fandomhigh | Library; Monday [ 02/09 ].

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Library; Monday [ 02/09 ].

Well, then.

This weekend had been interesting. Cal's alarm clock had somehow, miraculously, still managed to have gone off this morning so that he could make it into the library on time, clinging to his coffee. It wouldn't matter how much of it he managed to suck down. There was nothing that was likely to shake him out of the daze he was in.

Post-surgery. Whatever it was that happened this weekend, that was him. If he'd decided to go with the surgery instead of running away from Dr. Luce's office that fateful morning.

It was a hell of a lot to swallow, so hopefully, there wasn't a lot to do today because he doubted he was going to be able to do anything but sit and stare in astonishment for a while.

...he had to find out whoever that was making that documentary. Had to.

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"I gave Molly this whole speech about how she was just jealous. Of, like, me. And I have no fucking clue what the ... weekend deal was," Claire said, splaying her hands in a show of how very much she was in the dark. "You've been here longer. You tell me."

"I don't know!" Cal said, his hands practically imitating Claire's own gesture of futility. "I've heard of turning into a different gender before or turning into animals or turning into freaking pink sparkly ponies before, but turning into someone entirely different"--in most other cases, anyway; once again, Cal seemed an exception--"is something new."

"... go back to the ponies," Claire said, before she realized that really was not the point, here. "Great. This island keeps finding new ways to screw with us. Was Callie just some girl with your name?"

She almost, now that she stopped freaking out over Princess Claire and the vampire for long enough to think about it, suspected that wasn't the case. Especially since Callie also had Cal's lips, hair and eyes. But, then, Claire had kept her red hair ... and she had no idea how any of this could have worked.

"And my old school tartan, with my old address, and parents with the same name, too," Cal muttered and then, looking like he'd almost been physically struck, realized that, Jesus Christ, his father had still been alive. Of course he would have been; if he had never run away, then there wouldn't have been a ransom, or a car chase, or...

Despite himself, Cal let out a groan, wilting until his head met the desk. "It's finally done it," he muttered to the desk. "It finally found something to make me freak out and feel insane. It got real fucking close with that truth thing, but now, it's finally done it."

Because, you see, it was all about him.

Claire finally broke through her self-involvement enough to realize Cal was even less okay than she was. "Jesus Christ, that's just ...."

She didn't have words.

"Mean."

Which was a word, if entirely insufficient.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Cal continued muttering into the desk. "Nothing happened this weekend. Nothing at all. La la la."

Except that there was video evidence of it somewhere.

CRAP.

Claire wasn't sure denial was the healthiest thing for Cal, there, but she'd at least pretend to give it a whirl if he was.

"We spent the whole time in your room mocking Rumor Gal and making out?" she asked with a kind of hopeful skepticism in her voice.

"Yes." Cal's head wasn't moving; he could pretend it was surgically attached to the desk all day if he had to. "That. Right there. I like that. Let's go with that."

"Will you be okay?"

Claire was softening, now. She could either lecture him on denial and ask him more about Callie ... or she could let him deal with it in his own Cal way, which, at the moment, looked a lot like not dealing.

Not Dealing with something was so incredibly the Cal method of dealing with something that he should practically have it trademarked.

"Yeah," he said. "It's not the worst thing to ever happen to me, anyway."

At least no one died this time.

"Well, yeah, but that's really not saying much," Claire noted helpfully.

Despite himself, Cal snorted a bit of a laugh. Claire had no idea, but she was right. He lifted his head, peeking through his hair a little at her with a faint smile for a moment before, sighing heavily, he sat up. Kind of. His arms crossed in front of him and he leaned forward with slumped shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I mean, blood sucking? That's pretty messed up right there."

"It was totally out of a horror movie," Claire said. "I was just out for a walk and saw this crying little girl, and I was trying to help her, and she bit me. My back's all messed up from passing out on the ground."

She gave a tiny, tight smile. "But. Like you said, not the worst thing ever."

"Still," Cal said, returning the little smile but only for a second. "Jesus Christ."

"Your back, huh? You know, I can give a pretty mean back massage if it's still bothering you later."

"Yeah?" Claire asked. "Thanks. Come by my place after club and I might take you up on that. I should check on Penelope anyhow..."

"I will," Cal said with a nod, because he'd have to be an idiot to back out of that promise. "And do you know how she was over the weekend?"

"I didn't run into her," Claire said, shaking her head. "Which was good, 'cause I would have just asked her about a nose job. Did you see Merlin?"

Cal took a moment to think about it. "Not that I know of. Unless he was the doofy guy in the cape trying to take over the world. He kind of looked like Merlin in the same way that you kind of looked incredibly vaguely like you in a broad stretch of the imagination."

It took Claire a minute. "Red hair, female, two eyes?" she tried. "I mean, not doofy cape guy who wanted to show me his sword. But me and that Claire."

Shrugging, she added, "Probably Merlin took off with Arthur or something."

"The guy with the cape almost had Merlin's doofy ears, too," Cal recalled. "Almost. And, yeah, probably. I'm sure they survived. Strapping young lads they are."

Claire snorted at the wording on that, though she didn't disagree, and repeated, " 'Strapping young lads.' "

Cal shrugged. "It sounded British-y."

"Yeah, but, just ... 'strapping.' " That time she said it in a British accent. "It's just a funny word."

"I'd cite the exact definition," Cal offered, "but I don't know it."

"Whatever, it's random and British," Claire decided, looking around at the books. "Oh! You just reminded me of one other random weird thing. Who works in the library Sundays?"

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