aheroliveshere | [for man_without

She nods, unable to speak through her tears, nods again more emphatically. Yes, she had no choice. And she's okay. She's okay. She's okay. It's the only thought that's gotten her through some really long nights since she pulled that trigger.

She clings to him, and maybe her knees give out, maybe he has to help her to a chair. She doesn't know. All she knows is he's here and he knows the truth now. He knows what kind of monster she is, knows what she's truly capable of.

And he hasn't left her yet. It's a small something, and she holds onto it with all her will.

He doesn't say another word. He holds onto her and carries her to the living room. Settling on a chair he keeps his hold on her strong and sure as she clings to him.

His palm begins a slow up and down over her back and all he wants to do now is be a presence for her. To let her know he's here, that he knows now, and he isn't going anywhere or letting anything else happen to her.

She's safe now. She's safe.

She weeps for a long time, the stress working itself out of her system in fits and starts. She remembered reading somewhere that the human body processes its traumas in the right place and at the right time, when you're safe and able to break down without fear.

That was here and now, apparently. She muttered a few quiet apologies under her breath, wiping her nose on her robe a few times. Eventually, she exhales one long, shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry, I know this isn't how you wanted to spend your Saturday."

He denied the need for an apology each time, giving soft reassurances while she cried herself out.

Carding his fingers through her hair he shakes his head.

"No, I'm right where I should be." He did want to be here, for her.

She wraps her arms around his neck and draws his head down to hers, resting her brow against his temple. She places a reverent kiss to his cheek. Her voice is still thick in her mouth, and she's still sniffling a little.

"Thank you. For just -- listening."

"I'm glad you told me."

As rough as it had been he's grateful she opened up to him in such a way. He had no idea, and now maybe he can help her. The weight of this must have been enormous, and he's glad that now she's not alone in this anymore.

Another thought strikes her and it's enough to make her throat threaten to close. Her stomach drops like an ice cold lead weight and she sucks in a shaky breath.

"Do you think -- you could ever fall in love with someone -- who had blood on their hands?"

Matt doesn't answer right away, because a question like that deserves due consideration. A quick answer could never be sincere.

He breathes a slow breath, pulling back from her enough that she can see his features. His expression remains calm, steady and caring as he reaches for one of her hands.

"You had no choice," he repeats, saying it again so that she'll know the truth of it. "You aren't evil, Karen. What you did you had to do, and it doesn't taint you. I know what you are, you are kind, and brave, and oftentimes selfless, and you're good. You're a good person, and I could easily fall in love with all the things you are."

She can't speak. She can't breathe. She can only nod, her hand rising to brush along his jaw.

She knows she's already in love with him. She's been in love with him for a long time. He probably knows that, too.

She gently urges him down for a kiss. A long, tender kiss of gratitude, of remorse. One that tries to say all the things she wants to say, but can't.

He returns the kiss, soft and gentle. Letting her know that he's here for her, and her confession isn't going to change anything or drive him away.

Reaching up with his free hand he uses the pad of his thumb to brush her cheek, smoothing away a spot that's still damp from her crying.

"It's going to be okay," he assures her.

It's a pretty lie, and one she wants to believe, desperately. She drops a kiss in his palm and takes a long, shuddering breath.

"I wanted to tell you. I just -- couldn't -- find the words. And you've been -- I dunno -- you have your own thing going on. I didn't know what you'd think. And a part of me kept thinking, maybe I dreamed the whole thing. It's so fucking surreal. But I can hear it in my head, over and over."

She swallows hard again, bites her lip. Stop talking, Karen, you're babbling again.

He can't hold in a frown, but it isn't because of her, it's guilt. His first reaction was to demand why she hadn't told him about what happened, but how much of his life hasn't he told her about?

After her confrontation with Wesley what would she think if she knew about how many close calls he's had? The Russians, the police, Nobu and Fisk. What would she think if he told her it wasn't a car accident at all that he'd been recovering from the day she came to his apartment with a monkey balloon and worry?

Or if she knew that at the time he'd been out to kill Fisk, not in self-defense, but out of righteous anger?

He has no right to demand anything from her, and no call to judge her, either.

Pushing aside the thoughts and reminding himself again that this isn't about him, he slides his arm around her to pull her close.

"It wasn't an easy thing to tell. I'm sorry that I didn't acknowledge that before. Whatever happens, I'm here for you now," he promises her.

She crumples against his chest, feeling like she's made of so much spun sugar. That a stiff breeze would shred her to pieces right now. She buries her face in his skin, chuckling at the idea that he'd put on that blood stained shirt again, like it was nothing. Like the rest of the world was blind, not just him. Her hand reaches out to brush over the bandaged wound, smoothing the frayed edge of the tape back down gently.

"I need you," she whispers into the notch of his throat, so quiet it's barely audible and yet, with such raw power, her true meaning is unmistakable.

He holds her like she's something delicate, and yet his arms are strong around her, solid and protective.

His head tilts as she fusses with the bandage on his shoulder and he answers her, "You have me."

She might have been alone before, but he's here for her now, whatever she needs. Leaning in, he kisses her to prove it.

She returns that kiss with a touch that's almost reverent. This little intimacy between them, this closeness, this is what she needs. There's something healing in it. In the taste of his mouth, the warmth of his body wrapped around her. She shifts, slips her arms around his neck, curls her hands around his head, and sinks into him. This is not the timid kiss on his door step, or the frantic, desperate kisses of the night before.

She dares to ask for more of what he seems willing to give her. His touch. His presence. His awareness. She takes him at his word, and drinks deep, her heart rate ticking up a few notches and her breath quickening just the same. He's leaving in a few hours, and her grip on him tightens at the thought of this space without him in it.

God, she's got it bad.

He sinks slowly back against the chair cushions, bringing her with him. His fingers card softly through her hair and his other hand gently urges her to his lap so that he can hold her fully against his chest.

He might have to leave her eventually, but he doesn't want her to think about that. He wants her to know that he's here for her now, and that he'll be there for her from now on.

She goes, willingly, her head pressing into those touches like a cat, making a soft sound somewhere between contentment and arousal in the back of her throat. Her hands find their home in his thick hair, and she takes her time, exploring the softness of his mouth, the way his breath hitches when she nibbles at his lower lip.

A quiet chuckle bubbles up in her chest and she murmurs against his lips. "Sorry, I seem to be -- making up for lost time."

Edited 2016-07-27 00:25 (UTC)

He draws back, just enough so that he can remove his glasses and set them aside, and then he returns to her; pressing his lips back to hers.

He quirks a smile, shaking his head while playing fingertips down along her spine. "I have no complaints about it."

Only maybe apologies for all the lost time.

She doesn't answer with words, only more small mouthfuls, more soft sighs. Perched on his chest like this, he makes her feel safe. Makes her feel like she can survive this. Makes her feel like it's worth surviving.

Her kiss descends to side of his neck, her lips marking a path along his collarbone, back to the hollow of his throat. Soft, wet kisses, intent on burning herself into his memory. She breathes him in, tastes him, savors him with every touch of her lips.

He wants to feel more of her, so he pushes open her robe and gently nudges it off her shoulders.

His head tilts back, giving her access to his neck, inviting her lips. His nose brushes against her crown and he breathes her in, marking her scent as something he'll remember. The sound of her breathing and heartbeat, and the echo of her smell will linger with him long after he leaves here.

He can feel the shiver of arousal shimmer through her body as the robe slips down. Her breath feathers against his lips and her pulse flutters beneath her skin. Everything about this is still new, still electric, still intoxicating. She shifts a little higher, catching his face in her palms, recapturing his mouth.

Whatever they spent the previous night doing, it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough to make up for every near miss of the last year, every almost touch, every moment that stretched a little too long before they parted. She needed to taste him again, needed to feel her desire mirrored in his own. She needed him, and he knew now. He knew everything.

He lets her pull him in, leaning in when she cups his face, kissing her harder when her lips demand it.

His hands slide along her skin, mapping every contour, committing every smooth detail to memory. He can't erase what happened, he can't go back and make up for wasted time. All he can do now is not let this time slip away, to hold onto her here and not let go.

His touch soothes and warms her, chasing away the clinging cobwebs of dread, making her feel alive again. It's like she's been made of stone and he's reminding her that she's a creature of flesh and blood.

Her breath hitches, and she pulls back just enough to whisper, "Can't get enough of touching you. Would it be greedy of me to ask to go back to bed?"

He has to leave soon, and she doesn't want to spend the remaining minutes counting down until he has to leave. She'd rather lose herself in him while she still has the chance. Hell, with their luck, it might be their only time left together.

He's not thinking about the time ahead when he has to leave. All of his focus is on her and the moment now, and he's all to eager to agree with her request.

"No. Let's go." Because he hasn't gotten enough of her, either.

Another kiss and then she has to move, gently extricating herself from his embrace, taking his hands and urging him to his feet. Yet another kiss, hands moving over his torso, his ribs, down to his hips, leading him by backing away slowly, drawing him along with her.

A slow dance, tinged with a heaviness and a hunger she can't quite figure out how to express. Her robe falls to the floor, forgotten, as they navigate the space between living room and bedroom. She never looks away from him, never breaks contact.

[for man_without_fear]

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