bitteraftertaste | eleven ♥ voice/spam

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eleven ♥ voice/spam

[Vesper sounds tired, and not particularly interested in drawing out this conversation for longer than she has to, but she's alive and in one piece so. That's something.]

Mr. Wilson and I both made it through in one piece. I don't know how much help I can be in the coming days, but if there's anyone in need of an extra pair of hands, I'm certainly willing to give it a shot.

[Spam for Bond]

[First things first: she needs to get out of this body armor.

She heads to her room and strips it off before she's even in the bathroom, and when she steps under the hot spray, she can remember another time everything had gone badly wrong when her knees had given out and she'd curled up in a ball and cried, feeling helpless and scared in a way she hadn't since her parents had died. The temptation to give in and do that now is unquestionably strong, and she bites her lip to stop herself from screaming.

Yusef had been lying to her the entire time they'd been together. How could she have been so stupid?

She stays in the shower for longer than necessary, but only allows herself a few minutes to cry, keeping her hand over her mouth to muffle the noise. She's angry more than anything else, angry and suddenly furious and unwilling to let herself spend more time crying over him. She'd done that enough when he'd been taken, and when she'd been sure that her loyalty to Bond had meant his death, when in reality, they'd meant nothing. He'd been alive the whole time.

She was done. She was tired of it, tired of feeling like she needed to apologize for what happened, of not feeling like she deserved to live her life because of the choices she'd made. She wasn't going to let that happen again.

Bond had to have known. For a moment, she almost felt angry that he hadn't told her, but then she softened a little. She wouldn't have been in a place to hear it earlier, and he probably wouldn't have been in a place to tell her the news kindly.

The sudden rush of gratitude is what gets her to turn off the water and finally step out of the shower. She dried herself off, put on a fluffy bathrobe and retrieved a bottle of wine and some glasses before heading over to the cabin next door. She made herself comfortable on the sofa and poured herself a glass to wait for James.]

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[She doesn't have too long to wait. He's all adrenaline and no sleep, he's dirty and tired and he's afraid to stop moving before he's taken care of everything that needs taking care of; he'll sleep for a day, and won't get back up.

He actually fumbles with his key card to open her room - her room, first, because he needs to see her, read back and saw the announcement that Zev was gone, and even as he's pulling the key out too fast and watching that red light flash at him, he's certain that no Admiral, no warden, nothing alive will stop him from dragging this ship back to get her if she's gone. If she's gone again.

She can't be gone.

When she isn't in her room, he almost gives into exhaustion and panic, but despite everything his mind is still ticking. The shower's recently used, he can smell soap and shampoo. Her robe is missing. Never has he been so frustrated at the lack of door between their rooms, and his hands are steadier when he opens his own door. He tosses his assault rifle aside, barely making certain the safety is on, becuase she's there and he can breathe again.

He doesn't care that he's dirty and she's clean, doesn't care that he reeks or that she brought him wine, bless her, he closes the distance between them in quick, long strides, and pulls her tight against him.]

[She doesn't fight it, setting aside the glass as he approaches just to make sure that doesn't get crushed between them, and she wraps her arms around him tightly, burying her face in the groove between his shoulder and neck.

He's exhausted and filthy and battered, but he's alive and more or less in one piece, and that's so much better than things could have been. She's almost overwhelmed by how much she loves him, and her eyes burn in a way that have nothing to do with the angry tears of betrayal she'd choked out in the shower.

Her voice is tiny and a little strained when she manages to find it again, blinking quickly to try and clear her vision.]

I'm so glad you're alright.

I couldn't get in contact with you. [It's easier to force out than 'I was afraid,' or 'I thought you were dead.' Because those are much truer statements, and he doesn't want to feel the shape of them in his throat. He holds her tight for a long, silent moment, face tucked against the side of her head, nose buried in clean, damp hair. He inhales the scent of her soap, of her, and only then does he realize what he must smell like.

Even then, it's hard to coax himself to let go, like if he pulls back too far she'll evaporate again. He grimaces.]

I'm rank. Sorry.

[The fact that she hadn't recoiled and seems just as unwilling to let go of him as she is of her really shows how much she cares about him. She doesn't care, honestly, because he's here and alive and God, why couldn't she have met him before she met Yusef? How would things have been different?

She does peel herself back to kiss him, gentle and affectionate and so, so relieved.]

Yes, how dare you get back in one piece? [She kisses his nose and frowns at the scratches on his face. They look like claw marks, and a part of her quails at the idea of what he'd been through.] And I'm guessing you haven't bothered to get these looked at. Is Peter alright?

[He grimaces again, but only a little; it pulls at the scratches, red and black with ash and sweat and dirt. Not a great thing to be, but he's made do.] Not yet. [He doesn't think he needs to point out that finding her, getting here was more important. He'll be all right; he usually is.

The question makes him shrug one shoulder unhelpfully, and glance away.]

Define all right.

Not seriously hurt is a good start. [She kisses him again and slowly pulls away.]

Let's get you cleaned up a little. Where's your antiseptic and bandages? [Because you had better have some on hand, and focusing on this is easier than thinking about what had happened.]

[He doesn't want to let her go, and leans into the kiss until she does pull away completely, a little sigh escaping his nose.

For a moment after her question, though, he's just silent. Because lol Vesper, his preparation is in guns and ammo, he does not keep the extremely useful after the fact shit. He shrugs.] Your bathroom?

[S I G H.] I wished that surprised me. [Although she cocks a thoughtful eyebrow at him a moment later.] Although I suppose you could do with a shower, too. Should we move next door?

I'll grab a robe. [Because he is a classy son of a bitch and has one he actually uses. It's just inside the bathroom, and he goes to fetch it. When he comes back, he has his arm outstretched before he even reaches her, to settle on the small of her back.]

Lead the way.

[She curls into him briefly, slipping an arm around him, too, before grabbing the wine and the glasses and heading next door. She unlocks her door and turns over to him.]

Shower first, I'll find something to clean the cuts.

[He follows, close without stepping on her heels, and he smiles thinly at the direction.]

Yes ma'am, [he teases, and it's like having a weight off, being back here with her. Back in Montenegro or the Barge, it doesn't matter, back where he can be with her, where he doesn't have to tell himself that he isn't hearing her scream in the next room over, it's just the town fucking with his head.

It makes it easier to head for the bathroom, stripping and dropping clothes as he goes. He turns the water on and steps under the spray, jerking back when it hits his face because Christ, that hurts. He eases in, and turns so the shower head is to his back. Washing his face is a careful, stinging process, but he manages to clean most of it, same as he had been for the past three days. He, too, takes longer than usual - because there's nothing quite so satisfying as the pound of water against stiff muscles. But eventually, he shuts the water and steps out, finding a towel and drying off before slipping into the bathrobe.]

I'm at your mercy.

[She likely looks tense and pensive when he first comes out, because she's had time to think about what it had been like again, but brightens when she turns around and sees him.]

Take a seat and get comfortable. I'm almost afraid to ask what happened, you look like you were mauled by a bear.

[It's brief, but he sees it, and files it away. Something's wrong. Something that she's pushing aside.

He lets her, for the moment, and finds a chair to settle in. The corner of his mouth quirks.]

Giant lizard, actually.

That's the second time tonight I wish I could say I was surprised, [Is her dry response. She comes over to perch on the arm of the chair and carefully disinfect the cuts, instructing him to hold still.

It's quiet, methodical work, and again, it gives her too much time to think about what happened in port. She still can't believe it, that she had been so stupid, that she hadn't realized what was happening.

She's so tired of feeling like she's not in control of her life. It was time for things to change. Well past the time things should have, really.

When she's finished, she sets aside the supplies neatly on the table and then looks back at Bond, expression serious and composed as she studies his face.]

I love you.

[He settles his hand on her leg while she works, eyes half closed in the process. It's easy, to sit with her here, to let her take care of him. She'd saved his life once - well, twice - after all. It still stings, but it's a little easier to tolerate.

He blinks his eyes wide again when she finishes, head tilting to watch her, and he was half leaning forward to kiss her again when she speaks. It halts him in his tracks.

James had said it first, on the beach, on their way to Venice. He'd told her he loved her, and instead of saying it back, she'd asked him, you love me, almost incredulously. It hadn't put him off in the least; he'd been too confident, too blind, too in love.

He wants to tell her he loves her, but the words stall and fail in his throat. He doesn't want to love again, he doesn't want to open himself up to that kind of despair again. It hurts too much. But.

Swallowing, he wets his lips, and settles his hand on her knee, squeezing lightly. He should say it. He's been wanting to tell her for a long time, now. Just say it.]

Yusef was working for Quantum.

I know. [And that's strange to admit to, even after all of this, and she squeezes his hand gently.]

I found out in port. I could hear him on the communicator, and I had to- [She cuts herself off, not wanting to revisit those memories while they're still raw, how the place had been trying to wear her down to the place she had been in when she let herself drown, to let the town take her, listening to all the awful things Yusef said about her.

She hates that it still hurts, and that gives her back her resolve, makes her want to vocalize what she'd decided earlier. She looks him in the eyes and keeps holding his hand.]

I'm tired of letting them control my life, James. I've given up so much for this stupid, criminal organization, all for the sake of someone I loved, because I thought he loved me, too, when in reality, he was using me from the start. The only reason I agreed to come here in the first place was because I thought he had been killed. Do you know how stupid I feel, for letting myself get manipulated like that? [Answer: extremely.] I'm tired of it. I don't want to waste any more energy on them or what they did to me.

[She carefully cups a hand to his cheek, avoiding the cuts.] So, I love you. I don't need you to do anything differently, [i.e., you don't have to say it back.] but I'm tired of feeling like I'm not in control of my own life.

[He hates that she didn't come here for herself. He hates that her deal wasn't for her, that she could see Slade graduate and still not be able to draw a breath in the real world. His hand closes tightly on hers, and Christ, he wishes she was selfish, he wishes she'd think more of her own bloody self.

And maybe that's him being selfish, that's him being unwilling to go back to a world where she's dead when he knows he doesn't have to. James turns his hand to hold hers tightly, listening in silence, eyes locked on her face. He couldn't look away if he tried.

When she holds his face, he reaches up, holding lightly to her wrist and looking for the right words. He knows the right words, knows he should smile and repeat what he said on the beach, I think maybe that's why I love you, but when he tries to draw breath for it he can't. He can't yet.

So instead, he pulls her carefully into his lap, arms circling around her waist, and he kisses her carefully, gently, because this is just another wait to give the same answer.]

[She kisses him back a little less gently, if only because she wants to prove that she's alright, that she means what she said. It's alright, she knows why it's hard for him to make a commitment to the woman who broke his heart, even if she hadn't wanted to do it, and she can't hold it against him at all.

She pulls back a little and runs a hand affectionately through his hair.]

Thank you, for not telling me. I don't think I would have been able to hear it, earlier.

[The fact that she understands makes him think that, maybe - in the future - but he doesn't want to think on that, doesn't want to think beyond the way she feels in his arms. He doesn't want to think about how she broke his heart, doesn't want to think about the way she's been worming her way back in. He can't handle that yet, not now. But he can run his hands up her back and down again. He can lean back in his chair to smile softly up at her.]

You're welcome. [The smile fades as he kneads at her back, silent for a moment.] I'm glad I didn't. [Because he'd wanted to do it to hurt her, in the beginning. Now, well. That's the last thing he wants to do to her.]

[She manages a small, genuine smile in return, and takes a moment to just curl up with him and appreciate that they're both here and alive.

But they're sitting in a chair, and they've been through hell, and eventually falling asleep here is going to mean being sore as hell the next morning.]

Should we move this over to the bed? I imagine we both could do with some rest.

[He arches his eyebrows suggestively.] Is that what the bed's for? [But he's not particularly serious; too tired for sex is a horrible state to be in, but he'd much rather sleep with an arm wrapped around her right now. (And that should really unsettle him, shouldn't it? He let's it go, saves it for when he hasn't been up for four straight days.)

A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth.]

I would carry you, [he muses] But at this point, I'm afraid I'd drop you.

[They can make up for lost time later. Right now, sleep is definitely in both their best interests, and so she kisses him gently again before carefully levering herself off his lap and back onto her feet.]

Don't worry about it. [She's afraid you'd fall on your ass. B( And actually, keeping that in mind, she's offering him her hands.] Come on, I'll give you a hand.

[He probably will, he'll just aim for the bed. B( He takes her hand, but mostly he uses the other on the arm of the chair to push himself up. Because lbr, he doesn't think she's doing much better than him as exhaustion goes.

But he slings his arm around her shoulders when he's up, and heads for the bedroom, keeping her close. After four days of keeping Parker alive and trying not to worry about her, all he wants is to be near enough to reassure himself that she's still breathing.]

[She's not, really, so she leans into it and helps him along as best she can before letting go to pull back the covers and take off her robe before climbing into bed, letting him take the closer side of the bed in case he does just fall face first onto it.]

[Kind of her. Once she's settled he just let's himself pitch forward. It's not quite so ungraceful as a faceplant, but it's very near. He just manages to inch himself under the covers and shuck extraneous clothes before getting an arm around her waist again. He lasts maybe ten seconds after that, enough to reassure himself that he locked the door, that his gun is not far away, and that she is breathing. It's turning into a regular checklist. Then he's out like a light.]

[She makes sure the blankets are tugged up over him before cuddling up close. There's a part of her that wants to go right to sleep so she could stop thinking about Yusef and Quantum, but another part stubbornly wanted to stay awake and appreciate the fact that they were both here and safe, and they had time to just enjoy that.

The desire to sleep still won out, though, and she ends up dropping off soon after he does.]

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eleven ♥ voice/spam

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