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[nomos]

[warriorborn]

[ Benedict hadn't been lying when he said he hated parties.

He's very much used to them, being a Lancaster, since his aunt is famous for throwing the sort of parties celebrities vie to be invited to, but even though he's been attending them since he was little, he's hated them. They're loud, they're boring, they're so fake... Having Gwen's sarcastic company improved them somewhat, but even his cousin's biting comments about one guest or another wasn't enough to make them any easier for him to bear.

He's always hated the feel of speculative eyes crawling all over him; Benedict hit puberty early and shot up like a weed, filling out his shoulders while still in high school and towering over everyone around him. He's always been acutely aware of the unhappy wives and happy divorcees eyeing him like a piece of meat, waiting until he got old enough for their interest to no longer be illegal. He'd thought joining a monastery would have dissuaded such gossip, but he was wrong. It only made it worse. Now he wasn't just a handsome young man (apparently), he was a sheltered, closeted virgin who needed the guiding hand of an experienced older woman. The eyes watching him felt even hungrier the few times he returned home, and he had been more than happy to escape back to the safety of the Temple after his familiar duties were done.

They're a little easier now that he's pretending to be Danielle's boyfriend. She acts as a buffer between him and any hungry widows, a convenient excuse to extricate himself from conversations and a pointed reminder that he's off the market.

He's kept his hand on her back all evening, not letting her out of arm's-reach, let alone out of his sight. It's just for work, though. There's definitely no ulterior motive for him wanting her nearby. ]

[nomos]

[ benedict hates parties; dani loves them. it helps that she's rich, or at least her father is, it helps that she's young and beautiful and there's always plenty of alcohol at these parties. most of all, it helps that she's never really had to give a shit about what anyone thinks of her, not really — she doesn't care about the opinions of pretty much anyone here and that gives her a power over them that they give up all too easily, and it strips them over whatever power they might have had over her.

she's too rich and too young and too beautiful to care. usually, she's also too drunk. tonight, she isn't, though she's had on her third cointreaupolitan and counting, benedict's hand warm and steady on her back. there's tension there, she can feel it, and even without it, she'd know that he's not happy.

this is his job, though. it isn't hers, so she refuses to be tense, to not enjoy herself. ]

You should at least have a beer. [ she says, leaning in close to be heard over the music. maybe closer than is strictly necessary, really, but he is supposed to be her boyfriend. she can rationalise this, easy. she's not sure she cares to, right now. ]

[warriorborn]

[ She's tiny, even in her towering high heels, but not so tiny that her breath doesn't ghost across his neck when she leans in to whisper to him. He doesn't shiver, but his hand flexes at her spine. ]

You know I don't drink, Dani.

[ That's not particularly true, but it's true while he's working, and he can't exactly tell her I can't drink while I'm working with all these people milling around them, ripe to overhear an incautious word.

He should be having fun. Most of the people in attendance are his peers, quite a few he even went to school with. Gwen's not here, but that doesn't really mean anything, and honestly, he's grateful not to have to manage her as well as Danielle. His sisters are too young to attend this kind of thing, so he should feel free enough to let loose, to dance, to laugh. And yet he's defaulted to his usual party stance: straight-backed, alert, unsmiling.

It takes conscious effort to relax his shoulders, to let them curl in slightly and lean towards Danielle, to smooth out his frown. ] What's the name of this song?

[nomos]

[ he doesn't shiver, but his hand flexes at her spine, enough for dani to notice - and that's enough to send a thrill through her, something deeply feminine and powerful and knowing that she has an effect on him, no matter how prim and proper he tries to be. ]

Yeah, I know.

[ for a moment, she thinks of pouting, about telling him to live a little. he should, is the thing - but dani doesn't actually love exerting peer pressure, despite the fact that she's good at it. so she doesn't.

she's glad for that choice when, a moment later, his body turns toward hers, the lines of his shoulders and his features softening. she rewards him with a smile, dancing her fingertips up his chest. ]

Dance off. Why?

[warriorborn]

[ Her hand settles on his chest, fingertips exerting light pressure as they make their way higher, and he pointedly looks down at it, his eyebrows lifting in amusement. He doesn't tell her to stop, though, just smirks slightly at the sight of her neatly-manicured nails scratching at his shirt before turning his attention away.

She's his girlfriend. She's supposed to touch him. ]

I don't recognize it.

[ Hardly a surprise, really. Benedict is not up on popular music. It's not that he listens to meditation chants all the time (just...when he meditates), but he's never really cared for the music played on the radio, and finds the stuff that blares out of the twins' room incredibly bizarre and hard to follow. It's another thing that makes parties hard for him. ]

[provocant]

Parties in Spire Albion were always quite the gilded, extravagant affair. And as the sister of the Spirearch, they require her attention and attendance. Events that are meant to build stronger relationships between the houses, council members and sometimes, habble leaders.

While she is adept at charming the guests, wearing fine dresses and smoothing over any awkwardness, she feels as though they are unnecessarily grand when there are people struggling in lower habbles. And as with most things that are required of her ( mindless duties expected of her), she finds such events dangerously boring.

So after an hour, she very purposefully makes her way towards the edge of the party, well aware that there are eyes on her at all times. But there is only a certain pair whose attention she means to attract, a pair whose job is to watch her. And after hovering by the door of the ballroom, she slinks out of the room and into one of the sculpture rooms.

[warriorborn]

Most residents of any given habble do not ever leave their habble. It's not that it's impossible, just wildly difficult, and unless you are a tradesman who relies on the markets of Habble Landing, there isn't much cause for most to go anywhere. Such is even the case in Habble Morning, even with the scions of the Great Houses, even the ones who might do their tour of duty for the Spirearch.

Benedict isn't like most of his peers.

He has always thought the parties were boring and pointless, and just as Ninon has observed, almost obscenely extravagant. There wasn't much he could do about them, though, except just endure them as best he could, and so once he voices his token protests, he tends to suffer through them stoically and congratulate himself when the whole ordeal is over.

Now that he attends them in his position as Ninon's bodyguard, he doesn't allow himself to be distracted by his gossiping cousin or by idle daydreams of being able to leave before the last song has been played. Now, instead, he stands at attention on the periphery of the crowd, his golden eyes focused solely on his charge, keeping track of her as she laughs at jokes and dances with hopeful men of all ages, charming each and every one without promising a thing.

He knows it's wrong, what they are doing. She is his charge, he should not allow himself to be won over by her charms. She is, quite literally, employing him (or, at least, her brother is), and as such, she should not allow herself to dally with him. And yet, as he watches her twirl through the room in the arms of some important person or other, all he can think of is how she feels in his arms, how her rib cage expands beneath his palms when she breathes in deeply after taking off her corset, the way her neck bows beneath the weight of his hand, how her pale fingers look pressing into his skin.

He's so distracted by these thoughts — some bodyguard he is — that he nearly misses the way Ninon looks at him before slipping through the open door, out into the darkened corridor beyond. Moving smoothly, Benedict weaves his way along the edge of the room and follows, because it is his duty to do so.

Not at all because of the way her eyes sparkled as she caught his eye.

[provocant]

Ninon knows the Manor better than most. After all, she is sentenced to live her life within these walls (she is not a spoiled brat that does not understand or feel the weight of the privilege she has). She knows every corridor, every room, so well that she could navigate them in the dark. And the advantage of "dallying" with someone such as Benedict is that even if he may not know this particular dark hallway as well as she, the low light would not be a disadvantage due to his eyes.

Oh, those brilliant eyes. Eyes whose very glance thrilled and frustrated her. For one moment they may send a shiver of girlish delight down her spine (despite outgrowing such feelings years ago) and the next, his piercing, stubborn gaze may send the heat of anger through her whenever he refuses to bend to her will, her charms.

But there is one way that she has "bent" him. Although she doesn't see it that way. Of course, none of it is proper for reasons even beyond the fact that he is meant to protect her and nothing else. It was difficult to resist, he is difficult to resist and it seems he has similar thoughts about her.

So they play this game now. She does her duty then she slips out, hiding somewhere for him to find her and then... well.

She hides now, in the dark, behind a statue of some ancient man whose name she does not care to recall (but could if she were pressed). She is silent, although she does cool herself with a silk fan, knowing full well even that subtle motion will give him hint enough as to where she is, along with the gentle, rosy scent of her perfume.

[warriorborn]

Ninon is correct in her assumption that the dark would not hamper him; being warriorborn, he is blessed with excellent eye sight, and quite nearly the ability to see in all but the darkest of rooms. Even if there were absolutely no light to be found, and even Benedict and his cat-like eyes were thwarted that way, he would always be able to find her.

Some part of him would like to say that is because of some romantic notion or other, he isn't quite fanciful to come up with something suitably saccharine, but he has vague notions of reading something appropriate in one of his cousin's books, but the far larger, more practical part of himself knows that he will always find her because he can smell her even when he cannot see her, the scent of her skin and the soaps she uses dulled beneath the floral note of her perfume, but not wholly drowned out by it. Even were her perfume not made specifically for her, and therefore the only blend of its kind in the entire Spire, he would be able to pick her out of a line-up blindfolded.

As silent as a man his size has no business being, Benedict creeps into the room from which her trail emanates, his pupils expanding until they look nearly round to compensate for the darkness. He can see her easily, tucked behind some statue or other, her fan waving lazily in front of her face.

He comes up behind her, still as silent as a mouse, and bends to press his lips to the exposed plane of her shoulder.

"Found you."

[provocant]

It is dark in the corridor but not so dark that she cannot see and yet, she is distracted enough to be caught off guard by his approach. Despite expecting him, knowing that he would follow and find her easily, she is still surprised when she feels the warm press of his mouth against her skin. Drawing in a breath she cannot help, she is reassured that no other person could move so silently, that is not some rude guest wishing to take liberties (which has been known to happen). It is part of the reason he was chosen for this assignment, Benedict was deadly with his abilities.

She lets out an amused sound as she flicks her fan shut with a swift movement and the other hand comes up clutch the back of his neck to keep him close. "So you have," she smirks, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of his head. "I came to take some air."

[warriorborn]

If Benedict catches some guest manhandling her without her permission, he doesn't think he would be able to restrain himself from doing something he'd regret. It is his duty to protect her, but also, he is hopelessly entangled in her, and he doesn't think his professionalism would save him from acting rashly.

But as it's just his own lips touching her, he lets himself smile against her shoulder, his hands lifting to settle at her fashionably-cinched waist, pulling her closer against his front as she slides her hand into his hair.

"You might find more of it out in the gardens," he points out, though going out to the gardens would also mean leaving the dark sanctuary of the gallery, and it is also far more likely to be crowded.

for kate; new beginnings

[warriorborn]

If pressed, Benedict might admit that he thought that, if he was ever returned to his home, no time at all might have passed. Admitting to that thought felt like a betrayal of what he and Kate had built with each other, but what other explanation could he give? If he was being rational, the two whole years he spent living on the Surface made far more sense when viewed through lens of some sort of injury-induced hallucination, the fevered ramblings of a sick and dying brain desperate to cobble together a few more moments of clarity before succumbing to Silkweaver venom. He would have said that, if this theory were true, if he woke up at all he would expect to simply wake up in a sickbed, his body sore, the world the same as he left it.

In actual fact, the two years he spent living down on the Surface passed above it as well.

When Benedict woke up in his own bed, taller and broader and sporting a full beard he had never worn in his life before, he had given the maid coming into his room such a fright she actually fainted. What followed was a cacophony of yelling, both from members of his family and from himself, as everyone tried to wrest answers out of everyone else, all to no avail. Eventually, the yelling had ceased and he had been washed, had his hair trimmed — though he had categorically refused to let anyone force him to shave; a beard such as his might not be fashionable in the high houses of Spire Albion, but goddammit, it's one of the only things he has that proves (to him, at least) that what happened to him was real — and new clothes were procured for him, and then he was whisked off to meet with the Spirearch.

Countless tests and interrogations later, and still, nobody is any the wiser as to where he had gone, why he had been chosen, or even how he had been taken.

Gwen had cried on his chest when she finally came by to see him a few days later, too busy with her duties to the Spirearch to be living at home when he had arrived. He had held her close, almost crushingly close, and tried to keep his own tears at bay. For two whole years he had wished to know how she was doing, had wished to see her, had wished to speak to her again, and now that she was here beside him, all he could do was think about how much he wished he was back in that little primitive habble, back in his own home, back with his wife.

Slowly, over the following weeks, Benedict adjusted back to the way life used to be before, returning to the Guard for lack of anything better to do, his once-easy demeanor markedly changed. While he was always happy enough to keep his own company unless in the company of his family or closest friends, now it would be more accurate to describe Benedict as withdrawn, lost in his own head when he wasn't doggedly putting himself through the rigorous training exercises given to him to get him back to fighting shape. With single-minded focus, he clawed his way back up the ranks, regaining his skill with gauntlet and saber alike, a harsher edge to his fighting style that he would have said sat better on the shoulders of Bucky Barnes than himself. No matter. Despite his own conviction to remember his life below, those memories seem to drift farther and farther away from him with every day, and there are nights he lies awake in his bed and misses the warm shape of his wife beside him and wonders if she had been a dream after all.

While her memory was still fresh in his mind, he had drawn a portrait of Kate, lamenting not having practiced — though how could he, really, have practiced a skill such as this one, when paper and pencil was so hard to come by? — for so many years, unhappy with the final product but knowing he would be unable to improve upon it. The little drawing remains tucked in his jacket, beneath the Ethersilk lining, where it will be safe and he can withdraw it to glance at it whenever he likes. He has nothing else to remember her by, after all. The ring he was gifted did not come with a companion for him to wear, so now that he has been torn from her side, the only memory he has of Kate even existing is his beard and the scar on his arm from that time he dropped a pot of boiling water on the kitchen floor and scalded himself.

His gauntlet is a heavy weight on his left hand, his sword an uncomfortable pressure on his hip, and even his uniform seems to sit strangely on him now, even though it has been made precisely to his measurements. Dressing every day in his fine woolen coat and shined leather boots, clothes he had dreamed wistfully of while trapped down below, he finds himself perversely missing soft cotton and rough denim. Even the lack of wood surrounding him is hard to adjust to again, and he had spent his entire tenure on the Surface mildly astonished to see trees growing.

Hardest to adjust to is how alone he feels, despite the fact that he is once more surrounded by every living member of his extended family, the majority of which live in Lancaster House alongside him, the more removed members living nearby in less-grand houses of their own. Never did Benedict think he would truly miss their one little room in the inn, or the small little cottage across the way that they had eventually moved into. He had thought them so lonely, before, and now he feels lonelier than ever.

[mauved]

[ all things considered, it's not a terrible plan. it's certainly not the worst she's ever had, nor is it even the most impulsive. but the facade of bringing home a fake significant other to run interference and/or deterrence is a tale as old as time, a tradition tried and true. kate and benedict would be engaging in a pastime that is lifetime movie sacred, so they pretty much have the entire cosmos on their side here. she's not worried.

if nothing else, she means for her presence to be nothing more than a steady source of security for him. a harbor amidst the storm that is navigating complicated family structures and responsibilities because, hey, she gets it. if all that comes out of this weekend is a little peace for him when he needs it the most, then she will have considered it all a massive success.

besides, it's just one weekend. a long weekend, sure, but barely a handful of days. it'll be over before they know it, and soon enough they'll be back on a plane, laughing the experience off because that's what friends do.

fortunately, the show doesn't begin as soon as they touch land. they'd been picked up, but not by anybody they had to expend too much energy convincing, so the ride to lancaster house is a quiet, easy one. the matron of the house isn't available to greet them upon arrival, which is more than fine by kate, who takes it all in with the quiet reverence of someone who knows old money when she sees it — and she knows she's barely seen everything at this point.

they're ushered into the house and to the room, luckily left to their own devices to unwind from the flight before dear auntie requires their presence for dinner or something. they're given a few hours, at least, though it might be even less when benedict suddenly stops at the doorway to their room, his broad frame blocking out everything from view. did his shoulders just tense up? ]

What's wrong, did they forget the crystal chandelier—

[ she maneuvers around his frame to slip into the room, casting a quick panning glance around in inspection. as expected, it's as opulent as the rest of the estate, complete with what is undoubtedly only the finest of egyptian cotton and silks spread across the bed and—

wait.

the bed? the one, singular bed?? ]

Ohhhhhh.

[warriorborn]

[ Being picked up by a driver from the airport isn't an unfamiliar experience for Benedict, and it doesn't seem to faze Kate either, which means they get an extra hour or so's respite before he has to brace himself for the Lancaster family welcome, which...

Is also very subdued and basically a non-event.

He keeps his arm around Kate's shoulders as they walk up the drive to the main entrance, where the housekeeper is waiting for them to show them to the room they've been assigned for the duration of their visit — technically, since Benedict moved out at fifteen to join the Temple, and then later the Guard, the room that he grew up in is no longer "his," but instead reverted back to its original form of a generic child's room, ready and waiting for either the next generation of Lancasters or a guest bringing a child along in tow — while a footman and the driver deal with their bags.

Etiquette dictates that he should let Kate enter their room before him, but he's a little bit suspicious of the easy acceptance his announcement of a girlfriend received, and he can't quite shake the belief that somehow, even though she's not even in the country right now, Gwen will have found a way to prank him.

What awaits them is no prank, but it is something Benedict hadn't quite considered:

One single solitary king-sized bed. ]

Somehow this possibility slipped my mind.

[mauved]

[ all in all? it could be worse. she's not quite sure how yet, but she's almost definitely sure it could be. statistically, there was bound to be at least one hiccup in their plan and if this is that? kate will take it. at the very least, it's something they can keep behind a literal closed door. heck, she'll even bunk on the floor if she has to or — is that a chaise? good god that is indeed a chaise. ]

I guess in retrospect, your last minute guest announcement wouldn't have really necessitated a change in rooms.

[ he's an adult, after all. no one's going to assume two adults who were seeing each other would require separate rooms. even if one of those adults is benedict himself...

honestly, kate's not looking to get too bent out of shape about it. it's a large enough bed, even if she's pretty sure benedict can easily take up half (or more) of it, and, again, it's just a weekend. slipping further into the room, she helps herself to one side of the bed already, letting out a soft sigh as she sinks into the plush mattress. she knows better than to get too comfortable; it would be foolish to let one's guard down so early on, especially after how smoothly everything else has been going. she's skeptical by nature, and so naturally she doesn't trust all the good luck they've had so far. the fact benedict had managed to make it from the car to the front door with his arm around her and not pass out from blood suddenly rushing to his cheeks is little too lucky for kate's liking. ]

So, what's next? A festival celebrating your magnificent return?

[warriorborn]

[ In no universe would Benedict allow Kate to sleep on the floor while he takes the bed, regardless of what relationship they're faking for his family. If she doesn't want to share with him — understandable — then he'll take the floor. Or the chaise. In any case, he's not making his guest give up the bed, not under any circumstance.

He looks around the room with its soft blue walls and antique furnishings; they've been given one of the nicer guest suites. Probably to impress Kate, he's pretty sure he'd have been given one of the rooms down by the kitchens if he came alone. He's never minded, being closer to the kitchens means having an easier time sneaking snacks and he does like the distance that affords him a little more privacy.

The rooms down by the kitchens don't have their own balconies, though. ]

No, it wouldn't have. [ Except that it absolutely, very obviously, did. ] I think we're looking over the hedge maze, [ he adds, nodding towards the french doors that lead out to the juliette balcony, just large enough for a tiny table and two chairs and a few potted plants.

Watching Kate settle down on the edge of the bed has a strange dissonance twanging in his head: he's suddenly struck by the desire to lie down, tired from their journey here, while also being acutely aware of the fact that in just a few hours, they're going to be expected to slip into that bed together and sleep only a few feet apart.

Gods, his family will probably expect them to have sex at some point in this trip. Otherwise why would they have given him the nicest spare guest room? ]

Cocktails, probably. Then dinner. Not for another few hours, though. [ His aunt will descend from her rooms about an hour before the main meal is served, and they'll all be expected to gather in one of the drawing rooms to have an apéritif and make small-talk before they're allowed to be seated. ]

[mauved]

[ kate follows benedict's line of sight towards the balcony doors and can't help but think, of course there's a hedge maze. she hadn't caught it on the way in but there was only so much her wandering eyes could have taken in in those handful of seconds from car to door. there's undoubtedly a lot to take in — the room itself oozes detail begging for attention at every corner — but now that the initial adrenaline has begun to fade, kate turns her focus on the man still standing stiffly before her. the promise of cocktails is a welcome oasis in the desert of all this fronting, but it isn't for some time now. and benedict looks like he could use a breather or two.

she offers him a warm smile, patting the space on the bed beside her. ]

Sit. Relax. It's just you and me now. No faking.

[warriorborn]

[ He's tense, but also not; this is the house he grew up in, a place full of happy memories, a sanctuary he knew he could always return to if ever he needed it, if ever the outside world became too much for him to bear. It wasn't until he got to school age that he fully understood that being warriorborn was seen as a bad thing, and he's grateful that his parents and his aunts and uncles made such an effort to treat him normally when he was small. He always knew he was different, but it never felt so bad within these walls.

And yet...

He toes off his shoes and lowers himself down on the bed beside Kate, letting himself flop back onto the plush comforter and sprawl out for a moment before folding an arm behind his head so he can see her better. ]

Thank you. For doing this for me. [ He reaches out with his free hand, brushing the backs of his fingers against her forearm. ] I really appreciate it.

[mauved]

[ whoever said "distance makes the heart grow fonder" can kiss kate's badly-in-need-of-a-tan ass. they clearly never had a boyfriend as wonderful as benedict, whom she decides is never allowed to take trips away from her ever again. so what if he was technically obligated to thanks to some family responsibility, so what if it was only ten days? that kind of time feels like an eternity to every couple comfortably deep in that sweet honeymoon stage. kate is being robbed here, she tells you! robbed!

it's why she doesn't even mind staying up late to pick him up at the airport following his red-eye. she's one of only a few waiting at the gate, but she still carries a placard with her, with the words neatly written on it: ]

HOT STUFF.

[warriorborn]

[ Transatlantic flights are no fun, no matter which class of the plane you sit in. Not that Benedict would know how it feels to fly coach, but he can extrapolate, and even just thinking about sitting in those cramped seats with his knees jammed in the back of the seat in front is enough to make his back hurt.

Even in first class, though, it's not exactly a picnic. The only consolation he had was what he knew was waiting for him on the other side: the comfort of his own home, and, of course, Kate.

The airport is quiet at five am, the rush of early-morning travelers not yet swollen to its peak, and Benedict has flown in and out of here often enough to know exactly where he's going, which is why the sound of his loafers on the hard tile is purposeful and confident as he strides through the long corridors to the exit.

He'd forwarded Kate his itinerary and told her of his plans to hire a taxi to take him home, assuming based on past experience that she'd probably still be asleep when he landed and not wanting to ask her to go through the hassle of getting up to collect him. Why bother, when it's easier for him to pay someone else to drive him instead? It's why he doesn't notice her immediately, his head ducked down as he looks at his phone, scrolling through his apps to find where the Uber icon is. When he does glance up, though, she'll get to see his eyes widening in surprise for a moment before a slow smile blooms on his face, and then he adjusts his trajectory to head straight towards her. Even the sign doesn't seem to embarrass him much, he's far too focused on the pleasure of seeing her where he didn't expect to. ]

Sweetheart. [ Finally close enough to touch, he abandons his rolling suitcase and slides his arm around her waist instead, his free hand lifting to cradle her jaw as he bends down to kiss her warmly. ] I told you I was going to hire a car, you didn't have to come get me.

[mauved]

[ it's sheer will (and four cups of coffee) that has kate still standing solid on her feet before the sun has even come up, but boy does she feel a sudden burst of warmth and energy upon seeing him. she readily admits to herself now that she's gotten spoiled; days and nights spent at his side have become so commonplace that these days they spend more time sleeping over at each other's place than bothering to sleep alone. so the ten days she'd had to go home to her empty apartment has been rough, but now those days are long behind her. ]

Didn't I, though? I'll forgive you wanting to see a taxi driver before wanting to see your girlfriend, but only if you kiss me again.

[ of course she doesn't actually wait for him to initiate, because kate takes what she wants, so she is soon rising up on her toes and tugging his head back down with a hand behind his neck to draw out a longer, deeper kiss that might have made anyone who dared to watch them at that moment blush. ]

[warriorborn]

[ It's like they went from famine to feast and back to famine again; before The Party Trip, they spent a lot of time together, naturally, but they also spent a lot of time apart, just like any regular friends do. Now, though...

Well, there's a reason there's an extra toothbrush in his bathroom, and twice as much shampoo as before in his shower. She's even got a set of pajamas tucked away in his drawers, though she usually just wears something she's stolen from him when she decides to spend the night. He's not complaining.

He's certainly not complaining about being kissed again, letting his hand fall down to her waist to join its twin so he can wrap his arms around her securely and hold her close to his chest as she licks past his teeth. Appropriate physical displays of affection? We don't know her. ]

I always want to see you. [ Benedict, you sap. ] Did you stay up all night to wait for me, or did you actually wake up before dawn?

[mauved]

I honestly couldn't tell you.

[ to her credit, she sounds awfully chipper for someone whose last few hours have blurred so much she can't recall if sleep was ever really a thing. ]

The point is I'm here. And you're here. Finally.

[ as if it wasn't just a little more than a week. as if they hadn't phoned or texted every day the entire time. ]

Let's get you home. I slept in your bed all day yesterday so it would smell like me. You're welcome.

[warriorborn]

Right, I think I'm going to be the one driving us home, then...

[ He blithely dips his hand into her jacket pocket to filch her car keys, slipping them into his own pocket instead. Kate's a wonderful girl, and an excellent girlfriend, but he doesn't necessarily trust her behind the wheel of a car when she's sleep deprived.

Also, potentially, Benedict simply likes to be in control.

If only he could be in control of his physiological reactions as well as he'd like. The blush that creeps up his collar at her comment about sleeping in his bed couldn't be stopped even if he'd had a gun to his head, and he finds himself needing to clear his throat. ]

Erm. Thanks. That'll be...nice.