July 8, 1992, Montreal

[noteful]

It's a nice day for an outing in Montreal, which is beautiful in the summer, but not so hot that a journey undertaken on the Metro and on foot gets unpleasantly hot. They make their way largely unnoticed or remarked upon, just two couples out and about, though Alain stops once to help some gloriously lost Belgian tourists find their location and that of their hotel on the map they are fighting over.

It's a bit of an adjustment, going from bright summer sunlight to the coolness of the indoor ice rink. "Of course, it's better in winter," Alain says, as they wait to rent skates. "Then you can skate outdoors."

"Colder, too," Meg puts in.

"But better."

It's probably to no one's surprise, not even really Alain's, that X picks up ice skating pretty quickly. It's a functional, practical sort of skating -- she's in no danger of scoring a 6.0 in artistic impression -- but it gets her easily around the rink. And if she and Bruce spend much of the outing holding hands, it's certainly not because either of them is having any trouble with keeping their balance.

No, Meg is the one who gets to suffer the indignity of finding herself somewhat sprawled on the ice, when she loses her footing trying to avoid a collision with a particularly oblivious boy of about thirteen.

"I'm fine," she tells the others, as Alain helps her up. "I think I mostly bruised my pride." (And while this is largely true, she will discover later that her right knee is giving her pride a run for its money.) "I'm fine, honey," she repeats, as Alain frowns in the direction of the boy, who is halfway around the rink and by all appearances hasn't noticed that Meg fell at all.

It's probably also to no one's surprise that Alain suggests leaving not long after that, or that he does a fair bit of fussing over Meg while Bruce returns their skates to the rental counter, or that they take a taxi back to the apartment, rather than deal with walking and Metro and people who don't watch where they are going.

Alain waves off various offers of help with dinner when they get home. "It shouldn't take long," he promises. Any preparations that could be done ahead -- prepping crepes ingredients, putting together the salad, even setting the table -- were done ahead. Alain takes himself off to the kitchen (not that this is far, as the kitchen is separated from the living room/dining room by only a counter-island), and Meg waves the others over to the sofa and armchairs.

"Would you like something to drink before dinner? Laura? Bruce?"

Comments

[cutting_edgex23]

X heads for the sofa, flicking a quick glance at Bruce on the way.

Then, once she is seated --

"Milk is acceptable. For me."

Beat.

"Thank you."

Skating is thirsty work.

[master_bruce]

'Uh...sure, thanks. Whatever's going.'

He takes his place next to X, and rubs his shin where he banged it on the entrance to the rink.

He's good at skating, but not perfect. It was still fun.

[noteful]

"Be right back," Meg says.

It takes slightly longer than that, because there's a semi-whispered conference in the kitchen about the location of the missing wire whisk before Meg finds it right where it's supposed to be.

She returns to the living room with three glasses of milk.

(Alain raised an eyebrow, and stuck with his Molson.)

"Here you are," Meg says, handing glasses out and taking a seat in the armchair.

"So what did you think of skating, Laura?"

[cutting_edgex23]

X takes the proffered glass of milk, resting it on the thigh farthest from Bruce while she talks.

"It is easy to get speed," she offers, after thinking about it for a moment. "That is good."

Beat.

"Inertia is problematic. Sometimes."

[master_bruce]

'If you're me, stopping is sometimes problematic.'

Not very. And not often. But there it is.

He glances at Meg.

'Is your leg OK after that fall? You should really ice that, just in case.'

[noteful]

"Would-be physician heal thyself?" Meg asks, in good-natured amusement. "It's fine, but thank you.

"I think my problem was stopping short.

"And Laura's may be that Alain is already plotting to get her to play hockey."

"If that was her first time on skates, she's a natural," Alain calls from the kitchen.

[cutting_edgex23]

X flicks a quick glance at Bruce before turning back to Meg.

Panicky? No. Just -- slightly bewildered.

"I am not as efficient when wearing armor. And I have not been trained."

[master_bruce]

Bruce chuckles quietly, and sips some of his milk.

'I think you'd probably pick it up. And be efficient when you did.'

Read: very good. Especially with all the violence.

'You sure you don't want some help in there, Alain?'

[coeurs_en_papier]

"Non, merci. The kitchen isn't really big enough."

It's true. He and Meg often bump into each other when they're both in there at the same time.

Also, Alain is very particular about his crepes.

"And it's not really armor, X."

Just so they're clear about that.

[cutting_edgex23]

X takes a careful sip of milk, tilting her head to more closely regard the kitchen.

"It is protective gear that inhibits movement. And it is bulky."

Regardless of what people call it. Still --

"I do not know if it is heavy. For hockey."

[master_bruce]

'I think you'd manage it.'

No doubt about it, actually.

'But you'd have to remember not to beat the guys around the head with your stick during one of the fights.'

He's not an expert, but he's pretty sure that's frowned upon.

[noteful]

"You know, the fighting isn't actually part of the game," Meg says.

There's an incredibly undignified snort from the kitchen.

"Well, it's not, honey," Meg tells her husband.

"Technicality," Alain says. "Where's the spatuala?"

"In the drawer by the stove."

"Not that one, the other one," Alain says.

"Dish drainer."

"Merci."

[cutting_edgex23]

X's expression is perfectly composed.

Really.

"One strike should be enough."

Beat.

"It is possible with a spatula, too. If it is necessary."

[master_bruce]

'In fact, why bother with the pads?'

It's not like she needs them.

'It would remove the problem of bulk.'

With or without it, he's pleased to imagine how she could still take out all the other guys on the rink, single-handed.

[noteful]

"It's like a whole new sport," Meg says. "Padding-free spatula ice brawl."

There's another snort from the kitchen, followed (in quick succession) by a noise half way between a thud and a thwack, the sound of something sizzling, and some incredibly inventive French swearing.

"Don't worry," Meg tells Bruce and Laura. "It's all an integral part of my husband's cooking process, or so he keeps telling me. Would you excuse me for just a moment?"

She'll just be a minute. Right back. Really.

[cutting_edgex23]

X flicks a quick look at Bruce.

"Maybe it is like a magic spell. The swearing."

X may be taking notes.

Then she tilts her head, scenting the air to make sure nothing is burning. (And, of course, no blood is being spilled.)

[master_bruce]

He grins, and puts his milk down.

'Now you know what it sounds like in my head anytime you ask me to cook.'

Seriously.

'Only, not in French.'

[cutting_edgex23]

X just looks back at him, very solemnly.

"You should practice."

Alain is impressive!

[master_bruce]

'French?'

He eyes X with faux-wariness, then glances to the kitchen.

'Hey, Alain. You're making me get homework!'

This is not cool.

[coeurs_en_papier]

Alain does not look up from the pan in front of him. "Occupational hazard."

Dine with a teacher, wind up with homework.

And speaking of dining . . .

"Dinner's ready," Meg says, with another glance at the stove top. "Or it will be, by the time you get to the table."

So close enough.

[cutting_edgex23]

"It will be good," X says, holding her glass of milk carefully level as she stands up.

"For you."

Then she heads in to dinner.

"You will need help? Carrying things."

It seems like it would be good to check. There are many available hands, for one.

[master_bruce]

'I can speak Dzongkha,' he mutters, mostly to himself.

He's aware it's not as attractive.

He sets his milk down, but doesn't sit. It feels rude to not be ready to help out.

[noteful]

"Thank you, but no," Meg says. "The salad's already on the table and the crepes are going straight onto the plates as they're done."

There's really not that much to carry.

(They planned it that way.)

"Everyone is all right with ham, Swiss cheese, and . . . " Alain trails off for a moment. "Asperges," he adds, more quietly, to Meg.

"Asparagus," she provides.

". . . asparagus, yes?" Alain finishes.

[cutting_edgex23]

Meg is excellent at planning, X cannot deny.

(And would not even if she could.)

"That will be good."

She sounds pretty certain about that. It is not entirely because X is not very picky.

[master_bruce]

'Yeah, sounds great.'

Bruce: also not picky. As long as stuff is healthy.

'Smells great too. Who normally cooks?'