[continued - let's be safe, rating wise, shall we friends? Children, hide your eyes.]

[just_a_phase]

"I tried that one first. Good luck, Rasputin. You're never getting away."

She might as well have tattooed an "X" on her arm, instead of a dragon around a sword. (She will never tattoo a name, though. Not even his. ...Maybe. Maybe the child who has a name now. But in kanji, for only her to know. For only her to be certain how to translate.)

"Now you get it," she hisses, seeing it click with the sheen of tears, "and by God, if you ever try to guilt me over one thing I did, I will break your arm. Goddamn you."

It's not easy, with his weight, to roll her hips up against his. She does anyway.

She can't remember what the main point of this is anymore. She should have warned him. She knew, she knew, when the box came out, that her grip on her temper was going to be tenuous at best.

It's gone, gone, gone, now, and so are her clothes, and she almost doesn't notice, just sneers back, "I'd hate to impose," and nips his neck, sharply.

Comments

[konocc]

There went the rest of his even neutral mood, vacuumed out of the house as if it were dust. Had he the energy, he would curse himself. He's also annoyed at her, but doesn't feel like forcing the issue. So he dutifully gets up after somewhat uncerimoniously handing her a few oversized handmade afghans from the couch and begins to fix tea in his kitchen, which she could see half of from the couch even though it was on the other side of the house

She would be getting the distinct impression he preferred being over there to over by her right now. The stove is out of sight from her though, so she only catches glimpses of him as he sniffs a batch of mint tea, measures it out into a tea ball and then takes out two mugs. The only sign she hears of the kettle being prepared is the sound of running water and a reverbating *clank* as the metal pot hit the stove harder - much harder - then it strictly had to.

Not once does he look back. And his face looks more like it did when she first called out to him so many hours ago - weather beaten, care worn, old before its time.

But what is going on in Piotr's mind is a melange of thoughts which tend to move back to one. I would make make an honest woman out of you. That is what he said and he meant it. She was not amendable and now...He just rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired. His mind keeps stalking the thought. Was that on my mind when..?

[just_a_phase]

Shes sighs after a moment and stands, blankets wrapped tightly around her against the cool air the dying fire's left behind. This is not what I wanted. This is now what I meant. This is...totally par for the course for us, yeah.

It would be easy to be gone before he got back, and old instincts tell her that this is...is wise, even.

She shoves them down. And then she goes to the kitchen, slowly, surprised at first to realize she's sore before it clicks a) it HAS been a while and b) they were fighting before they were...not so much fighting.

"Peter." It's soft, and it's gentle, while she watches him from the doorway. "If--if you want, I'll just go get the morning after pill." She's not even processed enough to get to think about what she wants, but if one of the does--that's what happens, she tells herself, even if she's not the one. "But I..." She trails off and sighs, perching on a counter after a moment, blanket swathed around her like a too-large robe.

"...Loving you now doesn't mean I didn't love him then," she says finally, studying her hands. Mostly matter-of-factly, because he has to know that she does, after everything. It doesn't even occur to her she hasn't said it before. Or, rather, not in this recent situation. "And doesn't mean it doesn't hurt...every time I hear a comment about him. And they were made a lot then, and sometimes still are now. I'm Shadowcat. I can't...turn how I move off. People don't notice me half the time, so they say things they might not if they knew I was there." She bites a hangnail for a moment. "Still having feelings for him other than just anger and pain...that doesn't mean I don't love you. But mostly, I don't...like how it makes me feel. Even when it's only about him. And that...I needed to say before it ever had the chance to risk becoming an issue. You can keep hating him. But I hurt him...probably as much as you've hurt me, sometimes. In one of the same ways, actually. And that's my ghost to carry."

She looks up at him and looks away. "Tactful, no, important, kinda yeah. But I have a feeling that's not the reason, or the only one, you're looking grim as, well. A very grim thing. There, like The Thing, who is named Grimm. And I also have a feeling that you don't exactly want me to go get the morning after pill," she finishes softly. "So this time...let's talk, instead of me having to guess at your feelings? Because this...well, part of this, the we-were-fighting-and-ending-up-having-sex-without-pausing-between-for-precaution part, anyway, that's...not a thing to not talk about. That's not something I want to guess about." She swallows. "Panic about, a little, guess, no. But I don't want to guess about anything anymore. I just want us to--to be us. And to talk. And to not...try to just be friends, because just-friends are never the way you and I are, even when we're not together."

After a beat. "...I, um, also actually didn't throw the ring over the cliff," she mumbles. "I threw a ring. It wasn't...the one you gave me. I tended to keep it on my necklace, so it didn't get messed up. I wore a different one. Which I...might actually have thrown at your head, but I wouldn't have thrown it hard."