I met a man without a dollar to his name

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette sat on the sofa, curled up watching the bubbles go past the window as though mesmirised.

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach emerged from the throes of his latest project, covered in oil, paint, and the Lord-knew-what. "There's a few more Martians that won't be probing any---darling, what're you..." His uncertain smile drifted from his wife to the window. "What in...?"

[Colette Michaelson]

"I don't know." Colette said, dreamily, automatically holding out her arms to embrace her husband. "They are quite pretty, no? Do you often have them in America?"

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach's eyes followed the bubbles as she hugged him and he pulled her closer. "No, not often," he replied vaguely, wondering what could have produced them. "Maybe some kids are playing next door...although those don't quite look like soap bubbles."

[Colette Michaelson]

"Ugh!" Colette smelled the oil and paint and pushed him from her immediatly, standing up and looking down at herself. There was paint all over her dress. She looked up at her husband with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "Zachary!"

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach looked at the dress, then himself. "Sorry, dear, I'll ask Gran to clean it for you. Guess I got a bit carried away trying to finish up and forgot that I had paint all over me." He gave her a small, sheepish smile.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette exhaled frustratedly. "I just hope that they'll come out. What on earth are you doing anyway? Aliens aren't going to be fooled by paint."

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach sighed and ran a paint-covered hand through his hair, streaking it orange. "I was remaking the helmets, dear. They need a new design, after all. They're almost ready, they just need to dry." He frowned and absently wiped a green-covered hand on the side of his old slacks. "I'm sure it'll wash out, if you hurry and give it a soak before the paint dries."

[Colette Michaelson]

"You have orange in your hair." Colette commented. "I'd better take this off then."

[Zachary Michaelson]

Her husband cleared his throat and loosened the collar of his shirt, which had seen many adventures in anti-Martian activity, judging from the faded splotches of paint. Fresh orange was added to the shirt collar. "That, s-sure, I'll, ah, go find Gran and tell her that it needs to be washed." His glasses slipped down and came to the tip of his nose.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette gave her husband a demure smile. Almost. "Merci, cherie." She crossed the room to the stairs. "I'll just change."

[Zachary Michaelson]

"You, you, er, need any help with that first?" Zach questioned on a pitch a little higher than normal, not realizing his eyes had been following her all the way to the other end of the room. He hadn't blinked once the whole time.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette fluttered her eyelashes and pursed her lips as though considering. "Well, the catch is a little tricky..." She put her hand on the banister and a foot on the first step.

[Zachary Michaelson]

"The catch, yeah, that's the one you always seem to have trouble with," Zach answered, taking a step towards her as though in a dream. It seemed his wife had many dresses, all with one wardrobe malfunction or another. He found he rather preferred those to the dresses that were made properly.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette ascended the stairs and walked into their bedroom, opening her wardrobe and standing in front of it, considering the merits of her rather large collection.

[Zachary Michaelson]

The poor sap followed her up and stood behind her, watching her contemplation. "So this is where half my paycheck goes," he said, using the same tone a person might after viewing one of the world's seven wonders.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette took a pale blue dress from the wardrobe and placed it on then bed, then looked over her shoulder at her husband. "Well? The catch?"

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach startled. "The catch, right, well, turn around and I'll try to get it undone." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a tuft of orange hair sticking up in the middle of his head.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette turned to her husband and looked up at him with an expectant smile. "It's just a little too difficult, I'm not strong enough." She placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.

[Zachary Michaelson]

He smiled at her, his eyes not moving from hers. "Then I'll get it for you," he said, stepping a little closer and moving his hands behind her neck. After a pause, he found the offending clasp and tried to unfasten it. Nothing doing. "Little more stubborn than I thought here, hang on."

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette frowned at her husband. "No, you twist it. Please don't break the dress as well, Zachary." She moved her hand up to brush her hair out of the way softly.

[Zachary Michaelson]

"Twist it, mm, different from the last one you had me help you out of, pardon me," he muttered, doing as she suggested. "I said I didn't mean to get the paint on it, darling, and there, have it."

[Colette Michaelson]

"Thank you, cherie." Colette smiled gently at her husband, kissed him gently on the cheek and then stepped away from him, turning her back as she changed into the other dress.

[Zachary Michaelson]

"You're ah, welcome, dear." He took the paint-laden thing up from the floor and draped it unceremoniously over a nearby chair, waiting for her to finish dressing.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette did up the last button then turned around then started. "Zachary? The dress?"

[Zachary Michaelson]

"It's over there," he told her, gesturing to the chair, then swallowed. "Oh, you want me to take it right now, is that it?"

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette looked at her husband with wide, innocent eyes. "Er, yes?"

[Zachary Michaelson]

With another clearing of his throat and tug at his paint-spattered collar, her husband picked up the dress with an air of something that could be called defeat. "I'll take it down to give it a soak," he informed her as he started for the door.

[Colette Michaelson]

"Merci!" Colette blew her husband a kiss before turning to the mirror to fix her hair.

[Zachary Michaelson]

Muttering in Yiddish that didn't translate as 'you're welcome,' was the reply as Zach walked out into the hallway and down the steps.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette pouted at her reflection for a few minutes before going down the stairs once more. "Zach?" She called, wandering into the sitting room once more.

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach had retreated into his work room again, the sound of banging drowning out his frustrated mutterings as he strove to begin another project. At the moment, it looked more like pieces of broken (red) stapler, nails, and some hot glue.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette pursed her lips, and heard the hammering noise, and settled back onto the sofa. She looked around the room, then raised her voice to a piercing shriek. "Zachary!"

[Zachary Michaelson]

At the scream, another answered it moments after the sound of a hammer crunching the top of a thumb issued forth. "Yes, dear?" floated out a second later, among other decidedly less kosher responses.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette plumped a cushion next to her. "Just wondering where you were." She purred.

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach appeared in the doorway, eyes dark. "In the other room," he told her in a measured way, "working on another project." His thumb was already swelling and turning a spectacular purple color.

[Colette Michaelson]

"Oh." Colette turned to look at him, and saw his thumb. Her eyebrows raised in consternation. "What did you do to your thumb?"

[Zachary Michaelson]

"I was smoothing out a dent when I heard a scream, like the world was coming to an end. Startled me just a tad and I slipped," Zach told her between gritted teeth as the offending finger throbbed painfully.

[Colette Michaelson]

"Oh." Colette furrowed her brow, and looked down at the carpet for a second. "You know, I think I'm a little hungry."

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zach leaned against the doorframe, trying not to chew his lower lip. "I'll make you something in a few minutes, darling, please let's not repeat the pasta episode of the other night, okay?"

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette lay backwards on the couch. "I'm not sure I can wait that long." she sighed. "But if you have helmets to make..."

[Zachary Michaelson]

Zachary started away from the door. "I have the rest of the day," he told her hastily, pain in his thumb temporarily forgotten.

[Colette Michaelson]

"You do?" Colette propped her head up on the arm of the chair. "We can have a proper meal, then. Will, ah, is your grandmother about?"

[Zachary Michaelson]

"Her medication's likely put her out for a few hours." Her husband moved closer to the couch, glasses now hooked into the top of his breast pocket. "Proper meal, did you say? We do have that...Italian salad dressing we haven't tried, remember?"

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette's eyes sparkled. "Do you think we could have a three course meal? I miss the restaurants so much out here, Zachary..."

[Zachary Michaelson]

He offered her his hand to help her up. "Things were better in Brooklyn," he agreed on a sigh, "but I think I remember some of their recipes. Including those fancy éclairs you like so much."

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette took his and and stood up, placing her arm around his waist, a slight wrinkle of the nose the only evidence that she hadn't forgotten the oil or paint. "I think I can remember the way we used to make them back home." Colette said, slipping off her shoes, evidently a precaution needed for cooking. "Made them just a little bit better."

[Zachary Michaelson]

"If I remember correctly, I taught you a thing or two about how to make the batter the right way," Zach smiled. "Or were those the cream puffs? You used to get those too quite often, I think." He smoothed a bit of hair away from her forehead and kissed it.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette leant into her husband's chest. "But you always said you liked French cooking best." She looked up at him. "With all the spices and herbs and variety."

[Zachary Michaelson]

"The variety's what gets me every time, darling," Zachary murmured. "Now, do you want to set the table and I'll take care of the rest?"

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette smiled and started towards the kitchen, drawing her husband after her by the hand and possibly a slightly more irresistable force. "I'm sure the starter won't take long." she said softly.

[Zachary Michaelson]

Her husband opened his mouth, closed it, and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt entirely as he trailed after her.

[Colette Michaelson]

Colette pulled the door to the kitchen closed, presumably so that if she inadvertantly burned something the smoke wouldn't get out of the kitchen.