apocalypsehowcomm | (log) It's Thanksgiving Time!

Entry tags:

(log) It's Thanksgiving Time!

Who: Ren and You
When: Thanksgiving Day
Where: ADI's cafeteria
Summary: A little thanksgiving party for everyone.
Warnings: Alcohol, but other than that, none!

(It's finally the day! Ren's spent the day in the canteen, from the early hours of the morning with the help of Kate, until just close enough to the arranged time.

Several tables in the cafeteria are taken by the food, but there's still plenty of room to sit and spend time with your fellow ADI employees. After the previous month everyone has had, it feels much needed. Available is the following menu:

Deep-fried Turkey + Stuffing;
Ranch-Seasoned Roast Turkey + Stuffing;
Mashed Potatoes + Gravy;
Green Bean Casserole;
Cranberry Sauce;
Pasta alla Norma;
Sicilian Rice Balls;
S'mores Cupcakes
Pumpkin Pie;
Apple Pie;
Sweet Baked Potato;
Pecan Pie;
Roasted Vegetables;
Stuffed Mushrooms;
Squash Soup;
Garlicky Green Beans with Crispy Onions;
A selection of alcohol;

Ren's tried his best to recreate what the Internet and other folks have told him, and without him tasting the original flavors, some of the dishes might have an unexpected twist of spice. Kate has also helped with putting things together, and at the previously arranged time, Ren opens the doors with a smile from ear-to-ear.

Once everyone's settled, he'll ask for a moment to, gasp, speak:)

I'd like to thank everyone for coming today. I know it's been tough, but I'm still thankful we can spend good moments like these together. I hope you enjoy the food.

(And just like so, he'll bow, and hand plates to those ready to eat. Time to dig in!)

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“Meredith’s trying to cope,” Malcolm assures him, scooting over a little to give Tim more room.

Malcolm is not wasted. Getting wasted is contraindicated for the heavy sedatives he takes every day just to function.

He looks sidelong at Tim. “Decided to roll out of bed?”

He is keeping an eye on Meredith, but also on Tim.

Yeah, he knows. Still. It's weird and he has the brains to not say so. Because saying he finds her resting-and-recreating weird would mean he's harboring notions of expectations. And he can't do that.

That's weird.

Tim inclines his plate lightly towards Malcolm out of ingrained, polite habit. Offering. Then he stabs his fork in the pie and takes a bite anyway, humming with... some offense. "It's a holiday," he reminds him. Sure, ADI is all work-- excuse a guy for staying in-- it's not like he didn't clean up to a polite standard before moseying down.

Malcolm makes a slight face at the pie and shakes his head.

He glances around.

“I think you missed Jeff. He was here earlier. How are things going with that?”

More for him. Tim's engrossed in his food in that way someone is when they're still working off that sleep-hangover. He doesn't glance around like Malcolm, he just shakes his head.

Meredith is weird. Malcolm's weird.

"It's fine?"

What are the parameters for 'good' in this place? Whatever they are, he and Jeff are-- lacking, in that department, if only because 'good' would ideally be synonymous with 'perfectly sane'.

"I've never been... with a guy before. I don't know. But it feels fine."

Malcolm tilts his head a little.

“I thought you hadn’t been with anybody before,” he replies. Had he missed the entire gist of their jacket conversation? “I don’t find it… fundamentally different,” he admits. “Like… functionally different in minor ways? But not… in any way that matters.” If Tim is at all interested in Malcolm’s extremely limited experience with romance and bisexuality to go with his pie.

Check it: every word is colored with rising panic. "I meant, dating. Been with. At all. I've had girlfriends. What do you mean 'functional'?"

Not real panic, or real stress, or real alarm.

But why, Malcolm, why.

He’s just going to answer the question in a perfectly calm and reasonable tone. He asked, right?

“Well, the parts are different, so - logistically - it’s a little bit different.”

What is happening.

"What are you talking about?"

That might be the single worst question to ask but Tim can't hear common sense speaking over the hysteria of logistics, what the hell, Malcolm.

Malcolm looks at him oddly, then blinks like he’s realized something.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” he says. “You haven’t slept together yet.”

There's some internal screaming going on over here and it's damn obvious. Tim's face feels hot and he just knows he's blushing, and his throat is doing that thing that makes him have to uncap his water and take a swig.

God.

"No?"

It's not a question. Tim's doe-eyed, but.

He'll live.

"N-no? I- uh."

Try again.

"Uh."

Water.

"I should have clarified?"

It's not a question.

Malcolm smiles gently.

“It’s not really my business,” he points out. He pauses. “Although, speaking of my business……”

"What did you do now?"

Okay so that's judge-y and a little too quick of an accusation but you can't blame him.

Really.

"I told you about some concerns I had," Malcolm says. He watches Tim's face carefully. "Did you text Kate Cordello from a burner phone?"

He's confused. Hell, he's not even acting. He was asleep not that long ago; it was a long, deep, dreamless sleep. He's still groggy from waking. It's a challenge to recall what Malcolm's just thrown at him. Thankfully

?

Malcolm answers the unspoken 'What' the next second. Tim's brows furrow. "No? I did meet her, though. At the gym."

"The person who was harassing her knew things I only told you. Did you share that information with anyone?" he asks.

Harassing? Strong word. Tim kind of likes it, but the satisfaction can wait. You learn to compartmentalize, if you're serious about surviving the day as a vigilante. Feelings get pushed aside and to the back as soon as they come up, never really having time to surface.

"I didn't tell anyone," he says, and there's a sliver of defensiveness if only because Tim doesn't see himself as a gossip.

How dare.

Focus, Drake, this is, honestly, pretty serious. More so with Arroyo on his tail.

Jesus, was talking to Arroyo a bad idea.

Focus.

Tim stabs at his pie and considers. "I do keep a list of who I know is powered or not. But that stays in my room and you're the first person I tell about it."

Malcolm presses his lips together and nods.

"I believed you until you suggested you tell me anything first," he says matter-of-factly. But he doesn't press it. "Don't get yourself hurt," is all he adds.

That stabbing hurt? Tim's not conceited enough to imagine it's not kin to whatever Damian- the brat- must have professed to have felt back when he uncovered the Hit List. The first one.

Tim narrows his eyes, recovering from the fleeting, benign breathlessness of being, again, the butt of someone's total disbelief. "Right, because you're always second to know about what I do or don't do," he notes. He didn't mean for the defensiveness to rise, not this sharply.

Something, something. Emotions.

Trauma?

Nah.

He wonders about drinking his water. But his throat feels all sorts of wrong.

He's overthinking.

If he squares his jaw-- that's obvious.

But it's-- unrelated. This isn't... like, what? He's not supposed to ever tell anybody anything?

He can do that.

Tim grimaces, morose and

oh fuck it

he didn't want to come here today, anyway.

"...yeah, you too."

Don't get hurt. He makes to stand.

Malcolm doesn't understand why that just happened, but he sees it happen.

He reaches for his arm or his shirt, whatever he can gently grab.

"Tim. Wait. Please."

He sighs, defeated, because there's no way he'll be the one causing a scene. It's Thanksgiving. That crap would be obscenely cliche.

It doesn't mean he's looking to stick around long. There's a burning under his skin. He's really not gonna stick around long. "Look," he tries. Because he can be civil. "I'll be back at the apartment. You can keep an eye on Meredith."

And Ren.

"I'll probably be asleep but call me if you need any help. Cool?"

Just.

Let it go.

Malcolm shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "I only want to help. I guess..." He hesitates. "I'm just. A little hurt that you've been shutting me out lately. I thought..." He trails off. "Anyway, I didn't mean... I didn't mean anything, okay?"

He's sorry, too.

"It's fine," Tim says. And he almost thinks he can make it through this by being a bigger person. Or whatever that phrase is supposed to be.

When he first was learning-- when he was a student of Lady Shiva, she knocked it into his thick skull many times: Tim Drake will never stand a chance in a fair fight. He's had to get dirty and get comfortable with it. It's fine.

"I don't do the Happy Holidays thing. I shut people out. It's a bad habit. I know. But I don't need help with anything. Okay? I feel like an idiot having come here at all. So can you just make sure Meredith doesn't hit her head on anything? You're staying here anyway, right?"

"You're not an idiot for coming," Malcolm tells him. "Stay." He pats the floor beside him where Tim had been sitting. "Just for a bit. You're supposed to be with your family on the holidays. And fight with them a bit, but we've gotten that part out of the way already." He pats the floor again. "Stay a bit. She's messy. Meredith needs all eyes on deck."

Twist of the (figurative) knife.

Tim recalls-- a lot of shouting, actually. Angry voices echoing down long, lonesome halls.

He looks at Malcolm and he's supposed to see family? And that's not supposed to be something frightening?

He shakes his head. "I'll leave the door unlocked."

“Well, don’t leave the door unlocked; we have keys,” Malcolm points out. He wouldn’t want Tim to get stolen or something. “You’re sure you don’t want a doughnut first? Meredith brought them.”

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ployboy - 2021-11-26 03:13 (UTC) - Expand

Cw: mild self harm

abrightboy - 2021-11-26 12:56 (UTC) - Expand

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