A/N: Hello and welcome back! A heartfelt thank you to: JoJo1812, Bryan Cranston, xBelekinax, BelleinWonderland, LabyFan23, XantheXV, Leyshla Gisel, AqoCJeyBee, TinkerbellxO and dionne dance. Thank you all for the support.
Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.
Chapter 8
"You see, you closed your eyes. That was the difference. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too-even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling."
― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays With Morrie
Her eyes widen when she steps outside of the bathroom with a thick, but slightly tattered robe on. Her bare feet make sounds as she walks and she doesn't know how she should feel when she sees what is going on in the room. The old narrow double bed is pushed aside, its side up against the wall and Shaw with Red are arranging a thick and extremely soft looking mattress on the floor by the bed.
"Leave some space in between, won't ya?" John's voice causes her to look towards the door. He is leaning against it, his hands deep in the pockets of his elegant trousers. His waistcoat is unbuttoned and lying loosely over him. He has gotten rid of the gun holsters he usually has on when he is out and his hair looks ruffled by the strong wind outside.
A snicker from Shaw causes both Red and John to frown. Three pairs of eyes fall upon her and she is suddenly too much aware of her state of undress. Flushing a little she takes a step back so half her body is hidden behind the doorframe.
"What's this?" she asks and John smirks a little when he spots her.
"What do you think, doll?" He snickers, but when Shaw snorts loudly he turns to him and the smirk falls right off his face.
"You're done there, right, sport?" He cocks an eyebrow and Miranda watches as Shaw raises his hands up and nods.
"Swell. So why don't you scram?" He deadpans and Shaw chuckles before he shrugs and heads for the door.
"And rein in that girl, won't you? Tell her to turn down the music. This is a hideout not a fancy club." He calls as Shaw makes his way out of the room.
He doesn't get a verbal reply, but Miranda is certain that his friend just presented him with the finger by the look on his face.
"She is a menace." Red clarifies as he looks from John to Miranda and back again.
"Staring at her legs ain't that great a distraction when she opens her mouth either." John mutters and Miranda gets an odd twist deep in her belly at his tone. Her face flushes a little at the implication of his words, but she clears her throat.
"I think she is nice. She made coffee and didn't spill it like yesterday."
Red looks at her with a smirk and John gazes at her with a blank expression before he laughs.
"I see. Well, will you stand there all day, doll?" He pushes away from the door and walks towards her.
Miranda stiffens when he gets too close and when he outstretches his hand towards her direction she gasps. It's lost to him or so it seems because the next thing she knows is his hand on her elbow. His fingers curl around it and with a gentle, but firm tug she is pulled away from the door and right into the bedroom.
His hand moves to catch her wrist as he pulls her to his side and waves his other hand towards the mattress.
"Like it?" he smirks and then looks at her face, "It's the best."
She slowly licks her lips and eyes Red who is busy trying the mattress.
"Let me guess; you stole it." She states and both men look at her. Red bursts into a laugh while John eyes her funnily. In fact, he looks a little offended.
"Why would we do that? It's paid. My hands are clean in this. Straight purchase from a store." He informs her and she is impressed.
"Really?" His hand releases her wrist and she curls her fingers into a fist at the loss of the tingling contact.
"Yes, really. I am not nickel and dime, doll." He huffs as he walks away from her side, "I won't spend more years in the nick for stealing a fucking mattress. That's…low."
Red raises a hand, "Yeah. That's true. We have a reputation. Although, it took us some effort to bring it here." He smirks and John rolls his eyes.
Miranda shifts uncomfortably, "Thank you then."
John turns to her, mouth pursed, "Hey, doll. Who said you're getting it?"
Red snorts as he stands up and makes his way out of the room.
Miranda blinks, "Well-…"
"Last time I checked, and correct me if I am wrong, I was the one who woke up with a gun in front of my face." He regards her with raised eyebrows and she is suddenly reminded of her horrid dream.
Taking a step back, she closes her eyes and nods.
"You're right."
When she opens them again he is a bit closer and all teasing is gone from his face. There is a little bit of awkwardness and guilt on his expression and she suddenly feels bad about making him feel like he has to walk on eggshells around her.
"Hey, doll. I was pulling your leg. Ain't the first time I do it." He murmurs softly and then smirks, "Besides, waking up with a gun pointed at me ain't a first time either." He steps over to the mattress and tears the wrap, "It's all yours if you want it, but I was thinking you might prefer the bed." He looks up at her from over his shoulder and she swallows thickly.
"It's alright. I don't mind."
He frowns, "You sure?"
"Hmm. I…borrowed your robe. My clothes were all dirty."
He looks outside the door, "Yeah, damn weather ain't giving us a break…"
She takes a deep breath and a step forward, "John?"
He is a little bit surprised when he hears his name, "What?" He stands up straight and regards her curiously.
"Thank you." She breathes the words and for a moment she thinks he is going to laugh. When he realizes that she is serious, his face sobers up and his eyes soften.
"About what, love?" His voice is honeyed and a shiver goes right through her.
"For not kicking me out while shouting to the world how awfully…damaged I am." She sighs, "I know I'm trouble."
She looks up and shakes her head, "Thanks for putting up with me…I know it's a chore sometimes."
His brow creases a little bit and then he shakes his head, "You ain't trouble, doll." He mutters as he takes a hesitant step closer to her, "Hell, I knew what I was signing up to when I snatched you from that bar. Coming to think of it, I never thought you'd be so…"
"Fucked up?" she suggests and he pauses.
"You ain't fucked up, love. Merely wronged and a little bit of a stiff." He grins crookedly and with his hands behind his back he comes to stand a breath away from her, "And I won't kick you out. That would be like feeding you to the dogs. I have the suspicion that if I were to let you go you'd return right back to dear Daddy-o. Am I wrong?" His eyes lock with hers and she gulps.
"Not necessarily."
"Are you sure?"
She doesn't speak for a moment and when she does her voice is a little bit icy, "I am not a glutton for punishment, John. Though you must wonder why I put up with him for so long."
He bites his lower lip a bit and she is strongly reminded of the time when that lip had been trapped between her own lips….Just a couple of days ago.
"I do wonder about it sometimes. But I ain't gonna judge nothing." He reaches out and tucks a wet lock of hair behind her ear, "We'll do tryouts on that mattress. See who likes it best, ey?" he smirks and she is for a moment puzzled by his ease.
When she doesn't reply, he laughs a bit and reaches forward. Miranda has the logic to turn her head to the side so when his lips do make contact with her they touch only her cheek, just a breath away from the right corner of her mouth. He doesn't hesitate or linger and she is not sure if he had even meant to kiss her mouth at all. Maybe she over-reacted or something.
His mouth is warm when it pecks her skin and then he is gone, brushing past her and heading straight for the bathroom.
"The plumbing's awful here…" he comments as he steps inside.
Miranda blinks and slowly turns towards him. He is tapping his hand on the sink's water tap before he groans and looks at her.
"I don't imagine there's any warm water, is there?" He quirks an eyebrow and she knows that she has to say or do something. Something to pay him back for his unorthodox help, but what she gets out is rather ridiculous.
"I can warm you some water. You came from outside so you're colder than I was…" she trails off when he stares at her oddly.
His eyes linger too much on her face and when they move they roam her form once, quickly and nearly covertly, but she notices anyway. His fingers move up to loosen his tie and his eyes return to her face almost guiltily before he replies with a very hoarse alright.
Nodding her head, she turns and grabs a pair of old slippers. Pushing her feet into them, she walks away.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
She is sitting curled upon on the couch, her eyes on the couple across from her. The blonde is draped over Shaw, she has her hands on his chest and he has one arm around her waist and another one over her lap. Miranda watches how easily the woman reacts to the man's presence. Her smile is big and toothy, her eyes sparkling with mischief and her skin a little flushed from all the attention. Her body is not stiff or tense. She is not hesitant or reluctant. She is confident in her touches and Dillinger's younger friend seems to be basking in his companion's physical presence as well.
Averting her eyes, she gazes at her cup of coffee. It's black and it ought to warm her, but she feels…cold. Her stomach is growling in hunger, but she doesn't move to touch the food Isabel has made. From her gathering, the woman is most certainly French.
Her eyes drift to Red who is eagerly eating his own dinner. A homemade sandwich that looks too greasy for her tastes. He catches her eyes and offers her half of it, but she smiles and shakes her head.
He shrugs in response and gets back to it, reaching out to take a sip from his beer.
Her attention is stolen when John's booming voice interrupts the silence.
"Is that coffee I smell?" he calls as he steps onto the last bottom of the stairs. His hair is wet and he is dressed in a loose pair of pants and a dark blue shirt.
Miranda looks at him, smiles and raises her cup. He smirks and slowly makes his way towards her, attracting Isabel's attention as he does so. Miranda falters at the woman's expression. Her eyes seem to zero on John and it seems like Shaw is immaterial to her all of a sudden.
Miranda frowns, but doesn't let the implication of that look bother her too much. So, they are probably sharing women at nights. So, what? It isn't her business. That would also explain his absence from their shared room last night.
Shaking her head, she is startled when her cup is seized. John smirks before he takes a sip from her coffee, but then he winces.
"No sugar again? Hell. Red? Where's that grocery bag?" he calls and Red's only response is to throw the Plymouth's keys towards Dillinger's direction.
John catches them easily and winks at Miranda, "Be right back, Eliza." He smirks when she scowls.
As he leaves, Isabel's eyes follow him and then they shift towards Mira. She averts her eyes, but she can still feel the curious gaze of Isabel on her. She is surprised when she notices no real animosity in the other woman's eyes. So, perhaps she is wrong…
John returns and slams the door shut, locking it and slipping the car keys into his pocket. In his hand there is a bag. He slips his hand and waves the pack of sugar almost triumphantly. Miranda smiles and he smirks as he grabs her cup and takes it over to the kitchen.
As he is pouring his own coffee and adds sugar to hers, he suddenly snorts and leans his forehead against the kitchen cabinet.
Red pauses in munching his sandwich and Miranda looks up as well.
She flushes when he grabs something from the cabinet and then presents her with her gifted Beretta handgun.
"Lost something?" he smirks and Miranda clears her throat.
"No…"
"The fuck? You gave her the Beretta? What for?" Shaw exclaims and John looks at him with plain boredom.
"Shut it, Shaw."
"Really, Johnny? The Beretta? You give all your chicks guns?" he snickers and Miranda flushes, sitting up a little from the couch, her eyes on John.
"Yeah, I do. What's to you?" John drawls as he swiftly tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants and closes the cabinet.
"What's to me? What'll Billie say?" Shaw is grinning mischievously, but Dillinger is not amused. Red notices as well and slowly stands up.
John approaches his old friend and comes to loom over him and Isabel who has the brain to stand up and step aside.
"Well, Billie ain't here, is she?" John's voice is slightly strained, his words gruff, "She ain't gonna be here for a while."
Shaw frowns and the smirk falls off his face as he quickly shoots a glance towards Miranda. His eyes don't linger and John huffs before he turns on his heel, grabs the two coffee mugs and heads for the back door.
"Come on, doll. Let's get out of here." He calls without looking back, but Miranda knows he is talking to her. He looks ruffled and rather irritated.
Feeling out of place and slightly puzzled, she stands up and with swift footsteps makes her way towards the kitchen. She knows both Shaw and Isabel are looking at her and she wrings her hands awkwardly as she walks.
Just as she starts getting outside, her gaze connects with Red's. He simply winks and smiles sympathetically and she is even more confused. Why is everyone looking at her like that?
Closing the door behind her, she steps outside.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
The silence is deafening as they sit on the ground, propped up against the cottage wall, coffee mugs in hand.
Miranda licks her dry lips before she sighs, "How did you know how much sugar to put in my coffee?"
John shifts upon the ground and leans his head against the wall. Without speaking, he reaches into his shirt pocket and produces the front page of a newspaper.
"You talk in your sleep, doll." He murmurs as he slowly outstretches his hand, holding the paper extended towards her.
Frowning a little and flushing with the realization of her unusual tendency, she reaches out and takes it.
It is folded in four and as she unfolds it, she clears her throat awkwardly.
"Sorry about that too." She mutters.
"What?" he looks at her sideways, "I snore, right?"
"Like a train." She mutters and then pauses, "Oh my…"
John leans closer to peer down at the paper, "Told ya." He grins and takes a sip from his mug. He proceeds to brush his fingertip over a jagged end of the porcelain, his eyes on her face.
The title is written in bold black letters:
Ranking FBI agent's daughter gone missing after the Bureau's latest club raid. Are kidnappings Dillinger's new favorite pastime?
"I…" She was at a loss for words.
"Daddy's worried." John mutters close to her ear, but she shakes her head quickly.
"No, they just want to turn people against you." She looks up, "So far no one has really managed that."
He smirks and takes the paper from her, "Doll, I'm a thief. There will always be those who do not like what I do. But I'm fucking good at it."
Miranda gapes at him, "That should not be a good character trait." She informs him, "Being good still makes it illegal."
He tears the page in two and then throws the pieces to he ground.
"Never said it's not."
She regards him cautiously, "You're just doing this to get back at them, aren't you? For the prison."
His eyes narrow bit in thought, but then he smiles a large Cheshire grin and looks at her.
"Revenge? Nah." He drawls as he scratches at the rough rim with his nail, "It's not good to think too much about the wrongs other folks did you. No…" he shakes his head, "It poisons the soul."
Miranda swallows hard, "Well…Then I suppose…"
"That ain't the case in your story, sport." he cuts her off, his eyes dark, "Your father, and excuse the language, should have his cock cut off and then they should feed it to him. Have him swallow it dry." His gaze moves over her once, "Don't give me that look. You know I'm right, don't you?"
She shudders and shrugs, "A lot of things are not as they ought to be. Money betrayed Christ after all. It's all about power."
He juts his chin towards her, "You religious?"
She smiles a little, "Well…I do have to wonder where God was when I was hurt, but…I don't know." She inhales deeply, "I cannot really say."
John snickers, "I see."
"So…what's your excuse?" she asks him curiously and he seems intrigued.
"Excuse, Mira?"
"Yes." She holds the cup close to her and John's body heat next to her helps her stay warm. Their arms are brushing and she can smell the soap on his skin from her seat.
He shrugs, the movement lazy and suave, and she can only look at him.
"I like what I'm doing, doll. I have no excuse. Although staying in a pen for a few years makes you have slightly more…covert tastes in careers." He winks and she can't help but chuckle a little.
He smiles at that and nods towards her, "How about you? Have you always wanted to be a bank clerk?"
The smile falls right off her lips and she frowns, her brows creasing in thought.
"My mother was an artist…I was good at painting as well, but…No." she hesitates.
"Oh, I get it." He shakes his head, "I get it. You wanted to be a gangster's sidekick." He grins widely, his expression sly and she snorts.
"No. I actually wanted to be a singer…I have a thing for Jazz." She admits softly, her fingers tight around the coffee mug.
John seems surprised and then his eyelids drop, "Men dig singers, doll. What stopped you?"
She sniffs as the cold causes her nose to go a little numb, "My father. I didn't have time to focus on singing…From sixteen years old I had wanted to leave him and even though I was passed from relative to relative after my mother's death…I didn't manage to get him off of me…He somehow was always there…I was seventeen when she died." She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, "Some…memories don't leave. On the contrary they…change you. Make you rusty. I already feel…old." she looks up at that and finds his gaze trained on her.
"You ain't old, doll. You just need a little polishing." He murmurs and she smiles.
"You have a way with words, Mr. Dillinger." She mutters with disbelief and he suddenly stands up.
"Sing something."
She nearly chokes on her saliva, "No."
He smirks, "Come on." He narrows his eyes and she snorts.
"That look won't make me sing for you. Nope." She shakes her head.
He smiles a little. Un-tucking the gun from his pants, he throws it towards her. It falls on her lap and she blinks.
"What now?"
"Now we practice."
A heavy weight causes her heart to drop to her stomach, "Practice what?"
"We need to practice your other dream career." He places his mug on the ground and takes hers as well.
"I am not using this."
He regards her coolly, "Why not?"
"I don't want to."
"Why not?" he repeats the words and she resists the urge to groan.
"Because I…" she falters halfway through her sentence and sighs, "It's pretty dark."
"Hate to break it to you, doll, but sometimes one might need to shoot in the dark too."
Standing up and pushing the Beretta to the ground, she shakes her head firmly and wraps her arms protectively around her midsection.
"I am not doing it."
His eyes narrow and he takes a step towards her. "Now listen here, doll face." he murmurs quietly, "We ain't gonna stay in this place forever. We will need to move. And I don't want to have to worry about you all the time when you're alone. Get it?" he leans down and picks up the gun, "You held it once, you'll hold it again. I won't carry dead weight when we leave here."
Wincing at the sharpness of his words, she eyes the gun in his hand and swallows hard.
"I told you…I shouldn't be allowed around guns."
"Why? Because you get…Wait, what's that majestic name…Night terrors?"
She flinches, "They are just…dreams."
"They are memories." he snaps with exasperation, "Target practice will get it out anyway."
Miranda frowns, "Get what out of where?"
He smirks, his eyes wicked, "That stick out of your ass. You need to relax, love. I am not out to get you." He whirls around and heads towards the few trees that lie ahead.
Blinking rapidly, she shakes the flush off her cheeks and storms after him.
"Don't you have anything better to do? Like plan a great scheme or something?" she calls and she almost collides with his solid back when he stops.
He remains silent and Miranda walks around so she is standing next to him instead of behind him. His eyes are distant and his mouth slightly pursed. A wave of regret washes through her at the sight of him. His previous words flash through her mind and she suddenly knows why he pays her so much attention. He is…lonely. Or at least she thinks he is. Maybe dealing with her problems helps him forget his. This thought brings another one on the surface; one that has been bubbling in the deep recesses of her mind for a few days. How much and how deeply he misses his girlfriend.
Flushing at the unnecessary thought, she shakes her head and boldly steps closer.
"Right." Her voice startles him and he turns to look down at her, eyebrows furrowed.
"What?"
She takes the gun from his hand and their fingers brush. She doesn't miss how he his breath leaves his mouth; sharply and quickly.
"I suppose I can give it a shot." She coughs a little and he watches as she eyes the gun.
His fingers on her chin cause her to gasp a bit and then his face is much closer. Swallowing dryly, she stares at him, watching as several expressions pass over his features. A dog is barking in the distance, but the sound is distant as he leans closer.
"Hey…" she starts, but she is forced into silence when he presses his mouth firmly against her own.
Her nostrils flare with the huge breath she takes and this time it's not a simple lips-on-lips kiss. His hand is gently, but firmly grasping her neck and he breaks their nonsexual contact by brushing her lips with the tip of his tongue.
Her heart thunders wildly in her chest and she breaks the connection, pushing her body backwards by pressing her palm against his stomach.
Her fingers fly to her lips and she can feel the tiny wetness there. It's as if her lips are bubbling, no, boiling with heat and it takes all her will power not to panic or wipe the remnants of his touch away.
"Why…why do you do that?" she whispers and for a moment he looks upset, his eyes flickering away from her only to return with a playful glimmer burning in their depths.
"Because I want to," he replies coolly, "and because you seem to need it."
His answer makes her head reel. In fact, she can literally see little spots in front of her eyes.
Lowering her hand from her mouth, she places it against her stomach, fisting her fingers around her shirt.
"I seem to need it?" she whispers and he reaches forward, ignoring her flinch as he takes the gun from her.
"Yeah. 'Cause you seem to need it. Is there something wrong with that?" He checks the gun for ammunition and then cocks an eyebrow, "Why make such a big deal out of a kiss? Hmm? Has no one ever done that to you before?"
Miranda is stunned into complete silence and he frowns, his expression suddenly hesitant.
Licking his lips, he clears his throat and aims the gun, his goal a trunk of a tree in front of him. Without speaking, he pulls the trigger and the shot resonates in the dead silence around them. He gets his target. The bullet hits the center of the tree with an echoing clank that causes her to jump a little.
Smirking, he lowers the gun and turns to her, "Your turn." His words are a bit gruff and she is reluctant to take the gun in case her fingers brush against his again. She doesn't think she can handle more of his body heat again.
Feeling groggy and breathless, she reaches out and quickly takes the gun without touching him.
John eyes her skittish moves with intensity and a little bit of surprise and then steps behind her without touching her. She gulps for she can't see his face, but can feel his breath on the back of her head, and raises her hand. Hooking her finger in the loop, she feels the weight of the gun weighing her arm down, but she doesn't stop.
She pulls the trigger. She misses the tree by a long shot.
She realizes a little too late that she had her eyes closed while shooting. When she regains her bearings, she finds out that he is no longer with her. The slam of the kitchen door rings in her ears as she stands in the middle of the field all alone.
As she stands on her own, she wonders why trusting someone comes with such high cost. In this case, the price is her hanging from a thread sanity. The sanity she has long fought to keep.
End of chapter 8
Author's note: Still here? Awesome! Thank you for reading. Please, let me know what you think! As you know comments feed the muse.
On a different note, I have posted a new story in the Libertine section. If you are interested check it out.
Until next time, loves!
Xxx Lina :D
