castle | 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑏𝑜𝑥.

[ he doesn't know why that ended up being his answer, not prone on seeking out a drink that casually, not here. but when she asks for an alternative, nothing prepared on his lips prior, it's the first that comes to mind.

but when she responds easy, accepting without hesitation, his lips curve into a small smile. ]

Whenever you want me.

[ oh. oh.

and here she’s been under the impression that his definition of a drink would consist of... well, exactly what it sounds like taken at face value. maybe she offers him a glass of something stronger rather than a cup of coffee after he finishes fixing the latest broken appliance here, or maybe it happens when she’s behind the bar, on a night she definitely hasn’t encouraged him to stop by in any sense.

but now she’s questioning if it might actually stand for something else, and her teeth worry at her bottom lip for those few seconds before she gives in — to the late hour, to the direction of this conversation, to all of it. ]

How about now?

[ his tongue curls to lick over his lip without notice, a subconscious swipe as he think about what she says, how it follows in response to his own answer. and he knows everything that's wrong with it, why he should reject the offer, knowing it could steer the implications elsewhere if he doesn't. ]

I'd, uh, have to close up here.

[ which is the window he has as an excuse to escape this. but he realizes he'd already developed his own reason for going over there before she even asked.

this really was becoming dangerous. ]

Give me twenty minutes.

[ she’d been prepared for the work excuse — because she remembers, as soon as the words had left her mouth, that the place is usually open all the time, but whether or not that meant he’d have to stay all night and into the morning is its own separate question. and so she’d anticipated a polite turning down, flipping her phone back to rest between ear and shoulder as she’d readied herself a drink downstairs.

apparently, now she needs to grab a second glass. (good thing she’s got time to clean one.) ]

Okay. [ and time to toss at least one fingerful of whiskey back before she loses her nerve. ] I’ll put the liquor on.

[ the diner tends to have full hours on the weekend, which meant keeping its doors open straight into morning, but with the town as small as it is, actual customers before six didn't come around so commonly. it makes it easier for him to pick one choice over the other, though he can't say that it had been the ultimate factor in his choosing.

the timing works out anyway, pouring the cooked fries onto a sheet within a styofoam container. ]

Hope I'm not interfering with your plans.

You? Nah.

[ although he might be able to hear that squeak the kitchen sink always makes when the faucet’s being turned on; guess who left a sink full of dirty dishes sitting there and doesn’t have a second clean tumbler to offer? that’ll be fixed soon enough (and she can just pretend she’s been leaving the rest to soak otherwise.)

that, plus the brief exhale she makes after swallowing a sip of whiskey. ] It was just going to be me and Jack over here but I’m pretty sure he won’t mind being the third wheel.

[ he can hear the dishes running on her end, just as does a quick wash himself with the fryer, looking over the appliances to make sure everything's shut off (last thing he needs is to set the place on fire while he's gone).

with those last steps in mind, he chuckles with the phone tucked at his ear, to-go container in hand when he grabs his keys. ]

Well, I can't make any promises I'll make for better company than Jack. Don't really have any party tricks for good entertainment.

[ the last thing she wants is to leave him with the impression that she’s gone to any great effort to clean up for his arrival, especially when he’s seen the place in a state of disarray more often than not — and tonight isn’t any different, shouldn’t be any different, other than the part where it is. ]

I’m sure you’ll think of something. [ again, it’s a comment she makes all too breezily before she has the chance to fully consider it, but once it’s out there, she can’t bring herself to feel bad about it, tucking the bottle under her arm and holding a glass in each hand while she shuffles back to the sofa to sit in wait. ]

[ and she might hear that slight rumble of a car being started, which might call him out on those proclamations of his distrust towards a certain gift he'd recently received (though really, can she find any proof it's the same car, hmm). ]

Think I might know a thing or two that can impress you. [ as with most of the conversation, it's a response that happens without thought, a slip of the tongue that seems to be in rhythm with the rest of their exchanged words, something neither of them are doing well to fight off. ]

[ it’s definitely not something she’s going to be able to let slide without calling him out on it — because it’s her, and it wouldn’t be her usual method of teasing to not give him a little crap along the way. (it sure as hell sounds like the car he mentioned, at least from the sounds of that engine — better make sure you’ve switched to hands-free, frank.) ]

Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that. [ god, she’s just going to blame the mature hour for what keeps coming out of her mouth, because she hasn’t had nearly enough whiskey to justify this. ]

I don't know. I'm pretty confident in what I've got to offer.

[ he'll have set that phone on speaker for the sake of driving, but with one hand on the wheel, the other is still too busy rubbing over his mouth, as if maybe the gesture might help with controlling the words that are coming from it. ]

Well, damn. Why’d it take me this long to have you over for that drink, then? I’ve been missing out this whole time.

[ the grin is probably audible in her voice, that tension in her words because all of it feels wildly off-course from where they started — and yet she’s almost compelled to see it through, every last part of what could turn out to be a really bad idea. ]

Well, I couldn't be caught spoiling you. Can't have people thinking you're my favorite customer.

[ is she? that's definitely not what he's saying. not that he isn't having to press his lips tight together when he cracks a grin, one that's almost out of disbelief of their playful banter, a step different from their usual, but still fairly consistent with their brand. ]

Maybe not. But I am the one who makes sure you have your work cut out for you.

[ home repair, that’s what they’re talking about, or at least toeing the line between that subject and something else now — which isn’t necessarily out of their normal realm of joking, but adopts a different connotation in light of everything else. the fact that he’s on his way over. the fact that she’s waiting for him with drinks poured.

speaking of, maybe she’ll take another small sip while she’s still on the line with him now. ]

Yeah, you've definitely been keeping me on my toes. I sure don't get enough sleep either with how much you work me.

[ home repair. obviously. clearly.

and he's nearing her place now, the trip far shorter than if he had to go on his own feet, especially with the lack of any sense of traffic at 4 in the morning (not that the roads get too busy in the first place). any chance of turning back seems to be last this far along, though he's left any consideration of that possibility long before he'd even left the diner. ]

[ an audible snort, half of which gets muffled with her mouth against the rim of her glass. ]

Please, you can’t even blame me for that much anymore, Mr. 9 to 5. [ he’d been the one to snag that extra gig at the diner to begin with, thus ensuring that a good chunk of his waking hours would now be spent serving fries and milkshakes.

she does straighten somewhat when she hears the rumble of an engine from down the street, leaning forward to set her glass down for the time being. ] Feel free to block the truck in. [ it’s not like she’s planning on going anywhere after this, and it’ll be her way of ending the call by then, leaving him to pull into the gravel driveway. only once she hears the footsteps coming up the front porch does she remember that rotted-out floorboard and she rushes to warn him, throwing open the door and leaning out across the threshold. ] Don’t forget the — uh, the bad wood, right there.

Yeah, I'm still pinning plenty of the blame on you.

[ it's the last words he gets in before they end that call, on account of his arrival, following her directions with the parking. once he turns off the engine, he doesn't immediately step out, leaning back into his seat as he takes in a deep breath, one final gathered moment to reconsider the reasons for his being here.

it doesn't have to mean anything at all, doesn't need to be anything beside a drink or two with someone he's come to accept as being a fairly decent friend to have in this town (he also won't think of how the last time he'd shared a drink with a woman at this hour, it'd been with beth, the last time he'd let himself get too carried away).

rubbing at his eyes one final time, he finally steps out, styrofoam in hand until he's stepping onto that familiar porch, door swinging open.

and he'll chew his lip when he sees her, dressed as casually as she is, the simplicity of it forcing him to gnaw at a smile. ] Yeah, I've got the flaws of this foundation memorized by now. [ he raises the container in his hand then, as he steps around the floorboards carefully, working his way to the entrance, standing there in well-worn jeans and a denim button-up that was never fully closed up, flaps loosely open at his collar. the hair of his chin has grown longer in recent days too, as well as the longer locks atop his head, not carefully combed through, even if the beard seems fairly maintained. ]

Come bearing gifts. Hoping it'll win me some points over Jack.

Edited 2019-04-21 21:47 (UTC)

[ and here’s the thing: she doesn’t really have time to react to him being here because she’s already rushing out to meet him, primarily with his safety in mind (or so she thinks) but the haste of her movement doesn’t allow her to really consider what she’ll do once she’s standing there, watching him take the steps up to the porch. it’s still dark out, at this hour, save for the soft, gold-tinted illumination coming off the porch light and as he comes into full view, open collar and longer hair, she can’t blame the pace at which she’d consumed that whiskey for the sudden flip-flopping in her gut.

instead, she curves fingers against the edge of the doorframe, looking up at him (she’s forced to, given that she’s in bare feet now instead of the boots that normally boost her up a couple inches) before her gaze swoops down to the container in his hand and the smell of something fresh and fried wafts toward her nose as he shifts it in his grasp. ]

You didn’t. [ she’ll snatch it from his hand and crack it open right there on the porch, plucking one fry up between thumb and index and biting into it with a groan of satisfaction. ] Oh my God, you did. [ and for all their talk about “drinking,” she could kiss him for this right here and now, but she’ll take a few steps back inside the house first, closing up the container while she polishes off the fry she’s pilfered already. ] Well, he’s still here if you want to make use of him first.

[ somehow the extra effort he'd put into making that batch of fries on a whim has been worth it for the brief glance at the unfiltered joy that sprouts on her face upon seeing them. laughter slips quietly when she chomps shamelessly on one, nodding along by the time she gives a repeat of that initial offer. ]

It'd be an honor. [ there's almost a politeness to it, along with the simple shrug that follows, taking those final steps required to follow her there into the house.

even though he's done it about a hundred times, frequent visits leading him in through that threshold on plenty of occasions for him to fix another wall or appliance, something feels different about tonight, which might have a great deal to do with the time he's arrived, never having been here at such a late (or early) hour. ] Where to? [ kitchen? living room? dining? ~~bedroom?~~ ]

[ sure, a part of her fantasy had involved her eating every single one of these fries, but reality doesn’t have to look like that. in other words, she’d be more than willing to share. but she’ll keep that container covered for the brief trip they make through the lower level of the house, closing the front door behind him and then jerking her head slightly in the direction of the living room that opens up off the foyer. ] In here.

[ safer, somewhat more neutral territory, with the bottle and those two glasses sitting on the small table in front of the sofa, one of which has clearly already held some whiskey although it’s mostly empty at this stage. she rounds around the furniture and then eases down to sit on one of the cushions, drawing one leg up underneath herself and leaving enough space for him to take up, and the fries are deposited on the table as she grabs for the whiskey bottle, screwing open the cap and tilting it over the clean glass. ]

Say “when” or I’m just gonna keep pouring. [ fat chance of that; she’s hardly one to waste valuable liquor, and her lips curve in a smile that make the tease more than evident. ]

[ once she directs them on where to go, he's familiar enough with the layout to get the idea of where the drinks will be supplied, soon spotting the bottle presented upon the table in front of the couch. when he sits beside her, it's with a safe distance still in between, just close enough to stay within reach of the glasses.

a short chuckle on his lips, he holds out his hand in a ceasing motion, shaking his head. ]

No, just keep it light for me. Little at a time. [ he shrugs, sparing a smile in her direction but mostly keeping his eyes forward to the drinks, forearms tucked over his knees, thumb tapping instinctively against his index. ] Been awhile since I've ... y'know, sat down with a drink like this.

Little at a time. [ she echoes it, careful not to give him more than a couple fingers before pouring herself the same amount, and then she folds herself in on her end of the couch, swiping another fry with one hand while she keeps her glass cradled in the other, resting it against the edge of her knee. ]

Yeah? Never would’ve guessed. [ it’s a gentle dig, one mostly prompted by the fact that she never does see him in a position much like this one, primarily about leisure, without any kind of responsibility tugging him in a different direction. honestly, it had taken him sustaining a serious stab wound to even get any rest; if she had to venture a guess, she’d say he rarely sleeps otherwise. she bites into one end of the fry, polishing it off before taking a sip of her drink. ]

I can’t exactly say this is my first bottle or anything, but — [ sitting here, late at night, with this particular company. ] Been a minute for me, too.

[ with the pour, he reaches out for the glass, giving it a circling tilt as he peers at the liquid within before he finally takes a gradual sip, a light hiss following at the flow of it down his throat. ]

Yeah? [ he peers to her then, head still slightly ducked but eyes offering a soft gaze. the flirtatious banter is quieter now, but with the physical closeness that had been missing in the midst of that phone call, there is a different shift.

finger tapping against the side of the glass, he speaks up softly. ] Over on tours, I'd sometimes drink with the boys. Get a little buzzed, shoot the shit, that kind of thing. But after a while, it just — you get into this habit, y'know, when you're thrown into a fight, like you gotta make sure all your senses are on. Triple fold. Cause you can't afford making any mistakes. That's when I, uh, I got into the coffee habit. Kind of made me better at what I did, just keeping awake.

[ he takes another sip, licking gently at his lip as he peers down to his fingers. ]

Even when I came back, habit never really turned off. Like I still always had to be ready for something. [ he knows why, why he has that need, but he doesn't steer into those details. not now. ] So moments like these, where I just — I don't know, just pause? It's hard to have them anymore.

[ it speaks to her own tolerance at this stage that she barely winces anymore, when the whiskey flows past her lips — there's just that overall warmth that settles in the pit of her stomach and then slowly works its way outward along her limbs, using her bloodstream to heat her extremities until the flush in her cheeks signals that it might be having more of an effect, something she'll aim to tamper down with the occasional french fry.

but when he talks, she listens, and maybe some of that's carry-over from the bar, the conversations she's been on the receiving end of since she started working there, stopping in front of people who want an open ear and getting used to the idea of giving it to them.

she listens, and she watches, studies him in profile, the way he talks about being in the service — the marines, she remembers, because in the middle of that yellow-tinted pollen haze that had driven them to share what they had, that part had come out already. she hadn't exactly had her theories as to why he drinks that much coffee, why he sleeps those few hours, why it almost feels counterintuitive for him to stay completely still (even sitting here with her, his finger taps idly against the side of the glass), but like before, with the torn photograph, he's filling in the gaps for her a little at a time. ]

Yeah. I get it, you know? It's — sitting here like this, feeling like I should be back in the fight somehow, like I was at home, gearing up for whatever kind of shitstorm that was on the horizon, and now — [ she drops her gaze to the contents of her glass, considers it for a second and then takes another sip, down the hatch. ] Not really knowing what's coming, but still having that sense that I should be doing more than what I am. It's... it's hard to turn that off.

[ she draws in a breath, the admission leaving her on her exhale. ] Even if part of me wants to, just for a little while.

[ the words come easier in her presence, and perhaps it helps that he'd been eased to share some of the history with her before, but the silence of the room, the quiet filled only with their voices in the late hour, paired with the initial sips of the alcohol that burns nicely in his throat, he doesn't feel the resistance in sharing.

and he listens in turn, eyes lifting to watch her as she takes her own moment in turning away, always surprised when her words shift from offhand jokes to something a bit more earnest, a different side of her bare in her voice. ]

Yeah, there's never really a stop to feeling uneasy. Like it could go wrong at any minute. [ and he knows that, because ultimately, it typically does go wrong.

his gaze locks on her, own breath falling soft. ] But, you know, even with — with all the shit here, everything we have to deal with, somehow, at the same time, for the first time in a while, I ... I think this is the longest I've had ... this.

[ peace, maybe? something of a life? ]

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