Sarah Connor is cursed to be ever vigilant (ever_vigilant) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-26 22:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, neena thurman (domino), pete wisdom |
I'm not going t'think less of you.
Who: Domino, Pete Wisdom
What: Dom breaks down and tells Pete a lot of stuff. There are many feels.
When: Recently
Where: At a safehouse, somewhere in OC
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 - language, smoking, mentions of sex, etc.
Status: Complete!
And it was a smoke if you got ‘em moment. At least they were both covered by the bedsheet this time. Instead of using eachother as coverage. Not that Pete thought that was a terribad idea or anything. It was a little stuffy in there, after all.
It was exceptionally stuffy in the room, and the air was already filled with a heady mixture of after-sex-smells and cigarette smoke. Dom didn’t care in the slightest, just then. Her main priority at the moment was cuddles and finding a cigarette.
Pete placed one against her lips until she took hold, and then he lit it for her. He was puffing leisurely away, with a look of sheer satiated satisfaction on his face. Slow grindy sex...was rather epic. It tended to leave a look of bitchslapped satiated satisfaction on people’s faces.
There was a similar look of satiated satisfaction on Dom’s lips, and she wondered, not for the first time, why they’d waited this long to do this sort of thing. She was already so very in not-love with the sex they were having.
He too knew of this state of not-love she was thinking of, and it is something he avidly agreed with and a sentiment he utterly completely shared. In fact, he started to speak in an entirely lazy Brit tone of voice, “...if anything else needs sorted out, by all means, let Doctor Wisdom know. I'll see to it.”
Domino smirked, “I have this feeling like I'll be switching you to my primary practitioner, on a completely mutually casual basis.”
She punctuated her sentence with a few very merry puffs on her cigarette.
“Wote'er you desire, m'dear. Doctor Wisdom makes house calls.” He seemed pensive for a moment, thinking over his dreams of being a spy the night prior, and then put serious consideration into the living situation, as far as where she was going to reside now that she burned out her apartment. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea, given present circumstances, to bring up the topic of banding together, again.
“Such 5 star service,” she quipped. Her mind had started to wander a bit, into a daydream land where life was all about casual sex, cigarettes, painkillers, and booze. That would be a nice life.
“I'll bill you later.” He glanced over at her and grinned. “...you know, maybe it might not be such a piss poor idea, if we were all living in the same place.“
In her daydream life, this was already the best plan ever. Sadly, real life was already starting to intrude on her thoughts, “Is it secure?” she asked him, while closing her eyes and casually puffing away. They could have been talking about the weather.
“I believe so. If it's me sis, she probably has it under her name, or one of her wiccan alias names. Three bedrooms, two bath. If anyone tries t'get in, they'll be shot dead, and hexed. Point is, if you're tailed, one o' the three of us is going to notice. You won't have to shoot yourself again, merely put up with a bit o' a mess an' patchouli oils.”
He made it sound oh so pleasant.
He made it sound much safer than being holed up in this place and constantly being afraid of being caught or followed, “ ... that's not a bad idea...”
“You get your own room and room service.” He would be providing the room service, naturally.
Ignoring the cheeky comment about room service, Dom’s entirely too-thorough brain snapped into normal operating mode. The kind that checked for defensive positions in restaurants and always knew more than one method of escape.
“How many exits? Just the one, or is there a porch, too?”
“Not certain yet. Haven't been. We could take a look at it though if you'd like? Otherwise, I don't know. I'd have t'ask Romany. I'll do that t'morrow. I'd rather not jostle you about too much more than we've been, already. At least you've been in bed, but...hmmmm...” He was smirking, as though his mind had drifted off elsewhere for a moment, as he took one last drag off his cigarette and looked around for something to stub it out on.
He looked like he had mischief on his mind, and she side eyed him like she could read that expression on his face, easily. Her own expression was a little more guarded.
“...I quite like you having to submit to bed rest right now,” he finally finished, after he dropped his ciggie into a empty beer can and gave it a rattle to putter it out.
That comment made her snerk, and grin at him, “You are in so much trouble when I'm up and about again.”
“I expect you'll have your wicked revenge upon me and I'll simply have to lay down and take it. Oh, wote'er will I do.” It didn’t help that he was saying each and every word like he would enjoy the fuck out of the experience. “Of course, me sis would know we're up to things. It's impossible not to hear that sort of fooling about, going on.”
Recalling the incident involving crude things Romany had done on her couch and in her shower, Domino remarked, “Revenge.”
“Mmhm.”
She darted her eyes to the side, “I'll just pretend she isn't listening.”
“We'll be slapped upside our heads all about it, really. That's the only downside. But if you don't care and I don't care and if we simply do wot the fuck we want, then I don't mind either. I mean...no strings fuck buddies...wote'er. Casual...unwedded...sex addicts.”
She had absolutely no complaints with the things he was saying, especially where they applied to them simply being casual unwedded sex addicts. Her only remark was to give him a thumbs up.
Pete nodded like it was all good. He really wanted her to not have to set things on fire, or shoot herself again...or...to be shot at, at all.
Sadly being shot at was par for the course in this line of work, and the only thing one could do to prevent the bullets doing much damage involved ducking for cover and kevlar. It wasn’t like either of them had selected a desk job.
He was going to shoot at anyone who shoots at her, damn it all. >.<
“Think on it, and I'll get the details. I think it'd be a better idea than...well...this. Bit of normalcy. Or it’d make things utterly abnormal.” He gave her a kiss and rubbed a hand over her back. “Maybe you should rest.”
She probably should be resting, but now her mind was racing. Real life had finally managed to claw its way in completely past daydreams of a nice normal life with anyone at all. Normal just didn’t happen. And he was having a complete ‘not an asshole’ moment, which she read as him caring about her in a way he would never say. They watched eachother’s backs.
It was dangerous. She knew who he was here for. He didn’t know who she worked for. Even if she played her cards right, there was going to be people who weren’t very happy with her before this was all over. Several people. And the longer she stayed with him and Romany, the more emotionally compromising it was going to be for her. She already leaned on Pete too much.
The truth was, she didn’t want to lose the support structure, and she was terrified of the day she’d have to watch her own back against him.
After a long silence of her thinking through all that, she admitted, “I'm worried.”
“...'bout wot?” He looked at her, his own expression tinged by worry.
Taking on that more guarded expression again, she began to try and pussy-foot around the issue, “Your sister could have bullets flying at her. Because of me. I mean ... okay she might have them because of you, too.”
Domino paused, and shook her head, “But I was supposed to look out for her just in case. Not make it worse.”
“Me sis has had sheer evil flying at her....b'cos of...look, she's worked with the police on cases and such? She knows wot she's in for. And, as much as it goes against me wanting t'hole meself up in me own spaces, alone...maybe it's better with safety in numbers. She annoys the fuck out of me, but I trust her...and I trust you.”
Those last three words might as well have been daggers in her chest. Oh it wasn’t intentional. Pete wasn’t trying to hurt her, if anything he was trying to reassure her. But it wasn’t very reassuring. He trusted her, and she was going to break that trust. There was no way out of that.
Even faking a fire and all of that, she’d have to let the Illusive Man know she was alright eventually. She’d still have to betray Pete. There was a time in her life where that would have been easy. He himself had mentioned that she was excellent at not letting the job get personal. Aside from the handful of times where it had - all of them mistakes - she’d managed to keep her head in the game for years at a time.
Taking out the lapses it was a good 15 years of being a cool, calm, and efficient killing machine. To be honest, she didn’t think she could do it anymore. To be further honest, he made her feel guilty as hell. Especially now that they were doing THIS with eachother.
Still, there was too much at stake for her not to try to bury everything she felt deep, deep down. Her expression smoothed into something stony-faced and hard to read.
Pete raised his eyebrows up a smidge while tilting his chin down. After all, he had been watching her the whole time, so any subtle changes in her eyes or expression were going to be duly noted. It was also time to throw out a clarification.
“...if you don't think it's a good idea...then that's up t'you. I thought I'd suggest it again.” He turned his head to one side, still staring right at her. In fact, his eyes seemed to be locked in a fixed position the entire time.
It was an excellent idea in any situation but this one. She couldn’t say that, so instead she replied, “I'll think about it.”
One eyebrow lowered and the other stayed arched up. “ ...all right. You do that.”
She knew from his tone that she’d said the wrong thing, and chewed on her lip a bit. Thinking it best to put a bit of distance between them for the moment, she tossed her spent cigarette into a nearby coffee cup and started crawling out of bed, “I need to ... ... I'm going to clean up. Re-bandage.”
He had noticed the lip chewing and he knew a retreat when he saw one, because he's pretty much pulled enough retreats of his own, in his time. Something, somewhere, had gone wrong. He closed his eyes but was actually rolling them up behind his eyelids, as he did so.
Pete didn’t let her get too far, before he stated in a very even tone of voice, “Why don't you let me help you.”
It would probably be difficult for her to be doing any cleaning up or rebandaging, hobbling around like that. He wasn’t in the mood to bellow at her or anything, either. He actually opened his eyes again to watch her, though they were heavy-lidded and gave him an air of looking unenthused, because he seemed to have taken the proverbial wrong turn at Albuquerque. His mouth even formed a thin, pale line, as he tried to figure out where that wrong turn had taken place.
It was his tone, more than his words, that made her stop at the exit of the bedroom, turn, and lean against the doorframe instead of continuing the retreat. It was a tone that implied he knew damn well something was wrong. She worked through the whole mess in her head, trying to find a way to explain things without saying too much. She wasn’t sure it was possible.
He was watching very closely, from where he was laying, on the bed. Watching and waiting.
There was no getting him off the scent, either, not when he was patiently waiting for an explanation like that. So finally, she said, in an extremely even tone, “... You don't know what mission I'm on. We don't tell eachother that stuff for a reason.”
“Right,” he confirmed, “and it's been that way unless there was a disclosure there t'do that, if we were working on the same thing. Why're you bringing this up now, Neena?”
Because we’re working against eachother. She hugged herself with her arms and tried very hard not to feel so goddamned vulnerable while he looked at her like that, “You trust me.”
“Right. I do.”
“You trust me with your sister, your credit card number, your personal space, your safehouses...”
“...right,” he said, slowly that time, “...why...do you not trust me or summat?”
As she worked through the list she snerked, and added, “We both sleep better when we're in the same bed with eachother.”
Mainly because each one knew that the other would shoot any intruders. There was a safety in numbers, there.
“...bloody hell, yes, that's true.”
Everyone has a facial expression that they save for certain moments, the moments when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable, the moments where inner turmoil is ripping them up inside. The moments when someone’s finally managed to break through the outer walls into the places deep inside a person. Domino had such a face, but there were only two people in the world who had ever seen it. Both of them were dead.
She could feel her face twisting into it as she tried to talk her way around the issue, and looked down at the floor to try and hide it away, “Things in my life are very ... very complicated.”
“And I'm an idiot,” she added, emphatically, “Because I let them get that way, and it's not what we've been doing with eachother, so don't think that.”
He didn’t say anything at that, because he was listening to what she was saying. Although, Pete did make a face at the idiot part, like he didn’t believe that for an instant. Even so, it didn’t seem like the appropriate place to interject, so he didn’t go shooting his mouth off. He still knew when to keep it shut, and to simply watch and wait some things out.
“I think we both needed that.” She didn’t want him thinking that it was the physical intimacy that was the problem there, and shook her head.
Still trying to tip-toe around things, she added “... I have a situation. And the more we live together, the more complicated that situation is going to get. But if I get you involved, you might as well go home in a box now.”
“That's brilliant,” he said in an instant, his temperament cancelling out the watching and waiting part. “Sign me up.”
“But you're already involved ... but you'll be ... DAMN IT, Pete.”
“Wot? I'm volunteering. Let's go.”
And that was the end of that. No more sharing if he was just going to run off and get killed, and not take this seriously, “Nevermind.”
“I'll uncomplicate your shite or die trying. Oh, no. Don't you do that. No neverminds. You say the rest of it, right now, b'cos you've said this much, you can't turn back. Do or die. You know better than trying t'run from things around me.”
“I don't WANT you to throw yourself into this and die. And it can't be ... we can't just go storm the fortress and call it a day. Saying this requires a delicate touch is like saying the nuclear bomb was a 10 year old's volcano science experiment.”
“Well tell me wot the fuck needs done then, and I'll help you do it,” he was saying a little more snappishly than he intended, but that was only because he was worried and on edge by the way she was acting.
It was fair of him, all things considered. She was acting more and more suspicious as this conversation went on. She very quietly considered the worst case scenario if she just came clean. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he could help. Maybe she should let him. Nothing could be more terrible than it already was. Maybe. In certain situations, this would be the kind of talk that ended in gun shots. And she didn’t even know where to begin.
That temperamental flare-up cooled down, in an instant. Enough that he spoke softly and less harshly this time, “Just...out with it? I'm not going t'think less of you.”
“I'm actually more afraid you're going to shoot me,” she finally said, in a very even and extremely quiet tone of voice, “Because in this instance...I would.”
“Wot? No. Why would I do that?” He started to get out of the bed, after having a flappy hands fight with the sheet. “Why don't you let me be the judge of that, eh? Say it. Go on. I doubt very highly that I'd shoot you. That's rubbish.”
Still leaning against the door frame and looking slightly at the floor, Domino tried to find a place to begin, and ended up starting from the very beginning. Her voice took on the tone of a storyteller, and if he could see her face, he’d be able to tell she was miles away, “There was this time I thought I was raiding some super secret government facility.”
“It was in between missions with the Red Suns, nice time to get some personal shit done. I was following a lead about my mother.”
“So I get there ... and my mother isn't there, but there's this kid,” her face twitched a bit at the memory, “He's writing out math equations I can't even wrap my head around, right?”
He nodded while listening - not that she could see it - putting his boxers back on and grabbing the sheet right off the bed.
“Right. B'cos kids are smart arses,” he finally said, to let her know that she still had his full attention.
She continued with the story, barely hearing his response, “He's gifted. This kid. He's ... One of those genius autistic kids. I don't even know.”
“But he looks like me, and fuck if I was leaving him in there.” her tone went a bit protective at that point, and it was obvious that she’d felt some kind of connection to the boy.
“I've probably seen my mother before but I don't remember,” she shook her head. That part was slightly irrelevant to the current story, except to point out that she knew the kid was blood somehow, despite not really knowing the family resemblance, “She shows up as I'm helping the kid out. It was a mess. I shot her. I didn't like her motives.”
He moved in closer and put the sheet around her shoulders. But that’s as far as that went. He didn’t want to get touchy feely, because she was in her own place while she was talking this out, and he didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought.
“...go on,” he prompted, though it was spoken faintly and in a low tone of voice. He was thinking that if she didn't like the motives, then she had a damn good reason. He was biased, though. He knew that mothers could be insufferable and monumental asses about things, too.
She snerked a bit, “She thought he was some messiah ... and I was some kind of failure, because I had her gifts but wouldn't use them. She thinks she's some kind of prophet or something.”
“She was fucking fruit loops, Pete.” She shook her head again. To this day she’d been unable to put words on how that situation had made her feel, “No idea if she's still alive, but anyway ... the kid, I took him somewhere safe. ... she named him Lazarus if you can believe that shit.”
“All the better to shoot at,” he grumbled about her mum being loopy. Even so, Pete wasn’t sure where this was going quite yet, but it seemed to be heading to bad places. Mentions of religious references tended to make him feel that way, regardless. “My, how biblical.”
Domino hugged the sheet around her as she mentally moved on to a different point in the story, one that she would probably never be able to tell anyone all the details on, “So a year after that, I get hired by an independent client to take part in this mission. And THAT went to hell fast. It was supposed to be an extraction, but I ended up having to kill the agent on the inside. That was the one... 4 bullets and dragging my ass across the desert to an evac.”
She’d almost died. It hadn’t been the first time something had gone bad for her - lord knows there were times it’d gone worse - but that time, that time had shaken her to the core.
“Pleasant.” He went to fetch some cigarettes. It was sounding more and more like she might need one.
“I pretty much thought my career was over until I get contacted by someone.”
She paused at that point, working to steady her voice back into a tone that was even and vacant of the emotions she attached to the events in question, “Who fixes me up damn good. Really damn good. He's got a picture of my brother. He sends me pictures of my brother. Every week, new ones. To let me know he's still alive. Unless they're old ones and he's faking.”
Past the admittance of some amount of blackmail going on, Dom took a deep, shuddering breath, then let it out, “This was before the CIA told me I was working for them or they were locking me up.”
Storytime now mostly done with, it was a great time for a cigarette, in her book.
“...wot...b'cos of the agent you killed on the inside? But surely there was a reason for that...agents go bad all of the time.” He made his way back over to her, holding out a cigarette and the lighter. By then, he was standing right by her side. “And wot's that about, there? Blackmail, with your brother? As the incentive, I mean.”
With that last question posed, he patiently held out the lit lighter to her.
She lit the cigarette up gratefully and took a very long drag off the thing before clarifying.
“Oh the CIA wanted me because they've been following my 'career',” she said, with air quotes.
“It hasn't all been legal shit we did. I was wanted in like 6 countries. All of that has been nicely cleaned away, but...”
Pete murmured an addition to what she was saying, “It wasn't legal when I worked with you either, to be precise. But sometimes, to catch terrorists and killers, it’s easier to turn a blind eye.”
Story pretty much out in the open now, Domino finally decided to just cut to the chase. The fact was, he didn’t seem to understand that she was his enemy right now. Against her will, but still, an enemy. She shuffled a foot against the floor, “I'm a double agent, Pete. The Illusive Man. I take his orders, and I take theirs.”
This is where he paused as things sunk in. He was recalling what Shepard had told him, in that neutral pub they’d met in, when she disclosed the full story, through her dreams.
Once it did sink in, including all of the implications, he asked for further clarification, “You mean...is that Harper?”
She’d never known his name, “... Harper. I guess.”
“...oh, for fuck's sake.” Now he did sounded a little pissed off. Ok, fine, he sounded a lot pissed off. Not at her, though he didn’t really explain that.
He had every right to be pissed. She knew it would probably come down to that. She found that her insides were sinking, anyway, and when she was able to speak it was a very small if somewhat resigned voice, “... gun to the head execution style would be good...”
“...no. You're being manipulated. That's wot that is. He's the real bastard. Do you know where he is, or have any idea where your brother is?” He took hold of her elbow to get her to focus. “Look at me.”
That was the tone Pete used when he was being deadly serious, and she had no other response but to do exactly as she was told. Her eyes were watery around the edges, like they were rimmed with tears she wasn’t quite ready to cry just yet.
Good girl for focusing, but - at the same time - he was going to have to choose his words carefully, based on the fact she looked ready to break down and cry, right then and there.
“All right, you came clean, that's not going to make me trust you less...but you can't go on like this. If you're a double agent as it is, then we stick it to the bastard and he'd be none the wiser. We simply have to outsmart him, and get your brother back. Understand? It’s no wonder you’re shooting yourself in the bloody leg and setting fire to things.”
There was a part of her that was somewhat relieved already and another part of her that didn’t for a second believe that everything was going to be okay. She was glad they were proceeding to talk out the details of how they might handle it, though, because that gave her a reason to focus on words and actions instead of emotions.
She kept her tone very even as she responded, “There are problems with this. The first one is that Wade said the tail was an agent from The Illusive Man. But you know, and I know, that that tail was a fake. And I couldn't be too sure. Not after everything I've done. It could have been anyone using the name as a get out of jail free pass.
“... but that means someone else is in my business. And then there's the fact that I swear the CIA isn't working for our country anymore. I told you. This is a shitstorm.”
Continuing to ramble about the pending shit storm, she added as a belated response, “ I don't know where he is. I don't know where they're holding him.” Her voice cracked a bit with emotion as she added, “I wish to GOD I didn't care.”
“Wilson's about as useless as two tits on a bull. But here, listen...it's possible they've got plants in there, to monitor your actual CIA work. Hold on...one at a time...” He put his fingertips to her lips, so the shitstorm stopped for a moment. “So you do the following. You humor the fucker. We find a way to get around things, make it look convincing. But everyone, regardless if they've got thumbs pressed down on them, are naturally going to squiggle after a while...so start asking a question or two, now and then...about how he's being treated, can you have more pictures...anything...make it seem like you miss 'im more and more. See? He's bound to make a mistake, sooner or later. CIA? Can't do a thing about that, but uncover who you can uncover. Or deal with them when they show up.”
Phew. Got that all out. Oh, and he took his fingers away so she can smoke again, unhindered.
Cigarette now free to be smoked again, Dom smoked through it like she was a choo choo train. She figured at this point she might as well throw in the last card she had that she could throw, “I don't have any proof. ZERO proof. But I think Harper owns them, too.”
“You 'ave to count on him sending a picture at some point, that might not be as planned. It's actually not surprising if he did own them either, really. They haven’t been helpful.”
“... which is just ... what the HELL game is he playing with me. I think they're hurting him. I swear I saw a bruise on the last photo.” The thought of that made Domino want to punch the doorframe again, but she was still trying, albeit not very successfully, to keep her emotions under control.
“You're a pawn. That's all. You're a disposable pawn. Probably as much as your brother is...but...all right, show me the photos after this. The problem is...and I know you trust me that I'm not sayin' this to hurt you, this’ only just in case...problem is....those pictures could be old. You could be a pawn right now. For nothing. He might not be alive. I'm not going t'candy coat that.”
He was certain to add, “I might not like kids, but you've got a responsibility to get the kid out. I understand it. So I'll help.”
She had already accepted, somewhere in her mind, that that was a likely conclusion, but it did bear repeating. She kept her tone even and nodded at him, “I appreciate that.”
“We'll get it sorted. But...I can't believe I'm the one saying this...no more of this you doing this on your own. He's probably going to 'ave you do summat that's shite, but it's easy to doublecross him now. I'll make sure of it.” Pete swept one hand over her hair so that it came to a final rest against the back of her head. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss against one side of her forehead, murmuring as he pulled away, “It'll get sorted.”
Sure, he was still going to keep that plan quiet that he had with Shepard, because that was between him and Shep and he couldn’t betray that bond of trust. Not without talking to Shep first about it and without naming names or anything. He was, after all, not a total complete idiot.
Domino didn’t want, or need, to know all of the details. It was probably better for everyone if she didn’t.
That was the reason why he's keeping the kill plan quiet. Those details were always better left, unsaid.
She didn’t really care, too, who put the bullet in Harper as long as someone did, and her brother was safe. Sure, it’d be great to gun the guy down herself, but at this point it was likely that it wasn’t going to be her. And the fewer details she knew, the fewer she’d be forced to divulge later, if things went extremely south.
Truth be told, Pete was thinking and hoping if Harper’s demise came from an outside source, then at least then her brother might have a better chance of being found, too. No matter which way it worked out.
With that thought in mind, he rested his forehead against the side of her head, lightly, and said, very close by her ear, “...simple as this...you find out summat...you tell me...we figure out wot to do...make wote'er it is, look convincing. Keep him happy. And take one part of the stress off of you. Don't worry about me? I'm used to this and I'm not afraid if I get gunned down, really.” In fact, he made a short ‘eh’ noise, like if it happened, then it happened, and that’s all there was to it. “If you want, we can deal with the CIA a lit'le more sneakily, as we go.”
“This gets trickier if both sides of the chess board are controlled by him.” She rested against him a bit, allowing herself to take some comfort. Her cigarette was mostly a pile of ash at that point.
He plucked it out from her lips and stubbed it out...on the wall. “Probability is that it's only parts that are rotten, and the other part doesn't know or isn't aware.”
She nodded a bit, and let him continue.
“That's only a probability. If I had me own way o' things, I'd just as soon cut his head off an' watch him run about like a chicken without it's head, then see how things crumble. Point is, dig up wot can be dug up, find enough evidence of anyone who rears their head out of the pack, deal with them. Either by turning them in through private, anonymous tip off channels...or otherwise.”
He was saying a lot and she mostly let herself rest against him and listen, trying to file away everything he was saying and suss her way through it, though she nodded again to let him know she was still listening.
“I can do that part, easily. I also happen to like the FBI director and, I think, if I 'ad enough of a tip off, then he might listen. I don't get the sense the FBI is corrupt as the CIA supposedly is. State Department's been rather mundane as well, when I filtered through some information from other countries. Typical red tape.”
Pete paused for a moment and amended what he was saying, after a moment’s contemplation, “Well, the one out 'ere at least. He seems like a decent enough bastard. So. I think we can work it out. If you want to have a dangerous go of it. And stop worrying if I get shot. The death wish is still there, even if you've made things a whole fat lot more interesting.”
She couldn’t stop worrying if he was shot. He was one of the only people left in her life, and she admitted it to him, softly, in the hopes it would sink in, “You realise you and Wade are the only two work friends I have left?”
He had even started to smile, but found himself telling her in a hushed tone of voice, “...you realize that you just called Wilson your friend? Maybe we'd better 'ave a suicide pact.”
He was making a joke. He even smiled. Even so, Pete also tilted his head enough to look at the side of her face, to try to gauge her reaction.
She was deadly serious when she replied, “You help me get my brother out of this and I'll do it.”
“Deal.”
She nodded, “Deal.”
“Wilson can't come with us though. I 'ave to draw the line somewhere.” He couldn’t really make a deal like that, without explaining where he was coming from, and what parts were him indulging in black comedy, or what parts of him were being serious. That’s why he was even softer voiced while clarifying, “...I feel sick all o' the time now, Dommy. Just tired. It's time, you know...if it happens, then it happens. I'm not going to fight against the thought of it. That's all I mean, when I talk about it. So if summat happens to me...just know...I was fine with it. Ok?”
They were entering into the territory of sharing things that meant something, and Domino didn’t want to hear it, especially if it had to do with him dying. It made her insides tear apart, just thinking about it, and she was finally ready to admit that to herself. She beat her fist against his chest, “Don't.”
He took hold of her hand in both of his, before she knuckle punched him in the sternum.
“Please don't...” her face was still stony, but her voice cracked a bit as she continued, “Don't tell me everything will get sorted out and then tell me that.”
“You'd have Wilson left? He's an arse but he means....I can't say he means well, so I'll just say summat..and...oh, you stoppit.”
Abruptly, Pete hugged onto her, closing his eyes and not saying a thing. Actually, it was a long moment, before he said anything again. When he finally did, his voice was but a whisper.
“...it was ne'er all about Kitty, you know...it was just...life in general...it’s been shite. Got chiseled away at, and it ruined things with me an' Kitty. I don't want it t'ruin things with anyone else. That's why it...it was always better if I stayed off on my own.”
There was a long pause where Domino fought with herself, again, to try and shove the emotions back down somewhere that could be controlled before she had a breakdown again. Her fists were still recovering from the last one. She knew exactly what he meant, though.
With as even a voice as she could manage, she whispered, “You talk about this stuff and I just want to shoot myself, too. ... I understand what it's like, you know I've been there... it's not. ... okay not all the time, we've been there in different ways, but I'm not that same girl who signed up to kill people all bright eyed and bushy-tailed anymore.”
“Then you know that I'm not that strapping younger semi-pessimistic bastard who thought he could follow in his father's footsteps, and then saw the worst of wot the criminal element had t'offer. So much for doing some good there,” he replied, in a profoundly sarcastic sort of way.
“How's this strike you, luv?” ventured Pete, while pressing a kiss against her ear and going right back to full on hugging. “I promise, if I talk about shooting meself, that I really am being a whiny cunt and-or I’m possibly joking. But you know...you can't stop bullets from hitting me, or me stop them from hitting you. Thought rips me up inside too, losing you. Not so much Wilson, b'cos I've dreamed of shooting him b'fore and woke up in a good mood.”
That was true. He had, before, woken up after dreaming of filling Wade full of bullets, in an astoundingly good mood. Everyone in his dream had given him backpats, hookers, and plied him with drinks. He was practically a mother fucking hero. It ranked up there as one of his top five best dreams, ever.
“All right, so,” he was saying, sounding wistful even for him, at the mere thought of how grand it had been, to wake up that happy for once in his miserable existence. “We can't stop that, if it happens. So...sorry, going t'retract the suicide pact, unless it really comes down t'that. All right?”
He meant if there were zombies closing in, and they had no other choice. Or situations that were akin to that. Then it was acceptable to carry out a suicide pact with one’s best friend, whom they happen to be sleeping with. With no strings attached.
She recalled that time when Wade had stitched her up without shutting up, “... well we've all had that experience, with Wade.”
“It tends t'happen. Look. I'll help you, for as long as I can. But no guarantees. Despite wot me sis' cards say lately...I still have that 'death impending' breathing down the back o' me neck feeling. Like summat's off somewhere. And if I seem like I'm an exceptional arse or short tempered, it's the fever talking. All right?” He pulled away just enough to stare into her eyes. “Pretty sure that set of cards was meant for you and not me.”
“Which set?”
“Same set she pulled for a week b'fore mum was murdered. Swords. Nasty sounding tarot rubbish. Tower, devil. None of it good. Pretty much meant death and chaos was ready to set in.”
She thinned her lips into a line, because that set of cards didn’t sound good in the slightest. Lightly, she joked, “I guess I really did have leg rot. You win.”
“Huzzah. I won.” Pete didn’t sound too terribly enthused about winning, in this instance. “Anyway, she pulled summat different. Lull or the likes. Death isn't so close by, there's a shift she said and that I felt torn, an' she wanted t'know if things happened b'tween you an' me.”
That struggle to get her emotions under control continued, as she tried to get herself to the place where she could look Pete in the eye without feeling all of the complicated feelings she was feeling. She thought she’d finally managed it, and tilted her face up to look him in the eye, only to register what he was saying about the cards. Oh, fuck, she said to herself, and looked away again.
“Problem is,” he admitted, in full honesty, “that I don't feel too torn about this, even now. I didn't earlier.”
She absolutely didn’t want to have this conversation, nor did she want to admit the cards might be right. She didn’t believe in that shit anyway, “Or her cards are just mystic crazy psycho-babble and mean nothing at all.”
“Let's go with that. Now give us a kiss,” he murmured, stealing a kiss from her, with the hope that it would somehow make things better.
The kiss did not, in fact, make everything better. Instead it had the effect of a battering ram through a castle door, and tears started pricking at her eyes.
Was she crying about it? Oh shite, she’s crying about it. Gradually, Pete pulled away and looked like he had been reverted to a puppy who'd been kicked, simply watching her. Unable to think of what he could say or do to make her stop...or maybe she needed to simply get it out...he started to wipe any falling tears away, with a light sweep of his thumbs over her face.
She ducked her head, then took a deep breath and let it out, “I'm okay. It's just the painkillers.”
“Right, makes sense. I was just thinking that might be the case.” Calling further attention to that might be unwanted, so he tipped his face down and kissed the top of her head. “Let's get you cleaned up an' back into bed, so you can sleep it off.”
She sniffled a bit and nodded her head. She wasn’t really sure if it was okay to feel relieved yet. It certainly wasn’t okay to feel safe. They weren’t safe at all, they wouldn’t be even if they all moved in together with a witch devil woman who hexed the bad guys.
Taking another one for the team, Pete slowly reaches down with one hand and bum patted her. So now she can feel not relieved...and irritated!
It cut the tension perfectly, and brought her back to her usual cheeky self, “Dr. Feel Good, making everything better with his magical bum pats.”
“Look, I never claimed t'be a saint or nothing. And it's not like I groped or pinched.” He smiled, like a cheeky bastard, at her. “Saving that for later. I like getting your mind back on the present, by touching your arse. Should glue me hand to your arse and get it o'er with, but that might make things awkward should you need to use the loo.”
“I'll remember that the next time either of us is stuck in a bad dream.”
“Oh, that's brilliant. Please, do remember that.” Pete put one arm around her waist and her arm around his shoulders, holding onto her hand as he lead her toward the bathroom. “Off we go, to get you cleaned up. You can't get that leg wet at all, I don't think...so this ought t'be interesting.”
Of course, he made it sound like it was pure evil, of the most enjoyable sort.
Domino could certainly use that about now. In fact, she was looking forward to it.