milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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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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.

"Dunno if it's fair. But I don't want to argue with it, either." A fox called him her mate, and right now, that fits, in her head. Not in the sense that the fox meant, maybe, but the word is true.

"Don't think I do the same either, really. Exactly as much as you deserve."

"Then that's what I do, love, for I would do more if I knew how."

Softly.

She can't hug him more tightly, and so she kisses his forehead instead, then smiles crookedly. "Got you dirty."

"I'm sure it'll clean up easily enough."

His smile isn't much less crooked.

She smiles again and takes a napkin, dipping it in what's left of the water, and wipes his face. Cause she can, and she won't have him dirty cause of her.

"Meg said I look dead. That bad?"

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"... no, love. You don't look as though you're dead."

Dryly, "Always the diplomat."

Dead, no. Like she's been through a war, yes, but that's excuseable.

"I--d'you think, for tonight, we could stay in our room, instead of Tonks' and Bernard's flat?" She wants her own bed, and the familiar smells, and a shower.

Not in the order, necessarily.

He smiles a little, crookedly again.

"I think we could manage that, love, yes."

After all... they're petsitting, and watching the flat, not Sunny.

If need be, the dog and the demonbunny can come to the House of Arch for the night.

As long as the demonbunny doesn't try to eat anything in the room.

"Good." And if she's looking at her arms and pants and shirt and the stains on them, and noting the tiny cuts and scratches, it's understandable.

It bothers her that what happened didn't bother her.

"Think I can call in sick tomorrow on account of helping blow up a school?"

"It's probably worth a try, at the very least."

The water on the table's gone cool, but he dips the washcloth in it again anyway, dabbing absently at some of the scratches on her arms.

"You don't have to do that," but she doesn't move away.

"It'll be amusing to see Scott's face when I ask, either way."

He smiles, a little.

"Do you think you could take a picture? I wouldn't mind seeing."

"Wicked man," shaking her head mock-sadly.

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