No Buyer's Remorse


delia_icon.gif nick2_icon.gif

Scene Title No Buyer's Remorse
Synopsis Morning brings with it awkwardness, promises, and scones.
Date August 6, 2011


The patter of rain drops against the window disturbs sleep almost as well as a ray of sun in the eyes. Waking begins with the shrug of a bare shoulder, cold from lack of covers for a little too long. Then a groan as long fingers reach for the sheet that's settled somewhere near her elbow to draw it up around her neck. Delia's long red tresses, still damp from the shower in the middle of the night, contribute to her shiver when she turns to curl up against the body lying next to her. Only to leech his heat.

A grumble that could double as a purr sounds from the back of her throat. Her lips turn up at the edges and are pressed to Nick's neck and left there as she falls back asleep. The smell of his soap acts like chloroform, or she's just that tired. She's never really been a morning person.

Especially at early o'clock when she's been awake more than asleep the night before.

Nick is already awake, staring out the window at the raindrops on the glass that reflect back on his face. He feels the shift of mattress and closes his eyes in case she peers over his back and shoulder to see his face. Feigning sleep for a moment — because the memories of the dream are lingering, and he's thinking about the mindset of the man he is in the future.

The man who leaves his family behind.

The touch of lips at his neck make the charade impossible — she knows too well that he can barely sleep even in the most quiet and still of moments. Nick makes a soft murmur that's incomprehensible — perhaps "morning" without the vowel sounds that require his mouth to actually open — and tips his head to rest back against hers. One hand slides back in blind pursuit of her wrist, and he tugs it around him, fingers interlacing with hers, to rest on his sternum.

Her long legs fold in right behind his, her knees tucking into the back of his, her ankles ankle twining between his two. The other is left back, she's afraid the heavy anklet would ruin their moment together. They don't have any like this, it's new.

"Morning," she murmurs in response, suddenly awake when her hand is pulled onto his chest. Her voice croaks, she's tired but not wanting to sleep anymore. Filling her lungs to capacity, she lets it out in a long sigh of contentment, he can feel her smile on his neck.

"Hi," he manages, opening his mouth this time, and then his eyes. He lifts their joined hands to graze lips across them before sitting up, letting go of her to push his hair back.

He glances back at her; dark circles under his eyes suggest he didn't get enough sleep either — less than her since the dream kept replaying in his mind every time he closed his eyes.

"I don't have much in the way of breakfast. If I were Lee, I'd be able to cobble you up some kippers and eggs but about all I have is cereal and no milk, I think." It's not like he lives here most of the time. "D'you want to walk to the coffee shop down the street? It's owned by some micks, they have decent scones and tea."

"Fish and eggs?" Delia's nose wrinkles as she flops back onto the pillow and reaches to pull Nick down with her. Tracing one of the dark circles, she raises her eyebrows in concern but remains quiet about it for the moment. "Remind me to make breakfast if I ever sleep over at her place," she murmurs with a bit of a grin instead.

Closing her eyes, she takes a few breaths, each deeper than the last. It's almost a threat that she's about to fall asleep again but she doesn't. Upon opening, she pulls her hands away from Nick and uses them to tuck the sheet around her body. A bit of modesty in the morning is quaint, maybe it's a little more understandable because it's Delia. The blush on her cheeks, as she gathers last night's clothing in one hand, is deep enough that he'd be able to see from across the room.

"I wouldn't mind a coffee or something," she says quietly. "I'll get ready and then we can go?" Keeping the sheet tucked around her body, she shuffles toward the bathroom.

"Brits and Pollocks, I donno. Fish goes with everything," he murmurs, eyes dropping as touches his face, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a crooked smile. "I don't like it much, but not about to tell her that."

When she rises and tucks the sheet around her, his brows arch and he watches with amusement. "Ya know I got a pretty good look at everything already," he calls once she's in the bathroom, allowing her to at least be out of his sight before teasing her mercilessly.

With a sigh he gets up and moves to the dresser, pulling out clean clothes for himself.

Morning rituals necessitate the door staying closed for an extended period of time. Even though she showered last night, it's possible that she emerged a little worse than when she went in. Thus, the need for one more. Then there's a touch of makeup that takes a few more minutes. When the door finally opens, Delia is in the middle of weaving her hair into a thick braid at the nape of her neck.

"Last night's look is in a more flattering light," she says with a bit of a sniff. "What if you don't like me anymore after you get a load of my pasty skin in the morning?" The question is posed with a bit of a grin, letting him know that at least she thinks it's a joke. Tying the end of the rope of hair off, she skips over to him and wraps her arms around him from behind. She's ready.

He turns to press a kiss against her temple. "I'm used to pasty," Nick teases, before disengaging to use the restroom for his own final touches. He's quick — a toilet flush and the sink's faucet can be heard, but he emerges just as scruffy and with only marginally neater hair about four minutes later.

Keys are grabbed and the door opened for her. "I'm going to call my sister later today," he says quietly. "See if she can meet with us, discuss options."

Biting her lip, Delia's eyes widen quite a bit at Nick's news. "Really? Do you think— I— Should I be there? I mean… What if they're watching? What if— She can't come here. They can't know." She doesn't precisely know exactly what they know about Nick York already. She's hoping they haven't already traced him back to Eileen Ruskin.

On the way out the door, she checks her pockets for a few bills. She's got enough for breakfast, lunch, and even dinner. Never let it be said that the brothel doesn't pay well. Even for laundry ladies.

He smiles as he locks the door behind her, reaching down to take her hand. "We'll meet somewhere that's 'quiet.' Both she and me are used to that," he says softly, then tips his head to the other doors in the hallway.

The walk is nice, despite the rain — it's early enough that it's not too humid from the moisture, and the tree lined street makes for a pleasant walk the block to the little Irish coffee shop. Nick swallows, glancing nervously at her through the corner of his eyes, before squeezing her hand again.

"No buyer's remorse?" he asks about halfway there.

Delia shivers, the waffle pattern of the grey henley that she stole from him is collecting little droplets. In a bid to keep warm, she grips the arm closest to her and hugs it tightly. Squeezing his hand, she laces her fingers with his and tilts her chin up to smile at him. It doesn't quite work for additional warmth but the touch response should be answer enough.

"Really? Buyer's remorse?" She voices her argument anyway. Such a silly question, even if she did a blushing shuffle to the bathroom as soon as she woke up. "I should be the one asking you that, not the other way around." Resting her cheek on his shoulder, Delia keeps close as they walk. Her hold is almost possessive as much as it is companionable.

He shakes his head, a small smile at her response. "I just… know it's not like… a common thing for you." He frowns a little and glances back at her. "Not that it is for me either," he adds hurriedly.

Saved by the coffee shop. He opens the door for her, and nods to the stand saying "Seat Yourself," ready to follow her lead. "It was amazing," he offers a little softer, addressing her shoulder blades.

The blush on her cheeks deepens so far that her ears turn crimson. Delia bites her lower lip and half lids her eyes, there's an audible snerk as she makes the attempt at not giggling with embarrassment. Ducking her head down, she risks a shy smile at him before hurrying toward a small booth for two.

When he takes his seat, she reaches across to take his hand. "You're really— really— important to me, Nick. So…" She takes a deep breath and pauses, trying to come up with the right words. So far, she feels like she's failing. Words that sound good in her head seem more like a let's be friends speech instead of what she wants to express. "So… I uhm.. I don't want to— I don't want you to get scared and run. I don't want to lose this."

Nick pauses in the reach for the menu, free hand dropping and toying instead with the napkin container as his fingers curl around hers. At the word scared, his hand twitches and he turns to look away. The muscles in his jaw jump and the moment seems as taut and drawn out as his breath in his lungs.

Finally, his eyes rise to seek hers. "I wouldn't have done if I planned on running. Not with you." He exhales and reaches for the salt shaker to fidget with.

There's a long silence between them as Delia just looks into Nick's eyes.

Suddenly, she launches herself up in her seat. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she crushes her lips against his and plants a rather racy kiss on the poor man in the middle of his Irish breakfast place. She's ignorant to whatever stares of horror he might be receiving or even coughs of shame from anyone around them.

Delia takes her time being finished and when she is, she pulls back slowly and wipes her lips with one finger and her thumb. After clearing her throat, she picks up her menu as though nothing out of the ordinary just happened. It's New York, something like that must happen every day.

The surprised young man just catching his breath when the waitress makes her way over, tapping a foot until she gets their attention. "You want coffee?" she asks, jabbing a finger at the upside-down coffee cups for hem to turn over, to be filled with the pot she holds in one hand.

Nick clears his throat and then smiles up, flashing rarely seen white teeth at the woman. "Earl Gray if you have it, and the number one combo for me, ma'am." His American accent is back in place, since he has frequented the coffee shop since moving into Brooklyn months ago.

The redhead gives the waitress a brilliant smile as she turns her cup upright and pushes it a little closer to the edge of the table for the woman to fill. "Thank you," Delia squeaks as she tries not to burst into giggles. "Just a bagel for me. Plain, with some cream cheese and strawberry jam?" She might be on the road to yet another diet to keep her figure as thin as it is rather than the muscular one she had before her incident. A bagel isn't going to be good for that.

When the waitress leaves them alone again, Delia folds her menu up and places it to the side. Instead of acknowledging what she just did to Nick, she rests her elbow on the table and cups her chin in her hand. "It's not going to be so easy to just… go…" She's not talking about the apartment or even him. She's staring in the direction of Staten Island, so it can only be one thing she's thinking about. Escape.

"You're gonna want some of my scones," he warns her as the waitress leaves to put their menu in with the cook. "I'll see if I feel like sharing." His eyes crinkle with a smile. "No. It won't be. It might be messy and there will be repercussions. But we'll make a plan, and we'll deal with it."

Nick's hand pulses around hers in a squeeze. "Together."

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