first time for everything

[formoftherapy]

Kite wakes up first.

(They didn't sleep properly--cat naps lasting a few hours, only to wake up and fumble toward each other with varying levels of intent.

They give each other kisses and bruises and scratches, their hands and mouths and bodies. It's an even exchange and nothing is lost.)

She slides out of bed, tugging one of the pillows down to fill the space where she had been. She puts on her jeans and Tony's shirt, then goes downstairs to the kitchen.

Comments

[if_inconvenient]

Sherlock is in the kitchen, sitting up on the counter beside the fridge, with a bottle of excellent wine and a glass.

Jarvis told him who was coming. It's the second-last glass, which hasn't seemed to matter much, but which gives him an excuse not to care. If he wants to sit on the kitchen counter at half five in the morning failing despite his every effort to get drunk, he'll do it, and damned if he's going to run and hide when she comes down the stairs.

[formoftherapy]

If Kite is surprised to find him there, she doesn't show it.

"Good morning," she says, nonchalant, heading for the pantry as if this is part of their morning routine.

[if_inconvenient]

"Good morning, Miss Morian," he enunciates precisely, and downs the rest of the glass.

[formoftherapy]

"Nice breakfast," she says without turning away from the shelves.

"Got any more of that?"

[if_inconvenient]

"No."

He pours himself whatever remains, which doesn't quite come to a full glass, and sets the empty bottle down on the counter beside him.

[formoftherapy]

"Shame." Kite picks a box of cereal at random and starts eating it dry by the handful.

"You stay up all night?"

[if_inconvenient]

"No."

(He slept. Techncially.)

[formoftherapy]

She nods once.

"You always get up this early? Because I'm not really getting a morning person vibe here."

[if_inconvenient]

"The concept of a morning person is nonsensical. I sleep when I like."

Sherlock takes a gulp of wine and hops off the counter with barely a wobble.

[formoftherapy]

She arches an eyebrow.

"Off to the wine cellar for round two?"

[if_inconvenient]

"Good morning, Miss Morian."

He walks out.

[formoftherapy]

Kite sets the cereal box down on the counter.

"So we're just going to pretend you're not pissed at me?" she shouts after him.

[if_inconvenient]

Just outside the door, he stops.

"If you would rather fight," he says levelly.

[formoftherapy]

"Beats the hell out of this pussyfooting bullshit," she mutters.

"What is your problem?"

[if_inconvenient]

Sherlock finishes his wine, turns around, and strides carefully across the room to set the empty glass down beside the empty bottle. At no point does he look at her.

"I do not see that it is any of your business."

[formoftherapy]

"You being pissed at me. Isn't my business."

[if_inconvenient]

What is he going to tell her?

You're taking him away from me.

Ridiculous. There have always been women for Tony.

He leans against the counter. His hands grip it a little too tightly.

[formoftherapy]

"I mean, have you just been faking it around me the whole time? What the hell did I--




Is this about me?

About you and me?"

(Your first guess is always wrong.)

[if_inconvenient]

He laughs, shakily.

"No."

[formoftherapy]

"Then what--"




There's only one other player in this game.




"Oh."

[if_inconvenient]

A bitter, bitter smile. "Quite."

[formoftherapy]

"No offense, Sherry, but that's a little fucked up."

[if_inconvenient]

"You have," he murmurs, "no idea."

Although frankly he doesn't know whether the full truth of the situation makes it more fucked up or less.

[formoftherapy]

Kite chews at her lower lip.

"He doesn't have a goddamn clue, does he."

[if_inconvenient]

"Had he known, he would never have brought you home."

His smile has nothing of humour in it.