When Fred smiled at him, Christian paused and looked at the floor. He wanted to help, but his arms were full of the crate in which he had all the things they needed for absinthe. Her question felt... He didn't know quite how it made him feel. Something close to defensiveness, something close to embarrassment. He felt like he was sharing a secret with someone who didn't understand why it was such a secret. There was not much for it. He swallowed and looked up again.
"I'm not sure it's a hallucinogenic as people say. Toulouse always insisted that he saw fairies, but... I never did. I wasn't ever as creative as him, either. That might be part of it, right there. I'm not sure what brownies are, but I don't think it would go well with ice cream."
He had learned to let some things pass. There were times when Fred went into topics that were well beyond him. She seemed to like to talk, and he had learned by now that if she needed him to weigh in on something, she'd let him know. And then (and only then), he'd ask her to help him understand. Otherwise, they would never get to the heart of their topic. When she directed him to the coffee table, he went there and gently began unpacking the fountain. It was cleaned already; it needed only the ice and water. "Yes," he said, opening the top of the fountain and gesturing to the bowl. "Just in here."
As she headed into the kitchen, he started unpacking the reservoir glasses, the cubed sugar, the bottles of absinthe - he'd brought two, one flavored with orange, and one just as he recalled from Paris. When Fred exclaimed from the kitchen just a little ways away, Christian smiled a little.
"I'm glad you were here tonight," he confessed quietly under her chirrupy voice. He hadn't really said it for her.