give me love like her...

"That’s the one," she said quite happily as she positioned the fork as one would a writing utensil in her right hand. “I don’t know how many imaginary friends you do or don’t have, but I like how it sounds." She pressed the back of her left hand, which held the knife as though it were a breakable instrument in her fingers, against her cheek, feeling the proverbial reddening warmth that seemed to have set in. “Oh, did you? Oh, wow.. you didn’t have to be so lovely, you know." In fact, it was him being so lovely which was so fascinating to her in the first place. He was continuously intriguing, with his lack of brash mannerisms and his seeming to not be intimidated by her own. 

She listened to the way that his voice poured over her ears and coated them in a liquid sugar, her feet curling in on themselves as she set about performing her little rituals, secretly hanging on every word that he said. Usually she wouldn’t be so quick to listen to someone that had the voice that could soothe the most angry of souls, but since she was one of those who harboured anger deep in her bones, so deep that it was more of a second skin than a separate emotion, it was much simpler to let herself be pulled into tranquility. “Paperwork’s boring," she offered as she started dissecting the meat upon her place, slicing it into elongated, vertical pieces, and consequently pulling the blade through them horizontally, creating small little cubes. “I’m in charge of all that stuff, paying attention to the little details and such, at my job. Not to mention that with school, there’s tons of things to write and submit and all that."

It was almost odd speaking of her every day life and not fretting about her mutation exploding, or about a training session that went awry, or wondering what had happened when she looked around at the destruction of a room after a blackout. All of that devastation and all of those elements of that life seemed incredibly far away whilst she was in this safe haven. But it was quickly brought back to her attention when he casually mentioned the lights. She froze a little bit, a slice of meat speared into the tongs of her fork, which she promptly brought to her lips, and as she made her that, when she placed it in her mouth, it didn’t touch the skin there, for that was one of the worst coated sensations in the entire world, she thought over what she could say. The truth? Yes, the truth. That was always the better option. “Yeah, I heard about that. Except my news source told me that there were multiple ones." A little bit of a roguish grin appeared as she chewed, relishing in the different tastes that accosted her mouth. “This is delicious. Who knew Christopher Robin was a chef?" The compliment was inserted casually into the middle of her speech. “Those’re all pretty ridiculous theories, you know. But I mean, I guess if enough people are coming forward about it, maybe there is actually something to investigate? I dunno where you’d start; there’s no evidence left behind."

The only reason she knew that - she’d been one of those to arrive in the flashing lights, naked and confused, immediately injected with tranquillisers so as to prevent an unwarranted transformation. But the irony of the situation was that it had angered her more to be shot up with the medication than it would have if she had been left alone. She had been exhausted, disoriented, and ill; the last thing she had been thinking about was that familiar characteristic rush of annoyance and the shedding of her human skin to senselessly rip apart civilians. And yet there was another reason she liked him - he didn’t seem to mind that she had cheerfully mentioned socking someone in the stomach. Or the face. Or whatever she had said. “I dunno if I threw it properly or not, but it certainly did the job. It broke his nose and not my fingers." She still remembered the rivulets of crimson on her knuckles from it. She’d washed her hand for an hour. “I mean, always room for improvement, I guess. Did feel like I was socking a boulder and not someone’s face." 

You much prefer ripping it off instead of punching it. And I’m still not sure why you just didn’t do that. Then the world would be rid of another nuisance. 

She smiled through the shot of pain that travelled through her skull. “Oh, I don’t really like umbrellas anyway, even though I hadn’t been expecting it to open up and weep outside like no tomorrow." She prodded another little cube of chicken and placed it in her mouth, meeting his gaze across the table. When the irises connected, it was as though there was no distance between them at all, so strong was the magnetic field that wanted to pull them together. The tension in the atmosphere snapped and crackled, and she quickly trained her eyes away, focusing on the way that the dark velvety liquid in the glass shifted this way and that ever so slightly. Grape juice wasn’t nearly as intensifying to the senses as his eyes were. A small girlish giggle escaped at the progression of her thoughts. How silly she was. But her mind had wandered, as it always did. “And yes, I’m in university." They’d decided at the facility that even though she’d looked more like a high school student, she needed to be somewhere that would keep her much busier than those assignments would. “In a dormitory. Of sorts. Ridiculous nonsense, I tell you. Not interested in the whole ‘college experience’ thing but it seems to just bombard you from all sides."

"If anyone saw anything, that would be where we would start. Also, there would be abnormalities around the neighbourhood. Or so we hope. Either way, now that there have been enough people voicing a concern, we have to investigate. And we have to investigate every little detail before we rule it a cold case." Chris shook his head and looked down at his food. "You don't want to hear about this. It's really quite boring and stupid, even to me. I didn't join so I could chase stupid rumours about UFOs and people who can time travel." He rolled his eyes and pointed to her plate. "Are you sure everything's alright? I'm sure I could make something else if you're not feeling up to it." He smiled genuinely across the table at her and leaned on his elbows. She was honestly one of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She didn't even realize how beautiful she actually was, and that just made her so much more attractive. Inhaling deeply, he reached for his drink to occupy himself for a few moments so he could regain his composure. 

"What are you studying at University?" He was curious. Surely it had to be Psychology or Sociology of sorts, for she knew people - or at least himself - so well that he pin pointed almost every bit of his personality in a 10 minute conversation. "As for your punch, maybe you'd watch to come by the station? I could always teach you a few pointers while I'm at work." He couldn't stop himself from smiling at her. He couldn't help it. Something about her just made him smile. The genuine kind of smile, not the kind that he used on occasion to get his way. "I'd hate for you to break your wrist trying to punch someone out." Laughing, he nodded. "It does feel like punching a boulder and not a face, punching someone in the nose. While it does a lot of damage, usually people avoid the face because of how solid it is." Chris shrugged his shoulders and finished off the last of chicken, leaving his with his cheesy pasta.

It’s starting to hurt my feelings, really.

Bella couldn’t help but wonder where exactly he had planned to take her. Being the way she was, she didn’t much like surprises so her mind was filled with reassurances that it would be a place she had looked into. She liked spending some of her down-time, whenever she had it, venturing around the city of Boston, gathering references for future date or event planning. Looking back over at the large man after hearing him sigh, she couldn’t help but smile widely. “Christopher, smile. I’m going to love it, I promise," Bella reassured him, wanting to reach out and part his shoulder or thigh but stopping herself after her hand was lifted causing her to look like she twitched. Nice, just brilliant, Bella. Just sit still please.

Once parked, Bella was preparing to let herself out of the car but was caught off guard yet again when Chris opened her door and extended his hand for her again. This time, she gripped it firmly and elevated herself out of the car. “You know, I thought the chivalrous gentleman was long gone," she joked, feeling her body go timid at the lack of distance they held. A deep blush swept across her cheeks and Bella looked down whilst biting her bottom lip. Looking up into her eyes, she felt a strong spark serge through her body, igniting her bones. I forgive you, oh goodness, I forgive you, Christopher. After Chris pulled away, Bella breathed in three deep breaths before letting him lead her to the restaurant. Letting her eyes scope her surroundings, she found it strange that the perimeter around it was near vacant. “Are you sure it’s-" Her sentence stopped short as she saw the small, empty restaurant, or near empty apart from the few workers there.

"What can I say? When I make it up to someone, I go hard or I go home." He grinned and placed the bottle down on their table. Tilting his flute towards her, Chris winked and cleared his throat. "I'd like to make a toast?" He couldn't help but admire how lovely she looked. It was hard not to look at her. His eyes always found their way back to her face and her body. "To first dates, because that's what this is." Reaching across the table, he clinked his glass against hers before raising it to his lips and taking a long sip of the bubbly. He had come by earlier to choose a bottle of champagne and a dessert for the two of them. He'd leave dinner up to her, but he wanted to have as much as possibly planned for the two of them.

As she inhaled the different smells of the room, there was something permeating it besides that of their combined nervousness - oh! Her eyes were wide and childlike as she took in the small details of the living room, the way it seemed only slightly lived in - was the man ever at home? Surely the job of being a detective had him outside all the time, or at the very least, constantly on call - she wasn’t sure exactly how these things worked, but it didn’t seem like the type of career that would let you stay in your house and remain in a relaxed position for long. Perhaps even if there wasn’t a case to be solved, he was riddled down with worry. But none of that was what she smelled, merely what she observed; no, she smelled him. Heightened senses did her a world of pleasure sometimes, and she happily relished in the combination of his skin, a very slight sheen of sweat, and his cologne. Because it was, all-in-all, one of the best things she’d ever managed to experience.

"Oh..—" She was about to answer his question, but already he had taken her hands back into his, and what a warming, beautiful sensation that was, the feeling of his calluses and his age against her naivety and youthful velvet, and she couldn’t help but allow herself finally to smile, to stop the pursing of the lips and the hindrance of emotion. In his presence, the rushes of annoyance and the taunting of the voice was cured, smoothed over, nonexistent, and she’d be damned if she’d let her own self, the one without self-confidence that stammered sometimes and rendered itself scatterbrained, unavailable, and distant, ruin this. Whatever this was. “Lovely."

It was her signature word, the go-to phrase when silence fell and she had no idea what to say in order to preserve the atmosphere. She sank onto the edge of the bed, mulling over his question, glancing about with a widened expression, one that had merely gone more flabbergasted and not necessarily departed from her face in the first place, at the bedroom. It, too, seemed staid and stark, almost barren even though there was furniture. He was detached, she had deciphered; looks as though that quality had carried over even into his own home. Well, not home - he obviously didn’t consider this place to be his home. Otherwise it would look more… homey. She inwardly cursed herself for sounding this child-like. She was nineteen, for God’s sake; she should be able to form coherent thoughts and express herself as such. “Oh, y’know…" What in the world had she done today? Oh, right. “I punched one of my roommates in the face for being a complete dolt." What a perfect anecdote to tell to a police officer. “He kept taunting me and I just was having none of it."

The little story was said in a cheerful tone of voice. But he’d had it coming for ages, and the both of them knew it. “Have to stand up for myself, y’know. I live in a…" What was the story they’d given her? "… building thing with a lot of people. And some of us just don’t get along. Tempers run high and all that. And then school." She wrinkled her nose. “That’s an awful place, it is. No one understands respect these days." Not a single person, she thought, remembering how her fellow pupils had so openly disrespected those in authority several times. She couldn’t understand it; perhaps that was because of the household in which she was raised, where disobedience meant someone could die. That’s comfortable? She nodded at him, smiling dreamily. Oh, wow, she was going to be walking around in his apartment - in his clothing. She stared at them quite openly as she took them into his hands, but then, she was facing him again, and his lips were upon hers, so quickly that she barely had time to close her eyes before the contact had departed. Surely her face was the colour of a ripe radish now, quite proverbially.

And he was still looking at her. She felt as though her body had erupted into flames underneath that gaze, and she was only able to release the breath she had been holding once he had departed from the bedroom. Then, upon shaky legs, she stood, swallowing as she stripped away the clothing she had worn that morning. How ridiculous of her to have forgotten an umbrella; but now, secretly, she was content that it had happened this way. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been so fortunate as to’ve been offered his clothes. And she’d oddly prefer to be in his rather than in her own. She felt closer to him that way. Her heart was throbbing madly as she pulled the shirt over her head, fully embracing the aromas which had tantalised her before and now arrived in her nostrils without hindrance. What a lovely smell indeed. She managed to somehow roll the sweatpants onto her protruding hipbones as she stifled a giggle, not wanting him to hear her and wonder what was going on in here. She very nearly swam in the garments, but she liked that sensation, much more preferable than that of feeling as though she’d been poured into her clothing.

Finally, she managed to take somewhat slow steps, for the legs of the sweatpants cloaked her calves and ankles, halting her process, from the bedroom, moving to the left of it, as he had directed, and as he called out to her, she answered, in her soft-spoken tone of voice, slightly accented in a combination of a Boston-based and a Southern-based timbre, “Yes, everything fits just fine." This garnered another giggle from her abdomen, but she let this one be heard. Her eyebrows shot upward at the display before her. “Oh, wow, this is lovely, Christopher Robin." The nickname she’d thought for him spilled from her tongue without much warning. She meandered her way to the table, feeling a bit silly and senseless, and tentatively sat on the chair across from where he stood.

"It was a day full of paperwork - something I'd rather not bore you with. We hired a few new guys to deal with community problems." He cut a piece of his homemade stuff chicken breast and put it in his mouth. Perfect, he thought to himself and grinned. After he chewed up and swallowed it down, Chris continued, "I don't know if you've heard about that flash of light in downtown Boston? We're still getting people coming in with information about it. Literally everything you could think of. UFOs, mutants, even time travel." Chris shook his head, laughing. "It's ridiculous, but if we keep getting people coming in about it, we're going to have to investigate."

Reaching for his glass of grape juice - which suddenly felt childish and stupid - he smiled at her. "You punched someone in the face? Is that your nice way of saying I better be extra good to you?" He winked at her from across the table and dug his fork into his pasta. "It sounds like you live in a dorm. University?" She was nineteen. He could only assume that she was in university. Looking at her hands while she eat, he couldn't help but observe her. The way she held her fork and knife between her hands, how her fingers laid along the frosted glass as she took a drink, everything about her was simple fascinating to him. 

"I assume," he started again with a slight laugh, "That since you punched him in the face, you indeed know how to throw a punch? Properly, I mean?" He hoped he won't offend her in saying such, but if she said no, that gave him the opportunity to invite her back over again - or even to the station - for him to teach her some self defence. You don't need a reason to invite her anywhere, Chris... he thought to himself. She likes you. It's obvious. She wears it plain on her face. Just as the thought passed through his mind, he found himself staring at her eyes from where he sat. Her eyes were soft and light every single time she looked up to his face. She held her posture like she was slightly nervous about being in his company.

Going back into her apartment, Bella took hold of her nude-coloured clutch that matched her shoes and contained everything a mother would need for her child, but miniature sized; she didn’t want to not have the things she might need so she took it all. Quickly, she made sure her stove and oven were off and turned off her stereo that was still playing the orchestra compositions of the sixth series of Doctor Who. Shuffling her way back to Chris, Bella took one last glance around her apartment and was satisfied. “Okay, sorry about that, I like.. triple checking," she trailed off at the end taking her third check then turned back round to her date, almost running into him but forcing a bright smile on her face to hide her awkwardness. “Ready."

He walked around the front of his car, wiping his hands on his pants before sliding into his seat and roaring life into the car. "She's my baby. I saved up for years before I bought her." Turning to look at Arabella, he grinned again, "I paid for her in cash." Putting the car in reverse, Christopher put his hand on her head rest and looked over his shoulder. Once he was out of his spot, he moved the car into gear and sent it moving through the parking garage.

He turned to look at her for a split second as they drove out of the garage and onto the main road. The place was only about ten minutes away, but he gave them extra time just in case the roads were busy. "I hope you like what I have planned. I put a lot of thought into this..." I've been thinking about you all day. Chris sighed and pulled his car off the main road to a smaller two-way street. It wasn't very busy, and he knew it wasn't going to be. What she didn't know was he was taking her to a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant that delivered perfection every single time. Not only that, but he'd paid the restaurant owner a substantial amount of money to have it only open for them. Chris pulled his car into a parallel parking space; he didn't have to back in because the street in front of the restaurant was practically empty. Pulling the car into park, he turned and smiled at Arabella. "I hope you're hungry." He stepped out of his car and walked around the front to open her door for her again.

The only reason it was acting up so much, the only reason that her senses had been heightened to the painful extreme, was because Allison Crane was nervous. How pathetic you are. It was gaining a large amount of enjoyment in taunting her from the darkness that she dared not venture into lest she was unbelievably angry. Allowing something so insubstantial as a human being to cause you alarm. You can kill him so easily if you need to. There’s no need to be afraid.

It was only the doors sliding open that kept her from exploding. She had approximately thirty yards to calm herself back down, to remind herself that she, Allison Crane, was the one in control, and that she, Allison Crane, was the one that he, Christopher Jericho, the bonafide representation of a smart-ass Sherlock Holmes, if not an indefinitely more attractive version, wanted to see. He didn’t want to see that thing  that prowled around, that cat that yowled its protest against the iron bars. And it wasn’t a part of her; it wasn’t. It wasn’t something she needed to function as a human being. It was nothing more than a nuisance that wished to cause her problems.

He wanted to see you, she told herself, the words as a mantra under her breath, her feet moving forward, methodically pressing down into the carpeted hallway. He wanted to see you. Of course, that was something else she couldn’t possibly understand; just as she was unable to explain the odd sort of bond that had been formed during what had started out to be, at least for her, a random decision to give a palm-reading, which had been expected to be inaccurate and had hit closer to home than either of them could’ve imagined. He wanted to see you.

When she reached the number of the apartment he’d  told her to arrive at, she hesitated, though her hand moved of its own accord and slammed itself against the door. She winced against that sound as well; it reverberated down the corridor, or so it seemed. She wondered why she hadn’t bothered putting more time into herself, why she always had to emerge from the building with the appearance of one who was a chaotic mess - her strands of blonde hair had been blow-dried, but instead of cooperating, they had frizzed. And since it was raining outside, and she had forgotten an umbrella, those same strands now stuck to her forehead, the sides of her thin, gaunt face - which also was smudged with dampened eyeliner and reddened lip stain. She swiped at a mark that had meandered from her bottom lip when he opened the door - and she blinked, her face immediately going red at the sight of him standing there, shirtless. Well. She didn’t feel so odd now, in a sopping wet black oversized tunic that hung off her shoulders and leggings of the same hue. And sandals. Had she worn those? She glanced down at her feet. Yes, she’d remembered this time.

The room was simple. Olive green walls, black couch and love seat, a glass coffee table, and a large flat screen filled the room. "Did you want a shirt? Or some clothes?" Chris asked as he down and to the right, directly at her face. It didn't matter that she was inside now. If she stayed in her wet clothes, she would surely catch a cold. "Let me grab you a shirt and some sweats. I'll hang your stuff up to dry." Leading her gently away through the living room, Chris looked at her again and smiled. Everything about this was easy to him. He liked the way he could smell the faintness of her shampoo or that she had her body turned slightly towards him instead of walking parallel with him.

Pulling her through the doorway, he released his hold of her body and pointed to the bed. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll find something that might fit you." He knew there was no hope in the world that any of his clothes would actually fit her, but he was going to try. He walked into his walk in closet and looked through his myriad of hangers. Sweats were easy. If she rolled the waistband of these, they would probably fit. Chris thought to himself as he pulled a pair of grey sweats off a hanger. Moving to the other side of the closet, he called out to her, "What else did you do today? Other than get lost three times while trying to find my place in the pouring rain?" Silently, he mumbled, You could have called me and I would have picked you up. But there was no way of her knowing that. He never said he would. Pulling a white The Big Bang Theory shirt off of one of the shelves in his closet, Chris exited the closet to see Allison sitting on the foot of the bed. 

"That's comfortable?" Chris cracked a smile and walked the clothes he had pulled out of his closet to her. "After you've changed, you can just hang your clothes over my closet door so that they'll dry. I'll be in the kitchen." His right hand found the bottom of her chin and he tilted her face up so that she looked right into his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her lips briefly before mumbling, "It's to the left of my bedroom." He took a few steps back, still looking into her doe-like eyes before turning finally and making his way out of his bedroom and into his kitchen. 

The chicken breasts - which were stuffed with swiss cheese and spinach leaves - were done and he just needed to add more shredded cheese to the pasta, but everything was going just how he wanted them to go. In comparison to the rest of his apartment, the kitchen was small. It had enough room for what he needed, no more and no less. He searched his cupboards for two plates and prepared their food. He was a bit of a perfectionist, so he wiped the excess cheese off their plate with a napkin and looked for two glasses while he waited for her to finish changing. He almost considered pulling out a bottle of wine - something he would have normally done had he ever invited someone over to his place - but she was 19. Fuck. What am I doing? She's 19... Chris stopped what he was doing and just let his mind absorb the fact that she was 7 years younger than he was. While he sat there for a few moments, his mind didn't really seem to care all that much about her age. For once, his mind agreed with his heart. 

He liked her. That's all that mattered.

Pulling two glasses from the top shelf, Chris poured the only juice he had in his fridge - which happened to be grape juice. He heard the light pitter patter of her feet making their way from his bedroom to the kitchen and couldn't help but smile. Her footsteps were irregular, so he could only assume that she was nervous. "No," Chris whispered to himself, "No detective shit tonight."