It's mid-afternoon on a Sunday. The weather is lovely outside, with bright blue skies and seldom white clouds. It's the kind of afternoon where you should bask up the sun on a restaurant or coffee shop's patio and hang out with friends. Maybe wear your first flip flops of the seasons.
Instead Molly and Nate were coming home from a warm but comfortable six-block walk back from a bar where they'd been confronted by one of Nate's particularly brash friends. He seemed to attract strong female personalities that way. They chose to meet for lunch and beer at a bar and Laurel, a recent victim of mind control, overheard their conversation that by some grace of fate happened to be precisely that. This resulted in confrontation, brief and without too strong an escalation thankfully. But it did uproot them from the bar.
Molly suggested they go back to her place, it was nearer.
So, instead of enjoying the patio and sipping a cool beer or warm latte, Molly was walking alongside Nate, closer to the curb with the man holding onto her hand like he might get lost until he decided to finally let go. Stairs were the only way up, so up they climbed until they reached Molly's door. She unlocked and swept inside to immediately get them both glasses of water. Nate was drunk, and they were both probably warm from the walk in the 70 degree weather. Molly'd had to shed her hoodie and tie it about her hips like it was the 90's.
"So how on earth do you know Unhinged McGee back there?" She asked conversationally, even if it did open the door to him turning the question right back on her.
Nathan Marszalek
"I don't. She's one of Amber's friends."
Which - Amber isn't the most emotionally stable person in the world either. She was the one who came storming over the night of the bachelorette party to scare the flock away from him and did so with great success. Those women didn't want anything to do with her. Nate has always been surrounded by women and hasn't had a clue what to do with them.
His sister likes to joke that she would have more luck picking up women than he would and she likes the d too much to even try. Maybe you like the d too Nathan. Hur hur hur. Hannah is a little shit sometimes.
When Nate got the impression Molly was ready to let go of his hand he let go of her hand. The day is warm and he's wearing long pants because he always wears long pants. Might wear cargo shorts if he's really not planning on doing anything but lounging around outside but today isn't one of those days.
He starts to sober up a bit with the fresh air and the exercise. No compulsion to light a cigarette because the nicotine patch keeps the cravings from getting to him. When she passes the glass of water to him he takes a tentative first slug like he's not sure what he's getting into and then bolts back a huge swallow.
"And she's almost punched me in the face more than once because she hates me. Like, for no reason. She's just an asshole. What was she doing bothering someone she didn't even know anyway? Did she even get the dude's name? I can imagine what happened, man, he was probably just sitting there and--"
A beat. This is a vampire they're talking about. He wasn't minding his own business.
"She's an asshole," Nate says in conclusion before killing the water.
Molly Toombs
Once back inside and with glasses of water poured, Molly made her way through the apartment. Nate had been over often enough that he should feel comfortable by now settling either in the kitchen or the living room-- she would spend equal time in each living space. He already knew he was welcome to do whichever was more comfortable for him and that Molly would probably follow suit.
For now, she listened to him while she moved through the long length of apartment that was the dining and living room both, pulling up blinds and opening windows. Letting the air and sunlight in. The door to the balcony was pushed open so that the screen door was all that remained closed.
With that done, she removed the hoodie from where she'd tied it about her waist and draped it over the back of a chair for now.
"Yeah, she seemed a bit like an asshole."
She frowned a little. She had a strong feeling that she would be seeing more of Laurel, and that the interactions wouldn't be any more pleasant in the future. The woman seemed ready to go off the handle at any second, if you asked Moll. She'd really like to not have to worry about some woman with a licensed gun trying to beat information out of her because she was scared of the infinitely dark can of worms she'd inadvertently opened.
"So, uh, are we still talking about this Rodriguez thing? Or did you wanna maybe talk about something else instead?"
The walk had sobered him up for the most part, but Molly was still looking at him more watchfully than usual. Gauging where he was.
Nathan Marszalek
Once he's slammed down one glass of water he seems revived. Not completely returned to rights but he isn't lowering his head to the countertop or slurring his words together or letting his voice shoot up into a decibel level he hadn't meant for it to reach. He had kept his boots on when he wandered into the apartment after her and the alcohol seems to have provided enough of an anesthetic effect that he isn't favoring his back the way he tends to.
So he stops leaning on the island countertop as Molly wanders through the apartment letting in the sunlight and the fresh air. The day is still bright and beautiful and in the sunlight he's not quite pale enough to be mistaken for one of them. His skin still has life in it. Veins rope through his forearms and if she got near enough she could feel his pulse at his throat. No mistaking Nathan for dead.
He'd been trailing after her like he was trying to guess where she was going to end up. With the balcony door open they can hear the street below and the traffic and the people walking past full of life and hope for the day. Happy to be outside and alive. Full of things to do.
When she asks if they're still talking about the Rodriguez thing he stops beside her. Looks her right in the face. They don't see each other in daylight much anymore. If it were up to Nathan he would only see her in daylight but not much in their lives is up to him anymore. His eyes are dark and close as he's stood to her now she can see that he's still there. Lucid despite the drunkenness of earlier.
And yet when she asks him if he wants to talk about something else instead he doesn't answer with words. He thinks about it. Thinks but doesn't take his eyes off her face. She can read the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes easy through his nose and he smells like faint aftershave instead of cigarette smoke for once and then he has a thought he does not share with her. He has a lot of thoughts he does not share with her.
Nate puts a hand at the back of her neck to hold her still and he kisses her hard like he wanted to do kiss her hard the first time they ever parted ways.
Molly Toombs
Perhaps the fact that Nate had been tailing around after her had been why Molly was suspicious of how much of the alcohol's effect he'd managed to burn off just yet. She didn't glance at him over her shoulder to ask with a look what the hell he was up to, but did take note that he hovered rather than settled.
When they stopped and he asked what it was he wanted to talk about, there was a minute where he was just looking at her and she at him. Her having to tip her chin up a bit, as he was a good half a foot taller and standing near. At first she wasn't really able to read his face. He looked like he wanted to say something and was trying to land on the words, so she was showing him the courtesy of patience.
But then his eyes steeled. There was resolve there, and with Molly being no stranger to being kissed she recognized what the look meant, especially when his hand moved for her face, past it, to her neck instead. Her eyebrows flew up, her face awash with surprise, when he crushed his mouth to hers and held his fingers through her worn-down hair against her neck.
She was surprised, of course, but she was human. A woman who had openly complained about the lack of moments like this in her life, who had been actively trying to go on dates and find someone for companionship before everything with vampires and ghosts and stolen reflections started to shake her world around. She was caught off guard, but didn't fight or twist away or block him from closing the distance. She went quite still at first, then relaxed against him so her chest found his. A hand went to his side, touched light below his ribs. She closed her eyes and leaned into him and kissed him back.
Nathan Marszalek
Must have been he figured she was going to shove him away and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. Molly is shocked by his mouth against hers and she can feel him start to reel it back in when she responds. A hand anchored on his waist and her body leaning into his seems to be enough of a green light for him.
Nathan isn't a teenager but he isn't exactly a libertine either. He'd had a few girlfriends in high school and the last of them was the one he thought he was going to marry. He and Carole were both awkward around each other and spent most of their time waiting to see what the other one was going to do. And Carole had been burned before. They understood each other but they both expected something bad was going to happen if they went and got attached to each other.
The badness Carole expects isn't the same sort of badness Molly knows about. They were discussing undead creatures who possess the capacity to put thoughts into people's heads. To make their bodies do things their minds don't consent to. To make pugilistic bounty hunters walk across the room and hug young research assistants or make war veterans who were trying to overcome addiction and mental illness take a piece of sharp metal and open up their throats.
They were discussing Randy Rodriguez because Nathan thinks there's a correlation between the incongruous Denver statistics and the local vampire population. Because he was starting to wonder if he was going to be the next one to go. Because he's afraid.
When he kisses Molly now there isn't any fear or desperation in it. He puts his other hand against the side of her neck and face and he deepens the kiss his breathing deepening his ribs rising beneath her hands. He doesn't kiss like someone who's done this a thousand times before but he isn't sloppy. He's a decent young man. Honest, mostly.
He knows she has to tip her head back to fit their mouths together. After several minutes of this he swipes her hair back from her neck and kisses at her ear. Rests his temple against the side of her face and breathes like to calm himself down. She can feel his heart knocking into his ribs.
Shirt's coming off. She might want to steer him someplace that isn't in front of a wide-open window.
Molly Toombs
Molly doesn't talk a whole lot about ex-boyfriends. She had a high school relationship because most people do, but it ended soon before graduating. She never even bothered to attach a name to that guy in stories or conversation. She'd dated another man while she was going through college still, and that had lasted for about a year and a half before falling through for reasons that Molly hasn't bothered to explain. They'd tried to get an apartment together but Molly found herself back in the dorms when all was said and done.
She didn't consider or count the brief stints that could occur here or there after going on a few dates with a guy. Those weren't happening anymore anyways. Molly was always too worried that she would be leading some poor fool to his death if she brought them back to her apartment or got them too mixed up in her goings on.
Nate, though, he was already buried up to his ears. He felt honest and warm and he kissed earnest and eager, hands cradling her neck on either side and keeping her near. It didn't take much effort. Molly was pressing into him, actively kissing in return and not simply settling for being kissed alone. Soon her arms were about him, she was up on tippy-toe with her front flush to his, and they were lost like this for a few minutes.
He broke away to push her hair back and kiss her ear instead. He was breathing hard and she could about feel his heart thumping and hammering along with her own pulse in her ears. She'd had her head back, tipped to the side, being quietly but softly vocal in how she was receptive to his mouth at her ear. But then she noticed his hands pulling at her shirt, tugging the hem loose from where it was tucked under the waistband of her jeans.
"Wh--wait.. Hold on, Nate."
She sounded breathless and looked flushed if he pulled back to look at her. Like, eyes bright God-Damnit-Intellect-Why-Did-You-Say-Stop flushed.
"What's changed?"
Nathan Marszalek
"I don't know, man, seeing my dad the other night was really weird, I've been thinking about all this shit I don't usually think about because he kept asking me all these lawyer questions..."
That's the first thing that comes into his head. It's the first thing that presents itself as a plausible explanation for why he's acting like this and it's honest enough. It's true. He hasn't thought about Rodriguez in weeks. Hasn't thought about dying in weeks.
She told him to wait. It might be a Stop if he doesn't wait. His hands hesitate on the hem of her shirt and she can feel them wanting to find flesh but he listens to her. He's not a monster.
"... and I just... I ended up telling him about the fucking... hearing ghosts thing, and I don't know, he just looked really tired and old and it was weird, and he's asking me to help him clean out this warehouse that all his father's shit went into when he died because he found this camera that he wanted me to have, and... nothing's changed, I just don't wanna think, anymore, I wanted to kiss you, so I did, and..."
Molly Toombs
Molly was pretty sure when she'd asked, breathless, what had changed, that she would barely get an answer. She wasn't sure if she was going to spook him away, if his hands were going to leave her waist entirely and he was going to back up and invite himself to leave after deciding this may not have been a good choice. To her delight, he instead spoke at fair length about his father and telling him about the ghosts he could hear.
She could hear that he was stressed and getting caught up, and shook her head at him. What she'd heard thus far was explanation enough. She'd let it slide for now. Or she was just too impatient or eager to wreck their momentum and focus on things like talking about his dad right now. He'd kept fingers at the hem of her shirt, at least, and hadn't leaned back away from her just yet.
"It's alright," she assured him. One of her hands went to one of his, laid overtop of it and guided it up under the hem of her shirt again. She kissed his jaw first, then his mouth again. "Clearly I'm not mad about it." The following comment came in a lower voice. The tone alone was enough to outright tell him that the ball was in his court.
They were still in front of the windows that looked out onto the balcony, though. Someone was going to need to be a responsible adult.
Nathan Marszalek
If weren't for the fact that he cannot perform acrobatics even when he's feeling at his best physically that couch would have been deemed sufficiently. But even when Nathan does feel at his best physically he's still a banged-up mess of a body.
She knows he has scars. Not just the ones that the rest of the world can see. She knows he has a thick scar along his spine from where they cut him open at a hospital in Kandahar and she knows he has another more recent set of scars along his midline where they cut him open in the surgical suite at St. Luke's. She was there when the resident who was since moved on to a rotation in internal medicine cut into his ribs to insert a chest tube to fix his deflated lung.
She knows he threatens to walk away when he thinks someone is being dishonest with him and yet he keeps things from everyone all the time. That he's smart and observant and funny and nice but he's also not very active or adventurous. He talks as if a raincloud is constantly hovering over his head.
Maybe it is. But not right now as she's kissing at his jaw and finding his mouth again. Telling him she's not mad that he wanted to kiss her and went ahead and did it. He laughs a laugh that doesn't make it far past his throat and tugs off her shirt. Starts to peel her jeans off of her hips when he remembers that the goddamn windows are open. Panting and letting his hands move places that make her own breaths go sharp. The wall serves them well enough for this but eventually he tugs her into the bedroom.
He hasn't got the stamina of a man who hasn't spent so much time in the hospital and he coughs into his own shoulder more than once. But he also knows where to touch a woman and how to hold her when they're moving together and more than once he looks her dead in the eye and it's like he's seeing her for the first time.
Of all the ways he could come up with to get out of having to confess something Molly knows if she knows nothing else that this wasn't an elaborate evasive action.
Molly Toombs
After some kind of a fumbled explanation as to what prompted him to grab her and kiss her, Molly seemed to have no more reservations about continuing the kiss and the touch and letting it become what it wants to. Nate laughed, the sound brief, and peeled her shirt away. She's on the fourth floor, and while there is a similarly tall building across the way it housed offices and it was a Sunday no one should be there anyways. Not that she really cared in this moment if anyone happened to be working a weekend and would peek across the way to see them.
The shirt is let to land wherever Nate happens to toss it. Beneath that she's dressed in a black lace bra as when you got up to those sizes a lot of the focus switched to support and the only thing left for decor was the fabric really. She's soft, padded about the middle, but this was no secret and nothing that Molly was shy about. She only barely stopped him from peeling her jeans down over her hips and backside by looping fingers about his wrists.
He guided her to the bedroom. It was a better choice than sofa or wall or table for both of them, really. Poor Florence, who had been in her crate waiting to be let out, had to be booted out of the room with the door shut to keep her out of the way.
The bedroom is decorated nicely enough, well furnished with art on the walls and a solid color and decorative scheme. She's been living in the same place long enough to make it her own by now. The details weren't important, though, they could be picked out later. For now instead the focus was on one another, in the dusky dim light that filtered in through windows with the curtains closed. He has to cough sometimes, but he touched her well. He had an idea of what he was doing. He was rewarded with the relish of Molly's soft full body making a curving and twisting display of itself on the sheets -- she was clearly determined to enjoy the experience before things like secrets and plans and vampires ruined the whole thing. She was sure it would. She would consider that later, though.
Molly's healthy and young and athletic, though. She's happy to take over when Nate needs to catch his breath. Eager to please.
When all is said and done she's openly laying on her back on the sheets, sweat making a thin sheen on her skin with her arms stretched over her head. Still swimming dizzy and delirious, chest heaving (and it was particularly impressive a show to witness bare) to catch her breath.
He could look proud if he wanted too. Good job, Nate.
Nathan Marszalek
It takes him longer to finish than it takes her. Blame it on the alcohol or the fact that he thinks too goddamn much. Maybe he just wants to stay here with her longer and is thinking about anything else but getting off. For claiming she didn't think about him that way ever she doesn't just lie there and wait for him to do what he wanted to do before rolling over and falling asleep. At the end he buries his face in her neck and holds onto her and when his brain starts to sieve back into his skull Nate doesn't just roll over and fall asleep.
He's lying on his side next to her breathing heavy his hair gone darker with perspiration and his pale cheeks gone flushed. His nicotine patch is about to fall off his arm but he doesn't care. As he looks at her now the thought occurs to him that oh hey she enjoyed that quite a bit too that's pretty cool.
Nate coughs into his elbow one more time and then he slings an arm over her. Rests his head on her upper arm where it meets her shoulder and traces a line on her hipbone.
"Just for the record," he says, "you were totally gonna go for it even before I gave you the sob story."
Molly Toombs
They were both sweaty and huffing to catch their breath, and some corner of Molly's brain pleads to be left to the air so that the sweat could do its job in cooling the skin beneath it when Nate had initially turned and reached to bring himself nearer to her. But they had been much closer just minutes ago, Nate with his head near her neck and shoulder before burying his face, Molly with an arm locked at his shoulder for support and her other arm up, back, holding the bottom of the headboard. Soon as his arm was across her stomach and his head was at her arm, and in the same moment that the small protest in her mind was born it died. She was okay with touching after all.
The arm he laid on curled around him. Fingers found the patch on his arm and smoothed, pressed, patted it back into place. She turned her head to look past her shoulder at him, then laughed quiet and brief and let her head rest back against her pillow again.
Fingers touched her hip, dragged and traced lines. Her free hand brushed fingers affectionately up his forearm from where his hand was at her hip, then she simply rested her hand over her stomach, below her navel, and rested.
"Of course I was, are you kidding? What world do you live in where bumming someone out with a sob story seals the deal, anyways?"
She should get up and open the window-- crack it, at least. The building was old and the bedrooms did not circulate air very effectively on their own. She would get to that in her own time, though, when she was confident that her legs had stopped being jelly and when she was done just staying still and feeling nice and still being touched a little here and there. She'd be happy with this as long as he was-- or, at least, for the next five or ten minutes before she remembered it was like four o' clock and there was still plenty of time left in the day and she had to get up.
Until that time came, though, she sighed happily. "Whatever. I don't even care what world you came from. I'm just glad you came." Double entendre intended.
Nathan Marszalek
The double entendre makes him laugh that throat-stopped laugh of his and he hitches himself up to kiss her on the mouth one more time before disentangling himself. They hadn't budgeted for spending the entire day screwing around. They're both busy and doubtless both of their phones were making noise as they ignored the rest of the world for a few hours.
"Yeah," he says. "I can tell."
It doesn't appear as though his limbs are working too well after that but he does sit at the edge of the bed and start looking around to sort out where his clothes went off to. Stitches are thrown here and there. He has to find his socks. He remembers hearing his boots clomp on the floor but not where they landed.
"Well... listen, all that shit I was saying about Rodri--what the..." His boxers ended up over the lampshade somehow. Good throw, Toombs. He plucks them off their temporary perch and tugs them back on before standing up. He found his socks. "It's just that, uh... you remember how you told me you were going to ask Flood about... what was it? Reflections going missing?"
There are his pants. Excellent. Progress.
Molly Toombs
Molly did have a missed text, but it wasn't anything that she couldn't put off. She had allotted for the day, but did have other more practical things that she did want to do, originally intend to do after finishing lunch with Nate before he went and got drunk because hey some stranger had a baby and my dad is being all weird and making me think and shit.
Nate had to sit up. Had to straighten himself out well enough to find his boxers (on that nice little lamp on the bedside table) and socks. Molly, on the other hand, had the luxury of remaining utterly nude and sprawled on her sheets. A woman in her own domain.
When Nate had started asking about Rodriguez and tying it in to what she'd mentioned about seeking out Flood's advice on reflections, Molly's eyes cleared up some. She blinked up at the ceiling for a second, then rolled onto her side so she could better watch Nate putting on his clothes, better have this conversation with him.
God, Moll, the silhouette you drew.
Her head rested in her palm, fingers in her hair and elbow on a pillow.
"Yeah?" She sounded cautious, but not closed.
Nathan Marszalek
He turns to look at her. Leans his back against the wall so he can tug his socks back on and then he snakes his legs back into his jeans. Returning himself to a clothed state conceals the fact that he still has muscles where one would not expect him to have muscles. His legs are strong and she knows now from tightening her arms around him that he has a power in his back and arms that is either lazy genetics at work or a benefit of riding a motorcycle instead of driving a car.
Yet even as he's the one putting himself back together and she is lain out nude and languid on the bed Nate is the one who looks vulnerable while Molly just looks assured. Almost regal. It isn't any wonder she has so many business cards. If Nate weren't such an emotionally unavailable piece of work he could fall in love with her as easy as lighting a cigarette.
"Well, I... heh." This isn't funny. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood and I thought I'd stop by the union hall where he hangs out a lot. Maybe have a chat with him. We've... I mean he's clearly not such a bad guy, right, you and Lux both go to parties and shit with him all the time, maybe I'm just the one holding grudges for no reason."
I mean fuck me, right?
"I mean I haven't talked to him or anything but he's gonna... find out. That I was..."
Molly Toombs
[Willpower: Oh Nate, what did you do, +1 diff (post-coitus)]
Dice: 7 d10 TN7 (2, 3, 5, 5, 6, 8, 10) ( success x 2 )
Molly Toombs
Nate has a habit of injury. It shows in the scars that riddle his body. Molly was familiar enough with these marks on his body before this afternoon even, for the number of times he's come through her emergency room. Many of them were earned there. As he's been through her emergency room a few times, and as she had the habit of checking his stats while he was delirious and comatose and recovering, she knew he had strength to him. She's seen the muscles while they rested. Now she was simply far more aware of them while they worked.
She was cautiously listening at first, but still open. Friendly, happy, maybe infatuated a little.
But then he kept talking, all jangled nerves and hurrying to dress himself. Molly's expression switched to bewilderment, then to anger (brief, flashing, icy), but then simply to muted horror and sadness. Oh, Nate, what have you done?
She pushed herself up, both palms on the mattress, to sit up straighter.
"Nate...."
She didn't really know what else to say. She was just managing to keep panic and anger off her face and away from her tongue.
Nathan Marszalek
"You know, as I was doing it, I thought, 'This is really stupid. This is... he's gonna find out.' And mostly I thought it wouldn't be that bad. Like what's the worst I could do to him, I'm..."
He pulls his shirt on over his head. Put back together all he needs are his boots and he doesn't look like much of a threat. Isn't much of a threat. 26 years old and he stands six-foot tall in his socked feet and if he ever injures his back the way it's been injured in both car crashes he's been in in his life he may never walk again. His sister is considering transferring to one of the local universities because she's terrified something bad is going to happen to him. Because she has nightmares sometimes. Wakes up choking on them.
Hannah is not precognitive. Not really. But it feels like she is sometimes. Same as it felt like Nathan was just a little sensitive growing up because he was afraid of things other kids weren't afraid of.
He's not a threat. Not to Flood's reputation or his livelihood or his continued existence. Flood could kill him in a matter of heartbeats. He almost did once.
"I'm... fucked."
Okay. Found his boots. Excellent. Pick them up.
"I'm... I'm just... I'm gonna go."
Molly Toombs
"Nate."
She says his name again, but a little firmer this time. She was swinging her feet over the edge of the mattress and touching them to the large rug on the floor that her bed rested upon, making stepping out of bed in the morning in winter much more pleasant than bare feet on old hardwood was. She scoped about and found her underpants and pulled those on. Remembered her T-shirt was out in the living room so she just grabbed a thin black robe off the hook on her closet door and pulled that on instead.
As she did this, she continued to talk. "So, what? You climb into my bed and then immediately tell me you doomed yourself to death? I mean, seriously, before you even got your boots back on? Nate."
Again, his name. More pleading now. She reached for his hand.
Even if he accepted it, she didn't know what to say. She just looked up at him, eyes blue and sad both. Finally, she sighed and said: "Please call me. Sometime soon."
Nathan Marszalek
That's the rub of the situation. If Nate knew how to behave like a normal person they would not live out the lives that they're in now. That wouldn't negate the fact that he has heard ghosts his entire life and Molly has spiraled into a darker world from which she cannot escape but can only learn to adapt to. But maybe he would have been more open with her. Would have trusted her more. Wouldn't think he owed her some sort of explanation on the chance that this is the last time she's going to see him because he wouldn't be walking out of here knowing the next shadow that crosses his path as he's out walking could be the one that kills him.
Pleading his name brings chagrin to him but there's nothing they can do about this now. Nate never would have found the courage to kiss her in the first place if he hadn't thought his death was imminent. Never mind that he knows just how close death is to him. He just doesn't live his life like every moment could be his last. He isn't a sentimental man.
When she takes his hand Nate draws an apologetic breath and meets her gaze. Nods to her request and then drops his boots and draws her into an embrace. Doesn't kiss her again. It was cruel to kiss her the first time so he just holds her.
"Okay," he says.
Molly Toombs
Nate lets her hold his hand and keep him, prevent him from running away. Lets her squeeze his hand before he wraps his arms around her and draws her in. She wrapped her arms around his middle and her robe fell open, but there was no show of allure or seduction to it. She tucked her head to his chest at first, then held a hand to the side of his neck for a second (if he thought her a more spiritual person he may think she was laying some kind of blessing of protection on it, but he knew Molly was far more intellectual a person than that-- she wasn't a magic user, she couldn't pull those stunts, and God was only for debate).
She'd keep him near like that for a solid minute, maybe two if he'd allow before she finally sighed and let him go.
He had places to be, and she had to consider what options she had for intervening death's hand over her
Maybe a phone call. Hopefully not a bargain.
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