Lorna Dane loves rocks and math (compassrose) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2015-12-24 23:20:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, killian jones (captain hook), lorna dane (polaris) |
who Lorna and Killian
what Lorna had a bad dream
where Lorna's condo
when recently
warnings angst and nudity
status complete
Alright, so Captain Hook had faced many perils in his day, torture and near fateful situations that brought him nothing but a tired sigh, a cloak of madness having settled over him in a suffocating shroud since centuries of torment in Neverland - he probably would never be the same, but perhaps he'd have argued that even before he succumbed to darkness and the whimsies of a boy who had never grown up, who had chosen his own eternal youth over everything that was supposed to matter, he was still a pirate.
And that just didn’t ever really leave someone.
Even if he was attempting to ‘reform’ himself for the sake of a woman (never would he do that here, not ever), in a place where pleasant days were as rare as days where they didn’t have to fight some villain of the week. But comparing those perils faced, dangers fought, nothing really stood up to the precise art of comforting someone.
Killian didn’t think he was very good at it. However, Lorna said he’d helped already so he would take her word for it. On the way to her place he brought her a bit of an early Christmas present too - complete with a shiny green bow stuck on there, a bottle of pie-flavoured whiskey. Cherry, because she said she liked that kind of pie best. It was a unique find, and admittedly he’d never had it before but it sounded intriguing. If he couldn’t drink very much, someone else ought to be able to.
Then the leather-clad, pill-popping, one-handed, would-drown-you-for-drinking-his-wine scallywag showed up at her front door. And knocked.
When Lorna opened the door the sickly sweet fragrance of marijuana smoke wafted out. She looked a mess. Her newly colored hair was in a wild tangle around her head, her eyes were red, though from crying or her drug use could no longer be determined. She was still in her pajamas, but the trashbag of empty beer cans and liquor bottles in her hand showed she was at least attempting to make her apartment presentable.
Normally she was a picture of good mental health. Sure she was an orphan and that sucked but she’d made her peace with that long ago. If not for the dreams she wouldn’t have missed her parents this Christmas. Now that the mental wound had been opened she didn’t know how to deal with it anymore.
Distractions were her first resource. First it was booze, now it was Killian. Maybe she could just distract herself all the way through the holidays and come out the other side ready to deal with her issues.
She gave Killian a wan smile, moving back to let him into the apartment. “I’m going to chuck my garbage, I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.” She waved toward the living room where her bong was sitting in prominent view. “Help yourself if you want.”
Marijuana had a very distinct scent to it, which was ironic, because Killian could never really pinpoint it in exact words - it was a bit grassy, resembled the odor of dirt a little, a bit earthy, sometimes floral. Mostly it just smelled pungent, and he could have picked it out anywhere. Not that he really indulged in the stuff, or at least, he hadn't in awhile.
It also probably wasn't a good mix with the other volatile chemicals he imbibed into his body while on prescription medications, something he knew he distinctly should not do.
But that was him; it was a little different seeing Lorna falling apart at the seams. He was worried, that couldn’t be helped. "No thanks, love, I shouldn't," he politely declined. "I brought you whiskey, but that'll be for later. Breakfast, maybe. Come on, then..."
He took a glance around. "Let's get you sobered up a little, hm?" His good hand distinctly waved through a plume of smoke that was escaping toward the ceiling. "Dump your rubbish, I'll get you some water and make you something to eat."
“Sobriety is for people who don’t have dreams to forget,” Lorna noted on her way out the door. She dumped her garbage, focusing thoroughly on the task at hand. With her brain throbbing in her skull and her stomach threatening to upturn itself at the mere thought of food it wasn’t that difficult to keep her mind occupied.
She shuffled back to her apartment, looking blearily at the place. She’d left behind a mess of blankets and tissues in the living room and her cell phone was sitting dead next to a plate of delivered Chinese food. “Ugh. This place is a mess. Sorry you had to see all this.” She shook her head, then staggered as her equilibrium tilted violently. “I think Godzilla is rampaging around my brain cells.”
“Well, that might work on someone else, but...” Killian trailed off, and was already in the kitchen putting something together. “I really don’t give a fuck.” She was going to sober up whether she liked it or not, because what the hell else was he supposed to let Lorna do? Wallow some more?
He’d taken care of the billowing smoke and the bong while she was visiting the garbage chute, not wanting her stash to just burn there - but she really didn’t need to be taking hits from the pipe right now anyway. Pancakes, he might have done those, since she needed some sugar and the carbs to sop up all the booze but he doubted her stomach could handle it. Toast it was then, and he began untwisting the tie on a loaf of bread.
“I’m flattered you’re comfortable enough to be a slob around me, darling,” he smirked. “Now, water. Drink.” There was a full glass on the counter, and he expected her to finish it. “We don’t have to talk about your dreams, but you can just help me help you for a bit.”
Lorna sipped her water as she was told, making a face at the bag of bread. Once she’d drunk about half the glass she paused, waiting to see how her stomach would take it. “I’m not sure bread is on the menu. Thank you for coming to help me out.” She meant it. Knowing there were people who cared about her was really helpful when she wasn’t particularly fond of herself. This was far from her proudest moment and she felt awful both about what she’d done in her dreams and how she’d reacted. “I can’t drink like a freshman anymore, apparently.”
Bread went into the toaster, and Killian supposed they’d just have to see. Hopefully Lorna could get a little bit down. "It's healthier not to drink like that anyway, or so I hear," he chuckled ruefully - oh yes, funny coming from this alcoholic. But he didn't think he had a problem, he was fine, no need to worry. He could stop drinking anytime he wanted to, right?
Riiiiiiight.
Half the glass of water was finished, so that deserved a reward. Baby steps and all. "You ought to at least try to eat, yeah?" He stepped closer, his compelling smile enough of a hook to land even a great white shark. "Even if I say please?"
Please, please. He tipped her chin up to give her a kiss, the kind that was filling and left fire in its wake. So convincing.
Lorna snorted, though she didn’t know the extent of Killian’s alcohol use. What she did know was that it wasn’t healthy to watch her parents die horribly everytime she closed her eyes, either.
She put the glass down when he moved closer, eying him curiously. The kiss was quite appealing. A soft moan rumbled in Lorna’s throat as their lips met. She didn’t push for more when he drew away, though she was far from satisfied. “You make a good argument,” she breathed, her cheeks a little pinker. “I’ll try the toast.”
She moved closer to the toaster, inspecting it for a moment. “So I guess I was right about my hair. You were right too, though. It doesn’t look terrible.”
Yes, Killian was great at arguing. And he knew he was the last person to talk when it came to handling the effects from the dreams, because he would do anything possible to not close his eyes and see Liam dying again, or Milah (both in his arms, how quaint, it still stung something fierce), but it happened anyway. And he wasn’t great at dealing with it either.
But he looked out for others, like Lorna, more than he did his own self. Amusing, that.
“It looks good,” he agreed, wrapping a few locks of that electric lime hair around his fingers and testing the silkiness. “Rather suits you, I think. And I do tend to be right.” Teasing, but he was glad that she’d settled into her new look - it really did work with her, brought out those pretty eyes of hers. “Here you are, then.”
Peanut butter and a bit of honey on toast - the peanut butter especially, that was the essential ingredient. “Going to flush out that liver, beautiful. You want to go eat this on the couch or something? Watch terrible Netflix, relax, something like that? I’ll stay as long as you need.”
She took the offered food, taking a small bite as though she was afraid the bread would explode. Her stomach rumbled in protest, but she took a couple more bites because she was hungry, despite everything else. Having nothing except Jaegermeister and Corona since the previous night was obviously not the best plan.
She giggled at his attention to her hair. “I need a shower, I think. Care to join me to make sure I don’t pass out?” She didn’t think she was that bad off, but any excuse to see Killian naked was welcome and accepted. He was remarkably distracting and right now she appreciated that a great deal. It was unfortunate that anything more vigorous would almost certain set her headache off or upset her stomach.
“A shower was going to be my next suggestion, so aye,” Killian nodded, and he didn’t mind hopping in there with Lorna - a cooler one would be best for sobering her up, though a steamy one would relax the muscles. So whatever she wanted. “You finish that - “ Meaning his culinary masterpiece, toast with peanut butter and a glass of water, ooooh, aaaaah, “...and I’ll tidy up in your living room a little. Then join you for a shower.”
Coming out and having a cleaner space would also make her feel better, because there was nothing worse than facing a slovenly biohazard pit when you were hungover and in no mood to lift a finger. Hence why he found another garbage bag and tossed the snotty tissues (the things you did for a good friend!) into it, along with the Chinese food that was congealing on the plate - some of it looked like it could be salvaged, so he closed up the containers and stuck them into the fridge. Even folded the blankets in her living room, so it didn’t look like such a haphazard mess.
Lorna watched him, amused at his mother hen act. It was nice to be cared for, and to know she had a friend. She ate her toast, sipping her water frequently to wash the sticky peanut butter down. Her stomach was still rioting, but so far she was able to hold everything down. Score one for Mary Jane and her wonderful hangover curative powers.
Once the food was gone Lorna went over to help Killian finish straightening up. “Can I hire you to clean my apartment all the time?” She teased. “I promise the demeaning outfit is optional, but it could only help your tips.”
Killian snorted a laugh. “I’m looking for extra work, but I admit, being your maid didn’t cross my mind. Might be best to avoid the demeaning outfit, I probably don’t even have the hips for it.” There, all done - last blanket folded, and he set it on the sofa for later. Lorna’s living room looked downright cosy, even if it did carry the lingering stench of pot smoke. Bless her big, adorable, squishy heart.
“Alright, into the shower with you. Just lead the way.”
“Oh, is everything alright?” Lorna asked, her smile fading. She didn’t want her friends to be left wanting when she had more than enough to keep herself comfortable. “Is it because you were injured?” The time off work and getting used to his changed abilities would no doubt be a problem for someone with a job like Killian’s. He wasn’t the first private detective she’d met to be maimed and out of work.
To the bathroom, then, and he'd find them clean towels - Killian wished he had the foresight to bring a change of clothes, but he wasn't expecting to get naked. Or in the shower, for that matter. Just goes to show you that life threw you curve balls sometimes. "I'm alright, my dear, I assure you," he promised. Money was always tight for him but he made ends meet - since taking Kenzi in, he expected more to pay in terms of bills and such, but she worked too and she'd pitch in. Besides, he wanted to take her in - she didn't have anywhere else to go, and he hated the thought of her staying in a motel.
"I'm not out of work - far from it. I've picked up more work, more cases. Call it the stubborn side of me rearing its ugly head."
He wasn't about to slow down, or anything of the sort - no, that just wasn't him.
Lorna followed, moving deliberately so she didn’t jar herself too much. The stubborn side of Killian would probably also make him refuse her help, but she was stubborn too and in a position to be generous. All she had to do was figure out how exactly to manage it. “Just don’t work too hard. I’d hate for you to lose your cheerful, friendly disposition.”
Once she was in the bathroom she settled on the edge of the tub and started running water for them. “I have a spare robe in my bedroom if you need it.” She liked to be prepared for sudden guests who might need to take showers. She had her share of them.
Did she now? He lifted an eyebrow at the offer of a robe. A man's robe, no less? Unless Lorna planned to put him in something feminine and silky - might feel nice against his skin, oooh. "I do need one, yes," he grinned a bit, vastly amused. "I was planning to lounge in my underwear but a robe works just as well."
Using his good hand, Killian tested the temperature of the water - it fell on his wrist, and was just right, so he began the process of removing clothing. Along with the bandage on his arm, where his hand should be - the wound wasn't so horrendous anymore, or blood-soaked for that matter, and the scars from surgery had healed nicely. It just looked unsightly, but he tried not to be self-conscious about it.
“How are you feeling, by the way?” he asked. “A bit woozy, hopefully a little better than before?”
“Well, underwear is fine too, if you don’t mind being a little chilly. Far be it for me to suggest you need more clothing.” Lorna smiled and joined him in stripping, though she took considerably less time, thanks to wearing nothing but pajamas. She glanced at Killian as he unraveled the bandage around his arm. After a moment she decided the best course of action was to let him fuss over it if he chose, rather than go with her instinct to mother him. “I’m doing better. You’re a valuable distraction, Mr. Jones.” She gave him a quick kiss and then slipped into the shower, groaning softly as the heat hit her aching body.
She started to wash herself immediately, pausing to examine her arm hair. She hadn’t really paid the new color much mind, having bigger fish to fry, emotionally. “It’s all green. That’s going to take some getting used to.”
"You say the sweetest things to me," Killian smirked, because valuable distraction - well, alright, he'd take it. He'd definitely been called worse (and he was worse, if forced to admit it to himself). But all that aside, he just wanted to actually help someone for once. He couldn't stop the dreams, or make them go away, but he could be there when they got stifling - and be there to weather the storm. He was good at that, if nothing else.
There was womanly smelling soap in this shower, big surprise. But he wouldn't mind smelling like lilacs or whatever the fuck Lorna had in here. So he picked up the bottle of body wash and squeezed it to paint a picture across her shoulders - then rubbed it down her back after the bottle was set down again, doing it the one-handed way.
"Aye, even your eyebrows are green," he chuckled. "It does look nice though. Whatever happens in your dreams too, you'll find a way to carry on - we both will."
She shivered when he rubbed the soap on her skin, letting herself be drawn out of contemplating her arm hair. “You’re right. This one just hit me in a sore spot. I’m an orphan and I dreamed that I accidentally caused a plane crash that killed my parents. I was even a bastard in the dreams, like I am here. My father showed up, wiped my memory and left me behind.” She spoke quickly, her back still turned to Killian so he wouldn’t see her expression. He could probably feel the tension returning to her shoulders, but she had to tell someone or she thought the wound would just fester. “If he shows up here, if he dreams. . . it would be bad.” The world didn’t need Polaris and it certainly didn’t need Magneto.
They were all orphans, weren't they? At least, in his own fairytale-inspired sect of a nightmare landscape, mommy and daddy issues ranked up there as the number one cause of trauma. And for Killian, it was no exception.
He'd murdered his own father in a show of revenge years after the bastard sold him and Liam into slavery. It sort of made him glad that his father here had simply been a worthless drunk.
"They do cause sore spots," he soothed, rubbing at the knots of tension he felt, thumb kneading into skin. "Everyone handles them differently. I don't think we're immune to their effects either. But don't think about the 'what if's' so much. Let's just say your father does show up, well, you've allies to help with that. People who wouldn't leave you in the trenches, yours truly among them."
Lorna turned to face Killian, giving him a soft, sad look. “I think the only thing to do would be to kill him before he dreams. It would be for his own good, honestly.” She sighed and shook her head. “Sorry, I should be distracting myself, not brooding. Nobody wants to hear me whine.”
She took a deep breath and tried to smile. “Beside, who wants to think about their father when they’re in the shower with such a fine specimen of masculinity?” Without further ado she picked up the soap and began to wash Killian’s chest and arms.
"Well, I've no room to talk. But just remember that it's something you can't take back, love. No matter what shit our parents pull, I sort of think there's a...loyalty there." Or a place in your heart that wasn't completely dead, reserved for their memory - he dreamed of shedding a tear when he ran his father through with a blade, and needless to say, Brennan hadn't even deserved that. But those emotions didn't simply go away overnight; your parents were a part of you, like it or not.
Anyway, Killian was fine with not discussing that - whatever Lorna wanted, he wouldn't push her. "Such a flatterer," he chuckled richly, low and warm. "I'll even cuddle with you after this shower, how's that?"
“You spoil me,” Lorna said with a smile. If it was a little fake around the edges she was sure he’d forgive her. It would turn real soon enough. “Does your arm need to stay dry, or should I wash it as well?” She motioned her head toward the remainder of his maimed arm. Probably there were still stitches or staples or something in it.
"No, it's alright. I've got it - we'll just keep it dry. You did a grand job, regardless, my virescent pie goddess." It was honestly a wonder Killian had even gotten in the shower with someone in the first place, after being maimed - but he felt comfortable enough to do so; as long as his companion wasn't all squicked out because of the rather grotesque injury.
The psychological scarring from it went deep, he'd be the first one to tell you. Not that he knew how to 'fix' it or make it better - he had to make do with living day to day, and getting through.
Finishing up, he got a good rinse in and then shut the water off. Now, towels. Those would feel nice, after hitting the chilly air.
Lorna stepped out and handed Killian a towel and took one for herself. “I’m going to take you up on that offer for snuggles. I think that’s about all I have in me anymore, anyway.” She collected their clothing and headed for the laundry room. “The bedroom’s down the hall, the extra robe is in the closet. Make yourself at home while I get my laundry going. Do you want your stuff washed?”
He wouldn't turn down 'snuggles,' not at all. Who didn't like them? Everyone did, and if they claimed they didn't, they were a bloody liar. Even the worst of the worst could appreciate a good cuddle or two. "I probably smell like the sea anyway, so sure, toss them in there," Killian snickered - he sort of did smell like the sea, though. the same sea he so loved. Salty, sharp, somewhat woody with a hint of spice like rosemary - it was just his default.
His clothes were in a pile, folded at least, so Lorna could literally just throw them in with whatever laundry, he wouldn't mind. Following instructions, he found a robe in her room and then turned down the blankets for her. Poor thing had a rough day and night. Maybe they'd both sleep soundly.
"I almost forgot what it's like to sleep on land," he mused, settling in. Besides when he was in the hospital, but he was drugged up for that.
Lorna tossed their clothes in the washer and set it to running. She finished drying herself as she went toward the bedroom. Now that she was clean and fed a warm bed with a hot man in it sounded like heaven. “I enjoyed sleeping on your boat. It was very soothing, surprisingly.” She shed her towel and pulled on a long t-shirt to wear to bed. “Maybe I’ll have to do that again, sometime.”
She settled in next to him, inhaling the scent of him (which was mostly the scent of honeysuckle, thanks to her soap). Her arm wrapped around his waist and she rested her head facing his. “You’re a good friend. I’m lucky to have you.”
"It's sort of the grand champion of all waterbeds," Killian joked, but it was true - the sensation of a houseboat gently rocking you to sleep, not much could compare with that. Everything about it, he loved quite a bit. "Sometime, then."
The Captain slipped an arm around Lorna, tucking her against him snugly and securely. It was the least he could do. "Well, I try. This place is shit, we're all masochists for staying." Yet it led them to people who would change things for the better, people who would sneak under your skin and stay there - he knew that much.
He kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep, love." If the sensation of being rocked to sleep wouldn't happen here, he'd hum a sailor's lullaby instead.
Sway to and fro in the twilight gray
This is the ferry for Shadowtown;
It always sails at the end of day,
Just as the darkness is closing down.
Rest, little head, on my shoulder, so;
A sleepy kiss is the only fare,
Drifting away from the world we go