Logs:Keeping Tabs

Keeping Tabs
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Steve
In Absentia	2020-09-19 "Can't we, though?"
Location <PRV> Sam and Steve's Apartment - Harlem
This is a third-story walkup in an aging historic building which, while not entirely crumbling, has a certain worn and shabby look, its plumbing and fixtures often in need of repair. The apartment has two small bedrooms, but makes up for it with capacious common areas. A single long space serves as living room and dining room combined, is semi-open to the kitchen, and has a surprisingly large bathroom with an antique claw-footed tub. Tall, drafty windows let out onto the fire escape from the living room and both bedrooms, and let in excellent light from the southern exposure. The sleek art deco motif that runs through the living room furniture, while not strictly matching, has clearly been worked to coordinate. The dining set, coffee and end tables have been crafted with complementary geometric patterning, ebony accents providing a dark contrast to the warmer swirls of maple burl that feature most prominently. The sofa, love seat, and chair fill out the rest of the living room, a matching set upholstered in plush burgundy. The numerous lamps do not all match, some of them clearly temporary supplement for the inadequate overhead lighting. Steve opens his eyes to the darkness in his room, empty until just the previous instant. It takes him a moment to orient himself to the faint gray rectangles of his windows and the light framing his closed door, and switches on the drafting table lamp. He's still not altogether steady on his feet, especially not after that long, disorienting trip. "Are -- are you OK?" he asks. "That was -- that was a lot." Dawson is considerably steadier, but that does not stop him from keeping his arm curled around Steve, some of his weight leaning into the contact. His head rests momentarily against Steve's shoulder, fingers digging in at the other man's waist. "Fine," is considerably too quick for this posture, his nod kind of jerky. He tips his head up, pressing one small kiss to the side of Steve's neck. A longer one to his mouth, tugging them toward the bed. "I'm fine." "You were pretty upset," Steve says, and whatever he might have said next is subsumed in the kiss. He's a little breathless when he continues. "It's understandable, something like that coming up out of your past..." But his arms slip around Dawson all the same, gathering the smaller man tightly against him. It's only with a distinct effort that he holds back from kissing Dawson again. "Oh gosh. Is this -- what you need right now?" "It was unexpected." Dawson doesn't hold back, his next kiss harder, body pressing in against Steve's when the other man's arms wrap around him. This does not last; he breaks off a breathless moment later, forehead resting against Steve's. "I --" For a moment his fingers clench harder. "... don't know. I thought it was." Steve's arms tighten just a fraction, one hand rubbing a slow circle over Dawson's back and the other smoothing down the other man's hair. "Hey. I'm here for you -- whether you need to talk, or -- or do something else." His breath still comes a bit uncharacteristically short. "A lot of awful things happened to you in there. It's OK to feel uncertain." Dawson's brow furrows. He rests one hand against Steve's chest, his own breaths steadying. "It's not that," he starts, but halts as his cheeks flood with red and a noticeable shiver runs through him. "It's not -- just that. Just -- sometimes I start to feel like I actually have some control over my life, again. This --" His head shakes hard. "A weird reminder just how much of our lives is other people pulling the strings." Steve presses a kiss to the top of Dawson's head. Draws him along to sit on the edge of his bed, tucked close against his side. "I'm sorry I never told you about going to S.H.I.E.L.D. I just assumed they never managed to find you." He's quiet a moment. "But even if S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent him to free you, and that doesn't sound like the case, you still broke out yourselves -- with a little bit of help." "Feels weird to think about. I know the government has us all under surveillance, I just -- didn't think it was quite so --" There's another shudder that goes through Dawson. He curls in closer against Steve, hand dropping to rest on the other man's leg. "Gets hard not to start worrying. Like who else around is just some spy waiting to turn us in to --" The shake of his head is smaller, now. "Kind of pointless to wonder. It's not like we can keep tabs on them back." Steve's arm curls around Dawson, warm and protective. "That's terrifying," he agrees solemnly. "I know I don't have an adequate grasp on the sheer scale of the surveillance state, but..." He trails off, tensing slightly. "Can't we, though?" His voice has gone very soft. "S.H.I.E.L.D. wants me to work for them. Badly." Dawson is just easing into the embrace, shivering giving way to a slow relaxation. He tenses again at this question, breath momentarily catching. "But," he starts, uncertain, and then, "they're a --" This just ends in a pause. His fingers squeeze and relax again, squeeze and relax again, absent and repetitive. "You'd do that?" Steve is still and steady against Dawson, his breathing slow and even now. "I'd do that," he confirms. "I can't say I don't have reservations. Not sure I trust my judgement enough to navigate that ethical minefield. But I trust the folks I have advising me. It might well be worth the risk." Dawson's eyes widen very abruptly. He breathes out a rough laugh, turning his head in against Steve's chest for just a moment. "Oh, man. If Luci is working for S.H.I.E.L.D. too there's no hope for us." When he turns his head back up, it's to touch his mouth to Steve's again. This time softer, lingering. Steve's eyes widen, too, their blue almost luminous in the dimness. "Luci? That was an extremely elaborate and unnecessary game S.H.I.E.L.D. played with itself if he is." There's an edge of laughter in his voice, but tension, too. Tension that eases from him at the kiss, at the soft breath he sighs.