Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Dan, you're familiar with Ward's scheduling I take it?"

It takes Dan a moment to realize his housemate is 1) not in his room and 2) talking to him. Directly. Without a school administrator or cadaver to divert his attention. It takes him a few seconds more to ground himself (he's in his living room, not asleep, stripped down to a v-neck t-shirt because summer is holding fast in Arkham and the air conditioner still doesn't want to work... not dreaming) before he replies. 

"A bit. Why?"

"Would you mind deciphering this for me?" He hands Dan a copy of this week's schedule -- softened at the edges and wrinkled from frequent folding.

"Is his handwriting that bad?" 

"His penmanship is fine," West says, "Well, as fine as any medical professional's can feasibly be. But if he's assigned me any morgue hours this week, I don't see it."

Dan scans the table of names and shift times, bites down on a giggle when he picks out "NORTHBYNORTH" in Ward's skinny block letters. West, ever vigilant, spots it anyway.

"Is something funny?"

"I think I found you." He grabs a pen from the table and highlights the dates before handing the schedule back. West's brow knits together, perplexed.

"That doesn't make... oh."

"Yeah, Ward's got kind of an odd sense of humor."

"Charming," he pauses, eyes scanning the page before holding it out for Dan's further review. "Which one are you?"

Dan peruses the grid, points to "CANDY."

Herbert... giggles. Slaps a hand over his mouth. Incongruous to the high formalities of his usual presentation. Dan feels almost light-headed at the sight.

"I don't suppose 'nova' occurred to him?” Herbert clears his throat, finally lowering his hand to scratch his chin, adjust his tie. “Or 'lido'?"

"A lot of things have occurred to him," Dan smiles, self-deprecating. "This has already been the longest semester of my life."

They both laugh then -- a light chuckle, a nearly personal exchange. His housemate looks as perturbed by it as Dan is elated. After a few weeks of intermittent cohabitation, getting more than an observant hum from Herbert is an accomplishment on par with medical school admissions, the first time he watched the defibrillator restart a patient’s heartbeat, Meg’s eyes, shining and clear, the first time he got the courage up to ask her out on a date. He holds on to the moment (and eye contact with West) for a second too long.

"Well,” he replies, clearing his throat again. “I suppose I'll be off then. According to this, my next shift starts in less than an hour."

"Have fun," Dan replies.

"I'll be sure to tell them all hello for you."

Them meaning the corpses in the hospital morgue. It's a rare tease, drawing out the breathless laugh in his throat as his housemate dons his jacket and steps out.

Meg emerges from the kitchen a full minute after the front door closes, a bowl of ice cream in her hands, Rufus trilling at her ankles. Dan meets her gaze, still smiling, fading slightly as he takes in wide blue eyes.

"What?"

"You've got to be kidding me,” she says, shocked enough that Dan brings his arms up to fold across his chest; self-protective.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not... Dan, not him?”

He can feel the moment his adrenaline spikes: cortisol flooding his system, fear response, fight or flight, caught. All before he can remind himself that this is Meg. Meg, who is safe, who loves him, who will not judge him...

“Dan! He's creepy!"

...much.

"I can't help it," he breathes, a hint of a laugh in his voice even as he feels the blood rush to his face; the light thrill of the last few minutes crashing out. "... it's a... Look, I didn’t expect it to happen."

"Is this why you--"

"No! It's not why I let him move in, I promise!” Though there had been a brief rush that first night, when he realized just who was on his doorstep and why. “It's just... he's brilliant. And I have a rich fantasy life. Weren't you the one that told me there was nothing wrong with it?"

"He's not even your type! Is he?"

"I... don't think so?" he says, "I've never met anyone like him before. How would I know?"

"Look just...“ she sighs. 

"What?"

"I'm not saying no."

His eyes widen as he realizes what she's talking about. What they had talked about months ago and barely taken advantage of. 

It had almost been a pretense for him to talk dirty -- telling Meg what he wanted to do to a gorgeous guy they saw in the park or to the cute graduate assistant in pathology -- and watching her wriggle against the mattress or flip him on to his back and grind against his thigh. He didn't think that's what this was, not with Meg's persistent distaste for his roommate. 

"But you want to say no,” he ventures. “Hell, he would say no! This is probably all in my head...”

The risks are different. Herbert doesn't strike him as the kind of person who would take a pass as a strike against their masculinity, only to be backed up by breaking Dan's nose. But he could choose to leave, throwing Dan back into the precarious position of finding a roommate to split the rent with (possibly with the reputation of sexually harassing his roommates). And with nearly two years of their program left and a shrinking number of residents working in the hospital, it could also leave them with an awkward relationship strained by proximity and a shared workplace.

Meg seems to spot the stress in his expression, moves in close, slides an arm around his waist that seems more like a brace than a cuddle. Designed to keep him upright and vertical.

"Look. Just... tread carefully there. Okay?" her voice is soft, comforting, pitching upward as he slides his own arm across her shoulders to turn it into a proper embrace. "I don't get it. I'm not going to pretend to get it either. He makes my skin crawl. You can... you can. If he’s up for it. But I don't want to be involved."

A beat, silence broken only by Rufus’s claws pawing at the back of the sofa, the hum of what might have been his roommate’s car as the engine came to life and he could hear the wet squeal of tires pull away up the street. He leans his chin on top of Meg’s head, a relieved sigh escaping as she continues to tolerate his hold and to hold back just as tightly. Secure, but unfettered. Not holding him in contempt nor judgment, just simply holding on.

"So...,” he breathes, relieved at the clarity and lack of tremble in his voice. “I take it that means you don't want details?"

She slaps his arm a little too hard to be playful, but her giggling two seconds later eases the sharp sting quickly.

Chapter Text

It's a non-issue for the next week. Dan sees Herbert in lectures, speaks to him just enough to pass him an extra pencil, sees a flash of him in his periphery passing in the hall at the hospital or a half-awake glance during an early morning coffee run in the kitchen. 

The appearance of him at the top of the basement stairs (after 9 o' clock at night) is a rare, full-bodied glance. 

"Hi." He watches as West eyes dart around, skeptically. “Are you looking for something?”

"The music stopped," he says, moving still a little further into the living room. “Is that Star Trek ?"

Dan glances at the lit screen. He turned the television on to drown out the silence. 

"Uhhh yeah, it’s a Labor Day marathon. I let the TV run when I'm reading over my notes sometimes," he replies, curious . " Do you... did you want to watch it?"

"Give me five minutes." The basement door slams abruptly.

Herbert emerges less than a minute later, footfalls on the stairs indicating he took them two-at a time. His jacket forgotten, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Dan swallows, schools his face like he's not enjoying a Victorian striptease. Fortunately, Herbert's own eyes are on the television and he doesn't notice.

"I haven't watched Star Trek in English in three years."

Dan smiles. “'Want some popcorn?”

--

He ends up throwing another bag in the microwave and pulling out a frozen pizza. Channel 11 appears to be airing a scattershot of episodes in no particular order, so Devil in the Dark gives way to Conscience of the King , then jumps ahead to Spock’s Brain .

“Did you forget to eat today?” He watches Herbert's face, looking for an affirmative answer. “…and yesterday?”

Herbert blinks. Bingo. Dan tries not to stare as his housemate swipes a knuckle across his mouth to answer.

“I tend to be highly focused. Occupational hazard.”

“Work, work, work, and then crash," Dan nods. "Yeah, I’ve been there.”

“Doubtful.”

Dan smirks, tries not to be offended.

“This independent study you’ve been working on? Is it a continuation of what you were doing with Dr. Gruber?”

“Something like that.”

“Studying 'death.'”

"You're missing the best part of the third-worst episode."

“What are you talking about? This is the worst episode.”

“Wrong,” he replies, smugly. 

“It’s been voted worst episode countless times--”

“Opinion polls are notoriously capricious. Small sample size, rooted solely in mere preference and aesthetic. Unreliable.”

Dan smiles, in spite of himself. "Okay, meatball. Tell me what's the worst episode?"

Herbert spends the next twenty minutes giving evidence and counterpoints for Requiem for Methuselah being the second-worst, with This Side of Paradise coming at the bottom of the list. His argument is very convincing. 

--

"Do I really pay the music that loud?" They've both got their notes out now -- Dan's half-finished outlines and Herbert's minute-to-minute details filling in the gaps. Between Herbert’s an eidetic memory and his own overview, they have a pretty decent study guide and index.

"It's mostly the bass from the stereo system, I can hear it vibrating through the ceiling."

"Oh, shit. Sorry about that."

Herbert shakes his head. "It's a non-issue -- it doesn't bother me, it doesn't impact my work. But you do keep to a pretty regular schedule. I was curious when you deviated from it."

“I usually listen to music when I’m studying on my own. When Meg comes over or I’m studying with other people, that small distraction is enough. When I’m alone, things go kind of sideways.”

“Oh," Herbert nods thoughtfully. "I can’t say that I relate to that, but… I understand.”

He does not, but Dan still smiles around a bite of too-cold pepperoni and too-hot mozzarella.

--

By the time they've finished the pizza, Dan has converted their combined notes into a set of flash cards. Mid-term exams are several weeks away, but Spring registration is coming up and, he reasons aloud to Herbert, that it never hurts to give your advisers an early heads-up of where your problem areas are. 

Of course, Herbert himself doesn't seem to have that issue, rattling off correct answer after correct answer.

"You know this already!"

"Clearly," he smirks, smug. 

"Smart-ass. You can quiz me, then," he hands Herbert the stack of cards.

"Fine," his roommate takes the cards, proceeds to shuffle, re-shuffle, and obsessively line up the cards into a symmetrical stack.

He doesn't have as many correct answers as Herbert, but his study partner doesn't call him out for it. Just smug but oddly gentle correction (or maybe that's him projecting, his brain teeming with oxytocin as his crush re-enacts every fantasy he'a had about his biology tutors from junior high to Johns Hopkins).

"You know you're brilliant, right?" he says, smiling when his house mate's hands pause mid-reshuffle. "With your credentials, you must have had your pick of schools for transfer over here -- why'd you choose Miskatonic?"

"I was interested in meeting Hill," Herbert replies, looking up from the cards. "And in making his life miserable."

"Well, you're making good headway on that. Though you’re running through pencils at an exponential rate. Maybe switch to a white noise machine secreted somewhere in the lab?"

"The purpose isn’t to drive me crazy." Herbert argues, making Dan laugh as the cards abruptly fly all over the coffee table.

--

Amok Time. The downfall of any and all of Dan's discussions with fellow Trekkies. No conversation he has ever had regarding this episode ends well. But it's two in the morning, he's full of pizza, brain-fried from neurosurgery revisions, and Herbert, against all expectations, hasn't rolled down his sleeves or run back down to the basement yet. 

Maybe this time will be different. 

"As forward-thinking as they were about everything else, I feel like Star Trek may have missed a larger point here."

"Meaning?"

"Why does he have to choose anyone ? It's the 23rd century, shouldn't monogamy be extinct?"

Maybe it's a good question (though he's had quite a few people in his past tell him it is not ). Or maybe Herbert is just tired enough to not find it -- and him -- tedious.

"I hardly think antiquated relationship models enter into it. Sturgeon frames it as a biological imperative."

"Yeah, but it's arguably a biological imperative that Vulcans have channeled into a seven-year ritual through sheer force of will. Even if his own will can't shut it off, why does he have to participate?"

"Well, the biological imperative isn't exactly arbitrary -- he's dying."

"The arranged marriage is arbitrary."

"On that, we can agree. It's hardly practical, given the life and career he's chosen. If he was going to opt out, he should should have opted out of all of it. As for the biological imperative, he could theoretically have that taken care of long before they ever reach the planet. There's 300 other crewmen on board the ship."

"Exactly." Dan says, a hint of a laugh bleeding through. "Though, I suppose there is family disappointment to contend with."

"I'm told the majority family relationships bend towards disappointment anyway, no matter what choices one makes."

"I wouldn't know," he sighs. The emptiness he feels is an old friend, though more remote in the last few years since he met Meg. What was once a cold sweep of wind threatening to encircle him is now little more than a breeze at his back.

It takes him a moment to realize he's not the only one who's paused for quiet reflection.

"I did once," Herbert echos. "Not now."

A beat.

"How old were you?" Dan asks.

"How old was I when?"

"When they died."

"Young. It's irrelevant."

"I was young, too," Dan replies.

"Young enough that there are no memories?" Herbert looks up. "Pre-toddler age?"

Dan nods. "Car accident. I was almost two years old. My aunts took care of me after that."

“Personal questions, Dan. This could get dangerous.”

“Probably more awkward than dangerous," he smiles, turning so that he's facing his house mate. "I'm difficult to embarrass, West. Just let me know if we need a time-out."

“Did you start dating the dean’s daughter for personal or professional reasons?”

“Personal. You don't like her -- is that personal or professional?”

"Neither. I don't know her in a professional capacity and I dislike most people personally. Why did you choose Miskatonic?"

"Quirk of fate -- I don't even remember applying. The two other places I applied to never sent me a yes or a no, but the university sent me a really attractive package and flew a recruiter out to sweeten the deal."

"Miss Halsey?"

"Stella Peaslee," he smiles. "You're not far off though -- Stella's her cousin. Or second-cousin, third removed. Something like that. Now I get two questions: do you like me?"

"I don't know enough about this town yet, but many of the long-time residents appear to be related in one way or another. They probably need new residents to come in once in a while to vary the blood line," his smirk is brief. Dan's starting to wonder if it's a nervous reflex. "Yes. Professionally and personally."

His chest tightens at the answer, heart skipping, urging him to go for broke. Because when is this opportunity going to come again?

"Are you gay?"

He thinks for a moment, the way Herbert freezes, the way time seems to slow down, his brow furrowed in confusion and Dan's in abrupt terror.

"West?"

“...I never considered it.”

“What?”

"Orientation. For there to be a consensus of attraction, I would had to have considered it in the first place."

"But.. you do?" he asks, feeling his cheeks flood with warmth, mortified even as he presses. "Feel attraction?"

He jerks up from the couch and Dan half raises his arm, a fear response deep in his hind brain telling him to protect his head and face, because men confronted with questions like tend to go straight to "fight" in fight or flight.

Except Herbert's not running. Or punching. 

He hopes that's a good sign.

"Pass me my notebook," he says, oddly calm. Professional.

"Sure," Dan says, grabbing the moleskin from the coffee table and holding it out to him. "What are you doing?"

"Compiling data, to determine a consensus. I'll have an answer for you shortly."

And just like that, Herbert is off the couch and Dan is alone again.

--

The answer arrives four hours later. The marathon is over. The sun's peeking in through the broken, not cat-proof mini-blinds, casting the Dan's bedroom in intermittent stripes of gold. He's stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and lazing on the bed when there's a soft knock at the door. Rufus trills as he gets up and moves to open the door.

Herbert is standing on the other side, notebook and pen in hand.

"Consensus."

"Yes?"

"I do feel attraction, more aesthetic than sexual. The latter is very, very infrequent but not insignificant. All the more significant for when I do feel it. Disproportionately men."

"So...?"

"Experience, either past or future, is not proportionate to attraction and plays no role in either its validation or nullification. It's all irrelevant. However, the answer I believe you were initially looking for to your initial question is ‘yes.’"

Dan stares, hopes his face is emoting anything other than stupid relief and remote hope.

"Now," he says, voice clipped, poised to dismiss. "Do you have any other questions?"

"Are you busy tomorrow night?"

That seems to throw him. Hazel eyes widen, face gone very still. Delayed reaction.

"My shift at the hospital is until six."

"7 o'clock movie?"

"I'm at a critical stage in my research."

"It's over at ten." He actually doesn’t know that, considering he doesn't have a specific movie in mind. He will find a movie that fits that time frame. Something his house mate might sit still for. Like Wrath of Khan . Or a National Geographic special. 

"You’re dating Miss Halsey."

"We’re engaged. And we have an arrangement…” For anyone else a vague hand gesture combined with silence may have been enough. Not here. 

"...I see."

“You said so yourself: monogamy is antiquated. Is that a yes or a no?”

Herbert's face freezes and the door abruptly shuts -- but doesn't slam -- between them.

Dan smiles.

It's a date, then. 

Chapter Text

West is still wearing his suit jacket and tie when Dan wanders in from the kitchen. It's the same outfit he was wearing when he left the house this morning and when Dan saw him in Hill's lecture (the hint of a smile he'd gotten when he handed his housemate a box of new, unbroken pencils had made him forget how to breathe for a split second). Meanwhile, Dan's on his third shirt and he's had to stop himself from reaching for his bottle of cologne a few times because he's pretty sure his date has a sensitivity to strong odors as well as loud noises.

"Pizza's in the oven," he announces from the doorway.

"I'm not hungry."

"That's okay. If there are leftovers, someone will eat them." he says, eyeing Herbert's lap as he drops down next to him on the couch. "Is that your notebook?"

"I might think of something," he replies, almost defensive. "The pen's on the table."

"Okay, no problem." 

If that's as concilatory as West gets, Dan will take it. He's here. Formal and stiff as ever, but still on the sofa. Dan sat up with Una Carter on her father's sofa for five dates in high school, three feet apart, before she would even hold his hand. Meg had made him drive ten miles from her father's house before they could even get a coffee together.

So long as Herbert doesn't flee the room again, he can work with this.

He reaches for the remote; stops when he feels familiar cold fingers on his wrist. He looks up, swallows at the hazel eyes boring into his. 

"I need to know what your expectations are here."

"Formalities, right. Of course." Dan takes a deep breath. "Um, I don't really... have any? Beyond the obvious. I mean, expectations like watching a movie, talking about something that's not school-related until you have to go back downstairs to do... whatever it is you do down there. Not asking."

"And that's a 'date,' is it?"

"It's whatever you want really. I know I kind of sprang this on you."

"Being viewed as a sexual object is something different for me. And different from what we're doing here, isn't it?"

Dan's brain more or less freezes on the words 'sexual object' and he has to shake his head a few times to clear it. 

"Uh, sort of. I just want to get to know you, really. It's not necessarily about...that. But you're brilliant. And really cute."

Herbert's face twitches, not helping his case at all. Dan smiles wider. 

"And I'm intrigued. If any of this is a no, it's a no."

"And then what?"

The penny drops.

Whether they end up dating or not, they still lived together. And Dan's name is still the only one on the lease. If he were a particular kind of bastard with particualrly rancid strain of rejection sensitivity, he could put out Herbert tomorrow. And there'd be nothing Herbert could do about it

"And then we're friends," he blurts out, anxious to reassure him. "Just like before, just like now."

"We're friends?"

A beat. Dan... isn't sure he can pull in any more air. He reaches for the remote instead, cradling it in his lap.

"Yes. I mean I consider you to be my friend. I know I'm not exactly your intellectual equal but you seem--"

"And you want to be more than friends?"

Forthright as ever. 

"Yes."

When he looks up, Herbert's eyes are focused on his own lap, hands folded primly. 

"I... haven't been approached in this manner before," he says, soft. Almost bewildered. "By anyone."

"You haven't dated anyone before?"

"I put a lot of focus into my work. That's a total commitment."

"I understand."

"However..." he starts, as if weighing his words carefully, gets lost. Dan offers him a lifeline.

"Why don't you tell me about Zürich? What was it like there?"

And, oh damn. That is apparently a bad button to push. He can see it in the way Herbert's shoulders tighten up. How his whole body gets stiff.

"Herbert?"

Fight or flight, and West isn't running. He's not exactly fighting either. Not unless leaning into Dan's space, firm against his shoulder, fingers clutching his shirt... is a fight. The intent is definitely there, and the lips that slant over his are firm (nearly vicious) in their assault. He hums once, getting an arm between them to break the kiss.

"West, have you--?"

"Experience is not proportionate--!"

"Okay, okay, just look! Slow down, okay? I'll stop talking."

They sit there for a long time, Herbert poised half in his lap like a bird caught on a wire fence. Dan's arms around thin shoulders and a tiny waist. West is impossibly warm, breath coming in ragged pants and huffs. The anxiety attack he'd been hoping to avoid triggering... and may have ended up triggering anyway. Hours before.

CHRIST. He's such an idiot. 

"Shhh, shhhh,"  Dan hums a susurrus against his hair, lips grazing across the crown of his head, the bridge over one temple.  

The remaining muscles in West's body sag, strings cut. Only his fingers are still tense, clutching Dan's shirt as he settles in. Keeping his movements slow, he thumbs the power button on the remote, followed by the "volume down" button. 

NOVA. Twenty-five Years in Space. It's a rerun from last year and Dan almost prefers that to something new -- less space to take up in his head. And at least their date nights are thematic. He sinks back into the sofa cushions with a sigh, settling his chin on his friend's head as the Crew-Cuts plays over the footage of the first Gemini mission, bleeding first into Radio Moscow's Sputnik report and then the Canine Defense League asking the public to pray for Laika. 

"The brilliance of mankind," he whispers, almost to himself as much as West. "God help us."

"Do you smell something burning?"

"Shit, the pizza!" He bolts upright, abruptly dumping Herbert to the carpet. He makes it to the kitchen in two strides and completely forgets to grab a towel before pulling the oven door open. The steam burn surges through his hand right as the smell of burnt cheese and crust hits his nostrils.

"I'm going to bed!" West calls from the hallway, followed by the distant sound of a door slamming. Leaving Dan staring at a ruined tray, with the voice of Werner von Braun describing "great success" in the living room. 

Shit. 

--

Dan doesn't know why he's even surprised by the knock at the door many hours later. Two solid raps that rouse Rufus with a disturbed "mrow" and Dan with a sleepy rub at his eyes. The room is still a wash of silvery-blue twilight, the clock radio blinks 6:28 in red letters. He gets to his feet on the second knock, is reaching for the knob when the door abruptly swings inward.

"I had one goal when I came here." West spits out, apoplectic. 

"To Arkham or my bedroom door?"

Herbert stares at him like he's grown a second head. "To Miskatonic."

"Oh. Apart from driving Hill crazy?"

"...I had two goals when I first came here."

"Become a doctor." He doesn't highlight the past tense. He doesn't want to chance it. 

"Scientist."

"Sorry, to become a scientist,” he self-corrects. “You’re well on your way to that too, incidentally.”

"Two goals, apart from... " he corrects, seeming almost as exhausted as Dan feels. "Become a scientist and finish the work that Dr. Gruber and I started. 99 percent of my time is devoted to those two things. If I could push it to 100 percent, I would!"

His tone is sharp, like it's an inconvenience just to say so and Dan... can't even be angry. It's impossibly charming. He recognizes that the things he finds charming about West are not things other people would find charming -- quite the opposite, in fact. But he can’t help it.

"How does that work?"

"Eliminating food and sleep."

"Yikes," he takes a deep breath. "Well, that is a commitment. And I do understand -- no, I do. I do. But... I'm also asking if, in that 98 percent of your energy and time, could you maybe leave room for a secondary pursuit? Somewhere?"

"You're actually serious." Stunned, eyes wide, like Dan just asked him for the nuclear codes and not something as benign as a romantic overture. He's starting to think he should keep things simple, should have from the start.

"Do you like me?"

“How is that relevant?!”

“I don’t know!" He's beginning to wonder if he knows anything anymore. Wonders how he even got into medical school with the amount of things he doesn't know. "Humor me?”

"You're not an idiot. On the contrary: you're very bright. And driven. You care about people. You have an empathy problem that's likely going to be problematic if it continues into your residency at a large hospital--"

"None of this is actually an answer to my question--"

"Yes! I like you!"

Definitely inconvenienced. Cut off, put out, chest heaving like an angered rat terrier. Dan really should be upset that he had to extract a confession from him like a broken tooth or a hemorrhaging polyp, but he's not.

He's elated. 

"Good," he smiles. "I like you, too. Can we see where that goes?"

“ It can't go anywhere good.”

“ You're a genius but you don't know everything.”

"You have very strange taste, you know that." 

"I've heard that before." Meg told him the day they met and hasn't stopped telling him in eighteen months. "And you have a funny way of phrasing every question like a statement. I like it. Can I kiss you?"

"...do I have to participate?"

"Uh, definitely? The definition requires it." Informed consent, he reminds himself. Make your intentions known. Respect boundaries "Tap out when you want me to stop?"

His housemate nods once. Slowly. Dan moves forward, equally slowly.

Tiny. Herbert West is tiny, but Dan's been leaning down to kiss Meg for more than a year and he manages easily even in the dark. He keeps his hands folded against his chest as Herbert leans up, changing the angle and sending a dizzying wave through his brain, eyes fluttering closed.

There's a solid tap on his shoulder and he pulls away. West's lips are shining, he blinks, clears his throat.

"I can't promise I'll always want to do that."

"Did you want to do it now? Again?"

Dan grins against his date's lips a second later, sighs at the fingers clenched in his hair.

--

"I'm dedicated to my work," Herbert says the next morning, sleeves rolled up as he pours corn flakes into his cereal bowl (Dan lets his eyes linger openly now, dreamily).

"Yeah, you've said that more than--"

Herbert covers his mouth and Dan stares, breathless.

"However," he pauses, "I've read that relationships are work."