Meredith and Sam live a (cursedlife) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-09-25 21:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | sam winchester, tate langdon |
Who: Meredith and Loren
What: Meredith comes to say goodbye
Where: Loren's apartment
When: Recently. Fuzzy timelines are fuzzy.
Warnings/Rating: Some adult themes at the end, but nothing naughty.
Ian had already left, giving her a few days to pack up her own belongings before the keys were handed over to the landlord. Meredith didn’t have a lot to pack, clothes and a few odds and ends, nothing that couldn’t be replaced or that she didn’t already own back home, in Colorado. Home. It was a strange thing to think of, the place that she had all but run away from as though it terrified her, but now she was running back towards it out of a fear of staying away too long. Hearing Thomas’ voice the night before had cemented her decision, and then the sound of her son, of Spencer, had lit the fire to leave even quicker. This was the right decision, she knew. Las Vegas was never intended to be a permanent home by any means, and this chapter of her life had definitely concluded.
But she had one person she wanted to see again, even if she shouldn’t. Even if Jules had told her that Ian had ordered both he and Loren to stay away from her. Ian was gone, and Meredith was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. So it was her decision to take the cab to Loren’s complex that evening, fingers drumming on her bare knee as she watched the familiar sights of the city fly by outside the car window. A near-familiar path, a rap on his door with a gently closed hand, and Meredith stepped back for the door to open, her gaze on the walk as she waited.
Today, Loren was working on killing old habits. He'd made a deal with Sam about trying to move on, trying to have a real life. One not muddled with bullet holes, blood stains, and the phobic nightmares of so many weeping women and children. Honestly, the prospect was daunting. He didn't so much quit his job at Caesar's as he stopped showing up completely, casino security was decidedly too violent. Besides, right now it didn't feel there wasn't much good he could do there. He was a murderer. While Nathan's death was easily justified, it was difficult to account for all of the ones that he didn't even remember. Loren needed to find some other means of income, but the prospects were endless - or maybe just hopeless considering his utter lack of experience in every field. It was too much to think about right now, what with the memories still lurking like ghouls in his brain and everything else going on. Jules.
What was he supposed to do about Jules? It had been awhile since they'd spoken and Loren had to believe that the other man was okay, that nothing was wrong, that Jules would at least tell him if there was. The knock stirred Loren's attention immediately right then. He moved for the door in bare feet, gray sweatpants dragged low on his hips, and he hadn't bothered with a shirt this morning. Maybe it was thinking on Jules, but Loren didn't even check the peephole before he untwisted the deadbolt and brought the door open. The sight of Meredith obviously surprised him, because brows knotted and Loren took a step forward to glance into the hallway as if determining whether or not this was some kind of ambush. She seemed to be alone, however, and Loren took that step back. The carpet under his feet was still speckled with the old, dry spots of Micah's blood. "What?"
Meredith hadn’t seen Loren since the church, since the fire that had ate the little building up, since he saved her from the man from the desert who would have seen her dead just as Hannah had ended up. Seeing him now, it left Meredith wondering what all had happened after she had left and never looked back. Looking up, she met Loren’s gaze, making no move to ask for entrance, her hands clasped behind her. “I just wanted to say thank you, again,” Meredith said softly. “I’m leaving for Colorado tomorrow. Going back home, so, you and Jules won’t have to worry about me messing things up around you again. My uncle’s gone, too, so, you really won’t have to worry.”
"I'm not worried," he murmured with a considering cant of his head. Iceberg eyes scaled her from top to bottom, but it was a quick sweep. Nothing lascivious, more like he was trying to determine if there was something different about her from the last time she'd been at his apartment. Of course, thinking about the last time she'd been around wasn't exactly a comfortable thing to lament on and Loren drew a deep breath to ease the ache away. If it wasn't guilt, it was something that made his chest go all tight, which was just the kind of anxiousness he was trying to avoid these days. He was moderate bulk through the chest and arms, amidst the scars and that screaming skull tattoo that raged like black horror down the outside of one bicep. There wasn't much of a need to work out if he wasn't playing pitbull in the security arena, so it would eventually wane. Even so, there wasn't enough muscle that he'd have to worry about changing the sizes of his tee shirts. They could get loose, he wasn't one for tailoring. Speaking of shirts, Loren took another step back, just remembering himself. "You didn't mess anything up, Meredith. You helped. Jules just doesn't like you, but he doesn't like me either right now, so.." He gave a glance back into his apartment. "Do you want to come in? I can get dressed." It was an offer, in case she was uncomfortable. Considering the last time he'd tried to kiss her, he wouldn't be very surprised if she was. There was a shirt somewhere in his living room, but he didn't head off to fetch it. Just in case Meredith was swinging by with a quick wave and a subsequent flee.
“Well, if you’re not worried about it, then Jules must be doing all the worrying for both of you.” Her shoulders shrugged up, her smile a tremulous thing. Even though her and Loren had had their moments of stress, of desperation that led towards fear and terror, Meredith couldn’t find it in herself to be afraid of Loren. She could recognize the fact that she had moved him towards that with her behaviour on the journals, and she was sure if she hadn’t been anywhere near him, he wouldn’t have had that problem. Unclasping her hands from where they had wound tightly together behind her back, Meredith attempted to relax though the tension still rang in her neck and shoulders. “And Jules likes you plenty, Loren. I tried to talk to him, and I know he doesn’t care much for me, but all his worry was about you. About what I could do to hurt you.” That smile faltered as she let out a long breath, trembling around the edges. “You believe me when I say I didn’t tell my uncle anything, don’t you?” Meredith took a step forward towards him then, pausing at the offer to come in. Part of her believed that she needed to simply leave, to give a shake of her head and a polite refusal, but that simply didn’t come. “I’d like to,” she said after a moment. “But only if you want. I doubt we’ll cross paths again after this, so...”
Loren frowned a little at the continued mention of Jules. He'd done nothing to deserve Jules' concern or worry. Loren alternately felt like he'd ruined Jules' life and complicated it with a whole hell of a lot of bloodshed. Uncertainty crept in as he began to wonder where Jules was now. Again, Loren forced himself to remember that Jules would contact him if anything was wrong, if he needed him, if.. anything. Sighing to clear his head, Loren rubbed a couple of fingers across his eyes and nodded to Meredith when he backtracked further into the stained foyer of his modest apartment. The blood was not obviously blood, it had dried to something old and brown, it merely looked like neglected splotches here and there. "If you'd told your uncle about me, I'd already be in jail." That much Loren knew. "I don't have any food or anything, no decent cable.. but I've got some whiskey in the cabinet if you'd like a drink."
At least Loren seemed to believe her, even if the other half of this story didn’t, but Meredith supposed that what Jules thought, how he felt towards her, was insignificant in the larger picture. She was leaving, after all. Packing her bags, going back home, leaving the desert city behind her. Neon exchanged for incandescent. Show girls and casinos for playdates and preschool. It still wasn’t the life that Meredith truly wanted, but it was the life she had, the one she would return to, the one she appreciated more now, so many months later, than she had when she left it. “A drink would be nice,” Meredith admitted, a deep breath pulled in, released, and then she stepped forward into the apartment, so familiar and yet strange in the same breath.
“If you need some help,” Meredith offered, letting her purse drop down from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow, and then to the floor, landing with the smallest of thuds. “I can at least attempt to be useful.”
Loren retreated into his apartment, letting Meredith navigate her own way inside. He knew that she'd stayed long enough to know all of the directions, to know how to jiggle the deadbolt a couple of times before it actually locked. He was on his way to the kitchen, prying open the refrigerator with the sharp edge of his elbow. From within, he drew a couple cans of ginger ale and set them on the counter. "Why do you say it like that?" He had his back to her, and he'd either forgotten about putting a shirt on or decided that it was unimportant. There were old scars on tawny skin, a faint tan line in the shape of his tradition for wife beaters. One scar was white and grizzled high on his back, he didn't know what it was but suspected some kind of knife. The only bullet he seemed to have ever taken was in his head. "Attempt to be useful.. you're always useful, Meredith.."
The door was locked behind her, the habits she had learned while staying with Loren harder to break than she might have imagined. Following him to the kitchen, Meredith leaned against the counter he had pinned her against once, her back pressed against it, hands tangled together in a strange for her timidness. Watching as he put the cans down on the counter, her gaze trailed elsewhere, over his bare back, the scars that told a story over the expanse of skin she was offered. She wondered what had happened, what kind of situations he had been in to cause those sort of scars. It was rude to ask, she was pretty sure, so she kept quiet, rubbing her thumb over the back of her hand. “Because I caused you trouble. I even caused my uncle trouble. Everyone having to step in to help Meredith out. This city brought out something in me I wasn’t prepared for.” Maybe she was meant to be at home, taking care of their son, her husband, her biggest tasks in keeping a household, putting dinner on the table for Thomas. She was good at it, and it seemed the only thing she was actually good at, that she didn’t need help at lately.
"That fucking madman brought the trouble, Mer.. you just stepped into it without knowing what you were in for." Loren talked as he reached atop the fridge for an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. He'd purchased it on a whim and the black plastic was still intact around the lid. Loren managed by prying at the plastic with his teeth, spitting the wrap into the barren trash can nearby, and then holding the bottle between his bare stomach and the counter for a bit of anchorage. He untwisted the lid before speaking over his shoulder at her. "There's some ice in the freezer.. you know where the glasses are." Not much had changed since Meredith had left the apartment. Only one series was significantly absent: Hannah's artifacts. The candles and the books that had once littered the kitchen counter and living room were gone, vanished and hiding in an old steam trunk that Loren had pushed into the closet of his room. Maybe he didn't have the heart to part with the stuff yet, but Jules had been right about one thing.. it was time to retire those things. Hannah wouldn't have wanted him clinging to nightmares and ghosts. In part, it was Sam that had made him take the first step. He was avoiding violence, and Hannah's makeshift memorial brought him nothing but heartache and rage in the dead of night. It wasn't conducive to the experiment.
As Loren struggled with the bottle of Jack, Meredith went to retrieve glasses, pulling two from the cupboards where they had lived when she was last here, filling both with several cubes of ice before she sat them down near where he stood at the counter. They were side by side now, and it was likely a testament to who Meredith was that she didn’t shrink away from Loren, even with all that had happened. She had noticed the way things had changed, the things that he had clung to when she inadvertently tidied them up that were now absent, but she didn’t have the boldness to ask after them. Fingers tapped on the glasses for a moment before she put her hands on the edge of the counter, pressing against it for a moment before she turned, hip against the edge, face turned up towards him. “I had an idea of what I was in for, Loren. An idea, not the whole picture, but I wasn’t as stupid as people seem to think I am.” Her voice held a tinge of sadness, something that twisted her up inside as she dropped her gaze towards the linoleum floor.
"Not stupid," he corrected idly. One glass took a significant splash of whiskey, although Loren couldn't remember much of ever drinking whiskey or pouring drinks so he wasn't sure how much to put in. He just filled both glasses up about half way, maybe a little more, and decided that looked good. "Suicidal." Setting the bottle onto the counter, he reached out for one of the cans of ginger ale and passed it over to Meredith. They could make this a joint effort. His ice blue eyes watched her in waiting, and the scruff of his jaw tilted in a moment's contemplation before he decided to continue. He'd been thinking about this for awhile now and had most of the words all worked out, he wasn't going to fumble. "I have to wonder why a wife, a mother, leaves her home and comes all the way out to this city by herself. Nobody knows where she's at, and nobody here knows who she is.." Except for the uncle who came around briefly, but Loren got the impression that that was more happenstance than planning.
“I’m not suicidal either,” Meredith said by way of protest, taking the can from him and popping it open, following his lead and topping off the pair of glasses with ginger ale, setting the can off to the side before she took her glass in hand, listening to the soft chink of ice hitting the side of the glass. She could feel his eyes upon her, intense but not uncomfortable, though it did make her feel like he was seeing more of her than she was ready to show anyone. And then the question came, the one she had been struggling with for far too long. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?” Meredith answered lightly, taking a drink from the glass, grimacing at the burn but leaving her complaints unsaid. Instead, she inclined her head towards the living room and the couch. “You want to sit?” she asked, and without waiting for a response, she stepped towards the couch, sinking down into it moments later with one leg curled up beneath her.
She didn’t say anything until they were both seated, another drink, this sip going down easier than the first. “Have you ever done something, then stopped, thought about it, and realised that you couldn’t stand to do it anymore?” Meredith asked, glancing over towards him, bottom lip bitten lightly.
He raised an eyebrow at her protests but said nothing, maybe Meredith was just that much in denial. Of course, he'd done some reading on the subject of serial killer infatuation.. all those women that mailed pictures and love letters to men on death row. Maybe Nathan had been like that for Meredith, sometimes he thought that must be what Violet felt for Tate. Loren didn't understand much of them either. Maybe he was just the messed up one, not understanding anything the way it was so obvious to others. Jules was always calling him a damn fool, after all. "There were better ways to help than nearly getting yourself killed in the process. Or hurt." Then again, he wasn't really one to talk, was he? Taking a sip from his glass, Loren wrinkled his nose but followed her into the living room in his traditional puppy style, barely any coaxing required, just a command or request. Taking a seat, he watched Meredith from over the clear rim of his glass with a wry knot of eyebrows. "I don't think I know what you mean.."
“But it worked in the end, didn’t it?” Meredith commented. “And I’m sorry you got hurt in the process. For everything that’s happened, I never wanted to see anyone hurt with this, and for that, I’m sorry.” She was quiet for a moment as he settled in beside her, both hands cradling the glass in her lap, red hair spilling over her shoulders in a crimson fall. Thinking back on Nathan, on everything that had happened, Meredith could see the bad decisions that she had made, but even now, she didn’t see another way to proceed. As long as she had his attention, everyone else would be safe, or so she believed. Drawing in a deep breath, Meredith lifted her gaze towards Loren, giving him a half smile as she took a drink, the combination of the ginger ale and the whiskey not particularly good, but it was something to help calm the nerves that were sending her stomach into spasms.
“Growing up,” Meredith began, giving up on analogies and instead just laying out her thoughts, “I had this grand plan to change the world. I’d go to school, get a good job, make some differences in someone’s life. And then, I’d think about getting married. Having kids. But I wanted to do my thing first.” One shoulder shrugged up, and she shifted, tilting herself more towards Loren. “It didn’t work out that way. I met Thomas. And I was stupid, and got pregnant, and he was a gentleman and did what he thought was right. So I did what was right and...” Her gaze dropped, mouth twisting as she bit the inside of her cheek. “I wasn’t happy. Not with being a mother or a wife. So when the journal came, and the key, I decided to just pick up and leave.” A laugh escaped her as she looked back up towards Loren. “I’m just full of bad decisions, aren’t I? Leaving Colorado. Taunting that killer. Everything seems right when I do it, like it’s the only thing that can be done, but it all comes back to bite me in the end.” The sadness in her voice was almost palpable, the drink something to occupy her mouth before she went on and threw herself more of a pity party than she already was. Because in the end, that’s what it was. She had a good life. A good husband. A beautiful son. The bills were paid, the house was nice, and everything was stable. But she still wasn’t happy, and Meredith knew that the defect, the fault, was in her. Nowhere else, no one else.
"Yeah, it worked." His words were soft while thinking back on it all. Everything that transpired with Nathan. Most of that wasn't anything that Loren really wanted to bother with remembering. Not the deaths that were attached to the boy's name or even the boy's death itself. Even if Loren vowed not to think on it, he couldn't help but envisioning the fire. The way the oil burned black, and the flesh burned black. There'd been nothing of a healing light in the church on that morning. The only good thing to reflect on at all was Hannah, and even that was sad. "I'm fine." Physically, anyway.
He sank back against the couch, listening and swigging from his glass with no sense of pacing. He wasn't an accomplished drinker, not in this life. Wrinkling his nose a little at the taste and the distant familiarity, Loren glanced over at her. This wasn't the first time that Meredith had talked about her husband, but this was the first time she'd explained as much of it. He'd never asked very much because it certainly wasn't his business, but now he had to wonder if he was the only person she'd told at all. "You didn't want it before, it didn't make you happy before.. do you want it now?" Was there any deeper reason she was going back to Colorado now that the danger had cleared, or was it just because it seemed like the right thing to do?
The question that Loren posed was not one that was easy for her to answer. Rolling the glass between her hands, Meredith stared down into it for the longest time, silence her friend, because what he asked was the same thing she had been asking herself ever since she had made the decision to go back home. He was just the first person to say it aloud. Finally glancing up, Meredith gave him a long look, and then with a soft sigh, she shook her head. “Honestly? No. But... but it’s the right thing to do. I’ve gone off, had my adventure. It’s time to go back home and be a wife, be a mother, do those things that I’m supposed to be doing.” One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug, her entire demeanor drawn, down. “I’ll survive. I did it for four years before this. I can do it for the rest of my life if I have to.” Because when it came down to it, that’s how Meredith was. She did what was needed, she didn’t complain, didn’t fuss when things weren’t great. This lark to Las Vegas was wholly out of character for her, so there was a certain comfort in doing what was expected of her.
"Sometimes we have to do what's right, not what we want." It seemed like it made sense to Loren, and was certainly something that he was acting on him his own life. Maybe it was easier for him, to divert away from the ego, because he had such little familiarity with it. It was as easy for him to ignore his own instincts as it was to ignore Tate. It just had to be done. Maybe he didn't completely understand Meredith's situation, but the options were tangible. Remaining in Las Vegas was selfish when she had a child out there that potentially needed her. Loren knew that in his own life, remaining in contact with Jules was selfish. Jules looked at him like he was a good person, and it was almost easy to believe that when he was around Jules. That wasn't necessarily something that could be said for Meredith. She'd seen him in some heavy, unfortunate moments. Even if she owed her life to him, it wasn't exactly fun to reflect on.
“And it’s the fact that going back is right that has me going back. Who knows. Maybe things will be better now. Maybe... being away will make me feel more grateful for everything that I have.” She studied her drink for a long while before simply downing the rest of it and leaning forward to put the glass down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “That’s what I have to tell myself,” she said a moment later after she had swallowed with a grimace. Shifting where she sat, she angled herself towards Loren, studying him without saying a single word. How she felt about Loren was so many shades of complicated, she wasn’t even sure how to begin. He had helped her, scared her, saved her. How did you approach a complicated relationship like that.
Reaching out, Meredith let her hand come down upon Loren’s forearm, fingers curling around his arm slightly to give it the smallest of squeezes. “Despite everything, I’m going to miss you, Loren,” Meredith said softly, and there was nothing in her words to say that they were anything but purely honest.
Loren remembered his drink when he watched Meredith down her own, and he followed her not very far behind. When the silence came between them, he finished what remained of his whiskey with a gentle clink of ice left in the glass, and a thud when that glass was set on the coffee table. He glanced over when her grip found his arm, fingers against bare skin. Instinctively, Loren turned his arm over, pale belly up to ask for forgiveness from her touch. There was an old scar there, something long faded to white. "I don't believe that, Meredith. I never did anything good for you." Killing Nathan might have been considered the only remotely good thing, and that hadn't been necessarily for her. "You can go home and forget about everything that happened here." He glanced up at her. "You should go home and forget, if you can."
The turn of his arm was easy enough for her to interpret, fingers sliding away and pulling back to her person, gaze sweeping over the scar that marred the flesh, wondering about the story but never daring to ask. “You did do good for me,” Meredith countered, her voice plain and matter of fact. “You reached out to try and keep me from running off and doing something stupid on my own. Because I likely would have gone out, thinking I could do something to stop him on my own.” She let out a long sigh, fingers lacing together to keep from reaching out towards him again. Meredith was, by nature, an affectionate person, one who enjoyed touch and craved the connection that came from it. “And I’m not going to go back home and forget. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” Shaking her head, Meredith got up to her feet, wavering for the briefest of moments as the world settled, and then she stooped, picking up both of their glasses and making her way back to the kitchen. Nothing more was said as she poured them both a new drink, heavier on the whiskey than the ginger ale, fresh ice clinking in the glasses and providing the accompaniment to their strange meeting.
"Sorry." The apology was instinctive when she drew her hand away from him, aware on some perceptive level that she thought he was shaking her loose. The touch hadn't been unwanted, but Loren was unaccustomed to most forms of casual comfort. He'd lived so much of his life in a dark cave, interaction and conversation were still strange concepts for him to grasp. Until Hannah, he'd made it something of a point to keep away from people, save for the occasional eye contact reserved for coworkers. Everything was different now, and Loren wasn't sure how to make it go back to the numb simplicity of before, or even if he really wanted it to. The apology was that single word though, no explanation or retraction when she stood to make for the kitchen. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd offended her somehow, done something foolish or wrong. Different from the way that he typically did things wrong in her presence, with guns or threats of violence.
Meredith returned several moments later, two fresh drinks in hand, one of which she offered him before sinking back down onto the couch, giving a shake of her head at his apology. “Nothing to be sorry for, Loren,” Meredith said quietly, tucking both legs up beneath her, the glass cradled in the cup of her two hands. “I’m not mad at you, so honestly, there’s nothing to apologise for.” Glancing up and over to him, Meredith studied him for a long while, the pull of his lips, where her eyes were focused at. “What’s wrong? Honestly, what’s wrong?”
He reached up for the new drink with an exhausted exhale, one that said chasing down all this whiskey was more daunting than he'd expected. With any luck he'd eventually pass out on the couch and not have to worry about what to do with himself for the rest of the evening. Despite himself, Meredith was a pleasant distraction from the thoughts that chased him around this empty apartment quarantine he'd confined himself to for the past few days. "You should be mad at me, that's the problem." He took a long swig, the kind meant to make progress. "But again, you're suicidal.." Her question took him notably off guard. He wasn't used to being transparent. Loren rested his head back against the couch and looked at her. "Nothing.." He aimed for sincerity, but his eyes gave him away. They were wary, worried.
“I’m not suicidal, Loren,” Meredith countered, “and I’m far from mad at you. There’s not enough time in this world to spend being mad at people, I’ve found.” Where Loren swigged, Meredith drank, the small glass gone in several drinks that left her stomach rolling with the force of the alcohol, the glass sat to the side before she settled in again, this time shifting so that she was against his side, touching yet not as she kept her fingers to herself, just a head tipped against his shoulder. “I won’t nag you,” she said after a moment, the whiskey bitterstrong on her tongue, an aftertaste that didn’t quite go away with the ginger ale. “You can tell me if you want, or we can just sit here. Last chance before I leave.” The words were said solemnly, a hint of regret pulling at them. “I’ll miss you. You out of everyone, I think.”
Loren sighed before knocking back what remained in his glass. It tasted stronger than the last drink had, but he found himself wishing that she'd just brought the whole bottle with her instead. Although it was getting late, and if Meredith was about to head out, she shouldn't have anything more to drink. Neither of them seemed particularly steady under the weight of what amounted to several ounces of alcohol. She was against his side, a warm line that when he closed his eyes smelled familiar. Just from that week or two she'd spent staying in his apartment. They'd never crossed paths, his schedule ensured that she was asleep long before he got home and Meredith had a tendency to rise with the birds. Loren was a light sleeper though, and he'd peep an eye open to a partial squint just to watch as she would go out the door, watch the lock turn. Then back to sleep on the couch where he thought he could still smell Hannah in the pillows.
He didn't smell Hannah anymore. All these months gone by and the girl was a fading memory that he was finding it harder and harder to justify hanging onto. He barely knew her, he might have gotten her killed. And maybe he was nobody to her, nobody at all.. but she'd been the first person he could remember feeling any human warmth toward, his first friend. Not that going down this road after a few drinks was wise, but it was a derailing train and the mind went where it wanted in times like this. Right back to Meredith, finding a different kind of nostalgia in the smell of her hair when she put her head on his shoulder. She was a protector, a guardian. A caregiver who doubted herself, and if she was afraid she was going to fail at motherhood and family life.. he knew she wouldn't. Loren turned his head slightly to tell her that, to reassure her of that.. and he found their eyes impossibly close. Their noses brushed and he could taste her breath. All whiskey and ginger, just like his. Instantly, Loren drew away. Swallowing down the horror that he'd crossed some invisible line. He made for the kitchen like a lightning bolt, abandoning her on the couch quite abruptly. "Miss me.." Loren made a sound like a laugh but it was cut short by a straight glug from the bottle of whiskey as he made for the couch again. "Why is it that the worse someone is, the worse they treat you.. the more you forgive them?" Jules getting bruised up by his boyfriend because that's how it was, Meredith sweeping away the past with comfort. Loren drank from the bottle again before kind of slumping back into place on the couch cushions beside her.
It was a fragile sort of peace she found at Loren’s side, hands tucked between her knees, temple resting against his shoulder, simply listening to the sound of him breathing, the warmth he exuded at her side. She had just started to really relax against his side, the alcohol warming her through, blurring the edges of her world, when Loren turned. Eyes opened at that, impossibly bright, that pinprick of connection as their noses brushed. Meredith found herself drawing in a breath, surprised, fixed in place, and then he was gone, leaving her unsteady as one hand shot out to balance herself where she sat instead of tipping to the side against the couch cushions.
There were mixed emotions stirring in her as she watched him head towards the kitchen for the bottle of whiskey, attention drawn to the floor in front of her as she pushed one hand through her hair, another breath released as she tried to still her nerves. The things she was feeling right then were difficult to rationalize, the warmth she felt for him, the fear that still tinged the warmth because Loren was dangerous, he could be dangerous, that much she could tell. But still, she trusted him. More than she believed possible, she trusted him, would miss that strange man who was so much different from Thomas.
When he sat back down, slumped against the couch, Meredith kept her space from him, an awkward distance between them as she stared at the floor in front of her, pondering his comment about forgiving people. “By that reasoning, I’d forgive that guy for hurting Hannah. For nearly hurting me. No one else has been so awful as him, Loren,” Meredith said quietly, turning her head to the side to look at him, bottom lip bit between teeth, a ponderous look on her face. “Can I have some more?” A hand was held out, and she didn’t expect to be refused.
He watched her while the cloudy tumbleweed that blew through his head made him want to argue his point further, even if he couldn't exactly remember what his point was. That he was the bad guy, right? Meredith distracted him by asking for the whiskey, and he passed it to her without hesitation. "Help yourself." Free of the bottle, Loren's posture slouched and curved against the old, scratchy cushions. Bare skin above the cotton drawstring of his waist, old scars and faded tattoos.. but nothing new. No recent signs of violence. Then again, he'd been under house arrest for the past couple of weeks. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling deep like it was some cleanse from thinking about anything else but this moment. He'd always been awkward since the coma, but he didn't want to be rude.
The bottle in hand, Meredith took a drink, too big of one for someone not accustomed to drinking her liquor straight, and it concluded as bad ideas normally did. A cough, a grimace, and the bottle was thrust back in his direction, her eyes sliding that way in time to see the sliver of skin above the waistband of his pants. Meredith didn’t say anything, the taste of the whiskey still fresh on her tongue, and as his eyes closed, she swallowed, hard. The phrase ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ flitted through her head, cliched as it was, but she was closing this chapter of her life. This time tomorrow, she could be back in Colorado, back home, with her husband, her son, everything she had run away from. There wouldn’t be a chance like this again in the future, and though she knew it wasn’t the most intelligent decision she had ever made, the alcohol did its job in quieting her doubts.
Fingers extended, the tips pressing against the exposed skin of his stomach, a girl possessed by curiosity who couldn’t hold it back any longer. Her gaze was lowered, bottom lip bit, worrying at the skin as she let her touch grow a bit heavier, more sure, though it did little else than settle there against his waist.
Loren took the bottle blindly, swallowing from it until he began to feel his head spin. Twisting the cap back into place, he dropped it to their feet and sighed the burning taste of liquid fire from his tongue when he suddenly felt her. The graze of fingers made his stomach clench on auto-pilot. Lean and smooth except for where the occasional scar dug deep rivets or raised in a swell of pale tissue. The physical memories of gunshots and knives looked like polar opposites, and Loren knew which was which even if he didn't recall the how or why. He glanced at her, where she sat so close, his brows knit with a frozen kind of uncertainty usually only found in virgins. He lifted a hand, but it kind of levitated in midair as if unsure of what to do with itself, because he didn't stop her. "What are you doing?" The question was soft, scratchy from all the hard booze rattling around in his brain like confusing roulette.
“Making a good memory to take home with me.” Her answer came without an ounce of hesitation, and without moving her fingers, Meredith rose up on her knees, pressing into the cushions of the couch as she leaned forward towards him. Her other hand landed lightly on his cheek, and without another word or moment of thought, she leaned in for her lips to press against his. The kiss was meant to be chaste, sweet and simple, but an unsteadiness from the alcohol had her nearly crashing into him, thought flying out the window as she leaned in towards him. Was it cheating? Was she being unfaithful to her husband? Likely, but it was a goodbye to everything that had happened here, one last sweet memory to take home to Colorado with her, something to soften the sharp edges of fear and worry that the last months had given to her.
Loren had his own conflictions, the kind that alcohol wouldn't even chase away. There was the file, and the fire, and there was Jules. It was all still there, lurking beneath the surface of a waging, whiskey sea. But then Meredith was against him, spilling against his chest in a drunken sway that ended with a sprawl against his chest and her mouth slanting onto his. Guncarved hands caught her by the arms, gentle to steady her, but the kiss left him off guard. The whiskey made him slow.. and all those memories were out the window when he dropped an arm around her waist. Hooked her in with that grip before spilling her back against the length of the couch on her back with a kiss that was thoughtless and blind.