Work Text:
The text is short.
“Found something you are going to want to see- RS.”
She hits her head against the bathroom wall, avoiding her own reflection before making her way back out into the restaurant.
She takes her seat at the table, smiling at Joel Neil, a Ph.D candidate from Washington State. He’s good looking in the broad-shouldered way.
“Sorry about that.” She says as he pours more wine into her glass.
“No problem, work.” He rolls his eyes. “What can ya do?”
She laughs. It’s easy.
“So, what are you working on recently?” He asks.
It’s easy because he doesn’t know her.
They haven’t slept together which means he doesn’t know that she doesn’t really sleep anymore.
They haven’t worked on any stories together so he doesn’t know that she’s reached a point in her life where someone could tell her that their server is Satan and she would pretty much just accept it.
“A lot of research, mainly.” Alex tells him. “Primarily searching for stories of people who believe in the paranormal.”
“Seriously?” He stares at her with a kind of rapt interest that makes her want to keep talking.
“Yeah. It’s been interesting.”
“Sounds like it.”
“What about you?”
“Too much running around the woods, collecting samples.”
Botanist. Very non-threatening. Very natural, normal, and of-this-world.
He’s talking. She is pretending to pay attention and to her credit at least, she’s very good at it.
But she’s thinking about the text.
Is it a new Black Tape? Is it something new about Coralee? Her stomach flips a bit at that last thought. Is it a news article or a new photo of some kind of cave painting?
She watches Joel as he talks animatedly about his field. He could pick her up with one arm, he could probably make sure she slept soundly for once. He’s the kind of guy you go to football games with in the fall, the kind that would dress up with you for Halloween. Joel’s the kind of guy who would be content with a weekend of takeout and Netflix. He’d charm her parents.
He’s the kind of guy your best friend picks out for you, which is exactly what happened. Nic had given her Joel’s number after an…incident.
Alex has never been the kind of girl to size herself up, looks-wise. She’s always prided herself on her brains and her out-going personality more than anything else. Nic may or may not have caught her starring at the Strand’s wedding picture, left on a pile of books in her office. He may or may not have sensed that she wasn’t looking at Richard as much as Coralee in all her perfect glory. She was brilliant, accomplished, mysterious and to top it all off, beautiful. Who in their right mind would chose Alex over her? And Dr. Richard Strand was nothing if not in his right mind.
Nic had given her Joel’s number shortly after, never mentioning the incident directly.
Her phone vibrates in her purse.
She desperately wants to check it but she can only run off to the bathroom so many times on one date.
What if it’s a break in a case? Any case. What if it’s Tall Paul doing a headstand next to Sebastian Torres throwing up a peace sign? What if its-
“Desert?” Joel asks.
“Oh, um, no, not for me.”
“Your phone went off again.”
“It did.”
“Do you want to get it?”
Alex’s eyes dart to her purse. “No.”
She needs something normal in her life. Something safe and light and not full of shadows and secrets. She deserves it.
“Are you sure?”
Yes. Absolutely. Of course, please continue telling me about the migrating fungus spore problem in the pacific Northwest. “Well…”
“It’s ok, I understand. Nic told me that you’re a workaholic.” He smiles and Alex could fall in love with him if she let herself. If she worked on it. If she approached it like a story. “I like that you’re ambitious.”
She smiles takes her purse.
“Oh you’re going to love this then.” She says, trying to sound wry. “I think I need to cut this short. I have a pressing and time sensitive lead and I really feel like I should take it.”
“Ok.” He says, deflating a bit. “We can pick up some other time?”
“I'll call you.”
He nods and she bends to kiss his cheek.
“I had a fantastic evening.” She says.
“I did too.”
“I'll send Nic a fruit basket.” She jokes.
“Is that still a thing?”
She smiles and takes her phone out as she leaves the restaurant.
“You’re dressed up.” Strand says gruffly, as he opens the door.
“So are you.”
He looks down. “This is what I always wear.”
She sighs. “You said you had something to show me?”
“Yes, follow me.”
Her heels click on the hardwood as she follows him to what she’s now referring to as the Strand Bunker.
He leads her over to the desk. It’s scattered with papers, newspaper clippings and expensive looking pens. She makes a mental note to bring her own pens if ever invited to research here, she has a nasty habit of biting them while she thinks.
On his computer is a Buzzfeed article.
“Top Ten Doctors You’d Love To Play ‘Doctor’ With.” She reads out loud.
“It’s appaling.”
“Wait.”
He scrolls down until he gets to number five, his own name next to the “enigmatic” picture of him, face half covered by a book.
She pinches the bridge of her nose.
“I am a professional and this is what my notoriety has gotten me?”
“Wait, are you appalled that you’re on this list or that you’re only number five?”
“Alex, please, be serious.”
“I’m trying to be but honestly, I can’t believe that this is what you text me about.”
He seems to take her in for the first time since opening the door. She can see him noting the black dress, shorter and tighter than anything she’s ever worn to work. The heels, tall enough to give her a different angle in which to glare at him.
“You were on a date.”
“I was on a date.”
“Alex, I’m sorry.”
“No, I am. I’m the one who came over.”
“I have some Tapes that we haven’t explored yet.”
“Dr. Strand, I’m going to go home.”
“You’re upset.”
She sighs. “Not at you.”
“Are you sure?” He looks like he wants put his hands on her shoulders but can’t figure out if it’s appropriate.
“Yes.” She smiles. “But you owe me a date.”
He opens his mouth and she squeezes her eyes shut against the shit-show that she’s sure is on it’s way.
“Dr. Strand, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“
“Yes.”
She opens her eyes. “What?”
“I do owe you a date.”
“It’s really not-“
“Wait here.” And he makes his way out of the chilly, subterranean space.
She wanders the perimeter, inspecting the yarn lines connecting reports or witness testimonies, Seattle to Lake Tahoe to Chicago to Vancouver. She knows what they are, even without the pictures.
Alex can hear him making his way back down the steps. He has two glasses and a bottle of wine in his hands.
“I’ve never been on a date in someone’s basement before.” She smiles.
“Well, it’s not technically a basement. It’s a base of operations.”
“Right.”
“It’s a basement.” He shrugs, pouring the wine. She laughs.
Alex takes a glass and sips, hoping that a bit of alcohol will help her through whatever this is turning out to be.
“How was the date going?”
“Well.”
He nods and takes a drink.
They are silent for a minute.
“So, most people spend dates getting to know each other.” He says, clearing his throat.
“Are you telling me or yourself?”
“It’s, uh, been awhile.”
She steps closer to him, her heart beating rapidly. Is he really taking this seriously?
“What’s your favorite color?” She asks.
“Really?” He grins, judging her just a bit.
“Really.”
“Green.”
“Mine’s yellow.”
He smiles, she thinks because he probably pegged her for a ‘yellow’ person.
“How many siblings do you have?”
“None.” Alex tells him. “Is Cheryl-“
“The only one, yes.”
He’s leaning against the desk, looking as relaxed as he can in a suit.
“You should take your jacket off, Dr. Strand.”
“Please, Richard, this is a date after all.”
“Right yes.”
She raises an eyebrow until he sits his glass down and shrugs out of his jacket, folding it over the back of a chair.
“What do you do for fun?” She asks, making a calculated move one step closer. He seems to get more rigid as she does.
“I read.”
“Anything else?”
“I enjoy boating occasionally, travelling, and line dancing.”
Alex very nearly does a spit-take, earning a wide smile from her date. She coughs and starts to laugh.
“Very funny.”
“I have an enigmatic reputation to uphold.”
“Of course.”
“When was your last relationship?” He asks and suddenly there is a shift. The lightheartedness is gone, replaced by something thicker, more substantial.
“A few years ago. Three, I think.”
He hums.
“You?”
“I haven’t, I tried dating a couple of times but it never got very far, ever since…” He readjusts his position. “I’m in a relationship with my work these days.”
“I see.”
“My free time is dominated by research, teaching, exposing charlatans, and being interviewed by charming, albeit fiercely demanding podcast hosts.”
She laughs, looking down. “That does sound like a pretty full plate.”
“Many people close to me have recommended I,” He seems to be thinking about his words very carefully. “solidify my relationship with one particular aspect of my work.”
“Oh?”
“They have my best interest at heart.”
“I’m sure.”
“And how’s your work life?”
“Oh, I spend so much time thinking about my work that I leave dates halfway through to chase a possible story.”
They are close now. Alex’s skin is warm from the wine and from what she’s pretty sure may just be Strand flirting.
And she thought demons were difficult to wrap her mind around.
He sits his glass down, taking hers as well. His hand finds her waist as the other wraps her fingers in his.
She could laugh, really, as he presses his body close.
Alex can’t sleep because her life is full of shadows and symbols that are just outside of her realm of understanding. She spends almost all of her time thinking about demons and ghosts and cults and Richard Strand. She left a gorgeous man in a gorgeous restaurant to have a date in a bunker/basement where its dark and full of old books and mysterious tapes that threaten to engulf her life.
And the funniest part is that she’d choose this.
Every time.
Give her the mystery, the darkness, the unknown, the danger.
Give her the man who frustrates her, infuriates her, and excites her.
He pulls her closer still, dipping his head as she tips hers down, chin to chest.
“Did I misread the situation?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t kiss on the first date.”
He laughs, a soft exhale of breath against her skin.
“Has this warranted a second date?”
“Wine, a fluorescent lit room, and a heavy conspiracy theory vibe? What more could a girl want?”
“I had mentioned the other tapes, earlier. I could cook.”
“Richard Strand, are you asking me to ‘Black Tapes and Chill’?”
“I don’t understand.”
She laughs.
Yeah, she’d choose this every time.