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This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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[Surprised, but pleased:] Good evening, Rosita. I - well, I apologize for being a few hours late; I just woke up and saw the announcement.

Would you like to come over? I'm experimenting with making coffee.

[Rosita, on the other hand, sounds like he's just asked her if she'd like to walk naked through an alligator infested swamp with an audience.]

Why?

Oh, that was forward, wasn't it?

I just thought perhaps we could talk, especially since we're paired this month.

What does that give us to talk about, especially?

Well, I can ask the same questions I always ask - what do you need, is there anything I can request for you, do you have any questions, but this is the first time I've been paired with someone I know already.

Maybe it's simply an excuse to check on you.

Nothing, no, and no, and if that's the excuse, I'm not interested. I'm good.

[She fucking hates pairing day.]

Did I say something wrong?

How annoyed am I supposed to be when someone shows up to babysit me for a month?

Ah. It must seem like that, yes. I - am not a good babysitter, though.

For what it's worth, I cared about your well being before now. Only - now I can do more about it if you need something. Or want something.

Have your other temps been - babysitters?

I don't need anyone to give a shit about my wellbeing. I've kept myself alive through a lot worse than this place.

I -

[The cutoff is abrupt, and she sighs heavily, swears softly before cutting the line. ]

[Godric hears that cutoff and hums softly. He leaves a message he hopes she'll hear.]

The offer doesn't expire. You're always welcome.

She ignores the message.

Forty-five minutes is about how long it takes her to talk herself into holding up her end of her promise to Jesus to try, though. To think about how the list of people he trusts the way they were talking about at the time is one name long, and he's paired with her for the month. He's trying to talk to her.

Fuck. She does not want to do this, she does not want any of this, but she promised so she knocks on the door, and stands back a bit and to the side of the doorway to wait for it to open. If she looked like a feral creature sneaking back inside before, now she looks like one backed into the corner of a trap and fully prepared to fight her way out, even if she's not actually showing teeth.

"You should know right off that I'm kind of a bitch," she says without preamble when the door opens. "And I hate this social system, and I have supervised myself just fine for years now, and I don't want any trouble but I'm not going to shy away from finishing it if some finds me, and I don't want anything from anyone."

And Godric opens the door, listens to those words, and nodded. "Alright." That seems reasonable enough. He takes a step back to let her inside, should she want it.

"Did you still want to try the coffee?" he wonders. "Does that count as a want?" He asks the last question a bit gingerly, wincing as he realizes that he might have already broken something she told him.

But indeed there's the unmistakable smell of coffee in the kitchen, along with a hint of vanilla.

"I do," she says, but it's in the exact same tone as everything else she just listed off of things she doesn't want.

She really wants some fucking coffee; what she doesn't want is the obligation that seems to come with it, here especially.

"But not if it's only because some random asshole without any boundaries called our names together this morning. No one can tell me why I'm an inmate, he's not saying why he made me one, so as far as I'm concerned it's irrelevant."

He nods. "Of course. This - isn't something I'm doing for the Admiral or because of the announcement, I hope you know. I happened to be making coffee at the moment I heard. I would have invited you over anyway, if I knew you were interested. I was - hoping to impress Jesus, actually, and I need someone to test it since I can't actually taste it."

"God, you had to go and say that, didn't you?" she sighs, and her shoulders are still tense enough to tear, but she reaches up to rub the bridge of her nose.

"I promised him I'd try. Give things a chance. Asshole, with those eyes."

He smiles, mostly sheepish. "I don't want to lie to you, and I appreciate that you'll give me a chance." He walks into the kitchen and takes down a cup, pouring the coffee into it, mixing a little of the vanilla into it. "Do you like cream? I have - milk? Does that count as a cream?"

Her dark eyes are alert, blatantly suspicious, but she's seen this cabin before. She knows exactly what corners to check - visually, she doesn't wander off deeper in than it takes to follow him - and what's different from before, what's the same.

She folds her arms, shakes her head.

"I mean, I do. But not if you want me to actually taste it."

"Does it change it that much?" he wonders, leaving the cup on the edge of the counter like an offering. "I don't think, in any of the breaches I've been in, that I've enjoyed coffee. But I like the smell of it. The humans I housed here, back home, I mean, made it every morning before I went to sleep."

"I don't know how he drinks his, so I'd want to try it both ways."

Jesus does seem like the cream and sugar type, to her, but then again the fall pretty much ruined everyone who survived it for something as fickle as preference.

"I - it's complicated."

"I have plenty. Try that one first and I'll make another if you want it." He leans back against the counter, far enough away from her to hopefully give her space, but not far enough that it seems odd.

"Feel free to spit it out if you don't like it."

It takes her a moment to talk herself into actually doing what she said she would, to unfolding her arms and picking up the mug.

Get your shit together, Espinosa, she orders herself sternly, and smells the coffee before taking a small, cautious sip. There is absolutely no way she's going to spit it out, but that can go unsaid, so she doesn't bother.

After a moment - "It's good. I don't - it's good."

There's something reminiscent of the child he was before it all happened at her words. He brightens considerably, pushing away from the counter. "Truly? Good. Good! I had hoped the vanilla wouldn't be overwhelming."

She's not a soft woman; she's not as hard as she's had to become, either, though. She watches him, holding the coffee, smelling it, this thing that's become such a luxury that she can't even really tell if it's good or not anymore except it's better than what's been served in the cafeteria when she's bothered getting it there.

She doesn't smile, but she does sigh, does notch her chin at the refrigerator.

"Let's try it with the milk, then. Then sugar, see if it does anything weird."

"Alright." He opens the fridge. It's bare, for the most part, save a few bottles in the back, dark colored like beer. He brings out a small carton of milk and the sugar from the cabinet, placing them on the counter for her.

"Was this something you did before - drink coffee like this?"