awesome_binomial_theorems | [OOM] Oswin, Moriarty and Delicious Cake.

[OOM] Oswin, Moriarty and Delicious Cake.

"You know where the kitchen is," Moriarty says as they enter, setting down the basket, and the violin next to it. "I'll be with you momentarily.

The moment in question, it seems, is being mostly devoted to finding a change of clothes from his wardrobe. Victorian clothes are all good and well, but they're stiff, and a lot of layers, and they tend to pick up the smell of London like nothing else.

(Moriarty rather hates the smell of London.)

The kitchen is, at least, in the same place. It would be inconvenient if it was somewhere totally different.

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Moriarty grins back, sliding an arm around her.

"Shame on him. He could've at least written it down instead."

"Some people are just overly intimidated by my awesomeness." Oswin sighs, smoothing her hands up the planes of his chest.

Solemnly: "You're a very intimidating person."

"Terrifying, to some." To one planet of Daleks, the worst thing ever. Yeah, she can smirk about that.

"Who would that be, then?"

"Well, whichever rat is responsible for scrubbing out the oven, for one." She grins wryly, "Aaaand possibly the one responsible for cleaning the ceiling."

Look, she thought the lid was securely on that food processor. And she had no idea it could shoot food particles that high.

...

It was actually a lot of fun. And rather impressive.

Dryly: "I'm starting to get the impression you might be the natural predator of waitrats."

It's harder to hide a flinch when you aren't wearing a shirt, but she makes a very game attempt at it anyway, giving him a pout to hide her brain's awkward stumble.

(Not here, not now, shut up)

"I don't know about that - just making sure their jobs are sufficiently varied."

Moriarty ducks his head, trying - so long as they're not acknowledging that not-quite-a-flinch - not to look too apologetic.

"I'm sure they're grateful."

She sees that attempt, and is thankful for it.

And she hates herself for causing it. He shouldn't have to wonder which seemingly random word or phrase will catch her blindsided. It's wrong.

"James. You should know, what happened. I can't... make you keep guessing, that's... I shouldn't have made you to begin with. I'm sorry."

Moriarty's first, slightly treacherous thought, is wondering whether he should point out that this is a conversation which maybe calls for more clothes.

He doesn't say that.

Firmly: "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Clearly he hasn't spent enough time with Oswin yet - there's never a situation that requires more clothes. But that's neither here nor there, because he's given her an out, and while she can be terribly brave, hat kind of temptation is stronger than her will to keep going.

Because there's worlds of difference between ought to and want to.

"Keep saying things like that, and I'll never work up the nerve." She offers a feeble grin.

Moriarty gives her a small grin back in response, and leans back against the worktop, giving her a small nod to indicate that she should go on.

Well. She reminds herself firmly that this is, most definitely, the right thing to, lifting her chin defiantly.

"I told you once, that the Alaska crash-landed on an alien planet, and I was shipwreaked there, alone. That's all true. She went down thanks to a horrible navigational error. But some of the crew survived - mostly command crew, a few engineers. One junior entertainment manager. We didn't think there was anything alive on the planet, so we split up, to find water and resources to try and survive long enough for the rescue ships to come and find us. But there were things out there. I've mentioned Daleks too - they're... well, horrible, but there's a planet where they put the ones that have gone mad. Like, an insane asylum for creatures from a race that are already known for being psychotically homicidal. And we'd crashed there. Didn't take them long to find me. Normally that'd be the end of the story, 'cause of the homicidal bit, but they knew they were trapped on that planet. They knew they couldn't figure out how to get off, but I... I could. If I thought like them. I could get them off the planet." Her tone is flatter than the pancakes she made once without a leavening agent, but she's proud of it - it's not screaming, which is a definite plus.

"So they. Did a... full conversion." She doesn't remember picking up the hand towel from the oven rack, but she's twisting the holy hell out of it.

Moriarty listens carefully, his expression more or less unreadable. He's not great with emotional stuff.

"They turned you into one of them," he says levelly. "But you're not now, or at least not here - not unless they look human."

"No, not at all. This is... how I think I look. Looked. Dunno, seems real... mm." Oswin frowns at the echos of another voice, and shakes her head. "To survive, I made myself forget. I thought, for a year, that I'd come down in a separate survival pod. That I had crashed alone, and I'd never gone out, and the Daleks never got in. And I kept them out of my head, for a year. That... got a bit broken, right before I came here, so. It all seems a bit overwhelming."

"You seem fairly real and human to me," Moriarty notes. "Milliways magic and all, I'd presume."

Moriarty listens further, although he can't profess to understand fully. He doesn't know if self-deception is truly part of his emotional repertoire.

"Must've been a shock," he says, a little lamely, because that's a hefty understatement, "but maybe it's better to know, rather than not."

"I dunno. It was horrible being trapped in an escape pod with Daleks outside, and it was horrible being trapped as a Dalek. But more to the point, I can still... hear them, sometimes, remember things like they're still happening. And I don't know how to stop it. Or if it can be stopped. So when I... react badly. I'm just... trying to be here. Not there."

She gives the timer a somewhat despairing look. Surely that dratted cake is done by now!

Moriarty bends, pressing a quick kiss to the side of her forehead.

Murmured: "I understand. As much as I think I can understand."

Is he prepared for hugging? He should be. Because that's exactly what happens.

She wasn't entirely sure what she expected there, but the vague gist of her imaginings usually started with rejection and got worse from there.

Trust British logic to trump alien emotionalism.

Moriarty makes a small surprised noise, but hugs back quite happily.

"Just don't ever take it personally? I'd much rather stay here. The view's better, for one." Oh wait, there's her sense of flirt - she'd mis-placed it.

"- Really? The kitchen is kind of bland and not ve - oh I see."

Moriarty blushes a little, but nods. "I promise not to take it personally."

She laughs, both because his blush really is adorable and because of the headiness of relief, beaming at him brightly.

"Such surprise. Those hoards of fluttery females downstairs must be slacking on the job."

Do you know what the best thing about jeans is? If you manage to get your hands into the back pockets, you've got yourself a pretty nice handful.

"I am entirely unaccustomed to this much attention," Moriarty admits wryly, and with only a slight jolt of surprise and a small laugh at the taking-of-handfuls.

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souffle_girlek - 2013-04-20 01:22 (UTC) - Expand

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