Offering to grill for dinner is easy. Dragging out a little of everything, maybe because she's been good to put up with him, with the moments he just tunes out, with the fact she keeps asking questions he gives the shortest answers to, with how he still hasn't told her everything about the last few days either. So, little of everything. She deserves it, at the very least. For staying, for making the day more than he would have without her.
Fish. Chicken. Shrimp. Sausage. Cherry Tomatoes. Ball onions. Pineapple. Mushrooms. Green, Yellow, Orange Peppers. Smaller amounts, wider variety. All of them sliced and skewered and grilled while the sky was going giving the world the inverse of dawn. Pastel colors woke up, but the evening here sometimes seemed to set the very sky on fire. Like the sun wanted to be remembered. Brilliant and glorious colors stitched across the satin beauty of silver waves.
Giving them ribbons of light when he's got a large plate of kebabs finally finished, yelling across the space to where she wants all of this to go. He could have drug out a table and the lights, again, and the could have ended up in the dinning room, but they end up back on the couch. Plate on the table in front of them, barefoot and loose from the weekend, with something on the tv neither of them are really following.
Or at least he isn't. Even when he's giving her the stink eye for throwing a cherry tomato at his shoulder, for a deservedly crass dig, because really. He could care less about the tv, and tomorrow he's going to miss her when she goes back on shift. For however long that is before Five-0 steals all of his attention and he forgets for a few days. When, where, how long, other people. Even her.
Which made it worth trying to remember the end of these long hours, and the fact she stayed through them all, too.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-02-06 03:43 am (UTC)Fish. Chicken. Shrimp. Sausage. Cherry Tomatoes. Ball onions. Pineapple. Mushrooms. Green, Yellow, Orange Peppers. Smaller amounts, wider variety. All of them sliced and skewered and grilled while the sky was going giving the world the inverse of dawn. Pastel colors woke up, but the evening here sometimes seemed to set the very sky on fire. Like the sun wanted to be remembered. Brilliant and glorious colors stitched across the satin beauty of silver waves.
Giving them ribbons of light when he's got a large plate of kebabs finally finished, yelling across the space to where she wants all of this to go. He could have drug out a table and the lights, again, and the could have ended up in the dinning room, but they end up back on the couch. Plate on the table in front of them, barefoot and loose from the weekend, with something on the tv neither of them are really following.
Or at least he isn't. Even when he's giving her the stink eye for throwing a cherry tomato at his shoulder, for a deservedly crass dig, because really. He could care less about the tv, and tomorrow he's going to miss her when she goes back on shift. For however long that is before Five-0 steals all of his attention and he forgets for a few days. When, where, how long, other people. Even her.
Which made it worth trying to remember the end of these long hours, and the fact she stayed through them all, too.