FIC: let the current carry us to the beginning (Our Idiot Brother, Cindy/Natalie, PG-13)

Title: let the current carry us to the beginning
Author: aphrodite_mine
Fandom: Our Idiot Brother
Info: Cindy/Natalie, post-movie. SPOILERS. SPOILERS. SPOILERS. This movie made me so happy (I’m choosing to ignore whatever faily bits may or may not be there) that I really had no choice but to write this. 1000 words.

–

Natalie really has no case here, but she knows it. She’s been thrown in to court with no notes, no script, no suit. She has no other option but to keep trying.

That’s why, she supposes, Cindy finally chooses to call her back.

–

“I just wanted to tell you that the time Dar ate all of your cereal, that was me. Dar wasn’t even home.

I love you, Cin. Bye.”

–

On the drive back to the city, Cindy resolves to move out, and she does it, throwing whatever belongings can safely be defined as hers into boxes and cloth bags despite Natalie crying quietly in the bedroom, sitting in the center of their bed.

It’s what any sensible person would do in this situation. Cheating girlfriend; pregnant cheating girlfriend for fuck’s sake. It’s only logical to move out.

She just wishes it felt as right as it would sound in a courtroom.

–

“I hope you’re doing all right. Mitch gave me the rent a week late and I told him you’d be pissed, and then I remembered that you probably wouldn’t be, because.

Sorry.

I miss you.”

–

It’s a really stupid idea, but Cindy’s had her Tuesday night’s cleared since Natalie started this gig, and she just wants to see her, okay, to see if she looks different, maybe. If she looks guilty, sorry.

She sits in the back, but of course the lights catch on her glasses and Natalie looks up, a deer in headlights, and mumbles into the microphone, “Sorry, there’s a,” and runs backstage.

Cindy wants to follow her.

Instead, she goes back to the couch where she’s crashing and doesn’t sleep.

–

“I had a craving for eggs and salsa today. The baby likes your favorite food. Is that weird?”

–

Rob sits next to her on the made-up couch, kicking his feet up on his coffee table. “You know you can talk about this, if you want.” He glances at her from the corner of his eye, reaches for the remote and clicks on a game show.

“Nothing to talk about,” Cindy answers, tugging her legs up onto the cushion, resting her chin on her knees.

They watch in silence until the next commercial break. “You want some tea?” Rob asks, making to stand. Suddenly, his hand on her shoulder. “I can hear you, you know, crying in the shower. I just thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

“That’s how I sound when I sing,” she lies, staring at the TV, refusing to blink until her eyes start to burn.

–

“Hey dude. They said I could call my lawyer, if I wanted, and I figure. Well, you’re the closest thing. Hope you and Nat figure this out, and. Shit. I guess I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut. But she really loves you, you know? And I’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian.”

–

She rubs her glasses clean on the edge of her shirt.

She gets up every day, makes breakfast, goes to work. She doesn’t call Natalie at lunch, but there’s always a message waiting. She doesn’t kiss Natalie hello when she gets home, doesn’t kiss Natalie after dinner, mock-complaining about the taste of what she cooked, doesn’t kiss Natalie in bed, her hand sliding up or down or just touching hers.

She calls her mom one night, who suggests getting a cat or taking up a hobby. “Maybe knitting, dear. Keeps the hands busy.”

–

“I can’t do it. And I’m gonna be a terrible mother, hell, I’m a terrible person, how the fuck can I expect to raise someone all tiny and half-me. I just… I keep thinking that maybe it’ll all be okay, and maybe I’m just being optimistic or maybe the hormones are driving me crazy — they do that, right? — but I keep thinking about you, and Cindy, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

–

Cindy chooses to call her back, and her fingers shake while dialing.

“Cin?” Natalie answers, her voice thick, like she hasn’t really stopped crying for three months, like her tongue is caught on something rough and tired.

“I bought one of Christian’s paintings and burned it.” She dives right in, surprised at how angry the words come out. But as soon as she says them, she’s done with anger. It’s about as useless as burning a picture of your girlfriend because some prick painted it.

“Uh. I. Okay.”

“What I mean is, we aren’t going to be okay for awhile. But I’m done having a tantrum over it.”

“I’m glad, I think.” Natalie pauses for a long time. “Should I be glad?”

Cindy can’t help but laugh. She should worry, maybe, that it feels this good to talk to Natalie again. She should worry that she’s becoming co-dependant, or one of those lesbians who do things that are really wrong for them just for the pussy, or that she’s getting soft.

She doesn’t answer Natalie’s question. Instead, asks one of her own. “You mentioned an appointment in your last message. Can I come?”

There’s a tiny intake of breath. Something Cindy wouldn’t notice if she hadn’t heard it a hundred, a thousand times before. “It’s on Tuesday. Three PM.”

“I listened to them all, you know.”

“I knew you would.”

Cindy’s hand tightens, releases. I love you is hanging there between them, riding on the wire. She feels it there, tight and warm, like her hand on Natalie’s stomach, like the rush of blood that comes from a drawn-out moan, like the taste of her. Tight, warm, sharp, sweet.

–

She saves one. It’s the only thing she never tells Natalie.

“I loved you the first time we met. Do you remember, at the cafe? You were wearing chucks with shorts and a blazer, and I thought that was ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop looking at you, and the guy behind the counter handed you your sandwich and you caught my eye, and — do you remember? — you smiled, and I loved you then.

I still do, you know.”