Title: Almost Us – Sequel to Chain Reaction
Author: Tracy
Rating: PG
Category: DRR/angst
Summary: The morning after the night before. "Do you want this?" She asks, and he flinches at the tremor in her voice. "I want – no. I don't want this."
Feedback: You know you won't rest until you do. ;)
Archive: Absolutely. Wherever.
Author's notes at end.
XxX
The morning after the night before. They're showered and dressed and are sitting at the breakfast table, sipping coffee and munching toast and just settling into awkward. In the cold harsh light of morning reality is slowly dawning on them. Last night they crossed the line. And maybe they could have dealt with that, wrote it off and convinced themselves that it was one of those regrettable instances that would hopefully fade away with time – if they hadn't repeated it this morning.
Their hands both reach for the butter knife at the same time, and they pull back as if burned. He's studying the inlaid patterns of the tablecloth; she's trying desperately not to look at him, but failing miserably. As if sensing her scrutiny he looks up, only to have her snatch her gaze away and focus intently on her hands. He sighs. This isn't what he wanted. He wanted . . . what exactly? Her, that goes without saying. But he had her last night, and again this morning, and still things aren't right. So. It's more he wants then. Does he have the heart to open up and let her in? If he did, there'd be no turning back. She's the type who would take up permanent residence. The type who crawls under your skin and invades your blood until you're not sure where you end and she begins. It's not a bad thing. It's just that he's never had that before, and it scares the living hell out of him. And that's if she even wants in. If she doesn't –
He sighs again. She swallows heavily and breaks the tense silence.
"You don't have to do this, you know."
"Do what?" he asks tiredly.
"Stay. You can go if you want."
"Do you want me to go?"
"I – I don't know. If you want to."
"And if I want to stay?"
"Then stay."
"So I'll stay."
XxX
The breakfast dishes are in the sink. She's washing, he's wiping. Both pretending that the silence doesn't bother them, that the awkwardness doesn't exist. If they would just stop thinking and start feeling they would be fine. But they're both scared of the same thing. They're afraid to acknowledge that emotion crept into the equation when they weren't looking. And they're terrified beyond belief that what they felt last night – what they still feel now isn't reciprocated.
She pulls the plug and watches as the water drain away. He watches her surreptitiously, waiting for – what?
A word?
A touch?
A smile?
She looks up finds his eyes boring into her. She gives a shaky smile – yes, that was what he was waiting for. He grins back.
"'S not so bad." He says cryptically.
"It's getting better." She accedes.
XxX
They move to the living room. The scene of the crime. They sit at opposite sides of the couch, remembering that first kiss. How easy it was. How it just seemed to happen. Now look at them. He speaks first.
"Some night, huh?"
"Yeah. Quite a morning too."
He chuckles, and then reddens as he remembers how she felt sliding against him.
"Your ears." She says, moving a little closer, smiling as the colour deepens.
"Yeah."
"Have they always done that?"
"Yeah."
"How come I never noticed before?"
"Maybe you weren't looking."
"Oh I was looking John. Believe me."
He starts fidgeting, unsure how to respond but pleased nonetheless.
"Do you want this?" She asks, and he flinches at the tremor in her voice.
"I want – no. I don't want this."
She nods, and moves back to her place on the couch. He feels the cold distance between them and it hurts.
"I didn't mean . . . I just meant I don't want this awkwardness. I don't want to be wondering if you have regrets. I don't want to be sitting this close to you feeling as though you're all the way over in Siberia. I don't . . I don't want to feel like your mistake."
"And I don't want to feel like yours."
He slides over to her and takes one hand in his, lacing their fingers together. They look good.
Natural.
Right.
"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" he says with a mocking tone.
"So it would seem."
"What I do want . . .Mon, what I do want is you. All of you. Meaning your heart, your soul, bad moods, your highs and lows… I want everything."
"Then I guess we want the same thing." She replies in a gentle voice.
Their eyes, which minutes before flittered around the room landing on anything and everything but each other meet at last, and they look at each other, really look at each other for the first time since before.
Before everything changed.
Before lines were crossed and then hastily redrawn.
And as they sit there gazing at each other they finally accept that there are no more lines. There is no more before. There is only now. And them.
End
Notes: This fic took on a mind of it's own and turned out completely different to what I'd planned. I had planned on continuing the fluffiness of the first one and even turning it into a trilogy, but then angst appeared and just wouldn't go away. So I ran with it, even though I don't exactly agree that if John and Monica had gotten naughty and naked hours before in the shower then they'd be strained and uncomfortable a little later over breakfast. But whatever. I have got an idea for a third and final instalment, more along the lines of the first piece if anyone's interested. Hint hint. :)