Author's Note: This one's for ailsa craig who will, I think, know why.
I'm surprised there hasn't been a whole slew of fics filling in the details and giving us varying views of just how that dinner date at Laura's 'next Friday' will play out. This is my take on that evening…
Disclaimer: This is purely for fan purposes—no copyright infringement intended.
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time, when she'd been incredibly young and confidant, she had made her parents an anniversary supper. She'd laid out the best tablecloth and china, bought fresh flowers for the centerpiece, and lit candles…the whole nine yards. Her parents had appreciated her efforts. They'd gushed and raved over it all as though the scorched, undercooked, soggy, and dried out bits didn't exist. Still, she'd learned her lesson and never actually made another meal—a real, honest-to-goodness meal—in all the years since.
So why had she invited Robbie Lewis to her house—well, she knew that one. It was high time for a quiet, private, what-are-we-doing and what-are-our-intentions, and do-you-have-any-idea-how-much-I-love-you and is-that-at-all-how-you-feel-about-me talk between the two of them. But, why had she told him she'd cook? Wasn't the whole evening promising to be a nerve-wracking, nail-biting venture already? She really must be certifiable.
Fortunately, she was not entirely without resources. She turned to the mortuary's own Julia Childs for help.
"Help," she told her. "I invited Inspector Lewis over for supper next Friday…and I told him I would cook!"
"You didn't!" Julia—who really was a Julia though not a Childs—squealed incredulously. "You don't cook, you don't even bake! You buy your cookies for the Christmas party."
"From a very nice and expensive bakery," Laura huffily pointed out. But she was much too concerned about what she'd just signed herself up for to take too much umbrage. Besides, if it weren't true she wouldn't be begging for help.
Her friend, realizing this was serious, took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and contemplated Laura a moment. Finally, she said, "You can do this. First, what were you thinking of?"
"I wasn't thinking. If I had been, I wouldn't be in this mess!"
"Okay…well, what sort of foods does he like, then?"
"I don't know! Fish and chips? And, he does seem to have a thing for garlic bread."
"Well, that's a start…pasta with a simple sauce, garlic bread, a salad, and…" Julia shrugged and casually threw in, "maybe a cheesecake for afters." Laura who was still stuck back with the 'simple' sauce thought afters of any sort might be stretching her luck a bit much. Julia laughed at the terror on her face and went on, "You'll be fine. I know the best recipe for a really quick and easy Alfredo sauce—nothing can be simpler, and it's completely foolproof." She sat right down and, apparently forgetting she was on company time, typed out not only the recipe but also a detailed shopping list. Her boss wasn't inclined to complain about the unauthorized use of departmental supplies or equipment though she did have doubts the recipe would really prove to be all that simple or foolproof when Friday rolled around.
"Hmmm…you know, he seems like such a lovely guy—I really don't think he'll be hard to please. I would think you could get away with buying the cheesecake," Julia mused. "There's that shop on your way home that sells marvelously wonderful ones." Right. She could manage buying a cheesecake much easier than contemplating baking or cooking or whatever you did to actually make your own.
Armed with Julia's list and step-by-step instructions, she decided she just might pull the evening off—the meal anyway. The heart-to-heart talk…the closer it came to the appointed evening the less sure she became about that one. It looked for a short time that work would save her, but the last-minute suspicious death turned out to be a run-of-the-mill coronary that wouldn't get her off the hook. It left her plenty of time to run by and pick out a likely looking 'marvelously wonderful cheesecake', lay out her own best tablecloth and china, scrounge up a candle, and fuss and worry over the rest of the meal. Julia really had come through with a quick and easy menu…hopefully, she was just as right about how well it would taste.
Not that Laura was likely to know either way. She was far too old and far too experienced to be so worked up…but she could hardly breathe and the butterflies in her stomach felt more like rioting gorillas and if she'd ever regretted anything it was asking Lewis over for a home-cooked meal.
He didn't look at all nervous himself when he arrived at her doorstep with his bottle of wine and a small bouquet of colorful flowers. He pecked her cheek in hello, which was not his typical greeting and left her even more breathless than she'd already been. As she fussed with the flowers, she fought to gain some equilibrium and took nice, slow breaths because she'd already fallen on her face once in his presence and didn't relish doing it again.
"Table looks lovely, Laura," he said.
"Thanks," she said aiming for a natural voice and rising a scale or two above that. She cleared her throat nervously, and he smiled sympathetically.
"And something smells marvelous."
"Ah, that would be the garlic bread…" she said, dashing off to pull it from the oven before it was burned to a crisp. He stood uncertainly watching her go and wondering if he should follow her into the kitchen and offer to help or stay out of the way. He'd never known that she cooked and wasn't sure if her kitchen was sacrosanct or open for company. He settled for pouring the wine.
She had carefully followed Julia's instructions without any deviations, and the meal she set before him was an unqualified success. The garlic bread was perfect, and the cheesecake marvelously wonderful as promised. The pasta was a tad firm, and the sauce the littlest bit scorched, but neither of them noticed. It was much better than the microwave dinners he usually 'cooked' for himself if he was in the mood to eat at home. And, as for Laura…well, the gorillas had been replaced with writhing snakes, and she barely managed to push the food around on her plate let alone taste it.
"You're not really going to leave me to eat all this meself, are you?" he asked her, waving his fork at her still full plate.
She gave him a pained smile and nibbled at a corner of her garlic bread to appease him.
"It was all very good," he assured her when he was finished. His cleaned plate backed up the compliment. And that was all very well and good, but…she was afraid that had been the easy part of the evening. "I'll help with the clearing and washing up," he offered.
"You really don't—"
"Ah, it won't take long," he said as he began to gather up the emptied dishes.
"No, Robbie, I'll get it later. Really."
"Don't be silly. I don't mind. I'd be a pretty poor guest if I left all the work to you…it would be my pleasure." She scowled and shook her head at him, but he just grinned and said, "You want to show me where you want these, or shall I just figure it out for meself?"
"You're rather pushy for a guest, don't you think?"
"Sorry," he said insincerely. Fortunately, she hadn't let the kitchen get too far ahead of her. It would have been just too much if he'd insisted on helping with the washing up and there'd been dirty dishes spilling all over her counters and cooker. He laughed and chattered easily while they worked, and she thought he would have taken a mess in stride.
He wasn't there to find fault but to eat a home-cooked meal and enjoy her company. If he suspected she wanted something more from the evening he was hiding it well. It seemed a shame to spoil his enjoyment—oh, for goodness sakes! She'd gone to all the trouble of cooking and candles and all the rest of it, and here she was ready to cravenly let the carefully planned opportunity slip away. What was the matter with her anyway?
She was not a cautious, take-it-slow-and-easy sort of person…not usually. Very much the opposite in fact. More the take charge, rush-in-where-angels-fear-to-tread, and grab what she wanted type. Always had been. 'Laura shows great leadership skills,' was how her school reports had put it which was a kinder, more socially-acceptable way of telling her parents what they already knew; in any group of children, Laura would be the bossy, no-nonsense one directing and ordering the others about whether they liked it or not. That attitude had seen her through all the years of training and hard work and made her head forensic pathologist in a very exacting field. It had stood her in good stead, and she'd never seen any need to try a different approach. But…
It wasn't like she hadn't been in love before. They weren't teenagers after all. Quite the opposite, they were mature, levelheaded adults capable of discussing their feelings without getting carried away and…what? What was she afraid of anyway?
Afraid. She'd been afraid before. The day her father was diagnosed with cancer, that night in the old hospital cemetery which she still couldn't remember without breaking out in a cold sweat…events she couldn't control, things outside of her power to change or influence. But never of relationships. Either the other person was interested in her too or they weren't. Either they gave things a go or they didn't. She'd been disappointed and even hurt a time or two when things hadn't gone the way she'd hoped, but…she was a big girl. No harm done in the long run.
This was different. Had been different for a long time. She'd been in love before but never like she was in love with Robbie. She swallowed hard and sighed, and he looked questioningly over at her. Now or never she told herself. It was apparently never, because instead of answering his unvoiced question, she looked around the kitchen and brightly said, "Well, I think that's done it."
"Aye," he said. "I'm a deft hand at drying up." He'd rolled his shirtsleeves up and had a teatowel thrown over his shoulder, and when he smiled he took her breath away. It was a smile that wiped away the years and the grief and the struggles that weighed him down. And it always did more to her than just take her breath away. "And other things."
She reached out and took the towel from him while she found her voice to ask, "Oh? What other things?"
"Ahh…too many to name."
"Really? Name one then."
"Easily done. I'm very…very good at pouring wine. Shall I show you?" he asked and motioned her back into the dining room. He poured them both another, and they went on into the sitting room. He settled easily onto her comfortable sofa, stretching out his long legs in front of him. After all her maneuvering, she still stood uncertainly for a moment deciding between the chair across from him or the seat beside him. He solved her dilemma by patting the cushion next to him.
"So," he said after she'd tucked her feet in under her and swallowed some of her wine.
"Mmm?" she murmured, not sure if that 'so' merited an answer or not.
"What's it all about, then?" he asked. He inclined his head back toward the dining room and said, "The meal and all…lot of trouble to go to when we could have just gone to our place on the river." He smiled over at her then. They'd found 'their place on the river' on a bank holiday weekend when every place in town had been booked and overbooked. Instead of a fancy meal in a nice restaurant, they'd shared fish and chips down among the moored punts. It hadn't been the weekend they'd planned in Glyndebourne enjoying the Fairy Queen and whatever else might have come of the trip or even a night on the town as a consolation prize to make up for the ruined plans, but it had been nice and quiet and comfortable. And they'd made a habit of occasionally repeating the experience when weather and time permitted.
"Did you just feel like cooking, or did you have something else in mind?" he asked. "Because, well…if you're still, you know…" he tilted his head and half-shrugged his shoulders, "worried about Franco…" he waved a dismissive hand between them…"there's no need. You're free to see whoever you want. I know that."
She opened her mouth to answer, shut it, swallowed, opened it again, sighed, and finally shook her head.
"Afraid I didn't quite get all of that," he told her with a quiet grin. Despite all of her nerves and misgivings, he was still relaxed. She didn't know whether that was because he felt secure in whatever they had between them or if he was totally and completely unaware that they had anything besides friendship between them. "Something else, then?" he prompted when she didn't clarify her answer.
He'd opened the door, and all she had to do was walk through it. She couldn't have asked for a better chance, but she still had trouble taking that first step. Fortunately, he made a living getting people to talk even when they thought it might be better if they kept their mouths shut. He knew how to casually ask apparently innocuous, open-ended questions as though he were unaware that something important or vital might hang on the answer. And then he knew how to wait quietly for an answer because a good number of folks would be spurred into spilling whatever was on their mind just to fill the silence. And she was no different than the vast majority.
She searched his face for a sign he was hoping she'd say what she'd invited him there to say, but he looked merely curious. Why hadn't she just told him she felt like cooking? He would have taken that for an answer; he'd even suggested it himself. But she'd hesitated too long, and he'd never buy it now. Even better, why didn't she just say what she'd meant to say? She'd run through it a dozen times, imagining at least that many ways he might respond, and surely none of them had signaled the end of the world. So why the hesitation, why the all-prevailing wish they were swinging their feet over the Thames and eating haddock with little plastic forks? She tried to wait him out, but he was very good at his job, and she…well, he was only asking her to do what she'd intended to do all along.
"I," she started but had to clear her throat before she could finish, "did want to…talk about…um—well, about…not about Franco, but…well, in a way, it is about Franco. About why I worried about Franco—about going out with Franco, because you're right. There's no reason why I shouldn't have dinner with him or anyone else if that's what I want."
"I never said there was."
"Right. That's the problem."
He wrinkled his face in incomprehension and asked, "What exactly? I mean…I know I—well, acted like a jealous schoolboy, but that's not your fault. Not your fault at all. And I'm sorry."
"Did you? Act jealous? Were you…jealous?"
He scowled his reluctance to answer her and, in the end, only managed a wry acknowledgement with the raising of his eyebrows and an embarrassed grimace.
She shook her head at him. "What are we doing, Robbie? You and I? You were jealous and I felt so guilty I couldn't even stand to be in the same room with you…and yet? I don't know where I am with you anymore, and I can't go on like this. I need to know where we're going." And there, she'd said it.
"Ah," he said, and then, in that way of his, he took some time to think before he answered her. She'd always liked that about him. That he didn't just throw out an answer, but actually thought things through. After a moment, he said, "Well, I know where I want to go…I'm just not sure you'll want to go there with me."
She searched his face again before saying, "There are very few places I wouldn't want to go with you, Robbie."
Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his sense of ease and could no longer hide he had just as much invested in this awkward, uncomfortable conversation as she did. "You sure about that, Lass? Because I…well, I—ahhh, I'm no good at this. Never had to be, you see? Val—I never actually asked her to—ahhh, see, there I go. You want to talk about us, and I'm on about her—and that's not right. You deserve better."
"Is that what this is all about, then? Why it's always a shuffle forward and two quick steps back?"
"I'll always love her, Laura…couldn't stop even if I wanted to, and I don't."
"I don't expect you to, Robbie. She's a part of you, a part of who you are. I know that. I don't mind."
"You should. You shouldn't have to share with…" he swallowed, closed his eyes a second, and then went on. "You deserve someone who can love you whole-heartedly."
"But you're the one I want. I love you, you old fool. All I need to know is if you love me too."
This time he didn't stop to consider his answer but said immediately, "Aye, Lass. I love you." After all that time of waiting and wondering, those words coming from him sounded better that she could ever have imagined. They were definitely worth all the worry and energy she'd put into the evening.
She wouldn't have minded if he'd taken her in his arms, given her a good, long kiss, and tried it on a bit, but she knew him better than that. "I suppose I should tell you that that was only the second meal I've ever cooked. So if you think saying that will get you a hot meal every night…"
"It was a very good supper…but I'm not after another. I loved you before I ever tasted your garlic bread." And then he did lean over and kiss her.
"And is that what you're after?" she asked him.
He pursed his lips and nodded his head thoughtfully. "It'll do," he said, "until we've a pair of I do's and a signed paper between us."
"Marriage? That's where you want us to go?"
He nodded. "What do you think? Willing to go there with me?"
She had fielded her share of marriage proposals before. If it hadn't been for Ligeia she very well might have accepted Alec's, but she'd never actively been in the market for a ring. She hadn't been vehemently opposed to the idea, but it had never seemed all that vital or necessary. Even dancing this bewildering dance with Robbie, she hadn't ever taken the thought that far. Hadn't dared she supposed.
"As in 'to death do us part' and all that?"
"I know it's old-fashioned and such, but…I am old-fashioned. Plum old, in fact. Going to be a Grandad and all. You might be wiser to give it a miss…I'd understand." She reached over then and gave him a kiss. A long, slow kiss that made his breath catch, and that was only fair because he'd been taking her breath away from her for ages now.
She smiled at him and said, "I don't think you're as old as all that…and I wouldn't miss it for all the world."
Author's Note: Not quite the right genre, of course, but I simply can't pass up the chance to use the classic line because just how many opportunities do we have to use it writing Lewis fics?
And they lived happily ever after.
