hit the walls [cordelia]

 Cordy laughed a little as she watched Michael fumble around in the second drawer. “It would save me laundry though, if you bring your own, I don’t mind.” It felt silly and stupid to be working about washcloths, but she wanted to feel silly and stupid. It would be so much easier.

Tea sounded nice. Warm and cleansing. “I’ve got mint in the drawer, would love a cup of that,” she said, smiling sanely at him as he passed her into the kitchen. There was his pasta and hers, staring back at her. “You done, babe?” She started packing it away without waiting for an answer - the way they were both picking at the meals, it was pretty clear that they were. She closed up the clamshells and took them to the kitchen, stacking them in her barren looking fridge, next to the half carton of eggs and the scapegoated box of cranberry juice.

“Mmm, that was me,” she said demurely, leaning on the fridge as the kettle squealed. “Friend from school’s in a band, knows someone in Banshee, got me in on a plus one.” She had a suspicion that Ollie had more going on than what he had said the last time they went out for drinks, he had to be screwing someone’s sister to line this up, but she wasn’t going to turn it down. “Craig’s been really into America, lately.” It had been shockingly easy to get the expense form signed off, though she had to hear about Craig’s aunt in Florida for twenty minutes longer than she would have liked to.

The kettle sang again. Cordelia opened a cupboard and passed two mugs to Michael. There was a shelf above the mug shelf, empty except for a fondue pot Lysander had got her for Christmas when she was fourteen. She frowned, running her finger along the edge of the shelf. It came back grey. “I should hire a cleaning service,” she mused, rubbing the dust between her forefinger and her thumb. “They could pop round while I’m away. Straighten the place up.” She glanced at Michael. Though he wouldn’t say, she knew that this wasn’t his idea of clean. He’d probably have something to say to that.

The logical next step would be to ask him about his work, but Cordy knew Michael well enough to know that unless he brought up his job, it wasn’t worth bringing up. She leaned over, kissed him on the jaw, just below his ear. She was suddenly conscious of her breath, full of olives and garlic and other odours that couldn’t be masked by a mint tea. “I’m gonna brush,” Cordy said quietly, pulling back. “Come to bed when you’re ready?”

That answered a question he hadn’t meant to ask at all, then -- it was fine to leave a washcloth in her bathroom. Now that he had an answer to it, it was a stupid thing to have wondered about. He was just lousy at parsing what things meant -- particularly not when it came to this. Cordelia was something new to him, even after four or so months -- heretofore he hadn’t been making it this far with girls. (Not since Cho Chang, at least; not since he’d graduated, not since his father had died, not since the war -- that wasn’t the point.)

He found the mint tea, glanced over his shoulder to see that she’d come in after him, with their pastas. He held up a teabag for approval, grinned a little at her answer. “Fortuitous,” he said. Everybody who’d been to Hogwarts knew everybody else who had -- it was the worst thing in his life.

He accepted the mugs; he was focusing on trying to match the levels of tea in each, brow furrowed with concentration, when she spoke again. “Waste of money,” he decreed. “Nothing you can’t do in, like, an hour with magic.” He tilted his head, at that -- his place was bigger than Cordelia’s, but he kept it cleaner. “Two hours, maybe,” he amended, “I’d help if you needed it, that would cut it down to an hour and change.” The obvious, he left unsaid: this was what he did for a living. If she was going to pay somebody to clean house, she should pay him. He would do it for free anyway.

Michael finished his tea as quickly as was bearable, and waited until he heard the sink running before he went back to her bedroom to get his wand. He double checked her deadbolts and put the silverware and his mug in the sink to wash themselves, then waited for her to be finished before he went in to get ready for bed -- he’d tried once not to be weird about brushing his teeth next to her, but he was weird about it even dead alone. While he was at it he took a shower; the washcloths in the second drawer were dubiously functional.

Cordelia had left the lamp on for him; when he’d turned it out the only light came dimly from the balcony. He always had to let his eyes adjust to the night before he regained lucidity; at least her apartment was never quite as dark as his, at this hour. This time tomorrow she would be in California, and he would be bored. “Hey Cordy,” he said, “You ever seen any of those Disney cartoons?”

“I wouldn’t want you to bring work home,” Cordy said, realizing her mistake. But it would be cheaper, and cheaper meant more money for weed and booze and weekend trips to the continent and take-away pasta. “But, like, if you don’t mind, maybe when I get back we can do it together?” She didn’t want him to work for her, that would be weird. Charming, but weird.

She brushed her teeth longer now - Michael was such a stickler for cleanliness. It was probably good for her enamel, anyway. There had been a time in ’98 where brushing her teeth even once a day was a victory. Now she was out here using mouthwash and everything. A changed and tamed woman, or something.

He took a little bit in the washroom. She counted down the seconds until the shower started running. He was a little predictable, which was something that she hadn’t looked for in men before. She liked it. She liked no surprises, she liked punctuality, she liked all this stuff about Michael. Too bad she was on a hairpin trigger. She finished her tea, set it in the sink to wash, double checked the deadbolts, double checked the wards. Her place wasn’t Unplottable, that would be so expensive to get done, but it was shielded from Apparition in and out for everyone except her and her immediate family and like, Ari. She was considering putting Michael on the exceptions list - it would be a pain, she’d have to spend like half a day redoing the ward, but it seemed like it would be nice. Cheaper than Floo, easier than trying to time Apparition on her doorstep.

She was well in bed by the time Michael emerged from the washroom, his hair just a little damp. He smelt of her soaps - citrusy, lemon, vanilla. Cordelia shifted, making room for his body next to hers. She didn’t reach for him - he would roll over in a bit, wrap her up in his arms. She could be patient. “Disney cartoons?” Cordy rolled onto her side, facing him in the middle of the bed. “A few,” she admitted. “My grandparents had Bambi on tape.” That one was sad. “Watched a new one recently with Ari and Camm, about aliens in Hawaii.” Cordy chuckled. That had been a fun day. “Should I bring back one?” Cordy had no idea how they would possibly watch it. She pulled the duvet up around her shoulders, one hand settling in the gap between them.

“I have a job I literally can’t take home,” Michael mused, eyes narrowed with amusement, “Don’t worry about it.” But there was no need to be pedantic -- she was giving him a chance to hang around for a weekend (which he would like) to clean (which he wouldn’t mind) and to be the resident expert on something (which he would love.) “‘Course I’ll help out,” he said, and smiled slightly. “As your conveniently knowledgeable boyfriend.”

He half-closed his eyes when she kissed him, tilted his head back to look at her when she pulled back. He couldn’t help a smile; she ducked quicklike out to the loo and he touched a hand to the side of his chin and closed his eyes.

It wasn’t difficult with Cordelia the way it had been with the other girls. She was sharp and passionate and distant (and very pretty) and sometimes she was even more neurotic than he was. She kissed him softly and made him smile. And it was nice, for once, to be so happy without guilt. More selfishly, this was the least damaged he’d felt in ages. So many of the girls had been so careful with him -- he liked that with Cordelia he had to tread lightly, too. They were on even footing that way.

He got the vodka back and had another shot.

The whole mattress creaked a bit when Cordy shifted; Michael kept his gaze trained straight upward but nodded. “I’ve only seen ‘em with my sisters,” he said, “Dunno, they’re not for me.” He’d almost liked the Hunchback of Notre Dame but for the singing; he’d hated The Lion King. She mentioned a few of her friends but he was getting too sleepy to listen. “Mm,” he said with effort, “Sounds fun.” It didn’t sound like he’d have had fun, but it sounded like she had.

“Neither of us have tellies,” he answered; he turned his head to look at her. “American movies might not even work in Britain either, don't you think? Like, their cars and plugs don’t.”

And he was too sleepy to care; he yawned. “Alright, I’m out,” he said, “Good night.” He would be up again in a few hours -- they’d eaten too late and he was drunk -- but for now he could put a hand over hers and shut his eyes.

[out]

He was ribbing her, a little bit, but with a smile. Cordy grinned a little more. Conveniently knowledgeable boyfriend. She still loved to hear him refer to himself as her boyfriend. She wasn't comfortable announcing that to everyone, yet. But she wanted to be. There was some block in her brain, that made her want to keep this close to her chest. Not secret, but it wasn't everyone's business, right? This desire to keep Michael all to herself and to be able to say "my boyfriend" were at odds with each other. Her eyes flicked up to meet his across the kitchen, and Cordy pushed the thoughts from her mind.

Michael had a point. Cordelia had almost forgotten all that nonsense with getting a disc from America and then a separate disc player they had gone through before watching the Hawaiian film. "You're right," she said softly, but he wasn't listening anymore.

His hand covered hers. At some point in the night he would move closer, pulling her body into his chest without noticing. She was content to wait for that moment. Cordelia envied Michael's ability to just fall asleep. Even with the booze and the food, it would be a little longer before she would be able to rest. She looked at his face, his hair sticking up against the pillow. Beginnings of a bedhead. His nose, a little crooked, a reminder of crueller times but also of survival.

Staring at him in the dark, Cordelia found her thoughts begin to wander as her eyelids got heavy. She needed to get better. Michael deserved to better than to be with someone who was still in survival mode. The war was five years over. She wanted to be able to talk about his sisters, her brothers, OWLs and NEWTs and the hundred other things.

Michael made her not want to be broken anymore.

Cordelia squeezed his hand, whispered "I love you," a phrase she wouldn't dare say if he was awake, and waited for sleep to pull her in. 
[out]