Fic: ER, "The Detour Gets You Home" (2/2)
Title: "The Detour Gets You Home"
Fandom: ER
Pairing: Ray/Neela
Rated: M (16+)
Word Count: ~15,000
Completed: 10/31/08
Summary: Season 12 AU. What if Neela hadn't married Gallant in "I Do"? What if she and Ray made out and stuff? What if the show had written them as the adorable romcom that I yearned for them to be all along instead of a whacked out angst-o-rama? Well then I wouldn't have had to write this.
It was halfway through Late Night with Conan O'Brien, and she was scraping the sides off a sad little blob of Moose Tracks sliding around the bottom of its half-gallon container. Ray was out, might very well be out all night, but she was fine with that because she'd done a yeoman's job of getting back to normal...for a slightly adjusted definition of 'normal'. In a way, it was like when she'd first moved in: he did his own thing, and she absolutely refused to have a crush on him. And really, it was for the best. Now that she'd switched to the surgical track she needed her focus to be solely on her work. Not on ridiculous men who were completely wrong for her.
She was peering into the carton by the light of the television, looking for any peanut butter cups she may have missed, when she heard the rattle and creak of the front door opening, followed by a cascade of feminine giggles. She shoved the ice cream under the coffee table and sank low into the sofa. Maybe they wouldn't notice her. Though they would probably notice Conan chatting up one of the Desperate Housewives. She groped blindly between the cushions for the remote.
"You're not serious," said the girl as they brought their conversation inside.
"I'm totally serious."
Wonderful. He was in full charm mode.
"He swallowed the whole thing?"
"I didn't say he swallowed it."
"Oh my god!" The answering laughter could best be described as 'bubbly.' Like a white wine spritzer. Or, she thought, like a tar pit.
Neela winced as the light flickered on. The clicking of high heels came to a halt, and Ray said, "Oh. You're up."
She tried to surreptitiously wipe her sticky hands on her pyjamas as she reluctantly stood and turned around. "Looks that way."
"I didn't think you'd still be up."
"Yes, I can see that." She raised a sticky, lint covered hand at a tall blonde in a short dress. "Hello. Don't mind me, I'm just the roommate." Tar Pit was disgustingly gorgeous. Frankly, a little out of his league.
"Um, yeah, sorry. This is Neela. Neela, this is...uh..."
"Riley," she filled in, and returned a cursory wave.
"Nice to meet you." She smiled politely, to which Riley had the odd reaction of stepping back and looking mildly alarmed. Whatever. Ray was bouncing nervously on his toes, looking back and forth between the two women. "I'll just get out of your way." As she walked around the far side of the couch, she tripped over her pantleg and stumbled into the bookcase. Shit.
"Are you--?"
"I'm fine," she said before Ray could approach, and proceeded to her room with as much dignity as she could muster.
Her bed was covered with laundry. As she began to fold, she heard Riley the bosomy Amazon ask where the bathroom was, and Ray directed her there. Neela cringed as she remembered she'd left her waxing strips on the edge of the sink.
Ray knocked on her half-open door, but didn't wait for an acknowledgment before stepping inside. "She just came up to use the bathroom."
"None of my business." She concentrated on aligning the seams of a cheap cotton tank like the one she was currently wearing under her sweatshirt. "She's very pretty. I assume you checked her ID?"
"She's a professional dancer." He actually had the gall to sound defensive.
"Ahh. I see. I guess I don't need to ask where you met her."
"No, a real dancer."
"Congratulations. Just try not to enjoy yourselves too much. I do have to work in the morning."
"Yeah, that's why I didn't think you'd still be up."
"I'm sorry if I put a crimp in your plans."
"You didn't-- Is this going to be a problem now?"
"It wouldn't be if you had the common courtesy to let me know ahead of time. Unless you don't care to spare me the humiliation."
"Humiliation?" He sounded genuinely confused.
She whirled around and held out her arms. "Well I'm not exactly dressed for company, am I?"
He rolled his eyes. "You look fine."
"I look ridiculous, Ray!"
"You look fine," he repeated. "Except..." He hesitated, and then said, "Come here."
"What? Why?"
"Just...come here." He stepped forward a little, and she backed away.
She frowned. "What are you doing?"
He reached around her to grab a Kleenex from her nightstand. "You...might have a little bit of chocolate on your face."
For a moment she could only stand there, mortified, while he got closer, but she was able to collect herself just in time, and snatched the tissue out of his hand.
She had fudge on her nose. He had forgotten Kiley's name the instant he saw she had fudge on her nose.
He watched her stand at the mirror and wipe at her face, muttering in embarrassment. "Lovely. Just lovely." When she was confident she'd gotten it all, she paused to look herself over. The result didn't seem to please her.
She was wearing her old flannel pants from Yale, the ones with the little bulldogs all over them. No matter how many times she rolled up the tattered hems, she always ended up shuffling around the apartment with just her toes peeking out from under them. And she was swimming inside her giant gray hoodie that must have come from an old boyfriend--at least it didn't say "ARMY" on it. The cuffs were pushed up to her elbows, and he thought of how she liked to pull her hands inside the sleeves when she was cold. Underneath it she wore a thin tank top. She self-consciously pulled up the zipper on her sweatshirt in a way that basically announced she wasn't wearing a bra. She was makeup-less, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.
Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?
"Well, what are you still doing here?" she snapped. "You don't want to keep Riley waiting. She can only do warmup stretches for so long."
"I told you, she had to use the bathroom."
"And I told you, it's none of my business." She pushed up her drooping sleeves and went back to her laundry, moving piles of clothes around to clear off a space on the bed just big enough to lie down on. He swallowed and looked away.
"You know, you might like her if you got to know her."
"I'm sure I'll have that chance over the course of your long, meaningful relationship."
"What is your deal tonight?"
She faced him, arms crossed. "My deal?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know, Ray, why don't you tell me what my deal is."
Her mirrored her posture. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me why you bared your teeth at my date?"
She huffed. "I did no such thing!"
"Right. So you don't care that I brought a girl home?"
"Why would I? You've brought lots of girls home. Lots and lots and lots."
"But not since..."
"Since what, hmm?" she asked icily. "Since what?"
"You don't get to be jealous!" he shouted, suddenly propelled from annoyance to anger.
"Oh, think a lot of yourself, do you?" she answered, matching him in volume. "I just don't see how you can be so...so...cavalier!"
"Me? You're the one who said it didn't mean anything!"
"I never!"
"'Don't be offended if I pretend this never happened'?"
"You're twisting my words!"
"Whatever." He pointed at her. "You're the one who closed the door on this, not me."
She shoved his hand away. "Oh really? Well you don't seem too broken up about it!"
"Did you expect me to wait around for you to decide you were interested?"
"A month ago I was in a serious relationship!"
"You had a pen pal!"
For a moment, he expected her to slap him. He even preemptively flinched. But she just stood there, furious, until finally she said, "You don't know anything about Michael and me."
"I know that he dumped your ass, princess."
Her eyes blazed. "Go to hell, Ray."
"Probably because he finally figured out what a headcase you are."
"Just because you don't know what it's like to care deeply for someone--"
"Oh, I don't know what that's like, huh?!" She really had no idea. He wanted to show her he knew what that was like, he wanted to--
"Fuck you," she declared. "I'm moving out."
"What?"
"This isn't working." She had to turn away, afraid she would cry. "It worked for a while. It's not working anymore." She found her trainers under the bed and put them on while he stood there, gaping.
"So you're just leaving?"
"I'll keep paying the rent until I find a sublet. Unless Riley wants to move in."
"Who? Oh." He looked out into the living room. "I don't think she stuck around."
"What a shame. I'm sure you could have had many happy minutes together." She shoved some clothes and her laptop into a backpack, then barreled past him to the living room to look for her purse and keys.
"Wait, you're leaving now?"
"I'll be back for my things."
"It's after one o'clock!"
"I know," she said, and managed to get out the door before the tears came.
"Neela!" He followed her into the hallway. "Where are you going?"
She didn't know. As she turned the corner to the stairs she called out the only answer she could think of. "I'm trying to forget someone."
She phoned Abby from a twenty-four hour JumboMart on Ashland.
"Who died?" she yawned. "If nobody died, I'm hanging up the phone."
"Sorry to wake you. Um, could I stay at your place for a while? Would you mind?"
She heard a low mumble, and then Abby's voice, muffled, said, "It's Neela," and after a pause, "I don't know, I guess they had a fight or something."
Of course. Just my luck. "You're at Luka's."
"Yeah. Where are you?"
"JumboMart." Over the store speakers, Lionel Richie was telling some lucky girl she was three times a lady, whatever that meant. After that, if she recalled the sequence correctly from her time behind the counter, Phil Collins would be asking for one more night.
"Always there in your hour of need. Should I ask what happened?"
"I'm moving out."
"In the middle of the night?"
"It's complicated." She stared at the rotating soft pretzels, suspended in doughy purgatory from their wire rods. "And stupid. Mostly stupid."
"What did he do?"
"He..." What did he do? Why was she really so upset with him? Just for saying mean things? "We argued. I can't be around him right now."
"I still say this whole thing could be resolved in ten minutes if you'd just jump him."
"I can't do that."
"Why not? I don't think he'd mind."
"Because I--. Ten minutes?"
"It's an estimate. I'll give you fifteen with foreplay, okay? You're young."
"Very generous of you, thanks. Anyway, that would only make things worse."
"It would break the tension."
"Yes, but it wouldn't... I think I..." She leaned against a refrigerator case and sighed deeply, watching the Red Bull disappear behind the fog of her breath. "It's possible that I...feelings. Don't laugh."
"You feelings?"
"...Possibly. And you know what I mean."
"Five languages and you're reduced to 'I feelings'. You are in some deep crap, kiddo."
"This is all your fault, you know."
"Oh, I can't wait to hear this one."
"You introduced us. And you convinced me to come back to the hospital."
"You're right. If it wasn't for me you might be the manager of that JumboMart. How can I make it up to you? Do you want me to get him fired? I have some pull with the boss."
"No, thanks. A roof over my head would be nice, though."
"Yeah, sure, as long as you need." There was muted conversation on the other end of the line, and then Abby asked, "Do you need us to come pick you up?"
Neela grimaced as she imagined the pathetic details of her personal life unfolding before Dr. Kovac. "God, no, thank you, no. That's not necessary."
"How were you planning to get there?"
'Planning' was perhaps too strong a word. "The bus, I suppose, if there aren't any cabs. Or I could get the Blue Line to Clark and Lake, it's not far, and then--"
"I don't know if I want you CTAing it all the way at this hour."
"I have my pepper spray and my rape whistle, I'll be fine."
Abby made a grumpy sort of Abby noise. "You still have your key, right?"
"Yes, it's--shit. It's in a safe place. In my desk. In my apartment." She dropped her backpack to the floor with an angry thud, no longer caring that the tile was suspiciously sticky.
"Okay, if I have to drive my ass over to meet you there I might as well come and pick you up."
Neela looked toward the ceiling, contemplating her predicament, and found herself staring into the convex security mirror. She saw her own foreshortened reflection, and the oddly stretched images of three other patrons. Two, she knew from having passed by them earlier, were visibly--and odoriferously--intoxicated. The third had just come in, and was standing at the front of the store, anxiously checking the aisles. That couldn't be--?
But it was, she saw as she looked down again, wishing she were invisible. The very same stupid jerk of an ex-roommate who less than an hour ago had loudly and bitterly called her a princess and a headcase, and impugned her one great love. And the stupid jerk had spotted her.
"You still there?"
"Never mind, Abby."
"Never mind which part?"
"Take your pick. The ride, I guess."
Ray stood a respectful distance away and waited for her to finish her call.
"What, is he there?"
"Yes."
"Huh. I still say my solution is worth considering."
"What, right here in the salty snacks?" Ray looked up curiously at that, with his stupid head tilt and his stupid eyebrows. "I'll talk to you in the morning, I guess. About...things. Tell Luka I apologise for waking you."
"Tell 'things' I said to stop being a dumbass."
She looked over at him--he appeared to be engrossed in the myriad varieties of Doritos--and seriously considered it.
He tried not to look like he was eavesdropping as Neela ended her call, and thought about how complicated life had gotten. Whatever happened to simpler times, when women weren't so much work, and all you had to choose from was Original or Cool Ranch?
After she hung up, she asked him, "Did you follow me?"
"Not exactly." He'd paced around for a while, angry and confused, and then he'd started to worry. "But I figured you weren't exactly dressed to go clubbing. And I found the ice cream on the floor, so I thought you might want pretzels."
Somehow, she took offense to that. "So just because I'm upset with you I must have PMS, is that it?"
"What? No, I just...I know that sometimes when you have ice cream you chase it with pretzels." Was this going to start a fight now? He would never get her. Ever. "Look, it was a lucky guess. Next I was going to call the hospital and see if maybe you crashed there until your shift." And then he would've called Abby. He was really glad it hadn't come to that.
She thought about that for a while, and then said, "Well, you tracked me down, Columbo. Now what?"
"Listen, I might have said some stuff tonight that was..."
"Callous? Hurtful? Breathtakingly presumptuous?"
He had been going to say 'a little out of line.' "Sure."
"That's quite an apology."
"I'm sorry, okay? But you don't make it easy, you know?" He fought down his temper, but couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. "You don't know how you...how much you..." He completed the thought with a teeth-gritted growl of frustration.
Instead of lashing back, she just looked exhausted and kind of sad. "You're right. I'm sorry." And just like that, he couldn't be mad at her. How did she do that? How did she make him want to take care of her and hold her and have no idea she was doing it?
"Then will you just...come home?"
She bit her bottom lip. "Home?"
"Just for tonight. If you want, tomorrow I'll help you pack. I'll even drive your stuff over to Abby's."
"You will?"
"Absolutely."
She closed her eyes and shook her head, and he wondered what he could have possibly said wrong. "Thanks."
"'Cause you're right, you know? If it's not working, which...it seems like it's not. It's probably better to call it a day." It would suck, but it would be better. For both of them.
"I can't believe you're being the mature one here." She hoisted up her backpack and said, "All right, let's go." He lifted the strap out of her hand before she could slip her arm through, and she frowned at him as he slung it over his shoulder. "I'm more than capable of carrying that."
As he adjusted the strap, he looked at the little wrinkle above her nose and sighed. "I know."
Two days later, he carried the last of her boxes into Abby's living room. She stood amidst the clutter and watched him place it carefully atop an already teetering cardboard tower. "Well. I suppose that's it, then."
He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I never realized you had so much stuff. The place is going to feel empty now."
She busied herself with rearranging boxes, hoping he couldn't see how that made her press her lips together and swallow her heart. "And you'll have to get a maid."
"Nah, I'll just go back to living in squalor." He checked his watch. "Hey, look, I've gotta go..."
"Oh." She patted her pockets and said, "I think I've got your key here somewhere. I took it off my keyring this morning so I wouldn't forget..."
"Hold onto it," he told her.
"What?" She closed her hand around the key and felt the teeth make an impression on her palm.
"In case you forgot anything, or want to pick up your mail, or...whatever."
"Okay." She slid it back into the front pocket of her jeans. "I guess that's it, then."
"You said that already."
"Did I?"
"Yeah." He smiled. "End of an era, though, right?"
"Yeah." She navigated her way around furniture and suitcases to meet him by the door. "So..." Not knowing what else to do, she extended her right hand.
He looked at her skeptically--but fondly, she thought--and accepted. His grip was firm but relaxed, and she tried to reciprocate. He slid his thumb across her knuckles.
A handshake turned into a hug.
She inhaled against his shoulder. His tee shirt was very soft. His arms were very still. It occurred to her they'd never done this before. She thought she'd like to do it every day.
"So," he said into her hair.
And that was when Abby came out of her bedroom, holding the Yellow Pages open to the menu section. "Hey, do you feel like pizza or Chinese? Oh." She had the courtesy to be embarrassed, but she shot Neela a questioning look as the two of them pulled apart. "Sorry."
Ray backed toward the door. "I was just heading out."
"I'll let you know about the sublet," said Neela.
"Don't worry about it. I'll find somebody. There's always Craigslist."
"Okay, well...see you around."
"Sure. See you around."
And then he was gone.
Not long after, Abby regarded her sympathetically over a carton of General Tso's. "Only you could manage to break up with a guy you never even went out with."
Neela stabbed her chopsticks into her rice. "I'm an overachiever."
"And you're sure he's not into you? Because it sure looked like he...'feelings.'"
"I sent out all sorts of signals. I don't know what else I could do."
"Signals? What, like in code? You weren't being subtle, were you? With Ray?"
"Well what was I supposed to do?"
Abby dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, for god's sake. Middle schoolers have developed a system for this. 'Do you like me? Check yes or no.' It's not brain surgery. Wait, never mind, if it was brain surgery you could probably do it."
"It's not that simple."
"If you say so."
It wasn't that simple. It just couldn't be.
It was the oddest feeling, knocking on her own door. Except that it hadn't been her door for three days already, so she supposed she'd better get used to it. Not that she'd be coming over here often. She was only here now on a brief errand.
Three days. Was it too soon? What if it was too late?
Too late for what? she asked herself. Just to drop by, that's all. It was nearly eleven o'clock. And he'd been awfully friendly with the nurses this week...
She knocked again more sharply, to no response. Well, if he wasn't at home she could always let herself in. She did have the key.
The place was dark except for the faint, silvery glow of streetlight. She shut the door behind her and looked around. The shadows fell in unfamiliar patterns through the negative space where her things had been. Without switching on a light, she walked to the kitchen table and moved aside magazines and breakfast dishes so she could set down her purse and the small shopping bag she'd brought with her. In the bag was his dress shirt, the one he'd worn to her wedding, freshly laundered and neatly folded.
She'd found it last night at the bottom of a duffel full of sheets. For a good ten minutes she'd held it in her lap on the floor of Abby's living room, feeling strangely anxious and predictably morose, until she finally slipped it on and crawled into bed. This morning she even thought that if he hadn't missed it yet, she could probably keep it and he'd never even know. Then she'd seen him at work and felt ridiculous and embarrassed about the whole thing, and determined right then she'd take the first opportunity to return it, and close this whole messy chapter for good.
She looked toward his room, wondering if she should leave it on the bed. Or she could simply hang it in his closet as if it had never been gone. She wouldn't even have to leave a note, or mention she'd been here at all. Cowardly, but convenient. It would require actually going into his room, though, and there were all sorts of reasons she didn't feel comfortable doing that just now. She'd leave it here, then, or on the couch--
A noise from behind startled her. When she turned, it had stopped. She walked a few steps toward the living room, and there it was again, a quiet rustling, like fabric, like someone moving...
She rolled her eyes and laughed a bit when she saw. It was Ray, lying on the couch in his sock feet, ankles crossed, with one foot bobbing against the armrest. He wasn't asleep, but his eyes were closed, and he was wearing his expensive, noise-canceling headphones, which explained why he hadn't heard her knocking or heard her come in. He couldn't hear a thing except whatever atrocious racket was currently blaring from his iPod directly into his skull. An open pizza box with two slices left and a glass of melting ice were on the coffee table beside him.
She was struck by how boyish he appeared, and chagrined at how much affection that inspired. He looked all of fifteen. God, he must have been impossible at fifteen. He was practically impossible now, at nearly thirty. Just...impossible.
She could just leave the shirt and go, but that seemed a bit too cowardly. She leaned over and waved a hand in front of his face. No reaction.
So she yanked his headphones off.
He yelped--as much as he might have preferred a more masculine description, there really wasn't any other word--and scrambled to his feet to find Neela standing behind the couch, holding one hand to her chest and shaking with laughter.
"What are you--? That wasn't funny."
"Oh, yes it was," she nodded, giggling as he disentangled himself from his headphones, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club still buzzing out of them. "You're going to go deaf, you know. The whole point of those is so you don't have to turn it up so loud."
"Thanks, Mom," he said, but his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. It was good to see her, and good to see her laugh. "What are you doing here?"
"I have a key, remember?"
"That's 'How'd you get in?' not 'What are you doing here?'. Did you forget something?"
Her mood suddenly became much less lighthearted. "No. No, I haven't forgotten anything." She hesitated, and then held a small paper bag out in front of her, presenting it to him almost formally. "This is yours."
He took the bag and looked inside, curious.
"I found it. Mixed up with my things. So I...I just stopped by to return it."
He reached in and pulled out the shirt, not completely realizing what it was until it fell open and unfolded between them. "...Oh. Uh."
She looked nervously to the side. "I washed it."
"Thanks." He guessed she'd probably ironed it, too, but that was wasted now that he'd bunched the collar in his fist.
"I didn't want to give it back to you at work. You know, because what would people think, right?"
"Right, yeah," he said. "What would people think."
She cleared her throat. "Anyway. That was...that's really the only reason I came over."
"Okay."
"In case you might need it or something."
"I don't think I...yeah, maybe. I can always wear it to your next wedding." He'd meant it to be a joke. Instead of laughing she drew back as if struck. "No, hey, I'm...I'm sorry. That was a dumb thing to say."
"It's all right."
"Neela..."
"No, it's all right," she assured him. "I should go. I hope this wasn't too late." She crossed to the kitchen to retrieve her purse.
"Too late for what?"
She put her hand on the doorknob and answered, "Just...too late, that's all." She opened the door and looked at him over her shoulder, lit from behind by the incandescent bulb in the hallway. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," he said, just as the door clicked shut.
He sat hunched forward on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, and stared at the shirt in his hands for a minute before he balled it up and tossed it across the room. Then he drained what was left of his drink and got up to make another, twice as strong, which he drank twice as fast, standing at the kitchen counter. He was on his way to number three when the front door opened again. He nearly dropped the glass in surprise.
"The thing is," she said, and began to pace, "there was something else. It's not...I mean, it's a little silly, I guess, but..."
He closed the door behind her and went to lean against the back of the couch, watching her with intense curiosity.
"...It's just that Abby's got this crazy theory, and--well. Could I...? Can I ask you a question? Just for...you know, just for the sake of asking, I mean it isn't a huge deal or anything."
"Okay..." He thought he followed. "Shoot."
"It...it's pretty loopy."
"Loopy?"
"Completely. So...you know, on second thought, I should probably just go..."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can't drop 'loopy' and then leave me hanging, here. What's up?"
"All right... Here's the thing. In, um. In light of...recent events. I was wondering if maybe..." She took a deep breath, and exhaled toward the ceiling. "Do you like me?"
He blinked. "Do I--? What? Do I like you? Neela..."
"It's fine if you don't."
"Yeah, but I do."
"I don't know if I'm being clear. What I mean is, do you like me in a way that might...extend beyond friendship in some way?"
He felt like someone had hit him over the head. "Yes."
"I mean, putting aside the obvious mutual physical attraction--"
"Mutual?"
She looked up at him timidly. "Unless it's not?"
"No, it totally is," he confirmed, as his pulse picked up speed. "Extremely mutual."
"Oh. Well. Good to know. But putting that aside... Do you... And really, don't feel you have to let me down easy or anything..."
"Neela--"
"Just let me say this, all right?" She looked so nervous, and sort of pained. He was silent and tense as he waited for her to continue. She blurted out all in one breath, "Would you by any chance have any feelings for me that might possibly be construed as romantic?"
Holy... All he could say was, "I...yeah."
Her head snapped up. "You do?"
He fought back a momentary surge of panic. "Is that the wrong answer?"
"No," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "No, that's...that's fine."
"'Cause...Yeah, I'm kind of crazy about you."
She looked a little dazed. "'Kind of.' So on a scale of one to ten, that's, what, a seven, or...?"
"On a scale of one to ten? Like...twenty-five."
Her eyes widened. "Really?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he nodded. "And my record's like eight-and-a-half, so--"
That's when she jumped him.
He tasted like Jack and Coke (mostly Jack), felt familiar and exciting, smelled like home. She kissed and kissed him until her lips were buzzing and her tongue was tired and her fingers cramped from clutching the back of his shirt. His forehead pushed against hers, and one hand went to her hair while the other snaked under her coat and flattened against her lower back to press her body to his. They kissed until her heart pounded and her head spun and she made a desperate, quavering sound from her throat. She moved her hands to his face and gently, reluctantly pushed him away, though it took three more slow, soft, shallow kisses before his teeth slid over her lower lip, and finally they relaxed enough to allow sufficient space between them for coherent thought and speech.
She closed her eyes and breathed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall under her cheek. Her fingers toyed with the frayed collar of his t-shirt, and she murmured, "I should have asked you that weeks ago."
He laughed and hugged her, kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, but better late than never, right?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck, hating the thought of never. "You could have said something, you know. I wish you'd said something."
He sighed, and pulled back so he could see her face, and she his. "You... Neela, you..."
He said it with the expression on his face, the one she was finally ready to admit she'd been aching to see again for a month now.
She kissed him so hard their teeth clicked.
Her enthusiasm put him literally off balance, and he went over the back of the couch in a controlled fall. He ended up flat on his back, and she clambered after him, laughing. He yanked at her shirt until her full weight was stretched out on top of him, warm and eager. He had trouble getting her coat off because she kept moving her arms forward to feel under his shirt or tug at his hair. Finally she let him push it down over her shoulders, and she sat up to remove it the rest of the way, dropping it carelessly to the floor. He stared up at her as she straddled his hips, her chest heaving, hair falling over her face. His hands traveled up her thighs and around her backside, his nails catching against the seams of her jeans' back pockets. She leaned over him and licked his neck--she licked his neck--and he said, "Whoa! Wait a sec," while at the same time hooking his thumbs through her belt loops to pull her closer. "Before anybody's hand goes down anybody's pants--"
She nipped at his earlobe and said, "Oh, feeling ambitious tonight, are you?" Then she slid her right hand up his left thigh...and squeezed.
He made a guttural noise before getting his brain back on track enough to say, "I was just wondering..."
She nuzzled him--Neela nuzzled him--and then tilted her chin up to look him in the eye. Her face hovered over his, her eyes shining, her lips full, wet, and slightly parted. "Yes?"
He grinned, and twirled a silky ribbon of her hair around his finger before tucking it back behind her ear. "Do you wanna go out sometime?"
She smiled--no, she beamed--and he felt that strange constriction in his upper chest that he'd felt for weeks every time he looked at her, stronger now than ever before. He'd made her look that way.
"I'd like that very much."
"Cool," he said. "So are you busy this weekend? How 'bout a movie, or--?"
It was hard to finish the question with her tongue in his mouth, but he didn't mind.
In her first year of med school, in the midst of a long dry spell, it had become a temporary preoccupation of hers to worry that familiarity with the mundane physiological processes of arousal-blood goes there, brain does that, the whole biochemical circus-would strip sex of all its mystique, and take all the giddy thrill of foreplay along with it.
That particular hypothesis had never seemed more ridiculous.
She raised herself onto her hands and knees as he shifted into a sitting position beneath her, and resettled herself on his lap. They'd moved into a patch of light that spilled in through the window. As she peeled off his tee shirt and skimmed her hands over his chest, she admired the way her fingers looked against his skin. His hands moved purposefully across her back. With his right he gathered the hem of her shirt in his fist and pulled it over her head, while the left dipped below her waistband, callused fingertips drawing delicate curves on sensitive skin. She closed her eyes, smoothed back her hair, and sighed.
He slipped the bra strap off her left shoulder and bent his head to kiss her there. "You're staying, right?" She leaned forward, grasping his biceps. He couldn't see her nod.
He reached around to unfasten her bra, but before he let the hook go slack she felt his hot breath through the lace--"You're going to stay?"--and then his mouth where the lace had been. She kneaded his shoulders, and shivered all over as he blew lightly on the wet skin.
"I don't know, are your sheets clean?" She smiled at the top of his head.
"Yes," he said, and guided her with his hands on her ribs as she sat back. Her bra dropped to the floor. "Well. Clean enough."
"Hm." She climbed off of him, stepped carefully over the pile of clothes beside the couch, and began backing toward his room. He jumped up to follow. "I didn't shave my legs today."
"Don't care." He closed the distance between them, but she dodged, keeping him at arm's length.
"What about protection?"
"I have condoms."
"Right, I forgot, you buy them in the economy size box."
"Is now really the time you wanna criticize me for that?"
She'd stepped over the threshhold into his bedroom, and looked around as if she'd never seen the place before. "Do you ever clean up in here?"
"My roommate used to nag me about it, but she moved out, so..." He reached out and touched her abdomen, and she sprang back again.
"Maybe we should hold off a while, get tested first. It's the responsible thing to do. My last boyfriend was in the army."
"You're kidding," he said, incredulous.
She raised her fingers to her lips. "Oh, no..."
"What? What is it?"
"I don't remember if I took my pill this morning."
He was momentarily stunned by that, but recovered quickly. "Wait. Are you messing with me?"
She held up her thumb and forefinger and grinned evilly. "Maybe a little bit."
"Oh, that is it." He lunged for her and caught her around the middle as she turned around, laughing, to escape. "Your twenty-five just went down to a seventeen."
"Fickle. Let me know when it gets to twelve, I'll start to worry."
He held her tightly, her back against his chest, and her laughter caught in her throat and melted away as she laid her arms atop his. His bed stretched out in front of them. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about all the previous traffic it had seen, imagined instead driving her knees into the mattress, imagined pressing him down with a shocking surge of possessiveness. She tilted her pelvis back, and when she did his hand slid immediately down over the front of her jeans, between her legs, and back up again, fingers applying just the right pressure to just the right places. He undid the button, then the zipper, and touched her through the light cotton of her panties, which absolutely did not match the black lace bra earlier discarded onto the living room floor. She shuddered.
"I'm really glad you didn't get married," he said.
Not the most romantic declaration in the world, but it was enough to make her stumble toward the bed and pull him after her. He dove under the nightstand for a condom while she kicked off her jeans. She took it from him and warmed it between her palms as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. She laid back and raised her hips so he could help her slip out of her panties, and as he pulled them lower and lower his hands glided slowly over her legs.
Finally, when they were both naked, there was a brief moment of shyness, unexpected and sweet. He leaned over her, stroked his thumb across her lips, and kissed her gently.
She kissed him back, less gently, and ran her hands down his torso. Ten minutes, she thought. Ha.
She was more the gasp-and-sigh type than a moaner. Definitely not a screamer. Although she did squeak once, and when he laughed she kneed him in the ribs, and smiled. Finding out what she liked, how she liked to be touched, was half the fun. He wasn't ever a guy to overthink these things, but he did take a certain amount of justifiable pride in his technique. Not that he was trying to impress her, it was just that...well, yeah; he wanted to impress her. But something about her-lots of things about her-made it kind of hard to concentrate.
The surprising thing about having sex with Neela-besides having sex with Neela-was how much it wasn't like he'd imagined. And he'd had plenty of practice imagining it.
The first time he'd wondered what she'd be like in bed, right after they'd met, he'd figured her for prissy and uptight. Later, he'd revised that to 'bossy and stuck in her own head.' Then it had started to feel weird to think about it, so he didn't very much. Up until a month ago his assessment had held steady at 'fun, once she got into it (but still bossy)' for quite a while.
Then her wedding didn't happen, and that night between them did. He hadn't realized how much he wanted her until then. All of a sudden he got to touch her, and then just as fast he couldn't again. He'd tried to play it off as no big thing, but she was always there, and always so...her. If sex felt good, and being with her felt good, then sex with her would feel...
But he hadn't known. He didn't know sex could be this personal. He hadn't expected how he'd need to see her face.
What she was like in bed was what she was like in every other way, which was amazing.
Her heel rubbed against the base of his spine, and he was running on instinct.
There was an initial wave of nervousness, during which she worried she'd have to wrack her brain for every Cosmo 'How to Please Your Man' article she'd ever peered at with curiosity and dread. It wasn't that she was afraid she was bad at sex. She was actually quite confident in her proficiency. But she was also well aware that in sheer breadth of experience, she was relatively lacking. She wondered if he had a mental playbook, or maybe a flow chart-if girl likes A, then B, etc. If so, she wasn't complaining.
She'd expected skill, and enthusiasm. What caught her by surprise was the intensity. What drove away the nervousness, anchored her in the moment, was the tenderness. She couldn't help but respond in kind.
Usually, when she felt herself coming right up to the edge, she closed her eyes. No matter how much she cared for her partner, that moment remained contained within herself, private, solitary.
Tonight, she kept her eyes open. She watched her fingers twist around his beside her head, tighter and tighter until she felt herself falling, heard her own breath as if it were wind rushing by. She looked to him in the dim light, and saw him in profile, thrumming with tension, staring into the same place where she had just been. She landed, squeezed his hand, and he followed.
Afterward, they watched TV for a while, and ate leftover pizza in bed. She told him, "I know where we're going on our first date."
"Where?"
"To buy you a new mattress."
They were warm and drowsy, wrapped up in blankets and each other.
She traced his forearm tattoo with a feather-light fingertip, and said with a yawn, "You're such a liar."
He wrinkled his brow, confused. "What? Why?"
"'Oh, I'm not in love with you or anything,'" she mimicked, and he laughed at her terrible American accent.
After a minute, he asked, "Would that be okay with you?"
She fitted her body more closely to his. "Yeah." She pressed her lips to the inside of his wrist, and he closed his eyes as she said, "Yeah. That would be okay."
She woke to the smell of coffee. After stretching, glancing at the clock, and taking a moment to appreciate that she’d never seen the apartment from quite this angle before, she climbed out of bed and looked for something to wear. The bedroom door was open, and the radio was on in the kitchen, where she heard Ray making breakfast sounds.
"Good morning,” she called, as she picked up one of his tee shirts from the back of a chair, sniffed it, and determined it 'clean enough.' "You still here?"
"I’m not on ‘til noon. You want eggs?"
"Sure." When she stepped out into the kitchen, there was a full mug already set on the table for her. She picked it up and wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic. Ray was standing at the stove, humming. He appeared to be in a very good mood, which made her smile and look down at her coffee. She took a sip. He'd put the sugar in it, too. "Thanks for the coffee."
"No problem." He turned to her with an easy smile, but when he saw her it softened, almost faded away. He rocked back on his heels and clapped his right hand-still holding a spatula-to his chest. "Wow. Good morning."
She'd caught of glimpse of herself in the mirror over his dresser, and hardly thought she rated a 'wow', with her eyes puffy and her hair half out of a ponytail she'd put in during a bathroom trip in the middle of the night. "What?" she asked, self-conscious and suddenly bashful.
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head, but his eyes gave away the lie.
"Come on," she pressed.
"Nothing," he repeated, and turned back to the stove. Now he seemed a bit shy. "Just…that's pretty much the best thing I've ever seen. That's all."
The hem of the black tee she'd slipped on skimmed her legs at mid-thigh, covering her to a modest enough degree, but as she stood barefoot in his kitchen that still felt like hers, too, she felt naked again.
It felt sort of wonderful.
Not knowing what to say, she folded one leg underneath her and settled into a chair.
"So do I get breakfast every time I stay over, or is this a limited time offer?"
"Are you kidding? You've got the deluxe package. Lifetime membership."
When she heard that her mug skipped against the table a little, coffee sloshing over the rim as she set it down. She saw him grimace as he realized what he'd said.
"Uh, I mean. You know. Scrambled or fried?"
"What?"
"Eggs? Or I could make an omelet. With…" He opened the refrigerator and hid behind the door as he took inventory. "Hot dogs. Huh. Or…" She heard the crisper drawer open. "Celery?" he said skeptically. "Is this yours?"
She laughed. "Scrambled is fine."
"So I was thinking," he said, as he set two plates on the table and joined her.
"Uh oh," she teased.
He smirked at her over the rim of his juice glass. "I was thinking…maybe if you wanted to bring some of your stuff back over…"
"Oh." She put down her fork. "I don't…I think maybe that isn't a good idea."
"Okay," he said quickly, and turned his attention back to his food. "Yeah, that's-"
"It's not that-"
"No, sure, I know," he nodded.
"It's just that this…" He looked as uncomfortable as she felt trying to navigate this tricky new terrain. "Well there's a way of doing these things, isn't there? I mean there's a general sort of procedure people follow. You start dating, have sex, fall in love, and move in together. Not…not completely the other way 'round, usually."
She watched his face as he processed this, what she'd just said without saying it. Without intending to say it, certainly. But also, to her great amazement and relief, without regretting it, either.
"Okay," he said, but like he meant it this time. "So you want to do this like normal people, is what you're saying."
"We could try it," she said. "Sounds crazy, I know…"
"Yeah," he said, and reached across the table to touch her wrist. "Yeah, we could try."
He drove her back to Abby's place-her place-so she could get ready for work, and after an awkward minute double parked in front of the building, she said, "You might as well park and come up. You know, if you want to."
He did. She left the door unlocked for him, and when he came in he didn't see her, but he heard the shower running, so he sat down on the couch to wait. As he leaned forward to reach for the TV remote, he noticed that the bathroom door was open. That explained why the rushing sound of the shower was so loud, seemed so close. He turned the volume up on the TV and began flipping through the channels, but he wasn't paying attention. He was distracted.
The bathroom door was open…
He put down the remote without turning off the TV and walked slowly down the hall. He stood in the doorway and saw her silhouette behind the shower curtain.
"Hey," he said, but she didn't hear him.
He walked hesitantly up to the side of the tub, and when she noticed him, she stuck her head out from behind the curtain and said, "Yes?"
"I, um, I know that this is pretty new, and we don't really have our signals worked out yet, but you left the door open, so I thought maybe…"
She grinned. "What took you so long?"
At work that day, Abby gave him a funny look in the middle of working on a tension pneumo. As they were cleaning up afterward, she did it again. "What?" he asked.
"You smell pretty," she said. "What is that, Bath and Body Works?"
He ducked his head and smiled, his expression giving her all the confirmation she needed.
She tilted her head at him, narrowed her eyes appraisingly. One side of her mouth quirked up briefly. As she turned to leave the room she threw back over her shoulder, "Don't fuck it up, Goofus."
He laughed, and then squinted, bemused. "…'Goofus'?"
"I think this went okay, don't you?" He murmured this to her temple. They were less dancing than just leaning against each other and swaying, the last people on the floor.
"I think so," she agreed. "My dad even looks happy."
"Well, he's had three years to get used to me."
Her hair was pulled up at the sides, the rest falling down her back in waves, and he combed his fingers through it idly. She sighed. "Did I tell you you look nice today?" she asked.
He pulled back a little, and said, "Thank you. See? I told you I didn't need a tux."
"Yes, but you know I only caved on that because you agreed not to play with the band."
"Yeah, well, it's all about compromise, right?"
"So they say." She stroked his chest lightly. "Is this…?" She looked up at him, surprised.
He covered her henna-painted hand with his. "Yeah, well. I said I'd wear it to your next wedding."
She shook her head fondly. "Oh, Ray Barnett. You sentimental fool."
He held her tighter. The red and gold silk of her sari crinkled enticingly under his hands. "Can we go home now?" he whispered.
She laid her head against his shoulder, and smiled with her whole heart.
"I'm ready when you are." END
Part One
Fandom: ER
Pairing: Ray/Neela
Rated: M (16+)
Word Count: ~15,000
Completed: 10/31/08
Summary: Season 12 AU. What if Neela hadn't married Gallant in "I Do"? What if she and Ray made out and stuff? What if the show had written them as the adorable romcom that I yearned for them to be all along instead of a whacked out angst-o-rama? Well then I wouldn't have had to write this.
It was halfway through Late Night with Conan O'Brien, and she was scraping the sides off a sad little blob of Moose Tracks sliding around the bottom of its half-gallon container. Ray was out, might very well be out all night, but she was fine with that because she'd done a yeoman's job of getting back to normal...for a slightly adjusted definition of 'normal'. In a way, it was like when she'd first moved in: he did his own thing, and she absolutely refused to have a crush on him. And really, it was for the best. Now that she'd switched to the surgical track she needed her focus to be solely on her work. Not on ridiculous men who were completely wrong for her.
She was peering into the carton by the light of the television, looking for any peanut butter cups she may have missed, when she heard the rattle and creak of the front door opening, followed by a cascade of feminine giggles. She shoved the ice cream under the coffee table and sank low into the sofa. Maybe they wouldn't notice her. Though they would probably notice Conan chatting up one of the Desperate Housewives. She groped blindly between the cushions for the remote.
"You're not serious," said the girl as they brought their conversation inside.
"I'm totally serious."
Wonderful. He was in full charm mode.
"He swallowed the whole thing?"
"I didn't say he swallowed it."
"Oh my god!" The answering laughter could best be described as 'bubbly.' Like a white wine spritzer. Or, she thought, like a tar pit.
Neela winced as the light flickered on. The clicking of high heels came to a halt, and Ray said, "Oh. You're up."
She tried to surreptitiously wipe her sticky hands on her pyjamas as she reluctantly stood and turned around. "Looks that way."
"I didn't think you'd still be up."
"Yes, I can see that." She raised a sticky, lint covered hand at a tall blonde in a short dress. "Hello. Don't mind me, I'm just the roommate." Tar Pit was disgustingly gorgeous. Frankly, a little out of his league.
"Um, yeah, sorry. This is Neela. Neela, this is...uh..."
"Riley," she filled in, and returned a cursory wave.
"Nice to meet you." She smiled politely, to which Riley had the odd reaction of stepping back and looking mildly alarmed. Whatever. Ray was bouncing nervously on his toes, looking back and forth between the two women. "I'll just get out of your way." As she walked around the far side of the couch, she tripped over her pantleg and stumbled into the bookcase. Shit.
"Are you--?"
"I'm fine," she said before Ray could approach, and proceeded to her room with as much dignity as she could muster.
Her bed was covered with laundry. As she began to fold, she heard Riley the bosomy Amazon ask where the bathroom was, and Ray directed her there. Neela cringed as she remembered she'd left her waxing strips on the edge of the sink.
Ray knocked on her half-open door, but didn't wait for an acknowledgment before stepping inside. "She just came up to use the bathroom."
"None of my business." She concentrated on aligning the seams of a cheap cotton tank like the one she was currently wearing under her sweatshirt. "She's very pretty. I assume you checked her ID?"
"She's a professional dancer." He actually had the gall to sound defensive.
"Ahh. I see. I guess I don't need to ask where you met her."
"No, a real dancer."
"Congratulations. Just try not to enjoy yourselves too much. I do have to work in the morning."
"Yeah, that's why I didn't think you'd still be up."
"I'm sorry if I put a crimp in your plans."
"You didn't-- Is this going to be a problem now?"
"It wouldn't be if you had the common courtesy to let me know ahead of time. Unless you don't care to spare me the humiliation."
"Humiliation?" He sounded genuinely confused.
She whirled around and held out her arms. "Well I'm not exactly dressed for company, am I?"
He rolled his eyes. "You look fine."
"I look ridiculous, Ray!"
"You look fine," he repeated. "Except..." He hesitated, and then said, "Come here."
"What? Why?"
"Just...come here." He stepped forward a little, and she backed away.
She frowned. "What are you doing?"
He reached around her to grab a Kleenex from her nightstand. "You...might have a little bit of chocolate on your face."
For a moment she could only stand there, mortified, while he got closer, but she was able to collect herself just in time, and snatched the tissue out of his hand.
She had fudge on her nose. He had forgotten Kiley's name the instant he saw she had fudge on her nose.
He watched her stand at the mirror and wipe at her face, muttering in embarrassment. "Lovely. Just lovely." When she was confident she'd gotten it all, she paused to look herself over. The result didn't seem to please her.
She was wearing her old flannel pants from Yale, the ones with the little bulldogs all over them. No matter how many times she rolled up the tattered hems, she always ended up shuffling around the apartment with just her toes peeking out from under them. And she was swimming inside her giant gray hoodie that must have come from an old boyfriend--at least it didn't say "ARMY" on it. The cuffs were pushed up to her elbows, and he thought of how she liked to pull her hands inside the sleeves when she was cold. Underneath it she wore a thin tank top. She self-consciously pulled up the zipper on her sweatshirt in a way that basically announced she wasn't wearing a bra. She was makeup-less, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.
Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?
"Well, what are you still doing here?" she snapped. "You don't want to keep Riley waiting. She can only do warmup stretches for so long."
"I told you, she had to use the bathroom."
"And I told you, it's none of my business." She pushed up her drooping sleeves and went back to her laundry, moving piles of clothes around to clear off a space on the bed just big enough to lie down on. He swallowed and looked away.
"You know, you might like her if you got to know her."
"I'm sure I'll have that chance over the course of your long, meaningful relationship."
"What is your deal tonight?"
She faced him, arms crossed. "My deal?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know, Ray, why don't you tell me what my deal is."
Her mirrored her posture. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me why you bared your teeth at my date?"
She huffed. "I did no such thing!"
"Right. So you don't care that I brought a girl home?"
"Why would I? You've brought lots of girls home. Lots and lots and lots."
"But not since..."
"Since what, hmm?" she asked icily. "Since what?"
"You don't get to be jealous!" he shouted, suddenly propelled from annoyance to anger.
"Oh, think a lot of yourself, do you?" she answered, matching him in volume. "I just don't see how you can be so...so...cavalier!"
"Me? You're the one who said it didn't mean anything!"
"I never!"
"'Don't be offended if I pretend this never happened'?"
"You're twisting my words!"
"Whatever." He pointed at her. "You're the one who closed the door on this, not me."
She shoved his hand away. "Oh really? Well you don't seem too broken up about it!"
"Did you expect me to wait around for you to decide you were interested?"
"A month ago I was in a serious relationship!"
"You had a pen pal!"
For a moment, he expected her to slap him. He even preemptively flinched. But she just stood there, furious, until finally she said, "You don't know anything about Michael and me."
"I know that he dumped your ass, princess."
Her eyes blazed. "Go to hell, Ray."
"Probably because he finally figured out what a headcase you are."
"Just because you don't know what it's like to care deeply for someone--"
"Oh, I don't know what that's like, huh?!" She really had no idea. He wanted to show her he knew what that was like, he wanted to--
"Fuck you," she declared. "I'm moving out."
"What?"
"This isn't working." She had to turn away, afraid she would cry. "It worked for a while. It's not working anymore." She found her trainers under the bed and put them on while he stood there, gaping.
"So you're just leaving?"
"I'll keep paying the rent until I find a sublet. Unless Riley wants to move in."
"Who? Oh." He looked out into the living room. "I don't think she stuck around."
"What a shame. I'm sure you could have had many happy minutes together." She shoved some clothes and her laptop into a backpack, then barreled past him to the living room to look for her purse and keys.
"Wait, you're leaving now?"
"I'll be back for my things."
"It's after one o'clock!"
"I know," she said, and managed to get out the door before the tears came.
"Neela!" He followed her into the hallway. "Where are you going?"
She didn't know. As she turned the corner to the stairs she called out the only answer she could think of. "I'm trying to forget someone."
She phoned Abby from a twenty-four hour JumboMart on Ashland.
"Who died?" she yawned. "If nobody died, I'm hanging up the phone."
"Sorry to wake you. Um, could I stay at your place for a while? Would you mind?"
She heard a low mumble, and then Abby's voice, muffled, said, "It's Neela," and after a pause, "I don't know, I guess they had a fight or something."
Of course. Just my luck. "You're at Luka's."
"Yeah. Where are you?"
"JumboMart." Over the store speakers, Lionel Richie was telling some lucky girl she was three times a lady, whatever that meant. After that, if she recalled the sequence correctly from her time behind the counter, Phil Collins would be asking for one more night.
"Always there in your hour of need. Should I ask what happened?"
"I'm moving out."
"In the middle of the night?"
"It's complicated." She stared at the rotating soft pretzels, suspended in doughy purgatory from their wire rods. "And stupid. Mostly stupid."
"What did he do?"
"He..." What did he do? Why was she really so upset with him? Just for saying mean things? "We argued. I can't be around him right now."
"I still say this whole thing could be resolved in ten minutes if you'd just jump him."
"I can't do that."
"Why not? I don't think he'd mind."
"Because I--. Ten minutes?"
"It's an estimate. I'll give you fifteen with foreplay, okay? You're young."
"Very generous of you, thanks. Anyway, that would only make things worse."
"It would break the tension."
"Yes, but it wouldn't... I think I..." She leaned against a refrigerator case and sighed deeply, watching the Red Bull disappear behind the fog of her breath. "It's possible that I...feelings. Don't laugh."
"You feelings?"
"...Possibly. And you know what I mean."
"Five languages and you're reduced to 'I feelings'. You are in some deep crap, kiddo."
"This is all your fault, you know."
"Oh, I can't wait to hear this one."
"You introduced us. And you convinced me to come back to the hospital."
"You're right. If it wasn't for me you might be the manager of that JumboMart. How can I make it up to you? Do you want me to get him fired? I have some pull with the boss."
"No, thanks. A roof over my head would be nice, though."
"Yeah, sure, as long as you need." There was muted conversation on the other end of the line, and then Abby asked, "Do you need us to come pick you up?"
Neela grimaced as she imagined the pathetic details of her personal life unfolding before Dr. Kovac. "God, no, thank you, no. That's not necessary."
"How were you planning to get there?"
'Planning' was perhaps too strong a word. "The bus, I suppose, if there aren't any cabs. Or I could get the Blue Line to Clark and Lake, it's not far, and then--"
"I don't know if I want you CTAing it all the way at this hour."
"I have my pepper spray and my rape whistle, I'll be fine."
Abby made a grumpy sort of Abby noise. "You still have your key, right?"
"Yes, it's--shit. It's in a safe place. In my desk. In my apartment." She dropped her backpack to the floor with an angry thud, no longer caring that the tile was suspiciously sticky.
"Okay, if I have to drive my ass over to meet you there I might as well come and pick you up."
Neela looked toward the ceiling, contemplating her predicament, and found herself staring into the convex security mirror. She saw her own foreshortened reflection, and the oddly stretched images of three other patrons. Two, she knew from having passed by them earlier, were visibly--and odoriferously--intoxicated. The third had just come in, and was standing at the front of the store, anxiously checking the aisles. That couldn't be--?
But it was, she saw as she looked down again, wishing she were invisible. The very same stupid jerk of an ex-roommate who less than an hour ago had loudly and bitterly called her a princess and a headcase, and impugned her one great love. And the stupid jerk had spotted her.
"You still there?"
"Never mind, Abby."
"Never mind which part?"
"Take your pick. The ride, I guess."
Ray stood a respectful distance away and waited for her to finish her call.
"What, is he there?"
"Yes."
"Huh. I still say my solution is worth considering."
"What, right here in the salty snacks?" Ray looked up curiously at that, with his stupid head tilt and his stupid eyebrows. "I'll talk to you in the morning, I guess. About...things. Tell Luka I apologise for waking you."
"Tell 'things' I said to stop being a dumbass."
She looked over at him--he appeared to be engrossed in the myriad varieties of Doritos--and seriously considered it.
He tried not to look like he was eavesdropping as Neela ended her call, and thought about how complicated life had gotten. Whatever happened to simpler times, when women weren't so much work, and all you had to choose from was Original or Cool Ranch?
After she hung up, she asked him, "Did you follow me?"
"Not exactly." He'd paced around for a while, angry and confused, and then he'd started to worry. "But I figured you weren't exactly dressed to go clubbing. And I found the ice cream on the floor, so I thought you might want pretzels."
Somehow, she took offense to that. "So just because I'm upset with you I must have PMS, is that it?"
"What? No, I just...I know that sometimes when you have ice cream you chase it with pretzels." Was this going to start a fight now? He would never get her. Ever. "Look, it was a lucky guess. Next I was going to call the hospital and see if maybe you crashed there until your shift." And then he would've called Abby. He was really glad it hadn't come to that.
She thought about that for a while, and then said, "Well, you tracked me down, Columbo. Now what?"
"Listen, I might have said some stuff tonight that was..."
"Callous? Hurtful? Breathtakingly presumptuous?"
He had been going to say 'a little out of line.' "Sure."
"That's quite an apology."
"I'm sorry, okay? But you don't make it easy, you know?" He fought down his temper, but couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. "You don't know how you...how much you..." He completed the thought with a teeth-gritted growl of frustration.
Instead of lashing back, she just looked exhausted and kind of sad. "You're right. I'm sorry." And just like that, he couldn't be mad at her. How did she do that? How did she make him want to take care of her and hold her and have no idea she was doing it?
"Then will you just...come home?"
She bit her bottom lip. "Home?"
"Just for tonight. If you want, tomorrow I'll help you pack. I'll even drive your stuff over to Abby's."
"You will?"
"Absolutely."
She closed her eyes and shook her head, and he wondered what he could have possibly said wrong. "Thanks."
"'Cause you're right, you know? If it's not working, which...it seems like it's not. It's probably better to call it a day." It would suck, but it would be better. For both of them.
"I can't believe you're being the mature one here." She hoisted up her backpack and said, "All right, let's go." He lifted the strap out of her hand before she could slip her arm through, and she frowned at him as he slung it over his shoulder. "I'm more than capable of carrying that."
As he adjusted the strap, he looked at the little wrinkle above her nose and sighed. "I know."
Two days later, he carried the last of her boxes into Abby's living room. She stood amidst the clutter and watched him place it carefully atop an already teetering cardboard tower. "Well. I suppose that's it, then."
He nodded, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I never realized you had so much stuff. The place is going to feel empty now."
She busied herself with rearranging boxes, hoping he couldn't see how that made her press her lips together and swallow her heart. "And you'll have to get a maid."
"Nah, I'll just go back to living in squalor." He checked his watch. "Hey, look, I've gotta go..."
"Oh." She patted her pockets and said, "I think I've got your key here somewhere. I took it off my keyring this morning so I wouldn't forget..."
"Hold onto it," he told her.
"What?" She closed her hand around the key and felt the teeth make an impression on her palm.
"In case you forgot anything, or want to pick up your mail, or...whatever."
"Okay." She slid it back into the front pocket of her jeans. "I guess that's it, then."
"You said that already."
"Did I?"
"Yeah." He smiled. "End of an era, though, right?"
"Yeah." She navigated her way around furniture and suitcases to meet him by the door. "So..." Not knowing what else to do, she extended her right hand.
He looked at her skeptically--but fondly, she thought--and accepted. His grip was firm but relaxed, and she tried to reciprocate. He slid his thumb across her knuckles.
A handshake turned into a hug.
She inhaled against his shoulder. His tee shirt was very soft. His arms were very still. It occurred to her they'd never done this before. She thought she'd like to do it every day.
"So," he said into her hair.
And that was when Abby came out of her bedroom, holding the Yellow Pages open to the menu section. "Hey, do you feel like pizza or Chinese? Oh." She had the courtesy to be embarrassed, but she shot Neela a questioning look as the two of them pulled apart. "Sorry."
Ray backed toward the door. "I was just heading out."
"I'll let you know about the sublet," said Neela.
"Don't worry about it. I'll find somebody. There's always Craigslist."
"Okay, well...see you around."
"Sure. See you around."
And then he was gone.
Not long after, Abby regarded her sympathetically over a carton of General Tso's. "Only you could manage to break up with a guy you never even went out with."
Neela stabbed her chopsticks into her rice. "I'm an overachiever."
"And you're sure he's not into you? Because it sure looked like he...'feelings.'"
"I sent out all sorts of signals. I don't know what else I could do."
"Signals? What, like in code? You weren't being subtle, were you? With Ray?"
"Well what was I supposed to do?"
Abby dropped her head into her hands. "Oh, for god's sake. Middle schoolers have developed a system for this. 'Do you like me? Check yes or no.' It's not brain surgery. Wait, never mind, if it was brain surgery you could probably do it."
"It's not that simple."
"If you say so."
It wasn't that simple. It just couldn't be.
It was the oddest feeling, knocking on her own door. Except that it hadn't been her door for three days already, so she supposed she'd better get used to it. Not that she'd be coming over here often. She was only here now on a brief errand.
Three days. Was it too soon? What if it was too late?
Too late for what? she asked herself. Just to drop by, that's all. It was nearly eleven o'clock. And he'd been awfully friendly with the nurses this week...
She knocked again more sharply, to no response. Well, if he wasn't at home she could always let herself in. She did have the key.
The place was dark except for the faint, silvery glow of streetlight. She shut the door behind her and looked around. The shadows fell in unfamiliar patterns through the negative space where her things had been. Without switching on a light, she walked to the kitchen table and moved aside magazines and breakfast dishes so she could set down her purse and the small shopping bag she'd brought with her. In the bag was his dress shirt, the one he'd worn to her wedding, freshly laundered and neatly folded.
She'd found it last night at the bottom of a duffel full of sheets. For a good ten minutes she'd held it in her lap on the floor of Abby's living room, feeling strangely anxious and predictably morose, until she finally slipped it on and crawled into bed. This morning she even thought that if he hadn't missed it yet, she could probably keep it and he'd never even know. Then she'd seen him at work and felt ridiculous and embarrassed about the whole thing, and determined right then she'd take the first opportunity to return it, and close this whole messy chapter for good.
She looked toward his room, wondering if she should leave it on the bed. Or she could simply hang it in his closet as if it had never been gone. She wouldn't even have to leave a note, or mention she'd been here at all. Cowardly, but convenient. It would require actually going into his room, though, and there were all sorts of reasons she didn't feel comfortable doing that just now. She'd leave it here, then, or on the couch--
A noise from behind startled her. When she turned, it had stopped. She walked a few steps toward the living room, and there it was again, a quiet rustling, like fabric, like someone moving...
She rolled her eyes and laughed a bit when she saw. It was Ray, lying on the couch in his sock feet, ankles crossed, with one foot bobbing against the armrest. He wasn't asleep, but his eyes were closed, and he was wearing his expensive, noise-canceling headphones, which explained why he hadn't heard her knocking or heard her come in. He couldn't hear a thing except whatever atrocious racket was currently blaring from his iPod directly into his skull. An open pizza box with two slices left and a glass of melting ice were on the coffee table beside him.
She was struck by how boyish he appeared, and chagrined at how much affection that inspired. He looked all of fifteen. God, he must have been impossible at fifteen. He was practically impossible now, at nearly thirty. Just...impossible.
She could just leave the shirt and go, but that seemed a bit too cowardly. She leaned over and waved a hand in front of his face. No reaction.
So she yanked his headphones off.
He yelped--as much as he might have preferred a more masculine description, there really wasn't any other word--and scrambled to his feet to find Neela standing behind the couch, holding one hand to her chest and shaking with laughter.
"What are you--? That wasn't funny."
"Oh, yes it was," she nodded, giggling as he disentangled himself from his headphones, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club still buzzing out of them. "You're going to go deaf, you know. The whole point of those is so you don't have to turn it up so loud."
"Thanks, Mom," he said, but his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. It was good to see her, and good to see her laugh. "What are you doing here?"
"I have a key, remember?"
"That's 'How'd you get in?' not 'What are you doing here?'. Did you forget something?"
Her mood suddenly became much less lighthearted. "No. No, I haven't forgotten anything." She hesitated, and then held a small paper bag out in front of her, presenting it to him almost formally. "This is yours."
He took the bag and looked inside, curious.
"I found it. Mixed up with my things. So I...I just stopped by to return it."
He reached in and pulled out the shirt, not completely realizing what it was until it fell open and unfolded between them. "...Oh. Uh."
She looked nervously to the side. "I washed it."
"Thanks." He guessed she'd probably ironed it, too, but that was wasted now that he'd bunched the collar in his fist.
"I didn't want to give it back to you at work. You know, because what would people think, right?"
"Right, yeah," he said. "What would people think."
She cleared her throat. "Anyway. That was...that's really the only reason I came over."
"Okay."
"In case you might need it or something."
"I don't think I...yeah, maybe. I can always wear it to your next wedding." He'd meant it to be a joke. Instead of laughing she drew back as if struck. "No, hey, I'm...I'm sorry. That was a dumb thing to say."
"It's all right."
"Neela..."
"No, it's all right," she assured him. "I should go. I hope this wasn't too late." She crossed to the kitchen to retrieve her purse.
"Too late for what?"
She put her hand on the doorknob and answered, "Just...too late, that's all." She opened the door and looked at him over her shoulder, lit from behind by the incandescent bulb in the hallway. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," he said, just as the door clicked shut.
He sat hunched forward on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, and stared at the shirt in his hands for a minute before he balled it up and tossed it across the room. Then he drained what was left of his drink and got up to make another, twice as strong, which he drank twice as fast, standing at the kitchen counter. He was on his way to number three when the front door opened again. He nearly dropped the glass in surprise.
"The thing is," she said, and began to pace, "there was something else. It's not...I mean, it's a little silly, I guess, but..."
He closed the door behind her and went to lean against the back of the couch, watching her with intense curiosity.
"...It's just that Abby's got this crazy theory, and--well. Could I...? Can I ask you a question? Just for...you know, just for the sake of asking, I mean it isn't a huge deal or anything."
"Okay..." He thought he followed. "Shoot."
"It...it's pretty loopy."
"Loopy?"
"Completely. So...you know, on second thought, I should probably just go..."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can't drop 'loopy' and then leave me hanging, here. What's up?"
"All right... Here's the thing. In, um. In light of...recent events. I was wondering if maybe..." She took a deep breath, and exhaled toward the ceiling. "Do you like me?"
He blinked. "Do I--? What? Do I like you? Neela..."
"It's fine if you don't."
"Yeah, but I do."
"I don't know if I'm being clear. What I mean is, do you like me in a way that might...extend beyond friendship in some way?"
He felt like someone had hit him over the head. "Yes."
"I mean, putting aside the obvious mutual physical attraction--"
"Mutual?"
She looked up at him timidly. "Unless it's not?"
"No, it totally is," he confirmed, as his pulse picked up speed. "Extremely mutual."
"Oh. Well. Good to know. But putting that aside... Do you... And really, don't feel you have to let me down easy or anything..."
"Neela--"
"Just let me say this, all right?" She looked so nervous, and sort of pained. He was silent and tense as he waited for her to continue. She blurted out all in one breath, "Would you by any chance have any feelings for me that might possibly be construed as romantic?"
Holy... All he could say was, "I...yeah."
Her head snapped up. "You do?"
He fought back a momentary surge of panic. "Is that the wrong answer?"
"No," she said, shaking her head emphatically. "No, that's...that's fine."
"'Cause...Yeah, I'm kind of crazy about you."
She looked a little dazed. "'Kind of.' So on a scale of one to ten, that's, what, a seven, or...?"
"On a scale of one to ten? Like...twenty-five."
Her eyes widened. "Really?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he nodded. "And my record's like eight-and-a-half, so--"
That's when she jumped him.
He tasted like Jack and Coke (mostly Jack), felt familiar and exciting, smelled like home. She kissed and kissed him until her lips were buzzing and her tongue was tired and her fingers cramped from clutching the back of his shirt. His forehead pushed against hers, and one hand went to her hair while the other snaked under her coat and flattened against her lower back to press her body to his. They kissed until her heart pounded and her head spun and she made a desperate, quavering sound from her throat. She moved her hands to his face and gently, reluctantly pushed him away, though it took three more slow, soft, shallow kisses before his teeth slid over her lower lip, and finally they relaxed enough to allow sufficient space between them for coherent thought and speech.
She closed her eyes and breathed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall under her cheek. Her fingers toyed with the frayed collar of his t-shirt, and she murmured, "I should have asked you that weeks ago."
He laughed and hugged her, kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, but better late than never, right?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck, hating the thought of never. "You could have said something, you know. I wish you'd said something."
He sighed, and pulled back so he could see her face, and she his. "You... Neela, you..."
He said it with the expression on his face, the one she was finally ready to admit she'd been aching to see again for a month now.
She kissed him so hard their teeth clicked.
Her enthusiasm put him literally off balance, and he went over the back of the couch in a controlled fall. He ended up flat on his back, and she clambered after him, laughing. He yanked at her shirt until her full weight was stretched out on top of him, warm and eager. He had trouble getting her coat off because she kept moving her arms forward to feel under his shirt or tug at his hair. Finally she let him push it down over her shoulders, and she sat up to remove it the rest of the way, dropping it carelessly to the floor. He stared up at her as she straddled his hips, her chest heaving, hair falling over her face. His hands traveled up her thighs and around her backside, his nails catching against the seams of her jeans' back pockets. She leaned over him and licked his neck--she licked his neck--and he said, "Whoa! Wait a sec," while at the same time hooking his thumbs through her belt loops to pull her closer. "Before anybody's hand goes down anybody's pants--"
She nipped at his earlobe and said, "Oh, feeling ambitious tonight, are you?" Then she slid her right hand up his left thigh...and squeezed.
He made a guttural noise before getting his brain back on track enough to say, "I was just wondering..."
She nuzzled him--Neela nuzzled him--and then tilted her chin up to look him in the eye. Her face hovered over his, her eyes shining, her lips full, wet, and slightly parted. "Yes?"
He grinned, and twirled a silky ribbon of her hair around his finger before tucking it back behind her ear. "Do you wanna go out sometime?"
She smiled--no, she beamed--and he felt that strange constriction in his upper chest that he'd felt for weeks every time he looked at her, stronger now than ever before. He'd made her look that way.
"I'd like that very much."
"Cool," he said. "So are you busy this weekend? How 'bout a movie, or--?"
It was hard to finish the question with her tongue in his mouth, but he didn't mind.
In her first year of med school, in the midst of a long dry spell, it had become a temporary preoccupation of hers to worry that familiarity with the mundane physiological processes of arousal-blood goes there, brain does that, the whole biochemical circus-would strip sex of all its mystique, and take all the giddy thrill of foreplay along with it.
That particular hypothesis had never seemed more ridiculous.
She raised herself onto her hands and knees as he shifted into a sitting position beneath her, and resettled herself on his lap. They'd moved into a patch of light that spilled in through the window. As she peeled off his tee shirt and skimmed her hands over his chest, she admired the way her fingers looked against his skin. His hands moved purposefully across her back. With his right he gathered the hem of her shirt in his fist and pulled it over her head, while the left dipped below her waistband, callused fingertips drawing delicate curves on sensitive skin. She closed her eyes, smoothed back her hair, and sighed.
He slipped the bra strap off her left shoulder and bent his head to kiss her there. "You're staying, right?" She leaned forward, grasping his biceps. He couldn't see her nod.
He reached around to unfasten her bra, but before he let the hook go slack she felt his hot breath through the lace--"You're going to stay?"--and then his mouth where the lace had been. She kneaded his shoulders, and shivered all over as he blew lightly on the wet skin.
"I don't know, are your sheets clean?" She smiled at the top of his head.
"Yes," he said, and guided her with his hands on her ribs as she sat back. Her bra dropped to the floor. "Well. Clean enough."
"Hm." She climbed off of him, stepped carefully over the pile of clothes beside the couch, and began backing toward his room. He jumped up to follow. "I didn't shave my legs today."
"Don't care." He closed the distance between them, but she dodged, keeping him at arm's length.
"What about protection?"
"I have condoms."
"Right, I forgot, you buy them in the economy size box."
"Is now really the time you wanna criticize me for that?"
She'd stepped over the threshhold into his bedroom, and looked around as if she'd never seen the place before. "Do you ever clean up in here?"
"My roommate used to nag me about it, but she moved out, so..." He reached out and touched her abdomen, and she sprang back again.
"Maybe we should hold off a while, get tested first. It's the responsible thing to do. My last boyfriend was in the army."
"You're kidding," he said, incredulous.
She raised her fingers to her lips. "Oh, no..."
"What? What is it?"
"I don't remember if I took my pill this morning."
He was momentarily stunned by that, but recovered quickly. "Wait. Are you messing with me?"
She held up her thumb and forefinger and grinned evilly. "Maybe a little bit."
"Oh, that is it." He lunged for her and caught her around the middle as she turned around, laughing, to escape. "Your twenty-five just went down to a seventeen."
"Fickle. Let me know when it gets to twelve, I'll start to worry."
He held her tightly, her back against his chest, and her laughter caught in her throat and melted away as she laid her arms atop his. His bed stretched out in front of them. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about all the previous traffic it had seen, imagined instead driving her knees into the mattress, imagined pressing him down with a shocking surge of possessiveness. She tilted her pelvis back, and when she did his hand slid immediately down over the front of her jeans, between her legs, and back up again, fingers applying just the right pressure to just the right places. He undid the button, then the zipper, and touched her through the light cotton of her panties, which absolutely did not match the black lace bra earlier discarded onto the living room floor. She shuddered.
"I'm really glad you didn't get married," he said.
Not the most romantic declaration in the world, but it was enough to make her stumble toward the bed and pull him after her. He dove under the nightstand for a condom while she kicked off her jeans. She took it from him and warmed it between her palms as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. She laid back and raised her hips so he could help her slip out of her panties, and as he pulled them lower and lower his hands glided slowly over her legs.
Finally, when they were both naked, there was a brief moment of shyness, unexpected and sweet. He leaned over her, stroked his thumb across her lips, and kissed her gently.
She kissed him back, less gently, and ran her hands down his torso. Ten minutes, she thought. Ha.
She was more the gasp-and-sigh type than a moaner. Definitely not a screamer. Although she did squeak once, and when he laughed she kneed him in the ribs, and smiled. Finding out what she liked, how she liked to be touched, was half the fun. He wasn't ever a guy to overthink these things, but he did take a certain amount of justifiable pride in his technique. Not that he was trying to impress her, it was just that...well, yeah; he wanted to impress her. But something about her-lots of things about her-made it kind of hard to concentrate.
The surprising thing about having sex with Neela-besides having sex with Neela-was how much it wasn't like he'd imagined. And he'd had plenty of practice imagining it.
The first time he'd wondered what she'd be like in bed, right after they'd met, he'd figured her for prissy and uptight. Later, he'd revised that to 'bossy and stuck in her own head.' Then it had started to feel weird to think about it, so he didn't very much. Up until a month ago his assessment had held steady at 'fun, once she got into it (but still bossy)' for quite a while.
Then her wedding didn't happen, and that night between them did. He hadn't realized how much he wanted her until then. All of a sudden he got to touch her, and then just as fast he couldn't again. He'd tried to play it off as no big thing, but she was always there, and always so...her. If sex felt good, and being with her felt good, then sex with her would feel...
But he hadn't known. He didn't know sex could be this personal. He hadn't expected how he'd need to see her face.
What she was like in bed was what she was like in every other way, which was amazing.
Her heel rubbed against the base of his spine, and he was running on instinct.
There was an initial wave of nervousness, during which she worried she'd have to wrack her brain for every Cosmo 'How to Please Your Man' article she'd ever peered at with curiosity and dread. It wasn't that she was afraid she was bad at sex. She was actually quite confident in her proficiency. But she was also well aware that in sheer breadth of experience, she was relatively lacking. She wondered if he had a mental playbook, or maybe a flow chart-if girl likes A, then B, etc. If so, she wasn't complaining.
She'd expected skill, and enthusiasm. What caught her by surprise was the intensity. What drove away the nervousness, anchored her in the moment, was the tenderness. She couldn't help but respond in kind.
Usually, when she felt herself coming right up to the edge, she closed her eyes. No matter how much she cared for her partner, that moment remained contained within herself, private, solitary.
Tonight, she kept her eyes open. She watched her fingers twist around his beside her head, tighter and tighter until she felt herself falling, heard her own breath as if it were wind rushing by. She looked to him in the dim light, and saw him in profile, thrumming with tension, staring into the same place where she had just been. She landed, squeezed his hand, and he followed.
Afterward, they watched TV for a while, and ate leftover pizza in bed. She told him, "I know where we're going on our first date."
"Where?"
"To buy you a new mattress."
They were warm and drowsy, wrapped up in blankets and each other.
She traced his forearm tattoo with a feather-light fingertip, and said with a yawn, "You're such a liar."
He wrinkled his brow, confused. "What? Why?"
"'Oh, I'm not in love with you or anything,'" she mimicked, and he laughed at her terrible American accent.
After a minute, he asked, "Would that be okay with you?"
She fitted her body more closely to his. "Yeah." She pressed her lips to the inside of his wrist, and he closed his eyes as she said, "Yeah. That would be okay."
She woke to the smell of coffee. After stretching, glancing at the clock, and taking a moment to appreciate that she’d never seen the apartment from quite this angle before, she climbed out of bed and looked for something to wear. The bedroom door was open, and the radio was on in the kitchen, where she heard Ray making breakfast sounds.
"Good morning,” she called, as she picked up one of his tee shirts from the back of a chair, sniffed it, and determined it 'clean enough.' "You still here?"
"I’m not on ‘til noon. You want eggs?"
"Sure." When she stepped out into the kitchen, there was a full mug already set on the table for her. She picked it up and wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic. Ray was standing at the stove, humming. He appeared to be in a very good mood, which made her smile and look down at her coffee. She took a sip. He'd put the sugar in it, too. "Thanks for the coffee."
"No problem." He turned to her with an easy smile, but when he saw her it softened, almost faded away. He rocked back on his heels and clapped his right hand-still holding a spatula-to his chest. "Wow. Good morning."
She'd caught of glimpse of herself in the mirror over his dresser, and hardly thought she rated a 'wow', with her eyes puffy and her hair half out of a ponytail she'd put in during a bathroom trip in the middle of the night. "What?" she asked, self-conscious and suddenly bashful.
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head, but his eyes gave away the lie.
"Come on," she pressed.
"Nothing," he repeated, and turned back to the stove. Now he seemed a bit shy. "Just…that's pretty much the best thing I've ever seen. That's all."
The hem of the black tee she'd slipped on skimmed her legs at mid-thigh, covering her to a modest enough degree, but as she stood barefoot in his kitchen that still felt like hers, too, she felt naked again.
It felt sort of wonderful.
Not knowing what to say, she folded one leg underneath her and settled into a chair.
"So do I get breakfast every time I stay over, or is this a limited time offer?"
"Are you kidding? You've got the deluxe package. Lifetime membership."
When she heard that her mug skipped against the table a little, coffee sloshing over the rim as she set it down. She saw him grimace as he realized what he'd said.
"Uh, I mean. You know. Scrambled or fried?"
"What?"
"Eggs? Or I could make an omelet. With…" He opened the refrigerator and hid behind the door as he took inventory. "Hot dogs. Huh. Or…" She heard the crisper drawer open. "Celery?" he said skeptically. "Is this yours?"
She laughed. "Scrambled is fine."
"So I was thinking," he said, as he set two plates on the table and joined her.
"Uh oh," she teased.
He smirked at her over the rim of his juice glass. "I was thinking…maybe if you wanted to bring some of your stuff back over…"
"Oh." She put down her fork. "I don't…I think maybe that isn't a good idea."
"Okay," he said quickly, and turned his attention back to his food. "Yeah, that's-"
"It's not that-"
"No, sure, I know," he nodded.
"It's just that this…" He looked as uncomfortable as she felt trying to navigate this tricky new terrain. "Well there's a way of doing these things, isn't there? I mean there's a general sort of procedure people follow. You start dating, have sex, fall in love, and move in together. Not…not completely the other way 'round, usually."
She watched his face as he processed this, what she'd just said without saying it. Without intending to say it, certainly. But also, to her great amazement and relief, without regretting it, either.
"Okay," he said, but like he meant it this time. "So you want to do this like normal people, is what you're saying."
"We could try it," she said. "Sounds crazy, I know…"
"Yeah," he said, and reached across the table to touch her wrist. "Yeah, we could try."
He drove her back to Abby's place-her place-so she could get ready for work, and after an awkward minute double parked in front of the building, she said, "You might as well park and come up. You know, if you want to."
He did. She left the door unlocked for him, and when he came in he didn't see her, but he heard the shower running, so he sat down on the couch to wait. As he leaned forward to reach for the TV remote, he noticed that the bathroom door was open. That explained why the rushing sound of the shower was so loud, seemed so close. He turned the volume up on the TV and began flipping through the channels, but he wasn't paying attention. He was distracted.
The bathroom door was open…
He put down the remote without turning off the TV and walked slowly down the hall. He stood in the doorway and saw her silhouette behind the shower curtain.
"Hey," he said, but she didn't hear him.
He walked hesitantly up to the side of the tub, and when she noticed him, she stuck her head out from behind the curtain and said, "Yes?"
"I, um, I know that this is pretty new, and we don't really have our signals worked out yet, but you left the door open, so I thought maybe…"
She grinned. "What took you so long?"
At work that day, Abby gave him a funny look in the middle of working on a tension pneumo. As they were cleaning up afterward, she did it again. "What?" he asked.
"You smell pretty," she said. "What is that, Bath and Body Works?"
He ducked his head and smiled, his expression giving her all the confirmation she needed.
She tilted her head at him, narrowed her eyes appraisingly. One side of her mouth quirked up briefly. As she turned to leave the room she threw back over her shoulder, "Don't fuck it up, Goofus."
He laughed, and then squinted, bemused. "…'Goofus'?"
"I think this went okay, don't you?" He murmured this to her temple. They were less dancing than just leaning against each other and swaying, the last people on the floor.
"I think so," she agreed. "My dad even looks happy."
"Well, he's had three years to get used to me."
Her hair was pulled up at the sides, the rest falling down her back in waves, and he combed his fingers through it idly. She sighed. "Did I tell you you look nice today?" she asked.
He pulled back a little, and said, "Thank you. See? I told you I didn't need a tux."
"Yes, but you know I only caved on that because you agreed not to play with the band."
"Yeah, well, it's all about compromise, right?"
"So they say." She stroked his chest lightly. "Is this…?" She looked up at him, surprised.
He covered her henna-painted hand with his. "Yeah, well. I said I'd wear it to your next wedding."
She shook her head fondly. "Oh, Ray Barnett. You sentimental fool."
He held her tighter. The red and gold silk of her sari crinkled enticingly under his hands. "Can we go home now?" he whispered.
She laid her head against his shoulder, and smiled with her whole heart.
"I'm ready when you are." END
Part One