sciencesaggressively | living on the edge

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kate

living on the edge

Newt is pretty sure there's no truer happiness than being released from the hospital. It's been a few days now, about a week since the accident, and now he's in bed just staring up at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Everyone keeps telling him to stay off his feet--something about it not being good to run around with a broken leg and lingering effects of a concussion--which, hi, five doctorates in biology here, he knows his way around the human body. He doesn't know why people feel the need to constantly remind him that he's basically an invalid right now, he hates it with a passion that he can't do anything.

He's had visitors, of course; Kate and Chuck have been in and out to check on him, help him where he needs it, and he appreciates all of it, he really does, isn't sure what'd he do without them. But he's used to getting shit done on his own, so having to rely on others to do simple tasks like pouring a damn bowl of cream is kind of infuriating.

So that's why he decides it's a good idea to roll out of bed, grab his crutches, and awkwardly make his way to the kitchen to find something to eat. Except there's a damn overhead lightbulb out, and he feels the inexplicable need to change it right now. He drags a chair over--harder than he'd have thought it to be, if he's honest--and carefully hoists himself up on it, using his crutch to balance himself. He bites his lip in concentration and he's maybe starting to get a little dizzy because okay, maybe this isn't his best idea and hopes nobody walks through the front door.

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Kate's gone out to get him breakfast.

She's not exactly an early riser most days, but she's trying to get herself into some kind of schedule before she starts her new job, so she's up at eight, showered, dressed, ready to go and she figures it's kind of early for her to go around bugging people, so instead she goes out to get Newt breakfast. Coffee and a breakfast sandwich from the place she found down a creepy alley that looks like it should just be selling salmonella on a bun, but is actually really, really good. She's doing totally adult things, being normal and successful and well, okay, maybe not successful as she technically doesn't actually have to work yet, but she figures that's just semantics. She has a job. Things are good with the exception of the casket incident.

And Newt's broken leg. That kind of blows, but she doesn't mind helping him out. So when she shows up at his place and lets herself in, coffee and breakfast in hand, she has to stop and stare at what she's seeing for a good thirty seconds before it actually registers. He's on a chair with a broken leg. He's trying to change a lightbulb with a broken leg.

"Are you kidding me?" she asks, setting the coffee and the bag with his breakfast down on the counter. She's just going to kill him herself.

He's like a kid who's just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar even she walks him, jaw fully dropped and eyes wide with the burnt out bulb in one hand and crutch in the other. He feels a little bit bad, he's kind of maybe been a pain in the ass lately but hey, he's almost been killed by a moving vehicle, so he thinks he should be allowed to be kind of irritable for a little while. Plus, the pain medication the doctors had put him on is starting to wear off already so he's afraid he's going to start getting more than a little testy soon.

"Um." For all the hundreds of excuses he might have used before, he can't think of a single one now, which frustrates him even. He struggles to step down from the chair, pretending like nothing happened when he smacks his broken leg against the chair, and oh, she's brought coffee and what he assumes is breakfast, he feels more than a little bad now. "Is there even anything I can say that will prevent you from getting mad at me right now?"

"Not a goddamn thing," she answers, dropping her bag and stripping out of her jacket, leaving them both on the floor near the door before she crosses to where he is on the stupid chair and reaches both her hands toward him to help him down. He's going to end up with a second broken leg if he's not careful and she's pretty sure the last thing he wants -- the last thing either of them want -- is another broken limb to deal with. There's no way she can be here all the time to make sure he doesn't start climbing the walls, maybe literally, given what he's doing now, but she's starting to wonder if she should work something out with Chuck.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asks, her brows still drawn together in a frown. "I mean, seriously, you're just gonna break your other leg and drive yourself even more crazy when you can't move at all." For some reason, she would have expected the fact that he got hit by a car to make her a little more sympathetic, but she finds she's actually pissed off at him. Or maybe she's pissed off at herself for not being here, but either way, she's mad.

He realizes that she's maybe got a little bit of a point as he takes her hand--not without a fuss, of course; he sighs heavily, pouts like a petulant child, the whole nine yards, and he knows he's on the borderline with her right now but whatever, his leg is aching more and more by the second so he doesn't have a lot whole of time to spare on worrying about how good his attitude is right now.

"I'm fine, it's just a lightbulb," he says, mad at himself for the fact that by the time she helps him tuck his crutches back under his arms, he's already out of breath from all the effort. "If I broke my other leg, they'd give me a wheelchair, and I'd be a million more times entertained." He huffs his way over to the couch, having some trouble even in the short distance because he's still not used to the stupid cast, and drops the crutches at his feet. He rubs at the back of his neck, frowning at the pressure he feels building back up in his head. He's even more frustrated now because she's mad, he knows she is, but he hasn't quite mastered balancing his pain with his patience just yet.

He nods toward the coffee and bag she's set down by the door. "Your stuff's gonna get cold."

"Uh, yeah, exactly, it's just a fucking lightbulb," she echoes, because what the hell does he need to change a lightbulb for by himself, anyway? She doesn't understand why it's so important to get it changed right this second when there's about a dozen other working lights in the apartment and also he has a goddamn broken leg.

And she can tell he's not happy either and she thinks maybe she should go easy on him, because he's bored out of his mind, she totally gets that. But she's been trying to help and Chuck has been trying to help and now he's climbing up on chairs like an idiot while she's out getting him breakfast. She's still not even sure what it is that bugs her so much about it, that he's unwilling to ask for help or that she cares so much about helping. It shouldn't bother her, it doesn't, really, she's happy to help, but she's so goddamn invested in him that it freaks her out a little.

"My stuff?" she asks, turning toward the counter to get the coffee and the bag with the sandwich. "No, this isn't my stuff, this is your stuff. The stuff I went out to get you while you were climbing fucking chairs with a broken leg."

He stares down at his cast--which is littered with little doodles and signatures and messages from people who's come to visit--and plucks at a loose thread on the couch as he grits his teeth, trying to bite back any smartass comments that come to mind. "I was almost done with it before you came in, I wouldn't have broken anything. Maybe the lightbulb." He knows Kate has been working her ass off between dealing with him and getting ready to start a new job, and he really does appreciate every second of her time but he's starting to feel like he's becoming a burden to his girlfriend and his best friend, and it's more than a little damaging to his ego. He's never been a particularly patient person so the fact that he has to wear this cast--he can't even remember for how long. Kate and Chuck would know, but he's already plotting to pry it off himself anyway--is infuriating, especially because it means he can't do simple things like change a goddamn lightbulb.

And now he's pissed her off even more, which is awesome, great, fantastic, he doesn't even know how to fix it because every time he thinks he's feeling better, he remembers that he nearly got ended by some asshole who couldn't figure out how not to hit a person in a crosswalk, and he gets worked up all over again.

He pats the space on the couch next to him, hoping she'll come over to sit even though he can't really bring himself to look her in the eye right now. He wants to say so much but he can't stop the thoughts racing through his mind, can't settle on even a short list of things, so he ends up letting out a mumbled, "Thanks."

There's something about the way he thanks her that completely kills her anger and Kate crosses to the couch and sinks down beside him, holding the coffee cup toward him. "You're welcome," she mutters, because she doesn't even really understand why she was so angry, let alone how to explain it to him, even though he probably deserves an explanation.

It's just that it's only been a month. A month since they've met. And she cares so much about what happens to him that she's actively worried about him climbing up on chairs even though, like he's said, he'd probably be just fine. It's not like he's a child, but she just keeps thinking of coming across that scene, Newt lying on the pavement, bloodied, bruised, clearly broken, and she feels something twist inside her. It scares the shit out of her, both the idea of something happening to him and the fact that she cares so much.

"Sorry," she says, reaching up with one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. She can't quite look at him, so she looks at the wall just behind him, her lips pursed slightly, not quite a frown. "You're just..." But she really doesn't know what to say or what's even appropriate when you've been dating a person for less than a month. She's terrible at this shit. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

He takes the coffee from her with barely a nod and kind of just sits there with it for a moment before having a sip. Pumpkin latte, his favorite drink, of course. He has to pretend like he's examining something on the ceiling so she doesn't see that his eyes have watered--only a little, though, okay, he's just tired and the pain is getting worse and he feels like such an asshole. He's maybe a bit scared from all of this, has been thinking that it's so not fair for her to feel like she has to take care of him or worry about him. He wonders if it's too much too fast and if it is, will she decide can't do it anymore?

There's a part of his brain that knows better, has no doubt that Kate wouldn't just bail because of something that had been out of his control. He still hasn't told anyone that he'd seen who'd done it because he can't really remember the guy's name, and he's not sure he'd be able to recognize him just walking down the street, so what's the point, right? He remembers the guy was a doctor and that he was snappy but he wasn't Owen. He could forgive Owen. Right now, he's still a little bitter at Dr. Whatchamacallhim.

He blinks out of his thoughts when she speaks again and her words, few as they are, have a strangely calming effect on him. He uses his free hand to lace his fingers through hers and forces a small smile. "Don't apologize. I know. I just..." He sighs. "I don't know, I just want it to be over. I really hate this, every second of it."

Edited 2013-11-11 19:13 (UTC)

"I know," she says, shifting on the couch, reaching for the bag with his breakfast in it and she offers it to him as well before she turns, tucking one leg under her body. This is the stuff she's bad at. As much as she has a problem filtering her words between her brain and her mouth, when it comes to saying something of significance, she can never figure out how to do it. It always comes out wrong, more aggressive than she means it to be, more defensive than it's supposed to. She looks down at her hand in his and chews her lower lip for a moment, giving herself time to think about what she's going to say next before she just comes out and says it.

She's not even mad. That's what she's realizing. Not at him, anyway, and it turns out Shoshana was right about her anger once again. She's wearing it as a shield because it's easier, more familiar to her than everything else that's going on in her head.

"I'm not pissed off," she says, looking up at him, because this stuff is hard enough to say already, she figures looking at him while she says it isn't going to make it much more difficult. "I mean, I thought I was, seeing you on up on the chair, I'm just... you scare me, dude. Like, heart pounding, dry mouth, tight chest, sweaty palms scary and I'm not used to that shit. I don't do that or... I haven't in a long time and I just give a shit. For the first time in a long time, I actually give a shit and if this is payback for me ending up nearly dead, then I totally get it. All you did is break a leg and it's a fucking terrible feeling." She's trying to make a joke of it again, mostly because she's said a lot more than she intended on saying, but it's out there now and there isn't much she can do about that.

He's quiet for a long time, so long that she probably thinks he's just a total asshat who just let her say all those mind-blowing things and isn't going to give anything back. But he wants to give her everything back, that's part of his problem, he wants to give her everything, he just kind of worries a little bit that what he's got isn't really enough for someone who deserves the world. He takes his glasses off and tosses them on the armrest, running a hand over his face and pretending that his stubbly cheeks aren't getting wet with rogue tears.

After taking a deep breath and a second to try to compose himself as best as he can, he manages to look over at her--even though it's through blurred vision--and clears his throat. "Yeah, totally payback," he says, a small smile playing at his lips. "But um, if I'm honest, the only thing that scares me about you is that you'll figure out you can do better. Not that I don't think I'm a badass, I mean, saved the world and shit, I think I'm doing pretty okay in that department. But y'know, sometimes it doesn't take a lot for people to figure out that I don't ever have a filter and that's hard to swallow for most." He shrugs a little because really, other than that teeny fear that Kate might walk away from this if she decides she's over it, he's... Well.

"You make me really happy. Like, stupid happy, the kind of happy that piss people off because I can't stop talking about it or you and how much I freakin' lucked out. The only thing I wanted to do was get the hell out of here until I met you and maybe that doesn't sound like it means a lot but it does, I promise it does." It does because back in the 'Dome, he'd been somebody, he'd been irreplaceable. Here, not so much. "I don't know how you did it in such a short period of time but... You changed everything."

For some reason, the first thing Kate thinks is that she's never had anyone say things like this to her who wasn't a total creep or completely wasted. He's neither, just sitting on his couch with her, saying all these amazing things that are somehow both the nicest and most terrifying things she's heard in an incredibly long time. Maybe ever. He's like no one she's ever dated before and that's a really good thing, even if it sets her heart pounding again, even if it means she doesn't know what she's doing a good part of the time. Even when it leaves her both petrified and completely elated.

"Filters are overrated," she says, curling closer, slipping her arm around him. With her head on his shoulder, she can't look at him, but she can feel the movement of his breathing and she closes her eyes for a moment, just sitting there. "And, yeah, I can totally do way better than a brilliant and super hot guy who cooks for me, says some of the most insanely incredible things I've ever heard and gets hit by cars while trying to get me flowers. Half the time I'm pretty sure the reverse is gonna happen and you'll figure out you can do better than me, even if I am pretty amazing." Ninety percent of the time, Kate's totally convinced of how fantastic she is, but every once in awhile, there's someone like Newt, and all that confidence disappears, leaving her totally stranded.

"It does mean a lot," she says, opening her eyes and tipping her head back to look at him. She doesn't know all the details, but she knows he was important where he came from, that he had something he loved. It means a lot. Slowly, she smiles and shifts, taking care not to jostle his leg as she slips onto his lap, her hands against his chest. "I can't promise I won't yell at you again if I find your stupid ass climbing the walls."

He kisses the top of her head when she leans on his shoulder, taking a shaky breath. "It's just like... I never cared about having a girlfriend before, y'know? It was never a priority of mine. And now, it's different, I wake up in the morning and I think about you. I used to think it was so stupid when people said shit like that but..." He trails off because he thinks she probably gets it without him having to spell it out for her.

When she slides onto his lap, he leans his head back against the couch so he can look up at her, resting his hands on her hips. "Well, I'm not gonna lie, it'll probably happen again. I mean, not the chair thing but similar. You can yell, I won't take it too personally. But I might yell back because it's just what I do."

He pauses because honestly, there's about a hundred million things he thinks he could say to her right now. "I was really scared that night," he says quietly, but he forces himself to keep eye contact because he's being totally sincere here, he wants her to know this and know that even though he's really bad at talking about feelings stuff, he's willing to try with her. "Like, there was a second there maybe between actual impact and landing on the ground that I thought maybe that was it for me. I can survive face-offs with giant monsters but not with a car. And when I realized that I could open my eyes again, I just thought about how much I wanted you next to me and then you were and now you're still here. I can't do better than you, Kate. I just can't."

He just keeps doing it somehow, saying the sorts of things that she can't respond to because she has no idea how, she only knows she can't stop herself from smiling, that his words do something to her inside and she drapes her arms over his shoulders, leaning closer. All she remembers about that night is being terrified and being furious, wanting to rip the face off the driver who hit him, not wanting to leave Newt's side, wanting someone there who knew what to do, because she's sure she doesn't have the best bedside manner, but she'd tried for him. She hadn't left to murder the driver for him, because he hadn't wanted her to go.

She shrugs a little, still smiling, then says, "Yeah, I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere because your leg is broken. I mean, I'm not going anywhere for any reason, but especially not because of this." And maybe tomorrow she'll find him doing something else dangerous and she'll yell at him and he'll yell back, but she thinks they can probably handle it, if this is going to be how stuff like that ends. She doesn't mind it either. Fighting is something she can do and at least he's not trying to order her around, tell her what to do. That's a problem for Kate, but yelling and fighting... that stuff is normal.

And the thing is, he probably can do better than her, but if he says he can't, she isn't going to sit there and argue the point. Even if he can, hearing it from him is enough, and she kisses the tip of his nose, then his mouth, the pauses, pulling back just a little. "I can't do better than you either," she murmurs. It doesn't seem like much, not after everything he's said, but she means it and even saying that much causes her heart to beat a little faster again. "I don't want anyone else anyway. I only want you."

"So I don't have to keep myself injured to like, guilt you into hanging out with me?" He gives her a genuine smile, resting his forehead on her shoulder and letting out a little sigh. "Good to know. I think that would get kind of exhausting, y'know? You'd be so over it at a certain point, you'd be like, 'How did I even end up dating such an idiot?' and I'd be really embarrassed. Glad we talked about this so I can avoid all that extra pain and hassle."

He's starting to ramble again which isn't altogether unusual but even without the glasses, he's still feeling a bit hazy. He shifts under her weight, trying to be casual about it because he likes her right where she is, doesn't want her to move because having her this close to him is a comfort he's not really willing to let go of, but goddamn, his leg is really starting to throb.

Hearing her say that, though, having a verbal confirmation that she thinks he's good enough for her is really nice, helps him forget about his leg, and he brushes hair out of her eyes before leaning forward to given her a gentle, long kiss. "So I can tell the line of guys outside the building to back off? They're gonna be awfully disappointed."

"Yeah, you know, if you could avoid injury in the future, that'd be really cool of you," she says with a laugh, because she isn't sure she can deal with another car accident or any other random injury that sends him to the hospital. When he rests his head against her shoulder, she reaches up, running her fingers through his hair, making it stick up more in the back and she can't stop noticing just how much she likes being close to him, not even doing anything, just sitting with him. Or on him in this case. She notices his shifting and thinks she should probably get off him before she makes his leg any worse, but then he's kissing her again and it's sort of hard to think about much of anything when he does that.

"Oh, them?" she asks, tipping her head to the side as she grins at him. "Yeah, I already told them to get lost. Turns out they were here for you all along. They were pretty disappointed, you're right about that." There isn't any line of guys waiting for her. She's pretty sure there's not even one guy waiting for her, except maybe the creep who keeps offering to sell her weed for cheap if she shows him her tits, but that's been going on since she got here and she's never once taken him up on it. The only guy she's even come close to doing anything with is Harley and she knows for a fact that he sure as hell isn't waiting for that to happen again.

"It's just you," she tells him, then shifts on his lap. "Is your leg okay? Should I get you some drugs?"

"I'll try but no promises, who knows, cars might just be really attracted to me and want to hit on me all the time now." It's a dumb joke, he knows it, but honestly, who knows? He's used to having a bit of luck, hadn't broken a bone since he was a kid, and yeah, he'd been beat up here and there but nothing super serious. Honestly, he should probably be more concerned about the whole possibility of future seizure thing but he doesn't want to think about that, wants to push it as far from this thoughts as possible because it's hard to look Kate in the eyes if he's thinking about the fact that just a nightmare could potentially trigger a way to off him for good.

He bats his lashes and makes like he's going to get up. "Well, if they're waiting for me..." He twirls a strand of her hair around his finger, grinning, and kisses her cheek. "Bummer for them, I fell for someone and I fell hard."

He shakes his head firmly. "You don't have to get me drugs. I can get me drugs." Because he's a grown ass man and she's already brought him coffee and breakfast and has been generally awesome, so he doesn't want her to have to feed him pills, too. He's pretty sure he's back to sounding bratty, though, which can't even be helped at this point.

"Okay, then, I'll rephrase the question," she says with a heavy sigh she totally doesn't feel, because whatever else they've said to each other today, he's just said that he's fallen hard for her and it's hard to be annoyed at anything. "Do you need me to get off you so that you can hobble around the apartment and get your own painkillers?"

She doesn't mind getting them, but she's probably going to have to pick her battles when it comes to this whole broken leg thing. Climbing on chairs is totally forbidden. Hobbling around his apartment to get his own medication she can probably let go, even if it makes way more sense for her to do it, since she's already here and she already wants to get up and get herself something to drink. She probably should have gotten another coffee.

Picking up his glasses from the arm of the couch, she pushes them back onto his face gently, then kisses him again before she slides off his lap and to one side. She's absolutely not going to ask if he's sure, if it wouldn't just be easier for her to do it. Instead she looks at him with a smile, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, thank you, that is exactly what I need." He's relieved that she's not mad because that hadn't even been his intention, he just really wants his drugs. "You're the best girlfriend ever, you totally get me." She really is, though, especially because he knows how difficult and stubborn he can apparently be, if Hermann's constant complaints had ever had any truth to them. At least Kate can't file anything official, not that it would stop him.

He has to stop himself from laughing, though, because oh, that is one hell of a challenging face if he's ever seen one. So he smiles back way more smugly than he should considering how much of a pain in the ass it's going to be to get up right now. He keeps his eyes locked on hers, grabbing for his crutches and heaving himself up, trying as hard as he can to keep himself from groaning in distress. His hands are shaking from the effort and he wonders if he's as pale as he feels because shit, even getting up as slowly as he did has made him infuriatingly dizzy. Goddamn car accidents and their goddamn consequences.

He starts his trek to the kitchen, craining his head to look back at her. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nope, I'm good," she answers, relaxing back against the couch, because she doesn't want to look like she's ready to jump up and help him the second it looks like he might need her. She is ready and she's watching him, but he doesn't have to know that. Or if he knows it -- because he probably does, she's been around enough, helping him as much as she can -- then she doesn't want it to be super obvious whenever he looks at her. "I should've gotten myself a coffee, too, I didn't even think of it, so I'm stealing some of yours."

It's not her usual drink, but she's been getting up kind of early lately and the last thing she needs is to try and get through the day without caffeine, so she leans over to retrieve his coffee from where he's left it.

"You don't mind?" She doesn't want to distract him, but she doesn't want him to think about his leg either. And maybe she can keep him talking, keep his mind off his leg and how much it must suck trying to get across his apartment on crutches. She's never had a broken leg herself, but she has a feeling it's pretty shitty to try and get everywhere using crutches instead of your own legs.

"'Course I don't mind," he calls back at her, and he's so glad that she's not there to watch him because now that he's out of sight, his hands are shaking more so that his pills rattle around in the bottle as he tries to open it. He taps one out and reaches for the glass of water he'd left out earlier as he grips the edge of his kitchen table so hard that his knuckles go white.

He takes a deep breath, eyes shut tight, and tries to mentally urge the medication to work faster because he refuses to walk back out there without a smile on his face. Is he being stubborn? Absolutely. No regrets. He grabs a paper towel to dab at his forehead before rolling his neck and strolling--as best as he can, at least--back out to the living room. "See? I managed not to get myself killed on my way to the kitchen."

From where she's sitting on the couch she can hear the pills rattling in the bottle and she has to lean over and retrieve his coffee from where he's set it down to keep herself from getting up and going to help. Her foot bounces impatiently as she waits for him and she sits up once, only to slouch back again. If he wants to do this on his own, she can let him, even if she thinks it's sort of ridiculous not to let her help when she's right here. Then again, she's always been pretty bad at letting people help her or relying on anyone.

Still, she thinks if she broke her leg, she'd have someone waiting on her twenty-four hours a day.

When he appears in the living room again, she smiles, takes a sip of his coffee and then nods at the place beside her on the couch like it's no big deal. "You're a goddamn rockstar," she teases as she waits for him to join her. "And, dude, just in the interest of honesty, if I ever break my leg, you're gonna have to do everything for me. Like, pillow fluffing, meal preparation, constant companion. Basically I'll be the most annoying person ever."

"I really am, I don't know why it takes people so long to believe it's true." He takes back his spot on the couch, already starting to feel a little better to his great relief, and steals the coffee back from her to take a sip. "Constant companionship I can deal with because I kind of like you, but I draw the line at pillow fluffing." He winks, though he can't help but think of how close she'd come to actually ending up in the ground, before he could ever even tell her--

He doesn't want to think about it. She's here, she's okay, and so is he. Well, for the most part, clearly a little worse for the wear but nothing he can't manage. "Why don't we just go ahead and make sure you don't break your leg, 'kay? Always look both way before crossing the street."

"Yeah, see, my mom took care of that lesson at a very young age," she tells him. "I mean, she did a lot of really dumb crap while we were small, mostly because of the other people thing, but I definitely got the whole look both ways part instilled in me. Also don't talk to strangers and definitely don't take candy from them and if someone is looking for their lost dog, never ever help them. She covered all that stuff."

There are plenty of things her mom didn't cover and she's still amazed she and Marshall managed to get through their childhood mostly unscathed with all three of the alters giving them very different versions of the birds and the bees instead of their mother.

She smiles over at him and shakes her head. "Nope, pillow fluffing is just part of the package. I'd totally do it for you, among other things."

"Good on your mom because obviously it's still lost on me," he says with an amused smile. "My parents tried really hard, don't get me wrong, but I always had a knack for getting into trouble one way or another. But I managed to talk my way out of it most of the time, my mom was a real sucker for these eyes." He widens them, showing off the green--and that bit of hazel--and plasters on his most charming smile. "My dad wasn't ever so convinced but mom never stood a chance."

He gives a dramatic sigh, letting himself drop back against the couch and bringing down a hand to rest on her thigh. "Fine, fine, I'll do the pillow fluffing, the whole nine yards. For the record, though, I wouldn't even ask you to do that so... Chew on that."

"Ugh, yeah, I know, your eyes are ridiculous," she says, reaching up with one hand and pushing his face away playfully, mostly so she doesn't have to look at his eyes, which are pretty ridiculous. "Pretty sure most women and gay dudes don't stand a chance if you turn those things on them. I mean, I'm more or less totally doomed." She figures there's no harm in admitting that, it's not like he doesn't know she's seriously attracted to him, especially after Halloween and pretty much every other day that's followed.

"You wouldn't ask me to do anything," she points out with a grin, turning toward him on the couch. "But the point is that I would do it anyway, because I'm spectacular. And totally selfless, too. I wouldn't even do things for you with the hope of getting something out of it for myself. I'm like a goddamn saint or something." Her grin clearly says otherwise, but she tries her own wide-eyed look on him, as innocent as she can manage.

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