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

[formoftherapy]

She slumps back against the wall, dragging a hand over her face.

"Son of a bitch."

[if_inconvenient]

Sherlock leans on the counter in silence. His hands have relaxed somewhat, at least; he no longer looks as though he is trying to strangle the granite.

[formoftherapy]

"You sure you don't have any more of that wine?" Her voice shakes a little and you could almost call it a laugh.

[if_inconvenient]

He shoots her a sidelong glance.

Despite himself, he smiles again.



A nod to a nearby cupboard. The bottle at the back of it is not nearly so excellent, but he suspects it will do.

[formoftherapy]

The bottle is promptly retrieved and opened.

Kite does not bother with a glass.


After a minute, she holds the bottle out to Sherlock.

[if_inconvenient]

Eyeing her wryly, he accepts it.

"I am," he says in conversational tones, "a very bad influence."

[formoftherapy]

Kite snorts.

"Please. I was a degenerate long before I met you."

[if_inconvenient]

Since she didn't use a glass, he doesn't either.

His lips quirk as he hands the bottle back.

[formoftherapy]

She takes another sip.



"So what the fuck do we do now?"

[if_inconvenient]

"Damned if I know."

[formoftherapy]

"Well, so long as we're both fucking clueless," she says cheerfully.

[if_inconvenient]

He snorts.

[formoftherapy]

"What? I don't do profound before noon."

[if_inconvenient]

He shakes his head.

[formoftherapy]

"And they don't exactly make Chicken Soup for the 'Inappropriate Feelings for my Sibling' Soul. It's just us."

Another sip.

"Faking it 'til we fucking make it."

[if_inconvenient]

Sherlock actually considers, for a moment, correcting her about the sibling part.

No.

He can't exactly stay angry with her—but every time he stops, he remembers seeing her. Seeing them. That tends to quash his companionable impulses.

[formoftherapy]

She sets the bottle down on the counter between them, tips her head back to stare at the ceiling.



"He a heavy sleeper?"

[if_inconvenient]

He glances at the clock. 5:48.

"I expect him to be stumbling down to his workshop within the hour."

[formoftherapy]

"I'll wait, then."

Her car keys are still up there somewhere.

[if_inconvenient]

Dryly: "To see him or avoid him?"

[formoftherapy]

She arches an eyebrow.

"To get my keys."

It's not that she doesn't want to see him, or that she's afraid of seeing him, or that she's backing off forever in some misguided honor coed thing because Sherlock was here first (even if he is his brother and isn't that twisted).

But she'd be lying if she said she wasn't a bit rattled and she needs a little longer to figure out how to act like she doesn't know what she knows.

[if_inconvenient]

"I am sure."

[formoftherapy]

Kite does the mature thing and rolls her eyes.

"You can't expect me to believe you want me to stick around."

[if_inconvenient]

"I cannot have what I want," he says flatly.



(Particularly because he's not sure he knows what it is.)

[formoftherapy]

Kite bares her teeth. It is nothing like a smile.

"Welcome to the human race, sweetheart."