The poetry catches him a little off guard. Despite Tom's artistic nature, he wasn't expecting him to just -- recite a poem like that.
"That was lovely," he says, quietly stunned. "Did you -- oh." But they're walking again, and Tom is still holding his hand, and Darling isn't sure why he doesn't pull away other than it's nice.
"I'm not that interesting, I promise. Just an odd kid who grew up reading books about unexplained events who was able to turn it into a career."
"I think that's very interesting," Zane counters, and that same small, gentle smile is on his face. He wants to encourage the other as much as possible. If not for his own good, than because Darling's much more cuter when he's stunned because of Zane and not being humble.
"I also think you're entirely too hard on yourself."
"Too hard on myself?" He'd never thought of it that way before, but he frowns a little at the idea. Is he? Maybe so. He's always pushed himself, but that's just having a good work ethic. Isn't it?
"Maybe it's the other way around. Maybe you're just too easy on me."
"Are you calling me easy?" Zane asks, blue eyes wide in mock indignation. A hand moves to his chest, tapping it in a quick, dramatic fashion before he's wiggling his fingers.
Darling groans, but it's good natured, and he shakes his head at the comment. "I do keep walking into those. Shame on me.
Oh -- " They reach their turn, and without thinking too much about it, he tugs at Tom's hand to move them in the right direction. "This way, we're nearly there."
There it is. That smile. Slowly but surely, Zane is coaxing that out of him. The softness that the other tries and fails to hide. He's never met someone who wears a closely guarded heart right on his sleeve before, but here they are. There Casper is, with bangs that curl and a cute little goatee, gently ushering him to take the right turn with a gentle nudge of his hand.
He'd done the same thing to Barbara when they first met, ushering his long time crush out of the snow and into a bustling Cafe. But this is different. This is distinct. Zane smiles widely.
"I've been thinking about you," he confesses. "About why you're the head of research and not someone else."
Darling does tend to keep himself at an arm's length from most people, but it's out of necessity rather than desire. It's a dangerous job, and he tries not to get too close to people. But, oh, he wants to be able to, more than anything. So today, just for the day, he'll allow Tom in a bit. It seems safer to do, out of the office.
"Ah! Well, a fair question. The Director and I worked closely together on a few projects, back when he was just an agent and I was working in the lab. Trench became Director, and a few years later, my predecessor Dr. Ash retired. So the Director recommended me to take over as head of the department. A position which I happily accepted. Though it's hard to believe sometimes that I've held it for almost twenty-five years, now."
"A very fruitful 25 years," Zane supplies, and tries very hard not to think about the whispers about someone called P6. The tragedy in the mystery of it all. Poetry in motion and whatnot--they slow down a little, nearing what Zane is assuming is the restaurant.
"And your workers love you. You have a fanclub, are you aware? Darling's Darlings."
"Oh -- yes, right here." He does let go of Tom's hand to open the door for him, at least, his fingers brushing briefly over Tom's lower back to gesture him inside. Their conversation is put on a brief hold while Darling goes about getting them a table, stealing shy sideways glances at the other man while they get settled.
"Sorry, we got interrupted before I could accuse you of lying about my alleged fanclub. I don't know where you heard that. Darling's Darlings, really?" He tries not to look too pleased at the idea that people might actually enjoy working with him, instead of feeling obligated to.
"Really," Zane says, still grinning. It widens, eyes flashing with even more delight the moment the smells and the sight of a waiter passing by with a bottle of wine for a table near the entrance.
Darling had touched his lower back. Darling knows this is a date, he's positive. This is utterly divine.
"Why would I be lying when I'm a card carrying member? So intelligent, so funny, so cute."
"Oh, I see." He tries to ignore how badly he's blushing by studying the menu intently, absorbing not a single word of it.
It's not a date. It shouldn't be a date. It's just dinner out, because he promised Tom he'd have at least a little freedom. With supervision, of course, and that's what he's here to provide.
"Is that an important part of being a department head? Being cute?"
"No, but it's a nice plus. The competency is what made you department head, although I do think there are a few of your underlings who linger a little too long on your ass."
Zane casually opens up the wine menu, pulling it so it's vertical and winds up hiding his face.
"It's the only thing relatable about your worker bees, if I'm being honest. You've got a great one. The whole secretly buff thing really works."
Darling lets out a nervous laugh, bordering on a giggle, which he's fairly certain he hasn't done in decades. Not before Tom Zane, anyway.
"I like to keep active, I think I've said. But I don't -- I'm not -- " He sputters a little, squinting to try to make the menu focus better. "No one is looking at my ass."
Darling jumps a little at the very enthusiastic response, studying the look on Tom's face for a moment. He rubs his hand over his chin, trying to formulate a response, but all he can come up with is --
"Why don't you pick out something for us to drink, Mister Zane?"
"Please. Tom is fine. Or Thomas. Whatever you prefer--but not mister."
if Zane looks like he's looking at Darling like a piece of meat, that's very much because he is. He shouldn't, but--well. He can't help it.
"I'll promise not to break your bank," he assures. He knows wine. He knows alcohol, really--yes, he's a binge drinker, and he probably has several problems. If he wasn't a parautilitarian it's very likely his liver would be crying out for help, but it's not, and he's here, and he does have taste. He orders a dry red, something he thinks Darling will like specifically.
"So. Can I finally peak behind that labcoat? Maybe talk to the real Darling?"
Darling is more sneaky about his drinking, usually. Late at night, when he's in the office alone, or when he finally makes it back to his house on the rare occasions when he does go home. But a three in the morning glass of whiskey next to whatever take-out is still open at that time is not something he really wants to own up to.
He is surprised, however, to find that Tom's choice does look rather good.
"Of course you can. I'm an open book." Which isn't entirely true, but he's found that he's willing to be a little more honest with Tom than some of his other colleagues. "What do you want to know?"
"I was just wondering if you enjoy the way you lie to yourself," Zane says casually, and--ooh, breadsticks. He hasn't had them in years, the fat little American dough cylinders. Tom helps himself, leaning on the table with his elbows, gesturing as he continues to speak through his mouthful.
Darling looks like he's been hit in the head with a brick. He murmurs some sort of thanks as the waiter pours their wine, making an affirmative noise when asked if it's to his liking, but his eyes stay on Tom.
Because he hates how deep the question hits him, and hates even more that Tom is the first one to call him out on, maybe even the first to notice the front he puts up. "I am happy," he says, though his tone is. Tense. "I love my job. Maybe I don't get the time off I want, but that's a hazard in every work place, isn't it?"
"Mmm," is Tom sounds noncommital, all languid movements as he reaches for a second piece of bread, eyes never leave Darling's as he does so. This is the closest he's seen Darling get combative with him prying. The real question is if it's because it's private or if it's because Tom's right. He's banking on the latter.
"You're happy you're in a job you like. You're happy with your job." He reaches for the butter, shrugging.
Tom's accusations (because they do feel like accusations) are frighteningly accurate, which is what bothers him. Like the filmmaker had reached into the centre of him and pulled out a secret.
So Darling sips at his wine with a wry smile and an arched eyebrow. Trying not to be bothered about how this man seems to be able to read him with a glance. "Oh? And why am I not happy, Tom? Since you know all my secrets, now."
Tom stops chewing, visibly stilling himself as he stops to genuinely think. Not so much thrown off his guard, but trying to handle this delicately. Like he used to with Cynthia, only Tom is very much interested in Darling and Cynthia had been a tragic means to an end after Barbara's passing.
He weighs his answer for a while.
"Beyond the shadow you settle for, there is a miracle illuminated," he recites. He's not sure Darling wants to hear the reason bluntly.
"Poetry," he sighs. Not dismissive, just... tired. He's tired, and he has been for a long while. He just does a very good job of making himself look held together when he absolutely is not. There are small tells, if anyone cares to look. A regular tie when he doesn't have the energy for a bowtie. His sweater vest on inside out because he dressed in the dark, or in his office in a hurry, or he simply didn't care enough to check.
But no one does care to look. Except Tom, apparently, and that bothers him for reasons he can't quite nail down.
He picks at the corner of his menu, feeling restless. Like he's being observed under a microscope. "I wasn't aware our dinner also included a therapy session. I might have chosen a different restaurant, if I had known."
"My dearest Doctor Darling, we're having an intimate conversation, not a therapy session. I'm fairly certain this would count as a conflict of interest if it was."
It is a date, after all. He leans back, arm slung over his chair casually. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone.
"I'm just curious about you. You can ask something about me if you'd like--and just so you don't fall back on old habits, it can't be about what I can do. This isn't a lab, it's fun."
Darling toys with the stem of his wine glass, contemplating the offer. It's an opportunity, he can see that. So he gives in, and asks something that's been on his mind since he met Tom.
"At the risk of coming off as self-centred -- why me? Other than Ahti, I seem to be the only one you really talk to. You practically demanded I be the one in charge of you, and that I be the one to take you on this little excursion.
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"That was lovely," he says, quietly stunned. "Did you -- oh." But they're walking again, and Tom is still holding his hand, and Darling isn't sure why he doesn't pull away other than it's nice.
"I'm not that interesting, I promise. Just an odd kid who grew up reading books about unexplained events who was able to turn it into a career."
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"I also think you're entirely too hard on yourself."
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"Maybe it's the other way around. Maybe you're just too easy on me."
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"Only for you, maybe."
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Oh -- " They reach their turn, and without thinking too much about it, he tugs at Tom's hand to move them in the right direction. "This way, we're nearly there."
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He'd done the same thing to Barbara when they first met, ushering his long time crush out of the snow and into a bustling Cafe. But this is different. This is distinct. Zane smiles widely.
"I've been thinking about you," he confesses. "About why you're the head of research and not someone else."
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"Ah! Well, a fair question. The Director and I worked closely together on a few projects, back when he was just an agent and I was working in the lab. Trench became Director, and a few years later, my predecessor Dr. Ash retired. So the Director recommended me to take over as head of the department. A position which I happily accepted. Though it's hard to believe sometimes that I've held it for almost twenty-five years, now."
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"And your workers love you. You have a fanclub, are you aware? Darling's Darlings."
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"Sorry, we got interrupted before I could accuse you of lying about my alleged fanclub. I don't know where you heard that. Darling's Darlings, really?" He tries not to look too pleased at the idea that people might actually enjoy working with him, instead of feeling obligated to.
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Darling had touched his lower back. Darling knows this is a date, he's positive. This is utterly divine.
"Why would I be lying when I'm a card carrying member? So intelligent, so funny, so cute."
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It's not a date. It shouldn't be a date. It's just dinner out, because he promised Tom he'd have at least a little freedom. With supervision, of course, and that's what he's here to provide.
"Is that an important part of being a department head? Being cute?"
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Zane casually opens up the wine menu, pulling it so it's vertical and winds up hiding his face.
"It's the only thing relatable about your worker bees, if I'm being honest. You've got a great one. The whole secretly buff thing really works."
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"I like to keep active, I think I've said. But I don't -- I'm not -- " He sputters a little, squinting to try to make the menu focus better. "No one is looking at my ass."
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"I absolutely look at your ass."
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"Why don't you pick out something for us to drink, Mister Zane?"
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if Zane looks like he's looking at Darling like a piece of meat, that's very much because he is. He shouldn't, but--well. He can't help it.
"I'll promise not to break your bank," he assures. He knows wine. He knows alcohol, really--yes, he's a binge drinker, and he probably has several problems. If he wasn't a parautilitarian it's very likely his liver would be crying out for help, but it's not, and he's here, and he does have taste. He orders a dry red, something he thinks Darling will like specifically.
"So. Can I finally peak behind that labcoat? Maybe talk to the real Darling?"
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He is surprised, however, to find that Tom's choice does look rather good.
"Of course you can. I'm an open book." Which isn't entirely true, but he's found that he's willing to be a little more honest with Tom than some of his other colleagues. "What do you want to know?"
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"About how happy you really are, I mean."
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Because he hates how deep the question hits him, and hates even more that Tom is the first one to call him out on, maybe even the first to notice the front he puts up. "I am happy," he says, though his tone is. Tense. "I love my job. Maybe I don't get the time off I want, but that's a hazard in every work place, isn't it?"
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"You're happy you're in a job you like. You're happy with your job." He reaches for the butter, shrugging.
"But you're not happy."
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So Darling sips at his wine with a wry smile and an arched eyebrow. Trying not to be bothered about how this man seems to be able to read him with a glance. "Oh? And why am I not happy, Tom? Since you know all my secrets, now."
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He weighs his answer for a while.
"Beyond the shadow you settle for, there is a miracle illuminated," he recites. He's not sure Darling wants to hear the reason bluntly.
Trench.
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But no one does care to look. Except Tom, apparently, and that bothers him for reasons he can't quite nail down.
He picks at the corner of his menu, feeling restless. Like he's being observed under a microscope. "I wasn't aware our dinner also included a therapy session. I might have chosen a different restaurant, if I had known."
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It is a date, after all. He leans back, arm slung over his chair casually. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone.
"I'm just curious about you. You can ask something about me if you'd like--and just so you don't fall back on old habits, it can't be about what I can do. This isn't a lab, it's fun."
He nods. Gestures. "I'm an open book."
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"At the risk of coming off as self-centred -- why me? Other than Ahti, I seem to be the only one you really talk to. You practically demanded I be the one in charge of you, and that I be the one to take you on this little excursion.
But why? I'm not anything special."
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