[ There's another of those funny, fleeting crumples he gets around his eyes at odd moments when she slips his earpiece on. He steps in closer, his empty hand rising as he shifts his gaze to the side of her face, like the ends of two magnets slipping past each other against invisible pressure. ]
Then you don't need this.
[ He murmurs, ruefully, as he reaches for his communicator to slip it back off of her ear. It's impossible to do it without skimming the whorls of her ear, his fingers brushing up against her hair gathered behind it, and for a second, it's like he could be tucking a loose strand of it back for her. A small, ginger act of carefulness, out of sync with the moment.
He palms his communicator with his thumb as he pulls his hand back, clipped and efficient, and pivots on his heels to head for the kitchenette. ]
Not quite what I was getting at. [ He explains, his back to her, as he reaches for the cupboard she didn't open to stash a jar inside. ] Although - fuck, who knows how much it matters.
[ But even as he says that, he's rummaging through her dishware. A short, squat glass cup, a ceramic bowl with a higher lip than the cup is tall. He collects both and closes the cupboard back up, going to the sink. Communicator in the cup, cup under the tap, bowl inverted and set on top. He leans against the edge of the counter, his hands flipped to the grip the edge as he looks down into the black mouth of the drain. ]
And what I'd actually need here is a Faraday cage, and even then - [ another half-laugh, all inhale without release, and he leans over to twist the sink on, water sluicing over the top of his little echo chamber ] - well. Work with what you have, not what you want, as they say.
You should put yours in the bathroom. Break up the noise a little.
no subject
Then you don't need this.
[ He murmurs, ruefully, as he reaches for his communicator to slip it back off of her ear. It's impossible to do it without skimming the whorls of her ear, his fingers brushing up against her hair gathered behind it, and for a second, it's like he could be tucking a loose strand of it back for her. A small, ginger act of carefulness, out of sync with the moment.
He palms his communicator with his thumb as he pulls his hand back, clipped and efficient, and pivots on his heels to head for the kitchenette. ]
Not quite what I was getting at. [ He explains, his back to her, as he reaches for the cupboard she didn't open to stash a jar inside. ] Although - fuck, who knows how much it matters.
[ But even as he says that, he's rummaging through her dishware. A short, squat glass cup, a ceramic bowl with a higher lip than the cup is tall. He collects both and closes the cupboard back up, going to the sink. Communicator in the cup, cup under the tap, bowl inverted and set on top. He leans against the edge of the counter, his hands flipped to the grip the edge as he looks down into the black mouth of the drain. ]
And what I'd actually need here is a Faraday cage, and even then - [ another half-laugh, all inhale without release, and he leans over to twist the sink on, water sluicing over the top of his little echo chamber ] - well. Work with what you have, not what you want, as they say.
You should put yours in the bathroom. Break up the noise a little.