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“And the generation eight is a lot more stable,” Buckaroo rambles, gesturing with one hand and blindly reaching for a cup with the other, “We won’t have to mess around with aligning the points anymore- it should self-calibrate in tandem with the Jet Car.”
The physicist picks up your milkshake instead of his and takes a gigantic sip of it before he freezes in place, eyes widening. He swallows the shake-that-doesn’t-taste-right and hastily sets the cup aside with a sheepish grin and a breathy laugh of, “Sorry, I-”
You act before he can finish his apology, hand shooting out to grab his milkshake. Buck looks on with an incredulous grin as you take an equally large sip of the vanilla malt. He scoffs, cheeks dimpling, and mutters, “What was that for?”
“You’re a physicist,” You quip, setting the cup down and pushing it toward Buckaroo with the tips of your fingers, “The law of equal exchange should be familiar to you.”
“Ah, but it specifies an equal and opposite reaction.” He chides, wagging a finger at you.
“Yeah- you took my milkshake by mistake, so I took your milkshake with evil intent.”
Buckaroo chuckles at that and shakes his head, dark curls tumbling across his forehead, and jokes, “Then I guess you won’t mind if I steal some more?”
“Nuh uh.” You admonish, snagging your milkshake before he can reach for it again.
His shoulders heave with a disappointed sigh, but the gleam in his eye tells you that he isn’t all that put-out by your refusal. You finish your milkshakes in companionable silence, broken only by Buckaroo’s happy hum when you finally relent and allow him the last sip of yours. He holds his cup out to you, eyebrows raising expectantly.
“It’s only fair.”
Both of you lean in to steal the last of each others’ sweet treats, grinning at each other around the ridiculous bright pink straws. The rock star takes your empty cup from you, calloused fingers trailing over your knuckles as his hand retreats, and quickly stands to dispose of the garbage for you. When he returns, he looks oddly pensive. He reclaims his spot with a thoughtful hum, steepling his hands atop the plastic table. You observe him in silence, knowing his penchant for philosophical tangents and patiently waiting for him to deliver whatever profound thought has suddenly come to mind. Fate, it seems, has other plans for you. Buckaroo surprises you by leaning forward and asking, "Why don't you join the team?"
"Team?” You sputter with a surprised shake of your head, “I'm not a rocket scientist! Hell- I can’t even drive the Jet Car as it is, let alone tell you how the Overthruster works!"
"I could show you," Buckaroo reasons with a gentle smile, "I didn't always have a PhD. We all come from somewhere. Future's not set- you never have to stop learning."
"Come on," You scoff with an exasperated grin, "Don't start in with the 'No matter where you go, there you are,' spiel. I just don't fit in, and we both know it. I wouldn't be any help."
Buckaroo's shoulders heave with an exasperated sigh, and he leans forward to rest his forearms on the table. The hand that settles atop yours is gentle but firm, fingers closing over your knuckles and rotating your wrist until your palm faces skyward. Buckaroo's free hand traces lines from the center of your palm to the tips of each finger, starting with your pointer. His blue eyes are calm and sure as they bore into yours, and he murmurs, “New Jersey’s doing a great job, and he can’t even hold a tune.”
“Yeah, but he’s a neurosurgeon!”
"What if,” He starts, pausing for dramatic effect, “What if I told you I’m only asking because… Well, because I’m sort of selfish, and I just want you to be on the team?"
"Well…”
How are you supposed to answer him when all you can focus on is the warmth of his hand, the featherlight patterns he's drawing on your palm? He stares at you, the corners of his mouth quirking into the barest of smiles as he waits for your answer. There's a slight creasing around the eyes that suggests he's aware of his effect on you, and in a moment of foolish bravery, you decide that two can play this game. You mirror his posture and reach out to fiddle with his red and blue striped bowtie, running one of the tails between thumb and forefinger.
“I’d say, ‘I’ll consider your offer.’”
The silk rasps against your skin, and Buckaroo's eyes widen a fraction at your boldness, high cheekbones turning a red that rivals the material in your hand. The smile falters for a moment before it turns into a sunny grin, multiple dimples making a rare appearance.
"What happened to adhering to that Third Law?" He chides, “Equal but opposite reactions?”
"I follow it whenever it's most convenient for me."
"How about now?"
“Right now, it's pretty damned inconvenient." You titter, almost missing the half second wherein Buckaroo's eyes drop to your grinning mouth and dart back up to meet yours.
He leans forward a fraction, and his fingers stutter in the midst of drawing another meaningless symbol onto your palm. You lean away just to give him a challenge, grin morphing into a smirk, and the neurosurgeon isn't deterred by your little stunt- just lets go of you, plants a hand on the table’s circular bench, and slides over in an effort to close the gap between you.
"And just what do you think you're doing, Dr. Banzai?" You tease.
"Demonstrating Newton’s First Law," He mutters, "A body in motion continues moving at a constant velocity in a straight line..."
Warm breath mingles with yours as he inches ever closer, and in your bid to find something to hold on to, your fingers hook through his now-crooked bowtie. A firm hand finds a home on your waist and stays there, firm but not insistent. His next words are murmured against your lips, low and matter-of-fact.
"...Unless acted upon by an unbalanced outside force."