*thanks to Isa for giving me permission to use 'Nobody cuts mango like Richard' from her AO3 story 'For You I Give Up Paradise'... to use it and completely misuse it at the same time!*

**thanks also to OldProf for the bit about slicing and dicing, mingling and merging...**

S2 E1 - Cutting Mango

The sea sounds sleepy. The trees sound sleepy. She feels sleepy. The only energetic thing in her world right now is the suited man and his little scaly buddy down in the kitchen. It's been a long hard day and she's so tired. Chin propped in a palm, she droops at the wooden table next to the... um... sleeping area... and watches the brisk precise movements of the man.

He's so funny, she thinks, worrying about the diet of a tiny wild lizard when everyone knows they hunt for prey, chase it down, subdue it, and spit out the spiky bits. They don't dance on tiptoes with bug-eyes ping-ponging from your hands to your face then back again. She huffs a soft laugh. Yes, if Harry could talk he'd be chittering, 'Come on, you big male thing, hurry it up, I'm starved! You should have been home hours ago!' With a Sainte Marie accent, of course.

"Impatient, isn't he? Does he do this every evening?" she calls down.

Without looking up from mango peeling, the man replies, "No, he's miffed because I'm late, that's all." Harry starts bobbing back and forth, looking like a windup tin toy.

She hears him but she's not really paying attention because something's distracting her. Her eyes wander about in an attempt to locate whatever is trying to get her attention. A glance out a window reveals the deepening blue of the sky where the first stars are beginning to glimmer. It's getting late. I need to leave soon and let Richard get on with his evening... but not yet. Not just yet. I want to sit and watch him for a bit more.

It's so peaceful and calming to just sit and watch her boss be all domestic in the kitchen as he lays down the peeler and picks up a small paring knife. Harry finishes his two-step and breaks out into a four-legged side hop, his wee eyes fixed upon the glistening fruit cupped in Richard's hand. His isn't the only interested gaze. She can't seem to tear her eyes away either. "What's he doing now?" she hears her voice say.

An elegant auburn eyebrow lifts fractionally. "Chivvying me to bloody well get on with it," he mutters as he gently palms the glistening fruit and brings the knife into play.

That's when she realizes what's distracting her; those pale hands, so deft, so sure, so subtle. As concise slivers of mango begin to drop into the bowl, she thinks that she's never seen him with dirty hands then remembers the time he found the hidden tunnel on the Seymour plantation. Yes, his hands got dirty that day. In fact, all of him did; he'd been dirty and dusty and covered with smuts and cobwebs. What a sight!

She snorts. Yeah, I had to drive him to a deserted beach and help him clean up since he refused to be seen in public in 'such a state'. Well, aren't I a member of the public? Don't I count? And just as she's working up to a half-hearted snit, a tiny voice whispers 'Maybe you're NOT public, hmm? Maybe you're private. To him.' She sits up and looks wildly about before calling down to the kitchen, "Er, did you say something just now?"

Without looking up, he replies, "Not me. I've got to concentrate on this knife plus keep Harry out of the bowl." Indeed, he's pushing the lizard away with the back of one hand while the other hand plies the knife in short quick movements that look deceptively simple.

Her eyes are drawn to the knife, the knife in those hands. She knows slicing mango isn't easy. The single seed is always a surprise and it's large and flat and hard. It can deflect a blade onto unsuspecting fingers... she blinks... the mere thought of him cutting himself jumps her heart rate instantly, making her sit up sharply and blurt out, "Be careful!" making both males jump.

The big male stills, the knife mid-fruit, and darts a look up at her. The small male stills, his feet mid-prance, and darts a look over one shoulder. The bigger one speaks, "I AM being careful. I'm ALWAYS careful... except when people startle me when I'm concentrating." He huffs an aggrieved sigh and goes back to work. The smaller one may have huffed a matching sigh, it certainly looks like it as he turns back to his almost-supper.

"Sorry, sorry," she murmurs and is silent for a few moments before asking, "Do you have a First Aid kit?" A flick of the knife towards the kitchen cupboard beneath the sink is her only answer. "OK, just in case. I like to be prepared." This elicits a scoffy sound from the tall one but she ignores it, she's back to watching his hands, feeling kind of dreamy. His hands are always so clean and fine-boned and elegantly manicured. I wonder how he does it? Where does he find the time? Does he get it done by someone who knows what it feels like to hold those hands?

The sudden stab of jealousy surprises her and that's when the little voice whispers 'Nobody cuts mango like Richard'. Her surprise is less this time because she has to agree. Her tired mind feels kind of cloudy and she might think she's entering a waking fugue state... if she knew what that meant. What she DOES know is that she can't take her eyes off him as he goes about a completely boring and uninteresting domestic chore.

Richard is done slicing. He lays down the knife, shoos Harry back, picks up a fork, and begins to mash. Once the consistency is right, he opens a small plastic container and shakes out something fine and feathery. Harry almost leaps face first into the bowl but Richard deftly catches him and sets him back down. "Don't rush me, this has to be done just right otherwise you give me such disapproving looks!"

"What is it?" she asks as options run through her head; vitamins, protein powder, spice?

He presses his lips together as if he doesn't want to answer but a gentleman never disregards a lady so he finally admits, "Mosquitoes. I have a little fan-trap set up under a tree out back. It catches the bugs and I add them to his meal. I know it's gross but he needs the protein."

She nods like this makes perfect sense. Of course it does, he's Richard Poole and he does everything to the best of his abilities... which makes her wonder about certain other duties that he would also perform to perfection... and her mind wanders completely off the path and deep into forbidden territory.

Richard has sliced and diced and mashed the mango into a muddle that merges magnificently with the mosquito additive. Judging by Harry's leaping up and down, it's now ready for lizard mastication. She's entranced by Richard's food prep rhythm. His subtle movements has been like a slow salsa... and she doesn't mean the kind that comes in a jar. He's poetry in motion even while performing such a mundane task. What else is he capable of?

He's done a mango tango right in front of me... and he has no idea what a fandango he's created in my head! He thinks he's merely made supper for a lizard... but I'm thinking it's time to mambo, to mingle, tingle, and merge for real!

Harry face-plants into the bowl as Richard tidies up and mutters, "You're welcome, you ungrateful little wretch."

She slips to her feet, all fatigue gone like magic. She sidles down the steps and cozies up to his side at the sink, "I'm sure he appreciates everything you do for him."

"Don't be too sure about that," he scoffs, shuts the cutlery drawer then starts when he realizes how close she's standing. "Er," he stutters, "isn't it time you went home?"

She lays a hand on his forearm and whispers, "You know? I feel like I'm already home."

He swallows nervously, "You do? Here?"

She smiles sly, "Yes, here, with you. Is that so strange? I just realized you're the perfect man."

He stills, "I am?"

She slips her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder, "Yes, it's not just Harry who appreciates you. I depend on you for everything on the job... and now I'm wondering about other things."

His gaze is very intent, "Other things...NOT on the job? Personal things? Private things?"

His hands are on her hips. She doesn't think he realizes it.

"Yes," she whispers, "that's exactly what I mean. I just watched you do an everyday chore and I couldn't take my eyes off you! You move so wonderfully. You're perfect and precise with everything you do. It makes me wonder..."

He gulps, "I wonder too. All the time. Day and night. I've been meaning to say something but I can never find the right words... or the right time."

She puts a finger to his lips... which are fine and sculpted and perfect... and nods, "Sometimes words get in the way, especially once we're of the same mind."

He chokes out, "And what do our minds tell each other?"

She smiles and stands on tip-toes just like Harry did when he was so hungry, "Mine is telling me to kiss you. What does yours say?"

He's very grave for a second or two before breaking out in an incredulous smile, "Mine says 'let her kiss you, you fool'."

"OK, then, let's do that," she purrs and heaven comes to Earth.

END