knowthyexits | (no subject)

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She's not entirely sure she ought to be here.

Except that she is. This isn't like with her date with a chess machine prodigy and it's not like Charley. It's not even a date, she keeps reminding herself to keep that part of her brain quiet so it doesn't go into a kind of overload that sets her at unrest. It's two friends going to see some music together. And she might have made sure she doesn't look half bad -- there's no blood anywhere on her clothes and she's combed her hair through past the usual 'laissez-disaster' that it likes to mimic.

And now she's outside the hall with a wool coat drawn tight around her shoulders. The desert and sea have been in her blood for too long, now, and she's not used to the cold. She's fought so many enemies, but it seems as if the weather and her nerves are combining to do her in, this time.

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It wasn't quite accurate to say he had the front door staked out, but he was standing at a decent distance, waiting for Sarah to arrive. As much so he could open the door for her like a gentleman, and as much so that he could turn around and leave if she decided not to show, an act for which he wouldn't blame her. He'd asked on impulse, he genuinely liked spending time time with her and it hadn't really thought about it before the offer was made.

Afterwards, he'd thought about it a little.

But it wasn't a date. He'd tried dating, it rarely went well for him, so as far as he was concerned this was an evening with a friend. He just wasn't so certain she was aware of that. He saw her arrive and he moved up, holding his hand in the air in a wave. "Sarah! You made it."

Sarah's got one last shot, here. She could run and she wouldn't have to deal with the complexity of emotions that go along with friendship. After losing so many people, she's been close to barricading herself in isolation because that's what she knows best, but somehow she doesn't think that John would approve of that. "I did," she says, sighted and stuck.

Enjoy something for once, would you, says an inner voice she can't even place. "I hope I didn't overdress," she says, forcing herself to step forward to give her body the message that it is not running, not this time.

"Again, Sarah, I don't think anyone would care if you did." He offered her his arm, not sure if she wanted to take it or not and opened the door. The sounds of jazz met them, 1920's Harlem all the way, good stuff and with a wonderful singer included. For ghosts, they were quite talented.

She stares at the arm like it's an offending weapon that might explode on her if she isn't careful. Namely, she's just not sure what the hell to do with it. The men in her life lately have numbered the likes of Hank and Caliban and they don't exactly give her a normal view on anything. Eventually, she takes the arm, but it's awkward. If there was a way to give space while holding onto someone's arm, she's managed it. "Have you always liked this sort of music?"

"Oh, I had a teenage punk phase, I may have flirted with disco, but I eventually figured out that the things I used to hear at my grandparent's house were pretty neat. So I kept listening." Once inside, he offered to take her coat while looking around for a table they could sit at. He knew the music wasn't why she was there, so he started scanning the quieter areas.

"Don't get me wrong, modern music is fine, but there's history in those notes. A legacy."

"Funny how I can't imagine you appreciating teenage punk," she teases mildly, shooting him a disbelieving look as she takes off her coat and hands it over. She's gone fairly casual with the black shirt and the black pants. They fit, though, and as she'd been careful to make sure, there's no blood. She's not sure why she keeps lingering on the blood except for the part that she's always aware of it.

"Do you care much about legacy, then?"

"I do, actually. Little old-fashioned, maybe, but without those that came before, we wouldn't have those that are now. One of the universal truths." He found a table and held out his arm in an after-you gesture, fully planning on going the whole nine yards with holding her chair.

"What do you think about legacy?"

"I think that unless there's a future to enjoy it in, legacy doesn't matter," Sarah says honestly, side-stepping Phil's arm in order to take the chair across from where he's standing out of nothing more than sheer habit. "And sometimes, those before have to make sure there is an after. That doesn't leave much time for enjoying this kind of thing."

"We should make time." The hopefully unintentional slight was noted, but Phil didn't take it personally. Some women were like that. Used to doing it themselves. Used to not taking to offered help, sometimes even when they needed it. "I do. It helps me remember why I fight to protect. It's easy to fight too hard and too long."

She ducks her head down, not entirely sure she's ever known how to give up the fight. "Sometimes, it's necessary," she says, the words careful and thoughtful. She looks up and there's a sadness and a pain lingering on her face. The one thing she's constantly fought to protect is no longer with her and if she can't have the fight, then she wants her son.

"And it costs you so very much."

It was to easy to see that he'd hit a nerve and he immediately regretted his comments. This wasn't a debate, it was supposed to be a nice and relaxing night out. "I apologize, I didn't mean to bring up anything painful, Sarah."

She shakes off the emotion easily, replacing it with a rueful smile. "You'll learn pretty quickly that there's a lot of pain in my life. I've learned to cope with it," she promises. "We're here to listen to music. Do you want a drink? I think I'm allowed to drink again."

"I'd love a drink and I'll have what you're having." He waved to a nearby waiter, hoping to get the kid's attention. It was a good distraction, he certainly didn't intend on pushing any more boundaries tonight.

"What have you been doing here in New York? Taking in any of the sights?"

"I'm remembering what it's like to live in a city," she admits, waiting for the waiter to arrive to order a neat scotch, figuring that if she's going to get to drink, she might as well really enjoy it. "Modern comforts that I might not get to relive. A comfortable mattress. A kitchen. Modern plumbing," she says with a wry smile. "You? What's New York got in store for you?"

"Traffic. Believe it or not, I've missed the sound of it. And being around new people, even if they are ghosts." He motioned to the crowd, "They're still alive, in their own way. There's a hundred people here tonight. If I come here tomorrow night, there might be a hundred more. Completely different. Give the place a completely different feel. I miss that a little on the island. Not that everyone there isn't valuable in their own right, but doesn't it get... I dunno, routine?"

"It's part of why I like waitressing. There's variety," she says with a fond smile. "Never the same situation twice. If there are the same people, then usually their orders vary." And it's one of the few places she really forms attachments to people because she doesn't think they'll end up in the crossfire. "You really miss traffic?" she can't help teasing. "I'm assuming you haven't been stuck in it too much since we got here."

"Subways, cabs, I haven't gotten stuck anywhere. And walking, of course. I like it." It was busy, it was energetic and the longer he was here, the more he realized he missed it. His forays into the wild were always for vacations. Fishing in the mountains, out on the ocean, then back to work. "Feels alive. You can't tell me that you don't miss that a little. Where's your hometown, again?"

For a moment, she actually has to think about it. It's been so long since she's had anywhere that she thinks of as home that it strains her memories. "The outskirts of Los Angeles," she admits. "If you can even call that a home instead of a city for people who never really had one," she says. "But the island before all this," Sarah says with a gesture. "That's closer to what I'm used to. The waves of the beach waking you up in the morning and sending you to sleep at night."

"Sounds almost romantic. Life near the beach, glad you can have that bit of home-feeling. I don't think everyone's that lucky." He wasn't, truth be told. "I don't think I would have pegged you as a California girl, but I can see it a little now."

"I lived there with my son," she says. She's going to have to talk about John at some point because he's such a large part of her life. Easier to dive in like this and work from there. "And honestly, I spent most of my life outside of California, but I worked my way back there. It's like I can't ever really escape."

"Unless," she adds with a wry smile, "a strange desert island kidnaps you."

"Those islands do that, don't they?" Drinks came and Phil took a sip, enjoying the burn as a distraction. He was amused at this evening, the whole turn of it. It was strangely more intimate than he'd intended and he wondered how much of that had to do with the location or the appeal of his company.

"You have a son? I understand if you din't want to talk about him, must be hard here without your family, but I'd like to hear about him." He was more than willing to let Sarah draw the lines on this particular issue.

"Well," she says, cupping her drink with both hands to give her something to focus on besides her words. "If John were here, he'd be seventeen now," she says. "And given how stubborn he was at fifteen when I last saw him, I think I might have passed away from sheer teenage will," she jokes dryly. "It's...hard," she grits out. "Without him here, it's hard, but I always knew that one day he'd have to leave home. I guess I wasn't ready to think it was now."

"Stubborn, huh? I wonder who he gets that from?" Phil teased lightly, taking another sip of his drink. The more he learned about Sarah, the more interesting she became. She certainly had her secrets, but she had a will he had to respect.

"But in all seriousness, I'm sorry he's not here for you, you shouldn't have lost him like that." College was one thing, it was something that you could plan for. Not this place. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have policies and procedures on this one.

"His father, I'm sure," she deadpans, but she's well-aware that she's more stubborn than either of the Reese boys and that takes some doing, considering the two of them are bad enough to set whole civilizations into frantic despair and frustration. "And I've been preparing to lose him my whole life," she said, steely and hard. "All I can do is try and live well."

"Preparing to lose him your whole life?" That sounded... odd. Not many mothers spent that long planning for the worst. Sure, once they hit their teens, getting ready for college, that made a certain amount of sense to Phil, but for her son's entire life.

Sounded dangerous. But he wouldn't actually ask for an explanation, not at this point. "I'm sure you were living as well as you could. I think he was probably a lucky kid."