Doug and Marie-Ange, homecoming.

[x-tarot.livejournal.com]

When Doug arrives home from his trip to Russia, he finds a messy kitchen and no Marie-Ange. She appears soon after with take-out and they discuss what to do for the evening, and Doug opts to recstore one last thing that he lost during Day Zero.



The trip back from Russia had been a hodgepodge of flights, to throw off anyone that might have been tracking him after the botched pickup. Sheremetyevo to Templehof, Templehof to Ataturk, Ataturk to da Vinci, da Vinci to Orly, Orly to Gatwick... By the time he'd gotten ready for the final leg to JFK, he'd simply shown the credit card to the British attendant to purchase a first class upgrade without even trying to sweet-talk his way into it. The worst part about flying east to west, he decided, was the 'chasing the sun' aspect of things. Even with layovers, it felt like the day had stretched into several. He sort of wished Marie-Ange or someone could have met him at JFK, but it would have simply resulted in them sharing a cab back to the brownstone, which was silly. So he collected his bags, staggered to the cab stand, zoned out for the drive into the city, grunted at the security guard in the brownstone's lobby, and up to his and Marie-Ange's apartment. Just inside the door, he shed bags with a thud, simply not caring to organize or unpack just yet.

The living room and dining area was just as tidy as normal, with Marie-Ange's sketchbooks and cards and Doug's books and comics and assorted electronic parts mingled together on the end tables, but largely contained to those areas. However, the kitchen was a bit of a disaster area. Several saucepans were stacked in the sink, a spill of something brown and vaguely burnt-smelling was smeared on the stovetop, and a full trashbag sat next to the can and a cookbook sat open on the one empty and clean counter.

And Marie-Ange was nowhere to be found, although her purse and coat were still hanging from the coatrack.

Doug was extremely confused, both by the state of the kitchen and the lack of his girlfriend in the apartment. He was much too tired to do anything requiring mental effort, so he wound up standing in the middle of the room with a perplexed look on his face.

He was still standing there looking around when the door opened and Marie-Ange came in, carrying a pair of large brown bags full of carry-out containers. She set them down without saying anything and then waved a hand in front of Doug's face, trying to get his attention. "Perhaps falling asleep while standing up is a good way to fall over and bruise your face?" she said lightly.

"Hm?" Doug blinked and very slowly focused on his girlfriend. "Oh. Hi. I'm home," he said, the blindingly obvious in short words seeming to be the extent of his conversational abilities. His stomach growled, and he blinked again. "Mmm, food," he said, finally noticing the bags Marie-Ange was carrying.

"Yes, and because you smell like an airport you can only have it once you have had a shower." Marie-Ange gently steered Doug towards the bathroom and gave him a gentle shove to get him started in that direction. "I will... try... to clean up while you are showering." The kitchen was really kind of a giant mess and since she'd created it, it was only fair that she clean it up.

The shower ran for a very long time, and when Doug finally emerged from the bathroom, a billow of steam was testament to just how hot he'd run it. He felt at least marginally more human, even if his body still had no clue whatsoever about what time it was. He sat down in the kitchen, watching as Marie-Ange struggled with a particularly burnt-on...something in a saucepan.

She gave up and set the pan down in the sink. It would just have to soak. "It is hard to get charred ... I am not really sure what this is anymore.. out of the pan when there is no hot water." Marie-Ange teased as she dried her hands. The food that had been in the bags was now in dishes on the table, which had been cleared, covered in a tablecloth and set, complete with a vase of papercraft flowers.

"Hm? Oh, sorry. Guess I was in the shower longer than I thought," Doug replied, somewhat distracted by the transformation of the dining area. "You could have just gotten takeout in the first place," he told her gently. "You didn't have to try and cook for me..." Not that he would explicitly call attention to her general inability to do much of anything in the kitchen, but it was definitely alluded to in his slightly teasing smile.

"I think I will remember that for next time, because I have learned that even with the directions being written for people who cannot cook, that I cannot cook." Marie-Ange answered. She hadn't much learned anything from the experience either. "It just seemed like cheating to not try to make it myself.." After all, Doug had cooked for her several times.

Doug shrugged. "Everyone has things that they're better at or worse at. Relationships aren't about complete equality down the middle. Each person does the things they're better at, and allows the other person to lean on them when they need it. I appreciate the thought and the trouble you went to, though," he said, reaching across to grasp her hand.

Marie-Ange smiled and shook her head. "You may not when you see how many pots I dirtied. Or how empty the pantry is. I do not understand how they put the cheese and the ham -inside- the chickens..." She understood the concept, but the execution had resulted in a waste of a lot of raw chicken. "Do you want to just eat and go to sleep, or have you slept yourself out of a normal sleep cycle again?"

"My sleep cycle is completely shot," Doug replied, picking up a fork and digging in to his food. "I want to do...something. I just have no idea what." He frowned. He wanted something that would take his mind off of his trip to Russia.

"I think it is sort of strange how we live in New York City, and everything is very nearly open at all hours and there are a hundred-hundred things to do and yet it seems that we end up going to the same club or places every time we are bored." It seemed that the cooking attempts and subsequent carry-out and tidying had put Marie-Ange into somewhat of a philosophical mood. "But I also do not know what to do. I was out of ideas after I gave up on trying to cook."

"I have an excuse," Doug replied somewhat glibly with a joking smile. "My power means I am quite naturally a creature of habit." He shrugged. "But I get what you mean, it's just that I have no idea what we could do that might be new and interesting."

"Maybe we should give up on new and interesting and just find something we already like." Marie-Ange said, after several bites of food. "Perhaps we have just exhausted all of the new and interesting things to do in the city." Which was an outright lie, because she knew better, but she couldn't come up with a single one.

"Or we could go do something we've done before," Doug said with a pensive look. "We could go get my earring put back in." At first after Day Zero, it hadn't been something he'd thought about, and then after that he'd just sort of forgotten for the most part.

She was not going to even consider saying no to that. "I have the business card from the shop where I had my tattoo done. They are probably still open." Marie-Ange offered. She'd heard more than a few discussions on how the mall shops with the guns were not preferable, and she knew that the employees at that shop were good at handling nervous customers. She'd been one.

"How about we finish dinner first?" Doug joked, and this time he actually cracked a smile.