shewaswarned | (no subject)

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matt murdock

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It strikes Ellen all of a sudden, as she's sitting on the front steps of her hut - she hasn't truly allowed herself to dwell in the disappearance of yet another friend. She hadn't been as close to Ianto as others - she'd only just started to get to know his wife - but she'd started to consider him as something more than a casual acquaintance, and to find out he's one of the more recent to have vanished - it's leaving her somewhat at a loss.

The puppy she's adopted from the newest litter born on the island is doing more to lift her spirits than she originally realized. He's playful, sweet, and follows her just about everywhere she goes - which is probably a good thing, since he's not completely hut-trained yet and too little to be left alone. He'd been nameless for a couple of weeks before she decided to name him, and since Zeus is often affiliated with justice, it feels like an amusingly appropriate moniker. He's tired out from an afternoon of playing fetch on the beach and sits curled up at her feet, one paw lightly twitching as she runs her fingertips through his soft fur in a repetitive movement.

Her thoughts turn to Matt, after a moment, and the accompanying pang in her chest surprises her more than her thinking of him to begin with. She doesn't want to turn into one of those clingy women who absolutely needs to see the person she's slowly becoming more and more involved with every single day, but in the wake of recent disappearances, maybe he won't hold a visit against her. She leashes Zeus up - he might not need the leash to stay close to her, but it's getting late and she doesn't want to let him run too far in the dark - and takes the path up to his hut. She might not need an excuse for a visit, but she's still trying to come up with one anyway as she knocks on the door, listening for any sounds inside.

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The click click click of short nails scraping across the wood of the stairs leading up to my front door alert me to company, and I'm already on my feet by the time the knock that follows, abandoning my meditation. My own steps are quiet even to my ears, even the hem of my cotton pants brushing along the floor little more than a whisper. (Word on the street used to be I was a ninja. As is often the case, the rumors were exaggerated, but given my training, I can see why the assumption was born.)

I don't often entertain company, and of the few who do stop by at times, only one has recently acquired a puppy. And besides that, I'm familiar enough with Ellen's gait to know it's her. While I half-wish she'd left the dog at home, I can't help the smile that touches my lips all the same, nor the slight hitch in my breath as I go to open the door. What the future holds for us is a mystery, but one thing I do know for certain: the moments we've shared together so far have been the most enjoyable since I arrived in this place.

"Ellen," I greet, moving to rest against the side of the doorway. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She's more than a little relieved when her ears catch the sound of movement on the opposite side of the door, inside the hut. Her hearing may not be as fine-tuned as his - a fact she's come to learn somewhat more quickly, at least in recent days - but she can still make out footfalls against the wood floor, boards creaking with the movement until the door swings open and she's greeted with the sight of him standing there, and shirtless.

She's not the kind of woman who openly ogles, but he's creating the temptation through no fault of his own, and merely standing there in front of her with an expectant smile somehow manages to kindle that heat deep down inside. She's left clearing her throat and shifting her weight, caught off-guard before she's even truly begun.

"I'm sorry, I didn't - I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

At their feet, Zeus idles curiously, his cold nose nudging against Matt's bare feet with an accompanying snuffle as he investigates. It's plain to see that he shares a fondness for Matt that isn't necessarily reciprocated, but Ellen's not going to hold that against him. Some people just aren't dog people, but the puppy is proving to be even more of a companion than she'd anticipated - and one she feels like she needs more than ever in the wake of others leaving.

I can feel it, my smile growing static as the dog goes about his business. Its fascination with my feet aside, I decide to count myself lucky that he's remaining on all fours instead of jumping me, that distinct smell of puppy enough to make my nose wrinkle in distaste even at this distance.

Her question throws me for a moment until I understand her hesitation. Of course. Absently, I lift a hand to my abdomen, the pad of thumb coming up against a thin line of old scar tissue that reminds me of a man I'd rather forget. Fortunately, the present proves more enticing. I step back to invite her inside.

"What could you possibly be interrupting?"

The only reason Zeus isn't more energetic than he is is the simple fact of exercise, something she's learned over the course of the weeks she's owned him. If he gets a good run in, he tends to poop out much earlier - and he sleeps through the night now, which is beyond wonderful.

She wavers in the doorway, tentative, until he takes a step back to make room for her and she takes that space, moving forward and inside. Zeus continues to sniff, but he's more relaxed and at ease than in hyperactive puppy mode, Ellen notes, with mild appreciation.

"I wasn't sure if you'd been sleeping," she replies, her hand nudging against his. "You certainly look dressed for it."

"Close," I say on a laugh, shutting the door once she passes through. "Meditating. But don't worry, I'd hardly call this interrupting. It's dangerous to be in my head for too long."

The dog, on the other hand...

"Oh. Does that help?" she asks, after a beat of thought, giving Zeus a little bit of slack on his leash but still keeping it firm in her grasp.

"And I don't know. I don't think your head would be such a terrible place to be."

"I can think of nicer places," I reply, my tone more tellingly wry than I might be with someone else. An imperfection in the mask, though I don't linger on it for long.

"Can I get you anything? Water?"

She identifies with the sentiment - and probably more than even he realizes, her lips quirking into a slightly wry grin of her own.

"I'm alright, I just - "

Faced with the reality of what she's come here for, she falters, glancing down at the floor until she can think of a way to phrase it that doesn't sound so desperate.

"Ianto's gone," she replies, sighing softly. "Disappeared."

I didn't know the man personally, but I'm aware enough of my surroundings to understand he was something of an institution around these parts. From what I understand, it's rare that someone who's been here so long disappears (people like myself, like Ellen, are for more ripe for the picking), but not unheard of.

Loss is a peculiar thing. No matter one's breadth of experience, each time is its own challenge, its own beast. Even if I don't feel anything myself for Mr. Jones' absence, I feel for Ellen, her motives for being here not quite spelled out, but easy enough to guess. I reach into the air until I find her hand, slipping my fingers through hers in a gesture meant to comfort.

"I'm sorry."

"I mean, it was a while ago - days, but - I just - " She's already backtracking. Trying to justify her reasons in her mind. Coming to her own defense. It's a habit deep down and one not easily shaken, and being away from her lifelong dream of a profession doesn't mean she's going to give up the tendency to make an argument on her own behalf.

(That being said, she's doing a lousy job of summoning a valid reason - or one that doesn't sound completely pathetic in her head.)

Zeus, bored with the activity going on that is in no way related to him, lays down on the floor at their feet, resting his head on his paws. When Matt takes her hand, she lets her fingers slip through his, using the link to step in closer, her free hand sweeping a few pieces of hair away from his forehead. "You never get to say goodbye," she whispers. "Never."

There's no time limit on grief. (And I should know, though that first-hand knowledge probably makes me the last person to give counsel to anyone.) Even if there were, a handful of days wouldn't be the expiration date. Bowing my head to compensate for our difference in height, I brush my lips to her forehead, taking in the familiar scent of her hair.

"I'm not saying goodbye," I murmur, reading between the lines. "Not today."

Not today. The quiet assurance echoes in her mind, and her hand rises to gently cup his elbow, moving underneath, along the bone of his forearm. She closes her eyes, leaning into him, into that hidden strength, that warmth. She doesn't want to be selfish, and yet every reason why she shouldn't just doesn't sound good enough in the moment.

When she kisses him, it's with a slightly broken sound, something needy - a gasp, maybe a whimper. It's lost either way, cut off the second her lips collide with his, soft and pressing.

It's a promise out of my power to keep, but I don't care. Arms enveloping her, I hold her close, as though to protect her from the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Either of us could disappear at any moment, instilling an almost wartime mentality of needing to appreciate life as it happens, to not plan ahead in case each passing moment is our last.

We've shared kisses before, but I'd be a fool to not recognize this one as different; she came here for a reason, for comfort, and this, I can provide. I stand before her steady and present, deepening the kiss without a moment's thought, and letting her take what she needs.

Her hands come up to cup his face, thumbs moving in a sweeping arc across his skin while his arms sling low around her, cradling her close. That body heat is even more apparent within the new proximity; she can feel the temperature of her skin rise at the press of him, through the thin cotton of her sundress. Maybe she's become too complacent in her life here, too comfortable. She hasn't stopped to think that she could wake up tomorrow back in that hotel room, far removed from the island.

She breaks the kiss slowly, turning her head, but she doesn't pull free from his hold. "I didn't come here planning to be such a downer, I swear," she insists, smiling faintly.

My breaths are far from even when she pulls away, and I can feel my eyelashes press up against the lenses of my sunglasses as my eyes fall shut, a dry laugh working its way up from my throat. The occasion might be a downer, but I find her dizzying all the same; it's difficult to remember we have an audience.

"I could think of something to lift your spirits," I reply anyway, fingers ghosting the zipper of her dress.

She casts a cursory glance out around them, in search of the dog - who, conveniently enough, has found a comfortable place to curl up on, on a nearby rug, breathing deep while his eyes slowly drift closed. She's chuckling before Matt even gets around to the end of his sentence, feeling the brush of fingertips along the curve of her spine, and she reaches up to slowly pull his glasses away from his face.

"There is that option," she says, a soft brush of lips punctuating the final syllables.

"It comes highly recommended," I reply, and emboldened by her reaction, I tug at the zipper, the quiet, high-pitched hum of metal on metal greeting my ears. Without wasting time, my fingers seek out the smooth skin of her back, mapping the curve of her spine with deliberate precision, though I find myself momentarily distracted by the dog's whereabouts.

My next kiss landing off-center, I ask quietly, "We're not being watched?"

She laughs, breathless, slightly dizzy, shaking her head slowly before she adds the spoken version. "No. Honestly, he ran so long this afternoon I'm surprised he didn't collapse when we first got here." The same might not be said for when he needs to go out for his business later on, but she's at least gotten him hut-trained.

She can almost hear the whisper of the fabric as it parts over her back, a shiver rising at the sensation of cool air followed by the warmth of his hand, and she presses herself against him, arching into the hard lines of his body.

Regardless of her reassurances, I figure the dog will survive if we're in the other room. Eager as I am to get rid of the rest of this dress, I abandon the task in favor of taking a step back, towards the bedroom. (Or what I hope is the bedroom. I'm otherwise distracted at the moment, the press of her body against mine a memory too recent to shake.)

"Then he won't mind some alone time."

"He'll be fine," she insists, to assure herself as well as him that the dog can be left alone. Another quick glance proves that he hasn't stirred once since he laid down to sleep, and keeping her arms around his neck, she takes a step forward as he backs up, trying to preserve the nearness. The urge to touch him elsewhere rises and her hands descend to roam over his chest, ghosting along his sides.

"Still interested in meditating?" she asks, a grin teasing at the corners of her lips.

I shiver under her touch, sucking in a short, sharp breath, my head dipping forward in search of her mouth.

"Not even remotely."

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