Doug and Marie-Ange
Aug. 31st, 2008 05:35 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsMarie-Ange comes home from India, and Doug worries about her a bit, and does his best to help her take her mind off of things.
Doug set several paper bags down on the floor and searched in his pocket for his keys to let himself in to his apartment. He was only a few steps in and on the way to the kitchen to put groceries away when he heard his shower running. He cocked his head and frowned. The door had been locked, and his windows were undisturbed, so the most likely answer was that someone with a spare key had let themselves in. But just because that was the simplest answer didn't necessarily make it the correct one, considering his line of work. So he set his bags down quietly and moved slowly toward the bathroom, keeping on the alert.
Marie-Ange hadn't heard Doug at the door, nor the door unlocking, or him coming into the apartment at all. She remained in his shower, hot water turned nearly all the way up, with her head leaning against the wall, letting the water soothe out the stiffness of a the multi-stop transcontinental flight. While normally tidy, and prone to taking care of her clothes - in this case, her slacks and blouse were in a pile kicked into a corner, shoes not far away, and her underwear bottoms and bra lying on the carpet just outside the slightly ajar bathroom door.
The clothes were recognizable, and the redheaded form was unmistakable, even through the frosted glass of his shower door. So Doug leaned patiently against the countertop, and when Marie-Ange finally turned off the shower and opened the door, he was ready with a towel to dry her off.
It was a long time, subjectively, before the water shut off and Marie-Ange slid the door open and poked her head out. "When did you get home? I did not hear you come in..." Of course, that she'd been under the water until it had nearly gotten cold had contributed to that. She slicked some hair out of her face and reached for the towel that Doug had in his hands. "I did not have any clean towels..." she said at his slightly inquisitive expression.
There was something she wasn't telling him, but he let it lie at the quiet look on Marie-Ange's face. Instead of handing the towel to her, he stepped in when she reached for it to help dry her off. It wasn't really sexual, just a reassurance to his touch that he sensed she was needing at that moment.
Drying off never took very long - less so with Doug's help to get her back. It was always her hair that took the longest, and uncharacteristically, Marie-Ange just patted out all the excess water and let it hang loose and damp over her shoulders. Getting dressed was even more uncharacteristic, as she pulled on underwear and then a pair of Doug's workout shorts and a loose t-shirt, moving somewhat mechanically the entire time, as though she was operating on auto-pilot. Which was largely the case.
Marie-Ange's passiveness about her hair and clothing was worrisome, but her body language was practically screaming that she didn't want to talk about it. Doug wasn't entirely sure how to help things, so he simply followed her to the couch and sat with his arm around her and waited.
Doug was right, she really didn't want to talk about it, but not saying anything was worse, as the silence continued and pressed heavily on her. Marie-Ange twisted to lie on her back with her head in Doug's lap and her feet up on the armrest of his couch. There were several abortive attempts to even start talking, a hesitant "I need to..." and a "My.. the..." before she gave up and shut her eyes. "I had to do it. Amanda wasn't able to - not... not her nerves, I do not think, I think her power stopped her. I am not sure."
Doug nodded and stroked Marie-Ange's damp hair. The atrocities the Imperial Guard had committed in Sri Lanka merited the punishment X-Force had meted out and more, in Doug's opinion. Though he suspected that Marie-Ange's problems stemmed more from the measured way it had been done, considering the bokor she had killed in New Orleans. He wasn't entirely sure what to say, so he continued to smooth her hair and rest his other arm across her shoulders in a loose hug.
Unlike the bokor, or even Ben DeRoy, where Marie-Ange had managed to justify it to herself as a 'them or me' situation - in this case, she knew that it was a decision made outside of the heat of battle, or a pressing need to end a very bad situation. It had been necessary to send the message, to kill Hussar and the other members of the Imperial Guard. And yet, she felt ... not guilty, but just simply tired, almost verging on exhaustion. Some of that was the travel, but she had taken longer flights, under more stressful conditions and not come back bone-weary. "And it was... so ... uneventful. She fought with us, but everything went according to plan." There was doubt in Marie-Ange's tone, as though she had been unsure of the outcome.
Doug frowned at Marie-Ange's last statement, then dismissed it. He was probably imagining that doubt in her voice. He thought for a bit, then shifted so that Marie-Ange sat up so he could stand. There was only so much sitting around nodding that one could do before it became inane, and he sensed that Angie needed something to take her mind off of things. "C'mon," he told her, pulling at her hands. "I need to put my groceries away," he nodded toward where the bags still sat on the floor, "and then we're going to the mall. Burgers, shopping, and a movie."
Marie-Ange gave a very small, tired smile that almost made her look even more unsure for a moment, and then got up, padding towards Doug's bedroom in bare feet. "That would be good." She said as she disappeared into the room. Inside Doug's room, with a pair of broken-in but still stylish jeans and one of the tops that she kept at Doug's apartment in her hands, Marie-Ange lay back on the bed for a moment composing herself. If Doug hadn't said anything, he didn't know - but she couldn't keep putting off saying something forever. Eventually he would figure it out.
But not today. "I also want to get ice cream!" she called back, with oddly placed pauses between her words that suggested that she was changing clothes.
Doug set several paper bags down on the floor and searched in his pocket for his keys to let himself in to his apartment. He was only a few steps in and on the way to the kitchen to put groceries away when he heard his shower running. He cocked his head and frowned. The door had been locked, and his windows were undisturbed, so the most likely answer was that someone with a spare key had let themselves in. But just because that was the simplest answer didn't necessarily make it the correct one, considering his line of work. So he set his bags down quietly and moved slowly toward the bathroom, keeping on the alert.
Marie-Ange hadn't heard Doug at the door, nor the door unlocking, or him coming into the apartment at all. She remained in his shower, hot water turned nearly all the way up, with her head leaning against the wall, letting the water soothe out the stiffness of a the multi-stop transcontinental flight. While normally tidy, and prone to taking care of her clothes - in this case, her slacks and blouse were in a pile kicked into a corner, shoes not far away, and her underwear bottoms and bra lying on the carpet just outside the slightly ajar bathroom door.
The clothes were recognizable, and the redheaded form was unmistakable, even through the frosted glass of his shower door. So Doug leaned patiently against the countertop, and when Marie-Ange finally turned off the shower and opened the door, he was ready with a towel to dry her off.
It was a long time, subjectively, before the water shut off and Marie-Ange slid the door open and poked her head out. "When did you get home? I did not hear you come in..." Of course, that she'd been under the water until it had nearly gotten cold had contributed to that. She slicked some hair out of her face and reached for the towel that Doug had in his hands. "I did not have any clean towels..." she said at his slightly inquisitive expression.
There was something she wasn't telling him, but he let it lie at the quiet look on Marie-Ange's face. Instead of handing the towel to her, he stepped in when she reached for it to help dry her off. It wasn't really sexual, just a reassurance to his touch that he sensed she was needing at that moment.
Drying off never took very long - less so with Doug's help to get her back. It was always her hair that took the longest, and uncharacteristically, Marie-Ange just patted out all the excess water and let it hang loose and damp over her shoulders. Getting dressed was even more uncharacteristic, as she pulled on underwear and then a pair of Doug's workout shorts and a loose t-shirt, moving somewhat mechanically the entire time, as though she was operating on auto-pilot. Which was largely the case.
Marie-Ange's passiveness about her hair and clothing was worrisome, but her body language was practically screaming that she didn't want to talk about it. Doug wasn't entirely sure how to help things, so he simply followed her to the couch and sat with his arm around her and waited.
Doug was right, she really didn't want to talk about it, but not saying anything was worse, as the silence continued and pressed heavily on her. Marie-Ange twisted to lie on her back with her head in Doug's lap and her feet up on the armrest of his couch. There were several abortive attempts to even start talking, a hesitant "I need to..." and a "My.. the..." before she gave up and shut her eyes. "I had to do it. Amanda wasn't able to - not... not her nerves, I do not think, I think her power stopped her. I am not sure."
Doug nodded and stroked Marie-Ange's damp hair. The atrocities the Imperial Guard had committed in Sri Lanka merited the punishment X-Force had meted out and more, in Doug's opinion. Though he suspected that Marie-Ange's problems stemmed more from the measured way it had been done, considering the bokor she had killed in New Orleans. He wasn't entirely sure what to say, so he continued to smooth her hair and rest his other arm across her shoulders in a loose hug.
Unlike the bokor, or even Ben DeRoy, where Marie-Ange had managed to justify it to herself as a 'them or me' situation - in this case, she knew that it was a decision made outside of the heat of battle, or a pressing need to end a very bad situation. It had been necessary to send the message, to kill Hussar and the other members of the Imperial Guard. And yet, she felt ... not guilty, but just simply tired, almost verging on exhaustion. Some of that was the travel, but she had taken longer flights, under more stressful conditions and not come back bone-weary. "And it was... so ... uneventful. She fought with us, but everything went according to plan." There was doubt in Marie-Ange's tone, as though she had been unsure of the outcome.
Doug frowned at Marie-Ange's last statement, then dismissed it. He was probably imagining that doubt in her voice. He thought for a bit, then shifted so that Marie-Ange sat up so he could stand. There was only so much sitting around nodding that one could do before it became inane, and he sensed that Angie needed something to take her mind off of things. "C'mon," he told her, pulling at her hands. "I need to put my groceries away," he nodded toward where the bags still sat on the floor, "and then we're going to the mall. Burgers, shopping, and a movie."
Marie-Ange gave a very small, tired smile that almost made her look even more unsure for a moment, and then got up, padding towards Doug's bedroom in bare feet. "That would be good." She said as she disappeared into the room. Inside Doug's room, with a pair of broken-in but still stylish jeans and one of the tops that she kept at Doug's apartment in her hands, Marie-Ange lay back on the bed for a moment composing herself. If Doug hadn't said anything, he didn't know - but she couldn't keep putting off saying something forever. Eventually he would figure it out.
But not today. "I also want to get ice cream!" she called back, with oddly placed pauses between her words that suggested that she was changing clothes.
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