[font=sylfaen][size=3][b]A/N:[/b] This is just a one-shot based on the unsatisfactory end to Season 1, Episode #5, "Saturn Returns."[/size][/font]
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[center][font=impact][size=6][color=red]Not a 'Date' Date[/color][/size][/font][/center]
[font=sylfaen][size=3]Catherine smiled as she leaned against a wooden window frame – the frame she was coming to regard as [i]theirs[/i] – and swirled the wine in the goblet in her hand as she waited. Checking her watch, she saw it was five after eight and wondered if she should go back to the table and cover the serving dishes to keep the food warm. After a few minutes more she began to wonder if Vincent was late, had forgotten what time he was to arrive, or worst, had just decided to not come at all.
Feeling her spirits sink, she briefly considered calling him, then chided herself for the self-centered impulse as his phone number was for emergencies only. [i]Being a few minutes late is not an emergency,[/i] she thought ruefully, [i]not even for a guy like Vincent. Calling him now would just make me look silly.[/i] Still, she leaned out of the window and looked up and down the fire escape to see if he was near.
When she leaned back into her apartment, she looked down at the windowsill and smiled fondly, remembering the silver-wrapped package she had found sitting there after her birthday party the night before. She was dying to know what was in the box, but wanted to wait to open it in front of Vincent to give him the pleasure of seeing her reaction to his gift.
When she saw he was fifteen minutes late, it became more and more apparent to her that he wasn't going to show. She hadn't realized just how much she had been looking forward to a quiet night with him until this moment. As her spirits bottomed out, she finished the wine in her goblet and headed back to the kitchen to get a refill, and that's when she saw the photo booth. Though the booth had just been rented for the party, the company that had rented it to Heather wasn't able to pick it up until Monday. Seeing it triggered her last memories of it: being in the booth with a slightly drunk Evan and needling him to loosen up a bit and have some fun…and then he'd kissed her. In fact, he'd kissed her passionately, leaning in dramatically, moving his mouth against hers, giving her some tongue, and confusing her utterly. She had the feeling that her comfortable, flirty relationship with Dr. Evan Marks had changed forever. Whether than was good or not remained to be seen.
And now, having found Vincent's present sitting on the window ledge in [i]that[/i] particular room took on a whole new meaning. [i]Jesus![/i] she thought, [i]he must have seen us, seen the kiss. I'll bet that's why he's not…[/i] Catherine's though trailed off in mid-sentence as she heard three sharp raps on her front door. Wondering who could be trying to ruin her night now, she hustled to the door and looked through the peephole – completely prepared to give whoever it was the brushoff – only to see Vincent. She took a moment to look at his face, hoping to see him in an unguarded moment, but as she saw him nervously looking side-to-side, she realized his only chance at a truly unguarded moment would be inside her apartment. Wasting no more time, she unfastened the door's locks, threw it open wide, and welcomed him inside.
"Vincent! I'm glad you made it," Catherine said warmly.
"Sorry I'm late, Catherine," Vincent said apologetically. Then he pulled an arm from behind his back and handed her a small flower arrangement he'd just purchased from a street vendor. "These, obviously, are for you."
Catherine was surprised and touched by the gesture. When she took the green-tissue-paper-wrapped flowers from him, she held them close to her nose and took a long sniff. "Mmmm…beautiful, and they smell good, too." She half-turned into the apartment, encouraging him to come in further before shutting and locking the door behind him. She set the flowers down just long enough to take his black pea coat from him and hang it in the hall closet. Then she led him to the kitchen so they could talk while she found an appropriate vase for the flowers, and asked, "Why'd you use the front door tonight? I was expecting you to come to the window like usual."
"I…I'm not sure," Vincent admitted. "I'm used to rooftops, fire escapes, and windows, but tonight felt [i]different."[/i] He watched Catherine find a clear, fluted glass vase and arrange the flowers in it before filling it partway with water. "You wanted a night where you didn't have to lie; a night where you could just be yourself. A [i]normal night."[/i] He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I wanted normal, also…to be able to climb the stairs for once instead of the fire escape, to knock at your door like a regular guy instead of looking in a window like some peeping Tom."
Catherine was moved by his plain-spoken confession, and as she placed the vase of flowers to the side of their table settings, she wondered about the everyday things that were annoyances to her that he would love to deal with. Finding herself determined now to help [i]him[/i] enjoy a relaxing evening, she began plating the food, hoping it was still hot enough to be good. After finished, Vincent stood behind her chair, seated her, and then walked around to take his own seat.
"Before we eat," Catherine asked, "do you have any food allergies?"
"Thankfully, no," Vincent replied. "As good as this all smells, I'd hate to not be able to eat any of it."
Catherine was pleased by the compliment, and only hoped he'd be as complimentary after the meal. She asked Vincent if he would do the honors and pour them some wine. She'd been drinking Merlot before, but had uncorked a nice Australian Chardonnay to go with the main course, which was braised chicken breasts in a mirepoix stew all served over halved baked potatoes. Along with the main dish, there was a homemade salad of mixed iceberg and romaine lettuces tossed in a raspberry vinaigrette with artichokes, red onions, diced red peppers, and Parmesan cheese. And to top everything off, she'd bought some chocolate-covered cheesecake from a local shop. While cooking the meal, Catherine had wondered how long it had been since Vincent had eaten a meal that didn't involve microwaving or pimply-faced delivery boys, and she didn't have long to find out.
Vincent wasn't a big salad guy either in this life or in the one that preceded 9/11, but he didn't mind them and he wasn't about to humiliate his hostess by turning down her offering. Once he ate some, he was surprised to find he liked it. He wasn't sure if it was because of the sweet fruit of the vinaigrette, the various tastes and textures of the other ingredients, or what, but he knew he was going to have some more once he'd finished what was on his plate.
Then he took his first bite of the braised chicken and chewed no more than twice before moaning around the small bite in his mouth. When he swallowed, he looked her in the eyes and said, "Oh God, this tastes incredible, Catherine." Gesturing at his plate with his fork, he added, "I haven't had anything [i]half[/i] this good since before Afghanistan."
Catherine's face flushed and her mind was suffused with pleasure. Just that one line made all the work involved in cooking the meal more than worth it to her. In fact, she was getting so much pleasure from watching Vincent dig in that she stopped eating until he gestured at her plate and said the food wasn't going to get into her by itself. She blushed for the second time in short order and went back to eating. During the meal, the conversation was minimal and light, touching on nothing much beyond things like the weather, as both were enjoying the meal far too much – if for different reasons – to do much else. Once the last crumb of cheesecake had been eaten, Catherine tried to clear the dishes off the narrow white counter, but Vincent wouldn't let her.
"You spent a lot of time cooking for me," he said, in his somewhat gravelly voice, "let me do this for you."
She was about to argue, claiming that as her guest, he was expected to do nothing more than enjoy himself, but one look at his face was enough to convince her that arguing would do her no good. So while he was cleaning up, she decided to make them some after dinner coffee. Deciding her usual Folgers wasn't going to cut it, she ground up some of her precious store of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee beans, put them into her coffeemaker, checked the water level, and turned it on.
By the time Catherine had the coffeemaker working, Vincent was done clearing off the table and was busy rinsing the plates and flatware before putting them in her dishwasher. When he asked what she wanted done with the leftovers, she grabbed a roll of plastic wrap and tightly covered the salad bowl and the chicken plate before setting them in the fridge.
"Heather might like to have this tonight when she gets home. Otherwise…" Catherine paused when an idea hit her. "Better yet, when it's time for you to leave, I'll pack this up in some resealable plastic containers and send it home with you." Then she winked at him. "Whether or not you choose to share it with J.T. is up to you."
They stayed in the kitchen until the coffee was ready, then Catherine filled two large, handleless ceramic mugs, and they retreated to the living room and sat on her brown leather sectional sofa. Sitting in front of them on the appropriately-named coffee table were two coasters and the silver box that Vincent had delivered the night before. Catherine set her coffee on a coaster and picked up the box. Once the box was on her lap, she ran her hands along its sides, wondering once more what could be in the box, anticipating opening it, and thinking of maybe getting a small insight into the mind of the very interesting man sitting a mere foot away.
"It's not going to open by itself," Vincent said, a faint grin on his face.
Catherine didn't need any further prompting, using her close-cropped nails to dig into the knot of the ribbon that bound the box. Once the knot was loose, she ripped the ribbon off and lifted the lid and set it aside. Inside the box, she saw pink fabric; a second glance revealed the fabric was flannel. More curious than ever, she picked up the fabric and shook it out, before finding the front turning it toward her. She smiled widely when she realized what she had in her hands was the blouse top for a pair of flannel pajamas, a fact which was confirmed when the next item in the box turned out to be the other half of the set.
"Oh…my…[i]God!"[/i] she breathed, before setting the pajama bottoms aside and launching herself into Vincent's arms for a serious hug. "I haven't had a pair of these since…since college. Thank you." In truth, her last pair had been bought for her by her mother, as part of what had become their birthday ritual. She hadn't been able to bring herself to buy a pair since, as if doing so would somehow erase a piece of her mother's place in her life. But for someone [i]else[/i] to do that…Catherine felt tears welling up in her eyes, tears she didn't want to shed, not now, not on what was supposed to be a relaxing night.
Vincent broke her out of her sentimental reverie when he said, "Aren't you going to look at the rest of your present?"
"There's more?" she asked, stupidly, before looking back into the box and finding a plastic-wrapped DVD case. There on the front of the case was a colorized photo of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in a clinch, faces mere inches from each other. She didn't even need to see the title to know this DVD was [i]Casablanca.[/i] Seeing that movie sitting there changed everything. [i]Flannel pajamas and old movies,[/i] she thought. [i]The simpler birthdays of my childhood; the happiest ones.[/i] She'd told him about that just the day before and wondered when he could have had the chance to get this stuff, but the fact that he [i]had[/i] gotten it, and more importantly the fact that he had [i]listened[/i] to her, meant everything.
"I might have gotten another movie or two," Vincent said, as Catherine launched herself into his arms for a longer hug, "but I figured we wouldn't have time to watch more than one." Her eyes were still shining by the time she let him go, and a couple of tears had managed to trickle down her perfectly made up cheeks. "Hey now, cops don't cry…well, not unless someone else has gotten to the last doughnut first." He reached up to wipe away her tears tracks with the pad of his thumb just as she smiled tremulously and slugged him on the shoulder.
"Ow!" Vincent feigned an injured shoulder, and mock whined, "Police brutality!"
"Make any more cracks about police and doughnuts and I'll show you some real police brutality," Catherine said, as she took her new DVD over to her entertainment center.
Vincent avidly watched her retreating form, admiring the fit of her black jeans and the firm, subtle curves of her hips and behind. He couldn't help it; to him it would be just as easy to try ignoring the noonday sun. The white sweater she wore was simple, tasteful, and sexy all at the same time. And it hadn't taken him more than a second when she'd greeted him at the front door for him to know she had taken a lot of care with her makeup and hair. The combined effect of her look on him was nothing short of electric; she was stunning.
For the first time in years, he was embarrassed that he couldn't dress any better than he had. His red, heavyweight shirt, gray t-shirt, and standard black slacks were neat and clean, but he didn't think his clothes were any sort of a match for her level of casual style.
Catherine, however, didn't see him that way. What she had seen, from the moment he walked in her door, was a more kempt version of the rugged slab of All-American beef…[i]umm, slow down there, Chandler,[/i] she thought…of the man's man she had come to know and admire. And that just covered the way he looked. Totally drool-worthy.
Once the DVD was loaded, she turned on the TV and turned off the room lights before coming back to him and taking her seat on the couch. "How long is this movie?" she wondered idly, as the warning against DVD piracy came up onscreen.
Vincent glanced at the back of the DVD case, using his heightened senses, and read 106 minutes. "An hour and forty-six minutes," he replied.
Catherine checked her watch and saw it was just after nine p.m. "Good. The movie will be done by eleven, and Heather's never home from a party before midnight. That's plenty of time."
It didn't take long for them to get sucked in to the classic story of Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund in French-controlled Morocco during World War II. And nearly two hours later, they watched with sadness as Rick and Ilsa separated, with her getting on the plane to Lisbon with her husband while Rick headed back into the city in the company of Captain Renault.
It was very close to eleven p.m. when the movie ended and they both knew Vincent had to leave soon, just in case Heather came home a little early. Catherine quickly dished the leftovers into some inexpensive resealable plastic containers for him. She was just about to walk him to the door when she got an idea.
"Put those down and come with me," she said.
"What for?" he asked, as he complied.
"Since this is part of my birthday celebration," she replied, "I need to get some pictures with you."
Vincent recoiled once he realized where she was taking him, and most especially what she was taking him there for. Catherine picked up on his resistance and had no trouble guessing its origin. "You saw Evan kissing me last night, right?"
"Yeah, I did," he admitted. "It wasn't intentional or anything; it just happened."
"Kind of like the kiss," she replied. "It wasn't intentional – not on my part anyway – it just happened."
"You don't have to explain things to me, Catherine," Vincent said quietly. "You're an adult, you can kiss whomever you want."
She was taken aback by his comment, having somehow thought he had seen the kiss and run off the night before; she wasn't quite sure whether to be relieved or hurt. "In that case," she said, "let's get the pictures taken. I've got shots with everyone else who's important in my life; time to get a few with you."
When they got into the booth, Catherine called out, "Serious look now," and both of them looked as solemn as a pair of morticians just as the camera took their picture. She then tried to tickle Vincent, only to find out he was immune. The same was not true of her, however, and she was squealing while trying to fend off his torturing hands when the second picture was taken. He relented after that, and they were staring at each other, with Catherine trying to catch her breath as the third picture was snapped. And then he leaned in and curled a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to him, as his lips brushed hers, once, then twice, before covering her mouth for a deeper, much more passionate kiss.
The booth snapped the fourth and final picture just as Catherine reached up to lace her fingers into his short hair. Vincent, however, forced himself away from her, very nearly jumping out of the booth altogether in his haste to create space between them. His heartbeat was fast and his breathing was ragged, as was hers, but only he was in danger. He desperately thought of cold showers, doing taxes, and anything else that would allow him to settle down and not go into beast mode.
Catherine knew their kiss was the cause of his distress and was sorry for it. [i]Note to self,[/i] she thought sadly, [i]any kind of excitement can be bad for him.[/i]
It was touch-and-go for a couple of minutes, but in the end Vincent regained control and the crisis was averted. By then, the pictures were sliding out of the photo booth and Catherine was looking at them, pretending he didn't exist until he felt it was safe to rejoin her. Moving to her side, but careful to keep some small distance between them, he looked at their photos and smiled, mostly because he thought she was so damn cute. [i]Such a change,[/i] he thought, [i]from serious cop to complete goofball.[/i] And then he saw the last photo, where they looked to be kissing like they meant it.
"Now that's a kiss," he opined. She blushed and he looked away quickly, before his hormones kicked in again and he risked a 'beastly' dose of adrenaline. "I think I'd better go," he said, before heading toward the front door once more. He picked up the food containers on his way only to set them down so he could pull on his pea coat. "Thank you for the meal, it was fantastic." Once he got the coat on, he picked up the food, and said, "More than that, thanks for having me over. It was nice to be a regular guy again for a few hours instead of what I am."
"I'll admit I don't know you all that well yet," Catherine replied, "but I already have a pretty good idea of who you are, and that's really my point: you're a 'who,' Vincent, not a 'what.'" She rose up on her toes and pecked him on the cheek. "Don't you [i]ever[/i] forget that."
"There are times when that can be very hard," he said, "but I'll try."
"I guess I'll have to accept that, Vincent…for now, anyway," she said. "Thank [i]you[/i] for coming. I know this was a long way to come for salad, chicken, and cheesecake."
"I didn't come for the food, Catherine," he said. "I came for you."[/size][/font]