Looking at him, with his narrow shoulders and his hands stuffed in his pockets, Aimes is compelled to agree. "Physical type isn't everything," she says, quick, her face much more flushed than it has any right to be. "He was an asshole."
Those words, so long since coming, lay heavy in her mouth. Iakov watches her, as if letting her process the statement.
"He was an asshole, and cheated on me," Iakov's eyebrows fly up, but she presses on. "He cheated on me, then broke up with me cause he didn't believe I wasn't doing the same." She kicks a pebble, a knot within her somehow loosening as she watches it skitter across the suburban pavement. "Then we got back together, then broke up. Then together, then broke up."
Iakov remains quiet for a few moments, almost suspiciously so. So she looks pretty much everywhere else she can in the tiny suburban neighborhood without looking at him.
"Well," he starts, and it might be the most delicate he has ever spoke. "Were you...were you back together when we..."
She shakes her head. "Only just not, though," she says, misery crawling over her skin. "It sucked."
Iakov's shoulders loosen even more, as if that was a possibility he hadn't ever considered. The exhaustion is back in the lines of his face.
They don't say much more for the rest of the walk, and she can see the weariness in each of his steps. It's almost surprising that he doesn't teleport away or fall over asleep, but wordlessly follows her into her apartment.
Still, without prompting, he holds out her chair for her, and they eat in silence at her tiny little table. He blinks rapidly the entire time, as if it is the only thing keeping him awake. It's so blindingly domestic that it doesn't feel real.
"You can stay here," she says, around a bite of the beet and feta cheese salad. "Not sure if it's as good as your safe houses, but you could stay here."
He blinks at her, as if taking a moment to have to process her words. "Yeah," he says, slow. "I could."
After the tiny dinner she leads him to her bed, where he crashes the moment he rests his head, leaving her with a puzzling early evening with him in her bed and her not wanting to make noise.
So instead of flipping on the TV, she pulls over her Kindle and her phone, curling up on the couch.
TRIXIE (5:41 PM): Rocky said he saw you on a date? And that you were at Cahuenga General Store and you didn't pick me up a tuna melt?
Aimes smiles at it, just for a second.
AIMES (5:59 PM): Something new.
And it feels new, somehow. Like this was some sort of small test, and now that they’ve passed it, this small strange thing they have feels more like an actual functioning adult relationship.
The next week finds her packing for a dual librarian conference and slutty Vegas trip, which is not as easy as it seems. She likes to pack light, pack with the ability to not check her luggage and to reuse the most outfits without actually being gross, but her librarian outfits and any slutty Vegas outfits are not generally compatible. So she gives in and pulls out her bigger bag, the one that still technically counts as a carry on even though it's kinda douchey.
Right on top of it, as if placed there so she'd notice it later, is a necklace. It's not one of hers or Trixie's, as neither of them own pieces that fine while still being subdued.
It's short, just a few inches longer than a choker, with deep blood red/black gemstone beads and alternating small golden circles, almost like chain links. It's weighty, with the stones, and even without taking it in for appraisal she knows that it's real gold.
If it wasn't placed in such a deliberate place, she'd assume that it somehow got mixed into her stuff by accident.
Whirling out of her closet, she faces the mirror and slowly, ever so slowly, clasps it on.
The dark gems glisten against her pale skin, highlighting the fact that she's hilariously untanned for living in Southern California. The gold shines, bringing out the tiny bleached highlights she put into her dark curly hair when this all started, and she looks like royalty. Like a princess long ago lost to time, all with a simple necklace found on her luggage.
Grabbing her phone, she snaps a pic in the mirror, and wishes that she had Iakov's number. She's used the luggage since the last time Rocky spent the night, and Trixie wouldn't spend the money on something like that without bugging her to find it.
She touches it, lightly, and tears bubble up in her eyes, and she flops onto her bed. The chain slides around her collarbone, cool, as if it's both trying to reassure her and trying to choke her at the same time.
Iakov, the same Iakov who took her out to food after a trip, and the same Iakov who leaves her alone in bed, can't be the same Iakov who'd randomly kill people and leave fancy jewelry where she would find it after a few months. It's too many...too many inconsistencies and too many different directions to be pulled in. He couldn't be as touching and as suave and as vulnerable and as...murderous...all at the same time, it's too overwhelming.
At least it’s not a ring.
She should probably send the pic to Katya, but she doesn't want to, doesn't want to deep in her gut, in case Katya takes it away. For now, as she presses deeper into her bed, so deep she can feel that one spring in the middle of her back, she just wants it to be hers. For him to be here and be normal, and that it's just a pretty necklace.
She falls asleep at that, pressing herself into her beds, her cats coming and curling around her feet, still completely unpacked and still wearing the necklace.
With the looming Vegas afterwards, the librarian conference passes with a blur of sensible clothing and her standard spiel for their software, leaving her with the distinct taste that she could do this in her sleep without anyone noticing different. Which isn't exactly a great feeling, but in terms of feelings lately it's hardly the most offensive.
Towards the end, almost in a haze, someone grabs at her elbow and she gets pulled into a hallway by a frowning and insistent Dave.
"Oh, hey," She says, once it becomes clear that he actually wants to chat with her.
He releases the vice grip on her elbow and blows out a sigh. "Long time no see?" he says, with a significant glance at the necklace on her collarbone.
She shrugs. "Haven't had any calls for the Pasadena library in a bit."
"Someone give you the necklace?" His voice is sharp. "It's glowing with energy."
She touches it, involuntary. "Well I think so?" She stares at him, and he stares right back, much more immediately intimidating than she is without any effort whatsoever. "Is that bad?"
He evaluates her for a bit. "It reads like a beacon, that you belong to someone, and someone big and powerful," he says, final. "No one will want to mess with you with that around your neck but..."
He pauses, his lips twisting, and for a brief second he looks unreal, like he’s something carved out of stone and smoke and anger.
"If you wanted to hide that you're with someone, that's not the way to do so. Everyone will look at you, everyone will see you, and...and..." he trails off, then shrugs, which is the most incongruous action in the moment.
Now that she's touching it, she runs her fingers along it. "I just thought it was pretty."
His eyebrows flash up, then he rubs his forehead. "So you know who it is now?" The other question is unspoken, but definitely heard.
"Yeah." Her phone buzzes, but she leaves it in her pocket. "Katya said...Katya said I shouldn't tell anyone. I asked, she said not even you."
He chuckles, dry, as if scraping the laughter over the desert. "Reassuring, isn't she." After a moment, he grips her elbow again. "Be careful with that? If your guy is so...drawn to secrecy, he shouldn't have given that."
And that crawls up and down her spine, and she wishes she had Iakov's number so a text wouldn't be amiss.
Dave sighs, and he appears much, much older, the veneer of humanity dropping like a stone. But instead of being as existentially terrifying as last time, instead it seems a hair sad and a lot tired. "Aimes," he starts, voice like gravel stretched across an old r
oad, "Aimes, be careful."
"I'm always careful."
"People are dying, and we don't know why. People like me, people like..." he gestures to her necklace, a scowl on his face. "Someone's killing us."
She shifts. "Katya said as much."
"Your guy must've seen it coming, to pick up you," his face twists, for a brief second. "Keep out of the spotlight, I don't want anyone coming after you."
It's strangely touching, in the vaguely uncomfortable way when one of your coworkers actually shows concern for your wellbeing.
It must've shown on her face, for he shrugs, looking out at the bustling crowd of hotel guests leaving. "Your coworkers aren't nearly as useful for the library."
The plane ride to Vegas, the entire time, one of the hostesses just stares at her with puzzled eyes. She’s clearly a new stewardess, but she keeps on staring at her and the necklace as if she's seen a ghost.
14
The heat smacks Aimes in the face the moment she steps out of the super air conditioned tarmac in Vegas.
"Heyyyyyy!" Trixie's wearing tight jean shorts, a cutoff shirt, and a cowboy hat. It's so out of place that Aimes immediately bursts out laughing.
"Oh my god it's like a thousand degrees here," she says, heaving her bag into the back of Trixie's car. "How was the drive?"
Trixie slides into the driver's seat. "No traffic, just me and the empty road and too many funny cowboy hats at the gas station. I totally got you one, and I really, deep in my heart, hope you wear it." She starts the car. "You ready to Vegas?"
"I'm ready to Vegas." She confirms.
"Good, the hotel room has a mini Jacuzzi and I brought way more alcohol than reasonable."
Once there, the hotel room is hilarious. Fake quilted wallpaper, a mirror on the ceiling and a view of The Strip from 20 stories up.
Aimes raises an eyebrow at the view, and Trixie shrugs. "My boss paid for the room, I just have to go to three talks and wander the demonstration room for a bit." She smiles, her eyes lighting up. "And he paid for tickets to the show."
Aimes flops on the bed, tension of the plane flight bleeding away. The staring, the convo with Dave, everything. "I wish I got the Vegas conferences, but nooooo Evan has seniority."
"Instead you get places like Maine. Or wherever you were this week."
Aimes stares at herself in the mirror. "Jersey and Michigan. Fucking Michigan."
Trixie flops next to her, cause the room only has one bed, of course. "Man," she says, with feeling. "Man."
"Yeah." Aimes says.
They lay there for a bit, cause they're both late twenties and don't have the energy, before Trixie turns her head and grins at her. "Know what's great about not having any guys here?"
There are so many possible answers that Aimes doesn't even know where to start. "Free drinks?"
"We don't have to look skinny naked." When Aimes blinks at her, she smiles wider. "Buffets. We can do buffets. No Rocky to be a jackass and no Kristopher for me to feel self conscious over."
Aimes huffs at the ceiling, but it’s definitely true. Rocky was an absolute shit about her gaining weight. "Man, I dated him for far too long."
Trixie props herself up, face too solemn. "Aimes," she starts, "you have no idea how long I've wanted you to say that."
Aimes props herself up to mirror her. "Buffet?"
"Buffet."
Aimes springs up, shrugging into a shirt that's at least shows off her cleavage. "I can't believe Kristopher wanted to go to a male strip club with you."
Trixie shrugs, checking her makeup in the mirror. "He's a hair bisexual? I think? He's definitely made some comments like he appreciates men, but also...likes vagina."
Aimes snorts, lighter than she has been in months. "That's almost charming." And, impulsively, she smiles at Trixie. "I met a guy. Sort of."
Trixie grabs her purse then grabs her by the elbow, leading her out. "The one Rocky saw?
"Yeah, he ends up at a lot of the same conventions, so I've seen him a few times."
"Tell me he wasn't the one who was shitty to you about the sex."
Well he was, but she isn't exactly gonna say that. "Nah. It's just...when we see each other, we try to spend the night with each other." The description falls flat in her own words, at how unimpressive it is. "It's mostly a bit of fun."
Trixie shrugs, as casually as possible. "Nothing wrong with that," she says, with too much emphasis once more. "That'd piss of Rocky."
A surprised laugh bursts out of Aimes. "God. What a disaster."
They walk, arm in arm, through the hotel and casino, and out to the midday Strip. It's brutal, with the air hitting them like a convection oven and the harsh wind immediately fucking with all of Aimes's curls and...and so many people are pausing and looking at Aimes.
In a small, fucked up way, it makes sense that Vegas would have a draw of people who could tell. But it's enough that Trixie instinctively shifts closer to her as they walk down the Strip.
"Man," she says, voice a bit soft. "Your cleavage must be amazing if this is the attention you're getting."
After Dave's warning, Aimes squares her shoulders. "The heat must be getting to them, it'll die down once it’s night and all the young slutty girls come out of hiding."
"We can be some of the young slutty girls."
"I sure hope we can."
Her phone buzzes, and she lets go of Trixie's arm to dig through her purse.
KATYA GOVERNMENT (3:12 PM): Are you in Vegas? Or is there someone else I need to be worried about all the sudden?
Aimes raises an eyebrow at her phone.
AIMES (3:12 PM): Are you tracking me?
KATYA GOVERNMENT (3:13 PM): No, I had someone report a woman with curly brown hair who's a bonded mate walking down the Strip. I wanted to check.
Aimes glances around her, quick. Trixie has stopped in front of a sunglass booth and is studiously inspecting them.
AIMES (3:15 PM): Girls weekend with Trixie. A lot of not normal people here?
KATYA (3:15 PM): Biggest population center outside of New York and LA. Be careful.
Aimes shoves her phone into her purse and drags Trixie away before she buys something way too overpriced.
They spend far too long at the buffet, eating all the little oddities and trying all the weird dishes, gossiping.
Afterwards, she lets Trixie pull her into the hookah lounge, with its dim lighting and the puffs of fragrant steam everywhere.
Aimes's never been a huge fan, but she shrugs and takes in the apple-scented air. Something different. Doing something different yet something so normal soothes as much as the smoke burns down her throat.
Trixie's in her element, sitting back and getting pretty much all of the attention from normal men. They end up sitting with a collection of international students who seem utterly charmed by the fake cowgirl appeal, and Aimes lets her mind wander.
The not-smoke bites deep back into her throat, as Trixie lights up a small briquette of coal and stuffs in something she swears will taste like tropical fruits. "Convention that bad?"
The international students look moderately bummed that she's not paying them any more attention.
Aimes blinks for a second. "A librarian there was super dire, just thinking about it."
"How can a librarian be dire? It's a library, they're not supposed to be dire." Trixie crinkles her nose.
And it's like she's missing such a huge part of what libraries do that Aimes just sighs.
"There was a huge thing about FBI visits, it was drama, don't worry." She pulls out of her ass. Well, not entirely out of her ass, that was covered in the convention, but...they weren't dire about it. They dealt with it like any librarian did, with calm conviction and raised eyebrows.
"Please tell me there's always librarian drama, that sounds like the most entertaining thing," she says, dry. "Right up there with Kristopher talking about paperwork legality." She offers the hookah hose to her.
Aimes takes it, her mind racing despit
e the relaxed area. "It has a lot to do with people looking up questionable material, and whether that's cause for arrest. And libraries can't report that the FBI's been there to see, so...a lot of people want to get around that. It's a thing."
Trixie settles back, rolling her eyes. "Those parties must be a delight."
Aimes nudges her with her elbow. "You're the one with the design convention this week."
"And our drama is exquisite, all about artistic integrity, and massively gay. It's fantastic."
Despite herself, Aimes smiles, and her eyes are drawn to a sharp profile with dark hair, but when she glances more directly, it's...
It's not Iakov, but it's another man staring at her, a smirk on his face. A smirk that's almost as familiar, his nose a bit too long and his face a bit too sallow and his shoulders far more rounded.
She’s suddenly reminded of that time in Priscilla’s, all those months ago.
As if on cue, her phone buzzes.
TALL GUY (4:11 PM): Don't talk to him.
Trixie cranes her neck over Aimes’s shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing. "Who the hell is Tall Guy?"
Aimes opens the contact. It was added less than a week ago. "No clue," she lies, glancing up at the man staring at her, then back down.
AIMES (4:13 PM): Wrong number? Who is this?
Trixie nods over her shoulder in approval. "Good call."
Aimes stuffs her phone in her purse, studiously grabbing the hookah hose again and not looking over at the staring man, pulse pounding. "Don't even know who he was talking about."
"And who would you save as 'tall guy' anyways, you're weird about all your phone contacts," says Trixie, who saves everyone under incomprehensible nicknames. Aimes was saved as bikini babe last time she checked, and she hasn't even worn a bikini since junior year of college.
Her phone buzzes, and Trixie and Aimes stare at each other for a second before Trixie shrugs and goes back to the hookah and the international students.
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