(no subject)

[tragic_mask]

They are outside the Blue Owl Bar. It's mid-morning, so there are cars rushing [so to speak] by, and people walking, biking, or rollerblading down the sidewalk nearby.

"Well, here we are,"  she says brightly, ponytail ruffled by a light breeze.

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[tragic_mask]

"Scrounge for years," she says sagely, "Until we can retire by the sea."

[mechanicalswans]

"Rent a hut, at first," he suggests. "Spend our days combing the beach for interesting things to turn into sculptures to sell to tourists, and our evenings entertaining those tourists with songs and stories at some local pub."

[tragic_mask]

"Live off the land," she adds. "Or just the kindness of strangers. Either is equally romantic."

[mechanicalswans]

"I can fish," he says. "We would never lack for food. And we would have no stress at all--it would be beautiful."

[tragic_mask]

She contemplates it, silently, tracing patterns on his chest.

Then: "I feel like, really, my stressed self would always be sneaking back in. After all, there's only so long I can pretend not to be... what I am. A long weekend is probably just about the right length for that."

[mechanicalswans]

"You'd be surprised how long you can distract yourself," he says quietly. "It takes a certain amount of compartmentalization, but it can be done. Then again, it's a bit of a specialty of mine..."

[tragic_mask]

"Why?" she inquires.

[mechanicalswans]

"Why do I do it?" he asks. "It makes things easier. More pleasant. Better than exploring all the harsh realities of a situation. Selectively accepting certain things and refusing to see others--isn't that what being in love is?"

[tragic_mask]

"Ha," she says. "Yes, I suppose it is."

[mechanicalswans]

"Sometimes you just need to be able to close certain things away, to get by," he says softly. "It makes the difference between being able to survive, and being bogged down by what has happened to you. I find it comforting."

[tragic_mask]

"It's a talent I find difficult," she says. "Everything just seems to mix together in a strange gumbo."

[mechanicalswans]

"Why is that?" he asks. "For me, it's easy. I just... put certain things aside, close the door, and go on without them."

[tragic_mask]

"I don't know," she says. "I think keeping them all together lends itself to my work."

[mechanicalswans]

"I couldn't function at all if I didn't lock some things away."

He settles back on the bed, and lights a cigarette. "But I'm not doing a very good job of it tonight."

[tragic_mask]

"I think you're doing better than I am," she says. "At least with locking away the vocational side of things."

[mechanicalswans]

"We're on an uneven field, with that. There's no fire here, after all. My work needs tools that I don't have with me, where yours needs only you. I can keep that away, but the rest--the rest, I have less experience with, and more temptation."

[tragic_mask]

"The rest?" she asks, head tilted.

[mechanicalswans]

He takes a drag on his cigarette, watching her, then looks down at his hands.

"I care for you," he says, "deeply. Those aren't the words of an imagined man going on an ordinary vacation."

[tragic_mask]

She looks down too, as if her hands are fascinating.

"I'd like to believe that," she says, with a hesitant, wry smile. "But how do you know where the play-acting ends?"

[mechanicalswans]

"I haven't looked for my wife since I met you," he says, and takes another slow drag. "Not really, anyway. I can't stop looking completely, but I can just go through the motions. Give myself other projects. Come up with plans, revise them, and revise the revisions, all without actually making anything, because this--this here, with you, this is the first time in a very long time that I have felt anything at all, and I don't want to lose that any sooner than necessary."

[tragic_mask]

"I don't want you to, either."

She smiles, and goes in for a smoky kiss.

[mechanicalswans]

He sets the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, and gives the kiss his full attention.

No compartmentalizing here, and no deception.

[tragic_mask]

She pulls closer, intertwining her legs in his, her hands in his hair.

She whispers, "Hope you're feeling this," and carries on.

[mechanicalswans]

He doesn't answer in words, but his response is clear enough even without them.

[tragic_mask]

She tries not to think-- instead, concentrating on the sensation of being here, and now.

It works, mostly. But still she exhales, gently, taking a pause.