OOM: Millways Room 15 with Emma, Take Two

[luvs_yogurt]

It's been a long couple days and frankly Michael's  not ready to go back to Miami. All he can think about is making things right with Emma, fixing the good thing they have as best he can. After stopping at the bar for a much needed beer he fished a napkin out of his pocket and left Emma a note to come find him.

After a long shower, where he manages to wash away as much evidence of the fire as he can - leaving behind only pink skin that could be a sunburn and singed eyebrows to go with his rough throat and aching chest - he puts on a clean t-shirt and boxers, and then curls up with his pillow and blanket for some much needed rest until she (hopefully) comes to see him.

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[luvs_yogurt]

It takes him a long moment to continue, searching her eyes - trying to get a read on her. She's thinking, not running. It's a good sign.

"A long time ago I was engaged to marry a woman named Samantha, she was a thief but we got along pretty well. I think at the time I loved her, but I was confused. And then I was on assignment in Dublin where I met Fiona."

When he says their names, he feels a dull pinch boring at him - as though he's opening up wounds that should be long healed.

"I fell in love with her and things were good, but she fell in love with the man I was in Dublin - with my cover." He looks back down at the table, swallowing a hard lump with a throat coated in sandpaper; "I was extracted in the middle of the night, my cover was blown, and I just left her there and went on with my work."

It's oversimplifying, and it occurs to him that he's trying to make himself sound like a bad guy. Like exactly the kind of guy Emma wouldn't want to deal with. Shaking his head, his lips draw up into a grimace and he forces himself to look her in the eyes; "I didn't want to, but I did what I had to do. It was the best thing for her, as far as she was concerned the man she fell in love with was gone. And then... she found me, in Miami."

[notinthebook]

It's hard to imagine people you don't know well involved in the kind of relationships he's telling her about, and she doesn't really know Michael all that well, not really, not when you get down to it. Sure, she knows what he does, what he did; his name, his address. She knows there's a deep well of goodness in him that appears only occasionally, and that he's probably just as lonely and messed-up as she is, and when it comes to really knowing someone, you can't really beat saving their life and then spending the night with them.

But she left before she could really get that deep -- not that it stopped her from managing to glimpse him behind those masks and accents and smiles he wears so easily.

Still, it's weird, hearing about him being engaged, being in love. Not bad, just...weird. He'd probably feel the same way about her sad stories.

It's the kind of thing you talk about with someone new, someone you want to let in, maybe in bed, where everything feels like it can be safe for just a little while.

"The psycho ex-girlfriend," she says, remembering their first conversation. That frown is back, pulling hard between her brows as she picks at the label on her water bottle, though her voice is carefully neutral.

"I guess she's still in the picture, huh?"

Looking him up in Miami after all that? Uh, yeah.

[luvs_yogurt]

"No."

His voice is cold, and he can't help it. It's a sore subject still, that in the end he couldn't be what she needed.

After a long pause, he continues; "We tried, but uh... It didn't work. She wanted me to be something I'm not."

[notinthebook]

Yeah, that's a feeling she knows. Not being something, the right thing -- that's pretty damn familiar.

It's what she's tried to tell Henry, but the kid just won't believe her.

"I'm sorry."

She is. It clearly hurt a lot, still must, and if there's one thing she can sympathize with, it's a shitty relationship with an even worse ending. It's got nothing to do with her, so she can be just as sorry as she wants.

Not that it'll make a difference.

[luvs_yogurt]

"Don't be." He forces his eyes back up to her again. "I want you to know that because that's what relationships are for me. When I meet someone that I trust, the lines get blurry and it's hard to tell what's going to happen no matter how I feel."

He takes another hard swallow, his water already almost gone.

"I am a spy. Right now, my life is being a spy. I can't be a good boyfriend, but I want to be a good friend. And if that means we can't have another night like we had, I can handle that."

He fights the urge to look away, to be looking anywhere but her soft face - he feels like he's lying, but it has to be said. "I'll get over it."

[notinthebook]

Crap.

Of course he thinks it's him, of course he thinks there's something about him that makes her want to run, and there is, but it's not anything he's just said. It's not being a spy and having a dangerous life or the lines blurring.

Though that stuff doesn't exactly help.

"Michael..."

He's looking at her so intently, but her eyes drop, looking towards the table without seeing it as her forehead wrinkles, fingers running along the edge of the table just to have something to do.

"It's not -- any of that, okay? I like you. And believe me, there is nothing more appealing than the idea of staying a night and having breakfast and letting that all be okay. I just don't know how." Glancing up, she watches him, looking for a reaction, anything to see whether he understands what she means.

"Look, I understand bad relationships. I've been there -- pretty much every one I've had falls into that category. I get it, I really do. You're screwed up, and I'm screwed up, and together we'd probably just screw each other up even more."

Maybe she shouldn't be saying all this, but the memory of the way he'd looked at her as she got up and got dressed still makes guilt twinge in her chest.

She has to make sure he knows it's not that, not that she doesn't like him or want him or care.

It's just that it's never enough to change the world into a place where any of this is possible.

Her expression is rueful. "Friends would be good." Not so dangerous, anyway.

[luvs_yogurt]

When her eyes drop, his stomach tightens and for a moment he's ready for her to say exactly what Fiona had said - and then she talks and all he can feel is the worst possible combination of relief and dread.

Blank faced, he processes the information - and when no easy response comes, he only nods. He can't help but want to try, and when he sees that momentary tug of obvious regret - it's all he can do not to push again. Pushing, clearly, would only make things worse.

"I'd like that," he sets his jaw and rests his hand on top of hers; "and if anything else happens, I want you to know that I'm on your side."

[notinthebook]

Her gut reactions are all screwed up. Does she turn her hand to take his, or pull it away?

In the end, she leaves it where it is, and tries to forget the way his heart had pounded against her palm and how warm he'd been beneath her fingers.

It's hard, when he's looking at her the way he's looking at her. It makes her wonder if it wouldn't be smarter to just say hell no and get the hell out of Room 15 and the bar in general.

"Good to know," she says, smiling faintly.

It's still not a fight, but she can't say that again.

"But I get it, if you just want to stay the hell away. Seriously, even I would say that would probably be the smart thing."

[luvs_yogurt]

His hand closes tighter over hers and he's glad the pain-tremors have subsided because the last thing he wants to do is appear to doubt his singular feeling on her suggestion.

"Emma," he clears his smoky throat; "I could have died trying to get to you." He gaze doesn't waver, but softens slightly; "And if I had to, I would do it again. The last thing I want right now is to be away."

As he speaks, his fingers slowly come up off her hand and when he finally removes it, he says; "If you need to run, do it. But I'm not running."

[notinthebook]

Her hand feels cold when he takes his away, but she doesn't reach for it again. It's one thing to confess how torn she is, and another to lead a guy on, no matter how much of a comfort it might be.

"I'm not running."

She says it like it ought to be fact, like the whole idea is preposterous, but it's not like it's not all bravado and it's not like Michael doesn't know it. Still, she smiles, a tight press of her lips that manages to dimple her cheeks.

"But, really, maybe avoid the near-death experience next time, huh? A note with the bar would work fine. I promise I'll talk to you even if you don't go through a fire to get to me."

[luvs_yogurt]

"I'll keep that in mind." He manages a droll smile - but an honest one.

After a long pause he says; "I guess that's good, I mean... we can do this. We can be friends and do our thing."

"Maybe get a drink or something?" A drink is really sounding good, despite the hammering in head from the blows he's taken over the last week.

[notinthebook]

"I don't see why not."

She can't quite tell if she's more relieved right now or more cautious than ever, but the guy's trying really hard and she feels bad about bailing on him, and she does really like him a lot, so she ought to at least give it a try.

Even if it seems like that awkwardness she'd told him would be there isn't going anywhere soon.

His question makes her lift her eyebrows, though, as she studies him. "You sure you're up for that? It's been kind of a hell of a week for you."

[luvs_yogurt]

"I think I can handle a drink," he smiles hesitantly, getting up to fetch the half bottle they'd started on last time and a pair of fresh glasses. "Still up for whiskey or should I put on some pants and go downstairs?"

A hell of a week is a damn good reason for a hell of a drink.

[notinthebook]

There's a short flurry of a struggle in her thoughts as she considers the pros and cons.

Pro: It's easier staying up here, he doesn't have to be around a bunch of loudmouthed people, it's more relaxing, and they can actually talk.

Con: Last time she joined him for a drink in this room, they came about two seconds away from sleeping together.

Man. No matter how you add it up, it ends up being better for him, at least, if they stay up here, so she nods after a second's hesitation, crooks a grin.

"You know it's my drink. Though maybe you should think about putting pants on, anyway. As a personal favor."

This is awkward enough already.

[luvs_yogurt]

He turns his back to her and pours, not letting her see his broad smile at the moment. Quelling the grin, he turns back to her and deposits the drinks before making for the dresser for a pair of jeans.

"Only because you asked nicely," he raised an eyebrow as he stepped in and buttoned the fly, "though I'm pretty sure anything you want to do when I have my pants off wouldn't exactly be hindered by having to remove them again."

[notinthebook]

She narrows her eyes at him, but there's a laugh slipping under her words and echoing into the tumbler as she lifts it for a sip.

"Jeans can be harder to get off than you'd think. We'll call it insurance."

Not that she's planning on doing anything. Not that she wants to do anything.

She's got more willpower than that.

Besides, he's all burned and banged up and it would be a bad idea anyway.

It's not a problem, dammit!

[luvs_yogurt]

"Clearly you've never seen me take off a pair of jeans... they don't even have to be all the way off."

He's teasing, of course, if only because it makes her smile.

"And I have many ways of getting the same reaction that don't require anything below the waist."

[notinthebook]

"Nope. Instead, I seem to keep just finding you in your underwear."

She makes an exasperated face, but he's right -- that little smile keeps tugging at the corners of her lips.

She can't help it, it's good to see him. Even if it aches a little, even if he makes her roll her eyes when she laughs at that line.

"Please don't tell me you're subscribing to the Tommy Gavin book of lines now that he's saved your ass. It's not worth it."

[luvs_yogurt]

It's good to smile again, good to see her smiling without that forced stretch of her lips.

"I don't know... I'm pretty sure one night isn't enough to rub off on each other quite that much..."

He stifles a slight laugh as he sits back down and picks up his drink.

"But, if he tries to get in your pants by getting you shot at you'll know he's running my playbook.

[notinthebook]

"Hey, I didn't get shot at even once. But yeah, as plays go, that probably shouldn't be anyone's go-to. Even you."

She hadn't expected that trip to end up the way it had, but that's got less to do with the signs not being there and more with her willful ignorance of them.

Sipping her drink, she watches him, something complicated but warm curling in her stomach, the sweet weight of whiskey settling there and slowly spreading outwards. "I'll keep an eye out, though."

[luvs_yogurt]

He quirks an eyebrow, an obvious smile tugging at his cracked lips before being hidden behind a sip of the bitter whiskey.

"In my own defense, I didn't intend for it to happen that way."

He looks down at the table, sipping again.

"I figured if we did go that route at all, it definitely wouldn't be after almost getting killed."

That's a lot more of a Fiona move.

[notinthebook]

It's easier to smile when he's smiling, too: even if they're both just putting on a good face, they're lending each other a hand. One corner of her mouth tugs into something that's half amused and half wistful. "Good, because that would have been a hell of a set-up and I really don't think you would have had to work that hard."

That little half-smile fades when he looks away, though, and so does the bravado, the uncaring outer shell that wants to just make a joke of it, push what happened between them aside and pretend it doesn't matter.

Her voice, though, stays as easy and level as ever. "That would probably have been a better plan."

It's better this way. And maybe it's kind of like getting a second start, maybe she can do things right this time. Maybe it doesn't have to be a one-night stand that ends here at this little table with them sitting across from each other when what she really wants to do is touch him.

Maybe. Or maybe she's just a sentimental idiot who still hasn't learned her lesson.

It's her turn to look away, tapping one glossy red fingernail against her glass, her voice coming soft, apologetic, a low admittance in the quiet room.

"I never meant to screw with you, you know. I just...freaked out. But running away doesn't exactly help when it's my own damn problems that come along with me."

[luvs_yogurt]

For Michael it's harder to see it as a second start, he still wants to dwell on that closed door. If he doesn't think there's a chance - he can't end up further fracturing the broken heart he's tried to burn out of his system since Fiona left. Maybe if he doesn't think it'll ever happen he won't keep falling for her.

Maybe.

"Don't." He states firmly, looking back up to see her turned away. "Things happen, you don't want a relationship and I was pushing it. Believe me, I understand - I know you weren't playing a game."

[notinthebook]

It's hard to know what she was planning on saying. Maybe explaining her own past would help -- he seemed to think his would -- but that single short word shuts her up like a slap.

"You don't seem to want one, either," she points out, picking up her glass for a much larger swallow.

May as well call it what it was, the natural reaction of being thrown together into a dangerous situation, adrenaline and chemistry tugging them together.

That's all.

She can't handle anything more than Henry, but he's damn sure got a whole lot more on his plate, so it only makes sense.

[luvs_yogurt]

What he wants is impossible to have. He wants his life, to be a spy working in the system with full support and everything that entails. He wants to be away from Miami and being under the thumb of whoever it is that burned him.

But he also wants to take care of his family, of Ma and Nate - and even Sam... and a part of him he can't cope with wants to be that guy that Fiona wanted him to be. The part that wants to be in love. The part of him he doesn't deal with by choice. Even when he wants to.

"It's worth it to cut potential losses."

His face goes slack, once more the spy talking. "Loved ones are a risk."