RP Log: Tony and Claire Who: Tony Marks and Claire Greene Where: Mainly Tony's house When: Backdated to Saturday What: The amount of time that Claire and Tony have been spending together culminate in fireworks, but not a good sort. Status: Logged, complete Rating: PG-13 for underage consumption
Claire was able, barely, to get around the house. She would even, in a pinch, be able to drive her car. It wouldn't be easy, and forget it if she tried to drive a standard. But for the most part, she was mobile and if something were to happen, she wouldn't be entirely helpless. Thus, when Aunt Rachel and her mother hatched the plan to go to New Orleans for two days of shopping and staying at a hotel overnight, Claire was in equal measures glad for the time alone and more than a little worried that something WOULD happen. She didn't protest, though, and spent a nice day by herself, getting around slowly but proving to herself that she could do it.
But when sunset came and darkness started creeping over everything, she realized that boredom had set in. She was sick of all her movies, she'd read every book in the house, and even staring at the setting sun moved her to think thoughts that were a little weird and unsettling. Things like missing Tony and he was good at cuddling and sometimes when he smiled it was crooked and his hair was really soft.
Hobbling back to her computer, she flipped through her buddy lists and checked her email, and then cruised around Youtube for a little while before spending fifteen minutes on LOLCATS. Finally, she clicked on his name, waited a moment, and typed out quickly "Where are you??" and sent it before she really thought. Chances were, he wasn't even home and she'd spend her night with Animal Planet. Well, at least Jeff Corwin was hot. Hopefully Jeff Corwin was even ON.
Tony had popped outside for a few minutes to show his mom how to work the stick shift on her new car. Why she'd purchased a car she couldn't drive well was completely beyond him, but he'd learned not to think too much on the whims of his slapdash mother.
When he'd gotten back up to his room, he fiddled with his mp3 player (playing the latest Ratatat album) before spotting a flashing AIM window. Claire. His mouth curled into a smile before he could keep it from doing so. While he kept telling himself that his unabashed crush on Claire would fade with the summer heat, it had shown no signs of doing so, and indeed even seeing that she'd contacted him left him feeling shy and coltish.
He quickly typed out a reply: "Here. What now your majesty?"
Her leg now safely propped up, she laughed a bit before replying. "I'm bored. Mom and Aunt Rachel are in N.O. until tomorrow night." An instant later, she followed with "What are you doing?"
She could just as easily call him, but it was easier to practice nonchalance when she wasn't talking to him.
Tony glanced at the clock. The sun had been threatening to set for the past fifteen minutes. It wasn't late by any means, but... well, he'd never been to her home when her mother wasn't checking in on them. Despite the fact that he generally attempted to be a gentleman, his mind had gone straight to the possibilities involved in having a home unfettered by parenting.
He bit his lip and typed out a much less insidious response: "Nothing. You want to come over or should I come over? Don't care. You still having trouble with driving?"
Claire looked around, mouth twisting. It wasn't worth risking her mother's wrath to have him come over and stay. But she had said that she could have people pick her up, as long as they weren't alone. By "people", naturally, Lottie Greene had meant "Tony". Slowly, she typed, "Yeah. I can do it, but I drive really slowly. I hate for you to waste all that gas, though, driving out here to get me and then having to bring me back. NM, I'll just watch a movie."
Which was, naturally, the last thing she wanted. But it seemed it was Simon Pegg or Jeff Corwin. It was stupid to think that she'd actually be able to do something anyway.
Tony frowned. It was a lot of gas, but it wasn't as if he was doing anything. "MOM!!! CAN I BORROW FIFTY DOLLARS?"
His mother's voice drifted from downstairs. "Tony, didn't you just GET fifty dollars...?"
Tony rolled his eyes. "IT'S POSSIBLE." So much for that idea. His mom was flakey, but not stupid. He typed back to Claire: "It's cool. I'll be there in twenty minutes." Note to self: don't buy a ton of stuff on iTunes today.
Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the porch. Tony was wearing an old Strokes concert tee and jeans as he waited for the hobbling Claire to emerge. When he saw her, he couldn't help but light up. "Hey there, Tiny Tim."
Cell phone in one pocket, keys in the other, and money and I.D. in a third, and Claire was ready to go. Well, except for the part where she had to get out of the house. If he had taken five more minutes, she would have been outside waiting on the porch, but as it was she moved easily across the porch - it was level.
"Shut up," she said, ducking her head to hide her smile and the blush that was actually disguised by the near-dark. "And don't laugh. And hold these. Please." Holding out her crutches to him, she sat on the top step and scooted down until she could safely stand with her crutches. It was faster than trying to go down steps, and she'd long ago put aside most of her embarrassment about how she got around. She waited until they were in the car and she was safely buckled in to turn to him.
"Thanks, Tony." Lightly she touched his shoulder, quickly withdrawing. He'd done a lot for her this summer, which she was only really beginning to appreciate.
It was testament to the particular violence of his crush that he didn't even mock her for scooting down the stairs. He even shut the car door for her before getting in the driver's seat, stilling slightly as she touched his shoulder. "No big deal," he said gruffly, turning up the music already blaring from the stereo. The Rolling Stones reverberated from the speakers.
"So Claire," he began as they headed toward the nicer side of town, "how long did you say that your mother and aunt will be gone?"
Claire didn't mind Mick Jagger. Really. Except not when he was yelling in her ear to get off his cloud and she was trying to hold a conversation. Reaching out, she turned them down a little, enough that she didn't have to yell over them. "Until tomorrow night. They went shopping." It was, in all reality, an annual trip that they hadn't wanted to put off for much longer. She glanced at him, mouth turning up. "Why do you ask? It's too late to plan a party, sadly."
Tony didn't notice her turning down the music; his attention was (mostly) on the road. He had to concentrate in order to keep from going over 70 miles per hour, after all. "Nah, not a party. I was just curious. That old farmhouse out in the country..." Well, it was just a little bit creepy to Tony. While he never claimed to believe in ghosts, she was out there in the middle of nowhere. "I mean, I'm sure Mom wouldn't mind letting you have one of the guest bedrooms if you want."
He tried not to envision Claire sleeping a few doors down from him. Tried.
Claire shrugged. "I don't mind it, really. Ben the ghost usually doesn't bother me," she teased. She shrugged. "That's really sweet of you to offer, but I don't want to put ya'll out." And mostly, the thought of sleeping those said few doors down from him was more than a little disconcerting. She wasn't sure that she wanted him to see her first thing in the morning, all bleary-eyed and hair a mess and unawake. "It's not too bad, really. I know how to use a shotgun and the dogs usually let us know if there's anyone around who shouldn't be."
Tony laughed. "I shouldn't find the fact that you know how to use a shotgun hot." But he did. Idly he sneaked a glance at her. Oops, sometimes he forgot that things got awkward between them when they flirted. Clearing his throat, he looked for something to concentrate on, something to play off of that wasn't her and her gorgeous hair, still red even in the encroaching moonlight. He pressed for a new song. One came on.
Ah, he knew this one. "With my freeze ray I will stop.... the world...." he sang-muttered under his breath. He and Claire did love Dr. Horrible, after all.
"Yeah, well, you should see me drive the tractor, then," she grinned, running her hand through her hand and then shaking her head slightly. "With my freeze ray I will find the time to find the words to..." She trailed off, looking out the window at the passing houses. "I just love Neil Patrick Harris. Oh!" She turned to him, smiling. "Did I tell you that I got that series that Nathan Fillion was in? Firefly? It's supposed to get here in a day or two. Probably Monday."
"Want to say 'love your hair'..." Tony murmured under his breath. It was the song, but it was also sort of the truth. He thought it an interesting coincidence that the actress who played Penny had pretty red hair like Claire.
"Really? Firefly? I think I've heard of it." His nose wrinkled. "I'm not really big on space shows. I dunno. You tell me how it is, okay?" And because he couldn't resist the bait: "And I'd watch you drive the tractor anyday, baby."
Claire glanced at him, sort of wishing that he would tell her that he liked her hair. "It sounds like it'll be interesting, and it was cheap on Amazon the other day... so I got it. I'll let you know, though." She giggled, tossing her head again. She couldn't stop herself from doing it, it seemed. "You'll have to come out after I get my cast off, then. It'll be really hot."
He gave her a quick glance, raising one dark eyebrow in a decidedly flirtacious manner. "Really? No kidding. Maybe I'll even get to see your bare ankle." With a dreamy sigh, he pulled the car into the driveway of the large house in the Ironwood neighborhood. Alicia Marks' alimony had served her well; the home was a large two stories plus basement, not to mention the tennis court and swimming pool in the back. Tony didn't seem to find anything particularly noteworthy about his home; he opened up the car door for her and helped her with her crutches.
"Mom's home," he warned her.
"Oh, maybe not. I'm not sure you could handle that." She got out of the car, balancing on one hand until she had her crutches securely under her. Following him, she raised her eyebrow at him. "Is that bad?" She'd never met his mother, and was mildly curious.
"It's entertaining bordering on insanity-inducing if taken in too large a dose," Tony explained flippantly as they headed up the sidewalk and into the home. A large staircase greeted them in the foyer. No way was Tony going to force Claire all the way up there, besides, he hadn't cleaned his room and didn't fancy her seeing his Star Wars boxers strewn about in the floor.
"You want anything to eat?" he asked, only to have whatever answer she was about to ask cut off as his mother strode into the hallway.
"Have you seen my pocketb- Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize you had company." Tony's mother was young - or at least looked it - to have one daughter in college and a son in high school. She looked like she'd never taken off her string of pearls in her life, her general air friendly but certainly curious about the injured girl in her home. "Oh, you must be Claire! That bright young thing on the debate team!"
"Oh." Claire really didn't know what to say to that, and so merely followed silently, concentrating on not tripping. She'd opened her mouth to answer in the negative, but his mom interrupted. Immediately Claire smiled and to her regret found that she couldn't really extend her hand to be shaken and still retain her balance. Now a bit self-conscious, she nodded, blushing. "Hi. It's good to meet you." She paused, swallowing. "Tony's the reason we're so good, anyway, captain and all..."
"It's good to meet you finally; Tony talks about you all the time." She shook Claire's hand with enthusiasm before meeting her son with the same fervor. "Have you seen my pocketbook? I swear that I left it right on the dresser, and now it's just - poof! - up and vanished." It was becoming apparent that Tony's tendency to be charmingly polite and vacant was a learned ability from this particular parent.
"Haven't seen it," said Tony. "Did you check the... oh... dresser?"
And there it was. Right where it was supposed to have been.
Mrs. Marks deflated. "Blast. I swear, if it was a snake it would have bitten me. I've got to go, loves - to the country club for some... oh Christ, I don't even know. Ta, be good! Celia's still here if you two are hungry."
And off she dashed, leaving Chanel No. 5 in her wake. Tony shrugged.
"Awkward. Living room time?"
"Chyeah, no kidding." She gestured vaguely, not having any idea where the living room was. "Anyway... all the time?" She found a seat on the couch, tucking the crutches under it and settling back and trying to not let it all become even more awkward.
"Uh," came the debate captain's eloquent reply. "I have no idea what she's talking about." He sat a cushion away from her, pulling out the remotes to the very large television which dominated the airy living room. "What d'you want to see? I've got all the standards available. Oh hey, did you happen to bring Hot Fuzz with you? I stalked your netflix profile, saw that you had it."
"... Right." She snickered, turning a bit, then rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Tony, I just happened to stuff it down my shorts. Should I be worried that you're stalking me on Netflix?"
"Is it any worse than stalking your facebook. And here, if it's down your shorts, let me get that for you." He made as if to reach for her before stopping. Naturally. Tony hiked up an eyebrow and clapped his hands. "Come ON, paraplegic. Entertain me! Why do you think I invited you over?"
"I'm just not sure that I want you to see that I rented something stupid," she said without really thinking - because at some point what he thought had become sort of important. She held her breath until it became clear that he wasn't going to grab her, unsure if she wanted him to or not, and let it out all at once and tried to smile convincingly. "Entertain you? I don't see anything that I can juggle, sorry. Guess you'll have to deal with my witty repartee."
"Oh God, save me from your attempts at witty repartee," Tony noted snidely, always one to go for the throat when he was too chicken to go for her lips. "Well, since that's out, and watching Hot Fuzz is out, I suggest we engage in the Marks summer tradition of raiding my mom's boyfriend's liquor cabinet and toasting marshmallows in the microwave. Grand? Grand."
"You can't toast marshmallows in the microwave," Claire argued, ignoring his snideness; it was the only way to deal with him sometimes. "They just blow up. Like, you know. Pow." She pointed to the floor. "You'll have to get my crutches again, though. Shoulda told me you wanted to see Hot Fuzz."
Tony paused, surprise coloring his features. "Really? You really are cool with raiding the liquor cabinet and stuffing ourselves on exploded marshmallows?" He paused. Was there a downside to this? He didn't see one. "Okay!!"
And with that, Tony was gone in a flash, returning a few moments later with a small grocery-store worth of various alcohol-filled bottles and a large bag of marshmallows. Because somehow it made sense to him.
Claire opened her mouth to protest that she hadn't actually said yes to the alcohol... but honestly, what would it hurt? She trusted Tony and they could always call Steve to take her home if it came down to it. "... That's, you know, a lot of alcohol." Her eyes were round as he put them down, and reached for the marshmallows, opening the bag and stuffing one in her mouth for lack of anything else to say, and then immediately talking with her mouth full. "'E better wif choc'late."
Suddenly she wanted an open fire and graham crackers, too.
"I don't know if we've got any chocolate..." But Tony was already back up and rummaging through the kitchen, eventually producing expensive Swiss chocolate that he tossed down at her. "Here. And uh." He took a swig of whiskey and nearly choked to death. Tony had never been much of a drinker in the least, and somehow it looked a lot easier to do in movies than in real life.
"Thanks," she said, eyeing the chocolate. She'd meant Hershey's, because, really... but, well. It was chocolate and there were marshmallows and Tony was right there. So she ate another marshmallow and contemplated the array of liquor set out before them. Slapping his back to help him breath again, she took the bottle and smelled it. "Wow... Okay. Here goes." She took a sip. "Oh, EW. That's NASTY."
Tony looked at whatever she'd consumed and made a face. "Well! It's Jack DANIELS and you just ate chocolate beforehand!" He rummaged through his collection of bottles before tossing her a bottle of Malibu Rum. "There. I think you can drink that straight." Because God knows he wasn't knowledgable enough to be a bartender. Meanwhile, he popped a marshmallow in his mouth and munched thoughtfully, turning his body toward hers as they picnic'd on the couch.
"I don't think that has anything to do with it," she objected, picking up the bottle of rum and inspecting it. "You think? How often have you actually done this?" The bottle opened, she sniffed again - coconut, not so bad - and took a sip. Still strong (she thought), but better. "That's not too bad, if you like coconut." She snapped off a piece of chocolate and had an actual swig of rum, grimacing as she swallowed it and putting it back on the table. "I sort of almost feel like this is that scene in Pirates of the Caribbean. Only you really don't look like Johnny Depp."
"Sorry. I already took off my eyeliner this evening," Tony answered wryly, although his mind filtered away this information. Did she like Johnny Depp? Was he Johnny Depp-like? COULD he be Johnny Depp-like? He took a swig of whatever he was drinking (Jameson's?) and grinned at her. "The way I figure is that... well, come school year, I'm going to be working my ass off to be student president. I'm never going to have a life. This is my moment, Claire Greene. THIS IS MY MOMENT."
"Yeah, you missed a spot." Reaching out her hand, her fingers brushed just next to his eyes, and dropped back into her lap. "It's okay, though, the wanna-be-emo looks suits you. It's like you're channeling Pete Wentz. Sort of." She grabbed the rum again, taking another swallow and feeling very warm as a result. "But you're cuter than he is. And he's only cute because... I don't know." She shrugged. "Not his music. He just has a cute smile."
And, really so did Tony, especially when he was taking that moment. She smiled back at him, nodding. "So you're getting drunk with me instead of living it up with Steve or Tara. I'm touched."
He stilled under her touch, much like a rabbit unsure if it wanted to be petted or to bolt. Well, Tony knew he wanted to be petted, but all the same, he wasn't sure if she knew exactly the effect she usually had on him. They'd had their fair share of cuddling, after all, and that meant nothing... right?
God, he hated this emo bullshit.
"I can't imagine you drunk," Tony said, and that much was true. Claire was dippy enough without the influence of alcohol. He rarely got drunk himself, at any rate, being that it was usually an obstacle to be overcome as soon as he got bored with the sensation and wanted to do something else. "Finding out what it's like has a certain appeal."
"Well, I'm not. I'm fuzzy," she told him. And that was very true. The equivalent of two shots, give or take, and Claire was feeling very warm and comfortable. Not drunk, but comfortable and fuzzy. But no, she didn't know exactly what effect she had on him. She suspected that he liked her, and was flattered. But at the same time she was very happy with being friends with him.
Nevermind that he made her think and was funny and cute and even when he was a complete and utter brat, it was okay now. She blinked herself out of her thoughts. "Why? I think I'm gonna be stupid drunk. Or boring."
"You being stupid is like a feast of joy," Tony informed her. "I very rarely get the chance to win easily." Easily being the key word; he evidently thought he "won" often. "Ergo... no boring. I promise." He propped up his chin in his hand and grinned at her broadly. Not that Tony had a tolerance at all; he rarely drank beyond the occasional moment with Steve or Tara.
"Good to know I rank so highly in things or people that make Tony Marks happy," she snarked. "Especially if it's me being stupid." She reached for another bottle, a different one. Well, if she were going to be stupid, might as well get to it. "What's this one? Southern Comfort..." She opened it, took a swig. It burnt like the Jack Daniels had, but that she could drink. Sort of. "I think I like this one."
"As you should, being a Southern girl," Tony informed her. "It's appalling you don't like Jack, but I guess liking Southern Comfort makes up for the error." He took a shot of vodka and winced. Yeah, that was going to take some getting used to, manly pride aside. "Don't think Mom's gonna be home 'til late tonight. And so we-"
"Anthony Marks," came a heavily accented voice. A dark woman with a smirking smile peered at them from the hallways. "It is a good thing your mother is unaware that I speak English, because if she knew, I would have to tell her about this."
"Celia, Claire, Claire, Celia," Tony introduced the housekeeper to his friend. "Don't tell mom. Please?"
"Have I ever?" muttered Celia as she busied herself up the stairs, a stack of laundry in her hands. "Very good to meet you, Claire."
Claire waved at Celia, unable to speak through her mouthful of marshmallow. "Your mom doesn't know she speaks English?" And then: "These aren't exploding." But they were good. "Marshmallows are like eating little puffs of cloud. Only not cold and not water and with sugar. And they're not in the sky."
Claire on alcohol was unable to shut up. "Where's Celia from?"
"Peru." Tony put the cap back on the vodka bottle. "Mom thinks she's Mexican. Pisses her off really fast, too." He watched Claire stuff marshmallows in her mouth, vaguely amused, vaguely repulsed. "You eat like Steven when you're tipsy. Which is horrifying to discover, by the way. See? I'm not bored."
"That's horrible." She swallowed, not making it clear whether she meant that Tony's mom thought Celia was Mexican or that she ate like Steven. Face creasing into a frown, she rubbed her stomach. "I think I ate too much sugar."
Deciding to give her tummy a bit of time to decide whether it liked alcohol and marshmallows together, carefully she moved to curl up against the back of the sofa, propping her cast with her other leg. "Why aren't you entertaining me?"
"I want to write terrible things on your cast," Tony informed her. "Please?" Evidently his usual bout with literalness only went more literal after a few drinks. "Things that will annoy you and horrify your mother." Too bad there wasn't a marker around. "This is as entertaining as I get," he informed her after a beat. "I mean, unless you're sleeping with me."
Claire was already shaking her head no at the suggestion that he write on her cast. Not now, not when they were both cruising towards drunk. "How can someone so un-boring be so boring?" she asked the bag of marshmallows, and stopped short when he all but propositioned her (in her mind, at least). "What? No, I'm not sleeping with you. I haven't even kissed you. Why would I sleep with you?"
"If it's any consolation, I wouldn't sleep with you," Tony said, likely more rudely than he intended. Off of her expression, he explained: "I mean, I would, but you know, I wouldn't. Just now. That's cheap." He had a feeling he wasn't being all that eloquent, and reminded himself that debating under the influence was a strict no-no. "There are steps, you know. One, kissing. Two, more kissing. Three, under t-- wait, I'm definitely not talking to you about this."
"Oh." Claire didn't know what to say to that, but then he was explaining, and the explanation definitely made her feel better. She nodded at each step, pursing her lips and frowing at him when he stopped. "No, what's three? I think you owe me since you've already started telling me the steps."
"Fine." Tony sighed as if this was a great chore that he was about to embark upon. "One, kissing. Two, more kissing. Three, under the shirt. Four, under the bra. Five, under the skirt. And six is sleeping together." He frowned, adding up the steps. "And somewhere in there is meeting parents, but I always forget where that goes."
Intently, she watched him, making tipsy mental notes to herself. "Huh." She spoke without thinking or even remembering that every time she'd brought up Ray in the past, it'd ruined whatever she and Tony had been talking about. "Didn't really get much beyond three with Ray..." She paused. "He had cold hands."
Frowning in thought, she looked up at Tony. "That's not cool, you know? 'Cause when you're makin' out with someone, then it's sort of sucky to have cold hands."
Predictably, Tony glared at the mention of Ray. "Aw, Claire," he groaned. "Why'd you even go out with him, huh? What a douchenozzle. And three? Really? THREE? Jesus." The thought alone was maddening. Tony was glad that his hands were usually quite warm. Um. Don't go there, Marks.
"What? It was only once, and it wasn't like he had it under there for long," she said, pouting and feeling like she was explaining something to her mom. "And... I don't know! I liked him. He was cute. He was sweet to me." She shrugged. "Why does anyone go out with anyone else? I just... liked him." Emphasis on liked. They needed a subject change. "I want to watch Dr. Horrible."
But the suggestion for a subject change went right over Tony's head. "Sweet to you? Ugh." He couldn't IMAGINE that idiot being labeled 'sweet' at all. Never mind that his inner monologue was quite like Dr. Horrible's had been when Penny called Captain Hammer sweet. "I just don't get how you could - how you could think that, I mean, I could be so much better than that!"
Uh oh. Danger, Will Robinson, Danger. Tony panicked briefly and tried to figure out how to worm his way out of that one.
Obviously the only thing to do was to exhale in an irritated manner and tilt his head forward, his lips moving to hers.
"Well, yeah," Claire tried talking over him, to no avail. "He was, Tony, be quiet." She barely noticed his moment of panic, too busy trying to figure out what was happening. It was, of course, pretty simple. Tony was kissing her. And it... wasn't bad. It was so not-bad that for a moment she kissed him back, sighing a little before full realization set in and she pulled her head away, completely and utterly confused. "... what?"
"Uh," Tony managed. Okay, the kiss had been REALLY AWESOME, but his follow-up repartee needed some work. "Well. Uh." Damn, she looked cute even when confused, and he knew with a wince that even that wasn't the alcohol talking. "I sort of... uh... I actually. Sort of. Like you. I mean..." He paused, licking his lips as he watched her with nervous eyes. "...surprise!!"
"Oh." Surprise? "I see." Claire continued blinking, looking down to her hands and then up to him and then anywhere else because she was certain that she was going to laugh. It had to be a joke, because no matter what she'd suspected, Tony Marks didn't like her and that was that. Besides, they were friends and why would he want to disrupt that? Pushing away the thought that she might actually want him to just kiss her again because being friends was better right now, for whatever reason, she shook her head a bit to clear it. "What?"
Tony was pretty sure that 'what' wasn't what he'd hoped to hear from her, but it could have been worse. He cleared his throat and tried to form coherent words to explain. "I mean... you know. I like you. Sort of. I mean, I... I guess I was... jealous of Ray, in that way. Because of my liking you, and... well... you know." His lip quirked hopefully, and he went in for another kiss.
This one was longer than before, Claire allowing it until her fuzzy-headedness had caught up with her thoughts. Face screwed up as things fell into place that she hadn't exactly realized before, she pushed him away gently. "No, Tony. No. No, because you're my friend and that's what happened with Ray. He was my friend and he asked me to prom and I started liking him and we kissed and then... No, I'm not going to do that with you, too. Because you're a better friend than he was..." She looked at him, face falling slightly in her confusion. If she could think straight it'd be better.
Tony looked a little bit rumpled. "What?" he asked, clearly Not Getting It as he sat up a little straighter. "C'mon Claire, you know I'm not Ray. I'm not going to treat you like that asshole did." It seemed fit logic to him. Why didn't she seem to get it? She obviously liked him, at least, she did enough to kiss him back.
"No, but... I don't know how to explain it, okay? You've become such a good friend -" her voice hitched. Looking away, she took a deep breath. "I don't want to lose that just because kissing you feels good after I've had a few drinks." That was it, she told herself. It was the alcohol. She was doing something she wouldn't ordinarily have done if she hadn't had any. She bit her lip, thinking that had come out wrong. "That's not what I meant."
It may have been not what she meant, but it was how he took it, and continued to take it despite her correction. There had been a Simpson's episode once in which Bart had commented that he could see the moment - the exact moment - in which Lisa had broken Millhouse's heart into pieces. There was a similar moment occurring now on Tony Marks' face.
"What, so you think that's it? That I brought you over here and gave you booze so that I'd get in your pants?" he asked hotly, running his hand through his dark hair. He wasn't sitting up straight now; in fact he was standing, his hands too hot and tight not to do something, ANYTHING. So he collected the mess of marshmallows and bottles so Celia wouldn't have to, cleaning up. "That's not what this is about, Claire."
Claire's heart dove somewhere about the vicinity of her feet at the look on Tony's face, and cringing away from him at his very real anger. "No -- No! Tony, do I look stupid? If I had ever for even a second thought that I wouldn't be here right now and I sure as hell wouldn't have had anything to drink, you stupid idiot!" She wished she could stand to face him; she felt weak and dumb, just sitting here. Scooting to the edge of the couch, she reached out to grab his wrist, pulling him to look at her. "Then what is it about? You like me? I get that, okay?"
"Oh gee, isn't that what every guy hopes to hear," he returned, full acid that hadn't flavored his words to her fully present at the current moment. "You "get" that I like you. Great. Thanks. Wow, my fears are put to rest." He slammed the liquor cabinet shut. "Guest bedroom is up the stairs, third door on the left."
"That's -" All she could do was pound ineffectively on the cushions. "You are so STUPID, Tony Marks! STUPID!" Because now it was too late to tell him that she might like him, too, and wanted time to figure things out before they did anything. Too late, because she'd spoken the other words, first.
"I can't get my crutches," she said softly, slouching back against the couch and swiping her hand across her face to clear it of tears.
Tony exhaled, staring at the polished wood of the liquor cabinet. Okay. Okay. So she didn't like him back. He could deal with that. Poorly, of course, as he'd never enjoyed rejection, but fine. Whatever.
"Just forget it," he said, his voice more harsh than he had intended, but he fetched her crushes and set them beside her. "Do you need help getting upstairs?" Just act like nothing had happened. It was fine. He could be a good actor, when necessary. Perfectly fine.
Forget it. Like it was just some joke between them or something. Scowling, she stood up and maneuvered herself around the coffee table and started towards the stairs, a bit unsteadily. "Yes. I need help." Her voice cool and clipped, she didn't look at him. "Please."
She sniffled, hating herself for even crying. No, she wasn't crying, her eyes were watering from the whiskey. That was it. Silent, she waited for him to help her up the stairs.
He turned out the lights to the living room. It was spotless now, all evidence of their tryst erased from even Celia's watchful eyes. Just as it should be, he thought viciously to himself before nodding and taking her carefully by the waist and offering his shoulder for her to lean against as they climbed the stairs.
He'd helped her off the stage from a debate tournament countless times. It was the same mechanical, careful, and utterly staged motion now.
At the top of the stairs, he pointed out the spare room. Just call me or Celia if you need anything. Bathroom's Emily's, but she's at school so don't worry 'bout that. Sleep well."
"'Night," she said softly before thumping down the hall towards the room. She was tired now, emotionally wrung out from even that brief time. Just before Tony disappeared into his room, she opened her mouth and started to speak, but closed it, shaking her head and escaping into the solitude of the spare room. And never in her life had she wanted more her own room and her own pillow and her own little stuffed rabbit that she'd had for forever. Sometimes, boys really sucked.
Tony, meanwhile, felt awkward and strangely watched as he checked his mail. He wanted to write Steve, but no. He needed to get a hang on his temper first. Tony exhaled, inhaled, and closed his hands. Fine. So she hadn't returned the affection. Whatever. Being friends was absolutely fine. Absolutely.
"I want more vodka," he said to himself, and turned out the lights.