A/N: I am facing down that deadly beast known as Procrastination. What's your bad procrastination habit? Do you even have one, or are you a super efficient time management machine?

Standing on the Threshold

The Monday after the gig, Sloane's father decided that she was just maybe old enough to start learning how to drive.

George Peterson was in many ways an egalitarian, liberal minded man who wanted nothing but the best for his daughter. However, he carried a few of his old school Tennessee views, and one of those was that it wasn't proper for young ladies to be tearing up the highway, which was why he made Sloane wait to learn.

She was at the very least, giddy with excitement. She would be able to go where she wanted! She could meet up with the girls! She could drive Ferris around! She could borrow Cam's car!

This exuberation did not seem to further endear the idea to Mr. Peterson. He ate his breakfast stoically, seemingly wondering if he could reconsider.

Sloane sobered up. This was serious. Recognising that, he smiled.

"I'll be back from work early, seeing as it's off season," he announced, "We can take your mother's and find an empty parking lot then." She stood up to take away her breakfast dishes, squeezing his shoulder appreciatively as she went.

He adjusted his tie, watching her spring around the kitchen, restrained joy humming in her step and her energy.

"I'll make you no promises, Sloane-I don't know that you'll be getting your own car for a while. It's likely you'll have to work around us and the vehicles, and I certainly want a no-crash record before I let you in mine."

She shrugged, conditions sliding off her like oil on water. "Any time is better than no time- also, can we take Malcolm to the vets? He's getting kind of fat."

Sloane's mother, dashing by on her way out to work, protested indignantly, "He's not fat, he's just well loved!"

Sloane and her father shared a look that betrayed their deep amusement, managing to hold off the giggles until the sound of the door shutting reached them.

"Just, just- well-loved!" Mr Peterson sniggered.

"That's not wrinkles, that's just cuddles!"

"Oooh, let me burn off some affection!"

"Imagine getting Malcolm to actually burn calories," Sloane grinned.

"If you can get him onto the treadmill in our room, he actually might- so dumb he'll just keep walking... Right, I've got to- got to head after I fetch my briefcase, what's your plans for today? Shall I fetch you from home or will you be with Ferris?"

"I'll be at home- Ferris might swing by for lunch but I'm actually going to try to finish my Biology summer project."

"The 3D model of a flower?"

"That's it yeah, I was hoping I could take some of the old boxes in the rec-room?"

"Sure thing," Mr Peterson said, and kissed her cheek as he went to find his papers.

Sloane immediately headed to the back of the house. There was one place that she hadn't shown Cam when he came around because, to be perfectly honest, it was nothing but clutter and dust. As she opened the door to the rec-room, she sneezed and something fell off a shelf.

"Great start," she mumbled, picking up a torch from a hook by the door and looking around.

She would probably need two or three boxes to cut up and then some Styrofoam cups from the old coffee machine mom used to have and insisted they might still need some day... Ooh there were straws there, they'd make good stamens!

Would off-white housepaint work for petals?

Hand on hip, Sloane shoved her hair into a bun, rolled up her sleeves and decided to get to work. Her cheerleading skills came in useful- at one point she needed an extra hand to steady a tall pile of folders, so she balanced and used a foot. Her weights work meant the boxes she needed seemed lighter than before and she could actually lift the giant metal coffee machine. Gains!

It took her an hour or so to extract her materials from the room, and she carefully made her way back up to her room and then brushed her hair until she was certain it gleamed and there were absolutely. no. mothballs. anywhere.

She had found some toothpicks and was using them as her label-markers, except they kept breaking. She was mid-curse as the fifth one snapped when the doorbell rang.

She opened the window and hollered, "COMING!" before stomping her way downstairs, fingers sticky with glue and her pinkie bandaged from a papercut.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" Cora exclaimed, leaning against her doorway with a cigarette pooling smoke above her head. Sloane couldn't tell if the comment was flirtatious or acerbically sarcastic.

"I didn't tell you where I lived," she said, folding her arms. "What can I do for you?"

Cora flipped her hair breezily, sunglasses acting as a headband.

"After the gig I asked Annette where Gina lived and I went to go pump her for information about you."

"Pump her for information... pump her for - for? What are you, a spy? Why didn't you just ask Annette?"

"I wouldn't believe half of my cousin's opinions and nor should you," Cora said, and there was a trace of steel in her voice that Sloane couldn't ignore.

"Well you clearly found out about me," she muttered, "stalker."

"Ahem, your very attractive stalker," Cora protested, and it was back to playful again, "I receive enough interest to know I've got the goods. Anyways, I wanted to talk to you! You got a minute?"

"You came all the way to my house to ask me if I've got a minute?"

"Maybe I like being old-fashioned."

"Except in the bedroom," Sloane shot back, and if it was meant to be a low blow it missed terribly because Cora just grinned, impervious and proud of her sexuality.

"You bet, I could show the boyfriend a thing or two! Anyways, can I come in?"

Sloane begrudgingly stepped aside, unfolding her arms and dusting them off on her pant legs, "C'mon in then, we'll let the flies in if we keep the door open all day. Leave the smoke."

"Nice place you got," Cora offered as she stubbed her cigarette against the wall. There was a companionable silence, broken by Cora's casual retelling of her weekend, and she absolutely would murder a macchiato and shame they didn't do one half as good in BU.

Sloane spun around and leant against the kitchen island, elbows propped onto the countertop, her mug of coffee from earlier still not washed up.

"I'll make us some! I have a gift, you'll see," Cora winked, moving effortlessly through all the shelves and cupboards to catalogue where everything was before she started to brew. Sloane quickly realised that this was a way for her to talk without having to connect emotionally to the other person.

"I just wanted to apologise, I guess, without other ears around, because I didn't want to make you actually uncomfortable. I've come onto people before to, you know, and sometimes there's just people who seem ok with it at first but then totally freak out. "

Sloane blushed and looked down at her feet. "It's fine, really. I just... uh, don't swing that way."

"Have you tried?"

"Is that another come on?" Cora huffed a laugh, pulling out some spoons. Her back was to Sloane so she couldn't read her expression.

"Girl, you are hot, you have a sharp tongue- you'd be fun to play with. But no, that is not a come-on, just an interested question. People are way more open in college. I forget you can't ask in high school."

If it was possible her cheeks got even redder.

"Uh, I just- nothing about that idea appeals to me, you know- I, uh... uh... don't need to try." The back of Cora's head nodded, an almost sympathetic tilt to her shoulders, and she passed a mug of sinfully good coffee back to Sloane.

Sloane took a sip, raking a hand through her hair absentmindedly.

"I get it," the she-devil said, "you're all about the guy ride,"

and Sloane choked on her coffee.

"...this seems to keep happening to me," she muttered, after a few hacking coughs.

Cora had moved to thump on her back companionably, and her perfume, warm and bright, brushed over Sloane's nose. Sloane didn't even wear proper perfume; her mother had said she wasn't old enough yet. Her face scrunched up into a frown.

"That was an interesting reaction," was all Cora said.

She had no idea why it felt like a good idea to tell Cora. Maybe because she was older; maybe because she was clearly not interested in Ferris (he was only, like, the guy to go out with); maybe because she didn't actually know her that well; maybe all three.

All she knew was that she sat there cupping her coffee, and started actually fucking crying. There were literal tears down her face and her complexion no doubt red and blotchy, because she felt wrong and right and she wanted something to happen and didn't and she was so scared and intrigued by what that article had said and oh goddamnit all was she always going to have all her life with her head taken up by this stuff?

Cora blinked expressively throughout it all, drinking her coffee in unhurried sips, a not quite smile in the corner of her mouth.

When Sloane felt that she had worked herself up sufficiently to start hiccup-sobbing, (hiccobbing? or supping?), the older girl took her hand, teal-polished nails dragging over skin smoothly to place her hand in her grip.

"You listen to me good, Sloane Peterson," she said. "I don't dig crying girls, so you'd better go upstairs, wash your face and come back down and we'll have a proper talk. No judgement, no notes, nothing leaves the room."

Sloane stumbled up the stairs, trying to control her breathing. A damp washcloth over her cheeks and a quick glance in the mirror- yes they were fire-engine red and she looked a total mess. She squared her shoulders and tiptoed back downstairs, suddenly feeling much more apprehensive. Cora was going to ask and know everything, and yes she'd said no judgements but what if half way through she heard something worse than she'd expected and the judgement came anyway?!

Cora wasn't in the kitchen.

She found her instead, in the sitting room, feet casually kicked up on one couch, sunglasses hooked in the neckline of her shirt. She looked completely relaxed and, as Sloane was beginning to realise, the definition of a bombshell.

"Sit down, sit down," she waved at the other couch, "now, just so I can get things straight, we're going to play a game where I just ask you shit and you answer."

"That's a sucky game," Sloane said, but she could feel herself relaxing nevertheless. Just a game...

"You're currently going out with Bueller?"

"Yeah."

"And you like it when you guys do stuff?"

"Yeah... I mean... we haven't done much but I like it."

"Ok, ok. So you haven't slept together?"

"Not yet, no."

"Why?"

"...ummm, it's scary?"

"Hah, okay then. And, just to check, you read a thing about dating two guys and you freaked out?"

Sloane nodded.

"...and it freaked you out because you liked the idea?"

This took more thought and more confusion. "No! Well, I don't know! Like, I was thinking about both of them and just- I- argghhh, I don't know!"

"It is perfectly alright for you to want to try to sleep with both of them though I reckon that's a bit much for a beginner." Cora looked at her nails, sharp blue eyes glancing up in a practised air of nonchalance- but for Sloane that very thought stabbed through her. She shuddered and shook her head, trying to find a way to articulate her rejection.

"I know I don't really want it but I thought about it and just, just... I'm with Ferris!" she wailed.

Cora shrugged, a spare movement. "Doesn't mean you can't grow closer to your other guy..."

And that was how Sloane decided that she absolutely did not want to spend the rest of the summer torn up like this.

A/N: yep long time no update sorry pals I had life things happen. Hope ya enjoy!