Special Episode: Sunrise
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
Ralph is so damn tired by the time he pulls up in front of Aiden and Jamie’s house that it takes him a second to realize that Calla hasn’t gotten out of the car with them.
It takes Aiden and Jamie a second to realize, too. They both stop near the side of the road, exchange a quick, confused glance with each other. Jamie leans down to look through the passenger’s side window, his brown eyes blurred with exhaustion, and quietly says something to Calla. Nods at the strange doorway in the trees that must lead to his and Aiden’s new place.
Calla answers just as quietly. Jamie pauses, then draws back, blinking in surprise. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, looks up at Aiden, and shrugs.
Jamie and Aiden give Ralph a nod, stepping back from the car. He gives them one back before he pulls out onto the road. Everyone is too tired to do any more than that. Ralph glances up at the rearview and watches as Aiden folds an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, and Jamie leans into Aiden. They disappear together into the greenery, into the shadowy dawn.
Satisfied that they’re home safe, Ralph drops his gaze back to the road.
“Where am I taking you?” he asks Calla, trying not to let his words slur with exhaustion.
She draws her knees up onto the seat, sets the file down in her lap. “I live in Port Sitka.”
Ralph didn’t know that. It's not gonna be a short drive, and he’s already ready to drop, but - whatever. He can make it. It’s not like he was going to go home and actually get any sleep, anyways. He works his phone out of his pocket, hands it over to Calla.
“Can you put in the address? I only kinda know where I’m going, once we get out of Ketterbridge.”
Calla takes the phone from him, then hesitates.
“Let’s just go to your place,” she says, handing Ralph his phone back. “If that’s okay with you? I really don’t feel like driving anymore. And I promise I won’t steal anything.”
Ralph lets out a little laugh, thinking affectionately to himself what a ridiculous goddamn qualifier that is to have to add - then actually realizes what Calla asked.
He looks over at her, startled, blinking hard. Waking up. His heart stumbles nervously, tripping over itself as his pulse begins to beat faster.
Stop it, he tells himself. Doesn’t mean anything.
“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs, flipping on the blinker. “Sounds good.”
Calla takes out her own phone, not looking at him.
“What’s your number?” she asks. “You said one of your guys could bring my car back for me, right? I need to text you my plate number, and where I parked.”
“Mhm, it’s-” Ralph begins, then stops abruptly.
His face goes white. He narrowly manages to keep himself staring straight ahead, but his hand visibly tightens around the wheel, and Calla probably sees him freeze up.
Oh, fuck, he thinks to himself, horrified, his cheeks suddenly burning.
He did say that his guys could bring back the two cars they left behind. But he didn’t say that to Calla. He said it to Jamie, when Calla was supposedly asleep in the backseat.
She knows that’s when Ralph said that, so - was this her gentle, subtle way of telling him that she overheard everything? That whole conversation?
Calla doesn’t have any context for it, thank fucking god, but - what Ralph said came right from the heart, and he knows that it showed, despite his best efforts. He felt exposed enough, talking like that to Jamie. The thought that Calla heard it, too… holy shit.
Ralph briefly considers throwing himself out of the fucking car to escape this.
Although - what did Jamie say? About opening up to people, letting them really see you?
Do you feel closer to them, understand them better - love them more? Why would you think that doesn’t apply to you, too?
Ralph swallows, gripping the wheel tightly, and dares to look anxiously over at Calla. Desperately hoping that it really does apply to him, too.
Calla looks back at him, locks her gaze with his. Her hazel eyes are pooled with blue dawn light, but through it Ralph can make out - something. Some kind of warmth that maybe was always there, but that she’s only now letting him see.
And Ralph hasn’t seen it directed at Jamie or Aiden. This is - just for him.
He allows himself a sublime second of staring deeply into that new warmth in Calla’s eyes, then gets his own eyes back on the road.
He clears his throat, and gives her his phone number.
Calla texts him the info about her car, murmurs a quiet thank you. Then she lets out a sleepy sigh and sinks down into the front seat. She starts typing out an email on her phone, yawning as she does it.
Ralph can’t help but glance at her curiously, and she catches him.
“Just calling out of work for today.” Calla’s voice always has a soft rasp to it, and Ralph is noticing that it’s a little stronger when she’s this tired. “I definitely won’t have the energy to get anything done, so.”
“People in your line of work have to call out?” Ralph looks over at her, raises an eyebrow. “Who do you even report to? Does Port Sitka have a - thieves guild, or something?”
Calla rolls her eyes, but also lets out a soft, rasping laugh.
“I’m a software engineer, Ralph,” she informs him, sending her email. “And I don’t report to anyone, I’m freelance. I’m just letting my clients know.”
“Oh.” Ralph pauses, startled that she’s telling him things about herself so openly. He didn’t actually expect an answer. “I - didn’t know that software engineers regularly do heists. Learn something new every day.”
Calla lets out another soft laugh.
“I’m a part-time software engineer,” she clarifies.
Ralph fights back the urge to steal another glance at Calla. Maybe it really is okay that she overheard that conversation. She’s not giving him any indication that it was a bad thing. He actually made her laugh, a little victory that sends a burst of warmth through his chest.
And she chose to stay with him, even after she heard all of that. She didn’t have to, she chose to.
The shame and panic in Ralph’s heart slowly subside into a blend of nervousness and self-consciousness that’s much more manageable.
Quiet falls over him and Calla for the rest of the drive home. Only the tapping of raindrops disturbs the silence, and then the soft crunch of gravel as Ralph pulls the car up to his house.
Calla leaves everything but the stolen file in the car, leans tiredly against the wall of the house while Ralph unlocks the door. They step inside together, lightly dusted with rain. A gust of cool spring air sweeps into the house with them before Ralph shuts the door against it.
Calla slips out of her boots, gazes around at the living room, then pads across to the fireplace. Drops down to her knees before it.
“Can we light it?” she asks, and Ralph pauses by the door, unsure.
He hasn’t thought to build a fire there in as long as he can remember, but he’s pretty sure it would be fine, and he’s got a starter log somewhere. He slips into the kitchen, finds it on the top shelf of the pantry beneath a heavy layer of dust. He brushes it off, then goes back to Calla and hands her his lighter.
She puts the log in the fireplace, lights the packaging. A slow, low-burning flame licks its way across the paper, catches on the wood, and begins to spread.
Ralph and Calla sit together on their knees before it, watching in silence until the fire is burning brightly, snapping and popping. The dry heat feels good against Ralph’s face, which is speckled with raindrops, just like Calla’s.
Calla takes the file that they stole, slides the clip off of it, and leans it against the burning log in the fireplace. The flame travels slowly to the pages, touches them once, and makes them into fire.
Calla sits back on her ankles, reflected flames dancing in her eyes. She lets out a long, relieved breath, then turns her head to look at Ralph. Touches her fingers to his arm.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, looking into his eyes.
Ralph nods silently, his voice stolen from him by the warm pressure of her fingers on his arm.
They watch the file burn for a long, silent moment. Listening to the snapping of the fire, the tapping of the rain on the windows. Then Calla gets to her feet, stretches her arms over her head in the cool darkness of the living room.
Ralph gets up, too, then leads her upstairs. She follows him to his bedroom, then stops still in the doorway, her gaze falling on his bed.
Ralph watches as Calla crosses over to it. She slowly touches her fingers to his brand new sheets, the soft bedspread, the two pillows.
She’s turned away from him, but Ralph thinks he catches a small smile rising on her face.
“I’ll take the couch,” he tells her, running an exhausted hand up his arm.
Calla turns to face him, crossing her arms. “Are you sure? It’s your house. Feel like I should take the couch.”
Ralph waves a hand at her. “S’fine. Go ahead. Bathroom’s right through there, if you want to shower.”
He’s glad that he thought to buy a second towel, too. He never realized how many things he only had one of, until Calla pointed it out to him.
Calla nods, then yawns deeply, drops to sit down on the soft nest of his bed. “Thanks, Ralph.”
“No problem.” He crosses to his closet to grab some sweatpants and a shirt. “Downstairs if you need me.”
Calla falls back onto the pillows, stretching out her legs. “Okay.”
Ralph sets off for the door, and Calla suddenly adds - “Hey. I’m - I’m sorry.”
Ralph stops, caught off-guard, and looks down at her. “What?”
“I didn’t mean to.” Calla nibbles her lip, a guilty look on her face. “But I didn’t want to, um - interrupt… it seemed like I shouldn’t, so I didn’t.”
Ralph realizes abruptly that she’s talking about listening in on his and Jamie’s conversation. He feels heat climb up his cheeks, spread across his nose.
But - it might be alright that she heard. Might even be a good thing. Ralph’s been trying to open up to people, anyways. It was unintentional, this time, but it still counts. And it hasn’t brought anything bad down on him, not so far.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs.
Calla gazes up at him, reads the sincerity in his eyes. She gives him a small, relieved smile, then snuggles down into the comforters again.
Ralph steals a last look at Calla cozied up in his bed before he goes. He can’t help it. He likes the sight of that. He likes it a lot.
He pauses in the hallway, realizing that he doesn’t strictly need to sleep on the couch. There are two other bedrooms in his house. But sleeping in Grant or Noah’s old bedroom sounds - unbearable. Ralph flinches, then hastily retreats, his guilt already reaching out for him.
He takes a shower in the second bathroom, changes into his sweats and his clean shirt, then pads back downstairs. He goes directly to his plant, runs his concerned eyes over it. He really should have watered it hours ago, but he wasn’t here.
He adds some water to the pot. Hopefully the delay won’t fuck everything up. The flower seems okay, at least. Unwilted. It might have opened a little more, actually.
Ralph very lightly touches a fingertip to one of the soft petals, then goes back into the living room. He drops onto the couch, stretches out on his back. He sends the text about Calla and Jamie’s cars, sets his phone aside, and folds his arms behind his head.
He’s found that he actually likes his living room in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t know that until he started spending most of his time alone, waking up early enough to catch it. Around dawn, the room fills with a deep coolness and stillness, a blue tint to the light. It makes Ralph think of the roots of his plant, nestled safely in the soil.
The flames in the fireplace add something new. They’re burning low, but the quiet red-gold glow, the soft snap of the burning log, the gentle heat - it feels good. Ralph doesn’t know why he hasn’t thought to light it in so long.
He closes his eyes, surprisingly comfortable. Maybe he could actually sleep.
The fire is nearly down to embers by the time Ralph gives up. He sits up on the couch, runs an exhausted hand through his damp hair, and gets to his feet. Walks silently and restlessly around his living room, fidgeting distractedly with his dad’s wristbands.
Ralph has now been awake long enough to hit another second wind. He doesn’t feel any less exhausted, but he sees everything, thinks about everything with a renewed, sharp clarity. And the thoughts running through his head won’t leave him alone.
Now there’s an added element keeping him up. Above all the rest, above the stormy tangle of emotions - a humming warmth. A bright restlessness in Ralph’s heart that he can trace upstairs to Calla.
Ralph could swear he feels some connecting thread between them, some glowing link he could almost reach out and wrap his hand around. At the hotel tonight, they mostly only talked about what to do and say for their act, but still, the whole time, Ralph felt like… like the gravity in the room had changed, tipped them towards each other.
He would look at Calla and find his breathing all cut up, his veins charged with electricity, his heart on fire.
He thought he felt something back from her, too. But he wasn’t about to get his hopes up that it really meant anything. The most likely explanation, Ralph thought, was that he had bought his own con. Calla was playing his girlfriend, she was supposed to act interested in him. That’s exactly what she was doing, and that’s where it stopped.
The alternative sounded too good to be true, anyways.
But then, in the car, the way she looked at him… and she wasn’t in character. There was no one around to pretend for. There was only the two of them.
That intense, intimate, searching look… it resembled the ones that Calla had been giving Ralph all night, only - more.
Ralph nibbles on his thumbnail, warning himself over and over again that’s letting himself hope for something hopeless. He’s gonna feel so fucking dumb, so fucking crestfallen when he inevitably turns out to be wrong about this. When it turns out that the feeling is one-sided.
Ralph knows that. And still, there’s that warmth.
The thought that Calla might feel even of a fraction of the same connection with Ralph that he feels with her - it’s warm. It’s a sweet, warm feeling in his otherwise aching heart.
Ralph thinks again about how she’s upstairs right now, in his house. He stands still for a moment, looking at the stairs, flexing and unflexing his hands. Then he turns on his heel and heads for the front door. He lets himself out onto the porch and takes a deep breath of cold air. Drops to sit on the step.
The sun is slowly rising over the distant horizon, climbing up through soft grey storm clouds. The sky is beginning to turn a pale, peachy color. The first lights are on in Ketterbridge. Glittering, twinkling clusters of them below the endless sky.
The rain hasn’t broken, and it falls in gentle, gusting showers around Ralph, dripping down from the roof of the porch. The air is frosty and crystal clear, morning mist hovering just above the grass.
Ralph feels strangely, inexplicably opened up to everything. Close to everything. He breathes deeply, feels the pale dawn light all over his body. The rainy breeze in his hair, flowing around him. He puts his elbows on his knees and his chin on his arms, looking out at the haze of sunrise colors on the horizon. He should’ve brought out his dad’s camera, but he left it in his bedroom.
Ralph looks down at his dad’s wristbands, instead. Runs a thumb over the soft, worn leather. Then he stops, staring silently down at them.
His mind has landed on a memory from a very long time ago, one that he hasn’t thought about in ages.
One of Ralph’s teachers had pulled him aside after class, kept him back while the other kids went out to recess. All of his teachers knew what had happened, because Ralph’s mom had pulled him out of school for a few days.
“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” his teacher had asked gently, kneeling down so she could speak to him face to face.
Ralph didn’t want to answer, and spent a second or two fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
“I wish I could talk to him,” he said eventually.
His teacher had tilted her head to the side, a pained look in her eyes.
“Well - you still can, Ralph.” She tapped a finger on his forehead, then his chest. “In here, and here. He won’t be able to answer, but you can always talk to him. Try it, see if it helps.”
Ralph, obedient thing that he was at the time, went home and tried it. It gradually became something he did all the time, a regular habit. But - he stopped, at some point. He hasn’t done it in forever. Why?
Ralph looks down at his dad’s wristbands, which he started wearing again when he decided to try and get better. He thinks of his dad’s camera, which he recently started shooting with again.
It dawns on Ralph that he’s been circling something for a long time without realizing it.
He sits in motionless silence for a very long moment, then takes a deep breath.
Hey, he begins silently, gazing out at the horizon line. It's been a long time -
Ralph stops abruptly, then takes in a sharp, jagged breath. He remembers now one of the reasons why he stopped doing this. It’s because sometimes, out of fucking nowhere, it results in him getting ambushed with tears.
He blinks hard, trying to catch his breath, to get a hold of himself. A minute or two passes by before he can make himself keep going.
You know, part of why I used to do this, to talk to you, was because - I had reasoned out that if you and I still had something we could share, you couldn’t really go. Not completely. My way of trying to keep you here with me, I guess. I hope you haven’t stopped listening. I know I haven’t said anything for a really long time. I think…
Ralph stops for a second, draws in a shaky breath.
I think it’s because there came a point where I felt like it was actually better that you didn’t know what was going on with me. Or really anything about who I - was. Think maybe I knew deep down that you wouldn’t be happy with me.
I fucked everything up so bad. After I lost you I started holding onto everybody so tight that I crushed them. Did anything to keep them, stopped giving a damn about anything else. Even about, like - whether or not they actually wanted to stay. Or what I was doing, trying to force them.
Yeah, you wouldn’t have been happy with me.
No one else is, either. I cost myself all of my brothers, one by one. First Aiden, then Noah, then Grant. Can’t even blame them. Had no luck with girls, either, over the past few - years, if I’m being honest. Only just figured out that I was standing in my own way on that one. Again, really can’t blame them.
But now I’m trying to save myself. The person I was when you were still here. The person you were - proud of. I think I can do it, even though it’s been hard as hell. It sucks so fucking bad to look at yourself in the mirror and admit that you did something terrible. Lots of terrible things, in my case.
I’m trying really hard. I’m trying to be better. And I think it’s paying off, ‘cause I’ve - I’ve finally got something good to tell you about.
Ralph glances back at his house, where Calla is sleeping upstairs. He breaks into a tiny smile.
This girl is something else. I don’t even know how to explain it. She’s like a lightning strike. I have one brush with her and I’m thinking about it for - pretty much until the next time I see her again.
She’s smart, definitely. She’s a software engineer. Um - part-time. She doesn’t play by anybody’s rules but her own. I respect the hell out of that. And she’s real beautiful, too. Can’t see how she would ever like me, but also can’t help hoping. So, send some luck my way, if that’s - if that’s something you can do.
Ralph stops again. He takes a long breath, looking out at the slow-rising sun, the gradually lightening sky. The rain falls quietly around him.
I miss you, dad. Ralph folds his fingers around the wristbands, holds them tight. Same as always. But it’s not all bad down here. Really, it’s - not all bad.
He sits there for a long, silent moment, sniffling a little, listening to the rain. Then he gets up and goes back inside, stretches out on the couch again.
Something feels different. Like something solid in Ralph’s chest - something he thought was permanent and indestructible - suddenly just crumbled apart. But not in a bad way. It’s like some kind of weight is finally off of him. He feels like he can breathe better, more deeply. He feels lifted gently out of some dark, painful place within himself he felt trapped in. His nerves are kind of raw, but - yeah, not in a bad way.
He presses his cheek against the couch, breathing slowly, lost in thought.
So fucking weird, but he feels more like himself right now than he has in years.
He didn’t hear Calla’s light tread on the stairs, so he’s caught by surprise when he sees her stop at the bottom. She’s borrowed a pair of his sweatpants, rolled up the top to make them fit. Above that, she’s wearing what looks like a yoga top, or sports bra, or something. It’s black, and the straps criss-cross across her chest, curving slightly over her delicate collar bones. Her buzzed hair is still damp from the shower.
Ralph freezes, then sits up.
“Hey,” he says, as she crosses towards him. “You okay? Need something?”
“Yes, I’m okay. No, I don’t need anything.” She drops to sit on the couch next to him, pulls her feet up. “I heard you walking around down here.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Ralph runs a tired hand over his jaw. “Did I wake you up?”
He moves over to settle himself back into the corner of the couch, giving her some space.
“No. I was still awake.” Calla turns to sit facing Ralph, her sharp hazel eyes on his. “Still can’t sleep, huh?”
Ralph blows out a frustrated breath, looks at her helplessly.
“I’ll be fine,” he begins wearily, then stops as Calla shifts towards him.
She snuggles up into his arms, and wraps him in her own. Rests her head against his chest.
Ralph goes perfectly still. Struck by lightning, yet again.
Calla had briefly grabbed his face at the hotel, and there were other fleeting touches throughout the night. But those were exactly that. Fleeting. Not the same thing as being gathered into the warmth of someone’s arms, into a close, intimate embrace.
Ralph’s eyes suddenly blur with grateful tears. He presses a hand over his mouth, smothering a little gasp before it can escape.
He honestly can’t remember the last time that someone held him like this. The last time he felt the warm reassurance of a body against his. He was painfully aware that it was something he was hungry for, but until Calla did this, he didn’t realize that he was starving. This has instantly detonated something in his blood that had been waiting restlessly for a long time.
The feeling of being locked in Calla’s arms sweeps Ralph and overwhelms him. He drinks in the sensation like drought-stricken earth drinks in a sudden thunderstorm. He loses himself completely in the softness and warmth of her, the weight of her on him, her breathing against him. Every atom of his body cries out to him, pleading and breathless and ecstatic, more, yes, more…
Ralph had one trembling hand gripping the couch tightly, the other clamped down over his mouth. But now he lets go, slowly folds his arms around Calla, too. She tightens hers around him, tucks her head beneath his chin. There’s something almost - protective, about the way she’s holding him.
Ralph closes his eyes, forgets everything else, and lets himself sink deeply into that sweet feeling. He stays there for as long as he possibly can. For as long as he can make himself stay awake.
He’s been desperate to sleep for so long, but in the end, it has to take him by force. He kicks and struggles against it the whole way, fighting with everything he has left for even a few more seconds of being awake with Calla in his arms.
Only when he can’t fight anymore does he surrender, and finally fall back into deep, restful, dreamless sleep.
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