Before the truce broke, it’d been easier; Mitzi was at the Labs and Fletcher on the streets. They were never forced to be around each other — save a few meetings here and there — different sides of the same coin, where Mitzi didn’t have to look at him. Now, there were gatherings at Death’s HQ, brawls at the river, PEST being shot up, deadly circumstances lurking at every corner so if they didn’t see each other, Fletcher found himself wondering about her well-being. Just as he had last month, when he’d texted her after their last Thames party. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling when he sees her; a mixture of nostalgia and desire, the knowledge that he’s undeserving, with a distinct lack of regret or guilt, because Fletcher Gray doesn’t deal in those, despite how many times others have cursed him, insisting he should. He can’t be around her and not toe closer, curious how far she’ll let him go, habit making it impossible to ignore her. She’d been his. They’d been each other’s. And Fletcher had never experienced that before, unable to let it slip through his fingers even when he’s the one who’d loosened his grip.
He doesn’t wear any of it, casually grinning as if they didn’t just escape a fiery, metal coffin, the only clues on his person the soot smeared across his jaw and the way it’s soiled his stark white shirt, globes of crimson adorning his side. It’s not his, so he hasn’t noticed it. “Ya think he gives a shit? He’s just lookin’ to empty his bowels and then fill ‘em again. After bein’ around those freaks, I’m sure we’re a delightful change.” Fletcher doesn’t know enough about dogs to cite if Cerberus misses his owner or even notices he’s no longer in his presence, though the animal seems content enough, sniffing along the pavement in search of the perfect spot and dragging Fletcher further from PEST’s doors.
As they walk, Fletcher’s mind retreats back to the night: the party, where he last saw her, all the way to the ride home, where he’d kept guard with Iniya until everyone arrived. “Iniya was worried ‘bout ya,” he discloses, making familiar conversation, because it’s not only a talent of his, but it’s Mitzi, and he never knows how he’s supposed to be around her, nor does he particularly care. If she wanted to be alone, she wouldn’t have accepted his offer. There’s a tingle that rushes through his arm closest to her, heat radiating off her body in this proximity, urging him to wrap his arm around her waist or slip his hand into her back pocket. He occupies it by patting himself down instead, hunting for something to pick up the dog shit with when Mitzi pulls him back to her with a question. “Can’t look after myself? ‘m alive, ain’t I? And I’ve been takin’ care of myself for as long as I can remember. With the amount of shit I shove in this body, you should be impressed,” he smirks, bouncing his brows at her, but she’s already off asking more before he can answer her previous one, causing a chuckle to tumble out of him, browns dropping back to Cerberus as he paws at a patch of dirt beneath a tree planted along the street.
“You askin’ me to come by yours?” His grin stretches further even though he knows that isn’t what she’s offering, his thoughts drifting momentarily to where the night could take them if he accepted. The reality should be obvious, except Fletcher has a way of making things tilt on their side, and he can still remember the sweetness of her lip gloss, the pull of muscles drawing her lips into a smile as he lines kisses along her jaw. “Can’t say no to an offer to see the new place, can I?” It’s his version of sure and the tingle returns when she complains about the cold, hugging herself. Logic tells him to keep himself in check and it’s ambition that drapes his arm over her shoulders, fingers pressing into her bicep as he gives it a teasing squeeze. “Don’t expect me to tell ya ya should’ve worn more clothes.”
His brows knit together for a moment, one corner of his mouth rising higher before he barks out a laugh, “Since when have I ever made an excuse for anything? I gave you a perfectly good offer, Zi. If you wanna tell me about how you’re doin’, then tell me. If you wanna know if I was worried, then I’ll tell ya.” Fletcher pinches her bicep before he touches on her last statement, “Dunno what you’re tryin’ t’say between that and the I can’t take care of m’self deal, but I know how to keep myself in one piece, thank you. It’s just that I usually don’t wanna,” he expresses, emphasis on the wanna, turning his head to look at her as he leans in closer with a wink.
“No.” she chuckles, shaking her head as smirk forms on her lips. “You’d know if I wanted you to come over. I would ask you directly, I don’t need to use the dog as an excuse.” Although a part of her might have wanted to ask him over tonight despite knowing the risks of what that might have involved. Maybe she wanted to face the dangers of being in an enclosed space with him for one night and allow passion to take over rather than logic. After running off the boat just on time, she feels completely alive that making a mistake for a night didn’t seem so bad. She wonders for a moment if she should change her answer, tell him to come over, but, she shakes the thought away. She knows better than that. “I was going to drop the dog food off at PEST. You won’t be seeing my new place unless it's for strictly Pestilence reasons.”
He takes her by surprise when he puts his arm around her, before she can comprehend anything he makes another comment and she bites her lower lip to hold back the smile that threatens to take over her face. “You’re such an idiot,” she responds. "Why not? I thought you loved seeing me fully clothed." she teases back, the lighthearted conversation feeling natural and easy. She closes her eyes shut for a moment as he laughs his contagious laugh, his scent filling up her lungs, her fingers moving to curl around the fabric of his shirt. Taking in a deep breath as she remains against his chest, a rush of adrenaline buzzing through her body and making her completely dizzy as she leaned into his side. She needed to remain calm, she needed to remain steady and she needed to shut down everything else running through her head right now.
The mood instantly changes at his next comment and Mitzi nods, staring down at the pavement. “You’re right. You don’t make an excuse for anything,” she speaks. “You never have and never will,” she whispers, letting out a sigh as she tries to keep herself composed within his embrace even if it suddenly felt suffocating rather than comforting. The truth of the matter was, Mitzi did not know what she was saying which was out of the ordinary because she was someone who always knew exactly what she wanted to say. She knew how to word sentences to get the answers she wanted, she knew how to lead a conversation to manipulate a response and she knew how to stand strong without looking weak, but right now, with Fletcher, she hit a brick wall that would not move. She was angrier with herself rather than him. There are times that she’s not sure she’ll ever be whole again, the scar he left her with was too deep to hold together with a plaster. Everything between the two of them was tainted now. The rose-tinted glasses she once saw everything in is broken and the pedestal upon which she had placed their relationship had toppled over completely leaving the walls of vulnerability that had been lifted between them in a pile of rubble. She wishes that forgetting someone was as easy as becoming consumed with them, but wiping memories away was not as easy as creating them no matter how much she tried.
“Were you worried about me?” she asks, taking up his offer, although that was only part of the question she wanted to ask. Do you ever miss me? That’s what she wants to ask him next. Do you ever miss me the way I miss you? Do you ever wake up and miss seeing me next to you? Do you ever miss the way we would make late-night cheese toasties together? Do you ever miss how I would put my cold hands inside your shirt to warm myself up? Do you ever miss having my fingers through your hair whilst we cuddled? Do you ever miss fucking me? She wants to scream at him. Punch him. Slap him. Demand for answers she knows she would never get. But she remains silent. It would all be a waste of energy and her breath, after all, what could she expect from someone who could not even give her an apology for his actions. What could she expect from someone who cheated on her and didn’t even think that she was worth apologising to? That should be a loud enough answer for her and yet it still did not satisfy Mitzi.
Finally, she lifts her head, tilting her chin backwards so her dark eyes could focus on his gaze, allowing him to move even closer to her. The feeling of his breath against her skin stirs up the familiar warmth in her body, taking over every fibre of her, her heart drumming against her chest. Could she ever forgive him? It’s difficult to tell, but probably not. Would she ever forget the feeling that took over her heart when he told her he cheated? Unlikely. Did she want to lean up and kiss him right now? Completely. Instead, she forces herself to take a step away, pressing her hand against his chest to keep the distance. “Easy there tiger, you might not stay in one piece if you get any closer to me. Would you like a matching wound to the ones you already have?”