Fluff (working title: I Just Watched "Untethered," it's 2:43 a.m. and If I Don't Write Something Fluffy I am Going to Go Insane)
Disclaimer: I don't want to be the real writers of CI. They just keep screwing everything up! That's why I had to write this!
Chapter 1: Spit Happens
"You can't just eat the rest of it and leave the crusts!" Alex informed her partner, appalled at his dining sensibilities.
Bobby shrugged, tossing his wadded napkin onto the table. "You can have 'em."
She scowled. "First of all, I am not a scavenger. It is not my job to eat the pieces you leave behind. And second, they've got your spit all over them."
"There's nothing wrong with my spit," Bobby insisted somewhat defensively.
"No, see, there are two things wrong with it. It's spit. And it's yours."
Bobby paid no attention. "Did you know that the average person puts out about point seven five liters of saliva every day?" He said this as if it were a natural follow-up.
"Did I want to?" Alex countered.
"Probably not." Bobby paused, as if trying to think of a topic besides spit. "Hey Eames?"
"What?" she asked, trying not to sound pre-emtively annoyed. Hopefully, she thought, he's going to change the subject.
"There's only a point oh-two percent genetic variance in saliva from one person to the next." She raised an eyebrow, his cue to continue, whether she wanted to hear it or not. "So your spit is the same as mine."
"So you won't mind if I hock a loogie in your face?" she offered, taking another bite.
"Well, I'd rather you didn't," he answered calmly. "But I'd eat pizza crusts even if they had your spit on them." He said this as if it were the most profound compliment one human being could give another.
"Well, if you'd eat pizza crusts with my spit, then eat your own damn pizza crusts with your own stupid spit!" Alex demanded, trying very hard not to look amused.
"I don't want pizza crusts," Bobby explained patiently. "I'm just saying that if I did, I wouldn't be bothered by the fact that they had your saliva on them."
"Thanks, I think. But I didn't ask what you thought of my spit. I just pointed out that your spit is gross."
"Actually, you never said that." He put his chin in his hand a pouted just a little. "That's kind of insulting."
Alex snorted. "I once called you a 'dunderheaded llama brain' and you grinned like an idiot. I say your spit is gross and you're insulted." She shook her head.
"Well, the first one was clever," he explained.
"Bobby, spit is gross. Your spit, my spit, horse spit, bull spit, it's all gross." She put a five down for the waiter and stood, hoping no one around them was listening.
"It's ninety-nine percent water, Eames," Bobby said through laughter. "What's the big deal?"
She waved him off. "You're the one making it a big deal. I'm just saying that it's gross. No big deal."
Bobby wondered if he dare bring it up.
He dare. "Is kissing gross?" he asked quietly.
"That's different," Alex said decisively, practically pulling the chair out from under him in her haste to leave the restaurant.
But Bobby wasn't about to let it go. "How is it different?"
"It just is. It's kissing, not spit."
"Technically, Eames," he said with mock solemnity. "Saliva is spit whether it leaves the mouth through projectile or... other means. So kissing is still spit."
"Okay, fine. You caught me on a technicality. But if you're close enough to somebody to be sticking your tongue down their throat, it's acceptable."
Bobby faked a wounded look. "Eames, I would take a bullet for you." Dramatic pause. "Doesn't that earn my spit some respect?"
"I know you would." Alex smiled up at him, holding his gaze for just a moment. The tender look was immediately replaced with one of utmost annoyance. "And no, it doesn't. Besides, you don't think about the spit part when you're kissing, you're having too much fun with the kissing part."
He pondered this; gave a conceding nod of the head. "What about the pizza? That's not good enough to not think about the spit?"
"The crusts aren't. That's why you don't eat them, remember? Your tenacity on the subject is surprising me, though, Bobby."
"What surprises me is that you've been my partner for seven years while I've poked, prodded, sniffed, and tasted crime scenes complete with corpses and spit grosses you out."
She stopped walking for a moment and her face scrunched up. "You never taste crime scenes."
"Not while you're looking," he mumbled, hoping she wouldn't think too much about it. "But we were talking about kissing."
"Not without a date, Bobby," she responded dryly, immediately wishing she'd kept her big mouth shut.
I'm half-asleep and open to suggestions.