Lucky Lady's. It'd been open for eight years now, and it still made it through every winter. Barely, but it made it. And Katrina Marshal needed a vacation. Her hired bartender, James, walked through the back door and stopped, his eyes narrowing. A slow, melancholy trumpet melody was playing softly in the bar. He heaved a sigh. Last time she'd done this and he'd caught her, she'd covered well. He still didn't know what was going on with her.
"You okay?" he asked softly, occupying the doorway between the back room and the main bar area. She glanced up quickly, sniffing, and then lowered her head again. Her knuckles were white, her hands clutching a glass of whiskey so tightly the tendons protruded under her skin. She sighed heavily and shook her head. James closed his eyes for a moment before sliding into the booth bench across from her. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"
"I can't, James," she whispered with a quivery voice, shaking her head. His eyebrow rose, and he leaned back in his seat.
"You can't." Her eyes met his briefly, and his brows furrowed at the pain so openly expressed in her features. Red streaks stained her face, left over from the tears she'd shed before running out of them. Another sniffle, and she lifted the glass to her lips, draining it. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks blotchy.
"Fine," she relented, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You remember that stranger that came in here a couple years ago?" His eyebrow rose.
"Vaguely."
"He wasn't a fucking stranger," she said quietly, her lip trembling. "I've been seeing him off and on for the past six years." A bitter snicker. "Well, until two years ago anyway," she added.
"What do you mean?"
"Those three mercs that came in?" He nodded slowly. She paused, eyeing him as she licked her lips. "You tell anyone and I'll personally kill you." Another slow nod.
"I promise."
"They were talking about a guy they found chewed to pieces by Hellhounds." A concerned expression slid over James' school. Her nostrils flared as she fought back another sob. "It was him," she finally whispered.
"Shit, Kat," James sighed, leaning his elbows on the table. "I'm sorry." She gave him a weak smile, then a small nod. "So six months ago you find this out and didn't bother to tell me." No response. "You've been brooding this whole time, got me all worked up and worried to shit about you, and still refuse to tell me this."
"If people knew, James…" she trailed off. His brow rose slowly.
"Knew what?"
"He was a merc," she whispered. James drew a sharp breath, leaning back. "If anyone found out I was fucking a merc on a semi-regular basis, the bar would be finished." Her eyes finally met his again. "And so would I."
"I know, Kat. No one will," he promised. "But you gotta start acting like yourself again or the bar's gonna go under." Her eyebrows shot up, and he sighed. "You haven't been the same," he explained gently, reaching out to rub a thumb over the long scar marking her arm, where she'd dropped a glass and cut herself. "It's noticeable, and it's affecting business."
"I know," she said quietly, nodding slightly. "Guess I just needed to get it off my chest. I feel a little better." He watched her play with the chain around her neck for a while, something she'd taken to recently.
"Do you?" Another small nod. She stood, gathering her glass and walking to the back of the bar.
"I'll be fine, James," she said, her voice returning to normal. "Could you grab a couple crates of tumblers from the washer?" she asked, pulling the caps off the spouts on the liquor bottles. He stood, walking to the back room, and returned a moment later with two crates, stacked. "Gonna be a busy night," she commented quietly, snatching up the ice bucket. "Friday."
"Let's hope so," James shot back. "Get your mind off your secret lover."
"Shut the fuck up," she said with a sad smile, disappearing into the back room. He heard the ice crunching as she filled the bucket up.
"That his chain around your neck?"
"Yep," she said stiffly. "You keep bringing him up and I won't be able to forget and have a regular night." He chuckled a little.
"Just hope no one plays 159." Her eyes shot over to him, but he was busy unloading the glass crates. That was the jukebox number of the song Toombs played to let her know he was there.
"How'd you know about that?" she asked.
"Well, first, you were playing it every time you were over there drinking on the job." A fleeting smile. "And I noticed you reaching for the top whiskey last time someone played it. Turns out it was the same night I noticed Mr. Silent Stranger sitting right over there." He nodded his head toward the short end of the bar, and she turned, her mind calling up the image of the last time he'd occupied that bar stool. She heaved a weighty sigh.
"Yeah, let's hope no one does."
---
It had been a week since Kat had confided in James about the demise of her lover, and talking about it really had helped a little. Still, lying awake at night, cold in her empty bed, just dredged the memories back up. She'd wake in the morning reaching for him, only to grasp the sheets and nothing more. Even watching a movie on the vid screen was lonelier than she was used to being in his absence. Just knowing he was dead made the time without him harder, even though she'd gone months at a time without seeing or hearing from him before.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, noticing the white chunks in her hair had gotten just a little thicker. Premature whitening ran in her family and had sprouted from her head when she was just thirteen. She could have dyed it, but didn't bother, learning over time to like it. With a heavy sigh, she ran a comb through her wet hair, pulling it into a loose knot on the back of her head. Adjusting the towel she'd wrapped around her, she walked to the bedroom, pulling on a pair of loose fitting, military green cargos and a black tank top. Her combat boots followed, and her fingers went to the chain around her neck, clinging to her still damp skin. She let her eyes close for a moment, his face appearing in her mind, blue eyes shining brightly. The moment passed, and her boots thudded down the stairs to the bar.
---
They couldn't keep up. The floor was spattered with spilled alcohol, bottles overflowing from the trash bins all around the bar. A light sheen of sweat glittered in the dim lights on Kat's skin, and James wiped a trickle from his brow. Bottle tricks were abandoned for speed and accuracy, and they still just couldn't keep up. The weather was warming up rapidly, and people were eager to leave the confines of their homes after being cooped up for the majority of the cold season. Though it paid off for the bar, it made for hectic and stressful nights.
The clink of a pair of coins falling into the jukebox sounded as she returned from the back room, a full bucket of ice in hand. The melody started, and she froze, looking up sharply, but no one was standing there. She glanced quickly at James, whose brow was quirked at her, and she forced a small smile, continuing to the ice bin.
"Just what I need," she muttered through a flirtatious smile to a customer as she slid a drink across the bar.
"Mind on the money," James reminded her, giving her his own charming smile and adding a wink. She couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head as she glanced to another customer for his order. It had slowed down a bit over the past half hour, and she decided to do a few bottle tricks just to make her concentrate on something, drawing applause from a few patrons watching.
"Five fifty, doll," she said, sliding the glass across the counter. The man slapped down a ten and told her to keep it, and she smiled her gratitude, the cash register chinging its happy chord as the drawer opened. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man approach the short side of the bar and sit, and she glanced quickly out of habit, the song still playing its melancholy tune calling up old demons. Her eyes narrowed. It couldn't be, she thought.
"What can I get ya?" she asked cheerfully, eyeing the man. He looked eerily familiar, but she pushed the knot in her stomach away. His beard was too full and his hair too long, sprouting out from under the dirty cap he wore.
"Whiskey," he said, biting the filter of a cigarette. "House is fine." She lit it for him before turning to the bar and filling his glass.
"Three even," she said, setting the glass in front of him, placing her hands on the counter and leaning against them. "Do I know you?" He glanced up at her, watching her eyes narrow. A wry smile touched his lips, and he plucked the cigarette from between them, blowing a stream of smoke over her head.
"I don't know," he answered, tilting his head to the side. "Do you?" His eyes were haunting, the same vibrant color… No, Kat, she chided herself.
"You been here before?" she pressed, gulping down the emotion as she took the five he held out to her.
"Keep it," he said, nodding to the money in her hand. She let a small smile slip into place, noticing James give her a worried glance. He'd noticed the change in her demeanor since she started serving this guy, and she felt his hand settle on her lower back. The patron's eyes flitted down to the point of contact, his eyebrow rising slowly to a quizzical arch. "Been here a few times, but it's been a while," he answered. She nodded, slamming the register drawer with her hip before turning back to him and leaning on her elbows against the counter. Her eyes shifted to a group of regulars standing from their table and she waved, plastering on the most genuine looking smile she could muster. She looked back at him, but he was staring down into his drink.
"We close in an hour just so you know. Might want to get your share in before then," she said, pointing toward his glass. He nodded, lifting his cigarette to his lips.
"I'm good for now." God, even his voice… NO, Kat. Her brows furrowed as she mentally scolded herself.
"You okay?" James whispered, nudging her with his elbow. She glanced up quickly, slightly surprised at the sudden contact, then gave him a tight smile and a single nod.
"Fuckin' seeing ghosts," she replied with a wince. He patted her shoulder and went back to his side of the bar. She and the guy at the end of the bar traded glances, and soon he was the only one left in the place.
"Hey Kat?" James called, dropping a handful of bottles into the trash. She looked up at him. "You gonna be okay?" Her eyebrow rose. What's with his fucking hovering tonight? He gave her a weird look. "I told you yesterday I had to leave early tonight. The wife's parents are shuttling in for Jada's birthday."
"Oh, right," she said, kicking herself for forgetting. She followed James' gaze to the man still sitting at the bar, still nursing his first drink with a few minutes before closing. "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, giving him a dismissive shake of the head to tell him she could handle the customer if anything happened. His gaze lingered, and her eyes shifted to the drawer between their stations, which always contained a loaded gun, and he finally nodded, tossing her his towel and heading to the back room for his coat. She continued wiping down the bar, her eyes following James as he went out the front door, waving through the window as he neared the corner. Breaking glass broke the silence as she tossed the array of bottles remaining on the counter into the trash with a heavy sigh.
"Busy night?" She started a little, turning to the man still sitting at the end of the bar.
"You could say that," she responded, turning back to her work. "Closin' up pretty soon."
"I know," he said quietly, spinning his glass between his fingers. "You know of any motels close by?"
"There's one down the street a couple blocks," she said, heading out to wipe down the tables. The room fell silent, save the clicks and clinks of glasses as she cleaned up. She felt his eyes on her as she loaded a crate with dirty glasses and ignored him as long as she could. She made a show of looking up at the wall clock before turning her eyes on him, and he gave her a small smile.
"You look like you need the company," he said with a tiny shrug. Her eyebrow rose. "I don't mind staying until you're ready to count down the drawer." He gestured toward the cash register, sending a swirling stream of smoke into the air with the cigarette poised between his fingers. She let out a cackle.
"I'm fine," she insisted, the amused smile remaining. She hoisted the crate onto her shoulder and kicked open the swinging gate into the bar, walking behind him into the back room. He was still sitting there when she returned, watching her walk back around the bar. "You want me to call you a cab?" she asked, rubbing her nose with the back of her thumb. "They usually get here in a few minutes. Motel isn't far." He smiled, catching the hint. She watched him stand slowly, laying down a few UD bills on the counter. She shoved her hands in her pockets, watching him walk to the door, but he stopped, hand still poised over the knob.
"You don't recognize me, do you?" he asked quietly, his back still facing her. She swallowed thickly. "I thought for a minute there you might have, but now I'm not sure."
"What do you mean?" she asked. He turned slowly, giving her just a hint of a saddened smile.
"Still close up at three on Saturdays, Kat?" he asked, dodging her question. She blinked in surprise. Probably heard James call me that, she thought quickly. He mirrored her nod and pulled the door open, pausing again in the doorway. "You look good." Her brows furrowed, and he gave her one last lingering glance before disappearing through the door. She let a shaky sigh escape and went to the door, her hands shaking as she twisted the lock.
After three tries, she still couldn't count the money. With an exasperated growl, she kicked the drawer shut, her hands going to her hips as she hung her head. What the fuck was he talking about, I don't recognize him? How the fuck would I? Unless… Katrina, he's dead. Give it a fucking rest already. Christ. She heaved a weary sigh and shook her head, finally getting the counting straight and finishing up closing. Her boots thudded heavily up the stairs, and she collapsed on the couch, rubbing her eyes. She gave her living room a bitter laugh and turned in for the night.
The next day was unusually slow, and the mystery man returned at midnight on the button. Her eyebrow rose as he came in the door, immediately going to the jukebox and punching in 159. She closed her eyes for a moment as the song started, and heard him take the seat he'd occupied the previous night, at the short end of the bar. She was in the middle of serving a customer a couple hours later when she felt James come up to her side and lean over to whisper to her.
"What's with this guy?"
"He's fine, Jim," she said quietly, shaking her head. "He's not harming anyone and he's paying your salary." He gave her a look, and she sighed. "What do you want me to do? Kick him out for being a little creepy? Christ. It's a fucking bar." She walked away, going into the back room for more ice, even though there was only an hour or so before closing. When James grudgingly left at three she noticed dude was playing with an empty shot glass, spinning it around on the countertop. He looked up at her quickly when she reached out, taking the glass from his fingers to refill it. "This one's on me," she said quietly, reaching for her own shot glass. He watched her with interest as she threw back her own shot, then turned to walk away.
"Thanks," he said quietly. Something in his voice made her stop and turn back to him with questioning eyes. She saw him look down at the chain hanging around her neck, and her fingers went to it. "You can keep it if you want to." Her brows furrowed.
"What?"
"Well," he said with a sigh, pausing to take a sip of his drink, "I saw it on you last night, and even though you don't recognize me, I'm giving you my permission to keep it."
"Look, I'm sure there's millions of necklaces out there like this. Maybe you're the one that has me confused with someone else. The guy who gave this to me is dead." He only stared back at her without expression. "Has been for two fuckin' years."
"I figured rumors would start, but not that they'd get all the way over here," he chuckled, shaking his head. She watched him, her whole body trembling, as he lit a cigarette, exhaling in a slow sigh. He heard wood scrape against wood and glanced down to her hands, which she held behind her back. His eyes flitted back up to her face, narrowing slightly. "How'd you hear about it?" he asked quietly.
"Hear about what?" She hoped her voice covered the click of the hammer pulling back, but the expression in his eyes told her differently.
"The death of your off again on again bed buddy, Katrina," he said gently. Her lip trembled, nostrils flaring as she tried to breathe. "Give me the gun," he demanded softly, holding his hand out. She raised it instead, and he judged the steadiness of her hand carefully. He wasn't about to try anything right now. Not until she calmed down.
"Who the fuck are you?" she whispered, her voice shaking. He sighed, lowering his head.
"Who the fuck do you think I am?" She blinked at the sudden force of his voice.
"I must be god damn crazy."
"And why's that, doll? You seein' ghosts?" Her eyes narrowed at him, and he lifted his hands from the counter slowly. "Listen to me, Kat," he said. "How else would I know what song to play when I walk in here, huh? How would I know where to sit so I can watch you and stay out of everyone else's way so they don't know you're fucking a merc?" She blinked quickly, shaking her head as her lip trembled. "How would I know that your parents died when you were twelve in a building fire down the street a few blocks?" Tears sprang from her eyes, and her gun wavered a little, but still didn't lower from its position on him. "How would I know that the ring on your finger has the same markings as a fucking jewelry box we saw on the street four years ago? And how would I know that you told me not to go and I should have just fucking listened but I didn't and look where it got me." He shook his head with a heavy sigh. "My girl doesn't fucking remember me."
"Would have been easier if you'd been smart enough to shave last night, Toombs," she said quietly. He lifted his head, watching her eye him warily as she set the gun down on the counter, keeping her hand close. "You coulda called, you know."
"No, Kat, I couldn't."
"Let me believe you were fucking dead for two god damn years, Toombs," she nearly yelled. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"You wanna know something?" he asked, standing. "I came back. I didn't have to, but here I am. That should count for something."
"Two years, Toombs," she whispered, shaking her head. "You see this?" she demanded, raising her arm and taking the two steps to the side of the counter opposite him. He reached out, running his fingers along the scar on her forearm. "Three mercs walked in here six months ago and said there was a break at a prison and you got thrown in with something and they found you in pieces. Not only did you let me think you were fucking dead for two FUCKING years, you let me believe you didn't exactly go fast. I broke a glass and had to leave the bar so I could stitch myself up." It was obvious she was pissed off, but he had to laugh as she stood there huffing and puffing. She sighed, shaking her head, and his eyes widened as she picked the gun up, his laughs stopping suddenly.
"Oh, so, what. You're pissed off enough about it to fucking shoot me?"
"Chill out," she said calmly, uncocking the gun. "Being pissed off enough and being crazy enough to actually do it are two completely different things."
"Good to know," he said quietly, letting out a slow breath in relief. "So, uh…" he trailed off, licking his lips nervously as she set the gun back in the drawer and shut it quietly. "How's the bar doin'?"
"Still open, obviously. You saw how busy we were last night." She glanced at him quickly before starting to close down the register. "And just for the record, you're sleeping on the fucking couch." His snicker drew a sharp look, but his smile remained. He'd figured on that.
"You looked ready to pull your hair out last night," he commented. She shrugged a little, counting down the drawer. He watched her for a while, her lips silently moving as fast as her fingers.
"So who was it?" she asked between counting.
"Who was what?"
"The convict important enough for you to do something you knew better than to do?"
"Kat…"
"Just answer the fucking question," she said simply. "Who dragged you away when you knew just from how much the pay was how unlikely it was for you to get out with all your body parts?"
"It's not important." She sighed, dropping a stack of bills on the counter and leaning on her hands, the flexing of her arms not hidden under mesh today. "Riddick," he finally admitted. She glanced over at him quickly, then shook her head and went back to counting.
"Crazy mother fucker," she muttered.
"No shit," he snorted.
"I meant you." He sent her a glare, but she was too busy counting money to notice. The room fell silent as she finished her counting, and he watched her slip the money into the bag, along with the credit slips, and seal it, unwinding the other chain around her neck holding the register key. He followed her into the back room, and watched her position her body so he couldn't see the combination to the safe.
"Don't trust me, huh?" The safe opened, and she turned to look up at him.
"I might trust you with my life, but not my money," she commented flatly. "The creed is greed, remember?" He blinked a few times. "You're still a merc, Toombs. All about the money. I have no problem sleeping with my back to you, but you're not going anywhere near my safe." He shrugged, watching her put the money bag and register key in the safe and shut it, spinning the dial a few times before standing, just looking up at him for a moment, chewing on her lip. "You okay?"
"Few scrapes. Coupla burns. Bruises. Nothing big," he said quietly. The surprise registered in her eyes that he just told her what was wrong with him. She usually had to pry or trick him into telling or showing her.
"You're showering and shaving the minute you get up there," she commanded quietly. He nodded slowly, gesturing for her to lead the way up the stairs. After a lingering glance, she did, and he shook his head with a small smile as he followed her into the apartment.
There was no disposable razor on the back of the sink, or extra towels hanging on the shower door. The clothes he'd worn last time he was here weren't in the cupboard under the sink. His brow furrowed. She really had let him go. With a weighty sigh, he dug through the linen closet for a towel. There were two knocks on the door before it opened. She held a new razor, still in its plastic packaging, out to him. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. He knew the smile she gave him was forced, so he didn't return it, instead reaching out to smooth a wild hair from her forehead. Her eyes averted his, focusing instead on the floor next to her. His hand lingered on her cheek, thumb stroking her skin lightly.
"Your clothes are hanging in my closet," she said quietly. "Shorts are in the bottom drawer."
"You kept them?" Finally, she looked at him, the tiny smile she wore now more real, and he found himself smiling in return.
"Smelled like you," she said with a shrug, her smile falling. His chuckle was gravelly, deep in his throat. "Go on," she said, nodding at the shower stall behind him. "I'll throw some food together." He retracted his hand, and she took a step back from the door, pulling it shut behind her. His eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. With a shake of his head, he tugged the knob to turn on the water and stepped under the spray, a contented grin sliding across his lips. She didn't turn when the bathroom door opened, and he paused to watch her for a while before heading into the bedroom to change.
They ate in silence, Toombs watching Kat stare down at her plate. When they were both done, she cleared the breakfast bar and loaded the dishwasher while he settled on the couch, staring at the blank vid screen. The water turned off, and he heard the towel rustle as she dried her hands, then felt her stand behind the couch, also staring at the blank screen.
"You gonna turn that on or just stare at it?" she asked quietly. He chuckled a little, letting his head loll to the side. His eyes followed her as she walked around the couch, settling on the cushion furthest from him. "I know you're wondering." His eyebrow rose, and he turned on the couch to face her. "There hasn't been anyone else," she said, staring at her hands in her lap.
"I wasn't wondering," he said slowly, unsure of whether it was what she wanted to hear or not. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then turned her head away from him, leaning it back against the top of the back cushion on the couch.
"Ever." He blinked a few times. "Not since this started," she continued. "I could always tell that's what you were thinking when I looked at you. Just the way you looked at me told me that."
"Kat—"
"It wasn't because I didn't want you to overreact and kill someone or because you were the only person I could have given two shits about." She paused, licking her lips as she shook her head. "You were the only person I trusted enough." He rubbed his forehead, moving to lie down on the couch, dropping his head in her lap. She lifted her arms to let him, but settled them it a place where her hands didn't touch him. He let his arm hang off the side of the couch, wrapping his fingers around one of her calves. "And I don't expect you to say the same thing. Wouldn't believe you even if you did say it."
"And you'd be right," he said gently. A quick smile touched her lips but was gone as soon as it came. "But it wasn't because I wasn't thinking about you."
"Yeah."
"I mean it, Kat. The team didn't know about you and I wanted to keep it that way. For you. There's a lot of people out there that would do anything to get to me and that includes going through you."
"I've always known that."
"It's like the narcotics cops doin' drugs. You gotta do what you gotta do, you know?"
"Stop, Toombs," she said quietly but firmly. "I know. Just quit explaining." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I'm not like you. Just because you fucked other people doesn't mean I'm gonna track them down and get even."
"And you think I would?" he asked, a little put off.
"You know you'd consider it," she said plainly, chewing on a thumbnail. "So what's the deal now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you expecting a call in a few days or what? Tomorrow maybe?" She sounded angry, but he knew better.
"They think I'm dead, too, Kat." That made her glance down at him, and he reached up, threading his fingers through her hair.
"So you're done with it." He only gazed up at her. "You mean it." A small nod. "I don't believe you."
"What am I gonna do? Walk into headquarters and say, 'Hey guys. I'm not really dead. Give me a fucking job so I can almost die again.' Jesus Christ, Kat." Her eyebrow rose.
"Lotta money to turn down."
"And you could use a bouncer," he said with a small smile. That got a snicker out of her.
"Yeah, I need a fuckin' bouncer. Have you seen how much I don't need a bouncer, Toombs? I give someone a hard look and they run out with their tail between their legs squealing like a stuck pig. Christ. Fuckin' bouncer my ass."
"Okay, what then?"
"What the fuck makes you think I'm gonna just let you move in here and take over my life?" she snapped. He sat up suddenly, spinning around to face her.
"You expect me to believe you were okay with just seeing me once every three or four, sometimes six to ten, months. Not knowing when or if I was coming back?" Her eyebrow rose. "Shit, Kat. You couldn't hide how happy you were to hear that fuckin' song if you gouged your fuckin' eyes out and wore a bag over your head." Her eyes narrowed, and she stood suddenly, pacing back and forth in front of him.
"There's a difference, Toombs," she finally said, stopping to stare down at him heatedly. "You coming here once in a while was one thing, but you moving in…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Jesus Christ, having to see you every day…" Another pause. "Fuck. This wasn't supposed to be serious, Toombs," she finally explained. "I never wanted a commitment. I don't need one. I don't have the fucking time for one. I own a bar. That's two full time jobs on one person. Having to cultivate a relationship with someone is an addition I can't deal with right now. Hell, I don't know if I ever could." She stopped to look at him, but he only stared back up at her, waiting for her to continue on her tirade. "God." She sighed, shaking her head. "The only reason you were safe was because you were always gone," she muttered softly.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, his posture straightening. She huffed, flopping back onto the couch.
"I don't have friends. Hell, James isn't even a friend. I swore to myself a long time ago that I would never let someone know me, really know me," she admitted. "I figured…" she trailed off, shaking her head with a sardonic snicker.
"You wouldn't get hurt."
"No. I figured I'd have less liabilities that way." His eyebrow rose, and she looked away. "I've always looked out for number one. If people know me, they can make it harder for me to be able to do that. I don't have relationships with people – real relationships – because they're too risky."
"And now?"
"What do you mean, and now?" He tilted his head to the side, his blue eyes chiding her question. She sighed. "I never meant for it to get to this point, Toombs," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"What are you saying?"
"I don't know," she snapped. "I've never been in a position to have to think about this."
"Well, I guess I'm glad you're at least considering giving me a fucking chance here," he snorted sarcastically.
"At least I'm talking about what's going on in my mind," she spat, glaring at him for a moment.
"Oh, you want me to spill my shit now, is that it?" Her eyebrow quirked at him, and he stood, pacing just as she did. "I spent three months trying to survive on a fucking hell hole just to get the communications system back up. I lost a pay day, almost got killed in the process, and ended up fucking stranded on a planet no one goes to unless it's to drop off a convict or supplies. Got the comm system up, couldn't get a response, so I had to spend another two months trying to find a glitch in the system corrupting the broadcast. Finally, I got through and had to wait another month and a half before someone bothered to drop off a skiff for me, and then, I had to find a way to make money without calling attention to myself so I could get back here." He stopped, rubbing his eyes. "I hopped all over the fuckin' universe trying to get back here and now you're telling me you don't know if you can start a serious relationship when we've already fucking got one started."
"You could have told me," she said stubbornly. "I could have prepared myself to avoid this fucking argument if you'd bothered to let me know you were trying to get back. I could have wired you the fucking money."
"How?" He exploded. "The only way I know how to get in contact with you is to show up at your fucking bar and hope you made it through the fucking winter. Why the fuck couldn't you start your fucking business on a planet that doesn't have such fucked up weather?" She snickered, shaking her head, and he finally laughed as well after a moment, but they both straightened up after a short while. "Jesus, Kat. I did everything I could possibly think of to track you down without putting you in danger and it's still not good enough for you. What the fuck do you want from me?" She leaned her elbows on her knees, letting her head drop.
"You should have shaved before you came here last night," she said quietly. He chuckled, crouching in front of her, burying his fingers in her curls.
"I didn't even think about it, darlin'," he drawled. She lifted her head slowly, brows furled as she stared up at him.
"I need some time," she said softly. His hands withdrew from her hair, and he stood, going to the window looking out over the city. She sighed, standing slowly and stretching before walking to stand behind him. He tensed as she ran her hands down his bare arms, glancing over his shoulder quickly before turning back to the window. She tugged on his arm, making him turn around. His eyes closed as she reached up, running her fingers through his curls to rest a hand around the back of his neck. She drew him down into a short kiss. "I need some time," she repeated, her voice barely audible. He nodded, and she leaned against his chest in a loose hug. It took a while for his arms to wrap around her tentatively, and she arched her back, pressing into him. "I missed you," she finally whispered, turning her head to nuzzle the side of his neck, feeling his pleased rumble as his arms tightened around her slightly. She gave him a quick squeeze before pulling out of his grasp, sending him a small smile as she turned toward the bedroom. He sighed, collapsing onto the couch.
"Christ," he grumbled, shaking his head. He adjusted the pillows behind his head, hoping to fall asleep before the sun came up.