Lita wonders what he's thinking in the moment where the smile playing around his mouth doesn't quite meet his eyes. It's rare that she catches it; most of the time she writes it off as overthinking or a trick of the light. But sometimes, like now, Lita thinks she sees glimmer of wholly other in those bright blue eyes of his; an ineffable sadness or some unfathomable fear he can't bear to think about, much less put into words. As quickly as it appears the expression is gone and Lita isn't sure she's seen anything at all. It's like trying to catch hold of a dream at the edge of wakefulness; the more you try to keep it in your mind the more it slips away.
Lita tsks at the fading bruise across James' cheekbone, offering a pouty smirk in commiseration. The picture he paints of his childhood friend is a colorful one and Lita listens carefully. She doesn't get a lot of personal details from James unless she specifically asks for them so little snippets of his everyday life seem precious to Lita when given freely. The fact that he's spoken to his buddy about her isn't lost on Lita, either; a warm glow of pleasure fills her up and she bites her lip to try and quell the bright smile from forming there. She does a piss poor job of hiding it but she's not sure she really wanted to in the first place.
"Oh, I think I'd have a few words for this Sarge of yours myself," Lita says playfully. "Something about picking you up in the same shape I left you in. But he's welcome to bellow his displeasure as loud and as long as he wants, I am all ears. But if he's looking for me to say apologize for keeping you for myself for just one night he can keep right on stepping. He should be thankful I haven't done it every night since."
Because of course that's what she wants. There is never enough time and the wanting him never stops. As constant and true as the tide she wishes for him and waits. She can tell him she was tempted she was to hide away with him but there's no way he knows how much. How she laid awake in her cold bed during the reign of terror at the UMCB, sick with fear, thinking of how long it would take in the darkness to find him in that fortress he calls home. How she picked up the phone to call him time and time again only to put it down again right next to the her gun. How she could have a hundred guards with a thousand weapons outside her door and she wouldn't feel as safe as when she's in his arms. She is glad she stayed at the hospital and she's bolstered by his pride in her decision. If he kept harping on her about it, it would only mean he didn't think she could stand on her own. And here she is, standing right in front of him.
So when he averts his eyes and says what he says, Lita is not entirely sure she's heard him correctly. Maybe its the endorphin rush from sparring, or the just the giddy feeling she gets just having him near after so long but her mind rejects it. She listens hard to what he's saying, what he's asking her, and it echoes in her brain like the sweetest song she's ever heard.
He's looking at his hands so she takes them in hers, wrapping them around her waist. Her arms go around his neck and she wants to look away too but she doesn't.
"I never say the right thing," she says, peering up to his face. She's sweaty and her voice is thick with some emotion she's too dumb to name and her heart is beating so fast and hard against her rib cage that Lita thinks he must be able to feel it but she doesn't care.
"And I may never have the sense to give you something special like a gun or a necklace to show you how I feel. All I can say is there's no one else, not for me. I want you. I don't want anyone else. How could I? Not when I'm already yours."
She kisses him and it's a question; soft and tentative. It's an out, if he wants it. She's all in, there's not a doubt in her mind but she'll give him this chance to walk away because after this there's no going back, not for her.