[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 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.

[notinthebook]

"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."

[luvs_yogurt]

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."

[notinthebook]

"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."

[luvs_yogurt]

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."

[notinthebook]

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."

[luvs_yogurt]

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."

[notinthebook]

"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?"

[luvs_yogurt]

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."

[notinthebook]

There's a long, unhappy-looking scratch on his back when he pulls his shirt over his head, and she notes it, but at least it doesn't look so bad. A little souvenir from one of the jobs he's been pulling here, she guesses, and it could be worse. At least it's not a bullet.

"Oh my God."

Her expression contracts into concern and disbelief, watching as he sits, his usually impeccable posture starting to crumple at the edges so that his shoulders roll forward just slightly. He never slouches like her, but he looks exhausted, considering he's been resting and recovering for the last few days.

Walking over, she sits next to him, the mattress dipping under her added weight, her fingers hanging loose between her knees as she looks over.

"This guy sounds like a nutjob. A bomb? What the hell?"

[luvs_yogurt]

"Yeah, well I didn't exactly expect the kind of person that'd accuse me of the things they say I did to exactly be all there."

He sighs and looks over at her with a reserved, almost haunted flatness to his face - trying not to show what he knows he's already giving away. Innocent people were hurt... probably died... because someone wants to get his attention. Mission accomplished.

"It's a power tactic, he wants me to know who's in charge."

Lucky for him, he's not the type to bend to threats - no matter how real they are.

[notinthebook]

She knows what people think of her. It's a persona she cultivates: stay aloof, stay detached, because otherwise, you can be hurt by too many things. It sucks, sometimes, but it's been helpful more often than it's been hurtful.

But she's got a heart, and she's got sympathy to give, and when someone close to her is hurting, she hurts, too.

There's something so miserable shading the bright blue of his eyes.

The hand she puts on his shoulder is gentle in a way most people wouldn't expect her capable of, but she doesn't care, squeezes lightly. "It's not your fault this guy's a sociopath. And you'll find him."

[luvs_yogurt]

Part of him doesn't want to admit that he's not ready yet, that he's been staying away because of things like this. But, there isn't really any other way.

"This is probably the last time I'm going to be able to go back before I have to take care of business." He looks down, licking his lips; "I'm close... but he's closer. He knows my movements, the places I go and the people I know. It's not good, Emma."

The way his voice drops to a near whisper, he knows that she understands what he means - there's a chance that when he goes back alone it's not going to be good.

"I might not come back next time."

[notinthebook]

Her hand tightens on his shoulder, reflexive before she forces it to relax.

This is all so screwed up. How the hell are people supposed to do any good against the sheer stupid cruelty of the world? "Don't say that."

Her own voice is low and intent. All her quips are gone for the moment, stripped away, leaving behind earnest hazel eyes and confidence she drags, unwilling, up from whatever secret well she's got deep inside, the one that got her through her childhood and through the years after finally escaping the system; the one that gave her the strength to tell Henry she was staying.

"You're awesome at this stuff. And...if you need help...there are people here who care about you. And a lot of them are pretty handy in a pinch."

[luvs_yogurt]

The shadow over his eyes flickers and is gone, replaced with an almost angry glare; "Don't even suggest that, Emma. You don't know these people - this is my battle, I'm not dragging anyone else into it."

He can't. If he did the thought that he might not make it back would easily turn into a certainty that nobody would.

"Anyway," he shakes his head; "he's biding his time - we should easily have two days to pull off this job without getting noticed. I even told Barry it'd be like a week just in case he's bugged."

He won't mention the part where he'll spend most of the time lying low and out of sight. Not yet.

[notinthebook]

Her lips thin, and it's like a faint veil falls over her eyes, turning them cool again as she lifts her hand away and sits back.

"Have it your way."

She's already been dragged in, though. She has, and so has anyone else who's befriended him, because they all care whether or not he comes back, despite the fact that he can be a complete idiot from time to time.

Shrugging, her expression turns disinterested, like it's just another job she knows he'll pull off and tell her about just so he can see the faces she'll make in response. "Hotel it is. No offense, but it'll probably be a lot more comfortable, too. Do you even have a bathroom in that loft?"

[luvs_yogurt]

The coldness makes the knot in his stomach clench again and while it's good to have something other than gastric distress to blame for it, knowing it's because he's pissed her off makes it worse. He won't take it back, though. Nobody steps through that door with him when it's time. Nobody.

"I do... the shower's a little... uh, not the best - but as long as the vice grips hold out it's in working order."

He smiles, superficial but real, and leans in close; "I've got just the place in mind... ocean view, pristine beach, quiet and very discrete about it's clientele." Just in case she wants to stay a while after the job's over, he wouldn't complain at the chance to catch a break for a little bit.

[notinthebook]

When she first met him, she would have shied away from the way he leans in, close enough she can just about feel the puff of his breath against her cheek, but now she stays where she is, leaning back with her palms flat on the rumpled sheets, though one eyebrow lifts, like she's calling his bluff.

"If I knew there was going to be possible beachtime, I'd have packed a bathing suit."

It's not really on the docket right now in Maine. Actually, she thinks anybody who voluntarily goes to the beaches there is a little crazy: that water is freakishly cold.

"Sounds like you've got it all planned out."

[luvs_yogurt]

"Bathing suits can be bought, our first stop is a clothing store." The kind of place that Sam would have in his collection of very useful places to know people, even. High end, clothing made to order - very quickly if you've got the right amount of cash... besides, it might come in hand to have a dress in his wardrobe even after this gambit.

He raises an eyebrow, hardly shy as he knows he's not on the spot, "You know how I run things, meticulous planning that inevitably goes wrong."

[notinthebook]

She shrugs, brushing the suggestion aside.

"Maybe I'll just grab one from the Bar on the way out. It's bound to be cheaper."

Not that she particularly has to worry about money right now, what with her somewhat unexpected windfall.

He's infuriating in a lot of ways, but she'd have to say this, making her smile when two seconds before she'd been feeling annoyed and frustrated with him, has got to take the cake. Still, there it is; her lips twitch at the corner despite her outward coolness.

"That's why I like you. Keeps life interesting."

Her eyes flick down, towards his boots, and she nods. "Ready?"

[luvs_yogurt]

It's a sentiment he's heard before, and he believes it.

"I've got to get a few things together," he nods slowly; "meet me down in the bar in five minutes?"

It's not much that he needs, some cash to cover the dresses, the suits (if they're done), a hotel room... rental car. Emma's throwing around money to get the mark's attention. Okay... a decent amount of cash. Barry's lucky he's willing to do the job for four grand.

"Then off to sunny, Miami Beach."

[notinthebook]

"Sounds good to me."

She pushes herself up with a swing of blonde waves, bright against the soft black sweater that she straightens once she's standing again. "See you down there."

It's a good thing she'd put that cash on her tab, considering that when she heads back into the bar, she ends up doing a kind of mini-shopping trip that ends with her taking a small bag from the bartop. It's nothing much: makeup, hair supplies (if she's gotta look the part, then she's gonna make damn sure she looks it a hundred percent), toothbrush, a little vial of her usual perfume, a bathing suit and coverup. It's more than she normally has with her when she's taking a trip, but not by much, and the bag's light when she slings it over her shoulder.

Which leaves her with an overnight bag, plans to go overnight, and way too much time to think about both those facts.

Is this stupid? Her previous trip had been on a whim; she'd never meant to spend as much time there as she had.

She really hadn't meant for things to go the way they did, but it happened and now she doesn't know what to expect, or what to consider, or even what she wants.

She hates that.

So she sits at the bar, fingers drumming idly against a glass of water, waiting and pushing aside each of those little uncertain thoughts that try to take hold.

[luvs_yogurt]

Michael makes it down the stairs with his bag packed and ready, not entirely surprised to see she's still wearing a sweater; "It'll probably be about... eighty or so when we get there? You might want to reconsider your wardrobe."

Not that he's one to dress someone, just that it's bound to get horribly uncomfortable in a car with no AC until they get to the rental place.

[notinthebook]

In answer, she sets the bag aside and skins the sweater off over her head, leaving the thin black tank top. Goosebumps prickle along her bare shoulders when the cool air hits them.

The sweater goes in her bag, and she pats it.

"I'm good. Picked up a few things to change into, so let's roll."

As they head towards the door, she turns her head to look at him, something suddenly crossing her mind. "Hey, you never said why we're buying a dress. I mean, I could head back to my place and grab one in like, two seconds."

[luvs_yogurt]

Better. Much, much better.

She's good - he's got to give her that much. Most women, Fi included, would have been perfectly happy at just buying a new dress.

"It, uh..." he stalls, pretending to stumble on his words before quickly answering; "it has to be a special dress."

He guides her to continue toward the door with a gentle hand on her elbow, hoping that'll be enough for now.