Chapter Text
He didn’t look at her much, at the start. Not as much as he could have, anyway. He was still pretty shook up after the whole thing – the whole unexpected resurrection. He’d had no notion of coming back. That wasn’t part of the plan, if there had been a plan. There’d been nobody there in Cairo who would have either known how to do it or would have taken the time or trouble. He reckoned Shadow would have, if he only knew how, but he was as ignorant – or innocent - a fella as you could wish to meet. And if he had had the knowing of it, there was no way Grimnir would've let him. Death was very much the end at that particular family gathering. Besides, under that roof, the dead stayed dead. It was kind of a defining feature of the place. Anything else'd be bad for business.
So, no – safe to say he hadn’t expected to wake up under Brigitte’s roof, good as new and better than ever after a dose of the Baron’s hot sauce. It took a bit of getting used to, getting a second spin at the wheel. Having his coin back helped, that went without saying. He almost felt like he’d found his feet under him. He was a new man - but still, he wasn't going to run the risk of letting his eye settle on her for long. He was getting used to her smell – her new smell. And the warmth that hadn’t been there before. That was enough to be going on with, in this new life of his that he was still getting used to.
Of course, he would steal a look now and then, when there was the least chance of him getting caught. Just a quick glance, and then he would mull over the image for a few hours. You’d think it’d be the looks of her that would be what stuck in his mind – all shiny and alive in the sticky New Orleans heat – but it wasn’t that, at least it wasn't new to him, not really. He’d seen that before, in those long shameful months of watching and plotting. No, he was seeing something now he’d never seen before. Maybe nobody had. She looked – don't laugh – she almost looked contented. Comfortable in her own skin - not physically but in her head or her gut or wherever a person’s innermost feelings live. The existential ones – the ones that keep you awake night after night wondering what the fuck’s the point in it all. He knew, because – awkwardness shunted aside by necessity – there was only one bed. Reason being, Salim and the Jinn were still encamped in the other spare room. Why they were hanging around a bar was anyone's guess - it wasn't like they even took a drink.
So, Sweeney would fight sleep until he heard her breathing - breathing, what the fuck that all about? – deepen and slow, and then he could follow suit with an easy mind.
When the desert duo said their goodbyes and headed off in that godawful yellow cab, there was the inevitable wrangle over who would shift to the vacated room. In her typical stubborn-cunt style, she flatly refused to move. And he wasn’t going anywhere – it was his room, always had been. He’d fully expected her to roll her eyes and cave in on the grounds of his snoring or taking up too much space or some scandalous lie or another, but she was more obstinate than he’d ever given her credit for. So they both stopped where they were. Could’ve been worse. At least she wasn’t decomposing anymore.
*
As time went on, he thought that maybe she wanted him to look at her. Still, he didn’t – not as much as he could’ve. He did not ogle. He certainly did not eye-fuck. This was something as it was. Besides, there was something novel in restraint. Mad Sweeney had never played hard-to-get in his life, as far as he could remember, and he wasn’t sure if he even could, but there was a charm in the novelty, the idea of a new challenge. He had a new life now; he might as well use it to try new things, and he had no interest in learning the piano. And he knew her well enough to know that it'd be refreshing to have a man not chasing her. For once, she could do the running – if she felt so inclined. On the other hand, if he was completely wrong, he’d run no risk of scaring her off again. It was a win-win, and he could be a lazy shite into the bargain.
There might have been the odd huff now and then, but Sweeney could see that she was reasonably entertained. Not getting bored anyway, not yet. They were too fuckin’ busy to be bored anyhow. Between not-ogling, working bar, washing dishes and concocting evil plans to fuck with a certain one-eyed shite, their days were fixing to be pretty full. He would flirt with customers, of course, and she had her admirers queuing up to get her drinks and take her home, but every night without fail they would both stumble to their bed – no funny business – to recharge for another day.
But that would only do for a while. Soon enough they decided they had enough of chapped hands and merely planning devious deeds. It was time to hit the road again. But they respected Brigitte’s delicate sensibilities and didn’t steal a car until they were well out of the neighbourhood.