Back at Fyfield House, Natasha is curled up in the rocking chair, strawberry blonde hair jutting out at all angles. Scrolling through the images on her camera to make preliminary selections, she looks up to see a bleary eyed Boris, wearing only shapeless gray track pants, stumble through the common room en route to the kitchen.
Natasha grins. It’s not that she’s admiring the rippling muscles of his torso, or his washboard abs. It’s more a kinship of bad hair. Boris is the only human being she’s met in her life who has worse morning hair than she does.
She reaches for the dregs of her coffee and takes a sip as Boris comes back with his own. She says, “That’s what I like about you Bo, you’re even less of a morning person than I am.”
Boris sets his coffee on the table and sprawls out on the red sofa with an inarticulate grunt.
“I’d be careful if I were you. If you nod off you’ll end up missing composition.” He groans this time. “Again,” she says.
Boris pulls himself into a sitting position and picks up his coffee, taking a tentative sip. He glances over at Natasha. “You’re awfully chipper for such an ungodly hour.”
Natasha laughs. “It’s almost eleven. Practically afternoon. I’ve been up for …” she studies her watch “… minutes.”
Boris snorts a laugh, making the hot coffee slop back and forth in the mug held dangerously above his lap. In an effort to boost consciousness, or perhaps sentience, he takes a somewhat bigger sip before returning the mug to the safety of the table. Flopping back he says, “We’re soul mates, Nat.”
“Naw, just too stupid to go to bed at a decent hour.”
“Good we were smart not to schedule morning classes.”
“Except Friday. That 9 am elective is nasty.”
“Think they rescheduled it on purpose?”
“It’s too early for conspiracy theories, Bo.”
“Where’d you go last night?”
“Couldn’t sleep so I went over to Callaghan’s. You should’ve come if you were up. Man, Q was wasted. I sat up half the night with him, and you know what? Poor sap wants to make movies.”
Boris fights down the pang of annoyance that Natasha was out with Q last night. “Better tell him he’s in the wrong program.”
“He knows. He’s really just trying to work up the nerve to tell his wife. She’s a med student.”
Boris drinks his coffee. Wife? First he heard Q was married. Good. Then, “What are you doing?”
“Looking for pictures for Ethan’s slide show.”
“Your eyes must be more open than mine.” Setting the coffee mug down again, Boris leans back and closes his eyes. “You know, that was interesting. Liz and Ethan, I mean.”
Natasha says, “Yeah, I never would have guessed.”
“I think they’re both a little bugged by the height thing.”
“Of course they are. She’s an Amazon princess and he’s Eric Idle’s shorter brother.”
“Aww, cut ’em some slack. They make a pretty cute couple.”
“Mmmmm.”
“Like us,” says Boris.
His eyes are closed but hers are not as she glances over at him. Danger signal if she ever heard one. What to do what to do what to do. Let it lay. It will pass. Concentrate on the pictures.
Natasha rocks a little faster, pretending she hasn’t heard as she tries to keep focusing on the camera screen.
Boris watches Natasha’s consternation through his veiled lashes. Why does she look like a deer in the headlights? It’s not such a crazy notion. She just needs to get used to the idea.
Not a spare ounce on her but he kind of likes that. He was surprised at how good she felt in his arms when thy were scrambling around on that bloody statue. He hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind. He opens his eyes and sits up, picking up his cup, looking at her. Sticking up hair and all. Hell, he’s never known anyone else with worse morning hair than he has.
“Hey Nat? Wanna try having a date?”
“Aw, Bo …” Natasha flushes a little, and looks over at him, “Why ruin a perfectly good friendship?”
“It doesn’t have to ruin anything.”
“It’s not a good idea, Boris, I’m sorry.”
Boris sits rigid, trying to keep her from seeing how hurt he feels. But of course she does.
“Look, I’ve gotta go take a shower.” She sets her camera down on the table. “Later, O.K?”
Boris suggests hopefully, “Maybe I could wash your back?”
Natasha looks at his puppy dog eyes and …. flees.
Boris closes his eyes again. Why can’t she see it? They are so alike. It would be perfect. He sighs in frustration. She’s his best friend dammit. Isn’t that what women want? Maybe he needs to try the cave man approach. Be firm.
Don’t ask, just kiss the girl. Make Natasha understand what she means to him.
