Pusher

Bonus Chapter #3

As requested, the first kissing scene rewritten from Maverick's POV. I hope you all enjoy!

Angel washed the blood off her hands in the kitchen sink. Her hands moved rigorously under the water to drain away any trace of rusty red, but there was still a daze-like quality to her motions. Body disjointed from thoughts disjointed from feelings. Emotions were something to be packaged up and put away in times like these. I understood that.

My shoulder leaned into the doorframe and I watched her. She had thrown up her hair in a hurry before she started stitching up Sol's arm and had missed half of it in the process. Loose strands fell limp along her neck, others stuck with sweat to her cheeks. She looked exhausted.

"Ducky and I have got it from here if you want to go home," I said. She turned towards me, her wide eyes making it look like I snapped her from a trance. Despite her renewed awareness, her eyes had a way of looking right through me. I wondered if she saw me at all.

"You can stay too, if you need some time to breathe. Today was... a lot," I added, but in truth, it was more for my peace of mind than hers. She didn't look like she remembered where she was. Forget about driving home alright.

She didn't answer. Her gaze tore away from mine and she started drying off her hands. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. It was impossible to tell what kind of unrest was rolling around in her mind.

I sighed and tried to wipe away the exhaustion from my eyes.

"Your cut is still bleeding a little," Angelica said. Her finger traced the spot above her eye to show me.

"It's fine," I said, "I can take care of it."

She ignored me and began digging through the first aid kit. Always so headstrong, even now when she could hardly think straight. I would never be able to handle her.

"Sit down," she told me.

I should be the one insisting she take a break. Get her a glass of water. Have her lay down on the sofa for a while. But I knew it would take a century to get her to listen, and I didn't have the energy for an argument.

I sunk into one of the kitchen chairs and my shoulders curved forward with exhaustion, elbows resting on my knees until Angelica found everything she needed. I straightened up when she walked over, but she tilted my chin with her fingertips anyway.

I searched every part of her face. Teeth biting into her lower lip, turning the skin from pink to white. The lines around her eyes that crinkled whenever she was concentrating on something. That drowning, suffocating, pained look in her eyes that she couldn't shake no matter how much she tried to hide it.

She wouldn't meet my eye, focusing solely on the laceration above it. The cloth was cool against my skin and her touch was gentle, despite the way her hands shook.

Her movements stopped, hand hovering while she tried to steady herself. Fingertips trembled against my chin. She blinked twice, but the daze remained.

She should have never been involved in any of this. It was too much to ask. I overstepped.

Slowly, I took the washcloth from her and set it aside. I enveloped her shaking hands in mine. They were small and soft, hands of someone who had never done a day of hard labor in her life. The continued to tremble, and I drew them to my lips, only brushing against her knuckles before she spoke.

"I can do this. Let me finish."

Given how shaken she still looked, I doubted that, but I was too afraid to see what would happen if I fought her on the subject. She was on the very edge, and I don't do tears.