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stunt_muppet at 12:35am on 08/01/2008 under csi:miami, fanfics, fic posts, fic posts: het, horatio/marisol, the sixth-date rule
stunt_muppet at 12:35am on 08/01/2008 under csi:miami, fanfics, fic posts, fic posts: het, horatio/marisol, the sixth-date ruleI swore I wouldn't stay up late tonight. I told myself I was going to get back on schedule so I wouldn't die once I got back to school. And look what happened.
Pah.
I had, however, forgotten how good it felt to shamelessly indulge in warm fuzzies, while at the same time immersing oneself in various and sundry websites about New York city, Italian cuisine, and the many varieties of pinot noir.
I present you with the rough cut of Chapter 3 of The Sixth Date Rule, in which there is discussion of New York, a cliche I couldn't resist but will write out once I regain my senses, and flagrant waitressing.
-----
They hadn’t ordered yet; only full glasses of water and silverware filled the table, both of them ignored.
“You know,” Marisol cast about for a topic of conversation, “I don’t think I’ve ever asked: you like living here? I mean, it must have been hard to get used to, after all that time in New York…”
“It was for a while, yes,” Horatio was leaning slightly forward; his hands were clasped and rested on the tabletop. “But I think I like it better here. I’d much rather be here than New York come December, for one thing.”
“You don’t miss your old life? Your family?”
He hesitated, just barely. “My family’s all here. Not much to miss.”
She smiled, and looked away for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” she said, which was in fact true. “You see it on TV and in photos all the time. The bright lights, the skyscrapers, all those people…Central Park…the Empire State Building…Broadway…” New York City was high on her list of Places to See, at least it had been back when she still planned on doing any traveling. “Is it like that in real life?”
“That’s only Manhattan.” The smile was back, faint though it was. “So, yes, some of it is. Most of the time. But there’s a lot more to New York than you see in the tourist pamphlets.”
“Like what?” She let her hand rest on the table, halfway between them. It was a rather blatant invitation, she knew, but this was Horatio, and as yet she did not quite trust him to pick up on anything less.
“Well, there are four other boroughs, for a start.” Was that a joke? He was still smiling, so presumably it was. Joking was a good sign, right? “And there’s quite a lot of Manhattan that isn’t Broadway or the Empire State Building.”
Hand still on the table, no sign of motion from him. “Tell me your favorite place in Manhattan that I don’t know about.”
Horatio thought for a moment, looked past her shoulder, furrowed his brow. “Have you heard…” He looked back at her. “…of Inwood Hill Park?” When she shook her head, he continued. “It’s a park in the north of Manhattan, far out of my precinct. I used to ride up there some evenings to go walking. Almost two hundred acres of untouched nature.”
“In the middle of New York?”
“It’s not all skyscrapers, Marisol.”
“It must be beautiful.” Still nothing. “You’ll have to take me sometime.”
“You’re right.” He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers. “I will.”
About time.
-----
And what was wrong with the tourist’s version of New York, anyway? He wouldn’t object to taking her to a show on Broadway. He’d never even been, and the Great White Way was far more pleasant than the New York he was used to patrolling.
Marisol’s hands were perfect – he hadn’t noticed it before, but now that his hand rested across hers he couldn’t help but think about it. They were smooth, delicate, with slim fingers and precisely manicured nails. No calluses, no lines. Hands like a doll, too graceful to be sullied by real life.
His own must have been so rough by now, all those years of sunburn and cradling the handle of a gun. Too rough to handle something so perfect.
She turned her hand over in his, closed her fingers around his palm. He looked up just in time to see her looking up at him, smiling.
He should say something to her, but at the moment he hadn’t a clue what that something might be. Nothing he could say seemed like enough right now, and there was some part of him that would be content just to watch her, his own inadequate hand clasping hers.
He didn’t hear the waitress until her second attempt at getting his attention. “Sir? Ma’am?”
“Oh!” Marisol looked up at the waitress and gave a quick, embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry – just a second…” She pulled her hand away and began to leaf through the menu.
“Can I interest you both in something to drink this evening, or do you still need a moment?” The waitress asked delicately.
“I think we’ll need a moment. But I would like to see the wine list, please.” Trying to dispel the awkwardness of the moment, Horatio picked up his own menu and waited for the server to go away.
Of course, once she was gone, he still couldn’t resist sneaking the occasional glance at Marisol.-----
As always, comment, critique, and nitpick as you see fit. I know this chapter's not as funny as the other two, and I'm sorry, but the next chapter should provide a few more opportunities for comedy.
Pah.
I had, however, forgotten how good it felt to shamelessly indulge in warm fuzzies, while at the same time immersing oneself in various and sundry websites about New York city, Italian cuisine, and the many varieties of pinot noir.
I present you with the rough cut of Chapter 3 of The Sixth Date Rule, in which there is discussion of New York, a cliche I couldn't resist but will write out once I regain my senses, and flagrant waitressing.
-----
Even Marisol had to admit, the restaurant was a cliché of a cliché. There were lit candles, there was soft piano music, there were white tablecloths and waiters with bowties. Granted, it was Italian, not French, but close enough.
They hadn’t ordered yet; only full glasses of water and silverware filled the table, both of them ignored.
“You know,” Marisol cast about for a topic of conversation, “I don’t think I’ve ever asked: you like living here? I mean, it must have been hard to get used to, after all that time in New York…”
“It was for a while, yes,” Horatio was leaning slightly forward; his hands were clasped and rested on the tabletop. “But I think I like it better here. I’d much rather be here than New York come December, for one thing.”
“You don’t miss your old life? Your family?”
He hesitated, just barely. “My family’s all here. Not much to miss.”
She smiled, and looked away for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York,” she said, which was in fact true. “You see it on TV and in photos all the time. The bright lights, the skyscrapers, all those people…Central Park…the Empire State Building…Broadway…” New York City was high on her list of Places to See, at least it had been back when she still planned on doing any traveling. “Is it like that in real life?”
“That’s only Manhattan.” The smile was back, faint though it was. “So, yes, some of it is. Most of the time. But there’s a lot more to New York than you see in the tourist pamphlets.”
“Like what?” She let her hand rest on the table, halfway between them. It was a rather blatant invitation, she knew, but this was Horatio, and as yet she did not quite trust him to pick up on anything less.
“Well, there are four other boroughs, for a start.” Was that a joke? He was still smiling, so presumably it was. Joking was a good sign, right? “And there’s quite a lot of Manhattan that isn’t Broadway or the Empire State Building.”
Hand still on the table, no sign of motion from him. “Tell me your favorite place in Manhattan that I don’t know about.”
Horatio thought for a moment, looked past her shoulder, furrowed his brow. “Have you heard…” He looked back at her. “…of Inwood Hill Park?” When she shook her head, he continued. “It’s a park in the north of Manhattan, far out of my precinct. I used to ride up there some evenings to go walking. Almost two hundred acres of untouched nature.”
“In the middle of New York?”
“It’s not all skyscrapers, Marisol.”
“It must be beautiful.” Still nothing. “You’ll have to take me sometime.”
“You’re right.” He reached across the table and rested his hand on hers. “I will.”
About time.
-----
Right. Because if he took her on a trip to New York, the very first place they’d go would be a chunk of forest in the middle of nowhere. Not that he didn’t enjoy strolling there, away from the noise and the crowds of Manhattan’s thickets, but as far as scenery was concerned, he was fairly sure it lost out to the Caribbean vistas Marisol was used to.
And what was wrong with the tourist’s version of New York, anyway? He wouldn’t object to taking her to a show on Broadway. He’d never even been, and the Great White Way was far more pleasant than the New York he was used to patrolling.
Marisol’s hands were perfect – he hadn’t noticed it before, but now that his hand rested across hers he couldn’t help but think about it. They were smooth, delicate, with slim fingers and precisely manicured nails. No calluses, no lines. Hands like a doll, too graceful to be sullied by real life.
His own must have been so rough by now, all those years of sunburn and cradling the handle of a gun. Too rough to handle something so perfect.
She turned her hand over in his, closed her fingers around his palm. He looked up just in time to see her looking up at him, smiling.
He should say something to her, but at the moment he hadn’t a clue what that something might be. Nothing he could say seemed like enough right now, and there was some part of him that would be content just to watch her, his own inadequate hand clasping hers.
He didn’t hear the waitress until her second attempt at getting his attention. “Sir? Ma’am?”
“Oh!” Marisol looked up at the waitress and gave a quick, embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry – just a second…” She pulled her hand away and began to leaf through the menu.
“Can I interest you both in something to drink this evening, or do you still need a moment?” The waitress asked delicately.
“I think we’ll need a moment. But I would like to see the wine list, please.” Trying to dispel the awkwardness of the moment, Horatio picked up his own menu and waited for the server to go away.
Of course, once she was gone, he still couldn’t resist sneaking the occasional glance at Marisol.
As always, comment, critique, and nitpick as you see fit. I know this chapter's not as funny as the other two, and I'm sorry, but the next chapter should provide a few more opportunities for comedy.
tired
(no subject)
I'm not even sure which half I like best; the first part is wonderful dialogue with an interesting take on New York as it pertains to the two of them, but then the second half renders me incapable of coherent thought, so that's a definite point in its favor. Hmm...*taps chin*
(no subject)
In all seriousness, I'm very happy you like this chapter, and that the second half was fluffy in a good way. :)
(no subject)
(no subject)