It’s miraculous, Reese thinks. She’s just good enough at reading people that she can tell Steven is ever-so-slightly uncomfortable, and Steven is just bad enough at hiding it for her to be able to tell. He’s fiddling with his—Marc’s—Mr. Knight’s— cuff-links, and every few minutes or so he crosses, then uncrosses, his ankles.
“Are you okay?” She says eventually, across the table.
“Yes,” Steven answers slightly too quickly, then he takes a sip from his coffee. Dr. Badr returns from the café’s counter with his own drink. Reese considers the bottle of blood she keeps in her backpack, but decides she’s not hungry yet.
“Lying,” Dr. Badr says simply. Steven decidedly does not flinch, but Reese would have to really look for another word to accurately describe what he did.
“I’m fine, Doctor,” Steven answers, seemingly exasperated.
Dr. Badr sips his tea. The table is quiet for a minute or two, before Steven pulls a notebook out (Some sort of agenda, maybe? Judging by the way it’s set up, at least) and writes something down in a column, noting the time next to it. Then he puts it away. Ok.
“I’m sorry if I seem strange to you two, I was not anticipating fronting today,” He clears his throat, and takes another sip of his coffee.
One strange part of Steven is that he has an accent Mr. Knight —Marc— doesn’t have. It’s… affected, and a little effeminate? Definitely European. Reese hasn’t asked Steven where it’s from, because she hasn’t found a good time, but one time she asked Greer who just shrugged and said “If you ask him about it, he lies. Never gotten a straight answer, not even from Marc”.
The table is silent again. This was meant to be a sort of… bonding… outing between Dr. Badr and Marc, and Reese tagged along because she wanted a night out. But, ah, Dr. Badr and Marc can’t really chat without Marc present.
“We used to be very good about this thing. Switched very routinely, often as easy as just swapping clothes to trigger it. Marc has always been the one to wear the Mr. Knight suit. I love it, don’t get me wrong,” He sighs, “But… It’s Marc’s, not mine. I was assuming he would return to front at some point. I suppose not.”
“Hm,” Dr. Badr says. Reese grabs for her bottle of blood.
Obviously, Dr. Badr has nothing to say to Steven, Steven barely knows the man, and Reese wasn’t exactly here to have a conversation with anyone .
She takes a sip, then screws the cap back onto the bottle, “Is he- uh. Is Marc avoiding it?” She asks. Is that crossing a line?
“Perhaps,” Steven says, “Jake checked on me a few minutes ago. Didn’t stay though.”
“What did Jake say?”
“He asked if I wanted to swap the driver’s seat with him.”
“And you said no?”
“No better having Jake here than I, Reese.”
She guesses that’s accurate, in some way, and opts to stare out the window behind Badr’s shoulder. Every once in a while a car drives past. Fuck, what a long night it’s already been, she thinks, then rests her chin on her hand.