Who: Kris & Pam. When: Evening. Where: Their home.
He didn't mean to, but Kris opened and closed the door to the shared home that he and Pam had been assigned to as quietly as possible. Only after he'd closed it did he realize he'd done so with the goal of making as little sound as possible, holding his cane in one hand as he stepped over the threshold. Shaking his head at himself, he put his cane to the ground and listened to hear where Pam was within the domicile. The bracelet was burning a hole in his pocket, and he had no idea if the gesture was a stupid one, despite Gemma's reassurances.
Pam hadn’t decided yet if she was going to take Kris’s dismissal of her personally or not yet. It was hard to judge if that was his actual character, or his character, and since they were only talking for the first time now, it wasn’t fair to judge him based on that. Still, she found it easy to be irritated, as she was still thinking of Fletcher as she played house. She missed him all the time, but pretending to be married to someone else only made her feel worse, and she wasn’t sure if she was taking that out on Kris, or if she was actually doing alright in her act, with the weird fake baby.
She wasn’t sure whether or not she had heard Kris come in or not, since she’d left the TV on to entertain Emil while she cooked dinner. It was going to be done at 7, just like she’d said. She was at least making sure of that. She opened the oven to check on her roasted chicken, then closed it when she thought she heard the door close. She looked up and tried to pay closer attention to what she’d heard, but she wasn’t sure it wasn’t just whatever was playing on the television.
He could clearly hear her puttering around in the kitchen, which was, of course, where she'd be found. Sighing softly, he screwed his courage to the sticking place and, with a slow pace that was more to accommodate his leg and less his fear of what awaited him, walked into the kitchen.
"Good evening." The words seemed nearly lost in the chatter from the television, and Kris wasn't sure if he should acknowledge the baby in some way, so instead he lingered in the doorway. He wanted to sit, but he thought it better to gauge Pam's reaction to his presence before purposefully leaving himself in the middle of an awkward situation. "That...dinner smells good. Chicken?"
“Oh! Hello… Sweetie.” More to remain in character than anything, Pam hopped forward and, like a good wive, gave Kris a quick peck on the cheek, then returned to the stove. She didn’t have anything to do there at that moment, but she didn’t want to be forced into being any more affectionate than that. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to hug him, given her current attitude towards him. She cleared her throat as she peeked into the pot on the burner. “Mhmm, chicken and corn coblettes.” She paused a moment, wondering if Kris spoke English enough to understand coblettes, since she was pretty sure that was just a word made up by KFC to justify giving you smaller vegetables. “It’s just corn on the cob, cut into halves,” she explained, then went back to cooking. “How was your day, dear?”
Kris was too busy worrying over his reactions to her reactions that he didn't care about her culinary explanation. Instead he merely nodded, and stepped further into the kitchen to take a seat at the dining area, across from Emil. The baby. Pam had at least set it up to stare at the TV with its blank gaze, though Kris could feel the hairs on his nape stand on end as he tried to not watch it via his peripheral vision.
"It was fine," he replied, leaning his cane against the table. "A few patrons visited the shop. Not too many sales, but enough." Back in Munich, he would've been deeply upset at such a slow day, but since his patrons were confined to just the C39 tenants, he tried to not dwell on the fact too much. Instead, he focused on what he'd hoped to do, which was to make amends with his pretend wife. "And...how was yours?"
Pam didn’t look back at Kris as she basically pretended to cook, stirring the water in the pot of corn pointlessly. “Oh, my day was fine. Emil and I got lunch at the diner, and then I went grocery shopping. Forty dollars was really more than I needed, so I put your change on the dresser upstairs.” Not that Kris was sleeping there tonight. “I’m glad you had some sales, though, that’s always nice. Who came in today?” The paper had said she was a gossip, or a busy-body, hadn’t it? It seemed okay to ask.
"Uh, a woman named Gemma," he offered. "A few others. Nothing really of note." He'd spent most of his day taking inventory, and when that had been completed in less than an hour, he'd taken some of the magazines from the book section and occupied himself reading. If this were to continue, he knew he'd run out of reading material by day three, unless they somehow got a shipment. It seemed like a good moment to change the subject, and attempt his apology -- if she didn't accept it, at least they knew where they stood with one another.
"She, actually, helped me with something. I wanted to apologize for this morning. I was taken...off guard. It was not fair to take that out on you. Or. The baby," he added as an afterthought, glancing back at Emil, who thankfully hadn't turned his head to attempt to burn holes in the side of his "father's" face. Thinking this little speech might be made better on his feet, Kris got up, using the table as support.
“Oh, I like Gemma,” Pam said absently in the brief lull in the conversation. She finally turned when Kris started in on an apology, arching an eyebrow at his sudden change of heart. Or his character’s change of heart. Whatever it was, it was unexpected. She took a step away from the stove, smoothing her dress before giving Kris her full attention. “Oh, well, I mean, I’m just your wife but I understand, this move has been hard on all of us. But please, go on.”
Kris had to stop himself from a biting remark toward Pam's perceived sarcasm, but he soldiered on. "While all of that may be true... I don't wish to make this harder on anyone, least of all my wife." He dug into his pocket, pulling the bracelet out and extending his hand to her. "I was hoping this might help make reparations. It seems only fair, since the store and its inventory are my property. It seems only fair that my wife be a display of what that entails." He winced a little at that last bit, believing he'd gone a touch too far over the line.
Pam agreed with Kris’s last thought, finding his suggested reasoning a little ridiculous. Still, she reached forward and took the bracelet, inspecting the thing. It probably would have bothered her more that he had suggested that she was a display for the thing if any of this situation really mattered. It wasn’t like it was really his money that he was spending, and if it were Fletcher, she wouldn’t think about the price, anyway, just because she liked his company. Kris wasn’t Fletcher, though, so she still felt a little jipped. She put her free hand on Kris’s cheek and shook her head. “Oh, sweetie. That was so much nicer before you suggested I be an advertisement for you. But it’s still nice, I’ll still wear it everywhere. But also you’re still sleeping on the couch.”
Kris raised a palm in defeat, not at all attempting to counter her assertion. "My apologies. But I'm glad you like it, and I still have no issue sleeping wherever makes you the most comfortable." Feeling moderately satisfied that he'd set the situation mostly to rights, he remained standing for a beat. "Is there...anything I can help with? Dinnerwise?"
Pam raised an eyebrow and pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. He was trying, she’d give him that. She’d probably have to apologize later if she ended up being hard to live with. When this was all over, though. The bio did say that there were jokes about who wore the pants in this house, after all. In the meantime, she turned back to him, gently pushing him back towards his seat, near the TV. She could play 50s housewife just fine. “Of course not, dear! You’ve worked all day, you just leave dinner to me. It should be done in just a few minutes, so you just relax.”
He was more than willing to let her steer him back into his seat, though less happy about spending time in front of the television. But he was assured that he was in less hot water than he'd originally assumed, so he made himself comfortable, unable to pull his gaze away from watching her move around in the kitchen and feeling too much like he should be doing something to help out.
"I was thinking," he added, "that I'd go out for the evening. To the bar, meet up with. Some friends." As though he had any friends in this place, but if he was playing a character, he could assume that some friends could be created. It would give them both some space, and then they could start over again tomorrow, their prescribed roles well in hand. "If that's alright with you." Again he thought he might be crossing a line, whether it was one that was out of character or putting Pam into an uncomfortable position, though he was certain that the latter was most certainly not the case.
“Oh! Umm… Sure! That’s fine, sweetie,” Pam said as she turned back to her cooking. She didn’t mind the idea of spending the evening alone. She might just take a long, hot bath. Suddenly, all she could think about was the scene from Pleasantville, where the mom was touching herself in the bathtub for the first time, and with all the thinking about Fletcher she’d been doing that day, it would probably be doing that or crying for her tonight. That would be better if Kris was gone, as long as Emil didn’t start crying. “Just don’t stay out too late, dear. You know you have to work in the morning, after all.” In truth, she didn’t care what time he stumbled in, of course. He could do what he wanted.
"Of course." Whatever momentary kindness had been between them, it was swiftly replaced with Pam's iciness. Kris couldn't fault her for that -- he knew nothing about her, and the whole situation was bizarre. He wasn't sure what else to say, and instead glanced at Emil, then to the TV, deciding on silence until Pam served him his dinner.