The week after Shinnok is thwarted - brought low by Johnny Cage and trapped inside his amulet by Raiden - Sonya Blade, consummate hardass of the Special Forces, tries to lose herself in work. There are funerals to attend and mountains of paperwork that she can't avoid, long nights while she and the rest of the SF work to make sense of the new status of the realms. The biggest threat now is Quan Chi and the tumult in Outworld. She has five people that have survived the Netherrealm War: three members of her squad, a telepathic smart-ass swordsman named Takahashi Kenshi, and Cage, accomplished and supreme pain in her ass.
With the new status quo, she's suddenly, painfully, aware of just how lonely she is.
She drives herself harder than before, despite the nebulous peace on the horizon, and comes home late every night hoping that exhaustion will carry her into dreamless sleep. Nearly a week to the day after she almost died - after Jax tried to kill her, which for her is far worse than Shinnok's attempt - she stands with the refrigerator door open, staring into it vacantly. Today has been a good one, physically and mentally exhausting. It began with notification of her being jumped up a grade to Lieutenant Colonel, and mounds of paperwork broken up by the sweet reprieve of watching new SF recruits run through the obstacle course.
Now, something far more threatening than any obstacle course or mission briefing confronts her. She sees the caller ID and lets the phone ring as she reaches into the nearly empty fridge and pulls out containers of pasta and garlic bread that have seen far better days, but are her only option. She snatches up the phone and accepts the call just before it goes to voicemail.
"Blade."
"Hey, Major Hottie. It's Johnny." He sounds far too cheerful, and she wants to reach through the phone and kick him in his too-pretty face.
She sighs, exasperated. "I know it's you. I have caller ID. What's the crisis? Chip a nail? Forget a line? Get turned down for a date?"
"Nice to hear your voice too. Not sure how I feel that you assume the worst when I call." She can hear the grin on the other end of the phone. "Am I interrupting something?"
"I was about to have dinner. Just got off duty and I'm fried." She eyes the still-cold containers. "Putting you on speaker. Sometimes I wish I was Shokan. I don't have enough hands for this."
"Gaaah." She doesn't even need to close her eyes to imagine him doing a full-body over exaggerated shudder. "That's nightmare fuel. It's after nine, Sonya-"
"Yeah, and where I was raised, good boys don't call after seven. Little late for a booty call, Cage."
"Well, if it was a booty call, would I have had a shot?" She snorts, and he chuckles. "And I've never been a good boy… I was expecting voicemail, honestly. Wanted to check in with you. It's been a week since we kicked ass and saved the world. Wanted to hear how you're doing."
"It's shit. Funerals. Lot of paperwork. Planning the next phase of operations."
"Well, maybe I can change that. You remember the Jinsei chamber? That little chat while you were getting fixed up?"
"Maybe. What part? Some of it's a little fuzzy." She doesn't want to admit how much she remembers, how weak and vulnerable she was. What he asked - and how she answered. Instead, she dumps pasta onto a plate, wets a paper towel and wraps it around the garlic bread, pops them both into the microwave.
"Dinner and movie still on the table?"
Shit, he is asking. And she can't find a reason to say no. One date can't hurt, right? She hums, giving herself a moment to think, stretch it out as she watches the numbers on the microwave count down.
"Yeah. Like I said… as long as it's not one of your movies. Don't make me regret it." There's the ding of the microwave, and she opens it, pokes the pasta with a fork. It should be edible. "Nothing exorbitant though, okay? I'm not dressing up. I don't do fancy. I promise I won't come down in battle rattle, and that's about it."
"As long as you show up, I don't care what you wear. Or don't wear. Whatever you'd prefer-"
"Ugh." She rolls her eyes, and moves to the table, balancing her dinner and the phone.
"What's your schedule like? I've got some filming to do over the next couple of weeks, but maybe we could find something that works and overlaps with one of my breaks."
"Jumped right back into it, huh?"
"Hey, gotta pay the bills somehow."
"I do not even want to think about what your finances are like. Do you even know how to balance a checkbook? Do you even know what a checkbook is?" She doesn't wait for a response. "One day, we'll get you a real job. Until then… Well… no ops planned over the next few weeks, it's mostly mopping up. Nothing major on my calendar unless shit hits the fan, and that's unpredictable. You got something in mind?"
"I can get things set up with the studio so that you can get in, get an escort to the set whenever you get down here, and we can head out for dinner after. When do you think you could come down?" He sounds excited. That sends up warning flares for her.
"I've got a couple of days coming… I can swing next week. Planning more than a week out is hard right now. Friday and Saturday are clear. I could do Thursday, if you were serious about me coming down after you'd finished filming. Or just come down Friday-"
"I'd like - if you feel like coming on Thursday, that'd be great. I've seen what you do, would be fun to show you around my side of things." She can hear him moving around. She's been in his condo once before, collecting him before a mission. If he's in his "office", it's a mess - she wouldn't be surprised to hear something fall on him. "I can get us reservations somewhere nice, and tickets to-"
"Hey, slow down there." He sounds so damn enthusiastic, but then again - she's just agreed to go on a date with him, and he's been angling for that for years. "If I get down there, I'm…" She trails off, not sure she wants to actually voice it. Even though he's a walking cliche of Hollywood playboy, he stood with her through some of the most terrible experiences of her life. And he's rarely tried to take advantage of her - not after the first time at the Pit, anyway. "I'll be coming down there to see you, right? I'd be just as happy with takeout and throwing in a movie at your place, than going out somewhere fancy."
"If you're coming down here, I want to make it worth your while. And what's the point of being in Hollywood and playing the fame game if I don't get to use it sometime?"
"Look, getting off base and eating something I didn't have to make, or didn't come out of a package or a mess hall, will be great. Doesn't need to be fancy." She eyes the reheated linguine and shrugs. At least it's not the MREs hidden in her desk.
"Let me have a little fun. Give you some of the glitz and glamour of Hollywood. Please. You deserve some downtime, get treated like a queen."
"I don't know, Johnny. I'm not that kind of person. Military brat, remember? And farm girl, after. Never saw the appeal in all the bright lights and fancy dresses." A lie, in part - there were definitely a few nights she would have been up for fancy dresses and the spoiled rich girl life. Usually the ones after she'd spent the day helping on the farm and was a hot, sticky, dirty mess.
"Wait, farm girl? How'd I not know this?"
"Never asked," she replied smugly. "Lotta things about me you don't know. Anyway. My dinner's getting cold and won't hold up getting reheated again. I'm off duty around sixteen hundred on Thursday. Unless I can pull some strings, that means I won't be down for a couple hours after that."
"I think - hang on, let me find my schedule. It's here, somewhere." More shuffling, a muffled swear and the sound of some things falling to the floor. "That's perfect, I'm supposed to be done by five, which actually means seven, so you don't need to rush. I'll text you the address. Just bring some ID and they'll get you escorted to the set."
"Least amount of effort I have to put in," she snorts, "the better. We'll see how bad traffic is."
"I'll get it all set up. Royal treatment, babe," he promises.
"Can I take it back? I don't want royal treatment. I'd just like - a little time off. Be a civilian for a little bit." She wonders where that admission came from. "See you on Thursday, then."
"I'll count the minutes," he promises, and she's not sure he's joking.
A minute later as she's industriously shoveling leftovers into her mouth, it sinks in that she has just agreed to go on a date with Johnny Cage. The realization makes her nearly choke. She spends the next hour wondering if she can make up an excuse to cancel, a last-minute scheduling change, some mission, something. She considers praying for another invasion. By the time she's neck-deep soaking in her bathtub, she's come around to the idea, and it's why she agreed to it in the first place. He's a cocky Hollywood playboy who thinks he's the best thing in the world… but he has stood with her, fought with her, for the entirety of the Netherrealm War. He's never tried to avoid the front lines, even once he realized he'd gotten in deep. He did save her life in the Sky Temple, too.
Most importantly, he did kick Kano's ass on her behalf.
This could even be fun.
"Fifteen minutes," the director calls, and Johnny kips up off the ground, landing hard on his feet and shaking his head. He has no idea what is so damn hard about this scene - this is the fifth take, and he's fed up with it. Between his co-star trying to put a little more into the kiss than he wants, and the fight scene that follows directly on its heels, he's tired and frustrated. At this rate, he won't be any fun tonight. Sonya's due in any minute, and the absolute last thing he wants is delays before he can get out of here and take her out. Take her out on a date, a legitimate he-asked-and-she-said-yes date. The longer he's here, the less time he has with her. The only thing worse would be her seeing this clusterfuck.
"The hell is going on?" He runs a hand through his hair in annoyance. "This is - look, it shouldn't be so hard. We argue, we kiss, they drop in, and then we run the fight. Can everyone just hit the marks so we can get out of here?" He runs his hands through his hair again. "Can I get some water?" His throat is dry and he can feel the claws of a headache starting to dig in, so he walks back towards his chair. Except his chair is occupied. He's ready to snap at whatever idiot is in it - there's only one Johnny Cage, and the last time someone not him sat in his chair, it went badly.
Perched in his chair, looking inexplicably uncomfortable, is the woman he can't stop thinking about. Black pants that are definitely not military issue, an emerald green button-front shirt that looks like silk with the way it catches the light, her hair back in a ponytail, and the combat boots he's pretty sure she never takes off. Her hands are busy with a baseball cap, fingers curving the bill methodically. There she is, Sonya fucking Blade, sitting in his chair on his set, and he can't help the grin from spreading wide across his face, along with a little worry about how much she's seen. He can feel some of the wound prosthetic on his face shifting, and is pretty sure makeup's going to rake him over the coals. It's worth it, though.
"You're a lot better looking than the last person who sniped my chair."
"Also a lot less into soul sucking." She pauses. "Nice jacket. And head wound. You want your seat?" She leans forward as if to rise, and he reaches a hand out to stop her.
"I'll tell wardrobe and makeup. Stay in the chair, though. Suits you." He uncaps the bottle of water he's handed, takes a long drink, careful to not get any on his costume. "How long you been here, baby?"
"Not your baby," she snaps, and he hears a titter behind him. "Got in between takes, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes ago. Traffic wasn't bad." There's something off, and Johnny can't quite put a finger on it. She looks amazing dressed in something other than her uniform - but something about her is like a spring wound tight. She's compacted, trying to occupy the least space, catch the fewest eyes. They've never met like this, unrelated to the Netherrealm War. Hell, he can't think of the last time he's seen her out of her unorthodox uniform. It doesn't sit right with him. Despite all of that, her voice remains cool as in a mission briefing. "You're part of quite the… process."
"Think of it as just a really extensive op, right? Lots of support staff. Just a little more complicated."
"You tell my supply sergeant that."
"Oh no," Johnny knows the sergeant in question, and takes another drink. "I'm not that stupid."
"Mmm," she responds, smirking a bit. "Anyway… I can always come back some other time when you're a little less… distracted. Don't want to make it hard for you to work. You've got enough going on. I brought something to work on-"
"You drive down here for the weekend and you bring work with you? Hell, Sonya." He shakes his head, more amused than annoyed. "War's over. Drop off DEFCON 2 or whatever you run at. Shinnok's in his amulet, Fujin and Raiden have him locked up with everything the realms can muster. The only thing distracting me is you, and the idea of getting out of here," he says with a wink. There's no response; nothing's sapped the tension keeping her erect in the chair. He reaches out a hand, touches her briefly on the shoulder. "Seriously, you're no problem. That's my chair, and I'm not sitting. I'll get someone to get you water, and you just… stay there. That way we're not playing phone tag when I'm done. Maybe another half hour. If you can manage that."
"There's still Jax, and Stryker, and Nightwolf, and the rest," she reminds Johnny soberly. "That war's over, but I'm not done fighting."
"Stay, Sonya. Please." He can hear the plea in his voice, and it surprises him as much as it does her, the way her eyebrows inch upward. "It'll only be longer if we need more than one good take." He jerks his chin towards the director. "He's the boss, and so we wait til he's good with it, but I think we'll hit the mark on the next one." Every incentive he has to make the next shot perfect is looking at him with glacial eyes. "You can critique my performance over dinner and tell me everything I did wrong." He finally gets the smile he's been shooting for with that.
"Alright. If you insist. Sneaky way of still getting me to see one of your movies."
"Can't blame a guy for trying." He squeezes her shoulder in parting as he's called away. Makeup descends on him to do touch-ups, and someone from wardrobe is there to tuck and adjust his jacket and shirt, matching it to the reference sheet, and then he's back in his element, surrounded by people, the center of attention. He makes eye contact with Sonya once, partway through as he's surrounded by people, and he can't shake the feeling that something's still off.
Two takes later they wrap, and he's hustled away to costume and makeup, and he's still thinking about it. He's still chewing it over as he heads back out to meet Sonya. It's the smile, he decides.
It never made it to her eyes.
Sonya is convinced half the eyes in the restaurant are on them. He's Johnny Cage, and she's nobody. After they dropped their cars at his condo, he walked her down a side street and they make small talk along the way. She had a sickening feeling in her stomach, seeing a line snaking along the sidewalk. He ignored it completely, breezing right in the front doors of a restaurant. As they're guided to a table in the back, a scent lingers in the air she can't quite place sets her on edge. It's familiar and somehow off-putting. She takes the seat that puts her back in the most defendable position and gives her the most visual contact with the rest of the room. Johnny snorts, shaking his head and pulling off his sunglasses, tucking them into a jacket pocket.
"Seriously? Take the night off. No one's gonna come through the windows here." He reaches for her hands and she pulls them back reflexively. "At least you didn't bring your gauntlets."
"I considered it. Being ready is the only way you end up to be an old soldier, not a dead one." He holds his hands up, surrendering. She looks over the menu and winces. This is definitely going to eat into her paycheck. "You brought me out for barbecue?" That's the smell - a smoker, and meat, and it brings memories back of family barbecues and Scorpion's searing hellfire both.
"Everyone says this is good barbecue, and Texas-style on top of that, so I figure it'll either be good and you can relax or it'll be terrible and you can yell at people. Either way, you'll be happy. And if you're happy, I'm happy. I can think of some other ways that tonight ends with Texan on top, too, and that would make me even happier."
Incorrigible, insolent actor. She adjusts the menu in front of her face to hide the smile fighting to appear. "You wouldn't know what to do with that."
"Try me." He winks. "So, you gonna tell me what all that was at the studio?"
"What all what was?" She looks at him, mentally adjusting her budget to live off ramen for a couple of weeks. But if it's legitimate barbecue, like what she grew up with… it'll be worth the ramen diet.
"You. Not really any of your snappy comments. You're still kinda… toned down. This is Hollywood. You're supposed to be larger than life, not hiding in the shadows." He raises a well-groomed brow. "So talk to me."
"And here I thought I was an ice queen, and this was expected."
"No, that's just when I hit on you. Or anyone else does." He shifts, leans forward. "C'mon. We're out celebrating Shinnok's defeat, saving the world. So why so serious?"
"I don't like… this." She gestures with a hand. "LA. No one's who they say they are. Everyone makes their way with masks." His eyes widen and he sucks in a breath. "I'm used to knowing who everyone is at a glance. Rank, specialty, it's all out there open and clear." She takes a sip of water and sets the menu down. "Beyond that, though… I was at your job. Your place of work. You're a pain in my ass but you've never done anything but respect me while we've run operations, or been anything less than - mostly - appropriately respectful, in front of my subordinates. Even if I don't like or understand what you do, I owe you the respect you deserve at your workplace. If you want me to give you a hard time and harass you in front of them, you don't have to ask twice. I'll make the time for that."
"Hey, any time you want to come on set, you're welcome to." He grins and she rolls her eyes."My chair is your chair, my trailer is your trailer."
"That's disgusting," she says, wrinkling her nose at the idea, and tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "Your place is enough of a mess. I can't imagine you in a trailer and someone else trying to find a spare spot to sleep on. God, they must just consign all of it to an incinerator." She feigns thoughtfulness, tapping a finger on her lips. "Maybe that's where we get the trailers for the test range, now that I think of it…"
"I'm insulted," he says, teeth flashing bright and white. "Not every time. I like going home at the end of the day. Convenience of living in LA, I guess. Same reason you live on base, right?"
"You wouldn't know it with the damn size of it these days." She reaches for her water, takes a drink, and hold the glass in her hands. "Swear it's getting longer to get to the main post from housing every week. Though after paying for my half of this, I'll be lucky to have gas money."
"Hey, my treat." Johnny reaches a hand out across the table."I was serious, Sonya. I asked if you'd allow me take you to dinner and a movie, and I'm footing the bill."
"I can pay my own way-"
"I know you can, but that's not the point. I asked you out, I'm paying. You give me a hard time about me having so much money that I blow it on stupid stuff. How else do you want me to spend it?" Under the table, he nudges her with his foot. "Get what you want. Hell - you know what kind of stuff is good. Order for both of us. You're in charge. Surprise me."
She blinks, and as Johnny sets down his menu, the waiter appears with surprising promptness. With a sidelong glance at Johnny, she puts on the Texan drawl she's made a great effort to lose, and orders for both of them. The waiter nods and steps back, and Johnny stares openly.
"Holy shit. That was a hundred percent Texas country girl. Straight out of central casting. Any chance I can get you in some sequined denim..?"
"You'd like to get me out of it more, I think." She looks up at him, lips curving ever so slightly. "I was like that, once. Haven't been for a long time."
He lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. "God, I'd kill to see high school you. Probably beating the boys off with sticks."
"With my fists, feet, and my daddy's old sniper rifle." She smiles and bats her lashes, and sips her water again. He's lost for words for a moment, and she watches him open his mouth, close it, open it again. She likes it better when he's caught off-guard, not pretending to be the be-all end-all. "Well, you gonna say something or just stare?"
"Just wondering what else I don't know. Out of uniform, you're a whole different woman. Wondering what else I don't know. You had duty before you came down? What were you doing?"
"Oh, you have no idea what you're missing." She taps her fingers on the worn wood of the table and shrugs. "The usual. Promotion means new paperwork, shuffling personnel, figuring out the new responsibilities. Today was fucking around with the recruits on the obstacle course, too. And someone in R&D has some tech they think may work for the portals, so we don't need to rely on… magic." She wrinkles her nose as she says it, like she's smelled something awful.
"Sweet! Let me know how that goes. Would be a hell of a lot more convenient than needing to call Sparky every time we need a hand." Suddenly he pauses. "Wait, promotion? To what?"
"Sparky?" Sonya cannot believe his audacity. "As you like to remind me, Raiden is a god. You should show him a little respect."
"I show him a little respect," Johnny retorts, earning a faint smile. "So. Promotion. Talk." He pauses. "Wait, does this mean I can't call you Major Babe anymore?"
"Small blessings," she groans. "Lieutenant Colonel, now."
"That's gonna be a lot harder to work into a bit, but give me time. Congratulations, Sonya. Seriously."
"Thanks."
He's clearly waiting for more, and when nothing comes, moves onward gamely. "What'd you think of what you saw at the set? I mean, aside from me kicking ass-"
"You mean the way you kept copping a feel of your girlfriend's ass every time you did a take? And the way you're still weak on the left side?"
"That's for the shot, babe," Johnny straightens in his chair. "I'm not interested in her. She's definitely not my girlfriend. And that's the choreography."
"Uh-huh. You certainly looked like you were enjoying yourself."
"That's the role. My job is to make everyone believe it. If you believe it, then I'm doing it right."
"Never going to understand this place."
A sommelier appears at Johnny's elbow with a bottle of wine with a level of stealth Sonya envies - he'd make a good soldier. "Compliments of the house."
Moments later, wine tasted and approved, filled glasses in hand, Johnny raises his up.
"To your promotion. Lieutenant Colonel Blade."
"To you saving my ass," she counters, "so I could get the promotion."
"Oh, so you're giving me credit for your promotion?" He clinks his glass against hers. "You earned that all yourself. Jax'd be damn proud, and I bet your dad would, too. And we'll get Jax back and he can tell you himself."
"He'll give me shit for outranking him," she responds, sipping her wine. "Though I'll give him hell for it, for a little bit at least." She leans back a little, setting the glass down. "When we get him back."
"We'll get him back." He reaches for her hand, his expression serious. "Promise. We'll get him back, and all the rest of them too."
She reaches over and squeezes his hand, once and briefly, before it retreats to her lap. "Nice thought, but I'm… I wish I could be as confident as you." She can tell the admission startles him. "I want him back. I miss my best friend." She closes her eyes, fingers tight around the stem of the wine glass. You're on a date, Blade. Guard back up, he's not here for your bullshit.
"I don't miss being punched in the face, but he was a good guy." Johnny ventures, and she feels his foot nudge hers again. "So. You going to tell me everything else I did wrong on set?"
"You spent hours filming, and how much of the movie will that actually be?"
"Something like five minutes."
"You're kidding me." Her eyes go wide with disbelief. "All that - all those people, all of that, for five minutes?"
"Well, in one day we do a bunch of different scenes. When everyone's actually on the ball it's a lot less work and goes faster. It's fun. I get to fight-"
"Pretend to fight," she mutters, and he looks genuinely wounded at that; it doesn't slide off him like her jabs usually do.
"Okay, now I have to ask. What is it with you?" He spreads his hands along the edge of the weathered table. "You give me hell about acting, doing this for fun, being good at what I do and using my skills to make money and enjoy myself. What about it is so bad?"
She's managed to get him on the defensive, and winces inwardly. Well, she's already got her foot in her mouth, why stop now? "You're good, Johnny. You're really good. You've trained under some of the world's best martial arts masters. You go pretend to be somebody else, you get lambasted in the media, and you keep going back for more like a kicked dog. You could do so much. SF would find - I would find - a use for you. So why do you just keep going back where they make fun of you? Where they don't appreciate it?"
"They do appreciate me, but in different ways. But SF… that's your thing. I like working with you, but military service wouldn't be fun." Johnny eyes her. "And I want fun. You do what you do for a bunch of different reasons, right? Duty, and family, and all that. But you wouldn't do it if you didn't enjoy it at some level, right?" She grunts once, motioning for him to continue.
"You do what you do because you like it, one way or another. And I do what I do for the same reason. I like it. I like making people happy, like making some kind of magic, like having - well." He shakes his head. "I love my job. I get to do a lot of stuff and I can travel and yeah, I can show off how good I am at what I do. Working with SF - working with you - was good, and I love kicking ass with you. I'd do it forever, if I could," and she's terrified at that implication, and says nothing as he continues, "but your rank-and-file is not my thing. Can you imagine me in charge of a platoon?"
"You're allowed a squad." She grins despite herself. "We need that many to keep an eye on you."
"Keep an eye on me?" He feigns indignation. "I don't need a babysitter!"
"Except for that one time."
"It was one oni!"
"It was enough." She wags a finger. "You could have gotten yourself killed! No, that squad is to keep you out of trouble. You need round-the-clock supervision."
"You're just angry that you missed getting first hit." He reaches across the table, brushes his fingertips across the back of her hand. She freezes and looks up at him, and forces a smile. He frowns slightly. "Hey, none of that."
"None of what?"
"The plastic smile. You look like someone told you smile or they'd shoot you." He sighs, runs his fingers across her knuckles again. "Let's eat, get back home, and watch a movie, okay? You look like the cliche of hot chick on a date with a slimeball and you don't want to be here."
That gets a short, sharp laugh. "I'm not good at this, Johnny. Give me my gauntlets, or even a gun, and a target, and I'm fine. But this…" She gestures with her free hand. "Not my thing. Not that I don't want to be off-base, eating real food, but you don't eat barbecue in a place like this." She looks at their hands and turns hers over, fingertips brushing against his palm. He looks down at their linked hands, then at her face, and there's something she can't identify in his expression. Something deep inside her twists and her heart jumps out of rhythm. "Next time we do something on base, I'll get you to up. Bunch of the guys have cookouts, a little contest, sometimes."
"Sold. I'll bring the beer."
"Hah. That'll put a dent in even your bank account."
Johnny unlocks the door and ushers her in. "You've been in here before, don't need the tour, right?"
"Definitely don't need the tour, and thank God you cleaned up," Sonya says as they walk in. She bends over to unlace her boots partway, sliding them off. "I see you at least got the beer bottle collection away."
She appraises the room reflexively. She's been here only briefly, and the casual luxury on display is unsettling. His couch cost as much as a couple months of housing allowance, not to mention the mortgage on this place alone. It's decorated for ease and pleasure - soft carpet, attractive paintings, everything convenient. She gives into the temptation to take of her socks and wriggle her toes in the thick carpet, dropping the socks into her boots. It's a damn nice carpet. She pokes around for a few minutes and then drops bonelessly on the couch, grabbing a script from the coffee table and flipping through it as he busies himself in the kitchen.
"Hey, hands off that. Confidential. You want to see how it ends, you go to the movies like everyone else," he calls from the kitchen, pulling out a large pot. "Or, I mean, I can take you to the premiere. Get you in a nice slinky dress, limo, champagne, walk you down the red carpet." He laughs at the look of utter horror she knows is on her face. "Movie's already cued up, grab the remote and hit play. I'll be over in a couple."
"You just ate upwards of a pound of barbecue, and you're back in the kitchen? The hell are you doing, Johnny?" He looks at the pot, drizzles in a small amount of oil, and grins to himself. Once she's out of public, here's the Sonya he knows and, yes, loves. He knows it, Raiden knows it, is pretty sure Kenshi knows it. Pretty sure everyone knows it except her. And if she does, she's pretending she doesn't.
"Making popcorn, and not cheating with a bag," he throws back. "Not a movie without popcorn, and I promised royal treatment. That doesn't come out of a microwave bag." It takes a few minutes, and then he places a bowl of fresh popcorn on the coffee table, and then a pair of beers.
"You actually know how to make popcorn on the stove?" Sonya raises her eyebrows as he sits down beside her, careful to leave space between them, and she leans over and picks up a single piece of popcorn, eyeing it the way he's seen her eye Outworld food - like it's going to kill her. She pops the puff into her mouth, and her eyebrows shift slightly higher. "Not bad. You do this for everyone?"
"Just the pretty ones." He winks at her, sliding a hand up her thigh, and she slaps it with one of her own. He links her fingers with his for a moment, then lets go to grab the remote. Pressing play, he leans back against the leather of the couch. The title card comes up, and he sees some of the tension in her jaw and shoulders recede.
"Goonies?" Sonya says, faintly disbelieving.
"I remember you said you hadn't seen it. I have a list and we're going to go through it," he informs her. "No matter how long it takes. You're joining the movie reserves - one weekend a month, two weeks a year."
"You are nothing like the reserves." She leans forward and plucks the beers off the table and hands him one. When she settles back down, she's tucked up next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip, and he almost drops the bottle and popcorn both at the pressure of her body against his. "How long's this list?"
"Best Picture awards for the last fifty years is a good starting point. Plus, well, the good ones. Like this."
"Thank fuck you don't have one on there."
"Yet." He winks and slings an arm around her shoulders and she lets him, and he's sure if Quan Chi and the revenants showed up right now, he'd die - but he'd die a happy man. His fingers play over the curve of her shoulder and he can feel the heat of her body through the silk shirt. Thank God he's seen this a dozen times, because he's not going to be able to focus on a single line.
As the credits begin to roll, Sonya leans forward and sets her empty bottle on the table. "Well, that's my cue, then. You've put up with me enough tonight."
She feels Johnny reach a hand around her waist and pull her back, onto his lap. She's astonished that she doesn't resist. His hands tighten for a moment, as if in equal surprise. "Hell no, LTC. You've had as much as me, and you're tinier. You're not driving around the block, let alone back to base. You crash in my bed and I'll take the couch." His voice is tight, and it's got to kill him to make the offer.
"Not gonna do that to you. Johnny Cage, sleeping on his couch instead of six thousand count sheets? Your couch is better than my bed, helluva lot better than a bunk. I'll be fine. Toss me a blanket and pillow and I'm good." That said, she would like nothing more than to kiss him, and she can't figure out why. Maybe it's good barbecue, beer, and the fact that he is attractive. She'll die before she tells him that, though. She'd never hear the end of it.
"Y'know, my bed is big enough for two." His voice is still off - some of the cocky pride, but also - no. Not nervousness. Can't be. Man's got a little black book the size of some of her field manuals, he wouldn't be nervous around her.
"Surprised it's not big enough for four. But I wouldn't mind not sleeping alone tonight. If you're making the offer." The words are out faster than she can haul them back in. It's true enough, and she's willing to admit it.
His hands freeze, and she feels every muscle in him go taut. "You serious, Sonya?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" She shifts, grasps his chin in her fingers, and before she can overthink it, before he has a chance to give a mouthy retort, she pulls him to her lips. She kisses him, long and slow, feeling her blood warm. He makes a noise of surprise but it's quickly silenced, and he opens his mouth to hers. His surprise melts away quickly in favor of hot tongues and a sudden shared need to find a way to occupy the same physical space. The thought crosses her mind - briefly - that he tastes unfairly good, and then a second thought is quick on its heels, wondering why it took her so long to do this. After a few moments she pulls away, not far, trying to gain some control of her breathing, and meets his eyes.
She is ready for surprise, ready for concern, ready for disbelief, just about anything except the blatant yearning on his face. His eyes close for a moment and then she feels one of his hands cup her cheek. He opens his mouth to say something and then shakes his head minutely, clearly thinking better of it. He leans forward and kisses her again with a heat and urgency that calls to something in her. She recognizes it, the answer to a hunger she's been long denying. Her hands splay across his chest and she tries to make her interest in him, her seriousness about this, as clear as she can. It mostly involves her tongue in his mouth and a hope that she's not misinterpreting the noises he's making.
They separate again and she tries to pull air back into her lungs, finding it harder than before. Her eyes rest on him, wondering what the response will be, afraid of it. She expects a crow of victory - not the shaky breathing that follows. "You been saving that?" His voice catches and he leans back against the couch, his hands still on her, thumb sliding across her chin just under her lips. It's one of the few times she's ever seen him uncertain, his brow wrinkled slightly. Something about it makes her think he's afraid, but she's never seen him anything but self-assured.
"Maybe," she allows, and he laughs, and leans forward again to press his forehead against hers.
"Got anything left, or was that it?"
"Shit, what's the line. Take me to bed or lose me forever?"
"All the movies, all the lines you could quote, and you use that one." The indecision, the worry, is gone and his shoulders drop just enough to set her at ease. She can feel it under her fingertips. He adjusts her on his lap, one hand sliding under her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her up off the couch. They've been like this once before, with him holding her after Shinnok's defeat… maybe that's why she lets him, a sense of familiarity in this unfamiliar situation. "As you wish." He says it like it's a quote, but it's one she doesn't recognize, and just looks at him blankly. He groans. "Not a romantic bone in your body, huh? Fine. I'll take you to bed and make you forget your name, rank, and serial number." She groans, smacking him in the shoulder with an open palm. He just grins and adjusts his grip on her, and she knows, as sure as she's ever been about anything, that he won't drop her.
She's going to do her best to see if she can make him, though.