. three rings

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It's a strange feeling to be told off by a five year old girl and know that she's right. Nick was experiencing an array of strange feelings, though that was most likely due to how drained his serotonin levels were. Trapped in the strange comedown that a night of abusing MDMA grants you, he felt sluggish but skittish, alert but exhausted. There was a filter between himself and the world, his responses were delayed, he could only hear Naila's lecturing when he really forced his mind to focus. All the way home the child had scolded him, questioning how he could be so stupid as to forget about her. It was a good question. Through his sleepy haze, guilt weighed heavy on his stomach, and he wondered how he would be able to face Freya. As it turns out he didn't have to, not yet. Finding the apartment empty, he set about making Naila a snack. The usually ambitious cook settled on a PB & J sandwich, unable to stir up enough energy for much else. He hadn't slept much at all, in fact had only just been drifting off when he got the call from the school. He'd rushed out, ignoring August's asides, in the same clothes as he'd had on the night before, fitted jeans and a black t-shirt with only a denim jacket to protect from the chill. Being cold felt like penance. Placing the sandwich in front of Naila, he heard the key turn in the door, the sound flooding him with dread. Heading to the hallway, he met Freya as she came in, looking every bit as furious as she had the right to be. "Listen, I'm sorry. I think there was a miscommunication.. I fucked up."

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Freya feels sick when she gets the call from Naila's school saying that she's been failed to be picked up. It's almost 4:30 and school let's out at 3:15, meaning that her little girl has been waiting for over an hour. Freya was positive that she told Nick that was his day to pick her up, but now that she's really thinking about it, did she? Though it's more likely that Naila is making the most of the lack or competition and sucking up to her teachers rather than being hysterical, Freya's mind conjures up two images. In one, Naila is like a cold and wet lost puppy, crying because she's forgotten. In the other, she's been waiting for so long that some pedophile has decided to try his luck and kidnap her. The second becomes more real when Freya arrives at the school and Freya is no where to be found. Although she's sure that it's Nick that picked her up (the school Did tell her this), he's not picking up his phone and not returning her multiple hysterical phone calls. Maybe he's also been kidnapped. Freya's way home is made in record time but somehow it's not fast enough. She's white as a ghost as she sprints upstairs to her apartment, and wiggles her key into the lock. When she sees Nick standing in the hallway, she can't even look at him. There no feeling of relief, only anger. She breezes right past him and goes to the sofa to Naila. "Hi baby," her voice cracks and she sits on the couch, her arms wrapping around the child's small body. "I'm so sorry," she's a little teary and Naila gives in to hug her back before protesting that she's being squished. Freya let's go and offers a smile, her fingers tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "Are you okay?"

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Freya enters and it's more than Nick's comedown can bear. She's so beautiful, so present, and so very, very angry. Any single one of those would have been too much for him, but the cumulative effect has him wanting to head for the hills. She ignores him and on some level he's glad. After all, he'd got his defending statement out there, and he wasn't one for all out conflict... no, in truth he wanted a resolution that she wasn't granting him. Following her into the living room, he watched as she fussed over her daughter, feeling a deep pang of empathy. Of course she panicked, why wouldn't she? Naila was her life. Not that the girl understood this. Squirming under her mother's affections, Nick interrupted. He crouched down beside her. "Naila, you know it was my fault, right? I'm really sorry. I messed up, I got my days wrong," he looked at her as she avoided his eye contact, putting a large hand on her petite back. "You know I love you the most, right? I'd never do it on purpose." After a moment's intense consideration, Naila nodded, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug. He couldn't help hugging her back a little too tightly, still riddled with guilt. Once they released each other he straightened up. He'd avoided one on one contact with Freya since they'd left California, afraid of what would come of their closeness-- or rather, what wouldn't. Still, he resisted the urge to run now. "Freya, can I speak to you in the kitchen?"

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Naila considers milking the moment, her big eyes turn thoughtful as she considers not being okay. Freya reads her like a book, of course she's fine. Her lips dab softly against her forehead and her thumb strokes her cheek. Naila gives in with a smile and begins to pick at her sandwich. When Nick crouches beside them, Freya tries hard not to act annoyed. She smiles and nods along, avoiding the urge to slug Nick in the arm. When he asks to see her, she creases her brow and focuses back on Naila. "Love you, babe. Imagine how much free ice cream you can get from this," she raises her brows and Naila smiles, which makes her grin back. Freya runs her hands over her pencil skirt and straightens it out, like a corporate warrior about to go into battle. When she enters the kitchen she finally looks at Nick. He looks a wreck, and not his usual overtired kind of mess. This frustrates her and she once again finds herself raising her eyebrows and shrugging her shoulders. "I have no words," she heads toward the fridge and pulls out a package of ground turkey. She rolls her eyes when Nick is still standing there, her hands beginning to root though her small pantry for spaghetti sauce. "You should go home until you come up with a better excuse."

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With Naila's tiny arms wrapped around his neck, Nick was free to look at Freya over her shoulder. It was obvious that she was not going to forgive him so easily. He regrets having indulged himself so heavily the night before, whilst it's miles better than being hungover he still feels weak, exhaustion and a chemical imbalance in his brain leaving him ill equipped to handle a situation this tense. As soon as he gets into the kitchen he runs the tap, splashing his face with cold water to try and sharpen up. "Did you know that splashing your face with cold water activates the mammalian diving reflex? It like, slows your body down or something, I don't know, we inherited from our fishy evolutionary ancestors." Ah, there it was. The old Nick Khan fun-fact-to-distract-from-awkwardness strategy. Even if he'd managed to get his tired brain to remember the fact correctly, he somehow felt Freya wouldn't have been interested. He dries his face off with the bottom of his t-shirt. He's tempted to comment on how she looks like a sexy secretary, but given that he looks like a bum and also just nearly abandoned her daughter, he thinks better of it. "I don't have an excuse, I'm not making excuses. I got my days wrong, I fucked up, I'm really sorry." He reaches over her head for the spaghetti sauce, setting it down in front of her, "you know that's really easy to make, right?" A wave of exhaustion hits him and he has to lean against the wall, unable to support his considerable weight. All he wants right now is to be babied, to crash on the couch and have Naila get him a nice chilled soda, Freya to make him a mountain of comfort food and stroke his head. "I must look like shit."

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Nick starts going off about water and she pauses what she's doing to widen her eyes at him. This is unbelievable. How is this happening? For a couple of weeks all she has had for him was total affection. Very awkward affection, but all she wanted to do when she saw him was make out with him. That affection was replaced with her motherly instincts and she wanted to tear into him in a completely different manner. "How could you fuck up your days? How could you forget our kid?" She says 'our' to make him feel worse, deciding that 'my' would just annoy the hell out of him. "Though I suppose if I was busy getting fucked up on a weeknight I might... no, actually, I would never forget my own daughter." She ignores his comment about the spaghetti sauce and pulls out a cutting board and an onion. She begins to angrily dice the onion, but slows down once deciding that knives are dangerous when mad. "Yea. You look like you crawled out of an asshole and became an asshole."

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Being scolded by Freya is a lot more damning than being scolded by Naila. Instantly Nick's transported back to childhood, raised by two strict parents who didn't hesitate to give him a dressing down when he even slightly misbehaved. It's worse because she's right, and when she refers to Naila as both of theirs he's grateful, knowing it must have been an effort to do so. It was true, it wasn't on. "What can I say, Freya? I thought you said you'd swapped or something, I fucked up. I'm really sorry!" He hears himself saying it over an over again and wishes she'd understand how much he meant it. "It's not like I just forgot, when have I ever forgotten? I thought you had it. I was wrong. I'm sorry." He hopes Naila can't hear them from the other room, though he can hear the infuriating voice of Peppa Pig and knows she can't. Watching her angrily chop he wants to intervene but doesn't, not trusting his own reaction times any more than he trusts hers. And besides, she'd probably stab him if he tried. "I work freelance, weeknights don't really mean anything to me," he said, as if that was the point. He sighed heavily as she confirmed that he looked awful. Helping himself to a can of Coke from the fridge, he gripped it tight, his whole body feeling the slightest bit hot and shaky. "I'm sorry. I'd be doing a better job of begging for forgiveness if I wasn't already dying," he said, sitting down on a dining chair heavily.

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Freya stays silent. Arguing with Nick was pointless and knowing the type of person he is, she's aware that he already feels guilty. Though she's still angry and the worry of what-ifs still sits in the pit of her stomach. She can't help but think impossible thoughts and when she goes to the pantry to take out some pasta, she needs to peak around the corner to make sure Naila is still sitting. She drags her hands over her temples, attempting to massage the stress out of her head. It works a little, and she's not berating Nick for his mistake. Though the silence might be worse. Freya moves around the kitchen, grabbing pots and lighting up the stove. She's not a cook and her meals usually consist of the most basic ingredients or come from a can. "You should leave and go die at home." While angrily cutting open the package of ground beef she manages to knick her palm with the knife and this only makes her more annoyed. She very calmly watches as red blood splashes in tiny droplets on the counter and her lips purse in discontent. She doesn't want to admit her fuck up and so carries on, rinsing her bloody hand and wrapping it in a paper towel before continuing cooking. "I really mean it. If we keep breathing the same air I'm probably going to kill you."

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He watches Freya as she pokes her head around the corner, checking that her daughter hasn't been vanished into the night. It would be easy to say that she was being overcautious, ridiculous even, but Nick completely understood where she was coming from. It was a natural response from any parent, but for Freya specifically, Naila represented her whole world. Though his more rational self would understand that, the serotonin deprived Nick felt a little wounded by the severity of her reaction. She'd called Naila both of theirs, but it was written all over her now that that's not what she really thought. Too weary to fight her on it and too depressed to pretend that he was fine, Nick heaved himself up. "Ok. I'm sorry. Maybe it's time you got a proper babysitter." Just as he was getting ready to go, Freya caught herself with the knife. Wincing as blood splashed against the counter, Nick watched her as she went to the sink and grabbed a paper towel. "Oh stop it," he said as she went to go back to cutting. Fishing around in a drawer, he pulled out a first aid kit, retrieving a length of gauze and unwrapping a sterile dressing. "Here, stop," he said, gently putting his hand over her wounded one. Wary of the knife, he looked her in the eye, encouraging her to let him do this one thing. Wordlessly he mopped at the cut with the tissue, throwing it aside and pressing the dressing down into her palm. "Hold that," he ordered, before wrapping the length of bandage around her hand a few times, tying it at the end. "There. I'm gonna go say bye to Nai."

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Freya narrows her icy eyes at him, "I'll start looking." It's an empty threat. She's banishing him now but she knows on Sunday she'll be calling him to tell him that things happen and she understands that it wasn't intentional. That is a fact that she understands now, but doesn't want to give in to. Nick would never have intentionally forgotten Naila and she was sure it wasn't easy for him to accept that he had fucked up. Not even the accepting part, just the general fact of his fuck up. Still, Freya is more stubborn than not and she'd rather bleed out than give in and ask for help. She stands there impatiently when he grabs her hand to clean her up. She winces but tries to disguise it as a huff, her eyes looking toward the ceiling instead of down at her hand. The cut wasn't deep, but it was enough of an injury to bleed through a pad of gauze. He finishes wrapping her up and she turns back toward the counter without thanks. Her hands scoop the onions are throw them on the hot pan, "bye!"

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Whilst Nick had been avoiding Freya like the plague, he had never thought their interactions would sour this much. He was wounded by her sharpness towards him, which seemed extreme considering he'd made an easy mistake and apologized for it profusely, not to mention taken steps to rectify it as soon as he could. He's not emotionally equipped for this, and if he was less exhausted he might have put up a bit of a fight about it, since he'd done more than enough to prove that Naila was his first priority right up until now. But Freya was being stubborn, and his body felt like it was going to give up on him any second now, so he decided not to say anything. That is, until she doesn't say thank you. A stickler for good manners, Nick rolled his eyes at her. "Honestly Freya, you're being a bitch about this." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, and they hang there between them. It's hard to ascertain what he feels-- it's not a relief, he feels no satisfaction, but he doesn't regret it either. He heads to the living room, bending over to kiss the top of Naila's head and give her a squeeze. "See ya tomorrow Nai. I'll be waiting from 1pm, just to be sure," he says with a smile, the little girl nodding her approval. "Sorry to stick you with your mom's cooking. I'll make crunchy fried rice tomorrow, ok? See ya then."

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He calls her a bitch and she's a bit shocked. She parks her hands on the edge of the counter and drums her fingers against the surface, almost as though she's preparing the tear into him. She doesn't though, she just sighs deeply and pokes at the onions with a wooden spoon. It takes her a minute to quit being so proud. Freya wants to be easy on him but there's a wall blocking her from doing it. It's a mix of disappointment and exhaustion. A long work week and then a stressful hour of thinking her daughter had been kidnapped by a pedophile. Disappointment in Nick for forgetting but also disappointment in him for being so distant these past couple of weeks. She narrows her eyes thoughtfully and turns the stove on low. Naila is clinging onto Nick when Freya walks in. Her little arms hug around him and she's trying to pull him on the couch with her. "Tomorrow's Saturday, you might be waiting a while," she rests her good hand on his shoulder and let's her pride drop. "Thank you. Sit down, stay. Do as your told," she says firmly and picks up Naila's plate of pb&j crust. She's holds her temper as she grabs a soft throw blanket and lays it on top of the pair, avoiding Nick's gaze as she does so. Her movements are quick and angry looking, she makes sure to leave a chill in the air as she rushes back into the kitchen.

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It had not occurred to Nick that Freya might have picked up on the fact that he was obviously avoiding her. Despite numerous conversations cut short, his brevity when they crossed paths and the absolute contrast this was to his usual way of being around her, he had thought he had been sly about it. Whenever he called conversations off prematurely he always had an excuse to, and he figured Freya would be feeling just as awkward as him and would therefore be grateful for the disruption.  With Naila's arms tight around him again, Nick manages to feel some level of warmth. It's a feat, given his current chemical makeup, and he holds on to that momentary feeling of happiness, because he's miserable otherwise. Freya arrives and he almost flinches as she puts a hand on his shoulder, he so doesn't expect it. Again he feels a rush of warmth. Doing as he's told, Nick gratefully collapses onto the sofa, settling in against Naila as her mom pulls a blanket over them. He's so grateful he could cry. Even though it's evident that Freya's still furious, he's genuinely touched by the gesture, and it reminds him that she's only human after all. It takes approximately 30 seconds for Nick to fall fast asleep. Pulled into a deep slumber, he's out for the count for at least three hours. When he eventually stirs, Naila is nowhere to be found, and the room is in darkness. He gets up, going to the bathroom to brush his teeth (of course he had a toothbrush on standby) before going to find Freya, knocking on her bedroom door. "You awake?"

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Freya is used to doing things in a hurry and being rushed has become almost a personality trait. It is no wonder her meals are always a bit bland and Naila despite her big heart can't help but yearn for Nick's cooking. She's done cooking within a half hour and after setting Naila a small bowl, she goes to fetch her. The two of them are asleep on the couch, their bodies positioned in such a similar way that it's hard to believe it's not intentional. Freya leaves them to pile the entirety of the spaghetti into Tupperware and do the dishes. She returns a little while later to peel a sleeping Naila off the couch and tuck her into her own bed. Her heart can't resist repositioning Nick's head into a pillow so he doesn't wake up with a kink in his neck. Hours later, she's curled up in her own bed. Her office clothes have been hidden away in her hamper and she's replaces them with pajama shorts and a sweater. Though she should be doing homework, her mind can't think straight and she's resorted to scrolling through Instagram and watching Shameless on her laptop. Watching this family fall more apart every episode makes her feel a little better about her own situation. Sammy is stick and poking a swastika on her son's forehead when Nick raps at the door. She contemplates staying silent but the warm glow of a lamp is a dead giveaway. "Mhm," she murmurs, pressing the space bar to put the show on pause, "come in."

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Given his stature and the presence of stimulants in his system, it's safe to say Nick doesn't have the most comfortable sleep. Still in his denim jacket and with Converse still on his feet as he drops off, he wakes up in a more comfortable position than he could have reasonably expected, a cushion propped under his head, his shoes off and a blanket over him. These are all very Freya actions, her mothering instinct often stretching to include Nick. It's so Freya that he forgets that they're in a fight, only remembering a few minutes after stirring, dread weighing heavy in his stomach. There were few things he hated more than fighting with his friends, and that went double for Freya, who was more like family. Shrugging the jacket off so that he's in black jeans and a black t-shirt, he feels a bit like a burglar, stalking around a house that wasn't his own. There's a pause after his knock and he can tell she's deliberating, reluctance laced through her response. He heads in anyway. Sitting down on the bed, he can't help but glance at her legs, aching to reach out and pull her into his lap. He clears his throat. "Can you stop being mad at me? I promise I'll do anything, all the chores, all the cooking, I'll take Naila to that soft play place you hate, I'll run you bubble baths and massage your feet... just forgive me. I am really, really sorry."