Escort Mission (Forge, Paige)
Nov. 28th, 2005 01:45 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsAfter the late-night movie marathon, everyone's headed off to sleep but two of the teen geniuses. One of whom is far more asleep than the other. Fluffiness ensues.
"Paige?"
Forge nudged his lab partner, who'd fallen dead asleep against his
shoulder in the last fifteen minutes of the final bit of their
communal classic movies marathon. Once the credits had rolled,
everyone else had found their ways to their own places for sleep,
except for Paige Guthrie, who lay dozed off on the sofa, face lit by
the glow of static from the TV screen.
Gently, Forge shook her shoulder, looking at his watch. 1:30. She'd
mentioned Jono coming to pick her up at 2:00, and there really wasn't
any reason she should have to sleep on the couch for half an hour and
wake up with a crick in her neck.
"Land of the living, calling Paige," Forge repeated quietly, "Come on,
let's get you to your room."
Wrinkling her nose, Paige made a half moan, half whine at Forge, attempting
to roll away from the incessant shaking. But, incessant it was, and finally
she opened her eyes, squinting against the brightness of the television.
“Is the house on fire? The house had better be on fire.”
Forge smiled, tucking an arm under Paige's. "Nothing's on fire. It's
just the TV." He pointed a finger at the television, prosthetic hand
sending out a small infrared signal to turn the screen off, leaving
the room only lit by the glow of the DVD player, which still blinked
"12:00" over and over, defying even the best mechanical geniuses.
“Mm,” Paige replied, in what was obviously ‘then why the hell did you wake
me up?’ in sleepy speech, making the motions to curl back up again, eyes
fluttering closed.
"Because if you fall asleep on the couch, you'll get a cramp in your
neck and be totally insufferable tomorrow," Forge chided, hauling
Paige to her feet. "Come on, I'll walk you up to your room, and you
can fall asleep in a nice warm bed."
For a moment, Forge remembered being dragged off to Paige's bed down
in the basement once, before it'd been converted into an office.
Definitely one of his more confusing mornings, that one had been.
Paige groaned in annoyance, letting herself go mostly limp as she supported
herself against her lab partner. “Am nothing but sunshine in windowless
pit,” Paige slurred, her accent reappearing and amplified several times as
she fought to keep her eyes open.
Resting his hip against hers, Forge looped Paige's arm around his neck
and slowly escorted her out of the TV room and to the stairs. Slowly,
he helped her up step by step, smiling to himself as she leaned into
him for support.
"You make the cutest little snorty noises when you're tired, you know
that?" he quipped, easing her up to the landing and catching his
breath.
“S’long as th’re cute. Like horse, whicker,” she answered, opening one eye
when they paused. “Nap?”
Forge stalled there, letting Paige rest her head on his shoulder.
"Um," he said, lost for words. This is comfortable, he thought,
maybe staying right here and not moving is a good idea.
Then he recalled that in a few moments, Jono would be walking down the
stairs anyway, and the current situation with Paige leaning into him
with her arms around his neck could look a little awkward.
"Okay, up you go," Forge said with a slight twinge of regret. "Come
on, to bed with you."
Paige sighed irritably, raising her head the millimeter that indicated they
could move again. “Stupid stairs. Will get perfect calve muscles on Stair
Master, want elevator, dammit. With bad muzak playing. Dootdoodleydoo and…
stuff.”
Angling his head, Forge couldn't help but admire the aforementioned
calves, nodding in silent approval.
Unfortunately, his looking backward while a sleepy Paige attempted to
move forward up the steps resulted in a tangling of limbs that knocked
them both into the bannister, then spinning around to sit roughly down
on the steps.
Staring around in the sudden silence, Forge looked over at Paige, and
erupted into a half-silenced series of giggles. "Fell down."
“Yep.” Paige grinned, her teeth very white in the lack of light, before
yawning, ducking her head to shield her open mouth in her shoulder. “You
are very clumsy for an escort. I’ll have to write this in your review.”
"Maybe it's all part of my master plan," Forge joked, brushing his
hand through his hair. "Keep you all to myself and have my wicked way
with you in the dark and abandoned stairwell. For the next," he
checked his watch, "seven minutes and forty-four seconds until Captain
Buzzkill comes down to retrieve you. And he might be a skinny pasty
Brit, but he can probably kick my butt, so it behooves me to be a
gentleman." He stood up, bracing against the bannister and holding a
hand out to Paige. "But nevertheless, can I escort you the remaining,
oh, twenty-three feet to your room?"
Paige blinked sleepily, trying to sort through his rambling mess of
contradictions before giving up and taking his hand, letting herself be at
least half pulled up. “We’re taking the stairs. They keep them in the
stairwell,” she answered finally, deciding on the logic of not-awake, and
pleased to find that while her accent was still there, at least she was
producing end consonants occasionally. “Escort away, possibly, but probably
not because Jono’s a bit of a wimp, don’t tell, butt kicked.”
A quick mental image of duking it out with the British psionic fop for
the hand of Paige Elizabeth Guthrie briefly passed through Forge's
brain, bringing with it another series of snickers."Not likely," he
agreed, hooking his arm through Paige's and proceeding up the last bit
of stairs. For a quick moment, inspiration struck him.
"You know," he said, "the semi-formal last January, you took off
before I really started hitting my stride. I think you owe me a
dance."
Forge was met with more blinking at that. Why did all the crazy come out
when Paige was of the sleep wanting? They’d finally made it to the third
floor, the spot of one of her many rooms, although, one less since Forge had
sneakily managed to transform her basement hidey-hole into an office.
Was she supposed to be mad at him? She forgot. “Dance? Now?”
Chuckling, Forge stopped in front of the door to the room she shared
with Jono. "No, not now. Later, though. Now you sleep."
He paused awkwardly, standing in front of the door looking at her.
What was the appropriate thing to do here again?
"Well, uh... goodnight?" he said meekly.
“For a genius? You’re really stupid. Have I mentioned this?” Paige
answered for him, giving him a hug and a friendly peck on the cheek before
pulling away and opening her door. “I might not remember any of this in the
morning, so you’d better be taping this part of the conversation, but,
consider me owing you a dance. Night, hon.”
Forge stood there smiling dumbly for a moment as the door shut.
"Night," he repeated, turning on his heel. He tried very hard not to
whoop quietly as he headed down the steps to his suite.
And almost succeeded.
"Paige?"
Forge nudged his lab partner, who'd fallen dead asleep against his
shoulder in the last fifteen minutes of the final bit of their
communal classic movies marathon. Once the credits had rolled,
everyone else had found their ways to their own places for sleep,
except for Paige Guthrie, who lay dozed off on the sofa, face lit by
the glow of static from the TV screen.
Gently, Forge shook her shoulder, looking at his watch. 1:30. She'd
mentioned Jono coming to pick her up at 2:00, and there really wasn't
any reason she should have to sleep on the couch for half an hour and
wake up with a crick in her neck.
"Land of the living, calling Paige," Forge repeated quietly, "Come on,
let's get you to your room."
Wrinkling her nose, Paige made a half moan, half whine at Forge, attempting
to roll away from the incessant shaking. But, incessant it was, and finally
she opened her eyes, squinting against the brightness of the television.
“Is the house on fire? The house had better be on fire.”
Forge smiled, tucking an arm under Paige's. "Nothing's on fire. It's
just the TV." He pointed a finger at the television, prosthetic hand
sending out a small infrared signal to turn the screen off, leaving
the room only lit by the glow of the DVD player, which still blinked
"12:00" over and over, defying even the best mechanical geniuses.
“Mm,” Paige replied, in what was obviously ‘then why the hell did you wake
me up?’ in sleepy speech, making the motions to curl back up again, eyes
fluttering closed.
"Because if you fall asleep on the couch, you'll get a cramp in your
neck and be totally insufferable tomorrow," Forge chided, hauling
Paige to her feet. "Come on, I'll walk you up to your room, and you
can fall asleep in a nice warm bed."
For a moment, Forge remembered being dragged off to Paige's bed down
in the basement once, before it'd been converted into an office.
Definitely one of his more confusing mornings, that one had been.
Paige groaned in annoyance, letting herself go mostly limp as she supported
herself against her lab partner. “Am nothing but sunshine in windowless
pit,” Paige slurred, her accent reappearing and amplified several times as
she fought to keep her eyes open.
Resting his hip against hers, Forge looped Paige's arm around his neck
and slowly escorted her out of the TV room and to the stairs. Slowly,
he helped her up step by step, smiling to himself as she leaned into
him for support.
"You make the cutest little snorty noises when you're tired, you know
that?" he quipped, easing her up to the landing and catching his
breath.
“S’long as th’re cute. Like horse, whicker,” she answered, opening one eye
when they paused. “Nap?”
Forge stalled there, letting Paige rest her head on his shoulder.
"Um," he said, lost for words. This is comfortable, he thought,
maybe staying right here and not moving is a good idea.
Then he recalled that in a few moments, Jono would be walking down the
stairs anyway, and the current situation with Paige leaning into him
with her arms around his neck could look a little awkward.
"Okay, up you go," Forge said with a slight twinge of regret. "Come
on, to bed with you."
Paige sighed irritably, raising her head the millimeter that indicated they
could move again. “Stupid stairs. Will get perfect calve muscles on Stair
Master, want elevator, dammit. With bad muzak playing. Dootdoodleydoo and…
stuff.”
Angling his head, Forge couldn't help but admire the aforementioned
calves, nodding in silent approval.
Unfortunately, his looking backward while a sleepy Paige attempted to
move forward up the steps resulted in a tangling of limbs that knocked
them both into the bannister, then spinning around to sit roughly down
on the steps.
Staring around in the sudden silence, Forge looked over at Paige, and
erupted into a half-silenced series of giggles. "Fell down."
“Yep.” Paige grinned, her teeth very white in the lack of light, before
yawning, ducking her head to shield her open mouth in her shoulder. “You
are very clumsy for an escort. I’ll have to write this in your review.”
"Maybe it's all part of my master plan," Forge joked, brushing his
hand through his hair. "Keep you all to myself and have my wicked way
with you in the dark and abandoned stairwell. For the next," he
checked his watch, "seven minutes and forty-four seconds until Captain
Buzzkill comes down to retrieve you. And he might be a skinny pasty
Brit, but he can probably kick my butt, so it behooves me to be a
gentleman." He stood up, bracing against the bannister and holding a
hand out to Paige. "But nevertheless, can I escort you the remaining,
oh, twenty-three feet to your room?"
Paige blinked sleepily, trying to sort through his rambling mess of
contradictions before giving up and taking his hand, letting herself be at
least half pulled up. “We’re taking the stairs. They keep them in the
stairwell,” she answered finally, deciding on the logic of not-awake, and
pleased to find that while her accent was still there, at least she was
producing end consonants occasionally. “Escort away, possibly, but probably
not because Jono’s a bit of a wimp, don’t tell, butt kicked.”
A quick mental image of duking it out with the British psionic fop for
the hand of Paige Elizabeth Guthrie briefly passed through Forge's
brain, bringing with it another series of snickers."Not likely," he
agreed, hooking his arm through Paige's and proceeding up the last bit
of stairs. For a quick moment, inspiration struck him.
"You know," he said, "the semi-formal last January, you took off
before I really started hitting my stride. I think you owe me a
dance."
Forge was met with more blinking at that. Why did all the crazy come out
when Paige was of the sleep wanting? They’d finally made it to the third
floor, the spot of one of her many rooms, although, one less since Forge had
sneakily managed to transform her basement hidey-hole into an office.
Was she supposed to be mad at him? She forgot. “Dance? Now?”
Chuckling, Forge stopped in front of the door to the room she shared
with Jono. "No, not now. Later, though. Now you sleep."
He paused awkwardly, standing in front of the door looking at her.
What was the appropriate thing to do here again?
"Well, uh... goodnight?" he said meekly.
“For a genius? You’re really stupid. Have I mentioned this?” Paige
answered for him, giving him a hug and a friendly peck on the cheek before
pulling away and opening her door. “I might not remember any of this in the
morning, so you’d better be taping this part of the conversation, but,
consider me owing you a dance. Night, hon.”
Forge stood there smiling dumbly for a moment as the door shut.
"Night," he repeated, turning on his heel. He tried very hard not to
whoop quietly as he headed down the steps to his suite.
And almost succeeded.
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