Rita Louise Skeeter (ritabugwrites) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-05-30 21:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/05 may, alastor gumboil, rita skeeter |
Who: Rita and Al
Where: Sailing around on Blue Louise, Rita's sailboat.
When: Sunday, May 24, 1980
What: Al comes sailing with her, and it gets le awkward. PART TWO.
Rating: PG? Low.
Status: Completed log!
Make sure you've read Part One!
Of all the things he could have said, somehow Rita hadn't expected him to say that. It hit her harder than than it probably ought to have, and she felt her breath catch in her chest and her eyes begin to sting. She got to her feet abruptly and moved to fiddle with one of the ropes, her back to Al. He knew nothing about sailing. He wouldn't know if she was just standing for an excuse, untying and retying knots to give herself time to blink the tears back out of her eyes.
This was ridiculous. Of all the things to make her cry, it was that? It was that he wished he'd bloody tried harder to help her when her father died and she'd pushed him away?
"Like I said," she managed, voice only wavering slightly, but she hoped he wouldn't notice over the sound of the wind and the waves. "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done."
For most people, it might have worked. But Al was a hitwizard, and it was his job to know when people were hiding things. So he felt wholly uncomfortable, eyes finding a spot between his shoes to focus on as she did something somewhere around him. He didn't quite know what to do. Even as her voice wavered, the little bit that it did, he didn't know whether he should simply leave or... or what? Or hug her? Because that was what part of him wanted.
Instead, he simply sat awkwardly, arms crossed over his chest so that he wouldn't fidget. He didn't know what to do with her, how to handle her. If he should handle her, even. This was a new experience, and he wasn't sure he much liked it. "...No, I suppose not," he said finally.
Really, Rita didn't really care if he knew exactly what was going on or not, so long as he didn't say anything about it. Had he tried to hug her, she probably would've pushed him overboard. Rita wasn't good at being vulnerable. It made her feel prickly and defensive and she certainly didn't do well with people in a state like that. So, she pulled herself together, taking a moment to lean far out over the edge of the boat, dipping her hand into the waves, not caring that she got the sleeve of her shirt wet in the process.
"The water is freezing," she commented idly, one hand still under the surface, feeling her skin start to prickle with cold. They were out pretty far now, far enoug that with the waves, even the top layer of the water wasn't really sun-warmed. Not that there had been all that much sun yet. It was only May, after all.
Rita had learned to avoid things quite well, and so her lapse in composure was put to the back of her mind as she moved on past it. "Are you thirsty? Or hungry? I could give you a tour of the kitchen. There's no one around. We can drift for a while."
Al was almost relieved for the change of subject. He nodded and slowly pushed himself to his feet, not quite trusting his body to be dealing with this whole buoyancy issue just yet. But he was mostly steady when he got up. "Yeah, all the water is making me a bit thirsty. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink." He snorted derisively and looked over the horizon. He felt very removed this far out. He wasn't sure he liked that either. Al had always been an inately social person. This aloneness... alone except for Rita anyway - put him on edge a bit.
"What have you got, then?"
He wasn't the only one relieved for the change of subject. Though Rita had admittedly been the one to bring it up, really, she was glad that they had moved on. After drying her hand on her trousers, Rita ducked into the small area beneath the mast, moving through the cramped space to sit on the edge of the bed. It was the only semblance of seating in the area beneath the deck, and she leaned down to pull a magically cooled container out from beneath the bed. She nudged the lid open with her foot and then flopped back onto the surprisingly comfortable (and large) bed.
"Bottled water, soda, lemonade," Rita listed. "Help yourself to whatever is in there. There are dry snacks like crisps and biscuits in the cupboards over there, if you're peckish."
Al considered the contents of the container for a moment before he pulled out a bottle of lemonade. With an effortless twist, he pulled the cap off and took a drink, leaning against the doorjamb, resting his head there as well, if only for a moment. After another beat, he strode to the cupboards and pulled out a bag of crisps, tucking the bottle under his arm and pulling them open. He wasn't sure how wise it was to be eating when he might very well just throw it all back up when he went back up on the deck. But for now, it was fine. He wasn't thinking that far ahead.
He snacked quietly for a moment before offerring the bag to her silently.
As he held them out, Rita took some, popping them in her mouth and crunching on the salty kettle cooked potato chips before reaching down for a bottle of water and then kicking the lid of the cooler shut. She shifted on the bed to make room for him to sit, though not offering in case he didn't want to, before opening her water and taking a swig.
She watched him for a moment, watched him and wondered if he was uncomfortable. They never used to be uncomfortable around each other, not really. They'd been well suited to one another back in school. Of course, he was the only boy she'd been romantic with that had ever mattered, and he was the only one she hadn't slept with. They couldn't have fit together that well if she hadn't been willing to put out, even at sixteen.
Somehow that triggered Rita's memory, and she grinned brightly at him, reaching out to nudge his hip playfully, asking, "Hey, do you still have Bretton the bear?"
One day, she'd gone back to his dorm with him while no one else was around, and they'd laid on his bed and kissed and touched, and mostly it had been innocent. She'd been really happy in that moment, and even more so when she'd discovered a small plushie hidden away under his pillow. She'd ribbed him mercilessly, but kindly, and she had kept it a secret, as promised. Bretton had become a euphemism for them. Going to visit Bretton had meant that they were going to spend some time alone in his room, behaving like sixteen year olds in puppy love, but never crossing the line that at the time seemed so huge and which Rita now barely noticed as she crossed it.
Al blinked... and then laughed. Oh Merlin, why did she have to remember that? He remembered being so bloody embarassed when she'd found it. There was hardly anything more bloody emasculating than your girlfriend finding your teddy bear whilst you were snogging. "Uhm," Al chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Somewhere. I think he got packed away when I moved to my own flat. He might be in some box in my mum's basement." He snickered and shook his head, hiding his face as effectively as he could with one hand. He was starting to turn a rather interesting shade of red.
"I can't believe you remember that," he half-mumbled, shaking his head in some reminiscent embarrassment. Even if Bretton had earned him some rather good kisses. Oh, Merlin.
Rita shifted to face him, her knees brushing his legs in the tight quarters as she dropped her legs off the bed, and she was looking happily up at him with wide eyes. In that moment, she felt incredibly fond of Al, nostalgic for all of their good memories. She felt light, actually, amused as she watched him blush, teasing him gently as she said, "Of course I remember Bretton. I loved Bretton. He was a very manly teddy bear. He certainly ought not be stuffed into a box in your mother's closet. He must miss cuddling with you at night."
If there was one thing Rita had always been putty for, it was when Al got sheepish, when he blushed, when he put on an aw-shucks face. That had always made her go weak in the knees. It was a ridiculous thing to enjoy, perhaps, but it was just so adorable the way his cheeks and ears turned pink. It made her want to hug him.
Al let out another embarrassed chuckle, letting out a low groan. "Cor blimey, I had just about nearly forgotten about him. Had him since I was like, s'big as he was." Al shook his head, snickered and then sighed. He mussed his hair and finally dropped onto the bed next to her, slowly returning to normal colour. "I suppose I would get quite indignant, being shoved in a dark box. S'probably all lonely, just holed up in there with like, my old United posters and all. Maybe some, like, dunno, picture books or something. And probably all labeled, because my mum's a bloody freak about that sort of thing. It's unnatural really. I take after my dad like that, I'm always a bloody mess." He idly mussed his hair and then twisted the cap off his lemonade to take another drink.
This was familiar, comfortably so. Just sitting and talking and not being all that serious about anything. Before he knew it, he was feeling all bloody nostalgic again and he couldn't even help himself. So much had changed. It almost made him feel old. And hell, he was creeping up on thirty. Maybe he was old.
Adopting a muggle expression, Rita widened her eyes dramatically at him and shook her head. "Oh no. We're reminiscing about how high school was the best time of our lives. We are officially pathetic."
Despite her words, of course, Rita was still smiling. She was content here with Al, now that they'd moved on to lighter subjects. He was sitting next to her now and her shoulder brushed his, but she didn't really notice. The atmosphere was comfortable, not charged or tense. She felt another moment of gladness that he was here, and wondered if he was going to continue to be a part of her life. At that moment, happy with him on Blue Louise, there was no part of Rita that was hesitant about him. Perhaps back at her apartment, back in real life, she'd remember her defenses and her reasons, but at the moment, all she felt was a warmth and a desire to keep him around.
"So what do you do for fun now, Al?" she asked casually, curious.
Al snickered. "I've been called worse," he commented. Loads worse. Being a hitwizard made you a target for all sorts of verbal treatment. And that was the nice kind, when you were being called every bad name under the sun. So, you grew a little bit of a thick skin. He could deal being a little pathetic. He popped another crisp into his mouth, reflecting for a moment until her question pulled him back.
"What, me? Now? Fun? I think you weren't quite listening before," he teased lightly. "Dunno, I don't get out a lot any more, really. I can catch a Quidditch game every now and then with Des - my brother - but most of the time, I'm running around with a Ministry badge in my pocket. You can let loose now and again with a drink or two. Like Tuesday, I'm going to drink a glass of scotch and then help Frank Longbottom put a crib together. What a party, right?" he chuckled and shook his head. "Merlin, I am pathetic," he groaned a second later.
"Oh, I was listening. I guess I'm just surprised you never got back into Quidditch out of school, even as a hobby. You were really good."
She thought for a moment, and then smirked a bit, the expression self-deprecating as she added, "Well, I guess I'm a good time girl. If you're ever bored, you're welcomg to tag along with me for a night of drinking or partying," she said somewhat ruefully, fully aware that it wasn't quite his scene. He'd made that abundantly clear the night she'd run into him at the Leaky. As an afterthough, she looked around the cabin and added, "I suppose I'm good for a day of sailing, too. Are you having more fun now than you were on the deck?"
Al shrugged. "Honestly, I was pretty damn bitter about it afterwards. Could have gone pro, could have... well I guess it doesn't matter. I still like to fly and I think I've retained some of my seeker-type reflexes. But I've turned into a spectator. Go figure, you know? Not everyone can be a big Quidditch star."
He glanced up toward the deck and then around at the cabin. As if there was even a comparison. "Yeah," he said finally. "I don't feel like I'm going to be sick down here, so that's nice. It's comfortable."
"It's cozy," she said, taking another swig of her cool water. It was warm in that little, well insulated room without any air flow. It wasn't too hot outside, but the sun that was there shone down on the deck and that alone was all it took to bring the heat up a few notches higher than comfortable in there. "If a little stuffy."
Rita flopped back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. There was a detailed world map on the ceiling above the bed that had marks on it. Mostly it marked routes by water to places that Rita and her father had talked about going. It was an old map, one of many that Rita had apparently inherited from her mother. Her mother's father had been a sailor with the navy, and he'd collected maps from all over the world. Rita had boxes and boxes of them of them.
Al nodded. It was a little warm, but it wasn't suffocating or anything. He'd been in warmer, definitely, and in worse company. This was still comfortable.
Quiet again, he snacked on what was left of the crisps in the back and drank about half of his lemonade before following Rita's gaze upwards. He hadn't even noticed, but now, he craned his head to see the maps, idly tracing the routes with his eyes. Merlin, he couldn't even think of anything to say. So he didn't, instead leaning back enough so he could just see more.
Rita turned slightly, watching his profile for a moment. She understood why he'd come here about as well as she understood why she'd asked him in the first place, considering he'd made it abundantly clear the first night they'd run into each other that he didn't think much of the person she'd become. But just because she had no clue why either of them were doing what they were at the moment wasn't any reason to stop herself. As a reporter, Rita had learned that things happened, often seemingly for no rhyme or reason, and it took a little investigation after the fact to figure out exactly what was going on.
So, she didn't let not having a clue stop her from rolling onto her side, putting a hand on his muscled stomach, and pressing her lips to his. She let her eyes flicker shut as she kissed him, let herself stop thinking about any possible consequences, and instead just relaxed into him. Kissing him felt good. It felt like she remembered, really, and she'd been so much happier and simpler back when she'd spent so much of her time kissing him.
Within that comfort, though, there was an underlying feeling of intensity; her pulse was speeding up a little, her stomach fluttering nervously. It was just a kiss, and she hadn't felt like that even, for example, while having hard, sweaty sex with Fabian.
Al was mostly distracted, looking up at the maps. He barely felt her shift, his eyes tracing route that was winding into the Atlantic. Before he knew what was happening, Rita filled his vision and her lips were pressed against his. Immediately, his stomach tightened under her touch, his heart in his throat for a moment. Likewise, it was automatic to kiss her back, even if there was a beat of hesitation.
It was familiar and there were exactly zero thoughts in his head for that moment, any focus he had was trained on this kiss. He was a man, after all, and when it came to snogging, there was never much thinking involved. Al's head was blank as he barely parted his lips, a hand moving to gently cup her cheek.
As he touched her cheek, Rita opened her mouth to him, sliding the hand on his stomach up to his chest. It felt nice to be close to him this way, and much like Al, Rita's thoughts were emptying out of her head as she deepened the kiss. It was just she and Al in the warm sleeping cabin of Blue Louise, drifting somewhere in the English Channel.
Al was on auto-pilot for a moment, giving into the kiss. It was lazy and warm and he liked her touch. But when he pulled back to breath, the oxygen he supplied his brain seemed to kick it back into some sort of normalcy and what he was doing - what they were doing, crashed into his consciousness. He pulled back abruptly, his insides suddenly squirming as he almost jumped to his feet, stuttering. "I'm sorry-- I shouldn't-- oh fuck," he swore, one hand on his hip, the other buried in his hair, clearly agitated. "That isn'--- I'm sorry-- that wasn't why I came," he finished in a rush, almost pacing now, in what little room ther was. Fuck, why did he have to complicate things?!
Rita watched him for a moment, taking in his reaction. Her cheeks pinked a little at the rejection, but instead of getting upset, she just sat up and smoothed her clothes and said, "That wasn't why I invited you. It just... felt like the right thing at that moment. I guess I was wrong."
She looked down slightly, frowning. Of course she'd been wrong. Men like Al didn't want women like Rita. They wanted women like Doris. Rita banished the self-deprecating thought and got to her feet, standing as far away from him as possible in the small space, but not quite moving for the exit yet.
"We should go back up to the deck, probably," she said, voice low.
Al took a steadying breath and nodded, hand still buried in his hair for a long moment before he let it drop. "I... yeah. S'too hot down here anyway," he mumbled. Of course, the temperature hadn't changed at all in the last few minutes.
He didn't wait for an answer, instead turning to get back onto the deck. It was cooler up here, definitely and Al pulled his jumper on, crossing his arms over his chest as he took the seat he'd been in earlier. All the while, he was scolding himself for being so damn fucking stupid.
"God, relax. It was just a kiss," Rita said as she stood at the top of the stairs, watching him sulk with a growing sense of annoyance. She hadn't been that bad, had she? He'd responded at first. He obviously didn't find her repulsive, but the way he'd nearly run from her when he'd realized what they were doing rankled, and her pride felt bruised. "I'm sorry if I forgot I'm not your type anymore."
Al sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I... You're right. Just a kiss," he echoed. The problem was of course, that she was still almost exactly his type, if for different reasons now. He could still feel her lips on his. Merlin. Time for a change of subject. He cleared his throat and looked around at the water. "Do you think we drifted far?"
Rita pulled out her wand and cast a charm her father had made her learn as soon as she was old enough to help him navigate. It pointed back the direction they'd come, making it possible to retrace the same path already travelled. There was also a charm to direct them to the nearest land mass, and a spell to propell the boat if winds died. Rita was prepared.
"Doesn't really matter. We're barely more than an hour out. Two by now, maybe," Rita answered, trying not to think about how complicated things were with him right now. She wasn't looking for complicated. That was why she lived the way she lived. "Why, do you want to go back?"
Al thought an hour or two seemed like a long ways out. But he supposed it was relative. He'd never been on a boat before and he could see plenty of land, so maybe they weren't out too far. And Rita looked like she knew what she was doing.
"No," he replied after a beat. "We can stay out." Al did sort of think it'd be good to go back, but he was tagging along on her trip, so he wasn't about say when they should go back.
Turning and casting a sidelong look at him, she looked staright ahead again and adjusted the course slightly to take them in a roundabout way back towards land. She had wanted him to enjoy sailing, for whatever reason, but she had a feeling he regretted coming with her. She'd planned to stay out all day, maybe even drop anchor near a coast somewhere and not sail back until tomorrow. She'd abandoned that idea when he'd shown up, of course, because she knew he just had this one day. But clearly he didn't want to be spending his one and only day on a boat. So why had he come? Curiosity, he'd said. Curiosity over what? Her? Sailing?
"Did you find out what you wanted to know? Whatever piqued your curiosity. Did you figure it out?" Rita asked calmly, a little curious herself.
Damn all this truth telling. It was going to make things very complicated. It occurred to Al that he could lie. He'd never been particularly good at it though. It wasn't something he was well-practised in, not even remotely. Telling the truth was supposed to keep things from getting complicated, after all. But Al took a deep breath, deciding not to look at her.
"No," he said finally, finding a sudden interest in the sail. "I think I'm more confused than when I got here." Well. There, then. He could have been talking about anything, but the way he was so clearly trying to avoid her eyes made it fairly obvious that it wasn't just anything.
"Al," she said softly, turning to look at him. What did he want? He clearly didn't want her, so why was he here? Did he want to see that she was okay? Or was he trying to confirm for himself that she wasn't okay so he could, what. Be a hero and swoop in and save her? "That doesn't answer my question at all. What are you doing?"
Sure, Rita knew she'd invited him, she'd started it. But he'd accepted, he'd showed up, and he'd kissed her for a moment before he'd freaked out, and now what? Now he wouldn't look at her and clearly it had something to do with her, and she felt an unusual pang of worry for him.
"Are you all right?" she added, voice low, almost low enough to be drowned out by the sound of the wind in the sails.
Fucking hell, he wished she'd just stop asking questions that he'd have to answer. Of course, he should have expected as much. She was a reporter after all. One more reason not to get involved, he reminded himself. Careers were not compatible. They weren't compatible. They wanted different things, he knew for sure now. And it didn't matter that she clearly needed help and that he already felt like he could help and that he cared. She was right. Who the hell stayed with their school-age sweet heart?
"I'm fine," he answered. Which was true. Depending on your definition of fine. He thought he was fine. Confused didn't meant not fine. "I should go though," he went on after a moment. "This... wasn't a good idea. I'm sorry. I can apparate." Al pushed himself to his feet, still avoiding her eyes.
Rita turned to face him then, annoyed. What could she say? She wasn't going to hold him hostage until he answered her questions. She stared at him for a long moment, wondering what to do. She wasn't in a position to push him. She wasn't his girlfriend, or even his friend. The annoyance turned to hurt a little then, and she turned away from him once more, changing course somewhat abruptly and loosing the boom, swinging it around the other way.
"Boom," she called, securing it once more and setting off in the direction of Scotland, north up the English Channel. The hurt was clear in her voice as she added, "If you want to go, go. I'm not keeping you here."
Maybe she'd be stupid to invite him anyway, and stupid to kiss him. Stupid for all of it. She just couldn't help but miss how things had been back then, and she had thought maybe... Well. Evidently she'd been wrong.
"I'm sorry you don't like sailing. Not everyone does."
He could hear it in her voice and he immediately felt like a fucking tosser. But there was nothing to be done about it. He couldn't stay here. He couldn't stay with her. Not again. They'd been young and stupid and... it wouldn't work. And maybe hurt now was better than worse hurt later. And never mind the god damned what-ifs.
At her call though, Al felt slightly confused and it wasn't until he saw the damn thing that he remmbered, and by pure dumb luck (and maybe some residual Seeker reflex) that he avoided it. Yes. Time to go.
"I'll see you later, Rita," he said softly. And was gone in a pop.