Log: Garrison/Marie-Ange

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Backdated like a lot. An average date between Garrison and Marie-Ange, not long before the mission in Russia.



It wasn't very cold in New York, at least not as Garrison considered it. Winter should be a windchill of minus twenty, and not hovering around zero like a late fall warm snap. Still, his date didn't seem to mind, even if she had given him a slightly incredulous look as he hauled her out of the office a few hours early and had chatted brightly all the way to Rockafeller Plaza.

No matter what the temperature, they still set the rink up under the status of Apollo by December first, and keep it up through the winter. While tourists were snapping photos of the buildings, the ice seemed to be nothing but native New Yorkers. Garrison had brought along a couple of pairs of skates, and had passed a set over to Marie-Ange while they sat on the bench.

"The last time I ice skated, I was nine." Marie-Ange said, taking the smaller pair from Garrison and bending to take off her ankle boots. "If I should happen to fall over and bruise anything, I am going to insist that you comfort me." But she laced up the ice skates nonetheless, and stretched a little.

"Of course. I brought the uniform, after all." Garrison grinned, pulling out his old battered pair of hockey skates. Unlike many Canadians, Garrison hadn't played much hockey as a child. Bouncing between England and Canada until he was eight, he'd gone for rugby and lacrosse instead. But learning to skate was something that you did, either on Grenadier Pond while frozen or down at Nathan Phillips Square.

"Besides, it's finally approaching decently cold weather. After being cooped up in the brownstone, I figured outdoor activities were best for the next little while." And it allowed him to put Youra out of his mind. Between Marie and Logan, he'd worked through the shakes, but still wasn't sure how he'd react the next time. Besides, he and Marie-Ange were getting little enough time together as it was, and he didn't want to worry her.

"The whole uniform, hrm?" Marie-Ange joked, still testing the skates and getting used to the extra weight on her feet. "Even the hat, yes?" She let Garrison help her up and stood, wobbling slightly. "Those are hockey skates, yes? Did you play?" She vaguely remembered that Doug had a pair, back from before they had dated, and the memory made her frown a little. Doug had taken Marie ice skating, before the love potion nonsense, when he was still crushing on every other girl he'd seen.

"Not very much. There's a legal limit to the number of stereotypes you're allowed to encompass in Canada." Kane said, seeing the shadow cross her face. That had been happening a little more of late, not surprising since they'd managed to time requisite major issues of forced imprisonment and firefights right after each other. "Come on."

He stepped on to the ice and helped her on, nearly coldcocking an eight year old in the process. Some people never picked up the art of looking in the right direction while skating backwards.

"I am not going to be any good at this.." And true enough, she felt awkward and wobbly, and couldn't remember what to do with her feet. Marie-Ange had managed to avoid each and every one of Jubilee's efforts to teach her to roller blade, and she and Doug had never gotten around to ice skating. "We run away from ice in France. If we ever have another ice age, my entire country is moving to the equator. I think there is a law."

"Yes, but it's French law and thus doesn't apply." Garrison did a slow circle around her, coming up to put a hand on the small of her back and the other on her upper arm to steady her. "Rule one, stand up straight. You're balancing your body on two blades, and the only way to do that is either to make a big X or to get used to using your body weight to adjust to their movement."

He pushed off lightly, pulling her forward with him. Every time she tried to bend or hunch, he'd correct her, until she could start to feel where her centre of balance was. The other skaters could be unnerving, but in general they had clear ice to move on.

Balancing her body on two thin blades of metal was the entire problem, Marie-Ange thought. But it wasn't, as they moved on, all too different from balancing on high heels, just a different way of moving. She still felt wobbly, and thrown off by being unused to it, but it was getting easier.

Which did nothing to explain why she still felt awkward and nervous. But she could chalk that up, she hoped, to being cooped up in her apartment building and that was just going to have to be it. "You never did explain to me which of your... " She paused, mindful of the people around them, and looked at Garrison. "co-workers you had the problem with on that business trip."

"Do you know Haller? The student councillor that's crazier then the students? Ended up drawing the short straw with one of his less genial personalities." Over the last few days, Garrison had been slowly coming to terms with the new situation, in part with Marie and Logan's help. The shakes were gone, and the self-doubt was going, but he still hadn't come to terms with Haller's sudden switch in the field.

Marie-Ange frowned. "He helped me when one of my classmates at the university tried to attack me telepathically. I ..." She tried to shrug, and nearly lost her balance, clinging to Garrison's arm until
she could get stable again. "I did not know he was that unstable." She couldn't quite hide the frown that passed over her face as she tried to figure out how to explain to Garrison that she wasn't always sure of her own stability.

"I can't really say. I know he flipped out in the field while we were supposed to be covering each other's backs. Considering it was my first time out, I think I'm taking it a little hard." He grinned at her. "Not exactly the 'can handle anything' brave Mountie stereotype, I'm afraid."

Marie-Ange laughed, and shook her head. "You worked with Logan, who has a history of exploding like a small hairy bomb. Should that not have told you something?" Still, she understood, after a fashion.

"Logan has never bailed on me in the middle of situation." Garrison shrugged. He knew that Marie-Ange didn't like Logan at all, for the same reasons that made Kane himself wary. But he felt he needed to at least defend him some. "Anyhow, it's settled at this point. No more missions with him and I involved."

"So this is just a bias against crazy teammates who are not reliable, yes? Not any particular bias against, say, the clinically insane?" Marie-Ange asked, all too casually. The ice skating was getting easier, although she still occasionally clutched at Garrison's arm to steady herself. At least now she wasn't stumbling every other turn.

"If I was biased against the clinically insane, I wouldn't last very long in that mansion, babe." Garrison executed a smart turn, sending up a little flare of ice as another couple went past them. He took MA's hands, skating backwards easily while still helping her with her balance.

"Oh good. Because there would be many problems if you were." Ignoring the fact that she was functional, it was still insanity, of a sort. The turn and backwards skating was impressive, since she was still wobbling a bit, and she smiled. "I think you are showing off now.."

"Absolutely." Garrison grinned as he pivoted easily. "Are you impressed yet? Because if not, the Mountie uniform is in the car." He gave her a wicked look as he circled her while she slowly skated forward.

"I am, but you could show me the uniform anyway." Marie-Ange answered, returning the look.

"Some things you need to wait for." He said, mock primly. The rink was really starting to fill up with kids, so Kane took Marie-Ange's arm again and led her towards the edge. "Besides, I managed to get us dinner reservations for six-thirty. I have to go into the office for a little bit, and then I'll come and get you?"

The look in her eyes was a fairly clear 'yes!' and he shook his head. "Women. They're so wily."

later

Garrison stood outside Marie-Ange's bathroom door, leaning against the frame in his black suit. "Are you regrouting the tiles or something in there?" He said through the door. She'd answered the door in a robe
and had claimed she needed 'just a minute' to get ready. Of course, that was seventeen minutes ago.

"You were -early-." Marie-Ange protested, through the door. Fussing with stockings was worth it, but such a pain to get them straight and not put runs in them. Especially with a manicure.

"By three minutes. How does three minutes early turn into the excuse for," Garrison checked his watch. "now fifteen minutes late? Is there some kind of special mutant team time that I'm not supposed to know about?" He called back through the door. He's wasn't really annoyed at all, but just couldn't resist teasing her about it.

"Remind me to tell you about Asgard.." Marie-Ange said, finally cracking the door open. "I aged, I think, four months in a little more than a week? It was educational." She tucked a loose stand of hair back into the twist at the nape of her neck, and made a little shoo-ing motion. "You look very nice. I like the suit.." She added.

"Asgard, you mean the Viking..." His voice sort of trailed off for amoment. It was obvious to anyone that Marie-Ange was attractive, and she normally looked stylish even in casual wear. However, the full formal red-headed image in heels? The effect was devastating.

"Have mercy, Miss Percy." Garrison said finally, after taking a prolonged two count to take her all in. "You are officially forgiven for being late and any other crime you may have ever committed, up to and including the overthrow of the Canadian government, Queen Elizabeth and the King of rock and roll."

He put out his arm, and she took it, both of them off for dinner.

still later

"Alright, if you don't stop laughing at it, I'm going to get dressed and go home." Garrison said, as Marie-Ange dissolved into giggles again. He was standing in his boxers, preparing to put on his dress uniform at her request when she caught sight of the tattoo on his left thigh of a beaver, and had yet to stop laughing.

"Why?" Was all Marie-Ange could ask, trying to hold back more giggles. She hadn't even been drinking, it was just such a silly tattoo, and the perturbed look on Garrison's face was not helping her regain her
composure. "Why did you get -that-?"

"The beaver is the national symbol of Canada, you know." Garrison said, looking highly affronted. "Much like the Mountie. If you want to want to see the one, you better stop laughing at the other." It wasn't really annoyed, but he obviously was proud of it.

"Now I am torn..." Marie-Ange said, pouting a little. "Keep giggling, and you do not get dressed. Stop giggling, and I get to see the uniform." She made a show of looking very serious, and rested her chin
in her cupped hands, elbows on her knees. "Go on. I can be good and not laugh." She said, without a hint of a giggle or snicker. Not much of a hint, anyway.

"Proud animal. That's what it is." Kane said, shrugging into the jacket. The pants took a little longer, and he could see a certain level of disappointment in her face as he covered up. "Noble even. Resolute, hard-working, community minded. Flat tailed. Wait, scratch that last one."

Covering the tattoo effectively stopped the giggles, although Marie-Ange had decided she was just going to have some private giggling time later. She might have to email Amanda and Marie too. "France's is the rooster." She wasn't using the other term for it. If Garrison wanted to say that, he could, but she wasn't. Even if it was oddly appropriate. "Which I suppose gives us a predisposition to ... bright colored feathers?"

"That would explain the fascination with the uniform. I'm a Canadian Red Breast." He said, pulling on the boots and putting the hat on his head. Garrison was of average height and build, but his working out had chiseled every ounce of him, and the broad shouldered red coat made him look larger than normal. "So, do I pass muster?"

"You are something, anyway." Marie-Ange said, no hint of a laugh at all this time. "So, do you really have to wear that, or do they just issue them to Canadian policemen so that they can get dates? Because if so? It is working."

"It's my dress kit, so only when on official duties like guarding the Commons, or during ceremonial occasions. Most of the time, my uniform isn't that different from a normal cop." Garrison grinned and crooked
his finger at her. "Come here. I seem to remember there was a second part to our deal about seeing me in the dress uniform."

Marie-Ange blushed, but stood up, pretending to brush dust off her dress. "You should refresh my memory." She said, smiling. "For some reason I cannot seem to remember any deal I made." She looked all too mock-innocent, which meant she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Terrible thing about memory, you know. There are some things I'm sure you really won't want to forget." He winked, tossing his hat on the bed and taking her in his arms as she leaned in. They'd kissed before, but always in a somewhat restrained fashion. Now, that wasn't certainly not the case as their lips met.

even later

Marie-Ange had noticed that the sheet was clinging to her foot and being distracting in all the ways that Garrison's hands -weren't-. If it hadn't been so distracting, she wouldn't have tried to discreetly
untangle her ankle, and that, she decided, was the whole problem. Trying to be discreet about it just made it worse.

Worse to the point of losing her balance and rolling over, to find the sheet wound around her calf tightly. "... I have no idea how that happened.." she said, a little sullenly.

"You know, this is why in the movies, you rip all the sheets off the bed." He said with a grin. A hot redhead in nothing but her panties was always good for his mood, after all. "Here, let me--"

He reached down just as Marie-Ange tried to kick the sheet off. Kane took the one end of the sheet and tugged, but she had moved to push it off with her other foot, leaving her unbalanced. With a brief startled squeak, she went over the side of the bed, landing on her rear with a thump. Garrison looked around for a second, and leaned over the bed.

"You know, if you wanted to stop you could have said so. You didn't need to dive off the bed to get away from me." Kane said, already fighting back laughter to talk.

"I did not want to stop!" Marie-Ange protested, struggling to get to her feet and finding that her legs were still tangled in the sheet. "This is .." Frustrating. Ridiculous. Not a bit funny, and he was laughing at her. She crossed her arms and frowned. "Ow."

Garrison leaned his chin on the back of his forearm, regarding her from where he was stretched out. "You did well, deftly landing on your ass like that. Very skillful."

He reached down and grabbed the sheet long enough for her to disengage, even while still chuckling. "You know, beds can be dangerous. Maybe we go get someone else in here to keep an eye opener. You know, like a spotter."

"You are making fun of me." Marie-Ange said, pouting a little. "I did not mean to fall over." She kicked the sheet off her foot and glared at it. "The bed hates me. That must be it." Garrison's expression was just a little infectiously cheerful, and she couldn't help but try to pass the whole thing off as a bit of a joke. Even if she was embarrassed beyond belief.

"True. Maybe the bed is jealous. After all, it's had you all to itself for a while. Now that I'm here, it resents being Canadian-ifed." Garrison leaned back on the bed, stretching himself back out with a grin. "I think you need to put it in it's place, you know."

Marie-Ange raised an eyebrow, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Really? You should elaborate." She had some idea of what he meant, obviously. "In detail. After all, if the bed needs to be put in it's place, it is only fair to warn it."

"In detail?" Garrison sat up, resting his arms on his knees. He was only wearing his boxer shorts at this point, and the rest of his body was lean, hard muscle. "I was thinking more of a demonstration. Or a
production! Like, you know, a show." He leaned forward and kissed her collar bone. "Fifteen week run." And then a little lower on her breast. "Eight performances a week." On her nipple. "Matinee." And on the trembling flesh on her torso. "Sold out performances."

"Mmm... buy me a ticket." Marie-Ange said, finally sliding back over the bed and into his arms.