milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

They enter.

That simple, no dramatics, no fanfare, just tired faces. Faith's body is covered in streaks of brown-red, the result of trying to clean off blood without time or water to do it properly, and the rest don't look much better. Dirt, sweat, blood--in some cases their own, in some others', because you can get things cleaned up, bandaged, but the long showers that get it clean in the end, that takes time. There's the scent of violence, smoke, gunpowder, ash, tears, anger, all around them, and they are tired, and dirty, but they're alive, and not hurting too badly.

They enter: Ace, Faith, Kitty, Susannah, Zoe, and the door closes behind them.

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Someone was sitting quietly in the corner, with tea and his sketchbook, apparently calm as he sat and sketched and ignored the comings and goings in the bar.

There's a thermos on the table, as well, next to his cup of tea.

And this time, when the door opens, he looks up, and ten seconds later has his arms wrapped around Kitty.

It's a moment, and then she's holding him more tightly than she knew she could.

"Hey."

Softly, "You're all right, then."

Not a question, not quite.

"For a given value of alright." Her arms aren't loosening.

"Yeah. I'm alright."

Neither are his.

"I have coffee for you after all," he murmurs.

That gets a choked laugh. "I thought you said it was uncivilized."

"Of course it is."

He smiles, a little, pressing a kiss to her cheek, just holding her.

He worried.

"Even so."

There's another half-laugh, and her face buries into his neck.

"You do so much for me."

He eyes the others, one hand in her hair.

"Do you need to stay here, then, or would you like it? It's over at the table..."

She doesn't answer, for almost a full minute.

"Just let me hold you for now," she says finally, quietly. "I was afraid that--I don't know."

"Well, whatever it was... you're here, and I'm here, so it's all right."

He smiles, a little, and leads her over to the table.

She curls up in her seat, knees against her chest, and keeps one hand in one of his.

"Mostly just afraid that I wouldn't see you again, I think, or break my promise to you, or something."

His other arm is wrapped around her shoulders a moment later, pulling her closer.

The coffee's on the table, in the thermos, if she decides she wants it.

"And now you don't need to worry anymore."

Strangely enough?

Kitty doesn't care about coffee right now, and simply leans against him.

"I think we won."

He presses a kiss to her temple, just holding her.

"Then you probably did. I'm always more worried when people declare victory with certainty, after all."

"Blood on my hands." In the literal and the not-so-literal sense, as she picks up a napkin and scrubs at her palms.

There's a waitrat scurrying by, and Edmund signals it quietly, respectfully asking him to bring hot water for her to wash. It nods, and scampers off.

He wraps his hand around hers, holding hers still.

"It's okay, Kitty."

It's not all right, not really, but it is okay.

Kitty stills, and nods after a minute, looking at his hand on hers and the ring on his hand, and almost, almost believes him.

"...Or it will be, anyway." She nods again and turns her head to look at him better.

"Love you, Edmund. So much." She wonders if he understands that, and what she's saying, really, and then just kisses his cheek, gently. "So very much."

"I love you as well, my lady Kitty," he murmurs, and when the nameless rat returns with water and a hand towel as well, he sets it on the table and starts to wipe her hands clean.

She doesn't need him to.

He does it anyway.

She just watches him, and when he's done, she waits for him to set the towel down. And then she reaches and pulls his face close to hers, murmuring, "Thank you," before kissing him deeply and gratefully.

He smiles, a little, and when she pulls away presses another kiss to her cheek, to her temple, to her hair, to her forehead.

"Of course," softly. "It's the least I could do."

"No. It's--you do so much," and she shakes her head and then kisses him again, and never ever ever wants to stop, and when she has to, she buries her face against his neck again and holds him tightly, like she did before.

"Thank you." For all of it and for everything and for being him.

"I love you, Kitty."

An explanation and a promise and enough.

He wraps both arms around her again, pulling her closer until she is perhaps more in his lap than not. One hand strokes her hair, quietly, as he presses another kiss to her temple.

"Love me more than I deserve, I think, and more than enough," softly, head on his shoulder, and now she really is on his lap, still holding him, and not intending to let go.

She doesn't think about shooting, or knives, or blood, or screams, or pain. Just about how right he feels.

"Well," he murmurs, "if that's the case, I think really it's only fair. You do the same for me, after all."

One arm is around her waist, now; the other is still stroking her hair, and her back as well.