[She's pretty sure she's just operating on auto-pilot at this point, so the offer to talk about random medical trivia instead of thinking about everything else that's happening right now is a welcome distraction.]
You've got your own pulse in your thumb, so you can get them confused, end up measuring your own heart rate instead of the patient's.
[Patient.
Nevermind that is not the scenario here at all.
She really wants to take another drink, but that would require pulling her hand away from his.]
[No more talk about colors. He really doesn't like orange.
It looks like he's considering what she just said for a few moments, eyes drifting down toward her hand. And who knows what weird conclusion about biology he just came to, but the end result is this: he lifts her hand a little and bends, mouth meeting the skin of her wrist halfway.
[This is kind of beyond what she can pretend isn't happening, not when he's kissing her wrist, not when she's shifting her grip on the bottle to make that easier for him to do.
She wonders if Kara can hear how jumpy her heart-rate must be, and really hopes her best friend doesn't decide she needs rescuing.
Or maybe that would be better. If awkward.
God help her.]
You-- [What? She has literally no idea where to go with that sentence and just ends up biting her lip instead. It would be really great if she could just drink a little more.
[Saul is pretty convinced, by now, that this is the worst idea ever. Considering the circumstances, and the alcohol, and everything, this is stupid. Reckless. Maybe even a little mean.
But he can't —
No; revise. He doesn't want to stop. That's the problem. It's not that he can't, because he could. But Steph's always so cool, so on her game, so good at throwing him off his that this whole scenario has him giddy. Literally. Never mind all the emotional unloading happening, here.
He kisses up to where her sleeve begins, then pauses and glances up at her, eyebrows raised as if to say, Me?
[She can't ever tell Ellie about this. The realization makes her chest feel too tight, and it doesn't matter if they're not officially together, because this isn't the same as kissing Vanadi while things were still uncertain. This is something else entirely.]
Why are you doing this?
[Turning his own words back on him, albeit changed a little, and there's no accusation in her voice, she just sounds lost.]
It's why she lets him take the bottle, why she doesn't pull her wrist away even though she really should. There's a brief moment where her expression nearly crumples, but she bites her lip hard, forcing herself steady.]
You know I can't.
[Can't... do this, whatever it is. It's too complicated with everything in her past and everything that's happened her, and that's not even touching on the issue with Ellie. She loves her, she does so it should make it easier to pull away from Saul, now, except it doesn't at all.
[With the way he's watching her, nothing goes unnoticed. Certainly not the way her expression shifts. And that actually makes him hesitate, because her answer is... weird. It's not really what he asked.
All things considered, he thinks he knows what she means.
So he should stop. He really, really should.
And he does, sort of. Saul releases her hand and straightens a little, suddenly expectant. Waiting. The ball's in her court, so to speak.]
[When he lets go of her wrist, it's a bit like a switch has been flipped and she manages to move back, at least until she hits the wall, wrapping her arms around herself.]
Got what you wanted?
[Maybe she means the bottle of scotch that he took from her, since that's where her gaze goes, but there's too much bitterness in her tone for it to be that simple.
She's not being fair and she knows it, but she doesn't know what he wants from her and that's a little scary.]
[Ouch. That actually makes him flinch. For a long moment, he looks genuinely apologetic and actually a little hurt.
And then he looks... annoyed, maybe, thanks to the way his eyes narrow just slightly. He has to literally bite his tongue to keep from snapping back at her: Did you?
And if she were anyone else, that's exactly what he'd say.
But —
It's his turn to choke the bottle.]
I don't want anything from you. That's the problem.
[It's easier to look at him when she's got that little bit of anger to hold onto, but it means that she doesn't miss that hurt look. She should say sorry, should apologize for being a bitch, that would mean admitting that she's not really angry at him, and she's not ready the do that.]
Then what was all that about? If you don't--
[She trails off, waving a hand through the air to convey the sentence she didn't finish.
That's not what she meant and she knows it, but she didn't know what else to say.]
But he stops with some distance between them, because — not when she's on guard like that, no way. In fact, he even realizes what a stupid idea that was and takes one step back.]
She's mad. He can't blame her, really, since he's naturally assuming that he's the one she's mad at. This is... a lot of his fault, technically. Why shouldn't she be mad?]
Steph...
[He's not going to say it. She could beg for real, and he wouldn't say it.
But mostly, he just sounds like he's about to plead with her to please not be mad at him.]
[The way he says her name just makes her want to take another step back, as if she might able to run away from that. Which isn't even remotely possible.]
Doesn't matter.
[What he was going to say or what just happened or maybe she just means herself in general.
Maybe that's why she finds the courage to snatch up the bottle of scotch and take another swig, carefully not looking at him, almost turned away, even if can't actually ignore his presence in the room.]
Saul thought, for sure, that she — well. He's not really sure. Would have left, by now. Or hit him. Or something. But now she's trying to ignore him? In his own room?
He has no idea what to do with this situation. For someone like him, someone who always has a plan and who knows what course of action to take, this is maddening. And with the way she's downing that booze...
Wow, is this a mess.]
You're not gonna be able to swing around buildings if you're drunk, you know.
[She sets the bottle back down, bracing one hand on the desk, the other covering her mouth. She really just wants to sit down, or fall down or do anything other than this.
Hundred percent, I don't need to be drunk to be a slut.
[There's that anger again, but it's all so obviously directed at herself, because she hates that word and if it'd been anyone but herself using it, she'd hit them. But it feels like the only one that really fits, when she's here in Saul's bedroom instead of at the apartment with Ellie, when she couldn't help herself from kissing Vanadi again even though she knew she shouldn't.
The way her hand drags through her hair looks a little painful, but at least she looks at Saul, offering a smile full of that same self-mockery.]
[And there they are, back at square one. He frowns, studying her face. Self-loathing doesn't look good on her. It looks about as good as the guilt churning in his gut feels, so — not at all.
What's he supposed to say to that? You're not a slut, it's okay, you didn't even do anything?]
[For a moment she doesn't say anything more, just watches him in silence, until finally she just clenches her jaw and looks away. She wants to hit something do badly, but she doesnt think Saul would approve of her putting a hole in his wall with her fist.]
I should go before I fuck things up even more.
[She hates the part of herself that wants him to ask her to stay.]
[No, but he would feel better if she hit something else. Like him.
He doesn't even realize that he's reaching out for her; he's too focused on her face to see anything else. When he speaks, his voice is soft. A little shaky, too.]
[She should pull away, she should jump out the window or even just walk past him and leave by the front door. It doesn't even matter if anyone saw her; she's entirely past caring.]
Ellie would-- [The rest of the words catch in her throat, and just makes a soft, sad sound instead of trying again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
controlledvariable) wrote2014-02-02 07:59 pm
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[She's pretty sure she's just operating on auto-pilot at this point, so the offer to talk about random medical trivia instead of thinking about everything else that's happening right now is a welcome distraction.]
You've got your own pulse in your thumb, so you can get them confused, end up measuring your own heart rate instead of the patient's.
[Patient.
Nevermind that is not the scenario here at all.
She really wants to take another drink, but that would require pulling her hand away from his.]
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It looks like he's considering what she just said for a few moments, eyes drifting down toward her hand. And who knows what weird conclusion about biology he just came to, but the end result is this: he lifts her hand a little and bends, mouth meeting the skin of her wrist halfway.
There's no pulse in lips, right?
So this is way more accurate.]
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She wonders if Kara can hear how jumpy her heart-rate must be, and really hopes her best friend doesn't decide she needs rescuing.
Or maybe that would be better. If awkward.
God help her.]
You-- [What? She has literally no idea where to go with that sentence and just ends up biting her lip instead. It would be really great if she could just drink a little more.
Or a lot more.]
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But he can't —
No; revise. He doesn't want to stop. That's the problem. It's not that he can't, because he could. But Steph's always so cool, so on her game, so good at throwing him off his that this whole scenario has him giddy. Literally. Never mind all the emotional unloading happening, here.
He kisses up to where her sleeve begins, then pauses and glances up at her, eyebrows raised as if to say, Me?
Dick.]
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Why are you doing this?
[Turning his own words back on him, albeit changed a little, and there's no accusation in her voice, she just sounds lost.]
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Except she obviously does, somehow.
What a weird thought.
He finally takes the bottle with his free hand, but doesn't relinquish his lazy grip on her wrist just yet.]
Do you want me to stop?
[All she has to do is say the word, and he will.]
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It's why she lets him take the bottle, why she doesn't pull her wrist away even though she really should. There's a brief moment where her expression nearly crumples, but she bites her lip hard, forcing herself steady.]
You know I can't.
[Can't... do this, whatever it is. It's too complicated with everything in her past and everything that's happened her, and that's not even touching on the issue with Ellie. She loves her, she does so it should make it easier to pull away from Saul, now, except it doesn't at all.
She feels awful.]
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All things considered, he thinks he knows what she means.
So he should stop. He really, really should.
And he does, sort of. Saul releases her hand and straightens a little, suddenly expectant. Waiting. The ball's in her court, so to speak.]
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Got what you wanted?
[Maybe she means the bottle of scotch that he took from her, since that's where her gaze goes, but there's too much bitterness in her tone for it to be that simple.
She's not being fair and she knows it, but she doesn't know what he wants from her and that's a little scary.]
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And then he looks... annoyed, maybe, thanks to the way his eyes narrow just slightly. He has to literally bite his tongue to keep from snapping back at her: Did you?
And if she were anyone else, that's exactly what he'd say.
But —
It's his turn to choke the bottle.]
I don't want anything from you. That's the problem.
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Then what was all that about? If you don't--
[She trails off, waving a hand through the air to convey the sentence she didn't finish.
That's not what she meant and she knows it, but she didn't know what else to say.]
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[He sets the bottle down, inches closer again.
Like an idiot.
But he stops with some distance between them, because — not when she's on guard like that, no way. In fact, he even realizes what a stupid idea that was and takes one step back.]
You really can't tell?
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[Quiet and plaintive, as she drops her face into her hands for a moment, pressing her fingers hard against her closed eyelids until she sees stars.]
Maybe you should use small words.
[There's the bitterness again, but it's directed at herself, because she's a fucking idiot.]
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She's mad. He can't blame her, really, since he's naturally assuming that he's the one she's mad at. This is... a lot of his fault, technically. Why shouldn't she be mad?]
Steph...
[He's not going to say it. She could beg for real, and he wouldn't say it.
But mostly, he just sounds like he's about to plead with her to please not be mad at him.]
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Doesn't matter.
[What he was going to say or what just happened or maybe she just means herself in general.
Maybe that's why she finds the courage to snatch up the bottle of scotch and take another swig, carefully not looking at him, almost turned away, even if can't actually ignore his presence in the room.]
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Saul thought, for sure, that she — well. He's not really sure. Would have left, by now. Or hit him. Or something. But now she's trying to ignore him? In his own room?
He has no idea what to do with this situation. For someone like him, someone who always has a plan and who knows what course of action to take, this is maddening. And with the way she's downing that booze...
Wow, is this a mess.]
You're not gonna be able to swing around buildings if you're drunk, you know.
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Instead, she laughs.]
I'm not even close to being drunk.
[Maybe it'd be easier if she was.]
GO BACK TO SLEEP
If she's not drunk, what's with the need for support?]
You sure about that?
I am trying ;A;
[There's that anger again, but it's all so obviously directed at herself, because she hates that word and if it'd been anyone but herself using it, she'd hit them. But it feels like the only one that really fits, when she's here in Saul's bedroom instead of at the apartment with Ellie, when she couldn't help herself from kissing Vanadi again even though she knew she shouldn't.
The way her hand drags through her hair looks a little painful, but at least she looks at Saul, offering a smile full of that same self-mockery.]
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What's he supposed to say to that? You're not a slut, it's okay, you didn't even do anything?]
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I should go before I fuck things up even more.
[She hates the part of herself that wants him to ask her to stay.]
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He doesn't even realize that he's reaching out for her; he's too focused on her face to see anything else. When he speaks, his voice is soft. A little shaky, too.]
You didn't fuck anything up.
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[She should pull away, she should jump out the window or even just walk past him and leave by the front door. It doesn't even matter if anyone saw her; she's entirely past caring.]
Ellie would-- [The rest of the words catch in her throat, and just makes a soft, sad sound instead of trying again.
Ellie would hate her, if she found out.]
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This probably isn't helping, but it's this or nothing. He can't do nothing. He also can't... distract her, again. Even if he still wants to.]
So don't tell her, Steph. Nothing happened.
[How can he even say that with a straight face.]
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[Just - incredulous, accompanied by a bitter huff of laughter.
Nevermind that she's still here and gripping his hand and trying not to hate herself more than she already does, right now.]
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