Wren and Selina have claws (laminette) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-10-25 16:45:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | batman, catwoman |
Who: Luke and Wren
What: (2/2) The aftermath of the party, where Luke was a very bad boy
Where: The safehouse
When: morning after
Warnings/Rating: Nope
"I believe you," she said when he said she didn't trust him. "I- I don't think you'd lie to me if something happened with someone else." She sounded surprised to hear herself say that, because she was surprised. It was definitely a change from when things fell apart with Brielle, and while she was too upset just then to realize it was a good thing, she could at least register the surprise of feeling that way at all. "I still think you might find someone else, but I don't think you'd lie about it." Maybe that was because he'd told her about this. He could have kept it to himself, but he didn't. She smiled the tiniest bit when he mentioned Gus, when he said Gus shouldn't have found the napkin. "Gus shouldn't have been running around with your pants on his head either, but things happen," she said truthfully. "But imagine if it was the other way around? If you found a man's number, written on a bar napkin, in my pocket, and I'd said I had to work the night before. It just- It felt like everything shattering inside."
She could tell he was angry. She was used to different kinds of anger from him. That quiet, snapping impatient anger that always reminded her of New York. The raging anger that had been so frequent in Seattle. But this was something different. It wasn't short and wordless, and it wasn't rage, but she wasn't scared, and she didn't move away. Back then, when they were kids, she would have backed off and agreed with everything he said and anything he wanted, but she was too worked up for that just then, too angry, too hurt, too raw and aching to fall into being that demure little doll. "You've never cared who I slept with, Luke," she bit back, and that was an old, old hurt, but it came bubbling to the surface when he said she wasn't the only one who got jealous. She would never had said it had she been thinking, had she been calm, and her fists stilled with the words. "And I do try. I try really, really hard to shove away everything I know about men, everything I've learned, but things like this keep happening. What if you sleep with someone the next time? What if it's someone you connect with? What if they're everything you ever wanted?" She laughed a hysterical laugh, one that bubbled up past the pain in her throat to sound as insane as the rocking had looked, as the humming had sounded. "What if they don't have my fears and insecurities, the ones that drive you crazy? What if they reach out and want to be your friend? What then?" she asked, her words tumbling over his protests about an open relationship. "I think if you have permission, then I won't feel like this if you do something. I won't be so scared that it drives you crazy. I think it might keep you from leaving because of my reactions, because I'll be expecting it, and I learned not to fear things I was expecting when I was really, really young." She looked up when his voice went hoarse with pleading, her grey eyes brimming over and red. "Giving you permission doesn't mean you'll do it, Luke. It just means maybe it won't kill me if you do."
When his arms closed around her, the floodgates opened, and she couldn't control it. She couldn't even talk past the tears and the desperate gulps of air that took the place of breathing. She was pressed close against him, but her fists were still between them, and she shoved at his chest with them, even though neither of them had anywhere to go, not with the counter at his back the way it was. "I'm scared," she admitted, and oh, God, was she. This wasn't Brielle. This wasn't someone who was going to walk out of their lives and not be there anymore. She loved MK, but MK was a beautiful, unhappy disaster, and that terrified her in a way it never had before. Her arms slid around his waist, and she held him so tightly that her muscles trembled beneath the skin. "I'm so scared, Luke."
Progress was a slow thing; Luke knew that better than anyone. He didn’t expect everything all at once, so even the fact that she was still afraid of him finding someone else didn’t overshadow her confession that she still believed him. “Good,” he said quietly, almost as though he was afraid to break whatever spell allowed her to trust him when he said nothing untoward had happened with Cailin or Sophie. The mental image of Gus with his pants on his head made him smile, and he shook his head fondly, but it flickered and died as she continued. “I didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He hadn’t thought at all, and that was the problem. He was so quick to dismiss things he knew she didn’t have to worry about, rather than thinking about how it might look from her point of view if she were to find out. It wasn’t fair that innocent things could appear so guilty, but he could prevent that if he was just honest with her.
Oh, he was angry. It was the sort he didn’t know how to deal with, that had let him to carve into his skin with a knife because of that inability, and it was hard to keep control of now, especially with her so close. This kind of anger was wrapped up in emotion, in the sheer amount he felt for her, and when she said he’d never cared who she slept with, he actually couldn’t breathe for a long, agonizing moment. “I can’t believe-- how could you--” He couldn’t even get the words out, hurt thick and raw in his already sore throat, and he gripped the counter tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, because otherwise he was going to hit something; the wall, the mirror, it didn’t matter. “How can you say that, Wren? How? You know I care. I’ve always cared. The thought of another man touching you-- I hate it. I don’t--” He shook his head, unable to go on, because he couldn’t come up with words enough to describe how that made him felt, that she’d dare throw that in his face. It was easier to focus on what came next, on the barrage of ridiculous what-ifs that sounded, to him, like accusations. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy with what ifs, Wren, and I don’t want you to do that to yourself. I don’t. You can’t-- You can’t do that, let yourself become consumed by fears of things that might not even happen. No, things that aren’t going to happen,” he insisted. “I’m not going to sleep with anyone else, and no one is going to be everything I’ve ever wanted, because that’s you. It was one night, one party where everyone did things they wouldn’t normally do. I love you too much to connect with anyone else, no matter who they are, and I’m not interested in that. All those what ifs, they can go both ways, don’t you see? I can throw every one of them back at you, but I won’t, because I don’t want to live being afraid of hypothetical situations.”
She might have thought an open relationship would help, but he didn’t. Not even a little. “An open relationship isn’t a relationship at all, not really. Being with someone is about being with just them, because you don’t want anyone else. That’s what we have, and I don’t understand why you’d want to change that. Do you realize how it makes me feel, that you expect me to cheat? Because that’s what you’re saying. Don’t say it isn’t, because it is,” he added, and he was still angry, but he wasn’t yelling anymore, and he was more hurt than anything else by that point. “No, it doesn’t mean I will. You can give me permission all you want, and it won’t change a fucking thing, because I’m not interested in anyone else. But it does means you think I’m going to cheat on you eventually. And I can’t-- I can’t give you permission to be with someone else. I’d do anything for you, but not that. I can’t do that.” He shook his head, because it wasn’t okay with him, and it never would be.
He remained still when she shoved against his chest, despite the pain of being forced up against the counter when he was already sore enough. Her fear puzzled him, because he couldn’t remember her being like this with Brielle, and it was just one night, one random woman. Why was she so afraid? “You don’t have to be scared. I know it’s hard for you to believe that, but it’s true,” he said, tilting his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
His admission that she was right about Cailin and the cocktail napkin didn't have much time to settle before his anger spiked. She knew she deserved it this time, that wordless rage that he couldn't vocalize at first. She didn't look away from it, not when her words had caused it. And that was what came of keeping things bottled up for years and years and years. She glanced down at his hands, at the stark white of his knuckles as he clutched the edge of the counter, and she looked up at his face a second later. She could apologize. She could apologize, say she didn't mean it, pretend she didn't know where that statement had come from. She should do just that. He already felt guilty about a million things, and it wouldn't help to add things on. They'd been kids, and he'd had no way of knowing she wanted him to save her from herself, from her own willingness to sacrifice herself to the point of breaking. He'd been too young for her problems, for the things that came along with being her, and it wasn't fair to be upset about it after all these years. He was different now. He fought now, instead of agreeing, and that was something she didn't ever want to change. "That wasn't fair," she admitted, but she didn't do what she would have done when she was younger. She didn't just leave it there, with the apology and the acknowledgement. "I have old things that hurt too, Luke, just like you," she said, trying to keep that anger that had risen in her voice shoved down. She knew he was still angry at her for leaving, for those scars he'd pressed her fingers against moments earlier. They hadn't been perfect when they were young, and neither of them could change that now. It was that realization that made her sigh, and her fingers found those scars on his stomach again, and she traced them as he spoke. "Going to drive myself crazy?" she asked, because that sounded like she wasn't already there. "You said yourself you can't predict it, falling out of love, falling in love with someone else. Nothing lasts, Luke," she said, and it was almost a whimper. She had no idea how people got over the loss of something like this. She'd walked away once, and it had been like not living for half a decade, and she wasn't strong enough to do that again.
She did expect him to cheat. She couldn't even argue and say she didn't. Or find someone else, which wasn't the same thing, but had the same ending. "I expect you to want someone else eventually," she ultimately corrected, after a few more seconds of tracing one, particularly long scar. She wanted to just stop talking. She wanted to duck her head and brush her lips against that scar, to pretend the night before hadn't happened at all. "I don't want anyone else," she assured him, but she was fairly sure that went without saying. Hadn't she just spent the evening castrating everyone she came across? She wasn't about to jump into bed with anyone. "I just don't- I grew up knowing that sex and love weren't the same thing, and I don't want to lose you because you want to sleep with someone else, and I don't want to drive you crazy with fears I can't help." It was a calm sentence, one that she managed fairly directly, despite the fact that she felt like she was misstepping with every word. "You can't understand, because you're not all messed up like I am, Luke. I saw men who loved their wives, and they still showed up at my maman's door, at my door, it happens." And it did, and he wasn't that kind of man, and she knew that. "You would leave me if you felt that way. I know." She was being honest, but it didn't make her feel any better, but she didn't know what would. There weren't any promises here, because he was too honest to ever promise something he might not be able to keep. "I just don't know-"
When he kissed her hair, it was better than his voice saying she didn't have to be afraid. It was tangible, and it was real, and he wasn't pushing her away. She didn't know he was trying to figure out what had changed between Brielle and that moment, but she would have explained it if she had known. She hadn't actually had him then; she did now. When there was more to lose, there was more to fear losing. But she didn't say that. Instead, she just slid her hand around his hip, ignoring both of their bruises to tug him closer. Her other hand slid around the nape of his neck, and it was agony when she stretched her bruised torso to kiss his lips, but she didn't care. It was a wet kiss, salty with tears, and it grew teeth almost instantly in a desperation to possess, to take back what had been taken. She whimpered against his mouth, and her fingers wound impossibly tight in his hair, and there was no doubt that the kiss was a declaration of mine without words.
“No, it wasn’t fair.” The words were sharp as they cut across the air, like the claws and teeth of a wounded animal. What she’d done in Seattle, him not stopping it, was one of his biggest regrets, but there was nothing he could do about it now and they both knew that. “I know we do, Wren, but I can’t do anything about the past now, and I thought we’d moved beyond that,” he said, at least when it came to her leaving him. She’d broken promises, took off without a word, but he’d come as close to forgiveness as he could manage, and he wasn’t going to use what she’d done in the past against her. Her fingers tracing over his scars were distracting, but the touch was light enough that it didn’t further aggravate the bruises that seemed to be everywhere. “Yeah, going to drive you crazy. It’s already starting, and it’s just going to get worse if you keep obsessing over the what ifs. That’s what I did after-- after the memories, and it didn’t get me anywhere,” he explained, and he shook his head when she said it was unpredictable, falling in and out of love. “That doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop loving you one day, or fall in love with someone else. Some things do last,” he insisted. “Maybe you haven’t seen it, but I have. I’ve seen people who stay together for decades. You can’t be sure we won’t last.” It had been a long time since he’d seen that kind of hope, but he knew it existed, just like he knew a normal life without insanity and journals and hotels existed too, somewhere out there. They could have it, one day. It didn’t have to be all bad.
Part of him hoped she might argue, might tell him that no, she didn’t expect him to cheat, but nothing came, and he bypassed hurt and simply looked sad when she told him she expected him to want someone else eventually. “You’re wrong,” he said. “Maybe you don’t believe that now, but one day, you will.” He didn’t say anything when she assured him that he didn’t want anyone else, because there was always that double standard, where he was supposed to believe her reassurances but she couldn’t believe his, and he didn’t feel like arguing about it just then. “I don’t want to sleep with anyone else, and you’re not going to lose me because of that. You’re more than enough for me. I understand why you’re afraid, I do, I just wish you’d known more good men,” he shrugged. “I know it happens. I know husbands cheat on their wives. People cheat on each other, men and women, but not all of them, and it doesn’t always happen. That’s the side you never saw, but just because you didn’t experience it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” Oh, he would have promised her the world in a heartbeat; he just didn’t think she’d believe it, and what good was a promise that was doubted by the one it was made to? "You don't know...?"
But then his question was lost when her hand slid around his hip to pull him closer, and even though it ached, her hand on his neck and body against his, he wouldn't have pushed her away for anything. He hadn't expected her to kiss him, not with everything she'd been saying, and he whimpered against her mouth in relief before responding to the unspoken demand and claim in the way she kissed him. His desperation rose to match hers, hands finding her hips to keep her close, and if her kiss was a declaration of mine, his response was wordless agreement that yes, he was hers, and always would be.
She stayed quiet through everything he said and, despite the fact that she knew she should reply, the desperation to remind herself that he was his was too strong to fight against. They had always fixed their problems physically, and she wasn't thinking clearly enough to realize that might be one of the reasons she was so frightened of him doing this with someone else. It fixed things for them, didn't it? It brought them closer, didn't it? Then how did him being close to someone else in the same way not put that at risk. The thought, a fleeting thing, made her pull him closer, and she winced and hissed in pain as her bruised belly pressed against the bare skin of his stomach. All of it contradicted her offerings of an open relationship, which sounded good until she actually thought about it being real, and then it all fell apart in an even more aching panic than what had come before. She licked into his mouth, bit at his lip, and her hand slid from his hip and higher, until it tangled in his hair too. She used her fingers, wound tight in all that brown, to keep him there, and the grip was an unrelenting thing, fear finding its fingers. The night before was still too close, still too real, and there was the very real understanding of what she could be if she was pushed too far, what she could become.
Her mouth was on his jaw a second later, and then she mouthed along the column of his neck, the open-mouthed kisses punctuated with tears and whimpers. By the time she ducked her head beneath his chin, she was crying outright, and she slid her fingers from his hair and carefully wrapped them around his waist. There was none of the painful pull from moments earlier, but the hold was still a tight, almost childlike cling.
She was quiet for a long span of seconds, trying to figure out where to start, how to start after all that. "I'm not- No, that's not true. I was going to say I wasn't angry, but I am. Just- just not at you." Which was true. She was angry about the past, about how things had ended up, about the things that had happened. She couldn't ignore that after the things she'd done the night before, and she couldn't ignore it with all those feelings that were still raw and blistering. "I was really angry last night, and I'm not used to being angry for me." It was simplistic, but true, and she brushed her lips against his collarbone before continuing. "And I know it's frustrating, how much I don't trust. I know that, but things like this make it so hard, Luke, and- there's so much more to lose everyday, and I just don't know- I know people break-up all the time. People get divorced, people move on, and I think about that and I don't know if I could. I think about what was it was like for the past five years, and I don't want to go back to that, and the fear just gets so big." She was rambling. She knew she was rambling, but it was like she couldn't stop once the words began, like there was no way to shut them off. "I do forget some days. Forget to worry, or to be scared, and then something happens, and it all comes back." She pulled back just enough to look at him. "Like now." She paused a second, reluctant about continuing. She needed to tell him who it had been the night before. She knew that wasn't a secret that could stay hidden, and yet she didn't manage to find the words. "Do you really believe what you said? About me believing someday?"
The pain of her skin against his own, bruised and bare and sore, made his eyes sting, and while he managed to keep from cursing, whimpers and little snatches of gasped breath escaped his lips, though there was want and pleasure mixed in with the ache of feeling. If he’d known what she was feeling, he would have told her that this, the intimacy they had, was exclusive to them. It wouldn’t work the same way with someone else. Sex and love didn’t always go together, but with the two of them, it did, and that was what set her apart from any other woman he might meet. He didn’t try to fight the grip she had on his hair, allowing her to control him as she would, though he couldn’t help straining forward for more, fingers sliding beneath her tank top and along the curve of her spine. A frustrated sound slipped out when she moved to his jaw, but it only lasted a moment before he tipped his head back for her mouth, pressing his lips together to keep from outright whimpering at the soreness from the bruises left behind by the lioness’ teeth.
It took him a few seconds to realize she was crying, and his concern was immediate when he did. “Hey,” he whispered, running his fingers up and down her spine, the gesture meant as something soothing, and he listened as she admitted she was angry. Personally, he thought it was about time she started getting angry for herself, instead of other people. “You have every right to be angry for yourself, Wren. Enough shit’s happened to you over the years. And maybe you should be angry at me too, at least a little, for not trying harder to stop it. I should’ve done more,” he admitted, and it was a painful thing, that confession. “People break up all the time, yeah, but people stay together all the time too. You’re never going to have to go back to that. I know it’s hard to expect the best. I know that, I do, but you don’t always have to expect the worst either. We’re still together, right? I still love you, and I still want you. Five years, and that hasn’t changed,” he said. “I know that fear, the kind that comes when you have something to lose. I feel it too. But you haven’t lost it, and you’re not going to.” He went quiet when he said things happening brought all that fear back for her, and he knew the previous night had just made this worse all over again. But they’d gotten past things like it before. They’d recovered. He had to believe the same was true now; he’d just have to try harder, to do whatever he could on his end to ensure she forgot again, and this time, nothing would happen to reminder her in the worst way.
When she asked if he truly believed what he’d said, he nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, I do. I know it’s probably going to take time, but that’s okay. Once you see that I’m still here, and I still want you, no matter what happens, you’ll believe it sooner or later,” he told her. He thought maybe if they started doing more normal things, like other couples, other families, that might help. His schedule was crazy, but family made time, right? “One of these days,” he said suddenly, bringing a hand to cup her jaw and running his thumb over her cheek, “I’m going to take you out on a proper date. And maybe I can take a day off, and we can bring Gus to the zoo or something. Just the three of us.” He tilted her chin back for a kiss, a slow, quiet sort of intimacy that was no less possessive even without the added heat. “Those are the kinds of things I want, Wren.” Maybe the night before had just turned them into something less specific, more encompassing, but at its core, his want stemmed from the sort of life he’d dreamed about as a kid; happy, safe, normal. A wife, kids, a good job, with a little saving the world thrown in.
Those whimpers and gasps, which on another day might have caused her to draw back with concern, only made her feel just then, the sounds wrapping themselves around her like comfort, and maybe that was wrong, maybe she was wrong to feel that way, to yearn for those sounds and the firm control of her fingers wound in his hair, but there was too much of the night before lingering in her still. The fact that he didn't pull back, even with the whimpering, gave her a sense of calmness that no words could. He wouldn't pull away from her, she knew, and that was at least a bit of certainty in a maelstrom of uncertainty. That had to count for something, didn't it? Even it was unhealthy. She soothed the bruises left behind by teeth with her mouth, press and suck and kiss, even as she cried. His fingers on her spine for the bruise caused by the end of the hooded man's sword, but she didn't react to the pain of that caress at all. Life had taught her to deal with a lot worse, and with a slight bit of calm settling in she could take anything he did without a whimper.
His hey made her look up, wet grey gaze meeting his, and she shook her head when he said she should be angry at him. "We were kids," she said, more herself now, and she had said a thousand times. She really believed it, despite the spike of anger. "We didn't know what to do, and we were playing a game that was way too grown up for us." Him, mainly, but she hadn't been any better about trying to figure things out then. They wouldn't be where they were right now if she'd been any more mature about things than he had. When he said that nothing had changed after five years, she shook her head. "Yes they have," she told him. "We're older, and it's different now." She wasn't sure she'd be able to explain how it was different, but it was. It went beyond just time, and it went beyond all the many ways they'd changed. "This feels like something else, like something-" She quieted, having trouble with the words, her fingers idly slipping along his collarbone as she thought, her lip going bloody as she worried it between her teeth. "When we were younger, I don't think either of us planned on making it to thirty, Luke. Now, maybe we do?" Maybe it was time, maybe it was Gus, but love changed too, and she had no idea how to explain that. It was just a feeling, one of those things her maman always told her trust. "It isn't that I love you more than I did then, but maybe I appreciate your love more, now that I know what it feels like to lose it."
When his hand cupped her jaw, it made her stop trying to figure out something she couldn't precisely define, and she focused on him again, leaning her cheek into the brush of his thumb. Her eyes went heavy, half-closed with the pleasure of the simple touch, and she laughed a small, soft and throat-raw laugh. "I think we've gone on one date in all the time we've known each other, Luke," she said, fondness and no recrimination in her tone. "We kind of skipped past that part, which was my fault," she admitted. It was one of the things she'd always felt guilty about when they were young, the fact that she'd dragged him into sex right off the bat. But she hadn't known any other way then, and it was too late to change it now. But she understood what he was saying. She kissed him back with a little more intensity, a residual lack of control in the heat, and a very obvious battle to pull back and not push him further. "I think we see each other less now that we live together than we did before." And that was just a series of unfortunate events called life. Jack was gone, and she stayed home with Gus while he worked, which meant she spent most of her time working on the safehouse once he was home. The statement about seeing each other less now than before made her think of MK, who had claimed the same thing about Adam, and she looked down and sighed, tensing up again slightly.
Beneath the mottled bruises on his throat, the ache persisted, but he would have endured any amount of pain in exchange for the feel of her mouth on his skin. He didn’t realize his fingers along her spine were brushing against a bruise, unaware of what Bruce had done or where the sword had pierced skin, and without a reaction to tell him as much, he kept up the caress while he spoke.
“I know we were just kids,” he said, his voice gone quiet, his previous hurt and anger having died down to glowing cinders rather than a full-blown fire. “But I shouldn’t have been playing a grown-up game if I didn’t know what I was doing. That wasn’t fair to you. I should’ve learned what to do, Wren. I should’ve figured it out.” Maybe it wouldn’t have been possible, but maybe it would have, and now neither of them would ever know. They couldn’t go back, couldn’t do things differently. He frowned when she said things had changed, because in his mind the important things had stayed the same, even if they were different people now in a lot of ways. “Different how?” He didn’t know whether she meant good different or bad different, and he was wary--even afraid--of the latter. Her explanation made him feel a little better, though, like maybe things changing didn’t need to be such a bad thing, and he even managed a smile. “Making it to thirty is a good thing, isn’t it? Maybe things are different, but we still love each other, and a future being something real, something we can have, isn’t bad. It’s scary, yeah, but it’s not bad. I still want to be with you when I’m thirty, and beyond that,” he said, and he knew that as a kid he’d never mentioned anything of permanence, but maybe things had changed in that sense. Being apart, it made him realize he couldn’t live without her. “Yeah. Not being with you for so long, it-- it’s made me realize how much you mean to me. I get that.”
He leaned into her when she laughed, wanting more of the sound he felt like he rarely heard these days, especially with all the bad things that kept happening, like they couldn’t ever catch a break for very long. “It’s not your fault,” he told her, unable to keep back a quiet, sheepish laugh. “I should’ve made sure we went on more dates. Staying in was good, really good, but you deserved to be taken to nice places, and treated like a princess, or whatever teenage girls want when it comes to how their boyfriends treat them.” There was a hint of teasing in his tone, swallowed down when she responded to his kiss with an intensity that was hard to resist. Despite the fact that he was sore, that lack of control edged him a little more towards desperation, a groan muffled against her mouth, and he was left slightly breathless when she pulled back. “We can fix that, though,” he said, of them not seeing each other much anymore, mistaking the tenseness for a reaction to that loss of time spent together. “I know I’m not home a lot, but it’ll get better, and until then, we’ll make time. Put aside a few hours or something for just us.” He slid his fingers beneath her chin to tilt her head back, so she’d look at him, wanting her to believe that it would get better.
"It's too late for that," she said, echoing his thoughts when he said they had just been kids playing a grown-up game. "Anyway, we're here, right? I think back, and there's a lot of bad things I remember, but there's some good stuff too." Because if it had all been perfect, she might not have him now. Maybe that was the wrong way to look at it, and maybe it was masochistic in its own way, but she wouldn't trade what they had, even if it meant all the bad things could be washed away. Even if they were here, now, with him having gotten together with her best friend. Even if it all fell apart going forward, she wouldn't change it. "No matter what happens, no matter how bad it hurts, I wouldn't change it. Do things differently, maybe, not if it meant not being here, now." Even if here wasn't the best place to be. She didn't wince throughout all the caresses, because she didn't want to lose that touch, and she knew he'd stop if she showed any sign of being hurt. "Thirty feels old," she admitted with a little hint of a smile. And she felt older these days too. Not in a bad way, but in a way that put a gap between her and her friends. MK's life, which had been so much like hers, felt miles away some days. "I don't want you to get bored," she added plainly, a throwback to the conversation earlier.
She laughed again when he mentioned princesses and teenage girls, a soft fond thing of a laugh, and she resisted tugging him down for another kiss with obvious effort. She didn't look away when he slid his fingers beneath her chin, and she so much wanted to believe that what he was saying would happen, that the night before hadn't mattered and that it wouldn't have repercussions for weeks and months to come. She stretched up, and she kissed him once more, a kiss that was all desperation before she confessed what she had to confess. There was fear in the press of her lips, so much of it that it was impossible to hide, and she rocked back onto her heels and bit her lip after. Her fingers rested on his hips, pressing with enough pressure to indicate concern, if he somehow managed to miss the rest of it in her demeanor. "The person you were with has a really messed up relationship, and I think their boyfriend might break up with them for cheating, and they're going to be around all the time," she said, and God, she just couldn't get the words out right. A shiver ran through her from head to toe, and she couldn't help replaying all the things MK had said about her encounter, about why. "My maman always said to trust my instincts, and I don't think this is good, Luke. Even if I managed to not be scared, it's not good." Her voice was a near whisper, and she'd dropped her gaze to his shoes somewhere in the middle of the not-confession. "You're sure?" she asked of him not wanting the girl, that fear that a taste would make him want more if he spent time around her clear as crystal in her grey eyes when she looked back up.
He nodded slowly, pushing aside thoughts of what might have been. “We’re here,” he echoed in agreement. “You’re right. For all the bad, there was good too, and I wouldn’t trade any of it either. I just wish-- the bad wasn’t so bad, maybe. Not because I want things to be different, but because you deserved better. We both did.” It wasn’t often that he admitted he deserved anything, so that in itself was rare. In a perfect world, he would have saved Wren from the sort of life she’d led, and he never would have become so embittered and angry, and there would have been no leaving in the middle of the night or giving birth and having Gus taken away from them. He wished, too, that his parents had lived; they would have liked her, he was sure of it, and maybe that would have helped her self-esteem too. “We’re not that far from thirty,” he teased, “but I know what you mean.” There were days when he felt decades older than his years, and others when he felt impossibly young, but maybe having a kid made him realize that most of the time he didn’t feel like a mature adult, not like he thought parents were supposed to be. “I’m not going to get bored,” he said, shaking his head. “The last thing I am with you is bored, Wren. Life with you is never, ever that.” And that was completely, utterly true; nothing with her was ever boring.
Her laughter coaxed out a smile, and he looked pleased with himself, that he’d managed to make her laugh not just once, but twice. The kiss, when it came, was more desperate than he was expecting, and he didn’t like the fear he tasted in the press of her lips against his. He tried to reassure her without words, deepening the kiss before she pulled back, but he had no idea how successful he’d been; judging by the tightness of her fingers on his hips, not very. Confusion became his dominant expression as she described the woman he’d been with, and he didn’t think for a moment that it might be MK; he didn’t associate her with the clawed woman, and he had no reason to. “I-- okay. You think it’s not good because, what, if her boyfriend breaks up with her, we’ll get together or something?” He was pretty sure it was something along those lines, and he cradled her face in his hands as he looked down at her, unable to ignore the fear in her eyes. “That’s not going to happen. I don’t know who she was, the woman, and I don’t care. Yeah, it sucks if her boyfriend breaks up with her over this, and I wish it hadn’t happened, but-- she’s not going to come crawling to me, and I don’t want her to. I don’t want her at all,” he told her. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Wren. I don’t-- I don’t look at other women, and I don’t think about other women, because I have you. I wish you could feel what I feel, because then you’d know you have nothing to worry about.” He let out a long, long breath, because it might seem like his actions last night contradicted all that, and it was hard to explain how it hadn’t been about intimacy, or desiring someone else. “It was what she represented, not who she was,” he said, in an attempt to clarify. “Something the thing I was could take. A life. I wanted to burn her. She could be-- She could be a fucking supermodel, and I wouldn’t give a damn.”
She pulled him close and tight when he said he'd deserved better too. It was a small thing, that admission, but it made her feel like he was doing a little better, at least. She'd been so worried after the memories, after learning about those scars of his, and she hadn't really believed he could recover from any of that. It had been the first time she'd really understood what he'd gone through, just how far he'd shattered. Admitting that he'd deserved better was, she thought, a step in the right direction. And she agreed with him. He'd been so innocent when he'd gotten to Seattle, and the city had just beaten him to the ground. He'd always deserved better than he'd gotten, and that thought made her think of Thomas, which made her grip on him tighten with a quick flare of anger for what the man had done to the boy Luke had once been. "We're half a decade away from thirty," she corrected once she managed to tamp that anger down, her voice just a little teasing. She wanted to believe he wouldn't get bored with her, but that was hard too. She'd never had a client in her life that hadn't eventually realized there just wasn't very much to her, not under the surface.
"I think you'll feel responsible when things fall apart for her," she said after a long moment of considering his question. It was a given, she realized then, things falling apart for MK. Her best friend had been spiraling downward for months, and this was just an added nudge. "I think she's vulnerable and broken and- and you care about her. I think that's a really dangerous combination," she explained, looking up at him when he cradled her face in his hands. "I already offered her a place to stay if she needed it, before I knew- before I knew what had happened. She's cutting now, and there are drugs," she added, a response to his assurance that the woman from the night before wouldn't come crawling to him. In retrospect, there were so many things wrong with that offer. Even if MK hadn't- Even if they hadn't- Even then, there was still the matter of Gus, and being around that wouldn't be good for the little boy. But she'd always been there for MK, and MK had always been there for her, and she hadn't stopped to think. "I wish I could too," she admitted in a whisper, because she did wish she knew what he felt. It might help the fear go away, because the contradictions did make it so, so very hard. "I hate thinking about anyone else touching you. I hate it so very much, and you touching someone else-" She paused, fighting to get her emotions back under control, and she almost didn't say anything more, waiting for him to put the puzzle pieces together, but in the end she gave him the final piece. "She is a supermodel, Luke," she whispered, her fingers tugging hard at the waistband of his jeans, a frantic kind of tug, desperation in the crook of her fingers.
He winced a little at the tightness of her hold, but he desired the contact too much to give too much of an indication of pain. Admitting he deserved better wasn’t easy, and even now he wanted to take it back, but he forced himself to keep quiet. Progress, right? Even if he’d managed to mess things up spectacularly in the span of one night. “Half a decade makes it sound a lot longer,” he agreed with a smile. If he’d known what she thought about herself, that there wasn’t much beneath the surface, he would have disagreed wholeheartedly; he loved her because of what was underneath, and he wished she would see that.
Part of the reason he always seemed to end up in trouble was his insane, unquenchable desire to help even when he had no obligation to do so. He knew that, and so he understood where her fears were coming from, but he wasn’t going to beat himself up if this girl’s boyfriend dumped her because of what happened. Clearly they had other underlying issues if something like this was enough to have him ending things, and even if he did feel a little guilty, it didn’t mean he was going to rush off and comfort her in the boyfriend’s absence. “I might feel kinda bad, you know, because it shouldn’t have happened, but I’m not going to-- I’m not going to take it upon myself to fix it, or to fix her,” he explained. “If she and her boyfriend can’t work past this, that’s not my fault or my responsibility. I don’t think I can save everyone and everything anymore, Wren.” His confusion deepened when she said he cared about this woman, and it was his first indication that she wasn’t a stranger. She couldn’t be. There weren’t a lot of options, really, because he didn’t care about a whole lot of people who happened to be female, and the cutting, the drugs, it all sounded much too familiar. “Just because I care about her,” he said slowly, still not entirely certain, “doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you for her. When you care about someone, you want to help them, but you can only do so much, and there are lines you don’t cross. I know that. But-- even if last night hadn’t happened, I don’t think... someone going through those problems would be very good for Gus to be around,” he said carefully. Because, really, that was the truth; the little boy didn’t need to be exposed to that, even if it was accidental . He shook his head when she said she hated the thought of someone else touching him, because he didn’t want to think about it, about how he’d let it happen, and he pressed his fingers to her lips when she mentioned him touching someone else. “Don’t,” he whispered, pained anguish wrapped up in the hoarseness of his voice. “I hate myself for-- I hate that I-- please, don’t.”
But then his suspicions were confirmed, and he sucked in a breath that became a hiss when she tugged on the waistband of his jeans. Damn it, he was sore, and being this close to her wasn’t helping, but he pushed all that aside to focus on the issue at hand. “MK,” he sighed, as realization set in. Of course it had to be the one person Wren trusted, who she’d never, ever had reason to fear him being around. At the same time, though, he knew how he felt about MK, and it was strictly platonic. He simply didn’t see her any other way. Surely, with time, Wren would see that too. “Listen, Wren-- you don’t have anything to worry about. MK and I are just friends. We always have been, and we always will be. I’m in love with you, and she’s in love with Adam, and trust me, she doesn’t want me any more than I want her,” he told her, and he sounded entirely confident in that. “She’s been broken and vulnerable for a long time, but that’s never changed anything before, and it won’t now. I was there when her-- when her boyfriend died, and she was a wreck then, but we were still just friends. I don’t think of her that way, and honestly, we’ve been friends for so long that it just... it doesn’t even make sense,” he said plainly. “What happened last night won’t magically change all that.” God, he couldn’t believe it was MK. Even if he and Wren managed to get past this, their friendship might be ruined entirely, especially if she and Adam did break up. Awesome.
Half a decade did seem like forever. It had seemed forever when they were apart. But it wasn't long enough to change who he was, not deep down, not that part of him that was always so willing to help someone who needed it, no matter the cost. She thought it wasn't so surprising, maybe, that he'd finally noticed her all those years ago, not when she'd been in trouble so often. And that made this so much more frightening than it would have been had it been just a stranger. He could avoid a stranger, never see them again, never talk to them again. But he couldn't do that with MK. She knew he couldn't, and she wouldn't ask him to. "You still want to though," was her response to his statement that he knew he couldn't save everyone and everything. Her voice went fond when she said it, and she stretched up just a little, leaning against him, even though it made her bruises scream. She loved that about him, the thing that terrified her most just then.
When his voice slowed, she knew he was figuring it out, and she looked sheepish when he said it wouldn't be good for Gus to be around someone with problems like that. "I know," she admitted guiltily. "I didn't think. I feel like we're so much older than our friends sometimes," she added, slightly wistful, but not sorry. But it was still the truth. They had responsibilities none of the others had, and she had forgotten she couldn't just invite everyone over to hide like she'd done when they'd first shown up in Las Vegas.
She stopped thinking about that altogether when he pressed his fingers to her lips, that don't cutting right through her with more ache than the hooded man's sword the previous evening. She quieted, though the pain was there, visible in her grey eyes. She shut them for a moment, the ache shuttered, before she opened them again. That was the hardest part. Thinking about that. It was even worse than the fear, and she'd driven herself crazy doing the same thing with Brielle - imagining. But this was so much more real, so now, and she let go of the unforgiving tug on his waistband to touch the fingertips against her lips for just a second. They didn't feel any different, his hands, but they were. His hatred for himself told her everything she needed to know about what had happened the night before. All the things unsaid, all the things he minimized; she knew. She watched him while he tried to reassure her that he and MK were just friends, and she didn't interrupt. Her hand dropped to her side, and she tugged her fingers back from where they had been pulling on him. She wanted to believe him. She did. "I know you're just friends," she finally said, though her voice was little more than a whisper. But unlike him, she knew friendships could change into other things. Hadn't theirs? "You didn't even see me there for almost a year when we were kids," she reminded him, turning her sad, grey gaze up to meet his.
"I still want to," he admitted, because he could claim he didn't care and he could kill as many people as he liked, but that wouldn't completely wipe out the part of him that wanted to save the world. "But that doesn't mean I can, or I will," he added. Maybe she loved that about him, but he thought it'd gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years. Still, he didn't pull back when she leaned against him, willing to put up with the ache of bruises just to have her close, and his free hand came to rest against the small of her back.
Well, at least she realized that Gus didn't need to be around that kind of influence. "I know," he said. "I feel that way too sometimes. Having Gus changes a lot. It's not bad, just different."
The pain in her eyes made him want to hold her close and make it go away, but he couldn't do that, just like he couldn't reverse time and change last night. It killed him, knowing she was hurting because of him, and even though he'd told her he didn't want to hurt himself anymore, to take a blade and slice, times like these made it tempting. He didn't realize his self hatred had made her assume the very worst, and he was too distracted by the way she pulled her hands back, by how final that seemed, to think about it further. "That was different," he said, when she referred back to them as kids. "You can't compare then to now and assume the same thing is going to happen with MK. We're different, Wren. Just because I fell in love with you doesn't mean I'm going to fall in love with her. Since then, I've never felt for anyone how I feel about you, and I've never seen what I see when I look at you in another woman." He paused, meeting her gaze with his and reaching for her fingers, to entwine them with his own. He wasn't going to stop trying. "Things aren't going to change because of last night. I can't prove that to you right this second, but I can, with time, because you'll see that I won't decide I want MK or fall out of love with you. I know you'll be scared for a while, but-- that's okay. I mean, it's not okay, but I understand. Just-- I know I'm not perfect, and I know there are guys out there who could make you happier, and wouldn't hurt you like this, even without meaning to, but..." He tugged on her fingers. "Don't give up on me? On us?"
Wanting to save the world was just who he was, and she knew that. Just like she knew he was right about the kind of people Gus should be around. But knowing didn't necessarily mean she knew how to handle it all of the time. Maybe twenty-four was too young to be what they were, to have gone through it all, to have a child that was Gus' age. And it was bittersweet, not being able to go out and drink it all away with MK anymore. With him gone so often, it felt lonely at times, but she still wouldn't change it all. When she looked at MK's relationship with Adam, it was so bleak, so sad, and even MK had voiced her jealousy at not having someone like Luke - that didn't help matters either. She trusted MK not to intentionally set out to hurt her, but her best friend was so messed up, so broken. It was Luke she had trusted in that friendship, not MK. And after all, she'd been responsible for what MK was today in so many ways, wasn't she? Hurtful things that she'd been able to walk away from, but that MK couldn't.
If she had any idea what he was thinking, about blades and his skin, she would have changed the conversation right then and there. But she didn't know, too lost in imagining his hands on her best friend, and she just looked down at their joined fingers when he twined them together. She didn't know about Bruce's injuries, and she didn't know how sore he was, but she did notice the lack of heat, all without understanding the reason for it. She thought the worst, of course; that he'd been with MK, and that he didn't want- She shook her head the tiniest bit, trying to clear the thought and chase it away, but it really wouldn't go. "I'm not giving up on us," she promised, and that was true. She wasn't. She didn't know how. "But maybe we should take a step back," she suggested, and her voice cracked with the pain of the sentence. It hurt so much, this, and there was no doubt the suggestion was made reluctantly, on the edge of a blade. "I don't want to drive you crazy, and I'd drive you crazy right now, Luke," she said, finally giving up the fight not to cry.
Despite how broken MK was, Luke had never once thought Wren would have any reason to distrust her. In all the years he'd known her, MK had never shown any interest, never made a move, and he didn't think the previous night would change things for her either. Even if Adam did end things, she wouldn't want him. The problem was, of course, that what seemed so clear for him was anything but for Wren. He'd never been very good at convincing her of how he felt, that she didn't need to be afraid, even as kids, and he just wished she could feel how he felt, even just for a minute, so she'd know beyond a doubt. Words only went so far.
He wasn't aware of the lack of heat, or the assumptions she drew from a simple gesture meant to reassure, to soothe, not realizing the feel of her fingers against his wasn't enough. There was relief in his gaze when she said she wasn't giving up on them, but it turned to confusion when she suggested taking a step back. Maybe he should have understood what she meant, but he didn't, and he always feared things like this, that could mean almost anything. "A step back how?" He was, admittedly, afraid of her answer, and he shook his head when she said she'd drive him crazy. With Bruce being so demanding through the door, with the exhaustion and the trouble remembering and the faint, persistent feeling of something being off kilter, she and Gus were what kept him grounded. "No," he began, but then she was crying, and he forgot about whatever he'd meant to say. He forgot about how sore they both were, and about being careful. He strained forward to kiss her with a whimper, one hand rising to slide through and tangle in her hair, all his self hatred and fear and desperation to make her see how he felt wrapped up in crushing pressure of lips and teeth and tongue. Maybe it was unhealthy, but what he lacked in words, he’d found a way to make up for with this. “I just don’t want to lose you,” he said, voice muffled into the kiss, since he didn’t want to pull away long enough to get the words out properly.
She began to answer his question, to put together a chain of words that somehow amounted to her moving out again until he was sure, until it wasn't fueled by necessity. She tried, but his no came before she'd managed to say anything at all, and the kiss kept her from trying. It hurt. Oh, God, did it hurt. Her throat, her stomach, it all ached, and the bruises at her shoulder were unforgiving, but none of that mattered. She kissed him back with the same level of desperation at first, but the kiss turned hard and biting when she started wondering if he could taste MK in the kiss, if he wanted to. There was fear, and there was anger, and there was an overwhelming need to just believe for once, to not anticipate this pain again and again. Her fingers slid up over his chest and shoulders, and they tangled tight in the ends of his hair, at the nape of his neck. She pulled, unthinking fingerholds and desperate little tugs of agony, and she didn't pull back when he spoke against her lips. Had she known what he was feeling, that he'd been out of sorts, she wouldn't have replied the way she did. But she didn't know, because he hadn't told her. Maybe it was just another symptom of whatever the problem was, but she was unaware, and the only thing on her mind just then was saving this, keeping his interest, keeping him with her. "You won't. A week. Come back to me, and I'll know you want to," she offered, and a week felt like forever and more. But she'd said it, and she couldn't take it back. It would give him time, and that had worked with Brielle, hadn't it? Her fingers tightened, painful tugs replacing the ones that had stilled to nothing. "Come back to me, and I'll know nothing's changed." She could still watch Gus during the day, bring him here, where she was painting and working and where the yard was safe and enclosed. "Come back to me." She didn't know when she'd started crying again, but she had.
Instead of deterring him, the ache and pain of the bruises, aggravated by every movement and press of her against him, only spurred him forward. He tried not to tug on her hair, tried not to hold her too tightly to avoid his fingers leaving more bruises in their wake, but his self-control slipped when the kiss turned hard and biting, and he couldn’t help responding to everything she felt. Oh, it hurt, especially when she tugged on the ends of his hair, but when he moaned against her lips it wasn’t necessarily in pain, or because he wanted it to stop, so much as it was a need for more of her. And maybe he should have mentioned how he’d been feeling, but she knew he was tired, knew about Jason and the antidote, and he was very good at convincing himself it was just a combination of that. Why worry her unnecessarily, when it would pass once Jason--and Jack, by extension--were out of the woods? Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a spark of panic when she mentioned a week, because that meant a week alone, a week without her, and Gus would only be with him when he wasn’t at work, but the whimper that escaped his lips had more to do with being without her than it did any sort of concern for himself. “A week,” he repeated, throat hoarse and raw. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want-- but if you think it’ll help, if it’ll help you believe, okay. Okay. A week, and I’ll come back, because I won’t have left in the first place.” He clung to her, like she was the only thing keeping him upright, even though he was more than capable of supporting his own weight. “Don’t cry. I love you. I do, and nothing’s going to change. I promise.” It slipped out, that promise, but he didn’t take it back. He didn’t need to. He wasn’t going to change his mind, because he knew what he’d been like without her, and no one had ever been enough. Needing her was just as much a part of who he was as wanting to save people, as his self-hatred, and some things never changed.
She would have kept pressing, if she had her way. She would have slid her fingers from his hair and over his skin, beneath the waistband of those pants. Any other night, she would have taken that moan of his and demanded more. But those thoughts of him with MK held her back, and they held her back because she was scared of how bruising she might get if she let herself go. There was so much darkness inside her, and it was so hard to pretend it didn't exist just then. She knew that wasn't what he thought when he thought of her, and that alone kept her in check. It made her pull back instead of pushing forward, instead of finding new parts of him to bruise until he felt just how much she hurt inside. When he spoke, the hoarse rawness of his voice almost made her take it all back, but he agreed before she could, and she breathed a deep and shuddering breath. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing in her current frame of mind, staying alone in this dead and empty place, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the way he clung to her, and the desperate hope that in a week he would still want her. A week of permission, and she pressed her battered wrists against the counter at his hips, the pain making her wince, keeping her grounded until he made that promise. Her fingers raised to his lips, pressed hard enough to bruise his mouth, and she shook her head. "Don't- Don't do that. Don't make me expect things," she pleaded. He could do anything he wanted for seven days, and that was going to be hard enough to live through without the possibility of him deciding not to come back in the end. She removed her fingers, only to replace them with her mouth. This kiss had no bite, had no demand, it was just wet and scared, and she pulled back reluctantly and stepped back until her shins met with the bathtub. She pressed her thumbs against her bruised wrists, remembering what it had felt to slice through the skin there, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Go?" It was a question, because she couldn't kick him out, she could never do that. "I love you," she added, a soundless whisper that was all a silent movement of lips, and she twirled the ring on her finger, the one from all those years ago.
His plans for the week were laughably pathetic. Work, the academy, and going through the door. He wasn’t going to go to bars, wasn’t going to explore his freedom, wasn’t going to call up MK and suggest they meet. No, he didn’t want any of that, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, because once he started, he might not be able to stop, and sooner or later that hysteria was going to dissolve into tears. Maybe agreeing was a mistake. Maybe he should have refused, but he wanted her to believe him, and he thought this might work. If he could prove to her that he still wanted her, regardless of MK, maybe it would be okay. Maybe. “I’m not going to-- I’m going to come back,” he told her, despite the bruising tightness of her fingers on his lips. “You can expect that, because it’s going to happen.” He leaned into the kiss for a moment, wondering why it felt like he was losing everything if it was just a week, and everything was going to be okay after that. Seven days wasn’t that bad. He’d survived five years, hadn’t he? He could survive this too. That single word, that question, cut through him in a way all the blades had never managed, and he couldn’t help wincing. “I-- if you want me to-- okay,” he managed in the end. “I’ll go.” He pushed away from the coolness of the counter and moved towards the door, wanting sleep, or an entire bottle of something alcoholic, but he knew where he would go. The door, and Bruce, and his insane quest to save Jason before it was too late. He paused at the door, gaze dropping to the ring on her finger, and forced a smile. “Don’t take it off,” he said, a plea which had begun as a question and changed halfway through. There was another moment of hesitation before he turned, and the fact that he managed to keep himself together until he was outside the safehouse was a miracle in itself.