Deserved To Know


brian_icon.gif samara2_icon.gif

Scene Title Deserved To Know
Synopsis Brian has to come clean about some things he's been hiding.
Date April 23, 2011

Eltingville Blocks — Brian's Apartment

The door closes softly behind them.

Upon entering, Brian reaches up, gloved hand flashing blue white. The flash of electricity leaps from his hands to the lightbulb fixture on the ceiling. The light flickers on, illuminating the previously dark living room. The house looks pretty lived in. It's kept clean and decorated with what Brian could find. It's relatively nice, though would still probably fit towards 'dump' on the spectrum. A few random pictures hang from the wall. One being the dogs playing poker, the pitbull's face unfortunately missing. The kitchen is a relative mess, he's had trouble doing dishes lately so they've sort of piled up since Koshka's departure.

The young man finally pulls from Samara's company. The whole walk they had said little. Mostly heavy breathing, clipped off words, whispering of love, and a lot of clinging. But finally they have arrived 'home'. With his head swimming he bends partially to press a kiss to the thick orange of her cheek. "You want to shower.. To get rid of all that gunk?" He asks softly. Those sunglasses and all of his cover remaining on him.

"You'll meet Ernesto, tomorrow." He motions with his chin to the house next door through the window. "And I'll take you to see Koshka. Maybe you can convince her to move back in." Stepping away from her, he turns fully to face her. To look at her fully. Words are failing him once again as he simply stares at her. "I can't believe you're here."

The bzzt of the bulb and glow of light cause Sam's hazel eyes to widen in wordless wonder. She knew he's power-swapped, but seeing really is believing, causing her lips to part with a quiet murmur, "You're like Emperor Palpatine." Underneath the caked on orange makeup, she blushes, which only shows up as an orangey-purple along the sides of her cheeks— it really is a lot of gunk, "That's not— I didn't mean—" With another flush, her head shakes. And then, as if to cover any blanket sins she mumbles quickly, "You're wonderful."

Rather slowly, not quite her agile self, she squats to the floor and unhooks her high heels, forgetting the pinch they'd given to her feet until the relief sets in, which draws the smallest sigh. Flat footed on the floor, she loses a three inches of height, but it doesn't bother her. Instead, those purple lips curve upwards somewhat sheepishly as she shrugs off the heavy white fox fur coat, sliding one shoulder out and then the next. Her shirt matches the little skirt she'd found herself in— lower cut than her usual fare and bare-sleeved, but the little baby bump is nearly unmistakeable without the coat to shield it.

Instinctively, her hand crosses her stomach— a behaviour that's becoming more natural than she'd ever admit. "A shower would be good," she shrugs slightly, issuing him a softer smile now. "I don't feel like myself when I look like this."

When he steps away, she finds her face hotter with blush. Her voice lowers with another twitch of a smile, "It's surreal," being here. And it's inspired an unusual bout of shyness for the generally-chatty Samara. "Sorry," is the swift apology as her eyes track downwards.

The fact that she's clearly nervous has his mood darkening somewhat. She's not acting herself, and it reflects in the way he looks at her. Somewhat disappointed, or expectant. Waiting for her to turn on the Samara switch and make everything like it usually is. Or. Was. He glances at her purple lips from behind his glasses and simply waits as he watches her in silence. Reaching up with his good hand he goes to remove his sunglasses from his eyes. Still teary-eyed, he goes to throw the spectacles on the coffee table.

When the coat comes off, he smiles gently at the baby bump. Taking a slow step forward, his hand comes up to press against her stomach. Genty shooing her own hand aside. A tear jerks down from his eyes immediately when he makes contact with her stomach. A soft breath flows out. "You should take a shower. I don't like that shit on you." A beat. He flashes her an apologetic smile. "I mean.. You're beautiful. I just.. I think you're prettier without that stuff."

Normally he would be bounding into the shower with her. Or half way there throwing clothes off as he went. But.. For some reason he thinks he can hide a missing finger and a ridiculous amount of scarring from her."Don't be sorry." He averts his eyes at well.

His expectant look is met with a skeptical one of her own. With narrowing eyes, Sam's head lolls to the side, her intuition firing more than she cares to acknowledge, just having got here and all. Brian's hand on her stomach, however, shoos away some of that shyness, heralding a bright grin complete with a flash of teeth. And to allay his apologies, she quips, "I don't like it on me either," her nose wrinkles, "I couldn't believe anyone bought it. Honestly, I didn't think I'd make it— I really do make for a lousy hooker." Her eyes widen, "I almost fell at the checkpoint. I used to be so good in high heels, but my balance is all floopy."

Her hand slides to the one lingering on her stomach as she slides passed him, giving his hand a little tug further into the apartment. "You could come if you wanted… I'll look more like me. A wetter, naked-er version of me.." her cheeks become hotter with blush.

"Go get it off." Brian encourages gently. Letting his hand trail off her stomach. "I'm kind of glad you make a lousy hooker." He gives a little nod. "You still look hot, Sameye." The young electrokinetic murmurs. When she tugs him forward, he follows a little bit. Toying at his lower lip wtih his teeth. Denying a chance at being naked around her would be a very un-Brian like move. But just going in naked with her would generate its own fight.

"Okay. Go ahead. I'll be in there in a minute." Walking past her, and releasing her hand he goes to slap the door that leads into the bathroom. "In there. I'll get towels." Turning into his..their room, the door is edged close as he goes to kick off his boots. GOing into his closet, he lingers as he fishes for towels. Which are right in front of him.

Brian's moment of hesitation becomes countered by the most come hither stare Sami can muster, which, underneath the pound of foundation that must have been piled on her skin, leaves something to be desired. The slap at the bathroom door has her head canting upwards to try meeting his gaze, a silent question begging to be asked on her lips. But it's no matter.

As he retreats into their room, she slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Within moments the sound of the shower comes on, and she's hidden behind the curtain, allowing the foundation to melt from her face. It's relieving to be washing away her compliance and skepticism down the drain in a swirl, of what appears to be, orange paint.

That come hither look, though it may be lacking. Is more than appealing to Brian. His jaw tightens and features flatten as he stares hard at her. As she moves towards the bathroom. He moves back into his bedroom, grabbing at a pair of towels. Moving back out of the room he hesitates in front of the bathroom door. Placing his hand on the wall, the lights in the bathroom flicker off. The door then opens, and shut quickly.

The sound of towels drop soundlessly to the ground. As well as a pair of gloves fall to the ground as well. Revealing in the darkness a hand missing one finger. Boots are kicked off, and his jacket is thrown to the ground. Letting out a quiet sigh, he keeps his shirt and jeans on momentarily as he goes to take a seat on the closed toilet. Looking down at his arms where burn scars are still very evident.

The flicker of the lights puts the bathrooms formerly sole occupant on edge, earning a quiet complaint in the form of a single word, "H-hey!" But it's oddly not angry; it's more relaxed, more old-Sam, in her quiet nearly-playful tone. With a wrinkle of her nose at the opening and closing of the door, she accuses, "That was on purpose!" Which, it was. But his silence actually has her expression to change underneath the shower. Underneath running water she couldn't hear the drop of anything on the ground, only the door opening and closing. And so, somewhat unsettled, she turns the water off.

There's a moment of absolute silence as the already on-edge Samara hesitantly tests, "Brian?" like somehow she expects someone else to answer. Some people aren't cut out for spy-work.


A slow breath is taken. "You're going to be mad at me." He murmurs softly, staring at his bare feet. "But.. I'm not going to be able to hide it from you." He sounds hesitant, reluctant. But what else can he do? "Just.. I haven't told you because I didn't want you to worry. Okay? And really. Like overall. I'm fine. Just.." With the water off he lets out a quiet groan. "Please don't be mad at me."

His arm pushes into the shower past the curtain. "Hold my hand." And even in the darkness, when she takes his hand, she will eventually notice a distinctive stub of a middle finger. His four fingered hand strokes her arm before going tointerlink with her hand. "When my power comes back.. It will all be fine. Okay? Just for now… It's.." He closes his mouth.

Sami's lips part at the first words. One hand reaches for the wall, bracing herself against it, preparing for whatever news Brian has to impart, while the other lingers at her side a moment. The words leave her in want, unsure she even wants to know, but then truth is truth. As the arm shifts into the shower, she freezes, still unsure. But she does comply. The realization that the hand is missing a finger causes her to expression to darken, but within the darkness of the room, there's no way to tell.

She's silent longer than she should be. But she's still there; he can feel her hand in his. When she makes noise at all it's only a sniffle, prompting her to draw her hand away. It's a point of pride dealing with things on her own. Swallowing hard, she fights through her initial reaction, but she's not an actress. In a raspy voice she asks quietly, "When?" And then, "How?"

"When I got taken. Originally. I don't know who. I assume I flipped someone off and they took it from me." It comes out coldly, stiff. But that's not all. "Run your hand up my arm." He whispers. Brian goes to edge closer to the shower. Allowing his entire arm to push past the curtain, closer to her. He stares down at the scarring on his arm. There's a lot of burning scars on his arm. The scarring of the burns leads all the way up his inner arm towards his chest.

"It doesn't hurt too much to shower, anymore." He whispers quietly. Going to nudge the curtain aside so that he can see her.

The further instructions leave her leery. The secrets themselves are unsettling enough, but the length of time has the same effect. Sami's lips tug into a slight frown. Over the last few months she'd had to toughen up just to get the everyday tasks of the Bay House finished. Jaw tightening, her arm raises determinedly like a child convinced to rip off a bandaid. Her fingertips gently trail up his arm, or begin to, anyways. Her hand drops after a few inches; she recognizes burning when she feels it.

When he peeks in at her, her forehead rests against the cool of the tile while her eyes remain cinched closed and her jaw tight. The mess of dark now-curling hair conceals much of her face, permitting little more than a cursory profile of her features. "I'm not a child," she hisses through her teeth quietly. "You should've told me."

"I'm sorry." It's fairly quiet. Penetrating the silence that is only interrupted by the dripping water. His free hand going to try and take her hand. Giving it a gentle squeeze before dropping his four-fingered hand. "You had enough to worry about, baby. I didn't want you stressed out more when you didn't need to be." A light heave of his chest as a sob almost convulses him. "You didn't have any of this stressful shit before you met me." His hand slowly slides away from hers as he goes to collapse on the top of the toilet.

Letting his hands fall onto his knees. Letting his head hang forward for a moment. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to keep a secret from you. I just.. I didn't want to put more on you when it wasn't necessary. You wouldn't have been able to do anything. And of course I don't think you're a child."

"I handled it," Sam manages. "All of it. I could've handled more— " maybe. At this moment she's convinced she could've; a month ago she might've erupted into a fit of sobs. Instead, any tears are just absorbed or registered as the rest of the moisture— signs of a shower taken and water to do its part. The squeeze at her hand prompts her free hand to press against the wall of the shower again, this time to straighten her head from the wall.

When he retreats, she waits, lingering in the tub as she considers, "You can't just lie to me like that. It's not fair. What if more had happened on my end of things? What if one of the kids had died and I didn't tell you? Or if I'd lost the baby? Or.." whatever she'd planned on saying, she changes her mind. "You couldn't have done anything. You couldn't have helped. But you would've deserved to know."

Carefully, slowly, the curtain pulls back slightly as her hand reaches for one of the towels to tug around her body. Equally carefully, with her hand along the tile, she steps out of the shower and into the open. But she doesn't flee. Instead, slowly she comes to a kneel just in front of him in an effort to catch his gaze. "I love you. And I know I'm new at this whole relationship thing, but I don't want to be lied to and then told it was for my own good. You are one of my 'goods'. You matter to me."

"You're right." The tone is sullen, his head being buried in his hands. "You're right. I'm sorry." He takes a long moment to expel a few breaths. When she steps out of the shower, he's eyeing her quietly through the dark. "I'm sorry." Is all he can give. "I should have told you." He relents easily. As she raps herself in a towel and kneels in front of him, his smile is shallow. Only half of what it normally would be. "And you matter to me."

"You're better at it than I am." He admits, going to return her gaze hesitantly. Watching her he goes to let his hand skim against the bare skin of her shoulder. Running down her flesh until his hand connects with towel. "Forgive me?"

The hand on her shoulder has her eyes lidding while small goosebumps form along the span of her shoulder and down her back. Her breath comes out as a near-sigh and her shoulders yield the faintest tremble while her lips, quite involuntarily, curl very slightly upwards at the touch only to be forced down somewhat comically by their owner. But underneath his touch, she releases a sigh. "Don't do it again." And then, retaining her Samliness just the same she adds, "Please."

Sam's fingers rise to press against his cheeks, the pads of them testing the realness of his presence. She issues him a gentle nod in the security of the dark. He's forgiven. And then firmly, yet quietly, she insists something she's insisted before, "I'm not going anywhere." With his gaze returned, she leans forward to brush a very soft kiss against his lips. It's softness fades quickly, however. Months apart, even with a Brian stand-in, have spurred her passions. Her lips part slightly while she deepens the kiss.

"I won't." The promise comes quickly. Very quickly. Because then she's pushing herself up and feeling his cheek. A light smile is given. Then the kiss is pressed to his lips, leaning into the kiss, his hand goes to rest on the upper edge of the towel. Pulling down against it, weakly at first. His lips part fully as her kiss lays into him. Another tug is given at the towel as he pushes back some, opening his eyes to look at her softly.

"Give me that look you did earlier." He grins, letting his fingers cling to the fabric of the towel as he watches her expectantly. Leaning past her to go turn the water on in the shower.

The towel yields easily to Brian's hands, prompting a pale— now distinctly pink— blush to her cheeks and a more mischievous smile to Sam's lips. In feigned bashfulness her arms cross her chest as she straightens to a stand and takes a few swaggered steps to the shower again, turning her back to the man sitting on the closed toilet.

A single hand drops from her chest and combs all of her already-wet hair over one shoulder before casting a glance over the other. Her come hither stare has regained some of its power without all of that caked on makeup. Her eyes
flutter once over, while her lips curl into a small pout before tugging on the shower curtain and disappearing behind it.

Brian watches with piqued interest as Samara stands and makes her way for the shower. Taking her towel, he tosses it to the side. With the water raining against the bottom of the tub again, his lips start to curl up slowly. When the phaser steps in and looks over her shoulder, Brian's features explode in excitement. His shirt is immediately stripped and thrown to the side. Quickly disrobing, Brian is soon to follow his fiancee into the shower. Going to shove the shower curtain closed behind him.

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