Log: Assurances

[jekzith]

Who: Hattie, P'draig
When: Night of day 26, month 10, turn 24 of Interval 10.
Where: The Beach House, Ista Weyr
What: What starts out as a relaxing evening, turns into a rather intense discussion and ends with the desecration of Paddy's countertop. Mild adult content



It's late at Ista, the restaurant's been closed for a couple of hours now, but P'draig's still awake, sitting in one of the lounge chairs on the porch with his bare feet up on the rail. It's been a hot, humid day, beyond sticky and the brownrider was likely quite the mess earlier coming off duty. He's had plenty of time to wash up and dry off, though dampness still clings, thanks to the high percentage of water in the air. All is quiet in the cothold behind him, though the porch door and the shutters to his room stand wide open to catch the night breeze. A book, what looks like a ledger is propped up in Paddy's lap and he looks over the lines written there now and then, makes a pencil mark or two, but from the way he keeps looking up and out into the darkness, it's just occupation for idle hands. Something to do to pass the time.

When it comes to sand, it's easier to give up and go barefoot than try and endure sandy socks and boots, which is exactly what Hattie has done and what might mask the sound of her footsteps for a little while, though eventually a murmured, "Go on, girl. Go find Elaruth," and the flap of significantly smaller wings than those of her queen could give her presence away as she sends Tilly on her way once she's quite close to the porch. Once the firelizard has vanished, the goldrider quickens her step and picks up the skirts of her amber dress so as not to trip, smoothing them back down once she's close enough to P'draig to tease, "Don't tell me you just want me here to look over the books," in a low voice.

It's Tilly's motion that catches Paddy's eye and a slow grin builds on his face as he spots Hattie. Feet drop off of the railing by the time she's neared and the brownrider snakes an arm out and around the goldrider's waist, aiming to draw her down into his lap. "Well, I hear you do like a good bedtime story," Paddy teases, tilting a look upward with the glint of humor readily apparent in his eyes. "Should I start at the beginning and read you the tale of my fortunes in keeping up a restaurant?"

Sweeping skirts out of the way, Hattie settles comfortably in the brownrider's lap, one hand reaching for the ledger, intending to hold it deliberately upside down as she declares, "I can't make any sense of this whatsoever. I must be doing something wrong," before handing it back with a smirk. "Perhaps you had better read me the tale yourself. Better be careful and not go exaggerating or making anything up. Unless you can think of any other tales you'd like to tell."

Paddy's grin widens as Hattie continues the teasing back and forth, the ledger passed over without protest. When she gives it back, he flips it closed and lets it fall to the floor with an audible thump. "I can sum that one up easily actually: did well, did badly, doing really well," the brownrider states and his head dips, lips brushing the edge of her shoulder. "And there's plenty of other stories I could tell, definitely," P'draig answers with a smile turned upward once more. "But how about you tell me yours first?"

"Very succinct," Hattie responds, complete with incline of head and brief, silent, applause. "My story?" she pauses to think, hands gently planting themselves flat against P'draig's chest. "Did okay, did secretly very badly, doing better than expected," the Weyrwoman decides, smiling very faintly. "Sadly, I don't think we're on the way to putting together a library between us, unless we write one letter a page and call it a very new and technical writing style."

One of Paddy's hands slides up along Hattie's arm, finds her cheek and curves there warmly. "I like that 'ending'," the brownrider says quietly. "Better than expected." But then he laughs merrily. "Is it a goal? To build a library between us?" Paddy smiles again, thumb tracing the goldrider's cheekbone gently. "So. Are you hungry? I'll admit that I'd rather not fire the ovens back up, but there's plenty of cold items leftover from tonight's service."

"I think," Hattie says quietly and thoughtfully, "that a lot of the things I like hearing from you aren't really suitable for a library, so I don't think we should consider it an achievable goal." She tips her head against his hand, expression subtly matching the tone of her words without involving much animation. "I'll admit I could really go for some ice-cream if you have any. I spent most of today running around like a headless wherry. Not that that's a complaint, really. I'd rather that than quiet days."

"Stories to keep between us," P'draig agrees, eyes crinkling up at the corners with his smile and he leans up away from the chair-back. "Mango or peach? I also have lemon and lime sorbet," the brownrider describes the current contents of the cold storage. "And if you've been running around all day like that, I have some suggestions on how to spend the rest of the evening. First refreshment, then a nice soak in my new bath tub, followed by a massage which ought to lead nicely into some of those stories we won't be writing down for anyone's library." Then he kisses her finally, if only briefly. "How's that sound?"

First, Hattie seizes upon the idea of, "Mango, please," chirped in such a fashion and with such a bright smile that it makes her look younger than her turns, however momentarily. "And I think that sounds like it's going to take a lot of willpower to return to Fort in the morning, which I will blame solely on you, of course," she says quietly after leaning into that kiss. "When did you acquire a bath tub?"

"Mango it is," P'draig affirms and his hand lifts again, this time to tuck back stray bits of hair behind her ear. "There's always tomorrow night," he answers that confession softly. "And the night after that ... and the night after that. And I can promise you my next day off." Her question about the tub though earns a sudden grin. "Two days ago. A gift from my mother. It was hers from when she had a small weyr of her own. It's been housing a collection of her weaving projects for several years, but she cleared it out and brought it down here with Sionath. It's around the corner of the porch, though I'm debating clearing out some of the greenery near the shower and hooking up a bigger collection tank to fill it from. Ever had an open air bath?"

"I should think it'll be worth the both of us stumbling around in a daze after hopping timezones rather frequently," Hattie murmurs, faint amusement to be seen in dark eyes. "Let me know when that day is and I'll make sure I find cover in time. I don't think the Weyr will fall down in our absence." She shakes her head a little in response to the question asked, saying, "No, but then I think it would be a much more public affair at Fort. They might think I had a few marbles missing if I started bathing on my ledge."

"In four days," P'draig states of his next off day, delight infusing his expression as Hattie proposes taking the time too. "Most likely not, especially not Ista, unless a volcano decides to really get going." The corner of his mouth quirks upward at the description of ledge-bathing. "Mm, that or you'd have quite the audience," he teases a little, then gives her shoulder a little pat. "Let me up, so we can get that ice cream? And I'll need to put a couple of stock pots on to heat up water. Jekzith can get the cool water from the pool up by the waterfall."

"Four days," Hattie echoes, gaze going distant as the files the information away with whatever else occupies the filing cabinets in her mind. She doesn't move immediately, peering down at P'draig as she declares, "You're far too comfortable. Maybe if we think really carefully about the ice-cream, it'll get itself." However, she does relent and move then, careful not to trip over her skirts as she finds her feet and her balance. "I'm sure Elaruth will keep Jekzith company."

Paddy's gray-blue eyes rest on Hattie's face for the length of time she's doing mental filing and he laughs about the ice cream getting itself. "If it gets up and walks out here, I might be a bit scared of serving it," he notes with a wink and offers a hand for balance as she rises. Once his lap is free, the brownrider gets to his feet, takes a moment to fold his arms around Hattie once more and kisses her forehead. "He won't say no to the company. He likes talking and playing with Elaruth." Hands slide down the goldrider's arms and he seeks to thread his fingers between hers, a gentle tug in the direction of the kitchen following. It won't take long to serve the ice cream after which Paddy'll set about filling up two large stock pots with water and stokes the stove back up to heat the contents.

Hattie follows after without protests, fingers threaded through the brownrider's until it becomes counterproductive to remain so, though soon she's occupied by balancing a bowl in one hand and licking ice-cream from the curve of the spoon she holds in the other. Between licks, she asks out of nowhere, "Do you think we need to keep..." still a term won't produce itself, "this quiet? I mean, it's not that it's appropriate for me to really be obvious about anything, but I don't want you to think that you have to... sneak around at Fort. I know what I've said in the past." She swallows, though it's nothing to do with the ice-cream. "And I realize how stupid some of it was."

P'draig gives the fire another poke and looks up at Hattie, expression curious at first, then a touch wry at the edges. He sets the poker down and crosses over to the goldrider, hands coming to rest to either side of her using the counter for balance so she's framed by his arms. "I don't feel like I'm sneaking around," Paddy says in a steady voice, eyes seeking out Hattie's. "There's a difference between being politely discreet and sneaking," he notes with mild humor then bends his head to drop a kiss to the side of her neck, another at the corner of her jaw. "As for keeping it quiet, no, we don't /need/ to. There's a couple of people that I should ... make aware though, first, if we're going to be a bit more obvious." One hand lifts to her face, curling where he just kissed and his gaze crosses hers again. "It wasn't stupid. Just careful."

Eyes unfocus again as kisses land, ice-cream seemingly forgotten about for the time being. "I just don't want you to think I'm making you behave in a way you might otherwise not. Not that I think I could /make/ you or I'm ashamed or-" Hattie stops there before she can ramble on, lips pressed together in a thin line. "And I don't want to be obvious and make things complicated. I'd rather be quiet and not complicated. Having to tell people sounds as if there could be problems and that's not what I want to cause." Again, she falls silent, expression smoothing out into an odd blankness before she gathers herself and looks up at P'draig to say quietly, "Especially when we don't really know what we're doing. Do we?"

"Hattie, we're both consenting adults," Paddy starts, voice quiet and steady. His hands leave the counter, seek to gather hers up between his palms. "We've got a long history by now and I swear to you that I'm not doing anything that I don't want to do." The brownrider brings both of the goldrider's hands up, meaning to kiss the backs of her fingers. "I don't think that anything will be complicated unless we make it that way, whether we're as quiet as we have been or just a little more obvious." His gaze becomes abstracted for a few moments, focus more on Hattie's hands than her face, but then he looks back up again, completely present. Paddy smiles a little, exhales then goes on. "There won't be any problems. I'm referring mostly to my family." A slight pause follows. "And to Nenita." He shifts, aiming to draw her arms around him and slide his around her in turn. "Don't we?" he queries back, gaze steady again, quite focused. "We care about each other. We're lovers. We spend what time we're able to together, because it makes us both happy. We don't make a big show out of it, for various reasons. Your position. History between Ista and Fort. Our kids." Again, he pauses and when he speaks again, he enunciates very clearly, emphasizing what he's saying. "And because this is between us. Not anyone else."

For the most part, Hattie doesn't really manage to look up and absently focuses on hands, shoulders, even the far wall, though it remains perfectly clear that she's listening, perhaps even purely for the fact that she can't make much eye-contact. When her gaze does flicker back to seek out P'draig's, it's with evident lack of comprehension that she questions, "Nenita?" in a low voice, tone betraying that she isn't sure she wants an answer at all. Again, she swallows and tunes back out before she can tune back in again to amend, "/I/ don't know what I'm doing. I'm awful at this sort of thing and I think you know just how awful I could be at it. To you. So I have to ask you these things because I'm trying /not/ to be awful and not hurt you by accident and not run for my sharding life." With all that out, she exhales sharply and abruptly looks away, off at a different wall.

That queried name draws a brief pang to Paddy's face, but he waits until Hattie has tuned back in, said her piece before he speaks again. When he does it's prefaced by the clearing of his throat. "Nenny ... is a friend. Once upon a time, we were lovers. Then she impressed and I was her Weyrlingmaster which obviously necessitated backing way the heck off and being her mentor and trainer instead. There might have been something more there, but I was with T'mic and she's not the kind of person who is comfortable in a sharing kind of situation. Things have settled out into a strong friendship between us and she's with someone else now," the brownrider relates. When he's through, he tries to catch Hattie's gaze again. "For what it's worth, I don't think you're awful. And if you do hurt me, I'll let you know and we can work our way through it, okay? And that goes both ways, Hattie." Paddy reaches gently for her chin to try and bring her focus physically back to him.

Hattie actually physically recoils on instinct before that first bit of information has had time to process, and winds up back against the counter with her hands caught-up and curled around its edge, staring at the floor now. When P'draig reaches to try and draw her focus back, she shies away from the touch, though doesn't move any further than she's gone, nor does she try to get past him and escape. "You loved Nenita," she utters softly, like it's far too complicated for words beyond that assumption, confusion drawn all over her features. "You... care about a lot of people and I... don't," she says bluntly. "Not like that. I care about you and my better sense tells me not to because I'll end up looking the fool."

Fingers fall away as Hattie pulls back from his touch, drop back to the counter and splay there, though he clearly doesn't intend to trap her there. "Yes," P'draig answers simply. "I did." A little pause. "Still do, just not the way I did before. Just as I still love T'mic, but not as a weyrmate." His voice grows a little rough with that admission and Paddy clears his throat again. "When he went to Honshu, things changed. I got jealous, which hadn't been a problem when I knew he was coming home to me /most/ nights. And unfortunately, jealousy and a relationship with T'mic don't go well together." He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts and reaches up again, this time meaning to just lightly touch fingertips to Hattie's cheek. "I hurt myself in that case. I wasn't able to handle those feelings, dismiss the jealousy. So I made the decision to end it. I don't think either of us wound up looking foolish. But I can understand it if I don't look like a terribly good bet." He takes a breath, waits a moment, then goes on, voice steady and quiet again. "All I can say Hattie, is that being with you the way we have been, it makes me happy and I hope you feel the same way."

This time, Hattie doesn't draw away from the touch to her cheek, though with her still staring determinedly at the floor, it could be that she's concentrating too much on trying to process and not bolt to do so. "It's not," she finally begins, "that I'm inferring that you're not a good bet." Taking a deep breath, she looks up, saying slowly, "I am. Happy. And that's almost a bad sign in itself. I know me well enough to..." She stops, then starts again. "If I wake up one morning and find myself in love with you, and were you ever to love me, I couldn't... If we ever... I would be jealous. Of you with other people. And I can't afford to..." Clearly fed up with her lack of eloquence, the goldrider looks away once more and states, "I don't /know/, P'draig."

P'draig's hand slides up along Hattie's cheek given she hasn't pulled away again and his forehead dips down to touch against hers. "Jekzith's a randy brown," he says quietly. "I could never guarantee complete fidelity, because he chases a lot and catches roughly once a month. Sometimes more often." He clears his throat yet again though, tilts his head back to meet her gaze. "Flights aside, I hope you'll believe me when I say that you would never have to worry about me straying, if commitment to each other was what we'd both agreed to. I have never cheated when I've made that promise to someone before. Ever. Not even when I was all of fourteen and had to wait over a turn for my first love to become a full rider before I could so much as kiss her." Paddy waits for a moment, looking down at the goldrider with an earnest expression. "Let's just be happy with what we have?" he suggests softly.

"Flights are flights," Hattie murmurs. "I might not be enamoured of them, but I'm certainly not going to get aggravated by something that much out of my control." Her eye close and she adds, somewhat bitterly, "And at least I'm honest about that," even more softly. Her eyes close for a few moments before she looks up at P'draig again, silent still for several seconds more. "I just don't like trusting feelings over logic. Being happy feels like being out of control because it doesn't make sense," she struggles to explain. "I'm not asking you for anything, I'm only telling you these things so you understand why I get frustrated and angry and say stupid things."

"I've made my peace with flights," P'draig notes with a little wry grin. "Out of necessity and turns of practice." Amusement colors his voice briefly then he sobers once more. "All right, I can understand that, but at the same time, is there anything that I can do to help with that frustration and anger? Does it help to be logical when that happens?" His other hand lifts so that he's cradling her face in both palms. "Because, for instance, right now, I could point out that it makes a lot of sense for two sensible adults who care for each other and respect each other, to have the kind of relationship that we have right now. That it makes sense to have an outlet, someone to turn to, a place to go where you feel safe. It helps to have that when other parts of life get difficult."

The Weyrwoman shakes her head just barely, insisting, "No. You just need to help me not hurt you." Hattie lips twist into a faint grimace. "It only helps to be logical if your logic and mine happen to be of the same sort at the time," she says wryly. Again, her eyes close and she exhales slowly. "I know it makes sense. I know I want you and I feel safe and can relax. It just might take some time for me to acknowledge that it's okay to feel that way." Dark eyes open and seek out the brownrider's. "And as long as you feel that way too."

P'draig's eyes meet Hattie's, expression frank, his affection for quite plain. "Here's a couple of hints, for not hurting me," the brownrider says quietly. "Don't take my son away from me, don't ask me to choose between you and him or any of my other kids. Do keep on being frank and honest with me, so I can understand what you're thinking and feeling and we both know what to expect from each other. Almost everything else, we can work out as long as there's that honesty between us." He waits a moment, eyes still right on hers, then takes a little step forward, tilts his head down meaning to kiss her, though some more words are murmured before his lips meet hers: "And I do feel that way too. I enjoy your company. I look forward to seeing you. I want you in my life, not just in bed."

"I'm not going to take him away from you," Hattie promises with quiet vehemence, the pang of guilt obvious despite that effort to erase previous threats with a single statement. She doesn't have the time for further words at right that moment, fingers uncurling from the edge of the counter as she makes to wind arms tight around P'draig as she returns his kiss with a subtle urgency, as though she could communicate better without words for once.

"Thank you," Paddy whispers in answer to that promise, something vulnerable showing in his eyes briefly until it's dismissed by Hattie's arms circling around him and a kiss that goes from subtly urgent to on fire in about 2 seconds flat. It's highly likely that a goodly quantity of that water in those pots will wind up boiling away into steam, because P'draig is definitely going to be too distracted to remember to take them off the flames for the next little while. A low noise in the back of his throat is all the warning Hattie will get, before he's lifting her right up onto the counter with eager hands. The half-eaten bowl of largely melted ice cream goes sliding off onto the floor, leaving quite the mess, but Paddy completely ignores it.

It's the noise of the bowl hitting floor that distracts Hattie, yet not enough for her to pay any real attention to it, only, "Bowl," and, "Floor," gasped between kisses whilst fingers try to get enough of P'draig's buttons undone to get rid of his shirt, a growl of frustration escaping her lips as either buttons or fingers don't co-operate quickly enough for her liking. At least her dress causes somewhat less of a problem, what with there not being terribly much of it to get out of the way.

The answer to such frustration is simple enough: pull shirt off over head. Shorts wind up on the floor with the little puddle of ice cream and broken crockery. After that, there's nothing but hiking skirts up out of the way and the sounds of hectic breathing to disturb the quiet of the mostly dark kitchen, even if Paddy has to hide his face in Hattie's neck eventually, to muffle what would otherwise be loud cries. There are at least three children asleep in the house after all.

Eyes pressed tight shut, Hattie has to bite down on her lip in the end to keep from crying out, what control she manages to exert there resulting in more than the occasional press of nails, a sudden, sharper dig before a whimper of a noise wrenches itself free and her touch slowly, slowly turns to tracing fingertips, something that sounds like a soft apology murmured against the brownrider's shoulder.

P'draig's face remains buried in Hattie's neck, breath hot against her skin for a little while longer, until he manages to lift his head, turn his forehead to rest in her hair instead. "Shhh," he musters, rough-voiced. "I'm okay." A husky chuckle follows. "More than okay." He stays put for a little while longer, just breathing, murmuring the odd sweet nothing and tracing fingers down the curve of her hip. Finally thouh, Paddy pushes up onto his elbows and from there upright, disentangling carefully, he reaches to swing Hattie's feet around onto the counter. "Stay put," he requests with a lopsided grin and hunkers down to pick up the mess on the floor, using his already-mucked up shorts as a towel. The broken bowl gets pitched into the bin, sticky shorts into the basket where dirty aprons and towels are piled up. Then the brownrider reaches up onto a shelf to grab a bottle that stands there and turns back to Hattie, arm held out. "Come to bed with me? That massage is still on offer as is breakfast in the morning."

At some point during observation of the floor cleaning proceedings, Hattie covers her eyes with one hand and laughs quietly, saying, "I hope you do the washing, otherwise someone is surely going to have questions about those," wryly, nodding the way of the basket shorts have landed in. After rearranging her skirts, she reaches for P'draig's arm and hops down from the counter, unsteady on her feet for just a moment, then gestures the way of the pots on the stove and their significantly less quantities of water. "Don't go burning the place down." After that, again it's easier to speak with actions over words, her head turning to let her press a kiss to his shoulder to convey agreement and willing.

"It's a restaurant kitchen, trust me, my shorts've seen worse," P'draig jokes of the interesting laundry. His eyes widen though at mention of the pots. "Shells," he utters succinctly, laughs a little and gives her hand a little squeeze. It takes only a moment to take care of the fire and move the pots off flames so they have a chance to cool down. Then he takes her hand again to lead her on through to the bedroom where the bed is far more comfortable than the kitchen counter for a massage, more recreational activity and curling up to actually get some sleep.