S2 E2 - Just Rub It In

Camille waits all of three seconds after Sister Marguerite leaves before snatching the white tube out of her DI's hands. "Let me see that," she chuffs bossily, eyeing the label. He tries to snatch it back but her reflexes are sharp. You might think she's practiced this particular move at the white board with his Jumbo Board Master black marker AND his extendible metal pointer... and you would be right. She keeps the tube a frustrating two inches beyond his reach and reads aloud, "Corticosteroid cream, apply sparingly every four hours, external use only." She looks up into aggrieved green eyes. "Why sparingly? How spare is that?"

He jerks forward and regains possession of what is blindingly obvious HIS and grumps, "Sparingly because it can thin the skin, something I don't want since it would greatly increase the risk of severe sunburn... and spare as in just enough to treat only the affected area."

She sits back with a speculative look, "Oh, well then, you'd better put some on right now."

He blinks, his ire disarmed by her obvious concern for his well-being, "Er, right." He uncaps the tube, squeezes out the merest squidge of cream and begins to rub it into his skin.

She snorts, "That's not enough! Here, let me show you," and she snatches back the tube.

"Here, now!" he barks, "That's MY property! That's MY name on the label." He's so irked that he isn't prepared at all when she grabs his hand. She's got a bigger squidge of cream on one fingertip, almost a dollop, and begins smoothing it onto his hand. He stills, lips parted mid-chastisement. His eyes are drawn to that fingertip as it makes small careful circles. When he remains silent, she smiles just the tiniest bit and adds two more fingertips. She continues caressing him long after the cream is absorbed. "You have such nice hands," she murmurs.

This seems to wake him up from his trance-like state, "I do? Er... ahem, I mean, nonsense."

She turns his hand over, lightly runs a thumb down into the well of his palm, making him catch his breath. Slowly exploring his life-line, she shakes her head, "It's not nonsense, you have nice hands, not rough and callused but fine and smooth. Sensitive hands."

He snorts, "Right, paper-pusher hands, fit only for desk work."

She reaches for his other hand, pulls it to join the first, traces the dips and swells of both as if comparing them. "Your hands are almost identical, that's rare."

He blinks, caught off-guard. "They are? I've never noticed."

"I have," she murmurs... then suddenly pulls away to look at him with a frown.

His hands float in the air for a few moments, flexing in response to her withdrawn touch before he clasps them tightly in his lap. "Um, thanks for... for administering the salve. I really should go home now, I'm very tired." He stands but she leans forward, puts a hand on his forearm. He turns back to her, a wary look in his eye.

"You'll fall asleep and miss your next cream session in four hours, won't you?"

It's on the tip of his tongue to remind her that he has an alarm clock, a clock radio, AND a cell phone but something in her voice makes him hesitate. Knowing Camille, it's probably something French. That makes him hesitate all the more. For some reason, the thought intrigues him so he says, "I'm not a child... but you're undoubtedly right. What's to be done?"

She announces with determination. "I'll come to your place in four hours. If you're asleep, I'll apply the medication without waking you. If you're awake, I'll remind you to put some on."

It's on the tip of his tongue to also remind her that she could just call him... but he doesn't. That French vibe is stronger now so he mutters, "But you rub it in much better than I do... so if I'm awake, will you still do it?"

Her eyes look triumphant, "Of course, it will be my pleasure."

He nods then walks to the sidewalk before turning back, "But my next applications will be midnight and 4am. What if I sleep through that?"

She sighs, "Well, I could stay and take care of those too. I can sleep on the sofa."

They gaze seriously at each other before he murmurs, "I don't have a sofa. You know that."

She doesn't batt an eye, "Ah, oui, I forgot. I guess you'll just have to make room on the bed."

He remains quite calm despite his world possibly turning topsy-turvy any moment now. "Oh, ah, I can do that. No problem. I'll lay out a spare set of pajamas."

Now she gives him a sloe-eyed look and purrs, "I sleep in the nude, Richard. You know that."

He stares at her as if trying to translate her words into something logical but the image of a naked Camille Bordey lying next to him jumps his pulse as a totally ILL-ogical thought pops into his head. I really hope she's trying to seduce me! Trying? My god, my heart is hammering so hard it's a wonder she can't hear it! Looking at her anew, he wonders if she CAN hear it. His next thought jumps his pulse even more. If she can reduce me to jelly here in public with just words, what is she capable of in private? Cor and strewth! These next four hours are going to kill me until I know for sure what she's up to. To maintain whatever dignity he still possesses, he says evenly, "That's not something I'm likely to forget, is it? Well, we're mature adults, I'm sure we can find a solution that satisfies both of us."

As he nods and turns away, he almost misses the sidewalk as she growls behind him, "Oh, I'm sure one solution won't be enough."

He jerks back to face her, "What... what do you mean?"

Her pretense of nonchalance is gone, she's smiling like a predator. "I mean... in four hours we shall see what we shall see. Don't forget to forget the pajamas... mine... AND yours."

There's another prolonged staring contest before he husks, "Um, perhaps you should come with me now? I'm a bit muddled, not sure if I've got a firm grasp of what's happening here."

She stands, takes the tube of cream out of his hand and tucks it out of sight inside the top of her blouse. "That's the best idea yet. I'll just warm this up so it spreads smoother, OK?"

He nods, dumbfounded... I think she IS trying to seduce me!... then breaks out in a light sweat. How can I know for sure? A snide inner voice scoffs... why don't you ask her? He thinks this over but decides not to ask her. In case he misunderstood her. In case she's just being a concerned friend. In case his pathetic longing for her is playing him false. If I'm patient, I might get more clues in four hours.

While he's mulling over his predicament, she tsks and takes his arm. "Let's start walking. Do you have any questions for me? Do you want to say something for my ears alone? If you're too shy, we can wait until we're behind closed doors. I'll explain everything to you then. In detail. Very thoroughly. Put yourself into my hands, Richard. I'll take good care of you."

"And... in four hours?" he stammers.

She pats his arm, "Don't you worry about the time. It will pass as if in a dream."

He sighs. Oh, well, whatever she's got planned, how bad can it be? I've risked my life with her before and vice versa. What matters is the trust between us. He smiles, "This already feels like a dream, just walking with you. Alright, Camille, until you can explain everything to me, I'll put myself in your hands. I trust you to do what's best for both of us."

"Thank you for that... and I promise it will be the very best."

And he was right to trust her. His hand took several days to get better but his heart was healed before he fell asleep that night... and every night thereafter.

END