Promises are made to be broken

Entry tags:

Promises are made to be broken

Who: Pietro and Lourdes
Where: Lourdes' room
When: After this showdown with Cold
What: Apologizing, wheedling, and probably some grovelling
Warnings: None yet

Pietro spends all of five minutes basking in the glow of his victory. He's got his powers back, he showed Cold up in a fair fight. He feels like himself for the first time in over a month. He can't help grinning to himself, imagining boasting to Milkovich, or Lourdes.

And it isn't until he has that though that he realizes what he's done.

He remembered about the promise, of course. He hadn't wanted to break it. But Cold was right there, taunting him with a chance to make good on their little bet, and Morgana was so accommodating and-

He can hide it. Cold probably won't be spreading around that he'd gotten his ass kicked, and anyway, there weren't witnesses, and-

And when she finds out, that'll be it. She'll never trust him again. And if Pietro knows anything about girls, he knows they always find out when you try to hide something. Still, he drags his feet as he passes his own door, and stops at the neighboring cabin. He knocks, and it's a rapid, nervous sound.

"Lourdes?"

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She can tell the moment she opens the door that something's different. She's used to watching the way that Pietro moves, and it's changed, now. His movements are more fluid, maybe, although she doesn't register this consciously.

Leaning on the doorframe, she regards him warily.

"What's wrong?"

He smiles for her, but it's a little tense and wary, for all he's trying to act casual. His fingers flit nervously through his hair, and he makes the movement look natural, even though it's really too fast for most people to pull off gracefully.

"Mind if I come in?"

It's not really answering her question, but he'd rather not be chewed out in the hallway.

The fact that he doesn't answer her question just ramps up her suspicions even more. For a moment she pauses as though she isn't going to let him in; then she steps back silently from the door, making space for him to pass by into the cramped cabin.

"What's going on, Pietro?" she asks again once he's inside, closing the door with a final-sounding click behind her.

Pietro's never been in a relationship before, but he sure has managed to perfect the I'm an idiot expression all boyfriends eventually learn. Not that he and Lourdes are dating.

"Morgana gave me back my powers." There. The good news. But he doesn't give her a chance to respond before he charges forward, afraid he'll lose his nerve if he doesn't get it all out at once. "-except, well, Cold was going on about how he could kick my ass with that stupid ice gun of his..."

She's not stupid. She knows where this is going the second Pietro refuses to stop talking. But she's not going to give him an easy out of this one. Nope. No way.

She just leans back against the door, crosses her arms over her chest, and stares at him. Go on.

He sucks a breath in through his teeth, predictably growing red as he becomes increasingly flustered. He hates this, he realizes. He's never had to apologize like this before. His eyes flicker to the door, and even the window, even though he knows there's nothing out there to escape to.

"I'm sorry. I know I promised, and I swear I meant to, Lourdes. He's just so fucking smug and-" He grits his teeth and runs his fingers through his hair again, nervously.

"And I'm an idiot?"

Still she doesn't say a word. Just stares at him in silence as he apologizes, blames somebody else, and then gets back to the point she's grimly satisfied with, which is blaming himself. This is his fault, all his fault, and she has no patience for people who lie to her.

Her hand scrabbles around next to the door. There's a glass jar on the counter there. Her fingers wrap around it, and with cold fury, she throws it at his head.

The worst part of this is that she knows as she throws it that he's going to dodge.

Maybe, if it were the first time someone he cares about had thrown something at him in anger, he'd have been upset. He yelps, and does dodge - he doesn't have it in him to stand there and watch as the jar crawls towards his face - but as an afterthought, he snags it out of the air and sets it on the nearby table.

"Okay, okay, yeah. You're mad. Figured you'd be. I just... I wanted you to hear it from me, all right?" He's keeping his distance still, hovering as far from the door as he can get, eyes fixed on her. "I screwed up, okay? I... I do that a lot. Fuck, I'll make it up to you, Lourdes, I swear! Just name it?" He's aware he's talking too quickly, that he sounds nervous. But he is nervous, and woefully out of practice with regulating his speech.

Her eyes narrow when he catches it, narrow further when he places it carefully to the side. Does he think that's going to make a difference? She's calculating now whether she can afford to hate him, to alienate him. If she even can, at this point. He was her only sure ally, and now - well, he's proven that he can't be trusted at all.

"Do you think a promise means nothing?" Her voice is a low, dangerous hiss. "Do you think, if I had my power right now, I would hesitate a second before making Dean Winchester hang himself? Do you think you get to lie to me and get forgiven?"

With one swift movement, she crosses the room and knocks the table over with a sweep of her arm, then turns to Pietro.

"Tell me what you'll do for me." Beg.

Pietro's face goes from red to pale as he skitters out of her way. It takes more effort than he wants to admit just to bolt for the door, but... he knows he can't lose her. Can't leave, when she's this mad. He knows it'll only grow, and fester, and when she does get her power back-

-and there's other reasons he doesn't want to lose her. Ones he doesn't want to think about too much.

"I never meant- Lourdes, I'm sorry. I've never had anyone on my side before, not like you are! I... I don't know what I can do, but I'll try. Honest, I will. Anything- I swear it. Anything." Some of it was bluster, but he isn't sure which parts, at this point.

She goes still when he dodges, silent when he speaks. Turning on her heel to look at him, her expression is stony, unforgiving.

But she can't afford to lose him, either. They are valuable to each other, allies on a ship that wants to see them weak. Although she's afraid, now, that he will leave her; that now that he has his power back, he'll walk out on her and never come back.

All she wants, in this as in all things, is to be good enough. Better. Wanted. He is wanting her, now, and it allows her to soften just a little bit.

"Come here," she orders him tersely. "Don't make me chase you."

Pietro stands still for a moment, breathing hard as his eyes flick towards the door again. He's not trying to hide the fear, anymore. Even without her powers, he knows in his bones that she could destroy him, if she wanted. He wouldn't put it past her to be the one person who could turn Tiffany against him. And besides, it's not about if she gets her powers back - it's when.

It takes him a couple heartbeats to decide. Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and walks forward. He doesn't hurry, and every inch of him is tense, but he finally stops in front of her, his head hung.

His head is low, ashamed, and she drinks it in, the sight of him in front of her, penitent. She wants him on his knees, she wants him destroyed, but she reminds herself that she has to wait. She has to be patient. Careful.

Slowly and deliberately, she fists her hands in the front of his shirt and pulls him closer until his face is mere inches from hers, until she can feel his breath on her lips.

"Tell me why I should forgive you."

He wants to fight. His heart's pounding in his throat, and his hands fold over hers. But he doesn't claw them off his shirt, the way he wants. His eyes are wide, breath catching, and he's shaking with the effort it's taking him to keep from bolting.

But his gaze doesn't leave hers, now. His tongue darts out, briefly, to wet his lips.

"I can't do this alone, Lourdes. I can't. Don't make me?"

He's pitiful. That's what makes her relent, in the end. He's pitiful and desperate and it satisfies her to see him so goddamn ashamed of himself.

"You want me to forgive you because you need me." It's thoughtful, considering. There are worse reasons to do things.

Pietro looks away, then. He feels raw and wrung out, and she's barely done anything. She's right to be angry, of course. She should want nothing more to do with him. He's just not sure he can survive this place whole, can stay himself.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's... about the size of it." His shoulders slump. "...I need you. I'm sorry."

She wants to be needed. It makes her powerful, and she needs all the power she can get right now. He's betrayed her, but in a way, his betrayal's made him more vulnerable to her. She wonders if he realizes exactly what he's done.

Her grip in his shirt loosens, but only a little bit. A tense moment's pause - and then she taps his cheek, turning him forcibly until he looks back.

"Look at me," she says severely, and then, softer: "I forgive you."

He resists only for a second, tensing for more pain, more disappointment. Even if he doesn't know, exactly, how vulnerable he's really become, he knows he's exposed. She has a way of seeing right through him at the best of times. Right now he's pinned under her eyes.

Then she says it. His breath catches and his brow furrows in confusion. No one forgives him. No one's ever said that to him, out loud. She makes it seem so easy.

When he finally drags another breath into his lungs, it sounds more like a sob than anything. Dampness stings at his eyes.

When his breath hitches, she frowns, holding his face more firmly in her hand so he can't look away. It's because of that that she sees the tears when they come, even if they refuse to fall.

She makes a wordless noise, a coo, a hum, and pulls him closer by the front of his shirt.

"It's okay." Her voice is a murmur. "Say thank you."

His head buzzes. He can't figure out if he hates her or loves her. Can't get a grip on why this kindness twists in his gut more painfully than her rejection would.

There isn't much closer he can get to Lourdes. When she pulls him forward, he collapses against her shoulder, hiding his face from her.

"Thank you." His voice is hoarse and tight when he obeys.

She pulls him into her orbit effortlessly, neatly. Her arms open up to enfold him, and she rests one hand on the back of his neck, petting the nape of his hair gently.

"You're welcome." Leaning her temple against his, she sighs, feeling warm and full, like she's eaten a thousand souls.

"I'm not going to leave you behind."

It seems wrong, that he feels suddenly, wholly safe in her arms. He lets his eyes close, and his arms wrap around her. The gesture is gentle, almost shy, but god does he need the reassurance. It almost doesn't feel like this is real.

"I can make up for it. I can do better." He wants to, for her. And right now, he doesn't care about what she might ask.

"I know you can."

She speaks into his hair, arching up into his embrace. She knows. She knows he has to, now. He won't be good enough if he doesn't.

"You can start by showing me, like you said you would." But she doesn't let him go - not yet.

He doesn't want to let go of her yet, either. He doesn't want to do anything that might make her come to her senses and change her mind. Wanda had never forgiven him. Magneto? The idea was laughable. The Brotherhood had accepted him back, but none of them had ever said-

He bit his lip.

"Of course. Where?"

"Deck, maybe. In a little bit."

She rearranges them slightly, rests her head on his chest without giving him a chance to protest. Slinging her arms around his hips, she smiles, hidden in his shirt.

He glances down at her, the pain in his expression softening as he pushes back the tears. He brushes her hair with his hand - a quick, nervous gesture that's barely a breath of air against her.

"In a little bit," he repeats, grateful and relieved all at once. He wasn't losing her. Not yet. He'd have to be more careful, from now on.

Leaning into his touch, she sighs, perfectly content to stay here for a while. She knows what she's doing - what effect she's having on him. She's not sorry. He deserves it.

"You smell good," she murmurs. And that's calculated, too, maybe more than anything she's said so far.

It's strange. Touch hasn't been part of his world in a long time. It shouldn't be comforting. Shouldn't be anything but uncomfortable. Instead, he's holding her close and trying to drink in every second of this. Growing more afraid to lose it the longer he lets it go on.

He does start a little, at her comment. It's just so far from anything he's been expecting. "Um." He can feel his face going hot in confusion and embarrassment.

She grins into his shirt where he can't see. Perfect. Schooling her expression, she looks up at him, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in his expression.

"What?" She shifts her weight, as if to step back away from him. "Did I say something wrong?"

She knows she didn't. Even if she had, it isn't her time to apologize. It's his.

His arms tighten around her slightly - not enough to restrain her, but enough to ask her to please not go. His breath catches and his heart buzzes in his throat, afraid he's misstepped again.

She's playing him like an instrument, and he doesn't even realize.

"No, no. 'Course not. Didn't expect it, that's all." God, why is it getting harder all the time to think around her?

Fiddling with the hem of his shirt, she looks down at what her fingers are doing rather than up at Pietro. She doesn't go anywhere, lets him hold her close and still.

"Do you want me to take it back?" she asks quietly, forlornly, as if the only answer she can bear is a no.

"I didn't mean it like that." Pietro looks down at her, watching the top of her head intently, like he can see her thoughts if he tries hard enough. He can't get a grip on her. On what she wants from him, on how he can make her happy again.

God. He wants her to be happy, doesn't he?

"Thank you. You didn't have to-" He has to struggle for a moment to say it. "You didn't have to forgive me."

Glancing up at him again, she catches his eye as he watches her. He's so intent on her that part of her wants to give him what he wants, to tell him everything she's thinking, even the ugly and cruel things. It would drive him away, maybe, but maybe not. Maybe it would make him like her more.

"I know I didn't. But I wanted to." She chews her lip, then says something that surprises her by being true. "I don't want to lose you."

Caught staring, he colors, but he can't look away. There's nothing he can do to make this worse for himself, he figures. Or better. And she's hard to look away from. His fingers flick across her cheek like a breeze, pushing her hair from her face. But he doesn't dare linger; she might scald him, if they touch skin to skin.

"You won't." He rolls his shoulders helplessly, unable to resist her. "I'd understand. I'd still be here." Because where else can he go on this ship?

She turns her head into his touch, lips parting slightly at the softness of it. She wants to chase his fingers and the sensation of worship that comes from him. It's been so long since she was properly worshipped.

But when he pulls his hand away, she comes back to refocus on his face, the flush playing across his cheeks. He's pretty, she thinks. That's not a thing boys like to be called, but it's true, anyway. Thin and tall, with fine-boned features and an angular jaw. Because she wants to, she reaches up and touches it with a crooked smile.

"You'd still be here with me?"

Tension runs under her fingers when they make contact. Pietro's jaw is clenched, his neck stiff. Like she's a wild animal that's come close to him and he's terrified the wrong move will break the moment, and she'll be gone. Or perhaps tear his face off. Lourdes is more lioness than flighty deer.

He nods, making the movement as slow and small as he can. He doesn't want to pull away from her touch. "If you wanted me." He's done it for Wanda. For the Brotherhood. Accepted they wouldn't ever forgive him and stayed, anyway.

She doesn't move away. The moment doesn't break. She keeps touching him, the lines of his face, his jaw; eventually her fingers flutter over to the bridge of his nose, her thumb smoothing out the line of his eyebrow.

"I want you."

There's a soft, guttural noise from the back of his throat as his breath catches. Part of him sees what she's doing - knows what she's doing. Knows he's making it stupidly, laughably easy for her.

Most of him doesn't care. Nobody even pretends to want him. Not ever. All he can do is take the scraps she gives him and know better than to wish for more.

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Promises are made to be broken

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