This is the most frustratingly difficult fluff I've EVER WRITTEN.

[stunt_muppet]

As I mentioned last journal, Horatio and Marisol have never had a conversation that didn't involve angst. And I'm still double-checking to see if Horatio has ever laughed. (Only one example comes to mind, and even that wasn't a "that's funny" laugh. It was a "omg we're not dead" laugh.) This makes writing further chapters of The Sixth-Date Rule increasingly tricky, because how do you write small talk between two people who have never had any? 

Which makes me even more determined to finish it and perfect it. I'm stubborn that way. 

Without too much further ado, I present you with Horatio's section of the second chapter of The Sixth-Date Rule. (aka Part 1 of Part 2. Haha.) Marisol's section is in progress and will come soon. As always, concrit is loved, especially since I'm not sure I got anything right here. 

Still dithering over whether or not to restart my old ff.net account.

*grumbles*

[EDIT] Fixed a bit of the dialogue. Thanks to rainbowstevie for catching that.

In the privacy of the driver’s seat, Horatio couldn’t help but cringe a little when he caught sight of what Marisol was wearing.

 

Her skirt was decorated with flowers and twirled as she walked; strappy shoes with three-inch heels were on her feet. That would have been all well and good if she hadn’t been wearing a shirt with a neckline that ended, approximately, at her waist.

 

Why did she keep doing that? He’d been trying for weeks to think of a polite way to tell her not to. She would’ve been breathtaking in a sweatshirt and pajama pants; the plunging neckline just wasn’t necessary.

 

Plus, those shirts gave him yet another reason not to make eye contact, which he certainly didn’t need.

 

She grinned as she climbed in the passenger’s seat. “Hey, you.”

 

He smiled in reply. “Hey you. How've you been?"

 

 “Not too bad." She turned to him. “Something on your mind?”

 

“No more than usual.”

 

“Hmmm.” She leaned in close, wearing what was meant to be a look of intense scrutiny.

 

Her expression was so exaggerated and so dead-serious that it took only a second for him to start laughing. “What are you doing?”

 

“I don’t believe you,” she declared. “What are you thinking about?”

 

He shook his head. “Nothing. Really.”

 

She kept staring. “Nope. Sorry. Try again.”

 

He gave in. “We just wrapped up a case this week that we’ve been working on for the better part of a month.” It was half-true; that had been a long and convoluted investigation, and they’d ended up putting a nineteen-year-old in lockup for shooting his younger sister in the face. That kind of thing tended to stick in your mind for a while. But mostly he just wasn’t sure how it would sound if he replied I’m thinking about you.             

 

She leaned back in her seat. “Always at work, aren’t you?” She teased. “Take a little time off. It’s good for you.”

 

“Marisol, if I take time off, who’s going to do my job?”

 

“I don’t know. Get my brother to do it; that usually works for me.”

 

“Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate that.” He said, starting the car. “Shall we?”

 

“We certainly shall.”

Thoughts?

[EDIT] Part 1 is in pieces; you can find it here and here. (Read the first one first.)