tramitem_log | Guess I'm just a play date to you

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Harleen leaned against the light post and looked down the street, trying to will the bus to appear out of thin air.

"I don't want to date you, or save you, so you can stop acting like I'm working some angle. I just..." She shrugged and pulled her coat tighter around herself. "I don't know anybody outside of work, and it was nice to talk. Even to you. That's all."

"I'm not. I don't think you are. I'm not good at this, like I told you-- The only reason you're here is because my bonehead cousin had a bonehead idea and both of us were idiots enough to go along with it." He watched her blearily. "You can't be that bad at socializing."

"He kept all the friends in the breakup. Not that they were my friends, really, in the first place." She leaned her head against the pole and the cold metal helped steady her through the wine fog. "I was never the social one. Too busy working."

"You'll get it. Just have to sort out your priorities. D'you want to work? Or have friends?" Doing both at the same time was impossible in his experience. He yawned and shuddered at a bit of wind.

"Once you figure that out there'll be no stopping you."

She looked at him with a wry smile. "You sure like to give advice for a guy who absolutely does not have his shit together."

She sat down next to him and checked her phone. "Bus should be here in two minutes."

A snicker. "I'm a master at sorting other people's shit. Haven't you heard the saying those who can't do teach? Anyway--" He shrugged. "As for tonight, at least you got wine out of it. And the knowledge that I am going to glue Anty's face to a toilet seat. I don't know how but he has it coming, don't you think?"

"You can't teach either." She bumped his shoulder. "Wine that I paid for, and you drank half of. But knowing that someone will be glued to a toilet does help ease the sting a bit."

That stung deep, but fortunately he was used to pretending he didn't care.

"Good. I'll send-- I'll put a picture on the network."

That's the problem with psychiatrists. When they dig, they dig deep.

"Come on, are you really pretend none of this happened and never talk to me again? We've met twice now, and you've already made a total ass of yourself. Nowhere to go but up."

"We'll see." No promises, but given they were both Different, it was probably inevitable.He tried not to think about it. "Here's your bus."

"Anthony has my number. Don't be a pussy." She stood up and looked down at him in confusion. "Isn't this your bus too?"

"Go on." He would catch the next one and he really didn't want to prolong this further than he already had. Anyway, it would require getting up and he was too tired for that right now-- he had to gather his strength.

She shrugged and got on the bus alone. "Text me, asshole," she called over her shoulder before the doors closed.

Well, he might, but what would he even say. For right now he was just glad that it was over. His head was throbbing and he was cold and he had to strangle a cousin, but he felt an odd sense of relief. Or maybe it was catharsis, or maybe he was drunk.

In either case he remained where he was and tried not to fall asleep. Eventually he hailed a cab and headed back to the flat.

Guess I'm just a play date to you

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