nora becker.

[norarbecker]

jettsakai‌:

Does it bother you that I’m here? Does it bother him that he isn’t asleep right now? Yes. Does it bother him that she’s managed to penetrate the sanctity and privacy of his bedroom? Absolutely. Does it bother him that she’s pestering him with questions that he’d consider meaningless regardless of what hour she was asking them? For sure. But instead, he tells her, “No.” Why he lies, he isn’t quite sure. It’s likely his subconscious reminding him that being amiable with the people residing in the villa would call for easy and simple living conditions. It’s also probably a reminder that despite her nosiness, Jett actually enjoys Nora. She pries but she does so as respectfully as she can. “It’s fine – I’m just…still in the process of waking up,” he tries to explain, wondering whether or not she’ll take it. 

“Excuse you,” he counters, tone purposefully flat, “I am not emotionally repressed. I feel things…when I’ve deemed it necessary.” He knows that’s a lie, she also knows it’s a lie too, it’s why he chuckles briefly, amusement flitting across his features. “Perhaps, I’m not the most emotionally available person, sue me.” Jett’s about to comment scathingly on the fact that ‘could’ doesn’t sound definite enough for his payment, but he’s sidetracked by the mention of tater tots. “Well, now that tater tots are part of the equation…” A half-grin flicks up one side of his mouth, fingers flicking faster through her phone as he sits up straighter, a new vigor to his once languid actions. “Of course you should.” He scoffs, shaking his head in disappointment, “With the iPhone, if you press the home button down instead of lifting it after you take a photo, it’ll just keep taking them. People use them for action shots and stuff, increases the chances of getting one good photo while in motion. Frankie probably didn’t lift his big ass thumb and took a bunch of himself.” His expression turns solemn as he adds, “I’m terribly sorry his face is taking up space in your cloud storage.” 

The corners of Nora’s mouth turn upward just so. “Liar,” she pegs him, an educated guess more than a true committed conclusion - nothing about Jett suggests that he would enjoy being woken up, much less being intruded on in his sacred space. “If it helps, I’m massively underwhelmed with what you’ve done with the place. The most interesting thing in here is - “ her gaze shifts from the empty dressertop to his own, “that massive tattoo.” Eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she can make out more clearly the twisted curls of ink adorning his pale torso. Someone advanced and skilled had once plotted the art across his arms and chest, she’s sure of it. Not exactly a run-of-the-mill prison tattoo. Then again, she doesn’t suspect Jett has spent much time behind bars. He seems far too adept in evading figures of authority. “Don’t let Tilly see it. She saw mine, and then she cut up my sweater with a knife.” Nora doesn’t expect him to explain where he’s gotten it from or what it means, but she leaves the metaphorical door cracked nonetheless. 

About to catch him in another lie, Jett catches himself. Nora decides she’s satisfied with his self-awareness. She listens to him outline the technicalities of iPhone photography a bit lazily, not caring as much about the answer itself as much as she enjoys listening to him explain it. “Perhaps I’m not the most technologically-advanced. Sue me.” Nora’s knee-jerk reaction is to dislike the way he’s violating her privacy with every flick of his thumb, but her iCould is about as empty and uneventful as the dingy suburban street outside just beyond Jett’s yellowed blinds. “I’m sorry, too,” she agrees languidly, nudging her glasses up her nose with her knuckle. “On a more interesting note, at the end of all that there’s some blurry ass picture of Summer swapping spit with someone in the middle of the club. Thoughts?”

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

“I think,” he says somewhat tentatively, careful with how he poses the suggestion — however stoic and brave Nora may seem, it was obvious that the bond she shared with her family was strong and that she’d been living each day as it came rather than looking ahead to the horizon, “it would be good to consider how you want to use this fresh start to your advantage.” There was likely a vast number of people who would jump at the chance to erase their existence and start a new life. Unfortunately, not all those who wound up in witness protection seemed to be so keen on the idea. “You said life here moves slowly. Maybe it will speed up once you know what you want to do with yourself.” A small almost-smile is offered, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards before returning to a more neutral expression, schooled for the sake of concealing his visceral desire to repel the sort of questions he was being posed with. “You go in thinking it’s all for the greater good,” Nico agrees with a barely perceptible nod, still avoiding her gaze. “But then you have the initiation.  And then you have to win their trust. Then you have to keep up the charade to the point that you start to forget where you end and your undercover persona begins. Shit happens and people die — but everyone always reassures you with the same thing: it’s all for the greater good.” He stares at the roadmap-like patterns crisscrossing a palm, getting lost in a memory that he swiftly pulls himself out of. “That’s why I’m here, that’s why I want to help you. Because I used to be as dangerous as the sort of person you’re running from.”

Nora idly deduces that Nico either sees a therapist himself or has been explicitly instructed on how to best counsel his charges into assimilating as seamlessly into their new society as possible. She can almost respect it - she’s thought before that he’s good at what he does, and she means it. Advice is delivered as a suggestion rather than a directive from their (respective) figure of authority, like a friend. She sets her fork down onto her nearly-empty plate. “So, what - find a hobby? No offense, but I’m not the scrapbooking or knitting type. The only thing to do down here is check into a retirement home, go to Disney world, or golf.” Her tone contains the lilt of a joke as she rests her elbows on the table, propping her chin atop clasped hands. It feels easier to joke about the unknown than to examine just how empty she feels under a microscope like he’s suggesting. And it’s glaringly obvious he is just as insecure about his baggage being magnified beneath a lens. The corners of her mouth pull into a frown, inherently skeptical. In Nora’s mind, the so-called shit that happened and people who died would have happened and died regardless if he was involved. “Was being undercover something you enjoyed?” she prompts after a pause. The line. What, she presumes, separates Nico from the dangerous criminals he assisted. The self-proclaimed tortured man across the table from her hardly seemed like someone who would enjoy killing or looting. 

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

“It doesn’t have to stand still.” He pauses, mouth parted in silence before posing a question he hopes she doesn’t choose to avoid answering. “What is that you want from this — who do you want to be now?” A blank canvas would only remain blank if she chose not to do anything with it, although he can understand her worry. That slim seed of doubt taking root inside her head would wrap its vines around her mind if she spent too long dwelling on the past. “You might never see your old home again,” Nico admits, words lined with firm truth. “And that’s going to fucking hurt. But it will hurt a lot more if you do go back and end up risking the lives of your siblings and their families in the process.” There’s a weight in his chest that he’s been carrying for so long that he’s almost forgotten it’s there. It stirs, now, however, at Nora’s request to learn more, staring at him over her half-finished breakfast that he almost wishes he’d left with her to eat alone in peace. “This is my first safe house assignment.” Knuckles scrub at the stubble peppering his jawline. “Before this, my work was as an undercover operative.” He aims his gaze at the table, away from dark brown eyes trained on him. “Staying hidden amongst criminal organisations means doing whatever you can to prevent them from suspecting you.” 

Nora doesn’t know the answer to his question. Her goal, from the start, has been merely to survive until she doesn’t have to worry about surviving any longer, for the indefinite future. His honesty triggers her guilt like a dam, regret washing over her in a wave that’s nearly staggering, and Nora needs to look away from him for a moment. Gaze fixing on the worn edge of the kitchen table, she searches for a response in the woodgrain only to find none. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “The whole point of this was to hopefully stay alive until it’s safe to contact my family again. I didn’t - haven’t - thought much beyond that.” Nora, too, finds herself almost wishing that she had returned to her bedroom to ruminate in their initial tension rather than having this conversation - the benefit of learning more about him is barely worth upheaving the meticulously-constructed emotional suppression she’d successfully maintained thus far. It is, however, oddly satisfying to see Nico shift uncomfortably in his seat. “So you’re trying to balance out whatever bad things you had to do while you were undercover,” she states. “But - I mean - how bad could it have been? You were doing that for the greater good, right? So that the right people could be arrested?”

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

“He sounds nice,” Nico muses, not quite sure what else to say about her brother — her brother who has a stable income, a family, and a sister he will never see again ( or so he hopes, otherwise the two of them sat at this knock-off flat-pack Ikea table will both be well and truly fucked ). He tries to avoid staring at Nora as she eats, his attention wandering restlessly around the kitchen, from the set of mugs drying upside down by the sink to the security system panic button under the window. A low hum of not-quite-agreement fills the back of his mouth, Nora’s self-confessed lack of conviction unsurprising. When life chews you up and spits you out, it can be difficult to cling onto hope without fear of being burned by it. “But you don’t.” He finishes her statement bluntly. “Do you really think that being apart from them means they no longer care about you? That they’ll forget about you?” A faint frown furrows his brow. “Do you intend to try and forget about them?” Of the questions he’s posed, she’s skilled at picking and choosing which to respond to – not that he minds, unanswered questions telling him just as much as if she had answered them. Nico listens quietly as she presents him with theories, wondering why his intentions are of such importance to her. Mistrust, perhaps. Or a desire to seek knowledge for the sake of being soothed by it. He stares at his glass of water, palm still pressed around the cool surface. “All of those reasons,” he answers slowly, his expression closed and tense. “And none of them.” With a hushed sigh, he works his jaw until he can find the strength to offer the truth. “Redemption. That’s my motive.” Dark eyes watch her face for a reaction.

Nora is happy to leave the subject of her immediate family members behind. She can tell he is trying not to stare at her as she meticulously curates a bit of egg, then a triangle of toast in each bite, only the sound of fork scraping against worn porcelain punctuating the silence. Her attention shifts back up to him only with his final question - do you intend to try and forget about them? Fork hovering over the table, her brow creases. “Of course not,” she asserts, indignant. Adjusting would be simpler if she could, perhaps. Nora couldn’t imagine a more lonely alternative. “I would never. But life here - it stands still. For them, it’s going to keep on moving whether I’m there to see it or not. And who knows when - if - I’ll get to see home again. It wasn’t like the feds gave me an expiration date.” She refuses to wallow in it - it is what it is, consequences to a prescribed set of actions she’d put into motion all on her own - but it doesn’t make accepting their circumstances any easier. In all his attempts to relate to her, lining up his familial absences with hers as neatly as he can, he seems to just miss the mark. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Nico’s thumb tracing condensation on glass thoughtfully - her own dark eyes meet his with his confession, something akin to evening the playing field. “Redemption,” she repeats, the word leaden as it rolls off of her tongue. His answer surprises her, her expression giving her away. “Redemption for what, exactly?”

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

“What’s he like? Elijah, right?” Her responses remind him of his own siblings; of dynamics that now only exist tentatively, fragile bonds growing that little bit more distant when he has to ask questions which he would know the answer to had he chosen to stick around rather than disappear for the sake of a career that has brought him full circle back to Florida. Nico’s gaze pulls from the shimmering surface of his drink to the sunshine-yellow of the egg yolk, flicking upwards to meet Nora’s line of sight as he weighs his answer to her question on his tongue. “Maybe I’m trying to make us both feel better,” he utters. “But yes. I do really think that. My family didn’t know where I was for a large part of my life — but I never stopped being their son or brother. Your family will always be your family, Becker. You’ll never forget them and they’ll never forget you.” Nico takes a gulp of water that he doesn’t need, swallowing down emotions with it. He feels for her, despite her being here having had far more freedom of choice compared to many of the others. She had chosen to dig up the secrets of criminal gangs and had sealed her fate in doing so. A long stare studies Nora for a moment as she continues with her breakfast. “You don’t want to be offered comfort?” He settles in his chair, thumb running over the condensation that’s gathered on the side of his glass. “I don’t do it because I have to.”

“Yes,” she confirms, hovering between discomfort and comfort that the US Marshall across from her plucks her eldest sibling’s name out of thin air like it’s nothing. It serves as a stark reminder that he knows more about her than she’d ever like to tell. But it means her siblings are on his radar, that perhaps they’re being looked over back in Chicago. The gray area between both emotions leaves Nora restless. “Funny. You wouldn’t think it looking at him on paper - he’s got a boring insurance job, lives in the suburbs with his wife. But he’s goofy. Warm. Looks after everyone.” What Nora doesn’t say is that he stepped into that role out of necessity, filling a gaping hole left in the wake of their father’s absence. Feeling his eyes, her own flick upward from her eggs just in time to meet his unwavering gaze. “I’d like to think that,” she agrees. The realist in her wants to think otherwise. Nico’s expression is hard to read, so she turns into her more easily-digested breakfast, cutting her toast into neat triangles with the edge of her fork. Does Nora want to be offered comfort? Yes and no. Comfort overlaps too often with sympathy, requires a certain amount of trust she’s reluctant to give him. “I can’t decide,” she says finally, not unkindly, “what your motive is. You could probably find out whatever you wanted about me from whatever file’s out there. So that leaves me wondering if you’re talking to me because you feel guilty over what happened earlier - which you really shouldn’t, since I was asking for it. Or because part of your job is to keep us out of trouble, which is easier to do if we trust you.” Letting her thoughts loose, stripping them free of niceties, leads her to add, “Or because you don’t want me to ask you about Summer.”

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

He smiles, mouth momentarily caught in a steady curve, less interested in her answer than he is pleased by her decision to offer one. It would have been easier for Nora to shut him out, he has no doubt. “Lara,” he echoes with a nod, mind casting back to the selfie of her sister kept on file for the sake of easy identification. “You close with her?” Nico flips fried eggs onto a brightly patterned plate ( no doubt Summer’s choice ) alongside the buttered toast, setting it down in front of Nora. The kitchen drawer sticks as he fetches her some utensils, passing knife and fork over the table before using the heel of his palm to push the temperamental runner mechanism back into place. He pauses as if in thought as her question swims through his head, grabbing a glass of water. “I see them occasionally.” He sits down slowly on the twin chair opposite hers, his drink providing him with a brief excuse to not continue speaking. The liquid is cool in his mouth. Refreshing. He swallows. “No. I did what I had to do. I’d have been restless if I stayed. And— they’re still my family. Even if I missed a lot of what happened in their lives, they’re blood. Time and distance and consequences don’t affect loyalty and love when it’s strong and real.”

“Sure,” she answers vaguely with a shrug. Nora wonders the motive behind him asking - if this is his way of trying to build trust between them in the wake of their awkward encounter, or if he’s solely doing so out of guilt (or both). Surely, part of his job entails ensuring everyone beneath the roof of this house stays in line, or keeps themselves out of trouble. The odds of her roommates fucking up seem far higher than her own. She wants to stop talking about it, but the mention of her sister seems to have forcibly pried open Pandora’s box. “I’m closer with my brother, though.” The plate he places in front of her is a welcome distraction, the scent of butter and fried eggs enough to reminder that she is, in fact, hungry. Nora is surprised when he settles in the seat opposite hers, presuming he’d be off to check on the rest of the house (to ensure her slumbering housemates are still breathing, no doubt). “Do you really think that?” she asks, unable to keep well-meaning skepticism from coloring her tone as she cuts off a bit of egg with her fork. “Or is that your way of trying to make me feel better?” Truthfully, cliches about love and loyalty and distance fail to quell the ache beneath her ribcage. If he knew how tempted she was to reach out to her loved ones back in Chicago, she wonders if he’d change his approach. “You don’t have to do that, you know.” 

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

“You were close with them.” It’s as much a query as it is an observation from her file, the identities and locations of her loved ones monitored by his colleagues further afield for the sake of keeping them safe too. That was the trouble with doing the right thing: it always meant sacrifices. He wonders whether the death of her father helped prepare her for this less tragic but no less heartbreaking loss of the rest of her family. “Which of your siblings would be looking at you disapprovingly right now for being hungover?” The question is posed gently, curiosity lingering through the syllables as he finishes buttering toast, turning back to the sizzling hob. Prodding the eggs, he slides the plastic spatula, already heat-puckered from use, underneath the whites and flips them over. Her own question is returned like a tennis shot, catching him out as it hits the backline, disappearing off court in a cloud of chalk. “I don’t know,” he admits, toying with the utensil handle between forefinger and thumb. “I grew up down here but I’ve spent so much time away that it stopped feeling like home.” One corner of his mouth twitches briefly. “I’m lucky, I got to come back and see my family, but– it wasn’t the same. Being elsewhere, working assignments, time apart changed things.”

Nora doesn’t feel the need to confirm or deny Nico’s statement, guessing he already knows the answer. Talking about it stirs up the longing and worry she’d been determined to ignore as best as she could; she speaks little of her family back home for a reason, evading questions of tattoos and her personal life whenever they crop up. And yet, Nico probably knows more about her than everyone in this house combined. She rests her arm on the kitchen table, thumb worrying over a dented whorl in the woodgrain. “Lara, probably,” she answers, her sister’s name lingering hesitantly before it tips over the precipice into the taught space between them. “She’s too busy chasing her kids ‘round the house to drink like that anymore. So she’d just mother the shit out of me.” Nora’s discomfort is evened out somewhat by the way Nico’s shoulders draw up just slightly at her own question, a man accustomed to knowing without giving too much away. She supposes they have that in common. Something softer than envy curls in the pit of her stomach. “Do you not see them anymore, then?” she prompts, then adds, “Do you regret the time away, or just the consequences?”

[norarbecker]

📱 nora + gemma

gemma: i haven't seen much of anyone yet today, so no.

gemma: i got up, made coffee, and now i'm back in bed because nothing else seems to be helping this headache.

gemma: probably. i've never seen either of them that intense before.

nora: frankie, no. tilly, yes.

nora: she screams intense

nora: i'm just surprised neither of them got arrested, unless nico had something to do with that

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

“Thanks,” he murmurs, less distracted than he appears, nudging at the edge of the frying eggs with a spatula. Her reassurance means more than he’s willing to voice. He’s grateful despite the thin film of guilt that continues to coat him, twin to that of cooking oil in the bottom of the pan. He’s good under pressure, but he isn’t good under pressure. Another newly discovered fact about himself that he stores in his mind, slowly piecing together the man that is Nico Garcia ( far different to the one he’d left behind prior to assignments obscured by confidential stamps and blacked-out need-to-know information; youthful and quicker to relax ). A small smile of sympathy is shot in Nora’s direction. “Do you regret those actions? Or only the consequences?” The scent of alcohol hits him as he opens the fridge door, recoiling slightly at Frankie’s leftover mojito mix. He reaches over it for the butter, swiftly condemning the cocktail to chilled darkness. “We both know dealing with them is easier said than done.” Nico pulls a plate down from the cupboard and palms a knife from the drawer, pausing to wait for the toast. His eyes find hers, aware that, unlike the majority of the others, she’s yet to require his advice or assistance — whether that was due to putting on a brave face of denial or a preference to deal with it alone, he’s yet to determine. “It’s impossible to turn your back on your past completely, Becker. Pieces of your old life will always slip through the cracks occasionally.” The toaster pops, drawing his focus away. “What is it that you miss the most?”

“Both,” Nora settles on, eyes shifting from him to the hem of her shirt as she picks at a loose thread. It seems impossible to solely regret consequences when it was a very specific series of actions leading to them in the first place. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty. But I don’t think things would have happened any differently. I thought I was doing the right thing at the time; nothing would have changed my mind on that.” Her circumstances differ from that of the rest of the house, not quite innocent nor guilty, her crimes far less clear-cut than stealing a car or money laundering. It is difficult for Nora to discern whether the line of questioning is meant to inspire an admittance of guilt, something a police officer might try to extract from each of them. When the acidic scent of mojito wafts across the kitchen, her stomach churns and she’s spurred to sit at the small kitchen table tucked next to the counter. The worn chair scrapes against the linoleum, only just drowned out by the spattering of eggs in a hot pan. She can’t recall the last time someone had made a meal for her. “Maybe,” she agrees, knowing that she’d far rather that didn’t happen to her. “My family, mostly.” Nora recalls what he’d said earlier - that he knows what he’s required to know in order to keep them safe. It feels strange to imagine Nico thumbing through her siblings’ names or her mother’s home address. “Not having them around makes this move hit different.” Disliking talking about herself, she adds, “What do you miss? Or have you always been down here?”

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

“There isn’t much in my life for me to lose,” Nico says, his back turned to Nora as he examines the contents of a cupboard, a random assortment of tin can labels staring back at him. “That makes it worse, I think.” His unprompted explanation remains vague; a handful of jigsaw pieces that don’t quite make up who he is but, he hopes, at least gives a brief insight into why this was important — why he had to cover his tracks after acting so selfishly. Reaching for the bread, he draws the toaster nearer and places two slices inside. Filaments glow red, giving off an electric hum. “You didn’t tell me, earlier. Whether you’re missing anything from before.” He glances at Nora as he hunts down a box of eggs and a frying pan, the hob flickering to life at the turn of a dial. Cracking two eggs into the pan, he keeps his attention on the spit and sizzle of hot oil. “You don’t have to answer. I just want you to know that it’s to be expected if you are.” 

There isn’t much in my life for me to lose. Nora tries to pin down what, exactly he is afraid of losing as he moves about the kitchen. The obvious answer is his job - he seems like a man whose entire life revolves around his duties as caretaker, clear in the way he sweeps a busy bar with watchful eyes and escorts them to the grocery store. This, Nora suspects, is what he means to reference. But something about the way he dismisses Summer still sticks with her, wondering if the stakes extend beyond his position and into the complicated realm of an inexplicable connection with his charge. “You’re allowed to be afraid of losing something you care about,” she offers after a weighted pause, validating all of the above. Shifting weight between her feet where she still leans against the counter, her eyes flicker over his profile thoughtfully. “I do. Some days it’s more than others,” she admits. “But it’s part of the consequences of our actions, you know? That we just have to deal with.” 

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

He knows he’s fucked up when he recognises the flicker of cautious fear that flashes across her features. It isn’t guilt that overcomes him, not when he’s lived a life where survival means silencing the desperate cries of his morals for the sake of not blowing his cover, but it’s something similar. An acid-like tang in the back of his mouth. A reminder that the line he’s walked between the right side of the law and the wrong side has always been unfathomably thin. A half-formed apology on the tip of his tongue that takes a moment to free itself and slip past his lips. “Sorry.” His jaw tightens, angry at himself for being so quick to embrace old habits for the sake of self-gain. Nico settles his line of sight on the cupboards behind Nora’s head, hastily-constructed edges not quite running exactly parallel to one another,  and doesn’t realise she’s holding her phone out to him until her voice slices through his internal frustration. Silent, he takes the device carefully, gaze dropping to the photo on the screen. Luminous pixels stare back at him, the image nestling itself in his memory beside the taste of alcohol on Summer’s tongue and the sweet scent of her perfume. He blinks. Swallows. Hits delete. “Thank you,” Nico utters quietly, distracted, passing the phone back to Nora. A part of him considers leaving her be, allowing them both to recover from the tension that is now draining from the room. Instead, he nods towards the abandoned, crumb-scattered toaster on the far counter, well aware that actions held just as much strength when it comes to apologising. “Let me make you breakfast?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry,” she dismisses, but her voice is taught and a bit hollow, frustrated with herself more than him. Aside from the occasional pang of nostalgia, Nora had successfully evaded the fears and qualms that had seemingly plagued her housemates. Fear reared its ugly head at the strangest of times, aching like a lump in the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, gone as quickly as it had arrived. Present enough for Nico to catch it anyway, given the strange look on his face. She hadn’t had any intention of the conversation going this way - she’d planned on teasing him a little, like he and Summer were nursing a childlike crush or forbidden romance. It had been foolish of her, perhaps, to approach the situation so frivolously. The feeling of her phone pressing back into her palm brings Nora back to the kitchen. His gratitude is acknowledge with a small nod, about to skirt past him for the stairs when he offers her breakfast instead. “Sure,” she says, accepting the metaphorically-extended olive branch. “Frankie eats like a garbage disposal, though. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ate half the kitchen last night when he got home.”

[norarbecker]

summertownsend‌:

“No, I’m sorry,” Summer apologizes, looking bashful as she lingers in the doorway. “If you’re busy I can come back later…” But Nora urges her to come inside, explains that she hadn’t been paying much attention. Smiling softly, summer perches herself on the end of the other woman’s bed, quick to extend the steaming mug of coffee towards her. “Have you eaten yet? Taken any Advil? I took one a little while ago, it hasn’t exactly kicked in or anything, but I’m hopeful.” Giving an optimistic shrug, Summer pulls up her legs to tuck them to her chest atop Nora’s duvet, momentarily distracted by the chipping in the sunny yellow polish on her toes. “Oh no…” Frowning deeply, Summer reaches over to rub at Nora’s shoulder since she couldn’t reach her back, upset to hear she’d been sick from her hangover. “You need some toast.” She can’t help as the hero compliment makes a grin snag at the corner of her lips. “Well, I was Wonder Woman,” she states proudly, placing her hands on her hip in a rather classic superhero-esque pose. “I’m feeling alright, I guess.” Alright was understating things – in truth, speaking with Nico earlier that morning left her feeling a little off-kilter. But she couldn’t let anyone see that, sense that. “I’ve always been an early riser. 9 is probably the latest my body would’ve let me sleep, I think.” A brief little silence falls between them before Summer mentions, “Last night got a little crazy, huh?”

Nora folds her legs beneath her duvet, accepting the warm mug. Instant coffee reminds her of home, of being an unpaid intern living off of eggs and peanut butter sandwiches; after blowing off the surface she sips the warm liquid gratefully. “A little bit of breakfawst this morning. Took some Advil too, which helped,” she confirms. “I’ll probably brave the kitchen in a little bit for another bowl of cereal. Hangover meal of champions.” The warmth of Summer’s palm no longer surprises her, having grown accustomed to her affectionate tendencies. She lets out a little laugh. “It’s totally fine. I’m totally fine. I just haven’t drank that since college - hangovers hit these old bones a little differently nowadays.” Digesting Summer’s adjective of choice, she wonders if she really is feeling alright. Nora’s confrontation with Nico had suggested the situation between them was more complicated than she’d initially suspected. She wonders if Summer and Nico have spoken yet, whispered behind closed doors while the rest of the home’s tenants slept soundly. “Just a little crazy.” A sip from her mug allows her to consider how to best move forward, eventually settling for vague but pointed. “Did you have fun? I feel like I lost track of you at some point, when you went off with Nico.”

[norarbecker]

📱 nora + gemma

gemma: and confirm what we already know?

gemma: do whatever you want to. i intend to let this die out when it turns out this was all some misunderstanding.

nora: probably, but it gives me something to do

nora: he hasn't said anything to you today has he?

nora: i never did see him after we got back last night, i think he barricaded himself in his room after the Incident

[norarbecker]

nicogarcias‌:

He’d been so careful to cover his tracks that night – leaving the others in their uber so that he could return to the bar, flash his badge at a staff member and access the security camera footage without arousing suspicion — but he hadn’t stopped to consider any of them taking photos. Some may call that arrogance, but he’d call it being very, very distracted. “Delete it.” It’s a demand more than it is a request, frustration and worry mixing into a cold concoction that he has to crack through to remind himself that he isn’t in a firearms stash warehouse in Texas or meeting someone at a location that’s little more than a string of coordinates in the middle of nowhere. Nico takes a half-step away from the counter. “Please, Becker. Delete the photo.” Perhaps he’s being too cautious to make up for his lack of such but not even Nora’s reassurances can soothe him. He can’t risk this getting out. He can’t fuck up two assignments in a row ( he can, but that’s the point ). “If it gets into the wrong hands—” The sentence goes unfinished, running a palm over his face for a moment of private internal reprimanding. “I don’t care about Summer,” he makes himself say. “Not like that. We were both drunk. It was meaningless and stupid.”

Nico’s first command - delete it - triggers an instinctual resistance Nora had thought she’d suppressed by now. When faced with disgruntled subjects of her self-proclaimed investigations, she’d reacted defensively. And the way Nico’s gaze seems to freeze over would have made her step back herself if it weren’t for the edge of the counter, blocking her path, oddly reminding her of the very people she’d been running from in the first place. She sucks in a breath, quelling the way her heartbeat picks up as she forces the brief glimmer of fear she’d experienced to loosen its grip. It doesn’t last more than a few seconds before something more human and desperate shifts in Nico’s expression. Her dark eyes study him for a moment, and then she wordlessly slips her hand beneath the waistband of her shorts where she’d tucked her phone away. “Here,” is what she says finally as she thumbs through her photos and finds the one in question, handing her phone over to him. “Delete it yourself.” Nora doesn’t believe his excuse for a moment - I don’t care about Summer - the lie as lifeless as the deceased houseplant in the kitchen window, but she refrains from commenting, letting her lack of acknowledgement speak for itself. 

[norarbecker]

jettsakai‌:

Maybe they’re all afraid to. A shrug is Jett’s lackluster response, a half-lift of his shoulders as if he couldn’t be bothered to give the effort needed to lift them fully. “Maybe they are.” He doesn’t care either way. His privacy is too important to him. Ironic, for the man who once made a temporary living out of invading the privacy of others and exploiting their information and identities for his own financial gain. But that was neither here nor there. “And never will I scream warm and fuzzy. That’s not the kind of brand I’m trying to put out,” Jett answers, tone cool and flippant. The son of a businessman, he was taught his pokerface from young, taught to forge allies instead of making friends, taught that callous disregard for those who get in his way was acceptable. He isn’t used to being kind without an ulterior motive behind it. Nora says she gets it – but Jett doubts that highly, offering a nod anyways because she was trying. He isn’t used to letting people in, more adept at keeping everyone out, but he knows that more effort to ease his housemates might be necessary. 

“Nosy and rude? Nora you are racking up some serious bad traits, here. Do you interrupt also? This–” Jett draws a finger back and forth between then, “–might have to stop here, if you do.” He’s all serious, angular features turned stony, but it’s at the very last moment that a grin flicks up one end of his mouth, mild amusement flickering in dark irises. “Didn’t say that,” he answers simply, impartial to pet names but choosing not to elaborate any further. Casting her a sidelong glance, Jett scoffs and sweeps a hand along his forehead, pushing ink-black strands from his eyes. “I hope you’re not expecting me to put the chicken nuggets in the oven myself then, because that would defeat the purpose of it being payment.” Jett hums in revelation, holding the screen closer to himself as he spotted an icon in the corner with a series of photos. “It’s a burst,” he informs her, as if such things are rather obvious, only to tack on, “You…know what a burst is, right?”

Nora doesn’t doubt that Jett is serious. She wonders if he has to try to build walls, to appear cool and calculated and aloof or if it comes effortlessly. Most people, Nora knows, are products of their environment and upbringing (with her being no exception) - and it’s exactly why Jett seems to be a puzzle to solve, a complicated tangle of pent-up something buried beneath layers and layers of disassociation. She eyes him, gauging his demeanor. “Does it bother you that I’m in here?” The question is posed sincerely and not unkindly, realizing she’s fallen into the trap of his pinpointed mannerisms and tilted her head just so to the right as she asks. “Aside from the fact that you’re pissed off I woke you up, I mean.” Because that appears to be a given. 

“I didn’t realize,” she says, eyebrows rising in faux-surprise, “that there was a this to speak of. Maybe you’re a little less emotionally repressed than I thought.” But her delivery is clearly meant in jest (even if there’s some truth to the sentiment). Assimilating to this new life they’d been thrown into was all about repression, shoving all of the skeletons they’d collected over the years - some, perhaps, more than others - into a poorly-constructed Floridian closet and locking it up tight. She idly picks a piece of lint off of his duvet, considering. “I could swing that for you,” she decides. “Might even find some tator tots. God, I could go for some tator tots right about now.” The light from her phone screen makes his face look nearly ghastly, paler than usual and shadows darkening the already-sharp cheekbones. “No. Should I?”

[norarbecker]

📱 nora + gemma

gemma: which is why i don't think he has one at all.

gemma: i think tilly was just trying to get a reaction or she just heard some wrong information.

nora: hm, i guess that could make sense

nora: want me to ask around??

nora: i love being nosy

[norarbecker]

jettsakai‌:

“You’re the first to come in here.” Jett means to say that in his mind, but his murmur slips through the quiet. Between having the door perpetually locked and his status in the house as a near-phantom or light-fearing bloodsucker ( it seems to fluctuate day by day ), he wants to believe there’s something of an unstated beware sign hung on on the doorknob. But Nora was the first one to try and know him despite all signs pointing to how desperately he didn’t wish to be known. It makes all the more sense now that she’d be the one to cross the threshold, insert herself into his solitude. He doesn’t like it, but he certainly could hate it more than he did currently. And that was saying a lot, all things considered. 

She’s not listening. Or at least, he doesn’t think she is,. From what he knows of Nora, her retorts are quick and rather on the witty side, with a side of bluntness that he feels would annoy him should it be anyone else. But she says nothing when he goes out of his way to defend a cat, Frankie’s cat. She catches herself, her confirmation a bit sudden as she tunes back in, and a smirk curls itself at the corner of his mouth, “I’ll just ignore the fact that you weren’t listening to me at all, that’s fine.” His tone is smug, knowing, as he calls her out. “Gemma really is too good for him…” Jett mutters ruefully under his breath. Watching her carefully, the glow from her phone screen illuminates her face as she taps at it quick. “Later,” Jett holds her gaze, pointing a finger at her before touching the tip to his nose, “We’ll discuss that babe thing. But for now, do I need to get my Genius Bar shirt or…? Also I don’t work for free, not even in emergencies. I take cash, card, gold jewelry, sushi coupons, chicken nuggets.” Plucking up her phone, he flicks through the photos as she talks, scoffing at some, shaking his head at others. “You’re not hacked. If you couldn’t get into your phone or your Instagram account, then I’d be concerned. Frankie was drunk, do you know how dangerous drunk people are with cameras? They’ll take pictures of anything. In this case….it was himself.” 

Nora digests the unintended comment, deciding that it doesn’t surprise her the rest of the house has avoided passing the threshold into Jett’s room. Quite frankly, she assumes that the door is kept firmly locked at all times - or perhaps it’s what he wants them all to think, picking up only on the aloof energy Jett seems to intentionally exude. “Maybe they’re all afraid to,” she suggests, knowing it’s probably what he wants to hear. “You don’t exactly scream warm and fuzzy.” But her own introversion can understand why he might revel in a space nobody dares to intrude upon. Her shoulders lift into a little shrug. “I get it,” is what she offers, a statement as loaded or vague as Jett would like. 

Her eyebrows rise, and she simply agrees. “No. I wasn’t listening to you.” She purposely doesn’t offer an excuse or reason, wondering if her failure to voice her thoughts would bother him. Besides, Nora presumes it won’t be the last cat-related quip he’ll offer up over the course of the next few weeks. The Gemma comment, however, is something Nora pockets to address later. “Not a petname guy, huh?” she prompts instead, lips quirking into a smile as he takes her phone and begins scrolling. “Here’s the thing - I’m not exactly swimming in cash, and I’m pretty sure any sushi joint in a twenty-mile radius of here would give you food poisoning. Might be chicken nuggets in the freezer, though.” It’s entertaining to watch the serious of surface-level emotion flicker across his face as he thumbs through her photos. Truthfully, Nora didn’t really think she was hacked - she just wanted an excuse to bother him. She shifts a little on the bed, refolding her legs. “Okay, fine, but that’s a shit ton of selfies. He only had my phone for, like, 2 minutes trying to take a picture of something else. I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.”