Don't Apologize

[Morgan] She'd said to text her soon the last time they'd seen each other, that day in the park with Molly, Natyana and Thomas - but it's her who texts him now. It's been a rough day, and she's come back to the house to cook, to relax - and there it is. Come over? I made way too much food.

[James] When she texts him in the morning James is quick to respond. No matter what he's doing she usually has an answer within 5 minutes. It takes longer than 5 minutes tonight. It's almost half an hour later before he answers her. Luckily she didn't call him. It's impossible for him to communicate over the telephone anyway but tone is lost over SMS. She can't tell what sort of state he's in. As usual he seems enthusiastic.

Sorry didnt see this until now...just left work. Offer still on table? Im starving.

[Morgan] Yeah, I'm just finishing. White or red? Either would go.

It's not a surprise, likely, that she knows about wine - he's been with her, sees how she dresses (when she's not in running clothes), a bit of where she shops (the expensive stores on the Mile don't phase her), and he's had bits of her cooking on more than one occasion - or rather her baking, as there's a difference. And whichever he says, that's what's out when he gets there - or, well, when they get in the house after she meets him at the mailbox. The house is easier to remember each time he comes, but it's still an uphill battle; between the arcane and the wards, it's not at all an easy place to find.

When she meets him, it's in a little dress - it's been oppressively hot and humid, so it stands to reason that she wants something as cool and airy as possible.

Hey, she signs, and continues just the same - still not as adept as she could be, but with vastly improved vocabulary and syntax. I made eggplant parmiagana and garlic bread. I hope you like Italian. She's beaming, proud that she makes it through that. Come on in.

Again it's to the kitchen that she leads him, with two plates, two wine glasses, two sets of silver and so on laid out on the island-counter - not on opposite sides of it, but at ninety degree angles from each other.

How was work?

[James] That's a loaded question. James is no connoisseur but he knows most people their age don't drink red wine for the health benefits. When it takes longer than a minute for him to answer she wouldn't be remiss in thinking he's...well, thinking. It's not like he has to worry about sending a text while driving.

Surprise me!

Unlike last time he doesn't take her in his arms as soon as he gets to the mailbox. Even if he wants to. When he gets there James is wearing a suit like he usually is when he gets off of work. His hair is mussed and he hasn't shaved but he doesn't reek of cigarette smoke either. He doesn't really smell like anything. He returns the wave. When Morgan fires off sign language James stares at her for a few seconds. Then he breaks into a grin. OK, he says, and follows her inside.

Once in the kitchen, he puts a hand over his stomach. He widens his eyes as if to say Wow, and sits down after he does, pulling out her chair for her. He puts his napkin over his thighs and looks up to see her signing. How was work. Fine, he says, his face strangely devoid of emotion. A second later he's lighting up again and signing to her...slower than he normally does, and mouths instead of actually speaking. Your signing is better! What did you do?

[Morgan] It's red she's decided on, but it's light - not in color, but on the palate. The food is farmers' market fresh, or the ingredients are, and while she'd had to finger-spell 'eggplant parmiagana', 'garlic' and 'Italian', the rest has been just about right. He notices, asks what she did, and she blushes a little, speaking as she's signing in case she misses something, or uses a wrong sign. Either is not only possible, but probable still. There was a workshop at Northwestern. I'm not that good - was probably one of the worst at it in the class - but it's easier than making you write notes or lose your voice all the time. I hope you don't mind.

She takes the chair he pulls out for her, smiling, and tucks her napkin over one knee before pouring for them both - a half a glass for her, a little more for him - along with the fancy sparkling water already set out. She's already getting more serious; apparently, she has something to say, but isn't sure how to bring it up. It'll come.

[James] His gaze is soft when she explains why she did it. It'd be easy for him to tease her now...if he didn't care about hurting her feelings. James hadn't been around to see how Molly and Morgan were around each other...but he does know how Molly can be. And he can imagine that it must suck seeing someone else fluently signing to your friend when you have enough of your own you want to say without a language barrier. It's been a long time since he's looked at hearing people and wished he could hear too. But he can remember it.

Mind? he counters, the smile on his face not matching his eyes. I don't mind. I think it's sweet.

James thanks her for the wine, then lifts his glass for a wordless toast. He can't hear the clink of the glasses but he knows enough to be careful tapping the rims together. After a demure swallow he sets it down. I was expecting macaroni and cheese. What's the occasion?

[Morgan] Like out of a box? This is signed with a wrinkled nose - apparently, when Morgan cooks she cooks from scratch, much like when she bakes. No occasion. Just a long day. We used to go camping somewhere cooler and dryer when it was like this, my dad and I.

This comes after clinking glasses and a swallow of her own, and is the second mention of a parent; James knows she's independent, lives with a roommate in this huge, dark and somewhat creepy house, knows the circumstances of her Awakening and what her mother is . . . it's a lot, really, to know about a person one hasn't known for very long.

Unless you mean inviting you. And that . . . well. I thought something closer to disclosure, finger-spelled again, both 'inviting' and 'disclosure', would probably be good. Because I like you. Blush, recover. I mean, hanging out. Playing basketball. that kind of thing. And my mom . . . Both sign and spoken words fail her for a moment, and she waves ineloquently, lips pressed together in displeasure, embarrassment. When she speaks again, it's out loud.

"Eat, first. Even with leftovers packed in the fridge, I won't eat it all before it goes bad."

The food? It's good, but her cooking isn't as good as her baking - as evidenced by the fresh-made garlic bread paired with the dish she's made. When they're done eating, she'll continue - and they're both healthy young people. It shouldn't take that long.

[James] They actually know a lot about each other seeing as they haven't known each other that long. For some reason they feel okay talking to each other about their pasts. Maybe it's because they're the same age or they feel a connection. Or they don't think the other person will judge them for what they've done or been through. Obviously there are things they don't tell each other. James keeps enough of his own secrets that he wouldn't blame Morgan for doing the same thing. She tells him she likes him, and he smiles. It's a happy smile but he doesn't show teeth. It doesn't even fade when she tries to back pedal and say she just likes hanging out. He just gives her a look that says Yeah okay and waits.

Looking at Morgan as they eat he's actually thinking about something else...something he can't talk to her about because she doesn't know what he does for a living. It's not distracting him but luckily they start eating and he doesn't have to try and carry on conversation while cutting his food. The older man isn't a heavy drinker. He takes in more sparkling water than wine. His first glass is nearly finished about the time they finish eating. He thanks her, tells her it was good, and then cleans up the dishes. Rolls up his sleeves and everything. When they sit back down he refills their wine glasses and clears his throat.

"You were gonna say som'ing," he says, signing as well. "'bout your mom. You want paper and pencil?"

[Morgan] ".....yeah, that might be easier. I have some."

Morgan is not a big fan of the easy way, as a general rule, but James is the first person she's actually talked to about this full out - Austin was there so she didn't have to, and Ashley saw it all in her mind when she was checking for anything that might have been planted, anything that didn't belong. Emily only knows the bare basics, Atlas only has a couple of clues, and there's no one else she really talks to about the personal stuff, about the stuff that affects more than her belief system, more than her paradigm. This comes, of course, after thanks for helping clean up, after a hand brushes lightly over his shoulder (that she touches him at all outside of playing something physical is a rather impressive thing - that she touches him at least once each time they see each other is more so.

Her penmanship is the neat, bubbly sort that one sees on signs for cheerleaders doing car washes and half expects to see Is dotted with hearts and other ridiculousness, despite how tightly she grips the fountain pen she finds in a drawer somewhere (as evidenced by white knuckles and the occasional blot or skip or tear); there's a determined set to her shoulders and she writes for awhile before she hands over a sheet of paper filled with round letters, with a story that leaves her face a bit pale (sickened) and her eyes . . . elsewhere.

I told you I graduated in December and had an internship at Marcom's Shanghai branch - partly for immersion in the only language I've picked up fluently other than my own ever, and partly because that's where my mom works. She's pretty high up and pulled some strings just to get me there, not even considering that the position wasn't your basic mailroom/receptionist schtick - I can't imagine that was easy for her to wrangle. Anyway, I got there after finding out some things that I didn't like; Ashley used to work in advertising and knew about the company. They're a mostly Tech shop, I guess . . . anyway. Austin and I got there and it was vacation; I had an apartment lined up already, so we had a place to stay and could do pretty much whatever we wanted when I decided not to take the internship. We were there for almost three months before Uncle Zeke - not my real uncle, but one of my mom's best friends and part of her . . . amalgam? Like a cabal - called me, saying he was in town and wanted to visit. So Austin and I went to his office with takeout and intention to go out and see a show or something after eating, the three of us.

Uncle Zeke is one of my favorite people in the whole world. I love him almost as much as I do Mama and Daddy.

Is, not was - it kills her that she has no idea what happened to him after he let her and Austin go. There's so much guilt that sometimes she has trouble breathing.

Anyway, we went, and mom and everyone else showed up - Uncle Dan, Uncle Steve, Aunt Pete, Mama - and it was like an intervention gone really, really bad. Austin got shot. Uncle Steve got dead. Austin and I got locked in rooms for I don't even know how long, but I know I couldn't have lasted much longer; they would have gotten what they wanted from me. Then, Uncle Zeke let us out, gave us cash and fake passports, and we came home. I've only seen my dad once, briefly, since, and not talked to him at all. Mama and the rest . . . I have no idea.

The point of all this being, hanging out with me isn't necessarily good for your health and well-being. Mama's . . . Syndicate, I've heard, and I think that one's hers, Aunt Pete's and Uncle Steve's. Or, well, was Uncle Steve's. Uncle Dan and Uncle Zeke are something about New World. I had a different name, before China - Jon, Ashley and Emily helped me put this together so I could still do school in the fall, and so it'd be harder to find me if they came looking.

It's the short version - sparse on details, but it paints a picture. It gets across the point, and in the time it takes James to read the note, Morgan's color hasn't come back, and she still won't look anywhere near his eyes, though she does watch for if he signs, or mouths words. All of that? It's a lot to tell someone she's just getting to know, and she's not sure if she's doing it to chase him away, or just because anyone who wants to be her friend has a right to know what they're getting into.

[James] Normally James reads fast because he picks out nouns and verbs and that's about it. He isn't interested in articles as a general rule and descriptive words are usually useless. He's fluent in English but it's not his first language. With Morgan's story though he doesn't fly through as fast as he can go. While she writes, he waits. He doesn't sit staring at her. He reads the label on the bottle of wine. He finishes his sparkling water and washes and puts away the glass. He has time to go to the bathroom, so he does that. She can hear him washing his hands for 30 seconds. When he gets back, James notices the colour is gone from her cheeks. He frowns, sits down, and reads.

When he's done, James lets out a heavy breath. He rubs his face. Looks up at her with his hand still covering his mouth. He sets the papers down. Just looks at her for several seconds. She's not looking at his eyes. The Chorister lets out another heavy breath, then plants his feet on the floor and makes a tapping motion in her field of vision. When - if - she looks up, he holds out an arm and says, with effort, "Come here." He forces himself to enunciate clearly but he'll never be able to fool anyone into thinking he can hear.

[Morgan] Come here, James says, and there's only a moment's hesitation before she does just that, before folds in against him (with relief and tension both - the telling hasn't made her any better with tactile comfort) and focuses on keeping her breath even and not crying. Her face gets buried in his shoulder and there's a single shudder that runs through her there, just before her own arms wrap around him.

She's always been a relatively independent girl - stood on her own feet, held her own with the grown-ups with whom she's been surrounded most of her life and so on. She doesn't like that she needs this, and she likes that she's accepting it even less . . . but there it is, and after a moment, she looks up - not at his eyes, but at his face.

"That was a lot to dump on you, sorry. Just . . . seems like you should know."

[James] If she had stayed where she was he doesn't know what he would do. James is outgoing and friendly but he's at a disadvantage when someone is consumed by their own emotions. If they don't want to look at him, they won't look at him. And then he's just about completely cut off. He can compel people to look at him but he can't force them to. Not yet anyway. Morgan at least gets up and comes into his arms. He stays seated so he doesn't stand a full head over her. Once she's there James wraps his arms around her shoulder and pulls her in close. Her face in his shoulder gets his hand on the back of her head, holding onto her. Trying to comfort her. When she finally holds onto him he lets his eyes closed. She can't see this. It's a sign of trust that he does this at all. Most of the time when he's holding onto someone he keeps his eyes open in case they turn on him. Morgan isn't paying him to be here though...and he's here because he likes her. He likes spending time with her. He'd go so far as to call her a friend if it were that simple. It's not.

There is no judgement. He doesn't know that she doesn't like this...or that she needs this and doesn't like that either. He just holds her as long as she'll let him. When Morgan pulls back and looks up at him he lets her. Not before he pushes a strand of hair off her brow. He's looking at her eyes but she's not doing the same.

"Hey. Loo' at me."

His tone is on his face, not in his voice. It's imploring, and a little sharp. He puts his finger under her chin and tries to lift her eyes.

"Don' apologise for being ho'est wi' me. Okay?"

[Morgan Lake] However much she might hate it - or rather, be irritated with herself for not only allowing it, but going into it and wanting it - Morgan's not pulling out of his arms. Even before all of this (before Awakening, before killing two innocent people, before the trouble with her mother and other people very close to her), Morgan'd never been the sort of girl who clung, who was needy. And this feels like that, to her. Still, there she stays, her arms wrapped around his waist and looking up at him, studying with hazel (green in this light, brown in that color, gray in this other mood) eyes; he doesn't have to try overly hard to tilt up her chin.

"Alright, then. I won't." She could kiss him, really, for having read all that and stayed . . . the bit about being alright with the honesty is an added bonus . . . but she doesn't. Her feet remain flat on the floor, but that she stays at all is more important (and disconcerting) to her than he's likely to know. "And now you know, and we're still alright, yeah?"

[James Blake] Really...when you like someone you will do whatever it takes to make sure that she's happy. There's only so much James can do. But reading her story and sticking around to make sure that she doesn't think he's going to bolt at the first signs of trouble...that he can do. He might be able to understand the idea of hating needing physical contact. If she would tell him about it. Morgan's told him a lot to night with and without words. So right now he just holds her, still seated and still looking at her face. James smiles - without mirth - when she asks if they're still alright.

"Yeah," he says. "We're fine. I'm gla' you tol' me. And I'm sorry tha' ha'en'." His voice is starting to go. James lets go of her just so that he can sign. He mouths what he signs so that she can still understand him. Whatever else happens...I'll help you. I'll be here.

[Morgan Lake] [I should know better, but dude, who doesn't kiss a guy who says something like that? (WP)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Morgan Lake] She listens to him talk, then watches him sign and mouth the words to be sure she gets them . . . and then puts hands on his hips for balance when she rises to the balls of her feet so she can lean in --

-- and stop just there, her lips a hair breadth from his and eyes searching for something. Permission, maybe - she's kissed him once already, but . . . no, no buts. The impulse is there, she's there, and she leans in just a little further to kiss him. It lingers as long as he'll let her stay that close, lips lightly on his, but does not intrude. Instead, there's the slightest parting of her own lips as if in invitation, his bottom lip caught just a bit, and her eyes closed.

It shouldn't feel so good to lean on someone else, she thinks vaguely, absently. And I really should know better.

And yet, here she is - here they are. No talking now, no writing, no signing.

[James Blake] If Morgan were kissing a shy virgin right now he would be more stunned than he is. He's too self assured and comfortable with himself - and his missing sense - for anyone to imagine that he has ever been shy. People have witnessed him in public. He gets by on being effortlessly charming even though no one ever just happens to know sign language. Somehow he can make himself understood even with people who don't speak English.

When she leans in to kiss him he isn't stupid with surprise. James rests his hands on her hair. They slide back to cradle the back of her head and he pulls her in. When she catches his lower lip he moans. He can't hear himself. It makes the noise sound primal...like he can't help but let her know what that does to him. Then he's leaning back and claiming her mouth. James does not kiss like a fumbling frat boy. It isn't frenzied either. It's slow but deep, her invitation accepted.

[James Blake] (( Poor English, there...he's leaning forward, not leaning back! ))

[Morgan Lake] There's a catch of breath that he feels but doesn't hear; she's as close to him as she can get here, in this position, but she's also in no hurry. She kisses like someone who's kissed - and been kissed - many times before, which is to say she knows how to use her tongue and lips and teeth in proper measures to quite good effect. One hand stays resting on his hip and the other arm moves back around his waist. Time stretches, telescopes in moments like this (or maybe it's just for girls like Morgan); this particular kiss lasts for a few minutes and it seems like forever and not long enough both at the same time.

When they separate, she doesn't go far - keeps one arm around him and the other hand on his hip, stays close, but lowers back to flat feet and ducks her head against his chest momentarily before looking back up. Morgan is almost always sensible - she's no desire to be so now.

"Will you stay?" It's such a simple question, isn't it? Or so it seems. But nothing really is simple, in the end.

[James Blake] Like she has to ask. James grins at her, a breath coming with it that sounds like he's laughing. Not -at- her, mind. It's just a show of restrained happiness. He's very much aware of what it took for Morgan to tell him her story tonight. It's not his intention to take advantage of her vulnerability tonight...but to be fair she kissed him first. And now she's asking him to stay. And she's got her hands on him. So it's really not that simple. The last time he stayed, they'd slept in the same bed without anything happening. Unless you count Morgan waking up to find James with an arm over her "anything".

So. She asks if he'll stay, and he smiles, and stands up. With the kitchen cleaned up already there's nothing else to capture his attention. He runs his fingers through her hair. Pushes it off her shoulders. He has to bow his head to get to her throat but he kisses her there. He doesn't suck or bite like some unruly teenager. She can feel his chest expand when he breathes in. James rests his hand on the back of her neck, and then his face against her neck. He nods against her. He'll stay. He starts kissing her again.

[Morgan Lake] She did kiss him, and she'd had no intent past that at the time . . . but to find lips at her throat is a pleasant thing, and has her head tilting back automatically, to get long hair out of the way, to expose more skin. There's nothing left in the kitchen to capture either of their attention other than each other, and Morgan is quite pleased to have her attention caught there. So kissing continues and he's slowly drawn to her bedroom, where he'd slept before - there's no question of them not sharing the bed this time - though it's still relatively early, even after a late dinner.

He's not being drawn there for sleeping, though whether she's thought much past kissing yet is unclear; there's just nudging until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, then leaning just enough so the two of them overbalance onto it (she laughs, delight and relief and a hint of pain when they bump teeth in the process), for now. She'd been barefoot at dinner and dressed in shorts and a t-shirt with some popular local band across her chest and so she is now, laying over him and kissing with the slightly self-conscious abandon that only people between the ages of sixteen and twenty can really manage. "Thanks," she murmurs against his lips, then pulls back just enough so he can see her lips moving. "I'm glad." That he's staying, of course, whatever else happens.

Then there's adjusting, shifting so he can move more comfortably onto the bed, and one of her knees can come to rest on either side of him, and more kissing - deeper now, teasing but with promise.

[James Blake] He knows there's something missing when he is intimate with a woman. It's not his attention or his enthusiasm. It's that his ability to communicate is not there anymore. His hands are occupied. He can't hear the noises his partner makes when he kisses her throat or touches her body. Sometimes he can feel vibrations. Sarah used to grab his hair when she liked what he was doing. They made up their own language of symbols traced onto each others' bodies with their fingers. But she was his wife. It took months of knowing each other to figure out a way around his defaness. With someone new there's the chance that she'll be turned off by his voice. Or that she'll be screaming for him to stop and he won't hear her. There are lots of things that could go wrong...but he isn't anxious.

Morgan guides him to the bedroom and he doesn't hesitate. He touches her the entire way there. His hands aren't blind or over eager. They have wanted to explore her for weeks now but he's patient. He has rough worker's hands that don't match the suits he wears. There are callouses where he handles a gun regularly. James is tall but he is not a brute. He willingly sits at the edge of the bed rather than throwing her there. He too laughs when they fall backwards, his hands on her to keep her balance. Then she's over him. Morgan can hear when he kicks off one of his shoes. The other follows a second later. He's touching her over her t-shirt. She thanks him, tells him she's glad, and James reaches up to touch her face. His breathing is heavy now. Their kissing gets deeper. He coaxes her tongue with his before he has to pull away again...he pulls off her t-shirt. When he sees how messed up her hair gets he cracks a smile and pushes it back.

Being on his back makes this easier. James taps his chest to make a noise to get her attention, then signs/mouths You're so beautiful.

[Morgan Lake] There's a pleased blush at the compliment - not because she doesn't know she's good looking, but because while she's confident in most things about herself, it never hurts to have such things said. You are too, she signs back, then furrows her brow even as she's clearly amused. "You know what I mean," she says aloud while he's looking her way, while she's undoing the buttons of his shirt. He'd found nothing under hers, but there's not much there that needs support - she's not completely flat, but her chest isn't exactly generous, either.

She's happy when she can put her skin against his, and leans in to kiss him again - not the lips this time, but his chest, which promptly gets nipped at lightly as well. She's keeping an eye on him as much as she can so as to be able to tell what he likes and doesn't like, and when he's ready to move further . . . this may not have been precisely what she had in mind when she kissed him, but she's certainly not shying from it now.

(She's wanted to explore him for weeks, as well.)

There's teasing over his chest and abdomen (her hair tickles sometimes, no doubt) with lips and fingers - in this (foreplay), she's experienced. She's fairly certain what will feel good to most people (though for her, 'most' isn't many), and uses it as a base for roaming hands and lips that don't always stay PG. Before she moves back to his lips, both of them are divested of their bottoms - her shorts, his trousers - and the layers between them are significantly less than they had been. Now, though, she slows a bit. The kiss is deep and that she wants him is quite obvious, but from here? She doesn't lead the way.

[James Blake] Someone taught him where on his chest to hit to make the most hollow, percussive noise he could. They've been kissing for several minutes. He doesn't know if it's been 5 or 50 and he doesn't care. He could kiss her all night were not for the fact that his desire for her is getting almost painful. James kisses her back, hand in her hair, the other on her body. He groans, the noise unrestrained, and taps his chest again to get her attention. His face tells her what he's going to say before he signs it. The young man could be a hell of an actor if he ever decided to give up his job. I want you.

The only reason James takes his hand off of her now is to find his trousers on the floor. It's a lazy reach but it's necessary. He pulls a small foil packet out of his wallet, and then the rest of the clothing and distance between them is gone. They start out like they are now because James wants to see her face and how she reacts to this. To him. James is strangely silent underneath her...at first. He enjoys it, obviously, but until he believes that Morgan does too he doesn't do so much as gasp. Once he believes this he coaxes her onto her back and makes love to her with her in his arms. He keeps kissing her face and her neck. And he lets himself vocalise. He gasps and he moans and he tries to speak. It doesn't sound like English because he can't articulate properly. It's okay though. He doesn't let himself go until she does.

When it's over he doesn't just roll off her and go to sleep. Sweat has spiked his hair and effort has his skin flushed but he doesn't drop. James stays where he is, on his elbows over her, panting.

[Morgan Lake] Morgan is not an experienced lover; what she is, is eager to learn. She's also vigorous and young and she delights in this more than it might seem she could to one who knows how she closes herself off, how she keeps at least an arm's distance between herself and most people.

In the end, he lays over her, panting, and she doesn't want to shift so he moves off of her, doesn't want to move into her own little bubble of space so that they can both go to sleep - which is more telling, perhaps, than any face she'd made in the throes of lovemaking (though she is an expressive girl - those faces had been gratifying, indeed, as would the noises she made have been if he could hear them). She stays where she is, looking up at him for a long, quiet moment before she lifts to kiss his chest, his chin.

"I hope you plan to do that again," she says when his attention is on her lips, her face, and then (reluctantly) shifts so that it's easier for him to lay beside her. Then there's laughter, light and pleasant as she stays touching him as much as possible, and practice signing until they fall asleep in each other's arms and she? She doesn't move away.

When James wakes in the morning, it will be to the tickle of a spray of red hair at his shoulder, and Morgan again sleeping peacefully under his arm. And whether 'again' is sometime during the night, the morning, or another day entirely, there's cuddling and breakfast before James goes anywhere.