[ it wasn't real, but it still happened to them and so they can't just go on like it never did. that's the crux of the problem, isn't it; that's what makes things so fraught and fragile between them now. ]
I don't know, either. I could make something up and make you believe that I believe it, but -
[ it would be a lie. he knows that she lies for a living, but she doesn't want to lie to him. not about this, not about them. not if she can help it.
(she would lie to him in a heartbeat if she thought it was for the greater good.)
bobbi downs the rest of her drink, laughing a little to herself. it's an almost embarrassed sound and what comes next is an admission she probably shouldn't be making. ]
I keep thinking about kissing you. About making that frown disappear. [ she knows she could. she knows that she knows just how to take his breath away, how to make him feel good, how to distract him.
there are so many boundaries she'd be crossing. before zerzura, that was't who they were. (they'd kissed under the mistletoe, they'd cuddled, but they'd been friends. maybe they would have eventually grown to be more. maybe they wouldn't have.
they'll never find out now what would have happened. ]
[ it's not a surprising answer, really, because he's been thinking similar things throughout this whole conversation because that's what his mind thinks he should be thinking and doing. ]
I'm sure you know how to do that. [ now. ] But, I don't know if that would really solve anything right now.
[ marcos is beginning to think they're not going to resolve anything right here and right now. it's good to open lines of communication but this is a big, difficult, breakable thing. it involves two people with emotions who felt a lot more than they let on. ]
Besides taking my frown away, that is. [ he laughs dryly before reaching for the bottle again and pouring another half glass. ]
But yeah, you could make something up. [ he nods, looking down into the drink. ] I don't think you will, though. Haven't we had enough of the not real?
[ he pours himself another half glass and bobbi holds out hers to him, silently asking for a refill as well. they shouldn't drink too much because this is breakable, but it helps a little. it makes things feel temporarily less fragile.
that's something, even if it isn't entirely real. ]
I ruined it by telling you I could, anyway.
[ that's not entirely true; she could still manage it. but he's right: she won't. they've had more than enough things that weren't quite real lately — an entire lifetime of it.
she won't kiss him, either. he'll have to keep wearing his frown and she'll have to keep looking at it and pushing down the urge to lift a hand to smooth out his brows, to close the distance and kiss him until he's smiling.
it wouldn't solve anything and they're not going to be able to talk about it once and have it magically be all right or like it never happened, like the ground between their feet is suddenly solid.
but at least they're not pretending it didn't happen anymore. at least they're not ignoring and avoiding each other anymore. ]
I don't know where we go from here, but we don't have to decide right now, either. Maybe we can just - wait and see.
[ how they feel tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. how this develops. if the feelings fade.
(this feels a little like getting divorced all over again. it's moving from a relationship to no relationship, from knowing where she stands to having to relearn it without him.
You did. And I remember a few of your tells. [ not that she had many and not that she couldn't hide those if she wanted to. she was a damn good spy and if she didn't want him to know she was lying or manipulating a situation, he wouldn't know.
he was just lucky that the lying and the manipulation had gotten less and less where he was concerned. she still did her job but he'd learned now to ask too much and she didn't have to lie to him. ]
Wait and see. [ he wishes they'd have been able to find a resolution right here and now. something that was easy, something that didn't hurt, something that didn't leave them with a distance between them.
he knows he's going to go to sleep tonight and wonder where she is. he's going to wake up and feel alone. he's going to want to talk to her about various things and he's going to have to tell himself that was another life.
he sighs. ]
I guess that's the best possible plan of action. We can't force anything. We can just — we can just be around each other and hope it's not too hard for too long.
[ she wishes it was as easy as talking about it once, too, but emotions rarely work that way and hers are all over the place at the moment. she's pretty sure his are, too.
he sighs, and bobbi bows her head and forces herself not to do the same thing. ]
Yeah. Guess that's the best we can try for.
[ she almost wishes they could be less mature about this. she almost wishes they could keep pretending. but would he even want to? would she?
this is not the sort of thing they can just play at if they're not sure — and bobbi isn't sure of much right now.
after a while (and another long sip of the drink): ]
What happened to you, in the end? [ after they'd both woken up from the fantasy. before their return to new amsterdam. ]
I... [ he sighs and rubs the back of his head. they're being mature now but he has to admit that he wasn't mature then. after realizing what happened, he'd slipped out and walked.
a lot. it hadn't done much to help but it had given him some space to breathe and think and try to work out a plan of action. marcos hadn't really been successful but he hadn't known what else to do. he was wading in unknown waters.
he's pretty sure they both are. she might have been married and he'd had long relationships but nothing like this. ]
I walked mostly. I ran into Silena. [ he quiets on that name and looks down again. ] She, uh, still thought I was her dad. She hadn't come out of it yet.
[ which hadn't been easy to deal with. he'd played along and he's still not sure if that had been the right thing to do. ]
[ bobbi swallows, closing her eyes for a moment. things are simpler and more complicated with silena all at once. it wasn't a physical relationship like the one with marcos, a different kind of relationship entirely — but equally fictitious. ]
Since I woke up. [ she wonders if she should find her. reach out to her somehow. actually, she knows she should.
she just hasn't found the right words yet. ]
I ended up going for the spear.
[ does he know what that means? she doesn't want to just say i died. she doesn't regret it, but it still feels like saying it out loud would make it more real, somehow. she's alive now. ]
[ he knows what that means and it's probably obvious by the way he leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face as this knew information sinks in. he knows what that means because she's not the only one to tell him that and he knows what happened to those that tried for that godforsaken spear. ]
Did you die? [ his voice is solid, steady, but quiet. his eyes are down on his feet, trying to focus on something to keep him in place. he knows what the answer's going to be but he hopes against hope that maybe he's wrong. ]
[ bobbi lets herself down the rest of her drink. that's probably answer enough in itself, but she still nods, confirming, ]
Yeah.
[ she died.
she died hoping that it would save others, that it would save lives. she died because she swore an oath to be the shield, to protect those who can't protect themselves. she died because for all that zerzura manipulated them, pulled their strings, there were civilians there, too. it wasn't their fault.
she doesn't regret it, but that doesn't mean she's been able to just shrug it off. she pours herself a refill. ]
[ it doesn't matter that she's alive right now. the fact that she still died. her heart had still stopped and she, along with so many others, had died without knowing what would happen. they probably thought they would die and that would be it. they'd be dead and life would go on without them. people would mourn, people would grieve but time would heal wounds.
except it hadn't happened that way. ]
Are you okay? [ he doesn't know what else to ask. she'd died. how could someone be okay after they died? ]
[ how does she answer that? in the end, she shrugs, shoulders curving forward a little. ]
I don't regret it.
[ that's not an answer to his question, but it's something, surely? it matters to her. she made her choice. ]
I will be, I think.
[ not right now. right now, she's still trying to make sense of all of it — of what she felt, feels for marcos, of her feelings about death and dying, about her own choices. ]
[ he blows out a long breath before sitting back and looking back over at her. she's not hiding much right now, which he thinks has to be because of both exhaustion and possibly him, but whatever the reason, he's grateful. he wants to see the real emotions right now. ]
I'm sorry.
[ for not being there, for not being able to help more, for not knowing how it felt to die so he could sympathize. all he can do is sit there and watch her and talk and think about reaching across to take her hand. ]
If I can help, I will. [ even with things fragile between them, he can't not offer. ]
It was my choice. I knew I'd die. [ fitz had. markus had. that had been in dreams, so she'd allowed for a possibility that it might turn out differently, that she might not die or stay dead, the way they hadn't stayed dead, but — she'd known the risks.
she'd known and she'd made the choice anyway. she'd make the choice over and over again, if she had to.
she's still tired. she's still — a little out of sorts. part of that is him, them, this. part of it is dying. she wishes she could curl against him and let herself rest. in zerzura, she would have, and he'd have put his arm around her and kissed her hair and it wouldn't have changed anything but reminded her that she's not alone.
she can't do that now.
he's still offering to help, though. that helps a little all by itself. ]
[ because he hadn't gone for the spear. he hadn't gone near it. he'd sought out people around the city, checking on them, making sure they were okay but he hadn't gone for the spear and now he was finding out that some of the people he was closest to had and they'd died.
it was a small blessing they were still alive and got a second (or third) chance but they'd still died. he'd still lost them and it still hurt. but, he knows he's being selfish because he wasn't the one who died. this wasn't about him. ]
You're welcome. I mean it. [ he wants to help. he wants to make things better for her (or for anyone that died) and he doesn't know how to do that but offering himself, his help, anything. ] I know you're strong and you're used to death but you died. That takes time.
I swore an oath. [ does it make her braver or just more reckless? she doesn't know and she doesn't really care — she won't hold it against anyone if they didn't go for the spear.
she lifts a hand, running it through her hair. her first instinct had been to press it to her eyes for a moment, but for all that she's showing him a lot, she's not able to let go of monitoring her own expression and appearance entirely, of not thinking about how she seems to others. letting him see what he sees is mostly a deliberate choice.
then she sighs. ]
I know I have no right to ask this, but can we just -
[ she doesn't finish the sentence. instead, she shifts closer to him — until her arm is pressed against his, until all she'd have to do is sink down in the sofa a little more and she could put her head on his shoulder and just rest for a moment. ]
[ he breathes the word out and moves his arm, draping it around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. it's not smart, it's not going to help them figure things out, it's not going to help things settle but he doesn't care. she needs it and he needs it and he wants to help and maybe it'll help him too. ]
C'mere. [ he tugs on her shoulder where he's wrapped it around her and tries to encourage her closer. ] We can.
[ they can rest. they can rest on this couch together and try and start focusing on this life while that other life draped itself around them. it's not going to go away, he knows, and he's not going to forget but he can try and focus on the her he knows here and their relationship, whatever it might be. ]
[ his acceptance is nearly immediate and bobbi is already sinking against him when he drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer. it's a bad idea — she's pretty sure it's a terrible idea because it isn't going to help them figure out where they stand if they fall back into habits they had while married to one another, from a life they only lived in part but remember in full.
it isn't going to help them figure out how to go forward, but right now, it's what makes sense to her. it's comforting and familiar.
she realises, something inside her chest clenching painfully at the thought, that they still fit. ]
Yeah. [ they can. it's a relief, for all that she feels like she shouldn't have asked in the first place. it's a relief to let herself rest against him, to close her eyes and let herself believe that things are all right, that she's not alone.
that's true even if she's not with him in the way they were together before.
for a long moment, bobbi doesn't move, doesn't speak.
eventually, quietly: ] Who else do you know died? [ she'd seen some people go for the spear as well, but given his understanding of what it had meant, she figures he's heard from others. ]
[ he's careful while she settles against him, eventually leaning back against the corner so he can stretch and she can lay against him more fully. when the silence cloaks them, he closes his eyes and inhales, quiet and still but warm. this is so familiar even though it's not. they hadn't done this before, not here, but they had.
his fingers brush idly against her shoulder as a means to comfort and soothe while they figure out how to lay, how to be, how to interact. but she's right, they fit once, they fit again and it doesn't take long to find the spot to lay that's comfortable for them both. ]
Jyn and Cassian. Caroline. Kol. A few other people I don't know as well. Just...it was a lot of people. A lot of sacrifice.
[ brave people willing to die for a world they didn't know. ]
[ they've done this before — not quite this, not exactly this, but close enough. they've sat on this couch and watched a movie and cuddled before and this isn't entirely unlike that. it isn't unlike that, but there's layers and layers of memory, of physicality and familiarity that they hadn't had before zerzura now.
they fit just as well now as they did in zerzura. in the house that they'd believed was their home. ]
Maybe that's what worked. That it was more than one person. Maybe that's why we're still here.
[ they died, but they're alive now.
bobbi settles more firmly against him, her breathing falling into the same rhythm as his soon enough, remembering to be this close to him, to trust the companionship between them.
i married this man part of her thinks, remembers. only she didn't, did she? she doesn't know when she'll get used to that. ]
Maybe. I just hope it's worth it. That it does something.
[ zerzura had been saved but marcos doesn't know what that means. it was a world that had enfolded them into a fantasy and made them believe something that wasn't true but that wasn't the fault of most people there. they hadn't deserved to die but he's so tired of being made to bend and twist to the whims of others. the first time, he'd nearly been killed.
this time, the experience hadn't been terrible but it memories and uncertainty in its wake. he sighs and closes his eyes, letting some of his own tension bleed away with the closeness and the warmth. ]
I would prefer if people could avoid dying for the next little while. I'm not dumb enough to ask for a break because that won't happen but something that doesn't involve dying.
[ that would be good. that would be helpful. ] Not that I get what I want but doesn't hurt to ask.
she wouldn't mind a break, either, but she figures this moment is probably as close to one as they'll come. with the alcohol warming her from the inside and marcos' body warm against hers, it feels like she could just let herself relax, maybe fall asleep.
she shouldn't. there are still lines and they haven't solved anything here, not really. he isn't her husband anymore.
he's something, though. neither one of them can just forget what happened, that much is clear. ]
[ let's hope. he doesn't want to tempt fate by thinking about it too much but he desperately wishes they'd just get some quiet. just a few weeks of quiet, calmness so people who died can recover and people who led lives that weren't theirs can come to grips with it.
new amsterdam isn't known for being giving though. it's known for rattling their cages and shaking things up and making it nearly impossible to get into a routine because something always came along to break it. ]
You can close your eyes, if you want. [ she's not heavy but he can tell she' holding herself back, trying not to fall asleep on him. ] It's okay.
[ for a moment, bobbi freezes — internally, not externally. even now, she's not that open. then she huffs out a laugh, barely more than a breath.
he really does know her, doesn't he? (it's either laughter or letting herself dwell on what that means for her, for them. laughter is easier. there have been enough revelations for one night.) ]
Are you sure?
[ she doesn't want to make things more awkward instead of less. but if he's offering —
it's all too tempting to close her eyes and let herself rest, letting the feeling of safety and comfort that his embrace brings wash over her. ]
[ would it make things more awkward when she woke up? maybe. was he going to fall asleep too? probably.
but, she's exhausted and he's not much better. he wants her to sleep right now. he wants her to relax and unwind and let go of herself at least for a little while. ]
Close your eyes, okay? [ listen to him, he's smart. she'd married him for a reason in that other life. ] I'll wake you up in a little while.
[ and she does close her eyes. after a moment, she even settles a little more firmly against him (or snuggling in closer, but she won't let herself think of it that way) and lets out a breath, some more tension bleeding from her frame. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I don't know, either. I could make something up and make you believe that I believe it, but -
[ it would be a lie. he knows that she lies for a living, but she doesn't want to lie to him. not about this, not about them. not if she can help it.
(she would lie to him in a heartbeat if she thought it was for the greater good.)
bobbi downs the rest of her drink, laughing a little to herself. it's an almost embarrassed sound and what comes next is an admission she probably shouldn't be making. ]
I keep thinking about kissing you. About making that frown disappear. [ she knows she could. she knows that she knows just how to take his breath away, how to make him feel good, how to distract him.
there are so many boundaries she'd be crossing. before zerzura, that was't who they were. (they'd kissed under the mistletoe, they'd cuddled, but they'd been friends. maybe they would have eventually grown to be more. maybe they wouldn't have.
they'll never find out now what would have happened. ]
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I'm sure you know how to do that. [ now. ] But, I don't know if that would really solve anything right now.
[ marcos is beginning to think they're not going to resolve anything right here and right now. it's good to open lines of communication but this is a big, difficult, breakable thing. it involves two people with emotions who felt a lot more than they let on. ]
Besides taking my frown away, that is. [ he laughs dryly before reaching for the bottle again and pouring another half glass. ]
But yeah, you could make something up. [ he nods, looking down into the drink. ] I don't think you will, though. Haven't we had enough of the not real?
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that's something, even if it isn't entirely real. ]
I ruined it by telling you I could, anyway.
[ that's not entirely true; she could still manage it. but he's right: she won't. they've had more than enough things that weren't quite real lately — an entire lifetime of it.
she won't kiss him, either. he'll have to keep wearing his frown and she'll have to keep looking at it and pushing down the urge to lift a hand to smooth out his brows, to close the distance and kiss him until he's smiling.
it wouldn't solve anything and they're not going to be able to talk about it once and have it magically be all right or like it never happened, like the ground between their feet is suddenly solid.
but at least they're not pretending it didn't happen anymore. at least they're not ignoring and avoiding each other anymore. ]
I don't know where we go from here, but we don't have to decide right now, either. Maybe we can just - wait and see.
[ how they feel tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. how this develops. if the feelings fade.
(this feels a little like getting divorced all over again. it's moving from a relationship to no relationship, from knowing where she stands to having to relearn it without him.
she's managed it before.) ]
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he was just lucky that the lying and the manipulation had gotten less and less where he was concerned. she still did her job but he'd learned now to ask too much and she didn't have to lie to him. ]
Wait and see. [ he wishes they'd have been able to find a resolution right here and now. something that was easy, something that didn't hurt, something that didn't leave them with a distance between them.
he knows he's going to go to sleep tonight and wonder where she is. he's going to wake up and feel alone. he's going to want to talk to her about various things and he's going to have to tell himself that was another life.
he sighs. ]
I guess that's the best possible plan of action. We can't force anything. We can just — we can just be around each other and hope it's not too hard for too long.
no subject
he sighs, and bobbi bows her head and forces herself not to do the same thing. ]
Yeah. Guess that's the best we can try for.
[ she almost wishes they could be less mature about this. she almost wishes they could keep pretending. but would he even want to? would she?
this is not the sort of thing they can just play at if they're not sure — and bobbi isn't sure of much right now.
after a while (and another long sip of the drink): ]
What happened to you, in the end? [ after they'd both woken up from the fantasy. before their return to new amsterdam. ]
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a lot. it hadn't done much to help but it had given him some space to breathe and think and try to work out a plan of action. marcos hadn't really been successful but he hadn't known what else to do. he was wading in unknown waters.
he's pretty sure they both are. she might have been married and he'd had long relationships but nothing like this. ]
I walked mostly. I ran into Silena. [ he quiets on that name and looks down again. ] She, uh, still thought I was her dad. She hadn't come out of it yet.
[ which hadn't been easy to deal with. he'd played along and he's still not sure if that had been the right thing to do. ]
What happened to you?
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[ bobbi swallows, closing her eyes for a moment. things are simpler and more complicated with silena all at once. it wasn't a physical relationship like the one with marcos, a different kind of relationship entirely — but equally fictitious. ]
Since I woke up. [ she wonders if she should find her. reach out to her somehow. actually, she knows she should.
she just hasn't found the right words yet. ]
I ended up going for the spear.
[ does he know what that means? she doesn't want to just say i died. she doesn't regret it, but it still feels like saying it out loud would make it more real, somehow. she's alive now. ]
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[ he knows what that means and it's probably obvious by the way he leans forward and braces his elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face as this knew information sinks in. he knows what that means because she's not the only one to tell him that and he knows what happened to those that tried for that godforsaken spear. ]
Did you die? [ his voice is solid, steady, but quiet. his eyes are down on his feet, trying to focus on something to keep him in place. he knows what the answer's going to be but he hopes against hope that maybe he's wrong. ]
no subject
Yeah.
[ she died.
she died hoping that it would save others, that it would save lives. she died because she swore an oath to be the shield, to protect those who can't protect themselves. she died because for all that zerzura manipulated them, pulled their strings, there were civilians there, too. it wasn't their fault.
she doesn't regret it, but that doesn't mean she's been able to just shrug it off. she pours herself a refill. ]
no subject
[ it doesn't matter that she's alive right now. the fact that she still died. her heart had still stopped and she, along with so many others, had died without knowing what would happen. they probably thought they would die and that would be it. they'd be dead and life would go on without them. people would mourn, people would grieve but time would heal wounds.
except it hadn't happened that way. ]
Are you okay? [ he doesn't know what else to ask. she'd died. how could someone be okay after they died? ]
no subject
I don't regret it.
[ that's not an answer to his question, but it's something, surely? it matters to her. she made her choice. ]
I will be, I think.
[ not right now. right now, she's still trying to make sense of all of it — of what she felt, feels for marcos, of her feelings about death and dying, about her own choices. ]
no subject
I'm sorry.
[ for not being there, for not being able to help more, for not knowing how it felt to die so he could sympathize. all he can do is sit there and watch her and talk and think about reaching across to take her hand. ]
If I can help, I will. [ even with things fragile between them, he can't not offer. ]
no subject
[ she means that. ]
It was my choice. I knew I'd die. [ fitz had. markus had. that had been in dreams, so she'd allowed for a possibility that it might turn out differently, that she might not die or stay dead, the way they hadn't stayed dead, but — she'd known the risks.
she'd known and she'd made the choice anyway. she'd make the choice over and over again, if she had to.
she's still tired. she's still — a little out of sorts. part of that is him, them, this. part of it is dying. she wishes she could curl against him and let herself rest. in zerzura, she would have, and he'd have put his arm around her and kissed her hair and it wouldn't have changed anything but reminded her that she's not alone.
she can't do that now.
he's still offering to help, though. that helps a little all by itself. ]
Thanks.
no subject
[ because he hadn't gone for the spear. he hadn't gone near it. he'd sought out people around the city, checking on them, making sure they were okay but he hadn't gone for the spear and now he was finding out that some of the people he was closest to had and they'd died.
it was a small blessing they were still alive and got a second (or third) chance but they'd still died. he'd still lost them and it still hurt. but, he knows he's being selfish because he wasn't the one who died. this wasn't about him. ]
You're welcome. I mean it. [ he wants to help. he wants to make things better for her (or for anyone that died) and he doesn't know how to do that but offering himself, his help, anything. ] I know you're strong and you're used to death but you died. That takes time.
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she lifts a hand, running it through her hair. her first instinct had been to press it to her eyes for a moment, but for all that she's showing him a lot, she's not able to let go of monitoring her own expression and appearance entirely, of not thinking about how she seems to others. letting him see what he sees is mostly a deliberate choice.
then she sighs. ]
I know I have no right to ask this, but can we just -
[ she doesn't finish the sentence. instead, she shifts closer to him — until her arm is pressed against his, until all she'd have to do is sink down in the sofa a little more and she could put her head on his shoulder and just rest for a moment. ]
no subject
[ he breathes the word out and moves his arm, draping it around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. it's not smart, it's not going to help them figure things out, it's not going to help things settle but he doesn't care. she needs it and he needs it and he wants to help and maybe it'll help him too. ]
C'mere. [ he tugs on her shoulder where he's wrapped it around her and tries to encourage her closer. ] We can.
[ they can rest. they can rest on this couch together and try and start focusing on this life while that other life draped itself around them. it's not going to go away, he knows, and he's not going to forget but he can try and focus on the her he knows here and their relationship, whatever it might be. ]
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it isn't going to help them figure out how to go forward, but right now, it's what makes sense to her. it's comforting and familiar.
she realises, something inside her chest clenching painfully at the thought, that they still fit. ]
Yeah. [ they can. it's a relief, for all that she feels like she shouldn't have asked in the first place. it's a relief to let herself rest against him, to close her eyes and let herself believe that things are all right, that she's not alone.
that's true even if she's not with him in the way they were together before.
for a long moment, bobbi doesn't move, doesn't speak.
eventually, quietly: ] Who else do you know died? [ she'd seen some people go for the spear as well, but given his understanding of what it had meant, she figures he's heard from others. ]
no subject
his fingers brush idly against her shoulder as a means to comfort and soothe while they figure out how to lay, how to be, how to interact. but she's right, they fit once, they fit again and it doesn't take long to find the spot to lay that's comfortable for them both. ]
Jyn and Cassian. Caroline. Kol. A few other people I don't know as well. Just...it was a lot of people. A lot of sacrifice.
[ brave people willing to die for a world they didn't know. ]
I haven't talked to a few of them.
no subject
they fit just as well now as they did in zerzura. in the house that they'd believed was their home. ]
Maybe that's what worked. That it was more than one person. Maybe that's why we're still here.
[ they died, but they're alive now.
bobbi settles more firmly against him, her breathing falling into the same rhythm as his soon enough, remembering to be this close to him, to trust the companionship between them.
i married this man part of her thinks, remembers. only she didn't, did she? she doesn't know when she'll get used to that. ]
no subject
[ zerzura had been saved but marcos doesn't know what that means. it was a world that had enfolded them into a fantasy and made them believe something that wasn't true but that wasn't the fault of most people there. they hadn't deserved to die but he's so tired of being made to bend and twist to the whims of others. the first time, he'd nearly been killed.
this time, the experience hadn't been terrible but it memories and uncertainty in its wake. he sighs and closes his eyes, letting some of his own tension bleed away with the closeness and the warmth. ]
I would prefer if people could avoid dying for the next little while. I'm not dumb enough to ask for a break because that won't happen but something that doesn't involve dying.
[ that would be good. that would be helpful. ] Not that I get what I want but doesn't hurt to ask.
no subject
[ not dying.
she wouldn't mind a break, either, but she figures this moment is probably as close to one as they'll come. with the alcohol warming her from the inside and marcos' body warm against hers, it feels like she could just let herself relax, maybe fall asleep.
she shouldn't. there are still lines and they haven't solved anything here, not really. he isn't her husband anymore.
he's something, though. neither one of them can just forget what happened, that much is clear. ]
Let's hope it's not too much to ask for.
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[ let's hope. he doesn't want to tempt fate by thinking about it too much but he desperately wishes they'd just get some quiet. just a few weeks of quiet, calmness so people who died can recover and people who led lives that weren't theirs can come to grips with it.
new amsterdam isn't known for being giving though. it's known for rattling their cages and shaking things up and making it nearly impossible to get into a routine because something always came along to break it. ]
You can close your eyes, if you want. [ she's not heavy but he can tell she' holding herself back, trying not to fall asleep on him. ] It's okay.
[ for tonight, it can be okay. ]
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he really does know her, doesn't he? (it's either laughter or letting herself dwell on what that means for her, for them. laughter is easier. there have been enough revelations for one night.) ]
Are you sure?
[ she doesn't want to make things more awkward instead of less. but if he's offering —
it's all too tempting to close her eyes and let herself rest, letting the feeling of safety and comfort that his embrace brings wash over her. ]
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[ would it make things more awkward when she woke up? maybe. was he going to fall asleep too? probably.
but, she's exhausted and he's not much better. he wants her to sleep right now. he wants her to relax and unwind and let go of herself at least for a little while. ]
Close your eyes, okay? [ listen to him, he's smart. she'd married him for a reason in that other life. ] I'll wake you up in a little while.
[ maybe. if he didn't fall asleep himself. ]
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[ and she does close her eyes. after a moment, she even settles a little more firmly against him (or snuggling in closer, but she won't let herself think of it that way) and lets out a breath, some more tension bleeding from her frame. ]
Thanks, Marcos.
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