[Emily Littleton] By the time Emily got home, it had started to snow again. The street was already lined with cars, so she had to parallel park a couple blocks away and walk back to the rented house she shared with the passel of roommates. Hands in her pockets and coat buttoned up tight, Emily dipped her head and wandered home slowly. She was in no rush. Her messenger bag was slung across her body, resting close to one hip, a testament to her assertion that she was going to be a Student again... rather than an Apprentice, or a World Traveler, or any of the other titles she had unwittingly assumed over the past months.
Red-ringed and damp, her eyes stung from crying. She'd sat the kitchen and let herself cry until it wouldn't be a distraction anymore when she tried to drive. It was pragmatically better to risk Nick seeing how much he'd upset her than it was to endanger herself by driving and crying at the same time. Thankfully, though, Nick had less interest in seeing her than she did in seeing him again. Not now.
About a house and a half from home, Emily dug into her messenger bag for her house keys. She ran the fingers of her other hand through her hair, and wiped at her eyes. As little as she wanted to face Marissa with bleary eyes and yet another bad day behind her, Emily had few options of where else to go. Enid's, maybe, but Enid was seeming less and less rationally self-interested every time she saw the teenager. Kage's -- no, there was too much going on at Kage's of late. Not Jarod's. No, definitely not Jarod's.
The one place Emily wanted to be was a quarter of the world away. She had no way to make it there by first light. So the rented house and the inquisitive blonde it would have to be.
Emily started walking again, heading up the last bit of sidewalk before she reached their walkway and turned toward the porchlight... assuming anyone had left it on.
[Jarod Nightingale] Despite the fact that Jarod had probably been a little further away from Emily's house (not home) than she herself had been, he had the benefit of a fast and highly responsive vehicle. He was also making a point of trying to get there quickly, whereas she might have been more inclined to take her time. It wasn't a mad dash, grant you, but the journey that Jarod made down the streets of Chicago that night was anxious enough to be ticket-worthy, should a police officer happen to spot the sleek black BMW zipping down roads and around corners. Luckily, that didn't happen.
So he'd made it there before Emily herself had, and if she'd paid much attention to the line of cars that dotted the street, she might recognize one as being both familiar and out of place. Then again, maybe she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts. In either case, when she stepped up to the porch, she'd be greeted by an all-too-familiar (and possibly unwelcome) figure seated there on the edge of the swing. Jarod could be very quiet, at times, and he was eerily good at holding still. So much so that when she looked at him, he might seem like a statue at first, leaned over with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes locked onto her face. He had on a long black wool coat and what looked like a black suit underneath.
And he was watching her as if he knew that something was wrong. (For all that she had denied it on the phone.)
"You didn't really think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?"
[Emily Littleton] She should have seen him on her walk up to the house, but due to some strategic column placements, and a rather poor porchlight, and a few other ready excuse, she hadn't really noticed him until she got up on the porch itself. And even then it took a moment to fully register. Emily looked at him like she was seeing an apparition, and perhaps she was used to them (faces [forgotten] left behind [everywhere] everywhere) because her expression didn't change much. Distant and somewhat sad.
Then he spoke, and Emily was certain that she wasn't imagining him (wishing him) onto her porch, into the swing she'd mended just earlier that year.
Something was definitely wrong. Emily held his eyes only so long before she looked away. Before she took a step back, off of the porch itself and back into the yard, and bowed her head a little.
"... Not now, Jarod," she said, softly. (Hurt). Almost softly enough that it sounded like pleading. Emily's fingers wrapped around the strap of her messenger bag, held so fast to it that her knuckles blanched. She spoke his name gently, though, for whatever that was worth.
[Jarod Nightingale] [Per+Empathy - what's wrong?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 2, 2, 3, 5, 8 (Success x 2 at target 5)
[Emily Littleton] (( Because it's habit, not because I want to. -- Manip + Subt, diff infinity ))
Dice Rolled:[ 6 d10 ] 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 10 (Success x 2 at target 8)
[Jarod Nightingale] Not now, she said, like his presence there hurt her somehow. That was hardly his intention, and he might very well have been content simply to leave her be for the evening (or for as long as she desired), but first he needed to know that this was truly what she wanted. If there was anyone who understood just how tricky human emotions could be (and how infrequently they really matched up with the things that human voices pretended were the truth), it was him.
Nothing was ever what it appeared to be. (Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he'll tell you the truth.)
She said Not now, and took a step back, and Jarod tilted his head slightly and watched her. "You... worried me, a little. When you called earlier. I thought maybe something was wrong, and you just weren't comfortable talking about it over the phone."
[Emily Littleton] How far we all come.
How far we all come away from ourselves.
So far, so much between,
...you can never go home again.
She shook her head a little (... no), and shrugged. Emily stood beyond the porch, in the place where the snow fell down. It fell down into her hair, on her shoulders, onto the warm winter coat she wore that she hadn't had when she left for warmer climates. Her fingers loosened on the bag's strap, but didn't let go. She didn't come any closer to him. This distance seemed well enough for now. Him on the neatly boxed-in porch, her in the snow-dusted yard.
"I don't think I'm comfortable talking about it, at all," she said quietly. Emily looked up at him again, finally, and her eyes were full of (ache) emotions that the two of them had spent evenings avoiding talking about. These were things neither of them had brought up, and for very good reasons, perhaps things neither of them wanted to bring up at all. Ever. (Best left unsaids [better left undones]).
"I'm sorry I worried you," she said, and the apology touched her eyes. It pushed away some of the other things for a moment, and Jarod could see into her more clearly. "I... was trying not to worry you. I though it might upset you if I just didn't return anyone's calls for a few days."
[Jarod Nightingale] That was assuming he called her at all, which he very rarely did. (Once to post-pone a planned trek through the woods, once to make sure she was warned of danger. Phone calls from him tended to have practical purpose.) But a lack of keeping in constant touch didn't necessarily represent an equal lack of concern, as Emily may very well have figured out by now about him. (Which, if she had, placed her in a very select group of people.)
"Well, I suppose that was considerate, given the circumstances." He stood up, and the wooden swing creaked gently in the cold as his weight lifted away from it. Fluid steps took him across the porch and down the couple of stairs that led to where Emily stood. Once he drew up near her physical space, he reached out to put a hand on her arm.
"But I just... I wanted you to know that whatever it is, you can tell me. I want to know what's going on with you."
And his voice wasn't cajoling or demanding. It was gentle. Straightforward. Reassuring. (At least, as much as was possible.) I want to know you, it said. I want you to be okay.
[Emily Littleton] She didn't back away when he came into her space this time. she considered it, and perhaps it was only that thinking too her too long to act appropriately quickly, but then his hand was resting on her arm. Emily look at it, and her expression saddened again. He touched her, and she was somehow... diminished.
Seconds passed. Yet again, the time that slipped away from them was measured in the space of heartbeats, of small careful breaths. Of all the thoughts they didn't share, couldn't speak. Emily's hand move to cover his for a moment, and her fingers were ice cold. They didn't linger.
"I met your boyfriend," she said, lightly. And before he had a chance to interject, she continued, "And... while I'd supposed... or assumed... that you had other interests, I hadn't really considered that I might just be breaking someone's heart."
The corners of her mouth twitched, ruefully, and Emily's eyes closed. She trembled, and if he was still touching her then Jarod would be able to tell how hard she fought to keep from crying again. She didn't pull away from him. Motionless, and barely breathing, she waited for the moment to pass. For him to say whatever it was that he might add (or call her stupid again [that would be helpful]) so she could just get over it.
It was one thing to have an open relationship, or avoid talking about the idea of monogamy. It was yet another to leave someone as raw and aching as she'd seen Nick tonight. Emily had, of course, internalized that. Even if she knew the quarrel was between Nick and Jarod, Nick had brought it to her doorstep. He had stomped all over the delicate places that had just begun to unfurl, to become hopeful or open. Now these places in Emily ached, and it wasn't Jarod's fault... but it was at least partially his problem. If he cared the way that his voice seemed to say he cared; Emily was too cautious (scared) to believe he might, though.
[Jarod Nightingale] If there was anything that he'd been expecting to hear from her tonight, after driving halfway across the city to make sure that she was okay... this particular thing was somehow both expected and surprising. Expected because sooner or later most people that he spent a protracted length of time with began to question the particulars of the relationship, and surprising because... he and Nick had rather differing viewpoints on this matter. Had Emily actually received the story from Jarod first, she might get a more realistic and less emotion-heavy version of it.
In fact, she would have gotten precisely what he was about to tell her now.
When the word boyfriend escaped her lips, his eyes suddenly flashed with irritation. Not directed at Emily per se, but it was obvious that anyone applying that term to him without first receiving his permission was liable to get their head bitten off. It wasn't something that he was comfortable with on any level, and it showed in the way that his body recoiled and tensed, and in the cold anger that settled in the wake of her accusation.
"Really? I find that rather interesting, since I can't recall ever having a boyfriend. So whoever it was that you spoke with was obviously using some creative licence." Interesting that he didn't automatically assume that she'd been referring to Nick, which in a way... was something of a confession in itself. (Either he was lying, or he genuinely couldn't be sure which of his recent sex-partners had decided to stir up trouble. Of course, he had a pretty strong idea, but he knew better than to make assumptions.)
"If anyone's heart was going to get broken, then it would be my fault, not yours. And it would have happened even if I'd never met you." His voice softened a little when he said that. Not exactly gentle, but neither did it feel angry. Finally, he let out his breath in a tight sigh, breath causing a little cloud of steam to appear in the cold air. "So since this has come up... rather than running away or making assumptions, why don't you just ask me?"
[Emily Littleton] Emily looked up at him, in his frustration, in his anger, and her features softened a little. The sadness didn't leave, no, but there was something about her carriage and expression that was quietly resigned. As if she'd been expecting this. (As if she'd always been expecting this.) She didn't fight back, or seem to be angry at Nick anymore. Or angry at Jarod, which might have been a surprise. Emily was just... accepting, in a miserable sort of way.
"Because I didn't want to know," she said, softly, and somewhat plainly. The words were heavy, but there was no helping them now. They rang with inevitability. "Because I can barely deal with the realization that I sleep better when I'm sleeping beside you. That I feel safe -- I actually feel safe in this city when you're near. Or that the time we spend together makes me happy -- because I've known since I realized that I like spending time with you and that it isn't just that you're gorgeous. I've known that I'm going to have to leave someday, and that none of this lasts, and that there's no point to falling..."
She chuckled wryly, but it was an empty sound. It wasn't resonant, event though it shook her frame. "Jarod, he asked me if I love you... How... Why..." Emily couldn't fathom why Nick had done that; why Nick had thought at all the he had any right to. It wasn't fair, and she was incredulous. "I... can't answer that. I ... I've known you a little over a month and it shouldn't even be something I'm thinking about. But here we are, now, and I ... I can't stop thinking about how much it's going to hurt to lose you when I have never had any right to think I had you in the first place."
She was just talking to him, without any anger in her voice. If Emily was angry about anything, it was that all of this had come to the surface because of someone outside of the two of them. Someone she shouldn't have had to juggle, on top of whatever it was they'd been trying to sort out. Mostly she was just sad, because they could never go backwards. There was no undoing it at this point.
"I hope... you understand why I'm not asking you. Why I didn't ask you. Maybe I would have in time, but... not like this."
[Jarod Nightingale] It was absolutely inexplicable, how something as simple as words, expressed honestly and without expectation, could instill in him such conflicting emotions. He who was always in control. He who could look his own pains and insecurities directly in the face and then destroy them utterly in the name of survival. Jarod was neither the strongest nor the most intelligent person he'd ever met, but if you stuck him in a room with a crowd of other people and then set them upon each other, chances were high that he would be the only one to walk away. (Because when push came to shove... he always did. Through whatever means necessary. Even if it meant destroying little pieces of himself in the process.)
He ought to have had something cold and pragmatic to tell Emily in response to her confession, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to be quite that cruel. Not when all he really wanted to do was make her stop hurting. So there it was... the conflict at its heart. And when Emily was quiet again, he simply stood there and looked at her for a long moment. When he finally did speak, what came out was something of a combination between blunt truth and emotional vulnerability.
"Depending on your definition of the word, I either lost my virginity when I was ten, or when I was fourteen." (It was almost alarming, how completely matter-of-fact he sounded when he said that. How emotionally detached he could be from his own experiences.) "In either case, that's a lot of years, and a lot of sexual encounters. I could never even hope to remember them all. Hell, I can't even remember how many people I slept with last year. I'm not going to lie to you and say that sex is... unimportant. Meaningless. It's not meaningless, but it isn't the same as... feeling something, emotionally. Not for me, anyway. Not usually. And part of the reason that I'm like that is because... you're right. There's no point. There's no point to attachment, or relationships, or... any of it."
He didn't say love. (Maybe, like her... he couldn't.)
"Ultimately people are selfish. Ultimately life is unpredictable. Ultimately... everything fades. Relationships, in their culturally idealized form, are socially constructed and meaningless. They're just the lies we like to tell ourselves because we're afraid of losing the people we care about. I just... skip all of that bullshit from the beginning, and it makes my life a lot easier. A lot less disappointing."
He took a breath.
"If he asked you... that. I'm sorry. It wasn't fair to you. But I want you to know that I never expected anything from you, and I still don't. If you need to leave... then you'll leave. And we can say that we enjoyed the time we did manage to have together. At least, I hope so. Because I... care about you. And I want you to feel safe when you're with me. And I want you to be happy."
[Emily Littleton] The snow fell down. The world around them was quiet. The neighbors slept, the street was empty save for slumbering cars. There was no one around to witness his confession or over hear their vulnerable moments. Marissa had no idea they were standing just beyond the porch, risking so much of themselves.
"And yet... you still care," she said carefully, and the word was filled with wonder and appreciation as much as shared sorrow and ache. "People will hurt you, people will leave you, there's no point -- we both know it -- and you're here, because of something I didn't say." Emily's could be quite expressive, when she chose to, when she wasn't hiding behind her accent and a rather pointed wit. Tonight she let these tools fall away, and the Orphan standing beside him in the snow was laid bare.
"I did have expectations of you," she admitted. "And I still do. I expect that you'll take care of yourself, and the people you choose to involve in your life. Not that you're responsible for them... just for what they bring with them. I expect that you'll expect me to do the same, from my side."
Emily sighed a little and looked up into the falling snow. She blinked a couple times and then looked back to him. "And honestly, I expect that some day... in some way... someone is going to get hurt. Because we're human, and what is any of this about if it isn't about taking a chance on someone and hoping," the word was almost reverently voiced (Hope), but still sadly, "That you'll find the right attachment, at the right time, to share something than space and time?"
She didn't say love. Maybe because love wasn't the endgame of all of these endeavours. Maybe love was something often sought but rarely found, and never, ever expected.
"I don't expect you to love me. I didn't, really, expect you to care about me. But now that you do, I don't want to be just a warm body. And if we can stay, like this," she made a small gesture between them, indicating the two of them and nothing else beyond that, "Where you care about me, and I care about you, and we're slowly start to trust one another... that's enough. But I would be lying to you if I said that I'm not attached to you in some way, or that I won't get hurt, or that I won't just fucking ache if someday it's me that hurts you."
[Jarod Nightingale] Yes. He still cared. In spite of it all. Because he was still human. Maybe some day he wouldn't anymore. Maybe in ten years or so, if he was still alive, he would have perfected the art of not caring. Of being alone. Maybe he'd even be content with his solitude, as some of the hermits of his tradition claimed to be.
But he wasn't quite ready to claim that, yet. And to some degree, he wouldn't be who he was now (and his paradigm wouldn't be what it was now, either) if he didn't at least on some level recognize the importance of forming connections with other living beings. It was simply that the connections he allowed himself were of the sort that didn't get too messy or complicated. Most importantly, they were the kind that didn't require... trust.
He was done making speeches. Emily had heard everything that he had to say, and she was still standing there. She hadn't run away or tried to argue with him, as others had. She hadn't blindly tried to ignore the truth, as Nick had. There may have been one or two points during her response when he felt a soft note of discord sound deep within his instincts (possibly disagreement, possibly fear, possibly simple disbelief), but if that was the case, he was content for now to simply let things go where they might. And that involved not over-analyzing.
Finally he just... nodded.
And then he took a step forward and leaned in slowly (carefully, as if he was afraid he might hurt her) to brush his face against the side of her own and bury it in her hair. His breath was warm against her ear as he breathed in the scent of shampoo and snow. If she let him, he'd linger like that for awhile before pulling back.
"I'm sorry... for what happened. I'll try to fix it."
[Emily Littleton] (So close, so close.) She shuddered, slightly, to feel his breath curl against her ear. To feel the soft of his cheek against hers after so much heartache, so many (terrible) truths loosed to the night. So many things she'd kept hidden from everyone for so, so long. He was close enough to touch, and that that moment might be fleeting, might rescind into the silence of the snow, was too much for her to bear.
Emily slid her arms around him, under his overcoat (So close [closer]) so she could pull him into an embrace. So she could rest her head on his shoulder and just hold onto him for a moment, because he hadn't left and she hadn't run away and she felt safer when he was near.
"You already have..." she said softly into the fabric of his shirt. "At least for me." Her arms relaxed a little, and he was free to break away, to leave the unguarded intimacy of that moment... if he wanted to.
[Jarod Nightingale] Neither of them seemed particularly inclined to let the moment end. Especially not after feeling as if a rift had just been carved between them and then painstakingly sewed back together. For all the emotional disruption it may have caused, however, there had at least been some good done as well. Some difficult truths laid bare and then accepted.
It wasn't the way that things ever happened in movies, but it was honest. And that made it... more meaningful, somehow.
When Emily wrapped her arms around him, he hesitated for a moment, then joined her in the embrace. His own arms snuck their way around her waist and shoulders and pulled her against him. She felt warm, despite the weather, and she might be able to feel the quick-steady beat of his heart if she pressed close enough to his chest. (Just a little faster than normal.)
When her arms relaxed, he didn't immediately pull away. But eventually he did, because it was cold, and late, and they were both tired. (And there was only so much intimacy he could handle, all jumbled up at once.)
"I'm glad. And, I think, I should take off now. Because we all know what happens when we hang around each other long enough, and I think you need to rest." (And I think that I do too.)
[Emily Littleton] She raised up on her toes a little, just enough so that she could gently kiss the curve of his jaw. Not his mouth (hungry) or his cheek (too sweet) or the soft, sensitive curve of his ear, but the margin of his neck, where the bone was close to the skin. And then Emily pulled away. She stepped back and withdrew her arms from his overcoat. She once more wrapped her fingers around the strap of her messenger bag and they stood, a matched pair of dark shadows on the snow-bright lawn.
"Sleep sweet," she said, and this time the sentiment was laid out in a shared tongue. "And... call me? When you're ready." It was a gentle acknowledgement that they might both need some space to recover from this (rend) mending. As much as Emily enjoyed happening across his path and seeing what happened, it was also an acknowledgement that she might be better if things were a bit more... defined, while they gained their footing once more.
There was a softness (but not a sadness) to her expression now. They had not touched on most of the hurtful things Nick had said, but Emily did not conjure them to mind just now. That moment, in the backroom of the kitchen, had been about her and Nick (and for Nick it had been about him and Jarod) and this one, here, on the doorstep of the house she hated to call home, had been about the two of them (individually [and together]).
