InsaneJournal

Who: Atton and Isabela.
What: Roller derby!
When: Wednesday afternoon.
Where: Roller rink, Atton's condo.
Rating: PG-13.
Status: Complete!



Isabela had gone straight from work to roller derby. They’d had a decently short day today, and she was still in good enough shape to be able to be first string in the match tonight. They were playing the Tustin Tarts, and they were actually good. Atton had said he might stop by the match, which would also be nice. She hadn’t seen him in a few days, and earlier he’d texted her that weird message about something being ‘different.’ Either way, she’d be ringing him after the match. For now, she was suited up and headed out of the locker room.

Atton was in the front row, enjoying a Coke. He’d made a poster - “Isabela is Number 1” - and purposely decorated it with puffy paint and glitter, making it look as elementary grade as possible. He couldn’t wait to watch her play Warrior Princess and ... yeah, she could probably kick his ass. Padawan or no.

She did see it, and she did laugh. Whatever was up, it couldn’t be that bad, if he was here. One of her teammates asked about the sign, and Isabela admitted with a laugh that it was her boyfriend. Her teammate grinned, though she did recommend one valid point - “Better tell him your derby name!”

Point. Isabela’s derby name was the English Muff In, a name she’d chosen proudly. She’d have to watch Atton’s face when she told him that. For now, it was game on.

Atton saw the name on her helmet and cracked up, grinning and whooping when they came out onto the course. She was skating brilliantly, and the first time she hit another woman, he winced in sympathy.

Isabela knew how to do her job and did it well. She was prepared for a bump or two, and she was able to hold her own against most of the girls. She did wind up flying a few times, mostly from a huge woman who Isabela knew wrestled professionally in her day job. “Ow,” she mumbled, cracking her neck and picking herself up off the track.

Atton bit his lip, knowing that he’d have to rub her shoulders later on. He could feel how much that hurt, and he wasn’t even there. He made sure he wasn’t reading her thoughts, and was just being observant. Good.

The match wore on, though Santa Ana was down by two in the last remaining moments. Isabela managed to squeeze past the opposing line to get one more point, but they still were short by one as the clock went off. It had been a fun match, though, and Isabela exchanged hugs and high fives with her teammates before congratulating the Tustin girls. She was going to hurt, but it would be a good hurt.

Even though they’d technically lost, the match had been well played by both sides. Atton would have to come watch more often, and he could feel his palms sting from clapping so much. He moved to wait by the exit of the dressing room, smiling and rolling up his poster.

Isabela had grabbed a quick shower, so she came out still damp, hefting her bag and her still-dirty skates. She’d clean them later. When she saw Atton, she laughed, heading over. “So, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t tell you my derby name before you made that poster.” She wanted to hug him, but she was wet and cold.

He liked that she was damp, and he wrapped his arms around her anyway, snogging her soundly. “Your derby name is fantastic, and I’ll be making another one, thank you. It gives me an excuse to huff the puff paint fumes.” He waggled his eyebrows teasingly.

Isabela laughed, though it turned into a purr when he snogged her. A few of her teammates made catcalling noises, and she casually flipped them off behind Atton’s head. “Every one of our names are rude. I just sort of assumed I’d already told you. I don’t know why.” She smiled, resting her hands on his waist. “How are you?” He looked all right.

“Oh, don’t worry, you didn’t offend my puritan sensibilities.” He heard the catcalling and didn’t answer her right away. Instead he dipped her, making a proper show of the kiss. Atton Rand, Professional Troll.

Isabela squeaked, laughing as she clung to his neck. The catcalling just got louder, and she grinned, coming up with her arms around him. “My handsome prince.” She swatted him on the arse, because she could. “Clearly you’re doing brilliantly.” Then what the hell had that message been about?

“I’m in a good mood. I just... yeah, I have to tell you about some things going on in my life.” He sighed, holding her hand and squeezing it. “I have a Master now.”

Yes, he was saying it in the hopes he’d get the full Christian Grey effect. Troll, remember?

Isabela’s eyebrows shot up. “You’d best mean me.” What the hell was he on about?

“What? No, this really nice older guy. Has a cool beard, his name’s Obi.” Trolling Atton is on a roll!

Isabela’s eyes widened. She reared back and slapped Atton as hard as she could. If this was the “different” he’d had in fucking mind …

Atton couldn’t help it. He cracked up, even as his eyes watered. “Isabela! I’m a padawan. Remember my dreams? My Master is Obi. Obi-wan.”

Isabela’s hand was still held up, ready to slap him again, but then she remember what he’d said and her eyes went wide, this time in horror. “Oh! God, oh. I’m … sorry.” She cupped his cheeks with both hands. “You have to admit you bloody well asked for that! I’m still sorry …”

He was smiling. “I did ask for it, I was just teasing you.” He kissed her lightly, smiling and meeting her eyes. “I love you, you know.”

He hadn’t said that before, and it confused Isabela, to be frank. “Could we maybe not have this talk in public?” Isabela murmured, hands still cupped at his cheeks. “I’ll make a twat of myself otherwise.”

Looking around, Atton laughed. “Yeah, your friends should at least have to pay to see the show. C’mon, let’s go home, I’ll cook.”

It was probably too late on the making a twat of oneselves’ front, but still. Isabela nodded, red-faced. She shifted her bag to one shoulder, leaning on him on the other side. “Really am sorry,” she murmured. “You’re horrid.” Still true.

“Oh, it’s fine.” He kissed her neck, her cheek. “I asked for it. And you have a surprisingly strong arm.”

“You just saw me in a derby match.” Isabela shrugged. They walked out into the parking lot, headed for his car. “Between this and what I do, I have to be strong. Though I doubt I’m a match for a fucking Jedi.” She’d lowered her tone just in case, but she was smiling.

“Oh, you can beat me in a straight arm wrestling match, I’m sure.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, smiling at her and kissing the top of her head. “It’s nice to know if someone tries to sneak into the house, you can defend me.”

“Maybe that’s true. Jedi aren’t allowed to fight dirty, are they?” Isabela smiled as they got in the car. “I’m sorry, that’s just completely mad, though. And calling someone Master is rather fetishistic.”

“I’ll probably fight dirty anyway.” He smiled, squeezing her hand as he got into the driver’s seat. “Oh, I told him that if I do this padawan thing, I’m not calling him that. I only did it to make you laugh.”

“Well, thank you. I don’t want to have to explain sharing my boyfriend with an older man with a full beard.” Isabela smiled, almost shy.

“Obi-wan probably wouldn’t be the sharing type anyway. He’s taken, by the way. You know, in case you’re worried.” He was teasing, and he leaned over to kiss her.

“I’m sure he’s very charming and dapper. Actually, I’m fairly sure he’s an old fart, if the films are any indication.” Isabela was mostly teasing, but something occurred to her. “Wait. Does he disapprove of me?” Hadn’t the films said something about Jedi shouldn’t love? Does he really love me or did he just say that?
“Oh, no, he’s my age. Maybe a year or two older than me.” He chuckled and shook his head, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. “He’s got a girlfriend. Don’t worry about it, we’re starting a new Order. Loving’s just fine.” He smiled at her, then looked at the road. He wanted to make sure she knew that he’d been honest. “I meant it, by the way.”

“Did you.” Isabela couldn’t help but smile wider, though she felt nervous in spite of herself. “I’m … glad. Really very glad. On both counts.” He hadn’t said he wanted to marry her. She tried to calm the nerves and just be happy.

He smiled broadly. “I should’ve told you I loved you while we were in the car. Then you couldn’t run away.”

“I won’t run away.” Isabela looked down. “I believe you. Just haven’t had a good track record in hearing that.” Though the thought of him dumping her bothered her very much; why should the opposite bother her too?

“It doesn’t mean I’m going to change anything, or that anything about us is changed. It’s the same, really. Just know I think schmoopy crap sometimes.” He shrugged. “People put too much weight on things sometimes.”

“You think?” Once they were both in the car, she leaned on his shoulder. “You’re being patient with me, which I appreciate.” In her experience, things changed very much, when you said that phrase, but she wasn’t going to argue with him about it. She’d just hope he was the exception to the rule.

“I think. Then again, I haven’t dated a whole lot, so I don’t know.” He turned his head at a red light to kiss her gently. “So, what do you want me to cook?”

“Surprise me.” Isabela smiled, still feeling cuddly. She kept a hold of his free hand, settling in for the ride. “As long as there’s no pork in it.”

“Of course.” He smiled, wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders for the duration of the trip. Soon they were back at his place, and he walked into the kitchen with her, humming as he got together the makings for his pasta machine.

Isabela watched him, smiling for once with no ulterior motive. “It’s rather nice to watch you cook,” she said. “You’re so calm with it.” She wondered, not for the first time, how he was playing poker.

“It’s very zen, for lack of a better word. It’s all just science, and it’s all logical. No surprises. Baking powder is always going to do what it’s always done. No matter how confusing other stuff got, this always made sense for me.” He was going to make some pasta, toss together a pesto, and sautee some chicken.

Isabela nodded. “It makes me smile to watch you, though.” She sat down, crossing her legs. “Have you thought of doing it professionally?” It might be a bit too structured for him, but she still had to ask.

“Oh, no. I don’t want to work eighteen hours a day, thanks. I’m fine with working once or twice a month and just cooking for gorgeous ladies.” He smiled at her, motioning her over. “Want me to teach you?”

“You do make rather brilliant money, for how little you work.” Isabela teased before getting up. “Sure, why not? It’d do me good to not be a fire hazard in the kitchen.” She got up next to him, looking over at the pot, snaking her arm around his waist.

He made a tiny plateau of flour, cracking an egg in the top and adding a bit of oil. He smiled as he kneaded, offering her the opportunity to get her hands dirty, if she wanted to.

She did, feeling a weird sense of domesticity as she did so. “It sounds odd, but I didn’t really know where pasta came from until I happened to watch it on a food show once. Never saw it made from scratch.”

“It’s why I like cooking, I think. After so much mess hall food, I like knowing that the food I’m eating is actually food.” He grinned at her, kissing her cheek and lightly smudging flour on her nose.

Isabela made an eeping noise, rubbing the flour off with a laugh. “I can’t imagine bloody mess hall food. Slop’s too good a word, I bet.”

“Imagine what is right below slop, and yeah, those were the good days.” He hummed a little, moving to put the dough through the pasta machine.

She watched him, curious. “Does it just roll it out? I mean, could you use a rolling pin?” Ha! She knew what one kitchen implement might be called!

“I could, but it would take way more time.” He smiled, showing her how fast the pasta machine worked as he fed it through and cranked it, something he’d obviously done before.

Isabela nodded, interested almost in spite of herself. Maybe one day she’d try it herself, if she could be assured of Atton not killing her. “I bet it tastes better fresh.” She smiled, kissing his cheek.

“I think you’ll like it.” Once the pasta was cut and bubbling away in the pot, he started to make pesto, showing her how easy it was. He kissed her as he taught her how to work the food processor.

“You’re an awful distraction,” Isabela murmured, laughing. It was easy, though. Surprisingly so. Maybe she really could cook one night without breaking anything. “It smells lovely.” So did he, actually. That undefinable male smell, with the herbs and clean flour scent. It was oddly peaceful.

“Thank you.” He was quickly sauteeing the chicken that he’d had in the fridge for just this exact reason, humming a little to himself. “We’ll just toss all of this together, and then we’ll be done. Cooking isn’t that hard when you have a plan.”

“Ah, but I never have a plan.” Isabela chuckled. She went to wash her hands before sitting down, figuring Atton had it in hand at this point. “Isn’t that one of the reasons I’m interesting? My completely unladylike impulsiveness?”

“Oh, I don’t really mind that you can’t cook. I just like you.” He smiled, finishing off the plate with some goat cheese crumble and a glass of wine. “Don’t change.”

“So if I was thinking of learning to surprise you, I shouldn’t, as you’d have a coronary about your kitchen implements?” Isabela smiled, taking the wine from him and setting it on the table. “It does give me good ammunition if we ever fight. All I have to do is threaten to break your pasta maker.”

“Oh, as long as you don’t - “ Atton had been about to say break something, but she said it for him and he laughed. “Yeah. Maybe you should stick to your ordering in specialty until I know you won’t break things.”

Once they were settled at the table, he watched to see if she liked it. Happy fed women were the sort he liked to tell weird things.

She did. Isabela nodded, smiling. “Very good,” she managed with her mouth full. “I know it’s probably nothing to you, but it’s still a bit of a mystery to me, so I’m impressed.” And the carbohydrates helped after that match. Comfort food was always carb-heavy.

“I can teach you, like I said.” He sighed a little, nibbling at the chicken before leaning back. “I uh. Have powers. Already.”

“Do you?” Isabela didn’t miss the sigh. “What kind?”

“I can sense people’s presences if I focus. If I worked really hard at it, I’d know where you were. And if I work really hard at it, I can read your mind.” Yup, that was all.

Isabela stopped eating, looking up at him with what she knew was wariness. “Read my mind?” She echoed, brow furrowing. “That is, literally know exactly what I’m thinking?” Well, it didn’t take a Jedi to know what she was thinking right then.

“Only if I focus really hard. Which I honestly don’t want to do.” He pitched his voice into a teasing falsetto. “I just love boys and makeup and punching people in the balls, I’m Isabela, lottie dotty do!”

Isabela swatted him, but it wasn’t hard. Just to be mean, she thought very hard about her gran with no clothes on, just for a second. Hopefully he was looking. “Git. You have to admit, it’s rather a strange thing to hear.”

He wasn’t. He’d told her he wouldn’t. “I know. I was scared to tell you.”

“I don’t blame you.” Isabela looked up at him, sighing. “I trust you. Just … bloody hell.”

“It kind of sucks, really. But it could be worse, it could be the other way - me having to work to not do it.” He wrinkled his nose.

“I think you’d go mad.” Isabela stroked his cheek, a little worried in spite of herself. For both of them. “Did you just wake up one day and bam, you could do it?” It must have been bloody scary.

“Yeah. I kind of thought I was going crazy.” Atton sighed to himself, shaking his head. “But it was only when I was really trying to figure out what they were doing, and so I just ... stopped.” He smiled at his plate, then looked at her. “But Obi-wan’s going to help me, so that’s good.”

“I’m glad, all joking aside.” Talking to someone who knew better would make an enormous difference. “I’m just glad you don’t have to deal with this yourself.” She could empathize, sure, but she wasn’t going through it. Isabela still had her hand on his cheek, running her fingers through his hair. Damn him, but she worried.

“Oh, I’m fine, really. I got an awesome jacket from the dreams, it evens out that way.” He smiled brightly, bouncing a bit in his seat as he hopped up to grab it. “In my dreams I’ve had this forever, then one day it just showed up.”

“Reading people’s minds is cancelled out by a leather jacket?” Isabela raised an eyebrow. It was, though, awfully nice.

“Nah, but I’m a silver linings guy.” He smiled at her, reaching out to kiss her hand.

It was maybe rude after he’d cooked, but Isabela kissed him, wrapping her arms around him. He was weird and could bloody well read minds and would probably get a space sword someday, but he loved her.

Atton loved her more than most things he loved, up to and including pizza. Considering he’d eat pizza for every meal and snacks, that was a lot. He pulled her closer, tugging her into his lap and sighing happily. “Have I told you lately you’re perfect?”

“No, actually.” Isabela smiled, nibbling on his neck gently. “I try not to need such gross flattery very often.” She unbuttoned the first button of his shirt, mostly because she could.

He smirked. “Well, yeah, you don’t need it, but I still like giving it to you.” He nibbled a little on her neck, kissing gently and pulling her closer. He just liked having her nearby; it made him feel more normal and at ease.

“Sweet.” Isabela’s eyes fluttered closed, smiling. She ran her fingers through his hair again, pulling it a little more roughly, glad she wasn’t, cumulatively, wearing much. “Atton, I … ” She wanted to say that she loved him too, but she wasn’t entirely sure, if only because she’d never really had a relationship that went slowly. But she did love his company, and she wanted, frankly, to rock his world, but wondered if it would cheapen things.

“C’mon. Let’s go have sex on the couch, then I can rub your shoulders.” He kissed her lightly, smiling, touched by what she’d tried to say.

He knew without reading her mind. She was a terrible liar.

“You know me.” That hadn’t taken any talents. Isabela could be okay with that. She smiled, kissing him once more before he could reply.