2019-05-19 - Primitive as Can Be

Coupons you say. Discount tour of the harbor you mean.

Bullshit.

The boat situation was possibly the weirdest, worst, and best thing that all happened at the same time. But Baylee is also hurt, and Aidan's van was a long ways away, then there was a shower, and finally. Finally she's on the ultra soft couch, having found a blanket somewhere, and she's staring at the TV while waiting on something as weak and lame as tylenol to kick in.

Aidan has blankets. He still doesn't have a permanent-style bed yet, if he's ever going to, but blankets, he has! They're even clean and warm, though it may have taken a couple to find one that didn't have any holes or ripped edges. He'll probably get around to fixing those eventually. He also still doesn't have Netflix, annoyingly enough. There's some half-decent reruns on, though. NOT Gilligan's Island.

"Here," Aidan says, settling onto the couch beside her with two mugs, one of which he passes over to her. It's a bit faded but not chipped, bearing what was once clearly a ridiculously bright rainbow pattern, as now it's just unobjectionably bright. You know, DiCaprio rather than Da Vinci. It's also mostly-full of reasonably darkly-brewed tea, and it smells like there might be honey and whiskey in there as well. No lemons, alas. His own mug proclaims him to be the World's Best Lookin' Postal Worker, in black and red on white, and seems to contain the same concoction as hers. As he settles, he's looking her over again, appraisingly. "You know," he offers again, now that it's quieter, now that they're on relatively safe, relatively solid ground again, "I could probably heal things up for you. If you wanted."

"Thanks." Baylee accepts the mug when he brings it to her, sitting up and rearranging the blanket just a bit so that she's still nice and wrapped up, the mug getting wrapped up in her hands before she lifts it up to breathe in the smell.

When he offers to heal her again she pauses, frowning at him, "I'm alright...It's nothing terrible." She glances down at her arm, which is really the only thing visible to her, "Really, honestly...nothing is hurt so bad that it won't just go away on its own.... But if you insist."

Aidan is sitting fairly close, 'cause he's like that. Careful right now, though, in case he might nudge something that hurts. He lucked out; even when that seagull attacked him specifically, it was going for leather-jacketed arms. A couple of those pecks are going to leave little bruises, but nothing too intense. He hasn't even bothered with tylenol. "Welcome," he replies, and takes a sip of his drink, hesitating at her reply. "I don't insist. I just kinda don't like you being hurt. And I can probably... fix it. You could practice the detecting thing on it, maybe. But I'm not gonna go messing with your body unless you want me to." A slight pause. "Or you're really fucking hurt." 'cause what if she couldn't say?

"You can mess with my body any time." Baylee points out, smiling at him as she makes a small attempt at being funny. It's not even delivered with the same oomph as she has managed her earlier jokes. There's just something about being too tired, or too hurt. She's not going to die from what happened. But she is actually hurt, which sucks. "Alright." She takes a good large swallow from the tea now that it has cooled off enough that she won't actually burn her mouth, then she sets the tea down before she scoots around, leaning back against the arm of the couch, then she scoots until just her head rests against it, "Heal me, Doc. Start with my head if you can choose....it hurts the worst."

It's enough of a joke to get a grin, anyway, if a smallish one. "You say that now, but the moment I take you up on it in line at Safeway..." May or may not be a safe assumption, since he hasn't tested it. But getting empirical about things might end with him having to hit the diner even more often than he does, and Aidan just doesn't have that kind of cashflow.

He shifts position on the couch when she starts to scoot, moving along with her and pulling her legs into his lap, so that the one not still holding his mug is resting across them when she settles. "Okay," he says, "giving you warning. Gonna try the head one. See if you sense anything weird." He takes a breath, focusing on her more strongly; it's a slightly disconcerting sort of attention, more concentrated even than what she gets when they're hooking up. And that's pretty concentrated. She may or may not feel the power itself, but she feels the results -- that wound on her head itches oddly as it heals itself, a few days or so of repair packed into a second or so instead.

That is an intense amount of focus. But she seems to be alright with it, amused, maybe. Sleepy? Tylenol plus warm, safe place and tea with whiskey has her relaxed enough to take that amount of focus on her in stride, without making any kind of further joke, or prodding at the Safeway comment. It's a near thing, though, because he's really focusing on her, and what person doesn't want to react one way or another to that level of intensity? It could be very, very intimidating. Or titillating.

She almost seems to be leaning towards the latter, but then the focus actually pays off, and she looks at him with a slight widening of her eyes, and she starts to sit up, then thinks better of it and settles back in to where she's laying, "How'd you do that?" She doesn't say if she can feel him doing it, but the end results are really something she can't ignore as the throbbing in her head begins to ease, and the knot open but no longer bleeding gash hiding beneath her hair begins to fade away like...well, magic.

Aidan breaks into a smile when it works, an odd mix of delighted and satisfied, and the former moves up a notch at her reaction, bringing the smile along with it. The question, however, requires a heartbeat of consideration before he says, "I really wanted to and focused hard on it happening." There's a hint of apology in it; he knows that's not exactly a blueprint. It's not even an Ikea assembly instruction. He thinks about it a moment more before adding, "It feels like I'm sort of gathering up energy inside by head, and up the back of my neck, and then aiming it where I want it. If I'm really focused, sometimes the warmth goes all the way down my shoulders." A sip of his tea, still thoughtful. "Kinda feels a little bit like getting really fucking mad, except without actually feeling pissed off." His hand slides absently along her leg, and he tilts his head at her as if to ask whether that makes any sense.

His gaze falls on her arm, then back to her face. "Want me to try the other one? And did you feel the first one? I mean, aside from the actual," a vague gesture toward his own head, more or less where her wound had been.

"No, I didn't." Baylee shakes her head a bit, looking almost apologetic about not having felt what he was doing. It seems to be an interesting failure of hers, this not being able to feel it thing. But then she reaches down for the hand that he is moving against her leg, her fingers sliding easily through his, pulling his hand up to her mouth so that she can pretty a kiss hard against the palm of his hand, teeth biting very lightly against it before she starts to release her hold on the hand with a shake of the head.

Why? Evidently her arm is the why. "It's fine, seriously....not having my head feel like it is about to split wide open is really the best thing that I can think of at the moment." She shifts, reaching for her mug that she had set down earlier, picking it up to very carefully take a sip from it before she sets it down again, "What I really, really want...is to curl up and watch a stupid movie and try to ignore the fact I had someone explode on me."

Aidan doesn't look disappointed so much as faintly worried about this not having felt any of it yet thing, but taking his hand like that is distracting. The kiss and bite moreso. He watches her, the shake of the head, and makes a bit of a face. "If you're sure," he says, clearly about the arm, since he goes on with, "Kinda worried about accidentally hurting it more. But I'm pretty sure stupid movie is in my mystic powers somewhere." He takes a sip of his tea while groping for the remote, and leans into her just a little as he flicks through the channels, stopping with a sudden grin as he comes across Airplane! probably about fifteen minutes in. "Behold!" he declares, and hands the clicker over to her, in case she doesn't approve. And also so that he has a hand free to shift position, which he does, stretching and scooting enough to just be able to set his tea down beside hers, then wriggling more efficiently to arrange himself behind her on the couch, in general Big Spoon position. Handy it's a big couch. Handy they're both fairly slim, too.

It's only once he's settled in there, claiming some of the blanket as his own, arm draped over her waist, that he rests his chin lightly on her shoulder and says, "...I'm sorry. That I couldn't stop her before she did. And that-- this is part of things, now. That kinda thing. For what it's worth, you're taking it pretty good. And you were pretty fierce with those coconuts." She can feel more than see the smile, and he kisses her cheek. He seems willing to leave it there for now -- she did say she wanted to try to ignore it a while, after all. Can't be ignored forever. But at least 73 more minutes? Probably safe enough.

That movie doesn't seem to not be approval worthy, because she doesn't change the channel even when he hands her the remote. Instead she drops it to the floor while he starts to rearrange them so that he has room behind her. Which the positioning is fine, it's perfectly comfortable, in fact. There is just a small amount of rearranging his rearranging, then she slides her hand down over his, her fingers sliding through his before she curls it up against her chest, just hugging it against her.

"Sorry." Baylee seems marginally surprised by the apology, her brows furrowing, "Aidan...you don't have to apologize to me at all for that. You were battling your own...whatever that was." She shakes her head carefully, not wanting to cause her hair to flop across his face, or get chewed on. "And you sure as shit can't apologize for the fact this is part of things now."

Aidan is easily rearranged, and inclined to a little bit of nuzzling while she moves his hand and arm to where she'd like them. "Can too," he retorts, amusement in it, though it fades as he goes on, "...I mean, I know it's not my fault. And I can't do anything to stop it yet. But that's kind of... it's the hard part this stuff. More of the time it happens when I'm sleeping, but." But it can be in the middle of a boat tour, for example. "And most of the time it sucks. ...I did slash up your Ginger, it just wasn't enough, or in time. Kinda don't like seeing things explode on you. So, you know." Sorry. But he doesn't say it again. "What're you saying sorry for?"

"For your need to say sorry." It's a rather lame response. She is quiet for a little while, possibly letting her attention turn towards the television and the movie that is playing on it.

"I'm not entirely sure I am prepared for it all, Aidan. But if this is what life is going to be like, then it really doesn't matter if I am ready or not, does it?" She shakes her head, just in case he might have thought that she didn't have her own answer to this. Then in an effort to change the tone of things she teases him, "You don't like seeing things explode on me?"

There's an exhalation that would be a snort if it had any actual sound to it, but as it's silent, it doesn't quite reach those heights. Aidan leaves it quiet a bit, seeming content to spend a while just cuddling and watching the movie -- though the latter makes it somewhat less quiet, because some of those jokes are amazing and/or terrible, and there are definitely some snickers and giggles going on. One of the few times it's not that bad to have someone laughing behind your back!

Inevitably, he's a bit more sober when she does start to speak again, with a small nod and smaller sigh to the first question. "Gotta do the bamboo thing," he agrees, and does not elaborate further, not least because that last question makes him blink. This time the snort that follows is audible, even if she probably can't see the smirk. Yeah, apparently the innuendo detector was off, before. "Okay, there might be exceptions." The spot her neck joins the shoulder gets a light nip of mock-punishment.

Punishment? So much not punishment, judging by the rather happy sigh that follows that nip against her shoulder. "Yeah...careful what you say." She might be teasing if the comment wasn't so lazy, half sleepy now. "Can I stay tonight?"

There is an expectation that she'd have stayed the night anyways, but she's at least decent enough to give him the choice to tell her no. If he just really must tell her no. "And you can explain this bamboo thing..."

"Mm. Let me check my calendar," Aidan says, which would do a better job of 'airy teasing' if it weren't half-muffled by a nuzzle at her neck. "You're in luck, looks like the governor cancelled our brunch. I think I can probably squeeze you in. Or, you know, vice versa." Look, she started it. He's silent for a beat, giving her a squeeze with the arm she's got captured.

"Yeah, you can stay," he says a bit more seriously, "I'd kinda rather you did. And I can explain the bamboo thing. There's not that much to it, though. Basically it's like... you get a big massive oak, right, and it looks like it could get through anything, it's so strong and sturdy. Only a hurricane comes, and the wind topples it right over. Rips the roots from the ground. But then there's bamboo. Which is basically a big grass. And when the big winds come, it bends. It adapts... it goes with it, instead of trying to fight it. And the storm ends and it's still standing, again. So, you know. Be bamboo."

"Be bamboo." Baylee repeats before she laughs, nodding, "Be bamboo." She lifts his hand up, teeth catching at the tip of one of his fingers, giving it a hard bite before she releases it to tuck his hand beneath her chin. "I'll be the bamboo, because otherwise I'm fairly certain that I'll be up rooted and fall over."

Then she goes back to watching the movie, easily letting the weirdness of their day(s) slip away for the moment. Of course, the movie can only keep her attention for so long before she turns around carefully on the couch until she's able to face him, releasing his hand so that when she starts to roll herself around she isn't at risk of twisting his arm up, or her own arm. But she gets it, there isn't even much of the blanket bunching up when she gets herself turned around. She then leans in to start kissing at his neck, her attention obviously having shifted.

Aidan smiles at her reaction, and it turns to a light but pained laugh when she bites his finger. "Ow!" he complains with mild indignance, and counters by nipping at her ear. Maybe not quite so hard as she bit the fingertip, but sharp enough. "Keep the roots strong and let the rest flow," he says, "And if you pass it on to someone else sometime, try real hard not to feel like you shouldn't be in, like, an old martial arts movie or something, I dare you."

He'd probably be perfectly pleased to watch the whole rest of the movie, really, but when it loses her attention, he's not exactly going to protest being the beneficiary there. Sorry, Leslie and co., you really can't compete. His eyes close, and he tilts his head to give her some more neck-surface to work with, letting his freshly freed hand dance up her side, brush fingertips over the skin of her neck in return, and slide into her hair, which is where it stays when he tightens the hold enough to urge her head to lift, and let him find her mouth with his. Talking's all well and good, but his lips have better things to do just now.

Who wants to talk? Baylee is very uninterested in talking at the moment so when he lifts her head up she presses into that kiss willingly, her arm curling around him. It's moving a little slower than it might normally, but that is because she's been laying on it for a little while, and it's stiff. But she gets it around him, and then starts to slide her hand beneath his clothes until she's able to get her hand against bared skin. Newly bared, at least.

There is a lot of fear, confusion, and pain that she'd been able to wrangle and lock down since leaving that ship, but one thing she had not been able to do since then was reaffirm her very obvious safe and aliveness. That is something that she is able to do now, with her hands against his skin and her mouth against his, a soft groan murmured against his mouth as she lets her lips part to deepen that kiss.

The fear, confusion, and pain themselves can do a decent job of suggesting one's alive, and the adrenaline rush of a fight itself does even better, but those all ebb as the experience and then fresh memory of danger do. And they say a person can get used to almost anything, over time. But for all that Aidan seems to be taking this particular incident reasonably in stride, it's clearer as the kiss deepens that the distress of it hasn't entirely passed him by. Even the more surreal Dreams, even the ones where you're not alone and every wound will heal, or there's no wound left at all -- sooner or later, even the best of them whisper to something in the back of the mind that the worst of them are still out there. The connection in that kiss answers it back: out there, and he falls into it recklessly, blood pumping alive alive alive with every quickened beat.

He shifts position himself, sliding his arm between the cushions and her neck, letting it settle at her nape during that kiss, drawing the other back down along her side until it can sneak beneath the hem of her shirt. It's not long before the shirt's out of the way; before it's only part of a carelessly scattered pile of abandoned clothes on the floor; before there's too much warm skin and hot breath to be anything else but alive. In the background, credits roll, the man in the taxi gives the last line, and the evening anchors begin to relate the news.

Neither of them notices a word of it.