Chapter Text
They sat like that for a long time, Mason in the chair focusing on each breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth, while James warmed her hands with his own, pressing comforting circles into her skin as he knelt before her, showered her with whispered reassurances.
Mason sighed as her pulse steadied, gradually easing her out of her episode. She tried her best not to meet James’ eyes directly, she felt silly, pathetic. Why this? Why now? Why in front of him? She doubted that she would ever feel normal again as the familiar barrier of numbness drowned out her fear. How could she ever leave that island? It seemed like her mind would be trapped there forever.
“Hey,” James’ voice cut through the fog of her dread as he gently cupped her cheek, “come back to me.”
She reluctantly met his gaze, afraid of what she would find in his eyes: pity, disapproval, disgust. But instead, she found empathy in those deep pools of blue, understanding like the clearest of crystals. She found strength and courage, a promise of tomorrow, an assurance of safety, shelter and light. “I’m here,” she breathed, warmth returning to her features as she basked in the solace of those blue irises.
She reached out, affectionetly exploring the contours of his face as she marveled at the man before her, a smile brightening on his lips from the contact. She paused, a thought striking her, before she brought her fingers to his hair line; his hair always looked so flawless and handsome, brunette locks with tinted streaks of blonde from too many days in the sun. He must use product to keep it so perfectly held back, and it must be damn good considering that his style stayed tidy all throughout their days on the island under all the sweat and grime. Reflecting on this, she absentmindedly plunged her fingers into his short quaff of pushed back bangs, massaging against the grain until strands started to come loose from the neat order. Pinching a particularly rebellious section, she pulled it forward, smoothing it against his forehead when James suddenly cleared his throat. “Eh, what’s happening right now?”
“Just making sure you’re human,” Mason teased, only now realizing how ridiculous her actions were but committing to them fully, “your hair is a little too manageable.”
“There’s a trick to that,” he laughed, playing along, “do you want to know the secret?”
“Hair product?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Partly,” his grin widened as he reached for her wrists, using her hands to mess up his hair further.
She couldn’t deny that she loved the feeling of running her fingers through his satin locks, dragging ruggedly against his scalp, but at the moment she was more curious about what exactly he was trying to do.
Finally, he withdrew her hands and looked up at her with a silly smirk, his hair an absolute mess. “Ready?”
“Amaze me,” she snickered, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms against her chest.
Dramatically, he tilted his head forward and, using both hands, he combed his fingers through his hair in one slick motion, perfectly resetting every strand to its predetermined location, his palms smoothing them down into their former sculpted grace. He followed the gesture through until his hands brushed against his neck, then threw his arms wide to show off the finished product. “Ta da!”
“Impressive,” she mused sarcastically, “but I can do that.”
“Oh really?”
“Really.”
“Prove it then.”
Mason rolled her eyes in a bored manner, then extended her palms, quirking her fingers at him expectantly until he offered her his hands. He was more ruthless than she, tangling her long mane as he scrubbed her hair back and forth. Mason could only just see the pleased look on his face through her disheveled tresses when she eventually pushed him away. “Stand back,” she warned, half joking.
He sunk back on his heels obediently, angling his head further away as she leaned forward. “Oh, is this one of those hair flips?”
“So, you’ve heard of them?”
“I’ve never experienced one up close before,” he chuckled playfully before growing sober, “please don’t hit your head.”
“Don’t worry,” Mason scoffed as she drew her loose strands over her ducked head, “I’m a professional.”
She played it cool and flipped back her head in a quick jerk, halting the motion just before the full recoil that would have most definitely caused her to see stars, given the steel wall behind her. The maneuver was mostly successful but, given her restraint, not entirely.
“How’d I do?” She laughed, fully knowing the answer. She could feel a couple frizzled bunches out of place, one in particular falling over her left eye.
James suppressed a laugh. “Almost. Do the comb,” he suggested, miming his move from earlier.
Mockingly, she used big gestures to mimic his technique, fixing most of the mess before her fingers tangled in knots that had formed indignantly. She certainly missed conditioner.
“Doesn’t quite work for long hair,” he remarked with a smile, leaning forward and taking over where her half successful comb had left off, “allow me.”
She brought her hands to her lap, turning up her nose defiantly as he groomed her, reordering her dirty blonde waves to the correct sides of her part. His face was close to hers, and Mason found herself slowly dropping her act, softening as she watched him, his forehead creased in concentration on his task, mouth slightly ajar, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. She guessed that this was a quirk he had developed at childhood, sticking his tongue through his teeth as he played with trucks in the sand, built forts, untied stubborn knots.
When his work was finally complete, he gave a content nod, pleased with the final product. His fingers lingered in her locks until, gradually, his palms came to rest at either side of her face, his thumb gently tracing across her cheek as he admired her. “That could have gone better,” she heard herself mutter.
“No, you actually did quite well,” he replied reassuringly.
“Bullshit,” she retorted with a laugh.
“Yeh, maybe just a bit.”
The two of them giggled together as Mason pressed her forehead against his. It had been days since she had even thought about laughing, and now it felt so good in her stomach and chest. James continued to caress her cheek, and that felt good too, everything about him felt good. Their laughter ebbed as a new feeling started to grow between them. She wanted him to kiss her, more than that, she wanted him to touch her. She wanted-
“You should get some sleep,” James said suddenly, drawing back in a snap.
The spell was broken and Mason felt her shoulders hunch at his words, that familiar cold feeling starting to creep back into her bones. “I can’t, I’ve tried,” she replied plainly, “I always go back there.”
“You’re not on the island anymore, Weaver,” he explained as he squeezed her hands in his, “you escaped. And nothing that was there can ever reach you again. You’re safe now.”
She flinched at the sound of her last name, the distance between them was growing. “I know, I know that...” Mason sighed, her eyes reflexively flickering around the room, searching.
“But it doesn’t feel like it,” James said, finishing her thought and bringing her attention back to him.
“No, it doesn’t.”
They sat in silence, Mason watched as James clenched and unclenched his jaw, staring down at their hands, wanting to say something but not knowing how.
“Weaver,” he finally ventured, “I want to help, but I know its not that simple... but you’re more than welcome to stay here for the night. I can sit by the door and keep watch.”
“Sure,” was the only response she could manage.
His warmth left her as he moved to untie her boots, slipping them off in a mechanical motion. Was it something she said? Was it something she did? She grasped for reasons for his sudden distance, sudden formality. She wanted to ask, to bring everything into the open air but she feared making a sound, feared what might hear her.
Boots set aside, he motioned for her to stand. Mason hesitated before reaching her toes to the floor, letting out a hiss as her skin burned against the cold steel, sending a shudder through her. James acted without hesitation, hooking his arms under her knees and behind her back as he hoisted her into the air and carried her to the bed. He eased her down onto the sheets, ready to step away and station himself at the door but Mason held him fast. Reluctantly, he allowed her to lean against his chest.
James was warm, she huddled close to him like he was a campfire in the middle of the woods, a solitude against the darkness and a relief from the cold. Smoothing her hands across the folds of his shirt, she could feel his pulse racing beneath his skin as, cautiously, his arms crept around her, circling her in a protective embrace. She sighed, bringing her face to rest in the crook of his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of fresh soap and subtle cologne. She was here, with James, they were on the ship, the ship that was leaving the island forever. But something had James nervous, and that made her nervous. What was he afraid of?
James exhaled, muscles relaxing as he pressed a kiss into her hair. “Mason,” he spoke her name, whispered like a secret.
“Yes?”
He exhaled again, collecting his thoughts, “you’ve been through a lot tonight, and these past few days. I just don’t want you to think... I just don’t want to be the type of man that would take advantage of that.”
“How so?” She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“Considering...everything, this wasn’t exactly the best night to start acting on my feelings towards you.”
“And what are those?” Confidence rose in her chest as she drew back to look at him fully.
He smirked, knowing full well that she was baiting him. “That I think you’re brilliant. Compassionate and curious, driven and fierce. And absolutely beautiful.”
The shadows melted under his loving gaze, warmth flooding her body as it absorbed his words, her back straightening to meet his height. “Is that so?” She replied slyly.
“Yes,” he grinned, admiring the steady emergence of the strong woman that he had fallen for before he even had time to realize it was happening, “I’m afraid I’ve grown quite fond of you.”
“What’s so bad about that?” Mason continued her interrogation.
“Nothing,” James shrugged, “except timing. You’ve had a long night... so, close your eyes and go to sleep.”
“Do I look like the type of woman that does what she’s told?” Mason scoffed, scrunching her nose defiantly.
He chuckled, that low rumble in his chest that drove her crazy. He searched her face, reassured as any residual anxiety melted from her features and the renowned anti-war photographer and investigative photojournalist Mason Weaver stared him down. “You’ve certainly proven yourself not to be.”
“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” she boasted, inching towards him as she grew in strength and confidence.
“Certainly not,” he grinned, admiring the beauty of her growing fire before closing the distance between them, capturing her lips in an eager kiss.
She was ready for him, digging her fingertips into the nape of his neck, anchoring herself to him. She licked at his satin lips, urging them to part for her, their tongues intertwining in a deepening passion that neither one of them had the power, or desire, to put off any longer. He was around her, encircling her tightly, one hand in her hair the other caressing her back possessively, protectively.
She kicked one knee over his thighs, straddling him as she pulled herself closer, the fire inside of her growing to match the intensity of his own flame. She ached for him, and there were far too many barriers between their bodies for her liking. Mason reached for the base of his shirt, untucking it with a rough tug and running her fingers over the newly exposed skin of his stomach. She continued to push the fabric aside, greedy for more when James broke away from their kiss, regarding her through half lidded eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly, seriousness crossing his face as he waited for her answer.
“Yes, I want this,” Mason replied soberly, “I want you.”
James grinned, dazzling her with a flash of his white teeth, delight radiating throughout his features. “And I want you.”
He kissed her cheek, moving to nibble at her ear as she drew his shirt up his torso, only breaking away so she could lift it over his head. He leaned back as he flicked his shirt to the floor, satisfaction in his face as he watched her admire him. His body was like a picture made of a thousand stories, one for each mark and scar, tales of pleasure and pain that had formed James into the man that sat under her now. She ran her fingers across his sculpted form, exploring every inch of him as he moved in again, bringing his lips to her neck.
He burned hot kisses into her tender skin, sucking at the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met, causing a small noise to escape from Mason despite herself. She could feel him smile against her at the sound before continuing, tracing a path of those sweet kisses up her neck until he reached her jawline. Cupping her face in his palm, he moved back to her ear. “Can I touch you?” He whispered, his voice laced with desire.
“Yes,” Mason practically squirmed, digging her fingers into his skin for emphasis, “I need you.”
He obeyed, running his hand at an agonizingly slow pace down her stomach, finally reaching for the hem of her tank top. He licked at the shell of her ear as his fingers found her skin, his calloused hands burning into her flesh as he caressed her hips. The ache at her core grew and she subconsciously grinded down on his lap, feeling his own excitement pressing against her inner thigh. He sucked in a breath at the contact, and before she knew it her tank top joined his shirt on the floor as James dug into her, their lips meeting in a heavy passion as his hands fanned across her newly exposed skin.
His touch was absolutely intoxicating, purging all thoughts from her mind as sensations flooded through her. But one idea slipped to the front of her attention, pricking at her with resolve. “You wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you?”
“Actually,” James chuckled, a look of amusement crossing his face, “It just so happens that I do.”
“Oh, I see. Were you planning to get lucky on this trip?” Mason teased.
“No,” James explained plainly as he rolled her off of him and crossed the room to his desk, fishing in the top drawer, “First day on the ship, Mills was trying to embarrass Brooks and ended up throwing one at me, since I just happened to be standing there at the time.”
“Did it work?” Mason asked curiously, drawing her arms around her knees, feeling slightly cold without James’ touch.
“No, turns out that nerdy geologist has been around a time or two, that or he has an excellent poker face,” James simpered as he came back to the bed, tossing the condom next to the pillow and kicking off his own boots before rejoining her.
“I can see that.”
“See what?”
“Him having a way with the ladies.”
“I don’t want to see that,” James scrunched up his face, shaking away any involuntary imaginings of such a thing.
“Come now, don’t be a prude,” Mason jested, poking him in the ribs.
“Why are we talking about this?” James shot back, capturing her hand as he twitched under the sudden jab, “this is the worst thing we could be talking about right now.”
“I could think of worse.” Mason giggled, surprising him with a prod from her other hand.
“Please don’t.” James grunted with effort as he fought off her assault.
“Hey, you brought it up,” Mason said accusingly, leaning back as she attempted to free herself for another attack.
He followed her retreat, tightening his grip on her until he had her pinned against the sheets. “You’re awful.”
“You like it.”
James sighed. She always had a way of pushing his buttons, of driving him crazy, making him move to her will. But she was right, he did like it.
Mason freed one of her hands, hooking a finger in James’ belt and pulling him down to her suggestively. “Now, where were we?”