meaghan mccormack is a wrecking ball of love. (secretheart) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-08-09 03:17:00 |
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It wasn't any kind of logic that made Meaghan close her journal, check on Kirley and leave her apartment. She wasn't really operating on reason when she left the front door, Apparated to the wisteria in front of Caradoc's flat, and knocked on the door. She needed to see his face, then, no matter how stupid it might be, no matter how much she might be intruding. She knocked, and waited, gnawing on her lip as she did, keeping her mind empty so that she wouldn't turn around and flee. Caradoc was cold and pale as he shut his journal, unwilling to loose the feelings of guilt and rage associated with his wife and child. He didn't know why he told Meaghan but when he heard a knock at the door, he was less than surprised. A flick of his wand unlocked the door and, with his face hidden in his hands, he waited for her to arrive. She didn't pause to think about how incredibly dangerous that was, just opened the door as soon as she heard the lock click and stepped inside, crossing the flat to where he was sitting, looking infinitely miserable. She acted on her first instinct, and didn't bother to think about propriety. Taking his hands, she uncovered his face and slid into his lap, pulling his arms around her waist and wrapping her own arms around his neck. He didn't talk for several seconds which stretched into several minutes as he buried his face in the hollow of her neck and bit his lips to keep from sobbing. How long had it been since he had cried for her? How fair was it to this girl that he shed tears for another woman in front of her? "I'm sorry," was mumbled into her neck. She curled her hand into his hair, cradling his head tenderly as she waited, for him to sob or speak or whatever he needed to do. The rawness of his wounds surprised her, simultaneously setting up a deep ache in her belly as she understood the depth of his pain, her sympathy matched only by the depth of her disappointment as she realized that, no matter how deep or fiercely she could come to love him, it seemed that he would never be able to reciprocate. "Don't be." "I couldn't - " he began, finally raising his head to look at her through clear, crimson-tinged eyes. " ... couldn't let that creature. Continue. Didn't do much good, though, did I?" When he looked up, she reached up and brushed the tips of her fingers along his cheeks, wishing she could erase the sadness from his eyes with her touch. "I don't think there's much anyone could have done." How that statement resonated. "Never is," he muttered, looking down and away. Her thumb stroked a slow, deliberate path across his cheekbone, again and again, soothing. "Tell me what happened?" It's not a good story," he said, fitting his palms into the hollow of her neck for support. The damn little vampire child. He didn't want to relive that long walk but it seemed, to be fair to Meaghan for coming in the first place, he would have to. She sighed, swallowing roughly under his touch, for a brief moment forgetting why she was sitting in his lap, which his hands were on her, so full of need. She wanted to excuse him, tell him to forget it, she didn't need to know, but she did. If nothing was ever going to happen between them, she needed to know why. "I figured." "I'll gloss over the boring parts - " clearing his throat, he sat back against the cushions and shook his head for some clarity. "I was very in love with my wife and when she was pregnant, we were surprised but took it in stride. Youth was on our side. We did all the things young couples do. But when, sometime in her sixth or seventh month, we went back home for a visit with the family, it all went wrong. During a walk, she started bleeding. The baby came and before I knew it they were both dead. I took them home and, well ... " trailing off, he turned his head away from her, away from the smiling photos of Marion and shut his eyes tightly, away from all of it, a center of his own storm. She remained very quite while he talked, taking it in, her imagination moving from idyllic to horrific scenes, making her wince as she imagined him crouching over the lifeless bodies of his wife and child. When his eyes darted away, she noticed for the first time the pictures of his wife all over the apartment, watching her every move. A wave of guilt washed over her as she realized that she had thrown herself all over him under the eyes of his wife, that she was now holding him under supervision. She dropped her eyes away, looking at a non-specific part of his shoulder, overcome with sadness and guilt. He shook his head. "It was the longest walk of my life." She nodded, unable to speak. She looked in his eyes for a moment, her hands on either side of his neck, trying to keep both of them steady. It hardly seemed fair to continue in this conversation. She knew, now, and that was enough for him. Her knowledge of his tragedy almost gave her leeway - a clear runway into his life - and he smiled vaguely, no more than a tightening at the corners of his mouth as he laid his forehead against hers. A quickening in her stomach, then, as her breath mingled with his. A night of disappointment and the inevitable, uncontrollable quickening she felt being this close to him. Her hand moved, pad of her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth, the ghost of his smile. Moving of their own accord, his lips brushed the edge of her thumb, moving to center softly on the ridge of her brow before he leaned back and gave a long, low exhale. "That's not fair to you." She caught her lower lip on her teeth, not breathing as his lips brushed her skin, anticipation building despite herself. A harsh exhale followed him as he put distance between them, her face a potent mixture of disappointment and need. "Caradoc..." "No," was firm but kind, his hand curled into her waist. "I will not take advantage of you." : "I'm not a child." She said, eyebrows drawing together in frustration. If anyone would be taking advantage, it would be her, having him here in this emotionally distraught state. "I never said you were." A pause. "It's not fair, though. To kiss you when I've just told you about her." A groan of disappointment, leaning forward to bury her face in his shoulder. "This is like punishment for everything I've ever done wrong in my life ever." His hand met the small of her back and, of course, she could not see his quizzical brow. "Uhm. Quoi?" She shook her head, too far gone beyond embarrassment and coyness. "I have never wanted someone so badly in my life and it's because you don't want me back and it's driving me crazy because you're so fucking close and I want to just fuck you and get you out of my system but I'm afraid that wouldn't happen even if I did and I have no right to come in and barge into your life and fuck around with things when you're obviously so far beyond girls like me and I'm sorry because I barely even know you so this must be so weird for you but every time you touch me I feel like my skin's on fire." What a confession. As she spoke, his fingers comfortingly ran up and down her back, drawing soft circles and lazy arcs. "Age makes you learn patience," he said softly, finally covering the back of her neck with the palm of his hand. "We've been through so much hell, there's bound to be something good coming for us soon." And as much as he didn't believe that statement - what good would come to him? - he wanted her to accept it. She turned her head, her lips gently touching the skin of his throat, despite herself, though she didn't move further than that. His words seemed aimed at telling her that something good might happen, but it wouldn't be what she wanted at the present moment. A sigh, then. How could she force herself to not want what he so clearly would never give? "Maybe." She said, grudgingly. If age made you learn patience, it probably also brought the knowledge that just because something didn't happen immediately didn't mean it wasn't going to happen, which was Meg was currently lacking. : ... and he didn't want to tell her how he was afraid that he'd hurt her like he hurt Marion as he took her face in his hands and softly kissed either cheek. That he was giving her life and that had to be better than what she thought she felt after a few meetings. He was protecting her - "Meaghan," was softly said. His arched brow merely connoting a moment to diffuse the potentially saddening situation. "My Mam wouldn't let me be with a Scottish girl." She resisted the urge her dark humour inspired to make a remark about how what her mum would prefer wasn't really an issue anymore. She didn't care about his misguided notions of protecting her form the one in a million chance that what had happened to Marion would happen to her too, as if somehow he had that deadly power. His lips were on her face and she couldn't think again. "Caradoc." She said, her voice rough with need. She was fairly certain if he didn't kiss her she would come apart at the seams. He decided it was her eyes - he could give her one kiss, he could control the situation that much, save her from a world of hurt at his hands. Just one kiss. With his fingertips woven at the base of her neck, he pressed his lips firmly against hers and gave her what she wanted. She weaved her fingers into his hair, holding tightly as if she would keep him captive, her lips eager against his, her heart hammering wildly as she tried to keep herself from losing control. If she had thought that he didn't want her as she wanted him, that he was only doing this to make her happy, she would have stopped herself. There was nothing worse for pride than being humoured. ... and he knew that a part of him wanted this, despite what his mind constantly cautioned him against. Let no one close, protect those you might, keep yourself locked away. Finally gathering air into his lungs, he left their kiss on the edge of her jaw and gently drew the both of them to their feet. "We've got a battle to plan," he said softly, "and energy to save for it." Planting her feet back on the ground shook some of the confusion of her emotions away, and she sighed heavily as she stood, internally irritated that he was so tall, he was the rare man who could make her feel down right petite. "Battle, right." She said, leaning her forehead against the planes of his chest for a moment, trying to collect herself. There was the battle raging inside her that had to be put aside for the much more real battle they would face tomorrow. She had to remember what came first. Brushing his hand down her back, he pressed her back gently in the direction of the door. "Sleep well, Meaghan. Thank you for coming to my rescue." She nodded, managing a wordless smile before retreating. She opened the door and nearly stepped out before she paused, turning as if to say something more to him, then quickly closed the distance between them and drew his mouth down to hers for a short, fierce kiss, one that would sustain her for awhile if it was their last, if he never meant for anything more than tonight to happen between them. Her arms twined around his neck for the briefest of moments, the intensity of her confusion and longing rolling out of her body in waves, before she broke and stepped back, disappearing with the flash of a smile that was half apologetic, half defiant. One couldn't not be unmoved by Meaghan's fire and passion - he felt is as acutely as if he were being consumed by it, almost wished he could match it and then shut his door to it, sagging hard into his sofa. He didn't know what this was, he didn't want to know. She pushed all his buttons too fast, too far and too hard. There was a gaping hole in his chest, he didn't know if he could ever fill it, and it was just ... sighing with impatience, he fell against the side of the sofa and closed his eyes tightly, willing himself into deep and dreamless sleep. |