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xp_logsStartled awake by a nightmare, Marie-Ange tumbles off the sofa, and accidentally wakes Doug with the noise. She confesses about the precognition, and her guilt about what he had to do, and nothing at all gets resolved.
What little sleep Marie-Ange was getting was on the couch in their guest suite, wrapped in the blanket from the bed. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it also wasn't helping her get any more sleep. She wasn't sure if the bed would've been any better, but Doug still wasn't making any overtures of being comfortable sharing it, and she wasn't about to push.
Aside from the insomnia, the biggest downside to sleeping on the couch was that waking up from a nightmare was even more disorienting than normal. It wasn't the dark safety of her canopied bed with the thick down comforter lulling her back to sleep, it was a borrowed pillow and the comforter wrapped around her and before even waking, Marie-Ange had the blanket kicked off, only coming entirely awake when she landed with a heavy 'thump' on the floor next to the sofa.
Doug shot awake with a startled yell at the loud noise, which was something he'd been doing quite a bit since the events in New York City. Nine times out of ten, he tended to be startled awake in some way, whether it was a nightmare or a loud noise, or whatever. His brain caught up with his body, and he came softly padding out of the bedroom to see Marie-Ange coming to her knees.
Marie-Ange rubbed the back of her head, absently checking it for lumps, and carefully pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the couch. "Ow." She roughly pushed the twisted blanket aside, nearly throwing it to the other side of the couch and leaned back - and only then noticed Doug. "I did not mean ... did I wake you?" He'd gotten so little sleep in the last few weeks that every moment he did rest was precious.
"It's okay," Doug said with a shrug. "You didn't do it on purpose." He sat down on the end of the couch and leaned his head back. "Nightmares?" he asked her. They seemed to be going around after the last week.
Marie-Ange nodded, leaning back almost in a mirror image of his pose. "Four armed monsters and a giant winged man made of bronze and giant robots. I do so love when my nightmares make no sense at all." She reached down and pulled a spiral-bound notepad from underneath the couch, and frowned over it, writing out a few quick notes. All of her notepads and sketchbooks were still in her apartment, and she'd had to make do with what supplies she had on hand.
Doug cocked his head, looking at the notepad, realizing what it signified. "It's back, isn't it." It seemed like forever ago that they had talked about Marie-Ange's precognition being broken, when in reality it had been less than a week. Then he realized something else that had been puzzling him. "It's why you knew where I was, wasn't it?"
"It is back, yes. I had visions at Silver, I ... had to draw tarot cards on index cards. Mark and I are going to frame them." They'd spoken very briefly about it a bit more a few mornings ago, both on their way to find coffee. Marie-Ange pulled her legs up underneath her, and then tugged the blanket up over them. "One of Apocalypse's people jumped my cousin and I on the way to Silver. He must have been some kind of psi, the very next thing I remember is Jean-Phillipe ..." Perhaps now was not the time to tell Doug about her cousin's secret. She had yet to actually talk to Jean-Phillipe about it. "and Pete rescuing me."
"I think I owe Pete a case of something very expensive," Doug decided. The prickly Englishman wouldn't be much for displays of emotion, and even if Doug's emotions hadn't been skewed, it just wasn't what guys generally did. He might even have to change his opinion of Marie-Ange's cousin, an opinion that had been skewed by her violent dislike. But if he'd gone to rescue her as well, he owed the standoffish Frenchman something, at least.
"It is why I have not been sleeping well." Marie-Ange explained. She wrung her hands, twisting the bottom of the t-shirt she'd worn to sleep. "I.. I saw you die." It came out as a choked whisper, and Marie-Ange pulled the hem of the shirt up to wipe her eyes. "I saw you die there was nothing I could do about it, all over again." And it was all her fault this time, because if she had said something to anyone, maybe she would have seen it sooner.
"Oh." That was...he remembered the argument they'd had after the blood drive. "Does it help to know that I had a plan this time, and if you had been there, I would have talked to you about it this time?"
"If I had said something to you about my precognition being broken six months ago, you might not have had to make that plan." Or die. Marie-Ange drew back into the corner of the sofa, knees pulled to her chin, and blanket clutched in both hands. She blinked, trying to hold back more tears and failed. "I'm sorry." It was almost inaudible.
Doug reached forward and pulled Marie-Ange into his arms, the gesture more automatic than out of any real deep emotion. "It's okay," he said, patting her back. "I can't say I wouldn't have made the same decision in your place." Being able to sleep through the night after years of not being able to? It must have been heavenly for her.
Instead of comforting her, the hug send Marie-Ange into nearly convulsive sobbing, burying her face into her arms and almost trying to pull away from Doug. "It is -not- okay." She said, several times, muffled by the distraught crying and the barrier that her arms made between her and Doug. "It is not okay. I kept it a secret and you died."
Doug almost said 'you couldn't have known', but that was probably something of a loaded comment to make, given the topic of conversation. He wanted to say the right thing, but he wasn't sure there -was- a right thing to say in this situation. Real life didn't always come with neat, tidy, happy endings. So he squeezed his arms around her again, and then moved back, still vaguely uncomfortable with personal contact, but having done his best to overcome it at least for that short while.
Marie-Ange sat silently for a very long time, with Doug just as silent on the other end of the sofa. They were only a few feet apart, less than either of them were tall, and it felt like a million miles. "I do not know what to do." Marie-Ange whispered, without moving from where she was curled up. "I feel responsible and I do not know what to do to fix it." It was almost entirely out of her hands, Emma had told her as much - all she could do was try to make Doug want to come back.
Doug shrugged, still at a loss for what to say. "I don't know either," he told her quietly. The triumph over Ignatova had been worth the cost, but the world keeps turning, even after stunning victories. Would that continue to be the case? Doug didn't know.
"You should try to go back to sleep." Marie-Ange said out of a loss for anything else to say. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with Doug, and she could do nothing more than curl up on the sofa and try to stop crying, because bed with Doug wasn't going to happen again anytime soon.
What little sleep Marie-Ange was getting was on the couch in their guest suite, wrapped in the blanket from the bed. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it also wasn't helping her get any more sleep. She wasn't sure if the bed would've been any better, but Doug still wasn't making any overtures of being comfortable sharing it, and she wasn't about to push.
Aside from the insomnia, the biggest downside to sleeping on the couch was that waking up from a nightmare was even more disorienting than normal. It wasn't the dark safety of her canopied bed with the thick down comforter lulling her back to sleep, it was a borrowed pillow and the comforter wrapped around her and before even waking, Marie-Ange had the blanket kicked off, only coming entirely awake when she landed with a heavy 'thump' on the floor next to the sofa.
Doug shot awake with a startled yell at the loud noise, which was something he'd been doing quite a bit since the events in New York City. Nine times out of ten, he tended to be startled awake in some way, whether it was a nightmare or a loud noise, or whatever. His brain caught up with his body, and he came softly padding out of the bedroom to see Marie-Ange coming to her knees.
Marie-Ange rubbed the back of her head, absently checking it for lumps, and carefully pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the couch. "Ow." She roughly pushed the twisted blanket aside, nearly throwing it to the other side of the couch and leaned back - and only then noticed Doug. "I did not mean ... did I wake you?" He'd gotten so little sleep in the last few weeks that every moment he did rest was precious.
"It's okay," Doug said with a shrug. "You didn't do it on purpose." He sat down on the end of the couch and leaned his head back. "Nightmares?" he asked her. They seemed to be going around after the last week.
Marie-Ange nodded, leaning back almost in a mirror image of his pose. "Four armed monsters and a giant winged man made of bronze and giant robots. I do so love when my nightmares make no sense at all." She reached down and pulled a spiral-bound notepad from underneath the couch, and frowned over it, writing out a few quick notes. All of her notepads and sketchbooks were still in her apartment, and she'd had to make do with what supplies she had on hand.
Doug cocked his head, looking at the notepad, realizing what it signified. "It's back, isn't it." It seemed like forever ago that they had talked about Marie-Ange's precognition being broken, when in reality it had been less than a week. Then he realized something else that had been puzzling him. "It's why you knew where I was, wasn't it?"
"It is back, yes. I had visions at Silver, I ... had to draw tarot cards on index cards. Mark and I are going to frame them." They'd spoken very briefly about it a bit more a few mornings ago, both on their way to find coffee. Marie-Ange pulled her legs up underneath her, and then tugged the blanket up over them. "One of Apocalypse's people jumped my cousin and I on the way to Silver. He must have been some kind of psi, the very next thing I remember is Jean-Phillipe ..." Perhaps now was not the time to tell Doug about her cousin's secret. She had yet to actually talk to Jean-Phillipe about it. "and Pete rescuing me."
"I think I owe Pete a case of something very expensive," Doug decided. The prickly Englishman wouldn't be much for displays of emotion, and even if Doug's emotions hadn't been skewed, it just wasn't what guys generally did. He might even have to change his opinion of Marie-Ange's cousin, an opinion that had been skewed by her violent dislike. But if he'd gone to rescue her as well, he owed the standoffish Frenchman something, at least.
"It is why I have not been sleeping well." Marie-Ange explained. She wrung her hands, twisting the bottom of the t-shirt she'd worn to sleep. "I.. I saw you die." It came out as a choked whisper, and Marie-Ange pulled the hem of the shirt up to wipe her eyes. "I saw you die there was nothing I could do about it, all over again." And it was all her fault this time, because if she had said something to anyone, maybe she would have seen it sooner.
"Oh." That was...he remembered the argument they'd had after the blood drive. "Does it help to know that I had a plan this time, and if you had been there, I would have talked to you about it this time?"
"If I had said something to you about my precognition being broken six months ago, you might not have had to make that plan." Or die. Marie-Ange drew back into the corner of the sofa, knees pulled to her chin, and blanket clutched in both hands. She blinked, trying to hold back more tears and failed. "I'm sorry." It was almost inaudible.
Doug reached forward and pulled Marie-Ange into his arms, the gesture more automatic than out of any real deep emotion. "It's okay," he said, patting her back. "I can't say I wouldn't have made the same decision in your place." Being able to sleep through the night after years of not being able to? It must have been heavenly for her.
Instead of comforting her, the hug send Marie-Ange into nearly convulsive sobbing, burying her face into her arms and almost trying to pull away from Doug. "It is -not- okay." She said, several times, muffled by the distraught crying and the barrier that her arms made between her and Doug. "It is not okay. I kept it a secret and you died."
Doug almost said 'you couldn't have known', but that was probably something of a loaded comment to make, given the topic of conversation. He wanted to say the right thing, but he wasn't sure there -was- a right thing to say in this situation. Real life didn't always come with neat, tidy, happy endings. So he squeezed his arms around her again, and then moved back, still vaguely uncomfortable with personal contact, but having done his best to overcome it at least for that short while.
Marie-Ange sat silently for a very long time, with Doug just as silent on the other end of the sofa. They were only a few feet apart, less than either of them were tall, and it felt like a million miles. "I do not know what to do." Marie-Ange whispered, without moving from where she was curled up. "I feel responsible and I do not know what to do to fix it." It was almost entirely out of her hands, Emma had told her as much - all she could do was try to make Doug want to come back.
Doug shrugged, still at a loss for what to say. "I don't know either," he told her quietly. The triumph over Ignatova had been worth the cost, but the world keeps turning, even after stunning victories. Would that continue to be the case? Doug didn't know.
"You should try to go back to sleep." Marie-Ange said out of a loss for anything else to say. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with Doug, and she could do nothing more than curl up on the sofa and try to stop crying, because bed with Doug wasn't going to happen again anytime soon.
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