Chapter 3
Danny drove them to his place, insisting that they were going to have a proper home-cooked meal in a proper house, since they had spent the past three months living out of hotels and eating at restaurants.
("I know the places he took you to were absolutely lovely, but there's nothing like a home-cooked meal, and we're both really very good cooks.")
Indeed, Kara could tell that both men were absolutely comfortable in the kitchen, working around each other as in a carefully-choreographed dance punctuated with fond, teasing quips. She stepped in cautiously, and the two men accommodated her like the perfect dance partners until her shyness all but disappeared.
Danny asked Kara about the places she and his father had been in the last three months as they chopped vegetables.
"I've never been there," he sighed, sounding slightly envious. "I'd love to take time off work to go some time, but I'm always so busy."
"Don't you travel around the world for work?" Kara asked curiously.
Danny blinked at her in momentary confusion. "Oh, no, I don't do fieldwork! Hardly any, anyway. I'm in computers and tech. All behind the scenes. I'm not in his line of work. Too much blood and grime and people shooting at me for my taste."
His sour-lemon expression made Kara laugh.
"Ah, so your job is much safer. Sensible. That's good. I'm glad."
Damien snorted. "Don't let him fool you; the lab isn't that much safer. He's absolutely deadly. I can't count the number of times he's nearly killed himself or me or the both of us just because he was 'curious'."
"We're both still here, so that is obviously an exaggeration."
"Toaster bomb," Damien muttered.
Danny sent him a mock glare. "Why do you always bring that up? Always!"
"I'm your father," Damien said with more than a touch of smugness, "It's in the job description."
Kara smiled. "You're proud of him."
Damien widened his eyes at her. "Don't let him hear that! His head is big enough as it is."
Danny and Kara exchanged amused looks, then simultaneously burst into giggles. Damien joined them a moment later, shaking his head.
"Of course I'm proud. Why wouldn't I be?"
. . . . .
Dinner was every bit as wholesome and delicious as Danny had promised. For dessert, he brought out a beautiful little cake he'd baked earlier that day.
Kara exclaimed with honest delight and admiration, making the young man turn bright red.
"I- um- It's only a cake, Kara," he demurred, rubbing at a crimson ear bashfully. "Dad's a better baker than me. Better cook all around, actually. He, erm, taught me, you know."
"Looks great, Danny," Damien said quietly, and taking pity on his socially-awkward son before he devolved into incoherent stammering at the unexpected praise, nudged him to get the cake plates and forks.
Danny scurried off with a grateful look, ducking his head in a futile effort to hide his blush.
"Well," Damien said, turning to find Kara gazing at him with a soft smile and eyes that made his heart flutter…and forgot entirely what he had been about to say.
"He's lovely," she murmured.
He caught his breath and wondered for the fifth time that week whether he was having a heart attack.
Danny broke the moment that had settled between the two of them, clattering in with the plates and silverware.
"Kara, I meant to tell you earlier," he said as he set the things down, having settled his treacherous complexion, "What I said about that donation to the music school still stands, you know. Actually, what I want is to set up an annual scholarship for disadvantaged students. Perhaps a dozen or so. What do you think?"
Damien silently took the knife from him and waved him into his seat so he could discuss business with Kara while Damien served the cake.
Danny had inherited money from his mother when she'd died, and had long been earning royalties on his numerous patents. This, combined with various other inheritances and a number of extremely prudent investments, had made him very wealthy.
He didn't live extravagantly, however. He'd never had a taste for the trappings of the rich, preferring a nice cuppa and biscuits to Bollinger and caviar, and comfortably worn-out clothes to Savile Row. He lived modestly and put most of his rather substantial paycheck in the bank (and, of course, other hideaways). The only things he really splurged on were the occasional show and the materials for his off-hours tinkering. And the cats, of course.
He already made it a habit to put money towards various charities, but he was always looking for more good causes. Forever the puppet master, he liked to check for corruption beforehand and gently nudge out those who were pocketing money for their own uses or were involved in other vices.
He had evidently looked into Kara's finances and past history and found them flawless because he readily engaged her in discussions about what he wanted done with the substantial amount of money he was donating (anonymously—she would be the only person to know who it came from).
Kara, on her part, was obviously used to sounding out potential benefactors and using her significant amount of charm to persuade them to contribute more money than they had initially intended. That said, Danny didn't try very hard to hold on to his money; he knew a good cause when he saw it, and only wanted it to be put to the best use possible. By the end of it, she had persuaded him to donate enough to cover new instruments for any student who needed one on top of the dozen annual scholarships he had originally intended to give. They were even talking of adding a new wing to the building, which was also in urgent need of repairs.
Watching them from his seat, Damien was suddenly struck by how alike they looked. Both were slender with angular features, and had long, elegant, artistic fingers roughened with use. Their animated expressions lit up the room as they spoke with increasing excitement on the topic. Sitting with their heads together, one dark and the other golden, they looked almost like mother and son.
Danny caught his eye and smirked. "Dad you're not actually jealous, are you? I'm gay, remember? I'm more likely to giggle with women about men than to drool over them. Honestly."
Father and son watched Kara for her reaction out of the corners of their identical green eyes.
"Are you seeing anyone, Danny?" she asked without missing a beat, "What's your type? I know many, many beautiful boys. Musicians, you know? Intellectual too. Oh, and the dancers at the ballet school and in the company. Do you like dancers? They're all so beautiful, like statues. And so many of them are gay. I can introduce you if you like."
Danny sputtered, his plan having backfired completely. Damien, on the other hand, thought it was hilarious.
He reached over and ruffled Danny's hair. "You know, Kara. Just for that, I love you and I want to keep you around forever. Will you marry me?"
"Yes, I will."
Danny's head swiveled between the two of them. "What just happened? Did you literally get engaged in front of me? And now you're making out in front of me. In my house. I'm going to my room. Come on, Horatio. We know when we're not wanted. Besides, it is my honor-bound duty as your older brother to shield you from such scandalous goings-on."
He herded the protesting dog out of the room and up the stairs. He evidently didn't have any such concerns for his cats; they remained where they were, Ada sitting regally in an armchair and Alan perched on top of the bookshelf. They watched the two humans in their intimate embrace with only a flicker of curiosity in their aloof gazes.
A minute later, Danny called down: "And if you're going to have sex, please do it in your room. And definitely not on any surface that comes into contact with food! In fact, just say the word, and I would be happy to book you a room at the hotel of your choosing."
"Please ignore him," Damien groaned.
Kara chuckled softly against his lips. "He's a sweet boy."
"Sometimes."
"Only sometimes?"
"He's a manipulative little brat."
"And kind. And considerate."
"Yes, he's both of those too, I suppose," Damien conceded with a resigned sigh and pressed a kiss to her shining hair, his hands dropping to her waist while hers slid around his back, holding him close.
"Did you mean it?" she murmured, her soft cheek against his shoulder. Her big brown eyes looked up at him hopefully.
"Yes. Did you?"
"Yes. Will he mind?"
He snorted softly. "He planned this."
She grinned. "Clever."
"Too much so for his own good."
"Will he be your best man?"
"I've a mind to make him the ring bearer."
Big brown eyes opened wide in mock surprise. "But what will Horatio do then?"
"Horatio can be the best man."
. . . . .
"004."
Scarlett sauntered up to Q's workstation. "Hey, Q. How's Winterbottom Sr.?"
Q grinned at the reminder of his small joke at his father's expense. "He's great. Better than great, actually. Oh yes, here, this one's for you." He rummaged in his desk and handed her a heavy cream paper envelope.
"Ooh, what's this?" she asked eagerly, "Money?"
Relishing in the soft snort Q gave at her faux overexcitement, she slid the envelope open. She blinked in surprise at the wedding invitation. "He's getting married?"
Q looked like the cat that got the canary. "Yes."
"To his cello girl?"
The gleam in his eye got even brighter. "Yes."
Scarlett raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow at him. "And I suppose you had absolutely nothing to do with setting them up?"
Q gave her a disdainful look. "He'd started talking about grandchildren, Scarlett. I swear, he was only half joking. What else was I supposed to do?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said, grinning, "Maybe find a man and give him all the chaos grandchildren he wants? You don't even need a partner; adopt away."
Q made a sound that was something between a scoff and a hum of self-satisfaction. "Now he's distracted enough that he won't be bothering me for a few years at the very least."
"Mm-hmm. And his happiness had nothing to do with it, of course."
Q sniffed. "He's happy, I'm happy. What's the problem, if the final result is the same?"
Scarlett chuckled and shook her head. Sometimes she forgot how young and inexperienced in the sphere of peoplehood her quartermaster was, cocooned as he was in his machines. At other times, it was only all too obvious.
"Well, Q. I hate to break it to you, but your dastardly plan is doomed to fail. Maybe you're not very experienced with life outside of the lab, but people who are happily married tend to want other people around them to get married too."
Q's fingers stopped typing. "Really?"
"Really," she nodded with false commiseration. "Something about spreading the bliss." She didn't get it either, being what she was, but she was at least aware of this tendency (and sometimes even used it to her benefit).
"Sounds like a virus."
"It does, doesn't it?"
Q gulped audibly. "What do I do now?" he asked, starting to panic a little.
"Well…you're not willing to make him unhappy, are you?"
"Damn."
"My advice is: Start dating, pronto!" With that, Scarlett departed, leaving the bright echo of a laugh behind her.
Q let loose a multilingual string of curses that impressed even Scarlett and made the denizens of Q-Branch look up, wide-eyed, wondering what disaster was looming on the horizon.
. . . . .
Notes:
I keep thinking I'm done, and then the plot bunny comes and starts munching on my mental cabbage and then…well, there's more now. Keep an eye out for the wedding fic next!