Loki Laufeyson (ex_brother217) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-07-13 18:02:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | gwen stacy, harry dresden |
Who: Sam Alexander & Toby Fischer
What: Coffee and Cloves
Where: Coffee shop near Toby's hospital.
When: Late in the week
Warnings/Rating: None.
Sam was doing a little better the day she went to meet Toby.
After Neil's last text, she'd cried herself out, and then she'd dragged herself to Circus Circus and gotten a cheap room for a few days. She'd called Future Hope, and she was weighing the woman's opinion that she should come back for the month. She really didn't want to fucking disappear from Neil's life for that long, and she knew it would cost money that she didn't have, but maybe therapy was a good idea. And it didn't even have anything to do with Neil's interaction with some unknown cock during the hotel party. It had to do with her. Sure, she had managed to get out of the fucking suite, but she knew she wasn't doing great. Her encounter with the courier, with Ian, even with fucking Iris had left a mark in an already cracked exterior, and she knew she was thisclose to falling off the wagon. She'd taken her first Xanax since being let out of the hospital, but it was her inability to leave her fucking room that gave her the willpower to do avoid them before that moment. Had she been out of Neil's place, well, shit would have been different. And now she was out of Neil's place, and that was a problem.
So, yeah, everything was up in the fucking air just then, but the sunlight felt nice against her skin, and even the heat was a nice change from the constant AC of the suite. She still had a driver and a security guy, both Neil's, that had gone with her when she left Aria; she didn't mind it. Without them, she was pretty sure she wouldn't have made it as far as the coffee shop. And, strangely, she wasn't really fucking worried about meeting the guy she'd swapped spit with during the party. He hadn't tried to push himself on her, and he hadn't tried to hurt her, and god fucking knew that the hotel's bullshit increased the existing desire in people to do shit like that. He'd been sweet, and she assumed that meant he was like that in his daily life. And, yeah, the guards waiting just outside helped. They helped a fucking lot.
She walked into the shop, baggy shorts that fell loose over a pair of blue and white striped boxers, and a snug white shirt that didn't attempt to hide the light pink scar that started at her collarbone. The lines on her wrists were just faded reminders now, vertical memories, and she didn't bother trying to cover them up the way she had in the past. Her long, blonde hair was in a loose braid, and she was cat's eye liner and a bit of gloss on her lips. The Doc Martens she wore were cherry red, and she looked around the coffee shop with inky blue eyes that were slightly wide from the discomfort of being somewhere with so many fucking people.
That time of day, the coffee shop wasn't overly crowded, but most of the tables had occupants, only a couple left free. Toby was a regular enough visitor to the shop that he had 'his' table near the back, the one he liked to camp out at while reading through journals or just sitting and letting go of the rest of the day. But today, he had abandoned his regular table for one near the doorway, in hopes that he'd be able to catch sight of Sam easily enough. He was dressed as he normally was, khakis and a short sleeved button down shirt (today in a dark blue), and he had abandoned the suit jacket with the heat that had settled over the city. His dark hair was a mess of curls, somehow looking styled without any effort on his part. He was sitting facing the door, a psychiatric journal in hand to read while he waited, but otherwise the table was empty.
When the bell over the door rang again, he glanced up, catching sight of the young blond woman who had made entrance. She didn't look quite the same as she had at the party, but neither did he, but the age was about right. It was a bold move on his part to rise from the table, leaving the journal laying there, in order to move towards the door, hands clasped behind his back. He had already mistook two other young women who had entered earlier for Sam, so he was a bit careful in his introduction. "Please tell me that you're Sam," he said by way of greeting, a sheepish grin on his lips, looking younger than his nearly 40 years should have made him.
People approaching her always made her momentarily tense. That had gotten better during her month at Future Hope, but it had come back in full force after the shit with Ian, and Sam took an involuntary step back before catching herself. Once she did, she was grins and dimples and teeth with a gap in the front, Xanax calm and free of tears. "What? Have a bunch of women smacked you over the head with their purses or something?" she asked. There was no South in her voice. She was all Jersey, round Os and the kind of accent that brought to mind ratty tenements and shitty educations. Before her late-night forays online, during the first few years of her marriage, she'd been shit at spelling, and she'd been even more shit at talking right. But the internet had made her sound partially educated, despite not having her GED.
"Yeah," she finally conceded, looking him over with blatant curiosity. Life might have made her scared of shit, but she wasn't any wilting flower. Her blue gaze was steady, assessing, as if she was trying to figure out what kind of man he was by the blue of his shirt. Finally, she held out a hand that was welding callouses and blue nail polish on short nails, a hint of oil based paint beneath her thumbnail in bright red. "Sam. Nice to meet you, doc." She grinned. As for his age? He was close to the same age her husband was, probably the same age Daniel was, and not much older than Neil. No big deal there. She nodded to the table he'd vacated. "Yours?" she asked, the flick of her gaze indicating that she was wishing it was somewhere close to a wall, where her back could be against something solid and safe.
"Not so much smacked me over the head with their purses, but looked as though I was offending them by asking." Toby shrugged one shoulder, giving her a grin that was a little warmer, a little more present as he reached out to take her hand. He didn't have calluses, didn't have any signs of hard work on his hands, but he did have a scar that circled around his thumb, fresh and pink, still healing, and his grip was a little weaker for it. "October. Or Toby. Whichever you prefer. It's good to meet you as well, Sam." His own accent was pretty much non-existent, bred from a life of living all over the United States, from Vegas to Boston and then down to the southwest when he had holed up in Phoenix for some years. But there was a warmth to his voice, a friendliness that couldn't be faked.
As for the table. "I was just sitting up here so I could keep an eye on the door," he explained, releasing her hand to reach over and take up the journal that he had left laying there, and with a quick fold, it was shoved in his back pocket for safekeeping. "I usually sit near the back, out of the way because sometimes I'm here for hours." He stepped to the side and gestured to the back of the coffee shop, a table near the very back, away from the windows and light, still empty with the light crowds that had gathered. "After you."
"Toby," she said, liking that better than October, which felt really fucking formal. "And we already met, kind of, yeah?" she asked, because she wasn't actually sure if they had, or if he was nothing like the guy at the party. But she was nothing like the woman in the heels and dress, not on the surface, and maybe he wasn't anything like that guy, either. She was glad when he mentioned a booth in the back, the safety of a wall behind her spine the best thing this place had to offer to calm her. She didn't like that after you shit, because she wasn't comfortable with someone at her back. So, she walked between tables to the left of her, so he wouldn't directly be following her. She moved fast, Docs heavy against the floor with the rapidity of her movement. She chose the chair furthest back once she got there, and she pulled the chair out and sat down heavily, with a grateful sigh. Yeah, going to some kind of therapy might be a good fucking idea. Maybe not Future Hope, but somewhere.
She leaned her elbows on the table, all ill-mannered and a grin that spelled trouble, now that she was somewhere comfortable and safe. She was curved and soft, the gauntness of illness not visible on her cheeks any longer. The track marks on the insides of her arms were faded, and you'd need to know to look for them these days. She held out a hand, without moving her elbows. "Where are my cloves?" she asked. She wouldn't be able to smoke them inside, but she hadn't forgotten, and the smile on her face said she had no trouble asking people for shit. Her parents had sent all the kids out begging, socks in winter and no coats, and Sam had no fucking problems with charity, even when it came to a pack of cloves.
"Kind of met, if you can call anything the hotel throws at us normal." He wasn't the same as the guy who had been at the party, inked and bold, more willing to speak his mind. Toby was quiet, polite, a studious thing with some quirks that gave him a little spice. So when Sam skirted away to move to the side, between the tables, never putting him at her back, he had to wonder what had happened to the young woman to make her act like this. But he had made a promise not to shrink her, as she liked to put it, and he was going to hold to it. So he said nothing as she took the seat farthest away from the door, taking the seat across from her as he scooted himself in.
He could see the change in her once she had settled down, the troublesome grin that was as warm as it was infectious, and when she held her hand out, he arched a brow before letting out a laugh that was warm and deep. "Not even a please?" Toby teased as he shifted to lift one hip, digging into his pocket for the pack of cloves he had picked up just for her. They were already opened, two missing, and he passed it over to her with a bit of sheepishness. "Sorry. I don't smoke any longer, but they were a bit too tempting to leave alone. Memory of a good night, or something along those lines." He pressed them into her hand then gave her a grin, lacing his fingers back together. "I was afraid you were going to cancel on me, honestly. So I'm glad you came. Really glad." Toby didn't get out often, at least in the opinion of his brothers and coworkers, so any social activity was a good one. Anything to keep him from hiding in his office or his home, locked doors and books his only company.
"It was actually kind of sweet this time," she said of the party. She'd felt fucking normal for a night, and nothing horrible had happened. It was only the morning after that things had started to seriously suck, and she wasn't even sure she could blame the hotel for that shit. Maybe it had been a long time in fucking coming. She grinned as he lifted his hip to free the cloves from his pocket, and she quirked a blonde brow when she noticed the pack was open. "I was polite," she told him when he chided her for not saying please, youth and unfocused blue, and she sniffed at the open pack, liking the sweet and familiar smell. Cigarettes weren't a gateway drug for her, and she tapped the pack against the table and looked forward to lighting one. "I was afraid I was going to cancel on you too," she admitted. And she almost had, but the hotel room had been so fucking empty, and she hadn't even grabbed any of her paint supplies when she'd left Aria. It had been loneliness that had made her brave the street to come to the shop, and she was glad now that she had. This guy was nice. He didn't do a fucking thing to make her sadness go away, but he was nice. And, yeah, that kind of shit helped a little. "So, when you're not teaching women how to kiss, what do you do, baby?"
"Like I told you on the journals. You were the best part about the evening." It was what it was, and it would have been really easy to get angry about it, to get offended that it had happened, but he just didn't have it in him to be angry about it. "And yes, you were quite polite. I will give you that much." He could still taste the cloves, spice and sweet and warmth and fond memories that he liked to revisit. His world wasn't full of enough of those, so he'd take what he could get.
"Well, I'm quite glad that you didn't. I still would have gotten some coffee and cheesecake even if you hadn't. And speaking of that, you do want some, yes?" A crack of a smile and he looked across the table to her, the smile, that youthfulness about her that he wished he still had. "And I thought I told you. I work at the hospital across the street." Because to Toby, there was nothing else other than work.
"I haven't been the best part of anyone's evening in recent fucking memory," she told him, and it wasn't a critique of anyone but herself. She knew she'd stopped being a decent companion months ago, and she'd never been a decent fuck. She'd been brash and entertaining once, but that was before scars and asylums and hiding. Yeah, no, she was still confident in her own ability to attract people, but she was shit at anything beyond that, and she knew it. The woman she'd been the night of the party had been easy to talk to, no jonesing for drugs, no fear of men with cocks and needles. It was a bittersweet memory, but she was glad for it. It gave her something to aspire to, yeah? Something to get back to. Normal. She wasn't really hopeful just then, because it was hard to be hopeful when you were so fucking depressed that getting out of bed was a challenge, but there was a glimmer of it, which was something.
"Coffee, extra white and extra sweet," she told him. "No cheesecake, baby." And then she laughed, cloves still getting tapped against the table and one braid absently getting dragged across a shoulder. "Working doesn't fucking count," she told him. "I meant for fun, and don't you dare fucking tell me you don't do anything for fun, because we'll have to fix that shit right away."
"Well, consider the party a good evening when it came to you," Toby answered, and he didn't say anything more until he returned with her coffee, just like she had ordered, and a cup for himself, black and strong, a slice of cheesecake with two forks (just in case) balanced somewhere in there as well. He sat, setting it all down without spilling, and then he settled in to let his coffee cool while he thought on her question. He didn't consider working a bad thing, and for all that he enjoyed his job, what was the harm in it?
"Then I won't tell you I do nothing else for fun, even though that would be the truth," Toby said, his tone light, teasing. "It's a full-time job. And I enjoy it. There's nothing that wrong with that, is there?" Other than sleeping in his office and ending up hospitalized from overworking and giving himself pneumonia, but he wasn't going to mention that. Toby never claimed to be perfect, far from it.
She took the coffee when he set it down, and she took a long swallow of the sweet heat before saying anything else. Her fingers pressed against the cup, flexing down and back in a way that was soothing to her. She'd had a perfect view of everybody in the fucking joint when he got up, and though it wasn't crowded, it was still more people than she'd been around in weeks. She kept imagining a fucking courier coming through the door, or the phone in her pocket ringing with a call from fucking Ian. His return shook those thoughts away, but it took a second for her attention to settle on him entirely again.
Ok, yeah, definitely therapy once she left this place.
"Having a job you like it great, baby," she told him. She'd never really given a shit about her job. Fuck, she didn't think she knew anyone who gave a shit about their job, but she thought it sounded like a good thing. "But it's not living, yeah? It's forty hours a week or whatever. What do you do with the other-" She paused, and fuck math, it had so never been her strong suit. "The other two hundred hours or whatever?" Sure, that sounded close. Even her art, which had taken centerstage in her life since the shit with Ian, wasn't living. She loved it, sure, but there had to be people and walking around or something, yeah?
The small actions were noted, the way her eyes had been sweeping over the people in the coffee shop as he returned, the small delay as her attention came back to him. He didn't comment on it, because it wasn't his place, but there was concern there, hidden beneath the surface, and he schooled his actions carefully so as not to add on to any of the problems she was already dealing with. The last thing he wanted was to make her worse.
"Closer to 70, but who's counting?" Toby lifted the cup to blow across the surface, the rich brew aromatic as he took a careful sip of the hot drink, enjoying the taste, everything about the coffee. "And I sleep. Work on some papers that I've been writing. I read a little. I do spend some time with my siblings as well. And I visit my mother." It was a full life in his opinion, and he saw nothing wrong with how he spent his time. "I'm plenty busy."
"Yeah?" she asked, taking another sip of the coffee. "The hotel doesn't fucking think so, yeah? Because your secret was all about wanting more or something, wasn't it?" It was a guess, but fuck it, she'd been talking to people about secrets nonstop, and she thought she was getting pretty good at this shit. She noticed that, in his explanation, there wasn't anyone significant. And, fuck it, when had she become someone who thought a fucking relationship was a requirement for happiness? Maybe he was fine with his fucking books and his family. She groaned (before she caught herself), and she took another sip of the coffee. No, make that two fucking sips, because this shouldn't be so hard. Going out, having a conversation, not thinking about the fucking mess her life was, it shouldn't be so hard.
"The person you ran into after, they hunt you down yet?" she asked, because she believed what she'd told Neil. That everyone would be looking for everyone after the hotel. Hell, Toby had looked for her, hadn't he? She'd looked for the bleeding guy in the suspenders. It was just normal to be curious. She took another sip of her coffee, longer this time, and she ran her fingers around the edge once she was done. "Last time you did something social?" she asked. "Family doesn't fucking count."
The mention of the hotel and what it thought had his brows knitting down, because yeah, he had been thinking about that, what it all meant. "I'm still trying to figure out what it meant," Toby admitted after a sip of his own coffee, one of the forks picked up to spear a bit of the cheesecake, studying it for a long moment before he took the bite. "Wanting more, perhaps. Or just being more bold about what I do. Not holding back." Because he hadn't held back then, had he? He had done what he wanted, said what he wanted, and kissed who he wanted. But at the end of the day, it was still a lonely place to be living in.
"And yeah, he found me. Anonymous, of course," he said after he had swallowed, putting the fork down as he laced his fingers together atop the table, giving her his attention once more. "I went out for coffee and cheesecake with a young lady from the journals several weeks ago. That counts, yes?" Not that anything had come out of it, nor would anything come of it, he felt. He wasn't someone that people wanted in that way, and for the most part, he was quite fine with that. Thirty-eight years of living as a single man, and he was growing used to it. No need to change that now, was there?
His interpretation sounded about right for the man she'd met that night. "Yeah, mine was about wanting some kind of traditional relationship, life, something," she admitted, and it felt kind of good to say that to this almost-stranger. Neil hadn't asked, and she wasn't sure how she would have explained it to him (if he had asked). But with Toby she didn't see the point in pretending it had been anything other than what it was. She turned the coffee cup between her calloused fingers, watching it spin slowly, and then she took another sip. "Are you going to go for it? Did you learn anything?" she asked him. Because that was the question, wasn't it? Sure, so they all knew their own secrets now, but what the fuck were they supposed to do with them?
She wasn't surprised to hear the guy he'd run into had found him. It only made her more fucking sure that whoever Neil had fucked or whatever would show up. "Did you have a nice time?" she asked about his coffee and cheesecake date. Then she grinned at him again, gapped teeth and pupils just a little black and blown. "Baby, next time, try something further away from work, and a new menu," she suggested good-naturedly.
Toby could definitely see the appeal of a traditional relationship, a traditional life. A wife, 2.5 kids, a dog, that kind of stuff, but he had never seen himself fitting into that mold. "I'm not sure," he answered, glancing down at his folded hands. "I feel like I learned something, but I'm - I like the life that I'm living. I don't mind being alone, I don't mind working and sleeping in my office." Which was a lie, even if it wasn't blatant. He did mind, and he was lonely, and he did want someone to share his life with. But relationships and him didn't get along like he wished they did, and it wasn't worth it to pine for something that didn't exist.
"And yes, I did have a good time. Just like I'm having a good time now." Toby looked up, meeting her gaze, a smile coming to his lips without him giving it permission. "And why try something different when this works just fine?" he asked, brows lifting as he cracked another smile. The fork was picked up, another bite speared, and he held it out to her, head tilted to the side. "Though I'm going to be a little upset if you don't at least try the cheesecake."
"I think you're full of fucking shit," she said, bold and brash, even in her depression. She took his fork from his hand, and she used it to slice a piece off the end of the cheesecake, which she then tucked into her mouth. She was so hard to fucking impress these days, thanks to Neil and his larger than life budget for fucking everything, but the cheesecake tasted good and simple and lush, and she smiled at him as she licked the fork clean and handed it back to him. Sanitary? Who the fuck cared. They'd already been in each other's mouths. "I think you're lonely, and I think you want some woman to pluck you up and tell you not to work so much fucking. Or maybe a guy, fuck, I can't tell. My gaydar got defective somewhere along the line."
As for his assurance that he'd had a good time with some other woman during a cheesecake outing, yeah, she called bullshit on that too, but she kept it to herself this time. "You try something new, baby, because you'll never know if there's something better than what you have, if you don't." And maybe she should take her own fucking advice, yeah? "And you go after shit you want, because it's not just going to fall into your fucking lap. And family is fucking fantastic. I should know, because I have the biggest one to ever live, but it isn't the same as having someone you trust with the shit that's inside you." Fuck, she had turn into a pro-romance bitch. Shit.
If sharing a fork bothered him, it didn't register on his face as he took the fork back, poking at the cheesecake for a moment as she continued to analyze his life, his moods, his needs and wants, and part of Toby thought that maybe it would have been a good idea to ask her not to shrink him. But he couldn't deny that there was some truth in her words, even if he didn't want to admit it. "Yeah, I'm lonely, and I'm also horrible at trying anything new. I like routine. I like my day to day routine a lot." His lips twisted for a moment, and he glanced up, meeting her gaze for a long moment. It seemed all the girls that might be fun, might be worth spending his time on were either dead, involved with someone else, or simply not interested in him. His smile grew a little sad and one shoulder shrugged up to his ears as he tucked in to the rest of the cheesecake, finishing the slice and another couple swallows of his coffee before he spoke any further.
"Maybe it's a sign that there's no one out there to trust with the shit inside of me," he responded, wiping his mouth with his napkin, balling it up and laying it on the plate. "I'm fine, Sam. Lonely, yes. But fine. So can we please just drop it, yes? My brothers already hound me about my lifestyle, and the last thing I need are my friends reminding me of it as well. There isn't an easy solution, and I don't have time with my job to spend cruising the bars for single ladies. So it's fine. Alright?" Another smile and he tipped his head towards the pack of cloves she had been playing with. "You mind if I bum another one of those for the road home? I feel like I need it right now."
"Bullshit," she repeated, tapping out a cigarette and holding it out to him. "You're making excuses. Trust me, I know. I make a shitload of fucking excuses. You have to just get out there and do something." She shook her head, blonde braid sliding along her collarbone. "Fuck, so do I. I have to go do something too. So, yeah, how about I make you a deal. You go do something interesting, and I'll take care of shit I need to take care of when I leave here. And we hook back up in a few weeks and see where we are. What can it fucking hurt?" And, yeah, sure, she'd already decided, while listening to him, that she needed to go check herself in somewhere. She was depressed, and it was so fucking easy to lose herself in a little orange bottle when she felt like she did then. She itched for a needle, for something that made the distraction of depression clear the fog from her mind. She wasn't going to go through getting clean again. Fuck, that. She'd resisted Ian's fucking needles; she wasn't going to let this drag her back under, not when it was such hell to resurface.
She pushed back her chair, and she looked down at him once she stood. "You're a really sweet fucking guy, yeah?" she told him, because it was true. He was nice. He was sweet. She was pretty fucking sure he was the kind of guy that would bring roses and tell a girl when she looked good. She was pretty fucking sure he wouldn't make someone wonder if they were attractive or desired or wanted. Someone would be lucky to have him someday. Despite her panic and jitters, she leaned across the table, hands on the flat surface, and she kissed his cheek. "Thanks, baby. For the party. For the cloves. For the coffee." She grinned against his cheek, then she straightened. "For letting me steal a bite of your cheesecake." She shrugged. "But mostly for making me feel pretty." Which made her blush red, but fuck it. If the hotel was going to put her through fucking hell, she was going to try to learn something from it.
Toby took the cigarette that was offered, tucking it in the pocket of his shirt, fingertips sweet and spicy from that brief touch. She was right; he was making excuses, and he knew that much. Any patient of his who said the same things, he would be telling them that they needed to do something about these issues. But it was harder to help himself, harder to face his own issues face on. "Something interesting," he repeated, shaking his head in amusement as she stood. "Yeah. I suppose I can do that. I'll at least give it a try."
And then she had to say those things. Sweet. Yes, he was sweet, he was kind, he was all the things that he thought was proper, but it didn't lead to a very interesting life. He was ready to say something in response when she placed her hands flat on the table and leaned in towards him to kiss his cheek. Toby couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips then, reaching out for her hand to give it a quick squeeze, head tilted upwards to meet her gaze. "You are pretty, Sam. And sweet in a way that I think I needed right now." He didn't hold her hand any longer than was proper, rising up to his full height, memorising the look of those flushed cheeks. "Get yourself take care of, yes? And we'll grab something to eat in a few weeks. Just let me know. And I'll do my best not to let you down." He didn't really know what interesting meant, but he'd try for it, he would at least try for it.
Toby remained standing until she had left the coffee shop, and then he sunk back into his chair, fingers curling around the cooling cup of coffee as he let out a long sigh. Nice guy. Some days, he wished he was anything but. Maybe life would be more interesting if he was bold and inked. He certainly had a better time at the party that way, didn't he?