[ He's still angry. She can't blame him. Anger has always been the third person in their relationship and neither of them can divorce themselves from that. But she's tired of it too, tired of feeling empty, tired of trying to drudge up her surety into something real. She'd thought she was doing the right thing but she'd forgotten that even that always takes its causalities.
So when he speaks she turns, pulls out another and gets the cap off, crosses over to him to hold it out. She still has the slightest limp but around him she feels as though it's all she can do to lock everything in place, keep it under control. ] Here.
[ Another sip of her own and then she's nodding to the door he's just come through. ] I'll leave you to it, yeah?
that's p much his mo i think 'be a total ass' 'wow ur a dick' '/calms down'
[ he is still angry, and he does still feel with valid reason, but he can't exactly say that he doesn't see why she did what she did. at least in theory. hypothetically. sort of. maybe. it's a tentative admission - not because of the tentativeness of his understanding, but because of the tentativeness of his ability to backpedal over what he has so fiercely defended. and not just because he defended it! but because he wanted to believe that it wasn't a mistake. he wanted to trust someone, like he wanted - wants - to trust her.
it... hurts, to acknowledge that to some degree he can't. even if what coulson was doing was for a good reason, even if it ultimately helped save lives, he still has to acknowledge that it was another deception, another bit of trickery and several dozen more lies. the ease with which the man apparently did it only adds to the issue.
but these are things he'll keep to himself for now, not only because of his own pride, but because things are delicate enough authority-and-politically-wise without his casting in whatever noun is appropriate here. the dice? the towel? whatever.
he feels like an ass as soon as he finishes speaking, but he knows better than to admit it. he still feels like a justified ass, because at least his doubts came after the proof, even though that might just make him naive. so he takes the beer from her, but his posture relents, softens a little as he faces her as well. ]
Or you could stay. [ he's not going to let it be a question. beforehand it might have been, and maybe later it will be again, but not right now. ]
Rest the leg.
good. just drink dumb beer with her. it's how romcoms work.
But he doesn't frame it like a question and she's glad for it. She doesn't want to be given options right now. Her head's already a mess of different things warring for attention. And maybe for once she doesn't really want to be all tightly controlled and in the know. Maybe for just a second she'd much prefer to stick her head in the sand - or bottle - and pretend.
So instead of walking away she nods and lets out a sigh, relieved like she can blame the leg and not ... longing, want, loneliness, whatever it is. ] Yeah, okay.
[ Bobbi and her beer find their way towards the communal couch and she doesn't really look at him when she sinks into it, her head rolling to rest on the back. Her hands cradle her beer and for a moment she stays like that until she pats the seat beside her. ] This just means I'm going to make you get the next beer in. Did kind of think about the secret whiskey stash though. You just to leave your jacket in more accessible places.
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wow take a chill pill lance.
So when he speaks she turns, pulls out another and gets the cap off, crosses over to him to hold it out. She still has the slightest limp but around him she feels as though it's all she can do to lock everything in place, keep it under control. ] Here.
[ Another sip of her own and then she's nodding to the door he's just come through. ] I'll leave you to it, yeah?
that's p much his mo i think 'be a total ass' 'wow ur a dick' '/calms down'
it... hurts, to acknowledge that to some degree he can't. even if what coulson was doing was for a good reason, even if it ultimately helped save lives, he still has to acknowledge that it was another deception, another bit of trickery and several dozen more lies. the ease with which the man apparently did it only adds to the issue.
but these are things he'll keep to himself for now, not only because of his own pride, but because things are delicate enough authority-and-politically-wise without his casting in whatever noun is appropriate here. the dice? the towel? whatever.
he feels like an ass as soon as he finishes speaking, but he knows better than to admit it. he still feels like a justified ass, because at least his doubts came after the proof, even though that might just make him naive. so he takes the beer from her, but his posture relents, softens a little as he faces her as well. ]
Or you could stay. [ he's not going to let it be a question. beforehand it might have been, and maybe later it will be again, but not right now. ]
Rest the leg.
good. just drink dumb beer with her. it's how romcoms work.
But he doesn't frame it like a question and she's glad for it. She doesn't want to be given options right now. Her head's already a mess of different things warring for attention. And maybe for once she doesn't really want to be all tightly controlled and in the know. Maybe for just a second she'd much prefer to stick her head in the sand - or bottle - and pretend.
So instead of walking away she nods and lets out a sigh, relieved like she can blame the leg and not ... longing, want, loneliness, whatever it is. ] Yeah, okay.
[ Bobbi and her beer find their way towards the communal couch and she doesn't really look at him when she sinks into it, her head rolling to rest on the back. Her hands cradle her beer and for a moment she stays like that until she pats the seat beside her. ] This just means I'm going to make you get the next beer in. Did kind of think about the secret whiskey stash though. You just to leave your jacket in more accessible places.