[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

[notinthebook]

Her eyebrows lift, but she's looking down at her dinner, spinning pasta around a curling shrimp, expression neutral.

"It's not my call to be okay with it or not. I said I'd help, and I will. That doesn't mean I have to like the tactics."

Still considering her plate, her mouth twists, her shoulders, always slouched, lift in a shrug, thinking of talking to Tommy, how he'd figured she must be into the kind of crap Michael finds himself in all the time, like Cuban drug runners and cocaine deals are something she can just brush off.

"This stuff's way out of my league. The better question is whether I trust that you know what you're doing."

[luvs_yogurt]

He nods slowly, he can understand her reluctance. If she wanted to back out, he'd let her - he'd drive her back to the Carlito and find another way.

"It's a good question," he says calmly, watching her eyes; "do you?"

[notinthebook]

"Well."

It gets another shrug, shoulders bare, skin cool in the air-conditioned room, and now she looks up at him, under thick black lashes.

It's not so much flirtatious as it is laying down a line.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here at all."

[luvs_yogurt]

There aren't many ways to deal with having that kind of trust levied on you - and Michael's always accepted it unconditionally. She says she trusts him, and that's good enough. But still, there's always the question of to what end and if she knows just how far he's willing to go.

"Then I think..." he leans closer, letting his fingers trace over the outside edge of her palm; "we should forget about business for the moment and stick to the plan tomorrow."

[notinthebook]

She huffs a little laugh, looking down at his fingers tracing along the soft curve of her palm, making her hand look small beneath his, tying a conflicted knot deep in her stomach, warning lights flashing somewhere far away.


She ignores them.

"Yeah, I think I like that idea better."

[luvs_yogurt]

She can do this, he knows she can - it's an easy job and yes, it requires bending the law but the payoff is worth it and in his mind the end usually justifies the means. If they can pull it off, nobody will get hurt and a very bad man will spend a long time behind bars.

Closing his hand over hers, he gives it a firm squeeze before he says; "I'm sorry we had to talk show today - I really did mean for it to be just us."

[notinthebook]

"Hey, don't sweat it."

Her lips press into a smile, hazel eyes warming. "You didn't call him over. And we've got more to work with, this way. But, uh..."

Her thumb smooths over the back of his hand, light, teasing, coaxing.

"I really might punch the next person who shows up. Fair warning."

[luvs_yogurt]

It's that touch that he craves - the tenderness and gentle tease that says they're going back to where they were in a very good way.

"No more visitors," he murmurs, leaning closer to her; "I'm turning the phone off."

He needs it, and he's pretty sure she does too. Just a little slice of time that they can use to luxuriate in the moment and find their place if only for that little bit of time.

"Just us."

[notinthebook]

"Yeah?"

Her smile widens.

It's nice. Feeling wanted, feeling trusted. Michael may be a bad idea, but he's always been straight with her, and that's not even the only thing to like about him.

Take, for example, the way he's smiling at her now, the way his voice drops low, the way his hand feels on hers, making her skin feel tight, making her pulse leap.

"Well, you are the reason I'm here. What girl can say no to a nice hotel room, all you can eat crab, and putting a loanshark behind bars?"

She's leaning back towards him, too, but it's hardly an unconscious decision. Can she really be blamed for wanting to find a little closeness? Just for a little while?

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael closes the distance between them boldly and replies; "Nobody I want to be here with."

It's enough, he thinks, being close to Emma - being her friend if they can be like this. As long as she doesn't run away again, he can handle being kept at arms length.

Maybe it's for the best.

Eyes half-lidded, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, his fingers closing down even harder before kissing her gently.

[notinthebook]

She watches his eyes close, making her heart thump, hard.

It's something about how blue they are, it must be, but whatever the reason, she finds herself a little fascinated by them.

And by the way he kisses her, too. It's sure as hell not the desperate, pushing, pressing kisses of before, and she can't help melting into this one, because, come on. It's Michael, and he's a freaking spy, but he's kissing her like he's just a guy who cares.

Who likes her. Her.

And the thing is, she likes him, too.

So her free hand comes up, threads into the short hair at the back of his head, and she stands up, slow, lingering over the kiss until she has to break away, looking down at him with a smile.

"I think I remember something being said about a bubble bath. And champagne. That was definitely in there, too. And..."

Leaning down, she kisses him again, hand drifting to his jaw. "More of the same."

[luvs_yogurt]

If life we fair, things would be different. He wouldn't have to think about things that are lingering in his mind - he wouldn't have to worry about making sure no matter what happens to him she has a way back home to her boy. He'd be allowed to think only of that silky perfect skin coated in fine bubbles as she sits in his lap while he feeds her strawberries.

In a fair world.

It takes a second before he can look up, a hollow groan closing his throat as a grin that feels wholly out of place lingers on his lips.

"I'll call for champagne, you start the bubbles..."

[notinthebook]

That little sound does something to her insides, makes them feel like an imploding balloon, makes shivers start at the back of her neck.

"Yeah."

Her hand slides along the angle of his jaw, settles at the side of his neck, and she leans in again, pressing a kiss to his lips that deepens, pulls a little wanting sound right out of her, too.

Her smile comes teasing against his lips.

"Or we could skip it and go straight back to bed."

[luvs_yogurt]

The grin spreads even wider, full and dopey and just like the sort of thing one of his characters might do that's even more unsettling when he knows it's all him... all her and what she does to him.

"I vote that one..." he replies with a low murmur of approval as he reaches out to her jeans and tugs hard at the button.

[notinthebook]

"I like your style."

And she likes that smile. It looks good on him, lightens him up.

Her hands slide to his shoulders, but her mouth goes straight back to his as she tugs at him to get up out of the chair.

There are better places to be right now.

[luvs_yogurt]

Later that night, when the noise of the pre-spring break party season outside the open window dies down, Michael untangles himself from the sleeping woman's arms and finds his binoculars and a bottle of water.

He might be torn between the warm nest of Emma's arms and the softest sheets he'd laid on in a really long time, but his mind's back where it always seems to want to be. Work. Something safe, something he can almost predict and roll with so much easier than the way he feels when he looks back at her as she rolls to grab for the warm pillow where he used to be.

Sitting on the window sill, he looks down at the house they're targeting and starts mapping out the security in his head.

[notinthebook]

It's been a long time since she fell asleep with someone else in the same bed, but that doesn't mean she doesn't recognize the feeling when she rolls over and they aren't there anymore.

Her first thought is, of course, you idiot.

Her second is that the pillow, the mattress, the sheets, are all still warm, smell like him, are just rumpled and soft, and she leverages herself up on an elbow loose with sleep, blinks over at him before rubbing the heel of her hand into her eye.

"Anything going on over there?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Anyone else would look crazy sitting naked in the window of a post hotel - but Michael knows he looks distant, staring down the binoculars as he follows a solitary security guard patrolling the property. Frowning, he hadn't meant to wake Emma - she should be sleeping, he didn't look at her as he spoke.

"Just watching the security detail on the beach house." He knows he doesn't have to, their plan won't involve security - they'll barely be on the property when the cops show up, but his brain always says it's the sort of thing he has to know.

[notinthebook]

"Yeah?"

She sits up a little, pulling the sheets up and settling back against the pillow, blinking sleepy and slow before yawning, jaw-cracking and wide.

"Anything down there we should be worried about?"

Unlikely; he would have told her already if that was likely to be true, but it's worth asking, considering he's left bed to go stare at a completely boring house for who knows how long.

[luvs_yogurt]

"Not really," he shook his head and turned his dark rimmed eyes back to her. "I've already got the parking spot picked out for the car - lots of cover and as long as our mark doesn't park too far away I'll only have to take out one security camera to plant the drugs."

His mind had wandered pretty far off the security anyway, as expected he couldn't bring himself to sleep in Miami. The hair on the back of his neck prickled up, waiting for something bad to happen. Waiting for Cowan to tell him he's there.

[notinthebook]

"Uh huh."

That's about right, and it's nothing more than she expected, but that means that her original assessment was correct.

Which is not something she's sure she exactly knows how to broach. Or if she should.

"So that's not why you're hanging around at the window without clothes."



Okay. So she's never been great at avoiding sensitive topics. But it's not like she isn't involved: waking up in a bed that smells like him is evidence enough of that. "What's up?"

[luvs_yogurt]

He shifts slightly and looks down at his bare legs before offering her a shrug.

"Nothing better to do. May as well make use of my time."

[notinthebook]

"You don't think sleep is something better to do?"

She's smiling, but it's crooked, and a little wry.

"And there's no reason for you to be watching the house, so your reasoning is oh for two."

Shifting, she settles a little more comfortably against the pillows, rakes her hair out of her face, and watches him. "What's on your mind?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Sleep. Funny. "I don't sleep much," he mutters, setting down the binoculars and leaving the window to fetch another bottled water from the minibar.

"It's not important right now, we've got to think about the job."

[notinthebook]

"Okay."

Which is bullshit.

Her mouth presses together, head leaned back against the pillows, hair coiling in tangles across the sheet.

"I mean, it's your business if you want to obsess by the window in the middle of the night, but we thought about the job yesterday and we'll think about it tomorrow and there's not really a whole lot that thinking about it right now is gonna change."