For Reasons Wretched and Divine

Fine, now that I'm talking to you.

Sleep was a good idea. A great idea, even, especially if it was horizontal. Three nights of sleeping sitting up was doing... interesting things to his back.

The ground was swirly as he walked; the only thing keeping him upright was his sheer determination to get inside his house, and not much could hold a match to Happy Lowman's stubbornness.

How hard he hit the door after gaining too much momentum going up the porch steps is not up for discussion, and he didn't bother looking over his shoulder as he waved Juice away, the grumble of the towtruck disappearing down the street as Happy finally unlocked his front door.

Onion wasn't in the house; he was still bunking at Jax's house as far as he knew, getting his fair share of sticky toddler hands shoved in his face and a five-year-old trying to ride him like a horse. He'd go pick him in up the morning, after sleeping for as many hours as he saw fit and eating something other than piss-warm lo mein noodles.

No one should be surprised that Happy had a box of burner phones on top of his refrigerator. He almost lost his balance reaching above his head even if it was hardly a stretch, the cold steadiness of the fridge holding him up. Tomorrow he'd go to the cellphone store and buy a new phone, tomorrow he'd pick up Onion, tomorrow he'd take a shower, tomorrow he'd eat real food, but it was still today somehow; it seemed like today had been going on for months already.

Muscle memory leads his actions as he dialed the numbers, and good thing too because he couldn't have been able to differentiate the keys even if he had bothered to open his eyes.

"Hello?" her voice rang through his head, tinny and mechanical and distorted, and he sagged in relief so quickly that his elbows hit the table hard enough that his arms went numb. She was so damned cheerful, even when she didn't know the number.

"Hey, Sunshine," he managed, the cruel rasp of his voice made even harsher with the exhaustion abusing his body.

"Oh good! You got a new phone!" she exulted, wide smile audible. "How was your... road trip?" There was a skeptical upturn to her voice, and if he was more capable of it at the moment, he would have cringed at the almost fearful hesitation.

"Don't make me lie to you," he asked, leaning harder against the table, not caring that it bit into his hip.

"I'd never ask you to, Hap,"

He rested his head against the chipped wooden top of the table, eyes still screwed shut; the only point of his focus was that of her voice on the other line.

"Are you okay?"

Happy started, suddenly wondering if he had fallen asleep but couldn't gather it in himself to care that much.

"I'm fine now,"

"Now?"

"Now that I'm talkin' to you," the words came out mumbled, half his face smushed against the table.

"Are you drunk?"

"Tired," the yawn that overtook his body threatened to rip his face apart.

"Come see me tomorrow," she suggested, voice noncommittal as if she didn't care, which showed how much she actually did. "I have the day off while I sort through waitress applications,"

"Yes."

"That's the quickest you've responded to me this whole conversation," she joked.

"If I ever refuse coming to see you, shoot me in the head," he murmured.

Her laugh, no matter how chopped up in the phone lines, threaded like a golden ribbon between his ribs, wrapping his skeleton and holding it together with such care it was unparalleled in his life.

"Sure thing, love, come over whenever you want, alright?" the honey-smooth drawl of her voice, paired with the endearment, sent a wave of earth-spinning dizziness over Happy, heat pooling in his face and spearing his chest, among... other places. He'd like to blame it on his sleep deprivation, and sure, that played a part, but he'd be a straight-up fool for denying everything and anything Sunshine did to him, mind, body, and soul.

"Okay," he croaked, wondering who he'd have to kill to be able to time-travel.