[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]

Nuzzling into her hair, Michael manages a nod and slowly unwraps his arms from around her - letting her up with the caveat of her warm kiss making him just want to draw her back down for more.

"I'd offer to join you, but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't do wonders for cleanliness either."

He sighs, but then relaxes back against the pillows; "I'll catch the next one and we can do whatever you want, this is your time, Emma. Just me and you and whatever Miami Beach has to offer."

[notinthebook]

"Probably not, considering our track record."

Which is...something she's not going to think about, right now, so she slides out of bed, un-selfconscious, and heads to the bathroom to turn the shower on and brush her teeth.

The water is good, the kind of soft, surrounding spray you get in the really nice hotels, the ones where even something as utilitarian as a shower is turned into a luxury, and she stands there for longer than she'd meant to, shampooing her hair, washing her face, shaving her legs and armpits, lathering up the loofah left with some kind of citrusy-smelling shower gel.

Why not enjoy herself? She's got to look nice for tonight anyway, so why not pamper herself a little, take the time to wash away the stresses of Storybrooke.

(Though she can't help wondering about Mary Margaret, about how she's holding up, even though she knows time there is frozen for her; can't help thinking about Henry and making a fond little smile appear as she's combing tangles out of her hair.)

"All yours," she tells him as she walks back in and heads for her bag, towel wrapped around her body, wet hair clinging to her back and shoulders. "Just let me dry my hair and we'll get going once you're ready."

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael, never one to be content lounging in bed, busies himself by doing the work he knows that Emma won't want to do. With a pair of gloves that Barry had thoughtfully left behind in his expensive designer man-bag, Michael made sure the drugs were baggied for individual sale and then packed them one by one into the bag before moving on to the next bit of business.

When he hears her voice, he looks up from the table where he's naked and hunched over a small disposable cellphone with an eyeglass repair kit screwdriver and a small piece of wire as he boosts the signal.

"One sec," he smiles - staring just a little too long at the way her damp shoulders slope. "I'm, uh... working on this."

[notinthebook]

She pauses for a second, mouth opening, before it presses into a dubious sort of smile as she shakes her head, bending over her bag with one hand pressing the towel to her chest.

"So I see," she says, breezy and amused, quirks a slim eyebrow at him. "And still not wearing pants."

Which is...something she might have been fazed by, yesterday, when sleeping with Michael was still a mistake she wasn't going to repeat, but right now?

Eh, there are worse things, right?

[luvs_yogurt]

He offers her an almost impish smile and shrug; "If you like, I could put pants on."

It's not really a question, of course, but it admittedly amuses him that she's not entirely used to the sight of him bent over a work surface without any pants on. It happens... probably quite a bit.

"But I was going to sneak in a shower when I get this last thing in place..."

[notinthebook]

"Then, by all means, stay pantsless."

She's grinning at him as she wrings out her hair, sorts through the bag Bar packed to pull out a few pieces of slippery cobalt blue fabric, that get tossed on the bed.

It's weird, right, how normal this feels? This should be a weird sort of ... non-relationship to have. Definitely. She should definitely be thinking this is odd, conversing with Michael while he fiddles with electronic equipment for a purpose that is not, strictly, legal, while getting ready for the day.

But it feels kinda good.

At least, that's what she's thinking as she finds a spot to start drying her hair. Who knows what might be on his mind.

[luvs_yogurt]

He doesn't respond, intently focused as he wraps a wire around another with a pair of tweezers before sitting up and sliding the battery and cover back into place.

It's comfortable, which considering they haven't known each other long says quite a bit about the connection they've managed. He doesn't feel like he has to watch himself around her, like she could come unraveled at any moment. That was always the case with Fi, waiting for the bomb to drop.

"I want you to carry this tonight, you'll have an earpiece but the handset will double as a tracker." He holds up the cheap black flip phone that he knows probably looks ancient compared to what he's seen her carrying - admittedly a little amused that she's still technically from the future.

[notinthebook]

She reaches out to take the thing, eyebrows pulling together slightly as she turns it, before glancing up at him.

"Okay, but I don't think there are gonna be pockets on that dress."

A thumb flips the phone open and closed again before she sets it down near her bag. "Guess I'll just remember not to put it down."

[luvs_yogurt]

"We'll find a small clutch or something that looks better, as long as you keep hold on it I'll know exactly where you are at all times."

It's a precaution he wouldn't take for his crew, but Emma's not his crew... she's... well, he doesn't really have a designation for her, but if anything happened because he couldn't pinpoint her location fast enough he'd never forgive himself.

"It shouldn't be dangerous - but I don't want to take any chances." His eyes catch hers, stern and business-minded; "Without time to get more information on this guy we don't 100% what we're walking into."

[notinthebook]

"Hey."

She reaches out to smack his leg, gently. "We'll be good. You do this for a living, remember? I promise to keep my low-tech not-actually-a-phone on me at all times."

Her smile presses, tugs up at one edge. "Scout's honor."

It's not like she doesn't appreciate it, she does. It isn't even necessarily more caution than she would take herself, walking into a situation like this without any backup.

The more concerning part here is the amount of trust she's putting in Michael, but that really is unnerving, so she shoves it aside, for now.

[luvs_yogurt]

Her smile's almost a reassurance to him, and the knot he hadn't known was sitting in his gut twists when she offers it so willingly.

"Right," he replies with a hesitant nod, "I'm uh... I'm gonna go run through the shower and we can get something to eat and check out a few shops on the boardwalk - maybe you'll even get the sight of Michael Westen in a speedo."

[notinthebook]

"That's a hell of a thing to tease if you aren't gonna come through with it," she calls after him, amused, but he disappears into the bathroom and she's got her own pampering to do.

It doesn't take long to dry her hair into the kind of tousled, beachy waves appropriate to Miami and bikini season, and on the off chance anyone who'll be at the party later sees her now, she wants to look the part. So she scrunches product through her still slightly-damp hair and lets it air dry into unruly waves while she adds eyeliner, mascara.

The suit she got from the bar is simple enough: a cerulean blue bikini over which she slings a short,sheer, white cover up robe, letting it hang open and tying the cord loosely at the small of her back. It's the kind of breezy, casual look any fairly well-off woman on vacation might wear, with the benefit of being pretty damn comfortable, though she misses her jeans.

Nice to be out of boots and sweater, though.

[luvs_yogurt]

"You don't know me very well." He smirks, lifting a wry eyebrow before turning to head toward the shower. It's a threat he's more than willing to make good on.

Not too long after, he parades out from the bathroom with only a plush towel wrapped around his waist - his hair still slicked into wet spikes that'll settle well enough on its own.

Without a word, he opens his bag and tugs a small black swimsuit and plain white undershirt and khaki shorts from his bag and manages himself dressed before looking her over with a wide smile.

"I'm pretty sure we'll blend in with the wealthy tourists." After a moment of thought, he adds his wallet, Rolex and shades and then asks; "What else do you think we'll need to get while we're out?"

It was a genuine question, of course, he really does want her opinion. Piratically, they're read - but it's the little things that help.

[notinthebook]

"Seriously?" One eyebrow goes up, the other furrows inward, crooking her whole expression into one of disbelief. "You actually have one of those?"

It's...well, if anybody could pull it off, it would be Michael, but that statement really, really depends on that first word: if.

Yeah, she's not going to be able to keep a straight face if he strips down to that little slip of fabric.

Her own wrap barely seems like anything at all; she feels more naked now than she did in a towel, but it'll look normal outside, and that's the important thing, so she digs out a pair of flip-flops, skinny cords glinting gold against the skin of her feet as she slides them on.

"A bag for the phone," she says, after a second's thought. "A clutch, not a shoulderbag. Aside from that, I think we're good."

[luvs_yogurt]

He couldn't help but laugh a little at her surprise; "When in Europe..." he murmured under his breath, "lets just say a pair of trunks make you look like a tourist."

It shows more of him than he's really comfortable letting the public see, but then again most anything would.

Nodding easily, he digs a pair of sport sandals out of his bag and a small stack of fifties to line his wallet - if he's going to look the part, he'll have to be willing to throw around a little cash. He's almost gotten used to not knowing where it's going to come from next, which is almost as unnerving as the knowledge that he's who knows how close to getting his life back.

Shaking aside his own thoughts, he snags the keys to the rental car and their room key to head out for the early afternoon. "Come on, lets go show Miami Beach a good time."

[notinthebook]

"Oh, well," she grins. "Europe. That explains it."

Occasionally, she forgets how much Michael's traveled, with his career: it seems like she's a rolling globe of tumbleweed, traveling from city to city, chasing down bounties and cutting roots before they start growing anywhere deep enough to hurt when they're pulled, but he makes her look like any provincial resident of Storybrooke.

It's fine, he looks good in his shirt and shorts, and she heads out of the room with him, feeling a little like, hell, she wouldn't actually mind if this was a real date, just the two of them.

Dangerous, maybe, but he sure is a good time.

[luvs_yogurt]

Walking out of the hotel Michael keeps his distance, but as they step out and turn toward the long row of boutiques and small cafes headed toward the beach he slips a casual arm around her waist - drawing her a little closer as he matches step to her sandals on the sidewalk.

After a long silence, he leans a little closer and murmurs; "You look beautiful." He means it, and expects nothing out of it - he just wants her to know that the way she carries herself with her confident stride mingling with the soft curves of her body and her sharp brain adds up to one hell of a woman.

[notinthebook]

"I look nearly naked," she counters, but there's a twitch of a smile, and she moves up easily against his side, like she's been doing it for years, like his body is as familiar as her own, like it hasn't been two nights and a hell of a lot of misunderstanding and evasion between them.

Besides, once she gets used to missing the layers of jeans, sweater, boots that are her standbys in Maine, it's actually kind of nice to feel warm Miami breeze against her bare belly and legs, ruffling the cover-up.

There's a pause, and then her arm slips around his back. "You're not so bad yourself."

[luvs_yogurt]

"Have you seen some the girls out here?" Michael's eyes lift up and briefly dart across the increasing sea of rather small bikinis for observation rather than interest and then back to Emma.

And it's with an almost shy smile he mutters; "Thanks." The t-shirt and shorts help, though it's not for modesty that he's wearing them. Usually guys in bathing suits in boutiques are a lot closer to Emma's age than his - and they pretty much never get taken seriously.

However, a girl can wear as little as she wants... and usually gets better service because of it.

"Are you hungry?"

[notinthebook]

She grins, slanting a look at a girl who'd checked the two of them out, from under her sunglasses. "You've got a point. I'm starting to feel overdressed."

The wrap is thin, sheer, and it's cool against her skin, and she's in Miami, with Michael, who is...more fun than he ought to be, and dangerous because of it, but she can't bring herself to care.

After the last few days, doesn't she deserve this?

"I could eat."

[luvs_yogurt]

Sam would have made a comment, a very obvious and dirty one at that, but Michael merely smiles and leans a little closer against her and brushes a kiss against her ear as he guides her across the narrow street toward the place he'd mentioned what seems like ages before.

"I've been dying for a bucket of Cajun crab since I came back for the Wasteland - they's is pretty good and according to Sam all he can eat."

[notinthebook]

"Well, lead on, " she says, tilting a crooked smile up at him, cheeks flushing faintly from what she tells herself is the sun but knows was that kiss, comfortable, sweet, familiar.

"It's not like I've got my Zagat guide hidden in this get-up."

[luvs_yogurt]

"You're resourceful enough without one," he murmurs, letting his hand sweep a little lower over the gauze wrap before returning to the relative safety of her lower back.

"Believe me, I'm sure any women that can climb a drainpipe and take down gun runners without firing a shot is more than capable of finding good crab in Miami."

[notinthebook]

"Hey, just because you shot first doesn't mean I wouldn't have."

She's teasing, and it might be a weird thing to tease about, but, come on, she and Michael aren't exactly your usual couple out on a usual lunch date. They've got plans for a party tonight, but it's not the usual shindig.

And she finds she likes him a hell of a lot, more and more, for it. Her hand flattens against his back, the muscles there shifting and sliding beneath her palm in a way that makes her think all too clearly of the hotel room last night.

"I'm better at finding people than food, anyway. So I guess it's a good thing I've got you today, huh?"

[luvs_yogurt]

He wouldn't have made her take a shot if he could help it - ever. That's his job, to do the dirty work. But it's neither the time or the place for that argument.

"I'm starting to think it's a good thing every time you've got me."

Feeling the gentle stroke of her fingers, he almost hates to guide her into the small restaurant where they're quickly shown to a table. It's early enough the lunch rush has only started to trickle in and they're able to sit by the window where they can watch the passersby.

"How are you feeling about tonight?" It's an honest question, and he knows they probably shouldn't talk shop while trying to spend time together - but it's honestly all he knows to talk about on his own.