Work Text:
The night was clear and the gentle whisper of the wind in the quiet streets had that soothing rhythm that could almost lull Owen to sleep.
Friday was always the longest day of the week, there was so much work to get done in order for everything to go smoothly during the weekend, a lot of files to review, reports to write, recommendations to check. Plus the usual end of the week drink with the authorized patients. He tried not to linger too much, desperately wanting to get home, but he couldn’t not show up to an event he had involved himself so much into. He was convinced that the atypicals needed to get together and have the opportunity to see the facility in another light, something less “monitoring” and more carrying. These little evenings every two weeks were good for them, and also good for the staff. The numbers already showed the improvement in efficiency and overall happiness of both atypicals and staff members. To the first, it gave something to look for, some sense of normalcy, harmless fun that enhanced the feeling of belonging, while offering the opportunity to the staff to unwind and remind them that their patients were also human beings. It was a great idea, and it was worth the pain it had been to get everyone on board. As he walked down the street to his apartment, he probably had that soft smile that Joan often made fun of, an expression of simple contentment and gentle peace. Thinking of her stretched his smile into something probably goofy and he sped his stride. After Friday drinks, they always had a casual date night. Nothing much, nothing fancy, just the both of them, the couch, whatever movie Joan had picked and warm beverages, hot chocolate for her, and chamomile for him. He usually came home to Joan already in her pajamas, lounging on their couch with a book and a glass of wine, her hair down, sometimes still wet from her shower, her body swallowed by one of his sweaters to keep her warm in his absence. He would greet her with a soft “Darling, I’m home” and she would laugh and sass back something along the lines of “Don’t call me that, Owen, we’re not sixty yet.” He would walk to the couch, bending to kiss her but she would refuse until he had removed his shoes and aligned them at their proper place. Only then would she rise from the couch, stand on the tip of her toes in her silly fluffy socks, link her arms behind his neck and kiss him, whispering gently against his lips “Welcome home, dear.”
However, today, his call remained unanswered. “Joan?” he asked, putting away his coat in the closet before walking cautiously into their living room, finding it empty, the only trace of Joan being a half drunk glass of water, neatly put on a green coaster. He dropped his scarf on the couch and sighed. He had a pretty good guess on Joan's whereabouts and it certainly put a damper on their date night. Owen ran a hand in his hair, trying to plan his next move carefully, but his brain was lazy with disappointment and tiredness. He walked to their office, not needing to see the light filtering through the door nor to hear the rhythmic clicking sounds of the keyboard to know where to go. He knocked once before entering, her name tumbling out of his lips in another sigh.
“Joan, love, what are you doing?”
He didn’t need to ask, it was quite obvious. Joan was at her desk, deep into a pile of files and reports, her laptop’s light bathing her face in its bright glow. She still had her reddish blouse on but had discarred her pants, sitting crossed legs on her seat. her back was straight as usual. She acknowledged his presence with a simple hmm but didn’t offer any answers. Her focus always seemed impenetrable in an intimidating sort of way. Her brows were furrowed and she was biting her lips, probably without knowing. A pen had been forgotten in hair, doing a weak job of holding it back from her face. She seemed in a trance that Owen felt both infuriated by and guilty of breaking. He brought his hand to her shoulder, startling her despite his carefulness.
“Owen! You’re home already? What time is it?” She seemed truly confused now that her bubble of concentration had burst, looking successively at her watch and phone.
“It’s ten thirty” he stated simply.
“Fuck” she mumbled under her breath, looking at the mess that her desk was. “Alright, hmm, it’s fine.” She stood, straightened her blouse as if to make her look more presentable as though she wasn’t in her panties, tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled at him. He could see in her eyes her mind going a hundred miles, trying to work out hundreds of things at once.
“Hi” she kissed him quickly but he wrapped his arms around her waist and kept her close before she had time to take a step back. By reflex, her hands settled around his neck as he rested his brow against hers.
“Hi” she said again, this time more present, before kissing him tenderly.
“Hi” he repeated, keeping his eyes closed as their closeness warmed his heart. He could feel her fingers fidgeting with the small hair on the nape of his neck and felt himself smiling.
“How did Friday drinks go?”
“It was fun, I made a cheesy toast.”
“I bet you did.” Joan chuckled and Owen opened his eyes, catching the mirth dancing in her eyes. Joan took a deep breath and melt a bit more into their hug.
“What about your day?”
“Hmm, long, messy.” she admitted, settling herself against his chest, letting her arms fall around his torso. Her hands forced their way under his shirt and undershirt, seeking warmth. He liked her like that, cuddly and sleepy. He always felt blessed to be the one she chose to be this vulnerable with, he’d never take for granted such a display of trust and affection. He kissed the top of her head and let her go on. “I thought I was making progress with this patient, but they had some huge crisis recently that they hid from me, and it all blew up today, setting us back so much.” Her hands were traveling on his back in a soothing rhythm for them both. “I don’t understand why they didn’t say a thing. I thought I was getting to them.”
“It’s not your fault, Joan” Owen declared, reading her mind without needing her to voice the doubt that probably plagued her thoughts.
“I know.” she replied without missing a beat, like a knee-jerk reflex.
“It’s not your fault” he said again, and this time his words were received in a tentative silence, only broken by the deep breath that Joan took.
“I know” and it was more truthful this time, less automatic. “But I need to do better.” Her tone left no place for discussion and she enhanced it by taking a step back, removing herself from himself and whatever comfort he might have wanted to offer. The bubble was forming back, slowly bur surely closing around her. “I’ve been reviewing my notes, and doing some research. I will find a new angle.”
“You will, you always do.”
She looked at him closely, reading the sincerity in his eyes before nodding once and getting back to her desk, ready to slip back into her snipper focus.
“You could maybe use a break?” He wasn’t foolish enough to ask her to put away her work for the entire night, but apparently still foolish enough to hope for some crumbles of their date night in.
“Maybe later.” She was already back too deep into her work to see the hurt in Owen’s eyes.
It wasn’t the first time she blew him and their plans over for work, it wouldn’t be the last. But the sting remained, and Owen walked away as the feeling of disappointment grew larger in his chest. He took a shower, made himself tea, and settled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through their streaming service. Nothing appealed to him, and he didn’t know how to choose anyway. Joan had that whole system to choose their movies or shows and he never dared to question it. With a groan, he turned the TV off, and went to grab his bag. Maybe he could get a couple of things done too. He didn’t feel like getting into an empty bed. He got his laptop out and went to review his notes from his meetings of the day, rewriting them into several reports meant to be shared with the accredited staff. His focus could rivalized Joan’s and his fingers danced quickly on his keyboard as hours went by. After finishing the reports, he checked the agendas and took a look at various enquiries and suggestions. He was deep into a project of vegetalization of the facility one a hand on his shoulder startled him.
“Holly molly, Joan! make some noise next time.” He calmed his alarmed heart as Joan settled beside him on the couch.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, I tried calling your name though.”
Looking at her, he noticed that she had changed since last time, her wet hair slightly dampening the tee-shirt of her pajamas -which happened to be one of his old tee-shirts from college, and shorts barely peeking from under her top.
“What time is it?” Now that he was no longer blinded by the light of his computer, he felt a bit sluggish, his eyes tired and sore.
“Almost one am.”
He groaned and closed his laptop.
“I thought you’d be in bed by now” Joan whispered, settling more fully against him as he also shifted to accommodate her.
“Yeah, well, I don’t like sleeping without you, and there’s always more work to be done.” He sighed and ran his fingers through her hair, massaging the spot where her ponytail always sat. “Are you done for now?”
Joan answered with a small nod, her eyes closing under his careful ministrations. She moved again, nesting herself on his side so that her head could be tucked on his shoulder, and blindly reached under his shirt.
“Cold” she mumbled, not bothering herself with pronouns or verbs. Owen would have teased her if he didn’t share her sudden disdain for correct grammar.
“Bed?” he asked.
“No.”
“Light?
“No," she whined, "just you.”
His hand left her side to grab the blanket they kept on the back of the couch, and clumsily spread it on them both. His eyes closed by themselves the warmth of contentment from earlier came rushing back, with the soft feeling of rightness and belonging. His breath naturally synced to Joan’s, and he felt himself melt into her, losing and finding himself into the comfort of her body tucked against his.
“‘m sorry” Joan mumbled softly, her lips tickling his neck as they formed the word.
“Hmm?” Grammar was still not cooperative but he forced his brain back on to follow Joan’s thought. He opened up his eyes to focus on her. Peacefulness on Joan had that singular way of making her softer, younger. It was a rare sight that could only be caught just before she tipped fully into her sleep, when her overworked and worried brain finally turned off but the depth of her unconscious hadn’t yet taken over. An inbetween of some sort, where she looked oh so gentle.
“For date night, ‘m sorry” This time, the kiss on his skin was more intended.
“It’s okay, love” he reassured her, not wanting unnecessary worry to keep her from getting the rest she needed and deserved.
“No, it’s not.” Even on the verge of sleep this woman was stubborn. Gosh, he loved her. “It was unconsidate of me…” the word made her frown as her brain attempted to turn back on in spite of her exhaustion. “inconderate…” she tried again, her clumsiness making him smile.
“Inconsiderate?” he proposed, knowing she wouldn’t go on without the right word.
“Yeah, that.” Her confusion went away and peacefulness settled again on her face. You deserved better.”
“It’s okay love, go to sleep.” But it appeared to be the wrong thing to say as Joan opened her eyes and frowned at him, in a somewhat adorable sleepy way.
“You don’t have to put your needs after mine, Owen, especially when I’ve upset you.”
“I know” he tried to put an end to her tirade but knew he had failed when she lifted herself from his chest.
“You can be annoyed, even mad at me. I don’t need you to protect my feelings” Her voice had that therapist inflexion hinting that she was in her work mode.
“I know, Joan, I-”
“You have to trust me, and us, knowing that expressing yourself and talking to me won’t tear us apart.” She stopped, watching him for a second, before her hand traced the lines of his face, following his jaw. “I love you, Owen, you know that, don’t you?”
“I know-”
“And there is no tightrope on which to walk lest I stop loving you. It doesn’t work like that.” Her voice softened as her thumb found his lips. “You don’t have to be scared of me breaking up with you, I won’t.”
Owen blinked away a couple of tears and nodded, kissing the tip of Joan’s finger still lingering on his mouth before cupping his cheek with his hand and bringing her in a real kiss, tasting the toothpaste in her mouth and smelling the lavender scent of her shampoo. He wasn’t worried per se that she would break up with him, not really… not anymore. At first, he struggled understanding what she saw in him, what she found in him worth of so much love and care. But Joan wouldn’t have it that way, she helped him a lot with his sense of self-worth, but it was still a work in progress.
“So” she prompted with a small peck on his nose, waiting for him.
With a sigh, he brought her back against his chest and settled them both back.
“I was a bit hurt,” he admitted at last, feeling Joan nodded against him. “I like our Friday night and I was looking forward to it. But it’s okay now” he declared, hugging her closer. “I’m glad you came to find me.”
“I’m glad I did.” Her voice was sleepy again, her words sounding heavier than before. “I’ll make it up to you, dear.”
Silence settled around them, blanketing them in a familiar calm, the synced rhythm of their heartbeats lulling them softly to sleep. It was right, it was simple, it was just what he needed, just what he had been waiting for. This moment of utter peacefulness.
“I love you too” he mumbled back, before succumbing to the depth of a fitful sleep.
The night watched over their embraced bodies, shielding them from whatever concerns the morning held for them.