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14 January 2008 @ 09:23 pm
That same night...

The envelope reads: Connor Callaghan

It's from the Los Angeles Police Academy. It's definitely not for me. There's no mistake.

He stands there twitching, bouncing from foot to foot nearly in front of me, and there's Darla, hands running over our son's shoulders encouragingly.

I don't have to open the envelope to know what it says.

All the wind gets knocked out of me and I want a serious drink, prohibition be damned. I swallow hard and toss the letter on the table. "I thought you were studying for exams," I say hollowly looking at my hands braced on the table.

"I was, I did, Dad, Willow helped, I totally aced all the Academy tests, the really think I have a chance-"

"We agreed you were going to University."

"Dad, I know, I aced the exams this semester too. It wasn't easy, I couldn't have done it without Willow's help-"

"Maybe you should get a little less of Miss Rosenberg's help, and spend a little more time on your studies and not on- on-"

"What? No! You're not-"

"Liam, honey, they've already accepted him. He wants to go-"

"We agreed on University. I'm working my behind off paying for University, not for you to go out-"

"And get myself shot. Right, Dad." Sarcasm. When did he get such a mouth? He's got that look on him now, that look that says he's ready to slug me, but he's a good kid and I know he won't. Maybe if his mom wasn't around, and maybe if I had a chance to keep going, but he's already shrugging out of Darla's grasp, pulling a coat on and slamming the door. He won't be living under this roof much longer I'll wager. Which isn't what I want, none of this is what I want. But I'm a worn down detective and what else is there for me? There's more and more hopeless souls out there every day. More and more that I can't help. Not with shysters like McDonald out there, not with sewage like Lilah Morgan. I can't win, and I won't ask for this life for Connor. I won't.

Crumpling up the letter, I shrug into my own coat and give Darla a kiss on her cheek. We can't have another fight about this again. The house can't take it.

"Liam," she murmurs, curling into my space like smoke, grabbing my lapels. "He's a smart boy. You should trust his judgement. He's not a child you can protect anymore," she says quietly, turning her face away and stepping back. "Come home for dinner," she adds before slipping into the kitchen.

"I'll be home," I say gruffly to her retreating figure. I doubt I will, and she knows it. But it's her way of saying be careful, and my way of saying I will.

[Open to a certain detective...]
Current Mood: cynicalcynical
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: close upwatcher_pryce on January 15th, 2008 05:33 am (UTC)
The entire way over to Liam's house, his boy didn't speak a word. So much like his father is't both amazing and extremely annoying. Frustrating. Despite everything, I cannot help but admire Darla. She has to live with both of them *and* try to keep the peace about the house day in day out. I sincerely hope for her sake, and Willow's that it's not like this everyday. Because watching Connor sulk is not at all impressed.

Watching Liam sulk, I think with a very brief smile, might have been cute. If it weren't for the circumstances. Now if it were only Connor, I'd be keeping out of it. Mostly. This is a father and son thing, a family thing. And I'm anything but family. Just the sometimes lover who has to sneak around in the dark because he'll be dead if ever caught. I'm doing this because Willow is involved. Has nothing to do with you and Liam? Liar.

I suppose its very telling that I know exactly where to find Liam isn't it? Which is what I had indented to do, as soon as I had dropped of Connor. Once that was done, I found myself driving over to the harbor district. The more tougher part of town, where people know your name but pretend no to. Always a good place to get information. Also the perfect place to get lost, one way or the other.

Parking the car and paying off Slim - one of the many homeless - to keep an eye on it, I stride over to the Blue Belle. A strange name for a pub in such a district I've always found. But when you enter the place, you forget all about the name. And I don't mean 'enter the place' in the front door. No, the backdoor is where we want to be, the place where even one of the law can find a drink.

Spotting Liam in the back of the room, leaning morosely against the bar, indeed nursing a drink, I let out a small sigh. This is going to be hard. For both of us. For Connor and Willow as well, I can't help but think briefly. Pushing my hands in the pockets of my slack, I push my fedora back a bit and stride over to him. My hip bumps against the bar as I lean against him, staring until he finally looks up.

"I don't think you want to be here. Drinking. You could get into a lot of trouble if they catch you, Liam."
Keep Me: pb det callaghan_keep_me on January 15th, 2008 01:24 pm (UTC)
I feel the bore of a familiar stare amidst the din of the bar as I take another shot of whiskey, and I push it across the bar petulantly for another, which the bartender supplies when I give him a glare.

"Yeah, so?" I shoot another glare at the man next to me now, and take another drink just to be stubborn - only a sip this time though, not tossing it back. Leave it to Wesley Wyndam-Pryce to make me feel like a heathen without even trying. God, I haven't tasted whiskey in years. And here I am throwing it all away just for a few shots of the stuff.

I rub my hand absently over bruised knuckles, a cut on one just now stopping its trickle of blood. "Plenty of other things to get in trouble for," I mumble, but I know it's plain enough for him to hear. And plain enough that he should know I'm not talking about just beating up a few thugs as my hands plainly show. My eyes sear into his, and I scoot my barstool back roughly, defiantly, and move away from him to a booth in the back. As if he's not going to follow me. Wesley hates games though, so it's in the cards that he won't. Maybe he'll just leave me alone and let me do this.

But knowing Wesley? He's on a mission and he can be a tenacious son of a bitch when he wants to be. Not that I'd ever be calling him that to his face.

He's going to get killed is what keeps running through my mind. Has been all evening, is still running right now. My only son - my only child - and he's going to get himself killed. And it's all my fault. I'm not blind. I know he's following in my footsteps. I also know it's got to be some kind of thing to prove himself to me. But god damn it all, he never needed to prove himself! He's my son!

I look across the table stoically, numb, and not giving much of a damn about what Wes might say. If we've had this talk once, we've had it a million times. I sigh and stare at the last of the whiskey in my shot glass.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: Red Shirtwatcher_pryce on January 15th, 2008 04:53 pm (UTC)
"I see."

Oh good bloody god. As if dealing with Connor hasn't been enough already. Driving the boy home had been pure frustration. The sulk, the pout, that 'the whole world is against me' attitude. And now here we have one Liam Callaghan having the exact same problem. Like father like son indeed. The only difference is that Liam's an adult.

One who's behaving like an arse and playing games. He should know by now that he's barking up the wrong tree with it comes to that. I narrow my eyes and watch his childish retreat but make no move to follow him. I don't play games, I don't follow after anyone. Not even Liam. This isn't my problem, not really. Probably should stay out of it.

I promised Willow though. However, with the mood Liam's currently sporting I could stand naked in front of him and he'd still sulk and not listen. Not sure what that says about me... As if you have any right to think in such terms.

Wonderful, now I need a drink too. If Liam is walking away from *me*, then that's his problem. I couldn't get a more clear signal. Shrugging, I turn my back to him and signal the bartender. A Whiskey would go down well right about now. Or maybe a Scotch. "Scotch," I murmur gruffly when the man approaches. He doesn't waste any time and moments later I'm leaning against the bar, glass in hand, sipping a forbidden substance.

And watching. Watching him, watching him sulk, watching him in pain, watching him not understanding but wanting to. There's nothing I can do however when he's like this. He wouldn't listen. He *isn't* listening, he made that quite clear when he walked away from me. So watching out for him seems like the next best thing to do.
Keep Me: pb det callaghan_keep_me on January 15th, 2008 11:02 pm (UTC)
I stare at the glass sparkling on the wooden table top for what seems like an eternity, and then finally realize that Wes isn't coming over.

All right...

I guess he really is going to leave me alone. Who would have thought? Aside from me a few minutes ago. Not that I really believed he would. I blink at the glass half empty expecting it to give me the answers I'm looking for. Of course, it doesn't, but the burn down the back of my throat says it'll dull the thoughts running through my head. You know what else works? A good brawl.

You could get arrested, a little voice tells me. But who's going to call the cops? The place is illegal, nobody here is going to want it shut down.

Plunking down my now empty glass and standing up from the table, I saunter over and step right into the middle of a nice little billiards game. I 'borrow' the cue from the man closest and sink a ball without a word. Of course the rat with the money on the shot goes ape and I can't help but smirk as he throws the first punch.

It's all a blur until there's yelling and men on the floor and someone lands a punch that has my cheek stinging like nothing else. The bartender is already reaching under the bar for something to put a stop to this, but I can't find it in me to stop when the next man comes at me. Why bother?

My son's going to be gone tomorrow, I can feel it in my gut, and then either he's going to disappear and never speak to me again, or I'm going to find him in a gutter, victim of something a lot worse than a father dead in a bar brawl.

Darla will kill me for sure for driving our son away, and every time my fist collides with someone else, I can hear her, that night she went into labor while we waited for the midwife, squeezing my hand tighter than any mob goon: This child, Liam, it's the one good thing we ever did together. You make sure to tell him that..
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: I'm no superman S5watcher_pryce on January 16th, 2008 05:12 am (UTC)
In retrospect, I suppose I should have expected this. But this is really so unlike Liam that it his next move takes me by surprise. I'm half tempted to just up and leave, let him have his problems he so desperately seems to want. What happened to this rational, sensible man? I don't understand this at all. All this because his son has been accepted at the academy?

And since when did violence... alright I'm not touching that one. That would be sort of hypocritical wouldn't it? But goddamnit, he's giving me a bloody headache!

Sipping my drink, I sigh and shake my head when he gets deeper and deeper into the fight. Why is he doing this to himself? Is it really so bad to talk to me? Is that it? All this because I came to look for him? What is he trying to prove with this stupid move? Death wish, I never knew he had one. Nor did I realize he thought so little of his job that he'd risk it like this. As if his bosses *wouldn't* hear about this. Small world we live in, you know.

I'm seeing a whole different side of Liam I'm pretty sure I don't like. At all. No, I'm not liking this version of Liam in the slightest. Of course the fact that I do know the other Liam is the only reason I haven't just upped and walked away. In fact, after a while I find myself putting my drink down, glaring at the bartender enough for him to put the gun away and then stomp over to there.

And the first thing that greets me is a fist in my face from Liam himself. Not once, but twice. Talk about going mad. Growling, I pick myself up from the floor, extremely pisses off now. I move to stand in front of him, bleeding lip, throbbing cheek and flashing angry eyes. At least I'm better off the most of the chaps he's been at. There are more and more of them gathering, so getting him out of here seems more then prudent. Before they turn on both of us.

"Go ahead," I growl, making sure he knows who's standing in front of him. Watching him with his fist raised, ready to strike out again. "Hit me again, since you seem so keen on it. Maybe you're lucky and punch me out this time, would that solve your problem? Stop it, Liam and get your arse outside. *Now*!" I finish in a tone of voice that leaves *no* room for arguments.

I'm so angry with him right now, I might just hit him right back if he opens his mouth to show me *more* of that appalling attitude. "This isn't you, Liam. Get outside. I'm not joking, you selfish git. think about your wife and son!" What are they going to do if he ends up in jail, or comes home drunk every night. He'll lose the job he's worked so hard for, and then what? Or worse, what'll they do if he's dead due to an extremely stupid, unneeded pub brawl.
Keep Me: pb det callaghan_keep_me on January 20th, 2008 08:33 pm (UTC)
They keep coming at me, big target that I make, and I keep punching them. My hand's starting to swell, and there blood from a cut over my eye clouding my vision. Not to mention some tears I think. Again. Not again. Wes is always here to see me at my worst.

After that Preston case that it took him to solve, and then there were a couple cases before that... I'm washed up. I'm washed up. They're going to fire me next time, I'd wager. Is this what Connor wants to look forward to?

I simultaneously get a beer to my face and feel someone behind me, making me automatically whirl and punch, and punch again just to make sure the sucker's out. I can't see a damn thing, but I can hear him drop like a stone.

While he's out, I wipe my face on my sleeves, the alcohol making my eyes burn and tear up more. It's not until I hear a growl next to me that I know who I've just decked.

I'm still squinting and blinking and trying to get him to focus, but even the barest glimpse tells me Wes is furious. Beyond furious. I don't think I've ever seen him this angry.

He tells me to think about my family, but the anger in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. I can't lose Wesley now too. I can't. He's... I don't know what I would do without him.

I nod though, and do my best to duck around the fight, getting shoved along the way, but conveniently toward one of the well-hidden side doors out to the alley.

My eyes are still burning and my face must be a mess, but the cool air sobers me up. Not that I really needed sobering up since I'm far from drunk, but...

I slump against the nearest wall, brick digging into my back here and there. Wes follows not long after, and he still looks like he might kill me. "You okay?" I ask, trying to figure out if an apology would do me any good.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: Wes broodwatcher_pryce on January 21st, 2008 05:09 am (UTC)
That'll be a bloody lovely shiner in the morning. At least I don't have a wife to explain how I got a swollen lip and a black eye. Liam on the other hand does, and considering the state he was in when he ran out of the house? You can bet your arse Darla is going to be mad as Hell. I doubt she'll be as mad as I am though, she seems to forgive quite a lot when it comes to Liam.

I fully expected him to hit me again, with as far gone as he was. But as I'm standing there, eyes shooting fire, bracing myself, he does the un-expected. That's Liam for you, I cannot help but think. Always doing the expected for everyone but me. No. I get the un-expected that is part of Liam Callaghan. The exact part I don't really know how to handle.

Sighing, I drop my own fist and follow him outside. I stop by the bar on my way out, leaving a few threats, just in case. Just in case they think Liam is going to pay the bill. He should, I know that. He's bloody well going to pay his part in this. What the hell was he thinking? Staring a brawl like that! That wasn't the reason I stopped by Jake, the owner.

No, I had to make sure he kept his mouth shut about what really happened. The last thing I want, on top of everything, is Liam loosing his job over something this--this *stupid*.

When I finally stumble outside after him, the cold air stings my face. As I pull out my handkerchief, I take a few breaths of fresh, cool air. Doesn't do much to calm me down though. Liam's slumped against the wall, looking slightly dazed. His eyes are soon clearing now that we're outside, but my anger isn't going anywhere.

"Pardon?" I ask, my tone clipped, accent more pronounced. Cordelia always said that was a sure way to tell I was furious. I guess she was right. Dabbing the blood away from my lip, I come to a halt in front of him, narrowed eyes looking down. "Do you care? Don't tell me you didn't enjoy taking a bloody good hit at me in there, Liam."
Keep Me: pb det callaghan_keep_me on January 21st, 2008 12:56 pm (UTC)
My own handkerchief is trying to wipe the various liquids out of my eyes. I'm lucky Wes didn't try to get a punch in while he could. Christ, my eyes are burning. I shake my head and hear the slam of the door next to me.

His first words of course are full of rancor, only with that classy British voice it almost sounds even more polite. I suck in a deep breath of cold air. God, if I lose him too...

"I couldn't see you," I say, my voice rumbling deep in my chest like I'm trying to growl at him. "It was instinct. I was blind and you were coming up behind me." Now would be the time for an apology Liam. A very good time. Suck it up, old man.

"Didn't think you'd get involved," is what comes out instead. My sorry rear on the line, I don't have too many friends these days and Wes can't afford the bad press. "What are you doing here anyway?" I ask, somehow still not apologizing while I try to soak up some of the blood still running into my eye. Yeah, both of those sound like real apologies. Be a man, Callaghan.

"I'm- Damn, Wes, I'm sorry about the shiner," I mumble, genuinely contrite if not feeling like a fool and a mercenary for just punching without looking.
(no subject) - watcher_pryce on January 21st, 2008 03:52 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 21st, 2008 11:04 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - watcher_pryce on January 22nd, 2008 05:36 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 26th, 2008 04:49 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - watcher_pryce on January 27th, 2008 12:05 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on January 27th, 2008 06:21 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - watcher_pryce on January 27th, 2008 09:36 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 16th, 2008 01:54 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - watcher_pryce on February 16th, 2008 03:47 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 16th, 2008 09:09 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: Wes broodwatcher_pryce on February 17th, 2008 10:40 am (UTC)
Just keep walking, I keep telling myself. Just keep walking. If only I could remember where I parked my bloody car before I was in such a rush to get to Liam. Liam, it always comes down to Liam. I hear he's in trouble and come running. Like the boyfriend I shouldn't be, can't be, am not allowed to be. It should be Darla here, not I. It's her right to have this talk with her husband.

And yet, she's not here. With what she's been before, she must know where to look for him. She has to know. And yet, she's not here. Why? Or maybe it's just my jealous side trying to find fault where there is none. Still, she wasn't here and I was. Got a black eye to show for it too-- and a sermon from William and Cordelia in the morning to boot no doubt.

Oh. There it is. Hmmm, not all that far away. I guess I hadn't noticed the lucky spot I managed to get in my haste. I quicken my pace toward the car, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible. The more I linger here, the more chance there is for my making a mistake. Can't afford to make a mistake. A mistake could ruin Liam's career. And Liam himself isn't very careful right now and-- calling me?

"What?" I blurt out, a frown appearing on my face as I turn around to look at the hobbling man. Oh dear me, Darla is going to kick his rear. And his boss is going to not only kick his rear, but tear him a new one as well. "Did you walk here?" I ask, wondering if perhaps for once in his bloody life the man is showing some sense. Getting into the car, I nod gruffly to the passenger side as my eyes follow his every move.
Keep Me: pb det callaghan_keep_me on February 22nd, 2008 03:10 am (UTC)
Oh, thank Christ he stopped. I was damn near worried he was going to drive off without me, but thankfully...

"Walked, ran, punched a few people...yeah," I say, biting back a wince as I hobble closer to the car. I wait for a moment, not exactly sure if he's offering me a ride or another lecture.

There's a curt little nod though and it makes me want to fly into the passenger seat before he can change his mind. But I settle for slowly limping and easing into the seat once I've stopped heavily leaning on the door, and picking my leg up and into the car to keep the stress off my knee.

"Thanks," I say quietly, glancing over at Wesley and wondering how we're going to survive a drive together cramped up in this tin can with such close quarters and no real privacy in sight.

"Maybe we should stop at your place, get some ice on that first," I say after I've sat there looking at his eye and just knowing it's going to swell and turn purple be morning. Should really get that iced, at least he might be able to see out of it tomorrow if we cut back on the swelling quick. "I don't mind waiting," I add, looking away and out the window just because. Wesley can be a strange duck about people looking at him. Gets him nervous at times, I think. I'd offer to let Darla look at it - she's certainly nursed her fair share of shiners - but we all know how that will go over.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: close upwatcher_pryce on February 22nd, 2008 05:30 am (UTC)
If I grip the car any tighter, it's going to break. Not something I can afford, the damn thing is expensive enough as it was. Is. Still is. But watching him hobble down the street either makes me want to go there and kick his arse myself... Or worse, go there and worry about him all the way. Can't do either, it's not my right. All I can do is over the bloody git a drive home and not worry at all.

"Hm," I grunt when he finally gets into the car. Squeezes into it as though I drive a very tiny car. I may be tall, but Liam's very much a bulk of a man. I should know... Stopping that thought right there. Dammit. Should've let him walk home, that ought to teach the stupid hothead a lesson. Why must he fly off the handle everytime things don't go his way? And why do I rush over to get him out of that pickle everytime?

Starting the car, I frown when I feel him looking at me. My eyes dart from the front to the side a bit nervously, wondering what he's looking at. Moving my eye seems to be a bad mistake. That *is* going to be a pretty colorful one to look at tomorrow. I've had worse though, far worse, which he knows. So no, we're not going to take care of that first.

"Its fine," I say gruffly, pulling away from the curb. He should worry about it just a little bit, considering the sod put it there. The next we're together he can fuss over it-- and moving away from *that* thought as well. Goddamnit, this has to stop. These thoughts have to stop. Now. This can't go on, we've been doing fine sneaking around for so long now. Well, not fine but...

Everything is changing and I don't know why.

"I'll drop you off on the corner of your house," I say, wondering if dropping him off in front of it would make Darla wonder. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid. I've no idea. "You have to talk to Connor, though, Liam."
Keep Me: pb det callaghan_keep_me on February 23rd, 2008 03:32 am (UTC)
"I will," I say finally, when he chastises me about Connor. As if he thinks his advice is going to be ignored and he's going to be at this again in a few weeks; rescuing me and talking to my son for me. ...Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, I don't think. Connor, like his old man has a habit of blocking out certain people like it's second nature. Me, he rarely listens to, so maybe he needed someone not me to talk to for a second. "I'll talk to him at breakfast, it's late. I don't want to wake him," I say, hoping that passes Wesley's judgment.

"And that doesn't look fine," I say, glancing at him and resting my arm on the door. "It's not out of our way to stop at your place and put some ice on it for a little while. It'll save you a swollen shut eye tomorrow," I point out, for some reason fighting the inevitable of going home. I don't know what it is, but I get in Wesley's company for a longer length of time and I want to stay in it.

"You should really let me take a look at it. It's my mess after all," I add wondering if he'll let me have my guilt. "It's the least I can do," I add quietly over the noise of the motor, staring out the window at the buildings and houses we pass. "Or you could just pull over for a second and let me look at it." I want to make sure you're okay.

I shift in my seat, feeling cramped even though his car isn't so small. I feel like every bump and pothole is going to make our shoulders brush together if it weren't for me keeping a tight rein of control over myself. Besides, if I didn't, we'd be necking, stopped dead in the middle of the road.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: I'm no superman S5watcher_pryce on February 23rd, 2008 02:52 pm (UTC)
This close. *This* close to pulling the car over and telling him to walk - limp - all the way home if he keeps fussing about that eye. I know I thought he should do that at least a little bit. But can't he do that in silence? We're not going to waste any more time on something that's not important. My eyes is not important, getting Liam home is very important. I'm guessing by now Darla must be very worried. And so's Connor who I know to be home waiting for his father as well.

"It's *fine*," I grit when he keeps on nagging about my eye. Taking the corner of the next street perhaps a little bit to sharply, I glare at him as much as I currently can. Letting him know that I'm aware of what he's trying to do. Oh, don't get me wrong, I know he may be worried about that eye just a little bit. But he's also using it, using me, so he doesn't have to go home right away.

And that is something I'll never understand. Not will I ever understand why he's hiding in the shadows, doing things the good god fearing people of this city will condemn if they knew, when he has such a lovely family at home. A wife who loves and adores him. A son who loves and looks up at him very much. Everything I once wanted but knew I could never have.

Of course, I will never say this to him, not even when we're fighting.

"Yes, Liam," I sigh, nearly rolling my eyes again. "It is your mess," Oh in so many more ways then one, "but stop it about my eye, please." And stop giving me that bloody lost puppy dog look when I say things like that. A sigh gets out while I try to ignore him and keep driving on. He just keeps looking though until I can't take it anymore and angrily pull over to the side into a shaded part of the street.

Turning in my seat, I glare at him, lips pressed into a thin line. "It's *fine*, Liam," I once again inform him, "I've far worse, you know that. On the grand scale this barely even registers. Now stop worrying." Or feeling guilty-- well, maybe he should feel guilty for a little while. Maybe that'll make him pause and think before the next tamper tantrum.

Keep Me: pb det callaghan_keep_me on February 24th, 2008 02:05 am (UTC)
Woah. Wes might actually be trying to glare me to death, I think. Or he would be if-

Woah, double woah! Wesley takes the next corner like we're on a police chase and my shoulder rams right into his despite my best efforts. There's a zing of something at the contact, just like there always is, and I have to literally shake myself to keep myself from doing something stupid. Even with the alcohol I've drunk, I know I can't...

Straightening my coat and myself, I give him him my own sideways glance. Just wondering what that was all about. I mean, really all that over me fussing about his eye? I just give him as much of a look as I can. Boy, and I thought I didn't take people fussing over me that well. I guess all those years of Darla licking my wounds rubbed off and I give into it now. But not Wesley, no never Wesley.

I just keeping peering over at his face now and then, wondering if there's a way I can maybe sneak some ice out to the car for him but- Oh, woah again. Looks like we're stopping. I brace my hands against the dash as it all happens suddenly and then he's lecturing me.

Turning, he's staring me head on and looking really piqued. I can't help it, I hate seeing him injured, and if he's not going to let me get some ice on it--

Without thought to the consequences from Wesley, but still glancing around the darkened, shaded street for pedestrians, I reach out and take both sides of Wesley's face in my hands. And lean in and kiss him into silence.
Wesley Wyndam-Prycewatcher_pryce on February 24th, 2008 10:33 pm (UTC)
Turning angrily in the car seat to face him, I just keep glaring at him. Wondering what he'd going to do next. No doubt reach out and touch that damn black eye to make sure it's not-- falling out or some such. My back goes ridged in anticipation of that, all ready to pull my head out of his grip should he try to do that. We may be in the shadows - Aren't we always? - but it's still...

... That? That I wasn't expecting. Him reaching out with both his hands to take hold of my face is enough to stop my rant and look at him alarmed. Him leaning in and kissing me is more then enough to stop my thinking entirely. Bastard. Bastard! He knows that! He knows what that does to me! He knows it! Why is he doing this now? Why is he doing this in goddamn *public*? Doesn't he know the dangers? He knows what could happen if he gets-- If he'd stop.

The one hand still resting on the steering wheel is grabbing it so hard it turns as pale as a ghost would be. My other hand comes up to his shoulder, fully intent on shoving him away. Instead my own body betrays me and pulls him closer, a groan escaping in this his mouth while he keeps on kissing me. It's not until then that I realize I'm bloody well frantically kissing back.

Whatever is left of my brain must've finally kicked in, because I finally manage to push him away. Though not in the angry way I had tried to do. No it's a gentle shove while I stare at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Whatever words I would want to pour out, lecturing him about this sort of behavior-- don't come out at all. "Bloody hell, Liam," I whisper instead, clearly shocked by this turn of events.
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 25th, 2008 03:54 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - watcher_pryce on February 25th, 2008 05:12 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on February 26th, 2008 04:20 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - watcher_pryce on February 26th, 2008 05:32 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - _keep_me on March 2nd, 2008 06:51 am (UTC) (Expand)