space should be a zone of wonder

— < ▼ >  NASA… he could deal with that, despite how delightfully boring. But perhaps Zachariah was getting ahead of himself, seeing as he wasn’t sure about where he wanted this to go. But fun wasn’t outlawed, he could mess around and get back to daily things. Nobody was promising he’ll see the other again after this. He’ll be buried in his work and Trench would be in his. However, he let’s a short lived smirk brace his features for a couple seconds at the suggestiveness. And that sorts the final coin toss for him. Landing heads, he decides why not shoot his shot. The other seemingly was too interested, so it’ll be easy picking.

       ❝I’d love to, Adrian, but perhaps this isn’t the right place for it…❞ He starts. Downs his remaining glass of whiskey, feeling no bite or burn after years of being used to it. ❝Would you mind to go elsewhere?❞ He leans in ever so slightly, obvious in his own proposal. The only thing holding him back was the though the other man might be too inebriated. He hopes to whatever god there was, he wasn’t completely drunk off his ass. Otherwise, this might be shameful…

      ❝But… How much did you drink, first?❞ He asks, concluding it might be best to play it safe for now. ❝You’re not drunk, right?❞ Trench has enough morals to not take advantage of things that weren’t necessary. Unlike a prodigy found, this was merely a man he didn’t want drama over spending time with. Too bad he didn’t have foresight to see this would end badly anyway…

“Oh, yeah, sure. Let’s go somewhere more private. Your place?”

But then Trench wanted to know how much he’d been drinking…

“Um, three glasses? Do you think I’m drunk?”

... okay, maybe he wasn’t half as drunk as he’d thought. He was a recreational drinker, after all – he was clearly a man who could handle his alcohol. Maybe... he just needed to tell himself it was the booze and not the fact that he was plainly lusting after a man he had only just met.

His inhibitions had vacated the premises early on, there was no denying that… but then again, as much as he liked to preach the importance of keeping a level head and being rational, he could be such an impulsive fool a lot of the times, with or without a drink.

Upon hearing Trench’s question, however, he was suddenly acutely aware that he might be giving off the impression that he was completely and utterly sloshed… and Trench, of course, being the gentleman that he seemed to be, would surely refuse his advances if he didn’t get his act together.

— < ▼ > Something, inside of Trench, whispers that the other man wants wildly different things. At least as of currently. Luckily, it wasn’t the Board’s violent voice telling him to use the hotline (as he wasn’t in the mood for that now). However, the gut feeling was almost exciting. How long ago did Zachariah even have something going for him outside the Bureau? It’s been so long, since Kate. Everything after that is a blur, some faces here and there, nobody that lasted and definitely most not in the Bureau now. He weighs his options, and decides on the very valid one– which is to say, fuck it, and see what happens. Regardless, the way the man talked… it earned Trench rolling his eyes in awkward annoyance.

       ❝So… Adrian. What is it you do, then?❞ He asks, sips on his drink. It’s the most casual he can allow himself to be, and its very forced. His worries plague him still, but tonight was about relaxing the slight bit, even if it meant terrible conversation with a complete stranger and getting drunk. Alternatively, he might just get lucky tonight, if he was reading the other correctly, but truth is– he wasn’t sure if he was even remotely emotionally available for that. Let alone, if he’d be up for the task.

       Despite the question, Trench is almost sure he knows the answer. The other seemed… smart. Smart enough to make it his career. Probably, not smart enough to stay away from Trench. Kind of like a moth to flame. Zachariah wasn’t going to complain, though, he’ll keep his mouth shut and just go with the flow for once. His personal life was beyond lacking.

“Oh!” Adrian blurted out quite suddenly, as if aghast at his own lack of manners at having neglected to introduce himself properly – and yet he was already hazarding guesses at his neighbour’s line of work. “I’m a research scientist for NASA.”

He was tempted to go on at length about the areas of his research, and his (quite distinguished and accomplished, if he may say so himself) curriculum vitae, but somehow Adrian wasn’t sure that boring the other man to death would do much to endear himself to him. After all, it didn’t escape his notice that Trench already seemed a little… put-off? by his cringeworthy attempts at flirting, and it was certainly not in his best interests to exacerbate it further, if he were to hope for any chance at all with the man.

And so, instead, he said, “I know, it’s a lot more interesting than it sounds.”

Feeling a little more emboldened by Trench’s more casual demeanour (well, as casual as Adrian had seen the man since he first met him that morning), he added, the alcohol almost certainly getting to his head, “Now, if you want to find out just how mouthy I can be…” He let the implication trail off, flashing Trench a toothy grin, and a rather uncoordinated wink.

— < ▼ > Trench ignores the assumption about his job, for now, years have thought not to answer those kind of questions and just let it roll. His drink arrives and he pays upfront, putting his wallet back into his inner jacket pocket afterwards, he feigned thinking hard of what his type is. It wasn’t hard, he knew it, at least it’s current shape.

· · · · ❝Mouthy and smart, I guess.❞ He answers in a rare moment of honesty. Picks up his drink and sips it without a grimace at the burn. He turns in his seat to face the other man, giving Adrian the sight that he was being listened to now.·❝Did you do something bad to get arrested then, Dr. Mallory? Should I keep an eye on you or hope for a confession?❞ He probably should have disregarded the guess but it was fun to pretend to be normal every once in a while, plus it gave him an easier air. Maybe as·flirtatious as he’d get. Perhaps he was lonelier·than he thought…·

· · · · Zachariah looks over the other, this time taking in his appearance. No interest there, however. Didn’t matter in the long run. If he were to just talk, it wouldn’t matter either way. All he’ll do is make his neighbor less hostile.·

He was mostly teasing, with his FBI comment. It was actually rather difficult for him to get an accurate sense of… anything at all about Trench. Trench seemed to have two modes: impassive stone wall, and seething ball of rage. He did, however, give off the impression that he could kill you with just his thumb – he had the bearing and demeanour of one who has had extensive military experience. Adrian could always spot the military men. And as much as Adrian disliked the institution of the military, (even as he had been complicit more times than he can count in participating in the military-industrial complex… one of the downsides of scientific innovation was its unfortunate overreliance on military needs and funding to see any progress)… damn did he have a weakness for military men.

“Mouthy and smart,” he echoed, nodding, his smile growing even more smug if that were possible. And now that he had Trench’s attention, he could see Trench checking him out… and was he flirting with Adrian? “Maybe you should keep an eye on me, Zachariah Trench,” he said, voice a little husky, “because these lips are sealed.”

If he had known that Trench’s affections belonged solely to another, he would have steeled himself and been more careful with his heart. But as it was, he had no idea about the turmoil of Trench’s unrealised love for his colleague, and so he allowed himself to hope, perhaps, that there could be a possibility of something between them.

— < ▼ >  Normally, when Trench did come to places like this, it was that his glaring would turn most everyone off. Some brave souls would try to shoot their shot (whether it was because Zachariah’s appearance was pleasant, something he doubted, or that it offered the air of money was yet to be determined). And if somebody did try, they had a fifty-fifty chance of succeeding, that on it’s own depending on Trench’s mood. This was to some degree expected where he was, but what were even the odds of him running into the same guy from this morning here? What a nightmare... 

        Give it on a good memory of faces and voice recognition, because once the sentence is muttered, Trench only takes one glances at him to know where he saw him. He himself having yet to succeeded in ordering his drink, he could be mean and just agree... However, Trench might have been rude or usually an bastard, but you know, he wasn’t going to take advantage of people. Usually. 

        Eventually his eyes lay on the other man next to him and raises a brow, not confused more like wanting to give him time to catch up to who he’s talking to. He doesn’t know if it succeeds, but the Director sure is trying. 

        ❝And here, I thought you loathed me this morning...❞  He says, not quite amused. But he needed to say something. It comes off more sarcastic if anything, anyway. He just wanted some peace and quiet, to overthink his life and go home frustrated. Or was that too much to ask for?

         Trench shakes his head, motions for the bartender and orders a whiskey and once he waits for it to arrive, he proceeds to act like he wasn’t just addressed. 

This… morning?

Adrian turned his head to look more carefully at the man seated next to him. Recognition dawned on him, followed by amusement. “Oh! Fancy seeing you here, neighbour,” he said, dishing back the same sarcastic tone as Trench had given him. “Now let’s be fair, surely we can both agree that you were the one who was absolutely seething at me this morning – I, for my part, merely responded in kind.” Now he was beginning to sound annoyingly condescending… perhaps he was drunker than he thought he would be. Or perhaps to try to get a rise out of this very rude fellow who seemed to enjoy ignoring him.

(What are the chances Trench was just playing very hard to get?)

— < ▼ >  At usual, Trench would ignore random strangers getting pissed off at him, this time it is no different. The Director watches as within a few minutes the man, who seems also annoyed, but less so than Zachariah, leaves his presence. With that done, Trench glances at his watch and spends another two or three minutes waiting, when by whatever miracle the driver finally arrived. Trench entered the car, glaring. After arriving at The Oldest House, he fires the man, tells him to not show his face anywhere near the premise ever again. The young man swears and complains before driving away. First order of business upon getting to his office was tell Barbara in passing to hire a new driver for this evening. Barbara with a roll of the eyes notes it down, mutters a “yes, sir.”

        The day consisted of many boring events, surprisingly a slow and calm several hours. Even though, usually, the Director would spend a long night at his office, go home to only catch a few hours of sleep, today he seemed in a mood to go out for drinks. So why not see where the night will take him. For now, he just needs to make sure nothing derails. The management team meeting involved Dr. Darling going off on some or other tangent, speaking more than any member in the room felt the need to, and with every interjection from Trench, it was met by blatant disobedience. Casper seemed to enjoy telling off his superior but of course, Trench wouldn’t mind too much. They were good friends, after all. Something of a bittersweet dilemma for Trench, but nonetheless. Marshall can only give him a knowing look, and carry on. There was nothing anyone involved could or would do. There was just a need for a different solution. 

          Finalizing the day, or as far as Trench thought was the finale to the surprisingly boring day (at least by FBC standards), he stopped by Barbara’s desk. Chatting with her, she revealed that there was no driver available tonight. Trench didn’t quite grunt but he nodded in understanding, still, however, annoyed. With that established, he decided to go to the nearest bar here, drink enough to stumble his way back home, without minding too much. And so he did. 

        Without many thoughts about it, or maybe feigned ignorance, Trench entered the nearest decent looking bar. He knew where he was going, don’t get it wrong, he just didn’t care. As it was, Trench wanted room to breathe and to be left alone, and he knew his usually cheerful disposition wasn’t going to get him any fans, mind the sarcasm as you may. Even if somebody tried to talk to him for whatever reason, he’s sure he’d find a way to get them running. So without too much worry, Trench sits down at the bar, and gets comfortable for the rest of the evening.

Adrian was not the clubbing type, which was a shame, because New York’s club scene was lit, as the youths of today would say. Or so he imagined anyway – but maybe Party Animal lied to him. It wasn’t his scene, after all, and so he diligently sidestepped the various circuit parties and raves and what have you on his cursory Google search of NYC gay nightlife.

(Hmm… he might still check out Fire Island one of these weekends, though…)

Ah, this looked more to his taste: Dionysus, apparently a high-end bar that catered to a predominantly LGBTQ+ clientele. Quite a hotspot for the discerning gay man of a certain age, it looked like. And it wasn’t too far from where he lived, either.

He thought, while his days and nights were still free, before he officially started at his new job, it might be a good idea to scope out potential places where he could unwind once his work started to get hectic and his life fall into a routine. He might not be a social butterfly, and more often than not he might enjoy his own company quite a bit too much, but every so often, he had to admit, the company of other human beings was a nice and welcome change of pace. Good conversation and casual sex… well, it would do. He was an old romantic at heart, but beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. As much as he’d like to go steady with someone, somehow, circumstances had conspired against him such that he never had managed to find anyone with whom such a relationship could be sustained.

And so he found himself in Dionysus that fateful night, seated at the bar, nursing his scotch, hopelessly alone and longing for a rough hook-up… when, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a suited man claiming the seat next to him. Adrian didn’t look up from his drink. The man seemed oddly familiar – his type, perhaps? No harm in giving it a shot.

“classy gay bars in nyc”

— < ▼ >  Every fiber in Trench’s body stands at being addressed… Not out of some fear or discomfort, more like a rabid dog ready to bite whoever annoys him. And Trench was annoyed, oh so very much. His eyes dart to the man, glaring. If a look could kill, the man in front of him wouldn’t be here. Adrian was his name? Like it mattered to Trench, he’ll just have to forget about the civilian’s existence within the day. What a waste of time. But it wouldn’t do to make a bad impression, the biggest thing Trench liked to upkeep was the lack of impression he made… So without even attempting to soften his expression, he sighs and replies to the other.

       ❝Yeah, pleasure to make your acquaintance, I’m Zachariah Trench.❞ A normal person would proceed with a line of questions, inquiries to show they are interested in whatever the new person was or what they did. Trench had no interest, so instead, he kept quiet. He returned his eyes back to the direction of the door. The car has still not arrived, Trench’s anger rose while his patience wore thin. The bastard won’t only be fired.

       The problem was that his usual driver was on sick leave, so they had to hire outside of the Bureau. This might have been the biggest mistake… Trench hadn’t been too picky, not really caring, but on his first day the young man already proved himself unworthy of anything FBC related. Too bad the Service Weapon was usually in his office at the Oldest House. Oh, what a shame. No gun, no way to exact his revenge on the bastard.

      Either way, Trench has seemingly forgotten he was standing next to a person who was trying (keyword: trying) to talk to him.

Adrian blinked, feeling more than a little slighted. This unpleasant gentleman (if one could even call him that) seemed to be entirely put off by his presence and his attempt to engage in polite conversation – and Adrian couldn’t help but wonder why. He wasn’t so lacking in self-esteem that he would think it was anything to do with himself – more like, what was the other guy’s damage? His innate curiosity was quickly superseded by his quick sense of offence.

Well, the rude bastard – Trench – didn’t seem to be suffering from social anxiety; there wasn’t any sense of fear or worry in his demeanour at all. Instead, the predominant vibe Adrian was getting from Trench was rage. At Adrian? At someone or something else? One could only speculate that the man before him made enemies much more quickly than he made friends. (Adrian, of course, was a hypocrite in denial, because he himself was unhealthily prone to raging at the slightest provocation, and in terms of actually making friends instead of playing polite and affable when it suited him… well, let’s just say his doctorate was certainly not in that area of expertise.)

And as quickly as that, Trench’s acknowledgement of his presence seemed to vanish into thin air, replaced with complete and utter indifference. Adrian was being ignored. The nerve…