Her voice made him look up and he was hesitant to do so. He was a little sleepy: it reflected in his weak grin, but he wasn't berated by her tone however chastising it might have been. Hovering over her static form, he hummed low a voice of contentment and question. He blinked lethargically and felt her fingers graze over his lashes.
"Train," she murmured, "would you?"
His expression grew less content but strangely not less warm. His smile vanished entirely, his eyes solemn and contemplative and Train's ears were focused on the sound of the waves outside of their home. She was enticing, but he had another lover. One less human; and it made him guiltier. The alluring pattern of his work was not new to her, but Eve was asking a lot of him. Eve was asking him to discard a piece of his bravado, a piece of his identity.
He wondered if she knew that or if she struggled to know that. He read her face, as contemplative as his, and eyes that had seen wonders and horrors alike. He couldn't tell what ran through her mind (if there was anything running there at all.) Her head could have very well been blank with postponed thoughts hindered as she patiently awaited his reply. Her eyes were open literally and open figuratively into her soul were far more open than when they'd first encountered all that time ago.
Or at least, if they were as open then as they were now, she had felt less. She was soulless.
Not now though. She knew what humanity was and what it meant.
But his thoughts were turning from Eve living and breathing before him to the very alive line of his work. His heart ached at the thought of reigning himself in. At the thought of reigning himself in for her the pain was muted to dull throbbing, but he couldn't ignore how much he'd miss it.
He chickened out. Train went childish. "Princess," he whined (like a child!) and cowered into her neck where his voice was muffled by her hair and the cushion she rested on. He was hoping that a carefully placed bite somewhere on her skin would make her squirm and smile and forget how serious her question was, but she did nothing like he would have liked her to.
She tensed, but to his dread, she had steeled herself against his attack. He sighed, not moving away from her physically to break the intimacy. Even with his two arms caging her into the couch, she was dominating everything. He wanted to play, she wanted to talk. She wanted him to choose, he wanted to forget.
Want, want, want, want, want.
May Sven watch over them both during the following conversation.
He heard the material of her summer dress move before he felt her arms lightly hold his forearms. "Train," she purred, "are you afraid of something?"
"Afraid?" the radical thought had him jolt up before he registered her question. He just caught the feeling of regret and morose in her tone and then he saw it in her eyes. His hands slid down her body to her abdomen. Carefully he kissed her. "I'm not afraid of anything." The unspoken passion between them made him wonder if he imagined the heat under his fingers. Was it her or something underneath her?
"But you're hesitant."
His Cheshire grin was characteristic. "Ah, you noticed?"
Her free left hand traced his hairline and brushed some haphazard bangs out of the way. She raked them back and left herself feeling bare before the animalistic nature of his amber eyes. She wondered if he purposefully shielded them with his hazardous hairdo. He knew his glare resurfaced primal flight instinct in most grown men much less skittish people or little girls, but she suddenly felt stripped when his hair wasn't there to filter the full effect of his gaze. It was far different from being naked (while she was being honest she found no shame in admitting she would walk naked in front of him and wouldn't blink) dare she say there was something spiritual in how he peered at her?
Like taking a long, long swig of cool milk, rippling and soothing the throat and washing away the day's troubles it seemed a very appropriate analogy, albeit somewhat disjoint and random.
"I hope she gets your eyes," she whispered. "It's said girls like to take after their fathers."
His grin fell between romantic and patient, a look she'd come to label as familial. "Oh?" he nuzzled her. "And boys take after their mothers?"
"Supposedly," she agreed.
He couldn't care less if their kid was a girl or boy. He'd care about the kid and he'd have to be careful of everything surrounding the kid, everything that he thought of instantly but didn't list. He didn't freak out when Eve told him the news. A part of him had been wondering if this time she'd say it. Still despite his anticipation, he was still stunned. He wondered why, he wasn't apprehensive about being a dad—for that Eve wasn't surprised but appreciative—but for some reason future fathers seemed to be a little…shocked at having little people invade their home and their time…and their wallets…
Financially Train wasn't worried about a thing. He wasn't worried about anything, really, and if he was he'd figure out why when the time would come. He wasn't afraid, he knew that much. A little intimidated, but Eve was always intimidating. Now, if he was lucky/unlucky, he'd have two intimidating people loose in his house.
Tired of bracing against the cushions beneath her Train settled to lie down around her lounging frame on the couch. She shuffled accordingly and soon he was Eve's cushion.
"You can't keep…killing people, Train," she whispered. Her fingers looped into his belt where his gun usually was. He left Hades in its holster far away from her. She didn't hate the sight of it, but the memories at the sight of it, the implications at the sight of it…
"I took my last job half a year ago," he mumbled. "It's still fresh in my mind."
She did. Compared to Eve, Train started the business late. She was bred to kill, bred to hunt down targets and dispose of them for the government as a pretty, mindless mercenary. He was a bit more efficient, had the clean shots, had innate talent and honed skill, but he was made human by an unlikely circle of souls. By association so was she. The first time he saw her he just thought 'cute' and turned back to his drink.
Now he was brought back to reality with his not-legally-his-wife hooking one index finger into his belt and his knuckles just shy of where their kid would be staying for another few months.
"What are you thinking?" he whispered at the blanched bare beach house that had once belonged to her guardian.
Eve shrugged. "Nothing that different from what you're thinking, I suppose," she murmured. "I think I'm a little scared."
She felt his breath hitch. "About what?"
"Our child." She replied.
He still hadn't breathed yet.
"I'm a little scared we won't…raise him or her right. We didn't really grow up right ourselves, Train."
"We aren't the same people we used to be," he replied and exhaled tentatively. He was stroking the space between her shoulder blades while her forehead rested on his clavicle. "If how I'm holding you isn't a reflection of that much, I don't know how else to convince you, Eve."
She shifted a bit closer to him and they both heard water crash against the surf. Salt fumigated their home. Outside the skies were a gloomy grey of approaching storm, but they'd shuffle around to lock the windows later. Right now Train had to fight off sleep as he listened to her: "Train?"
"You know, after all the time we've spent together, we've never told each other that we love each other."
He jolted and looked at her. In a voice that was a bit too loud, "You don't?"
"Of course I do," she was angry at his sudden movement and glared. "Would I be baring your child if I had my doubts?"
He blinked at her and then relaxed. To her question he replied, "I don't see why we have to. You're smart enough to tell that I won't leave you in my lovesick state"—here she smiled warmly and widely—"and I can't see who else you'd fall in love with without thinking about me and then running back."
He winked at her.
"I can think of someone." Her tone lost the playful banter.
He stilled. "Oh?"
"Sven," she murmured.
He was quiet for a long time.
Then at last, "You have a fetish for old men?"
She slapped him.