watching_you | OOM: Suite 130

His eyes light up and he smirks at her. "Right."

He stands and walks around the bar, pausing to bend and kiss her cheek. Just a peck, over before it's begun, and then he's moving to put his shoes back on.

"They actually have a cheese guy at the market. Fresh mozzarella. That and the first roma tomatoes are in season. A little basil, a little olive oil. I would suggest a little wine, but I think we can skip that. This time anyway."

The kiss comes unexpectedly, and for a moment she sits there, blinking in surprise.

Eventually she realizes Mills is still speaking.

"Hm? Oh. Yes. Good idea."

Shoes on, he reaches for his holster, unfurling it and slipping it back around his shoulders. It's then that he notices she's still sitting at the bar.

"I could go by myself, I guess. Bring it back here, if you wanted."

There are key advantages to his suggestion -- namely that it would grant her time to have the cold shower she'd like for so many reasons -- but instead she hops off her seat.

"No, no. I'm coming."

She hurries to the front hall and slips into some flats, then considers the contents of her front closet.

"What's the weather like in your universe today?"

"It was in the low seventies when I entered the bar, so..."

He's folding his shirt sleeves down and buttoning up again, slipping his jacket back on and checking the pockets. She might notice the mobile phone he glances at and then puts away. He also taps his breast pocket, making sure his wallet is still where it's supposed to be.

"I'd take something light to cover up with, just in case."

"Hm."

She settles on a double-breasted red trench coat. It's just slightly flashy, and gives off a pulp detective vibe. It's exactly the kind of thing unsuited to undercover work, which is why Veronica, to her great regret, hasn't been able to wear it in months.

She scoops up her purse and goes to stand by the door, looking back at Mills expectantly.

He looks up from straightening his cuffs and stops dead. And then he whistles, the traditional wolf whistle of course, soft and low. "Miss Mars, I am going to be fending off the paparazzi with you dressed like that. Lucky for you, I've had experience doing just that."

He steps passed her to open the door, gesturing her through.

"I think you mean Agent Mars. But thanks."

She does preen a little as she steps out into the hall. When he follows she locks the door behind them, then heads down the corridor to the stairs.

"It's been a while since I've been on an alternate-dimensional field trip." A quick sidelong glance in his direction. "This would probably be a good time to tell me about anything... weird in your world."

Mills frowns, humming as he thinks.

"No superheroes, no talking animals unless you count Disney, no ghosts, no werewolves -- that I know of. New Kids On The Block are still touring but they're almost forty now, and that's kinda strange, if you ask me."

"Sky's still blue, right?"

She takes the stairs a little more slowly than usual, one hand on the banister.

"Here's an important one: what year is it?"

"Sky is blue and the year is 2009."

His motions seem more fluid, and he's resting his hand in the small of her back again. Just the lightest of touches. He steps ahead of her into the bar, his eyes scanning the crowd.

"Right this way, pretty lady." He holds his own Door open for her with a bit of a flourish.

It opens on a rather nondescript alley a few steps off of Ventura Boulevard. It's mid-afternoon, partly cloudy and cool.

As she steps through the door the wind catches her hair, and she takes a second to simply enjoy the feeling. Tilting her head back she drinks in what little sunlight the day offers.

"Mmm... you know, back in my world I haven't properly been outside in weeks? Not during the day, anyway. It's always just me and three computers and it rains all the time, Mills, all the damn time."

Once she's done this little speech she spins back to face him again.

"Okay. Where to?"

Mills takes in the sight of her, still very aware of the alcohol coursing through his system.

For some reason, keeping his distance doesn't seem near the priority it did just a half hour before.

He leans down to offer her his arm, his voice far more gravelled than he perhaps intended. "Somewhere it isn't raining."

She examines him for a moment. It's one thing to drink far too much tequila and maybe-almost-kiss; it's another entirely to wander arm-in-arm down the street to pick up supplies for a dinner together. This is starting to seem more and more like a date -- or, possibly, a date in reverse -- and Veronica's not sure what to think about that.

Well, it's just a couple of blocks, right? A couple of blocks never hurt anyone. To her mind, still buzzing as it is, this makes sense.

She slips her arm into his, and smiles. "Sounds perfect."

Mills has lived a spartan life for so long, moving from place to place, never having time to think about anything other than the mission. Her mere proximity here seems rather dream like, and he's not inclined to examine it too closely.

He tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow and covers it with his own for just a moment.

"Just a few blocks, I think." He fishes in the pocket of his jacket for his cell phone to check the time. "Two o'clock. Plenty of time. They usually have a few live music acts, and the occasional celebrity wanders down from the Hollywood hills." He points back behind them.

They emerge onto the street and even on a sunny Friday afternoon, there isn't much foot traffic. This is LA after all.

"So the Bureau has you trapped in a little room, poring over mounds of data, straining those pretty green eyes of yours looking for that one clue, hmm?"

He's much taller, and his legs are much longer; her body somehow manages to rapidly calculate how many steps she must take for each one of his to keep pace.

"Mm-hm." Even here, in a parallel dimension, she's a little reluctant to discuss it. The liquor helps. "We have several suspects under constant surveillance -- phones, computers, the whole thing. Each day I collect new data and then mine for additional patterns or anomalies. It's thrilling, really."

There's a pause, and then she continues, some hesitation in her tone.

"Can I... ask a favour? That 'pretty lady' stuff -- and don't take this the wrong way -- but it's hard for me to hear it in the context of discussing my job. I know it's not the case with you, but there are plenty of people who will use phrases like that because they're not taking me seriously. You know?"

"I'm sorry," he answers, a touch chagrined. "I -- it was just a -- "

After a moment's stammering, he laughs, shaking his head. "I'd plead tequila, but it's still not acceptable. My apologies, Agent Mars. Analysis is a vital job and I'm sure you're one of the best in your field."

"Hey. It's okay." She rests her head against his arm for a moment, smiling to herself. "I'm glad you think I'm pretty."

Mills looks down at the top of her head, his elbow squeezing her arm against his body for a moment.

"Any man with eyes can see you're pretty. I also think you're smart. And funny. And -- I knew there was a reason I never drank tequila in the middle of the afternoon," he growls.

"Getting you to be complimentary was actually the motivation behind feeding you those shots in the first place. Lo, my evil plan is complete."

She cackles, diabolically, as they reach the street corner; the driver of a passing car shoots her a confused look as he speeds past.

He quirks an eyebrow at her, still amused. "Really? You could have just asked, y'know."

"Next time, save the liquor for when you have hard questions."

"What, you want hard questions now?"

The evil does not fade from her grin.

"Give me five minutes. I'll give you some hard questions."

"Nope. Too late. You wanted compliments. You got compliments."

He presses his lips together, mock stern, eyes on the wooden barricades that mark the end of the block, and the beginning of the farmer's market.

"Too bad. I bet you could come up with some interesting questions."

"You bet right." Lightly, "Fine. I'll save 'em up for next time."

She nods ahead. "Our destination?"

"You're good," he teases. "Yes, in fact."

Mills smiles and nods to a flower vendor, who waves back. He's been here before. He stops and fishes in his pocket, coming out with a money clip. "Yeah, gimme one of those."

When he turns back, he hands Veronica a bright yellow sunflower. "Roses are so passée," he deadpans, giving her a little wink.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject