watching_you | OOM: Suite 130

"Really? You'll have to show me that trick. Could come in handy."

He's moving back to the kitchen, retrieving the oil and vinegar, salt and pepper.

"Grab the bread, would you? It's right there." On the end of the counter.

"I mean, that's good to know. Knowing that I'll still see you no matter where you're stationed." His sentence tapers off a bit, his voice getting quieter at that little revelation. "I mean..."

She's brought up short, fingertips just touching the bread, all motion stilled. After a pause she bows her head, smiling softly.

"Yeah. You'll see me."

Then she clears her throat. "Um. Bread knife?"

"Bread knife," he echoes. "Try the knife rack."

She catches the glimpse of a smile before he turns his back, digging out a beautiful crystal pitcher. A handful of ice, some beautiful green and yellow citrus slices, and a bottle of sparkling mineral water later, they have something cool to drink.

"Of course," she mutters to herself.

With everything gathered she returns to the table, hovering as she waits for him to join her. Spotting the drink, she can't help but laugh.

"That's a better use for the limes than the one I'd been thinking of."

He brings the pitcher and clean glasses from the cabinet, gesturing with his chin that she should sit. He joins her and pours them both a glass.

"Agent Mars, I told you. I don't do karaoke, and body shots are right out. Capiche?" The impact of his growl is lessened by the tiny wink he gives her.

As she slips into a seat, "Say it all you like, but I'm not giving up. We'll have you singing something poppy soon enough."

"Isn't that a violation of the Geneva Convention? If it's not, it should be. Now eat."

It's simple fare, but it's fresh and he makes a bit of a show of drizzling olive oil over his, followed by a dash of balsamic vinegar.

He watches her take her first bite, anxiously waiting to see if she approves.

"Have you heard your voice? I refuse to believe you'd sound anything short of fantastic."

She jabs a tomato with her fork, lifts it, chews it. Nods approvingly.

"This is fantastic."

His relief is palpable. "Good."

"And I can't carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on it. So you know."

He digs in, eyes closing for a moment as he relishes the dish. "That is good, isn't it?"

"Yes. And if that's true -- then it'll be really funny karaoke so I'm even more determined."

She has a few more forkfuls, then pauses to sip her water, watching him over the rim of the glass.

He slits his eyes at her, returning her gaze for a heart beat before looking down at his meal for a moment.

"Thanks for coming," he says, looking back up at her.

"Thanks for having me. And taking me out. And cooking." With a bit of a smirk, "Basically I'm a terrible guest. Thank you for everything."

A pause.

"I needed a -- a break. I needed this."

Mills' smile broadens.

His hand reaches out and covers hers, gently squeezing. "Truth be told, I think we both did." A nervous little laugh bubbles up in his chest. "Tequila and all."

Her answering laugh is timid.

"Makes you wonder how we could top this. I mean --" recovering some bravado, "-- if you were interested in doing something like this again, sometime. Maybe."

He sits back for a moment, regarding her with a bit of a serious look.

"I would be. What did you have in mind?"

"In mind? I hadn't really planned for anything past the potential of you saying yes."

She laughs again, nervous and awkward and relieved all in one.

"Why, did -- did you have something in mind?"

"That depends entirely on you. I mean, there's always the zoo." He smirks at her, and then his expression softens, turns expectant. "Or there's a picnic dinner and stargazing up at Griffith Observatory. Tequila optional."

"Um. I..."

She tries to think of something to say to this. A comment, a joke, anything. But the only response that comes to mind is,

"Okay."

She smiles, tries not to, grins anyway. "Okay. Yes. That sounds nice."

"Good."

Her grin is contagious and he mirrors it back to her. He takes her hand in his, his thumb playing over the back of her knuckles.

"Good." He laughs a little under his breath.

She slips her hand under his, and presses her other palm over top, catching him there. This is probably a terrible idea, whispers a voice in the back of her mind. Veronica orders it to shut up. She gives Mills' hand a soft squeeze, then lets him go.

Then she scoops up her fork again to attack the last few bites of salad.

"I suppose sometime you should see my world, too. Though I think they're pretty much the same, give or take a few years."

He seems to be perfectly content with finishing the meal.

"Really. What year is it in your world?"

"Twenty sixteen. And just to get it out of the way, there are no flying cars."

She gestures with her fork.

"And I will not be telling you the winners of any major political or sporting events that happen in between now and then, either."

"Ah, the day after tomorrow," he muses, leaning on one elbow. "Gasoline prices insane? Or have we gone electric yet?"

His mind is immediately straying to Ellen's dire predictions about resources.

She shakes her head, smirking.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

He chuckles and nods. "Will do."

He takes a sip, watching her over his glass, enjoying her smugness.

"So, where would we go in your world?"

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