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"I'm not drunk, Paulie," Shanny assures him, and she really isn't. She'd hardly made it halfway through her second drink when he decided to take her home. In truth, she wasn't complaining, drunk or not.
"That's what they all say," he says, tone admonishing as it always is. He has a point, she thinks -- drunks rarely admit to their inebriated state, but she really isn't. He doesn't seem interested in being proven wrong.
" Paaaaaulie ," she whines.
"See? Y'even sound the part. Just let me get you home!"
She thinks about fighting about it, about insisting she prove him wrong. She thinks about standing up and proving she can walk in a straight line and sing the alphabet backwards and smack him upside the head for ruining her night, but she really has no incentive to do so. Not when his arms are so big and strong around her, carrying her like the most fragile porcelain doll. Not when he's taking her home in a route memorized by heart, because he's walked her so many times from work. Not when his heartbeat is thumping against her ear to his chest, threatening to break free, showing her how nervous he is, reminding her that he's carrying her anyway. His concern for her imagined intoxication overrides the fact that he can barely make eye contact when he knows she's sober.
She almost feels like she's cheating, getting to see him like this. She's not sure why he's so worried. She's not sure what compelled him to even be on that side of town in a position to see her alone at the bar; what compelled him to barge in and pay her tab and sweep her up. She knows she's a woman alone in public, but Water 7's dining district really isn't known for its kidnappings; she was far more likely to get mugged down at a proper tavern by a port. You know, the kind of place Paulie would usually be, as opposed to the nice establishment she was at, which he'd normally avoid like the plague. He's not much for fine dining, most days, in his dirty denim jacket or his worn (but reliable!) work boots.
She isn't lying, though. She's made no false claims of being drunk! From start to finish, every word she's said has been to assure him she's fine. So if he thinks she's drunk, or if he WANTS her to be drunk for some odd excuse to be chivalrous, it's really not her fault if she resigns from the argument and rests her head against his chest. It's not her fault if her fingertips graze the inner edges of his jacket, running her thumb up and down the denim she's grown so accustomed to seeing. She doesn't know when she'll get this chance again, to be so close without him going into a flustered frenzy at the touch of a woman.
Shanny is so deep in her thoughts and his textures that she doesn't realize how long he's been walking. It's only when one of his arms shifts, making sure to support her weight as he squats and reaches under her welcome mat for the spare key, that she realizes he's taken her all the way home.
Her eyes scan his, which are resolutely set on her door and safe from catching onto her gaze. He's got the kind of locked on stare he does when he's focused at work, like he's solving a riddle that'll save the damn world if he can just open this door without jostling her too much.
He sets her on her couch rough and quickly adjusts the throw pillow behind her, like he forgot how to set down a human being for just a second. His browline furrows with intent. Paulie's taking this pretty seriously. Shanny can't help but laugh.
"Hey!" Paulie squawks in defense of himself. He knows he's all limbs and no grace, but he's insecure about it. "I'm trying to help you here. Just -- just wait, okay?"
Before Shanny can reply, he's off, opening and closing every cabinet until he finds clean cups. He fills it with water -- from the tap, not the pitcher she's told him she drinks from ten times now. It's the thought that counts, at least, so she smiles when he hands her the tap water.
She doesn't drink fast enough for his tastes, instead smiling softly into it as she twirls the cup in her hands.
"Drink!" he snaps. "Ya gotta drink when you... Well, when you've been drinking. Water. Drink water." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. That could've been articulated better, he thinks.
"Paulie, I'm not--"
"I already said I'm not buying it!"
She rolls her eyes, but she complies. He means well. And he's near her. She likes that last part most of all. So she tips her head back and drinks, not too worried when a drop escapes down her lips, dribbling down her chin and tracing her throat. She doesn't notice, but Paulie does, and she realizes that when she catches him staring at her neck.
"See something you like?" She finishes the question with a wink, which prompts the usual stammering and stuttering and starting and stopping of his voice. Oh, how she loves to see him writhe at her words... She decides to get bold and lean forward.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!"
"What do you want me to be doing?"
Paulie doesn't answer, not fast enough to avoid questions, at least. The way Shanny looks up at him through her lashes, how can he find words fast enough? Times like this, she makes it real hard for him to be the modest, moral man he wants everyone to think he is. And the man that no one, least of all Shanny, believes he is.
"Hey!" he snaps, realizing she's getting closer. He claps his hands on her shoulders to hold her in place. "I don't, I don't know what you're doing but it ain't gonna happen when you're under the influence! That's for damn sure!" Perhaps spilling her drink didn't exactly dissuade his assessment... But anyone could do that!
Shanny leans into his palms, head lolling to rest on his arm, and closes her eyes. Peeking just one with a smile she asks, "But another time?"
"I-I'm not gonna entertain these kinda ideas that you're gonna forget when you sober up anyway." That makes her sigh, loud and disappointed. If only he knew how she wanted him, sober or not. If only he'd let her tell him! What an impossible man. She laughs and shakes her head, eyes closing once more as she leans back into his touch.
"You gotta get changed."
"Huh?"
"For bed. I gotta put you to bed and get going. I got-- WE got-- work in the morning." Shanny pouts, but he's right about that one. The duty of Galley-La at the first crack of sunlight does call for them. And if she doesn't get up on time, he, too, will be calling for her.
Shanny gives little more than a, "Mm," of acceptance before undressing, which earns several more squawks and quips about her indecency.
"Just go home if you can't handle it!" Shanny laughs over her shoulder as she fusses with the last hook of her bra.
"Not till you're tucked in bed!" Paulie yells, muffled, with his red face hidden fully behind those large hands that could be on her-- god damn it, Shanny, focus! It isn't happening. Not tonight.
After alerting Paulie of her completed transformation, she slips under her blankets and waits as he pulls them over her. If there's one thing Paulie can do, it's make sure her skin is NOT visible to him.
As he turns to leave, her fingers find the edge of his jacket once more.
"What is it?" Paulie asks, gruff but gentle all at once.
"What if I wasn't drunk, though, really? What if sober me had tried to kiss you?"
Paulie's eyes widen, his cheeks flush, and his pulse quickens. He tries to catch himself. "Well, you wouldn't, so no use in postulating like that."
"You sure?"
"Shans, go to sleep!"
Shanny pouts, but she takes the small win, the win that proves he'd at least... consider it. "Fine," she says, but even so, her fingers drop down to his hand, slipping in to hold it before he can realize how dead set he was against touching her even a minute ago.
He watches her, red, shy, not sure what to do. This woman will be his end, he's sure, but he can't imagine an end he’d like more.
"Fine," he says back, not even sure what he means by it. She always gets him all messed up in his own speech. He squeezes her hand, sets it back down at her side, heads for the door. "Bright and early tomorrow, you hear me?"
"Bright and early," Shanny yawns, settling into her blankets. Getting tucked in by Paulie, accusations of insobriety aside, is still better than drinking alone could’ve ever been. As the front door clicks, she dreams of a next time where he's next to her.
On the other side of the door, Paulie lets out the biggest sigh of relief that that’s over. He was about to break in there. He’s always about to break when he’s in there. Shanny makes sure of that, and he doesn’t know why she’s so dead set on testing him, because she’d be out of her mind to make him her mark. He shakes his head; Paulie isn’t going down this road again tonight. He shouldn’t have even been going down the road that led to that bar… or down the path his feet took on instinct when he saw her drinking there alone . He was supposed to go home, crack open a cold one, and pass out, but he didn’t. He didn’t have to do all this, or he could’ve at least joined her for a drink first. He doesn’t know what took over him that needed her safely in her bed right that instant, and he’s really not sure if he likes it.
As Paulie shoves her spare key back under the mat, he doesn’t let his mind wander to the idea that other men might know about this key, or the idea that other men might even have used this key before. As Paulie walks down the steps back to the waterside pathways of Water 7, he doesn’t let his mind wander to the idea that she might be lonely in bed right now. And as Paulie kicks a stone out of his path into the water, he doesn’t let his mind wander to think about when he’ll get to see her next, because he at least knows the answer to that question. He’ll see her tomorrow, at work, where they both belong, where he sees her every day. Where he’s supposed to be her boss but they both know she’s the boss of him. Where she brings him lunch every day and he doesn’t read into it because there can’t possibly be more to it than that. He’ll see her tomorrow, at work, bright and early.