[ he's trying not to look. he's really trying. it's hard when he can feel her lower herself down next to him, the weight of her shoulder pressing into his. he knows that if he turns his head, he'll be bale to see more skin than he'd seen five seconds ago and it would be good.
but, he also knows he shouldn't do that. he shouldn't let this (whatever it was) go any further especially since he doubts he's going to see her again after this. carmen surely has other plans for her if the way they chat is any indication.
he centers himself, taking a few breaths and finally does turn towards her, keeping his eyes on her face (...barely). ]
It's a handy talent to have. Mis felicitaciones al mutan. I feel better.
[ that, at least, is true. she wouldn't begrudge him an opportunity to let go of some of that tension. who knows how long he'd carried it around, the weight of his work and the cartel's ever-present danger pushing down on him? daisy might not have much, but her hands have always been a gift in that regard, given freely when she could.
but even now, even as relaxed as his body seems to be, she can't help but notice the tension that still lingers. the deep breaths he takes, the way his gaze seems hyperfocused on not drifting away from hers — it doesn't take a telepath to wonder what he might be trying not to look at. so she smiles, just a faint quirk of the corner of her mouth, and lets her head tip back, as if to catch a moment of rest against the couch cushions. ]
What about your talents, then? [ the heat that pulses from his hands, she remembers that. if she closes her eyes, she can still remember how it had felt on the dance floor, the light washing over her legs. ] Fair is fair.
[ he knows what she's asking and he can assume why she's asking. it's chilly in his house by design but he never really feels it because of who he is and what he can do. she's in a thin dress and though he's not looking, he knows that her legs are bare and probably goosebumped.
but he's not looking. instead, he sits up a little straighter, trying to roll the languidness out of his arms so he's not completely useless for the rest of the night. ]
A little. [ and then, more matter-of-factly: ] This place is basically an igloo.
[ it's not so cold that her teeth are chattering or anything so dramatic, but the temperature does have a bite to it. when she was touching him, his warmth rolled off his skin, warming her legs and hands and eventually the rest of her the longer she worked at releasing the tension from his muscles. but now, as daisy leans her back against the couch front, that warmth is gone — and she's left with the chilled air sweeping over her skin.
in theory, she could grab the blanket that hangs off the back of the couch. she could move to sit on the couch itself and curl into a ball. she could even ask him to drive her back to the compound — or to the gravel lot where she'd met him earlier that afternoon, where her car still sits parked near the corner wall of the warehouse. but she doesn't do any of those things. the blanket looks to be the only sentimental item in the house, moving to get on the couch seems like unnecessary effort, and as far as leaving goes … well, if anyone asks, she'll just say she hadn't thought of it. ]
[ marcos rolls his eyes but there's less heat and annoyance to it than there would have been earlier. instead of immediately turning his hands onto her, he gets to his feet and disappears into the back bedroom. he's only gone a moment before he returns and hands her a fuzzy cardigan, black, that she can wrap around herself. ]
I like it cold.
[ monsters apparently share their clothes too. shut up. he lowers himself back down beside her, twisting his body just enough that when his hands start to glow, he can easily direct the warm light up and down her body until she'll feel the chill seep out of her bones.
when he passes it near her eyes, he's reminded of what he'd done earlier (and what he could do now, if he was a different person) with the same hands he was trying to just warm her up with. ]
[ the cardigan is a surprise. not the color — black on black's practically a law around the cartel, as far as she can tell — but the gesture itself. he'd gotten up without even arguing about it, and brought her back something of his own. he could have thrown a towel at her, a sheet even; he goes to his room instead (she assumes) and brings her a cardigan. one that's soft to the touch, clearly well-worn.
and though daisy's dress offers long sleeves of its own, she doesn't hesitate to pull it on. it leaves her looking a little comical, oversized black cardigan with the shortest of skirts peeking out from underneath, but it's warm. she can't complain about that — even if it does feel particularly domestic.
she hasn't worn a man's sweater since... well. she can't remember when.
it doesn't matter. she's not going to think about it. she's going to sit here and watch as his hands bathe her in light the color of daffodils and homemade butter, soft and warm and comforting — even as it passes over her face, leaving her cheeks mottled pink from the heat, it doesn't burn. it's almost relaxing, like laying in the sun on a winter afternoon.
he mentions liking the cold, and she replies nearly automatically. ]
Well, that makes sense. You're hot.
[ she means temperature-wise, but … well, she doesn't bother to correct the implication her straightforward words imply. the satisfied smile that's crept onto her features probably doesn't do much for clarification either. ]
I don't know if you're trying to flirt with me or something else.
[ he keeps the light from his hands on her though he does move them away from her face so she doesn't catch too much brightness in her eyes. he hadn't cared about that earlier because that was his thing, using his ability to burn and blind people.
but, he wasn't trying to do that tonight. truth be told, he doesn't know what he's doing right now. she'd given him a massage and apparently all of his annoyance and insistence of dismissing her at every turn had gone away with most of his tension. ]
If it's flirting, it's not going to work.
[ he can be nice, obviously, but he doesn't think she's going to be able to get further than that. he's certain that he won't allow it. ]
[ she doesn't answer the question. instead, a hand reaches out to catch one of his, palm pressing against his own. the light and its heat that follows spills out around it, radiating in all directions like a puddle splashed, but she doesn't pull away. her fingers instead rest against his own, not quite lacing together, not yet. just present. ]
What are you so afraid of, [ she finally murmurs, voice and smile both gentle, unassuming. ] You danced with me. You stared at me. You dragged me here, knowing what people would think.
[ she doesn't think it's the rumors that concern him. at least not that he'll admit to, anyway. he wants to be the man who doesn't care what people think about him. ]
I don't want to be some cartel guy's girlfriend, Marcos. [ like the ones that call him papi, sycophants who hang on his every word, who live the luxury of the lifestyle but don't contribute anything to it beyond their bodies in the night. glorified prostitutes. she knows the type. ] Yours or anyone else's.
[ her hand turns, fingers bowing to curve around the junction between thumb and forefinger. ]
[ untrue. so untrue but what he's afraid of are things in his head that keep him up at night. nightmares from his past given to him by people that he's supposed to love. dreams of where his powers came from and what they were going to do to him if he didn't have them forcibly removed from his body.
and those fears, those terrors are not things he's going to share with her. he hadn't shared them with carmen. he hadn't shared them with anyone. so, he brushes the question away and focuses his attention on their hands. the light is still pouring from his, blocked now by her palm but he doesn't flip the switch to turn it off just yet. ]
Then, what do you want? [ it's a question that he's wanted to ask since this morning. since he noticed her being chummy with carmen, since she offered to take over the questioning, since she'd stepped up beside him at the bar and since she'd put her hand against his.
[ failure, for daisy. what failure means — people get hurt, people suffer, people die. if she doesn't fulfill this mission, the cartel continues to hurt people. they'll keep recruiting mutants with abilities, strongarm them, convince them to use their abilities for the cartel's needs.
those people deserve better. daisy wants to give them better. she has to do her job to do it, and right now, part of that job is weaving herself in. finding a place for herself, proving her worth. ]
I want what everybody wants. [ her thumb brushes along the line of his, following the path of bone to the wrist. it hums with power under her touch, restrained. the way her hands shake when she squeezes her palms tight, when she holds back from letting the ground tremble beneath her feet. ] Somewhere I belong, I guess.
[ and he's fine with keeping it that way. they'd had an intensely intimate relationship followed by a messy end to that. he'd considered leaving the cartel entirely but the money was too good and she was incredibly persuasive when she wanted to be.
and while carmen had tried to maintain their friendly relationship afterward, he hadn't wanted anything to do with it. he did what she needed him to do, no more, no less. ]
How did you meet? [ he's happy to keep this conversation focused squarely on her and not give any damn thing away about his own feelings on fears, wants, desires, and carmen guerra. ]
The quake in San Antonio. [ it had been on the news, she knows that much. how much it was covered here in bogota is another question altogether, but she imagines carmen's travels were likely well known. ] I saved her life.
[ it's a simple thing to say, but there's a weight to it. the effort it had taken to keep the walls upright — so much more difficult than shaking them down, so much more exhausting — had worn heavy on her. but carmen had been grateful, so grateful, and so clearly enamored with the idea of using daisy's powers for her own uses. it didn't take much imagination to think up ways that crumbling buildings to dust would be beneficial to the leader of a cartel. ]
She said I'd be useful here. That she'd take care of me.
[ in whatever way carmen had meant it — so far, in attending on missions and providing eye candy for parties. nothing she couldn't handle. ]
Then, maybe you should be in her house, touching her hand.
[ and then he pulls his own hand away, turning to face forward and drop his hands in his lap. what the hell was he doing, being this close to carmen's new pet? she'd probably take this back to carmen and they'd have a laugh about it as his expense. marcos, the man who acted like he had no emotions but really had a million of them. ]
I'm not going to take care of you. [ sounds like that wasn't what she wanted anyway. he's not going to take care of her beyond giving her a sweater and warming her up with his hands. that's it, that's all he'll do. ] But if she said that, I'm sure she means it.
[ was he? or was daisy just not doing a very good job of communicating her point? possibly a little of one, a little of the other. ]
I don't need to be taken care of. I didn't ask her to send me on a mission so I could watch you blind some guy and tell you what a good job you did. [ and she hadn't just accepted being sat back on the bench, had she? she'd made sure the mission went well, because that was her job. ] And I didn't ask you to dance with me because I couldn't find another partner.
[ she wanted to. whether that's just skye, for the purposes of the mission, or whether it's daisy too — she doesn't know. but the statement rings true either way. ]
[ marcos crosses his arms and leans back, once again doing his very best now to look over at her. she's more covered up because of his cardigan but this time, he's not avoiding looking because he doesn't want to see skin. he's avoiding looking because he's not sure what she's telling him. ]
You probably should have found another partner.
[ if she was expecting romance and seduction, she'd come to the wrong place. a lot of that had been burned out of him awhile ago and that was why he spent his days burning people for the hell of it. he at least had some control over that situation. ]
[ it would be. ignoring him would have been the safest option. not getting involved would have been safer, too; letting him burn out the man's eyes and haul him blinded back to the compound would have left those waters calm — but at what cost?
but she hadn't. she'd followed instinct on assignment, and for the better. she'd followed something else in the club, though, and wasn't entirely sure how it was working out. better, perhaps, but ... well, she wasn't sure. she doesn't want to think about why the vague sense of disappointment washes over her when he pulls away, or why she digs her heels in when he suggests driving her back.
maybe it's because it's easier to get under his skin than it is to look more closely under her own. ]
[ he took orders, of course, because there was a hierarchy but he reserved the right to go against them if he wanted to. he'd done it before to get the job done and while carmen wasn't always happy, she ultimately let it go if the job got done to her satisfaction. she just didn't like being made to look a fool by having one of her underlings come up with a smarter plan than she did.
one day, he's sure he'll do something that so incenses her that they'll have it out in a major way but it hasn't happened yet. ]
Pero no me conoces. Y es mejor así. You can take my car if you don't want me to drive you.
[ he'd walk tomorrow. or call someone to get him. ]
[ maybe she should. but she doesn't make any move to get up, and neither does he; they both still linger on the floor against the couch, expectations and best laid plans left out around them still ignored in favor of doing nothing but looking at each other. ]
What do you want, then?
[ it's his house. it's his cardigan. he can strip her of both without much effort at all, but he hasn't yet. she can't help but wonder why. is it that same temptation that runs deep in her mind, the what if from the sound of his pleased exhales as her hands had pressed against his skin, the curiosity that had come with the sensation of his body pressed against hers on the dance floor?
[ he looks over her after a moment, eyes searching. people don't just ask him questions like that especially not someone he's known for less than a day. he doesn't know exactly what her angle is or what she wants from him with these questions but he's not going to just up and answer her without thinking. without questioning her. ]
You don't care about me. [< she doesn't know him. ] So why do you want to know what I want? What does it matter?
[ and why did he want to tell her despite the misgivings he was voicing? ]
[ does she care? not deeply, no. she doesn't know him well enough to care about him the way he means. but daisy's not the kind of person to not care at all; she's always formed attachments to people fairly quickly, bonded with them in some way that makes caring about them and wanting to care for them easier. she'd done it when she joined shield, she'd done it with robin and the caterpillars, and... she was doing it now, with him, piece by piece. ]
You don't want anyone to care about you. [ not an answer to his question, but not untrue either (she thinks). ] People don't care about monsters, right?
[ but she doesn't think he's a monster, and she's told him as much, so perhaps that's a clue. ]
I didn't ask to hear the sound of my own voice, you know.
[ he was fine without that. fine without anyone looking out for him or in on him or doing anything resembling caring. he doesn't need it or want it or even think about it. he's tried to shut that part of himself off.
better that way. easier that way. ]
You don't need to know what I want.
[ he wasn't going to make anything easy. ]
If you're so eager to talk about wants and desires, what do you want?
you don't care what i want, he'd said, and now here he was asking her what she wanted in return. she didn't have much reason to think he particularly cared either; in fact, daisy thought it was far more likely that he'd simply use any legitimate answer as fuel to throw back in her face, something to establish his superiority as an unemotional monster in the wake of a confession.
but giving the kind of smug, unaffected answer that might throw him off his game just isn't her style, and so daisy's response is sincere. or, at least, as sincere as possible, given the situation. ]
When I met Carmen, I was living out of a van on the outskirts of San Antonio. An actual roof over my head and three meals is a pretty solid upgrade. [ but... ] Or are you asking what I want from you?
[ but he's not that surprised by the answer. carmen did talk a good game when she wanted to and she did provide. he'd been here for years now and while there had been bumps in the road and obstacles to overcome, he'd been mostly cared for. he'd been safe and secure and give a purpose and a means to provide for himself.
that was more than he'd had before. ]
But since you brought it up... [ he trails off and gestures for her to continue. she'd been awfully friendly to him when he'd given her no reason to be. so, must be something she wanted out of this besides stimulating conversation. ]
[ it's a simple question, asked as simply as possible; her head tips to the side as she shifts to turn towards him, knees pulling up to her side. if he wants to sidestep all of her questions with convenient excuses and deflections, she might as well return the favor. ]
If you don't care, and you're not offering, I don't see why it matters.
[ her fingertips toy with the hem of the cardigan, considering it for a moment. ]
[ he stares forward for a long time, saying nothing, doing nothing. there are many ways he could take this conversation and he finds himself considering those options while he's quiet, while he can feel her watching him.
in the end, he shakes his head and shoves everything else aside, all the emotional wants of his mind and the physical needs of his body. he won't let himself go down that road again. he doesn't know her.
so, he pushes himself to his feet and retrieves the keys he'd tossed aside earlier. he holds them out in front of him. ]
It doesn't matter.
[ it did. he just doesn't want to admit that. ]
Take the keys and go home.
[ it's getting harder and harder to maintain his composure and distance the longer she's here. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ he's trying not to look. he's really trying. it's hard when he can feel her lower herself down next to him, the weight of her shoulder pressing into his. he knows that if he turns his head, he'll be bale to see more skin than he'd seen five seconds ago and it would be good.
but, he also knows he shouldn't do that. he shouldn't let this (whatever it was) go any further especially since he doubts he's going to see her again after this. carmen surely has other plans for her if the way they chat is any indication.
he centers himself, taking a few breaths and finally does turn towards her, keeping his eyes on her face (...barely). ]
It's a handy talent to have. Mis felicitaciones al mutan. I feel better.
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[ that, at least, is true. she wouldn't begrudge him an opportunity to let go of some of that tension. who knows how long he'd carried it around, the weight of his work and the cartel's ever-present danger pushing down on him? daisy might not have much, but her hands have always been a gift in that regard, given freely when she could.
but even now, even as relaxed as his body seems to be, she can't help but notice the tension that still lingers. the deep breaths he takes, the way his gaze seems hyperfocused on not drifting away from hers — it doesn't take a telepath to wonder what he might be trying not to look at. so she smiles, just a faint quirk of the corner of her mouth, and lets her head tip back, as if to catch a moment of rest against the couch cushions. ]
What about your talents, then? [ the heat that pulses from his hands, she remembers that. if she closes her eyes, she can still remember how it had felt on the dance floor, the light washing over her legs. ] Fair is fair.
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[ he knows what she's asking and he can assume why she's asking. it's chilly in his house by design but he never really feels it because of who he is and what he can do. she's in a thin dress and though he's not looking, he knows that her legs are bare and probably goosebumped.
but he's not looking. instead, he sits up a little straighter, trying to roll the languidness out of his arms so he's not completely useless for the rest of the night. ]
Are you cold?
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[ it's not so cold that her teeth are chattering or anything so dramatic, but the temperature does have a bite to it. when she was touching him, his warmth rolled off his skin, warming her legs and hands and eventually the rest of her the longer she worked at releasing the tension from his muscles. but now, as daisy leans her back against the couch front, that warmth is gone — and she's left with the chilled air sweeping over her skin.
in theory, she could grab the blanket that hangs off the back of the couch. she could move to sit on the couch itself and curl into a ball. she could even ask him to drive her back to the compound — or to the gravel lot where she'd met him earlier that afternoon, where her car still sits parked near the corner wall of the warehouse. but she doesn't do any of those things. the blanket looks to be the only sentimental item in the house, moving to get on the couch seems like unnecessary effort, and as far as leaving goes … well, if anyone asks, she'll just say she hadn't thought of it. ]
I'm beginning to rethink the dress a little.
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I like it cold.
[ monsters apparently share their clothes too. shut up. he lowers himself back down beside her, twisting his body just enough that when his hands start to glow, he can easily direct the warm light up and down her body until she'll feel the chill seep out of her bones.
when he passes it near her eyes, he's reminded of what he'd done earlier (and what he could do now, if he was a different person) with the same hands he was trying to just warm her up with. ]
It's too hot everywhere else.
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and though daisy's dress offers long sleeves of its own, she doesn't hesitate to pull it on. it leaves her looking a little comical, oversized black cardigan with the shortest of skirts peeking out from underneath, but it's warm. she can't complain about that — even if it does feel particularly domestic.
she hasn't worn a man's sweater since... well. she can't remember when.
it doesn't matter. she's not going to think about it. she's going to sit here and watch as his hands bathe her in light the color of daffodils and homemade butter, soft and warm and comforting — even as it passes over her face, leaving her cheeks mottled pink from the heat, it doesn't burn. it's almost relaxing, like laying in the sun on a winter afternoon.
he mentions liking the cold, and she replies nearly automatically. ]
Well, that makes sense. You're hot.
[ she means temperature-wise, but … well, she doesn't bother to correct the implication her straightforward words imply. the satisfied smile that's crept onto her features probably doesn't do much for clarification either. ]
no subject
[ he keeps the light from his hands on her though he does move them away from her face so she doesn't catch too much brightness in her eyes. he hadn't cared about that earlier because that was his thing, using his ability to burn and blind people.
but, he wasn't trying to do that tonight. truth be told, he doesn't know what he's doing right now. she'd given him a massage and apparently all of his annoyance and insistence of dismissing her at every turn had gone away with most of his tension. ]
If it's flirting, it's not going to work.
[ he can be nice, obviously, but he doesn't think she's going to be able to get further than that. he's certain that he won't allow it. ]
I don't do that anymore.
[ thanks, carmen. ]
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What are you so afraid of, [ she finally murmurs, voice and smile both gentle, unassuming. ] You danced with me. You stared at me. You dragged me here, knowing what people would think.
[ she doesn't think it's the rumors that concern him. at least not that he'll admit to, anyway. he wants to be the man who doesn't care what people think about him. ]
I don't want to be some cartel guy's girlfriend, Marcos. [ like the ones that call him papi, sycophants who hang on his every word, who live the luxury of the lifestyle but don't contribute anything to it beyond their bodies in the night. glorified prostitutes. she knows the type. ] Yours or anyone else's.
[ her hand turns, fingers bowing to curve around the junction between thumb and forefinger. ]
no subject
[ untrue. so untrue but what he's afraid of are things in his head that keep him up at night. nightmares from his past given to him by people that he's supposed to love. dreams of where his powers came from and what they were going to do to him if he didn't have them forcibly removed from his body.
and those fears, those terrors are not things he's going to share with her. he hadn't shared them with carmen. he hadn't shared them with anyone. so, he brushes the question away and focuses his attention on their hands. the light is still pouring from his, blocked now by her palm but he doesn't flip the switch to turn it off just yet. ]
Then, what do you want? [ it's a question that he's wanted to ask since this morning. since he noticed her being chummy with carmen, since she offered to take over the questioning, since she'd stepped up beside him at the bar and since she'd put her hand against his.
what do you want? ]
no subject
[ failure, for daisy. what failure means — people get hurt, people suffer, people die. if she doesn't fulfill this mission, the cartel continues to hurt people. they'll keep recruiting mutants with abilities, strongarm them, convince them to use their abilities for the cartel's needs.
those people deserve better. daisy wants to give them better. she has to do her job to do it, and right now, part of that job is weaving herself in. finding a place for herself, proving her worth. ]
I want what everybody wants. [ her thumb brushes along the line of his, following the path of bone to the wrist. it hums with power under her touch, restrained. the way her hands shake when she squeezes her palms tight, when she holds back from letting the ground tremble beneath her feet. ] Somewhere I belong, I guess.
[ she has that, but skye doesn't. ]
Did Carmen not tell you how we met?
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[ and he's fine with keeping it that way. they'd had an intensely intimate relationship followed by a messy end to that. he'd considered leaving the cartel entirely but the money was too good and she was incredibly persuasive when she wanted to be.
and while carmen had tried to maintain their friendly relationship afterward, he hadn't wanted anything to do with it. he did what she needed him to do, no more, no less. ]
How did you meet? [ he's happy to keep this conversation focused squarely on her and not give any damn thing away about his own feelings on fears, wants, desires, and carmen guerra. ]
no subject
[ it's a simple thing to say, but there's a weight to it. the effort it had taken to keep the walls upright — so much more difficult than shaking them down, so much more exhausting — had worn heavy on her. but carmen had been grateful, so grateful, and so clearly enamored with the idea of using daisy's powers for her own uses. it didn't take much imagination to think up ways that crumbling buildings to dust would be beneficial to the leader of a cartel. ]
She said I'd be useful here. That she'd take care of me.
[ in whatever way carmen had meant it — so far, in attending on missions and providing eye candy for parties. nothing she couldn't handle. ]
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[ and then he pulls his own hand away, turning to face forward and drop his hands in his lap. what the hell was he doing, being this close to carmen's new pet? she'd probably take this back to carmen and they'd have a laugh about it as his expense. marcos, the man who acted like he had no emotions but really had a million of them. ]
I'm not going to take care of you. [ sounds like that wasn't what she wanted anyway. he's not going to take care of her beyond giving her a sweater and warming her up with his hands. that's it, that's all he'll do. ] But if she said that, I'm sure she means it.
[ yeah right. ]
no subject
[ was he? or was daisy just not doing a very good job of communicating her point? possibly a little of one, a little of the other. ]
I don't need to be taken care of. I didn't ask her to send me on a mission so I could watch you blind some guy and tell you what a good job you did. [ and she hadn't just accepted being sat back on the bench, had she? she'd made sure the mission went well, because that was her job. ] And I didn't ask you to dance with me because I couldn't find another partner.
[ she wanted to. whether that's just skye, for the purposes of the mission, or whether it's daisy too — she doesn't know. but the statement rings true either way. ]
no subject
You probably should have found another partner.
[ if she was expecting romance and seduction, she'd come to the wrong place. a lot of that had been burned out of him awhile ago and that was why he spent his days burning people for the hell of it. he at least had some control over that situation. ]
And I should probably take you back.
[ wouldn't that be the safer option? ]
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but she hadn't. she'd followed instinct on assignment, and for the better. she'd followed something else in the club, though, and wasn't entirely sure how it was working out. better, perhaps, but ... well, she wasn't sure. she doesn't want to think about why the vague sense of disappointment washes over her when he pulls away, or why she digs her heels in when he suggests driving her back.
maybe it's because it's easier to get under his skin than it is to look more closely under her own. ]
Do you always do what you're supposed to do?
[ he did say 'should'. ]
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[ he took orders, of course, because there was a hierarchy but he reserved the right to go against them if he wanted to. he'd done it before to get the job done and while carmen wasn't always happy, she ultimately let it go if the job got done to her satisfaction. she just didn't like being made to look a fool by having one of her underlings come up with a smarter plan than she did.
one day, he's sure he'll do something that so incenses her that they'll have it out in a major way but it hasn't happened yet. ]
Pero no me conoces. Y es mejor así. You can take my car if you don't want me to drive you.
[ he'd walk tomorrow. or call someone to get him. ]
You should go.
[ should should should should. ]
no subject
What do you want, then?
[ it's his house. it's his cardigan. he can strip her of both without much effort at all, but he hasn't yet. she can't help but wonder why. is it that same temptation that runs deep in her mind, the what if from the sound of his pleased exhales as her hands had pressed against his skin, the curiosity that had come with the sensation of his body pressed against hers on the dance floor?
has he thought about it? ]
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[ he looks over her after a moment, eyes searching. people don't just ask him questions like that especially not someone he's known for less than a day. he doesn't know exactly what her angle is or what she wants from him with these questions but he's not going to just up and answer her without thinking. without questioning her. ]
You don't care about me. [< she doesn't know him. ] So why do you want to know what I want? What does it matter?
[ and why did he want to tell her despite the misgivings he was voicing? ]
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You don't want anyone to care about you. [ not an answer to his question, but not untrue either (she thinks). ] People don't care about monsters, right?
[ but she doesn't think he's a monster, and she's told him as much, so perhaps that's a clue. ]
I didn't ask to hear the sound of my own voice, you know.
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[ he was fine without that. fine without anyone looking out for him or in on him or doing anything resembling caring. he doesn't need it or want it or even think about it. he's tried to shut that part of himself off.
better that way. easier that way. ]
You don't need to know what I want.
[ he wasn't going to make anything easy. ]
If you're so eager to talk about wants and desires, what do you want?
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you don't care what i want, he'd said, and now here he was asking her what she wanted in return. she didn't have much reason to think he particularly cared either; in fact, daisy thought it was far more likely that he'd simply use any legitimate answer as fuel to throw back in her face, something to establish his superiority as an unemotional monster in the wake of a confession.
but giving the kind of smug, unaffected answer that might throw him off his game just isn't her style, and so daisy's response is sincere. or, at least, as sincere as possible, given the situation. ]
When I met Carmen, I was living out of a van on the outskirts of San Antonio. An actual roof over my head and three meals is a pretty solid upgrade. [ but... ] Or are you asking what I want from you?
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[ but he's not that surprised by the answer. carmen did talk a good game when she wanted to and she did provide. he'd been here for years now and while there had been bumps in the road and obstacles to overcome, he'd been mostly cared for. he'd been safe and secure and give a purpose and a means to provide for himself.
that was more than he'd had before. ]
But since you brought it up... [ he trails off and gestures for her to continue. she'd been awfully friendly to him when he'd given her no reason to be. so, must be something she wanted out of this besides stimulating conversation. ]
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[ it's a simple question, asked as simply as possible; her head tips to the side as she shifts to turn towards him, knees pulling up to her side. if he wants to sidestep all of her questions with convenient excuses and deflections, she might as well return the favor. ]
If you don't care, and you're not offering, I don't see why it matters.
[ her fingertips toy with the hem of the cardigan, considering it for a moment. ]
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in the end, he shakes his head and shoves everything else aside, all the emotional wants of his mind and the physical needs of his body. he won't let himself go down that road again. he doesn't know her.
so, he pushes himself to his feet and retrieves the keys he'd tossed aside earlier. he holds them out in front of him. ]
It doesn't matter.
[ it did. he just doesn't want to admit that. ]
Take the keys and go home.
[ it's getting harder and harder to maintain his composure and distance the longer she's here. ]
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