Title: The Geology of the Lesser Antilles
Rating: T
Summary: When she offered him a box full of books, geology text books weren't top of the list of things he expected to find. Richard/Camille.
A/N: I blame isailaway, who asked me one simple question that got me thinking so much it led to this story. They'll be two chapters.
Chapter 1: A Deficiency of Reading Material
"What do you mean? You've run out of books to read? You can't have read every book on the island? It's a small island, but it's not that small," Camille asked in utter disbelief. Richard had subjected her to at least twenty minutes of non-stop moaning about the heat and the lack of things to do, until she'd tersely suggested he just go read. His response had been the rather incredible suggestion that he had in fact 'read everything'.
"Obviously I haven't read every book on the island, but certainly all the ones worth reading. Clement hasn't had a new shipment to his stall for a few weeks and the library is closed for refurbishment."
"Well there are thousands of books online that are out of copyright. Les Misérables should keep you busy for a while." And thus quiet, she thought to herself.
"I hate Les Misérables," he muttered grumpily.
"You've read Les Misérables?" Today was apparently a day for incredulous questions.
"Well you know, I was wrong about The Count of Monte Cristo so you know, I thought I'd give some other - French - classics a try."
"You could try and sound like that wasn't such a distasteful experience," she chastised gently, she supposed she should be happy he was making some progress in accepting French culture.
"Some of it was quite distasteful. Les Misérables, for example."
"So you don't want to go see the movie?" He levelled her with a look that indicated cinematic adaptions of musicals based on books he hated was not something he was willing to endure, even though Camille thought it might alleviate his boredom slightly. Going to see a film with him would probably be a bit of a chore anyway, she couldn't think of a genre where he wouldn't have some comment to make. He'd probably correct science in Sci-fi movies, complain about incorrect procedure during any sort of crime thriller and just plain complain at anything vaguely romantic.
"Ok, putting aside your apparent hatred of Victor Hugo, my point about downloading classics remains valid. You are not telling me you have read every book that's online free."
"No, but the printer is out of ink and we won't get any more until Monday. Which is also when my emergency Amazon order is due to arrive."
"What has the printer being broken got to do it? Can't you read them on your laptop? Or I can lend you my Kindle!" She suggested brightly. "I'm sure I'll survive the weekend without it. I thought I might, you know, go outside and talk to people." She couldn't help adding the little jab on the end.
"It's not the same reading it on a screen, or a little rectangle of grey plastic!" He protested.
"Do they change the text?" She asked sensibly.
"No!"
"Then how is it not the same?" She very rapidly wished she had not asked, as she was treated to a lecture on how eBooks could never be the same as actual, proper books. This lecture included a long section about the way books smelled, the pleasure of being able to see the progress you were making and something about the satisfaction of being able to crack the spine of a paperback. She just signalled for another drink from her mother somewhere near the start, and used the alcohol to get her through.
"You aren't really listening, are you?" He asked, frustrated with his inability to have her agreeing enthusiastically.
"No, not really, I like my Kindle and you aren't going to convince me to give it up," she told him firmly. "However if you wait here, an idea has occurred to me and I may have some books for you."
"I've seen your book collection Camille, I doubt you have anything I want to read," he said rather decisively.
She'd already stood up and grabbed her bags, "They aren't my books."
A combination of curiosity and an extra pot of tea kindly supplied by Catherine kept him in his seat on the porch. Around 15 minutes later he saw Camille again, staggering slightly under the weight of a sagging cardboard box. He decided he better be a gentlemen, even if she glared at him for it, and went to help her with it. The box ended up dumped on the table, emitting a cloud of dirt that rather put him off the rest of his tea.
"Where the hell did you pull this out from?" He asked, attempting to wave away the dust cloud and hold in the coughing fit it had induced.
"Back of the garage," She said. Since she made no move to open the box and explain the contents, so Richard did so.
He pulled out a leather bound volume, the sort of old textbooks you see in University libraries because nobody had ever written anything more up to date. He frowned at the title, 'The Geology of the Lesser Antilles'. A quick look through showed several other books along the same vein, along with some other objects that had nothing to do with the books.
"Why do you have a bunch of geology textbooks?" He was perplexed, couldn't think of a logical reason for her owning them.
She looked like she would rather he didn't questions the books' provenance, shifting uncomfortably and smoothing her hair as she was warrant to do when nervous. He briefly wondered if this was a box of evidence from an old case that never got returned to the rightful owners, but he didn't think he'd complained so much that she'd risk that.
"They were my father's," she said in a rush. "He left them behind when he, well, left. Maman was going to chuck them out but then she thought I might want them one day. I meant to chuck them out myself but I put them in the back of the garage and forgot about them I guess. Anyway I thought you like science books and so," she shrugged, not sure how to finish her sentence.
"Yeah, this is great, thanks," he told her sincerely. "But there aren't just books in here, do you want to…?"
She cut him off, "Well if you take what you want and then we'll just throw the rest away. Um, come on, you can't carry that home I'll drive you."
She was quiet on the way home, which worried him as he didn't think he'd experienced such a thing, ever. I mean when he went off on a rant he really went off, but when they were driving Camille would witter on for nearly the entire time about the most inconsequential things. Though he'd normally relish the silence, he wasn't so emotionally deficient that he didn't know she might be a bit upset. You were supposed to talk about these things, right? He decided to prompt her and see.
"So your father was a Geologist?" he tried.
"Yes," she said shortly.
Well, he had tried. Of course the problem now was that he wasn't just concerned, he was curious as well. After a few more moments of silence, he said, "I really can't imagine your Mum marrying a geologist. She's quite…lively. Can't imagine her putting up with somebody who reads 'The Geography of the Lesser Antilles' and hunts rare rocks of a weekend."
"Yeah he was smart, an academic," her response was terse, but at least more than a single word. He briefly wondered if this was how she felt when she was probing him about his past.
"Not that smart," he said absently. She took her eyes off the road to shoot him a look, and he realised he was going to have to explain himself. "Well, what I mean is, you know, only a real idiot would have left your mother and you."
She seemed briefly taken aback by his muddled explanation, but he thought he caught the ghost of a smile before she said, "Well you know, academically smart, emotionally an idiot. Besides, you know what they say."
They'd arrived at his place, and she parked up as she made the last statement. He wasn't sure what they say, he was too busy considering the fact he very much fell into the 'academically smart, emotionally an idiot' category along with her father. Except a little voice in the back of his head said Fiona Bruce herself could flutter her eyelashes at him and he wouldn't leave Camille for her, but that was an entirely moot point because he wasn't, and would never be, with Camille.
"Um," he said, trying to think of what she meant. "Geologists are idiots?"
"What?" She was looking at him like he might have had a stroke.
"I'm sorry I don't know what they say," he explained.
"Opposites attract," she said very slowly, as though she were explaining something to a child. "You know, people who outwardly may seem very different and not seem to share any interests actually prove to work quite well as a couple?"
"Oh right, you'd jumped back to talk about why your Mum and Dad were together. How am I supposed to have figured that out?" He complained mildly. She just shot him a grin that may or may not have caused his stomach to do that weird flippy thing. "You know studies have actually shown that 'opposites attract' is a fallacy, and that individuals in a relationship require similar finances, intelligence levels and class backgrounds, as well as some common interests, in order for the relationship to work…" he trailed off, the look she was giving him was not exactly best pleased.
"Are you saying that's why my father left? Because my mother wasn't intelligent enough for him?" She asked angrily.
"I thought we established your father was the idiot," it was the first thing that came into his head and for once in his life it proved to actually be the right thing to say. She flashed him a grin and said, "Good answer." There was a moment of silence, and he thought about how many times he'd wished she'd just be quiet in the car and now here he was sitting in it voluntarily talking to her. Realising there wasn't really anything left to say, he slid out of the vehicle and retrieved the box (bloody hell it was heavy).
"Ok, I'll see you Monday," he told her, trying not to let the exertion of carrying the damn box show.
"Do you want some help?"
"I'm fine," he said, though maybe with a little bit of a squeak. He was being stubborn and she knew it, but apparently was going to let him suffer - giving him a little wave and reversing away. He began sorting the books into piles when he got in - general geology, paleobiology and natural history. The question was where to start. He picked up a geological map of Barbados, wondering if his basic geology was good enough to understand the textbooks or if he should brush up on the technical language first. He flicked through the book, and was surprised when something fell out. He bent over and retrieved what proved to be a Polaroid picture, and couldn't keep the smile off his face. He put it away safely, surely she'd want to keep this?
Cracking open "A Guide to the Identification of Geological Formations", he began to read.