When Cal spies Cait lounging on an old couch outside Sturges’ garage, they honest to god can’t stop from waltzing over. Cait’s just got that kinda pull. Or maybe it’s just ‘cause Cal’s such a goddamn troublemaker. Either way.
“Caity.”
But Cait doesn’t answer, just sits stock still with her face toward the sun and her arms stretched out over the back of the couch.
Cal toes her boot. “Caity?” Nothin’.
Cal sneaks up a little closer, leans over to find Cait’s eyes shut and her mouth open. Any decent person would leave her alone, maybe toss a blanket or a pillow at her. Cal left decent way behind—somewhere around seventeen, maybe, in the back of a truck down by the river. Probably their dad would remember the very second they became Such A Disgrace. Gimme a break Daddy-O, you’re dead. Head shake, finger wag, tsk tsk.
Knowing they’ve gotta play it just right, Cal gives their shoulders a couple good rotations, cracks their neck, and then flops onto the couch, pulling Cait over into their lap as she wakes up.
“What in the—” One look at Cal and Cait’s rolling her eyes. “What?”
“What?” Cal’s got real good at pretending to be offended, especially where Cait and Mac are concerned. Though the truth is that Cal really only puts in the effort because it’s so damn funny; while Mac’s stammering out apologies—or bashful, irate arguments on his feisty days—Cait doesn’t have a day that ends without her being fed up with Cal’s bullshit.
Today’s gonna be one of them days.
“What?” Cait repeats, already annoyed but not, Cal notes, opting to move. And if Caity’s not trying to get the fuck away from them, Cal’s not living up to their full potential.
“Wait, what? What ‘what’?”
Cait scowls and bangs her head back against Cal shoulder. It hurts, so Cal knows it probably hurt her a little too, but Cait’s not the sort to be deterred by a little self-induced headache, particularly not if it means she gets to give Cal a couple aches too.
“What in the shitting hell d’you want you god damned ass?”
“That was beautiful, Caity. I could just—” Cal pauses, wipes an invisible tear from the corner of their eye. “I could just cry. Sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
While Cait’s huffing out one of her annoyed breaths, Cal grabs her ‘round the waist and scoots around ‘til they can lay down on the couch. Thing smells like damn mildew but beggars and choosers and something about dogs on the furniture.
“You have to wake me up for this rubbish of yours?”
“How else would you enjoy it?”
“Enjoy it if you’d shut the fuck up every now and again.” Used to be hard to tell with Caity; used to be tricky to know if the feisty flirting was flirting or just genuine leave-me-the-fuck-alone. Gettin’ pretty good at telling the difference these days.
“It’s important,” Cal insists, brushing a thumb along Cait’s temple. Hair, freckles, dirt, any excuse works.
Cait doesn’t believe it—which is fair given that it’s a complete load of shit. “Well what the hell is it?”
Cal cranes their neck to press a kiss under Cait’s chin. “I was talkin’ to Preston,” they say, trailing a few quick pecks down Cait’s neck. She seems wholly unimpressed and Cal can’t have that. They aren’t about to make out in plain sight of every settler around and flat-out ruin their reputation just because Cait’s feeling stubborn. “And do you know—” another kiss “—that I went and just—” a few more “—forgot what the hell I was saying.”
“’Cause you’re a damned idiot,” Cait says, but her fingers are running—much as they can—through Cal’s hair and that’s a win, or the start of one at the very least.
“And I thought to myself—” a kiss along the shoulder, a little tug at the hem of her shirt “—Caity could fix me up.”
“Stop that you handsy bastard.” Cait shoves Cal’s hands away from her shirt and Cal leans up a bit, hands in the air in surrender. “I look like I’m still in show business t’you?”
“No ma’am. Hands off, I swear.” Cal makes a point of looking properly contrite and sure, Caity knows that’s all put-on too, but a line’s a line. “Lips though?”
With an eye-roll and a huff, Cait pulls Cal back down to her, presses a few greedy kisses of her own into Cal’s neck and says “And what the hell’d you need me for?”
“Oh! Right!” As if they’d forgotten. “I was thinking that there was a word, right on the tip of my tongue—” Somebody—and by somebody, Cal’s pretty damn sure it was that Johnny bastard just moved in—whistles when Cal tips up Caity’s chin and kisses her properly, lips and teeth and all.
Cait laughs through it, which is a sight rare enough to make it all worthwhile when she shoves Cal off the couch and onto their ass. “You good for nothing. Waking me up for no reason.”
“There was a reason! I told you: I was in need of your assistance.”
Cait raises a brow and props herself up on one elbow, reaching out to thump Cal’s forehead. She’s learned not to take a thing Cal says for salt and she’s right to do it—hell, that’s what makes it fun.
“Might’ve maybe also wanted a kiss.”
The great thing—one of the great things—about Cait is that just like she don’t take Cal’s shit, she’s learned to have a good time playing the game. She tips her head to the right, flicks her eyes over toward Preston, up on the watchtower. “Ain’t giving you another one unless you get me that dumb hat.”
“Good as done.” And that’s maybe kind of a lie too because Cait and Mac might put up with Cal’s shit to a degree but Preston just fuckin’ doesn’t and Cait knows it. Still, it is absolutely worth a try, what with the reward hanging in the balance and all.