A/N: Theme 04 for 30Kisses from lj. Wow. It’s been so long since I updated this -- frankly, I wasn’t sure I was going to. I wanted to, don’t get me wrong, but I think I lost the spark of inspiration for this series, when they stopped playing the episodes. I had started this theme back when...but I honestly sort of forgot about it. THEN, I was transferring files to my new laptop and started reading it and got inspired to finish it. What do you think?

P.S. This has not been beta read -- not even, really, by me.

Disclaimer: I disclaim all ownership to the characters of George Lass or Mason from this series. I recognize they belong to MGM/Showtime or whoever else owns the rights now. I also inform any interested party that I made no money in the creation or posting of this story.

This Kiss
04: Our Distance and That Person
Duck and Cover
by Em

“Dig if you will, a picture / of you and I engaged in a kiss...”
- When Doves Cry, Prince

There were any number of places I would've preferred to be than Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Washington (aka Snoqualmie -- pronounced snow-kal-mee -- Pass, population 201. Soon to be 198, in about fifty three minutes).

The dentist.

A ledge.

The laundromat.

It wasn't, exactly, that I minded the quiet of the hole in the wall town (seriously: blink and the next thing you know, it's a small little dot in your rear view mirror as you zoom down the I-90 East. We should know.). I didn't really mind the quiet.

It's just that when Rube came into Der Waffle Haus and asked me if I was up for a trip, this was the last place I thought I'd end up.

Ok, sure, unless I was psychic (which I'm obviously not) it was technically impossible for me to have thought of Snoqualmie under any circumstances, and not just because it's hardly the kind of place that would stick to your memories. But with a name like Snow-qualmie one might be inclined to think, if one thought about it at all, as a wintering spot.

And it wasn't winter.

It wasn't even fucking close.

It was hot, to say the least.

But even that wouldn't have been so bad in the long run.

A trip to the mountains? Nice, leisurely drive, 70 miles away from Seattle, not too bad, leave early to make sure you get there, and barring any unforseen circumstances, get to the town a good hour or so before the reap time, just to have enough time to locate all three people, since because none of them had the same last name, it couldn't be a family.

Then Rube had told me who was going with me.

“Georgia, you're pouting.”

Even Roxie would've been better than Daisy.

“If you continue to pout, you'll get wrinkles.”

And Roxie always fell asleep in the car and snored when she did.

“You should really take care of your skin more, you know...”

“I'm undead, Daisy,” I finally snap out of my silence. “I could pout until Kingdom Come, literally, and I still wouldn't get wrinkles!”

“Well, that has not been proven as of yet--”

“We don't age, you know that, so how the hell could we possibly get wrinkles?” I demanded.

Daisy frowned prettily. “Well, you're in an awful temper today, aren't you?” she decided, as she always did when she was wrong and couldn't convince you otherwise, to change the subject.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Yes, I am.”

“And why is that, on such a beautiful day?” Daisy asked in her happy-chirpy voice.

“One, I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn. Two, I had to drive to Snow-no-real-snow-qualmie. Three, I have to put up with you,” I ticked off on my fingers. “I think that's more than enough reason to be pissy.”

“You forgot four,” Daisy said casually picking at non-existent cuticle of her right index finger.

“Oh?” I asked, raising a brow. “You have a thought on why I’d be pissy?” The sarcasm was just dripping from my voice, and trust me, my voice wasn’t normally that far away from sarcasm to begin with. “Please enlighten me.”

She laughed, and the sound was like the tinkling of bells -- or, at least she’d say it was.

“Four,” she said in a rather bad imitation of my annoyed tone. “Because a certain someone with a British accent was left back in Seattle.”

The smug tone of her voice made me want to smack her. I didn’t, of course. It wouldn’t do much except make her pissy. I could, of course, have pretended not to know who she was talking about, even though there was only one “certain someone” we knew with a British accent. I could’ve made it difficult for her, but the last thing I wanted to do 20 miles west of Snoqualmie, Washington was to argue with Daisy Adair for twenty miles. “You’re right,” I admitted instead. “Mason should have gotten his lazy ass up out of bed and come down here instead of me,” I added. “He loves all this traveling shit.” I kept my eyes steady on the nearly barren road ahead of me. “Meanwhile, I just love my bed.”

Daisy was not deterred, fuck it all. “I’m sure he’s missing you just as much as you’re missing him, Georgia,” she said in that superior tone of voice my mother used when she reminded me that I knew I couldn’t just keep ignoring my little sister because after all, ‘she is your sister.’ As if I should know.

“Why the hell would I care if Mason is missing me?” I asked, fighting to keep the note of defensiveness from my voice.

“So you don’t deny that he would be?” Daisy asked.

“I never said that,” I replied.

“Yes you did,” she insisted.

I rolled my eyes and sighed loudly. “Alright, forgive me Ms. Grammarian,” I allowed. “Forgive me for assuming you can make a leap in logic without my spelling it out.” I scoffed. “What I should have said is that there is no reason for Mason to be missing me,” I glanced sideways at her, “or for me to miss him,” I assured her. “And even if there was, which there isn’t,” another sideways glance couldn’t help but profess the extent of my feelings on having to make something as obvious as that clear, “why in hell would I care?”

“Oh, come Georgia!” again that laugh she must have practiced for long hours in front of a mirror back when she was a young thing in Hollywood trying to make a name for herself. “You don’t have to hide from me, sugar.”

I barely resisted stopping the car and kicking her out. Anything to stop the words that were about to come out of Daisy’s mouth--anytime she lapsed into her thick as molasses southern drawl, I knew it was nothing but trouble coming at me. I couldn’t think of anything to say that would get me out of it, however, so I hunkered down in the bucket leather seats of the ‘Stang and gripped the wheel. “Now you’re just talking shit, just because, aren’t you?” Well...I had to try, didn’t I?

“Georgia,” she said meaningfully. “I saw you.”

I went still. I don’t think I even breathed. If a cherry red semi with Elton John set up on the flat bed singing Piano Man would’ve materialized out of nowhere right in front of me, I still wouldn’t have been able to swerve. And of course, the only thought that floated through my brain was, oh, shit.

When? What did she see?

She laughed, and I knew I hadn’t managed to keep the shock off my face as efficiently as I’d hoped.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, Daisy--”

It was a valiant effort on my part, if I do say so myself, but alas...to no avail.

“I saw you two,” she said and at my disbelieving look, she exhaled and explained. “Behind the door to Der Waffle Haus,” she said, smirking like the world was her fucking oyster. “And whew, was that some make out session, Georgia!” she intoned. “I must say, you really are making up for lost time, aren’t you?”

I thought, once again, about denying it. After all, back when we decided to keep whatever this was between us quiet, it had seemed like a good idea. I even thought of excuses like there was something in my eye, or we were conducting an experiment to see if Dentyne Ice really did make you feel chill all over when you kissed, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

That didn’t mean I was going to allow Daisy to imply I was in any way, shape, or form pining for him like a love sick fool or anything. Just ‘cause the man knew how to kiss (and with 60 plus years experience, who wouldn’t?) didn’t mean I needed him around like Linus needs his blankie.

And I certainly wasn't about let Daisy think otherwise.

“So?” I asked nonchalantly. “You haven’t explained why you think his being in Seattle makes for a good reason why I’d be pissy to be going to Bumble-Fuck.”

I didn’t even make it a question, and although I could feel Daisy’s eyes on my from her side of the car, she didn’t seem inclined to answer.

She only had another 8 miles to think of something.

Fuck.