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Autobiography	By : tartausucre Category: 1 through F > Firewall Views: 1918 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Firewall is the property of Warner Bros. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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“How’s your ankle?”
“…It’s fine.”
Margaux didn’t look up from her tea. The chair creaked under Robert’s weight as he sat down opposite her.
“No pain?”
“No.”
“Get us a coffee, then.”
She nodded mutely and got up, walking to the kettle and standing with her back to him as it boiled.
“You got me in a lot of trouble last night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
She exhaled softly, turning over one of the chipped white mugs on the draining board and tipping coffee granules into it.
“…No. I guess I’m not.”
“I told Bill from the beginning we should have kept a closer eye on you.”
“Looks as though you were right, then, doesn’t it?”
She hadn’t the energy to point out that he could have been watching her, but had chosen not to. Margaux turned to cross the kitchen for the milk, and for the first time caught sight of Robert’s face.
“…Is it broken?”
“The nose? Nah.”
“You look terrible.”
“Man throws a solid punch.”
“I can imagine.”
An awkward silence fell on the room. It took Margaux a heartbeat to remember herself and return to fetching the milk.
“For the record… I am sorry about that part.”
She set the coffee on the table in front of him, turning the handle towards his right hand.
“Thanks.” As she returned to her seat, he fixed her with a long look. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too.”
Margaux felt heat rising in her face and looked back down at her tea. She didn’t vocalise the thoughts that rose unbidden of the man’s hypocrisy, the sheer nerve he must have. Instead she murmured a despondent:
“Thanks.”
“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”
No. Of course she hadn’t. The blanket, the sheet, her pillow — everything stank of sweat and sex and him. She couldn’t stand it. She’d spent the night sitting at this table.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not looking so radiant yourself.”
“Thank you so much.”
Another long look that made her shift uncomfortably. She wanted to leave, but suspected he would only call her back.
“You haven’t had a bath. I’d’ve thought that would be the first thing you did.”
“…I wasn’t allowed.”
“Ah.”
Her face was flushing so hot that she could feel her pulse thumping in her temples. She wondered how red she must look. Whether her eyes were as bloodshot as they felt.
“Bill’s in the bedroom.”
“And?”
“Give him an hour to fall asleep, and you can have your bath.”
“…I don’t want to make him angry.”
“Love, I don’t give a fuck if he’s angry. I don’t want you stinking of another man’s come.”
Oh.
Margaux bit the inside of her cheek.
“You know for a moment there, I almost thought you were exhibiting a shred of decency.”
Robert reached across the table and patted her cheek, grinning.
“You’re welcome.”

*
She jumped at a knock on the door, hurriedly pulling a towel around herself and shutting off the bath faucet.
“…Yes?”
Please don’t be Bill please don’t be Bill please—
“Margaux?”
Robert. It was Robert. She put a hand to her chest and felt her heart pounding.
“What is it?”
“Open the door.”
His conspiratorial half-whisper put her off-guard, and she was pulling the bolt before she fully registered what she was doing. By the time she realised the sheer madness of letting him in, it was far too late.
“Why was the door locked?”
“Sorry… Sorry, I forgot.” Her knuckles were white, her hand gripping compulsively at the point where her towel tucked into itself over her chest.
“Sleep deprivation will do that to you.” He glanced down at the few centimetres of water in the bath. “You should finish filling that before it gets cold.”
She swallowed nervously.
“What do you want?”
“I thought you’d like some company.”
“I wouldn’t.”
Robert closed the bathroom door and drew the bolt back into place.
“Tough.”
He noted her expression and frowned.
“Don’t look at me like that, love. I’m not gonna touch you.”
“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take your word for it.”
He pulled the varnished wooden lid down over the toilet seat and sat down. “You can consider this a day off, love.”
“So you’re just going to sit there and watch.”
“D’you have a problem with that?”
She was silent. What good was it, arguing with either of them?
After a moment she leaned over the bath and turned the tap back on. Robert grinned.
Margaux untucked the corner of her towel, then hesitated. She heard the man behind her scoff:
“What? You think if you’re naked I won’t be able to control myself? Please. Give me some credit.”
“It isn’t just that. I still think—”
“If you mention Bill one more time, love, I’m not going to be a happy bunny. Just do what you’re told, alright?”
She nodded, and stepped into the water, sitting on the edge of the tub in her towel as the tap roared.
“You’re not as afraid of me as you are of Bill. Why?”
She didn’t turn around to respond:
“I thought I wasn’t allowed to talk about him.”
“Ah. The reappearance of the smart mouth. I was wondering how long it would be. Answer the question, sweetheart, or I’ll show you how you can put that smart mouth to better use. Alright?”
“…I never said I was any more scared of him than you,” she said finally, trying not to think about the threat that now hung between them.
“But it’s obvious you are. So why?”
“…Because Bill is crazy.”
“I might be crazy.”
“I doubt it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re opportunistic. And mean. But you’re not crazy.”
“Right. And that means I don’t scare you, does it?”
“Do you want me to be scared of you?”
“I’m a big man with a gun and the desire to fuck you. I think you ought to be.”
Margaux looked down at the water lapping around her calves.
She could practically feel his ego inflating. She knew he was smirking without needing to look at him. This was nothing to do with wanting her. It barely had anything to do with her at all. This was about Bill, and him, and the constant pissing contest they seemed to have going on. She couldn’t imagine what it was that made them compete so intensely. She didn’t want to know, either. She would just rather not have been stuck in the middle.
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Autobiography