Jonathan Copeland (lightofday_) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-11-06 13:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | lois lane, superman |
Who: Max and Johnny...And Sentinel (three's a crowd ya'll)
What: Date night!
Where: Tango Restaurant and Lounge-Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle
When: Tonight
Johnny wasn’t entirely sure why Max had agreed to go out with him, she had been pissed off and it had somehow gone from his approval of her rebuttal to scoring a date. He had no idea how he was supposed to react to her, but he eventually decided just being himself was going to either make or break him. He didn’t have time to worry too much.
Deep down he knew that this was a mistake, he knew that lying to her and keeping his secret was going to be next to impossible, but he knew that involving her (even though she involved herself) in the Sentinel part of his life wasn’t going to work for him. He knew better and still here he was sitting across from her in a half moon booth at one of his favorite restaurants in town.
He had meant everything that Sentinel had told Max, and even though she denied it he had known the reaction the Bat had managed. He knew because he felt the same way. She denied it, but there was something there. Even if it was passing fancy it was there enough that it caused the Bat to act like a 12 year old in front of everyone.
As for the choice of restaurant, it was nice. It had a good ambiance, live music, and a great menu. Alright so it was a big time gay hangout that his old roommate had taken him to, and the Hill wasn’t exactly known for its straight population. But the good thing about Tango was that they were by far not the only straight people there on a date either. The music was good, the atmosphere was fun and Johnny knew most of the people who worked there. Johnny knew almost everyone anywhere it seemed.
He was dressed nicely, black slacks, a light blue button down shirt and a jacket, the glasses on his face weren’t crooked like they usually were at the end of a long day, and he hadn’t managed to put his foot in his mouth from the time he picked her up to the time they arrived at the restaurant. Maybe it wouldn’t be so awful. He looked across the table at her once they were seated and looked over the beer list for himself. He supposed someone a little classier might have ordered wine, but he wasn’t about to pretend like he knew the first thing about ordering wine.
Max knew she shouldn’t have agreed to this date. She was neck deep in the vigilante situation, and she knew his feelings on the men and women that risked their lives for their city. He’d made his thoughts clear enough in writing that she couldn’t even pretend to misunderstand them. He thought the heroes were insane, psychopaths, untrustworthy. He would probably back the idea of putting them behind bars, and the fact that he felt that way made her livid. She knew most of Seattle didn’t understand the sacrifices being made for them, but Johnny was so damn grounded, so damn good; she’d expected him to understand. But he didn’t, and she knew that she was going to keep anything beyond the occasional article in the Seattle Times in support of the cause from him. Max might suck at relationships, but even she knew that a shit ton of lies was a bad way to start things.
And then there was Thomas, the Bat, and the fact that she had feelings for him that went deeper than the press and pull of bodies, even if she didn’t think Thomas understood that (or would even know what the hell to do with her feelings if he did understand them). It wasn’t love. She didn’t think she’d ever been that naive, but it was there and significant enough that she’d felt the need to warn Johnny about it. Admittedly, if he’d been anyone else, she probably would have kept it to herself, but she liked Copeland, even if he could be a judgemental asshole at times.
And then there was Sentinel. She hadn’t reached out to him since his ”friend” had screwed him over, and that had been intentional. She felt more than a little protective of that particular crime fighter, protective in a way she didn’t feel about Corbinian, or Rorschach or the Bat. She wasn’t much for introspection, so she didn’t chase that thought down. It was just the way it was.
She’d dressed somewhere between casual and dressy, and the dress she wore was a charcoal sweater dress, snug, with a deep vee and short enough to ensure it would draw attention. Her heels were stiletto high, and she’d intentionally left her hair loose and bed-mussed. She had no qualms about being looked at, and that was as plain as the teasing grin on her lips as she looked across the table at him. He looked damn good in that blue, she’d give him that, and she leaned back and crossed her legs at the knee. “And here I thought you were going to take me to some nice, family establishment, Copeland,” she teased, and she ordered a beer to match his own.
He smiled wryly at her, “TGIFriday’s is right up the street, we can go there,” he bit back at her teasingly and took a drink of his water until his beer showed up.
He looked over the menu for a moment, but he knew what he wanted so he set it down and looked back across the table at her. “So, why did you agree to come out with me?” he asked curiously. “I know you’re still mad,” he said smiling at her. He wasn’t mad, then again it was hard to be mad at yourself, but it was easier this way. Much easier.
She looked over the menu for a second (this wasn’t barbecue and ribs with checkered napkins), and it brought to mind one or two missions she’d had in the Caribbean outside nightmarish prisons and horrifying POW camps that lived in the shadow of glittering estates. The memory flashed in the brown depths of her eyes a moment, and then the teasing grin was back. “I was thinking of getting you drunk enough to see if you’d go for another kiss. I missed calling you out on your hypocrisy the last time around,” she said, but it was a playful chastisement. “And I wanted to give you shit for your Sentinel column, maybe find out why he hasn’t kicked your ass yet.”
She reached for her own glass of water, and she took a sip. “And you look damn good in that suit.”
He smiled at her, “Hey,” he said, “I was not being a hypocrite, it’s not my fault you have no problem taking advantage of your drunken co-worker, clearly it’s obvious which one of the people at the table is the gentleman,” he said not even remotely serious but clearly amused.
“Friends don’t kick each other’s asses,” he said seriously. “He knew it was coming, he read it before I published it, he’s not afraid of what people think about him. I don’t think he’s a sociopath, or a psychopath, but the dialogue needed to be started, Max. It had to be. And someone had to be the douchebag. Do I trust them all? Hell no. Do I think they’re all nuts? No. Do I think that a person who runs around in the night fighting bad guys has issues? Yeah, yeah I do. But Sentinel isn’t going to kick my ass, if anything he was amused. Do you know how many letters I got after that article? People supporting him, people supporting the heroes, people telling me I was an idiot? About the same amount that I got of people agreeing with me, it’s not the end of the world. It was never going to be the end of the world. That article? Is in someone’s bird cage today. And frankly, so is yours.”
He smirked, “And thank you, you look damn nice tonight yourself,” he said winking at her and taking another drink of his water. The waiter approached with their beer then. Johnny smiled at the man, addressed him by name, and asked how his pugs were before he had to go back to his other table.
“What dialog was so important that you had to resort to slander to start it?” she asked, all banter lost in the face of something she considered serious, vital. “You think the heroes in this town don’t get enough of that from people who believe it? What they do is thankless, Copeland. Why the hell would we add onto that?” she shook her head, and she took a sip of the beer that was just set down in front of her. “It’s our job to tell the truth, and beyond that, even, it’s our job to help separate the truth from the bullshit that everyone else puts out there. What you wrote, it wasn’t the truth. You could have started a dialog without dragging his name through the mud, and without dragging the cause through the mud with it. I like you, Copeland, but you fucked up this time. I fucked up when I asked you to lie, you fucked up this time by lying yourself.”
She had sat forward during the argument, and she took a moment before sitting back and forcing her shoulders to role back. “What’s your background? In Musings, I mean?” It was obvious she was going to tie his response to her argument somehow, and she quirked a brow at him as she knocked back the beer and waited.
He laughed and took a drink of his beer. He wasn’t going to argue with her, “You’re out of your mind, at least this way we can control the dialogue. Look, I did what I did with the full blessing of our mutual friend, and that’s the God’s honest truth. You know what it does, Max? It might stop inexperienced moron copycats from going out and creating more work and getting themselves killed. I’m not slandering anyone, and I can assure you Sentinel isn’t the least bit concerned and he certainly doesn’t need you to defend him, or quote him without permission,” he said still relaxed. “No Max, it’s our job to sell newspapers, sorry to say. You want to tell the truth get your little blog up and tell all the truth you want.” He found it ironic that she was lecturing him about lying, while she admitted that she had fucked up, he shrugged, “Fine I’m a fuck up. Life goes on.” He said already exhausted of this. Nothing would ever let him agree with her.
“I was a reporter in Chicago, I grew up on a farm, went to college, pretty typical and not at all sensational.” He answered flatly. He was uncomfortable, and he straightened his glasses a bit, a nervous tick.
“How the hell do you think what you did is going to stop copycats?” she asked. Her voice was moderate, and she wasn’t yelling or angry, not really. Max liked a good debate. Hell, she liked a good fight sometimes, and this was something she felt passionately. “Take Sentinel out of the equation, because I haven’t talked to him yet. If he wants to bitch at me about quoting him, he can do that. He hasn’t yet. Unless you talked to him about it?” She asked like she didn’t think he had talked to him, like she was sure Sentinel would side with her on this.
“I’m not a journalist to sell papers. That isn’t why I do this. I didn’t think it was why you did this either, not after you lectured me up and down about journalistic integrity.” She wanted to tell him about her paper, about what she did that had nothing to do with selling papers, about mounting debt for warehouse and supplies, but she bit her tongue. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. Hell, a week ago she would have said he was the most trustworthy person she knew. It wasn’t that, it was that the difference of opinion was so fundamentally opposed to why she did what she did.
She caught the uncomfortable tells, caught them because she’d been trained to catch that kind of thing on a mission. She reported back on them, though, and she didn’t interpret what they meant - or she had. All she could tell right then was that his past made him uncomfortable. Johnny Copeland had secrets? Seriously? Tonight was turning out to be one big surprise after another.
“Want to tell me what you’re hiding, Smallville?”
He sighed, he felt narcissistic and stupid talking about himself and he briefly had to wonder if there wasn’t something to his article to begin with and he wasn’t insane. “Max, I’m going to be as frank as I can with you, the heroes don’t need friends, they don’t need to be liked. They don’t even need to be trusted, it’s better if they aren’t,” he said finally. “The minute they become celebrities, is the minute the rest of the population is screwed because one step past celebrity is joke. I appreciate what they do, but they can’t have a fanbase, and the fact that they do should terrify everyone. I can’t take Sentinel out of this equation, Max. I talk to him pretty much daily, he gave me the go ahead on this, so long as I did my best to make it about him and not the others because he hadn’t spoken to any of them. He has his own set of problems, and his own set of worries and why he does what he does. But I needed to get my job back and this is what my friend offered me because they need a wide berth to do this. It’s better that everyone thinks they’re crazy, maybe they’ll keep their damn distance. I’m glad you came after me with a rebuttal, but making people trust them isn’t going to help anyone.”
“Sometimes it is our job to sell newspapers, the more sensational the headline the better. My article and yours sold a boat load of newspapers. I still believe in telling the truth, Max. I always will. But you weren’t wrong, sometimes we have to stretch the truth to do the right thing. I did it for you the first time, and I did it for Sentinel this time, and I’d do it all over again. What I did for you, got me fired, what I did for him got me my job back. He needs to work alone, throwing his lot in with the other masks is hard enough for him, being followed by civilians isn’t something he can handle. And it’s not something any of them should have to worry about.”
He shifted again and smiled at her and shook his head, “No, I’m pretty sure there’s a reason I’m hiding it.” There was no use in trying to lie, so being upfront was as close to the truth as he would get.
“You’re wrong,” she said vehemently. “I consider some of those heroes-” She stopped herself, forced herself to think before she spoke, even as she waved the waiter away when he came near the table. Her cheeks were flushed red with emotion, and it made her look her age, recently 24 and still idealistic in so many ways. “Everyone needs people who care about them. It’s part of being alive, part of not being some animal in a jungle. We need people, and we need to care, and we need them to give a shit about us. We aren’t islands, Johnny. Not you, not me, not them. I’m not saying they need fans. They don’t. But people need someone to believe in, and the heroes need people who know them and care about more than the fact that they’re masks.” That was experience talking, and dammit if she wasn’t so worked up that her hands on the beer were shaking.
She knew these men. She knew them, and she knew how much they gave up, and for him to just decide to bring down everything they represented, it made her livid. “That wasn’t Sentinel’s decision, to take away the hope of an entire city.”
She stood, and she pushed out of the booth so quickly that it made her head spin. She looked at him, pretty blue eyes and looking fucking gorgeous in that suit, and she almost threw her napkin at him. “I’m going to breathe. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t wait for his response. Instead, she walked outside to where the smokers were, and she stole a cigarette and fished her communicator out of her pocket and popped it in her ear.
“Sentinel. Isolate a channel.” She did not sound happy.
Johnny put his hands up, “Fine I’m wrong, Max come on,” but then she just kept going. She had opinions on this, he had opinions on this, and as ridiculous as it sounded Sentinel had opinions on this as well. He had heard her say this before to Sentinel and when he realized she was just as pissed at the both of them now he looked down at his menu and he clammed up. This had been a terrible idea. Terrible. He never should have told her he wanted to take her out, he should have left it at “I’m a jerk don’t talk to me.” And called it a day. She would never understand.
When she stood up he thought for sure she was leaving for good and he moved to stand up to see her out at least. But then she said she was going to breathe. Great. She’d be back for round 2.
What he wasn’t expecting was the communicator. Apparently he was pulling double duty tonight. He looked around, the music was not something he could hide. He did the next best thing before he answered her, and went into the bathroom with his cell phone up to his ear just in case he got caught talking to himself. Voice was disguised, face was even disguised lest someone over hear. “Channel isolated, date going that bad? Is this one of those call me and pretend like you’re my aunt and you fell down the stairs kind of things?”
The sound of her taking a drag off the cigarette was clear and audible in the communicator, and her exhale was just as telltale. “Why did you do it?” she demanded. She’d heard enough excuses from Johnny. She wanted to hear it from this man.
He sighed loudly, “I had my reasons, Johnny shouldn’t have brought the others into it, but he did. I need you to let it go, it’s done and over with. I can’t change it. You can be angry at me, I’d rather you were, be angry at Johnny though he’ll probably cry, but you need to let it go.”
She crushed the cigarette out with the toe of her shoe. “Why?” she asked again, the question softer but more important sounding. This was important to her; she needed to know. She trusted him to tell her, too, that was evident in the asking.
“You already know, I can’t do my job knowing that someone could get hurt because of me. I’ve been down this road before, I wasn’t lying when I told you I couldn’t afford those human relationships you think we all need,” he said sounding resigned. He looked in the mirror, he was the only one who would see his own face at that point, and he sighed again and looked away. “I’m sorry that it hurt you. I appreciate that you think so highly of me, I think highly of you too.”
“You’re wrong,” she said softly, much more softly than her argument with Johnny. With him, she was willing to accept that he thought it was important, even if he was misguided. Johnny should have known better, not being in the fight. He should have realized why Sentinel thought the way he did, and he should have tempered his article with that knowledge. “Maybe one day I’ll get that through your head.” Again, soft. “I’m about to kick his ass, though, just on principle.”
“I’m not wrong. It’s not for me,” he answered calmly. He didn’t know how to make her understand, and he wasn’t going to play himself up, or play Johnny Copeland up or...He didn’t know what to do anymore. The part of his mind that wanted her, it was pure jealousy (of himself?) that made him want to even continue this conversation. Would she even understand if he told her the truth? “He did it for me, he’s pretty easily swayed,” he said in a knowing tone with the hint of a smile. “I think you know that.”
“He’s been holding his own lately,” she said, and there was some admiration there. “You still need someone to care about you, Sentinel. You aren’t going to convince me otherwise. Doesn’t matter how many times you leave me stranded on the side of the road.”
She was moving then, opening the door to the restaurant, the song audible and telltale. “I’ll catch up with you later? You out working tonight?” It occurred to her that she didn’t see him out as much as she did the other, and that immediately piqued her interest.
“Good, I’m glad to hear that, he needs to do something about that flimsy skin he’s got,” he said rolling his eyes at himself. “Noted,” was the only response he could manage at the moment.
Mostly because he heard her heading back into the restaurant and he needed to get back out there. “I am out working tonight, I’m always working I’m just one of those hard ones to find,” he said with a wry smile. “Have a good date.” he said and disconnected quickly. He turned off his ability and put his cell phone back in his pocket, glad he didn’t have to be too careful to make it look like he was on it.
He left the bathroom and headed back to the table, he met her there and did his best to look flustered. “Max...” he said giving her a smile that could really only be interpreted as a surrender for the time being. “Can we please just have dinner?”
She realized he was sitting down as she approached the table, but she didn’t (not for a second) think she’d just been talking to him on the communicator. She stopped at the edge of the booth, popped a mint in her mouth, and she looked down at him. “Fine. We won’t talk about your article, but you have to open up about other things,” she warned him, sliding into the booth beside him and not bothering with sitting across the table.
She crossed her legs at the knee, the tip of her shoe tapping his leg, and she leaned her chin on her elbow and looked at him expectantly.
He scooted over a bit so she could slide in and he raised his eyebrows at her, “What do you want to know?” he asked terrified of the answer to that questions. And wondering why he was going to do some opening up and he had no idea where to even start asking her to reciprocate. “I’m not that interesting, I swear,” he said smiling.
“Copeland, do you want to get to know me?” she asked, the teasing grin back in its normal place. “Or we could fight some more.” She touched the arm of his suit, dark red nails tracing along his bicep over fabric in a scratch-caress. “Up to you.”
He smiled sincerely at her, “I do,” and he did. He just hated lying and the more she asked, the more he’d have to lie and it was a horrible situation. Life was easier when he didn’t have anyone, when he didn’t want anyone. She went against every rule he set for himself. Even if she never knew, even if she only ever knew him as Johnny Copeland, it would still be a huge lie between them. “I don’t want to fight anymore, we’ll have nothing to fight about at work on Monday,” he said grinning.
“You ran away from me at work,” she said, even as the waiter came back and asked for their order with an expression that said he was worried about approaching them again. She deferred to Johnny, and she waited until the waiter had left to continue speaking. “I can only torment Clark now, and I don’t trust him. I think he’s hiding something.”
She ran her fingers along the rim of her beer, and she watched their progress, as if she was considering her words before speaking. “I was born in New Orleans, on an Army base, and we started moving around before I could talk. We all moved together at first, but then my mother got pregnant, and she stayed home, and I moved around with my father. He worked for the Department of Defense, International Affairs.” She took a swig of the beer, and she looked over at him. “Your turn. You can take a swig of that drink for liquid courage, if you need it.”
Johnny had many reasons for changing desks, none that he was keen to go into beyond what he’d already told her, but he smiled nonetheless, “Give Clark a break, he’s not ready for you,” he said chuckling.
He listened as she spoke, it was probably the most they’d ever said to each other outside of banter and he took a drink of his beer at her suggestion. “I was born in Illinois, small farm town, but you know that,” he said giving her a pointed look. “I grew up there, with your best friend Mason, working on the farm, going to school, playing football, getting my ass kicked,” another grin, “I went to school in Chicago, got a job working for a paper decided I wasn’t going anywhere and came here.”
“Too scared to move back, huh?” she asked, quirking an entertained brow. It was a challenge, that was for sure.
The food came, and she waited until the waiter was clear of their space again before speaking. “I signed up for ROTC in high school, at my father’s urging. We moved around a lot, and most of my friends were younger cadets, older than I was. I graduated, and I joined the Army, and I failed the exam for covert ops, but my father got me in anyway. I stayed in until I crossed over, which was earlier this year.” There was something unsaid in the last sentence. Something that said covert ops hadn’t been sunshine and happiness.
“I went back all the time, but there wasn’t much there to live on,” he said seriously. “I grew up, people were afraid of Mason in high school so visits home on the weekends and holidays were much more tolerable than school.”
He listened to what she said and was definitely curious as to why she crossed over here at all. But he didn’t ask, she’d ask him and probably not be satisfied with his standard answer of ‘I needed a change.’ “And what do you think of this new frontier?” he asked.
“I think you’re bullshitting me,” she said, leaning forward with interest, close to him, food forgotten and her hand resting on his sleeve. “Why is that, Smallville?”
He turned to face her and looked at her confidently, but unable to keep from smiling, he knew he had it bad for her, and now she did too. “I’m not bullshitting you, small town life is about as exciting as it sounds. Tractor races, apple pies, keggers out in pasture, cow tipping and football games. I was shy, Mason wasn’t, he’ll vouch for it all.”
“Monroe and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, Johnny. You know that. We’re like inmates stuck in a cell together,” she said, and she didn’t explain that it was a necessary evil, needed to pay the bills and keep her paper running at the same time.
She looked up into his blue eyes, kind eyes, she thought, and she held his gaze for a minute before sitting back. “I think we’re fucking up this ‘new frontier,’” she said, using his words, and she motioned over the waiter and asked for something stronger for them to drink. “I’m not going to get a damn thing out of you unless you loosen up.”
Johnny was nothing if not loyal and he nodded, “I know, but he’s a good guy, he’s rough around the edges, but he’s family.”
He didn’t disagree with her on her assessment but he didn’t really know how to fix it either, not entirely. “What more do you want? I don’t have excitement, I think you know that going in. Everyone’s got secrets, but not even the skeletons in my closet are that interesting. They’re not even skeletons really. More like...Wire coat hangers. A little wrong but nothing to throw a fit over.”
“A man doesn’t need skeletons to be interesting, Johnny,” she told him, and she thanked the waiter for the two double shots he put in front of them. “Brave enough?” she asked, an entertained quirk of brow barely hiding the real interest in figuring him out.
This dinner was turning into a liquid meal, and he grinned at her when she asked if he was brave enough. “Max, I’m from the country.” He took the shot that was in front of him and chased it with a drink of his beer. “Alcohol doesn’t scare me.”
She downed her own drink, and she chased it with her beer, and she asked for two fresh drinks. When they came, she pushed his toward him, and she downed her own. The nausea she’d been dealing with since the masquerade threatened, but only for a moment, and she took another sip of the beer until it abated.
She waited a minute before responding, until the first double started to warm her, and she leaned on the table, elbow on the surface and hand on her chin. She quirked her brow at him. “Biggest fear?”
He took the second drink and chased that with his beer as well and he was feeling a bit looser, but he wasn’t entirely sure what they were trying to accomplish. “Losing someone I love, you?”
“That too,” she admitted, and there was something in her eyes that spoke to a sort of terror of the unknown. “Part of my training was in leaving people behind, in not connecting enough so that emotions cloud judgement,” she explained, asking for another round, because she needed it after that confession. “Secret thing you want most in the fucking world?”
The next round came and he took a breath, but took the shot too. It was starting to hit him well and good and he appreciated the buzz. “How would you say your judgment is these days?” he asked turning just a bit to face her more. Secret thing he wanted most in the world? That list would never end, but yet he had no idea what he would put on it. “Honestly? More than anything I would like to know what I want to put on that list.”
“My judgement sucks. I make decisions based on emotion, and I stay and fight when I should run.” That last bit was a definite slip, but she didn’t realize it and she downed the shot. “Like when you said going into that bar had been stupid. It was. Bad judgement.” Another unintentional confession. “Alright, redo on that last question,” she said, starting to sound a little slurred. “Who do you worry about losing most?”
“My judgment sucks too,” he said grinning at her. “I keep telling myself to do one thing and do the exact opposite.” He looked at her seriously for a long moment and shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on at home, here I’ve got no one. I don’t want to lose anyone, but there aren’t many names for the actual list.”
“I’m not worried about home,” she admitted, resting her head back against the seat-back and closing her eyes as the room spun. When the hell had her tolerance gotten so low? “I care about too many damn people here,” she confessed, and then she sighed. When she dragged her eyes open again, it was with a turn of her head and a lazy-drunk smile. “Last time you had sex?” she asked, her smile widening.
He laughed, a genuine laugh and shook his head, it was pretty personal but mostly he was amused. “Months, it’s been months,” he said honestly. He wasn’t ashamed, he wasn’t much for promiscuity, and he hadn’t been involved with someone for a long time.
“Were you in love with her?” she asked, pushing a dark lock of hair off his forehead in a way she never would if she wasn’t quickly moving from tipsy to completely drunk.
He nodded, “Definitely,” he answered simply. “Maybe not earth shattering epic movie love, but it was there.” He liked her touching him, first his arm, then his hair, he wasn’t complaining at all. He was hard pressed not to touch her, but he was trying to keep his head about him.
“What happened?” she asked. The drunker she got, the more her walls slipped away, and she was left with interest, and her journalist’s curiosity, but without the bite that generally accompanied her hunt for information. She slid her hand away, but she left it on his knee, as if it was too hard to pull it back. She motioned to the waiter for water, and she was looking a little peaked, but she ignored it. Water would make it pass.
“She didn’t feel the same way after a while, I guess she just grew apart,” he didn’t buy that whole idea of a couple growing apart. He’d been raised by two people who were lifelong partners and they had their fights from time to time, but he believe a person grew apart, but not a couple. Someone always started going their own way. He furrowed his brow, “Are you feeling alright?”
She started to tell him that she was fine. Sure, the equivalent of six shots was a bit much, even for her, but she wasn’t a puke drunk and--
She was on her feet a minute later, out of the booth and running to the ladies room.
Johnny watched as she headed for the bathroom. This date started with a fight and now she was sick. Fantastic. He got up and made his way, awkwardly, to the ladies room and knocked on the door. He pushed it open just a bit. “Max are you alone in there?” he hollered in, not wanting to shock any poor women.
She was, but the only indication she made was to slam the stall door shut as she heaved over it. She felt like hell, like everything she’d had to drink had come slamming back all at once, and she cursed the double shots and the fact that she’d had the beer before the shots - a clear recipe for disaster.
Johnny nodded. Right. He left the doorway for a moment to head over to one of his waiter friends and grab a bottle of water before he went back to the bathroom. He went over to the stall she was in and tapped on the door. “Max,” he said looking down at her sympathetically, “here, drink some water,” he said taking the lid off and handing her the bottle.
By the time he returned, she had flushed the toilet and was sitting back on her heels, cold sweat and pallor, and she took the water bottle thankfully. She downed half the bottle before moving, and when she did move, it was to find a mint in her pocket and make a face as she popped it into her mouth. He looked so damn composed and sober, and she found her footing without any assistance, hand on the wall of the stall.
“Take me home?” she asked, not even bothering with banter just then.
He sighed and looked at her sympathetically and nodded, he was going to take this as a sign of the worst date ever. He put his arm around her waist and helped her out of the stall and didn’t waste any time picking her up, and walking her out of the restaurant not caring if anyone watched or not. She didn’t look well, she didn’t feel well, and he was strong enough to get her out faster and with less of a scene. “What do you think, worst date ever?” he said giving her a teasing smile as he headed out to the car.
It was so ridiculously damsel in distress that she had to laugh, even as she slid her arms around his neck. “I’ve had worse,” she assured him, grateful for the cold night air on her skin. She should have insisted she could walk, should have forced him to put her down. She was, after all, a trained military operative. She hardly needed rescuing. But he was strong, and he was capable, and he was a good friend (even if he posted libelous articles) and she felt like complete and utter shit. “I could have puked on you,” she said, unabashed (a result of a life spent around men), and she pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “It’s happened before.”
He didn’t think much about damsels in distress, he was thinking more about getting her home as efficiently as possible and he didn’t bother too much with semantics. He chuckled while he waited for the valet to bring his car around. “It’s happened to me before too, I’ve been on both sides of that situation,” he assured her. When the valet brought the car around he set her down feet on the pavement and helped her into the car. He tipped the valet and made a mental note to call when he got home and make sure they put their meal on his credit card and added the tip. He always worried about things like that, even in “emergencies.”
He walked over to the drivers side and got in, “if you feel sick again let me know I can pull over,” he was less worried about his car and more worried about her being forced to get sick on herself.
She considered telling him he shouldn’t drive after what he’d had to drink, and it reminded her of Sentinel and a similar thought the night of the masquerade, but she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to keep the train of thought in her mind, and she just closed her eyes as he climbed in the car. She lowered the window, knowing the cold night air would help keep her from getting sick, and she grinned at his suggestion. “I like to drink, Johnny,” she told him truthfully. “I can warn you in time.” She thought he was worried about the car, not about her.
The movement of the car played with her center of balance, and she forced her eyes open to keep herself from getting even more nauseous than she already was. She put a hand to her forehead, and she groaned. “No more drinking,” she promised herself, and she was thankful Bathos was close.
Johnny was not a fan of drinking and driving, but he did what he could. He knew he could drive home just fine, but it didn’t make him pleased with himself. Again. He looked over at her, “I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you, no one likes throwing up on themselves,” he stated simply.
He had to chuckle to himself about her no drinking rule, he’d made that promise a time or two. He drove to Bathos quickly, and parked his car. Glad to be home, and he walked over to her side of the car to open the door. He held his hand out to help her. “Come on, Mason’s probably at your place ready to drive you crazy, lets go to mine, you can sleep in peace.” He didn’t bother clarifying that he’d take the couch, he assumed she knew that much about him.
She didn’t put any thought into where she would sleep. She was feeling sick again, and she just wanted to get somewhere she could splash water on her face. She took his hand, stumbled in drunken unsteadiness, and she didn’t insist she return to her own apartment. The thought of dealing with Mason right now was more than she could handle. She held onto his fingers tightly, obviously using her grip in his for balance, and she nodded.
He wrapped his arm around her firmly and helped her into the building. He walked them to his apartment and let them both in. There was his cat waiting for him on the back of the couch, and he set the keys down in the basket by the door. “The bathroom is toward the back, towels and everything if you want to wash your face or cool off, help yourself,” he said walking her in that direction a bit. “I’ll get you something more comfortable to put on if you want.” He offered smiling politely at her.
She groaned, and she nodded, and she made her way toward the bathroom with uneven sway and a spared glance for the cat.
She didn’t lock the door, or even close it entirely, not having time as another wave of nausea overtook her. She put her hands on the counter, and she bowed her head, and she waited for it to pass. No more fucking drinking. She stayed like that a minute longer, and then she stripped out of her dress and splashed cold water on her face and the nape of her neck. She rinsed out her mouth, and she toweled her face dry. She felt like shit, and it showed. She wanted a bed, and for the world to stop spinning, and for her stomach to stop churning.
While she was in the bathroom Johnny hung his jacket up and took his button down shirt off and hung it back up as well. He was wearing his slacks a white tee shirt as he kicked his shoes into the closet as well. He listened for any sign of distress in the bathroom as he went about making sure she would be comfortable.
He grabbed her a tee shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he was sure would be huge on her, but it was something. He gave his cat some water and food, and when he heard the faucet turn off he knocked on the bathroom door. “Max I have some clothes for you.”
She reached out for the clothes without cracking the door, and she pressed her forehead to the wood and gave him a queasy, grateful smile. A few minutes later, she was walking out into the bedroom in sweatpants rolled at the waist and still falling low on her hips and a tee shirt that practically reached her knees. She swayed and reached out for balance, fingers closing on his arm. “You are never going to ask me out after this fucking mess are you?” she asked, trusting him to get her to the bed.
Johnny reached for her and helped her over to his bed and smiled at her, “We started with a fight and ended with vomit. If that’s not an awesome date, and grounds for a second one I don’t know what is.” He assured her as he turned the blankets down on one side of the bed and helped her sit. “Get comfortable, get some rest, if you need anything I’ll be on the couch. My cat is apparently going to guard you all night, and you know where the bathroom is. Do you need anymore water?” he asked tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her the once over.
“If you write an article about this, I am going to kick your ass,” she warned him, letting her cheek press against his fingers a moment, and then crawling beneath the blankets. She tried to keep her eyes open as she looked up at him, but she was too drunk and too tired, and she reached a hand out and tugged on he hem of his shirt instead. “I’m fine. You can sleep on the bed, Smallville. I’m too fucked up to take advantage of you,” she insisted.
He smiled at her in a way that could really only be described as adoringly and nodded once, “I won’t write an article about this, what will my adoring public think if they find out I had a woman in here all night?” he teased.
“Good, don’t get handsy,” he said chuckling as he pulled the blankets up and basically tucked her in before he went into the bathroom and changed out of his slacks and into a pair of blue pajama pants and went back into the bedroom. He shoved his fat cat over just far enough to get into his bed, “Wake me up if you need anything.”
She made a sound that was a wordless, sleepy agreement, and she rolled onto her side, not even noticing the cat’s annoyed meow and relocation to her pillow. She threw one arm across his stomach, an inadvertent, unintentional movement in sleep, and she sighed. She muttered something that might sound like night, and then she was deep in dreamless, drunken sleep.
He didn’t move he laid there staring at the ceiling for a long moment and tried to remember how they had gotten to this point. It had easily been the strangest night of his life. He heard the cat getting settled on Max’s pillow and he started purring as he did once he got comfortable. He listened to Max breathing and he tried to get to sleep himself.