— with 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒.
“most snitches usually are.” tomas pointed out, as if commenting on the weather. it was of course, the nature of their business. most people were a pain in the ass given the big egos and bigger guns. if they weren’t that, they were usually something worse, something deadly, dangerous, worrisome and loathsome — but tomas had been living with a death wish for longer than he cared to admit. little phased him anymore. the only time he was surprised by something — was when delia had asked him for a divorce. even after months of fighting and complications, of feeling exhausted by the mere thought of going home to her — it still came as a surprise. maybe that said more about him, than it did her. “it’s why we put em in the ground soon as we can.”
his feet kicked up onto the edge of her desk — knowing that he was the only one who’d be able to get away with a such disregard for authority. whatever. he’d been married to her. he’d seen her naked, bent her over the very same desk mid-argument — and even once, thought she’d be the woman to make him a father, and her, a mother. he was allowed to the flaunt the rules a little. push at her boundaries.
she always looked so pretty when she was mad.
tomas’ brow raised just so at the mention of the journalist, his eye twitching. he was well aware that delia could do what she wanted. even when they were married, she did what she wanted. he was always clear on the fact that he was a choice — that happily, delia could survive on her own. she just didn’t wish too. he was aware. but it never made it any easier… hearing about the journalists that used her for scoops, unaware that she was playing them three moves ahead. the other foot soliders that bragged about how all she needed was a good dicking down and maybe she’d be a bit nicer. ( if those ones walked around with a few extra bruises, so be it. ) or even the occasional date, some affluent man of chicago, who had more money than he knew what to do with. he was aware, and it was never any fucking easier — because there he was, still half in love with her, still a fucking kid, thinking they were the ones lucky enough to spend their lives together.
( he knew he was pathetic. he just didn’t like to think about it. )
“well…” he drawled, a touch wary, a touch exhausted. “you said it yourself. he’s an idiot. can’t blame him for getting distracted by a pretty girl in a nice dress.” tomas’ eyes narrowed just so. “but that doesn’t answer my question.are you eating?” his chin jerked at the glass on her desk. “or are you counting that whiskey in your drawer as a three course meal?”
“i hate it when they turn out to be a disappointment.” she scowls under her breath, leaning back in her chair as she fiddles with the knife in her hand, and her mind is quickly taken elsewhere. to everyone she’s ever seen potential in, began training, teaching. it’s what she’d always loved the most about their work, the connections she made and the knowledge that not only did her family have her back, but the people she worked with did too. it always hit a little too hard when one of them fell on their face and wasn’t up for the task, or worse, they turned into a snitch even despite how much time and effort she’d put into them. what a waste, truly. “it just becomes another thing i wasted my time on.” she wonders whether it was their marriage or their divorce that wasted her time, too.
the feet on her desk have her eyes narrowing before she turns her attention back to her next knife. there are parts of him that she knows well. one of the first things she learned about him was the things he did to annoy her, and knew he could get away with because it was him. she doesn’t make any show to hide her annoyance, but she’s not in the mood to fight with him. it’s far too easy these days, and she’s in a bad enough mood that it could all go south too quickly. she doesn’t want to dealt with that, so she ignores it and pushes away past images of them sitting just like this in the past. she doesn’t need a reminder of late nights spent avoiding her paperwork, ordering take out, and bickering that turns into a quickie on her desk.
that train of thought is even more dangerous than arguing with him would be.
“he’s a blistering idiot, and it was a sundress.” she half whines. her in dresses at all is a rarity, let alone a bright yellow one that stands out starkly against the dark colours that make up her wardrobe. her face scrunches up and her head shakes, concentration broken from her knife as she tosses it down on her desk. “don’t, tomas.” brown eyes flash up to meet his own as a warning, though there’s vulnerability behind it. she’s acted the part of being fine, has thrown herself into working to undermine the o’shea’s and get revenge for the death of her cousin. she doesn’t have the time to fall apart in front of other people, or anywhere that isn’t the safety of her own apartment and in the company of a bottle of wine. "don’t do this whole vaguely hidden concern thing you’re doing, i don’t want it.” she’s always hated telling people when she’s not fine, would much rather just bottle it all away until she got over it. it’s always been a problem of hers, one she’d had to overcome when they were married. but they’re not anymore. she’s retreated right back into old habits of pushing her feelings as far down as they could get. “i’m fine.”