"Alright, love. Let's go, then." He kisses the top of her head, lingering a little before he helps her up. He keeps an arm around her waist as they walk, quietly, careful not to wake anyone else.
He settles the blanket around her shoulders before he pours her a drink, and then he sits back down and pulls her up against him. "Think you'll be able to sleep again tonight?" He suspects not.
Letty, for once, lets him help her up and leans against him down the hallway; she could have made it on her own, of course, but she doesn't have to. For once since she left her mother's kumpania she doesn't have to, so she doesn't, just lets him lead and follows where he goes.
She accepts both the blanket and the drink and, drinking it in small, slow mouthfuls, she's quick to tuck her feet back under her and lean against him, tucking herself in close against him, shoving away the way she feels foolish now, drowning it in another mouthful of liquor.
And, unsurprisingly, she shakes her head after only a moment. "No," she confirms. Not tonight. She is, if she's honest, a little afraid to try. But her free hand is over his chest again, her thumb tracing the line of his collarbone, and she frowns a little. "You should still try though. It's not worth two of us dragging the day through."
"Ah, I'm awake now," he dismisses that with, as his thumb rubs slow circles into her upper arm. He likes the solid weight of her against him, the warmth of her body and the touch of her hand on his collarbone. It helps with telling himself she'll be okay: she's still here, after all.
She is tired but it's the edge-singing kind and not the absolute, bone tired kind that would make her do something stupid once they both go about their day; her eyes will burn and her mind will feel heavy, but she'll make it. She's real, and she's still here, and she'll be okay.
She presses her lips together but part of her is relieved enough not to argue and anyway, they are similarly stubborn between them. Not worth it. Not when she wants the company anyway, selfishly.
"Shall we review the numbers for the month," she asks dryly, teasing. She could - she has the important ones memorized, because the safest place for them is in her own head - but she knows that's not what he means.
She only bites her lip instead of giving him the satisfaction of yipping like she sometimes does when he surprises her, pulling her thumbnail across his skin by way of retaliation, but that's where she drops it. She's looking at the crescent-shaped bruise on her knuckle. She's thinking about family.
"They're fantastic," she says, and the truth of it is that they've all accepted her and she's accepted them, and that doesn't mean everything has been smooth, but it doesn't mean she needs it to be. It's the right kind of in-fighting, sharp and sudden and resolved in the next moment instead of carrying over, gruff and chafing but not serious enough to hold onto. Arthur scares her, not for herself; Michael amuses her, not always intentionally; she and Polly bicker like dogs with a fence between them and yet turn as a single unit on anyone attempting to intervene; she and Ada have the most in common and the least to do with one another.
They're fantastic. "Realized I'm not going anywhere, I think, and decided to go ahead and accept that more or less. It's everyone else still having trouble with that notion. They say you've odd taste."
"And what they mean by that is that they're jealous," he says, mildly- but he's smiling, because he can hear how genuinely she meant that. It warms him right up, to notice and to hear how close she's become to them.
It's two of the most important things in his life, coming together peacefully. It lets him rest easy at night, makes both his business and personal life so much better.
"They wouldn't know what to do with a woman like you."
She takes refuge in that knowledge for a moment, letting her eyes fall halfway closed and breathing deeply until the smell of the liquor stings her nose.
Then her lips quirk. "Am I to assume that means you think you do, Mr. Shelby?"
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"I'd like that best," she admits, still quiet, her voice still rough.
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He settles the blanket around her shoulders before he pours her a drink, and then he sits back down and pulls her up against him. "Think you'll be able to sleep again tonight?" He suspects not.
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She accepts both the blanket and the drink and, drinking it in small, slow mouthfuls, she's quick to tuck her feet back under her and lean against him, tucking herself in close against him, shoving away the way she feels foolish now, drowning it in another mouthful of liquor.
And, unsurprisingly, she shakes her head after only a moment. "No," she confirms. Not tonight. She is, if she's honest, a little afraid to try. But her free hand is over his chest again, her thumb tracing the line of his collarbone, and she frowns a little. "You should still try though. It's not worth two of us dragging the day through."
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"I'll keep you company, eh? We can talk."
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She presses her lips together but part of her is relieved enough not to argue and anyway, they are similarly stubborn between them. Not worth it. Not when she wants the company anyway, selfishly.
"Shall we review the numbers for the month," she asks dryly, teasing. She could - she has the important ones memorized, because the safest place for them is in her own head - but she knows that's not what he means.
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"I don't think so, Miss Ortiz. How about you tell me how my loving family has been treating you lately, eh?"
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"They're fantastic," she says, and the truth of it is that they've all accepted her and she's accepted them, and that doesn't mean everything has been smooth, but it doesn't mean she needs it to be. It's the right kind of in-fighting, sharp and sudden and resolved in the next moment instead of carrying over, gruff and chafing but not serious enough to hold onto. Arthur scares her, not for herself; Michael amuses her, not always intentionally; she and Polly bicker like dogs with a fence between them and yet turn as a single unit on anyone attempting to intervene; she and Ada have the most in common and the least to do with one another.
They're fantastic. "Realized I'm not going anywhere, I think, and decided to go ahead and accept that more or less. It's everyone else still having trouble with that notion. They say you've odd taste."
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It's two of the most important things in his life, coming together peacefully. It lets him rest easy at night, makes both his business and personal life so much better.
"They wouldn't know what to do with a woman like you."
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Then her lips quirk. "Am I to assume that means you think you do, Mr. Shelby?"
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"I think I stand a fair change of figuring it out somewhere along the way," he concedes, leaning to press a kiss to her temple.