Who: Adam and Daryl What: Talking about feelings Where: Bathos 104 When: Monday Evening Warnings: The usual emotional rollercoaster that is Adam and Daryl.
The rest of the day had been a blur for Daryl. She called a janitor to the back room she had dirtied, blaming a poorly cooked lunch despite the fact that it was obvious from her stomach contents that she hadn’t eaten for some time. The man either didn’t notice or didn’t want to bother her, because he just smiled and cleaned it up. She spent the rest of the afternoon searching through missing children files, trying to see the face burned into her memory. But several hours had yielded nothing, and she was too tired and raw to continue.
Upon returning to the Bathos, she considered just going to her apartment and sleeping. But she stared at the hallway to the first floor, fixated on the door she could almost see from the lobby. Something inside her stirred. Her heart was racing, breaths growing shallow, and she knew her adrenaline production had spiked. Her mouth was going dry, and though she couldn’t see her own eyes, she was sure her pupils had dilated. This was fight or flight. Sympathetic nervous system.
With a shaky breath, she forced herself down the hallway, removing her gloves as she went. Reaching the door to 104, she knocked, looking up expectantly. She was sure he was home. He had to be. What if he wasn’t? Then the stimulus would stay in her brain, making her panic and shake, and there’d be no release. It would stay forever and-
The door opened, and her eyes managed to grow even bigger as she looked up at him. Her complexion was ashy and blotchy. Her face, which had once been a mask of neutrality, betrayed the panic vibrating inside of her. She didn’t say a word, didn’t smile, and merely walked forward. It was a slow, fluid process by which she took his face in her hands and pulled him close. Her bare palms settled against his cheeks, fingers threading through his hair as she beckoned him closer. She could feel even her lips trembling as she kissed him, every muscle in her body vibrating. The kiss was easy - the next part wouldn’t be. He certainly wasn’t expecting this end to his day.
After the feelings started, he’d left work. He remembered the last time nonsense like this had happened, and he didn’t want a repeat. So he went home, taking his work with him, and made a work space on the floor, surrounded by pillows. He fell on his pencil once, leaving a nice puncture mark on the inside of his arm, and it annoyed him. In the end stopped working in favor of laying on the couch and watching moronic reruns of I Found a Genie in a Bottle on the Beach. He hated that show.
When the knock came at his door, he answered it, half-asleep from dozing off on the couch. Seconds later, he was wide awake and staring at Daryl’s closed eyelids. She was shaking, and he couldn’t stand it, so he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, leaning into the kiss. With a smile, he pulled back, resting his forehead on hers. “Hello, sweetheart. This is a lovely surprise.” Feeling his arms around her waist was a comfort, and now she knew why. It made her dizzy just to think of it, and she was supremely grateful that he was keeping her upright. Her breath mingled with his as he spoke, tickling her skin and sending shivers down her spine. She slid her hands from his face to his neck, lacing her fingers at his nape and holding him close. “I should have called ahead, but-” She verbally fumbled, the words lost. “I...didn’t.”
She paused, looking directly into his eyes at such a range that he was nearly a blur. “I trust that you have had...odd experiences today.” Her hold on him was intimate, somehow different than it had been in the past. With her palms bare, pressed to his skin, it was even more intimate. Nothing touched Daryl’s palms. He should have wondered at the closeness, but instead focused on the stumbling speech. “I did,” he agreed. “One of you.” He licked his lips. “When you were kidnapped. I heard what you said to him, about dying.” He gave her forehead a light kiss. “You’re amazing, you know.” The fact that memories about her kidnapping even still existed was a strange insult to her pride. And the fact that Adam had received one, lived in her head when she was at her weakest, was almost enough to make her vomit again. No one was supposed to see that. No one was supposed to know how she had been frail, fragile, breakable. There was obvious tension in her body - though she continued to tremble - that left just slightly when he kissed her forehead. “Oh,” was all she said. She hadn’t been expecting him to say anything to her between opening the door and listening to what she needed to say. She was stymied: nothing in her head but that simple “oh.”
She paused, hoping he didn’t try to fill the silence, as she put her thoughts together. “I received one from you as well,” she said, voice awkward and halting. “It was...unexpected and strong.” She was dancing around it, skirting the issue, but she didn’t care. It was hard enough on its own. “And at first, I thought that...it was an experience utterly foreign to me.” She pulled back only enough to look at him properly, fingers still clasped behind his neck. “But as I examined it further, I came to the realization that...it wasn’t...”
Why was this so difficult? Despite her best efforts, she felt her eyes burn and sting, the words halting and frail on her tongue. This hurt. It ached and broke her up inside, even though looking at him was the most wonderful thing in the world. “It aided me in assessing my own feelings towards you, and all...that implies. And. I have concluded that I am experiencing...the emotional state that could be described by...the word that is...love.” The second it came out, her insides tightened. She looked sick and nervous, frail and vulnerable, and felt even worse. This wasn’t fair. This really, really wasn’t fair. He watched her warily, wondering what she had received from him. It was worse, he thought, to know some feeling or memory of his was given to her than to have experienced one of hers himself. Then again, perhaps she felt the same way. She likely did. They were similar enough that she probably didn’t like the idea of someone having her thoughts and feelings anymore than he liked it.
Silent, he listened, hating how awkward she was, not liking that something he had done or felt contributed to her discomfort. His own discomfort grew, along with a certain sense of dread, the more she spoke.
He was numb by the time she finished, and for several seconds didn’t even realize she said she loved him. He stared down at her, his face blank as he processed her words. Then he seized her in a tight hug, pulling her against his chest and holding her. He wanted to tell her he loved her back, but it seemed to him that words would ruin more than add, so he stayed silent. He also had the niggling suspicion that if he tried to speak, he would fail. When all she got was blankness, her insides started to rip. What had she said? No. What hadn’t she said? Wasn’t this what people said when they cared? Had he stopped caring? Had she miscalculated? Her head was spinning, worry crashing down on her, and she almost stopped breathing. She was searching, begging, hoping for something - anything - in his face that told her she wasn’t alone on this limb.
As he pulled her close, she let out a small choking sound, returning the tight embrace. Did this mean he returned her feelings? Was he humoring her? She couldn’t tell anymore, and it was terribly upsetting. So she just held on to him, heart still racing, breaths shallow and swift. He held to her, relief rushing through him so hard and fast it nearly made him ill. Now he was shaking, too, his breaths as harsh and shallow as hers. One of his hands slid into her hair, and it was a great effort of will that kept him from clenching down. He didn’t want to pull, didn’t want to hurt.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, trying to figure out what to say to her. Three words. Three words, but those three words were abused, trampled on. He knew her relationship with her family wasn’t as good as his own, making him fear the reception would be worse. “I cherish you, sweetheart, more than my own life.” His lips brushed the side of her face in a light, gentle kiss. Though she was still shaking, overcome with the shock and exhaustion that followed letting out such a personal slip of information, Daryl relaxed as he murmured his reply. His fingers in her hair were divine, soft and gentle, and she closed her eyes in response to the touches. The kiss to her cheek earned a sigh, prompting her to rock closer to him as if she could crawl inside of him if she tried hard enough.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she said softly, brushing her thumb over the nape of his neck. “My life is hardly noteworthy without yours.” “And mine would be empty without you to engage me,” he replied. He nuzzled closer to her, holding her loosely in the circle of his arms, but no less possessively.