Disclaimer: Still don't own.

A/N. I've put the rating up to M for the sex scene in this chapter, but it's a very light M—nothing explicit. Sorry to (maybe) disappoint! Writing smut isn't my thing, but if anyone wants to write a fic to suggestive eyebrow waggle "fill in the gaps", then go right ahead! (Just let me know, cos I'll want to read it.)

Maeve licks the crumbs of pastry from her fingers before answering. "Nope. I covered for Celia last week, so she owes me a shift. You're not doing anything tonight, are you?"

"Not really. Probably just, uh, readings."

Maeve nods. "Well, that's good, because I have a suggestion." She hesitates.

Otis nods, encouragingly. "Go on."

"I, um." She stands up and walks over to his desk, pretending to inspect it, then pivots to face him. "I think we should have sex."

At first, Otis isn't sure he's heard correctly. "You... what?"

"You heard me, Milburn." Maeve's mouth sours, but a flicker of vulnerability hides deep within her eyes. Another familiar look. "But if you don't want to, that's cool with me. Obviously."

"No—I—" At her words, a rush of heat suffuses his body. He feels like any minute, he'll burst out of his skin. He struggles, groping after the correct question, and eventually settles on, "Why?"

Maeve softens, imperceptibly. "As an experiment, I guess." She shrugs, smiles. "And we had a bit of a thing for each other at school. Never even kissed... aren't you at least a bit curious what it would be like?"

Curious. Did it count as curious when you lay awake for nights wanting someone so much that it felt like it was burning through you? When, if you dreamed, she was there?

"Don't worry," Maeve adds. "I promise it'd just be casual."

Otis feels that he's choking on all the words he can't say. How can I be casual, Maeve, when you crushed my heart and walked away like it was nothing? Why am I still hung up on you, Maeve, after three years? Why did you ignore my voicemail, Maeve? Why? Why? Why?

It feels like an eternity that he stares up at her, in silent, helpless agony. Finally, Maeve smiles, a wry, defeated smile, and says softly—not angrily, like he'd have expected— "All right. We'll forget it, then."

"No," Otis chokes out. "No, I'm—" He struggles—the words are so inadequate they border on untrue. "I'm curious too. I can do casual. Let's... I don't have condoms. And we should get dinner. The dining hall closes at seven—"

"Otis, only you could go from condoms to we might miss dinner in less than thirty seconds. And calm down. I brought some."

"You did? I mean, you did. Of course you did. Do you want to—" He gestures vaguely at their bodies. "Now? Before dinner?"

"Uh huh. If the concept isn't too shocking for you."

This forces a reluctant laugh. "No, no. I've, uh, definitely had sex before dinner before. And we can get takeaway after, if you want."

"That sounds nice." Maeve considers, then strides decisively across the room and snaps Otis's blinds shut. "Lights on or off?"

"I've... uh..." Otis gets up, and rummages in his drawers. "This t-shirt makes a good lampshade." Flung over the bedside lamp, it suffuses the room with a soft, sepia light. Otis has used it a few times, as a way to help himself unwind.

"That door's locked, isn't it?"

"Yeah, they lock automatically, but I'll check—hold on."

When Otis turns around, Maeve is seated on the end of his bed, shirt off and crumpled between her hands in her lap, breasts spilling out of a plain black bra. She grins at him, shrugs. "Thought I'd get a head start." She leans over, rummages in her bag, and pulls out a pocket-sized flask of amber liquid. "Want some?"

"You really came prepared."

"I take that wherever I go, actually."

"Seriously?" He sits beside her. Takes the flask; swallows; coughs. "That's truly awful."

"Cheap whisky's the worst."

He starts to pull his t-shirt over his head, and accidentally knocks into her just as she takes a mouthful. She splutters, whisky spilling onto the carpet. "Shit, that's Eric's rug—"

"I'm sure he'll forgive you." Maeve gives him a half-exasperated, half-laughing look. "I've got whisky all down my front now, you cretin."

"Sorry." He laughs, awkwardly. "Maybe I should lick it off."

Maeve raises a challenging eyebrow. "Go right ahead." She's laughing, and beautiful, and it comes out without thinking—

"Can I kiss you?"

In answer, Maeve takes him by the shoulders and pushes him backwards onto the bed, crouching over him like a lioness. She kisses him, quick and messy, then laughs, while Otis stares up at her, dazed and uncomprehending. "You're half off the bed, you fool. Shift over this way."

So he does, and she straddles him, still laughing, and Otis's heart rips itself from his chest and soars towards the ceiling, buoyant as a feather, a balloon, a wish.

Afterwards, chest heaving, Otis props himself on one elbow to look at Maeve, who is shipwrecked among pillows, hair down and scattered with bobby pins. "Did you—y'know..."

"Not quite." She gestures, messily. "No, don't—it was fun. Next time, though, or else—"

He nods, very seriously. "Wait, next—?"

"Do you?"

"If you do."

She nods, still out of breath. "Yeah." She stretches out an arm, not bothering to look, and whacks at him. It lands on his stomach. "Takeaway—where do you recommend?"

Over cheap but astoundingly delicious Indian curry and rice, conversation turns from the past to the future.

"So you're going to be a sex therapist like your mum?" Maeve asks. Once, there would have been a hint of mockery in her voice; now she just sounds genuinely curious.

"I think so, yeah. Maybe not exactly like my mum..."

"But not an arsehole therapist like your dad."

This startles a laugh out of Otis. "Yeah, definitely aiming to be more like my mum than my dad on that one." Not planning on taking advantage of clients sexually, for one thing. Not that he'd ever told Maeve that. "Although," he adds, still a little protective of his dad, "he's... I don't judge him too harshly I guess. I think sometimes he's what I could've become, if some people hadn't shaken some sense into me. Dishonest. Closed-off. Profoundly lonely."

"Which people?" Maeve asks, curious. He shrugs.

"My mum. Ola. Lily. Eric. Dad himself, actually. I went to his book launch, before I sent the... anyway, he was, um, actually honest with me."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to stay honest, because once you start lying it's hard to stop."

Maeve makes a small, expressive gesture with mouth and hands, as if to say, Yeah, that checks out. After a moment, Otis says,

"How about you? You gonna be a professor?"

"Maybe. I'll have to see how I do in this degree. If I do well, then yeah, hopefully they'll give me funding to do a Master's."

"How long does that take?"

"A year. Sometimes two. Then I'd have to do my doctorate, which is generally three years, minimum."

"Mum's took her five years. But she completely changed her topic two years in, so that might have been why."

"What was the topic?"

"Well, initially she was researching how female sexuality responds to various dynamics in sexual and romantic relationships, but then she decided she wanted to research female sexuality separate from that. How women relate to and conceptualise their own bodies, and how being in a sexual or romantic partnership can affect that. A bit of a subtle shift, I guess."

"No, it makes sense."

"She published her findings as a book, actually. Called State of Vulva."

"I'd love to read that." Maeve catches Otis's skeptical look. "Non-ironically." She glances away, biting her lip. "Might help me... understand some things."

"Oh?"

"Complicated. I don't think I can explain."

"Okay. Well, I'm sure I can ask her for a PDF version. Or—actually, I can get you a hard copy next time I visit."

"Do you visit often?"

"Term breaks. Sometimes weekends, but not too often. The thing is... I've created a bit of an illusion that I actually have a social life here, and I've spent so long cultivating it that I don't want them to realise the truth, which is that I'm more of a recluse than ever." He gives a rueful chuckle. "I'm not doing a very good job of staying honest, am I?"

"Yeah, I'd say that's a no, Otis."

"Sorry."

They sit in silence for a few moments. Again, Otis breaks it.

"Do you think you'd go abroad? Or get an academic job in England?"

Maeve shrugs, picking at a nail. "Not sure, if I'm honest. Academics tend to travel a lot, but it's not always cos they want to. It's a tough job market. Publish or perish. Also, be prepared to move or perish. But I think I'd like to travel, if I didn't have to be worrying the whole time."

Otis's voice is very gentle. "Worrying about what?"

"Money." Maeve gives a mirthless laugh. "But also, people. While I was in America, apparently Isaac... He wanted me to go, but I know from Joe that he wasn't doing very well. And my mum got herself arrested. Five years, but she'll be out on bail later this year. I kept wondering if I'd been around... if I could've prevented it somehow."

"I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no."

"Okay." Otis hesitates. "You're not responsible for your mum, you know. You shouldn't blame yourself for going to America, if it was the right decision for you."

"That's just it, though, Otis," Maeve murmurs. "Even knowing what happened, if I had the choice, I'd go all over again."

"Hey." Otis reaches out, placing his hand over hers gently. "That's because it would be the right thing. You're a good person, Maeve. You care a lot. But there's no shame in making the decisions that are best for you. And it sounds like Isaac was telling you the same thing."

"It was more If you don't go and get out of this shitty caravan park, I swear, I will stab a paintbrush into my eyes so I don't have to watch this wasted opportunity. So get out of here, for both of us. But yeah." Maeve gives a watery laugh. "Pretty much the same thing."

"He sounds like a funny guy."

"He was."

"He's—?"

"No. No, he's still alive, as far as I know. I just...think of him in past tense."

"How did you guys—"

Maeve shakes her head. "No. No, we're not talking about this, Otis. Actually, I should get home."

"But— I thought you were staying."

"Not really my thing." At the hurt in his eyes, she softens. "I'm sorry. Maybe next time. But I didn't plan to, so I didn't bring a toothbrush or clothes or anything."

"I'm sure I have a spare—"

"And all my dishes are in the sink at home."

"Okay." Otis chuckles awkwardly. "Message received. Do you need a lift?"

"No. No, I'll walk."

"I really don't mind—"

"I like walking at night. It's peaceful. Clears my head."

"But is it safe—"

Maeve shakes her head, smiling at him, and leans over the bed to recapture a stray bobby pin. "Stop worrying, Otis. I'll text you if I die."

MAEVE: Not dead. Thanks for tonight, Otis.

OTIS: Good. You too.

MAEVE: [Skull and crossbones emoji]

RUTH: Bit disappointing, but fair enough. Still down for a strictly platonic coffee, though, if you are?

RUTH: P.S. Is it because you have a thing for Maeve?

A/N. I want to state right here that Maeve propositioning Otis in this chapter is NOT my idea of a healthy model of consent. It's not written to be dubcon, but let's just say things at the moment aren't the pinnacle of emotionally healthy. I mean, casual sex with these two... no feelings involved... WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG? (And don't forget, we still haven't dealt with some pretty big things... cough cough voicemail...)

If you're interested in reading/thinking more about the issue and nuances of consent in written fiction, k j charles dot com has a very interesting article (/2020/05/20/yes-and-no-consent-in-sex-scenes/ ... damn fanfiction website won't let me post the link) (Warning: it quotes explicit sex scenes!) Thanks to 7Angel_Tongue7 for the recommendation!

The chapters of this fic have really felt as though the characters are writing themselves, so I decided to leave this chapter as is, because I think it's in character for Maeve. She has a tendency to forget to listen to Otis and to accidentally steamroll his boundaries, while he is terrible at enforcing his boundaries where she is concerned (think S1E5 and S2E4). Also, I think she tends to use physical intimacy/excitement to get away from troubling and/or complicated emotional realities. This is going to come back to bite them both in subsequent chapters.

On a lighter note, new game—spot all the lines from the show that I've been re-using? ;)

Jean's book, 'State of Vulva', can be spotted in S1E1 when Adam explores her office. In my corner of the humanities, a researcher's first published book is generally an adapted version of their PhD. I have no idea if this is the case in psychology, but I figured it was probably a safe assumption!