. (euphie) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2015-12-27 22:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | euphemia corte-real, mathias jones |
Who: Mathias Jones & Euphemia Corte-Real
What: Feels, mixed messages, an emotional mess tbh.
Where: Med bay, SS
When: Post kidnappings, before Christmas.
Warnings: None
Patience was not an infinite resource, not for Euphemia. Kidnappings and professionalism came first, so she had left her younger medic alone. Time ought to have cooled off his temper, or so she had assumed since she knew he had accepted the promotion. A relief, even when she had shackled him into this decision. She liked broken things that ticked in the palms of her hands, their uneven beat as they struggled to keep going. Maybe because she was one of those too. She knocks on the door, but doesn't wait for permission - if Mathias is not alone there is already a fake excuse on the tip of her tongue to dismiss whoever else was in there. They needed to have a conversation and the sooner, the better; things might perhaps go back to normal. Mathias has been avoiding his captain, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a job to do. Besides, he can’t avoid her forever. Winston had covered for him long enough. It’s only a matter of time now. She’ll find him, he knows. He can’t avoid the inevitable, but he damn well tried prolong it. Admittedly, the med bay is not the greatest place to hide. Maybe, he’s tired of hiding. He swivels in his chair as she bursts in, all doe eyes and shock. He isn’t surprised though, not really. The exhale is loud and he speaks before she can, but she had not been planning on speaking. “Hi,” It’s awkward, “What can I help you with?” It dulls the edges of her anger, her fingertips skirting along the desk as she bypasses that so there are no obstacles between them. Euphemia had always done that, cut through whatever defence Mathias threw up, forced her way between the broken insides: warm, hollow, and silent. "Enough, Mr.Jones." A tremor in the brittle fingers, his jawline beneath. She's still angry at his avoidance but can't hold it together(herself), can't hold the words and the thoughts and everything that spills over as she presses her mouth forcefully against his. He holds perfectly still as she crowds against him, but he freezes as her lips press against his. His eyes slide shut after a fraction of a second, lips moving against hers as if this was natural. Nothing out of the ordinary. She feels that sense of normality in the curve of his lips, the tip of his tongue. They break apart for breath and his brain reconnects itself to the rest of him. He watches her warily(don't look like that, please), still unable to move. There’s a struggle for the right thing to say, but his mouth works faster than he would like. “W-what-” It’s a pathetic word, strangled. At least it gets his point across. "How long—" the words are exhausted as they dance along her uneven breaths, "—do you intend to be angry at me? I won't allow it to continue much longer." Euphemia just wants to kiss the fight out of him, her mouth is not particularly chaste when she brushes it against his cheek. Mathias flushes, turning so he doesn’t have to look at her kiss bruised lips. His brain is still reeling, trying to grasp exactly what’s happening right now. At her words, he turns back to her, confused. “Angry? I’m not angry,” Well, not entirely consciously anyways, “You thought I was angry at you?” Her hands have sunk from his jawline to his shoulders, still effectively preventing any escape attempts. Not the first time she had done this, but certainly the first time she had felt so threatened by his silence, enough to prompt her into the irrational action of putting her mouth on his(and having no qualms about having done so and doing it again). "You looked at me that night, darling. I remember the look." Seen it in the mirror: betrayal. The line of his collarbone, followed by her gaze before she meets his eyes; Euphemia had never tolerated any of his avoidance tactics, trying only lead to this. "Yes. So don't avoid me, you know how much I hate that. Talk to me." Mathias fidgets, tries his best to look everywhere but directly into her eyes. Still, he can’t refuse her so his gaze settles on hers. He’s never felt so stripped bare “There’s nothing to talk about,” His hands hover near her, he doesn’t know what to with them, “I took the promotion. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?” There is something not quite right in the way she looks at him, something different and heavy in a way that makes her choke. She feels his vulnerability and reflects her own back at him: it is never in her control not to do it, she's empty and filled by everyone else. "I want you to be protected." The thought occurs too late, she drops her hands. "You took it because it was what I wanted?" But she doesn't stop there, using her words to peel the layers of defence that remained. "More than anything, Mr.Jones, I just want you to stay with me, safe." And whatever had happened because of the Killjoy signup— she didn't want that void. And yet she wanted him protected, because he was one of the people she couldn't live without; surely he understood that, right? Mathias shakes his head, confused by what Euphie is saying. He wants to say no, he’d weighed the pros and cons while he was away. He wants to tell her that leaving her, leaving the ship, the RAC is the last thing he wants to do. But he’s still stuck on her words, “Protected? What exactly do I need protection from?” "Something. Everything." That she has no words for, a deep rooted fear that kept her up at night. "You, I can't lose, and I can't protect you. I couldn't protect him either, in the end." The nameless him and her whose ghosts haunted these halls; that Person. Euphemia had thought about it, to do this until she got rid of that Person, and then after that she could give up. Join Winston at the bottom of a bottle, but Mathias and Jude made her want more. “Euphie,” Mathias was firm now, everything clicking into place. Her insistence on his becoming a killjoy, her worry, “What are you talking about? You’re not responsible for protecting everyone. Things are going to happen no matter how hard you try.” "I know that." Her fingers twitch, her hand trembles— it's not anxiety but something she is hiding “It's not everyone, being a captain I have to look after my crew but that's not what I mean, Mathias." You I can't live without. It was so clear to her and apparently not so much to Mathias. She blinks twice, shields popping up to protect the soft vulnerable insides. Mathias watches as Euphemia’s expression changes, frowning. He can feel her slipping away, but she feels like their conversation isn’t over. He feels like he’s hovering on the brink of something important and if he misses it, he’ll never get the chance again. “Wait don’t go,” He says, though she hasn’t moved, “What do you mean?” Isn’t this about him? The words go unspoken, he doesn’t want to make this more painful than it already is. Her hand takes his, lifts it gently, palm to lips. Could he not see it? Him and Jude and Winston; the people she trusted the most, that she loved — as much as someone damaged could. "It's about you, darling. The person I want to protect the most is you." His brows furrow immediately, too shocked to pull his hands back. A part of him knows what she is saying, but the larger part of him can’t fathom why. Instead he stares at her for long seconds, eyes wide. "I don't—" Euphemia clears her throat, eyes dark. "I don't expect anything, you and Jude spending time with me is more than enough." Her grips becomes loose, "But I won't let you avoid or distance yourself from me." The unspoken possessiveness there, springing up and drowning her better sense. Mathias still doesn’t really get it, but he reaches for her hands and holds them in his. “That’s not what I intended to do. I’ll—” He pauses, knows that’s what it seemed like, if both Jude and Euphie were afraid that he’d leave, “Try to be better about it.” Her hands are still, "I know you will, dear one, or you can expect me back here before long." Something came loose inside her chest, rattling as it tumbled down into darkness. She kisses his cheek in apology, and untangles herself. "Don't forget your report before the holidays." |