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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on May 27, 2012 23:32:00 GMT -5
“Fries sound fine. They do a good job with them here – fresh cut potato and everything. And the gravy is to die for," Peter said, and Lestrade couldn't find any trace of disapproval in his manner.
“So boys, did you have fun today?” A man came to their tables and began placing mugs of soda-floats in front of the kids.
“We always do, Mr. DiCassa,” Cory said, already eagerly sipping at his sugary drink. Lestrade smiled at him.
“Good to hear it," he guy grinned, and moved on to serve the older boys at the opposite table.
“See, these are the perks of pretending you’re a kid for an afternoon,” Peter said, sipping at the coffee that he and Lestrade had been served. Lestrade picked up his own and took a drink also. It was good coffee, he was pleasantly surprised to taste. “So, you planning on joining us again? Because we do this every Sunday, and you’re more than welcome to come back again."
Peter voiced his words quieter this time, and Lestrade was pretty sure only he heard him; the words were meant for Lestrade only. The other kids were too preoccupied with consuming their beloved floats to hear. Lestrade couldn't deny that his heart swelled a bit at the 'you're more than welcome' bit of the offer, because, well, he liked to be accepted, everyone did.
He smiled widely at Peter. "Yeah, man, I'd really love to. That'd be grand, actually." Lestrade wondered if it meant anything, the fact that he was more excited by being accepted to play basketball with a bunch of future-punks and being forgiven by Peter than going back home where he didn't have to hide that while he was pretty sure he wasn't really hung over anymore, he still felt pretty ugly. But Peter hadn't minded, not too much, even though he really should have more, and Lestrade couldn't help but feel… well, special, really. Yes, that made sense; after all, Peter specialised in special; making these kids feel special.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on May 31, 2012 2:06:38 GMT -5
"Yeah, man, I'd really love to. That'd be grand, actually."
Peter smiled, glad that it would be grand. He’d heard the expression in movies, but never just in a conversation like this.
“Good. We look forward to it.”
He leaned back in his seat, left arm still around Conroy’s shoulders as he was slurping at his drink. He reached for his coffee cup with his right, feeling the uncomfortable pull in the shoulder, but he could ignore it.
Only minutes later, two trays of hot dogs came out, piled high. One was left on their table, the other on the next. Peter could hear the boys digging in, and watched as Cody waited for Ollie to set plates on the table.
“Hey, Ollie? Greg was hoping to get an order of French Fries,” he said, thumbing at Greg, remembering that the older man wasn’t going to eat the hot dogs.
“No problem.” Ollie nodded, reaching to set plates on the next table.
“Use the plates boys,” Peter called, watching as Sid started distributing them. “Even though we do this every week, they still eat like wild animals.”
Cody took charge, putting dogs on plates before passing them around the table. Conroy chomped into his excitedly and Peter carefully brought his own up to his mouth for a hungry bite. They had all worked up one heck of an appetite.
He glanced over at Lestrade, wondering how he could not be eating a hot dog – hung over or otherwise. Aside from Grey’s Papaya, they made the best hot dogs in the city here. Still he didn’t question it. He just focused on his own meal for a moment.
“You know, the first thing I ever ate in this city was a hot dog,” he said randomly, wondering where the sudden muse was coming from. “My uncle took me out for one, told me that New York was famous for pizza, but hotdogs were a hidden secret.”
“I like hot dogs,” Conroy managed around his full mouth.
“Dude, like that’s a secret.” Cory shook his head, going back to his own dog. “Hey, do they have hotdogs in England, Greg?”
Peter chuckled. “I think they’ll end up writing a book about food comparisons between New York and Ireland with all the questions.”
He winked over at Lestrade, thinking that at least the kids were interested in something that wasn’t TV.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 7, 2012 21:57:10 GMT -5
“Good. We look forward to it," Peter smiled, and Lestrade nodded back before turning back to his coffee. The boys talked among themselves and Conroy leaned against Peter tiredly. Lestrade thought about an interview he'd once read with a musician.
"What's your favorite memory?" The overeager journalist had asked the solemn and slightly depressing songwriter. The journalist asked why, and the singer told him, "It's none of your fucking business man." But the journalist kept bothering the singer songwriter until he finally snapped, "Because the old lady next door baked a fucking cake, alright?"
"And that was rare? You didn't get much love at home did you."
"No."
It reminded Lestrade of these kids. It made him sad; he was selfish for coming here today. Next time he would be better. And there would be a next time. He wanted there to be a next time.
Soon the guy who Peter was talking to before came over with a bunch of hot dogs for the kids; the eager boys quickly got their hands on the best looking ones.
“Hey, Ollie? Greg was hoping to get an order of French Fries,” Peter said, poking Lestrade. He'd already forgotten that, and he was embarrassed. Selfish prick, he was. He looked down at his lap shyly, like a little kid.
Peter and the boys eagerly began to eat their dogs, the boys eating like they hadn't eaten in days. Lestrade smirked as Peter reminded them to use their manners. Lestrade tried not to seem too creepy as he watched them eat. “You know, the first thing I ever ate in this city was a hot dog,” Peter said. “My uncle took me out for one, told me that New York was famous for pizza, but hotdogs were a hidden secret.”
"Oh," Lestrade said lightly, "The first thing I ate in America was..." he paused for half a second, because the first thing he had actually consumed was copious amounts of cheep beer. "...Um, chips. Fries." The irony was a little too obvious to even begin to be subtle.
“I like hot dogs,” Conroy said with his mouth full. Lestrade smiled at him.
“Dude, like that’s a secret. Hey, do they have hotdogs in England, Greg?” Cory asked, Lestrade made a face. Bloody kids and their inability to tell apart bits of Europe.
Peter chuckled at that, "I think they’ll end up writing a book about food comparisons between New York and Ireland with all the questions," he said, winking. Lestrade bit his upper lip, a little amused at Peter's ability to be one of those people who managed to wink and not look like a complete idiot or kiddy fiddler.
"Ireland," Lestrade said, enforcing the word at the boys. "England's The Beatles and Harry Potter. Ireland's... rain." In truth, England was a whole lot of rain too, but the boys didn't need to know that while he was making a point. "And all those dandy little four leaf clovers," Lestrade added the little cliché, because hey, if you can't beat them join them. And besides, it was really green there. Probably from all the rain.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Jun 11, 2012 1:02:30 GMT -5
"Ireland. England's The Beatles and Harry Potter. Ireland's... rain. And all those dandy little four leaf clovers.”
Peter shoved more hot dog in his mouth to keep from laughing. Ok, so the kids were awful about keeping straight where Lestrade was from. To them, it was all so abstract. England, Ireland...it was all the same to them. But Harry Potter and Shamrocks? Peter had to admit he was amused by the constant screw up, but now it was even funnier.
“Dude, Harry Potter?” Drake had turned around in his booth to snort at them. “No one here is baby enough to have read that.”
“Hey! I read it!” Conroy chirped.
“Then you’re –”
“Enough,” Peter jumped in, knowing that calling Conroy a baby wouldn’t get them anywhere. He’d have a group of sullen kids once he got done with them.
Drake sent him a displeased look, but kept his mouth shut. Peter arched an eyebrow until he twisted back around in the booth to mutter to Sid, Jamal, and the twins about Harry Potter.
“It’s not a baby book, is it?” Conroy asked in a little voice.
“Of course not. I’ve read it. Do I look like a baby?”
He'd read it for a child psychology course, but that wasn't the point. Conroy just grinned, digging back into his hot dog. Cory was snorting into his soda, and Peter couldn’t help but shake his head. He’d given them a great opening to make fun of him there. He took another bite of his own hot dog, surprised to find it was gone. He reached for his coffee to help swallow it down.
“Don’t feel so bad, Greg. At least they have some idea of where you’re from,” he offered when Cory struck up a conversation about nice cars he was going to own one day. “I told them I lived in Montana and they thought that meant I was living life like it was in all the westerns they’d seen on TV. I had to have my sister e-mail me some pictures so they’d believe we had indoor plumbing.”
Oh, TV. How it had worked to shape the next generation...
Peter watched as Ollie slid a basket of fries in front of Greg and reached for another hot dog. At least now he wouldn’t feel so bad about eating in front of the other man.
“So between being English and being a throwback to the eighteen hundreds...” he shrugged, taking a bite from his new hot dog, hoping he’d cheered Lestrade a little.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 11, 2012 10:02:10 GMT -5
Lestrade looked over at Peter and found the guy with an amused expression on his face. Well. It wasn't his fault he couldn't think of anything better on the spot. At least he hadn't used The One Direction as his example for England. Dolores listened to that band, she had been telling him about them on the phone last week. He didn't really get all the fuss, not that he'd told her that, but he was pretty sure they were one of those bands that everyone either hates or loves, unless they just plain didn't really care.
“Dude, Harry Potter?” Drake asked them incredulously, and Lestrade glared at him. He was pretty sure Drake had seen but ignored him. “No one here is baby enough to have read that.”
“Hey! I read it!” Conroy exclaimed defensively.
“Then you’re –” Drake started, but Peter cut them off with a firm "Enough," and Drake turned back around in his seat to talk to the older kids again. Lestrade was impressed. Peter kind of had magical boy-hushing powers or something. He'd be a good dad, probably.
“It’s not a baby book, is it?” Conroy asked quietly when he was sure Drake wasn't listening anymore.
“Of course not. I’ve read it. Do I look like a baby?” Peter comforted him, and Conroy seemed happy enough with that to keep eating contently.
"I've read it too. Four thousand one hundred pages is definitely not baby," Lestrade added, before he realized what he was saying. He hadn't meant to sound so… nerdy. But he heard facts, and he remembered them. That was all. Cory was smirking at both he and Peter. Well then.
“Don’t feel so bad, Greg. At least they have some idea of where you’re from," Peter said after the boys started talking about cars. "I told them I lived in Montana and they thought that meant I was living life like it was in all the westerns they’d seen on TV. I had to have my sister e-mail me some pictures so they’d believe we had indoor plumbing.”
Lestrade giggled (a sound that was usually ridiculous, simply because it was coming from him), because the thought of Peter in a cowboy hat and boots was rather amusing. It was probably in his best interest to keep quiet that he had, in fact, thought of an old fashioned Western himself when he imaged Montana. There had to be a well or something at Peter's house at least, right?
The guy from the restaurant placed a basket of chips in front of Lestrade, and even though the other boys weren't really paying attention or caring at all about it, he still felt like a bit of a prick for getting something different. But he liked chips. They were good. Hot dogs just weren't, though maybe they were here.
“So between being English and being a throwback to the eighteen hundreds...” Peter trailed off, shrugging. Lestrade gave him a nod and ate a chip.
"Wow there are really good," he said, trying not to sound as surprised as he was. "Um, if anyone wants any they can." He looked at Peter, a small smile forming during his hesitation before he said, "I uh. Didn't really think you had plumbing either. Or email." He giggled again and ate another chip. It was childish, he knew, but, well. It was funny, wasn't it?
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Jun 12, 2012 3:22:03 GMT -5
Lestrade giggled and Peter couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. A giggle Lestrade? Well, at least the man found his plight amusing. In truth, Montana wasn’t so far off the mark from a western. There were horses, and people did wear Stetsons. They even offered the odd ‘howdy’. It was a beautiful, wild place where he lived. His parents owned miles of land, so he could ride for days and see no one if he so wished. Or if his father so wished. Peter’d been “punished” that way a few times. There was a line shack on the north range where he’d spent whole summers taking care of the yearlings. Where he’d spent that last summer before everything had gone to hell and he’d ended up in New York. If he was honest with himself, parts of that summer had been the worst of his life, tarnishing the magic of the place. But he was rarely honest with himself.
He glanced at Lestrade, seeing he was enjoying his fries and probably hadn’t noticed Peter’s mind had wandered across the country and back.
"Wow these are really good.” Peter couldn’t help but smile at how surprised Lestrade sounded. "Um, if anyone wants any they can."
They boys both shook their heads. They could manage to be polite when they wanted to. Peter shrugged and snatched one up, popping it in his mouth. He wasn’t a huge fan of anything that had to be cooked in grease, but he didn’t mind the odd French fry, especially when it was from the Red Car. He was still happily munching away when Lestrade hesitently admitted his lack of knowledge about Montana.
"I uh. Didn't really think you had plumbing either. Or email."
Greg giggled - again. Peter just shook his head, thinking that Montana needed an infomercial or something. Everyone thought that they were lacking those two amenities. It seemed to make Lestrade amused, though, and Peter honestly didn’t take offense to the way people thought about his home state. He grinned. Well, he could give as good as he got.
“Well, the first time I heard tell’a Ireland, I thought you’d all be little people,” he replied, Montana accent thickly laid on. He glanced at Lestrade, an eyebrow raised as he looked him up and down. “And yessireebub, you are a short Irish man, Lestrade. Hopefully no one’ll think you got a pot’a gold out there. Remember, if you get cornered, all New Yorkers can’t tell the difference twixt Ireland and England, so maybe you can convince ‘em you’re Harry Potter.”
Cory smacked a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing and Conroy looked at Peter like he was doing something his mother would wash his mouth out with soap for. Peter just laughed, grinning as he reached for his coffee.
“See, kids? Your teachers were right – stereotyping isn’t nice.”
No, it was hilarious when you were an adult, joshing a friend, but he didn’t want to teach the kids bad habits, after all. What good role model did that? He sent Lestrade a little grin. God, now he felt like giggling...
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 12, 2012 10:28:56 GMT -5
Peter looked exasperated at Lestrade's admittance that he thought of Montana as an old Western film as well and munched on the chip he'd taken looking a little annoyed.
“Well," Peter said, and said it more like 'we-ell,' "The first time I heard tell’a Ireland, I thought you’d all be little people." Lestrade laughed, and the boys were looking slightly disbelievingly at Peter. “And yessireebub, you are a short Irish man, Lestrade," Peter added, looking Lestrade over for effect, "Hopefully no one’ll think you got a pot’a gold out there. Remember, if you get cornered, all New Yorkers can’t tell the difference twixt Ireland and England, so maybe you can convince ‘em you’re Harry Potter.”
Lestrade was laughing full out now, and Cory looked he might die laughing if he didn't hold it in like he was. Conroy looked a bit weirded out. Lestrade caught Charlie looking at them from the other booth with amused look on his face. Lestrade grinned at him, and Charlie ducked his head and turned back around, but Lestrade could tell he was still smiling.
“See, kids? Your teachers were right – stereotyping isn’t nice," Peter said, looking like he might start laughing at himself right now.
"Oi, hazard a guess what'll happen if ye don't shut yer face, Peter, lest you want yer teeth in a bag," Lestrade warned jokingly, not really doing anything to his natural accent but using a bit of Irish slang to match Peter's previously ridiculous words. "See boys, this wee biddy, if he had one wit more than maybe he'd be a half wit." He laughed as soon as he was finished sounding like his idiot twin brothers and added, "Just joshing you of course, Peter."
Cory seemed to just now get the half wit comment and took his hand off his mouth, laughing out loud. Conroy was looking at him like he, too, had succumbed to whatever alien talk Peter had previously spouted.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Jun 13, 2012 14:29:30 GMT -5
Peter couldn’t help but smile when Lestrade decided to jump on his culturally insensitive conversation, his Irish getting a bit more Irish.
"Oi, hazard a guess what'll happen if ye don't shut yer face, Peter, lest you want yer teeth in a bag. See boys, this wee biddy, if he had one wit more than maybe he'd be a half wit."
Oh ouch. Now he was really getting mean...Cory laughed loudly and Conroy was looking at Lestrade like he’d grown another head, too. Peter found the whole situation hilarious.
"Just joshing you of course, Peter."
“Good thing y’are. Where I’m from, them’s fightin’ words,” he offered, taking a sip of his coffee. “We don’t want a ta do between the Aramis and Lestrade clans. Might turn into the Hatfield’s n’ McCoys all over again.”
In reality, it wouldn’t. As far as he knew, there were only six members left in his family. There were probably more, but his father and Don had made serious faux pas when they left the family for normal lives. Neither of them had really liked being con men, but where Don had gone the way of the law, James had won the ranch in a game of poker. Both were outcasts. Since neither Peter nor Don planned on procreating, their little corner of the family wouldn’t be expanding unless Angelique had kids, and even then, they’d be taking their father’s name. Lestrade, though, was Irish. They had huge families. In short, any blood feud would be over quite quickly and it would not turn out well for the Aramis family.
“And believe you me, the law wouldn’t like that. Us bein’ two’a New York’s finest an’ all.”
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 13, 2012 18:39:23 GMT -5
“Good thing y’are. Where I’m from, them’s fightin’ words,” Peter replied, still milking the Southern thing (Montana was South, wasn't it? Or was it North? Wait, then why were they called Westerns?), “We don’t want a ta do between the Aramis and Lestrade clans. Might turn into the Hatfield’s n’ McCoys all over again. And believe you me, the law wouldn’t like that. Us bein’ two’a New York’s finest an’ all.”
Lestrade laughed, and went back to his normal way of speaking. "You know, I'm pretty sure I'm not a bat-sh..." he trailed off, remembering he was patently not swearing in front of children. Cory looked like he knew exactly what Lestrade was about to say and giggled. "Crazy over dramatic immigrant," Lestrade corrected himself.
He had arrived on a boat with a man who pretended to be a captain and a captain who looked like a hobo, and the first thing he'd put in his stomach was cheep American beer that he was pretty sure had been laced with a little something more by the shady guy who'd kindly bought him the ominus drink in the shady little bar with his shady accent. And then he'd gotten married after knowing his would-be wife a month after knowing her, so yeah. Maybe he had been a little crazy.
"At least not anymore," he added with a chuckle.
"What'dya mean by that?" Conroy asked bluntly in a way that only children could get away with.
Lestrade grinned at the kid. "I was a weird guy. Ya'know I used to sew my socks up when there were holes in them. I bought other clothes but I thought buying socks looked funny, so I just sewed them up over and over until my brother Elliot moved here too and said that I had better throw them out and buy new ones because they were disgusting him and shaming me and looked like a rat's arse." He laughed at the slightly pathetic story (well, so much for not swearing).
It was true; socks weren't something one ever thought about buying unless they had to. They were the sort of thing you got for presents; the ones you didn't really want, but actually needed so it was okay. But when he was all alone, right off the boat and not a person to talk to besides the men in bars who were a bit too drunk to care who they confessed their sorrows to, there was nobody to buy him socks. It was a lot funnier than he thought socks could be.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Jun 14, 2012 3:01:10 GMT -5
"You know, I'm pretty sure I'm not a bat-sh...crazy over dramatic immigrant."
Peter couldn’t help but snort into his coffee when Lestrade corrected himself. The boys had definitely caught the slip. They’d been on good behavior today for the guest. Normally they cursed nine ways to next Sunday, so he supposed it was even funnier to see Lestrade censoring himself.
"At least not anymore.”
"What'dya mean by that?" Conroy asked, looking perplexed.
Peter shook his head then. “Never give them an opening, Pard.”
He’d learned that early on with these kids. He’d stumbled into it a lot in his first few months. Greg was lucky it was just Conroy and Cory. Drake and Sid would have taken that statement apart and really given him a run for his money.
"I was a weird guy. Ya'know I used to sew my socks up when there were holes in them. I bought other clothes but I thought buying socks looked funny, so I just sewed them up over and over until my brother Elliot moved here too and said that I had better throw them out and buy new ones because they were disgusting him and shaming me and looked like a rat's arse."
“My mom sews my socks, but she buys new ones when they get too old. She doesn’t look funny at all,” Conroy said it like Lestrade should know that.
“Yeah, man. There’s being cheap and then there’s being cheap,” Cory threw in like Lestrade didn’t know the difference. “Socks are a dollar for fifteen new pairs down at the thrift store, man.”
Peter just shrugged, the boys had a point, but he was sure they had no idea where Lestrade was coming from, seeing as how their mothers still bought their clothing for them. Socks were one of those things that you only bought for yourself when no one else would do it, grown man or not. His Grandmere still sent him some every couple of years. Whenever she was mad at his mother, heaps of clothing got parceled to his apartment, and he was always sure to write her a thank you card, slip a picture of Baze inside to amuse her. It usually got shown to his mother in vindictive retaliation for whatever they were fighting about. He didn’t like being used like that, but he loved getting new clothing. How his Grandmere knew his size was anyone’s guess.
“Hey, clearly he figured it out. He dresses better than anyone else I work with,” Peter threw in, hoping it would buy some credibility. “I never knew one man could wear a suit six days a week before I met him.”
“Yeah, but then he’d look like a police officer. You look like someone they hauled in and forgot to let go.” Cory replied, causing Conroy to laugh.
Peter just smirked at him. “I like the way I dress – it confuses the criminals.”
“Yeah, right.”
Peter shrugged, leaning back in the booth a bit. Let the kids believe what they wanted to. He personally just wanted to be comfortable at work, especially if he was going to be out and about. Don wore a suit, so it was also his way of making his own mark on the station. Besides, he didn’t go to work in ripped jeans and a Metallica t-shirt. Just casual stuff. Besides, a suit would probably kill him in a week. You could take the boy out of the country, but you couldn't take away the smacks to the back of the head that he got when he got his good clothes dirty in the country.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 14, 2012 9:08:42 GMT -5
“My mom sews my socks, but she buys new ones when they get too old. She doesn’t look funny at all,” Conroy said, and Lestrade wondered if the kid was offended. He hadn't meant it like that at all, but people took words and twisted them to hurt themselves sometimes.
“Yeah, man. There’s being cheap and then there’s being cheap,” Cory added, “Socks are a dollar for fifteen new pairs down at the thrift store, man.”
"Yes well, I was, uh, being cheep," Lestrade emphasized. It hadn't really been 'being cheep,' not really, but he supposed the kids didn't really get what he was trying to say exactly. That was okay, he supposed.
“Hey, clearly he figured it out. He dresses better than anyone else I work with. I never knew one man could wear a suit six days a week before I met him," Peter said, trying to back Lestrade up a bit. Lestrade gave him an awkward smile with one side of his mouth. He appreciated Peter's trying to help, but he didn't really want to sound like a guy who just wore suits all the time. How boring that made him seem. Not that he didn't wear suits pretty much every day but at least he usually took the jacket off once he got to work.
“Yeah, but then he’d look like a police officer. You look like someone they hauled in and forgot to let go.” Cory replied, and Conroy laughed. Well, at least they weren't too annoyed about it.
“I like the way I dress – it confuses the criminals," Peter said, and Lestrade snorted. Considering most of the criminals Peter was referring to were youth, they didn't really care what the person arresting them looked like when their high arses were being dragged in for questioning. Neither did the adults, but kids tended to either hate or be terrified of the police more than they cared about the man arresting them was wearing.
“Yeah, right," Cory said disbelievingly.
"Peter dresses fine," Lestrade said. "We usually make sure he doesn't do briefing anyway so nobody who cares about dress code has to see him." Well, he was pretty sure that much was true considering he had never seen Peter at a meeting before. At least he was pretty sure he hadn't.
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Jun 21, 2012 3:54:44 GMT -5
"Peter dresses fine.”
Peter smirked as Lestrade defended him. See, he didn’t dress too awfully. He just didn’t care what he wore most of the time, as long as it didn’t smell or have something spilled on it. He had work clothes, and he had everywhere else clothes, and as long as he didn’t get them confused, it all worked out. Since Guy had organized his apartment, most of the clean clothing even got put away, so his clothing was easier to keep track of.
"We usually make sure he doesn't do briefing anyway so nobody who cares about dress code has to see him."
Ouch...and to think that Peter thought he was being defended.
“Hey, I’ve been to briefings.”
It sounded defensive, but he had. He or Gerry always had to be there - mostly it was Gerry, seeing as how Peter was often running late. Those and department meetings. Lestrade had his own department to worry about. On Peter's floor, no one cared. Often, they were well into shifts, looking rumpled anyways. As long as they were comfortable, they could do their jobs better. Heck, they were happy if Peter was wearing shoes...
He took a sip from his coffee cup, determined he wasn’t going to point that out.
“See man? You look too much like a hood, so Greg didn’t even think you were in on the Policey things.” Cory teased.
“You think I should start wearing a suit?” Peter asked, eyebrow arched in a way that made Cory laugh.
If he started wearing a suit, he was going to look like Don. Well, Don with dark hair. The man had gone salt and pepper years ago. The thought alone was enough to make Peter shake his head.
“No! Then you won’t look like you!” Conroy pointed out with an exaggerated shake of his own head.
“I’m not getting a face lift,” Peter teased, chuckling a bit. “But they do say that the clothes make the man.”
“Whatever, man. Conny, you want half of the last hotdog?”
Conroy just shook his head and Peter knew he must have been really tuckered if he was turning down food. Cory shrugged, picking it up and eating it in a way only a growing teen could manage. Peter poured himself another cup of coffee, knowing the kids wouldn’t last much longer. They all needed to get home and get settled in for a long school week, after all.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 24, 2012 22:54:18 GMT -5
“Hey, I’ve been to briefings," Peter defended himself, sounding annoyed.
Lestrade laughed at him and patted Peter on the back in mock comfort. "Don't worry man, I'm just kidding," he assured Peter, and while he was just kidding, his wide smile kind of deflected the sort-of apology.
“See man? You look too much like a hood, so Greg didn’t even think you were in on the Policey things," Cory said, and Lestrade shrugged to half-agree, still smirking.
“You think I should start wearing a suit?” Peter asked incredulously, and the boys obviously thought the image was funny by the sound of their laughter. Lestrade laughed along with them, because yeah, it was funny.
“No! Then you won’t look like you!” Conroy exclaimed, looking almost frantic in his effort to deny that Peter should even think about changing his casual dress. And Lestrade, to be honest, had to agree, somewhat. Peter wouldn't really be Peter without, er, Peter-clothes. And seeing as Lestrade didn't actually work in the same department, much less floor as Peter, he really didn't have to see Peter at all at work really, except sometimes when they met up during lunch.
“I’m not getting a face lift. But they do say that the clothes make the man.”
“Whatever, man," Cory dismissed the conversation as most likely dull now, "Conny, you want half of the last hotdog?” Lestrade's smiled into his lap, knowing that if the boys saw, they'd probably be a little annoyed by his less than subtle amusement at the slightly adorable nickname for the kid, and Cory's consideration. It was a bit embarassing how much little things touched him like that. Conroy shook his head no, and Cory took it for himself, still not full apparently.
Lestrade coughed lightly to clear away his smile before looking at Peter and asking tentatively, considering everyone at the table was mostly-done, "We do anything else after this?" He managed to sound neutral; he neither wanted nor would refuse anything else. He looked at Cory, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "You boys walk home from here?"
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Post by DETECTIVE PETER ARAMIS on Jun 26, 2012 18:21:11 GMT -5
Peter honestly snorted when Lestrade patted him on the shoulder and told him he was just kidding. He knew Lestrade was capable of it and it was nice to see. He even smiled when the boys started in, looking almost like he was touched.
Right then, Peter was sure he was getting it. He’d been with the boys all day, seen what great kids they were, and what great men they’d have the opportunity to be when they grew up. But now he hoped Lestrade was seeing why he did it – why he took so much of his time to spend with the kids. They deserved it. They relied so much on each other, took care of one another so that they could have done fine without other people, adults, authorities...but they shouldn’t have to. They should just be allowed to be kids.
Lestrade cleared his throat a bit, looking from Peter to Cory as he spoke. "We do anything else after this? You boys walk home from here?"
Peter approved of how neutral he was working to be. But even he could see how the hangover had pulled all the energy from Lestrade. He wasn’t as tuckered as Conroy, but he was getting there. It was time that he got home and relaxed for the night. Peter suspected Greg would be pretty sore tomorrow.
“Nah, man. TV maybe.” Cory shrugged.
Peter knew the kids ran themselves ragged on the court. They were entitled to a little down time after that. Though, he wished they weren’t so engrossed in TV.
“We just walk them home – it’s a couple blocks. By then, they’ll be hungry for dinner,” Peter offered with an amused chuckle. “Speaking of which, we should wrap things up here,” Peter offered, nudging Conroy where he was slumped on his shoulder again. “Finish up, boys,” he spoke loudly enough so the next table could hear him.
He reached into his pocket for his wallet, carefully pulling out some money. While the DiCassas gave him a discount, he still had to pay something, and he didn’t mind. Ollie and Mr. Dicassa were good to them and he believed in showing that they appreciated it. Besides, with how often they were there, it was important to show that appreciation.
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Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jun 27, 2012 2:20:50 GMT -5
“Nah, man. TV maybe.” Cory said carelessly. Lestrade nodded. TV was one of those things that, no matter how old you were, it was an acceptable pass-time, as long as it didn't border on obsessive. He remembered how the first place he'd gone when he'd landed in New York was a bar, and how that bar had had a black and white telly with American football playing on it. He'd felt so American at that moment he'd nearly cried.
“We just walk them home – it’s a couple blocks. By then, they’ll be hungry for dinner,” Peter said chuckling. Lestrade wondered if he was supposed to walk the boys home with Peter. He had no idea where Peter lived, but he didn't exactly live close to this place, and unless he wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon walking he had planned on taking a cab back, like he had come. Well, he could always walk with Peter and the boys and then get a cab. He decided whatever happened worked.
“Speaking of which, we should wrap things up here. Finish up, boys,” Peter said loud enough for the boys at the other table to hear. Lestrade wasn't surprised to see how the kids' faces fell ever so slightly at the announcement, and he was sure it wasn't because they were done eating. Speaking of unfinished food, Lestrade looked down at his own still-half-full little basket of chips. Well. Oh well. He absently took another one and nibbled at it.
He watched as Peter pulled out his wallet and began counting dollars. Lestrade reached in to his own pocket for his wallet and took out a ten under the table, nudging Peter's arm lightly to give it to him. For some reason he felt a little embarrassed as he said quietly, "At least let me pay for mine." He knew Peter probably wasn't the sort to think about who payed how much equally and so on and so forth, but he kind of needed Peter to take it. It was empty compensation if nothing else; let him feel somewhat pardoned. He knew a small order of fries wasn't nearly worth a ten, but he had sort of given Peter a bit of trouble today, and so. Empty compensation it was.
To avoid having to really think about that, Lestrade kept his hand with the note at his and Peter's side, waiting for Peter to take it, as he asked Cory, "Where do you boys live then? Close is it?"
"Yeah man, it only takes like fifteen minutes," Cory told him.
"Cool," Lestrade replied, and ate another chip.
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