(no subject)

[notinthebook]

 There's a certain point in the workday where everything just slows down -- as long as there haven't been any emergencies.  It's a very specific, drowsy, four-forty-five in the afternoon sort of feeling, when the sun's started to head westwards and the office feels as dead as a graveyard.

She hasn't worked a nine-to-five in...ever, really, and it isn't hard to tell: she's been fidgeting since four.

Now, she's got a little pile of balled up pieces of paper on her desk, and she's tossing them, one by one, at an empty coffee mug on the floor, under the mugshot measurements.

So far, she's gotten one in.

There are five more scattered around the mug.

Pressing her lips together in concentration, she pauses, moves: the little white ball arcs through the air.

Misses.

(That's number six.)

"Aw, man!"

Comments

[notinthebook]

"Well," she says, feeling pleased without precisely knowing why, "I'm glad I came along and gave you an excuse to do something other than work."

For all he teases her about being a loner, it sure doesn't seem like he's exactly in a position to throw stones, but hell, she knows what it feels like to not have people to go out and do things with.

That's pretty much the story of her life.

But now...well, maybe they can hang out. Maybe something like this, a drink after work, could start being a norm. Maybe this is something they can both have, that wasn't there before.

Maybe.

(If Michael's the wrong person to spend time with, does that make Graham more of a right one? Is it even that black and white?)

"I could get used to it."

[ahuntsman]

"Good," Graham says, smile widening. And, as though reading her thoughts, he adds, "Because I'd like to think this won't be the only time we share a drink after work."

He tips his bottle towards her.

(It's not as though he can't spend time with Emma if he wants to.

[Because he wants to.]

Regina doesn't own him.)

[notinthebook]

It's weird, how your body betrays you even when you think there's nothing there to betray, but there it is: a tightening in her stomach, faint, but there, just like her smile comes involuntary in a brief flash.

It's meaningless, really. A drink with a coworker, the simplest thing in the world.

Except that Graham is, in his own way, as confusing as Michael, as confusing as Henry, as confusing as Milliways. Sometimes he seems detached -- friendly, but distanced -- and then sometimes he smiles at her like he's doing now and there's absolutely jack shit she can do to stop herself from smiling back.

Tipping her own bottle, she clinks it lightly against his.


"I'd like that, too."