Marie had a sweet tooth that could gnaw through a chocolate bar in three seconds flat, so when she told Stein that she was giving up sugar, he determined she was likely to fail. At first, he assumed she was doing so based on a weight-loss tip in one of the countless magazines she kept all over the place. (Ridiculous, if you ask him. Marie was at approximately 16.732% body fat, perfectly normal. It was a just a guess, he swears.) Marie swore she just didn't like addictions, but Stein was unconvinced.
To help prevent the withdrawal symptoms, Marie started to eat fruit.
Piles of it.
Stein was sick to death of his lab smelling of oranges. At least a lollipop left no distinct aroma. His eyebrow twitched as he sensed Marie stepping into the lab, even with his back turned. Undoubtedly, she was going to offer him a segment.
"No, Marie," Stein said, fingers itching for a cigarette. The smoke would be a welcome smell. Marie huffed.
"I didn't even say anything!"
Stein spared a glance behind him as his hand reached for one of his menthols. He kept his dry gaze on her as he brought it to his lips, fishing around his labcoat's pockets for the lighter. Marie pouted, trying to hide the mandarin behind her back.
After a second, she sighed and simply popped a section into her mouth, turning on her heel to step out.
When she walked into the kitchen a day later, she found him eating her peach.
Her. Peach.
She was saving that, damnit.
"I thought you didn't even like fruit?" she huffed, leaning her hip against the table. His eyes (double) hit her own (singular) and he shrugged, biting in again.
"It's rotten," he informed, plainly, chewing it. Her brows furrowed and she peered at it, her mouth scrunching when she saw the darkened flesh.
"It looked fine from the outside."
That same shrug, the same bite. This time, a droplet of sticky juice slid down from the corner of his mouth and she stared. Her golden eyes followed the drip down as it curved over his jaw before she immediately turned her gaze elsewhere, her face warming slightly.
He smirked and she saw how his lower lip was glistening as his teeth grazed against the fruit again, watching Marie watch him from the corner of her eye.
Spirit always liked to make the joke that it was because she was a hammer that she never got screwed. 'Ha,' she'd reply, her eyelid lowered in irritation. Usually, this would follow with an invitation to some place or another. He surprised her this time by offering to hook her up.
She blinked. "With who?" she asked, "You pretty much just know Stein."
"I have other friends," Spirit protested, to which she smiled good naturedly.
She thought about it for a second. "What do I have to lose? He might be my husband!"
.
Potential-husband was officially moved to the wastebasket. In fact, Marie had a hard enough time keeping awake with how the man prattled. He was attractive, she supposed. But there was no substance there, under it all. And he cut her off while she spoke, the bastard.
"Oh, teaching is going well. My students-"
"I remember being in shibusen! It was so long ago."
"Oh? When did you graduate? I was in class-"
"It was such a long time ago," he laughed, trying to pat her hand, which she discretely moved away.
"I see."
She was cursing Spirit, but she figured she would wait to leave until after dessert. Lemon-sorbet wasn't what she would usually choose, but it was the restaurant's specialty. She couldn't help but perk up when her server brought the food out, and when it was placed in front of her, she thanked the girl and immediately spooned some into her mouth, feeling the iciness against her teeth.
Her date (shackle? misfortune?) had, unoriginally, just decided to have "whatever she's having". Except he kept prattling on about this and that. At one point, he started lamenting how his television broke.
Marie nodded at the appropriate times.
Even when she had finished her dessert, ready to leave, he hadn't even touched his. Instead, it sat there in a messy, goopy, half-melted mess in a cup. She looked at it pointedly. She had always disliked wasted food. Probably, it came from growing up as the poor, half-blind girl whose parents often choose between meals and medical bills.
He noticed her gaze and grinned. "Time sure flies," he said, smiling. Marie tipped the corners of her lips up, set on at least being polite.
When he decided to just drink from the bowl, she wasn't surprised. The action actually reminded her, mildly, of someone else. Someone she was far fonder of.
When he pulled away from the bowl, his lips were shining, but the most noticeable feature was the drip going down his chin. Marie looked at it for a second, remembering, before she stood, gathering her purse.
The usual pleasantries were exchanged: "Yes, thank you for the semi-horrible evening."; "No, I'm not interested in your dog."; "Fungus, you said?"; "It wasn't me. It was certainly you."; "You are a pale comparison to my roommate."; "I'd rather have a conversation with a paper plate."
.
Spirit wasn't surprised that the date didn't go well. "Maybe it's because you're a hammer-"
"That I can't get screwed, yeah, yeah," Marie muttered, rolling her eyes as she prepared to punch him. She'd been lectured about how hard it was to repair the walls when people were thrown through them, but she figured it could be written off as a commonplace accident.
The joke had gotten so stale, she didn't even feel offended at it anymore.
Spirit smiled, suddenly. "You know, I know a man with a screw. Maybe you should see the good doctor, I'm sure he'd give you a great screw. He'll do it himself and everything." Spirit laughed, finding himself hysterical.
Well, he stopped when Marie sent him through the ceiling.
"Am I a Christmas cake, Stein?" she asked, looking at the acai-berry pills in her hand. Stein looked up from the newspaper, cocking an eyebrow.
"Elaborate."
"You know? A Christmas cake? An old maid?"
"Ah," he said, simply, returning back to the paper. Marie felt a vein twitch around her temple.
"Well?" she asked, irritated.
Stein shrugged, flipping a page. "You are not yet thirty," he responded.
She flinched at the number. "God, I'm old."
There was no reply to that.
Marie glared, reaching her hand out to throw the paper down. Stein seemed to sense it, somehow, and let go before it could be ripped.
"You suck at this, Stein," she informed, folding her arms.
One side of his mouth tipped up, amused.
"I do not see why you are so concerned," he claimed, dropping his elbow onto his knee, his cheek to his palm.
"Because!" Marie said, eloquently.
Stein looked at her blankly, the amusement still present, faintly. She fidgeted.
"If your concern is reproduction, a woman can still produce offspring well into her-"
"Just- don't," Marie said, rolling her eyes and trying to ignore how her neck was burning with blush. She thought about tossing the pills behind her, but simply settled for Stein's face.
He dodged.
Grinning.
Of course.
Stein had grown accustomed to Marie. She bossed him around: told him when it was too late and that he had to sleep, when it was time to wake up, that he had used up all the hot water and so help her Death she would break the door down and steal the showerhead if she had to.
Normal things. And having lived with her for a while, he usually remembered. But he was still absentminded, sometimes. The madness had left sore gaps, in some places. He spaced, occasionally.
Once, he grabbed her toothbrush on accident, despite it being a bright orange, highly different from his white one. She had blearily stepped in after him, tired from staying up grading papers. And he was just brushing away, probably for the past couple of minutes as he just stared at his reflection.
Marie seemed to waken a bit, and gently poked at his shoulder.
"Stein?" she had asked, looking at her toothbrush in his mouth.
He had simply grunted, uncaring at that point. When he rinsed and spat, she was just looking at him, curiously.
Marie hated the taste of mint. It made her gag, she said. Stein didn't really care, but he still had half a tube of spearmint, so he used that. Marie used some weird, strawberry flavored paste that seemed to be imbedded in, permanently. It was unfamiliar in his mouth, too-sweet and mixed with the sharp mint, it wasn't the best.
It wasn't the worse, either. He could stand it. Strange, that it was almost pleasant after he thought about it, the mingling.
Upon walking out, he set the toothbrush into her hand and moseyed down to the kitchen for coffee.
Marie blinked after him once.
Twice.
Marie was tired of how Stein never ate lunch. He hated being babied, but, darnit, he had barely escaped with his life way too many times; she wasn't about to let him die from malnourishment.
He was a doctor, for cripes' sake, he should know better. Whenever she tried to inform (nag) him about it, he told her that if it ever got that bad, he'd just hook himself up to a drip.
Over her dead body.
So, sometimes, she doubled up on her own lunch so he would eat something. Recently, she had just decided to make Stein's separate and have him carry it so she wouldn't lug around both. He was a big boy, he could handle it.
She did have a sense of humor, however. And if Stein wouldn't take care of himself, she could at least amuse herself. It was a shame she had to cover a class during their usual lunch break, since she missed his reaction to the banana.
Stein had, as per usual, not bothered with looking over the contents of the box. It was Marie: that woman was more concerned about his well-being than almost anyone else. He appreciated it, sometimes. He'd gotten used to her being so reliably trustworthy.
That's why he was surprised by the giggles. He had sat down by himself, originally. Of course, Spirit had bounded up to him, still smelling slightly of whiskey, followed by Sid and Mira. Stein wanted to sigh.
He looked down at the banana in his hand, one of the few fruits he could actually tolerate, and was at first amazed by the lack of maturity of his ex-partner. He laughed at a banana? Were they in middle school?
But then he turned it, slightly, and spotted the marker. It was Marie's handwriting, of course, with hearts dotting the 'i's.
"This banana's got nothin' on you ;)"
He really did try not to smile.
She smelled sweet. She almost always did. And they walked, side by side, back to the lab. Home, he guessed. The closest thing he had to one. It wasn't just a shelter, at least. Marie made it a little more homey, but it still screamed 'Stein', "Mad Doctor, Stay Away, Save our Organs".
He almost chuckled.
He realized she didn't smell sickly. No flowers, either. He wondered if she knew he hated florals. He didn't know why it made him happy that she'd veer away from things he didn't like, even if he knew she liked them.
The sleeve of his labcoat kept brushing against her arm. She was so small. She barely reached the center of his chest. It was convenient at times, inconvenient at others. He particularly liked putting things on shelves too high for her to reach. A foot and a half on someone made him feel like a tower.
He always got them for her when she asked, though.
He could almost hear Spirit making the sound-effect of a whip.
He liked the smell. He stooped, slightly, to catch more of it. Her shampoo, maybe? Kiwi? He didn't know.
"Currently, you are pleasing to the olfactory receptors."
She blinked. "Thank you," she said, smiling.
They kept walking. She seemed to lean in, a bit, that or he did. Where before it was just the barest brush of his sleeve against her, it was now his arm. She seemed to nestle. His arm twitched, seemingly wanting to go around her shoulders.
He refrained.
She didn't. Her own arm went around his waist and her hand, carefully, settled against his hip. He wondered if she had the courage to slip her hand into his back-pocket. The scent of her shampoo was wafting up, and he seemed to breathe a little bit easier, deeper. Her hand kept sliding down until he felt her fingertips dangling just past his belt.
He didn't pull away.
He definitely (no, sir. who, him?) didn't twist his hip slightly, so her hand went lower.
He would never.
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