The Addict talked Dare into meeting them in the Anywhere Room. Upon walking through the door, one steps into the dim main room of Cafe Xenon in downtown Eugene, Oregon. It's a fancy place. The waiters are good-looking, and the people dining here are pretty well dressed. That doesn't change the fact that Briar is dressed in jeans and an INXS t-shirt. They're also a dead ringer for Danny. He flips back his hair and looks around, immediately drawn to the dessert case. So many cheesecakes. That's where he is when Dare arrives, pondering his options.
The Martyr is dressed in what had been his date clothes in his misty pre-Beaver Lake memories: black pleated trousers, a Russian peasant cut shirt with big ruffled sleeves, a wine coloured velvet paisley waistcoat, and a Tardis themed tie, with matching blue hightops. After all, if it was a beach trip, his clothes would change.
he stands frozen in the door, even as his muscles shrivel into his old shape. He looks lost for a minute, despite having talked often of coming here. He's just momentarily overwhelmed by the life he mourned and tried to let go. Then he's taking the two steps forward to stand behind the Briar who looks like Lost Danny. he bends his neck to purr in his ear, "So many desserts, so little time."
The Addict grins, and he turns his head toward Dare. It's the 80s, it's still too dangerous to show too much intimacy, but he's Danny, and he's a risktaker. His lips brush lightly across Dare's cheek, and he says, "You want to get a table, babe?" Same voice, same intonation. The way he carries himself, it's all Daany, very much alive. "I want to get one by the window so we can watch people."
The Martyr jumped off a cliff yesterday for fun and Murder ghosts drove him out of the closet. If things get ugly then they can step out and start again. He gives no fucks. So he reaches for Danny's hand, squeezes it gently, then starts making eye contact with wait staff. "I want to take _everything_ in, Babe. Pick the most decadant things you can find and we'l share them." Soon he's snagged them a good window table in the outer corner where they can get the most people watching. Their waiter is insanely handsome: some wonderful mix of African Amarican and south east Asian parantage with several peircings and cute little dreds. By rights he should be on a catwalk somewhere, but instead he's handing out menus with the foods of the day and talking about wine and tea selections.
The Addict grins and squeezes Dare's hand. People glance, and Blair doesn't care. They're not real people, and in the worst case scenario, he and Dare will wake up in their beds whole again. He follows Dare to the table the waiter leads them to. It's a good table with a view of the corner of the foot mall. Briar sits and looks out at a couple goths walking by. "I want a fritata," he says once he glances at the menu. "Look, they have one with potato and roasted red pepper."
The Martyr is just smiling goofily at Danny and entirely forgets to look at the menu, "Two. We'll have two. Does red wine go with frittata?" Out in the other direction, a man dressed in a hot pink hooded spandex boy suit waits for the light on his unicycle, peddling back and forth to stay upright next to a small gaggle of business people with padded suit coat shoulders. No one on the street finds this odd. The Martyr attempts to take the Addict's hand across the table, not caring who stares nor if it's hostile or not. This is his perfect date, damnit.
The Addict admits, "I dunno. I mean the peppers are red so maybe? Wait! Addison told me champagne goes with eggs. But who cares? We can have red wine if we want it." He clasps Dare's hand. "I like champagne, though. That's what I'll have." He grins at the pink-spandexed guy with a famliar glint in his eye. Everyone knows him. "Can you imagine, if we'd lived here?" he says. "It would've been pretty cool. At least this way we can afford whatever we want. We just skip out before paying."
The Martyr grins at the Addict, then up at the waiter with the amazing cheekbones, "A bottle of your best champagne with thosse frittas. And extra bread." 'Pinkman' strikes a stylalized superhero pose as he zooms off into the early Summer evening like a geek's fever dream. "My apartment was that way." He points towards the restrooms. It was not a good apartment, but our street would have been all trees."
"It would've been better than the two of us crowding into a room at the frat," Briar says wryly. "I spent my summers couch surfing. Any apartment would've been better than some of the places I stayed. I lived for a couple months in my friend's car, parked on the street, two flat tires. Try explaining that to the cops every other night." He flashes the waiter a smile, then turns his attention back to Dare. "It's not so bad, you know? The way things turned out. We saved the world, and we get to be together."
The Martyr lifts his hand to his lips to brush his lips over his knuckles, "Love, I am too old to live in a frat. An occational overnight is fine, but a man needs sleep." He sets their hands down again, not caring at the kid turned backward to openly gawp at them while his Mother waits at the light. "Scott was talking about getting me drunk at frat parties and carrying me up to your room to keep them drawing dicks on my face in sharpes. I was imagining trying to argue a case with a sharpie dick pointing at my mouth. I'd have done it though, if it made you happy. Still a real apartment would be better, much better than car sleeping. Pancakes on a Sunday morning and dangling feathers on a string for Tommy to chase.... It would have been a good life, but this is better. You and I saving the world and evolving as we go, together in adversity and delight. As much as I loved you then. This feels so much more... everything."
"Scott thinks I wouldn't draw dicks on you with sharpies?" Briar says. Then he grins. "I'm just saying any apartment would be heavenly to me. It doesn't have to be fancy." He gives Dare's hand a squeeze. "We don't really know what our purpose is, but if we get to save the world once in awhile, cool. I mean, we don't really need to know, do we? To still have it be a good life?"
The Martyr laughs, "Scott thought the best of both of us, I think." Squeezes back, "We don't need to know. It's definately still a good life, Love. There are no words for how happy I've been with you. Whether accident or some strange benevolence, each facet of you I see only makes me want to love you more, know you more, wake up each day to coffee and kisses and the scent of your skin."
The Addict grins and ducks his head. "That's one of the many differences between me and Martin," he says. "Martin believed that life had to have some utility to be worth living. Me? I think just existing is fine. It doesn't need a reason to be a good life. Just living is good enough." He flashes his ID at the waiter for the champagne. He's almost twenty-two! "Even if it's just one big coincidence, things worked out pretty well."
The Martyr flashes his ID just in case, despite being nearly thirty. He knows what he looks like and that the little wrinkles around his eyes aren't that noticeable. "I like having a purpose, but I'm used to making my own. I'm not a pure existentialist for a variety of reasons, but there is a eason it's attracted me since High School." Another goofy smile, "I am ridiculously, happy Love." He pours them champagne, "Shall we toast to us having chosen happiness in each other?"
"I don't know if life has no meaning," Danny admits. "I just think that we can only act on what we know, you know? And what we know, I mean really know, is nothing. So we live our lives, and we have faith that, if it means anything, we'll find out someday." He takes up his flute of champagne. "To having chosen happiness with each other," he says, "and to having the opportunity." He holds up his glass to clink.
The Martyr beams at him and gently touches the rims, "And to oppurtuninty!" He sips, "You know I've never had champagne before." He wrinkles his nose at the bubles, but he's still smiling. "To loving each other across time and space." He lifts his glass again.
"The first day we were at the lodge," Briar says, "Scott and I ordered scrambled eggs and champagne. Room service, it was great." He takes a sip of champagne, then adds, "To loving each other across time and space." He touches his glass to Dare's. "Even though we may not always be lovers in our lifetimes, we'll always be lovers in our real lives, and in our souls." He takes another drink of champagne, then asks, "Do you believe in the soul?"
The Martyr touches glasses and looks at the addict with naked adoration, "That is perfect." He takes another longer drink, already out of the habit of Finn-ish carefulness with alcohol. "If you'd asked me when I first arrived at the Lake, I'd have said no, but I think belief in the soul is the only rational thing, given our experiences at the Facility. If all that has happened to us is the result of technology, it's indistiguishable from the supernatural. If what happened at the lake is objectively real, then souls exist, if it wasn't we still have our experiences of waking in new rest bodes over and over. Wendy and Film Kirk in particular don't make sense without some fundamental essense that is us underneath."
"What did Film Kirk do?" Briar asks. "He didn't change bodies, did he? I hope not, he's cute." He drinks champagne with abandon, unconcerned if he ends up too drunk to walk. "I mean, I believe in the fundamental essence. I don't think many of us know who we really are when everything else is stripped away, but I believe it's persistent and outlives us."
The Martyr can't match him. Not in this body, but he drinks like he's learned to sice he died and flls their flutes again, "No, bt he used to die all the time until Danica-candice made him stop. Over and over different ways, each more creative than the last. She had to drown herself with him to make him stop. I think we wouldn't just keep waking up, out here or in there, over and over, but still the essense that makes us us connected if there wasn't a thread that binds us too ourselves that even the games they play with our memories can't erase." He starts buttering a warm roll, "I have been finding my essense, the thing that is deeper than who I thought I was. We'll see if I was right when next we change and die and return. If that part stays constant, then that's me."
"I think the doors may be clues to what they think our essences are," Briar says, "which means they think I'm a junkie." They shrug. "I mean, I am. But maybe it's not such a bad thing, to be driven by something. Sometimes it's laudanum, sometimes it's weed. Maybe sometimes it can be something like, uh, I don't know, Some noble shit. Probably not. But I've still done good things in both lives, so it's not the end-all be-all."
The Martyr munches his bread, already flushed from the wine, "I think they are too. I think I'm love and sacrifice." He looks at the Addict, exression soft, "I think you through yourself into... anything intense. Dancing. Love. Sex. Pain. Drink. Music. Drugs. Cupcakes. Scarifice and Submission. Anything. But it comes with a special sort of creativity and openess. Your mind is so beautiful and you think in ways I never could. You are open to the world in ways I try to be, but can't quite. There is a... unity? Purity isn't the right word. you are yourself with a... a completeness I can't achieve."
He takes a long drink, "Wendy said we all have monsters inside us. I am learning the shape of mine. There is a dark side to you. Finn... when I was Finn, I'd be holding Danny and I was so happy and at the same time I could see a future where that you gave yourself so completely it would burn you up or burn you out. It's why Addison scared me." He holds up a hand, "I know I was wrong about him. He was good to you when I was gone, but I'm talking about the fear now. It wasn't jealousy. It was an acknowledgement that you don't have limits when it comes to certain things and where that could take you if you were asked in the right way or pushed the right way under the right circumatances. The thing I am learning about myself is that I lack certain limits too. It's a different sort of push, a different set of conditions, but under the right circumastances I could do anything and lose all of myself." He studies the Addict's hand and his own. "I think we are alike in this. The moment we just. Let. Go. Of Ourselves."
"There's no real pressure on me to be anything other than what I am," Briar says. "It's one of the upsides, I guess." He takes another drink of his champagne. "You're not wrong. I don't feel that sense of having had enough." He sighs wistfully. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to push harder, further. With whatever it is. I don't even drink that much in the facility. I push in other ways. I mean, I feel bad for Heck, Kirk I mean, but I could see myself doing that. Killing myself in new and interesting ways, but for me, it would be for the rush."
The Martyr nods, not surprised, "I admit, I hope you don't take up killing yourself as a hobby, but I'll understand it if you do." He gazzes out into the dusk at a line of people waiting to get into the little theater next door. "You and I are different, but we have that underneath. The way it feels so incredibly goo to just... go all the way. It scares me in myself sometimes too." He gazes intently into the Addict's eyes, "Can you forgive me? For the way I reacted and for the way I might in the future? For the way I might try to constrain you out of love? Because it's hard to be clear headed about things like this in the moment."
The Addict clasps Dare's hand and says, "I forgive you. I know you're just acting out of concern. And no, I don't think I'll start killing myself for fun. I didn't get that big of a rush out of dying. It hurt, and I just remember feeling kind of dizzy, kind of nauseated, and then everything getting dim. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but I didn't get anything out of it." When the fritatas come, he lets go of Dare's hand and sits up a bit. Mmm, food.
The Martyr looks genuinely relieved, "Thank you, Love." He thanks the waiter without the endearment, but is too buzzed not to gaze at him openly, "I think we're going to need another bottle." Then he's just watching Danny for a moment and giggles, "I think you'll be drawing dicks on my face by the end of the night, but I don't care."
The Addict tucks in to his dinner. "Oh, I will," he says. "I am who I am." He's got quite an appetite. Danny usually did, given how much pot he smoked. "I hope you can forgive the fact that I'll probably do whatever the hell I want anyway. If I don't, I'll just end up feeling resentful, and that won't lead anywhere good." He pauses in his eating to look at Dare. "I don't need you to be afraid for me. I'm okay."
The Martyr giggles and starts eating himself, slowly so he can savour some of the best cooking in Eugene. "There is no chance at all of me blaming you for being yourself, Babe. I love all of you. I always have, even before I realised it was love." He looks back, "I know you are here. I may not when we're out there where we can't see clearly. Will you forgive me if when we are out there sometime and I do something terrible for what I think at the time are the right reasons?"
The Addict says, "We already agreed not to hold anything from our lifetimes against each other. I think that's a given. I'll forgive you for being overprotective. I'll forgive you for hating my guts. I'l forgive you for murdering me. At the time, I can't promise what I'll do because I don't know, but when we're back here and ourselves again? Clean slate."
The Martyr nods, "That's what I want. That's how I feel. Whatever we do out there to each other or because of each other, when we are ourselves again clean slate." He eats some more of his egg, "How does this taste so good? I could never make something like this."
"Neither could I," Briar says, "but I'm totally getting this again from the dispenser." They continues eating with gusto. "That's one good thing about the way things turned out," he says. "We don't have to learn how to cook. One of us would've had to learn to cook, otherwise it would've been ramen and macaroni and cheese forever." He pulls a face at the thought. "Ugh, Martin would've starved before he'd eat that stuff."
The Martyr laughs, "Yes! Definately." He laughs some more and teases, "You told me you _could_ cook. Was it all a clever trap to lure me in?" He has another sip, "What would martin have liked best. Before the ashes, I mean?"
The Addict gestures to the fritata with his fork. "I can't cook this." He pauses to take a drink of champagne. "I guess we wouldn't be living only on mac and cheese and ramen, but it wouldn't be Xenon good." He finishes off the fritata. "Martin loved French cuisine. He was a bit of a food snob. Which made coming to Prosperity torture, and the ashes were just insult to injury."
There is a hint of cartoon character edging into Dare's speech, though he is entirely unaware of it, and he's looser in his movements. "Oh! That is cruel. Very demony. To take away the thing he loves. It's a shame we can't take him to Cafe Navarro. Though I guess we are in away. You inner Martin at least. Only to cafe Xenon to look at the waiters and eat this amazing fritatta. I think I really like champagne."
The Addict says wryly, "Champagne likes you, baby." He winks, then takes another drink before he tops off each glass from the bottle. "Maybe we can go back to Martin's time before Prosperity and eat at one of the fine restaurants in New York City, St. Louis, New Orleans. Not everything about the period was terrible, just that cursed little town. Though, I mean, Martin was kind of marked by the Devil from birth, so I guess he was always slated for misery."
The Martyr giggles and winks back with what he entirely mistakes for a subtley seductive look. Then he carefully picks up his glass for another drink, "I'll go anywhere you like. It just makes me sad that Martin had such a... narrowed life. At least Danny really got to live." Another long drink, and then the careful setting down so it doesn't tip. I just want to... I don't know, hug him and take him to a World's fair or something. Was there a World's fair at the right time? I can't remember."
The Addict says in a low tone, "You are wasted." There's laughter in his eyes, too. "Eat another roll, lush." He smiles fondly. "We'll go to that time period again, and you can take Martin out on the town and show him a nice time. He could use it. The poor guy never really got to have much of a life. Afterward, he was happy. In his marriage, I mean. But he never got to be young and free."
The Martyr giggles and shakes his head too emphatically, "I'm fine! Perfect! I want to go daaaancing! I feel like i'm made of bubbles!" He falls silent to butter another roll. Alas, Finn always was a lightweight. He dutifully eats it before replying, his voice edging into Disney territory in pitch and delivery. "I'll have to do research on safe places. I like research. Dell Monaco's the right time, isn't it? And I bet there had to be somewhere in New York we could dance safely. Even then." He gazes at him, so terribly serious. "I want to make all of you happy."
"Why go to New York when we can go to Paris?" Briar says. "That's what Martin really wanted, more than anything, was to go to Paris. It never happened, and after Prosperity, he wouldn't have been able to taste the food anyway. But we could go. And if it's not safe..." He shrugs. "We open the door and walk out. Or we get lynched and wake up in our beds. 'Safe' is relative when you're basically immortal."
The Martyr's eyes go wide, "Right! We can go anywhere and they mosty won't care in Paris and we can just be us and I should find out the best places and we could just....you always have the best ideas, Love. Paris and dinner and dancing and walking along the Seine. Kissing on top of a bridge looking at one of the prettiest cities in the world!"
The Addict says, "That'll make Martin happy. Happier if we could drag Arthur along, but I haven't seen him. I keep expecting his door's symbol to be gone any day now." He sighs quietly. "You may have to get to know Martin. It'll be easier since I'll know it's you, and we'll have our history. It's just that, when I'm in that frame of mind, I'm a tougher nut to crack. As I am now? I love people. I love you, I love love. As him?" He shakes his head. "He takes awhile to trust, but once he does, he's unwavering."
The Martyr lowers his voice and for all the siliness in the way he sounds his eyes and tone are serious enough, "I hope it doesn't fade. His symbol. I hope he comes with us to Paris and I can get to know him too. I will remember to be gentle with your inner Martin and go as slow as he needs. I want to be good for you and for the part of you that is him."
The Addict nods a little. He lick shis lips delicately, then says, "Look, if you and Arthur end up hitting it off so much you want to, you know..." He gestures vaguely. Then he leans in, looks at Dare deep in the eyes, and says, "That would be so fucking hot. Seriously, go for it. Go nuts. He's an amazing lay. You have my blessing." He squeezes Dare's hand. So much for jealousy.
The Martyr clearly thinks something terribly serious is about to be said, but then gets a big goofy smile, "Want to watch? Or join in? Because watching the two of you kiss would be so incredibly hot." He squeezes back, "We never were excluive, Love and I just... always really wanted to fuck someone with you."
"Yes, and yes," Briar says. "But you don't have to wait for me. If the opportunity comes up, just get you some." He glances around the restaurant. "Want to see when the waiter gets off shift?" he asks. "Because if that guy's straight, I'll eat bacon." He gives Dare a devilish glint. "Let's sort out dessert first, just in case I'm wrong."
The Martyr blushes, and pleads, "Yes please? To both the dessert and the hot waiter." He bites his lip, "You are the best lover a man could have, Briar. I just want to let go and feel everything."
The Addict flags the waiter down to order a decadent chocolate cheesecake for himself. He gives the waiter a fairly obvious onceover, and to his credit, the waiter doesn't look too put off. Cautious, friendly, but not disgusted. After he leaves to fill the dessert orders, Briar looks to Dare. "Yeah, he's queer. Is it weird, though? Doing it with not-real people?"
The Martyr picks "Anything with pistachios in it." He is less bold, but fairly obvious. He watches him walk away, "I was wondering that myself. Is it ethical? Is it masturbation? Does it count as a fetish? I think... Okay, remember Chance with his friend at the beach? Probably he wasn't real, but he acted real and chance felt the things he felt and that was real..." He takes a long drik of champagne, eyes wandering around the restaurant. "I think I can't determine an ethical answer while I'm this excited and my head is all floaty, but I think we've gonne way beyond weird and I'm just going to stick to it makes me happy and did you see that ass?"
The Addict says, "I don't see it as an ethical problem. If they're not real, then we're not doing anything to a person. If they are real, then it's not masturbation and they do seem to have free will, though that could just be a sophisticated algorithm. No, not unethical, just weird. I mean if we come back and it's the same waiter, would he remember us? Would it be awkward? Should we pick up someone we might not have to rely on later for fritatas?"
The Martyr laughs, "We can come in a different year or just go to Navarro's or Napoli or something instead. Or that really good greasy pizza place near campus or wherever. Unless he was really good and we were hoping for another go."
"Sy's," Briar says. "We could just keep visiting til we hit every eatery in town and seduce at least one of the help from each. Oh, man, Navarro's is so good. We definitely need to go there next time. The spiced mango alone is to die for." He offers Dare a pen and a napkin. "Write down your address," he says, then pauses. "Oh, no. Fuck. I just remembered, we gotta leave before we pay. He'll never go home with us."
The Martyr shakes his head, "We can pay, Love. I don't have to worry about things like the electricity bill." Giggling, he writes his address very alowly and carefully in hopes no one will notice he's drunk. "I never have to pay rent again. Or for gas. Or for anything! And what sort of man wouldn't follow you if you crooked your little finger at him."
"A straight man," Briar points out. Then he says, "Dude, are you sure you're up for a threeway tonight? You're wasted." Yeah, he can tell. When the waiter comes back with their desserts, Briar smiles sweetly at him, then starts in on his cheesecake. "We'll hang out awhile so you can sober up some, otherwise we'll end up carrying you home and you'll be too far gone for fun times."
The Martyr rolls his eyes and waves dismissively, "Oh _Them!_ what would we want with a straight boy anyway?" He hangs his head and carefully sets his glass on danny's side of the table. With a whistful look at the dessert, he manfully eats three more rolls, one after the other, sipping water periodically. "I used to be so much more careful. Being dead really loosened me up." Another giggle, but he is backing slowly away from the bambi voice. Slowly, he slides his fork into his festively green cheesecake and takes a bite, sighing happily as he chews.
The Addict waves a hand and says, "I guess they're good for making more gay boys, though the wait is prohibitive." He takes his time with the cheesecake, practically rolling his eyes with pleasure. "I think my addiction right now is sugar." He licks cheesecake off his fork and sighs contently. "This was a good idea. We owe it to ourselves to have this date. I mean we did save the world."
The Martyr throws his head back and laughs, "You have a point there, Love." He has another bite of his own cake, "I think I am going to enable you there, at least as long as this lasts." He offers the Addict the next bite of the pistachio. "I love watching you eat descadent things.... Yes, I'm really glad we got to do this, Love. It was a lot more normal than I was imagining, but in the best way possible. I got used to you looking like this again but still being Briar a lot faster than I thought I would, even if your voice is really different."
The Addict leans forward to take a bite, and he makes happy sounds as the cheesecake melts in his mouth. He offers a bite of his own to Dare. "I sound like Danny though, don't I? Here, at least?" He does, all California boy. "Man, I still wonder what we're going to be doing in the 30s. Dust bowl, worldwide poverty, oppression of people of color, LGBT, and women. No atom bomb yet, on the plus side."
The Martyr eats the mouthful from Briar's fork, lashes lowered flirtaciously, lips slowly sliding over the cake and sucking it just as slowly into his mouth. He has forgotten or maybe doesn't care how this looks in a public place in 1989. He is as shameless as he was with a weiner during a cook out concert watching Danny sing on a stage. The expression he makes as he swallows the dessert is one Briar might find familiar from elsewhere. He licks the fork, then settles demurely back to eating his own cheesecake. He sighs, "It's a rough time everywhere and nowhere particularly pleasant. I bet I spend half the time hungry again."
They're definitely getting looks, some of them uncomfortable ones. Briar pays no attention. "We'll figure it out," he says. "Do our thing, save the day, or not. I kinda hope I can just be straight. Doesn't that suck? I just don't want the hassle. Maybe next time we can live in the future when no one cares about any of this stuff." He shakes his head. "Ah, well. I can pretend to be straight. I've done it before, so even if I'm not..."
The Martyr's eyes search his face. He does seem to be sobering up a bit, fast metabolism to the rescue. "I understand it, but I think... I'd rather not be. As bad as the closet is... I guess the changing orientation thing really freaks me out still, despite everything I've done to come to terms with it. t's still hard for me to picture a me that doesn't like guys even though I suppose I should learn to let that go if that's what happens."
"I wouldn't worry about it," Briar says. "Because while you're in it, it feels natural. You'll be who you are, and that person will be totally valid. Then you'll come back and be yourself again." He shrugs a shoulder, then eats another forkful of chocolate cheesecake. "I just hope that, if I'm straight, I'm not an asshole to women. That's going to be the hard one in the 30s. I hope I'm not racist."
The Martyr's eyes go wide, "Oh shit! I didn't think about that. What if I'm some creepy womanizer or a terrile racist or... J Edgar hoover or something? Talk about monsters!"
"At least if you're Hoover, you still get to crossdress," Briar points out. "I doubt we'll be anyone famous, though. But yeah, we could be creeps or bigots. But we have to agree to forgive ourselves like we forgive each other. It's bound to happen, that we become someone we're not proud of. That's worse than the dying, honestly." He sighs quietly. "I just want to be a nice straight guy, not too religious, who isn't a bigot and does the right thing. People like that had to exist, right?"
The Martyr snorts, "He doesn't have your legs." He reaches for his hand, "I promise, Love, but if it happens to either of us, let's not work through it alone. That's such a guy thing to hunker down and hurt. I've seen what that looks like and I never want it to happen to either of us. If we're bad people out there, let's get through it togetheer on this side." He flashes him a sad little smile, "I'm sure they do, Love."
The Addict says, "Okay, fair enough. We'll work it out together. I won't suffer in silence." He smiles a little. "And let's not borrow trouble. It might not be so bad. We could be the good guys again, or at least the not-too-terrible guys. And if we're not, it's temporary."
The Martyr nods, "Let's not. Let's see if you can charm thatwaiter into our bed. It is date night after all.
The Addict grins and reaches for their champagne glass. "I'll drink to that."