Book 5, Chapter 8: Our Causes Can't See Their Effects (1/2)
Title: Our Causes Can't See Their Effects (1/2)
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy, Cate
Word Count: 4975
Summary: Getting away from it all, over lunch.
Index
Note: Original text and characterization of Cate created by magickalmolly; in some chapters through this story, we’ve adapted both text and characterization, but Molly’s work happily remains the foundation for Professor Blanchett.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
Billy can feel himself winding down after 45 minutes of a lecture on ethics. This is a less attentive group than usual: twenty-five first-year students with little to no desire to be taking a humanities course, especially one led by him. Still, Billy's low murmur seems to work even on these flustered children, and Billy is pleased by this; that it's reaching the time to release them pleases him even more.
"The system of ethics we've talked about today has little to do with government or business or the administration of society," Billy says softly. "Personal ethics take a lot more doing, wouldn't you agree? Societal ethics, which differ from place to place, as all societal conventions do, are handed down from a very concrete 'above'-a leader, an official, a ... Dean," Billy smiles. "But your personal ethics are based on the significantly shakier foundation of your parents, your priests, your friends. You weigh those ethics against how much each of those people please or disappoint you, and you could easily choose to use those ethics as a crutch, hobbling on them from decision to decision. Tonight, I want you to consider what or who has influenced your personal system of ethics, and then I want you to perform something of a check and balance on them. Mostly, I'm asking you to think. Which means ..." and now Billy's smile widens. "That you've no written assignment." A visible wave of relief moves over the room, and Billy steps behind his desk, throwing a gently dismissive hand. "You're free to go."
As the students file out, Billy gathers his possessions, readying himself for something he's both looked forward to and somewhat dreaded all week: his lunch with Cate. He knows exactly where he would like to go for lunch, and he's even tidied the car a bit, so it's marginally less cluttered than usual. He's beginning to enjoy the idea of having another real friend again here after the last few years of several acquaintances, the odd date, Miranda and Andrew, and ... Dominic. Cate is different-a peer who has nothing to fear from him and from whom he should by all rights have even less, someone who is likely close to his own age and seemingly not the least bit threatened or bored by either his intelligence or his stupidity. This is … new, if Billy's honest with himself, and therefore strange, too, a bit frightening and thrilling at once.
When Billy looks up, he finds that Cate's arrived, here in the doorway of his lecture room rather than at his office as they'd originally planned. It's not any kind of real issue--he has nothing to pick up from the office before they make their way out--but it does rattle him mildly, as he wonders how long she's been there, if she'd heard that rambling little speech before he'd released his students. It shouldn't matter, but it does. However long she's been standing there, she's a vision now: all in red from lips to high-heeled shoes and smiling widely at him, her pale hair falling in her face. She's never looked so vibrant to Billy's eyes, and after another moment's consideration Billy's mind calls her stunning, in that particularly female way that often makes the hair at the back of Billy's neck rise a little despite his preferences. He does not bother to hide his swallow, because there's really no point, but he keeps the rest of his expression steady, moving his gaze from Cate's dark mouth to meet her icy blue eyes.
"Profes-Cate," Billy says carefully, smiling. "Am I running late?"
"When are you going to stop calling me Professor?" Cate's words are light, teasing, and Billy laughs with her, nodding in acknowledgement of the mild hit as she moves toward the desk, footsteps light in those towering heels. They shouldn't be, not on this classroom's old, worn floor, and yet she glides a bit, and Billy almost feels the air move with her, swishing back and forth and brushing up against him.
Cate sets her bag down on the desk before she looks up again, her eyes bright and amused. "I'm a bit early, actually. My last lecture finished an hour ago, and I took my time wandering across the grounds. But I'm here now, and I've brought my appetite, per your request. Are you ready?"
"I am," Billy nods again, forcing the confidence back up in his blood. "I'll drive, and I hope you're in the mood for some Italian. I could eat anything that wasn't scuttling across the floor at this point, spiders maybe excepted, but I'm guessing your standards are a bit higher." Billy grabs his briefcase and turns on his heel to face Cate again and gestures her out of the classroom first, closing the door behind them and walking with her down the length of the Humanities' building's outer hall. Billy's grateful that the corridors are noisy, leaving him with no obligation to make small talk. Other senses engage, and he's suddenly and curiously interested again in the cloud of scent that surrounds Cate-the mixed smell of leather and perfume and powder and that damned chemical Billy can't place. Perhaps it's glass, Billy thinks, if glass had a scent. If glass could carry a sense memory and if it smelled pretty and sharp and clean.
When they emerge into pale sunlight, Billy shakes off his wandering thoughts and smiles again. "My car's just over here. The dark blue one, there." The beloved old BMW's parked in a far corner of the lot, at the very edge of faculty parking as if it's at risk of being caught left in the wrong place. Billy places one hand lightly on Cate's back and guides her to the car, taking her bag and placing it gently in the backseat before holding her door open. Billy's careful to only look for as long as is socially acceptable as Cate bends to sit, then he closes her door with another smile. He whistles to himself as he opens his own door, sits and revs the obedient motor, turning to Cate with the cheekiest grin he can drag from himself. "I've been told I drive like a lunatic; you'd better hold fast."
"Show me what you've got, Bill," Cate laughs. "You might be surprised to find out I could race you wherever you were going." Snapping her seatbelt in place, Cate leans back into the seat and flashes Billy another bright, wicked smile, smirky and fierce as his own, and not looking away from his gaze.
There's a challenge in that, a dare for Billy to drive like an out-and-out fool, and Billy rises to it, staying true to his word and steering with the confidence of one who's accustomed to darting through traffic, years of impatience and running late behind slow-moving cars having earned him the knowledge of how far he can push the engine and safety. He laughs at his own mad dodges and barely-there stops, and Cate doesn't seem to mind that his car is still a bit dusty even after the attempts at tidiness, with tapes sliding about in the console between them. Billy throws the car in and out of gear expertly, barely using his mirrors, losing himself in music until Cate lets out a low, amused and impressed whistle, shaking her head when Billy reaches to turn the radio down.
"You can tell a lot about a person by the way they drive," she says, and Billy raises an eyebrow, waiting for elaboration beyond the obvious. "You know," Cate continues, not giving more than the barest inch, instead letting her eyes wander out to the scenery speeding by. "How they are in other areas of their life."
"Don't I know it," Billy says, nodding. "You can bank that anyone driving an MG has a friendlier relationship with his garage than his wife, at least. I miss driving, Cate. I miss the long roads. D'you know that one motorway you cross about ten minutes from St. Andrews? I spent hours just driving that, collecting m'self before interviews, before proctoring, before all those sodding committee interrogations. I lost myself on that road, and found myself on the way back home." Billy smiles at Cate, unafraid for once of sounding like an idiot. He can't find it in himself to care, not when she seems so relaxed.
They reach the restaurant soon enough, and Billy finds a parking space easily, throwing the car into reverse and smoothly abandoning it to relative safety behind the building. It is now past the general lunch hour, and judging by the empty lot, the restaurant must not be busy at all. Billy jumps out of his seat, humming to the last song they'd heard as he walks to Cate's side of the car and opens the door. She takes his hand when he offers it, and slips from the car with a pleased smile, walking beside him as they enter the restaurant.
Billy's greeted warmly by the host and two servers, and led to a nice little table by a side window, set off but not entirely. Billy refuses a menu-he's been here enough that to take one would be ridiculous-but encourages Cate to take her time and think about what she wants while he orders a bottle of wine, thinking fuck it, why on earth not, even if they do need to get back to the campus after this, back to an annoying grind, and drums his fingers lightly on the table as Cate peeks at the menu. "Everything is fantastic," he says before she can ask. "And believe me, I've tried everything. But I can particularly recommend anything with the chicken." The wine arrives, and Billy pours it himself with a sure hand. He reaches for his glass and raises it along with one eyebrow. "To friends, Cate, yes?"
"To friends," Cate echoes, touching her goblet against Billy's gently. Cate drinks deeply, smiling at Billy from over the clear rim of her glass, and she licks her lips with a mild, appreciative sound. When the waiter returns, notepad and pen poised, Cate shakes her head and leaves the menu aside as well. "Order for the both of us, Bill. You can tell a lot about someone by how they order too, you know." And Cate laughs, bringing her glass to her mouth again, taking a slow sip.
Billy's smile nearly splits his face in two, but he coughs politely, dragging the waiter's attention away from the vision of red dress and red lips across the table. "Involtini for me, vitello for the lady." The waiter nods at his choices, and Billy's voice drops to a comical undertone as he leans in to finish his order in slurry, awful Italian. "Andiamo avere probabilmente bisogno di un'altra bottiglia."
When the young man disappears, Billy laughs heartily at Cate's amused smile. "Before you ask, I don't speak more than maybe two more words of it; I just spend much too much time here. You're getting veal, by the way. Here's hoping to hell you're no vegetarian."
"Good god, no," Cate laughs. "Top of the food chain and all that." Billy laughs as well, genuinely and indulgently, and she offers her glass to him to refill. Billy's not as surprised as he thinks he perhaps should be; the wine's making him relax a bit, too, and maybe Cate needs that just as much. He pours again and then settles comfortably in his chair, watching Cate as she looks around the restaurant. Her eyes are warmer, too, Billy thinks, and he wonders if that is because of their exposure to natural light, even for a few moments. Cate is pale, in that pretty English way Billy knows well, but her eyes usually have the cast of something beyond the fair English blue-something cold and sharp that calls up visions of pieces of broken blue glass in Billy's mind. But here, now, in this restaurant, both candlelit and sunlit, Cate is a riot of warm colour, her reds and blues and yellows vibrant and lulling.
Billy nods happily when a plate of bread and a bottle of olive oil appear at the table, and he immediately sets to work pooling the oil on a smaller plate. "This, Cate, this is stunning. Ligurian oil, not that mass marketed rubbish you get in the shops here. Pressed early, when the sun shines politely over the olive groves, right. That's where my expertise ends, but what a place, yeah? Here," Billy breaks off a small piece of the bread, turning it gently in the pale green-yellow pool. His eyes dance with something between challenge and joy as he proffers the bread to Cate with one hand, cupping his other palm beneath the bread to catch any drips. "Like nothing you've had before, I promise you."
It's too late once Billy registers that his own more easygoing challenge's been thrown across the table, but a corner of Cate's lips twitches up as she leans forward, closing her mouth briefly over Billy's fingers, her tongue darting to gather the oil that gleams faintly on their tips. Billy's smile doesn't falter; a large part of him recognizes this for what it is: a tease, a game between two adults-two friends, Billy takes pains to remind himself-who know better but who are enjoying themselves too much to stop. But a much smaller part of Billy is terrified by his own reaction to the heat of Cate's lips and the quiet ferocity of her tongue, apparent only from this quick touch. Billy's shoulders tense up until Cate pulls back slowly, humming softly in appreciation of both bread and oil, and lets her smile spread slowly over her face.
"There's a lot I've had before," she says quietly, dabbing at her lips now with her napkin before she reaches for her glass again. "I could teach you a fair bit of Italian, too, Bill. My mother used to holiday in Italy, almost every year. When I was old enough, she would take me with her. Italian men have a ... fondness for blond women, and it was either learn their language or not know what was being said to me."
Reaching across the table, Cate's smile flashes playful as Billy's had, and she prepares a chunk of the fresh bread for him, swirling it in the oil and holding it up to his mouth. A small drip of oil runs down her fingers, but Cate ignores it, instead nodding at Billy. "Aprasi largamente," she murmurs, the laughter still in her voice.
Billy's smile turns, goes as soft as his eyes as he takes Cate's hand. His thumb settles gently in her palm, pressing there as his lips take up the bread. The wine is settling in Billy's limbs and mind, and he closes his eyes at the warmth it brings, hardly realizing it when his teeth drag lightly across the tips of Cate's fingers. Seconds tick by before Billy opens his eyes again, to find Cate unreadable once more but for the dark pink flush in her cheeks. The sight touches a nerve long left to fester in Billy, and he's caught between confusion and dark pleasure at the feeling. "Pretty," Billy says under his breath, and more memory and experience surface, letting him replace his smile with the picture of calm. "Told you it was good."
Another piece of the bread is halfway to Billy's mouth when it's the waiter's turn to cough politely, and a serving trolley appears next to the table. The waiter bows in Cate's direction before producing her lunch with a flourish he's never shown Billy in his multiple visits to this place, and Billy laughs, approving this special treatment. Cate reaches for the wine bottle, but Billy rests his hand on her wrist gently, shaking his head. "I don't think so," he says mildly. "A Vernaccia suits yours better now. Vernaccia, please," he tells the waiter. "Don't chill it."
The waiter leaves, but Billy does not yet release Cate's hand. "We're going to do this right, Cate," he says, still calm and certain for once in her presence. His eyes lock with Cate's and his smile returns, smug enough he knows that if he were to see it on another he'd want to smack it off. "You won't forget this meal."
Cate nods, one more challenged accepted, and takes up her knife and fork when Billy does. Billy decides she doesn't seem one to hide her pleasures, whether for a skilled touch or a good meal, and Cate confirms it, humming low in her throat at the expertly prepared veal and letting her eyes momentarily close as she chews.
"Èsquisito..." Cate murmurs after she swallows, and when the waiter returns with the Vernaccia, pouring it into a fresh glass for her, Cate lifts it with a smile, encouraging Billy to do the same. "To doing things right. A fare le cose a destra."
"What you said." Billy knocks back half his glass and then rubs his hands together like a child, just for a moment, before he returns to his lunch and his quiet appraisal of Cate, watching her slide mouthfuls of tender veal and crisper vegetables into her mouth, feeling the movement of her legs underneath the table as she writhes in half-serious delight at her meal. His hand reaches again for his drink, but he waits, taps his fingers against the table instead. He's not eager to be seen as a heavy drinker, even to a friend-a friend, a friend, Billy echoes the word to himself-and so he will make this effort to slow down.
"'S nice to share this place with someone," Billy sighs, taking up his fork again. "I mean, yes, I've been here with-well, with a few people, but it still feels like my secret, right? And I don't have too many secrets left." Billy laughs, pushing his food around on his plate, and then drops his fork. "Here, now."
Billy raises his hand and counts off as he speaks. "I'm an untidy git, one. I rant about my profession to people who know far better than I how worthy said profession can be of said rants, two. I should have my permit to drive taken from me and never returned, three. I have fantastic taste in restaurants, four. And last but not least--" Billy leans slightly across the table, losing his count as he stares into Cate's large, darkening blue eyes, different from Dominic's, all grey storms with lightning strikes of blue. Billy's smile softens at the thought, and he closes his own eyes as he leans back again, temporarily rattled but still pleased. When he looks back up at Cate, his smile is cheeky again, and his hand moves confidently back to the stem of his glass. "I am one of the luckier men in the world."
Cate's eyes are still locked on Billy, and Billy matches her gaze, strong once more. "So now you tell me a secret, Cate," he laughs. "Tell me something that would shock me. Tell me," he says more softly, leaning forward again. "Because I'm not easily shocked."
"I don't suppose you are," Cate says, just as quietly, her own smirk taking longer to make its way over her face. Billy could almost dance in his chair at the sight of Cate thinking it over, deciding whether or not to divulge some secret to him. Billy already knows she's not going to do so-if nothing else, he can tell from the way her eyes are shifting just that very small bit, and the little turn of her smile-but it is still amusing to watch her at least pretend to struggle with the desire to tell anything or all. "But it's not very polite to ask something like that, is it?" she continues. "A lady never reveals her secrets."
Billy tilts his head in mild consternation, but they're rescued again by the waiter, pushing a dessert cart near their table. Cate turns his way with a lovely smile, and the man pauses, looking from her to Billy and back again. "You haven't steered us wrong yet," Cate murmurs at Billy, then nods at the tray. "Go on."
Billy nods again but waves dismissively at the cart. "None of this. We'll have that double afogato, right, and a glass of that sherry you had me taste on the weekend. It was brilliant."
The waiter moves off, casting an appreciative glance at Cate as he leaves, and Billy has to smile at Cate's suddenly more demure posture. The moment they are left alone, she changes again, metamorphosing back into this creature of fire and challenge and liquid passion, so different from the cold, glassy professor of biology Billy met only a few weeks ago. Billy leans back in his chair before he speaks, knowing full well that what he's about to say might do greater damage than even his earlier gaffes. But he is warmed from wine and good food and the strange energy Cate gives off, and he's not feeling much in the way of fear.
"Forgive me this, but you're no lady, Cate," he says softly, the corners of his mouth turning up again slightly. "You're a woman, and you know better than to play shy, and I know better than to believe it." Billy leans forward a bit, playing again with the stem of his glass. "Has no one ever told you about your eyes? What little I remember from science calls up memory of animals adapting to their surroundings to hide from predator and to catch prey. Their eyes, Cate--some animals, and some of your beloved crawling things, too--their eyes develop large and hyperfocused, always watching, able to survive in the dark and the light. And your eyes ..." Billy's hand moves through the air near Cate's face, tracing the shape of her eyes. "They're beautiful, yes, y'already know that, y'must have heard it a thousand time, but they're hard, too. I've seen them go soft, but never for long enough. You watch everything, but I wonder what you see."
Billy pauses, letting his hand fall to the table, but he does not release his gaze from Cate. "You've spent too long in the dark, lass, with whatever secrets you've kept or taken," he murmurs. "'s a shame. The light suits you better."
The waiter reappears, bearing a wide cup of ice cream and a small pot of espresso. Billy takes the pot and smiles at Cate as he pours the espresso over the frozen cream with more than a little joy in his face.
"Right," Billy laughs, handing Cate one of the two spoons provided. "You've indulged me. Now indulge with me, and forget everything I've said."
"I don't think so." Cate's voice is soft as she takes the offered spoon and then Billy's as well, setting it aside. "We're going to remember this day, right?"
She dips her spoon into the frozen cream, heaping it full, and then presents it to Billy. She watches intently as Billy laughs and then parts his lips, closing them around the bowl of the spoon slowly. Cate draws it from him but doesn't hesitate to slip the spoon into her own mouth then, and she tastes the lingering traces of cream and Billy's mouth with another soft hum of appreciation. After a few minutes of this teasing little back-and-forth there's nothing left in the bowl but melted evidence, and Billy watches Cate ease the spoon from her own mouth one last time, smiling in satisfaction.
Billy is quite aware that he and Cate have achieved something a bit awkwardly remarkable here: the complete attention of the usually less-than-interested staff of the restaurant. Billy's intelligent enough to realize that their stares are mostly in the direction of Cate; Billy himself is of little importance in comparison. But that doesn't matter; what does is that Cate is laughing--a genuine laugh, not the brittle, broken glass sound of her professional amusement--and it's a pleasure for Billy to know that he is the source of her momentary happiness, as opposed to the subject of her scientific, searching gaze.
Of course, Billy's also a bit blurry around the edges himself from the wine and the dessert, and he imagines that between the two of them, he and Cate appear more than comfortable. What would on any other occasion be warning bells in his mind sounds more like a lovely, harmonious noise, telling Billy that this smart, sparky woman doesn't think he's a fool at all, and it is a good feeling. For that and other reasons, Billy--likes her.
That thought swirls around in his head for a moment more, and Billy latches on to the next thing that crosses his mind: that if he were of a different tendency, Billy thinks detachedly, smiling to himself over one of his favourite euphemisms, then he would be half over the table now and reaching for the side of Cate's soft, sharp, porcelain cheek, drawing her face to his own and kissing those red, red lips that have barely faded through the entire meal. And she would return the attention, Billy thinks, watching Cate's lips close over the spoon to sweep gelato into her mouth. She would colour up in her cheeks, pretend she'd never been kissed in such a way before, and the moment Billy grew comfortable and made to devour her, she would turn on him, likely flipping him to his back, her long fingernails running into his hair and scalp.
Billy inhales at the image, and nearly knocks over his glass. He catches it with a smile and laughs across the table at Cate, just as she lets the spoon rest back into the bowl with a soft clatter. Their check appears, and Billy takes it, pretending to read the numbers while in truth merely avoiding Cate's stare. He presents a card, signs off with a flourish, and downs the last of his drink before his eyes fall to Cate's hand, her fingernails tapping lightly on the white cloth. Billy catches her hand suddenly, but softly, and turns it over, smiling at the two tan splotches of colour on her pale fingertips.
"What do we have here," Billy murmurs. "A mark on perfection. A disturbance in the universe of a hand." And he raises Cate's fingers to his lips but never quite gets there, choosing instead to brush the cream away with the edge of his own napkin before squeezing her hand gently and placing it back on the table. "We should be going," he says softly. "Back to the grey little world in which we live. Unless there's more you'd like to share."
Cate rises from the table with a slow headtilt nod, not noticing the waiter who hurries over to pull her chair back for her, and offers her hand to Billy. When he takes it, she grips it firmly, closing the distance between them with a single long-legged step. Pressing closer, Cate slips her hand into the pocket of Billy's trousers, and he inhales again, this time sharply. The feel of Cate's hand, warm and curling in his pocket, makes his mouth dry and his throat tight. Billy's eyes, hazy seconds earlier, rapidly clear, and he catches his breath and makes to say something, anything, but before he can speak, Cate is laughing, her hand emerging from his pocket, brandishing Billy's car keys.
"I'd like to share your car," she says softly. "I might be in better shape to drive it at the moment, at the very least." Billy tilts his head a bit, and Cate laughs, soft and secretive. "Let me, Bill. I'll do my best not to hurt it or you."
"Oh, I'm pretty indestructible," Billy says, just as quietly, pushing his shoulders down and his chin up a bit by force. "The car, though, I don't know. She doesn't much accept the kindness of strangers. Took me months to break her." Billy's smile widens, and he extends a hand to lead Cate from the restaurant and into the crisp air and beside the driver's side door of his car. "But you're right, and she's probably better off with you. She's all yours. For the moment."
He helps Cate into the car before walking to the passenger side, his hands moving absently over the metal and paintwork. Billy slides into his seat, adjusting it-he's rarely sat in this chair and purposefully chooses not to remember the last time now-and turns to Cate with a more serious look, but his eyes still full of challenge.
"Be gentle, Cate," he says more firmly, then reaches for his sunglasses--damn the ridiculous and bring on the sublime--before he relaxes into the chair. "She's a jealous girl."
To be continued.
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy, Cate
Word Count: 4975
Summary: Getting away from it all, over lunch.
Index
Note: Original text and characterization of Cate created by magickalmolly; in some chapters through this story, we’ve adapted both text and characterization, but Molly’s work happily remains the foundation for Professor Blanchett.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
Billy can feel himself winding down after 45 minutes of a lecture on ethics. This is a less attentive group than usual: twenty-five first-year students with little to no desire to be taking a humanities course, especially one led by him. Still, Billy's low murmur seems to work even on these flustered children, and Billy is pleased by this; that it's reaching the time to release them pleases him even more.
"The system of ethics we've talked about today has little to do with government or business or the administration of society," Billy says softly. "Personal ethics take a lot more doing, wouldn't you agree? Societal ethics, which differ from place to place, as all societal conventions do, are handed down from a very concrete 'above'-a leader, an official, a ... Dean," Billy smiles. "But your personal ethics are based on the significantly shakier foundation of your parents, your priests, your friends. You weigh those ethics against how much each of those people please or disappoint you, and you could easily choose to use those ethics as a crutch, hobbling on them from decision to decision. Tonight, I want you to consider what or who has influenced your personal system of ethics, and then I want you to perform something of a check and balance on them. Mostly, I'm asking you to think. Which means ..." and now Billy's smile widens. "That you've no written assignment." A visible wave of relief moves over the room, and Billy steps behind his desk, throwing a gently dismissive hand. "You're free to go."
As the students file out, Billy gathers his possessions, readying himself for something he's both looked forward to and somewhat dreaded all week: his lunch with Cate. He knows exactly where he would like to go for lunch, and he's even tidied the car a bit, so it's marginally less cluttered than usual. He's beginning to enjoy the idea of having another real friend again here after the last few years of several acquaintances, the odd date, Miranda and Andrew, and ... Dominic. Cate is different-a peer who has nothing to fear from him and from whom he should by all rights have even less, someone who is likely close to his own age and seemingly not the least bit threatened or bored by either his intelligence or his stupidity. This is … new, if Billy's honest with himself, and therefore strange, too, a bit frightening and thrilling at once.
When Billy looks up, he finds that Cate's arrived, here in the doorway of his lecture room rather than at his office as they'd originally planned. It's not any kind of real issue--he has nothing to pick up from the office before they make their way out--but it does rattle him mildly, as he wonders how long she's been there, if she'd heard that rambling little speech before he'd released his students. It shouldn't matter, but it does. However long she's been standing there, she's a vision now: all in red from lips to high-heeled shoes and smiling widely at him, her pale hair falling in her face. She's never looked so vibrant to Billy's eyes, and after another moment's consideration Billy's mind calls her stunning, in that particularly female way that often makes the hair at the back of Billy's neck rise a little despite his preferences. He does not bother to hide his swallow, because there's really no point, but he keeps the rest of his expression steady, moving his gaze from Cate's dark mouth to meet her icy blue eyes.
"Profes-Cate," Billy says carefully, smiling. "Am I running late?"
"When are you going to stop calling me Professor?" Cate's words are light, teasing, and Billy laughs with her, nodding in acknowledgement of the mild hit as she moves toward the desk, footsteps light in those towering heels. They shouldn't be, not on this classroom's old, worn floor, and yet she glides a bit, and Billy almost feels the air move with her, swishing back and forth and brushing up against him.
Cate sets her bag down on the desk before she looks up again, her eyes bright and amused. "I'm a bit early, actually. My last lecture finished an hour ago, and I took my time wandering across the grounds. But I'm here now, and I've brought my appetite, per your request. Are you ready?"
"I am," Billy nods again, forcing the confidence back up in his blood. "I'll drive, and I hope you're in the mood for some Italian. I could eat anything that wasn't scuttling across the floor at this point, spiders maybe excepted, but I'm guessing your standards are a bit higher." Billy grabs his briefcase and turns on his heel to face Cate again and gestures her out of the classroom first, closing the door behind them and walking with her down the length of the Humanities' building's outer hall. Billy's grateful that the corridors are noisy, leaving him with no obligation to make small talk. Other senses engage, and he's suddenly and curiously interested again in the cloud of scent that surrounds Cate-the mixed smell of leather and perfume and powder and that damned chemical Billy can't place. Perhaps it's glass, Billy thinks, if glass had a scent. If glass could carry a sense memory and if it smelled pretty and sharp and clean.
When they emerge into pale sunlight, Billy shakes off his wandering thoughts and smiles again. "My car's just over here. The dark blue one, there." The beloved old BMW's parked in a far corner of the lot, at the very edge of faculty parking as if it's at risk of being caught left in the wrong place. Billy places one hand lightly on Cate's back and guides her to the car, taking her bag and placing it gently in the backseat before holding her door open. Billy's careful to only look for as long as is socially acceptable as Cate bends to sit, then he closes her door with another smile. He whistles to himself as he opens his own door, sits and revs the obedient motor, turning to Cate with the cheekiest grin he can drag from himself. "I've been told I drive like a lunatic; you'd better hold fast."
"Show me what you've got, Bill," Cate laughs. "You might be surprised to find out I could race you wherever you were going." Snapping her seatbelt in place, Cate leans back into the seat and flashes Billy another bright, wicked smile, smirky and fierce as his own, and not looking away from his gaze.
There's a challenge in that, a dare for Billy to drive like an out-and-out fool, and Billy rises to it, staying true to his word and steering with the confidence of one who's accustomed to darting through traffic, years of impatience and running late behind slow-moving cars having earned him the knowledge of how far he can push the engine and safety. He laughs at his own mad dodges and barely-there stops, and Cate doesn't seem to mind that his car is still a bit dusty even after the attempts at tidiness, with tapes sliding about in the console between them. Billy throws the car in and out of gear expertly, barely using his mirrors, losing himself in music until Cate lets out a low, amused and impressed whistle, shaking her head when Billy reaches to turn the radio down.
"You can tell a lot about a person by the way they drive," she says, and Billy raises an eyebrow, waiting for elaboration beyond the obvious. "You know," Cate continues, not giving more than the barest inch, instead letting her eyes wander out to the scenery speeding by. "How they are in other areas of their life."
"Don't I know it," Billy says, nodding. "You can bank that anyone driving an MG has a friendlier relationship with his garage than his wife, at least. I miss driving, Cate. I miss the long roads. D'you know that one motorway you cross about ten minutes from St. Andrews? I spent hours just driving that, collecting m'self before interviews, before proctoring, before all those sodding committee interrogations. I lost myself on that road, and found myself on the way back home." Billy smiles at Cate, unafraid for once of sounding like an idiot. He can't find it in himself to care, not when she seems so relaxed.
They reach the restaurant soon enough, and Billy finds a parking space easily, throwing the car into reverse and smoothly abandoning it to relative safety behind the building. It is now past the general lunch hour, and judging by the empty lot, the restaurant must not be busy at all. Billy jumps out of his seat, humming to the last song they'd heard as he walks to Cate's side of the car and opens the door. She takes his hand when he offers it, and slips from the car with a pleased smile, walking beside him as they enter the restaurant.
Billy's greeted warmly by the host and two servers, and led to a nice little table by a side window, set off but not entirely. Billy refuses a menu-he's been here enough that to take one would be ridiculous-but encourages Cate to take her time and think about what she wants while he orders a bottle of wine, thinking fuck it, why on earth not, even if they do need to get back to the campus after this, back to an annoying grind, and drums his fingers lightly on the table as Cate peeks at the menu. "Everything is fantastic," he says before she can ask. "And believe me, I've tried everything. But I can particularly recommend anything with the chicken." The wine arrives, and Billy pours it himself with a sure hand. He reaches for his glass and raises it along with one eyebrow. "To friends, Cate, yes?"
"To friends," Cate echoes, touching her goblet against Billy's gently. Cate drinks deeply, smiling at Billy from over the clear rim of her glass, and she licks her lips with a mild, appreciative sound. When the waiter returns, notepad and pen poised, Cate shakes her head and leaves the menu aside as well. "Order for the both of us, Bill. You can tell a lot about someone by how they order too, you know." And Cate laughs, bringing her glass to her mouth again, taking a slow sip.
Billy's smile nearly splits his face in two, but he coughs politely, dragging the waiter's attention away from the vision of red dress and red lips across the table. "Involtini for me, vitello for the lady." The waiter nods at his choices, and Billy's voice drops to a comical undertone as he leans in to finish his order in slurry, awful Italian. "Andiamo avere probabilmente bisogno di un'altra bottiglia."
When the young man disappears, Billy laughs heartily at Cate's amused smile. "Before you ask, I don't speak more than maybe two more words of it; I just spend much too much time here. You're getting veal, by the way. Here's hoping to hell you're no vegetarian."
"Good god, no," Cate laughs. "Top of the food chain and all that." Billy laughs as well, genuinely and indulgently, and she offers her glass to him to refill. Billy's not as surprised as he thinks he perhaps should be; the wine's making him relax a bit, too, and maybe Cate needs that just as much. He pours again and then settles comfortably in his chair, watching Cate as she looks around the restaurant. Her eyes are warmer, too, Billy thinks, and he wonders if that is because of their exposure to natural light, even for a few moments. Cate is pale, in that pretty English way Billy knows well, but her eyes usually have the cast of something beyond the fair English blue-something cold and sharp that calls up visions of pieces of broken blue glass in Billy's mind. But here, now, in this restaurant, both candlelit and sunlit, Cate is a riot of warm colour, her reds and blues and yellows vibrant and lulling.
Billy nods happily when a plate of bread and a bottle of olive oil appear at the table, and he immediately sets to work pooling the oil on a smaller plate. "This, Cate, this is stunning. Ligurian oil, not that mass marketed rubbish you get in the shops here. Pressed early, when the sun shines politely over the olive groves, right. That's where my expertise ends, but what a place, yeah? Here," Billy breaks off a small piece of the bread, turning it gently in the pale green-yellow pool. His eyes dance with something between challenge and joy as he proffers the bread to Cate with one hand, cupping his other palm beneath the bread to catch any drips. "Like nothing you've had before, I promise you."
It's too late once Billy registers that his own more easygoing challenge's been thrown across the table, but a corner of Cate's lips twitches up as she leans forward, closing her mouth briefly over Billy's fingers, her tongue darting to gather the oil that gleams faintly on their tips. Billy's smile doesn't falter; a large part of him recognizes this for what it is: a tease, a game between two adults-two friends, Billy takes pains to remind himself-who know better but who are enjoying themselves too much to stop. But a much smaller part of Billy is terrified by his own reaction to the heat of Cate's lips and the quiet ferocity of her tongue, apparent only from this quick touch. Billy's shoulders tense up until Cate pulls back slowly, humming softly in appreciation of both bread and oil, and lets her smile spread slowly over her face.
"There's a lot I've had before," she says quietly, dabbing at her lips now with her napkin before she reaches for her glass again. "I could teach you a fair bit of Italian, too, Bill. My mother used to holiday in Italy, almost every year. When I was old enough, she would take me with her. Italian men have a ... fondness for blond women, and it was either learn their language or not know what was being said to me."
Reaching across the table, Cate's smile flashes playful as Billy's had, and she prepares a chunk of the fresh bread for him, swirling it in the oil and holding it up to his mouth. A small drip of oil runs down her fingers, but Cate ignores it, instead nodding at Billy. "Aprasi largamente," she murmurs, the laughter still in her voice.
Billy's smile turns, goes as soft as his eyes as he takes Cate's hand. His thumb settles gently in her palm, pressing there as his lips take up the bread. The wine is settling in Billy's limbs and mind, and he closes his eyes at the warmth it brings, hardly realizing it when his teeth drag lightly across the tips of Cate's fingers. Seconds tick by before Billy opens his eyes again, to find Cate unreadable once more but for the dark pink flush in her cheeks. The sight touches a nerve long left to fester in Billy, and he's caught between confusion and dark pleasure at the feeling. "Pretty," Billy says under his breath, and more memory and experience surface, letting him replace his smile with the picture of calm. "Told you it was good."
Another piece of the bread is halfway to Billy's mouth when it's the waiter's turn to cough politely, and a serving trolley appears next to the table. The waiter bows in Cate's direction before producing her lunch with a flourish he's never shown Billy in his multiple visits to this place, and Billy laughs, approving this special treatment. Cate reaches for the wine bottle, but Billy rests his hand on her wrist gently, shaking his head. "I don't think so," he says mildly. "A Vernaccia suits yours better now. Vernaccia, please," he tells the waiter. "Don't chill it."
The waiter leaves, but Billy does not yet release Cate's hand. "We're going to do this right, Cate," he says, still calm and certain for once in her presence. His eyes lock with Cate's and his smile returns, smug enough he knows that if he were to see it on another he'd want to smack it off. "You won't forget this meal."
Cate nods, one more challenged accepted, and takes up her knife and fork when Billy does. Billy decides she doesn't seem one to hide her pleasures, whether for a skilled touch or a good meal, and Cate confirms it, humming low in her throat at the expertly prepared veal and letting her eyes momentarily close as she chews.
"Èsquisito..." Cate murmurs after she swallows, and when the waiter returns with the Vernaccia, pouring it into a fresh glass for her, Cate lifts it with a smile, encouraging Billy to do the same. "To doing things right. A fare le cose a destra."
"What you said." Billy knocks back half his glass and then rubs his hands together like a child, just for a moment, before he returns to his lunch and his quiet appraisal of Cate, watching her slide mouthfuls of tender veal and crisper vegetables into her mouth, feeling the movement of her legs underneath the table as she writhes in half-serious delight at her meal. His hand reaches again for his drink, but he waits, taps his fingers against the table instead. He's not eager to be seen as a heavy drinker, even to a friend-a friend, a friend, Billy echoes the word to himself-and so he will make this effort to slow down.
"'S nice to share this place with someone," Billy sighs, taking up his fork again. "I mean, yes, I've been here with-well, with a few people, but it still feels like my secret, right? And I don't have too many secrets left." Billy laughs, pushing his food around on his plate, and then drops his fork. "Here, now."
Billy raises his hand and counts off as he speaks. "I'm an untidy git, one. I rant about my profession to people who know far better than I how worthy said profession can be of said rants, two. I should have my permit to drive taken from me and never returned, three. I have fantastic taste in restaurants, four. And last but not least--" Billy leans slightly across the table, losing his count as he stares into Cate's large, darkening blue eyes, different from Dominic's, all grey storms with lightning strikes of blue. Billy's smile softens at the thought, and he closes his own eyes as he leans back again, temporarily rattled but still pleased. When he looks back up at Cate, his smile is cheeky again, and his hand moves confidently back to the stem of his glass. "I am one of the luckier men in the world."
Cate's eyes are still locked on Billy, and Billy matches her gaze, strong once more. "So now you tell me a secret, Cate," he laughs. "Tell me something that would shock me. Tell me," he says more softly, leaning forward again. "Because I'm not easily shocked."
"I don't suppose you are," Cate says, just as quietly, her own smirk taking longer to make its way over her face. Billy could almost dance in his chair at the sight of Cate thinking it over, deciding whether or not to divulge some secret to him. Billy already knows she's not going to do so-if nothing else, he can tell from the way her eyes are shifting just that very small bit, and the little turn of her smile-but it is still amusing to watch her at least pretend to struggle with the desire to tell anything or all. "But it's not very polite to ask something like that, is it?" she continues. "A lady never reveals her secrets."
Billy tilts his head in mild consternation, but they're rescued again by the waiter, pushing a dessert cart near their table. Cate turns his way with a lovely smile, and the man pauses, looking from her to Billy and back again. "You haven't steered us wrong yet," Cate murmurs at Billy, then nods at the tray. "Go on."
Billy nods again but waves dismissively at the cart. "None of this. We'll have that double afogato, right, and a glass of that sherry you had me taste on the weekend. It was brilliant."
The waiter moves off, casting an appreciative glance at Cate as he leaves, and Billy has to smile at Cate's suddenly more demure posture. The moment they are left alone, she changes again, metamorphosing back into this creature of fire and challenge and liquid passion, so different from the cold, glassy professor of biology Billy met only a few weeks ago. Billy leans back in his chair before he speaks, knowing full well that what he's about to say might do greater damage than even his earlier gaffes. But he is warmed from wine and good food and the strange energy Cate gives off, and he's not feeling much in the way of fear.
"Forgive me this, but you're no lady, Cate," he says softly, the corners of his mouth turning up again slightly. "You're a woman, and you know better than to play shy, and I know better than to believe it." Billy leans forward a bit, playing again with the stem of his glass. "Has no one ever told you about your eyes? What little I remember from science calls up memory of animals adapting to their surroundings to hide from predator and to catch prey. Their eyes, Cate--some animals, and some of your beloved crawling things, too--their eyes develop large and hyperfocused, always watching, able to survive in the dark and the light. And your eyes ..." Billy's hand moves through the air near Cate's face, tracing the shape of her eyes. "They're beautiful, yes, y'already know that, y'must have heard it a thousand time, but they're hard, too. I've seen them go soft, but never for long enough. You watch everything, but I wonder what you see."
Billy pauses, letting his hand fall to the table, but he does not release his gaze from Cate. "You've spent too long in the dark, lass, with whatever secrets you've kept or taken," he murmurs. "'s a shame. The light suits you better."
The waiter reappears, bearing a wide cup of ice cream and a small pot of espresso. Billy takes the pot and smiles at Cate as he pours the espresso over the frozen cream with more than a little joy in his face.
"Right," Billy laughs, handing Cate one of the two spoons provided. "You've indulged me. Now indulge with me, and forget everything I've said."
"I don't think so." Cate's voice is soft as she takes the offered spoon and then Billy's as well, setting it aside. "We're going to remember this day, right?"
She dips her spoon into the frozen cream, heaping it full, and then presents it to Billy. She watches intently as Billy laughs and then parts his lips, closing them around the bowl of the spoon slowly. Cate draws it from him but doesn't hesitate to slip the spoon into her own mouth then, and she tastes the lingering traces of cream and Billy's mouth with another soft hum of appreciation. After a few minutes of this teasing little back-and-forth there's nothing left in the bowl but melted evidence, and Billy watches Cate ease the spoon from her own mouth one last time, smiling in satisfaction.
Billy is quite aware that he and Cate have achieved something a bit awkwardly remarkable here: the complete attention of the usually less-than-interested staff of the restaurant. Billy's intelligent enough to realize that their stares are mostly in the direction of Cate; Billy himself is of little importance in comparison. But that doesn't matter; what does is that Cate is laughing--a genuine laugh, not the brittle, broken glass sound of her professional amusement--and it's a pleasure for Billy to know that he is the source of her momentary happiness, as opposed to the subject of her scientific, searching gaze.
Of course, Billy's also a bit blurry around the edges himself from the wine and the dessert, and he imagines that between the two of them, he and Cate appear more than comfortable. What would on any other occasion be warning bells in his mind sounds more like a lovely, harmonious noise, telling Billy that this smart, sparky woman doesn't think he's a fool at all, and it is a good feeling. For that and other reasons, Billy--likes her.
That thought swirls around in his head for a moment more, and Billy latches on to the next thing that crosses his mind: that if he were of a different tendency, Billy thinks detachedly, smiling to himself over one of his favourite euphemisms, then he would be half over the table now and reaching for the side of Cate's soft, sharp, porcelain cheek, drawing her face to his own and kissing those red, red lips that have barely faded through the entire meal. And she would return the attention, Billy thinks, watching Cate's lips close over the spoon to sweep gelato into her mouth. She would colour up in her cheeks, pretend she'd never been kissed in such a way before, and the moment Billy grew comfortable and made to devour her, she would turn on him, likely flipping him to his back, her long fingernails running into his hair and scalp.
Billy inhales at the image, and nearly knocks over his glass. He catches it with a smile and laughs across the table at Cate, just as she lets the spoon rest back into the bowl with a soft clatter. Their check appears, and Billy takes it, pretending to read the numbers while in truth merely avoiding Cate's stare. He presents a card, signs off with a flourish, and downs the last of his drink before his eyes fall to Cate's hand, her fingernails tapping lightly on the white cloth. Billy catches her hand suddenly, but softly, and turns it over, smiling at the two tan splotches of colour on her pale fingertips.
"What do we have here," Billy murmurs. "A mark on perfection. A disturbance in the universe of a hand." And he raises Cate's fingers to his lips but never quite gets there, choosing instead to brush the cream away with the edge of his own napkin before squeezing her hand gently and placing it back on the table. "We should be going," he says softly. "Back to the grey little world in which we live. Unless there's more you'd like to share."
Cate rises from the table with a slow headtilt nod, not noticing the waiter who hurries over to pull her chair back for her, and offers her hand to Billy. When he takes it, she grips it firmly, closing the distance between them with a single long-legged step. Pressing closer, Cate slips her hand into the pocket of Billy's trousers, and he inhales again, this time sharply. The feel of Cate's hand, warm and curling in his pocket, makes his mouth dry and his throat tight. Billy's eyes, hazy seconds earlier, rapidly clear, and he catches his breath and makes to say something, anything, but before he can speak, Cate is laughing, her hand emerging from his pocket, brandishing Billy's car keys.
"I'd like to share your car," she says softly. "I might be in better shape to drive it at the moment, at the very least." Billy tilts his head a bit, and Cate laughs, soft and secretive. "Let me, Bill. I'll do my best not to hurt it or you."
"Oh, I'm pretty indestructible," Billy says, just as quietly, pushing his shoulders down and his chin up a bit by force. "The car, though, I don't know. She doesn't much accept the kindness of strangers. Took me months to break her." Billy's smile widens, and he extends a hand to lead Cate from the restaurant and into the crisp air and beside the driver's side door of his car. "But you're right, and she's probably better off with you. She's all yours. For the moment."
He helps Cate into the car before walking to the passenger side, his hands moving absently over the metal and paintwork. Billy slides into his seat, adjusting it-he's rarely sat in this chair and purposefully chooses not to remember the last time now-and turns to Cate with a more serious look, but his eyes still full of challenge.
"Be gentle, Cate," he says more firmly, then reaches for his sunglasses--damn the ridiculous and bring on the sublime--before he relaxes into the chair. "She's a jealous girl."
To be continued.