. one kiss

[joel marston]

Joel was drunk. Well, maybe not drunk, but tipsy at the very least. Inspecting his phone, he held it two inches away from his face, trying to discern what direction his uber was coming from... as soon as he had it was gone, a notification notifying him that he'd taken too long. Was he really that bad? Making a mental note to complain to the app as soon as the letters on his phone screen stopped swimming, he finally managed to flag a cab down and jump in, saying his address coherently enough that the driver had him home within fifteen minutes. In truth, he'd had no idea he'd been that close, and would have walked had he known. Still, he stuck the key in the door, a smile tugging at his lips as he heard the familiar sound of dogs scrambling to their feet at the noise. As soon as he opened the door Schmidt was bounding up to him, the massive great dane launching himself onto his owners shoulders and practically flooring him. "Buddy, hey, come on," Joel laughed, rubbing at the giant dog's ears and easing him off himself. As usual, he picked up the envelopes addressed to him, opening bill after mail order catalog after bill. That was, until he reached an opened envelope, one covered in glitter and handwriting he had come to know. His stomach dropped through the floor. Blue eyes scanning the horrible text, an obsessive poem to his girlfriend, Joel felt an increasing sense of nausea that threatened to floor him. Collecting himself, he wandered into his bedroom, the pitter patter of paws following him. Stripping down to his boxers, he fetched a glass of water and went to brush his teeth, before climbing into bed. Lying still for a few moments, he realised he wouldn't be able to sleep... slipping his arm around Zelda's waist, he kissed her neck, hoping to rouse her from her sleep. "Z, wake up. We need to talk about that letter," he mumbled, his lips brushing against her soft skin.

[zelda atwood]

The quiet evening has turned into a common occurrence with Zelda. A quiet evening that consists of cooking dinner for two, but wrapping one up in the fridge. Three dogs that follow her every move, one that keeps looking at the door expectantly. It's an evening where she wraps herself in a large throw and curls up on the couch to watch Netflix by herself. She spends it thinking about glitter and heart confetti, checking the locks on the doors and windows. She eventually gets bored and goes to bed. But in bed is that nagging envelope and accompanied with it that letter. The way it was signed, see you soon. Zelda tries to sleep for two hours, but eventually gets up to sit by a window and smoke some pot. Riggs hops onto the bed with her and puts his head on her back. The big dog gives her a sense of security and she eventually falls into a dark sleep. When her sleep is interrupted, she wakes defensively. Her body jolts and moves toward the edge of the bed. Sensibly, she connects the voice to the person and she turns to burrow herself in his chest. Her hands reach around his waist and she shakes her head. "In the morning," she says, her Texan drawl more obvious when sleepy. Her eyes closing and her mind begins to drift back to sleep.

[/quote]

[joel marston]

Whisky laid heavy on Joel's breath, tinged with a warm hint of cinnamon. In true Bianca style, as soon as she spotted him going to put his coat on and leave, she had insisted on him doing body shots. The first dose of the rancid liquid had burned his throat, coating his mouth with that artificial tasting spice. The second? Not so bad. The third had was like water. His head swimming, he nestled into Zelda's hair, inhaling her scent and pulling her body in close to his. The combination of her turning into him and her sleepy drawl sends a pang of affection through his chest that's so intense it verges on a heartattack, making him hold his breath for just a second. "Christ I love you," he admits, hugging her close, smothering her. He thinks about her here on her own, opening that letter... guilt threatens to take hold, so instead of wallowing he decides to take action. "No, we need to get this sorted," he says, deciding not to apologize for his absence just yet. Better to compensate. A thought occurs to him as he breathes in her scent. "You smell like pot," he says, half bemused, half accusatory. Distracted, he's finding it difficult to maintain focus on any one thing, his brain jumping from declarations of love to admissions of guilt to a desire to sleep, and somewhere also the inclination to pull all her clothes off and have his way with her. Paralysed by choice, he lies there in silence, sure of only one thing: he did not want her to go back to sleep. "Zelda, I'm serious, we need to talk about this. Why didn't you call me and tell me you'd gotten another one? I'd have been here in a heartbeat."

[zelda atwood]

"What time is it?," Zelda wonders outloud, yawning against him and holding him back. The idea of the letter had been pushed to the back of her head. They had become both more frequent and lengthy. One arrived in the mail at least once a week and every time she saw one, she felt an uncomfortable dread mixed with fear. When Joel mentions it, it takes a minute for the thought to click in her head. But when it does, she doesn't want to talk about it. It was all she thought about that evening and when it left her mind, he pushed it back in. She ignores him and pushes herself deep within the covers and impossibly close to his chest. "You smell like whiskey,," she's bothered, but doesn't allow her tone to be managed by it. But her control doesn't last long. He brings the letter up again and she pinches his sides and kicks him away. Her back turns to him and she pulls the duvet over her head. "No,," she murmurs, closing her eyes tightly and willing herself to fall back asleep. "I did. Leave me alone."

[/quote]

[joel marston]

Joel ignores her question, knowing she wouldn't like the answer. Besides, he didn't actually have any idea what time it was. He'd have guessed 11pm, but then he'd left the bar at closing time and gone on to yet another, dingier place, only to eventually have to leave there too. It must have been closer to 3am. Wilfully ignoring the digital clock he knew to be glowing just behind him, he laughs a little. "Drank the city's supply of Fireball. Took one for the team," he says, his tipsiness rendering him oblivious to her disapproval. It's a tremendous source of comfort having her curled up against him, her skin soft and her body warm, much warmer than his. Finding himself abruptly kicked away, Joel almost wants to cry. "Don't sulk, c'mon," he says, trying to pull her back into himself. Where she'd been pliable as a rag doll before, now she was stiff, frozen. Guiltily he thinks of his phone, how he had missed her calls and decided to text her a quick "be home soon babe" instead of calling her back. "I'm an asshole," he admits, shuffling across the bed to be closer to her, the two of them comically taking up the smallest amount of space on the expansive mattress. "I've been working on it all day, I promise. I just stopped by for one after work, and y'know, it's... I'm sorry, I should have called. Please don't hate me."

[zelda atwood]

Zelda rolls her eyes. She doesn't want a fight so late in the night, but she can't help but become increasingly frustrated at this new habit. It wasn't the first time he'd woken her up and it definitely wouldn't be the last. A few weeks ago he'd come into bed and woke her up for sex. She didn't mind then, it'd felt bad but in a good way. A handful of times later, she didn't hold the same amusement. "Congratulations," she doesn't know what else to say. Her mind not having caught up to speed and her enthusiasm was definitely not cheering him on. He pulls her back and she tries to sink her weight into the mattress. But she stands no chance, her smaller body being pulled by his larger. She nods when he calls himself an asshole and she allows herself to be taken in by him. Her arm takes his and she lays her head against his forearm. "Let's just go to sleep, okay? I want to go to sleep. I was having the deepest dream.,"

[/quote]

[joel marston]

Slowly the fog is starting to clear, bringing with it the telltale early signs of a hangover-- his mouth felt dry, his head felt sore, his stomach felt unsettled. But more than all of those things, sleeplessness was seeming more and more inevitable. A habitual beer drinker, Joel liked to pretend he could drink whiskey... but Zelda drank him under the table. Unable to cope with the amount of shots he'd consumed, his body was struggling, and with it he knew sleep was off the table. Zelda was very much the opposite, each word slurred by her tiredness, that sexy drawl out in full force. "I'm gonna go play some LA Noire," he murmured, satisfied that she didn't want him dead. "You sleep. Sorry, love you." Gently removing his arm from its place under her soft smooth cheek, he leans down and kisses her again, tucking her up under the covers. Slipping out to the living room, he collapses down on the couch as the PS4 whirrs into life. Schmidt sidles up beside him, clambouring up to sit alongside his best friend on the couch. Within half an hour the two are fast asleep where they sit, the Playstation controller threatening to slip from Joel's weakening grip. The dog is half on top of him and breathing deeply, their chests practically rising and falling in unison, drool leaking out of its mouth and dripping onto Joel's white t-shirt. Beside him is the letter, which he'd read and read again whilst waiting for the game to load, his brow furrowed and his stomach heavy with dread. Though he hadn't wanted to tell Zelda, there was something that had changed about the letters, a subtle difference to the tone that alarmed him deeply and set off all his Detective alarm bells. Still, that was a problem for tomorrow-- as was the wicked hangover he was bound to wake up to.

[zelda atwood]

She's surprised when she feels his weight lift off the bed. Joel doesn't often give up so easily and she fully expected to be pulled up from her rest. When he shifts off, she immediately misses his hold. She's bare without it, but is relived when she's let go from the conversation. "love you too," she murmurs, closing her eyes and snuggling into her pillow. The two huskys are eager to take his place. Riggs lifts himself to lay protectively at her head and the other takes a spot by her feet. Zelda drifts off more quickly in the coziness of their warmth. Their bedroom says dark come morning. The time of year combined with the type of day. Grey sits outside their apartment and dark rainclouds fill the sky. When she wakes, she has to check the time twice because she doesn't believe it can be so dark. First order of duty is always bringing the dogs down the elevator for a pee outsie. One of the many downsides to living in New York is that she can't just open a door to let them in the yard. Joel's sweater is so large on her that it doesn't look like she's wearing pants, and with the three dogs - she must be quite the sight. When she gets back up, the dogs are fed. Then she begins to work on herself by putting on a pot of coffee. She makes a quick bowl of oatmeal and picks away at it while scrolling through her phone, catching up on her newsfeed. When the clock hits ten, she pours a large glass of water and the packet of Tylenol. "Good morning, baby," she coos softly at Joel, kissing him softly on the cheek. "Come, let's get a shower and take the dogs out.,"

[/quote]

[joel marston]

Joel is pulled into a deep sleep, one that's full of dreams of Zelda and Zara and Bianca and his brothers and his mother. His mind flits from one thing to another, never settling long enough for him to make any sense of it. In what feels like no time at all, he's stirred by the softness of a kiss on his cheek, though this is followed by the realization that he has a pounding headache. Groaning, he rubs at his eyes, slowly opening them and looking up at his girlfriend. "Morning," he mumbles, glancing at the glass of water and the pills. "Ugh, can't they run around the apartment?" he moans, taking hold of her, slinging his arm around her petite shoulders and pulling her down on top of himself as he collapsed back onto the couch. It's a dreary day, which at least matches his mood. Slowly things start coming back to him, starting with the beer he'd had after work, then the shots, then the slow trudge home. H felt sick. From the alcohol, from the idea of how much money he'd spent, from the fact he'd let Zelda down. Of course alcohol was a depressant, but somehow he felt he'd feel this way even if he wasn't feeling so rotten. "Oh Z," he mumbled, squeezing her, kissing her soft hair. "Are you mad at me? I'd be mad at me. I'm sorry, I'm a dick. That's the last time, promise."

[zelda atwood]

Zelda laughs at his suggestion. The dogs are patient right now, but soon they'll start to stir and their nails will clip around the apartment restlessly. "No," she shakes her head and as soon as it's out, she's taken hostage. "Nooo," she groans but allows herself to be manipulated. Her weight falls on top of his and she adjusts herself comfortably by letting her legs slip between his. Joel shows remose, but she doesn't react. She loves him to death, but she knows that his apologies don't often mean much. She knows from her sister that this habit was one that damaged their relationship. His late nights with Bianca, his coming home early in the morning and his hangovers. Zelda finds herself upset that it wasn't only her sister and that Zara wasn't the problem - Joel was. For now, she remains silent on the subject. She doesn't want to admit the problem and have the tension of it ruin them. "Shh,," she wiggles in his embrace, her body turning so she faces him. "I don't want to talk about it,," she dips her head to kiss him, "but I'm not letting it ruin the weekend." Zelda kisses him deeply and tries to ignore the taste of liquor. She moves off of the couch and pulls at his hand, "come!,"

[joel marston]

The move back to New York had given Joel a new lease of life. Able to leave the police force, reunited with his old partner and back on the streets he loved so much as a PI, he was a different person now that he'd returned to his spiritual home. The same could not be said for the dogs. Finding a place that would let them have any animals had been hard, finding somewhere that could somewhat comfortably accommodate three big dogs had been neigh on impossible. This was as close to as they were ever going to get, but it did mean more walks. Dreading the idea, Joel holds on to her for dear life, her weight like a blanket on top of him. "Mhmm, yes," he said sleepily, settling down as though he were about to drift off. He's bracing himself for her reply, and her avoidance of the subject makes him feel relieved and tense at the same time. Clearly she wasn't happy with him, but he was grateful that she wasn't sulking, particularly with him being in such a fragile state. "Half an hour," he says, adjusting himself so that he's propped up by an elbow. He reaches over for the Tylenol and the water, drinking the pill down. "Let that take effect." He collapses back down, staring up at the ceiling, scratching at the stubble that lined his jaw. Why did he keep doing this to himself? Thinking back on the night before to try and pinpoint when he lost control, he remembered something that made his heart sink. "You got another letter, didn't you? Here, can you get me it?"

[zelda atwood]

Zelda rolls her eyes when he asks for a half hour. Having been awake for almost an hour, she's ready to go now. But she gives in, sighing, "fine." With everything happening, Zelda is on edge. Living in New York combined with the stress off work, then topped off with the letters. Zelda is wearing a 'this is fine' hat, but her blood pressure is high and all she wants is to dig a hole to lay in. She pushes her hair into a high bun and ignores Joel's question, "I'm getting a shower." She stretches out her time in the shower. Letting the hot water roll over her body and sudding up with a bar of lavender soap. She worries a little bit that the letter sender is going to sneak past a sleeping Joel and kick open the door. But she passes off the thought as irrational. When she leaves the shower, she slips on a tight pair of jeans and a cozy turtleneck. "I don't want to think about the letters," she announces as she exits the bathroom. "You know, the police know. Everyone who could do something can't and I don't want to think about it."

[joel marston]

Though he can hear the vague hint of reluctance in her voice, Joel is too grateful for the opportunity to lie there for another half hour to question it. Sunk comfortably deep into the sofa, sleep is no longer an option for the hungover man, but the solace of lying still is still available to him. He listens as the sound of the shower turning on fills the adjacent room, hoping he'll get to listen in on Zelda's shower singing but suspecting that she's not in the mood. Guiltily, he puts himself in her position. She was so good at putting a brave face on it, but he knew she must be absolutely terrified. Heaving himself up, Joel manages to drag himself across the room, a husky excitedly bounding up to follow him. "Not yet baby, not yet," he murmurs, scratching behind her ears before heading back to the couch, letter in hand.  Through his pounding headache, he forces himself to concentrate on the scrawl written in front of him. He's looking for something, anything, an odd word or a grammatical mistake, something unique, identifying in the right circumstances. He's pouring over it as Zelda shouts out that she doesn't want to speak about it, making him sigh. "The police are idiots," he says flatly, his disdain for them lingering over from his time in the Austin police department-- well, actually from long before that. "There's got to be something in this," he mutters to himself, turning the paper over, inspecting it. "Was there an envelope? I mean obviously there was. But do you have it?"

[zelda atwood]

An annoyed Zelda plucks her hat from the table in the entrance and puts it over her wet hair. "Yeah, but," she lifts a toren envelope from the table and walks over to him, "it's the same." She hands him the envelope and walks back over to the entrance to pull on a pair of boots. The dogs have clued in, both huskies raising exitedly, the younger one grabbing at Schmidt's ears to encourage him to move faster. The great dane stretches out and saunters over to get dressed. Zelda pulls a dog coat tight over his large body at pats him down, "I know - ridiculous - but you'll be thankful you're warm." Her hazel eyes look up to Joel inspecting the envelope, "it's fine. Three big dogs and you. I'm fine, come on." One by one she clips leashes on the dogs, each wiggling with excitement. Quixote is wild, jumping on her and the other dogs exitedly before running over to Joel to pounce on him encouragingly. "Come!."

[joel marston]

"If you go out with wet hair it'll make you sick, even with that hat on," Joel says as he watches her get dressed, sounding just like his mom. He takes the envelope and studies it, the slight fold of one corner, the hurried scrawl on the front. No post mark. He glances over at her as she dresses the dog, his heart feeling another warm pang of affection. Rough as he felt, he drags himself to his feet, pulling on a sweater and sneakers. As he does so he's mauled by an excited dog, making him laugh, bending down to scrunch its face up and scratch behind its ears. "Come on then."  Passing over his trench coat - he felt undeserving, that stupid letter taunting him - he grabs a large shearling jacket, pulling it on over the navy sweater. Taking Schmidt's leash, he leads the motley crew out of the apartment and down the stairs, with even the old great dane showing some enthusiasm. As soon as he steps out the New York chill hits his skin, as welcome as any other part of this city to the boy who loved everything about it. "Who's working your case again? I'm gonna call him, try and get them to actually fucking do something."