Effervescent Evasion
Chapter 2: 'Pepper'
Author's Note: This chapter was beta'd by CookieAsylum. Thank you very much!
(Also, reviews do provoke faster updates.)
Morning spilled blazing shards of sunlight through the crack in her curtains.
It speared across her eyes like searing-hot oil and Meryl groaned. Rolling out of bed, she tripped in her tangled mint-green sheets and went skittering into the nightstand. Wincing at the contact of the synthetic wood against her hip, she ran a hand through her messy black hair and headed down the hall.
She didn't bother to throw a shirt on over her casual tank-top. It was white, and the material thin - something Meryl would never dream of wearing in public. It wasn't quite as good as sleeping in the nude in the sweltering Gunsmoke summer nights, but there was no way Meryl was comfortable enough to do that when he was around. She wore lime-green low-hanging PJ pants with a pattern of tiny yellow stars.
They were her favorite.
Meryl was used to getting away with wearing whatever the hell she wanted whenever the hell she felt like it, simply because her charge was bedridden. Which was why it came as quite a shock when she entered the kitchen.
Knives was waiting at the table.
He was as still and proud as a statue, barely flicking his eyes to acknowledge her entrance.
Meryl stared, her surprise shaking the last remnants of sleep from her. Hadn't he learned his lesson? He had just injured himself the day before. She suddenly felt self-conscious - the feeling amplified by the fact that Knives' eyes had suddenly locked onto the double swells of her pert breasts, their rosebud nipples spearing through the thin cloth accusingly at him. Blushing, she whipped around and promptly marched right back to her room.
I'll nag at him not to get up and move around in a minute, she thought.
She returned moments later with a heavy sweater, pissed at Knives' hint of a smirk. He clearly wasn't attracted to her 'filthy spider' body, but was indubitably delighted by his ability to make her uncomfortable. He leaned back in his seat, ignoring the ominous creak of the chair.
He was staring expectantly at her.
Meryl did her best to ignore him.
His smug expression began to straighten into a more bored, borderline annoyed one. That's more like it, the little insurance woman thought to herself. She followed her nose to the ink-black coffee in its pot and poured herself a cup. Ignoring the feel of icy eyes on her back, Meryl proceeded to indulge in the elaborate coffee-creation ritual.
First, sugar. Two whole spoonfuls of it. Then, cream, until the searing-hot liquid was as pale as a moon and threatening to spill over the top. Meryl loved making her coffee this way. It reminded her of her mother.
He was still watching her.
She snapped the lid onto the bottle of cream and put it back into the ancient, humming refrigerator. Taking a spoon between her short, slender fingers, she stirred the coffee until the scent of boldly-roasted beans and syrupy-sweet cream made her eyes flutter closed in pleasure. She lifted it to her mouth and took a languid sip.
Then, and only then, did she turn around to address the annoyed Millions Knives. For a moment she felt regret for ignoring him so blatantly. He looked like he would kill her.
He hated being ignored, if his expression was any indication. Beneath the iron sculpt of his high cheekbone twitched a muscle. The white button-up shirt he'd lazily stopped buttoning only half-way up exposed the muscled planes of his pecs, smooth and flat. A pair of tight denims hugged his endless legs, bunching around the bulge of his groin but otherwise uninterrupted in their fluidity. Staring at the package of one Millions Knives was probably not the best idea she'd had.
"How are you feeling?" Meryl asked suddenly, desperate.
Knives replied, voice steely, "Fine, no thanks to you."
Meryl bit back a retort and instead forced a smile onto her face. "Ah, glad to hear it," she said (- well, that was not entirely true, admittedly). She knew better than to ask if he was sure he was fine, and did his arm hurt, etc - that would just piss him off.
Knives stared at her. Meryl sipped her warm coffee and stretched languidly, catlike, on her way to the kitchen counter. She didn't usually eat breakfast, coffee was enough for her, but she always made Knives something to eat.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
Knives gave her a deadpan look.
The coffee was putting her into a good mood. She chuckled. "All right, I'll make you something," she said good-naturedly.
Knives was staring at her like she'd grown another head.
Ignoring his wide eyes, Meryl set to work making an omelette. Cracking four eggs into the hot pan, the sound of sizzling whites filled the air. He probably thought she was bipolar, what with her sudden fluxes in emotion. Meryl rummaged around in the groaning old refrigerator - it was packed with food, for the Plant ate a lot - and took out a shiny red bell-pepper.
She felt his eyes on her as she chopped it. She picked up a slice of the freshly-chopped pepper and popped it into her mouth, relishing the juicy vegetable's taste.
"Mmm," she purred happily.
"Woman, do you always take such pleasure in stuffing your face?" Knives snapped suddenly.
Meryl jumped at his voice, so sudden in the quiet of the early-morning kitchen. She felt indignation rise - could she help it that coffee and bell-peppers were two of her most favorite foods on this dustball of a planet? Forcing herself to keep a pleasant smile on her face, she said, "I can't help it. Peppers are delicious. Would you like one before I cook the rest?"
She held out a strip of sliced bell-pepper to him.
He recoiled like she had offered him poison. "I will not eat food that touched your filthy spider hands!"
Knives was glaring at her.
Meryl blushed, suddenly feeling very stupid. She couldn't forget that this was a human-hating mass-murderer, here, not some Joe Schmoe who would accept her peppery offering. She tossed the chopped pepper into the rapidly-cooking omelette, salting it, flipping it, and rolling it into an attractive shape all in one fluid movement of her spatula. She slapped it on a plate and fairly threw the plate onto the table before Knives.
His eyes dragged slowly from her face to the offered omelette. He never let her watch him eat. "Hn," he said eloquently.
"You're welcome. Well, it's a busy day, gotta get to work," she informed him. "Don't push yourself too hard."
She could only hope he would actually eat the omelette that her 'filthy spider hands' had made.
Meryl padded off back to her room to get dressed. If Knives weren't using the room, she'd work in her 'office'. As it was, all of her papers had been stacked onto the floor of her room, and she found herself sitting cross-legged in the middle of them, a clipboard in hand.
Bernadelli could be such a pain sometimes - file this, write that. To be honest, she would almost rather go and hang out with the spoilt brat of a Plant down the hall - who, judging by the clinking of a fork against cleaned plate, had finished his breakfast.
TBC