Welcome Nanisgirl and Nolabell66!
Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers, and really - I promise I'm back. It's just slow going at the moment. I've got some projects in the works; anyone out there an AJ fan? Or jonesing for more Meg and Randy?
Onward!
The whiskey and the fire paced each other, so it was a few hours more before the bottle ran out and the embers died down. While their levels dropped and shifted, Nick and Brena did the same, sliding from the coffee table to their sides, curled into each other. Theirs was somnolent, slow conversation punctuated by an occasional drowsy kiss, and they were more than content with that. The fear had bled out of Nick entirely; whatever idiocy or terror had earlier prompted him to half-mangle Brena under aggressive and crushing hands was gone, replaced by a stillness of mind that he had no desire to fight. It was Brena who moved first, stumbling and thick, helping Nick to sit up and then stagger down the hall, both of them dragging heaps of quilts behind them and collapsing into what Nick swore was the softest, warmest bed he'd ever felt. Brena clicked on a wonderfully dim bedside lamp – it was just enough to keep him from getting lost on the way to the bathroom, but not enough to keep him awake.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Nick," Brena poked at him as he laid next to her in bed, sleepy and confused, "You can't sleep in that. It can't possibly be comfortable. Boxers, or whatever you've got on, is fine," Brena tugged at the beltloop of his pants, "You know I trust you. Go ahead. The lights are basically out and I'm not looking. Besides, it can't be any worse than some of those plaid pajama pants and neon shirts you slept in at Magee."
"Fair," Nick yawned, slipping his pants and shirt off, "But what about you? Jeans don't qualify as comfortable, either, and you spent way too many nights bunched up in them in that fuckin' concrete chair next to Deaglan's bed." Nick winced and regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth; he could feel the bed start to shake slightly next to him in a way that immediately made him think he'd started Brena crying.
"Oh, good grief, Nick," Brena finally laughed, "You know, you'd think for as much money as that hospital spent on things – and they did, some of the furniture in those waiting rooms and lobbies, oh it was just ridiculous – they'd have found the funds for just one comfortable chair!" Hooking her thumbs through her beltloops, Brena pulled her jeans down, but opted to leave her hoodie on, thinking she'd just be shivering and cold later, piles of quilts or not. Dipping her arms through her sleeves, she sat up and slipped her bra and shirt off underneath, tossing them to the side of the bed, Nick chuckling as she did – in part, out of relief that he hadn't misstepped and sent her into tears at bringing up Deaglan in such a clumsy way.
"What?" Brena looked absolutely confused; to her, taking a bra and shirt off under a hoodie was a simple task.
"I'm never gonna understand how women do that." Nick reached for her without an ounce of hesitation, pulling her toward his side and tangling her in the quilts and sheets, not feeling any resistance or tension in her as she moved. They had to adjust more than a few times to account for her sharp angles, and Nick knew he'd have to get after her about making sure she ate, but still – she fit against him, her back against his chest, as though she'd always been meant for him, and the room became quiet around them with his realization.
"This...this is nice, Bren. Just to...I dunno, just to be here."
"I meant what I said earlier, Nick."
Busy breathing in as much of her ginger and almond scent as he could, face buried in her hair, Nick had to tilt up on to his elbow, look down at her and try to recall what she said, but he'd missed it entirely. "Meant what, Brena?"
"You probably have to go in the morning, but I'll be here the next time you pass through Philadelphia. Or even just close to Philadelphia – I can always come out to see you. I don't know if that's what you meant when you asked if this was just tonight; you know how terrible I am at reading you, but I said we had more than all night. I meant that, but I'm not pushing, either. We have...whatever you want."
Brena hadn't looked up at Nick when she spoke, which was just as well; Nick didn't know what to do. It was not at all what he expected to hear. Complete freedom and boundless space for him – neither of which he really wanted to bother testing the limits of again; he'd done that in a hundred hotel rooms already and it had gone poorly in every instance – and complete commitment and patience from her, which he wasn't sure he deserved, but wanted to handle gently. It felt like everything about her, in this moment, was a gift for him, and here he'd come to her party – or at least, her bedroom – empty-handed, brought nothing of worth to give her, nothing that held the same value, other than his silence, which he now realized he'd let go on too long.
"It's fine, Nick. Don't...don't mind me, if I've over-thought it. Tonight is just tonight. And it was lovely." The hope that was in Brena's voice, the warm humor of teasing him about his pajama pants, even the drowsy satin of the whiskey and the fireplace, had turned to sudden, sodden ash. She didn't tense in his arms; instead, an odd heaviness seemed to take her over, as though a wet sand filled her body and made her into an impossible object, unwieldy and cold.
"Oh, no you don't. You said we were done circling around shit, so here goes," Nick gently pulled at Brena's shoulder until she lay flat on the bed, and he hovered over her, both too close and too far, "We both suck at this. I wasn't listening – just now, and when I was at Magee. I don't know how, most of the time. I've been shit at pickin' out women, and lately, been real stupid about what I brought into bed. You've been living in doctor's offices and hospital rooms for the past, what, five? Six? Years? Maybe more? And you said you didn't know anything about relationships, anyway. We worked out okay at the start because we weren't trying to work out. You didn't expect anything and I was an asshole. Can we please not screw this up now?"
"There's the thing, Nick," Brena whispered, "I don't expect anything of you. All I know is, you asked if this was just tonight. I just wanted you to know, I'm here when...if...you're in town. If you want. I can't ask anything of you. Your life is different than mine, and I understand that."
Groaning, Nick rolled off of Brena, kissing the top of her shoulder as he went. 'I don't want it to be different, Bren, but we're not talking about that tonight, are we? And we're both drunk. Tired. Mostly drunk. Let's see what it feels like in the morning.' Brena, not to be outdone, followed right behind him, turning and curling firmly into his side, locking both her legs around one of his and laying an arm across his chest. Nick surreptitiously tried to bunch her hoodie up and out of his way so he could feel her against his skin, then chided himself – he'd managed to move far more of the fabric much further up than he thought Brena would let him get away with – and made himself stop. He knew their night wouldn't be a one-off event; he also knew tonight wouldn't be the night for anything more than sleep.
Far too quickly for his taste, sunlight began to seep in around the edges of the curtains in the master bedroom, not bothering Brena in the least, but being just bright enough to prod at the edge's of Nick's dreams and draw him back into reality. He stretched carefully under Brena, not wanting to jostle her, but she barely moved – he realized that, without Deaglan to cause her to wake at every small sound and tic, she might actually be enjoying her rest for the first time in who knew how long – and enjoying it with him. Smiling to himself, he let his eyes wander around the room; it was still clearly Hazel and Deaglan's. Their pictures together were on the dresser; he saw what he knew was Deaglan's bathrobe still hanging on the back of the bedroom door – plaid, flannel, and thick. Hazel's bathrobe hung next to it, a thinner sort of fabric printed with something small and blue that Nick couldn't quite make out. It looked dainty and he thought it would suit Brena, in the same way that Deaglan's plaid made him think of the pajama pants he'd worn at Magee and how Brena had smiled at them.
While Nick looked around the room, his fingers cautiously traced the lines of Brena's arm as it rested on his chest. As he found more details, more clues to her family life, his hand became bolder, slipping down her arm to the curve of her waist and back again, testing out her potential reaction. None came, other than the hint of a smile Nick swore he imagined rather than saw. Leaving his hand on Brena's waist, he scanned the top of the dresser, eying one photograph that showed Deaglan – or at least, who he suspected to be Deaglan when he was younger – dipping Hazel back into a kiss in front of a Christmas tree, each light showing up as a bright white dot in the black and white photograph. 'That must be from before Brena, or maybe when Brena was really young. He really loved...I mean, they...yeah. I get them.' Dropping his hand as low as he dared, tracing his fingers inward along the crest of her hips and then across the flat plane of her stomach, Nick looked down at the quilt. Oranges and yellows that had faded from use and time were arranged into a giant starburst, surrounded by a border of hearts, flowers, and clovers. He couldn't help but smile, and wanted to ask Brena where the quilt with the Valentine's hearts ended up, just to rib her a bit.
Ribs. Hers, as he crossed her hips and moved up across her stomach. He could count every one, bump his fingers over them slightly – not enough to give him cause for directing a lecture at her, but just enough for concern – and wondered if he could talk her into a breakfast that he knew he'd have to double-up at the gym to get rid of, but would do her some good. 'Shit. The gym. Even just some regular clothes. I don't have my shit here, it's at the hotel. Claudio will pick up my suitcases for me, but he's gonna be at the arena. Shit! What arena? We're still in the area, just not in Philly...so now I have to call him, figure out where I'm supposed to be...and say goodbye. Again.' Nick tried to work his way through each of his options – he knew he couldn't just skip the show; performing or not, he had to check in or risk his job. He could show up and ask for time off, which Talent Relations was likely to grant him, but he didn't want them to transmute his request into 'Early Retirement' – at least, not yet. He could ask Brena to come with him, at least locally, but worried about her watching him in-ring – they'd never had a conversation about what it looked like, really looked like, to work a match. In terms of immediate concerns, Nick wanted his toothbrush so he could at least not be tremendously disgusting when Brena woke up. He also wanted Brena to stop tensing her legs around his; whatever dream she was exploring while wrapped around him was enjoyable for her and torture for him. Pleasant torture, but torture nonetheless.
'I know I'm not gonna sleep with her. I mean, not now. Clearly, I want to – think about anything else, Nemeth, because you're not gonna sleep with Brena. Not happening. Not for a while, I was out doin' stupid shit, stupid women, I gotta talk to Meredith and figure that out. Not like I don't want to sleep with her, I mean, yeah. Obviously I'm in to her. Jesus. She's gotta stop that thing with her legs or I'm gonna die. Literally die right here and that is so not the right thing to think because of Hazel and Deaglan. Brena, seriously, you can't keep doing that. You're gonna keep doing that and God I want you, right now, so, so very right now, and I'm not going to. I want to, I want you, and we can't.'
While thinking, his fingers continued to swirl from her hips to her ribs and back again, almost unconsciously, and Brena finally woke just enough to pull herself over Nick, pinning his hand between them, her legs still wrapped around his. She tucked her head down just enough to yawn, giving Nick just enough time to roll his eyes up to the ceiling, curse any god that was listening, and then look back down at Brena.
Following her yawn with just enough of a stretch to make Nick want to test her flexibility in ways that would have made a gymnast blink, Brena brushed a few errant strands of hair away from his face before gently kissing him. Every signal she was sending was telling him, if all they had was now, make it count – every iota of common sense he had was telling him, they had more than just now, so wait – especially the waiting part. Gently, Nick rolled Brena off of him, trying to be careful of her shoulders, and her hoodie pulled up almost too far for decency given that she wasn't wearing a bra. Nick, eying her legs and marveling at both how much and how little her boyshorts managed to cover, tried to figure out how to gracefully decline what was fast becoming an invitation to spend as much of the morning as possible in bed.
"Nick, I know you have to leave," Brena whispered toward the ceiling, as if not addressing him directly would make any possible rejection that much less painful, "But I wanted – I mean, I just thought – "
"Bren, we can't." Nick hadn't meant to sound harsh, hoped he didn't sound dismissive, but knew his answer came too fast and his tone was all wrong. He hadn't considered how to give her context, and was really just hoping she'd put two and two together, realize that he didn't want to sleep with her right after having laid bare with a large enough junkie hooker population to keep both the Betty Ford center and Planned Parenthood in business for several decades, didn't want to expose her to anything without knowing what he'd exposed himself to, didn't want to disgust them both with an explanation that would absolutely kill the mood...but really, wanted desperately to lay her down in bed and not let her leave until the peacocks made sense to them both and she wouldn't sleep on the floor ever again.
Slowly, Brena pulled down the edges of her hoodie, contorting that motion into one that brought her up to sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Nick. I shouldn't have assumed...asked..." 'Better we don't, I think. Better to not know what I'd never have again anyway.' She started to fish for her pants, but Nick sat up and reached for her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, trying to stop her from leaving again, even if it was something as small as leaving the room.
"No, no, no, Brena, I said that all wrong-"
"You were perfectly clear, Nick," Brena worked at pushing his hands down from her wrists, where he'd pulled her arms around herself, but it was no use. Had she understood wrestling better, she'd have known she was caught in a belly to back suplex that hadn't quite happened yet, and Nick was debating the merits of simply flipping her over him and then laying on top of her until she listened to reason. His version of reason, anyway; whatever the truth was could wait til later, when he actually knew it. "I thought...and I shouldn't have thought-"
"Bren, it's because I don't know when I have to leave and you're not exactly something...someone...I want to start and finish in a hurry. Or get interrupted during." He tightened his arms around her and pulled her down into the bed, ever so glad she hadn't found her pants. "Hear me out, okay?" He wasn't ready to look at her, on the off-chance she was angry, or worse, sad, so he purposefully kept her back to him as they lay together. "Neither one of us planned on finding each other last night. We both know I have to take off today. Yes, I am coming back. No, this is not a one-time-thing. I know you said I can go do whatever I want, but I did that shit already. I wanted you. Now I want to not fuck it up."
Silence. Silence that carried on long enough to make Nick nervous; his hands finally released her wrists and began to trail up and down her arms, then across the tops of her shoulders, then finally he pulled her over onto her back. He wasn't prepared for the smile he found, but he remembered it hadn't been awkward to kiss her in the cafe when she'd been smiling, so he tried again – this time, with a smile on his face. Nick was right, this wouldn't be the time he'd sleep with her; this would instead be the time he'd start to cop a half-assed feel like some sort of awkward high school boy on a first date – a series of stilted movements that did more to tangle Brena's hoodie in the sheets than it did to take it off of her – but she was glad to help him slip it over her head. It was there that he stopped, ever so briefly, watching her hair fan out around her on her pillow like the down on a dandelion, still black as night, and just as soft as he remembered, before he settled over her again, trying to decide how to move and where to start.
They'd had time – time enough, Nick realized later, that he could have slept with her and then some, could have had her twice or three times over that morning, then managed a nap in early afternoon sunlight, followed by lunch wherever they'd wanted, and then suggested one further quick entanglement before the phone call finally came. Once he committed, though, cemented the idea in his mind that he'd only allow his hands to wander so far, to only entertain a precious few ideas of what was acceptable and lock down a much longer list of what wasn't, that he found himself with shaky breath and hazy vision, unaware that something so simple could be so thoroughly disarming, completely arousing, and yet still sweetly innocent. He hadn't expected Brena to be so calm about being in bed with him – not that he expected panic, or the kind of irritating, giggly enthusiasm most women showed – but she was simply unselfconscious and present in the moment, moving with him in a synchronicity that was in turns easy and disarming. The women Nick had been with, drug-sick dalliances excluded, had been either frantic motion, all tittering and ogling and energy that bordered on silliness, or worse, competitive and demanding, either because of their position on the roster or their influence in the media – but this, this was quiet acceptance of skin and friction.
When the call did come, hours later, Claudio delicately asking if everything was well, Nick just laughed and asked for a ride, carefully reading Brena's address from a small, thick card of stationery. She'd pulled it from a drawer in the bedside table at some point during the afternoon, along with a pen, her handwriting careful and precise. Nick didn't want to think about the inevitable – that he would have to leave, and soon – but that card meant he had a way back to her, a way to hear her voice, and he handled it gently, trying to decide the best way to fold it to fit it in his wallet.
"You are sure things are...settled?" Had Claudio's tone been any more cautious, he wouldn't have been able to ask.
"C, man...just c'mon and get me. It's good. Everything's good, now."
"As you wish. I have your suitcases; is it possible that your quilt can be...rather, I mean to say that, were you able to ask if Brena could...that is, I am not trying to-"
"Hang on, lemme ask her." Shuffling his phone from one hand to the other and then losing it entirely in the sheets, Nick pulled Brena on top of him. He didn't want to bring up the quilt again; his night and morning had been too perfect, but Brena caught him before he could fall over his own lack of nerve.
"Just leave the peacocks here when Claudio stops by, Nick. I'll stitch it. Take this one, instead," Brena gestured to the quilt with the starburst that they'd slept under, rolled through, wrapped around themselves, and generally tunneled through, "The next time we see each other, I'll have the other one back together." She smiled, and then added, "Oh – and ask Claudio how he knew he ought to ask about getting the quilt fixed. Something tells me Meredith's right behind him."
A string of tinny profanity in the Key Of Meredith helped Nick locate his phone in the bed; Claudio stammered out that he'd be over in 20 minutes before ending the call. It took only one glance between Nick and Brena before they were both laughing so hard they were in tears, Nick's arms wrapped completely around her, but this time with the knowledge that when he let go, it wouldn't hurt so damned much. Or for so long.