peace_inthe_violence

"We can all handle things ourselves, Nile. I didn't offer because I didn't think you could do it. I offered because I wanted to." He shrugged one shoulder. "I enjoy taking care of my family."

And when it came down to it, that was what he always did. Andy was the backbone of their little group, but Nicky was the heart. He made sure everyone ate and had options to drink. He kept the place tidy, making sure that everyone's little odds and ends were either returned to them or placed somewhere easy for them to find. Even with the upkeep of the house, it was a way to make sure that everyone was comfortable and taken care of.

"Surprised?"

She inclined her head in an easy acquiescence to the explanation, she'd felt like that was the case, but hadn't been completely sure.

She just nodded at the question, "Yeah, you know what you're doing and it shows. Where'd you even learn?" Though, before he could actually answer, realization struck and she answered herself with: "Oh. Joe's hair used to be longer, didn't it?"

He chuckled a little, nodding. "It was. Over the years, he has had many styles and lengths. I learned relatively early how to care for his hair. Your curls are tighter and need a little more oil, but the over all process is the same."

He shrugged again, that little smile still firmly in place.

"It would be better wet, but it will do for now. You can keep the scarf for days that you don't feel like doing it, but I do not mind. It is actually nice. Joe's hair hasn't been that long in a long while. I have missed it."

See, Nile. He hadn't offered purely for her sake.

And there was the actual smile, a crooked, wry little thing that probably would have been properly amused under the right circumstances, "So it's not totally altruistic, got it."

Another nod, toying with the end of one of the braids, "We get you some good instruction sheets for crowns and patterns and everything, I think we can work something out. Wouldn't want those skills to get too rusty." That and she'd always hated trying to do the whole thing herself, which was why when she had to it usually ended up just rolled in a scarf for a few days.

He laughed, probably not the first she'd heard but certainly the first she'd caused. It didn't last long, but the wide smile remained and there may or may not have been the softest of snorts at the end of it.

"Of course. I may have to watch you do it a few times to get it proper, but I'm willing to put in the time if you are. Maybe I will be lucky and Joe will be jealous of my fingers in your hair, eh?" He perked one brow in something that could almost be considered 'flirtatious'. He didn't really mean it and that would be obvious to anyone else in their little family, but after a moment he reached out to lightly touch the back of her hand. "I am kidding, sorellina."

He just wanted to be sure she knew that.

That got him a small smile, honestly it was the eyebrow more than the statement on its own and she nodded at the clarification, but gave a little shrug, "Hey, the two of you are really stupidly obviously in love, and if playing with my hair gets you laid? We'll put that one in the 'reasons for' column."

The smile twitched up just a little broader, Nicky, she'd found, was easy to tease back, which would have surprised her a few weeks before, when she was mostly trying not to just snap at everyone, "So in the reasons for we've got, you know what you're doing but need the practice, we've got sometimes I don't want to do it myself, and we've also got might get you laid. In the reasons against column there's... uh..." She scratched behind her ear briefly, "Don't always have the time? Maybe?"

"Oh! Not jealous like that, cara." He grinned, shaking his head a little. "More like maybe he'll grow his own hair back out so that I can do his hair again, too." It was an understandable mistake to make, especially with his misuse of words, but it was still amusing.

"I..actually cannot remember the last time Joe was 'properly' jealous over someone else. Manet, maybe? Or was he the one who insulted my nose?" He tilted his head, looking like he was trying to honestly remember something. After a moment, he huffed out a breath and looked back at Nile.

"I can't remember. Either way, it sounds like we have far more reasons 'for' doing this more often than we have reasons to not. Do you mind if I ask what your wash cycle is? Purely so I can plan time accordingly. It really is easier to make things neat while it's wet."

She made a quiet sound, acquiescence if not agreement at the correction, apparently unbothered by it, "Still going to put that in the 'for' column.
Longer hair would suit him I think."

She tilted her head from side to side at the actual question, "Every three days, give or take," Because sometimes there was reason to wash sooner, and she was fairly sure that would become more common soon enough, but there was something else to catch her attention at the moment: "But back up," It had taken her a moment to actually process the name that had been tossed out as casually as anything, "Manet the painter? Surprised Nymph? Who really doesn't look that surprised at all if you ask me?"

Three days. He could work with every three days. Especially since he wasn't doing much more with Joe's hair than washing it. And he really doubted that she would ever let him help with that part, so really it was perfect.

He got up from the table and headed over the sink to wash his hands. The question about Manet made him glance back over his shoulder, brow arched a little as he nodded.

"Sì. Joe knew him through his work."

Edited 2020-09-28 00:54 (UTC)

She just shook her head, eyes widening for a moment before she closed them so she could pinch the bridge of her nose, "Manet, Édouard Manet, the painter, whose art I saw at the MoMa on a field trip, and you just toss out the fact that you knew him and he might have insulted your nose like he's Steve the next door neighbor. I'm going to need, just, just give me a minute."

Part of it was theatrical put-on, but part of it was genuinely reeling, however briefly, from the historical whiplash.

He chuckled softly, turning off the faucet when he could no longer feel any oil between his fingers. He dried his hands on a fresh towel, and took the buttered one over to the doorway between the kitchen and their laundry. There was already a load going, so he set it aside for later.

"I didn't know him particularly well. You'd have to ask Joe if you want details about him. I met him a couple of times...and I'm fairly certain that he was the one who insulted my nose." He made a face, reaching up to run a finger along the slope of his admittedly rather Roman nose. "I'm aware of how large it is, I didn't need the verbal reminder."

Still, he smirked and headed to the fridge to pull out a gallon sized jar of what looked like milk to set on the counter while he knelt to find the pot that he wanted.

She shook her head, eyes still closed for the moment, kneading up her brow instead of just pinching the bridge of her nose, something reaching a boiling point even as she rattled off: "I don't have anything to ask, I want to know why he named that one a startled nymph when she don't look startled at all and really just looks like my moms when someone interrupts her reading for the third time in twenty minutes."

She realized belatedly the pitch she'd reached by the end and took a deep breath, adding, "But I don't think Joe would have that information."

Her voice got louder and louder as she went and Nicky blinked as he stood up, the stock pot and it's lid in separate hands. She looked upset and he set the tools aside in favor of walking back over and sitting back down in the chair he'd left.

He opened his mouth to say that Joe might actually know the answer to that, depending on when it was painted...but after a moment he just closed his mouth and instead reached out to lightly touch her arm.

"I am sorry, sorellina. I am not sure what I said to bring this to the surface, but I do understand that this must be a very hard thing to hold in your mind."

"I think it was less the what and more the how." She had managed to settle a little, at least, you just said it, like maybe it happened last week and not a damn century and a half ago."

She shook her head, drawing herself up a little once she did so, as if physically moving away from being overwhelmed, "I'll get used to it, I will, that one just caught me by surprise, I wasn't prepared for that."

Ah. That made sense. Perhaps a bit less sense to them than it did for her, but Nicky could see her side of it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't even think about how strange that must be for you. I..I guess the best way to put it, is that the man I'm talking about isn't the famous man you've read about? To me, to my memory, he is simply a man who painted and had a very...unique view of life. To me, it is no different than you telling be about your third neighbor to a house you only lived in for a year.

I will try to be better about remembering."

She shook her head at the offer, "No, it's fine, if you start getting gun-shy about how to say things, the way you talk about things that have happened, I'm not going to get used to hearing it, and that's the opposite of what we want."

Another little head shake, "It's fine, really, I'm caught up now, everything's good." At least until the next moment of historical vertigo, but now that she knew that he was probably just going to toss out facts like that at the least provocation -and the others would probably be the same way- she had a little better sense of how to handle it.

She was right, but he could still make an attempt to keep his stream of thought somewhere at least in this century. After all, he could still remember how absolutely jarring it had been the first time that Andy had casually mentioned that Jesus had a fondness for honey sweets.

He hadn't slept for a couple of days after that and he'd also forbidden her from talking about him ever again. She'd held up her end of the bargain. So far.

Nodding, he glanced over at the milk on the counter before looking back over to the young woman at the table.

"May I distract you by having you help me make cheese?"

That question was definitely enough to shake her out of the lingering uncertainty that the initial statement had caused.

As evidenced by the fact that she just blinked at him, finally asking: "You can just make cheese?" Logically she knew that some people did, but she hadn't ever considered it herself, though she'd made her own butter a time or two, usually for Thanksgiving dinner and once or twice for Christmas breakfast, when her mom hadn't made cinnamon rolls.

He arched a brow, a smirk toying with the corner of his lips. "Did you think it just appeared at the store to be bought?"

And no, he had absolutely no idea how much of a boomer that made him sound like. Or even what a 'boomer' was, to be honest. He preferred books to the internet, though he was getting better at the whole 'computer' thing.

"Mozzarella is easy. No pressing or aging required, unlike what I have downstairs. Fresh mozzarella is quite a treat. Do you want to learn?"

She spread both hands, some kind of gesture of surrender, "Look, I'm from the city, everything's made in some kind of factory as far as I'm concerned. So yes, I would absolutely like to learn just as long as you don't mind me reacting like it's magic for a while."

Because she was going to regardless, the same way she had when she'd first learned how to make pancakes, though that had been a long time ago, now.

He chuckled, giving her a teasing look. "Ahh, but what is science other than magic explained?"

One brow popped in an arch and he grinned wide as he finally got back up to head over to the stove. He settled the stock pot onto the burner, but didn't kick it on yet.

"First step, bring your milk up to 13 degrees. Low heat, please. You don't want to scorch it or the whole batch will be ruined."

"Thirteen?" She squinted a moment, "So that's, what, about fifty-four, fifty-five Fahrenheit?" She wasn't entirely sure on that calculation, "And you have a candy thermometer or something to measure with or have you done this often enough that you just know? Because I'm not going to call that cheating, but it kind of is."

It was a tease in return, still testing the edges of what she was allowed to tease about and what would be too much of a dig, though she doubted she would hit any of those by accident.

"That is not cheating. That is putting in the effort. No different than any other skill, thank you much." He smirked, reaching around her to slide open a drawer that contained all the cooking utensils that weren't common to every day cooking. "But since you haven't put in that work, yet, the thermometer is there."

He affectionately flicked the braid he'd just finished. For a moment, part of him considered teaching her the old, old fashioned way of doing this...but he wasn't that mean.

He wasn't switching over to Fahrenheit, though. He wasn't American and he never had been.

She hummed, as if considering that, though there was finally amusement catching at the edges of her expression again as she said: "Fine, I'll let you have that point."

She gave the thermometer a quick rinse in the sink before setting it aside on a dishtowel, "Is this just milk or is there something in it? Because if it's just milk I think it might have gone off."

He blinked, amused expression clouding for a moment as he came over to smell the milk. It was fine, just as it should have been. Stepping back, he shook his head.

"Nothing is wrong with it? It smells fine. A little grassy, perhaps, but her goats are pasture raised, not grain fed so that's to be expected..."

Malta

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