☤ eighty-seven

[as_damaged]

[ ACTION ]

[After nearly four years in the City, one becomes adept at ignoring all sorts of unpleasant circumstances. It's a point of pride that Cameron rarely cancels her plans due to curse interference; doing so always feels like letting the City win, and she can't abide that.

Today, apart from work, she has a few errands to run; lunch at a café, a quick stop by the bakery. She's doing her best to avoid the scattered bunches of mistletoe, but no one can miss all of them...]

Comments

[intheblanks]

If you want a break at any point, [Chase unfolds his legs, stretching mid-sentence, and digs around in his pocket for a key.] my office has hidden me well in the past.

[as_damaged]

It's all right. At least this one tends to work itself out quickly.

[At least, most of the time, though she can recall a few spectacularly irresistible encounters over the years. Honestly she's a little surprised that she managed to pull away so easily.]

Don't worry, though, [she adds, absolutely not smiling.] I won't tell House where to find you.

[intheblanks]

Well, you know he only hired me for my looks.

[Oh, old wounds. He remembers her indignation with a strange degree of fondness.

Finally, perhaps because conducting conversation in a half-slump is awkward, he pushes himself up, rolling his shoulders and he joins her at the coffeemaker.]

[as_damaged]

[That gets an exaggerated eye-roll. The truth is, even if she understands, she still resents it a bit. Or maybe she just resents the fact that it's still the first thing people tend to remark upon.

The coffeepot bubbles and growls. Mindful of the curse, she glances up-- once is not always enough-- but for now at least the coast seems clear.]

Just like art in the foyer.

[intheblanks]

That was always a bad analogy. [He lines up the two cups next to each other, checking she's added a sufficient sugar rush to his empty one.] Foyer art's supposed to be nondescript. Really beautiful art's the stuff you can't look away from.

[He pours the coffee, takes a small, burning test from his mug, and rests a hand on her shoulder, leaning in as another small frond of green breaks through the ceiling tiles.]

[as_damaged]

[She's about to make a joke about his self-confidence, since he's the foyer art under consideration at the moment, but it dies unspoken as he leans in.  Though not wholly unexpected, the suddenness of the curse still takes her by surprise; but she leans into him as he touches her shoulder.  

Maybe it would be different if she were less willing.  She ought to know better-- she does know better-- but still, there's a part of her that enjoys the excuse to pretend for a moment that things between them could be different.  She kisses him shamelessly.  After all, it's only a curse. Why hold back?] 

[intheblanks]

[The curse seems to grip tighter when it has a natural inclination to work with. All it does is push a preexisting instinct to a precipice and let it tip. Chase holds his coffee blindly out to one side as he kisses her, stumbling a minute in the air before he finds a secure place to set the mug down. Freed, his warm hand finds a place to curl at the nape of her neck.

This is a little more than cursed compulsion. That much is obvious before he breaks the kiss only to kiss her again. But curses take advantage often enough. Taking some small advantage of one in return feels like leveling the playing field.

When the kiss breaks at last it's without too much of a twist of melancholy, for once - though he leans his head against hers for just a second before he catches himself. He clears his throat - and excuse for catching his breath - and smiles.]

Okay, I think I'm awake now.

[In other circumstances he'd make the opposite joke. It might be little too honest, here.]

[as_damaged]

[Their long history is as difficult to ignore as the spreading greenery. She's wondered every time this curse comes around how much the mistletoe is really to blame; she's fairly sure the curse wouldn't let her pull away, but probably can't blame it for the way her arm slips around his waist.

Her eyes have fluttered shut, but she opens them again as they part and rejoin. Her other hand finds his arm, fingers curling into the fabric more tightly than mistletoe can account for.

Breathless, and perhaps a bit guilty, she manages about half a smile in return.]

I guess I made coffee in vain.

[intheblanks]

[He laughs, gaze flicking across to where he'd managed to stand his mug.]

I've got a few more hours yet. Coffee's never in vain.

[And while his head is turned, his attention is caught a little longer than it should be by her fingers tucked into his shirtsleeve.]

[as_damaged]

[She should probably do something about that, shouldn't she? Slowly, she pulls back, letting go, though she doesn't apologize. That's one of the few upsides to most curses.]

I'm sure someone can cover, if you need.

[intheblanks]

[She probably had to. And his hands should reoccupy themselves with the coffee. Going around conjoined would be impractical, if not unpleasant.

Not mentioning it at all seems to be the way of things. He couldn't apologise.]

I'm fine. Couple of clinic cases I want to catch up with later.

[In the meantime.]

I can um. Head up to find House with you, if you want.

[She is still the only woman capable of reducing him to a stutter.]

[as_damaged]

[That will never not be flattering. She can never seem to differentiate between what might have been and what might be when he's smiling, no matter how clear-cut it might seem at other times. (And, truth be told, it rarely is, though she has her moments of believing she understands.)

She shakes her head slightly, reaching past him for the coffee.]

We might be better facing him one at a time, today.

[A group make-out session is actually not terribly appealing.]

[intheblanks]

[A nod, and he re-establishes the distance between them with a step. She does make a good point.]

In that case, can you let him know I'm reachable by text?

[as_damaged]

Of course.