takecourage | (no subject)

It's shit, but life goes on. Alex goes through the motions -- she hands Edie over to the nanny, she goes to work, she thinks about drugs, she comes home. The work she does at the club varies; most of the time she's in the office, sometimes she's behind the bar and, sometimes, she's up on the stage or weaving in between the booths and couches. Tonight, one of her dancers hasn't turned up, so she does her makeup over the sink in her bathroom, fluffs her hair, hoists her tits into a sequined bra. She dances, her skin sheened with sweat and glitter and, whenever someone offers her a drink, she takes it.

It's after midnight when she leaves the club, t-shirt and sweats pulled on over the gear she was dancing in, feet shoved into her loosely laced boots. She doesn't want to go home -- not to the apartment at Dimera, and definitely not back to Black Elm, where her little girl lies sleeping. She's pretty limited on where she can go, honestly, her circle shrunk, but then she has an idea, and she pivots on her heel, heading in the opposite direction.

A few minutes later, having slipped in to the building as a delivery driver left, Alex finds herself leaning her forehead against his front door, knocking with her whole fist.

"C'mon, Steve," she says, through gritted teeth. "Be home, buddy."

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From:

haplesshairpile

"Nah, it's okay," Steve assures her, swallowing hard as his arms fold around her. Her grief feels like a palpable thing, hanging thick in the air and mixing with his own, and Steve blinks the sting out of his eyes as he bends to kiss the top of her head. He's gotten a lot of hugs in the past few weeks. Robin and Eddie and Chrissy, Elio and even Rue. Joyce and Hopper and Will. They're all treating him like cracked glass, with that pitying sadness in their eyes. Elio had, somewhat jokingly and in not so many words, told him not to off himself in a way that gave him frightening insight to what Elio went through when Oliver disappeared. But Oliver came back and as glad as Steve is for Elio, it kind of blows because that means that there's hope to be had that Maeve might come back, too. But she might not even remember him if she does. And she's way better off out there in the real world where she can be brilliant and actually do all the things she wants to do. Wanting her back is selfish, but he wants her back anyway.

It fucking sucks, all of it, and now Alex is going through it, too.

"Come on. I have alcohol," Steve says as he lets her go, shuffling her toward the sofa. He pauses to look her up and down, brows lifting as he meets her gaze. "Do you want something to change into? You look hot but that can't be comfortable for wallowing in."

From:

takecourage

Steve's solid, but in a different way than Darlington was, and that's a distraction in and of itself. Folded into his arms like that, her cheek against his chest through worn cotton, she feels a million miles away from Daniel Arlington. Maybe that's what she needs.

She takes in the pile of bedding on the sofa. She hasn't been back to Black Elm since the morning that she woke up without Danny; her and Edie have been camping out at the apartment instead. It's warded, and Alex at least has the memory of living there without him.

"Alcohol sounds really good right now," she says. He mentions changing and she looks down at herself. "What? You don't like stripper underwear, Harrington? You shock me, dude." It's not actually uncomfortable, either. Alex has high standards for workwear, now that she can afford it.

From:

haplesshairpile

"I never said that," he replies with a low chuckle. He's become almost desensitized to Alex in her work clothes, but he lets himself look and feels guilty because he has a girlfriend. Then he remembers that he doesn't and technically he's single again, and a lump rises up in his throat. He lets out a stuttering breath and shakes his head, dragging his fingers through his hair as he heads back over to the sofa. "Sit. I'll be right back."

He goes into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of vodka and some lemon lime sodas from the fridge, then grabs two glasses and stops by the laundry room to grab one of his shirts and a pair of boxers just in case she changes her mind. She's probably comfortable in that stuff by now, but plain cotton is probably a little cozier.

"Supplies," he declares upon his return, setting everything down on the coffee table and then dropping down next to her on the sofa. He puts the clothes, a white undershirt and black boxer briefs, on her lap. "Here. In case you wanna stay over."

She probably should. It's late and he's not going to send her out after drinking. She can have the couch and he'll crash on the floor.

From:

takecourage

"You might have a point, actually," says Alex, scrubbing both hands over her face and then stretching her arms over her head. She's softer here than she ever was, in LA or in New Haven, and her shirt rides up to flash a silver of pale skin, the flickering tongues of tattooed snakes. "Fix me a drink. I'll be right back."

She gets up again, grabbing the soft, worn things that Steve's found out for her and padding into his bathroom. She doesn't close the door all the way, but she figures it's polite to not strip off in his living room. She peels off everything she's wearing except her socks, pulls Steve's clothes on over the top and, once she's decent, goes back out into the lounge.

"Better?" she asks, striking a half-assed pose before she flops back down on the sofa.

From:

haplesshairpile

Steve gives her a lazy salute as she heads toward the restroom and pours out generous servings of vodka into each glass, then tops them off with some of the soda. It's not exactly a gourmet cocktail, but it's better than drinking straight out of the bottle like he's been doing. He's just finishing up when Alex comes back and he looks over at her, smiling a little when he sees her in his clothes.

"Different," Steve tells her, because Alex is sort of effortlessly hot no matter what she's wearing. When she sits down, Steve scoots back next to her and holds out one of the glasses. "Your coping mechanism, miss."

From:

takecourage

"Definitely better than the alternatives," says Alex, taking the glass and arranging herself on the sofa next to him, turned to face him, her legs curled up to tuck between them. She takes a long swallow of the drink and then balances her glass on one bare knee while she twists her hair up and back, securing it on the back of her head with an elastic.

"Thank fuck I pay a nanny," she says, taking another swallow. "Means I can be a sloppy mess here instead of at home."

From:

haplesshairpile

The comment makes Steve take pause, thinking of his own mother. She drank a lot, left him with nannies and babysitters until he was old enough, in their eyes, to take care of himself. He doesn't say anything, because he knows Alex isn't like his mother and if there were ever a time to go on a bit of a bender, it's now.

The cup balances precariously on her knee and Steve puts his hand there, finger and thumb curled around the base of the glass while his palm rests on her bare knee. He takes a long sip from his own glass and the liquor doesn't even burn going down. That should be enough to tell him that he's been drinking too much but fuck it, he deserves a bender too.

"How was work?" Steve asks, still amused by the fact that he's such good friends with a stripper. Sorry-- with a dancer. "Anything interesting happen?"

From:

takecourage

She ignores -- she isn't drunk enough to look at it too closely -- how good that completely casual, platonic touch of his hand against her bare skin feels. It's only been a week; she can't be touch starved already. With her hair securely tied up, she gently extricates her glass from his grip, though she doesn't do anything to shake off his whole hand; he can leave it there if he wants.

"Work was pretty standard," she says "I get good tips when I wear that set because my tits look awesome and it works miracles for my ass, too." She grins. "Only one guy got handsy so, yeah. Pretty good night."

From:

haplesshairpile

Steve frowns at that, hand tightening almost protectively around Alex's bare knee, but he knows it's a futile emotion. Alex can take care of herself.

"Sucks you have to deal with that," he says casually. "I'm sure it comes with the territory, but still. Sorry on behalf of my dumbass species."

He takes a long swallow from his glass, buzzed enough from his earlier drinks that it doesn't even burn going down.

"But your tits always look awesome," he adds, because he's a part of that dumbass species. Still, he's pretty sure he can say that. They're friends, and Alex would probably appreciate the compliment.

From:

takecourage

The way his hand tightens protectively makes Alex smile as she takes another swallow of her drink. Like a lot of people in Darrow, like pretty much everyone here and in New Haven, Steve's really got no idea of what Alex is actually capable of. That flat beast, the viper that coils around her ribs, has never gone anywhere.

"It's fine. Rather me than one of the other girls," she says. She grins at the compliment, though, because it's easier to focus on that anything else. She arches her back a little, thrusting her tits out for effect, the bars piercing her nipples clear through the thin fabric of Steve's t-shirt. "Well, thanks. But my ass is definitely better."

From:

haplesshairpile

Alex sticks her chest out and Steve is honestly sort of used to it. He used to think that he was desensitized, but his eyes catch on the shadowed ridge of her nipple piercings and he thinks that he was probably just so deep into his relationship that he was blind. He doesn't have that anymore. He can't be loyal to someone who isn't here, but Steve doesn't quite know how to process the ending of it all. Maeve didn't dump him. She didn't die. She's just gone.

"Agree to disagree," Steve breathes out against the rim of his glass, knocking the rest of it back in one large swallow and then leaning forward to refill it with another round. "No disrespect to your ass, but I have my preference."

From:

takecourage

Alex echoes Steve, knocking back the rest of her drink and holding out the glass for a refill because, well, fuck it, right? She relaxes back against the couch cushions and, when he moves his hand to make up the drinks, she's actually kind of disappointed. She's just touch starved since Darlington went home or back to Hell or wherever he's gone (she honestly prefers not to think about it). Whatever. Warm skin on warm skin feels good.

"Yeah," she says, her eyes on the ceiling for a moment. "I remember."

That time in Kagura was a long time ago, but it was definitely good enough to remember.

From:

haplesshairpile

The comment disarms him a little, and he pauses in his movements when he thinks of them fucking in Kagura. Steve was so easy back then. But let's be real, he's always been easy. It was the monogamy that was the strange thing, and now he's realizing how long it's been since he's touched anyone else. It feels like he doesn't even remember how, and the thought of doing so now makes him feel sad enough that he takes a long swig of the alcohol before he even pours in any mixers, then starts over.

"I guess I have to remember how to be single again," he says in a low voice, raspy from alcohol, swallowing hard as he finishes the drinks and hands one out to Alex.

From:

takecourage

"Guess we both do," she says, taking the drink and raising her glass in a lazy toast. "Yale was really the only time I've been single since I was fourteen and Len fucked me in the storeroom at Baskin Robins." She rolls her eyes and knocks back a long swallow. She shifts again, settling back and stretching out her legs, draping them across his thighs.

From:

haplesshairpile

"Damn. I worked at an ice cream parlor for months and couldn't get one girl to let me fuck them in the storeroom," Steve laments, lifting his arms to make room when Alex puts her legs in his lap. He puts his hand on her calm, sliding it aimlessly up and down the smooth expense of it as he takes another drink. "It was probably the sailor suit."

From:

takecourage

"You should have been targeting chubby fourteen year olds with shitty homelives," she says, smirking as she takes a sip of her drink. She says it, but she knows for a fact that Steve isn't an asshole, let alone the kind of asshole that Len was. He never would have taken advantage of a kid who didn't know any better. She does snort at the thought of Steve in a sailor suit, though.

"Bet you'd have made me come, too. Even in the sailor suit."