Alden, Eshana, Ilad
It is a brilliantly sunny afternoon, warm and near cloudless and fairly crowded in the coffee shop, a bustle of afternoon shoppers swarmed this table or that counter despite the off-hour hour. Ilad has claimed one of the tables near the window, pen tucked up behind his ear and book propped open on the table's surface as he fork-shreds his contemplative way through a turnover-looking pastry swimming in glazed nuts and ripples of caramel and salt. Why? Because I can't eat anything today, that's why. He is dressed in faded brown and beige, dark sunglasses propped up in his hair and his leather jacket slung haphazardly over the back of his chair; the motorcycle itself is parked out front.
Eshana arrives in the doorway of the cafe like a surreptitious thing that is trying not to be obviously surreptitious. Judging by the bundle of bags that split the difference between chinchilla supplies, books and baked goods, her attempts at impromptu basic stealth awareness practice have been opportunistically set off by sighting the motorcycle out front rather than anything planned in advance. She doesn't -sneak- to Ilad's table, but she does sidle, attempting to approach from out of his immediate field of vision. This would work out better for her if she didn't have her bag of pet supplies slither out of her grasp and prompt a muffled "Ack! No!" from behind him.
It is easiest to stealth up behind an unalert target, as a man idly reading and mashing up a piece of pastry might prove, but this is only barring accident. At the sound, Ilad's eyebrows lift, and his head turns, a look askance slanted behind him. His lips turn up at the corners, almost as if despite himself, with his eyebrows swept high. "Ah," he says, a quivered note of humor in the solitary syllable. "Did you need a hand?"
"At least one more," Eshana sighs, and settles down to defeatedly scoop up her strayed bag. "Also if you can arrange an inconspicuous alertness transplant, I'd be grateful." For all the sigh, she meets the note of humour with a crooked little smile and nods to an empty seat at the table. "Are you OK for company, or are you trying to escape contact with work?"
Ilad sets his fork down, and folds his book shut over a napkin being used as an impromptu bookmark. "By all means, join me," he says, indicating the chair across from him with a turn of his hand. "I was getting away, I admit, but not so far away as all that, and in any case, you are hardly work." He repeats, with a lingering quirk to his eyebrows, "Alertness transplant, hm?"
For whatever reason, Eshana beams for a moment at being classed as non work related, although it's only for a moment. (Alas, she has no dimples to add to the image.) She follows it with a ruefully amused nod of her head and the confirmation, given as she shuffles herself and her bags into sitting conformation, of "Alertness transplant. Apparently spending your career focused on very small things immediately in front of you makes it challenging to be situationally aware."
Ilad picks up his fork again to gather up a few nuts and pastry flakes on it amidst the caramel goo, a partial smile tucked into the corner of his mouth as he lifts its tines to his lips. "That will simply take practice, I fear," he says.
"Drat," says Eshana with a twinkle in her eyes. "Well, there goes my idea of asking Tom for help. But I suppose it's good for the soul to learn it the hard way, if I decide to have one." Eyeing the nut-and-pastry thing with some surmise, she casts a look over to the counter of the coffee shop, attempting to see if there's more of it on display before she cocks her head at his book and wonders "Any good?"
There probably is! There are usually pastries, sandwiches and so on on display here; Ilad has only the minor advantage in selection of having once been a regular, with familial ties to the staff. Glancing down at the book, which has library plastic to protect it, he turns a hand over it in some wryness. "It is of some new and recent interest," he says, "if a little dryly written." He tips it up towards her to better display the title; he is reading about amphibious warfare and World War II, apparently. "Being aware of your surroundings is something I'd recommend seriously," he tells her, tone mild, though the gleam of humor lingers bright in his coffee-dark eyes.
Eshana colours unaccountably, if slightly, once the title of the book and the recent interest click together, but she merely nods in answer to his last advice. "I don't disagree," she says. "And, for all of my shopping bag woes, it's actually kind've interesting... is military history a thing for you?" she wonders, with a nod at the book and a flit back to an earlier topic. "I think this is the second or third time I've caught you with a similar sort of book."
"It is," Ilad says, watching her with a vague intentness, as though idly gathering details to store which will only later be catalogued. He taps his thumb once against the cover and lets the book rest, roofing both hands over it with a slight inclination of his head. "Of a sort. History in general draws my attention, and the history of war is of ... specific interest. This war, in particular..." He trails off, and then smiles very slightly with the shake of his head.
"How so?" Eshana wonders, rearranging her bags with a rustle of plastic (horrible, earth-destroying) and cloth (eco friendly hippy) so that they sit neatly around her feet and make no further escape attempts. "I don't disagree," she reiterates on this new topic, if not with a twitch of her lips at catching her own echo. "But it was such a huge event, there are so many angles..."
"My people suffered greatly during it," Ilad says, his head tilted slightly to one side as he answers her in a musing tone, "and in a way, you could say that my country was birthed from its aftermath. There are many ways for the past to reach out to the present," he adds, and there is a shadow of conspiracy in the renewal of his smile.
Eshana meets and matches that little hint of conspiracy, although hers is interrupted by a "Be right back -- I should order something before the management looks -too- pointed. Need anything?"
Ilad shakes his head. "I shall not burden you, I think," he says. He scrapes up another bite of pastry on his fork and leans back slightly in his chair as he eats it.
"No burden," Eshana assures, before trotting off to caffeinate herself anyways. She returns in not -too- much time later, toting an optimistically large mug of frothy coffee and an even more optimistic slice of what appears to be fruit with cheesecake holding it together. "I find the sociological shifts it brought interesting. What was unthinkable, what became unthinkable... the sort of horrors that couldn't have been concieved of prior to it. Would my country have turned the M.S. St. Louis away if they'd -known- what was going to happen to those people? And then you have the moments of grace arising from the necessity. A homeland for your people, for all that it's been uneasy keeping. The first cracks in racism and sexism."
While she is gone, Ilad mostly eats his way through a contemplative bite or two of pastry; when she returns with her order, he listens to her in a thoughtful silence, his head tipped slightly to one side. His quiet grows, from during her words to a solid beat afterwards. Fork set down to rest beside his plate, he roofs his fingers loosely over it and watches her. "The changes it wrought in the world, all over the world," he says, "are manifold. Of course, my eye has always been turned to my own people. It is only recently that I have begun to really acquaint myself with other perspectives."
"In many ways," says Eshana with a thoughtful nibble of her berry cheesecake. "It provided the root cause for so many shifts that we must seem like an entirely different planet, in some ways." Her lips crimp slightly, as if reminded that this is no longer a purely theoretical exercise.
"Indeed," Ilad rumbles, low humor infiltrating the paired syllables. He draws a long breath through his nose, eyebrows arching. "For all my study of history, I have a hard time imagining what it would be like to walk through the past."
"Well, the past seems fairly forgiving, at least," Eshana murmurs, again with that unsourced hint of colour to her already dusky cheeks. "And friendly."
"I will take your word for that," Ilad answers her with a hint of query in the draw together of his eyebrows. "I am afraid the circumstances did not allow for, ah--" He shifts, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "All too much in the way of -- pleasantry."
"Well, you have all the time in the world, now," Eshana notes, before a little crooked smile is paired with an amendment of "Or at least all the time in our work schedule that isn't filled with work."
"As you say," Ilad agrees, though here he is frittering away a bunch of it with pastry, but never mind. He slices off another bite of said pastry and toys with it a moment before putting it in his mouth.
Eshana says, "Think we'll make it through this month end without any further upheaval?" Eshana wonders, with a slight glimmer to her expression at being oh-so-clever and using corporate terms. More cheesecake is a fitting reward when chased with coffee.""
Lifting his gaze from his plate, Ilad twitches an eyebrow and says with a deep, composed blandness: "I would be somewhat surprised, if so. All things considered." He eats his bite of pastry, sets down the fork, and then sets his shoulders back against the chair's back behind him.
"Mm. Guess I'd better double-time it on drilling for situational awareness then," says Eshana with a wry smile. She appears to be intending to finish her snack first, however.
"If I recall -- and it has been some time since I had to think about it, I admit," Ilad interrupts himself with a faint smile. "But if I recall, the challenge to discerning your surroundings is the chance to become overwhelmed by irrelevancy. You must train your eye both to see everything it can, and to disregard the unlikely to be important."
"Right now, I'm learning how to notice small changes to the environment," Eshana shares, after a flick of her tongue to return her fork to sparkling condition. "I suspect that will be added in next. But what do you do to sort out the important from the unlikely?"
"Practice," Ilad says again, unhelpfully. He glances around the room again, and apparently finds nothing in particular to draw his eye as threatening in the cheery bustle of the coffee shop, for some reason. "And prepare for a few ... thousand ... false starts. Provided you don't immediately shoot it," he adds lightly, "no harm done."
"I think," says Eshana with dry humour, "That I can avoid that. As far as I can forsee."
"Very good," Ilad approves, hearty to her dryness. He breaks off a flake of pastry between two fingertips and slips it past his lips. "You will not always be correct. Even the most experienced observer does not perceive everything."
"I don't think I'm likely to ever be the most experienced observer... at least not without things going catastrophically wrong," Eshana admits with a crook to her lips. "But... good to bear in mind, even if all I'm trying is to master the basics."
"Really, I am not the best to advise you," Ilad confesses, opening a hand away in a broad gesture away from the dwindling dessert on his plate. "Even as a child, I watched people."
"That..." Eshana trails off and puffs a soft laugh from over the edge of her coffee mug. "I suppose if I can tap into childhood people-watching that's something. I was more likely to be in the middle of a pack of feral children on bikes, or up a tree with a book."
"Feral children," Ilad repeats, with a low chuckle buried in the words. He shakes his head. "For me, our energy was channeled, I think. First on the farm, where there was plenty to do for all the little kibbutzniks. Then, later -- well, I was in the Scouts. Structure, you know."
"Indeed. I think the bicycles were meant as an incentive towards early independence," Eshana reflects, punctuating herself with a sip of coffee and a gentle wave of the mug. "Aside from set chores, it was a way to go off and amuse yourself, because the alternative was to have something -found- for you to do. This often involved weeding or cleaning things."
"Oh, yes," Ilad says, setting his thumbs together. "I remember both tasks very well. And milking the goat."
"-That- is an experience I have to say I've never had," says Eshana with a bubble of laughter. "Was it particularly good at building character?"
"Probably," Ilad answers, with a slight inclination of his head; his eyes gleam, though he holds his mouth composed. "Although I admit, it likely depends on the goat."
"I'll remember your expertise should I find myself faced with a stray goat in need of milking," Eshana promises gravely. Alas, she is too late an addition to base to remember the random goat fetched back by drunk people.
"In the event that it should come up," Ilad agrees lightly, roofing his hands again over his plate. He taps his thumbs together once.
"Glad to know I can count on you," is Eshana's conclusion, paired with a terribly solemn little nod before she lapses into a companionable silence to concentrate on finishing her treats.
"It is nice to be relied on for something," Ilad murmurs, humor layered low and rich in his accented voice as his gaze drops.
"We should all have our niches of expertise," Eshana confirms.
"Indeed," Ilad says. He breaks off another bite of pastry with his fork, eats it slowly, and glances idly out the window as though to make sure his motorcycle hasn't up and left in the intervening time.
Eshana leaves matters of motorcycle security up to the machine's owner. She herself is lost in the sort of reverie produced by the conjunction of good coffee and good dessert. She sighs in gentle contentment.
There are no motorcycles pulling away from the coffee shop, but the sleek curves of a dark Mercedes slides into a parking space of its own, engine dying with a smooth sound. The gleam of metal is shielded from Alden's eyes as he slips out of the car, sunglasses framing his face and framed in turn by the shaggy fall of blond hair. The alarm is set with a soft beep, keys tucked into the pocket of well tailored jeans in what makes up a very casual outfit of a buttoned, fashionable shirt and sandals. Hidden behind colored glass, his gaze flicks from the motorcycle to scan the building before walking towards it.
Slant of his gaze pausing briefly on the car, from his vantage by the window, Ilad's eyebrows quirk up where he sits, a faint smile tugging his mouth at one corner; he exhales a low breath past his nose, and scrapes up the last of his pastry on his fork to eat it, dark eyes fallen low as he chews. He says after he swallows, "I used to come here all the time, before ... Titan. My brother is one of the -- is it a barrista when it is a man?"
"I haven't heard them called 'barristos', so I'm going to assume so," says Eshana, before she turns to look over the coffee staff with renewed interest, now that there are signs of shared Tal-Chachar genes to look for. Thus, she notices the car and the Alden after Ilad does, but offers a bright little wave all the same. "It looks like this place may be turning into the new Titan hangout," she quips. "Think your brother will be up to the challenge?"
The lift of Alden's fingers is light, a brief wave with his own curving, crooked smile as he enters the shop. There is no scurry over to the table, instead a moment taken for a detour for coffee, plain, before he joins the two. "Good afternoon. I hope I'm not interrupting?" he questions with a quirked brow, glancing between the two as he takes a seat between them.
"But there are no animal heads on the walls here." Avraham not currently in evidence, the current servers behind the register being rather more female and less Israeli (although some of them might have nice arms, idk). Ilad's smile tugs briefly wider. "Perish the thought," he says. Lifting two fingertips in a partial wave as Alden seats himself at the table, he murmurs, "Erev tov, ahuvi."
"If you were, I interrupted first," says Eshana to Alden with a dance of her eyes that transmutes into something intellectually curious at the Hebrew. "Ilad has graciously allowed me to sit at his table and interrupt his reading with chatter."
"I will share your guilt, then, for forcing our presence on him," Alden offers, smile lingering as his gaze drags over Eshana. His foot barely taps against the side of Ilad's, grey eyes only flickering to the man briefly. "What have you been chattering about, doctor?"
"Goats," Ilad answers promptly. Eyebrow flicked up, he nudges Alden's foot right back underneath the table, and otherwise, he retains some measure of subtlety. "And history. My reading material." He nudges at the amphibious warfare book with one elbow, ducking his head.
"Ilad has hidden talents as whatever the male equivalent of a dairymaid is," Eshana explains, and shifts her bags to make a better space for Alden to join them befores she resumes the controlled demolition of her dessert.
"Ah." The sound that Alden makes does not seem surprised, as if this should be the most natural thing in the world. Afterall, Ilad did grow up on a kibbutz. He questions instead, mildly, "Not about war, then? Or its survivors?" He glances towards the book cover as if to emphasize his point.
Smile hooked partial at the corner of his mouth, Ilad looks blandly amused at the prospect of himself as a dairymad, but this expression is the only comment he offers. "A little," he says. He drums his fingertips lightly on the cover and turns an upward arch of his eyebrows toward Alden. "Its aftermath. Its impact at ... long range, if you will."
"Sociology and psychology... occasionally my parents' influence shines through the science," Eshana murmurs, with another flick of her tongue to clean her fork for a final time. "Comparing perspectives and marvelling at the way the world's changed. But I guess I should -probably- get back to my lab," she admits, staring at her now-empty plate.
"I did not mean to drive you off," is murmured with an affected sadness, Alden's smile disappearing into grey-green eyes instead as it fades from his lips. "Perhaps I will try for easier conversation next time."
"Maybe I'm just heading home early so I can sneak into your apartment and play with your consoles," Eshana suggests, with a lift of her eyebrows and a rustling of her bags as she gathers them.
"Better off with the goats, hm?" Ilad's smile flashes, rare in its breadth and warmth; it vanishes again near as quickly, save for the lingering light in his dark eyes. His eyebrows arch all the higher at this last, and he slants a look at Alden that slides along past him to Eshana as she gets her things together. "Is, ah, Alden's apartment part of your -- stealth practice?" he asks, almost cautiously.
"A man can wish, love," Alden answers himself with a warm laugh, shaking his head before his gaze stills momentarily on the other man before he smiles up at Eshana. He adds, "If you do, do not erase my characters."
"Erase a man's characters?" Eshana's eyes widen in mock-horror. "Mr. Alden, I have -some- morals... and no, no Ilad," she assures the other man with a quick shake of her head as she rises. "Burglary is beyond my skillset and will remain there."
Eyebrows arched, Ilad watches Alden for just a fractional moment too long. He returns his glance to Eshana with a slight tip of his head, mouth twitched up at one corner. "Mine as well," he says. "Just ... checking."
"I think it's beyond all of ours, as much as the corporate world could profit from it. Maybe our CEO will ask it of us next, perhaps," is replied thoughtfully, coffee lifted for a sip as Alden watches Eshana.
Eshana is thus looking a little puzzled as she turns for the door, but it's a gentle sort of bemusement, to be poked at later if nothing else steals her free brainspace first. "I'll see you both back around the office," she promises, before woman and bags bustle and rustle their way out and down the sidewalk to where one of the base motor pool is parked.
"Indeed," Ilad murmurs, watching Eshana go. He turns his glance back at Alden. "Indeed," he says again, after a measured pause. Very lightly, he goes on: "You never know what our CEO will think up next."
His attention lingering to be sure the woman is gone, when Alden turns back to Ilad it's with a small smile at the corner of his lips, his foot brushing against the man's leg again, firmer. "Sometimes what appears like punishment to employees is necessary to succeed," he says easily. "How long have you been sitting in town?"
"A little while. A library run, some tea." Ilad curves his hand in a vague gesture over the scattering of crumbs on his plate, the book partway nosed through. He reaches to brush his fingers over Alden's near hand, an idle touch of his familiar febrile heat offered in welcome or -- uh, something. "What language was that?" He tips his glance off in the direction Eshana left, and then returns it to Alden, quizzical.
"What language where, love? I believe you're the only one who didn't use English." The accusation is made lightly, humor affectionate in Alden's tone as his fingers try to catch at Ilad's. His chair is shifted forward with an idle hook of his ankle and a pull.
Closing their fingers together in a warm clasp over the table, Ilad cocks an eyebrow at him with the tug of a smile slight at the corner of his mouth. "I believe the lady was asking to play with your toys," he says.
"Not toys, video games," Alden corrects softly, an almost boyish grin flashing briefly in his expression. "If she'd really wanted to, I'm sure she'd have just shown up at my door to kick my ass in something."
"Video games," Ilad repeats with an amused incredulity in his tone, for all that his eyes are warm and liquid -- really, he's so squishy, he is not fooling anybody with his platonic public handholding. "Really?"
"Have you never played them, love? Next time you're over, you'll have to," Alden invites with a teasing wryness to his words, his hand dragging Ilad's with it to his lips to try to press a light kiss against warm skin.
Ilad draws his hand back, pulling into a backward lean into his chair as he sets it down on the table instead, knuckles pressed against its surface -- not quite so fast as if he's been stung, but certainly enough to reflect a renewed wariness, both in posture and in the saccadic flicker of his eyes toward the coffee shop's cashier's desk and beyond. Like anybody cares. God, he's such a trouble. Voice still playing at lightness despite his reawakening tension, he says, "I admit, I never really saw the point."
Grey-green eyes trail after the direction of Ilad's before returning to the man, Alden's expression more notable for it's brief allowance of being unreadable rather than trying to feign any emotion in front of the man. "I'm sure Eshana will be more than happy to play, of course, in your stead. I can't turn her away besides, as that would be too suspicious," he replies.
Ilad closes his hand into a fist, and then relaxes it, looking down at his knuckles as a brief flicker of some internal struggle wars across his features. He looks up at Alden, a trifle hunted; for all his long schooled composure, it is not hard to read him now. Throat working in a swallow, he turns over his hand, palm up and fingertips curving but slightly inward. He says, "Of course, I would not ask you to turn away your friends."
"Ilad," Alden says sharply, temper flaring brief on the name but unsustained as he watches the man with a softening of sympathy that worries a frown subtly at his lips. "How long are we keeping it a secret?" His voice drops in this, quieting in the noise of the coffee shop so as not to draw attention.
Ilad cants his head, and looks away from him, a certain tightness leaking into his jaw. He is quiet for a very long moment after this question. "Alden," he begins in answer, quiet entreaty in the paired syllables, but he swallows whatever comes next.
"I need a number, love. It is harder than you'd think, playing along with this. Especially when your own friends question me about it and tell me to fuck off when I can't give them an answer," Alden continues, frustration slipping back as the man looks away but when he moves to cover Ilad's hand with his, it's a light touch, soft.
Ilad turns his hand, again closing his fingers tightly over Alden's. "I don't--" he starts to say, and then stops. He squeezes the press of their hands, earnest and firm at least in that warm pressure for all that his expression as he glances back again is written in uncertainty. "{It is unfair to you}," he says softly, slowly as he lapses into Hebrew, "{asking for your silence. I know.}"
"Unfair or not, you've asked for it." If the words sound a bit worn of patience, they are at least tempered by affection and the tight contact of Alden's fingers. He pauses for a moment, needing the time to order his thoughts into Hebrew before he adds slowly, "{And now I'm asking for when it ends.} It isn't long before more than just Beaubier knows, in any case."
Ilad blinks up at him, startle ill-contained, and swallows, lips pressed tight shut. He nods once, and drops his eyes again. He is silent for a long moment afterwards, but with his delay, he seems to be thinking. The tip of his tongue flickers over his lips.
Time to think seems to be allowed even with Alden's demand made, silence stretching as he makes no move to break it. Instead, his gaze slides away to allow Ilad some measure of reprieve and instead focuses on their hands twined together.
Ilad turns his thumb in a slow glide over Alden's palm. Quietly, almost too quietly to be heard, he says, "In truth. I do not even know what it is that I fear."
"Delaying it won't change anyone's reactions when it's known," Alden answers in what is sure to be a reassuring response. His fingers are more comforting, squeezing briefly against Ilad's with a tight pressure.
Ilad exhales a low breath past his nose. "And it seems my friends already know, do they not," he says, not quite a question. "Adam has known. Jean-Paul..." He trails off, and looks up at Alden again, a pensive weight to his dark gaze.
Alden replies dryly, "I suppose I'm bloody terrible with secrets." The words serve only to distract from the flash of guilt that the names elicit, subtle but there in the weight of his returned gaze on Ilad.
Shake of his head slight, Ilad draws a long breath through his nose and closes his eyes for a beat. "I have been afraid for so long, I do not know that I would know the taste of courage," he says, low voice washed dark with rue. He opens his eyes again. "I will release you from your promise of silence, ahuvi, if you will understand that I am not ... ready, to speak myself." He swallows and appends hastily, "Not yet."
"Not yet. Of course I understand, love," Alden replies lightly, leaning back in his chair with another brief pressure of his fingers against Ilad's before he moves to draw his hand away as well. "I don't think there are really that many that would brave talking to you about it, in any case."
Ilad reaches across with his other hand suddenly to claim Alden's in both of his before he can get away. He doesn't say anything for a moment, sitting there with his eyes cast down past the caramel-drizzle remnant of his plate.
"Someone's going to see," is quick, the words teasing as Alden's brow curves upwards at Ilad. He doesn't try to pull his hand away, taking the moment to study the other man.
Ilad nods again, this time a solitary duck of his head. He presses Alden's hand again, and then finally lets go, drawing back across the table with a flicker of his dark eyes around the room, taking the measure of who might be spying on them. He says, "I don't know."
Alden doesn't even bother to do a trace around the room, not actually caring if anyone sees. Instead, he answers, "It's alright, love. I'm sure no one did." He retrieves his coffee cup with a smile, wrapping his fingers lazily over the lid. "But I'll leave you to your book."
"No," Ilad says. He draws the book off the table into his lap, and settles back in his seat with his hand gripping it at its spine. "Don't. Unless you--" He flicks the fingers of his other hand, vague. He changes pathways and asks, "Do you want to go somewhere?"
The question is seriously considered for a brief moment, no more than a second, before Alden answers, "Of course, but only if I can drive."
Ilad cocks an eyebrow, glancing toward the window. "You don't like the bike?" he asks lightly, a thin shred of humor filtering through his accented voice.
"Mine is much safer, if not as badass," Alden points out, smile pulling almost irresistably on the corner of his mouth before he pushes to his feet, cup dragged up with him. "I even have four doors."
"I don't have any doors," Ilad says. "But you are perfectly safe when you ride with me." He rises, as well, tucking the library book against his side as he stands in a fluid unfolding from the seat. Straight and bland-faced, he says, "But I suppose it will be safe enough left here," as he collects the jacket from the back of his chair.
Alden's smile turns momentarily playful as he murmurs a warm, "I always feel safe with you, m'love, but I do like my car." With nothing to collect, he simply withdraws his keys from his pocket and waits to exit with Ilad to the Mercedes.
Swinging his jacket over his shoulder, Ilad lopes out of the coffee shop without a backward glance. There's less inherent groping when Alden drives, though.
There can still be groping, it's just not part and parcel.
Everything that happens in this scene is subtle.