One-Year Innversary
Dec. 1st, 2018 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
st_artandstokeThings had been better lately. More tolerable, at least. But Jag reckoned that if there was one night he was allowed to ignore everything and get filthy drunk, it was tonight. He hadn't seen Emma all day, which... He wasn't sure if it made things better or worse, but it felt like the latter. So he'd started drinking at Sara's altar that evening, praying to her, and then he'd kept drinking at the bar.
By the time Kitty cut him off, walking in a straight line had become a bit of an ordeal. He headed outside for a cigarette, and to head back to their suite. Maybe she'd be there. Maybe she wouldn't be. Maybe she'd be upstairs in her room, and stairs didn't seem like a good plan, and maybe she'd been avoiding him on purpose? It was a shitty day for both of them. Probably all she could think about was Pyro, and she didn't need the extra reminder.
He lit up a cigarette, flame darting ahead of him, as if to show him the way, winding as unsteadily as his feet under him. When he tripped on something (a root? a hole in the ground? his own feet?) and fell, flame dying as he lost focus, Jag decided to just lay there on the grass instead of standing back up. Just for a minute or two. He shifted onto his back and looked up at the sky, then shouted, "Fuck you, universe!" as loud as his lungs could manage.
By the time Emma left the gym, she was sore, physically exhausted, and a little shaky – maybe she should've eaten something earlier, but with how her stomach roiled at the idea, it would be a bad idea right now. But she barely noticed any of that, or much of anything except the pick-axes driving into her skull. She squinted against lights around the inn, just wanting to get back to the suite where she could curl up in the dark, and she'd at least an excuse for hermitting.
She didn't notice the fire at first. Not until it wasn't there anymore. Jag yelling, she noticed, though, along with everyone else probably. Why had she been avoiding him anyway? Oh yeah, because she wasn't her and how was any of this fair? But she'd already changed directions, toward where the shout had come from.
"I'll second that," she said, more softly, as she came closer, but – hopefully – before any fireballs got instinctively thrown. As much to let him know she was there as agreeing the universe could get fucked.
"Em!" Jag called out as he sat up, and sent a few globules of flame to dance around her, so that he might see her in the dark. The flames came a little too close to her, through no conscious decision of his own, simply because his control was terrible at this stage of drunkenness. "Emma. Where've you been? You haven't been here."
You haven't been here probably wasn't meant to hit like a punch, but Emma felt the strike like it had been. The feel of flames dancing too close for comfort only registered after, and she took a half step back. "Hey, watch where you go with those flames. Not all of us are immune," she said, trying to keep it light, because otherwise she was probably going to tear up, or start apologizing and not know how to stop.
"I was..." she waved a hand, trying to come up with an explanation and falling short, "...not here."
Jag frowned at the admonishment about those flames, and pulled them back to dance around Emma from a (much, much) safer distance. No risk of singing anyone now. He could've just made sure they didn't burn her, of course, but that would have required thought and focus, both of which were somewhat lacking in him just then. "Sorry," he said, with a grimace. "Y'all right?"
"I am..." she stretched her arms out and down at her sides, turning them one way then the other to show she was, "... unsinged. And I'm not as drunk as some people. All right is... stretching it," she admitted, not having the energy to lie and say she was okay.
Jag was quiet for a beat, turning that over in his mind. "Is it the annv..." He trailed off, and gave up on saying that word, just then. "The one year thing?" He shifted to push up to his feet, unsteadily. "It's a bitch."
When he stood, Emma moved up instinctively, to steady him if he needed it. When she nodded in answer to his question, she quickly thought twice, wincing as the movement jostled her imploding skull. "It made it feel more real. It's stupid. Not like I haven't known how long I've been stuck here."
Jag very nearly toppled back down as he moved to his feet, and would have if Emma hadn't helped steady him. His arm went around her waist, and he buried his face against her neck, then told her, muffled, "Ta." He looked up from her neck and gave her a bit of a wobbly smile. "I can sleep somewhere else if you want. You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"
She wanted to deny it; he'd misunderstand and think it was his fault, and right that moment she wasn't sure she could say why she'd wanted to stay clear of him, other than knowing it was not his fault at all. But he was already feeling like it was him, wasn't he, if he was offering to stay somewhere else. "I... I make things worse, harder on you. And I was feeling selfish today. But it wasn't not wanting you around." As she fumbled her explanation she started walking them toward their building. Slowly, because they'd both end up on the ground otherwise.
"'s all right," Jag mumbled, instinctively walking with her. "I get it. Where are we going?"
It wasn't all right, and she was already feeling guilty about wallowing in her own feelings today, when so many of the people she cared about here were going through the same thing, if not worse. "Back to the room. While you can still put one foot in front of the other and I'm not stuck not being able to carry you to bed."
"Could always sleep out here," Jag pointed out, arm tightening around her waist briefly as he misstepped, nearly fell, stayed upright thanks to her. He carried on, as if nothing had happened, "Not that cold."
"How much sleep do you think I'd get, knowing you were passed out," which was not the same as just sleeping, "somewhere on the grounds? When I could have done something about it. Come on. Room. Bed. Water. All that good stuff. You're already going to be feeling tomorrow about like I do tonight."
"How d'you feel tonight?" Jag asked, far too drunk to think far enough ahead to how he would feel tomorrow, and draw a conclusion from that.
"Like someone's putting on a full size fireworks show inside my skull?" It was her own fault, and she knew that, but that only made it hurt more when she thought about it. "Psi headache, 'cause I was stupid."
"What kind of stupid?" Jag asked, because that didn't really compute. Emma didn't tend to be stupid. Em either. He was the stupid one, without fail.
"Overdid it. The World for flying so I could reach high spots while working on a drawing in the temple, and then I went to the gym, work off some of this whatever it is. Sparring with and against my projections. And then using Alec as a punching bag for awhile." She hadn't meant to, just a regular spar, but he'd seemed to think she needed to lash out, and he wasn't as wrong as she'd wanted him to be.
Jag nearly stumbled on his own feet this time, and stared at her when she caught him. "What?"
She did catch him before he could pull them both down, and ignored how muscles sore from sparring complained at the sudden shift and pull. "I overused my powers, that's all. I know better, I just..." She shrugged. There wasn't all that much to it, and she wasn't sure why it had surprised Jag like that.
"Not that!" Jag cut in, still staring at her. "The bit about... the punch bag. That's not... It's not what you do. It's not what you should do!"
Then it was her turn to be surprised, and confused, at the force of Jag's reaction. "What? No. Nothing like that. We were sparring. And Alec... I don't know. He thought I was holding back and that I looked like I needed something to punch, which was not me, you know that, and he kept trying to get me to let go, reminding me he was tougher than a lot of people, and I didn't need to hit like a girl, that kind of thing."
Jag was trying hard to find the right way to phrase everything that was wrong about that, but Emma's last words gave him something else to say, something easy to protest. "Girls are fucking great at hitting!"
She didn't know why Jag was reacting so strongly to this, other than because he was really really drunk. Okay, that was probably enough. "I know. Alec knows it too. He was trying to get a rise out of me. And I do tend to hold back in sparring, especially when I'm the one attacking. He wasn't... necessarily wrong that I needed to do better." Holding back too much in sparring, you'd be more likely to hold back in a real fight, when you couldn't afford to. Emma had lost count of the times people had told her that, so it wasn't like this was anything new.
"You don't do that when you need to punch something," Jag muttered, confused, thoughts tumbling through his brain. Was he supposed to say more? This wasn't right. What right did he have to say more? But he couldn't let her do that, could he.
"I didn't-" She stopped, rubbing the spot between her eyes trying to at least change the pattern of stabbing pain if she couldn't get rid of it. "I told him I wasn't looking for someone to punch. Not like that. And I wasn't trying... Why does this matter to you so much?"
"Because it's you!" Jag blurted out. Was he meant to have a better reason than that? It was all the reason he needed.
"I..." You what, Em? She didn't even know what it was that was bothering Jag, other than she'd messed up somehow. Or she hadn't, but she was telling things wrong, and he thought she had. More quietly, "I'm sorry," and "What do you want me to do?"
"I don't know," Jag admitted, deflating. He leaned his head on Em's shoulder as they walked into their building, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.
Emma squinted against the brighter light now they were at their building, and when they got to the suite, she found her key card and unlocked the door almost entirely by feel. Knowing she'd upset Jag in ways she didn't understand and didn't know how to fix, when the main reason she'd been avoiding him had been because she wanted especially not to hurt him today, just made her feel worse. She could feel the sting of tears against the back of her eyes, and couldn't have said whether it was the headache, the too much of a year in this place, or guilt and frustration over making things worse. "Do you mind... Can we keep the lights off, use a little flame to see by?"
That made Jag straighten up, and he held a hand out, palm up, to bring up a flame. "Scalp massage?" he offered, without thinking it through. It used to help his Em, when she'd pushed too hard.
In the morning, Emma would realize how selfish she was being tonight. But in the moment, she was hurting and tired and homesick, and she really didn't want to be alone. She nodded, carefully, almost before she noticed she was doing it. "I was meaning to get you safely to bed before you passed out somewhere." Or got hurt on the way. "Not be a bother."
"You're getting me to bed," Jag pointed out as they crossed the common room towards his bedroom. "You're joining me in it, is all." He didn't even realise what he had said after saying it, focused as he was on the thought of helping her feel better. In a way that was much better than... whatever had happened in that gym. He turned to look at her face, and nearly tripped on his own feet, only just managing to right himself, with her help. "You're not hurt, are you? From the, er, sparring thing. It's just the headache?"
Her fair skin could be a problem in more than one way. It did nothing to hide the way she blushed when she realized what he had said, although she reminded herself he didn't mean anything by it. Then he stumbled, and trying to keep him on his feet and steady... ish, distracted them both from any embarrassment. And being so pale also meant any little hit she took while sparring with Alec was likely to show as bruises by morning, whether they hurt or not. They definitely didn't hurt right then, though. "I'm fine, Jag, really. I just overdid it today."
Later, Jag told himself, he would have a look at her knuckles. They were always the first to suffer, in his own bar-brawling experience. "Okay," he agreed, and let himself fall on his bed, forgetting for a second about the fire in his hand. He remembered after just a beat, and lifted his hand again, making sure the duvet hadn't caught on fire. "Um." He reached towards the bedside table and sent the flame over to light the candle, freeing his hand up and allowing him to pull off his shoes. "Come on, come here," he invited Em as he pushed himself back so he'd be sitting in the middle of the large bed.
Her knuckles, he would discover when he looked, were just fine. If they'd suffered a little more, she wouldn't have the excruciating headache she had now, because that would've meant using her projections and their weapons less and her fists more.
"I'm coming," she assured him, but instead of moving to join him on the bed right then, she continued on into the bathroom. Only for a moment, though, long enough to fill a glass at the tap. He needed to hydrate, and she wasn't sure they'd think about it later, if she didn't see to it now. "Drink that," she said, setting the glass on the nightstand before she toeing off her shoes and setting her bag beside them.
Obediently, Jag stretched out to the nightstand and downed the contents of the glass. Water was always a good idea, when drunk; he knew this even pissed. He then settled back in the middle of the bed, waiting for her to join him.
She climbed onto the bed with him and tucked her feet comfortably under her as she settled into place. She was being selfish, and she knew it, but that selfishness told her Jag would worry if she'd changed her mind and gone up to her room now. At least this way she knew he was safely in bed, at least a little bit rehydrated, and she could make sure, if he passed out, that he was on his side where he wouldn't choke or anything. The selfishness was grasping at rationales, but it was enough. Tomorrow she would probably feel different. She just hoped Jag would forgive her for it.
"Head in my lap?" Jag asked hopefully, arranging his legs in a lotus position so it would be comfortable for her. He knew from experience that his arms would get tired far too quickly otherwise - not that he wouldn't give it a go anyway, if she didn't want to do that.
"If that would be easiest." It felt more... intimate than they were with each other, but if that was what felt best for him, that's what they would do. She shifted, lying down with her head in Jag's lap the way he asked, and tried not to feel too awkward about it.
Jag lifted her hair out of the way as she settled down, before draping it over his lap. Honestly, giving her any kind of massage felt more intimate than they were with each other, but he wanted to, anyway. Of course, he wanted to be more intimate with her in a number of ways, so maybe this was completely wrong of him? But he would worry about that tomorrow. Right now, he was going to make her feel better, the way he knew how. The fingers of his right hand were warm from the recent flames as he slid them through her hair and over her skull, left hand following a second later, on the other side of her head. He licked his lips in concentration, trying not to think too hard about how bittersweet this was. How he could do this for her, but not the rest of it. He stroked his fingers gently over her scalp for now, waiting until she relaxed into the new touch before really starting massaging her scalp.
With anyone else, he would have had to ask to tell him what felt good, what felt bad. But with her, he knew. With her in these circumstances in particular, he also knew. He knew the best ways to help chase away the migraine, and the best ways to make her relax, and he was working now towards both of those goals. In silence, trapped between the past and the present.
Pyro had done this for her sometimes, and damn it, she wasn't going to think about that. She took a breath, held it, and then let it out slowly, focusing on the warmth and pressure of Jag's fingers. She was so tired and her head hurt so much, she started to relax into the touch almost immediately despite herself and any overthinking she was trying to avoid. He knew just how to work at the tension, where to apply more pressure, and she wasn't going to think about that either. Then he moved his hands just so, focusing on one spot, and a whimper slipped out from that first real sign of relief.
Oh. Jag's fingers slowed for a second, barely a second, and then he resumed working on her scalp. Was it wrong, that he wanted her to make more noises like that? Of course he wanted to because it meant he was helping, and she was feeling better, but he also really just wanted to hear that again. He hadn't heard that in... Well, not since he'd come here. So he kept his focus where it was apparently really good right now, fingers pressing and stroking, circling, seeking...
Unfortunately for Jag, she didn't make that sound again, but he had to be able to feel how she was melting under his touch, because it was helping. It wouldn't get rid of the headache completely, that would take time and rest, and some kind of pain killer wouldn't hurt, but the massage was bringing it back to a manageable level, where she could focus on other things, or get the rest that would help more than anything. She wasn't sure when silent tears spilled from the corners of her eyes to trail down her face, and couldn't have said why they did. But they didn't have anything to do with the whispered, "I'm sorry," she needed to give him.
The back of Jag's own eyes prickled with unshed tears, at the sight of hers, and he blinked rapidly to keep them from falling - then frowned at her words. "Hey, no," he told her, immediately. "No sorry. Come here." He pulled his hands back from her hair, urging her to sit up so he could hug her. She was crying, what else was he meant to do?
The tears weren't bad. She wasn't sure what they were, but she knew that much. It wasn't anything she knew how to explain right then, though. She shook her head in place of the words she didn't have, but sat up and curled into the hug. it was just... too much. This place. The day. Her headache, and the far worse ache in her heart. And Jag was right there, and it was just a scalp massage, and...
And she had no idea how much she missed having simple physical contact with other real, live people. She breathed out slowly, and in again, scent of smoke and booze and Jag, and she bit back another sorry for how selfish she was being, and she knew she was. She just wasn't sure she could stop right then.
Jag held her close, stroking a hand through her hair repeatedly. He didn't have to think about it. It was just like holding Em, his Em, and usually that would have been heartbreaking, but right now it was too familiar, too wonderfully, brilliantly familiar to hurt very much. He breathed in deeply, and then out slowly, and if a couple of tears ran down his face, they were more gratitude and sympathy than they were first hand grief. "It's all right, bab," he told her, as if she were her, and he rocked her gently, and kissed her hair. "I've got you. Cry it out. It's all right."
Emma wanted to believe him, but they both knew better. It was just something you said. The tears didn't last long, and she wiped the last trails of them from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She should pull away, sit back. And she would... in a minute.
Jag held her for a while yet, giving her a moment to compose herself. Then he leaned back, enough to look into her face, her reddened eyes, and tell her, his arms still around her, "You're not alone, all right?"
She nodded slowly, and made herself stop biting at the corner of her mouth when she realized she was doing it. Her gaze had tried to drop too, and she lifted it again to meet his eyes. "That means you aren't either."
Jag's thumb brushed beside her mouth about the time she stopped biting it, his heart squeezing painfully. "No, I know," he told her, eyes dragging away from her mouth to lock with hers again.
The brush of his thumb was barely anything, a there and gone touch, and she still had to stop herself from trying to follow it. "I should... get you some more water and let you sleep probably." Not that she made a move or seemed in any hurry to do it.
"Or you could stay." The words were out before Jag could think of holding them back, and the truth was, he wasn't much for thinking right now, drunk as he still was (although a lot more settled into himself than he had been out there; giving her that massage had grounded him). All he knew was that he didn't want her to go, and that he wanted to kiss her so much his heart ached with it. He leaned in, hand sliding along her jaw. "We could use feeling a little less lonely tonight."
It was completely subconscious, the way her eyes closed and she leaned into the touch. She didn't have to ask how long it had been. She'd been here a year. But her hand came up to curl around his, giving a gentle squeeze first as she got ready to pull it away. "You are so drunk," she said softly.
That wasn't a no, and the way she leaned into his hand felt like a yes, so Jag didn't stop leaning in until his lips found hers, for a first brush, and then a snugger fit. He knew the way they fit together as well as he knew the ways his heart could ache, but in this moment, pain didn't matter. For this one, beautiful moment, he was kissing Emma, and everything was right with the world.
It should have been a no, or it should have been a no before she ever let it get to this. But she'd been hurting, lonely, and just having someone who cared holding her close, she was selfish, and it was Jag who was going to be hurt because of it. She pulled back enough to see him. "Don't," still softly, and so sorry.
"I'll stay, if you still want, but to sleep." She didn't want to go, but it wasn't about her, and she'd already been selfish enough. It would be his choice.
Don't. The word seemed to burrow inside him, leaving pain and darkness in its wake. Of course she wouldn't want to - she wasn't - what had he been - and he wanted her to stay, of course. He wanted to curl up around her and let the tears now welling up in his eyes fall. He wanted to kiss her again, and show her how beautiful she was. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and pulled his hands back. "I'm so sorry."
He'd told himself he wouldn't go there, again and again, and here he was, and he'd crossed that line, and what kind of person did that make him? A fucking terrible one. "You don't have to stay."
Damn it. She'd gone and done exactly what she'd been trying for a year not to do, and she didn't know how to fix it. "Hey, no." She curled a hand along his jaw, holding gently so he wouldn't turn away. "This isn't your fault. At all." But if he was anything like her, he wouldn't believe that. If he was anything like Pyro, he not only wouldn't believe it wasn't his fault, he'd believe it was entirely his fault and none of hers.
She wanted to hold him, tell him it would be all right. She wanted to be held and believe she could make things better. "I don't want to go," she admitted, even though that was what had caused the problem in the first place. "But I don't want to hurt you even more."
Her hand to his jaw felt just like hers, and Jag had to look away, look away from her eyes that weren't hers, when the tears spilled over. He sniffed, and wiped a hand over his cheeks. How could a touch so delicate hurt so much? And of course it was his bloody fault. Whose else? She hadn't asked him to kiss her. She hadn't asked him to love her. She hadn't asked him to be too fucked up to know where his love for his Em ended, and his love for her began. She hadn't asked for any of it, and he was the worst.
But when she said she didn't want to go, he still wanted to believe that, selfishly. "Please don't go," he murmured, not quite looking her in the eye. "I'll - I won't - I won't do anything. But. Please. Don't go."
She shouldn't have felt so relieved hearing he didn't want her to go, but she did, a knot of tension she hadn't realized she was holding onto loosening some at the thought she could stay. Because she would have gone, but it would have hurt and she would have worried even more about how she'd screwed up. She wanted to tell him she knew he wouldn't do anything. Because she did. Wanted to tell him she trusted him. Because she did that too. Maybe it was remembering communication fails with Pyro, or just not having the energy for anything else, or feeling like it would only draw more attention to his mistaken idea that he was the one who'd done something wrong, she didn't know, but she didn't tell him either of those things.
Instead, she gave him a small smile. "Come on. We'll get some sleep. Things will feel different tomorrow." Was she a coward if she admitted to herself she kind of hoped he was drunk enough now not to remember in the morning what had happened? Because there was a part of her that hoped so. She'd still have to carry her guilt, but he wouldn't.
Things would be much worse tomorrow, Jag knew, distantly, and not that different. He nodded all the same, and peeled out of his jumper, but made sure to keep his t-shirt on. He'd just crossed one line he shouldn't have; that was enough. He stripped down to his boxers and tee, avoiding eye contact, then took a quick turn in the bathroom to drink some more, and take a much-needed piss. Thoughts were going round and round in his mind, and he felt tired and miserable. He didn't understand why she'd want to stay, and it made him feel sick that she might not have anyone else to go to right now. Tonight, of all nights.
Sunny had offered a wine and bad movies girls' night, but Emma had put it off for another time, knowing even before the migraine she wouldn't have been fit company. So she'd subjected Jag to her and gotten things all complicated and wrong instead. Great job, Em. But what he was missing is there wasn't anyone else here she wanted to go to right now, which was a different thing altogether.
While he was in the bathroom, she got out of her cardi and bra, laying them on top of her shoes and bag, and turned down the sheets. Then once Jag was through, she slipped into the bathroom herself, using the toilet and after washing her hands, running cool water over her wrists for a bit, since sometimes that helped with the headache that wasn't going to go away completely without rest.
By the time she came back out, Jag was sitting in bed, playing with a small flame. He extinguished it, watching her with eyes full of emotion. "Are you sure you want to..."
"Where do you want me?" Emma asked, instead of answering him directly. She was sure, unless he'd changed his mind. And yeah, the side of the bed he wasn't on was the obvious answer, but she didn't know. Maybe he preferred the other side when he wasn't sleeping alone. And she was the one staying in his bed, after screwing everything up. How they did this was up to Jag.
It took Jag a moment to realise what she was asking, and then he glanced around the bed. "Wherever?" he offered, and gestured at the unoccupied side of the bed. "I can shift to that side if..." If you don't prefer the same side of the bed as Em's. So he just trailed off.
She shook her head as she climbed into bed beside him. "No, this is good. I just wanted to..." Now she was the one trailing off. Why did this all have to be so awkward and easy at the same time? How could this be so awkward and easy at the same time? Of course, once she was in the bed, they were back to more awkwardness. How to curl up with someone, how to fit arms and legs, for the curve of one body to meet another's, and trying to think it through only made things worse. So... don't think about it, just do it. Emma lay down on her side and held her arm out in invitation for Jag. Even though it was his bed. Oops?
Jag put the candle flame out with a thought, then slid down the bed to lay beside her and awkwardly move into her space. Did she really want him that close, after he'd just kissed her? He wanted to curl up around her like she was his, and pretend. That wasn't right, though. So he remained a little stiff and very much awkward and uncertain, trying to put his hand somewhere totally innocent, like, say, her shoulder. Shoulder was fine. Brilliant. No issues there.
At least she wasn't the only one feeling the awkwardness, except somehow that made things both harder and easier. She knew she couldn't be the one he wanted to curl up with, and how selfish she was being asking for this. Except... there'd been the way he pleaded with her to stay. And the way he'd held her. "It's okay," she said softly. "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere." She curled closer, shifting her arm here, tucking her head there, finding a way they almost fit, and reminding herself to breathe slow and easy and ignore the boulder in her gut that this was a bad idea.
Sleep. Like it would be that easy. At least Jag had stuck to alcohol tonight? Small favours, because his mind didn't need any assistance going round and round in circles. He forced his muscles to relax once she had settled against him, but the truth was, he didn't really want to go to sleep anyway. He wanted to make the most of holding her, although he wasn't sure which one of her he was most thinking about. Did it really matter? He was too drunk to sort it out, so he'd just focus on the feeling of her in his arms, and not try to.
But he was drunk, and sleep claimed him sooner than he expected.
Sleep didn't come as easily has Emma had tried to suggest it would, between worrying about Jag, memories of the kiss, and the tangle of feelings it brought up, but she was exhausted and headachy, and for the first time in a year, she had the warmth and comfort of someone's arms around her, and it pulled her under eventually. Once it did, though, it didn't want to let her go, and when morning came, she shifted and nestled further under the covers without fully waking up, only a vague thought teasing at the back of her mind saying there was a reason she shouldn't sleep in.
Wakefulness didn't come at once, but in stages.
At first, there was the warm body beside his, shifting, and Jag curled closer instinctively. The moment felt like home.
Then the nausea kicked in. The awful taste in his mouth. The threat of a headache at his temples.
It was instinct too, then, to cling to the dregs of sleep, try to sink back into unconsciousness. Sleep was merciful, and entirely better than a hangover.
Jag.
Just that one thought, remembering who she was curled up against, and on the heels of that, everything that had happened the night before, Emma was wide awake. She couldn't bring herself to just leave – it might have been a year, but she remembered what it had felt like to wake and see Pyro had snuck off after that last night they spent together – but it would be cruel to stay here like this too. Wouldn't it?
It was a more pressing physical need that decided the issue, though, and Emma did her best to slip out of bed and to the bathroom without waking Jag. Maybe she'd have some sort of epiphany on what to do next. Not that she was counting on that.
Jag made an unhappy sound when she slipped away from him, and it was all his headache needed to make a proper entrance, circling his brain with too tight bands of steel. He grimaced, and slowly turned around to pat for the bottle of water he kept next to his bed. He had to crack his eyes open to find it, but he eventually did, and proceeded to down about half of it, as much as he could for now.
When Emma came out of the bathroom a moment later, with a bottle of ibuprofen to leave on Jag's nightstand, she hadn't expected him to be up yet. "Sorry," she said quietly, since he probably felt worse now than she had last night. A quick glance to try and meet his eyes, before setting the pills down and wrapping her arm around her waist. "I tried not to wake you."
"Cheers," he muttered, reaching out for the tablets to pop a couple. "Not your fault," he added, after drinking a little more water. "Too much alcohol makes for shite sleep." He rubbed at his eyes, grimaced a little, and looked over at her. "Y'all right?" He was trying to remember everything about last night, but things were a hazy mess, and he had no idea how she'd ended up sleeping in his bed. But they hadn't woken up naked, at least?
The alcohol was only one reason he might not have slept as soundly last night, but if he wasn't going to bring it up, Emma wasn't sure she could. What if he honestly didn't remember? Was it selfish to hope for that? Probably, but all of this came out of her being selfish in the first place. "My head's feeling better this morning." The smallest of smiles in sympathy, and she added, "Unlike yours, I bet."
"Yeah, this is horrid," Jag confirmed with another bit of a grimace, before giving her a small lopsided smile. "How much of an arse was I last night?"
"Well," she began, thinking about it as she grabbed her cardi to pull it on, not because he'd been an asshole, but because if he didn't remember, she didn't want him taking the blame for things that weren't his fault, or wondering what she was leaving out. "You let me get you back to the room and bed instead of passing out on the grounds somewhere. You gave me a scalp massage when I was at the 'kill me now' level of psi headache. And you didn't kick me out when I didn't want to be alone. So I'm going to go for zero arse."
"So I would probably put it at 30% if I remembered, and reality's more like 10, 15% arse?" Jag reckoned. His expression of faint amusement wasn't enough to banish the frown of tension from his brow - those tablets would kick in any second now, and make everything better. "Thank you, for bringing me back here. I do remember that. And the massage, some, I think."
"I said what I meant," and she was the one who remembered, who knew what had happened had been her fault, not his, "but since there is no way you feel up to an argument right now, I'll accept your compromise." Especially if it kept him from trying to remember things she'd rather stayed forgotten.
"I was going to head to the kitchen." She'd had a shower before leaving the gym last night, and hadn't done more than walk back to the room and collapse with Jag – nothing that would require another shower before being seen in public anyway. "You want me to start the coffee maker or need anything before I go?"
Jag shook his head, then winced and stopped immediately, as that made his brain bounce inside his skull. "Ah - no, thanks. Reckon I'll just space out in bed for a bit." But it had been the same fucked up anniversary for her yesterday as it had been for him, so he eyed her, and asked, "How are you doing, bab?"
She nodded; rest would probably help him more than anything. Then shrugged when he asked how she was. She was way too selfish, and just as stuck here as she'd been yesterday, but wallowing wasn't going to change that. "I'll be okay. I'll chop vegetables and boil water. Maybe stop at the temple to spend some time and devotion to Fortuna Redux."
Jag's eyebrows raised curiously. "To who now?"
"Fortuna Redux," she said again, perching on the corner of the bed, one foot tucked under her. "There was a shrine going empty, and I... I don't know, it just seemed like it was waiting for her. She's the aspect of Fate for getting people home safely."
He huffed out a breath, barely a chuckle. "Yeah, she seems like a good fit. Will you show me?"
"Yeah," Emma answered, voice soft, even if she stopped short of telling him she would really like to do that. "Sometime when you feel like moving again."
"Like existing," he confirmed, with a grimace.
"Existing is a good start." And he'd be able to rest better once she was gone. She pushed up from the bed slowly. "Sleep. Maybe try another sip or two of water first if you think you can." Before she could think to stop herself – and she should have, she realized as soon as she'd done it – she ran a hand over his hair. "I'll be in the kitchen. You can call if you need anything."
That brush of her fingers over his hair was a welcome heartache, like everything tended to be with her. It tugged at the echo of a memory, something from last night, he thought, but he couldn't quite recall it. So he just gave her a small smile. "I'll stop by when I feel like existing again, yeah? We can visit the temple."
That smile made her chest feel tight, warmth of affection eaten by the acid burn of guilt, and Emma nodded, not quite meeting his eyes as she gave him a hint of smile in return. "We can visit the temple," she agreed. "When you exist again."
For now, though. Sleep for Jag. A change of clothes for Emma, and then Dani's medicine for tangled feelings. She did have a hotel of people to feed, even if she didn't feel like eating anything herself this morning.
Jag gingerly curled up in bed, throwing the cover back over himself. From underneath it came a mumbled, but genuine, "Enjoy the cooking, Em."
~*~*~
Emma had been flattening a slab of butter for puff pastry when Jag finally found his way down to the kitchen that afternoon, so it had been easy to throw everything back in the fridge once he'd had something to eat; it would have needed to chill again anyway. Since he still seemed interested in stopping by the temple, she ducked behind the bar to grab a glass and bottle of wine on their way out.
"I'm pretty sure visiting a goddess as fickle as Fate without an offering is just asking for trouble we don't need," she explained, grinning. That was it, focus on the immediate, try not to think about the awkward of remembering the night before or worrying if, or when, Jag might remember too.
Jag had had a pint with his meal; only way to make sure he recovered properly, with a hangover like that one. Now he felt all right, really. Not at his best, mind a little fuzzy, but he'd be fine, as long as he kept the lowkey buzz going. So the wine was a good idea for more than just Fortuna. "Think she'll be cross if we drink some of that ourselves?" he asked with an answering smirk.
Emma wasn't sure hair of the dog was an actual hangover cure, but she couldn't blame Jag from wanting to at least numb the edges. At least he'd slept and gotten something to eat. "I think," she began, "since the ancient Romans were super anal about how they did their rituals, and I haven't a clue about most of that, we're probably okay celebrating in our own way. Including sharing some of the wine."
"So she's Roman?" Jag asked, just so Emma would talk more about the goddess, as they headed out of the bar. Balls of fire danced around them as they stepped out onto the grounds, as much to offer them - well, mostly Emma - some warmth as because he liked the feel of them. There was always this temporary sense of elation, when a hangover abated properly, and he remembered what it was like to feel good, so he was in a great mood just then.
Emma watched the flames dancing, the hand not holding the bottle and glass wrapped around her waist, as she let talking about Fortuna keep her from dwelling on the night before. "Mmhmm. Fortuna was their goddess of luck, and they had a different version of her for every kind of luck they could think of or cared about. Good luck, bad luck. In war, and in peace. Growing up. Finding a partner. Over-indulging." Yeah, that last one was kind of pertinent just then. "All kinds of things. Fortuna Redux, they decided brought one of the Caesars back to Rome from wherever he'd been fighting or conquering or whatever." Her head tilted in thought as she tried to remember. "Augustus, I think, but all the caesars run together sometimes. So soldiers started setting up altars and leaving offerings to her when they were away from home... and most of them were away from home most of the time, or thanking her when they returned safely."
She shrugged, realizing she was starting to ramble. "I don't know. It just felt like we all could use a little of her kind of luck here."
Jag hadn't even realised there were several Caesars, but he didn't interrupt, not particularly keen to display his ignorance, even to Emma. "Hey, it can't hurt, can it," he agreed with her conclusion. "What's Redux mean?"
"Sabine's the one who actually knows Latin." Emma had picked up bits here and there, or could figure things out from vocabulary in the languages she did speak, but it wasn't the same as knowing a language. And she was used to her cousin being the genius and knowing things she didn't. "But I think it's something like brought back or returned. Most of the add ons to gods' names would have been pretty self-explanatory back when it was the language people actually spoke, I think."
Jag often wondered how he would have got along with Sabine, if he could have met her. He didn't much like the way Em - either of them - tended to defer to her, to be content with standing in her shadow, but he had no way of knowing whether Sabine played a part in that. He nodded along to Emma's explanation now. "That makes sense. Especially if they have different versions of every god." They would need an easy way to sort through them.
Emma nodded too. "Especially since ancient Rome was kind of like Britain until recently. Empire spreading as far as it could, taking over. So you had people worshipping local gods, and adopting Roman ones, or Rome putting their twist on local gods they liked. Keeping things as simple as possible had to help."
"I wonder whether Sara comes from somewhere else like that," Jag stated curiously.
"Probably. At least as Sainte Sara." They should visit her shrine too while they're at the temple. "The Catholic church absorbed a lot of local deities heroes and made them saints. And even without the church, Roma beliefs travel with them, and shift just like the language, whoever she might have been to begin with. If that makes sense."
"It does, yeah," Jag confirmed as he thought about it. He never really had, before. Sara just was, and he'd never really questioned anything about her.
Emma was thinking of Sara and Fortuna and that quote she couldn't quite remember about man making god in his own image, and trying to decide if that was such a bad thing – Mémé would be rolling in her grave – as they entered the temple. It almost helped her ignore the voice in her head saying Jag was better off without her getting in the way. It was just the almost that kept being such a problem.
Until yesterday, the alcove with Fortuna's shrine had been empty for awhile, and Emma paused at the entrance to let Jag see before entering. All along the wall was a chalk drawing of a woman in Roman dress, holding a cornucopia in one hand and a ship's rudder in the other. In the background was the world. Well, Earth. Around here, 'the world' could mean all kinds of places, depending on who was talking. "My attempt at creating something for Fortuna Redux. Even if at this point..." Emma stopped and shook her head. She'd wallowed yesterday. Today she needed to do better.
The small flames Jag had created all came together into a single one as they entered the temple, and stepped over to Fortuna's alcove. Warm light flickered on the drawing, and Jag studied it quietly for a few seconds, before looking at Emma when she spoke up. It was instinct that had him reach for her hand, "At this point, we can use her favour," he said, quietly, and squeezed her hand.
"Yeah." Jag's hand where it wrapped around hers was warm as usual and very solid. Completely unlike an intangible, mostly forgotten goddess created out of a deep need to just get home. Her hand tightened around his, reminding her, reminding both of them, they weren't alone. Sometimes it was enough to keep the loneliness away. Sometimes, like last night, it made it better and worse at the same time.
By the time Kitty cut him off, walking in a straight line had become a bit of an ordeal. He headed outside for a cigarette, and to head back to their suite. Maybe she'd be there. Maybe she wouldn't be. Maybe she'd be upstairs in her room, and stairs didn't seem like a good plan, and maybe she'd been avoiding him on purpose? It was a shitty day for both of them. Probably all she could think about was Pyro, and she didn't need the extra reminder.
He lit up a cigarette, flame darting ahead of him, as if to show him the way, winding as unsteadily as his feet under him. When he tripped on something (a root? a hole in the ground? his own feet?) and fell, flame dying as he lost focus, Jag decided to just lay there on the grass instead of standing back up. Just for a minute or two. He shifted onto his back and looked up at the sky, then shouted, "Fuck you, universe!" as loud as his lungs could manage.
By the time Emma left the gym, she was sore, physically exhausted, and a little shaky – maybe she should've eaten something earlier, but with how her stomach roiled at the idea, it would be a bad idea right now. But she barely noticed any of that, or much of anything except the pick-axes driving into her skull. She squinted against lights around the inn, just wanting to get back to the suite where she could curl up in the dark, and she'd at least an excuse for hermitting.
She didn't notice the fire at first. Not until it wasn't there anymore. Jag yelling, she noticed, though, along with everyone else probably. Why had she been avoiding him anyway? Oh yeah, because she wasn't her and how was any of this fair? But she'd already changed directions, toward where the shout had come from.
"I'll second that," she said, more softly, as she came closer, but – hopefully – before any fireballs got instinctively thrown. As much to let him know she was there as agreeing the universe could get fucked.
"Em!" Jag called out as he sat up, and sent a few globules of flame to dance around her, so that he might see her in the dark. The flames came a little too close to her, through no conscious decision of his own, simply because his control was terrible at this stage of drunkenness. "Emma. Where've you been? You haven't been here."
You haven't been here probably wasn't meant to hit like a punch, but Emma felt the strike like it had been. The feel of flames dancing too close for comfort only registered after, and she took a half step back. "Hey, watch where you go with those flames. Not all of us are immune," she said, trying to keep it light, because otherwise she was probably going to tear up, or start apologizing and not know how to stop.
"I was..." she waved a hand, trying to come up with an explanation and falling short, "...not here."
Jag frowned at the admonishment about those flames, and pulled them back to dance around Emma from a (much, much) safer distance. No risk of singing anyone now. He could've just made sure they didn't burn her, of course, but that would have required thought and focus, both of which were somewhat lacking in him just then. "Sorry," he said, with a grimace. "Y'all right?"
"I am..." she stretched her arms out and down at her sides, turning them one way then the other to show she was, "... unsinged. And I'm not as drunk as some people. All right is... stretching it," she admitted, not having the energy to lie and say she was okay.
Jag was quiet for a beat, turning that over in his mind. "Is it the annv..." He trailed off, and gave up on saying that word, just then. "The one year thing?" He shifted to push up to his feet, unsteadily. "It's a bitch."
When he stood, Emma moved up instinctively, to steady him if he needed it. When she nodded in answer to his question, she quickly thought twice, wincing as the movement jostled her imploding skull. "It made it feel more real. It's stupid. Not like I haven't known how long I've been stuck here."
Jag very nearly toppled back down as he moved to his feet, and would have if Emma hadn't helped steady him. His arm went around her waist, and he buried his face against her neck, then told her, muffled, "Ta." He looked up from her neck and gave her a bit of a wobbly smile. "I can sleep somewhere else if you want. You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"
She wanted to deny it; he'd misunderstand and think it was his fault, and right that moment she wasn't sure she could say why she'd wanted to stay clear of him, other than knowing it was not his fault at all. But he was already feeling like it was him, wasn't he, if he was offering to stay somewhere else. "I... I make things worse, harder on you. And I was feeling selfish today. But it wasn't not wanting you around." As she fumbled her explanation she started walking them toward their building. Slowly, because they'd both end up on the ground otherwise.
"'s all right," Jag mumbled, instinctively walking with her. "I get it. Where are we going?"
It wasn't all right, and she was already feeling guilty about wallowing in her own feelings today, when so many of the people she cared about here were going through the same thing, if not worse. "Back to the room. While you can still put one foot in front of the other and I'm not stuck not being able to carry you to bed."
"Could always sleep out here," Jag pointed out, arm tightening around her waist briefly as he misstepped, nearly fell, stayed upright thanks to her. He carried on, as if nothing had happened, "Not that cold."
"How much sleep do you think I'd get, knowing you were passed out," which was not the same as just sleeping, "somewhere on the grounds? When I could have done something about it. Come on. Room. Bed. Water. All that good stuff. You're already going to be feeling tomorrow about like I do tonight."
"How d'you feel tonight?" Jag asked, far too drunk to think far enough ahead to how he would feel tomorrow, and draw a conclusion from that.
"Like someone's putting on a full size fireworks show inside my skull?" It was her own fault, and she knew that, but that only made it hurt more when she thought about it. "Psi headache, 'cause I was stupid."
"What kind of stupid?" Jag asked, because that didn't really compute. Emma didn't tend to be stupid. Em either. He was the stupid one, without fail.
"Overdid it. The World for flying so I could reach high spots while working on a drawing in the temple, and then I went to the gym, work off some of this whatever it is. Sparring with and against my projections. And then using Alec as a punching bag for awhile." She hadn't meant to, just a regular spar, but he'd seemed to think she needed to lash out, and he wasn't as wrong as she'd wanted him to be.
Jag nearly stumbled on his own feet this time, and stared at her when she caught him. "What?"
She did catch him before he could pull them both down, and ignored how muscles sore from sparring complained at the sudden shift and pull. "I overused my powers, that's all. I know better, I just..." She shrugged. There wasn't all that much to it, and she wasn't sure why it had surprised Jag like that.
"Not that!" Jag cut in, still staring at her. "The bit about... the punch bag. That's not... It's not what you do. It's not what you should do!"
Then it was her turn to be surprised, and confused, at the force of Jag's reaction. "What? No. Nothing like that. We were sparring. And Alec... I don't know. He thought I was holding back and that I looked like I needed something to punch, which was not me, you know that, and he kept trying to get me to let go, reminding me he was tougher than a lot of people, and I didn't need to hit like a girl, that kind of thing."
Jag was trying hard to find the right way to phrase everything that was wrong about that, but Emma's last words gave him something else to say, something easy to protest. "Girls are fucking great at hitting!"
She didn't know why Jag was reacting so strongly to this, other than because he was really really drunk. Okay, that was probably enough. "I know. Alec knows it too. He was trying to get a rise out of me. And I do tend to hold back in sparring, especially when I'm the one attacking. He wasn't... necessarily wrong that I needed to do better." Holding back too much in sparring, you'd be more likely to hold back in a real fight, when you couldn't afford to. Emma had lost count of the times people had told her that, so it wasn't like this was anything new.
"You don't do that when you need to punch something," Jag muttered, confused, thoughts tumbling through his brain. Was he supposed to say more? This wasn't right. What right did he have to say more? But he couldn't let her do that, could he.
"I didn't-" She stopped, rubbing the spot between her eyes trying to at least change the pattern of stabbing pain if she couldn't get rid of it. "I told him I wasn't looking for someone to punch. Not like that. And I wasn't trying... Why does this matter to you so much?"
"Because it's you!" Jag blurted out. Was he meant to have a better reason than that? It was all the reason he needed.
"I..." You what, Em? She didn't even know what it was that was bothering Jag, other than she'd messed up somehow. Or she hadn't, but she was telling things wrong, and he thought she had. More quietly, "I'm sorry," and "What do you want me to do?"
"I don't know," Jag admitted, deflating. He leaned his head on Em's shoulder as they walked into their building, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.
Emma squinted against the brighter light now they were at their building, and when they got to the suite, she found her key card and unlocked the door almost entirely by feel. Knowing she'd upset Jag in ways she didn't understand and didn't know how to fix, when the main reason she'd been avoiding him had been because she wanted especially not to hurt him today, just made her feel worse. She could feel the sting of tears against the back of her eyes, and couldn't have said whether it was the headache, the too much of a year in this place, or guilt and frustration over making things worse. "Do you mind... Can we keep the lights off, use a little flame to see by?"
That made Jag straighten up, and he held a hand out, palm up, to bring up a flame. "Scalp massage?" he offered, without thinking it through. It used to help his Em, when she'd pushed too hard.
In the morning, Emma would realize how selfish she was being tonight. But in the moment, she was hurting and tired and homesick, and she really didn't want to be alone. She nodded, carefully, almost before she noticed she was doing it. "I was meaning to get you safely to bed before you passed out somewhere." Or got hurt on the way. "Not be a bother."
"You're getting me to bed," Jag pointed out as they crossed the common room towards his bedroom. "You're joining me in it, is all." He didn't even realise what he had said after saying it, focused as he was on the thought of helping her feel better. In a way that was much better than... whatever had happened in that gym. He turned to look at her face, and nearly tripped on his own feet, only just managing to right himself, with her help. "You're not hurt, are you? From the, er, sparring thing. It's just the headache?"
Her fair skin could be a problem in more than one way. It did nothing to hide the way she blushed when she realized what he had said, although she reminded herself he didn't mean anything by it. Then he stumbled, and trying to keep him on his feet and steady... ish, distracted them both from any embarrassment. And being so pale also meant any little hit she took while sparring with Alec was likely to show as bruises by morning, whether they hurt or not. They definitely didn't hurt right then, though. "I'm fine, Jag, really. I just overdid it today."
Later, Jag told himself, he would have a look at her knuckles. They were always the first to suffer, in his own bar-brawling experience. "Okay," he agreed, and let himself fall on his bed, forgetting for a second about the fire in his hand. He remembered after just a beat, and lifted his hand again, making sure the duvet hadn't caught on fire. "Um." He reached towards the bedside table and sent the flame over to light the candle, freeing his hand up and allowing him to pull off his shoes. "Come on, come here," he invited Em as he pushed himself back so he'd be sitting in the middle of the large bed.
Her knuckles, he would discover when he looked, were just fine. If they'd suffered a little more, she wouldn't have the excruciating headache she had now, because that would've meant using her projections and their weapons less and her fists more.
"I'm coming," she assured him, but instead of moving to join him on the bed right then, she continued on into the bathroom. Only for a moment, though, long enough to fill a glass at the tap. He needed to hydrate, and she wasn't sure they'd think about it later, if she didn't see to it now. "Drink that," she said, setting the glass on the nightstand before she toeing off her shoes and setting her bag beside them.
Obediently, Jag stretched out to the nightstand and downed the contents of the glass. Water was always a good idea, when drunk; he knew this even pissed. He then settled back in the middle of the bed, waiting for her to join him.
She climbed onto the bed with him and tucked her feet comfortably under her as she settled into place. She was being selfish, and she knew it, but that selfishness told her Jag would worry if she'd changed her mind and gone up to her room now. At least this way she knew he was safely in bed, at least a little bit rehydrated, and she could make sure, if he passed out, that he was on his side where he wouldn't choke or anything. The selfishness was grasping at rationales, but it was enough. Tomorrow she would probably feel different. She just hoped Jag would forgive her for it.
"Head in my lap?" Jag asked hopefully, arranging his legs in a lotus position so it would be comfortable for her. He knew from experience that his arms would get tired far too quickly otherwise - not that he wouldn't give it a go anyway, if she didn't want to do that.
"If that would be easiest." It felt more... intimate than they were with each other, but if that was what felt best for him, that's what they would do. She shifted, lying down with her head in Jag's lap the way he asked, and tried not to feel too awkward about it.
Jag lifted her hair out of the way as she settled down, before draping it over his lap. Honestly, giving her any kind of massage felt more intimate than they were with each other, but he wanted to, anyway. Of course, he wanted to be more intimate with her in a number of ways, so maybe this was completely wrong of him? But he would worry about that tomorrow. Right now, he was going to make her feel better, the way he knew how. The fingers of his right hand were warm from the recent flames as he slid them through her hair and over her skull, left hand following a second later, on the other side of her head. He licked his lips in concentration, trying not to think too hard about how bittersweet this was. How he could do this for her, but not the rest of it. He stroked his fingers gently over her scalp for now, waiting until she relaxed into the new touch before really starting massaging her scalp.
With anyone else, he would have had to ask to tell him what felt good, what felt bad. But with her, he knew. With her in these circumstances in particular, he also knew. He knew the best ways to help chase away the migraine, and the best ways to make her relax, and he was working now towards both of those goals. In silence, trapped between the past and the present.
Pyro had done this for her sometimes, and damn it, she wasn't going to think about that. She took a breath, held it, and then let it out slowly, focusing on the warmth and pressure of Jag's fingers. She was so tired and her head hurt so much, she started to relax into the touch almost immediately despite herself and any overthinking she was trying to avoid. He knew just how to work at the tension, where to apply more pressure, and she wasn't going to think about that either. Then he moved his hands just so, focusing on one spot, and a whimper slipped out from that first real sign of relief.
Oh. Jag's fingers slowed for a second, barely a second, and then he resumed working on her scalp. Was it wrong, that he wanted her to make more noises like that? Of course he wanted to because it meant he was helping, and she was feeling better, but he also really just wanted to hear that again. He hadn't heard that in... Well, not since he'd come here. So he kept his focus where it was apparently really good right now, fingers pressing and stroking, circling, seeking...
Unfortunately for Jag, she didn't make that sound again, but he had to be able to feel how she was melting under his touch, because it was helping. It wouldn't get rid of the headache completely, that would take time and rest, and some kind of pain killer wouldn't hurt, but the massage was bringing it back to a manageable level, where she could focus on other things, or get the rest that would help more than anything. She wasn't sure when silent tears spilled from the corners of her eyes to trail down her face, and couldn't have said why they did. But they didn't have anything to do with the whispered, "I'm sorry," she needed to give him.
The back of Jag's own eyes prickled with unshed tears, at the sight of hers, and he blinked rapidly to keep them from falling - then frowned at her words. "Hey, no," he told her, immediately. "No sorry. Come here." He pulled his hands back from her hair, urging her to sit up so he could hug her. She was crying, what else was he meant to do?
The tears weren't bad. She wasn't sure what they were, but she knew that much. It wasn't anything she knew how to explain right then, though. She shook her head in place of the words she didn't have, but sat up and curled into the hug. it was just... too much. This place. The day. Her headache, and the far worse ache in her heart. And Jag was right there, and it was just a scalp massage, and...
And she had no idea how much she missed having simple physical contact with other real, live people. She breathed out slowly, and in again, scent of smoke and booze and Jag, and she bit back another sorry for how selfish she was being, and she knew she was. She just wasn't sure she could stop right then.
Jag held her close, stroking a hand through her hair repeatedly. He didn't have to think about it. It was just like holding Em, his Em, and usually that would have been heartbreaking, but right now it was too familiar, too wonderfully, brilliantly familiar to hurt very much. He breathed in deeply, and then out slowly, and if a couple of tears ran down his face, they were more gratitude and sympathy than they were first hand grief. "It's all right, bab," he told her, as if she were her, and he rocked her gently, and kissed her hair. "I've got you. Cry it out. It's all right."
Emma wanted to believe him, but they both knew better. It was just something you said. The tears didn't last long, and she wiped the last trails of them from her cheeks with the back of her hand. She should pull away, sit back. And she would... in a minute.
Jag held her for a while yet, giving her a moment to compose herself. Then he leaned back, enough to look into her face, her reddened eyes, and tell her, his arms still around her, "You're not alone, all right?"
She nodded slowly, and made herself stop biting at the corner of her mouth when she realized she was doing it. Her gaze had tried to drop too, and she lifted it again to meet his eyes. "That means you aren't either."
Jag's thumb brushed beside her mouth about the time she stopped biting it, his heart squeezing painfully. "No, I know," he told her, eyes dragging away from her mouth to lock with hers again.
The brush of his thumb was barely anything, a there and gone touch, and she still had to stop herself from trying to follow it. "I should... get you some more water and let you sleep probably." Not that she made a move or seemed in any hurry to do it.
"Or you could stay." The words were out before Jag could think of holding them back, and the truth was, he wasn't much for thinking right now, drunk as he still was (although a lot more settled into himself than he had been out there; giving her that massage had grounded him). All he knew was that he didn't want her to go, and that he wanted to kiss her so much his heart ached with it. He leaned in, hand sliding along her jaw. "We could use feeling a little less lonely tonight."
It was completely subconscious, the way her eyes closed and she leaned into the touch. She didn't have to ask how long it had been. She'd been here a year. But her hand came up to curl around his, giving a gentle squeeze first as she got ready to pull it away. "You are so drunk," she said softly.
That wasn't a no, and the way she leaned into his hand felt like a yes, so Jag didn't stop leaning in until his lips found hers, for a first brush, and then a snugger fit. He knew the way they fit together as well as he knew the ways his heart could ache, but in this moment, pain didn't matter. For this one, beautiful moment, he was kissing Emma, and everything was right with the world.
It should have been a no, or it should have been a no before she ever let it get to this. But she'd been hurting, lonely, and just having someone who cared holding her close, she was selfish, and it was Jag who was going to be hurt because of it. She pulled back enough to see him. "Don't," still softly, and so sorry.
"I'll stay, if you still want, but to sleep." She didn't want to go, but it wasn't about her, and she'd already been selfish enough. It would be his choice.
Don't. The word seemed to burrow inside him, leaving pain and darkness in its wake. Of course she wouldn't want to - she wasn't - what had he been - and he wanted her to stay, of course. He wanted to curl up around her and let the tears now welling up in his eyes fall. He wanted to kiss her again, and show her how beautiful she was. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and pulled his hands back. "I'm so sorry."
He'd told himself he wouldn't go there, again and again, and here he was, and he'd crossed that line, and what kind of person did that make him? A fucking terrible one. "You don't have to stay."
Damn it. She'd gone and done exactly what she'd been trying for a year not to do, and she didn't know how to fix it. "Hey, no." She curled a hand along his jaw, holding gently so he wouldn't turn away. "This isn't your fault. At all." But if he was anything like her, he wouldn't believe that. If he was anything like Pyro, he not only wouldn't believe it wasn't his fault, he'd believe it was entirely his fault and none of hers.
She wanted to hold him, tell him it would be all right. She wanted to be held and believe she could make things better. "I don't want to go," she admitted, even though that was what had caused the problem in the first place. "But I don't want to hurt you even more."
Her hand to his jaw felt just like hers, and Jag had to look away, look away from her eyes that weren't hers, when the tears spilled over. He sniffed, and wiped a hand over his cheeks. How could a touch so delicate hurt so much? And of course it was his bloody fault. Whose else? She hadn't asked him to kiss her. She hadn't asked him to love her. She hadn't asked him to be too fucked up to know where his love for his Em ended, and his love for her began. She hadn't asked for any of it, and he was the worst.
But when she said she didn't want to go, he still wanted to believe that, selfishly. "Please don't go," he murmured, not quite looking her in the eye. "I'll - I won't - I won't do anything. But. Please. Don't go."
She shouldn't have felt so relieved hearing he didn't want her to go, but she did, a knot of tension she hadn't realized she was holding onto loosening some at the thought she could stay. Because she would have gone, but it would have hurt and she would have worried even more about how she'd screwed up. She wanted to tell him she knew he wouldn't do anything. Because she did. Wanted to tell him she trusted him. Because she did that too. Maybe it was remembering communication fails with Pyro, or just not having the energy for anything else, or feeling like it would only draw more attention to his mistaken idea that he was the one who'd done something wrong, she didn't know, but she didn't tell him either of those things.
Instead, she gave him a small smile. "Come on. We'll get some sleep. Things will feel different tomorrow." Was she a coward if she admitted to herself she kind of hoped he was drunk enough now not to remember in the morning what had happened? Because there was a part of her that hoped so. She'd still have to carry her guilt, but he wouldn't.
Things would be much worse tomorrow, Jag knew, distantly, and not that different. He nodded all the same, and peeled out of his jumper, but made sure to keep his t-shirt on. He'd just crossed one line he shouldn't have; that was enough. He stripped down to his boxers and tee, avoiding eye contact, then took a quick turn in the bathroom to drink some more, and take a much-needed piss. Thoughts were going round and round in his mind, and he felt tired and miserable. He didn't understand why she'd want to stay, and it made him feel sick that she might not have anyone else to go to right now. Tonight, of all nights.
Sunny had offered a wine and bad movies girls' night, but Emma had put it off for another time, knowing even before the migraine she wouldn't have been fit company. So she'd subjected Jag to her and gotten things all complicated and wrong instead. Great job, Em. But what he was missing is there wasn't anyone else here she wanted to go to right now, which was a different thing altogether.
While he was in the bathroom, she got out of her cardi and bra, laying them on top of her shoes and bag, and turned down the sheets. Then once Jag was through, she slipped into the bathroom herself, using the toilet and after washing her hands, running cool water over her wrists for a bit, since sometimes that helped with the headache that wasn't going to go away completely without rest.
By the time she came back out, Jag was sitting in bed, playing with a small flame. He extinguished it, watching her with eyes full of emotion. "Are you sure you want to..."
"Where do you want me?" Emma asked, instead of answering him directly. She was sure, unless he'd changed his mind. And yeah, the side of the bed he wasn't on was the obvious answer, but she didn't know. Maybe he preferred the other side when he wasn't sleeping alone. And she was the one staying in his bed, after screwing everything up. How they did this was up to Jag.
It took Jag a moment to realise what she was asking, and then he glanced around the bed. "Wherever?" he offered, and gestured at the unoccupied side of the bed. "I can shift to that side if..." If you don't prefer the same side of the bed as Em's. So he just trailed off.
She shook her head as she climbed into bed beside him. "No, this is good. I just wanted to..." Now she was the one trailing off. Why did this all have to be so awkward and easy at the same time? How could this be so awkward and easy at the same time? Of course, once she was in the bed, they were back to more awkwardness. How to curl up with someone, how to fit arms and legs, for the curve of one body to meet another's, and trying to think it through only made things worse. So... don't think about it, just do it. Emma lay down on her side and held her arm out in invitation for Jag. Even though it was his bed. Oops?
Jag put the candle flame out with a thought, then slid down the bed to lay beside her and awkwardly move into her space. Did she really want him that close, after he'd just kissed her? He wanted to curl up around her like she was his, and pretend. That wasn't right, though. So he remained a little stiff and very much awkward and uncertain, trying to put his hand somewhere totally innocent, like, say, her shoulder. Shoulder was fine. Brilliant. No issues there.
At least she wasn't the only one feeling the awkwardness, except somehow that made things both harder and easier. She knew she couldn't be the one he wanted to curl up with, and how selfish she was being asking for this. Except... there'd been the way he pleaded with her to stay. And the way he'd held her. "It's okay," she said softly. "Sleep. I'm not going anywhere." She curled closer, shifting her arm here, tucking her head there, finding a way they almost fit, and reminding herself to breathe slow and easy and ignore the boulder in her gut that this was a bad idea.
Sleep. Like it would be that easy. At least Jag had stuck to alcohol tonight? Small favours, because his mind didn't need any assistance going round and round in circles. He forced his muscles to relax once she had settled against him, but the truth was, he didn't really want to go to sleep anyway. He wanted to make the most of holding her, although he wasn't sure which one of her he was most thinking about. Did it really matter? He was too drunk to sort it out, so he'd just focus on the feeling of her in his arms, and not try to.
But he was drunk, and sleep claimed him sooner than he expected.
Sleep didn't come as easily has Emma had tried to suggest it would, between worrying about Jag, memories of the kiss, and the tangle of feelings it brought up, but she was exhausted and headachy, and for the first time in a year, she had the warmth and comfort of someone's arms around her, and it pulled her under eventually. Once it did, though, it didn't want to let her go, and when morning came, she shifted and nestled further under the covers without fully waking up, only a vague thought teasing at the back of her mind saying there was a reason she shouldn't sleep in.
Wakefulness didn't come at once, but in stages.
At first, there was the warm body beside his, shifting, and Jag curled closer instinctively. The moment felt like home.
Then the nausea kicked in. The awful taste in his mouth. The threat of a headache at his temples.
It was instinct too, then, to cling to the dregs of sleep, try to sink back into unconsciousness. Sleep was merciful, and entirely better than a hangover.
Jag.
Just that one thought, remembering who she was curled up against, and on the heels of that, everything that had happened the night before, Emma was wide awake. She couldn't bring herself to just leave – it might have been a year, but she remembered what it had felt like to wake and see Pyro had snuck off after that last night they spent together – but it would be cruel to stay here like this too. Wouldn't it?
It was a more pressing physical need that decided the issue, though, and Emma did her best to slip out of bed and to the bathroom without waking Jag. Maybe she'd have some sort of epiphany on what to do next. Not that she was counting on that.
Jag made an unhappy sound when she slipped away from him, and it was all his headache needed to make a proper entrance, circling his brain with too tight bands of steel. He grimaced, and slowly turned around to pat for the bottle of water he kept next to his bed. He had to crack his eyes open to find it, but he eventually did, and proceeded to down about half of it, as much as he could for now.
When Emma came out of the bathroom a moment later, with a bottle of ibuprofen to leave on Jag's nightstand, she hadn't expected him to be up yet. "Sorry," she said quietly, since he probably felt worse now than she had last night. A quick glance to try and meet his eyes, before setting the pills down and wrapping her arm around her waist. "I tried not to wake you."
"Cheers," he muttered, reaching out for the tablets to pop a couple. "Not your fault," he added, after drinking a little more water. "Too much alcohol makes for shite sleep." He rubbed at his eyes, grimaced a little, and looked over at her. "Y'all right?" He was trying to remember everything about last night, but things were a hazy mess, and he had no idea how she'd ended up sleeping in his bed. But they hadn't woken up naked, at least?
The alcohol was only one reason he might not have slept as soundly last night, but if he wasn't going to bring it up, Emma wasn't sure she could. What if he honestly didn't remember? Was it selfish to hope for that? Probably, but all of this came out of her being selfish in the first place. "My head's feeling better this morning." The smallest of smiles in sympathy, and she added, "Unlike yours, I bet."
"Yeah, this is horrid," Jag confirmed with another bit of a grimace, before giving her a small lopsided smile. "How much of an arse was I last night?"
"Well," she began, thinking about it as she grabbed her cardi to pull it on, not because he'd been an asshole, but because if he didn't remember, she didn't want him taking the blame for things that weren't his fault, or wondering what she was leaving out. "You let me get you back to the room and bed instead of passing out on the grounds somewhere. You gave me a scalp massage when I was at the 'kill me now' level of psi headache. And you didn't kick me out when I didn't want to be alone. So I'm going to go for zero arse."
"So I would probably put it at 30% if I remembered, and reality's more like 10, 15% arse?" Jag reckoned. His expression of faint amusement wasn't enough to banish the frown of tension from his brow - those tablets would kick in any second now, and make everything better. "Thank you, for bringing me back here. I do remember that. And the massage, some, I think."
"I said what I meant," and she was the one who remembered, who knew what had happened had been her fault, not his, "but since there is no way you feel up to an argument right now, I'll accept your compromise." Especially if it kept him from trying to remember things she'd rather stayed forgotten.
"I was going to head to the kitchen." She'd had a shower before leaving the gym last night, and hadn't done more than walk back to the room and collapse with Jag – nothing that would require another shower before being seen in public anyway. "You want me to start the coffee maker or need anything before I go?"
Jag shook his head, then winced and stopped immediately, as that made his brain bounce inside his skull. "Ah - no, thanks. Reckon I'll just space out in bed for a bit." But it had been the same fucked up anniversary for her yesterday as it had been for him, so he eyed her, and asked, "How are you doing, bab?"
She nodded; rest would probably help him more than anything. Then shrugged when he asked how she was. She was way too selfish, and just as stuck here as she'd been yesterday, but wallowing wasn't going to change that. "I'll be okay. I'll chop vegetables and boil water. Maybe stop at the temple to spend some time and devotion to Fortuna Redux."
Jag's eyebrows raised curiously. "To who now?"
"Fortuna Redux," she said again, perching on the corner of the bed, one foot tucked under her. "There was a shrine going empty, and I... I don't know, it just seemed like it was waiting for her. She's the aspect of Fate for getting people home safely."
He huffed out a breath, barely a chuckle. "Yeah, she seems like a good fit. Will you show me?"
"Yeah," Emma answered, voice soft, even if she stopped short of telling him she would really like to do that. "Sometime when you feel like moving again."
"Like existing," he confirmed, with a grimace.
"Existing is a good start." And he'd be able to rest better once she was gone. She pushed up from the bed slowly. "Sleep. Maybe try another sip or two of water first if you think you can." Before she could think to stop herself – and she should have, she realized as soon as she'd done it – she ran a hand over his hair. "I'll be in the kitchen. You can call if you need anything."
That brush of her fingers over his hair was a welcome heartache, like everything tended to be with her. It tugged at the echo of a memory, something from last night, he thought, but he couldn't quite recall it. So he just gave her a small smile. "I'll stop by when I feel like existing again, yeah? We can visit the temple."
That smile made her chest feel tight, warmth of affection eaten by the acid burn of guilt, and Emma nodded, not quite meeting his eyes as she gave him a hint of smile in return. "We can visit the temple," she agreed. "When you exist again."
For now, though. Sleep for Jag. A change of clothes for Emma, and then Dani's medicine for tangled feelings. She did have a hotel of people to feed, even if she didn't feel like eating anything herself this morning.
Jag gingerly curled up in bed, throwing the cover back over himself. From underneath it came a mumbled, but genuine, "Enjoy the cooking, Em."
Emma had been flattening a slab of butter for puff pastry when Jag finally found his way down to the kitchen that afternoon, so it had been easy to throw everything back in the fridge once he'd had something to eat; it would have needed to chill again anyway. Since he still seemed interested in stopping by the temple, she ducked behind the bar to grab a glass and bottle of wine on their way out.
"I'm pretty sure visiting a goddess as fickle as Fate without an offering is just asking for trouble we don't need," she explained, grinning. That was it, focus on the immediate, try not to think about the awkward of remembering the night before or worrying if, or when, Jag might remember too.
Jag had had a pint with his meal; only way to make sure he recovered properly, with a hangover like that one. Now he felt all right, really. Not at his best, mind a little fuzzy, but he'd be fine, as long as he kept the lowkey buzz going. So the wine was a good idea for more than just Fortuna. "Think she'll be cross if we drink some of that ourselves?" he asked with an answering smirk.
Emma wasn't sure hair of the dog was an actual hangover cure, but she couldn't blame Jag from wanting to at least numb the edges. At least he'd slept and gotten something to eat. "I think," she began, "since the ancient Romans were super anal about how they did their rituals, and I haven't a clue about most of that, we're probably okay celebrating in our own way. Including sharing some of the wine."
"So she's Roman?" Jag asked, just so Emma would talk more about the goddess, as they headed out of the bar. Balls of fire danced around them as they stepped out onto the grounds, as much to offer them - well, mostly Emma - some warmth as because he liked the feel of them. There was always this temporary sense of elation, when a hangover abated properly, and he remembered what it was like to feel good, so he was in a great mood just then.
Emma watched the flames dancing, the hand not holding the bottle and glass wrapped around her waist, as she let talking about Fortuna keep her from dwelling on the night before. "Mmhmm. Fortuna was their goddess of luck, and they had a different version of her for every kind of luck they could think of or cared about. Good luck, bad luck. In war, and in peace. Growing up. Finding a partner. Over-indulging." Yeah, that last one was kind of pertinent just then. "All kinds of things. Fortuna Redux, they decided brought one of the Caesars back to Rome from wherever he'd been fighting or conquering or whatever." Her head tilted in thought as she tried to remember. "Augustus, I think, but all the caesars run together sometimes. So soldiers started setting up altars and leaving offerings to her when they were away from home... and most of them were away from home most of the time, or thanking her when they returned safely."
She shrugged, realizing she was starting to ramble. "I don't know. It just felt like we all could use a little of her kind of luck here."
Jag hadn't even realised there were several Caesars, but he didn't interrupt, not particularly keen to display his ignorance, even to Emma. "Hey, it can't hurt, can it," he agreed with her conclusion. "What's Redux mean?"
"Sabine's the one who actually knows Latin." Emma had picked up bits here and there, or could figure things out from vocabulary in the languages she did speak, but it wasn't the same as knowing a language. And she was used to her cousin being the genius and knowing things she didn't. "But I think it's something like brought back or returned. Most of the add ons to gods' names would have been pretty self-explanatory back when it was the language people actually spoke, I think."
Jag often wondered how he would have got along with Sabine, if he could have met her. He didn't much like the way Em - either of them - tended to defer to her, to be content with standing in her shadow, but he had no way of knowing whether Sabine played a part in that. He nodded along to Emma's explanation now. "That makes sense. Especially if they have different versions of every god." They would need an easy way to sort through them.
Emma nodded too. "Especially since ancient Rome was kind of like Britain until recently. Empire spreading as far as it could, taking over. So you had people worshipping local gods, and adopting Roman ones, or Rome putting their twist on local gods they liked. Keeping things as simple as possible had to help."
"I wonder whether Sara comes from somewhere else like that," Jag stated curiously.
"Probably. At least as Sainte Sara." They should visit her shrine too while they're at the temple. "The Catholic church absorbed a lot of local deities heroes and made them saints. And even without the church, Roma beliefs travel with them, and shift just like the language, whoever she might have been to begin with. If that makes sense."
"It does, yeah," Jag confirmed as he thought about it. He never really had, before. Sara just was, and he'd never really questioned anything about her.
Emma was thinking of Sara and Fortuna and that quote she couldn't quite remember about man making god in his own image, and trying to decide if that was such a bad thing – Mémé would be rolling in her grave – as they entered the temple. It almost helped her ignore the voice in her head saying Jag was better off without her getting in the way. It was just the almost that kept being such a problem.
Until yesterday, the alcove with Fortuna's shrine had been empty for awhile, and Emma paused at the entrance to let Jag see before entering. All along the wall was a chalk drawing of a woman in Roman dress, holding a cornucopia in one hand and a ship's rudder in the other. In the background was the world. Well, Earth. Around here, 'the world' could mean all kinds of places, depending on who was talking. "My attempt at creating something for Fortuna Redux. Even if at this point..." Emma stopped and shook her head. She'd wallowed yesterday. Today she needed to do better.
The small flames Jag had created all came together into a single one as they entered the temple, and stepped over to Fortuna's alcove. Warm light flickered on the drawing, and Jag studied it quietly for a few seconds, before looking at Emma when she spoke up. It was instinct that had him reach for her hand, "At this point, we can use her favour," he said, quietly, and squeezed her hand.
"Yeah." Jag's hand where it wrapped around hers was warm as usual and very solid. Completely unlike an intangible, mostly forgotten goddess created out of a deep need to just get home. Her hand tightened around his, reminding her, reminding both of them, they weren't alone. Sometimes it was enough to keep the loneliness away. Sometimes, like last night, it made it better and worse at the same time.
