leave your conscience at the tone - judas eden

[star studded]

<center>Father Lucifer you never looked so sane,
You always did prefer the drizzle to the rain.,
Tell me that you're still in love with that milkmaid.
How's the Lizzies?
How's your Jesus Christ been hanging?

Nothing's gonna stop me from floating.
Nothing's gonna stop me from floating. </center>

<center></center>

name: Judas Michael Eden
age: Thirty-one
location: New York City.
lives in: A Gramercy townhouse, 15th street
hometown: Fairview, Ohio
birthdate: October 25th
sign: Scorpio
status: Single
occupation: Production/PR for Satellite Records
family: Mother - Ruth, sisters - Cleo (21), Eve (25), Delilah (32), daughters - Mia Paris Eden (3), Emily Marie Eden (3)

<center></center>

Take from him. Break him. Walk away from him...and as much as you can't stand it, he will just keep rolling along.

He was indestructible, unwavering, unfaltering. A man among mice, a Roman column among the rubble. Judas Eden was the one true survivor, who would come back from ruin again, and again, and again, each time more beautiful than the last.

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ June 27, 2005 09:27 PM: Message edited by: la vie boheme ]</font>

[star studded]

There were some things that never really ever changed, no matter how hard he attempted to change them. There were some characteristics that could never fully die with the rest of the malintented ones, some slight attributes that lingered in shadows and slow glances, the product of years of monogamy, and then being loosed onto the wild once more.

Women were attracted to him. This was a fact that he was modest about, but never denied. Perhaps he never had a full understanding of why, why it was that these women were magnetized to him. He wasn't a social butterfly, he wasn't all that open and charming. He certainly didn't make you feel like you could open up to him.

But the women would tell you what it was. They would write forty page thesis papers on what it was that kept them lingering around Judas Eden, even though they knew that he was indeed no good. Not anymore. He was a father, he had too much baggage, an ex-addict dealing with legalities and lawsuits in regards to the club he owned, dealing with the mother of his twin girls, dealing with being unloved. But that was what they could ignore. What they couldn't ignore was his face. That thirty year old face that still looked twenty-something. They couldn't ignore dark eyes that were weathered and beaten out, they couldn't ignore tattooed hands and the way he was so thin, so short, but took up so much room. They couldn't ignore a smoke scratched voice, and the way his brain brimmed with knowledge of Dante, Yeats and ironically enough, the Bible. He could talk and talk for hours, and he would never so much as insert a punctuation mark in his speech. They couldn't ignore the way he fumbled his words until he found the very right one.

And he. He couldn't ignore this vice of kings that trickled in his blood. It was etched into him, this affinity for something woman. He had spent so much time in the arms of girls, in the beds of girls, with bright eyes and sticky smiles, with a goddamned wrinkle in their nose. He couldn't handle cute anymore. He did not want to have to deal with cute. Which was why he was thankful that right now, this woman did not make any insinuations about wanting to stay. She knew her place, and he knew his, and that was why they were prying their clothes back on in languid, trembling paces, breath barely caught.

Goodbyes. His life was comprised of them, and he had stopped caring months ago.

Judas Eden cared about two things in this world, and the rest were now subjected to his wrath. He was going to pave a path through this goddamned city with his own two hands, tattooed, Cherokee tanned and calloused.

[star studded]

Part One.

Full Name: Judas Michael Eden.
Goes by: Jude. Judas. Whatever.
Current location: Home.
Description: It has walls and shit.
Occupation: Owner of The Red Room and trying to get a PR gig for this chick's new record label.
Current age: Thirty.
Date of birth: Octorber 27th.
Birthplace: Fairview, Ohio. Yee haw, motherfuckers.
Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of parent(s):

My father's dead, and my mother is Ruth Ellen Davis. She's a waitress.

.Name(s), age(s), and occupation(s) of sibling(s):

Cleo Anne Eden - 21. Sales clerk/student.
Eve Michaela Eden - 25. Lesbian.
Delilah Mary Eden - 32. Lawyer.

Height: 5'7". Shut up.
Weight: 130. Shut up again.
Hair color: Brownish, blondeish, copperish. I fucked it up with the dye last time.
Eye color: Brown.
Left-, right-handed, or ambidextrous: Left-handed.
Heritage/Nationality: German/Cherokee Indian.
Religion: How about no.
Education: High School Graduate.
Marital status: Ha. Funny.
Children: Two. Mia Paris and Emily Marie.

Part Two.

Likes: Bali shag tobacco, tattoos, smoking, Jack Daniels, loud music, guitar, piano, Sesame Street (it's the best show on television, and if you say otherwise, you're a fucking liar), my dog.

Dislikes: A whole mess of shit.

Phobias: Heights and needles, that's about it.

Part Three: Do you...

Smoke: You bet your fucking ass I do.
Cuss: I've cut down on it dramatically, but if the twins aren't around I tend to let it all fly.
Sing well: I've been told. And we're big fans of the number song in this house.
Sing in the shower: Yeah.
Talk to yourself: Yes. Because fatherhood makes you certifiably insane.
Believe in yourself: I kinda have to.
Play an instrument: Minimal guitar, but I can make my way around piano and drums if I have to.
Want to go to college?: No.
Want to get married?: God no.
Want to have children?: I'm all set for now, thanks.
Think you're a health freak?: Not really.
Get along with your parents?: My mother is a saint.
Get along with your siblings?: Most of them.

Part Four: Current...

Clothes: Jeans with a gaping hole in them and one of those Oxfords with half-sleeves over a long-sleeve flannel, and my glasses. I'm losing my sight in my old age.
Mood: Preoccupied.
Music: Poor Unfortunate Souls - The Little Mermaid. We are hip here.
Taste: I just ate toast.
Make-up: Pfft. I don't need any makeup.
Hair-style: Too long. I need to cut it, but Mia will freak out.
Annoyance: I'm kinda cold.
Smell: The spaghetti cooking.
Book you're reading: Crime and Punishment, Dostoyevski. It's an old favorite.
CD in CD Player: Rachmaninoff for Piano. Concertos 1, 2 and 3.
DVD in player: Litlte Mermaid.
Refreshment: A constant supply of Poland Spring.
Worry: Which one of the two is going to bother me the most at bedtime.

Part Five: Favorites:

Food: Anything that everyone agrees on.
Drink: My rum days are kinda over, so I tool around with a decent Merlot here and there, or if I'm going balls to the wall, it's Jack Daniels.
Color: Brick red.
Album: Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon
Shoes: The good ol'boots.
Candy: I am an unashamed Hershey Kisses addict.
Animal: Dog. My dog. Blue.
TV Show: Sesame Street
Movie: 2001: A Space Odyssey, Pulp Fiction, Taxi Driver, Lolita, A Clockwork Orange (the book was better), A Streetcar Named Desire...
Song: Tangled Up In Blue - Bob Dylan
Girl's name: Mia, Emily, Paris
Boy's name: I have no idea, as long as it's not my name.
Vegetable: Broccoli.
Fruit: Apples.

Part Six:

If I were a month, I'd be: March.
If I were a day of the week, I'd be: Monday.
If I were a time of day, I'd be: 9am.
If I were a planet, I'd be: Pluto. Way the fuck away from everyone else.
If I were a sea animal, I'd be: A sea slug.
If I were a direction, I'd be: Back and forth.
If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be: An ottoman.
If I were a sin, I'd be: Envy.
If I were a historical figure, I'd be: Take a wild fucking guess.
If I were a liquid, I'd be: Bathwater.
If I were a tree, I'd be: An oak.
If I were a bird, I'd be: A vulture.
If I were a flower, I'd be: Dried out roses.
If I were a kind of weather, I'd be: Rain.
If I were a mythical creature, I'd be: Lucifer.
If I were a musical instrument, I'd be: A harpsichord.
If I were an animal, I'd be: A dog.
If I were a color, I'd be: Brown.
If I were an emotion, I'd be: Chagrin.
If I were a vegetable, I'd be: A turnip.
If I were a sound, I'd be: A scratching record.
If I were an element, I'd be: Oxygen.
If I were a car, I'd be: The Jag.
If I were a song, I'd be: Rachmaninoff - Concerto 3.
If I were a movie, I'd be: Shine.
If I were a food, I'd be: Scallops.
If I were a place, I'd be: Underground.
If I were a material, I'd be: Wood.
If I were a taste, I'd be: Alcohol.
If I were a scent, I'd be: An old basement.
If I were a religion, I'd be: Agnosticism.
If I were a word, I'd be: Cellophane.
If I were an object, I'd be: A lit candle.
If I were a body part, I'd be: Eyes.
If I were a facial expression, I'd be: Resolve.
If I were a part of a house, I'd be: The basement floor.
If I were a subject in school, I'd be: Ancient History.
If I were a cartoon character, I'd be: The Jabberwocky in Alice and Wonderland.
If I were a shape, I'd be a: Square.
If I were a number, I'd be: Three.

[star studded]

The New York penthouse-style apartment was a bright place with the shades drawn open and the sun streaming inside. Bright plastic pinks and yellows were a surplus in the living room, scattered toys and dress up clothes. Red ruby slippers were scattered, glass shoes for mock Cinderellas and green shimmering fins for mermaids. Daytime was filled with sticky smiles and high pitched giggles. There was always the sound of pattering running feet, the dances made up to music played on the big stereo, fairy wings and arms outstretched. Mornings and afternoons were beautiful.

It was the nighttime that made him feel particularly low. Sunken in his mattress, he felt the old familiar dent of his spine, the place he fit best into. Head pressed against the pillows in the same fashion, right into the settled groove. The bed was empty, large and he was alone. All the colors faded to grays, blacks and muted whites. The khaki color of his comforter meshed against the dark tone of skin, blankets wrapped around him several times, caught up in a twist of arms and legs.

His bed was empty.

He had never particularly required affection or connection to survive. When he was young, he depended on himself. When he grew a little older, he started leaning on a chemical crutch to get him through the days, weeks, months, years, lifetimes. Now, what? What was left for him to rely on? What could bear the burden he created for himself over all that time?

Maybe he was doing everything all wrong. Maybe people weren't supposed to change so dramatically in so short a period of time. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be this person. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be two completely different people. Maybe he wasn't supposed to still harbor that tiny piece of his old self in the back of his brain and the pit of his stomach.

Sitting up, he smoothed out his cotton t-shirt with two broad palms sweeping down. Summer had snapped out of itself and into fall, chilly, breezy and altogether reason enough to be covered with comforters.

His chest lifted and fell in slow, but labored breath. Words were whispered quietly, barely audible over the evening hum of the city.

"What if everything I'm doing is wrong?"

"Daddy?"

The tiny sound was enough to startle him back into present day reality, all grays, blacks and muted whites slowly fading into pinks, yellows and blues. There, in her pink tutu-skirt (that she refused to ever take off, day or night) and white shirt, stood Mia, clutching her pink blanket as close to her as she could and skittering towards the bed.

"Yeah, princess.."

"I wanna sleep in here." Immediately, she was flinging herself onto the bed, burrowing into the pillows he already dented, pulling the blankets around her tiny frame.

"How come you wanna sleep in here?"

"It's dark."

"It's dark in here too, honey."

"Nuh-uh."

Things were clearly quite different when you took a moment to glance through a separate pair of eyes.

[star studded]

Sprawled out on the floor of Judas' spacious living room, Kate and Judas spent their time amidst pink packaging and Christmas wrapping paper. Kate was astounded by the Barbie dolls and new little pink tutus, dress up jewelry and pretend makeup, plastic doll houses and arts and crafts, play-doh, puzzles, Disney movies, dresses, frilly things, stuffed fuzzy things, pink things.. it was all more than she had ever seen in her days as a slipper-footed girl rushing downstairs for presents.

"How much can you buy for two three year olds?"

"I left FAO Schwartz trembling."

"I can see that." Pulling paper flat, she placed another box on the plain side and started to slide scissors down the edge, fingers working to fold it into a far more acceptable package than Jude's lopsided mess.

"I got Mia an Ariel doll. And Emily got Princess Jasmine, is that cool?"

"Yeah that's fine." Nodding, he reached for the tape, smearing crooked clear strips onto the brightly colored paper, his lopsided folding letting pieces of white show through. Next to him, Kate reached for the next box in the gift pile, scanning it briefly before her head snapped in a double take.

"Um. So. Which one of your daughters is getting Manolos for Christmas?"

Jude glanced over at Kate, who pried the top off of the box to reveal black heels, strapped and simple. "Awww, Jude, they're gorgeous!"

"You weren't supposed to see those."

"I promise, I'll act real surprised when you give them to me."

"They aren't for you."

Kate was hardly hurt by the admission, but simply shocked. What other women did Jude have to buy shoes for? He reached for them and she yanked them away, eyes narrowing. "Who are they for?"

"None of your business, Katherine."

"All of my business, Judas."

"Hand over the shoes."

"Not on your life, bub!" Standing, the box went behind her back. "Who's the mystery lady? Jill?"

"Fuck no!"

"Why? You slept with her a few times."

"I slept with you a few times, you don't see your size shoes around here, do you?"

"Touche. Lucy? A congratulations on your store, which Kate designed the ads for? A sorry, you're married and I can never sleep with you, even though I clearly find you an object of lust?"

"Please, the day I want to sleep with Lucy is the day I want to get my balls cut off by her husband." Jude leaned to swat at her, insinuating the box be handed back immediately.

"Hey, we all know you're into--"

"Watch it."

"Who are they for!?"

"Olivia!"

"Who?"

Standing, he easily overpowered the stick thin artist, snatching away the box and returning it to his own pile of gifts to wrap. Kate plopped beside him, bouncing like an excited child. "Who's Olivia?"

"She's a girl that I bought shoes for."

"Is she pretty?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to kiss her?"

"Yes."

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

Jude glanced over at Kate, his mouth pried back in an over-confident smile.

"Not yet."

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ December 06, 2004 09:30 PM: Message edited by: shiseido red ]</font>

[star studded]

<center>rolling and unrolling coiling emerging running free
running through the underworld into your room

is he real
or a ghost-lie</center>

Swallowing down gulps of steam that still hissed from the shower, the blurry image of himself was reflected back in the mirror. He was fogged over, covered in some spiderweb layer of steam. The side of his palm lifted and swiped away a streak of it in the middle of the mirror. His familiar face stared back. Weathered eyes, hollowed out cheeks and a sharp jaw. He didn't understand what it was about him that was attractive -- he just knew that something was. Women liked it. It didn't necessarily mean he had to be able to pick it out.

He was used to the familiar nervous tics that he attributed to frayed nerves and a somewhat jumpy disposition when it came to matters of authority and ritual. Things that were supposed to be normal and easy were not normal or easy for him. Families were disjointed, relationships were a cemetary of scattered bone and dry leaves that hissed along empty pavement. He was a truck barelling along in the wrong direction and one could either dodge, follow, or be blown over in the process. This wasn't supposed to happen. Correction. This was not supposed to happen again.

It wasn't that the events were similar, or that the feelings were similar. It was the weight, the crushing press on his chest and the cinching of his stomach that accompanied these things. The way ribs unfolded beneath a stretch of skin. The feeling of teeth biting down on the swell of a now bruised bottom lip. The stretch of an errant curl. The way a plush mouth formed the vowels of his nickname. He had a curiosity that he attributed to the lack of anything but contact. And now it was a game. It was a test. How long could he last before, in a fit of an argument, he had her wrists in his hands and he did much more than press her knees apart?

Washing a hand over his face, he swept away the twisted look of confusion he had settled into and replaced it with a slate stone expression. No more staring. No more examining the angles of his face, the scant spanse of shoulders, the silver pinprick scars and the way he felt like more bone than skin. More steel than leather. More moon than sun. More stars than sky. More earth than stone.

He didn't have a tube of lipstick at his disposal. Just the tip of his own finger was used to scrawl a name that was more loop than angle and more vowel than anything else.

<center>so she prays for a prankster
and lust in the marriage bed
and he waits 'til she can give
and he waits
and he waits</center>

[star studded]

rewind: one year

<center>You call my name, but I know what to do
I hear your voice, but I will silence you</center>

Awake in a trap of white linen and someone else's arm. That's what this was. A trap. Some amateur hole covered in leaves that he had stumbled on and fallen into. Now he was there at the bottom, waiting, staring up at the last glimpses of sunlight as day faded into night. This scenario played on the reverse of closed eyelids, dancing patterns and smudges of light. If he waited long enough, when he opened them, this would be gone and all would be well again.

This was supposed to be their swan song. This was their revenge, a knife in the back of everyone who had ever betrayed them. Connection would be their panacea, the cure all for every heartache and ailment that had haunted them over the years. Philadelphia was a shadowed, smoky skyline behind them that they took the wrecking ball of their bodies to in a feeble attempt to tear it all down and start anew. This was his farewell to all memories of Alice, of Solomon, of Quinn's body and redheaded Jill's fiery interest in him. This was him shrugging out of the coat of past and stripping down to the scary, open nakedness of the future.

This was her release as well. Some punctuation mark to the run on sentence of her own heartbreak and misguided disappointment. A period dot. The slash and stab of an exclamation point. The seductive curve of a question mark.

They lay like separate corpses on the slab, waiting for the crack of a chest spreader to pry them open.

"So."

"No."

Judas' voice surprised even himself, quickly cutting off Kate before she could so much as get out a sentence. No speaking. No analysis. Just sleep and the denial that this had happened. Beside him, he felt her shift, the curve of her hip digging down into the mattress, the stretch of her ribs covered by the sheet she pulled up over her, pinned under her arm.

"No, what?"

"No talking."

"Fuck you."

"I think you can check that off of your list, Kate."

Immediately, a hand crashed down on his face and he lifted arms to shield himself from any further assault. She removed herself, slamming to her other side and pulling herself as far away from him on the bed as she could, dangerously dangling off of the mattress' edge. There was something inside of him that burned like acid, begging to hiss and corrode through anything. This was not okay. This entire situation was less of a farewell and more of a detrimental welcome mat to invite in all sorts of trouble. He had no time for trouble. He had no time for anything.

"What's the matter, it wasn't good for you?"

"Shut up, Jude." Kate's voice was an awl through his intentions, but with some pause, he was mending them back together and executing his goal.

"Because it was terrible for me."

"I said fucking shut up!"

"You don't like it, get the fuck out."

"What the fuck is your problem!?" Sitting up, clinging desperately to the shreds of sheets she had left, hazel eyes narrowed at him in the blue light of the dark. Jude shook his head and reached over for the half finished cigarette he had been nursing, taking another drag.

"My problem is that you're going to turn this into something it's not."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? What was it?"

Groaning, he pulled himself from the bed and quickly pulled back on the loose material of drawstring pants, tying them off at the hip and taking another drag. "See what I mean? What was it? What is it?"

"What the hell are you talking about? It was.. sex! It was whatever the fuck's been building up between us since we got here.. what, with your phone calls, and your flowers and the presents you.."

"Fuck! Is that what you think this is? You think this is some fucking fate bullshit?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Then what did you say?"

"I said that.. I said.."

Something remorseful in Jude tried to rear its head among the wreckage. He wanted to mutter apologies, pat her on the head and explain to her that this could never happen again. But instead, things were different. He didn't want to get that low. He didn't want her in his bed anymore. She had to leave.

"It was a fuck, Kate. It was revenge. It was my fucking revenge.."

".. oh, fuck you, Judas." Kate was standing and pulling on the remnants of her clothes as quickly as she could, no pause in their discourse, no room for slowing down.

"..because it's going to piss the fuck out of Solomon when he finds out. And Alice. I can't wait to find out what she fucking thinks of all this."

The phone was launched across the room, hitting the wall with an angry clunk and falling lamely to the floor. Kate's temper had been flared, flashing to life with one angry sentence, and Jude's followed suit. He rounded the bed as she shouted, her feet backpedaling with determination.

"So that's what you do!? You fuck people because it's fucking convenient for you? Because you want to piss other people off!? No wonder you're so fucked up, no wonder you're such a goddamn romantic failure. No wonder Alice walked out on your sorry ass."

"I left her, she didn't leave me."

"Like hell you did, asshole! She left you! She left you because you're a real professional piece of shit! She left you because you can't be trusted, because you put your cock wherever you feel like it, whenever you feel like it! She left you like everyone else left you, like I'm leaving you, like everyone stupid enough to get involved in your mess of bullshit is going to leave you!"

"She left me because she was like you, Kate. She left me because she was needy and dependent and couldn't handle the fact that there were other people in this world than her. Just like you." When his words were flat and calm, Kate worried most. But there was something in her that stood up on end and pressed forward, angry and indignant.

"I feel bad for you. I feel bad for you because you have the emotional maturity of a sixteen year old. But mostly, Judas? I feel bad for your kids. Because their father's a fuck up, and a failure, and he's not going to change, and they have to suffer through that."

"Get the hell out of my apartment, Katherine."

"I'm going."

The door slam announced her exit. The engine rev of a taxi four stories down announced her departure. The slam of Judas' heart in his chest announced his own defeat, battered down by a woman he didn't even care that much for.

"Everything's fine." He sighed it quietly to himself when he sank down on the couch, accompanied by a bottle of rum that was still sloshing with a fair amount left in it. A swallow strengthened the mantra, his voice loud and gravel-pitched.

"Everything's fine."

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ December 24, 2004 05:49 PM: Message edited by: pretty things ]</font>

[star studded]

<center>

the imitation picks you up like a habit
writing in the glow of the TV static
taking out the trash to the man
give the people something they understand
a stickman flashing a fine line smile
junk bond trader trying to sell a sucker a style
rich man in a poor man's clothes
the permanent installment of the daily dose

and you tell off when you tell it like it is
your world's no wider than your hatred of his
checking into a small reality
boring as a drug you take too regularly
the athlete's laugh, the broken crutch
the first true love that folded at the slightest touch
brought down like an old hotel
people digging through the rubble for things they can resell

happy holidays said sick savior
the leaving lover that I still favor
I won't take your medicine, I don't need a remedy
to be everything I'm supposed to be
I don't want nobody else
I can do it by myself
we're meant to be together

now I'm a policeman directing traffic
keeping everything moving, everything static
I'm the hitchhiker you'll recognize passing
on your way to some everlasting

better sell it while you can
better sell it while you can

-Elliot Smith, Junk Bond Trader</center>

<font color="#000000" size="1">[ December 27, 2004 12:55 AM: Message edited by: pretty things ]</font>

[star studded]

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"Rough night."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

Sliding inside his apartment earlier than expected, Kate took note of Jude's appearance. A cut rested under his eye and his arm was sliced up, the sleeve of his jacket torn to shreds. Closing the door behind him, he was immediately stepping into the bathroom, trying to avoid the sounds of two girls playing Barbie in the bedroom. Kate followed behind and closed that door as well. White light washed over tile and he was immediately staring at his reflection in the mirror, twisting on the faucet and letting hot water run.

"So what happened?"

"Some fucking bitch happened."

"Who?"

"Jill Lockhart." Lifting the washcloth he had soaked in scalding water, he daubed at the light flow of blood that fell from the slice beneath one whiskey colored eye and over Cherokee tinted skin. Wincing, he sighed and Kate immediately moved to snag it from him.

"I'll do it. Jill Lockhart from Liv's band?"

"Yeah." He plopped down on the closed toilet bowl and looked up as Kate dabbed away and searched the medicine cabinet for a box of bandaids. His hand lifted and waved at the action, dismissing it.

"No bandaids."

"Why?"

"We've only got Powerpuff Girls." He informed. It should have been silly, but instead, it was a deadpan delivery. Frayed nerves were sparking like livewire, hissing and writhing, his entire frame seemingly jittery and out of sorts. It was unusual for the stone-set character that Judas was, never faltering or waving, always a rock, a beacon among unpredictable waters.

"So what happened?" Tentative, Kate reached for gauze and medical tape, staring down at the mess of his forearm once he pulled his sleeve away from it. Sighing, she narrowed eyes and inspected for the source.

"She broke a bottle over my arm."

"I can see that. What'd you do?" Muddy eyes looked up at Jude a moment and he stared off into space, waiting for her to finish up. A slight shoulder shrugged.

"She copped an attitude with me about shit. She mentioned Liv. I called her a slut, and said some things I probably shouldn't have, and she went nuts. Broke a bottle over my arm. Would've been my face if I hadn't seen it coming." Memories of LA bar fights danced in the back of his head, broken only by the feel of rubbing alcohol stinging his arm. Rather than wince, his jaw just tightened silently. "I told her I'd hit her whether she was a woman or not and she pulled a gun on me."

Kate paused. Her head dipped in and she tipped her head. "A gun?"

"Yeah. Haven't seen one of those in forever. Go easy, don't cut off my circulation." He pointed to the taut wrapping job she was doing around his arm, and she wriggled fingers under her handiwork to loosen it.

"Sorry. So.. what happened when she pulled the gun?"

"She fired it."

"She fired it?"

"Twice."

"Jeeeesus Christ.." Kate drew out the breathy gasp with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth. "She hit anything?"

"A light. The wall. I'm fine."

Settling back, she watched as dark eyes darted around in search. He was shaken. Unadmittedly so, but she could read fissure cracks like newsprint. Ripping off another piece of medical tape, she dangled it from fingers and tipped her head in concern. "This isn't fine, Judas."

"I'm fine. Just finish my arm and go home."

Kate applied the last piece and drew herself to stand, hands propped on hips. "What are you going to tell Olivia?"

"She's gotta let Traffic go. No more. I'm not dealing with that. My kids aren't dealing with that fucking psychotic bitch. If.. no. It's not going to be an issue." He waved a hand. Dismissed. Next topic. "That and I don't want Olivia around someone like that. Who would? Christ, I knew Jill was unstable, but I didn't know she toted a gun around. Who the fuck in their right mind does that? When did regular people start needing to conceal weapons in public? Fuck.."

"I don't know, Jude. Is Liv coming over tonight?"

"Yeah. In like, an hour."

"You want me to take the kids back to my place?"

"Nah. If we want privacy, I'll send them upstairs to Lani's brother's place. He'll fuckin' love that." His mouth cracked a quick, fleeting smile before falling back into a stony stretch. "Go home."

Kate nodded, and turned on heel, leaving the bathroom door cracked open as she departed, shuffling with her coat. Time passed, and Jude sat in silence, staring out at the empty bath still littered with brightly colored plastic toys. Pressing himself to stand up, he peeked out of the bathroom and into the room beside it where the two girls' sat playing and singing in little arias with no real melody. His voice was the same as it always was, flat, steady and without flaw.

"Bath time."

[star studded]

Staring down at the magazine article strewn across his lap, soaked in neon highlighter thanks to Lani's careful hand, Jude took a moment and sank back into the couch he sat on. Weary lungs hissed out one of his typically irritated sighs, heavy with the weight of something else piled on top of an already precariously balanced lifestyle. Behind him, the sound of the twins playing some unidentified game in their room mingled with the cable news network that flashed numbers and headlines in front of his face. Closely cropped hair had started to grow out slowly into something shaggy and darkly colored, hanging over the front of his forehead. Thirty-one years stitched their way over eyes every time brows moved to lift a new expression.

The ring of the phone sent two sets of feet pattering from their room, grabbing for the receiver. Jude managed to snatch it up fastest, thumbing the line to life and motioning for the girls to remain silent. They obeyed, bouncing on the balls of their feet, prancing around in anticipation of who was on the other line.

"Yeah."

"Did you get the article?"

Jude rolled eyes and glanced down as Mia tugged on his pantleg. Emily had decided to distract herself with petting and dotting Blue, the tired beagle with kisses to the top of his head as he napped contentedly.

"Yes, I got the article, Tim." He quipped sharply, a broad palm settling down to smooth over wispy blonde baby hair. Mia giggled at the affection.

"Oh God. We're fucked. We're doomed. This is going to explode. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to handle it."

"How!?" Tim's high strung voice echoed in a panic over the line and Jude winced at the sound. There was nothing more unappealing than a grown man throwing a fit.

"Who the hell cares how, she's not your case, she's mine. I'll handle it."

"Sam Stevens and Gabe Berge? How're you going to handle that, that's like.. that's like John Lennon and Yoko Ono's kid putting out an album."

"John Lennon and Yoko Ono's kid does put out albums, his name's Sean Lennon, he's not that bad. And you've never heard of him, so it's really nothing like that at all, now is it." Chattering away, Jude sighed and squatted down, looping an arm around Mia's waist and hoisting her up while the phone went squished between ear and shoulder. "Don't panic. There's no reason for you to panic, this isn't even any of your business, why are you calling me?"

"Because Lani's been walking around with that look on her face, y'know. The, Jude-better-come-up-with-something-good-for-this-one-or-I'm-going-to-yell-really-loud-at-the-next-staff-meeting look."

"Tell Lani not to get her panties in a bunch. I thought pregnant women were supposed to stay home and watch soap operas and stuff, not march around the office all pissy at me."

"Is that Auntie Lani on the phone!?" Mia squealed, reaching for it. Jude tipped his head away and shook it 'no', sighing again as the princess wriggled to be put down.

"I dare you to call her and say that to her face." Tim threatened with a mild chuckle.

"I'll just tell her tomorrow when I come into the office. Listen to me." He barked sternly into the phone. "No one is allowed to panic. No one. If I come in tomorrow and see one of you little PR shits running around like a chicken with its head cut off about this, I will personally stuff you in a box and FedEx you to Somalia. I don't need any more fanfare than we've already got with her."

"Whatever." Tim echoed. "She's your case, in all areas. You're the one fucking her."

"Watch your mouth." Jude warned, eyes narrowing. Mia was slipped back to the floor and she took off for her bedroom again. "I'll be in around nine tomorrow."

"Why do you get to come in late?"

"Because, I've got kids who have to get dropped off at their grandmother's house. It's called having a life, you should try it sometime instead of calling me the second one of our clients sneezes."

The line was slaughtered, the phone knocked back onto its charger and a hand passed over his face to smear away any signal of stress that may have lingered there. This was more than a sneeze. This had the potential to either boost record scales or become an entire scandal. Glancing down at Emily, who had sat herself contentedly on the floor, Jude heaved out another sigh.

"How's spending tomorrow with your Grams sound?"