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[anythingbutblue]

There's no hesitation between remembering everything and stopping in front of Gren's door.

The hesitation comes once she gets there, and for about a solid thirty seconds, she stands there, her eyes determined but her hand not certain it wants to knock.

But then she does it -- loudly -- and that's that.

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[anythingbutblue]

She doesn't like it much when the tables have been turned, and it's obvious in the set of her jaw, the evasiveness of her eyes, the way her lips purse slightly.

But she didn't invite anything with an open-ended question like he did, and funnily enough, it's the shell part that bothers her the most for the moment.

Getting up, she walks over to the window and opens it about halfway. She's never seen Gren smoke and his room certainly doesn't have the ash trays hers does, so she'll just tap ash outside.

"You make it sound like I can make any guarantees."

She's never been able to make many of those.

The memory of how much she didn't want him to be dead and how desperate she felt to understand what was going on between them when she didn't remember anything is painfully vivid in her mind.

With one hand on the window frame, she languidly holds her cigarette out of the window, giving it a tap against the ledge. "I can admit it."

She just can't look back at him yet, and... maybe that's the answer he's looking for right there.

She should probably steel herself.

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

There's a saying about actions speaking louder than words and he's always believed that's true... some of the time. There are other times when words mean exactly what they're supposed to mean. He's known Faye a long time, like she's quick to point out, but that's not why he likes her. It only enhances what he feels for her since every time he's looked at her or talked to her or spent time with her he's had to acknowledge that little something welling up inside. Women aren't my style is self-defense, pure and simple, just like Faye's suit of armor becomes evident in her words, in the twist of her lips and the evasiveness of her eyes.

Right now he's going to go with her words: he'll take her admission at face value, mostly because he likes to think she's not going to lie to him. She has no reason to lie: this is equally risky for both of them. With that in mind he stands and joins her at the window, rests a hand gently on the back of her neck in that way hesitant not-quite-lovers have.

"Nothing comes with guarantees." He remembers Vicious's words: there is nothing to believe in; there is no need to believe. How wrong he was, and how sad. While he believes his own words -- that there are no guarantees -- he still can't help being hopeful. Through everything, he's remained an optimist. Even when life's kicked him and beat him and left him bloodied and bruised, naked and dying, he's still been optimistic. I want to go to Titan. He's always been attuned to the beauty in life; if he really is dead -- if he really did die before he got here -- then his last words were so beautiful.

Maybe that's what's set the stage for this next part of his... life, his journey, his set of experiences. Maybe that's why for him everything here is almost painfully lovely. The maybes don't matter now, though: gently, he turns Faye away from the window and toward him, and puts both arms around her and holds her.

He just holds her.

[anythingbutblue]

She nearly drops her cigarette in surprise, and when both of his arms go around her, her eyebrows knit together fiercely.

She wants to ask him why he thinks he knows her that well and why he seems to see right through her.

And why she can never quite figure him out.

When her surprise wears off, she reaches back and flings her cigarette out through the window, then cautiously wraps one arm after the other around his neck.

After a moment or two she steps back, as uncertain about what to do with him as ever. Not that she intends to let him know that.

"I should go."

It almost doesn't sound like herself talking.

"But I could come back tomorrow." She smiles slightly. "If that's the kind of thing you might be interested in."

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

"I think you should stay." His arms fall reluctantly, his eyes never leaving her face. "But if you want to go, you should, and if you do, then you should definitely come back tomorrow."

He's torn: they could take this so slowly, or they could move ahead quickly. That, of course, makes the assumption that they both want the same thing and it's probably too early for him to have any expectations at all.

Still, a big part of him really wants Faye to stay right where she is. If she's not ready for that, though...

Yes, no. Push, hold back. Embrace, let go. Both, neither. Gay, straight.

Bi.

Too many labels.

Do you mind if I kiss you goodbye?

He doesn't ask: he just does it. For once, he simply does exactly what he wants without questioning it.

[anythingbutblue]

She doesn't know how he can say such simple, matter-of-fact things and throw her so off balance.

But then he kisses her, no less indulgently than the first time, and she has to remind herself that the plan was to leave and come back later.

And then force herself to step back, a demure little smile on her lips, and open the door to let herself out.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mister Saxophone." She's still smiling, barely peeking back inside the door. "Try to stay out of trouble in the meantime."

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

"It's what I do best."

That's a bald-faced lie and they both know it, but it makes him smile; he hangs by the door as she makes her way through.

"Take care, Faye." It's his standard goodbye to her and he watches her with the utmost fondness as she makes her way down the hall. This is... by far his best night at this place, and his best night in general in a long, long time. Unexpected, but really nice.

He knows full well as he moves back into the room and closes the door that he's going to have a hard time falling asleep tonight, but that's all right. He actually feels alive: perfectly, unquestioningly alive.

[anythingbutblue]

Her boot heels click against the floor, and she makes it about two-thirds of the way down the hall to her room before she wonders when the hell she started playing it safe.

I think you should stay.

It's been a long time since she was careful and a long time since she was delicate.

Sometimes you just have to take what you want and take care of the fallout -- if there is any -- after.

(Or even better, let someone else take care of it.)

The click of her heels is faster on the way back to Gren's room, and not bothering to knock, she just goes ahead and lets herself back in.

[bothbutneither.livejournal.com]

Now that's unexpected.

This time when the door closes they're both on the same side: he likes it much better that way. Moving toward Faye, heart pounding with anticipation, he takes her hand in his. There's a time for words, but... this isn't it.

No. This is a time to pull out all the clichés: dim the lights, let the breeze flutter the curtains, trace her lips with his fingertip, kiss her eyelids one at a time, let the whole thing feel like a glamorous, languorous slow dance. It's been a long time and he wants to get things right.

And if he runs into something along the way where he's out of practice -- a little rusty -- maybe she'll help him out. After all, this is for both of them. Eyes soft and huge and liquid, he both can and can't believe this is happening.

But he's really glad it is.