: house of cards

[pat bohannon]

Pat thinks he's studied her face more than most things in his life. More than the menu at his favorite corner store, more than the street signs that he followed, more than the stairs he took up and down at Bodega. So used to the proximity it almost felt normal when she flew at him, lips pressing quick against the top of her head. But then her eyes drift up and suddenly it's an expression he's never seen on her face, wild and lost, her shifting eyes resolute in color but focus impossible to find. He looks again to Maya who slowly shifts back to motion. Wondering if they were all standing on landmines right now, stamping the smile onto his face to assure her. "Why do you want them to go, I thought you wanted us all to hang out?" It's all foreign territory to him, trying to keep his focus on her so she was less aware of whatever was being orchestrated. "Unless you're tired, I know you've been working crazy hours. I can get maybe them to go if you want to lay down with me?"

[stassi siminski]

A lingering thought that maybe this wasn't actually Patrick and was in fact some kind of paid actor is immediately dispersed by his kiss on the top of her head, an anchor in all of her mental states. "Ow," she murmurs, realizing she's stepped on something in her haste to get to him, her foot bleeding. It's a fresh distraction, making her release him and go back to sitting on the couch, pulling the injured foot up onto the opposite knee and peering at it. Crimson against pale skin, strawberries and cream. "Hm." She pulls out the shard of unidentifiable glass, picking up a t-shirt that could well have been Pat's and pressing it against the wound. Maya takes the opportunity to crouch beside her, having shot a look towards the others to encourage them to stay back. "Stas... remember when we talked about your medication? Can you remember the last time you took it?" she says gently, pressing her hand over Stassi's, helping to put pressure on the wound. The question is considered for a moment, the pill bottle full in her bathroom cabinet, just about the only thing that was in its usual place. She shrugs. "Don't need it anymore." She picks up the burger that had been offered to her, forcing herself to take a bite and speaking through the food. "See?"

[pat bohannon]

At first he thinks he's harmed her, some synapse warping in her mind at his touch. But it quickly becomes something worse, Pat finally taking the place in in totality as she stared at the blood dripping from her foot. Papers strewn everywhere, candles melted into the ground, the offending glass shattered to his left. It's spelled out as blatantly as it could be, Pat's stoicism locking further at what he could have looked for. What he should have known, what he might have caused. Maya's gentle tone all but a gunshot of a reminder, stalking to her bathroom to find the full bottle exactly where she'd always kept it. The one thing that remained in place, unsure if it was ironic or a relief as he quickly returned her counter back to the mess he knew by heart. Small pieces of her he'd collected in his own mind, incapable of pinpointing what was happening with hers but grounding himself in the fact that he wanted her safe. Whatever he had to sacrifice to make that happen, be it time or his own dignity. "Bottle's still full," he murmurs under his breath to Maya, turning sharply to Benicio when he noticed the bottle of sleep medicine. Trying to remember that he was a tenured friend, that he had been through this before, that he'd stalled long enough for everyone to get here. Somewhere he finds gratitude under the disbelief that he'd had an idea she was off her meds, shifting his focus to the bottle of rubbing alcohol he knew was under her kitchen sink. The clean cotton swab he'd swiped from the bathroom, passing them to Mia and her nurturing care. "This might hurt," he warns, watching her soak the white cotton. "But it'll make it feel better, alright? Want to talk to me, tell me about your day? It'll keep your mind off it."

[benicio otero]

Their backup arrives but the plan remains unclear, now three of them in the mix. Benicio offers a sharp nod toward Pat as he takes inventory of his surroundings, registering the same shock he and Maya had to keep from their features. He should have seen it before they got here. The Puerto Rican moves to hover closer to Maya, trying to afford the couple a sliver of privacy despite the cramped apartment. Quietly he conversed with Maya about what was found in the bedroom, nodding as she mentioned the clothes, Benicio informing her about the plane tickets. While the couple talked, he shadowed Maya in nudging papers and clothes into more manageable piles, mentioning his hope of hiring a maid service for the apartment. Perhaps she was better suited to crash at Patrick’s, but it’s a heavy burden to place on her boyfriend—and his first time seeing her this way. Catching the accusing snap of Pat’s eyes toward the sleep aid, Benicio’s brows briefly rose in acknowledgment. Now if it would start working sooner, she wouldn’t be tracking blood around suddenly. Beni finds a downed broom and sweeps the area, biting his tongue to fade in the background so that Stassi could continue to run herself down, safely, with them.

[stassi siminski]

Pat's confirmation is all she needs to hear. Maya knows this isn't going to be something they could ride out here, that antipsychotics would be the only thing that would cut through the noise at this stage. Looking at Stassi's bloody foot and taking the cotton from Pat, she crouches down and starts to work, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her sister. "I went to the library for the first time in forever, then I went to Brooklyn to go shopping, I thought I saw dad Maya but it wasn't him so then I went for a coffee with not-Dad, then I wanted to see if Gladiator was out—" she rattles on, giving Maya an opportunity to turn to face the boys, giving them a look that said play along. Inhaling through her teeth, she looks at the surface cut on Stassi's foot, nodding for them to come look. "I don't know guys, this looks pretty bad," it did not. "I think you might need to get this looked at. Just to be safe." Before she can look for too long she starts putting more things in the overnight bag, a charger, face wipes, things she might get some comfort from. "Beni, can you find something for her to wear on the ride over? Pat, you might need to help her to the car." Her stomach twisted at the trick she was playing on her own flesh and blood, but god it felt good to not be in this alone for once. "Thank you both," she says, her voice weighted with gratitude that went beyond thanking someone for grabbing a coat or lending an arm.

[pat bohannon]

Something sets in Maya's expression, and Pat understands with a heavy heart what it likely means. The last time she'd brought up a hospital visit had been through a casual text message, Pat so thrown off by the delivery and the fact that she'd disappeared for a week he had barely even processed it. But now, more involved in her daily life than ever, he put full trust in Maya that this was what she needed. Routine support and care that only a medical professional could likely provide, swallowing the lump in his throat as he moved to take Maya's place. "Don't look," he guides, putting firm pressure on the minuscule cut. He knows they'll all wear this guilt for a while, trying to keep himself composed, a grimace curled on the edge of his lip in a show of concern. But the girl who's looming over him is someone else entirely, erratic and edgy, shuffling through the strewn papers next to her like she'd uncover the key to the universe if she just dug hard enough. Watching her quietly as the other two worked in tandem Pat ran his thumb soothingly over the curve of her ankle until Beni came back with sweatpants and a sweater. "I'll help you, c'mon," he guides, having her lift her arms to tug the sweater over her head, then slowly maneuvering her cut foot (that had since stopped bleeding) through the leg. Treating it as if she'd shatter any second, which it kind of seemed like she would, Maya putting her phone down with a deciding nod. "We ready? I can carry you down, babe."

[benicio otero]

“No problem,” Beni returned easily to Maya’s request as she sold the idea of Stassi needing to see a doctor for her new wound. It seemed a plausible story, logical and reasonable—but those qualities weren’t exactly able to reach Stassi’s mind at the moment, so their tiptoeing was necessary yet. Through her drawers he rifled, stuffing a pair of pants and a pair of shorts for good measure, a scrap of underwear, a sweater that had escaped her closet banishment pile. He waved off Maya’s thanks, considering it a duty to his friend in need; during a passing moment in the hall they exchanged phone numbers, surprised they had never done so previously. Watching Stassi be helped into clothes and the quiet coordination between Maya and Patrick, Beno felt the group splitting off, letting her boyfriend take the wheel. “I can stay and tidy,” he offered, more so them than Stassi. “I will be here. Let me know.”

[stassi siminski]

For someone with a newfound gift of omniscience, Stassi was failing to connect the dots on what was happening. Rummaging through papers for something she knew to be important but had forgotten the nature of, she was easily distracted by this new development, stopping what she was doing so Pat could dress her. "It doesn't even hurt." It's a stark contrast to how this would usually go, with it often taking Maya many hours of patient coaxing for Stassi to eventually admit that a hospital visit was necessary. Maya hopes that Pat's presence will distract her enough for her to surreptitiously tip the hospital staff off to the real need at hand, nodding as a notification popped up on her phone to confirm the presence of the Uber. "You don't need to do that, you've already helped so much," Maya says to Beni, though the task would otherwise fall to her. That was all to come, the rebuilding of a life Stassi had been unravelling for god knows how long. Shame would come, bringing with it frustration and guilt, an emotional rollercoaster Stassi would ride out in group therapy sessions and in arts and crafts, back in her beloved grippy socks. Pat lifts her and she curls into him, exhaustion catching up with her as she breathes in his smell, stirring something deep inside of her. "I love you guys," she says sleepily waving at Ben as they head down to meet her fate.