AN: Okay firstly can I just say I just love hearing how these updates are helping to ease your quarantine experiences, even if they're only minimally brightening your day that makes me so happy to hear. I'm currently working on a range of EO updates but wanted to send something to tide you over in the meantime. This will most likely disappoint in length and set up lol but I'll be back soon I promise. In the meantime, thank you so much for the kind words and support. It means a lot and keeps me going! Stay safe. X
The cascading water plummets down her body, the searing heat a welcome relief.
She is livid.
Beyond livid.
'The first intelligent thing I've heard all morning.'
Asshole.
'I can only assume that's why he was seeking me out.'
'For round two?'
Fucking.
Asshole.
He has no right.
None.
She cannot believe his behaviour - and all of it in front of a federal agent who she'll continually have to liaise with now for the foreseeable future.
She wonders if those baseless, tactless comments would have still come had they not been living in such close quarters, had they not been sharing a bed - had she not playfully slipped his hand across her ass last night.
He was currently acting like a possessive boyfriend, not her partner.
But even she knows those comments weren't a result of their recent predicament, they were probably sitting ripe on his tongue way back in the Porter era just waiting for an excuse to come out.
Only he managed some semblance of professionalism back then.
Only just.
You need a lift home?
I'm good thanks.
She switches off the shower and the pipes grind to a halt above her.
Does he really expect them to play happy families now after that? Does he really expect her to just walk out there and make peace with him right now? What the hell was he thinking?
He was right to leave the room when he did and she hopes for his sake he isn't coming back anytime soon because she's going to need hours – no wait - days, to come to terms with the anger circulating.
She steps out onto the cold tiles, she's still shaky on her feet and her hand comes out to grasp the ridge of the sink, steadying herself as a wave of dizziness overtakes.
That's when she remembers how dehydrated she is and how that could be accounting for her dizziness. She dips her mouth under the faucet and starts to gulp back sip after sip, breathing through her nose as she downs the liquid.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then yanks the towel off the rack with a snatch, the metal bar spinning with a jarring squeak.
She knows he's out there, she knows he has come back - of course he has, it's his job to be in close proximity with her at all times and just because Andrew turned out to be a false alarm doesn't mean she was in anyway out of the woods just yet.
This truly was a never ending shit-storm.
She wraps the towel around her, knotting it tightly across her breasts, noticing the faint tank-top tan line that's slightly visible from her morning walks. The shower had done nothing to dispel her anger, in fact it had given her further clarity that Elliot had been completely out of line.
She was going to towel off, get dressed – then it was showtime.
He fucked up.
He knows it, she knows it - hell Agent bloody Greene even knows it.
He doesn't need to know the source of that untapped rage he saw spiralling behind her irises to know it was a result of his words.
Yes he fucked up.
But she fucked up first.
That's what he wants to tell her – that's what he wants to say.
She had one job, one fucking job - to stay home.
Period.
He hadn't believed half the details Greene had relayed to him about Mathers so that's why he lost it – he wasn't expecting her to corroborate his story and he was blindsided. He had been hoping she would have denied it, shot down the allegations immediately but yet it turns out one week into her relocation and she was gallivanting into a new town to meet God knows who for God knows what.
He keeps picturing her in that bar – sporting some sort of casual yet enticing outfit - tight jeans, a low cut top maybe, a leather jacket or perhaps something lighter like denim. He imagines her drink order would have been the same she orders in the city, only then she'd follow it up with something different because she can.
A fruity cocktail, a glass of local wine, or maybe even a shot or two..
He wonders how much alcohol played a factor in her decision to go back to his motel room or if it played any at all – maybe he just wants to think that's the only reason she went there. Maybe he doesn't want to face the real possibility that she's a strong, capable, independent woman that could have made the adult decision to be intimate with a stranger.
Maybe that's why she went out in the first place, she approached him after all.
That's the detail that keeps playing over and over in his mind - she was seeking him out, not the other way.
He was not jealous.
He knows she will think that of him but he's not. That's not what this is about, he's pissed at her and there is a difference – pissed that she took such a huge risk with so much at stake.
That's what he keeps telling himself.
He's just pissed.
Except even he knows that's bullshit.
He is jealous.
He's jealous as fuck, and there was no way he's going to be able to hide that from her, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to confirm that's the main driver here. He wants her and now he's just singlehandedly screwed things up monumentally, he detonated things between them before they even had a chance at developing and now they have to co-inhabit uncomfortably post the colossal shit-storm he just caused for God knows how long.
'For round two?'
Fuck.
He needs to apologise.
Because that was low.
The whole thing was low.
He needs to just say he is sorry, he knows that would be the smart thing to do – only he doesn't think he can do that right now because he is so damn mad at how irresponsible her decision was – she had told him both of her names for Christ sake. He tried to hold his tongue but he couldn't sit on that couch a second longer and listen to how she had endangered her life for the nineteenth time.
Gitano, Stuckey, Bushido, Rojas.
Enough.
He was still her partner after all and he has a right to be concerned.
But it's the other factor at play here that he's worried about – the one that she's going to call him on.
He doesn't want anyone else touching her.
Mathers had just sparked that truth tenfold and it was currently sitting dormant beneath his anger. He isn't proud of that fact, he doesn't want to feel like a territorial prick that can't communicate his feelings properly so he lashes out instead.
But after the onslaught of imagery this scenario has conjured up he was blindsided. Now all he can picture are those chocolate pools inviting the prick in with that come hither look as she tongues the salt of the margarita glass. He can hear the low tone of her voice - breathy, yet calm and in control, like she uses when she's undercover, casually flirty, with just enough alcohol in her system to loosen her up.
He has thought about that version of her many, many times..
And how badly he's always wanted it directed at him.
But he can't lead with that.
She risked everything that night, her location, the entire operation, her physical life - so that is what he is going to lead with.
As soon as she comes out of that bathroom, it's showtime.
TBC
