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Color Blind

VAV

V

When the night came, it wasn't an Indian restaurant. He had done his research; most of the Indian places within reasonable driving distance were more fore carryout than a nice date. There was one exception here in Midsomer County, but not on a college student budget. If all went well, he could hopefully meet those terms of the promise at the next date. Instead he had found a nice place called the Red Ram's Inn. Converted from an old wool mill, it had a nice, muted, formality to it so that Coco would have her reason to dress up, but not have to explain to him some new rules of etiquette he didn't understand. They offered standard fare as well, so he wouldn't have to worry about reading the menu when he got there. There was one thing however that still bugged him about this entire affair. "Why red?"

"Because it's your color, you look good in it." Standing in her heals, Coco's height matched his own as she adjusted his tie for him one last time before they went in. She had complimented him for his grey, three-piece pinstripe when he had first pulled it out. Matching it to his black, silk oxford before hunting down the tie in question to "complete" his outfit. At least the material was comfortable.

"Right, but since this is a date I thought red is supposed to be the color of violence. Blood, fire, and all that."

"It's also the color of roses, first aid, passion, and lips. I didn't make the rules, honey. If I did, you'd be wearing less." She let go of his tie with a little extra cinch over her amusement at that thought. "Always good to help the nerves, right?"

Fox planted a small kiss on her lips, happy to see he didn't miss, before offering her his arm. The first time he did so as her actual date instead of as a necessity; only partly true considering they had both agreed Mouse shouldn't have to deal with extra stress from their dating. "Shall we?"

"I'd hate to let this outfit go to waste." Her arm slipping into his and elbows locking as they walked over to the entrance, as if the trips to the mall had just been practice for a real date and not what they had actually felt like: a series of informal lecture given on 'the Art and Anthropology of Human Fashion'; with follow up lectures to cover the subjects of fabric, cut and pattern matching. Actually quite interesting, especially feeling the variety of fabrics at the store, but the whole patterns and color was clearly not his thing.

"Alistair, party of two."

"Right this way."

With all the conversations in the room, he was blind in terms of hearing as well as sight. Oh sure, he could stop and focus, giving him a pretty good idea of the angle and proximity of each speaker so he could dodge them. Just like archery practice, with what must be twenty to thirty tables in here. But the hostess had already started walking.

"Come on, I'll lead." Coco weaving through the tables soon became a little dance. A careful control over the space between them so that it became clear which direction she was taking him. She was good, a small part of his teaching ego saying the skill came from his classes at the gym, but mostly he was happy to find they were at their table. Before he even had a chance to offer to pull out her chair Coco had already made sure he had found his own, taken a seat and thanked the hostess for the menus.

"You're more used to this than I am."

"My parents are in the hospitality business. I'm fluent in French, and can usually keep up enough to order food in Italian, German and even Norwegian once."

"That explains the trace of French in your voice."

"It's where I spend most of the summer. The waiter will be here in a second, drinks?"

"I'll have the same as you."

"Bottle of Atlas White to split?"

"Sure."

Like clockwork the waiter came to take the order, promising to come back shortly with the drinks and to ask about food.

"You know, I'm surprised by you Fox. White wine, three-piece suit, reservations ahead of time with a braille menu, and is that a Jazz Band setting up?"

"What? I like Jazz. They're supposed to play here every weekend."

"For a guy who wasn't the keenest to date, you seem remarkably well-prepared."

"Well, the suit was my dad's. I don't think he ever wore it, but it fits well. And I haven't been keen on drinking much for a few years. The Irish coffee back then was supposed to be a joke, but white wine seemed safer than pints though." His hand moving up to rub his shoulder out of bad habit, right against one of the deeper scars that lay there.

"Anything to do with why you wouldn't go on a date?"

"Hm? No, nothing like that. I got drunk one time and apparently won a pub fight."

"How do you 'win' a pub fight?"

"No idea, that's just how the other guys described it to me; but involved nine stitches and first name basis with the local riot control officers. Whatever happened, I'm not keen on getting the glass picked out again."

"Well good showing for a blind guy."

"What about you? Any funny stories I should know?"

"I once sold a design for a sub-machine gun built into a handbag. The design was nothing too complicated, but they did offer me an internship for this summer in Germany."

"That should be interesting."

"I hope so, but you still own men an explanation."

A short respite came in the conversation as the food was set out for them, along with a few early bites of their food before Coco's foot gave a careful tap for him to respond.

"For the record, there was never a point since you sat down at my table that I didn't want to go out with you."

"You're not on trial."

"No, but I did screw up. Seems fair that I explain why."

"I'm listening, but first can I try a bite of the salmon?"

He didn't think much about it. Spearing a piece of the fish and holding it out as he felt the fork's weight shift in his hand, leveraged by an unseen mouth claiming her conquest. "Most people take the food off the fork, avoids cross contamination."

Coco responded with a simple "Really?" as her voice filled with sarcasm to remind him of more intimate germ trading. And now he was jealous of a dead fish, like he didn't learn his lesson from the shushing incident last week.

"Right, well, long story short is that I never had a problem making friends as a kid. Just keeping them. Mouse didn't come into the picture until later, so every so often when someone would try to hang out with the special kid, they never stayed when they realized how limited I actually was in my movement since I had very little confidence in my surroundings. Ever played tag?"

"Yeah."

"Once, cut my palm tripping on a rock and never allowed to again. Football and jump rope are clear out; and most board and card games unless I owned the special braille ones that are more expensive. Playing with kids my own age was limited by sight and it sucked. I spent more time with my dad's archery club than anyone else because they were content to keep still and not run about. Eventually I just came to expect it. People come, they see, and then they leave. So, I always promised myself that I wouldn't date someone unless they stuck around. Which is kind of a jerk thing to pull in most cases, I guess, but I was tired of people leaving."

Coco's leg brushed against his under the table so that he could feel her bare legs though the pant fabric. As his hand, resting on the table between them, shortly joined by hers. "If it makes you feel better, we have a one year contract on the house. Plus, I think I would have to keep Mouse in the custody battle, she's too good for you."

"Thanks." His drawled word unmasked by the smile on his face. "You want another odd color symbolism issue? The only colors I've ever seen are white and black. All my life people keep saying white is good, black is evil. But I've always found myself alone in the white, and the one's I could trust were there for me in the black. It's why I like pubs, nice lighting and no one who cared if I stumbled about."

"I can tell you didn't do your research. Black death is a western concept. Go to Japan and it's white."

"That explains why I like the big guy."

"Oh no, this is not a polygamous relationship. Let's make that clear. I need Yatsu saved for Velvet or else she'll never get around to dating."

"He's not my type, I still waiting to appreciate your dress."

"Well played, but that comes later."

He could hear her fork settle down on the plate, soon followed by his own as he finished the last morsel of fish and did a final pass of the twines over the plate to make sure he hadn't missed something. "Should we ask for a dessert menu?"

"Only if you're still hungry."

"I'll pass then."

VAVAVAV

The restaurant's outside garden was comfortably lit by strings of lights, even if the tables remained empty as the fall chill crept in under the night sky. He had heard numerous times about how beautiful the night sky, of full moons and star specks against the black, but that was one of many things he accepted were out of his reach. With about as much regret as he felt for the misplaced TV remote. Instead he appreciated the smell of the leaves, brisk and relaxing under the layer of vanilla wafting towards him, as he crunched them underfoot.

It had been Coco's idea to take the walk, a way to spend some time together while the wine left their system for the drive home. He didn't mind. Out here he had a reason to wrap his arm around her waist and enjoy the feel of her dress underneath his hand. The folds in dress the fabric directing his touch towards curves only served to allure him more even as his hand stayed on her core and Coco pulled him closer against another breeze.

"What color are you?"

"Can't you simply enjoy the silence?"

"Sorry, I just love the sound of your voice."

"I normally choose shades of brown complimented by gold highlights. My mom always liked it growing up because it went with my name; coco, chocolate; and it also helps to emphasize the clothes and the person more. I can be noticeable without in a group needing garish looks."

Stopping for a bit, he shrugged of his jacket, throwing it over her shoulders as another shiver went through her arms. The slit running up her legs that had earlier been allowing their intertwining feet quickly becoming a hazard of fashion, and the backless dress quickly appreciating the new barrier of warmth. With her hand pulling it tighter, he pulled her into him. Her back against his chest, his head resting on her shoulder, and their cheeks press against each other as she stared up at the sky.

"So, what does brown stand for?"

"Normally stuff like stability, dependable and a relation to nature. People tend to get less romantic with its meaning."

Wrapping one arm her waist, he pinned his jacket shut around her frame to keep in whatever warmth he could, while the other came up to her shoulder to keep her as close to him as he could. "What else?"

"Not much. It's the color of my eyes and hair, tree bark, quite a few animals, and coffee, shouldn't forget that. Simple stuff that you can find anywhere, even dirt."

Mm. "But I think you forgot something."

Coco twisted around in his arms, bringing their faces close together. The warmth and tinge of wine that still lingered on her lips bringing him in as close as he dared. "Oh? What's that, mister I've-only-seen-two-colors."

"Necessity."

"Is that so…"

Fox didn't let her finish this time, the desire to taste the wine they shared overwhelming his love of her wit in that moment. In that instance in time neither could think about the frustration they had waiting for this moment, or whether anyone from the restaurant was there watching them. All their minds could focus on was the taste of tongue that twisted about in their mouth, the clutch of each other's hands the constricted them together, the feeling of teeth running across lips before meeting together once again. Continuing for what could be seconds or hours for all they knew, neither daring to break away now that they had such a firm grip on the other for something of such insignificance.

His mind lay in a comfortable state of peaceful void as Coco's lips broke away from him, the force of the kiss having already drained him of energy as he slumped his head down into the crook of her neck. Her own face slipped around so that they embraced cheek to cheek, her nose tracing a line back until it nuzzled against his ear followed by a tired whisper. "Carpe Natem" And then a small part of him realized he would need to get used to that hand quickly, as the rest tried to hide the instinctive tension that he felt.

VAVAVAVAV

Fox is able to tell if a room is lit or not, because that's my general understanding of what severe cataracts would allow. Whether or not that would actually be white and black, I highly doubt, but I don't know a blind person to try and define the difference to, so we're putting that under artistic license.