Jules (iheartwine) wrote in summerview, @ 2019-03-18 21:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | briar maeve naga, julius fírinne, player: alice, player: lyddia |
I get you to swerve out of the fast lane
Maeve had given Julius a few days after the fight, but even that much felt like too much. Seeing him was akin to wearing her softest, warmest coat after weeks of being cold. Even with how it had gone, even though he hadn’t wanted her help or wanted to see her at all. Her body and heart hadn’t let her forget about it, like a craving, ignoring the rational, scared part of her mind that said that she shouldn’t.
More importantly, that she didn’t deserve and it was better for him if she stayed away. The part of her that needed him didn’t give a shit, she had given herself a taste in that brief interaction and it was impossible to yank her mind back. Besides, she was worried after he had gotten hurt, and her things were still there. That was some of her favorite jewelry, and the sweater was so soft. Granted, she would never be able to wear it again without thinking of him chasing her down the hall with a laugh on his lips and gently helping her — This was a terrible idea. But she was here, already, perching up on the railing of his porch instead of properly sitting down, giving the false impression of being relaxed even though every part of her twitched, far too much for her to look even partially normal sitting in a chair. The rail also gave her an easy out if she felt the need to bolt again, which she wouldn’t put past her at this juncture. Maeve wouldn’t put much past her, after she had attacked Julius in her sleep, after she had fled from his house and not talked to him for the longest stretch since this whole thing began. It had hurt, and it had never stopped hurting, like a self-inflicted wound that insisted on festering instead of healing, and worse, she should have seen this coming. Or maybe she had, but she’d been in denial because she had wanted it so bad. More than she had ever wanted anything else, other than possibly to get back at her family. Working so much her employees had started to worry about her didn’t really help, nor did refreshing herself on every weapon in her home, except for the fact that both helped her finally fall asleep — granted, in strange places — and her brain to shut down, at least for awhile. Maybe this would sate her craving (it wouldn’t), just a few minutes. Get her things if he hadn’t thrown them out, confirm he was physically fine, and leave him alone. It was going to be fine. Feeling things, as it turned out, was complicated business. Particularly when one feeling morphed into another that seemed, when one thought about them separately, completely disparate. But the confusion of that night two--three?--weeks ago had slowly transformed to hurt when it seemed like he wasn’t going to get an answer, then anger when every attempt at communication got brushed off, which ultimately became frustration at the world at large, which was stoked the fire that fueled the stupid fist fight with the dragon. And now, quite frankly, he had come full circle, back to square one with confusion because Maeve had shown up out of nowhere to stop the fight and then just stormed off. What was that? Who did that? In any case, it was better than being angry again, though that seemed inevitable at some point. But for now, he was mostly just bewildered. It had been easy enough to ignore the day before when he’d worked essentially the entire day on the event he’d personally put together to get his mind off everything in the first place, even though his body had ached the entire time, and had gone in this evening to do paperwork until his eyes glazed over and there was a sudden familiar tug from his wards at home, which brought the whole feeling of confusion rushing back at him like an angry bull. Wonderful. Now what. So he’d packed up and walked home with no great hope he’d get any answers. It was Maeve this time apparently, which he should have expected. Maeve was the one he’d seen most often since he’d gotten here, and probably the one most likely to be perched on the back porch. Julius sighed as he made his way up the path from the beach, flicking through the keys on the ring until he found the one that opened the door to the house. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He drawled--still drawling, everything that came out of his mouth for three days straight sounded that way--as he stuck the key in the lock and turned. Guilt. It used to be an unfamiliar sensation for her. Had to be, she'd have had a very short career as a thief and conman otherwise. The past few weeks though it had been her constant companion, saturating her mind and tinting everything she saw and did. Julius had been hurt by her, several times over, because she had nearly hurt him much worse and it had felt worth the cost the last few weeks to avoid changing that nearly into a definitely in the future. But now she was questioning it. Questioning a lot of things, really, with how he was looking at her. This was worse than Adelaide. Then again, Sebastian hadn’t gone back to see her. Had put a dozen countries between them and hadn't looked back. Now she was trying to decide if she had gotten more or less intelligent since then. “I came to get the things I left here last time.” With that forced casualness again, made all the sillier because he knew her better than anyone else and would likely see the edges of her mask. Why did she even bother. The next part she hadn't planned, but even the rock in her throat didn't stop it, “And to apologize for taking a swing at you when you woke me.” For all the good it did her, she cleared her throat, “So. Sorry.” Even when his door opened she stayed where she was, going back five steps, less assuming and invasive than she had even been the first time she had showed up there. Ah. Yeah, that was reasonable. Her things were all still there, in the bag she’d brought them in, hanging from one of the hooks near the front door. He hadn’t been sure what else to do with them. Drop them off at the Long Way Down? Yeah. Right. That wouldn’t be weird or anything. Although, it was probably stranger to just leave it, but he had been sort of hoping, at least in the back of his mind, that she’d come back for it. At least for the first few days, and by the point where it had stretched on perhaps a little longer than it should have, he’d already collected everything and had it hanging by the door, so it just stayed there. “It’s all by the door,” he said, waving her in and heading for the kitchen for a glass of water, not sure what to say about the other thing except. “Well, you missed. All this is from someone else.” He waved at the general vicinity of his face. “As you well know.” Maeve jumped down from the railing, following him in with only a momentary hesitance at the doorway. There was a distance between them that spanned farther than from his living room to the kitchen, worse than when she had shown up at Veritas, how long ago now? It seemed both years and a few days, sometimes, as ridiculous as that was. Her fault. Should have come back for her things quicker, should have apologized sooner, should have stayed away, should never have stayed the night at all. Something. So many possibilities of things to regret she just couldn’t choose. “I know. I leave you alone for five minutes and you pick a fight with the least honorable dragon in town.” It was an odd response to her stilted but genuine apology, though she apologized so rarely she wasn’t sure if that was normal or not. The fight with Danny could have gone a lot worse than it had, but she was still a little frustrated that Julius’s back had been to her since she arrived so she couldn’t get a good look at his face. Whatever his feelings were towards her now, she still worried about him. She peered at the bag, finding her ring and necklace, but not her butterfly hairpin, “My pin is missing. The butterfly one.” Five minutes. Really? He managed to swallow a gulp of water without either spitting it out or choking on it, but it was a real struggle. “Five minutes?” He repeated. “Maeve, it’s been three weeks.” Sure it was probably just a figure of speech, but it felt like something worth pointing out. Her things had been at his door for three weeks. He finished off the rest of his water and stepped out from around the counter with a shrug, leaving the glass next to the sink in case this visit went belly up and he needed to refill it but with bourbon instead. “That’s everything I could find. You’re welcome to look,” he said, taking a seat in the chair, a hand dragged over his face and through his hair. It wasn’t like he’d kept it. His words made her wince outright, and thank Oberon he was in the kitchen and couldn’t see her. That, or her hands flexing at her side before she cracked her knuckles, antsy and agitated. It felt like she should be lashing out, angry and snappish, probably because that was comfortable. Easier. But everything else was muffled by that guilt, which was probably better anyway. “Yeah, well.” What was she supposed to say to that? Him calling her out so directly? Not that she didn’t deserve it, probably, “What else what I supposed to do?” Damnit. A closer glance at the bag revealed that no, she hadn’t just missed it like she hoped, no matter which way she tilted it. The red and gold winged pin just wasn’t there. Apparently he wasn’t going to help anymore than he already had, fine, whatever, she walked around where he sat, eyes on the floor and giving him a wide berth as she glanced around the table on the floor before moving into the living room again to peer under the coffee table, picking up the few things on it to look around. “Are you sure you aren’t keeping it hidden out of spite?” Half serious, half not as she ran her own hand through her hair in an unintentional mirror of his favorite stressed gesture. He didn’t have an answer to that. What was she supposed to do? He wasn’t even sure what he’d expected her to do based on his own limited knowledge on these things. He wasn’t sure there was a normal answer, and honestly he didn’t really have anyone to ask. Chrys? His front of house manager? One of his other employees? That Werewolf tattoo artist? Right, sure. He’d get right on that. “I don’t know, Maeve,” he said on a heavy sigh after a moment's consideration, “But an honest text back that didn’t just say ‘busy’ would have been nice.” Some answers. Some actual, genuine conversation. Julius rolled his eyes at that. “Really?” As if he wanted to remember a night where she’d stormed out in the middle of the night and called everything from the past several months--perhaps the past 140 years, he couldn’t really say because it had all been very sudden and he’d heard nothing else on the subject since--a mistake. “If I’d seen it, it would be in the bag.” That came out more annoyed than he’d intended, and it actually physically hurt when he heard the way it sounded. “I think you took it off on the couch,” he added, softer, somewhat apologetically. Oh sure, yes, that would work well. It was such a ridiculous concept that she sat up from where she had been eyeballing the gap under his couch to glare at him, “Oh yes, sure” Her eyes narrowed as she waved her hands in a vague feeling of exasperation, “How do I condense that night into a text message, or the weeks since? What is the acronym for I’m having trouble speaking to you because-” And the rant stopped suddenly, like someone had shoved a cork into a steam valve that had been finally allowed to release some pressure. It did the feeling in her chest no good, but being honest and exposing herself was almost as bad as keeping it in. How did he miss it? How many hairpins that were also lockpicks did he have floating around the place that this one was so easily overlooked? Especially when his house was so neat and uncluttered compared to her own. At least him near-snapping at her in that tone made it easier for her to glare at him, annoyance overriding awkwardness and guilt for a moment, and she was actually grateful for it. Right. The couch. The making out as she sat on the arm of it, the falling and the laughing. That was a reminder that had the same sort of taste as when she used to think of 1985. A memory that should have been treasured that instead felt painful to the touch. “Right. The couch.” At least it wasn’t like her’s, modern, with easily removed cushions and pillows where things could slip and fall. She stood again, running her hand down the couch to the small gap between the back and the non-removable cushion, trying to be careful not to shove anything farther down in it if it was there at all. “Because why?” He asked, careful to stay level with the question--more curious than anything else-- because it didn’t have to fit into a text message now. It could just be explained, no acronyms necessary. Not that he would have understood any acronyms she threw at him, because he nearly always spelled everything out (Oberon gave him thumbs, after all, if he was already typing out some of the letters, he might as well finish the job), but still. To be fair, he hadn’t been looking for it. He’d scooped up everything that was obvious and gotten it ready. And had been very delicate about it. Everything was folded neatly, not shoved haphazardly into the bag. Ugh, fuck it. He stood from the chair and went back for the glass, pulling a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard over the sink. “Want anything?” Was this an argument? Those were supposed to feel like being let loose, like anger, fencing, sharp. Instead she felt trapped, like she was being picked apart and a still painful wound was being poked. Maeve was usually good at not being defensive, that was part of the mask she had crafted, but Briar? Not so much. Except this was Julius, and all of her usual mechanisms felt useless or half-hearted with him. How was she to answer that? It felt like a train of responses was backed up and crashing in her head, some tearful, some angry, confused, most far too honest. It was hard to blame him for giving up and getting a drink while she sat there and struggled with words. Eight spoken languages, one hundred sixty nine years and she was struggling here like the emotionally constipated idiot she was. Her hands were shaking, and she gave up looking for the moment, sitting down on the floor instead with her back to the couch, knees pulled to her chest. What was it she had told him? Everything she felt was too much around him? It was worse now, “Sure. Whatever you’re having.” It was half hearted at best, because this was another bad idea. She tried not to drink when she felt like this, old habits of being afraid of something slipping out too ingrained. Maeve. What was the point of her, if she didn’t serve as a good cushion between her and the rest of the world, as well as softening her reactions? The smell of her magic rose when she shifted, Maeve’s already large sweater swallowing Briar’s smaller form as she shrunk about two inches and lost some of her curves, not even bothering to hide the signs of sleeplessness from her real face. It wasn’t. Not really. It was hard to argue when you had nothing to argue about. There was no reason, that he could see, for any of this. So no, it wasn’t an argument. Maybe an interrogation? But a half hearted one, at that. It was hard to see her as Maeve, looking generally normal. Seemingly doing fine and whatever, unbothered by the fact that it had been three weeks--a too long, too short, three weeks--so much so that she kept calling it five minutes like it was nothing. And then she was saying nothing in response to his question, which planted that seed of anger in him again. Anger, for him of course, manifesting the same way it did in Errol--cold and deliberate, a tense set to his jaw, sharpness in his movements as he retrieved a second glass and poured out two double bourbons and brought them out to the living room to find she’d changed, and somehow… It was worse. But on the other hand. It was a relief, seeing her looking just about as terrible as he felt. He set one glass down on the coffee table in front of her, unsure where to set himself, ultimately deciding to sit down in the arm chair, sideways in it, knees to his chest, feet pressed against the inside of the arm. “Nothing?” So caught up in her reverie, in her incoherent jumble of thoughts as she sunk back into a confused, guilt filled miasma, Briar was actually startled when he returned and set her drink in front of her. literally jumping, and that was such a rare thing, for her to be that caught off guard, that it at least shook some clarity into her thoughts. Let her blink over at him as he sat down, trying to get a read on what he was feeling. It was very weird that he offered her a drink. Wasn’t it? Surely that was weird. After she had hurt him, shown up without warning, was already metaphorically halfway out the door and was being dodgy as shit, he decided to offer her a drink. Was it a trick to lull her into complacency? Get her drunk — that was a generous serving — so she would be more honest? Make her feel guilty while he was being hospitable? Most importantly, why was she having these fears about him when she never had before? He hadn’t changed. Neither had she. Maybe that was the problem. A crack in the damn, then, “What if I had hurt you, what if we had been at my house and my weapons were available?” A too big drink of the bourbon (because of course it was bourbon) before she continued, even though it didn’t seem to help, the guilt and anxiety was, if anything, clearer in her voice with the warmth settling in her gut, “This time I didn’t lash out until you woke me up, what if I attacked you while I was still asleep — you shouldn’t have to worry about your, your companion attacking you.” The hand not holding her glass shook before she wrapped her arm around her knees instead, and even though her throat was closing up after that ‘little’ rant she took another drink anyway, the physical burn more welcome than the emotional one. Offering her a drink was really just… Very old, very British sensibilities that he’d never been able to shake. His father had been offered tea, Chrys had been offered tea, to Maeve (or, well, at this point, Briar) he’d offered a drink, because that was what he was having, no more no less. No ulterior motives. And anyway, he hadn’t explicitly offered bourbon. He’d only asked if she wanted something. She was the one who’d responded that she’d have what he was. Part of him wanted to respond with so?, but honestly it was a fair point. But he also didn’t have a response for any of it. Maybe he should have been more.. What? Afraid? He took a long drink from his glass, trying to think of something to say that would be constructive, fingers tapping against the glass for a moment before taking another sip. A lot of things ran through his mind, none of which were helpful, all of which she’d have a quick answer for. Oh, fuck this too. “Well, you didn’t, and we weren’t, and I’m not worried, and you didn’t even ask me.” Didn’t ask him what he felt about it at all. Didn’t explain what had happened. Nothing. Just disappeared for three weeks and ignored all attempts at communication. Honestly, somehow that was worse than if she’d attacked him. And he’d know, at this point. The toll was emotional, but so much worse than the injuries he’d actually sustained. And much harder to repair. He was right, she could have asked, but that required hearing his answers and having to look a little too closely at why she was so afraid. At least he still gave her ramble all due consideration, this was ten shades of unfamiliar territory for both of them,and it wouldn't have done either of them — or what they had — any sort of justice if they are treated it like any normal situation. “I think the only thing worse than outright asking if you think I'm worth the risk would be if you said no.” Her voice was quiet when she admitted that, “Or if you said yes, and if I gave the option of being hurt by me? How selfish is that?” And since when did she care about being perceived as selfish, it was normally something she wore like a shield she could be proud of. A deep, shaky breath, another drink and she was pulling her legs tighter to her chest and setting the glass back down on the table. Briar hated how shakey her voice sounded, like she had given up, because she so rarely did that. But the only thing worse than how miserable she had been the past few weeks was imaging how she'd feel if she had landed a hit on him. “I'd rather be whatever pathetic thing I've been the last few weeks in another state where I can't see you than be a threat to you.” Because maybe leaving would help not think about him. Help the wound, let it scab over. Better than avoiding half the town for the rest of her stay here. It had worked with Adelaide and back in the 80’s. It was dramatic, maybe, running away, but the weight in her chest hadn't gotten any better, and it needed to. This wasn't something she could carry forever, “Maybe. I can feed you information on Xi from wherever she is, to help with your deal.” Because she couldn't turn off her worry about him that had only gotten stronger in the last few months. As much as she'd like to. The thought of not seeing him again though made her eyes burn, something she hid by dropping her eyes from his and planting her forehead on her knees. How was it possibly selfish when it was his choice? “I don’t think I follow, Briar. If I’d said yes, you’d be the selfish one?” He was pretty sure it just made him reckless, or stupid. But he didn’t much care if someone thought he was reckless or stupid because at least it meant it would mean she wasn’t avoiding him anymore. That they might be able to go back to the way things were. Or a new version of it but still. Not the way things were now which was so painful, the ache in his chest still there but different from how it had been when things were good and they were happy. It was too tight. Like a violin string on the verge of snapping. “If I told you yes, it’s my choice,” he added after a moment, letting her finish the rest, not that any of it made him feel any better. “I don’t want you to avoid me or protect me from yourself, or leave town, because honestly these have been the three most miserable weeks in my life,” he paused thinking about that statement, amending it with, “I mean, in the top ten anyway. Just,” he sighed and knocked back the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass in his lap. “Stop making decisions for me.” Another sigh as she ran her hand through her hair again, nails rough against her own scalp, “Because I would be the one asking you to, Julius.” At least she went back to using his name, even though she was still hesitant to use Thistle feeling like it might not be welcome like it had been a few weeks ago. She was tired. Worse than physically, like bowl of water that couldn’t hold anything, no matter if she had been able to sleep, or any other type of recharge, it was drained before it could help. A bone deep exhaustion. But above that there was a hesitant sort of relief, something that felt like hope seeping into her pores. Even though there were still a lot of if’s being tossed out, on both their ends. Hearing that he had been miserable made her feel somehow both worse and better, how did that make any sense? Briar never wanted him to be unhappy, obviously, but she had never wanted to be missed by anyone as much as Julius, never cared as much about if someone cared about her as much as she did. Then again, she had never cared for anyone like she did for Julius. Briar didn’t want to leave either, and her relief at hearing he felt the same showed on her face, too much on the surface, but she was past trying to hide it at this point. “Yeah. Definitely top ten worst,” Briar gave a dry laugh, reaching out to take another drink from her glass as well, “I’m not trying — well. Yeah. I was. I guess doing it to protect you isn’t really a valid excuse.” He hadn’t said much, or even looked particularly angry, more tired, like her, but she still looked cowed by the words anyway. “But, you didn’t,” he pointed out helpfully, “You didn’t ask me, and I’m telling you that’s my answer.” It took some of the burden off of her, because she hadn’t, up to this point, said anything at all. No explanations, no questions, but without any of it, he could have said that all without prompting. Which was terrifying, in a way, and also not, to be so sure of something. So absolutely positive about all that he’d already said, all of which had been a lot. Which was also exhausting, or maybe he was just already exhausted. Who could say? Her laugh was answered with a similarly dry one from him which was drown out by a hum of agreement. He’d had a lot of bad weeks, but these hadn’t been ideal. “No, not really,” he agreed, rolling the empty glass between his hands. This time her eyes snapped back up to him, surprise and relief vivid in them, the tension rushing out of her body, the damn finally broken. Because with all that she had given him and all the trust he had, it was hard to shake 169 years of cynicism, doubt and self-loathing. A significant, ugly part of her expecting for him to decide that she was far too much trouble, not at all worth the trouble. For the physical thread aspect, for the running, for the delay in showing back up, all of it, all of her. When she stood it felt like she had been sitting for hours, joints achy from being tense, finishing her drink and eyeballing him through the glass consideringly for a moment before she set it on the table. It only took a few steps to bring her in front of his chair, less than an arm’s length away but not doing so, twitchy, still traces of tenseness evidence in her muscles and the way she stood, “Does that mean you forgive me?” Voice quiet, but steady, because while she didn’t think he would act like he did because she looked pathetic, she wanted to remove that possibility. Prevent him from feeling trapped. She seemed to have forgotten that he’d seen her. Met her multiple times over and managed to see her for what she was several times over, and what’s more, seen parts of himself in her. To give up on her now, would be to give up on himself. They were too close, too similar in too many ways to separate that out. Different enough to keep things interesting--or to make things difficult--but so much the same. Julius watched her stand, set down her glass and come over to his chair. With a sigh, he unfolded himself and shifted around to sit forward in the chair, holding a hand out to her with a nod. “I don’t know what I’m forgiving, but yes.” For ignoring him for three weeks, for storming out, for calling this a mistake? If this was an apology, she could have forgiveness. Oberon, he hadn’t even really been mad to begin with, it was only after it had gone on so long without answers. Well. He had them now, so. Hearing that outloud removed any doubt — even if he hadn’t said it in the most encouraging way, per se— and it felt like a weight that had been pressing on her chest the past few weeks was finally gone. Like she could breathe again. Stronger still, when she finally took his hand in her’s it only doubled, almost painfully. Happiness and a tangible sort of relief in her veins when she kissed the inside of his wrist, pausing to inhale the scent deeply and let her eyes close, the bits of her world that had been crooked suddenly write again. “I know I did it to myself, so I haven’t the right to say it.” Another kiss and a shaky breath, “But I’ve missed you, Thistle.” Quiet, but more genuine emotion in those five words than she could articulate with any of her languages if she tried, something intangible but still managed to overflow out of her. She had thought she would be fine, probably, living in the same town but avoiding him, or even moving away. Technically they had gone decades without seeing one another, but no, she couldn’t do this to herself again. Not with the way she felt steadier just being here, and a disaster every day since she had fled from his house. There was a feeling like something suddenly drained out of him when she finally took his hand, an audible sigh at her lips on his wrist. Apparently the only mistake had been the past three weeks. She’d missed him. That warm sensation that had gone dormant and cold for the past three weeks ignited in his chest once more, like a pilot light that had always been there and was just waiting for a burner to be turned on. “I missed you too, Briar,” he said after a moment, the return of the feeling in his chest throwing him for a moment, having already grown unused to it being there. It was like experiencing it anew all over again. Finally, he pulled her closer, “Let’s not do this again, hmm?” Her knees shook for a beat when he returned her words, letting herself be pulled forward a step without any sort of fight, the other hand rising to the back of his head so she could tilt him gently and press her forehead to his. Every bit of contact wonderfully familiar and new all at once, like grasping at her favorite blanket after too long of being in the cold. “No running. No such silence again, I promise.” Promises, unlike deals, did not require the other person’s agreement, and when her magic rose up to acknowledgement of those words it didn’t tangle with his, even as it bound her. It knocked her off balance, mentally as well as physically, especially the fact that the fight or flight instinct didn’t kick in. Her fingers weaved through his hair before tilting her head down so she could steal her first kiss in three weeks, setting his hand on her hip so she could cup his jaw with a shaky breath. Even if, like her approach in the first place, it was vaguely cautious, like she was afraid he would take it back, or tell her she was taking more than she had permission for. The scent of her magic as she made the promise was somehow more comforting than the wording of the promise or even the promise itself. The Summerlands fruit, citrusy smell that was just her, warmed him further. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed it. “Good,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze, eyes gazing up at hers, foreheads pressed together as they were. But oh, he definitely had known he’d missed this.The hand on her hip pulled her closer still, the other came up to lace into her hair, returning the kiss without any of her tentativeness, as if that was proof positive that he wasn’t going anywhere. This was the loveliest affirmation, the kind that she could definitely get lost in. The hand on her hip seemed to radiate heat,the hand in her hair brought out a line of goosebumps down her neck and a pleased tightening of her own fingers in his hair. But after a long moment of almost giving in completely, like they were, she paused, breaking the kiss but staying close, fingers tracing his cheekbones appreciatively as if confirming he was really there. “I want to finish our deal.” As ridiculous as it was it still took her a moment after and one more deep breath to feel cognizant, the emotional factor as destabilizing as the physical aspect of that kiss, of being close to him again and having him touch her, “That chapter is done. This one is new.” It felt very strange to go from guilt and cynicism filled to hopefulness coloring her words in such a short time frame, but they were equally as sincere, as was the pause she took, an opportunity for him to say no, not right now, far more considerate of his comfort zone than she used to be. Deal? Oh, Titania, he’d forgotten about their deal. It almost seemed like a moot point by now--though honestly it had been when he’d made it with her. It had been mostly about keeping her comfortable enough to open up without skipping town every time he got a little closer to figuring her out, while at the same time allowing her the opportunity to ask questions about him that he’d likely have given her the answer to if she’d just asked. But she was right, it was probably a good a time as any to complete it. Julius nodded. “Alright. Do you have a good one?” It wouldn’t really matter if it was good or crummy, but he at least hoped it would be thoughtful. Worth the magic it had taken to bind the deal in the first place. Although, he supposed, in a way, it already had been. “Hmm. Maybe.” Her fingers stroked through his hair idly, body already returning to the much needed, subconsciously given affection they had fallen into before, “Is your father the only reason you haven’t ever returned to The Summerlands, or is it something else?” It was a relatively simple question, but one that had been genuinely on her mind for sometime now. Briar knew, rationally, that it wasn’t the only thing binding them together. But it would still be nice to remove a tie that he hadn’t exactly made joyfully, and it really did feel like they were carrying around an old version of themselves she was ready to shuck. The thought of them ever making another also left a foul taste in her mouth, with any luck she was done with them forever, personally. That was… Not the question he was expecting. Though honestly, he wasn’t sure what to expect in the long run, when he felt as if he’d answered most things that were interesting about his life. And the answer was one he hadn’t ever really thought about before, or at least, not recently. “Honestly?” He said after a moment. “A little him, a little of… I don’t know, fear I guess?” A deep sigh followed, knowing that would require some explanation. “I actually don’t know if there’s anything prohibiting me from going back there, but it seems like something he’d do, so partially I was worried I’d make it to a portal and not be able to pass through, but the possibility of seeing him, or having someone else reminding me what a disappointment I am, how I ruined my family or something… It didn’t seem worth it. And it’s not my home anymore.” Hadn’t been for a long time. And apparently, the question was answered to satisfaction, though really it wasn’t clear what that even meant, but he could feel the bond release, his own magic coming back to him, the deal now complete. The answer bore more than a little resemblance to the theories she already had regarding him and his rather unique situation. The extra details, the color, and the solidifying of certain parts of the picture she had been building of him for 140 years, but more lately of course, was appreciated. Even if it came about the way it had. There was no pity in her eyes, but certainly understanding, “I don’t blame you for never returning then. It sounds like there is nothing for you there.” She felt it then, the surge in magic of the deal harmlessly dissipating, his magic returning to him, and she hadn’t realized until then that she had felt it at the edge of her perception until it was gone. It had her rubbing at her arms at the sudden, though brief, feeling of loss. Now anyone familiar enough with how to identify different types of magic wouldn’t see that they were bound together, like Chrys had been. Which was fine, she didn’t need the world to know in order to know it was real. Even considering recent (very recent) events, that still held true. It also didn’t change the fact that this felt like forward momentum, like progress. In its own bizarre way that she couldn’t explain. Enough that she could kiss him again like she had in the moments before she had fallen down into a giggly mess on the couch, all relieved happiness and everything else slipping from her mind except him. Julius shrugged, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair when hers was still in it. “I guess, I mean. It would be nice to have an easy way to replenish magic but.” He shrugged again. The negatives outweighed the positives for the most part, so she was probably right. But just like that, it seemed like they were good. Back to normal, but also somehow improved from what they’d been before. And things could move forward. His fingers tapped thoughtfully against her hip for a moment. “So I suppose that means we’re on for a second date, still?” A few weeks behind schedule, but… Better late than never. And after 140 years, what was a couple weeks? Oh, certainly. Even as set on her decision as she was, her mind had still finalized the plan for the second date, which, at the time, seemed like simply an act of masochism. But now seemed like it was a bit of surprisingly wise foresight on her part. She nodded, a fond smile on her face as the hand on his law slipped down to knead at his shoulder, “Aye, I need about a week to get things ready, what day do you think would work best for you, A mhuirnín?” Because when you stuck your fingers into things and pulled the sort of strings she was planning on yanking , the day of the week made little difference. Besides, this was about him, so it should be at the most convenient time for him. The fact that he brought it up, prompting and clearly wanting it, when she had been unsure how to ask just that, deserved a reward, her other hand dropping down to his opposite shoulder to see out the tension she was fairly sure that she had caused. Usually he’d say the middle of the week, because it was when they were least busy but.. “Any day would work, honestly. I suspect my employees would be grateful for a little extra time away from me.” He’d put in so many extra hours it was almost certain he’d begun to grate on the nerves of at least one of them (he could guess who), and well. He owned the business anyway, so if he couldn’t take a day off here and there, or adjust his own schedule, then what was the point? Besides, it was the middle of March. Nothing was really ever that out of control. He might have to come up with something for the equinox, but other than that. “Still keeping it a secret?” He added, tension in his shoulders melting under her fingers.Part of him really wanted to just know already, but at the same time, it wasn’t that far off, and now seemed like it would actually happen, so what was a few more days? Briar groaned, rolling her eyes, “Yeah, mine too. I had two directly ask me what was going on and more than that subtly tell me hey bosslady, we’re overstaffed today, I think it’s safe for you to head home.” It was nice that they cared, but she had needed the distraction so they just had to deal. Now, Briar could have left town, picked up a Job of some sort, but it had felt like doing so without giving him a heads up was crossing some sort of line that she wasn't willing to step over, even as she avoided him. She was looking forward to taking this familiar, comforting happiness back home with her, and for getting (hopefully) the most solid night of sleep she had in awhile. Her gut said it was going help. This was certainly a good sign, considering what she had planned, and a slow, pleased smile pulled at her features while her hands continued to work, “There is a difference between a secret, and a surprise, Thistle.” Though the expression was replaced by a thoughtful, more serious one, “I do think, considering our track record, maybe we should keep the stayover’s at my place for a bit.” Just until she got her shit under control, murdered whoever had cursed her (though that was realistically, probably only her), or figured out what was it about Julius’s house that had her fears more likely to get the best of her. “At least you know they find you approachable enough to call you out?” He pointed out. His hadn’t been nearly that vocal about his own workaholic habits the past few weeks, though perhaps he came off a bit more prickly than she did. Maeve was, after all, generally affable. Julius, on the other hand, had a habit of going from warm to cold at the drop of a hat, which probably had his employees trained to keep a safe distance if he started working extra hours out of nowhere. And also, he hadn’t had them nearly as long as she’d had hers. Julius sighed and grumbled something mostly inaudible about surprises just being secrets with a stupider name. He wasn’t really a fan, but she seemed set on doing it this way. At least with her at least a surprise would likely be pleasant. She made a very good point though, about their future and where they’d be doing their sleeping, which had his face falling slightly, but he nodded. “Maybe I should get someone in here to reset the energy of this place.” It was probably not great, and he hadn’t given it the attention it deserved since he’d moved in, putting everything into the restaurant instead. “You don’t need to change anything about your house for me.” Asking him to make any adjustments at all seemed like a bad idea. Briar had made some for him, disabling a good portion of the traps in the rooms of her house that he was likely to encounter, but she didn’t do it because he asked, and she hadn’t even told him of it yet. That was for next time, especially now that she knew there would be a next time. It was important that he feel at ease and safe in her home, even though that was still a feeling she was getting used to. Accommodating someone in her home, rather than hissing at anyone who tried to come near it. “This is something wrong with me and my malfunctioning brain, it’s not your burden to rearrange things for me.” It was a wonderful thought, and she tried to ignore the voice in her head that just said she was encouraging him not to do this because she was so used to being the one who had to be the one changing for everyone else, not the other way around. One more gentle kiss to his lips before she stepped back, a look of disappointment clear on her face, “Let me find that damn pin.” It only took a little bit of digging in the couch for her to find it finally, brandishing it with a victorious expression, “Although I guess it’s not as important, since I know I’m coming back this time.” With a much more relaxed air than she had worn in weeks mind going back to the probably silly toothbrush she had picked up for him, resting innocently under her sink and him unawares while she remained oddly indecisive about what to do with it. While he’d be the first to admit he knew little to nothing about relationships, he was pretty sure there was supposed to be a little more give and take than this. That is, she probably should have to be the one doing all the giving. Julius raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m offering. It was my idea. Pretty sure you’ve got to let me do things for you now and then.” If she didn’t they’d just be dancing dangerously close to the thing that had gotten them into this three week stand off in the first place. “I want to, alright. I’ve never even been home enough to get attached to the way everything is here. For all I know there’s been something wrong with this place the whole time and I haven’t noticed. It’s almost like you’ve done me a favor.” Not the part where someone would have to come into his house and touch his stuff, of course, but possibly, in the end, worth it. She’d be coming back. A next time. There’d be a next time. Hearing her say that set loose a new fluttering in his stomach. “Hopefully sooner than three weeks next time,” he added, cheeky grin crinkling up into his eyes. Someone accusing her of giving too much would definitely be one for the history books, especially when it was almost entirely selfless on her end. Almost. Seeing as seeing him happy, and how he treated her when he was, made her feel — feel treasured. Made her feel real, and present, in a way that she was not entirely used to. It was something she hadn’t realized she was lacking in until she had it. Having him want to do things for her was another thing that caused a bubble of something in her chest that expanded as he spoke in such a way that almost hurt, honestly, but it was the kind that she had missed so much the past few weeks, “I do seem to recall something about you needing to spoil me more?” Because honestly, up until her nightmare the night had been wonderful and she didn’t want to forget the rest of it, especially that part, and was that so wrong of her? She laughed, hands securing the pin in her hair even though it felt a bit silly. Then again, wearing nice things as Briar always did, “I am doing you a favor just by being around.” The wink was entirely unnecessary but she enjoyed it all the same, though the playful expression softened somewhat at the reminder(jab?) about their recent, eh, tension filled involuntary break, “I’ll be here next week to pick you up for our date, remember?” They were on the same page there, in a way. Neither of them had a reputation for being very giving. His poor Front of House manager suffered most from Julius’s stinginess with compliments, but she’d been very on the nose about his struggle with gifts--giving them and receiving them. But he’d also never had reason to improve until now. “I haven’t forgotten. I do intend to make good on that.” He had some thoughts, and as much as he disliked surprises, he was keeping his ideas tightly under wraps for as long as possible. Though there was a fairly good opportunity in the near future he wasn’t sure had crossed her mind. Though, he supposed he wouldn’t put it past her. Julius laughed at her bravado, but couldn’t disagree with her at all. “Yes, you’ve vastly improved the space with your presence,” he drawled, but with a certain fondness to his expression. It was much easier to put the past few weeks in the past and drain some of the bad feeling out of it with jokes. That and the knowledge that they were moving forward from there. “That is true. I look forward to the… Surprise.” Briar wasn’t looking for gifts. Not tangible ones, at least, especially not from him, things like the footrub really did feel like spoiling her. The eggs. Gifts were easy to buy, especially when they could be purchased easily — unlike that bottle she had to low crawl through a too complex wine cellar for — but time? Gestures? Not so much. They were more valuable from him than they would be from anyone else, hit harder, seeped easily through her walls and protection, always had. Hence the reason she had kept that flower across how many countries and oceans? Even she had lost count. But all of that didn’t mean she couldn’t tease him, “We shall see, Thistle. I think I’ll still find you charming even if your creativity with that is lacking.” She reached out to ruffle his hair, messing it up even more than he had earlier. The compliment, as light as it was, still had her grinning, “As do you.” One of her hands dropped to lace her fingers with his again, “I’ll text you the day before with a time, once I know for sure I’ll have it ready.” Another sigh as her eyes flitted towards the backdoor, her clothes on the hook, and finally the hallway that lead to his bedroom. Fuck. She had missed sleeping beside him, just being held by him in general, really, but she wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to get to sleep as worried as she would be. It didn’t stop her from wanting though. Logical thinking and good sense had never stopped her from wanting him, luckily. She tugged on his hand, “C’mon, walk me to the door like a gentleman, Thistle.” He’d long since decided she’d be difficult to shop for. Not that he wouldn’t try, but it seemed far more likely any spoiling would have to be done by way of creating something or building, or some kind of gesture. Definitely easier said than done. But he had ideas. “That sounds like a challenge, a mhuirnín.” Really, she should know better by now. He grinned at the returned compliment, raising her hand to his lips when she laced her fingers with his to kiss the back of it. He gave a nod at the vague details of the date. “My schedule will be easy to work around. Just let me know.” He didn’t foresee any issues, as he’d said. They were probably going to be glad to be rid of him for at least a few hours. “I haven’t been a gentleman in a long time,” he replied with a grin. Not literally. Maybe metaphorically. But he allowed her to tug him up from the chair so he could walk her out. One eyebrow raised, “Does it? What shall you do about it, Thistle?” The fact that Julius had the same sort of reaction to challenges, competitiveness and pride in his blood that she did was one of the things that drew her to him, so why shouldn’t she try and pull that out of him at any viable opportunity. “Is that a threat, or a promise?” Voice low and intrigued, as he stood, head tilting up to smirk at him, finding herself again tempted to stay and play. But something in her gut said that tonight wasn’t the night for it, to let it end like this instead. With moving forward, new resolutions and renewed affection. Well. Not like this, like this, with her leaning back against the door in what was becoming a mini-tradition for them, and pulling him in for one last kiss of the night that wasn’t quite trying to make up for three weeks of no affection, but one couldn’t be blamed for thinking that with what she poured into it. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he replied. If she got to be mysterious and have surprises it was only fair to extend the courtesy to him. And they were both the sorts to enjoy a little healthy competition. It was almost, in a strange way, a bonding thing. One upping each other for (almost) unselfish reasons. Julius let out a quiet laugh that ended on a contemplative hum. “Maybe a little of both,” he decided, a still somewhat cheeky quality to the smirk forming on his face, right up until she kissed it right off of him. If they never fought (if you could call it that, since that wasn’t really what it was) again, it would be too soon. It did feel like three weeks of missed opportunities for affection poured into one kiss, and he happily poured three weeks of pent up affection back into it, one hand back in her hair, the other traveling from hip to waist, and back, taking in as much of her as he could before she asked out the door again. But at least this time he knew she’d be coming back. A bit of time and her previously firm resolution to put distance between them for his safety didn’t do much to kill the fire that burned for him, the fierce, possessive fire that shot through her and had her pulling him tight to her. Hands skimming his scalp, his back, relearning him in a too short amount of time, the taste and smell of him as if she could ever have let it fade from her mind. It was too much for a goodnight kiss, like taking jello shots made of redbull and vodka for a nightcap. It was hard not to though. Damn near impossible to stuff down the longing in her eyes when she finally broke the kiss, something that went beyond want in her fingers when they reached up to run the back of them over his jawline just one more time, feeling as stripped bare and vulnerable for one beat of her jackrabbit heart as he had made her feel when he had been above her. It was exhilarating. Made her giddy instead of afraid, because it was him and because what she felt, she saw in him as well, “Goodnight, Thistle.” Whispered against his lips before she cleared her throat, though she didn’t look down, didn’t hide how she felt — what he brought out in her — for a long moment before she reached behind her to open the door, one last glance over her shoulder on her way out, bag over her shoulder and pin in her hair. |