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Petsitting

The cats--cat-things--cat-thing--whatever they were in spite of how Taym privately thought of them--had gotten much bigger, and their weight and the unwieldy nature of the carrier made him glad that the trip to Peyton's door was a short one. He was burdened down with the tools of their care: the bag of candy, the brush, the information card from the labs and the handful of toys they manifestly had no interest in, although Taym wasn't sure if this was the cats being minipets or the cats being, well, cats.

He paused in front of Peyton's door, and absently scratched at one furry chin being pressed against the bars, and for a strange moment his upcoming departure almost (almost) seemed real.

He knocked.

Hierarchy

They'd fallen into the comfortable post-small-talk lull, not that they ever had much in the way of small-talk anyway, and Taym was not drinking this time (and not eating either, not that this was a change of pace), and so he was lying on the floor of Kostya's room, bouncing an ancient rubber ball (tripped over in the hallways, absently snuck into a pocket) off the wall.

He seemed bored; he seemed restless; he seemed, in short, like he very nearly always did. He was either feeling nothing particularly strongly about his impending deployment, or he was hiding it well. He was doing the thing he did, sometimes, when it was obvious that he was rooting around in his head for some question to ask, not because the silence was awkward or strained but simply because he found even comfortable silences distasteful, if they weren't filled up with alcohol or a book.

Petsitting

"Yeah. Just the one, whichever one of them goes for it--it's usually Quint--and they need to get out for an hour a day, but not more than an hour. Better to leave them cooped up than risk letting them out for more than that. They've already been out today." He said all this automatically, rattling it off the same way he used to rattle off a list of requests for the next time he did her laundry--sort this here, drop these there.

He paused to once again stroke a tiny nose through the bars, and then, awkwardly, he turned to extend Peyton a bony hand, almost businesslike, clearly uncertain of what to do or what to say.

She'd already known all this, they'd been over it before, a couple of times now, but it was easier to talk about the cats, than him leaving. That was a topic that both seemed equally reluctant to initiate, but this was it, he was really leaving, there was no more putting it off.

The knot in her throat grew, and she had to swallow it back before frowning down at that bony hand extended out oh-so politely. It made her blink, brows creasing, before she looked up again to peg him with a look that said clearly that he had to be kidding.

She took his hand, but only so she could give him a tug as she herself stepped in to wrap thin arms around him. "You're kind of an idiot sometimes, Obadiah Thompson." Her voice had that gentle thickness that meant emotions were high, but being kept at bay.

Face against his skeletal chest, she breathed him in, squeezing tightly, and finally let herself accept the fact that he was leaving, and would be gone for two months. "You come back, you here me?" There was no arguing with her tone. "Promise me."

If anything happened to him... She didn't finish the thought.

Attachment

She was still only partially dressed, laying in a boneless sprawl that curled to accommodate him, even his slow but inevitable need for space. Getting dressed was always a haphazard venture, it was a low priority that meant she put on what was nearest at hand, without thought for the order of things. It meant Taym had an odd sort of control in this, as he was always first up and the pace at which he handed them to her (or in the case of too many buttons, helped her back into them) dictated how long she could linger, how soon she should leave.

America watched him toy with her hand, and resisted the urge to wrap all her limbs around the man and soak up his everything until goodbye truly came along. She was greedy and unashamed of it, and her desires ran along the lines of take and take and take while this man had only so much he was willing to give. Being with Taym was a constant act of restraint, and she didn't do that for just anybody. It wasn't her nature and it wasn't her preference, but she couldn't say he wasn't worth the chafe of limitations. The laughter, surprising and happy, tended to make up for it. But that part had since past, leaving only a hand that would let go only to leave a distance that would not be bridged again soon, it ever.

He talked about his cats in lieu of goodbye and she smiled, voice and expression truly fond as she answered, "Well obviously, as they have good taste. Maybe you should write them little notes while you're away. I can read to them in your voice, I've gotten pretty good at it you know. Maybe smoke a cigarette too, so they know you haven't forgotten them, either."

Bros

Petsitting

She felt the tension singing through him and that was okay because it was normal. She held on as long as he allowed her, but didn't fight him when he drew her gently back and held her at arms length. It had been expected, not welcome, but expected, and she looked up at him with sad eyes as he ruffled her hair and tried to make light of the situation while trying to reassure her. It earned him a frown, one that hardened just a touch as he repeated himself and reiterated the length of time he would be gone.

He said two months like most people said next week. Like it was some small, insignificant stretch of time. It wasn't, and she let him now by unhappy eyes that he was still being an idiot.

But she did what he asked. She didn't try to close the distance between them again. Instead she reached up to the back of her neck, fiddled for a second or two, then came away with her fish necklace hanging between her hands. Transferring it to one, she reached out catch his fingers so she could turn his hand palm up. "No arguing," she insisted preemptively, narrowing her eyes up at him as she pulled the charm and the chain into his palm. "You give it back when you come home." She closed his bony fingers around it, pushing his hand back to him.

"That's your claim ticket for your cats. No necklace, no cats." She sounded serious, maybe even a little haughty, but it was better than the thick, heavy voice she'd spoken with a moment before.