Platter

Nate steps inside, the click of her heels washed away by the murmurs of the patrons.
Her target, one Ranger Jones, leans back, elbows on the bartop, directly under one of the warm, yellow lights.
Nice touch, Walker. Served up on a platter, indeed.
She strides over, calls for the bartender, bumps—
A splash of beer hits the floor—
"Oi! Watch—"
"Oh! Thought I had a little more space." Nate leans away, blinks wide, chestnut eyes. "I didn't soak you, did I?"
"'m oh—" Jones clears his throat, blushes a most charming shade of pink. "Totally unwet."
Mmm ... he's even prettier in person.
"That's a relief." Nate lets her shoulders drop—the wide neckline of her blouse slips, exposes a hint of tattooed skin—
Jones' eyes slide to the ink.
—bobs her head toward Jones' beer. "May I get you a replacement?"
He jerks his eyes back to hers, flushes even pinker. "Nah. 'm okay." 
Nate slides onto the stool. "Well, be sure to tell me if you change your mind."
Promises, "Yea." Exhales, turns back to his beer.
"Seems to me there's more than a spilled drink getting you down."
"Yea." Sighs, deflates. 
"They pretty?" 
Scoffs, "No. Her hair—" Touches something imaginary against the front of his shoulder. "She had stupid hair."
Walker, you are a dead man.
"Wish my hair was like that," Nate says wistfully. "Mine's too fragile to grow long." 
"Yours is nice. Pretty." 
Nate looks up through her lashes. "Why thank you, ...?"
"Jackson."
"Thank you, Jackson."
He ducks his head.
"Your hair's nice, too." Reaches— "May I?" 
"Sure." Jones tilts his head. 
Nate runs a hand through his hair. "So soft!" Gives him a Look. "Spill."
"I, uh, use this mint--well, mint/y--shampoo I probably pay too much for and a shea conditioner every couple of days and then whatever crap Walker gives me."
"Walker?" 
"My handler." 
"You have a handler?" 
Jones rubs his neck. 
"You must be important, then. Or very well off."
He scoffs. "Sorta." Preens a little, puffing up. "I'm a Ranger."
Nate sits up straighter. "I /thought I recognized you! You threw me off by being more handsome in person."
Jones beams.
"So, what is a Ranger such as yourself doing in this wretched hive of scum and villainy?"
He lights up—shutters. "It's not that bad." 
Walker taps Jones' arm. "I need t' call it a night. Call for a car when you're ready to go back."
"Uh." Blinks rapidly. "Right."
"Seeya tomorrow, Jack."
Jones flicks a salute. "Later, Jamie."
Jamie nods to Nate—
She smiles back, but her eyes promise him murder. 
—leaves quickly. 
"This a typical Ranger dive?" she asks, subtly eyeing the TV. 
"Er," Jones rubs his neck. "I don't get—I don't bother getting out much." 
"You keep up with any programmes?" 
"A couple." 
Nate nods at the screen, now teasing the more mature aspects of a late-prime time show. "Seen any of that one?" 
Jones glances up. "Nah, too many sex—" Double takes. "Are ... Are you trying to pick me up?" 
"Mmhmm." 
Jones makes a faint revelation noise. 
.
The driver opens the door for Jones, who steps back for Nate. 
"Thank you," she replies. 
Jones, ears rather pink, mumbles something to the effect of 'you're welcome' as he follows her in. 
The driver closes the door and a moment later the car glides into motion. 
Nate eyeballs the distance between her hand (her side of the middle seat) and Jones' (tucked close to his lap), says instead, "You can get handsy if you want."
Jones' ears redden, he croaks what could possibly an affirmative, and then he leans over, pecks the corner of her mouth, and flees for his side of the car.
"Jackson, honey, when a gal says you can get handsy, she means you can get handsy." 
Jones' neck flushes. 
Nate pushes herself across the car, sits in his lap. "Permission to kiss you, Captain?" 
That works.
.
>and Nate starts her work in earnest ....<
Category:Ficlet
Category:Work in Progress
Category:Nate
Category:Jackson
Category:Jamie
Category:Jackson is a nerd
Category:Nate (ficlet)
Category:Jackson (ficlet)
Category:Jamie (ficlet)
Category:Platter arc
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