singillatim | I had a dream about a burning house

Entry tags:

I had a dream about a burning house

Who: Wynonna Earp & others
What: Event recovery post-Visitor & Adust
When: Through February
Where: Around town, Little's cabin, tbd.

Content Warnings: General Wynonna warnings (alcoholism, possible mentions of child abandonment & abduction, patricide, violence), others tbd.

Hit me up for plotting or starters at repeatandfade or blueofthebay on disco!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ God fucking dammit. God fucking dammit this is like, the sixth time this has happened with Wynonna. March's jaw clenches so hard he's surprised he doesn't chip a tooth. Wynonna's gorgeous no matter what way you slice it and there's something about the simple intimacy of someone putting their hair up like that's really, really unfair. ]

It doesn't.

[ March closes his eyes, scrunches his whole face up, in desperate need of a reset. When he opens them he's still looking at Wynonna, though. ]

Okay. Maybe I didn't look so close at it.

[ And maybe it was an excuse. ]

Told you.

[ But it's hers now. Actually, it'll be nice to have a hair tie for the now-and-again she wants one.

She takes half a step back and half-sits against the edge of the kitchen table, watching him. He's scruffier than ever and his hair is all rumpled from the trek over here and she wishes she didn't kind of want to run her fingers through it to straighten it out. ]

Nice of you to come all the way out here, just in case.

Just in case.

[ March's jaw is still incredibly tight. He forces it open, physically running a hand through the stubble on his chin to do so, temporarily in thought. A rare occurrence. ]

There was another thing. Maybe. That I came here for.

[ It's difficult not to think about what happened the last time they were hanging around a kitchen table. She curls her fingers over the edge, drums the tip of her index finger on the wood. ]

What other thing?

[ Be cool, man! ]

[ Christ. He's going to have to man up. March brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, letting it just sort of flop back by his waist. ]

The other thing. The drinking thing.

[ here it goes: ]

You remember anything?

[ She eyes him, her thoughts racing. ]

Why don't you tell me what you remember, and I'll tell you what I remember?

[ She's not leaping off this cliff first, March. ]

Mink.

[ Not helpful. Wynonna eyes him and March eyes her right back, craving a cigarette. Maybe this is hell. Would it be weird if he put his sunglasses back on? Probably. He opts against it.

Right. Big boy pants. ]

Pine wine. And a kitchen table, if that rings any bells?

[ Her jaw works; her mouth presses.

It's not that she wishes she didn't remember. It's that she's got no fucking clue what to do about it now that she's not drunk and desperate for touch and he's not looking at her with that hazy simmering want in his eyes. ]

A few.

[ I think you're the only good part of this place. She remembers that, too. ]

I seem to remember I found a really great way to get you to stop talking.

[ Admittance seems painful for Wynonna, too, and if March's ego didn't fluctuate from huge to enormous on the regular he'd probably be self conscious and assume it's because he's ashamed that it's him. Instead, though, he's pretty confident it's just that it's the tenderness of the act itself. Which is complicated.

March doesn't find himself insulted at all. Hard to when you're feeling the exact same way. ]

Did we--I mean, I can't remember if we...

[ He lifts his brows and tries not to think about the way her fingers curled around the necklace he never takes off. ]

But did we?

No. No, we didn't.

[ That, she's pretty sure about. ]

I woke up with way too many clothes still on.

[ So maybe he really does just want to compare memories. Wynonna blows out a breath and squints, arms crossing as she leans back against the table. ]

I kind of remember ending up on the floor... but not much after that.

Okay.

[ There's a pause and March isn't sure if it's a few seconds or a few minutes. Feels like years. His hands are back on his hips. ]

That's great, then, right?

[ Her eyebrows furrow. She spends half her time here frowning at Holland March, it seems like. ]

Why great?

[ She's always been perfectly ready to find an insult anywhere she might look, even though she knows that's not what he means. ]

You seemed pretty into it at the time.

[ Why great? Wynonna clearly hadn't wanted anything to happen, right? Unless--

--Did she?

Shit.

March clears his throat. That hand is back at his chin again. ]

Well, yeah. [ He's still into it. His eyes rake down quickly to her neck, the healing mark on it. Louis, right? ] Of course I was.

It's just since you and I were... [ He trails off, awkwardly shrugging. ] I thought maybe it, uh didn't count...?

[ He's standing right there, shifty as hell, and all she can think of is telling Doc I think I'm better off traveling solo.

The last thing she said to him, or anyone at home, before finding herself in this frozen dump. ]

Yeah. No.

[ She tosses her head, sending the ponytail swinging, and doesn't uncross her arms. ]

It didn't count. We were both drunk off our asses.

[ March's chin tilts just a little bit upwards as he tries to get a read on Wynonna. A real, actual read, trying to peer through the bullshit.

He kind of wants it to count is the issue. But if Wynonna doesn't want it to, if whatever they have is just sort of this, then he has to respect it, right? And it's not like it's a big deal. She's got her own stuff, he's got his own stuff. They're adults. It was a weird drunken not-quite fling. Big whoop. Get over it. It's not the first time he's struck out, won't be the last. So it's fine, he's so fine. He can handle this and ignore the weird gross feeling he's got lingering in the pit of his stomach. ]

Yeah. [ He's bringing that hand from his chin to scratch at his cheek in an attempt to hide how suddenly anxious he feels. ] It's groovy, baby. It's all groovy.

[ The hand drops, fingers curled around his hips again. ]

It was just, uh, you know. Mistakes happen. It was a heavy night.

[ A muscle in her jaw flickers, there and gone again, as she meets that look he's giving her without giving anything back. He's a detective – and she thinks he's actually probably a pretty good one – but she's been staring down cops, detectives, agents, and worse since she was twelve years old. She shoves everything else into a trunk in her minds' eye, closes the lid, turns the key, and sends the whole thing careening down into a bottomless mental pit.

It doesn't matter if she remembers how his fingers felt in her hair, or how when he looked at her it was like he's the only person in this whole fucking place who actually sees her. ]

Yeah. I mean, it was fun.

[ She tosses that out lightly, like it's not a grenade designed to get him to back off even further. It was fun, so casually. Like they'd been playing cards instead of desperate to get their hands on each other. ]

But it was just that night. And the booze. That shit is strong as hell.

[ It was fun.

Yeah, okay. So they're on the same page. That's....great. It doesn't feel great. It should be. It's not like it was anything. Wynonna confirmed that, so he can just go right on ahead and ignore that weird feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He's had one night stands before. Used to have them all the time, and they even fucked, unlike now. So this is fine. It's for the best, anyway. Obviously. Wynonna has shit to do. March has shit to do. They're adults. ]

Right on.

[ His hand moves up to his breast pocket out of habit, though it stops once he realizes he's got no cigarettes. He bites at his lip instead for a couple of seconds, and breathes out. ]

Okay. Well, great. That's great. I'm going to go do... something.

Over there.

[ He's not pointing. ]

Yeah, okay.

[ He doesn't point, and she doesn't move. She doesn't look past him, where her bed is, and she doesn't chew on her lip or swish the ponytail or any of the hundred other little nervous habits she's stomping down on right now. Her eyes don't follow the path his fingers take as he pats his breast pocket, and they don't drop to his mouth when he bites at his lip. Wynonna looks him right in the eye with a poker face she picked up from Doc Holliday himself and doesn't bat a lash.

It was fun, but it was a mistake, and they both agree on both those things, so what else is there to say? ]

See you around.

Edited 2024-03-12 15:56 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I had a dream about a burning house

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject