2020-01-12 - ...means never having to SAY you're sorry.

Trucking right through this new year, Patrick and Anne are apparently in capable of settling into something like a routine. Between Christmas and New Year's, there had been a few days where things had seemed settled - wake up, part ways, work, meet up for dinner, go back to Patrick's apartment, rinse, repeat - but then there was Alexander's party, on the heels of which Patrick's niece took up residence, and it all just started to unravel so there were a few days after returning from the ski lodge where everyone had to retire to their separate corners for a couple of days. Something something there was an argument on the way back home about who-knows-what in retrospect - Anne said he could come to her house, he made some remark to imply he didn't want to, boom.

But two or three days of this is enough to wear down even someone as stubborn as Patrick, which is how he winds up knocking on Anne's door around seven-thirty in the evening, carrying one of those goddamn pretty bouquets he keeps getting from somewhere. This one is made of red roses with a spray of carnations. "Open up, it's cold out here," he calls from the porch.

It wasn't just some remark that launched an argument about 'who-knows-what'. It was a remark about her dogs, which lead to the bickering, which lead to the implication that he didn't want to stay, which led to Anne grabbing her luggage and storming off into her house and refusing to even so much as send him a text. But two or three days was enough to bring down the heat somewhat; at least, she was considering the possibility of speaking to him again, though it'd been 'maybe a text tomorrow', not 'have him show up at her doorstep at 7:30 in the evening'. But here he is, bitching on her porch.

She'd just been about to retreat to her bedroom for 'wine and bathtub-thirty'; there was a glass of white already poured and she was in a pair of yoga pants and a shirt that she was very eager to get out of and NOT FOR THOSE REASONS. But the knock startles the dogs, who bolt from the bedroom to go yip-yip-yipping excitedly at the door, wiggling butts in frantic motions while Anne frowns at the voice.

She should let him freeze to death.

Instead, with a huge sigh, she opens the door and folds her arms across her chest. The flowers get a look, an arch of her brow, but she doesn't reach for them or him. "Hello."

Patrick only called them 'fucking mutts' like ONCE, Anne, calm down. But no; even if he'd really like to just once win an argument with Anne, he puts the urge away and makes himself stand up straight in the doorway, holding the flowers to his chest while she just stands there, looking at him all arch-browedly. "Hello." While he looks passed her, to the yipping dogs with a momentary flick of his eyes, then hurriedly attaches them back to Anne - like he wasn't just sitting here thinking about the fact that he could MIND CONTROL those little bastards into shutting up.

Or running out into traffic.

"I brought you flowers. Invite me in."

Lucky for him, Anne doesn't notice the momentary flick of his eyes. If she did, she probably would slam the door in his face and tell him to try again next time. Instead, she stares for half a second and then rolls her eyes, leaning back into the hall. "Be my guest," she does not sound very inviting, but maybe it's the dogs waiting impatiently at the door, staring at Patrick with eager eyes and lolling tongues. She could tell them to go lie down, but she doesn't. She's making a point here.

"Thank you for the flowers," that sounds mildly more genuine - she at least acknowledges his attempt by dropping her arms and reaching for the bouquet and putting her nose in the blooms for a quick sniff, "They are very pretty." Beat. "I'll go and make you a drink." She doesn't even ask if he wants one, she knows, and promptly turns on her heel to head back down the hallway. As she goes? "Pet the dogs, or they'll follow you around all night until you do."

"You're welcome for the flowers." There's one of those little florist card-holders stuck in it, but it's not one of Patrick's patented hand-written notes. Instead, it's a folded bit of literature from the florist, specifically like 'what flowers to get for what occasion.' When she gets bored, she can read it and see that RED ROSES AND WHITE CARNATIONS MEAN I'M SORRY (according to whoever printed the pamphlet, anyway). Once across the threshold, he pauses to quit his coat and such, hanging it up wherever those things go.

And then he's confronted with the dogs that are going to follow him around all night until he pets them. He surrenders to crouch down in the foyer, leaning to make sure Anne's gone around into the kitchen before he tells them quietly, "I'm going to bring you some lovely Hemlock Milk Bones next time I come over. Won't that be lovely for you both." It's less that he's petting them and more that he's trying to shove their faces away from him with his hands, but dogs are dumb; obviously, since he has now touched them, he loves them the most ever~!

Anne is a liar, because those dogs are totally going to follow Patrick around all night now that he's pet them and she knows it. But they are so cute! They try to lick his hand and face since he's crouched, they wiggle their butts and twirl in circles out of sheer pleasure! THEY LOVE HIM! He promised them TREATS! So now they trot at his heel, nametags jingling with every little tap-tap-tap of little dog paws.

Anne busies herself in the kitchen, pulling down a vase to set up the flowers instead of making him his goddamn drink first. But he may make it down to the kitchen in time to see the little dimpled smile that she wears as she sniffs at the blooms again; it's not an expression that keeps once he's there, and she wordlessly turns her back to him to make motions of getting him a drink. She's got the good gin and she brings it down - it was obviously purchased specifically for him, because the bottle's not even open. "How's Katy? Is she making a good house guest?"

There's no door that Patrick can shut to keep the mongrels out? That's a bummer. He spends a lot of time trying to shove them away with his foot, even while he washes his hands at the kitchen sink. Because dog-slobber is extremely gross. "She's naive." It's a final-sounding pronouncement, like that's the very last word that can ever be said on the subject. Now that his hands are dry, he makes himself useful in the way of getting ice and things, not least because it makes for a good excuse to come around and stand next to Anne, clinking cubes into glass.

"Can you make them stop? I have to assume we're going to fight again if I step on your dog and break its foot or some such."

Anne's brows climb again at his response, canting her head somewhat to the side as though she were waiting for him to say something else despite the tone. But he doesn't and he makes himself useful instead, her blue eyes flicking to watch him there in her bubble. She bites the corner of her bottom lip and slides the glass over the counter to him, briefly touching the back of her hand against his own. It's almost a moment.

And then he brings up the dogs again.

"His foot," it shouldn't matter, but she corrects him anyway. "They're both boys. Smeagol and Gollum," she points a finger to each in turn before she frowns back up to him. "And yes, I can make them stop," but will she? "But honestly? If you're going to come around, you're going to have to get used to them being here. They're sweet and they very obviously like you, and they aren't going anywhere. They're important to me," she stresses that last point, furrowing her brow as she reaches for a cookie jar on the counter, pulling out a couple of milk bones from inside. Not hemlock ones, sorry Patty 🙁 She wags a bone at him as she adds: "And the things that are important to me should make an effort to get along with the other things that are important to me." That is spoken with an air of finality, as though that's the very last thing she has to say on this whole ordeal. Then she bends to give the dogs each a bone. "Go on, go lay down," she encourages them. Do they listen?!

It takes a few scritches behind the ears, but those dots in leadership pay off!

Patrick repeats the word 'his' below his breath, soundless but every so enlightened, just look at how he absorbs the pronoun and nods at it. The moment they almost had before he started in about the dogs becomes an entirely different moment they're about to have when Anne's on about the things that are important to her, because Patrick's doing that thing where he's having an entire argument in his head while he stares at her flatly for at least five seconds, then that other thing where he decides the only solution here is alcohol. Want to be his roll goes better than hers?

He's making himself a nice G&T while she's convincing these mutts to go eat Milk Bones and leave him alone. Eventually, when she finally gets some working dice and the dogs wander off, he FYIs, "You're discounting the effort I'm expending to get along with them by coming here. Am I making two drinks or one?" He casts a look around the kitchen for any sign of a poured wine glass.

It's SUPER easy to make a good cocktail when Anne's already done most of the work! Those dice are LIARS! Either way, she gets back up once the dogs have trotted off, opting to repay the favor and stare at him flatly for at least five seconds before she shakes her head. "They're just dogs," she says plainly, stubbornly, and then drops the subject. "You can make two. I was going to lay in the bath, but.." best laid plans. There is a wine glass on the counter, already poured (read my gd poses rabble rabble rabble), but she's just gonna drink that while he makes her G&T. At least she opts to stay close, leaning a hip into the lip of the counter and turning her face up to him, keeping her attention on his face. It's almost an admiring look. Almost.

"Are you spending the night?"

IT'S WORTH NOTING that the whole reason Patrick is looking around for the glass is 'cause his player seemed to remember reading that there was one but said player was not inclined to dig through the back-scroll to be sure. So now he knows there's one there and he is still making a second drink, so it's a good thing he asked, isn't it? RABBLE INDEED.

"Are cocktails and bathtubs mutually exclusive? I had no idea." This is how much he likes Anne: he slides the finished drink down to her and works on the second one for himself, delaying his alcoholic gratification so she can get her drink on first. "Possibly. I hadn't set my hear on it, considering how this went last time." Where 'this' almost certainly equals flowers and cocktails and bickering.

RABBLE.

She doesn't answer him at first, brows maintaining their arch as she waits the answer to her question. And when she gets it, there's a thin smile. "Cocktails and bathtubs actually make a good pairing. But when combined with an unexpected house guest.." her hand wobbles in the air. "I suppose we'll see if all things can fit together? Depending on how the night goes." She flashes him a quick, brighter smile that dimples her cheeks before she turns to put her empty wine glass in the sink. It frees her up for the gin & tonic, which she takes and lifts to his, clinking the glasses together.

"Here's to second chances?" she offers up, head tipping to one side. "We've come a long way from last time." But they really haven't.

Second chances. Patrick glances down at his fingers, not-so-subtly counting off with his thumb tapping the ends of his fingers - through first, second, third, fourth... shit, he's run out of fingers on that hand, and so just stops and clicks glasses. "Oh good," he decides, like the fact that they've come a long way is news to him, but he's totally buying into this summary even if it's all kinds of wrong. "At the risk of ruining any hope of a bathtub in my future." He takes a quick drink, sets the glass down, frowns contemplatively.

"You might consider asking Clayton to see if he can find your families' phone numbers." Not that it's been on his mind for like the last ten days straight, but it's been on his mind at least SOME of the last ten days. Having taken the conversational plunge, he watches Anne keenly - ready to bolt.

And things were going so well!

She meets the thing she might consider with lingering silence, fingers tightening around the glass like it might anchor her there in her spot. She's doing her level best to keep the emotion off her face, to keep her feelings on the matter as closed off as humanly possible, but the frown is hard to miss. "I'll think about it," she says flatly, takes a drink, and turns on her heel to walk over to the sofa and drop herself into the cushions. At least he's invited to come along, if the wiggle of her finger in his direction that comes after she settles is any indication.

"So what's so naive about Katy?" The question is a sort of quid pro quo - he says something difficult, she asks something difficult, and eventually they're just going to get drunk enough where conversation won't matter. But she's not lingering on the topic of her family; she's trying not to make it obvious, but it's pretty blatantly clear there's something more to this that she hasn't told him yet.

Were they, though? Really?

"I had him looking for the kid that works for me that's disappeared." Patrick shares this like that explains the reason he brought it up. Like that alone is the reason the matter was on his mind. Since it obviously can't be that he's concerned for Anne's emotional well-being. "But said kid has disappeared, either voluntarily or..." The wiggle of his fingers back is not the inviting kind; it's the vague kind that suggests terrible things to which he'd rather not give voice. "Which leaves him all freed up to look into other matters." Like Anne's family ghosting her (in a totally different way than Patrick's family is ghosting him).

Yes, he gets that the return volley is his punishment, and he conveys this comprehension in a dull look at Anne while he follows along toward the sofa. "She just hasn't learned any hard lessons yet. Alas." He sits down as close to Anne as humanly possible without actually being in her lap, dropping an arm across her shoulders comfortably. "She will have to do so the hard way, since she doesn't care to take my advice." I.e., fuck her, she's on her own.

What Patrick says first - about the kid who disappeared - clearly surprises Anne. There's a moment where the mood shifts, when she stares at him with wide eyes and lifted brows and it's painfully obvious that she's impressed by him and that also maybe possibly sort of turns her on, because she all too eagerly burrows herself into his side when he sits down beside her. "You did that?" it's in a tone like she can't quite believe it, and it's something she's going to think about even though she drops the conversation with a quick shake of her head. "I'm sure he has other things to keep himself busy," meaning Alexander. "But even if he does have the time, it's not like I have a ton of disposable money just laying about and.." And she breathes out a sigh. ".. and maybe some things are just better off left alone."

She brings her legs up onto the sofa cushion, leaning more comfortably into him as they move on to the talk of Katy, the frown returning to her features. "If there's any place that will teach her those lessons, it's here," she notes gloomily, soberly. "But you can't just write her off. She's family."

"That would be an odd thing to lie about." It's not like pretending to have a wife and five kids just because you ran into your ex at Safeway. THAT is a perfectly normal lie. Moving on!

Patrick listens to the reasons Anne has for not engaging Alexander. Their current seating situation means she can't see the reaction on his face to this story, and the kiss he burrows into the top of her head also helps ensure his expression remains a mystery. Though, considering the comment he makes, Anne would have to be dense AF to not know that he thinks her excuses are thin. "I haven't written her off, but as you say. Some things are just better off left alone." He tenses against her after saying that, something that wouldn't even be notable if they weren't a hair's breadth from climbing on top of each other here. It's Patrick's version of holding his breath in anticipation of things going badly.

"Says the man who lied about being abandoned by his wife and five kids," Anne pairs that with a sweet, dimpled smile. She even flutters her lashes as she looks adoringly up to him. But at least she tempers her inability to keep her thoughts to herself with a kiss that she applies to his jaw, before he goes and burrows kisses on the top of her head. At least one of them's got the 'keeping things a mystery' thing down pat. Hah. Down pat. Get it?

There's something on the tip of her tongue, but she notices the tension and that makes the smile dim, brows crumpling into a furrow. And look, Anne's stubborn, but she's one dot away from being as stubborn as Patrick.. and you have to give a little to get a little, sometimes. So, she tiptoes her fingers down the top of his thigh to rest her hand there on her knee, her head slowly bobbing into a nod, before she glances back up to him with a smile that could be brighter, but she's clearly holding back. "Yes, but.. I mean. Only some things." And then she gives his knee a squeeze, as if to indicate that he's a thing that's not better off left alone.

Says the man who lied about being abandoned by his wife and five kids, "You hope." Patrick even glances back over his shoulder toward the door, like he's waiting for the wife+5 to kick down the door any minute now... but that doesn't happen, whew. Neither does Anne tell him that he should leave, and instead pats his leg for him - which is a pretty nice alternative from his perspective. So, even if her smile isn't quite as dazzling as it could be if she would just put some goddamn effort into it, he will still stop looking over his shoulder and instead duck his head, planting a ginny kiss on her beam.

There needs to be some hold-music or something, 'cause it's gonna take a minute to come up for air.

Then! "The whole point in showing up at your door with flowers was so we didn't have to deal with the situation with my niece." Just another FYI.

"You're right, I do," Anne murmurs back with regards to hope. It's the tiniest bit of vulnerability that she's even remotely comfortable with sharing at the moment - though, on the other hand, it could be taken as a sign of trust issues, too. But at least she doesn't look over his shoulder, and instead waits for him to look back over here, turning up the wattage on the smile when he does. It doesn't last, of course, because it's impossible to kiss and smile, and she'd much rather do the former. It was far better than talking and hoping and bickering.

Then! She draws in a breath and stretches to put her gin over there, so that she can put herself over here - meaning, in his lap, because it was better than beside him, and because in spite of herself, she missed him over the past few days. "I figured," she says to the whole point. "The flowers were a nice touch though. I probably wouldn't have let you in without them," that's a lie. But the next part isn't! "You can stay." There's not even a qualifier, no 'tonight' or 'until the morning'. "Did you bring a bag?"

Before Patrick puts his glass over there next to Anne's, he empties it of everything except the ice cubes. Normally, he'd go ahead and crunch those, too, on account of they have residual booze on them, but Anne is here now, so the ice cubes will have to melt on their own time. "I thought the tulips were nicer, personally, but I didn't want to be told that I should just go again. So. Roses." Like it was the flowers that ruined everything the last time he was here.

He's going to start undressing her presently, just as a side-note. That's what's going on in the background when he answers for a bag. "No, but I keep a suit at the office, so I'll be fine." Hold on! He leans away abruptly to note, "But if we don't get to take a fucking bath tonight, you will never see me again." Patrick says 'a fucking bath' so he damn sure means a FUCKING bath. He's not gonna throw in extra words like that without intent!

"I wouldn't have turned you away just because you brought tulips," in case he actually believed it was the flowers the last time. "I liked the tulips. I love the roses. But.." There are buts everywhere, and soon to be butts everywhere, considering she was already fussing with the button on his collar. ".. Orchids are still my favorite. Just in case you have to try again," there's a wry smirk that comes at the end of that along with another kiss, though this one doesn't last nearly as long as the previous. After all, she needs to concentrate on these buttons while they talk about lack of bags and suits at the office.

"You could bring a bag. If this situation with your niece lingers on," she offers as she undoes another button, "Or even if it doesn't." She's just going to put that out there and promptly lean back as he does, brows up and smile wide. "Don't make threats you're not willing to follow through with, Patrick," she warns, sinking back into him promptly thereafter so that she can nip at his bottom lip, then kiss along his jaw. "But here's to hoping you fit."

Almost everything Anne says in that pose gets ignored. Not because Patrick is rude, but because Patrick is trying to get sexytimes in the tub, and his answers to those comments would really derail that plan. They can circle back to things like bags being brought to houses (no, he's not doing that) and his willingness to vanish forever (no, he's not doing that, either) later.

Or never. He's happy pretending those comments never existed.

But the last comment! That one makes him say certainly, "It's a tight space, but I think we'll be fine once I'm in." Except the thought is quite exciting, so they're gonna have to fool around on the sofa first and work their way around to the bathtub a little later. And eventually, he'll actually sleep in Anne's bed without complaining that his is better.

But if those dogs try to intrude, he's going to throw shoes at them. Hard.