watching_you | OOM: Suite 130

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?"

She responds while looking thoughtful and remaining totally straight-faced. "Well it can't be anywhere outside of the demilitarized zone, I don't have high enough access. And of course anything east of New York is wastes, these days -- you only get the raiders in there."

She snaps her fingers with sudden insight.

"I've got just the place! Trust me when I say that after this, you will never look at a zoo the same way again."

Mills buys it for about half a heart beat. And then he remembers...

"Oh, you mean to tell me you got that gorgeous red trench coat in a war zone?"

Veronica's expression does not flicker. "Pulled it off a corpse, actually. Poor woman. Well, I say it was a woman, but really I'm guessing."

Solemn, "So hard to tell after the wereducks get to them."

"Wereducks."

He clasps his hands and leans toward her.

"Wereducks?"

She leans in, voice hushed with conspiracy, eyes alight with something like horror.

"You should see them. Feathers black like pitch, eyes that glow blood red, teeth like knives."

She gestures, emphatically.

"Big as a man!"

Mills plays along, because really, what else can he do?

"Wereducks. Big as a man? Are they vulnerable to silver?"

Veronica nods, expression grave.

"We received special training at the Academy in the case of an outbreak within a highly-populated urban area. Silver bullets, that's the thing. It's no use trying to fight them hand to hand -- or hand to wing, as the case may be -- they're vicious in close quarters."

"Mmm hmm."

Okay, now he's just going to sit back in his chair, giving her a Look.

"I'm sorry, Mills, but if you're going to know me, you should know that this is my life. These days, in my world, F.B.I. stands for Feral Bird I-radicators."

Serious face is serious.

"Feral Bird I-radicators."

It takes a moment, and he's really trying not to, but she's gone Too Far.

He hangs his head and laughs.

"This is not a joke! This is deadly serious!"

Her poker face is already beginning to crack.

"Thousands of innocent people... die every day! All because of the... wereduck... menace."

She dissolves into laughter, then reaches across to give him a playful punch on the arm. "Jerk. You were just going to make me keep going with that, weren't you?"

"Well, what choice did I have? You seemed so — adamant." He's still chucking. "Man-sized wereducks," he scoffs, picking up their plates and ambling back into the kitchen.

"You forget, I've been out of bar with Ellen Park. Man-sized crab things. No really. Wouldn't go down but for a 12 gauge slug to the face." He's completely serious.

He flexes his wrist, working out the tightness from the injure. "Wereducks," he laughs under his breath. "You almost had me."

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