Sleeping alone isn't unusual. Sleeping alone, in Steve's house, in the guest room, though...that is. It's weird. Especially after how not weird the movie was, when she got a faceful of pillow after tossing her bottle cap at his head, when it turns out touching each other isn't a crime and nobody gets shocked or hurt if they accidentally brush shoulders or arms or legs.
Maybe they weren't curled up together, maybe they actually watched through to the end of the movie, but it was actually pretty normal, by the end there.
Which just makes the night all that much stranger.
She doesn't know this bed or this room, but knows the walls are thin enough that Mary could hear them, before (which still makes her cheeks feel hot, just thinking about it), and she can imagine she hears Steve, shifting in the sheets on that big comfy bed. Wondering if he's sleeping any more than she is.
Part of her wants to get up and go into his room. It's irrational, and, worse than that, actively destructive, but it's a little fantasy she indulges briefly before shaking aside as both unnecessary and sort of cruel. She doesn't want to come between Steve and someone he cares about. It's the last thing she wants, no matter how curious she is, no matter how concerned.
He still had said barely anything; no details, and no identifiers. Giving her that flat, faintly exasperated look when she snuck in references or questions, but no answers.
Which is worrying. Especially this weekend. Especially the time frame she has to work with. When she can't even hear him talking to anyone, though she listens. Whoever it is, it's someone he doesn't call even on the weekend his mother turned up alive and his team went through the fire and came out fractured on the other side. But someone he doesn't want to screw things up with, by sleeping with her.
And, of course, the reason why this weekend, of all weekends, whoever it is should be here: Doris. She's lying here in Mary's room, wondering if Mary knows yet, if Steve decided to call her after all. Probably not. He's the kind who prefers giving bad news in person, which means Mary might not know for months. If ever. Considering Doris has left again.
It's a long few hours of blinking at the ceiling, listening, and continually rolling over to try and get comfortable, but then there's a moment when she blinks her eyes open and it's light out, again.
Which leads her padding down into the kitchen, hair all mussed and beachy, to prod at the coffee maker until it starts percolating and she can bring a cup to sip, at the kitchen table, looking out at the morning slowly rising.
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-06 02:06 am (UTC)Maybe they weren't curled up together, maybe they actually watched through to the end of the movie, but it was actually pretty normal, by the end there.
Which just makes the night all that much stranger.
She doesn't know this bed or this room, but knows the walls are thin enough that Mary could hear them, before (which still makes her cheeks feel hot, just thinking about it), and she can imagine she hears Steve, shifting in the sheets on that big comfy bed. Wondering if he's sleeping any more than she is.
Part of her wants to get up and go into his room. It's irrational, and, worse than that, actively destructive, but it's a little fantasy she indulges briefly before shaking aside as both unnecessary and sort of cruel. She doesn't want to come between Steve and someone he cares about. It's the last thing she wants, no matter how curious she is, no matter how concerned.
He still had said barely anything; no details, and no identifiers. Giving her that flat, faintly exasperated look when she snuck in references or questions, but no answers.
Which is worrying. Especially this weekend. Especially the time frame she has to work with. When she can't even hear him talking to anyone, though she listens. Whoever it is, it's someone he doesn't call even on the weekend his mother turned up alive and his team went through the fire and came out fractured on the other side. But someone he doesn't want to screw things up with, by sleeping with her.
And, of course, the reason why this weekend, of all weekends, whoever it is should be here: Doris. She's lying here in Mary's room, wondering if Mary knows yet, if Steve decided to call her after all. Probably not. He's the kind who prefers giving bad news in person, which means Mary might not know for months. If ever. Considering Doris has left again.
It's a long few hours of blinking at the ceiling, listening, and continually rolling over to try and get comfortable, but then there's a moment when she blinks her eyes open and it's light out, again.
Which leads her padding down into the kitchen, hair all mussed and beachy, to prod at the coffee maker until it starts percolating and she can bring a cup to sip, at the kitchen table, looking out at the morning slowly rising.