This isn't something Darling's done in a long, long time. Not just in the nearly two years (by his count, if his count means anything) that he's been in this place, but before that. Work always took precedence and his last... something-ship wasn't really built for casual drinks.
But this is exciting. Not just meeting someone after years in a black void, but the thrill of collaboration again. Or the potential of it, at least. The sparks skittering across his skin at the feeling of Tom's fingers against his wrists. Not to mention the lack of shirt under the blazer, which is deeply distracting.
Still, he should at least attempt to be professional. "How long have you been here?" he asks, toying a little with the drink Tom gave him as he looks around the hotel room they've ended up in, somehow. How they got from black void to an entire hotel, he's not sure. So many questions.
"I've counted about six hundred and sixty-five days, but who's to say if that's accurate or not. My watch should have died ages ago, but it seems to have kept going."
It's fun in a new way, a different way, exciting as the buzz of collaboration and so much more twists through the air, the void, the dark place like pure fucking magic and energy.
And mostly, importantly, beautifully, this man is his way out. Maybe he should feel a bit bad about clocking that the mathemetician--scientist--is in desperate need of some loosening up. Maybe he should feel bad that, drinks in hand, the other is clearly in over his head. But he isn't, because this is art, this is rock n roll, this is spontaneity, this is Kenneth Anger. This is Jodorowsky's Holy Mountain. This is collaboration in the truest sense. He can sense that. He's always been very good at sensing that.
This is an attractive man with something he wants being not hard to get, not insecure, but unused to things. Zane? Zane has been here a long, long time.
"Time ticks away even if we stand still, Darling." Maybe it's his last name. Maybe it's a pet name. Zane smiles wide in the conjured hotel room, leans in, brows high and arched, mouth almost comically open.
"Six-six-five," he echoes solemnly, and a ringed hand is on Darling's knee as he leans in like a counselor about to tell a spooky story by the fire.
"Yes!" he laughs, making a gesture near his forehead that is somewhat hornlike (though the effect is lessened by the fact that his other hand is holding what seems to be a very tasty Negroni). "That's what I have always said, how funny."
The hand on his knee doesn't go entirely, or even partially unnoticed. It is, in fact, very much noticed and Darling is trying not to be too terribly flustered over it. Or about the way Tom's voice, deep and rich, wraps around his name. Like it's no longer his name but a term of affection from a long time friend.
He tries for another question -- "Was the hotel here, when you arrived? For me it was just this infinite darkness, until you came across me."
Tom laughs, genuinely finding the other charming as he lifts the glass to his lips for one last sip. He sets it down--or maybe he never really did and it was always sitting, half drunk on the table, glitching in and out of real-ness like this whole room.
"You concern yourself too much about the practical. The real. That's not what this place is. You're thinking too much with that brilliant mind of yours--" to emphasize, Tom's hand travels up the other's thigh, fingers curling around the inner side as he leans forward.
Oh, that -- oh. He can't say that the thought hadn't flickered past earlier, when Tom's fingers had circled his wrist like that. Which is -- insane, he ought to be thinking of questions for Tom, or trying to learn more about this place, or...
Or...
Darling takes a deeper sip of his drink to try and focus himself, which doesn't help in the least because Tom is leaning closer now and he smells like cigarette smoke and the orange slice on the side of his glass.
"What is this place, then?" he manages to stumble across while trying not to feel too warm under the gaze of those startling blue eyes.
It would be annoying if he wasn't damn fascinating, Darling's analytic mind already such a delightful grenade in the proverbial deep-sea pitch of the Dark Place. The idea of a collaboration--Zane had been earnest when he'd suggested that--is more than thrilling. It's tantalizing, and he can feel the endless possibilities on his tongue already.
"The Oceanview Hotel." He takes Darling's negroni with his free hand, gently pries it away from his grasp by curling his own fingers around the rim, making sure to brush against the scientist.
"Think of it as--" a brief wave of emphasis "--my own little corner of the sky. It's a part of me."
Zane tilts the negroni to Darling's lips, gently urges the glass back, encouraging more drink.
Though his question is interrupted by the press of the glass to his lips, and he wraps his fingers around Tom's wrist just to try and have some sort of control over the drink. He does drink it, though, meeting Tom's gaze and swallowing audibly.
Once the glass is empty, he leans back from it a little, just to catch his breath a little. A lot is happening at once, and he feels overwhelmed. Tom is an overwhelming person.
Is he making Darling a little uncomfortable? Sending him spinning off of his scientific axis? The other's hand moves around his wrist for some sort of support--control--and Tom nearly forgets to blink, watching the other with a hungry gaze as the younger man moves back, just a little.
"I'm sorry," he lies, and the glass glitches--shifts--and it's out of his hands. It's out of existence entirely.
"I don't think I'm accounting for you in this collaboration."
He wants Darling to know about this. About him. About everything. Better chance of getting out, since Alan's gone mad. Tom lowers the hand Darling still has a loose grasp on to begin to play with the other's bowtie.
Tom also wants more.
"It's that you're so damn charming--but I have an idea. Let's play a game." And, before Darling has a chance to speak, both of Tom's touchy hands are framing either side of that bearded face, chuckling. He's three seconds from crawling into his lap at this point.
"Get our creative energy flowing, loosen up, get to know each other--you're a man of science and inquiry. It might help. What do you say?" A gentle pat of the other’s cheeks.
He's so close. Their knees are touching and Darling's free hand comes up to rest against Tom's shoulder, just to feel like he has some sort of control over the situation (he doesn't). His fingers clutching at the fabric of Tom's blazer.
"What sort of game are we playing?" he asks, trying and failing to make his voice anything less than breathless.
It's a good hand, a strong hand, a hand Tom Zane would love to see it other places but he has to focus.
"An icebreaker, a party game, a way to get through the cracks and collaborate, to show ourselves to each other."
Darling clutches at his blazer like it's a life line. Tom's gaze flicks briefly to those long fingers, and then back to the bowtie he's playing with.
"For every question you ask, I'll ask one, too. A back and forth. Less of a stuffy interview. You should have another drink. You should have something else, too, maybe. That way you can get answers and I can see you relaxed, and we both win. Doesn't that sound fair?"
It sounds a little odd. But to be fair, Darling hasn't played an ice breaker game since he went to frat parties in college. (Not that he was in a fraternity, he just tutored a lot of fraternity boys and athletes, and so would get invited along to things. But that's neither here nor there.)
"Yes -- yes all right." He's desperate to know more about this place. To know more about this man who's found him. So he nods, eagerly, relinquishing his grip on Tom's jacket a little. "Ask me anything you'd like."
"Good!" Tom's smile lights up the whole room, it seems, and there it is, another drink, fresh gin and compari and a lovely little orange slice in a perfect old fashioned glass.
He needs to get Darling to relax. To truly open his mind.
"Good," he repeats, and he laughs, looking more than a little giddy. Loosening up Darling before inviting him further into this place, this world. He's been wandering for days. Tom's been lost for longer, but this is his escape. He needs to cement it. Really lock it down.
"Kippis." Cheers him, Darling. Don't ask why or how he's got a fresh drink, too. Don't ask why the rooms lighting is warmer, far more of a hotel than it is a void, strangely muted neon ghosting along their faces from the outside window and the patter of drizzling rain running rivulets down the glass pane.
Tom takes a sip, sets it down, and puts a cigarette in between his fingers, gesturing with it. His first question. Something simple.
Darling doesn't know why they insisted on bringing Zane on. He'd tried to vote against it; Zane was a wildcard, and difficult to control. And for some reason, he seemed to have attached himself to Darling, who had done his initial examination and a few subsequent experiments to see exactly what Zane was. Not human, he knew that much, but thus far his work has been frustratingly inconclusive.
Besides which, Zane is... a distraction. But he couldn't exactly bring that up during the meeting as a valid reason why they shouldn't take him on. Director, he's very pretty and he dresses in a very revealing manner doesn't hold up well.
But now, because of whatever bond may have formed between them, Darling finds himself as Zane's handler. Charged with chaperoning the man (inconclusive) whenever he ventures outside of the House. Or further within the House, for that matter.
So it's not that he's hiding from Tom Zane, not really. It's just that he has a lot of paperwork to do, and he needs to be in his office for that. With the door closed. Trying not to think of his charge wandering somewhere within the building and likely causing mild chaos.
He's making do. The Old House is fascinating, this whole place thrumming with an ancient energy that Zane can't quite put a finger on. Collective Unconsciousness. A planar mirror into humanity. Raw creation.
It's the rest of this place he doesn't like. The walls. The squareness of it all, literally and figuratively. The suits, too. He's not against suits, but if he's going to be in a building like this for God knows how long and get told no about everything he wants to do he starts to get antsy.
The Suits tolerate him because of who--what--he is, and Zane isn't stupid. He's in a gilded cage. But a gilded cage is better than the frying pan and Zane will gladly snatch at that shiny lustre as he bides his time. And hey, it's not so bad. Not really, cops aside. Except Darling.
Zane finds Darling fascinating, and is fairly certain the other is hiding from him. Since he's not in any of his usual haunts: Darling's regular lab spots have come up empty, Zane loops around the office. If Darling isn't there, then Tom can at least go through his stuff.
He opens the door without knocking, and his smile widens with delight once he spots the other man, a spare labcoat on in lieu of shirt and a cigarette in his hand.
"Darling, I've been looking for you. How've you been?"
It's good, that Zane can wander. He'd kept Dylan on too tight of a leash, and look how that had gone. It's heartbreaking, what had happened to that poor boy, and Darling had learned a very rough lesson about not pushing people to and past their limits.
No, Zane needs room to move, to breathe, so he's not a tiger pacing his cage the entire time he's here. With limitations, of course. He'd been given a certain level of clearance when he's by himself, access to certain areas, carefully selected by Darling and approved by the Director and the Board.
He's pulled up short by the voice at the door and sighs. Oh dear. Well, this was inevitable. He can't avoid the man (??) forever. So Darling sighs and rearranges some of the files on his desk, shuffling some more classified things to the bottom of the pile.
"Mister Zane, always a -- pleasure..." His voice hitches a little, and trails off when he sees what exactly Tom is wearing. Or not wearing, as the case may be. "I don't think that's approved work attire, Mister Zane."
"Hmmm," comes Zane's noncommital response, lazily lifting the cup of coffee he'd also brought with him, holding it near the top so he can still hold onto his cigarette. It's not a negroni, but it'll do. He watches the other shuffle around, glancing at the desk if only because the scientist had definitely stashed something. Interesting.
He inhales sharply.
"Doctor Darling," he says formally--a rarity--and moves effortly onto the desk, sitting on top of it and gently setting his cup down directly onto the paperwork the other is about to move. A silent demand for attention. He knows exactly what's going on.
"How long have you been here? Have you gone home?"
"Mister Zane?" Darling arches an eyebrow and sets the coffee pointedly to the side, not on his paperwork, thank you kindly.
But that question hits home in a way he wasn't quite expecting, and he straightens his posture a little. Trying to pretend as though there isn't a corner of his office set up with a cot and sound proof foam, so he can stay the night here, when he needs to.
"I'm not certain how that's your business, exactly. But your concern is noted."
Zane's face lights up immediately as Darling promptly brushes him off. Probably he should be a bit miffed, but it's quite the opposite.
Gotcha.
He takes his hand and places the flat of his palm right where the coffee used to be--another demand for attention, and he's not even trying to hide it this time. He leans forward, gaze far too intense for the subject matter at hand.
"I was just wondering, since you have a cot set up in here. It's just for late hours, right? That brilliant mind churning out equation after equation."
Darling feels a headache coming on. He sighs and rubs at his eyes under his glasses. Though Zane's question does make him wonder... And now, searching back, he's genuinely having a hard time thinking of the last time he'd gone home for the night. Surely in the past month...?
"In case I need to work late, yes." But he sounds distracted. Maybe he should get out of the office more. But there are projects to complete, and forms to fill out, and now there's Tom Zane to watch over. The Head of Research doesn't get to have a break.
He can feel it, the light tinge of something that's not quite annoyance. Casper likes things orderly and neat--maybe not meticiulously, but in his own beautiful way. And Zane doesn't enter into theorem he's working on.
Pity.
Zane's mouth drops into a genuine frown.
"You should get out more," he comments. "It's not healthy, being cooped up like this. When was the last time you've seen a tree that isn't in an office planter? Another person not wearing a tie?"
The expression looks odd on Zane's face, someone who seems to always be wearing that Cheshire Cat smile. It makes Darling's chest clench in an odd way that he can't quite explain.
No, Tom Zane does not fit neatly anywhere. He's hard to define, and therefore a frustration. Something that tickles the back of his brain, an itch that he can't quite scratch. He doesn't know what Zane is and so he can't categorize him and pack him away like he does everything else in his life. It's maddening.
"I'm seeing you, aren't I?" he points out, finally meeting Zane's gaze properly. God, his eyes really are the most startling blue. "You're certainly not wearing a tie. Did you still that coat off Hubert? Poor man always seems to be misplacing it during his lunch break."
Semantics. Splitting hairs. Zane looks at Darling pointedly, waving a hand errantly.
"I mean to see the world! Get some inspiration, restart your brainwaves. Follow the ebb and flow of chaos around you to draw from a fresh perspective."
He's reaching for that coffee again, still eyeing Darling.
"If you won't go home than you should at least do something relaxing."
"I keep active," he retorts. Though he knows the argument is weak as soon as he makes it. "If I need to clear my head, I go for a jog around the House. People think I'm on my way somewhere important, they leave me alone. It's perfect."
Darling sighs and steeples his fingers, resting them against his lips while he tries to study Tom's face. Read his expression. "I don't think you want me to get out. I think you want to get out, and you know you can't do that without me."
It's too late. Zane's smelled the blood in the water, and he's put a hang on the edge of the desk he's already sitting on, leaning back in a languid fashion, brows raising in approval at the active comment. He sure does.
"Is it so bad to want both?" he asks, finally taking a sip. When he lowers the mug, he speaks again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
PSL for [sukeltaja]
𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐣𝐚
so slow down sit down it's new...
But this is exciting. Not just meeting someone after years in a black void, but the thrill of collaboration again. Or the potential of it, at least. The sparks skittering across his skin at the feeling of Tom's fingers against his wrists. Not to mention the lack of shirt under the blazer, which is deeply distracting.
Still, he should at least attempt to be professional. "How long have you been here?" he asks, toying a little with the drink Tom gave him as he looks around the hotel room they've ended up in, somehow. How they got from black void to an entire hotel, he's not sure. So many questions.
"I've counted about six hundred and sixty-five days, but who's to say if that's accurate or not. My watch should have died ages ago, but it seems to have kept going."
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And mostly, importantly, beautifully, this man is his way out. Maybe he should feel a bit bad about clocking that the mathemetician--scientist--is in desperate need of some loosening up. Maybe he should feel bad that, drinks in hand, the other is clearly in over his head. But he isn't, because this is art, this is rock n roll, this is spontaneity, this is Kenneth Anger. This is Jodorowsky's Holy Mountain. This is collaboration in the truest sense. He can sense that. He's always been very good at sensing that.
This is an attractive man with something he wants being not hard to get, not insecure, but unused to things. Zane? Zane has been here a long, long time.
"Time ticks away even if we stand still, Darling." Maybe it's his last name. Maybe it's a pet name. Zane smiles wide in the conjured hotel room, leans in, brows high and arched, mouth almost comically open.
"Six-six-five," he echoes solemnly, and a ringed hand is on Darling's knee as he leans in like a counselor about to tell a spooky story by the fire.
"The neighbour of the beast."
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The hand on his knee doesn't go entirely, or even partially unnoticed. It is, in fact, very much noticed and Darling is trying not to be too terribly flustered over it. Or about the way Tom's voice, deep and rich, wraps around his name. Like it's no longer his name but a term of affection from a long time friend.
He tries for another question -- "Was the hotel here, when you arrived? For me it was just this infinite darkness, until you came across me."
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"You concern yourself too much about the practical. The real. That's not what this place is. You're thinking too much with that brilliant mind of yours--" to emphasize, Tom's hand travels up the other's thigh, fingers curling around the inner side as he leans forward.
"--you need to relax."
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Or...
Darling takes a deeper sip of his drink to try and focus himself, which doesn't help in the least because Tom is leaning closer now and he smells like cigarette smoke and the orange slice on the side of his glass.
"What is this place, then?" he manages to stumble across while trying not to feel too warm under the gaze of those startling blue eyes.
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"The Oceanview Hotel." He takes Darling's negroni with his free hand, gently pries it away from his grasp by curling his own fingers around the rim, making sure to brush against the scientist.
"Think of it as--" a brief wave of emphasis "--my own little corner of the sky. It's a part of me."
Zane tilts the negroni to Darling's lips, gently urges the glass back, encouraging more drink.
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Though his question is interrupted by the press of the glass to his lips, and he wraps his fingers around Tom's wrist just to try and have some sort of control over the drink. He does drink it, though, meeting Tom's gaze and swallowing audibly.
Once the glass is empty, he leans back from it a little, just to catch his breath a little. A lot is happening at once, and he feels overwhelmed. Tom is an overwhelming person.
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"I'm sorry," he lies, and the glass glitches--shifts--and it's out of his hands. It's out of existence entirely.
"I don't think I'm accounting for you in this collaboration."
He wants Darling to know about this. About him. About everything. Better chance of getting out, since Alan's gone mad. Tom lowers the hand Darling still has a loose grasp on to begin to play with the other's bowtie.
Tom also wants more.
"It's that you're so damn charming--but I have an idea. Let's play a game." And, before Darling has a chance to speak, both of Tom's touchy hands are framing either side of that bearded face, chuckling. He's three seconds from crawling into his lap at this point.
"Get our creative energy flowing, loosen up, get to know each other--you're a man of science and inquiry. It might help. What do you say?" A gentle pat of the other’s cheeks.
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"What sort of game are we playing?" he asks, trying and failing to make his voice anything less than breathless.
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"An icebreaker, a party game, a way to get through the cracks and collaborate, to show ourselves to each other."
Darling clutches at his blazer like it's a life line. Tom's gaze flicks briefly to those long fingers, and then back to the bowtie he's playing with.
"For every question you ask, I'll ask one, too. A back and forth. Less of a stuffy interview. You should have another drink. You should have something else, too, maybe. That way you can get answers and I can see you relaxed, and we both win. Doesn't that sound fair?"
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"Yes -- yes all right." He's desperate to know more about this place. To know more about this man who's found him. So he nods, eagerly, relinquishing his grip on Tom's jacket a little. "Ask me anything you'd like."
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He needs to get Darling to relax. To truly open his mind.
"Good," he repeats, and he laughs, looking more than a little giddy. Loosening up Darling before inviting him further into this place, this world. He's been wandering for days. Tom's been lost for longer, but this is his escape. He needs to cement it. Really lock it down.
"Kippis." Cheers him, Darling. Don't ask why or how he's got a fresh drink, too. Don't ask why the rooms lighting is warmer, far more of a hotel than it is a void, strangely muted neon ghosting along their faces from the outside window and the patter of drizzling rain running rivulets down the glass pane.
Tom takes a sip, sets it down, and puts a cigarette in between his fingers, gesturing with it. His first question. Something simple.
"Do you feel this? This connection, between us."
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i'll probably be some kind of scientist... | FBC AU
Besides which, Zane is... a distraction. But he couldn't exactly bring that up during the meeting as a valid reason why they shouldn't take him on. Director, he's very pretty and he dresses in a very revealing manner doesn't hold up well.
But now, because of whatever bond may have formed between them, Darling finds himself as Zane's handler. Charged with chaperoning the man (inconclusive) whenever he ventures outside of the House. Or further within the House, for that matter.
So it's not that he's hiding from Tom Zane, not really. It's just that he has a lot of paperwork to do, and he needs to be in his office for that. With the door closed. Trying not to think of his charge wandering somewhere within the building and likely causing mild chaos.
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It's the rest of this place he doesn't like. The walls. The squareness of it all, literally and figuratively. The suits, too. He's not against suits, but if he's going to be in a building like this for God knows how long and get told no about everything he wants to do he starts to get antsy.
The Suits tolerate him because of who--what--he is, and Zane isn't stupid. He's in a gilded cage. But a gilded cage is better than the frying pan and Zane will gladly snatch at that shiny lustre as he bides his time. And hey, it's not so bad. Not really, cops aside. Except Darling.
Zane finds Darling fascinating, and is fairly certain the other is hiding from him. Since he's not in any of his usual haunts: Darling's regular lab spots have come up empty, Zane loops around the office. If Darling isn't there, then Tom can at least go through his stuff.
He opens the door without knocking, and his smile widens with delight once he spots the other man, a spare labcoat on in lieu of shirt and a cigarette in his hand.
"Darling, I've been looking for you. How've you been?"
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No, Zane needs room to move, to breathe, so he's not a tiger pacing his cage the entire time he's here. With limitations, of course. He'd been given a certain level of clearance when he's by himself, access to certain areas, carefully selected by Darling and approved by the Director and the Board.
He's pulled up short by the voice at the door and sighs. Oh dear. Well, this was inevitable. He can't avoid the man (??) forever. So Darling sighs and rearranges some of the files on his desk, shuffling some more classified things to the bottom of the pile.
"Mister Zane, always a -- pleasure..." His voice hitches a little, and trails off when he sees what exactly Tom is wearing. Or not wearing, as the case may be. "I don't think that's approved work attire, Mister Zane."
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He inhales sharply.
"Doctor Darling," he says formally--a rarity--and moves effortly onto the desk, sitting on top of it and gently setting his cup down directly onto the paperwork the other is about to move. A silent demand for attention. He knows exactly what's going on.
"How long have you been here? Have you gone home?"
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But that question hits home in a way he wasn't quite expecting, and he straightens his posture a little. Trying to pretend as though there isn't a corner of his office set up with a cot and sound proof foam, so he can stay the night here, when he needs to.
"I'm not certain how that's your business, exactly. But your concern is noted."
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Gotcha.
He takes his hand and places the flat of his palm right where the coffee used to be--another demand for attention, and he's not even trying to hide it this time. He leans forward, gaze far too intense for the subject matter at hand.
"I was just wondering, since you have a cot set up in here. It's just for late hours, right? That brilliant mind churning out equation after equation."
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"In case I need to work late, yes." But he sounds distracted. Maybe he should get out of the office more. But there are projects to complete, and forms to fill out, and now there's Tom Zane to watch over. The Head of Research doesn't get to have a break.
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Pity.
Zane's mouth drops into a genuine frown.
"You should get out more," he comments. "It's not healthy, being cooped up like this. When was the last time you've seen a tree that isn't in an office planter? Another person not wearing a tie?"
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No, Tom Zane does not fit neatly anywhere. He's hard to define, and therefore a frustration. Something that tickles the back of his brain, an itch that he can't quite scratch. He doesn't know what Zane is and so he can't categorize him and pack him away like he does everything else in his life. It's maddening.
"I'm seeing you, aren't I?" he points out, finally meeting Zane's gaze properly. God, his eyes really are the most startling blue. "You're certainly not wearing a tie. Did you still that coat off Hubert? Poor man always seems to be misplacing it during his lunch break."
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"I mean to see the world! Get some inspiration, restart your brainwaves. Follow the ebb and flow of chaos around you to draw from a fresh perspective."
He's reaching for that coffee again, still eyeing Darling.
"If you won't go home than you should at least do something relaxing."
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Darling sighs and steeples his fingers, resting them against his lips while he tries to study Tom's face. Read his expression. "I don't think you want me to get out. I think you want to get out, and you know you can't do that without me."
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"Is it so bad to want both?" he asks, finally taking a sip. When he lowers the mug, he speaks again.
"Come see a movie with me."
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