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It’d been about a week since they’d slept together and while they’d spent every night since together and Jennifer had moved a few of her things into his room without much discussion or argument, they hadn’t really talked about what they were. Duke didn’t much mind necessarily, he’d never been one for a “define the relationship” talk, but the fact that Jennifer didn’t mind either was weirding him out. It had nothing to do with what had been a joke at the precinct when she’d had that black goo in her head—“I’m the guy, remember? I’m the one who’s supposed to freak out and push you away”—and more to do with the kind of woman Jennifer had continued to show that she was. She was a “good girl” in practically ever respect of the phrase, and in Duke’s experience, good girls always expected more than what they got. And yet she continued to seem to be happy with what they had.
And Duke didn’t know what to do with that.
He wanted to show her that she was different from anyone he’d ever been with or had, that he wanted them to be different from anything he’d ever had, and that he wasn’t afraid of that change. He wanted to do things right.
Because she was worth it and he knew it.
So he spent the better part of another week formulating a plan to show her all of that, until finally all that was left was just to ask her one important question.
He came back to the Rouge after a long day at the Gull—glad that since the black goo incident, there hadn’t been much Trouble related activity or anything from William to interrupt the new delicate routine that they’d developed around each other. She was already back from her day at the Herald, and he found that he couldn’t wait to get below deck to see her. She was sitting on the couch in the stateroom; numerous documents scattered around her and her laptop was open on the coffee table in front of her. There was a pencil behind her ear and her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she intensely studied one of the pieces of paper in front of her. He crossed the room, unnoticed by her, until he kissed her head.
She looked up and around her, confusion and annoyance flashing across her face for the briefest moment before she registered that it was Duke kissing her, and not someone else. Once she did, her whole face lit up and she all but melted into the back of the couch—as if she’d spent all the time he’d been away wound up and this was her first time relaxing.
He smiled down at her, “Hey you.”
She grinned back, “Hey yourself; I didn’t hear you come home.”
“I noticed,” He smiled, moving some of her papers carefully to the side and sitting next to her. He rested his right arm on the back of the couch behind her head. She eyed his hand knowingly for a moment before carefully grabbing his wrist and leading his arm to rest around her shoulders. He smirked and pulled her closer to his side, prompting her to swing her legs over his and rest her head on his shoulder.
“What’re you working on?” he asked, scanning some of the documents she had around her and absently rubbing her leg with his free hand; most of the documents she had around her were old editions of the Herald, some were basic maps of Haven, and one looked like family tree of some sort. He picked up a photocopy of a Herald from the ‘40s, skimming it.
She sighed, “Mostly on my credibility—I can’t very well write for the Herald when I hardly know anything about Haven, can I?”
Duke grinned, “Well most of the history’s probably made up to cover for the Troubles, so you could write just about anything and it’d probably be true in some respect.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully at him, making a grab for the paper in his hand, “That’s not how journalism works.”
He moved the sheet out of her reach as he raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, still smirking, “If I remember correctly, it’s the victors who write the history books.”
She just glared at him a little harder and made another grab for the sheet in his hand, more of her body brushing against him, “Fine, that’s not how journalism is supposed to work.”
He moved the paper a little further out of her reach until she basically straddled him and smiled up at her expectantly. Confusion flickered in her dark eyes for a moment before she caught on to what he wanted and rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. She framed his face with her hands and tilted his head back so it rested against the back of the couch as she kissed him slow and lingering, lightly running her nails over his scalp to keep from completely undoing his ponytail. He dropped the sheet, letting it flutter to the cushion next to him, and moved his hands to her back to pull her closer against him.
She pulled away, smiling at him as he looked at her with hooded eyes, and kissed the tip of his nose before sliding off of him. She grabbed the sheet as she climbed to her feet, starting to gather the other papers in her hands to put them in her workbag. Duke sat on the couch for another moment, feeling a little used, but soon came back to himself; he had a question to ask her after all.
He leaned forward to squeeze her hip and get her attention, “Hey, what’re you doing Friday night?”
She smirked at him as she continued to gather her work materials, “Well, seeing as I’ve only just recently decided to stay in this town that doesn’t warm up well to strangers, I find that my free time is pretty open these days. Did you have something in mind?”
He smiled at her, “Dinner. You and me. At the Gray Gull. I’ll cook, you’ll wear something nice, we’ll have a good bottle of wine; what do you say?”
She actually seemed a little surprised by his proposition, but a smile was tugging at her lips as she pointed out, “That sounds dangerously close to being a date, Duke Crocker.”
He gave her a smug smile, “Would it be a problem if it were?”
There was a blush in her cheeks now, and the tips of her ears were turning pink as she smiled sheepishly at him, “Well I’ll have to clear my schedule, but I think I can work you in somewhere.”
He rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her back into his lap, “You’re damn right you can.”
[Break]
Friday came faster than either of them was really prepared for, while also feeling like it took forever to finally reach. They agreed to meet at the Gull at seven, so that Jennifer could have a chance to change from her work clothes into something “date worthy” and to give Duke a chance to make sure everything was ready and perfect. Tracy had agreed to run interference for him so that he and Jennifer could enjoy a modicum of privacy on one of the further sections of the deck that wrapped around the restaurant. She’d also given him enough time and privacy to allow him to fix himself up enough so that he didn’t look like he’d been working a bar for eight hours.
He checked the grill again, adjusted the flatware on table he’d set up, even reread the label of the wine he’d chosen as he waited. She wasn’t late by any means; he’d just been so careful in his preparations that he’d accidentally given himself about half an hour of wait time before she was even supposed to be there.
“Am I late?” a nervous, familiar voice asked behind him just before he put the wine back in its ice bucket after assessing it for the third time. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress with a lace neckline and the same lace on the hem. The skirt bunched at her left hip, and the dress as a whole hugged her figure beautifully. Her hair was pinned back on the left side of her head with three red fabric flowers, allowing for the rest of her chocolate brown hair to curl freely to her right. She had a shawl the same red as the flowers in her hair with a black fringe wrapped loosely around her shoulders, and was wearing a pair of red heels with a t-strap. Even her lips were painted red.
She was gorgeous.
And he felt foolishly underdressed in his dark blue button down and tan jacket.
She shifted nervously in front of him, chewing the corner of her lip and pulling her shawl closer around her, “Or am I too early?”
He came back to himself, realizing he’d been staring and hadn’t actually answered her, and quickly set the bottle down on the table to go to her, “No! No you’re right on time—perfect even.”
She blushed as he kissed her cheek and took her hand.
“You look fantastic,” He said, and she blushed harder.
She let him lead her to the table as she said, tugging nervously at her shawl, “I don’t know about that—I feel like I may have overdone it a little—but you did say for me to wear something nice.”
He shook his head as he held the chair out for her—something she took note of and that made her finally smile—“That I did. But either way, I don’t think it’s possible for you to ever overdo it—if anything I just feel like I stupidly underdressed.”
She giggled and shook her head as she settled in the chair. She looked up at him as she shrugged out of her shawl, “I think you look handsome.”
He gave her a soft smile and placed another kiss on her forehead. They looked at each other for another moment before Duke asked, “You hungry? I was thinking something in the vein of surf’n’turf.”
She grinned at him, “I’m up for anything; you’re the one who promised me dinner, after all.”
He grinned back, reaching for the bottle of wine again and starting to uncork it, “And a good bottle of wine as well, if I remember correctly.”
He poured them each a glass and held it up for a toast, she lifted an eyebrow at him, “And what are we toasting to?”
He gave her a knowing smile, “To beginnings.”
She just blushed back, repeating the sentiment, though a bit breathlessly, tapping her glass against his, and took a quick drink of her wine while Duke went back to the grill to check on the shrimp and steaks he’d left to cook.
There was a pause as he worked with the food and she stared at her wine glass, trying to figure out what to say. She wasn’t usually this nervous during dates, but she’d long since figured out that while Duke was capable of a relationship of some sort, it wasn’t exactly at the top of his list of things to be concerned about. Which was why she’d pushed her confusing “what are we” thoughts to the side in favor of just enjoying what they were and what they had, even if she didn’t understand it as well as she could. And yet here she was, on an official date with him, with him toasting to “beginnings,” and this was all just sounding a lot like they were going to have a very important talk. She’d spent the better part of the day wondering why he was suddenly so interested in having this sort of conversation—had she not been as subtle or aloof as she thought she was being? Did he feel pressured because of her actions?
Okay, Jen, you’re spiraling; bring it back. She thought, letting out a slow deep breath before finally turning in her chair to talk to Duke, “So, is this how every date with Duke Crocker goes or am I just special?”
Duke laughed, “Well of course you’re special,”
Jennifer quirked an eyebrow at him as he put her plate in front of her, “Flattery will get you nowhere,”
He took his seat across from her, “Never thought it would.”
She continued to give him an expectant look as she picked up her fork and knife to start enjoying her meal. He took another drink of his wine before gesturing with his glass towards her, “The dates I prepare usually vary depending on what I want from the other person.”
“Oh?” She asked, giving him a pointed look and cutting into her steak, “Because you know I live with you right? In fact, I already sleep with you, so if all this is to get me into bed, I have to tell you that this is all really unnecessary. Really sweet, but entirely unnecessary.”
He chuckled, “That’s not what I want from you. It’s a wonderful bonus—,” he smiled at her blush, “—but it’s not what this is for.”
“No?” She asked, giving him a slightly sardonic smile, “So then what do you want from me, Business Man?”
He seemed to size her up for a moment before he explained, “I’ve never—I’ve only done something like this a couple of times in the past, and each time it hasn’t worked out how I would’ve wanted or hoped.”
She watched him carefully, knowing that this was probably putting him in unfamiliar territory and wanting to let him do this in his own time, and tried to continue to eat her food.
“But I know you’re different. I know that you’re worth doing all this for. So what I want, is this.” He reached across the table to place his hand over hers, “You. I want you to stay and I want to try to be something with you and I want to convince you that—,”
“Duke.” She said gently, moving to place her other hand over his and rubbing the back of it with her thumb, “I’m going to stay. I want to stay. I want—I want this too.”
He gave her a small, grateful smile back, before picking her hand up and leaning forward to place a kiss on her palm.
She smiled at him and pulled her hand back to gently pat both of her own on the table, “Okay, enough of that heavy stuff. This is technically our first date; we should treat it like one.”
Her smile turned wily, “Show me what me what Duke Crocker’s like on a first date.”
He rolled his eyes, “I already told you, it depends on—,”
“Oh now I don’t believe that, surely you’ve got some moves or lines that you always use,” Jennifer interrupted, returning to her meal.
He kept watching her skeptically, getting back to his own meal, as she added, “Look, if it will help, just pretend you don’t have the guarantee of having me in your bed.”
He chuckled as he reached for his wine.
She shrugged, “Or that could be a reality, really it’s up to you.”
“Oh now that’s playing dirty.” Duke tsked, pointing at her accusingly.
She grinned, “But also a powerful motivator in my experience.”
She giggled at his narrowed eyes before prompting him with her hand, “C’mon! It’ll be fun. Walk me through a date with you.”
He rolled his eyes but finally conceded, leaning forward to eat more of his meal, “Well since I got the Gull, the playbook’s kind of changed.”
She nodded around a drink of her wine, “I bet; owning your own restaurant says a lot, and so does inviting a date to it.”
He smirked , “Right; but you’re the first woman who’s actually followed through on letting me do the whole wine-and-dine show.”
She shrugged, smirking around a bite of her steak, “I’m a woman of my word, what can I say?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, “I’ve noticed.”
She smiled before turning back to her meal as he asked, “What about you? What’s Jennifer Mason like on a first date?”
She considered the question for a moment, before gesturing to her outfit, “You’re kind of looking at it. Most of my ‘date game’ happens well before the date’s even started. If I’m aiming to impress the guy, and hoping for the prospect of a second date, I usually go with a well-fitted dress—something that leaves enough to the imagination while still getting his attention.”
Duke made a point of looking her up and down, “And you certainly have mine.”
She grinned as she finished her glass, “Then half my work is already done.”
He poured her another glass as they continued swapping first date tricks, eventually turning to horror stories of “dates gone by” (some highlights including a skating rink, a small fire on the date’s hair, the police busting the restaurant they were in, and the horrific discovery that they’d actually been on the same first date twice with the same person), until, before they knew it, the food was gone, as was the wine (well, the first bottle anyway), and the rest of the wait staff had already basically closed the Gull.
They eventually wondered from their small table on the deck, to sitting with their bare feet hanging over the edge, just barely skimming the water in Duke’s case, and swapping strange facts about themselves—that thankfully had nothing to do with Troubles. Those could stay on the periphery of their evening for a little while longer as far as they both were concerned.
“You get enough whiskey in me,” Jennifer was saying, swinging her legs, “And my Boston accent basically makes me impossible to understand.”
Duke laughed, “Oh now, see, I’m gonna need to hear that.”
She lightly shoved him, before slipping into the accent slightly to say, “Yeah whatevah,”
He practically doubled over in laughter at that, as she continued, hardly containing her own laughter, “You bettah stop laughin’ at me or ya gonna be sittin’ in ya cah alone.”
They dissolved into laughter, Duke trying to say, “Oh God, that’s awful.”
She wiped under her eyes to catch the stray tears that had sprung up from laughing so hard, “Yeah, and it gets worse with whiskey.”
A cool breeze blew up from the water, causing her to shiver and try to pull her shawl tighter around her, even though she knew it was to thin to really make a difference.
“Do you want my jacket?” He asked, already pulling it off and draping it over her shoulders.
She pulled it close around herself, fighting the urge to bury her nose in it to get a better smell of that particular musk that made Duke Duke, and pulled her shawl from around her to hand to him, asking, “Do you want my shawl?”
“Absolutely,” he said, taking it from her to wrap around his neck dramatically as if it were just a comically long scarf, “I knew this outfit was missing something.”
“Yeah the red really brings it all together,” She smirked at him.
“Makes my eyes sparkle,” He replied, matter-of-factly.
She rolled her eyes as she let out a breath of a laugh at him, and slunk a little deeper into the jacket for a moment. After a pause she nudged his leg with her foot, “It’s your turn.”
Duke sighed, “Okay, um…”
There was a pause as he stared into the water for a moment before he sighed, “I can sing every song Meatloaf has ever written.”
Jennifer looked at him in a strange mix of confusion and disbelief as a laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. After she drew her lips into her mouth to control it, she asked, “What?”
He just sighed again, “I don’t know. I had a lot of free time?”
She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, “Prove it.”
He rubbed at his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, mumbling, “Oh I’m gonna regret this.”
Then, he stood up, leaned down, hooked one arm under her knees and another around her waist, and stood back up, singing rather dramatically, “And I would anything for love. I’d run right into hell and back.”
She laughed as he spun them around for a moment, and continued to sing a rather impressive medley of Meatloaf songs to her. She only knew a few of them, so he could’ve easily just sung “I’d Do Anything For Love” and she’d’ve been none the wiser, but she’d never heard him sing before.
He had a beautiful voice.
He seemed to be slowing down, and set her gently back down so she could stand on her own, but she grabbed his hands and sang the last part of the song he’d started with.
“Will you hold me sacred? Will you hold me tight? Can you colourise my life, I'm so sick of black and white? Can you make it all a little less old?”
He grinned at her, and sang back, “I can do that. Oh no, I can do that.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, “Will you cater to every fantasy I got? Will you hose me down with holy water, if I get too hot? Will you take me places I've never known?”
His eyes sparkled at the implications of the verse she chose before cradling her face in his hands to tip her head back and kissing her neck, “I can do that. Oh no, I can do that.”
She swallowed to get her heart out of her throat after it had leapt there at the feeling of his lips on her neck, “After a while you'll forget everything—It was a brief interlude and a midsummer night's fling and you'll see that it's time to move on—,”
Duke cut her off with a fierce kiss, stopping her the next verse and pulling her close to him. When they broke away he just mumbled, “No. I won’t.”
She smiled at him, tugging on his shirt, “Take me home.”
He grinned, “I can do that.”