Fic: I'll be the one (6/7)
Title: I'll be the one
Fandom: Murder Call
Characters: Tessa Vance, Steve Hayden
Prompt: 069. Thunder
Word Count: 1500
Rating: G (K)
Summary: Each swing of his sledgehammer bore into the drywall in time with the rumbles of thunder, each hit reverberating through his already sore muscles. Steve welcomed it, though. [A series of ficlets set after "Aftermath". Based on the Deadline/Suspect novel by Jennifer Rowe.]
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. They belong to Jennifer Rowe, Hal McElroy and Southern Star. I make no profit out of this.
I'LL BE THE ONE
PART SIX
Set immediately after Part 5.
Each swing of his sledgehammer bore into the drywall in time with the rumbles of thunder, each hit reverberating through his already sore muscles. Steve welcomed it, though. It gave him something to focus on. Gave him something harmless to pound to pieces; something he’d build up again.
Therapy, that’s what his dad called it. Steve had needed it after the disastrous affair with Suzanne Delacourt four years ago.
Now it seemed he needed it again, even though he’d finished most of the renovations in his house already. Only the third bedroom left. No point hurrying with that when he already had a bedroom and a guestroom. Additional bedrooms were for something, someone, else. Something Steve didn’t have, not yet, and maybe never.
Pausing, Steve stepped back, let the sledgehammer down to the floor, and leaned down to pick up his beer. Fourth that night, which probably wasn’t wise, but right now he didn’t care about that.
He wanted to exorcize Kilgrave’s words from his head. Wanted to banish old memories, new memories, that only made his blood flare to a boil when he recalled them.
Stupid to think he’d have a shot. After all these years and nothing happening one way or the other…stupid. Moronic. No wonder she’d seek out someone else; be enticed by someone else. Give her smiles to someone else. He’d been too damn much of a coward, thinking he didn’t want to screw up a good thing. Not with his track record.
Chugging the last of the beer, Steve threw the empty bottle to the floor, letting it clatter across the boards somewhere. He didn’t care where. Then he picked up the sledgehammer again and continued tearing down that wall as if his life depended on it.
Outside, the thunder prevailed. Ominously. Like the tolling of a bell. Counting down to something. Emphasising his loneliness, his isolation. He could’ve been at the bar now, with the others, but he’d opted out. Again. Didn’t want to risk seeing her with that paramedic.
God, he was a stupid mess. So damn weak. Just like he’d been four years ago with Suzanne. Steve hated that. Hated that feeling. If only he’d been-
His mobile rang.
Steve stopped, pulled it out from his pocket, and saw Tessa’s name on the display. With gritted teeth, he cancelled the incoming call. Wasn’t in the mood for another of her crazy hunches or whatever it was she was calling him for.
Two minutes later, it rang again. Same procedure. Same result. It kept ringing him four times more before eventually stopping.
Steve continued tearing down the wall, muscles growing tired now, bleeding out the last of his frustrations like he’d hoped. A fifth beer made his head pleasantly buzzed as well, dulling his thoughts, his memories. All in all, dad Hayden’s therapy worked once more. Disaster averted. No need to make a fool of himself at the office or some other place. Now he could face her again tomorrow morning, act as if nothing had changed.
Even if it had.
Then, all of a sudden, the door to the third bedroom opened and she was there. Eyes wide, blonde hair tousled, neck covered in a bandage, breath slightly wheezing after coming up the stairs with her bruised ribs.
He was too stunned to get angry. “Tess.”
She was too wired to stand still. “You didn’t answer your phone. I got worried.”
Jittery, Tessa entered the room, stepping over paint tins, stacks of plasterboards, and tools left around. Her arms hugged her upper body tightly, her lips pursed thinly, and Steve recognised the look. She was nervous, tense, as if the bearer of bad news.
“I’m fine,” Steve said automatically, eyes narrowing as his shock passed. He picked up the sledgehammer and continued with his task, suddenly needing the action again.
“Are you?” Her voice speared him. There was an underlying challenge there, fuelled by tension and a touch of both frustration and worry.
She’d stopped moving and he could picture her even if he couldn’t see her. Ramrod straight, shoulders tense, chin tipped up slightly in defiance, head cocked somewhat to the side. Steve had seen it many times. Had argued with her over it many times. She probably knew exactly what it did to him, wanted to spark some kind of reaction from him, prove her point.
Steve gritted his teeth. “Why are you here, Tess?”
“I’m worried about you.” Tessa started moving again, slower this time, almost in sync with the thunder that’d moved past Arthur Street and was farther off now. Her voice sounded abnormally loud in the bare room. “You’ve been…tense.”
Steve snorted. He couldn’t help it. That was the biggest understatement he’d heard. To draw attention away from his initial response, he swung the sledgehammer again, hooking it into a piece of broken drywall and ripping it away.
“Just get a little sick of this job sometimes,” he muttered, which wasn’t a lie. There were too many sickos out there like Kilgrave; too many bodies that haunted him at times.
“Right,” Tessa said in a tone that clearly was meant to placate him. She obviously didn’t buy it for a second. Steve swung the sledgehammer harder, cracking parts of the wooden frame behind the drywall. “So it’s got nothing to do with me?”
Steve almost halted mid-swing. With those damn observant eyes of her, she would’ve seen it and he cursed himself inwardly. “No.”
“Okay…” She’d stopped again, her voice suddenly very close. It was as if he could see her in the periphery of his vision, but Steve didn’t turn to look. Couldn’t.
Instead, shifting position, Steve focused his eyes on the last remaining wooden frame, pulled the sledgehammer over his shoulder and prepared to let it slam with extra force.
“I’m not seeing him, you know.”
Like a punch in his gut. Steve couldn’t swing the sledgehammer. Couldn’t say or do anything. He just stood there, stupidly, his muscles shaking with the effort of holding it uselessly over his shoulder.
The wall was already torn down.
“It’s not him I’m interested in.”
Breath caught in his throat, Steve finally looked at her, met her eyes, saw the little expressive details telling him she was exposing herself to him. A clear shine in her eyes, silent tears on her cheeks, arms wrapped tightly to protect herself, lower lip caught between her teeth.
“But you haven’t seen that, have you?” Her voice was soft, small, oddly vulnerable and yet oddly strong at the same time. “You saw what you wanted to see.”
He had, hadn’t he?
“Tess…” The words wouldn’t come to him. Slowly, tiredly, he let the sledgehammer down to the floor, but she was already looking away, pulling back, and his gut twisted. “Tess, I-“
“I’m tired too, you know.” Tessa began to move towards the door, slowly, giving him a wide berth, her eyes no longer holding his gaze longer than split seconds. “I’m going to head home. Just wanted to make sure you were okay after today.”
She gave him a smile, but it wasn’t like her usual ones. Not the ones he loved.
“I’m not.” The words were pulled from the depths of his being without a conscious thought. Her stunned eyes met his, longer this time, and Steve knew the storm had come. Only it wasn’t a raging inferno; it was a slow burn. Nearly dying out already. “I hate to see you get hurt.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Only hurt?”
That challenge again. Only now, as Steve considered the words he wanted to say, he realised how stupid they sounded, how childish. He was a thirty-odd male, damn it. He wasn’t supposed to be this weak. And yet…she was the wiser one, pushing him to the limit, making him own up to it.
“You smiled at him.” Steve’s lips pursed into a thin line. “I hated it.”
She didn’t smile at that. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t make him feel worthless and small. Instead, she let her shoulders relax and her arms to fall to her sides, exposing herself fully. “So what’re we going to do about it?”
So brave, so beautiful. The last of Steve’s defences crumbled.
“I don’t know about tomorrow, but…right now, I want to kiss you.”
That warranted a smile. An honest one, a happy one. “Okay.”
It spurred him on. Letting go of the sledgehammer, Steve bridged the distance between them slowly, giving her every chance to back out, to say stop, but the damn woman didn’t stop him. She just held his gaze all the way, her breath catching slightly in her throat as he stopped in front of her, almost a head taller than her, and she didn’t close her eyes until their noses grazed each other.
And then all his focus narrowed to those soft, pliant lips beneath his, and he forgot all about time, place and tomorrow.
After all these years, he was finally home. The thunder had passed.
PART FIVE
PART SEVEN
Fandom: Murder Call
Characters: Tessa Vance, Steve Hayden
Prompt: 069. Thunder
Word Count: 1500
Rating: G (K)
Summary: Each swing of his sledgehammer bore into the drywall in time with the rumbles of thunder, each hit reverberating through his already sore muscles. Steve welcomed it, though. [A series of ficlets set after "Aftermath". Based on the Deadline/Suspect novel by Jennifer Rowe.]
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. They belong to Jennifer Rowe, Hal McElroy and Southern Star. I make no profit out of this.
I'LL BE THE ONE
PART SIX
Set immediately after Part 5.
Each swing of his sledgehammer bore into the drywall in time with the rumbles of thunder, each hit reverberating through his already sore muscles. Steve welcomed it, though. It gave him something to focus on. Gave him something harmless to pound to pieces; something he’d build up again.
Therapy, that’s what his dad called it. Steve had needed it after the disastrous affair with Suzanne Delacourt four years ago.
Now it seemed he needed it again, even though he’d finished most of the renovations in his house already. Only the third bedroom left. No point hurrying with that when he already had a bedroom and a guestroom. Additional bedrooms were for something, someone, else. Something Steve didn’t have, not yet, and maybe never.
Pausing, Steve stepped back, let the sledgehammer down to the floor, and leaned down to pick up his beer. Fourth that night, which probably wasn’t wise, but right now he didn’t care about that.
He wanted to exorcize Kilgrave’s words from his head. Wanted to banish old memories, new memories, that only made his blood flare to a boil when he recalled them.
Stupid to think he’d have a shot. After all these years and nothing happening one way or the other…stupid. Moronic. No wonder she’d seek out someone else; be enticed by someone else. Give her smiles to someone else. He’d been too damn much of a coward, thinking he didn’t want to screw up a good thing. Not with his track record.
Chugging the last of the beer, Steve threw the empty bottle to the floor, letting it clatter across the boards somewhere. He didn’t care where. Then he picked up the sledgehammer again and continued tearing down that wall as if his life depended on it.
Outside, the thunder prevailed. Ominously. Like the tolling of a bell. Counting down to something. Emphasising his loneliness, his isolation. He could’ve been at the bar now, with the others, but he’d opted out. Again. Didn’t want to risk seeing her with that paramedic.
God, he was a stupid mess. So damn weak. Just like he’d been four years ago with Suzanne. Steve hated that. Hated that feeling. If only he’d been-
His mobile rang.
Steve stopped, pulled it out from his pocket, and saw Tessa’s name on the display. With gritted teeth, he cancelled the incoming call. Wasn’t in the mood for another of her crazy hunches or whatever it was she was calling him for.
Two minutes later, it rang again. Same procedure. Same result. It kept ringing him four times more before eventually stopping.
Steve continued tearing down the wall, muscles growing tired now, bleeding out the last of his frustrations like he’d hoped. A fifth beer made his head pleasantly buzzed as well, dulling his thoughts, his memories. All in all, dad Hayden’s therapy worked once more. Disaster averted. No need to make a fool of himself at the office or some other place. Now he could face her again tomorrow morning, act as if nothing had changed.
Even if it had.
Then, all of a sudden, the door to the third bedroom opened and she was there. Eyes wide, blonde hair tousled, neck covered in a bandage, breath slightly wheezing after coming up the stairs with her bruised ribs.
He was too stunned to get angry. “Tess.”
She was too wired to stand still. “You didn’t answer your phone. I got worried.”
Jittery, Tessa entered the room, stepping over paint tins, stacks of plasterboards, and tools left around. Her arms hugged her upper body tightly, her lips pursed thinly, and Steve recognised the look. She was nervous, tense, as if the bearer of bad news.
“I’m fine,” Steve said automatically, eyes narrowing as his shock passed. He picked up the sledgehammer and continued with his task, suddenly needing the action again.
“Are you?” Her voice speared him. There was an underlying challenge there, fuelled by tension and a touch of both frustration and worry.
She’d stopped moving and he could picture her even if he couldn’t see her. Ramrod straight, shoulders tense, chin tipped up slightly in defiance, head cocked somewhat to the side. Steve had seen it many times. Had argued with her over it many times. She probably knew exactly what it did to him, wanted to spark some kind of reaction from him, prove her point.
Steve gritted his teeth. “Why are you here, Tess?”
“I’m worried about you.” Tessa started moving again, slower this time, almost in sync with the thunder that’d moved past Arthur Street and was farther off now. Her voice sounded abnormally loud in the bare room. “You’ve been…tense.”
Steve snorted. He couldn’t help it. That was the biggest understatement he’d heard. To draw attention away from his initial response, he swung the sledgehammer again, hooking it into a piece of broken drywall and ripping it away.
“Just get a little sick of this job sometimes,” he muttered, which wasn’t a lie. There were too many sickos out there like Kilgrave; too many bodies that haunted him at times.
“Right,” Tessa said in a tone that clearly was meant to placate him. She obviously didn’t buy it for a second. Steve swung the sledgehammer harder, cracking parts of the wooden frame behind the drywall. “So it’s got nothing to do with me?”
Steve almost halted mid-swing. With those damn observant eyes of her, she would’ve seen it and he cursed himself inwardly. “No.”
“Okay…” She’d stopped again, her voice suddenly very close. It was as if he could see her in the periphery of his vision, but Steve didn’t turn to look. Couldn’t.
Instead, shifting position, Steve focused his eyes on the last remaining wooden frame, pulled the sledgehammer over his shoulder and prepared to let it slam with extra force.
“I’m not seeing him, you know.”
Like a punch in his gut. Steve couldn’t swing the sledgehammer. Couldn’t say or do anything. He just stood there, stupidly, his muscles shaking with the effort of holding it uselessly over his shoulder.
The wall was already torn down.
“It’s not him I’m interested in.”
Breath caught in his throat, Steve finally looked at her, met her eyes, saw the little expressive details telling him she was exposing herself to him. A clear shine in her eyes, silent tears on her cheeks, arms wrapped tightly to protect herself, lower lip caught between her teeth.
“But you haven’t seen that, have you?” Her voice was soft, small, oddly vulnerable and yet oddly strong at the same time. “You saw what you wanted to see.”
He had, hadn’t he?
“Tess…” The words wouldn’t come to him. Slowly, tiredly, he let the sledgehammer down to the floor, but she was already looking away, pulling back, and his gut twisted. “Tess, I-“
“I’m tired too, you know.” Tessa began to move towards the door, slowly, giving him a wide berth, her eyes no longer holding his gaze longer than split seconds. “I’m going to head home. Just wanted to make sure you were okay after today.”
She gave him a smile, but it wasn’t like her usual ones. Not the ones he loved.
“I’m not.” The words were pulled from the depths of his being without a conscious thought. Her stunned eyes met his, longer this time, and Steve knew the storm had come. Only it wasn’t a raging inferno; it was a slow burn. Nearly dying out already. “I hate to see you get hurt.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Only hurt?”
That challenge again. Only now, as Steve considered the words he wanted to say, he realised how stupid they sounded, how childish. He was a thirty-odd male, damn it. He wasn’t supposed to be this weak. And yet…she was the wiser one, pushing him to the limit, making him own up to it.
“You smiled at him.” Steve’s lips pursed into a thin line. “I hated it.”
She didn’t smile at that. Didn’t crack a joke. Didn’t make him feel worthless and small. Instead, she let her shoulders relax and her arms to fall to her sides, exposing herself fully. “So what’re we going to do about it?”
So brave, so beautiful. The last of Steve’s defences crumbled.
“I don’t know about tomorrow, but…right now, I want to kiss you.”
That warranted a smile. An honest one, a happy one. “Okay.”
It spurred him on. Letting go of the sledgehammer, Steve bridged the distance between them slowly, giving her every chance to back out, to say stop, but the damn woman didn’t stop him. She just held his gaze all the way, her breath catching slightly in her throat as he stopped in front of her, almost a head taller than her, and she didn’t close her eyes until their noses grazed each other.
And then all his focus narrowed to those soft, pliant lips beneath his, and he forgot all about time, place and tomorrow.
After all these years, he was finally home. The thunder had passed.
PART FIVE
PART SEVEN