Gale (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} iphignia939) wrote,@ 2004-09-25 20:45:00 |
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term limits (JoA, Luke/Grace, 1/1)
So I watched the 42 minutes of JoA that UPN showed last night. And then I did this.
If nothing else, all these hurricanes are doing wonders for my productivity.
This contains spoilers for "Only Connect", and probably for at least a few episodes into the season.
term limits
by Gale
SUMMARY: Please refer to part 57, subsection A.
“So I was going over the contract last night,” Grace says. She’s got her messenger bag draped over her like a shield and a Jhonen Vasquez shirt on, and her expression is even more unreadable than normal. Not that Luke’s really trying, since eight AM is still a good twenty minutes away.
This is not the best time to be engaging in a discussion about tort law. “And?” he asks, blinking at her. He doesn’t even ask why she’s at his window at 7:40 in the morning, just opens it the rest of the way and grabs her arm to help her inside.
Grace gets inside with a minimum of flailing and drops into the chair at his desk, sprawling out comfortably. That’s the weirdest part, so far; Grace hasn’t been comfortable in his room since the whole not-dating thing started. It doesn’t bode well for the rest of whatever happens.
”And I started thinking,” she says, rummaging around in the bag. “I think we covered a lot of the fine points but - *there* it is.” She pulls the contract out, starts rifling through the pages.
Luke doesn’t look at it. He doesn’t have to. He has it on his desk, marked with four colors of highlighter and split into sections with index cards for easy reference. He knows it almost as well as he does the periodic table, and a lot better than he knows the first 30 lines of the Canterbury Tales in Middle English. Which is a shame, because he has to recite those memorized next Monday. “Grace—“
”-but it hit me last night that I forgot one of the major – okay, right here – loopholes.” She folds her copy back to the last page and glances at something, then hands it to him. “Read the last one for me, would you?”
”Grace, it’s not even *eight* yet,” Luke says, and he knows he sounds annoyed but he can’t help it. He’s half-awake, he hasn’t had breakfast yet – God, without his glasses on he can barely *see*, and she’s asking him to sign and date that they’re breaking up. He’s had better mornings.
”I know what time it is,” she says, still holding it out. “Just read it.”
Luke sighs and takes it from her, then sits down on the edge of his bed. He fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand and wishes he was done with this already, whatever this is.
“’Part 57, subsection A,’” he reads. “’The contract existing between the parties – known as Party A and Party B – cannot be ratified after signature from both parties and a notary.’” The notary part still freaks him out a little.
“’Subsection B: if, however, both parties are in agreement, the existing contract can be dissolved and a new one drawn u-‘“
He breaks off and looks at Grace.
”Keep reading,” she says, expression still unreadable.
”-drawn up and the terms thus renegotiated.’”
”I don’t think yours has that clause,” Grace says, blinking at him. On anyone else, it would be a smile. On anyone else, it wouldn’t be half as good. “Could you get me yours?”
Luke looks at her for a second, then gives up and leans over her to pull it out of the binder next to his monitor. “Here,” he says, handing it to her. He’s keeping the index cards, though.
“Thanks.” And even with his glasses on he can’t be entirely awake yet, because the next thing Luke knows, she’s got both copies of the contract in one hand and a lighter in the other and oh, hey, they’re on fire.
They’re on *fire*.
“Grace!”
”What?” she asks, glancing around. “Oh, crap. Where’s the smoke detector?”
”No, that’s – that’s fine, you’re near the window.” Luke shakes his head. “I knew you always secretly liked the grand gesture, Grace, but *fire*? Come on. If you wanted to break up with me, you could have just called or something.” Actually, calling would have sucked, but this seems really, needlessly mean. Like she’s destroying the past three months, like the entire *summer* never happened, and that’s just--
”Okay, first, I hate grand gestures,” Grace says, staring at him. “I’m not your sister. You ever stand outside my window with a boombox playing anything from a John Hughes movie and I will drop you like a sack of hammers. Second, what the hell are you talking about? I’m not breaking up with you.”
”How would I know where to even *find* a-“ Luke stops mid-rant. “Wait a minute. Did you just say you’re not breaking up with me?”
”Yes,” Grace says slowly, still staring at him. “Though I’m starting to regret that.”
”Well, then, what’s this? Renegotiating terms, destroying evidence—“
”’Renegotiating terms’ is code for ‘I want to go out with you, you moron, but if I said that I would lose any and all credibility remaining to me’,” Grace says. *Now* she has an expression, and it’s a lot like his mom’s when Joan tried to do laundry. “And I’m destroying evidence because while I still think the idea behind it was sound, we’re past that now.”
”We are.” He can hear himself sound a little dubious that that. It’s not surprising.
”We are,” she says. “And I might. Possibly. Under the right circumstances. Let you ask me out for tomorrow night.” Grace looks wildly uncomfortable saying it, but not uncomfortable with the idea, and it’s a testament to the last three months that Luke can tell the difference between the two at all. “And I might say yes. But you’re not paying for me, I’m not dressing up, and if we go see a movie I would like to actually *see* the movie. Unless it’s a romantic comedy, in which feel free to distract me from the banality on-screen by making out with me for a hundred minutes.”
Luke looks at her.
”Or so,” Grace finishes. She jerks her hand suddenly and blows on the paper – the contracts, actually. The *former* contracts, since they’re now in ashes on Luke’s floor.
”Sorry,” she says. “About the mess, I mean.”
Luke gets the feeling she might not entirely be talking about the ashes on the ground, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Maybe they’re talking about going on an honest-to-God date, but if he so much as mentioned Grace’s name in the same sentence as something sentimental, she’d punch his arm so hard it’d bruise. It’s nice to know that not *everything’s* changing.
But all he says is, “Don’t worry about it.”
And apparently that’s the right answer, because then Grace is scooting the chair over to kiss him, and it’s just as good as it always is, maybe a little better because Grace isn’t being paranoid about people seeing them. Her bag is bumping his thigh, and every time she leans too close the chair threatens to scoot backwards on its wheels, and he barely notices.
That part isn’t any different, either. Luke hardly notices anything when Grace is around. It’s hell on his attention in physics.
“Okay,” he says after a minute, leaning back. “What about school?”
”What about it?” Grace says. “Six periods out of the day we don’t see each other. And if you were harboring any notions about carrying my books for me—“
”Why would I? You have a perfectly good bag bumping against me.”
”This doesn’t have to be a big deal.” Grace has says that a hundred times, but this time is different. It’s hesitant, not defensive. Maybe there’s no contract between them anymore, but things don’t have to veer wildly in the opposite direction, either. Luke can’t see himself slinging his arm around her shoulders or groping her in the hallway, let alone Grace confessing she’s late because it took her twenty minutes to decide between her pink skirt and her peach one, and that’s fine. If they did that they’d be other people, not themselves, and if there’s one thing the past few months have taught him, it’s that Luke likes who they are. They’re Grace and Luke, not GraceandLuke, and that’s fine. That’s great, actually.
“No,” he agrees, “it doesn’t.”
And maybe Grace gets that, because she smiles at him – the real one, the quiet one most people don’t see. “So,” she says, clearing her throat, “um. Movie tonight? Out in public, not renting something.”
Another first. They hadn’t been able to watch movies before; going out was too public, there were too many people at his house, and no way was she risking the wrath of her father by having a guy over when he wasn’t home, which would have been most of the point anyway. “Sure,” he says, and it’s weird how normal that feels. “Though Party B would like it noted for the record that he is not sharing his Sour Jacks with Party A, no matter how much she pleads.”
”And Party A would like it noted that not only does she not *like* Sour Jacks, she can get her own damn refreshments, thank you,” Grace shoots back. “And Parties A and B can buy their own tickets, though Party B can go get seats while Party A stands in line at the snack bar.”
”That would be amenable,” Luke says. Not smiling is making his eye twitch.
“Also,” Grace says, “Party A would like to remind Party B that sitting too close to the screen will give her a crick in her neck, so it’d probably be best if he got seats closer to the back.”
“It’s not Party B’s fault Party A is short.”
”I am *not*-“ Grace takes a breath. “*Party A* is not *short*. Party B is ridiculously tall.” The last is punctuated by a shove, knocking Luke back against the bed. Then Grace is crouched over him, straddling him, and Luke’s had dreams that don’t end this well.
”Pick me up at seven,” Grace says, leaning over and kissing him again. “Use the front door.” Another kiss, fast this time, and she’s gone before he can unflatten his hands and reach for her waist. Her bag bumps the wall as she goes out the window, making a loud enough thumping sound that next door, Kevin thumps the wall back.
So I watched the 42 minutes of JoA that UPN showed last night. And then I did this.
If nothing else, all these hurricanes are doing wonders for my productivity.
This contains spoilers for "Only Connect", and probably for at least a few episodes into the season.
term limits
by Gale
SUMMARY: Please refer to part 57, subsection A.
“So I was going over the contract last night,” Grace says. She’s got her messenger bag draped over her like a shield and a Jhonen Vasquez shirt on, and her expression is even more unreadable than normal. Not that Luke’s really trying, since eight AM is still a good twenty minutes away.
This is not the best time to be engaging in a discussion about tort law. “And?” he asks, blinking at her. He doesn’t even ask why she’s at his window at 7:40 in the morning, just opens it the rest of the way and grabs her arm to help her inside.
Grace gets inside with a minimum of flailing and drops into the chair at his desk, sprawling out comfortably. That’s the weirdest part, so far; Grace hasn’t been comfortable in his room since the whole not-dating thing started. It doesn’t bode well for the rest of whatever happens.
”And I started thinking,” she says, rummaging around in the bag. “I think we covered a lot of the fine points but - *there* it is.” She pulls the contract out, starts rifling through the pages.
Luke doesn’t look at it. He doesn’t have to. He has it on his desk, marked with four colors of highlighter and split into sections with index cards for easy reference. He knows it almost as well as he does the periodic table, and a lot better than he knows the first 30 lines of the Canterbury Tales in Middle English. Which is a shame, because he has to recite those memorized next Monday. “Grace—“
”-but it hit me last night that I forgot one of the major – okay, right here – loopholes.” She folds her copy back to the last page and glances at something, then hands it to him. “Read the last one for me, would you?”
”Grace, it’s not even *eight* yet,” Luke says, and he knows he sounds annoyed but he can’t help it. He’s half-awake, he hasn’t had breakfast yet – God, without his glasses on he can barely *see*, and she’s asking him to sign and date that they’re breaking up. He’s had better mornings.
”I know what time it is,” she says, still holding it out. “Just read it.”
Luke sighs and takes it from her, then sits down on the edge of his bed. He fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand and wishes he was done with this already, whatever this is.
“’Part 57, subsection A,’” he reads. “’The contract existing between the parties – known as Party A and Party B – cannot be ratified after signature from both parties and a notary.’” The notary part still freaks him out a little.
“’Subsection B: if, however, both parties are in agreement, the existing contract can be dissolved and a new one drawn u-‘“
He breaks off and looks at Grace.
”Keep reading,” she says, expression still unreadable.
”-drawn up and the terms thus renegotiated.’”
”I don’t think yours has that clause,” Grace says, blinking at him. On anyone else, it would be a smile. On anyone else, it wouldn’t be half as good. “Could you get me yours?”
Luke looks at her for a second, then gives up and leans over her to pull it out of the binder next to his monitor. “Here,” he says, handing it to her. He’s keeping the index cards, though.
“Thanks.” And even with his glasses on he can’t be entirely awake yet, because the next thing Luke knows, she’s got both copies of the contract in one hand and a lighter in the other and oh, hey, they’re on fire.
They’re on *fire*.
“Grace!”
”What?” she asks, glancing around. “Oh, crap. Where’s the smoke detector?”
”No, that’s – that’s fine, you’re near the window.” Luke shakes his head. “I knew you always secretly liked the grand gesture, Grace, but *fire*? Come on. If you wanted to break up with me, you could have just called or something.” Actually, calling would have sucked, but this seems really, needlessly mean. Like she’s destroying the past three months, like the entire *summer* never happened, and that’s just--
”Okay, first, I hate grand gestures,” Grace says, staring at him. “I’m not your sister. You ever stand outside my window with a boombox playing anything from a John Hughes movie and I will drop you like a sack of hammers. Second, what the hell are you talking about? I’m not breaking up with you.”
”How would I know where to even *find* a-“ Luke stops mid-rant. “Wait a minute. Did you just say you’re not breaking up with me?”
”Yes,” Grace says slowly, still staring at him. “Though I’m starting to regret that.”
”Well, then, what’s this? Renegotiating terms, destroying evidence—“
”’Renegotiating terms’ is code for ‘I want to go out with you, you moron, but if I said that I would lose any and all credibility remaining to me’,” Grace says. *Now* she has an expression, and it’s a lot like his mom’s when Joan tried to do laundry. “And I’m destroying evidence because while I still think the idea behind it was sound, we’re past that now.”
”We are.” He can hear himself sound a little dubious that that. It’s not surprising.
”We are,” she says. “And I might. Possibly. Under the right circumstances. Let you ask me out for tomorrow night.” Grace looks wildly uncomfortable saying it, but not uncomfortable with the idea, and it’s a testament to the last three months that Luke can tell the difference between the two at all. “And I might say yes. But you’re not paying for me, I’m not dressing up, and if we go see a movie I would like to actually *see* the movie. Unless it’s a romantic comedy, in which feel free to distract me from the banality on-screen by making out with me for a hundred minutes.”
Luke looks at her.
”Or so,” Grace finishes. She jerks her hand suddenly and blows on the paper – the contracts, actually. The *former* contracts, since they’re now in ashes on Luke’s floor.
”Sorry,” she says. “About the mess, I mean.”
Luke gets the feeling she might not entirely be talking about the ashes on the ground, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Maybe they’re talking about going on an honest-to-God date, but if he so much as mentioned Grace’s name in the same sentence as something sentimental, she’d punch his arm so hard it’d bruise. It’s nice to know that not *everything’s* changing.
But all he says is, “Don’t worry about it.”
And apparently that’s the right answer, because then Grace is scooting the chair over to kiss him, and it’s just as good as it always is, maybe a little better because Grace isn’t being paranoid about people seeing them. Her bag is bumping his thigh, and every time she leans too close the chair threatens to scoot backwards on its wheels, and he barely notices.
That part isn’t any different, either. Luke hardly notices anything when Grace is around. It’s hell on his attention in physics.
“Okay,” he says after a minute, leaning back. “What about school?”
”What about it?” Grace says. “Six periods out of the day we don’t see each other. And if you were harboring any notions about carrying my books for me—“
”Why would I? You have a perfectly good bag bumping against me.”
”This doesn’t have to be a big deal.” Grace has says that a hundred times, but this time is different. It’s hesitant, not defensive. Maybe there’s no contract between them anymore, but things don’t have to veer wildly in the opposite direction, either. Luke can’t see himself slinging his arm around her shoulders or groping her in the hallway, let alone Grace confessing she’s late because it took her twenty minutes to decide between her pink skirt and her peach one, and that’s fine. If they did that they’d be other people, not themselves, and if there’s one thing the past few months have taught him, it’s that Luke likes who they are. They’re Grace and Luke, not GraceandLuke, and that’s fine. That’s great, actually.
“No,” he agrees, “it doesn’t.”
And maybe Grace gets that, because she smiles at him – the real one, the quiet one most people don’t see. “So,” she says, clearing her throat, “um. Movie tonight? Out in public, not renting something.”
Another first. They hadn’t been able to watch movies before; going out was too public, there were too many people at his house, and no way was she risking the wrath of her father by having a guy over when he wasn’t home, which would have been most of the point anyway. “Sure,” he says, and it’s weird how normal that feels. “Though Party B would like it noted for the record that he is not sharing his Sour Jacks with Party A, no matter how much she pleads.”
”And Party A would like it noted that not only does she not *like* Sour Jacks, she can get her own damn refreshments, thank you,” Grace shoots back. “And Parties A and B can buy their own tickets, though Party B can go get seats while Party A stands in line at the snack bar.”
”That would be amenable,” Luke says. Not smiling is making his eye twitch.
“Also,” Grace says, “Party A would like to remind Party B that sitting too close to the screen will give her a crick in her neck, so it’d probably be best if he got seats closer to the back.”
“It’s not Party B’s fault Party A is short.”
”I am *not*-“ Grace takes a breath. “*Party A* is not *short*. Party B is ridiculously tall.” The last is punctuated by a shove, knocking Luke back against the bed. Then Grace is crouched over him, straddling him, and Luke’s had dreams that don’t end this well.
”Pick me up at seven,” Grace says, leaning over and kissing him again. “Use the front door.” Another kiss, fast this time, and she’s gone before he can unflatten his hands and reach for her waist. Her bag bumps the wall as she goes out the window, making a loud enough thumping sound that next door, Kevin thumps the wall back.
