Chapter Text
Danny’s panting like a Labrador by the time she makes it to the rear entrance of the Summer Society house. She’s been running for… damn, nearly two hours, and it was on her fifth loop of the most well-lit campus sidewalks that she decided to stop pushing her luck and call it an evening. She’s definitely heard the whisperings about the mutated, tusked gophers the administration has been trying to dismiss since Halloween.
Luckily, there’s nothing sinister on the back steps, just a rough wooden handrail, a foot mat, and three pair of Wellies caked with drying mud haphazardly set in the walkway. She stumbles over the shoes (dammit, Claire) and through the door with a graceless grunt. Someone’s left the light on in the kitchen so Danny shrugs and heads that direction, unzips her hoodie and ties it around her waist. She’s sweating, and probably smells like the noxious fumes the Alchemy Club inadvertently released after the whole ‘Dodo Egg’ incubation went south. She rakes her fingers over flyaways from her braided ponytail but stops short when she turns the corner to the small dining hall.
The lights hum quietly over the tables but none of her sisters are milling about. Danny instead meets scattered dishes, and cutlery smeared with the remnants of this evening’s dinner. The three twelve-seater tables haven’t been wiped down. Condensation collects on the neglected pitchers, such that they soak the shellacked wooden tabletops with ugly water rings. It’s out of the ordinary, and say what you will about Marley, but the senior house director usually runs a tight ship at the Summer Soc house.
Danny doesn’t see a way around it, so she sets to work.
She’s almost grateful for the mess, because she really doesn’t want to go back in her room. Doesn’t want to see her cracked computer screen, to face the evidence of her overreaction.
Danny gathers plates and scrapes leftovers onto the topmost dish, smiling despite herself because it feels like clean-up back home with her brothers and sisters. The action reminds her of home because she’s doing all the work, but it makes her feel capable, and needed. But now she’s trying to negotiate a world where the people she cares about don’t need her, where those people, or, well, one person… where that person views her capabilities as maybe more hindrance than help.
The worst part is she gets to witness it.
Every. Single. Moment.
Danny gets to go back and watch when things weren’t as complex and convoluted. To see Laura’s smudged cheek and chunks of pickled herring; to be there for the awkward switching of seats; to witness her own introduction to a world connected by electronic byways and ISPs and techy jargon she couldn’t care less about; to relive that momentary flutter, brief and exhilarating in her thoracic cavity, when she exited the room and Laura clutched the air in celebration, as if just talking to Danny constituted some sort of accomplishment for the freshman.
Danny gets to relive the moment when possibility (leaps and bounds ahead of a mere crush) entered her life and crippled her ever so slightly.
It makes Danny’s ego and heart swell until she thinks about the most recent videos.
Anger and misunderstandings. When the kidnappings hit too close to home and Perry’s high on devastation (literally, though unintentionally), and Laura won’t seek Danny out because the freshman’s stubborn and yeah, ballsy. But the person—being Laura does turn to… she’s… it’s… out of Danny’s league, as in, how can I ever compete with that? With unaffected mannerisms from Eastern European courts and seamless dance steps and centuries of knowledge and a hypnotic air of callousness, betrayed only by small gestures indicative of care and concern?
The tines of a fork rake sharply across a plate and Danny winces at the screech.
Danny’s got care and concern: heaps and loads and mountains of it. But what she doesn’t have is time. Carmilla possesses the subtlety and patience that immortality affords. Carmilla can seduce and charm and entice all she wants, because the vampire doesn’t have anything as ridiculously finite as finals or graduation or, well, death looming over her like the rest of the campus does. Danny’s witnessed that disregard for time, and gagged at every glance Carmilla threw that Laura didn’t catch.
Danny knows she isn’t as blessed as her rival. Time is a luxury. That’s an axiom all mortals recognize, because life… life is fleeting. And that’s a cliché all mortals fear. She’s detested the ‘gather ye rosebuds’ argument from the get-go, whether in its original form or in that of the modern (#YOLO). But now, after sleepless nights of worthless thinking, she understands that her protective overtures are symptomatic of her mortal condition. Danny must be big, and brass, and set concrete plans for pie, and openly suggest collaboration and study dates because there’s not enough time… She knows better than most that it is imperative to tell someone how much you love them—or like, no… that’s not enough… how much you care for them before everything goes up in flames.
She knows she’s been thinking too much about Carmilla when a knife clatters to the floor and dishes begin to shift in her grip; her knuckles are white and she’s clasping the plate edges so hard she’s surprised she hasn’t cracked the stoneware.
Danny is so fed up with it, this incessant thinking. That’s what the run had been for. To clear her head, to ensure something close to a restful night. She’d purposefully gone jogging without her iPod. Her soundtrack had been wind and pulse and patterned exhalations, mainly because she had drained her battery that afternoon listening to the collected discography of angry, jilted female pop artists while grading papers. Again, it’s so feebly human, to vent frustrations with Kelly Clarkson and P!nk and T-Swfit that she begins to think she’s not… worthy, in some twisted way.
After all, who is she to quash something so unique, Laura’s once-in-a-lifetime experience with a supernatural creature, of all things, just because Danny felt—feels—felt… something substantial? She saw Laura in that video, heard that unedited confession: Worst. Crush. Ever.
That's when her laptop broke.
Unable to bear another turn on the sine wave of outrage and insecurities she’s been riding for the past week, Danny slumps through the dining hall and heads to the kitchen, which is as pristine as she’s ever seen it. The contrast to the dining hall is so stark, she nearly misses the guy turning from the sink, earbuds in and a concentrated expression on his face. When he catches her eye, he quirks a corner lip upward and it turns everything asymmetrical: a square jaw, juxtaposed against a slanted lip, combined with the tilted puppy head. The rag in one hand and squirt bottle in the other is definitely new, as is the pink, two-pocketed apron he’s got hanging over his torso. He shakes his hands and rips the earbuds out, then silences the blaring rock music.
“Hey thanks! I was just coming for those. The kitchen took longer than I thought it would.”
“What are you doing?” Danny asks, scraping the top plate of leftovers into the trash. She hands over the dishes at Kirsch’s nod, then shuffles toward the refrigerator in search of her water bottle.
“I drew clean-up duty."
“You sure you’re at the right house for that?” Danny teases, twisting the top and taking a refreshing gulp. The water trickles down her esophagus and things start to feel less—less spiky and less irritating and less prickly. Talking in the kitchen with Kirsch after an extensive run just makes everything that’s been too much lately suddenly feel… less.
“Gotta start this House Boys schtick at some point,” Kirsch posits, opening the door of the dishwasher and setting the plates in the rack. “Brandon, Jeff and Ollie cooked, but the place looked like a post-formal nuclear blow-out when I got back here. Thought I’d wash the bigger serving bowls and stuff, let the dishwasher handle the plates.”
“Fair reasoning,” Danny says, and follows him back into the dining hall. She helps gather up the remaining plates and trails behind him as he returns to the kitchen.
“And dude, a dishwasher! You guys must be rolling in it to be able to afford that.”
“Not exactly. Dues are budgeted pretty strictly, and we’ve got a whole separate account for house investments and repairs. It helps that we’ve got three business majors in the group,” Danny comments, and hops on the countertop beside the sink. She’s looking down at Kirsch as he semi-rinses the dishes, overcrowding the rack and stuffing an excess of washing liquid in the tiny window designated for ‘tough-on-stains’ cleaner. He stares intently at the control board then hits the ‘quick wash’ button. His struggle is immensely entertaining.
“Can’t remember the last time we had a meal with the guys that wasn’t on paper plates.”
“Don’t suppose you recycle, do you?” Danny asks.
Kirsch’s look says ‘gimme a break’, and he squirts her playfully with the kitchen sink sprayer.
“Hey!”
“C’mon, don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Blue. We all know you’re a genius.”
“Hardly.”
“They pay you to teach and grade papers. Might as well be.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” she bobs her head in agreement, then slings her braid over her shoulder.
“Only way that matters, when you’re at Uni. You got your nerds—” he squirts her again, but only catches half of her face this time. She sputters and punches him in the arm, then grabs a dishrag and mops the moisture from the counter top.
Why is it that she’s always cleaning up other people’s messes?
“—well,” Kirsch continues, “then you got people like me.”
His inflection, normally so buoyant and careless, drops as he finishes his sentence. And Danny can’t help it, can’t help but help, so she kicks out with her right foot to get his attention.
“What’s up?”
“No thing, Blue.”
“C’mon. What’s the matter, and what Disney movie could make it better?”
“I like other movies besides Disney,” Kirsch grumbles, up to his elbows in soapy suds. “I can understand stuff that isn’t drawn into cartoons.”
“Never thought you couldn’t,” Danny says, ill-prepared for such defensiveness.
She’s not been here with Kirsch before. With Marley, and Claire, and Dianna, and any number of the Summer Soc sisters, she’s done this. Been the strong shoulder for emotional or physical leaning, the available ear, the soundboard. It’s strange for her to think, though, that Kirsch was there for her when she asked him to be. So the least she can do is stay, and wait, since the guy is usually forthcoming. Sort of like a toddler, who’s bursting at the seams to show you his newest drawing, intent on sharing his latest discovery. No matter if that drawing is of a red Solo cup pyramid, and the discovery something along the lines of two-for-one energy drinks at the haunted gas station on Fourth Street. Kirsch is, oddly enough, sincere in his excitement, and genuine in his disappointment.
Danny flashes back to that moment, awkward and unexpected, when Kirsch had wrapped his arms around her waist and propped his chin on her shoulder after S.J.’s accident. She had stiffened when he’d hugged her and now she regrets it, wishes she could’ve—well, reciprocated. He’d needed a friend then, but she wasn’t one at the time.
She could certainly be one now.
“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Danny prods again. “Let me help.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“See, that’s a challenge. How can I walk away now?” Danny ducks her head and smiles, finally catching Kirsch’s eye.
“You’re just part of the problem.”
“Me? What did I do?”
Kirsch pulls his hands from the water and flicks them once over the sink, grabs a towel from his back pocket and runs it over the wet skin.
“You think I’m an idiot.”
“Well, yeah. An endearing idiot,” Danny smiles.
“It’s not ‘endearing’ when everybody thinks that. It’s… it sucks, because it’s embarrassing. Just because I don’t know the definition of ‘troglodyte’ doesn’t mean I can’t Google it! I mean, just because I’m not smart—”
“Woah, wait a sec—”
“It doesn’t mean I can’t, like, contribute. Doesn’t mean I’m, uhm… damn, I mean, not like I can’t do anything to help.”
“You’re not incompetent,” Danny finishes for him.
“Everybody else thinks I am. I talked to Laura, the other night, and... they think I don’t see it, you know? I might not have the grades, or read the books, but I know when people are looking at me funny. When something feels off. I know not everybody is super open about the bro life on campus, but like, they don’t have to be so… I mean, we just want the hotties to have a good time. And, no matter what you think, Summer Psychbro—” Kirsch points at her, like he knows she’s about to interrupt, “—we want everybody to be safe.”
“You see, that’s where I disagree,” Danny argues. “It’s wrong of us to assume that every Zeta is the same, but Kirsch, come on, you’ve got to know that the fraternity culture has never been good for women on campus. Just because you’re a good guy doesn’t mean the establishment is good. It doesn't mean all of your bros are, either.”
“I know that. Some of the bros can be douches. God, Kevin.”
“Everybody hates Kevin.”
“Even Kevin hates Kevin, sometimes. It’s like he knows he’s a creep. Just like I know I’m an endearing idi—”
“Okay, just stop right there. I’m not letting you have a pity party for yourself with that frilly apron on and a Mr. Clean bottle in your hand. It’s too pathetic, and I’m the one who just got dumped.”
Danny hops off the counter and takes the cleaner from his hand, then yanks on the apron tie behind his neck. The garment flaps listlessly to the floor and he struggles to get out of it with his size twelve sneakers, looking almost as graceful as Danny does on the rare occasion that she tries to rid herself of pantyhose.
“Look, Blue, it’s cool you’re trying to help, but it’s just something I need to get over—”
“Shut up and listen. That’s the thing that pisses me off most about frats. You could be cool guys if you turned down the party music for a whole ten seconds and listened to what girls are trying to tell you,” Danny shifts in her sneakers, feels a pang in her quad, and curses herself for not stretching properly post-run. She winces and rubs at the muscle, which elicits a half-hearted harrumph from the bro standing opposite her. His head falls and he crosses his arms, and Danny thinks she catches something close to concern flash across his features. She’s too distracted by his poked-out lip to focus on it, though.
“And stop pouting. You’re a grown man, so act like it,” Danny admonishes, because maybe it’s tough love that Kirsch needs right now. She’s got a lot of ‘mom’ tactics she’s honed over the years. She’ll have to delve into her repertoire to see what works best for young Master Brody.
“Look, Kirsch, let’s get a few things straight. I disagree with several fundamentals of the fraternal system. I think it can be manipulating and oppressive for coeds on campus. I think it gives guys an excuse not to try, because they find a community that accepts this… party-all-night-and-sleep-all-day kind of lifestyle. But even I have to concede that it can be… good, in some respects. You’ve got your brothers for encouragement, just like I’ve got my sisters, and I guess, in some round-about way, it hones qualities like loyalty, and leadership. I mean, just because you’re the social chair doesn’t mean you just go to parties. You have to plan them, and organize them, and that’s… I mean, you’re developing skills for that. Zetas throw the best parties on campus, everybody knows that. And that’s on you.”
She props her hip against the counter and reaches for her water bottle. She toys with the cap, and waits for a response.
…
…
…
“Sometimes I feel like that’s all I’m good for,” Kirsch finally offers. “I’m just, you know, the party guy. People forget that I do… that I’ve always…”
“What, Kirsch?”
“I just… I try, but it doesn’t come easy for everybody, you know?”
Danny stops herself from saying try harder, because instinct tells her that’s all Brody Kirsch has heard for a long time.
“You know how I started dating S.J. after she came back? Like, after she got back from being taken the first time?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’d met her before,” Kirsch says, and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “At the student resource center. She tutored me in science. Helped me with my bio class, and went over my problems for Intro to Calculus. I just… everybody’s expecting me to flunk out, but I wanted to show them up. She totally thought I could do it. Said I had a lot of potential. I was crushing so hard back then.”
He pulls his hand out of his pocket and Danny catches a flash of bubblegum pink. It’s one of those scrunchies like she used to wear in kindergarten, falling apart at the seams.
“She gave me this, the day before my first Biology exam. She said that when she took her tests, she liked to have something to hold onto, to keep her grounded. ‘It’s just a test’, she said, not the end of the world. And she was so smart, like on scholarship, first-class and admission to all the honors socs. ‘Just a test’ for her wasn’t the same as ‘just a test’ for me. She had serious pressure. But she gave it to me, like a good luck charm.”
Kirsch fingers the hairpiece with surprising delicacy, his big hands and clumsy digits an odd contrast to such a soft pink. He’s solemn, and it’s a color Danny can’t quite consolidate with his person, or, at least the half of the person she knows so well.
It disconcerts her, the feeling that maybe she doesn’t know the guy across from her very well at all. And it’s even more unnerving that she wants to know him. Wants to help him.
“She must have been really special to you.”
“I freaked when I found out she was one of the ones taken. And when she came back, I asked her out on the spot. I wasn’t about to let anything else happen to her. I knew she was smart, and that she… I don’t know, she was just good at everything. But I wanted to be able to help with stuff. So I took her to parties, got to see her loosen up. I never thought someone had… that something bad was…”
Kirsch exhales and Danny doesn’t push. She’s got her own issues with the chthonic goings-on at Silas but doesn’t feel that now is the time to press her only bro-pal for his opinions on supernatural girl-napping.
“I didn’t think someone had changed her. And that’s me being stupid again, can’t see what’s right in front of my face. I thought she… I mean, I thought she was trying to take an interest in my stuff. Went to the parties I planned... I thought she might have liked me, you know?”
“Kirsch, of course she liked you. I don’t doubt that.”
“We know they got their brains turned into scrambled eggs, Blue. You don’t have to try and make me feel better.”
“S.J. said you had potential before she got taken. She gave you that scrunchie before, Kirsch. I don’t think she would’ve done that for someone she didn’t like.”
…
…
…
“If you don’t mind my asking… who’s ‘everybody’?” Danny knits her ginger brows together at the inquiry.
“Huh?” Kirsch asks.
“You said, ‘everybody’s expecting me to flunk out’. Who thinks that?”
“Oh… that’s… I was just, uh... you know, college bro, likes to party. It’s how it goes, right?”
“I’ve got plenty of Summer Soc sisters who party with the best of them and have better grades than I do,” Danny argues. “Who made you think you were going to flunk out?”
…
…
…
“My Dad.”
…
…
…
“I only got in because he’s an alum,” Kirsch scratches the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. “Mom’s on my case a lot, too, so it’s… I just don’t want to screw up too bad.”
“They had to have thought you could do it if they sent you in the first place.”
“My brother helped, a lot more than my parents did. He wasn’t around, but he talked me into coming here. Said I couldn’t do anything but try.”
“He wasn’t around?”
“Third year of residency,” Kirsch supplies.
She doesn’t want to overanalyze that family dynamic, but Danny does feel like she’s two steps forward on figuring out more about her one and only Bro-pilot.
“He’s another one of those that likes to smile at me, and nod,” Kirsch says. “Like I can’t help it. Like I don’t know any better. Like I’m stu—”
“You’re not stupid. Stop saying you are,” Danny huffs. “You’re organizing recon missions on the Dean’s study! That takes logic, and intuition, and smarts, and yeah, a little bit of crazy, but you’re not stupid. A little lazy, maybe, but I see the potential S.J. saw, okay? And you’re not flunking my class. I’ll kick your ass if you do,” she smirks.
“You could try.”
“I don’t make empty threats.”
“Nah, you just make bets on the long shot.”
“Bigger payday in the end, though.”
“And you say I’m the crazy one.”
“Anyone who believes in bow ties and popped collars as adequate fashion staples must be certifiable.”
They settle back into comfortable silence. Danny’s drained physically, and Kirsch’s emotional engagement has succeeded in relegating her own personal problems to the mental backburner. She wants to go up and shower, and sleep, and get ready for tomorrow morning’s sparring practice with the Zetas. Which reminds her…
“You’ve got the sparring rotation worked up?” she asks.
“Yeah, I’ll print it out and bring it in the morning. I paired Ollie with Amelia because she absolutely crushed Jeff in grappling practice last week. Thought I’d give her a bigger challenge.”
“Nice to know you’re not holding back any more.”
“As if we could. Besides, you’re a ninja with that stake.”
“Menacing,” Danny agrees. “We’ll need to start partnering up, too. Figure out complimentary styles, because it’ll take at least two of us to take down one of them.”
“Yeah. I’ve got some thoughts on that.”
“See, there you go again, thinking.”
“Danny?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks. You know, for…”
Brody lets the sentence fall, and extends his hand. She takes it, and her long fingers wrap around his palm as he pulls her in and claps her back with the opposite arm. His hands are cracked and dry and he smells like pomegranate dish soap. It’s her first real bro-hug, but the sentiment, the solidarity, is just as authentic as any other hug she’s had the privilege of experiencing. Their clasped hands are smushed in between their chests but there’s nothing carnal about it. It’s… affectionate, and filled with gratitude. He squeezes and tucks his chin on her shoulder, just like he did in Laura’s room. But this time she squeezes back, and takes amusement in hugging a frame that’s larger than her own. They don’t linger, but there’s understanding and partnership and the desire to affect significant change… to help people, even if it’s just each other.
He claps her between the shoulder blades one final time and they separate wordlessly. She nods towards the door and he waves her off, grabs a rag and finishes wiping everything up in the kitchen. After her shower, Danny hits the mattress with sore calves and a calm mind. For the first time in two weeks, she sleeps okay.