Maybe . . .

(Missing something here)

[James Blake] He could have asked her to stay in her own room with him. Maybe that would have stopped it from happening. He's drained though. He's never looked this tired before...not in front of Morgan anyway. Even on days when he's been up God knows how long and smells like tobacco smoke and women's perfume he hasn't looked this tired. It didn't take much to get him settled. He brushes his teeth and strips out of his clothes and is asleep before he even shuts the light off.

Three hours later he wakes up. He's drenched in sweat and in his half lucid state he thinks it's sea water. He knows he shouts because he can feel it in his throat but he can't hear it so maybe he was just gasping. Morgan can hear him wherever in the house she is though...a loud yet formless attempt at calling out for someone followed by panting. The light clicks on and he sits up. He doesn't recognize the room and he doesn't know if there's anyone around to hear him. He wipes his face with his t-shirt.

[Morgan Lake] She's there by the door, uncertain in this red room that matches so much about her - she's a red girl, is Morgan Lake, of hair, often of clothing, of disposition and attitude - the room where she's slept for months now in this house that isn't hers but comes rent free and allows her to use her college money for college, rather than silly things like bills (other than her cell phone). There's a mug of tea in her hand, and she steps closer, after that long moment of uncertainty and consideration, the better to set it on the same table next to the bed that holds the lamp. She doesn't speak, but stays by the bed for a moment; she, too, looks tired, but it's normal middle-of-the-night tired, not traumatized.

She signs, slow and clumsy, with her hands where he can see them rather than waiting for him to look up. Everything okay? Maybe he notices the ASL handbook on the the shelf of the bedside table, below lamp and now mug. Maybe he doesn't. But she's been trying.

[James Blake] If not for her resonance he wouldn't realize Morgan had come upstairs. At some point he gets out of bed and walks over to the window where he pulls aside a curtain and looks out over the yard. He isn't expecting company so he's wearing boxers and an undershirt and nothing else. He doesn't hear the door open or her feet hitting the floor but he can sense her. So he turns to look at her when Morgan sets down the tea. James smiles at her. It's wan. He's covered in drying sweat and his hair is a mess. He drops the curtain and walks back to the bed. As she signs he keeps his eyes on her. When he sits, he answers I'm fine. Pauses. Fesses up. Bad dream.

[Morgan Lake] She's seen boys in less than boxers and t-shirts before now, and isn't flustered by it, though she does keep eyes just slightly averted, out of some sense of decency of propriety or something. She doesn't move away as he gets closer, doesn't tense as she does so often when someone comes near to touching her, but studies him, intent - to make sure he's telling the truth, perhaps, or to see if she should go. It's her bedroom, yes, but she'd offered it to him for the night.

Absently, almost nervously, a hand rises to brush a bit of hair off his forehead, to lay the back of her hand on it briefly as if to test for fever before handing over the half-forgotten face towel she's brought with her so he can wipe the dream-sweat away. He's not the first person she's known with terrible nightmares, it would seem. After that, she steps back just a bit - still there, still uncertain.

I'm sorry, comes signed, followed by, "Anything I can do to help, or should I let you go back to sleep?" The last allowed, with attempts at the signs for 'help', and 'sleep' made, though they're off by a bit - enough to be mistaken for other words entirely or nothing at all, if he couldn't read her lips.

[James Blake] James closes his eyes when Morgan pushes his hair back. It's an absent movement and segues into her feeling for fever but he's comforted by it. He opens them again when she takes her hand away, and smiles again when she hands him the towel. Thank you. The towel works better than his sodden shirt. When he's done with it he doesn't hand it back or drop it on the floor. He looks around for some place to deposit it. Her signing catches his attention, and he looks up at her face when Morgan reverts to speech.

After waking her up in the middle of the night and keeping her from sleep he's already asked her for too much. Sure, it's Friday. Most people have the weekend to look forward too on Friday but Morgan is a student. She has an internship. She has a life that he's interrupting. James is still for several seconds after she asks...as if he's actually thinking about it.

"Will you stay?" he asks. His voice is hoarse and harder to understand than usual.

[Morgan Lake] It's lucky that she, too, can read lips - she does often when he speaks, whether it's aloud or just mouthing what it is he wants to say. Like sign language, so much of verbal speech is reliant on tone and cadence, on nuance, that even at his best James' talking is sometimes difficult to process. Now, though? There's hesitation, and wariness. This is not a girl who's been abused, not in most ways, anyway - she's clearly from a family that had no trouble giving her everything she could have needed and significantly more, besides. When she'd mentioned her father it had been with adoration and respect, and her mother had gotten a more confused sort of love, despite mention of her affiliation.

That is to say, this is not the hesitation of a girl who lacks in confidence, or who thinks that she might be a victim of some sort. This is the hesitation of an eighteen year old girl presented with a question for which she's not sure of the best answer.

After a moment, she nods, and elaborates. "If you'd like. Bed, or chair by the window?" Because there is one there, an old, overstuffed monstrosity that is as neat and clean as the rest of the room which, despite its appearance of being decorated specifically for Morgan, seems more like a hotel room than anything else.

[James Blake] (( Perc + Aware [as Empathy] ))
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 1, 5, 7, 8 (Failure at target 6)

[James Blake] He sees her hesitation but he doesn't know what to make of it. So far as he's been able to tell there is nothing in Morgan's history that would make her wary of him. But he can understand why she wouldn't want to be around him. His deafness is a huge turn off for a lot of people. It costs him more business than he'd care to admit. If it weren't for his repeat business he'd probably have to go back to dealing drugs or working at a gas station or something to be able to make rent every month. Besides that, James is a lot bigger than Morgan is. He isn't strapped with muscles - he'd said he plays basketball and he's got the build of someone who actually devotes time to the sport - but he's over six feet tall.

Anyway...she hesitates, and James frowns. Even when she answers she continues to hesitate. James makes the Fine sign but it isn't to say "The chair is fine." He's shaking his head as he does it. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

[Morgan Lake] [Oh, a little WP roll can't hurt. +1 diff for late night muzziness.]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 4, 6, 10 (Failure at target 7)

[Morgan Lake] There are more reasons this shouldn't happen than it should, quite frankly. Morgan isn't a trusting sort at all, and has issues with space and tactility on top of that - James knows this. But it's late at night, and he's had a nightmare, and he knows well enough from the time Ashley linked them all that Morgan thinks he's attractive. Still, it's probably a surprise when he finds her lips on his somewhere between 'fine' and 'you'. It's not intrusive, that kiss, not probing - in fact, it's a rather sweet little thing, not quite innocent but certainly not anything else either, that doesn't last for long at all, and then she's standing back up, looking at him carefully, watching. Reading.

"Don't be silly, of course I'll stay. I just . . ." She shrugs. "I don't know, I'm kind of ridiculous. And the bed or chair question was for your preferences, nothing else."

She doesn't have the hoodie now, just the pajamas with Charlie Brown characters printed all over them - the girl-ish equivalent of boxers and a tank top, really - and her hair is down, free, and falls perfectly straight and thick to the middle of her back.

[James Blake] If you stop and think about it, this is sort of a bad idea. They're young, for starters. Morgan is - he thinks - only 18, and James is only two years older than her. Just a few hours ago they were telling each other things that few others in this city know about them, talking about dead wives, and Awakenings and the lives that those Awakenings claimed. They had mentioned the absence of real family and the voids in their lives. That is some heavy stuff to be talking about at 2 o'clock in the morning with someone you hardly know. James had been wholly prepared to simply go to sleep by himself in a bed that smells like Morgan and leave in the morning when he woke up. Now dawn is threatening to intrude on the darkness and she's kissing him to shut him up. His eyes slide shut almost immediately. He's not shocked. (Well...maybe a little.) He presses back, returning the kiss without deepening it. That shock doesn't really set in until Morgan pulls back. His breathing isn't immediately heavy but he seems more awake now.

"You're not ridiculous," he says, laughing a bit. After a pause he pulls back the covers on the untouched half of the bed. Apparently he wants her on the side closer to the wall.

[Morgan Lake] [Die of Decision: odds yes, evens no]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 6

[Morgan Lake] "Yeah, I am. It's alright, sometimes." That's with a hint of smirk, amusement, and then she crawls into bed and slips in where he's bared for her - just sheet in deference to the rooms kept cool by some means or another, no comforter for her. She props herself up on one hand to watch him as he does the same, and once he does, it's the closest they've been for any length of time since they met, at least physically speaking.

If you stop to think about it, this is a very bad idea. They've both talked about lack of family, about loss, about sorrow. Academically, they both probably know a little about the psychological reasons this is a bad thing to do - they haven't given themselves time to heal, to process, and even if they stay each to their own side of the bed all through the night (morning [mourning]), this is opening a gate. This is not something that people do easily - it whispers of intimacy, implies a comfort each finds in the other whether it's there for real, or a trick of the shadows, a mirage created by something they both want to see, to find. Obviously, this doesn't stop Morgan. She's in control, she thinks, can handle just about anything.

"I usually sleep on that side," she murmurs, though she makes sure her lip movements are clear - not exaggerated like when they first met, but clear - teasing. "Come on, lie down."

[James Blake] You really have to trust someone before you can sleep in the same bed with them. James hasn't found himself in a life or death situation with Morgan yet. He doesn't know if she stands her ground or if she runs at the first sign of trouble. He knows that she is intelligent and has made a lot of progress since she opened her eyes but he doesn't know if he would have to protect her during a fight or if she could defend herself. Knowing him he would probably protect her anyway. Or try to. The last several times he hasn't even been able to protect himself let alone anyone else.

He watches her slide into bed. There's a reason he offers her the side against the wall. It's quietly protective. If anything comes in in the middle of the night he's between her and the door even if he couldn't hear anything. That's not the answer he gives her though. Morgan tells him to lie down and he does eventually, signing with the hand that's not propping the rest of him up.

You don't want this side. I sweat.

[Morgan Lake] She plugs her nose and makes a (perhaps endearingly) ridiculous face at him - eyes crossed, cheeks puffed, tongue stuck out - whether she knows the exact meaning of the signs or not; she gets the gist of it, anyway. She appears to accept this answer, though he knows she's intelligent, which likely means she knows some of the ulterior motive behind him taking the side closer to the door, which she'd closed behind her when she came in.

"I snore," she admits lightly, easily, once her face is straightened back to normal. "Maybe it's a good thing you can't hear me, tonight anyway."

Then there's her hand moving from under her head, and her rolling to her back so she can look up at him, or maybe the ceiling - it'll be difficult to tell once the bedside lamp's turned off, leaving them in the purple twilight that comes before dawn. "You should sleep. I usually go running in a couple hours." Which doesn't mean she's going to today - she's got company, after all. It means what she said - she usually does.

[James Blake] James laughs at that face. For the first time since he got here tonight he relaxes. It's rare that he spends time with girls his own age. The women he tends to work with aren't exactly stodgy but few of them have any playfulness left in them. It's as if by the time they reach the point where they have no reservations about paying for company they've gained plenty of other reservations to take their place. He doesn't let himself outright laugh around his clients most of the time anyway. He's been told he sounds strange when he laughs. For some reason he doesn't worry about scaring Morgan with his voice. She admits to snoring, and he waits until she's finished speaking before he turns out the light. In the dark he can see her moving next to him. She speaks, and he focuses on her face in the dim light of coming dawn. It's impulse and he knows he shouldn't do it, but he does anyway...he combs his fingers through her hair. Then he lies down. He faces her for now.

"Okay," he says. He pauses, then tucks his arm under the pillow. "'Night."

[Morgan Lake] Idly, lazily, a hand moves to his chest and stays just long enough to sign 'night' where he can feel her hand moving against him. It's only a second, two, and then it retreats to her own space and she settles in on her back next to him, her head turned his way as eyes close, bringing long lashes to her cheeks.

That's followed, of course, by the squirming most people do to get comfortable in an unfamiliar bed - not that the bed itself is unfamiliar to her, obviously, but her positioning on it is. At any rate, she falls asleep easily and maybe ten, fifteen minutes after the light is off? She's against him, her head lightly on his shoulder.