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Tap tap——-tap——tap tap tap—-tap
She’s tapping on the arm rest again. Staccato and irregular. It is very annoying.
“You’re sure you’re ok?” You ask.
“Yes. I told you I’m fine.” She snaps back.
Well this is fun.
You’re forty minutes into a twelve hour flight and this isn’t how you pictured the night going.
Objectively speaking there wasn’t much time in between turning to find her already waiting for you and walking back to within touching distance, but you still had time to think of a million different possibilities.
Most of all though you hoped for her to just kiss you, and then maybe to drag you back to a hotel room. What you got was a perfunctory, “Shall we run away together then?” and an out stretched hand for you to take. You nodded eagerly and savoured the feeling of her palm against yours.
Then the rest of the night has been all business. The practicalities of running away from a life you suppose. For her that seemed to entail throwing some clothes in a Sainsbury’s bag for life, grabbing her passport and forgetting, but then going back to collect, some expensive face cream. You shrugged and waited patiently, not entirely confident in the outcome should you derail her single mindedness and give her time to reconsider.
But with face cream in hand she was back to business.
Taxi. Airport. Ticket desk. Danish in a paper bag. Flight.
You trailed along behind her somewhat bemused, unused to being the one that follows. Huh. That dynamic is certainly worth exploring at some point.
The cabin gently shudders around you to call you back to the present. So you tip your head back against the flat of your seat and think about her taking the lead.
Tap tap——-tap.
You think of her voice telling you what she wants you to do to her.
Tap tap tap—-tap tap—tap
Telling you what she is going to do to you.
Tap—-
Fuck. She’s annoying.
You turn to her again and see that her eyes are closed and the non tapping hand is scrunched into a fist.
Weird.
She’s upset, right? Or anxious maybe? Yes, anxious. She definitely anxious.
Ok. So. About what? Throwing away her life to pursue a future with you seems the obvious thing. But that doesn’t make complete sense, this evening she’s been— fine. Actually, she’s been good, great even, steady and sure and fine. Another thing you didn’t expect. You’d sort of imagined having to fight to remind her that she chose you every thirty minutes or so but she so far she has actually seemed certain. For once. Yeah, so it’s been weird.
So if not you and the future, what is it?
The cabin shudders again and the tapping stops as her hands grip the arm rests.
Right! She’s scared of flying! Of course! That’s easy. You’re a very comforting person. You’ve got this. Except— should you—are you supposed to— do something?
But— is this part of your job now? Things are still pretty up in the air in terms of labels. She see’s you in her future. Great. What does that mean. Yeah, sure, you’ve told her you loved her, but then you did also shoot her? Does that cancel it out?
Regardless, what you have to offer her now feels different than before. It felt like love then, but it also feels like love now. Who’s to say that you have a different feeling in three months and that will also be love. Urgh. maybe she was right after all. You have no idea what love is, not really.
Are you meant to take her hand? Should you move the arm rest, draw her close and call her baby as you wrap an arm around her?
You snort quietly at the thought. You can’t imagine her tolerating that sort of softness from you.
Tap—tap—tap tap.
You watch her chest rise and fall in deliberately deep breaths. You really need to at least try something.
“So, erm, I once read that in a year the number of people who die in plane crashes is typically in the low hundreds, and that’s for the whole world, not just Europe.”
Excellent. Good work. You think you read that at least, it sounds like it could be true. Science will make her less worried. Perfect. You are going to be such a good girlfriend.
She opens her eyes to look at you. Her face flashes emotions almost too fast for you to catalogue. Surprise. Embarrassment. Anger. Then schooled back to neutral.
“What are you talking about?” She asks with an irritating bite to her voice
You shrug.
“You know. You’re scared, so I’m explaining why you don’t need to be frightened.”
She frowns.
“What? I’m helping!”
“I’m not scared of flying.”
You scoff and pull and incredulous face.
“What? Yes you are. You’re all deep breathing and nervous tapping.”
She’s still frowning.
“I told you I’m fine.”
“Why are you being weird? Loads of people are scared to fly—“
“Villanelle!” She snaps it slightly louder. “I’m fine. Just drop it.”
It shocks you a bit. You remember how she used to speak to you before Rome and something twists inside you, its not a good feeling.
You choose not to respond and lean back against the seat again with your eyes closed. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself with all your daydreams of what this future would look like.
This is a woman who wants to know everything but then seems determined to hate what she finds.
“Shall we run away together?” What does that even mean? Is it a weekend in bed before you both realise that you are too volatile for anything more real? Next time you blow up your only escape from an international criminal conspiracy you really must make sure to drill down into the detail of what’s actually being proposed.
You feel her fingers skim gently along the back of your hand and you turn to look at her. She opens her mouth to say something and the cabin gives a particularly strong lurch around you. Her fingers are suddenly wrapped around yours and gripping with a strength you didn’t know she had.
When you look at her face again her eyes are closed and she is trying to do the deep breathing again.
The doubts and questions from before don’t materialise as you tilt the arm rest up and pull her firmly again your side.
She doesn’t say anything but allows herself to sink into you.
Her fingers slightly relax their death grip on yours and her breathing starts to return to normal. She stiffens slightly and starts to move away from you.
When your arm pulls her back into your side you couldn’t have stopped yourself if you tried. Admittedly, you didn’t try that hard.
“Don’t, stay. Please? I like it.”
She doesn’t relax entirely but she doesn’t pull away either. This is nice. Perhaps its basic and obvious of you to have dedicated the time you allowed yourself to picture a future to focus mostly on bodies twisting on top of crisp white sheets. But this is nice in a different way. Her hair soft against your cheek. A bony shoulder pressing into your side. Nice. Its not your fault really, this isn’t something you’ve had before. You didn’t really know enough to want it.
“Sorry I was a dick.” She mumbles it out.
You shrug your other shoulder and say nothing.
“It’s embarrassing that’s all.”
You huff and dip your head to look at her face.
“That’s stupid, why would you be embarrassed about being scared of flying?” You ask her
Now she looks annoyed again.
“Don’t be obtuse. You know why it’s embarrassing.”
“I really don’t.”
She does move away from you then, just slightly further back to her own seat, your arm is still loosely looped over her shoulders.
“Its not always this bad. Sometimes I’m fine, I’ll be a little stressed but nothing stupid like this.” She isn’t looking at you when she says this.
You aren’t really sure how to respond so you just let your fingers rub gently at the exposed skin where her shoulder meets her neck. She stiffens again and shifts a little under your touch. It's then that you realise how close your palm is to where the bullet must have hit her, and its your turn to freeze.
Are you allowed to touch it? Should you acknowledge it in some way? Should you apologise? You probably ought to just move away, that would make the most sense.
You shift to start to pull away but her hand reaches to where your fingers still rest on the top of her shoulder. Her fingers stroke gently over yours to keep them there. You can’t breathe.
“Its ok.” She says it quietly. “It feels nice.”
You exhale slowly still unsure of what you are allowed to do.
“Its ok.” She says it again.
“Eve, I need to say—“
“Its fine. Look, I’m fine. I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Oh right. Well ok.”
That doesn’t seem quite right but you don’t know what else you should do.
Her hand slips down away from yours and neither of you say anything for a while. This is something you’ll learn right? What to say and how to say it? Then again she was married for a thousand years and still doesn’t seem that great at it. Maybe this is just how it will be for you two, both unable to find the words but hoping the other person will read you anyway. On balance maybe that doesn’t sound so bad.
The seat belt light flickers on just as you feel the plane drop slightly. Her hand has found your free hand and has it in the death grip again.
“You’re stronger than you look.” You say it lightly and she sort of huffs out a laugh into your side.
You have to move your arm away from her to put your belt on and she looks disappointed, or at least slightly put out that she has to move. When you usher her back towards you and she folds back in without comment your chest tightens in a nice unfamiliar way.
“I hate this” She whispers. “I don’t like you seeing me like this.”
You tilt your head questioningly.
“Scared, weak, or whatever, because I’m not those things.”
You want to gather her up closer to you but you sense that wouldn’t be welcome at the moment.
“You’re kidding right? You’re like the scariest person I know.”
“Shut up.”
“No, I’m serious. Ok, so you aren’t very good at killing people but you pretty good at everything up to that point. You’re ruthless and manipulative and cold and you’ve got good instincts. I don’t see you as weak or whatever else you said before.”
“That was meant to be a compliment?” She asks.
“Yes?”
She laughs and the fingers wrapped around yours become more gentle.
“I don’t care if you are scared of flying. Besides, I like being able to take care of you. Its kind of nice that the scariest person I know wants to hold my hand when she’s scared, you know? I like your cute little death grip.”
She moves back slightly before leaning her face toward yours and pressing a light kiss to your mouth. Its unexpected and you don’t quite manage to coordinate yourself in time to make it anything more than a simple brush of her lips to yours.
“You’re actually really sweet.” She says and leans back into your side.
You’re grinning. Your cheeks actually ache with the force of it.
“Even if you did call me ruthless, manipulative and cold.” She adds
“What? I meant it in a good way.”
She laughs quietly as your fingers knit together and rest in your lap.
“So, what are your things?”
You’re looking down at your interlaced fingers, too absorbed in the sight to respond.
“Things you’re scared of? Maybe I’d like to hold your hand.” She asks it quietly
“Oh, I don’t know. Ghosts?” You offer.
“You’re serious?” She moves away and turns so you can see her face.
“What? Who isn’t scared of ghosts?”
She laughs in response.
“Fine, fine. I’ll protect you from ghosts and you can hold my hand when we fly.”
You’re smiling again. It's probably the most that you’ve smiled in months.
“So—you want us to take care of each other.” It sounds trite to your own ears but she offers a soft smile and tucks herself back against your side. Her back partly rests against you and she brings your hand up and around her to play with your fingers.
“Sounds kind of nice.” An echo of your words from before.
You want to say it again. The words from before. You feel it in your chest, your throat, everywhere. But a flicker of something holds you back, you’ll save it for another time. What a thought it is that you might have the luxury of another opportunity, that this isn’t a now or never moment. You have time, you don’t need to rush, there will be more chances to tell her.
“Oh, also wasps.” You say instead.
She pauses with her absent stroking of your fingers.
“Wasps?”
“Yeah, you can protect me from ghosts and wasps.”
She leans forward again and turns slightly.
“Er— no.”
“No?”
“No. You’re on your own with wasps.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, if there’s a wasp and it's between you or me getting stung, it's you every single time.”
“Oh. Well that’s not very romantic. I thought we were having a moment.”
“Sorry. Reality bites, huh?”
You huff out a laugh. The cabin shudders around you and you feel her hands tighten into the death grip again as she presses back into you.
You dip your head and press a kiss to what turns out to be her ear, you were aiming for neck but you roll with it and murmur something that you hope sounds reassuring.
You wrap your arm around her more securely and feel her slowly start to relax.
“Vil—”
“Hmm?”
“Maybe I would get stung, if it was you or me I mean. Maybe I would let it be me. Sometimes.”
The unfamiliar pinching in your chest is back. You could tell her now, tell her that whatever she might think, you do love her, and maybe she could say it back. You don’t often allow yourself to imagine that but you don’t know if you ever believed those words could make you feel the way you do now.
You’re struck again by the thought that there will be more opportunities. More times to hear that set of words and perhaps for now, this little gesture is actually better. Right now, it’s enough to sit here wrapped around this scary little woman with her death grip on your fingers. So you just gather her in closer and enjoy the weight of her leaning back into you.
There will be more, more words, more kisses, more of her, so for this moment you just stay quiet, content for once to wait.