[Room 15, with Michael]

[notinthebook]

 She's got the brand-new bottle of Johnny Walker Blue in one hand when she knocks at the door of Room 15, feeling unaccountably nervous.  

It's not like this is weird, or anything.  It's not like she thinks he'll be unhappy to see her -- or the whiskey.  And she wants to know how the latest mission went, whether there were more crab-monsters involved, or...whatever might be out there.

(But they haven't talked, alone, since her stint as bartender and the fight they'd had, which, in retrospect...she doesn't even remember how it got started, or why.  That feeling of sinking unhappiness is pretty immediately recognizable, though.)

If asked, she might not even be able to say why she's here, aside from the simplest reason she can put in words: she wanted to see him.

I miss you, he'd written, once.

Well, the feeling's mutual.

Comments

[luvs_yogurt]

He'll be too wrapped up in her and his own thoughts to watch anyway.

Michael manages himself up and to the bathroom, returning with his shorts on only to pick up the phone and menu.

Two shrimp dinners and a bottle of champagne ordered, he curls himself against her again - holding her tight.

"I meant to tell you earlier, but thank you for doing this for me."

[notinthebook]

She settles, heavy and lazy, against his side, her hair tangling between her head and the pillow and his arm and shoulder. The movie is vaguely distracting, but she turns hazel eyes on him when his voice comes low in her ear.

"I told you," she says. "Anytime. By the way, you know you don't need to pay me for helping you out, right?"

That five thousand in cash helped out with her tab and Mary Margaret's, and he hasn't seemed to notice the addition to his tab, or anything, but still. She feels weird about taking his money.

Not about this, though: not about curling up in bed with her head pressing against his, letting her leg slide between his, and relaxing, and that's weird enough to make her want to tense up.

"And...I wanted to see you."

[luvs_yogurt]

"It was your cut," he murmurs against her ear, squeezing his arm around her. "That's how I work - when a job pays, everyone gets their fair share."

He lets the last words linger a moment, burying his face against her hair before he quietly replies; "I'm glad."

And he is, even if she's too close - if every sensible thought is telling him he needs to back away and cool it off before he's in too deep to walk away or cope when she does. If he hadn't walked away from Fiona first back in Ireland, when she left it would have gutted him. He can't let that happen again.

Still, it would seem sensible thought can be easily buried by the sensation of her skin against his and his lips on her forehead.

"I missed you."

[notinthebook]

"You're the one who needs the money," she points out, but it lacks sting. She's feeling too lazy to really argue, and when he kisses her forehead, she feels a tiny smile pull at her lips, a little dip of a frown forming where his lips pressed.

This is...nothing she's used to. One-night stands are just that -- one night -- and when you agree to be friends afterwards, you don't end up in bed, wrapped up in each other like the body heat is needed for survival.

When was the last time anybody touched her with that kind of tenderness? She wants to grab hold of it, keep it close and safe, and fling it out the window at the same time.

"Then it's a good thing I came by."

[luvs_yogurt]

"It's always a good thing," he sighs, kissing her head again and closing his eyes. Part of his brain is screaming to let go, to find his binoculars and go to the window and start casing the house - to do anything but let himself get used to this. It'll only end badly.

But, he remains - stubbornly needing this moment of secure comfort.

"Don't worry about money. I called in a favor and I've got more than enough." For now, a lot of it is going into this job, but there'll be another job - there's always another job.

[notinthebook]

"Yeah?"

She tips her head back to look up at him, hair making a gentle rustling noise against the clean fabric of the pillow. Her hand slides up to rest on his chest, and that shouldn't feel as secure as it does.

This is stupid. That's what everyone says at the beginning, before everything goes to hell. She knows better than to believe it. It's a line like any other.

It'd be nice, though. Nice for him to mean it, and maybe he does, for now.

Now's just going to have to be good enough, and it's not like she needs more. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

[luvs_yogurt]

"You better," he smiles again, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, and then against her lips until he can taste her again.

He's torn, as always, between what he wants and what he thinks is best for both of them. For the moment, all he wants is more of her - more of this moment and the brief taste of a normal life he could never have as though there wasn't some psychopath agent that burned him breathing down his neck.

Somewhere a million miles away on television, an action star blew up a house that Michael would have picked apart the inaccuracies of if he wasn't far more interested in fitting his hand over Emma's breast and drinking in the sensations of touching her and kissing her again.

[notinthebook]

Now that they aren't pulling at each other like she's trying to climb right under his skin, she can actually concentrate on this: this kiss, his mouth, the way his tongue sweeps across her bottom lip and the little noise that pulls out of her when his teeth graze the same spot. She can roll them both over, remote falling to the floor with a clatter, until his weight is pressing her into the mattress. Just for now there's nothing except the slanting sunlight falling across them both, warming the sheets, and that pleasant knot tying itself in her stomach, and the way her thumbs fit into the hollows of his hips.

If they're getting dinner anyway, then she's absolutely determined to work up an appetite. And what's the point of doing anything other than enjoying the moment? Isn't that why she came to find him, so she could have something else to think about, someone else to focus on?

God, is she screwed in the head, or what?

So she threads fingers into his short brown hair, tugs him down for another kiss, deep and lingering, and, really, Michael should not be this addicting. It's just another sign of how dangerous he is, right?

[luvs_yogurt]

Letting out a soft moan against her lips, Micheal lets himself get swept away in the moment - part of his brain still lingering on the outskirts enough to know every bit of what's going on around them, but more than anything he's considering how good it feels to press against her and just let it happen.

"God... Emma..." he murmurs, letting out a shuddering breath when the knot of arousal returns like the flick of light switch. "You have this... amazing effect on me..." he laughs, almost sheepishly before kissing her again. "It's really not fair."

[notinthebook]

Well, crap. That noise he makes sends shivers running over her skin like someone's holding an ice cube to the back of her neck, and she grins, bites gently at the fluttering pulse in his throat, voice teasing.

"I don't think it's exactly all that unusual."

There's nothing weird about this. He's an attractive guy, and he happens to be attracted to her; they like each other; they get each other. Normal, right?

Never mind the part where she sucks at normal, wouldn't know it if it smacked her in the face.

"I'd like to point out that you brought me to a super nice hotel in Miami. If anyone's not playing fair, here, it's you, not me."

[luvs_yogurt]

Definitely unusual for him, but he knows his frame of reference is skewed. The concept of normal doesn't happen anywhere near the Westen family tree.

"Mmm," he kisses her again, stopping her words a long moment before admitting; "in all fairness, Barry picked the hotel because it's within visual range of the house."

Hoping to gain a little face, he nips her lower lip and adds; "I just thought of you when my plan needed a beautiful woman that knows how to handle herself that I can trust."

The last being the biggest compliment he could give.

[notinthebook]

"Hmmm."

Her mouth twists into a petulant pout, twitching into a smile at the little bite, and flickering again at the compliment, even though she rolls her eyes at it, too, giving him a raised-eyebrows look that suggests he might be bullshitting her.

"Fair enough." Reluctantly, though her eyes are sparkling: "No point in not enjoying it, though."

[luvs_yogurt]

He'd never bullshit her... not without a very good reason.

"Exactly," he grins, pushing against her again - tracing one palm down the curve of her breast and between them to stroke lower. It occurs to him that room service is on the way - and he doesn't exactly like to rush things even if it is a bit of a second wind for both of them.

"I should cool off," his voice takes a sheepish tinge and he kisses her again with less passion than before, but no less interest. "Would you like a drink? I'm pretty sure they've got a decent minibar."

[notinthebook]

She feels like she should protest, because he's not the only one getting wound up, here: he pulls back and she wants to follow him up, roll them both over, pin him to the mattress.

Screw room service.

But she falls back against the pillow with a sigh that does nothing to disguise the way her breathing's gone shallow or her skin has flushed pink, and her hand curves at his jaw when he kisses her again.

"Sure," she says, "but seeing as you're on the wagon, a soda's fine."

[luvs_yogurt]

"You're still allowed to have a spike in yours," he grins wide, kissing her again - almost wishing she would push him further like the look in her eyes says she wants to.

Instead, he shifts his boxers and forces himself up rather uncomfortably making his way to the minibar to fetch a pair of Cokes. "Ice and rum? Or just the can?"

[notinthebook]

When he gets up, she stretches, lazy, taking up as much available space as possible for a moment, like a cat reaching across the sheets, before contracting back into herself and leaning up against the headboard. "Just the can."

It really is an awesome room, now that she has a second to look it over: fresh blue and clean white and tasteful decorations with a plate-glass window that must look out towards the house they'll be hitting tomorrow.

He'd have liked her apartment in Boston, she thinks. She liked that apartment, though not enough to put anything in it aside from the furnishings it came with. It was temporary, a place to crash.

And it was empty. This room might be gorgeous, but it's just a room, and the only thing that makes it different from any other room she's been in is that she's here with Michael, and he wants her here, thought of her, specifically.

It soothes some of that sting from finding Graham last night, that's for sure. When was the last time anybody wanted her?

[luvs_yogurt]

For reasons he can't even begin to explain, there's little he finds sexier than watching her at ease - like a cat on a windowsill, stretching and reclining. Comfortable. The naked part doesn't hurt, of course, but even fully clothed she'd still be just as gorgeous.

Standing a little longer than strictly necessary, willing his body to work with him instead of against him, he eventually makes his way back to bed with two cans of Coke and another kiss.

This time, he sits on the edge of the bed, half turned toward her with one knee up on the mattress - waiting for room service to knock at their door.

"So far, better than the last time you came to Miami?"

[notinthebook]

She's got absolutely nothing against him watching her, shakes her hair back and smiles at the kiss as she takes her can of soda and pops it open,

"Hey, I liked this part last time, too," she reminds him, settling back, getting comfortable. "And there hasn't been any violence or explosions or theft, yet, so we're definitely already doing better than before."

Mainly, she doesn't have to worry about him getting hurt or killed.

"I'd hate to have to try and sneak into this place."

[luvs_yogurt]

"If I recall, this point last time you were trying to get away from me."

His eyes darken, but before he can take the thought any further his cellphone starts ringing and he's digging for his pants on the floor. "Shit..." He mutters before picking up on the fourth ring.

"Barry? What's going on?"

Yeah, I've got something that'll help you on the case."

"Barry, this is my job... What are you doing?"

"No big deal, I'm on the way to the hotel now."

Michael grimaces; "No, I'm kind of really busy right now and we're almost ready move in on the target tomorrow night."

Before he can get a response, the phone beeps several times and goes dead; Damn it, I need to charge it."

[notinthebook]

Her mouth opens and her eyes widen, slightly, but before she can think of anything to say -- he's right, of course, she'd just about sprinted out of the loft the last time, but she'd thought, maybe, he'd understood it, or forgiven her for it -- his phone rings and she stays quiet, listening.

When he drops the phone from his ear to swear at it, she sits up, brings her knees up, arms looping loosely around them, the sheet bunching at her waist.

"Something wrong?"

She glances around for her clothes, looks back to him for an answer.

[luvs_yogurt]

He shakes his head, digging into his bag for the charger.

"Barry. He's on the way." A frown creases his lips after he manages to get the damn thing plugged in.

"He says that he's got a something that'll help - which in my few dealings with him I've come to assume means he's going to get us shot at."

Frustrated, he stabs at the dial back only to get a busy tone. "Damn it."

[notinthebook]

"So what you're saying is, we need to get dressed."

She lifts her eyebrows at him, but her smile is wry instead of teasing as she gets up, finds her clothes, tugging on jeans and refastening her bra.

"Seems like kind of a shame."

Barry had better watch himself. She's still not in a mood to be pushed around by anybody, and Michael was beginning to relax, too.

[luvs_yogurt]

"Not necessarily need," he sighs, "I might put a shirt on."

If he's insisting on interrupting his evening of not working, fine... he can deal with seeing boxer shorts.

"I'm almost hoping it's nothing, this doesn't need to get any more complicated than it already is."

As if on awkward cue, the practiced room service knock at the door sounds and Michael's quick to answer it, still not bothering with clothes. "Sorry I can't make it dinner in bed."

[notinthebook]

"Hey, it's fine."

She gives him a crooked sort of smile, raking fingers through her hair to try and neaten it from where his had tangled and caught in the curls.

"As long as he's not planning on staying the night. I might put my foot down about that."

The food smells great, and she glances over at it in the middle of tugging her shirt back over her head.

Her eyes might go to Michael, too. That last thing he said before Barry called...she's got the sinking feeling that tonight might not go as smooth as she'd hoped, regardless.

[luvs_yogurt]

"I'll physically remove him before it comes to that," he raises an eyebrow, serious but not without a hint of humor.

Still, he watches with thinly veiled annoyance as the attendant sets their meal at the small table tucked away in the suite's breakfast nook - complete with a rosebud vase and bottles of mineral water. After getting his tip, the silent man leaves them to their meal.

"Lets eat, I don't want to deal with him on an empty stomach." Really, he doesn't want to deal with him at all - but he got the impression that there was little choice in the matter.