[ for a while, daisy's comfortable to just settle in, to sip her wine and watch the first movie play out. as promised, they both share commentary along the way, everything from questionable fashion choices to bad stage combat. but as nice as movies and wine and bobbi's company is, she didn't suggest chick flicks and cabernet just for the aesthetic.
there had been something she'd wanted to share. something she wanted to share with bobbi before she told anyone else. ]
Bobbi. [ murmured as she sets her glass down on the coffee table, as she dials down the volume on the tv so they won't have to talk quite so loud. it's still on, a distraction in the background, but not the main attraction. ] When you and Hunter were together, what did you call him? Before you got married, I mean.
[ bobbi turns a little toward daisy, one elbow on the back of the couch. for a moment, she considers, taking a sip of her wine while she's at it, then she shrugs. ]
Asshole, idiot, stupid, brave, terrible, take your pick.
[ okay, but all joking aside - ] Not what you meant, right? Whatever we felt like, mostly. Partner. Significant other. Better half.
[ and someone else. she tells herself the smile that curves up the corners of her mouth for a fleeting moment is out of fondness for the british man in question, though.
but bobbi's right. it's not what she meant. which begs another question. ]
How did you know? [ it's sort of a stupid question to ask, daisy thinks, but it's one she's been grappling with. ] I mean, what's the difference between some guy you're sleeping with and the guy you're … calling your significant other?
[ the word feels weighty in her mouth. a damning definition, one she can't hide from when things get difficult, one she can't just brush aside when things get hard. ]
If you had brought Hunter over for dinner with your friends, would you have introduced him that way?
[ did that come out a little fond? shit, it did. (bobbi's trying not to linger on the past, but working together with hunter again βit brings up a lot of old feelings that have never gone away. old anger, but other things, too.
she refuses to think that she misses him, here.) ]
How badly would it hurt if he got hurt? [ because really, they're not actually talking about hunter here so much as about a certain tall russian, aren't they? ] How badly do you want to be around him all of the time? How many sad movies would you have to watch to get over him if he went home tomorrow? How many pints of ice cream?
[ "how much do you care?" is what she's asking. that's the measure, as far as bobbi's concerned. ]
[ oh. those are the questions daisy hasn't let herself answer yet. those are the questions that lead to undeniable answers. simple ones, but damning all the same.
she blows out a breath, and when she speaks, it's quiet. strained. as if she's fighting the admission. ]
Oh, god, a lot.
[ that should not be so difficult to say out loud. ]
But I don't know that I want to get over him. [ yeah, here she goes. ] I sleep better? Which is β absurd, really, but I do. I sleep better when I'm with him, I actually fall asleep. I mean, he drives me absolutely crazy sometimes, he's so … frustrating and stubborn and stoic, sometimes I think I'm gonna lose my mind just trying to talk to him β
[ she realizes her hands have done that thing where they're miming ripping someone's head off, and suddenly stops short, abashed. ]
When he went after that soldier during the raid, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Like my heart was stuck in my throat.
[ how much would it hurt? too much. it scares her. ]
[ it sounds like it's difficult to say out loud and honestly? bobbi gets it. it can be tough to admit how much you care about someone. it can be the best and the worst thing in the world.
[ but it's not as confident as she'd like it to be. there's still a layer of uncertainty lingering beneath the agreement. ]
I don't know what β [ a pause, as she lifts her glass from the coffee table to take a sip, an excuse mostly to try and corral her thoughts together ] What it is, I guess.
[ a label is, admittedly speaking, less important. but it's been bothering her. ]
I tried to ask him before, but I don't think he knows any better than I do.
[ there are no rules, no clear demarcations, if x then y. it is whatever daisy and illya make of it, nothing less and nothing more. it isn't anything, independently of them.
bobbi reaches over, squeezing daisy's shoulder for a moment. ]
[ the fabric of her shirt prevents the empathy bond from blooming, but bobbi probably doesn't need it to know what daisy's feeling. she's never been very good at hiding her emotions, and in front of someone she trusts, she's a damn open book. ]
Real? [ it comes out uncertain, but she tries to push past the awkwardness to answer the question. ] I want... It's stupid, but I just want to be able to say, "this is what it is". Are we friends, are we fooling around, is it more than that, is it not?
[ it's hard to know. specifically avoiding saying any of the actual labels out loud to anyone isn't helping, though. ]
It doesn't help that I feel like a hormonal teenager any time I even think the word "boyfriend", though.
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there had been something she'd wanted to share. something she wanted to share with bobbi before she told anyone else. ]
Bobbi. [ murmured as she sets her glass down on the coffee table, as she dials down the volume on the tv so they won't have to talk quite so loud. it's still on, a distraction in the background, but not the main attraction. ] When you and Hunter were together, what did you call him? Before you got married, I mean.
[ and ... un-married. ]
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Asshole, idiot, stupid, brave, terrible, take your pick.
[ okay, but all joking aside - ] Not what you meant, right? Whatever we felt like, mostly. Partner. Significant other. Better half.
[ she does not miss hunter. she doesn't.
okay, she does. sometimes. ]
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[ and someone else. she tells herself the smile that curves up the corners of her mouth for a fleeting moment is out of fondness for the british man in question, though.
but bobbi's right. it's not what she meant. which begs another question. ]
How did you know? [ it's sort of a stupid question to ask, daisy thinks, but it's one she's been grappling with. ] I mean, what's the difference between some guy you're sleeping with and the guy you're … calling your significant other?
[ the word feels weighty in her mouth. a damning definition, one she can't hide from when things get difficult, one she can't just brush aside when things get hard. ]
If you had brought Hunter over for dinner with your friends, would you have introduced him that way?
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[ did that come out a little fond? shit, it did. (bobbi's trying not to linger on the past, but working together with hunter again βit brings up a lot of old feelings that have never gone away. old anger, but other things, too.
she refuses to think that she misses him, here.) ]
How badly would it hurt if he got hurt? [ because really, they're not actually talking about hunter here so much as about a certain tall russian, aren't they? ] How badly do you want to be around him all of the time? How many sad movies would you have to watch to get over him if he went home tomorrow? How many pints of ice cream?
[ "how much do you care?" is what she's asking. that's the measure, as far as bobbi's concerned. ]
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she blows out a breath, and when she speaks, it's quiet. strained. as if she's fighting the admission. ]
Oh, god, a lot.
[ that should not be so difficult to say out loud. ]
But I don't know that I want to get over him. [ yeah, here she goes. ] I sleep better? Which is β absurd, really, but I do. I sleep better when I'm with him, I actually fall asleep. I mean, he drives me absolutely crazy sometimes, he's so … frustrating and stubborn and stoic, sometimes I think I'm gonna lose my mind just trying to talk to him β
[ she realizes her hands have done that thing where they're miming ripping someone's head off, and suddenly stops short, abashed. ]
When he went after that soldier during the raid, I felt like I couldn't breathe. Like my heart was stuck in my throat.
[ how much would it hurt? too much. it scares her. ]
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but for better or for worse? ]
Sounds like you've already got your answer.
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[ but it's not as confident as she'd like it to be. there's still a layer of uncertainty lingering beneath the agreement. ]
I don't know what β [ a pause, as she lifts her glass from the coffee table to take a sip, an excuse mostly to try and corral her thoughts together ] What it is, I guess.
[ a label is, admittedly speaking, less important. but it's been bothering her. ]
I tried to ask him before, but I don't think he knows any better than I do.
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[ there are no rules, no clear demarcations, if x then y. it is whatever daisy and illya make of it, nothing less and nothing more. it isn't anything, independently of them.
bobbi reaches over, squeezing daisy's shoulder for a moment. ]
What do you want it to be?
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Real? [ it comes out uncertain, but she tries to push past the awkwardness to answer the question. ] I want... It's stupid, but I just want to be able to say, "this is what it is". Are we friends, are we fooling around, is it more than that, is it not?
[ it's hard to know. specifically avoiding saying any of the actual labels out loud to anyone isn't helping, though. ]
It doesn't help that I feel like a hormonal teenager any time I even think the word "boyfriend", though.
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[ another squeeze in sympathy. ]
But it's not anything unless you make it be. So you gotta figure out what you want and then talk to him to see if he's on board.
[ she drops her hand, lips quirking up. ] Partner's better.