undergrounds | wake up

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wake up

(1)

Kyle was new to the area. Hell, he was new to the country. As easy as it was to pick up the basics - public transit, prices, slang - he was having a harder time learning the small and intertwining streets in his neighborhood. He felt almost constantly lost, which made him almost constantly anxious about knowing his exits and whether he would ever find his damn AWOL C.O. he'd come to find in the first place.

It's one such night, disoriented on the way back to his shared flat from a quiet drink at a pub, that he stumbles into something he thought he left behind. Kyle knows what he's looking at the moment he sees it. The vampire feeding on the teenage boy who seems near unconsciousness.

"Hey!" He yells without thinking, waving his arms as if trying to chase a coyote off from a stray stash of food. The vampire, in a stroke of luck for Kyle or perhaps to keep his face hidden, decides to take off rather than engage in a conflict, dropping the now passed out boy into the street. Kyle runs over, ripping off his shirt to apply pressure to the wound on the kid's neck, then looking around for someone - anyone - nearby. "Hey, I could use some help here."

(2)

Post traumatic stress is never an easy thing. Although Kyle never receives full on hallucinations like a couple of his brothers had struggled with, the traumas continue to sneak up on him occasionally, clouding his judgment and ratcheting his anxiety into high gear. This time, it's in the middle of his run. He's not even sure if it was a scent or a sound that set him off. Maybe the combination. Whatever it is, it forces him to stop and focus, to breathe through it.

He takes a seat on the nearby bench, legs shoulder-width apart, forearms on his knees, eyes closed, head down to hide his face. His mandated counselor told him it was the most efficient breathing position. Now he uses it to relax, to try to force the body working against him to calm down and get back to the present with him. And he probably looks troubled, if not a little crazy, to the passersby, but that's rarely been a concern for him.

(3)

Vampires are real. Kyle learned about that some time ago, when Cooper came to his hospital room and gave him a reason to live and fight through the Fever. He'd been trained in that specialty, hunting, and it had been most of his tour in South Africa. What unnerved him was learning that they were everywhere. The problem wasn't contained to an area, as he'd been lead to believe, but the creatures sprawled in various corners of the world, thriving on the suffering and death of humans. So, yeah, he took it upon himself to do something about it.

Kyle has a split lip, a couple seriously bruised ribs, a swollen and bruised cheek, and some bloody scratches on both an arm and his neck from the fight. But you should see the other guy. The vampire lays dead on the ground, a broken pool cue shoved through his heart. All things considered, Kyle feels like he got off pretty well.

To the casual observer, it looks like a bar room brawl gone bad. Which is why, when he hears someone behind him, Kyle tenses and silently curses in his mind. The soldier lifts his hands to either side of him in a gesture of surrender, showing he's unarmed. "It's not what it looks like."

(4)

Hoping to settle in faster than the average, Kyle's out running errands throughout the day. He's picking up some new clothes, having arrived with only his backpack's worth of stuff, and groceries for the apartment. At the same time, he pops in to occasional shops to apply for jobs. Sweeper, clerk. Anything with decent pay at a local joint who will accept an American with a military background in a questionable economy.

[Feel free to bump into him shopping, or be in a shop when he asks for work, or anywhere in between. Fairly open.]

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There's definitely an innuendo there, but instead of acknowledging it in any way, Alex takes a long drink of water before going back to eating. He's undeniably attractive, but admitting that would be opening a can of worms she isn't ready to open.

The food really is good, and she clears half her plate in almost no time.

"Were you in Afghanistan?" She's curious about what happened to give him panic attacks, but she also doesn't want to pry. Hopefully that question will give him an opportunity to talk about it if he's willing, while also letting him avoid it if he'd rather talk about something else.

Kyle falters with the question, fork freezing halfway to his mouth. He lowers the bite back to the plate, pausing to look at her. It's not exactly something he's against talking about, but he's been trying to keep it light for her where possible and talking about his demons - the metaphorical kind, he won't talk about the literal ones - hardly seems like a way to do that.

"South Africa," he replies after the short silence. "Two tours. First was cut short when I got sick, which delayed the second. Total time abroad was a little under three years."

He eats some more food, not one to be put off his appetite by much of anything. He can thank the military for that too.

"I didn't mean--" she says quickly in response to the silence. She really hadn't meant to pry. "It's none of my business."

She goes back to eating, until finally most of her food is gone. She wants to tell him, maybe not the whole truth, but something. She gets it, she knows what it's like not to have a home to go back to, and to have those moments when she can't breathe or think or move because all she can see is fire. She doesn't really want to talk about it, but it's nice just knowing that he gets it too.

For a few moments, she just sits there quietly, watching her fork idly swirl a few bits of food around her plate.

"My parents died in a car crash when I was a kid. I was in the car too, and sometimes I get these... flashbacks. It's like, I know I'm not really back there, but it feels real." That's not even the whole lie, the one about the wolf in the road that made her dad swerve off the bridge, the wolf that bit her when she crawled out of the river. But it's the most she can tell him right now. And even though it's a lie, it feels good to say it to someone who might understand.

"It's okay," he reassures her, not wanting her to be afraid of asking him questions. On the other hand, he's not really sure he feels comfortable returning the favor, so he eats instead, enjoying the meal. He's just cleaned the entirety of his plate when she speaks again and he looks up to see her face.

He's surprised how much it upsets him to think of her trapped and her parents killed in what had to have been a terrifying wreck. Especially if she was a kid at the time. Although he empathizes way too much, Kyle's not quite able to bring himself to tell her about his own parents and the sister he abandoned. Instead, empathizes with the trauma in general.

"I know the type. I don't get the same flashbacks that some others in my unit do, but the fear and the pain.. I don't know if that ever goes away. It never did for me." He takes a sip of his water. "It doesn't matter, you know? It sucks, but it shouldn't stop you from doing what you want to do."

Edited (typo) 2016-02-07 22:28 (UTC)

For a second she just watches him, until her face relaxes into a small, sad smile and she nods. It only takes a few seconds to finish the rest of her food, and she drops her fork and leans back in her chair.

"Thanks. For everything." She means the cooking lesson, but also for listening to her story, fake as it is, and for understanding what she went through.

"Uh, you're the one who cooked for me," he replies with a bewildered expression, as if she couldn't possibly have any valid reason to thank him. He gets it, of course, knows how important it is to feel heard, validated, and not alone when dealing with shit like that. Which is why his expression shifts into a genuine smile and he says simply, "You're welcome."

Kyle stands, grabbing both plates to put in the sink. Then he walks back and sits down again, wrapping both hands around his water glass as he thinks. "Next week, you need to come for breakfast. I can teach you how to make eggs, we can eat bacon.."

"I'm the one who burned you, remember?" She points to the pink spot on his hand. But she smiles genuinely back at him, suddenly grateful for whatever stroke of luck made him sit down on her bench.

"I'll bring the orange juice," she says by way of agreement. He took the time to go with her to the store to buy the orange juice, she can at least let him have some of it.

"Thanks for reminding me." He flashes her a winning smile, holding up his hand again. It's really not bad at all, though it might not hurt to ice it later. Very dramatically, he adds in an intentionally dark voice, "I think I'll live."

The facade disappears immediately back to the smile as he downs the rest of his water. Alex has a strange ability to make things easy while being just difficult enough to keep his interest. It's not a trait he's proud of, but Kyle has developed something of a difficulty in readjusting to the mundane day-to-day. Mostly because he doesn't remember what it's like.

"Good. Saves me buying a lemon." Another smile as he casts a short glance to her water. "Ready for dessert?"

Alex can't help grinning at his overly dramatic diagnosis. It's easy to slide back into joking with him after being serious, and while she's glad she can be serious with him, she's equally glad that she doesn't have to be.

"Are we making dessert from scratch?"

Kyle straight up laughs at her question, shaking his head. "Hell no. I don't bake. But I bought a box of brownie mix that comes with detailed instructions. I'm hoping we can figure it out."

He rises and moves with his glass back to the kitchen, refilling his water and taking another sip. Then he pulls the box out of a cabinet and turns it over to read the instructions as to whether or not they can actually make it work. It seems pretty easy, at least.

"We can do it," she says with total confidence, taking another drink of water before following him over to the counter. She reaches for the box, not to forcefully yank it out of his hand, but to take it if he'll let her. Otherwise she'll just try to move it closer so she can read it.

"Does it come with frosting?" Not that these things probably need any more sugar, but she likes frosting.

Kyle lets her take the box without protest, leaning back against the counter for her to take a look. He chuckles at the idea of adding even more sugar to the sugar. "Not in the box, but there's some in the cabinet if you want to add it."

It's technically his aunt's, for a cake she's planning to make tomorrow for some friend's birthday, but it doesn't hurt him any to go buy more and replace it if Alex wants to use it now. He knows his aunt won't care. "What do we need?"

"Cool." She peruses the box, and reads out in a somewhat wooden monotone, "Preheat oven to 350 for shiny pan or 325 for dark or non-stick pan." That loses her. She's heard about preheating as a concept, but changing the temperature based on the color of the pan is weird. "Does it really make a difference?"

She notices the extra ingredients listed, and adds, "And we need half a stick of butter and two eggs."

"The dark cooks a little faster. It's why you don't wear black on a hot day." He's thinking of Africa, but the same applies in the midwest. Kyle straightens to turn the oven on before producing a shiny pan and a large bowl. Then he's pulling a stick of butter and the two eggs out and sets them on the counter beside the bowl.

"All you," he gives her a smile as he returns to the sink again, grabbing a sponge and starting on the dishes.

That makes sense. She grabs the eggs and cracks them on the edge of the bowl, then looks back at the box for what she's supposed to do with the butter. "This has to be melted," she says, picking it up. "Is there a pot for that?"

She looks over at him doing the dishes, and feels a tiny pang of guilt that he's stuck with the dirty job while she's just stirring batter. "You want help?"

Edited 2016-02-08 03:26 (UTC)

"Uh, microwave." He points a sud-covered finger at the microwave, then to the cabinet where the bowls are. "Bowl. Like fifteen, twenty seconds. Butter melts fast."

Then he's back to doing the dishes, grabbing their pans to clean as well. He doesn't mind the job, feeling like it's the natural next step after eating, and shakes his head at her offer. "You are helping."

Right. Microwave. She grabs a bowl and puts it in for fifteen seconds, then dumps the brownie mix into the other bowl with the eggs and stirs them while she's waiting for the butter to melt.

"You sure? You did almost die." The microwave dings and she takes the bowl out, pours the butter into the mix and stirs that together. "How big's the pan? There's bake times for... 8 by 8, 9 by 9, and 11 by 17."

"That's why I'll be here. Safely away from the burning hot things.- Ow!" He pulls his hand quickly out of the water, as if just burned, and turns the water temp down a little. It's all joking, but he hopes to do what he can to make her laugh. He turns it back up as evidence of the facade and continues washing.

"Uhhhhh," he looks over at it, making a facial shrug. "9 by 9, I think?"

"What h--" Alex drops the spoon and starts towards him before realizing that he's joking. She's fine with being overdramatic about injuries after the fact, but faking them at all isn't her idea of humor. For a split second she was actually worried about him.

"Very funny." She shoots a glare at him before going back to stirring. The box says the batter is supposed to be thick, and once it feels about as thick as it's going to get, she starts scraping it into the pan. "We've got about half an hour before it's ready."

"Cool. Want to set the timer there?" He nods to the stove timer as he moves on to the pot, washing it quickly and setting it aside. He rinses his hands, dries them on a towel, then crosses his arms as he leans sideways against the counter to face Alex with a cocky smile on his face. "You were worried about me."

It takes her a few moments to figure out how, but she sets the timer and then turns to him, only to find him with that smile of his aimed right at her.

"What? No, I--" There's only so much verbal flailing she can do before she simply has to admit the truth. She was worried about him, and the best she can do is try to frame it in as mitigating a light as possible. "I thought you burned yourself."

"It's okay. You can worry about me. I won't take it personally," he teases, maintaining that grin and the casual posture against the counter.

Another half an hour is a blessing. That gives him more time to tease her, to joke around, and maybe even to learn more about her. The question of where her training came from still niggles at the back of his mind, but it's not a question he really intends to ask unless it comes up somehow. For now, he'll settle for the basics. "I wouldn't want your boyfriend to feel threatened."

She gives him a deathly serious look to disguise the fact that yes, she was worried, and no, she doesn't want to make a big deal about it because that would be admitting that she already cares about him, and she's not sure she's ready to actually care about someone again.

She heads back to the table and grabs her glass, so she has something to focus on besides him.

"I, uh, don't have a boyfriend." As much as she knows it would be a bad idea to let this get beyond friendship, it's suddenly important to make sure he knows she's single, even if he is really obviously fishing for that information.

Kyle rolls from his side to lean back against the counter instead, a more comfortable position. He watches her for a bit before turning his attention out to the living room area to stare at nothing in particular. He was pretty sure she was single, agreeing to meet him at his place for cooking lessons and all, but he wants to make sure before he begins pursuing anything. "Good. I hate making strangers feel jealous."

He gives an intentionally obnoxious smile before settling to a smaller, sincere one. "How are your groceries working out, by the way?"

He's coming on a little too strong, but Alex is pretty sure he's joking. Mostly joking. She doesn't want to give him the wrong idea, though, so instead of joking back, she raises an eyebrow and says, "We just cooked pasta together, okay?"

It's better to stop this in its tracks before it turns into something that will only end up hurting them both.

She takes a sip of water and then quickly turns away from him to put the glass back on the table, buying herself a few seconds. There's still a long time before the brownies will be ready, and she desperately hopes they can spend it talking about groceries, or doing anything besides dancing around the fact that he maybe wants more out of this than she's ready for. "I tried to cook the eggs this morning, they turned out soggy and burned."

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