Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 4

"Mm... maybe not a deep red." But that might be a lie; she just hasn't worn that color in so long that she's not sure what it looks like on her anymore. "But I can tell blue works for you, because it really brings out your eyes."

And those eyes still bore into hers from across the room as he stares her down, albeit softly. Barbie just wants to drown in Oppenheimer's eyes as long as she can, wants to find someone who can make her feel just as open, just as trusted. "So I've been told," he says after inhaling.

His lips, though, are probably her next favorite feature of his, perfectly plump and they kiss her so wonderfully, like she's always safe against them. Barbie watches them exhale yet again, slightly pursed as smoke emerges in a slow trickle. He taps the excess against the ashtray set up on the little tables placed next to each chair.

"You've been told? You don't know?" Barbie chuckles, drawing one of her knees up to her chest. "You don't have to be so modest, Oppie."

He shrugs, his expression reading like he's admitting she's right as his lips curl into a smirk. "I'm usually not. Perhaps I'm just humbled after bedding potentially the most beautiful woman upon which I've ever laid my eyes—eyes, I might add, you seem to really find enthralling."

That makes her laugh, but it's light, and she hides it behind the back of her hand. "That's such a cheesy line!" she exclaims. "But you're not wrong. Except about the 'most beautiful woman' part, that's completely subjective."

"So is finding my eyes enthralling," he shoots back, not missing a beat.

He thinks she's the most beautiful woman, though, even with all the marks and lack of makeup and tangles in her hair. He thinks she's beautiful even after she's fumbled through sex and going down on him, and he thinks she's beautiful in his lipstick-stained shirt. He's seeing past whatever she used to think a Barbie or a woman needed to be, and just seeing... her.

"Fine, that's also subjective," she admits, hiding her smile behind her knee. And they both just take a moment, to stare, to reflect.

His eyes don't really roam her body like she's seen from so many other men; they just stay focused on hers as they glaze over again with probably another complicated question, where he's trying to answer something or other about physics or atoms or things she still can't begin to understand. Oppenheimer keeps his drags low and long, savoring his cigarette as opposed to huffing away like at the beginning of the night. The Dawn Club seems like it was eons ago, and not just mere hours, with how much has transpired since then, and with how much Barbie has just learned and lived.

"You've drawn yourself back into the universe," she observes, breaking the comfortable silence. He doesn't have to answer; she just likes that she understands some of his expressions now.

"Not so much." He brings his hand up to his chin and it kind of reminds Barbie about that one statue, about the man thinking and wearing the world on his shoulders.

"Oh, well now you've painted me intrigued." Barbie rests her cheek on her knee. "Robert Oppenheimer, not thinking about some complicated theory about space or stars or atoms?"

"Well, not just." He probably has a million thoughts all at once, she figures—and some of them are probably scary, and complicated, and maybe she can draw some of that out so he's not so lost in it all.

"Right." She flashes him another smile, and while she likes just sinking into this chair, she's resenting the distance between them, just a bit. "So name something else on your mind."

He takes a moment to study her again, this time a little more astutely. "I've been trying to gauge whether or not you're part of the Party for a decent portion of the night, especially after that rather... impassioned speech you gave about compensation for work and the state of the country."