#silverilly

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ALPHA MALE, say the bold letters on the side of the mug. Appropriate. There are dozens like it around the facility, but only this one tells the truth. It could have all the other mugs fired if it wanted to, because this one belongs to Cave Johnson. 

Caroline drops the line of thought as she fills the mug to the brim with steaming black coffee, but can't lose her dreamy smile. It's been barely two weeks at her new job and she's over the moon. The menial parts are comfortably simple, and the complex parts change by the minute to keep her on her toes. Always some new breakthrough to see, some new science to do. And her boss -- who takes just a little cream in his coffee, like this -- isn't the monster he's made out to be. Maybe he barks at other people, but he's been kind to her so far. She's honored to work with a man like Cave Johnson -- a science maverick, an innovative genius, changing the world every day. His infectious zeal sweeps her up like a balloon in a gust of wind, into a sky of endless possibility. She just can't stop smiling.

But if her mind keeps wandering off like this, his coffee will get cold, and then she won't have a dream job to daydream about. She shakes herself out of it and bustles to his office. 

"Here you are, sir." 

"Right on time." She offers the steaming mug, and he rewards her with a grin that makes her heart skip. She reaches to put it down on the desk --

-- he reaches to take it from her -- 

-- their hands brush --

-- and unlucky physics sees its chance. The mug tips, and both of them yelp as a dollop of hot coffee sloshes over the rim and splatters into his lap. 

Well, that's it. She's fired. 

She scrambles to set the mug down safely, then starts to stammer an apology.

"Sir, I am so sorry -- "

"Get a towel or something."

"Yessir." She dashes off and returns with a box of tissues. He's standing now to survey the damage -- a damp spot on his pants near his belt, and a brown stain wicking through his shirt. Grabbing a fistful of tissues, she blots frantically at the spill. "Mr. Johnson I am so, so sorry -- "

"I got it, I got it." He takes a wad of tissues himself, and when he nudges her hand out of the way, it registers that she's been rubbing at her boss's crotch. She turns bright red and is about to flee when he says, "Help me get outta this shirt."

So much for fired. Now she's dead. 

But until he kicks her out, she's still his assistant. Her fingers go obediently to his shirt buttons. She fumbles with damp fabric and nerves, but manages to get them open, from his belt buckle up to his neck. "Get my tie off, too."

Somehow, miraculously, his tie escaped without a drop. It's gold silk and probably worth more than her next paycheck. If she gets a next paycheck. She hesitates to even touch it, but an order's an order. She takes hold of the knot and remembers she's never undone a tie before. 

But it can't be too hard -- and if she looks like an idiot, he can't fire her twice. An experimental wiggle loosens the length around his neck. She feels one side give a little -- good -- and hooks her fingertips into the knot on that side, trying hard to focus on the tie and not her proximity to his throat. This is working. He smells like Brylcreem and musky aftershave. 

Finally she's able to tease it apart. She slips the tie from around his neck just as -- 

Just as he shrugs the soiled shirt off his shoulders. Oh. She should've expected it, but didn't. He's in nothing but pants and a damp undershirt now, and -- oh -- 

And now he's peeling off the undershirt too. Oh dear, she thinks dizzily, as her half-naked boss tosses it to the floor. He checks himself over again, but thankfully his pants are dry and dark enough not to show a stain. If those had to come off as well  --

"You okay, kiddo?"

"What?"

"You're gaping like a fish, there."

"Oh -- I-I -- " She whirls around to face away from him, blushing like a tomato, and locks eyes with his portrait on the opposite wall. She swallows hard. "I am truly, deeply sorry, Mr. Johnson -- "

But he only chuckles. "Easy, kid. You're allowed to stare. I would too, if I were you." He sighs, and she peeks around her shoulder to see him back to reclining in his desk chair, as if nothing happened at all. "Go top up that coffee, and do something with that shirt. Somebody in this place has gotta be testing detergent."

"Yes sir." She  comes back over to the desk, eyes carefully fixed on the now partly-full mug, never once looking up. "But, um -- "

"Yeah?"

"Do you need something to wear, sir?"

"Nah. Glad to get that thing off, I been wearing it all day." He stretches, groans, and folds his arms behind his head. Her eyes stay on the desk. "In fact, what the hell, new rule: Clothing is optional after 1pm. For the CEO. And select personnel, maybe. I'll make a list." He chuckles again. "Don't want Greg's scrawny ass all over HR. There are some things no man needs to see."

"Noted," she answers weakly.

"I see your point, though. Gotta maintain some kinda formality. This is a place of business! I tell you what -- " He points at the length of fabric still in her hands. "I'll put the tie back on."

The mental image gives her pause, but... "Whatever you say, sir." She starts to hand the tie over, but he stops her. "C'mere and help me with it, I can't see myself here."

Ohhh dear. Well, she just learned how to untie a tie. How much harder can it be in reverse? 

Much harder, it turns out, and she hasn't even started yet. He stands up to help her reach, tipping back his head, and she's very close to him and he's still shirtless and he smells amazing and how is she not fired right now for being a clumsy bubble-headed idiot?

"I don't have all day, kid."

"Sorry, sir." She loops the tie around his neck and starts to even the ends, but it's hard when she doesn't know where to look. Not at his face, not down, and looking at the tie means looking at his neck and his shoulders and his chest and oh god -- 

"Caroline?"

"Sorry." She shakes herself and tries to focus. How does it go? She tries folding one side over the other -- no -- then folding the opposite side -- maybe it goes around -- ?

He sighs, and she flinches, but he follows it with a smile. "Look. Over, and under, and around, and up. Like this, see?" She doesn't jump when he takes her hands, but it's an effort. She stays cool as he guides her through the motions. He's surprisingly patient -- until he gets stuck himself. "Wait. It's s'posed to -- "

"Hold on -- "

"Almost -- no -- "

"Hm."

"What the hell -- ?"

"Oh, I see." She folds the tail under and up through the loop around his throat, then down the center knot. "There." She pulls til it fits, and settles the neat triangular knot at the hollow of his throat. By pure coincidence, the action also pulls their bodies together until they nearly touch.

"How's it look?"

"Perfect." But she's looking at his eyes, not the tie, as she says it. She catches herself a moment too late -- looks away, looks down, her gaze and her fingers following the line of the tie down his bare chest to his stomach to his belt -- and breaks away in a blink. "Here, you can look."

She dives into her purse as a place to put her eyes, and fishes out a compact. He checks her work in the palm-sized mirror. "Not bad for your first time." He snaps it shut and hands it back. "Hard without a mirror. Why don't I have a mirror in here? Make a note -- "

"Mirror for your office. And a spare set of clothes."

"Smart girl."

She hasn't looked up again. "I really am sorry, sir."

"Aw, so you never tied a tie before. Gotta learn sometime. Never know when we'll have a tie-related emergency. Always be prepared, that's the Aperture motto."

Her lip quirks. "But no spare shirt?"

"Well, I've got a dynamite assistant to get me one."

"Right." She looks at him for just a second, and her smile is back. She bites her tongue on a laugh. In just the tie he looks ridiculously handsome and simply ridiculous at the same time, and being near him makes her feel warm and light, like she's on the edge of a laugh all the time. Then she glances away again. "I mean I'm sorry about the coffee. Are you okay?"

"Sure, fine," he shrugs it off, even though she can see -- not that she's looking -- a pink patch of skin on his stomach that could be a light burn. "In a place like this, you could do a lot worse than hot coffee on your pants. I saw a guy once -- " But he stopped himself. "Prob'ly shouldn't tell you 'bout that. Don't wanna upset you."

"Upset me?"

"Science gets messy."

That finally hooks her. "Why would I be upset by science?” The eyes that meet his are eager and bright. “I love science. That's why I'm here."

He grins and claps her on the shoulder. "I knew I liked you, Caroline. Tell you what -- you get me a fresh coffee and get rid of that shirt, and when you get back, I'll tell you 'bout it."

"Yes sir, Mr. Johnson."