An Unspoken Agreement
Mar. 6th, 2007 01:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morgynleriTitle: An Unspoken Agreement
Word Count: 1021
Status: Complete
Genre: Romance
Rating: R
Commentary: Characterization, appeal.
They always met in the same place, on the same night each week. A small diner, a movie theater in walking distance, the subway close by so they didn't have to use their cars. Sometimes early, on a slow week, sometimes late. Occassionally after everything closed around the diner, and the kitchen began to serve breakfast once more.
On those nights, she drank obscenely strong black tea, and he paid for breakfast, and they just sat together, no words spoken except to ask for salt, or sugar, or another napkin. She never mentioned she'd be late for her first meeting of the day, he didn't tell her about what kept him away from their rendezvous. This was their time to forget what they worked for, or what they did every day. Time for the rest of the world not to exist for a few hours.
Sometimes they didn't meet. One or both of them not arriving, for one reason or another. Reasons they never asked, or volunteered. They knew that it would shred the fragile sense of peace, the brief moment when life was perfect.
The only hope they shared... never having to let that moment go.
Another week, another meeting. Early enough this time to catch a movie at the theater after dinner, a rare treat. Her choice of movie tonight, a romantic comedy, fluffy and light, with a plot that didn't have any unexpected twists or turns. With a perfect, sweet ending twisted into bittersweet by the buzz of his cell phone as they stepped out of the theater.
Her lips curved upwards at the corners, and she leaned closer to land a soft kiss on his cheek, and squeezed his hand with a mumured, "Next week, then." She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder before walking away, leaving him to accept the call without worrying about ruining their date.
The cell phone buzzed again, and he sighed, answering it. The moment was broken, and he'd have to wait until next week to get it back.
It changed everything, that one night. Late, and she'd stepped out of the subway from one direction as he began to cross the street, heading for the diner. She gave him a tense smile, and tucked her arm into his, leaning in close to him. He looked down, concerned, asking if she felt all right.
Her lips met his in response, a surprise that had his step falter, pausing on the empty sidewalk, his free hand coming to rest on her shoulder, tugging her away even as she drew back. Silence fell over them for a long moment, tension in the air that could go anywhere. Destroy the fragile rapport they had, or take it a step further along the tightrope over the abyss.
He shifted the hand on her shoulder, wrapping it around her, and holding her against his chest for a long moment, her head resting on his shoulder before they parted, continuing on their way to the diner. That night, she didn't get off the train when she normally would, leaning her head against his shoulder until he shook her gently to wake her.
She slept curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, protective and comforting. In the morning, he offered toast for breakfast. He didn't usually eat until he'd gotten to work, picking up donuts along the way, or grabbing a meal at the diner nearest the precinct.
When she left, there was no mention of next week. Things hadn't changed that much.
She invited him to her apartment the next time. A place with a view of Central Park, decorated sparsely. Almost unlived in, even the bedroom devoid of most personal touches.
Her kiss communicated all her desperate need for the intimacy, for the close contact of skin on skin, the warmth of another human being. Her fingers tugged and shoved, removing clothing quickly, leaving it crumpled where it fell. He explored with gentle hands each curve and dip, her soft mewlings and moans begging him never to stop.
She clung to him in the aftermath, sleep elusive for them both despite the physical exhaustion that kept them curled in her bed. Release, but no peace, cold comfort that brought reality creeping further into their private world.
She offered a ride in her car back to his apartment in the morning, stopping at a donut shop for breakfast. She had less in her apartment for breakfast than he had - energy drinks and diet shakes long past their expiration date. No real food at all.
"Next week?" she asked as he stepped out of the car, and he looked back, nodding.
"Next week."
Only next week came and went, a case keeping him at the precinct all night, a few minutes sleep caught in the crib and plenty of coffee the only thing to keep him going.
He looked up when someone asked, "Detective Tutuola?"
"Yeah. What do you want?" He gave the delivery boy a frown, the kid handing him a brown paper bag, the smell of hashbrowns and sausage coming from the contents.
"Woman asked me to deliver these." He held out a folded note after Fin took the bag. "You have a good day, Detective."
He could feel the curious look sent his way from across the desk from his partner.
"Missed meeting up with a friend." He didn't volunteer any other information, and Munch didn't ask, at least not yet. He'd probably ask later, when they were in the car, heading for another scene, or to canvass another neighborhood.
Thought you might be hungry, Fin. Hope you catch the suspect.
Next week.
Jo
The unspoken agreement changed. They still didn't speak of work when they met each week. They still met at the same place, the same day. Just, sometimes, they let their lives intersect. His coworkers wondered who sent breakfast on nights he didn't make it back to his apartment. Hers asked where the little trinkets came from. They never talked, except to tell them that they missed a meeting with a friend.
Word Count: 1021
Status: Complete
Genre: Romance
Rating: R
Commentary: Characterization, appeal.
They always met in the same place, on the same night each week. A small diner, a movie theater in walking distance, the subway close by so they didn't have to use their cars. Sometimes early, on a slow week, sometimes late. Occassionally after everything closed around the diner, and the kitchen began to serve breakfast once more.
On those nights, she drank obscenely strong black tea, and he paid for breakfast, and they just sat together, no words spoken except to ask for salt, or sugar, or another napkin. She never mentioned she'd be late for her first meeting of the day, he didn't tell her about what kept him away from their rendezvous. This was their time to forget what they worked for, or what they did every day. Time for the rest of the world not to exist for a few hours.
Sometimes they didn't meet. One or both of them not arriving, for one reason or another. Reasons they never asked, or volunteered. They knew that it would shred the fragile sense of peace, the brief moment when life was perfect.
The only hope they shared... never having to let that moment go.
Another week, another meeting. Early enough this time to catch a movie at the theater after dinner, a rare treat. Her choice of movie tonight, a romantic comedy, fluffy and light, with a plot that didn't have any unexpected twists or turns. With a perfect, sweet ending twisted into bittersweet by the buzz of his cell phone as they stepped out of the theater.
Her lips curved upwards at the corners, and she leaned closer to land a soft kiss on his cheek, and squeezed his hand with a mumured, "Next week, then." She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder before walking away, leaving him to accept the call without worrying about ruining their date.
The cell phone buzzed again, and he sighed, answering it. The moment was broken, and he'd have to wait until next week to get it back.
It changed everything, that one night. Late, and she'd stepped out of the subway from one direction as he began to cross the street, heading for the diner. She gave him a tense smile, and tucked her arm into his, leaning in close to him. He looked down, concerned, asking if she felt all right.
Her lips met his in response, a surprise that had his step falter, pausing on the empty sidewalk, his free hand coming to rest on her shoulder, tugging her away even as she drew back. Silence fell over them for a long moment, tension in the air that could go anywhere. Destroy the fragile rapport they had, or take it a step further along the tightrope over the abyss.
He shifted the hand on her shoulder, wrapping it around her, and holding her against his chest for a long moment, her head resting on his shoulder before they parted, continuing on their way to the diner. That night, she didn't get off the train when she normally would, leaning her head against his shoulder until he shook her gently to wake her.
She slept curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, protective and comforting. In the morning, he offered toast for breakfast. He didn't usually eat until he'd gotten to work, picking up donuts along the way, or grabbing a meal at the diner nearest the precinct.
When she left, there was no mention of next week. Things hadn't changed that much.
She invited him to her apartment the next time. A place with a view of Central Park, decorated sparsely. Almost unlived in, even the bedroom devoid of most personal touches.
Her kiss communicated all her desperate need for the intimacy, for the close contact of skin on skin, the warmth of another human being. Her fingers tugged and shoved, removing clothing quickly, leaving it crumpled where it fell. He explored with gentle hands each curve and dip, her soft mewlings and moans begging him never to stop.
She clung to him in the aftermath, sleep elusive for them both despite the physical exhaustion that kept them curled in her bed. Release, but no peace, cold comfort that brought reality creeping further into their private world.
She offered a ride in her car back to his apartment in the morning, stopping at a donut shop for breakfast. She had less in her apartment for breakfast than he had - energy drinks and diet shakes long past their expiration date. No real food at all.
"Next week?" she asked as he stepped out of the car, and he looked back, nodding.
"Next week."
Only next week came and went, a case keeping him at the precinct all night, a few minutes sleep caught in the crib and plenty of coffee the only thing to keep him going.
He looked up when someone asked, "Detective Tutuola?"
"Yeah. What do you want?" He gave the delivery boy a frown, the kid handing him a brown paper bag, the smell of hashbrowns and sausage coming from the contents.
"Woman asked me to deliver these." He held out a folded note after Fin took the bag. "You have a good day, Detective."
He could feel the curious look sent his way from across the desk from his partner.
"Missed meeting up with a friend." He didn't volunteer any other information, and Munch didn't ask, at least not yet. He'd probably ask later, when they were in the car, heading for another scene, or to canvass another neighborhood.
Thought you might be hungry, Fin. Hope you catch the suspect.
Next week.
Jo
The unspoken agreement changed. They still didn't speak of work when they met each week. They still met at the same place, the same day. Just, sometimes, they let their lives intersect. His coworkers wondered who sent breakfast on nights he didn't make it back to his apartment. Hers asked where the little trinkets came from. They never talked, except to tell them that they missed a meeting with a friend.
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Date: 2007-03-06 09:19 pm (UTC)