THEN AGAIN • TC ✔️

7. Alliteration, honestly

They stand in silence for a couple of seconds before the doors open, and Clem bounds out of the elevator, already making her way around the place like she's been there before, like she knows exactly what she's doing.

"Where are we going?" Timmy asks, too loudly because several people turn to look at him. He repeats himself, quieter, as Clem tugs on his sleeve. She shushes him and leads him to the end of the hallway.

"Look," she says. Timmy looks, and it's- it's the painting on the postcard on their fridge. (And on his desk). He stares in shock for a few seconds. Then frowns.

"But I thought it was at-"

"That was just a replica," she says, in a hushed tone. Almost reverent. "This is the real thing."

Timmy looks at the smudges of colour that apparently represent fulfilment, and he's just as lost as he was the first time he looked at it, just as unwilling to believe that smears of primary colours on canvas could be anything other than smears of primary colours on canvas as he has been every time he's looked at it sitting on his desk.

But Clem is so fascinated that he tries to concentrate. Tries to focus. Crosses his hands behind his back and stares at the painting, his head tilted slightly.

"It's even better in person," she whispers, and Timmy nods.

"Yeah," he says. Looks around surreptitiously. Stifles a yawn when his head is turned.

"Tim, you're not even looking," she hisses quietly.

"What? Yeah, I am," he nods furiously, and he's being too loud again because she gives him a look.

"Isn't it pretty?" she says. "There's so much depth to it."

Timmy can't see anything other than smears of red, yellow and blue but he agrees. Bundles his hands up in the ends of his scarf and tries to focus on the painting.

Clem knows. Of course she knows. Or at least, she knows something, because she puts a hand on his arm and tells him that he can go and look at other stuff, that she's just going to stay here a little longer, that she'll come and find him in a bit. Timmy tries his best at feigning reluctance to leave, but he's actually quite interested in something he saw flash by as he was dragged to the end of the corridor. He goes towards it with probably more speed than is discreet, and that's more like it.

(It's a painting of some sheep in a field, and like, yes, that's boring. But at least he can work out what it is; it's a field and there are some sheep in it. He doesn't have to stand there craning his neck for five minutes trying to work out how fulfilment can possibly be linked to something that looks like it's been created by a two-year-old.)

Timmy likes that the sheep in the painting are all different. They've got character. He smiles, looking at the scene for a couple of minutes. Glances back down the hall and Clem is still standing by her painting, looking absolutely serene.

He wheels around on the balls of his feet. Goes over to bug her like a little child tugging on their mother's skirts. "Clem, Clem, Clem," he says softly. "There's sheep over there," he points in the general direction of the painting he's just come from. She looks over at him. Snorts. Seems to resign herself to the fact that Timmy's going to pester her no matter what, and drapes her coat over one arm. Follows him down the corridor, slipping an arm into his.

Timmy looks down at her in surprise. She smiles. Leans slowly towards his face and whispers, "we're a couple. Remember?"

And Timmy remembers.

(How could he not?)

He nods, and Clem squeezes his arm. Transfers her coat to his hands with a sweetly-spoken thanks and a devious little smile. Timmy plays human coat rack while Clem goes to look the sheep painting. He stands there, her hand in his own, as Clem points to a fat little lamb in the corner of the painting.

"What are we calling him?" she asks, and Timmy cocks his head to one side. "I like Solomon," Clem suggests.

"Solomon Sheep," Timmy snorts. Frowns. "But he's a lamb."

"God, you always have to ruin everything, don't you?" she sighs, butting her head backwards against his shoulder. "Go on, then. What are we calling him?"

"Lionel," Timmy says swiftly. Clem concedes.

"Right. Lionel." She presses a kiss to his cheek. A soft bye Lionel! as they move on down the corridor. Timmy's face is burning, but luckily he hasn't gone red. (Yet. He might be the colour of a tomato by the time this visit is over if she keeps on doing things like that).

They make their way through various different rooms, some more interesting than others for Timmy, but Clem seems to be equally enthralled by everything. (Apart from one of the sculptures - if you could even call it that - that they'd passed, which was literally a pile of bricks and Timmy had had to stop Clem in her tracks. Ask her if she really thought that was worthy of being in an art gallery/museum/whatever the fuck this mansion was. She'd cocked her head to one side, looking wistfully at the stack, and had come to the conclusion that okay, no. Maybe some things weren't meant to be put in a museum. (Which meant that Timmy won and he's still happy about that.))

The morning has been, as is often the way with these things, actually quite enjoyable. (And Timmy hates that, because he'd told himself as he dragged himself out of bed this morning that he was going to loathe every second of it).

But he genuinely finds himself a little sad as they leave the last room. His spirits perk up a bit as Clem grabs his arm and hugs herself into his side as they pass the woman by the reception desk (who actually reminds him of the lamb in the painting a little bit, now that he comes to think of it.) His spirits perk up a whole lot more when she turns to thank the woman for the whole experience and tilts her head towards him. Says, "We really enjoyed it, didn't we, babe?"

And Timmy's not one to read into things but he most definitely is. So it would be a lie to say that his pulse doesn't jump for a second or two. Would be a lie to say that he's completely calm as he garbles out a response. "Yeah. I loved it," he says. "Especially the bricks."

He can feel Clem's body wound up tightly against his own as she tries not to laugh, and it's the most beautiful thing in the world. Timmy grins. "Thank you, again," he tells the woman sincerely, and the two of them turn away, stifling laughs, humming with convulsion as they make their way back into the courtyard where Clem promptly bursts into shrieks of laughter and starts hitting him.

"Especially the bricks," she mimics, making her voice deeper, more indifferent. Timmy grins, fending off the light-hearted attack. "You fucking idiot!" she exclaims, puffing air between her teeth, but she's smiling and Timmy's smiling and he suddenly realises that he likes Clem a little more than he probably should.