Piment de la Vie - (24 Parts) - COMPLETE

[VoOs]

Sigh, Frenshmen... I'm in love. That is all.

[Nicole]

I also want to eat him. Shiny, will you share? Please?

[littlesneezer18]

I also want to eat him. Shiny, will you share? Please?

oooh ! Me too !!!

[starpollen]

I know - I KNOW - this part is short! I'm sorry! My play opened tonight and I'm wired and exhausted and trying to write... and this is all I could manage before going to crash. Maybe more soon!...

Part 5

Aimon held her coat - careful to keep his fingers away from her skin - and helped her slip into it with an ease that spoke of deeply ingrained habits and gentlemanly breeding. A girl could get used to this, she thought. No wonder Regency and Victorian eras were so romantic: his manners were impeccable, and made her feel cared for, special. Like a queen. He walked just behind her shoulder to the door, that familiar heat curling up her back.

Outside, the air had turned colder, a light drizzle beginning to fall.

"How do you know, um, Jean?" Claire asked as they crossed the street again, his sheltering arm suspended just behind her back. She had heard him pronounce it Zjahn, and knew it was French.

"We were at university together," he replied distractedly, watchful of any oncoming traffic even thought at this hour the roads were glaringly empty. "Then to culinary school. He was my roommate until three years ago when he got married." His accent was getting thicker.

"Ah," she replied, a little jealous. Here was someone who knew Aimon in ways she only wished she could. "I'm guessing... you live around here?"

"Yes," he replied, stepping onto the curb and drawing his cream scarf more securely around his neck, tucking the ends into his coat as the drizzle began to pick up. "Around the corner, actually."

"Ah... Wait," she stopped, glaring at him in the orange pool of the street light. "You mean you're going to walk the five or so blocks with me to my car, then walk back here?"

He gave a soft, dismissive grunt, and a shrug. "Come, it is late."

She had to skip to catch up with him, his strides lengthening as the moisture began to work its way into their hair, their skin. It even managed to seep under her collar, making her break out in goosebumps with the slight chill.

Aimon sniffled sharply, pressing a quick fist under of his nose. “h'NXgt! ... Hhk!--NGX'tsh! -huhh.” The second was harsher, as if in retaliation for his attempt to stifle it back. He followed it with a fluttering set of sniffles, definitely not clear or healthy.

"À vos souhaits," she murmured, brow furrowing. "Aimon, are..." she swallowed back her enthusiasm, managing to sound genuinely concerned. "... are you coming down with something?"

He blushed deep at that, glaring at the sidewalk before growling out a low, "No." But then - feeling her stare - he amended reluctantly, "A... a sniffle. It is nothing."

She looked at him for a beat, the harsh light from the street lamp illuminating the shadowed cast to his eyes, subtle hunch of his shoulders, and the way he couldn't help but sniffle even though it looked for all the world like it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Okay," she said simply, letting him have his lie. But she didn't take her hand from his arm, boldly hooking it under his elbow so their bodies pressed closer for warmth. They walked together in silence, feeling their shared heat and listening to the chorus of crunching steps and soft breaths twining in the dark.

When they reached the parking lot of the restaurant, she looked up into his brooding face, the entire left side of her body on fire where it touched his. "Let... let me drive you home."

He stared deep into her eyes, not seeming aware of it when he sniffled again. "Oui."

She unlocked the door with her remote and made for the driver's side, surprised when he got there first and opened it, letting her settle securely inside before closing the door and walking around to the passenger's. Claire couldn't remember the last time someone had held the car door for her.

He folded down into the seat beside her, looking very large in her small interior. She started the car and backed out of the lot, navigating the streets back towards the bar. When he couldn't repress a small shiver, she turned up the heat. He gave her directions, but in truth she wasn't paying much attention.

It was as if that last pair of sneezes had burst something loose in him: he couldn't keep from sniffling incessantly, or from sinking tiredly into the seat and supporting his head with an arm propped against the window.

Pulling into his driveway, she shifted into park and sat silently, waiting for him to say goodnight, to end this perfect - and yet utterly surreal - evening.

But Aimon sat very still, regarding something on her floorboard with utmost intensity.

After several moments, he looked up, his gaze cutting right through her, "I... gm," he cleared his throat with another soft sniff. "Claire... Thank you. For this evening." She held her breath. Ask me in now. Say something. Anything.

He stared for several heartbeats, and she lost herself in those emerald depths. Finally, he pulled his eyes away, murmuring, "Good night." Leaning forward, he brushed a soft kiss to her cheek, opening the door and pulling himself out of the car with surprising speed. Before she could even suck in a shocked gasp, he had closed it firmly and was striding to his front door.

Edited December 4, 2009 by starpollen

[doggo]

PLEASE tell me that he forgot something in her car and has to turn back... Or has dropped his keys... or anything! Just don't let him go!!!!

[Vetinari]

Oh but this continues to be delicious! Please do continue.

[*Dark_Side*]

Omg, this story is so great. I really hope you continue it because I'm dying to see what happens next. I just love that slight bit of awkwardness and I keeps me wondering what each of the characters will do to move the story forward.

[ellwren]

PLEASE tell me that he forgot something in her car and has to turn back... Or has dropped his keys... or anything! Just don't let him go!!!!

obviously, this must happen.

wow, this story is so good.

[Marceline]

This story is so perfect-- I love it! The last part was my fave.

[Nicole]

I'm in love. I am. And I'm hot and bothered.

[elements]

UM...you are such a great writer. i mean, this story would be great without the sneezing too! Of course, I MUCH prefer it with! You ROCK!

Thank you for bringing these characters into my life you have the right amount of background and sneezes...feels more real!

[Turtle]

This story is bliss!!

Sooo Great!

[Aprilcot]

Why? Did I look at the title and not give this story a chance at first?????????

BRILLIANT!!!!!!!!!!!

I LOVE IT!!!!!!

You are an exellent writer and I'm loving the idea of a perfect man, who is always incontrol, suddenly being forced down by a cold to admit his feelings for a young chef!

At least, thats what it seems like!

Please do continue!!!

Loving the frech btw, I'm doing it for GCSE

[VoOs]

Oh, Aimon...

You cruel, cruel woman, stopping there.

[W.I.N.]

I keep meaning to comment here and keep forgetting. It's a really engaging story you have going on here.

Uh... if you need a native French-speaker to vet the French bits, I'd be happy to help. Some of your sentences are... a teeny bit off. Not wrong, just not what they'd sound like coming out of the mouth of a native speaker.

Anyway, it's just a thought, and a really very minor quibble. I'm looking forward to the rest!

~W.I.N.

[starpollen]

I keep meaning to comment here and keep forgetting. It's a really engaging story you have going on here.

Uh... if you need a native French-speaker to vet the French bits, I'd be happy to help. Some of your sentences are... a teeny bit off. Not wrong, just not what they'd sound like coming out of the mouth of a native speaker.

Anyway, it's just a thought, and a really very minor quibble. I'm looking forward to the rest!

~W.I.N.

Hey W.I.N.

I definitely would appreciate help with the French. Masking is helping me, as well, but since I can't go back and edit my old posts after a certain number of hours, I can't go correct what's already wrong. I'm a little bit O.C.D. Perfectionist with regards to my stories, so knowing that there are things wrong that I can't fix is hard.

If you catch something early after I post, DEFINITELY let me know and I'll fix it asap. This story is posted on the Red board and Masking's changes are incorporated there - maybe check that one to see if you agree with her suggestions? Those are the edits I would put here if I could.

AND - I read your ENTIRE 100+ SPN drabble thread last night. I haven't watched the show but have read some of the fics going around. I am a notorious hater of drabble threads, but yours? Pure poetry. Incredible!

Thank you for your post!! I would appreciate your help.

-star

Edited December 5, 2009 by starpollen

[starpollen]

Part 6

Claire drove home in a daze, stumbling into her house and dropping her keys on the kitchen counter. Shedding clothes and dropping them distractedly as she floated to her bed, she lay in the dark, eyes open and unseeing. Tossing and turning all night, her too-tired-to-sleep brain replayed parts of the evening over: their conversations, his half-smiles, the way his eyes glinted hypnotically - inky green - as he stared at her so intently. But most of all, she kept touching her cheek where he'd kissed her, feeling the ghostly brush of his lips, chills skittering down her spine even as heat flooded her skin.

And the way that last, failed stifle had drained him... how it ended in that provocatively breathy exhale/groan...

"Hhk!--NGX'tshu! -uhh."

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, clenching the sheets in her fists as it echoed in her ears.

Finally dropping to sleep like a log about 4 a.m., she groaned when her alarm went off at 10. Six hours wasn't enough sleep after the night she'd had, and she felt light-headed, dehydrated and a little hung over. She dragged herself up and weaved her way into the kitchen for a tall glass of ice water, gulping it down with a couple of ibuprofen. Taking a second glass into the living room, she lay on the couch for an hour or so until the water and ibuprofen made her feel a little more human.

Today was Saturday, which meant she needed to rake the leaves from her yard. But when she glanced out the window, she was shocked to see huge flakes of snow falling from the sky. Mouth hanging open in disbelief, she logged onto her laptop. Sure enough, a huge swath of white blanketed the weather map, the hour-by-hour tab telling her that it was supposed to keep falling until nearly 8:00. The temperature was hovering between 32 and 33 degrees Fahrenheit, and would drop down to 26 by 1 a.m.

Damn.

Her car was two-wheel drive, and she was due for a new set of tires. Overdue, actually. And there was no way the city was going to be ready for snow this early; she'd be surprised if sand trucks or plows would be out before midnight. Which meant a slushy drive to work in the afternoon and an icy drive home after midnight.

And Aimon...

Surely he wouldn't walk to work in this. Did he have a car? She didn't know.

She spent the afternoon cleaning her kitchen and bathroom, something she normally saved for her day off on Monday but figured she could get it done early and maybe spend Monday sleeping in. A bowl of soup for lunch with a single slice of bread folded into a sandwich, then she showered and dressed for work. Yes, she probably spent more time than usual getting ready: making sure her hair was more carefully bound, even applying just a touch of eyeliner and shadow. It was no use to bother with more: the heat of the kitchen would melt it all away. Still, she felt some inexplicable need to look good. For him.

She left nearly an hour early, even though it only took twenty minutes to get to work. And not just because of the weather.

Claire was torn. Part of her wanted to drive to Aimon's house, to knock on his door and offer him a ride. She'd inherited her mom's great sense of direction, and could easily find her way back to his place. But part of her was too scared to chance it - would she seem too eager? Too desperate? After all, he hadn't left her with much reassurance of his feelings, no real declaration nor any promise that they would see each other again outside of work. And what if he DID have a car? She'd be totally embarrassed.

So in the end, her cowardice won and she simply drove to the restaurant, her stomach knotted with indecision. Pulling into the lot, she noticed she was the first one to arrive, almost half-an-hour early.

But the back door was unlocked. So she wasn't the first one there... Clocking in, she hung up her coat on the hook outside the office door. It was ajar, and the golden light from the desk lamp spilled onto the hallway floor. From inside, she could hear papers shuffling and the sound of a man softly clearing his throat.

Aimon.

Suddenly self-conscious, she ducked her head, intended to go directly to her station to begin her prep, not knowing if he would welcome her interrupting his work, if it would make her seem clingy. She gritted her teeth, raising her chin a little higher: she wanted him to come to her.

But then...

"Hht'NngSH'Uu!...ah," followed by a liquid sniffle and a low, tired sigh.

Mm...

Before she knew what she was doing, her hand was pressed flat against the wooden door, easing it the rest of the way open...

Aimon sat behind the desk, slouched into the chair's high back. He wasn't wearing his chef's coat. She'd never seen him without it, and while the black v-neck sweater was criminally attractive on him - hugging his broad shoulders and exposing the smooth skin below his throat - it was strange. It made him look even less like himself.

Something white was in his hand, dabbing gingerly at his nose, eyes closed. Those bruised shadows she'd seen the day before were a little deeper, his shoulders sagging, looking like someone had wrung him out and tossed him aside.

Exhausted. And sick.

The door made a slight creak, and his hand dropped to his lap, eyes slitting open wearily. They were dull, a little red-rimmed. He sniffled again.

"Hey," she whispered.

He grunted softly, clearing his throat again and hunching forward to lean his arms on the desk. That brown hair flopped down into his eyes, partially obscuring his face, and she noticed it was damp. So he had walked here in the snow. Idiot, she cursed inwardly, aiming the insult at the both of them: he for not having the good sense to stay home and herself for not following her instincts.

"You look awful," she blurted.

He glanced up briefly in surprise, then curved his lips into that boyish half-smile and began to chuckle softly to himself. But his laughter set off a brief set of coughs, which he brought the handkerchief to his mouth to muffle.

"Oh," she breathed - a word loaded with more than simple concern - taking the three steps that brought her around the desk. By the time she laid a hand lightly to his back, he'd finished, taking the opportunity to dab at his nose again.

"I am not cooking tonight," he murmured, voice so hoarse it was nearly gone.

"Obviously," she agreed.

If her hand hadn't been on his back, she never would have heard the swallowed groan that preceded the next sniffle, but the vibration tingled her palm, alerting her to his distress. His hands slowly, almost reluctantly, brought the handkerchief up from his lap, stretching it between his long fingers. Wrapping his nose securely in the fabric, he turned away from her and clenched violently with two fierce, muffled sneezes.

"eh-Mmpff!... Hht!'MMPFFT!" He froze in that position for a moment or two, then picked his head up blearily and blinked at the desk. "...kgm... Pardon."

"Bless you," she murmured softly, barely aware that she was vaguely rubbing his back in light circles. He sighed, letting his hand crush the white cloth and drop into his lap with a deeper sniffle. She decided to chance it... "You should go home."

Predictably, he pulled himself up straighter, causing her hand to lose contact with his back, shaking his head. "Je ne peux pas," he cleared his throat again, giving a couple more coughs. She found his threadbare voice almost as sexy as his sneeze, his accent the thickest she'd ever heard. Claire wondered absently if it took more concentration to control it than he was currently able to give... "Even if I do not plate, there are things I must do." Pushing back his chair, he rose, closing his eyes and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. As if his head ached.

Claire laid her hand to his arm, opening her mouth to say something else, to try to argue with him, even though she knew it was pointless. He was the most hard, stubborn man she had ever worked for, and she was sure it wasn't just a professional habit. He looked at her then, expression softening just the barest degree, and covered her hand with his own.

His ice-cold hand.

"Your fingers are freezing."

He dropped his gaze. "Excuse-moi," he muttered, turning away and starting to remove them, but she stopped him, covering his fingers with her other hand.

"That wasn't a complaint," she shook her head slightly, grateful when he turned back and looked into her eyes. Those normally bottle-green, glittering glass eyes of his that were always so sharp, so keen, were flat, lifeless. He looked so tired.

Just then, the back door opened and one of the other staff came in, stamping the snow off their feet. Aimon's back automatically stiffened, his face slipping into that hard, impenetrable mask of authority between one heartbeat and the next. He pulled his hand away.

"You should go prep."

She sighed, irritated, but bit her tongue and obeyed. In that instant he had ceased to be just Aimon and had become Chef. It was Saturday night, usually their busiest night, and the weekend before Thanksgiving. They would be debuting their holiday menu, and already had a long list of reservations.

Claire would see him later, she promised herself as she began to sharpen her knives. After all, there was no way in hell she was letting him walk home.

[*Dark_Side*]

I really love where this story is going. I can't wait till she gets done with work and offers to drive him home, maybe she'll go inside and take care of him lol.

[W.I.N.]

An update! Hurray!

*basks in the story*

I am an impatient grabby person and I want the rest!

(The French is all good in this one. )

~W.I.N.

[doggo]

Poor man!

Lovely!

[onlyhim]

What I really love is how realistic the characters are. The way they speak, the way they act and react...so many layers. The best part is you are able to make me feel their emotions right along with them, and that is all you can ask of any story! (I've read every story of yours that I can find, and they are all like this. You are really gifted!)

[Vetinari]

I definitely would appreciate help with the French. Masking is helping me, as well, but since I can't go back and edit my old posts after a certain number of hours, I can't go correct what's already wrong.

If you tell me what you would like edited I will do it. In addition, those who write stories with multiple parts can ask a senior member of staff for additional editing privileges if they can demonstrate they have written a few.....I should think you would qualify.

Still loving this!

[Selene]

I came out of reader-lurkdom to tell you just how great this story is. I can only second what onlyhim pointed out, namely that your characters are amazingly natural. I could watch Aimon's sufferings for ages and I love how he gradually softenes step by step due to his worsening condition

Edited December 6, 2009 by schnulle

[Turtle]

This story reminds me of that uneasy/excited feeling of a 1st date with a long-time crush. I adore this story, thank you for writing it

[Aprilcot]

I really love this!

The irritation of Claire at the end was brilliant!

I love this! Please continue!!!