Like No One's Watching [Heroes]
Title: Like No One's Watching
Series: Heroes
Rating: PG
Warnings: Bad words. Fluff overload. I'm sorry.
Prompt: "Love is being stupid together." (Paul Valery)
Summary: "...in that front room was a sea of unpacked boxes, an old boom box outfitted with only a tape deck, and a tiny blonde girl in the middle of it all, coiled and ready to strike."
A/N: I don't even know. It's kinda like this in fanfiction form. Written for prompt #10 at sylelle_chall
His mother told him that a watched pot never boils, but he was going to watch this water until it evaporated if that meant he didn’t have to walk into the front room. Because in that front room was a sea of unpacked boxes, an old boom box outfitted with only a tape deck, and a tiny blonde girl in the middle of it all, coiled and ready to strike.
“Gabriel!”
Shit. “I’m making dinner, Elle,” he replied, masking his apprehension with annoyance. Why couldn’t she just leave this alone? She’d been trying to get him out there all night, and his promise of ‘later’ had now come back to haunt him
There was silence from the other room, and he looked back at the water. Tiny bubbles were starting to stick to the sides of the pot, but the water was still. He turned his attention towards the box of pasta, reading the instructions over and over. Boiling water. 5-7 minutes for al dente. Needed to keep an eye on this, overcooked pasta was probably one of the worst -
“Gabriel…” she said again, her voice lilting and pleading.
He sat the box down with a thud, sighing loud enough for her to hear. “Do you want to eat or not?” he shouted out, and again, she was quiet.
Thinking he was safe, he turned to stir to the sauce bubbling next to the water, ready and waiting for the pasta. If only the water would - and there it went, water spitting and hissing as it hit the hot burners. He turned the heat down slightly and poured the entire box of pasta in the veritable cauldron on the stovetop. He’s wasn’t sure how or why Elle had such a large pot, but he wasn’t going to complain; tonight, and the next night, and possibly the next night, they would not go hungry.
He looked down at the pasta happily boiling away, stirred the sauce once more, and then inhaled sharply when he realized that for five to seven minutes, he had absolutely no reason to be in here.
As if on cue, Elle stuck her head into the kitchen just in time to witness him staring at the stovetop at a loss. He turned towards her, and he knew her innocent face hid her true intentions. “So…you’ve got a couple minutes until the pasta’s done, right?”
“Well, I’ve got to watch-”
“No you don’t,” she snapped, looking him up and down. “I read the box. Five to seven minutes. You don’t have to watch it cook.”
He hung his head in defeat. “No, I don’t.”
Flicking his eyes up, he met her gaze and her grin was absolutely sinister. “Follow me,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, and she slipped away from the doorway and practically pranced back into the front room, leaping over boxes like a gazelle.
They’d lived here for almost a week, yet they had really only unpacked the essentials. Not that they had a lot; most of the boxes were full of his books. There were just so many things that were a lot more fun to do. The thought of what they had been doing instead of unpacking distracted him briefly, a smile tugging at his lips, but the sound of the tape deck being locked and loaded quickly brought him back to reality. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and began his shuffle to the front room.
He walked out into the room and met her gaze. Oddly enough she seemed slightly nervous, of all things. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to tell him something, but closed it again quickly. Then shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, she smiled wryly instead.
“Tell me again why you want me to be a part of this?” he asked, and he saw her smile falter slightly. Stumbling, he added, “I just mean, you know this isn’t my thing.”
She huffed a little and put her hands on her hips. The action caused the oversized t-shirt she was wearing as an outfit to bunch under her hands and show off her lacy blue panties, which he couldn’t help but look at. She noticed, of course, and signaled him to look her in the eyes, thank you.
He shrugged as a halfhearted apology. It was impossible to take her seriously anyway. For some reason she had skyscraper heels on, and her new Yankees baseball cap was twisted to sit on her head sideways, with the bill folded up as the cherry on the top of her bizarre outfit. She admittedly hated baseball, but she had bought it the minute they moved into their new apartment to show her “city pride,” as she called it.
She was absolutely ridiculous, and he loved every minute of it.
“You owe me, you know,” she said matter-of-factly as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about, but he figured he’d always owe her something, all things considered, so he never really asked for specifics.
She inched closer to the boom box, and he cringed exaggeratedly. “Oh come on!” she whined, and stomped her foot for emphasis. “You’re so boring! I just wanted to do something fun with you, you know.”
“Fun for you,” he said, raising and eyebrow and pointing at her to emphasize.
“Yeah but,” she started, searching for her argument, “I let you talk about watches to me and that’s like, really boring.”
He let out a grunt, but remained silent.
She continued, “I’ve been reading a lot about this, you know,” she said, and she began ticking off her points on her fingers. “Relationships are all about going out of your comfort zone, finding out new things about yourself, doing things you wouldn’t normally do…”
He raised a suggestive eyebrow, but she ignored it. “…being stupid. Being impulsive. Together,” she emphasized, motioning between the two of them. “I don’t always want to be serious like you. I want to do things like this with you,” she said, waving her hand towards the boom box, her voice frustrated. “It just makes me sad that you don’t want to a-and,” she stammered, her voice wobbling just enough to make him feel bad, crocodile tears welling in her eyes. “Please?”
Goddamnit. Even if they were fake tears, they still effected him just as much as the real ones that he remembered all too well. He rubbed his eyes and let out a little sigh, peeking out from behind his fingers at her pathetic display. If doing things like this with her would make her happy, well, it was probably the least he could offer. His dignity would be a small sacrifice; a long time ago, she’d given him hers when she forgave him for everything he had done to her when he deserved anything but. Fair is fair, really, even if he’s got a long way to go before they’ll ever be even.
“Okay,” he sighed, and not surprisingly her tears dried up and a smile beamed across her face.
She reached out her hand, one finger curling as she beckoned him closer. She then extended her other arm to the side, pressed the play button, and the beat of her favorite song began to thrum. “Dance with me.”
With a dramatic moan he relented, dragging his feet as he walked towards her. Elle squealed in delight and pressed herself up against him, her hands clasping behind his neck as she pressed her body against his.
Gabriel let out a little groan. His dancing skills were awkward school function wobbling at best, and his dancing comfort level was somewhere between never and maybe once, at his own wedding if the day ever came. But he liked the way she was dancing against him, and where it might eventually lead, so he gave it the old college try.
Elle pushed herself even closer once he started moving, grinding her body against him in all the right ways. “Loosen up,” she said, running her hands down his arms before she grabbed both of his wrists. She shook his arms a little bit, before adding with a grin, “You know, give it some English.” She then gave him a little spark on both wrists, barely a pinch.
He chuckled before shaking out of her grasp. “Oh, I’ll show you English,” he muttered, shaking his hands out and rolling his neck like he was getting ready to box. He then put his hand on the small of her back and pulled her close, pressing his lips against hers playfully and shocking her with her own power.
She gasped, biting and licking her lip to quell the sting, then giggled in delight like the masochist she was before giving him a wink. “That’s more like it.”
This went on until Elle’s favorite part came on, the bass causing the blown speakers to hiss and buzz. Elle celebrated this fact by waving her hands in the air as she jumped around in circles and, not to be outdone, Gabriel decided to give the robot his best effort. He just hoped the neighbors staring at them from the building across the street wouldn’t think less of them in the morning.
Elle watched him in delight, giggling as she stopped dancing just to observe him. “I hope this kid gets my dancing genes,” she teased, but her voice was laced with both hesitance and eagerness, like she was pulling off a verbal band-aid.
He paused mid-robot, his arm dangling at a perfect right angle, and stared. He knew this wasn’t just about dancing. She saw his confused face, so she pulled him close as an apology, hugging him a bit too tightly. “I didn’t mean it, you’re a great dancer.”
She was lying, of course, but he didn’t say anything. He pulled back a little and looked at her, and she looked right back at him with feigned ignorance. “What do you mean, this kid?”
“Shh…” she cut him off, putting a finger over his lips. He attempted to speak anyway, but she simply pointed behind her with her other hand and whispered, “Al dente.”
He kept his eyes on her for a moment, wary. “Right,” he said curtly before he ran back into the kitchen, tripping over a box on the way.
The pasta was about to boil over, so he flicked his fingers to turn the knob down before reaching into to the pot to grab a piece of pasta to test. The smell of blistering flesh caused him to cringe as he shook his hand, willing it to heal as if it were a Polaroid. He took a bite and it was, as he feared, cooked all the way through. No dente at all.
“Shit,” he exclaimed. He put his hands on the edges of the stove, staring down at the once again still water. As he stared, the realization of what had just happened dawned on him, and he found he couldn’t care less about the pound of ruined pasta sitting before him. His eyes widened and his jaw slacked, and he shook his head as he let out a long, careful sigh.
Hearing movement, he looked at the doorway to see Elle standing there, leaning against the frame. Her baseball cap was in her hands now and she was nervously running her fingers along the brim. He kept his eyes on her until her own eyes raised to meet his, and a positively terrified and anxious little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m sorry?” she said quietly, and she looked like she was about to cry, but this time the tears were very real. Maybe they always had been.
He felt a little pang in his chest, saddened that she was apologizing for this, of all things. He let his face soften and smiled, shaking his head to let her know she had no need to be sorry, and but apprehension still lined her features.
She spoke softly, barely above a whisper. “What are we gonna do now?”
Somewhere inside him he panicked, knowing they needed to talk about this in a very serious way, but he covered as best he could. That was the last thing she needed or wanted, at least for right now. So instead he walked over to her and stared in her eyes, a smile still plastered on his face. He lifted his hands and held all of his fingers together like blades, and moved them back and forth robotically. “Shall we?”
As she blinked tears dripped down her face, but her smile could have lit New York.
Series: Heroes
Rating: PG
Warnings: Bad words. Fluff overload. I'm sorry.
Prompt: "Love is being stupid together." (Paul Valery)
Summary: "...in that front room was a sea of unpacked boxes, an old boom box outfitted with only a tape deck, and a tiny blonde girl in the middle of it all, coiled and ready to strike."
A/N: I don't even know. It's kinda like this in fanfiction form. Written for prompt #10 at sylelle_chall
His mother told him that a watched pot never boils, but he was going to watch this water until it evaporated if that meant he didn’t have to walk into the front room. Because in that front room was a sea of unpacked boxes, an old boom box outfitted with only a tape deck, and a tiny blonde girl in the middle of it all, coiled and ready to strike.
“Gabriel!”
Shit. “I’m making dinner, Elle,” he replied, masking his apprehension with annoyance. Why couldn’t she just leave this alone? She’d been trying to get him out there all night, and his promise of ‘later’ had now come back to haunt him
There was silence from the other room, and he looked back at the water. Tiny bubbles were starting to stick to the sides of the pot, but the water was still. He turned his attention towards the box of pasta, reading the instructions over and over. Boiling water. 5-7 minutes for al dente. Needed to keep an eye on this, overcooked pasta was probably one of the worst -
“Gabriel…” she said again, her voice lilting and pleading.
He sat the box down with a thud, sighing loud enough for her to hear. “Do you want to eat or not?” he shouted out, and again, she was quiet.
Thinking he was safe, he turned to stir to the sauce bubbling next to the water, ready and waiting for the pasta. If only the water would - and there it went, water spitting and hissing as it hit the hot burners. He turned the heat down slightly and poured the entire box of pasta in the veritable cauldron on the stovetop. He’s wasn’t sure how or why Elle had such a large pot, but he wasn’t going to complain; tonight, and the next night, and possibly the next night, they would not go hungry.
He looked down at the pasta happily boiling away, stirred the sauce once more, and then inhaled sharply when he realized that for five to seven minutes, he had absolutely no reason to be in here.
As if on cue, Elle stuck her head into the kitchen just in time to witness him staring at the stovetop at a loss. He turned towards her, and he knew her innocent face hid her true intentions. “So…you’ve got a couple minutes until the pasta’s done, right?”
“Well, I’ve got to watch-”
“No you don’t,” she snapped, looking him up and down. “I read the box. Five to seven minutes. You don’t have to watch it cook.”
He hung his head in defeat. “No, I don’t.”
Flicking his eyes up, he met her gaze and her grin was absolutely sinister. “Follow me,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, and she slipped away from the doorway and practically pranced back into the front room, leaping over boxes like a gazelle.
They’d lived here for almost a week, yet they had really only unpacked the essentials. Not that they had a lot; most of the boxes were full of his books. There were just so many things that were a lot more fun to do. The thought of what they had been doing instead of unpacking distracted him briefly, a smile tugging at his lips, but the sound of the tape deck being locked and loaded quickly brought him back to reality. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and began his shuffle to the front room.
He walked out into the room and met her gaze. Oddly enough she seemed slightly nervous, of all things. She opened her mouth as if she wanted to tell him something, but closed it again quickly. Then shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts, she smiled wryly instead.
“Tell me again why you want me to be a part of this?” he asked, and he saw her smile falter slightly. Stumbling, he added, “I just mean, you know this isn’t my thing.”
She huffed a little and put her hands on her hips. The action caused the oversized t-shirt she was wearing as an outfit to bunch under her hands and show off her lacy blue panties, which he couldn’t help but look at. She noticed, of course, and signaled him to look her in the eyes, thank you.
He shrugged as a halfhearted apology. It was impossible to take her seriously anyway. For some reason she had skyscraper heels on, and her new Yankees baseball cap was twisted to sit on her head sideways, with the bill folded up as the cherry on the top of her bizarre outfit. She admittedly hated baseball, but she had bought it the minute they moved into their new apartment to show her “city pride,” as she called it.
She was absolutely ridiculous, and he loved every minute of it.
“You owe me, you know,” she said matter-of-factly as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about, but he figured he’d always owe her something, all things considered, so he never really asked for specifics.
She inched closer to the boom box, and he cringed exaggeratedly. “Oh come on!” she whined, and stomped her foot for emphasis. “You’re so boring! I just wanted to do something fun with you, you know.”
“Fun for you,” he said, raising and eyebrow and pointing at her to emphasize.
“Yeah but,” she started, searching for her argument, “I let you talk about watches to me and that’s like, really boring.”
He let out a grunt, but remained silent.
She continued, “I’ve been reading a lot about this, you know,” she said, and she began ticking off her points on her fingers. “Relationships are all about going out of your comfort zone, finding out new things about yourself, doing things you wouldn’t normally do…”
He raised a suggestive eyebrow, but she ignored it. “…being stupid. Being impulsive. Together,” she emphasized, motioning between the two of them. “I don’t always want to be serious like you. I want to do things like this with you,” she said, waving her hand towards the boom box, her voice frustrated. “It just makes me sad that you don’t want to a-and,” she stammered, her voice wobbling just enough to make him feel bad, crocodile tears welling in her eyes. “Please?”
Goddamnit. Even if they were fake tears, they still effected him just as much as the real ones that he remembered all too well. He rubbed his eyes and let out a little sigh, peeking out from behind his fingers at her pathetic display. If doing things like this with her would make her happy, well, it was probably the least he could offer. His dignity would be a small sacrifice; a long time ago, she’d given him hers when she forgave him for everything he had done to her when he deserved anything but. Fair is fair, really, even if he’s got a long way to go before they’ll ever be even.
“Okay,” he sighed, and not surprisingly her tears dried up and a smile beamed across her face.
She reached out her hand, one finger curling as she beckoned him closer. She then extended her other arm to the side, pressed the play button, and the beat of her favorite song began to thrum. “Dance with me.”
With a dramatic moan he relented, dragging his feet as he walked towards her. Elle squealed in delight and pressed herself up against him, her hands clasping behind his neck as she pressed her body against his.
Gabriel let out a little groan. His dancing skills were awkward school function wobbling at best, and his dancing comfort level was somewhere between never and maybe once, at his own wedding if the day ever came. But he liked the way she was dancing against him, and where it might eventually lead, so he gave it the old college try.
Elle pushed herself even closer once he started moving, grinding her body against him in all the right ways. “Loosen up,” she said, running her hands down his arms before she grabbed both of his wrists. She shook his arms a little bit, before adding with a grin, “You know, give it some English.” She then gave him a little spark on both wrists, barely a pinch.
He chuckled before shaking out of her grasp. “Oh, I’ll show you English,” he muttered, shaking his hands out and rolling his neck like he was getting ready to box. He then put his hand on the small of her back and pulled her close, pressing his lips against hers playfully and shocking her with her own power.
She gasped, biting and licking her lip to quell the sting, then giggled in delight like the masochist she was before giving him a wink. “That’s more like it.”
This went on until Elle’s favorite part came on, the bass causing the blown speakers to hiss and buzz. Elle celebrated this fact by waving her hands in the air as she jumped around in circles and, not to be outdone, Gabriel decided to give the robot his best effort. He just hoped the neighbors staring at them from the building across the street wouldn’t think less of them in the morning.
Elle watched him in delight, giggling as she stopped dancing just to observe him. “I hope this kid gets my dancing genes,” she teased, but her voice was laced with both hesitance and eagerness, like she was pulling off a verbal band-aid.
He paused mid-robot, his arm dangling at a perfect right angle, and stared. He knew this wasn’t just about dancing. She saw his confused face, so she pulled him close as an apology, hugging him a bit too tightly. “I didn’t mean it, you’re a great dancer.”
She was lying, of course, but he didn’t say anything. He pulled back a little and looked at her, and she looked right back at him with feigned ignorance. “What do you mean, this kid?”
“Shh…” she cut him off, putting a finger over his lips. He attempted to speak anyway, but she simply pointed behind her with her other hand and whispered, “Al dente.”
He kept his eyes on her for a moment, wary. “Right,” he said curtly before he ran back into the kitchen, tripping over a box on the way.
The pasta was about to boil over, so he flicked his fingers to turn the knob down before reaching into to the pot to grab a piece of pasta to test. The smell of blistering flesh caused him to cringe as he shook his hand, willing it to heal as if it were a Polaroid. He took a bite and it was, as he feared, cooked all the way through. No dente at all.
“Shit,” he exclaimed. He put his hands on the edges of the stove, staring down at the once again still water. As he stared, the realization of what had just happened dawned on him, and he found he couldn’t care less about the pound of ruined pasta sitting before him. His eyes widened and his jaw slacked, and he shook his head as he let out a long, careful sigh.
Hearing movement, he looked at the doorway to see Elle standing there, leaning against the frame. Her baseball cap was in her hands now and she was nervously running her fingers along the brim. He kept his eyes on her until her own eyes raised to meet his, and a positively terrified and anxious little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m sorry?” she said quietly, and she looked like she was about to cry, but this time the tears were very real. Maybe they always had been.
He felt a little pang in his chest, saddened that she was apologizing for this, of all things. He let his face soften and smiled, shaking his head to let her know she had no need to be sorry, and but apprehension still lined her features.
She spoke softly, barely above a whisper. “What are we gonna do now?”
Somewhere inside him he panicked, knowing they needed to talk about this in a very serious way, but he covered as best he could. That was the last thing she needed or wanted, at least for right now. So instead he walked over to her and stared in her eyes, a smile still plastered on his face. He lifted his hands and held all of his fingers together like blades, and moved them back and forth robotically. “Shall we?”
As she blinked tears dripped down her face, but her smile could have lit New York.