- XI -

* * * * *
         Caught in the center, you start to see the little details in the world that make it so bearable, the details that you always seem to miss. The careless grin on a face that erupts when the person thinks no one is looking, the uninhibited warping yell by someone enjoying themselves too much to contain it anymore, the welcome burst of energy in your own chest as the air seems to compress and lift you up. It's all there. You plunge in and think, why can't the rest of the world be like this? why can't everything be this intoxicating?. It is. It is. You just don't understand, the constant pressure and assault numbs the senses. The world might as well be finely painted shades of grey and here you are with a hammer breaking them into shards, passing them around, everyone gathering to see the color blazing in from underneath. But there was never any underneath, you covered it up with a coating yourself. You're not sure why you did it, maybe to make the days easier, maybe not to remind yourself of certain things, you're not sure. Maybe you'll never know.
         In the end, does it really matter?
         Lena's not sure why she's feeling so detached all of a sudden. It was a creeping, rasping feeling, settling on her like the ashes from a distant explosion, a volcano perhaps. The eruption in her mind since she came here. Uncovering the finer portions of her head, the parts of herself that she had been stuffing away, pushing down and repressing. She had a good reason for it but those reasons aren't important now. Right now, Lena's having the time of her life and the night has barely begun.
         She always was a good dancer, her mother made her take ballet as a child and in lengthening retrospect she realizes that she hated just about every minute of it, but in moments like these, when she moves not just to the superficial roar of music but the pulsing undercurrents that seethe just below the surface, times like this she can't say it was a bad thing. Maybe she just never liked the clothes. The movements are all coming naturally to her, coming back to her now, muscles awakening back into life, responding to her thoughts. It all flows smoothly. No doubt she'll be paying for this tomorrow if she keeps it up, but this isn't the time to think about such things. Tomorrow is a long way away, and if they try really hard it might never come.
         She's definitely glad that she didn't wear a jacket, already can feel the sheen of sweat on her arms, coating her shoulders, condensing into her hair. Some of that hair falls into her face, momentarily breaking the spell and she pushes it back, making a face as she does so. Might as well do something about that. Taking a step back, she starts to tie her hair back, figuring that'll take care of that problem for a little while. The pause gives her time to gauge her surroundings better, and it's like waking from a strange dream. The entire topography of the party has changed, the world has divided itself into extremes, the darkness cutting deeper shadows, the lights blazing like stars pulled down from the sky. On first impressions it's vaguely disconcerting, but in a second her senses adjust and it's like it never could be any other way. Everything fits, everything's natural. More people are occupying the spaces now, as well, as if multiplying by sheer close proximity. The dance area has definitely grown more dense, when she started it was a mere handful of folks, now it's a heaving press of bodies, couples bonded to other couples by gravity and attraction, partners switching partners, groups of four and five shuffling together to the thudding beat. The music's so loud that you can barely hear yourself think and as if from a far distance she can hear people talking, screaming at the top of their lungs trying to have a conversation. It's probably pointless. Some people are shaking their heads and walking out the door, partially to get some air, partially to get a cigarette and probably so they can talk to each other without having to worry about tearing their own throats out. Lena realizes she'll be wanting a cigarette soon enough, especially after a few drinks, since the two seem to go together. But not now. Not now.
         The music suddenly grinds to a halt and people stop just as suddenly, blinking and staring at each other. But it's only for a moment, because then the second disc kicks in and the song winds into action, hitting them right in the face, in the gut, it's the raging bus you can't move out of the way from fast enough. Lena takes a second, leaning against the wall to catch her breath, then tries to break through the wall of sound and figure out what song it is. When the voice strikes her ears, she can't help but feel a smile race across her face. Ah. One of her favorites. No way she's sitting this one out.
         ". . . offer, offer, it was not an unreasonable offer . . ."
         A quick check to see if her hair's still in place and she's back in the fray, diving headfirst. She hears a couple cheers, maybe a whistle or two but she's lost in the beat, the bass turned up so high that it's a whip snapping across their legs, keeping them moving, almost against their will. Times like this, the world's a slow motion machine, a grinding stalling vehicle. It lets her thoughts run free. Lena edges her way back into the group, creating her own space, finding her own rhythm, shuttling into a step that feels more complex than it looks and gives her a stab of pleasure that it probably looks as good as it feels.
         Out of the corner of her eye she can see Jina talking to someone, with Brian standing nearby. Lena executes a half step, spinning herself, jumping back, catching the beat right by the horns. Glancing back at Jina, she tries to see who she's talking to. His face is visible now, she's got his wrists and looks about to drag him away. But she doesn't recognize him, although Jina's stance and posture give her the impression she's talking to an old friend. Jina's got all sorts of old friends, which makes Lena a little jealous sometimes since they tend to be fairly attractive guys and Lena never has the guts to attempt anything with them, partially because they're Jina's friends and partially because, well, she's not sure why. Maybe because she wants to find someone on her own, and not have to go through a friend of a friend of a friend or get set up with someone or stuff like that. Just herself, on her own. That's what she wants. And Lena's young enough and stubborn enough to think she can do it. It's not about strange archaic thoughts about love or passion or anything like that, it's just about . . . it's about finding someone to spend some time with, to enjoy yourself, to have someone make you feel special, when you come down to it. And if that's love then Lena will take it without any regrets but if it turns out not to be then she'll take it just the same. Maybe she once did. She's not sure. It all feels like a long time ago. Time seems to crinkle and ripple around here, folding and bending on itself. In the reflections of the lights around her, she feels that she can see her past, glittering from a thousand points of refracted images.
         sometimes I think I want to spend my entire life with you and sometimes
         caught in frozen time
         why don't you understand, why the hell can't you try to understand
         staccato distant and foreign whispers, sometimes her voice, sometimes not
         you know I care, but if you can't do anything for yourself
         peeling from each flash of brilliance, dripping from laughter
         something just doesn't feel right
         all ripped from the fabric of her mind. The thoughts that Lena won't let herself face. So she thinks. Or maybe she's just faced them so many times that she doesn't even bother anymore because she keeps drawing the same conclusions from them. You're doomed to repeat the past if you don't learn from it, but why keep repeating it if you're not going to take anything away from it. Better to just let it float away, give it the old Viking send off, feeling flames and heat against your face as the body curls and chars right in front of you, marching endlessly to the point where the water strikes the horizon. The point of infinity. Keep dividing a distance by two and you'll never close the gap. That's the problem. It's not reaching the end that's the problem, it's the fact that you never can. Nothing is ever resolved, you bottle the can of worms up and stick it somewhere out of the way, figuring if you ignore it long enough it'll just decay and decompose and just go the hell away. Never does.
         There's a touch on her arm that jerks her back to what she hopes is reality. It's a goddamned strange night for her, for some reason, all these thoughts leaking out of her sideways. You're not supposed to remember at a party, you're supposed to do your best to forget, you have the rest of the week to let memory plague you. Getting old, she guesses, with a wry grin meant only for herself. When you start looking at the past with longing, instead of the future, that's when you know age is starting to set in. When you know it's all going to be downhill.
         Another touch on her arm and she barely has time to register that the music has warped into something else entirely, a song she's not entirely familiar with but she finds herself liking just the same. Barely has time to sink in before someone spins her around, hands lightly touching her elbows. In the neardark she sees a lopsided grin and a vaguely brighter shape.
         "Some party, huh?" Jack shouts out to her, cutting out with some kind of move that almost makes her want to laugh in his face if she wasn't a generally polite person. His voice washes a sea of alcohol onto her face but it's not an unpleasant smell in the end, when you come down to it. Surprising, but not unpleasant.
         She nods to his hardly audible question and takes a step back, trying to catch the rhythm and hold it down, trying to change her body to suit its needs, finally locking into step with it and figuring she'll ride it as long as her stamina holds out. She's feeling great, not even minding that Jack is dancing closer to her by the second, longing in his eyes, but not on his face. Some part of him not doped up on beer is understanding the situation here and not knowing why she's danced even this long with him. His face is blissfully unaware, his left side not even seeming to move in time with his right, not even caring about the people around him, chaos radiating from every portion of his body. He's loving every minute of it and Lena has to admit that watching Jack is contagious, she's laughing despite herself, trying to keep to the beat and move in time with him at the same time, but he's too far gone, hearing chants and rhythms that nobody else can hear. Though gauging from others who are attempting to dance, some of them are listening to the same radio station. All in good fun, though.
         Jack's not a bad guy, all things told. And he genuinely likes her, she's sure of that, it's not just some lust thing or he thinks she's easy or anything like that. At least she hopes that's not the case, because Lena likes to think she's a decent judge of people and their motives. Or lack of them. And there are times like now when Jack can be a perfectly charming person, even now when he's halfway to the land of the drunk he's still enjoyable to be around. They're dancing closer now, not really touching but there's heat bouncing between them, atoms colliding, static collisions, the angle of inflection equaling the angle of deflection. Lena can sense it just as much as she can see it in Jack's eyes. Right now he's a perfect gentleman, close but not too close and she can easily see herself spending lots more time with him, even feel the simmerings of attraction. He's not too bad looking, handsomeness with a touch of average, distinctive enough that it sinks into your head for just the right reasons. But it's not that easy, you can't want someone because he looks good and you enjoy his company and his dancing makes yours look downright brilliant. Because it's only a party and nothing is real here, people are slipping on masks, covering their own motivations up and shoving them under the carpet. It's all a game of give and take, everyone having something everyone else wants.
         But really he's so close and it's been so long since someone even just touched her in anything resembling affection that she just might
         ". . . I wish I'd loved you, I wish I'd loved you . . . don't ask why, don't ask why . . ."
         she just might what?
         She dances a step back, nearly bumping into someone behind her, one foot then the other, biting her lip a little bit in concentration, seeing Jack's eyes widen in surprise and then open admiration. Lena likes that feeling, she likes it very much and the thoughts are just rolling around in her head, but she's trying not to show it on her face, she really is. Her smile is teasing, toying, giving Jack just what he wants. But does she want this? She's not sure. She's not sure about anything. Shouts of memories are echoing in her head, coiling, strangling, grabbing her muscles and stiffening them, curling down into her chest and threatening to shut it all down. We're going on strike if you don't pay us enough attention. We will. Don't think we're bluffing. Yeah, right.
         Lena could have him right now, she knows that. He's drunk and horny enough and they could slip away and do whatever and just for a little while she might feel like someone cares. And maybe Jack would, he seems sincere enough, he wants to make her feel good, his repeated silent entreaties aren't just because there's no one else around, hell just before she saw him chatting it up with two girls who were a hell of a lot better looking then she was. It's her, it's definitely because of her. She could respond to that, enjoy it, embrace it. The memories aren't distant enough yet that she can't remember how much she liked it, she can be at the point where she's stopped missing the past and still have a longing for it just the same. And he's right here. And he's dancing closer again. Part of her wants to take his hands and take him somewhere where there's privacy and warmth and very little space. Something stops her. If someone thought to give a name to that feeling, nobody told her.
         Almost desperately she casts her vision around, trying to find something else to occupy her attention, trying to get her mind off the guy standing all too close to her. The world is narrowing slowly but steadily, becoming just the two of them and that's a dangerous viewpoint to be trapped in. Caught in small orbit, degenerating gravity all around them. There's nothing to hold on to but she can't let herself go. Lena can't believe that she's being this weak, she can't be suddenly forgetting all the reasons that she never did anything with Jack. Right now, really, right now he's a great guy and she's really getting a kick out of dancing with him, especially how he's trying to mimic what she's doing and failing utterly and yet the look on his face seems to indicate that he thinks he's doing a great job and that she should be proud. But he's not like this all the time and her mind reaches out to a period not long before
         why don't you just go in with the group
         a time not long ago
         I'm cold
         You should wait for the rest of us
         when Jack really wasn't that attractive at all. When someone had to save her.
         Widen the world out, push the closing holes apart and remember that you're in a party where there's lot of other people. A manically strange part of her suddenly wants a savior to take Jack away from her, before the temptation gets to the point where she won't able to stand it anymore. But she's not that desperate, she's not that weak. There are always choices, it's not just heading down the one path with its inevitable conclusions, it's not just digging your heels in and leaving twin lines in the snow where life had to drag you along. Footprints of regret. Screaming that you never wanted it to be like this when it in the end if you hadn't been dragged you would have wound up doing the same exact goddamn things on your own. People don't need others to screw their lives up, we've made a career of being able to do it perfectly well on our own.
         Then, as if a cloud has parted she sees Jina, stumbling into the crowd with the guy she was talking to before. Both of them seem to glance around at the crowd around them and exchange a look that speaks years and volumes before seeming to shrug and jump in time with the fray. There's an easy rhythm to their movements, some rustiness like they were out of practice but graceful all the same. Lena feels some relief at the sight and realizes with a sudden self revelatory start that Jina wasn't the person she had been looking for. In the darkness everyone outside the dance floor is just a shapeless mass, you know it's a person only because it can't be anything else but that's about all you can tell. The music seems to be emanating from the floor, it's caught in between the floorboards, a party going on from all sides. The walls catch their energy and reflect it right back at them, heat and pockets of cooler air mixing freely, whipping hair into faces, causing sweat to flow freely down arms, goading them on, daring them to keep going until they drop. Jack jumps at her suddenly, making her leap back but he's just getting his second wind, not even seeming to realize that she's there anymore. Some lucidity appears to be creeping back into his eyes and he'll probably go off and drown that in beer soon enough. It's the way things work.
         Jina and her friend are moving to their own beat it seems, in time with each other but on a different level from everyone else. There's a connection there, fine and taut and gleaming and Lena feels no small bit of jealously. There's no connection between her and Jack, he's a fun guy and everything but in the cold clarity of things, she's only responding to his intense liking of her, turning herself into a mirror that just reflects everything back at him, trying to make herself believe that those feelings are real on her part. She can't settle for that, she has to be able to hold a mirror up to herself and stare right into it without flinching. It has to be that way. If she can't do that, then Jack isn't any better then a friend wanting more than she can willingly give.
         There are eyes on her, she can feel them, criminal weights dragging against her skin. For some reason she expects to turn and see Tristian and vaguely she wonders what happened to him. Even more vaguely she wonders what kind of dancer he'd be like. But she turns and sees that Jina is openly staring at her, trying to get her attention, questions crawling all over her face like an insect infestation. Lena just shrugs, launching off a devilmaycare grin, the thin gesture of her shoulders indicating Jack and herself and things that words would never be able to express. Jina gives her a strange stare and lets her gaze linger on Jack for just a second, a look that seems to ask are you out of your mind but stops just short of such a question. Lena knows that Jina would never think she didn't know what she was doing. And it's not like Jack and her are making out on the dancefloor, not that anyone would really notice at this point. She can see other couples, pressed tightly together, looking like they're about to reach that point. It's a pressure thermometer with the mercury on a one way trip to the summit.
         The guy who is with Jina is following this wordless conversation while managing to dance at the same time, occasionally placing an arm in a friendly fashion on Jina to get her moving again, never faltering himself. Even Lena has slowed down a bit during the momentary exchange. The guy is giving them quizzically looks that she can see out of the corner of her eye, before finally something dawns on his face, he glances at Lena, at Jack and then at Jina and shakes for a second in what might be laughter. Lena's not sure what to make of that. Trying not to stare, she's watching him now, trying to place his face. It's a familiar looking face, plain in that dashing way, the kind that you really don't see around anymore, a slow extinction. A face you might only see in movies, the nameless hero, pushing someone out of the way of the burning building. Quick eyes, expressive face, angular from the sides, rounded from the front. Lena is staring despite herself, almost stumbling into someone, losing her concentration briefly, mumbling some sort of apology that nobody can hear, doing it only to soothe her own uncaring conscience. Where the hell does Jina find these people?
         The guy grabs Jina's arm and twirls her around, a deft motion that seems to leave her breathless and laughing. It's an intoxicating, inspiring move, though Lena secretly hopes that Jack doesn't try it with her, chances are he'd send her spinning into a wall. But he's not even paying attention, to her, to anything, his eyes are elsewhere, a thousand different blurred places, perhaps even forgetting where he is at this exact moment, though she's sure he's not that drunk yet. His dancing is more and more just automatic, there's no feeling in it, no soul, he's merely doing it because there's this moderately good looking girl across from him that he might get some from later if he keeps this up. At least that's how Lena thinks of it, there might not be any thoughts like that in his head at all. Just big empty blank space, a small brain bobbing up and down in a sea of amber colored water. Soak it all in.
         Lena can see her friend's face from here and even in the shadowed light, it's like years are gone from her face. There's a light in her eyes, a shimmering pulsing thing, like she's caught in a dream she never thought possible, a dream thought dead for years. Around them the music slows, stops, and then starts again, one note flowing into the other, the marathon flailing about endlessly. Jina cocks her head to the side, hearing the song and then gives a small jump and seems to clap her hands together, as if in delight. Lena turns her head aside so her friend won't see her sudden laugh, leave it to Jina to go from acting mature to doing something utterly girlish at the same time. The guy is just shaking his head and he might be saying something but Lena can't be sure. The two of them execute a slow wheeling sort of dance that was the sort people rehearsed for weeks, they turn it into something natural and spontaneous. The light catches them in staggered frames of reference, and even then everything seems smooth, flowing, a river of motion. Lena might as well be paralyzed, trying to dance using only her eyebrows. There's jealously and envy perhaps, but more then that there's ample curiosity.
         ". . . as I walk through this wicked world, searching for light in the darkness of insanity, I ask myself, is all hope lost, is there only pain and hatred and misery . . ."
         The voice is a booming distant shout. Closer, she feels the gust of breath against her face and turns just in time to see Jack drawing closer. Oh great he's going to kiss her or something. Just what she needs. Almost too swiftly, a movement belittling her normal grace, she backs away, only to find that Jack is just saying something to her. He was leaning to say something to her. Oh. Something about getting another drink. There are bodies of people jumping all around them and they're just standing there not doing anything, Jack is talking into a hurricane of words, it's all being carried away. Keeping her hands tightly clenched at her sides as if afraid they might do something she might regret, she only nods and hopes she hasn't agreed to have sex with him or something. But he just nods back and turns away, staggering and reeling through the crowd, spent and spoiled, trying to refuel. Lena takes a deep breath, the world crashing down on her suddenly, her knees feeling weak and watery and barely able to support her. Reality taking its customary cut, that's the problem with these parties, with the dancing, it takes years off your life. Barely a half hour and you feel like you've been moving for centuries, the span of history unfurling outside your little center, oblivious to leaders and civilizations and cultures crossing and crosscutting into each other. Turning your head aside and letting it all happen, letting the inevitable take place, letting it bulldoze right over you. That's history. That's how the winners write it. Like in the end there could have been no other outcome.
         Gasping a little as heated air tries to force its way into her oxygen starved lungs, she attempts to pick up the beat again, but this song's beyond her, she doesn't even know it that well. The thing with songs you're at least somewhat familiar with is that you can anticipate what's coming next, the rhythm shift, the pull and push of verse and chorus, in your head you can plan the next nonverbal statement, get a chance to read the sentences before giving the speech. When it's all new you have no choice but to just take it as it comes, and if Lena were less tired then she'd be able to give it the old college try. But she needs a rest, her limbs are still responding but with a delay that's enough to make her look stupid if she tried anything complicated now, anything other than just jumping up and down in place. Lena's better than that, she's got standards. Maybe now's the time to have that drink she's been holding off on. Might as well have it early, if she plans on driving home at a decent hour.
         She casts one last look back at Jina and the guy, who are dancing close now, hands intertwined. But there's nothing sexual there, the look on Jina's face is one of warmth. She knows this guy, it's someone from years back. Maybe high school. Again that walled up gap she can never breach, small points of light striking in the face from time to time, reminding her of what she missed. Is it her fault that she didn't go to the same school as the rest of them, that her memories are of different times, laughing with different faces, surroundings skewed but still subtly the same? Ah, no matter. This shouldn't be the night when she dwells on the past, any past. A drink or two at the bar will grease the drain, send those memories swirling down another pipe, something for her to worry about another day. Lena starts to fight her way to the bar, a floating oasis in a sea of sweat and hormones. There seems to be even more people here than before. Out of the corner of her eye, caught between zigzagging lines of moving people, she thinks she sees Tristian but if it's him he's gone too fast for her to make any sort of positive identification. He's kept out of sight so far, which is very much like him. Part of her is glad, she's still not sure what she thinks of Tristian, but part of her doesn't want to see him sulking in a corner all night because he thinks everyone hates him. That isn't necessary, he should enjoy himself a little bit.
         Two people suddenly get on either side of her and she gives a little shout before she realizes who it is. Jina grins at her, obviously enjoying getting the jump on her friend and if she didn't have Lena's arm, she'd smack her friend right on the shoulder. The guy is on the other side of her, but she's trying not to look at him, or she'll start staring again. It was embarrassing enough before. His arm is lightly on hers and it's a cool dry touch. Jina is doing the steering though, guiding her toward the far wall, right near the bar, but far enough from the dancefloor where they might have some privacy. Getting out of the dancefloor is strange, looking back on it, it's like seeing the country from the air, all colors and lines that don't seem to mean anything. Like you can't believe you were ever in there.
         "Where do you think you're going?" Jina's asking her, mischief in her eyes. Lena leans against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling the drying sweat on her bare arms evaporating, coating her.
         She gives her friend a look. "Well, before you hijacked me, I was going to get a drink. If you wanted one yourself all you had to do was ask." She injects a little irritation in her voice but it's all theater, she's not really mad and she's glad to be talking to her friend again. Out there dancing you get caught up in your own emotions, you magnify your sense of importance. Talking to other people, especially friends, helps you realize just how small your problems are, how easily solved they all can be, if the right pressure is applied in the right places. Even the strongest wall crumbles over time.
         Jina's hand brushes her shoulder, a warding gesture. "Don't bother, I'll get it for you, I should see how Brian's doing anyway." A sly smile flashes all too briefly across her face. "Don't want him thinking that I'm neglecting him, now, do I?"
         "No, you'd better not let him think that," Lena replies with a laugh. "Go to him. He needs you." The inflated sense of melodrama in her voice is good, she needs to feel like nothing is real. Jina's friend is standing on Lena's other side and diagonal still, but she can barely sense he's there, it's a tangible presence but not a physical one. Like he just a mixture of shadows and light.
         Jina glances at him and something seems to pass between them again. She grabs his wrist and pulls him forward, right in front of Lena. "Before I forget, Lena, this is Joe Brown, an old friend. You might have heard me talk about him, we go way back." The guy, Brown, he laughs at that, a pleasantly piercing sound. Real, unforced. "Joe, this is Lena . . ." she fixes him with a look, "try not to completely change her opinion of me in the few minutes I'll be gone."
         "I shall be the utter soul of tact," Brown tells her, laughing again and somehow managing a cheerfully mocking bow in the cramped space. Jina just sighs and spins to go off to the bar. "For about thirty seconds," Brown mutters under his breath. Lena smiles at that but says nothing else.
         "Well, hey it's a pleasure to meet you . . . Lena, is it?" Brown says to her, holding out his hand in a friendly greeting. When he says her name it's like he's trying it out, probing his mind for some recollecting. His eyes search her face, and if there wasn't something completely benign in his eyes, she might feel like he was checking her out. Instead, his hand is just as cool as his touch was, he takes her hand firmly but doesn't squeeze it or try anything cute like that. The soul of tact. Just like the man said. "Good to see Jina still has good taste in friends. Other than me, of course." He smiles at the self mocking jab, and there's something roguish in that glint. There's either more to this guy then he's letting on, Lena figures, or puts on a hell of a show.
         "Yeah, good to meet you . . . finally . . . I think Jina's mentioned you over the years once or twice . . ." which is a mild lie since while Jina has told her lots of stories about her high school years and stuff, she never had this aptitude for names, it was always I remember when he or one of the funniest things I ever saw her do was and for all Lena knew the "he" in one story could be the same "he" or "him" or "that guy" in every damn story. For Lena, there was never any real way to tell.
         "Oh, well, try not to hold it against me," Brown says in that same self mocking tone. But he's not taking it too seriously, it's just like it's part of the territory, all in good fun. "High school was a long time ago, I've changed since then, I like to think." He puts his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall. Lena places her foot against the wall, putting her weight on the other foot. "But then I come back here and everyone really seems the same, and I wonder . . . have I really changed that much?" He shakes his head, a sudden sober thought exploding like a comet over his eyes, "But then it's been so long, who knows?"
         "Oh, I take it you lost touch with everyone?" Lena almost immediately gives herself a mental smack at asking so personal a question but Brown doesn't really seem to mind it that much.
         "Yeah, yeah," Brown sighs, still grinning easily at her though, "joined the military right out of high school, been there ever since. Hasn't given me much time to renew old relationships and the like." A sudden shrug. "Not that I was much in the mood for that for a long time, but time and distance have mellowed me a bit, so to speak." There's something in his eyes that Lena can see, but she can't translate it. Something that Jina probably knows, maybe she'll get it out of her later. If it's any of her business, Lena would probably feel guilty if she probed too deeply and found out stuff that she wasn't supposed to know. Some things are best left untalked about. They learned that hard lesson with Tristian and learned far more information that they could gone without knowing to last a whole damn lifetime.
         "But you made it here tonight," Lena points out, trying to keep the conversation going. Out of her right eye Brown is there and she's trying to take him all in without seeming too obvious, while in her left eye she's watching Jina trying to get drinks, trying to see how much time she has alone with Brown before she gets back. Why she wants time alone, why it means anything to her, Lena's not really sure, just a feeling inside her. "You obviously kept in touch with somebody."
         Brown gives a small chuckle. "Yeah, but in a bit of a roundabout way." He stands up straighter, his eyes scanning the room, seeking, sighting. "Would you believe that Tristian got me here? The one person I never really talked to in school." He rests back down on his heels again and sort of shrugs at her. "Just goes to show you how funny the world can be."
         "Yeah, it can be. I think Tristian proved that to all of us," Lena finds herself saying, and then again winds up mentally whipping herself across the face. Stupid stupid stupid, this is one of Tristian's friends. Lena gives Brown a bit of a furtive glance, trying to gauge if he was at all offended by the comment.
         As it turns out, he gives a long laugh, nearly throwing his head back. He leans back against the wall, chuckling some more and shaking his head. Is he laughing at her? Lena feels a sudden flush of embarrassment, thinking that she perhaps has been making a fool of herself this entire night. Why is she feeling like this? She's not the most confident person in the world normally but at least she's not second guessing her every action. Even if she did offend him, even if he was laughing at her, so what? So the hell what? Was that something that should bother her, concern her, make her run these doubts and fears through her head at an alarming rate, sapping her will and turning her into some cringing shell? That's not her, that's not the way she's supposed to be.
         "Ah geez, so I hear," Brown finally says and Lena realizes with a sense of relief that irritates her that he wasn't laughing at her, or really anything. One of those times when a statement just reminds you of something and it makes you laugh. "Wish I could have been there for that, it must've been something."
         "It was frightening as hell," Lena tells him softly, rubbing her bare arms as if for warmth. The dancing is just a distant memory now, receding into a past that becomes a more comfortable haven with every step forward. At the forefront is a scene in a restaurant, and a voice that keeps shifting from one she knows to one she doesn't know, something utterly alien.
         something just doesn't feel right
         it's a goddamn ugly refrain.
         Brown blinks, as if suddenly seeing that he's not where he thought he was. "Oh, God, I'm sorry . . . I keep forgetting . . . I didn't mean to bring that up-"
         "Don't worry about it," Lena says, waving her hand to dismiss the thought, to scatter the words somewhere far away, caught in sonic winds and cut up into pieces, where you can't understand what their meaning ever was. There was actual regret in Brown's voice, sincere phrasing, tinged at the edges with something she can't really understand. So she thinks. "Anyway, I brought it up . . ." she smiles at him somewhat sheepishly, shrugging, "I'm in a weird mood tonight, I'm not sure why." And Lena's not sure why she's even admitting something like that to someone a step above a complete stranger. Maybe because Jina vouches for him. Maybe it's his eyes, the absolute conviction of honesty there. In another world, at another time, she could let herself get lost in that face.
         "I saw you dancing. Before. By yourself," Brown states suddenly. "You were really good, but your eyes," he gives a smile that's almost a smirk and almost a cutting slash of visual poetry, "I could see your eyes and you . . . you weren't all here." He stops and cocks his head a bit to the side, as if hearing that his words might be coming out wrong. Then he plunges on anyway, as if hoping that it might all come out right in the end anyway. Lena can sympathize with a sentiment like that. Keep moving and hope it will all turn out well in the end. "In the past," he snaps his fingers, not at her but just into the air, the words settling on him suddenly like light snow, flashing in his eyes, "that's where you were. You were dancing and you were letting your mind roam free, different times. I know all about time, you see," he smiles, tapping his head, accentuating just how mysterious he's being but Lena is drawn in just the same. "And the past is a place just like anywhere else, you can get caught there and you stick around too long and it's like just being stuck in another country, you get homesick, you miss where you came from, but you get used to it just the same." He takes a step back, gently guiding someone from bumping into him, leans one hand on the wall, seeming to tower over her even though he's really only a few inches taller, "And then you came back and soon enough you forget how alone you felt in that other country, without anyone else and you start to miss being there." He crosses his arms, putting his back against the wall, looking out over the party, looking straight into something else.
         "That's a . . . peculiar metaphor . . ." Lena says slowly, her head spinning a little from that. Part of her has grasped his meaning completely but the other part is still gnawing at it, trying to digest it, trying to see if maybe she doesn't understand it as clearly as she thought she did.
         "Metaphor?" Brown asks, almost distantly, like he's back in that other country himself. "Hm, oh yeah, metaphor." He gives her an easy smile, only turning his head to regard her. "My friends tell me that my talents are wasted in the military. I think it's the perfect place for me. Go figure." Resting his head against the wall, he continues, his voice a hushed roar in the droning rhythms around them. "I'm just saying if there's any time not to worry about the past, it's tonight. For what it's worth." He laughs again, an unforced relaxed sound. "You probably think that I'm an utter nut."
         "No, no, you're making sense," Lena assures him.
         "Oh, now you're being simply kind," Brown laughs. "I don't deserve that."
         "No, really," Lena continues, feeling that she's on the verge of confession for some reason, just leaning over the edge of the cliff, seeing the waves and the rocks below and knowing that if you jumped you'd land somewhere safe. "I think that's been my problem lately, too much time in the past . . ."
         And she goes to say something more but then Jina comes back like a giggling whirlwind. Before Lena knows what is happening, she has a drink pressed into her hand. A sample taste tells her that it's just what she wanted. Jina comes through again. She goes to thank her friend when she sees her whispering something to Brown. Lena feels odd, like she's woken from some strange dream where events weren't exactly in sequence. There's a distant biting feel of jealously again seeing Jina talking to Brown but Lena figures that's the night talking, the party staking out its territory in her soul. Who the hell knows what she would have said if she had let herself continue talking? That's the problems, strangers and dear friends become one and the same. And this is her first drink.
         Over the wire, snatches of conversation come from the two standing near her, nothing audible just impulses and fragments. Finally Jina turns and says, "He's right over there."
         "Oh hell, Jina he'd kill us. You know that." But Brown is wavering from whatever positive he had previously held, if he was ever in disagreement.
         "He wouldn't," Jina says, but there's a dangerous teasing tone to her voice. "I think he'd thank us, frankly."
         "Sure, you're not the one who has to drive home with him. Easy for you to say."
         "Oh come on, where's your sense of adventure?"
         Brown gives an exaggerated sigh and turns to Lena, as if hoping for some moral support. "Help me out here. Don't let her make me a party to this."
         "To what?" Lena asks, though she has some idea of what Jina might be planning.
         "Tristian, he's sitting over there doing nothing," Jina says, confirming Lena's suspicions. Jina seems to be all about Tristian tonight. Absence must make the heart grow fonder indeed. If only that were really true. A grin worthy of the Cheshire cat ripples across Jina's face. "We have to do something about that."
         "I'll do it," Brown announces suddenly, "only on one condition."
         "What?"
         An evil smile bereft of any malice colors his face. "You make damn sure that he knows it wasn't my idea."
         "Deal," Jina replies, laughing herself.
         "I'm serious," Brown says even as Jina grabs his arm and starts pulling him.
         "You in, Lena?" Jina asks her. Lena isn't sure what to say. She thinks she can see Tristian sitting at the far table, but she doesn't know if she wants to get any closer, to be reminded of a face that looked just like his, a voice that rebounded off cold suns, and the unforgettable feeling of the world vanishing for an entire second and then turning itself upside down.
         "In a second," she replies after a moment's thought. That's a safe answer and she still has this drink to finish. She can always change her mind later.
         "You better be there," Jina warns her, "or we'll be coming for you next." Lena makes a face at her and then Jina's off, with Brown in tow, who merely gives her a why me? look before succumbing to the apparent inevitable.
         ". . . call it intuition, call it luck but we're right in all that we mistrust . . ."
         Something Brown said keeps echoing in Lena's head. About living in the past, about treating it like another country. Nice place to visit but you don't want to live there. There's a whole world left out there to explore. Maybe that's been her problem tonight, for all her trying to get away from the past, it's been a lamp that she keeps fluttering around mothlike without even confronting directly. Color it in analogy, shade it with metaphor but never state it flatly. There are things that she's done that she hasn't been too proud of, things she wishes she could have changed, that might have turned out differently, things have scared the hell out of her. None of them are happening now. Right now the party surging around her like she's a rock caught in the middle of a river. You can't stay still, stagnant or stable. You have to make a decision. There's no fence to sit, no neutrality to claim.
         Even now Jina and Brown are forcing Tristian's hand. She can see both of them tugging and pulling Tristian onto the dance floor, both of them having each of his arms. He's not really even resisting that much, though that might be from shock and surprise. Maybe they can even get Tristian to enjoy himself.
         the past
         the present
         it's all so damned cluttered.
         Lena takes a long look at her drink, as if trying to see some sort of oracle in there before smiling and muttering "Oh hell," and then downing her drink in one gulp, letting the sudden simmering fire inside of her steel her courage, not quite aware of what she's even being brave against.
         Lena thinks I'm having the time of my life, really and realizes that she actually is, there's no charade there
         and then steps forward into the maelstrom to rejoin the fray.