RP Log; Amelia & Rufus Who: Rufus & Amelia What: omg forgotten birthday Where: Rufus's slightly cleaner flat When: 7.30p on 4 September 1979
Status: In progress Rating: PG
Despite an otherwise valiant nature, Rufus had never shied away from dishonesty in the name of the greater good - and surprising Amelia was the greater good, as far as he was concerned. Contrary to his deception that this was a mere telly-night (he had even gone so far as to make her get the Chinese take-away), Rufus had actually made an effort to transform his dishevelled one bedroom flat into something that looked, if one had very bad eyesight, nearly presentable. The thousands upon thousands of documents from his tenure at the DMLE (Rufus kept only the most recent few years locked away in his office at work) had been stacked in tidy rows - by hand, since his mother's mantra of 'good, hard work' stayed with him like a permanent sticking charm - leaving the fireplace available for use without any immediate danger of setting the place instantly alight and the floor clean enough to place a strangely-polished table before previously mentioned fireplace. Rufus had actually left work on time - much to the shock and dismay of his colleagues - and cooked (without falling asleep and dying in the process), and set the table up with candles and plates and things that he discovered beneath a 1964 report on dark wizard activity in Stow on the Wold.
Well then. This place looks decent!
Or as close as Rufus Scrimgeour was ever going to get.
Setting Amelia's present behind the sofa, he fetched a couple of wine glasses he had on loan from Gawain, the bottle of whatever-it-was that Jo had suggested in a decanter that was supposed to let it 'breathe'. It wasn't as if Rufus hadn't wined and dined a woman before, but it typically did not involve his home until after she had been dazzled by his charm and irresistable gingerness. This was decidedly more awkward. BUT, Amelia had sort of kissed him, AND he supposed that meant that it was time to stop being an insufferable idiot, SO here he was and hopefully (as he checked his watch) so would she be in a moment or so.
Without fail, Amelia's knuckles rapped at the door a few moments later. With a brown bag of Chinese food in one hand, she used her other to make last minute adjustments to her appearance - her hair had to be in place, the modest makeup she'd put on in preparation had to be smudge-free and her blouse needed to be straightened. She couldn't remember having been nervous to see Rufus before, but after her earlier mishap (or at least what she interpreted as a mishap), she was worried that things would be slightly awkward and felt uncharacteristically shy in his presence.
There was time for one deep breath before the door opened. Amelia didn't immediately notice anything off, but instead held out the brown bag as if it were a peace offering. At least eating could take some of the pressure off initiating conversation. She knew she shouldn't have worried and doubted that Rufus would act any differently based on her previous actions, but part of her still felt as though she'd embarrassed herself in front of some one for whom she had a deep respect.
"Hello," she said, forcing a smile through her nerves.
"Oh thank you," he replied nonchalantly, and gathered up the bag before stepping aside to let her in. Once actually inside the flat, it was fairly obvious the transformation that had taken place. Though most men might consider it a Very Bad Idea to let ladies in which they were interested see the absolute havoc they were able to wreak upon innocent rooms, Rufus had never had any such compunction with Amelia - and now he supposed it was a good thing, for she could genuinely be impressed at how unatrocious it looked.
"Oh, and um. Happy birthday."
"Oh, thank you," she said, surprised that Rufus had remembered. Even she had almost forgotten and reasoned that there were far more important things going on anyway.
When she got a look at his flat, her surprise multiplied. "Rufus!" She turned to look at him. "You cleaned." She was used to seeing his space - both at work and at home - in complete disarray that only he could ever successfully navigate. His clutter was partly endearing, as much as it sent the orderly side of her brain into chaos. Now she could see the surfaces of his tables and couch cushions and in addition to wondering why he'd picked up, she wondered when on earth he'd had the time to do it.
Hm. She was supposed to sound more impressed by the romantic candlelight and less by the lack of paper everywhere. Gushy, even, maybe. Hoping he didn't make a drastic miscalculation, Rufus maintained his enthusiasm and walked her past the kitchen. "I cooked, too. And it's even edible. And - " oh Merlin. Please don't make me sound like an excitable 20 year old - "I bought wine. I thought we could have." Awkward. Why the hell was this awkward. He had dated an armful of women. "Like. A date. Thing." Rufus could feel his ears turning red and his own embarrassment was more embarrassing than the situation itself. Why he had transformed into a puddle of awkward sounding teenager, he didn't know, but he was desperately praying that Amelia hadn't noticed.
At the word 'date', Amelia raised her eyebrows and looked at him sideways - it was then that the table set for two and the fireplace caught her attention. This had been the last thing she'd been expecting to find on a night designated for watching telly. He'd cleaned and cooked and bought wine (she was used to his usual selection of scotch). She wasn't sure what to say, but it wasn't long before she felt her cheeks growing warm and could only hope that the blush wasn't too obvious. She wondered if it was her earlier kiss that had given him the push to set this up - maybe Pepper had been telling the truth.
It was then that she remembered the takeaway she'd picked up and looked down at the bag. "I brought Chinese."
"Oh." He replied, helpfully. "I lied. Since it was supposed to be a surprise..." sort... of thing. Oh Lord if she got angry because he'd fibbed he was quitting dating forever and never leaving the ministry again. "We could eat it instead?" And he really hoped she said no because he was pretty awful at the whole cooking thing and it had taken him the better part of an hour simply translating the cookbook his mother'd sent him into man-language, much less trying to put things together in the right order and bake at the right temperature. But hell, it was her birthday thing. He could just give the other food to Pepper (or more likely eat it later himself). If she wanted Chinese, they could eat Chinese. He smiled in what he hoped wasn't an overly optimistic sort of way.
"Oh!" She glanced at him, still slightly confused. She guessed that her nerves were only making this slightly uncomfortable for both of them. "I'm sorry," she said, taking another look around, "I'm just a little caught off guard. I thought..." that you weren't interested. "Well, that doesn't matter, but I'm surprised! This is so...nice, Rufus." She hoped that she sounded as sincere as she felt - it meant a lot to her that he'd spend so much time preparing something for her. She couldn't deny that she was slightly nervous to try whatever he'd cooked since she knew his history with all things culinary, but at least there was still the takeaway if it turned out to be a disaster.
Deep breath. "Alright this wasn't meant to be horrendously awkward. I enjoy your company and I think you're really lovely. I'm far too old for you, but, well. I thought we could try this out and if it's rubbish, nothing lost. At least, I don't think so." Rufus set the Chinese down on counter and pressed a hand across Amelia's back. "Now, let's try this sitting down and having a proper supper together thing." He was tired of nervous. He was going to enjoy dinner, and if it didn't work he'd stop cheating on his job and revert back into telly time once a week. Not so difficult, right?
It was taking Amelia far too long to absorb the situation, but when she felt Rufus's reassuring hand on her back, she calmed slightly. He'd remembered her birthday and planned a date for them - it was by far the sweetest thing that anyone had done for her, particularly since Edgar and her parents had died. Turning to face him, she wrapped her arms tightly around his torso. "Thank you," she said, pressing her cheek into his shoulder.
Rufus grinned in something that felt suspiciously like giddiness, and then moved her toward the table, where he'd laid out dinner. It smelled all right, though he supposed on hindsight he ought to have given himself longer to determine whether food poisoning would set in. Oh well, that's what mediwitches were for. "Shall we?" Pulling out a chair for his companion, Rufus then took his own seat and tried to figure out what he'd made and which order it was meant to be eaten in. Soup. That usually came first. No wait, wine. He uncorked that, which, hilarious (or possibly lethal) though the alternative might have been, went relatively smoothly, and filled their glasses.
This felt like the first proper date he'd had in months. No, definitely at least a year. Probably.
Now soup. "This is a genuine Scottish menu, which I am hoping you are suitably impressed with." A cheeky smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. "But if it's dreadful, we still have Chinese, SO." He offered her a bowl. "This is leek and potato soup."
"Thank you," she said, taking the bowl and setting it down in front of her. A sip of wine prepared her for what might be a very unpleasant experience, but when she tried the soup, she was pleasantly surprised. "This is delicious." She took a second spoonful without hesitation. "I am thoroughly impressed!"
Perking, Rufus took a bite of the soup himself (really, it was unfair for him to let her try it first, but he had been busy talking and things). Well. That wasn't so bad at all. Maybe he should try this cooking thing more often! Considerably more optimistic than he was previously, Rufus sipped on his shiraz and pondered whether to discuss work or not. It was really all he had to talk about - but he tried a more socially acceptable tact first. "How is Ichabod doing?"
"Well," Amelia said, pausing to take another sip of wine - an excellent compliment to the soup. She felt a little guilty for her surprise, but she had no idea where he'd been hiding all of this cooking talent, particularly when he'd almost burned down his flat. "I have a feeling that he'll be proposing soon. I don't know for sure, but he's been dropping hints. I think he was going to before, but..." She shrugged, not wanting to talk about what they'd both witnessed that had delayed her brother's proposal. She took a slightly longer drink from her glass, followed by more soup, which provided a convenient change of topic. "How did you make this, anyway?"
Rufus nodded; happy news intermixed with the sad evened out to a average of 'ok', but he was glad to hear that someone was pushing through all the tragedies. That's what he remembered every time he walked out of the ministry (and possibly why he did it so rarely). People were still getting married, having children, moving forward with their lives... but he couldn't. The ministry couldn't. Not when every waking second was lived on the edge of a knife blade. Not when bodies were rolling through the department of mysteries faster than they could count. Normalcy bothered him - this date being an important exception. He thus let the topic drop, happy to resume their focus on this tiny moment, free of outsiders and their complacency toward war.
"Lots of boiling, potatoes and leeks. And my mum's secret spices." He winked, and began to slice up the next course - beef and mushrooms. This didn't smell quite as he remembered it as a kid, but he hadn't had proper food in a damned long time.
"Secrets - like I'd be able to replicate this." Amelia finished off her bowl and leaned back in her chair. She was looking forward to what was next, particularly if it was anywhere near as good as the soup had been. She was already formulating a menu of her own - maybe something she could use if this went well enough to have a second 'date' and assuming she could get him out of the office long enough for dinner. At least the luring food would make it easier. But she was getting ahead of herself; they hadn't even started the main course.
Rufus passed off the beef, and added some mushrooms and gravy. "Good Scotch beef," he said, proudly, inhaling his food and hoping for the best. "Wine should go best with this one." It was beginning to hit him - how long it had been since he'd tried to small talk anyone, and damn if it wasn't confusing as all hell. Couldn't talk about work, that was depressing. News. Depressing. Family - depressing, in her case. That left the food. Rufus took a large bite, which he chewed thoughtfully.
... before opening his mouth and letting it fall right back onto the plate. "Oh God please don--" but it was too late.
Amelia froze after chewing for a few moments, trying not to let her expression reveal how bad the beef tasted. This was more like what she'd expected when he told her she'd cooked dinner, sadly. She wasn't sure what to do with the bit she had in her mouth, so discreetly used her napkin to dispose of it. Once she saw the expression on his face, however, she couldn't help but laugh.
"I'm sorry," she said, trying to stop herself. "It wasn't that bad."
"Yes it was," was the immediate response, and Rufus drowned out the flavour - if one could dare call it that, though disgusting was, technically, a flavour - with the entire glass of shiraz. "Let me try the dessert before I give you food poisoning --" but he looked warily at the basket that held scones. He didn't want them anymore. Or anything. Ever.
(Except maybe the Chinese).
With a look of brave intent - and armed with a full glass of wine - Rufus reached for one and took a healthy bite.
"AUGHMMPH." Onto the plate, and he'd be bollocksed before hiding that with a napkin. "No. Chinese time. And telly I think." Sweet Merlin, his eyes were actually watering.
Amelia covered her mouth too keep from laughing more after seeing his reaction. Even if the beef and scones weren't exactly edible, it was the thought that counted, right? And she knew he'd put a lot of time and thought into the meal. It meant a lot to her and the fact that he was making such an effort was encouraging. She hadn't completely ruined their relationship with that awkward and ill-timed kiss as she'd feared.
"I think that sounds good," she said. Maybe not quite romantic, but it might be better not to go too far from their comfort zone to start anyway. She certainly knew she'd be able to relax more just sitting on his couch and eating takeaway like usual.
"Sorry that was utter crap," mumbled Rufus around his napkin - which was currently shoved into his mouth in a desperate attempt to wipe traces of scone from his tongue. When finally satisfied, he grabbed the bottle of shiraz, his glass, and tromped over to the sofa, where he arranged himself in the most comfortable way possible. Romancing was obviously not working, so the default position became far more appealing. Telly. Amelia. Wine. Food that didn't taste like a dragon's bum. And maybe a kiss if he could sneak one in without looking like a letch.
"Accio edible food!" Much to his surprise the Chinese didn't come.
With a chuckle, Amelia gathered the food from the kitchen counter and brought it over to the couch with her glass of wine, which was probably not going to be the greatest taste combination, but it was sure to be better than the beef.
It was easy to settle in next to him - his couch was comfortable when there was room to sit on it! She picked up a carton of rice, ready to tuck in. "What's on the telly?"
Wrapping his arm around her (he was foregoing all attempts to be suave from this point out), Rufus reached forward and smacked the television until, with a plaintive whine, it turned on. "Just in time for that funny doctor person." And lo! Destiny of the Daleks was about four minutes in. Unable, as usual, to tell what was going on, but oddly intrigued, Rufus peered into the bag of Chinese Amelia had gathered up and breathed in deeply. "Next time I'll just order out and pretend I cooked." Assuming there was a next time.
"That might be a better idea. Or you could just make more of that soup," she said, grinning up at him with a piece of chicken lifted halfway to her mouth. She didn't have much of an idea what was going on with the 'funny doctor person' either, but it was a good excuse to spend time with Rufus outside of work and she would take any opportunity she could, since they were few and much too far in between.
"I don't trust myself to make something good twice," he laughed, giving her side a bit of a squeeze. Mm. Wine. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a pint... weeks and weeks ago. Wine wasn't as tasty, but it took the edge off pretty quickly. Wielding chopsticks at her threateningly, Rufus poked into one of the boxes and devoured some broccoli. "So. You didn't seem terribly put off by my attempt to be romantic. That's good, right?"
Amelia laughed, moving to avoid the blunt points of Rufus's chopsticks and wielding her own in mock defense. Finishing a bite of rice, she looked curiously up at him. "Why would I be put off by that? It's rather sweet, actually, even if you did try to poison me with that beef."
Because I'm not sure if you like me or not. His mouth opened slightly, but Rufus stuffed it with a bit of oyster flavoured beef. He wasn't quite... ready... to have that confirmed or not. Any sane person would take the preceding events as evidence that yes she did like him - but he had enough experience with women to know that they had a foreign language where yes meant no and 'that was lovely' meant 'as interesting as hairy worms.' So instead, he reluctantly defaulted to his chinese and his telly - though he was rather satisfied having an arm about Amelia's shoulder. It was quite comfy.
Amelia took a few more bites of her food before lowering it down to her lap with a sigh. Moments of relaxation were few and far between, but ironically, they were most effective when she was in Rufus's presence. Even though they usually made a point to 'watch Telly' when they were together, Amelia usually took the opportunity for self-reflection - or rather - focusing on how Rufus made her feel: safe, comfortable, pretty and unashamed of her sometimes harsh temper and lack of ability to hold her tongue. He was one of the few people left who she felt comfortable being herself around.
With a small rush of appreciation at this thought, she leaned further into his shoulder and put one of her hands gingerly on his leg. "Thank you."
Oh god. Rufus would have frozen, but it wasn't quite in his nature to make the woman he was with feel completely and utterly awkward. But he wanted to freeze because oh my god Amelia's hand was on his leg and it made him think about things he probably shouldn't have while watching Doctor Who and stuffing his face with greasy beef. He thought a question and a kiss (which he pressed atop her hair-mussed temple) might distract her from his heart - which he was sure was about to fly out of his chest and flop on the floor to save him from this excrutiating desire to throw her on the sofa and make wonderful wonderful lov-- "for what." No, it didn't seem to be helping.
"For dinner," she answered, moving her hand briefly to replace the Chinese food on the table before leaning back again. "And for attempting to be romantic, even if we ended up watching the doctor thing again."
Her next move was preceded by a long moment of hesitation and flashbacks to one of the more awkward moments in her life -- when she'd kissed him (and at work, no less) only a week or so prior to this belated birthday celebration. She had almost beaten the urge out of herself before she gave in and stretched up to kiss Rufus hastily on his cheek, reasoning that this was a more acceptable setting to do that sort of thing.
Rufus was damned pleased, and a smile curved up into his cheeks even as he gave her a (rather awkward) squeeze into his chest. He wasn't sure if he should kiss her on the lips yet... after all, she'd been going for his cheek. But then again he was the man here. But he didn't want to be too forward. But. Curses. Next time. Next time he'd just grab her and smooch her and then she could either kiss him back or slap him and life could go on as bloody usual.
"My pleasure. Even if it was a bit ... off." That was putting it mildly.
"It wasn't," she said, slouching down far enough to lean her head on his shoulder. "Well, I mean...that beef. That was off, but at least the Chinese food didn't go to waste."
Rufus laughed and sighed deeply, settling into the sofa, settling into her. She was warm and comfortable and familiar and, well, nice. Before he knew it he was getting too comfortable. Comfortable to the point where he could feel himself beginning to --
"Zzz."
It was a few minutes before Amelia realized that Rufus had fallen asleep, and by then she was too drowsy herself to do more than chuckle to herself. However, it wasn't long before she, too, was sleeping, in spite of the drone of the telly across the room and the light snore that Rufus produced from next to her.