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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"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."

"My life wasn't normal," is all she says about that. "And I don't think John would think he's so lucky. He's a typical teenaged boy. He always wanted something I couldn't give him." And after Cameron had turned on him, it seemed like he had begun to pick sides and John wasn't her baby boy any longer. "He wanted a normal life and he didn't think...and I wasn't," she struggles to say, to take ownership, "I wasn't giving that to him."

But it had kept him alive and isn't that all that matters?

"Would it be impolite if I asked why?" Curiosity getting the better of him, Phil leaned back in his chair, holding his drink, but not drinking anymore. It certainly appeared he was learning a lot tonight, which hadn't been the point, but he wasn't going to turn the opportunity away.

"No," Sarah says, "But I think maybe I should save some stories for another day. Otherwise, you won't have any reason to see me again," she can't help but tease mildly, arching her brow as she drinks the rest of her alcohol back and uses the burn to settle her.

"I don't think I'd need a reason to see you again, but I understand." Secrets were secrets and he knew better than most that some things just don't get shared. Put the brakes on more than one of his relationships, so he couldn't very well protest when it was turned against him.

Not that this was a date. He found he needed to remind himself of that every so often. This was not a date.

"I'll save it up for later." And besides that, she thinks they'll need a great deal more alcohol if she's going to get into the full story; especially if her time in the mental institution is going to come up (though the straightjacket lies in the grave of machines in her front yard, along with everything else she wants to ignore). "Besides, it's your turn to tell me where you grew up."

"Pretty boring, small Midwestern town. Could've been the location of a sitcom from the 50's. Did all my traveling when I joined the military." He gave a little shrug, he had the typical small-town upbringing, it was the military where he really branched out. "I ended up in special ops and was recruited to S.H.I.E.L.D. from there. Now I go where I'm needed."

She nods her head, keeping in mind the little alarm bells going off that remind her that military tends to mean 'do not trust' and how wary she ought to be of him. And then there's sense telling her not to be overly concerned because she already somewhat trusts him. "And now, you're on an island."

"That has temporarily turned into New York City. Complete with jazz clubs." He downed the last of his drink, a bit showy, but be felt the need for a little Irish courage for this next bit. "Jazz clubs that have small dancefloors. Do you dance, Sarah?"

She feels like she's had this conversation before, but the answer hasn't changed. "Poorly," she confesses. For all that she's capable of manipulating her body to be a soldier, she's never had to learn to dance -- not even for the front of one of her personas. "I don't mind it, but you might lose a toe or two in the process."

"I think my toes will survive. 'C'mon, I'll see if they've got anything slow to start you out with." He stood, offering her his hand as he stood, trying to be as much of a gentleman as he could. It was something he was fairly certain she hadn't gotten much of in her life.

She nods her head as if she's weighed the pros and cons of this situation and can't find any reason not to do this. Besides, maybe she ought to be enjoying dances and doing all the normal things she couldn't back home. Maybe it's her turn, now. "Do you do this often? Dance?"

"Not as often as I might like. I din't exactly get a lot of time off back home." He led her to the floor and put his arm around her, pulling her close, but not uncomfortably so. He was a little rusty, his last dates had been awhile ago and he reminded himself again that this wasn't a date so that didn't matter.

"My Grandmother taught me."

"Did she?" Sarah murmurs, giving him an approving look. "You definitely must have been the hot commodity back home," she says, taking one hand to his hip and resting the other on his shoulder to try and remember how to do this. She hasn't exactly had much chance, outside of Charley, to do this. "I learned on my feet. Sometimes, I had to be classy," she jokes.

"Everyone learns on their feet, even if it's by standing on someone else's." It's not the best joke, but he hoped it relaxed her a little. He really wasn't an Astaire himself, so as long as they managed not to fall over, he figured they were doing well enough. "I give points for effort, not result at these things."

His comment draws a laugh from her and she almost looks surprised that she's done so. It's been a long time since she laughed so freely, but with cancer in her rearview mirror and a new lease on life, Sarah's beginning to figure out that she's not going to die.

She gets to live and she gets to choose what she wants to do. "You are very good," she praises.

"Grandma would be happy to hear you say it." He was happy to hear her laugh, glad that if this wasn't her usual night out, she was still enjoying it. He was too, for that matter, and it had been awhile for him as well.

"Was she still alive?" Sarah asks, not sure what prompted her to ask the question. She's not sure why she wants to know -- maybe because her own family is so small and has been for so long. She's always wondered what her life might have been like if her parents had been there for her longer.

"No, she passed years and years ago." He spun her out with a smile, hoping Sarah wouldn't feel guilty for asking. In truth, he didn't think about his family too much. It was usually just safer to keep his distance and so what contact he had with the family he had left was as brief as his relationships.

She opens her mouth to apologize for bringing it up, but he spins her before she can manage. In the wake of the dizziness, she shuts her mouth, apology lost in the movement. Once she finds her balance, again, she manages a smile. "You've got more moves than I expected!"

"I get that a lot." He got her to smile and not have to apologize for bringing up a dead relative. Win-win in his book. And he managed to keep her on her feet, too. "So, does the waitress from LA like jazz from Harlem yet?"