The power of persuasion. It works. lol. I never had any intention of writing more but there will have to be a third chapter. I'm posting this short chapter while I try to figure out where they go from here. The pressure is on as I want this done by Thursday. As for the PM's...you all are pretty awesome...thank you for the messages.
The universal law of hangovers is in full effect for them and as they meet the next morning over the freshly brewed coffee Ruby started just minutes before they face each other at the coffee pot.
"How's your head?" He asks before she could say something he wasn't prepared to answer.
"Why isn't the Monday after the Super Bowl an official hangover holiday?" She sighs, exasperated, rubbing her forehead.
She looks good, though, despite the obvious signs of post intoxication and Walt leans a little closer holding his empty cup down by his hip as a minute barrier between them. He holds out his open palm like a slick magician with two aspirin balanced between the creases.
She reaches for them, her fingertips pinch them with concentrated effort, relieving his hand of the small pills but she lets her fingers linger there a moment longer than necessary and he traces the underside of her hand.
"Thanks."
She says perching them on her tongue and taking a sip of water both of them equally flirtatious in their actions.
"You're welcome."
He smiles and it's confident and it's sure and warm and all the things she wants it to be.
He turns and looks around as if he is surveying a crime scene, "So, ah, Henry got you home alright?"
"Obviously." Her eyes roll back in her head thinking he can do so much better than this.
"I'm sorry I couldn't take you home." He's looking at her, dead at her, and she waits but he doesn't offer any more like he's stuck and just when she is about to walk away he touches her.
"Vic, ah, I probably shouldn't ask this here, you know at work standing over the coffee pot." He smiles, that nervous quick little smile, the one she hasn't seen in a very long time.
He looks down, folds his fingers into his hand just leaving his index finger exposed and lightly trails down her forearm to her hand as if he has a right to this and has done it a million times.
"I was wondering if you would like to go have dinner sometime you know away from here or something?" The quick grin flashes.
"Are you asking me on a date?" After all of this time she's not quite sure of him anymore and the mixed signals have taken their toll.
He shifts his weight and his finger tucks into the web of her hand, "Yeah." His voice is deep and serious and certain.
Her eyes don't shift and she tightens the grip around his finger for a moment just before saying, "Ok."
His eyebrows arch, the way they do when he's surprised by the answer of a question he didn't already know the answer to, "Ok?"
She speaks slowly like he's a little slow but she's sweet at the same time, "Yeah, Walt. Ok." She takes her hand back, pours her coffee, and walks over to her desk with him on her tail.
He scratches his two day growth, "Hum, how about Wednesday?"
Vic lifts her head and her ponytail bops, "You can't wait until Friday like normal people?" Her voice is a little light, a little flirtatious.
"No." His intensity is a little unnerving but he breaks it with the peek of a grin.
"Saturday works better."
She looks at him knowingly positioning herself, making her play, and forcing his hand. She's setting the boundaries early and she knows it and he knows it and though he's unsure of the game he knows there's one going on.
"Saturday, I'll pick you up around five, your house?" His voice trails off but there's no doubt in his sentiment.
Her smile matches her nod and he looks over his shoulder and snaps back into the reality of their morning.
If you were to ask either of them the passing days were torture but they would deny it of course and pretend that the tension in the office was normal but it wasn't and they weren't and when Saturday rolled around they were both terrified they were making a mistake.