Who: Gemma Davenport & Fletcher Charleston What: A meeting not separated by bulletproof glass! And other stuff... Where: Fletcher's house, Detroit, MI When: Late Saturday evening, June 12 Warnings: PG-13. For language and confusion. Status: Complete! We cheated. >_>
Damage control. That had been Gemma's job for the past twenty-four hours, ever since four known members of CORE had miraculously escaped from prison. Miraculous, ha. It had been obvious that they'd had help from the outside – bribed guards, other members of CORE who were still loyal and probably desperate, maybe a specialized team skilled in quiet extraction... The possibilities were endless, but the fact remained that Gemma had no idea what had happened and no idea what to do. She could only hover around the police station for so long before she became a nuisance, and she couldn't go home; she'd only feel useless there. She spent most of Saturday on the phone in her office, making frenzied phone calls and alerting all the necessary authorities, mundane and reincarnate alike, and she wasn't the only one. The entire DA's office was on edge, rushing around and avoiding reporters, trying to clean up this enormous mess, but nothing helped. The escapees were simply gone. They'd disappeared to God knows where. Gemma certainly didn't have a clue. That, however, didn't stop her from doing something monumentally obtuse. Hardly anything did. Once she got an idea in her head, she was unstoppable, which was why she found herself breaking into Fletcher Charleston's house late Saturday night.
Maybe it was sleep deprivation. Maybe that's what made her break the law. Nothing else made sense. Even at her least sane, she never would've broken into the home of a man who she was supposed to be prosecuting for, among other things, murder. But clearly, she wasn't sane. Couldn't be. She was at her wit's end, desperate, distraught, and if he wasn't here, where else could he be? But, as she poked around in the dark and whispered frantically, she was almost immediately disappointed. Of course he wasn't here. He was smarter than that. Coming home was a big risk, one that wasn't worth it if he wanted to keep his new-found freedom. Inexplicably crushed, she sank down on the nearest couch and held her head in her hands. This was ridiculous. What was she even doing here?
---
It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to pop back to Detroit to get some things out of his old house, but he’d never claimed to be smart. Now careful, that was within the realm of possibility. And he was, very careful. Careful enough that no one managed to sniff him out, even after he hit Detroit. Or maybe he was just lucky. Fletcher didn’t really care. Being out of jail was great. He’d spent the day with the other escapees, bribing one of the women who seemed slightly less likely than the rest to slit his throat to cut his hair. Add some civilian clothes, and he felt almost normal again.
Least you had the good sense to sneak out at night. You get us killed, and I’m gonna be pissed.
Almost normal. He snorted back a laugh. Yeah right. That was beyond him now. At least everyone else in the neighborhood was asleep or zoned out in front of the television. There was no one to see him creeping through his backyard. He’d already cased the place, making sure there were no surveillance vans or anything waiting for him to come back. They probably thought he’d never make it this far. Too bad for them. He unlocked the door, and slipped inside. The fridge was still humming, proving that he electricity was still on. He’d made all the arrangements with his lawyer to keep the place from falling apart while he was locked up. Apparently, the guy had made good on it, because everything looked fine. He must have found a good agency, to get it straightened back up after the police had tossed the place. Not that they’d found anything. He was way too paranoid to leave something like that to chance.
Out of habit, he moved easily through the darkness, not risking any lights, and unhooked one of the guns he had hidden in the pantry. He had guns everywhere. And money, and anything else he might need. It was all part of that paranoia he’d picked up a long, long time ago. Making sure it was loaded, he moved quietly in to the dining room. Everything was quiet. Quiet enough that he heard the quiet shift of cushions from farther in to the house. Swearing quietly to himself, he oozed down the hall, ready to confront anything from a SWAT team to a figment of his imagination.
It was neither. Even in the dark, he could make out a woman sitting on his couch. And there was only one woman who would be dumb enough to be sitting there, waiting for him, even if she wasn’t the first place his mind went. The first one was impossible, though, so he had to go with the second. “Gemma, what the fuck are you doing here.”
---
At the sound of his voice, Gemma's head snapped upwards, and she jumped, gasping in surprise. It took a lot to scare her, but god, he'd scared the life out of her. She hadn't heard a thing since she'd started poking through his house, even with Diana's enhanced senses. Was she really that out of practice? Not that she'd ever had a reason to practice before, but now, finally, she understood why he'd gotten away with murder so many times before. He was good. Very good. And that just pissed her off even more.
She leapt indignantly to her feet and hastily reached for a lamp, shedding some light on him in the darkness. Her eyes immediately found the gun in his hand and they widened, if that was even possible – they were impossibly wide already – and she gave him a quick once over. He looked surprisingly clean for someone who had just broken out of prison. And was that... had he gotten a haircut? Well, that was it. She'd officially seen everything. "What am I doing here?" she finally hissed once she was able to speak. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here, you moron? Jesus, Fletcher, how stupid are you?!" She stood her ground, purposefully not moving toward him, not even an inch. She didn't want to give him a reason to use that gun. A better reason, anyway. He already had a good one.
---
Fletcher blinked against the sudden burst of light, but didn’t miss the first place her eyes went. Even after she started scolding him, she still looked scared. He couldn’t blame her. Though, really, it was her own fault. If she hadn’t wanted to be alone in the same room as an escaped felon, she shouldn’t have broken in to his fucking house. He glanced around, making sure that she was alone. Going back to prison wasn’t at the top of his to-do list. Then again, neither was going through Gemma to regain his freedom. He was really hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
“You done?” She hadn’t started screaming for help. That was good. Maybe they could both go their separate ways without raising a fuss. No witnesses. Fletcher shook his head. Absolutely not. Damn it, boy. I mean it. Just to prove that Eddie wasn’t the boss, he shoved the gun out of sight, into the waistband of his jeans against the flat of his back. There was a steady stream of curses coming from the back of his mind that he steadily ignored. “I needed some stuff.” As if that explained it all, he took another step in to the room. Things were out of place, which bugged him, but there were more immediate concerned. “So, are you going to call for back up or what?”
---
She crossed her arms and huffed at him, not a little petulantly. She wasn't usually this on edge and defensive, but then, she didn't usually break into felons' houses. Everything she'd done tonight – or this week, rather – was entirely out of character for her, and it was all because of him. For the life of her, she couldn't understand what it was about him that made him so different from all the other criminals she was prosecuting, but if she was ever going to figure out, it wasn't going to be right now. At least he'd put the gun away. Belatedly, it occurred to her that she should've brought Diana's bracelets with her. As insurance, if nothing else. Well. No harm done. Apparently, he wasn't going to shoot her. Small mercies.
But her arms slowly fell back to her sides after he asked his question, and her expression went from angry and, yes, scared to one of slight bewilderment. Back-up? Not a chance. If anyone found her here, she'd be in just as much trouble as him. Nobody even knew she wasn't in LA. Which... Well, that was a frightening thought. If this conversation didn't go her way... No, she couldn't think about that. She shook her head once and wrung her hands, the only sign that betrayed how nervous and out of her element she was. "No, of course not. I have a lot less reason to be here than you do. Obviously."
---
Now she just looked confused. That was fair. He was pretty damn confused himself. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. If she did call someone, he was going to lose any opportunity he had to get what he needed out of here. So far, though, she hadn’t acted like someone who was just waiting for a chance to burn him. That didn’t mean he had to trust her completely, but it meant that he trusted her more than he should have. “Well. Okay then.” He shrugged, like it didn’t mean anything. That was wrong, though. It meant something. He just wasn’t sure what.
Fuck it all, she’s right. You are stupid. He rubbed a hand over his face, for a second looking as bone tired as he felt. This was supposed to be the easy part. In and out. Gemma was one hell of a complication. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now with her here. The easiest thing to do would be to ignore her, and finish what he’d come here to do. “Will you stop looking at me like that? I’m not going to hurt you.” Even when he said it, he knew he didn’t sound convincing. He sounded frustrated. To keep himself from walking out without accomplishing anything, he went over to one of the half a dozen bookshelves that lined the room and started pulling off books. The sooner he got what he’d come here for, the sooner he could leave.
---
Flustered, Gemma looked away from him, down at her hands. She didn't rightly know why, but she was... embarrassed? Yes. Definitely embarrassed. Even though she'd come here, she hadn't expected to find him, and now... Now she didn't know what to do. She couldn't even look at him, apparently, because she was looking at him like that. Whatever that meant. However she had been looking at him, she hadn't been judging him, but that only brought her back to her original question: What was she doing? No matter how many times she asked herself, she still didn't know, so she plopped back down on the couch with an exasperated sigh. It seemed like the only sensible thing to do in this completely nonsensical situation. She couldn't leave, after all. What else was she going to do.
Still, she didn't get too comfortable. She sat on the edge of the cushion, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees and holding her head in her hands. She glanced over at him when she could, trying to see what he was doing and wondering what he had come back to get, but she refrained from asking. Curiosity killed the cat? Or at least made the killer angry. She didn't want him to be angry. Better not to ask anything at all. She was too tired for sense, though. Too tired, and far too confused. "Why not?" she asked suddenly, straightening up and turning to look at him with narrowed eyes. "You should, and you know it. I'm a nuisance, and I'm only going to get in your way. Why wouldn't you hurt me?"
---
He didn’t turn when she sat down. If she wanted to hang out, then that was her prerogative. As long as she wasn’t phoning the cops, he didn’t give a shit what she was doing. No, that was a lie. He was ridiculously curious, but he knew better than to ask. You didn’t live as long doing what he did if you asked a bunch of questions. Apparently, she didn’t have the same qualms. He stopped moving, propping clenched fists against the shelf. That broad has more sense than you do. “You really think it’s that simple?” Of course she did. All prosecutors saw things like that, black and white. She was the white hat, he was the black hat. In her eyes, why wouldn’t it be that simple?
“I don’t make it a point to hurt women just because they get in my way.” Turning, he took a few steps closer, looking down at her. It should have been surreal, the two of them in his dark and mostly abandoned home. She should have looked strange and out of place on his sofa. But she didn’t. “Besides, you’re not that afraid of me.” He almost smiled, the corners of his mouth barely flickering. “If you were, you wouldn’t still be here.”
---
"I didn't say that," she tried to clarify, looking up at him, half-turned and leaning forward against the armrest, both arms resting in front of her. If she were following her own theory, she should've felt extremely uncomfortable here, even threatened, but she didn't. In a strange way, this conversation was almost starting to feel natural. She couldn't imagine why. There was nothing normal about this, nothing at all. And yet, there he was, smiling almost imperceptibly, but she caught it all the same. If he thought this conversation was funny, she couldn't blame him. It was verging on the ridiculous.
Her eyes narrowed further, trying to figure him out, and she tilted her head to the side curiously. Everything about this conversation was curious, and the more he said, the more interested she got. Which was dangerous. At this rate, she'd be here all night. "Would you believe me if I told you that I've never been afraid of you?" she asked, genuinely eager to know his answer and wondering if he'd be as honest with her as she was with him. It wasn't like he had anything to lose. She wasn't going to tell a soul about this conversation. Ever.
---
That was an interesting question. He thought it over, recalling all the times she’d come to visit him when he’d still been in prison. Added to the fact that she was here now, and hadn’t run screaming, and the answer was pretty easy to come up with. “Yeah, I guess I would.” And wasn’t that strange? It also wasn’t very smart, on her part. “You probably should be.” Most people outside of CORE were, and they didn’t even know the full story. Gemma did. She had all the police records and everything to back it up. She’s either crazy or stupid. Oughta take advantage of that before she smartens up.
Testing the both of them, he circled around and sat on the other end of the couch. It occurred to him then that this was the first time he’d ever spoken to her without shatterproof glass separating them. In the softer light, without any scratches or blurs between them, she almost looked like an entirely different person. Still attractive and delicate, but…that brought up all snide remarks Eddie had been making, and he quickly banished the thought. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Letting out a long sigh, he turned his attention to the ceiling. “You shouldn’t be here.”
---
Her eyes never left him as he walked around and sat opposite of her, and her body turned with him until she was facing him again. One leg was tucked underneath her, the other was hanging off the couch, while one arm propped up her head and the other rested lightly in her lap. Yes, she was definitely too comfortable. She didn't cringe or shy away, involuntarily or otherwise, when he sat down – if anything, she leaned in closer to him. She took comfort in the fact that he looked just as confused as she felt. She didn't think she looked confused anymore, but she could've been wrong. She wasn't very good at hiding her feelings, or concealing anything, really. Even in court, she was an open book. A terrible liar. Maybe she didn't look confused so much as lost. He was right. She shouldn't have been here.
"I know," she said simply, softly, running a hand through her hair. "But here I am anyway. Why? I honestly couldn't tell you. Been trying to figure that out all night." She laughed ruefully, both at herself and at this insane situation she'd gotten herself into. "But one thing's for sure." Her voice got softer and more serious, and her lingering smile all but faded. "This is one of the bigger mistakes I've made in my life."
---
If even she didn’t know why she was there, he felt a little better about not being able to figure it out for himself. Gemma shouldn’t have been a puzzle. It was so easy to tell what she was thinking. Yet he couldn’t for the life of him figure her out. It must have just been a female thing. He’d never been good with women. What’s the point in being able to sweet talk some dame? Let me tell you, there isn’t one. Especially not one like this. Either run her off, or fuck her then run her off. I’m sick of listening to you two gab about nothing.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to focus around Eddie. “You’d probably get fired if they knew you were here, right?” And he’d get arrested. God, she was complicating things. He didn’t want things to be complicated. He wanted to enjoy what freedom he had now, and do whatever jobs his new friends came up with. That was simple. He liked simple. “If it’s a mistake, maybe you should go.” He flinched. That sounded rude, and he knew it. “I’m sorry. But if they decide to come here looking for me, you shouldn’t get caught in the middle. Then it would be an even bigger mistake.”
Standing, he walked back toward the dark kitchen. If she wanted to go, at least she wouldn’t have to try to come up with some awkward goodbyes. There was no point in them.
---
She remained on the couch for a moment and silently watched him walk away before standing up and following him slowly. He was right. Again. She should go, but she didn't want to. Not yet. She really was being stupid. Every minute she stayed here was a minute closer to getting caught, but at that moment, she was too tired to care. Tired of her job, tired of being Wonder Woman, tired of these new complications... Tired of everything. At that moment, the simplest thing she could think of to do was to stay here, follow him, talk to him. That was easy, and besides, she liked it. Liked talking to him. Liked him? That thought shouldn't have been such a revelation, but it was. It explained so much. She liked him.
Lingering just outside the kitchen, she leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over her chest again. She rested her head against the wood, closing her eyes for a long moment before opening them again and searching him out. When she finally spoke, there wasn't much inflection in her voice. It was just like she was stating the facts, which she was. As far as she was concerned, these were indisputable. "Yeah, I'd get fired. Arrested too, probably. At the very least, they'd suspect I had something to do with the jailbreak. But it doesn't matter. They're not going to look for you here." She shrugged. "They still think you're in LA. I just came here on the off chance that you weren't."
---
Gemma didn’t leave. He heard her get up and follow him without saying a word. Bracing his hands on the counter, he sighed. Why was he relieved? He was supposed to be relieved when she left, not when she decided to stay. They stood there for awhile, the both of them in the dark, without looking at each other. She was mixing him up in a way he couldn’t describe, and he had no idea what to do about it. This was the woman who was supposed to be putting him away for a long time, a woman he’d never spoken to without the assistance of a phone before today. He shouldn’t have felt anything. He didn’t want to feel anything.
Fletcher laughed. “Of course they do. Why would I be stupid enough to come back here?” All of this was stupid. Even Eddie didn’t have to tell him that. There didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it, though. She was staying, and so was he. He wished he knew what to do from there.
It was easier if he just went with what was practical. He went back to the doorway, with every intention of flipping on the light. Instead, he paused. So maybe he wasn’t going to be practical. Stretching out a hand, he quickly ran two fingers down the side of her arm and gave her a small smile. “Sorry. Just making sure I hadn‘t finally gone crazy.”
---
Gemma laughed too, partially because the ridiculousness of this situation, and partially because she didn't know what else to do. At least they both realized how stupid they were. They were risking everything just by standing here together in the dark – risking their freedom. But she had no intentions of leaving. If she left, well. There were no guarantees that she would see him again, were there? At least when he was in prison she knew where he was. And here. She knew where he was here. She saw him reaching out to touch her and held her breath and did nothing to stop him. When he stopped, she exhaled, and tried (and failed) not to shiver. She couldn't help it. She hadn't expected that.
She returned his small smile and rested her head against the frame again. "No, Fletcher. You're not crazy. And if you are, well..." She laughed quietly and looked down at her feet. "I am definitely, definitely crazier."
---
“There would be worse hallucinations to have.” He didn’t think she was crazy. A little delusional, maybe, since she didn’t think he belonged in jail, but not crazy. Fletcher looked down at her, for a brief moment considering doing something that was both stupid and crazy. Leaning in slightly, he braced a hand against the doorframe and….decided against it at the last moment. No, that would complicate things in ways he couldn’t even imagine. Fucking idiot. He told himself that he wouldn’t even have considered it if he hadn’t just gotten out of prison. It was a convincing lie.
He took a step back, flipping on the light as he went. Maybe that would help. When it didn’t, he put some more distance between them. Damn it all, he could not be even remotely attracted to this woman. That would be beyond idiotic. The worst idea he’d ever had, and he’d had a ton of bad ideas. She never should have come here. “I couldn’t get you to leave if I tried, could I?”
---
"You may be right about that." Gemma saw what he was doing, and yet again, she didn't try to stop him. She couldn't even tell herself that she didn't want him to... But then he stopped himself. Turned the light on. Walked away. And she just kept standing there. She told herself to shake it off, but what was there to shake off? Common sense. He was right not to do it. She was an assistant district attorney. He was a fugitive. Even now, at her most deluded, she knew this would have to be the last time she saw him. Had to be. Otherwise they'd both be in trouble.
But that only gave her a bigger reason not to leave just yet. If she wasn't going to see him again, she was going to make this last meeting count. "No," she sighed, disappointment evident in her voice. "I'm sorry." She finally stepped into the kitchen, not far, but far enough for now. "I never meant for this to get so..." She trailed off, unable to find the right word. Was there a word for this? She didn't know.
---
"So what? Out of hand?" That seemed like the best way to put it. He had no idea what they were doing. They'd found themselves in some sort of odd grace period. Tomorrow, it'd be back to normal, with her helping out the proper authorities and him going back to LA to do what he could for the resistance they were building. Unless they caught him again, he wouldn't see her after this. Maybe he should make the best of that. Now all he had to do was figure out what that even meant. "It's not your fault." Not completely, anyway. At this point, it was getting easy to see that they were both to blame for whatever this was that they were doing.
He raked a hand through his hair, still totally unsure about what to do with this woman. "If you're going to stay, make yourself at home. I probably have something in here to drink." His brow furrowed as he looked around at his very, very bare kitchen. "Maybe." There must be something in there that hadn't spoiled. If he was lucky. "Anything I don't carry off will just go to waste anyway."
---
"Yes. That." It was a good a description as any. Everything seemed to be spiraling out of control, and she wasn't exactly doing anything to stop it. If anything, she'd been helping it along. He was wrong, it was her fault – pushing him to take a deal in prison, coming here, staying here... whereas, in comparison, all he'd done was break out of jail only to find her in his house, putting him in an even more difficult position. More difficult than fleeing from justice. This really wasn't fair, for either of them, and she should've left now before things got... Well, what? Better? Worse? She honestly didn't have a clue anymore.
But then he invited her to stay, more or less, and that made her decision for her. Apparently he didn't have a clue either. She bowed her head graciously and made her way over to the table, sitting down with another quiet sigh. Make herself at home. Right. Like she hadn't done that already by taking over his couch. "Oh, don't bother, Fletcher. I'm not... hungry or thirsty or anything. Just tired. Which is your fault, by the way." She shot him a small smile, trying not think about this surreal turn in the conversation. Niceties? Now? Well. Better late than never. If nothing else, this made up for that greeting with the gun. Which should not have made sense, and she should not have been okay with. But she was. She really was tired.
---
He followed her, resting both hands on the back of her chair and leaning down slightly. “No offense, Miss Davenport, but I think I’d remember wearing you out.” Then he laughed and backed up, grinning roguishly. “Sorry. Sometimes I can’t help myself.” It was easy to blame Eddie at time like that, but the truth was, he was inappropriately sarcastic even when the old bastard wasn’t whispering in his ear. Still, that was no way to talk to a lady. And Gemma most certainly qualified as a lady.
Sliding in to the seat next to her, he propped both elbows on the table. “I know what you mean, though. Can’t look good on anyone, us getting out like that.” He wondered how much she knew about the breakout. Not all the guards who had gotten in their way had made it. That couldn’t have helped anything. “I’m sorry, you know. That you have to deal with it.” Not that he’d done it. Just that she had to deal with the fall out That wasn’t fair to her. They’d all wanted out, though, and there hadn’t been another way.
---
"Oh, yeah, no offense," she scoffed, but she couldn't help it – she was laughing, too. She'd walked right into that one, without even realizing it. And usually she did. She'd learned early on in her career what to say and what not to say around a criminal, especially as a female prosecutor. Most of the time they did just fine all on their own, no encouragement necessary. Not that she was encouraging Fletcher. Was she? She certainly hadn't forgotten the way he'd leaned into her by the door frame – only minutes ago, but it felt like longer. And here he was again, leaning over her shoulder and grinning. Oh, this just kept making less and less sense. But she couldn't ignore one particular thought that occurred to her as he sat down next to her. She liked the way he looked when he wasn't scowling.
She half-turned to face him again, raising an eyebrow curiously when he apologized. Normally, she would've been disbelieving. He was sorry for dumping this mess on her lap, but not for killing those guards? That seemed backwards to her, but then, she had a very clear idea about guilt and what to feel guilty for. Remorse, too. It was obvious he didn't regret the escape, even if his second night of freedom wasn't exactly going according to plan. Her fault, again. She didn't say anything to him about the breakout, though. Everything she thought of saying would only be unpleasant, so she avoided the subject and instead said something that she'd been thinking for... well, for months now. It seemed like the right moment to say it. Neither of them were going anywhere for awhile. "You know, the more time I spend with you, the more you surprise me." But she left out the rest of her thought. That she wished she could figure him out, and then maybe she'd be able to leave him alone. That was more than she was willing to say out loud, but she wasn't trying to hide it, either. Her meaning was still clear. She hoped.
---
That made him laugh. “I believe I’ll take that as a compliment.” It was best to take it as something positive, since he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant. Going in to their first meeting, she must have had some sort of pre-determined idea of what she was getting in to. The picture painted by his criminal records couldn’t have been a pretty one. If everything after that was a surprise, he had to hope it was a good one. He didn’t think he acted like a cold blooded killer when he was in polite company, but then, he was carrying around a raging sociopath. Maybe that part of Eddie’s personality had finally started to bleed over. That certainly wouldn’t have been a surprise.
“You’re pretty surprising yourself, Gemma.” She hadn’t ceased to amaze him yet. The biggest surprise yet had been her showing up here, but it certainly wasn’t the first. He leaned across the corner of the table, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Is that why you kept coming back? Because I wasn’t what you’d expected?”
---
That should have been a simple question. A simple question with a simple answer: yes. Yes, that's why she had kept coming back. That first meeting was enough to show her that he wasn't like the other criminals she made a career out of imprisoning. The next few meetings had been spent trying to prove herself wrong, to prove that he wasn't different, and then when she couldn't, and the next few after that were spent trying to figure out why. Meeting after meeting after meeting, and she still hadn't figured it out. Couldn't let it go, either. She'd poked her nose in his business so often, she was legitimately surprised that he didn't hate her. He didn't, though. He just wanted to know the same thing she wanted to know. Why?
She swallowed and looked down at her hands. They were resting in her lap again, wringing nervously. A simple "yes" shouldn't have been so hard to say. Finally, she looked back up at him and nodded. "Yeah. That's why."
---
Well, that simplified things a bit. At least now he knew why she’d kept coming back. It hadn’t been to try to cut a deal, or to keep questioning him, or just because she was curious about what CORE terrorists were like. She’d come for him, because of how he wasn’t the person she‘d thought he was going to be. So you’re flattered now because this idiot woman thinks you’re different? Hah. That’s the biggest load of horse shit I ever heard. You’re no different than the rest of them. Just because that was true didn’t mean he didn’t like hearing that there was someone out in the world who didn’t think he was a complete monster. Even if the woman was a touch delusional to think that way.
“Huh. I suppose there are worse reasons to have for visiting a criminal.” He reached out again and touched her arm, mostly to see if he could get her hands to stop moving. “You only do that when your nervous. You’ve got nothing to be nervous about, Gemma.”
---
She blinked in surprise when he touched her, and her hands did stop moving, if only because she forgot they'd been moving in the first place. "I'm not – I'm not nervous," she insisted breathlessly, eyes wide and shaking her head once. She wanted to glance down at his hand on her arm, but she couldn't seem to look away from him. She blamed it on the way he said her name. He didn't say it often, but when he did, it sounded like an entirely different word. No one else said her name like that...
She caught herself in the middle of that thought, closed her eyes, and finally looked away, shaking her head again. "I'm not nervous." Her voice was stronger this time. Maybe if she sounded confident, she magically wouldn't be nervous anymore, but when had that tactic ever worked? She was even worse at lying to herself than she was at lying to someone else. When she finally opened her eyes, she was looking back down at her hands again. Some hair had fallen into her face, but she made no move to brush it away. For the moment, it was a shield. Something she needed. She didn't like being unsure of herself – couldn't even remember the last time she had been. It was useless trying to hide it, but she tried nonetheless. "I... don't know what I am."
Slowly, she began to peer at him from behind her hair. "Fletcher. Why am I here?"
---
It didn’t take long for her to go from nervous to confused. No, that wasn’t even confused. It was a few steps beyond confused. He felt sorry for her. This had to be his fault, why she was so mixed up. He was mixed up, too, but he’d gotten good at dealing with it. She shouldn’t have to deal with this, just because she’d decided he was interesting. It couldn’t be worth it. Fletcher looked at her carefully, wondering if she was about to have some sort of breakdown. He wasn’t one of those men who went to pieces over a woman in tears, but Gemma seemed like she might be the exception to that.
His hand moved from her arm to gently brush some of the hair away from her face. That wasn’t an easy question for him to answer, so he thought about it for a long moment. “I don’t know, dearie.” For as long as he’d pondered it, that wasn’t a very good answer. “I doubt it’s because I’m that damn charming.” That wasn’t much better, but he tried to tease a smile out of her. She looked distraught enough that he wasn’t sure what else to do. Putting a hand under her chin, he tilted her head back so she could look straight at him. “But I won’t tell anyone you came. So once you leave, you can forget all about it.”
---
This was a side of him she never expected to see, and if she hadn't been so lost, she probably never would have. He was sweet. So much sweeter than she'd ever thought possible. Criminals weren't supposed to be so gentle. Murderers weren't supposed to call her "dearie." Terrorists weren't supposed to make her smile. This was just so backwards and wrong, but she couldn't stand the thought of leaving. So she wouldn't leave. Not until he made her. She'd told him she was stubborn. He really didn't know the half of it.
She gave him a small, sad smile as she reached one hand up to pull his down and away from her face, but she didn't let it go. Instead, she just held his hand in her lap, where her own were resting. They didn't betray her nervousness anymore; instead, the way she gently brushed her thumb over his only showed how inexplicably calm she was now. Whatever she had been nervous about before was still there. There was just no use in fighting it anymore. "I wish it were that easy." Her voice was just as soft and sad as her smile. Still lost, but resigned to it now. She was just here. It didn't matter why. It didn't matter.
---
He hadn’t been expecting her to take his hand like that, but he didn’t try to pull away. It seemed almost natural, the two of them sitting there like that. He just wished she didn’t look so sad about it. Whatever he was going through, it had to be worse for her. It was one thing to find yourself attracted to a lovely woman in a suit, and another thing entirely to feel that way about a man who had been labeled a terrorist. Especially when he was a terrorist you were supposed to be prosecuting. This had the be the most fucked situation any two people had ever found themselves in. If things had been different…he stopped himself there. If things had been different, chances were they never would have met. Besides, things were never going to be different. There was no point in daydreaming.
“If you don’t want to forget, then I’d best give you something to remember.” The legs of his chair scraped against the floor as he scooted closer. This time, he didn’t put much thought in to it. He simply did what felt right. Wrapping his free hand in her hair, he tugged pulled her closer and kissed her. It was fairly restrained as kisses went, mostly because he really didn’t want to scare her. Still, he lingered for a second before pulling back, watching her closely in case he was about to be on the receiving end of a right hook.
---
Just like before, Gemma saw what was coming, and she didn't try to stop him. Didn't want to. In spite of everything, or perhaps because of it, she wanted him to kiss her. It was hard not to. This situation they were in was impossible to navigate – there was no right or wrong anymore, nothing concrete, just what felt right, and he did. His lips felt right. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, and she kissed him back, raising one hand to touch his face, barely grazing it, while the other still tightly held on to his.
But then he pulled away, and it took a moment for her to catch her breath, and another moment still for her eyes to open again. She met his gaze and moved her hand forward to touch his face again, tracing the line of his cheekbone with her thumb. Biting her lip, she tried not to smile too widely as she slowly shook her head. "Don't worry. I won't forget."
---
She wasn’t the only one who needed a moment to catch their breath. Even as he was waiting for some sort of retaliation, he was trying to get his heart to slow down. He had plenty of excuses for that: prison had been long and lonely, he was still running on adrenaline from busting out of said prison, and so on. The truth was, though, that there was something about this woman that could probably get his blood pumping even without any sort of exciting circumstances. It was all her. Nothing else mattered.
Fletcher returned her smile with a slight on of his own. “Good.” He still had no earthly idea what he was doing, and kissing her had only escalated it. Talking to the ADA after she’d broken in to his house would probably be excusable. Kissing her, on the other hand, would make certain people very unhappy. It would be for the best if he kept this to himself. This particular part of his evening would be easy enough to edit out, if anyone asked. Which meant he had no reason to stop. Or stop trying, at least. He tugged her closer again, this time, pausing before his lips touched hers. “If you want me to stop, Gemma, just say so.”
---
Alarm bells should've been going off in her head. Sirens, even. And if not that, then at least a twinge of common sense, but no. No alarm bells, no second thoughts. It wasn't that she wasn't thinking anymore, or that she'd stopped – she was just thinking differently. She knew the risks of letting him kiss her, and of kissing him back. She could lose her job, her license, her family, or even her life, if the wrong people got wind of this. His people. But he wouldn't tell. They'd go after him as well, and if nothing else, Fletcher always looked after himself first, she knew that. But if they kept this a secret, if no one ever knew... She could keep kissing him. Just like she wanted.
She let go of his hand finally and reached upwards, wrapping her hand around the base of his neck and softly curling her fingers into his hair. "Don't you dare," she whispered, craning forward to connect with him again. She was much less tentative this time, on the edge of her seat, trying to get closer to him. After months of only seeing him through bulletproof glass, he wasn't nearly close enough.
---
There was no time for him to respond. Their lips met again, and he had no reason to be cautious. Sitting there and kissing her was all well and good, but there were ways to make it better. Fletcher stood, wrapping an arm around her waist so that he could drag her along. There had been times, only a few but still, when he’d wondered what it would be like to get his hands on her. Indulging in that curiosity was better than any daydream. He’d wanted to do this for a long time, he just hadn’t known it until right then. Fuck freedom, it was probably worth busting out of jail just so he could do this.
He kept one arm at her waist and the other in her hair as he slowly backed them up toward the living room. If they were going to do this, they may as well be comfortable. About halfway there, he remembered that he was armed, and that that was probably one hell of a mood killer. He leaned away briefly, just for long enough to yank the gun out of the back of his pants and slide it on the counter. “Sorry.” If anyone came for them, he’d just have to be fast about defending them. Yeah, that was totally possible.
---
She followed him upwards, wrapping an arm around his back and kissing him deeply, and then let him push her backwards into the living room. So this was why she was here. Of course. How had she not realized this before? But that didn't matter now. She was touching him, kissing him, holding him tightly, and that was all she cared about. Even Diana, who had been protesting all night, was uncharacteristically silent. Letting her enjoy the moment while she could. Ah, there she was, in those last three words. Yes, that's exactly what she'd be doing. She wasn't going to be seeing him after tonight, was she? She didn't have a choice in the matter. She had to enjoy this now.
... Just as soon as he was done getting rid of that gun. She was a little bewildered when he pulled away to toss it on the counter, but once she saw what he was doing, she narrowed her eyes and couldn't help but roll them when he apologized. That was all they needed. One more reminder as to why this shouldn't be happening. But she smiled nonetheless and rested her forehead against his. "It's okay," she breathed, laughing throatily. "Just don't ever kiss me with a gun in your pants again, alright?"
---
That’s more like it. Eddie had just realized that the conversation was a) not as boring and b) no longer much of a conversation. That didn’t mean that Fletcher had to put up with him though. There were times when it was much easier to get him to go away. Like when he really wanted privacy. Now qualified as one of those times. It took him a second, but he eventually forced the old pervert to shut up. As long as Fletcher didn’t have to listen to him, he didn’t really care if he was paying attention to what was going on or not. He had no guarantees about where this was going, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want a little privacy, just in case.
He laughed, smoothing the hair away from her face. “Noted. Never again, promise.” If they ever got a chance to do this again. He knew that it was unlikely. Seeing her was entirely too dangerous, for both of him. He wished it wasn’t. She was the best company he’d had in over a year. He bent down to kiss her again, then continued back toward the living room. Once there, he dropped on to the couch, tugging her down with him.
---
She didn't know how long they'd been on the couch before she finally had to give up. Ten minutes? An hour? More? Apparently her ability to tell time went straight out the window when she was kissing him. Not that she minded. He was a good kisser. Great, actually. Really great. She was just exhausted. Over the past twenty-four hours, she'd gotten little to no sleep and endured the emotional rollercoaster ride of a lifetime. Of course she was about to pass out. The only reason her eyes were closed now as she continued kissing him was because it took too much effort to open them again, and lying more or less flat on the couch like this wasn't helping at all. After a moment of concentration, though, her eyes fluttered open, and she pulled away slightly before going back in for a quick, apologetic kiss. God, why did she have to be so tired....
"I'm sorry," she murmured, reaching up to touch his face once more. She still couldn't believe he was so close. Almost like a dream. "I'm sorry, Fletcher, but you really did..." She chuckled, smiling to herself as her eyes closed again and her head fell back on the pillow. "You wore me out." She sighed contently, and her arms relaxed around him as she promptly fell asleep.
---
It was plain to see that she was knackered. When she pulled away for the last time, he smiled down at her. The look on his face was so fond that people he worked with would probably be startled to see it. She was cute, though, all tired and slightly mussed. “Get some sleep, love.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, amused to see that she was already asleep by the time he sat back. That had gone well. Are you fucking kidding me? That went like shit. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. Of course Eddie was back. He’d been ready to tune in for the good part, but she’d passed out. Which he was okay with. Neither of them needed to make any more mistakes tonight.
Sitting up, he swung himself off the couch and paused to look at her. She seemed much less formidable when she slept. Deciding he couldn’t just leave her there, he scooped her up easily and carried her to the master bedroom in the back of the house. She’d probably sleep better in a real bed. It took some maneuvering to get the door open, but he managed. The cleaning service had done well in here, too. She hardly even twitched when he laid her down.
With Gemma safely sleeping, he was able to do what he’d meant to in the first place. He raided every hiding place he had, taking a few trips out to the car he had hidden in the alley. At least now he’d have enough cash to get by and enough guns for any other trouble that might come his way. Once he was done loading everything up, he laid down on the couch. There was no way he was just going to leave her there alone, though he did set an alarm so that he would be up and out of there long before the sun rose. Rolling over, he tried to get some sleep himself. It was harder than it sounded, when the smell of her perfume lingered.