Goodnight
Marlowe was a powerful woman, capable of having everything she wanted, so she never truly wanted for much. In the small category of her wants, though, above even Drake's ring, was Talbot. He was always hers, she knew. No amount of money could lure him from her side, nor any other women. His position with her was set in stone. He was loyal only to her, and forever wanting to please and make her happy. Something she wasn't used to.
What no one knew, or could ever guess at, was that Marlowe could be very affectionate if she wanted. When she wanted, more like. Talbot knew this very well, for he was the only one ever on the receiving end of her affections. He was her lover as well as second in command, though few were aware of it.
She made a point to make sure he was happy, supplying him with suits, ensuring he went without wanting anything. He served her like a knight served a lady, forever protecting her. He'd taken more than one bullet for her (a habit she asked him to stop, seeing as she'd rather not see him hurt. He refused to).
By Marlowe's side was where Talbot was that night. He was lying beside her in bed. She had pressed herself against his side, one leg over his, an arm over his chest. She had been tracing his scars for the past quarter of an hour. Something she did often after sex, or anytime he didn't have a shirt on, really.
Marlowe always felt guilty when she saw his scars. She knew where each one was from. A majority were from his work with her. A knife wound, a bullet skimming over his skin. So many things happened to him while protecting her. She hated it. She had kissed each scar from a gun, carressed each mark formed by a blade and still felt no better. In her mind, she was the reason his perfect flesh was marred by violance. Knowing she had caused someone's pain was normal for her. Feeling guilty over it, was not.
She kissed his shoulder. "Talbot?"
"Yes?" he replied in a tone that was soft and so unlike him.
"You understand that I care for you, right?" It was a statement that conveyed what they felt for each other yet didn't believe in. Both avoided the word love as though it harbored the plague. It was a cliché, a fairytale. Nothing more than nothing. Niether had ever been given enough in their lifetimes until they had found each other. And still it was hard to believe in it.
"Of course," he replied, slow and steady. It was rare that she'd admit such a thing. "I care for you as well." His returned statement held just as much meaning as her initial question.
She let a small, slightly troubled smile appear on her face, lifting her head up to look at him. "I suppose we should get some rest, if we're going to arrive at the airport on time tomorrow." What she said was true. They had an early morning the next day and needed to be at the airport by seven.
He nodded and watched as she curled against him, a seemingly fragile thing for such a confident woman. He tightened his arms around her, set on protecting her, even in his sleep.
"Goodnight, Marlowe," he whispered.
Her reply was quiet and happy, admitted into the air slowly. "Goodnight, Talbot."
