driftsolo | for striker

for striker_eureka

You know, Raleigh is the kind of guy that's fairly forgiving. He can admit when he's wrong, when he's fucked up, and when he needs to forgive and just forget.

This? Not gonna forgive, not gonna forget.

He'd looked the other way when they stole kisses and held hands. He'd lied for them, blocked them from view, helped cover for them when they went on their little trips to Hong Kong and Australia and wherever the fuck else they went.

Now, he feels betrayed. It's irrational and ridiculous, but when Raleigh finds out that Herc knocked Mako up and then asked her to marry him?

He's pissed.

And honestly, he only knows because Mako told him -- mercifully, it's not a rumor that's circulating but it's still something that makes his blood boil. It seems some kind of disservice to her, like Herc didn't fucking respect her enough to ask her to marry him months ago, and now this happened.

Fucking dick.

So when Raleigh sees him in the hallway, he marches straight towards him, murder in his eyes.

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Mako takes the weight like a champ -- she might be knocked up, but she's still solid and can still support the weight of Hercules.

"I can shower," Mako tells him, sliding her arm around his waist. "Do not worry."

She does look over at him though, brow raised.

"Did the fight with Raleigh get physical?"

Because she is really going to kill him.

"I didn't hit him back," he rushes to reassure her, his face painfully earnest as he looks down at her. His bruise is still mostly red and not really bruised, but it's coloring rapidly and by tomorrow it'll be gloriously black and blue. Even his stubble-cum-beard combo won't be enough to hide that.

He might have to borrow makeup from someone; not Mako, though, she's not his shade.

Or he could just wear his bruises like a man.

Her lips press into a thin line -- she's pissed, but he might be drunk enough to not really notice just how angry.

"We will talk more in the morning."

He knows she's angry, he's just not sure if it's at him for getting drunk or at Raleigh for punching him or them both for fighting in the hallway.

So he nuzzles her hair, mumbling something about how pretty she is and how much he loves her.

Mercifully, the hallways is empty, nobody around to witness the Marshal in his moment of weakness.

It's a little bit of both, but it's more geared towards Raleigh.

She helps him back to his quarters, pushing the door open and guiding him through before kicking it shut behind them.

"I will stay with you tonight," she decides as she settles him on his bed, kneeling down to unlace his boots and tug them off one by one. "To keep watch."

And because drunk or not, she enjoys the press of his heat against her body.

"Okay," he agrees, finally figuring out that he's more hindrance than help and just sitting still so she can undress him however she likes.

"I put in the paperwork to get you a real room."

So that hopefully soon, they can lie down in a bed larger than a twin, have some space to spread out and curl around each other comfortably.

She's glad that he sits still and lets her work. It would be much easier for her if he does that.

"Did you?" She looks up at him and drops the second boot with a smile. "Thank you."

The twin bed will suffice for now. She strips him down to nothing but his boxer briefsk then urges him to lean back.

"I will get you water. Okay?"

Herc gives her a dopy little smile, humming in assent. "Big enough for a family."

He's tired now, a little floppy as she pushes him around, more than happy to lie down. He's so lucky he has her to look after him.

"Okay. Thank you."

She presses a quick kiss to his forehead, disappearing then to get a glass of water.

"Can you sit? Drink?"

Because even a glass will probably help the inevitable hangover.

He's started to doze a little while she was gone, but rallies when she comes back with a glass of water, wanting to do this for her because he knows it's important and also because she asked him to.

He also manages not to spill on himself, which is a definite plus.

He's fading fast, though, which means he kind of flops back down to the bed when he's done with his water, watching her through half-closed eyes as she gets ready for bed.

"Sleep."

She brushes her lips to his, then toes off her own boots and slips in beside him.

In the morning, she'll find out how much he remembers, and how much she's going to need to repeat.

"Love you," he mumbles, tucking himself around her and tucking his face into her hair so he can breathe in the comforting smell of her shampoo as he drapes himself around her.

He's so lucky she's his.

"Love you," she replies, curling in close, and allowing herself to drift off, basking in his presence and leeching his heat.

She'll rise early - but she doesn't leave. Instead, she just moves around his quarters, jogs in place, does some push ups, a few light things to keep her body fluid and still in shape.

Eventually though, she's going to wake him up.

Hercules sleeps like the dead, totally unmoving the whole night. Come morning, when she slips out of his arms to go do some morning exercises, he rolls over and shoves a pillow over his face, his hangover finally making itself known.

All she'll get in response to her trying to wake him is a low groan as he tucks himself up tighter into a ball of misery.

He hasn't been hungover in years. This is the worst.

She sits there with him and rubs his shoulder as she tries not to smile. She's less irritated about the alcohol now -- seeing someone get their recompense is always a little satisfying.

"How are you feeling?"

As if it's not obvious.

He groans again, hugging the pillow more closely to his face.

Though the shoulder thing feels good, feel free to keep doing that, Mako. He shifts a little to make it easier for her, a silent hint.

"Shoot me," he finally replies, voice muffled by the pillow over his face. "Finish what Raleigh started. I want to die."

She's happy to rub his shoulder and his back, lips still trying to pull into a smile.

"Don't be silly," she chides, giving him a little squeeze. "You should not have drank so much."

He hums a little, her hands smoothing over his back feeling so nice to his poor hungover brain.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he mumbles.

Her hands move over the planes of his back, fingers kneading gently into knotted muscle before she goes back up to his neck then to his temples.

"Drinking that much alone is never a good idea."

He reluctantly pulls the pillow off his face so she can get to his temples. Oh Mako. He's so lucky you're here.

"I wasn't alone," he protests, contemplating the effort it would take to shift so his head lands in her lap. "I had my misery and crushing guilt to keep me company."

Yes. Yes he is.

"That isn't company." She keeps up the gentle massage; she knows what a hangover is like, the hammer inside of your head.

"That is self-pity."

"Yeah, I know."

He manages to twist himself around so that he can rest his head on her thigh, pushing himself closer so that he can hide his face against her belly. Hello, baby.

"It was a low moment for me."

That makes her laugh a little, and she rests a hand on his shoulder, fingers tracing over his skin lightly.

"I know." She's quiet for a few beats, just listening to him breath against her stomach.

"And that's okay." Everyone has low moments. Mako has low moments, too. They're just generally well hidden.

His arms curl around her waist, holding her in return.

"'M sorry I made you babysit me," he mumbles, nuzzling her a little.

She smoothes at his hair, nails dragging lightly over his scalp.

"I don't mind. Just don't make it a regular occurrence. Deal?"

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