Song of Innocence

[Tom Harriman]

The sun was still obscured by the hills, the sky still washed in the gradually paling indigo of early morning. There was barely enough light to see; there were even a few stars managing to glimmer through, one last gasp of interstellar light before they too were consumed by the morning. A breath of wind swirled around, lifting a scouring haze of dust and debris from the ground, swirling it through the air so it bit at his skin.

He didn't care. Didn't stir; even flinch. Lying there, he felt like he was part of the hillside; part of the world. He'd been there for hours; all night, nearly. Just lying there, watching the cosmos he adored wheel above his head. He wouldn't move, not a muscle, until there was only one star left visible in the sky: one very specific, astronomically local star in particular.

Crimson washed out across the whispy veil of clouds, heralding the impending sunrise. Minutes passed; hours maybe. They felt like seconds; insignificant moments in time. The sky began to grow golden and warm, as the sun slowly - reluctantly - clambered its way out from behind the oceanic horizon. He heard the collective sigh as the world slowly awoke, the wildlife that had scampered around in the darkness replaced by the ones that would populate the daylight, like some strange, natural world changing of the guards. He observed it all with fascination; percieved the ecosystem in which he dwelt shifting around him.

Finally, pure and direct sunlight washed down on him, casting a warm and white-light brilliance across his skin. He sighed himself. Smiled. Hello world, his mind muttered to the dawn; a slight breath of a chuckle escaped him at the mild humour and irony in that.

He moved at last, peeling himself away from the hillside; rolled his shoulders to shift the tight-fitting t-shirt that had almost fuzed to his skin with early morning condensation. He tugged at the fabric central to his chest, the repeat motion wafting a slight, moist breeze up towards his face. He released the shirt; scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw that he should really think about shaving off. He'd worry about that later.

Clambering to his feet, he spurred his legs into action, ignoring their protests at being asked to do something that they hadn't for so long that they'd almost forgotten how. His fingers wrapped around the collar of a leather jacket, draped through the open window of his car; one fluid motion flung the jacket over a shoulder, arms somehow finding their way into the sleeves.

He pulled open the door; slid himself into the beltless bench seat, hand falling instantly to the ignition as soon as it had slammed the door closed. He paused for a moment as his foot failed to find the clutch pedal; mentally talking himself through the preflight checks, the engine rumbled into life with a deep, almost animal roar. A smile cracked across his face. The Chevrolet was hardly the newest, coolest, or most fashionable form of conveyance but, he figured, if you were going to cruise your way around the Californian countryside, you might as well look the part while you were doing it. To that end, a hand delved into a jacket pocket, tugged out a set of glasses, and flicked them open, a practiced motion placing them on his face.

"Hello world," he repeated, allowed this time, shooting himself a quick glance in the rear view mirror. A rev of engine followed, as he steered the wheels vaguely in the direction of the road. "And hello Los Angeles."

* * *

The wind ruffled his hair through the open window as he cruised, arm rested on the metalwork of the door, along the highway that led into the city - on the wrong side, which was a disconcerting experience given how he'd learned to drive back home in Britain. One might have thought that after five years, he might have grown accustomed to it by now. But it still felt damned strange.

He pulled out in a fluid swoop, the Impala pulling him effortlessly past a cliché - one of those huge eighteen-wheeler things that you saw the stereotypical American trucker driving around with in all those movies and TV shows. He threw it a sidelong glance as it passed by; a CB Radio antenna and an Optimus Prime paint job. Another smile cracked on his features. Classy.

Countryside began to shrink away, buildings springing up in its place. The forest of towers from central LA loomed ominously on the horizon ahead. Without a hint of regret, and a notable flavour of relief, he turned onto the next exit, his Chevrolet conveying him away from the broad river of tarmac, or ashfelt, or pavement, or whatever it was he was meant to call it now, and headed into one of the suburbs.

The hour or so of driving it had taken him to escape the smog and light pollution, and find somewhere satisfactory for his stargazing had made him late; he spotted kids that seemed vaguely the right age, and who were heading in approximately the right direction as he passed. He risked a glance at his wrist; silently cursed himself for forgetting that he'd pawned nearly everything when he'd escaped from New York. Maybe he'd taken his fresh start a little too seriously; but hell, why bother doing things by half?

A gap opened up in the buildings; the road swerved to the left; he hesitated at the junction, waiting for the car opposite - something equally American, and likely equally allergic to corners - to pull in first. He followed, tailing it for a few hundred yards as they made their way towards the staff parking spaces. Thankfully, a couple of SUV's had left a nice, well-defined space between them that he tucked the Chevrolet into; he hated parking in empty spaces. Probably because he was so damn compulsive about being as close to dead-center between the two lines as he could manage. At least the towering monstrosities either side would make it nice and easy to aim.

He killed the engine; clambered out of the car; glanced in the direction of whoever it had been following. Young-ish blonde woman; he couldn't place her name, but then he'd only been working there three days, so he could probably be excused for that. She smiled; thought about offering him a wave, but changed her mind part-way through and disguised the gesture by brushing her hair over an ear. He offered her one of those smile and raise your eyebrow type expressions in reply; the kind of wave you gave someone when you didn't want to make a big show of it.

Reaching back into the car, he stretched across to the far side of the front seat, grabbed his bag, clicked down the lock on the door, and shoved it closed behind him. Striding towards the main school building like he owned the place - he'd decided that was probably the best way of getting the damned students to move out of the way - he shoved his way through the double doors, negotiated the slalem of social groups that littered the corridor, and let himself into the relative refuge of his classroom.

Well, it wasn't really his classroom. It was some other teacher guy's, but he'd gone and done him the favour of breaking his leg skiing over the summer; Tom had managed to snipe his job for the next few months while he healed.

Dumping his shoulder bag on the front desk, shrugging his jacket, and tossing it over the back of his chair, he ripped open the zip on his bag and haulled out the spare shirt that he'd had the forethought to pack. Stripping his day-old, dew-stained and dusty black tee, he gave himself a quick once-over with a can of something that claimed to be an antiperspirant and, if the commercials were to be believed, would make every woman for miles throw themselves at him - probably not a wise idea given that he was about to spend the rest of the day trapped in a room with a bunch of horny teenagers, but oh well - and then carefully unfolded his fresh shirt, wafting it about to encourage out the worst of the creases that the folding and bag storage had ironed into it.

There was a click as the door opened; he frowned, turned in that general direction as he tugged the shirt on over his arms. "Hello?" he asked, remembering to tone down his natural accent.

[Alice Kelly]

"Hi... " a soft voice replied, barely audible over the echoing of lockers slamming and students loitering about in the hallways before their classes began that followed her in.

The blond woman only barely peered through the door, her left hand clutching a venti Starbucks cup for dear life while the right had plucked a white ear-bud from it's place and left it slightly dangling in her grasp.

Alice bit her lower lip slightly as her head nodded. "Right... not the auditorium. Swear I'll never get the lay of this place. I'm not even remotely near, am I?" A small sheepish smile crept across her features, more out of the fact she had apparently walked in on one of the younger staff members getting dressed than her own embarrassment at being unable to find where she needed to be... again.

Alice blamed the fact they made her get up so early. It had made more sense to her to come after school, late afternoon hours, when she could work on the mural they had commissioned her to paint along one wall of the school's auditorium in peace and quiet. The school's principal had other ideas, however and thought it was best she work while the rest of the staff was there - he had mentioned something about budget cuts and security. Whatever.

All Alice knew was it meant she had to get up early. Which also meant that the Starbucks on her drive from her lousy single room apartment to the school had seen her at the exact same time for the last four days. Today they hadn't even asked her what she wanted, it was just "Hey, Wonderland... the usual?" to which she'd given a noncommittal grunt as she attempted to keep herself from curling up on one of the comfy looking seats and going back to sleep.

The cup, now only half filled with her 'white chocolate mocha with two extra shots of espresso, low fat, no whipped cream' was sipped at as she glanced around the empty class room before letting her eyes fall on the... well not exactly unattractive... occupant.

"I'd ask if you knew where I took the wrong turn but... aren't you that new guy?" Not that Alice was entirely familiar with the faculty. Though she had met some of them before the summer when she had been hired to paint a giant head of the school's mascot in the gym.

[Tom Harriman]

Tom flashed a grin, pulling the tee over his head, and tugging it down towards his waist. It was sleeveless, and clung a little too tightly, but whatever. He'd left his button-up shirt dumped on the seat of the chair the night before; green, and in a loosely military style, complete with epaullettes and everything. It was weird how comforting it was, wearing clothes like that, even if they were some sort of weird American version of what he was used to. It was like an anchor: something to cling onto, and provide a little stability while his life was busy being inverted.

"Is'nae the auditorium, no," he threw back, hoisting the shirt from his seat and shaking out as many of the creases as he could, nose wrinkled. He flashed her the smile that had always served him so well in the past - not flirtatious enough, but certainly charming and disarming. Enough to set women at ease around him at any rate, or at least make them second guess their determination to beat him round the head with a tennis racket; that had certainly not been the reaction he'd expected when he'd started the "It's not you, it's me," speach. "Sorry lassie," he offered, with a hint of a shrug.

His attention turned back to the shirt, carefully inspecting the sleeves that he perpetually wore rolled up, ensuring that the stitches he'd thrown in to save time in the mornings - making sure the two sleeves were exactly symmetrical, and rolled up exactly the same amount could take a while in the wee small hours - were still there: when you had a pedantic attention to appearence and detail drilled into you by the British Army, it was nigh impossible to buck the trend.

"An' aye," he added, almost as an afterthought; his attention ficked back to his visitor, a flash of mischief twinkling in his eyes. "New guy'd be me. Name's Tom."

[Alice Kelly]

Tom's accent had a bad side affect of getting a smile out of her, though the shirt he had pulled on had started the reaction. He was certainly the first teacher she had ever seen dress like that. Alice figured the man was about to break a lot of teenage hearts and probably had no idea. She half wondered if it was usual attire in academics from... wherever he was from. England? Ireland...? Maybe Scottland. Her mind couldn't place it and she wasn't about to try.

"Just 'Tom'? No Mr. Whoever or Professor Suchandsuch?" Her smile turned into a playful smirk for just a moment. "Well Tom, I'm Alice... don't work here though so you don't have to remember that. I'm just a temporary... uhh..." she paused as she tried to think of a word for it, "contractor, I guess?"

[Tom Harriman]

Tom cracked a lopsided smile flashing plenty of teeth, head cocking to the side as he casually massaged the back of his neck. "Technically," he offered back, "It's Cap'n Thomas James Harriman, PhD; but I didnae wanna make things too complicated f' the wee ones, y'ken?" He shrugged, limps crinkling closed to mimick the gesture. "I'm here t' teach them f' just a few months: donnae wanna distract 'em askin' me questions on where I served, what I did, an' all that."

He chuckled, perching himself on the corner of his borrowed desk, and folding his arms loosely across his body. "Reminds me o' my own school days - we used t' find out everything we could 'bout the teacher's personal life; throw in questions t' get them talkin', and waste time at the start o' the lessons." His eyes twinkled. "Not plannin' t' let these kids use ma own plans against me."

His expression shifted, ever so slightly, the faintest ghost of a frown tugging at his eyebrows. "Contractor, y'say?" he asked, a thread of light-hearted curiosity threading through his words. The odd turn of phrase likely precluded her being a temporary teacher like himself; then he remembered she'd been bound for the auditorium, and his mind began to draw parallels and connections. "Y' wouldnae be the artist th've got paintin' that wall now, would y'?"

[Alice Kelly]

Alice finally let the ear-bud of her headphones drop, letting it hang loosely. She let herself lean against the door-jam, both hands gripping the paper cup filled with liquid wake-up.

"I suppose I might be. If you can consider what they have me doing as 'art'" Her eyes rolled slightly before a small fidget brought her gaze to the silver watch on her left wrist. Still about fifteen minutes to go until the students would start filing in... those that cared about being on time, at least.

"So before I go and make my bi-weekly ramen budget, where you from, anyway?" Another small smirk came to her, "And how often do your students ask you questions just to hear you speak?"

[Tom Harriman]

Tom fought the urge to narrow his eyes, forgetting how - in a country as large as America, especially - people weren't so attuned to the drastic differences between Britain's numerous accents and dialects. Not that she was from America, of course; Tom on the other hand was much more sensitive with accents, and had picked up the subtleties that placed her being from somewhere north of the border, though where in Canada was still evading him. Further reconnaissance would be required, he decided, just to satiate his curiosity.

You've been toning it down too, idiot, his mind reminded him, which prompted a flash of nervous smile. "Scotland," he replied, reinforcing the smile and turning it positive. "Though I w's actually born 'n Truro, doon 'n Cornwall - south 'f England. Wouldnae expect a Canadian such as y'self t' pick up on all tha' o'course: y' got enough t' worry about wi' y' own selection o' accents an' dialects."

He faked another frown, though couldn't fight the smirking, mischevious smile that crept onto his lips. "And wha' is it about m' accent tha' the students 'd be so eager t' hear? Y' implyin' tha' there's a certain -" He poured as much charm and flirt into his words as they could concievably allow, advancing a few slow, cautious paces towards her, tone softening and lowering to deliver the remainder of his question as a purr. "- allurin' charm t' the way m' voice sounds?"

[Alice Kelly]

Alice was practically a deer caught in headlights, incapable of moving and yet wanting to run. He was one of the first people who had picked up on her country of birth that she had met in the states, not that she found it alarming, but it was strange to have someone pick it out and point it out to her.

But that wasn't the reason her cheeks suddenly flushed. Was... was this man flirting with her? She brought the coffee back to her lips, nibbling on the edge of the hole in the white plastic top to avoid answering his question at first. It was with a great sense of reluctance that Alice forced herself to stop.

"Well... I mean, you know, some girls..." she stammered, overly aware of the small nuances in her tone and pronunciation that she never would have noticed back home... or if Tom hadn't mentioned it.

It was her determination to avoid conversation that let her eyes wander. First to his desk, then to her fingernails which seemed to be a more vibrant shade of blue than she remembered having the ladies at the salon paint the tips, to the details on her watch that seemed to posses the same shift towards a higher saturation in color... then to the green logo on the coffee cup that was... well, practically glowing... Shit.

The bell that rang out through the hallways was a sudden welcome sound. The door that remained slightly closed against her opened up as several students walked in and past Alice and Tom.

Her eyes fleetingly met his before she forced a smile. "I... should go." She turned and exited the room before he could respond.

[Tom Harriman]

That her automatic reaction to his advances - light-hearted as they might have been - filled him with a strange mix of disappointment, hurt, and worry. And then, she ran away? His body sagged, not truely comprehending what it was that he'd done, but realising that he was somehow responsible for her discomfort. A recent messy break-up? Some sort of abusive bastard ex? He dreaded to think, and distracted himself from doing so by mentally beating the crap out of himself.

His class was arriving; once again - and not entirely dissonant with Alice's predictions - a cluster of girls had swarmed to the front of the class, occupying the front few rows of desks so completely that the geeky kids were forced to retreat towards the seats at the back, usually reserved for the much cooler kids. One girl fluttered her eyelids at him; he ignored it completely, mind already bursting out of the door and sprinting down the corridor, waiting for his body to catch up.

"Excuse me, lads 'n lasses," he appologised - seriously; did that girl just swoon - legs spurring his body into motion towards the door. He managed to stop himself from running, compromising between his impulses and better judgement with a brisk walking pace. A trio of cheerleaders watched him pass; his mind allowed a momentary spark of amusement at how much he would have loved it if the girls back in Britain had been allowed to wear that sort of thing at school back when he was a student. Of course, up in Scotland, the minimal outfits probably would have hospitalised most of the cheerleaders with hypothermia; but then, given the kind of things that girls nowadays wore out and about on a late night in Glasgow, they were probably impervious to cold.

An ironic half-chuckle resounded in his mind. Species-wide mutant ability.

Finally he caught up with Alice, only just managing to make it look like that's what he was trying to do. Not wanting to create a scene by shouting down the corridor after her, instead he reached out, fingertips gingerly brushing against the bare skin on her arm. She flinched, but at least she stopped walking. He offered a sheepish smile. "Listen, I'm, ah -"

Sorry? You don't even know what you're sorry for!

The irritating voice in his head was right; consolodating himself, he switched to a different approach, stowing away his usual confidence and instead allowing a little of his carefully repressed bumbling nervousness to creep in. He cocked a finger, aiming his index towards the Starbucks cup like an infant portrayal of a cowboy pistol. "Can I buy y' a refill for tha' a' lunch? And, oh, I dunno... some food t' go along w' it, maybe?"

[Alice Kelly]

No way is this happening... As far as Alice could recall guys didn't, well, do this. Not for her. Her brain was reminding her rather quickly of the misery that was High School, followed by the relief that college had put an end to most of the stupid social bullshit from that age. Only to find they had been replaced by new types of bullshit and she didn't quite fit in with the artist crowds there either. Guys were always going for the girls who stood out; whether they were the drunken sorority sister, the future film star, the over-the-top poet... they got men's attention. Not her, not the quiet girl in the corner who was constantly doodling on anything with a flat surface... Who makes anyone sick if they get close enough. Sure there had been a few brave souls now and there, but they hadn't stayed long. Just lingered enough to find out-

Enough of the self abuse...

"Okay." The fact she had even let the word leave her was surprising and she didn't make an attempt to hide it. "I mean... Sure, that sounds good."

Alice was already calculating the odds that she would probably somehow completely alienate herself from this man at some point by the end of the day. It wasn't anything new, but sure, why not let the cute teacher guy with the really cute accent buy her lunch? Didn't she deserve to have a nice thing happen every once in a while even it if was already doomed to failure? Though, you did kinda try and make a breakaway and he came after you... so, when does the music kick in, we both break into song... and then I wake up and tell myself no more TV shows with musical stuff before bed?

"I don't really have a set lunch time..." She couldn't bring a full halt to the minor pauses between words. Deep even breaths... come on, don't fuck it up already. You start with that colors shit again and he's going to freak if he notices...

"I'll, uh, just be in the auditorium, though. Uhm, just come get me when you want to go." Her eyes finally lifted from, well just about everywhere else except him, to briefly meet with his. "If... that works for you, of course."

[Tom Harriman]

There was something about her - some air cast about her; some quality; some radiance - that made it so he couldn't tear his eyes away. She was cute alright, and prettier than a Highland cabin draped in the first flurry of winter snow; but it was more than that. It was intangeable. And whatever it was, it left him feeling weird inside; a little nervous; nauseous, maybe. What was it - butterflies? Was a girl giving him butterflies for the first time since he was twelve?

It'd certainly explain a lot; like the fact that he'd raced after her into the corridor. Tom Harriman never chased girls. He shoots; and if the arrow falls short? The lady'd damn well scamper over, pick it up, and bring it back to him. Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration, but he certainly wasn't the bumbling, nervous pre-teen that had actually peed himself with nerves trying to ask a girl - who'd later turned out to be a lesbian; sweet irony - out to a movie. British Army training, and the occasional slap, punch, or roundhouse up the side of the head by his fellow Paratroopers had stamped all those nervous traits thoroughly into the fibres of the carpetting way deep down in the back of his mind.

So why the hell were they back now? Whatever the reason - whatever had compelled him to ignore his 'pleanty more fish in the sea' approach to life - he damn well wanted to find out. And, well... lunch seemed as good a way as any. So he flashed the smile: charming; disarming; heart-melting; pant-warming; the full works. The one that made women weak at the knees. The swooninator.

"I'll tell you what," he offered, snaring her eyes for complete contact with his own twinkling gaze. "My kids do have a set lunch, so I'll come find y', a' soon as I've dismissed them. Alrigh'?"

[Alice Kelly]

Alice nodded her head, keenly aware that if she even tried to speak at that moment she probably would have squeaked or said something stupid. His smile wasn't lost on her, though she didn't exactly crumple to the ground, either. It did, however, have that horrible affect of making her again question if she wasn't sleeping or if this wasn't some cruel joke.

Oh well... guess I'll find out...

"Uhm... I'll see you then..." It was softly spoken, but probably some miracle Alice managed to make it happen without her entire world bursting into strange colors.

Though that did make all sorts of other things pop into her head about what exactly might have been happening at that moment, and all the possibilities weren't exactly pleasant.

"You should probably get back to class now, though?" Her head nodded down the hallway they had both come from.

[Tom Harriman]

Class? A ghost of a confused frown swept across Tom's face, as he wondered why he might need to go to class, having not been a school student for nearly fifteen -

Oh, right. The class I'm meant to be teaching right now.

With a sheepish, lopsided smile, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Aye, I should probably -" He didn't bother finishing the sentiment aloud, leaving Alice to infer it's obvious conclusion. It wasn't entirely intentional of course; he'd manage to stumble into her eyes and, well, they were pretty distracting. They were so bright, so vivid; they almost seemed to glow -

"Right." He took a few careful paces backwards, a physical movement apparently the only way to spur his body into obedience. "I guess I'll see y' at lunch." With a fluid motion he turned, casually ambling off down the corridor. He fought the urge to fall into the cliché of looking back; willed himself not to succome to the impulse. He made it five paces before his willpower collapsed, his eyes sneaking a crafty glance over his shoulder in her direction. Smooth, Harriman, his subconscious chastened. Real smooth.

He was always back to the door of the classroom, still busily berrating himself inside his head, when a commotion further up the corridor grasped his attention. Instinct spurring him into motion, he set off at a brisk walk, that broke almost into a run as his eyes settled on the small cluster of students. All of them should have been in class already; no doubt they were the drips and drabs who'd left departing for school until the last possible minutes. He recognised a few faces, though couldn't place the name. He didn't bother trying as he saw what the focus of the crowd was.

"I didn't do anything, I swear," one of the crowd insisted, as Harriman pushed his way past, dropping to a knee beside the collapsed student. The kid's name was José: that much he remembered; his mouthful of a surname was a little more illusive, however. From the look of things, he'd passed out; a quick gentle check of his pulse and his forehead confirmed a slightly elevated heart rate, and a lack of fever. Still, even when the damage was likely minimal, Harriman knew better than to move the kid: military training filled you with common sense like that.

His eyes focussed on the student that had issued his official statement already. "Fetch th' nurse," he instructed, no scope for non-compliance in the tone of his words. His eyes dropped back to the unconscious student. "Hang in there, José."

[Alice Kelly]

The great thing about painting, aside from the soothing quality it had, was the fact it let time pass by quickly without seeming like it was really going anywhere at all. The fact Alice had turned her iPod to assault her ears with various musicals helped a bunch though. She had started the theme with Chicago, oblivious to the fact she often found herself filling in the roll of Miss Roxie Hart when inspiration let go of inhibition, insanely thankful they let her be alone when working on the mural. With the final reprise of All That Jazz she'd moved on to something more recent and suitably in the same strain of girl power - Wicked. Though thankfully with a change came her sense of control once more, keeping her humming through most of it.

Volume of the music kept her oblivious of just about anything, letting her focus on the slightly taxing task that Alice had undertaken in the last hour - the wholly uncreative replication of the seal of Los Angeles that they had insisted show up somewhere in the piece. Of course, it would have been finished if she hadn't kept stopping to mime out ridiculous parts of the play as the tracks came on... Oh well, it wasn't like Alice was being paid hourly for the project, she could have her fun.

Of course... she also wished the colors would behave. They occasionally seemed to get the mind of their own and shift, or dull themselves, or brighten out beyond a reasonable hue to almost appear psychedelic. Well, the ones in arms reach anyhow... At least the mural itself isn't bubbling and melting off the wall, right? ...Wait... can that even happen?

"-Lar." HA.. best part of the whole damn song!

Alice took a step back from the painting and shook her head as she forced herself to be calm again, the colors returning to their normal state. "Thank you."

As the next track came on, distinctly less... bouncy, Alice allowed herself to go back to work, smirking slightly at the words, letting herself softly mumble most of the first verse. How appropriate.

Before she could really stop herself she was singing along again... "Don't dream too far, don't lose sight of who you are, don't remember that rush of joy..."

Ah headphones: Keeping you from realizing the door was opening to the room you thought you were alone in since the early 1900s...or something like that. Also keeping you from realizing someone was walking in on you were belting out the bridge to a song you are way too amused with as you paint since, well, that day. No, instead it kept her eyes on the colors on the pallet as she mixed more of that particular shade of blue that especially didn't want to sit still.

[Tom Harriman]

"...he could be that boy," Tom found himself joining in, overcome by the inescapable urge to join in with anyone who was singing along to anything. It was something that happened on a frustratingly regular basis with him, and it was an occurance he had grown accustomed to; what he hadn't expected was for his voice to carry so well and so far in the auditorium; nor for it to sound so damn loud.

He grinned sheepishly as Alice plucked a bud from her ear, and threw a look in his direction. He couldn't identify it exactly from this range, but he went for a best-guess, and assumed it was one of those 'What the hell was that?' type things, which were usually sent flying in his direction. "What can a' say?" he said with a shrug, arms held wide defensively. "I've got a soft spot f' musicals. Couldnae escape it, livin' a stone's throw t' Broadway."

Well, that was a half-truth. Or maybe a full truth, but with a silent 'mutant psychic powers enhanced' prefacing the stone's throw. But still, it had been New York. And he had been to Broadway, perhaps a few more times than was appropriate for someone of his particular alignment of personality and sexuality. Whatever, he muttered in his mind. Guy's gotta have something to sing in the shower, right?

"So," he asked, deftly deflecting the topic away from their mutually eclectic taste in music. "You about ready for that coffee?"

[Alice Kelly]

Mor-ti-fi-ca-tion: The kind that made you want to curl up and somehow implode in on yourself so you could escape. That was exactly how Alice felt in that instant where she had pulled the small white self-contained speaker from her ear and had found that she hadn't been hearing things, someone had joined in for that last line and even worse was it was the guy she was supposed to be going out to lunch with. One thing was for certain, the churning sensation that Alice felt in her stomach probably would have been nothing compared to the sudden feeling of illness that Tom may have felt if he had only been a few steps closer to her. Or, at least that was Alice's best guess, she wasn't exactly about to play 'let's experiment just what that's done to me', not for all the world.

She forced a smile at his profession of his soft spot and as she turned to put the pallet and brush she had been working with down, closed her eyes and forced herself to take in several deep breaths. With items set down, time was taken to quickly change some settings on the bright blue iPod, the remaining ear-bud picking up the crackle of static as soon as she set it to the FM transmitter, heard how the static changed, vanished for a bit into overall nothingness and then shift to a comforting soft white-noise... And then Alice turned it off.

Tom's change in topic was welcome and he had tossed it out just as she began swirling the paint brush in a mason jar filled with murky liquid. "Yeah, just give me a few to clean up a little."

What had once been an off-white towel was picked up and she gently began to use it to help clean out the brush the rest of the way. "Didn't think you'd be around this soon."

[Tom Harriman]

Tom shrugged, as casually as he could muster, feeling a little embarassed at the inadvertant revelation of his musical tastes. Admittedly, it could have been worse: she could have wandered in on him, while he was in the middle of belting out one of the boyband classics he'd grown up with back in England; very few people knew about that little secret affection, most likely because of how it would affect his standing in the eyes of collegues and students; and because his Paratrooper comrades from the TA would have beat the crap out of him for it, had they ever caught wind.

"It's five minutes in't' th' kids' lunch," he offered, by way of both explanation and appology; his mind couldn't quite comprehend how he'd managed to factor in the latter aspect, but somehow his tone of voice had managed to achieve it, and he wasn't going to argue with that little piece of convenience and luck. "Although y' probably didnae hear th' bell over the sound of..."

He winced, realising that he'd managed to drag themselves back to the very conversation topic that Alice had so deftly diverted them away from. Grasping at straws, he grabbed a hold on the first potential escape route he could think of. "C'mon," he said softly, "Time's a' wastin'." He reached out, offering a hand in your direction. "If we eat now, I'll hang back after school an' help y' out as best I can. Deal?"

[Alice Kelly]

There was a moments hesitation before Alice finally put the paint brush and towel down. It wasn't suitably clean to her standards but, well, as Tom had so aptly put it, time was waiting.

A small smile graced her features as her head shook just slightly at him. Another small hesitation preceded Alice put her hand in his. "Only if you can mix colors. Though it did take me a few weeks to learn to get the perfect shades that I wanted, but you look like a fast learner."

[Tom Harriman]

Tom widened his own smile into a grin, a flash of a wink twitching through his eye. "I'm sure I'll be able t' pick it up," he assured, gently leading her away from the mural she'd been slaving over. He hesitated for a moment at the base of the stairway, releasing Alice's hand; his fingers accidentally brushed against her shoulder as a faint surge of chivalry gestured for her to go first. He didn't falter too far behind though; assaulting the steps with long-legged strides, he still made it to the summit in time to open the door and hold it for her.

The corridor was a minefield of students, swarming about the place like drunken bees, completely incapable of travelling in a straight line from point to point. They ducked, dodged, wove and wandered listlessly from classroom to classroom, hesitating at lockers, stepping into locker rooms, or joining the throng of students playing pot luck with the cafeteria menu. His eyes recognised the odd pupil here and there; hovering at the entrance to the office of the school newspaper was Chloe who, much to Tom's disappointment, didn't have the surname 'Sullivan'. His disappointment had partly been abated by the amusingly-named Kent Clarke in one of his classes, but still: one could never have too many pop culture references in his life.

The doors were already open, propped up by a couple of kids from the football team; still lingering a step behind Alice's shoulder, Tom stepped out into the glorious sunshine, sickeningly warm and bright compared to what he'd grown accustomed to back in England; or even in the deep, dreary grey canyons of New York. He'd experienced more insense warmth and sunshine of course; a brief shudder crept through him as his mind imagined the abrasive presence of Middle Eastern sand that seemed to still linger in everything he owned even all these years since the TA had deployed him out there.

They descended the steps, crossed the brief stretch of grass, and found themselves in the staff car park. "Yes," Tom answered with a note of pride in his voice, preempting the question he assumed was about to come, gesturing towards where his baby nestled between two dull and boring box-like SUVs. "Tha' is a '67 Impala. The Winchesters'd be so damn proud."

[Alice Kelly]

"Who...?" Alice hadn't expected to ask the question aloud, so attempted to pass if off more as a joke than an honest what the hell are you talking about?

She was sure it was in reference to something the last few years without cable television or extra cash to go to the movies had denied her of, seeing as how the only vision her mind could conjure when met with the name 'Winchester' was of some stuffy high class doctor from Boston who had once said that awesome line of "Shut up Beethoven, you hack!". Alice somehow doubted that particular 'Winchester' would have approved of the car, though.

Not that some fictional character's opinion mattered. She liked it. But then again, somewhere around high school Alice had learned that she had a giant soft spot for almost any car from the 60s - so long as it wasn't a Ford.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you?" A small smirk formed on her lips. "Or are you just trying to be as uncliche of a teacher as possible?"

[Tom Harriman]

Admittedly, the lack of appreciation for his pop culture references left him a little deflated, and filled him with a brief sense of panic over how on earth he'd manage to keep the lunch conversation light-hearted and fun without being able to fall back on his usual repertoir of jokes. That panic fell away however, the second a smile tugged at her lips, and his insides melted into a pleasantly warm liquid goo in the pit of his stomach.

"A little o' both?" he offered, with another flash of his grin. Dodging past her, he grabbed the door handle and haulled it open, gesturing for her to climb inside. "Y' chariot awaits, Miss Kelly."

[Alice Kelly]

Another small smile came to her as her mind argued with her once more over the probabilities of all this actually happening to her. It was... Lord help her, dumb to feel so giddy over a man. I need to get out more.

"And they say chivalry is dead." It was a cheeky little phrase and she instantly felt about ten kinds of lame for saying it and so quickly retreated to the seat of the car and tried to convince herself to stop blushing and being childish.

You're no better than any of those giggling silly girls in the school. Another mental scolding before a small sigh left her, her fingertips trailing along the edge of the window as Tom walked back towards the driver's side.

"So, do I get to ask where you are taking me?" His earlier comment about getting her a refill of her morning cup of coffee springing into her mind and she looked at him with a rather playful gaze that she wasn't sure just how she managed the courage to do. "Starbucks isn't exactly known for its lunch options..."

[Tom Harriman]

"I know a place," Tom replied enigmatically, with a quirk of a lopsided grin as he haulled open he driver-side door and clambered in. Reaching across the bench seat that filled the front of the car, his hand landed exactly in the same spot it always did; only this time his fingers brushed momentarily against Alice's. He felt a shock of excitement shoot up his arm; fought the urge to respond to instinct and whip his hand away, and instead casually diverted said hand towards the radio, firing up the cassette deck that he'd retained for that authentic old-car feel.

As the engine rumbled into life, the speakers exploded into the dulcet tones of Paranoid (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QQBttKoetqo); unable to resist the subconscious urge, Tom dropped the car into reverse in perfect sync with the music, goosed the throttle and, wrapping an arm casually around the front seat, threw the Impala into a J-turn that aimed them near-perfect at the exit. Flashing a grin, the car was thrown into drive, and rumbled off enthusiastically into the Los Angeles streets.

"So," Tom asked, enough time having ellapsed for Ozzy to have started making his way through the second of the slightly less awesome-sounding verses; "How does a girl like you wind up in a place like LA?"

[Alice Kelly]

Alice resisted the urge to laugh, even if it was fully because the entire situation still seemed somehow wonderfully ludicrous to her, but it didn't keep her lips from pulling into a practical Cheshire cat grin for a few moment.

"You're kidding, right?" The edge of amusement hadn't left her from earlier, but without an immediate yes or no she felt somehow compelled to actually answer the question. "It's not exactly an original story... Girl gets tired of life at home, goes to college in another province, drops out, moves down to the states, stays in one place for a while - Seattle was a trip - and gradually finds herself in Los Angeles. See? Boring."

Her hand raised and brushed back a bit of her hair that had become messed up from the drive. "Now you, you must have a better story. If for no other reason than you had an ocean to cross. And apparently lived in New York for a while?"

[Tom Harriman]

Tom nodded, though the expression on his face faltered slightly. A dull ache struck up in his shoulder: one of the places shattered by the twin bullets that an unknown jewelry thief had pumped into him last time he'd been stupid enough to play vigilante an try to help other people. A hand rose to his shoulder, the other still on the wheel, fingers idly toying with the skin where the gunshot had been. "I was in New York for a while, aye," he concurred, with a note of reluctance.

As for the rest, he shrugged. "Trained as a teacher back in Scotland; got bored, an' joined the Territorial Army. Trained as a Paratrooper; did a tour in the Gulf; got discharged on medical grounds. So then I came t' New York, did m' Doctorate, stayed on to lecture... but got in an accident, and lost m' job on medical grounds." He winced at the blatant half-truth, and the poor metaphor. But after his secret having come out twice before, and those around him having been less than understanding? Well, he just wasn't feeling particularly keen on sharing.

"Still," he mused, chaning the subject as best as inspiration would allow at the time. "New city; fresh start. Cannae complain."

[Alice Kelly]

Medical grounds...? He'd mentioned it twice, so it was fairly safe to assume that whatever condition had caused one, had been at fault for the other. Alice wasn't about to pry though, she'd just met the man for God's sake.

"See?" She smiled as she leaned back further in the seat, slouching just enough to be comfortable without really looking like she was doing it. "I knew you were more interesting. A Paratrooper... knew you were different from the other professors somehow, just didn't expect that. I think the shop teacher was in the Navy or something, at least that's what the students seem to think... but I think his experience is flaunted more to intimidate than anything else."

Her voice drifted off as she found herself even bored with her own observation. Why the hell did smalltalk have to be so damn difficult? "Well at least neither of us came looking for fame and fortune, hmm?" Alice... you need to stop talking.

[Tom Harriman]

Another laugh escaped from him. "Aye; definately no' fortune on my salary." The sentiment turned a little sour in the back of his mind. Given everything that had transpired back in New York after the shooting, with his face plastered over all the low-end tabloid journo-crap that the city had to offer, he'd had more than his fill of fame as well.

Fighting against the twist of frustration and anger that was currently wrapping its fingers around his heard and squeezing, he dragged his eyes away from the road and glanced in her direction; forced a smile to provoke one from her in reply. It was stupid, he knew, but something in his mind had suggested it as a good idea. Probably something to do with that pleasant, bubbly warmth that swept through him every time her lips curled like that. His eyes found themselves caught - snared - by hers; it took the rumble of the wheels and a bounce of the suspension as they crossed over an uneven patch of road for him to tear them free, and aim them back in the direction he was driving.

A little embarassed - not just at his blunder, but more at the fact that he was having to fight the urge to pull over let himself get captured by those eyes again - he searched his mind for some sort of casual question to steer the conversation in a more pleasant direction.

"Y' like movies?" was what tumbled from his lips. Oh, great. Just great. Not only an incredibly asinine, moronic question, but also a common lead-in to a date ask. Which you were meant to save until the end of the 'get together for coffee' phase, not before. Dating had rules, damn it; well, aledgedly. To be honest, he wasn't really sure - the only women he'd ever had dealings with had been encountered in bars; his only relationships had been negotiated during the half-awake pre-coffee stages of the morning. But American sitcoms told him that there were rules, and he'd totally fucked up at least two or three right there.

He searched his mind for an amendment: something to throw out and scrabble back some dignity. "I mean; what sort o' movies d' y' like? Y' a chick flick girl, or are y' tastes more discerning than tha'?"

[Alice Kelly]

Alice didn't mind his question, at least it took the obligation of asking them away from her for the moment, which was good. She felt nervous enough that the next series coming from her would have been relating to what it was like growing up in Scotland and even the part of her that was marginally curious even felt it was just too lame to actually be asked.

"Oh God no, not chickflicks." Alice made a small face of disgust. "I mean, there's a time and a place for those things but I don't think I've ever actually paid to see them, more like caught them on late night television where there wasn't anything better on."

"To be honest though, I don't think there's one particular genre of movie I like more than the others, maybe sci-fi flicks." There was a small pause and then she suddenly laughed. "Though I do have a soft spot for zombie movies. Love the old Romero stuff, but I've pretty much watched any I can get my hands on... even the really horrible ones."

[Tom Harriman]

Science fiction and zombie movies?

Tom's heart practically skipped a beat; he forced a - hopefully discreet - calming breath into his lungs, and kept his eyes firmly locked on the road ahead. If he didn't know any better, he'd have assumed she was a psychic, and was simply plucking the right answers out of his head. And actually, given some of the people he'd met back in New York, it wasn't totally inconcievable that she was doing that. Telepathy, on top of the apprent siren powers of her eyes, would certainly have explained a lot -

He was staring again. Damn. This time, he had to slam his foot on the break a little harder than intended, to make sure they stopped in time at the intersection. He was half-worried that he'd swerved across to the wrong side, until he managed to remind himself that he was in America, rather than Britain. The light above them glowed an ominous, passionate red. Don't look at her. Look at the road. Don't look at her. It became a silent mantra.

"Y'd hate watchin' movies wi' me," Tom offered, fingers tightening around the wheel. Oh, sure. Put her off the idea straight away: good plan. Still don't look at her. "I mean, bein' a scientist, I cannae help pickin' holes in th' effects and such." His heart growled in his chest, agitated by his nervousness. Look at the road still. Don't look at her eyes. Don't look at those big, deep, beautiful...

Green!

Tom slammed the car into drive with as much gusto as he'd stopped; a fair portion of his tyres remained in place as they screached off. He flashed her a nervous smile. Don't look at the eyes! Look at the forehead! Look at the- His subconscious let out a snarl of warning. Don't look there, either. Eyebrows. Focus on the eyebrows. There we go. "Sorry," he muttered, lamely. "Pedals are a wee bit twitchy; will have tae take a look at tha'."

[Alice Kelly]

His comment on the car only brought a small smile to her. It was, well, nice to see that maybe, just maybe he was as nervous as Alice felt. She offered him another kind smile, finding it unnecessary to tell him that she didn't mind. Instead, she fell back on what he had mentioned earlier, the instant recalling of his words bringing a small laugh from her.

"I wouldn't worry too much about picking apart the effects. While you probably pick them apart from a realistic sense, I'll pick them apart on technical merit." Alice smirked. "I may not have taken the more advanced classes in film, but I had friends that did that passed along information. Trust me, I know when something was done half-assed. And when it's not in the movie itself, it's their advertising. I can't count how many posters I've seen that I've wanted to find the creator of them and sit them down and tell them how sloppy they were."

[Tom Harriman]

Tom wasn't sure whether it was relief or disappointment that he felt when his eyes settled on the familiar sight of the café a dozen or so buildings down on the far side of the street. Either way, the car journey had almost come to an end, and that was certainly a thing; he just wasn't sure whether it was good or bad at this point. He didn't really care, either: the flow seemed to have gripped him tight in its currents, and he was happy enough to go with it for now, and let it take him wherever.

Flipping on the indicators - people in LA, just like people in London, seemed predominantly incapable of such a simple action, which irritated him intensely - he glanced back into the mirrors before pulling out across the street, weaving into the bay parking and, with perhaps a few more adjustments than he might have hoped for while showing off for a lady, nestled his Impala between two far less cool and sexy-looking cars. The radio was killed first, followed soon after by the engine; he half wondered if he might have improved his standing in this little social encounter with a little Blues Brothers j-turn parking. Having never even attempted it before however, he decided that it was probably safest not risking the life of his companion, just on the off-chance that his awesomeness didn't quite manage to compensate for his lack of skill.

"This is us," he announced, ducking his head slightly to peer out through the window beside Alice, now adjacent to the sidewalk. His eyes settled on the signage above the café, proclaiming it as Bella Lasagne's Bistro; painful as the nomenclature pun was, the quality of the food more than made up for it: the lasagne was bella indeed.

Clambering from the car, Tom jogged quickly around the bonnet, arriving at Alice's door just as she began to open it. Gently, he eased it free of her hands and pulled it open, leaning against it in an attempt to look casual, and shrug off what the North America native would no doubt consider a quaint little display of British chivalry. "If y' want my advice," he offered, deflecting the subject before Alice even had a chance to comment, "Y'll be missin' uut if y' donnae order somethin' wi' croutons. Best ones this side o' the Tiber, if y'ask me."

[Alice Kelly]

"I'll keep that in mind." She genuinely meant it, not that she was a big fan of croutons... more that she was a firm believer in listening to suggestions when it came to being taken to a new place.

Alice couldn't help but feel that it was a bit fancy though. A quick run for lunch was all she had expected, not actually going to a proper restaurant. Then again, to a girl whose diet had lately been pretty much consisted of ramen noodles, delivery pizza and chinese takeout ... just about anything probably would have seemed fancy.

"I'm guessing you don't teach anymore classes the rest of the day?" Alice let a playful little smirk come to her lips. "Or did you cancel them so we could do this?"

[Tom Harriman]

Tom fought down a wave of embarassment; he hadn't cancelled anything in order to be here, but the realisation that he might actually have done so had he needed to caught him a little off-guard. Rather than let it show however, he threw up a mask of overcompensated self-confidence. "As part o' a new health an' fitness plan," he intoned, almost as if reading from a prepared publicity statement, "Steve Rogers High School has set aside Wednesday afternoons for sporting activities across all year groups."

Leaning on the door, he eased it open; waved an arm for her to go through first. "After you, m'lady," he offered with an overly theatrical bow; as she passed, he felt his eyes following her far too attentively and, despite a great deal of effort to keep his eyes above his waist, couldn't fight a grin form forming in his face.

Keeping close behind her, he arrived at the table soon enough to pull out her chair. Swooping around, he settled down opposite, and flashed a smile. "Sorry it's a wee bit fancy," he appologised, gesturing around them. They were alone in the restaurant; the surroundings were shaded by half-curtained windows, that kept out the worst of the harsh Californian sun. Tables were dotted around, undisturbed so early in the day; Tom resisted the unconscious urge to autopilot to where the cutlery was stored, and begin preparing the tables for service. His eyes flittered back to Alice. "Before I got the job at the school, I used tae work here. Best food f' miles around."

Tipping back on his chair, he scooped a menu from the worktop behind him. Flipping it open and skimming over - making sure it was the priceless 'date' menu, just so Alice wouldn't have any reservations about how much Tom was spending on her - he leant forward and handed it to her. "Anything y'like," he offered with a smile.

[Alice Kelly]

Alice held the toying little smile just for a moment longer as she was passed the menu, letting it fade soon after as she set it down in front of her and began scanning it, occasionally glancing up at Tom.

"Any suggestions aside from the croutons?" She laughed just slightly as the comment that was about to leave her first played through in her mind. "Can't just make a lunch out of little pieces of bread. Well, I guess you could..."

Lame joke. It seemed Alice's subconscious was determined to make her look like a total fool by the end of the meal. She couldn't help but wonder if it was some sort of defense mechanism to avoid a second from happening. Another glance was cast up at Tom and she quickly averted her eyes back to the menu as she silently lamented her luck. Why couldn't it have been a total jerk that she'd have to eventually push away?

[Tom Harriman]

"A couple o' the side salads have croutons," he explained with a casual shrug, relaxing back into his chair. "Though t' be honest, they're pretty used tae me askin' for a snack bag o' them at the end of a night, so I wouldnae be worried about missing out if something else takes your fancy."

He turned his mind to her actual question, slipping back into the role of the waiter that he'd used to be, running through the list of personal recommendations for their patrons. It was a fun game, trying to discern enough about a person to make an adequate suggestion. He often found that he interpreted more about the women than their respective partners actually knew; Bella's was a popular first date venue for people in the local area, and more than once he'd found himself in the awkward position of being subtly snuck a phone number after a date hadn't gone particularly well.

Pushing those thoughts aside with a whistful smile, he casually threw out without thinking: "We could always pull a Lady an' the Tramp, and order a big old plate of spagetti." The words were followed immediately by a rapid fire replay of that particular Disney scene, with Alice and he in place of the original canines, and then, well --

Tom felt heat rising to his face, realising suddenly that his eyes were intently focussed on Alice's lips. Yeah, his subconscious chided. Lets not get ahead of ourselves by thinking about that, shall we?

Flustered, Tom tried to recover, frowning as he fought one set of thoughts aside to make room for a cuisine recommendation. "Usually," he suggested, "Y' cannae go wrong with Bella's Lasagne; cliché I ken, but true. Assuming of course," he ammended, "Y' are the kind o' girl that likes a wee bit o' meat every now and again." His eyes widened, realising the linguistic blunder and accidental innuendo he'd just made. "As opposed tae the kind o' girl that does'nae like meat at all. A -" In his hurry to dig himself out of the hole he'd stumbled into, his mind hadn't managed to find the appropriate word in advance. Lesbian? his subconscious offered helpfully.

Mentally, Tom wrapped fingers around the throat of his subconscious, and bashed its head against the inside of his skull. Silenced, he took a breath, and tried again. "Assuming y' isnae vegitarian, I mean."

[Alice Kelly]

The fact that Tom was bumbling along almost as bad as Alice was made the sensation all the worse and no amount of deep meditative breathing was helping to stop it. The small floral designs near the edges of the menu caught her eye, having changed from soft muted colors to practically neon in brightness. Using the indecision over what to order as an excuse to bring the menu up quickly, Alice quickly hoped that Tom had been too busy with being embarrassed over his comments to notice what she had. Too much caffeine...I need to cut back.

Letting that thought persist in her head, when the waitress first came by and asked if there was anything she could get them to drink, Alice avoided the iced tea she had been pondering and went for a water instead. Apparently it was enough of a distraction to get her mind off of specific Disney scenes and new innuendos that would come with referring to lasagna, the colors on the menu finally reverted to their normal state and she slowly lowered it once more. A small mental nudge at the fact she'd been quiet for too long forced her to pick back up the conversation.

"Nope... not vegetarian. My sister is, well, was. But I never could go for it."

[Tom Harriman]

Relief was the emotion of the moment; relief that Alice had so graciously allowed the topic of the conversation to transcend beyond his little blunder. He tried to keep his eyes busy; tried to stop them from settling too long in any one place; danced from eyes to lips, to her fingers as she held the menu, to the fall of her hair as it cascaded across her shoulders. Nowhere he averted his eyes - not the table; the windows; the lights suspended above - was good enough to hold his gaze however: every time, his eyes were drawn back to her.

"Used tae be?" he asked, fingertips scratching at his forehead, eyes staring at the inside of his hand for a few minutes. He forced himself to take on a nonchallant air, casually throwing his eyes in Alice's direction. "What happened? She wind up wi' a craving for bacon or something?"

[Alice Kelly]

"Uhm, not exactly..." Alice was hoping she wouldn't have to elaborate. After all, the whole 'She stopped being picky when she was living off hospital food for a while and found out she was dying' thing could take the conversation into a whole new level of awkward. "I think she just wanted a change."

Before Alice was forced to elaborate any further the waitress returned with their drinks and took their food order, Alice having settled on a small side salad and a half order of the capellini pomodoro.

"So, what made you want to be a teacher anyway?" It seemed like a harmless question and would drift the conversation away from her sister further.

[Tom Harriman]

So much for a nice easy question that Tom could answer without giving too much away. It wasn't that he was guarded or secretive about his own past; he'd answer anything, if directly asked. But there was a difference between being honest, and being open. There were things that he'd rather not draw attention to - being set on fire in New York, for starters - and some things where he perhaps didn't want to admit to the associated emotions. This question certainly fell into the latter category.

This time, he didn't need to make an effort to keep his eyes aimed away from her; he stared intently at the tablecloth, eyes tracing the floral pattern that wove away between where his hands rested. His brow twitched as he struggled to articulate his thoughts into words. "Ever since I was a kid," he said slowly, easing himself into the admission a few words at a time, "I always loved explaining things tae people. Helping others tae understand helped me tae understand and, well, I was always quite good at it."

He hesitated, a ghost of a smile passing across his lips at fond memories of his baby sister, read bedtime stories from text books instead of story books, whenever Jace backed off long enough for him to play big brother for a change. Jace had always been more of a surrogate dad, anyway; made sense, what with how much dad was away and all. That had changed when they'd been sent off to boarding school of course: but every chance they got, whenever they were home, both rushed to take care of their baby sis. Jace just always got their first; he was the bigger brother after all; the one with the success, and the recognition, and the prowess. Tom meanwhile always landed in second place; like anything could out-achieve Jason "Mr Perfect" Harriman.

Why am I even thinking about that? he wondered idly, mind having deviated far from the question that had been asked. He reigned himself in, bracing for the next painful admission. "My mother was a teacher," he contined, fighting to keep his voice calm and level, pushing the words out with steady pace. "Helped her out a few times and, well -" A slight wince. His eyes flicked to hers, but couldn't bear to linger. "When she died, I figured someone should pick up the torch, aye?"

He stopped himself before he said anymore, shifting his features into a smile that didn't quite manage to reach all the way to his eyes. He looked directly at her regardless, trying to be engaging once again. "How about you? Any tales of ancestral inspiration for your choice o' profession?"

[Alice Kelly]

Alice was struck silent, a hinting of guilt tugging at her for bringing it up. Had she known, she never would have asked. Such a silly line of thought... had I known... obviously I wouldn't have needed to... But the memories she had brought up within Tom didn't seem entirely painful, but there certainly wasn't immense joy in all of it either.

"I'm... sorry." Typical. Alice wasn't even entirely one hundred percent sure why she was apologizing, but she felt the need to.

"As for me... no, not really. I guess I'm the first who was dummy enough to drop out of college and try and become an artist for a living." Alice hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue lingering there.

A glance at Tom made her question if she even should let them pass as she struggled with the mental battle of keeping such a thing to herself or reciprocating in giving away a bit more such as he had. It was only fair, Tom had given her a glimpse into his life... she should do the same. Alice felt it only polite, but more than that, perhaps she wanted to tell someone. Maybe it was because, on some level, his loss could relate to hers.

"I pretty much doubt I would have done it if my parents were still alive, but without them around I just wanted to try and live my life how I wanted, rather than how I think I should have because they wanted me to." Never mind the fact that Alice had been slowly coming to terms that she dropped out more in response to their deaths than any real feeling that it was some higher path she needed to take.

[Tom Harriman]

Sympathy; empathy; which was which? Tom knew which one he should let himself feel, and which one he shouldn't, but never really knew which name belonged to which one. He himself had experienced the pain of losing a parent, but only one; and even if circumstances had been the same, he would never have permitted himself to believe that their pain was somehow equivalent. Maybe it was; maybe it's wasn't; he just wouldn't let himself pretend to understand completely what went on in the mind of another. He still felt for her, though; felt a twist of agony as he imagined the sort of pain she must be experiencing, even just remembering now.

He found himself overcome with the urge to somehow try and sweep her away; rescue her from what she must be feeling. Given how cliché the notion was, there was probably some sort of noble steed involved, and he no doubt planned to ride off with her into the sunset. It was the same foolish compulsion to save lives that had driven him to volunteer with the military, and later into life as a vigilante in New York. It was the same foolish compulsion that drove him into love. In all instances thus far, that compulsion had hardly served him well. But that didn't lessen it; one of the funny things about clinging to archaic concepts of chivalry was that by their very nature, you retained them indefinately, despite everything else.

Tom managed to satiate the urge by simply reaching across the table and taking one of her hands gently in his. He said nothing: didn't need to. He simply allowed their gaze to meet, and let his eyes do the talking; the shifts and twitches of his expression and those betrayed more than his voice ever could, no matter how hard he tried.

His other hand closed atop hers, cradling her fingers gently within the warmth of his palms. He offered her the closest thing to a reassuring smile he could muster. "So much for a little light conversation over lunch, huh?"

[Alice Kelly]

"Yeah..." Despite the downturn in their conversation, the warmth of his hands were felt and instantly brought another smile to her lips.

Alice wanted to stay that way for a while, enjoy the physical contact while it was normal, while she had her emotions under control. At least, for as long as it could possibly last, that was. Which unfortunately ended before she caused it to in the form of her cellphone ringing.

Her eyes rolled and she sighed as she gently pulled her hands away from Tom's and quickly pulled the offending object from her pocket and glanced at it. Shit. "Sorry...I-I have to take this."

The cellphone was answered, casting a sheepish and utterly mortified glance at Tom as her brain struggled with whether she should get up and leave the table or not. "Hello? - Yes. - Oh Hi! - Oh. Wait... what? - Yes, yes I know that was part of the agreement but - I understand, but you have to realize she's -" Alice sighed heavily and listened to the other person on the end of the line speak, casting another apologetic glance to Tom.

"Ok..." The surprise that had originally been in her voice had drained as she sighed again between normally deep breaths. "Yes, okay... that's reasonable, I guess. - Friday, then? - Ok, I can be out by then, no problem - Yes... okay. Bye."

The phone was tucked away as another sigh left her and she looked back to Tom. "Sorry, heh... again. So, where were we?"

[Tom Harriman]

Disappointment had sparked in him when her hand had withdrawn, and it took effort not to instantly ensnare her fingers again as soon as the call had ended. Maybe he should, judging from the expressions that had danced across her face as she spoke to whoever was on the other end of the line - or rather, the other end of the series of microwave transmissions, given that there was hardly a physical 'line' in any kind of communications anymore - but that was probably too forward, and ...

Ah, tae hell with it.

His hand reached out slowly - just one this time - and settled atop hers mere moments after it returned to the table. He distracted her from it by finding her eyes, worry in them as he sought out any clues he might glean about what was wrong. "Everything alrigh'?" he asked, brows conflicting, thumb subconsciously stroking at her fingers.

[Alice Kelly]

Alice's eyes trained on their hands for a moment before she felt her shoulders shrug slightly in response to Tom's question. Her mind was lingering on the phone call, of all the arguments she should have said, of all the ways she could have avoided just giving in to the unreasonable accusations.

"It'll be fine." There was only a short pause before she had spoken before she sighed softly. "It was my landlord... I knew the apartment I took was small and not the best, but it was cheap. Came at a cost though, the lady downstairs is a bit of an eccentric, demands peace and quiet and has apparently lived in the place so damn long they do just about anything to accommodate her. So part of the agreement I had to sign was to promise to keep the noise down and keep her happy as a downstairs neighbor as best to my ability."

Alice laughed slightly. "That old bat hated me the moment she saw me when I was moving in. She's been telling the managers that I've been playing loud music at horrible times of the night and generally causing a ruckus. Problem is... not a word of its the truth. I've been trying to keep as quiet as possible but when it came down to her word against mine, well..."

Her eyes moved away from Tom's as she shook her head. "Well apparently this last bout of lies was enough. They're letting this last month be paid by first/last deposit as, well, my last. Apparently I have to be moved out by Friday. It's probably criminal and against the contract I signed in some way, but I just don't have the strength to fight anymore. So... guess as soon as I get home tonight it'll be time to start hunting for a new place. Just... hope I can get something as affordable."

[Tom Harriman]

The urge to rescue her rallied again, the urge to pummel sense into whatever sleazy landlord she'd made the unfortunate mistake of leasing from following hot on his heels. He fought against both urges, but only had marginal success against the second; and absolutely no success at all against the first. The motion of his thumb ceased, concern adjusting his features.

"I have -" His mouth spurred into action before his brain even had a chance to concieve words, leading to a mad, frantic panic as common sense tried to trip up his tongue before he said anything stupid. "I mean, you can always -" Warring sides of his conscience clashed over the issue: within moments, the one advising patience and caution in the interests of optimising his chances was thoroughly lanced, stabbed, beaten to the ground, and trampled by the mounted knight in shining armour that had charged into conflict with it, avocating an appropriate damsel in distress response. "I -"

The knight in shining armour cracked Tom up the back of the head, finally knocking the judders out of his words, and instilling a brief moment of confidence and clarity. "What I mean tae say is, the place I'm renting has a spare room. If y'need a place tae stay, just until y' get things sorted, y' more than welcome tae come bunk up wi' me." He winced at yet another unfortunate stumbled choice of words. "In ma spare room. Where I willnae be sleeping."

[Alice Kelly]

Her eyes blinked several times rapidly in surprise at his words. "Really?"

With one bit of shock had come another just as quickly and Alice could scarcely believe that she had heard what Tom had just said. Him taking her out to lunch was one thing, but to offer her a place to stay was just mind-boggling. The lack of anything in her view suddenly changing colors made a strange unease take hold of her that snapped her back to her senses.

"I mean... I would hate to impose. Only if you're sure..." Her hand raised up and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I... I wouldn't stay long, I promise."

All sense of politeness suddenly slammed back into her forethoughts. "Thank you, really. I appreciate it."

[Tom Harriman]

A nervous smile flashed across Tom's features, suddenly embarassed at what he'd offered, and how ellated he felt that she'd said yes. Way to go with suave and cool, his subconscious scolded. We went from "don't kiss the girl" to "hey, live with me!" on the first date. Way to fucking go, genius.

Tom ignored the irritating voice in his head, dispatching Sir Chivalry to dispatch him in a manner appropriate to his medieval theme; presumably with a great deal of stabbing or bashing. Or perhaps both. Preferably both. The voice of his subconscious, or conscience, or whatever it was, was terribly annoying. Things were safer when he listened; more fun when he didn't.

He bolstered the smile, genuine warmth filling it this time. "Donnae worry," he reassured, the expression turning lopsided as he tried to stretch back into the aura of cool he'd somehow managed to conjure earlier. "Stay as long as y' need. After all, us foreign immigrants have gotta stick together, aye?"

[Alice Kelly]

Alice's mind was also a bit busy berating her for even considering anything. It started with insulting her leaping to accept Tom's offer, moved on to questioning her about how she was even going to plan on living with the man, returned to reminding her she was on a date and had just agreed to live with someone...
And then the thoughts were interrupted thankfully by the waitress bringing their lunches to them.

"You really are something else, you know that, Tom?" She smiled and looked across the table at him once more. "I mean that in the best way possible. I just, haven't run into anyone like you around here."

[Tom Harriman]

"I wouldnae hope not," he replied, with a playful grin. "If you'd met anyone like me already, I wouldae hoped that they'd've sweapt y'up long before I got the chance tae." He blinked. "No that I -"

Actually flushing red this time, he stared directly at his plate in embarassment, prodding awkwardly at an olive with the prongs of his fork. He grabbed his glass and hid behind the rim of that, cursing himself for first of all not thinking before he opened his stupid mouth, and secondly for letting himself get so worked up in reaction to what had tumbled out. In the distance, his subconscious unleashed a mocking laugh that sounded like it had been stolen from The Simpsons; this was followed swiftly by a dull thwak as Sir Chivalry cracked the offending psychological construct over the head with a lance.

Setting the glass down, he frowned, hoping to use the relatively minimalistic expression to reset his face and features into some sort of normality. "How much stuff y'got?" he asked casually, trying to divert the topic to something nice and simple, objective, and innuendo free. "Lemmie know if y' need any help transporting stuff. There's a big ol' back seat in m' car."

There was a mournful clank as Sir Chivalry sighed, muttering something about giving up before tearing off his helmet, tossing it away, and storming off noisily into the depths of his mind. Tom turned his eyes towards Alice, sheepishly hoping she'd not noticed that one.

[Alice Kelly]

Tom turning red elicited a sudden sense of panic that filled her and drained just as quickly as Alice could manage. He'd only brought a mild sense of embarrassment with his words, finding herself more flattered than anything else. But his change in color made her wonder if she was somehow hurting him. Tom seemed to return to normal quickly enough. At least well enough she could pull her mind away from more morbid thoughts and start eating her salad.

His next slip of the tongue was a total loss to her, thank goodness. If their combined embarrassment continued on Alice could only begin to imagine what might happen... and some part of her brain refused to steer away from the vision of giant mushroom cloud.

"I don't have a ton of things, didn't bring a lot with me to college in the first place and that's all I pretty much have with me now. Well, except for some cheap bed I managed to pick up in the as-is room in Ikea."

[Tom Harriman]

Ikea: apparently, no matter where in the world you went, the Swedes were there handing out furniture with strange and sometimes amusing names. It was amusing - reassuring even - to know that their blue and yellow warehouses were peppered about the globe, providing venues for bored souls too cheap to actually pay for a decent day out, and for anyone who had one of those fiddly little metal compass things from geometry sets, but didn't know where else to get those teeny replacement pencils. Personally, Tom liked to go there and pretend he'd bought something sizeable from one of the earlier areas, just so he could grab a trolley and charge around like an insane person in the cavernous self-service warehouse out-back.

Not that a High School teacher would advocate doing anything so reckless and immature, of course. Nor would he wonder about the possibility of getting together a bunch of students for a giant game of hide and seek. Nope. Definately not.

That she didn't have much stuck Tom as both a relief, and a shame. When he'd first come to New York, he'd arrived with near nothing, and hated it. The first appartment he'd rented had been grey and dismal, and so he'd blasted almost all of his first pay check on anything and everything he could find to brighten the place up - posters, scatter cushions, trinkets, ornaments; anything to make it seem like a home, rather than a cell - leaving him in the uncomfortable situation having to survive once again on his student staple of beans and blank: the blank being whatever he could buy from the store with the few dollars left in his pocket at the end of each day, after the requisite several gallons of coffee needed to get him through the day had been purchased.

He fought - to only moderate success - to keep the echo of sadness at her lack of worldly posessions of his face. "Well," he said, deciding that words were a good way to keep his expression distracted, as was preparing to fill his face with a forkful of lasanga; "If it's no' much, we can always swing buy an' grab y' stuff after lunch. I mean, unless you're in a hurry t' get back tae your painting thing."

[Alice Kelly]

You're rushing things, Alice. The thought was persistent, and not just in a 'you just met this guy' way, but more in a 'you just met this person' in general. Then again, he as a High School teacher, the odds that he was also some creepy sociopath that was going to kill her once she moved in was probably pretty slim. Not to mention it wasn't going to be a permanent thing, it was just an offering of kindness to get her by until a new place could be found... Right?

It would have to be. Even if they ended up getting along amazingly well, it would have to. Time to start placing those morbid bets on how long before he ended up going to the hospital after she moved in. It was a struggle to keep yourself under control in normal situations, but it was when she was asleep that Alice always wondered exactly what happened.

Regardless, Tom's offer didn't seem to be wavering any and the honestly rational part of her brain was reminding her of the troubles she would have with actually legitimately renting a place. "Uhm... sure, if you want. I wasn't real thrilled with the part of the painting I was working on anyway. Probably best I leave it be until tomorrow. Do have to go back and pick up my equipment... and my car, though."

[Tom Harriman]

"Alrigh'," he responded with a smile. He caught himself staring again. Damn it. He dragged his eyes downwards, and aimed them at his food. "We'll swing by the school, then y' apartment, and then back tae my place." He felt heat rising to his face again as he recalled what had happened the last time he'd invited a woman back tae my place; self control was all that stopped his skin turning a bright shade of red yet again. Why the hell did that happen, anyway? What biological function could drawing attention to one's embarrassment possibly serve?

He pushed the thoughts aside, though did fleetingly wonder if there were any x-gene mutants like himself who had evolved the ability to overcome that particular evolutionary defect; he'd have to hunt them out, and make sure those traits were passed on to his children. Not that he was ever planning to have kids, or anything; especially since Jace had already done the duty of providing the next generation of the Harriman family - well, a daughter, anyway; dad would probably like a grandson in the mix, just to keep the family name alive.

Don't you dare, Tom hissed at his subconscious. Don't you dare bring Alice into this train of thought.

He battled his way through his short-term memory, scrabbling for the thread of conversation he'd wandered away from. He jammed a fork into his food, laidening it with juicy Italian goodness. "But first," he finally continued, flashing her another brief smile, "Lets get this lunch eaten, so we can start drooling over th' deserts."

[Alice Kelly]

It said a lot about people when it came to how they approached a meal, though considering all the silly nervousness going through the both of them, Alice decided it was probably best she didn't look too far into the fact Tom was already talking about dessert.

By the time dessert finally came around, however, most of the initial silly nerves finally had seemed to calm down on both of their ends. Alice still couldn't escape the notion that she really had just met the man she would be living with soon, and didn't really mind it.

That thought persisted on the trip back to the school, and still remained firmly lodged in her head as she and Tom were walking up the steps to her tiny apartment. Thankfully it would be one of the last few times she would ever do it. Alice hated to admit it, but ever since she had moved in some part of her had looked forward to the day she would be moving out.

"Sorry if everything's a bit messy, I wasn't really expecting to, you know, bring anyone over."