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((ooc: Noooo! My doors-! ...They feel violated. ))

Rupert followed the puppy down the hall, and laughed. Well, obviously that leg isn't bothering him much. With a shake of his head, he went back into his living room, and flipped on the stereo. Black Sabbath started blaring. He sat down on the couch--the couch where he and Raina had-- he shifted over to sit on the chair, and spread out a slew of case notes and half-finished reports on the coffee table in front of him. It made a small hill. ...Okay. He could do this. With Voodoo blasting from a set of very nice half-a-paycheck speakers, he cracked his knuckles dramatically, and set to work.

"Say you don't know me, you'll burn
you can refuse, but you'll lose, it's by me
Say you don't want me, you'll learn
nothin' you do will be new, 'cause I'm through"

You know what else a puppy was good for? Not thinking about the Ice Queen.

"Call me a liar, you knew
you were a fool"

...Work. Right. He was doing work now. Rupert sat with a black pen twirling lazily between the fingers of his left hand, and stared down at the work he had to get done before he started at the camps.

Flipsy, meanwhile, had curled up on her pink Princess dog bed, at the side of Rupert's chair. The puppy was an undignified lump of energy. She wasn't about to be dragged into its inane games. Even if they did look like fun.

Rupert had forgotten how much puppies barked. It amused him, but he wasn’t quite sure how amused his neighbors would be. ...Something to deal with if and when the complaints came. For now, he set Flipsy’s food dish on the ground with its newly acquired payload, and took out a plastic bowl from his cupboards to fill for the puppy.

That’s about when the Lab started making horrible whimpering noises. Rupert turned around in time to see Flipsy happily trot in from the living room. He set the puppy’s bowl down on the counter, and went to see what was wrong.

Nothing that he could tell. “Did you two play too rough, LG?” He scratched behind the puppy’s ears, hoping that would distract the dog from its injury. “Hey, want to know something? It’s your dinner time.” He grabbed the plastic bowl off of the counter, and set it in front of the puppy.

...Yes, Rupert was the kid of man who talked to his dogs.

((ooc: Continued from “Little puppy lost”.))

Flipsy was waiting for That Tolerable Guy Who Feed Her at the door, like she always did. Tail wagging, like it always was. Pink “Princess” food bowl gripped daintily between her teeth, because he was late. The door was opening opening opening so her tail was wagging wagging wagging (enthusiasm was the trick to getting prompt food service)—

—her tail stopped wagging. What. Was. He. Carrying.

He was carrying competition for food. That’s what he was carrying. A puppy. Competition for attention then, too. A black Labrador puppy. It was her size right now, but it was going to grow fast. Flipsy knew all about puppies. Back in the doggie lock up, the puppies had come with “get out off the slammer free” cards attached to their wiggling butts and over-sized paws. Dogs past their puppyhood—even ones only a year and a half old, like herself—got to sit on their barking haunches and watch puppy after puppy leave while they rotted in their wire-fenced cells. Flipsy didn’t much like puppies.

“Hey, girl. I’ve got a friend for you. Meet LG.” Her human barked. ((ooc: That’s right, Wallace! Renamed, yo! “LG” = “Little Guy”. )) He set the intruder on the floor in front of her, being careful of its bandaged smells-like-That-Man-With-The-Needles hind leg. Flipsy started her tail wagging again. Her human was watching how she’d react. Attacking puppies didn’t get her food.

So she set down her bowl—rather pointedly, at his feet—and sniffed the invader over while radiating as much all-around poodle-c0ocker spaniel cuteness as was physically possible.

...There would be time to deal with the intruder, when her human’s back was turned. Flipsy could bide her time. She was an ex-convict, after all. This pup wasn’t nothin’, compared to the big dogs she’d dealt with in the slammer.

Rupert watched her out of the corner of his eye--the blushing, the ducking under the covers, and the reemergence with that smile on her lips. He tried not to grin at her. As she reached over and pushed the hair out of his face, he simply smiled softly. "Mornin--"

beep beep beep

Rupert was off the couch so fast he sent the blanket flying. It fell, parachute style, onto Flipsy. It was about then that his instinctive reaction to his pager's sounding wore off. He turned to Raina, trying to look sheepish. "Sorry--I've got to get that. Work." He headed down the hall to his bedroom, making a conscious effort not to run to check the number.

When he came back out, he was wearing dress pants, and holding a cellphone between his shoulder and his ear as he struggled to get his arm through the long sleeve of a gray button-up shirt. "--I didn't hear it going off. Honest to God. I was sleeping on the couch. None of your business, Cynthia--with all due respect." He blushed, his eyes straying to Raina in response to something said on the other line. "Captain Myers. Sexual harassment goes both ways--remember the work shop? I am feeling very sexually harassed. Might even file a report," he was grinning, now. The guffaws from the other end were loud enough that even Raina would have been able to hear them. She might have been able to hear what was said next, as well:

"Just don't sexually harass her on my time, Rup. Your ass belongs in my office; fifteen minutes--" the woman on the other end of the phone got control of her laughter enough to lower her volume.

Rupert grinned for a moment as he listened further. Slowly, the expression faded, replaced by something that was all business. "In the park again? Great. Just great. Remind me to phone the Senator--we need that bill to pass, sooner rather than later. Hell, what I wouldn't give to see them all registered. Yeah. I'm comin'. Do you think Cassandra can keep the witness talkin' long enough for me to get there? Yeah, okay. Got it." He switched the phone to his other ear, and went to work worming his other arm into its designated sleeve. "I'll be there." He flipped the phone closed, dropped it into a pant's pocket, and set to work buttoning up the front of his shirt. For a moment, the scar on his chest that a pretty little ribboned mutie had given him was highlighted clearly in the sunlight. Then it was hidden again. He tucked his shirt into his pants. "I'm sorry, Raina; we had a double homicide last night. Mutants, again. I've got to go to the station. Listen, can I give you a ride back to the group home?" He felt bad about this. Really bad. But while he was willing to overlook an expired visa... there was no way he was going to skirt his duties as an officer of the law when it came to mutants. Not even for Raina. This was bigger than her, and bigger than him.

Her heart felt like it was frightened bird, trying to escape. Definitely too heavy for a first date. Silence settled on the room like a funeral shroud. He’d handled that badly. He didn’t think he could have handled it worse, actually. The truth wasn’t some magic cure for all situations—as a cop, he should know that lesson better than most.

”Well,” she began. Here it comes, he braced himself. “I certainly don't want this to be our last date...” She laughed, and something inside of him relaxed. "We need some practice to get this thing right."

Silence settled again. But it was almost a comfortable silence. At the least, it was a happy silence, at least on Rupert’s end—and a kiss from Raina was all the confirmation he needed that she was sharing his feelings. He leaned into it, feeling his natural heat being tempered by Raina’s inborn cool. Heavy for a first date? Definitely. What were they getting themselves into? Was it worth it?

Rupert’s mind stilled as their kiss lingered on. For the first time since the Sanctuary Massacre, he felt at peace, exactly where he was—with Raina. There was no need to throw himself into his work. There was no need to stare at the ceiling at four AM, tossing strategies to combat muties through his mind. There was nothing but this.

What were they getting themselves into? Something life-changing. Was it worth it? He had no doubts.

There was nothing that could change how he was feeling, right now, as he kissed Raina back.

"It was all a clever ploy to get you alone." She laughed, and Rupert joined in, after a startled moment. Now that... was a great line. "A cop who can cook, well now, you're a keeper."

He shrugged his shoulders, still chuckling. “It’s either cook, or eat at McDeepFried King, for us bachelors.” He located the muffins on the third shelf, towards the back, and extracted them past the manicotti and the eggplant parmesan with delicate finesse. They were only from yesterday—something he couldn’t say about everything in that mess. He shut the fridge door... and noted the small dog lolling her tongue at his feet. Now when had she gotten there? As soon as she heard “muffins”, probably. “You,” he stared down at her accusingly, “are the reason I can’t keep these on the counter.” Anyone who said little dogs couldn’t jump had never met Flipsy. She acted like a poodle-spaniel-cat mix, when it came to baked goods left undefended in high places. ...And she was giving him the puppy eyes. “Nu-uh, little girl. I’m not falling for that again.” Rupert said, refusing to look at her anymore as he brought the tray over to Raina. He set it on the coffee table, and sat back down on the couch. Only then did he answer her last question—the one he’d been pretending not to hear: "What did you think of the jazz club? I hope my friends didn't scare you..."

“Honestly? I’d be lying if I said the waitress didn’t make me uncomfortable.” He ran a hand through his hair. Chances were good—stupendously good, given what had happened with Yellow Eyes earlier that day—that not all of the kids she worked with were nice and normal like Michael. And obviously, she was fine with mutants. So he was going to try very hard to not sound like a zealot, for her sake. “She seemed like a nice enough girl, though. And that hair was... interesting. Joe seems cool—protective of you, like a big brother. Did you see that look on his face when we first walked in? I don’t think the matching clothes impressed him.” Rupert glanced at Raina’s Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers shirt, and plucked at his own Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. “Casey seemed like a very good guy, as well. Sometime, you’ll have to tell me the story of how he became an elder.” He looked at her warmly. “You seem to attract good people to you, Raina. I’m not sure if I fit the bill,” he laughed, a little self-cynically.

She’s always so cold, Rupert thought, as her hand wrapped around his. What had her friend at the jazz club said? “Too much time up North”? Rupert didn’t think about it for long—this was just who Raina was. As her head settled against his, he couldn’t help but smile to himself, just a little, at how their natures complemented. She was full of calmness and cold; he was a space heater with anger management issues. If this relationship did last... then he would definitely be getting the better end of the deal, gaining her as a partner.

“Can you ever forgive me for tonight?”

He smiled at her, his eyes showing a fond sort of amusement. “You, Raina,” he said simply, “apologize too much.” And he, Rupert, knew how to put a stop to that: he planted a chaste kiss on her lips. “You didn’t do anything wrong, all right? And this,” he smiled at her, “is by far the most memorably first date of my life.”

gruuumble

“hmmm... I think my stomach wants a word in.”

Rupert laughed. “Would it like some food it, too? I’ve probably got something in that fridge...” As a matter of fact, he knew he did. Underneath the gruff detective exterior lurked a man who actually liked to cook. But you’d be hard pressed to get him to admit it. He casually walked over to the kitchen area, and peered inside the fridge. He gave a melodramatically relieved sigh. “Looks like there’s more than spoiled milk and ketchup. That tummy of yours in the mood for anything in particular?”