At the centre of an uncertain, and possibly illusory universe, there would always be tea.
— Eoin Colfer, And Another Thing
x
Amy Cahill was a morning person.
Even though she'd just spent the last two weeks traipsing around the globe, running from psychopaths and trying to save her family, she was still awake at 6 a.m.
Unfortunately, so was a certain irritatingly handsome cousin of hers.
How Ian Kabra managed to be so good-looking before sunrise baffled her, especially since she was positive that he hadn't sleep well the night before. No one had, really. The hostages were safe, so there was a bit of exhausted celebration in the Cahill household that lasted well into the night. (Amy knew that Natalie had clung to her brother all night and had even asked to stay in his room, something he begrudgingly complied to.)
The pair had simply stood and stared at each other when they respectfully entered the kitchen that morning. Amy, still in plaid pajama shorts and a ratty t-shirt, hair in messy French braids, a stark contrast to Ian, who was fully dressed for the day ahead. When the initial awkwardness settled a bit, he asked her if she wanted a cup of tea and she offered to find the kettle.
They each sat down on the sofa, mugs in hand, looking out the picture window at the red sun splintering through the trees. Both teenagers struggled to come up with something to say, mouths always closing before any sound could escape. Upon closer observation, Amy noticed that Ian's attire wasn't as neat as she had first thought. His button-down was slightly wrinkled, his hair mussed, and his feet bare. This version of him wasn't so alien, though. He was the picture of the tired, but happy, older brother who had worked without luxuries in order to save the life of the one he cared for most. This was the Ian Kabra that she preferred—the genuine, almost-17-year-old with too much on his shoulders.
"So," he said, finally breaking the steady silence between sips of hot tea, "what now?"
She shrugged, "A lot of paperwork, I suppose."
He stared at her a moment before shaking his head, a faint smile on his lips, "That's not what I meant."
"What are you personally going to do now?" he asked, "Are you simply going to go back to pretending your life is normal?"
She looked down at her tea, feeling suddenly self-conscious, and wrapped her fingers around the mug. She hadn't really thought about what would happen once everyone was home.
When she didn't say anything, he continued, "Being normal hasn't worked out for you so far."
"Because being a Cahill has worked so well," she muttered bitterly, "Normal Amy is happy, normal Amy has friends, normal Amy has a boyfriend."
She paused, her fingers tightening around the handle of her cup, "The Amy sitting next to you is neurotic, worn-out, and probably boyfriend-less."
His eyes took on their usual sheen of curiosity that he always seemed to reserve for her. It was like being an amoeba under Sinead's microscope, a strange specimen to be examined. Yet, she was never offended by this look. She assumed that he simply found her interesting because her way of thinking was so different than anything he'd been taught or experienced.
"You know," he began, his dark eyes turning playful, "I like neurotic, worn-out, boyfriend-less Amy better."
There was no hint of the statement being a ploy, something strategically designed to embarrass her, but she blushed nonetheless.
And, of course, he laughed.
"It's funny," he said, taking a sip of his tea, "you can stand up to trained assassins without a problem, yet I can still render you speechless with a simple remark."
He spoke so casually that if she hadn't been looking at him she wouldn't have realized he was teasing.
"Don't get a big head," she told him, deciding to play along, "…oh, wait. I suppose it's too late for that."
He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, "You know you wouldn't like me any other way."
"No, I don't think I would," she smiled, "I much prefer teasing to attempted murder, after all."
She watched as an uncertain smile formed on his lips, the small crease to the left of his mouth deepening. She suddenly had a strange urge to touch the spot and almost reached out her hand before realizing how idiotic that idea was.
"Teasing you is certainly a more enjoyable activity," he said, pausing as his smile turned into his infamous smirk, "your reactions are much more amusing, at least."
"Amusing for you," she corrected.
He gestured to her with his tea cup, still sporting an irritating smirk, "Something in you finds it flattering, I'm sure."
She blinked, unprepared for the jest. Some part of her did, in fact, find it flattering—not that she'd ever own up to that, of course. There was something really nice about being paid extra attention from someone like Ian Kabra, even if said attention was intended to cause abashment.
He seemed to take her silence as confirmation and an accomplished expression spread across his dark features as he sipped the last of his tea.
Amy decided to let him win this round. She figured there would be plenty of other chances to get him back. Her quiet surrender had nothing at all to do with how attractive smug looked on him.
Absolutely nothing.
A/N: I am definitely not abandoning Ian/Amy. They are endgame in my mind, no matter what the authors try to impress upon me. I still think Jake/Amy is an interesting dynamic and will continue to write that pairing occasionally. Hopefully, the next few books will feature Ian a bit more and I won't have to rely on reading into passages too deeply for proof that the ship is alive.