Marcus winced. Better not to think about that ill-fated role in Magma!: The Musical. He could only hope April never learned of its existence, because the science behind the entire—
No. It didn’t matter what April thought anymore, because they wouldn’t be communicating, either in person or online. After this one last time, tonight.
He knew what he needed to do now.
“I’m glad you’re getting some pleasure, however perverse, out of the arrangement. Be nice to Lauren, though. It’s not her fault she got assigned to keep you sober and peaceable.” A quick glance at his laptop revealed a screenful of responses to April’s posts, with more appearing every few seconds. “I’d better go now, but thank you for listening. Again.”
“No problem.” A rustling noise. “Hold on just a second. Let me check my schedule.”
While he was waiting, Marcus skimmed the first several comments. Most were supportive, but AeneasFan83—not a close friend on the server, but a longtime member nevertheless—was edging toward defensive, don’t-be-so-sensitive territory in a way that made Marcus’s hackles rise.
Within a minute, Alex was back. “I’ll be in LA on Sunday. Want to binge-watch that British baking show late next week? I haven’t heard someone say the word ‘claggy’ in far too long.” His voice turned speculative. Almost dreamy. “I’ll bet if I used the phrase ‘claggy sponge’ around Lauren, she’d think it meant something dirty. I’ll have to try it.”
Marcus didn’t envy Lauren her job. Not at all.
After this disastrous week, however, Marcus figured he could use as much time as possible with his best friend. “Binge-watching claggy sponges sounds great. We’ll work out the details once you’re back. Take care of yourself in the meantime, and safe travels. And be nice.”
More evil laughter, and Alex was gone.
Then it was time to think. Hard.
Marcus’s response to April’s thread took him embarrassingly long to compose. Finally, though, he came up with the right words. Or at least the best words he could, under the circumstances. They would have to be enough.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Because of job requirements about internet usage, I won’t be able to post here much for the foreseeable future. I shouldn’t even be doing so now, but I wanted to say two things.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: First, thank you for being such a welcoming, supportive group. Over the past few years, becoming involved with this particular fandom has taught me so much about storytelling and community and—sappy as it sounds—myself.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Second, if we ARE a community that prides itself on being welcoming and supportive, we shouldn’t look away when one of our members tells us, at the cost of her own personal discomfort, that she sometimes feels alienated and hurt by things we’ve written. Especially since, as ULS rightly points out, the fundamental message of the Aeneas/Lavinia relationship is simple: Character over appearance, and kindness and honor above all.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: So I want to extend a heartfelt, sincere apology to ULS, for not previously considering the important issue she just raised, and for not noticing fat-shaming in fics I’ve recommended to her and to all of you in the past. I’ll do better in the future, because of what you’ve written today. Thank you for that.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Also, ULS, I’m so sorry the people in your personal life—the men you’ve dated—have made you feel judged or shamed. More sorry than I can say.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: Take care. I’ll be back . . . sometime. I’ll miss you.
After that, Marcus set his status to invisible again. He logged out.
And then, as he’d done so often before, he wrote until his chest no longer ached with each breath he took.
DO-SI-DANGER
INT. THE FARNSWORTH BARN – EVENING
The barn is lofty and hay-strewn, the lighting soft from lanterns in glass canning jars. Other couples are still square-dancing, but CHRISTOPHER and MILLIE have found a quiet corner. She brushes a bit of straw off his expensive suit, and they both laugh.
MILLIE
Only a month ago, I couldn’t have imagined this.
CHRISTOPHER
Imagined what?
He takes her hand, holding it gently. Tenderly.
MILLIE
You, allemande-ing left, easy as the breeze. Us, together.
CHRISTOPHER
Never to be parted again, Millie. Never.
She moves in front of him for a kiss. Suddenly, a gunshot, then screaming. Millie collapses in slow motion, face blank, blood blooming on her chest, as he desperately tries to catch her, to revive her, but it’s too late. By the time he looks up, all traces of the shooter are gone.
CHRISTOPHER
Millie! Millie, don’t leave me!
But she’s past answering. Face to the rafters, he howls his grief and despair and rage to the universe, knowing that he now has new motivation, new goals: to become a better man in her memory, and to avenge her. Her death will be the key to his character arc now—exactly as she would have wanted.
13
THE FIRST DAY ON APRIL’S NEW JOB, HER COWORKERS treated her to takeout sushi for lunch, with a side of light interrogation.
According to Heidi, it could have been worse. Much, much worse.
“They have this rendition of ‘Blowin’ in the Wind,’” she’d whispered near the printer that morning. “Mel changed the lyrics to ‘Contaminants, my friend, are blowin’ in the wind.’”
“Wow,” April had managed. “That’s . . . wow.”
Her colleague nodded emphatically. “There’s a verse about air-monitoring stations too. Pablo and Kei contributed that bit.”
“And they considered performing that song for me at lunch? In a sort of welcoming ceremony?”
Honestly, despite Heidi’s bugged-out eyes, it sounded amazing. After a week like this last one, April embraced any and all distractions from her tangled thoughts. A horrible folk concert promised much greater distraction and entertainment value than munching a sandwich at her desk alone, as she had done during her first lunch at her old office.
Creativity in any form, she appreciated. Especially when said creativity would have to cease at the end of the lunch hour, should it prove particularly ear-piercing. However, she also appreciated the kindness of not imposing that creativity upon her without an invitation.
“After some discussion, they decided it would violate the boundaries of good colleague behavior.” Heidi’s cerulean-blue nail polish matched her hair beautifully, and April mentally widened the scope of her wardrobe and makeup options for work. “They didn’t want to force you to listen if you weren’t interested. Even though they’re very proud of their version of ‘This Land Is Your Land.’”
Oh, the endless lyrical possibilities.
In the end, though, lunch didn’t involve singing. Just a few friendly questions.
“I’m a Gates fan too,” Mel said before selecting a piece of the spicy tuna roll with her chopsticks and transferring it to her plate. “I saw your Lavinia costume on Twitter, and it was amazing. How long have you been interested in cosplay?”
Of all the juicy topics Mel could have asked about, she’d chosen . . . cosplay. Not Marcus. Not the dates. Not even the publicity surrounding Marcus and those dates, or the public-yet-intimate photos splashed all over the internet and featured on several low-rated cable entertainment shows.
Despite a morning spent completing first-day paperwork and watching HR-mandated videos, April already loved her new job.
“Only this past year.” Any sushi roll containing both tempura shrimp and avocado was clearly meant to be hers, so she snagged a piece. “That picture turned out well, and I’m proud of my design, but there are problematic bits. If I’d been posed any other way, you’d have seen evidence of staples and double-sided tape.”
She’d intended to share her interest in cosplay and accompanying Twitter identity on the Lavineas server last week, since a few people in their community might be able to offer much-needed costume construction tips. That would have meant acknowledging she was Marcus’s mysterious date, though, and after all the hubbub surrounding her fat-shaming post, she was lying low for a few days instead.
Not that most people hadn’t been kind and gracious about the topic, especially—and heartwrenchingly—BAWN. She was also locating fewer and fewer fucks to give for people who couldn’t give her any in return. But a few naysayers had caused some tense moments on the server, and she had no intention of hogging the bandwidth yet again so soon thereafter.
“Do you need to borrow a sewing machine?” Pablo glanced up from his sashimi. “I have one I can lend you. It’s not fancy, but it does the job.”
April swallowed her sushi and sent him a grateful smile. “Thank you, but I would have no idea how to use it. Better to buy, experiment on, and possibly break my own machine.”
“So you designed that amazing costume, but can’t sew?” Heidi looked thoughtful. “Mel, darling, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably not.” With her chopstick, Mel was poking at the roe atop her sushi. “I was compiling a mental list of species whose eggs we consume and wondering where and why the line gets drawn.”
Heidi blinked at her. “You’re right. That wasn’t what I was thinking.”
“I know.” Kei set his chopsticks neatly on his napkin. “This is about My Chemical Folkmance.”
“We’re still working on the band name,” Pablo noted. “I voted for some take on ‘She Blinded Me with Science,’ but Kei and Mel told me it implied harmful things about our profession.”
Her attention diverted from egg concerns, Mel regarded Heidi consideringly. “Oh. Yes. I see now. Yes, that might work, depending on what April would prefer. She just moved and started a new job, and we shouldn’t pressure her to commit to anything else.”
“Especially since she may have, uh, other personal priorities right now.” Kei broke open his fortune cookie and scanned the slip of paper inside. “Dammit, I don’t want to take on new adventures. I work full-time, have a family, and sing in a folk trio with an indeterminate name. Isn’t that enough?”