[ There's a gentle nod of understanding at that. Bruce doesn't press for more than what's already been shared about Alfred's late friend and the tragedy of her death. He knows firsthand how hard familiar spaces can be when the people you shared them with are gone.
There's a reason Bruce isn't in the manor, after all.
The suit jacket he's in makes him standout as an easy mark but there's something in the small scattering of patrons that tells Bruce he'll be fine. It's the way they regard Alfred. Respect and something akin to admiration in their eyes. Even Carrie, with all her familiarity, treats Alfred like he's more than just a regular. ]
Oh. No, I'm his—
[ Bruce starts then stops, momentarily unsure what to say. He's Alfred's. Full stop. Always has been because the lines were always blurry until Bruce drew them in the sand in an effort to excise the man from his life to better isolate himself in his misery and grief. Now... ]
His friend.
[ Carrie looks at him dubiously but Bruce smiles in an attempt to disarm her and whatever skepticism she might be working through. ]
Seems he has a lot of them here.
[ That does the trick and Carrie brightens, all too happy to tell the tale of their local hero. ]
That's because your friend ran into a burning building just next door. Helped get everyone out. We're proud to have him.
I get that. I feel the same.
[ The ache of not having Alfred anymore forces Bruce to keep the conversation moving. Mostly because he doesn't want to run the risk of hearing Alfred correct him in front of an audience. ]
He says you have excellent milkshakes. Could we trouble you for a strawberry one?
Of course, doll. Alfred? Anything else while I give you two a second to look over the menu?
['He's my son.' Those are the words that are so close to coming out but Alfred stops them just in time, allowing Bruce to correct Carrie and label whatever it is they are now.
Friends.
It's better than what Bruce called him when he demanded he leave the manor but it still hurts him a little to be called anything other than the boy's family.]
I'll have a cup of tea, please and thank you.
[He says and Carrie tips him a wink and heads off to get their drinks, once she is gone Alfred clears his throat and adjusts the cutlery on the table. Straightening it out.]
She's exaggerating, by the way. It wasn't just me who went into the building to help.
[Alfred listens quietly but exhales long and low at the news of her brother dying so violently, his eyes growing sympathetic and concerned.]
Sounds like a bloody mess all over, I'm sorry about your brother and father. I can see why you haven't been back home at all, with so many ghosts I wouldn't either.
Thank you. I think about sneaking back sometimes, but...[she trails off, her one good shoulder lifting in a shrug. She's never seen her brother's grave. Hasn't seen her mother's since she left.] I don't think there's any way I could go without my dad hearing about it, and that would be...well, messy.
[Not to use the same word twice, but it's the most fitting. She gives him a smile, shifting her hand to pat the back of his.] Sorry. I know that's heavy.
It's okay, I asked and I appreciate you telling me.
[He appreciates her being open with him and after a small pause he decides to do the same.]
I wasn't kicked out but my father and I had a lot of angry words when I joined the service when I was sixteen, he was furious that I would throw my life away like that and make my Mum worry so much about me.
[Karen shifts in her chair a bit, leaning forward so she can rest her chin in her hand. She's listening attentively, a thoughtful furrow in her brow.]
I'm sorry, I can't imagine what that must have felt like. Joining the service is a big decision to make. What made you want to join up? And I think I remember...you said you and your dad made a peace of sorts after a while?
We did, sadly it wasn't much long after that he died.
And I joined because it was the only chance I had at something better. [He says with a little shrug.] Where I'm from you're basically only ever going to amount to working at a factory, a pub or stealing and dealing.
Oh, that's terrible timing. I'm glad you got to reconcile with him, though. I'm sure that meant a lot to him too.
[Her head tips a bit, an understanding smile turning up the corner of her mouth at his shrugged explanation.] Considering I was dealing and working at a diner, I get it. Guess rural Vermont has more in common with England than I thought.
Never would have thought Fagan Corners would have anything in common with a city the size of London.
[Once his fingers run the length of the back of her hand, she turns her hand over to echo the gesture, letting her fingertips graze along the under side of his wrist. She can't help but laugh, moving to eat another fry.]
You're going to feel like a perv when I tell you it was my family's diner. I wore jeans and a tee shirt every day. I only wore short little skirts when I was selling at parties or at the strip club.
Mm, well, considering I left when I was 19, you'd only have about a year and a half window there.
[She arches her brow pointedly, though she still looks amused.]
I'll wear jeans next time I see you and you can decide for yourself. It'll be better than this look, at least. [Which she's pretty sure can be considered 'hospital chic' at best.]
Wow, you're a prodigious flirt. [Karen sounds genuinely impressed - she's even smiling a little, and she points a fry at him.] Cheeky.
[She considers the offer as she dips the fry.] I don't mind the scrubs top, but I definitely want to get into a pair of sweats. Will this be the least sexy way you've ever helped a woman get her pants off? [The question is full of dry humor.]
You're doing wonders for my ego. It was even more bruised than I am.
[It's either a testament to his flirtation or her fair complexion that she's still getting pink in the cheeks. She finishes off the slider shes been idly eating in the lulls in their conversation.]
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There's a reason Bruce isn't in the manor, after all.
The suit jacket he's in makes him standout as an easy mark but there's something in the small scattering of patrons that tells Bruce he'll be fine. It's the way they regard Alfred. Respect and something akin to admiration in their eyes. Even Carrie, with all her familiarity, treats Alfred like he's more than just a regular. ]
Oh. No, I'm his—
[ Bruce starts then stops, momentarily unsure what to say. He's Alfred's. Full stop. Always has been because the lines were always blurry until Bruce drew them in the sand in an effort to excise the man from his life to better isolate himself in his misery and grief. Now... ]
His friend.
[ Carrie looks at him dubiously but Bruce smiles in an attempt to disarm her and whatever skepticism she might be working through. ]
Seems he has a lot of them here.
[ That does the trick and Carrie brightens, all too happy to tell the tale of their local hero. ]
That's because your friend ran into a burning building just next door. Helped get everyone out. We're proud to have him.
I get that. I feel the same.
[ The ache of not having Alfred anymore forces Bruce to keep the conversation moving. Mostly because he doesn't want to run the risk of hearing Alfred correct him in front of an audience. ]
He says you have excellent milkshakes. Could we trouble you for a strawberry one?
Of course, doll. Alfred? Anything else while I give you two a second to look over the menu?
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Those are the words that are so close to coming out but Alfred stops them just in time, allowing Bruce to correct Carrie and label whatever it is they are now.
Friends.
It's better than what Bruce called him when he demanded he leave the manor but it still hurts him a little to be called anything other than the boy's family.]
I'll have a cup of tea, please and thank you.
[He says and Carrie tips him a wink and heads off to get their drinks, once she is gone Alfred clears his throat and adjusts the cutlery on the table. Straightening it out.]
She's exaggerating, by the way. It wasn't just me who went into the building to help.
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Sounds like a bloody mess all over, I'm sorry about your brother and father. I can see why you haven't been back home at all, with so many ghosts I wouldn't either.
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[Not to use the same word twice, but it's the most fitting. She gives him a smile, shifting her hand to pat the back of his.] Sorry. I know that's heavy.
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[He appreciates her being open with him and after a small pause he decides to do the same.]
I wasn't kicked out but my father and I had a lot of angry words when I joined the service when I was sixteen, he was furious that I would throw my life away like that and make my Mum worry so much about me.
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This does bring up a question though, have you told any of your mates about me?
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I'm sorry, I can't imagine what that must have felt like. Joining the service is a big decision to make. What made you want to join up? And I think I remember...you said you and your dad made a peace of sorts after a while?
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And I joined because it was the only chance I had at something better. [He says with a little shrug.] Where I'm from you're basically only ever going to amount to working at a factory, a pub or stealing and dealing.
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[Her head tips a bit, an understanding smile turning up the corner of her mouth at his shrugged explanation.] Considering I was dealing and working at a diner, I get it. Guess rural Vermont has more in common with England than I thought.
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Rural Vermont and East London specifically. [He muses and removes his hand from hers so she can go back to eating.]
I can picture you working at a diner though, in one of those short little skirts and aprons...
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[Once his fingers run the length of the back of her hand, she turns her hand over to echo the gesture, letting her fingertips graze along the under side of his wrist. She can't help but laugh, moving to eat another fry.]
You're going to feel like a perv when I tell you it was my family's diner. I wore jeans and a tee shirt every day. I only wore short little skirts when I was selling at parties or at the strip club.
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[He says with a grin.]
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[She arches her brow pointedly, though she still looks amused.]
I'll wear jeans next time I see you and you can decide for yourself. It'll be better than this look, at least. [Which she's pretty sure can be considered 'hospital chic' at best.]
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But if you're not loving the look I can help you change into something more comfortable after you're done eating.
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[She considers the offer as she dips the fry.] I don't mind the scrubs top, but I definitely want to get into a pair of sweats. Will this be the least sexy way you've ever helped a woman get her pants off? [The question is full of dry humor.]
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[He laughs and has a few more of his own fries.]
It will definitely be one of the more unique but considering it's you, it will still be plenty sexy.
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[It's either a testament to his flirtation or her fair complexion that she's still getting pink in the cheeks. She finishes off the slider shes been idly eating in the lulls in their conversation.]
Want to know something?
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Sure.
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I really wanted to jump your bones that night you stayed over.
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Really? Did you toss and turn all night thinking about it?
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You would've known if I did that night. No, it has been a...distracting thought, though.