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He had been too much.
Not often did Elizabeth find herself with a mark she didn’t expect nearly every action from and then have a reaction for each. She’d gotten him all the way up to his room.
Belt in hand, he’d shed his business man persona quicker than they’d shed their clothes. Now the sadist had her handcuffed to the bed as she seemingly waited for the red marks to bruise and a plan to coalesce.
There had been her fair share of ‘weird ones’ but never like this without any warning. She prided herself on preparedness and now all she had left was to wait.
Possibly for Philip.
She knew he was just through the next wall, listening intently to the bug in her purse.
All she wanted was to get out of here, scald this mission from her skin and force herself to forget.
Philip came.
Of course he came.
When she heard the gentle scratches of his picks against the hotel’s lock, the overwhelming relief that washed over her sank deep into her bones. The muffled call her mark was making from the bathroom quieted completely as the door opened.
He quickly met his end.
Elizabeth knew there would be hell to pay with the Center but the information had been gathered.
They escaped the hotel and drove home in a fraught heavy silence.
While Elizabeth managed to return home and scald most of the memories of her mark from her skin—the bruises would inevitably fade—the way she replayed and relived her failures as a continual loop had not been forgotten.
The tension was still easing from her muscles as the lavender scented bubble bath permeated their bathroom. Elizabeth had never quite assimilated to the capitalistic American ideals of excess but this was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself to indulge in.
Her solitude breaks when Philip knocks at the door. She allows him to enter and he sits in his boxers at the rim of the tub.
“Are you ok?” He asks her softly, the glassy far-off look from the car has vanished. In its place is a look a husband would offer his wife. The quiet desperation of the desire to do something. What passed between them when they locked eyes in the hotel room.
Elizabeth sinks deeper into the bubbles in some odd display of modesty, hoping to hide any lashes that were still visible. The still-warm water feels glorious against her skin. She’s not sure what compelled her to do it, modesty had never been something she’d worried about before, but there was something sacred about the times they spent together. Alone. Not under any guise. Nothing but the overwhelmingly loud silence their unspoken thoughts and emotions created between them. But really, how could you talk like a couple when you never really were one to begin with? When you’re given a stack of documents and sent five thousand miles away and expected to be white-pickett-fence-perfect.
Philip doesn’t say anything while waiting for her to respond and when he doesn’t think she’s going to, he just takes her in.
But really, she does want to say something. So many things. But verbalizing the absolute fear and dread that ran through her when the handcuffs locked but the comfort in the knowledge that Philip was around the corner is almost scarier than the predicament itself. It would somehow make this real on some level she’s not sure they’re– she’s –ready to confront. They’re as real as they need to be. And it’s not completely unimaginable or something she’s never contemplated wanting, but Elizabeth and Philip Jennings worked for the Center, not for their own whims and desires. They were here to serve their country, not fall in love.
Philip reaches for her hand. One of their signals to replace the words they should probably already have. It’s something so simple but feels so earned. And with that simple but familiar touch, stirs something rare within Elizabeth.
She sits up from the bath and presses up to move even closer. To lock eyes with him as her hand raises to his hairline and rests at his soft curls. To brush her thumb across his cheek and bring his mouth to hers. She may not know how to say ‘thank you’ with enough gravity to properly convey what she wants, but she did know how to use everything besides the words.
He doesn’t respond immediately but she quickly brings her arms up from the water, turning him towards the bath and pulling his legs into the water. As it sloshes, rivulets create imprints of her onto his chest and down his back. Like she hasn’t already been imprinted there for the last decade. Not that he’d ever say that, of course. There’s so much he wants to say but isn’t sure he could ever find the courage to. They were here to serve their country, not to fall in love. And that realization is almost painful. He wants her. Despite what the Center tells him to want….he wants her. Not Elizabeth the spy or Elizabeth the reluctant mother, but Elizabeth. Nadezhda. The girl from Smolensk who earnestly, bravely and with unquestioning loyalty serves her country. The woman who he saved tonight. The woman who’s pressed up against him in the tender, nearly insecure way she only reveals in the slightest of moments.
He takes her continued presence as permission and brings her into his full embrace, cradling her slicked body in a calm and comforting kiss. It’s nothing frenzied or hurried, but a way for them to connect and heal in this moment.
He doesn’t know how far to take this. It’s precarious to begin with, on the edge of the bathtub but she feels so good in his arms and he’s missed life’s opportunity to really know how to do this. He knows how any of his undercover personas would handle the situation but Elizabeth is the farthest thing from a mark. He’s just Philip now. Nearly Mischa in this moment.
He readjusts and his hands splay at the curve of her lower back pulling her tighter to him. Her own continue their lazy roaming task of melting their remaining tension. Philip thinks of this sacred creature comfort. One they’ve never really given themselves the permission to experience. Until now. Until a decade later in their status-quo American home forced to hide everything they are and everything they want under the many layers of secrets and manipulation and coercion. But here, he wonders if they’re Philip and Elizabeth or have they stripped away the deception and gone back home? Have they made each other their home in this fleeting moment?
Elizabeth lets out the smallest of what he thinks is a moan, picks up her pace, and their knees knock awkwardly. She wants to wrap herself fully against her husband but she also doesn’t want this moment broken by the inevitable tumble to the tiled floors. She fears that the moment they stop, will be the moment the spell will be broken and it’ll go back to the way it's always been. And she needs more of these moments with him. She wants more of these moments…the way they’re relaxing into the other for no other reason other than they want to. She probably wouldn’t admit it out loud but there’s something new about the way they’re discovering each other now, the emotions of the last several hours still leveling out.
She knows Philip will follow her lead on this so she guides him fully into the tub and against where she previously lay. With no risk of falling to the floor now, she truly takes control and straddles across his lap and gives herself permission to feel. To erase every other thought from her mind. She kisses down his neck and back up again, both exploring and reciprocating the other’s touches in equal measure.
Despite their clear desire, did this bathtub tryst stay here in this perfect little bubble? This was about the need to make the other feel good. Because they wanted to. Not some order from the damn Center.
Elizabeth could feel the tension creep back in, “Stop,” she whispered,
He froze immediately. “Are you–”
“No, no, don’t stop. I can–I can feel you thinking.” Elizabeth spoke quietly between them, her heart still pounding.
“Sorry,” Philip breathed out, “I–nevermind.” He doesn’t finish his own thought before reaching back up to her, forcing himself to shut off his mind, stop thinking and allow himself to simply feel.
When they eventually started to return to themselves again, Elizabeth found herself laying against his heartbeat, listening to it slow as they basked in the afterglow.
“Are you ok?” Philip spoke, intertwining with her hand at his side.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth mumbled against his skin, briefly pressing her lips to his chest.
Suddenly, everything she hadn't said and all the speaking they’d just done, blanketed them with the reality of how real this had just become. And how desperately they wanted it to be.