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what was mistaken for closeness was just a case of mitosis
Who: Ned and Kenzi
What: Ned's not used to having housemates. He's having some boundary issues.
Where: House 20, afternoon
When: Day 74
Ned's been doing his best to be a good housemate; he has been living on his own since he was 18, knows he's out of practice sharing his space with others. There haven't been any problems thus far. Well, not any problems he's spoken up about, anyway. Little annoyances cropped up here and there, but he took them in his stride. For the first few weeks he was just so grateful to have a place to stay and then, as he came to know the others better, for a place to stay with people he liked, and who, bafflingly, seemed to actually like him in return.
But today, for whatever reason, Ned's fuse has grown quite short. First, it's clear to him, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that someone has been in his room. Things aren't where they are supposed to be, and there are a few little items missing. Nothing important, nothing that's really his, of course. The important point is that someone has been going through the drawers, hasn't even bothered to cover it up. The self-portrait that Daneel had drawn him is sitting under a glass, and the condensation has left the corner of the paper crinkled with a half-circle water ring.
So he's already wound up, already bubbling on the inside when he goes out to tidy the main living area, the way he does once every other day. The coffee table has a pair of jeans on it, small enough that he knows they have to be Kenzi's. He goes to pick them up, feels a sickening lurch in his stomach as he feels and hears that telltale spark of his powers working. He moves the leg of the jeans aside and sees an old, dirty plate with some small bones on it. One of which he obviously just touched, as he was trying to pick up the dirty laundry. With a look of utter repulsion on his face he touches the largest of the bones again quickly, feels the second spark, watches them flash blue for a fraction of a second. From the size and shape of them, they must be from the rabbit that Kenzi and Jesse had cooked the other night.
And that is absolutely the last straw.
He stomps his way up the stairs, the plate held accusingly in one hand, to knock on Kenzi's door.
What: Ned's not used to having housemates. He's having some boundary issues.
Where: House 20, afternoon
When: Day 74
Ned's been doing his best to be a good housemate; he has been living on his own since he was 18, knows he's out of practice sharing his space with others. There haven't been any problems thus far. Well, not any problems he's spoken up about, anyway. Little annoyances cropped up here and there, but he took them in his stride. For the first few weeks he was just so grateful to have a place to stay and then, as he came to know the others better, for a place to stay with people he liked, and who, bafflingly, seemed to actually like him in return.
But today, for whatever reason, Ned's fuse has grown quite short. First, it's clear to him, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that someone has been in his room. Things aren't where they are supposed to be, and there are a few little items missing. Nothing important, nothing that's really his, of course. The important point is that someone has been going through the drawers, hasn't even bothered to cover it up. The self-portrait that Daneel had drawn him is sitting under a glass, and the condensation has left the corner of the paper crinkled with a half-circle water ring.
So he's already wound up, already bubbling on the inside when he goes out to tidy the main living area, the way he does once every other day. The coffee table has a pair of jeans on it, small enough that he knows they have to be Kenzi's. He goes to pick them up, feels a sickening lurch in his stomach as he feels and hears that telltale spark of his powers working. He moves the leg of the jeans aside and sees an old, dirty plate with some small bones on it. One of which he obviously just touched, as he was trying to pick up the dirty laundry. With a look of utter repulsion on his face he touches the largest of the bones again quickly, feels the second spark, watches them flash blue for a fraction of a second. From the size and shape of them, they must be from the rabbit that Kenzi and Jesse had cooked the other night.
And that is absolutely the last straw.
He stomps his way up the stairs, the plate held accusingly in one hand, to knock on Kenzi's door.
no subject
And possibly related to slight kleptomania.
When Ned opens the door, if he can see anything beyond the laundry scattered in piles on the floor, he'll find Kenzi reading a comic book on her bed. Sup, roomie? How's it going? Oh-- ... he looks kinda pissed.
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"I have a couple questions." His voice is clipped, quick, just the wrong side of too polite. "A, is this yours-" he thrusts out the plate, more vehemently then he'd intended, so that the bones on it rattle. The sound of it makes the nausea in his gut twist tighter, "-and B, did you, by any chance, go into my room and go through my stuff?"
There's a silent, unspoken again attached to the end of that last sentence. Ned is almost positive the answer to both questions is yes. It wouldn't be the first time Kenzi's left dishes lying around, and he suspects it wouldn't be the first time she's gone through his things, though he's never exactly confirmed that. The fact that he can see a tube of hand lotion that he knows had been in his room only that morning - with the cap left open, sitting on the crest of a laundry hill - doesn't really sway him to believe her innocent until proven guilty.
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"That may or may not be a plate that I may or may not have used in the last three to five days, I can't be 100% sure. We do have a lot of plates, Ned. Communal dishware. Really, it could be anyone's former delicious meal." Except his. Or Daneel's. That still leaves four other suspects!
As for going through his stuff, she sits up, looking indignant, and makes an exaggerated face of someone incredibly offended at the mere thought that he would even consider her to have such bad manne-- "Yeah, I probably did. Which one's your room? Old not-sewing room? Or old-old-former gym slash origami activity center hyphen the one that smells nice and usually has various skin care products?"
At least she's owning up to one of two accusations! This is big for her. This is progress. Consciously making an effort here, Ned. She doesn't do this for just anybody. Most people would have gotten a series of intricate lies piled on top of more lies with reverse accusations added in for some variety!
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"Kenzi, do you really expect me to believe you don't know which one is my room?" It's not as if the house is that big, and he's been here for some time now. Her stab at humor with her descriptions of the rooms doesn't even get a smile out of him. He is not in the mood to be charmed by wit.
Pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a short sigh, Ned says in what he thinks is quite a reasonable tone of voice.
"Well, hypothetically speaking, let's say the answer to both questions is 'yes'. Do you think, in the future, if you're going to go through my stuff and help yourself, hypothetically, you could put most of it back where it belongs when you're done, and try not to ruin anything I might find valuable in the process?" Ruin might be a bit strong of a word for it, but what if Kenzi had spilled that glass of water and destroyed the picture entirely? Is he supposed to find some kind of hiding spot, to keep things safe from her carelessness?
"And hypothetically, do you think it's possible you could at the very least confine your dirty dishes to everything but, you know... actual c-carcasses-" the word sticks in his throat, "-so that when I try to clean up, there aren't booby traps full of bones, because I'd rather not, I don't know, unintentionally unleash reanimated rabbit skeletons upon the house." That last is an exaggeration, an attempt at humor to hide his disgust.
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But now she's getting defensive. She'd never ruin anything intentionally. Whatever she did was accidental, but the boundry issues clearly override any explanation she could even muster. Her expression sits somewhere between a pout and a scowl as she shrugs, "What's wrong with reanimated rabbit skeletons? It's probably the best pet you could ever want. You don't have to feed it, it would look totally cool, and it wouldn't have to fear predators if it gets outside because who the hell in their right-animal-mind is gonna mess with a freaking rabbit corpse? No one. I'd name it Nigel and it could live in my room and then you wouldn't have to worry about laying around on dishes I was gonna do later anyway."
Yeah, she's being really immature about this, but no one ever said she was mature in the first place. She rolls her eyes, picking her comic book back up. "Fine." So much attitude, Kenzi. But she attempts to make amends by adding a huffed out, "Sorry." Slightly less attitude that time.
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"It wouldn't actually be able to move without any muscles," he points out. Not to crush her hopes and dreams for an army of domesticated small mammals, all in skeletal form. Then again, who knows. Perhaps such a thing is possible. The experiments he'd done with his powers as a kid hadn't been completely exhaustive.
Her 'sorry', however sullen, is appreciated. "Apology accepted," Ned says, and then sighs. Now that his anger is bleeding away, he feels deflated and a little guilty for snapping at her, particularly about the dirty dish. It's not her problem he's a freak, after all.
"And I'm sorry that I'm being so horrible about it."
He sets the plate down on a nearby shelf (hey, the room is already kind of a sty, he doesn't feel bad) and covers his eyes with his hand. What he doesn't want is an apology. What he wants is for it to not happen in the future. The irritation is gone from his voice. Now, he just sounds tired, defeated.
"I mean it, though. I really don't mind cleaning up after you guys, and I guess I don't mind if you go in my room when I'm not there, but this kind of thing-" he indicates the dish with a sideways nod of his head, voice lowering as he finishes "-really freaks me out."
And that's the truth of it; not that he's worried he'll unleash a small, herbivorous zombie army. Just that not knowing when or if his powers might be triggered makes him feel jumpy and anxious: even more jumpy and anxious than he usually is.
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And then she hears that apology and she huffs out another sigh, dropping the book on the bed again. "Nooooooo. You're not... being horrible. You're being reasonable and I'm being a shitty roomie. I'll work on it, okay? I'm not..." She gestures to the room, Ned, the entire house basically, "--Used to all this."
It's a lot of bad habits to break. She went from a shitty home environment, to being on her own for years, and then she found Bo... but the two of them lived in a condemned house with missing walls, limited amounts of floor, and it was just the two of them. Bo just understood how to handle her. This is a lot of adjusting.
"No more cuddly skeletons. Scout's honour."
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Ned thinks about leaving, then. Letting Kenzi get back to her reading without bothering her any further. But he finds himself hesitating, not moving for the door, or further into the room.
"I'm not really used to it, either," he says, at last. The two of them might be very different in their particular domestic habits - one a little too messy, perhaps, the other a little too dependent on order - but it's clear that both of them could do with getting a little better at compromising. "Living with people is weird."
He hasn't been in a setup like this since he was a kid. There had been boarding school, but that was different, institutional. It was living in the same space as other people, but not really with them. After that it was only him and Digby.
"Good weird, though." He doesn't want her to think that it's all misery for him, that he's merely tolerating her and Jesse and Galen and the rest of them. For all her mess, he'd so much rather have Kenzi here than gone. When she'd vanished he had, perhaps irrationally, gone on a complete cleaning spree, had left the house spotless from top to bottom. Some part of his mind was convinced that she'd have to come back, just to disarrange it again. And she had - though he doubts his own actions had anything to do with that.
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"Really weird." She nods, "Really good weird."
Because as much as she'd been on her own, Kenzi's definitely a social creature. She's just never found many people that could put up with her shit for this long. She's never stayed anywhere long enough for that to happen! But she's stuck here. With these wonderful, infuriating, amazing people. And she's so glad.
She scoots over on the bed, giving Ned plenty of room so they won't be touching if he decides to sit, and pats the now-empty spot beside her. See? she gets it. She's not drunk, she knows, and she remembered. Space. He can have all the space he needs and still hang out with her! She's trying. Making an effort. Because she really does like Ned and being a shitty friend is just not her forte.
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He picks his way around the heaps of laundry carefully - why do his feet have to be so big? - and perches himself at the edge of the bed, sitting on his hands the way that he often does, taking up the minimal amount of space. It doesn't go unnoticed, that she leaves him plenty of room, and he is quietly grateful for that. It's unusual, being around so many people who are so observant, so accommodating. Kenzi might be careless in some ways, but in others, he knows, she is anything but.
"Used to my only roomie being my dog." After a beat, he adds, with amusement, "Who is undead. And probably about your age, actually."
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"Is your old roomie easier to clean up after?" And there's the guilt. Smile's still in place, but oh man, the guilt. She'll be better. "My roomie doesn't have much room to talk when it comes to annoying habits."
Seriously, she puts up with a LOT living with a succubus. They both put up with a lot. Or... used to.
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"Maybe a little bit easier," there's no accusation in the statement, though, "But you don't need to be taken on walks twice a day. And you can talk! Which is nice."
One of the worst things about living alone, particularly considering his lack of friends, had been the lack of conversation. Ned's found, since he came here, that he really does love talking to people - making them laugh, learning things about them, listening to their stories. Digby was - is - his family, had been for so many years. But despite his intelligence, despite his love, Digby is still a dog.
"Oh? What kind of annoying habits did she - he? - have?"
It's not as if Ned will ever meet this person, so what harm can a little gossip do? Plus, it might give him a little glimpse into what Kenzi's life was like before she came here. He knows next to nothing about her, after all.
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The smile stays in place, but her eyes get a LOT wider when asked about Bo's ... habits. Heh. Ehehe... uuuuhhhhhhhh.
"She. Definitely she. Oh, you know, the usual. Bathroom hogging. Unexpected girlfriend visits. Boyfriend visits. Casual acquaintance visits. Weird, experimental, enthusiastic noises in the wee hours of the morning. Weapons on the table. Ceiling dust in my cereal. All that typical stuff." She shrugs. So nonchalant. So typical.
Kenzi shakes her head, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on top of them. "And I miss the ever-loving crap out of her every freaking day."
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Ned can understand why, too, considering what she says next. Of course she misses her roommate - her BFF, as she put it - annoying habits and all. He misses Digby, too, but he acknowledges that there's a difference. Other than Digby, he'd had no one to leave behind. No other roommates, no friends, no co-workers. Kenzi didn't have that luxury.
"How'd the two of you meet? Or-" he stops, suddenly hesitant, asks, "-is talking about it gonna make you sad? We could talk about something else if you want."
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She's only lost hope once. When she went home only to end up right back here. But that didn't last too long. She has Galen and Jesse to worry about here, along with a bunch of other people she cares about, and if she gives up, what the hell does that mean for them? Gotta stay positive and keep fighting.
"And how we met... she, um. She basically saved my life. Like full on super hero mode, busting the bad guy and everything. I was lifting wallets in some bar and made the serious rookie mistake of accepting a drink from some creeper. Long story short, I passed out somewhere around her ... handling the douchebag and carrying me home over her freakin' amazon shoulder." Wow, okay, maybe that was a lot of oversharing. Especially about her thief-tacular past. But she never tells anybody ever! It just kind of all slipped out.
Kenzi looks away, more than a little embarrassed. He already thinks she's a terrible roomie that swipes shit from his room, now she just admitted to thievery and hanging out in some seedy underbelly date-rape town with some kind of nympho, weapon-carrying roomie. No. No, wait. She's NOT embarrassed. She's proud! Since when the hell does Kenzi give a shit about what anyone thinks about her?
... Since she started living with really nice, super cool people apparently.
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His look of surprise returns again for Kenzi's story. Her little slip about lifting wallets definitely earns a couple startled blinks, but he takes it in his stride, all things considered. Maybe he's starting to build up a tolerance for surprising reveals about peoples' pasts, in this place. Pickpocketing isn't bad at all, compared with psychic assassin brainwashed by the dystopian government or 100% genuine 1920s mobster. It does make him curious - was she one of those people who stole for the thrill of it, or out of necessity, or some combination of the two. Certainly, it puts her taking some hand lotion from his room in a completely different perspective. Maybe it's something she can't even help.
And really, who would he be to judge her for a little thievery? He's a murderer. That ranks considerably higher on the hierarchy of sins.
Then Kenzi continues with the story and a crease forms between Ned's brows. He's pretty sure handling means killing or at least severely beating in this instance, but if they guy slipped something in Kenzi's drink, as far as Ned's concerned he richly fucking deserved it. Ned is starting to like the sound of this roommate, weird experimental enthusiastic noises and all.
"That's terrifying," Ned says, quietly. For once, Kenzi isn't the one doing that intense staring thing she does, but evading eye contact. He doesn't imagine it's the kind of story she shares lightly, and he doesn't treat it like that. He's been in that kind of situation before - not the exact details, but there are shared and analogous elements: being helpless, being in terror for his life, needing to be rescued by someone stronger who can lift him (proverbially, not literally) over their amazonian shoulder. Ned wonders if Kenzi heard about any of that. It's impossible to know who has said what to whom, and he knows that gossip travels in a place as small as this.
He also recognizes that pattern of thought which leads her to blame the situation implicitly not on the douchebag but on her 'rookie mistake' of taking the drink in the first place. So much easier to recognize the wrongness of that logic, in someone who isn't himself. He understands what's behind it, but he doesn't bring it up, for now. Not when Kenzi's body language has gone uncharacteristically vulnerable like that.
"Nothing like having big scary friends, right?" He means it, too. Ned isn't used to the idea of big scary friends who have his back. It's a novelty, and an utterly wonderful one, to him. More seriously, he adds, "I'm glad she was there." Because a world with a hurt Kenzi or a murdered Kenzi is depressing to contemplate.
"She sounds awesome, what's her name?"
Not a word about the stealing. He'd heard her, and he's sure she saw him taking in the information, but he's not going to comment on it, unless she brings it up again.