capeandcowllogs | Though it's all in vain, I'd do it all again

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Though it's all in vain, I'd do it all again

WHO: Matt and Natasha
WHERE: That Thai place Natasha likes
WHEN: Valentine's night, after the nonsense with the dating service
WARNINGS: Awkwardness
SUMMARY: Two exes who live together go out for Valentine's Day. How could this possibly go wrong?
FORMAT: Paragraphs!

After that lovely meal of free bread sticks with Sergeant Victoria, Matt left Sanguinosi and headed directly for that Thai restaurant Natasha seemed to have a fondness for. He'd told her they'd meet at eight, and it was nearly a quarter after now. Part of him was sure she'd have grown tired of waiting and headed home by now, but he hoped that she hadn't. Things were over between them, of course, but she was his friend, and he did love her, and he wanted to do something special for her. Also, he really didn't want to be stood up on Valentine's Day. Perhaps the dozen red roses he'd had delivered to her earlier in the day and the invitation for dinner hadn't clearly established those boundaries, but still. Who else was he going to wine and dine with on this most important of holidays? Spider-Man? No thank you.

The hostess recognized him when he entered the establishment. He was led toward the back of the restaurant and to Natasha's table, where he stood for a moment as the hostess fluttered away. Finally, he cleared his throat, sitting down in the seat across from her, "Did you get the flowers?"

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"I'm here, aren't I?" Her tone wasn't exactly pleasant. Natasha assumed he'd been held up by something besides a blind date, something a bit more cataclysmic. She was a bit more understanding about these things than most women would be, but that didn't mean she appreciated the lateness. Especially because he was the one who'd set this whole thing up.

Then again, Matt was the sort of man who felt good about being the one to initiate things. He liked it when the women went after him, too, she knew, but he had a strange way of reading into it.

He didn't say anything to that at first, helping himself to the glass of water that was waiting on the table for him. After a moment of settling in, he cleared his throat again, tilting his head to listen to her.

"Have you already ordered or were you waiting on me?"

"I was waiting," she said, her voice softer. "It hasn't really been that long."

"Besides," she added, after a moment. "I don't know what you like." They'd lived together in San Francisco, well before Thai restaurants sprouted up on every corner. And Matt tasted things differently than other people. There was that, too.

He nodded at that, smiling just slightly as he ran his fingertips over the menu. Every option was carefully considered before he settled on his selection, setting the menu aside to return his attention to her. "Have you decided what you're having?"

It was odd, making small talk and light conversation with her, but at the same time it was familiar and comforting. It was like a kick into the past, when they could talk about food and other things that didn't matter. It was sort of a reminder that not everything had to be so heavy, and that there didn't need to be some kind of emergency for them to be together as friends.

"Oh," she said, leaning over her place setting slightly, "I always know what I'm having." It was Matthew that was still the mystery, sometimes. To her, anyway. There were lots of mysteries, skirting the edges of their long-ago break-up. It was silly, she knew— profoundly ridiculous— but people always looked for the why of an ending. There were always parts that went on, searching for an explanation, hoping never to find one.

She hadn't expected him to send flowers. She didn't know if she wanted to ask about it.

But this, the simple camaraderie. The easy part. That was nice.

The waiter appeared then and took down their orders, leaving them face to face and alone again. It felt like it had been a long time since they'd had the chance to sit down like this. Even living in the same apartment, it was sometimes as if they were ships in the night, passing by one another without much acknowledgment. It probably wasn't the healthiest way to interact, and Matt was determined to change that. Things hadn't worked out for them as lovers, but they were friends, and he was confident that their friendship could weather whatever awkwardness it was being subjected to at any given moment.

"Is that new soap I'm smelling? I could swear there's something different about it..." He asked this casually, as a way of making conversation. It was a personal question, sure, and one he already knew the answer to, but it also served as a way to provoke and test her mood. Soft as her voice had been, closer as she leaned, she was still a puzzle he could never quite put together.

"You're asking me questions you already know the answer to." But she wasn't annoyed with him. Amused, maybe.

It was nice to see Matt try to act like a normal person. Even if he wasn't always very good at it.

"Well, whatever it is, it smells fantastic," he continued with his act, smirking slightly. He was glad to hear that familiar tone in her voice. It was nice to hear her relaxing a bit. "Or maybe that's just the smell from the kitchen wafting this way."

"Are you comparing me to food?" she said, arching an eyebrow. Not that he could tell— it was a bit of an automatic gesture, on her part. But Natasha only allowed herself even subtle facial cues when she was relaxed. She also knew she didn't smell like peanut sauce.

"So, why the flowers?"

"Of course not," he answered, sitting back in his seat. She certainly didn't smell like peanut sauce, and if he was going to compare her to food, it wouldn't be anything served here. It was fun to tease her, however.

"You like flowers, don't you?"

"I do like flowers." It was one of her sentimental fondnesses, the ones she had indulged as a girl, and then come to abhor as a slightly older child. Now that she was grown, really grown, she was not ashamed to like them again.

"But you know that's not what I meant."

"It's Valentine's Day," he said, as if that fact alone was explanation enough. It wasn't, he knew. Considering the history between them, the gesture required a bit more explanation than that. "You're the closest thing I have to a Valentine, Tasha."

"It's not really a Catholic holiday, you know. Not quite invented by the greeting cards— nineteenth century sentimentalism." She remembered reading about the holiday, in thick dossiers, that now seemed like so much useless trivia. But that was the point, wasn't it? To know your enemy better than they know themselves?

In Russia, there was Women's Day in March, very important, celebrating the role of the female in hearth and home. That one came with flowers, too, and letters from lovers. One day to remember the struggle for women's rights, another day for Roman martyrs, and what people thought was flowers. It was how the world worked.

She didn't say anything more than that, at least not for a moment. It was easier to dwell distant facts and small ironies than whatever it was Matt meant to her. The facts, at least, stayed the same.

He didn't especially like to dwell on his feelings for her either. They were what they were. What they had been was something completely different, still important, but not anything he wanted to let his mind wander to. Because if he let his mind wander to the past and to what could have been, God knew he wouldn't be able to stop obsessing over it and over her. And neither of them needed that right now.

"You know I love you, Natasha." He reached for his water, taking a long sip. He wasn't sure what else to say besides that. It was the truth, though he didn't expect or even necessarily want any reciprocation. It just seemed like the right thing to say When he spoke again, there was almost a sense of teasing to his voice. It sounded almost forced, however. "Anyway, I owed you dinner and flowers for taking over your place and intruding on your life."

"Is that how you think about it? As something you owe?" She was listening carefully. Not as carefully as he could listen, but carefully enough.

A waiter came by with vegetable rolls, and filled the glasses up with water.

"No," he said, listening just as intently to her as he helped himself to a vegetable roll. "It's not about that. I'd do the same for you if our roles were reversed, in a heartbeat I would. But I don't say thank you enough. I know that." A pause, before he added, "I'm working on it."

He was grateful for her, and he appreciated her kindness, even if he was terrible about saying it or showing it. Maybe deep down he felt some sort of debt toward her, like he owed her for everything she'd done on his behalf, but he didn't like that unequal feeling. That had been a problem between them before, when they'd been dating and he wasn't too keen on falling back into that sort of non-balance. The sooner he got out of the mindset that he owed Natasha or Natasha owed him, the better off they both would be.

"I wanted to take you out and give you flowers. I wanted you to be happy."

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Though it's all in vain, I'd do it all again

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