Sarah Connor is cursed to be ever vigilant (ever_vigilant) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-07-08 23:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, neena thurman (domino), pete wisdom |
He just stopped.
Who: Domino, Pete
What: Uh... pillow talk about marriage, her husband’s death, potential kids, and Dom is still seeing things
When: A few nights back. The 6th, I think. (slow edits, yay)
Where: Wisdom/Thurman Residence
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13, triggers if hallucinating bothers you. normal warnings for these two.
Status:Complete.
After-friskiness fun times often resulted in strange conversations, where Pete was concerned. This time, despite the fact they were having cuddles, was no different.
“Want we should grab Wilson an' start our own not idiotic superhero team, an'...you know...feck shite up in secret, like professionals, the way it should be done?”
“... it can't be a not-idiot team if Wade is on it, sweetie. He's idiot enough for the both of us.”
Someone was smiling like an idiot at being called ‘sweetie’, “He'd be like the class clown.”
Dom grinned, “Polish Mine Detector?”
“How long has it been since I asked to un-marry you? Too long. Un-marry me.”
“We'd have to get an un-divorce first,” Dom pointed out, still grinning, “So that we could un-marry each other again.”
“No, we'll just...reaffirm our un-marriage vows.”
“That works, too.”
“Ok, get yer arse in the car. Let's get that done.”
At that, Dom chuckled a bit. It sounded like they were starting to seriously consider this, “What, just drive to city hall? 'We need to re-affirm our un-marriage vows right now'.”
“Don't I owe you a hooker still?” Pete raised his eyebrows in a profoundly AHH HAA sort of way. That was before he shifted around so they were more cuddle comfortable and gave the birthmark on her bum a pinch. He was fully prepared to receive a proper thwapping for that, as well.
“... so the plan is to go to vegas, un-elope, and then celebrate with prostitutes?” she moaned, then thwapped him on the arm, mainly because he was expecting it.
He grinned like he was the devil.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said under his breath like he’s still turned on, but where the mind was willing, the body was still in recovery aftermath mode. “Hit me again, I like the feel of yer hands slapping at me.”
Dom snerked, and smacked him again. Her tone was a bit sarcastic, “I'll book us the honeymoon suite.”
“I demand champagne, so I can pour it on yer tits an' lick it off.” Pete made a little ouch noise as her hand smacked at him, started chuckling, and tried to have a one-handed slap fight with her hand as it was retreating.
“I see no possible way in which this plan could go wrong,” she replied, while tap-fighting her fingers against the palm of his hand.
He grasped hold of her fingers, threading them together so he was holding her hand. “...is that summat you'd want? Someday, I mean.”
There was a light squeeze of his hand, and Dom responded with a voice more tender than her usual tone, “I've thought about it.”
“Really,” he sounded pleasantly surprised. “Care t'elaborate, m'dear?”
She shrugged, casually, and tried to make it sound like they were talking about sunday tea, or the weather, “... just running off with you and eloping someday. Settling down.”
“I'd be lying if you haven't made me think about that, too. I mean, if I said it hasn't been crossing my mind.”
“... just you know.” she added tentatively, “I have a bad track record with this.”
“Last an' only time I actually asked...this is only bringing it up t'talk about, right now...I tried t'drink meself t'death after she ran away as fast as she could. Track record's not so fucking stellar here either, sweetness.” He kissed her hand.
There was silence for a few seconds, then Dom replied with a voice so tiny it was almost a whisper, “At least she isn't dead.”
“...oh, no...no you don't...c'mere, you.” He lured her into his arms, very slowly, careful of the burn, and held her close. “If I haven't died yet, then m'not going to anytime soon. I'll be on you like a rash.”
It took very little luring to get him to curl up in his arms and rest herself against him. She was trying not to cry in the process, an effort which was mostly successful for the time being. Lord knew she’d cried enough over the last few days.
“Look,” he explained, “I only ran as far as the room next t'yers. I didn't run off. I didn't leave the country. M'right 'ere.”
“I know... I know …” she replied, “I just... I know you. I know me. I know how we normally deal with these situations.”
“Exceptional circumstances. I think shite somewhere or other has been changed for e'eryone. So some of it? We know wot's happened. Let's not let it happen again. Plans go pear shaped. We make changes, adjust accordingly.”
“He died the exact same way, you know,” she whispered, randomly. Her thoughts had been stuck on Milo’s death here and there since the dream about it a few nights ago, “The only details that were different were me.”
“...ok, so...you talk, I listen. An' I'll simply hold you 'ere an' you don't have to look me in the face or nothing...simply...spew it out, Dommy.”
She shook her head, wishing suddenly that she’d never even brought it up, “It doesn't matter.”
There was a pause, and then she added, “... I mean on the grand ... scale. It doesn't matter.”
“It does if you're still soundin' a bit thick voiced there, o'er it.”
Her lips thinned into a line. She was, in fact, thick voiced over it, but she didn’t like at all that he could pick up on that, “Some things were meant and some weren't, is all. I was never meant to be with him. He gave me my codename and then he just died. Bastard.”
“Neena. There had t'be more than that. I know you wouldn't have...gotten that involved with someone...if you didn't seriously have very strong, very real reasons t'let things go that far with the bastard. You tell me about that, an' then anything you want t'know, you can ask me. An' I'll trade you intel.”
She snerked a bit and then laughed, “Trade intel... oh boy.” Where to even begin with this, she was not sure. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to tell this story at all, but he probably needed to hear it.
“... well I was supposed to be his bodyguard. I swear I've told you this story before.”
“...bits an' pieces. I got you drunk once b'fore, remember?”
At that, she nodded her head. She remembered that night, though a great deal of it was still a drunken haze to her.
“Even then? Like pulling teeth. So go on.” He quieted and waited for her to start spilling it all out.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and tried to distance herself enough from the story that she could get through it all without crying. When she finally started talking again, it was like she was standing inside a dream, talking to herself instead of him, “He was some kind of super genius. We didn't want his abilities in the wrong hands, and I was assigned to protect him. It was a good cover - 18 years old, you know... Pretend to be the guy's very clingy girlfriend. Very believable.”
“I was one of the only female mercs in the band back then, so I got all those kind of missions.”
Pete made a face like that was stinky that she had to start on that rung of the ladder, but fights off the urge to make any...
“...some of those bastards would look fucking scary in drag.” Nevermind, he made the joke, anyway. “Go on.”
The thought made Dom laugh, “They would have, yeah.”
Dom picked up her story from where it’d left off, “Well the Milo's in both places, they were both huge Dante's inferno fans.”
Pete listened and lightly combed the tips of his fingers over her hair.
“He liked to call me beatrice, which is funny. That's my mother's name. It was also a name they had me under during ... mental hospital ... things.”
“Makes sense.”
Remembering something suddenly, she snerked, “The cult just called me number two most times. Seriously, for real, that's the designation they used,” she hadn’t even known her real name for the longest time, “... anyway.”
“At least it wasn't Number One, an' then you could've been like Star Trek, next gen.” Pete nodded and continued listening.
“I think the milo over there was more jewish than the one here was. We had a jewish wedding in that other place. I converted.”
“.....really?”
Dom nodded her head. It was, understandably, a shock, “... we were really fucking in love, I guess.”
She paused, and added, “... no that's not fair to him. I know for a fact we were. I've dreamed it.”
“Seems that way. Pryde's jewish too.”
“Breaking glass and mazel tov and everything. Chair dancing.”
“Heh!”
“We kept kosher at the wedding reception even.”
Pete was really trying to imagine her doing all that stuff. It was pretty amusing.
“Those details are different, because over here it was more like ... ‘oi, let's run to city hall one day while the rest of the detail isn't looking, so that we can have sex.’”
She paused to shake her head at herself, with a bit of a self-deprecating smile on her face, “Father Rudolpho would have been so proud.”
“Naughty girl.”
“Watch your mouth, I haven't done a thing wrong,” she admonished him, “I married him and everything.”
He really tried not to laugh at the watch your mouth thing, “Yes, dear.”
“Besides, if you complete prayers over your rosary you can commit as much murder as you want and God still forgives you. It says so in the book.”
“I don't believe in god...but right, go on.”
“I don't really, either, but that's besides the point,” Dom added, then got back to the story she’d been trying to tell, “The point is that he treated me with respect which is something the other mercs didn't do. And that was a very frightening wedding night for me, and he was extremely gentle about the whole thing. ... I didn't remember WHY it was, but I recall being scared out of my mind.“
“And I took his name and we settled in and played house. Only with guns under the pillows. And the guys thought I was insane. And my boss found out, and he didn’t like it either.”
Pete frowned but nodded like he could see, maybe, where this was heading.
Dom sighed, “It wasn't what people like us did. It wasn't doing the job.”
“I was young and stupid and overemotional and I think I probably loved him in that way you love someone where you think your heart is going to burst if you aren't near them for longer than 3 minutes.”
Still quietly listening, Pete didn’t think it was all that stupid. So few people got that sort of thing and so they were pretty lucky, or so he thinks.
“...it was supposed to be a secret anyway, but then the guys found out, and the boss found out,and somewhat conveniently, about a week later, there was a raid on our place.”
Before bad shite happens, usually. And there was the bad shite. He made a face like he had been forcefed something icky.
Recalling the memories of what happened next, Dom shook her head, “There were too many of them and I lost my head. I got separated. They took him away. I didn't know that though. I'd been hit during the whole thing and when I woke up, I was in a hospital. The guys said he was dead.”
She added, after a bit of a pause, “They reassigned me to a new unit.”
Pete grumbled, “...naturally.”
“That's the one I was in when most of us died and I was captured. But the point I guess is that it didn't last very long ... and then years later I came across some intel that he was still alive. So I went to rescue him.”
“...naturally,” he repeated once again, and nodded like he'd do the same thing.
“Still couldn't keep my head on straight,” her tone was getting a bit more thick, and she shook her head, “He's dead because of me.”
“How do you figure that, then?” he asked.
“They were torturing him... I blanked. I think I probably went into some kind of rage where I wanted to kill everything between point a and point b, but since I lost control I wasn't efficient about it. “
“...ahh...”
She lowered her voice, “The torture is different in either place ... in the one place they're trying to ... siphon some kind of power off of him. Here, they were trying to get information. But in both places he dies, while I watch. I look him over and I just know. I know there's nothing I can do.”
In response, he held her just a little tighter against him.
The situation reminded her of the shoot out the other day, and she shook her head again, “It was like when that girl was shot. The more I looked that wound over the more I knew I couldn't take that bullet out. I don't know how doctors do that every day. It's got to be worse, the more medical knowledge you have.”
“Training, simple as that,” he said aloud, like he imagined it was the right answer. “Do it enough times...you either lose yer stomach for it, or you can do it in yer sleep.”
She lowered her voice even further, and it sounded a bit haunted as she added, “He just stopped. There wasn't even a gurgle, or a cry... we were talking... and he just stopped. Like those kids did...”
“Just... moving, and then not. He didn't even close his eyes. They never close their eyes.”
The realisation hit her that she was beginning to sound like a basket case again, and she forced herself back into the present day. She didn’t want to talk about the kids that just stopped, not when she was already talking about Milo, “I took his wedding ring. He was still wearing it ... they told him I was dead, too. It must have been one hell of a shock.”
“...yeah, but...” He sounded like he was thinking things out, and, as usual, had no pretty way of putting things. “...you know, that Dante fucker...he only met that Beatrice bird, like, twice...in his entire life. Yet he considered 'er, like, his great pure savior love o' his life an' shite. Right? If you look at it this way...better t'try an' fail, than ne'er try at all...an' you know...in way, maybe you saved 'im. An'...like...he knew you tried. An' that's maybe...wot counted.”
He eyedarted and added, “They made me read that shite in school. Anyway, go on.”
Pete quieted and tried not to interrupt again, so she could get it out.
“I'd gone through all of that to save him...” She trailed off. The mental image of Milo’s death in either places was still very fresh in her mind. Without even trying to she could still feel the sinking feeling in her stomach that had come when relief of getting him free and changed into utter despair because he was going to die, no matter how quickly she got him back to a medic. He was going to die, no matter what she’d done to save him.
Uh oh, someone had hit a speedbump. That was why he whispered to her, to try to offer some form of comfort, lame though he felt it might be, “...if you hadn't...then he wouldn't have gotten t'see you one last time...or they could've tortured him for longer...an' neither of you would've known. At least you had that.”
“God there are just so many things in life that are utterly futile, but you know, we do them anyway. I think love is like that. It stabs you in the chest repeatedly, but you can't quit it anyway.” her voice cracked as she started to get teary-eyed again, and she stopped speaking to listen to him.
“Sucking chest wounds,” he murmured. “well...maybe when it works...it simply...works. And someone has t'fight a futile fight at some point or other.”
“And then we turn around and give them to each other.”
He turned his head enough to peek at her, finally.
“I told myself I wasn't doing this a third time, you know” she smirked a bit at him, even though tears were still in her eyes, “ ... the first 32 times that I felt something for you.”
“Well. I'm no Italian poet. An' the third time's a charm so....thirty-two times?” He was left staring at her, mind-boggled.
“... I had a lot of feelings...” she sounded like a child trying to explain something a little beyond her ability to understand.
“...thirty-two times worth of feelings?” He smiled at her. “When did that start?”
At that, she smiled, “That night at the gun shop.”
She paused, and added, “... no, probably cuddling after drinking that first night you got here.”
“Oh. Well...that was...” HIs smile turned into a grin. “...mutual. Kept telling myself, though, we were coworkers. “
“Me, too.”
“Didn't want t'ruin things. But...I beat you. Admit defeat an' that I am the winner. I thought you were really bloody hot, all the way back during the row we 'ad, where I threw the tin of beans.”
“I don't even know ... this is crazy, but you know, you showed up ... well it was the anniversary of his death.”
“....wot? Really?”
She nodded her head, “I feel like he brought you in my direction, even though I don't believe in that shit.”
“Huh. Well...me sis believes in that stuff. Maybe someday, you should ask 'er about it. Way I see it, love, is that...while I don't believe in fairies an' unicorns an' gods with thunderbolts...I still think it's better t'have a healthy skepticism an' try not t'hack that shite off if you can help it.”
After everything that was going on lately and Romany’s ability to find things, Domino had probably moved on from ‘not believing in that shit’ to ‘sceptical about that shit but it seems to be working’, but she was loathe to admit that. So she just nodded her head in agreement.
“Good thing too, that I didn't act on things when we had the bean argument. Or we probably wouldn't be 'ere, all this time later. Probably would've fucked an' parted ways, entirely.”
“Hell, I have no idea what even changed. ... Maybe life in the CIA has made me go soft,” she smirked.
“No. I think...both things...we're older an' been through more things. Both things, being both situations, like. So...maybe the timing was simply right.”
“I was really pissed about the bean thing though,” Dom was still smirking at the memory, despite the fact that she’d been pissed at the time, “I thought I was never going to get over that.”
“I missed,” he said, as though he was trying to justify it. “On purpose. If I wanted t'hit you in the face with a tin of beans, my aim is good 'nough t'do that. You were hacked off b'cos I sat there on me arse, smoking fags an' glaring at you, while you cleaned up cos I made such a horrible mess. It's not my fault we didn't see eye t'eye on how t'best proceed with approaching a contact.”
“There were beans everywhere!”
“You ruined my meal.” See? Now it's her fault.
“... that didn't stop you from opening a new tin after you were done brooding. I bet you didn't even notice me watching you eat the whole thing while I cleaned my guns.”
“I was still really starving...an' I noticed.” He grinned at her like a total, complete bastard.
“I was going to shoot you if you threw them at me again. I had a plan on where I'd hit so we could still proceed with the mission,” It wasn’t even a lie. She really had thought of exactly where to shoot him.
“Where at?” The grin had downgraded into a self-satisfied, lazy smirk.
She demonstrated the exact spot she’d had picked out, by poking his shoulder, right above where the blade meets the joint.
“I would've been so angry at yer hot arse,” he said, like he was delighted.
“I would've sutured it for you,” she offered, cheerfully.
“...maybe, someday.”
“Right that day!”
“...you get t'ask me summat also, but first...wot's that about kids you mentioned...and...huh? Oh, I meant maybe someday in the future you'll get to. Suture. Not shoot me. Bloody hell, don't shoot me.”
“I mean ... well you said maybe someday,and ... you were talking about something ... damn it. Why not? You know I'd hit places for minimal damage.” she grinned a bit at him, like she was maybe joking. Maybe she wasn’t!
There was a long moment when Pete was merely blinking as he stared at her. One could hear a pin drop or crickets chirping, if they strained their hearing hard enough.
“Arse.” That said, he began to laugh a little and grawrr kissed at her face. “I like that you went back for 'im, like a stubborn bad arse. If it was me, an' that happened to us...an' I couldn't fight anymore...even if I didn't make it out? Still worth it.” He gave her a nice bum pat.
Quietly she replied, “... I would come back for you, you know.”
“Likewise. I think you'd have more success than I would. I'd probably astound me foes with my amazing ability t'cough up a lung an' throw it at them,” he said, like a true smartarse.
She randomly felt the need to smooch his neck, and did so.
He cuddled against her with a smile on his lips.
“Now you get t'ask me things, an' I have t'tell you. When you think of wot you want t'ask, that is.”
She was relieved that he’d forgotten about her mentioning anything with kids. It was bad enough that she was still seeing them everywhere. Putting that thought aside, she remembered the other day, where he’d mimicked her moaning Milo’s name, and felt the need to explain, “... anyway that's what I was dreaming that one day, where you heard me moan his name. So you have nothing to fear about any kind of... me disappearing into dream land for sexy fun times with my dead husband,” she snerked.
Oh no, he didn't forget. He was just letting her have a break and would bring it up later.
Damn it. Her hopes would be dashed.
Pete was a dogged pursuer of bad guys, even if methods are shitty! Enough so, that he filed a lot of stuff away, to save for pivotal moments or right times.
“Oh goodie goodie. M'so relieved,” he was saying in a snarky singsong voice, now that he had nothing to fear from her dead husband.
“I thought you might be.”
“It's okay if you do, though. M'not about to get jealous of wot you had before.”
“You are somehow way better at that than I am.”
“People come an' go. Mostly they just go,” He rolled his eyes a little and smiled. There was even a little shrug of one shoulder, but...at the same time...it was the truth. No use in sugar coating it.
Her face got a bit stony, “... they do...”
“O'course they do. So...I can't simply...say 'oh no, you can't talk about that, cos you had fun times with some other bastard' or the likes? It was wot it was. It's not like people like you or me get a huge opportunity t'be happy. Or have anyone understand why it's a huge opportunity, when it springs up.”
Pete’s eyes widened for a moment and he shrugged once again, like he supposed that summarizes it.
“Un-marry me. Seriously.” The tone in her voice might even imply that she was, actually, serious.
“I think...you already know the answer's a resounding un-yes. Seriously. In our un-relationship, that seems terribly un-serious, with its un-labels and shite.”
So many un’s. Pete closed his eyes and started laughing, unable to help it.
“... well maybe we need some un-labels...” Dom offered.
“...hmm...maybe we do,” was all he was able to get out between laughs.
She giggled, “I guess you don't like being herman to my edna?”
He took in a deep breath after laughing, and rubbed a hand over her shoulder, while telling her, “Oh, no. I love being Herman to yer Edna. The problem is, we're not seventy-summat year old married persons livin' in Miami, with their dusty ol' genitalia flopping all o'er eachother.”
Pete was trying not to laugh at that mental image.
Dom didn’t think they’d even live to their 70’s, but it was definitely a nice thought. A nice, completely pretend fantasy thought, where they actually got to retire and be with each other and didn’t somehow hate each other and screw this whole thing up.
He doesn’t think they would, either...but it was a nice thought. In fact, he was pretty sure if he wasn't smashed flat or shot up, he was going to get cancer or liver fail someday. You only live once, so might as well make the best of it!
“Well we ... could be,” she daydreamed aloud, “Someday. I'm trying to decide if I would hyphenate.”
“S'up to you.”
“Neena Thurman-Wisdom is such a mouthful.”
“Not that bad. But if they go to call you into a meeting or the likes, then it's ‘MissusThurman-Wisdom’ an' that sounds silly. Keep yer own name, that's always an option. S'not like you have to take mine.”
Amused, she mentioned, “It's not my name. It's his.”
“OH.” He realized that now. “Oh.”
“... I don't even remember what my maiden name was.”
“Right,” he said in a softly spoken tone of voice, having been reminded of that fact. “Can't you simply...pick summat you like?”
“What's wrong with picking yours?”
“Cursed. We come from a long line of very unhappy Wisdoms. The line dies out with us.”
“I'm pretty sure the curse has spread this way no matter what.”
“I’d rather keep the surname curse on me own head. But...if you want t'mingle curses...it's not like we'd be breeding or the likes, is it?”
If Pete was telepathic, he would have heard actual mental car tires going SCREEECH across the pavement, like it had suddenly braked while in full motion. But he wasn’t, so his only cue that something had suddenly gone off in her head was how quiet she suddenly got.
Pete was simply staring at her, with a questioning grin. When she didn’t respond, his eyebrows raised up slightly, and he grinned even harder. “...right?”
“... right...”
“M'detecting some hesitation there. Love, if summat's on yer mind, you gotta tell me. M'not a telepath. An' there's no way we can get things sussed out, if you don't.”
“What if I wanted one?”
“Then we'll discuss it.”
Though honestly Dom wasn’t sure if she did want one, if creepy children that weren’t really there were going to keep following her around. They were slowly starting to put her off the idea of having any of her own around. At least her own children would speak.
“I mean,” he clarified, “I ne'er thought about it b'fore, really.”
“... we'd need to be discussing it soon, according to Moira.”
He looked right at her. “ ...how soon's soon?”
“It's riskier for the child the longer we wait, at this point.”
“...now?” His eyebrows raised way, way up.
She sounded pretty informed, and it was obvious that she’d had this entire conversation with Moira at some point, previously, “... well not NOW now. I mean, it's just ... I don't know. The older I get the worse it's going to be. You start gambling on if your kid is going to have webbed feet or something. We're too busy now. It's not a good time.”
Actually, he appreciated that fact, but was mindblown since...he'd never actually EVER thought about it, prior to that moment. He’d always had been afraid of... “...just ne'er wanted it t'grow up in the sort o' home that me an' Romany grew up in.”
“That's understandable...” she said, very softly.
“Can you pop a egg out? We'll put it in a petri dish, I'll rub one out an'...you know...freeze it just in case.”
“We can ask. ... I know they do that for some people. Cancer patients and the like.”
“All right. That way, summat happens...there's backup. Surrogates, shite like that. Right, that. I could lose a nut. It could impede things.”
It sounded like he was freaking out, and she patted his cheek a bit, “Hey. Stop panicking. Take your time to think it through.”
He blinked and seemed to focused on her, at the cheek patting.
“This isn't a decision you need to make right now, I'm not that sadistic.”
“I know, I know. Kind of weird thinking that our potentially webfootie genes would mix t'make a little ankle biter.”
“I kind of just hope the kid doesn't end up with my quirks.”
“Is it bad that I'd rather it did end up with 'em? No one wants a tiny arsehole running about. Screaming profanity an' lighting things on fire.”
She gave him a dry look, “You could have a point there.”
“Oh, cheers.”
Dom smirked at him in reply.
“I hope he pees on yer foot someday,” he announced in an aloof way, so that now it will happen because he said so.
“It's not something I'd want to seriously consider until after... oh really?” she looked at him, and grinned, “I hope SHE grows into a looker and brings home all kinds of difficult men that you then have to threaten to shoot.”
“Yes. He will. And...oh that's bloody RUDE, you ARSE.”
Her grin widened.
Pete grumbled that he would rip their arms off and beat them with them, and quite possibly beat them with his oxygen tank, then hire local kids to bury the body.
At that, she started laughing.
He eyed her!
“I love you.” she even made a heart with her hands at him.
A finger was poked at her tummy, as he told her, “I love you too. I'll put a crumb in there. See wot falls out o' yer oven.”
“I'd get as big as a house and make you go out at 3 in the morning for something ridiculous like ... donuts and peanut butter or something.”
“Feck you, you know 'ow t'drive.” Pete suddenly laughed once again, cringing and expecting a thwap for that comment.
She snickered, “You know how to drive while a pregnant lady is in the car already, maybe you can teach me,” Her hand thwapped against him as punctuation.
“Shut it, that was special circumstances...and...ow, that hurt.” He not only gave her a bum pinch, but he also bestowed upon her the stink eye of doom.
She made up for the thwapping by kissing at his neck again, like she was extremely fond of doing.
Well, if she was going to do that...he was going to have to give her some slow bum rubby with one hand.
“I think you're convincing me t'try all sorts of shite I wouldn't 'ave...b'fore.”
Something about the motion made her spine start jangling in that way it liked to do when it thought she was in danger and needed to get away. She wasn’t even sure what had caused it, but mentally told her spine to fuck off.
He was being very slow about it, and his hand wasn't hot. In fact, it was just a normal warm, for him.
“... well it's not like I ever thought of marrying anyone again...” she replied to him finally. She knew she wasn’t in any danger, and mentally tried to push the janglies away.
“After Pryde...I didn't want t'do it at all.” And that had only been a near-miss, because she ran off.
Pete let out slow exhale as he thought on things some more, before he told her, “WIth you, I think...we'd stand a shot. We at least get some o' our shite sorted out.”
“Or we'd shoot eachother. But I think we'd laugh about it after.”
He snerked and nodded a little, in response.
“That could 'appen. Or, you know, I still trust you.” He moved his hand upward, so he could rest it against the side of her neck.
The hand wasn’t warm or even burning her. She was reminded of the day of the fireworks, where it had been that warm, and decided she needed a distraction from all of that. She recalled the curry she’d brought hom, “Are you hungry?”
“A lit'le, yeah.”
“... random, I know, but we just made love next to an entire bag of indian takeout,” she pointed at the bag with a finger, which had somehow miraculously not toppled over.
Pete moved his head up enough to look at where she's pointing.
“Shite like that ne'er goes bad. However...” He snuck a quick kiss. “...I have to ask. Yer room. You want me in there or wot?”
“I'm torn,” she admitted, “... Mainly I understand if you want a few nights to kind of ... try and figure out your hands, first. But we just did all this pretty safely.” spine-janglies of not-actual-danger notwithstanding.
He listened to what she had to say and then had to agree on that last point, “Yeah...I didn't 'ave...one of those dreams, not feelin' quite so bad t'day, actually. There's the bracelet, as well. Rather not rely on it too much, though.”
“I don't think we should stop being together in the same bed just because …” she trailed off and frowned, then finally admitted, “... I'm scared you won't be there to revive me.”
“...an' I'm...scared...I'll burn you again. But, yer right. Hurdle bed. We're not goin' t'get nothin' done, if we don't headbutt some things. Followed by shootin' an' stabbing it dead.” There was a thoughtful pause of the ‘eureka!’ variety. “Hey. Idea.”
“Mm?”
“Since I trust you, Dommy? Just loosely tie me wrists to the headboard. Not enough that it's too uncomfortable or I can't get out if I really need to, we'll see 'ow that goes. Then in case it happens again, I get a chance t'control the bloody thing. But if summat happens t'you, then I can still help.”
“... I don't like that idea, but I can do that.”
“We'll try it. M'going t'have to rely on you if someone busts in, but...like I said, I trust you.”
“Alright.”
“Then we will try it, and I'll try to light my cigarettes off me fingertips.” He winked at her and reached for the bag of food, after giving her a quick smooch of a kiss. “M'going to eat. An' think of sleazy vegas weddings an' crumbs in ovens.”
“I better get you a fork, in that case.” she laughed and rolled out of bed, then started pulling her pants and tank top back on.
“She's not here, run out starkers,” he said with a cheeky grin. “I'll move my things back into yer room.” Grin still in place, Pete stretched and looked like a totally lazy bastard. “I should eat at the table.”
Dom was absolutely not going out there starkers. His remark made her stop halfway in the middle of pulling her tank top on and stare at him, “Eat at the table like normal people?”
“I know. Bloody insane, innit?”
She snerked, “Next I'll be cooking roast barefoot in the kitchen with your crumb baby in my oven.”
“Brilliant. Me own lit'le slice o' Americana.”
“You came out here just to live the dream,” she snarked at him, then finished getting her tank top on and started heading for the kitchen.
“I did. I offer you dual citizenship, though, so that you can live somewhere that's bloody NORMAL an' CIVILIZED,” he loudly pointed out, as she was walking to the kitchen. He rolled out of bed and got dressed, by throwing on his Spongebob Squarepants boxers.
“They don't have COFFEE there. It's not CIVILIZED,” she shouted back over her shoulder. Her burn was screaming in pain by that point, and she stopped in the hallway to try and remember where they’d stowed the painkillers.
“You don't need coffee. There's whiskey, lager, stout, an' tea. Oh, there’s also that scottish fizzy drink shite that's 'orrible.”
“Whiskey tea is nasty,” she mumbled. Standing in front of her was a boy with a spot over his eye, helpfully pointing in the direction of the bathroom, as if to tell her that’s where the painkillers were. He didn’t make a sound.
“Oh, right,” she whispered casually, like she wasn’t talking to a hallucination at all. She headed to the bathroom to raid the medicine chest.
Pete padded out in barefeets with the bag o' curry foods in tow, heading straight to the table. As he went, he was saying conversationally, “Depends on if it's standard tea or if it's that fruity shite that's not really tea as much as fruity bits steeped in water.”
In the bathroom, she opened the bottle and popped one of the painkillers into her mouth. She put it away and shut the cabinet, only to see the spot on her eye when the reflection from the mirror swung into place. Her lips thinned into a line, “Maybe I shouldn't be taking this right now.”
She obviously didn’t need to get any more high than she already was to keep seeing things, anyway. She shook her head and sighed. Fuck. Whatever. She probably just needed to get more sleep, “... what's this about fruity tea what now?”
“Wot?” he had grabbed his phone too. He was going to text Kitty and try to get started on a path to getting things sorted out, with a potential helpful contact. At the very least. “Uhh...that tastes better with whiskey in it, that's wot.”
She headed out of the bathroom and gave him a funny look, “I thought tea was made with leaves.”
“Not if it's that fruity shite. Sari drank the fruity shite. But she was nutters. Citrus rose hip fuck-in-a-cup or wote'er it was.”
“Sari, eh?” she vaguely wondered how many other girlfriends he’d had that he’d never mentioned. She got out the forks, and put them on the table.
“Uh huh. First real girlfriend. Mere speedbump here but...apparently I really liked her in me dreams, as well. Too bad she was an assassin. And I was intelligence. You know how that went.”
“What was she like?” she asked, while digging into her container of butter chicken. It was easier to look at the chicken than look around the kitchen. Nothing weird was going to show up in the chicken container, like kids sitting in a circle on the kitchen floor like they were doing, right now.
“She was a blond bitch. But snarky an' quite shooty.”
“... Had to turn her in, right?”
“Ne'er had luck with blondes after 'er,” he was saying in a light and airy, factual tone of voice. He nodded his head like YEP, in the affirmative, and gave her the reason why, “She was goin' t'shoot the Queen.”
“Fuck.”
“Had t'stop her. So I turned 'er in. At least 'ere she wasn't like that, really. Oh, she was still a sniper. But either way, it didn't last that long an' wasn't anything very serious.”
She caught herself randomly wondering, while continuing to listen to him... Why is it she never had dreams about eating in that place? Did they never feed the kids there? She squinted into her chicken container. That didn’t seem right to her, there had to be lunch tables or something, she’d just never dreamed of that room yet, “The one in this world didn't want to shoot the queen?”
“Nope. Not in the least. She went an' hooked up with some nutter in prison though, who was really keen on stabbing people with knives. More power to 'er,” Pete was saying, before he started eating and texting.
“Congratulations to her, I guess...”
“I'm sure their future crumbs will have a brilliant career as knife throwers in a traveling sideshow for freaks.” He smiled triumphantly at that thought. He also put his phone down and dug into his take out container, making a YUM noise like he loves him some curry.
The container was about half empty when Dom’d decided that she’d eaten enough. It was enough at least to stop herself from getting sick off the painkiller she’d taken, and that was a victory in her book. She set it down on the table.
“Oi, that's not enough...!” He pointed at it and gave her a concerned look. “You don't eat 'nuff, I swear t'god.”
“I'm not exactly skin and bones, here. I eat plenty.”
“Oh really, you mean, like when I have t'remind you like that one time, the last thing I've seen you eat, is sunday roast...an' then all you consumed was a milkshake? Like that? Really, dear? Really?” He began to eat again, with one eyebrow crooked way up at her uneaty behaviors.
She rubbed at her head, “That's really all I've eaten?”
“I tried t'give you some burger an' fries. But I think maybe you ate one bite of summat an' that was it.”
She realised something randomly, while remembering that day, “... you melted your milk shake. That's why it wasn't frozen anymore, you melted it.”
“...eh?”
“You were complaining.”
“...I thought maybe they gave me summat that wasn't cold enough,” he mumbled, mulling that over.
“Your hands were so hot. I really should have ... they were really warm, Pete. On my neck that time. I was so worried, that's why I bundled you up. Because my milkshake was cold enough. It didn't melt at all.”
“...huuuuuh.” He grabbed his phone and read the texts, but was looking concerned now about what she was saying.
In light of the current conversation, she poked at her container and took a few more bites.
“Let me ask Pryde...maybe there's some correlation there.” He did peek over at her, before doing so. “Love?”
“Hmm?”
“I was mostly giving you shite o'er it. If yer full, save it for later. I simply worry yer not eating enough an' it might...make things jumpier or summat.” He texted and waited for a response. Once he got it, he inquired, “She's saying t'ask you about five locations or the likes.”
Dom shook her head, “I'm not full, I'm just never really hungry. ... yeah, she texted me ... yesterday, in fact, but it took me until this morning to get back to her. She's got 5 places. We think they probably move Lazarus between them.”
“Oh really...”
“That man said they move him. It's the only actionable thing he said the entire time.”
“...so that part was true then.”
“Yes. I caught him off guard with it.”
“We just need the schedule.” He imagined that getting the schedule would be the hard part.
“I have two concerns. The first one is that that rogue cell is trying to capture him. We might lead them there ourselves, that'll be one hell of a firefight. Or we'll raid the place and he'll be gone. Then we'll be off the trail again.”
“...he'll compensate, that’s right,” Pete agreed. “I'm imagining it's wired t'the rafters.”
“He'll do that anyway. We're going to want a bomb kit.”
“We could do that,” he further agreed.
“No, I mean, to disarm one.”
“Right,” he was saying with a nod, like he understood that part. “Cos it's probably rigged t'blow. So we'd want one. Goin' t'need a ton o' things, really. Transport, layouts...”
“Well I've got C4 in the linen closet,” she mentioned. It was probably good for him and Romany to know about that.
“...un-marry me.” He grinned at her, like she was the most utterly splendid creature on the face of the planet.
She smiled a bit in answer.
“M'bloody serious. That's brilliant. I love the we've got C4 where we keep the linens.”
“It's a cool, dry place. I used to keep it in the bathroom under the toilet tank but the temperature fluctuates too much when you shower. C4 is very picky about its living conditions.”
“Keep that up,” he said between bites of food and text messaging. “M'going t'throw out the house rules an' we're going t'do very dirty things on this table, in the common area.”
“Well we can't have that...” she trailed off and closed her eyes. The blonde girl was standing next to her, staring at her as blood ran out her nose and eyeballs. This was becoming extremely unnerving to her, and she already regretted taking the painkiller. It wasn’t helping at all.
“Transport should be easy ... blueprints are harder, depends on where he's holed up... guns aren't a problem, that bomb kit I can probably ask around about... It depends on how we go in, drop on the roof or infiltrate by playing identity theft or the vents...”
She paused, then added, “... I probably need more C4 than we have.”
“...need more than you an' me, you know. Wilson's a fine third wheel, if he can keep his bloody mouth shut.” He had to point it out, and at least Wilson was good at what he did, if not totally insane. Pete imagined it was one of those ‘Wilson’s smarter than he lets on’ situations, though. The insane parts didn’t help with even coping with the guy, on any sort of regular basis. “ID theft's the easier route.”
“Maybe the red suns are taking jobs. They owe me some favors still.”
“You could do,” Pete said with a grin, since that seemed like a good idea to call in a few favors. “I've got to see if any shred of wot I knew as MI-13 or Weird Happenings is left o'er...maybe with my job requirements, they'd consider letting me be a special agent or the likes. Could pull more strings that way.”
Dom: *creaks an eye open, like she's checking for something, then opens them both back up*
It’d been a few minutes, and Dom creaked her open to see if the girl was still there. When nothing was in the kitchen but her and Pete, she opened both of her eyes back up and tried not to look relieved.
Pete had been looking at her, and noticed when she looked like she was having a cautious looking around, especially after she opened her eyes.
“You all right, Dom?” he asked. “Tired?”
“This painkiller is kicking my ass,” she admitted. She looked like she was going to say more, but instead shook her head, “I'm fine. I mean. Aside from the ass kicking. Which it is doing a very good job of.”
“Let's get you in bed. C'mon then. Here, give me that.” He took their containers, closed them up, and put them in the fridge. There wasn’t any semblence of order to how he shoved them in there, since it was done with his usual lack of care for peripheral details. The sort he deemed were less important than extraction missions and making sure his...whatever she was...got some much needed rest.
“... the fridge is a mess.”
“It'll survive,” he reassured her.
She wanted to fix it right then, but made a mental note to fix it later, instead.
“It'll get sorted, don't worry. Now's not the time though. C'mere, you.” He helped her up, holding his phone in his hand. “I'll move things back in, while you're sleeping.”
She paled at the idea of being alone in her room with the people-who-weren’t-there staring at her, “... don't leave me in there alone...”
“...wot? Yer not. I'm in the house here with you.” His voice lowered to a whisper, “Bloody hell, wot'd you get an' how can I get meself some?”
“Just... Painkillers in the medicine cabinet? Get your stuff moved in before I sleep,” her tone was demanding, and she was stubbornly refusing to do anything until he did.
“Well, brilliant. You needed that, actually.” He guided Dom into her room and onto the bed.
“...Dommy...” He gave her a looking at, but knew from experience that she wasn’t going to budge due to a brick wall of stubborn. “Fine.”
Now that he was agreeing not to leave her alone in there while she slept, she crawled into bed. She wasn’t going to let herself sleep until he was settled in, but when he was, she decided she was going to sleep until she woke up instead of just getting 4 hours like they’d been doing.
He promptly went to get his things, thinking that maybe she did need to catch up on a lot more sleep. So he moved things back into her room and got things settled. All that was done while text arguing with Kitty. Once he was finished messing up her room again, he put the heart alarm thing on her and the bracelet on his wrist, so that they could both relax and not have to worry about waking up to CPR or burning things.
She waited in the bed and watched him move in and out of the room as he got his things from the other room and settled them into hers. Keeping her eyes focused on him helped, because he was really there, and alive. And easy on the eyes.
Pete plopped down onto the bed, once everything was situated. He had his phone in hand while waiting to hear about that 'cure' thing Kitty mentioned, but held out one arm to Dom, so she could scoot in against him and he can text one handedly.
He grinned at her, reassuringly. “Safe t'sleep it off, m'dear.”
Assured it was safe, Dom curled up against him and buried her face in against his chest. She could only see him, and he was there, and warm, and loved her. His hands weren’t overly hot, he wasn’t making her exceptionally jumpy, and she was just going to sleep. Nice and safe and sound, against the … father of her potential crumb child. Boyfriend? Potential... un-husband... thing.
Boyfriend and potential husband and father of her maybe someday crumb baby, that’s right. Meanwhile, he was concerned, because he thought she was acting oddly. For now, however, he was going to blame the pills. She had to be achy and in discomfort after everything she’d gone through. First with the leg wound, then with the CPR and dying bit, and then getting burned...because of him? It was no wonder she was worn out. He let her sleep, not leaving her side, and nodded off soon after he sent his last text message.