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'kay.

[So very eloquent, and she considers saying something else, but that thought completely flies out the window when he moves closer.

For a second, she thinks he's going to kiss her, and she goes still, because she's... here, and she's curled up with him, but these are things she can justify to herself as acceptable. She'd do this with Babs, or Kara, and it wouldn't feel like betraying Ellie. Kissing is another thing entirely.

It's a relief when he doesn't, but that easy sleepy mood she had going on is gone, and now she just looks a little awkward, unsure if she should leave or just bury under the covers like that might solve this problem.]

Steph.

[He's quiet, and he tilts his head a little.]

It's okay.

[Maybe it's not. Maybe he'll think about this later and see it as the huge mistake it is, but for right now, all he wants is for her to feel comfortable. Safe. Like everything didn't almost go up in gasoline-fueled flames.]

Okay.

[She doesn't know if that's true, but she doesn't want to argue about it. It's easier to just believe it, to settle back into the pillows and try to stop worrying about everything so much.]

Can I ask you something?

[She does that a lot.]

Sure.

[Saul hates that question. It makes him nervous.

Good thing Mike's claws in his back are such a good distraction!]

Can you, uh — ow! — move her, first? Maybe? Please?

Wimp.

[But she's rolling onto her back and setting Mike on her stomach, petting her in the hopes it'll make her stop fussing and just curl up again.

She's quiet for a moment, considering, before turning her head to look at Saul.]

Jesse said he made you sorry, for what you did. [Her expression twists a little.] Did he really? Or was he just trying to get a reaction out of me? I mean - I know what he was trying to do, but was it true, as well?

[Did that even make sense.......]

I'm sensitive.

[Once Mike's been removed (and curls up on Steph, just as she'd hoped), Saul rolls over onto his side to watch her as she speaks. The question catches him off-guard, but it doesn't show; he just pauses for a second, thinking, like he's trying to fetch a memory he rather wouldn't dig back up.

He owes Jesse one hell of a thank-you, that's for sure.]

He made me sorry, yeah, but not like that.

[She nods, slow and careful, like she's not quite sure she believes it, but she wants to.]

Good. [quiet, and her attention is on the kitten rather than on Saul.] He asked me to stop him, if he hurt anyone.

[Why do so many of their conversations come back to Jesse? It's her fault, this time, but it feels like he just kind of permeates everything in this city.]

[He doesn't know what to say to that. Saul doesn't want to consider the possibility of Jesse hurting anyone like that. If Steph ever hurt him in retaliation...

Jesse's an idiot and Steph's stupid for agreeing to it.

Saul sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Remember his not-so-smooth topic change all those months ago in the coffee shop? He's doing it again.]

You hungry?

[That's okay, she doesn't want to talk about it either, she just thought he should know, considering everything.]

A little, yeah.

[She ate with Jesse last night, but that was the last time she had something.]

Do I get breakfast in bed?

[It's hard to tell if she's joking...]

Whatever you want.

[He sounds so sincere. And he's still smiling.]

I make a mean pancake, but our syrup is kind of... uh, spiked. It's Remy's fault.

[She makes a sound like she doesn't believe him.]

If you say so.

[She yawns, stretching as much as she can without distubring Mike.]

I can help.

[With the pancakes. Breakfast in bed feels a bit too indulgent.]

[No. That's too domestic. He refuses.]

You don't have to. It might upset the princess if you move her again.

[Something in his voice suggests he's not kidding about the "princess" thing, like maybe that's what he calls her all the time.

Because it is.

~~gross~~]

So I'm stuck here until she decides to move?

[Saul.

Saul pls.]

Aren't you comfy?

[Because he is. And he's kind of regretting offering to make breakfast because that means he has to get out of bed.

His life is so hard.]

[She seems to consider that for a second.]

Pretty comfy. [So maybe she will just stay in bed for a little longer.] I can't remember the last time I slept in this late.

[Nevermind that she went to sleep at some ungodly hour and has barely slept in days.]

Ditto.

[Nevermind that he was technically awake earlier.

He presses a quick kiss to her brow, then springs out of bed.]

Leave the work to me.

[He really shouldn't do that.]

Yessir.

[She even adds a very lazy salute.]

[Saul isn't a guy who likes repeating himself. He expects everyone to get the same things he gets as quickly as he gets them, because way deep down, he's an idealist who has hope for the human race. But this is a real problem when you sit back and consider his clientele, who usually just stare at him like he's speaking Belarusian, or something, even when he tries to put things in layman's terms or use pop culture metaphors to get his point across.

It's annoying. And it really messes with the whole hope thing.

Mostly, though, he just doesn't like the sound of the same thing said again and again. Whether he's doing it or someone else is, it bothers him. It might as well be nails on a chalkboard. Over and over and over. Like, why don't you just get it? What's wrong with you?

So when the little voice in his head just keeps going this is ridiculous this is ridiculous this is ridiculous, he kind of wants to bash his head in with the frying pan he's holding.

He gets it. He knows this is ridiculous. He knew this from day one and hasn't stopped knowing it; he knew it last night, he knew it when he woke up, he knows it when he mixes the batter and flips the first pancake and makes a bit of a face when it's not totally perfect, he knows it when he eats the not-totally-perfect pancake while trying for a more perfect one, he knows it when he can't stop thinking about how he knows it, holy shit.

In an effort to shut the voice up, the third and final pancake in the stack he's made for Steph is totally half-assed. It looks like he kind of just splashed the batter in the pan with a grand gesture of "fuck it," because that's exactly what he did.

So the plate he delivers to her, complete with fork and knife and napkin and butter and boozy syrup, contains two very round, golden pancakes, and their cousin that no one likes to talk about. If that pancake were a person, its name would be Cletus.

And for the record?

He still thinks this is ridiculous.

(And thinks it. And thinks it.)]

Voilà.

[He thinks this is ridiculous?

She's the one laying in the bed of a man twice her age while he makes her pancakes and his kitten takes a nap on her stomach. And for all that she knows this is ridiculous, that it was a bad idea, it also wasn't, because she's managed to sleep for the first time for days, and so far no one's died, and she feels a lot less... hollow, than she did last night

It actually feels like everything might be okay, despite all that she's found out.

After a little while, she eases herself into a seated position, dealing with the indignant mews from Mike by letting her play with Steph's hair. It's relaxing, and she understands why people have pets, because after a few minutes of laughing quietly and teasing the poor cat, she feels even better about the state of things.

That's the scene that Saul walks in on, Steph sitting cross legged in the middle of his bed while Mike makes a valiant effort at slaying her hair.

She looks up with a smile.]

Do I actually get breakfast in bed? 'Cause I can get up, if you'd rather I not, you know-- [eat in your bed, since some people can be fussy about that sort of thing, and Saul is kind of fussy in general.]

[Welp.

That sure is the cutest thing he's maybe ever seen. And yeah, Saul's fussy, but not fussy enough to ruin that image, so Steph can stay where she is and she can have a grand old time battling Mike for the food, because that's going to be a thing.

Saul hands the plate over, nodding back toward the kitchen and trying not to smile too much because, to be honest, his face kind of hurts.]

Coffee?

[Okay, if he's not gonna make a fuss about it she'll happily take the pancakes, holding them up so Mike can't get at them straight away. This is going to be a challenge, but for now she's investigatin the pancakes and making a face at them.]

Yes, please. Um. [She looks back up at Saul, squinting a little.] Should I be worried about the mangled one?

[What even happened to it the others are so perfect.........]

[Mike's a jumper, Steph. It's not gonna be that easy.

Saul folds his arm at the question, all mock-offense.]

Haven't you ever heard of postmodernism?

[What if she appeases Mike by letting her lick syrup off Steph's finger.]

Uh huh.

[So very skeptical, as she casts another glance between the pancake and Saul.]

You didn't have a stroke while you were pouring the batter, did you?

[w o ]

[No, but he very well might have one right now.

BUT OH HEY, LOOK. There's a spot on his arm? And he needs to look at it? And maybe pick at it a little? Because it's so much more interesting than looking at her? Maybe it's the start of a rare disease? Maybe he's dying?

Maybe.]

No, doctor. I'm fine. Eat your breakfast.

[And he'll just politely excuse himself to go fetch the coffee.]

I'm more a nurse than anything.

[Don't imagine a naughty nurse costume involved in this scenario, Saul, just don't do it.

Even though she's grinning at him like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

But okay, she takes a moment to rearrange everything so she can keep Mike at bay while she eats her pancakes, and they are actually pretty delicious, even if one of them looks like it shouldn't be allowed near children. Also boozy syrup: what a good idea, thanks, Remy.]

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I lost a w