unplotted starter for @dccontramundum because I'm crazy about this scene and it's Anchor's fault
"I can't. I can't." How could she possibly go home, after all of this? "I've made such a mess of things. I just... don't know what to do." She looked down again, ashamed, and hugged herself slightly. Really, she wasn't even sure why she'd come here, except that Morse, somehow... felt safe.
"Marry me."
She looked up sharply, mouth falling open with shock. He can't have possibly- What-? A thousand conflicting thoughts and feelings crossed her mind and her face. Marry him? While she's carrying another man's child? Another man's bruises? When they'd never so much as been on a date? Marry her father's constable? Marry the man who... the man who she'd come to, after everything.
But he didn’t know it all, and to burden him with that... the last thing Morse needed was another burden--he gave himself enough of them.
He swallowed and she stared and it felt like ages passed. Then she had to try several times to come up with anything she could say--to force words out. "Morse. I-" She looked down, shook her head. Then she looked up again, bit her lip, just for a second. And she took a step closer.
Joan has never been arrested before. As a policeman's daughter, she's always known what to avoid to stay out of trouble, and, she supposes, she should know now too, as a policeman's wife. But she has privileges that others don't, and if she doesn't use them to better the world, what good is she? So, she does her very best to keep her fear under wraps, even after she's shoved into the crowded cell with a wrenched elbow and a bloody nose. After all, she won't be there for very long. The worst part... Well, the worst part is embarrassing her husband, who doesn't deserve that at all.
She's got her head tilted down, handkerchief pressed to her nose to catch the blood, when she hears his voice and looks up. She freezes, eyes wide with all that suppressed, irrational fear, and wishes she knew what to say. She has just enough presence of mind to realize that he doesn't deserve that either--witnessing her fear--because she's not afraid of him. She's just sorry. Sorry that this is likely to affect his career and his relationship with his colleagues. But not sorry enough to say it, because in the end, hasn't she been doing the right thing?
So she doesn't say anything back. She just looks down again and waits for him to say something else.
an entirely out-of-control starter for @dccontramundum
'Marry me,' he says, like it's obvious. Like it's as simple as offering her a handkerchief, rather than a stupid, impulsive commitment that he'll be sure to regret. A proposal. What is he thinking?
For a few seconds, she can't do anything but stare. She doesn't remember how to breathe, even, but then she exhales sharply, looks down and to the side. That's the most eye contact he's ever made with her. It's... More persuasive than it has any business being; a girl might do anything he asked when faced with that look. But that doesn't make this a smart idea. It doesn't even put it into the realm of possibility. "Morse," she says, shaking her head just slightly. What is she supposed to say? 'Oh, yes, what a brilliant idea, actually, let's just up and get married.' He's never even asked her for a date. All they have was him asking her not to go, letting her go anyway, and then finding her after she'd needed a voice on the phone.
Which, admittedly, isn't nothing. But she's not sure it's much of anything, either.
She closes her eyes, tries to make reality less terrifying. Everything has gone wrong. Just when she'd thought she was making her way towards the light, the tunnel had all started to come crashing down, and now here he is, with a helping hand. Except that his torch is too bright and his hand too warm and she's forgotten how to accept help at all. So she's stuck.
He'll regret it, she knows. He doesn't even mean it; he's just trying to say anything to make this better, because just like her father, he doesn't like seeing the bruise on her face.
"I don't want your pity," she says, staring at the floor. She firmly ignores the part of her that painfully, desperately does want it, if it's all she can have. Maybe she doesn't love him--she hardly knows him, when it comes down to it, and she isn't certain she's ever loved anyone, in a romantic sense. But he's safe. There's a reason she's here, after all, and if marriage is the price of everything feeling alright again... She just can't do that to him.
She swallows, looks down again, and he finally looks away. Is he relieved, annoyed? She can't read his face, which is worrying since he's usually so transparent. Maybe it's her own feelings obscuring things, but she can, at least, tell that he isn't happy. That smile is... heartbreaking.
It's a relief, when he turns around.
"I've been offered a job in London," he finally says, and it sounds as though he's pushing past emotion, though she isn't sure what kind. Anger, probably. It's understandable, that he'd still be angry at Ray, given his first reaction to the sight of her. She's grateful that he hides it.
He explains that he's got to meet the Detective Inspector, but that it's a sure thing. Monday. That's awfully fast. "London," she echoes, trying hard to be happy for him. She wishes that she could go with him, but with what her father's opinion means to him, the burden she'd be placing on him, her own recent streak of terrible decisionmaking, and their lack of history... It's a terrible idea. She can't do that anymore than she can go home. "How did Dad take it?"
That's the wrong thing to say, because apparently he hasn't told her father anything. It looks as though her dad has made a mess of his relationship with both of them.
It's quiet for too long, with neither of them saying a word, and then he moves, reaches for a can, tries to offer her money, as if his flat isn't a big obvious sign pointing to how very much he needs to keep what he has. But he insists and she can't say no. She can't break him down any more than she has already. He hands her the money and she promises he'll get it back and as she pockets it, she swallows back tears. This is him putting her out, isn't it? She's made him feel a fool for his ridiculous offer and now it's time for her to bow out, but she doesn't have anywhere to go.
She's abandoned or alienated all her friends, made stupid declarations she can't well go back on to her parents, and now ... She'd said it earlier. She just doesn't know what to do.
And then the phone rings. "Could be work," she says, nodding to it without looking directly at him. If she knows nothing else about Morse, she knows he cares about his work. It isn't his job to comfort her and if work is calling, he doesn't have the time anyway.
She hands him the phone, presses a kiss to her fingers, which she presses to his lips--as close to a real kiss as she's likely to have with him--and then she moves to leave. It's agonizing when he pulls away from the call to ask her where she's going. She wishes she knew.
The Met. That's where he's going. She confirms with him, because maybe... She doesn't actually know why, but he nods, and that feels almost like a net thrown out beneath her. And then she opens the door and she braves the world. What else can she do? "Save the world for me."
.
It doesn't go well. Ray told her that she had a couple of weeks to get out, but after only about a day, when she was alternating between sobbing and packing, he showed up and was more than a little annoyed about her being emotional. That's when she got stupid and angry enough to bring up the pregnancy.
He didn't like that at all.
Morse's number had been found in her handbag, the nurse tells her. He'd been there, very concerned. She did have a faint memory of the scent of him and the press of lips against her forehead, but she'd assumed it a dream.
She makes it another week on her own, struggling with her pride. Then, because she simply can't stand it anymore, she goes. She goes all the way to London, she looks up the Met Police station, and she goes in to ask for Morse.
In the months since their marriage had been officially recognized, Joan had recieved three calls asking her to come collect her husband for an injury. This was nothing like any of them. Drugged. And they'd said it so casually like it didn't even matter, but by the time she reached her husband's bedside, it was terribly obvious how much it mattered.
Her poor boy, who hadn't even drank until her father had gotten to him, who had never willingly altered his state of mind, who so desperately clung to his beautiful, rational mind as his primary worth... To see him in tears, writhing with discomfort from the enormous dose of some mystery drug, brought her swiftly to tears as well. "It's alright, darling. It's alright. I'm here." She stroked his cheek and then ran her hand through his hair, hoping the familiarity would be comforting. "I won't leave you alone, love. I promise."
"Morse?" Joan pulled her hair down over one shoulder and ducked out around the doorway. She was only about half-dressed and apparently unbothered by him seeing it, though it was hardly the first time he'd seen her in such a state. "Would you do up this zipper for me? It's gotten stuck." Then she turned and presented him with her back, where the zipper of her dress had gotten stuck on a loose thread only a couple inches from the bottom.
"Alright then! Well done us! And under-budget, thanks to mum and her hoarding." Joan checks the last thing off their list of baby supplies, but then, instead of turning towards the check-out, she firmly steers them towards the men's department. "And now for you, darling. You need a new coat before you freeze to death. Something thick and wool."
"There is no happy ending. You know that, surely?"
[[continued from [ x ] with @ourcwnside
Confusion flashed across blue eyes as Aziraphale canted his head at her. His usual smile had dimmed a bit, though not yet faded entirely. No happy endings? Perhaps not for everyone---such was the ineffable nature of things---and Aziraphale may have privately believed that there was no happy ending waiting for him, personally. But did she really believe they didn't exist at all? How It was terribly sad.
"Surely you don't really believe that?"
She smiled back sadly, then looked down for a moment. "It's all just stories. It would be lovely, of course, but love... it fades. It's dangerous. People don't actually ever get happily ever after with their true love--the best anyone can hope for is just to find someone safe that they like well enough. Someone they can respect, and if they're lucky, who respects them in turn." She shrugged. "Chasing after a happy ending is what gets people hurt by those they care about most."
It was stupid, probably, to invite him at all. A drink? A talk before the wedding? What was she thinking? That he'd talk her out of her cold feet? Or that he'd romantically sweep her away to someplace they won't have to live with the consequences of running? She made her bed when she told Jim 'yes' and now... Now, it was just masochistic of her to keep entertaining the idea of something that never even really was, no matter how much she wished it might be.
All that aside though, she couldn't make herself leave. No, Joan sat, growing more and more anxious and frustrated with herself, for nearly two hours before she finally gave up on him and stood to go.
But then of course, there he was. Rushing, frazzled, with his hair a mess, looking like he hadn't slept in days. There he was. She waited for him to enter and to see her, then she smiled despite herself. "Well hello. I thought you were going to stand me up."
