hc: whenever peter helps may make dinner/meals, they dance around together in the kitchen (this is kinda inspired by them dancing before homecoming)
peter used to sit at the kitchen table and watch may and ben dance together in the kitchen, ben would steal kisses from her an twirl her around and they would laugh and sing. and peter would jokingly complain about how embarrassing they were.
but then ben dies, and may doesn’t have anyone to dance with anymore. the apartment is a lot more quiet now without ben walking around playing his music and humming and singing. may was never really a good cook, ben did most of the cooking and may would usually just be in the kitchen to dance with him. they eat thai food a lot more now.
one day (about a month after ben’s passed) may seems really determined to make a decent meal. peter’s sat at the kitchen table doing his homework, may is at the stove stirring sauce. it’s quiet. it’s boring. it’s sad. peter would give anything to be telling may and ben how embarrassing they are as they dance around the kitchen.
then peter gets a thought.
he pulls out his phone and scrolls through spotify, deciding on “come fly with me” by frank sinatra. as he stands up may startles at the beat of the song, turning around and looking at peter.
“what are you doing?”
peter shrugs, and holds out his hand. “i thought we could dance?”
may looks at peter’s outstretched hand, seemingly conflicted. she looks back to her sauce then back to peter, before she turns the stove temperature lower. she turns back to peter one more time.
“i would love that.”
they fall into the music easily, peter twirls her around and she nearly falls over laughing at what a bad dancer he is. may sings along to the words while peter uses a ladle as a microphone, and they both feel as if their faces could break from how hard they’re smiling. peter’s breathless, and realizes its from laughing so hard.
the music fades out, and moves into “if” also by frank sinatra. the song is much slower, more relaxing. peter pulls may in and they begin to sway around slowly. may puts her head on his shoulder, and peter’s surprised to realize that he’s taller than her now. he wonders when that happened.
as they keep swaying he feels his shoulder get damp, and he can faintly smell the sauce burning on the stovetop.
“i’ll cook for us tonight, okay?” peter says. they’re no longer dancing or even moving, they’re just standing in the kitchen hugging.
Imagine getting drunk with Queen but you’re the only responsible person among them.
Brian is getting progressively hysteric, switching between laughing at his own jokes (that aren’t actually directed at any one he’s talking to) and crying because he’s so tired. Roger’s got his eyes out for every woman around, sloppily leaning on tables and bars, slurring this like “heyy baby, did you fall from heaven?” or things like that, CLEARLY not doing himself any good. John is in the middle of the dance floor (because drunk John=social John). He’s not really dancing, he’s just kinda spinning around and putting his arms in the air and his head is just kinda lolling side to side as if he’s already passed out. Freddie’s perched proudly on a bar stool surrounded by an entourage of his swooning beaus who he has all under his thumb with his clever anecdotes, their laughter roaring over the club-beat. You turn around for one minute, next thing you know, Brian is sobbing in the corner, John is asleep on the dance floor, Roger is buying drinks for everyone in the club, and Freddie is just gone. You’re the only one who is sober and you’re their only designated driver. Your mission is to make sure they don’t kill themselves in the middle of LA.
This is Get Him To The Greek: Queen Edition
Jemma’s fingernails scrape gently over the patterned ceramic
mug, textured with the layers of paint that Jemma had applied all those years
ago when she was a young kid. May had received more than a few hand-painted
mugs as gifts from the kids over the years (the last one being from a
17-year-old Antoine) and each one of the kids claims their favorite when they
come over to visit. This one is always Jemma’s. It depicts no scene, just a
pattern of zigzags and dots. Jemma had once explained she liked it because of
how it felt in her hands.
When she receives no response, May says, “Jemma?”
Jemma continues to stare down at her tea.
Rather than touching her and startling her out of the trance
she’s sunk in to, May starts skimming over the headlines on the newspaper in
front of her. Which is maybe a bad idea. If she has to read one more thing
about politics she’s going to scream.
She’s looking over the weather forecast when Jemma’s head
pops up, and she blinks at May.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
“I asked how work was going.”
Jemma nods, tapping her nails on the mug. “Good, good. Our
boss is letting us have input into our next project. Fitz and I are going to
try and convince her to look into advanced prosthetics. It’s a growing field, I
think she’ll go for it.”
May takes a sip of her tea, which is almost empty, and
getting colder. “That sounds good.”
Jemma nods again, then her gaze drifts back toward the tea,
lips pressing together.
May watches her for a moment before speaking. “Is there
something bothering you, Jemma?”
Jemma sighs, and her lips flicker up in a nervous smile.
“Um. Sort of. Not bothering, I suppose. Just weighing.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
May figures that this is why Jemma came over. She’d called
only last night to ask, when usually she calls at least a week in advance. And
she sounded nervous on the phone. May hopes it’s not serious, but if it is then
they’ll deal with it together.
The tapping on the mug gets more urgent. “Yes. I do. I just …
I’m not sure how to say it. How to tell you.”
May considers that for a moment, then stands. Jemma blinks
at her in surprise.
Jemma follows her out of the room and into the living room,
and sits on the couch when May nods at it. Then May makes her way over to the
corner, where Lancelot is sleeping, snoring heavily.
“Lance,” May calls.
The dog doesn’t budge.
She nudges him with her cane. “Lance.”
With great effort, the old
Pyrenees lifts his head, snorting sleepily.
“Where’s Jemma?” May asks.
Lance fixes his gaze on Jemma on
the couch, tail thumping once.
“Go get her,” May says
Slowly, Lance pulls himself up,
stretches languidly, and walks over to the couch. He stares up at Jemma for a
moment before raising one paw, placing it on her leg, and huffing.
“You are too big for this,” Jemma
says, even as she bends over to heft the dog onto her lap, front half first,
then back half. She groans with the effort, as he weighs about as much as she
Lance adjusts himself over Jemma’s
lap and sighs heavily as he lays down his head.
“Silly old dog,” Jemma mutters
fondly, stroking his long, white fur.
May sits down in the chair across
from the couch, watching as Jemma twists Lancelot’s fur between her fingers. She
doesn’t speak, knowing Jemma will start when she’s ready.
“I …” Jemma says eventually. She
clears her throat. “I’ve been doing a lot of research.”
When it doesn’t seem like Jemma is
going to continue, May prods, “On?”
if I met you we would watch Leverage and it would be awesome and I would try not to point out all the very distinctive Portland things that make it obvious that they are not in Boston or whatever other city they say they are in. unless you wanted me to, then I would.
I would totally want to see all of those things pointed out! That’s one of the fun things about filming on location, and also being a native or having been where something is filmed. (I don’t know if you know the show Reba, but I have to resist something similar with a lot of the exterior shots they filmed here)
And we would totally have an entire fridge full of orange soda on hand for this marathon!