various; day in the life
TITLE: Day in the Life
CHARACTERS: Cristina Yang/Meredith Grey, Laura Kinney/Kiden Nixon, Jessica Drew/Kitty Pryde.
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 4,068
NOTES: For neontehsheep
*
Cristina's long since become accustomed to the way Meredith snores. It didn't bother her when they slept confined to their own halves of the bed, and it still doesn't bother her, now that they sleep in some sort of undefinable tangle. She's always been able to sleep through anything, and when it comes to sharing a bed with Meredith, the pros far outweigh the cons.
Besides, there are always earplugs, if it gets too bad. She rarely has to use them, though; point in fact, she's decided that McDreamy is just ridiculously sensitive.
Meredith stirs in her arms, stretches out her legs, but isn't quite awake, just yet. Cristina ignores her, tightens her hold around her, and rests her chin on the top of Meredith's head. Meredith is small, smaller than anyone else she's ever shared a bed with, and Cristina likes that she never steals the duvet, that she always has room to toss and turn throughout the night. Still, Meredith has quite the presence about her; it's impossible for Cristina to forget that she's there, even as she herself sleeps.
With her eyes fixed on the faint red glow of the alarm clock, Cristina watches ten minutes flash by, before Meredith stirs once again. She does so with more effort, this time, manages to remember that she's supposed to open her eyes, and makes the strangest humming noise as her whole body tenses with a yawn, before falling slack against Cristina's body. Twisting against the bedsheets, Meredith better fits her body against Cristina's, and nuzzles the tip of her nose against her neck.
Cristina rolls her eyes.
“Good morning,” Meredith murmurs, missing out a vowel or two as she attempts to form words. She presses her lips against Cristina's cheek, and assuming that she missed her intended target, Cristina turns her head, and helpfully kisses her on the lips.
“Go back to sleep,” Cristina says, “We've got the day off.”
“We've got the day off?” Meredith asks, having no more luck, when it comes to speaking coherently.
Cristina looks down, and Meredith's blinking hard, as if she doesn't understand the concept. She makes a solid, non-verbal point, Cristina supposes; days off from work are few and far between, and Cristina strongly suspects that, if not for Meredith, she'd head into the hospital regardless. Well, everybody has to have something of their own, and take time to relax. Even Cristina Yang.
In a surprising display of energy, Meredith props herself up, and looks down at Cristina.
“Sleep,” Cristina says, stretching out, now that her body's no longer entangled with Meredith's.
“No, Cristina. I'm awake. You're awake. I'm not wasting our first day off in three weeks by sleeping through it.”
Groaning, Cristina considers grabbing one of the pillows and pushing it over her face. Despite herself, her mouth breaks out into a smile, and her hands find their way to Meredith's waist.
This isn't new, any more, and that's the funny thing about it. They've been doing this for months, now. Cristina practically lives at Meredith's house; she hasn't slept in her own bed for over ttwo weeks, and the only reason she doesn't consider Meredith's bed as her bed is because neither one of them has quite been brave enough to discuss the matter with words. It's an unspoken agreement, and that works just fine for Meredith. It is strange, though, because Cristina still isn't used to this, still finds herself surprised to be waking up to Meredith.
And it's nice, in a way. Not that she'd ever tell this to Meredith, of course.
“Whatever, Mer. I'm not moving from here for at least another hour,” Cristina says, the back of her arm covering the bridge of her nose.
That said, she can practically hear the grin in Meredith's voice. She feels a hand press against her stomach, and then Meredith says, “I wasn't actually planning on it.”
Cristina smiles, and pulls Meredith closer. Let it never be said that she doesn't appreciate time off from work.
*
Laura's laying on the bed, on her side, staring at the side where Kiden sleeps. Somehow, despite the fact that a single bedsheet stretches its way across the whole of the bed, Kiden's side seems infinitely more messy. There are creases and swirls in the fabric, and at the edges, the sheet's barely clinging to the corner of the mattress.
Through the wall, she can hear the sound of the shower running. It makes sense to assume that it's Kiden in there, because this is around the time she usually manages to drag herself out of bed. Laura's been out since six am, running through the city's parks and streets, and yet, as she lays there, waiting for Kiden, she doesn't feel the slightest bit out of breath.
On the wonky cabinet by Kiden's side of the bed is a carton of cigarettes. She doesn't smoke as much as she once did, Laura's noted; she's had the same pack of twenty for the past twelve days. Laura's never found any reason to smoke, so it can't be said that she understands the appeal. There's no danger in it for her, of course, because her healing factor would negate any damage done by smoke, and she doubts the nicotine would stay in her system long enough for her to ever become dependant on it.
The thought makes Laura frown. Kiden doesn't have a healing factor, and so she's actively putting herself at risk. Then again, Kiden does a lot of things that put herself at risk, and Laura fails to understand the purpose behind any of those things, either.
Reaching over, Laura drags the carton towards her using the tips of her fingers, and then idly opens the box up. Three cigarettes remain. In the interest of understanding what Kiden gets out of this, and as such, better understanding Kiden, Laura pulls one out, and places the filter tip between her lips. Now all she needs is lighter. Kiden keeps one between the bed frame and the mattress, Laura knows that much, but before she can bring herself to sit up and fish around for it, Kiden is standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
“The hell are you doing?” she asks, marching towards Laura.
Kiden climbs onto the bed, looks down at Laura, and then jumps down. With Laura on her side, Kiden straddles her at an odd angle, and makes a great display of grabbing the cigarette from between Laura's lips, the look on her face making it seem apparent that Laura was in some way resisting her.
Laura watches her as she does so, and Kiden's got a look spread across her face that suggests her question wasn't entirely rhetorical, and that she actually is expecting something in the way of an answer.
Laura says nothing.
Eyes still fixed on her, Kiden grabs the cigarette carton, and pushes the cigarette that had previously been between Laura's lips back into the box. She's doing her best to glare down at her, but Laura finds anything that Kiden does difficult to find intimidating. After all, it's not as if she actually seems angry. Rolling onto her back, Kiden shifts to accommodate the new position.
“Seriously, Laura. You can't start smoking. It's bad enough that I do, y'know?”
Laura says nothing.
“I mean, jeez-you smoking would just be weird. You're, like, obsessed with exercise and shit. How would you feel if I started running or something? It just isn't right.”
Laura tilts her head a little. She doesn't see anything wrong with what Kiden's suggested. In fact, she'd like it if Kiden started accompanying her on her daily runs. Not that Kiden could keep up with her, of course, unless they chose to run through No Time, but Laura believes she could tolerate Kiden slowing her down.
“Stop it. Stop looking at me like that,” Kiden continues, poking her finger against Laura's nose, “I know it makes me a hypocrite, but you've gotta admit, I don't smoke half as much as I used to. Hell, probably not even a quarter as much.”
Kiden twists her face, like she's just smelled something unpleasant. Which is a feat to begin with, because Kiden spends more time than the average person wading through dumpsters, and so it takes a lot to actually disgust her.
“Seriously. Stop looking at me like that,” Kiden says, and then sighs, “Fine. Alright. You know what?”
Kiden doesn't wait for an answer, nor does she provide one of her own. Swinging one leg over Laura, she climbs off the bed, heads over to the window, and opens it. She looks at Laura, then at the cigarettes, and after a split-second worth of hesitation that nobody but Laura could ever pick up on, drops the carton out of the window.
“There. They're all gone.”
With that, she lays down on the bed, next to Laura. The tips of her hair are still wet, and her skin feels warm, when Laura wraps her arms around her waist. Considering the amount of junk and dumpster food that Kiden eats, there really is nothing to her.
Kiden brings her hands up, and threads her fingers through the edges of Laura's hair.
“You been running again, right?”
Laura nods.
Kiden laughs, a little. “No point asking, is there? You do it everyday. How far did you go?”
“Twelve miles,” Laura says. When Kiden makes no reply, other than to furrow her brow, Laura adds, “Nineteen point three kilometres.”
“Uh huh. I get the point that it was long way,” Kiden says, smiling with one side of her mouth. “You should probably go shower.”
Laura agrees with her, naturally, although their current positions have razed her desire to move. With a nod, she forces herself away from Kiden, sits up, and eventually finds her way to her feet.
Stretching out across the bed, as if the day's activities of showering and throwing things out of the window have drained the energy from her, Kiden closes her eyes.
“Go on. I'll make us lunch or something while you're in there,” she says, and waves in the general direction of the shower.
About to follow her directions, Laura pauses, turns on her heels, and then crouches by the side of the bed. Kiden cracks one eye open, and looks at her curiously, not quite understanding what she can hope to achieve by doing so. Laura is happy to simply stare at her for a moment, before leaning over, and pressing her lips against her cheek.
Standing, she heads towards the bathroom before she can become too absorbed in the way Kiden grins ridiculously wide, body breaking out into soft laughter.
“Make noodles,” Laura says, grabbing her towel from the hook on the back of the door.
*
Kitty doesn't think it counts as skipping school if she's only making her way off-campus for the lunch hour. It's not as if she's missing some vital part of her education, and with things the way they are, more often than not, it's impossible to leave to begin with.
But when she does manage to get out, when she manages to make her way to the quiet café eight blocks away from school, Jessica's always waiting for her. At first, Kitty felt guilty for standing Jessica up so very often, but as Jessica herself explained, it's not as if she has anywhere better to be. She's not enrolled in any school due to the technicality of not existing, and she can't very well spend all of her time fighting crime.
And so Jessica waits at the same table every day, drinking ice tea and reading from some science journal that would do nothing but give Kitty a headache. Once or twice a week, she has company.
Kitty half-jogs down the street. She's not attempting to run, but she can't quite bring herself to walk at an even pace. After all, it takes ten minutes to get there and back, which only leaves her with forty minutes in which to see Jessica.
Not that they don't have all the time in the world during the evenings and weekends, but Kitty's determined to make the most of whatever she can get. Jessica looks up, smiles, and closes her book, waving at Kitty as she approaches.
Standing on her own side of the table, Kitty places her palms flat against the tabletop, and then leans over, kissing Jessica, even if she is a little out of breath. Ever since what happened in New York, mutantphobia has been so rampant that Kitty's desensitised to getting all kinds of abuse thrown at her on the streets. There's no way she's going to back down from that, and there's no way she isn't going to kiss her girlfriend, just because people can't mind their own business and feel the need to stare.
Breaking away from her, Kitty sits down, and picks up the menu, purely out of habit. She already knows everything that's printed on it, and she knows what she's going to order. The panini here are far better than anything they serve up in the cafeteria, back at school.
“Uh, Jess?” Kitty says, leaning across the table, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I can see your costume under your shirt.”
*
Meredith stands with her hands on her hips for a long, long time, staring down Cristina in the kitchen as she tries to gather her wits about her in order to speak.
“You know what?” Meredith says, “You should go home, and bring some more of your clothes over. You're wearing the same three outfits over and over, and I'm getting stick of you needing to use the washing machine every other day. We have electricity bills to pay, Cristina.”
Cristina blinks, puts down her cup of coffee, and says, “Alright.”
“Alright,” Meredith repeats, breathing out, relieved. There had been other things she'd intended to say; in fact, she'd had a whole speech planned out, about their current living situation, and how they should probably have A Talk at some point.
Before she can muster up the courage to say any of those things, Cristina's on her feet and out the door. Meredith isn't sure whether or not she's come across too forcefully, and then the deep-set paranoia rises to the surface, and she half-expects Cristina to never to return. Not that Cristina could successfully avoid her, even if she wanted to, considering that they work in the very same hospital.
Three hours later, and Cristina makes her return. She heads straight up stairs to Meredith's room, a bundle of clothing her arms, comes back down empty handed, and then repeats the process three times over, only with a variety of different items.
“There,” Cristina says, stepped back into the kitchen, “That should last me a while. Take this.”
Meredith looks down dumbly as Cristina pushes a motorcycle helmet into her hands.
“Cristina. You shouldn't have,” she says with a smirk, “Thanks, but I don't even own a bike.”
Hands on her hips, Cristina rolls her eyes, in a way that says she's tired of this conversation, even though it's barely begun.
“It's my spare, genius. Come on, we're going out for dinner.”
Meredith pushes the visor back and forth, amused, not entirely convinced that it will actually fit on her head.
“If you're hungry, we can order in Chinese,” Meredith says, absent-mindedly. She peers inside of the helmet, and decides that it definitely won't fit over her head, what with all that padding inside of it.
“No. We're going out.”
“Why?” Meredith asks. Leaving the house seems like an awful lot of effort to make, for the sole purpose of eating.
“Because,” Cristina begins strongly, and then falters. The hesitation is enough to make Meredith's attention snap back onto her, and she waits almost apprehensively for her to continue. “Because we don't go out enough, okay?”
“Oh,” Meredith says, realisation slowly seeping in. All of a sudden, the kitchen feels quieter than it was moments ago. She looks at Cristina, and she feels the corners of her mouth slowly tug into a smile, as if there's too much to take in at once, and the motion can't be rushed.
They've been sleeping together for months, practically living in the same space for almost as long, but the thing that makes Meredith's chest feel so light that it almost aches is the act of Cristina Yang asking her what she can only assume is a date. To say it's unexpected is nothing short of an understatement.
Meredith's about to say something, when Cristina raises her eyebrows and says, “Not a word.”
Outside, Cristina brushes Meredith's hair back behind her ears, and helps her ease the helmet on over her head. It's tight all around her, and pins her ears to the sides of her head, but she doesn't feel enclosed.
Meredith stands on the pavement as Cristina straddles her bike and starts the engine, and she places both hands against her shoulders as she climbs on behind her. Meredith wraps her arms tightly around Cristina's waist, but not because she fears what will happen if she falls off. With her body close to Cristina's and her head rested against her back, she barely hears the sound of passing traffic at all.
*
Kiden says that she's too full to ever move again, and then ten minutes later she's got her fingers entwined with Laura's, and is dragging her out of the door. Naturally, Laura doesn't protest; she walks at an even pace behind Kiden, and follows the twists and turns she makes through the streets.
Uncharacteristically quiet, Kiden finds that she has too much on her mind to make her usual commentary on everything they pass. Upon reaching the park, Kiden can no longer recall if she intended to head there in the first place, or if she'd simply become lost in her thoughts. Either way, the park isn't a particularly bad place to end up; it's dim enough to warrant the street lights being on,
but not so dark that Kiden feels uncomfortable being out.
Not that she could feel uncomfortable with Laura with her, and after spending months on the street, but that's hardly the point.
They reach a clearing, by something that Kiden assumes is supposed to be a pond, but mostly resembles a puddle that's seen better days. Assuming that they've reached their destination, Laura lets go of Kiden's hand, and sits against the grass. Kiden remains on her feet for a few more moments, stares at the edge of a hill that's slowly becoming more and more difficult to distinguish from the sky, and then glances over her shoulder at Laura. Laura looks up at her, doesn't smile, but seems happy.
Rather ungracefully, Kiden falls to the ground, back still turned to Laura, and seats herself between her knees. Kiden assumes that Laura takes a moment to get used to the new position, but as soon as she's adjusted, her arms wrap around Kiden's waist. Chin against the back of Kiden's shoulder, Laura shifts herself closer, and rests her body against her back.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
Smiling, Kiden runs her hands across the backs of Laura's forearms, and says, “Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?”
Laura considers the question carefully.
“You have been quiet, ever since lunch.”
“So? You're quiet all the time. Don't I get to be quiet too, sometimes?”
Kiden feels Laura shrug against her back.
“No.”
“What? Why? Don't you ever get annoyed with me talking all the time?” Kiden asks, craning her neck, trying to make out Laura's expression.
“No.”
Kiden furrows her brow. “Really?”
With a nod, Laura presses her nose against Kiden's cheek. It's the small things like this that always take Kiden by surprise, which cause her face to break out into a grin. Leaning back, Laura obliges her, and lays back against the grass. Head rested against her shoulder, Kiden shifts around, trying to make herself comfortable against her.
It doesn't take much effort at all. Tilting her jaw up, Kiden finds herself content to just look at her, for a moment. Content, until Laura moves her lips down to hers, and then Kiden can't work out why she wanted to stay still in the first place. Truth be told, Kiden still never expects Laura to kiss her; and she never kisses her enough, because she's so wrapped up in the ridiculous notion that Laura won't return the gesture.
But now they're laying against the grass, and Laura's hands are placed against her sides, and before Kiden knows it, it's too dark to make out anything more than the silhouette of Laura's face.
*
When they first began swinging together, it had seemed like a good idea, until they both realised that they'd be leaping through the air, with their bodies pressed against one another. It had been awkward, at first, and Kitty had been too rigid for Jessica to really get anywhere.
Three months later, and Jessica's convinced that Kitty's doing all that she can to torture her. Torture has a tendency to become particularly troubling, when it's occurring a hundred feet above the ground. Kitty squirms against her, shifting her arms and legs around her, against her, paying no heed to the fact that Jessica's doing the best she can to stop them from ending up squashed flat against the side of a sky-scraper.
Jessica glares at Kitty, but imagines much of the effect is lost, due to her mask. As if sensing her annoyance, Kitty makes sure one of her arms is wrapped tightly around Jessica's shoulders, and then reaches up, fingers brushing against her collarbone. She presses the the pads of her fingertips around, and then remembers that, oh, Jessica's mask pulls down, not up and off.
Hand moving to her hairline, Kitty pulls Jessica's mask down, almost poking her in the eye in the process.
“Hey-I'm swinging here! You can't just demask me in the air!” Jessica objects, but both of her hands are occupied, and no amount of nudging her chin against her folded mask will bring it back up.
“Kitty. My mask. Pull my mask back up, or I'm dropping you right here and now.”
Rolling her eyes, Kitty shuts her up with a kiss. It would be all well and good, Jessica thinks, not resisting as well as she ought to, if not for the fact that, once again, they were mid-air. Swinging is something she definitely needs her eyes and mind for. Moving her mouth away from Kitty's only causes her to press her lips against the line of her jaw.
Jessica grits her teeth, and glances around, looking for the closest possible place to land.
Shooting out a final line of webbing from the tip of her index finger, Jessica finishes off her swing, and lands heavily on her feet. Lands with her feet planted against the centre of a billboard, legs running parallel to the ground. She's grasping onto her web, and it's keeping her in some sort odd sitting position.
Kitty grins, moves so that she's straddling her, and there really is no reason to protest the kiss any longer. It's a little difficult, what with Kitty's mask, but Jessica wraps her one free arm around her waist, pulls her closer, and makes the most of it. No longer having to worry about clinging to her for safety, Kitty decides to hold on to her for different reasons altogether.
She's moving her fingers across Jessica's costume, as if she's trying to find the seams, to find a way in. Jessica hums against her mouth, reminds herself to keep hold of the web, and then groans as she hears a gunshot in the distance.
Jessica breaks off the kiss at the same moment Kitty does, with a sigh. Kitty reaches up, pulls Jessica's mask back into place, and with an apologetic shrug, phases right through her lap. Jessica cranes her neck, glances down at Kitty where she's landed, and then pries her sticky boots off of the advertisement.
Jumping back, her feet don't even touch the ground, before swinging back into the city. Jessica scoops up Kitty, and expects that, this time, she can read her expression through her mask, because it seems to be plastered across her face as well.
“Duty calls,” Kitty mutters as they swing through the night.
CHARACTERS: Cristina Yang/Meredith Grey, Laura Kinney/Kiden Nixon, Jessica Drew/Kitty Pryde.
RATING: PG-13
WORD COUNT: 4,068
NOTES: For neontehsheep
*
Cristina's long since become accustomed to the way Meredith snores. It didn't bother her when they slept confined to their own halves of the bed, and it still doesn't bother her, now that they sleep in some sort of undefinable tangle. She's always been able to sleep through anything, and when it comes to sharing a bed with Meredith, the pros far outweigh the cons.
Besides, there are always earplugs, if it gets too bad. She rarely has to use them, though; point in fact, she's decided that McDreamy is just ridiculously sensitive.
Meredith stirs in her arms, stretches out her legs, but isn't quite awake, just yet. Cristina ignores her, tightens her hold around her, and rests her chin on the top of Meredith's head. Meredith is small, smaller than anyone else she's ever shared a bed with, and Cristina likes that she never steals the duvet, that she always has room to toss and turn throughout the night. Still, Meredith has quite the presence about her; it's impossible for Cristina to forget that she's there, even as she herself sleeps.
With her eyes fixed on the faint red glow of the alarm clock, Cristina watches ten minutes flash by, before Meredith stirs once again. She does so with more effort, this time, manages to remember that she's supposed to open her eyes, and makes the strangest humming noise as her whole body tenses with a yawn, before falling slack against Cristina's body. Twisting against the bedsheets, Meredith better fits her body against Cristina's, and nuzzles the tip of her nose against her neck.
Cristina rolls her eyes.
“Good morning,” Meredith murmurs, missing out a vowel or two as she attempts to form words. She presses her lips against Cristina's cheek, and assuming that she missed her intended target, Cristina turns her head, and helpfully kisses her on the lips.
“Go back to sleep,” Cristina says, “We've got the day off.”
“We've got the day off?” Meredith asks, having no more luck, when it comes to speaking coherently.
Cristina looks down, and Meredith's blinking hard, as if she doesn't understand the concept. She makes a solid, non-verbal point, Cristina supposes; days off from work are few and far between, and Cristina strongly suspects that, if not for Meredith, she'd head into the hospital regardless. Well, everybody has to have something of their own, and take time to relax. Even Cristina Yang.
In a surprising display of energy, Meredith props herself up, and looks down at Cristina.
“Sleep,” Cristina says, stretching out, now that her body's no longer entangled with Meredith's.
“No, Cristina. I'm awake. You're awake. I'm not wasting our first day off in three weeks by sleeping through it.”
Groaning, Cristina considers grabbing one of the pillows and pushing it over her face. Despite herself, her mouth breaks out into a smile, and her hands find their way to Meredith's waist.
This isn't new, any more, and that's the funny thing about it. They've been doing this for months, now. Cristina practically lives at Meredith's house; she hasn't slept in her own bed for over ttwo weeks, and the only reason she doesn't consider Meredith's bed as her bed is because neither one of them has quite been brave enough to discuss the matter with words. It's an unspoken agreement, and that works just fine for Meredith. It is strange, though, because Cristina still isn't used to this, still finds herself surprised to be waking up to Meredith.
And it's nice, in a way. Not that she'd ever tell this to Meredith, of course.
“Whatever, Mer. I'm not moving from here for at least another hour,” Cristina says, the back of her arm covering the bridge of her nose.
That said, she can practically hear the grin in Meredith's voice. She feels a hand press against her stomach, and then Meredith says, “I wasn't actually planning on it.”
Cristina smiles, and pulls Meredith closer. Let it never be said that she doesn't appreciate time off from work.
*
Laura's laying on the bed, on her side, staring at the side where Kiden sleeps. Somehow, despite the fact that a single bedsheet stretches its way across the whole of the bed, Kiden's side seems infinitely more messy. There are creases and swirls in the fabric, and at the edges, the sheet's barely clinging to the corner of the mattress.
Through the wall, she can hear the sound of the shower running. It makes sense to assume that it's Kiden in there, because this is around the time she usually manages to drag herself out of bed. Laura's been out since six am, running through the city's parks and streets, and yet, as she lays there, waiting for Kiden, she doesn't feel the slightest bit out of breath.
On the wonky cabinet by Kiden's side of the bed is a carton of cigarettes. She doesn't smoke as much as she once did, Laura's noted; she's had the same pack of twenty for the past twelve days. Laura's never found any reason to smoke, so it can't be said that she understands the appeal. There's no danger in it for her, of course, because her healing factor would negate any damage done by smoke, and she doubts the nicotine would stay in her system long enough for her to ever become dependant on it.
The thought makes Laura frown. Kiden doesn't have a healing factor, and so she's actively putting herself at risk. Then again, Kiden does a lot of things that put herself at risk, and Laura fails to understand the purpose behind any of those things, either.
Reaching over, Laura drags the carton towards her using the tips of her fingers, and then idly opens the box up. Three cigarettes remain. In the interest of understanding what Kiden gets out of this, and as such, better understanding Kiden, Laura pulls one out, and places the filter tip between her lips. Now all she needs is lighter. Kiden keeps one between the bed frame and the mattress, Laura knows that much, but before she can bring herself to sit up and fish around for it, Kiden is standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
“The hell are you doing?” she asks, marching towards Laura.
Kiden climbs onto the bed, looks down at Laura, and then jumps down. With Laura on her side, Kiden straddles her at an odd angle, and makes a great display of grabbing the cigarette from between Laura's lips, the look on her face making it seem apparent that Laura was in some way resisting her.
Laura watches her as she does so, and Kiden's got a look spread across her face that suggests her question wasn't entirely rhetorical, and that she actually is expecting something in the way of an answer.
Laura says nothing.
Eyes still fixed on her, Kiden grabs the cigarette carton, and pushes the cigarette that had previously been between Laura's lips back into the box. She's doing her best to glare down at her, but Laura finds anything that Kiden does difficult to find intimidating. After all, it's not as if she actually seems angry. Rolling onto her back, Kiden shifts to accommodate the new position.
“Seriously, Laura. You can't start smoking. It's bad enough that I do, y'know?”
Laura says nothing.
“I mean, jeez-you smoking would just be weird. You're, like, obsessed with exercise and shit. How would you feel if I started running or something? It just isn't right.”
Laura tilts her head a little. She doesn't see anything wrong with what Kiden's suggested. In fact, she'd like it if Kiden started accompanying her on her daily runs. Not that Kiden could keep up with her, of course, unless they chose to run through No Time, but Laura believes she could tolerate Kiden slowing her down.
“Stop it. Stop looking at me like that,” Kiden continues, poking her finger against Laura's nose, “I know it makes me a hypocrite, but you've gotta admit, I don't smoke half as much as I used to. Hell, probably not even a quarter as much.”
Kiden twists her face, like she's just smelled something unpleasant. Which is a feat to begin with, because Kiden spends more time than the average person wading through dumpsters, and so it takes a lot to actually disgust her.
“Seriously. Stop looking at me like that,” Kiden says, and then sighs, “Fine. Alright. You know what?”
Kiden doesn't wait for an answer, nor does she provide one of her own. Swinging one leg over Laura, she climbs off the bed, heads over to the window, and opens it. She looks at Laura, then at the cigarettes, and after a split-second worth of hesitation that nobody but Laura could ever pick up on, drops the carton out of the window.
“There. They're all gone.”
With that, she lays down on the bed, next to Laura. The tips of her hair are still wet, and her skin feels warm, when Laura wraps her arms around her waist. Considering the amount of junk and dumpster food that Kiden eats, there really is nothing to her.
Kiden brings her hands up, and threads her fingers through the edges of Laura's hair.
“You been running again, right?”
Laura nods.
Kiden laughs, a little. “No point asking, is there? You do it everyday. How far did you go?”
“Twelve miles,” Laura says. When Kiden makes no reply, other than to furrow her brow, Laura adds, “Nineteen point three kilometres.”
“Uh huh. I get the point that it was long way,” Kiden says, smiling with one side of her mouth. “You should probably go shower.”
Laura agrees with her, naturally, although their current positions have razed her desire to move. With a nod, she forces herself away from Kiden, sits up, and eventually finds her way to her feet.
Stretching out across the bed, as if the day's activities of showering and throwing things out of the window have drained the energy from her, Kiden closes her eyes.
“Go on. I'll make us lunch or something while you're in there,” she says, and waves in the general direction of the shower.
About to follow her directions, Laura pauses, turns on her heels, and then crouches by the side of the bed. Kiden cracks one eye open, and looks at her curiously, not quite understanding what she can hope to achieve by doing so. Laura is happy to simply stare at her for a moment, before leaning over, and pressing her lips against her cheek.
Standing, she heads towards the bathroom before she can become too absorbed in the way Kiden grins ridiculously wide, body breaking out into soft laughter.
“Make noodles,” Laura says, grabbing her towel from the hook on the back of the door.
*
Kitty doesn't think it counts as skipping school if she's only making her way off-campus for the lunch hour. It's not as if she's missing some vital part of her education, and with things the way they are, more often than not, it's impossible to leave to begin with.
But when she does manage to get out, when she manages to make her way to the quiet café eight blocks away from school, Jessica's always waiting for her. At first, Kitty felt guilty for standing Jessica up so very often, but as Jessica herself explained, it's not as if she has anywhere better to be. She's not enrolled in any school due to the technicality of not existing, and she can't very well spend all of her time fighting crime.
And so Jessica waits at the same table every day, drinking ice tea and reading from some science journal that would do nothing but give Kitty a headache. Once or twice a week, she has company.
Kitty half-jogs down the street. She's not attempting to run, but she can't quite bring herself to walk at an even pace. After all, it takes ten minutes to get there and back, which only leaves her with forty minutes in which to see Jessica.
Not that they don't have all the time in the world during the evenings and weekends, but Kitty's determined to make the most of whatever she can get. Jessica looks up, smiles, and closes her book, waving at Kitty as she approaches.
Standing on her own side of the table, Kitty places her palms flat against the tabletop, and then leans over, kissing Jessica, even if she is a little out of breath. Ever since what happened in New York, mutantphobia has been so rampant that Kitty's desensitised to getting all kinds of abuse thrown at her on the streets. There's no way she's going to back down from that, and there's no way she isn't going to kiss her girlfriend, just because people can't mind their own business and feel the need to stare.
Breaking away from her, Kitty sits down, and picks up the menu, purely out of habit. She already knows everything that's printed on it, and she knows what she's going to order. The panini here are far better than anything they serve up in the cafeteria, back at school.
“Uh, Jess?” Kitty says, leaning across the table, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I can see your costume under your shirt.”
*
Meredith stands with her hands on her hips for a long, long time, staring down Cristina in the kitchen as she tries to gather her wits about her in order to speak.
“You know what?” Meredith says, “You should go home, and bring some more of your clothes over. You're wearing the same three outfits over and over, and I'm getting stick of you needing to use the washing machine every other day. We have electricity bills to pay, Cristina.”
Cristina blinks, puts down her cup of coffee, and says, “Alright.”
“Alright,” Meredith repeats, breathing out, relieved. There had been other things she'd intended to say; in fact, she'd had a whole speech planned out, about their current living situation, and how they should probably have A Talk at some point.
Before she can muster up the courage to say any of those things, Cristina's on her feet and out the door. Meredith isn't sure whether or not she's come across too forcefully, and then the deep-set paranoia rises to the surface, and she half-expects Cristina to never to return. Not that Cristina could successfully avoid her, even if she wanted to, considering that they work in the very same hospital.
Three hours later, and Cristina makes her return. She heads straight up stairs to Meredith's room, a bundle of clothing her arms, comes back down empty handed, and then repeats the process three times over, only with a variety of different items.
“There,” Cristina says, stepped back into the kitchen, “That should last me a while. Take this.”
Meredith looks down dumbly as Cristina pushes a motorcycle helmet into her hands.
“Cristina. You shouldn't have,” she says with a smirk, “Thanks, but I don't even own a bike.”
Hands on her hips, Cristina rolls her eyes, in a way that says she's tired of this conversation, even though it's barely begun.
“It's my spare, genius. Come on, we're going out for dinner.”
Meredith pushes the visor back and forth, amused, not entirely convinced that it will actually fit on her head.
“If you're hungry, we can order in Chinese,” Meredith says, absent-mindedly. She peers inside of the helmet, and decides that it definitely won't fit over her head, what with all that padding inside of it.
“No. We're going out.”
“Why?” Meredith asks. Leaving the house seems like an awful lot of effort to make, for the sole purpose of eating.
“Because,” Cristina begins strongly, and then falters. The hesitation is enough to make Meredith's attention snap back onto her, and she waits almost apprehensively for her to continue. “Because we don't go out enough, okay?”
“Oh,” Meredith says, realisation slowly seeping in. All of a sudden, the kitchen feels quieter than it was moments ago. She looks at Cristina, and she feels the corners of her mouth slowly tug into a smile, as if there's too much to take in at once, and the motion can't be rushed.
They've been sleeping together for months, practically living in the same space for almost as long, but the thing that makes Meredith's chest feel so light that it almost aches is the act of Cristina Yang asking her what she can only assume is a date. To say it's unexpected is nothing short of an understatement.
Meredith's about to say something, when Cristina raises her eyebrows and says, “Not a word.”
Outside, Cristina brushes Meredith's hair back behind her ears, and helps her ease the helmet on over her head. It's tight all around her, and pins her ears to the sides of her head, but she doesn't feel enclosed.
Meredith stands on the pavement as Cristina straddles her bike and starts the engine, and she places both hands against her shoulders as she climbs on behind her. Meredith wraps her arms tightly around Cristina's waist, but not because she fears what will happen if she falls off. With her body close to Cristina's and her head rested against her back, she barely hears the sound of passing traffic at all.
*
Kiden says that she's too full to ever move again, and then ten minutes later she's got her fingers entwined with Laura's, and is dragging her out of the door. Naturally, Laura doesn't protest; she walks at an even pace behind Kiden, and follows the twists and turns she makes through the streets.
Uncharacteristically quiet, Kiden finds that she has too much on her mind to make her usual commentary on everything they pass. Upon reaching the park, Kiden can no longer recall if she intended to head there in the first place, or if she'd simply become lost in her thoughts. Either way, the park isn't a particularly bad place to end up; it's dim enough to warrant the street lights being on,
but not so dark that Kiden feels uncomfortable being out.
Not that she could feel uncomfortable with Laura with her, and after spending months on the street, but that's hardly the point.
They reach a clearing, by something that Kiden assumes is supposed to be a pond, but mostly resembles a puddle that's seen better days. Assuming that they've reached their destination, Laura lets go of Kiden's hand, and sits against the grass. Kiden remains on her feet for a few more moments, stares at the edge of a hill that's slowly becoming more and more difficult to distinguish from the sky, and then glances over her shoulder at Laura. Laura looks up at her, doesn't smile, but seems happy.
Rather ungracefully, Kiden falls to the ground, back still turned to Laura, and seats herself between her knees. Kiden assumes that Laura takes a moment to get used to the new position, but as soon as she's adjusted, her arms wrap around Kiden's waist. Chin against the back of Kiden's shoulder, Laura shifts herself closer, and rests her body against her back.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
Smiling, Kiden runs her hands across the backs of Laura's forearms, and says, “Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?”
Laura considers the question carefully.
“You have been quiet, ever since lunch.”
“So? You're quiet all the time. Don't I get to be quiet too, sometimes?”
Kiden feels Laura shrug against her back.
“No.”
“What? Why? Don't you ever get annoyed with me talking all the time?” Kiden asks, craning her neck, trying to make out Laura's expression.
“No.”
Kiden furrows her brow. “Really?”
With a nod, Laura presses her nose against Kiden's cheek. It's the small things like this that always take Kiden by surprise, which cause her face to break out into a grin. Leaning back, Laura obliges her, and lays back against the grass. Head rested against her shoulder, Kiden shifts around, trying to make herself comfortable against her.
It doesn't take much effort at all. Tilting her jaw up, Kiden finds herself content to just look at her, for a moment. Content, until Laura moves her lips down to hers, and then Kiden can't work out why she wanted to stay still in the first place. Truth be told, Kiden still never expects Laura to kiss her; and she never kisses her enough, because she's so wrapped up in the ridiculous notion that Laura won't return the gesture.
But now they're laying against the grass, and Laura's hands are placed against her sides, and before Kiden knows it, it's too dark to make out anything more than the silhouette of Laura's face.
*
When they first began swinging together, it had seemed like a good idea, until they both realised that they'd be leaping through the air, with their bodies pressed against one another. It had been awkward, at first, and Kitty had been too rigid for Jessica to really get anywhere.
Three months later, and Jessica's convinced that Kitty's doing all that she can to torture her. Torture has a tendency to become particularly troubling, when it's occurring a hundred feet above the ground. Kitty squirms against her, shifting her arms and legs around her, against her, paying no heed to the fact that Jessica's doing the best she can to stop them from ending up squashed flat against the side of a sky-scraper.
Jessica glares at Kitty, but imagines much of the effect is lost, due to her mask. As if sensing her annoyance, Kitty makes sure one of her arms is wrapped tightly around Jessica's shoulders, and then reaches up, fingers brushing against her collarbone. She presses the the pads of her fingertips around, and then remembers that, oh, Jessica's mask pulls down, not up and off.
Hand moving to her hairline, Kitty pulls Jessica's mask down, almost poking her in the eye in the process.
“Hey-I'm swinging here! You can't just demask me in the air!” Jessica objects, but both of her hands are occupied, and no amount of nudging her chin against her folded mask will bring it back up.
“Kitty. My mask. Pull my mask back up, or I'm dropping you right here and now.”
Rolling her eyes, Kitty shuts her up with a kiss. It would be all well and good, Jessica thinks, not resisting as well as she ought to, if not for the fact that, once again, they were mid-air. Swinging is something she definitely needs her eyes and mind for. Moving her mouth away from Kitty's only causes her to press her lips against the line of her jaw.
Jessica grits her teeth, and glances around, looking for the closest possible place to land.
Shooting out a final line of webbing from the tip of her index finger, Jessica finishes off her swing, and lands heavily on her feet. Lands with her feet planted against the centre of a billboard, legs running parallel to the ground. She's grasping onto her web, and it's keeping her in some sort odd sitting position.
Kitty grins, moves so that she's straddling her, and there really is no reason to protest the kiss any longer. It's a little difficult, what with Kitty's mask, but Jessica wraps her one free arm around her waist, pulls her closer, and makes the most of it. No longer having to worry about clinging to her for safety, Kitty decides to hold on to her for different reasons altogether.
She's moving her fingers across Jessica's costume, as if she's trying to find the seams, to find a way in. Jessica hums against her mouth, reminds herself to keep hold of the web, and then groans as she hears a gunshot in the distance.
Jessica breaks off the kiss at the same moment Kitty does, with a sigh. Kitty reaches up, pulls Jessica's mask back into place, and with an apologetic shrug, phases right through her lap. Jessica cranes her neck, glances down at Kitty where she's landed, and then pries her sticky boots off of the advertisement.
Jumping back, her feet don't even touch the ground, before swinging back into the city. Jessica scoops up Kitty, and expects that, this time, she can read her expression through her mask, because it seems to be plastered across her face as well.
“Duty calls,” Kitty mutters as they swing through the night.