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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 15, 2012 21:10:29 GMT -5
OOC: So I just realized I did the math slightly wrong with the ages thing because for some reason I thought it was 2010, but it's only off by like a year so I think it's okay [/i][/b][/sub] 1990, New Year’s Day. Lestrade had never really liked New Year’s, but this year seemed different. Probably just because it was a new decade and everyone was saying how the world would end in 2000 and so this was the last decade and they’d better party hard as quick as they could. He thought it was a load of rubbish, but hey, what could he do if people wanted to make their stupid conspiracy theories on life? It just gave him another excuse to get completely sloshed. He rather liked drinking these days. It was certainly more enjoyable than quantum physics, anyway.
Another thing that was more enjoyable than physics? Sex. Hmm, yes, he liked sex. He also didn’t mind taking advantage of people, provided they were willing enough not to call it rape. The night went by pretty much as every other new year. He met a boy, a handsome, very tall though young looking boy. He only looked a bit younger than Lestrade, and yet he was already completely drunk to the point of hitting on anyone closest to him. Lestrade was closest to him at the moment. And so they talked for about five minutes, stumbled to Lestrade’s dorm room, and did the dirty deed. The next morning, while he was in the shower washing off the smell of alcohol and other remnants of last night, the boy – Zander, he was pretty sure his name had been, or something starting with a Z – must have woken up, because by the time Lestrade came out of the bathroom, he was gone. Lestrade shrugged and got ready for class.~*~*~ Lestrade’s memory was a strange thing. Some things he remembered quite clearly, and others he patently did not. He could usually recognize faces he’d only seen once, but names or details, not so much. It wasn’t surprising for him to recognize, for example, the lady who had worked at the checkout when he was in Walmart yesterday, though obviously she didn’t recognize him; they both ignored each other. It was also not surprising for him to recognize a few neighbours while walking from work to get a coffee and a bite to eat, though he only knew about half of their names. It was, however, very surprising when, while working a little paperwork for a case he’d finished up this afternoon in said café, he recognized someone from his time back in Ireland. He remembered the man’s face. And his name, surprisingly enough. Zander. Probably because it was unique. And wow - Lestrade found a bit of a lopsided grin on his face – he was definitely just as handsome as he was twenty years ago. Of course, he could have it wrong; people changed in looks over the years, he certainly had. While his face had remained mostly the same, as Zander’s (presumably Zander) had, his hair looked a whole lot different than the long, wavy brown curls that used to frame his face. Still, he was trusting enough with his instinct to convince himself that it was definitely the kid he’d taken advantage of back in his senior year in college. Ugh, physics. College. What a long ago and torturous time that was. The only good thing about it had been the many willing, hormonal young adults around him. “Zander?” He called tentatively to the man who was currently collecting his order from the café’s counter, smiling to himself. |
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Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on Apr 16, 2012 2:37:18 GMT -5
If there was one benefit of being in the city, it was having any of number of cafes just down the street from the office. Everyone wanted to run a cafe, it seemed, and they all amazingly seemed to stay in business with how expensive they made everything on the menu. He supposed it was all basic economics of supply and demand. Everyone in the business sector demanded coffee, so the supply had to be massive.
Zander honestly wasn’t a fan of fancy coffee and what not, and generally managed to avoid the cafe mania. But this one cafe down the street from the office was the exception. They made these wonderfully fatty, rich, chocolate drinks with whipped cream and caramel on top that always managed to put a smile on his face. So he’d taken advantage of the beautiful day to walk down and get himself one. He supposed he could have had one sent up, but then he would have had to endure the horribly wrinkle-nosed looks Jeffry would have given him for it. His assistant was a prude. He rarely approved of anything Zander did. However, since he liked his paycheck, he was at least quiet in his disgruntlement. Some days, Zander went out of his way to make Jeffry’s life difficult, but he was feeling generous today.
And of course, walking to get his treat was healthy, after all. He was burning off calories and toning muscle...
“Hi, Mr. Devereux! The usual?”
... and then there was Robin.
“Robin, I keep telling you, it’s Zander. And yes, I’ll take the usual, unless you’re finally going to give me your phone number...”
Robin blushed so prettily when he did that. It made the walk worth it to see the perky barista looking so flushed. Of course, he could have found out anything he wanted about her with just a phone call of his own, or using the Google, but this was much more fun.
“One Hot Chocolate Delight with a twist of caramel coming up,” she replied with a laugh, turning around to figure out his drink.
He leaned on the counter, waiting with a smile. Yes, this was a perfect way to get out from under the mind numbing hum drudgery of the office. When his coffee was put on the counter, he counted out the exact change for his treat, but left a sizable tip in the jar with a wink at Robin.
He was just ready to turn and go find some place to drink his sugar-loaded pick-me-up when he distinctly heard his name. Not his last name, either.
“Zander?”
He turned to look down at where there was a man with greying hair looking up at him with brown eyes. He was awful with names and faces, and this was certainly not one that had stuck in his memory. However, the man was smiling, so he doubted it was any trouble that he wanted.
“Yes. What can I do for you?” Zander asked, willing himself not to sound impatient. He could smell his drink and would much rather be drinking that than having conversations with this man. Robin, on the other hand...
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 16, 2012 15:46:19 GMT -5
Zander looked around for the source of the voice until he laid eyes on Lestrade. “Yes. What can I do for you?” He acknowledged curtly. Now, Lestrade was very good and interpreting peoples' facial expressions and tones. It was a natural gift, but he'd also had to take the required 'empathy' class all members of the police (among other professions) had to complete, and repeat that class once he moved to the states, because apparently Irish morals were different than American ones (it was just as boring the second time as the first). The point was, Lestrade was pretty sure Zander didn't recognise him. Which was awkward.
Still, he was pretty sure that the guy was Zander; the voice was the same, if not slightly gruffer from age. It occurred to Lestrade that talking to the guy might not be the best idea, seeing as, well, how old had Zander been? Eighteen? Nineteen? Seventeen? He really didn't want to be arrested for what could possibly be seen as rape. Still, he'd already called out, and while he could just make some excuse like 'I thought you were someone else,' he'd said a name, and he was pretty sure there weren't many extremely tall men named Zander living around here.
"Uh, Lestrade. Greg," Lestrade said, closing his laptop with a snap. That's right, he'd still gone by Greg back then. He looked and Zander curiously, wondering if he would recognize him now that he had a name to go with the face. Then again, Zander had been pretty damn drunk, so there was a possibility that Zander hadn't even remembered that night the morning after, let alone two decades after.
"In Ireland?" Places helped with memory too, he believed.
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Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on Apr 17, 2012 3:00:09 GMT -5
“Uh, Lestrade. Greg.”
Zander’s brow furrowed, wondering where he would have ever heard a name like that. It wasn’t ringing any magic bells in his head, if that was what this Lestrade hoped would happen. Instead he took a moment to study the man more closely. He was older than Zander, but not by much. He was quite short, but then, most people were when they were around him. His hair was all greyed, but it likely was a darker color at some point. He was probably a handsome man at some point, not that Zander noted such things beyond the simple fact of the matter.
He was about to tell the man that there was no more recollection with the name when he added, “In Ireland?”
Ireland...that was 20 years ago. He was drinking the whole time he was in the country, caught up in the novelty of it. It was likely that he had met the queen of the fairy folk and would not have remembered. This man clearly was hoping for the impossible if he thought that would jog his memory.
“I’m sorry Lestrade...Greg,” Zander replied honestly. “I have no memory for names and faces, especially if I met the person twenty years ago while I was drinking.”
There. No beating around the bush, as it were. If this Lestrade did know him once, then he must have had a wonderful memory. He offered the man a slight smile, hoping it would soften the blow a bit. Often people seemed unimpressed or unwontedly upset when he did not remember them.
“I hope you understand.”
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 19, 2012 20:53:30 GMT -5
“I’m sorry Lestrade...Greg. I have no memory for names and faces, especially if I met the person twenty years ago while I was drinking," Zander said, slightly apologetic and sadly earnest. Zander had been drunk to the point of complete oblivion - Lestrade had seen him drink pint after pint that night before they started talking - but Lestrade couldn't help but be just a tad bit disappointed. After all, Zander had been really good, if not a bit inexperienced. Wait. Oh god. It suddenly occurred to Lestrade with a start, what if Zander wasn't even into men? No, people don't get that out of it… usually. Right…?
“I hope you understand," Zander smiled coolly. Now, Lestrade most likely would and should have left it be, because this could easily turn out to be awkward in so many different ways. But he was bored, and, well, he rather believed in coincidence as a good thing, so instead of doing the smart thing and walking away, Lestrade made his way over to Zander.
It wasn't as if he was missing his past terribly or anything - god, no, he'd hated classes with such a strong passion - but for some reason, seeing Zander made him miss the people. Or rather, how he still viewed people then. Before he'd seen a child kill their father or a father kill their child, or rape paired with murder, or any of those horrible things than came coupled with being a member of the police. Back then, people had just been people, innocent until proven guilty, instead of guilty until proven innocent. And sure, in all these years, perhaps Zander had gotten up to anything from martyrdom to winning the lottery, but once you meet someone, first impressions are always remembered. And so Zander was therefore innocent still, until Lestrade might prove him guilty.
He leaned closer, standing on the balls on his feet, probably looking rather ridiculous next to the plus six foot man, and he smiled. Because he knew everything, and for some reason, having that power made him selfishly cheery. "If I were to have you on this table, right now," Lestrade observed carefully, boldly daring himself to continue looking Zander straight, "It might jog your memory." His smile turned into more of a smirk as he stepped backwards, trying to gauge any sort of reaction from Zander.
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Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on Apr 21, 2012 16:48:15 GMT -5
When he’d apologised for not knowing the man, he had meant it. It seemed as if he missed out on a lot when he was drinking in his youth. However, he was curious how and when he had met the man who was now coming closer to him and was a good deal shorter. He rocked onto the balls of his feet, which added a little to his height. He was smiling, so clearly he thought he had improved his height substantially, which he really hadn't.
"If I were to have you on this table, right now, it might jog your memory."
Zander frowned, wondering what the man was talking about. From the smirk on his face, he clearly thought that he was clever. Well, Zander was a Harvard graduate. He could be clever, too...once he figured out what this man was trying to tell him.
“Have me on the table?” he asked, eyebrows raising. “As in sitting on it? I don’t think that’s the best idea – I think IKEA made these tables.”
He hoped that was what he was being asked. His mind was trying to process what else it would be. Maybe they used to arm wrestle. He was good at that.
“Uh, why don’t we sit down - in the chairs - and you can tell me when and where we met in Ireland and maybe that will help?”
It was worth a try. It had been helpful a few times before. He just had no head for names and faces. He could recite facts until the rooster started crowin’ a new day. His captainship of the debate team was still remembered in Harvard’s hallowed halls. He even finished the New York Times crossword in minutes. But this man...he did not even have an ounce of recognition when he looked at him. Though, most people rarely stuck in his head. He had to see them often – as in every day for a few weeks – before he could firmly remember who they were. He had been like that since he was a child. The only time they ever got a new house keeper had been terrible for him. He was sure Mrs. Callum number two wasn’t terribly happy that he could not remember her name, either.
"Do you want one of these?" Zander asked, gesturing at his drink. "They're fantastic."
He took a sip from his drink, smiling brightly because it was fantastic. Well worth the ten dollar tip.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 23, 2012 0:34:25 GMT -5
“Have me on the table? As in sitting on it? I don’t think that’s the best idea – I think IKEA made these tables," Zander replied, and Lestrade was thoroughly disappointed at the honest look on Zander's face. Damn. He didn't remember Zander being this oblivious at innuendos last time. Especially since that, just now, hadn't even been one.
“Uh, why don’t we sit down - in the chairs - and you can tell me when and where we met in Ireland and maybe that will help?” Zander asked hesitantly, and Lestrade shrugged to say yes. They moved to sit back down at the table where Lestrade's now closed laptop still sat.
"Do you want one of these? They're fantastic," Zander grinned as he took a sip of his drink. Lestrade peered into the cup: it looked more than a bit sugary. Hmm. He'd try one some other day.
"I'm good," he said lightly, and watched Zander drinking his liquid diabetes. He noticed the younger man had nice lips. Still had nice lips. Kissable. Huh. He smirked to himself; he was being awfully childish for a man of his age. He had a kid, for god's sake! Who was on the other side of the country and neither knew nor probably cared all that much who her daddy was… with.
"Look," Lestrade said, looking straight at Zander. Pretty blue eyes, pretty eyes. "There's not really much to tell except, uh, well. A bar. You were drunk. I was drunk. And we… had sex. In my dorm. And it was vey nice." Well, that was an awkward account. He resisted the urge to burst out laughing, because this was hilarious. At least there was no way to get bluntness confused with table-sitting though, now was there?
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Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on Apr 24, 2012 23:19:48 GMT -5
"I'm good.”
“Suit yourself,” Zander replied, taking another long sip of his drink. Oh, it was good. If he sat there long enough, he was going to order yet another.
"Look, there's not really much to tell except, uh, well. A bar. You were drunk. I was drunk. And we… had sex. In my dorm. And it was very nice."
Zander could have heard a pin drop. What was he going on about? He did not just...no, he did just...
“You lost me after ‘you were drunk, I was drunk’.”
Honestly, he must have had him confused with someone else. He’d never gone and done something like that with another man in his life. He would maintain to the death that he had never been that drunk. No, Greg was just a crazy man he did not remember.
"Are you sure you have the right person, Greg?" he asked, seeing as how it was the only option. "It's just that I've never..."
He waved a hand to indicate the situation that Greg thought he had participated in. He had never been attracted to other males, and he had never slept with one, even if Greg was insisting. He admitted he was drunk as well. Perhaps they met and drank together, stumbled home, and met a couple of girls? Or, well, a girl and some man Greg slept with?
He furrowed his brows, trying for the life of him to remember a drunken one night stand twenty years ago...He drank his way through Ireland, barely remembering it. He did sleep around, too, but he was sure they were all girls. He only ever woke up to one in the shower as he slinked out, and the rest he had come face to face with in the morning light, sober and pleased with himself.
No, Greg had the wrong man.
"Sorry." he shrugged, feeling strangely apologetic.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 25, 2012 15:57:39 GMT -5
Well, those words had some effect. A lot of effect, actually. Had he not felt slightly sheepish about his brash reveal, he'd have laughed. Zander's face was one of extreme shock, horrification and surprise. Ah, so he was one of those.
“You lost me after ‘you were drunk, I was drunk’. Are you sure you have the right person, Greg?" Zander asked weakly. "It's just that I've never..." the boy - er, man, no need to call him boy anymore - waved his hand in the air as an censored version of 'had sex.' Lestrade tried to remain looking at least partially serious as Zander look pained, probably searching through his brain for any instances when his… partner, at that moment, had an extra part. "Sorry."
Lestrade couldn't help but chuckle, then. He managed to keep it at least fairly civilised sounding, but wow, it was hard not to full out laugh. "It's fine. But I'm pretty sure it was you," Lestrade smiled. "Not many Zanders floating about the world now are there? 'Specially not in Ireland 1990." Well, technically it had been 1989 when they started, but Lestrade had the minimal grace left to omit that bit.
He tried to think of some way to prove it to Zander, but since there was really no physical way to prove it, he decided to say, "I kind of looked like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic." A girlfriend had dragged him to go see that movie, and while it was interesting and surprisingly mostly historically accurate, it was so obviously a chick flick.
Lestrade hesitated, wondering if what he was about to say was too invasive, but said it anyway, "And you said you wished the year wasn't ending yet, because it meant you were that much closer to having to go back to college to learn finance even though you wanted to fly." Lestrade peered up cautiously at Zander. "I assume you meant planes. Oh, and I showered and left before you got up because I had to go to class, and I was a bit of a jerk back then." Well, he has been. Idiot. "That sound like you?"
There. Making something specific as that up wouldn't be incredibly easy to fake, now would it? He supposed it was as good as proof of a drunken one-night stand could get.
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Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on Apr 26, 2012 0:48:59 GMT -5
“It's fine. But I'm pretty sure it was you. Not many Zanders floating about the world now are there? 'Specially not in Ireland 1990." Greg chuckled a bit, like there was something funny about the situation. Zander was hard pressed to find something humorous about it.
“Not many Zanders here, either. If there are, they all spelled with the ‘X’ beginning that signifies it is short for Alexander.” Zander waved the comment off.
He didn’t bother telling the man that generations ago there was a woman named Myra Zander. She married Lee Devereux, and her grandson was named for her last name in honor of it. That was his Grandfather, Zander Barclay Devereux. He was nicknamed Zan.
"I kind of looked like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic,” Greg added, as if that would be helpful.
“It was a chick flick and I never saw it,” Zander replied, thinking that his sisters had gone with their respective boyfriends. They would now who he was talking about. They would have remembered the man immediately, as well.
"And you said you wished the year wasn't ending yet, because it meant you were that much closer to having to go back to college to learn finance even though you wanted to fly. I assume you meant planes.”
Well, that was common knowledge. The articles that had been written about him all mentioned his love for being up in the air. But his dread about going to school, about doing what he was told...his year abroad had been about seeing the world, but it had also been about taking risks, sewing his oats, and such. He’d done it all, and gone home to something he wasn’t overly fond of.
“Oh, and I showered and left before you got up because I had to go to class, and I was a bit of a jerk back then. That sound like you?"
Zander frowned. It did sound like him, but then that would mean he slept with this Greg character, and – more importantly – that he was wrong about his entire life.
“Listen, Greg, it does sound like me, but I don’t, nor have I ever, slept with anyone without breasts and...”
Aha! That was it! He must have been a woman. That made so much more sense. He was a genius.
“So when did you decide you were a guy trapped in a chick’s body? I mean, it was clearly after college, and don't get me wrong - I think it’s interesting, but very extreme. And you look so manly.”
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 26, 2012 20:01:10 GMT -5
Zander tried to casually brush off his comments on Zander being a unique name and Titanic, but once he made his comment on planes and being a jerk, Zander frowned with a more concerned look. Ah, perhaps that touched the spot. Or maybe Zander just remembered a jerk. Which would be… not so appealing.
“Listen, Greg, it does sound like me, but I don’t, nor have I ever, slept with anyone without breasts and...” Zander trailed off, and Lestrade looked at him expectantly, wondering what Zander was thinking. Suddenly the man got a bright look on his face. “So when did you decide you were a guy trapped in a chick’s body? I mean, it was clearly after college, and don't get me wrong - I think it’s interesting, but very extreme. And you look so manly.”
Lestrade stared dumbly at the men across from him. Well, he hadn't been expecting that. Did he really look like he could have ever been a woman? Really? Either he was either a hell of a lot more feminine than he'd ever guessed, or Zander was in deep, deep denial. Lestdade liked to think it was the later option.
"Um." He said, still a bit surprised. He'd never been accused of being a woman before, so he wasn't exactly sure how to react. "While I'm flattered you think I look… manly, I, uh, was never a woman." He bit his upper lip, the need to laugh bubbling in his stomach. "Sorry, Zee." He wondered if people still called Zander Zee. Probably not, he was a grown man now after all. But it had been easier than remembering the whole odd name while his brain had been pleasure-sated into mush, and that still applied even if he was perfectly clear headed at the moment.
Lestrade subconsciously cocked his head to the right a little, a habit he had which, though really meant nothing, did make him a bit challenged. People didn't exactly think you looked intelligent if you were pressing your cheek against your shoulder. He corrected himself, sitting up straighter, both uncomfortable and extremely amused. This was definitely the highlight of his week, so far.
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Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on Apr 27, 2012 23:54:29 GMT -5
Zander watched as Greg blinked at him. Perhaps he wasn’t a woman once. Well, if he wasn’t then there was something going on here and he wasn’t sure just what it was.
"Um, while I'm flattered you think I look… manly, I, uh, was never a woman. Sorry, Zee."
Zander had been going along with everything so far, but that last comment was like a kick to the stomach. He felt his temper brewing at that. It was irrational, but already this conversation was trying his patience.
“If you ever call me that name again, I will punch you.”
Zander took another careful sip of his drink, hoping Greg wouldn’t test that theory. Zee was his father. His father was dead. He would punch the man if he ever called him by his father’s name again. He set the drink down once again.
“If you ever knew me, you would know that I have never allowed anyone to call me that,” Zander told him coolly. “Especially if we did what you think we did.”
It was just gross when a girl did that to him; like they were going at it with his father. This is why they all had their own unique nicknames in his family – it prevented this confusion.
“Well, it is clear we are going to agree to disagree about this,” Zander finally admitted. “I don’t know where we go from there.”
Honestly, it was twenty years ago. Was there anywhere to go? He’d been eighteen and stupid and quite possibly slept with a man, even though he was sure he never...
Oh, this was enough to give a man a headache.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on May 12, 2012 21:49:54 GMT -5
Suddenly, Zander's face became one clouded less with confusion and a lot more with anger. Lestrade wondered what he'd said. “If you ever call me that name again, I will punch you. If you ever knew me, you would know that I have never allowed anyone to call me that. Especially if we did what you think we did.”
Lestrade frowned. He hadn't remember Zander being angry about him yelling "Zee!" rather than Zander when the man had… well, he hadn't minded. Maybe he'd been in too much of a state of bliss to hear him. Probably. Right, then, he'd not say it again. Lestrade nodded, still a little confused.
“Well, it is clear we are going to agree to disagree about this. I don’t know where we go from there," Zander finally said after the silence stretched on a beat too long not to raise the awkwardness a bit more.
Lestrade cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, looking down at his closed laptop lying on the wooden and slightly sticky table (either the cleaners here were awful or it was just one of those terrible waxing jobs some tables had). "Well," he started slowly, smiling slightly as he considered saying 'We could always do it again.'
He looked up at Zander, still smiling but less deviously than before. Oh, he did have pretty blue eyes, didn't he; it was a shame he was straight. "We could start over. A bit." He knew after this awkward meeting there was no definite starting over from scratch, but they could introduce themselves slightly more ceremoniously.
"I'm Gregory Lestrade, detective inspector; yeah, not into physics anymore, never was really," he nodded firmly, and stuck out a hand over the table to shake. "Nice to meet you again…?"
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Post by ZANDER “ZEUS” DEVEREUX on May 13, 2012 20:31:26 GMT -5
Zander watched as the man he was seated across from got very uncomfortable. Most people acted like that in the face of his anger. To the man’s credit, he put as positive a spin on it as he could.
“Well, we could start over. A bit."
Zander raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in what the man was suggested. Perhaps they needed a fresh start if their previous conversation was anything to go by. At least he hadn’t suggested they crawl into bed with each other. He was sure the other man was good looking, and he knew he personally was a fantastic specimen of a man, but he was much more interested in Robin. She was far too smart to actually go to bed with him, but hope reigns eternal. She had the right curves, the soft places, the shapely legs...she was a woman. Lestrade was not, but from the looks he was getting, he was sure that he would be interested if Zander gave him an inch of hope in the matter, another reason why he had to be as harsh with the man as he was.
Greg nodded firmly in determination, and stuck out a hand over the table in offer of a handshake.
"I'm Gregory Lestrade, detective inspector; yeah, not into physics anymore, never was really. Nice to meet you again…?"
Zander smirked a little, admiring the man’s attempt to salvage the meeting.
“Zander Devereux the third,” he replied, taking the man’s hand and shaking it firmly. “CEO of Devereux Industries, never into physics, either.”
He smirked a little, thinking about how he should have majored in picking up girls when he was in school, but that would never be an actual degree. Instead, he worked with numbers, equations, trends, and now he was running the company instead of the Play Boy mansion. He supposed everyone grew up.
“So tell me, Detective Inspector – how does an Irish Physics major end up as a member in the noble ranks of the NYPD?”
It was a fair question. Zander made no attempt at hiding his name or what he would eventually be. Most knew long before he started his first day of Kindergarten. Realistically, even with all the things he did, nothing about how he turned out should have surprised the man. Well, beyond the misconception he had about his sexual preferences.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on May 13, 2012 20:50:04 GMT -5
“Zander Devereux the third,” Zander amended, a smile with slightly unkind implications playing on his lips of he shook Lestrade's hands. No wonder; he probably thought Lestrade was both stupid and sex hungry. “CEO of Devereux Industries, never into physics, either.” Lestrade smiled; he remembered Zander once saying something about inheriting a company and old money (rather, not exactly wanting to). His father was either old or dead now, then.
“So tell me, Detective Inspector – how does an Irish Physics major end up as a member in the noble ranks of the NYPD?” Lestrade caught the amused tone in Zander's voice, but chose to ignore it. If them an chose to think of him as an idiot, so be it. He did wish Zander might remember him though; not that he wanted to witness the younger man go into the angry depths of a sexual identity crisis in front of him, but even against all reason he did feel the tiniest bit of hurt at not being remembered. Still, he'd answer to Zander's question like the good little government pawn he was.
"Noble ranks?" Lestrade snorted, amused. He might have a high position and influence, but he had never thought of himself as noble. And half of his new coworkers thought he was an idiot. "Er, well. I dropped out, moved to California, got a girl pregnant, went a little psychotic for a while and moved to New York," Lestrade summarised bluntly. He didn't mention how dropping out estranged him from his family, or how he had been in love with Lena, or how Dolores was the best thing that ever happened to him. Or, how the 'psychotic' bit was him being manic-depressive and drinking himself into oblivion and shoving a gun down his own throat; that he had to buy piss off the same men he arrested to pass random drug tests.
He smiled. None of the subtext mattered right now. "And you? What've you been up to in the last twenty years, Mr. Fancy CEO?" Lestrade asked, jokingly sarcastic. "Thought you were going to quit all that malarky and go fly planes." He realized he might seem insensitive; dreams didn't always work out after all. But of course, the words were already out and he could not them back, like all words can not be taken back.
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