The Godfather parts I, II, and III

[Carrie Martin]

Caroline Martin wasn't a creature of habit. She enjoyed being spontaneous and wild, and made it a habit to be unpredictable to the point of predictible-ness, if that makes any sense. Her philosophy revolved around the idea if there was rain in Spain, she'd go to Ireland instead. Most of this could be creditted to her father, who took off and left her at the age of five-years-old. Carrie hasn't had normalcy or pattern since then, and had no intention of breaking it. It was what made her Carrie.

Well, that and the large sums of money she had. Growing up rich, her Daddy had a tiony shred of guilt and had left her all his money, which was dwindling in these years. However, this was not why Carrie was working at St. Mungo's. No. Carrie's work revolved around sheer delight and the satisfaction that saving a persons life brought her. In fact, her earliest memory was that of playing doctor in her mothers best dress outside, in the mud with the maid.

"Ok, now..um...play dead!"
"Really, Miss Carrie, I must get back to work, I can't"
"Oh please, Louise? Please play with me?"
"Oh...I s'pose."
"Good, now play dead so I can save you."

Carrie worked a tight shift, which often times leaked into her break, before literally bleeding back into her next shift. Thank God for Grey's Anatomy re runs, right? She was hooked on the muggle show and all the drama it entailed, and she loved analyzing the operations to how much simpler it would be with use of a wand. But one weekends, Sunday's in particular, Carrie did something a little more special. Say it with me, Movie Madness. At first glance, you wouldn't expect Carrie to be a movie-goer. No, she was far to bold and wild to nestle down with a bowl of popcorn. God forbid she actually had a routine. Few people even knew about her little movie fetish, and you had to be a special person to merit an invite to such a shin-dig. We're talking classy here. Rented movies, bag-of-popcorn, pj's, the whole nine yards. You couldn't be just anybody. But on this particular Sunday, her invitations were spent, no one had shown up, and she sat alone. Curled up in front of the couch, nursing a bag of popcorn, she stared at the screen mesmerized by her favorite muggle trilogy, The Godfather. It was the same movie she had watched last week, but she had only made it through the first part before she got a 911 page for work. It was time to get back to Don Michael Corleone and Don Vito Corleone.

"I'm gunna make him an offer he can't refuse."

Carrie did her best Robert Di Niro impression along with the movie before popping another piece of the movie-snack in her mouth. She smirked, waving her wand and wordlessly rewond the scene so she could watch it again. Reaching for another handful of popcorn, her fingers brushed the bottom of the bowl and she looked down, a pout forming on her perfect lips. Standing, she kept her eyes on the TV, menuvering around the small and pointless coffee table to the grab another bag of popcorn. Another wave of her wand and it was full, bursting with the over-buttered substance. She shuffled through the contents of her cabnits as well, pulling out a few Chocolate Frogs, some Berty Bots beans, and marshmellows. The remains of Mexican food sat on the counter from where she had left it, a few bites of spanish rice and a burrito left on the table. Carrie was a mess, and she liked it that way. Looking at her bounty, she sighed, rolling her eyes as her better judgement took hold. Balancing all the junk food in her arms, and opened the refrigorator with much difficulty, grabbing a few pre-cut carrot sticks thanks to Aimee, and closed the door with her foot. She nodded, satisfied, and danced back to her precious muggle obsession.

She nuzzled back down into her preferred spot, laying out her feast and smiling. It was nice having the flat to herself, to fully enjoy the movie. Most people would ruin it by talking through all the good parts, or kissing her neck if she had boys over. Not tonight. Tonight, it was just her, the Corleone family and the prostitute that had just died. But she couldn't help feeling a little remorse. She missed the good old days of her Movie Madness, when her flatmates were home. But Aimee was so busy now, off with the same mystery guy. She would atleast expect Ben and Darcy to stop by, but chances were that they were at the bar. Having planned on being alone for this one, she had adorned nothing more than an oversized St. Mungo t-shirt and some short boy-shorts, the most comfortable things she could find. Leaning her head back on the sofa, her blonde curls fanned out behind her as she watched the irresistible Italian Drama unfold.

[[ewww...so short...whatever...is tired]]

[Darcy Peters]

-cough-
Could join this one too......maybe....

[Carrie Martin]

-sigh-
such a lonesome thread...
-thinks about deleting it unless some FLATMATES show up...-

[Ben Jones]

Okay, whoa, calm down
I'll post tomorrow
Come on, there's no snakes on this plane, there's no need to jump out so quick.
*snicker*

[Aimee Kensington]

May join. But probably shouldn't right now. I am in that many Rp's.
Yeah try...8 threads.
-Snorts-

[Darcy Peters]

-looks about-
-gringrin-
Does this mean I do not have to postie?
-cough-
I would like to, but I mean com'on! I am already in one [soon to be two] topics with the lovely Carrie, it would me mucho confusing for me!
-sniffles-

[Carrie Martin]

well someone please do

[Ben Jones]

[Post coming up]

[Ben Jones]

[You needed a post, so here's a post. It's crap, but DEAL WITH IT]

As a teenager, Ben had dragged out every moment of sleep he could. He got up just in time to skate into class, his hair mussed and swallowing the last of a rushed breakfast. On weekends, he used to sleep until ten or eleven, sometimes twelve o’clock. When he slept through a class on the weekends and awoke to his alarm clock (that had been beeping at him nonstop for an hour at least), it hadn’t been the first or last time. He figured that as long as he got to class on time (or close to), his schedule had no flaws. Really, if he showed up a minute or two late for class, had he already missed the most important part of the day? No.

But ever since he had started at the hospital, his sleep pattern became almost pure insomnia. He slept five or six hours if he was lucky. On the weekends, without an emergency call, he got seven hours of sleep, maybe eight if he went to bed early on a Friday night (fat chance). Because of this, he had learned to live with the taste of coffee. He hadn’t learned to like it, but he had trained himself not to gag when he sucked down a mug. He always took it straight-up black; there was no bitching out for Ben with cream and sugar and whatever girls put in their coffee. He practically lived off of caffeine. With almost every meal, he drank a mug of coffee.

Late Sunday night was not a night for partying. It was generally time to relax for Ben, maybe sleep more during the day, but on this particular Sunday, there was a Muggle sport on television. It was one of his favorite Muggle sports, too. It reminded him of Quidditch, only without the flying and only one ball. It was called football. Watching little Muggles run around on a patch of grass kicking a ball (and occasionally each other) was good fun.

He had left for the Bag O’ Nails right before the game began, and met his Muggle buddies there. He didn’t know any of them very well, as he had never seen them outside the pub or on days when there was not a match, but they recognized each other. There were Sam, Pete, and Wilson, the three who came most regularly and always cheered on the same team. Ben had not adopted a team to root for, so he generally followed Sam, Pete, and Wilson.

The game ended relatively late, and Pete offered him a ride home. Wilson was far too drunk to drive, and accepted the offer readily, and Sam was within walking distance. Ben never missed an opportunity to travel in style, be it taxi or train, and decided to save a few pounds. He climbed in the backseat with Wilson, who was red in the face and cheering loudly to the street (which was generally frowned upon by the Bag O’ Nails employees. There was even a sign that told clientele to keep their voices down while leaving late). Pete wasn’t the best driver in the world, but Ben wasn’t able to tell the difference. None of his Muggle friends really knew where he lived, but they always dropped him off a few blocks away from his actual flat, where there were plenty of other flats to confuse them. As soon as Ben had stumbled out of the car, Pete screeched away and turned the corner.

Within ten minutes, Ben had made it home. He tried the door, but it was locked because it was so late. Still, they usually kept it open and had followed the Last One In Locks Up rule. He glanced up and down the street. Was Darcy home? Darcy normally accompanied him to the pub, but because he hadn’t this time, Ben had no idea if he was home or not. Maybe Darcy figured Ben was already home, and locked the door. Ben could have easily taken out his key and fooled around drunkenly with the lock, but he really wanted to skip all the fuss. He looked up and down the street, and pulled his wand out of his jacket, keeping it hidden within his sleeve. He whispered “Alohamora,” and opened the door quietly.

The kitchen was sort of messy, with the remains of dinner still out on the table. Ben went straight to the refrigerator and took out a beer, as if he hadn’t had enough already. But when Ben drank, he sort of was on a roll. He could hear someone talking in the other room. Ben couldn’t recognize the voice, which was puzzling. Holding the bottle with both hands, he poked his head around the corner and wandered into the next room.

Of course. It was Carrie, all bundled up and comfortable with popcorn and everything she needed for her Movie Madness nights. Just as Ben wasn’t a music person, he wasn’t a movie person. He didn’t have the faintest idea of how to use the movie player, and he had only seen a precious few Muggle movies. Once, he had even been in a theatre, which had been an odd experience. Everything was very loud, but it somehow made sense, the whole theatre experience. Carrie, however, fiddled with the movie player at least weekly. For as long as Ben had known her, she stayed up late one night a week and watched a million Muggle movies. Ben had joined her a few times, but never stayed for the whole thing.

He opened his beer and wandered up in front of the screen. He had no idea what was going on in there, or the name of the movie, or anything at all. Before he turned around to ask Carrie, he took a swig of beer and coughed to clear his throat. His brow furrowed, he waved his hand at the screen and turned to Carrie.

“Who’re they? Do you know them?”

There were some moving people (which was probably why they were called movies), and they were talking in accents. He was a little too drunk to decipher exactly what they were doing, because he was too close to the screen and the quality was bad. The last movie he had seen was about a whole bunch of snakes on a plane. two people who were in love but they were from two opposing Muggle gangs. The girl was Puerto Rican or something, and the boy was American, and pretty much he ended up dying in the end. For all Ben knew, this was the same sort of story, because it looked like some people had died or something. Whatever.

[Sorry to those of you who have lived under a rock and never seen any production of West Side Story. Tony dies.
And now for a WSS joke.
What kind of wood doesn’t float?
Natalie Wood!
If you don’t get it, shame, shame, shame on you.]

[Carrie Martin]

no, I like it. Now its my post.

Carrie was so wrapped up in her movie, she didn't even register the door opening. She was hiding behind her fingers, peering at the screen. Even though she had seen the movie a bajillion (and one) times, it never lost its thrill, and she always covered her eyes during the gang fights, in fear of one of her favorite characters getting shot. Silly, but hey, that was Carrie. The same girl who stayed up thirty hours in a row, with no help from coffee. People who knew Carrie knew to keep her away from all things related to caffine. If the normal Carrie was bouncy, brilliant, and boistrous, than a Carrie on caffine would be pure insanity. God save you all.

So the first thing she did when Ben walked through the door was jump. Of course, he timed it right when gun shots were going off, and she was convinced that he had been an intruder breaking in. She squealed a bit, before pulling her arms down away from her face, and sulking at Ben. It was almost as bad as if he had jumped out from behind a corner and screamed "Boo!". Huffing a bit, she reached behind her and threw a pillow at him, also taking the opportunity to hide the chocolate frogs from veiw, hoping that he hadn't seen. Like she needed a lecture on not eating caffine. Honestly, living with three other people that cared about you was just as bad as living with your grandmother.

"You scared the jeepers out of me, Ben! Gosh!" Carrie was one of the lucky few who could say jeepers and pull it off. "Of course I know these peole. For those of us who aren't movie challenged, these people are the equivelent to Death Eaters. It makes for wonderful drama, love."

She snickered, waving for him to move. He was a better door, than a window, honestly, and this was her favorite part. Leave the gun. Take the cancoli. It was quite the scandal, this mafia. But the hierarchy and the drama reminded her of work, so it was quite settling. When he still didn't move, she propped herself up on her knees, reaching forward and tugging his arms hard enough to sit him next to her on the floor. Eyes still glued to the TV, she watched as the movie ended, and the credits began to roll down the screen, some dramtic music playing in the background. Smiling, she crawled forward again, hitting the eject button. Time for part II. You couldn't just watch one Godfather. It was un heard of.

Once adjusting herself back in her spot, she curled her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. As the trailers for other movies began, she turned her head, blonde curls spilling over one shoulder, to look at Ben, who seemed quite content in just watching her, and not the movie. Ben had never been and avid movie-goer like she was, but he humored her occassionaly, watching bits and pieces of Carrie's favorite films when she put on a pout for him. He had actually seen the end of the first Godfather about four times now, but chances were, he didn't remember. She smiled at him, reaching over and plucking the beer from his hands, and replacing it with a carrot stick from the table. She took a swig of his bottle, sitting it between them.

"Carrots improve your eyesight, alright! Don't give me that look!"

She laughed, nudging his shoulder with her own. In most cases, people would not be this relaxed around each other. Hell, Carrie was practically in her underwear! But such barriers between her and all her flatmates had been broken long ago, til the point where they all lived quite comfortably in each others individual messes. Tonights mess a la Carrie ranged from the kitchen, to the living room. Her lips still stung from the spicy mexican food, a faint reminder of the day of rest she had allowed herself. And even though she liked the me-time, she always liked company. She was a people person.

She continued to look at Ben. He wasn't drunk, not yet anyway. But he had that "I've been drinking" look about him. Grungy, but sexy. She smiled a bit. Ben. No words to describe him.

"So what have you been up to tonight, Benny Boy?"

She asked, using her name for him, one which he only let her use when he felt like it. He had once made her swear never to use that name in public, but they were alone in the flat right now, so he would have no reason to be sour about it.

[[random and whatever]]

[Ben Jones]

“Don’t!”

Ben yelled, jumped around and pointing at her. Her shock at seeing him surprised him as well. He froze for a second, then let out a breath, regained himself, and faced the screen again, squinting at the little guys who were, apparently, killing each other. That sounded about right to him. He had watched parts of movies, movies where no one died, and there did seem to be a pattern going. Movies in which no one died tended to be more boring and sappy than in those that had lots of blood and action. Although Ben oftentimes had no idea how the characters had died, he recognized blood. There was a lot of blood in this movie, which was enough to keep him entranced. Even when he responded to Carrie, he kept his eyes glued to the screen.

“Sorry. But you didn’t have to get all…” he faded away for a minute, then jumped and made a sort of “Aa-a-ahh!” noise, clutching his chest. “Really? Oh, so, wait, you don’t actually know them, then.”

Ben couldn’t quite get his mind around what she had just said. They were like Death Eaters, and that was bad. But were they still at large? Why hadn’t he ever heard of them? He had heard about a few big-time Muggle mass-murderers, like the Yorkshire Ripper, but did they actually have a whole Death Eating association or something? The only real serial killers he had heard of all seemed completely out of whack. His prime example was, of course, the Yorkshire Ripper. He had read a book about him years ago, when he first started at the hospital. The guy, Peter Something, was really into killing prostitutes. He fucked up a couple times and killed the wrong girl, or else didn’t kill someone, but in the end, he was sentenced to death. Ben had been intrigued by the story. He had always harbored an irrational hate for prostitutes. He had never actually talked to a prostitute (knowingly), so he really had no deep reason to ill wish them. There was just something really annoying about them. Still, he wasn’t about to…go around killing them all. Especially before he got his money’s worth.

A moment later, Carrie pulled him backwards. Ben, startled, put his hand over the top of his beer bottle just in time so that none of it sloshed out, and crashed down on the floor. “Jesus Christ!” he hissed as he was going down, looking over his shoulder at her. When he was seated next to her, he pulled his hand off the top of the bottle and licked his palm.

Carrie was crawling over to the television set, something Ben obviously did not understand. He had the strongest urge to smack her ass, but kept his cool and took a few gulps instead, watching her drop down next to him. The glow from the set made her pale skin take on a funny color, but not in a bad way. She looked sort of illuminated, her hair everywhere in blonde curls. He blinked, and she turned her head, giving him a classic Carrie look, and he couldn’t resist smiling. But the next second, she had stolen his bottle and replaced it with one of Aimee’s carrot sticks, as if that was just as good. He gave her a dull look, glancing from the carrot to her.

“No. No. What are you doing?” he said flatly, still gripping the carrot stick. “Carrots are for girls. Beer is for men! Raa!” He flexed his muscles for her, as if they were made out of pure beer. Then, with little indifference, he kissed his bicep, flung the carrot at the screen, and took the bottle.

“What have I been doing…” he repeated, mulling the question over. He hardly noticed she had called him ‘Benny Boy,’ her nickname for him. It did nothing for his Ben Jacobs, Healer-In-Charge, Male Model and Superhero self-image, and generally asked Carrie to keep the name private. “Your fuckin’ trainee, how’s that for an answer?” He stretched out languidly against the couch, flexing his leg muscles and feet. His gaze fell on her again. “No. Well, sort of. She was probably one of them.” He clicked his teeth, acting as if he was the biggest womanizer on the planet, rather than just a fifteen-foot radius. Who knew, maybe Carrie hadn’t noticed that every time he brought a girl back to the flat, she had left pretty quickly.

Ben’s plan to hide his whole I Hate Sex thing was to deny it and hide it completely from everyone he knew. He achieved this by picking girls up at The Bar or around town, and bringing them back to the flat, where he would distract them for as long as he could. When kissing had lost its novelty, Ben had a couple different escape routes. He had done the whole, “I think I ate something really crappy…” drill, and the whole “Oh, fuck! I have work in like, two or three hours. I’m really sorry, I’m really embarrassed, but listen, I’ll call you? Okay? Tomorrow? Please?” Like Ben knew how to work a phone. Once, he encountered a persistent, horny little lady who was unfazed by Ben’s excuses. She had a way to work through each of them. “Oh, well, you know, this will really help for headaches, believe me,” and so on. Finally, Ben had to “pass out” and lie completely still for ten minutes until she finally found her own way out of the house. Sure, he could maybe slip some magic in sometimes, but he always felt like he was cheating or something, or someone from the Ministry would find out and he would be arrested and then what would he do?

Ahh, what we do to keep our secrets.

[Pretty short, I know.
And I have like a theme at all of these threads
I'm hella doing strikethroughs on this one]

[Carrie Martin]

"Of course I don't lknow them, Ben. They're actors. In Hollywood. You know? The land of make believe?"

She nodded, smiling a bit. Carrie nestled back into her cushions, watching the opening credits roll by. She had a feeling she wouldn't get much out of this movie. Not with Ben there. Not in a sexual way, either. Ben was a talker. There were people like Carrie, who watched movies to enjoy them, for entertainment. Then there were people like Ben Jones, who saw them as a social thing. He was a talker. Chances were, he would talk her through the entire movie, and not see a single clip of it. She pouted a bit, and turned her body to face Ben, who had just thrown the carrot at the television, and kissed his arm. She snickered, shaking her blonde curls at him.

"Aimee is not going to be happy that you are wasting her carrots like that."

She teased, pointing her own carrot at him, before taking a loud bite of it. It was a poor subsitute for chocolate. She leaned back, listening as Ben pretended he was such a stud. Truth be told, she had yet to hear anything major coming from Ben's room in the time they had lived together. No bed posts hitting the wall, not lip smacking noises, nada. Zilch. She didn't let on that she knew this, of course. Boys were such sensative creatures. They had too much pride, and in Ben's case, an ego to match. She stuck her tongue out at him as he snapped his teeth at her. Elle, huh? She snickered a bit, pulling on one of her curls.

"She's out of your league, Benny Boy. Stick to cute, blonde and curly."

She laughed a bit, raising her eyebrows. It was no secret that Carrie and Ben were attracted to each other. The one thing she loved about it though was that it never took a turn for serious. It was all casual and care free, for the most part. The occasional party here, some close dancing there, having a drink, hanging out, stealing a few quick kisses, but nothing ever more than that. Which was why she didn't get that jealous vibe like most girls would if Ben talked about other woman that way. Besides, its not like she didn't have other men. Darcy Peters, being one of them. She had yet to make up her mind about either boy, truthfully, but loved to bask in their attention. If life could stay that way, it would be perfect.

Carrie was too indecisive for her own good. Ask her what he favorite color was, she'd give you a different answer every time. Aimee had to practically pick out her outfits for her, because she could never chose. When it came to boys, she was just as bad. Ben, Darcy, the guy from the club, the muggle with the motorcycle, the new guy at the hospital...too many choices. Of course, it would always come down to Ben and Darcy. And that was the problem. She looked back to Ben and winked, before laughing and wrinkling her nose playfully, and finishing off her carrot.

"If you want to boast about who you scored with, go back to the bar, silly boy."

She was kidding of course. She enjoyed his company far to much to see him go.

[[meh...so SHORT...sorry Jason. shall be longer next time]]

[Ben Jones]

Ben’s love life had been an average kind of disaster, for the most part. He had started dating at the grand old age of thirteen, when he scored his first kiss from a fellow Hogwarts student in his year. She was now working in the Ministry, in some sort of lowish position. For two years after that, he was an average teenager, bouncing from girlfriend to girlfriend and occasionally getting together in a “no strings attached” way. At fifteen, however, things changed for Ben. At age fifteen, he became the proud boyfriend of Lucille Carmichael.

In the beginning, there was nothing to suggest that they would develop a long-term relationship. Truth be told, Ben had little feelings for her, but she was far too virtuous to give him what he wanted without commitment. He caved in to her will and asked her on a few dates before turning on the heat as Señor Hot-n-Suave. But as the one month mark rolled around, the time Ben usually gave his girlfriends the boot (if they hadn’t given him the boot already), Ben decided not to break their next outing for no particular reason other than it was better than having nothing to do at all. And maybe he was starting to like her a little more. Before Ben knew it, he had a real girlfriend. In June of his fifth year, he woke up and realized that he had spent a good part of five months dating one girl. Although this alarmed him, he found no reason to break up with her that outweighed staying with her.

That summer was the summer things clicked for Ben. He would never be sure if things had clicked for Lucy long before they had for Ben, but by the beginning of his sixth year, he was hooked. He wasn’t sure what it was about summer that had made him crazy about her, but the proof was in the pudding. He knew what it was that he enjoyed about her, and the thought of breaking things off just because he was “wasting time” never again crossed his mind. He was able to pinpoint why he wanted to be with her, not just because it was pretty fun and he had nothing better to do.

But after everything that had happened between them, Ben distanced himself from her, from his parents, and from the punk he used to be. He signed up for an internship at St. Mungo’s, somewhere he had always wanted to do, and had always worked to save a spot for himself there, but where he had never seriously thought he would end up. He had girlfriends, and normal relationships that ended badly and others that ended quietly, and he worked his way up the ladder at St. Mungo’s. He had a normal life, living with his best friend, and after a while, acquiring two female roommates to help them pay the rent. That was definitely the most significant occurrence in all his years at St. Mungo’s, meeting Aimee, and, of course, Carrie.

A few years later, Ben was still back at Square One, no girlfriend, but pining after the same girl in her little sexy pajamas. Part of him believed that Ben Jones, Healer in Charge and Handsome Man, could get any girls. Part of him believed that anything he touched would turn to gold, if he turned on the charm enough. Another part, though, looked at his track record and said read YOU ARE NOT A HORNY TEENAGER ANYMORE. Another part believed that most girls were way out of his league, Carrie included. It was only a matter of time before Carrie realized he was not Mr. Debonair. But he would do anything to delay that realization.

“That’s not a problem. If only Cute, Blonde, and Curly would stick to me.”

Ben shut his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say the last part. He had only meant to think it. He never voiced the whole Ben/Darcy/Carrie thing out loud. Not to Darcy, not Carrie, not to Aimee, not to his mother or his father or his sister or anyone. Saying it out loud would make it too real, would probably ruin his friendship with Darcy and his courtship with Carrie. He was just adding salt to his wounds and pointing out something uncomfortable that was better left alone–for the most part. Carrie was going to have to make up her mind someday about the two of them. Ben wasn’t going to be able to keep doing this in twenty years, when he had grey hair and all that stuff. He knew she was being a little unfair, and he knew that he and Darcy were acting like complete idiots, but he as long as he ignored it, he wouldn’t have to actually realize the problems.

“You know you don’t mean that,” he said, trying to regain what was great about what they had; the casual no-commitment attraction, the way they were able to go out an party and do whatever they want, without having to be awkward and together and all of that. “The last thing you want is for me to leave you here, all alone in your underwear, watching My Godfather.” He was proud of himself for remembering the name of the movie. “Even if that does mean listening to me talk about Dollface, who is not out of my league. I’m her superior. She does what I tell her. And, plus, she looks up to people like me, because I’m who she wants to be in a few years, minus the generously proportioned manparts and macho good-looks. You just like to hear my voice.”

[Carrie Martin]

Carrie was reckless. Carrie was carefree. Carrie was Carrie. Which was why dating both boys seemed didn't seem such a sin. Neither one had ever asked more of her than a little flirting here or there, never made their intentions perfectly clear. She knew the way she was acting was selfish, and would have to end at some point. She just hadn't thought that it would be coming up on her so quickly. Ben's words struck a chord. It was strange hearing him come close to asking her to be his, when all they had ever done before never went beyond the 'fooling around' boundaries that had been set since day one. Of course, it didn't surprise her that Ben had been the one to say them. Darcy would simply wait for Carrie to come around, wait for her to love him. Sadly, she knew there was the possibility that she never would. When her father left, she had promised herself to gaurd her heart so it would never be broken again, and in doing so she blocked out the ability to love, in a sense. It was the one risk she wasn't willing to take. She was damaged goods, at this point.

"Ben. I..."

She struggled to find the right words. How could she describe to Ben a life time of lacking? How could she explain that she was falling head over heals for both boys? It was ridiculous, she knew, but the truth. They were too completely different people, appealing to different parts of Carrie...with Ben, it was mostly her lower parts and the dire need to have fun, of course. But there was also a definate connection between the two of them that couldn't simply be ignored. So there was the truth of it all. She had no problem sticking to Ben. She couldn't picture herself without Ben. She smiled a bit, biting her lip.

"Like glue, Benny. Like glue."

There would be a time when Carrie would have to decide, when she would have to choose, and even allow herself to love someone. But that night didn't have to be tonight. Certainly not, since Ben seemed to sense the up and coming change of subject. Ah, Ben. He didn't miss a beat. The awkward silence faded, easing back into how things were, how things should be. Carrie always had the notion that if she were ever to choose Ben Jones, it wouldn't be a bad one. The two were too close to hurt the other. There would be fights, but there would also be make-ups. There would be moments like this, too, with Carrie in her underwear, pouting for Ben not to leave, she was sure.

"Aw, Ben. Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you. Oh baby, Oh baby. And the movie would be called The Godfather, love."

She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. Of course, he was right. Carrie liked hearing his voice, liked the feel of the closeness of their bodies, liked how she could have Movie Madness night without actually watching the movie. Ben knew her all too well. And she knew him, in return. There had been a time when she would have thought he was a pig, and a lady killer, a stalker and a womanizer, but she knew better. As he went on about Elle, she knew he wouldn't follow through with any of it. Not that Elle would let him. Her intern seemed all too willing to bolt when Ben entered the room, finding excuses to go check on something or another, or fetch Carrie something to eat, even when she hadn't asked for it. It was clear that the trainee wanted nothing to do with Ben, who looked at Elle like she was a dessert tray. It was quite amusing, actually.

"Please. Save yourself the trouble, Jones. We both know that this girl won't be putting up with your b.s., no matter how well proportioned you are or how high up on the hospital food chain you get."

Her eyes briefly flickered back to the screen, then back to Ben. Someone was speaking something Italian angerly in the background. She had seen the movie enough times to know what was going on, despite her lack of attention at the moment. So it was easy for her to say with out thinking "Leave the gun, take the canoli" in perfect time with the movie. She smiled, looking back to Ben, taking another swig of his "manly" beer. She decided not to tell him that she and Aimee had done the last shopping trip and bought a brand of diet beer. What the boys didn't know, wouldn't hurt them. In fact, it might help them all lose a few pounds. Stretching a bit, she arched her back and curled her toes, before turning to face Ben completely.

"Ok, questions."

It was a game that Carrie had taught Ben when she had first met them. It was simple enough. You asked the person a question, naughty or nice, of course, and they had to answer. It was a good "get to know you" game. Even after being flatmates and working the same floor together, Carrie still felt that she and Ben were missing all the pieces. Besides, she liked hearing his answers.

"Ok, I'm going to start....um...If you were stranded on a desert island, and you had to bring a muggle with you, who would it be, and why?"

Carrie always liked to start out these games with a light question, avoiding the more serious ones till the end. In her mind, she wanted to ask him more personal questions, the things that really ate away at her, but she knew better. Ben could be too touchy sometimes, and she had learned to let him come to her. She decided when they first started playing the game, that before she could ask him something personal, he had to cross that line first. She would let him decide how badly they really wanted to get to know each other. He was still oblivious to things about her past, her father, what made her tick, and he hadn't asked, so she decided not to either. Though it was getting harder and harder to keep such Carrie Curiosity bottled up.

[Ben Jones]

Ben tried to ignore Carrie’s silence, her response. It elevated his heart rate to hear her say something so quietly, so uncomfortably. After all, there had been very few uncomfortable pauses in all the years he had known Carrie. They had been in fights, when she said something at the hospital that hurt his pride, and he replied stingily, and they spent the rest of the night ignoring each other. There had been times when Ben had walked in on a rather intimate moment between her and Darcy, or Darcy walked in on a rather intimate moment between her and Ben (like this), and the walker-inner had to pretend not to see anything and the walked-in-on faded apart. But such moments were generally stepped on and squashed into corners where no one had to look at them.

In her silence, Ben couldn’t help but wonder what she wanted to say. In the moment after she began her soft explanation, Ben wondered fleetingly what she had to say that she wasn’t saying. He knew a lot about her as a person. He knew that she liked surprises and being spontaneous, and that you could never count on what she liked because she could change her mind in a second. He knew she freaked out at times, more than she needed to. He even knew a little about her background; that she came from a wealthy family, broad things like that. Ben had never actually been bothered by knowing so little about her, but he found that he did have a thirst to know more, and a guilt about how little he knew.

What would someone think, someone who didn’t know them, if they poked their heads in the door and saw them, sitting against the couch, flinging carrots at a television and drinking a beer. What would Ben, aged twentysomething years old, think, if he walked in and saw himself with Carrie? He would feel that typical Ben pride, but what else? He wouldn’t be able to forget about Darcy. What kind of guy just looked at his best friend next to a girl and said, “Fuck you”? Darcy was someone Ben would never screw over. But when it came down to the wire, what would he do? Would he be able to turn Carrie down, to kill all his efforts and, most definitely, all comfort he had ever possessed in her presence? Would any man be able to turn her down? Carrie had probably never heard the word “No” in her life.

“Yeah, yeah,”

Ben said, hopping up and waving his hand at her. He headed into the kitchen, thinking about Dollface, and how no matter how much she squirmed around him, no matter how disgusted she looked when she saw him, that she knew he wasn’t actually a pig. Dollface knew that if Ben said the word, she would be all over him like flies on dog shit. Carrie was walking the line, though, between poking fun and hurting the pride, as usual. That was what made their conversations so amusing. Ben always liked to see how far Carrie could push him, and he was sure Carrie liked to see as well. No one else could walk so close to the line, except for Darcy, who usually never did.

He walked back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, reaching for another beer. His first one was almost finished, and besides, Carrie was trying to share with him. When he walked back out, opening it, Carrie was getting ready to play one of her favorite games, Questions. It was sort of like Truth or Dare, minus the Dare part. It always made Ben feel like a teenage girl, like he had some insight into what she and Aimee talked about when they were alone. It was one of his favorite games, next to Would You Rather. He was pretty much the king of Would You Rather, because he most often came up with the hardest decisions to make. For instance, Would you rather eat all your hair or cut off two of your fingers? Or, Would you rather have an earring torn out of your ear downwards, or have all of your eyelashes plucked out one by one? Oftentimes, the more you had to drink, the lamer they became (ie Would you rather fuck a saggy old man, or a donkey, Darcy? Would you rather eat shit or tattoo the word Dickhead on your forehead, Aimee? Would you rather spend a year in complete and total silence, or have never been born, Carrie?) Good times. Good times.

“A Muggle…hmmm…” he said, sitting himself down next to Carrie again. “Like I’m an expert on them. Who was that one that, you know, showed her–” he whistled and grabbed his crotch– “in that picture? Getting out of her car? You know, the blonde one.” Ben knew a thing or two about Muggle culture, as he lived surrounded by Muggles. Occasionally, he or one of the others at St. Mungo’s would buy a Muggle magazine and read up on all the Muggle gossip. “I would choose her because she also made that sex tape.” Like Ben hadn’t seen any porn.

“My turn.” He thought for a while, drinking his beer, and then said, “If…you were…No, that’s no good. Oh. I have one. If Aimee was really fat, would you still dance with her on stage at The Bar? Come on, be honest. Remember, you’re sharing her clothes and she’s dressed like, you know, in those little skirts and stuff.”