruins everything.

Eddie nods, fighting against the threat of the storm. “It would sting all the more because it’s you. So, for now, it’s probably for the best that we just keep things between us, okay?” A flush of heat spreads across his chest.

Us.

“I cannot figure out the dynamic here. You seem to care about him but you also pour a lot of salt on his name.”

“We’re conn–”

DON'T

“-complicated.” 

From a shadowy corner of his mind, memories haunt Eddie. Memories of the time before Volt. The soul-shattering emptiness. Despair. Exhaustion. Nights spent howling alone, desperate for help that would never come. He stares into the ice in his glass. “Volt was there for me during a really dark time. When I didn’t have anyone else. He gave me space, and I could…breathe. He took care of me. I owe it to him to do the same. Just…look,” he sighs. “If Volt knew what was really going on he’d be pretty pissed at me, too. I don’t want that either. Will you help me or not?” The human quietly studies Eddie. His anxiety only grows until she nods.  “You have my word. Just between us.” He releases a trapped breath. “Thank you.” There’s a beat of silence. Then, “This is all about sparing Volt’s feelings, right?”

You need to stop this. Stop being honest. Stop entertaining her. She’s too close. 

Eddie bristles. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” “And it has nothing to do with you?” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “You don't want Volt to think you're useless.” Eddie’s fists clench against the bartop. 

She doesn’t know. If she did, she’d see just how much of a waste I am. How all of this is my fault. 

“I…Fuck it. Fine. Yes, okay,” he snaps. He brings the whiskey sour to his mouth and a familiar weight settles over his shoulders, a cold shell of anger and distrust that’s been all but absent the past two days. And though part of him relishes her company, another writhes and screams as it realizes just how close he’s allowed her–a human–to get. How that complicates everything. For him. For Volt. The club. Everything. 

“You’re not, you know,” she says, her tone comforting and sincere. “You’re not useless.” The kindness in her voice is too real. Threatening. Infuriating. 

Too much. End this. 

In just a couple of days she has burned right through that icy defense he’s built over the past fifteen years. It was easy to maintain so long as he kept his distance, blamed her for all of the sins of those humans that came before. It was her fault, he told himself. After repeating it day and night, he’d believed it. So, as her genuine words touch his heart, the first rumbles of thunder echo within the storm inside him. His misplaced anger taps into that well of loathing based on every lie he’s ever told himself.

No more. She needs to go.

His voice is cold, hard. Barbed. “So, two days around here and you think you know me enough to make that judgement?”  She blinks, taken aback. “What–I…no. That’s not–.” “What did you expect to happen when you came here?” “More deflection. Nice.” She picks up her bag and starts putting away the cream and sugar. Her water bottle. “Did you think I’d pour my heart out? We’d bond and you’d try to fix me or whatever like you do with the rest of the house?” “The fuck? I–.”

 “Maybe that’s why you asked to come here: because we’re all just things to be fixed to you. Except Volt, of course. It’s clear how you feel about him.”

“Oh? Could you enlighten me,” she asks, voice wintry. “Because honestly, I don’t know how I feel about Volt.” 

Eddie shakes his head, warring with himself. He’s fucking it all up. He can’t stop. 

If Volt had just gotten rid of her, none of this would be necessary. 

“You know what,” he says, bitterly, “just forget it.” “No.”  “What?” “I said no,” she repeats. Kindled, the fire in her eyes threatens to melt the ice protecting him. “No ‘just forget it.’ Talk to me.” “Like you actually care?” She reaches out to touch his arm, but he jerks away. “I…I don’t understand. Just a few minutes ago–.” “Come back or don’t, just try not to distract Volt too much, okay? He doesn’t listen to me anymore and he’s just going to keep making things worse because he can’t get enough of you. And for fucksake tell him to stop the bullshit parlor trick. The one where he changes your clothes. You’re the one power drain I can’t fix.”

Silence. Perfect stunned silence. Two slow, pointed blinks that challenge him. Instant regret.

“Seriously?”

Fuck.

Good.

Shame fills Eddie’s veins with cold steel. 

“Is that what you actually think of me,” she asks. “This whole time?” He can’t look at her. Can’t answer. The lie is easier than the truth.    “Wow.” She looks about the room as if searching for what the hell changed. “So you not only think I’m a vapid, starry-eyed groupie for Volt, but I’m also…what? Some fucking…parasite?” Eddie doesn't recognize his own voice; a keen dagger, its edge soaked in poison. “You said it, not me.” Her expression says it all. Confusion. Pain. Betrayal. “Eddie…”

That’s it. His name on her lips. With that catalyst, the storm breaks. 

Eddie’s glass hits the bar with a little too much force. He looms over her, using his darkness and size to intimidate her out the door. “Why do you think we’ve been so slammed lately? Have you figured that out yet? It’s because some selfish, careless, useless human can’t leave the fucking house.”  She’s just standing there, a million emotions flowing over her face as she weathers his squall. 

Shut up. You’re hurting her. You’re fucking up all of it. 

You fucked up by letting her in. 

His anger conceals things that are too difficult to confront. Things Eddie can’t afford to feel.

You let her get too close. Now fix it.

That vicious, misplaced wrath dives into the fray, metaphorical teeth snapping, current pumping with one command. 

Get rid of her.

"It used to be manageable when you had a job,” he growls. “At least then you’d be gone long enough for us to get some rest. When you started working from home, our work started getting harder. And now, you don’t even have the excuse of a job. You’re a fucking hermit. Everything stays on around the clock. All that? It takes power. Power Volt has to manage. Meanwhile you carry on day after day without a goddamn clue what the things in this house do for you. You just take, and take, and take. And ever since you got those fucking glasses, things are in here all the time to talk about you. How caring you are, helpful, beautiful or whatever adjective is the most saccharine and deluded. It never ends.”

Her eyes go glassy with tears that don’t fall. She gives him nothing but a rueful smile and a humorless laugh. It sounds wrong. That laugh is a far cry from the chuckles and cackles from minutes before.  Eddie’s current goes cold, slowing as he watches her expression go flat. Features inscrutable. This is worse than seeing her cry, watching her scream at him. This is…nothing.  A wall of her own falls to shut him out. He can feel it land with a sickening finality.  “Thanks for the honesty. Really.” As she hitches her bag over her shoulder, she clutches both coffee mugs in one hand. She turns her back to him and stalks toward the door, muttering under her breath, “Makes that decision easy for me.”  “Oh?” he calls after her. “What decision is that?” She stops, draws a long breath and Eddie is certain she’s about to exhale a gout of flames. When she turns to face him, however, pyrotechnics aren't necessary; the human’s hard, glacial stare is enough to level him. He’s been so focused on the power around the club, Eddie has underestimated hers. Commanding his attention, daring him to speak, she cooly asks, “Are you always this oblivious?” She turns and walks briskly to the door. As she steps into the closet, Eddie hears Dorian’s voice, “Bloody hell! Are you alright? Did he–?”  The door slams closed behind her, leaving Eddie standing at the bar as a familiar, hollow loneliness descends over him. The silence is too loud. The space too vast.

What the fuck did I just do?

Chapter 11 — Chapter 13, drops Feb 16

Masterlist

As he rakes his hand through his hair, Eddie says your name. “Think of what you’re asking. We. Could lose. Volt. I…I made him. Can you understand that? You’re asking me to–.” He can’t say it. “And if I lose him…I could…I’ll lose you, too.”

Those words steal your breath. Something deep in your belly flops and a prickling heat spreads through your body. 

‘I’ll lose you, too.’

Does he still think you’re only here because of Volt. Does he not see that you give a shit? You care about him, not because of what he can do for you, or because of his proximity to Volt. You love Eddie. The grounded one. The cranky bastard who matches your snark beat for beat. Wounded, yet also capable of patience and playfulness. A kindred whose pain recognizes yours. The one who despite his fears and thick, icy walls is now an exposed nerve with every piece of himself laid bare before you. 

When your eyes flicker to Volt, you see he’s hanging his head in sorrow. 

“This place is so much more than drinks and a show,” Eddie says. “It’s the heartbeat of the house. Music, light, heat and energy. Everything they need. Everything you need. You asked what about me? Well, what I need is Volt. Otherwise, it doesn’t work. Without him…I’m just…” He gestures to himself limply, hands falling helplessly to his sides. 

Volt’s voice is tender. “Eddie, you can’t destroy yourself for me. Do you think I want that?”

“Better that than see you go out because I’m a fucking waste of space!”

The room goes quiet, deathly silent. 

Volt sags as the shock knocks all of the air out of him. Conversely, your blood freezes to a halt. Your body is rigid, and your lungs burn with a breath you cannot exhale. 

“It’s my fault all of this is happening. I’m the one who couldn’t hack it on my own. I’m the one that’s damaged. And I’m the one who can’t fix it.” Eddie’s eyes shut tight as tears streak down his face. His jaw clenches around a scream he refuses to release. “I can’t lose you. And I can’t go back to that place. Before you moved in. Before Volt. I can’t. Please, don’t ask me to. It was so cold and dark. I was so damn lonely. Isolated from everything. Giving more and more of myself when I had nothing left. Borrowing from tomorrow just to survive today. Again and again and again. Begging for help in a crowded room where no one heard me. You know how it feels. Human, thing or none of the above, you know that howling emptiness. You do. I know you understand it.”

It’s true. You’ve been in that place. Alone and screaming in the darkest hours, wondering if you’ve outlived your own usefulness. You think of how hard you have worked to claw your way out of that despair. How fragile you were along that lonely climb, and how precarious it all still feels. As if just one bad day could erase years of progress. 

“Better to be broken than in that place ever again,” you whisper. “Right? Broken is at least safe, familiar. You know how to be broken.”

Eddie sighs with relief that you do understand.

“Change comes with risk,” you go on. “And that shit is scary. But you’re not alone and I swear to you, you’re not going to be alone. Please, Eddie. Let me help you.”

He’s silent for a time. When he speaks again, his voice trembles. “I don’t want to go out. But, going back to the way things were? I won’t survive that.”

Throat tightening, grief clenching your heart in its greedy fist, you nod. Your voice creaks. “If we don’t do something, do you think you’re going to survive the night? I–I don’t want to lose you, Eddie.” You fix Volt with your tearful gaze. “Either of you.”

The slightest hint of pink paints Volt’s cheeks. A ghost of his charming grin floats across his face. Despite the circumstances, he is still achingly beautiful.

“The feeling is quite mutual, live wire.” Placing a hand on Eddie’s quaking shoulder, Volt softly says, “This is the last fix, Eddie. We have to try.”

Reminding you of a trapped animal, Eddie’s breaths come in rapid, shallow shudders. As he looks between you and Volt, you can almost see the calculations careening through his mind as he searches for any other way. A patch in this wire. A diversion of power from one circuit to another. Anything. 

Then, his face falls with resignation. Surrender. 

“You…you remember where the tools are,” he asks weakly. When you nod, he tilts his head toward the heavy door. “Bring ‘em here and I’ll…” He swallows hard. “I’ll walk you through what to do.”

Volt lets out a sigh of relief. You hear a barely audible, “Thank you.”

The look you share with Eddie. It’s so trusting, so deeply sincere that it tears at your heart. However, there is no hope in his eyes to buoy yours. 

Your breath quivers. “Just don’t…” Don’t leave me. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Well, I was debating it, but since you asked nicely.”

“Asking nicely works with you now? My worldview is rocked to its core,” you say, deadpan. 

“Wise ass.” He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Besides, I can’t leave. I still owe Dorian truffles.”

Your nose wrinkles and you tilt your head, perplexed. “The fuck?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Later. There’s going to be a later.

“You fucking better,” you warn him.

Scanning the immediate area, you ask, “You don’t happen to have a flashlight back here, do you? I didn’t bring Phoenicia and my bioluminescence is on the fritz. Again.” “Shit. No. Not back here. It’s with the tools.”

You nod, mentally mapping out your route through the dark club. “Got it. Okay.” You make it to your feet, legs wobbly. “It might be a minute, but I’ll be back.”

Eddie bobs his head. “I know you will. Spite is a powerful motivator.” 

When you smile, he gives you the barest of winks.

You look up to find Volt is–despite the situation–beaming at Eddie, and your heart swells. It feels strange to love both of them so deeply and differently. To need both of them so thoroughly. And also to love how they care for one another. 

Before you leave, you hook a finger at Volt and nod toward the door. “Can we talk for a sec?”

The two of you slip just outside the door then you lace your fingers through his. Eddie isn’t the only one who’s fragile. You can see it in the set of his shoulders, in his glassy eyes. He’s just as terrified as you. Volt is simply better at focusing on others’ pain first. 

Gods, they both do it, you think affectionately.

Managing to keep your voice steady and quiet, you meet Volt’s gaze. “You said you're not done with me, right?”

Volt kisses your knuckles, the slightest smile curling his delicious lips. “Indeed I did.”

“That goes both ways, you know. I don’t want to lose you.”

A blush rises in his cheeks and his eyes glow a little brighter. 

You place a hand on his chest and say, “I mean, seriously. You can't just kiss me like that and bounce.”

“Dear spark, I'm not going anywhere.”

Letting out a long breath, you steel yourself for what’s to come. As you start to leave, Volt’s grip tightens around your hand. “A moment, live wire. Eddie is not the only one with an apology for you. When you found us here tonight, I know I frightened you.”

“It’s ok. You–.”

He stops you with one word: your name. It’s strange to hear it tripping off his tongue, but musical nonetheless. “No. It’s not. I know what I am, and that version of me is one you never should have met. I saw the look on your face,” he says, tracing a silver-tipped finger down from your temple to your jawline, his touch soft and light. “Trust can be such a delicate thing, and if I have caused so much as a chip to form in yours I will spend the rest of my days–however long that may be–working to restore it. I am sorry, my live wire.”

You sigh his name gently. “Yes, you scared me. But, I know you were protecting Eddie. I understand. I still trust you completely.”

Volt’s shoulders relax and he lays a tender kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.”

“We’ll talk more about this after we get you boys up and running. Okay?” 

He nods. “I’ll hold you to that.” 

With a shaky, deep breath, you summon the courage to leave. You look at Volt and gesture to Eddie. “Can you…?”

His smile is warm, his voice confident. “I’ll take good care of him for you.” 

You take off down the dark hallway. As the wan blue light fades behind you, your hand finds the rough brick wall again. The stone is cold beneath your fingers, but steady. Even if your legs tremble like a newborn foal, the wall lends you some of its strength. It grounds you, gives you support when you think you’ll stumble. 

As you emerge from backstage, you find the orange light of a single candle shivering in the club. Tables and chairs–upended by the patrons’ panic–appear like bones jutting up from a grave. In the jittering light, shards of glass glitter in slick puddles of alcohol and hardening candlewax. You’ve been holding fast against terror for what seems an eternity, but that candle is a sliver of salvation.  Relief floods you. Stepping lightly around the debris, you feel a spark of hope. That single pinprick of light in the void. 

It’s enough. 

As you reach for the candle you find a cocktail napkin. Florid script reads, “A flame for my flame.”

“Jon, you beautiful bastard,” you breathe.“Okay. Get the tools and get back. Just get the tools and get back.”

Candlelight leading the way, you sprint across the club, bound for Eddie’s supply closet. 

You can do this.

They’re going to be okay.

*** At the power grid, Volt sits next to Eddie, his own back to the wall, arms resting on his drawn up knees. Both of them stare at the same spot on the blank wall ahead of them. 

Volt breaks the silence. “You lied to me.”

“I did.” Eddie nods. “I’m sorry, Volt. Are…you angry with me? Of course you are. How could you not be.” 

“No, I’m not angry. Hurt, perhaps. But at this moment all I feel is…I’m so proud of you, Eddison. It’s never easy to ask for help. To trust someone to be your soft place to fall. Just as you were for her.”

Eddie chuffs a laugh, looking to the floor sheepishly. He lowers his voice. “Volt, I’m scared.”

“Truthfully, we all are. And understandably so.”

“I shouldn’t be putting her through this.”

“She’s made the choice to do it, Eddie. To her, you’re worth it.”

Eddie shakes his head, studying his bruised, callused hands. New scars have appeared along his arms, scars that resemble the strands of lighting he fought so hard to contain. 

Glancing around, he takes in this space. This paradoxical place where he is at his most powerful and yet his most vulnerable. In the time before Volt, this was where he could find peace and quiet. Recharge a little before another day of service and shows. As things got worse, it became the place where he could rage and sob. But no one heard him. Not until the night Volt careened into being borne on Eddie’s throat-searing scream. 

Twenty years ago.

That night, he’d come off stage wrung out. The shadows in the dark club enveloped him as he staggered backstage. The long hallway toward the power grid seemed to stretch in front of him. Vision blurring, twisting, he could only brace himself on the bricks and put one foot in front of the other. Once safely past the threshold of his sanctum, Eddie fell to his knees. The current coursing through him was one of inescapable pain. He felt trapped. Lost. Hopeless. And painfully, utterly alone. 

Shaking his head, he whispered to himself, “I can’t. It’s too much. Please….help.”

But there was no one to hear. No one to respond. Eddie tried to contain the screams building in his chest by grinding his teeth. Tears fell to the floor, the first drops of rain that herald a storm.

He felt like he was suffocating beneath the burden of his anguish. Eddie tore at his vest and shredded his shirt as if that would give him what he needed. But his breath wouldn’t come, and a heavy weight settled on his back, shoving him further down to the floor. As the world constricted around him, he clawed at his chest, blackened fingertips gouging into his skin and drawing glowing blood. While it didn’t alleviate the strangling feeling, it relieved a sliver of Eddie’s agony. This was pain he could control. 

Eddie’s sobs turned into defiant, tormented screams until finally he wrenched open the steel panel on his chest, exposing the thick cable pulsing with his life. The problem lingered inside, shriveled and useless. Never enough. He gave everything and more but it wasn’t enough and it never would be. This tiny black filament bound him to this hell. 

‘I need to be more,’ he thought between sobs. 

The idea strikes him like lightning. Before he can change his mind, he reaches into himself, clutches the cable, and slowly pulls the glowing cord out of his body. Not too much, but just enough to grip it in both hands. He takes a breath for bravery. Then, with a throat-shredding scream, Eddie tears the cord in half. 

An endless column of brilliant light blasts from his body, lightning arcing across the room, crawling along the ceiling. Thunder rumbles, shaking the room, as the harsh snap of electricity rises to a deafening intensity. 

 In the darkness, the luminous pillar blazes like a fractured star. Eddie clenches against the light, fighting the scorching pain. He can’t see the miracle working above. Within the beam, silvery motes swirl around electric blue shapes. A torso. A hand, stretching into reality. A featureless face. Clothing forms around the limbs. 

The crescendo of Eddie’s howl reaches its peak as the separate cords seal themselves in a translucent, protective sheath. 

He falls to the floor, gasping. Limp. 

“It’s too much,” he murmurs deliriously. “I just–. I just…need help. Please.” 

Rolling onto his back, he continues to gulp for air. Eddie exhales a breath of blue-white light glittering with diamond-like sparks. 

“Eddison,” a voice says. It is low, smooth, soothing. A balm on his scorched soul. “Eddison, I’m here.”

When he opens his eyes, Eddie is nearly blinded by the figure before him. 

Tall, his stance is confident yet loose. His long limbs are graceful, like a dancer’s. While Eddie wears scuffed boots, this one wears polished shoes adorned with golden buckles shaped like stylized lightning bolts. A vest and shirt identical to Eddie’s. Over his broad shoulders–as if he hasn’t a care in the world –is a long coat heavy with surge protectors–exactly what Eddie needs. 

Protection.

“You’re not alone anymore,” the figure assures him. He kneels and gently places the split cable into Eddie's chest, sealing it safely away. “I’m here.” As the blue skin fades to a creamy flesh tone, his features come into focus. Plump lips. Cheekbones carved of marble. Pupilless eyes glowing with cyan light. His hair is white and made of sparking, crackling electricity. 

As Eddie, awestruck, attempts to push himself up to his knees, the figure stills him with a smooth, steady hand. 

“Rest,” he says. 

“I–I can’t. They need me.”

“I’m not here for them. What do you need?”

Eddie scoffs. “Help. I can’t do this by myself anymore. The others in the house need me. They need this place. And…the humans.” His voice becomes a resentful growl. “All they do is take. I’m not enough for them, and yet, they just…go on like I’m nothing. They’re careless! They leave me to work in empty rooms. They add something new every day, it seems. They have no idea what I do for them, or any of us in the house! They just flip a switch and expect me to be there, doing their bidding all hours of the day. Always on. Always running as fast as they need. It’s cruel! It’s endless. And then I’m supposed to get on stage? I c-can’t be what they need. It’s all too much. I’m just…I’m so tired. I’m tired of not being enough.”

The figure smiles warmly and rests a gentle hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“I was born for the stage.” His laughter is low and melodious. “I’ll take care of the others in the house. They’ll want for nothing. As for the humans,” he says, that silken voice turning dark, “I will protect you from them. Eddison. There is nothing I cannot handle. You rest. Rest for as long as you need and not a moment less.”

On the floor, every last pulse of his energy ebbing away, he rolls onto his side and shivers. 

“Who…?”

“My name is Volt,” he says. With all of the flourish of a cavalier, Volt removes his coat in a swirl of fabric. “And you are my charge.”

The heavy coat drapes over Eddie’s form, its weight a comfort. 

“Don’t worry. Rest,” Volt repeats. “I’ll keep the light on.”

*** 

“You’re not alone,” Volt says, voice gently interrupting Eddie’s thoughts. “I’m glad to know that no matter what happens, you won’t be alone.”

“What if..?” Eddie stops.

I don’t want to say it. What if  I say it and it becomes real? 

With a resigned sigh, he continues. “She could do everything perfectly and this could still go horrendously wrong.”

“It could,” Volt admits. 

Volt has been clutching tightly to some of his charm and bravado. Wouldn’t want to worry his live wire, of course. He leans his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes. Intrusive thoughts arc in his mind, wondering what it might be like if he, as Eddie fears, were to disappear in a blink. Would Volt return to being a facet of Eddie’s personality, reintegrated? Or would he simply…end? Snuffed out as easily as a candle. Volt doesn’t want to leave any more than Eddie does. There are so many experiences to be had, more patrons to thrill. Dances to be danced. Adventures with the human that he cannot possibly predict. 

And Eddie needs to be there to share them.  

“I can’t lose you, either, Eddison,” Volt says. “My first and dearest friend. My charge.”

“I…” he chokes on his words. “I can’t begin to thank you for what you’ve done for me. You’re more than a means to an end. More than a fix. I hope you know that. I don’t just need you, I–I want you here. You’re just as precious to me as she is.”

Tears well up in Volt’s luminous eyes, glittering like diamonds on his lashes. “I know. But it is nice to hear you say it.”

“And, earlier…dancing with her. I don’t know how you did that, but regardless, it was…” Eddie smiles. “It was incredible.”

With a smile that is both catlike and caring, Volt nudges Eddie’s elbow. “You didn’t seem to need any of my help with the more enticing parts of the experience.”

Eddie's face burns with embarrassment. 

“She is rather fond of you,” Volt adds.

“Everyone’s got their flaws.”

As she draws nearer, I notice my beloved human’s eyes; puffy, pink and glassy. Even Sinclaire–divorced from reality as he is–would take note of her exhaustion and sorrow. When she puts on the Dateviators, I draw an eager breath. She slides a hip on Abel’s edge, and licks her fingertips before slowly tracing down my labrum, sending shocks of pleasure from capital to knop. Arousal quickly turns to apprehension as I see past the rose-tinted glasses and comprehend the heartbreak in her hollow gaze. 

And then, she comes to me, into my pewter palace, my domain of delicious depravity. 

“So, you wanna fuck,” I ask, flashing her favorite cheeky grin.

She looks from side to side, searching the rooms for potential voyeurs–other than me, of course. Does she want to be watched or is she seeking privacy with her clandestine candlestick? Before my own eyes I see her sad smile spread into a lascivious leer. 

Performance it is, then.

My esteem rises.  

“I might have a better idea,” she says. 

“A better idea than fucking you?” I lean against the table and cross my arms over my ruffled chest. “I’m listening.”

Bringing that smile to my ear, she covers her mouth, grazing my waxen locks as she does. Her breath tantalizes me, sending shivers through every nerve.

“Act like I just said the most lurid, sexually deviant thing you’ve heard in your entire life.”

She pulls away from me, biting her lip, and popping her eyebrows as if daring me to join her on some randy rendezvous. I slip into the garrulous gaiety of my silk-tongued self. “Oh, you tempting tart. Do go on.”

 Again, she whispers into my ear. “I need you to come with me upstairs to the electrical closet.”

I am positively tumescent as I ponder the titillating possibilities. I tuck her hair behind her ear, my breath light against her skin. When she shudders, I let my own voice do the talking. It is her favorite, after all.

“Do I finally get to watch Eddie and Volt wreck you six ways from a month of Sundays?”

“That’s…definitely not happening. Kinda the opposite.”

I step back and pout. “Shit.”

Our conversation continues in a series of hushed mutterings. 

“I’ll explain when we get there. I need two things from you. I need you to act like we’re so horny we’re about to lose our damn minds. You can’t keep your hands off me. Like you need to fuck me crosseyed in the closet. Got it? Anyway, keep it convincing.”

“You know I don’t have to pretend any of that, right?”

She caresses my face. “I know, love.” 

The smile in her voice is enough to set my wick alight. And when she calls me love, I glow with golden bliss. 

“And the other thing…?”

Her act almost falters. After a blink, however, the seductress mask returns as she grinds on my thigh. Her words are barely audible. “We’ll be in the closet. In the dark.” 

Heels clicking, I step back then capture her gaze. As I stroke my fingers down her cheek, my thumb grazes the dry, salty tracks made by her tears. My affection is, as always, genuine. Beneath the surface, however, my wax boils.

My relationship with the human is, by far, the most meaningful connection I’ve ever known. Though I’ve had the pleasure of her lips, she and I share a much sweeter sacrament than sex. An intimacy so decadent it is spent holding one another while traumas and secrets are laid as bare as our skin. One of the ghost stories shared while in my arms described a fucking taintsmear who doesn’t deserve to breathe. He is why…well. He is why.

I lean in once more, and whisper, “Anything for my flame.” 

I feel her shoulders release some of their tension as her relieved sigh breaks across my cheek. She nibbles my earlobe, then pulls away, blushing. Drawing her nimble digits down my chest, she leers at me, hooks her fingers around my waistcoat and tugs me into a tender yet tawdry kiss. 

“On your mark,” she says. “Get set.” 

Before she can exhale the last syllable, I pull her into my arms, cup her head and say everything that matters as I crush my lips to hers. Her succulent moan melts in my mouth while she softens into my hands. I rock against her hips then gently guide her to the nearest wall. When she grinds against me, I know this isn’t a performance. Every little noise is for me. Her hand carving into the back of my neck is a vow. 

When we come up for air, her eyes glitter behind those magnificent lenses. Breathless, she says, “That’s cheating.”

I brace against the wall with one arm and touch my forehead to hers. Leering down at her, I say, “Just wanted to give you a head start.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. We both know it’s not about the kiss. 

Our trip upstairs takes many detours.Various points along the hallway; near the office, against the bay window, beneath Arma. The latter was quite brief due to my wick’s proximity to the alarm. My human surprises me when she grips my coat and slams me into Front Dorian.

“Get off!” Dorian stammers. “I mean, don’t–not yet. Could you two fondle in a place a little less…me?”

She tilts her head as if going for my neck, or to whisper salacious nothings. Instead, she whispers to Dorian. “Meet us upstairs. Electrical closet. Clear out those you can, I’ll get the rest.”

Dorian tenses behind me and I can feel the heat of his blush. If we stay here much longer, I’ll start to melt.

“Wh–we don’t…”

“Dorian, trust me. Just get up there.”

She yanks me away from the excitable exit, and we begin our frenzied dance up the stairs and around the corner where Dorian stands open. Lux, Beau and Shelley scarper off downstairs as Tony resists.

“Ehhha, why’s everybody godda leave the closet? I’m mindin’ my own business over here.”

I take that as my queue to make things both uncomfortable and perfectly clear. I press her to the wall beside the closet and groan as I grind into her. When I squeeze her ass, she lets out a surprised yelp that might be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Throwing her arms around my neck, her fingers slide up into my hair.

Glittering eyes on mine, she exhales, “Hurry.”

“Ooohh, I get it,” Tony says. “Ol’ Ton’s workshop paid off.”

I wave him off in the international sign for, Get the fuck out of here, don’t you see I have a resplendent woman to rail in that closet?

To Dorian, Tony says, “All you had to do was tell me and I’da left no problem. Though, it isn’t a bad view. You get what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Piss off,” Dorian hisses.

With the closet clear, I begrudgingly tear my lips from hers when she gently pushes against my chest. Her stare is sultry, intoxicating. Fleeting. She backs into the closet, leading me by the hand. 

I know she chose the venue. She asked to keep the closet dark. She requested this. Nevertheless, I feel a cold loathing seep through me. For the fuckstick who made her afraid, and for myself as I eagerly push her against the nearest flat surface and shut the door behind me. 

The second the lock engages, she grips my arm in a tight claw. Breathless, her voice trembling, she says, “Jon. Light please.”

As the wick atop my head blooms with a soft amber glow, I steer her toward the door, and place her hand on the cool surface of the knob.

"If you need to leave,” I whisper.

I put an arm out, offering my closeness to help her through this but only if she wants it. She tucks herself against my chest and I rest my hand on her waist. My touch is heavy enough for her to feel its comfort, yet light enough to remain unthreatening. 

Already sweating with anxiety, she presses one palm presses against my back. The opposite hand clings to my waistcoat. I feel her shaking–both from our interrupted improvised interlude and the fear rising in her belly.

“Okay,” she says. “We need to make this quick.”

"Are you alright,” Dorian asks. “When you left earlier…”

“Yeah, that’s part of why I’m here. I need both of you to make sure no one in the house knows I was with Eddie the past few days. Specifically, I need you to make sure Volt doesn’t know.” 

My eyes drift to the circuit box on the wall. Confusion and curiosity war for my attention. Over the top of her head, I meet Dorian’s squinting eyes. He’s just as dumbfounded as I, but his mental gears whir. His eyes are dark slits in my tremulous light. 

“Did Watts harm you?”

Wait. Watts?

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that Eddie loathes any socializing almost as much as he hates the human. Why would they be spending time together? Dorian’s protective ire is contagious. I tighten my hold on my lovely flame.

“No. No, he didn’t..”

It’s difficult to see through the Dateviators in dimlit closet, but when her head tilts down, it’s clear she’s looking anywhere but at us. 

“Then tell me why you left in such a state.”

“What state,” I ask.

“Are you going to tell him or shall I?”

She sighs. “Can we skip this part for later, please? I can’t do this for long, alright? Words were said. Some of them sucked. That’s it. Can we move on?”

Moments stretch as Dorian ponders her words. Then, “What do you require of me?”

“If anyone starts talking about me being in here or with him the past two days, you squash it. Especially those who live in here. And if anyone asks you about it, the story is that Jon and I have been coming up here for a bit of private time.”

“Emphasis on the coming,” I add. It earns me a playful swat to the chest. But that’s part of why I’m here; to keep her out of her own head. Laughing, not crying.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “And just how do you suppose I convince them of that?”

“Well,” she answers, “most of the house just saw us enthusiastically making out and at least 10 things saw us get in here. Which is where you come in.” She looks up at me. “Keep an ear out. If you hear any rumblings, you–.”

“Spin the narrative?”

“Exactly. If either of you hears anything about me and Eddie, you end it.”

My esteem–not a euphemism this time–only grows. Clever girl. It’s a simple request, and I’d melt myself into crayons for her if she asked. But I can’t help but wonder why the charade is necessary in the first place.

She lets out a long breath. She’s starting to shake. “So, can you do this for me?” 

“You have my word,” I tell her, sealing the promise with a kiss on the top of her head. 

Dorian studies her a moment longer. “Who are you protecting? One of them? Or yourself?”

“Dorian, please, I just–.”

“I’ll do it. But the question remains. You’re under no obligation to answer me now or ever. But I would like to make sure you’ve been safe while in his care.”

“Neither of them has laid a hand on me that wasn’t invited,” she assures us.

I believe her. And I have so many questions, most of which revolve around these invited hands.

“Okay,” she says. After mussing up her hair, she tears open my waistcoat and yanks my shirt out of my breeches.

Despite the palpable need in her actions, this desperation has nothing to do with me. Regardless, my wick flickers as a chill skitters up my spine. This isn’t our normal fare, but damn if it isn’t delicious. 

“I need to get the fuck out of this closet,” she says firmly. “Jon, you know what we need to do.”

“Take this to your room where I can help you relax and maybe even get some sleep?”

She nods, then lets out a long sigh. Eyes sparkling with my fire, she looks between the two of us. Voice barely audible, she whispers, “Thank you both. I love you guys.” 

Dorian’s blush reaches up past his hairline. “Ahem. I–erm. Thank you. I love you too, dear friend.”

“Alright, Jon. Let’s bust out of here so you can throw me up against the wall and act like you mean it.”

I grin at Dorian. “It’s a very hard job.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dorian swings open. “Go on then.”

Hands firm on her hips, I give her a supportive squeeze. 

“Sorry in advance, Dorian,” I say.

“What fo–”

Then I kick Dorian in the shins. With a loud groan, he swings wide open and I push her into the brightly lit hall. I don’t bother with the act, regardless of her earlier command. Instead, when I press her to the wall I take a half step back and lift both of her hands to my lips. She is the object of my devotion, my flame. And she’s hurting. Cupping her face, I kiss her tenderly. What escapes her is a whimper of relief. I search her eyes and only see an ember of my flame. She’s receded somewhere in her mind. 

With a trembling whisper, I ask, “Can I take you to bed?” 

Clutching my shirt as if it is her only tether to this world, she nods. “Please?”

As the door to her bedroom closes behind us, the act drops along with her composure. She crumbles into my arms and cries quietly. I hold her shaking body against me, occasionally stroking her hair, dabbing her cheeks or giving her chaste kisses on the forehead. Eventually, she allows me to get her into bed where she falls asleep to the lullaby of my heart. 

***

After the closet goes silent, he slumps against the heavy steel door clutching his scarred chest.

He’d heard her conversation. Every word, spoken and not. 

And he has no idea how he’s supposed to feel. Feelings are a drain, right? A distraction. And none more so than those he holds–has always held–for the human. It’s strange for electricity to carry a torch, but where she’s concerned…well, she defies all logic.  

Morose, limbs leaden, he trudges across the club and sits in his favored stool where his regular cocktail goes untouched. Melting ice dilutes the amber whiskey sour and a pool of water gathers on the bar beneath. Meanwhile, Eddie's mind can only spin on whys, what ifs, and winter nights.

Chapter 12 — Chapter 14

Masterlist

While you know the offending floorboard was only an accessory to your murder by humiliation, you're not sure you want Eddie to know the actual reason you took a dive off the ladder. Just the thought of telling him about your seizures is enough to twist your stomach into pretzels. 

You had figured these days with him would be awkward, or that you’d have to deal with his irascible side chastising you for any perceived sleight. But, that wasn’t what had happened at all. With his dark, dry humor and a mutual love of sarcasm, the banter between you has been delicious. Though he tries to hide it beneath icy growls, Eddie is capable of great patience, even kindness. 

In addition to that ever-present feeling of familiarity is empathy. The pain in him–physical and otherwise–the broken pieces, the isolation…it all rhymes with your own. There’s comfort in that, despite Eddie’s tendencies toward assholism. You legitimately enjoy his company, even if you’re just alone together. 

Telling him about your epilepsy, though? That could ruin all of this. You can’t imagine him being anything other than pissed off if he found out you fell because your brain is fucked up. Something you’ve known about this whole time that could’ve put both of you in danger. It’s not far-fetched to think he’d just ban you outright.  

You’ll tell him. Just…another time. 

Eventually.

While Eddie rips up the old wood, you kneel beside Eddie with the new floorboard in hand. The wood is brighter in contrast to the dark, aging floor.

Prying the nails free, he grumbles. “I see a possible paint job in my future. Volt will probably want everything to match.”

“Assuming he notices.”

Eddie scoffs. “Oh, he’ll notice. He’s big on presentation. Making sure that everything looks good even if there are some cracks here and there. Part of maintaining the whole pinnacle of luxury and entertainment spiel.”

“Aw, you didn’t even try to do the accent.”

“I don’t think anyone would appreciate that,” he says. This is the second time you’ve caught him smiling. Not smirking. Not being sarcastic. Genuinely smiling.

See here, the Eddicus Whatsits in his natural habitat. These asocial creatures smile only when certain conditions are met exactly. Truly a rare find. We will leave Eddicus to continue his work, unspooked and cheeks pink with a grin.

He steadies the new floorboard as you hammer fresh nails into one side, then you swap jobs. As he lines up the nails, a few wiry strands of hair fall, obscuring his features. Before you can work up the courage to slip it back, he straightens his spine and tosses his hair. With his lips slightly parted, his eyes dark and lashes low, a different kind of electricity skitters under your skin. . 

Shit. Why does he have to be hot, too? If it becomes an issue, I don’t want to have to choose between him and Volt. That would be a damn tragedy. I mean, it’s unlikely because Eddie finds you annoying as hell. But…if…just ponder the tasty, tasty  if. 

“You okay?” Eddie’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you jerk back to reality, blushing. 

“Hmm?” Looking at you askance, he repeats himself. “You look like you kinda left there for a second.”

“Sorry. Guess I zoned out.”

Try as you might to school your features, you can’t help the little grin creeping into your expression. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Looking down to the floorboard you add, “I know it’s not matchy matchy–and you said Volt will probably be unhappy about it–but I actually like that it stands out. It’s a little patchwork made while doing a little patch work.”

“For fucksake,” he says with a shake of his tousled hair. 

“What did I do now?”

When he looks up at you, you’re surprised. Though you can’t quite pin down what the expression is, exactly, it is neither anger nor frustration. 

“Is there anything you can’t spin into a positive,” he asks.

 As you throw your head back, your throaty laughter fills the club. “Oh you sweet summer child.” 

“I’m serious. You seem to find something good in everything.” Eddie wonders if he’s one of those things. “It’d be annoying if it wasn’t genuine.”

You study the wood grain for a moment. “I have to.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“You know the phrase, ‘if I don’t laugh I’ll cry?’” He nods. “It’s that. If I can’t find at least a pinprick of light in the darkness, it’ll just swallow me up again.”

 Shit. I didn’t mean to say that last word. 

Eddie nods, a blink lasting just a bit too long. He places the next nail carefully, jaw flexing as if he is holding something back. “So everything is good until proven otherwise?”

“It’s something I’m working on,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s that very line of thinking that kept me in relationships with toxic fucksticks.”

“Hey, you’re already making progress. Look at your relationship with tiny screws.” Eddie’s titanium eyes glance up at you, teasing.

You grumble through your teeth. “Those little assholes are evil.”

“Maybe it’s a you problem.”

“Look, I can screw with the best of them, but in some cases size matters is all I’m saying.”

Like crimson neon, Eddie glows from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. And it’s cute as hell. Flustered, he becomes very interested in the recently-hammered nails. “What about you?”

Eyes wide, deathly still, his Adam’s apple bobs with a tight swallow. “What about me?”

“You’re the one who says there’s a fix for everything,” you say. “Doesn’t that mean you have to see something is worth fixing in the first place?”

*** Well shit.

Eddie’s mind screeches to a halt. He has no answer, no witty deflection. No self-deprecating retort. Even though he can feel her eyes on him, waiting, he doesn’t answer. He just checks the floorboard to make sure it’s sturdy. Once he’s certain she won’t die on it, Eddie spins the hammer in his fingers and slides it into his belt. 

“So, next on the list,” he says, pushing up from the floor, “a few tiles got knocked off the wall. Those need to be replaced.”

“Someone get feisty on you guys?”

He shakes his head. Though he tries to keep the shame from his voice, there’s still a hint of it in his words. “One of the surges rattled a few loose. Next night, another surge, and they fell and broke. I thought about talking to Daisuke about fixing them up, but we’ve got a stash of extras in the back.

“Behind door number two,” he continues, “we have a leaky tap at the bar. Or there’s still a bit left with the sound system. Where should we start?”

*** You choose the tiles strictly for the sensory joy. Not only do you get to fixate on the mosaics and wall art, you get to do so while handling slick, glossy tiles with a pleasant heft. 

As with the wire work the previous day, Eddie walks you through the process a couple of times before he leaves you to it and moves farther along the wall where he begins taking care of the tiles that require the ladder. While neither of you has said anything, you decide to make it a game to meet him in the middle. Like Lady and the Lamp, only with grout. For about ten minutes you thought you had a fighting chance. But seeing how quickly Eddie goes about the task when he’s not trying to teach, you realize just how good he is at what he does. He has no idea you’re watching him, but you catch a glimpse of a man not doing chores, but one with well-honed skills who truly enjoys his work. I wonder what that’s like. Regardless, it looks good on him.

*** Atop the ladder, Eddie works within a meditative fugue. The rhythm of his work is etched into muscle memory. While his body remembers for him, Eddie’s mind is free to wander. And of course it wanders only as far as the distance between himself and the human. What she said about darkness, toxic relationships…he knows. Not just from his own experiences, but from what he’s seen of hers. When he looks over to her, she’s focused on the work, but there’s something loose in her shoulders. She sways a little, humming to herself. Eddie sees a stray lock of hair and his fingers instinctively make a motion as if to brush it away. 

He’s almost ashamed of it, but he’s had a fixation with her hair since the day she moved in. The first time he saw her. 

15+ years ago

It was springtime: literally and figuratively. From various outlets in the house, Eddie could hear birdsong, windchimes, and the bustle of humans and things alike. He was needed again for the first time in months. Luke and Telly plugged into the grid. Winnifred woke up, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. And though he stayed clear of River, Eddie recognized her bubbling laughter as she moved from kitchen to bathroom, to backyard hose. In the attic, Hector shuddered to life, his fan whirring a steady current of air through the house. In the Breaker Box, Eddie was pleasantly busy, but that didn’t erase his curiosity. Each time he peered through an outlet, he saw multiple humans carrying boxes and furniture through Front Dorian. Koa, Shelley, Dasha. All of them beaming with excitement, greeting one another as well as those who called the house their permanent home. 

As they worked, the humans’ clothes became smudged with dirt and dust. Water bottles were tossed into Cam at an alarming rate. After a few hours, Eddie noticed there was one human who seemed to be in charge. The other humans called out her name most often, and she directed them here and there with the calm authority of an orchestra’s conductor.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s workload increased with each lamp, each phone charger, each appliance that plugged into his grid. With the constant movement and noise of things and humans bouncing from room to room, Eddie’s skin itched with anxiety. He’d have time later to get a peek at the human. So, overstimulated, he slipped back into the Breaker Box and kept to himself in the quiet dark.

It wasn’t long before he heard a voice calling from the landing. “Okay! Lamps are set in every room. Just yell up here when one goes out, okay?” A pause. “No, I’m checking the breakers. We’ll do switches next. Oh, and tell Cas to go ahead and order the pizzas. We’re almost done.” 

The human stepped into the electrical closet, leaving the door wide open. When she accessed the breaker box, Eddie came face to face with her for the first time. Tall with soft curves, smile lines, and a gleam in her eyes. Her cheeks flushed pink, and a few stray wisps of hair clung to the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Closing her eyes, she let out a breath as if it was the first one she’d been allowed all day. When she leaned against the wall beside him, he watched a satisfied grin cross her features. Another breath that almost sounded like laughter. Then she pushed off the wall and tugged at her drooping ponytail. As her dark hair spilled down over her shoulders in lush waves, Eddie became…transfixed. 

There weren’t trumpets or choruses with accompanying beams of heavenly light. But in that moment of seeing the new homeowner, something in Eddie shifted. Curiosity surged to keen interest and an easy sense of belonging. 

Belonging to her.

He hadn’t felt something like that in…well, he had no idea, really. It was before the previous homeowners. The two men who worked him relentlessly, draining him day and night to the point he shattered. The men who made the split necessary. Dave and Frankie or something like that. Eddie’s fists clenched and his jaw ticked just thinking about them, their selfish cruelty and carelessness. 

Please don’t be like them. I don’t think I could survive that. And if I can't, what happens to everyone in the house? What happens to Volt? To her?

The human’s fingertips grazed one of Eddie’s breakers, sending a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the power. 

“Alright, starting with the first one,” she called out. 

Before she could flip the switch, another human shoved into the closet behind her and locked his arms around her waist.  

With a high-pitched yelp, she jumped and broke the man’s hold on her. “Cas,” she hissed. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t touch my girlfriend?” 

Through gritted teeth she said, “Is that the word we’re using now? I thought you wanted space.”

He slid her hair off her neck and placed a trail of loud kisses up, over her jawline before his lips settled at her ear. “Come on, it’ll be fun. No one will have any idea. Assuming you can stay quiet for once.”

Eddie bristled, bluish light sparking over his clenched fists. 

“No, Cas.” She tried to shrug him off. “I want to get this finished so I can relax the rest of the night.”

“Why are we relaxing? With this whole house all to ourselves…?”

“Well some of us have been hauling sofas, beds and tables for the past six hours.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “I know. I know I said I’d be here. I wanted to be here with you all day. But someth–”

She finished the sentence with him. “Something came up at the last minute. Yeah.”

“Hey, I brought in the groceries with Saraf and Andy. Brought your clothes up AND! Arguably the most important item you own. That triangle you insist on keeping.”

“Shut up. It has sentimental value.”

He snorts. “What kind of sentimental value is there in a dinky metal triangle? Calling your dolls to dinner?  Playing in a mouse orchestra?”

“It matters,” she said flatly. “It was a gift from my Music Theory professor. We had this inside jo-.”

“All I’m saying is we’re already good and sweaty.” His hands and lips continued to roam. “Would be a shame to waste that big ol’ bathtub.”

“Making sure the breakers are labeled correctly is the last thing on my list for today,” she said, annoyed and exhausted. “Please, just…just let me finish this.”

Cas turned her away from the fusebox and guided her back to the wall. With one hand anchored to her hip, he reached out with the other to close the door behind him. “I’ll make damn sure you finish. Don’t you worry.”

As the closet began to dim, her voice switched from annoyed to jittery. 

“Cas, don’t you dare close that door. We’ve talked about this.”

Eddie’s current surged with anger. Get the fucking hint.

Cas pressed closer to her, the leer never leaving his face. Fingers still on the doorknob, Cas shushed her. “Babe, you don’t have to worry. It’s me, alright? Not him. I’m not like that other guy. It’s just me. If you’re shy, I’ll even lock the door so no one can just bust in on us.”

Her whole body tightened and her voice emerged with an edge. “Cas, so fucking help me, if you shut that door you’re going to lose a tooth. If you lock it, you lose a testicle. I am not kidding.”

Eddie smirked, pride exploding in his chest like a firework. But for this Casshole, he felt nothing but ice cold loathing. Just get a little closer to me, fucker. I dare you.

“Okay,” Cas said. When his hand slid from the knob onto her other hip, he left the door open, but only an inch or two. “I get it. You’re not adventurous. We’ll just have to have fun tonight when those chucklefucks downstairs take off.”

Her voice hitched almost imperceptibly. “You’re not staying the night,” she said definitively. “It’s my first night in my house. Mine.”

Cas slips his hands into the back pockets of her cut-offs. “What are you going to do all by your lonesome?”

“I’m going to enjoy my ‘big ol bathtub’ with a few candles, some Chopin nocturnes and a glass of that Riesling chilling in the fridge.” She grips his arms and tries to tug his hands away. “You can come by in a couple weeks.”

“A couple of weeks,” he protested. “Come on. Don’t make me wait that long.”

“I’m working next week. And, you know, unpacking my house.”

“But–.”

“And the week after that I’m out of town.” 

“Can I at least kiss you?”

“Did you forget you broke up with me?” 

“We didn’t break up,” he says. “It was more like a…change of status.”

She heaved a sigh. “Cas.” She pushed against his chest. “Just…please.”

Cas took a step back. “Fine.” “Thank you. Go order the pizzas like you said you would. And don’t forget to specify gluten-free on mine and Leigh’s.” 

She turned away from Cas, attention on the fusebox. So she couldn’t see the wolfish grin on Cas’ face or his fingers lingering on the doorknob, thumb slipping toward the lock. Eddie, on the other hand….

FZZT! A sudden pop of electricity lanced out of the breaker box, passed the human, and shocked Cas in the shoulder. 

“OW! What the fuck?”

She said no, asshole. 

Cas jerked away, back pushing the closet door open. 

“Shit,” she hissed. But she didn’t turn to Cas. She went to Eddie. Her hands carefully moved over the cool metal of the fusebox.

“Some new house.”

“Cas, just fucking go downstairs, call in the order, and let me handle it.”

Still facing Eddie, her jaw tight, she closed her eyes. Behind her, Cas held up both hands. 

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

When Cas’ footsteps finally faded down the staircase, the human’s forehead fell against Eddie and she let out a long, shaking breath. 

“Keep it together, kid. Just keep it together,” she whispered to herself. 

Stepping back, she shares a fleeting smile with him and pats down his cold, metal side. “You, too, please. Let’s both just..keep it together. Oh…” she said abruptly. She checked over her shoulder, then leaned close. Though quiet, her voice carried a bit of mischief. Something conspiratorial. “Thanks for that.”

And that was when Eddie knew he was fucked. 

***

“Could you maybe teach Tony a few things? You’re way better at this stuff.”

Eddie rolls his head to look at you from beneath his lashes. “You are better at this stuff than he is.” Turning back to his task, he asks, “Did he try to sell you on his workshop yet?”

“Yyyyyup,” you say, popping the ‘p.’

“Tell me you didn’t sit through that.” 

Sucking in a breath through your teeth, you shrug and say nothing. 

“Aw shit,” Eddie groans, “you did.”

“Two parts pity, one part morbid curiosity.”

Eddie keeps his eyes on his work. “Oh yeah? Where did you go first? His con job or our show?”

“No one told me there was even a club up here let alone a show.”

“But someone told you about Tony’s bullshit 2-step program?”

As you fit a navy blue tile into place, you shake your head. “Nope. I had to go find him so I could screw Rainey.” 

He stops. Turns. And just blinks at you. “Phrasing?”

“I said what I said.” 

He stares. 

You stare back, daring him to speak while you stifle a laugh. 

“Having fun fucking with me,” he asks. 

“You’re practically an amusement park.”

He shakes his head and turns back to his grout. “You’re so infuriating. Why do I even let you in here?”

Giggling to yourself, you continue to the next step of your task. A question percolates in your head until you have to ask. “So, have you sat in on Tony’s spiel?”

“What?” He jerks back from the wall and whips his head to look at you. “No, why?”

“Weeeelll you know it exists in the first place…”

“That doesn’t–.”

“And you know it’s only two steps.”

“He only knows two numbers.” 

“And you are aware of just how bad it is. The case against you is pretty strong, Watts.” 

Heaving a sigh, he says, “You know that all of the things in this house talk, right? Like, a lot.”

“Much to my eternal embarrassment, I’m painfully aware of this.” 

It’s something you’re still trying to get used to. This idea that at any moment, you’re not alone. Something is there and nothing is entirely private. And all of them can talk about whatever whenever and you’d be none the wiser if you were the whoever in question. Any time you think about the years prior to the Dateviators, you wonder if they were just as present. If you were part of their roomer mill. 

I can only imagine what Scadalabra said about me in the past. 

Even the comment Volt made when you met sent anxiety skittering up and down your spine. A reputation around the house? Not exactly a comfort. 

“You don’t like the attention,” Eddie asks.

“Absolutely not. I prefer to remain unperceived. It’s honestly a little weird to think that when I go to bed there are at least a dozen things watching me–well, a lot of those are Dorian. It’s only a matter of time before I wake up to the Hanks shouting, ‘Sleep Homie!’ And then there’s Nightmare.” You shudder.

“Do you…” Eddie hesitates. “Do you see them often?”

Response sticking in your throat, you manage to croak out, “More than I’d like.”

He’s quiet, but this time you don’t take the silence personally. It’s strangely comfortable. 

As the tiles set, Eddie pulls up part of the floor to reveal a bank of circuits, switches and wires that comprise the club’s sound and lighting rig. There isn’t room for two down there, so for this one Eddie asks you to assist. Hold lights, pass tools, and the unspoken request: keep him company. You can’t help but notice he hasn’t left you alone today. Every task has been a tandem effort to one degree or another. 

So you sit on the floor and chat with him until he asks you for something.  

At one point you’re on your stomach holding out the flashlight at an odd angle. As he reaches for another bundle of cable, you snatch his scarred hand.

He inhales sharply, eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Hotspot,” you say, pointing to a small piece of sharp metal jutting out. 

Eddie’s eyes land not on the hotspot, but your fingers on his scars. As you draw away, you see a slight tremor in his hand.

“Don’t hurt yourself, sensei.”

He responds with his sideways grin. “Thanks.”

Before you know it, the floor panel is secured and you’re on the final task: the leaky tap. ***

Eddie guides her through most of the work. It’s heartening to see how quickly she picks up the techniques and concepts he’s throwing at her. The electrical work, the floorboard, some grout work and now replacing a gasket and a corroded line beneath the bar. As he watches her crack her knuckles, stretch and massage her hands or dab sweat out of her eyes, he can see the fatigue catching up to her. But she hasn’t said a thing. Not a single complaint.

She actually likes this.

After she’s tightened the tap as much as she can, Eddie grips the wrench and gives it another few turns to get that perfect seal. 

“FUCK!”

The wrench falls to the floor with a bang loud enough for the human to gasp and jump. “Shit, are you okay?”

Eddie’s hand is frozen in a twisted claw. “I’m fine,” he snaps. 

“Bull. Shit.” 

He rocks back, getting off his knees and sitting on the floor behind the bar. “It’s just a cramp. It’ll be gone in a minute.” 

Eddie’s optimism is short-lived. As he tries to open his hand, it clamps tighter and he lets out an angry groan. 

She stands up, searches for something on the bartop and returns with the cold remains of his Irish coffee. 

“Here,” she says, placing the mug in his off hand. “I made this for you. Merry Blissmas or something.”

“What are you doing, exactly?”

Sitting down across from him, she folds her long legs. “You can't argue if  you're drinking, so cheers. Feel free to take your time.”

Eddie chuckles, then rolls his eyes. “Have I told you lately that you’re infuriating?”

“You love it,” she says. 

Eddie’s cheeks burn as he nearly chokes on his drink. 

After vigorously rubbing her hands together to generate heat, she orders him, “Hand. Now.”

He stretches out his stony hand. 

 “Thank you,” she says. 

As she takes it and turns it palm up, he sucks in a breath and twitches.

“Am I hurting you?”

It takes him a second to answer. “No.”

Gently, her thumbs press slow, deep circles at the base of each finger. Her touch is warm, considerate, never lingering too long in one spot, being mindful of his healing cuts and yellowed bruises. 

“Please tell me if it gets too hard. The pressure, I mean.” 

“It's fine.” Eddie sips at the cold coffee and looks anywhere but at her. 

“It's just…been a while, I guess.” 

“Since?”

With her eyes trained on his hand, she can’t see the sadness that slips over his features. “Lots of things, honestly.”

“Like being touched?” Her voice is soft and sincere. 

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Eddie notices that she’s not just focused on the impromptu massage, but she actively avoids his stare.

When she replies, her voice is small, tight. “Same.”

Eddie scoffs. “From what I've heard around the house, I find that exceedingly hard to believe.”

She shrugs. “Like I said earlier. I’d rather not know what the household says. But, believe what you want.”

While the human kneads into his palm, Eddie watches quietly. There are echoes of dark circles under her tired eyes.

Wonder if she’s having nightmares again. 

As the memory of a cold winter night floats into his mind, he quickly shoves the thoughts away. He can’t think about it. Not with her here in front of him, touching him. 

The tendons in her hand undulate beneath her soft skin. Nervously, he says, “This probably hurts you more than it helps me, you know? My hands are pretty rough. Yours are…well…not. That can't feel good for you.” “Hush.”

“Don’t hush me. Your hands were giving you shit earlier.”

She looks up, brow knitted. “I didn’t say–.”

“You didn’t have to. Pain recognizes pain.”

They share a long look that should be awkward, or too much. But he feels something shift. Her shoulders relax and she returns her focus to Eddie’s hand.

“So, anyway,” he continues, “all I’m saying is I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stop.”

She places her hands on her knees. When she speaks, her tone is sincere and oddly soothing. “Eddie, if you'd rather I stop, I will. No question. But, if you’re just saying that because you think I want an exit ramp, I’d like to kindly point out that you, sir, are not the boss of me. So, am I stopping?” “You. Are. Infuriating.”

“Gonna need a clearer form of consent. Do I need to stop? Yes. Or–?”

“No. No, you don't have to stop.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You sure?”

He nods. “Yeah. I’m sure.” 

Once again, she presses her thumbs into his palms. 

“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly. 

“No problem.”

Closing his eyes, he lets his head fall back against the counter behind the bar. As her ministrations work deeper into the base of his thumb, a rogue moan escapes Eddie.

“You doing ok,” she asks.

“Annoyingly so.” He pops open one eye and looks down to her. “Where did you learn this?” “It's a gift, really.” After Eddie gives her an incredulous sideeye, she elaborates. “In the long long ago, I was a musician. Hand cramps and back aches were an occupational hazard. And in an ensemble you tend to help each other out. So I kinda became the go-to masseuse for the others. Hand cramp? Screaming spine? Neck fucked? They came to me.”

“Was there someone to take care of you?”

She answers with a lazy shrug. “Sad to say, though, I'm a little rusty.” He’s glad she can’t see his jaw drop. “This is rusty?” “Back in my prime you would’ve been a stuttering puddle of duh oozing through the floorboards.”

“Sorry I missed that.”

“My back rubs were even better.”

Hot tingles zap through his body as he allows himself a second to imagine what that would be like, her hands sliding over his body, soothing away his aches.

If she wasn’t hung up on Volt…

Spreading his palm flat, the human drags her thumbs down with harder pressure. From the heel of his hand to the tips of his fingers, warmth works its way through the tight muscles. Just when he thinks she’s finished, she turns his palm to face her then slides her fingers through Eddie’s and spreads them apart. With a gentle hold on his hand, she rolls his wrist in lazy circles. His fingertips hesitantly graze her knuckles with an almost imperceptible squeeze. 

Flowing from one area to another, the human works his hand like clay, transforming the muscles from steel to honey. Eddie closes his eyes again, shoulders falling with half a sigh. When he opens them he sees a small, secret smile on her face. And, for the first time today...sparks. They flutter up from the side of her head, like luminous bubbles in a glass of champagne. “Okay,” he says, “I’ve gotta ask. What the fuck is up with the sparks?” Eyebrow raised, she studies him, searching his expression to discern what the fuck he is talking about. “...Sparks,” she repeats, incredulous. “Volt mentioned it after you showed up the first time. I assumed he was being dramatic–.”

“Valid assumption.”

“–but, I've seen it the past couple of days.”

“I have no clue what you're talking about.” 

“So, one side of your head just randomly fires off surges of electrical energy and you’re oblivious to it? That’s what you’re telling me.”

Silence. A shake of the head.

“It gets all blue and glowy. You don’t see it?”

Her face screws up in an apologetic grimace.  

“Seriously? Nothing? It happened just a couple of minutes ago. And yesterday. Before and after you tried to kiss the floorboard.”

***

Well shit.

Turning Eddie’s hand over, you knead his wrist.  

You know exactly what he’s talking about. You just had no idea he could see it.

I should’ve thought of that. Why wouldn't electricity be able to sense the electricity in my fucked up brain? Goddammit.

Unable to look at him, you sheepishly ask, “Always in the same place?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It's always… right…um…” 

Hesitantly, Eddie slips his hand away, bringing it to a spot just above and behind your left ear. “It’s here.”

When his fingers brush against your hair and something shifts. You shiver. Eddie goes rigid, holding his breath as if waiting for your reaction. A thick tension looms over you both. Storm clouds aching to burst. You both felt it. He lowers his hand and doesn't protest when you continue your task. 

“So,” he says. “Any clue?”

Once again, there are only two words in your mind.

Well shit. 

*** The longer she stays mute, the faster Eddie’s mind spins with anxiety.

She knows. She knows what it is, but clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Should I have kept my fucking mouth shut? Why did I have to touch her hair? Dammit.

She blows out a long breath, flapping her lips. “I have shitty wiring.”

Eddie blinks, dumbfounded. “Come again?”

“Simplest explanation: the electrical system in my body doesn’t work like it’s supposed to.”

Hesitantly, Eddie asks, “Could you elaborate?”

She still won’t look at me. 

“I have epilepsy. Means I have seizures which are, essentially, power surges in the brain pan. Mine are in the left temporal lobe.” She taps her head in the exact spot Eddie touched. “That's where I keep important things like language, memory, and certain emotional functions. Which gets even more fun when your memory is already fucked up thanks to your PTSD. Wheee!”

“How long has this been a thing for you?”

“Difficult to say exactly, but most of my life. And it’s here to stay. I take meds for it, but sometimes they pop up anyway. Of course, I don’t know when I have them until after–if I’m lucky.”

Eddie’s voice is quiet. “Does it hurt?”

“If I have seizures in my sleep, I wake up with a hellacious headache. Other than that, no. More embarrassing than anything.”   

“What…what do your power surges feel like?”

She still won’t look up, however, now it seems she’s deep in thought, trying to find the right words. She switches to his other hand. 

“You know that one is fine, right,” he says. 

Looking up, but not at him, she says wryly, “I believe it was a wise man who once said everything needs maintenance. Should stitch it on a pillow.”

Eddie doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile. “Guy sounds like an asshole.”

She tilts her head back and forth. “I thought so, too. But I’m not so sure at the moment.”

Fighting the urge to reach for her, Eddie instead wipes his free hand on his knee, letting his fingers make the motion of stroking her cheek. 

“Would you rather not talk about this,” he asks carefully. 

“Nah. You asked. And it is kinda important, I guess. It’s embarrassing sometimes, though. Especially if it–.”

Waiting for her to finish that sentence, Eddie holds his breath. 

“It just makes me feel stupid.”

“How so?”

“Well,” she sighs. “It sucks when you hear someone talking and find out later that you missed half of the conversation because of a seizure you didn’t know you were having. Or, when you’re trying to talk and suddenly you forget how to fucking talk properly. You just stammer or snap your fingers while searching for the simplest of words. Hell, big emotions, laughing or an org–well, even good things can make me short out. And my favorite,” she says sarcastically, “jamais vu. Like, deja vu is thinking you’ve lived a moment before–also a potential seizure, by the way, but who fucking knows, right? But jamais vu? In the middle of doing something you’ve done a hundred times it just flies away and you have no earthly clue what you’re supposed to do. I forgot my own damn phone number once.”

Eddie tries to imagine what it would be like to stop in the middle of mixing a drink and suddenly wonder what the shaker in his hand was for. “That sounds…wow, that sounds terrifying.”

“Now imagine it happens when you’re driving a car. Hypothetically,” she adds quickly.

Eddie’s eyes widen, his hand flexing around her fingers quickly. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” She lets out a weak laugh. 

 “Did that happen to you?”

“Due to the current laws here in Otisburg, I have to say no.”

Silent, Eddie absorbs all that she’s told him. All these years, he thought he knew her. He’d only seen her damn near every day. But he’s only seen a fraction of the human, who she is.

She chuckles, but it lacks verve. “You know what’s really funny? When my neurologist told me what was going on, he described it as bad wiring–which I’ve been saying for years. Said there’s this one spot in my head that just sits there sparking like a live wire. First time Volt called me that? Threw me for a sec.” 

Breath trapped in his lungs, Eddie feels his current jump and stutter. “Really?”

“Yup. Non-stop fun.”

“I question your definition of fun.” There’s a brief but comfortable silence, broken when Eddie suddenly realizes…“You didn’t hear me when I said to start behind the bar, did you?”

Slowly, she shakes her head. A pall of shame seems to settle over her shoulders. “Didn’t know that I didn’t hear it. Went to get the bulb that was making it far more likely I’d have a seizure.”

Eddie pulls his hand back and tilts her chin up. “Hold on–what?”

“Oh, fuck, right. Um…different things can trigger seizures. Sometimes it’s stuff like laughter or strong emotions, like I said earlier. There are other triggers, but the worst for me is strobing light. Not just like bulbs and stuff. Leaves through trees or lines on a sidewalk can do it if I’m going fast enough. That's why I hated going to clubs before I came here.”

His chest fills with a blooming pride that the Breaker Box was different for her. And yet, he curdles with guilt that he didn’t know about this. “You could’ve said something.”

“If I’d told you yesterday that I couldn’t hear you because my brain did a blip, would you’ve believed me? Or would you think I was trying to bail? Like I said, it makes me feel stupid. And frankly, a little useless sometimes.”

The words hit Eddie in the chest like a fucking truck. Despite how long she’s been here–in the house and in his club–he’d never grasped just how much they shared. 

She dusts off her hands and gets to her feet. “Good news, you'll live.”

He stands and shoves a shaky hand into his pocket. “Drink?”

“Seriously?” 

“I never joke about drinks. So, you want one? Unless,” he adds awkwardly, “you have something else you have to do.”

When she laughs, something in him relaxes. “Not at all. So, sure. I’ll take you up on that. Can I get a mocktail, though?”

“Whatever you want.” 

*** As Eddie makes drinks, your gaze sweeps around the room. There’s a warm sense of pride when you realize just how much you and Eddie have accomplished the past couple of days. It’s when your eyes land on the floorboard that your heart quickens. You smile softly. As often happens with seizures, you don’t recall much about what happened beyond its barest features: you fell, he caught you. 

Was that when things changed? When he went from an attractive asshole to an object of desire? Was it the warmth? That surprising closeness that just felt right? And when he touched your hair. The tingle you felt had nothing to do with anxiety or seizures.  

You clench under the strain of how you want to feel that again. The intimacy of his arms around you, protecting you. His hands touching you delicately. 

“Try this,” he says.

You jerk out of your thoughts and swivel on the stool to face him. 

Eddie passes you a drink, his fingers lingering beside yours before pulling his hand away. “Whiskey sour.”

It looks identical to the one Volt made for you. But as you take your first drink, you realize the flavors are more balanced. Tartness is tempered by the sugar, and the egg white gives the drink a silky texture.

You close your eyes and smile. “This is perfect.”

“It’s a gift, really,” he says, echoing your earlier comment.

Bringing the glass to your lips again, you pop your chin toward him. “Where’s yours?”

He gives you a wry smile. You can’t look away from the mischief in his stare.  “That,” he says, taking the glass from you, “is mine.” 

As he takes a sip, he retrieves a second drink from behind the bar and sits it in front of you. 

“Whiskey sour, minus the whiskey. Non-alcoholic bourbon is a good substitute. Some people use tea, but the flavors don’t always blend as well as they could.” 

You return the smile and enjoy your drink. This is something you haven’t seen in him. Sure, there has been fun banter and occasional teasing. However, this. It’s…playful. He’s enjoying himself, not just enduring your presence.