log: luke/wren, marvel Who: Luke & Wren What: Reunions, sort of. (1/3) Where: Their (new) house. When: Recently. Warnings/Rating: None.
She was worried. She was upset a little, letdown a little, but mostly she was worried.
She finished up early, handing off her last two shoots to someone who would probably steal her clients. She didn't care, and it didn't matter, and she hadn't seen Luke in forever, and now something was wrong. She felt guilt, and it was dark and miasma inside her, and she wondered if whatever had gone wrong was her fault. She hadn't done anything, but if she'd been home, would it have happened? She created monsters in her mind. Terrible scenarios with teeth and claws, and at least he was safe. She knew he was safe, and the kids were safe, still in Italy and due to return once the house was ready.
The house worried her too. It was beautiful, and she hadn't even seen it in person, and she knew it was beautiful. But she'd pushed for it, and the more distance she put between asking and receiving, the worse she felt for having asked. She wanted an itty bitty life, and she'd promised Luke she wouldn't force that on him, and yet she had. She always did, and it was cycles now. He proposed, and she made him marry her that very day, and it had all been the same since then, and maybe this time apart had made it loom. It loomed and it loomed, and by the time she climbed out of the cab in front of the house, she could barely breathe from the pressure against her chest.
She stood there, and the sun was barely in the sky, and she watched the cab driver leave. She stood there, and the sidewalk was clean and swept, and she'd always thought Queens felt like a pretty place to live. She turned, feet still, still, and she looked at the neighborhood. She took in as much as she could without moving her feet, turn here, turn there, and then she looked at the house again. It was beautiful. It really, really was, and she tried to move her feet forward, but she couldn't.
She bit her lip, and she bunched the fabric of her cream-colored dress in one hand. Her hair was pale, pale blonde again, and she wasn't sure if she liked it, but she knew other people did. She looked older, but people noticed more this way, and that had been the goal a little. The dress fit like a glove, shoulder to knee, spaghetti straps and a neckline that promised things. She had a cardigan over her arm that matched, and her heels were high, high. Her camera bag hung from one shoulder, heavy enough to weigh her arm down a little, and Lia's binky hanging from its little clip and tapping against her hip without her realization. She'd been living out of a suitcase, and it was at her shin, but she didn't pick it up.
Butterflies fluttered their wings in her belly, and that was silly. She couldn't tell if Luke was home, not with the garage closed and the subway so near. It was still too early for lights, but it felt like the dark would slide into place at a moment's notice. She stayed, wanting the dark to come, wanting to see what the house looked like when the sun went down. She steadied the suitcase with one hand, and she sat on the edge, perched, and it wasn't very comfortable, but that really, really didn't matter. She was worried.
There wasn’t any reason for Wren to come home early, instead of him meeting her later as planned, and Luke wished he’d found a way to convince her it was no big deal. Which, okay, wasn’t true, but it wasn’t bad. Big, yeah, but not bad.
Not really.
He didn’t go straight home. He had to wait for Wren to get off work anyway, and he didn’t want to be in the house alone for hours, with boxes and half-assembled furniture, so he went to see the kids to kill some time. And, honestly, seeing Gus and Lia always made him feel better, always calmed his nerves; they were the next best reassurance aside from Wren. Time there passed quickly before he kissed them goodbye and left them in the warm sun, waving at his back, and once he crossed back through he headed home. He didn’t need a car; he liked walking. Before the pulse he’d been in shape, and now that was even more true, which meant that he rarely got winded or tired. He wasn’t calm, but he wasn’t angry either; he was just sad. Thomas showing up in New York had thrown him for a loop, and the fact that they’d actually had a civil, borderline friendly, visit left him even more shaken up. It probably made no sense at all, but at least anger was familiar. Anger he could handle. This, this was old emotions, the ghost of a boy who’d craved his idol’s approval, regrets and so much hurt. He kept telling himself that one day he’d demand answers, but deep down he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be capable of it. Once, once he’d stood up to Thomas, defied him, but he’d been in so much pain then; he wanted to leave that part of his life in the past. He thought he had.
But he hadn’t. He couldn’t look at Thomas and feel nothing. He loved him as much as he hated him, more, even, and that was what made it so hard.
It felt like an eternity, the walk home. He thought about Thomas’s ‘faction’. He thought about the danger he was in, about how to minimize the risk to his family. Those were the important things. But still, still, he kept coming back to something so trivial and mundane; did Thomas really want to see him again? Wasn’t he the black sheep, the broken toy, the lost son? Was he stupid to care so much?
Maybe. Probably.
After everything, he just wanted to see Wren. All of this would be okay so long as he had her; she gave him strength he just didn’t have on his own. And he’d missed her, too; his pace quickened as he neared the house. But he wasn’t expecting to see someone outside, and he recognized her even from a distance. Faster, faster still, and he didn’t slow even when he got close. He didn’t ask what she was doing there, either, sitting on a suitcase. He reached out to pull her to her feet, to yank her into a hug, and he knew he was probably holding her too tight; he didn’t care.
“Hi.” He pulled back, just a little. “You dyed your hair.” A beat. “Nice dress.” He kissed her without warning, a desperate thing; all the while he’d been in that office with Thomas he’d just wanted her. “I missed you.”
She was expecting a very different greeting.
Calm, maybe, and polite, and she didn't really know why. Maybe that was her own nervous awkwardness, and maybe she was putting it on him. She didn't know what to expect, and it felt like things had unraveled when she wasn't looking. But he was there, and his arms were so familiar, and he yanked her to her feet like nothing had gone wrong, and she'd spent days and nights, nights and days wondering if this was over. "Hi." She mouthed it, no sound, and he kept talking, beat, talk, beat, talk, and the kiss was unexpected. She whimpered, and she wouldn't have made the sound if she'd been thinking, if she'd expected it at all. She whimpered, and she swayed against him in that old and familiar way, like he was a magnet and she was helpless to resist the pull. "I missed you too," she managed, when she finally caught up.
She licked her lips, as if she needed the taste of him to convince herself he was really there, even with the bruise-tight hug.
She pressed the tip of one shoe to the insole of his, and she looked up at him and tried to figure out what was wrong. As if she could read it on his face, but she couldn't, and that left her floundering again, the water around her murky and uncertain.
It was a careful thing, the hand she lifted, the fingers that brushed over one of his eyebrows and traced. She sought familiarity in the arch, and she bit her lip and tried to decide between waiting to see the house shrouded in darkness, and suggesting they go inside.
Around them, things were quiet, but she imagined neighbors looking out windows and assessing based on embraces on sidewalks. She ducked her head, and she looked down at their feet, and she tried to find some grounding in them. She wanted to pull out her camera, but she didn't. and she looked back up at him instead. "Hi," she repeated, and this time there was sound to accompany the movement of her lips. "Hi."
As usual, Luke was blissfully oblivious to the fact that she’d expected something entirely different. Oh, he knew things hadn’t been all that great lately, a culmination of Jack’s problems, superheroes, and lack of communication, but he thought they’d started to make some progress. He didn’t realize she felt like things had unraveled, and maybe that was just because he couldn’t ever imagine a life without her and so, in his mind, there was no possibility of this being over. Some people divorced, some people separated, but not them. Never them. He couldn’t let her go, and she couldn’t let him go, and so while he lacked faith in nearly every aspect of his life he did have faith in them.
He deepened the kiss when she whimpered, and he felt every single minute they’d been apart when she swayed against him. She was saying she’d missed him too, and his hold on her tightened, possessive, a desire to be closer and nothing based in thought. He watched her lick her lips, unabashedly staring, before he managed to lift his gaze when she looked up at him. It took him a couple of seconds to figure out what she was looking for, and he nudged her foot with his when he felt the tip of her shoe against his.
There was no hesitation, no doubt in his mind that he was going to tell her. Thomas hadn’t explicitly stated that they needed to keep his presence a secret, but even if they had Luke wouldn’t have cared. Just like he didn’t care who might be watching or what they might think; he tried to nuzzle against the hand that traced his eyebrow, not wanting to waste even a second of contact. He smiled a little when she ducked her head, and he lifted one hand to brush his fingers over her jaw. “Hey,” he echoed back at her, more his kind of greeting, and his fingers traced her lips. “I didn’t mean to worry you, baby. I’m sorry.” He felt a little guilty about that, about ruining her plans, and his expression turned sheepish. “It’s not that I didn’t want to come. I did want to. I--” He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve really, really missed you.” He bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder at the house. “Do you want to go inside? You can tell me all about your new job, and I’ll tell you who showed up at work and nearly gave me a heart attack.”
She feared over. Over was what woke her at night, sweats and shivers and she'd try to imagine before. Before this. Before the ring on her finger, before Vegas, into that nothing that was the space between New York and the desert. It scared her that she couldn't remember. She'd lived in that nothing for so, so long, and yet she couldn't remember it. There was something bad about that, something that made her uncomfortable; things that left scars beneath the skin should be remembered with perfect clarity, and yet she couldn't. She couldn't, but she knew she wouldn't be able to do it. Over, that tiny word, and she knew she wouldn't be able to.
He held her tighter, and she wondered if it was new, if it was because she'd told him. She kissed him back the same way he kissed her, deep, a tangle of tongues, and she never wanted this to end. But there was a little thing in the back of her mind now, a little niggling thing, and it said he was on his best behavior. The niggling thing, it had her maman's voice, and she wanted it to go away. She wanted a month earlier, two months earlier, when she'd thought this foundation was unshakeable, when she didn't wonder if he stared at her mouth because she'd said he should. He nudged her foot, and she looked down, and she remembered dances in the grass and in the dark, and she wondered if life could be remembered solely in steps taken, together and apart.
She was quiet; that wasn't very new. Maybe she'd said more in past months, but slipping into this was easy, like comfortable slippers and she smiled a little bit when he leaned into the press of her fingertip to his eyebrow. She parted her lips a little when he traced them, damp and an unthinking flick of tongue against his skin. She listened, and she watched as he looked over his shoulder, and she nodded. She didn't care very much about her job, about telling him, but she wanted to know what had him worried. He said he wasn't, but an almost heart attack was worrisome, and his demeanor just made that more sure. She didn't say anything, and it wasn't intentional. She just wanted to get inside, and she wanted to hear, and any words would slow that down. She picked up her suitcase, and it wasn't heavy at all, and she was wide-eyed as she looked at the house while they walked. It looked bigger with each step, looming, and she stopped on the front step, just before the door. She didn't think about it before she did it; she just stopped. She wanted to ask if he was sure they should go inside, if he was sure he wanted this, but she wanted to know what had happened too. So, after a span of heartbeats, she looked at him. "If we go inside, so that you can tell me without anyone hearing, it doesn't mean we need to stay," she promised.
Lost in their kiss, he wasn’t aware of her doubts. He was so, so sure of his feelings for her that he sometimes forgot her insecurities, her tendency to doubt him through no fault of her own. There was a time when she’d questioned everything and it had been so, so hard; he was more patient now, more understanding, but he still had no idea that she was starting to wonder about every little thing he did, wonder whether or not it was genuine. So many people from Seattle were here, now, and his biggest fear was that they’d brought old problems in their wake. Because he’d known, he’d always known, it wasn’t her fault, that her upbringing had made her doubt so many things, but all the understanding in the world didn’t change the fact that it hurt. And maybe she didn’t remember their time apart, but he did. He remembered everything he’d done, remembered the pain and ache of loss, of missing her so badly he wanted to die, and all the times he nearly had. Without her, there was nothing for him. He knew that with the utmost certainty.
But he didn’t know that she wondered. He knew she didn’t think he got jealous anymore, which was insane, but he didn’t yet know how far that belief actually extended.
His gaze dropped to her mouth again, briefly, at the feel of her tongue against his skin, and he dragged his fingers back over her lips, the opposite way, before dropping his hand. Tug, tug, as they made their way up the walkway to the front door, and her wide eyes as she looked at the house made him smile. But then she stopped and he stopped with her, watching; maybe she didn’t want to go in? He cocked his head to the side, puzzled, when she promised that they didn’t need to stay. “Where else would we go?” Maybe she didn’t like it. But she hadn’t even seen the inside, he reassured himself; maybe he hadn’t screwed this up. “It’s ours, the house. We can stay.” He fished in his pocket for the key, and he chewed on the inside of his lip as he unlocked the door, paused, and looked at her. “I want to stay. This is our home now. If you don’t want to-- if you don’t like it, you can tell me,” he assured her, pushing the door open. Now that they were here, he realized, he was nervous. “You can decorate it however you want,” he continued as he tugged her inside, flipping on the lights; it was big, spacious, high ceilings and white, stairs to the right and the kitchen further back in its own space. There were boxes, some furniture he’d managed to track down from their old house, including a sofa, and he watched her expression carefully. A house was a really, really big thing to get wrong, and he so wanted her to like it.
She knew she'd driven him crazy in Seattle. By New York, he was so frustrated with her that she'd lapsed into quiet, but the doubts had still been there. Now, she really, really didn't want to let it fester, and she didn't want to let this go, but she wasn't sure how to make the fears that had taken up residence in her mind go away. She knew him, knew he would try to change himself to be whatever she wanted, to give her whatever she asked for, but she didn't want that. It made talking hard, because she wanted truth. If this was him now, if this was them now, she wanted to know, she wanted to make it okay in her own mind. But she knew she'd have to wait, wait, wait for time to pass, and for him to fall into patterns and normalcy again. When she looked at it that way, she knew already, didn't she? She knew, and that scared her. She knew she needed too much, and she knew she held on too tight. She knew, but she didn't know how to stop, and maybe she should just be happy that he'd given into her suffocating need as long as he had.
When she stopped at the door, she watched worry cloud his features. She saw those old insecurities show again, the ones from ages ago when he was just a boy. She knew he was thinking she didn't like it, that he'd chosen wrong, that the problem was the house itself. She was shaking her head by the time he pushed the door open, but she couldn't find words, and she resisted the tiniest bit when he tugged her inside. She held her breath, like it all might disappear if she only exhaled, and she looked down at her feet to verify she was really and truly inside.
She looked up then, and it felt like a house. It didn't feel like a clapboard on the water in Key West, and she didn't think anyone would ever need to sleep in the closets. There were stairs; she counted them. She stepped away, step, step, but she didn't pull her fingers free of his, arm outstretched. She let the suitcase rest soundlessly on the floor, and she touched one of the white walls, and she listened to the quiet. No houseguests. No people who weren't them, and maybe it would be okay if he wasn't there much. She was working a lot now, and maybe it would be better, okay, better. Her fingers caressed the wall's bright white, and her face was wonder, and she looked over at him once she'd memorized the texture beneath her fingertips.
She licked her lips nervously, and she let her camera bag slide from her shoulder. She noticed the couch then, and she smiled and forgot her fears for just a moment. She let go his fingers as she walked toward it, and she dropped down onto it with an ease that was incongruous with the sheath dress and the vixen heels. "You found it," she said, which was silly, because of course he had. She bit her lip. "If you want a different kind of life," she finally added. "I mean, I kind of pushed for this, and I said I wouldn't, but I did. If you want a different kind of life, we don't have to stay."
They'd spent Seattle and New York caught in a maddening cycle, one he thought they'd finally gotten past. But maybe he was too optimistic, maybe he had more faith and trust in the strength of their relationship than she did. Whenever he seemed to think things were okay they never were, and then he tried to fix it, but she thought she was just forcing him into things and it was so hard to get her to believe otherwise. He was completely, obsessively in love with her, and he just wanted her to know that, to see. He didn't want her to doubt, didn't want her to fear losing him; she didn't need to. She might have thought she needed too much, held on too tight, but he loved it, loved her possessiveness and her need. He just wanted her to believe he felt the same way about her, but she didn't always, and he sometimes had a hard time figuring out why that changed.
The way she shook her head, her brief resistance before she let him tug her into the house, weren't exactly reassuring. They'd talked before she went to Harry Potter, and okay, he'd probably messed something up by making her worry and change her plans, but he could sense that it wasn't just that. Was the time apart too much? Had she changed her mind? It made his panic spike, and he squeezed her hand too tight before he caught himself and relaxed his hold. He watched her as she looked around, as she touched the walls, and the wonder in her expression at least managed to soothe him a little.
He was loathe to lose her touch, but he let her go as she moved towards the couch. She'd smiled, which was good, and his expression turned fond, fond, as she sat. "Yeah," he said, of having found the couch, but then she went on and he realized, then, that this wasn't really about the house. It was about them, and they hadn't made much progress at all. He didn't respond at first; instead he went to the couch and sat beside her, close, and reached to entwine his fingers with hers. "What kind of life do you think I want?"
The fact that she was standing there, and not on a bus headed across a landscape of green and mountains, it meant they'd gotten past it a little, even if she didn't feel like it just then. She didn't want to run. She'd stayed in the city during their time apart, and she'd missed him, and it hadn't occurred to her to go far away. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she thought, but fear made it seem big and deep, and she always worried they wouldn't be able to come back from the bad things that happened. She worried that something would be so bad that it would ruin them, and it scared her, terrified her, made her wake up at night sobbing and with her fist shoved into her mouth so he wouldn't hear. It had been worse here, where things had changed and she didn't really know where she stood with anything at all in her life.
She watched with greedy eyes as he approached the couch, as he sat, and she wanted so much for this all to be enough for him. She wanted it as much as she wanted oxygen in her lungs, but she didn't know how to say it without it feeling like she was trying to drown him. So she just let him entwine his fingers with hers, and she looked down at the tangle of fingertips, and she shook her head. "Non. You have something to tell me," she reminded him, because this was selfish, and selfish wasn't going to make anything better. She moved a tiny bit closer, edge, edge, until her knees touched his, and she motioned to the space around them. "It's beautiful. It's really, really beautiful," she said, and she meant it, and she bit her lip and hoped he believed her.
Part of her just wanted to blurt out words, to say that she didn't know why things felt strange, to tell him she didn't like it. She wanted to, but there were other things, more important things, and maybe this was better than what she'd had planned for the night anyway. They hid in sex too much lately, didn't they? It was easy to blame not talking on kids and sex and their lives. But it was easier; it would be easier to lean forward, kiss him, coax him out of that shirt. She didn't think he was jealous anymore, and maybe she didn't think he wanted her like he had once, but she knew he wouldn't turn her away. It wasn't that bad, it wasn't, it wasn't. "Tell me who showed up?"
Okay, so maybe it had occurred to him that she could have easily taken off during their time apart and he wouldn't have known until it was too late; some fears never died, never went away, and that was one of them. But he tried really, really hard to have faith, to believe that she wouldn't go that far again. If she did run he'd chase her, of course, but her leaving the first time had left scars where no one could see and old wounds would be reopened if she ever did it again. He had abandonment issues, he knew he did, but he couldn't help it. And she was still here, right? That had to count for something. She got scared, sometimes, but he could always pull her back. And, since nothing could possibly be worse than losing her, he didn't worry as much as she did about bad things tearing them apart. Not on his end, at least.
He nudged her knee with his when she moved closer, and he knew that once he started talking about Thomas, once he went down that road, turning back would be hard. Whatever was wrong between them would be left there to fester, and that would just make things worse. He couldn't let that happen, not when she was the most important thing in his life; he just wanted, so very badly, for them to be okay. He smiled a little when she said the house was beautiful, giving her fingers a squeeze. "I'm glad you like it. I hoped you would," he told her. The house was easy, just like intimacy was; no matter how bad things got, sex was one thing they never had problems with. And maybe they did use it to hide, sometimes, but he didn't think it was a bad thing. Sex could never be a bad thing, not when it was with her. He wanted her as he always had, and he was jealous of every man who wanted her, and he couldn't understand how she would ever be able to think otherwise.
But then he had to focus on her question, and he shook his head. "No. Not yet. We have all night to talk about who showed up, and this, us," he gave her fingers another squeeze, "is more important." His expression softened. "Talk to me, Wren. What's wrong?"
He nudged her knee, and she looked down and the press of his pants against the hem of her skirt. Again, she longed for her camera. If things were different, she would've told him to stay, stay, and she would've gone to grab the discarded bag, and he might need to get used to her seeing the world through a lens. But she liked it, and it felt more hers here than it had in Vegas, where she'd only been playing at it. She'd never been good at anything that didn't involve spreading her thighs, and this was new. But things were strained, and she could feel it in the air around them, and she didn't move. She didn't even let air slip between that press of pants against hem, as if that could ruin everything, just that little bit of space. She squeezed his fingers, a return thing that required no thinking, and she looked around the space again. "I can't believe it's ours," she said, and maybe that wasn't the right thing to say when she was making offers to give it all up, but it was beautiful, and she couldn't keep the words from tumbling past her lips.
"It's beautiful," she echoed, and she looked back at him. He squeezed her fingers again, and she shook her head. "It's not more important," she argued, but it wasn't really an argument at all. It was quiet, and it was worried, and she sighed and the sound echoed against the bare walls. "This isn't what you wanted," she finally said, one hand used to motion to the space around them. "I was trying to make sure you had what you wanted, and I ended up asking for something that was completely different, and I didn't mean to." It was an apology, a promise, and she looked at his face and bit her lip. She wanted him to understand, but she knew she wasn't good at making people view the world through her broken lens. "This is what I want. It's not what you want." She'd learned selfishness late, and she'd learned it slow, and now she was having trouble excising it from beneath her skin. It was easy with him, because he tried so hard to give her what she wanted, and it was easy to take, and it was easy to forget that maybe what she wanted wasn't the same as what he wanted.
He’d already pieced together that the camera had something to do with her new job; she’d always liked photography, and if he was right then he was really, really glad she’d sound something to do that didn’t involve her taking off her clothes. Not only was he jealous, but he thought she deserved so much better. He always wanted that for her, better, more, happiness, and he didn’t think she really understood--or believed--that if she was happy, so was he. He liked that she returned the gesture, squeezed his fingers back; it was reassuring. “It is ours, I promise,” he told her. Permanence, like they’d had back in Vegas, was finally theirs and it was a long time coming. He knew it was partly his fault, knew he’d become obsessed with mutants and the Mansion and being part of that, but he’d finally come to his senses. He hadn’t belonged there. What didn’t occur to him, at least not yet, was that she still thought he wanted that kind of life. He’d thought he had, admittedly. But he’d had time to think, to really think, and he realized he’d made a mistake, and all these actual mutants showing up just made him even more certain he’d done the right thing by deciding to leave.
There was no way she was going to persuade him otherwise, and so he waited for her to explain. Thomas could wait. Instinct made him want to object as soon as she said this wasn’t what he wanted, loudly and emphatically, but he forced himself to bite back the words. That brief encounter with Thomas had reminded him that he still had a lot of work to do in controlling his anger, and getting mad wasn’t going to fix things. It was true that he always tried to give her what she wanted, that he’d put his own wants and needs aside in a heartbeat to make sure she was happy, but he wanted this, too. It made him wonder what she thought he actually wanted, and why, and somehow he had to make her see that she was wrong. He shook his head. “You sound so sure that this isn’t what I want,” he said, finally. “Why?” He tugged on her fingers a little. “And If it’s not this, then what is it that you think I do want?”
She didn't say anything when he assured her the house was really, really theirs. She was quiet, because she couldn't go around and touch everything like she wanted to, plan like she wanted to, dream like she wanted to, not if they weren't going to stay. If she asked if he meant it, he would say oui, and then he'd feel like he could never, ever take it back. She didn't want that, so she didn't say anything. Though maybe she craned the tiniest bit to look in the kitchen, and to try to see to the top of the staircase. She almost said they needed a baby gate, because Lia was pulling herself up on everything now, and she'd be walking any day. The little girl liked to coast; it was her new favorite thing, and she'd got from one end of a table to the other, as long as she could reach the top for a handhold. The only thing the baby liked more was her binky, and Gus tended to dutifully keep an eye out and retrieve it whenever Lia managed to lose it, which she did dozens of times each hour.
He asked things, and she wasn't really expecting that. She didn't expect him to be mad, not exactly, but she expected frustration, maybe. Instead, he asked things, and she had to stop and compose answers that made sense, words for the things in her head. She tugged on his fingers again, an answering pull that was thoughtless, instinct, just like her leaning forward when he talked was. "Because it's not," she said of why she knew this wasn't what he wanted. She didn't know how else to say it, how else to express that certainty. But she bit her lip again, and she paused, and she tried. "You want the Mansion, or something like that. You want to be part of a team, to do something bigger, to help people. You want to train, and there's nowhere to train here. You want to be around people who want the same things as you, and who talk about the same things you do." The words were tumbling faster now, and she wasn't really thinking as she talked, not anymore. "You want more that this tiny little life, and I don't think you want a desk job, but there are bills and responsibilities, so you do it, even if you don't want to. I hold you back. I hold you back from doing things like rescuing Jack, and from getting involved when there are aliens or hallucinogens. If I wasn't here, you'd stay, and you'd help save people. Because I'm here, you have to be with us, and it's not who you are, and it's not what you want. I hold you back. We hold you back, and it doesn't how much I change myself," she motioned at her hair, at the dress, at the heels,"I'm still me, and I still hold you back." She finished, the words ending abruptly, a hard stop.
He noticed her quiet, and he didn't take it as agreement. If things had been different, maybe, but they weren't, and she didn't even think he wanted any of this. While she'd been gone he'd thought about renovations, about how they could make it more of a home, and he'd imagined Gus and Lia growing up here. She'd take her first steps in this very room, maybe, and finally, finally, they could have the permanence he'd always wanted. After everything they'd been through, after she'd known the hell his life was when she left him, he didn't understand how she could think he wanted anything else.
Again, he made himself listen instead of interrupting, but it was even harder than before. Plain and simple, he didn't like being told what he wanted. It was an old, old thing, from a time when everyone around him had thought they knew best, and he squeezed her fingers a little too tight as he tried to keep his temper in check. Getting angry wouldn't help, it wouldn't; he repeated it over and over in his mind to make it stick.
"You're wrong." Miraculously, he managed to keep his voice steady. "All of that, Wren, it's what you think I want." He let out a deep, deep breath. "It's partly my fault. I know. I thought I wanted the Mansion, I thought that was where I fit. I thought I could. But I was wrong, baby, I was. You were figuring stuff out while you were away? Well, so was I. And I figured out that the Mansion, the mutants, it's not for me. I'm not one of them," he explained. "I'm not, and I don't want to be. Do I want to help people? Yeah, I do. I think a part of me always will. But I don't have to be part of the X-Men or some stupid superhero team to do that. And as for who I want to be around," and here his voice started to tremble, "I can't believe you would say that. I want to be around you, and our friends, and our kids. I have all that. I don't need anyone else. You don't hold me back, damn it, you make me think before I do stupid shit." He was trying to breathe, to stay calm, but it wasn't working very well. "All I've ever wanted is this, so how can you-- how can you say--" He dragged in a sharp, sharp breath and stood abruptly, yanking his fingers free from hers. He couldn't stay sitting, and he couldn't stay calm, and his voice was all over the place.
"You really think I don't want to be with you? With the kids? That I, what, wish you were all gone so I could do whatever the fuck I want?" He shook his head. "If you weren't here, I'd be dead! How do you not get that by now, Wren? How can you not understand that nothing matters without you? All I've ever wanted is a life with you, and I never thought I'd have it. Now I do, and I know I don't deserve it, but don't sit there and tell me this isn't what I want!" His voice broke, then, and he stared at her helplessly, shoulders shaking.
When he squeezed her fingers a little too tight, she blinked, but that was all the indication she gave that she'd noticed, that it hurt, that anything was wrong. She was used to his temper; it was an old friend, and she never, ever thought he would actually hurt her. She would never back away from him, never cower, and she knew she was safe, and that the kids were safe, however bad his temper might be. She wasn't blind to how bad it was; she just trusted him to keep it in check unless she drew it out deliberately, and sometimes she did.
He explained things, and she didn't believe him, not at first. She was so very sure that he would say whatever was necessary to soothe her, and it was easy to believe this was just more of that. She stayed calm when he started explaining, and even the little bit of doubt that came when he let out that deep, deep breath wasn't enough to really make her worry, not yet. Not until his voice began to tremble, and then it was harder to stay still, harder to listen, harder not to interrupt. But he'd let her talk, and she wanted to do the same for him.
Until he stood.
She watched him, and she scooted to the edge of the couch, and it was only the cursing as he shook his head that kept her still for a moment longer. She listened until his voice broke, and she stayed seated until his voice broke, and then she was on her feet and moving toward him.
There was a tiny bit of hesitation as she approached, as she neared, as she reached out her hands to touch his shaking shoulders. Her nails were perfectly manicured, blood red and a perfect accompaniment for the vamp dress and heels. "I never said I don't think you want us. I think you want us. I said I think you want another kind of life." Maybe that didn't make much sense, but it did to her, and she lifted one hand from his shoulder and motioned at the house. "I want to find a way to give you what you want, and to still have all this, and I just don't know how. What if you decide you hate this life? What if you want to go back to the Mansion? I know the kids make it hard, I do, but I have a good job now, and we can afford a sitter that comes whenever we're not here. We can do things that you want to do. I'll be better about that, and I'm not going to be a boring housewife now. I just want you to be happy. I want you to be happy with us, and I still want you to have the things you want too. Not without us. I don't think you don't want us. I just think you want more."
It was a lot of words, and she worried that they didn't make sense, but this was never her strong point. Getting him to understand, she was never good at that. He always got angry, and she expected him to yell, and that was okay too. "Don't say you don't deserve me. It's not true. It isn't, and wanting to be with me, loving me, it doesn't mean you're happy. It doesn't, Luke," she said sadly.
No matter how angry he became, he would never, ever hurt her, never hurt the kids. Oh, he yelled, and he always regretted it later, but that was it. His temper wasn't a threat to them, not like it was to the rest of the world. Part of him registered that she didn't pull away or cower, and he was grateful for it. He didn't think he'd be able to live with himself if she became afraid of him.
It was always, always a lose-lose situation when he tried to convince her of things, because she took everything he said as only what she wanted to hear even if it was true. She never believed him, and he just didn't know what to do, he didn't. Words didn't work, and showing her took time. Just once, he wished she could trust him in this as much as he trusted her. But wishing never changed anything, and deep down he knew it wasn't her fault, wasn't what she wanted, even if it was hard to remember sometimes. And maybe trying to keep calm was pointless, because there was no way he could sit there and listen to what she was saying without reacting. He already felt vulnerable, raw, after seeing Thomas, which made it so much harder to keep his emotions in check. His breath hitched when she stood, and he stayed where she was as she approached, let her come closer without moving away. For a second his gaze dropped to her hands when she put them on his shoulders, and then he reached up, took hold of her wrists, so she couldn't move away and put space between them.
"You said-- you said I have to be here, with you and the kids, and that's not what I want," he told her, shaking his head. "You said that's not who I am." And it hurt, it did, that she believed that. "You have this-- this idea of what you think I want, and it's wrong, and I just want you to see that. What am I going to hate, Wren? What? Having a house? Coming home? Is that really who you think I am?" His voice wavered again, but he breathed, in and out, in and out, and it helped a little. "I don't want to go back to the Mansion. I thought I could help people that way, but I can't, and I realize that now," he explained. "I don't want to leave the kids with a fucking sitter to go play vigilante either. I stopped doing that for a reason, and I can't go back to it. I can't. If I start, I won't-- I won't be able to keep it non lethal, and then I won't be able to stop, and I don't want to be that person again. I wasn't happy then. I was miserable. I hated myself so, so much." His voice turned mournful. "I know you want me to be happy, baby, but you never, ever believe me when I say I am."
He wasn't sure how to make her understand, and that scared him a little. He shook his head when she told him not to say he didn't deserve her, because it was true, even if she couldn't admit it. "It doesn't mean I'm not happy either," he insisted. "I want to be with you. I want to be with the kids. I want us to stay here, and I want you to decorate it however you want, and I want us to have a life together, something permanent." He exhaled. "Maybe SHIELD isn't for me, but that's nothing to do with you, Wren. Back in Vegas, I wanted to find a way to help people-- but I wanted to do it the right way. If this job doesn't work out, if it doesn't make me happy, I can go to the NYPD. They'll take me. But you can't blame yourself for everything, you can't, and... you have to try to believe me. I wouldn't lie to you about something like this," he told her, tugging on her wrists in earnest.
The hold on her wrists felt like permanence. Like the house, it made her want forever, and she was increasingly worried that forever wouldn't happen. It wasn't really logical, and she knew that. It wasn't one thing, either. It was things and things and things, all piled up, up, up, and she twisted her wrists beneath his hands, just to make sure he was real, there, close, touching her.
"You're not happy," she said, and it was mournful, and it was sad, and she really believed it. "You were doing all kinds of things until I told you it bothered me, and now you want to change everything, and it's just because I said. If I hadn't, I don't think we would be here. We'd probably still be at the Mansion, and we went there because you were going there all the time, remember? You didn't tell me you wanted to, and by the time I figured it out, it was already bad, and I didn't know, and then we went. What if you want something now, but you're just not telling me? What if it's just like that? How do I know?" she asked, and it was a wail, a need to understand how she'd missed all the signs for months and months. Even Evie had managed to figure it out before she did, and she thought she knew Luke better than anyone. "You wanted to go back to it. You don't have to be lethal here. There are lots of heroes here, and they don't kill anyone, and you can be like them," she said, and she was really trying to be supportive, she was, but she didn't quite know what to support anymore. She was confused, and maybe she just wasn't smart enough for this, and it showed in her wide grey eyes, that she just didn't understand what he needed. That shook her more than anything, because she'd always thought she knew, she'd always been really, really sure she knew.
She did believe that he wanted something permanent with her and the kids, she believed that, but she wasn't sure how much time he wanted them to take up in his life, and she didn't really understand the balance, and maybe that was at the heart of this. He tugged on her wrists, and she tugged back. She let her hands fall to her sides, but she didn't move away from him. She stood there a second, and she looked at him. Her eyes welled with tears, but she wasn't going to cry, she wasn't. They needed to talk about this, and she didn't want to end up here again, which meant she needed to say things. But saying things scared her so much.
She moved away, and she wandered to the stairs. She glanced up the staircase, and she wondered if the rooms upstairs were as white as the downstairs, and she liked the cleanliness of it. The whiteness reminded her of the Keys, too, and she understood that in a really, really distant way. She sat on the third step, and she let the stilettos fall to the floor. She rubbed her face, and then she tipped her head up to look at him across the room, her eyes overflowing and she just didn't care anymore. "I don't want to suffocate you. I mean, I do, and that's the problem. You never talked to me, and you weren't home much, and then we moved somewhere else, and then the kids moved, and there were always people. Even in the house, at the beginning, there were people, and there were other people's kids, and I have no idea what you want our life to be here. Now you're saying all these things, but I know you're scared I'll leave, so I don't know if it's just you being scared. I don't want you to do or say things if you're scared. I'm not leaving. I'm not. I just want to know what to do. I got a job, and I tried to make myself more like I was before, and then maybe it'll be like Las Vegas at the beginning, but I don't feel like that, and I don't know how to make it better, Luke."
He was quiet when she said he wasn't happy. Quiet, and he tried to focus on the feel of her skin between his fingers, to remind himself that she was there and that none of this meant she was going to leave. "I remember," he said, still quiet, and the guilt was a sharp ache between his ribs. If he hadn't been so stupid, so obsessed with the idea of finally being a real hero, none of this would be happening. How could he be mad at her when he only had himself to blame? "I made a mistake, Wren. I didn't talk to you and I should have. I'm glad you told me it bothered you, that's how it works. Sometimes I get caught up and I don't see things, but I do now. I don't belong at the Mansion. We don't. I thought it was what I wanted. I'm just-- I'm sorry I put you through all that." And he was. He'd dragged her to a place she didn't want to be, and he'd kept trying to blindly force something that wasn't working. "How do you know? Because I know now, Wren. I want things to change because I realize they have to, that I want them to. It's not just because you said. I think I would've realized the Mansion wasn't right for us eventually, but all the things you said, they made me think about the kind of life I want, about the future I want, and it's this." He tugged on her wrists again. "I just lost sight of that for a while," he admitted, guilt layered on guilt.
As for being like the other heroes, he just shook his head. "I thought it could be different, but it can't. I can't. I can't do that anymore, Wren. I know you'll tell me I'm good and decent but you've always thought I was better than I really am, always." He sighed. "I stopped for a reason. I-- I know myself, and I know-- if I go back, I know what'll happen." He couldn't control himself before the pulse, and that had just made things worse. Once he started down that road he knew exactly where it would lead, and if he started killing people again he'd be lost.
Maybe the problem was that he didn't really understand what he needed either. In Vegas he finally thought he'd found it, but then they'd come here and he'd had to start all over. He knew he needed Wren and the kids, but beyond that it was just one big unknown, and with the pulse he'd thought maybe that was some kind of sign. Stupid. Jack had realized it first, that he didn't belong at the Mansion, that he wasn't one of them. He should have seen it then. His expression turned sad when she dropped her hands, and he looked back at her, really looked, until she moved away. That hurt, and he almost just sat down, right there, because this was all just too much. Maybe this conversation had to happen but with everything happening, Thomas and so much of their past showing up and reminding him of things that left scars, it was really hard to handle. He sensed rather than saw her sit down, and he heard the shoes fall; he didn't actually look up until she started talking. Even then he lapsed back into quiet, and he didn't move, not right away. He watched her for a few seconds, more quiet, and then he moved, making his way around the couch and to the stairs. He didn't sit beside her; no, he knelt on the stair below her instead, and he tugged her knees apart, and maybe that was unfair but he didn't care. He wanted to be close, and he wanted her to listen.
"We've never really been alone together, not like this. I know." He cupped her face in his hands, fingers on her jaw to keep her looking at him. "I think part of me will always be scared that you'll leave," he admitted. "I can't help that. And I know it's easy to believe I'll just say whatever you want me to stay to keep you here. But--" He chewed on his lip. "In Vegas, Wren, I finally had everything figured out. I had you and the kids, and I had a job I liked. I'd never had that before. I was helping people the right way, and it was good. Then we ended up here, and I felt like-- like I had no idea what to do. I was stuck with SHIELD, and then the pulse happened, and I thought-- I thought maybe that was how I could fit in here." He hesitated. "It's not that you and the kids weren't enough. I wasn't enough. I lost the job I liked, and I lost the people I worked with, and I just kept trying so hard to find that again. But I was looking in all the wrong places, and I pushed you away, which was never, ever what I wanted. I just-- I just wanted to feel like I deserved you and the kids, like I mattered, and I know you say I do, I know," and his voice wavered again, but he kept on going. "But I've done so many bad things, Wren, and in Vegas I felt like maybe-- maybe I could make up for it, maybe I could try, and you want to know what to do but so do I." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I miss having a job that I'm proud of. And-- I felt like you could be proud of me, too. See, it's not you. You don't have to change you. I've just spent my whole life with the only thing I was ever sure of being you, and being a vigilante fucked me up, and being a cop was the first thing I liked doing in a long, long time." Exhale.