Re: Evans & Peel: Jack/Patrick/maybe Newt later.
The bar served half a dozen beers, none of which Jack could name off the top of his head but the bartender took the order rather than Jack himself and filled a glass. And no, it wasn't a surprise to say the least. Jack knew heavy drinkers rather well. Patrick had struck him as wasted, but in the manner of someone seeking to get absolutely blotted to block something out rather than routine and rhythm.
"No, probably not," because it hadn't been and there wasn't any point in lying about it. Christ knew it had been dreadful. But Patrick didn't look nearly as young or as woeful as he had been in that particular moment and Jack hadn't any interest in revisiting it. "If you don't regularly drink, you've no idea what it means to have somewhere to drink that doesn't play Cash continually." A grin, and that was pure Penhaligon as the glass was passed over, and Jack's was switched for a fresher one.
"Christ you're a flirt." Good-natured observation, the girl was young, and she flushed like an old conquest might have, and Patrick was naturally cocky and it was all funny, Jack's voice held amusement like a fingerprint.
"Did they explain the fucking off after, or stay quiet? I was a writer," in all seriousness, because he had been, even if he was now a small business owner in a slice of America. "They were not. They're willing to converse but we're at one word answers to questions. Like pushing a stone along, you know? Probably not." He swallowed on gin and tonic, and gestured toward Patrick's glass.