Work Text:
She alternates between hating him and ignoring him, but she's currently in the middle of the latter cycle. By her most recent count, she's killed him more than a dozen times and now, rather than the anger, she's just feeling frakked off. She wants to be anywhere but here.
"We could go out?" he suggests to her, wiping invisible dirt from his hands onto the blue-striped apron he has tied around his waist. He's spent the last hour cooking a meal for them, despite knowing that she'll refuse to eat, but he does it each night anyway. Despite his programming, the only thing he truly wants from her is for her to want to be there. He struggles to make life there as normal as he can, hoping that for a single moment she will relax. "We could go dancing."
She breaks her pattern of ignorance and looks at him, cursing silently to herself as she does. For a moment, she can picture them both, in another life, gliding around on a dance floor. Her satin dress slides against her skin as he spins her and she twirls into his embrace. He's wearing a tuxedo that fits him perfectly and his breath is warm on the back of her neck. She knows how his hands feel, so it takes little extra effort to imagine how they feel against her bare back.
She shakes her head, forcing the vision away, refusing to allow it to remain. She turns around slightly on the chair, making sure her back is towards him and returns to her silent protest.
He offers a bittersweet smile that she can't see and returns the untouched plate of food to the kitchen.