"Der Rosenkavalier"
By: Melissa and Cathy
Her voice. He loved her voice. Maybe because it was so damned cool and businesslike, and he could imagine it changing to hot and bothered under the right circumstances. True, those circumstances hadn't yet happened, but they still might. When she yelled, "Carter! Wake up!", he imagined her saying it with a much different tone, and with a different purpose.
By the time Carter had been living with Kerry for several months, their
relationship had evolved from its start as virtual strangers to pretty good friends. There were areas of her life that she didn't let him in on, but he was tantalized by the glimpses he got.
She loved opera, no surprise there, but also listened to The Dictators
(wouldn't Jerry laugh?) at a deafening volume. She wore sexy perfume around the house, but never at work. And although she could drink him under the table, she was the most feminine woman he'd ever known.
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They had developed a pattern of working similar shifts, which meant that they often ate together. After first laying down the law that Carter would do his share of the cooking, Kerry quickly realized that was a very bad idea. The first morning of scorched eggs and soggy toast -- how the hell he'd managed that, she had no idea -- convinced her that she would continue to do the cooking.
Funny, he was so capable in other areas. He even put up shelves in his
basement room. Kerry watched him closely, but more to see him in the guise of carpenter than to actually supervise the work. One day she'd have to tell him about her construction worker fantasy.
In the meantime, she simply enjoyed having him there. She'd been apprehensive when he first inquired about moving in. There could be gossip, or would their work relationship might become compromised somehow. Fortunately, neither happened. Kerry realized that although his workmates teased Carter mercilessly, deep down they respected him. Sure, they'd joke with him about being a klutz, about eyeing up yet another blonde, but they'd never cross the line and say something to hurt him. He was like everyone's little brother, whom they were grudgingly watching grow up.
The second hurdle was somehow even easier. When at home, Kerry and Carter simply avoided talking about work -- or at least about people at work -- whenever possible. They might say in general terms that they'd had a bad day, but they didn't mention names. Kerry would mention, talking about yet another run-in with Doug, that this prick of a guy was really getting on her nerves, acting like he had a Don Quixote complex or something. And Carter, of course, knew exactly whom
she was talking about, but pretended otherwise. When Carter mentioned a blow up with a blow-hard who loved nothing better than the sound of his own voice, Kerry knew without a doubt that Anspaugh was the subject of the discussion.
Just as much as they enjoyed their cryptic work discussions, they loved to laugh together. Carter had been, at first, shocked about Kerry's penchant for dirty jokes, just as he'd been surprised about her taste in music, but he quickly adjusted. And Carter, although he had a phenomenal memory as a physician, was hopeless at joke telling. Watching him get every punchline so very wrong was likely more entertaining than the correct joke would have been.
Cooking was a small price to pay for such companionship. And at least, Kerry thought, she didn't have to clean up. The good thing about living with a former surgeon was that he was damned good at scrubbing things. Now if only she could convince him to clean things while shirtless....