ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100 -- For Tommy Gavin

What.

Kate blinks hard.

"He told you he knew what my breasts look like?"

Tommy might be able to infer, just from the tone and volume of her voice, that Voodoo most certainly did not feel her up.

"That sonnovabitch."

They agreed not to say anything about what happened, to anyone, ever. So instead he manufactures this story?

"That sonnovabitch!"

She's going to kill him.

He is going to be killed.

There will be not breathing with the Voodoo.

!!

This is a stunning turn of events.

"And giving a woman's bra size ain't even just about what they look like, it also about what they-- uh, y'know--"

Tommy cups his hands.

"--feel like. Which is why I thought he felt you up."

He might have made things worse for Voodoo. (You're welcome, Voodoo.)

Kate's ire is impressive, and maybe even a little hot (unf), but Tommy goes up to her and puts his hands on her shoulders, sliding his palms down her silk-clad arms.

"Listen, honey, I was this goddamn close to bashing the guy's face into the floor, but I didn't, 'cause one, no violence in the bar, and two, he's my friend, but if he truly, honestly didn't touch you, then that's all I wanted to know. As for what he said, well, yeah, it wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear come outta his mouth either and I was ready to knock his teeth in for sayin' it, but who knows, it's probably just a thing that he does out of habit, with all his goddamn Navy training, maybe he can't help-- sizing people? Or some shit like that. I dunno."

A beat.

"Although if you do kick his ass, let me know, 'cause I wanna watch."

To be truthful, Kate has a lot of patience born from what her father used to call 'Now Katie' moments. As a girl, whenever something made her livid he'd often approach with his soft English voice, and say Now, Katie, a lady minds her manners, or Now, Katie, a Barlow takes the high road. Kate's temper runs hot, but he almost always talked her down with his quiet reasonableness.

However, Tommy isn't her father.

And he's never seen her temper.

She looks at him, like she's throwing a set of ice-tipped daggers straight at him. She rumbles like a thunderstorm when she's angry, lightning quick and deluge fierce.

"Well. I reckon that's it, then. You almost beat 'im up, so I should feel infinitely better, right? I'm glad that's been decided."

She still says nothing about Voodoo touching her: number one, because it's really not the biggest issue with Kate right now; and number two, because he did touch her. Just not in the way Tommy suspects. And she is not about to get into that right now.

"I'm glad you got your peace of mind, but this really ain't about you, Tommy. It ain't about puttin' your mind at ease. An' I don't need you fightin' my battles for me."

His hands fall from her arms.

This part of her ire is more confusing to him. Because he's always missing some goddamn point, saying the wrong goddamn thing, and having it all thrown back in his face.

And it always makes him bite back.

"I-- wh-- hey, I never said this was about me, okay, I didn't say anything about 'fighting your battles,' alright? Deciding for you? I didn't-- Jeezus Christ, that's bullshit, Kate. So shoot me for, y'know, defending your honor, or-- or whatever the hell! Look, I thought Voodoo put his hands on you. What did you expect me to do, not get pissed off? I mean, shit, all I ever do is get pissed off at people, you might as well know that about me now, especially if they put their hands on people I like or care about or-- Listen, the guy's my friend, okay, and I wouldn't be giving him the benefit of the doubt if he wasn't, but as it is, if he never touched you, that's the end of it for me, but you, fine, I don't give a damn what you do now. He said the stupid shit he said and you can go take that up with him however the hell you want."

"Defendin' my honor? Really?"

She scoffs, bemusement tinged heavy in her blue eyes. She brushes past him.

"You should know me well 'nough by now t'know that if he did 'feel me up' then I'd handle it myself. So what d'you plan t'do? Beat 'im up twice? Give 'im a stern talkin' to? Or maybe y'jus' wanted to know if I liked it?"

She starts collecting clean clothes to change into, only occasionally throwing him a hurt glare.

"If an' when Voodoo touches me, then he deals with me. If he slanders me, then he deals with me. An' if all you care about is defendin' my honor, then sweetheart, consider me taken care of. I ain't got that much honor t'defend. I'll see you at the weddin'."

With that, she storms into the washroom and closes the door.

Even if he could get a word in edgewise, besides an incredulous no here and there or a sputtered that's not what I meant, he wouldn't know how to complete the thought.

Then the bathroom door shuts in his face, and oh yeah, when has he seen this before. Throwing his hands up, he grits his teeth and exhales an exasperated growl.

And takes a few seconds.

He leans against the doorframe.

"So," he says through the door, his tone still pointed, "what you're sayin' is, I shouldn't get mad if someone says something that I don't like about you. Right? Is that it? Well, jeez, excuse me for giving a shit about how that would make you feel. Listen, whether you realize it or not, I-- y'know, I--"

He trails off, scowling, defeated, gnawing at the inside of his lip.

"Look, what did I do wrong? Honey? Kate? C'mon."

There's a long pause.

When, finally, the door opens, it's just by a crack. She leans on the opposite end of the doorjamb, looking at Tommy with half-melted ice.

"No. That ain't what I'm sayin'."

Her voice is a little more level.

"Y'don't hafta look out for me, all right? I ain't defenseless. I've been lookin' out for myself for years now, an' I'll be lookin' out for myself long after you leave. Voodoo's always runnin' that big mouth of his, an' sayin' things he don't mean, but I don't need you t'step in for me. Or for him."

A crack is good. So is the look she gives him now, when her eyes don't aim to gouge holes in him as much as they did before.

He scratches the back of his head.

"Okay, listen, I wasn't-- I mean-- I know, okay, I know you ain't defenseless. You're like, one of the least defenseless people I know. Like if someone came up to me and asked me to pick three people with the best defenses, there'd be you, my sister, and the goalie on my hockey team. I know this, okay, but that won't change the way I feel. I wasn't lookin' out for you like you needed it or whatever, it's just-- that's how I react to things like this. I get-- y'know, defensive."

He pauses, shrugs haplessly. "And yeah, I overreact sometimes. ...Well, most of the time. ...All the time, really."

He's still confused as to when exactly this whole thing went south so quickly but it was his fault anyway.

"I'm sorry."

The corner of her mouth twitches.

"Jus' — don't fret about it."

If what he's saying is true, she'd shudder to think of what he'd do if he knew the bruises on her arms were Voodoo's doing. She doesn't aim to find out.

As for changing the way he feels — well. Men come and go. They've all got their opinions on what she can and can't handle, what she should let them do for her, what she should think, and how she should act. She always just ends up relying on one and they disappear. Part of what makes Tommy safe is knowing he won't stick around anyway.

But she'd rather not fight with him. She didn't expect him to care, but if he does then it's his prerogative, and so long as he's not trying to take care of her then she doesn't have anything to lose.

She glances away.

"I beg your pardon for snappin' at you."

With sobriety comes the clarity that one can concede to another without resentment.

"Well, hey, if snapping at me was one of your defenses, then I ain't gonna begrudge you the use of it."

He offers her a small, faint smile, a little wry as well, if she chooses to accept it.

Then straightening up with a sigh, he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"Can you at least open the door a little more? I don't wanna leave you like this."

She silently debates the request.

Pulling the door open a little more, she looks up at him with a furrowed brow.

He didn't think she was going to be that literal when he said 'a little.'

With another sigh and a barely contained roll of his eyes, he whines, "Aw, c'mon, honey, I said I was sorry. What else d'you want me to say?"

She exhales sharply. It could be a laugh, or it could be a sigh of exasperation.

It's also entirely possible it's both.

She lets the door swing wide open, and crosses her arms. The ice is gone from her eyes, but in its place is that familiar outlaw bite.

"Nothin' else. We're square."

Her shoulders relax minutely, but it might be enough that, when combined with everything else, he'll know she's gone from scolding to teasing.

"Did y'want somethin'?"

"Well. That's good."

It is good. It's very good.

...So.

He senses the slight shift in her mood and an eyebrow twitches at her question.

"Did I--?"

Oh. Ohh, okay. Two can play at this game.

He shrugs, shakes his head.

"Nah, not really."

And he turns on his heel, stalking across the room to get his jacket.

Her eyebrows brush her hairline.

Arms still crossed, she takes the half-step into the doorway and leans against the jamb.

"Good. 'Cuz I don't plan on gettin' changed in front of you."

Her face is an impassable fortress.

With his back to her, he slips his arms into the sleeves of his jacket.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't the case last night, but whatever."

Meanwhile, he's already losing this game. She just can't see it. Back turned and all.

"Wasn't exactly gettin' changed."

Her voice carries the kind of nonchalance one would expect from discussing the weather.

"A lady has t'have some things that're private."

Beat.

"Haven't y'left yet?"

"And you weren't exactly stopping the process!"

He kind of wants to bang his head against the door.

"I'm putting on my--"

Exaggerated jacket-adjusting!

SIGH.

He turns around.

"Y'know, you could enjoy this a little less."

She makes eye contact, and a smile spreads like oil across a pan.

"I could, but I don't care to."

Do you see why Kate never seemed bothered, all those times you told her what an asshole you were, Tommy? It's because she's kind of an asshole, too.

"Now, are y'gonna get, or are y'gonna give me a kiss first?"

Grrr.

He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip.

"Nah-uh, honey. Are you gonna bring your sweet little behind over here so I can give you that kiss, or do I hafta get before you can get it?"

One hand is on his hip, the other's on the doorknob.

Ohhh.

The man is incorrigible.

She narrows her eyes.

"I'll meet you halfway, but that's as far as I'm goin'."

Take it or leave it, Thomas.

It's like...a reverse showdown.

"You're on."

He pushes off the doorknob, standing up straighter although there's still a cocky tilt to his hips and head as he eyes her from across the room, waiting for her to make the first move.

The look she casts him is more than a warning. If he's not careful, that cockiness will get his hide tanned.

She does take the first step, however. And, being a lady, she doesn't hem or haw about it. She moves the full distance across the room, regardless of whether or not Tommy starts on his end of the deal. It just so happens that right around the middle of the room is that chest at the foot of her bed, and Kate gracefully climbs atop it.

It's her turn to have the high ground.

(And, judging by the self-satisfied smirk hanging off her lips, she's not about to relinquish it. Tommy's just going to have to brace himself to take his kiss like lady.)

Warning, challenge, etc., blah blah blah.

The moment she moves, he moves, and with a just few long, loose strides he's at the halfway mark--

--except she's made a detour upwards, surpassing their fourteen inch height difference.

Standing toe-to-wooden-chest, he raises his eyes up at her, an eyebrow arched, before slowly tilting his head back, a twist to his lips.

"Mmhm. Real cute."

It's not a complaint, at least.

She doesn't exactly preen, but there's a definite air of smugness to her answering smile. She pinches her robe like she's about to curtsy, and with her free hand she takes his chin between her thumb and forefinger.

"I thought it was rather clever myself. Now, shut up."

With that, she leans forward and captures his mouth. He's graced with more than a peck goodbye, because he said he needed distractions to get him through the workday.

Well. Distractions are her specialty.

OOM: Room #100 -- For Tommy Gavin

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