Pushing Daisies fic: Five Ways the Piemaker Doesn't Kiss Chuck
Five Ways the Piemaker Doesn't Kiss Chuck [Pushing Daisies, Ned/Chuck, G, 1,163 words, fluff. Beta thanks to the lovely schneestern. For slodwick, just because.]
Five Ways the Piemaker Doesn't Kiss Chuck
She wraps it up carefully, layer upon layer of pink tissue to disguise the shape, then green paper splashed with cherries. Glossy cherries, as bright and fresh as if Ned had touched them. On top, a huge bow, red to match the cherries.
She gives it to him on his birthday, date remembered from his ninth birthday party, the one before the funerals and separation.
He takes it hesitantly, and looks at it for a moment as though he doesn't know what to do with it. Chuck doesn't think he's celebrated his birthday since that last party.
"Aren't you going to open it?" she asks, and he looks up, surprised and pleased, and starts to peel it open. He slides his finger under the tape, folds the paper as he takes it off, smoothes out the tissue paper as carefully as if that's the gift.
He smiles when he sees it. Picks it up by the handle and runs his other hand along the little wooden pole, down to the knitted woolen hand at the end.
"It was a glove pattern," she says. "Aunt Lily likes to knit, though she can't really judge distances and tends to stab things with the knitting needles."
"It's got six fingers." He holds one hand against it, making two fingers match up with one of his.
"Knitting's not really my thing." She laughs unabashed.
"It's soft," he says, and reaches out with it. She holds still, closes her eyes, lets the woolen thumb brush the corner of her mouth.
And pretends.
*
Ned thinks it's strange that a girl who drowned should love aquaria, but the Coeur d'Coeurs Aquarium is one of her favorite places.
They go together on a Tuesday morning, when it's quiet. They watch the violet goby, ugly but fascinating, and the zebra fish that glow in the dark. The piranhas make her shudder, "So vicious," she says, but she loves the sea horses.
"You know it's the male seahorses that get pregnant?" she asks him, and he nods.
They kneel beside the petting tank - a cownose ray swims just out of reach, but they both stroke a bonnethead shark. They make little waves of water between them, and Ned's shirt sleeves get soaked. Chuck just laughs and splashes him more.
There are small tanks too, up on stands, full of gaudy brightly colored tropical fish. They stand on either side of one, pressed up against the glass, but they don't watch the fish, they watch each other. A little red-tailed fish swims up to Ned, touching the glass, and then darts across the other side, straight to Chuck. It looks as though it's kissing the glass.
"I shall call them kissing fish," Chuck says, palm flat against the glass.
*
Ned has a new recipe. He's been secretive about it all week, not giving Olive or Emerson or even Chuck any clue what he's trying. She's bursting with curiosity, but when she asks, he just tells her to wait and see and smiles enigmatically.
He finally serves it one rainy evening after the Pie Hole has closed for the evening. They're all there, the four of them and one uncut pie on the table between them.
The air is heady with pastry scent, and the sweetness of the sugar dusting it, but Chuck still can't guess the flavor of the pie.
Ned takes a knife and slices it, carefully. Round fresh berries tumble out onto the plate, mulberries and raspberries and loganberries and some that Chuck doesn't recognize, reds and purples and so juicy. A slice for each of them, and it's incredible. Her fork slips through the pastry and it crumbles and melts on her tongue, rich and sweet in contrast with the tang of the fruit. There's a subtle spice note too, one she can't quite place. Soon all that's left on her plate is a single mulberry, smaller and less bright than the others.
Ned looks carefully around - there's no one watching - and reaches across and touches it. It plumps up under his finger, purple and luscious.
"Try it now," Ned says, and she lifts it to her mouth.
He has one berry left too, and he puts it to his own lips simultaneously. Touches it, a kiss, then they both open their mouths and place the berry on their tongue. Eyes on each other all the time, they taste and swallow.
*
Olive has hung mistletoe all around the Pie Hole. The largest sprigs, unavoidable, are in the entrance ways and over the counter. Ned feels as though they're mocking him. He took them down earlier, but Olive glared at him. "You need to have more Christmas cheer," she'd told him, and put them back up. She added extra too.
When Chuck walks in, she stops in the front doorway, door still open and snow floating in around her. She's wearing a red hat and a red coat and he thinks she looks magical, like a Christmas card. He stares at her, and she stares back, and there's mistletoe above her and mistletoe above him. She looks up, notices it, and raises her hand to her lips, kisses it, then blows, gentle. Snow floats towards him, carrying the kiss.
He lifts his hand automatically, catches and closes his hand, then holds it out, palm up and smiles as he presses it against his cheek.
*
On the first anniversary of Chuck's resurrection, she and Ned go to the fair. It's Chuck's idea, and she thinks maybe Ned is a little disappointed that she didn't chose somewhere more traditionally romantic.
Chuck thinks it's perfect. She loves the lights and the noise and the children screaming, she loves all the happy faces. There's something magical about the fair when you're little, and Chuck has never grown out of seeing the magic.
They share cotton candy - Chuck eats most of it. Ned has a little piece left in the corner of his mouth, and Chuck motions with her finger towards it until he licks it off.
Ned wins her a large yellow duck at the coconut shy - it takes him four goes - and they run through the hall of mirrors with it, laughing.
They save the dodgems until last. Ned picks a blue car, Chuck red, and they circle the rink. Their circles get gradually smaller and smaller, and Chuck imagines there's no one else on the rink but the two of them. And then Ravel's Bolero starts to play, and now Chuck knows the fair is magic. The music swells and they circle and circle and everywhere outside the rink vanishes, and the only thing that Chuck can see is Ned, watching her like she's watching him, and the circles have almost closed in. One more circuit, and the circles collapse - the music soars, hits its peak and their cars touch, soft bump in the middle.
Chuck smiles, and Ned smiles, and the cars bump, nose to nose, little kisses.
//
Five Ways the Piemaker Doesn't Kiss Chuck
She wraps it up carefully, layer upon layer of pink tissue to disguise the shape, then green paper splashed with cherries. Glossy cherries, as bright and fresh as if Ned had touched them. On top, a huge bow, red to match the cherries.
She gives it to him on his birthday, date remembered from his ninth birthday party, the one before the funerals and separation.
He takes it hesitantly, and looks at it for a moment as though he doesn't know what to do with it. Chuck doesn't think he's celebrated his birthday since that last party.
"Aren't you going to open it?" she asks, and he looks up, surprised and pleased, and starts to peel it open. He slides his finger under the tape, folds the paper as he takes it off, smoothes out the tissue paper as carefully as if that's the gift.
He smiles when he sees it. Picks it up by the handle and runs his other hand along the little wooden pole, down to the knitted woolen hand at the end.
"It was a glove pattern," she says. "Aunt Lily likes to knit, though she can't really judge distances and tends to stab things with the knitting needles."
"It's got six fingers." He holds one hand against it, making two fingers match up with one of his.
"Knitting's not really my thing." She laughs unabashed.
"It's soft," he says, and reaches out with it. She holds still, closes her eyes, lets the woolen thumb brush the corner of her mouth.
And pretends.
*
Ned thinks it's strange that a girl who drowned should love aquaria, but the Coeur d'Coeurs Aquarium is one of her favorite places.
They go together on a Tuesday morning, when it's quiet. They watch the violet goby, ugly but fascinating, and the zebra fish that glow in the dark. The piranhas make her shudder, "So vicious," she says, but she loves the sea horses.
"You know it's the male seahorses that get pregnant?" she asks him, and he nods.
They kneel beside the petting tank - a cownose ray swims just out of reach, but they both stroke a bonnethead shark. They make little waves of water between them, and Ned's shirt sleeves get soaked. Chuck just laughs and splashes him more.
There are small tanks too, up on stands, full of gaudy brightly colored tropical fish. They stand on either side of one, pressed up against the glass, but they don't watch the fish, they watch each other. A little red-tailed fish swims up to Ned, touching the glass, and then darts across the other side, straight to Chuck. It looks as though it's kissing the glass.
"I shall call them kissing fish," Chuck says, palm flat against the glass.
*
Ned has a new recipe. He's been secretive about it all week, not giving Olive or Emerson or even Chuck any clue what he's trying. She's bursting with curiosity, but when she asks, he just tells her to wait and see and smiles enigmatically.
He finally serves it one rainy evening after the Pie Hole has closed for the evening. They're all there, the four of them and one uncut pie on the table between them.
The air is heady with pastry scent, and the sweetness of the sugar dusting it, but Chuck still can't guess the flavor of the pie.
Ned takes a knife and slices it, carefully. Round fresh berries tumble out onto the plate, mulberries and raspberries and loganberries and some that Chuck doesn't recognize, reds and purples and so juicy. A slice for each of them, and it's incredible. Her fork slips through the pastry and it crumbles and melts on her tongue, rich and sweet in contrast with the tang of the fruit. There's a subtle spice note too, one she can't quite place. Soon all that's left on her plate is a single mulberry, smaller and less bright than the others.
Ned looks carefully around - there's no one watching - and reaches across and touches it. It plumps up under his finger, purple and luscious.
"Try it now," Ned says, and she lifts it to her mouth.
He has one berry left too, and he puts it to his own lips simultaneously. Touches it, a kiss, then they both open their mouths and place the berry on their tongue. Eyes on each other all the time, they taste and swallow.
*
Olive has hung mistletoe all around the Pie Hole. The largest sprigs, unavoidable, are in the entrance ways and over the counter. Ned feels as though they're mocking him. He took them down earlier, but Olive glared at him. "You need to have more Christmas cheer," she'd told him, and put them back up. She added extra too.
When Chuck walks in, she stops in the front doorway, door still open and snow floating in around her. She's wearing a red hat and a red coat and he thinks she looks magical, like a Christmas card. He stares at her, and she stares back, and there's mistletoe above her and mistletoe above him. She looks up, notices it, and raises her hand to her lips, kisses it, then blows, gentle. Snow floats towards him, carrying the kiss.
He lifts his hand automatically, catches and closes his hand, then holds it out, palm up and smiles as he presses it against his cheek.
*
On the first anniversary of Chuck's resurrection, she and Ned go to the fair. It's Chuck's idea, and she thinks maybe Ned is a little disappointed that she didn't chose somewhere more traditionally romantic.
Chuck thinks it's perfect. She loves the lights and the noise and the children screaming, she loves all the happy faces. There's something magical about the fair when you're little, and Chuck has never grown out of seeing the magic.
They share cotton candy - Chuck eats most of it. Ned has a little piece left in the corner of his mouth, and Chuck motions with her finger towards it until he licks it off.
Ned wins her a large yellow duck at the coconut shy - it takes him four goes - and they run through the hall of mirrors with it, laughing.
They save the dodgems until last. Ned picks a blue car, Chuck red, and they circle the rink. Their circles get gradually smaller and smaller, and Chuck imagines there's no one else on the rink but the two of them. And then Ravel's Bolero starts to play, and now Chuck knows the fair is magic. The music swells and they circle and circle and everywhere outside the rink vanishes, and the only thing that Chuck can see is Ned, watching her like she's watching him, and the circles have almost closed in. One more circuit, and the circles collapse - the music soars, hits its peak and their cars touch, soft bump in the middle.
Chuck smiles, and Ned smiles, and the cars bump, nose to nose, little kisses.
//