Domestic
It turned out that Hartmann's apartment was only a few miles away, and easily reached by bus. His building was nothing like Carol's, however, and required a key code just to get into the complex. From there, she walked up four flights of steps -- mostly because it would take longer than the elevator -- then followed the line of doors until she reached the number she was looking for.
Cautiously and slowly, she knocked.
Hartmann answered and stared at her, shirtless with only a pair of pajama pants on. His left wrist was bandaged and in a splint that also held his fingers immobile, and he kept his elbow bent to hold his hand level with his shoulder. Carol could feel him examining her head-to-toe, so she tried to shrink within herself, until he finally said, "Yeah, it's you all right. Come on in."
He stepped back, and she followed him inside. It was a nice two bedroom apartment with a big living room, though sparsely furnished with only the essentials and a gaming system. He motioned around carelessly with his good hand. "This is it. You can find everything yourself."
"It's bigger than my place," Carol blurted, then blushed.
Hartmann shrugged. "I moved in about three months ago, and I've barely spent any time here. Now go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich; I'm hungry."
"I thought that you just wanted me to clean," Carol protested weakly.
He pointed to his injured hand. "The doctor says that I'll never regain full function of my fingers because of what you did. The least you can do is make me a sandwich."
"Fine, I'll do it." Carol nervously bit her lip. "I can do basic cooking, but don't expect anything fancy."
"There should be sliced meat in the fridge. A buddy of mine brought over groceries about an hour ago." Hartmann went back to the couch and flopped down, then turned his movie back on.
Carol rummaged around in the kitchen, searching through his fridge to pull out everything that she thought would make a decent sandwich, then paused to ask, "How much mayonnaise do you like?"
"I dunno, the normal amount," he answered distractedly.
"How many slices of meat?"
"The usual."
"And how much cheese?"
"Good god woman!" he exclaimed in frustration. "Just make a sandwich, okay? Why do you have to ask so many questions?"
"I'm just trying to figure out what you like," Carol muttered. "Today is your first day out of the hospital, isn't it?"
Hartmann paused to think, then answered in a tone that was simultaneously resigned yet amused, "Fine. Lay the meat on thick, then top it off with a slice of cheese."
"Lettuce and tomato?"
"Only if the tomato is ripe."
Carol carefully arranged each item onto the sandwich as Hartmann silently came up behind her to watch, so that when she picked it up and turned around she nearly bumped into him. He took hold of the plate with his good hand, then continued to stare at her. "I can see why you were chosen to clean the Suit."
"I like doing a good job, that's all." Carol looked away, feeling all too aware of the fact that he was underdressed and standing uncomfortably close.
"So, what was it like for you inside the Suit?" he asked casually, returning to his spot on the couch to eat.
"It was ..." Carol felt herself blush. "Amazing."
"Innit?" Hartmann chuckled. "It's going to be agony until I can return back to active duty. You're a little bitch for injuring me like this, you know?"
Carol didn't know how to respond. She looked down at the floor and shifted, folding her hands together. "I didn't mean to."
Hartmann harrumphed. "Go on and get to work. My dishes need to be done, and uh, I dunno. Whatever else you find to do."
"Do you need any help with your injury?"
Carol's question surprised him. "What do you mean?"
"Changing bandages, or managing pain medication, or ..." she hesitated, then said in a lower tone, "Getting dressed."
Hartmann laughed at her. "What's the matter? You like what you see too much? No, I don't need any help getting dressed, but if you'd like I could help you get undressed."
"No," Carol snapped.
"You're not my type anyway." He lounged back and put his feet up, and Carol watched from across the room as a few crumbs fell from the bread and onto the cushions; she was going to have to vacuum under them later. "I had to cancel a hot date because of this," Hartmann mused. "I ought to thank you for that one though, 'cause she turned nasty when she found out this injury could be permanent."
"Was she your girlfriend?" Carol asked offhandedly, opening the cupboard under the sink to search for cleaning supplies.
"Nah." Hartmann took a minute to finish eating, then put his plate down on the floor, making Carol wonder if he was naturally a slob, or playing it up for her benefit. "You know," he said, watching her. "If I'm going to have to look at you every day, the least you can do is make yourself up so it's a little more pleasant on my part. Wear something pretty tomorrow, and put on some lipstick. I'm sure you can find video tutorials online."
Carol felt her face turn bright red, so she quickly turned the water on to wash the dishes, hoping that would be enough to ignore what he had said.
"How about you? Any boyfriends?" he continued.
Carol shook her head. "No."
She could practically feel him sizing her up before asking, "Friends?" and again she shook her head. "So what do you do for fun?" he added.
She shrugged. "I watch movies, browse the internet, and occasionally read, I guess."
"Any favorites?"
"...No."
"Anything you hated?"
"I'm just here to help you out," she snapped. "Not to be interrogated."
Hartmann scoffed. "Apparently you have so little going on, you should be grateful that I've given you something to do. How is it that a person can be so boring?"
Carol didn't know the answer.
I'm Definitely Crazy
Carol went to the retail store instead of going home, all the while calling herself crazy. She never thought much about her appearance, and tended to stick with items that were simple and practical, but she decided that if it would help get her on Hartmann's good side, then a little dressing up wouldn't hurt.
She wasn't at all sure how to broach the topic of the Suit with him, particularly the little niggling fantasy that had worked it's way into her brain about getting inside and using the help mode again. While she knew that he could help her, she had no idea whether or not he would.
There wasn't much time before the next bus home, so she grabbed a floral sleeveless dress with ruffles at the bottom of the skirt, then went to the makeup section for mascara and lipstick, carefully selecting a neutral shade that wouldn't be too much of a bother to put on. After making her purchase, she managed to make it to the bus stop just as it came into view on the street, and Carol hated how close she had cut it.
The next day, after she got dressed, she examined herself in the mirror. For a fleeting moment, she thought that she shouldn't have thrown away the red pushup bra, then pushed the thought out of her mind. She was trying to appeal to Hartmann, not to seduce him. The skirt was a little long for her height, so she hoped that she'd remember to hold it up and move carefully.
It felt strange to be wearing something other than her usual shirts and jeans, but it put her in the mood to follow a simple hairstyle tutorial online, and she managed to tie her hair back into a half updo that didn't look too bad. With the mascara and lipstick, she almost didn't look like the same person.
On the bus, she was more aware of people looking at her than usual, so she nervously clutched her bag on her lap and kept her gaze pointed downwards.
At Hartmann's apartment, he did a double take before letting her in. "Wow," he breathed. "Done up like that, you're a solid 7. I thought that you'd be an iffy 6 at best."
