[ as she steps inside, he shuts the door after her, turning to watch her move further into his space. it isn't much, already looking plenty like his other room, save for the fact that it lacks a second bed. with such few things, it'd almost be hard to even recognize it as his if it weren't for the all too familiar pink bag settled in one corner. when he steps over to set the pen carefully upon the time, even that alone is enough to add a touch more of personality.
the lack of items is mostly that kovacs has always taught himself not to get too attached to anything, not when he never lives anywhere long enough to get comfortable anyway, not when so often he's grown accustomed to having to let things go. because there's always been very little for him to have all his own, anyway.
marta speaks up and he turns to her, saying nothing as he says her words carefully, his eyes peering over her open hands before she brings them up to her chest, motioning at her heart.
do you remember, she asks, and for a moment, there's a fear that he won't, that he'll have already lost a precious memory. but it all comes back to him easily, the way he'd wandered that night with the anguish of a heavy conversation with clara, how his feet had carried him to marta's door before he'd even realized where he was going. it was so long ago now, but even then — she was already believing in him, already offering everything.
everything she'd said that night had been more than enough, and still, here she is, wanting to give him more. ]
Marta. [ he says her name quietly, like a whisper almost lost in an already quiet room. the silence follows for a moment longer before his feet move slowly across the floor, closer to her. ] Months ago, I would have told you that I don't deserve any of it. I'm actually pretty sure that's exactly what I said.
[ he stops in front of her, sighing a soft breath. ]
I won't lie to you and say that I don't think like that anymore, because — truth is, I still think there's plenty I don't deserve. But ...
[ he raises his hand, fingers light as they reach out to trace a touch along her hair, drawing it back with a gentle tuck. ]
But the difference is I don't want to sit back anymore. I want to fight for it. I want to fight for the chance to — to be happy with you.
[ maybe it's foolish, wanting to hold onto and foster something in a space that was only ever meant to be temporary. especially something as delicate as this, this whatever-it-is and whatever-it-could-possibly-be between them. they were all there for their own reasons, and that should have been that.
or maybe it's just human, building communities and forming bonds despite the threat of an expiry date. giving and getting support, building up and building back. what's a fantastical quest involving regrets without a reminder of all the reasons to keep trying to begin with?
maybe it's both.
marta does feel a little foolish now, standing there with her hands out, trying to offer kovacs something that has already hurt him once before. but every step he takes towards her, every word he braves out — that feeling of foolishness begins to dissipate, until he's standing right in front of her, close enough to touch, and gone with that feeling too is the weight on her chest of carrying two hopes.
he touches her hair and her face like he's done before and somehow it feels both unchanged and different. she's smiling either way, something fragile and relieved. ]
There's nothing to fight for, Tak. The chance is already here.
[ he'd been cautious about this. what happened with quell centuries past, what happened with clara just months ago — kovacs had learned the dangers of trying to grasp onto something concrete, something that could make his heart swell with the feeling of being wanted, of being worth more than the disposable life he often believed himself to be.
but she isn't quell, dedicated to something overwhelmingly bigger than herself, a seed of revolution, and a symbol molded to restore the cracks spreading across humanity. she isn't clara, a fleeting dream describing the limitless stretches of space, always craving more and never knowing stillness.
marta is something else, something he hadn't even known to exist. when quell talks of hope, it's about the chase. when clara talks of hope, it's about the fantasy. when marta talks of hopes, it's —
it's real. she isn't coating truth. she's earnest. she wants to believe it, chooses to. and kovacs? he wants to be in it with her.
the chance is already here.
he's seen her face a hundred times, but he looks at her like he needs to learn it all over again, like what he sees is new, because in some parts, it is. not because he's forgotten (he knows the chance of that is there, but he won't let it hold him back, not anymore), but because he it's the first time, in a long time, he's letting himself have it.
we take what is offered, quell had taught him. but for the first time, he's really doing it.
slowly, he leans in, a brush of his nose caressing the tip of hers, carefully as he lingers in that position, eyes closing. for a moment, he simply breathes her in, fingers resting at her neck, calloused tips curling soft to her skin.
then his lips meet hers, almost tentative but without doubt, a promise that he isn't going to resist her, not anymore, his mouth firm with a kiss that welcomes her past the doors he'd tried to keep shut. ]
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no subject
the lack of items is mostly that kovacs has always taught himself not to get too attached to anything, not when he never lives anywhere long enough to get comfortable anyway, not when so often he's grown accustomed to having to let things go. because there's always been very little for him to have all his own, anyway.
marta speaks up and he turns to her, saying nothing as he says her words carefully, his eyes peering over her open hands before she brings them up to her chest, motioning at her heart.
do you remember, she asks, and for a moment, there's a fear that he won't, that he'll have already lost a precious memory. but it all comes back to him easily, the way he'd wandered that night with the anguish of a heavy conversation with clara, how his feet had carried him to marta's door before he'd even realized where he was going. it was so long ago now, but even then — she was already believing in him, already offering everything.
everything she'd said that night had been more than enough, and still, here she is, wanting to give him more. ]
Marta. [ he says her name quietly, like a whisper almost lost in an already quiet room. the silence follows for a moment longer before his feet move slowly across the floor, closer to her. ] Months ago, I would have told you that I don't deserve any of it. I'm actually pretty sure that's exactly what I said.
[ he stops in front of her, sighing a soft breath. ]
I won't lie to you and say that I don't think like that anymore, because — truth is, I still think there's plenty I don't deserve. But ...
[ he raises his hand, fingers light as they reach out to trace a touch along her hair, drawing it back with a gentle tuck. ]
But the difference is I don't want to sit back anymore. I want to fight for it. I want to fight for the chance to — to be happy with you.
no subject
or maybe it's just human, building communities and forming bonds despite the threat of an expiry date. giving and getting support, building up and building back. what's a fantastical quest involving regrets without a reminder of all the reasons to keep trying to begin with?
maybe it's both.
marta does feel a little foolish now, standing there with her hands out, trying to offer kovacs something that has already hurt him once before. but every step he takes towards her, every word he braves out — that feeling of foolishness begins to dissipate, until he's standing right in front of her, close enough to touch, and gone with that feeling too is the weight on her chest of carrying two hopes.
he touches her hair and her face like he's done before and somehow it feels both unchanged and different. she's smiling either way, something fragile and relieved. ]
There's nothing to fight for, Tak. The chance is already here.
no subject
but she isn't quell, dedicated to something overwhelmingly bigger than herself, a seed of revolution, and a symbol molded to restore the cracks spreading across humanity. she isn't clara, a fleeting dream describing the limitless stretches of space, always craving more and never knowing stillness.
marta is something else, something he hadn't even known to exist. when quell talks of hope, it's about the chase. when clara talks of hope, it's about the fantasy. when marta talks of hopes, it's —
it's real. she isn't coating truth. she's earnest. she wants to believe it, chooses to. and kovacs? he wants to be in it with her.
the chance is already here.
he's seen her face a hundred times, but he looks at her like he needs to learn it all over again, like what he sees is new, because in some parts, it is. not because he's forgotten (he knows the chance of that is there, but he won't let it hold him back, not anymore), but because he it's the first time, in a long time, he's letting himself have it.
we take what is offered, quell had taught him. but for the first time, he's really doing it.
slowly, he leans in, a brush of his nose caressing the tip of hers, carefully as he lingers in that position, eyes closing. for a moment, he simply breathes her in, fingers resting at her neck, calloused tips curling soft to her skin.
then his lips meet hers, almost tentative but without doubt, a promise that he isn't going to resist her, not anymore, his mouth firm with a kiss that welcomes her past the doors he'd tried to keep shut. ]