Author's Note: This one is for PamelaLillianIsley, aka Poison Ivy (I had to look up the reference) – a good ending to a bad day for a clinical psychologist.
On the Cutting Room Floor – Alive Day
"Okay," he said, smiling, "I'll humor you."
Miljana felt she'd already won – he was smiling at the end of a shitty day and that was worth something. This day had been looming, a dark cloud at month end, his eyes ticking off the countdown on the calendar, no outward sign, an inward build. It was an 'alive day' for Tim, the anniversary of a particularly brutal firefight and friends had died and he'd come through it. It ached for him and for her now with him.
She hadn't had a great day either. A client, first thing, had yelled at her, angry and hurtful and personal and she found it hard to set her emotions aside, Tim's blocking hers. They were her companions throughout the rest of the morning and afternoon, her hurt feelings, her perceived failures.
Tim would yell on occasion but never at her, always at the world. Even when she was the only one in the room she knew he wasn't yelling at her. He was very careful that way, or maybe not careful so much as aware of her as a person – something in his eyes was always reaching out, speaking to her directly and cutting through the raging. He would yell and then look at her helplessly, as if to say, I know it's not you. It was a small thing, but it meant a lot, and now he was humoring her. Sometimes that's all you needed to feel important.
She carried her affection in the sound of her voice when she replied with sarcasm, "You're so kind."
She pushed him down on the floor and he growled and pulled her down with him and pulled off her sock and chewed on her toe.
"Tim," she scolded, laughing, "I thought you wanted a drink."
He pulled off her other sock, "I thought you said I couldn't have one," and massaged her foot, chewed on those toes, too.
"I did not say that." She giggled. "I said you had to earn it."
"But it's Friday. I earned a drink just getting to Friday."
"Humor me."
"Okay," he repeated, "I'll humor you."
She freed her foot from his grasp and got up, came back a minute later with two glasses, a ping pong ball and a bottle of bourbon.
"Here's the deal," she said. "You have to bounce the ball once and get it in my glass. You miss, you have to answer a question. You get it in, I have to drink. Then we switch."
"You sure you want to play this game?"
"You chicken?"
"Shut up."
"You first."
She directed him to the front door and she moved down the hall opposite. He bounced the ping pong ball once off the floor and it landed neatly in her cup. She stared at it, looked up, worry gathering.
"What're you drinking?" he asked, grinning.
"Shit," she replied, "lucky shot." She slid his bourbon down to him and stood up to get herself a bottle of wine.
"Oh, come on. Wine? Wimp."
"Girls can't metabolize alcohol as quickly as guys," she explained. "My turn."
She missed, shoulders slumped.
"What happened today?" Tim asked. "You didn't look yourself when you came in."
She let out a breath in a huff like a two-year-old. "Somebody yelled at me."
"A client?"
"Yeah."
"You want me to kick the shit out of him for you?"
"No! And that's three questions. You're cheating."
He didn't hesitate, bounced the ping pong ball straight into her glass. "Drink up, sweetheart." An evil grin followed.
Miljana narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, poured herself some wine and drank it. "Why do I get the feeling you've done this before."
"Never play drinking games with a Ranger. We spend a lot of time killing time on base, waiting on orders or weather or some other stupid shit."
Miljana bounced the ball and missed. "I'm out of practice," she whined.
"I'm thirsty," Tim whined back. "You want me to move closer?"
"Fuck off."
"Fine." He chuckled, bounced the ball neatly into her cup again then asked, "What did he yell at you about?"
"I can't tell you."
Tim shrugged. "You picked the game."
She let out a more mature sigh this time, experienced. "He doesn't like to talk and he thinks I'm being mean asking him to." She retrieved the ball and had another mouthful of wine. "Why did you talk to me? You didn't want to."
"I haven't missed. You can't ask me any questions."
She threw, missed again, pouted, so he tossed it back immediately, skipping his turn at a question, purposely hit her and missed the cup.
"I wanted to keep seeing you," he confessed, answering her. "And you know that."
He was rewarded with a grin. "I know," she said, "but it's nice to hear it."
Tim moved his cup this time to catch her throw. "About fucking time." He poured himself a shot and downed it, smacked his lips in appreciation, bounced another effortlessly into her cup.
"Oh for fuck's sake," she complained, drank some more wine. "If you want to get laid tonight you'd better not get me too drunk. It won't be nearly as much fun."
"You want to stop?"
"NO!"
"Better make it harder for me then. I don't want to have to take you to the hospital for alcohol poisoning."
"Look at you all confident."
An hour later Miljana was curled up on the floor laughing, down to her underwear, holding both cups and Tim was bouncing the ping pong balls off the wall and in every time. They'd changed the rules so he could drink whenever she missed and he would have to answer a question to get a kiss, and then he upped the ante and bet on items of clothing to be removed if he could make a shot off the wall or the table and then they had sex on the living room floor and Miljana felt the day melt away in the heat of bourbon and sweat and skin.
"I'm starving," she said later, lying on top of him while he ran his fingers lightly up her back.
"Good thing for you I fixed dinner before you came home and decided to play some stupid drinking game. Move your naked ass and I'll heat it up."
He kissed her, handed her bits of clothing and padded to the kitchen in bare feet and jeans. He slowed briefly at the calendar as he walked past, eyes lingering on the date.
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