OOM: Suite 130

[watching_you]

Veronica leads Mills through the labyrinthine corridors of the Milliways guest area until, eventually, they reach the right hallway.

"This place can be a bit confusing at times," she offers apologetically. "Things have a tendency to move. But I'm right up here --"

She cuts off, stopping short. This hallway's not empty.

Super.

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[watching_you]

Veronica shakes her head. It's not so much a sentiment of 'no' as an expression of disbelief.

"I was showing you the file and you did disapprove, which is why I put it away in the first place. Why change your mind?"

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"I wasn't -- I didn't disapprove, so much as I was baffled that you would abuse your investigatory powers so openly. You struck me as an idealist. Me? I'm a pragmatist. If there's a threat, I want to know as much as I can about it as possible before it becomes an issue."

He closes the distance between them, the stern look softening into one of concern. His voice gentles as well. "Surely you don't think I'm going to stand here and do nothing while this hangs over your head."

[watching_you]

Her expression softens as well, and she lets out a quiet laugh as she looks up (and up) at him.

"Idealist? Really? Oh brother."

She takes the folder from under her arm and holds it up between them.

"And don't call me 'Shirley'."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"I'll call you anything you like," he answers as his hands close around the file. And then he's moving to the bar in the kitchen where he can sit and look through it.

"There's nothing wrong with being an idealist. The world needs idealists. Hell, your girl here probably thinks of herself as an idealist." He certainly hopes not, because those are the worst kind. The ones that think they're Doing The Right Thing.

He flips the file open and starts skimming, entirely in his element. After a moment he pauses, looking up at her with an intent gaze, his tone teasing. "This kind of work goes better with beer, you know."

[watching_you]

Veronica, meanwhile, has hung her blazer in the closet and tossed her purse somewhere by the coffee table. She moves past him, into the kitchen itself, as he mentions a drink.

"Yes, well, you've kind of ruined our game by taking that, haven't you? Meanwhile I've not gained any great insight into matters of national security. So I don't think you'll be getting beer."

Across the bar from him, she ducks down, rummaging for a moment on a shelf he can't see. When she appears again she's holding two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

Mills laughs and looks up from the file.

And freezes.

"Tequila? Did we pass the close enough to tell blond jokes somewhere on the stairs and I missed it?" He's trying to joke, but there's a hint of bafflement in his voice.

[watching_you]

Veronica gives him a look.

"What, we don't have to be friends to drink beer but we do to drink hard liquor? It's just a drink, Mills. One that I happen to enjoy."

She pours herself a shot, then pauses, holding the bottle above the second glass as she casts him and inquiring glance.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"That is not just liquor. That's tequila. Generally reserved for after we've actually been shot at."

He looks at the glass and back in her face. "Go ahead, but I warn you, if you trying to get me drunk and take advantage, I'm telling... someone, who might care." He trails off feebly, laughing nervously.

[watching_you]

She holds his gaze for a moment longer than might strictly be comfortable, her expression unreadable.

"No. I wouldn't do that."

Then she pours the shot, and places it in front of him.

In a much lighter tone, "I do, however, still want to know why it is you don't like to drink in public. I've got a number of theories, but the one I'm hoping for right now is the outside chance it has to do with a hidden affinity for karaoke."

She lifts her glass. "Cheers."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

The hesitation does not go unnoticed.

"Cheers," he echoes, taking the shot glass and touching the rim to hers. He holds her gaze as he drinks it in two swallows. There is no wincing or coughing, so she can surmise it's not that he can't hold his liquor.

"I have never sang karaoke and I don't intend to start this late in life." He goes back to skimming the file, idly wishing he had a beer. "And I don't drink in public because I have what Lenora likes to call 'control issues.'" There's a bit of a growl in that.

[watching_you]

Veronica downs hers in one, as easily as milk. Tequila was a careful choice, here: she's used to it, knows exactly how much she can take and exactly how it will affect her.

From Mills' reaction, he probably doesn't have the liquor down to such a science.

She rests her hand on the bottle, but doesn't lift or move it. To Mills, she asks, "What sort of control issues?"

Unless he says 'anger management' she's pouring him another shot.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"You're full of impertinent questions, aren't you?" It isn't really a question.

He's turning pages, ignoring photos, catching key details, assembling a profile.

"She wanted someone who could loosen up and have a good time. Stewart is much more gregarious than I am." Gladhander, he thinks.

[watching_you]

It's not a question, but she answers anyway. "Yup."

She does, indeed, pour them each another drink, looking thoughtful.

"So you like to stay in control. Don't want to be caught off-guard." She phrases it like a theory, a work in progress. And then, without waiting, she throws back her second shot.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

He rumbles his agreement with this theory, still poring intently over the contents of the file.

He's well aware there's another shot there. He'll get to it in a moment.

"She's a do gooder, or fancies herself one, anyway. Jesus, nine months as a sniper in Serbia. Sources say she's credited with twenty three confirmed kills, all of them war criminals." He can't help but be a little impressed.

[watching_you]

"Oh yeah, she's a real catch," Veronica drawls, leaning her elbows into the countertop. She has read the file through enough times, has seen these details before. "My favourite part is her years of volunteer work at a orphanage-slash-nunnery."

She is, of course, joking.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"She's been relatively low key since she got to the States. Wanted for questioning in a few disappearances, but again, no one anybody would miss." He quirks an eyebrow at her, reaching for the second shot as he closes the file.

"She's never gone after law enforcement, so I believe you're okay. Salud." He raises his glass to her before tipping it back.

[watching_you]

When he's done with the file she pulls it back towards herself, and pulls out one of the photographs. It's a grainy surveillance shot, likely taken from some distance and enhanced several times over by computer. She's looked at it dozens of times, and examines it again now as she speaks.

"If this was about my safety that would be reassuring. But it's not. Never was."

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"That charming fellow in the hallway, hmm?"

This time Mills reaches for the bottle and pours the shots.

[watching_you]

With a sigh, "If I can't trust her, it doesn't matter. I only met her the other day. Life goes on. But I've known him for a long time. I trust his judgment. Or, I did."

She puts the photograph down and notices his initiative with the tequila. It's enough to make the corner of her mouth twitch, just a little.

Three in five minutes will just about do it for a while, she calculates. In about ten minutes it'll all start to kick in and she'll find herself far more giggly than usual (which is to say: not at all). If she keeps drinking she'll add to that an irresistible desire to touch everything -- something she'd prefer to avoid.

"Well, here we go," she says, and downs the shot.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

He watches her drink, his expression a bit more relaxed than it was a few minutes ago, but his gaze no less intent. "Interesting. Perhaps he knows something you don't?"

This one he savours, licking his lips after he downs it. Tequila was always good post combat because it allowed him to, if not revel in the savagery of the physical world, at least accept it as a necessary and natural truth. He sets the shot glass down with a careful and deliberate touch, and takes up the bottle, refilling their glasses with equal care and deliberation.

His crew usually never bothered with shot glasses, so the ritual seems to hold a bit of fascination for him. Like serving tea in little porcelain cups with the sugar in cubes, and little cookies on the side.

Hmm. Perhaps three in five minutes was starting to have an effect. Interesting.

[watching_you]

"Like what? I'm the one with the file."

She watches his actions, slow, careful, and smirks. When he pours another shot she can't help but be impressed, and hesitates a moment, lifting the glass but waiting for him to drink first, this time.

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"Agent Mars," he chides, holding the shot in the air between them. "You should know by now that the real intel never makes it into the file."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for her. "Oh is that how it's going to be? Fine." He drinks again, and this time his eyes stay closed for just a bit longer. When he opens them again, his gaze is sharp.

"Field work requires human assets, and a certain level of trust. You have to place your life in the hands of people who are..." He pauses, searching for the right sentiment. "Not exactly saints. You learn to know them for who they are, and what they are capable of. And as long as you don't expect them to be more than that, you'll never be disappointed."

[watching_you]

There's a sense of challenge to his tone that she can't ignore. She narrows her eyes and drinks the shot, swallowing hard.

"Field work --"

She reaches across the bar and snatches the bottle back from him.

"-- is very different --"

She pours herself another glassful.

"-- from sex."

She throws it back, shuddering only slightly, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth for a moment. Then, in a calm, measured gesture she places her shot glass back on the bar.

And lifts her eyebrows at Mills. How d'you like me now?

[particularskill.livejournal.com]

"Really." He's rather enjoying watching her cheeks flush.

He uses his fingertips to slide his glass right next to hers. This will make five shots. Five is a nice round number. He pours both without stopping between the two, merely letting the flow continue over the rim to the second glass when the first is full.

The minimum amount of spillage may let her know he's done this before. (Vodka, tequila, arak. Russians, Salvadorans, Israelis. It all starts to blend together after awhile.)

"I'm not sure everyone would agree with that assessment, but I'm willing to hear your argument." He lifts his glass and gestures for her to proceed, though with the discussion or the drinking, it's hard to tell.

[watching_you]

It's five for Mills but six for Veronica; six in ten minutes is firmly outside the realm of her calculations, and the world of what is easily perceived and relevant to her senses is narrowing considerably.

Fortunately she'll be tripping over her own feet before she loses the ability to speak. Too much practice.

"With sex it's inadvisable to just grab someone you barely know and hope for the best. There's a different kind of trust involved, and different consequences."

She unbuttons her sleeves, and folds back the cuffs to her elbows. Then she leans forward again, sliding her hand to the shot glass, starting at the edge of the bar. Her fingers run along the smooth countertop like figure skaters. Gently, slowly, her fingertips wrap around the tiny drink, like it's made of something precious.

"That person... doesn't have to be a saint. But you should be able to expect more."