anunluckypenny | IC Contact

Okay.

[The Welcome Center is one thing; everyone's perfectly welcome there. Penny does mean something different where Chase is concerned.]

Honestly? I'm always a little worried about you, crazy memory-pears or not. But it's not a bad kind of worried.

[He's dubious about this.]

What's the good kind?

It's the kind I don't mind being because you're worth worrying about.

[That's not the kind of thing he hears often. In Chase's life there's been the woman who told him she was the last person she could ever love, then changed her mind about whether she ever had. There's been the mentor slash father figure for whom admitting he cares would be grounds for diagnosing a personality disorder. And there's been the real father, the real mother, neither of whom lived up to the term duty of care.

He's not, in fact, used to being told he's worth much of anything.

So there's a small soundless attempt at a reply before he ducks his head and breathes out the assurance that she doesn't need to worry about him. He doesn't deserve it.

Instead he takes a minute, fingers drumming a quiet beat where they're curled against his ribs, and then says.]

It was a nun thing.

[He should hear it more often. As far as Penny's concerned, Chase is among the best in the City--thoughtful, talented, kind. He has some baggage that she doesn't know much about, but it hasn't stopped him from being anything short of perfect.

(Admittedly, Penny is prone to overlooking flaws. This might be doubly so with Chase.)

With all of the nonverbal build-up, Penny's expecting Chase to say something profound. What he actually says doesn't register.]

Huh?

[It's profound, in that barely five people know these specific details of his history, and more than half that number weren't told by choice. Chase actually winces as he figures out how to put it.]

The crazy memory pear. Christmas. When I was growing up... mum drank, dad worked. They stuck me in Catholic school. Priests and nuns were the closest thing I had to family so I guess, in New Jersey... for a minute I thought a reunion might be nice.

[It shouldn't come as a surprise that Penny's immediate response to this is another hug. She's not articulate enough to say what she'd like to, so it will have to do.]

It didn't look like much of a reunion.

[He's getting used to these, a little. There's only a moment's startled hesitation before he folds his arms loosely around her and squeezes back.]

I kind of fell out of the fold.

It happens. Then you need to find another family.

[Another family to walk out? Been there. Not that he says that, exactly.]

Or learn to deal without. Which—I have. So, no need to worry.

That sounds lonely.

I mean, I'd be lonely. I've left a lot of families, but there's always been another family waiting somewhere. ...But whatever works for you!

You've left a lot of families? [His hands slip from her waist to her shoulders, so he can lean back enough to look at her without quite breaking away.] Care system?

Is that Australian for foster care? [That leaves her hands free to fidget. It's not that she minds talking about it, but she's uncomfortable with the pity that usually comes with the topic.]

They're pretty interchangeable. [And he's taking that as a yes.] How long was that for?

Twelve years. They kind of kick you out when you hit eighteen.

[The mental calculation on that one is quick. Ouch. But his expression doesn't change, much, even as he figures it out.]

Rough on you. [There's no 'it must have been' to make that into a question. It's a statement.] Did you stay in touch? With your families?

There were good times. [She's immensely relieved by the way Chase is handling this--calm, not trying to make a bigger deal out of it than it was.]

Only two of them, but they never stopped looking out for me. One of them helped me get a scholarship to a liberal arts school and the other basically took me off the street after college. I could've done a lot worse.

[He nods - and it's true: he knows some worse cases. Hell, he's treated them. Which doesn't make it less of a rough story, but he's never needed to be told that there are injustices in the world. Still, he looks up, making a clear study of the room she keeps here. The warm lights, the tree, the cards from and for the waifs and strays who call it home. Then he looks back at her, and smiles.]

Now you're the one taking people off the streets. Looks like you picked up a few tips.

[She returns the smile shyly.]

Doris was a good influence.

And a good name. You don't meet many Dorises anymore.

[He brushes a few stray dark red strands out of her face and captures one of her fidgeting hands.]

How do you feel about Christmas Carols?

[That certainly puts an end to that. She smiles up at him.]

I love them. Are you the caroling type?

[For now. He doesn't want to drag too much out of her, not at christmas.

Though he manages to actually blush and clear his throat softly at the question.]

Soloist in the St Patrick's boys choir. Since then, not so much. There's a - um, a service at the Cathedral here, tonight..

I bet you still have a great singing voice, even if you haven't used it for a while.

Are you going? To the service?

A deeper one, I hope. And I don't know yet - want to come with me?

Sure... I'd really like that.

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