2019-05-29 - He ran into a door or something.

The Club was jumping tonight. The un-tss un-tss un-tss of the music was working overtime and everyone seems to be in a good mood. Well, maybe not Graham, because he was working behind the bar in spite of the fact that he was supposed to have the night off; it'd been a real disappointment for Elise, who was free from the hospital, and wanted to go DANCING. But duty calls, and the other bartender was called out for a job, which meant somebody had to be here to ply drunk girls with tequila shots. Speaking of drunk girls, there was one in a halter top and sequined skirt practically falling off her stool. "You're hot," she purrs to Graham, trying to grab at his arm whenever he walks by. "I give good head. Like reaaaallly good. Wanna see my TITS?!" she keeps yelling over the music.

Andre was near by, enjoying his life. He's all aglow in neon necklaces and bracelets, like literally all over him, and he's rocking to the beat.

So this is why Graham usually just comes home and passes the fuck out, the music makes his brain want to die and the club tramps make the rest of him want to die. Which isn't to suggest he's above a quickie with a tramp but... anyway, this is getting off-track. The point is: he's not best-pleased to be here, and this drunk slut isn't helping his mood, since has to keep leaning her way to try to figure out if she actually wants something or just wants something. "What?"

Oh. TITS. "Nah, I'm good." The other guys around the bar are seriously disappointed by this response, and he's gonna lose some tip-money over that, but whatever. He copes by giving them half-shots instead of whole ones on their next round of drinks. "Plus, that guy'll kick you out if you flash your tits." He tips the neck of his beer toward the glowing black giant.

Andre doesn't realize he's being used as a threat. He sees Graham pointing the beer towards him and he turns to wave a glowstick vigorously in the air at Graham. Look at that smile, it practically lights up his whole face! Or that might be the glowstick in his mouth. Whichever.

But the drunk tramp, she was not about to take no for an answer. She looks like she's about to crawl over the bar and just give Graham head anyway. "You're HOT!" she repeats again. "Isn't there a back room? A bathroom?? Come on, you look like you need a BLOWJOB!" And then she proceeds to give an 'example' of the kind of head she can give on the closest beer bottle. Let's just say, she doesn't have a gag reflex. The other guys near by are scooting in closer. They look like they need blowjobs too, club tramp!

And through all of this, someone familiar comes through the crowd and up to the bar. Even in this crowded room, and even with every attempt at trying not to be noticed? Graham would be able to see Elise, in that short black dress of hers with the straight neckline, not some crazy weird heartshaped one. Her hair gently curled, she's kept the foundation off her face tonight - all those freckles across her nose are somehow brought out by the club blacklights. It's adorable. She's barely able to contain her giggles from the girl fellating the beer bottle as she leans over the bar, and wiggles fingers over to Graham. "Hey bartender! If you're not too busy with the show, I could use a beer, too."

"Nah, sweetheart. I lost my dick in the war." Graham says this loud enough to carry over the music, un-tss un-tss, and cares not how many guffaws it generates from the drunk dudes trying to line up in his place. "But that beer bottle sure looks like it's enjoying itself, so." Thumbs-up. (One wonders if that scenario plays out differently if he doesn't know Elise is in da house...)

He's just managed to demure having his dick sucked when there's Elise actually at the bar, not just picked out from across the room. "Yeah? Lemme see some I.D., kid." But he's prying the top off a bottle while he makes this demand, sliding a quick napkin down on the bar before he sets the sweaty bottle on top of it. He also leans far over that bar, as far as he can without hurting himself, and looks her over with brows on the rise. "Damn, baby. You think you might've cleaned yourself up a little before coming out."

The club tramp would probably pout, but she's trying to deep throat this beer bottle, so she'll just be over here entertaining the masses. Missed your chance, Graham! Now you have to talk to somebody who isn't going to deep throat a beer bottle in front of you.

Elise's slim brows climb up towards her hairline as Graham comes on over. "Is this the part where I tell you my dress doesn't have any pockets, and so I put my I.D. in my bra, and if you really want to see it, you have to go fishing?" she quips, dark eyes set to roll when he leans over the bar to check her out. And since he seems to hate her outfit so much, she gives a little twirl around, before coming to settle with her elbows on the bar top. "I know," she sighs dramatically. "But not all of us have the body for crop tops and sequined short-skirts. But hey, at least now I see why you'd rather come to work than go out dancing with me," she grins, snatching up her beer bottle and taking a demur sip. "Do you at least get a break, or am I going to have to dance with the big black giant over yonder?"

"Sure," of the pockets and the bra. "But that means this is the part where I tell you that I get that all night, so I'm a fucking pro at bobbing for I.D.s." Graham briefly drops his hands behind his back and bends at the waist - like bobbing for apples, but in the cleavage of bar-tramps. He smiles peachily, does she want to see if he's serious? Like there's any other big black giant, he leans to look through the crowd toward where she's pointing, spots Andre, and suggests, "You could do worse, trust me. He's probably the nicest guy in the joint. Present company included. But gimme a few minutes."

He has to do some work if he's gonna get free time to dance with his roommate/future baby-momma. This mostly involves going "What?" at people when they order stupid fucking drinks and then giving them beers when they come to their senses, though apparently he manages to put together a couple off-the-wall cocktails (not how I thought that roll was gonna turn out <.<).

"Do you ever actually find an I.D.?" Elise's eyes brighten with amusement as he bends at the waist with his hands behind his back, laughter filling her little spot of the club. It's barely heard over the un-tss un-tss of the club music. But nope, no thank you, she'll keep her I.D. safely between her cleavage, and she lays a hand over her chest as a silent gesture that he needn't go bobbing. "I think I found him on Tinder! That guy," she looks over her shoulder again. "He's like fifty or something!"

Andre drumbeats a couple of glowsticks in the air at Graham and Elise, shaking his hips. It makes Elise laugh, and she slides into a stool while Graham gets to work. "This place isn't so bad!" she says to Graham the next time he's nearby.

The hand-wobble will have to suffice for an answer about how often Graham comes up with I.D., though '50/50' is probably way overstating it. "Yeah?" he asks loudly, like he had no clue about the possible Tinder-match between Elise and Andre. "You shoulda gone out with him. I'm telling you, he's a fucking prince." The prince of Bubble Wants and Pez Dispensers~! These are the snippets of conversation he manages to convey in-between the doing of his actual job, occasionally passing a look up to the one-way glass that keeps an eye on the club. Not that there's anything to see; that's the whole fucking point of one-way glass.

"You say that, but try it for six hours straight." He tap-tap-taps a used shot-glass on top of the bar in time to the music. It's super fucking annoying! "I got a minute if you seriously came here to dance. With somebody other than Andre - who I'm pretty sure would be down if you want me to ask him for you."

Andre: The Crown Prince of Caving People's Heads In & Apologizing After. As kind as the black giant looks, Elise's attention doesn't linger. "I'm good," she laughs whilst she sips at her bar, dark eyes occasionally looking out over the club. But really, most of the time? She's following Graham's motions behind the bar, quiet admiring in the rapid flashing lights of the club. And when he finally comes back? She pops off the stool, pushing her beer bottle away. The drink's still half full; was she purposefully not getting drunk tonight?

"I mean it's fine if you don't want to dance with me, Graham. You don't have to push me off onto somebody else," she smooths her hands down the backside of her skirt. All things considered? She was in a great mood tonight. "I can always just dance by myself," she flutters her lashes.

"I'm just trying to make sure you know you have options." Giant black options. Think about it: Graham could be in the alley with the chick that can deep-throat a pony-neck, and Elise could go home with a huge black guy; win-win! But since that's not in the cards, he takes a decent-sized drink out of the bottle that she plans to leave behind - "No point letting perfectly good beer go to waste." - and leaves the bar in the car of whoever the other bartender is. Some guy totally capable of holding down the fort.

The lash-flutter makes him laugh while he offers out a hand to get her through this mess. "I almost guarantee you, dancing by yourself would never happen." She looks good. People are absolutely gonna check her out. And probably the only reason bought her a drink while she was at the bar is 'cause Graham was like 'nope' when anyone tried.

"Mm, it's the only other option if you're not going to dance with me," replies Elise as she slides her hand into his own, curling her fingers about his. Perhaps the words were telling enough, but if his intention was to lead her through the masses? He was in for a surprise, because she was far too eager to get out onto the dance floor. She tugs him along, elbowing a few people in the process, before she finds a little spot that's just for them. Nevermind that the dance floor was cram full; it was a really tiny spot. They'd have to squish.

"You do realize you're missing out on prime opportunity to get a blowjob, right?" she teases as she releases his hand, so that she can slip her arms about his neck. It was impossible to see from here, but the club tramp's found a victim far more willing than Graham, and she was already gobbing his knob in the bathroom stall while Graham was out here with his bestie. "I'd apologize, but.. You can do better."

Though, all things considered, maybe Graham should've taken his chances with the club tramp. Elise's version of 'dancing' is basically terribly uncoordinated swaying. But she rubs up against him in an 'I'm-not-grinding-on-you-this-club-is-just-really-crowded' sort of way.

He does realize he's missing out on this, but "I can do b - " Yes, what she said. Graham snickers when Elise takes the words outta his mouth (for all that matters beneath the noise in this club). So she leads him rather than the other way around, but that's cool, this little pocket of floor right here works for him just as well as where he might have dropped them.

Maybe it's just that he works in a club, but he at least understands the basic precepts of dancing, and helps by fixing Elise's hands on the back of his neck, first of all. Then, after laughing directly in her face, he attempts to give her hips some direction, bracketing them with his hands. It has nothing to do with pulling them flush against his, that's just how people dance, it's perfectly normal. "Man, and they say white people have no rhythm. Like - " He helpfully squeezes on the un-tss un-tss rhythm that's tattooed on his fucking brain by now. DO BETTER, ELISE.

"Hey, I have moves!" Elise scoffs, her laughter carrying just far enough over to him as he pulls her into him, hip-to-hip. It's just the close proximity of all these bodies warming up the club floor that pinkens her cheeks, and not the fact that her 'swaying' was now a full on (albeit not purposeful) grind against him. But hey, maybe the squeeze of his hand against her hips helps her find some moves - eventually, as the un-tss picks up the beat and gets some heavy bass behind it? Elise starts to move with something of a rhythm against him.

And through it all, her chin is tipped up, her dark eyes on his. She gingerly scratches the back of his neck with her nails since he was so nice to move them into place for her, her glossy lips turning up into a brighter smile. "When'd you learn to dance, anyway? Last time we went to the club, you almost cleared out the whole room trying to twerk," she laughs.

"That has nothing to do with knowing how to dance." The twerking. "That's just losing track of how many shots I've had." Graham smiles his winning smile, like this is a thing about which he ought to be bragging. He's still young enough to get away with getting black-out drunk. And with being completely unashamed of the simple fact that Elise's moves? Now that they're not absolutely horrible? Are working. It's just not a thing he can possibly hide.

"Stick around a while. We might get around to some twerking around one, one-thirty. Shit gets craaazy around last-call." There's the flash of teeth while his hands repay the nails-on-neck with fingers-on-ass, someone's butt is getting squeezed for that.

Elise was terribly aware of just how well her 'moves' were working. Perhaps the thought occurs to her that she should give him some space, but instead she draws closer so that the roll of her hips against his own was more pronounced. There was no timing this to the music, she was dancing to a different beat altogether; this was slow and purposeful. "And how many shots have you had so far tonight?" she leans closer, but it's really just so that he can hear her better over the heavy beat.

And then he goes and pinches her ass. She inhales sharply through her nose, eyes flaring open. "Graham Roberto Oswald Stewart Senior," she hisses playfully, sliding her fingers up his neck and into his hair. "You're getting a little handsy. You do realize I'm not some kinda club tramp that's gonna take you out back and blow you, right?" she teases.

Only long enough to make the gesture, Graham lifts a hand from the groping and puts it between them, curling his fingers and thumb into an O. "Goose-egg on the shots. But the night is young." Plenty of time left for him to put his hand back where it was, flattening down the back of that weird fabric of her skirt with his palms and fingers curving right around the shape of her rear-end. He can do slow and purposeful right back, biting the corner of his mouth around a delighted grin - though there's a brief flash of annoyance when a couple of people who've had way more than a goose-egg worth of shots fall all over this specific dance-space.

Fortunately, those drunk bastards just giggle and slur an apology and move on, leaving him free to look shocked. At being called GROSS and because - "You're not? Well, fuck." He peels his hands away, holding them up and off her with a big sigh. "Been nice meeting you, then, I gotta see if I can catch that chick before she and that beer bottle wind up getting hitched."

There's a very mild look of disappointment when he takes his hand off of her the first time, though it evaporates into a 'suitably impressed' purse of her lips. "Very interesting," she remarks, brows climbing, her teeth sinking into the corner of her lip when his hands come back to flatten against the curve of her rear. She draws up, just high enough to breeze a kiss against his jaw - though it misses it's mark when the drunk guys come giggling into their space, and she narrows an irritated look in their direction. That annoyance is something that doesn't go away easily, and it's turned onto him when he holds his hands up and away again.

"Jesus Christ," she needs to go to confession. "Can you be fucking serious for five minutes? Maybe I.." she makes a face, her freckled nose wrinkling up. "Nevermind." Her fingers fall out of his hair, returning to touch just the tips against the back of his neck. "Just give me another minute and you can go.. fuck whatever you want, Graham. It's fine."

"Five minutes is a long fucking time." So that'd be a no, he cannot be serious for five minutes. "Can we cut it back to," he dithers for a second or two, curling his hands back against Elise in exactly the opposite way of the way she's decided to let her fingers slack against his neck, "ninety seconds, maybe? 'Cause I think I can be serious for a minute and a half." Graham pulls her right back up against him, though he has to lift one hand to fix hers on his neck again, this hand goes here, this hand goes here. Again, DO BETTER, ELISE.

Then he sniffs, puts on his best sober face, says, "I got this. Fucking serious," and leans his forehead against Elise's. For at least the next ninety seconds, he intends to dance with Elise like it's too crowded in here and the only place left for him to be is exactly where she is.

At least Elise's eyes don't go flying out of her head with how aggressively they roll. Her slacker fingers fuss at the back of his neck as he adjusts them there and here, and the scratch of her nails up along his hairline is a little intent in the moment; she wanted him to feel that bite. But in spite of the huff and the sigh, she doesn't say anything; she's silently, resolutely, accepting of this ninety seconds that he's willing to give. She's almost stubborn about it, she was going to take every single one of those ninety seconds and she was going to enjoy it, dammit.

And then he leans his forehead against her own. It shouldn't have hurt her, that gesture. But the sting is evident in the quick wrinkling of her brow.

"I fucking get it, okay?" her voice cracks under the weight of her next words. "I'm not the kind of girl you want to be with. And I'm a fucking idiot for .. for getting all dressed up and coming out here and thinking maybe.. like maybe you didn't make it clear the other night. But I get it. And you don't have to remind me every time we're together."

Graham's blind-sided and no mistaking it. Whatever he thought was going on? It definitely wasn't inline with the things Elise is saying, and he winds up standing still by the time she gets to calling herself a fucking idiot, all efforts to dance just dwindling to nothing. His hands shift, no more inappropriate groping, just resting on her hips so he can take a step back, looking at her confusedly. The constantly shifting, color-changing lights help drive home that confusion, since they refuse to let his expression really settle.

Are they really trying to have this conversation in a dance club? With the crime-lord overseeing behind one-way glass? It makes him look up from her for a second, toward that glass, then back down with troubled eyes. "This isn't about wanting to be with you, baby. Look, I don't know if there's still a way out for you. I really hope there is, that you can walk away from all this. I gotta hope that's still in the cards for you, but it's not for me, so." Soooooo. He strokes a hand down the nice curls she put in her hair, and he apologizes with his eyes and his sigh and the kiss he puts against her forehead. "Yeah. I'm not so sure you fucking get it like you think you do."

Oh, she doesn't misunderstand his confusion. She just completely misses what he's confused about. Because damn, if anybody had a right to be confused right now, it was Elise. So they'd share in that emotion, but hers was edged with hurt - hurt from where his hands were and now where his hands are, and she lets her own go slack again, sliding to his shoulders. She should really try to push him away, but she was nearly backed up against another club tramp twerking her ass into the groin of her companion. What she does completely misunderstand was the glance he passes up over her shoulder - and she fits him with a look. "Dude, really? There's a hundred other tramps in this fucking club, I'm sure you didn't miss a goddamn opportunity," she mumbles.

So those kind words and soft kisses to her forehead do nothing to make her understand his point, or where he's coming from. "Did you ever stop to think, for once, just once, that I don't want to walk away from everything? I don't want to walk away from you! You could just let me down easy, you could just fucking tell me straight. Instead you're groping me in a goddamn club and you bullshit me into thinking we might have a chance and - fuck, Graham!" Her voice was getting louder, heard above the un-tss-un-tss of the club music; there were a couple of people looking their way.

"You don't know - " Nope. Graham reeeels it back in, though it takes some effort and another look up at the glass whose purpose she doesn't understand. So he just steps back completely, folding his arms over his chest and holding his ground against some guy who is not thrilled to have his tiny spot on the dance floor crowded by Graham and whatever his stupid girl troubles are. "This isn't happening, El. You need to - "

Almost definitely, anything he says is going to be the wrong thing, but whatever. Getting into a fight with someone Felix thinks is his girlfriend in the club? Is a worse thing. " - calm down. Go home. 'Cause I'm not doing this with you, not here. So yeah. I'mma go back to work, and I'll be home around two." And she can yell at him then, so says the way he sighs, resigned.

Oh, this was stupid. She knew it was stupid, the realization of how stupid she was was practically written all over her face. But the floodgates have been opened, and she clearly wasn't willing to let this one go without a fight. Not this time. "You're an asshole," she pushes into his shoulders as he backs up, and given the chance she'd probably shove him, but he was already crowding the dude with his grinding girlfriend. "Nine fucking years, I've had a thing for you for nine fucking years, and I'm trying to goddamn open up here, I'm already in this fucking mess.." She drops her hands. She sees the look he throws to the bar again, and she winces her eyes shut. "Nevermind. This is so goddamn embarrassing. I fucking get it. Go get your blowjob, go home with one of the tramps for all I care, I'm so fucking tired.."

It was around this time that two bouncers from the club push past. Graham would know these guys - mostly because one was Andre. The other? Seth. "Sorry, Graham," says the big giant black man, who sticks his hand on Graham's shoulder. He looks very apologetic. Seth just looks determined, and he grabs Elise by the upper arm, who recoils back with shock. "What the fuck --" she starts, but the look in Seth's eyes was one you just know, internally, not to fuck with. "Boss'll see you now," Seth says. There's no argument in his tone.

The last thing Graham will see is Elise's eyes, wide with terror, as Seth basically drags her through the crowd into the back room. And then at least Andre has the wits about him to stand in front of Graham, so he doesn't have to see what's about to go down. "Boss wants some privacy, my friend. But hey, that girl from the bar, she's looking for you! She seems nice."

Graham is quick to say, "No, guys. It's fine. She's going home, we just had a little static, we're fine." This is what he's trying to rattle off over the top of Elise's 'what the fuck,' like if he can just talk really fast and smooth and calm, she won't say anything, and everyone can just calmly go on about their business and - "Fuck."

It's not like he's getting by Andre, and it wouldn't do any good if he did, but he tries to lob some pro-tips at Elise before she's pulled out of earshot. "Just don't worry, and don't argue, baby, okay?" Like she's going to hear that over the music and the fact that she's getting dragged into the back room of a club owned by a gangster. About two seconds after the door closes behind them? He can't stand it anymore, tells Andre, "This is not happening," and tries to squirm-run-blow by the big guy.

Presumably, the last thing he hears before he gets knocked unconscious is a truly heartfelt 'sorry.' And maybe the GASP of all the people in the club, who aren't completely sure how this all shook down, but it seems to have had something to do with the blonde guy and the Chinese chick getting into a fight. Then the little cartoon birdies tweet around his head for a while.

The scene goes by Graham in flashes of coherency. While Andre may be the type to hold back when punching a friend, Felix often said he kept Andre around because the brute didn't know his own strength. This was plain to Graham, who remembers clearly a huge black fist flying towards his face and then nothing except blinding pain and darkness. Even the un-tiss-un-tiss of the club music fades to black, replaced by the droning 'sorry, Graham, sorry, I'm sorry,' until that is gone, too. At least the dreams are pleasant, at first. Elise and Graham out on the dance floor, but there's no one there now, just the two of them. She puts her hands on his cheeks and she's smiling, she leans in to kiss him, and then that adorably freckled nose caves in and blood pours down her face.

".. please, just let me.. he could .. hurt .. concussion, please!" Elise is sobbing, and Graham's in pain. He's vaguely aware that he's seated somewhere, but he can't smell anything except the copper-metallic scent of blood. There's a hand heavy on his shoulder, a deeper voice that sounds like Felix's booming in his ear but muffled, like he's underwater, "Consider ... motivation." And then Graham's out again.

Every so often, his eyes flutter open, but all he can see at first is bright lights and everything is blurry. It comes into focus in jagged pieces, not the whole room, but subsections. This is not Felix's office, this is the room no one wants to be in. The room people go in and never come back from. There are people here, dark shapes along the wall, and there's someone still beside him. The fingers in his shoulder dig. Elise is the only thing that comes across clear; she's got on latex gloves, they don't go with her outfit. Those curls are pulled back into a tight bun, her mascara's run down her face and connected the freckles on her cheeks like somber constellations. "He needs a doctor," she insists, "I'm not a doctor." And Felix, beside him, "You're one tonight. Unless you want your boyfriend.." Elise's sobs choke in her throat. "NO!" And then Graham is out again.

Who knows how much time has passed, but now Graham feels a warm body in his lap. Her voice is hoarse, raw, but her hands are soft against either side of his nose. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry," she whimpers, and then there is a CRACK! and the pain shoots through Graham again and blood gushes out, as Graham's nose is set back into place. But that's at least the kind of motivation he needs in the moment to immediately come to.

In and out of consciousness isn't such a terrible place to be when your face feels like it just got hit by Andre. Seeing as how Graham's face just got hit by Andre, this works out kinda good for him. Though, honestly, if he had his druthers, he'd probably prefer to be more out of consciousness than in it; every time he's even vaguely awake, there are thick words that sound like they're trying to be profanity but are really just unintelligible gibberish.

Of course, he's just managed to claw himself awake when his nose gets cracked back into place, and the rigidness of his body in response to that is not the sexy kind. "Holy fuck my ass in the face!" Incoherently, he shoves Elise as hard as he can away from him, like she's the one responsible for this brutality, and leans forward over his knees, putting his head over his feet so the blood splashes onto the floor of the room he has yet to comprehend. There is coughing and spitting and a lot of noises in response to this horrific pain in his face. Profanity dribbles out of him along with those spatters of blood.

Okay, that wasn't exactly the response that Elise was expecting yet something tells her she shouldn't be surprised. He shoves, she goes ass over tea kettle, and he makes the white tiles red with blood while she sprawls out somewhere just beyond it. "Fuck, Jesus!" there's a twinge in her back from where her tailbone hits the floor, but she flinches and pulls herself to her knees anyway. Minding the blood splatter, she crawls back, dragging something along with her. "Let me see you," it's quiet but firm, and there's the sound of her putting latex gloves on her hands again. "I need to make sure you are okay, baby. Graham, you need to look at me."

Newly-gloved hands take his cheeks again, so that she can turn his face up to hers. This was not her best look, with the now-dried streaks of tears and mascara, red-rimmed eyes, nose more red than freckled. "Do you know where you are?" she whispers, and pulls away just long enough to fetch a tiny little flashlight that's totally getting shined in his eyes.

He should absolutely know where he is. The room's emptied out, but there's a metal cart that people usually use to transport food that's currently covered in bloody napkins and remnants of some kind of make-shift surgery equipment. There's blood over there, too. It's just the two of them right now in the room at least, but Graham will be vaguely aware of a shadow underneath the door, suggestive that someone was out there.

He's just lashing out. Don't take it personally! "Well, I'm fucking not okay. So just - " Graham makes warning gestures with his hands, like don't come back over here, and continues looking down at the floor for longer than Elise probably wants him to. He spits out more blood, too, the kind that's seeped down the back of his throat, slick and boogery, a glob of the stuff landing stickily on the floor.

He does eventually lift his head, dragging the top of his shirt up with it so he can wipe the blood off his mouth, at the very least. Then she's shining a flashlight in his eyes, and he answers crabbily, "Somewhere that fucking sucks, obviously." A bloodshot glance peels away from her stupid flashlight, sweeps the interior, and decides, "Yep. This place fucking sucks. Do I still have all my fingers and toes?"

"I know you're fucking not okay," replies Elise with a hint of sharpness to her tongue. But he's going to look at her whether he wants to or not, even if that means manhandling him a bit. It's a good thing Elise is a nurse, else that glob of blood that flings out of his mouth to land wetly nearby would probably make her want to vomit all over him. Instead, she swallows hard, and continues to check the dilation of his pupils with her little flashlight. Does he have all his fingers and toes? "Yes. But your nose is broken," in case that wasn't obvious.

She drops the flashlight in her bag and retrieves a small bottle of alcohol and a rag. "This is going to sting," she warns him, but she doesn't attack his face right away with the alcohol-rag at least. She's going to let him compose himself, just in case he wants to shove at her again. "Andre said.. he said it was an accident," her voice is a rushed whisper as she leans close into him. "He said he didn't mean to hit you, that there was just a lot of people on the dance floor, and he was trying to move somebody away and hit you instead." And in case anyone wondered how good of a guy Andre was? This sort of sealed it: "Felix wasn't happy. He.. he said Andre needed to take a time out and think about what he did? And I don't know. That poor guy, Graham, he looked really scared."

Oh yay, Graham definitely needed that on his conscience. "Fuck," is the only thing he can think to say of that whole situation, though it comes with a quick flash of watery eyes. He's had a rough night, is Elise gonna judge him if Andre's tender-heartedness makes him a little misty right now? At least he doesn't start actually crying, just suggests, "He'll be all right. Probably it'll just be..." And Graham trails off, because what will it be? No bubble-wands for the week?

Clearly, he is going to need to send Andre a big fruit-basket when this is over.

Before she gets to the thing that's going to sting, now that he's semi-coherent, he looks Elise over for signs that she's been damaged in all this and asks urgently, "Are you okay?" Well, as urgently as he can with his stuffy-broken-nose voice.

There's no judgement here; Elise was teary-eyed, too. She brushes her fingers over his cheek, following down along the line of his jaw, and it would be a whole lot more of a tender sort of touch if it weren't for the powdery latex gloves she was wearing. But she bites her tongue after and shakes her head, going to work with cleaning the blood from his face so that she would be able to look at his nose better. "This is going to bruise. A lot," she frowns, dropping the rag once the blood was mostly cleared up and reaching into the bag again for bandages.

Elise is not damaged, except for some tears in her skirt. Her hair isn't pretty anymore, but neither is her face, really, and at least she wasn't punched in the nose. So was she okay? "I dug out a bullet from some guy's stomach in the back room of a dance club while they were threatening to kill you. But I'm like seventy-five percent sure he's going to pull through because it didn't hit his intestines so.." She sniffles and focuses on putting the bandages on his nose. "Yeah. I'm great. Everything's fine."

It's really not but, "All right." At least Graham now doesn't have to wonder WTF was going on back here, which was the whole reason he accidentally ran into Andre, just the not-knowing. The amount he doesn't care about the bruising is so infinitesimal as to not even merit a response, just a series of tiny winces answering the passage of her fingers over the damage. Bigger winces follow, because the alcohol does sting, and he hisses breath in through his teeth to answer that.

Earnestly, taking her gloved hands for a minute and pulling them away from his face and the business she's trying to do to it, he says what he shoulda said from the get-go, "I'm so sorry for getting you into this, baby. So fucking sorry." There's no questioning in the look he leaves on her, not like 'can she forgive him?!', he just needs her to know.

"Just let me.." Elise starts when he moves her hands away, but she doesn't fight him. Her fingers were trembling, and she curls them around his own. "I.." she sniffles again, lifts red-rimmed eyes to his own, and almost bursts into tears. Somehow though, she swallows it back. ".. He told me.. to tell my dad. That he says hi. And that.. that he always knew I'd grow up to be such a pretty girl? So.. so.. maybe.." It wasn't said to assuage him of his guilt, not entirely, but the message was clear. Maybe this would've happened regardless. She pulls her hands away from his own and peels off her gloves, so that he can feel her skin against his own when she cups his cheeks.

The kiss she lays on his lips is so light, it's like it never happened. A quick peck, enough to transfer a bit of warmth and nothing else. "I'm okay. You're okay. They're.. they're gonna drive us home. And we'll.. we'll just have to figure all this out."

The next wince isn't because of the physical pain, just the quick pass of regret when Elise shares that tidbit about her dad. Graham can't say anything about it right now. They're in Felix's back room/basement/death trap, so it's not the time to be talking shit about his boss, but he conveys a wealth of apology for her situation in the sad look he passes up to her. "I kinda had a feeling," is as much as he'll permit right now, with a look flicked to the shadow beneath the door.

He leans into the touch of her hands, though there's a slight hiss right before that kiss; all the parts of his face hurt now, cheekbones and upper lip included. "Who's gonna drive us home? They're not driving my car." Like he has some sort of say in this matter, lol. "I can drive." It's not an argument he'll have with Felix, but anyone else? This is going to be a sticking point.

The hiss gives her pause, puts a frown to her lips, but it doesn't stop her from the brief contact even if it just makes her look all the more miserable. "I don't know, I just.. want to get out of here. I just want to go home," she finishes up bandaging his nose assuming he doesn't put up a fight, and finally gets to her feet. This room was a wreck, completely unsanitary. Hopefully Felix has a janitor on staff? "We can ask, right? We can just.. the man at the door seems.." There's no way she was going to claim any one of Felix's goons were 'nice', except maybe Andre and Graham himself, so she frowns instead. ".. Okay. I think Felix said his name was Seth."

She goes about collecting her things, dropping the gloves into the trash can, and putting the medical bag up. Once all of that was done, she retreats back to him, offering out her hands to help him to his feet. "Ah.. Felix .. kept calling you my boyfriend," she says with a dry laugh, no humor here. "It felt.. uhm.. kind of inappropriate in the moment to mention I wasn't the kind of club tramp you're looking for? So.. if they say anything.."

Ohhh, probably there's a janitor. Likely, it would be Graham's responsibility to clean up after himself - so, before they actually manage to leave - we can assume he gets stuck back down here with a mop and a bunch of bleach, 'cause that's how you run a tight ship: cleaning up your own blood is appropriately humbling, and doing it while your head is splitting with pain is just a bonus. That all happens later, but it's put in this pose so no one forgets about it when the time comes.

"Yeah, I know." About the boyfriend thing. "He's not really the kinda guy you want to correct, so just let it ride." And keep holding his hand, since he takes hers to get to his feet and doesn't let it go once he's standing, curling his fingers around her palm and giving it a small squeeze to pair to the small, "Thanks for - " His other hand gestures to his face.

Then pounds on the door. "We're fucking done in here." He announces importantly. So let them out, assholes, and give him the aforementioned cleaning supplies.

He knows? That makes Elise's brows climb up, but.. "Yeah." The 'whatever' is silent but should be understood. She hooks her fingers with his own, breathing out as she assesses his face with one last critical look. "At least, I guess, this probably isn't the first time you've broken your nose? And.. I don't know." Elise is trying to find a silver lining right now, and is failing hard. ".. The bump, you know, I'm sure it'll be.. you'll get all the club tramps," she mutters. She sucks at this.

Then he's pounding on the door, and it swings open. Seth's face was a hard line. "No you're fucking not," he replies, and shoves a mop at Graham. Elise gets the bucket. "Clean this shit up." And Seth slams the door again. Elise is left blinking, the water in the bucket sloshing around. Blame it on the meta, Elise, and get to mopping.

"We need to talk about this. Thing. With the club tramps." Obviously. Graham shakes his head at her when the door swings open, concluding, "But not right here." He is more annoyed than surprised at getting the mop-bucket shoved in here, leaving him shaking his head and pulling Elise by the hand over here, next to the door. "Just. Wait here." Briefly, he puts a hand on either of her shoulders, presses down on them, like he could stick her to this exact spot on the floor.

His conscience would never be able to recover if she wound up mopping up his blood on top of everything else. So just let him do this thing. It's clearly not the first time he's had to tidy up around here, and knows just how to slide-slosh the mop so everything goes down the handy-dandy drain in the middle of the room. Since it's his blood, he doesn't feel compelled to bleach it excessively, so there'd be a glow-party in here if anyone ever came along with the Luminol, but it looks clean, anyway. He doesn't go to church, so this is totally his penance for being a horrible person.

Elise's brows pop up at his 'we need to talk about this', a gesture inviting further conversation. But then they collapse into a furrow. "Sorry, I was just... trying to make a joke, I guess. This is so fucked up," she breathes out, clearly a little mixed up from the evening's activities. But she goes when he pushes her to the door and glues her into position. "This is so fucked up," she says it again, with emphasis this time, and tries not to burst into tears again as he takes on the responsibility of mopping up the room.

"I was just trying to have a good night you know," she blubbers. "I just wanted to come here and dance with you and .. and forget about all this shit, all this stupid fucking shit. And here we are! Cleaning your fucking blood up off the floor, I had to dig a goddamn bullet out of somebody." Okay, there was going to be a few tears. "I'm so sorry Graham."

"It is." So fucked up. But Graham keeps his eyes on the prize (where the prize is 'going home and maybe taking a bunch of Percocet and becoming unconscious'), ringing out the mop into the bucket and then sloshing it around the floor a few more times. He doesn't stop working, even when it becomes obvious that Elise is about to come unglued over there. If anything, it just makes him buckle down and work harder at this so-fucked-up chore of is.

"I know, and it's all right. I just need you to keep it together for about fifteen more minutes, baby, please. I promise, you can cry it out as soon as we get home, but. Not right here." It seems like he's had to say that a lot. Hopefully, Elise is starting to get the subtext: THIS IS NOT THE PLACE TO DEAL WITH THEIR PERSONAL SHIT.

"Bang on that door and say we're fucking done in here. It'll feel good."

Subtext? What's subtext?! "We're not going to deal with it when we get home, we're never going to deal with it. You don't want to talk about this shit at home, you won't talk about this shit here, I just want to talk about this and all you do is lie to me and ohmygod, we're never going to fucking deal with this," Elise hangs her head into her hands and lets out a low sob. Maybe Elise needs less subtext and more context? Either way, the door that's currently holding her up at the moment comes open and she falls back and right into the person who opened the door in the first place.

"Are you going to tell this dumb bitch to quit fucking crying?" This isn't Seth. It's Mac. He doesn't have a lot of class. But Mac's got a lot of pull with Felix - not as much as Seth does, but he's a cousin or something. He shoves Elise back at Graham. "If she cries in the fucking car, I'm shooting her in the fucking face. Let's go."

Graham has a big mouth. 🙁 "Yeah? Like the wad I shot on your mom's face last night? Tell her Big G says what's-up." So, okay, yes. He's a lot more willing to risk getting punched in the face again than do anything to try to explain things for Elise, though he does have the presence of mind to catch her when she gets basically thrown right into him. He's looking over the top of her head at Mac, with the dagger-eyes (as much as bruised, bloodshot eyes can be daggery).

But, quietly, he adds toward Elise's ear, "It's just fifteen minutes, baby." And he kisses the top of her head quickly - regrets it, because that makes his face hurt - and tucks an arm around her shoulders. She's going to get mushed against his bloody shirt, which probably isn't awesome, but he makes her walk close to him out the back and also, "I'll drive myself home. I'm not leaving my car here, and you're too fucking stupid to drive it, so." He still has keys in his pocket; he gets them out.

"Dude you're like fucking asking for me to take your girlfriend into the back room and show her what's up. Big G my fucking ass," Mac barks a laugh, and Elise looks up at Graham with huge glassy eyes. She's stiff as a board as he tucks her into him, her breathing shallow and quickened. Mac meets Graham's dagger-eyes with a Cheshire grin, and rolls his shoulders. "It's okay babe. You hit me up when you want a real man, yeah? You can call me Mac Daddy," he lewdly rolls his hips at Elise and she somehow stifles the disgust that tries to ripple through her. Fifteen minutes, it was just fifteen minutes. She can do this.

At least Mac doesn't seem willing to force the issue. He just throws up his hands and shoves Graham in the back on his way to the door. "Don't pull any shit, Graham," he warns. As for Elise? "I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart. Be ready around noon? Gotta make sure Lorenzo'll pull through. It's about time we had a fucking nurse on call."

Graham absolutely fucked this guy's daughter. Or his mom. Or maybe both. That's the reason he's able to smile into his face without quipping back again. Unfortunately, he can't share that right now, but he will the next time they run into each other, when Elise isn't right there in the middle of it. He just ends this run-in with Mac by stumbling out the back door, throwing his middle finger up behind his head from the arm not stationed around Elise's shoulders. Which, come to think of it, means she gets dragged along for that stumble.

"That guy's a dick," is all he has to say about that encounter, unlocking the passenger side of his car for Elise. He is not going to shut her hair in the door today. But he opens it for her, promising, "It's almost over." Where it=this terrible night, not... like... everything else.

As a matter of fact, Elise does get dragged along for that stumble. It's a good thing she wasn't wearing heels - oh wait, she was, and there's a CRACK as the heel snaps. But this is okay, too, everything is fine, and she limps along to his car with her heel hanging behind her and clattering along. It was symbolism, the way that heel just sort of hung on by a very thin thread much like the owner of the shoe, who was thisclose to hyperventilating. But hey, at least she gets into the car without crying again.

And then he has to go and say 'it's almost over' and it=this terrible night but Elise can't help but see Mac shadowing the doorway with his fingers spread and his tongue between them. She immediately drops her face into her hands and stifles the wail building in her throat. Maybe he should catch her hair in the car door again. Getting beheaded would be an easy way out right now. "Please hurry," she muffles behind her hands.

When the door is closed and the sound is therefore muffled, once he's around to the driver's side door and has his fingers around the handle, Graham shares with Mac, "I fucked your daughter without a condom." It's a good thing that driving roll succeeded, because his player typed that out before he knew how that was gonna turn out, and it could've made this bad situation worse. 😃

But he is a good driver! Despite having a broken nose, the world's most amazing headache, and so much guilt in his veins right now that he can taste it like the blood in the back of his throat, he punches that big, heavy car. The club's on Maple, they live over on Oak, it's all of one left turn, but it's like he can't get them there fast enough. Someone is going to post on that stupid Friendzone shit about people DRIVING LOUDLY in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, but he takes his chances and gets them home in, like, two and a half minutes. It's not even time for a whole song on the radio. The song was something completely out-of-sync with the scene anyway, like American Pie or something.

Graham was such a goddamn good driver that Mac isn't even able to get his gun out of his pocket in time. And he's so anxious to shoot at Graham's car that Mac pulls the trigger prematurely, and now someone's going to have to explain to Felix why Mac blew off his left nut in the parking lot. But, well, at least they don't call Elise back for all of this? So there's our silver lining.

So bye, bye Miss American pie, drove my chevy to the~

Elise manages not to cry, though she does treat the radio abusively when she pushes literally all of the buttons to turn off that horrible song. By the time they get back to the house, she's almost completely normal. If normal was shell-shocked and glassy-eyed with her freckled nose pressed against the glass, staring up at the house. Everything was fiiinneeee.

Graham kills the engine and pushes the thingie that closes the garage door. The opener light stays on for a minute after that, and the car has a couple of dash lights that keep them from being plunged into darkness, but he doesn't get out of the car straightaway. The keys stay in the ignition, and he settles back into the seat, head against the rest, looking over at Elise looking out the window. Finally, quietly, "This is what it'd be like all the time, El. If there was an us, this is what it'd be." One of them shell-shocked, one of them with the broken face.

And some guy that just shot off his own nut because Graham can't keep his mouth shut.

Elise closes her eyes as the garage door closes behind them, taking in a long and deep breath. The exhale fogs up the window. She should get out of this car, go upstairs and take a hot bath, but she doesn't even reach for the handle. If it was possible for her to get any more tense in the moment, his words would do that to her; certainly, her shoulders tighten, the pulse in her neck was probably even visible. "Oh," she responds. "So.. you're saving me then. We're not together so this stuff doesn't happen?" There's an edge to her voice, a quiet bitterness, and she jerks away from the door and twists to stare at him.

"Well I don't know if you realize this, but we're not a fucking us and this is already what it's like. And it's not going to stop, Felix told me that much," she's gone from sad to angry, maybe she needs some pills to calm down her mood swings >.> "This is my fucking life now. So you can take shove your white knight shit up your ass. If you don't want to be with me, Graham, own it. Don't make it seem like you're doing me a goddamn favor."

"Quit it." Low-energy Graham has had a bad night, and is not feeling up to getting all riled up again after everything else that's happened. "I love you, Elly, and I will love you till I'm in my grave. But you don't know what you're doing, and coming down to the club? 'Cause you wanted to dance?" He points at his face, with the bandages and the purple bruise flaring out from his nose, darkening his eye-sockets, reddening his cheeks.

"Is gonna get one or both of us put in those graves a lot sooner than we have to. So if you don't want me to save you? Fine. Make your own decisions. But you need to at least be smart about them. For my sake if not your own." Dialogue dialogue dialogue. He looks tired while he says all that.

"No. No. Fuck you, I didn't do that to your face," Elise bites down on her bottom lip, flinching as he points out all the bruising and the redness. At least it takes the heat out of her tone. "And I came to the club because I wanted to dance. With you. I don't.." she closes her eyes for a moment, to process what she is going to say next, and she releases a low sigh. "I'm... I'm in this, Graham. I don't want to be, but I am, and.."

She shifts on the seat, drawing her legs up so that it's easier to reach out to him. The stupid console in the middle is preventing this from being the kind of moment she wants it to be, but she can at least reach for his hand and curls her fingers around his own. "And it doesn't fucking matter. Because you're my best friend, and I love you, and you're my family. So they're gonna hurt you to get to me whether we're.. we're something else, or we're not. Because it doesn't change anything."

Don't call the console stupid. Graham loves his car and will - well, not punch her right in the face for even thinking that, but probably get all pissy about it, and that would just start the whole process of being able to converse over again. He leaves one hand resting on top of the steering wheel, hanging on by the curl of his fingers and letting gravity keep it in place, and tightens the other one around Elise's hand, squeezing harder than he should. Not bone-breaking hard, but it's a firm squash her fingers get.

Because - "You could go to the cops. Tell your parents to blow town for a minute. Tell the cops what you know. What happened with Collins, what happened tonight with Lorenzo, that's enough to at least get them willing to look at Felix again. They'll put you in protective custody and..." The rest of that story writes itself: she can go off and get a whole new identity somewhere!

Elise drops her focus down to their hands, gnawing on her bottom lip from the squeeze. It's returned though, with all of the strength and all of the intensity, a few fat tears dribbling down her cheeks. ".. And nothing will happen to Felix. And he'll kill you, and I won't have a best friend anymore, and he'll end up finding me and.." yes, the rest of this story does in fact write itself. She tightens her grip around his fingers, and shakes her head.

"I have spent the past nine years biting my tongue. Changing my plans when you come to town, having you go.. run off to go fuck something or do whoever," she pulls in a shaky breath and lets it out slow. "They brought you in tonight and they wouldn't let me near you. I was pretty sure you were dead, G, I was so afraid that you were dead, G.." She lifts her watery gaze to look up at him, right in the eyes. "But maybe you'll die next week. Maybe Lorenzo won't make it through the night and they'll come and put a bullet in my head. Maybe.." There was a lot of maybes. All of them were grim. "But maybe there's something here that'll make it worth it."

There are some harsh realities that Graham has already accepted. It's the reason he can say stupid shit to people he knows carry around guns and aren't afraid to use them. Or try to get around a six-and-a-half-foot tall wall of muscle that he knows damn well is going to fuck him up with one punch. The grimmest of those realities is: "Felix is gonna kill me one day no matter what, baby." And if they're going to have this conversation? That's a fact Elise better square with, which is why he puts it out there so frankly right now.

"But I'm sorry you had to go through that. I didn't know what they were making you do, and I lost my fucking cool, and I put Andre in a position I shouldn't have." Which is WHY Felix is going to kill him one day. And he looks back at her watery eyes with his red-rimmed ones, wears a tortured frown, and says apologetically, "And I can't kiss you right now, 'cause my whole fucking face hurts so bad, I kinda wish that whole 'killed me' thing had actually happened. But I do want to." Kiss her. Not die.

It was the grimmest of realities, but what it doesn't do is paint her features with any sort of surprise. Whether she likes it or not? She's coming to grips with this new future of hers, and the end of the story that's already written. "Well you're not dead yet," she whispers, gripping his hand with her own. And she wants to kiss him, too, but that whole face thing was kind of a turn-off. So she does the next best thing - she climbs over the stupid console and dumps herself in his lap, inadvertently honking the horn with her elbow as she tries to cram herself between him and the wheel. The look on her face suggests she realizes that this probably wasn't the best laid plan, but oh well. She's here now.

The kiss that she lays on his forehead, towards the top of his hairline, is sweet and sincere. "I'm sorry," she whispers, lays another kiss to his temple, and then crests her lips over the curve of his ear. She's being as gentle as she can be, so incredibly desperate to kiss him without hurting him. So she's going to do that for a little bit, because fuck all this dialogue. Even if she still has a whole lot more to say.

In a closed garage, that horn sounds super-loud, and Graham ducks into himself, shoulders hunched up toward his ears to try to minimize the amount of noise that gets through them and into his already hurting brains. "Like butter," he whispers afterward, because of course he does, and half-grins at her. Only halfway, because the other half hurts too much for him to really commit to the look entirely. The thing he does that's helpful - if awkward, since he doesn't do it till she's already on his lap - is reaches down and pulls the seat-movey-lever, straightening his legs so the seat jerks backward. "Ta dah."

He says back, softly, "Me, too," of being sorry. His head tips aside, the better to have his ear kissed, and his hands pull at her lightly, one at the small of her back, fitting closer, the other gripping the bun she was forced to assume instead of the stylish curls. A little choked (also still pretty nasally), "Are we really doing this, El?"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," those are quiet words, and quiet laughter attaches to them, as the horn blares and echoes in the tiny chamber that is the garage. There's a bit of heat forming on her cheeks from that half-grin he gives, which she hides in the turn of her head to kiss him. At least she doesn't inadvertently knock her face into his face when he slides the seat back and makes her jerk forward into him, chest-to-chest. "You couldn't have done that before I climbed over here?" she murmurs, but she's not very critical. After all, there is an ear that needs to be kissed, so she gets on that.

She sinks easily into him as he pulls at her, trying to minimize disruption with the wiggle of her body so that she could best fit. Her lips lower, to the side of his jaw, and she takes in a breath through her nose as his hand tightens in her bun, breath skipping down the line of his neck before her lips move down as well. Soft kisses, tender ones, almost delicate. It should be answer enough, those kisses. At least, it was her answer. "I want to," and it occurs to her, in that moment, that she was still unclear about what he wants. Which is probably why she leans back, to lift dark eyes to his own. "I just.. I need to know that you want it, too. Don't bullshit me, G, please."

"You couldn't have communicated your intentions ahead of time?" Graham would sniff - he tries to, even, and immediately regrets that plan, wincing at the headache that it flares into existence when he does something so normal with his nose. It makes his eyes narrow, his brows draw, and he tries to exhale through it. Also through his nose. Which was an equally ill-conceived plan, so he starts the wincing over and eventually hisses the breath out through his teeth instead. There, Graham is now officially a mouth-breather.

With all that accomplished, his hand slides down the back of her neck, coming to rest with his fingers curled around it loosely, looking back at her with as serious a look as he can manage under the circumstances. His eyes are shot with red, and his face is not looking so good, but he tries to put the emotion in there. "I do, I always have, I just - " Fuck it, he pulls with that hand on the back of her neck, intending to kiss her enough to prove that he wants it.

But that was a stupid fucking idea, and he winds up going, "Owwwww," against her mouth instead. "This fucking sucks."

Elise was totally about to have a fight with him while trying to get all up on him, but he tries to sniff and Elise actually does have compassion in spite of what her dice claim. Her lips bow into a frown, and she lifts her hand to brush her fingers through his hair. "You shouldn't do that, and we really should be going to the emergency room.." Instead of, you know, her with her ass on his lap and blocking him from steering the car even if that's what he wanted to do. But his hand was on her neck and it makes her release a shaky breath, her fingers tightening in his hair. There might not be a whole lot of emotion translating from his blood-shot eyes but hers were full to the brim.

His words catch her off-guard, not because she didn't literally just beg him for some kind of response .. but because that wasn't exactly what she was expecting. "You always have?" There's so much uncertainty in that voice, but the end part of the question is muffled by the sudden press of his mouth against her own. She was about to kiss him back with everything that's been building over the past couple of days, weeks even, but then he open-mouth whines against her.

"You big baby," she mumbles, it's not angry, it's heartfelt. And she very gently kisses his bottom lip, and sits up again with a wrinkled nose. "We could try again. In a couple of days? But I.." She bites at the corner of her bottom lip. "Would you sleep with me tonight?" She should clarify. But she doesn't.

"Yeah, I don't exactly have health insurance?" So Graham is not about to roll up to the E.R. and spend $17,000 to get some Tylenol for his broken nose, THANKS OBAMA. He shifts the lay of his hand after that, pushes some hair off her cheek for her, folding it behind the top of her ear, brushing his thumb across her perfectly functional lips in the follow-up gesture. Persistently, he tries one more kiss - a small one - but that's still basically a nope, seeing as the noise he makes is not the 'hurts so good' kinda noise, but the 'put me out of my fucking misery' kind.

As for sleeping with her... like, he totally would do that in every possible way, because the rest of him is still pretty functional. But the pain is pretty serious. So, "Yeah," he answers softly, stroking her cheek and inhaling just so he can let out a sigh. "Will you give me some pain-killers, though?"

No wonder Felix needs a nurse on staff. The quiet admission of Graham's lack of health insurance makes her unreasonably angry, and she furrows her brow. "I'm going to fucking talk to Felix, the least he can do.." she starts, and then he's got his hand on her cheek, his thumb against her lips, and she breathes out, softening. "Oh, baby," she murmurs, puckering her lips against his thumb, and then leaning forward so that she can put her lips to his own, because really she's spent the past nine years wondering what it would be like to kiss him and she wants to more than anything. Fucking fate though.

She drops her head, kissing him on the chin instead. "Mm. My bed though, your room smells like something died in it," she murmurs, it's cute. He's probably going to be disappointed when he finds out she means sleep-sleep. She leans her cheek into his hand and sighs, closing her eyes for just a moment, until his question about the painkillers remind her that he's probably hurting. Like. A lot. "Yeah. Let's .. I think I have some of the good stuff left from the whole.. you know. Brick thing," You know, the thing that got them here? She shifts to pop open his car door. "Uh.. I should probably get.. you're going to need to help me so I don't hurt you."

Parts of Graham are absolutely going to be disappointed when they find out that she means sleep-sleep. The parts that are way too sore for anything else - like all his face parts and his brain parts - are going to be relieved; those parts need rest, not sex. "If you pop me in the face right now," he begins warningly, dragging his fingers down the line of her arm so he can grab her hand, a firm-point she can hold on to in an effort not to pop him in the face. It sounded like there was about to be a threat of violence, but let's be real: "I'll sob like a goddamn child."

There's a brief tug on the hand he's holding, though, so she doesn't really have the chance to immediately depart. "Just so you know. Just so we're perfectly clear here. No bullshit." Since this seems to have been a problem recently. "I'm almost definitely going to try to have sex with you when I'm on the really good drugs. You are going to have to be the grown-up here."

It's going to be hard. But.. well. Not as hard as Graham's gonna be.