6Breakfast the next morning was French toast. Terry had decided that it'd been too long since the last time he made it. Everyone loved French toast, and whose permission did he need to make it? He was the cook, damn it.
Unfortunately, 'everyone' included Adrianna, who was the first out of her room in the morning. Terry debated going outside for a smoke just to get away from her, but he wanted to eat too, dammit.
"French toast?" she asked as she walked into the living room, already dolled up with too much make-up.
Terry looked up from setting out the plates of food. "'Xactly what it looks like, yeah."
Adri took a seat. "Rick keeping any syrup these days?"
Terry had forgotten to check, but real French toast didn't need it, and he made a damn fine French toast.
"Look if you want, I dunno."
Maybe he'd find a few bananas for the table. French toast could always use some bananas, and he was sure there were three or four that were getting freckled already. Bananas were some of the only things Rick actually paid for, since they turned so fast.
Adrianna left in a huff, as per usual, to go search for sugary shit to ruin his food with. One does not simply douse French toast made with real vanilla extract and cinnamon with fake maple syrup.
Marc was next. Terry hadn't actually seen him asleep before, but today it looked like he'd just rolled out of bed less than a minute ago. All six foot eight of him stretched and popped, and he shook his golden locks into some sort of submission. His eyes were baggy, too.
"G'morning," he mumbled, still sounding half-asleep.
"Morning," Terry replied, and hustled back into the kitchen for those bananas. Adrianna almost ran into him around the corner, and he noted with satisfaction that she was empty-handed.
"What'd you make? Smells good."
Terry snorted and returned to the dining table with his bananas and a thing of powdered sugar, since he'd managed to find some. "It is good. Go ahead and eat."
"Gladly," he said, and sat across from Adrianna, who was already halfway through her first slice. Terry picked up his plate and headed for the stairs. Adrianna's voice followed him.
"You're seriously avoiding eating breakfast in the same room as me?"
"Yup," he said, already halfway up.
"Douche," she said, and he heard Marc choke on his food.
Whatever, sticks and stones, right? Sure. And besides, he'd heard worse before.
He managed to get the door open in spite of trying to balance two full plates of food. Maybe he should have knocked first, but that would be more suspicious than their current actions, and the last thing he wanted was Adrianna nosing her way into whatever the hell business he and Marc had landed themselves into.
No one greeted him as he walked into the room and toed the door shut again, but Terry heard some shuffling from the other side of the wall of old taped-up boxes. He froze, listening, even though he knew who the hell was over there. Some things still took getting used to.
Well, some things weren't meant to be gotten used to.
"Got breakfast," Ter said by way of letting the alien know he was in the room. There was another noise, and Ter couldn't help but expect to see Ilam crouched on top of the boxes, waiting to pounce because they'd kept him too long without food.
Instead, Ilam popped his head around the corner, that ridiculous nose first, and eyed him. He seemed to have wrapped a few old television cables around his neck like some trashy scarf, and had a small screwdriver behind one ear. His face lit up as he caught sight of the food, and Ter wondered where the hell he'd found a set of tools.
Ilam waved him over and promptly disappeared behind the mess. Ter followed, squeezing through the gap in the fortifications and not spilling anything. Ilam had already plopped down on his mattress, which was once more strewn with bits and pieces of electric hardware and nuts and bolts. From the looks of it, he'd dissected more than a few things since last night, most of which Terry couldn't even begin to recognize anymore. Most everything seemed to be organized in piles, too, if it wasn't directly in front of his extraterrestrial houseguest.
Ilam looked up at the pair of plates and made a weird rumbling noise from somewhere deep in his throat. Ter stopped and briefly reconsidered coming here in the first place.
"Are you fuckin' purring? Stop that, yer not some kinda fuckin' cat, ya weirdo."
Ilam reached up for his plate and Terence gave it to him anyway. While he was fishing their silverware out of his pocket, the alien seemed engrossed in examining the banana sitting to one side of his plate. Meanwhile, the human in the room was already peeling and slicing up his own.
"What, never seen one before? 'Sa banana. You can comer it." Maybe he should learn some Spanish past counting to ten and "más cerveza, por favor." Who knew it'd actually be a life skill?
Ilam seemed to consider the fruit, picking it up, and then bit into it, skin and all.
Terry couldn't help laughing as the alien spat out the chunk of banana back onto his plate, making a wretched face and scraping his tongue against his teeth. Turns out he had a few small ones between all those fangs of his. Still creepy as fuck, but whatever.
Terry continued to slice up his own banana and distribute it across his French toast. He could feel Ilam watching him, but he didn't bother looking up.
He'd made a damn fine French toast this morning, alright. Needed something to drink, though.
Terence stood up, set his plate on the large box of computer towers that had been his seat, and picked his way past the tidy piles of screws and computer chips Ilam had laid out all over the carpet. How much of it did he understand? Any of it? Maybe he just had OCD.
"Want anything to drink?" Terry asked from the end of the room, miming the same drinking-from-a-cup motion that Ilam had used the night before. Ilam, who was stretching his legs back out from letting Terry pass by before, did the same motion and said "Sí."
"Alright, cool." Maybe he'd like orange juice. Milk seemed a bit risky, even if he'd just cooked with it. He'd heard somewhere that adult humans weren't even supposed to be able to process it, so who knew how extraterrestrials would handle milk products.
Terry actually wondered if he'd accidently just killed Ilam by giving him breakfast. God.
Fuck it. Water seemed okay, at least.
He made it almost all the way down the stairs before getting waylaid by Adrianna.
"Where are you going, twerp?"
Oh, Jesus, what the hell did she want now?
"Out of my way, Adri, I need to get something to drink."
Adrianna, of course, just leaned against the wall at the bottom step, arms crossed.
"No. You've been acting weird lately. Something's up."
Terry got to the bottom of the stairs and tried to push his way past. Unfortunately, Adrianna had maybe thirty or forty pounds on him.
"What are you talking about? Let me through, dammit!"
But Adri didn't budge.
"Like, whatever happened to that friend of yours, huh? I haven't seen him around all day. Is that, like, why you're taking food upstairs?"
Terry froze. Fuck, she could be a perceptive bitch sometimes. How to smooth this over…?
"He's out in town right now," he said, "Uh, runnin' errands I think. We don't talk much, e's jus' crashin' here a while, y'know?"
Adrianna's eyes narrowed. Fuckin' nosy, why couldn't she just let it slide?
"You sure you're not just keeping him for yourself?"
Terry almost lost it.
"What? No, fuck no! I'm not gay, Adri, that's, that's retarded! You ever see me mackin' up on Jaime? Jeezus! What's wrong with you?"
The bitch just smiled. "I dunno, Terry, you're being awful defensive about it, aren't you?"
Terry tried to push past, and this time Adrianna let him through. "Fuck you, I'm not some queer."
"Sure thing, dahling," she crooned after him. Terry stomped into the living room, where Marc was back in his usual spot.
"Trouble in paradise?"
"And fuck you, too, Marc," Terry spat. "See, this is the kinda shit I have to deal with again. The exact same shit!"
"She's not that bad, Terry, relax."
"No, you don't even know—"
But Terry never got a chance to explain himself.
The doorbell rang.
Terry and Marc looked at each other.
"Does that normally happen?" Marc asked. Ter shook his head slowly.
"Never us'lly get people. And no one uses the bell. Ever."
Marc swallowed and pulled himself off the couch. Terry followed, grabbing the baseball bat from its place near the door. Maybe someday they'd get some goddamn windows installed so there'd be no more doorstep mysteries. Today, however, there was no such luck, nor a carpenter handy.
At least they had a peephole, for what it was worth.
Marc, being the tallest by far, took the first glimpse out. Terry stood a few feet behind and to the right, bat at the ready. Not for the first time he considered putting some nails into it, just in case.
"Who is it?"
Marc pulled back from the door, shrugged.
"Looks like some kid."
Well, at least it wasn't a labcoat or a black suit and tinted shades. A kid even Terry could handle. Probably.
"Find out what he wants," Terry suggested, still holding his bat the ready.
Marc snorted a little and moved to open the door. "Probably what everyone who shows up here wants; a bed and some food."
He opened the door a crack, tactfully keeping Terry hidden by all six-foot-eight of him. "Hello?"
"Hi," a squeaky voice floated half-muffled from in front of Marc. "I'm looking for my cat. Have you seen her?"
Terry certainly wasn't expecting that, and neither was Marc, apparently.
"Your cat?" Marc repeated. "Uhm, no, we haven't seen any recently. What's she look like?"
"She's orange, and has a fluffy tail. Are you sure you haven't seen her?"
"'Fraid not, kiddo, sorry," Marc mumbled. "Maybe you could put up posters?"
Terry heard a sigh, and some scuffling of shoes on the concrete step. "Okaaay. Thanks, mister."
When Marc had shut the door, Terry finally lowered his bat—he hadn't realized it was still in an attack position. "That was weird," he said.
"What, you don't get many visitors in this neck of the woods?" Marc asked.
"None. Never. This is freaking me out, man."
A cackle from behind. The pair spun around, and were met by the sight of Adriana lying sprawled across the couch.
"Since when have you been afraid of a little kid, Terence?"
"Shut up, don't call me that," Terry snapped, but wasn't sure how else to proceed. There really wasn't a reasonable explanation for their recent behavior that he could think of to throw Adri off their case. She was damn persistent.
Adriana pulled herself up a little more onto the nearest arm of the couch, eyes narrowed. "Have you been getting into trouble, twerp? Y'know Rick's policy on, like, drugs."
"It's not that," Terry and Marc said in unison. Adri raised an eyebrow.
"You're both in on it?"
Fuck.
"Jesus, did you two… kill someone?"
"No!" Marc nearly shouted, "Dear God, no. Things have just been…" He never finished his thought, possibly on account of Terry jabbing an elbow somewhere low in his side. Fucker was tall.
"Well, obviously you're up to no good," Adriana continued, rolling onto her back and staring up into the ceiling, "But, as long as I don't get caught up in it—or either of you get caught—I guess I can't complain too much."
What was this? The voice of reason? Adri being rational threw Terry off more than anything else that had happened in the last few damn days.
"Wow, Adri, that's... pretty damn generous," Ter said.
"Of course it is," she replied, this time kicking off those slipper things she'd been wearing. "So long as you don't do anything to get Rick in trouble."
"Trust me," Marc said, "That's the absolute last thing we wanna do."
She sniffed. "Good," she said, before folding her arms behind her head and closing her eyes.
Huh. Terry and Marc caught each other's eyes, shrugged. This might have taken care of one situation…
But the big one still remained. If Ilam was still stuck here for a day or two, then how would they be able to keep him from being discovered?
And, for that matter, what would happen when the time came for him to actually leave?
Terry decided that all that shit was better left for later, and walked into the kitchen to fetch their resident alien a glass of water.
He wasn't sure he'd be able to finish his plate, now. Maybe Ilam had cleaned it for him.
Lunch came and went. As it turns out, the French toast had disappeared while the banana remained mostly intact, which Terry had sort of expected. He made his rounds, collecting plates where he found them, (Adri had apparently kept her habit of leaving dirty dishes on the table) and gave everything a wash. Adriana couldn't be expected to pitch in, and by the time he'd come back downstairs, Marc had disappeared, too. Fuckin' bum. Ter decided against lunch for today; if anyone was hungry, they could forage for themselves for once.
Though, maybe he could check on Ilam sometime…
For lunch, Terence had a cigarette.
As he took a deep breath, he shivered against the autumn wind sweeping past the mostly empty buildings. Winter felt close, which was a damn shame, but Terry could stand being out in the cold long enough for a smoke. Hiding inside all day was getting to him.
And he was getting paranoid.
A quick glance up and down the street failed to reveal any insidious agents lurking about, but, as Terry knew, there were plenty of places to hide. No wonder that kid hadn't found their cat yet.
He coughed, threw what was left of his cig into the old coffee tin they kept by the front door. Damn thing was starting to fill up. His breath remained smoky long after the cherry was dead… Shit, it was getting colder than he thought.
He opened the door cautiously, still concerned about someone getting a peek into the living room. Adriana had eventually taken her nap to her room, but there wasn't really anything to worry about, right?
As he shut the door behind him, though, his heart jumped into his throat.
"Ilam!" he hissed. "The fuck are you doin' down here?"
The alien in question was crouching down in front of that bookshelf again, an apple hanging out of his mouth, half-eaten. Ilam glanced around, looked sheepish, and started to stand up.
"Stop stop stop," Terry muttered as he half jogged across the room. "What're you doing downstairs?"
Ilam took the apple out of his jaws with a free hand, the other still resting on the open book on the floor.
"Food," Ilam said, in clear English.
Terence froze.
"I—what?"
Ilam took a nibble of what was left of the apple. "Food. Ten-go hambre. Hun-gray?"
"I guess that's obvious," Terry managed to say. "But, how the fuck—"
A quick glance at the floor answered his question for him. The book Ilam had open was a Spanish-to-English dictionary. Terry'd forgotten they'd even had one; the last time he bothered with it was after he got bored learning how to cuss out the Puerto Ricans in the neighborhood.
Son of a bitch.
"Oh," Terry muttered. "Shit. Was that what you were looking at before?"
Ilam took the apple in his mouth again, went back to flipping through the book with a concerned look on his face; brows knit, ears laid back against his head. At least, it sort of looked like concern. Maybe Terry was projecting.
"Hn!" Ilam said, "Yess. Libro. Book. Quiero hablar su lengua."
Terry was half-tempted to grab the book for his own translation, but he got the gist of it. "That's, uh, great, I guess? At least, Marc'll be happy about it…"
Speaking of, where was the bastard? And, fuck, he had to get this one back upstairs, stat.
"Hey, we can't let Adriana see you again, comprende? Get back upstairs, in your room."
Ilam did some sort of growl or gurgle deep in his throat, but stood anyway, picking up the book as he rose. Terry decided against taking it away from him.
As they walked over to the stairs—slowly and softly—Ter whispered, "You need anything, you let me know, 'kay? Don't come downstairs again."
Ilam didn't have much of an excuse to ignore him now, at least, if he was learning to talk more effectively. Still, even as he shut the door gently behind the alien, he shuddered.
It was one thing to have him speak something he didn't understand, but to hear actual words coming out of his mouth… Fuckin' eerie.
Ilam sounded really damn human, when he tried.
Maybe he should have made lunch, after all.
The door slammed downstairs, and Terence froze. He relaxed when Marc's voice floated up the stairs.
"Hey, I'm back! Anyone home?"
"Jesus, keep it down," Terry said, bouncing down the stairs and into the living room. Marc was just taking off some kind of heavy jacket, hung it on the usually-forgotten peg by the door. "Adriana went to sleep a bit ago."
"Oh, that's nice, I guess," Marc said, running a hand through his hair. Terry notices a few dying snowflakes sitting there. "I know you two don't get along."
"That obvious, huh?" Terry sneered, in spite of himself. "Lissen, Marc, I gotta talk to ya."
Marc was on his way to the kitchen, but stopped and turned around. "What's up?"
Terry caught up, kept his voice low. "Our friend came downstairs a bit ago."
Marc's eyes widened. "Whatever for?"
"He said he was hungry—I forgot to make lunch—but, Marc, he's speakin' now."
"Well, yeah, we'd established that before—"
"English."
A long pause. "Ooooh. How?"
Terry shrugged, nodded toward the bookcase. "He found a dictionary. Took it upstairs. He wants to learn to talk with us."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
Terence threw his arms in the air, began to pace. He tried to keep his voice low, in spite of things.
"I dunno, Marc! I dunno why he has any business knowing any Earth languages, but he's making a point to do it. I'm jus' worried."
Marc found a seat on one of the arms of the couch. He sat, arms crossed, watching Terry's progress across the room and back again. "Still paranoid about alien invasions?"
"Yes. You're not?"
"Dude, he even said he came here in peace!"
"How do we know he wasn't lying, huh?"
"Honestly, man, I don't think it's anything we're gonna have to worry about. You've watched too much television."
Terry stopped pacing. "Don't have a TV, asshole."
"Books?" Marc actually squirmed a little under Terry's glare. "Fine. Cultural osmosis has colored your perceptions of xenological motives, but that's society's fiction, not actual reality."
"Oh my God, Marc, I didn't even unnerstand half a' that."
Just then, they heard a door creak open upstairs.
"Dammit," Terry began, "I told him to stay up there—"
Marc was already moving to play interception. "What if he wants to get in touch with us, huh?"
"So we can have a nice chat? Sure, Marc," but Terence found himself following the vagabond anyway. He did tell Ilam to find him if he needed anything. Maybe he had to take a piss or something.
Actually, that was an interesting logistical problem Terry hadn't considered yet.
He reached the top of the landing without hearing Adriana stir below. Marc was crowding the door, but Ter butted his way in. "What's up?"
Ilam had stuck his head through the crack in the door, eyed them both from under that wild mop of hair. "Quisiera ropa. Clodes. Clo-th-s?"
"Clothes? What for?"
"It's getting colder," Marc suggested, and Ilam nodded.
Terry cleared his throat. "Guess it is getting' cold… the house ain't the warmest place, even upstairs."
"And his original attire looked kinda like warm-weather gear," Marc added, and moved to brush past Terry. "You have a closet of old clothes around here?"
"Not really," he said. "Got a stash of kiddie clothes, for when little kids come by, but mostly everyone has their own."
Marc seemed to consider this, glanced at Ilam and back to Terry again.
"Do you have any spares?"
It took a moment for the implication to sink in.
"Whoa, hey, nope! I'm not letting some alien wear my shit! Fuck that!"
Ilam lowered his ears, then flipped through the book, which he seemed to be carrying.
"Aw, c'mon, you two are almost the same size—"
"Don't fuckin' mock me, dick! I need all the clothes I can get. What about you, huh? Feelin' up for some charity?"
Marc started back down the stairs. "Sure, I keep some extra sweats in the trunk, but they'd be huge on him."
"If they're sweats, it shouldn't matter anyway."
Marc shrugged as he began crossing the living room. "Fine. No good karma for you today."
"Don't need karma when I'm warm," Terry muttered, mostly to himself before realizing Ilam was still looking at him through the door. "Uh, no offense, I guess?"
"Iss no prroblim," Ilam said. "Wan-t clodes."
"On their way," Terry said. "Anything else?"
More thumbing through the book.
"Más agoo-a, pliss. Waa-tir? Yiss. When food?"
"Sure, I'll getcha more water. Uh, dinner's at six. What'd you want?"
"¡Pescado! Feeess."
"Fish sounds good." Jesus, this was weird. Slightly better than not understanding him at all, maybe, but he'd gotten used to Ilam like that. He eventually became just another unintelligible foreign guy… now, he was actually trying to make himself more familiar.
That just highlighted the strangeness again, though.
And speaking of strange— "Hey, Ilam, you gotta use the head? Uh, the bathroom? ¿Baño?" That last bit sounded right.
Ilam shook his head, ears flopping against his face a bit.
"Alright, good. If you gotta, you hafta let me know, 'kay?"
An affirmative this time. Terry was leaving to start on food when he saw Marc coming up the stairs, carrying a loose bundle in one hand. He looked up at the two of them standing on either side of the still-open door, grinned.
"Having a nice chat, guys?"
"Fuck you, Marc," Terry said, half-hearted. "I gotta go get dinner started. Those the clothes?"
Ilam stuck his head further out the door at the word, ears perked upright like Terry'd seen some dogs do. "Clodes?"
"Yup, right here," Marc said, walking around Terry and offering up the grey bundle. "Should be enough to keep you warm. Shirts, pants…"
Ilam had set his book down and was pawing through the garments. Terry thought he'd spied a Grateful Dead concert tee somewhere in the mix.
"Also brought some underwear," Marc continued, "even though they're human-style."
"That's gross," Terry said, and started down the stairs. There were some salmon steaks sitting in the freezer that he had to thaw, dammit.
Terence was feeling fancy tonight, so he made some cinnamon-glazed salmon steaks, with rice, corn, and a side of spinach with cherry tomatoes, shaved carrots, cubes of pepper jack cheese, and walnuts. Near as he could tell, Ilam was able to eat most of what normal people could eat, and his plate was cleared as fast as everyone else's. He'd also changed into Marc's clothes, which were comically oversized, looking like those pants you'd see in a sultan's harem before things went to shit. Turns out he'd been right about the band shirt, which was tucked into the pants, and somehow Ilam had come across some thick white tube socks and put them on.
Ilam's book lay open on one side of the mattress, even during dinner, and he sometimes put down his fork long enough to turn a page. It seemed he'd forgotten about the junk electronics in favor of this new hobby.
Terry was just about to clean up their emptied plates, when Ilam waved to get his attention.
"What's up? Gotta piss?" He made a point to ask, but he still wasn't sure how to figure out how to sneak Ilam downstairs when the time actually came.
Luckily, Ilam seemed to glance at his book, like he wanted to look something up, but shook his head instead. "Fin-d, where?"
It took a second to realize what he'd meant. "Where'd we find you?" Terry asked, and got an affirmative. "Some warehouse. Why?"
But Ilam was already flipping through his book. He found whatever he was looking for pretty quick, looked thoughtful.
"Sirtyen? Lejel… Un edificio. ¿Donde?"
Terry shrugged. "I dunno, not too far, though."
Ilam met his eyes, grey and stern.
"Take me."