Ahhh I don't know how this happened but this ship has kind of consumed me? No bona-fide spoilers, though is this set post series, in the grand scheme of things.
“Let’s go for a pint.” He says, six weeks notice gone and he can tell she knows he’s grasping for straws. He’s done, and so are they-that’s the way he thinks she sees it.
“Alright.” She nods, “OK.” And then she adds, her eyes shooting wide, “As a friend.”
He guffaws, “No, I was thinking we could go as enemies.”
“You are joking.” She says, and again there’s a pause before she adds - “It wasn’t funny.”
She’s smiling, though.
Karl has long been a sucker for a pretty face, his friends will tell you. He’s never been mad about foreign birds, they’ll be quick to add if questioned. And he’s even less crazy about colleagues-he’s always hated HR, you see.
She asks for a glass of wine, and he murmurs something about expensive tastes. Elise frowns, and it only makes him chuckle harder. “You don’t laugh a lot, do you?” He pauses, bites back the smile as he hands over the tenner to the barman. He too is chuckling.
Her fingers clench around the stem, “I laugh at amusing things.”
“Like me?”
“No,” she says straightly, “Not like you.”
The wine is red, and it stains her lips. “This is shit,” she says eventually, cutting through his equally bad small talk.
“I, oh, er-“ She has him stumped, only half a drink in. This fact about her amuses his friends, when he tells them, how she has him speechless. It amuses him too, of course - he is self-depreciating.
“That is funny,” she says, “how people talk like you in-“ she searches, “Period Dramas.”
“Like Downton Abbey?”
“I expect so.” She pauses, “You’re very English.”
He laughs, “You’re very French.”
“I am beginning to think you don’t say that as a compliment.”
Three rounds pass, and Elise moves from wine - “So fucking expensive in your country, what?” - to beer. They don’t talk about Kieran, or Adam, but are quick to keep it to something inconsequential; Britney Spears and the new iPhone and favourite films (Karl’s? Die Hard, no contest, Elise’s? He didn’t understand the pronunciation but he has a horrible feeling it’s Grease).
“I am sorry.” Elise says, abrupt. “For your loss.” Her eyes dart around the pub, never hitting his face.
His hand gropes for hers. “Thank you, Elise.”
“I tried,” she says. “You know that.”
Karl nods, “I know that.” And finally, she meets his gaze and lets her fingers twine with his. They’re cold, thanks to the pint she’s been nursed, but strong and stark between his. It’s rare for her, to look at him this intently for so long. “Elise, I-“ he begins again.
“Shush,” she breathes, and edges closer. Still her eyes do not blink and his are beginning to water.
“I have a-“ Karl starts, between breaths. Her mouth is insistent against his, her body pressed into the corner of a cubicle in the gent’s loo.
“I am French, I don’t care.” She says against his cheek, his chin and then his chest. “You have a wife, I don’t like sleeping besides people. We are the perfect match.”
He laughs at this, “I dispute that,” he says to her hair but kisses it all the same. She pushes her hips to his-“Elise.”
Finally she pulls back, braces his face between her hands. “What is it with you English?”
Her gaze is fierce and Karl pulls her back close, pressing his lips down and down-“Fuck this,” and then, “I wish I knew.”
Elise’s hands grope in his hair as he falls to his knees, tugging her jeans with him and he swears again. “I-“
“Live a little,” she snaps, and the way she looks at him stuns him so much she has to push him back into action, “Get on with it you English bastard.”
This is how Karl feels his world end, in the corner of a gents in a pub on the coast of Kent with a French blondes face too close to his and her hand sliding with practised ease. He thinks of his easy existence before her, and wishes it were back until she twists just so, always precise and if not measured then at least exact.
He falls apart now, half in relief and half in grief and she holds him in both; one hand against his cheek and the others nails dug into his shoulder and dragging across his chest. “Remember to breathe,” she says, breathless and matter-of-fact.
“You’re funny,” comes his ragged response.
“But you don’t laugh?”
He laughs now, low and deep, “I’m concentrating.”
The barman eyes him sideways when he returns their glasses, a dodgy uncle’s wink.
“A colleague of mine,” Karl says.
“Aye.” The barman agrees, “She must be looking forward to her pay review.”
Oh my goddddddd I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. I don't think I realized how wholly desperate I was for fic for this show until I read this? They both had the GREATEST chemistry and you captured that perfectly here! I'm so impressed by not only how spot on you had Elise's voice in this, with lines like these in particular -
“Alright.” She nods, “OK.” And then she adds, her eyes shooting wide, “As a friend.”
He guffaws, “No, I was thinking we could go as enemies.”
“You are joking.” She says, and again there’s a pause before she adds - “It wasn’t funny.”
She’s smiling, though.
AND
“You have a wife, I don’t like sleeping besides people. We are the perfect match.”
- but also how well you wrote Karl! Everything about him here rang so true to me, be it the repressed grief, the drinking, the half-hearted attempt to take the higher road and not hook up with her - all so, so good! I can't thank you enough for writing this and finally sating my epic thirst where these two are concerned!
“Let’s go for a pint.” He says, six weeks notice gone and he can tell she knows he’s grasping for straws. He’s done, and so are they-that’s the way he thinks she sees it.
“Alright.” She nods, “OK.” And then she adds, her eyes shooting wide, “As a friend.”
He guffaws, “No, I was thinking we could go as enemies.”
“You are joking.” She says, and again there’s a pause before she adds - “It wasn’t funny.”
She’s smiling, though.
Karl has long been a sucker for a pretty face, his friends will tell you. He’s never been mad about foreign birds, they’ll be quick to add if questioned. And he’s even less crazy about colleagues-he’s always hated HR, you see.
She asks for a glass of wine, and he murmurs something about expensive tastes. Elise frowns, and it only makes him chuckle harder. “You don’t laugh a lot, do you?” He pauses, bites back the smile as he hands over the tenner to the barman. He too is chuckling.
Her fingers clench around the stem, “I laugh at amusing things.”
“Like me?”
“No,” she says straightly, “Not like you.”
The wine is red, and it stains her lips. “This is shit,” she says eventually, cutting through his equally bad small talk.
“I, oh, er-“ She has him stumped, only half a drink in. This fact about her amuses his friends, when he tells them, how she has him speechless. It amuses him too, of course - he is self-depreciating.
“That is funny,” she says, “how people talk like you in-“ she searches, “Period Dramas.”
“Like Downton Abbey?”
“I expect so.” She pauses, “You’re very English.”
He laughs, “You’re very French.”
“I am beginning to think you don’t say that as a compliment.”
Three rounds pass, and Elise moves from wine - “So fucking expensive in your country, what?” - to beer. They don’t talk about Kieran, or Adam, but are quick to keep it to something inconsequential; Britney Spears and the new iPhone and favourite films (Karl’s? Die Hard, no contest, Elise’s? He didn’t understand the pronunciation but he has a horrible feeling it’s Grease).
“I am sorry.” Elise says, abrupt. “For your loss.” Her eyes dart around the pub, never hitting his face.
His hand gropes for hers. “Thank you, Elise.”
“I tried,” she says. “You know that.”
Karl nods, “I know that.” And finally, she meets his gaze and lets her fingers twine with his. They’re cold, thanks to the pint she’s been nursed, but strong and stark between his. It’s rare for her, to look at him this intently for so long. “Elise, I-“ he begins again.
“Shush,” she breathes, and edges closer. Still her eyes do not blink and his are beginning to water.
“I have a-“ Karl starts, between breaths. Her mouth is insistent against his, her body pressed into the corner of a cubicle in the gent’s loo.
“I am French, I don’t care.” She says against his cheek, his chin and then his chest. “You have a wife, I don’t like sleeping besides people. We are the perfect match.”
He laughs at this, “I dispute that,” he says to her hair but kisses it all the same. She pushes her hips to his-“Elise.”
Finally she pulls back, braces his face between her hands. “What is it with you English?”
Her gaze is fierce and Karl pulls her back close, pressing his lips down and down-“Fuck this,” and then, “I wish I knew.”
Elise’s hands grope in his hair as he falls to his knees, tugging her jeans with him and he swears again. “I-“
“Live a little,” she snaps, and the way she looks at him stuns him so much she has to push him back into action, “Get on with it you English bastard.”
(1/2)
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This is how Karl feels his world end, in the corner of a gents in a pub on the coast of Kent with a French blondes face too close to his and her hand sliding with practised ease. He thinks of his easy existence before her, and wishes it were back until she twists just so, always precise and if not measured then at least exact.
He falls apart now, half in relief and half in grief and she holds him in both; one hand against his cheek and the others nails dug into his shoulder and dragging across his chest. “Remember to breathe,” she says, breathless and matter-of-fact.
“You’re funny,” comes his ragged response.
“But you don’t laugh?”
He laughs now, low and deep, “I’m concentrating.”
The barman eyes him sideways when he returns their glasses, a dodgy uncle’s wink.
“A colleague of mine,” Karl says.
“Aye.” The barman agrees, “She must be looking forward to her pay review.”
END.
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“Alright.” She nods, “OK.” And then she adds, her eyes shooting wide, “As a friend.”
He guffaws, “No, I was thinking we could go as enemies.”
“You are joking.” She says, and again there’s a pause before she adds - “It wasn’t funny.”
She’s smiling, though.
AND
“You have a wife, I don’t like sleeping besides people. We are the perfect match.”
- but also how well you wrote Karl! Everything about him here rang so true to me, be it the repressed grief, the drinking, the half-hearted attempt to take the higher road and not hook up with her - all so, so good! I can't thank you enough for writing this and finally sating my epic thirst where these two are concerned!
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BUT GOOD YOU LIKED IT. I aim to please and these two are ridiculously easy to write.
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