ellectrical | (no subject)

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She's done this enough that she knows where to look in X's kitchen without having to ask. It's been about fifteen minutes she started, and various vegetables are scattered across the counters, one steel pot already on the stove. A look into the latter would indicate she's making soup, though it's not as simple as the kind X likes to order, nor is it coming out of can, the way Elle would normally choose.

At the moment, she's standing aside from the stove, using a large knife to slice up carrots across a cutting board. Elle's careful about it, the knife hitting the board at even and precise intervals.

(This really isn't her favorite part of cooking.)

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"Okay."

X tries hard not to sound tentative.

She succeeds, too. Mostly.

But when she stands up to throw away the potato peels, she bumps up against Elle's shoulder.

Just a little.

She returns the movement, slightly, as she reaches for an onion and places it on the cutting board instead.

(She's not so careful in how she slices this up.)

If it stings her eyes, she doesn't show much reaction. She slices it up far more finely than she did the others, taking first one half before moving to the other.

It's as she reaches the other half that she says, without looking up and with no particular note of inflection.

"I had sex."

X looks over at Elle, turning away from the trash can.

"Oh."

Beat.

"You wanted to?"

That seems to be the most important question, to X's way of thinking.

"Yeah."

That's simple enough. Though after a pause she adds, "That's why I did it."

"Okay," X says, nodding once.

"That is good."

Beat.

"You liked it?"

She's curious, a little.

"It was better than before."

She tips the rest of the onion in.

"Yes."

"Oh."

X absorbs Elle's answer.

"That is good."

She pauses by the oven to check on the bread. It is a finicky oven, on occasion. She has had practice.

She hesitates over the pot again, stirring its contents with the spoon. For a while, she doesn't say anything.

"One of them tried to - have a date with me."

Beat. "First."

X tilts her head very slightly, studying Elle for a second.

"Tried."

Beat.

"He was not very good at it?"

Elle doesn't look up.

"I wasn't."

X is silent for a second.

"You wanted to be?"

She sets aside the spoon, her eyes still down.

"I don't know if that matters."

X's expression goes blank.

"I do not understand."

This is not a lie. At all.

Elle stays silent for another moment, staring down at the stove.

"It's not just about - wanting things."

She abruptly looks up again, taking a step away from the stove.

"Sometimes you just can't."

"I know," X says, a little quietly.

"But sometimes there are other things."

Beat.

"It is not ineffective."

Not all the time, anyway.

Elle doesn't answer, but also doesn't look away.

Maybe now she's the one who doesn't understand.

X can try to explain, but she has never been very good with words.

"Other people do not always mind. That we are different."

At least in her experience. They're just --

Harder to find. A little.

She looks down again. "It wasn't that."

After a pause, she adds, "I think it's almost done."

"Okay," X says.

Whether that is in reference to one point or both is, perhaps, unclear.

"I will set the table."

It's not like this will take long. But X likes being busy.

She nods silently.

After a few minutes, she reaches to the front of the stove, and tuns off the heat.

X comes back in for the cups.

And the milk.

The bread will be done a little bit later. Not by much, though.

She moves to the table and picks up the bowls, ladling some of the soup (though it's come closer to the consistency of stew) into each of them.

Her own cup is filled with leftover soda. Elle isn't too picky.

X double-checks the timer, turns the oven light on for one final look at the bread, and then settles down at the table.

Steve McQueen perches on her foot, looking up.

Farrah takes up a position by Elle.

Surely some of that food is intended for them. Surely?

X appears to vote 'no'.

Elle might be a little more indulgent, but she's going to follow X's lead. She doesn't seem to notice Farrah - her eyes go to her bowl, and she sticks her spoon into the soup, though she doesn't move beyond that.

"Do you think I'm -"

Beat.

"- okay?"

X pauses in the act of lifting her spoon from the bowl, looking up at Elle.

Her nostrils flare.

"You are not bleeding. Or sick."

Beat.

"And you are my friend."

It seems like that should cover all the possible permutations of 'okay'. But sometimes it is better to be clear.

"Yes."