sciencesaggressively | living on the edge

Newt is pretty sure there's no truer happiness than being released from the hospital. It's been a few days now, about a week since the accident, and now he's in bed just staring up at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Everyone keeps telling him to stay off his feet--something about it not being good to run around with a broken leg and lingering effects of a concussion--which, hi, five doctorates in biology here, he knows his way around the human body. He doesn't know why people feel the need to constantly remind him that he's basically an invalid right now, he hates it with a passion that he can't do anything.

He's had visitors, of course; Kate and Chuck have been in and out to check on him, help him where he needs it, and he appreciates all of it, he really does, isn't sure what'd he do without them. But he's used to getting shit done on his own, so having to rely on others to do simple tasks like pouring a damn bowl of cream is kind of infuriating.

So that's why he decides it's a good idea to roll out of bed, grab his crutches, and awkwardly make his way to the kitchen to find something to eat. Except there's a damn overhead lightbulb out, and he feels the inexplicable need to change it right now. He drags a chair over--harder than he'd have thought it to be, if he's honest--and carefully hoists himself up on it, using his crutch to balance himself. He bites his lip in concentration and he's maybe starting to get a little dizzy because okay, maybe this isn't his best idea and hopes nobody walks through the front door.

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He's pretty sure that if he bites down any harder on his lip that he'll bite right through it. "That's a lot of pressure," he says, managing a smile. "Need I remind you, that car totally came out of nowhere. A grand piano could easily fall and crush me, I'd never even see it coming, but at that point I'd just say we should get it done before I lose my mind." He wants to say that right now, damn his leg, because yes, he certainly adores her company no matter what but he doesn't think it's a crime to want to keep her right here with her hands on him and half their clothes discarded on the floor.

He tries to think about something that's not a turn on, something like... shit, what, Hermann getting down and dirty with Yamarashi or something and okay, it's working. He wrinkles his nose, shaking his head with all the regrets he's ever had. "When we finally do this, I might just cry. You're going to have to dry my tears, I hope you're prepared for that. This is what you've reduce me to with your wily charms."

"Pretty wily," she agrees, but she's really only half listening, because the rest of her brain is trying to think of things that might calm her down a little bit. Like what groceries she has to buy soon and whether or not she needs dog food and it's not working even remotely, so she slips her back out of his pants gently and rests her forehead against his shoulder. Kate's pretty sure she's never in her life gotten quite so wound up and had to stop and it's really not much fun at all. She's never been great with self-restraint, she knows that, it's why she ended up having to take morning after pills at fifteen and... okay, one time at fourteen, too, and she likes to think she's grown up since then in a lot of ways, but apparently really wanting to have sex and stopping herself isn't one of them.

"I'll dry your tears," she tells him, pulling back finally and cupping his face with both her hands. She smooths her thumbs over his cheeks, brushing away imaginary tears before she smiles and kisses him, sweeter this time, slower. "But probably only by accident because I'll be too busy crying with relief myself."

He huffs when she moves her hand away and goddamn, he really wishes he could have his cake and eat it, too. Having to stop hurts his soul, hurts other parts of him even more, but that's okay, that's okay. Well, no, it's not even a little bit okay but he'll trick himself into thinking it is for the greater good. Being able to move freely, without the restraint of a cast, is going to make things so much better for both of them, he knows this. Doesn't mean he has to like it.

"You're almost too kind," he deadpans, though he has no problem returning her kiss. It's intimate, and he hugs her close to him, working his tongue gently around hers as he burrows his hand in the softness of her hair. When they pull away, only just slightly, he can't help letting out a little whine at the loss of contact from her lips. "Are you sure cutting off the cast isn't in the cards?"

God, she really likes kissing him, but she's pretty sure if this starts all over again, there's no stopping and so when they part, she doesn't immediately lean forward for another, no matter how badly she wants to. "I don't know, let's ask your broken bone and see what it says," she suggests with a little laugh, knowing he's okay now only because he's taken a painkiller and that in an hour or so, he probably won't be quite so excited to get the cast off.

"So any idea how long the doctor said before you can have it taken off?" she asks and, okay, so she hasn't moved off him yet, but just sitting on him probably isn't the worst thing. Besides, even if she moves off, she has no idea where he tossed her shirt and being half naked is probably more of a problem for their situation than sitting on his lap it. Although that's probably not helping either and she glances around, looking for her clothes. Her bra isn't far, but she still can't see her shirt anywhere.

He squints down at his leg like it's the bane of his existence, which it toally is right now, it's fully stopping him from doing all sorts of wonderful things, how dare it, this is an outrage. "My broken bone is an a-hole."

He makes a face that can only be interpreted as oops and gives an near comical shrug. "See, I thought that was the kinda thing you'd know. Maybe Chuck does." He probably should have been paying attention when the doctor was talking, but he'd been too busy poking at his brand new cast at the time and in his opinion, that takes precedence. He notices the way she's looking around, probably for her clothes, and has a very brief internal battle with himself before pointing behind him. "Tossed your shirt behind the couch. Not that, y'know, I'm super desperate for you to put it on or anything," he tells her, planting a firm hold on her hips. Because he's not. At all.

Most of what the doctor had said had gone in one ear and right out the other, because she'd mostly just been concerned with getting Newt home and filling the prescription for his painkillers and worrying herself kind of stupid, but now she's realizing she probably should have actually listened a little bit. Maybe she can call and ask, because she's pretty sure he'll have to make an appointment to see someone to get it off anyway, but for now she can only shrug and say, "I hope Chuck listened."

She laughs when he holds onto her hips and then arches an eyebrow. "I'm just trying to help you," she says, looking down at his lap pointedly. "We're supposed to be cooling off, which usually involves like, a little bit less nudity as far as I've been told." Not that she really wants to go anywhere or get dressed, but that was totally the point and she's trying to follow through with it, but he has his hands on her hips and it's just easier to stay where she is. Easier and more comfortable and way more likely to cause them both to be frustrated, but she's not entirely sad about any of that.

"There's no way he didn't," he answers honestly because as much as Chuck seems like he might be one to rebel, to be the wild card, a loose canon, Newt has always noticed his distinct inability to stray from orders. Newt, on the other hand, admittedly takes most orders as challenges and takes a certain joy in directly defying them, hence the attempt at bulb changing. He likes to be contrary, is fairly convinced that if he wasn't, he wouldn't have gotten as far as he has. "I'll have to drag him along with me when I get it off because otherwise we might be spending a lot of time on the exam table. Or possibly in jail."

He hangs his head because he knows she's trying to help him, he really does, and he's totally appreciative of it and all but there's a blurry line between calling it help and emotional distress. "I actually find nudity quite calming, thank you very much," he tells her, lifting his chin up all snooty like before loosening his grip on her and sliding his hands down to her legs. "But obviously, you can do what you need to do, I won't try to stop you. Mostly because I can't."

"Ugh, please don't go to jail, it's totally overrated," she tells him, which is maybe a bit of a ridiculous statement for her to make, because it's not like she ended up in real jail. She slept off her high in a holding cell on the island with Danny watching over her and yeah, it had been the first time they'd met, but clearly they'd grown from the experience. And she's pretty sure the holding cell on the island is a lot more comfortable than being thrown in jail in Darrow would be. Plus, she was allowed to go home in the morning, which, at the time, had been a bed down one floor in one of the dorms, so it hadn't even been that far to walk with her wicked hangover.

"You find it calming, huh?" she asks with a smile, tilting her head a little before she wraps her arms around him again, sneaking them between him and the couch so she can rest her head against his shoulder. It's better than kissing him and letting her hands roam kind of wherever they want in terms of calming herself down, but she's still pressed tight against him and she can feel his skin against hers, how warm he is, and maybe he's right, maybe it is helping a little bit. It's totally unreasonable, but at the moment she sort of never wants him to take his hands off her again.

living on the edge

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