Rifiuto: Non Mirena
"Hey." He looked up as the door opened; she stood on the other side, watching him. "You comin' in?" She pushed the door open and stepped aside, going to the coat closet and grabbing her coat and purse. Zane watched her, and as she came back to him, breathed,
"Whoa Mama." She scoffed gently, glancing at her shoes.
"Ya gotta problem?" She asked, glancing up at him as she set her purse down and pulled her coat on. He nodded, unable to take his eyes off her.
"Yeah, weak knees. You look-" She quickly licked her lips, unable to remove the 'wild rose' red lipstick Zoe had put on her. Her dark eyes were made even more exquisite due to the black eye makeup and her long lashes. She looked her age- not the sixteen-year-old most people thought she was.
"Good?" She offered, stepping towards him. He shook his head.
"Uh-huh. Great." He whispered. She grinned, a light blush beginning in her cheeks. But he was right. She did look great. Zoe had talked her into a long-sleeved white sweater dress with a medium cowl neck and a pair of black leggings with black knee-high boots. A wide black belt was cinched around her waist, accenting more of her already accented curves. Her hair hung in loose sausage curls, and she had a white beret sitting back on her head, leaving her dark curls to accent her features. She grinned sheepishly, going to him.
"Thank you." A moment passed, before he handed her the rose. She took it with a smile, breathing the scent in. He watched her bury her nose in the flower, before her dark eyes slid to the side. "What?" He shook his head, a blush creeping into his cheeks as he realized he'd been caught.
"Nothing." They fell into akward silence, before slipping the rose into her purse as the door swung open. He offered her his arm, and she took it with a small smile, allowing him to lead her out of the bunker and up the stairs. When they got outside, he handed her the extra helmet and climbed on. She climbed up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. With one last glance at the bunker, they sped off.
The cafe was fairly busy when they walked in twenty minutes later, and took a seat at one of the small tables. Several other patrons turned to stare as GD's premiere particle psychist took a seat across from the Carter girl's New York penpal. Whispers began to swirl, and Jo looked around nervously as she removed her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. Vincent bustled over, giddy with excitement at the prospect of a first date. "What can I get you kids?" Zane glanced at Jo, who shrugged.
"What do you have, Vince?" Zane asked. The chef straightened.
"I've got a roast duck legs in red and white wine sauce, topped with a three bean salsa on top of wild rice." The pair shared a glance.
"That sounds good." Jo said, Zane nodded.
"We'll try that." Vincent beamed.
"Good, I'll have that right up." And then he was gone; he returned with two glasses and a bottle of chardonnay. After he poured the glasses, he returned to the kitchen, getting to work on their meal. Once he was gone, Jo turned back to Zane. Silence reigned for several minutes, before she asked,
"So... what exactly d'you do at GD?" He thought a moment, sighing.
"I'm a particle physcist." She raised her eyebrows.
"Wow. So... why does an ant-establishment anarchist agree to a cushy consulting job at Global Dynamics?"
"How did you-" Jo grinned, picking up her wineglass and taking a sip.
"Zoe told me- and her dad filled in the blanks. They said... that you raised... quite the hell when you first showed up." He chuckled softly.
"Don't believe everything you hear." She raised her eyebrows in surprise. He leaned towards her, his blue eyes trained on hers. "And... the same reason the daughter of a colonel decides to pursue a life of starvation and desolation to become a dancer instead of going into the military like the rest of her family. And Carter told me." He amended, when she opened her mouth. She set her wine glass down.
"The money? Please! You wouldn't believe wha' the company pays me!" She cried in surprise. He shook his head, taking a sip of his wine.
"The opportunity. These aren't just jobs, they're our lives." She thought a moment, rewarding him with a smile as their meals appeared. With a whispered, 'enjoy,' Vincent scurried back towards the kitchen, stopping to watch the pair. They ate in silence for several minutes, before he asked, "So, what exactly does a ballerina do? I mean besides dance- that part's obvious. I guess... why dance? Why New York?" She swallowed the bite she'd been chewing before,
"My parents took me t' see Swan Lake when I was four. I remember dressin' up and walkin' into the theater with its velvet walls, and the pit where the orchestra hid. When the curtain rose and the show began... I found myself entranced by the costumes and the music and dancing and I decided that I wanted to be a part of that. I asked my mom afterwards if I could take dance classes. I started not long after and... never looked back. I love it, it's my life." A look of sadness flashed across her face. "When my mom died, I just dove in deeper." He reached out, taking her hand.
"I'm sorry." She gave him a small smile.
"So, what about you? What made you get into physics?" He thought a moment, swallowing the bite he'd taken.
"My dad was a physicst and my mom was a Forensic Anthropologist with a PhD in history. My parents divorced when I was ten, and my mom struggled to raise me on her own. I didn't make it any easier on her." Jo listened, resting her chin on her hand. "I was accepted to MIT when I was fifteen- after being kicked out of Yale at thirteen. Bounced around from school to school, before going up to Vancouver and getting a job on an oil rig. An injury ended that. Afterwards, I went around causing trouble, until they brought me here." She nodded.
"Where're ya from?" She asked, taking a bite of her duck.
"Boston." He replied, sipping his wine. Her eyebrows rose.
"Really?" He nodded. "I've been to Boston."
"As a tourist-"
"Ballerina. Did a brief stint with the Boston Ballet when I was fourteen." He nodded, surprised.
"Any other company?" She thought a moment, setting her fork down and running her napkin through her fingers.
"Boston Ballet. Um... the Arka Ballet in D.C, the Ballet Theatre of Maryland, Capital Ballet Company in New York, the Chamber Ballet Company in Williamsburg, the Dance Landscape in NYC- all between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Um... I went up to Canada and worked with the Atlantic Ballet Theatre of Canada in New Brunswick, the Ballet Jorgen Canada and the National Ballet of Canada in Ontario, the Les Grands Ballets Canadiens in Quebec, and Ballet British Columbia in Vancouver- all between sixteen and eighteen. Um... I danced with the Austrailian Ballet and the Queensland Ballet in Australia, and the Dutch National Ballet in Amsterdam. Um... yeah." She laughed softly. "I've danced almost all over the world. But I'm with the New York Ballet mainly." He nodded, impressed.
"Wow. Um... wow." She laughed, her nose wrinkling. He sat back in his chair, enjoying the sight.
"That's all you can say?" He thought a moment, before,
"Certainly more impressive than anything I've ever done." She blushed. "And you... played the Arabic... in Nutcracker last year?"
"Arabian." She corrected gently, nodding. "Yes. The Arabian Pas de Deux. Although, I've played almost every role in Nutcracker."
"And which one's your favorite?" She thought a moment.
"Of Nutcracker or of everything I've danced in?" He shrugged.
"Either."
"Well, Arabian is definately my favorite of the Nutcracker dances. But over all, I love playing the Swan-"
"Swan Lake?" She nodded. "My mom took me to a few ballets when I was a kid."
"Really?" He nodded, sipping his wine. "I didn't know you liked ballet."
"It's okay. But if all ballerinas look like you, I might consider becoming an avid fan." She blushed, as Vincent brought out dessert.
"On the house." Zane raised an eyebrow.
"Um... Vincent, it's always on the house."
An hour later, they walked down the sidewalk towards his bike. A light drizzle had started, and she shivered in her light jacket. Instantly, Zane took his own jacket off and drapped it around her shoulders. She glanced at him, giving him a small smile. "This weather reminds me of New York. I love the rain." He nodded.
"Boston." They shared a glance, but before she could say another word, she slipped, losing her balance. Her feet went out to find some sort of purchase but the heels she wore didn't help the lithe ballerina pull off any sort of tricks. The only reason she didn't hit the ground was due to her grabbing onto Zane's arm, and him taking her other hand. He hoisted her back onto her feet, their lips inches apart. "Easy there, bright eyes. No need to break an ankle. Can't very well send you back to New York with a cast. I'm sure your director wouldn't be to happy and Zoe would kill me." She gave him a small smile, her dark eyes searching his. Slowly, she leaned up, but after a moment, he pulled away, reaching over to grab the helmet on the back of the bike. He handed it to her, and she took it, licking her lips. The drive back to the bunker was silent, and once they reached the door, it was pouring. Both were completely soaked by the time they hurried down the stairs to the front door. She turned to him.
"Thank you. I... I hada nice time." He nodded.
"So did I." They stood in silence for several minutes, before, "So... would... would you like to... to maybe meet for... for breakfast tomorrow?" She bit her lip.
"I promised Zoe-" He nodded.
"Lunch then? Or... maybe dinner and dessert?" He flashed that trademark smile, and she felt her knees go weak. A quick glance behind her to make sure the door was still closed, gave her enough time to decide. But Zane took her silence as her answer. "Okay. Thanks for joining me for dinner at least." He turned to go, but she grabbed his arm.
"Zane." He turned back to her. She took a step towards him, staring into his eyes. "I'll take all three."
Zoe opened the door just in time to see Jo wrap her arms around his neck and capture his lips in a deep, thorough kiss.
