Doug and Marie-Ange, Thursday afternoon
Oct. 30th, 2008 01:15 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe tension between Doug and Marie-Ange finally comes to an end, since he can't help but notice how nervous she is around him and says something about it. Marie-Ange reveals some fears, and there aren't any answers, and definitely no solutions, but at least a few little things go back to normal.
Doug was asleep, curled up on himself on the bed with just a sheet covering him, and arms wrapped around a pillow tightly when Marie-Ange woke up and left the sofa and the blanket that Doug had not only refused but refused -vehemently-. The damnably familiar feeling that she hadn't gotten enough sleep crept up on her, and she automatically headed to the kitchenette of the guest room to start a pot of hot water brewing for tea. Coffee, when she felt like this, was right out.
He was still asleep several hours later when she returned, both arms overloaded with bags full of mostly clothes - they had some things from the Brownstone, but Doug had been miserable - Marie-Ange didn't even need him to say so, and he hadn't said, but the number of times she'd found him wandering aimlessly without a shirt on - the fact that he'd taken to sleeping in the nude, the looks of annoyance he'd given at the pairs of jeans that had been brought over, it wasn't hard to figure out. And now that she had access to something like money, a few hours of therapeutic shopping were entirely justifiable. Both for Doug's physical comfort - and her own somewhat recently lessened sanity. Shopping was entirely stress-free.
Doug had uncharacteristically gone to bed naked. All of the sleepwear that had been brought over from the brownstone -itched-, and he'd vetoed the blanket because he was only barely able to tolerate the extremely high thread count sheets that Marie-Ange had managed to find. He'd slept fitfully due to the nightmares, but finally managed to doze off. He had tossed and turned until he'd wound up extremely tangled in the sheets, and he thrashed for a few moments until he sat bolt upright with a hoarse yell.
The yell brought Marie-Ange into the bedroom from where she'd been unpacking the bags of clothes and other necessities, and while she lingered in the doorway, it was obvious that she wanted to come closer - the tension in her shoulders, the uncertain look on her face, the occasional twitches of arm or leg. "More nightmares?" She asked quietly. Not that it wasn't obvious at all, from the yelling, but conversation was already awkward, and for the first time in quite a while, she wasn't sure what was safe to say around Doug.
Doug nodded, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Not being able to move had brought on dreaming remembrances of being restrained by the primes, and tossed into the processing vat, and fluid filling his lungs... He shook himself a bit violently to bring himself back to the present. It was over. They'd won. He was all right. Physically, at least.
"Can.. do you want me to come in? Or I could get you something to drink, or eat?" Marie-Ange wasn't even sure how to help, and the frustration in her voice grew every time she and Doug spoke. She took a hesitant step forward, and watched Doug closely, obviously waiting for any sign of fear, or panic, or that strange rejection of the physical contact that had always soothed him in the past. She wasn't sure at all how to deal with a Doug that did not want to be touched as often as possible.
"Can you stop walking on eggshells around me?" Doug asked a bit shortly. The hesitance that Marie-Ange was feeling around him showed in the way she walked, and he could hear that note of frustration that she tried to mask in her voice so that he wouldn't worry about her. He understood why she was worried, but the hovering was a bit taxing.
"What?" Marie-Ange asked, shock evident on her face. "I.. oh, to hell with it." She set her shoulders, walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I do not know what I can and cannot say to you, I do not know what you are going to be cranky about and..." She still couldn't articulate the fears, not clearly. "I am not trying to make you angry, I am trying to help!"
"I understand that. Just...don't treat me differently," Doug told her. "It's even more frustrating when I can see all the questions you're waning to ask but stifling because you're scared of how I'll react. Just ask."
Marie-Ange raised an eyebrow, and then got up, pacing between the bed and the doorway. "How can I not treat you differently? Everything is different!" She gestured at Doug, and the tangled sheets that barely covered his legs. "You are sleeping naked. You have not sat down to do anything except work in two days, you disappear for hours and I do not know where you go!" She reached the arc of her pacing, again close to the edge of the bed. "You need to grow your hair back, I can live with that. Your earring is gone. Your tan is gone. Your scars are gone! I cannot help but treat you differently, you are not the same person!"
"I -am- the..." Except that wasn't quite right, given what Emma had gone into his head and done. He might eventually be the same person when he got everything put back together, but he -had- come out subtly different from the events in the NYSE. "I'm still Doug," he said, answering the question she hadn't asked.
No. Marie-Ange shook her head, lips pursed in a tight frown. "How do you know you are not Natalya Ignatova in Doug Ramsey's body?" She hadn't intended to be quite so blunt, but it was the question she kept asking herself, over and over. It was what she had drunk far too many glasses of wine with Adrianne to -not- think about. "Doug Ramsey died and I do not know if what came back is the same person!"
"Do you really think Emma wouldn't have been able to tell when you found me?" he asked. "Would it help if the Professor scanned me?" He was going to need a huge amount of psychic therapy anyway when all was said and done, and not just to put his scrambled brain back to rights.
The eyebrow stayed up. "Emma keeps telling us she's not to be trusted." Except that wasn't fair, not when Emma was what had let Doug come back in the first place. Marie-Ange's face clouded with guilt, and she sat back down on the bed, fidgeting with her hand, her fingernails, the hem of her shirt. "The Professor is still recovering." She said flatly. "Tell me how I can help, then. Because so far I am doing everything wrong."
Doug wasn't entirely sure what to tell her. He wasn't sure how things were going to wind up himself. "Just...be patient," he said. "More than anything, just having your support means a lot to me." It wasn't that he'd completely lost his love for Marie-Ange, because Emma hadn't turned him into an emotionless robot. It was just that those emotions weren't quite as strong and distracting as normal.
She couldn't sit still, it was either get back up and walk, or do something to keep herself busy, or feel like she was going to explode. So Marie-Ange stood again, and began dumping out the bags from her shopping trip, while she continued to speak. "I was trying to! But it seems as if everything I say is wrong somehow, or makes you more upset." Or just went right over his head. "I am not very good at being patient..."
"I know." Doug managed a weak smile at that. Even without her precognition, Marie-Ange had a very difficult time with not knowing things, not knowing what to do, and waiting. "Emma is supposed to help me with things whenever she wakes up, I think," he offered reassuringly.
"She had -better-." Marie-Ange said sternly. And while it was easy to be cranky now, she was well aware that if Emma Frost had been in the room with her, she wouldn't have been able to hold the same tone. "So I can just be normal and you are not going to ... " She dropped a pile of men's clothes on the bed, folded and sorted by type. "to be upset at me? Because I would much rather not have to walk on eggshells."
Doug nodded. "Yes, I would very much like it if as much was normal as possible right now." He blinked at the pile of clothes, then realized that they were for him. Picking up one of the shirts, he rubbed his thumbs over the extremely soft cotton and realized what she had done. She'd gone and found clothing that would irritate his skin less. He swiveled his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, pulling a pair of 'pre-distressed' jeans out of the pile. He frowned at the price tag, then looked up at Marie-Ange. "Did you really spend this much on these?"
Marie-Ange gave Doug a sheepish but proud expression and nodded. "Pre-distressed jeans in your size that were not full of holes? It was worth it." ~You are worth it.~. But she wasn't going to say so out loud. She watched as Doug pulled one of the new pairs of boxers up over his hips, and smiled, almost shyly - and then disappeared into the common room, only to return a few seconds later with a pair of Converse sneakers in one hand. "From Jubilee. She raided your apartment."
The soft-side sneakers actually meant that he could put shoes on over his very soft socks. He thought about taking a shower first, but that seemed like too much effort. Besides, he had accidentally discovered the first morning in the mansion that his habitually hot showers (full hot, a precise half twist of cold after years of experience with the mansion's water) were scaldingly hot on his skin at present. After he finished getting dressed, he sat back down on the bed, at a loss for what to do next. "Did you get anything for yourself?" he asked, looking at the pile.
"What do you think?" Marie-Ange said, a real smile on her face for the first time since they'd gotten to the mansion. She indicated the slightly fuzzy looking cream colored sweater she had on, and then sat down next to Doug on the bed, and brushed the back of his hand with her sleeve. "I was not about to go shopping for you without getting at least one thing for myself." She'd have gotten it no matter what, but that the sweater was cashmere and incredibly soft had just sealed the deal.
Doug didn't pull away, though he wasn't quite feeling comfortable enough in his skin to reach out to Marie-Ange, either. Instead he just sat there quietly, absorbing the soothing feel of the fabric. This was feeling a bit more normal, sitting quietly next to his girlfriend, enjoying her comforting presence, the comfort of a simple touch. And any hint of a return to normality was quite welcome.
Doug was asleep, curled up on himself on the bed with just a sheet covering him, and arms wrapped around a pillow tightly when Marie-Ange woke up and left the sofa and the blanket that Doug had not only refused but refused -vehemently-. The damnably familiar feeling that she hadn't gotten enough sleep crept up on her, and she automatically headed to the kitchenette of the guest room to start a pot of hot water brewing for tea. Coffee, when she felt like this, was right out.
He was still asleep several hours later when she returned, both arms overloaded with bags full of mostly clothes - they had some things from the Brownstone, but Doug had been miserable - Marie-Ange didn't even need him to say so, and he hadn't said, but the number of times she'd found him wandering aimlessly without a shirt on - the fact that he'd taken to sleeping in the nude, the looks of annoyance he'd given at the pairs of jeans that had been brought over, it wasn't hard to figure out. And now that she had access to something like money, a few hours of therapeutic shopping were entirely justifiable. Both for Doug's physical comfort - and her own somewhat recently lessened sanity. Shopping was entirely stress-free.
Doug had uncharacteristically gone to bed naked. All of the sleepwear that had been brought over from the brownstone -itched-, and he'd vetoed the blanket because he was only barely able to tolerate the extremely high thread count sheets that Marie-Ange had managed to find. He'd slept fitfully due to the nightmares, but finally managed to doze off. He had tossed and turned until he'd wound up extremely tangled in the sheets, and he thrashed for a few moments until he sat bolt upright with a hoarse yell.
The yell brought Marie-Ange into the bedroom from where she'd been unpacking the bags of clothes and other necessities, and while she lingered in the doorway, it was obvious that she wanted to come closer - the tension in her shoulders, the uncertain look on her face, the occasional twitches of arm or leg. "More nightmares?" She asked quietly. Not that it wasn't obvious at all, from the yelling, but conversation was already awkward, and for the first time in quite a while, she wasn't sure what was safe to say around Doug.
Doug nodded, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Not being able to move had brought on dreaming remembrances of being restrained by the primes, and tossed into the processing vat, and fluid filling his lungs... He shook himself a bit violently to bring himself back to the present. It was over. They'd won. He was all right. Physically, at least.
"Can.. do you want me to come in? Or I could get you something to drink, or eat?" Marie-Ange wasn't even sure how to help, and the frustration in her voice grew every time she and Doug spoke. She took a hesitant step forward, and watched Doug closely, obviously waiting for any sign of fear, or panic, or that strange rejection of the physical contact that had always soothed him in the past. She wasn't sure at all how to deal with a Doug that did not want to be touched as often as possible.
"Can you stop walking on eggshells around me?" Doug asked a bit shortly. The hesitance that Marie-Ange was feeling around him showed in the way she walked, and he could hear that note of frustration that she tried to mask in her voice so that he wouldn't worry about her. He understood why she was worried, but the hovering was a bit taxing.
"What?" Marie-Ange asked, shock evident on her face. "I.. oh, to hell with it." She set her shoulders, walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I do not know what I can and cannot say to you, I do not know what you are going to be cranky about and..." She still couldn't articulate the fears, not clearly. "I am not trying to make you angry, I am trying to help!"
"I understand that. Just...don't treat me differently," Doug told her. "It's even more frustrating when I can see all the questions you're waning to ask but stifling because you're scared of how I'll react. Just ask."
Marie-Ange raised an eyebrow, and then got up, pacing between the bed and the doorway. "How can I not treat you differently? Everything is different!" She gestured at Doug, and the tangled sheets that barely covered his legs. "You are sleeping naked. You have not sat down to do anything except work in two days, you disappear for hours and I do not know where you go!" She reached the arc of her pacing, again close to the edge of the bed. "You need to grow your hair back, I can live with that. Your earring is gone. Your tan is gone. Your scars are gone! I cannot help but treat you differently, you are not the same person!"
"I -am- the..." Except that wasn't quite right, given what Emma had gone into his head and done. He might eventually be the same person when he got everything put back together, but he -had- come out subtly different from the events in the NYSE. "I'm still Doug," he said, answering the question she hadn't asked.
No. Marie-Ange shook her head, lips pursed in a tight frown. "How do you know you are not Natalya Ignatova in Doug Ramsey's body?" She hadn't intended to be quite so blunt, but it was the question she kept asking herself, over and over. It was what she had drunk far too many glasses of wine with Adrianne to -not- think about. "Doug Ramsey died and I do not know if what came back is the same person!"
"Do you really think Emma wouldn't have been able to tell when you found me?" he asked. "Would it help if the Professor scanned me?" He was going to need a huge amount of psychic therapy anyway when all was said and done, and not just to put his scrambled brain back to rights.
The eyebrow stayed up. "Emma keeps telling us she's not to be trusted." Except that wasn't fair, not when Emma was what had let Doug come back in the first place. Marie-Ange's face clouded with guilt, and she sat back down on the bed, fidgeting with her hand, her fingernails, the hem of her shirt. "The Professor is still recovering." She said flatly. "Tell me how I can help, then. Because so far I am doing everything wrong."
Doug wasn't entirely sure what to tell her. He wasn't sure how things were going to wind up himself. "Just...be patient," he said. "More than anything, just having your support means a lot to me." It wasn't that he'd completely lost his love for Marie-Ange, because Emma hadn't turned him into an emotionless robot. It was just that those emotions weren't quite as strong and distracting as normal.
She couldn't sit still, it was either get back up and walk, or do something to keep herself busy, or feel like she was going to explode. So Marie-Ange stood again, and began dumping out the bags from her shopping trip, while she continued to speak. "I was trying to! But it seems as if everything I say is wrong somehow, or makes you more upset." Or just went right over his head. "I am not very good at being patient..."
"I know." Doug managed a weak smile at that. Even without her precognition, Marie-Ange had a very difficult time with not knowing things, not knowing what to do, and waiting. "Emma is supposed to help me with things whenever she wakes up, I think," he offered reassuringly.
"She had -better-." Marie-Ange said sternly. And while it was easy to be cranky now, she was well aware that if Emma Frost had been in the room with her, she wouldn't have been able to hold the same tone. "So I can just be normal and you are not going to ... " She dropped a pile of men's clothes on the bed, folded and sorted by type. "to be upset at me? Because I would much rather not have to walk on eggshells."
Doug nodded. "Yes, I would very much like it if as much was normal as possible right now." He blinked at the pile of clothes, then realized that they were for him. Picking up one of the shirts, he rubbed his thumbs over the extremely soft cotton and realized what she had done. She'd gone and found clothing that would irritate his skin less. He swiveled his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, pulling a pair of 'pre-distressed' jeans out of the pile. He frowned at the price tag, then looked up at Marie-Ange. "Did you really spend this much on these?"
Marie-Ange gave Doug a sheepish but proud expression and nodded. "Pre-distressed jeans in your size that were not full of holes? It was worth it." ~You are worth it.~. But she wasn't going to say so out loud. She watched as Doug pulled one of the new pairs of boxers up over his hips, and smiled, almost shyly - and then disappeared into the common room, only to return a few seconds later with a pair of Converse sneakers in one hand. "From Jubilee. She raided your apartment."
The soft-side sneakers actually meant that he could put shoes on over his very soft socks. He thought about taking a shower first, but that seemed like too much effort. Besides, he had accidentally discovered the first morning in the mansion that his habitually hot showers (full hot, a precise half twist of cold after years of experience with the mansion's water) were scaldingly hot on his skin at present. After he finished getting dressed, he sat back down on the bed, at a loss for what to do next. "Did you get anything for yourself?" he asked, looking at the pile.
"What do you think?" Marie-Ange said, a real smile on her face for the first time since they'd gotten to the mansion. She indicated the slightly fuzzy looking cream colored sweater she had on, and then sat down next to Doug on the bed, and brushed the back of his hand with her sleeve. "I was not about to go shopping for you without getting at least one thing for myself." She'd have gotten it no matter what, but that the sweater was cashmere and incredibly soft had just sealed the deal.
Doug didn't pull away, though he wasn't quite feeling comfortable enough in his skin to reach out to Marie-Ange, either. Instead he just sat there quietly, absorbing the soothing feel of the fabric. This was feeling a bit more normal, sitting quietly next to his girlfriend, enjoying her comforting presence, the comfort of a simple touch. And any hint of a return to normality was quite welcome.
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