xp_logs | LOG: Terry & Doug (Backdated to Sunday)

Terry and Doug meet for breakfast and end up discussing personal subjects.

Given the location of the diner Terry had suggested they meet at, and the fact that she'd given the time to meet as "ten-ish", it wasn't too hard to guess that she was going to Sunday mass, and would probably be coming to breakfast straight after. Doug had arrived a bit early, as was his tendency, and he had already gotten a booth and was sipping a hot chocolate. He glanced at his watch every so often, not so much out of impatience, but simply checking the time. Unusually for him, he wasn't fiddling incessantly with his smartphone to read his email, and was instead perusing a copy of the Sunday New York Times.

It was a small place, though unusually busy, suggesting simple menu was good. Terry's attire, when she showed up, also lent credence to Doug's supposition. Skirt and heels and a coat with a bit of swing to its hem flashed past him and added to the padded booth's 'whoomph' when she sat down heavily. She hadn't emailed him since the day before. Maybe that contributed to his inbox's sudden decline? "Doug," she greeted him, the expression on her face a cross between mild amusement and wary concern. She reached across the table and hooked a finger into the handle of his cup, tipping it toward her to peek inside. "Coffee any good?" she asked, misidentifying the contents. She let the mug settle back in place.

"Hot chocolate, actually," Doug corrected her. "It seemed like a morning for it." With the Christmas season approaching, and everyone bundled up in winter coats and scarves, it was a time for hot drinks and enjoying the company of friends. "But, if this is any indicator, the coffee should be great too." He took in her outfit, confirming his guess. "How was mass?" he asked.

Terry lifted a brow, the corner of her mouth quirking a little before she acknowledged the correctness of his assumption. "Good. This time of year, seems a little easier to be inspiring." She smiled up at the waitress and asked for coffee and, with a look at Doug to see if he was ordering, a plate of the breakfast special. Order placed, she slumped back down into her seat and wrapped her coat around her until she warmed up and rubbed at her already winter-red nose.

Doug's order was simply "same as the lady" with a smile. With that settled and the waitress off to put their order in, he leaned back in the booth. "Advent is probably my favorite time of year," he noted. While he wasn't all that religious, church had been a part of his upbringing, and he could at least navigate both a Catholic or Lutheran service without seeming out of place.

Terry sniffed loudly, and observed him from across the table. It wasn't long until her feet kicked out of her shoes and she caught the edge of his seat with her toes. They wriggled next to his leg, darkly patterned tights stretched across her feet. "Mmm. Tis a thoughtful time o' year, to be sure," she said, lips crimping into a small, sly smile as she hinted at the conversation that prompted the breakfast meet-up.

"Mostly I love the music," was Doug's observation. "Been doing a lot of thinking, have you?" he asked in response to her statement. His smile matched hers for slyness and mischief, and as he shifted in his seat to pull up one of his feet under him, he used that movement to disguise his true intention, a quick tickle of Terry's foot.

Terry's response was swift and violent. She pulled her foot away from his tickle, then kicked back hard at his hand, sideswiping his knee. She crinkled her nose at him and sniffed again, then tossed him a look out of the corner of her eye as she fiddled with the pocket of her coat. "Suppose I have been. I hear it is a good thing t' do, in my line o' work," she answered, a little brattishly.

Doug's grin widened, unrepentant at the mock disdain Terry was directing at him. If she had wanted to avoid tickling, she shouldn't have kicked her shoes off and put her feet in easy tickle range. After all, she wasn't the only brat at the table. "And how has your line of work been going?" he asked curiously.

Terry stilled a little, then blew out her breath and curled forward, wrapping her hands around the just delivered mug of coffee. "Well enough. They keep me busy, and I am doubtful Dublin will be calling me home any time soon. So..." She shrugged and reached for the creamer and sugar, letting her lips twitch as she returned the question. "And yours, Father Ramsey?"

Doug chuckled dryly at the reference to all their discussion about 'confession' via email. "Work keeps me busy, too," he answered. "Always too many things to do, and not enough time to do them in. He wouldn't have guessed that, in between the adrenaline-fueled moments of being in the field, that being a 'superspy' would involve so very much paperwork, research, and moments of mind-numbing boredom.

He leaned forward and smirked. "And are y' ready to be confessin' now, young lady?" he asked, in a mimicry of her Irish brogue, only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Terry's feet returned to their perch on the edge of his seat and she stirred the sugary-creamy sludge she'd turned her coffee into with her spoon, making a soft, chiming noise of metal on ceramic. "I will if you will," she answered, echoes of the childish refrain of 'I'll show you mine...' in her voice and a challenge in her eyes, albeit one softened by a measure of hesitation.

It was easier for Doug to judge the mood of the conversation in person than over email, generally, and he caught the slight hesitance in Terry's eyes. While he tended to push things just as far as he could, to see how far he -could- push, Doug also wasn't one to push beyond whatever line became too far. "And what would you like to know?" he asked. "Anything in particular you're curious about?"

Neither was Terry one to push too far, when she was just figuring out the lines drawn by the time and distance of their friendship. She propped her head up on one hand and pulled the spoon out of her cup. "'m not sure what I am doing here," she offered instead.

Doug's mischievous expression softened into equal parts concern and reassurance. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, either, but he sensed that Terry didn't need to hear that. Maybe they were both flirting there way towards something, but mostly... "Breakfast with a friend," he told her, his hand reaching to cover her free one and squeeze gently before releasing. Because regardless of whatever nebulous thing was happening between them, that would always be true.

Terry turned her hand up under his and squeezed it in return, her smile small, but genuine. "I know, mo chara. I am not doubting that at all, at all." She lifted her head and sighed, rolling her eyes to look over toward the diner counter, then back to him. "But what am I doing here? In New York. I swore it would never be home, but it is, if anywhere is anymore." She puffed her cheeks out, then looked at him somewhat sheepishly from under lowered lashes. "Tis a sad confession I am making, to be sure."

Doug had meant to pull his hand back, but left it when Terry squeezed his in return. "Lonely at the keep?" he asked. "Home is where..." He was about to say 'where the heart is', but at the last second thought that might be a bit much. "...your friends are," he finished, the pause almost imperceptible to anyone not paying attention.

Terry snorted lightly and gave him a wry smile as she released his hand and folded her arms in front of her, leaning toward him. "Well, then me home is surely here," she replied, brogue thickening along with the flirtatious glint in her eye.

An answering glint returned to Doug's eye, the relative seriousness of the moment passing. "I did say I'd miss you if you went away, didn't I?" he asked. "I'd be heartbroken, and that's a fact."

"You say a lot of things, I am learning," Terry retorted, crinkling her nose at him. "But knowing which ones you mean is another thing..." She leaned back in her seat, palms against the table's edge, and looked for their food.

Doug shook his head sharply, a stronger reaction from him than anything previous. "Lying may be the stock in trade of my job," he admitted readily, "but you are not part of my job." He'd lied to too many people as it was. And the weight of those lies wore down on him at times, especially when he thought about how he might never go to visit his family for a holiday again. "You'll only ever get the truth from me," he said quietly and seriously.

Terry's brows lifted at the unexpected response she'd provoked, and she pursed her lips. She had sensed some of that weight before, and maybe she was in a unique position with him as an old friend with no ties to recent events. "All right, Douglas Ramsey," she said slowly, eyes locked on his face to watch for further tells. "Truth it is." She nudged the side of his knee with her foot, and asked, "What is your confession?"

"Too late to pick 'dare' instead?" Doug asked with a wry smile. Not that he expected the weak distraction to work, and it didn't, Terry still watching him closely. "You know what they say. 'Can't go home again'. My family doesn't know the real reason Katie left New York. And it's better that way." Not that people couldn't make his family targets if they wanted, but if they were distant, both physically and emotionally, it at least became less likely.

Terry just smirked at the question, allowing the mood to lighten for the brief moment. Her smiled slipped as he continued, twisting into a thoughtful frown. "Better for them, maybe. But better is not meaning easier," she mused quietly.

Doug's fingers drummed against the table, his fidgeting a sign that his emotions were running a bit high. Nervousness, self-consciousness, the whole gamut. "I've come to the conclusion that my life is probably -never- going to be easy," he said finally, with a wistful look.

"Oh, well, if you are planning on being realistic about it," Terry teased, nudging his knee again. Whatever else she was about to say was interrupted by the arrival of their plates. Eggs and toast and meats steamed as they were placed in front of them, and she poked at the contents with her fork until the waitress was back out of ear shot. "So. You stay away to keep them safe. How do you explain it to them though?"

"By making it seem like it was Katie's idea to transfer." That was almost inaudible, as if Doug wasn't even sure he wanted Terry to hear that admission. He began to eat rather mechanically, putting food in his mouth and chewing, but not really tasting it. "All Katie remembers is that she's royally pissed at me."

Terry pursed her lips again and frowned across the table at Doug, watching his avoidance. "Seem like? Was it?" she asked, pursuing the subject and only then lifting a forkful to her mouth.

"Kind of." Doug pushed his food around his plate with his fork, only occasionally eating a bite. "I mean, the transfer is a cover story, an excuse for getting her safely away from me." And it was just too dangerous for his sister to remember -why- she'd been a target. "All of the emotion of it was real, just...shifting the reasons."

"And the reasons are making it harder for you to be a part of their lives?" Terry asked, tone sharp but quiet, her fork stilled in midair.

"More or less impossible. But safer that way." Doug sighed and looked down at the table, and then back up. "Seriously, how is it that we always wind up talking about -me- at these things?" he asked, only a tiny bit petulantly.

Terry slowly lowered her fork to the table, along with her eyes, and slid a napkin off the table to unfold across her lap. Families kept out of contact, for whatever reason, touched nerves only somewhat desensitized by time and understanding. When she looked back up again, her lips were crimped into a thin line. "I hope that someday that can be changing," she said evenly, then exhaled a hard breath and shook her head slightly, as if trying to shake off some of the tension that had suddenly crept in. "Because your problems are making mine seem petty?" she replied with a shaky attempt at humor.

Doug remembered belatedly that Terry's relationship with her more or less absentee father wasn't the best, so she could probably understand some of what he was feeling. "Me too," he said in response to her first statement, in a way that hopefully closed off that line of discussion. "Don't go comparing," he suggested gently. "Problems are problems, regardless of their magnitude."

"I will be remembering that next time I am wanting to cry because they are out of my favorite coffee," Terry said, letting a teasing note creep back into her voice. She picked up her fork and started to make a dent in the pile of eggs.

"You know what I mean," Doug said, making a swatting motion with his hand, the implication being that Terry was being naughty, and that in other circumstances he might have swatted her instead of the air. "Don't go all, 'well, your problems are worse, so I'll suffer in silence'," he said, complete with a dramatic hand to his forehead.

"I did not say that," Terry answered primly, lifting her coffee cup to her lips to hide their betraying twitch. "I believe I was implying that listening to your problems made me feel better, thus we always talked about yours." Not even the coffee cup could hide the smile any longer.

Doug snorted. "Sure and I might believe that," he said to her, an unconscious mirroring of her accent and speech patterns that sometimes happened around close friends, "except for the part where you just let me go on about myself and never talk about whatever's on your mind."

Terry set the cup down with a sigh and pushed her plate toward the middle of the table so she could fold her arms and lean forward. "I like listening, if it can be a help," she said simply, though not quite meeting his eyes.

A surprising number of people can miss another person not quite meeting their eyes. You simply look at their nose, or upper lip, and it's difficult to tell the difference. Doug, however, was all too familiar with those kinds of subtleties. He hadn't always been the brash-seeming White Knight of the Hellfire Club, and besides, some days that role was more of a mask to hide the still-anxious Doug inside. So he leaned forward as well, subtly making Terry meet his eyes. "It can be," he agreed. "Can I help you?" he asked gently.

Terry exhaled and let her eyes be caught. "Not unless you are a marriage and life counselor in your spare time," she said, humor running a wry thread through her words. She wasn't sure how much was fair to say on the subject without the other half of her problems being there to defend himself. But at least half was her own issues, so she hunched her shoulders up into a shrug and gave Doug a twisted smile.

Doug had suspected that things were rough between Terry and Bobby. It wasn't that hard to guess, but this was the first time she'd even obliquely referenced it to him. He smiled back reassuringly. "Try me?" he replied. "You're my friend, if there's anything I can do to help and support you..." Even if it meant stepping back from whatever this hesitant flirting dance they were doing was. If Terry decided that what she wanted was to work on things with Bobby, he would absolutely support her.

Terry crinkled her nose and made a face. "Tell me how t' talk to m' husband? Seems like we dance around and around each other, neither of us sure what we are wanting." Under the table, her feet fiddled with her shoes, flipping them over and around, bumping them up against Doug's feet and the table legs. She shook her head and picked up her fork to stab her eggs. "I do not know why I expect him to know when I do not even know m'self."

Doug was silent while he ate a few more bites of his breakfast, clearly organizing his thoughts. "Well, as far as the 'not knowing what you want' thing, I don't know how much help I can be. I mean...I'm coming to the realization that I...don't know what I want right now." Between the fact that he was pretty sure Jubilee was getting more invested in their relationship than he was, the complicatedness of Marie-Ange and unresolved feelings he even shied away from admitting to himself, and then Terry...

He cleared his throat and flicked his eyes off to one side, as if he were now the one afraid to meet Terry's eyes. "But as for Bobby..." He shrugged. "Maybe try to get away from thinking of him as your husband, and more as Bobby. I mean, you were friends before you got married..."

Terry sighed, then rolled her eyes and offered Doug a small smile, noting, but not commenting on the evasion. "Well, at least I am in good company then," she said, reaching across the table to poke his hand with her index finger. She pulled away from the brief contact as if it burned, rubbing finger and thumb together as she retreated to her side of the table. More subdued, she continued, "That is part of the problem though. I am not sure I know Bobby any more. Everything is so..." She fluttered her hands, and concluded lamely, "Hard."

Doug thought of how he couldn't seem to go very long without things turning awkward (or yelling) with Marie-Ange. "I know that feeling," he said, watching her reaction to touching. Guilt? Confusion? He wasn't quite sure.

Confusion? Awareness? She wasn't quite sure either. She settled for saying, "Well..." in response to his reply, and picking up a piece of toast off her plate. She sat there and took a bite, using the space of time to stare across the table at Doug until it almost became uncomfortable. She swallowed and said on a rushed breath as she dropped the toast back to the plate, "I am not sure I am wanting to put the effort in either." There. That is her confession, and it shocked even her a little bit.

Doug had borne the uncomfortableness of the stare and the silence, sensing that she was close to finally making that rushed, secret confession. The reality of it wasn't exactly shocking to him, as he'd suspected something along those lines. Otherwise why would she be having so much difficulty with Bobby? "That's probably one of the things you need to figure out, mo chara," he told her gently. "Everything else kind of evolves from that." He'd be lying if he didn't wonder about the opportunities implicit in a split between Terry and Bobby, but he hoped that wasn't quite so obvious.

"Well, I am not the only one it depends on," Terry retorted, suddenly defensive in the wake of the admission. "I was the one who has put life and career on hold to be coming back here to do just that." Let's ignore for the moment what state her career was in over there.

"Definitely," Doug said soothingly, a reminder to Terry that he was on her side, no matter what. "But if you don't know what you want, how can you expect to get it, hm?" he asked, a very small amount of gentle rebuke in the question. Of course, this was the pot calling the kettle black, given his earlier admission that -he- didn't know what he wanted either...

"I expected to figure it out together." Terry deflated, sinking into her seat and playing with the handle of her fork while keeping her eyes on her plate. "I guess."

Seeing his normally vibrant friend sag into her side of the booth caused a twinge in Doug's chest, and he wished he could make that defeated look on her face go away. "I wish I had the answers for you," he told her, his voice a little wobbly with underlying feelings.

Terry blew out her cheeks like a puffer fish and held her breath, then peeked up and over at him and let her breath out in a noisy hiss. With a shake of her head, she gave him a crooked smile and said, "Aye, I know, Dougie." She sat up in her seat and leaned forward, scooping up her coffee mug in a sort of salute. "So between the two o' us, we have a handful of wishes in one hand and a handful of shite in the other."

Doug looked wistful. "That we do. Of course, a fair chunk of my wishes are for things I'm not sure I'll ever be able to have," he noted sadly. "Maybe that's part of the shite in the other hand," he mused.

"Usually is," Terry agreed and reached to tap the side of her mug against his forehead. She smiled and ducked her head to catch his eyes again, trying to reclaim the light hearted mood for his sake, if not her own.

Doug recognized the attempt for what it was, and smiled a bit roguishly. "So, I finally got you to confess," he said playfully. "Anything else to confess while we're here, rua?"

"No, but tis time to discuss the matter of penance, mo chara," Terry answered, leaning forward just a bit more to pull her foot up under her for height. "I charge ye with an afternoon of holiday shopping with me. Assuming you are not having some dragons t' slay or blackguards to foil?" She started stacking her silverware and dishes together with a prim sort of precision.

Doug leaned forward until their noses were almost touching, the tension sparking a bit between them. Oh yeah. Definitely playing with fire. "You're on."

Terry held her breath, eyes almost crossing as she focused on the tip of his nose (or perhaps lower). He spoke, and her brows climbed as did her attention. "Good, she breathed, sitting back to stack the dishes and signal their readiness for the check. "But remember, you do not get to complain about penance."