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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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It was almost noon when a door in the hallway slammed, announcing Bill’s awakening. Margaux stood when she heard his footsteps moving towards the kitchen; she crossed to the counter and began to fill the kettle.
She saw Bill in her peripheral vision as she put it back on its base, pressing down the little plastic tongue to set it rumbling.
“Is it too late to say good morning?”
Margaux didn’t turn to look at the clock on the wall. It was an obvious ploy. She didn’t want to look at him.
“I think you still have a couple of minutes.”
“Great.”
He moved behind her. His hand brushed up her side, and she didn’t acknowledge it.
He swept her damp hair over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck. His touch followed the bumps of her vertebrae down her back.
“I took a bath.” Her voice came out small and nervous. “I know you said not to but I—”
“It’s fine.”
“But you said…” She trailed off, uncertain of why she should want to talk him into being angry with her.
“I don’t care.”
He was tracing the scrolling vines on her back with his fingertips, following them through the bright drifts of foliage that covered her shoulder blade. Margaux bit the inside of her cheek and reached for an empty mug.
“Tea?”
“Thanks.”
Margaux went through the ritual of preparing the drink, doing her best not to react to the overfamiliarity of his wandering touch. She dearly wished for something to distract him.
“It’s a big day for you today, Margaux.”
“I suppose it is.”
His hands found her hips, grasping her yielding flesh through her skirt, and she almost dropped the kettle.
“Are you worried?”
She didn’t answer.
“There’s no shame in that. It means you understand what’s at stake. You should be worried.”
“I suppose that’s just as well, then, isn’t it?” Bill laughed, and she realised with some confusion that he was humouring her. “Here.” She fished the teabag out of the mug and pulled away from Bill, towards the bin. He let her go.
“Thanks.” He took the mug and sat down at the table. Margaux opted to lean back against the counter, as far from him as possible. “I take it you didn’t sleep last night.”
“…No.”
“That’s a shame. It’s going to be a long day.” He lifted the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip. “Although there’s nothing to stop you from napping, of course.”
“I guess not.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
“Do you… want me to make something?” she asked, when he stayed seated. He shook his head.
“Let me finish this. I need to get some caffeine in me.”
“Do you want me to…”
He looked at her over the rim of his cup. “What?”
“…I don’t know.”
Margaux folded her arms over her stomach and looked down at the flagstones. Bill stared at her for a long moment before returning to his waking ritual of tea and thoughtful silence.
After a while Margaux turned and looked out the window at the rain. She leaned on the counter, resting her chin on her palm.
“I feel as if it’s been raining forever,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.
“It was raining all night. It should be over by three.”
“You think so?”
“It can’t rain forever, Margaux.”
“No. I don’t suppose it can.”
She noted the way the spiny boughs of gorse nodded beneath the weight of the fat raindrops, the gurgle of the water as it churned down the guttering. She was sure that in another context she could appreciate the beauty of what she was seeing, but as it was the rain seemed to take on a kind of malevolence, trapping her inside this nineteen-seventies nightmare of a cottage.
“Do you think we’ll have any sun afterwards?”
Behind her, Bill’s mug met the table top with a ceramic thud. “I think we’re probably due some.”
“Probably. Do you think—” She bit her lip, wondering if it was wise to ask the question. She wouldn’t lose anything by it. “Do you think I might be allowed outside to see it?”
“That depends on you.” His voice spoke from directly behind her, and at the touch of his hand on her shoulder she let out an involuntary cry and flinched violently away. Why would you sneak up on a person like that?
She moved to slip out from between Bill and the counter, but found her progress halted by his hand gripping the counter’s edge. She moved the other way and found the same.
“What’s wrong, Margaux?” His breath was warm on her back.
“Let me out.”
“You didn’t even say please, Margaux.”
“Please.”
“No.” He leaned down and kissed her shoulder. The gesture summoned the memory of his ragged breath on her skin, his long-fingered hands with their deliciously painful grasp on her hips, her sudden cry of pleasure lost in the pillow.
“Not here. Please.”
He laughed.
“Don’t worry, darling. There’s no time for that today. We have to be ready if dear David calls, don’t we?” His lips brushed over a sensitive spot behind her ear, and her skin prickled. “I suppose there’s always the possibility of a quickie, but I’d rather take my time with you.” His hand moved down her bare arm. “You’re not wearing a cardigan today.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because covering up was supposed to put you off, and that clearly hasn’t worked.
“Just because.”
“I like it. You should leave it off more often.”
“Alright,” she murmured passively.
He frowned.
“I feel as if you’ve lost some of your fight, Margaux. I wouldn’t like to think you were that easy to break.”
She didn’t respond.
He stepped back a little and turned her around with a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t look up at him until his fingers curled beneath her chin forced the issue.
“You look exhausted.”
She shrugged.
“Alright. Breakfast can wait. Come with me.”
He started towards the hall door. When she didn’t follow, he grasped her wrist and pulled.
As they passed the airing cupboard, Margaux stopped, and Bill turned to give her an expectant look.
“Just — one second. Please.”
She opened the cupboard door with her free hand and started the washing machine. Inside, water began to froth against the inverted window in the door, soaking the bedding crumpled inside in the drum. Her bedding. When she turned back towards him, she caught his questioning look.
“I didn’t want to start it until you were up.”
He tilted his head at her in a way that was vaguely animalistic. A request for elaboration.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
He laughed, then continued down the hall, tugging at her wrist. She followed. Not that there was any alternative.
He led her into the sitting room.
“Alright,” he said, taking his usual seat and moving the TV remote within reach. He spread one arm out across the back of the sofa. “Come here.” She sat beside him in obedient silence. Waiting. He looked at her for a moment, then sat forward. “Actually. No…”
He turned, and pulled his legs up under him, crouching in his seat for a moment before he slid them out behind her on the sofa. Margaux shifted forward to make room, not bothering to hide her confused frown. Now sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, his prodigious height easily occupying the entire sofa, he looked at her and patted one lean thigh.
“Come here, Margaux.”
“…I’m not sure I follow.”
“Don’t be difficult. You’re too tired and I’m not a patient man.” He shifted again until he was lying down, casually crossing his ankles. His legs were too long for the furniture now, projecting off the end and almost touching the wall of the small room. He threw one arm out behind his head as a makeshift pillow. “Come here.”
“…My hair is wet.”
“Your point being what?”
“It won’t be very comfortable.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Your shirt will get soaked.”
“It’s fine.”
“But—”
“Do I have to drag you down here?”
She frowned at him and muttered a petulant “No.”
He stared at her expectantly, the hint of a laugh playing across his features. Eventually she moved, turning to crawl onto the sofa and over him, gingerly kneeling to either side of his thighs.
“Now what?”
“Now you lie down.”
“And if I don’t want to…?”
His free hand slid up her side, playing with the hem of her camisole. “You’re a grouchy little thing when you’re tired, aren’t you?” Bill moved the arm from behind his head and placed his hand on her waist. “Lie down, Margaux.” He pushed down on her hip, forcing her to sit straddling his thighs. “See that’s a start. Now be a good girl and lean forward.”
She resisted the urge to scowl at him. His current mood was strange, but it was pleasant enough. There was no sense in putting him in a foul mood for the sake of her pride. She shifted her legs back, moving her weight onto her hands, and tentatively lay down, moving where his hands directed her until their legs were intertwined and her head lay on his chest.
“Isn’t that better?”
She made a noncommittal noise. Bill laughed and pushed a damp lock out hair out of her face. He picked up the remote and flicked on the television, turning down the volume before he started channel surfing.
Margaux was uncertain of what to do. Her left hand was curled into a fist, wedged between Bill’s body and the coarse fabric of the sofa cushion. What was it made out of anyway? The stuff they made carpet bags out of? Was that actually carpet? If she’d had access to the Internet she would have looked that up. At any rate it was horrible, rough material, and not at all pleasant to be pinned against. For the sake of comfort she wanted to uncurl her fingers, but doing so would lay her hand against Bill’s ribcage, and she wasn’t sure about that. In the end, he made a decision for her, shifting uncomfortably.
“Is that your hand?” She raised her cheek from his chest and looked at him. “Move it, would you?”
Well, at least if he asked it wasn’t the same as choosing to do it on her own. She laid her fingers against his torso, the fabric of his shirt so much softer against her skin. Margaux put her head back on his chest, unconsciously rubbing her cheek against him. He curled an arm around her waist, and his fingers closed around a loose fistful of her camisole.
God, but her head felt so heavy all of a sudden. Not to mention her eyelids… And he was so warm…
Margaux jolted awake. She noted, not without embarrassment, the way her right hand was lying on Bill’s upper arm.
“Did I…?”
“Two minutes. That’s all. It’s okay, Margaux — go to sleep.”
“If…” She yawned. “If David calls?”
He was drawing slow circles on her shoulder with one fingertip.
“I’ll wake you. Cross my blackened heart.”
A smile played across her lips.
“I don’t understand you,” came her somnolent murmur. Then all was comfortable darkness.
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Autobiography