The comments made about Orwell at the Carnival and who would or wouldn't miss her got my muse to sit up and pay attention. I love these two together, Summer and David ooze chemistry, and I adore this show. So I'm going to try and fill in some little holes, twist and turn things around to fill my need for more hotness between these two. Oh, and if anyone has a strong stomach check David out in Storm Warning, amazing horror flick and he's very good at being very bad! Let me know what you think. I own nothing and mean no harm.
More than once that night and now half way through the next day the thought circled around in his head. He knew what it was, a deep truth, and it should not be there.
Orwell would be missed if she were gone, Vince would miss her. The thought was forbidden. Just how much he would, could, miss her sent a shock of guilt straight up his spine.
Dana had been all the female he had needed. As a couple they had made friends with other couples, male and female. And of course he had his circle of guys and she had her girlfriends. As archaic as it might have sounded Vince had always subscribed to the notion that men and women could not really be 'just friends'.
In the short, intense amount of time that he had known her Orwell had become more than an acquaintance, which is all he had ever let any woman other than Dana become. Vince trusted Orwell with his life, his secrets, but most importantly with the lives of the people he had left behind.
More than the trust he had gotten to know her; a result of living in close quarters and working together to boot. Vince knew when she had spent too many hours in front of the monitor; or when her thoughts were outrunning the results she wanted. The tells he read on her, habits, rituals, the understanding; that is what convinced Vince that she was a friend.
A rebellious little voice whispered that she was more than a real friend. That little voice had pushed him to the training room two hours ago. He started a grueling workout, punishing his body for the thoughts he should not be having. Dana was his wife, Orwell was; he had no name for what she was and that only angered him further.
There had been no ignoring the look on her face as he had passed her in the small excuse for a kitchen. At the stove, she had water boiling, a light purple box in hand. Her calming tea, something uncovered online had upset her. He hadn't stopped to ask her about it, he should have, no he really shouldn't have. Biting back the concern that pushed through the indecision he punched the bag harder. Despite her own feelings, he had seen her look, the calm study, she had tracked him across the room with those big eyes and he knew without a doubt that she knew he was upset; more than that she knew he was thinking of them and would give him the space he needed.
Why did she know him so well? Why did he know her so well? How had this happened? The punching bag had no answers. His knuckles were screaming under the white tape. The muscle in his arms ache, tightening as they are worked to the edge and then beyond, the voice was back; asking if Dana had known him so well? Had there been looks on her face he'd read and understood in under a moment?
Anger bubbled up in his chest. This was not how it was supposed to be. The Cape, the mission, her none of it was part of the plan. Vince had never thought much about the route he wanted his life to take; he hadn't had a plan, until the path had been so drastically altered. Dana, Trip, maybe another child and a new job which would have brought new challenges and new opportunities; that was all the start of a plan he needed. There would have been some travelling in the summers, they had talked about showing Trip the country, just getting behind the wheel and picking a road.
That plan, a plan he hadn't really owned or accepted, was lost to him now. Vince wanted to hope, had to hope he would clear his name one day and make a new plan. He held tighter to the hope of talking to his son tighter than he'd ever held onto anything. One day he would see his son again as Vince Faraday, not as the Cape or some nameless face passing on the street, but as a Father to a Son. The rest of it though, he sagged to the mat, exhaustion setting in as the weight of what would never be hit all at once. Those plans, that life, those people were gone.
Honestly, and Vince had sworn he lived too many lies to lie to himself, how could he leave this part of him behind. The Cape had changed him as much as he was changing Palm City. The people at the Carnival, Max, both the good parts and the bad ones were a part of his life now. They were a part of who he was now. Vince was different now, harder than he had been during active duty, because to have what he had, to have it so close and not be able to touch; it had changed him.
Dana wouldn't know him now, not really, not like Orwell did. There it was, the thought he had been circling all night. The truth he had tried to pound away with his fists. Orwell knew the man he was now, the good and the bad. She had seen the dark parts and the light bits and had stood closer to him for it. Vince didn't know how Dana would react to him now. Would she stand behind the decisions he had made, would make? Probably not and he wasn't sure he wanted her too.
Orwell understood the compromises he was making because there was a streak of similarity inside of them, a dark broken thing inside of her that had reared up in him. The secrets in her life bugged him, especially when she knew everything about him. If he wasn't one hundred percent confident she would confide in him in her own time he would push the issue much, much harder.
Once again there were the blurry lines in the sand. Who he was versus who he is and how the people in both chapters of his life might intersect? Would Dana understand the place Orwell had in his life? Would Vince understand himself when someone stepped into that role for Dana? Bile rose in his throat, it spoke to the strength of what he had with Orwell if even imagining some man knowing Dana that well made his hands itch to hurt someone.
Complication after revelation, his brain hurt from the patterns that were weaving inside. And then she was there, an outline in the doorway. He made out a bottle of water in her hand, a towel in the other. In his haste to pound out the little voice he had forgotten both.
"Thanks," He smiled as she handed them over. She didn't reply, didn't need to, the small smile on her face was all he needed. From a pocket of her sweater she withdrew three white pills. At that moment Vince felt the pounding strain as his head voiced its discomfort.
This time when he looked up to take the pills he did not look away. He held her eyes, seeing her, wishing he could see past the walls and into the secrets that hurt her. The concern she had for him was clear, she was worried about him. His behavior these past few (hours) (minutes) he'd lost track of the time, shamed him. There was enough on both their plates without him losing such a handle on himself. His apology was as awkward as his explanation and no easier it seemed for her to hear.
And yet the worry faded from her look, the tightness eased around her mouth. It might have been enough for the old Vince, but it wasn't enough for him. So he looked harder, closer, saw the other smaller signs of hesitation that stretched the distance between them and hated it once found. Vince felt the sudden and fierce conviction rise up inside of his chest; he didn't want any distance between them; ever.
"I would miss you," He spoke plainly, nothing in his voice but truth. Orwell stepped back, shock and horror written all over her face. Vince stood slowly, his sore body protesting the motion, but he could feel her pulling away. Defenses were coming online and he knew he was about to lose her.
Stepping forward for every one she took back he ignored the negative shake of her head and pressed his words further.
"You're my friend-"not for the first time he wished he knew her real name, he stuttered over the-"Orwell, you mean something to me."
Her head was still denying the words and she had run out of room to back up. Not relenting he stepped close, entered her personal space and put a hand on the wall behind her head. Another voice was screaming in his head, warning him that he was defining the blurry line and what lay beyond that was a slippery slope. Vince ignored the warning, pushed aside the guilt, and went with his gut, his heart.
"I would miss you if something happened to you," The emotions in her eyes were volatile. Anger, such anger at him for the words, coupled with an ache so profound he could almost taste the loneliness on each quickened exhale of her breath. They were almost there; Vince could feel the distance between them receding the more he pushed.
"It's you and me," No names this time, they were beyond them.
"I promise I'm not going to let anything happen to you," She gasped at the vow; but the effect was already devastating, her walls crumbled. Vince caught her in his arms as the overload kicked in. He wasn't quite sure how they had ended up here, but he wrapped her small frame into a fierce hug and accepted that maybe they were always headed here. So Vince held her tight to him, she didn't seem to mind the sweat on his arms or the strength of his hold and that was good because he wasn't quite ready to let her go.