Re: Kit & Tory: Area 52
Kit didn't have a diary. He had his shoulder propped against the door-jam, the wool of the sweater trying hard to snag on the hasp and not succeeding well enough to adhere man to structure. It was however, starting to unravel at the cuffs but that was age rather than suicidal instinct. He observed with the calm of someone used to occupying space without presumption and his gaze flickered the moment the man moved. It cast widely, over the poor plants scattered about in, took in Tory's shirt underneath the lab-coat, the screen at his back, skipped up to Tory's face and then down once more.
Kit had no idea what the smile was for, but he noticed it. He noticed most things, as a rule. He just didn't like to be observed while he did it. "It was politer than not saying it," which was evidently true, and Kit smiled faintly as he said that, too. Another man may have made a point of pedantry over not actually being in the room so much as on the threshold. Kit's gaze jumped to the edge of the room and the door-jam, but he said nothing.
"Er. I'm Kit." He made a vague gesture, his hand held up in a greeting that looked a little like an umbrella unfolding, and dropped it again just as quickly. "Kit Vaughn. You're Tory, aren't you?" It had at once occurred to Kit that this was not, in fact, Tory and his face telegraphed this in the same moment. And then his gaze fell on the plants, the ones with very little air or light, and he winced, briefly.