fandomhighdorms | The Roof, Late Sunday Night

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The Roof, Late Sunday Night

He'd skipped out on the Halloween party in favor of getting some writing done, but Anders was a little tired of being cooped up in his room. So after a quick ~~handwavey~~ trip down to the Kwik Stop, where some cranky blonde in a leather jacket and fedora had agreed to buy him cigarettes (she reminded him of Kara in some bizarre way), he headed up to the dorm roof all bundled up in a Red Sox sweatshirt and his favorite C-Bucs jacket.

He settled down in a comfortable corner and lit up, coughing a few times since he hadn't gotten the hang of it yet. Hadn't he sworn he'd never do this? He so blamed Bel.

Besides, watching the smoke curl up into the sky was kinda neat.

[OOC: Open in that roof-y kind of way and stuff. Also, Janice modded totally without perm--oh, wait.]

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Parker didn't even change out of her costume before heading to the roof with a carton of cigarettes. She was already lighting up when she saw that Anders was there before her. "Hey, you're alive. Good. And smoking. Bad!" She said, gesturing at him with her own coffin nail.

"Says you," countered Anders, waving at Parker with his cigarette-holding hand. "I thought you were quitting?"

He took another drag, still tentative, and grimaced as he exhaled. "Yeah, I'm still alive. Though there was a little while there where I thought I wasn't gonna survive. Do I even want to know what the radio said happened?"

"I have an excuse, and an exemption, and a really good reason," Parker claimed, making a grab for his cigarette. "And the Radio said you and Bel were coupley, although Dawn immediately denied it on both your behalfs and blamed the squirrels. What the hell were you really doing?"

"Oh, no you don't." Anders twitched his hand just out of her reach. "Not while you're doing the same damn thing, excuse or not, and I don't care if you're dressed as . . . Artemis, isn't it?"

He tapped the ash off the end of the cigarette with a distinct lack of style, chuckling. "Yeah, I owe Dawn one then. All that happened was Bel helped me put up a new curtain rod and some decent curtains. How do you mistake that for anything else?"

Furious, Parker thwapped him on the arm, dropped her lit cigarette, and said, "Drop it *now* or so help me I'll do something desperate. You do not want to push me tonight, Daisy." She took a panting breath. "And yes. Artemis. Goddess of the freakin' hunt, and the irony is killing me."

She rubbed her temples. "I have no idea how they get coupley from curtain-rod hanging, except that I talked to Bel, and from what he said, I couldn't be sure what you guys were doing. He's a walking innuendo when he wants to be."

Anders tossed the cigarette to the roof and ground it out with his foot, staring. "Okay, okay! Geez, Parker, I didn't think it was that big a deal. Seemed pretty relaxing when I had one the other night, is all."

He eyed her, concerned. "What's up?"

Parker started to calm down a little. A tiny, tiny little bit. So instead of smoking, she was pacing.

"What's up is that you should do as I say, not as I do, and that includes people who leave and claim they're coming back but sure as hell never call to let you know they're fine, or that they're coming back. Or even tell you when they're actuall back, just watch you make a fool of yourself on the dance floor and then cut out of the party before it's even halfway over so you're left wanting a damn cigarette all night--"

Huge breath.

"--and I don't want lung cancer damnit, and neither do you, did you know that those give you cancer? No? Well, ask Janet, she has pictures. But I don't want to go to jail for homicide, which was my other option earlier this evening even though the arrows weren't sharp--"

Pace, snarl, pace.

"--And goddamnit all to hell and gone I thought he wasn't ever coming back, and he doesn't even want to talk to me, so it's not like I'm going to go over there like some pathetic rejected ex-girlfriend and demand an explanation that he'll just tell me is none of my damn business anyway--"

Parker picked up her own cigarette packet and pitched it off the roof.

"--so revenge is all I could think of because he hated when I smoked so what the hell, right? Right? I can do whatever I goddamn well want and if I want to smoke I'll smoke and if I want to kiss some guy who isn't him I will and I told him what would happen and if he's such a genius he knew I'd do it anyway--"

And for lack of anything else to punch or throw, Parker kicked the balustrade and snarled.

"So yeah." She took another breath, and another, trying to remember what the question was. "NOT. HAPPY."

Anders could only sit, slack-jawed in admiration of the impressive tirade, not really sure what he could say that wouldn't set her off further, or result in him needing a crane to get his foot out of his mouth.

"I don't want you to go to jail for homicide either," he began weakly once he decided he wasn't putting his life at risk to speak. "But you can rant at me all you want if that helps."

That was all he dared to say at the moment.

"Goddamnit, I threw my cigarettes off the roof," Parker fumed. "What. The. Hell." She turned to Anders, and fisted a hand in his shirt. "HE MAKES ME CRAZY! Okay? He *does* this, and I can't stop him, and I can't think straight, and this is why he ran away, isn't it? But it's his FAULT. GOD!"

Anders opted not to offer her a cigarette, afraid that his newly-acquired pack would meet the same fate. He had a pretty good idea of who was back -- the unprecedented level of ranting was a huge clue -- and he once again flailed unsuccessfully for something meaningful and harmless to say.

Instead, all he managed was, "Parker? Choking here . . ."

"What? Oh, sorry." Parker let go of his shirt, smoothed it down, then went back to pacing. "What am I supposed to do here? If someone's going to break up with me, they should disappear. I've never had to deal with the guy after it ended! They all went poof! I liked it that way! What the hell do I do now?" She growled, and propped her elbows on the balustrade, then buried her face in her hands.

"Parker . . ." Anders went over and leaned against the balustrade next to her, hands in his pockets but a concerned look on his face. "I'm not the guy who's going to have an answer for you on that. Just --" He laughed. "Just don't be me."

"I'd say that was totally unlikely, if I knew what you were talking about," Parker admitted, glowring out into the night.

Anders laughed quietly. "Don't hide from the world, that's all I mean. And don't do all the stupid things you smack me for doing. 'cause then I might be obligated to smack you back, and neither of us wants that."

Parker grimaced, then pouted, then glared in the direction of 18 Apocalypse Avenue. "No, no. No hiding. And I won't do things that are your brand of stupid." She considered. "I'll probably do my own. And yell the whole time. Because I really, really do want to strangle him, Anders. You have my permission to drag me away from choking him in public. I really don't want to go to the Big House."

"Good, 'cause I've got that stuff trademarked," Anders teased, though his expression quickly turned serious because he knew she was right about that. "And I'd really prefer you on this side of the bars, so I'm appointing myself your official guard against choking in public."

Parker looked up at him and managed a smirk. "Thanks. You're tall enough to tackle me and give him time to run for it, at least. And he usually beat me in foot races. Like too many other things," she added, a little bitter. "Grrrrrrrrr! I can't believe I threw my cigarettes down there." She peered over the edge, then looked speculatively at his, then shook herself. "No, no, no..."

"Only if you don't yell at me for having one," Anders said firmly. "Otherwise, yours look like they survived the fall okay."

"No. I really shouldn't," Parker said reluctantly. "You're just gambling with your health; I've got an ulcer history. They thin the lining of your stomach, and I can't afford that. Tomorrow is my first day without one in a month." She pushed her hair back and sighed. "But I'm still giong to get those in the morning. "

"Yeah, I remember you were in the clinic for-frakking-ever last year 'cause of it. Don't need that to happen again." Anders crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "Get them in the morning, uh uh. And do what with them, exactly?"

Ah, so this was what it felt like to be on the other side for once.

Parker played back what she'd said in her head, groaned, stomped around in a little circle, then glared up at Anders, not speaking. Then she pouted like she had when she was four.

Anders had made cupcakes with weetiny Parker, and the four-year-old connection was not lost on him at all. He leaned back against the balustrade again and didn't say anything; instead, he started shaking almost imperceptibly with silent laughter as he struggled to keep his grin from turning into a full-on smirk.

Parker whapped him on the arm, but not hard, and said, "Okay. Okay! I know I'm being crazy, all right? I just... nngghhh! He gets to me." She folded her arms, and sighed, going limp as she leaned next to the still-silently-snickering Anders. "Enjoy the giggles. You're still on homicide prevention duty."

"Parker," Anders said more seriously once he'd gotten the best of his gigglefit, "As much as you cared about him I'd worry more if he didn't get to you. Or if you didn't let it show. But homicide is still going too far, so I'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Thanks," Parker muttered. "If I have to sneak around you, then maybe I'll be smart about it and not get caught." She flashed him a smile to show she was joking, then hugged herself against the chill and her own exhaustion. "And seriously. If you have to smoke something, those nasty cigars Thrace used to have are probably better, even if they do make you hungover. God, you don't need to be imitating me in this bad habit."

Anders smiled wryly. "No, I don't need the reminder. Besides, I doubt I'll get hooked. These are kind of gross. Just thought I'd try it, so I could say I had. Besides, I'll have you know my observation skills are improving so you might really have to work hard at the sneaking."

He shook a finger at her, then pulled off his jacket and added, "You are going to catch a cold out here in this outfit, this late. Put this on at least, would you?"

Parker looked mutinous for a second, then shrugged her way in to his oversize jacket, rolling up the sleeves. "Thanks. Gun range is closed, I'm too wired to go and open the gym, and I couldn't stand being in my room." She glared off the roof again and stuck her tongue out in the direction of Jarod's house. "If you can catch me sneaking around, then I *definitely* won't be going near him. But we'll see how good you are." Her mouth twitched. "The smoking looks cool, though. And it's a good excuse to hang out somewhere. That'll be useful for the spy games."

"Hey," drawled Anders, "if nothing else I could use the practice. And using smoking as an excuse to do a stakeout doesn't work if you look like you don't know what you're doing." It was entirely possible that he was just scrambling for justification at this point.

"And hey, Parker? I'm sorry. That this is so tough for you, and that I can't do anything to make it better."

"Just-- seriously, don't get addicted. Quit early. And often," Parker added dryly. She looked away, and hunched into his jacket. "And thanks. Wow, that sounds familiar." Parker gave him a half-smile, and shrugged. "I just didn't expect this. I really thought he was gone." Her voice might have caught on that last word. Maybe. If you were really paying attention.

Which Anders was. Tentatively, he reached a hand out to rest on her arm for a moment and gave her a brief smile in return. "Not planning on getting addicted. I get this feeling Bridge would make frowny faces at me if I did, anyway. And -- honestly -- are you glad he's not gone for good?"

Parker was silent for a long minute while she thought about it. "I think I hate that I'm glad he's back," she whispered. Because I don't matter to him.

Anders nodded. "Would you believe that actually makes perfect sense to me?" he asked quietly.

Parker looked up at him, and gave him a rueful, very tired smile. "Sadly, I now get what you were going through a lot better. So yes." She rubbed her eyes, and growled a little. "Stupid feelings."

"Damn frakking inconvenience," Anders agreed wholeheartedly. "It'd be easier if we could just get -- what's it called, tabula rasa? A clean slate, every time. Never seems to work that way though, does it?"

He yawned, grimacing a little bit as his jaw popped. "Might be best just to sleep it off, for tonight. Tackle the heavy thinking after some rest. We got all week, after all."

"Yeah," Parker agreed, anger backing off, and leaving her tired and unfocused. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks, Daisy." She moved to give him his jacket back.

"Wait until we get back inside," Anders said, not making a move to take the jacket yet.

Parker smiled, more genuinely this time, and bumped her arm against his. "Thanks. Again." She sighed. "I swear, I'll get over this. I will. You know I will. Until then, though... the help's appreciated."

"I got through it. So you will too," Anders told her seriously. "And you'll do it with way more style. I'd stake my career on it. And you know I'm here for you, any time."

Parker didn't have any good response to that, so she just looped an arm around him, and leaned against him. "Yeah," she whispered. "I know." Then she looked up, mischevious again. "Which career? Pyramid player, or superspy?"

Anders slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. "Both. Maybe even the theoretical baseball career, too," he said, his voice light. "For what it's worth, I have faith in you, Parker."

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The Roof, Late Sunday Night

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