Against my better judgement

Chapter 17: open up

His knuckles are feather light against her door that evening, mind still heavy from the events of the day. He tries to think of something else to pass the time while he waits, but the only thing he can envision is the last time he was stood on her doorstep. Heart aching, body cold, mind numb. She opens the door just a creek at first, half her beauty peering out from behind the door. Though she knows he's the only person that would be at her back door at this hour, she is still wary of the reason for his visit. It doesn't help that she's half-dressed, settled in for the evening in her night dress and robe.

            "Can I come in?" the words are a plea.

She nods. As he crosses the threshold he's hit by a wave of memories. Thoughts of her laid up in bed next to him, hands in his hair, lips on his neck. The image of her stepping out of the shower, body wet and in full view. The slight pout on her face when he would leave. The crack in her voice when she had shouted, told him she never wanted nothing more to do with him. He feels like a stranger in the home that had once felt like his own. His eyes pass over all the things that have changed. A new photo of her family at Christmas on the fridge, her brother and mother's face squished against her own. The cream rug they used to make love on disappeared from the floor. A new set of curtains strung up against the window.

            "Is everything okay?" her hushed words break him from his trance.

She knows Flip well and has for some time. The line of his back, the hunch of his shoulders, the part of his hair that tells her he's been racking his hands through it all day. He's hurting. Going through something he's yet to reveal.

            "It was a... long day with the Klan," are the only words he can drag from his mouth.

He has barely processed it all. He'd had to sit with them for another few hours after the bullets had come through the window, never finding an appropriate time to leave. It had taken at least forty-five minutes to calm Connie down. He'd done his part, sat down and placed a faux caring hand on her shoulder, told her they were going to catch whatever bastard had done it, despite hoping for the opposite deep inside. Felix had insisted on boarding up the window after, forcing Flip and Walter down to the nearest hardware store to find the right kind of panel, and made them both assist with its assembly. Flip never wanted to be stood that close to Felix with a hammer in hand again. The temptation to bludgeon him into another life had been far too strong. First chance he'd got, he'd taken off, speeded away from the house and driven in circles for at least twenty minutes to make sure he wasn't being followed. He was at the station within the hour, bursting straight into the office and asking Ron what the hell he was thinking, before he told him a begrudging thank you. He can't remember the last time those words had come from his lips, to a partner. Thank you. You saved my life.

            "Ain't that what a partner's for?" Ron had replied, little less than pleased with the gratitude.

He wasn't wrong. Flip had never found himself in a situation like that before, in a place where he hadn't been his own best bet, had needed someone else to save his ass. And now, stood here in her home, it felt no different. He needed her now. To save his mind from the awful thoughts that plagued it so often these days.

            "You need coffee." She concludes, passing into the kitchen without another word.

She gathers the necessary ingredients, flicks the kettle on and turns to face him once more. Just the sight of him in her home again feels foreign, his big body leant against the opposing counter, thumb hooked into the worn brown belt holding his jeans up. She can tell just from the way he stands he feels uncomfortable, doesn't quite know what to do with himself, how to act in this limbo that they have left themselves in.