Pillow talk: Postscript.

A/N: I was torn between the published ending for "Pillow Talk" and this one, I went with the published one because I was in a fluffy sort of mood so went for that over comedy. I thought some people might like this, so am adding it on as a little postscript drabble of a chapter.


When that kiss didn't stop, and Camille straddled him, Richard surmised that they were going to try things the other way round after all. He'd just decided she wouldn't require the shirt she was wearing for this round, and was fumbling awkwardly with the buttons, when the front door slammed causing them to break apart and stare towards the noise in alarm.

"Good morning Camille! Are you still in bed?" Catherine called out. "You looked upset last night when you left, that damn man again I suppose, so I thought I would cook you your favourite breakfast to cheer you up."

Camille appeared to be frozen in position, a serious problem considering how incredibly compromising that position was. Richard hissed at her, "Camille, get off me."

"It's my mother!" she replied unhelpfully, still not moving. He was surprised her mother could induce such a catatonic state of fear in a woman who regularly had to deal with some of the most unpleasant individuals in the Caribbean.

"Sorry, what was that?" Catherine said from the other room, clearly thinking Camille's response had been aimed at her.

"Nothing!" Camille squeaked loudly, and Richard was finally able to shove her off.

"Don't make me come in there and get you up like you're a little girl, Camille," As Catherine said this, her voice got clearer, and it was easy to deduce she was headed towards the bedroom. "There's no point in sulking over him, you know you'll make up in a few days."

"No! Don't come in Maman! I'm not dressed!"

"Oh, it's nothing I haven't seen before," Catherine dismissed Camille's protest, breezing into the bedroom. However, when she took in the scene before her, she was forced to add, "Or perhaps it is."

For a moment there was silence, Catherine had raised an eyebrow and clearly expected Camille or Richard to speak next, but they were both paralysed by embarrassment. With a sigh, she broke the awkward moment.

"Good morning, Richard," Catherine had a small smile on her face, and Richard assumed this meant his death at her hands was not imminent.

"Morning."

"Nice to see you two have already made up," She added. Once again she paused for a response, but none was forthcoming. "Well I'm sure I can make enough breakfast for three," She said before leaving the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

Richard covered his face with his hands and tried to wish himself backwards in time. Beside him, Camille was groaning and had buried her own face in the pillow. She let out a heartfelt sigh, and turned back to face him.

"Do you know who I hate right now?" She asked.

Her mother seemed like too obvious a choice for the answer, so instead Richard queried, "Who?"

"The me in the universe who decided not to give her mother a front door key."