Happy hour!

[isaysimplewords]

Drink Specials

anything non-alcoholic

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

Comments

[lady_bols]

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?"

[isaysimplewords]

"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.

"What date do you need?"

[lady_bols]

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.

"2008?"

She sounds hopeful. Perhaps exceptionally so.

[isaysimplewords]

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.

[lady_bols]

The wind goes out of her sails. Even in her dreams, she's trapped out of time.

"I'll take the 1912 one, then. Thanks. I'm sorry, I must look a fright."

She pulls her robe closer around her, and gives him a tight little smile.

[isaysimplewords]

Cal tugs the 1912 paper out of the little pile and places it in front of her. He puts the others back where he found them (wondering if they'll be there next time he looks), saying,

"Don't worry about it, Milliways seems to like to pick the worst moments possible sometimes."

[lady_bols]

She takes the paper with a quiet 'thank you.'

"It's all right, really. I probably shouldn't be alone right now, anyway. I'm Alex, by the way."

She holds out a hand in greeting.

[isaysimplewords]

He smiles and shakes her hand.

"Cal Chandler. New York, 2008. Nice to meet you, Alex.

"- Is it anything you want to talk about?"

Hey, he's a bartender right now, right? It's part of the job.

[lady_bols]

Yet another Yank.

"Cal Chandler," she echoes, fixing the name and the face. "Well, at least you're from the right time."

She runs her eyes over the front page, not really seeing the headlines.

"My parent's funeral was today. They were killed in a car bomb. And I couldn't stop it in time."

[isaysimplewords]

He wonders what she meant by the "right time" comment for about half a second before her answer to his question wipes it away completely.

"Jesus," he says. "I - I'm sorry to hear that."

[lady_bols]

She looks up into his face, and again gives him that deprecating little smile.

"Thank you, but it's all right. It happened when I was twelve years old. I watched it happen then, as well. I just thought..."

She sighs, and he can see the tears threatening. Her eyes close and she presses her fingers to her lips, until they pass again.

"Sorry. It's still all so -- vivid in my mind."

Molly...

[isaysimplewords]

The timing in what she's saying is a little confusing, but that's not Cal's primary focus right now, and there's an easy enough explanation anyway; he just thinks time traveller and leaves it at that.

"Of course." He reaches under the counter again, because while he was down there, he knows he saw - yes. He finds the box of Kleenex (the logo and packaging are circa 1981) and puts it next to Alex's paper.

"It's hard to watch something like that," he says, thinking of Tina now, of living just long enough to watch Gliardi put the gun to her head and pull the trigger.

The kettle on the stove starts to whistle. Cal had forgotten about it, and moves quickly to assemble the teapot and get some tea out of the cupboard before he pours the water.

[lady_bols]

"I thought for sure, that's why I'd been brought back. I was supposed to stop it."

She rambles while he's putting the pot together.

"I was shot, in 2008. And I woke up in 1981, three months before it happened. Still a police officer, still a DI. And I thought -- that I could stop it -- and that's what would send me home. Back to my daughter."

She plucks a few tissues from the box, and fretful hands fold them very precisely, edges aligned, wrinkles smoothed away. Trying to exert some control in a world where she was careening from chaos to bedlam and back again.

[isaysimplewords]

Cal uses loose leaves in the pot's strainer. He doesn't know exactly how much to use, and ends up putting in probably too much; Alex's tea will be quite strong when it finishes steeping.

Her explanation of her situation makes less sense than Cal's guess, but he's not about to grill her about it now. He puts a mug and the pot on the other side of the paper, and asks instead,

"What's her name?"

[lady_bols]

Strong tea will be just fine with her.

"Molly," she says, the word barely more than a breath.

"She was -- is -- it was her birthday. The day I was shot. I'm -- trying to get back to her. Promised her we'd blow out the candles together."

[isaysimplewords]

Cal occupies himself with finding milk and sugar as his chest tightens. Calvin is probably five years old back home, back in Cal's old world, if time is still passing at the same rate as it did before. His birthday didn't fall during the last few months of Cal's life, when Cal had pulled himself together and made an effort to be a real dad, all the while taking actions that he knew would end in his own death.

He swallows, finding the milk in the fridge. It goes on the counter as he looks for the sugar.

"I bet she's an amazing kid."