2009-09-27: Jumping The Gun



Date: September 27th, 2009


Tracy hides something from Ivory; Ivory tries harder to earn her … trust.

"Jumping the Gun"

Ivory's Apartment

Washington, D.C.

Sunday morning comes early, but — thanks to Ivory, in some shape of form — Tracy managed to get some sleep. It's dim when she wakes up without a sound, opening her eyes to realize where she is. Wrapped up in fine sheets as well as Ivory, she turns her head to look at him for a moment before trying to sneak out without waking him up.

A few minutes later, once her claimed place in the bed is empty, and Ivory's shirt is missing from where it was draped over a chair the night before, quiet sounds of life in the vast apartment give her away. A shuffle here, a bare footstep on tile there, an accidental jingle of keys. Although she still has to be there somewhere, Tracy is nowhere in sight.

Breathing softly in his slumber, Ivory doesn't even stir when Tracy does. He's worn out. Likely from the night before when he was assisting Tracy get some/ sleep. And for the next few moments, he's not even sure he's waking up. Not until he can hear the buzzing of his Blackberry bouncing across the bedside table. It's a moment later that he's realizing that he better snatch it up before it falls off and in doing so, he's pushed himself up to a half-lay and turned to glance over at the other side of the bed. Which is empty. He blinks a bit and then rolls out of the bed, so that he may get himself into something a bit more appropriate.

In two shakes, Ivory's checking the mirror, to make sure he's still got his charming smile. "Trace?" comes out of his mouth, as he snatches up his phone and pulls the end of his belt through. Shirtless, for some unknown reason, he rocks a wifebeater and makes his way out of the bedroom.

As it turns out, Tracy is near the dining area of Ivory's apartment. The reason she couldn't been seen at first is… she's on the floor. She's not hard to eventually spot, though, sitting against the refrigerator. Ivory's white button-up is, more or less, all she wears, save from the ever-present strand of pearls around her neck; she never took them off. Blonde hair is only slightly skewed from the bed, and it falls in front of her face as she looks down at what's in her hands: her phone, nearly identical to Ivory's. She looks sharply the direction of his voice, conflicted, but looks back down at the address book she scrolls through. MALDEN. She hesitates and scrolls past. POLICE DEPARTMENT. Her thumb hovers on the green call button.

Ivory can spot blonde hair a mile away. It may just be some kind of strange fetish of his. Who knows. But he's already smiling as he heads in that direction. "So there's my shirt. I knew somebody took it." Ivory's tone has fallen back to the usual jovial one that comes standard with a Senator of that much amazing grace and undeniable style. Although, in the next moment he can see that, well, she's dealing with the phone and doesn't have the most happy of looks on her face. "Babe, what's wrong? Who'd you call?" Yeah, he's just gotten himself extra nervous. He does not need her sticking her nose in the fixing.

Tracy doesn't dial. Instead, as Ivory approaches, she looks up at him. Definitely not the most happy of looks on her face, that is for sure — there's a hint of something decidedly unhinged in her eyes and she's only just woken up — but she shakes her head dismissively and forces a smile. It starts out forced, at least; because of the Senator's innate charms, it might just turn real. "No one." The phone disappears by her side, one sleeve all but hiding it. "Just checking my messages."

Ivory immediately looks skeptical, but there's no reason for him not to trust the blonde. After all, he can always just check and see himself later. "Everything's going to be okay, hm?" Ivory's sliding off into her direction and reaching down to stroke her hair. Caring, see? "I'm going to make this whole thing go away and you'll never have to think about any of this again. I promise."

Tracy looks skeptical for an entirely different reason. It's not that she doesn't believe Ivory, though it might look that way. She just leans her head back against the refrigerator door as her hair is touched, giving a subtly appreciative smile to Ivory before looking past him at the ceiling. "Maybe," she says dully before getting to her feet. "I need a few days off. I know, the timing isn't great…"

"Shhhhh. Done." Ivory says, shaking his head. It's almost like he can't believe she's even asking. "I'm sure we worked hard enough last night to keep me up and at 'em for the next few days. I'll get Raquel to pick up the slack. Not a problem." Ivory's giving the beauty a wink before stepping back a bit. Perhaps noting that he could be invading her personal space too much. "But you're staying here. With me. If only because you look almost as good as I do in my clothes." See? Jokes? Smile!

Tracy starts to smile, laughing under her breath, but there's still… something off. Something wrong. She crosses the threshold of personal space, going so far as to take his arm near his hand without truly thinking about it. "As… tempting as that is… I have some things I need to do," she replies, her voice awfully dull for being so purposeful. Whatever it is she thinks she has to do, she's resigned to it. "Alone."

Even as his arm is taken, Ivory doesn't keep with the smiling. In fact, now he's getting upset. "I don't understand. What happened? What do you need to do?" Ivory's not really in the mood to be losing someone he's just started to get close to. That's the look on his face, anyway. His expression darkens as he peers at her. "I thought you wanted my help."

"I do." Reluctant as Tracy is to accept anyone's help, she means it. Pursing her lips against a frown, she lays her hands against Ivory's chest in a gesture of new intimacy she would have scoffed at a few days ago. … Also, she's stalling for time. Thinking. "It's not about the charity scandal." She turns away, walking a few steps with her palms pressed together in front of her, the too large cuffs of her borrowed shirt hiding her thumbs. "…I can't talk about it."

"Yes, you can." With the Obama moment out of the way, Ivory's already following her. A couple steps is not much and he's there in a heartbeat. Or two. Arms move from behind to wrap her up into a protective hug. His head moving towards her shoulder, so that he can lean his cheek against hers. "I need you to trust me. I need you to tell me what's going on." He bites his own lip. "How is this going to work between us if you can't talk to me?" Uh oh. This? Between us? Is somebody already jumping the gun?!

Enveloped by Ivory's arms, Tracy brings her own up, resting her chin on the phone she still holds between her two hands. "Us?" She turns around with a prying smile. Someone's unconvinced— or in denial. Damn that addictive Senator. Regardless of however the blonde feels for Ivory, she seems to have made up her mind about one thing. "I can't," she repeats again, flashing an oddly touched smile. "I trust you. But— there's nothing you can do about this. It's … personal."

"… Okay." Senator Wynn is not about to keep pushing. He knows when he's not wanted or whatever. And that's right now. So his arms abruptly pull away from Tracy and he's turning to head to his bedroom. "I just want you to know that I'm going to go crazy without you. Ever since I saw you, I knew you were what I wanted. You may not feel that way about me but I was hoping we'd get a chance to find out." Ivory shrugs and waves a hand above his head. Frustrated. "I gotta' get to the office. I really hope you're here when I get back."

Tracy stands by herself for a time, alone with her thoughts, seeming frozen in place. After a minute, she appears in Ivory's doorway. "What do you want from me, Ivory? I'm glad that you helped me, I'm glad to be working for you— I'll stay… until you've cleared my name with the police. But after that… I need some time. It has nothing to do with you."

"I know I have an ego but I don't even think this is about me." Ivory's off at the closet and reaching for another shirt. He's throwing it on with a bit more anger than he probably should have. "I just… you don't understand." He turns to face her, as he just kind of tries to pretend like he's buttoning it up. But his fingers are shaking. He's losing focus. His ability to actually function. Or even speak properly. "I don't want anything from you, Tracy. I want you." His words just come right out and he's not even sure if he should be saying it. Which is why he crosses past her, half dressed and over to the wall of ties. Snatching one up, he slams it across his shoulders. "You won't let me in. I don't want this to be some… I don't know… some three day fling because you had a hard time. I want us to make it."

The woman Ivory is saying all these things to is looking at him like he's gone completely off the deep end, which probably doesn't help, but Tracy can't help it. "Hold on a minute," Tracy shuts this train of ranting down and takes a step closer. "I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself." She steals his tie, loops it around his neck, ties it, cinches it expertly. "Go to your office," she orders as if reading off a to-do list, planting her hands on his shoulders; then she steps back. "Do whatever it is you have to do to today fix things. We can talk about whatever you think this is later."

"I'm moving too fast again, aren't I? Dammit. I do this all the time. My mother told me to calm down. Dammit." This is all said as Ivory is moving to start tucking his shirt in and he goes on a quick rummage through the closet to get his suit jacket and throw it on. He looks awesome. As usual. But there's still a bit of worry in his eyes. "I didn't mean… I mean…" For once, the talker is flustered. Not so smooth now, is he? Maybe it's because he doesn't know what's going to happen. "Look." And he's backing his way out into the main area, grabbing his briefcase and his phone. He's going to be late. "All I'm trying to say is that I think we match. And we should explore that matching. That's all I meant. I wasn't talking weddings and children or anything. Don't freak out all day thinking I was thinking that. Okay?"

Tracy finds herself acutely afflicted by the contradictory emotions of wanting Ivory to stay here with her and go away so words will stop coming out of his mouth. Ultimately, she just brings a hand to her forehead and rakes it lightly through her hair, straightening it out further. "O…kay?" she answers out of sorts. The half-dressed advisor just holds up a hand and starts to whirl away. "Get yourself to the office before one of us says something we can't hold up. That's all I'm saying."

Ivory sighs and is already headed towards the door. He frowns and can't really fix anything that's come out of his mouth at this point. He already knows he's probably scared her off. But, well, this is good. Because he's headed to work right now. And that's all that matters. Work. "I'm goin', I'm goin'." And there he goes, disappearing out of the door. It's almost closed behind him, before he sticks his head back in and smiles. "What? No goodbye kiss?" Waggle of eyebrows.

Tracy hears the door start to close. Tracy hears the door start to open again. She peeks her head out of the bedroom to give Ivory a raised eyebrow. She does, however, stride to the door to give him a kiss. Quick, but certainly not chaste. "Go." That's the point where she tries to close the door on his face.

Ivory doesn't even get to respond as the door gets slammed in his face. Outside, he just kind of smirks at the door and turns to make his way down the hall. His own phone is pulled out, his thumb working the speed dial and he brings the phone to his ear. The elevator is already waiting and he steps on it, alone. "I want her shadowed. She's hiding something." And then there's a roll of his eyes as the doors start to close. "And she probably thinks I love her now." Doors closed.

When Ivory has finally left, Tracy looks at the closed door as if wishing he hadn't. Realizing what she's doing, she rolls her eyes and lets out a long sigh. Dismissive, she heads back into the Senator's bedroom and searches out a mirror and, absent a brush, smoothes down her hair. Before long, she's content enough with her efforts and eyes the phone she set on the bureau. She looks at it for a long time, but doesn't touch it again. Not right now. She skims the room. She's stranded here. Oh, she could slip out, but—

Instead, Tracy sits down on Ivory's bed, kicks back and lays down in the unmade sheets and blankets. She stretches her arms out above her head languidly where its owner used to be laying, tangling into his linens.


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