She just woke up, but she’s still tired. Rooftop action the night before took its toll, and more.
She squints against the afternoon light that squirts past a gap in her carpet-bag curtains. Through the muddle in her mind, she drags the heavy fabric swathes tight, and breathes a sigh. Without the sunlight to fight, she finds it much easier to gather herself and push away sleep’s lingering miasma. Slide out of bed, slippers on her feet, and she wanders down the hall to find some coffee.
“That, my dear, was a whole lot of sleepin’.”
She ignores the voice, shuffles on by, eyes on the prize on the kitchen counter.
Five sips later, Christina looks up through the veil of her bangs. The bowler hat is sometimes an annoying affectation, but she thinks about how much she loves Darrick for what he does to support her.
“What time is it?” Her voice is still crackly with sleep, not yet warmed up despite the warmth of her drink.
“Comin’ up on three.” His casual shrug endears her as well. “You wanna talk about it?”
She wanders over to melt into a hug. Cheek pressed on his shoulder, she sighs again.
“Mmmm, not really. But I should.” She takes his hand, and leads him to the couch.
“Come sit down. This one’s a long tale.”
He nods, and doffs his hat, passing a hand through his thinning hair.
“I’ll hold all my calls.”