Names We Knew - [Uno/Blitz]

MY HANDS FREEZE OVER the parts where my fingertips are skimming along the surface of the text printed on the sides of bottles. Gradually, I raise my head so my gaze meets his, hoping that some God out there is listening to my prayer and letting the owner of the voice to not. be. him.

Well, either God doesn't exist, or I've never been very religious, anyway, because my eyes find Nino Ripley's and I'm scared I won't be able to look away in time. He's sitting down in the waiting area and eyeing me carefully, cautiously, and rightfully so.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought of this very moment, of finally coming face to face with him - eventually, some time in the distant future, for example. The very, very, very distant future. (Not like this, not now, not in the middle of a deal.) Still, I expected something harsher and volatile to erupt out of his mouth, but, instead, he still says my name gently, not much harsher than the sea breezes whirring around outside. But, maybe, after not hearing my name in his mouth for so long, I'm just imagining that softness in his voice. I want that softness to still be there more than my imagination could ever admit.

"Nino," I say breathlessly, suddenly standing up erect and caught off guard. "You're... This isn't a good time for you to be here, right now."

Probably not the best greeting after eons of silence, but I've never been one for polite conversation.

NORMAL HASN'T BEEN A PART OF MY LIFE since, well, ever.

But, here we stand anyway, a deal maker and a grave robber making small talk in a doctor's office. "I'm right on time, actually," he says, and I think this is as close to normal as we're ever gonna get.

But, nothing about us has ever really been normal. Everything we are were was based off of guilt-ridden beginnings, or sour words spewed at each other like venom. We built a home out of these tragedies; I doubt we were even surprised when it finally toppled over.

He looks down at his watch. "You can check the schedule if you think there's been a mistake. It's probably on the counter next to you." For a moment, I'm at a loss for words. He's so casual and nonchalant that I almost forget that we are both the two most abnormal people I know. "Whatcha doing over there anyway?"

I take this as my cue to turn back to the work in front of me. My eyes and hands synchronize and get busy again, hands grabbing each pill bottle and throwing out the ones without the prescribed labelling at a discarded pile at my feet. There's no time to worry about the mess when the receptionist could be walking back in at any second now. I ignore the way my hands start to shake in a way they weren't only moments before. Leave it to Fate to have me chance upon a meeting with my ex in the middle of this mess of a deal I've drunkenly agreed on.

"I'm, uh, making good on a deal," Casual, Ursula. Calm, collected. "What about you?" I turn my head over my shoulder for a brief moment, meeting his eyes, "Are you sick?"

Then, I get back to work.

INVOLUNTARILY, I WINCE. "It's important to make good on your deals," he says, "You should always keep your end of a bargain." We play this game way too often, veiling double-edged swords with words that do little to mask our intents. Looking at him only reminds me of how many things I broke (like our deal the night of the masquerade, or his heart) and I can't help but remember the last time I spoke to Fitz Ripley on the day he volunteered. "If I protect your brothers, then you will protect my sister," I bargained, eyes hard, words rushed and desperate, and Penelope's screams still ringing in my head.

Now, they're both gone, and none of it matters anymore because look how good I did on keeping up my end of the bargain for that? Nino Ripley's heart is shattered somewhere behind that heaving chest, and I can't even bring myself to regret anything about it.

I return my gaze to the task in front of me, forcing myself to ignore the wistful tone in his words.

"Just a little cancer, nothing much to worry about. The doc says if they amputate my tumor-ridden leg, I'll be fine." My heart leaps into my throat, scared I heard right, and I do a complete 360 to face him.

Before I can even mutter a startled, "What?!", his smug expression settles my nerves and I exhale with what sounds like a shaky laugh. Damn you, Ripley, I think to myself before shaking my head and turning around again, biting back a smile I know he won't see. The last thing I need today is for him to realize I still sorta care for him, although I still can't help the amused grin on my face.

While he talks, my eyes catch sight of the right label (Penicillin V Potassium Tablets, finally) and I stuff it into the empty picnic basket still hanging from my forearm. "I'm pretty sure I'm all better," he says as I hop back over the counter, leaving the mess of littered medications behind me unattended, "but I like the lollipops I get for being such a good boy."

I briefly remember his broken arm, tucked into a stiff cast the night we danced. I'm standing directly in front of him now, but still at a far enough distance where I can't really make out the ghost of a scar trailing on the surface of his hand.

"Well you are better now, aren't you?" It's more of a fact than a question, and I say it with a grin so tight, the edges of my lips might crack.

So, this is normal. This is what moving on and taking care of yourself looks like. I stare at his face, blissfully unaware for a moment of the awkward silence that rushes around us, but I don't allow myself to indulge in the pleasure of lingering on his face. Knowing that he's filling my absence in his life with regular things, like jobs at bars and doctor appointments, unsettles my nerves in a way I don't completely understand.

My hand rests on the door knob, "I should probably get going before she gets back," I say, my eyes trailing to the back door behind the counter. "I've got some business to finish." I shrug a little and meet his eyes, wondering why I'm telling him I'm leaving and why I'm still refusing to go.

"DO YOU THINK SHE'LL BELIEVE ME if I say I have no idea what happened here?" He asks. "I'd like to just stay and get this over with. It was supposed to be the last time. I was starting to like the idea of not coming back."

It takes me a moment to realize he's talking about his doctor appointments and not me. Silly, Ursula, stop assuming you still own a part of his heart. Still, nothing in this conversation so far has been accidental or a coincidence, and we're both fully aware of the double meanings behind each word. Starting to like the idea of not coming back, he had said, and I'm not sure if I even like that idea at all. He's getting good at this game, but, all the while, I'm just losing the will to play along.

"She'll believe you," I say, matter-of-factly, as if we were speaking about concrete facts and not betting on flimsy predictions of the future. "You're pretty good at pretending to not see things."

It's a wonder that the receptionist still hasn't come back. I don't want to stick around long enough, however, to get an earful of a list for requests of snickerdoodles and lemon squares.

I turn to open the door and leave him behind again, but I hesitate. He's got a weird habit of always making me hesitate whenever I'm with him. There are still things I want to say to him, but I don't even know what they are. I just know the words are sitting there, at the bottom of my throat, nebulous and unformed but there all the same. "You'll cover for me, won't you?" Nothing I ever say to him comes out the way I wish it could.

A RED FLAG SHOOTS UP in my head, annoyingly blaring "DANGER, DANGER, GET OUT OF HERE, DANGER -" as I watch his fists curl up next to him. We've played this game, before, danced this dance, recycled this cycle, and I've remembered enough steps to know what comes after this conversation full of double entendres, a conversation that literally means anything other than what we've actually said.

This is why Nino Ripley and Ursula Libertine will never work, this is why we're better off seperate than we are together. Everything between us is unstable, like a time bomb, and I don't want to sit around and wait for it to go off. Love is already a risky enough game to play by itself, and maybe two normal people with normal lives and normal conversations would have a better shot at winning than we do. But, clearly, we aren't normal. Afterall, how could we be? The odds were never in our favor to begin with.

It's a provoking enough of a thought to almost make me feel bad for saying anything at all. But, the words have already left my mouth, and his hands are already clenching, and the air between us is already sticky with tension. I brace myself for what's coming next, my eyes steely and determined to weather this one out.

"You know I will," isn't what I expected. His voice is still torn, and it's enough to silence me from making any other ambigiously malicious remarks, but, even so...

For a moment, I am grateful that, if I had to bore this situation with anyone, it's with Nino Ripley.

But, the moment washes over, and I remember that we're still dancing, still carefully stepping over each other, still fighting to play the game.

All I can manage is a nod before I open the door and leave.

Even after I walk away, I can still hear the ticking of the bomb behind me. The countdown is unshakable, distinct, and inevitable. 10, 9, 8, 7...