I had a dream about a burning house

[pacificator]

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!

Comments

[questioningmermaids]

[ 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...?

[pacificator]

[ 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.

[questioningmermaids]

[ 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.

[pacificator]

[ 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.

[questioningmermaids]

[ 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. ]

[pacificator]

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.