New Room [Closed]

It had been two weeks since Matthew came to live at Acropolis. He'd managed to control himself just well enough to move into the open units. He held his tongue when reprimanded, he breathed deeply when a nurse poked and drained him of blood every day, he even sent his mind somewhere else whenever the orderlies would mouth off and insult him under their breath. Sure, the nightmares were still there. He sometimes woke up whimpering or crying but as long as the lights were left on, he could lull himself back to sleep without incident.

His new room was still as bare and cold and sterile as the first but this time he had a window and a door that needn't be locked at all times. This had to be a step in the right direction. When he tested the bed it had some give and was quite a bit softer than the previous. The sheets and pillows had still seen better days and there was a water stain on the ceiling in the far corner. It'd probably take some time, but there had to be a way to make this room his.

Blue eyes studied the walls, the intricate patterns of cracks and discolorations that bled onto the tile floor and etched their way across. He watched as the tiles split and fractured, falling away into an endless black void under his feet. Toes wiggled as they hovered over the darkness that slowly spread back up the walls, engulfing the entire room. His fingers absently toyed with the hem of his issued shirt as stars and planets drifted past. There wasn't a soul that could harm him out here, it was peaceful and calm. But it was always so short lived.

Matthew blinked and frowned. He was once again in his new room.

Caroline hopped her way to Matthew's room, holding something behind her back. She was truly happy to hear that he had been upgraded to the open units, especially after his rough start. She knocked twice on the door, peeked in, and saw no bare skin, so she entered.

"Hey, you! I've got a surprise!" Caroline all but sang, showing the man the handful of lilies she had brought. They were in a tiny, plastic vase, lilies her ridiculously patriotic French grandmother had planted for Caroline during her annual holiday visit years ago. "Fresh and hand-picked straight from the obligatory garden. What do you think? I know they're a bit small, but I'm honestly just surprised they're even still blooming." Her face practically hurt with how much she was smiling, and her fingers played with the bottom of the vase. Eyes softening, she tilted her head slightly.

"You honestly don't know how proud I am of you, Matthew. You've been doing so well, after all. These are my little 'thank you.' I hope they make this place a little roomier."

The sudden knock on the door snapped him from his reverie and he spun on his heels to find Caroline. A small grin crossed his face that caused his eyes to soften. He couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed. Even as she presented the flowers and praised him, he scrubbed the back of his neck with bashfulness.

"...Thanks, Caroline," he muttered, his ears turning a pretty shade of pink. His nurse was a calming and soothing presence for him. She was a consistent friendly face among all the blank walls and colorless hallways. He awkwardly stepped forward to take the flowers from her and decided they looked best on top of his dresser. They'd receive adequate sunlight there.

"It feels a little strange," he admitted as he sat along the edge of his bed. "I haven't met anyone yet. I'm nervous".

Her heartbeat rose slightly as he took her lilies from her. When did his teeth start being so pretty? Watching him, she smiled as he put them in the sun, where they belonged. They were pretty, and she wondered if she should have brought food coloring so he could color them. It would be fun to do, but she'd test it first to see if it worked. Taking a seat beside her familiar patient, she patted his leg encouragingly.

"It's a bit quieter in the open units, which is nice. The people tend to be a bit easier to talk to, as well. Some of them even know what it's like in the crisis unit. It's got its perks, like being trusted with little trinkets. And a window! Now I can talk to you without feeling like the ceiling is going to come down like a cliché film." A gentle laugh came from her. Caroline walked to the window, resting her hand on the side. Her hip met the wall beside it, gazing out the window.

"The view's nice, at least. How have you been sleeping? Any problems?" She turned her head to look at him. "Getting any easier?"

Dark blue eyes watched her. How did she manage to stay so happy? He was pretty sure it was genuine and not just an act, even though there was particular protocol to follow. At least that's what he had deduced. He had no idea of the rude awakening he'd experience upon meeting some of the doctors that ran this place. But for now things seemed to be progressing nicely. And Caroline was the nicest of all.

His lips parted into a toothy grin when she talked excitedly about the window. Sure, it was nice and less claustrophobic, but when it came down to it, it was just a window after all. It wasn't a grand sense of freedom nor was it a cure. Just a small hole in the wall covered with glass. A substance that was still boxing him in, though it offered a teasing foretaste of the outside world beyond the white walls. Yet, Caroline talked about it like it was a great accomplishment. He loved the way she praised him, even if he didn't quite believe it himself.

'Getting any easier?' she had asked. If he were honest, it wasn't any easier at all. The nightmares still lurked just behind his eyelids. The blood and gore, the screaming and the loneliness; he was sure they were never going to get better and the best he could do was learn a new way to deal with it. To live side by side with this madness that threatened to consume him nearly every hour.

His hands worked themselves over anxiously as he shrugged. "It's still hard to sleep unless I get enough pills to knock me out. Everyone's been good at leaving the lights on for me, though. Oh, a Doc came in a couple hours ago. Didn't stay long but he left me a notebook and a box of crayons to draw with. Told him I didn't know how to draw but he wouldn't have it," Matthew chuckled for the first time since his intake. It was half-hearted and small. It didn't last long as his mouth bent back into a thin line, his teeth poking out to worry his bottom lip. His eyes slipped down to watch his own hands with mild fascination. "I think I'm doing better, though," he lied.

A notebook and a box of crayons? She had a sneaking suspicion which doctor had given him the gift to preoccupy his mind. She wondered if he was being modest about his artistic ability, or if he was actually telling the truth and he wasn't that good. Fiddling with the hem of her shirt, she wondered if she should bring up the subject of what he could draw. After a brief debate in her mind, she decided it would be nice to give him a project that gave him something to do with meaning. Plus, he was making her really happy with the fact he'd laughed in front of her, however short it was.

"Those lilies came from my grandmother's garden. It may be at my house, but I always thought of them as hers. You could draw something for her as a 'sorry your granddaughter plucked your hard work, but I like the flowers anyway' thing. I'll save it for when she visits during the holidays. She likes hearing how work is going." Giggling, she pictured the face of her mémé after being told that a crayon drawing came from someone Caroline had helped. Walking to the bed, she flopped dramatically on the space Matthew didn't occupy, a wrist flying to her forehead. "'Enfin! At last!' she'd say, 'My flowers served a purpose other than wilting!'"

Her giggles died down and she propped herself up on her elbows. A smile of assurance that Matthew was, to her knowledge, feeling better under her care, crossed her lips with the occasional thought that she was happy with the choices she made in life that led her to this place. She didn't ignore his worried expression, and she wasn't going to keep quiet. She nudged him.

"Hey," she warned, "stay with me now."

A small twinge of jealousy hit him as Caroline talked about her grandmother. Matthew was certain he had one, maybe two, but would certainly never met them. When his mother died so did any blood ties anyone else might have had with him. He still smiled at her theatrics even as his mind sped off to a place a thousand miles away.

As he often did when got lost in his own head, he absently ran his fingers over the two long scars under his jaw; the evidence of his reality. The knife that had carved him hadn't actually cut him that wide, it was the reconstructive surgery that caused the wound to go from ear to ear. One scar to tie the skin back together, the other to fix his damaged vocal chords. After all that, Matthews doctors still thought it would be a small miracle of he could ever talk normally again, but here he was with a sweet, deep voice without even the slightest trace of infliction.

And again, Caroline's voice had to lure him back to the real world. He blinked slowly and turned his gaze upward to the florescent lights, letting them burn patterns in his vision. "A drawing for your grandmother, huh?" He made a face as he turned towards her. "I'd rather not insult your family like that..." He admitted with a teasing tone.

A worried look crossed her face as Matthew seemed just slightly more distant this time. Had she said anything wrong? She felt slightly ashamed, though she wasn't sure the exact source of his worries. He looked away from her, which made her worry even more. She sat upright, sitting on her ankles, shoulders tense until the moment she heard his voice that reminded her of eating caramel. A joke. She laughed, partially at the joke and partially at herself.

"She's my only family, you know." Caroline had never dared herself to mention the scars, let alone touch them, but her fingertips just gently grazed the proud flesh, nothing but affection and slight relief in her eyes and touch. She had never thought of the scars as ugly, not once. Intimidating, maybe, but never ugly. In a soft tone, almost a whisper, she continued. "Just her and Pierre, now. She was born in France, and I was born here. I don't speak much French, and she doesn't speak much English. We're always asking each other to speak slowly, but we get by somehow.

"She knows the thing that makes me happy is my patients being happy, speaking French with her and spending time planting lilies with her after all that's happened to both of us makes her happy. In truth, I am very grateful that she's in my life, if only for a short time." A sad smile came to her then, and she mentally reminded herself to call her mémé later. She wiped her eyes, unsure if she was crying or not. Teasing, she gently shoved Matthew, her smile growing larger. "And you, how many times have I told you not to go somewhere when I'm talking to you?"

"Sorry," he mumbled. Nice and sheepish. "Your grandmother sounds like a great woman."

He opened his mouth as if to say more but stopped himself, distance yet again forming on his face. Only this time he was playing, but if he could, he'd get her concerned once more before hooking his hand around the back of her neck and gently plowing her face first into his pillow. At that he had to laugh. A deep, hearty laugh accompanied by a smile so bright the florescent lighting became jealous.

This was okay. A little out of character but anything to pull the conversation away from family. It was still too tender, it probably always would be. Laughing couldn't hurt, and he had to admit the way her hair spilled out in all directions was actually pretty humorous, but that's what you get when you invade your patients bed.

At his distant look, her usual concern rose before he pushed her down into the pillow, a tiny, surprised yelp which was quickly muffled escaping her. She laughed into the pillow for a bit before lifting up, blowing the hair out of her face. Still laughing, she wiped the rest of her hair from her face and smacked his side.

"How rude! Now my hair is a mess. I hope you're happy!" She feigned a pout and crossed her arms, looking away from him. "At least these beds are comfy. But that doesn't make it okay! I expect a cake with your apology written on it and a ten page essay on why apologies are a good form of communication." Her pout was quickly replaced by a smile, very obviously trying to hold back more laughter. "And," she added, looking at him coyly, "I'll have you know that it's not very often men shove me down on their beds. The least you could do is buy me dinner first."

Or at least that was how she assumed it was meant to be done. A slight blush crossed her cheeks. Jeez, why did he have to be so god damn pretty?

Matthew feigned his exasperation with her homework assignments. Only the French could be so rude. It wasn't as if he had access to the kitchens anyway and given his last run-in with a pen, an essay seemed quite unlikely. He gawked at the audacity. "Sorry to break it to you, mademoiselle," throwing in the only French he knew, "but I don't know a single soul that would pay for trash they offer in the cafeteria." He crossed his arms matter-of-factly.

But wait a minute, did she say 'not very often'? "So when was the last time? ... That you've been pushed down that is?" Something inside him was having a hard time coming to grips that he was even chatting this inappropriately with his nurse. Another part of him, a little lower, reminded him he was a guy and nothing was too inappropriate.

Giggles trickled out her lips at the insult to the cafeteria food. Caroline usually ate what the patients ate, lest someone see her eating something she brought from home. It soothed some patients that she could complain about the food with them, despite knowing the food quality was less the cook's fault and more funding issues about ingredients.

"You've a point, monsieur, but I still expect at least something for my troubles with you, you big lump." At his question, her arms uncrossed and went immediately to her cheeks. Her face was flushed, she could feel it. How could he ask such an embarrassing question? She flung herself back down on the pillow, face up this time, covering her face. How long had it been? Should she lie? Should she really tell Matthew of all people she'd never had a true boyfriend, just people who used her? Doubt spun in her stomach and she felt almost ill. The stab wound on her abdomen stung.

"A while, I suppose," she settled with, her voice shaky. "Since before I got Pierre as a kitten?" She tried to calculate how long that would be. "So, a little over six years, maybe?"

Matthew's thumb nail chipped between his teeth. Six years. That was a long time to be lonely with only your hands to keep you company. Not that he could say much, it'd been at least four for him. Relations were hard when you couldn't keep yourself out of restrained beds in the crisis units. He'd admit that bondage was kind of sexy but only when it was his partner being controlled.

He watched Caroline carefully; the way her body draped across his bed, particularly the curve of her breasts and the triangle between her thighs. He checked the door which was still open, that was a bit of a problem. His eyes dropped to his bare feet where he wiggled his toes for his own enjoyment. It was high time for yet another conversation topic. This could get dangerous for the both of them.

"You... probably have other rounds to make," he started as he cleared his throat and stood up. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

Did he say something? Oh, her job. Right. She didn't much feel like doing it right now, which was abnormal for her, but okay, since now she was technically on break. A tiny hum affirmed she'd heard him. She probably looked ridiculous, still, not quite coming down from the topic she usually avoided but glad he hadn't made fun of her or teased her about it. Waving her hand she dismissed his worries for her. Sitting up, she clutched at the upper hems of her top by her shoulders, too cautious to move her hands too far away from herself. Did she look defensive? Scared? She wasn't sure if it mattered. Her heart still raced – she was shocked he couldn't hear it.

"On break." Caroline forced herself to say it clearly, forced herself to look at him, though she wasn't sure what look she was giving him and wasn't entirely sure it was her usual look of control or happiness. Secretly, she cursed him. Granted, it was probably her fault – she did start the stupid joke, but she'd hoped he'd take it as a joke. It may make her uncomfortable to idly talk about the topic that made her more uncomfortable than any other topic, but that didn't stop her from almost retaliating.

"You don't get to ask a woman those questions and get off so easily," she half-teased, pulling the fabric of her top to the side, so nearly exposing more skin. "So, how long has it been for you?" Some confidence gained, her hands moved to her sides, resting on her hips. He wanted to change the topic so easily? Well, she was the one calling the shots after all.

His thumb nail cracked this time while being gnawed at. This really wasn't a pleasant spot to be in anymore, he didn't like these questions being directed back at him. He smiled a bit at her to hide his anxiety. "...About the same, give or take..."

Two strides later he was at the window, a desolate view of twisted trees and a vast desert beyond. It was still more appealing than this room. Stormy blue eyes moved to check on the lilies, their pure white blooms matched the walls while the green stems provided the only spark of color in his new container. Maybe he'd have to put those crayons to good use.

New topic, Matthew, new topic. He had to be able to behave if he was ever going to leave this place. He was quite positive that squeezing Caroline's neck until she was blue and then fucking the rest of the life out of her would throw a wrench into his plans. The more she unguarded herself, the more desperate he was becoming, the more his self control began to slip.

He had touched her. He had allowed her to touch him. He had allowed her to sprawl haphazardly across his bed and smile at him so openly. This had to stop. There had to be a boundary.

"Enough of that, let's talk about something else..." He kept his face from her, his body language tense.

It was only a small consolation to her that she wasn't the only person in this room uncomfortable with the topic presented. Caroline was positive the discomfort stemmed from different fears, but the fact that it was present in both of them seemed to offer a kind of solace she wasn't sure she felt before. She shifted to the edge of the bed, her toes lingering at the edge. How comfortable these beds could be, if you spent enough time trying to find a good spot. She kicked off her shoes, haphazardly letting them fall wherever they pleased. She stretched her toes out. It felt nice. No sex. No family. Alright, kind of diminished the things she usually spoke about.

"Would you rather..." she trailed off, trying to think of two comparisons, "...eat a full stick of butter, or eat all the salt in a full salt shaker?" She rubbed the balls of her feet with her hands, smiling. "Normal sized for both of them, probably the average restaurant-sized salt shaker. No immediate time limit, but you only have a day to do it. No mixing with other foods, no drinks to follow it down. I'd probably eat the salt, myself."

It wasn't the best topic, but it apparently wasn't the worst. Caroline wasn't dumb, she knew when to back off. Not that she was entirely sure it mattered; Matthew didn't seem to dislike her, or at least he hated her least of all the staff he'd met, she wasn't sure which. He had never threatened her since their first meeting, but she would never think that made him safe. Caroline couldn't admit it, and probably never would, but she at least had a semblance of hope that if something bad happened, Matthew wouldn't hurt her, or at least would never want her dead. Would he?

Dark brows stitched together as he turned his head over his shoulder. What the hell kind of question... ? A smile formed before he knew it and suddenly he was laughing. Leave it to this girl to switch from sex to salt. Who the hell asked that kind of question anyway?

"Um...well..." He trailed off, his hand rubbing over the constant stubble that littered his jawline, pondering quite honestly over the choice. "The butter I suppose. For me, high cholesterol beats dehydration any day. I swear I used to eat mashed potatoes as a kid that contained more butter than potato anyway. Now that I think about it, I'm sure I've already accomplished this feat," he continued to laugh, offering a very tiny albeit rare glimpse into his childhood.

This was better. This was comfortable. Now he could breathe again and just enjoy having company. Right now there was no need to plot, no need to manipulate and no need to intimidate - at least for the moment. Matthew figured it was safe to face her once again, so he leaned heavily against the wall really wishing for pockets to shove his hands into. Maybe even some socks as the floor was actually pretty chilly. He shifted his weight around often, letting one foot come up for a reprieve.

"I got one. Would you rather have a side salad or a side of soup? You cannot have both." He canted his head feigning a smug expression.

"What is wrong with you?" She feigned an exasperated look, tossing her hands in the air like she was flipping something over in anger. "I am honestly surprised you haven't died of a heart attack. Are you kidding me? You're over there looking like Adonis and I can't go three hours without going to the gym after a soda and you're just a freakish butter-eater!"

Laughing, she shook her head, her hair falling over her shoulders and her neck. Her gaze turned even more incredulous after his lame return would-you-rather. Her eyebrows raised and her smile grew, a hint of shock in her eyes. Even so, she had to admit this was fun. It even got Matthew talking a little about himself.

"Really? Soup or salad? What are you, my waiter at every restaurant I've ever been to ever? That's boring. Soup, but seriously. I think the actual statue of Adonis could probably have picked a more interesting question." Shaking her head, she wasn't even going to wait for his answer to his question.

"Would you rather be stuck in a room with someone you hate for a month, or banned from seeing someone you like for two months? No contact with the liked person at all, and you have to have daily conversations with the person you hate every day. No barriers allowed in the room with someone you hate, you have to share. I'd choose banned from someone I like."

Mostly because people she didn't like were sure to be the kinds of people who would hurt her.

"Someone I hate," he spat out so hastily he even surprised himself. He'd already known the torment of being permanently barred from someone he loved, a feeling he wouldn't even wish on his darkest enemy. Two months was just a drop in the bucket compared to eternity but the thought was unbearable.

But being in the same room with someone he hated? That was easy. That he had learned to endure ages ago, of course threats and cowing always played an intricate role. But for Matthew, putting up with the demons of anger was effortless compared to the demons of solitude. It's why even despite his misgivings he still sought out company even if only to degrade them.

"And who are you calling Adonis? I think I have enough problems around here without getting the dude's all riled up and blood thirsty over my sexual prowess." He laughed referencing Adonis' death by a boar sent from the jealous Greek gods.

Sure Matthew was well aware of his good looks. He used them well to his advantage all the while remaining modest on the outside. Though his face happened merely by chance, the body was sustained by running and weights, as there was hardly anything else to keep him occupied in between bullying his peers and fighting bed-side restraints.

"What sexual prowess? You have about as much sexual prowess as I do, remember?" Giggling, she stood. Using the window's dim reflection of her appearance, she made an attempt to look normal. Like she hadn't just been rolling around on a patient's bed while talking about sex, or the lack thereof. Which she knew was very much so inappropriate to mention. If someone had heard all the things she spoke to her patients with, they'd probably be very... surprised. An exasperated sigh left her as she quit her endeavor. Slipping her shoes back on, she bent to make sure they fit comfortably. After she finished, she stood, pointing to the flowers.

"They're not very colorful, mostly just something kind of nice to look at. Do you want something else? Like a picture of a beach or something? Just don't ask for a pretty blonde girl in a bikini," she teased. She straightened out the front of her scrubs, looking at him when she finished. Absently, she started fiddling with her nails.

Caroline wasn't sure what she thought about Matthew. He was nice, yeah, but he was also obligated not to be rude, should he ever want to leave. She wasn't dumb enough not to think he could possibly be using her to make his way through, because he wouldn't be the first. Some part of her wasn't sure she minded it with Matthew, a man who at least seemed like he genuinely enjoyed her. Looking down at her hands, she made it seem like she was really interested in them, should she make a face at him she probably shouldn't.

Matthew laughed even more at Caroline's tease seeing as she was 100% correct. Sex was supposed to be consensual and amazing, but with him it was always violent. It always had been. So at this moment when he still had his wits about him, it was absolutely out of the question; there was simply too much to lose.

He turned towards the vase on the dresser when she mentioned it. He'd admit he knew next to nothing about flowers, never even stopped to notice anything about them before, save for plumeria. His mom loved plumeria. They were a tropical flower and wouldn't grow well in the arid climate of southern California, but his mom's favorite florist would slave and fuss over the bush all for her sake.

He hadn't been well enough to attend her funeral, but someone told him of the vast bouquets of delicate five petaled flowers, brilliant yellow in the center fading outward to white, that brightened up her grave and welcomed her into the earth. Even now he had a love-hate relationship with the blooms. Lucky for him Arizona was also a poor place to produce them.

"I like them. Honestly I don't know of anything else you could bring, but the green of the stems is color enough. You know Blue is my favorite color, though, hint-hint."

"An ocean, then. A calm one, preferably. Irises, instead, or maybe bell flowers." She walked toward the window, trying to once more fix her stray hairs. It made her itch to think her hair was messy. It should be nice and tidy. It needed to be. "Roses can be blue, too, but those can sometimes be more expensive than the red ones. African violets are easy to care for. Cape primroses are nice, too."

Caroline's grandmother had a love for houseplants that she understood. Something about caring for something long enough to see beautiful results that would otherwise not be attainable, considering it very rarely rained indoors. Though she had only been to her grandmother's one time, she remembered the small house she lived in to be colored with a long variety of flora.

It wasn't overwhelming, but it was as if she was in a small greenhouse rather than the house of her grandmother. The smell of dirt was calming and welcoming, and altogether it was peaceful. The best part was that her grandmother was so modest about it, waving off any compliments received. Caroline had to admit she picked up a couple things from her, since it was a topic that often came up. She always managed to find a spot in her heart for flowers, but she would probably never grow any herself.

"Morning glories, vanda orchids, lingholms, Rolf Fiedlers..." She trailed off, extending her fingers and turning to almost glare at Matthew, her hands still by her hair. "You did this to me, Matthew, now fix it. Break time's almost up, you know." Hands dropped her her sides in defeat. "Please," she added as an afterthought, reminding herself to be courteous since she needed something. Asking for help bothered her, but she wasn't about to leave the room looking like she belonged in one of them.

Caroline lost him while naming off flowers, over half of them he'd never heard of before much less what they looked like. But she also mentioned the ocean and that grabbed his attention. He missed it terribly.

Growing up in a little shitty apartment in the shittiest part of town left a lot to be desired but he remembered those sweet days when his mom would cuss out the dealers and ride the bus with him two hours to the coast. She'd sit in the sand nervously and let him dash around the waves and foam the entire day. Those times she let him have whatever he wanted too, so he ate and drank to his heart and stomach's content, but always refused when she offered to buy him things.

The man startled when she addressed him again, snapping him from his memories. Fix it? Her hair? It only took two long strides until he was standing in front of her; towering over her really as he was nearly an entire foot taller. His left hand lifted and patted her awkwardly on the head, squashing the fly aways, but when that didn't work well his other hand joined in, smoothing a downward motion over her head. He smiled as he noticed just how large his hands looked next to her face, like dinner plates with fingers.

"There," he voiced, "much better."

In hindsight, she probably should have prepared herself for having his hands on her for an extended period of time. Her eyes closed and her nose squinched when he patted her, but her face softened and eyes opened slightly when he smoothed it down nicely. She imagined this must be how Pierre felt when she pet him, because it felt really... good. When he finished, she dazedly looked up at him. God, his smile was pretty. Teasingly, she pushed him away, her own smile echoing his.

"Thank you, now quit hovering over me like the empire state building. I know I'm small for the average woman, but come on now." She laughed as she slithered her way past him. "So, yes on the ocean? I'll pick out the flowers, I'll make sure they're easy enough for even you to take care of."

Most of the gifts she would end up giving would be from her own pocket, but he didn't have to know about that. Besides, she never really spent her money on things for her, anyway. Rent, gas, TV, and cat things, that was about it.

"Easy is good. I think it's going to be a while before anyone gives me a trowel or a watering can after all," both could be very adequate weapons if need be. Speaking of which, his eyes flickered to his crayon box just to make sure it was still where he left it. Tucked down inside was the broken pencil that emitted some sense of safety in his room. Besides wrapping a sheet around the neck or stuffing it up the nose and in the mouth there was nothing else but his broken pencil that would do any harm and that was an unnerving fact. The sheer bulkiness of the sheet was bound to make that plan fail. Today might be a good day to try to scavenge and see what he might be able to swipe and get away with. Paperclips being on the top of his list.

He turned back to Caroline as she was getting ready to leave, wishing once again for pockets, something to keep his hands occupied. "But yes, the ocean would be great. I love the water."