[There's no reply to the text, because Steph is just - trying to work out why everything is so complicated and what she wants to say. When nothing comes and she's starts thinking about dropping the tablet from ten storeys, she decides to go another route.
Which means about eight minutes after the last text, there's a light knock on Saul's window.
Steph is balanced precariously on the sill, dressed in civvies, but all black, since she doesn't want to draw too much attention to herself while she's swinging around the Housing building.]
[Saul thought — and hoped — that was the end of it. No discussion, no more feelings, just two factual statements and a sealing of the envelope. That's all Saul needed to know, really. And wasn't that exactly what he'd said to Jesse yesterday? I don't wanna complicate things.
Steph doesn't need that.
And the fact that he considers that at all is how he knows he's in big trouble.
The knock at the window launches his heart into his throat and for a few very long seconds, he's tempted not to acknowledge it.
But then there's the part of him that forgets she's Batgirl and freaks out a little with the realization that she is hanging off of the building, so over he goes to make a face at her like, Are you crazy?
[She seems very confident balancing on the windowsill, at least; this isn't even the most difficult thing she's perched on.
Although the confidence is really only in her posture, in the fact her balance doesn't waver at all. Her expression is significantly less confident, her lower lip caught between her teeth before she realizes she's doing that and forces her expression to something more neutral.]
[The smart thing to do would be to say no, you wouldn't even be legal to drink back home, and send her on her way. But judging from past experiences, Saul isn't exactly smart when it comes this sort of thing. He's actually phenomenally stupid.
Which is why he steps aside and gestures for her to come in.]
I'll get you a glass.
[A convenient excuse to get the hell out of there and breathe for a moment.
And also to try to smooth down the mess that is his slept-in suit. He really shouldn't have drugged himself.]
[This was a terrible idea, but she's coming inside, which means kind of gently flipping in through the window, hands braced on the floor for a moment before she completes the pseudo-walkover and is the right way up.
It's really weird to do gymnastics when she feels awkward about everything ever so she's just going to lean back against the windowsill (she leaves it open) and wrap her arms around herself to wait for Saul to get back with a glass.
[That's what Saul would like to know, too, but that would involve asking questions.
He returns with two glasses in hand, looking a little less unkempt than he did a minute ago. There's an awful lot of awkward silence hanging in the air as he pours two fingers for Steph and offers her the glass, not quite making eye contact.]
[She takes the glass, tries to offer a smile in thanks but it ends up just a twist of her mouth in something more like a grimace. It's tempting to just down the glass in one go but--
No, actually, she's just going to down the glass in one go and let out a slow breath at the burn, trying to focus.
She's starting at the bottom of the empty glass when she realizes what she needs to say.]
[It's the only reason she told Ellie about what happened, to try to covince her how dangerous he is, even if he can seems nice at times.]
He's mafiya, and the Russians are the worst of the worst. [She knows Saul is a criminal lawyer, that he must deal with some nasty things, but she doubts he's been so unlucky as to run into vor.] He calls me dyevochka - little girl - and he says he doesn't fuck little girls, but--
[She isn't sure how to finish that sentence, just swallows around the lump in her throat and shrugs, casting a brief glance at Saul to try to... read his reaction or see if she should offer an apology or - anything.]
[Saul deals with Latin gangs, mostly, which are... bad. Maybe not as bad, but this isn't unfamiliar territory, to him. He's not shocked. Not even all that upset, really, but that's only because he's suddenly so angry that nothing else registers.]
Stay away from him.
[He may not be her boss, but the sharp edge to his voice sure does make it sound like he's telling her what to do.]
And if he doesn't stay away from you — [A breath, to steady himself.] Tell him he needs to talk to your lawyer.
[She sets her jaw, forces herself not to flinch at the sharpness in his tone. It's stupid, and she knows it, but some reactions are hard to ignore.]
He'll stay away from me. [Somehow she manages to sound steady, and manages not to laugh at the thought of Saul dealing with Nikolai on her behalf (it would've been a hysterical laugh, anyway).] I told him I'd take his hands if he touched me again, and he knows I meant it.
[Becase she would, she wouldn't even think about.]
[It's not that he doesn't think Steph can't take care of herself — he's just learned, lately, that this is a place where the gap between talk and action is huge, and one doesn't lead to the other like it did back home. Maybe he's trying to learn to do a little more of the latter.
He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. When he looks back up, the anger's vanished, and he almost looks... sad, maybe.]
Yeah. [She's sorry, too, even if she feels like she should say something more like you didn't do anything wrong or it's not your fault. She just can't.
She wishes she had another drink, but asking for that seems like something beyond her right now, too.]
There was-- [God, she hasn't really talked about this since telling Tim and she just has to remind herself to breathe for a second.] I was eleven.
[Looking at Saul right now is entirely out of the question, Steph just runs a hand through her hair, like that might help with any of this.] Nothing-- It's not-- [Come on, Brown, talk.] It doesn't matter, this is just... complicated.
[Complicated doesn't really seem like a strong enough word.]
I should go.
[She should really go, but she's not actually sure how to manage it.]
[Dealing with clients is one thing. Dealing with friends is another. Dealing with this? He doesn't even know where to start. He can't — touch her, pat her shoulder or anything. None of that. Not now.]
You don't have to talk about it. You can, uh —
[He gestures vaguely toward the bed, then out toward the hall. What is he trying to say?]
If you want. I mean — if you'd rather not go. No one'll bother you. I'll take the couch. You can have the liquor, too.
[problem solving with saul goodman
At least his intent is genuine. He's concerned. Worried, even. And he has no idea what else to do about it.]
[It's kind of mean, but she just - laughs, shaky and maybe just bordering on bitter and hysterical, because it's not actually funny, that he's struggling to figure out how to deal with this mess she's just thrown at him.]
Sorry. [She drags her thumb along the rim of the glass, letting it dig into her skin a little.] I just wanted to explain. I probably should've... done it better.
[The bottle is accepted gratefully, and she tries to poor herself a glass, she really does, but her hands aren't steady enough that she'll be able to manage it without spilling scotch everywhere. So she just takes a drink straight from the bottle, but at least when she's moving the bottle back down, she manages to finally look at him, if only because she's so incredulous at what he just said.]
[What's on her jaw is the bruise from where Helena punched her, and she'd done a half-decent job of covering it up, but apparently she missed the spot where the bruise stretches under her chin.
She really hadn't wanted Saul to see that.]
That'd be a bruise. [Briefly, she considers lying, but even if he'd buy it, she feels like she owes him better than that.] Someone from back home thought I wasn't me. [No, that doesn't make sense.] Or - thought I was pretending to be me. They didn't think I was Steph, basically. I let them hit me 'cause I knew it'd make them feel better.
[Oh boy.
At least this is easier than talking about Murray or Nikolai.]
so I knew this tag was coming and had to get it out before dozing off
[It takes her a second, but then she realizes what he's asking for, and hands the bottle over.
She also realizes she needs to explain.]
Someone faked my death. It was kind of a clusterfuck, but, um, I guess you saw-- [She gestures at herself, at the scars hidden under her clothes. He must have seen them, when she in that hospital gown.] She thought I was mocking my own memory. [a beat] Kinda feels true, sometimes.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
controlledvariable) wrote2014-02-02 07:59 pm
text;
[Mr. Talkative is suddenly not so talkative.]
action; whoops
Which means about eight minutes after the last text, there's a light knock on Saul's window.
Steph is balanced precariously on the sill, dressed in civvies, but all black, since she doesn't want to draw too much attention to herself while she's swinging around the Housing building.]
action; yeah okay
Steph doesn't need that.
And the fact that he considers that at all is how he knows he's in big trouble.
The knock at the window launches his heart into his throat and for a few very long seconds, he's tempted not to acknowledge it.
But then there's the part of him that forgets she's Batgirl and freaks out a little with the realization that she is hanging off of the building, so over he goes to make a face at her like, Are you crazy?
Skeptically:] Hi.
permaction; you started this
Although the confidence is really only in her posture, in the fact her balance doesn't waver at all. Her expression is significantly less confident, her lower lip caught between her teeth before she realizes she's doing that and forces her expression to something more neutral.]
Hi.
[...
She didn't think what to do from this point.]
Can I have a drink?
[Well. It's a start.]
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Which is why he steps aside and gestures for her to come in.]
I'll get you a glass.
[A convenient excuse to get the hell out of there and breathe for a moment.
And also to try to smooth down the mess that is his slept-in suit. He really shouldn't have drugged himself.]
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[This was a terrible idea, but she's coming inside, which means kind of gently flipping in through the window, hands braced on the floor for a moment before she completes the pseudo-walkover and is the right way up.
It's really weird to do gymnastics when she feels awkward about everything ever so she's just going to lean back against the windowsill (she leaves it open) and wrap her arms around herself to wait for Saul to get back with a glass.
What is she even trying to do, here?]
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He returns with two glasses in hand, looking a little less unkempt than he did a minute ago. There's an awful lot of awkward silence hanging in the air as he pours two fingers for Steph and offers her the glass, not quite making eye contact.]
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No, actually, she's just going to down the glass in one go and let out a slow breath at the burn, trying to focus.
She's starting at the bottom of the empty glass when she realizes what she needs to say.]
Have you met Nikolai? The Russian?
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Call him crazy, but something tells Saul this isn't going to be a pleasant conversation.]
Not officially, no.
CW: sexual assault
[It's the only reason she told Ellie about what happened, to try to covince her how dangerous he is, even if he can seems nice at times.]
He's mafiya, and the Russians are the worst of the worst. [She knows Saul is a criminal lawyer, that he must deal with some nasty things, but she doubts he's been so unlucky as to run into vor.] He calls me dyevochka - little girl - and he says he doesn't fuck little girls, but--
[She isn't sure how to finish that sentence, just swallows around the lump in her throat and shrugs, casting a brief glance at Saul to try to... read his reaction or see if she should offer an apology or - anything.]
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Stay away from him.
[He may not be her boss, but the sharp edge to his voice sure does make it sound like he's telling her what to do.]
And if he doesn't stay away from you — [A breath, to steady himself.] Tell him he needs to talk to your lawyer.
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He'll stay away from me. [Somehow she manages to sound steady, and manages not to laugh at the thought of Saul dealing with Nikolai on her behalf (it would've been a hysterical laugh, anyway).] I told him I'd take his hands if he touched me again, and he knows I meant it.
[Becase she would, she wouldn't even think about.]
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He drops his gaze to the floor, frowning. When he looks back up, the anger's vanished, and he almost looks... sad, maybe.]
I'm sorry.
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She wishes she had another drink, but asking for that seems like something beyond her right now, too.]
There was-- [God, she hasn't really talked about this since telling Tim and she just has to remind herself to breathe for a second.] I was eleven.
[Looking at Saul right now is entirely out of the question, Steph just runs a hand through her hair, like that might help with any of this.] Nothing-- It's not-- [Come on, Brown, talk.] It doesn't matter, this is just... complicated.
[Complicated doesn't really seem like a strong enough word.]
I should go.
[She should really go, but she's not actually sure how to manage it.]
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You don't have to talk about it. You can, uh —
[He gestures vaguely toward the bed, then out toward the hall. What is he trying to say?]
If you want. I mean — if you'd rather not go. No one'll bother you. I'll take the couch. You can have the liquor, too.
[problem solving with saul goodman
At least his intent is genuine. He's concerned. Worried, even. And he has no idea what else to do about it.]
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Sorry. [She drags her thumb along the rim of the glass, letting it dig into her skin a little.] I just wanted to explain. I probably should've... done it better.
[Is there any good way to explain all that?]
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[Well, no. "Glad" isn't the right word. He nudges the bottle toward her.]
I appreciate that you told me. It's just —
[Maybe this'll be easier, if he keeps it businesslike. Or it'll make him want to laugh in a not-amused way. Or both?]
How should we proceed from here?
[...no, just the latter. Really, Saul?]
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Really?
[Just - really.]
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But there's a trace of something else in his expression now, too, aside from the faint embarrassment. Curiosity?]
What's that on your jaw?
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Um.
[What's on her jaw is the bruise from where Helena punched her, and she'd done a half-decent job of covering it up, but apparently she missed the spot where the bruise stretches under her chin.
She really hadn't wanted Saul to see that.]
That'd be a bruise. [Briefly, she considers lying, but even if he'd buy it, she feels like she owes him better than that.] Someone from back home thought I wasn't me. [No, that doesn't make sense.] Or - thought I was pretending to be me. They didn't think I was Steph, basically. I let them hit me 'cause I knew it'd make them feel better.
[Oh boy.
At least this is easier than talking about Murray or Nikolai.]
so I knew this tag was coming and had to get it out before dozing off
Good god, man.
Instead, he frowns, expression critical and a little disappointed.]
'cause you knew it'd make them feel better. That's great, Steph.
heather pls. also saul pls
She thought I was dead. My funeral would've only been a few months ago, for her.
[As if that even remotely explains the situation.
She's a bit too wrapped up in her own thoughts to realize how bad that all sounds.]
abloo
Saul makes a gimme motion at her. The bottle, Steph. Please.]
womp womp
She also realizes she needs to explain.]
Someone faked my death. It was kind of a clusterfuck, but, um, I guess you saw-- [She gestures at herself, at the scars hidden under her clothes. He must have seen them, when she in that hospital gown.] She thought I was mocking my own memory. [a beat] Kinda feels true, sometimes.
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It looks like he's about to pour himself a glass, then — nah. Screw it. From the bottle it is.]
Your life.
[Just.
That's all he can say.]
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cw: child abuse
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GO BACK TO SLEEP
I am trying ;A;
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