Natalie stomps about her house. She throws beer bottles away. She jerks the pizza box closed. She washes two plates. She flips open her phone and hits speeddial, better judgement long since fled. She doesn't wait for a hello - as soon as there's an answer she says, "I'm kind of drunk and I'm going to spend the evening sulking and maybe crying if I don't have some company. What are you doing?"

The answer comes as, "Yeah," and then trails off into silence as Bahir wisely does not try to speak over Natalie. He rolls a pen in his fingers, and then rubs at the arch of an eyebrow. A faintly exasperated sort of humor warms his voice. "Wow, you sure know how to tempt a guy. I was reading. I can bring the reading over, or just do it later, though. Nothing pressing."

He knows her so well. There is a sense of relief in Natalie's voice as soon as he speaks, and she leans forward into the counter, slumping her elbows atop it. "Don't care," she mutters. "Just come keep me from wallowing in self-pity? Please?"

With a cheerful sort of ruthlessness, Bahir says, "Maybe I can make you highlight." He leans forward to shuffle together a few periodicals, and then slides them into his messenger bag. "Want me to bring anything over? Other than myself?"

"A big fluffy blanket and lots of chocolate," Natalie suggests hopefully before sighing and answering, "No, not unless you want to drink to match. I've got some beer left but-- not much."

"Are you--" Bahir breaks off, and hastily reforms his next words. "--kidding? Fluffy?" He scoffs. "Maybe I will just bring myself, after all. I'll be there in thirty."

"K," Natalie answers. "I will be here and drunk," she promises, and slumps her way from kitchen to couch.

What a delight to look forward to. After a certain amount of time, Bahir arrives with a double-tap of knuckles on the door.

Right? Such is the burden Bahir bears, being the /real/ BFF. The double tap stirs Natalie slowly, and after a moment she jerks the door open. It appears that perhaps she has not /entirely/ held out on the crying, for her eyes a bit puffy behind her glasses, but they are at least dry now.

Bahir probably did not bring alcohol. The shapes are entirely wrong within the plastic bag looped off of his wrist. He did, however, apparently bring something -- other than himself, and his messenger bag. A damp chill clings to his jacket as he crosses the threshold. Pulling it off reveals a long-sleeved green shirt over a white button-down; he leaves one green-clad arm extended. Either he wants her to take a bag, or is offering a hug. OR his elbow is locked in place. OR he is pointing. OR--.

Natalie will go for the hug. Shut up. She steps into him with a bit of a desperate cling and a tiny sniffle, tucking both of her arms around his middle. After a moment she huffs, "You're kind of cold."

"It is kind of cold outside. Also, wet." Folding his arms around her, Bahir gives Natalie a brief squeeze. The chill off his clothing is soon warmed by the usual heat of his body. No hypothermia, then.

Good news. Natalie holds him tight for several moments - minutes, really - until she finally starts to feel a bit self conscious and perhaps a little silly. Only then does she pull away and take his bag, glancing up at him with a frown. "What'd you bring?"

A plastic bag within the plastic bag crinkles as it slides down Bahir's arm as he pulls it around. He waggles it at Natalie to take and investigate. "Do you have milk?"

Natalie does, digging into the bag with far more crinkling than is /strictly/ necessary. She glances up at him briefly and nods. "Milk, yeah-- I think?"

Chocolate-covered marshmallows sit within the clear wrapping. It is labeled 'Hot Cocoa Kit'. "I was going to get more beer, but then -- I was kind of cold already, so I didn't want it. This is hot. Also, chocolate." Bahir looks smug, as though he is some kind of genius.

Natalie looks up at Bahir with wide eyes, as though he is some kind of /god/. "Oooh, Bahir. I fucking love you," she declares worshipfully, and turns swiftly to make her way into the kitchen to heat milk.

"You're welcome." Dropping his messenger bag on the couch, Bahir trails after Natalie to get out the mugs as she extracts the milk. "I thought about tea. Tea is not chocolate." See? That is the kind of wisdom and insight you get being a genius-god.

"Gosh, I'm glad as hell my best friend is smart," Natalie answers, and from her tone, this is not precisely a joke tonight. She moves past him in the kitchen, hefting milk to counter and then frowning at it. "Microwave or stove?"

"Microwave is faster." Genius, god, etc. etc.

"Oh. Well." Natalie frowns, as if considering that, and then edges toward Bahir with her uncapped bottle so she can pour into the provided mugs.

Bahir slides the mugs across the counter. He takes the first, once filled, and turns to pop it in, and then adds the second. He closes the door and then sort of holds his fingers over the buttons. "Hmm." He punches 2:30, and hits enter. "I don't think I've ever microwaved milk before."

"That is way too long," Natalie opines, having turned to lean back into her counter with her arms crossed over her chest as she eyes the microwave.

"Well, then we can just watch it." Bahir leans over, eyeballing the tops of the mugs as they turn past him. "If they bubble over or explode, probably too long."

"We could start with less time and work our way up," Natalie suggests instead.

"I'll check it a minute," Bahir promises, falling quiet as he waits. Whir, whir, whir.

Natalie frowns and matches silence, eyes fixed on the microwave.

At a minute, Bahir pops open the door to dip his pink inside the rim of the nearest mug. "Little longer," he says, and closes the door. He turns back to eye Natalie. WHIR, WHIR, WHIR.

Natalie scowls in return. SCOWL SCOWL SCOWL

"--oops." One mug begins to bubble, and Bahir hastily opens the microwave to evict the mugs and set them on the counter. When the backs of his fingers brush the mug proper, rather than the handle, upon release, he twitches a swear. "Fuck. Hot." He eyes the steaming milk. "Do you think it should cool down a little, or should we put the marshmallows in?"

"Marshmallows are meant to get melty," Natalie opines, leaning in toward Bahir to consider the steam. "Put them in. And don't /touch/ it if it's hot!"

"I didn't mean to." Tone sulky, Bahir reaches over to get the bag of marshmallows and extract two per mug. He plops them in with care and respect for the heat of the contents of the mug.

"Haven't you ever made hot chocolate before?" Natalie demands.

"I'm sure I've made hot chocolate at some point." Bahir looks somewhat blank. Thinking.

"Wow," says Natalie, staring at him.

"Maybe for Percy? It's mostly coffee and tea." Bahir watches the progression of meltyness, leaning forward. "Should we, uh, stir?"

"You're killing me," Natalie says, and moves in to elbow Bahir out of the way and finish the job herself.

Bahir steps back to allow the person of greater experience to conclude the experiment. "I've /had/ it before. With you, even. I just don't really, you know, keep any. At home."

"That's because you grew up in Bahrain," Natalie grumps, and it is only just barely that she refrains from calling Bahir's homeland something exceedingly mature, like 'stupid'.

"On the other hand, it means I can experience the joy of making hot cocoa /for the very first time/ with you!" A Hallmark lilt carols through Bahir's voice, obnoxious.

"I will so just turn around and punch you tonight," Natalie warns, although when she turns it is instead to carefully hand the hot mug to Bahir.

"I am glad you did not throw that." Taking the mug with ginger care, Bahir taps his fingers against the side. A trifle too hot to fully wrap, he blows across the top.

"Well," Natalie allows, as if it was a close thing. She too blows across her mug and then, sighing heavily, moves out of the kitchen and toward the couch.

Ducklinging after Natalie, Bahir waits for her to seat before settling himself. He nudges his bag up against the arm of the couch, trapped at his side. He looks around. Dum de do.

Natalie sits, wait for Bahir to sit, and then promptly rearranges herself so that she can lean into him, balancing her mug carefully on the edge of her knee. "Elias came by," she explains. "Brought pizza. With bacon." Her nose wrinkles in reponse to said topping.

Bahir snorts, rearranging to shift his mug into his far hand and drape his other arm around Natalie. "Was it made of soy?"

"No. It was made of gross."

"Don't like bacon?" Bahir looks mildly surprised. "I thought all Americans ate bacon. I thought you wrapped every bite of food in bacon. Especially in Iowa."

"You are so close to injury tonight," Natalie sniffs.

"It's a good thing you have such astonishing self-restraint," Bahir agrees.

"My self restraint fucking sucks," Natalie answers, and drops her head heavily to Bahir's shoulder.

"How is your hot cocoa?" As segues go, Bahir's is not smooth.

Natalie turns her head a bit to look up at him and then sighs quietly and lifts her head to take a careful sip. "It's good," she answers.

"Good." Bahir takes a cautious sip of his own, once she's proven that it is no longer molten through example.

"Yeah," Natalie answers, and sips again.

After a second sip, Bahir is quiet a moment, and then says, "Sooo."

"He's mad at me," Natalie supplies, and then, "Also, I had Ryan Hewitt over, so please don't slam the door on your way out when you leave, because I don't think it can take a third time tonight."

Bahir looks blank, and then says, "/Elias/? Is /mad/ at you?" He is so incredulous! Natalie is so likeable and not-mad-at-able! Onnnnnnn the subject of Ryan, however, just a grunt. He clears his throat.

Natalie shifts uncomfortably and straightens to look over at Bahir. "I can't tell whether you are being sarcastic at me," she accuses.

"No. Seriously. What the fuck does he have to be mad at you about?" Bahir asks. Seriously!

"Oh. Um. Well. I guess the part where I implied that he would not actually keep in touch and where I was-- kind of mad at him," Natalie supposes to her mug.

"Because he's done a great job of keeping in touch /so far/." Solidarity! Bahir scoffs, taking a sip of his cocoa.

"That was kind of my point," Natalie answers quietly. "He told me not to be like that." She sighs and glances over at Bahir again. "I don't know. Maybe I'm being too hard on him. It's been a shitty few months. But just--" She pauses and breathes in carefully, then explains, "Do you know he didn't tell me himself because he was busy going to Georgia to meet Jackson's /parents/?"

Bahir's tone veers lighter: "He knew he was on a time limit. I hadn't realized travel completely shortcuts his ability to pick up a phone."

Natalie shrugs and frowns. FROWNS. After a brief silence she allows, "Yeah, well. That's kind of what I thought."

"Did he apologize?" wonders Bahir.

"He said--" Natalie pauses and squints, clearly trying to remember, and then finishes, "He was sorry about all of this. And that's when he told me he-- had to get out of the city, he said. Wanted to tell me himself but he was busy going to Georgia."

INFINITELY picky when it comes to the wording of apologies (--just ask Percy!), Bahir looks dubious. "That sounds more like a vague semi-apology and excuse."

"He's sorry I'm mad," Natalie says bluntly. "But he thinks I'm unreasonable for being upset. And he's annoyed that I-- he said I was trying to cut him out of my life. /He's/ moving to fucking LA and can't manage to pick up a phone to tell me, and /I'm/ the one--" She breaks off in a sudden surge of anger and shakes her head.

"Yeah. That's not an apology at all," Bahir says promptly. "Fuck that. You know?"

"Yeah," Natalie says, and takes another sip of her hot chocolate. There is a brief pause and then she allows, "Be nice if it worked that way, you know?"

Bahir gives a slight shake of his head. He doesn't know. He sips, and makes an inquiring noise before asking, "What way?"

"Fuck that," Natalie echoes, lifting her mug a little as if in salute.

"Not that easy, huh?" Bahir lifts his mug -- but only to take another long drink.

"I miss Elias," Natalie admits, leaning into Bahir again. "I mean. Before. All the shit and--" She does not say 'the boyfriend'. It might be obvious anyway.

"Yeah." Bahir grimaces, giving Natalie's shoulders a squeeze, but finds himself unable to offer any other sort of encouragement.

"Fuck, Bahir!" Natalie says, heartfelt, and then lapses back into silence and drops her head to his shoulder once more.

"I solemnly promise not to run off to the other end of the country, or another country with my boyfriend without at least being a not-an-asshole about telling you," Bahir not-so-solemnly, in fact, promises.

"Don't you dare fucking run off /at all/," Natalie corrects, digging her elbow /hard/ into his side.

"Ow!" Bahir pulls Natalie in closer, ruining her leverage for elbow-jabbing. "Right. No running off."

Natalie sniffles rather more seriously than she might like and mutters, "Okay. Good. Stay here with me."

"What, here?" teases Bahir, looking around. "I don't know how I feel about moving in before marriage."

"I'd let you have the bed," Natalie offers generously. "I don't snore."

"Wow. You'd let me have the bed." Bahir looks impressed. "That's an incredible sacrifice, Natalie Simon."

"It is. My bed is comfy." Natalie shifts her cheek against his shoulder and tells him, "You have to make the coffee, though. Cook once in awhile."

"In that case, the kitchen must be reorganized to my satisfaction. And you can't move anything in it. Ever."

"Okay," Natalie answers easily enough.

"Also, I have veto over all music and television. Even watching it on mute isn't good enough because I can hear the whine." Bahir casts about for further obnoxiousness. "Also, it has to be warmer in here. I can deal with it for the short-term, but in the long-term--" He jerks his thumb up.

"Now you're just being an asshole," Natalie accuses. "Let me tell you, Bahir al-Razi. I have had /enough/ asshole tonight."

"Then why on earth did you invite me over?" Bahir /baffles/.

"So you could make me feel better!" Natalie answers in exasperation.

"Is it working?"

Natalie is silent for a moment, considering this, and then she allows on a sigh, "Little bit."

"Then obviously you haven't had enough asshole. You have just had the wrong kind."

That earns a small laugh from Natalie as she leans forward to deposit her empty mug on the coffee table. "Yeah," she says fondly. Leaning back again, she adds, "Anyway. Then I got a call from Ryan Hewitt. I'd been calling him all week-- he's had some sort of-- I mean. The only thing I can think of is that he's sent some telepath out of control-- you remember that thing with my memory when we were all sick?"

Bahir squirms, arms tucked as his side as she leans back in. He looks at his mug. Is it empty? No, not yet. He sips. "Yeah," he says, coughing. "See, that's why he should be trying to get that under control."

"I know," Natalie says in short irritation. "But no, everything has to be this big-- anyway. He's missing like a week. I almost-- I was /so/ fucking close to telling him I could find out for him. Just reach back and see--" She glances over at Bahir as she settles against the cushions, eyes widened as if to indicate just what a disaster /that/ would have been.

Midway through his last, tiny sip, Bahir inhales it. He splutters forward in a lurch, mug sort of aimed at the coffee table in a two-inch drop rather than set neatly upon it. He coughs. He wheezes. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes water. "Shit." After a second, voice strained (from the coughing!!!) he repeats, "Shit. I bet he would've freaked out."

"Shit, fuck, are you okay?" Natalie wonders, leaning forward after Bahir in concern.

"Swallowed the wrong way," Bahir says with a flap of his hand. "Laughing."

"You sure?" Natalie wonders doubtfully before she rocks back again and breathes in. "Anyway. He was a fucking ass at me - the man lives to be a /martyr/, I swear. I mean. I'm sorry about his wife, that fucking sucks. But--" She shakes her head in irritation and then allows, "I'm glad he was, because offering right now, while I'm kind of drunk-- if I decide to do it, I think being /sober/ would probably be best."

"Surprise, surprise," Bahir says, voice still a little strained as he recovers from the coughing fit. He wipes his hand on his jeans, and then rubs his eyes. "You really want to tell him, though?"

"No," Natalie says firmly. She sighs and says, "But I also don't-- I remember not remembering, Bahir. And it was only two days. He had frantic messages from his son-- he has no idea why he wasn't returning phone calls." She glances at him and spreads her hands, palm up, her brows furrowed in a request for understanding.

"I could try talking to him. Did you -- mention it to him at all?" Bahir asks. "If I can get to him before long, I might be able to undo some of the damage, especially if it was an accident. But, uh, I'd rather you talked to him, first. About me helping him." It's amazing that he doesn't choke now! ON HIS HYPOCRISY.

"I told him I'd talked to my friend," Natalie says, wrinkling her nose. "He kind of stormed out-- are you sure you want to?" she asks watching him. "Do you want me to tell him it's /you/. I mean-- I don't even know if he'll take my phone call after today. I don't know that I /want/ him to. I just can't--" She flutters an indecisive hand.

"I don't know." Bahir sighs. "That which does not kill you makes you stronger. He'll probably be fine. Worry about it later, you know?" OR WORRY NOW.

"When I'm sober," Natalie agrees on a sigh. "Right. I'll-- think about it. Whether I want to tell him. See what we can see about the past week. Or-- not."

Tone deadban, Bahir says, "Maybe you'll just get more wild sex."

"Everyone is having wild-- /hey/." Natalie's sighing turns abruptly to a sly grin, and she pulls up to turn and /beam/ at Bahir. "/So/."

Bahir continues in his deadpan of purposeful ... misconstruence. "I think Ryan is straight."

"Yeah, and I'm sure he's having wild sex with hot women because everyone in the world but me is getting some," Natalie answers, quickly dismissive. "/So/. Percy stopped by the lab and wrote you a note." A significant pause. "In Arabic."

"I gave you a /catalogue/," says Bahir with a low-lashed look of chiding. That was helpful! The chiding slips to a wince of chagrin. He begins to look flustered, somewhat strained about it what with the whole GHOSTING RYAN'S MISSING DAYS thing. "Ah."

"I want to know what it says," Natalie demands, having, for her part, cheerfully moved on.

"Too bad!"

"Do not be an asshole, al-Razi," Natalie demands, turning sideways to face him on the couch and poking a finger at his stomach. "I want to know whether he managed to do more than /smirk/ about it. Come on!"

Bahir looks thoughtful, and then smug. "Hang on," he says, leaning over to grab his bag and rifle through it. Amidst other notes lies Percy's note, which he hands over to Natalie. "There you go." He is not translating.

"Gee, thanks. And what's it /say/?" Natalie insists, twisting the note. "I know he added shit on."

"Words." Bahir now looks angelic.

"Fine," Natalie says, with a threatening glint in her eye. "Don't tell me. I'll just poke a little and see whether he followed /through/ on any of it..."

Bahir flaps the note. "I just got this earlier today. You poke through and you will find some /really/ exciting reading-of-articles, you pervert."

"Then I can see what precidents were-- come /on/, Bahir! Tell me!" Natalie's practically whining now, and she leaaaaans toward him.

Bahir reads: "'Stopped in. You weren't here. Natalie was, with a great deal of cleaning fluid.'" Edit, edit, edit. "'Can't say I was actually here pining after you,' which I think he shouldn't have admitted," he adds in an aside, "because obviously I want to be pined over, but he goes on, "'Place doesn't even smell like you with all this muck in the air. See you tonight.' The end.""

Bahir reads: "'Stopped in. You weren't here. Natalie was, with a great deal of cleaning fluid.'" Edit, edit, edit. "'Can't say I was actually here pining after you,' which I think he shouldn't have admitted," he adds in an aside, "because obviously I want to be pined over, but he goes on, 'Place doesn't even smell like you with all this muck in the air. See you tonight.' The end."

"And he added /what/ in the post script?" Natalie demands.

"See you tonight," Bahir lies.

"So you're telling me that your boyfriend is both lame and a wuss?" Natalie recognizes.

Bahir sighs, "There's a bit about you at the end."

"What?" Natalie startles. "Really?"

Bahir reads again, with heavy editing: "'P.S.: Natalie is quite insistent that I provide you a pornographic postscript to this note. Her interest is hilarious.'"

PS to the P.S.: As he reads, he looks a little flustered.

Natalie is perhaps a little too drunk to be properly observant. "And that's it?" she baffles, clearly disappointed. "Seriously? Man, if I could write notes in a language that most people can't read, I would /so/ leave more interesting shit than that."

"Plenty of people can read Arabic!" Bahir exclaims in irrational defense.

"You know what I mean," Natalie grumps.

"What would you write?" asks Bahir, because it must be asked.

"I dunno, who'm I writing to?" Natalie wonders candidly. She wiggles a little and stretches out, leaning back against the arm of the couch and tucking her feet against Bahir's leg.

"Your extremely hot and astonishingly intelligent and talented Bahraini boyfriend. We will call him ... Faisal."

"You realize that's kind of creepy, right?" Natalie wonders, eyeing Bahir down the length of the couch.

Bahir glances back at Natalie, all innocence. "It's a perfectly respectable name, Faisal."

Natalie studies Bahir doubtfully, but alcohol and hot chocolate and weariness combine to make her warm and fuzzy headed, and she gives him with a faint frown of thought. "Well. It kind of depends-- you know. On what he likes. I guess some guys wouldn't be into it at all, but even then there's a certain-- you know. Um. Anyway. Adjectives are good - I told Percy that! And situations. You know."

"You should help me write a note to /Percy/," Bahir suggestions, thumbing back over his shoulder at his bag. "/His/ could've been better." Not that it was in any way dirty.

Natalie lifts her brows a little and then grins, clearly amused. "I'm not sure it really counts if you have help," she points out. "Surely you can manage on your own."

Bahir looks thoughtful. "Adjectives and situations, huh?"

"Fantasies," Natalie suggests helpfully. "Things you've been thinking about. Or remembering."

Nose wrinkling, Bahir squirms. He gives Natalie a slight, helpless smile. "Write many dirty notes in your day?"

"Brianna liked them," Natalie shares matter of factly. Of course she did. "Not that many," she adds after a moment. "Notes don't... go away. And I can't write in Arabic. But um-- other things."

Bahir looks fascinated. "Other things?"

"Things that one cannot keep so that they might accidentally be found later!" Natalie says.

"Like?"

"Well. Um. Phone--- calls."

Bahir smirks. "What if someone was recording your phonecalls for some reason?"

"I am still way too drunk for you to joke about shit like that!" Natalie answers, and kicks at his leg.

"Ow," Bahir says, without heat.

"Yeah, well, you deserve it!" Natalie says. And kicks him again.

"Ow, fuck! Here I am being emotionally supportive and you abuse me! Refund!"

"/This/ is supportive?" Natalie wonders, eyes wide. The faint twitch of her lips gives her away, though. "What exactly would you be refunded, anyway?"

"Time. Energy." Bahir ticks points on his fingers. "Emotional investment. 8 dollars for the marshallows."

Natalie snorts. "Emotional investment and eight bucks. Wow. I've positively drained you /dry/."

"Amazing I put up with it," agrees Bahir, complacent.

Natalie snickers quietly and shifts, moving to flop back against Bahir's side and drape an arm across him. "It's cause you love me," she declares, self-confident.

Hooking his arm across her shoulders in turn, Bahir gives Natalie a faint, only /slightly/ tense smile. "That must be why," he agrees, "because logic clearly has nothing to do with it."

Natalie apparently finds that funny, because she slides into giggles and adjusts into a less clingy lean. "Will you stay and watch a movie with me or something?" she requests. "Or do your reading while I do? I'm not touching my defense again tonight, I don't think."

"Of course. Put on something brainless so I can look up at the shiny bits," Bahir suggests, leaning over to rifle through his bag. Pen, pen, highlighter, notebook, stack of reading--. It is like Mary Poppins!

Natalie snickers a little as she pushes herself up to let Bahir rifle and to flip through her own DVDs. What she ends up with is not shiny, but it is brainless, and soon she is letting her brain slip away as eyelids droop ever heavier while Bahir works. BETTER END TO THE EVENING.

GO BAHIR.

Bahir is Natalie's little ray of sunshine. AND THIS COULDN'T AT ALL BE BAD.