TITLE: Hiding under the Waves
GENRE: Humor/Romance
CHARACTERS: Cal, Gillian
PAIRING: Cal/Gillian
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: none
WORDS: 2,900
SUMMARY: Cal and Gillian meet at a place where neither of them expected to find the other. And then they just play along.
Really?, his eyes seemed to ask incredulous as soon as he saw her standing near the restaurant entrance. It almost made him drop his drink and ruin the casual suit he had put on for the occasion.
Really?, her eyes seemed to reply to his cheeky grin and with a gesture of her hand she made him aware of how dangerously close his glass was to spilling all its contents on his shirt. She smiled as well and then just shook her head in disbelief.
They only really met 45 minutes and four conversations with other strangers later.
She remained seated while he came over to her table and offered his hand. "Cal."
"Gillian." She studied the apparent ease with which he sat down opposite to her, the smugness on his lips. Once again she was reminded of how he just couldn't sit on a chair properly, but there was something else too. Something underneath. They heard the bell ring and it was eight minutes from here; ready, steady, go.
He looked at her as if to let her have the first question. Wherever that may go.
She smiled at his choice of attire (really?) and took a nonchalant sip of her water. "Cal—so what's that short for?"
He couldn't hide his smile at her blatant attempt. "I guess that will remain a mystery for tonight, love. Keeps things interesting, you know."
She leaned back in her chair, the glass still in her hands, and gave the slightest shrug of her shoulders. "Ah well, I keep some mysteries of my own."
"Yeah? Care to reveal any of them to a stranger?"
A short moment of hesitation, but really just a part of this game that thrilled her already. "Not tonight. Keeps things interesting, you know."
He hadn't expected anything else and kept grinning at her, at the same time taking in her cream-colored, silky blouse and those earrings that he had never seen on her before. Her hair was up in a ponytail, which was slightly more unusual than usual. "So what brings you into this mess here?"
"My friend, actually." She vaguely pointed to a brown-haired woman a few tables further that Cal had spotted her with earlier. "She wanted to try this and didn't want to go alone. So I thought, I'd give it a try. Might be fun. Or completely awful."
"Well, what is it so far?"
"Surprising, I'd say." She took another sip from her glass and just left it at that. "And what about you? Looking for the love of your life?"
If only she knew. He leaned forward in order to be closer to her and maybe to raise the level of intimidation a bit. "I'm here for research purposes."
A short wave of laughter erupted from her throat and she leaned forward as well to mirror his expression. "What kind of research is that? Creepy old man research resulting in picking up women?"
That went a little too far too quickly, he thought, and put on a hurt, defensive expression. "Oi, that's not what I meant. And I'm not creepy. Or old."
"I didn't say that."
"I think you did. Now take it back or I'll switch over to the next table."
She saw that he was just joking, but he still seemed a tiny bit miffed about her statement, which she found kind of endearing. "We still have about six and a half minutes, I'm afraid."
"Might as well use them then."
Her head nodded in approval. "I think we should. So what kind of research are you conducting then? A scientific experiment?"
"Call it a little training. I work in a field related to—let's say sociology."
She rested her head on her propped-up hands. "Interesting. So we're all your little guinea pigs?"
"Again, you're assuming. Where is that coming from?"
Her eyes brightened with a smile. How did he do that? "Oh, I come from a sociology and psychology background as well. Must be a bad side effect, thinking you can figure out people's intentions easily and quickly. Somebody I know always tells me that I should drop all this psychotherapy babble."
"Smart person, that other one." He let her dwell on the words a little before he went on. "What is it you do exactly?" He was interested in where this would take them and she seemed to be too, judging by the slightly pink blush on her cheeks.
She set her hands down on the table, matter-of-factly in a way. "I run a company with somebody else. Well, if he lets me run it with him, that is. If he's not trying to run it all by himself which might eventually end in disaster. We specialize in facial expressions and things like that. Trying to look behind people's exteriors, finding out what they're really saying or not saying."
He smiled a genuine smile and looked down at her hands, then back to her eyes. "Sounds fascinating."
Her eyes roamed the restaurant for some seconds. "Well, makes it easier for me to see which guys are really desperate. Better avoid those, you know."
"I'm not desperate." He didn't even know why he said that so quickly, but it kept the game afloat.
"Of course not. You're here for research."
"I am indeed. So, are you?"
"What, desperate?"
He confirmed with a short nod that this was what he meant.
"I like to think I'm not, but you're the one doing the social experiment."
"It's not conclusive so far." He took a sip from his own drink and watched her fingers curl around hers. "This business partner of yours? You're saying he doesn't appreciate you enough?"
She knew he would be getting back to that. "Oh, I think he does. He just likes to be in control."
"Most men do," he just said rather cryptically.
"Yeah?" She took up her glass again and contemplated it. "You know, it's his science the company is built on. He likes to think that he invented this stuff, but it's really just a skill that women have mastered for thousands of years already. We're just polite and like to let him have this little triumph. Men can be delicate flowers when it comes to things like that."
He waited a bit before he replied with anything, inching closer to her again in the process. "Humility. My favorite human trait," he muttered under his breath, having to laugh at his own words and at the twisted truth of them.
She did too and beneath the table their feet accidentally touched for a split second before anyone could even acknowledge it. "He couldn't do this without me," she finally concluded.
"I can see where this is coming from." Their feet touched again. This time not accidentally.
He had to try his luck. Before it was too late and somebody else picked her up with smooth talking, leaving him with the schizophrenic cat lover he had just encountered on the last table.
He took the little paper napkin that he had put his glass on and searched for a pen in his jacket pockets. She studied him rather curiously, but decided to not say anything.
When he found the pen he scribbled some letters on the napkin and edged it closer to her, so she could read it.
Drinks then?
She had a short look at the note, before politely and slowly pushing it back to him over the table. Her fingers still lingered on the napkin and she looked at him somewhat intensely. "I think that's cheating. We'll have to wait until the end of this to find out the answer to that one."
He was a little disappointed by that rejection, but at the same time oddly thrilled about her keeping the game going. He knew she wasn't necessarily the biggest fan of games; certainly not of his. He took back the note and lightly touched her fingers in the process. "Oh, so you're somebody who plays by the rules."
"And you're somebody who goes against them," she stated with just the same tone of voice. Maybe the slightest hint of seduction in it. Where was this going, she wondered.
"I feel like we have figured each other out." It was accompanied by another broad grin from him.
"Should we raise our hands and say that we've successfully completed the task?"
"You just said, we're not done here yet."
"Right."
"Another round of questions, I guess." He leaned back into his chair, trying to look busy with his thoughts for a moment. He wasn't really, because there was just one thing on his mind. "So, you're not into him then? Your business partner?"
She cocked her head. "Aren't we here to talk about you?"
Evasion without really evading. He loved it. "Okay then. Shoot away, whatever you wanna know." He held his hands up as if to show that he was open for anything.
"Any hobbies?"
He contemplated it. "Well, I surf. I create beautiful artistic sculptures of women's bodies out of clay. I write poetry for the poor old ladies down at the retirement home. The usual stuff, nothing too extraordinary."
She tried to keep her cool, which was hard when she really wanted to burst into fits of laughter at the mental images he had just created in her head. "You look exactly like a surfer. The British type."
"Oh, that's the best one. We actually have to hide under the waves so the sun can't attack us."
"I bet you have to."
"What about you? What do you do when you can escape this self-centered, needy, know-it-all business partner?"
She had to smile again, damn it. "I do much more exciting stuff than you do. I read, I watch romantic comedies, I like to cook. Pretty unusual, eh?"
"Oh yeah. Didn't figure you were such an adrenaline junkie."
"See, we still have things to find out about each other."
He nodded—yes, indeed. Many of which he was eager to uncover. He couldn't exactly decipher whether she felt the same way, but something lit up in her eyes.
She felt like being cheeky as well, so she went for the question that still remained on her mind. "What's up with the suit? Did you put that on just for tonight?"
He got a little defensive again. "It's part of the experimental set-up," he said and then waited a bit, but she didn't reply right away. "And it's nice to dress up from time to time."
"So it's rather to impress yourself than anyone else?"
"I'm constantly impressed by myself."
"I can see that." She nodded as if this was serious business. "I wish the guys at work would make an effort to dress up. You know, they used to. And then it was just like in any marriage: They get lazy and think that they might as well sit on the couch in their undershirts all day."
"That's probably a little exaggeration you're using there."
A shrug of her shoulders. "Artistic freedom. You might know that from your poems."
That made him laugh, despite having been the center of the joke before. "It's the inner values that count anyway."
"Oh yes, absolutely."
"Any other interesting guys with inner values you've met here so far?"
She noticed how he casually used the word other in his sentence. She gave a noncommittal gesture and made sure to throw a glance at some of the men in the room. "Some nice conversations, yeah. Most of them have interesting hobbies just like you. Any interesting exchanges yourself?"
"Only if I were into cats. At least I feel much more educated about them now."
"Well, should give you some interesting insight for your research."
"It kind of shut my research department down."
She smiled and shook her head at him. "I knew it," she whispered under her breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
He just kept grinning at her like he had for most of the time the last couple of minutes, it seemed. But he had to add something, so he went for the obvious. "It's still running with you, love. Just saying."
Another shake of her head coincided with the sound of the bell and that was it. She was kind of glad and then she wasn't.
Instead of immediately getting up he just bent forward again and inched closer, holding out his hand for her to take.
"That was lovely," she said and shook his hand, but he wouldn't simply let go.
"I think that was bloody fantastic. I'm number seven, in case you forget my name." He pointed to the sticker on his lapel with his free hand, staring intensely.
"I'll remember."
"Good." He finally let go of her hand and got up. "Now I can interrogate your friend about you."
She gave him a look that he would surely know and it was one of danger. "Would you maybe not and just be nice?"
"What makes you think I wouldn't be nice? I learned my manners from the Queen."
She gave him yet another look—level two danger—and he made a gesture that said, relax. Then he went away. Off to the next cat lover or troll figure collector. But not before giving her one last wink and pointing to his sticker. Lucky number seven.
It took another five conversations until it was Judgment Day. She folded her piece of paper and as suggested attached a little note to it, handing it to one of the organizers. He did the same with a bit of delay, watching her the whole time, and then went over to the bar without actually ordering anything.
She talked to her friend, who had her eye set on somebody else and couldn't be bothered with Cal, while he tried to come up with a plan of how to discreetly maneuver out of this place should she not chose him. However, he actually hoped that there would be no need for a hasty exit plan.
A few minutes later, it was the last note she unfolded that was his.
Mystery Lady,
Tell me more about this plonker you work with. He seems interesting.
(You do, too. A little.)
She smiled and caught his eye for the first time since he had left her table. He had tried to catch hers more than once, but she hadn't given in. Now there was no sense in hiding anymore.
He unfolded his note as soon as he saw her smiling and by then he was sure that the escape plan was not needed anymore.
So, drinks then, creepy old man?
I hope you're paying.
Another five minutes later they met for the second time this evening.
"You made the right choice," he said and held up his note from her. "I might even be paying."
She wouldn't let his self-assurance take over so fast. "You had tough competition, you know." To emphasize her point she briefly looked over to a guy who had been watching her all the time as well and was not ready to give up just yet. Then she let Cal catch a glimpse of the other notes she had received.
"How many more did you get?" He looked down at her hands while she counted the cards. "Five? You got five more? I got none."
She just shrugged her shoulders. "Seems your creepy old man research approach wasn't charming enough."
"Oh, stop it. I think it was charming enough. Got me the one I wanted."
She grinned and shook her head at the same time. "Yeah?" Her eyebrows went up.
"Yeah," he confirmed. "What about your friend?" He looked at her somewhere in the distance talking to another man.
"She has a match too and they'll go for drinks."
"Good for her. And us."
She looked over at them as well, while putting on her coat and preparing for whatever might come next. "Too bad she chose the biggest liar in the room."
"Maybe he only lied to you," he suggested and thought of some places he could take her to.
"Why would he only lie to me?"
"I don't know. Probably felt so shabby next to you, he saw his only chance in making up a whole new, awesome, extravagant life for you."
"Brilliant explanation," she agreed lightly and turned back to him. "What is your excuse?"
His eyes narrowed, the fading ghost of an immediate counter question on his lips. "I wasn't lying. Well, not as much."
"Oh yes, you were. Before you had even said a whole sentence."
He looked at her curiously and waited for an explanation that was sure to come.
"When you sat down at my table, you seemed to be at total ease. Comfortable. Confident. Smooth." She smiled at him; the knowing smile of intimacy and years of practice. "That was a lie, surfer boy. You were nervous as hell."
With that she led the way out of the restaurant and into the chilly night, him following her and wondering how much more she would surprise him tonight. He was nervous as hell. And so was she.
THE END