[She was jogging already, but that makes her put the tablet away and pick up the pace, so she doesn't respond again until she's actually at her door.
And picking up the box.
And seeing the book.
Which is-- That sure is a book of poems. In French. And she really shouldn't be standing in the hallway staring at it, but she's not really capable of managing anything else.
She's pretty sure this is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for her. It's not like Tim or Dean were inclined to even small romantic gesture, and Ellie was more likely to affectionately tease her than buy her a poetry book.
A French poetry book, and somehow that just makes it feel so much more... something.
She hasn't even looked inside, but she knows she needs to say something to Saul, because if their roles were reversed right now, she'd be so nervous about his reaction. And she doesn't want him to worry, because she does like it. Loves it, really. She just has no idea how to process the whole thing.
In the end, she goes with the simplest course of action.]
[So it's not that Saul was holding his breath, but Saul was maybe holding his breath.
This is part of why he hates texting: he knows this is her style, but he's not sure if he should be reading this as a good thing or a bad thing, like maybe that was a bit much...
[Twenty minutes is, thankfully, long enough to have a little bit of a freak out at Babs about the whole situation, so by the time she's acquired coffee and standing in front of Saul's door, she's only blushing a little.
Which is still more than normal, but every time she's sure the blush has faded, she thinks about the book again and the pink is back in her cheeks.
This is ridiculous, but she's hardly going to avoid him over it, so she just has to suck it up and knock on the door.
She has no idea what she's going to say when he opens it, but hopefully she'll figure something out.]
[Twenty minutes isn't long enough for Saul to have stopped feeling weird about it, but it is enough time for him to shower and organize himself. The distraction is nice, at least.
The thing is, though, he hasn't done any blushing.
...until he opens the door, and then he finds it difficult to even meet her eyes at all.
[Even if he tried to meet her eyes, it wouldn't work, because apparently the spot over his shoulder is fascinating.]
Hey.
[No.
No.
She refuses to act like this, it's ridiculous. She takes a deep breath, wrinkles her nose and looks at him properly.]
I-- no, you know what? We are not acting like a pair of teenagers with a crush.
[There. That's her decree.
She hands him his coffee, then slips past him into the room, trying to convince herself that she's done with blushing and that weird flutter in her chest.]
And yet all he manages to do is allow his gaze to drift to the coffee in his hand and oh, yup, his cheeks sure are even redder than they were a second ago.
This isn't him. Saul Goodman does not get all giggly-blushy.
Then again, Saul Goodman doesn't fall in love quite the way he has or feel compelled to buy books of poetry in other languages just to show it, so...
Then again again, she is the only one who calls him by his real last name.
Instead of responding immediately, he takes a long swig of coffee.]
But she can't really complain, since it's her fault this time.]
Yeah. [She smiles back, before ducking her head with a laugh. She just can't help it.] You've set the bar pretty high, though. Better start planning for Christmas.
She's anticipating a future. Christmas is two whole months away; that's a long time. She must know Saul is terrified of losing her — she woke up to find him clinging to her in the middle of the night enough times while they were in Chicago to have gotten the hint — and most days, he can't go without wondering how long this will last. It's in his nature to go looking for the expiration date on things, to anticipate the moment when whatever's going right will go wrong. He likes to be prepared.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
controlledvariable) wrote2014-02-02 07:59 pm
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1/2
And picking up the box.
And seeing the book.
Which is-- That sure is a book of poems. In French. And she really shouldn't be standing in the hallway staring at it, but she's not really capable of managing anything else.
She's pretty sure this is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for her. It's not like Tim or Dean were inclined to even small romantic gesture, and Ellie was more likely to affectionately tease her than buy her a poetry book.
A French poetry book, and somehow that just makes it feel so much more... something.
She hasn't even looked inside, but she knows she needs to say something to Saul, because if their roles were reversed right now, she'd be so nervous about his reaction. And she doesn't want him to worry, because she does like it. Loves it, really. She just has no idea how to process the whole thing.
In the end, she goes with the simplest course of action.]
thank you
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i love you
[In case he thought her thank you might have been because she didn't like it and didn't want to hurt his feelings.]
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This is part of why he hates texting: he knows this is her style, but he's not sure if he should be reading this as a good thing or a bad thing, like maybe that was a bit much...
But he'll find out later, he guesses.]
You're welcome. I love you too.
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♥
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Which is still more than normal, but every time she's sure the blush has faded, she thinks about the book again and the pink is back in her cheeks.
This is ridiculous, but she's hardly going to avoid him over it, so she just has to suck it up and knock on the door.
She has no idea what she's going to say when he opens it, but hopefully she'll figure something out.]
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The thing is, though, he hasn't done any blushing.
...until he opens the door, and then he finds it difficult to even meet her eyes at all.
God.]
Hey.
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Hey.
[No.
No.
She refuses to act like this, it's ridiculous. She takes a deep breath, wrinkles her nose and looks at him properly.]
I-- no, you know what? We are not acting like a pair of teenagers with a crush.
[There. That's her decree.
She hands him his coffee, then slips past him into the room, trying to convince herself that she's done with blushing and that weird flutter in her chest.]
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And yet all he manages to do is allow his gaze to drift to the coffee in his hand and oh, yup, his cheeks sure are even redder than they were a second ago.
This isn't him. Saul Goodman does not get all giggly-blushy.
Then again, Saul Goodman doesn't fall in love quite the way he has or feel compelled to buy books of poetry in other languages just to show it, so...
Then again again, she is the only one who calls him by his real last name.
Instead of responding immediately, he takes a long swig of coffee.]
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[She takes a sip from her own mug, leaning against the far wall and watching him with feigned annoyance.
If they just refuse to acknowledge how ridiculous they are, they'll stop being so ridiculous.]
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Especially not since Saul's just burst out laughing.]
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She takes another slow sip, looking a little smug about this turn of events.
See?
She made it not awkward.]
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MAYBE HE'S LAUGHING BECAUSE HE STILL FEELS SO AWKWARD
DID YOU EVER THINK ABOUT T H A T]
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At least she's not ridiculous.]
Are you done?
[so judgemental]
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[The answer is still "no," though. He needs to sit down.
And Mike needs to climb into Steph's lap and meow her fuzzy little head off in greeting, apparently, while Captain Doofus over there stops snickering.
It might be a while.]
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It's not like Saul can judge her for it, considering how often she's caught him talking to Mike.
At least the whole thing keeps her amused for a few minutes, though eventually she looks over at him.]
I really did like it.
[The book, of course.
She just wants to make sure he knows that.]
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Since he needs the few minutes to calm his shit down, he takes them, drinking a bit more of his coffee and focusing on the mug.
It almost works, but then she interrupts him with that.
And it looks like all the light in the world is in his eyes when he peers up at her with that huge smile of his and says:] Yeah?
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But she can't really complain, since it's her fault this time.]
Yeah. [She smiles back, before ducking her head with a laugh. She just can't help it.] You've set the bar pretty high, though. Better start planning for Christmas.
[Nevermind they already had a Christmas.]
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That just makes it worse. Or better, he guesses.
She's anticipating a future. Christmas is two whole months away; that's a long time. She must know Saul is terrified of losing her — she woke up to find him clinging to her in the middle of the night enough times while they were in Chicago to have gotten the hint — and most days, he can't go without wondering how long this will last. It's in his nature to go looking for the expiration date on things, to anticipate the moment when whatever's going right will go wrong. He likes to be prepared.
But two months, wow.
He must be doing something right after all.]
Maybe I already have.
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Good to know I'm not the only one who can plan ahead.
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He's thinking. Will they be back home by Christmas, or —
Hey, wait.
That's a funny thought.
Home.
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[She's tempted to tell him to take a nap, if he's going to keep being a dork.]
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