[She replayed the message once. Twice. Like she were trying to commit the words to memory rather than simply give them time to process. She knew that things were rough with the temporary amnesia...she could still remember the sound of his voice when he realized... but this?]
[By the time she finished her third listen-through, she was crying. Twin trails of tears streaming down her cheeks. Now that was just unacceptable; hastily, she reached up to wipe at her face, hoping her eyes weren't so red that they would give her away when she went to turn on the setting to a reply:]
[The sound of her voice; the sudden sight of her pretty face shocks him into silence. For a moment he's frozen, unsure of what to say. A laugh escapes him, rough and cynical, as he averts his eyes from her.]
I, uh... I don't think I intended for you to hear all of that. I was just... y'know. Talking. Sorry if I bothered you.
[It's clear he still thinks that she doesn't remember him.]
[The laugh could have meant a lot of things. Mostly, it meant he was busted sending her a message he apparently hadn't realized she would actually hear. Like it had been something rehearsed only he hit the record button by mistake. It happened.]
And since when has you talking ever bothered me? You forget--I've seen you drunk. I know his much you can ramble. [Among other things--though there was a specific point to referencing that particular moment beyond mere comedy:] ...and I'm still here, aren't I?
[I'm still here.]
[The words she'd spoken to him the day she first saw his face, scars and all. After he'd revealed things about his last he knew would send others running. That might have sent her running, once upon a time, before she'd gotten to know the Wade here and now.]
[It's not the first time she's left him completely without words, and he's certain it won't be the last. There is a few minutes of silence, in which he struggles to find something to say; some off-color comment or witty remark that might distract him from what he's feeling right now. He can find none, so after a while he stops trying.]
[It doesn't take him long to reach the house-- barely three minutes, at most-- but when he finally winds up at her doorstep he finds himself loitering there for a few minutes more, working up the courage to knock. Which is ultimately stupid, when you really think about it. He's known her for so long now-- over a year now, surely-- that this shouldn't be a huge deal.
Finally, after what seems like hours of deliberation, he throws caution to the winds and knocks on her door. Here goes nothing.]
[She hasn't vanished like some others he could name. She's still here, her warm, almost sly smile still wonderfully present. But Wade feels as though he's lost her somehow, as if she'd been gone for weeks before returning to him. He knows it's silly and irrational, but phobias tend to be. And the fear of being forgotten-- of fading from even the darkest recesses of people's memory-- is a very real fear for him, especially now.
He swallows hard. Somehow it's painful to even look at her.]
I... [An awkward chuckle.] I feel like I should've had a speech prepared or something.
[He follows her lead, brushing past her in the doorway to make his way into the common room, where he stands awkwardly at attention like a student in the principal's office. He's still uncertain with her-- some sort of synapse in his brain hasn't quite accepted the fact that she remembers him, and he's still so worried about screwing things up.
Wade clears his throat, anxious to say something-- anything.]
[This had the potential to get really awkward really fast. Which, to be frank, wasn't her style. Nor his, at least in the context of their relationship.]
You mentioned something dinner and witty banter?
[Starting with the familiar. Familiar was good. Familiar was what he was coming here to find, right?]
I don't know about you, but I could easily go for either. Or both.
Wow. I see how it is. Not even here, and I'm still getting overshadowed...
[See that pout? That one, right there? That's all your doing, Wade, because she is clearly the most offended and not actually grinning as she turned to head towards the part of the common area with the stoves and pots. Some of which looked far more used than others.]
Well...figuratively and a bit literally, I guess.
Boiling water the old fashioned way tends to take too long.
Hey, don't take it so hard. Batman overshadows everybody. He's practically got storm clouds over his head around the clock.
[He chuckles, though, at her admittance of using her magic.] So first you're an accomplished wine-maker, now you're a talented water-boiler... remind me again why I haven't invited you to live at my place, Zee.
Hey, you never know. I could toss 'em a few Penthouses to distract 'em and then make off with the goods. Never underestimate a pubescent teenager's ability to be distracted.
[He begins to stack the pots he'll need on the counter.]
No, but this looks good. I can use these. Anything in particular you'd like me to make, or should I just wing it?
[He groans at that, clenching his hands into fists-- the very image of frustration.]
Why do girls always say that? Now the pressure's on and stuff. Can I get an idea of what you like, at least? I know you're vegetarian, but that doesn't really give me a lot to work with. C'mon, help a guy out, would ya?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
backwordscompatible) wrote2014-03-08 09:25 pm
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[She replayed the message once. Twice. Like she were trying to commit the words to memory rather than simply give them time to process. She knew that things were rough with the temporary amnesia...she could still remember the sound of his voice when he realized... but this?]
[By the time she finished her third listen-through, she was crying. Twin trails of tears streaming down her cheeks. Now that was just unacceptable; hastily, she reached up to wipe at her face, hoping her eyes weren't so red that they would give her away when she went to turn on the setting to a reply:]
So who said we're not friends?
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I, uh... I don't think I intended for you to hear all of that. I was just... y'know. Talking. Sorry if I bothered you.
[It's clear he still thinks that she doesn't remember him.]
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And since when has you talking ever bothered me? You forget--I've seen you drunk. I know his much you can ramble. [Among other things--though there was a specific point to referencing that particular moment beyond mere comedy:] ...and I'm still here, aren't I?
[I'm still here.]
[The words she'd spoken to him the day she first saw his face, scars and all. After he'd revealed things about his last he knew would send others running. That might have sent her running, once upon a time, before she'd gotten to know the Wade here and now.]
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...Are you in your apartment right now?
[His voice is breathless; a whisper.]
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I can be. If that's what you want.
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I uh... [He clears his throat.] I wanna see you. I-If that's okay.
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Of course it is. Come on over. I'll meet you there.
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[It doesn't take him long to reach the house-- barely three minutes, at most-- but when he finally winds up at her doorstep he finds himself loitering there for a few minutes more, working up the courage to knock. Which is ultimately stupid, when you really think about it. He's known her for so long now-- over a year now, surely-- that this shouldn't be a huge deal.
Finally, after what seems like hours of deliberation, he throws caution to the winds and knocks on her door. Here goes nothing.]
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[Specifically, Zatanna making a point of glancing up at Wade with the warmest, most welcoming smile she could muster as she opened the door.]
Hey.
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[She hasn't vanished like some others he could name. She's still here, her warm, almost sly smile still wonderfully present. But Wade feels as though he's lost her somehow, as if she'd been gone for weeks before returning to him. He knows it's silly and irrational, but phobias tend to be. And the fear of being forgotten-- of fading from even the darkest recesses of people's memory-- is a very real fear for him, especially now.
He swallows hard. Somehow it's painful to even look at her.]
I... [An awkward chuckle.] I feel like I should've had a speech prepared or something.
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How 'bout we start with you coming inside and take it from there?
[She turned to let him in the room.]
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[He follows her lead, brushing past her in the doorway to make his way into the common room, where he stands awkwardly at attention like a student in the principal's office. He's still uncertain with her-- some sort of synapse in his brain hasn't quite accepted the fact that she remembers him, and he's still so worried about screwing things up.
Wade clears his throat, anxious to say something-- anything.]
So, uh.
[A valiant effort, though not exactly eloquent.]
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You mentioned something dinner and witty banter?
[Starting with the familiar. Familiar was good. Familiar was what he was coming here to find, right?]
I don't know about you, but I could easily go for either. Or both.
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[Careful there, Zee. He's still kind of emotionally compromised.]
Just lead me to the pots an' pans and stuff and I'll make you a meal fit for a queen. Sound good?
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Sounds absolutely perfect.
Come on. I'll show you what passes for our kitchen. Try not to sound too horrified at once when you see it, though. Remember who I live with....
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[Oh, like you're much better, Wade.]
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[Point of clarification. Among...other complications.]
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[Hey Wade you know how Wolverine won't take any of your shit? Batman's probably worse.]
But yeah, lead me to where the magic happens. Figuratively speaking, of course.
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[See that pout? That one, right there? That's all your doing, Wade, because she is clearly the most offended and not actually grinning as she turned to head towards the part of the common area with the stoves and pots. Some of which looked far more used than others.]
Well...figuratively and a bit literally, I guess.
Boiling water the old fashioned way tends to take too long.
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[He chuckles, though, at her admittance of using her magic.] So first you're an accomplished wine-maker, now you're a talented water-boiler... remind me again why I haven't invited you to live at my place, Zee.
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No offense, but I don't think that's a fight you could win.
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[He begins to stack the pots he'll need on the counter.]
No, but this looks good. I can use these. Anything in particular you'd like me to make, or should I just wing it?
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Surprise me.
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Why do girls always say that? Now the pressure's on and stuff. Can I get an idea of what you like, at least? I know you're vegetarian, but that doesn't really give me a lot to work with. C'mon, help a guy out, would ya?
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Alright, fine.
I like Mexican and Italian. In that order. Does that help any?
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