A/N: I saw a tumblr post very recently, titled "100 Ways to Say I Love You" and heard a Mabill drabble challenge calling my name. I was pretty tired when writing this first one up, but i hope you guys enjoy it all the same! I should be doing 1 or 2 of these a day until I've exhausted the list, so be on the lookout of for more.
#1: "Pull over. Let me drive for a while."
Words: 539
Mabel was beyond exhausted. Work was always a travesty, weighing hard on her mind, body and, she would argue, her soul, and sometimes she was bitter that no one had warned her being a fashion designer was this much of a drain on one's livelihood. New York City was a false idol with its allure of hopes and dreams being fulfilled, but the drooping of her shoulders and eyelids told a very different story.
Bill's voice washes over her, his presence in the backseat of her car on her way home each night a faithful constant at this point. "You look tired," He stated, and Mabel couldn't help roll her eyes at how obvious the statement was.
"I am," She risked a glance in the rearview mirror, only to be greeted by a genuinely concerned eye staring back. "I'm swamped at work, and-and nothing's working right. One of my current team members is out of control out on the floor, none of my current designs are making my bosses happy, and I just…" She put a hand over her face, her frustrations finally being voiced after an absolutely exhausting week, but found herself too tired to even continue. She knows he knows all this already, but finds comfort in the fact that he still listens to her all the same. She felt like most of the time no one else did.
"Pull over. Let me drive for a while," He insists, draping himself over the driver's seat.
She chuckles, and muses aloud, "You don't even know how to drive,"
"Of course I do, Star." He grins. "I know lots of things."
She feels the heaviness in her shoulders lift a fraction by his simple offer. It's 2am, the earliest she's been off work in weeks, but she still feels her limbs hold the consistency of vanilla pudding. Thinking about it now, she's not sure how she's held her hands on the steering wheel this long.
"Okay, Bill." She says. Then adds quietly, "Thank you." And she means it from the bottom of her heart.
She's still in lower Manhattan when she parks, and Queens, where she lives, seems hundreds of miles away in this traffic. The two switch seats, Mabel sliding into the passenger seat and Bill crawling over the center console and behind the wheel.
"Trust me, Star. I'll keep you safe," He proclaims when he's situated, seatbelt securely buckled and one gloved hand on the gearshift. He places his other hand on her forehead and she can't help letting her eyes slip closed. Trust was a funny concept to bring to the table between the two, but it was all she had to hold onto at the moment. It was better than nothing.
By the time Bill's pulls out of their spot, she's fast asleep against the passenger seat window. She does not dream, Bill's made sure of that, and the demon steals glances at her every once in a while, making sure her rest is uninterrupted. Even potholes in the road mended up so not to disturb her.
Her snores are the soundtrack on the way home, and though he feels lonely driving by himself, he doesn't mind. Bill is more than elated at this symphony; he's relieved.
"Sleep well, Star." He says, and means it.