[Izzy Montoya] (not it!)
[John Thornton] Cloudy and cold… The night was chill and unpleasant to any who dared brave the elements. Without, a small dusting of snow covered the tall, picturesque, but aged apartment building John Thornton called home. However, within his apartment, things were warm.
A light was on in the kitchen, a single bulb hanging overhead, newsprint spread upon the table. Various odd widgets and metal pieces lay on the table, as well as a plastic case, some wire brushes, and a couple cans of chemicals. A smell somewhat like turpentine or light oil seemed vaguely to come from the whole of the area…
To the side of the newspaper rested a tumbler of ice and a gold colored liquor… Glenmarange, from the look of the bottle resting in silent vigil nearby.
[Izzy Montoya] It was late, and she’d had a hell of a day, which is why she’s here, instead of on her way home. Sometimes, she’s outright terrified of how much she needs him on nights like this, how much she just needs to hear his voice, to see that little smile, to feel his eyes on her. She’d told Trent that she was scared to death, being honest with the one guy she actually called a friend that she’d never thought of fucking. Be yourself, he’d said. And be honest.
It’s a new thing, all of this, and she works at it, works at making sure she’s not doing something stupid to fuck it all up – she’s even taking more precautions toward her own safety when she can while on the job, enough that Finn noticed, and questioned. He didn’t get an answer, but somehow, she thinks he knew anyway. Probably because of the knowing grin, and the question right afterward. ‘Hows John doing these days’ he said – and she smacked him, and walked away. It’s safe to say that Izzy’s love life is even more of the talk of the town now than it was when she was fucking her way through the department.
Regardless, her car slides into a parking spot, and she grabs her briefcase filled with files they’ll never look at, and makes her way to the building. She nods toward the doorman, who recognizes her and walks her through straight to the elevator – and he’s seen her often enough now that he knows to give her time, and space to enter the elevator alone, and to curse the use of it instead of the stairs. He keys the correct floor, and steps back, holding the door for her, and not saying anything about her hesitation. Likely because she threatened to shoot him the first night, and he’s pretty sure she would.
Finally, she takes a breath and steps inside, the doors close, and she’s on her way up to John – her grip on the handle of her briefcase whiteknuckle tight, as she leans against the back wall, and breathes…
[John Thornton] Within John’s apartment, the telephone rings. A curious brow rises toward an unkempt mop of hair as John wipes his hands off with an old towel… Then, he walks toward the phone and thumbs the answer button.
“Thornton.”
“Hello John. It’s Steve, down at the front desk. Your…. Uh…”
John pauses but a moment, as though considering the doorman’s pause. Then, a smile that’s somewhat more than the wan not-a-smile the world usually gets spreads across the detective’s features as he answers for Steve.
“Izzy’s on her way up?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for the call.”
And with that, John smiles and retrieves a second tumbler from the cupboard. While Izzy might think she intimidated Steve, and she did… Somehow John couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t intimidation born of envy, or perhaps of regret. Izzy was easy on the eyes, and Steve had noticed.
He knew Steve had noticed… Based on the conversation he accidentally overheard between Steve and the on-duty security officer several days hence. Thankfully… Steve realized rather quickly after said security officer told him, having one person with a gun mad at you was bad enough. Having two was a recipe for being gunned down.
After dumping some ice from the ice tray into the glass, and filling it with the upper shelf scotch in the bottle, he returned to waiting for Izzy… Considering the metal widgets on the table before him.
[Izzy Montoya] The door opens, and she doesn’t hesitate the way she did getting in – almost stalking out of the little metal coffin before the door is completely open, eager to get into an relatively open space. She schools her breath, taking a deep one, and than a second, making sure her nerves are calmed again before she knocks on his door.
She really needs to convince him to let her use the fucking stairs…
She drags her fingers through her hair, letting it fall softly back over her shoulders. She is easy on the eyes, though she’d be the last to say so – and she’d be amused to know she had been the object of conversation between the security guards. Even as tired as she is though, there’s a smile that starts to form – not her normal smirk, but the warmth of an acutual smile.
heaven is but a few steps away…
[John Thornton] The door opens the merest few moments thereafter, John standing with her drink already in hand. He smiles the more than not-a-smile and backs away, to let her in.
“Hello Izzy… Please come in. I’ve already poured you a drink…”
And with that, John’s closing the door behind her. He hands her the glass and then begins helping her with her coat.
His voice is a quiet whisper as he speaks.
“I missed you today.”
[Izzy Montoya] He’s already poured her a drink. “You are my favorite person in the whole fucking world..” it’s said with reverence, despite the tease under the words as she takes the glass, sets her briefcase aside to be forgotten, and lets him help her with her coat. “Careful with the left side there – it’s heavy.” It’s concealing something, of course.
She takes a sip, and then her smile warms, and she looks up at him and once her arms are free, she lifts her fingers to slide them along his jaw, before she leans in and captures his lips in a brief, yet tender kiss, admitting afterward, just as softly…
“I missed you too.”
[John Thornton] Hazel eyes meet hers, his arms wrapped around her once the briefcase is gently placed on the floor and her coat is hung up in the closet. And for once, his shoulder holster isn’t an uncomfortable bit of leather between them…
He wore no tie, his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He’d long since abandoned shoes in favor of simple black dress socks…
“So… Am I your favorite just because, or was it the scotch that sealed the deal?”
He smiles, an utter lack of sincerity apparent in both his tone and expression.
[Izzy Montoya] “Yes.” She says, with a brief chuckle, and slides her arms up around his neck, pressing close.
“Both just because, and the scotch.” Of which she takes another swallow, before tucking her head against his chest and breathing deeply of his scent, the last of the tension from the right up to his floor sliding from her shoulders, easing away from her spine.
“Someday, you’ll let me take the stairs again. Right?” she tips her head to kiss his neck, before looking up at him again, chuckling. “I’m afraid Steve doesn’t know whether to just push me in and risk getting shot, or learn a careful – bullet free – lesson in patience. Though, I must say…” she lets her eyes slide over him, and nods.
“You’re worth the ride.”
[John Thornton] John smiles a knowing smile and taps his temple.
“Thank you, but I suspect Steve’s sorry he can’t be your special someone. You probably have him intimidated. He doesn’t strike me as the sort to try to get shot on purpose.”
Then, starting toward the kitchen, he continues.
“Please come on in. As for the stairs… They’re really more for exiting the building in the case of fire or evacuation. They aren’t intended for regular use by visitors or tenants…
Maybe I can get you a key to the elevator so you can use the tenant entrance.”
Retrieving the glass of scotch in hand, he turns back to Izzy and smiles…
“And a woman as pretty as you are shouldn’t be troubled on my account.”
[Izzy Montoya] She kicks off her shoes before following him into the apartment, moving quietly on stocking feet as she watches him move. As welcome as he is at her place, he’s different here – here he owns the space, moves without thought needed to what is where, a confidence born of familiarity. He’s a predator in his home hunting ground, a man in the place he calls home.
She snorts as he reveals Steve’s desires, and shakes her head, slightly. “It’s… not that Steve’s any trouble. It’s the elevator. It’s” A pause, a swallow of that scotch, and an admittance as she follows him to the kitchen “…really small.”
She chuckles though, and arches a brow, teasing. “And just how many pretty ladies are you letting up here untroubled….”
[John Thornton] “Just you… And the ones in my memories.”
He nods, his expression turned from her as he retakes his seat at the table. Then, wordlessly, the odd widgets and springs begin to reassemble themselves within his capable, sure hands… A pistol grip is mated to a trigger guard, the trigger guard to the lower assembly, the firing pin to the springs, the hammer to the trigger mechanism… The slide to the top of the gun body. The whole of it with precision and exactitude.
Who could say how many million… How many billion times John had done this? Who could deny that the rate at which this occurred reached a crescendo before his bid to avenge Maia failed?
Still, that seems far away… John does it with all of the concentration of shaving.
“I’ll see if I can find an alternative for you, Izzy… I know you don’t like enclosed spaces.”
[Izzy Montoya] She reaches out and slides her hands over his shoulder, sliding up into his hair at the back of his neck when he turns from her, and takes his seat to reassemble his weapon. She doesn’t say a word, but there is comfort that – that it is her, here now – and that she does not mind those in his memory.
She bends to brush her lips across his temple, before moving to take a seat next to him, reaching behind her to pull the holster from her belt, and lay her weapon on the table in front of her. She lifts a foot to the edge of her seat, her knee resting against the table, her glass in her hand as she watches the way he works with the pieces, as familiar as he is with the process.
A pause, and then softly. “I know it’s stupid. And it’s not too long a ride to deal with – I’ll be alright.” But she chuckles as she takes a drink. “but if we up and decide to shack up together? We’re living on the ground floor.”
[John Thornton] ((Paused here for now))