( it would be foolish, she knows, to put any sort of stock in this little...whatever you want to call it, flirtation of theirs. dancing around each other from the day he showed up at her doorstep, where he doesn't bother trying to mask the way he watches her, and she very quickly gives up trying to pretend like she isn't pleased and proud of the fact. he flirts shamelessly, because it's who he is, and she attempts to deny a growing fondness for him. acts like having him around these last few days hasn't been sort of pleasant. no, more than that. it's been fun. talking, laughing, getting to be a normal girl for a change, instead of trying to live up to the all but impossible standards set for herself.
pretends that she isn't the tiniest bit sad when they finally say goodbye early one morning, before she heads to her first class and he makes his way down to the docks. she hugs him and tells him to be safe, turns to leave before her mask has a chance to falter. tells herself that it's because he's a friend --and that, if nothing else, is true-- and it's only natural to worry.
so maybe it's a little more difficult to hide her excitement when she returns home just a few hours later and he tells her about the ship. that they'll be staying in new haven a little bit longer. not indefinite by any means, and she never would have expected that, he's a sailor down to the bone, but they have more time now. to get to know each other, for her to show him what he's missing by spending 3/4 of his life in a cramped ship with only his cellphone, something he's slowly getting better at working (with a few tips from her, of course), for outside contact.
all things considered, it isn't much of an adjustment all things considered. she had a roommate her first two years at yale, before russell decided that the best way to win back his youngest daughter's affections was to pay for the kind of apartment she'd never be able to afford on her own. the only difference now lies in knowing that the arrangement is only temporary. it renders even the most minor annoyances almost endearing. sooner or later they'll be gone and the apartment will be her own once again.
not that quinn is in any hurry to see him out. even lets him use the spare key while he remains in new haven. the one that usually rests on top of the door frame as a precaution should anything ever happen to hers. it seems only fair, since she can't exactly skip all of her classes while he's still here, and can't any more expect him to stay cooped up inside until she's done.
so maaaaybe he's a bit of a bad influence. okay, it was her idea to go out that night but, as always, she reserves the right to blame him at a later, unspecified date and time. her alcohol tolerance may isn't anything that rivals his, as proven by her complete inability to match him shot for shot --she has to bow out at a certain point, when she feels her buzz start to give way to something a bit more serious. something she's in no mood to deal with tonight-- but it's improved significantly from her younger years. the times (she claimed) a few winecoolers were enough to seriously impair her judgment and decision making skills.
laying back on the bed, arms stretched out to the side like she's going to attempt another snow angel, this time on top of the pale pink a white paisley print comforter, and head tipped to the side so she can watch him, her mouth curves into a lazy smile when he hits play. so it's a little cheesy. she's a little cheesy on occasion, if he hasn't already figured that out. ) I'll have you know... ( she protests faintly, pushing herself up to a sitting position because maybe....maybe a dance wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. ) I am an excellent dancer. ( excellent may be a bit of a stretch, but she's still damn good. dancing is one of the few areas she's truly confident. ) I never told you I couldn't, what I said was that I didn't want to.
( she was perfectly happy, that night, to let some other girl fall prey to the strange charms of the overly flirtatious irishman. it would take a little more effort for her to fall under that spell. HA, the joke's on her in the end. ) Fine. ( allowing him to pull her to her feet, she determinedly ignores the faint fluttering in her chest at the gentle brush of his fingers over her pulse. ) I'll admit, I'm a little curious to see if you're really as good as you seem to think you are.
( as the soft notes of piano waft through the room, light and airy, they seem to wash over gideon, make him shift in his boots as he acclimates to the beat of the music, feels it deep, to his very core. it's slow, but certainly doesn't drag, especially as the music deepens once the singer's voice comes in. it's quite an alright song, he figures. it's simple, albeit a bit quiet, but it suits the moment. better this than some cheery bubblegum pop or some guitar-heavy rock jam, eh? )
I am nothing if not a man of my word. ( he says with a lopsided smile, taking her hand in his as he tugs her to her feet, pulls her close to him, practically toe to toe. he doesn't let go -- rather, he keeps her hand in his, lifts them just slightly as in proper form. gideon sways almost imperceptibly to the beat, a sort of innate part of him that simply cannot resist when he hears music, but he doesn't move from that spot just yet. no, he stays there for a moment, gazes into those ridiculously bright eyes of hers, and takes it all in.
this has, after all, been a long time coming. he speaks as though he may laugh, unable to contain a smile through his attempt at faux-seriousness: ) Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?
( as the first verse of the song continues, gideon allows that sway of his to gain, takes a step backwards away from the bed, his free hand resting against the fabric of her dress at her hip, altogether very innocent as he's taking this first dance of theirs very seriously. leads her further backwards, moving to the steady beat of the song though he nearly has to fight following the increasing beat of his heart in his chest. it's a bit of an oxymoron, really, how such a gruff man can move with such purposeful grace, light on his feet in a way that he rarely, if ever, shows outside of situations like these. not that there are many situations like this one -- rather, there are none. none like quinn, who rejected him at first (he typically doesn't face rejection), who he somehow felt the need to reconnect with, persistant (another thing that gideon fletcher doesn't do, unless your name is meg dawson), and yet, despite it all, he's here. dancing with her, in the middle of her bedroom, not unlike the way he's seduced hundreds of women in the past. but he buries that thought deep down once again, because this isn't like all of those other times. this is different, he thinks, as he guides her steadily around the corner of her bed post. )
( there are very few things that quinn can admit to being genuinely good at without any sort of irony. a decent enough singer, a hardworking cheerios captain --constantly struggling to maintain her spot at the top of the pyramid-- and a spectacular failure of a celibacy club president. no, dancing is one of the very few areas in which she's always excelled. practically saved the life of a chubby, unhappy little girl who hasn't yet gotten the idea to drop her first name and instead go by the middle one. nearly a child and still a year and a move of a few hundred miles from being the person she'd grown up dreaming of becoming.
he pulls her close and the fact that she doesn't protest in the slightest is an alcohol induced miracle, or possibly the first telltale hint to the way her heart stutters faintly in her chest. warmth of his hand still enclosing hers, somewhat impressive considering she hadn't expected him to know anything even remotely resembling proper form, quinn's free arm rests loosely on his shoulder.
a bit close for proper maybe, but there's a fuzzy warmth in her head and chest that prevents her from caring too much but does absolutely nothing to help her stifle a giggle, high and soft, at the pickup line. he may be going for the very dramatic fake seriousness, but she truly can't be bothered. )
Only when I'm hoping to get hit on by foreigners. ( clearing her throat, an effort to regain some small sense of composure, she squeezes his hand gently, face splitting into a broad grin. ) I guess that's mission accomplished.
( except then, in a turn quinn is entirely unprepared for, things change. no longer are they swaying idly to the music like high school-ers with no true idea of what they're doing or intention of going any further. they're moving --gliding, she thinks-- easily around the room, so far from the stumbling shuffle she had anticipated. eyes widening faintly, flashing to his as if seeking confirmation that this isn't just some strange prank, her smile falters...recovers quickly. )
Well look at you. ( words light, practically carried on an exhale, though with no lack of of amusement, affection, though this second worries her the most. the same way that the racing of her pulse in her ears or the way her cheeks flush when her eyes fall briefly to his lips before lifting once more concerns her.
this is dangerous. this is a trap that she's managed to avoid through sheer luck if not force of will, but her guard is slipping. bricks in that steadfast wall she's built around herself beginning to crumble piece by piece.
somewhere in the background, the song is still playing, but the words seem to grow fainter with each passing moment. swallowing hard, her tongue darts out to wet her lips. maybe she could just....would it really be so bad if....? ) You're just full of surprises.
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pretends that she isn't the tiniest bit sad when they finally say goodbye early one morning, before she heads to her first class and he makes his way down to the docks. she hugs him and tells him to be safe, turns to leave before her mask has a chance to falter. tells herself that it's because he's a friend --and that, if nothing else, is true-- and it's only natural to worry.
so maybe it's a little more difficult to hide her excitement when she returns home just a few hours later and he tells her about the ship. that they'll be staying in new haven a little bit longer. not indefinite by any means, and she never would have expected that, he's a sailor down to the bone, but they have more time now. to get to know each other, for her to show him what he's missing by spending 3/4 of his life in a cramped ship with only his cellphone, something he's slowly getting better at working (with a few tips from her, of course), for outside contact.
all things considered, it isn't much of an adjustment all things considered. she had a roommate her first two years at yale, before russell decided that the best way to win back his youngest daughter's affections was to pay for the kind of apartment she'd never be able to afford on her own. the only difference now lies in knowing that the arrangement is only temporary. it renders even the most minor annoyances almost endearing. sooner or later they'll be gone and the apartment will be her own once again.
not that quinn is in any hurry to see him out. even lets him use the spare key while he remains in new haven. the one that usually rests on top of the door frame as a precaution should anything ever happen to hers. it seems only fair, since she can't exactly skip all of her classes while he's still here, and can't any more expect him to stay cooped up inside until she's done.
so maaaaybe he's a bit of a bad influence. okay, it was her idea to go out that night but, as always, she reserves the right to blame him at a later, unspecified date and time. her alcohol tolerance may isn't anything that rivals his, as proven by her complete inability to match him shot for shot --she has to bow out at a certain point, when she feels her buzz start to give way to something a bit more serious. something she's in no mood to deal with tonight-- but it's improved significantly from her younger years. the times (she claimed) a few winecoolers were enough to seriously impair her judgment and decision making skills.
laying back on the bed, arms stretched out to the side like she's going to attempt another snow angel, this time on top of the pale pink a white paisley print comforter, and head tipped to the side so she can watch him, her mouth curves into a lazy smile when he hits play. so it's a little cheesy. she's a little cheesy on occasion, if he hasn't already figured that out. ) I'll have you know... ( she protests faintly, pushing herself up to a sitting position because maybe....maybe a dance wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. ) I am an excellent dancer. ( excellent may be a bit of a stretch, but she's still damn good. dancing is one of the few areas she's truly confident. ) I never told you I couldn't, what I said was that I didn't want to.
( she was perfectly happy, that night, to let some other girl fall prey to the strange charms of the overly flirtatious irishman. it would take a little more effort for her to fall under that spell. HA, the joke's on her in the end. ) Fine. ( allowing him to pull her to her feet, she determinedly ignores the faint fluttering in her chest at the gentle brush of his fingers over her pulse. ) I'll admit, I'm a little curious to see if you're really as good as you seem to think you are.
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I am nothing if not a man of my word. ( he says with a lopsided smile, taking her hand in his as he tugs her to her feet, pulls her close to him, practically toe to toe. he doesn't let go -- rather, he keeps her hand in his, lifts them just slightly as in proper form. gideon sways almost imperceptibly to the beat, a sort of innate part of him that simply cannot resist when he hears music, but he doesn't move from that spot just yet. no, he stays there for a moment, gazes into those ridiculously bright eyes of hers, and takes it all in.
this has, after all, been a long time coming. he speaks as though he may laugh, unable to contain a smile through his attempt at faux-seriousness: ) Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?
( as the first verse of the song continues, gideon allows that sway of his to gain, takes a step backwards away from the bed, his free hand resting against the fabric of her dress at her hip, altogether very innocent as he's taking this first dance of theirs very seriously. leads her further backwards, moving to the steady beat of the song though he nearly has to fight following the increasing beat of his heart in his chest. it's a bit of an oxymoron, really, how such a gruff man can move with such purposeful grace, light on his feet in a way that he rarely, if ever, shows outside of situations like these. not that there are many situations like this one -- rather, there are none. none like quinn, who rejected him at first (he typically doesn't face rejection), who he somehow felt the need to reconnect with, persistant (another thing that gideon fletcher doesn't do, unless your name is meg dawson), and yet, despite it all, he's here. dancing with her, in the middle of her bedroom, not unlike the way he's seduced hundreds of women in the past. but he buries that thought deep down once again, because this isn't like all of those other times. this is different, he thinks, as he guides her steadily around the corner of her bed post. )
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he pulls her close and the fact that she doesn't protest in the slightest is an alcohol induced miracle, or possibly the first telltale hint to the way her heart stutters faintly in her chest. warmth of his hand still enclosing hers, somewhat impressive considering she hadn't expected him to know anything even remotely resembling proper form, quinn's free arm rests loosely on his shoulder.
a bit close for proper maybe, but there's a fuzzy warmth in her head and chest that prevents her from caring too much but does absolutely nothing to help her stifle a giggle, high and soft, at the pickup line. he may be going for the very dramatic fake seriousness, but she truly can't be bothered. )
Only when I'm hoping to get hit on by foreigners. ( clearing her throat, an effort to regain some small sense of composure, she squeezes his hand gently, face splitting into a broad grin. ) I guess that's mission accomplished.
( except then, in a turn quinn is entirely unprepared for, things change. no longer are they swaying idly to the music like high school-ers with no true idea of what they're doing or intention of going any further. they're moving --gliding, she thinks-- easily around the room, so far from the stumbling shuffle she had anticipated. eyes widening faintly, flashing to his as if seeking confirmation that this isn't just some strange prank, her smile falters...recovers quickly. )
Well look at you. ( words light, practically carried on an exhale, though with no lack of of amusement, affection, though this second worries her the most. the same way that the racing of her pulse in her ears or the way her cheeks flush when her eyes fall briefly to his lips before lifting once more concerns her.
this is dangerous. this is a trap that she's managed to avoid through sheer luck if not force of will, but her guard is slipping. bricks in that steadfast wall she's built around herself beginning to crumble piece by piece.
somewhere in the background, the song is still playing, but the words seem to grow fainter with each passing moment. swallowing hard, her tongue darts out to wet her lips. maybe she could just....would it really be so bad if....? ) You're just full of surprises.