triangularity | for Stefan

for Stefan

Maggie spends the first part of the evening on her laptop, liveblogging in one chat window and using the other half of the screen to monitor threads on her section of the After the End Times forum. Maggie's good with people. She never minds a turn on forum duty, and as a beta on the site, she pays her dues just like everyone else who isn't a department head. It's a refreshing change, actually, to have an entirely merit-based system where her last name doesn't mean a thing.

As the first movie winds down, Maggie sets aside the computer, standing up and stretching. She did look around enough to take stock of the room. Almost everyone here is a regular. She knows all of their food and drink preferences, and she fully expects a couple to stay for half the week.

So of course it's the newcomer who caught her attention. He seemed amused by the movie, and she agreed with him on this one. Funny how a horror movies aren't scary at all when the world has turned into one.

Whoever invited him probably pointed her out to Stefan. Maggie got his name from the security scans at the door, but she isn't especially worried about strangers in her house either way. She tosses the remote to another Fictional, letting him take over and set up the next movie.

Stefan's the only one who needs to tell her what he wants, which makes him the logical choice for help fetching it. Maggie makes her way across the room, leans over one arm of the couch, and and introduces herself, probably unnecessarily. "I'm Maggie. Help me carry snacks from the kitchen?"

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Between the medical work and the fact that he still seems more interested in her writing than in her family's influence, Maggie is very much looking forward to more time with Stefan. Usually the two spheres of her life are completely separate. People forget to acknowledge the one she chose unless it's the only context they have for knowing her. When the two worlds meet and someone still values her as a writer rather than her parents daughter... that's rare and special.

Her hair is still down and straightened, but the dress she has on by the time Stefan gets to her hotel is soft and clinging and not a bit uptight and professional. Date clothes, if very comfortable ones.

She clears his arrival with the hotel staff rather than coming down to meet him in the lobby herself. This isn't the Agora, and privacy isn't as highly valued here. Maggie opens the door to her room with a warm smile and steps forward to hug him. "Hello, Stefan."

Truthfully, Stefan can't remember the last time that he went on a date. It must've been before the Uprising - before everything went to hell in a handbasket - but he tugs on a blazer over his t-shirt and jeans, just to look a little nice for the occasion.

Before knocking on her door, he exhales slowly. It's just a date. One night to forget about his medical work, one night to maybe feel human again, and one night to enjoy a special room service picnic with an equally special woman.

(Wealth has never been Stefan's concern, not when he had invested his family's fortune as wisely as he could - he didn't need the Garcia's power or influence, though he wouldn't outright deny it either.)

"Hey, Maggie," he says as he rushes into her arms. "Can I come in?"

"Was the hug not welcome enough?" Maggie asks, and kisses Stefan on the cheek before stepping aside to let him past. "I think you'd better come in, now that you're here."

Luxury hotel suites are par for the course for Maggie. Stefan has seen her in her own, admittedly nice, but cluttered and comfortable, home. The room is huge, with a living room and bedroom and hot tub in it. She didn't request a small kitchen this time solely because she knew she wouldn't feel like cooking after long days at the conference.

Maggie heads straight for the couch, settling down in one corner and folding her legs under her.

“I think the kiss sealed the deal,” he teases, visibly relieved as he crosses the threshold. Hotel rooms are technically sacred spaces, though nebulous gray areas — he can't remember if he needs permission or not. Better to stay on the safe side, rather than letting the barrier smack him in the face.

Notably, he doesn't take in the space beyond a cursory glance of where everything is. This is a man who isn't fazed by luxury; he might even be accustomed to it. (His own room back at the conference hotel is a lot smaller, on account of him preferring not to spend more if he can help it. He doesn't exactly compel himself into hotels unlike a certain older brother.)

Following her in, he kicks his shoes off and sits on the couch beside her.

“So this is where they've put you up,” he comments, pulling one leg up under him. “I think we've got room for an actual picnic.”

"I usually do. My mother even claims I was conceived in a luxury hotel suite. Granted, I think she said it in hopes I'd never have sex in one, but..." Maggie grins mischievously and shrugs. "That ship sailed awhile ago."

She turns sideways, leaning against the arm of the couch to look at him. "How has your day been, Stefan?"

He laughs at the mental image - he can't quite relate, given that his mother passed away during his childhood, but he sure can imagine it.

"Day's been good. You know, same old, same old - giving presentations, listening to talks. This, right here? This is legitimately the highlight of my entire conference."

Stefan should've honestly expected her to attend, given the influence the Garcias had, but some small part of him had always thought they'd send a representative. Never, ever in a million years would he have guessed that Maggie herself would've deigned to visit.

"Next time you're going to one of these, you should tell me. I'll act as your translator."

A flattered, gratified smile spreads across Maggie's face at that answer. Being the highlight of anyone's week is a pleasant thing.

"I hold my own pretty well without a translator," Maggie protests amiably, "though I'd hardly turn down your company. I've had to pick up the vocabulary, and a knack for analyzing results and projections. I can understand big pictures on my own, and I pare down the projects I see to the ones that seem worth looking into by people who actually know what they're doing. I just play occasional figurehead."

"Fair enough," Stefan admits, half-tempted to scoot closer (but that's improper first date etiquette). "Half the jargon's gatekeeping, anyway. I don't get why they use five words when one or two'll do."

He does, theoretically - science can be complicated, but most concepts aren't. If Stefan had put a little more thought into his career, he could've been a science communicator, breaking down the latest research into laymen's terms without simplifying or exaggerating the findings.

"It's still a lot less boring when you're around."

"Because how else would we know they're more intelligent and better educated than we are?" Maggie asks, grinning. "Or we could credit some of them with the nicer explanation, that they're so wrapped up in their field they forget not everyone will grasp the complexity."

"Flatterer." But she knows he's sincere or there would be a very different expression on her face from the relaxed, easy smile currently gracing it. "Spend as much time as you like around me."

"Considering where we are, I think we have to swing with the nicer explanation." Stefan returns that grin, knowing full well that he's technically part of the group he's insulting.

"I think I will," he teases, reaching for a menu from a nearby table. "So did you order already, or do I get a say in what we're eating?"

Even if, you know, he doesn't technically need any of it.

"You get a say tonight. As for when I cook, I take requests and preferences into account, but I make the choices." Stefan has seen how accommodating she was with drink preferences, so that shouldn't seem like a hardship.

Maggie doesn't bother reaching for her own menu, shifting to lean in closer and read over Stefan's shoulder. Which she'll rest a hand on, as long as she's there.

"Perfect." One less thing he has to worry about. Stefan doesn't exactly need food, so if Maggie wants to take charge? By all means, go for it. "Hmm... everything looks good, so unless you've got a preference for meat or seafood, I might pick at random."

He grins, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"See, I eat pretty much everything, though oh. How do you feel about wine?"

"I'm not picky, but the chicken sounds good, with the lemon ginger sauce. And definitely dessert. Dark chocolate mousse with raspberry." She's decisive even if she does eat almost everything. "You can order anything you want."

Then she grins back at him. "As for wine, the answer is usually, 'yes please.' Preferably red."

Her chin joins her hand resting on his shoulder, because Maggie, unlike much of her generation, has never been big on personal space. Not with people she likes.

Oh, those were tempting choices. Delicious, tempting choices that made him re-think his choices - but in the end, Stefan settled on an compromise.

"Hm, then why don't I get the salmon and another order of that mousse? Along with red wine for us to share."

He doesn't mind the invasion of personal space, either - perhaps that gives him away, as someone that grew up before the Rising, but he missed that intimacy. He also missed people feeling free to touch him. So, without meaning to, he relaxes a little more.

Someone who noticeably relaxes instead of going tense for a fraction of second when you touch him. How nice. People like that do exist, but encountering them is always such a pleasant surprise. Maggie smiles, showing no sign of moving away even now that their decision is made and there's no menu to look over.

"Perfect. Hotel, we'd like to order the chicken with lemon and ginger, the salmon, two raspberry chocolate mousses, and a bottle of good red wine." Maggie speaks to the hotel computer in a tone that isn't quite as warm as the one she offers Stefan, but still normal. She doesn't mind talking to computers.

"Does it go without saying that this is the best part of my trip, too?"

For a fraction of a second, he freezes at the realization that yes, she can place an order with a voice-controlled computer rather than a phone call. God, technology moves faster than he can keep up with it.

"Mm, maybe, but I never mind hearing it." At least he's honest. Not where it counts, but he tries. "Maybe we should make our schedules coordinate more often."

Wait till he hears Maggie talking to her own house computer. It has Maggie's voice, which can be distinctly unsettling for people who don't like their computers to sound too much like humans. It's an unusual decision, but probably a deliberate one that Maggie derives amusement from.

"Mine is pretty simple most of the time. I'm a homebody. If you don't mind that I may fill the house with people and watch horror movies all night instead of sleeping like the rest of the world, you're always welcome. I can be lured elsewhere, with the right incentive, though."

Stefan shouldn't find it hard, should he set out to do so.

"Hm..." He pretends to seriously deliberate this, as if this is the hardest choice he's had to make all evening. "I think I'll just come over more often. Send me the details for your next film festival?"

Stefan doesn't want to rely on Zara for knowledge anymore. He doesn't need her - or Hazel - to shield him from a world he doesn't understand. No, he needs to embrace it. Being with Maggie is an excellent first step. It might be risky, given the prevalence of permanent, ineradicable security data, but Stefan likes this woman. He likes her a lot.

She's worth that risk, he thinks as he snuggles up. She's very, very worth the risk.

"You're already on that mailing list, though I might take you off of it and send you a message myself." Rather than the general invitations everyone gets.

She leans more of her weight against Stefan, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

"I did enjoy your writing, by the way."

Edited 2017-02-09 03:18 (UTC)

"Ooh, special treatment." He's flattered, truly, but - "You really don't have to. I'll stick to the mailing list like everyone else."

While he values his privacy, he's also certain that the other Fictionals won't do much more than allude to their relationship in whatever serialized romance they were writing next.

"Yeah? You actually read the whole collection?"

While he's even more flattered, he also knows deep-down, that his poems also leaned on the tragic side of life.

"Special treatment that really just means that I feel like talking to you," Maggie counters immediately. "Do you not want messages from me?"

There's only one correct answer to that question, Stefan, even if she's obviously joking when she asks it.

"Don't sound so surprised. I suppose 'appreciated,' is a better choice of word for the more tragic poetry than 'enjoyed.' Yes, I did."

He scrunches up his whole face. As much as he'd like the general mailing list, he likes messages from Maggie even more. It doesn't take a genius to pinpoint that right answer.

“Of course I do,” he relents, knowing that he's lost this round. “Just as much as I like knowing you appreciated them. They're uh, they're getting better in tone.”

Coincidentally, he had pitched a more hopeful series around the time he had met Maggie. Even more of a complete coincidence: each incident was timed with something even more hopeful. Not causal correlation. Of course not.

"Are they?" Maggie asks, smiling. She lifts her head enough to study Stefan for a moment. A shift in tone means good things. That he's happier.

Leaning in, she offers a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad. I'll look forward to reading those too."

Once again, he melts at the touch - but he turns his head and returns that kiss on the cheek.

"You'll be the first one to," he confesses, because her attention is the only kind he wants for this series of poems. (The replies and comments are always fun to read, but no one keeps him on his toes like Maggie.) "Should you want that, I mean."

That was the best thing to say. Maggie's whole face lights up, and she leans in closer, pressed up against Stefan's side. She takes his face in her hands, kissing him on the mouth this time. She's gentle but sure, not a bit of hesitation in it.

"I can't think of anything I'd like more. It would be an honor to get the first look at your newest work."

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