it's life's illusions that i recall (i really don't know life, i really don't know life at all)
It's...quarter to six in the morning when Elizabeth wakes up, according to the clock next to her bed. Nathan, at her back, is still sleeping soundly, and after brushing her hair out of her eyes and concluding that she really is awake too damn early lately, she curls back into his body and doesn't move again for a good ten minutes. This is--good, she thinks. She'd wondered briefly if he would still be there when she woke up.
Eventually, though, the thought of coffee is enough to lure her away from the dubious warmth of Nathan Scaevola. (She wonders about that, but is there a polite way to ask someone about an odd body temperature? The nexus etiquette is a learning curve she wasn't prepared for.) His shirt is too big for her, but that just means it covers enough to make roaming the house without getting dressed slightly more decent. She buttons it, after retrieving a pair of panties, and then after a moment's consideration, finds where his tie ended up.
She folds his tie up and tucks it away in a drawer with her slips and nightdresses, where presumably he won't look for it when he does wake up. P...robably. She leans over the bed, balancing on her hands, and presses her lips against the corner of his mouth, more for her own benefit than his. It seems likely his sleep patterns are no more healthy than her own, so she lets him be to rest, and slips quietly from the room.
The house is still dark and quiet, and Elizabeth doesn't turn any lights on until she gets downstairs to the kitchen -- and then not the bright, main lights. There is a coffee machine, and she can even remember how to work it. Leaning against the bench while she waits, she lets her mind wander.
"You must know that I'm not a particularly good man and I hold no pretense to heroism. This needs saying, especially in a place like the Nexus."
"I've known a lot of good men," she says, carefully. "Probably more than my fair share. I can't name one who didn't hurt me."
It was true, and she doesn't regret saying it. All the same, in the clarity of morning...she wonders what he'd meant, exactly. She wonders if she should have asked, if she should have thought it through more, if she should have stopped and taken a breath and steadied herself, before she made a mistake.
It didn't feel like a mistake. It still doesn't, standing in her kitchen with her coffee machine and her dim lights and the shirt that smells like the man upstairs.
She'll put something more presentable on before Todd gets up.
Eventually, though, the thought of coffee is enough to lure her away from the dubious warmth of Nathan Scaevola. (She wonders about that, but is there a polite way to ask someone about an odd body temperature? The nexus etiquette is a learning curve she wasn't prepared for.) His shirt is too big for her, but that just means it covers enough to make roaming the house without getting dressed slightly more decent. She buttons it, after retrieving a pair of panties, and then after a moment's consideration, finds where his tie ended up.
She folds his tie up and tucks it away in a drawer with her slips and nightdresses, where presumably he won't look for it when he does wake up. P...robably. She leans over the bed, balancing on her hands, and presses her lips against the corner of his mouth, more for her own benefit than his. It seems likely his sleep patterns are no more healthy than her own, so she lets him be to rest, and slips quietly from the room.
The house is still dark and quiet, and Elizabeth doesn't turn any lights on until she gets downstairs to the kitchen -- and then not the bright, main lights. There is a coffee machine, and she can even remember how to work it. Leaning against the bench while she waits, she lets her mind wander.
"You must know that I'm not a particularly good man and I hold no pretense to heroism. This needs saying, especially in a place like the Nexus."
"I've known a lot of good men," she says, carefully. "Probably more than my fair share. I can't name one who didn't hurt me."
It was true, and she doesn't regret saying it. All the same, in the clarity of morning...she wonders what he'd meant, exactly. She wonders if she should have asked, if she should have thought it through more, if she should have stopped and taken a breath and steadied herself, before she made a mistake.
It didn't feel like a mistake. It still doesn't, standing in her kitchen with her coffee machine and her dim lights and the shirt that smells like the man upstairs.
She'll put something more presentable on before Todd gets up.