Donna is not sure if she's actually going to talk to Julio or just curl up against him and pretend she doesn't need to be comforted about anything ever, but either way: it doesn't take her too long to bundle the both of them into clothes and nip down to what she still thinks of as Hotel California.
It's really these whole floors, she thinks to herself. Maybe it's just the people.
He peers out of the apartment door, eyes a little fuzzy from the light in the hallway, but he holds his arms out to see if Donna wants to hand him the baby, squinting. He moves slightly out of the way so that she can slide in and shut the door.
"Rocking the world, obviously," Donna says, lightly, as she does in fact hand him her child. She shuts the door behind them and leans against it, smiling. "Hey. Thanks."
"I'm a little retired from rocking the world," he mutters, half-awake, with no small amount of irony.
He takes Sirja carefully into his arms and turns to head toward the open door to strangely spartan, almost military-clean bedroom, looking over his shoulder. Get your fingers out of his eye Sirja you're ruining his badass.
"It's not a problem, you know. You seemed upset about shit."
"Yeah, I guess. I don't know why-" this is a lie, "-things are pretty great for me here." She fusses with her purse - she's had this with her since before she got here, since New York. She drops down onto the edge of his bed, watching him with Sirja.
"Cursed, maybe. Or something." He shuts the door a little more than halfway, tapping it with his foot. He's nervous to shut it the whole way because, despite being thirty, he is apparently terrified he'll be grilled about having a girl in his room.
He sits down beside Donna, still holding the baby but close enough that she can take her back.
"I like her. I like kids. You know where you stand with a baby."
Sirja hangs onto his shirt, content with where she is. Donna seems content leaving her there, for now, just watching. She fishes something out of that little handbag - Tarot cards, actually, loose-wrapped in a cheap scarf. "These aren't mine - I don't know sweet dick about this stuff - they were her daddy's."
"Her dad was into that stuff?" He raises his eyebrows into his hairline, surprised but non-judgmental. How could he be, considering some of the people he knows.
"You keep them around for any reason? You believe in that stuff?"
He's glad he's wearing a thermal undershirt and not something with buttons. The baby is, in fact, attached to him, and currently chewing on the fabric happily.
"He had a knack," Donna says - this is all she really knows about that. Taylor might've been all sorts of things, but he was young, and she was young, and she figured they had time 'til it turned out they didn't, after all.
She taps them against her thigh. "I don't not believe. It was just like...so we were married, right? What's mine is his and vice versa. And then he was gone, so everything is mine, now. And I've been carrying them around for months since he died and I don't know what I'm gonna do with them and I don't know what I'm gonna do, 'cause, you know-"
Donna breathes out, slowly, when her voice starts to get high and tight and strained and the words come out faster like they're spilling over, and she shrugs, awkwardly. "So I said all that stuff and it made me think about that. But I like it here."
"I don't not believe in nearly anything these days." It's spoken softly, off-handed, and he adjusts Sirja against his chest so that he can move closer to Donna, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and tugging her in, hugging as tightly and unawkwardly as he possibly can with a load of baby between them.
It's no different than hugging one of his old team-mates, is it? He tries not to let it feel any different. He likes Donna, a lot, but decidedly not in certain ways.
"You don't have to know what you gotta do. I don't know what I'm gonna do these days. You just have to want to wake up in the morning."
Donna's got good at arranging Sirja for three-person hugs; doing so is the kind of second-nature habit she has that isn't horrible. "I keep losing people, you know, you don't get better at it? Don't die, I'll fucking kill you."
...okay then, crazy.
"It's just weird. Anyway, things are...nice here. I was just not all the way up yet. So maybe I pushed it a little. I think I'm handling it."
He doesn't pull away immediately, giving her a few light pats on the back before finally re-adjusting himself, staring at Donna with a considering expression; openly so.
"You don't get any better at it if you're still human, trust me. But I think you're handling it. Kind of. Sorry about your husband. You're too young to be on your own-- that's probably really condescending. Sorry."
Donna tucks Sirja against her and watches him back; hard but not impossible to read. "Yeah, it is, but it's also true. Buuut I don't get to decide that this time, so I kind of have to just...work on it. So that's what I'm doing. And I'm not doing badly."
She's oddly defensive about this; she's so afraid of screwing up. She has to remind herself (and everyone around her) that she isn't. In case she is.
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Donna is not sure if she's actually going to talk to Julio or just curl up against him and pretend she doesn't need to be comforted about anything ever, but either way: it doesn't take her too long to bundle the both of them into clothes and nip down to what she still thinks of as Hotel California.
It's really these whole floors, she thinks to herself. Maybe it's just the people.
"Heeeey, you in there?"
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"Always. Where else would I be?"
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"Rocking the world, obviously," Donna says, lightly, as she does in fact hand him her child. She shuts the door behind them and leans against it, smiling. "Hey. Thanks."
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He takes Sirja carefully into his arms and turns to head toward the open door to strangely spartan, almost military-clean bedroom, looking over his shoulder. Get your fingers out of his eye Sirja you're ruining his badass.
"It's not a problem, you know. You seemed upset about shit."
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"Yeah, I guess. I don't know why-" this is a lie, "-things are pretty great for me here." She fusses with her purse - she's had this with her since before she got here, since New York. She drops down onto the edge of his bed, watching him with Sirja.
"She likes you."
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He sits down beside Donna, still holding the baby but close enough that she can take her back.
"I like her. I like kids. You know where you stand with a baby."
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Sirja hangs onto his shirt, content with where she is. Donna seems content leaving her there, for now, just watching. She fishes something out of that little handbag - Tarot cards, actually, loose-wrapped in a cheap scarf. "These aren't mine - I don't know sweet dick about this stuff - they were her daddy's."
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"You keep them around for any reason? You believe in that stuff?"
He's glad he's wearing a thermal undershirt and not something with buttons. The baby is, in fact, attached to him, and currently chewing on the fabric happily.
Reply
"He had a knack," Donna says - this is all she really knows about that. Taylor might've been all sorts of things, but he was young, and she was young, and she figured they had time 'til it turned out they didn't, after all.
She taps them against her thigh. "I don't not believe. It was just like...so we were married, right? What's mine is his and vice versa. And then he was gone, so everything is mine, now. And I've been carrying them around for months since he died and I don't know what I'm gonna do with them and I don't know what I'm gonna do, 'cause, you know-"
Donna breathes out, slowly, when her voice starts to get high and tight and strained and the words come out faster like they're spilling over, and she shrugs, awkwardly. "So I said all that stuff and it made me think about that. But I like it here."
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It's no different than hugging one of his old team-mates, is it? He tries not to let it feel any different. He likes Donna, a lot, but decidedly not in certain ways.
"You don't have to know what you gotta do. I don't know what I'm gonna do these days. You just have to want to wake up in the morning."
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Donna's got good at arranging Sirja for three-person hugs; doing so is the kind of second-nature habit she has that isn't horrible. "I keep losing people, you know, you don't get better at it? Don't die, I'll fucking kill you."
...okay then, crazy.
"It's just weird. Anyway, things are...nice here. I was just not all the way up yet. So maybe I pushed it a little. I think I'm handling it."
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"You don't get any better at it if you're still human, trust me. But I think you're handling it. Kind of. Sorry about your husband. You're too young to be on your own-- that's probably really condescending. Sorry."
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Donna tucks Sirja against her and watches him back; hard but not impossible to read. "Yeah, it is, but it's also true. Buuut I don't get to decide that this time, so I kind of have to just...work on it. So that's what I'm doing. And I'm not doing badly."
She's oddly defensive about this; she's so afraid of screwing up. She has to remind herself (and everyone around her) that she isn't. In case she is.
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