Crane tugged at his collar, and Zechariah’s smugness intensified. He took a victorious sip of his vodka, which was like his other sips but with an even more self-satisfied smile.

He didn’t want to make Not-Richard, of all people, self-conscious, and so he pretended to be very transfixed by a bread roll when he noticed his eyes watering from the vodka. Was he more of a whiskey man? Zechariah hated whiskey, but he would pick some up. He could hardly imagine Crane’s problem being tastes too expensive – the champagne was right there, after all! Even Simon made Crane look like a teetotaler.

They had similar eyes.

Zechariah took another sip instead of a bite. Oh! This story sounded familiar! He folded his hands under his chin and listened keenly.

“Well, Mr. Crane,” he started rather formally. “As I recall, on the night that I wrote that – it was a Friday night,” he clarified, for what lonelier night to whack one out than when married couples across the globe were mitzvot-ing each others’ brains out instead? “I found my favorite bathrobe belt, silk, soft on the skin, and tied it to one bedpost. I tied the other end loosely – enough to bind a hand, but your hand was nowhere to be found.”

He cast a rather genuine-seeming judgmental look Crane’s way, then took another sip.

“So there I was, on my hand and knees, staring at where you should have been,” he said rather matter-of-factly, “and so I …”

For the first time that night, a look of embarrassment flushed across his face. He finished off this glass, too.

“Tried out ‘Not-,’” he cleared his throat. “‘Not-Rich’ … but … I … ended up picturing my old professor. That ruined that,” he admitted, then filled his glass once more.

That vodka bottle was nearly empty.

“Surely you have a better example.”

Crane was indeed very amateur at drinking and was more than happy to nurse something as strong as vodka for a while. Besides, he wanted to remember that night whatever did happen. He noticed the look on Zech's face and blushed as he was sure it must be quite obvious how he was affected by the conversation.

He rose a brow when Zechariah was talking so cheerfully on the scene. As he described it, Elijah found it harder to watch him and wondered if his red face would ever go back to normal. How was it so easy for the other man?! He tried to keep looking forward as the tale was told and the expressions sent his way only added to it. He immediately grabbed his glass and drained a large amount making him cough briefly into his napkin.

That was a mental image he wouldn't soon forget.

He cleared his throat and smiled slightly towards Zech. "I am sorry I let you down before. I do not know if Elijah rolls off the tongue any nicer, but I suppose anything is better than "not-..." Of course he was now thinking how often he had called out a Richards. At least there was no way his current company could have known his relationship.

He wanted to change the conversation but it seemed unfair since he had answered his question. "Alright, but you know you ask a lot for someone with no personal interest."He joked lightly and looked down at the soup that now had small bits of floating soggy crumbs. "I suppose, if you had imagined me there contained by your silk belt, completely under your whim and loving every moment of it... " He had to take a breath as this was harder to say than he thought but also there was no way he wouldn't stop. Though he wondered if the other man would laugh in his face for speaking about it clearly so unused to such things.

"And..ah.. and you were able to .. please yourself to the point of calling out my name.. That would certainly fit the example. Definitely deserves a whipping- ah, I mean a flogging." He quickly clarified and went to have a bite of soup before he was knew he'd feel that familiar warmth filling him.

Crane coughed, and Zechariah smiled – as plainly and contentedly as he had professed his hope in being the most compelling answer to his letters. The relationship aspects of his relationships might have been a disaster, but the consummation? The consummation, he had done right.

So long as the stars aligned.

Crane stumbled over his sentence, unfinished. Better than not? Did Zechariah strike him as desperate? … He was, but not in that manner!

“Hardly,” he riposted, reaching for the vodka bottle. “Merely the world,” he clarified with a crinkle of his nose.

Perhaps he had been a demanding lover. It was his idea to whisk Simon off to York, after all. That they live together in a configuration that could make husbands and wives envious, and their neighbors blush. Once upon a time, legalities aside – he had wanted everyone to look at Simon and know he was his.

A lot had changed … but vodka and company brought some of it back. He finished it off. Tried not to think of Simon at the wine rack.

“Good thing we have Yom Kippur,” Zechariah said with a wave of his hand. “It is frowned upon to have sex before marriage or to fruitlessly self-indulge, but there are worse ways to spend one’s time. If it is your wish to … pay penance? however, I would hardly deny you that.”

He stood, initially steady …

“Would you like me to show you where this all transpired?”

And then the world swam, warm and pleasantly off-kilter. He set his hands on the table to keep himself steady.

Elijah heard him and smiled weakly as he spoke up though quietly, not certain if the other heard. "I meant not..as in .. not richard but.. it isn't important.." For it wasn't really. There was a lot to soak in, like how he was reaching for the last of the vodka. And how he finished off that bottle.

He rose his brow as he listened and nodded. "Well... I am far from a righteous man. All of the sins I've done, and confessed to. I can't help but wonder if God thinks I'm an idiot or if I am lying and don't care about it." He smiled towards Zechariah, wondering if it was a bit of both. It definitely was. "But if you can over look it, I am always willing to make myself a better man." Though what that meant to someone like Zechariah he didn't know.

"Where..." He was about to ask what he meant but immediately knew he meant the bedroom. While he wanted to be flattered and blushed, what brought him to his feet was the other man's unsteadiness. He moved to his side and took his arm gently. "Ah, sure. Why don't you show me whatever you want to show me. But you're looking a bit.. " He was never going to say it. "Tired. So let me help you." He hoped that the other wasn't too proud to accept his arm around him to steady the man. Had he refused, Elijah would still keep close. If he noticed the other man stumble, he'd be there to catch him, or even fall himself to cushion the other's blow. While the ship he desired was sailing far away, perhaps he could still ship wreck himself into an island for this one if it was indeed what he'd been dreaming of.

"I.. have a couple of questions I desperately want to ask you. But ... perhaps we can save those for another day. After you've rested well and in a more... pondering mood?"

It sounded important? Vaguely? If only because he insisted it was not? But it slipped from his peripheral nearly as quickly as it had entered it.

“I feel fine, thank you,” Zechariah said, though a far amount more agreeably than he usually protested.

Equally unusually (for he usually was too proud to accept such things), it did not occur to him quickly enough to stand on his own to prove his fineness, instead letting Crane steady him.

Zechariah looked up at Crane. What did he want to ask him? They could talk for hours, tell each other everything! Well, not the privileged information, but other than that! They would fall deeply in love, take on an orphanage! Crane could get, what is it the Catholics did? Crowned for sainthood? And then he could rail a Saint Elijah in his constabulary outfit!

That fond look … looked a little off. A shadow passed over his face, paler yet still flushed.

‘Yes,’ he wanted to say. ‘Ask me anything. Tell me everything.’

Instead, what came out was vomit.

Elijah nodded but was going to insist until he noticed Zech look at him. It was a tender look... perhaps? Something was off and he realized but not fast enough before he was covered, even though he tried to dodge.

"Ah... there it is." He looked down with a frown at the mess on himself, the floor, the table, even a little looked like it might have bounced off of him onto Zech himself.

"Definitely time to get to bed then! Come on, my dear." He said though it wasn't a term for their personal relationship. Just a generic familiarity to help him feel relaxed and safe hopefully as he started to try to walk him from the room towards his own.

"Let's see if I can find your room. We should get you into some comfortable pajamas and straight to rest, right?" He said as he nearly held the man and to start walking the rooms.

Did the vomiting help clear out his system and offer some clarity or was it just saving the man from poisoning after all he'd had? He didn't worry too much though he did speak aloud. "I wonder if helping someone change and sleep after they vomit on you is a good sign a relationship is on its way to something serious?" He glanced towards the other's face briefly but only momentarily before continuing his trek. His experience around others who did such things made it seem like a red flag of trouble to come.

He'd ignore that for now. It was only a first date after all.

Well. That was not what he had intended to come out, but he was a little too far gone to fully register the awful predicament his stomach contents had covered them in. A blink at Crane’s cryptic statement, and a look down at the results like it was an awful, surreal stage show and someone had missed with an off tomato.

Whatever had transpired hardly mattered. Crane called him his dear! It was time to purchase matching grave plots in the morn! … What was that smell? Oh, right.

“Upstairs, my sweet,” he answered hazily, another wave of nausea beckoning him to clutch his stomach.

He braced on the walls, world as steady as a snow globe for him. Caught words that sounded awfully appealing, though he could hardly pluck out one sentiment from another.

“Yes,” he said resolutely nonetheless.

"Wonderful..." Elijah said to him as he steered the man towards the stairs. As they moved down the hallway, he noticed a decent sized vase. He tossed the flowers and water inside and handed it to him. "In case you get sick again." He explained as he guided him and half carried him up the stairs. "We don't want another mess, do we? It'd be like a trail in a crime scene." He laughed weakly then sighed as perhaps it was weird comment for such a situation.

As he reached the top of the stairs carefully, he looked back towards him curiously at the comment and smiled. "If only you'd said that sober. I'd be making plans for a second date." he laughed weakly and kissed his cheek quickly. Hopefully, in Zechariah's fogged up mind, it would give him something pleasant to remember from the night.

"I've got a lot to clean up before your manservant returns. So, if you need me, you can call me alright?" He said, wanting to make sure he was safe and feeling alright. He had drank quite a lot.

As they walked, and he looked for the bedroom, he took a chance to look around the place. "You do have a lovely home. Perhaps one day you'll show me around." Was it wrong he was carrying around a drunk to his bed and wanting to come see him again?

They were fake flowers, but Zechariah still let out a moan of protest when they were chucked. Carrying the vase was kind of making him sick to his stomach, pulling his abdomen in ways it wanted not to be pull. There was another grunt to Crane’s explanation, not quite comprehending.

Something something, would be making plans for a second date? Dark eyes clipped up to Crane’s face before he stumbled up another step. Oh, God, his stomach was roiling.

He retched when footing found the landing, holding the vase up with a flushed face. It was going to, it was going to--

Mercifully(?), nothing came.

Even ground was easier on him, and Zechariah ‘put’ (dropped) the vase down on its bottom. It wobbled precariously, but found its own equilibrium by the wall. The bedroom door was open … tall, lit candles all about leading up to the bed.

Zechariah frowned to Crane, but nodded.

“Mm,” he managed to grunt in the affirmative.

He couldn’t quite connect the dots how it had all gone wrong, but he had the vague, looming sense that it had nonetheless.

As they moved along, he ignored the protest moans Zech made. He would feel better once he was in bed and slept it off. There was a pause when he looked like he was going to be ill though, and Elijah waited patiently and rubbed his back to try to help soothe him though he wasn't sure it did anything.

When he got to the bedroom, Elijah rose a brow. He didn't waste time, did he? He gently guided the man to sit on his bed and started to blow out the candles so they wouldn't be forgotten and cause a hazard later before walking over and kneeling down to take his shoes. "Your clothes are dirty, so you should undress at least your pants." Was he wearing anything under it? Of course he should be!

"While you do that... I'll be right back." He looked at the man wondering if he'd just lay back and fall asleep. This was turning into a very unexpected night in every night. Elijah almost wondered if the man would even remember any of it happening as he poured a glass of water and brought it back for him to drink.

"If nothing else, it'll help that taste in your mouth."He said, holding it to him expectantly.