"No?" he asks, because that was genuinely one of the things he was less than sure about.
"But-- I don't know," he hedges after a beat. "There are certain things one tends to practice -- rules of chivalry and etiquette, I mean -- somewhat differently with a woman than with a man. I know that's seen as old-fashioned by my time, but it is how I was raised."
The most important question for deciding any tactical approach.
"For tonight. Assuring that there is a longer term could be a goal. Or acquiring enough information to decide if you want a longer term could be one. Or you might prefer to focus on what happens tonight exclusively."
Well, he knows one thing he'd like to happen tonight, and Jedao is free to assume it's on his list, but there's no way he's going to say it out loud. And anyway, he wouldn't say it's really his goal. That's not something he's thought about before; it's almost a complete reframing, really.
"I suppose my goal is for us to forge a deeper connection," he decides. "And hopefully to remain on the same page about what, er, form that connection takes."
He's literally going to pretend you didn't just say that, Jedao. He now suspects you said the page number thing just to set up that joke, so now he's going to ignore that, too.
"So you're saying," he says, in an even tone but with the air of someone who is determined to wrench the reins of the conversation back on track, "that if I go into the evening with this goal in mind, then...?" Actually, he's not sure how to end that sentence.
Jedao laughs at his total non-reaction, but then waves a hand. "New metaphor. I'm saying...there's a tendency, sometimes, to imagine romance as a game, in which the winner is the person who opens up last or least. Wanting is dangerous, after all. But if it's a good romance, then it's a team game, not a pair of opponents. The first objective is to share information as clearly as possible, so that you can coordinate the best outcome for both of you. Have you ever played bridge, Benton?"
He cradles his teacup in his hands, settling into a more earnest mode.
"So, you start with your bids. It's physically impossible for you both to have the same set of cards - and if it looks like you do, it's because one of you is cheating, and that's a sign to be wary. But otherwise - maybe you've got more spades and he's got more diamonds. By making your bids, you can tell each other what you have, what you want, what you need. And it's only when you know those things that you can work together well and win the game. So tell him what you want, or hint strongly enough that he gets it. Listen for what he's telling you. And wear something that shows off your shoulders."
Okay. All right. This is a fascinating take on the issue, but he gets it. It sounds nice, honestly -- a nice way to start something new.
And then Jedao says the last thing and he squints at him, back at sea. "My shoulders." He looks down at his current outfit, which is practically a uniform unto itself at this point: leather jacket, flannel shirt, tight jeans, work boots. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to wear the red serge, but at least that has epaulettes...? "What do you suggest?"
"Dinner," he says promptly. "But not... That is, I don't cook much, and he works the dinner shift, so as I understand it we'll just be taking it to go from there."
It won't be fancy, he means. No filet mignon, unless everyone on the Barge is somehow getting one.
"Hmmm. Okay, a little too fancy for a tank top. Either a nice form-fitting sweater, or a cuffed shirt one size too small. Assuming you wouldn't be comfortable in just a waistcoat."
Again, he looks down at himself, tries to imagine wearing a tank top to dinner. Maybe he has the wrong idea about what that is. Jedao probably doesn't mean he should go out in his undergarments, right? ...Or maybe he does.
"I think I can probably find a sweater that would suit," he mutters, because that feels easiest. "Can I ask-- does it really make sense to wear a size too small?"
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"But-- I don't know," he hedges after a beat. "There are certain things one tends to practice -- rules of chivalry and etiquette, I mean -- somewhat differently with a woman than with a man. I know that's seen as old-fashioned by my time, but it is how I was raised."
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It's a good question. It's a hard one, too.
"Do you mean for tonight, or in the longer term?" he asks after a pause. "Assuming there is a longer term." And he doesn't completely screw it up.
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"For tonight. Assuring that there is a longer term could be a goal. Or acquiring enough information to decide if you want a longer term could be one. Or you might prefer to focus on what happens tonight exclusively."
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Well, he knows one thing he'd like to happen tonight, and Jedao is free to assume it's on his list, but there's no way he's going to say it out loud. And anyway, he wouldn't say it's really his goal. That's not something he's thought about before; it's almost a complete reframing, really.
"I suppose my goal is for us to forge a deeper connection," he decides. "And hopefully to remain on the same page about what, er, form that connection takes."
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"Alright. So: if you want to be on the same page, you should probably mention your page number."
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He's the one that got them on this metaphor, obviously, but he has no idea what that means in practice.
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"So you're saying," he says, in an even tone but with the air of someone who is determined to wrench the reins of the conversation back on track, "that if I go into the evening with this goal in mind, then...?" Actually, he's not sure how to end that sentence.
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Jedao laughs at his total non-reaction, but then waves a hand. "New metaphor. I'm saying...there's a tendency, sometimes, to imagine romance as a game, in which the winner is the person who opens up last or least. Wanting is dangerous, after all. But if it's a good romance, then it's a team game, not a pair of opponents. The first objective is to share information as clearly as possible, so that you can coordinate the best outcome for both of you. Have you ever played bridge, Benton?"
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Plus, he probably has to reward him in some way for veering off of the ridiculous sex jokes.
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"So, you start with your bids. It's physically impossible for you both to have the same set of cards - and if it looks like you do, it's because one of you is cheating, and that's a sign to be wary. But otherwise - maybe you've got more spades and he's got more diamonds. By making your bids, you can tell each other what you have, what you want, what you need. And it's only when you know those things that you can work together well and win the game. So tell him what you want, or hint strongly enough that he gets it. Listen for what he's telling you. And wear something that shows off your shoulders."
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And then Jedao says the last thing and he squints at him, back at sea. "My shoulders." He looks down at his current outfit, which is practically a uniform unto itself at this point: leather jacket, flannel shirt, tight jeans, work boots. He's pretty sure he's not supposed to wear the red serge, but at least that has epaulettes...? "What do you suggest?"
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It depends.
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It won't be fancy, he means. No filet mignon, unless everyone on the Barge is somehow getting one.
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"Hmmm. Okay, a little too fancy for a tank top. Either a nice form-fitting sweater, or a cuffed shirt one size too small. Assuming you wouldn't be comfortable in just a waistcoat."
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"I think I can probably find a sweater that would suit," he mutters, because that feels easiest. "Can I ask-- does it really make sense to wear a size too small?"
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He touches Fraser's shoulder idly, gently, gloved palm and bare fingertips just skimming over the curve of it.
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He watches Jedao's hand from the moment it touches him till the moment it moves away again, a little like a rabbit watching a hawk.