Who: Gwen, Max, Roger and Thomas What: Dinner, drinking, fighting and this is why we can't have nice things Where: Tango Restaurant When: Recently Warnings: Sure there is language in here somewhere
The reservations were for seven p.m. on Friday, which meant everyone had agreed to meet at Tango after work, for what Max hoped would not prove to be the most awkward dinner in recorded history. She had changed out of her skirt and sweater in her office at the Times, while trying to anticipate everything that could possibly go wrong. It was probably a good idea to make sure Roger an Thomas were seated on opposite sides of the table, she decided, slipping into a short, olive dress and matching heels.
After a quick check on the baby, Max drove the truck down to Pike Street, which was already busy and crowded, as it was on Friday nights. She parked in the nearby hotel, which served as valet for the restaurant, and she walked the blocks toward the neon on sign that beckoned. She gave Thomas’ name at the door, which assured them a private table in the candlelit tapas establishment and a bottle of the restaurant’s best sangria already on ice at the table. She was the first one there, which meant she had time to examine the area surrounding the table for anything that could possibly be thrown. Appeased, she took a seat, pouring herself a generous goblet of the deep red wine and wondering whose bright idea this had been.
Gwen arrived next, her taxi pulling up just minutes later after Max arrived, nervously straightening her sleeveless blue top, smoothing down her dark grey pants, and toying with her simple jewelry before being escorted past the other tables and into the private dining area. She wasn’t this nervous usually, and knew that she really shouldn’t be. The people she was having dinner with tonight were her closest friends. This should be a wonderful night. But it was still something new, not only having the four of them together but doing something so casual as dinner too.
When Gwen arrived and saw that someone was already trying out the sangria, she laughed before moving in to give Max a hug. At least she wasn’t alone with her anxiety. “Starting already?” Though Gwen was already beginning to pour herself a glass. Clearly she thought this was the way to go.
Thomas was usually late. Not because he wasn’t paying attention, but because he always had a great many things to do, and inevitably they took longer than anyone thought they would. Thomas also had a habit of disappearing when he had scheduled meetings, which meant re-scheduled meetings and additional issues that ran long. Having dealt with this and similar for his entire life (quite literally), he still managed to retain his usual blank exterior and distanced calm, even by the time the driver dropped him off outside of the restaurant. Every head turned as he walked in, and they weren’t interested in the Armani. Most of the city seemed to view Thomas Brandon as a particularly resistant bug under a magnifying glass. It was only a question of why he hadn’t fried earlier.
Thomas had resisted this idea from the beginning. His relationship with Roger Darman--and Oracle, as he still thought of her--was in an aspect of his life he felt belonged in alleyways, not in restaurants. It felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Thomas frowned as he recalled his father had been a great fan of that show. He hadn’t thought of that in years. He still wore the frown as he was led into the curtain shrouded table, and he automatically took a look at the exits before the women. He circled the table and then chose the seat facing the door next to Max. Naturally. “Good evening.” Business meeting.
Roger knew very well that the evening was going to be one big ball of awkward. He was typically uncomfortable around Thomas outside of vigilante work (something Max and Gwen were aware of), but he knew that was something he just had to get over eventually. And, if anything, Roger counted on never having to do this again if the night went badly. He wore one of his work outfits, a casual blazer that could have been dug up at a thrift shop, black jeans, a band t-shirt and a fedora that appeared to be more trendy than he was. Whenever Roger walked into a place like a hotel restaurant, he immediately felt out-classed, but there was always a sense of blue-collar pride attached to that.
Roger appeared at the table seconds after Thomas with a look like he just woke up. This was essentially late morning for him and he didn’t mind showing it. “Hey!” Roger casually waved in the direction of Max and Thomas before plopping down next to Gwen. He smirked at her like he was trying to hold in how happy he was to see her. He gave another, soft “Hey” that was designated just for Gwen and restrained himself from doing anything more than put his arm around the back of her chair.
“Well look who showed up late,” Max teased. She had heard quite a lot, from both Roger and Gwen, about their situation over the months, but she’d never seen it in living color and, admittedly, she was really fucking curious. When Thomas sat down, she kissed the corner of his mouth, and she was wiping lipstick off his cheek as Roger approached. So much for business meeting. She grinned at Roger, gave an approving look when he draped his arm over the back of Gwen’s chair, which turned into an even more approving look when he gave her a personal, soft greeting. Two points for Nightwing. She crossed her legs at the knee, gave Gwen a small tap beneath the table and looked over at Thomas, who she suspected might be squirming for reasons that had nothing to do with Darman’s fedora, and quirked an entertained brow as she took a sip of her sangria.
Thomas automatically leaned away from the kiss just because it was unfamiliar in this particular setting, something he felt was not necessarily for the eyes of others. He wasn’t embarrassed, however, and a moment later he was pulling into the table and automatically touching one elbow to Max’s as he leaned forward. He watched Darman come in and his eyes automatically shifted up to the ridiculous hat he was wearing. Did he always wear a hat to dinner and casual affairs or was he making a special show of it? Thomas had plenty of opportunities to say something, but he only nodded a greeting.
When Roger put his arm around Oracle, however, the room went several degrees colder. Max might have been familiar with the state of things there, but Thomas most certainly wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure he approved.
Gwen ducked her head as she saw Max lean in for a kiss, letting the couple across from her have a moment of privacy as she tried to find something interesting to stare at on place setting in front of her. Roger’s entrance had her lifting her head, smiling faintly at him until he took the empty seat beside her. Though she wasn’t one for showing off, even there in a private dining area, she let her gaze linger a little longer and her smile grow a little fonder. When she offered a soft, “Hey, yourself,” it was like they were the only people in the world.
Max’s gentle nudge on Gwen’s leg had her turning back to them, and Thomas’ expression had her smile faltering a bit. She didn’t lean away from Roger but kept the urge to ask What? to herself, as it was still too early to spoil the evening. “Menus,” she said simply, far too used to making sure everyone stayed on track and on topic. “Anyone eying anything in particular?” One hand held her menu and the other snatched up her glass to take another long sip of her drink.
“Well, there’s a red head I’ve been-” Roger said automatically and then corrected himself, “Uh I mean scallops and wellington?” He liked to eat pizza while watching that reality show about the chef that had loud, angry fits and he heard those words thrown around all the time. Not that he could identify them on sight. “You might as well just get me whatever’s on the kid’s menu. Do they have a kid’s menu? No? Damn it.” He was really looking forward to some fancy mac and cheese.
Max sensed when Thomas tensed, and she rested her fingers on his arm casually, the reassuring movement one of stop and calm, and she picked up the menu and handed it to him. “We should just get whatever the chef wants to send out,” she suggested, taking a long sip of her drink and hoping the buzz kicked in sooner rather than later. She laughed at Roger’s inappropriate lead in, entertained by it, despite the tension, and she decided to just address the elephant in the room. “You two look happy,” she said, raising her glass in a toast to Roger. “Took you fucking long enough.”
Wisely, Thomas took the menu and looked at it, even if it held no interest for him. He aborted the appraising look in Roger’s direction and focused instead on the list before him, which he discarded a second later as soon as Max mentioned chef’s choice. The sharp gray eyes cmae back. “When did this happen?” he said, staring at the air between Oracle and Roger as if it might indicate how heated their relationship was.
Between Roger's comment and Max's compliment, Gwen was sure her cheeks were sporting the same red as her hair. Thomas' question had her frowning slightly, her voice taking on a defensive edge. "Recently. Just a few weeks ago."
Roger saw Gwen frown, which made him shoot Thomas a look. It wasn’t fair that he made them feel like they had to fill out an application to be together. Roger sure as hell didn’t need the Bat-seal of approval. “Should have been sooner, but I’m a coward around girls like her.” A moment of stark truth before he glanced back to Gwen sheepishly and then snapped his attention down to the menu. The weight of how bad an idea this double date thing was was starting to pile on top of him.
Max realized things were on a fast track to disaster about the same time someone managed to slip through the front doors and snap a picture. In the wake of curious onlookers and turning heads, she waved over a server who was brandishing a tray of shot glasses and limes, and she watched as two rows of little glasses were set on the table between them; it was either a brilliant idea or the shittiest idea of the evening, but she was getting desperate (and it had only just started). “Drink,” she said, tipping back a shooter with a quick prayer and an order of the chef’s selections to the server. “We’re all cowards when we’re interested in someone, Darman,” she said, finally, hoping it would make things better.
Thomas looked at the shot-glasses but didn’t take one, shaking his head slightly. Thomas didn’t drink unless it served a specific purpose, and he didn’t need any low-tech painkillers at the moment. At the pop of a flash his eyes came up and he gave the reporter a very solemn, pointed stare, a look that said I will remember and probably not in a very good way. For some reason Roger’s remark seemed to placate him, and his arm next to Max’s relaxed slightly as he sat back against the chair. A few weeks was longer than a few days which was longer than a night. “Hm,” he said, looking out past the curtain at the restaurant. All the diners snapped back to pretending they were conversing with each other.
“Well we’re making up for lost time quite nicely,” Gwen grinned back in Roger’s direction. The defensive air that had been building around her quickly diffused when they were interrupted by the photographer. She was still grumbling, never one to enjoy having her photo taken in any context, when she saw the shots line up on the table. She took one for herself, offering Roger one with her other hand, fully ready to take his if he refused it as well, in case the mood turned tense again. Now the fight seemed over, Gwen relaxed more, her shoulders resting against Roger’s arm as she knocked back her shot. “I had almost forgotten about that. I don’t know how you two stand it.”
Roger held his hand out for the picture and then poorly fought back a laugh at how simply unnatural the table looked. “Hey, I forgot to punch that guy. Beating up guys with cameras is my hobby.” He glanced up like he was about to take care of unfinished business and then shrugged gently as he whispered to himself. “Next time, Darman. Next time..” And, with that, he gulped down his shot and quietly wished he had at least gotten buzzed before dinner. Except, he wasn’t crazy about the idea of being drunk in front of Thomas. He wasn’t a fan of fine dining with a side of Bat-disappointment.
“Forgotten about what?” Roger lifted his head as he surfaced back into the conversation.
“Ah, memories,” Max said in reference to punching out the reporter, and she made quick work of the shot Thomas didn’t take, which left one row of tiny shot glasses yet to be touched when the server put the appetizer plate in the center of the table. She smiled, already feeling more relaxed, thanks to the sangria which preceded the hard liquor. “She means the reporters. We’re nuisances,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, and she pretended to hold a microphone out to Gwen. “Statement for the press?” she teased, glancing back at Thomas a second later. She’d noticed when he had relaxed, and the smile she gave him was warm and comfortable, and she tapped his foot with the side of her heel.
“Get comfortable with the idea you’re never going to look comfortable in their photos,” was Thomas’ advice, and he finally relaxed enough to look away from Roger (with the understanding he might actually touch Oracle in front of him). “Perhaps they think one day I will forget and wear the wrong suit one morning.” It was funny, but Thomas didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile, either, but then he never did. Perhaps that was why he always looked uncomfortable in the photos. He drank some water.
“No comment,” Gwen smirked over at Max, setting down her shot glass and taking up more sangria almost immediately after. The alcohol was helping, at least it was helping her, and even though Thomas didn’t laugh, she did. “You should give it a try one day. Blue socks, black suit, brown shoes. That’ll really get the headlines going.” She took a moment to look down at her own attire, and then at everyone else’s, each more different than the other. She hummed in amusement as she took another sip. “If I were them, I’d wonder how we all knew each other.” She reached over and began to start on the appetizers. “Dibs on redheaded step cousin.”
“Dibs on the bodyguard.” Roger raised his hand like he was volunteering himself for the position. “I might need to get a couple tattoos to pull it off, though. One of those lame ass tribal bands.” He made a motion around his right arm to where the ink would go. “Maybe a well-groomed goatee.” Roger thought about it, but didn’t have an expression like he thought it was a good idea. He was never much of a facial hair guy beyond a little scruff.
“Might be a good look for you,” Max agreed, taking another generous sip of her sangria, and shooting Gwen a teasing, questioning look. “Assuming the redheaded step cousin approves.” Somewhere to their left, the band was setting up and tables were being scooted out of the way to make room for dancing, and she took an appetizer between her fingers and pointed it at Thomas as she talked. “Question is, who do they think brought you out slumming?” she said playfully.
“You, naturally,” Thomas replied, smoothly. He still wasn’t smiling, or drinking, but his tone was looser, and he put an elbow on the back of his chair to face her. He made a little gesture towards Roger and Gwen. “And your former neighbors.” The logic seemed to please him, a problem and a problem solved. There weren’t any public associations between the Bat and any persons of Roger or Oracle’s physical description. The waiters brought the first course, several platters of shrimp ceviche and oysters .
Gwen murmured appreciatively as the first course was brought out but her attention was more on the movement in the other room. She watched carefully as they set aside the tables and opened up the dance floor. She took another drink before setting down her glass and as the music began, and several couples got up, she turned her head to look over her shoulder at the man beside her. “How’s the footwork tonight?”
Roger smiled fondly at her and then glanced past at the couples getting up to dance. “Looks like it’s just old people out there, we could destroy them.” He seemed happy making anything into a contest, even dancing at a decidedly ritzy hotel against senior citizens. Roger reluctantly pulled his arm away from around her shoulders and took a second to touch the side of her face with the palm of his hand before digging into the food in front of him. A look crossed his face as if to suggest the food wasn’t bad, but didn’t hold the a candle to Chinese take-out.
Max shot Gwen a look that was entirely men!, because any woman could tell that was an invitation to dance, which was clearly something more appetizing than varying levels of raw seafood. “We could dance without them,” she told Gwen, picking up a shrimp with her fingers and popping it into her mouth. She was buzzed enough to do it, too, and at least a few of the men closest to the dance floor would surely notice her redheaded friend without the need for glasses or walking canes. “Come on,” she said, pushing her chair back with a challenging smile. “Brandon, Darman, you guys don’t mind, do you?” she asked innocently, reaching for Gwen’s hand.
Thomas, while trained for a couple different awkward state dances as well as he'd been groomed for the boardroom, was not the kind of person to enjoy being on a dance floor with a rose in his mouth. In fact, it would take at least a minor miracle to even conceive a visual of the idea. Thomas had not forgotten the game he and Max had proposed, the terms of which had just barely kept him from considering assault on Jonathan Morgenstern's person, and his eye narrowed as he looked at the dance floor. "No," he said, firmly.
Gwen merely smiled at Max, completely patient, knowing Roger would have her spinning around the dance floor in no time. Still, she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to dance and she didn’t see any reason for Roger to mind. It was just dancing and she wasn’t exactly dressed to impress anyone. It was nothing really and she pressed an affection kiss to Roger’s cheek. “I’ll try not to have too much fun until you get there,” she promised with a grin before letting Max lead her out to the floor.
Max wasn’t out to make anyone jealous, not just then, but she was buzzed enough not to care who was watching or what she was doing, and she tugged on Gwen’s hand and pulled her out to the makeshift dance floor. The music playing was something latin, and it wasn’t long before someone came out to try to teach them the moves. Max didn’t give up her dance partner, of course, and there was a lot of laughter and smiling as the men tried to show them the moves, which involved a lot of hip action, apparently, and which involved making both of them (Max and Gwen) lead one another, by turns, which resulted in the men doing a lot of watching and very little instructing.
Move this way, swivel hips that way, turn. The directions they were receiving from the other “helpful” dancers just made Gwen laugh and follow suit. The bit of alcohol had quieted her usual reservations and how they must look on the dance floor did away with the rest. She thought they must looked silly, they might as well run with it. She took the lead more often, laughing as Max’s dress had her more suited for more dramatic moves. She caught sight of their table over her friend’s shoulder and asked quietly, or as quietly as she could above the music, “How terribly are we doing?”
Max, who was too busy laughing to care how they were doing (or to consider how they looked doing it), stole the lead and twirled Gwen around and then tugged her back, her friend’s red hair fanning around her face in a way that Max thought probably looked pretty good from where Roger was sitting; their “instructors” sure seemed to think so. “On a scale from one to ten? Maybe a five. But I don’t think they’ve punched each other yet,” she said hopefully, referring to Thomas and Roger.
Gwen let Max take the lead from her, though after the twirl she reminded her, “If you dip me, we’re done here.” She let her eyebrows rise in half sternly, half mockingly, but there over Max’s shoulder she caught sight of a man who was watching them. He winked at her, and then silently urged her to give her friend a kiss since they were obviously so close. Gwen merely rolled her eyes with a laugh and took the lead back. “The night’s still young,” she reminded with a sigh. “But maybe since it’s just the two they can relax. Air out whatever’s bothering them.” Wishful thinking, she knew, and she led Max around a few spins.
Roger smirked at Thomas’ response. It was so obtuse and alien to be that square, but it wasn’t far off from the comrade he had known all these years. Some sort of weird, loyal chain kept him tied to the table. Thomas would probably be happy sitting there alone, but Roger didn’t have it in him to let that happen. He waved with a smirk at the girls and then settled back into finishing his dinner. “What did Max have to bribe you with to get you here?” Roger asked with a glance up to Thomas.
Thomas didn’t eat or drink very much; he was the kind of person that had a certain diet, boring and consisting of a lot of fresh fruit and protein powder. He didn’t pick at the food, and a certain amount ended up on his plate, but somehow not much of it ended up in his system. It was probably how he managed to go to so many formal affairs and not end up drunk. Thomas was not watching Max and Gwen, who were having far too much fun, in his opinion, but as long as nobody touched them, he had to smile (very, very slightly) at how much they were laughing. “...Nothing,” he admitted. “I’m not exactly sure how she managed it. I think she started talking about ‘Manda and I got distracted.”
“Well, I was riding on the hope you’d get out of it. Worst case scenario I’d be having dinner with two of my favorite women.” Roger’s power made it so he didn’t have to rely too heavily on a strict diet and even if it did there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to stick with it. All he needed to do was consume enough to keep his energy high and that was not a problem. “I haven’t seen Gwen this happy in a long time.” Roger said after some quiet eating. He wanted to believe things were getting better, but in a city filled with unpredictable creations, that was hard to do.
Thomas turned his head to watch the women on the dance floor, focusing this time on the red-head. “I only met her here. But ever since...” He watched Gwen’s feet on the floor. “Yes, she is happy.” He turned his attention to Roger. The Bat’s grim gray stare and serious mien was apparently not at all an act, because the only thing missing was the mask. Even the flat line of his mouth was the same. “You two have been together recently?”
It was strange, but Roger actually felt at ease when he started to notice the Bat qualities surface past what was otherwise just an apparent bored playboy. It only solidified the belief in his mind that Thomas was more Bat than a man in a fancy suit. “It’s only been official in the last week or so. I didn’t want to make a move too quickly after the whole - thing.” The thing was of course the Mockingbird incident. Roger had his chance almost immediately after Gwen was found, but he knew better. Pressing for any kind of relationship when someone was emotionally unstable was the worst way to go about it.
Thomas didn’t blink. “This doesn’t have anything to do with her being on her feet?” One eyebrow lifted a slight tick.
Roger gave a surprised cough. “Excuse me?” If there was a line, Thomas just flew past it. “It has everything to do with the fact she doesn’t have a boyfriend. The fuck kind of person do you think I am?” He threw his napkin down on top of his dinner in a huff. Maybe Thomas didn’t mean for it to sound like Roger couldn’t care about a girl if she couldn’t use her legs, but to Roger? That’s what it goddamned sounded like. “I can understand you being protective over her, but you know me.” There was doubt at the end of his sentence as Roger got to his feet, grabbed the nearest wine glass and smashed it on the ground.
"I'm outta here." Roger hissed and then looked over to Gwen and Max almost apologetically. Hell, he tried to be civil, but Thomas had pushed him too far.
On the dance floor, the men were still urging Gwen and Max to kiss, and the spins weren’t appeasing them. They had claimed two dances, their instructors, which were spent trying to “demonstrate” where hands needed to rest - low on hips and on the small of the back - and they’d been content to do their own spinning before urging the women back together. Max was drunk enough to consider giving in, thisclose, and she quirked a brow at Gwen and glanced back to the table, a challenge in her laughing brown eyes for just a second before something crashed to the ground. A glass? Something was wrong. "Fuck."
People in general tended to give Thomas too much leeway for his personality, which wasn’t exactly roses. Thomas might be trained for formal occasions but no one could make him a nice person, and this was a good example of that. Roger’s reaction was the one he was looking for, and while it was a low, manipulative thing to do, Thomas didn’t care about things like that. The tirade pleased him (though not visibly) and he watched Roger passively right up until the glass smashed, and then Thomas was on his feet too. He wasn’t visibly angry, but he was definitely on his feet.
Gwen looked around Max as she heard the glass shatter and though she couldn't hear what was going on, she could see Roger's face clearly. Immediately she disentangled from their dance, muttering apologies out of habit though she knew Max would be right on her heels. She weaved through the crowd who eventually started parting for her, eager to see more unfold. She stopped in front of Roger, standing between him and the rest of the dining area and exit. "Hey..." she said warily, sparing a moment to glance back at Thomas before she reached for Roger. “Taking off?” She tried to keep it light, making sure not to place blame on anyone until she heard what was going on, but it was hard to do with their expressions so grim.
“He’s got some fucking nerve.” Roger made a motion like he was going to try to dodge past Gwen, but he knew better. Customers were swarming around them trying to get within earshot discreetly. “Accusing me of being with you because of your legs.” He hissed low, furiously and then shot a look back at the table before trying to get past her again. “I have to go, I’m sorry.” Roger was visibly edgy, nearly shaking with a rage that was familiar. Something he had wanted to let rust over.
The cameras were flashing, of course. The paparazzi outside, the diners, and Max listened to Roger’s accusation on the way back to the table where Thomas was still within earshot. “What the fuck are you up to?” she asked him, arms crossed over her chest as she neared, and she looked over her shoulder at Gwen, throwing her a get him back here look, because if Roger walked out that door, she wasn’t sure they’d ever be able to fix this. “He didn’t mean it.” She quirked a brow at Thomas. “Did you?” Because Thomas would never insult Oracle by saying that if he meant it, which meant he was up to something.
Unfortunately, restaurant management was heading their way, and the men from the dance floor seemed to think the women needed protecting from Roger and Thomas, which meant they kept trying to pull the women away from the impending fight. All in all, it was pretty fucking bad, and Max wished she could get her hand on one of the remaining shot glasses; she was nowhere near drunk enough for this.
Thomas was watching Roger storm off. Up until this point, he hadn't known the man in any personal sense beyond how good he was in the field. He knew him to be dependable, if inherently angry and perhaps slightly immature for it, but he didn't know what he was like with women. "I had to know," Thomas replied, "so I asked." He'd baited him, is what he'd done. His passive expression showed that he wasn't sorry to do it, either.
Thomas was distracted by his satisfaction that Roger could be angry on Oracle's behalf by the interference of several hands reaching for Max and attempting to draw her away from him. His shoulders reoriented and he stepped away from his chair, focus now on an entirely different threat. "Let her go."
Max merely quirked a brow at Thomas, her smile a satisfied thing, entirely female, and she glanced over her shoulder at the man who had a hold on her arm. She gave her arm one good tug, and when the man didn’t let go she sent her elbow back into his stomach and stepped away as he let go to clutch his midsection.
Gwen didn’t have time to really stop Roger from slipping past her. She was busy waiting to hear some explanation from Thomas about what had happened. When he explained himself she just sighed, “Oh, damnit,” and spun around to get Roger before he left completely. She wasn’t even bothered by the tactic. She had done worse before, though she was a little more subtle about it. “Roger, wait,” she called after him, trying to dodge everyone in her way. Apparently no one was having that and as she sidestepped someone, he attempted to grab her. “Hey,” she said sharply, twisting his arm and slipping from his loosened grip. She had enough people trying to protect her tonight and she certainly didn’t need a stranger trying to.
He was seconds from the door when he heard Gwen’s voice. Roger stopped dead in his tracks, sighed and turned around to look at her. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t be around Thomas without something going badly one way or another. All the girls wanted was a simple, polite evening and he couldn’t even manage that. Men were shouting at him and cameras were going off in his face like he was some sort of wild animal that just stormed through. Roger gave a back the fuck off look to the nearest paparazzi and automatically extended his hand for Gwen.
“Forget him.” Roger needed to cool off, but if Gwen was there with him it would be a lot easier on him.
“Let’s go,” Gwen said, slipping her hand in his without on hesitation. Only then did she turn her head to glance back at their friends. She lifted her free hand to wave and almost said goodbye but Roger’s warning only extended to proximity and people were having a field day taking pictures. So she turned back and let him lead her out of the restaurant. She’d talk with them later.