It was late enough at night that it could practically be considered
morning, but there was still sound from the checkered room.  Television
not being watched.  Kitty'd made herself make noise coming up the stairs;
she did the same easing the door open to peek in.  It was all right, all
safe.  He was sitting back on the couch, a book in his hand.  Not asleep.
She rustled the loose sheaf of papers in her hand and stepped in.

"Mm?" was his distracted greeting, nothing more than that.

Kitty held the papers out over Pete Wisdom's head, fanning them just a
little with her fingertips.  As he began to consciously register her
presence and turn - she let go.  Sheets of printout sifted down around his
face.  He blinked once before putting on a distinctly unimpressed
expression.  She stifled a giggle firmly, then made her voice small and
childlike and appealing.  "Help?"

Pete continued to eye her for just a moment before reaching up and taking
his cigarette out of his mouth.  She leaned over to pick up the couple of
sheets that'd brushed it and make sure they weren't smouldering anymore;
one-handed, Pete put the rest back in a loose pile and set them aside,
scanned the top page absently, then pushed himself to his feet and went to
fuss with the CD player.  After a few moments, Radiohead's _Amnesiac_
started up.  Then and only then did he go to resettle himself on the couch
and start reading.

"You're better at this stuff than I am," Kitty admitted out loud.  Maybe
it was his leaning toward music, contrasted to hers toward dance.  There
were at least words /involved/ in his...

"Notebook," he answered after a few moments.  "Pencil."  As she went to
fetch, he added, "And put _Kid A_ in the other tray, would you?"

Case in point.  She grinned.  "No problem."  The CD went in, and she
rummaged, turning up an almost-blank notepad and two mechanical pencils
that she fetched back to him before settling down beside on the couch.

He jotted something down without looking at her, frowning absently.
"You've been collecting pictures of towers, too," he noted.  "Why?"

"For Jack," Kitty replied.  "He's been dreaming about one, he's sure he
has to find it -" and he might be right - "and he can't really describe
it, and he's not that much of an artist.  I figured maybe he could
identify features that were right or wrong, maybe we could work up a
composite."

"You know a good artist," Pete pointed out, still not looking up.

"Yeah," Kitty replied.  "But like I said, he can't describe it.  If we can
get some kind of a composite, it'd at least give a starting point."

He flipped a page.  "More work for you."

She shrugged, a little uneasy for a moment.  "Yeah.  But I've been..."
She couldn't've said why she hesitated.  "Needing work to do, these days."

This time he /did/ look up, blue eyes finding hers.  "Mind talking about
that, after this?"

Kitty found herself relaxing, and she leaned in against Pete's side.  He
was warm, as always.  "No," she said more certainly.  "I wouldn't mind
that at all."