(no subject)

[notabricklayer]

Morning comes slowly, which is something of a novelty to McCoy - he heads in early, and heads out late, just due to the nature of his work.

The second novelty comes when he wakes up enough to place himself, and there is a warm presence curled up beside him, heavy in the hollow of his shoulder. Memory flares back into existence, and he smiles into the early-morning dark.

He is really not sure how he got to be this lucky. He has no idea why she stayed with him, or even went forward with anything after he over-reacted.

He wonders if she meant what she made him promise.

There's only one way to find out, for certain. Very gently, almost regretfully, he smooths her hair back from her face (so peaceful, so beautiful) and presses a kiss to her brow.

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[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He wishes, deeply, fervently, that he could read her. He decides to play the optimist for once, and ignore the thought that this may be her way of asking him to not make things awkward for her.

He also, briefly, wonders if this really is the best instance to try out that optimism thing, but he plows ahead anyway.

"I don't seem to come in quite so often." Sometimes, sure, but every once in a while there are alarming gaps of missing time here. "But if you're around...?"

Dear God, he didn't mean it to come out sounding quite so pathetically hopeful, but there it is.

[olyabird.livejournal.com]

She laughs, a dry little cough of a sound, and glances away. When she looks back, she's smirking properly.

"Such a sweet talker. How could I ever resist."

She stuffs the cigarettes back in her pocket and shrugs into her coat. When she stands, she rests a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't stay away long."