[ true to form, tim laughlin wakes up early enough to track ash's flight. should it experience any difficulties or delays, he'd much rather have a solution waiting and ready to go. especially with such a tight turn around. but the flight lands safely, the president is whisked away to the white house, and tim closes his eyes to rest a few more hours.
except he can't. his mind won't let him rest and just the very realization that he will be sitting a church pew beside the president of the united states simply for the sake of enjoying church? blows his mind. it's why he's fussing over what to wear, his hair, what time to leave, if he should bring anything beyond just the coffee. (he deliberately doesn't eat breakfast or even dare drink more than sip of water - he wants to be sure he can finish the drink ash brings him, or the brunch if they do go (and god knows ash will insist).
all this nervous energy is what has him settled on a bench outside of saint thomas becket far too early. early enough that the cool morning air seeps its way through the thin, russet colored cardigan he's wearing over a simple white button up - a few of the top buttons are even let loose, a departure from his work-wear.
it's embarrassing that he's lost in thoughts, hands curled around the warmth of the to-go cup (americano, piping hot), admiring some statue in the courtyard across the street when he hears the request. ]
Oh - wait, it's actually -
[ ... ash. it's ash, and not some stranger. he lights up, making room on the bench for the man beside him. ]
Please, sit. Here. [ there's no explaining why he feels nervous about church and coffee and the president, when he wouldn't feel nervous about these things ever before, and yet he reaches for ash's hand in that moment to press the coffee cup into his palm.
instead of handing it to him like a normal, sane assistant. jesus. ]
You don't have to thank me at all. I appreciate the invite. I'm not entirely sure that anyone's faith can be counter to who they are. It's a part of you - I can see it in your work every day. I mean that. But I may doubt your faith if you decide to call me Mr. Laughlin even before God. But even if you do, I suppose I will still be happy to share the moment with you.
[ he huffs a little, almost sheepish as he glances around - the bodyguards keep careful watch, of course. this isn't just a normal day at church. ]
It's a beautiful building. I don't think St. Joseph's can compare.
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except he can't. his mind won't let him rest and just the very realization that he will be sitting a church pew beside the president of the united states simply for the sake of enjoying church? blows his mind. it's why he's fussing over what to wear, his hair, what time to leave, if he should bring anything beyond just the coffee. (he deliberately doesn't eat breakfast or even dare drink more than sip of water - he wants to be sure he can finish the drink ash brings him, or the brunch if they do go (and god knows ash will insist).
all this nervous energy is what has him settled on a bench outside of saint thomas becket far too early. early enough that the cool morning air seeps its way through the thin, russet colored cardigan he's wearing over a simple white button up - a few of the top buttons are even let loose, a departure from his work-wear.
it's embarrassing that he's lost in thoughts, hands curled around the warmth of the to-go cup (americano, piping hot), admiring some statue in the courtyard across the street when he hears the request. ]
Oh - wait, it's actually -
[ ... ash. it's ash, and not some stranger. he lights up, making room on the bench for the man beside him. ]
Please, sit. Here. [ there's no explaining why he feels nervous about church and coffee and the president, when he wouldn't feel nervous about these things ever before, and yet he reaches for ash's hand in that moment to press the coffee cup into his palm.
instead of handing it to him like a normal, sane assistant. jesus. ]
You don't have to thank me at all. I appreciate the invite. I'm not entirely sure that anyone's faith can be counter to who they are. It's a part of you - I can see it in your work every day. I mean that. But I may doubt your faith if you decide to call me Mr. Laughlin even before God. But even if you do, I suppose I will still be happy to share the moment with you.
[ he huffs a little, almost sheepish as he glances around - the bodyguards keep careful watch, of course. this isn't just a normal day at church. ]
It's a beautiful building. I don't think St. Joseph's can compare.