Who: Sharon Carter and Remy Lebeau When: Thursday, October 16th Where: Sharon’s Place What: Making up after the mugging Rating/Warnings: PG-13 - Language Status: Complete
Remy LeBeau had never claimed to be perfect, he said the wrong things (a lot), but he was very good at making up for them. So, while allowing Sharon a bit of time to cool off, he also kept in mind exactly how long he could go without fixing this. Two days was the maximum and he’d give her that long to be able to calm down and start thinking about how she missed him.
He hoped she missed him.
So, it would be eight that evening that there would be a knock at her front door and when she opened it, Remy would be standing there, holding a sunflower. Just one. It was large, though, maybe seven inches across, and had a purple ribbon tied around the long, thick stem.
“I’m an idiot.” Declared with a smile. “Forgive me?” The flower was extended out.
**
Sharon was already in her pajamas. After going out with Aramis the night before to do some actual work (arm stitched be damned) she was tired today. She and Aramis had been reprimanded for going against instructions, but they were also getting acclaim for their excellent work--it was a very weird situation.
After opening a bottle of wine and eating some Chinese from the box, Sharon cuddled up on the sofa to catch up on some television and relax. Then came the knock at the door.
She'd missed him. She'd been trying not to think about him, but how could she not?
"Remy." She said, sounding a little surprised. Now she wished she was still wearing a bra. "...forgive... you?" She asked, reaching forward to take the flower.
**
“I’m an idiot.” Repeated. “I try to say and do the right things, but I’m just a man, and sometimes I say and do the wrong things. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Well, if that wasn’t just the best little damn speech he’d ever come up with off the top of his head.
He’d let her take the flower with a small smile, then he’d take a step back and turn to head back the way he’d come. She clearly wasn’t expecting company. He wouldn’t bother her, he’d just wanted to say he was sorry.
And he definitely expected she’d call him back and ask him to stay.
**
God damnit, Remy. Stop knowing how Sharon was going to react to things. Stop playing her the way she wanted to play you.
Sharon took a moment to look down at the flower, then back up and over at Remy's retreating form. Okay, so he wasn't wrong. "Wait," she called out to him to get him to stop. Once he was stopped and she had his attention again, she went on, "Do you even know what you're apologizing for?"
**
“For being a jerk.” He said with a smile, turning around to face her and clasping his hands behind his back. “For treating you the way I did.” He was grasping at straws, he didn’t know. He never knew what he did wrong because it was so hard for him to understand the emotions she was feeling, he didn’t know what he did to make her feel however it was she felt.
Maybe over time he’d get it.
**
Sharon held the flower gingerly. It was rather beautiful. And he was trying. It was obvious that he was trying. He didn't know what he was doing. This probably worked on most women--they probably just forgave him and then had a quick fuck and everything was better. But that was not what was going to happen tonight. Sorry, Remy.
The first part, maybe. The rest?
She stepped aside.
Pete came charging through the doorway, tail wagging furiously, and limped quickly over to Remy, whimpering in that whiney, high-pitched dog way.
**
Yeah, that was usually the way it went. He was adorable, the woman caved, and they had really good make-up sex.
That wasn’t happening tonight. Fail his life.
He’d give her a smile as she stepped aside and came a step forward-- but his entire face brightened when Pete appeared and he met the dog half way to scoop him up and kiss along his muzzle as he received kisses in return.
You put your mouth on this man, Sharon.
“How’s my boy doing?” Asked with a smile as he held the dog in against his chest in a contented way. “I missed you.” Said to the woman as he came in past her, leaning to steal a quick kiss. “From both of us.” The kiss was, of course.
**
She put her mouth on the dog, too.
The words and the quick kiss made Sharon blush deeply. She closed the door once the man and the dog were inside her home, then leaned back against it and watched him, holding the sunflower against her lips.
"I missed you, too." She said. And once the words came out of her mouth, she realized how true they really were. It'd been just a couple of days, and she'd been really busy, but there was an ache inside her. A ridiculous, horrible ache that she couldn't control.
**
He’d turn and walk backwards a few paces, smiling at her when she said that. “And I guess I should thank you.” He’d say, turning to carefully place Pete down on the couch and rub his head lovingly before sitting down next to him. He could make himself at home here without any issue.
He could have made himself at home in an infectious disease ward in the hospital.
**
"What are you thanking me for?" Sharon asked, finally pulling away from the door to follow him into the living room.
Damn it, Remy. Stop looking so at home in Sharon's house. She set the sunflower down on the coffee table and folded her arms across her chest. She was kicking herself for taking off her bra. It wasn't even that uncomfortable.
**
“Not wearing a bra when you answered the door.” That caused a wide, pleased smile to come across his face. “You can go put one on, I’ll miss the show, but I’ll enjoy the thought of you wearing something lacy and black beneath that shirt.” It was Remy’s way of making everything better. She was uncomfortable? He could make a joke of it and it’d all be okay.
Right?
**
Sharon rolled her eyes. She tried to force down the smile, but found that she couldn't. Her cheeks were rather pink.
"I was ready for bed. I wasn't expecting you to show up on my doorstep with a sunflower and an anonymous apology." She explained, then moved over to sit down on the edge of the sofa. The far edge. As far away from him as she could get.
**
“Have I got the plague? Really?” He’d carefully pick Pete up and set the pup on his lap, then scoot closer to Sharon, until they were near enough they could touch if one leaned.
“You aren’t still mad at me, are you?” Why had she let him in if she was still angry?
**
"You apologized, but you really don't know why you're apologizing. You think that's going to make everything better, but Remy..." She turned to face him. She wasn't touching him.
"You... you don't have anything to apologize for. I just... I didn't believe you. When you said you felt nothing. I didn't believe it. The way you reacted to that mugger, and stitching me up, and then... your place." Sharon shook her head a bit. "I realized it was true. I needed some time." She still needed time.
**
“I don’t apologize very often.” Admitted with a little smile. He didn’t have to. He was usually spot on, and he and the women he spent time with, even the friends he spent time with (could he call them that? Friends? No, he supposed not), he didn’t get really close enough with that he would ever be put in a predicament that would cause him to need to apologize.
“I wasn’t scared, that’s all.” Of the mugger. “And I’ve stitched myself up a ton of times.” Himself? Was he serious? Oh yes. “And my place is.. well, it was very expensive. I paid someone a lot of money to make it look that nice. What’s wrong with it?” It wasn’t defensive-- none of it was.
He was looking for her to explain the flaws in his cover. So he could fix them.
**
"You should. You're good at it." Sharon said, softly. She folded her hands in her lap.
There was a bandage sticking out from under her short sleeve, where he'd stitched up the length of her arm. It was healing very well, and she'd had the on-site Agency Medic go over it, just to make sure. (He'd been impressed with the stitches, even though he said there didn't actually have to be so many.) The slit was nearly six inches long, but hopefully wouldn't scar.
"You should have been scared," Sharon argued. "I was scared, and I'm not the one who was shot a month ago."
**
The more stitches, the smaller they were, the more invisible the scar. He did a lot of very, very small stitches. He, after all, didn’t want scars. It was just the way he did it-- hospitals did much larger ones, and many less stitches. They left scars.
So, while the stitches hurt a bit more, it was worth it, according to Remy.
“Scared of what? Getting shot again? Dying?” He was smiling as he shook his head. “That doesn’t scare me.” It should have.
“You were pretty brave, you were scared but you still stood up to him. To him down like a proper cop.” Though she technically wasn’t.
**
"It should have!" Sharon said, frowning. "That's what I'm saying, Remy. You... you weren't scared. You didn't show any emotion at all," she folded her arms across her chest again, taking a moment. She'd been thinking about this a lot, and worrying about it, and wondering about it. Ever since she saw the look on his face when that mugger jumped out with the gun.
She ignored the comment about being a proper cop. He was right, she wasn’t one. She was so, so much more than a proper cop.
"You don't feel emotions, do you? Any of them?"
** When she got so exasperated it made him frown just a little, but he only listened. He’d observe her body language and listen to her words, until she finally asked him that question.
“No. Not really. Since coming here I.. I think I’ve felt something, but I’m not sure if it was really a feeling or just.. stomach cramps.” That was how little he knew of emotion, Sharon. How scary was that?
No guilt. No remorse. He apologized but he didn’t have any actual feelings about what he’d done or hadn’t done. The Cajun was just empty inside.
“But that doesn’t mean anything has to change between us.”
**
Sharon stood up from the sofa. She was distressed. That's what her body language was saying, Remy. She was upset. She turned to pace the room, bare feet on the carpet. It was thick carpet. It'd just been replaced before she moved in.
"No." She said, shaking her head. "I don't... I don't know if it does." She wasn't sure what it meant for them, really. How could she be with someone who didn't care at all about her?
But then again, he must have. He was trying to push her away. He'd tried, anyway. Then he'd confessed he didn't want to lose her? He must have felt something. He must have.
She lifted her hands to run them over her hair, pushing it back into a ponytail. Keeping her frustrated hands busy.
**
If you put a frog in a pot of water and set it to a low heat, very slowly turning it up to a boil, the frog would just sit there until cooked. It wouldn’t realize the change was happening until it was far too late.
Remy was in the same situation. He didn't realize anything was happening at all-- not yet. Not really. He’d thought, maybe-- but he couldn’t confirm nor deny, so it was chalked up to his imagination.
“It’s a disability. You aren’t going to say it’s my fault, are you? That’s not fair. I didn’t ask for this.” But he was glad for it all the same. He saw people with their emotions and their upset-- he didn’t want that mess.
**
"No." Sharon said, shaking her head. "I'm not. I just..." She finally stopped pacing around and turned to look at him again. "I don't know how I can put myself through it. How I can--... How I can care so much about someone who doesn't care about me in return?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think anything has to change between us." She repeated after him, deflating considerably.
Didn't have to change. Wouldn't change. Wouldn't grow, wouldn't get deeper, wouldn't get better. Sharon was right about Remy. He was right about himself, too. He wasn’t boyfriend material. This wasn't going anywhere.
Now she was angry with herself for hoping it might.
**
“Well, then we’re fine.” Right? Nothing had to change. Everything was alright here. They could carry on the way they’d been.. right?
No need to stop. No need to make it deeper. No need for anything at all.
“Unless.. you found someone else?” Someone who could give her what she wanted. That was something he was used to. He was fun until girls wanted something more and either left, or found someone better to replace him.
Well, better was a relative term. Found someone more emotionally available was a much more accurate description.
**
"Yeah." Sharon was disappointed. She let her arms fall from across her chest. Mostly she was disappointed in herself. For letting herself fall for this guy. This guy who didn't care about her in return.
Someone else?? When? When they were making out at the Stark Party? When she was one of his two dates? It wasn't as if she'd had time to find someone else.
There was a pang at those words, though. It was true--she'd had a crush on someone else. But he wasn't interested. Blow to the ego, for sure. And now Remy not caring?
Sharon had fantastic taste in men. Seriously.
"There's no one else." She said, softly. Defeated.
**
“Well, when there is, you just tell me.” And he’d back off. It was that simple. He knew the routine. It didn’t upset him-- not in the least. He was a temporary thing. He liked it that way.
It was easier. Less troublesome. And not at all complicated.
He didn’t do complicated.
**
"Okay." Sharon came back over to sit down on the sofa.
This conversation made her feel a lot worse about everything. The hope that she'd been mistakenly cultivating was dashed. She felt bad about herself, too--that she couldn't find a man who wanted her the way she wanted to be wanted, and the one that she found who cared in the way she wanted... well, she just didn't feel that way about him in return. She was a mess.
But at least it was in the open now. At least the truth was out there.
"You wanna stay? I was going to bed soon."
**
“Yeah.” He wanted to stay. Of course he did. “I’ll take the couch.” Forget the fact they’d slept together and any sane man would want to sleep with her in the bed, on the off chance she decided to roll over and mount him-- but Remy didn’t sleep with anyone. He hadn’t before and he wouldn’t start now.
Not with his powers being what they were.
**
"Okay." Sharon couldn't argue. She didn't mind his company. Besides, having Remy here ... well, it was better than being alone.
Wasn't it?
She pulled herself up off the sofa and patted her leg gently. "C'mon, Pete." She said.
Pete took a moment--longer than normal--to climb to his feet from his dog bed. When he followed Sharon into her bedroom, he walked with an even greater limp than before.
"Let's get your heating pad," Sharon said to the dog before she closed the bedroom door behind them both.
**
That was the Cajun’s cue to get himself comfortable on the couch. Suit coat set aside, tie removed, he’d roll up his sleeves some and nudge off his shoes and settle in. It didn’t take too long for him to fall asleep-- and it didn’t take long after that for REM sleep to set in. Remy slept rather deeply, but the oddest things woke him up. They never had before.. but they did these days, thanks to those memories.
**
She may have cried. Damn him. Sharon may have cuddled with an arm around her old dog, tears spilling out of her cheeks and into the pillow.
Fucking Remy LeBeau. Fucking emotions.
It didn't take her long to fall asleep, though. So that may have been the silver lining. She started dreaming about being chased down a long, silver corridor. And suddenly the floor turned into glue. Elmer's School glue. After that, things got weird.
She woke panting, covered in sweat. Pete lifted his head and blinked at her. It was dark. She could only see his outline. Her hand came up to pet his ears and the dog calmed.
Sharon climbed from bed to go get herself something to drink. Her mouth was dry. Parched. In her thirst, she'd completely forgotten Remy was on the sofa.
**
The movement woke him, causing him to shift on the couch and sit up slowly, looking over the back of it at her. In the dark, it was entirely possible that she might not have a damn clue who was speaking to her. The accent was so thick and nothing like his slow, practiced Southern drawl, that it hardly sounded like him at all.
“Wha’ y’ doin’ up, fille?” Asked with a little yawn tacked on the end. “Y’ gotta go t’ work t’morrow, non? G’wan back t’ be’, now. Ge’ some sleep.” His butchered English was actually some sort of scolding.
**
The voice coming from the darkness made Sharon jump. Literally, jump. Both feet were up off the ground, and she spun so violently toward the sofa that her poor, sleep addled head forced a crick in her neck.
"Jesus!" She cried out, arms flailing. Ouch. Tugging on stitches. "...Remy?" She said, finally putting together who was in her apartment with her. Okay, so Super Spy or no, when she was shaken from sleep by weird, fucking dreams, it took her a minute to get her act together.
And remember the sociopath she had the misfortune of being in love with sleeping on her sofa.
**
He pushed up a little more when she reacted like that, rubbing a hand across his face to wake himself up a bit more. “Oui-- wha’s wron’?” He’d ask in a sleep-laden tone. “Y’okay?” Even as he asked, though, he was pushing to stand, forcing himself to be a bit more alert.
What was she so upset about? Had something happened?
**
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine," Sharon said, though her heart was thundering. Was it from the Dreams? From Remy's sudden appearance back into her conscious mind?
But why was he speaking like that, anyway? She knew where he was from, because of the background check, but he’d never had an accent before. Sharon took a half-step back, her eyes re-adjusting to the darkness after her fright.
"...you sound... different."
**
“Wha’?” He’d ask after a few seconds, what was she..
Oh.
“Uh.. yeah.” He cleared his throat some. “I’m Cajun.” Something that background check wouldn’t reveal-- after all, only a very small number of people living in New Orleans were Cajun. Remy was part of that minority. “It just comes out when I’m tired.” His brain couldn’t process putting on a proper American accent when he was that tired.
“You have a nightmare?” Was that why she was up? He was coming slowly around the couch.
**
Sharon's breathing was slowing, her heartbeat relaxing a bit back to its normal rhythm. Remy wasn't a danger to her. Not physically, anyway. If he'd wanted to hurt her, she'd be hurt by now. (Wasn't that what she'd told him on their first or second date? If she was a hired killer, he'd be dead?)
"It's not bad." Sharon didn't care if he was Cajun. She didn't care if he came from the moon. That didn't change anything for her.
Even his absolute indifference toward her didn't change the way she felt about him, apparently.
"Yeah. I was just going for some water," she explained, motioning vaguely toward the kitchen.
**
“Yeah, it’s not bad if you can understand anything I say.” Which most people couldn’t. It made people refuse to take him seriously. How could they? He agreed.
“Turning on a light might help.” A quiet tease as he came slowly into the kitchen to join her, moving to grab a glass. He’d get the water for her.
**
"I kinda like it," Sharon admitted. It was sexy, actually. Every fucking thing about him was sexy. It wasn't fair.
"You don't have to do that," Sharon said, but she wasn't about to stop him. She leaned against the counter while he poured her some water, then gave him a 'thanks' when he handed the glass over.
"You don't have weird dreams?" She asked. The sleepiness was coming back. It was the middle of the night. She needed to get back into bed.
**
“Really?” He seemed a bit surprised by that. He’d never had anyone tell him they liked the accent. ..Not that most people ever heard it. She was the first one, here in the OC.
“It’s no problem.” He insisted, filling that glass and bring it over to carefully hand it to her, remaining standing near even once he did.
He’d lean against the counter near her when she asked about dreams.
“Dreams as weird as the next person, I guess. But I’m not really sure. It’s rare I remember them. The last one was a few months ago. Something about a witch turning my turkey friend into a pizza.. I don’t know. It was strange.” But not dreams like you had, Sharon. Not like the people on Valarnet had.
“Do you?”
**
The glass was accepted, and brought to her lips. "Really," she responded after a sip. "...didn't you know? Accents are sexy." That thought brought a blush to her cheeks in the dim light. Not just his, but all accents. Okay, especially his.
"You really don't remember your dreams?" Sharon asked. Then again, she was talking to a man who didn't feel so it shouldn't have been that strange.
"I have all kinds. This wasn't one of those weird, vivid ones. Just a bad one. I was being chased in a hall, and I was afraid. My legs were sticking to the floor. I couldn't move. And the floor swallowed me. I couldn't breathe." She lifted a hand to her neck.
"I should go back to sleep."
**
“Yeah, but it’s not my accent that’s sexy, it’s me, and because I’m sexy, my accent just sounds that way.” He’d laugh a little and step forward to give her a slow kiss on the mouth. “If you have another strange dream, you can always come out and wake me up to talk about it.” Assured quietly, then he’d let her wander off to bed, a little smile on his face.