. (spacecowboys) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-06-16 01:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | batman, catwoman |
Who: Wren and Luke
What: Homecoming (2/3)
Where: Spring Mountains
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: Touching
Money was a concern, yes, but not much of one. He wasn’t planning on being out of work for long, and he was certain that they could manage until then. A week at the most, not weeks, and he’d force himself to go back if he had to. “Okay,” he said, of her having paid off the bills. “It won’t be for long, just a few days. Bruce didn’t really have time to take it easy. We’ll be fine,” he added. “So don’t worry. Okay?” He didn’t want her thinking that she had to go off and find a way to earn money, and he didn’t want a repeat of how it had been while he’d been in school and they’re argued about her employment. That didn’t need to happen again. “If there is a next time,” he said slowly, reluctant to say the words out loud, as though that was confirming that there would indeed be a next time, “then you should do whatever makes it easier for you. If it’s too hard to stay here while I’m gone, then let Selina go through. Gus will be fine. But I’m going to do everything I can do make sure this doesn’t happen again,” he told her. Maybe he’d made the same assurances before, but he meant them just as much now as he did then, maybe even more so.
It didn’t hurt as much as she probably thought it would, really, but even if the pain was excruciating he wouldn’t have cared. His fingers pressed against her back, through the fabric of her dress, a soundless attempt to soothe her sobs. He might not have had the words to make everything okay, but he could touch her, and he could kiss her, and he thought those things might be better than whatever broken sentences he could string together. That didn’t stop him from repeating that he loved her, though, muffled whispers between kisses, overlapping with her quiet French. “Mine,” he whispered, a shift in the repetition, and it was a plea, asking for some sort of confirmation or assurance in return. “I love you, and you’re mine.”
She shook her head when he asked if it would help to have Jack leave. "You'd miss him. Gus would miss him." Both of those things, she knew, were true. Her eyes fluttered shut as his finger dragged along her jaw, and she breathed a deep and quiet breath, before looking at him again. If she had to rate the people she thought her son would miss, both Luke and Jack preceded her on the list, and she was pretty sure Finch preceded everyone but Luke. "He doesn't have anyone else who cares about him," she added. "And he's sad." Which was, to her thinking, enough of a reason to let him stay, regardless of everything else. Selfishness was something that had never had a place in her life. That had changed a little, but not enough to make her want Jack to leave the house. If Jack had someone who cared about him, it would be different. She'd thought Cerise might be that person, but not anymore. And that thought made her bite her lip. "It might not be safe anyway. I might lead someone there," she admitted, but something in her expression said she wouldn't say very much on the subject, even if he asked. Just like she didn't trust Jack not to tell Luke anything she told him, she didn't trust Luke not to tell Jack things, either.
"I'm not worried," she assured him about the bills. She wasn't, not just yet. And she wasn't going to worry him about the future. As long as they had some money by the time Gus came home, it would be fine. They would be fine. She wasn't going to argue with him about; she didn't want to argue with him about anything, not when she still half-expected him to disappear at any moment, a bruised and battered figment of her imagination. And figment or not, she really wanted to believe his reassurances. She wanted to believe that this wouldn't happen again. She wanted to believe that Bruce would understand that it couldn't happen again. "How can we make sure?" she asked. We, because maybe she had a little bit of pull, right? Not that she could keep Selina from crossing, but she could make it harder. "Why can't they understand?" she asked, and it was a mournful question. She tugged on the fabric of his pants at the thigh, because it seemed like a safe place to take out her frustrations without hurting him. "Doesn't he miss anyone he doesn't see for long periods of time? Hasn't he ever missed anyone like that? What if he didn't see his city for a month?" she asked, because it was the closest (and angriest) comparison she could make, when it came to Bruce.
And it was only the pressure of the fingers against her back that calmed her a little. The feeling of his touch through the flimsy-thin nothing of the dress grounded her, and the kisses and overlapped words made the sobs turn into something softer. The possessiveness made her shiver, because she'd honestly thought he might not want that anymore. After everything, after Thierry, after how she'd scared him. And who wanted a crazy wife, and she knew she wasn't being normal right now. She was aware enough to know that, even if she couldn't shift her behavior. It was a tiny movement backward that announced some kind of a response to his words, and she reached for the waistband of his pants and tugged with uncertainty. "No sex. I promise," she said quickly, in case he got the wrong idea. "I just. I want to lie down- I just want- Just to know you're really here?" She reached back, and she tugged the dress over her head. She curled onto her side on the blankets, and she waited. "If it doesn't hurt? I don't want it to hurt," she said belatedly, mournfully.
Yes, he would miss Jack, and Gus would miss him too, but maybe it was better to do it now rather than drag it out and make it all the more difficult when the inevitable happened. “We’d still see him, Wren,” he repeated gently, and regardless of what she said he’d already decided to talk to Jack about moving out. Surely they could have a rational discussion about it, without making it sound like he was kicking his friend out. “Jack moving out wouldn’t mean we don’t care about him. And maybe he is sad, but he’s been sad all this time, living with us, and that hasn’t changed. We’d still be his friends, and Max cares about him too. I know things aren’t always great between them, but she does. And... I mean, he can’t live with us forever.” Because that was just the truth, wasn’t it? Sooner or later, Jack would have to find his own place, and maybe it was better sooner, before Gus became too attached. He shouldn’t miss a family friend more than his own mother. He frowned when she said it might not be safe, and, really, if this was about Cerise, maybe it was best if Jack wasn’t in the house, especially if he intended on helping her. “I don’t ever want you to think it’s not safe for you to come home,” he told her, firm and sure, “or that you being there makes it not safe.” He hesitated for a moment. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but if it has something to do with Cerise, I need you to promise me that you’ll stay away from her, that you won’t get involved. We’ve already spent too much of our lives suffering because of other people’s problems,” he said. “I don’t want that happening again.” There was a time when he was incapable of not getting involved, but so much had happened since then and he was just so tired. They had enough problems of their own; they didn’t need to add other people’s issues to the mix. Cerise wasn’t a friend, or someone he cared about, which made him even less inclined to risk himself or Wren to help her.
He took her assurance that she wasn’t worried, and didn’t argue. There was no point, and he’d be back to work in no time, and everything would be fine again-- financially, at least. When she asked how they could be sure, he shrugged, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know how they could be sure, and he didn’t understand why Bruce failed to understand to the point where he was willing to compromise. “I think,” he began slowly, “the only people he’s ever really missed are his parents. He misses Alfred too, and I guess he missed the kids when they left, but it’s not the same. He’s never missed anyone like I miss you, or like you miss me. No one who’s alive, at least.” It made him sad, just a little, that Bruce was so very damaged in so many ways; it reminded him a lot of Thomas, except that Bruce didn’t have an Amanda of his own. “He doesn’t miss Gotham, not like that. He feels responsible for it. Obligated. He blames himself for everything bad that happens in that place, whether he’s there or not. Especially when he’s not.” He thought for a few moments, and then something came to him, and he brightened a little. “But he’s not alone anymore,” he said. “Superman is around, and some Green Lantern guy. They’re superheroes, Wren, with actual superpowers. Maybe they can help, somehow.” Clearly the Batfamily wasn’t capable of saving Gotham without the Bat, but maybe a couple of superheroes could even the score a little.
When she tugged on the waistband of his jeans, he nodded, even before she began to explain what she wanted. “You don’t have to promise that,” he said, uncertain. He wasn’t sure if she was saying it for his sake, or because it was something she didn’t actually want, and while he would never, ever push her for anything he just didn’t want her thinking that he didn’t want her or something equally untrue. “It doesn’t hurt,” he assured her, watching as she pulled the dress over her head before working on getting his pants off. The process was slower than it would have been if he was uninjured, of course, but he managed without too much difficulty, and he stretched out beside her once they’d been tossed aside. He laid on his side, facing her, because after not having seen her for weeks he just wanted to stare and stare for as long as he could. But that wasn’t enough, and he only lasted a few seconds before reaching for her, wanting to feel her under his hands and against him.
Wren shook her head again. It wasn't a rushed movement, and there was nothing frenetic to it, but she did repeat it over and over and over. She didn't want him to ask his friend to move out, not for her, not because of her. It was, in her mind, taking something away from Luke. Having Jack there made things better, made it so Luke wasn't stuck there alone with her, and she was pretty sure he felt safer with Gus being around Jack than around her; she didn't blame him. "Luke, don't- Please?" she finally asked, because she didn't want to be the reason Jack had nowhere to go, and she didn't want to be the person that split them up. Jack had been there before her, and it wasn't right that he had to leave because of her. She felt like she was breaking up a family, and maybe she should have stopped to wonder why she felt that way, but that really didn't matter very much. She just knew, deep down, that Luke wouldn't even be considering asking Jack to go if it wasn't for her, and that was enough of a reason for her not to want him to do it. If he wanted to live alone with her someday, that would be different. But that wasn't this, and she just shook her head one last time, emphasizing.
The fact that he zeroed right in on Cerise as the problem made her bite her lip guiltily. "Can I tell you something? Without you telling Jack?" Because she'd promised not to tell Jack, right? And she wouldn't tell Luke everything; she'd only tell him the part that had bothered her the very most. And then she shook her head again. "I don't want to be involved. Hiding means I don't want to, not in this." And her eyes weren't exactly scared, but they were cautious. She didn't want to borrow Cerise's problems; they were too big. And maybe that was selfishness, but it was the truth.
She wasn't sure whether or not she believed his brightened claims that Gotham might be better now. Somehow, she suspected Bruce was a really terrible team player. "I don't even get notes from Selina anymore," she said, because it was like being blind a little, and she didn't like it.
And it was much easier to concentrate on his agreement, on watching him shuck off the pants. She didn't believe him when he said it wouldn't hurt, but he had to lie down eventually, she thought. He would need to rest, and she wasn't asking him to do anything more than that. She shook her head when he told her that she didn't need to promise, because she did; she wasn't going to hurt him, and she wasn't going to push him. She watched him, not hurrying him, keeping her hands pillowed under her cheek and letting him take however long he needed. Her gaze was warm as she watched, the movement of grey catching on a bruise every few seconds and lingering. When he stretched out beside her, she curled back the tiniest bit, wanting to give him room, but that only lasted until he reached for her. She carefully moved a little closer, and she pressed one of her thighs over his carefully. She took his reaching fingers as invitation, and she traced his arm with her own fingers, from his wrist up to his shoulder, skirting the worst of the bruises. The touch was quiet, reassuring and slow, and she shifted a tiny bit closer a second later, until her belly was pressed against his. "I don't want you to go away, ever," she said, sounding very small.
He would have been heartbroken if he’d known that she felt like Jack leaving would be akin to a family falling apart, much less that she believed he didn’t want to live alone with her. Having Jack there had nothing to do with not wanting to be alone with her, or with keeping Gus safe; he just wanted his friend to be okay, and giving him a place to stay was an attempt to keep him from doing something he might only do if he was alone. But he saw, now, that keeping him around people wasn’t solving the bigger problem. It still existed. He bit his lip, and he hesitated, not wanting her to blame herself for Jack leaving if he asked him to, but unable to just put this all aside and pretend everything was fine. “I won’t ask him to move out,” he said, finally, and it wasn’t a lie. He wouldn’t. He’d talk to him, but he wouldn’t outright ask him to leave or tell him he had to.
Some secrets were easier kept than others. He almost always told Wren everything, in the end, and he didn’t like lying to Jack either, but when it came to a choice between the two he would always choose her. His loyalty was to his wife, not to his best friend. “I won’t say anything to Jack if you don’t want me to,” he promised. Besides, Jack seemed to know more about Cerise and her past than he did. There was a hint of relief when she said she didn’t want to be involved; they’d both martyred themselves for too many people, too many times in the past. “You don’t have to hide. We can stay here until Gus comes back, and then we can go home. If you want? Or we could just take it one day at a time.” As long as she kept her distance from Cerise, and Jack didn’t get himself tangled up in this mess, they’d be fine. And if Jack did, well, he wasn’t going to be leading anyone back to their door. He didn’t think Jack would ever risk that kind of danger anyway, but just in case, he wasn’t giving him the option.
As for Bruce, he was a terrible team player, but he didn’t have to be teammate of the year to have some back-up. He might not have known Hal aside from second hand information, but he liked Clark, even if he hadn’t progressed to the point of fully trusting him yet. “Bruce and Selina haven’t talked yet, I don’t think,” he admitted. “He doesn’t know that she was gone. She’s different, somehow. She’s the same, but she’s not. I don’t know what’s going to happen when he actually finds her.” But that didn’t really matter just then. He’d had enough of Gotham and Bruce’s problems to last him a lifetime.
It was impossible to miss the way she watched him, and his own gaze turned warmer as a result. He managed to find a comfortable spot on the blankets, and after a brief flare of pain and some dull throbbing only a residual ache was left behind. That was tolerable, though. He had so many old wounds and scars that he’d gotten used to how injuries felt while they healed, and it didn’t really bother him anymore. His breath hitched when her thigh pressed over his, followed by a pleased sigh as she ran her fingers up his arm. He waited until her body pressed against his, and then he shifted closer, wanting as little space between them as possible. “I’m not going away,” he told her, sliding his hand over her hip. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t want you going away either.” He pressed a kiss to her chin, soft and warm, before tilting his head back to bring his lips to hers.
She relaxed when he said that he wouldn't ask Jack to move out, but she clarified quickly, "it's not that I don't want to be alone with you and Gus." She didn't want him to misunderstand. She didn't want him to think that she needed Jack there. It was a fine line, and she had a hard time walking it. She had a hard time believing, after Thierry, that this was what he wanted, too, but she kept that to herself. Something in his expression said he would argue with her about it, and while her determination not to mention it might not last very long, it lasted just long enough for her not to say anything then. She ran her thumb over his bitten lip, unthinking, and then she pulled her hand back with a shy smile. "I just-" She shrugged a little. She didn't know how to explain, not any more than she already had. She had no idea that he was hiding his intention behind innocuous words, and that was probably a very good thing.
When he promised he wouldn't tell Jack whatever she told him, she looked at him for a long time, trying to decide if she believed him. She'd told Jack that she couldn't confide in him, because he'd run to Luke. She believed that it worked in reverse, too. She believed that Luke would run to Jack with anything she said. But she didn't think Luke would lie to her outright, and if he promised he wouldn't tell, then she was inclined to believe him. She bit her lower lip. "I want you not to tell Jack. I promised I wouldn't tell Jack, and you telling Jack would be the very same thing," she said. "And I don't want you to fix anything, or to get involved, or to talk to anyone. I just- It's a really big secret to keep all to myself." And maybe it was selfish to share it, but maybe it wasn't, not if it meant that Luke could give Jack advice without breaking his word about not telling. She considered a few seconds longer. "I was staying with Cerise, you know, and she told me someone knew I had been there. She was really upset, and she started talking about this man who's in town. But that isn't- That isn't what bothered me." She bit her lip again, hard enough to draw blood this time. "She told me that she killed hundreds of people. That she killed children. That he made her do it, I guess. I- I like Cerise. I like Cerise very much, but I don't know how to be okay with that, even though I understand what it's like to do things you don't want to. I- I shouldn't judge," she said, sounding guilty, because Jack had told her that Cerise had gone through hell, and she could understand that, too. "I want to check to see if she's okay, but then I don't want to," she admitted, and she didn't say anything about whether or not she should go home, not yet.
She sighed about Bruce, about Selina, about that relationship that really didn't make any sense to her. Like Adam and MK, it was so outside her understanding that she couldn't understand it very well. Instead, she focused on the flare of pain she saw on his features, carefully trying to decide whether or not to pull back and pull away. When her thigh slid over his and his breath hitched, she stilled, not knowing if that was pain, but the pleased sigh at the touch to his arm kept her from drawing back completely. The space between them became nothing at all, when she met the way he shifted forward with hips and and shoulders pressed to his, and she closed her eyes for a second when his hand skated along her hip. Her fingers slid up to his jaw when he kissed her, fingers traveling from chin, to ear, then back again. She kept the kiss light, chaste, not pushing anything, and her fingers traveled down along the column of his throat when she kissed his chin. "Are you sure?" she finally asked, of him not wanting her to go anywhere. "You can say, if that's what you want," she told him. "Don't get angry. Don't get upset. I just- You're allowed to change your mind after what happened at Thierry's," she reminded him. He deserved that right, and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft-slow linger. "You're allowed to want someone healthier. I always tell MK that about Adam, and it's not fair not to tell you the same thing." Her voice shook, trembled, but that was the only indication that she had a hard time with the idea. That, and the tears that welled up and threatened to fall on her cheeks.
His reaction would have been very different had he thought, for any reason at all, that she needed Jack there or that she didn’t want to live alone with him and Gus. But he didn’t think either of those things, and if anything, he thought her reluctance to let him tell Jack to leave stemmed from some belief that he was the one who needed his friend there. It wasn’t true, though, whatever she might think, and as much as he cared about Jack, he cared more about Wren’s well-being and her feeling like she actually belonged, that the three of them were a family, rather than Jack being included in that dynamic. “I know,” he told her. “I know, I do, I just-- I don’t want you thinking that I don’t want to be alone with you and Gus either, or that I need Jack there. I don’t. Him staying with us, it’s not like that.” But he had a hard time articulating what it was like, and even if he could manage it, she wasn’t likely to believe him. He smiled a little when she ran her thumb over his lip, and in the end, he decided to just leave it be until he talked to Jack.
A hint of worry entered his expression when she admitted that it was a big secret to keep, but he nodded when she said she didn’t want him telling Jack. “I won’t. I won’t get involved, and I won’t talk to anyone,” he said. They were hard things to promise, because while he wasn’t willing to put himself at risk for someone like Cerise, he was for her, but maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe, if they could just stay out of this, neither of them would be tempted to sacrifice themselves for each other. The worry only increased when she said that someone had known she’d been staying with Cerise; he didn’t like the sound of that at all, and he was torn between anger at himself for not being here, and anger at Cerise for potentially putting Wren in danger. He was trying really, really hard not to be biased when it came to her, but she was making it incredibly difficult. Maybe it didn’t bother her, but it certainly bothered him, and he was prepared to say as much before she continued, and he found himself at a loss for words. He’d killed people, a lot of people, but nowhere close to triple digits, and never, ever children. Never anyone innocent. The knowledge that Cerise had made him like her even less, and he found it hard to feel sorry for her. As much as he tried to not be like Thomas, he was too much like him in some ways; once his mind was made up, he was very difficult to dissuade, and he wasn’t as forgiving as Wren thought he was. “He made her kill all those people? Children, and she just did it?” He had a hard time reconciling that. Being made to do something against one’s will, okay, he could understand that, but mass murder? Hurting other people? He shook his head, frowning. “You’ve never, ever done anything like that, Wren, and you don’t have to be okay with it. Don’t check on her,” he said immediately. “Just leave it alone, okay? I know she’s your friend, but if you don’t want me getting involved then you can’t get involved either. I won’t say anything to Jack, but you have to promise me you won’t get mixed up in all of this. Please?” And maybe his lack of concern for Cerise was harsh, but he’d never claimed to be a good person. When it came to his family, he was perfectly willing to be selfish. Besides, Jack would check on her at some point. He noticed, too, that she didn’t mention coming home, but he waited to see if she was ignoring that entirely before pushing.
Most of that frustration had ebbed away, however, by the time she was fully pressed against him, and he ran his hand from her hip up along her side, fingers splayed, the touch slow and deliberate as though relearning how her skin felt under his fingers. He tilted his head, leaning into her touch when she ran her fingers along his jaw, and however much he might have wanted to, he didn’t try to make the kiss anything other than what it was, light and chaste until her lips found his chin. “I’m not upset,” he assured her, because that was important for her to know. “But I haven’t changed my mind, Wren, and I don’t want anyone but you. I could never not want you. What happened with Thierry didn’t change how I feel about you, and it didn’t change how I see you either.” His fingers trailed up to her cheek, and he looked at her, really looked, wanting her to understand. “You’re better than me. I’ll always think that, no matter what happens. I love you. I need you. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t, not ever,” he insisted, quiet but firm, and this time when he kissed her it was decidedly not chaste, open-mouthed head and a desperate desire to make her see the truth.
She nodded her agreement when he said that he didn't need Jack. Once, she'd thought maybe there was something more to their friendship than met the eye, but she didn't think that now. She just thought Jack was Luke's friend, and probably the only person Luke really confided in; she wasn't willing to take that away from him. She knew it was selfish, and that it wasn't about Jack at all, but that was how she felt. But she didn't say anything, nothing more than the nod, and she turned her attention to his promise that he wouldn't tell Jack what she'd told him. "I don't know how he made her do it. She says he didn't force her, but Jack says he forced her to do all kinds of things. I don't think he knows about the killings, though," she admitted. Jack had talked to her a lot about Cerise, and she was fairly sure he would have mentioned that, especially since he'd been so unable to accept her just trying to hire someone to kill Max. "She's scared of him. She was terrified when she contacted me." His insistence that she not check on Cerise should have made her argue, should have made her feel guilty; it didn't. In fact, she breathed a sigh of relief, willing to accept his suggestion as absolvement of her guilt. Luke was one of the best people she'd ever met, and if he thought it was okay to not check on Cerise, then maybe it wasn't so bad. She had Gus to think about, didn't she? And she wanted him safe too, so it wasn't entirely selfish. She nodded. "Okay. I won't contact her, not unless she contacts me," she promised, and she breathed easier having said it, and that relief showed on her candid features. Maybe it would be okay this time. Maybe the bad things wouldn't happen to them.
His touch, simple though it was, made her skin tingle. It sent shivers down her spine, and those shivers translated into movement against him, press and shudder and she sighed quietly when he said that he wasn't upset. Her fingers dragged down along the sling's X, and then to his ribs, which she traced as gently as she could, given that her hand was trapped between their bodies because of her reluctance to move away or give him any space at all. If it was up to her, she would never move, never leave, never let him out of her sight again. She believed his declaration; there, in that moment, she believed that he didn't want anyone else, and that he didn't think she was a terrible person. But she didn't necessarily think that was a good thing. "I don't know how I'd cope if you left," she said, and left meant so many things. It meant die, and it meant fall out of love, and it meant hate. But the sentiment remained, regardless of the how. "I don't think I would be able to go on," she said, quietly making the statement less dramatic; just a truth. "But I still want the best for you, even if that isn't me." She was about to insist that maybe needing her wasn't good for him, but he kissed her, and the lack of chasteness in the kiss was something she was powerless to resist. She sighed, and she whimpered into his mouth, and she pressed herself against him, soft and pliant curves against the hard planes of his naked body. And he felt real this way, and he felt hers, and she forgot to care that he was bruised up. "I love you," she said, repeating it in French and letting it be lost in the kiss.
No, Jack didn’t know about the killings. He couldn’t. Men, women, children; he would never, ever be able to forgive that, not if he couldn’t forgive what Cerise had done to Max. Luke didn’t want to be the one to tell him, and really, did it matter? The past was the past, and right now their problems were in the present. Well, no, it wasn’t their problem, and if he had his way it never would be. “Maybe she is scared, and maybe she is terrified,” he said, feeling a faint pang of guilt, “but we can’t help her. This guy, Wren, he’s not our problem. I don’t want you getting hurt, and we have Gus to think about now. For once, just let someone else handle it. Someone not us.” He still had that urge, that tug, to play hero, but he was better at resisting it now. Leaving Gus an orphan because he and Wren had tried to help Cerise was, in his opinion, far more selfish than not risking themselves to swoop in and save her. “If she does contact you, please tell me, okay?” And if she insisted on trying to drag his wife into her mess, he’d deal with her himself. He’d never, ever willingly gotten anyone involved in his problems, and maybe it was unrealistic to expect everyone to be that selfless, but he didn’t believe in putting other people in danger just to save himself.
He shook his head, no, no, because she wouldn’t ever have to cope with him not being there, whatever the reason. “I’ll never leave,” he vowed, a heady whisper. “Not ever, and you’re what’s best for me. You always have been, and you always will be.” For a moment he was pleased that he’d managed to distract her from arguing so effectively, but then she was whimpering and pressing against him and he was the one who ended up becoming distracted. It had been far too long since he’d been this close to her, and he forgot about the bruises, forgot about the sling; he even forgot that they were in a tent in the middle of nowhere. None of those things mattered. The only thing that did matter was her, and a quiet groan was lost between them, swallowed up by the kiss, and his hand travelled back down so he could slide an arm around her waist to pull her closer. He echoed her I love you, though it was muffled and disjointed, and he nudged her with his body, just a little, to get her from her side onto her back. But it was very much a request, rather than a demand; if she wanted him to back off, he would without hesitation.
She didn't argue when he said that they couldn't help Cerise, and maybe that was telling. Months ago, she would have insisted. Be here, now, when she'd been so sure he was going to die through a door for a city she didn't care about, it seemed like a silly thing to risk him for a woman she'd just met. It was, possibly, the most selfish and uncaring thing she'd done in her entire life, not arguing with him. But she didn't even think about it, didn't even consider insisting. And he was right about Gus. He was just a little boy, and he deserved a little bit of normal. They couldn't give him much normalcy, but maybe they could keep him from being noticed by a man who had no qualms about killing children. She nodded, agreeing. "Okay," she said, and she didn't feel the tug he did. She would kill to defend someone she loved, but that was a very tiny number of people - him, Gus, and really no one else. She loved Jack, and she loved MK, and she loved Evie, but not enough to kill for them. That was just the truth, and there wasn't anything she could really do about it. She nodded when he asked her to promise to tell him if Cerise contacted her. She would. She knew, right then, that she wasn't even just saying that to agree; she meant it. If someone was threatening him, she would keep it a secret. But if they didn't hit that sweet spot, then she wouldn't hide it from him, not now that she believed he wouldn't pursue the man Cerise was so frightened of.