Bonnie and Clyde

Chapter Thirty- Three: Welcome To My World

Nothing new ever happened around town. The Coach was like a hornets nest of gossip, and Dana heard it all. When something exciting did happen, everyone talked about it for days and days.

Like the fight between Clyde and Dave.

Normally Dana would smile politely and listen to whatever gossip there was, filling in details of what she knew for those who knew nothing. But, ugh, she was so sick of hearing about the fight between her ex and her brother.

Michael fighting. Well, that was nothing new or exciting.

Welcome to my world, everyone!

But, tonight, that particular fight was all but forgotten. Because, apparently, Mikey was at it again, making friends the only way he seemed to know how.

She was glad to be home, and that she hadn't had to call Michael to give her a ride. It was late, she'd had to work overtime, and figured he was probably trying to sleep, given that he clearly hadn't been sleeping the last few days. 

Again, that was nothing new.

But, when she got home, he was up and pacing, a normal pastime during his worst nights, she knew.  But it suited her fine, since she intended to give him a very firm talking to, about his behaviour lately, and also his refusal to see a doctor for his insomnia. Because, seriously, did the boy never sleep, anymore? 

And yes, she was aloud to worry.

She found him in the kitchen, one of the chairs pulled back from the table, as though he'd actually tried to sit still for a moment, but had failed, like always, and had resumed his pacing, instead.

Now, he stood, gripping the bench, tense with restless energy, staring out the kitchen window, lost in thought. He turned his head slightly, hearing her approaching somehow, despite her silent footsteps, like he always did.

"You're making a lot of friends around here," she scowled at him, at the absent look in his eye when he finally turned fully to face her, "you can't just go around threatening people with knives, you know."

She almost used his name, his real name, but halted at the last second. She could see no sign of Bonnie, and figured she, like any sane person, was more than likely fast asleep in bed.

Even so, it was important to him, she knew, and if forgetting his name was how he wanted to turn his life around, like she wanted so bad for him, then she wouldn't be the one to let it drop.

He stared, blank, and she raised her eyebrows questionably, waiting to hear what excuse, what justification he would use for his actions tonight.  He started pacing again, like a caged animal, but she waited with the infinite patience she had leaned over the years by living with him.

Finally, he halted, knuckles white on the back of the displaced chair, his head bowed, eyes hidden beneath his dark hair.

"Dana..."

She held up a hand, halting him. He had a way of disarming her, and, even after all these years, she still hadn't figured out how he managed it.

He'd stopped using those big blue eyes to his advantage ever since he'd come home from prison, but still, he could find the soft spot she would always have for him, use those, and she could never stay mad.

"You can get jail time for concealed weapons," she reminded him, cutting him off as he tried to interrupt again, "not to mention damage of private property, and threatening-"

"Dana!"

The razor sharp edge to his tone, one he almost never used with her, made her stop dead halfway through her lecture, the sentence breaking of and hanging in midair.

She looked at him, really looked.  She saw him, his stress, his exhaustion, something like hopeless defeat, and she knew.  She knew he didn't need her to lecture him, to nag him. She knew he just needed her.

"What?"  She stepped over to him, put a hand over his, tilted his chin up with the other so she could search his silver eyes.  "What's happened, darl?"

"You didn't see the news?"

He looked at her, lost, uncertain, that expression she had seen so many times when he was a child, when Janet was at her worst, and would leave bruises over his tiny body.

There were no bruises on him, now, and no childlike softness.  His arms were firm, wirey, muscles tight beneath the scars that she covered with her own soft hands.

"What didn't I see?"