notinthebook | [Room 15, with Michael]

Michael's already feeling better for the most part after a couple days in bed, but he's showing the wear of being sick when he answers the door in his boxers and t-shirt. Luckily for Emma he'd managed a shower and shave a few hours before, but he still looks pale and weak.

On the small table is a half bottle of aspirin and four empty bottles of Pepto Bismol, the bed is unmade and the room smells vaguely of stale whiskey.

"Emma..." he smiles on reflex, with a confused look in his eyes - clearly not expecting to see her on the other side of the door.

It's only a couple of knocks, and this time she's not half-turned away when he answers, which is, she thinks, a plus.

"Hey."

It's a reflex, and so is the smile she's got on when the door opens, but the smile slides away and the word is said with a frown when she gets a look at him.

"You don't look so hot. Are you okay?"

And he's still in roughly the same state of almost-dressed she seems prone to finding him in.

"I'm fine," he ushers her into the room and closes the door behind her - a little slow to turn on the lights. It looks like he's been in there a couple days - which he has. "Just sleeping off a bit of gastric distress after the last job. Good to know I can still pull of 'not so hot' instead of 'like crap' though."

Undershirt and boxers. It's getting to the point where she'll think it strange to find him wearing anything else, really.

"Jeez."

She walks in without another invitation, but a little of the confidence has melted out of her stride, leaving her faintly uncertain as she lifts the bottle ruefully.

"You're probably gonna want to save this for another time, then," she says, putting it down on the table before turning to get a better look at him, her arms crossing across her chest in a way that's half her normal stance and half not being sure whether she ought to reach out.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, or anything. If you're not feeling okay, I can come back another time."

He has suits waiting in Miami... hopefully ready to pick up soon. He kind of misses them.

The night before he'd held a similar bottle - and forced himself to stop. The thought of drinking right now has even less appeal than what it'll do to his hydration issues.

"Don't you dare leave," he smiles, allowing himself to be the first to reach out and brush his palm over her elbow without grabbing for her. "Stay for a drink, at least, I've missed you."

It feels like he's been gone for ages, he doesn't even know how long it's been to her since she last saw him. Time's funny like that here, it can make just a few days feel like a month just as easy as the opposite.

Something that's been coiled unhappily in her stomach since she got a clear look at the intruder and realized it was Graham (and what that meant, oh God, she's such an idiot) knots itself and tightens at the touch of his fingers against the soft knit of her sweater at the elbow.

It's not unpleasant, but she doesn't know what to make of it, because she never really knows what to make of Michael, or the effect he's got on her. "Yeah," she says, with a strange little smile. "I know what you mean."

The bottle gets a nod, and a little of her usual wryness comes back into her voice even as she smiles, slight. "I figured you could use some top-shelf for a change, but, uh...you should probably stick to water, if you've been sick."

Somewhere in there she's moved closer, close enough to smell the soap and shampoo from his shower, close enough to see that smile creasing the corners of his eyes, and it just makes everything so much more confusing and way simpler all at the same time.

He nods easily as she shifts closer, allowing himself to fully look at her and let the knot in his belly warm - for the first time in days knowing it's not sickness or anger or fear but one of those other difficult feelings he's almost starting to get used to.

"I'm pretty much over it, but I think I'll maybe stick with a touch of peppermint tea for tonight. I'm, uh... sort of not drinking at the moment."

And he knows that she knows the tone, and the slight hush of his subtle admission. He's not drinking for a reason, and it's not her fault or her problem.

"And I know you didn't just come for drink." It's a stab in the dark to be honest, but he knows her well enough to know it's not just a drink - there's something going on in her head that he wants to see. Something he just can't make out in her stony, soft face.

"Peppermint tea sounds like a good idea."

It's an agreement, of sorts, just like the bottle of whiskey is an apology, just like her quips are really concern. Reading between the lines is an absolute necessity with Michael, and she's both weirded out and elated by the fact that she seems to be getting better at it.

They're too similar for her not to, she supposes.

Her mouth presses into a little smile -- amused, but not enough to brush away the memory of last night and the sullen heaviness of today's work.

"It was a crappy day. And when I tried to think of what might make it less crappy, I thought about coming to see you. So..." She makes an impotent, impatient little gesture, her smile sardonic.

"Here I am. I also heard a rumor regarding all you can eat crab, but I think that's probably off the docket for now, too, huh?"

He ushers her toward the table - pulling out the same chair as before and deposits an empty tumbler beside it before opening the cupboard to find a warm mug of herbal tea and a fifth of peppermint schnapps. Only because it's schnapps... he rolls his eyes as he adds a shot to the mug.

After a long silence, he offers; "I think getting you out of here and down to Miami Beach is exactly what we both need."

He rubs his stomach with a smile, feeling the slightest twinge of what he's come to identify as actual hunger after few days of clear liquids.

"Actually, I've kind of got a job there if you're interested in getting the opportunity to play with some bad guys significantly less armed than our last date."

She's been feeling unhappy and annoyed all day: annoyed with Graham, annoyed with Regina, annoyed with herself for letting any of it get to her at all.

(Why should she care? He can sleep with who he likes. She just wishes Henry weren't in the house; it seems so wrong.)

It's something she hasn't been able to shake, made worse by the dragging day at the office and the heartache in Mary Margaret's voice that's been there all night, too, and it's weighing on her, settling heavy on her slouched shoulders as she takes the chair.

All she wants is to just let it go.

That's what's really on offer, here, and it's partly the reason she came to see him after hanging out downstairs for a little while -- that, and because he always seems happy to see her, wants her around, which is like balm after the sickening discovery of last night.

There's something relieved about the unhappy way she smiles. "You know, I think you might be right."

It's not running away if she's not really leaving anything behind, right? And time stops, so really, all she's doing is taking a breather, a little reprieve.

Even better, he's offering her something else to focus on, and she looks up at him, eyebrows arching. "Okay, hit me. What's the deal this time?"

Edited 2012-06-13 15:03 (UTC)

Shifting forward, he leans in close and closes one hand tentatively over hers, he can feel the tension - something's going on that he's not part of but he still wants to do what he can to make things easier on her.

With a soft smile he says; "Come to Miami and we'll get you fitted for something sexy and then spend the night. The next day we run a quick seduction bait and switch to bring down a bookie that beat up a little old lady and celebrate with buckets of spicy crab down by the beach."

It's the sort of offer that would probably sound crazy for any other source, but he knows from him it's expected.

Her eyes narrow and her brows draw together thoughtfully; it's a look that's half really? and half wary interest.

Is she crazy, or does that sound sort of fun?

Or both?

Either way, it seems like the perfect way to blow off steam, though she's catching a little awkwardly on the part about spending the night.

"Wait," she says, and then frowns deeper, brought up short by a totally different question. "Wait," she says again, with a completely different inflection that's got nothing to do with the backflips her stomach is making at the idea of spending the night.

"Exactly who's the bait and who's the switch in this scenario?"

Edited 2012-06-13 16:04 (UTC)

An almost innocent curl of his lips makes it pretty clear exactly who's who.

"He has a small crew, four guys with him at all times. I need a beautiful woman who knows how to work a situation and keep herself safe to distract him enough to get rid of the bodyguards and lure him to the hotel room where I will be waiting to have a little talk with him about his collection methods until the cops show up."

"Seriously?"

Of course he's serious. Why wouldn't he be? He runs shit like this all the time, it's what he does. The corner of her mouth tucks up into a smile, and though she shakes her head, it's in amusement, not disagreement.

"Well, you know I'm up for bringing down a bad guy or two." She turns an incisive look on him, considering.

"Beat up an old lady, huh?"

Hell. She'd do it just for that. What kind of scumbag goes after a sweet old woman?

He nods and gently squeezes her hand, already letting himself echo her smile - it's a green light.

"She shouldn't have been dealing with a loan shark to cover her gambling debts - but nobody deserves that kind of treatment. As far as I'm concerned a few good knocks and a few years in the pen after they get a hold of his books will do him well."

His hand feels good over hers, so she lets hers stay right there, and if it's a mistake, she doesn't care. She could use a little bit of feeling good about herself after the day she's had, and it looks like he could, too.

Nothing wrong with that.

Her eyebrows flicker, and she shrugs. "People get stupid when they get desperate. So, uh...when were you planning on heading out?"

She doesn't particularly want to go back to the apartment -- not yet -- but it might not be so bad.

It's not like she's exactly dressed for Miami. Again.

He shrugs easily; "Whenever you want to."

Pulling away, he opens the bottle and pours her out a single whiskey. "Or you can stay here for a while if you prefer."

He's not exactly in a hurry - the cattle drive is coming up but he knows William wants to wait until he's convinced that Michael's well enough to make the trip and Miami sure as hell isn't going anywhere.

"Like...here, here?"

They've circled right back around to that pesky question of spending the night, and she's not even sure she's right to be wondering about it. It's not like she's got any reason to think he means anything other than letting her crash on his couch.

If it's a date, it's pretty much the most unorthodox one she's ever heard of.

Fortunately, he hands her a drink, and she takes it, tips down a quick sip, because that's something to do that isn't becoming increasingly awkward.

It's just that she's not sure she can trust herself around him.

"Hey," she says, shrugging and dropping it for the moment. There's no answer she can find, so she may as well move on, right? "You're the one in recovery. We'll work on your time schedule."

He shrugs somewhat innocently; "Well, I mean... it doesn't have to be here - I mean, generally here... Milliways. Not necessarily my room." Which was sort of exactly what he meant, but her reaction is enough for him to get the hint - too strong, Michael. Back it up.

"I'm doing pretty well - I managed yogurt today and as long as I can keep down water and yogurt I'm a happy man."

"Not that that's, you know, bad," she says, quickly.

Too quickly, maybe.

(She'd have to admit, it's tempting. It's been tempting ever since the first time they sat here and he pulled her into a kiss and picked her right off her chair, too impatient to walk to the bed.)

Still, it's a relief to have something else to consider, and she smiles, a warm curve of her lips that dimples her cheeks and makes her eyes soften.

"Good. Gotta be able to have the yogurt. It's kinda your thing."

Her smile confuses him yet again, and he's pretty sure he'll never understand how she works - let alone how any woman works. She wants... something? Maybe to happen. Maybe.

"Hey, it is the perfect food." He shrugs somewhat innocently, taking a long sip of his spiked tea. "Anyway, I'm up for anything now."

The only thing she's sure of right now is that she's just as conflicted as ever. What does he even want from her? He calls her a friend and an ally, but there's this tension coiling around them every time they see each other, and she can't tell if it's trying to pull her towards him, or trying to hang her out to dry.

Caution is her default setting. It's the only thing she can trust.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

She takes a sip of her whiskey and pushes it aside, the I dare you quirk back to her lips. "But if I'm going to be making an impression, I'd better stop at the Bar and get some supplies, first."

He laughs under his breath, "I, uh... didn't expect it'd be so easy to convince you after last time." Still, he nods and shifts out of his chair to find a pair of discarded jeans he hasn't worn since he's been on bed rest.

"We'll have to wait overnight after you get fitted - I'll have wardrobe on a rush order, but there's only so much they can do on short notice." His smile fades slightly, knowing she'll likely ask why she needs fitted for a dress when she's easily able to wear one off the rack.

"I'm pretty sure the loft has been compromised and after what happened the other day, I'd feel a lot safer if we stayed at a hotel."

"Yeah, well."

Rolling the tumbler in her palm pushes up the leather strap around her wrist, showing a corner of the tattoo he'd traced so gently with his fingertip the last time she went with him to Miami, when all of this sucked them right into a black hole of stupid thinking. "I could use a break."

It's not like she won't be back at work tomorrow, but having a day -- or two, or whatever -- to cool off might not be such a bad idea.

And she'll say this for Michael: at least he's been straight with her.

Glossy red fingernails tap against the thick glass as she frowns at him. "If you need a slinky dress, I've got one that'll fit the bill...but, wait, wait. Hold on a second."

It's not the dress she's wondering about, though she's still curious about it -- it's that last comment, the one he sneaks in as he buttons the jeans, like he's just making conversation.

"What happened? What do you mean, the loft's compromised?"

That. Right.

Michael sighs and strips off his undershirt with his back turned to her, the scratch left over from what had been a jagged tear in his skin still fresh but obviously not a problem. "The guy I'm after... the one who burned me... he's in Miami."

He tugs a clean polo over his head, trying to form exactly the easiest way to put the situation without outright admitting just going to Miami could set off another incident like the explosion.

"He's trying to send me a message that he's powerful and not afraid to hurt civilians to get my attention." His eyes lower and he sits on the edge of the bed, considering his boots. "He sent an assassin after me where I was meeting Barry, followed us to the location, and planted a bomb down the road where we could see the aftermath after taking care of the goon."

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