evite | ✈ open post 2kforever

[ is it the answer he wants to hear? no. is it the answer he knows he needs to hear? yes. but that doesn't stop his shoulders from slumping. he closes his eyes but doesn't move away from her despite his disappointment in the answer.

it doesn't matter if he knows she's right, he's still disappointed because he knows there's still a chance that this won't be able to continue past this night. if john doesn't want the partnership then they'd be, once again, cut off from each other. ]

I know you wouldn't.

[ and he wouldn't ask her to leave shield either. he'd never forgive himself if he even considered the idea of making her leave what she loved to do because of him. ]

I'm sorry.

[ he shakes his head slightly. ]

[ he doesn't have to say anything. she can see him deflating right before her eyes, see the slump of his shoulder and feel the hot air that rushes from his face as he exhales out all that disappointment.

the truth is, this isn't the kind of situation where there's an easy answer. they can't just forget their responsibilities. they're both twined too deeply into a very personal set of struggles to ever just walk away, even if the romantic ideal might be nice to think about. but they can, in the moments where life allows, carve out a space for each other. they can try to walk a line between work and home, between "yours" and "mine", and have a small spot that's for them both.

even if it feels a little like escapism. maybe that's what they need. ]

You don't have to apologize. Can we just... not talk about it, for a little while? Please?

[ she feels a little ridiculous, too, for asking. the lingering question of what will they talk about doesn't get asked. ]

[ that was probably a good idea even if the 'what ifs' would hang over them until they got a solid answer one way or another. and forgetting about that could be accomplished in a variety of ways but were they ready to broach those? or would it just complicate things if, again, they weren't able to make their two organizations together work.

he sighs and nods. ]

We don't have to talk about it.

[ the next thing he wants to say is 'we don't have to talk at all' but that's one of those ways that they could escape but he isn't sure she's ready for. or wants. he sighs and nods, staying close to her and finding nothing coming to mind on what to talk about next.

they'd been pretty good at talking once before. and he thinks they still are but this wasn't really the time to talk about hobbies and the weather and food. ]

[ it's the silence that feels heaviest. the shared burden of their situation hangs like a dark thundercloud above their heads, and even agreeing not to talk about it only means they sit here, foreheads touching, both thinking about it but not saying a damn thing. maybe that's worse.

every few moments, daisy tries to say something, anything — her mouth opens, a quiet exhale or a soft coo, just anything to break the silence. and then nothing, her mouth closing shut again, a small shake of her head. what can she say? what can they talk about that isn't, in some way, connected to what they've already agreed not to talk about?

how's john, she wants to ask. how are clarice and the struckers and everyone else holding up? but it's too close for comfort. how's the baby, she almost says, but thinks better of it. definitely not the right time.

eventually, after who knows how many minutes of lingering uncomfortable silence, daisy exhales through her nose, a sound that seems to drag on much like the quiet between them had before. ]

All I can think about is all the things I don't want to talk about. [ her tongue sweeps out to brush over her lower lip, teeth dragging against the corner. nervous energy. ] And you. I keep... thinking about you, about what it was like when you were here before.

[ about what we used to do, on this floor, on this couch. ]

Yeah.

[ yeah, he knows all about thoughts like that. about asking about her work, her coworkers, how she's been, what she's been doing because they all, somehow, tie back to what they'd agreed to not talk about. and any information he wants to offer up will just bring it back to the subject that must not be named. he supposes that mundane subjects like the weather and television shows would be work but he can't see the conversations lasting long. ]

Yeah, I'm -- [ right there with you. he felt it too, the energy, the electricity and the only reason he hasn't acted on it is because he just wasn't sure it was reciprocated. but now he knows for sure and...he's still not acting on it but it's definitely not because he doesn't want to. he does. it's just such a complicated thing now. there were so many things to think about.

but then again, maybe they should just escape for a night. get lost in something good. ]

I should -- I should text John. [ which is not what he wanted to say but does need to do that. he needs to let him know he's all right. ] And then I can be yours for the night.

[ maybe, hopefully, that makes it better. he wants it to. ]

[ she nods, offers up what she hopes is some kind of nonverbal acknowledgement, an understanding of what it is he's explaining. he should check in. whatever he's come from, they — the underground, that nebulous "other" that hovers on the fringes of each sentence they utter — need to know he's okay. that he's been bandaged up and offered shelter for a night, if nothing else.

and then he gets up, walks away, and daisy's left to herself, her back up against the couch and the floor in front of her suddenly seeming an impossible expanse. she doesn't want to pry, doesn't want to look over his shoulder and investigate whatever messages he's sending. she could, if she really wanted to. she has the set up on her laptop, it wouldn't take long to port in his number or pull from the local cell tower traffic to find out what was being sent. but she doesn't want to do that. she doesn't want to infringe on his privacy like that, not if she doesn't have to.

but she can't just sit here either, staring at her hands, wondering if she's doing the right thing or making a giant mistake by admitting to feelings that she spent weeks trying to push back down. no, she has to get up, pace a little, find something for her mind to focus on while he handles whatever he needs.

when marcos is done, whether it be texts or a phone call or photo evidence of his still-breathing body, he'll find her in the kitchen, staring into the fridge like it holds the answers to life itself. ]

[ john is concerned and then, once marcos tells him where he is, he's angry. angry that marcos is putting himself through that again, putting himself in a position to get hurt so badly again. but, marcos shuts him down with the bare bones of daisy's offer before telling him he'd be back tomorrow.

once that was done, he made his way through the apartment, eventually finding daisy in the kitchen. the pain in his arm is almost nonexistent and he barely realizes he still doesn't have his shirt on. he could go and find that, put it back on, make things a little easier but it's ruined anyway.

he comes to stand behind her, leaving a few feet of space between them. ]

What are you doing?

[ he doesn't think he'll startle her but he keeps his voice quiet anyway. he shifts a little to peer over her shoulder and see what was so interesting inside the fridge. ]

[ his voice startles her out of a spiral of deep, questioning thoughts. the kind of thoughts that branch out from place to place, starting in one seemingly innocuous place — i have beer in the fridge — to memories long since repressed or forgotten. the two of them in the kitchen one summer evening, soaking wet after having been caught in the rain, beer buzzed and happy for one fleeting moment, her back pressed up against the fridge as they kissed. a memory she hasn't thought about in... weeks. months. hasn't let herself think about, in any case.

his voice startles her, and daisy spins around, shutting the fridge behind her with a slam. a flush blooms red over her cheeks and down the column of her neck as she takes a step backwards, her shoulders bumping into the freezer's top door. what was she doing? how does she answer that? ]

I was just... thinking, um. About what was in there, I guess.

[ not the best excuse. now that she's face to face with him again, it becomes even more painfully obvious that he's shirtless (if not a little bandaged on one side). why is that so difficult to tear her eyes away from?

maybe swallowing will help. forcing herself to take a breath, to fake a calm, self-assured smile. everything's fine, really. ]

Hi.

[ she slams the door to the fridge so hard that he takes a step back, worried that she's got something in there that he wasn't supposed to see. she looks like a cornered animal right now and he has no idea what's happened in the span of minutes between getting up off he floor and coming back to find her. ]

Hi.

[ he meets her smile with one of his own before rubbing at the back of his neck with his uninjured arm. ] John knows what's going on. I know we're not talking about it but I told him a few things and he'll call you tomorrow.

[ so, they just had to get through a night without exploding? could they do that? did he even want to do that? he licks his lips, falling into a quiet silence. they were back to that. the quiet, the silence. the not knowing what to say or do not that certain topics were cut off. ]

I can leave you alone if you want to keep looking in the fridge.

He was probably worried about you.

[ a feeling she knows pretty well. she doesn't begrudge john for being... well, however he's being. concerned, nervous, angry at her for being involved. she can only guess, and all her guesses aren't exactly positive ones.

but they're not talking about those things right now, so daisy tries her best to keep her voice neutral. calm. unaffected. ]

At least now he won't try to track you down.

[ another memory comes, unbidden. hiding in the woods, having picked up a cheap tent and bedroll from a clearance sale at some outdoor store, sneaking out from their responsibilities in the underground and in the zephyr for a night. thinking they had found privacy for once, only to be interrupted by the tracker himself. john had been embarrassed, but nothing had rivaled the flush across daisy's topless form, clutched behind the thin sheet.

this one makes her laugh, a quiet sound under her breath; the blush on her cheeks tonight only gets redder. ]

Do you remember that? I'd never been so ...

[ so embarrassed. something. her words trail off as her gaze tips up to his, as she takes in the sight of his tongue sweeping over his mouth. distracting, to say the least. ]

I -- I remember. [ how could he not remember that? they'd barely done anything when john had come upon them but it had still been embarrassing and a little ridiculous. he and john hadn't really ever talked about it when he and daisy had said their goodbyes the following morning but ]

Yeah, I remember that. [ he sounds a little breathless in fact. he remembers how her skin had looked under the moonlight and how she'd felt pressed against his back at some point during the night. how the bedroll had been uncomfortable so she'd slept on him at one point and how he'd pressed his face against her stomach and admitted his fears about fatherhood and his kid to her.

they hadn't even broached that subject yet since he'd walked through her door tonight. ]

You'd never been as beautiful as that night. [ a simple, quiet admission. the truth. a fact. his own opinion but it's absolutely what he believes. ]

[ the compliment's a simple one. he's always been generous with them — if not in spite of the fact then perhaps because he couldn't be generous with much else, not with the coffers at the underground so low, not with her standing on the outside of it. he'd always told her what he thought of her, whether it was her looks or her abilities or something else altogether, and when they were together, showered her with reassurances.

tonight's no different, and as if by instinct, daisy smiles back and offers the prompted reply. ] You weren't half-bad yourself.

[ he's not looking any worse for wear tonight, either. shirtless, breathless, scruffy and hair tousled — now that he's no longer wincing in pain or clutching his injuries, he looks more like a man who's... well. that's another memory altogether. one that involves the room just down the hall, many times over, amongst other places here and there. like the floor of this kitchen, for one.

she swallows again, throat a little tight; before she can stop herself, one hand reaches out to curl around one of his, gently pulling him that much closer. ]

Do you ever think about what it was like? When we were together?

[ when they touch, like this. when electricity tingles across her skin, when she practically glows from the inside out, when she can feel the earth trembling beneath their feet. like power, pure power, rushed between them. ]

I think about it all the time.

[ in bed, alone. ]

I tried not to. [ because he'd known it would just make him miserable, thinking about something he couldn't have and why put himself through more torture? but the power of memories are a strong thing and the more he tried not think about her, the more he thought about her.

his eyes fall down to their hands while he steps closer to her, the distance between them slowly disappearing. ]

But I failed. I thought about that a lot. All the time. When I wanted to and when I didn't want to. [ she was not an easy person to forget and he hadn't wanted to forget her. he'd just wanted to put her aside so thinking about her didn't hurt so badly. ]

I still think about you. [ to this day. he was here, wasn't he? ] I don't think I'll ever stop.

[ her thumb brushes over his hand as he talks, soft sweeps over knuckles and the freckled skin against the back of his hand, gentle looping patterns back and forth. touch, even simple like this, is more than they've shared in months. the temptation to break the dam grows only stronger with each moment, but she can't seem to make herself move. ]

I don't want you to stop. [ the words come out almost as a whisper, an echo of a phrase she's murmured in his ears more times than she can count — though with markedly different intentions. a tight swallow, and she manages to speak a little more normally. ] I don't want to stop thinking about you either.

[ whatever that means. thinking about him, caring about him, being with him? how much is she willing to risk to make it happen? ]

I don't think I could stop if I wanted to.

[ his eyes stay on their joined hands, watching the journey her fingers make against the back of his hands. over tiny scars and rough spots earned over time and conflict. he sighs, closing his eyes though not for any bad reason. it's just nice to enjoy a touch. ever since their relationship had ended, he hasn't let anyone near him enough to touch like this. ]

Then don't.

[ the words tumble out before he can stop them. he doesn't give himself time to second guess what he's saying, what he's offering, what he's opening himself up to. he just says the first thing that comes to mind and then falls quiet. he gives her hand a squeeze. ]

Then, don't stop.

Edited 2019-01-27 19:14 (UTC)

[ it's a heady proposition. throwing caution to the wind, letting the chips fall where they may, giving in to want and desire and emotions long since shoved deep down away from the light of day, risking the car running off the rails if things don't go well. but she can't deny how much she wants to do it. how much they both seem to want it.

her hand clings tight to his, fingers wrapping around, while the other reaches to skim over the exposed line of his collarbone where his shirt collar might have laid. if he was still wearing a shirt, she'd have grabbed it; instead, daisy wraps a hand around the back of his neck, soft at first and then — as if signaling her own abandon, firmer, giving him no choice but to stumble forward, closing the gap between them until he's a breath away. ]

Okay. [ repeated, whispered. okay, okay, okay. she can do this. ] God, I love you.

[ weird how final that feels to say out loud, as if she hasn't said a variation of it so many times over the course of the evening. how intense the words feel as they slip out of her mouth, bitten off firmly, all pretense lost. she does, though. she loves him more fiercely than she thinks she might love herself. ]

But if you don't kiss me, I'm probably going to scream.

[ and stumble he does but he braces his uninjured arm on the freezer behind her so he doesn't end up falling into her. there's still a breath of space between their bodies but marcos is pretty sure that's about to come to an end. they both want it to and though they've talked a few circles around it for a few minutes, they seem to have come to a solid agreement.

stop talking about what's to come, keep thinking about each other and -- ]

Don't scream.

[ -- and yeah, kiss her. he leans closer, slow at first, still wondering if something is going to happen to stop this. a knock on her door, a phone ringing, a ceiling caving in but when a moment comes and goes and nothing happens, he lets himself believe that he's actually going to be able to have something good.

and so he erases that last bit of space and presses his lips to hers finally. it's tentative, a little cautious but only because he doesn't want to break this spell. it's not going to stay that way, rest assured.

because he remembers how she tastes, how her breath feels and he already wants more. ]

[ slow is... something. probably necessary, she thinks, in whatever corner of her brain is still capable of rational thought right now, for him to adjust. to make sure he doesn't injure himself in the process. but it's very quickly not enough, and so daisy drops her grip on his hand in order to slide both of hers over his shoulders, one going further in order to snake into the hair at the nape of his neck.

it doesn't take much to press herself into that last small sliver of space, or to open her mouth just that much more. it still doesn't feel like enough, not after all this wasted time between the last and today, but it's better. closer is better.

though, after a minute or two, she pulls back, breathless. ]

Don't stop. No matter what.

[ john himself could break through her door right now. doesn't matter. he can wait. everything can wait. ]

Yeah, okay. Okay.

[ he nods hurriedly and those words plus her body flush against his body means he throws out any pretense of working things through gradually. her hand's in his hair and he leans forward, capturing her lips in a harder, deeper kiss this time. with the solidity of the refrigerator behind her, marcos leans into her, letting some of his weight settle against her.

he thinks that maybe he should ask if she wants to stay in here or go elsewhere but that would mean stopping the kiss and that would mean more talking and haven't they done enough talking already? logistics could wait.

right now, he was going to kiss by licking into her mouth and curling a hand around the hair falling over her shoulder. god, this day had been so terrible.

but this night was -- something else. ]

[ they don't need to take things slow. they already know, don't they? they've already spent months mapping out each other's bodies, learning exactly where to touch and what to do to make the other come apart. out of practice, maybe, but daisy remembers quickly — memories, here, are helpful.

a soft sound of approval echoes into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut. there's a knock at the door, but she doesn't move, doesn't let up for a second long enough for him to move either. it's just the food delivery guy, she's pretty sure, and she already paid. he can just leave it all at the door, and eventually, sometime later, daisy will get it. or one of her nonexistent neighbors will find it, and she'll order more.

right now, she doesn't care. what she cares about is memorizing the feeling of his body flush against her own, dragging her hands along the lines of his back, leaving red trails as she goes. if this is just once, if tonight is all they have... well, she wants those memories this time. her back presses into the door of the fridge. it's at least not quite as hard as the floor. for that, she's pretty grateful. ]

[ marcos listens well because despite hearing the knock on her door, he doesn't let up. she pulls him close to keep him from wandering away but he'd had no intention of leaving. he's forgotten about the food so he just thinks that whoever's there will just assume she's not home and come back a later time. maybe they'll leave a note.

and if it's john, he'll kick down the door and be treated to the scene which he's scene a million times before. but, it won't be john. john knows what's going on and john wouldn't try and drag him out of here.

when it looks like they're not going to leave the solidity of the fridge for a few seconds, maros reaches down and curve a hand around her thigh, trying to drag it up around his hip so he can press closer in a much more intimate way than he'd been standing before.

fuck slow. he was done with slow. ]

[ she'll oblige. whatever he wants to do, whatever demands he makes, she's happy to give in. there's no hesitation in her shifting weight, hands wrapping that much more snugly around his back to support herself as they lean into the fridge.

but goddamn, is that good. the closer he gets, the warmer she feels; the warmer she feels, the more desperately she wants more of whatever he's offering. that heat will bring her to boiling, if she's not careful, and she wants to be able to enjoy that with him. her leg wraps around his, all enthusiasm and encouragement.

after a moment, her head tips back, turning to let the crown of her head press into the cool surface of the freezer door, exposing the column of her throat and the line of her jaw to his wandering mouth. it gives her the opportunity to gasp a much-needed inhale of breath, the exhale heady and all too pleased. ]

[ while's loathe to lose her lips, her neck is just as good and he immediately starts mouth at the smooth slope of skin, tongue sliding down the long column until he can suck at the pulse point thumping against her neck and feel the telltale signs of life there. she's warm and reactive underneath his hands but he's still comforted by that.

he nuzzles against her neck after a moment, nosing his way back up until he can kiss behind her ear before pulling back for a second. ]

Much as I would like to get reacquainted with your kitchen appliances, we might need to move soon. I'm only one armed tonight so I won't be as good at --

[ holding her against things or holding her at all. the pain is barely there but he knows he shouldn't use it until he can make sure it's fully healed. ]

I'm not saying to stop. I just want us to move.

'Kay, [ a breathless whisper, though no less consenting. if it means she has to sit in his lap to accomplish what she wants, very well then. daisy is nothing if not accommodating to his needs right now. ] You know where you're going.

[ because they can walk and kiss at the same time, right? it won't be weird if she cups his face in two hands and kisses him like her life depends on it, enthusiasm and desperation all in one, exhales hot against his skin each time she lifts her mouth to gasp a needy breath.

the bedroom's not far, either. it's a small one bedroom, and the path from the fridge to the kitchen isn't more than a few dozen steps. they may have to stumble over discarded medical supplies, but... well, they can manage. they've done it before, drunk too, on plenty of nights somewhat like this one.

and when her knees do finally hit the telltale low mark of the bed, daisy sinks into the mattress, dragging him down with her. ]

You're not going to just stare at me all night, are you, babe?

[ an old term of endearment, slipping out with meaning to. it feels right, though, so daisy doesn't correct herself. ]

[ it's been months but he still remembers the number of steps it takes to get to her bedroom and he still remembers where little imperfections are on the walls of her apartment. they'd spent a lot of time here because he'd always been moving around, finding and then relocating when sentinel services or someone discovered where they were. so, it's easy to walk that small space, stepping on empty gauze rolls and blister packs on the way.

there's not much difference since the last time he'd been here. maybe his hair's longer and his beard's thicker and his arm's a mess but he still loves her just as much as he did then.

it's a sight to see her on her bed again, waiting for him and he carefully lowers himself on top of her, keeping the bandaged arm up just so no one accidentally karate chops it in reaction to something good. ]

I thought about it.

[ but no, he's not going to do that. he slips a hand underneath her shirt and splays his fingers out on her stomach. ]

Maybe another night I will.

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