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tinyfandomflashTitle: Growing On You (Like Moss On a Tree)
Author:![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
timegoesby
Fandom: Time For Chaos (Podcast)
Rating: Gen
Category: M/F
Relationship(s): Carter Tillinghast/Margarete "Margot" Sauer
Character(s): Carter Tillinghast, Margarete "Margot" Sauer
Word Count: 2,500
Spoiler: Post Season 2
Summary: Margot hasn’t really been herself lately, so Carter tries something to get her mind off recent events.
Or, Carter practices his shooting, Margot practices her patience.
"Just point and shoot, it is not complicated." Margot speaks with a barely disguised sigh of frustration.
"It's not—it's a little more complicated than that." Carter fumbles with the revolver in his hands, trying to hold it like he’s seen the others do, the way Margot just showed him how to, again, all of thirty seconds ago.
"No it's not,” Margot rolls her eyes and takes the revolver from his hands. “Use your eyes. Point,” she closes one eye and levels the gun to the makeshift tin can targets in front of them, “and shoot.” A bang, almost immediately followed by a sharp clang as one of the tin cans gets launched off the wooden log it was resting on by the force of the bullet. “Done. I don’t know why you are struggling so much," she casually hands it back to him, and their fingers brush for a second as Carter tries not to touch the hot metal of the barrel.
"Well, you see,” he quickly pulls his hand away and clears his throat. “First of all, you're forgetting I only have one eye, so I'm already at a disadvantage here—"
"I always close one eye to shoot,” she interrupts in a deadpan tone. “It helps with targeting."
"Good for you! That's great!” His words are somewhere between genuine praise and helpless sarcasm. “I need two eyes for this, though, which I don't have, so.”
“So what?” Margot crosses her arms as she stares at him. “You're just going to give up?”
Carter flinches.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, clearly at an impasse, and Carter can feel a headache coming on.
This was supposed to be a bonding moment, a chance for Margot to get her mind off whatever demons had been plaguing her after that nightmare at the Misr House and the chaos that followed. Carter had gone to the trouble of finding a nice big English field with rolling grass and packed a nice big English breakfast —or, at least, as close as he could get to one at the last minute— and hid a picnic basket inside the rented car they drove to get here. They were supposed to have a fun time shooting targets, Carter was going to impress Margot with a few well-timed displays of beginner’s luck, and then he would casually reveal the picnic set up and they would eat and enjoy this rare sunny day in this drab, wet country.
Only it turns out Carter couldn’t even shoot fish in a barrel, and Margot is not exactly the paragon of patience, and for some reason the two of them can barely spend more than ten minutes together without devolving into inane quibbling.
“…No,” he relents. “No I’m not going to give up, but, uh, can we take a little break? For now?”
Margot narrows her eyes, mulls it over for a second, and sighs. “Fine, let’s take a break.”
“Great!” Carter claps his hands. “I prepared us a little something, no need to thank me, just wait here.”
Without waiting for Margot to say anything, Carter runs off towards the car parked at the edge of the small road a few ways away to grab the picnic basket, coming back less than a minute later, slightly out of breath and trying not to show it, holding it aloft.
“Here, hold this.” He hands it over to Margot, who takes it with a slightly confused expression.
“What’s this?” The faintest of confused smiles tugs at the corner of her lips.
“Picnic!” he answers as he pulls out a checkered tablecloth. “I figured, hey, you agreed to come out here and help me and all that, so I should at least pack us a lunch, right?”
“Oh?” Margot watches as he struggles to lay the tablecloth flat on the floor due to the wind blowing away, stifling a laugh as she replies, “That is… so thoughtful of you.”
“Yeah, I know.” With one hand clamping down on a corner of the tablecloth, Carter reaches out to try and grab a nearby rock to weigh the cloth down. “Speaking of thoughtful, mind giving me a little help? Just—just step there, if you can,” he points to the opposite corner of the square.
Without replying, Margot reaches down to smooth the corner of the tablecloth, places the picnic basket down on it to pin it down, then takes her shoes off, uses them to weight down the next corner of the cloth, and sits down cross-legged on the now unmoving side.
“That… works too.” Carter finally reaches the rock, puts it down on the cloth, and follows Margot’s example by taking his shoes off and placing them on the last corner before sitting down across from her.
By the time he is sitting down, Margot is already rummaging through the picnic basket, pulling out the items and placing them in between the two of them.
“Why did you bring so many beans?” She asks as she pulls out the third can of beans from the basket.
“It’s supposed to be an English breakfast, Margot. The English love beans” He shrugs.
“And the schnitzel?”
“You like schnitzel, right?”
“Yes, I suppose…” she gives a sort of confused smile and continues setting out the items. “These sandwiches—”
“Egg salad, you can’t have a full breakfast without eggs.”
“And an entire loaf of white bread…”
“Beans on toast!” Carter offers. “Classic English cuisine.”
“Oh, cream of mushroom soup.” She at least seems pleased by that one. “And cookies.”
“Yeah, I asked for biscuits, actually,” he shrugs. “Apparently they call them ‘crumpets’ here? I also got some of those, and jam.”
Margot pulls out the final items in the basket, which are the things Carter pointed out as well as a bottle of orange juice, two plates, two sets of cutlery, and two glasses.
The two stare at each other for a few seconds before Carter motions for Margot to begin eating, trying to keep his manners in mind.
She grabs a can of soup, then peeks back inside the picnic basket, “Did you bring a can opener?”
“Uh,” Carter swears inwardly at the realisation. “No.”
“Oh.” Margot puts the can back down and grabs a sandwich instead.
They eat the slightly cold food in an awkward silence that lasts minutes, but which feels like hours as far as Carter is concerned. He should think of something for them to talk about, but all the topics he can come up with right now have something to do with the global conspiracy of supernatural horrors they’re just beginning to unravel, and since the point of this outing was to get Margot to think about something that wasn’t, well, that, bringing it up now doesn’t sound like a good idea.
So he tries reaching for anything else. He knows Margot is all about art, but that’s not a valid topic either since he suspects even his best bluff would quickly give away just how little he knows about impressive modernism or whatever her area of study is called; the weather is also a viable topic, but in this country it’s either raining or about to rain so that would run dry fairly quickly… Now that he thinks about it, gossip is always a good topic to get people talking, and he’s pretty sure Margot has plenty of that from her days in art school. He’s also never known a woman who didn’t at least enjoy complaining about her exes, so if he were to combine the two…
“So,” he clears his throat and looks down at the soggy schnitzel in his hands. “You know, the last time I had one of these was back in New York, which feels like ages ago but it’s only really been a couple of months. Funny how time works, right?”
Margot merely nods and takes a sip of orange juice.
“Which reminds me,” he continues in the most casual tone he can muster. “I was going to bring you one to the hospital, back when you were still—uh, never mind. The point is that I ran into that friend of yours, remember? The old guy, what was his name, Gustav?”
“Gunther,” she visibly tenses with her answer, her lips pulling into a taut line as she pretends to pick something out of the sandwich in her hands. “And he is not that old.”
Seeing that Margot has put on that ‘Sauerpuss’ expression of hers, which is reserved only for the topics that annoy her most, Carter knows for sure he’s hit some sort of nerve, though whether this displeasure is aimed at that Gunther fellow or Carter himself is still to be determined. So, obviously, he keeps going.
“Right, of course,” he nods. “Not that old, but a little old for you—I mean, a little old now, right?”
She raises one eyebrow and shoots him an unimpressed look. “You’re one to talk.”
Carter sputters, “Yeah—okay—fair, but what I meant is, uh…” he takes a swig of the orange juice to give himself time to think. “You two had some sort of thing in the past, but that’s ancient history now, right? Ancient like the man himself.” He laughs to make sure that last part comes across as a joke.
“Hm,” Margot’s noncommittal hum indicates neither annoyance nor amusement. “Why are you so interested in Gunther?”
“I’m not interested in—” he stops himself before coming across too much like a jealous suitor. “I was just wondering, that’s all. Just making conversation.”
“Oh, I see.” Margot gives him a look that indicates she does not buy his nonchalant act even for a second.
Still, Carter pushes on, now more curious than ever to get to the bottom of at least this part of her life. “So…? You two are just friends—no, acquaintances now, right?”
Margot sighs and puts the remaining third of her sandwich back inside the paper bag. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
That was… not what Carter was expecting to hear.
“Maybe?” he tries not to choke on the mouthful of juice he just drank. “Maybe what?”
“Maybe it is ancient history,” she rolls her eyes. “Or maybe I am thinking about running back to Germany and shacking up with a rich old man while the world burns around us.”
“Wait, Gunner’s rich?” Carter blurts out the question before he has time to process the rest of her statement.
“Gunther,” Margot corrects him again. “And I was more so referencing your recent ‘ancient history’ with rich older women.”
Carter stares mouth agape for a second before he’s able to recover. “I—ahem—I’ve been moving on from that phase of my life, just so you know.”
“You call scamming old ladies a ‘phase’?” she raises both eyebrows as she says this, and a faint smirk breaks through her deadpan stare.
“Hey, listen,” he needs to steer the topic away from this as soon as possible. “No one’s perfect, okay? But I can assure you my days of philandering are long behind me—ancient history, just like you said. I’m a new man, I’m starting a new, honest chapter.”
“In your book?” the smirk increases, and Carter can tell Margot finds this whole teasing him thing incredibly amusing.
“In my life!” Carter defends himself, then adds, “But yes, also in the book, if you must know.”
Margot laughs, finally, and though it’s not particularly loud or unrestrained, it’s the first time in weeks that Carter has seen her do more than force a smile for the sake of those around her.
“Okay, okay,” Carter puts his hands up and cracks a smile of his own. “Can we go back to the part where I make a fool of myself with a gun instead of whatever this turned into?”
“Sure, whatever you want.” Margot’s laughter dies down, but her expression is noticeably lighter than before.
“Now that the wind’s died down a bit I’m sure I can hit a couple of targets,” Carter stuffs his leftovers back inside the basket and stands up.
“Hm, yes,” she nods along to him as she retrieves her shoes and helps pack up their picnic. “I am sure you will.”
“Trust me, after today I’m going to be a pro marksman.” He turns to Margot. “Maybe I should get a shotgun just like yours.”
Margot pulls a face at that. “Maybe stay with the revolver, I don’t want you blowing up any more holes in your face.”
Carter freezes at that, taking a second to decide whether it was supposed to be an insult or a comment of concern, and asks, “Did I hear you being worried about me just now?”
“No! I mean—” Her sudden defensiveness is a sight to behold. “Learn to use the gun first, okay?”
“Aw,” Carter smiles and tilts his head towards her. “I’m touched. You’re growing sweet on me, aren’t you?”
Margot tries schooling her face back into neutrality with a huff, but Carter can still hear her muttering to herself as she stomps back into position with the makeshift targets. “Sweet who? Any more sweet than this is going to give me a cavity.”
Carter laughs, goes to fetch the revolver from where he’d set it down earlier, and catches up with Margot in front of the cans they were shooting.
“So, can you tell me how to grab this thing again? I think if you help hold my arm through the first couple of shots I’ll really get an idea of—”
“Don’t push it.” Margot shoots him a glare.
“Okay, frownline Sauer.” He smiles his sweetest smile, though its effect is somewhat dampened by the unmoving half of his face. “I got the gist of it anyway, you really are a great teacher.”
“Oh, shush.” She gives him a light jab on the shoulder. “Please just start shooting now.”
Carter nods and gets into position with one hand on the grip of the revolver and the other one supporting it from below, just the way Margot had taught him earlier that morning. He takes a moment to aim until he can see one of the cans from the sight at the end of the barrel, remembering Margot’s words about having to aim low with this particular gun, and sneaks a glance back at her to make sure she’s not seeing any problems.
Margot stares back, and it feels like she’s really looking at him this time. She’s not as distracted as when they first started, nor as exasperated as she was just before their break, instead she just seems presently in the moment, glancing between him and the target and weighing his chances of success.
Carter smiles to himself, glad to have been able to get her mind off of things even if only a little, which was the real point of this whole thing anyway. Then he looks back through the sight, points, and—bang.
That’s the sound of a mission accomplished.
Author:
Fandom: Time For Chaos (Podcast)
Rating: Gen
Category: M/F
Relationship(s): Carter Tillinghast/Margarete "Margot" Sauer
Character(s): Carter Tillinghast, Margarete "Margot" Sauer
Word Count: 2,500
Spoiler: Post Season 2
Summary: Margot hasn’t really been herself lately, so Carter tries something to get her mind off recent events.
Or, Carter practices his shooting, Margot practices her patience.
"Just point and shoot, it is not complicated." Margot speaks with a barely disguised sigh of frustration.
"It's not—it's a little more complicated than that." Carter fumbles with the revolver in his hands, trying to hold it like he’s seen the others do, the way Margot just showed him how to, again, all of thirty seconds ago.
"No it's not,” Margot rolls her eyes and takes the revolver from his hands. “Use your eyes. Point,” she closes one eye and levels the gun to the makeshift tin can targets in front of them, “and shoot.” A bang, almost immediately followed by a sharp clang as one of the tin cans gets launched off the wooden log it was resting on by the force of the bullet. “Done. I don’t know why you are struggling so much," she casually hands it back to him, and their fingers brush for a second as Carter tries not to touch the hot metal of the barrel.
"Well, you see,” he quickly pulls his hand away and clears his throat. “First of all, you're forgetting I only have one eye, so I'm already at a disadvantage here—"
"I always close one eye to shoot,” she interrupts in a deadpan tone. “It helps with targeting."
"Good for you! That's great!” His words are somewhere between genuine praise and helpless sarcasm. “I need two eyes for this, though, which I don't have, so.”
“So what?” Margot crosses her arms as she stares at him. “You're just going to give up?”
Carter flinches.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, clearly at an impasse, and Carter can feel a headache coming on.
This was supposed to be a bonding moment, a chance for Margot to get her mind off whatever demons had been plaguing her after that nightmare at the Misr House and the chaos that followed. Carter had gone to the trouble of finding a nice big English field with rolling grass and packed a nice big English breakfast —or, at least, as close as he could get to one at the last minute— and hid a picnic basket inside the rented car they drove to get here. They were supposed to have a fun time shooting targets, Carter was going to impress Margot with a few well-timed displays of beginner’s luck, and then he would casually reveal the picnic set up and they would eat and enjoy this rare sunny day in this drab, wet country.
Only it turns out Carter couldn’t even shoot fish in a barrel, and Margot is not exactly the paragon of patience, and for some reason the two of them can barely spend more than ten minutes together without devolving into inane quibbling.
“…No,” he relents. “No I’m not going to give up, but, uh, can we take a little break? For now?”
Margot narrows her eyes, mulls it over for a second, and sighs. “Fine, let’s take a break.”
“Great!” Carter claps his hands. “I prepared us a little something, no need to thank me, just wait here.”
Without waiting for Margot to say anything, Carter runs off towards the car parked at the edge of the small road a few ways away to grab the picnic basket, coming back less than a minute later, slightly out of breath and trying not to show it, holding it aloft.
“Here, hold this.” He hands it over to Margot, who takes it with a slightly confused expression.
“What’s this?” The faintest of confused smiles tugs at the corner of her lips.
“Picnic!” he answers as he pulls out a checkered tablecloth. “I figured, hey, you agreed to come out here and help me and all that, so I should at least pack us a lunch, right?”
“Oh?” Margot watches as he struggles to lay the tablecloth flat on the floor due to the wind blowing away, stifling a laugh as she replies, “That is… so thoughtful of you.”
“Yeah, I know.” With one hand clamping down on a corner of the tablecloth, Carter reaches out to try and grab a nearby rock to weigh the cloth down. “Speaking of thoughtful, mind giving me a little help? Just—just step there, if you can,” he points to the opposite corner of the square.
Without replying, Margot reaches down to smooth the corner of the tablecloth, places the picnic basket down on it to pin it down, then takes her shoes off, uses them to weight down the next corner of the cloth, and sits down cross-legged on the now unmoving side.
“That… works too.” Carter finally reaches the rock, puts it down on the cloth, and follows Margot’s example by taking his shoes off and placing them on the last corner before sitting down across from her.
By the time he is sitting down, Margot is already rummaging through the picnic basket, pulling out the items and placing them in between the two of them.
“Why did you bring so many beans?” She asks as she pulls out the third can of beans from the basket.
“It’s supposed to be an English breakfast, Margot. The English love beans” He shrugs.
“And the schnitzel?”
“You like schnitzel, right?”
“Yes, I suppose…” she gives a sort of confused smile and continues setting out the items. “These sandwiches—”
“Egg salad, you can’t have a full breakfast without eggs.”
“And an entire loaf of white bread…”
“Beans on toast!” Carter offers. “Classic English cuisine.”
“Oh, cream of mushroom soup.” She at least seems pleased by that one. “And cookies.”
“Yeah, I asked for biscuits, actually,” he shrugs. “Apparently they call them ‘crumpets’ here? I also got some of those, and jam.”
Margot pulls out the final items in the basket, which are the things Carter pointed out as well as a bottle of orange juice, two plates, two sets of cutlery, and two glasses.
The two stare at each other for a few seconds before Carter motions for Margot to begin eating, trying to keep his manners in mind.
She grabs a can of soup, then peeks back inside the picnic basket, “Did you bring a can opener?”
“Uh,” Carter swears inwardly at the realisation. “No.”
“Oh.” Margot puts the can back down and grabs a sandwich instead.
They eat the slightly cold food in an awkward silence that lasts minutes, but which feels like hours as far as Carter is concerned. He should think of something for them to talk about, but all the topics he can come up with right now have something to do with the global conspiracy of supernatural horrors they’re just beginning to unravel, and since the point of this outing was to get Margot to think about something that wasn’t, well, that, bringing it up now doesn’t sound like a good idea.
So he tries reaching for anything else. He knows Margot is all about art, but that’s not a valid topic either since he suspects even his best bluff would quickly give away just how little he knows about impressive modernism or whatever her area of study is called; the weather is also a viable topic, but in this country it’s either raining or about to rain so that would run dry fairly quickly… Now that he thinks about it, gossip is always a good topic to get people talking, and he’s pretty sure Margot has plenty of that from her days in art school. He’s also never known a woman who didn’t at least enjoy complaining about her exes, so if he were to combine the two…
“So,” he clears his throat and looks down at the soggy schnitzel in his hands. “You know, the last time I had one of these was back in New York, which feels like ages ago but it’s only really been a couple of months. Funny how time works, right?”
Margot merely nods and takes a sip of orange juice.
“Which reminds me,” he continues in the most casual tone he can muster. “I was going to bring you one to the hospital, back when you were still—uh, never mind. The point is that I ran into that friend of yours, remember? The old guy, what was his name, Gustav?”
“Gunther,” she visibly tenses with her answer, her lips pulling into a taut line as she pretends to pick something out of the sandwich in her hands. “And he is not that old.”
Seeing that Margot has put on that ‘Sauerpuss’ expression of hers, which is reserved only for the topics that annoy her most, Carter knows for sure he’s hit some sort of nerve, though whether this displeasure is aimed at that Gunther fellow or Carter himself is still to be determined. So, obviously, he keeps going.
“Right, of course,” he nods. “Not that old, but a little old for you—I mean, a little old now, right?”
She raises one eyebrow and shoots him an unimpressed look. “You’re one to talk.”
Carter sputters, “Yeah—okay—fair, but what I meant is, uh…” he takes a swig of the orange juice to give himself time to think. “You two had some sort of thing in the past, but that’s ancient history now, right? Ancient like the man himself.” He laughs to make sure that last part comes across as a joke.
“Hm,” Margot’s noncommittal hum indicates neither annoyance nor amusement. “Why are you so interested in Gunther?”
“I’m not interested in—” he stops himself before coming across too much like a jealous suitor. “I was just wondering, that’s all. Just making conversation.”
“Oh, I see.” Margot gives him a look that indicates she does not buy his nonchalant act even for a second.
Still, Carter pushes on, now more curious than ever to get to the bottom of at least this part of her life. “So…? You two are just friends—no, acquaintances now, right?”
Margot sighs and puts the remaining third of her sandwich back inside the paper bag. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
That was… not what Carter was expecting to hear.
“Maybe?” he tries not to choke on the mouthful of juice he just drank. “Maybe what?”
“Maybe it is ancient history,” she rolls her eyes. “Or maybe I am thinking about running back to Germany and shacking up with a rich old man while the world burns around us.”
“Wait, Gunner’s rich?” Carter blurts out the question before he has time to process the rest of her statement.
“Gunther,” Margot corrects him again. “And I was more so referencing your recent ‘ancient history’ with rich older women.”
Carter stares mouth agape for a second before he’s able to recover. “I—ahem—I’ve been moving on from that phase of my life, just so you know.”
“You call scamming old ladies a ‘phase’?” she raises both eyebrows as she says this, and a faint smirk breaks through her deadpan stare.
“Hey, listen,” he needs to steer the topic away from this as soon as possible. “No one’s perfect, okay? But I can assure you my days of philandering are long behind me—ancient history, just like you said. I’m a new man, I’m starting a new, honest chapter.”
“In your book?” the smirk increases, and Carter can tell Margot finds this whole teasing him thing incredibly amusing.
“In my life!” Carter defends himself, then adds, “But yes, also in the book, if you must know.”
Margot laughs, finally, and though it’s not particularly loud or unrestrained, it’s the first time in weeks that Carter has seen her do more than force a smile for the sake of those around her.
“Okay, okay,” Carter puts his hands up and cracks a smile of his own. “Can we go back to the part where I make a fool of myself with a gun instead of whatever this turned into?”
“Sure, whatever you want.” Margot’s laughter dies down, but her expression is noticeably lighter than before.
“Now that the wind’s died down a bit I’m sure I can hit a couple of targets,” Carter stuffs his leftovers back inside the basket and stands up.
“Hm, yes,” she nods along to him as she retrieves her shoes and helps pack up their picnic. “I am sure you will.”
“Trust me, after today I’m going to be a pro marksman.” He turns to Margot. “Maybe I should get a shotgun just like yours.”
Margot pulls a face at that. “Maybe stay with the revolver, I don’t want you blowing up any more holes in your face.”
Carter freezes at that, taking a second to decide whether it was supposed to be an insult or a comment of concern, and asks, “Did I hear you being worried about me just now?”
“No! I mean—” Her sudden defensiveness is a sight to behold. “Learn to use the gun first, okay?”
“Aw,” Carter smiles and tilts his head towards her. “I’m touched. You’re growing sweet on me, aren’t you?”
Margot tries schooling her face back into neutrality with a huff, but Carter can still hear her muttering to herself as she stomps back into position with the makeshift targets. “Sweet who? Any more sweet than this is going to give me a cavity.”
Carter laughs, goes to fetch the revolver from where he’d set it down earlier, and catches up with Margot in front of the cans they were shooting.
“So, can you tell me how to grab this thing again? I think if you help hold my arm through the first couple of shots I’ll really get an idea of—”
“Don’t push it.” Margot shoots him a glare.
“Okay, frownline Sauer.” He smiles his sweetest smile, though its effect is somewhat dampened by the unmoving half of his face. “I got the gist of it anyway, you really are a great teacher.”
“Oh, shush.” She gives him a light jab on the shoulder. “Please just start shooting now.”
Carter nods and gets into position with one hand on the grip of the revolver and the other one supporting it from below, just the way Margot had taught him earlier that morning. He takes a moment to aim until he can see one of the cans from the sight at the end of the barrel, remembering Margot’s words about having to aim low with this particular gun, and sneaks a glance back at her to make sure she’s not seeing any problems.
Margot stares back, and it feels like she’s really looking at him this time. She’s not as distracted as when they first started, nor as exasperated as she was just before their break, instead she just seems presently in the moment, glancing between him and the target and weighing his chances of success.
Carter smiles to himself, glad to have been able to get her mind off of things even if only a little, which was the real point of this whole thing anyway. Then he looks back through the sight, points, and—bang.
That’s the sound of a mission accomplished.
