Madison smiled fondly, shaking her head goodnaturedly. “You’re good at plenty,” she said, light and sure as anything. “I never got why you bought into the idea that you weren’t.” Madison leaned back in her seat, gently unclipping the pins that were keeping her hair up as she thought.
“I don’t think going into business would make you happy,” she said after a few moments of consideration, “but I guess you could be good at it, especially if you focused more on the entrepreneurial aspect than the nine-to-five, live-and-die-by-the-stocks thing.” Madison shrugged and ran her fingers through her hair.
It was so easy. It was easier than it had any right to be. It was like picking up a conversation they’d been having five minutes ago, instead of over a year ago. Or…it wasn’t, because before, back then, she’d practically had to beat Crosby over the head to get him to listen to her, and now he was seeking her out. Randomly and in the middle of the night, which had been his M.O in high school, but it felt…different. More grown-up.
He still looked like he belonged there - sitting across from her, pale eyes glinting in the light. It still felt like he belonged there.
“Have you thought about psychology?” Madison asked, leaning forward to take another cookie. “I know, emotional stuff wasn’t - wasn’t something you thought you were good at,” she said, holding up a hand in mock surrender, “but–you helped me.” She let that hang there for just a moment, then carried on, voice level and purposefully casual. “You have a way of…” Madison trailed off as she finished her cookie, then gave another little shrug. “I guess I should say had a way, but I’m sure you still do–of making these things that seem too big and too scary more…manageable. Therapy isn’t all about letting people cry on your shoulder, or it doesn’t have to be. It’s about helping people, and that’s all drug dealing is. Heck, if you become psychiatrist, you can still do that, just…legally, with a pharmacy involved.”
Madison paused, a grin slowly spreading on her face. “Dr. Wilde. That’s got kind of a ring to it, don’t you think?”
“I’m a product of my environment.” He said with a shrug, though there was a smirk gracing his features. It was a cliche and he was mostly kidding, a fact he was sure she was aware of. She knew him surprisingly well when it came to that kinda thing.
Mindlessly he reached for one of her hair pins, playing with it between his fingers. Usually he’d fidget with a cigarette, but it seemed wrong to pull one out in Madison’s presence, especially in her house. Even if he didn’t light it. “Is that what I’m supposed to be thinking about, something that’s gonna make me happy? Dunno, seems naive to me.” Crosby was too realistic for his own good half the time, borderline pessimistic, but he never saw himself as the guy with a future worth dreaming about. “Finding a career that can make me good money and keep me out of jail was really all I was going for.”
Leaning back in his chair, Crosby crossed his arms over his chest, intently listening to Madison go on. She was making sense, which he hated, and doing it in that Madison McCarthy way -- rambling a bit, trying to play it cool while baring her soul because Crosby always played it cool, just being...Madison. This, this right here was the reason she was the one he went to in the middle of the night.
“Dr. Wilde. Shit, could you imagine that?” He laughed, running his hands through his hair because honestly even the hypothetical mention of it was crazy to hear. “My mom would have a freakin’ stroke. I’d probably have one too. Don’t think I’m all that great at helping people, honestly. Or all the school it would take to get there. It’s a nice thought though.”
“Besides, it’s different. I care about you.” People in general? Fuck them. But Madison..he cared about Madison. Helping her mattered, it meant a hell of a lot more than he ever admitted. “There’s no way I’d put in effort to help some random nutjob I’ve never met. My whole tough love thing wouldn’t work with them either I don’t think.”