Cal had intended to try and come up with something different the next time Bar asked him to bartend, but, after the last happy hour he visited, he's feeling a little stubborn
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"Yeah," he says. "It was fun." He even had a conversation with X that was a lot more like the ones they used to have, except for Cal being more careful. Trying not to assume things, or jump in before X might have finished outlining her thoughts.
Hopewood has been home, had arguments of varying volumes - depending on the participants - and varying success - depending on the subject. He's slept, and eaten, and only barely had one attempt on his life; he's been upstairs to raid the library again and has a handkerchief wrapped carefully around his hand to make sure blood doesn't obscure any of the words. Books on the media, this time,stacked in a pile at the end of the bar and of such a wide range of styles that Hopewood looks more than a little swamped. Happily so.
Alex wanders in in her dressing robe and slippers again. She looks drawn and thin, like she hasn't slept in days. Her hair is rumpled and she's not wearing any makeup.
She doesn't understand why there's a bar where her kitchenette should be.
"Tea. Bring the pot. And can I get a newspaper please?"
"Hi," Cal says, not without sympathy. He has yet to have Milliways grab him just as he's gotten out of bed, but it'll probably happen sooner or later. She doesn't seem too worried about it, but that might be the lack of caffeine. "I'll see if I can find one."
He's never tried to get a paper without Bar's help before, but things do have a way of turning up during shifts when he needs them.
He puts some water on to boil, then realizes the obvious question.
Alex's eyes go wide for a moment. She rakes her hands through her hair, pulling it back off her face and tying it in a little knot. It's not long enough to stay tied and is soon slipping free again.
Ah, there's the oh god I'm in Milliways look. Cal gives her a wry smile as he ponders his options, then crouches down to look under the counter. He's never seen newspapers there before, but it seems like a good spot - out of the way, but easy to reach.
Sure enough, he emerges a moment later with a few papers in his arms.
"It looks like the newest is 1981," he says, "but, uh, there's one from 1912, so that might be interesting, at least."
Also, one of them is in what looks to Cal to be Spanish (it's Portuguese), and refuses to translate itself to English.
Comments 144
Never in a million years.
"Coffee, please," he says. "Black."
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He also knows better than to serve Ianto from the pot he already has brewed, and so sets about starting a fresh one, saying,
"Hi, Ianto. How've you been?"
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"Did you have a good time at the after-prom thing?"
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"Did you ever find Jane Austen?"
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Except not, because he's pretty good at interrupting and also Hopewood is within the official bartending range.
"Hey," he says. "Need any coffee or anything for that?"
He means the pile of books, not the injured hand, which he hasn't noticed and which coffee probably wouldn't do much for anyway.
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"Coffee would be wonderful, thank you," he says fervently, pushing his glasses further up his nose. And: "Oh! Hello," he adds belatedly.
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"Hi, Hopewood," he says, filling the mug and tracking down the milk and sugar. "How've you been? How are things back home?"
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"Hallo."
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"Hi, Carlotta," he says. "How've you been?"
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"What would you like? On me."
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She doesn't understand why there's a bar where her kitchenette should be.
"Tea. Bring the pot. And can I get a newspaper please?"
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He's never tried to get a paper without Bar's help before, but things do have a way of turning up during shifts when he needs them.
He puts some water on to boil, then realizes the obvious question.
"What date do you need?"
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"2008?"
She sounds hopeful. Perhaps exceptionally so.
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Sure enough, he emerges a moment later with a few papers in his arms.
"It looks like the newest is 1981," he says, "but, uh, there's one from 1912, so that might be interesting, at least."
Also, one of them is in what looks to Cal to be Spanish (it's Portuguese), and refuses to translate itself to English.
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