☠ 041

[molotov]

Who: molotov and samson
What: Talking :(
When: The morning after all of this.
Where: Brock's cabin
Rating: Probably like PG-13 at most.

She said she'd find him.

When Brock hadn't come home, and he wasn't still on the kitchen floor, Molotov figured he must have gone out to his cabin. So that was where she went. It was late morning -- she'd wanted to give him time to wake up.

With a small knock, she opened the door, peering around the edge before the door was even fully opened.

Comments

[molotov]

Molotov didn't even bother to answer what he'd said about running away together. She'd suggested it at least a dozen times over the years, and he always turned her down. He had never even wanted to talk about it -- how could she know the terms?

"Obsession is not the same as love!" she screamed at him, her face red and her eye watery. "Obsession does not make you try, it does not make you care, and it never once made you want me more than you want your stupid fucking Ventures and your vigilante feel-good bullshit!"

[samson]

"And when have you ever shown that you loved me?" he said, just staring at her. "All the times you left me to die? Or what about the times you made it clear you only cared about your job? Look, I never questioned that you loved me, despite everything. I don't even know what to do if you don't think I love you."

He stopped choking the air and ran his hand through his hair. "What the hell are we doing, Molotov. I don't -- I didn't know you actually hated me this much, what are we doing?"

[molotov]

She pointed at him accusatorially. "You mean like when I helped you save your mentally deficient babysitting charges? Like when I hauled you out of a tar pit and cleaned you up with cotton balls, instead of killing you? When I dropped everything to play nanny in your place? Why is it a requirement that I spell everything out, that I stop my life on a dime to deal with your problems? I never left you to die because I know that you are stronger than that! Why do you think we sent those three idiots after you? Because Hunter and I knew that you would win!"

At this point, Molotov sank to the floor, nauseated and miserable and on the brink of tears. "I do not hate you."

[samson]

"It sure sounds like it," he said, also pretty miserable if I do say so myself. He just stood there uselessly though, looking at her like a big dumb idiot.

"This is really bad."

[molotov]

Molotov's throat went tight and dry, and she looked at him desperately. "What do you mean?"

[samson]

He looked at her evenly, brow deeply furrowed. "I don't think we're ever going to stop arguing about this."

[molotov]

"So... what?" she asked, sighing with exasperation. "What does that mean?"

[samson]

"I don't know. I don't really know what to do now," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "How do we get past this?"

[molotov]

Molotov looked away, trying to clear her head and think. "What if we can't?"

[samson]

Brock stared at her hard for a second, unable to really comprehend what she was saying. Does not compute!!

With a huff, he went to kneel in front of her, hands on her shoulders. "Baby," he said firmly, "I told you I won't let anything come between us anymore. Nothing is going to keep us apart. If we can't get past this, then I guess maybe we just ... can't talk about it."

[molotov]

She just looked at him, eye watery, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

[samson]

Brock frowned, wrapping his arms around her and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't try harder, baby," he said quietly, idly stroking her hair. "I was too caught up with my own bullshit to notice. I thought you'd always be there for me, but time got away from me."

[molotov]

"I love you," she mumbled, though her face was pressed into her shoulder, so it was entirely possible that he wouldn't be able to hear her. She didn't say anything else.

[samson]

He heard her, or at least he thought he heard her. Still stroking at her hair, he sighed, just now noticing that his record had run out and was just spinning quietly in silence. He should really go turn it off at some point.

"You don't hate me?" he asked quietly, tilting his head to kiss her temple.

[molotov]

Molotov shook her head against his shoulder. "Nyet," she said, almost whispering. "Never."

[samson]

Smiling, he just held her in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, he pulled away and held her shoulders so he could look down at her. "What about that banana?"

[molotov]

"I do not want a fucking banana," Molotov said, looking at Brock like he was dumb. "If I am going to eat, I want french toast."

Because, for the first time in a week, she actually maybe felt like consuming food.

[samson]

Brock couldn't help it -- he laughed. He laughed hard, and a little uncontrollably, eventually quieting down enough to lean in and kiss her, still smiling against her mouth.

[molotov]

Molotov didn't really see what was funny -- she wasn't going to eat a banana for her first actual meal in a week. But his laughing made her laugh anyway, and she kissed him back.

[samson]

It was funny because it was funny! And also he was glad for a little levity after that enormous fight. She was all, 'fuck bananas,' and it was just funny. Brock held the sides of her face as he kissed her, glad to be able to touch her like this for what seemed like the first time in years. It had only been a little over a week, really, but damn, what a long week.

After a little while, he started to back off, planting a handful of smaller kisses on her mouth before pulling away entirely. Stroking her hair, he just smiled at her. "How 'bout you have the banana while I make us some french toast. Okay?"

[molotov]

Molotov gave him a very mildly critical look. "Unless you plan to turn that banana into bread and cover it with syrup, that is not happening," she told him. She didn't want a banana, damn it!

[samson]

Brock just laughed again, shaking his head and getting up. "Alright, alright. I'll eat the banana, picky."

He grabbed the banana like he said he would and peeled it, yeah!!! He also went to turn his record player off, and then went back to the kitchen.

[molotov]

"I am not picky," Molotov said, getting up as well, though she just went to lie on the couch. She hadn't slept very well for the past week either, so she might accidentally doze off.

[samson]

"You're pretty much the pickiest," he quipped, happily setting on making French toast. He didn't really know if this peace would last, since they didn't really solve anything -- they were still at odds with each other about a lot of stuff, and recognizing it but Just Not Talking About It was just as worse as avoiding it altogether, right?

But in the meantime, he was content.

[molotov]

Was it really worse? Molotov was aware that they weren't going to be spending another twenty years in Paradisa together -- she felt like they probably had three years, max. They were both already going on two years, and nobody was ever around for more than five years, at least not that she knew of. So was it really so bad to just go all the way and pretend that none of that existed?

Molotov did doze off a little, lying on her side on the sofa, watching his back.