Chapter Text
Daniel had always had a spark of ambition to him, impossible to quell no matter how often the embers were doused by the disappointment of failure. Stubborn, a word he had once resented for its familiarity to his character, and could now only embrace and think it ironic how he once hadn’t. It didn’t matter how many open doors or windows presented themselves to him, once he set his mind on something he would pry it open with bloody and broken fingernails to have it.
The ring burns in his left pocket, over his heart in some plain symbolism that isn’t lost on him. He and Alice had always had their ups and downs, with Daniel more or less set as the catalyst, and yet it seemed something drew her toward the hot flames of his unpredictability. Not in any way that mattered, after all a ring roughly guessed to be her size sat wedged behind his pocket square.
Long drives, stays at her sisters or mothers, and moving out had always led her back to the same place in the end; Daniel. He’d never been a fixed star in the sky, and yet she always found her way back to him. Thinking on it, he wasn’t sure it was such the compliment he’d been taking it for. It didn’t matter, all doubts pushed aside as he uses his fork to idly push food around on his plate as if a physical embodiment of his ignored reconsiderations.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to play with your food?” She asks smilingly, eyes watching him with a fondness he was never sure what he’d done to deserve. He’d always thought of her as beautiful, even from across the bar, and still he found it dazzling as he looks up like a caught dog from his plate.
Her eyes, blue, catch him in a sudden orange recollection. The vibrant copper highlights of fiery red hair turn brown, curling around a face both distinctly not and exactly like her own. In a jarring moment she is both not and identical to herself, perceived and real, the picture of something he’s looked for in her. It’s a toy, a goad, a timed placement of words to play with the real food.
He blinks and Alice is before him, her expression of coy amusement replaced by one of wary and guarded concern. He’s seen that look on her more times than he can count, and every time one he’s managed to turn from pity to anger. He already knows it's coming before he can open his mouth to reassure, her eyes going over his features for signs that are for once not there, but sees anyway. He has to give it to her, a good guess if he looks as jittery as he feels.
“I’m fine,” he rushes to reassure. He forces his fork down onto his plate with an indignified clattering sound of pretend porcelain against pretend steel. He winces at the sound, and Alice’s eyes bore into him all the more for his little act. He glances away, none of the other patrons to the best restaurant Daniel could afford seemingly bothered by what felt like an already massive production. That should be a testament to what exactly was meant by “best restaurant Daniel could afford”.
When his nervous gaze skitters back to Alice, her eyes are no longer boring into his face, overanalyzing every twitch and flutter. Instead, her blue eyed gaze is fixedly on his pocket square. He has the sudden, stupid inclination, to make some joke about having spilled food onto his nice jacket fresh from the dry cleaners.
He’s about to make it a reality alongside every other one of his bad decisions when Alice beats him to the punch. “I know what you’ve got there,” she says, voice lowered as if conspiratorial but still haughty. Fear and worry coalesce in his chest, how did she know, was it so obvious? Daniel was a klutz at best, dropping the ball more often than not, but being the druggie he was he sure knew how to keep a secret.
“You really think I wouldn’t?” She continues before he can try to explain himself, a botched proposal better than a failed one, and yet he feels he failed the moment he slipped the box into his pocket. “You’re obvious, Daniel. I’ve been with you long enough to know your tells, the sniffing, the twitching, the glancing about.”
She breaks for a low, sardonic laugh, and Daniel doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry when it becomes clear what she actually means. Drugs, of course its drugs. Why would she think otherwise? He certainly hadn’t given her any reason to think otherwise, he had barely tried to, despite his many reassurances he would.
“Alice,” he begins, low and gentle, before her rant can gain any more traction from curious onlookers. “Look, I’m not on drugs, I swear. I’m sober. It’s-it’s our anniversary, of course I’m sober.” For once, it's true. He chuckles in a way that he hopes sounds nervously sincere rather than condescending like he’s about to pull another fast one on her.
“That didn’t hold any grounds last year,” she spits venomously, Daniel winces. She’s going to continue raving at him, he knows it, but a hard look enters her eyes. It's not one he’s ever seen on her before, only one seen on features half remembered.
Her hand darts forward, quicker than he would have once thought possible, his reaction further delayed by shock. In a moment her fingers have found purchase around the carefully tucked away ring box, pulling it from his pocket savagely. His pocket square flutters out alongside it, parsley pattern staring indignantly up from the table at him.
She blinks at it, box held in a tight grasp over her half finished plate. Blinking as if confused, or teary eyed. He hopes it's teary eyed, so joyful she’d managed to botch her own proposal over drug suspicions. The kind of proposal all girls dream of! Alice peels open the box, and Daniel can only imagine how the cheapest ring he could find looks gleaming under the shitty light and foggy tension.
“Weird way to say yes,” Daniel speaks with a half-hearted chuckle carrying his words. His attempt at a joke fails to break the tension, instead only adding to it like the cherry on top. Alice’s gaze slides up to him from the box, the accusation replaced with a much worse look.
Daniel could take anger, rage, yelling, screaming. Could take it all like the masochist he was, unfazed, his arsenal only more prominent and his skin thicker. But resignation, cold detachment? Those exact emotions swim in the blue pool of Alice’s eyes, only mistakenly watery. It feels like a knife twisting in his gut, and he has the sudden and stupid panicky feeling to beg and plead with her to just say something, anything. To scream and yell, but not this.
When she does speak, it's miles too soft but hurts like an exposed nerve. “I never said yes, Daniel.” It's almost a whisper on her cherry red lips, no sadistic curl that would have made Daniels blood run hot rather than shiver cold. It's a terrible feeling, the way his heart drops to his stomach, the way her delivery feels like the worst news of his life.
“No?” His question curls with a humourless laugh, a nervous habit turned rather unfortunate given the circumstance. He’s staring at her wide-eyed, hands folded in his lap like a devout at church.
Alice watches him for a moment, fingers idly playing with the box still grasped too tight. Her gaze drops back to the ring, and not with any notable consideration. Rather, it's quick with the clear look of suddenly being unable to meet his gaze, an action punctuated by what sounds a deafening click close to the ring box.
“No.” She says, again too sad and resigned for Daniel to feel the comforting rush of anger. He can only stare at her, and her at the table. It had all happened so fast, and not at all like the millions of ways he’d imagined it could have gone wrong. This was, by far, the worst that could have happened. He had a journalist's imagination, not a writer's.
Alice steals a glance back up at him, barely a seconds look for how fast her gaze retreats once more. A sigh, far from exasperated, falls sadly from her lips as she moves to stand. She leaves the ring box and its contents with a gentle toss, landing on the table with a muted thud as it hits his mocking pocket square.
She gets up from the booth he’d bribed the hostess for, having no real foresight to make a reservation, and turns from him. Her back to him as she walks away, shoulders rocking a gentle heave with the telltale sign of tears.
It's only when the waiter finds the happenstance to check up on him that Daniel pulls his gaze away from the long abandoned point of retreat. He turns to her, a faked smile coming easily to his face as he confirms he is ready for the check. She smiles at him, and before she can turn to see him out with the bill, a bright flash of orange headlights spills over her features. It's gone in a blink, aided by the card reader now in his hands. He doesn’t tip, and leaves the same way Alice did, tears beading his eyes.