Tracy studied the bottle of spiced rum silently, something akin to defeat sinking in as she poured two glasses. He took his when it was offered, raising it politely. At least he could drink instead of talk. What was there to even say? Staring forward blankly at the walk behind Cynthia, he tossed the drink back and set his glass down. It made an uncomfortably loud sound for how lightly he set it down, but still he said nothing. Luckily, she had him covered, as she generally did.<br/><br/>"My mother worked in that store. Before she died. I was eight."<br/><br/>A perpetual wave of guilt ebbed and flowed through him. "I'm sorry," he repeated as he stared down at his empty glass. He refilled it, having grown tired of seeing it sit empty and discarded. Just as he set the bottle down, Cynthia was refilling hers for the fourth time. Out of all the things he thought he'd be for Cynthia, Tracy never saw him being the reason why she drank too much or anything of the sort. A burning sensation in his chest wound tight and released like a coil, though he couldn't tell if what he was feeling was the liquor or shame.<br/><br/>Cynthia started rambling, but he couldn't hear her. The familiar taste of spice snaked down his throat as Tracy took his second drink,<span style="font-style: italic">quietly</span>setting the glass on the table and taking Cynthia's from her after she had taken her shot. One arm came up to drape itself along Cynthia's shoulders, encircling her as he sank them both backward into the couch cushions. He might have laughed at her comment about Des' hair if she hadn't looked so distressed.<span style="font-style: italic">He</span>did that; it was important to remember that so he could take steps to never make her look like that again.<br/><br/>"Hey," he interjected, pressing his lips to her forehead in attempts to silence her. "That's not what.. I would<span style="font-style: italic">never</span>think that; I know you better than that. It's just-" He paused in frustration, more with himself than anything, his free hand dragging backward through his hair as he tried to find the best way to bite the bullet. "When we moved here, I thought that we could start over. No more secrets."<span style="font-style: italic">Good, Tracy, keep this going.</span>"I didn't even know this house or even your<span style="font-style: italic">grandma</span>existed before a few weeks ago."<span style="font-style: italic">Nice, nice, keep talking.</span>"I thought that Des was just something else you were keeping from me."<span style="font-style: italic">Fuck, Tracy, you blew it.</span>