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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[notinthebook]

She stares at him, ready and feeling on the defensive, and even though no judgment comes, the long drink is almost as damning.

Crap. She shouldn't even care what he might think of her and her decisions and her screwed-up life, but she does, wants him to think well of her even as she's grimly satisfied herself that she's no doubt no longer amazing.

"Trust me, it's better this way," she says, jaw set. "Even if I'd been able to keep Henry, I wouldn't have wanted him around."

He was a mistake. Maybe not the worst she's made in her life -- after all, he did give her Henry -- but right up there.

She relaxes a little at his question, though, fingers still spinning her tumbler slowly against the tabletop, and as she speaks, she can't help slipping into that same new smile.

"He's...kind of incredible. Smart, creative, so sweet. He's thoughtful -- loves to read -- and he's got this crazy imagination..." Her smile widens, briefly, then fades. "But he's kind of messed up, too. Seeing a shrink, and he's only ten."

Her smile's gone entirely now, as she looks up at him, eyes searching for ... what? Approval? She doesn't even know.

"That's why I stayed in Storybrooke. It's why I went up there in the first place."

[luvs_yogurt]

He understands, of course, but there's no way to put through that he doesn't blame her and that he thinks she made the right choice with the limited information he has to go on. It shouldn't matter what he thinks anyway, it was a long time ago and she did what she thought was the right thing.

Michael smiles slowly, at first just an echo of Emma's softened smirk - and then a real, genuine grin. Sounds like the kind of kid he'd get along well with. But when her smile sinks, he hesitates to say anything at all.

After a long moment, he asks; "He was in a bad situation?"

[notinthebook]

If anybody asked her, she'd probably brush it off, but she kind of wishes Michael could meet Henry.

Which freaks her out as much as anything else they haven't said in this particular conversation.

But Henry would love it -- a spy, it's the kind of thing he'd based Operation Cobra on. She'd pay cash money to see Henry peppering Michael with questions, and to see his response, she honestly would.

"I mean, not bad." She glances up at him, all her bravado shrunk away now. If she could see herself in a mirror, she'd straighten her shoulders, push that vulnerability right out of her eyes, and change the topic, but she can't, so she doesn't.

"He's got a big house and plenty of money and food and a good school and everything, but his mom..."

Trailing off again, she swallows, frowns at her glass before looking up at him again, all honesty now. Everything else has been stripped away by worry for her kid.

"I grew up in the system. Bounced from house to house, never stayed with any one family for too long. Nobody wanted me, I guess. So when I knew I couldn't...when I knew I couldn't keep my kid, I gave him up, but I made sure it was to a closed adoption. That he was getting a family." She takes a long breath, lifts her tumbler, but pauses before she can take a sip.

"His mom, though. He calls her evil. And I don't mean in a 'oh man, she grounded me' kind of way. Like a 'he thinks she's capable of murder' kind of way."

[luvs_yogurt]

Another piece of the puzzle falls seamlessly into place and the curious story that is Emma makes a little more sense. Hiding plainly behind his mask, Michael nods easily, taking it all in and filing it away into the big picture.

The situation - now that's very unusual... and much easier to focus on than history.

He nods again and sets down the remainder of his drink before asking simply; "And you disagree?" In his line of work he's learned time and time again that a lot of people are capable of murder that you wouldn't think would be. Doctors, teachers, mothers, and even children... people often surprise you in the worst possible ways. And he's hardly one to ask that question when he's not entirely certain she doesn't think he's capable of murder.

[notinthebook]

"I've found that most people are capable of most things."

She takes a drink, a larger swallow than before, sets the tumbler down again, starts it's slow twirl right back up as she thinks.

"But Regina? Well...remember how I said the mayor framed me when I first got into town, and Mary Margaret bailed me out?" She nods. "That's his mom. The mayor. She's slippery, and I don't like her much -- and the feeling is entirely mutual -- but I don't think she's about to murder anybody."

She pauses for a long moment, struggling slightly with her thoughts. Now that she's started opening up, it's like she can't stop, like that key that got turned when they were lying in bed together hasn't clicked back into place and she'd tell him just about anything.

Which doesn't even make sense, but there it is. Her voice is soft, a little tentative, but honest: he might think she's crazy, or that Henry's crazy, or that they're both laughable, but...he'd said trust me and she does.

"Honestly, I'm more worried that he thinks there's this...curse that's been laid on everyone in the town. He thinks they're all storybook characters. You know: Snow White, Prince Charming. And he thinks his mom is the Evil Queen."

[luvs_yogurt]

His brain takes it one step at a time; a person with power and limited ethics is worth being concerned about... and while she might not be evil, he can understand the boy holding her suspect. Even if she is his adoptive mother.

"I can see why he might need a little therapy," he shrugs, his eyes watching Emma's very carefully as she explained had given him the clear impression that it's something a bit deeper than she's letting on. This is a pretty big issue at home.

He shakes his head slowly; "An imagination can be a good way to escape a stressful situation... if she's the source of his stress it's sensible that she'd be the Evil Queen." A slight smile crosses his lips and he asks; "Do you get to be the Fairy Godmother that's come to rescue him?"

[notinthebook]

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure his shrink thinks sort of the same thing. He's told me not to shatter the delusion, because we've got no idea what that might do to Henry, you know?"

She watches him for a second, eyes wide, hurting inside for the kid, her kid, who'd come to find her when no one else in her life has ever given a damn about where she might be or what she might be doing.

That little smile and the corresponding question get a huff of a wry laugh, and she shakes her head. "I'm not in the book. According to Henry, I'm the one who's supposed to save them all." Her smile turns bitter.

"Bring back the happy endings. I guess he's kind of willfully missing the fact that I couldn't make that happen for either him or me, so I don't know how I'm supposed to be the saviour of a whole town."

[luvs_yogurt]

He can follow the metaphor easily enough, simplified in the mind of a child it would make sense.

"Don't sell yourself short," he shifts in his chair letting his knees brush against hers before reaching out to gently touch her hand; "you haven't really known him that long - maybe you'll surprise both of you with what you can do when you don't have an easier option."

She very well could remove him from the situation, as Michael understands it, and be his savior.

[notinthebook]

She wishes her gut didn't jump and twist at something so simple as his knees brushing against hers, or the touch of his fingers on the back of her hand. She wishes she didn't give a damn, wishes she could get Michael Westen out of her head, but she can't.

Like she told him before, it's too late for that now.

There's a moment where she hesitates, before moving her thumb -- just her thumb, to slip between his thumb and index finger and rest lightly on the back on one knuckle. It's a tiny concession that probably doesn't show any of the lurching, sparking, confused and knotted emotions she's warring with, but it's there, and so is her smile, though that's tiny and wry.

"I might not know him," she admits, "but I know me, and I am no saviour. Half the time I don't even know why I thought it would be better for him if I stuck around, but..." She lets out a long, slow breath.

"I'm in it now, though. Got a job, got a place to stay. Guess I've actually got roots, for once."

[luvs_yogurt]

There's no easy way to make her believe that people change... that she will change - she has changed, even in the step between the goal-oriented lifestyle of a bounty hunter and her choice to stay in Storybrooke and settle down. No easy way to tell her that whether she likes it or not she will survive herself and continue to change.

At least not with feeling the guilty tug at his own conscience for thinking the exact same way she is now. Once a spy, always a spy - I can't change who I am.

"He needs you," Michael replies simply, closing his hand tight over hers for only a moment. "And maybe you need him too."

[notinthebook]

"I'm not used to being needed."

That's what it boils down to, but it's more than that: she's not used to being wanted, which would probably go a pretty fair way in explaining why she'd freaked out in Miami and decided to leave, even when things were going so well, even when there was no evidence at all that they'd crash and burn like she assumed they would.

It's a confession, made in a low, hoarse voice that's almost a whisper, nearly as intimate as the thoughts they'd shared all wrapped up in bed together. Her thumb tightens on his hand, but relaxes when his does. "But I can't afford to screw this up, too."

[luvs_yogurt]

He squeezes her hand even harder, pulling her toward him for an awkward seated embrace - nothing funny, nothing sexual... just the best to comfort he can ever really manage.

"I understand," he nods against her cheek - understand all too well how much it fucks with you to be needed. To have people that count on you specifically. "But I know you can do this, if you're half as good at being a Mom as I think you are you'll be fine."

[notinthebook]

She's not used to being needed, and she's not used to hugs, either, isn't used to people touching her to offer or accept comfort. Henry's the only one that does -- even Mary Margaret pretty much allows Emma a wide range of personal space.

So it's a little surprising to get tugged into a hug now, to hear their chairs scraping over the carpet and feel his arm go around her, his head pressing against hers. It sends a thrill all through her body -- she can smell soap and shampoo and him -- and for a second she tenses, before relaxing into it. It feels good -- he feels good, and for just a moment, she lets her eyes slide shut, breathes, feels her shoulders settle.

"You barely know me," she points out, but she's not really putting up a fight, just says it because she feels like it's expected. She turns her head to look at him, and knows she ought to pull away, because she can't stay this close, and trust herself, but she can't yet, wants the comfort too much.

[luvs_yogurt]

It's a strange sensation, to actually want to touch someone - to want to be close and provide comfort. He's not a machine, but it's been a long time since he felt like he should out of more than obligation. Emma trusts him, and he wants her to know that he does care... and he really does.

For a long moment, he lingers - experiencing her as a whole more than any singular sensation. It's... nice. And when she relaxes against him, he knows that part of it is resignation and part genuine comfort.

His voice drops to a near whisper even though they're utterly alone; "I know you better than anyone else." They're a lot alike, it's the one thing that makes it easier to let go of her after falling so hard. He gets it.

[notinthebook]

"Maybe."

Her voice is low, too, both of them quiet in the still room. She's not sure what to believe, isn't sure he really knows her as well as he thinks he does, but what does it matter? She's not here to make any decisions based on his opinion, much as she might respect it. She's here to check on him and see if they can't get their friendship back on track and, yeah, okay, also because she just really wanted to see him.

She's confused about what she wants, but she's not confused about this: it's better to talk with him than not to, and that's about all she really needs to know right now.

So she lets herself relax, lets her head rest against his, breathes him in, until she knows her choices are to either give in and kiss him again, or leave.

He doesn't deserve to get screwed around by her.

She lingers, still, for a minute, before gently pulling away, her hand resting on his leg as she gives him a tiny smile.

"I should get going and let you get some rest. You've had a hell of a week and you ought to take it easy for a little bit."

[luvs_yogurt]

It's that errant touch that makes him ache, more than the closeness of a comforting hug - the simple stray hand against his thigh and it's all he can do not to go for it. It would be easy to kiss her again, to push his hand through her hair and ask her to stay... please, stay...

But being easy doesn't make it right. And it doesn't make it what she wants from him either.

Instead, he nods slowly and dredges up a fake toothy grin before patting her hand.

"Sure thing, Ma," he sighs; "I've been meaning to get around to checking out more of the grounds anyway... gives me a chance to explore a little."

[notinthebook]

"Just keep an eye out for the demon bunnies," she advises, amused, remembering the walk they'd taken and the warning he'd given.

Something's gone jolted and aching in her chest from the look in his eyes before he smiles, before he pats her hand and jokes around, pulling back from the intimacy they'd just found, but she can't blame the guy. Her confusion is bad enough for her -- the last thing she wants is to screw with him, too.

So she just gives his leg a friendly pat and gets up, still smiling, because she can at least leave him with a better goodbye than last time, right?

"I'll see you later. And...I'm glad you're okay. This was...nice."

Maybe they can be friends, after all, maybe it doesn't have to be so awkward. Maybe she'll get him out of her head and not feel so torn all the time.

Yeah, right.

[luvs_yogurt]

"I'm pretty sure I can take a bunny or two... I'll see if Bar can lend me a big stick." His smile fades again, but as always seems somehow more genuine that it had been before.

Still, he nods and doesn't shift from his chair - if he moves he'll go against his better judgement and he knows it. If he moves it'll be to make things even more complicated than they already are.

"I'll be watching for you," he licks his lower lip and reaches for his drink, "it's good that we can talk like this."

Because it really is, no matter how his brain wants it to feel - it is nice to actually have a human conversation about things, to share their shadows. To know that they can trust each other that far.

[notinthebook]

The temptation is to reach out, touch his face, his hair, admit she could stay for another drink, maybe another hour, but that would just bring them straight back to the beginning, so she just slides her thumbs into her back pockets and nods.

"Yeah, it really kinda is."

It's good to know she hasn't managed to ruin that, at least, no matter what else she might have screwed up. "See you," she adds, with that same smile. "Feel better, okay?"

And then it's just a lift of her hand in a wave, and a turn that looks easier than it is to head out the door and back down to the bar, where she doesn't even pause before she heads straight back through to the quiet apartment.

It's better that way.

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael turns toward the table, both elbows on the surface as he hears the subtle click of the door closing behind her - yeah, better than last time. But it's not like he can't feel the tension between them like cat ready to pounce. It's only a matter of time before it happens again, and the only question is if she knows that. It may be a mistake... but as far as poor decisions go it's the best one he can possibly think of.

With a loud sigh, he rests his eyes against his upturned palms and tries to calm himself - to center on anything. Pain is good for that, for drawing out his concentration as he acutely forces himself to feel the dull ache across his back and ribs - not just the impact but his lungs ragged from smoke. The sandpaper rasp of each swallow barely dulled by the whiskey. The low throb of the back of his head radiating up with the grain of his hairline.

It was going to be fine. Everything is fine.