Volatile

So I realized I have a weird tendency to write scenes with the Bed as a central character. Almost consider putting its name in the character list.

Anyway second chapter to the drabble collection. This will now go somewhere as I have finally gotten a vague idea of what I want to do with this pairing. Thanks to Draco38 for pointing out what all I would need to consider. Also thanks to jm1681 for sitting with me for hours and discussing all the possible ways this could go. I have never written from Berta's POV so I have no idea how well this came out. If anyone has any suggestions on how I can improve my Roberta please do let me know in PM's or Review's. Thank you and Enjoy. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Black Lagoon.


2. Catch-22

(noun) a no-win situation.

Two Hands did not snore. It was an odd thing to notice but Roberta did so anyway. The woman slept in absolute silence; not a mumble or a sigh. She wondered if it was a habit that carried over from her childhood. She assumed one could not afford to be loud on crime ridden streets, even in their sleep. She also slept on her side, curled up in a ball, leaving quite a lot of legroom for the taller woman on the otherwise small bed.

Roberta silently slipped out of her button down and worked on her belt as she took a seat on the bed, the redhead's back to her, facing the window, the glow of the street lamps smoothening her features. She found it rather strange. The redhead had seemed far taller and a lot more imposing at first. Still did when she was awake and loudly cursing at the world in general, and dear Lord was she loud. But like this? She looked terrifyingly small.

At first she had not considered to look past that foul mouth and rugged attitude but as these meeting became more frequent she realized it was in her best interests to perform some background checks on her current bedmate. She wasn't foolish after all and did not earn her alias by rolling over and playing dead.

Reaching for the lighter on the crate beside her and propping herself against the headboard she reached into the pair of shorts that the redhead had carelessly flung away before rolling into bed and now hung from the RPG propped against the crate. Pulling out a cigarette she contemplated lighting it. What was it about one addiction over the other?

She lit the cigarette.

What she'd found about the redhead hadn't been all that remarkable. Sure it had been a tragedy but nothing she hadn't seen before. One thing though did catch her eye; The Funeral Massacre in Chinatown. She looked at the girl from the corner of her eye and let her gaze linger on her scarred shoulder. The one she'd nicked all those years back? No that was her tattooed arm. The redhead jerked for the second time, just a little and her eyes blinked open. Roberta looked on as the yellow eyes glowing like a demon in the streetlight gazed blankly at the wall for a couple of seconds before fluttering shut once again.

That was another thing the woman had learnt about Two Hands. She wasn't a peaceful sleeper. She would sometimes seemingly wake up and fix her or anything in her line of sight with a steady, cold gaze before blinking back to sleep. It had been rather creepy at first but soon the Latina realized that the woman had no conscious memory of whatever she saw in those moments of wakefulness.

Roberta could relate, somewhat. She hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep since the war. She couldn't say she understood what went on in that terribly chaotic head of the woman sleeping beside her, nor did she want to know what she dreamed of. But she guessed she could relate.

She snubbed the half burnt cigarette into the floor and let the lighter drop onto the table with a flick of her wrist. It bounced off the edge and clattered softly onto the floor, the sharp sound muffled by her clothes lying there. Reaching for the red hair spread out behind the sleeping form she brushes it away and lay down; her back to the woman and closed her eyes. It helped her pretend that there was no one there.

Had someone asked her why she and Revy seemed to click so easily into place despite their intense rivalry she might have mumbled something about similarities. Though she had a nagging feeling that they couldn't have been more different. Another jerk from her bedmate and she knew Two Hands was up for another few seconds. She silently pressed her elbow against the arm of the woman behind her, gently, because…who knew what a half asleep madwoman would do in anger or panic? She knew the woman was back asleep when she felt her press her back into her own and resume breathing steadily. The danger passed and she finally let her eyes fall shut. A soft whisper reached her ears, unusually enough. The sleep-laced words making her smile ever so slightly.

"I'll kill you if you touch my cigarettes again."

It was a risk she was fine with.

After all, this thing they had, whatever it was. It was never going to end with them parting way like amicable exes anyway. Only one of them will be walking away from this alive and when the time comes she'll try her hardest to be the one on top. But not tonight.

Tonight, that was a risk she was willing to take.


Buhbye for now.