bakerstreet | (no subject)

[Well, they're a complete mess. Hopefully, they can vacuum up all that debris.

He smiles and starts stroking her hair, kissing her cheek before leaning his head back on the beaten couch. He could already feel the bruises forming on his shoulders and hips. He didn't mind them.]

Why don't you... Do you want to just sleep over? [It's late, and he doesn't want her to go.]

[There's a smile in her voice, though it's muffled against him.]

Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.

[They had been able to have another go before eventually going to bed. Bruce wakes up with healing bruises peppering his shoulders, arms, and thighs, already looking like they're days old. His ability to heal quickly comes in handy.

Clare is still sleeping. They're wrapped up in blankets and her hair has pooled around her face. She looks angelic, with her eyes closed and her head turned away from the light.

His hand twitches towards her face, but he pulls it away. He shouldn't be touching her. This was a mistake.

But he can't quite make himself get up, get dressed, and pretend nothing ever happened. Instead, he just rests his head on the pillow, watching her face quietly. He'd talk to her once she wakes up. He'd explain what a bad idea this was then, and they could agree to move on.]

[It's not much longer before Clare stirs. Her eyes flutter open and settle on him. At first she looks a little surprised, and her first waking thought is that Bruce Banner's crazy, curly bedhead is one of the most adorable things she's seen. But then her eyes flash as images from last night pop up in her head, one by one.

Her mouth goes a little ajar, and a bright pink blush rises in her cheeks. ]

Ah- ... morning.

[She's cute when she blushes. He wants to kiss her.

He stays squarely on his side of the bed, giving her a small, rueful smile.] Morning, Clare.

I think we need to talk.

[She wets her lips and searches his face for a moment. His expression makes her frown a little.]

I think I know what you're going to say. [a beat or two] And you should know that I don't regret anything.

[The corner of her mouth twitches upward, out of that frown. She's still blushing, but her sincerity is obvious.]

But ... you're probably right. Uh, ... considering our ... circumstances.

...I don't either.

[He should. He should regret it, but he can't bring himself to.]

But this can't become a... regular thing. [He pushes himself into a sitting position. His muscles complain, but he ignores all the bruises, instead adjusting the blanket so he is still mostly covered.] For various reasons.

[She's going away as soon as he can figure out how to send her away. They both work together. They both attract violence like flies. He's too old for her. He has too many issues. He's a monster.]

I don't want this to ruin our current relationship. I value your friendship.

Oh, Bruce.

[She props herself up on an elbow, tugging at the blankets for cover, as well. And she reaches out to lay a hand on his forearm. It's one of those gestures of comfort that come naturally to her. She can feel that she's still sticky from last night, and that sensation alone is enough to maker her want to do more, to hug him and kiss him and stroke his concerns away-- especially seeing those fading bruises. She's the one who insisted they continue. This is her fault.

She just rubs his arm.]

Of course this isn't going to ruin anything.

[She scoots closer to him, looks up at his face.]

I just, ... don't want anyone to get hurt. I need to focus on getting home. I'm ... needed. I can't ... [Small shrug. She can't ... do anything, much. She's in limbo, here. It's a jarring thought to wake up to, but she's kind of getting used to it.]

[The touch hurts a little, but not physically. It's a reminder of what he can't have.

But he's grateful for it regardless.]

You don't need to explain anything, Clare. I understand.

I need to focus on getting you home too. [And on figuring out who put that spike in his head, and why.] Distractions won't help either of us.

[And besides, it's hard enough working on getting her away now that she's such a close friend. It'd be agonizing if he let himself fall in love with her.

He doesn't know if it's too late for that or not.]

[She's sorry. She thought consequences shouldn't matter, just for a while, but looking at his face, she can tell she was wrong. Consequences always, always matter when you're Clare Kent. She knows Bruce understands her predicament; his life is as ridiculous and crazy as hers has become. He's one of those insane people who seemed blase at the mention of spatio-temporal rifts and alien invasions.

But it doesn't matter if he understands or not. It's painful for her and it's painful for him. She should have known better than to let this happen. It was selfish and wrong. She wanted him so badly, she still wants him, -- but she's not the type to pretend that emotional attachments don't follow from physical acts. Her Ma taught her better than to play with people, like that.

Her touch lingers on his arm.]

Are you hungry? Because I'm hungry. Do you want breakfast? I can make us something. Or call in for delivery.

[He tries not to think about last night. Thinking about it makes him want to kiss her again. To touch her and make her make those noises again.

To ignore all the complications and just hold her.]

Yeah, breakfast sounds good. [He looks down at the floor, then with some amusement,] I think we left our clothes in the other room.

[She presses her lips together, but is defeated by an involuntary grin.]

... yeah. [Also involuntary are the flashes of memory from last night that assert themselves in her mind, despite her best intentions. His nails scraping across her back, the whine he gave when they separated, that feral look in his eyes.] I'll take care of that.

[She's gone and back in a whoosh, offering him his baggy business casual ensemble. No more lingering touches. She's fully dressed, if a little disheveled and sticky. She needs a shower. He does, too.

They should take one together.

No, wait. That'd be bad.]

[He will never get used to seeing her there and gone in a split second. He blinks at her owlishly, then takes his clothes.] Thanks.

[He needs a shower. Dried fluids and sweat are all over him. He puts on his ruined shirt, the buttons still missing from her enthusiasm, and quickly pulls on his boxers and pants. Once he has clothes on, he feels less vulnerable and more able to compartmentalize. He and Clare had had sex. That didn't mean that it had to change anything.]

Why don't I help with breakfast? What do you feel like?

I was thinking waffles?

[Actually she feels like running her hands over his still-bared chest and slipping that ruined shirt back off of his shoulders. The sight of it brings back visceral sense-memories of what happened after she popped off those buttons.

She owes him a shirt, by the way. Her eyes trail over his chest, then she looks sidelong, decidedly.]

But I'm open to suggestions.

[It's hard not to notice the way she looks at him. He tries to ignore it. That is a path they just agreed not to go down.]

We can make waffles. There are some lemons, raspberries, and chocolate chips if you want to make them interesting.

[Lemon chocolate-chip waffles with raspberries, anyone?

Bruce became very good at making delicious things while on the run.]

[She looks back to him and arches a brow]

That does sound like an interesting combination. You're adventurous with your waffles, Dr. Banner.

[Clare appreciates culinary adventurousness. Especially with regard to sugary things. She also appreciates men who cook well. Not that she's evaluating him for compatibility or anything. That was a weird thought. Inappropriate. She's still working on turning her reserve back on. She breaks it so rarely that the switch is rusty, maybe.

But she smiles at him and starts toward the door.]

Let's do this.

After eating in some of the countries I have, I can't have anything plain anymore.

[His friends back in Latin America would weep if he ever ate something under-seasoned. It doesn't matter that they're miles away--they would know.

He instinctively moves to button his shirt, then he remembers that it's unbutton-able and instead shoves his hands in his pockets, following her as they go.]

It's hard to move from Indian back to regular American food. They like their spices down there.

[She'd never malign her mother's cooking, but --]

Yeah, and here we usually stick to some combination of salt, black pepper and refined sugar. I get it.

[It's not her kitchen, so once she's padded across the living room and onto the tile, -- sparing just the quickest glance at the mess and the little dip in the back of his couch -- she just tugs her hair up, loops it into a messy knot, and waits for him to give directions. Though she does ask, because it's important:]

Where do you keep the chocolate chips?

The cabinet to your right. You mind grabbing the other ingredients in there? The flour, the baking powder, the sugar, that kind of thing? I'll get everything in the fridge.

[She looks so cute, her hair all messed up and her clothes rumpled. He doesn't want to think about it, but he can't help but imagine her wearing his shirt instead.

He tears his eyes away from her without waiting for an answer and starts taking things out of the fridge. Milk. Lemon. Raspberries. Eggs. Butter.]

Maybe you can show me how they make waffles back home. I'm sure your mother's expertise trumps the recipe I figured out after getting sick of having bagels for breakfast every day in college. [And then they can add lemon zest and chocolate chips to the batter, topped off with raspberries when it was still warm. Yum.]

[The bag of chocolate chips is opened before she's even finished gathering the ingredients from the cabinet. Because it's really not a cooking adventure unless there's snacking involved.

She's holding out the back in offering and smiling a little as she answers, ]

I'd be happy to show you. It'll be a true collaboration. But she's kind of a waffle traditionalist, so it's pretty basic, really.

[ - an afterthought, munching on chocolate,] What about your mom? Did you inherit any recipes?

[He takes some of the chips with a wry smile, popping them in his mouth as he lines up all the ingredients on the counter.]

My mother? No, I'm afraid she died before she thought I was old enough to learn any.

[The casualness with which he says that is a clear indicator of how close he considers himself with Clare. He rarely talks about his life before the accident. He never talks about his childhood.]

Besides, my father didn't think I should learn any 'woman's work.' He thought it was emasculating. [Yes, his father was an ass. He is well aware of that.]

[She chuffs and makes a face, digging in the bag again.]

Well, I'm glad your mindset on the matter is a little more evolved. And I'm sorry to hear that, about your mother.

[Glancing around,]

Bowls?

It was a long time ago. And my aunt straightened me out before I had a chance to turn into my dad.

[He starts taking out the utensils, lining them up with an absent neatness that works its way into everything he does. He likes things being in their place.] I'll zest the lemon while you show me how your mother does it?

Sounds like a plan.

[It's funny how he arranges his cookware the same way he does his lab equipment. Makes her want to hug him. She watches for a second with a little smile, then scoops up the sugar and flour and moves to his side, where she tugs a bowl just out of its designated spot.]

She always says the secret to perfect waffles is not to stir the batter too much. And to use a rubber spatula. Do you have a rubber spatula? If you don't, that's fine. I really don't know why the material matters. 'Never could get a straight answer out of her about that.

Uh... [He frowns, then gestures to one of the drawers.] I might have one in there. If not, then there's some regular mixing spoons.

[His arm brushes against hers. His sleeve sticks to his skin because of all the dried sweat and fluid. He washed his hands and wiped himself down the night before, but he hasn't had a proper shower. He still feels her all over him.

He pulls his shirt closer to him for a moment, an instinctive protective gesture before he pulls out a grate and starts zesting the lemon.] Any other utensils you might need should probably also be in there.

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brb googling 'how to make waffles'

this thread makes me crave waffles