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@darlingalphaerika
"Heathen." He mutters fondly at her, while following her actions and digging into the food. It's all blissfully hot, fried and seasoned. He hadn't been drunk before an, but it's a hearty meal that is perfect on a cold night like this.
"My heathen ways are why you wanna keep me around." Erika sticks her tongue out before shoveling a bite into her mouth. The bastard probably could keep her here forever with a good plate of food.
Cal grabs some plates and silverware, "I don't like the taste of strawberries in general. Syrup version is basically cough medicine to me."
"You have bad taste then." Erika dishes up a good pile of potatoes on the plates before grabbing a drink from the fridge and sitting down at the counter.
"Oh, got some big plans to be else where tonight?" He questions, "The syrup is an obvious add on that doesn't need to be stated. I even have some strawberry flavored syrup if you want to be a heathen. And no, before you ask it's not something I enjoy, but was leftover from a friend. "
"Throwing a lack of plans in my face is just mean right now," Erika points out, mashing the potatoes a little more aggressively. "And how did the strawberry syrup hurt you so deeply?"
"Ah, but do you really want to miss breakfast? Bacon, homemade hashbrowns and pancakes?" He offers, putting the potatoes in a bowl and giving them over to her while he starts adding things like butter and seasoning.
"Breakfast comes with the implication that I'm staying the night," Erika counters with a raise of her brow. As soon as she's done dropping stuff into the bowl she starts mashing. "Plus you didn't offer any maple syrup so it's not that tempting."
He notes the scent of sadness, but wisely doesn't comment on it. The night has been rough enough without him digging for more. Instead he focuses on finishing the chicken and getting her set up to drain and mash the potatoes while it cools down.
"You know you can't distract me with food forever, right?" Erika asks as she leans against the counter to wait for the potatoes. "Eventually I'll have to go."
Cal shrugs, "I don't see it as that. I just try not to be a raging asshole. Took me a few years, but I picked up that ignoring those around you and focusing on yourself doesn't really pan out. I've got the life I've got here because we came together as community and looked out for one another. That's just...living."
"I had that once." Part of her is still there. Buried in the Russian snow. The last good bit of her resting with the bones of her pack. Her daughter. Deep down she knows it's why she just wants to be alone now. She wouldn't survive another hurt like that. "Community I mean." She doesn't elaborate further, just that small bit was more than she's ever said out loud about it before.
He pretends to mull the answer to her questions, taking his time to start the chicken in the oil. He beings to clean up as he answers. "First off, I don't consider spending time with you as a waste of time or energy." Cal states bluntly, doing his best not to layer the tone with anything but firmness; no anger or judgement. He is angry, but it's low in his bones. At the ones who made her feel like that was even a possibility.
"Second, I've lived long enough Erika to know that just because you can heal quickly, doesn't mean it'd doesn't hurt. I heard that howl. I know you are hurting, and you expecting me to walk past you? Ignore it?" At this he gives her a hard, unwavering stare. "I wouldn't do that to anyone, because that's just who I am at the end of the day."
"Being such a good person much be exhausting." Erika comes over and drops the now peeled and chopped potatoes into the pot of boiling water.
Cal doesn't pause in his work, but he does give her a quick glance. Reading her face, mentally debating how he wants to play this. Finally he gives her a small smile, "I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume you don't mean breading the chicken before I fry it?"
"Not so much," she responds softly. "It'd be easy to let me go. Let me get out of your town, out of your life. You can't possibly be worried about me going off on my own while intoxicated...because you know what I am. How quickly I'll sober up and even high as a kite I'm not exactly fragile...physically anyway. So why waste your time and energy like this?"
Cal eyes her a little as he breads the chicken. "Think you can handle a peeler without losing a finger?"
"Nope," she says while hopping down and taking the peeler from him. Setting it aside for the moment she starts rinsing off the potatoes. "Why are you doing this?"
"You're lucky. I had some chicken already. Alright." He decides, pulling out the chicken and the needed ingredients. He's quick to get the oil heating up before getting the chicken ready. "What about sides? Mashed potatoes?"
"Mashed potatoes are good." She watches him work, feeling a little guilty that she's just being a useless lump on the counter instead of actually helping. But her head is still spinning a little and she's pretty sure she'll be more in the way if she tries anything.
"Done." He replies, the trek home only takes a handful of moments between the two wolves. Erika's a lil more slow to move, but less it seems out of clumsy nature and more out of sullen mood. He only thinks about throwing her over his shoulder once, before realizing she might actually bite him for it.
"Alright, shoes at the door. Jacket up. What are you in the mood for?" Cal asks as he kicks off his own boots, and heads towards his kitchen and peering into the fridge.
She does as she's told and kicks her boots off at the door before hanging up her jacket and following him. "Nothing healthy," Erika says with a shrug as she pulls herself up onto the counter across from him. "Fried chicken?"
"Pretty sure whatever you've been smoking has fucked with your sense of smell. No pity here, just concern. Now we can either grab something from the pub to eat, or I can cook for ya, which is it to be?"
"Cook for me," Erika grumbles before adding a much softer, "please." The last thing she needs is to have a breakdown in front of everyone. It's bad enough knowing they all heard her.
"Car or not you're about to trip into the bloody river, darlin'," He amends, while coaxing her a bit more firmly into his grip. "Alright then, come to the farm. You can sleep it off at my place."
"Oh yeah, that sounds great, please let me fall asleep to that sweet sweet smell of pity." She leans into him despite her words, letting him guide her safely away.
"Well, even if you aren't. You've got plenty of time to change that." He reaches out to catch her before she moves too far. "I think you need to get home into bed and sober up first before you go anywhere."
"It's not like I'm driving," Erika points out, "And if I have to sit in that lonely fucking house all night sobering up I might just find a way to actually off myself."
"You can't narrow and cut down love like that. Fifty or one. Love is love. You have it and no, they wouldn't be relieved. They would mourn like anyone whose ever lost a loved one." He tells her looking back and watching her look up. "I don't know the wanker you're speaking of...but I've probably been him once or twice in my life. An asshole to the wrong person." Cal sighs, wanting the drink he left behind desperately. "Sometimes you're a miserable cunt and someone wants to try and love you anyways, but you are broken and so you cut them. Which just makes a mess of you both. It was never your fault for trying, just as it probably wasn't his for being broken when you tried. By all accounts...I hope he's a better man now. Just as I'm sure you're a different, better version of the Erika who wanted the idiot, prick version of him."
"I don't think I am." If anything she's more broken. After what happened in Russia...sometimes she thinks part of her really died there. The last bit of her spirit stuck frozen in the snow. "I think I just..." Erika pushes off from the railing and stumbles slightly as she makes her way forward, "I need to pack up my shit and go."
"Erika. Darling." He starts, serious tone before he breaks and lightly laughs at her, "That's such bullshit. I don't care if you rip my throat in anger after I say this...but it's simply no true. You...I can't force you to understand this, but I know your pack loves you. I know they're worried as hell. I know your family loves you because I'm pretty sure if one strand of your pretty lil head got damage, they'd wipe all of Scotland off the damned map." Cal drifts to lean against the railing, looking over at the town. "We're all fucked up Erika. We're all a mess. You've had bad luck, you've been kicked in the face by life apparently, but you're not unlovable. Not by miles."
"Don't Darling me, Dimples." Erika glares in his direction and shakes her head slightly. "Maybe they'd kill for me, but they'd kill for they fifty thousand other children, there's nothing special about it. And I know they're relieved that I'm gone."
She takes a drag and lets the smoke flow softly to the sky before letting out a sigh. "He's marrying her. He's getting married and there's a video of him just...crying about how much he loves her. It's so soft. Every single time he told me he loved me it was all teeth. Sharp. Painful. And I just thought that's how he is. But no. Turns out it's me. I'm the problem. I've always been the problem. Always too much. But never enough."
Cal has to bite back a smile, possibly highlighting the very dimples she seems so angry at. The best he can do is strive for a patient look of fondness. "Well, I'm going to go out on a limb and say there's a lot to unpack there...and that you seemed to be under the impression you aren't loveable."
"I'm not. I'm just some messy little fuck up who can't make anyone happy. Not even myself. There really not much here to love." Whatever Charlie did to this batch, they're extra potent, enough so that she can feel herself getting lightheaded.
