Chapter Text
Julie Kovalenko is married to her work. In all the time Megan’s spent working for her, evenings where her boss leaves the office before the sunsets are few and far between. She’d have more luck betting on the lottery.
Thus, when she sees Julie packed up and leaving before a quarter past five on a Friday evening, her curiosity got the better of her.
“You’re leaving early.” “I am,” Julie replies, matter-of-factly moving to call for the elevator.
“Hot date?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows for good measure.
“No, just drinks with Didi,” she states. Megan takes a while to process her statement, and she hopes her eyes didn’t pop out of her head nearly as much as she thinks they did.
“Didi? As in Didi Santos Cordero? The beloved director of luxury retirement home Pacific View? The same Didi whom you accused of wanting to fuck you over when she hired you to run background checks for her? That Didi?”
“Yes, that same Didi,” she sighs.
“Huh, and it’s just the two of you?”
“Yep, can I leave yet?” “Are you sure it’s not a date?”
“It’s just drinks.” “Not technically a no.”
Julie rolls her eyes and moves to call the elevator anyway.
“You know she’s exactly your type?” she adds, eyebrows wiggling once more.
“No, she’s not, at least half her wardrobe is grandpa sweaters,” she replies with an eyeroll.
“Please, you like those sweaters, plus they aren’t a strong enough repellent to drive you off.”
The elevator dings as the doors open. Saved by the bell.
“I’ll see you on Monday Megan,” she says stepping into the elevator.
“Have fun on your date!” “Not a date!”
***
Julie Kovalenko is a smart person. Of course she is, she solves crimes for a living. Are most said crimes gathering enough evidence of clients’ cheating spouses to file for a ‘winning’ divorce? Yes. But one should never underestimate the lengths a cheater goes to hide their infidelity. Plus, some of the juicier cases are intellectually stimulating enough to satisfy the part of her brain that led her to this career in the first place.
Contrary to common (Megan’s) belief, she is not socially constipated. She knows the ins and outs of social niceties and norms to get the information she needs out of people and to go about undetected. She understands people work, and it’s not just theoretical! Being a private eye has in fact taught her how to be with the people.
To summarise, Julie Kovalenko is a smart person who understands people. So, when Didi – who mere months ago had called her “a remorseless, bottom-feeding, two-faced rat” – had admitted to hiring her to spend more time with her, she (like any other smart and socially intelligent person would) concluded that her intentions were platonic.
That’s why she invited her to get a drink sometime after Charles’ party. Platonically.
It was a platonic night out at a bar she had been to with Emily and Megan. A very platonic outing trying to figure out where she stood with Didi. Friendship wise.
Which is why she is standing in front of her closet trying to pick out an outfit for said platonic meeting. Platonically.
Maybe Megan might have influenced her just the teeniest tiniest bit. Maybe she was overthinking this not a date. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if this not a date was in fact a date.
And if she chose a tighter, lower-cut top than she normally would for a girls’ night out, wore her hair down and did her makeup a little softer? She was just trying to befriend her, to take down some of her walls so Didi wouldn’t be scared off. They both need friends that aren’t eccentric retirees.
Julie stuck running around the cage that was her own mind. Something bubbled to the surface when Megan wished her luck on her “date”. Of course, she had suspected the meeting, it had been in her calendar for nearly a week now, blocked out simply as “evening plans”.
But Julie is a professional. She kept her cool and replied with a steady “not a date”. Hoping the shakiness of her voice didn’t give her away.
Her punctuality allowed her time to find a seat at the bar, claim a seat for Didi, and ruminate over how bad of an idea this was. She had come up with three semi-viable ways to cancel on Didi before the bartender is back over with her drink, informing her a man across the bar offered to pay for her drink. She politely declines, giving a half-smile and hoping he’ll take the hint.
She’s halfway through her drink when Didi arrives.
“Is this seat taken?” Didi stands nearly towering above her in her heeled boots.
“It is now,” she rasps more than says, downing the remainder of her drink as Didi sits.
“I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”
“Don’t worry, I only had to fend off one unwanted advance.”
“Good thing I’m here now, to fend the rest of the off for you.”
She hums as Didi calls the bartender over. Julie may or may not have taken the opportunity to appreciate the sliver of flesh and the partial tattoo that was exposed as she raised her arm.
“So,” Didi says, breaking her from her reverie, “how’s your week been?”
“Decent, Charles has been able to take on more of the workload on his own since getting his license. He’s less mopey over Mona and he’s hitting his stride in his solo work. But I think between Pacific and Wheeler, he’s getting a bit bored. As much flak as I give him over it, I hate to admit it but something other than cheating husbands and, more recently, Silicon Valley nerds who have it in their head that every woman trying to get with them is just after their wealth or intellectual property.”
“And they wonder why they’re single. After everything I’ve heard from Elliott, I’m more convinced that toxic masculinity will never die, but continually reinvent itself to be sold to a new generation of fragile men.”
“Thank whatever deity is out there for lesbianism then.”
“Yeah, cheers to lesbianism.”
They easily settle into conversation about everything and nothing. Julie doesn’t know how much time has passed when the conversation hits a natural lull. The bar is so much louder and crowded that when they first entered. They’ve gradually drifted towards each other to hear each other over the din, and she can feel the spot where their knees have been bruising each other’s. All of it has her suddenly overwhelmed. She needs to get out, but she also needs Didi.
A stranger bumps into her and before she can run out of the bar, Didi hooks her ankle around the leg of her seat and pulls her closer, grabbing the edge of her seat for balance.
“You wanna get outta here and grab a bite to eat?” she asks, soft smile easing her our of the rising panic.
“Yeah,” she breathes, waving the bartender down to close out their tab. Her thigh brushes Didi’s hand that’s still on the edge of her seat as she stands, and she grabs her free hand as she leads the two of them out of the bar on the hunt for food.