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[garbagepilot]

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[bleak_midwinter]

[Tommy raises an eyebrow, locking the door behind him before moving over to the small table, the two chairs set in a corner.]

He did, did he?

[garbagepilot]

[Once she has the glasses poured she brings them over, hands his glass out to him.]

And then he started talking about the children he'll have, how he'll tell them fairy tales about me. [Her shoulders lift up, half a shrug and half a shiver, because she's still not sure how to feel about that.] Thinking back on it now I'm not convinced he wasn't drunk.

[bleak_midwinter]

He was almost certainly drunk. [He says, but he isn't sure about that at all: in his time, Alfie's a teetotaler, or at least claims to be. He's just odd, drink or not.]

All the same, Rey... [He trails off and shakes his head, accepting the whiskey.]

He's bloody sentimental, that one.

[garbagepilot]

[She doesn't think he was either, honestly, but the behavior is still so odd she needs to call it something.

And once she would have touched her glass Tommy's in a little toast, but she doesn't bother now. She just takes a sip, nods to what he says.]

He absolutely is. The last thing I ever expected was to be given something that belonged to his mother.