2020-04-03 - Kidnapping Gone Awry

(TXT to Cristobal) Sparrow : You got some time, gorgeous?

(TXT to Sparrow) Cristobal : I do. Where to?

(TXT to Cristobal) Sparrow : Just put on some pants. I'll be over to getcha in a few. <3

(TXT to Sparrow) Cristobal : I happen to have pants I can wear. See you in a few.

True to her word, Sparrow takes only a few minutes to head over from Oak to Elm. She doesn't get out of the car, the red Kia with all its kitschy bumper stickers idling in the drive until Cristobal comes down to join her. She's wearing her new favorite hoodie with all its eyes half-way up the sleeves, though it's left unzipped today, the seatbelt cutting across a bright yellow tee shirt with the words KEEP DOING WHAT YOU LOVE printed on the chest in black caps. It's paired with a short black skater skirt which looks a little longer while sitting down, stretching nearly to her knees. She's got the music turned down, but whatever's playing is upbeat, as fit for dancing as random abductions, and she bobs her head along while she waits.

Cristobal comes clomping down the stairs and rounding the garage wearing, as promised, a pair of pants. Jeans to be exact and a light grey t-shirt. If he needed to wear something fancier, she should've warned him that his cowboy boots weren't going to cut it. He walks around to the driver's side door and raps on the window with a knuckle and waits for her to roll it down.

Sparrow watches Cris come around to the wrong side and is already pointing to the empty passenger seat with an amused smirk when he taps on the glass. Still, she clicks the button that draws the window down, one brow still curiously quirked as she points out, "I'm driving," as if that might've been in question.

When she rolls down the window, Cristobal is bending and twisting to stick his head through the opening and kiss her forehead. "Hi." He crouches down then, resting his forearms on the window jamb. "So where are we going, Little Bird, or is this a kidnapping?"

Sparrow tilts toward the affection, dark lashes dipping low and staying that way as she eyes Cristobal's descent. "It's a kidnapping," she confirms. "And it'd be easier if you'd. Ya know." She hitches her thumb toward the passenger seat again, her head canting as she watches him. "Though. The Philomena Jones Personal Abduction Service is an at-your-convenience kinda thing, so if you don't actually have the time or inclination for adventure..." One shoulder lifts in a nonchalant shrug that doesn't quite match the premature disappointment ready to manifest in her expression.

"I got the time." Cris says simply, then reaches up to tug on a lock of her hair. He shoots her a quick wink and then he's standing to round the car, popping open the door and flopping into the passenger seat and pulling over his seat belt to click it into place. "Let's roll, babydoll."

Sparrow's smile returns in full, not at the confirmation of availability, but when his fingers catch her hair, like he'd tugged the cord to light up her face again. As soon as he's all buckled in, she's backing out onto the street and heading off with purpose, like she knows where they're going, even if she's not saying a peep about that. "You're looking good," sounds like more than just a compliment, adding in an observation about his physical wellness. "I've missed you."

"After nearly a week of swearing I was dying from the common cold, I'm surprised I don't look like death." Cristobal slants back to her, amused, as his hand goes to rest on her thigh. "Unfortunately missing each other is what we signed up for. You know that, right? I'm sorry if I'm making a mess of all this poly stuff, but I've never done it before. Work in progress, yeah?"

"Wait what?" comes as pretty much one word, damned near a single syllable from Sparrow, her face all scrunched as she casts a look aside at Cris. While still navigating the familiar streets of town, it's difficult to figure out quite where they're heading yet, but out might be a good guess. Away from Gray Harbor. "I'mma start this over, alright?" Flashing a smile, she says, "Hey. You are looking damned good for being nearly dead for several days, and I am fucking delighted to see you. Not because I feel like you've been neglecting me, but because I just really like seeing you." She reaches a hand over to brush the backs of her knuckles along his arm. "Just cuz I missed you doesn't mean I felt like I was missing out, okay?" With a faint furrow of her brows, she asks, "Everything alright?"

"Look, Philomena." Great, they haven't even hit city limits and Cristobal has his serious face on. Much less the fact he used her actual name for once. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm usually the last to admit that, but. So I got nervous I was doing wrong by you. And then I sat around stewing about it all the time I was sick. That I'm not giving you everything you deserve."

Sparrow reaches up to press the knob that kills the stereo, even if the music had been at a pleasantly unobtrusive volume. Bassnectar just isn't the best accompaniment for this conversation and where it's heading. It leaves the car pretty damned quiet for several seconds after his words while she keeps her focus forward, her brow furrowed. "Alright," comes eventually, quiet and left by its lonesome for a little while. Then there's a, "Well," which serves as another placeholder, evidence that she's working through it before just blurting out whatever comes to mind first. "First? I appreciate that. What you're saying. The worry and all. But second?" She flicks a look aside at Cris. "I get to say what's enough for me. And what's not enough. And, frankly? I wouldn't bother if this weren't enough, if you weren't worth my time and attention. Alright? Best way to know is to ask. Or just trust that I'm not wasting my time. Cuz I really, really don't have time to waste on anything that's not making my life better. Promise." With another look his way, brow all scrunched, she asks, "Are you getting what you want from this?"

"Fuck yeah." The response comes quickly, almost knee-jerk. But then Cris dials it back and puts more thought into his answer. "It's just, the other night, at your house. We had a moment. Or what I thought was a moment, and it just hit a couple panic buttons, I guess is what I'm saying. Marriage, kids. I've done all that. I've lived an entire life already and you're just starting out. I just want to make sure..." The words die off as he chews on it, makes a sucking sound through his teeth. "That yeah, it's enough. So, say the word, and I'll shut up and we can get back to this merry endeavor. Just warning you if we cross state line, it becomes a Federal felony."

Some of the words coming out of Cristobal's mouth are enough to hit some of Sparrow's panic buttons. Buttons she might not have even known were there! He might even catch her mouth open and close a couple of times on the wake of marriage, kids or somewhere around just starting out. Of course, the way the car has slowed down might be an even more obvious sign of her suddenly divided focus, the way her wide eyes might not be wholly focused on the road anymore. "Yeah, no," is just as reflexive an answer for his words. "Nobody's gonna believe I forced you into the car. I'm good." Also? she seems to be heading generally west rather than in any direction which might actually hit state lines just yet.

"And no. No. It--fuck." Her hands tighten on the wheel as she draws a deep breath. Softer, "It was definitely not that kinda moment. Not a is this forever kinda moment. Maybe it was an--" She makes a quiet sound, akin to a grunt. "I dunno. An is it safe to tell you how much I care about you because I'm so fucking sick of everyone thinking that love means all this other bullshit like. Well. Like fucking **that**. Kids. Marriage. And a million other idiotic expectations and. Fuck. I'm not--" She flicks on her turn signal and starts to pull over onto the side of the road as she mutters, "I'm not done yet." She just needs to not have to pay attention to the road right now.

There's that twitch in Cristobal's jaw, the one that means he's grinding his teeth, setting them together on edge and worrying away the enamel between them as he clenches his jaw. He's about to say something when there is a pause, but when she says she's not done yet, his hands just come up in capitulation, a silent vow to let her say her peace before he butts back in though there's definitely something churning like turbulent waves in the ocean of his blue eyes.

Even after the car's safely in park, it takes Sparrow several seconds to make good on that threat. Her hands wring at the steering wheel for a bit before just dropping to her lap. Turning a look toward Cris, she tells him, "I like this. I want this. You. Us. But I am so not thinking far enough in the future to think marriage and kids, and. If I was?" Man, that's a deep furrow to her forehead, eyebrows so scrunched that they're nearly touching. She can't say it. Instead, she starts, "And that night? I was feeling a whole lot of things, only some of 'em about you. And only some of 'em nice." Awkwardly, she adds, "All the nice ones were about you. Fuck." Hefting a sigh, she just... "Yeah. I'm done. I guess." This day has not gone how she planned.

Cris just sits stalk still for a moment, gaze directed at the gear shift but looking at nothing. His face is still drawn in that expression, tight and taut and hard lines of thought before it finally breaks with a push of his eyebrows together and he turns his face back to hers. A hand lifts, knuckles reaching out to touch her cheek feather light, brushing downward in a slight arc towards her chin. "Okay." Yup, that's all he has to say after her all those words she mashed together, just 'okay'. A single word of acknowledgment, agreement, and finality all rolled into one.

Not okay. Definitely not okay. There is nothing okay at all about the way Sparrow's face doesn't seem to know how to smooth back out to normal, even with the help of that touch to her cheek. She stares at him in silence like she's waiting for more. Not that she waits all that long before breaking off that observation to take her turn staring at the gear shift. "This doesn't feel okay. It feels angry. Fuck if I know why I'm angry." She lifts her attention, considering a car passing by, watching as it disappears into the distance. "I'm scared."

Cris touches the corner of his eye, just a quick rub of frustration. "Turn the car off, Paji." And in case she didn't hear that over her anger and her fear, he repeats it. "Turn the car off, take off your seat belt, and climb over here." He's doing the same when it comes to his safety restraint, clicking the button so the webbed belt slithers retracts back away on its reel.

Sparrow doesn't move at first. Not because she didn't hear him, but because instructions only feed the anger, whether she likes it or not. But she watches his seatbelt withdraw and, with a quiet huff, reaches for the keys to turn the car off. She shoves them in her pocket on her way to undoing her seatbelt, and then it's an awkward clamber over into his lap, leaving her knees bent above the cupholders, booted feet against the abandoned driver's seat. Though she leans in against him, she keeps her hands to herself, her eyes down, her mouth closed.

Cristobal's arms come up to encase her in his embrace, one arm draped across her lap and the other wound around her back until his fingers touch on her hip, loosely woven over each other. "You're allowed to be angry. Angry I can understand. But I want you to tell me why you're scared, and we're going to sit here until that feeling at least starts to fade. Even if we get picked up for vagrancy. I ate a good meal, have an empty bladder, and have done a stake out or two. We can sit here all night, if that's what it takes."

Sparrow tips her head sideways onto his shoulder, silent except for the barest hint of laughter at the 'empty bladder' detail. That's way funnier than that tiny sound implies. None of that amusement is in her voice, though, when she tells him, "I'm afraid you've got all these ideas about what a relationship should be that I'm just not gonna be able to provide. I'm afraid that the deeper we go, the weirder you're gonna get. Cuz, seriously, that was fucking weird. Out of nowhere weird." From her twenty-one year-old perspective where those thoughts are still a college degree away. "I was already afraid to tell you how I feel cuz of somebody else's bullshit that's got me gunshy, but now? Just." She huffs out a breath that hits his neck, but her hand comes up to his chest, to curl against his ribs. "I don't know what to do here. I don't know what you want. I am definitely afraid that you think in terms significantly different from me and--" With a shake of her head against his shoulder, she redirects, "I'm afraid I shoulda just kept my mouth shut and kept driving and just let things be okay."

Cris' hand lifts from her hip to smooth down her hair, "Hey, hey, hey..." It's one of those things you quickly say when trying to calm someone. "I freaked out, I admit that. Old Cristobal would have just ghosted you, but I wanted to..." His mouth tenses, "I thought we should talk about it instead. Because you mean something to me too, Sparrow. I care for you, you see? And I wanted to make sure we are on the same page, so I don't hurt you. Because that is the last thing I'd ever want to do. So if you tell me we're good, and that you being gushy isn't you wanting something I'll never be able to give you, then I believe you. I trust you. But you don't ever just keep your mouth shut and keep on driving, you understand me? We need to be weird together, or whatever this is, isn't going to last, yeah?"

Sparrow lifts her head to look Cris in the eyes right around when he says something about her wanting things he'll never give her. It's not a particularly soft look, though that changes as she hears him out, at that insistence that she doesn't act on the impulse to ignore all this nonsense. "Yeah." Her hand drags from his ribs over to where that sacred heart tattoo hides beneath his shirt, holding there for the moment. "Pretty sure my take-away from all of this is that I don't even need to say the stupid word for it to fuck shit up." Which probably isn't the right lesson here. "But hey. While we're taking our baggage out on this superfun playdate? Why the fuck did you volunteer to just go traipsing over into the Veil like that?"

Cristobal can only take 'the word' to mean one thing, and it only brings a note of sorrow to his features. But the subject changes, and something about her tone makes him expect a solid punch right in that flaming heart tattoo of his, but his muscles don't so much as even tense. "Because I need to understand it, Sparrow. Somehow...I think it's the only link I'll ever have to my daughter again. I think...Dias de los Muertos is possible because of the Veil. I think there is truth to religion, and this could be the link."

Sparrow's got a whole lot to say about that. It's easy to catch in her eyes, in the way her jaw works, in how she studies him. In all the silence that precedes the, "Alright," that comes out instead. The hand on his chest falls back to her lap, and she turns a look out the windshield. And just keeps on staring that way in silence.

And fingers try to nudge Sparrow's face right back again, "You're driving away right now." Cristobal quietly reminds her. "I understand this might be difficult. After what happened to your friend. But I know if I ever end up scared and alone in the dark, I have you to paint it bright again."

Sparrow pulls away from those fingers, not ready for the nudging, even with the well-placed reminder that comes with it. Instead, she leans back, against the arm slung behind her, against the car door, head tipped against the window. "Clean-up crew," comes with a shallow nod and a thin press of her lips. Her tongue slips out, wetting dry lips as her expression softens, as she shakes her head. "It's fine. It's petty. What I'm feeling is petty and dumb, and I don't like it." Her hands come up to cup over her face, hiding it entirely, a heavy breath still heard despite the muffling. "I think I should maybe just take you home."

The tenseness in his frame is a protest waiting to manifest. Maybe he wants to argue against the term petty or the notion that she should just turn the car around and take him home. "Paji, I think you're better at running away from your feelings than I am, and that's saying something. But you forget I was married for a long time. I know that 'it's fine' never means it's actually fine." But something in Cristobal relents, and he gives her thigh a pat. "Alright. Take me home."

"That's only a little misogynistic," Sparrow quips dryly in regards to his read of her word choice. When he pats her thigh, she straightens and scoots back over into her seat. Maybe under different circumstances, the way her skirt rises up might inspire some alternative plans, pale thighs on uneven display by the time she's facing fully forward again, but she doesn't look particularly receptive to ... well, much of anything at the moment. Not even her own proposed course of action given that her hand doesn't go for her pocket just yet. She's too busy playing this out in her head, watching how it ends, seeing all the dominos fall. Running through alternatives. When she moves again, it's to look back to Cris and murmur, "Tell me what you want. All of it. No bullshit about what you think I want you to want or. What you think you're supposed to want. Your words." Nevermind the thread of anger she can't keep out of her tone.

Cristobal puts a steadying hand on her back as she climbs back over, even if she doesn't need his help, it's there. "I want to stop feeling like such an ass, for one." Cristobal tries to smile, but it fails and ends up more of a self-deprecating sneer. "Back when I was younger, you'd date around, but when you started having feelings for someone, you ended it with everyone else. I'm trying to re-wire my brain here, Sparrow, to accept that there can be something else. Some other way of doing things. That it's possible to care for more than one person, and there shouldn't be any shame in it. I'm on a steep learning curve here. So will you cut me some slack?"

Sparrow looks away at those first few words, staring at the dash. "You are so not the ass here, Cris." With a roll of her eyes, she concedes, "I mean. Yeah, okay. You got weird, but." Fingers curl into fists, squeezed tight for a couple of seconds before her fingers splay with a deep exhale. Brown eyes turn toward him again. "I know you wanted me over there, but holy fuck do I wanna have way more space than I've got right now, so. Compromise, right?" A preface, of sorts. Awkward and awfully honest. "I am feeling way way way too much right now, and. I hate it. I hate that you can see it. I hate that there's nowhere for me to go. I hate that I freaked out and there is no way back toward normal rational conversation anymore. Cuz I'm here. And I can't find my way out."

Though she pauses, drawing a deep breath, it's definitely just a brief break in her thoughts. "So. Through. Right? That's what you want. I mean. That's not what you just said you want, but." A little while ago. Right? Maybe this will help with the rest. "I love you. Maybe. I dunno. You're where I want to go when I'm feeling like shit. You're who I want to go out with half the time. I feel better in your arms than most anywhere else. I trust you. For all that you talk down about yourself and think you don't have shit together, you--" Her voice hitches as she shakes her head. "You're a better man than you think you are." She waves a hand, dismissing that line of thought. "And I don't want to be left out. Which isn't to say that I want in, cuz. I mean. I dunno if I do. I dunno. But I don't want to be the last person you talk to about important shit. I don't want to be sheltered or talked down to or. Left behind. Alright?"

When Sparrow goes all verbal, Cristobal can have this annoying tendency of boiling his response all down into very few words. He's reaching out again, not to pet her hair, but to give a strand a little tug. "Alright. I think I can work with that." He smiles now, genuine, even if he's not buying the line that he's a better man than he thinks he is. "So's that mean if you take me home, that you're coming in?"

He tugs her hair and, this time, Sparrow smacks his ribs, a loose backhand that says 'quit it' without words. "No," sounds certain. Her hand shoves into her hoodie pocket to fish for her keys, and she gets the car started, only remembering to put her seatbelt back on afterward. There's a look to Cris to tell him he best buckle up, too, but she doesn't wait. She checks her mirrors, checks her blindspot, and pulls back out onto the road as she explains, "I'm kidnapping you. And you're gonna like it. And I'mma--" Too many seconds pass before she figures that portion out. "Prolly scream a bit. I dunno." Quieter, she tacks on, "I mostly want ice cream," but they're heading farther away from civilization at the moment. Ice cream seems unlikely.