"Cuba, right. Yeah, I'd love to drive one of those old cars,"
"I always used point out that Cuba had more doctors and nurses than lots of developed countries,"
"What did your dad say?"
"Probably something like, 'Only because we', meaning Russia, 'are paying for them'"
Sawyer huffs a little laugh, and goes back to playing with Natasha's hair.
"Did anyone ever think your parents were spies?"
"Well, yes. Did anyone ever think your family ran a dairy farm?"
"When I was in college, yeah."
Natasha takes a deep drag of her cigarette, "They must be so disappointed in me,"
"I can't imagine that that's true," Sawyer's got that look she gets late at night when she's gentle, yet sure of herself. "You work hard, you try and take care of yourself. You care about people and you think deeply about things."
Natasha stands up so abruptly Sawyer almost falls from her lap.
"Let's go back in," she throws her half-smoked cigarette on the floor,
"You usually save those," Sawyer points out. Natasha just shrugs. Her hands feel fluttery, she can't concentrate on anything.
"Actually, can we? Can we just go back to the hotel?"
Sawyer nods and helps Natasha pick her way through the groups of people in the smokers' area. The crowd inside is even more jarring, the band louder and more frantic. The smell of the drink and the sweat is too much and Natasha squeezes her eyes closed, letting Sawyer lead her by the hand through the dancers in the bar. She's never been so grateful to be walking in the wake of her tall, broad woman.
The street outside is quiet but there is still a cacophony of voices in Natasha's mind telling her she's useless. She tries to walk straight but her knees are weak and before she knows it she's sinking on to a nearby bench, Sawyer's hands under her armpits.
"I love you, you know,"
Natasha looks at Sawyer, she's not quite taking it in. Sawyer's sat sideways on the bench, legs crossed and head resting on the wooden slats. Her hands twist her long hair into a fat rope.
"I do," Sawyer says, squeezing Natasha's knee. "I've known for ages," she continues, "I was going to save it for some romantic occasion. Or, let's be honest, it was nice to know that I had it in my back pocket as a bit of a trump card to win an argument," Sawyer holds her hand up to stop Natasha interrupting, "Which, by the way, is not what this is. Anyway, I love you. I thought you ought to know."
Natasha stares at the sidewalk until she starts seeing patterns in the stains and the cracks. They squirm around, make her feel even dizzier.
"You're not on your own now, Natasha. I may not have planned to start a relationship with a, with a -"
"Someone experiencing addiction?" Natasha supplies.
"I was going to go with ancient junkie, but that will do," Sawyer winks at Natasha, starts again, "We're here now, and I'm glad that we are. I was scared and hurt earlier. But I want you to know that whatever happens next, I'm here with you."
Natasha knows what the script is, but she's not going to say her lines. Partly because she feels sick with anxiety, and partly because she is waiting for some display of petulance from Sawyer. It doesn't come, and Natasha is gently surprised and pleased. Sawyer sits with her and rubs her knee until Natasha feels able to walk again. They walk back to the hotel in silence.
"Stairs or elevator?" Natasha still feels dizzy. She reasons that the risk of falling down the stairs is higher than the walls of the elevator slowly closing in on her, and Sawyer calls the elevator for them.
The hotel lift is mirrored on all four walls. There's no where she can look and not see a reflection of herself or Sawyer. Sawyer looks awful in the blue-toned light. Her eyes are puffy and red-rimmed and hair is getting flat with grease. She's biting her lip and looking at her feet. Natasha yearns to just lean across and kiss her. Natasha won't look at herself. She closes her eyes and feels herself float through space as the lift moves upwards. Sawyer's hand encloses hers. She slows her breathing, focuses all her consciousness on her left hand and the hand holding it.
"I love you," Natasha murmurs into the elevator, and hears Sawyer's breath hitch. Natasha can't open her eyes.
"Natasha, you don't need to say that," Sawyer's voice is resolute.
Natasha knows that Sawyer has never said anything like this before, she would usually expect full and immediate reciprocation. If there was a gallery of Sawyer's first 'I love you's, Natasha would expect to see a few restaurants, a beach or two, a forest. She expects she is the only one not to say it back immediately, the only one who said it whilst crying in an elevator.
"No I do," Natasha insists. "I -" The lift stops and the doors open with a cheerful bell sound.
Sawyer pulls Natasha out of the lift forcefully. For a second Natasha thinks she might hit her, but then she grabs Natasha and pulls her to her chest. Sawyer's teeth clack against Natasha's as Sawyer roughly takes her mouth. Sawyer kisses and kisses Natasha until she feels light headed, until she's whimpering into Sawyer's mouth and her knees sag, purse dropping to the floor.
They somehow
