Guess I'm just a play date to you

[phdmotherfucker]

Who: Harleen, Alec, and special secret spies guests
What: A blind date from Hell (because a demon set it up, get it)
When: Feb 14th, 8 PM
Where: Antonio's Restaurant
Warnings: None

Harleen never did work up the courage to text the number the Duane Reade demon gave her, and was seriously considering calling the whole thing off or at least pulling a no-show. But then her mother knocked on her door and looked deeply disappointed at hearing her daughter would be staying in on Valentine's, then strongly hinted that she'd been hoping Harleen would be out all evening so the parents could have a "very romantic, private sort of night."

So obviously Harleen could not be anywhere in a five mile radius of home with that cursed knowledge.

She put on a nice dress and jacket, nothing too flashy or that could lead to ... certain expectations, and headed out to meet her doom. Dinner. Her dinner date.

She arrived too early, as she usually did, and was seated at the table first. She ordered a glass of wine and promised herself that everything was going to be just fine. No date could be as bad as the one in her other self's memories.

Comments

[scotch_egg]

He gave her a flat look. "Do you really want to have this conversation?" He preferred to go back to speaking of her miserable life.

[phdmotherfucker]

She shrugged, but that smirk stayed on her lips. "This is a date, in case you've forgotten."

[scotch_egg]

"I think you're reasonably attractive for a woman your age and I'm sure you'll line some poor bastard up in a short time and make him exceedingly happy." And with that he drained his wine and reached once more for the bottle. Drunk might be the only way to get through this.

[phdmotherfucker]

There was only about half a glass remaining. They hadn't gone easy on the poor thing.

She laughed. She'd never had a man pay her a compliment and sound so personally attacked while doing so.

"Ah, what a romantic. The soul of a poet."

[scotch_egg]

Well he was glad that she was amused, at least. He shrugged. He wasn't good at romance. If he was-- well, he wouldn't have gotten divorced in that life and left behind in this-- justifiably in both cases. At least he had been with women who had found it easy to find someone new, but then maybe anything was a step up.

"This is why I'm a bachelor. I play to my strengths."

Drive by interruption -- Do carry on

[serpentinthegarden]

She was laughing which was a good sign but was she laughing AT Alec or WITH Alec? Unfortunately from his hiding place behind the greenery on the other side of the restaurant it was difficult to tell which.

What was clear was that Alec was drinking excessive amounts and not eating anything... the jerk! Try to get him out of the house and acting like a normal person and he goes all stupid again. Well this called for a little demonic intervention! With a gesture the waiter was called over and when the lady's dinner order arrived it would be accompanied by a plain pasta dish for Alec (If you are going to drink then you have to eat something!) and a very romantic on the house spread of chocolate covered strawberries (Cause this is a date you might as well remember that!).

The waiter would claim the pasta was a mistake but since it was here anyway you might as well enjoy it while he would say the strawberries were a special treat for couples that they were giving away to everyone... even though if you looked around none of the other couples had any. Enjoy!

[phdmotherfucker]

Harleen laughed again but it was probably a testament to almost three glasses of wine before dinner more than her date's sense of humor. She was practically glowing, again, because of wine.

She complimented how good everything looked and thanked the waiter. She hoped Crowley would take the chance to eat the extra dish, because at least chewing would keep him from repeating how miserable he was and how much he didn't want to be here.

Somebody at this table was going to have a nice time, goddammit.

[scotch_egg]

It may have to be her. Alec was immediately suspicious of the arrival of something he would be inclined to eat, checking with the back of his fork for bits of shrimp or any kind of seafood or sausage that may have snuck onto his plate. The bread was left untouched and the strawberries only glanced at.

Finding there were no intruders and feeling a bit on the hungry side, he devoted himself to scraping the worst of the pesto off with a focused scowl while the silence lingered.

And lingered.

And lingered.

Might need more wine.

[phdmotherfucker]

Harleen watched him check his food like a TSA agent and his great pains to remove as much as the sauce as he could. It was hard not to judge, so she let herself judge just a teeny bit. Maybe he had a lot of food allergies.

She took a small sip of wine. This last glass would need to last.

"You hate the food, you hate my company. Or maybe just company in general, I'm not quite sure on that yet. So why did you bother to come out?"

[scotch_egg]

"It's not you. You're fine. We've nothing in common but that's not your fault. That's just the way things are. Just think of me as an irascible old man who doesn't like anything but can't say no to some ginger bastard giving e a puppy eyed look."

Pasta desauced, he looks at it critically, then changes his mind and sets it back on the plate.

"You might as well have a strawberry if you want before the chocolate melts."

[phdmotherfucker]

"We have at least two things in common, and you're not some doddering grandpa on leave from the home." Irascible, yes, she couldn't argue with that one.

She took a strawberry from the plate and closed her lips around it as she watched him contemplatively. The visual effect was entirely unintentional.

"Not a fan of strawberries, or is it the chocolate? Or do you just object to any kind of ingredients touching each other?"

[scotch_egg]

"Hmph. Close enough." He wasn't that old yet, but he felt it. He glanced up at just the wrong moment and then looked away, leaning back, arms folded, ears red. he sniffed, knowing strawberries and chocolate are off the menu.

"I don't like food touching. I don't get why everyone is so into smashing food together and seeing if it tastes good. It doesn't. It's just confusing. The only things that belong together are butter on bread. Everything else is just trying too hard." He wondered if that counted as desert.

[phdmotherfucker]

She smirked, and bit into the strawberry. The juice dribbled down her chin and she wiped it up inelegantly.

"Next time we can go to the Golden Corral and you can use that senior citizen discount on all the plain white rice you can eat."

[scotch_egg]

It was inelegant, it was also mildly distracting, but he was good at holding himself back from that sort of thing when there was not even a glimmer of a chance-- and by and large because a small part of him didn't want to give Anthony the satisfaction. Also she'd never be happy with him. That was a trend.

He snorted.

"I've seen their kitchens once. Class field trip. You do not want to eat there. In fact I'd wear a Hazmat suit just to go in the parking lot."

[phdmotherfucker]

She laughed a little too loudly at that.

"That has to be the worst field trip I can think of. What lesson even was that? Biohazards?"

[scotch_egg]

"Sort of like: Career Day. See how a kitchen runs, see how a garbageman works and so on. Trying to herd seventeen eighth graders and keeping them or the parents from tasting anything was a time and a half." It didn't help that one of the wine mothers had lived up to her name and had spent the entire trip calling him William Wallace and asking him about his 'Freedom'.

"I'll never forget it, even if I want to."

[phdmotherfucker]

Her brows shot up and she pressed her lips together to try and suppress a grin. "Oh, you teach middle school. That explains so much."

Or really, everything. No wonder he wallowed in misery, if his days were spent dealing with tweens. That would destroy the soul of any man.

[scotch_egg]

"Taught. Was let go." Quit sort of but mostly-- well it was for the best. "What do you do? What kind of medicine?"

[phdmotherfucker]

Now there was a mystery. Maybe he was fired for thinking Golden Corral was a good field trip. She'd put a pin in that for later, if she ever saw him again.

"Psychiatric research. I'm studying trauma responses."

[scotch_egg]

"You'll have plenty of research around here. Just wait until the next event happens." Whatever that is. There was always something new to be traumatized by aside from just living in New York. "What lead you to that?"

[phdmotherfucker]

"I wanted to know what made people turn to crime, and why some people could get away from it and others never did. Once you start examining MOs, a lot of them claim trauma."

She glanced down and ran her fingers along the stem of the glass. Getting into such personal conversation with a man who had made it clear he did not enjoy company seemed a waste of effort, but there was no harm in it either.

"Our actual work is with abuse survivors and veterans, but most of the donations come from people hoping we find some data about criminal motives that would make a good headline." She shrugged a little. "I guess all the glamour is in murder."

[scotch_egg]

He was surprised that they had that in common. Sort of. As she spoke the words sparked in the back of his mind like flint on stone and memories...of a sort...trickled into the back of his brain. It wasn't anything physical, nothing named, more muscle memory, thoughts, interests he didn't realize he had.

"People commit crime for as many reasons as people do anything," he said, knowing it was true even as he said it. "Because of poverty, because of anger, lust, greed, just for the hell of it. Trauma too. I think it's good work. Interesting work." Helpful too, to sort out the ones that needed help from the ones that bullshitted their way through.

"Murder is always going to get in the papers. Not much care is given to those that are left behind. So that's good too. Talking to the people that suffer." He wanted to hear more. He wanted to do more. To work in that sphere. Do-- find justice. To pursue it. To push back against all the evil in the world.

Only... he'd done a shit job of it before. And now-- he was too old to start something like that and pretty much a dead man walking anyway. His time had passed him by. Which was probably for the best.

"I hope you do great work." He saluted her with the wine glass and finished the rest of it, but didn't indulge in another. He was fairly sure that if he wasn't being watched then somehow Anthony would know of it and he'd never hear the end of it.

[phdmotherfucker]

"I will. I do."

If she wasn't already a little flushed from half a bottle of wine she might have blushed at the encouragement, faint as it was. People made a lot of assumptions about women that looked like her, usually that she wasn't up to the task or, less kindly, that she would be better suited pursuing a more decorative sort of position in life.

"I'm actually going to be leading a new study soon. Maybe. Fingers crossed."

[scotch_egg]

"Aye? What kind?" He wasn't as interested in the academic underpinnings of it despite his own teaching background, but he would listen. The important thing was she was enjoying herself and a certain cousin was less likely to ride his ass about it.

[phdmotherfucker]

"It's, um. Well, the donors want criminal research, so I figured..." She bounced her leg under the table, feeling self conscious talking about her pet project before it even got off the ground. She didn't want to jinx it. "It's going to be a long term study, a lot of prisoner interviews. The data could be used to support institutional reforms. I hope."