third date.

Heather

Heather does indeed call Alex later. She leaves work promptly at 5, shouldering her bag and heading out to her car. She calls him there, just a couple hours after he called her to ask what she thought of Woot! as a band name (too much like Wham!, in her mind, but he doesn't seem to mind, as long as she wants to do something with him). She's still a little distracted on the phone, but talks easier, is warmer. She wants to know when she should head over, and he really doesn't know, he really doesn't care, but he comes up with a random number that sounds good (Seven!) and she says she'll see him then.

At home, after Bubby gets his walk, the thirteen-item-long list of DVDs to bring gets narrowed down to three -- no, five...no, seven -- and the lot if it put in her (rather large) purse. Bubby is sniffing at the purse, curiously sticking his muzzle down into the bag while his Best Friend In The Whole Universe changes her clothes and changes her hair and changes the colors on her face. The other two, who are also his Best Friends but not his Best Friends In The Whole Universe because you can only have one of those, come in and walk around, flop on the bed and so he jumps up and flops, too, thumping his tail as one of them gives him scritches. They are talking a lot. About a male.

His ears try to lie back in displeasure for a moment, but scritches feel so gooood that he can't keep them down. He closes his eyes and lets Best Friend ruffle his fur, rub his back. He is pretty sure that Best Friend In The Whole Universe is talking about letting this male mount her, or maybe not letting him, which is very upsetting and unsettling indeed, but Bubby does not know if his Best Friend In The Whole Universe is in heat. The other male sometimes mounted her even when she wasn't, so it is very confusing. But if she is in heat then she should be mounted. Otherwise bitches get snarly and it is frightening, he knows that.

He thumps his tail on the covers and gives a great yawn. Best Friend In The Whole Universe gives him hugs, kissing the top of his head, and he knows she's going but she always always comes back and his other Best Friends walk him and feed him and hug him, too, so it's no great ordeal for her to leave. He does rise up and drop off the bed to walk her to the door, though, wondering if he can sniff where she's going on her. She gives him another scritch at the door and his tail wags and he pants, because she loves him best he knows it he knowsitheknowsit. She is a very good Best Friend In The Whole Universe.

Heather stops at the grocery store on the way to Alex's for hot potato wedges, some lettuce and a tomato, and a bottle of simple red table wine. The wedges are still hot when she gets to his place, coming upstairs with her canvas grocery bag in her arms and her shiny, large-but-not-obnoxious patent tote bag over her shoulder. She's wearing straight-legged jeans that are just long enough to scrape the ground a bit past her flats, hugging her hips and thighs but relaxing thereafter. Her shirt is wide-necked, very nearly off the shoulder, a taupe color with tiny pink roses printed across the fabric. There's a skinny black choker around her necklace, little more than a simple satin cord with a clasp at the back. A tiny sterling feather dangles from the center of it, right above the soft dip between her clavicles. Her hair sweeps across her brow and down, the rest hanging in soft waves around her neck and shoulders.

"Hi," she says, smiling, leaning forward to kiss his cheek -- and dump the grocery bag in his arms. "I brought lots of movies. And I will judge your suitability as a date based on which you pick, so beware." Her eyebrows waggle.

Alex

The door all but flies open when Heather knocks. Inside, Alex's little apartment is much as it was: a tiny space crammed with his Stuff, which is mostly athletic and/or electronic. Plus ramen. It still smells like ramen in here, even though the balcony door is open and the little grill out on the littler balcony is already lit and smoking.

"Hey!" She leans forward to kiss his cheek. He hugs her, squeezing her so enthusiastically her heels leave the ground for a moment. Then he takes the movies - he looks a little surprised - he says something about how he meant he had plenty of movies and she didn't need to bring any but that's totally cool we'll see whatcha got. Here, he adds, hauling out two or three gigantic CD binders full of ripped movies for Heather to peruse. She can see if there's anything she likes, too.

Maybe -- just maybe -- he's trying to get out of the possibly-deadly task of picking The Right Movie.

"So um," he says as he takes the potato salad out of the bag, "sorry for not calling for like... more than a month. I really didn't know I'd be gone for so long."

Heather

The plastic container the potatoes are in crinkles when he crushes her in that hug. Heather laughs a breath, and it flies past his ear, under his lobe, around his neck. Her flats come off her heels and she wiggles a little to get them back in when he sets her down. She looks at him, smiling, as he takes the bag of food and she walks in, unshouldering her bag and tossing it on the futon. She doesn't get out movies right away, though. He's eager to show her his binders, though, and she mentions oh, I brought some, too, but she's... not particularly dying to flip through the binders yet. He's set the bag of groceries down on the little table and she's coming back over to him.

The warm wedges come out of the bag, still wearing their deli sticker. Heather slips her arms around him from behind, silently and internally reveling in the way his abs feel beneath her hands, under his shirt. He's so warm. And truthfully, she felt so awkward and a little annoyed earlier when he called, just because of that last comment. Numbered dates. Third-date expectations. Well, what if she wanted to sleep with him? Now it's going to be all about pressure and expectations and is she doing this because she wants to or because stereotypes say to do and was he just saying that so that he would get laid and couldn't he have just... just left it alone?

Like she'd sleep with a guy just because he expected it.

Except underneath all of that, it was a reminder of what he was. What she is. What the relationship there is. If he wanted it, if he expected it, the only beings on earth that could punish and contain him would turn a blind eye if he just took it. Then again, she thought as she drove home earlier today from work, that's not far different from normal guys. Most of the afternoon her head has had such dark thoughts, all because he tried to tell her: you don't have to fuck me just because it's our third date. And she's already past the point of thinking of them as dates. Which is unsettling. She's not sure now if he's there, too.

Talking to her roommates, she remembered how awkward he was when she kissed him. How he was so happy just because she liked Surf Taco, kissing her across the table for it. How he hasn't really flirted, hasn't really tried to get to her, at least not consciously, but... he's so gotten to her. She wonders a little if he has any idea that for all his endearing awkwardness and terrifying potential to turn her life into something else entirely, she's rapidly become so fond of him. Terribly, achingly fond.

"It's okay," she says against his shoulderblade. She's quiet a moment, thinking about whether or not to say this, because it was all a tangle in her mind and all frustrating ...until she walked into the door and saw him, hugged him. Now she's fine. Now none of that matters. So she just says: "I just kinda missed you."

Alex

It makes Alex pause when Heather hugs him like that. He straightens up, and she wraps her arms around him, and he lowers his head as she slides her hands under his shirt. He takes a breath, palpable against her palms, a slow controlled inhale that expands his ribs, raises his chest.

He puts his hand over hers, through his shirt. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Me too."

Then he's turning in her arms, swinging his arm over her head. He's not very tall; he's not terribly wide. He's compact and hard and very, very warm, though, and his arms feel solid when they wrap around her. He kisses her forehead.

"I love having you here," he says. Sometimes he does this: confesses awkward little truths with a little shyness, a little embarrassment, but no shame at all. "It's just... nice."

Heather

Her fingers wiggle gently under his when he covers them. His shirt is old, washed a million times, soft and thin against her palms. It's almost as good as touching skin. Not quite as forward, though. He turns around and she stirs, shifting back a moment so that he can wrap his arms around her more comfortably. Then once again, she settles against him, this time chest to chest. The kiss to her forehead makes her huff a small laugh, smile slowly.

"We can always go over to my place, too," she says. "I think my roommates are curious now. I think my dog is, too." There's a pause, another moment where she's considering whether or not to say what's on her mind. She decides to; this is different from how she is elsewhere, with other people. "It's not as private, though. But you should come over some time."

Alex

"Aw," Alex sounds disappointed, "I'd love to but ... animals usually don't like me very much. They get scared or aggressive. They think I'm gonna hurt them. I don't think it'd be very fun for anyone if I tried to meet Bubby."

Now he sounds flat-out sad. He gives Heather another squeeze, then disentangles. "It's all right," he adds, mustering up a smile. "Maybe like... first I can meet him at a park or something. And then little by little, as he gets more used to me, I can spend time at your place. I don't think he's ever gonna like me, but at least he won't be all stressed out.

"Anyway - I'm gonna throw the burgers on the grill. I was just gonna season with salt and pepper, and then we can put onions and tomatoes and lettuce and ketchup and pickles and barbecue sauce and whatever else you might want on 'em. Sound good?"

Heather

That makes her frown slightly. Not in upset, but... empathy. Sadness for him, more than anything. "That's... "

She doesn't have words for it. She can imagine Bubby, who loves everyone like the little blockhead he is, but who is also protective. Who is still an animal. She's seen dogs bred to protect herds from wolves and she can imagine one of them losing its shit in Alex's presence. She can feel her own instincts telling her to flee or fight, just as much as they tell her to do anything else.

Bubby would think he'd be there to hurt him. Or his Best Friends. And he would piss himself in terror, or he would bristle and attack, because even golden retrievers have wildness in their heart. Savagery, carefully bred and trained into gentle domesticity over millenia.

She hears that sadness though, and she puts her hands on his lower back, holding him there a moment. "It's okay," she says, looking at him, her tone not insistent but gentle. "He's a dog. I've put him outside when a friend has brought a cat over, if he refuses to settle down and behave. He's a dog," she repeats, as though to make sure he gets it: Bubby doesn't know better. And what he's upset by, he will forget and get over.

Heather leans upward and kisses the underside of his jaw, then slips her arms away to let him go. "I'll slice the tomato." A faint, wry smile. "No onions."

Alex

"No onions."

There's a smile on his face again by then, big and genuine. Alex doesn't seem to know how to smile faintly, or smile slightly, or ... any of that. He goes get the meat out of the fridge - a big tube of ground beef that he slices into huge patties almost an inch thick each. Shakes salt and pepper onto them, then carries them outside.

The coals are just about ready on his little grill. He shuts the door so that smoke doesn't get inside, but pretty soon the tomatoes are sliced and the potato salad has been prepared - i.e., the jar is open - and Alex yells through the door that there are beers in the fridge. So Heather grabs a pair, then comes out to join him, and he moves the grill so she can sit upwind. It's cool outside, because even in San Diego Januaries are cooler, and besides he lives close to the ocean. He sits on the outside, shielding her from the wind with his body. She leans against his side, and

even though he made it a little bit weird with the third-date talk, even though all the way here she was conflicted and a little annoyed, all that went away when she saw him. All his weird nerves and that weird sense he had that he had to make sure she knew he wasn't going to be all weird about this shit have gone away, too. He flips the burgers and sips the beer companionably, and when the patties are about done he puts some buns on the grill as well.

As he's starting on the second round -- there's enough beef for six patties, it looks like -- Heather puts together burgers for them. Alex wants absolutely everything on his, ketchup and barbecue sauce. He forgoes the onions, though, because he thinks, he has a notion, that maybe later she'll kiss him again. They go inside to eat while the last two patties are grilling, and he tosses some pillows on the floor and they lean against the couch, fire up his TV, put it on mute.

"Whatcha brought?" he asks, mouth full, curious.

Heather

He grins, which makes her blush a little, but she goes into the kitchen and finds a knife to start slicing up the tomato she brought while he creates huge chunks of beef. It's very simple. Nothing fancy, no outlandish spices. Just salt and pepper on beef. And this is a good thing: good meat does not need anything fancy to dress it up. Hell. Even less-than-world-class beef doesn't need much more than some salt, maybe some pepper. Alex goes outside first, and Heather finds some juice glasses to pour herself some wine. She gets a beer from the fridge, shuffling around like she feels comfortable here,

because she does.

She comes outside with his beer, her wine -- I wasn't really feeling like beer tonight, is the simple explanation -- and they tip bottle and glass together to drink. She does curl up against his side in her own little chair, tucking herself close against the chill that is so much more potent to her. She notices that he shifts, blocking the breeze off the not-so-distant water. She turns her face to his chest and breathes in his smell, closing her eyes and dwelling in a moment of darkness, then just sips her wine and sits with him. They don't really talk,

because they don't really need to.

After awhile, he puts some buns on to toast, and she goes to refill her small portion of wine a bit. He brings in the meat, and they're piling burgers together, they're opening up the wedges and they're still warm, or warm enough, so they share that and some ketchup poured into the lid. Heather does not go for the barbecue sauce, but she does use lettuce and tomato and ketchup and a bit of mustard, too. And munches on a pickle on the side.

Alex puts everything but onions on his burger. Because he has this notion that Heather might kiss him again. And not the little peck on his cheek or the little tender kiss on the underside of his jaw from before, either. And not the sort of slow-warm-lazy kisses they shared the last time -- okay, only time -- they went out. That would be nice too, though. Those were good kisses. A month ago.

Heather sets her burger down, wiping her fingers on a napkin as she chews, swallows, and leans over to grab her purse, dragging it over. Her shoes are across the room now, her feet bare. She takes out DVD after DVD, laying them out in front of him: Shaun of the Dead, Sabrina, Run Lola Run, Moonstruck, The Jerk, Back to the Future, Amelie, Stranger than Fiction, Zombieland. Mostly comedies. Most with at least some element of romance, though more sweet and comfortable than tortured and sweeping. A couple with subtitles. "There's this great part in this one," she says, tapping Moonstruck "where this baby-faced Nick Cage yells that he's in love with Cher's character, so she smacks him and tells him to snap out of it." She figures he hasn't seen it. Truthfully, she figures he's seen the ones about zombies and maybe nothing else.

"I didn't look through your binders," she admits. "But we can if you don't like any of these."

Alex

"Oh! Shaun of the Dead!" Alex all but jumps out of his seat when he sees that. "That was awesome!" And, "RUN LOLA RUN! I love that movie!" And, "ZOMBIELAND. That is going in FIRST."

So: that's what they do. They stick in the movie featuring Rules of Zombiefighting and Woody Harrelson in his most badass role ever and while that's starting up Alex is reading the back of Moonstruck, curious, putting it in a special spot on the edge of the coffee table.

"We'll watch that next," he says, and leans back - burger in one hand, holding his arm out for Heather to snuggle against his side on the other.

Only to lurch up five minutes later: "FUCK. The burgers."

The last batch is, unsurprisingly, charred and very very very very well done. That's okay, though. They still have two more perfect patties, and frankly - the burgers are enormous. They don't need all that many to feel full. He resettles, she resettles. Zombies die. Alex chortles, sips his beer, and muses:

"Y'know, if Zombie Apocalypse were tomorrow, I would totally let you live in my uberbunker of zombie doom."

This is possibly the most romantic thing Alex has ever said to a girl.

Heather

He's excited by every film -- or just about. Of course he is. Heather laughs, covering her mouth so she doesn't spew anything, and she looks so pleased as he tells her how much he loves the three that make him all but bounce around the room. She waits for him to slide the DVD of Zombieland into the player and then scoots next to him as he settles back down to eat. Moonstruck is one of the more romance-styled movies she brought, up there with Sabrina and Amelie, but she seems no more attached to it than any others. She shrugs a bit when he says they'll watch that next, and smiles.

They snuggle. She munches on her burger, suffused with his heat against her right side, relaxed by wine and food and comfort.

FUCK. THE BURGERS.

Heather's mouth isn't full anymore and she bursts out laughing. He made six of these things and she's thinking she may not finish the one enormous burger he already gave her, but it really doesn't matter. Maybe they'll eat some ice cream after. He settles again. She settles again, right back into the crook of his arm, against his side. Jesse Eisenberg relays to the audience the rules of staying alive when zombies have overrun the planet. Alex says what he says and Heather smiles to herself, then decides to tease him:

"You realize you just told me that you'd like to take me underground into a bunker, right?"

Alex

"Nooo," Alex says, "not a bunker. Dude, I'm gonna build a fortress. Like a ... zombie-proof castle of doom. With turrets and arrowslits and stuff. Man," taking a huge bite of his burger, as self-congratulatory about his minimal cooking skills as ever, "this is first-rate."

They snuggle. They watch the movie. Alex laughs aloud at some parts, cheers at others. Talks rather incessantly, making comments like dude I'd just run! and why's she doing that? why would you DO that? and AWESOME! HEADSHOT! He's fun to rewatch a movie with. Probably awful, to be honest, to watch it for the first time with.

When he finishes his first burger, he starts on his second. And Heather's likely to full for an entire second burger, so he cuts a piece off of his and gives it to her. Later on he's still eyeing a third, but he doesn't really want the buns anymore, so he just slathers ketchup and BBQ sauce on a patty and eats it like that. The potato wedges disappear. His beer disappears. Eventually - when you're finding out that Woody Harrelson didn't lose his dog to the zombies, but his kid - Alex gives Heather a kiss on the temple and whispers that he's going to get some ice cream. He gets back as That-Dude-From-Lost-In-Translation, as Alex calls him, which might surprise Heather because Lost in Translation is so not an Alex-movie, is getting ganked. Hands her a bowl, slides down beside her, and puts his arm around her again.

Heather

He's gonna build a fortress. Heather just smiles, shaking her head, and on the one hand she's aware that he's kind of immature for his age, but on the other hand she's trying to worry less about what she Should Want and trying to remember that she's here because this Feels Right and anyway, if there were a Zombie Apocalypse, it wouldn't be so bad to hole up in a fortress with him. She's pretty sure.

"Oh god, you're the worst," she says at one point, after trying to shush him repeatedly. She's half-kidding as she says it, but when he bursts out with AWESOME! HEADSH-- she reaches up and cups her hand over his mouth, kissing his temple at the same time, her lips caught in a smile against his skin. He really is the worst. She's thinking no movie-theater dates with him. Mostly, though, she just... cuddles with him, watching the movie. She didn't even finish her first burger, leaving a couple of bites of it and a potato wedge. He eats the rest of those when she turns her plate to face him. He tries to cut a piece of his off and she just kisses his cheek instead of accepting it, leaving him with a small nuzzle of the tip of her nose against his skin.

When he gets up to get ice cream, her entire right side feels cold. She grabs the nearest blanket and wraps it around herself, then opens it up when he comes back, laying it over both their laps. It's really unnecessary once he's back, but she tucks herself a little closer with the blanket there, and that's nice. He got her about three times as much ice cream as she'll eat, so she eats it slowly, watching the screen. Her head tips against him again, her body lazy, her breathing steady.

Ten minutes later, some other point in the movie, she's saying: "I like you."

Alex

That makes Alex look over, head tipped, grin quirky. "Really?" he feigns innocence. "I hadn't noticed."

And it's true. He's immature for his age. He's immature for any age. His pfc is underdeveloped, he's socially awkward even if he's not exactly shy. He doesn't have Nice Things. Nor does he have any real desire to acquire nice things, or to understand them, or really ... to better himself very much. He does what he has to. He's happy when he has enough, and enough is fairly limited for him. He's not lazy, but he's not ambitious either, and... well. There's a reason he's still stagnating around Fostern a decade-plus after his Change.

Those are all the reasons Alex is wrong for Heather. And on the other side of the equation, rather simply:

she likes him.

Well; no. There's more than that. He's nice to her, a good deal nicer than most Garou and perhaps even most guys. He seems to understand and respect boundaries. He's fun on a date, and she can be fairly sure he'll protect her - not just physically, but in every other sense as well. She finds him attractive. She thinks he's hot. And:

she likes him.

So she tells him so, because at the end of the day there's no concrete reason for this, no list of pros and cons that would make any sense, really, to her BFFs. But it seems to be a feeling she trusts, and she snuggles herself against him again, and he has ice cream now and so does she, and he looks at her with quirky grin of his, like he's pleased and surprised at once and hiding it a little bit by making a joke of it. A second later he puts his hand behind her head and kisses her, quick and soft.

"I like you too."

Heather

She does like him. She's falling prey to one of the biggest pitfalls of women her age, which is considering Alex through the light of who he might still become, things that might change, but on some level she knows better. She knows she shouldn't do that. She knows, also, that this is not necessarily the sort of guy she should try to seriously date or consider in the long-term, but for some reason, she doesn't entirely care. She resists thinking about all that.

Heather's elbow nudges his ribs, color in her cheeks, shaking her head as he teases her with his feigned innocence.

She knows that she doesn't really care about Nice Things or not. She knows that it's good that he's satisfied with what he has, that he enjoys simple things. That he's willing to try new things, too. She likes that quite a bit. She has to ask herself how much her liking of him has to do with how blistering her attraction to him is, if it's a bad idea or a hurtful thing to think that maybe this won't -- shouldn't -- last but she would really, really like to just enjoy herself for awhile if nothing else. She has to ask herself sometimes what she's even looking for right now.

Heather certainly wasn't looking for anything or anyone when she met him. Nor when she came over to ask him some Very Awkward Questions. But here she is, all the same.

Truthfully, she is close to asking him if he likes her, too, when he says so, kissing her gently like he does. And the way he kisses her, his hand behind her head, the kiss quick and soft like he's teasing her with it, makes her pulse thump a bit. It isn't a scalding, blistering feeling, it isn't a direct jolt to her craving for sex, it's -- something else entirely. It's the feeling that makes her trust this, and drives all the other concerns and overthinking out of her head. She really likes him.

And maybe because of the wine or the freedom of that feeling -- not overthinking, not questioning, not worrying -- or a combination of both those things and the fact that she's so very comfortable with him already, but she puts her hand on the back of his head then and draws him back to her mouth, closing her eyes this time. It's not quick. It's very soft.

Alex

Onscreen, Emma and Abigail are blowing zombies away from a Hollywood drop-tower. Neither of them are paying any attention now, though. Against that backdrop of gunshots, zombie groans and little-girl-shrieks, the silence and softness of this kiss is arresting. So is the gentleness of their hands on one another's skin, each cupping the back of the other's head, their bodies turning to face each other.

Slowly, patiently, the warmth in this kiss grows. It's not a frantic headlong plunge into lust, this. It's something softer, unexpectedly delicate from Mr. Ramen Gourmand himself; rife with little pauses where he stops kissing her without drawing away, takes a breath before finding her mouth again.

By the time Jesse and Woody ride onscreen, Alex has completely tuned the movie out. He's breathing a little faster, and a little deeper. His hand has drifted: sliding down Heather's neck, resting on her upper chest. He thinks of touching her breasts, but doesn't just yet. He wants to make this last. He doesn't want to go too fast.

Heather

And this is unlike any other kiss they've had. It isn't awkward and one-sided and sort of embarrassing. It isn't given with half-laughter. It isn't in public, either. It's not a soft peck here, a nuzzle there, like they've been sharing all night. They haven't ever kissed like this. It's making her pulse do more than thump. It's making her heart go so fast and so hard that it aches. If she could think with complete clarity, Heather would appreciate that Alex pauses here and there, because she's not sure she'd remember to let herself breathe if he didn't. She's not sure she'd be able to keep going so slow.

They are completely ignoring the climax of the movie. It doesn't matter; they've both seen it -- Heather even owns it, has probably seen it at least two or three times now. Alex takes a moment to breathe, and Heather licks her lips, and they kiss again. Somewhere in there, he reached blindly for the table while he kissed her and set his bowl down, and she put hers on the floor and pushed it aside. The hand that was on her bowl is on his side now, against his lower ribs, absorbing his heat to her chilled fingers. And his hand is sliding downward, pausing against her skin where he holds it.

She thinks if he doesn't touch her soon she might lose her mind.

The heavy riffs of a blues guitar cut out of the speakers, followed by trashy cymbals. The timing of the movie's closing song is a little on the nose, but the fervor of it is completely mismatched to how slow they're going, how soft their mouths are. Heather doesn't break to speak. She doesn't urge his hands anywhere. She does, however, turn her hand on his body, stroking the back of her hand down his side, light and maddening through the thinness of his shirt.

Alex

There is a visceral response to that touch, so light and effervescent. There is a shiver down his spine, and all the hairs on his arms stand upright. That impulse seems to quake gently through him, opening in his mouth. His kiss changes ever so subtly: warmer now, his mouth on hers, kissing her on and on, each inhale filling his lungs to the bottom.

He does, in fact, touch her breasts. He cups one in his hand, quite tenderly. A faint panted breath mingles with hers; then his hand passes on, opening over her side.

Credits are scrolling. They've been kissing for minutes on end. Such a long time, but it seems so short, as though time has come a little undone. There's an immediacy in the way his hand grasps the trailing edge of her top after a while. The kiss breaks and there's a little space between, enough light for her blue eyes, and his hazel and warm. He looks at her for a moment. She can see, so clearly, that he wants her. For a second it seems he might ask her something: is this okay? Do you want to stop? -- all that. Then he closes his eyes and kisses her again, firmly, with certainty; slides his hand under her shirt, spreads his fingers over the skin of her side.

[AND THEN THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!]