My date with Douglas Mackenzie has so far been, well, let's just say it's been eventful.

Is it the date from hell? I don't really think I can describe it as that right now since it seems to have been salvaged. It was a little traumatic for a while there but we seem to have pulled through unscathed. Doug is my hero, because he has got to be just about the bravest guy I know to want to walk back into a place where he was so humiliated.

We entered the restaurant for the second time that day, about two hours ago. Doug walked behind me. I was holding tightly to his hand, although I didn't really need to because his grip was so tight that I was actually afraid I might lose some feeling in my fingers. There is definitely going to be permanent damage.

Not that I'm complaining, because any excuse to hold this guy's hand is good, but I just wish it hadn't been because he was so shit scared.

Xavier, the owner of the restaurant approached us almost as soon as we walked through the door. He's someone I've known since I was a kid so I was fine but Doug practically shrank to half his size as he hid behind me. I think if he could have crawled inside my shirt he would have and although that is not an entirely unpleasant thought it was for the wrong reasons. I'd rather he crawled inside my shirt because he wants to not because he needs somewhere to hide.

Xavier apologised profusely to us for what happened. He was particularly apologetic to Doug who just melted even further into my back as I rapidly lost more feeling in my fingers. I practically had to prise his fingers from mine as we were seated at our table.

Well that might have been an exaggeration. I did make a comment about needing my hand back and he muttered an expletive under his breath before actually letting go of my fingers.

Right now we are sitting opposite each other, at the best table in the restaurant eating our very delicious meals (which I don't think we will even have to pay for because Xavier insists everything is "on ze 'ouse"). We are drinking some very nice wine that Doug chose and we're having a somewhat civilised conversation as long as you leave out all the cuss words (from Doug, not me).

I even manage to get some more smiles from him, gees his face lights up when he smiles. He really does have the most amazing moss green eyes and his hair, god; don't get me started on his hair. The best thing about him though? Is the fact that he just doesn't see it. He has absolutely no idea how damn gorgeous he is. I want to tell him as he sits self consciously chewing his food and sipping his wine but I know what reaction I will get so I bite my tongue.

Doug had a very long and in depth discussion with Xavier about which wine was the best to have with our meal. To me wine is wine so I did kind of switch off, but I was fascinated none the less. Doug's seemingly vast knowledge even managed to impress Xavier and that, I can tell you is some feat. Even my dad struggles to do that and he and Xavier have been discussing wines and stuff since Xavier first opened this restaurant fifteen years ago,

"You should meet my dad. You and him would get on like a house on fire." I tell Doug, realising that I may just be jumping the gun thinking about introducing him to my parents at this stage. It doesn't hurt to plant the seeds though does it?

"Why would we?" Doug asks, defensively, "Because we're closer in age?"

"Gees, Doug, you're not that much older than me. My dad is like fifty eight." I peer at him closely and he seems to squirm at my scrutiny, "How old are you?" I ask, because he doesn't look that much older than me, but then he has that type of skin that doesn't age the same as most, he could be older,

"I'm twenty seven." He says, scowling, "How old are you? Since we're asking like we're still in fucking high school or something."

"I'm twenty three." I tell him, he widens his eyes,

"Well, I said it was like we were in high school, but we're actually not that far off it for real." I laugh,

"High school finished five years ago, and I even finished college." I say indignantly, trying not to sound like a whiny teenager but not succeeding. He smirks at me with a twinkle in those amazing green eyes of his so I actually don't mind that he is making fun of my age, "Four years isn't such a big gap." I say quietly.

Doug looks at me, his scowl has not returned but he does look a little worried,

"Mason, you said we would go on this date so that I could decide if you were full of shit or not."

"Yes, I remember." I say, nodding and taking a sip of my wine, "So what's your verdict, Scotty Dog?" I just can't help myself,

"Will you please stop calling me that stupid name? And while we're on the subject, you called me honey." He sounds disgusted, "Really, Mason, honey?"

"I was kind of stressed at the time because I didn't know where you'd gone and I was worried about you."

"I can take care of myself." He tells me, his eyebrows raised and I believe him but his reaction to the whole asshole waiter business was so over the top and then there were the tears in my car before we came back into the restaurant. I want to ask him why he was crying but I know now is not really the right time,

"You still haven't told me your verdict." I say, my head cocked to one side, my lips pursed. He scowls deeper,

"I think my original impression stands. You are full of shit, and now you know that I am too maybe we can get back to normal and stop bothering each other."

"You never bother me, Doug. It was always me bothering you remember?"

"I know." he says shortly. Then I realise just exactly what he is saying and I feel a little knot of panic in my stomach,

"S-so you're saying you don't want to go out again and you want to stop having lunch with me?" I ask, unable to keep the waver out of my voice. I don't want him to answer but I know he is going to,

"Jesus Christ, will you stop giving me that stupid look?" that isn't the answer I was waiting for, or prepared for, it's not even an answer,

"W-what?" I ask in confusion, "What look?"

"That stupid puppy dog, sad eyed look when you think I'm going to say something you don't like or you think I'm going to fucking turn you down."

"Doug, I don't understand, I'm not giving you any look." And I'm not, what the hell is he talking about? I'm unhappy that he hasn't enjoyed himself, although I'm hardly surprised considering what he's been through. I'm sad that this might be the only date we ever go on, but I'm not giving him any kind of look I'm just depressed with the whole business.

Doug sighs and looks away,

"You keep saying I'm worth it." he says softly,

"That's because I think you are." I say back,

"Why?" he asks, turning back to me, "Why did you even ask me out in the first place? I mean, how did you even know I would accept another man asking me on a date? Why did you even notice me and make the effort to sit with me when I was so rude to you?"

"There's more to you than that prickly outer coating you wear at work." I tell him, "I've watched you so many times when you've been working and you get this light in your eyes and you seem so different and then this armour comes up every time someone talks to you about something that isn't related to work and you just push everyone away. Except me, and I just got curious and wanted to know you better."

"If you try to get to know me better, you'll just discover that I'm full of shit and not worth the effort."

"I seriously doubt that, Doug." I tell him and he looks away shaking his head. I reach across the table and take his hand and I'm prepared for what he does next so I hold on tight as he ties to pull away. His eyes dart about the restaurant,

"What are you doing?" he hisses, his face colouring faster than I've ever seen anyone blush. He's embarrassed and angry but I don't leave go,

"What's the problem Doug, no one is watching, no one gives a shit." He gives a harder tug and gets his hand free,

"My problem is that I don't want to hold your hand." He growl whispers at me,

"You didn't have a problem with it when we came back into the restaurant." I remind him, "In fact you had a problem leaving go if I remember rightly." I'm right of course and his blush deepens. He doesn't have any come back for that so I continue, "If I asked you out again would you say yes?" He seems startled and surprised by my question,

"Why would you even want to try this again, after what happened?" he asked,

"What happened wasn't your fault." I remind him, "It was that asshole of a waiter. And we don't have to come here, there are other things to do on dates."

"I don't go out on dates." Doug grunts but I just can't let it drop,

"Well that's just not true is it, because you're out on this one?"

"And it was a disaster, doomed to fail before it even started because I don't fit in anywhere, Mason. You don't want to bother with me because I'll only disappoint you. I can't give you what you want."

"And what is it exactly that you think I want?" I ask surprised beyond belief that he would think I'd want anything from him that he wasn't willing to give. It's true I kind of forced his hand when I asked him out, but he could still have called it off. He never gave any indication that he didn't want to come out; except being his usual gruff, abusive self. He had two days to think about it, during which we exchanged numerous texts, some of which I have kept and some of which I have actually had to delete because they were unreadable for anyone below the age of twenty one and I have a sixteen year old sister that regularly steals my phone.

Am I reading the signals wrong here? He said he would come out, he gave me his number and in fact all his contact details. I'm his only follower on twitter and he never tweets but I don't care. I did notice that he added me as his friend on Face book. Why would he do that if he didn't want to actually get to know me? It's not as if he collects Face book friends because he only has about ten,

"Why did you accept my invitation?" I ask and he gives me a startled look,

"W-what do you mean?"

"It's a simple enough question Doug, why accept my invitation if you were so convinced it would be a disaster and why would you be so worried that I would discover you weren't worth it? Which I haven't by the way, I stand by what I said."

He stares at me for a little while longer then stares at his hands that are clasped in his lap. He mutters something that I don't quite catch,

"Sorry?" I say as I lean forward to hear him better,

"I said you gave me that look." He said a little louder but still quietly,

"What look?" I still don't know what he is talking about really because I honestly do not have "a look",

"The look you gave me just before. The sad puppy dog look that I just couldn't say no to." he looks away, embarrassed, like he has let some cat out of the bag. I frown, trying to think how that look goes, because, clutching at straws here, if he can't say no to it then I have to use it on him as often as I can. I try something out, fluttering my eyes and pouting,

"You mean like this?" I ask my voice muffled because of the exaggerated pout. Doug chuckles, I mean he actually chuckles,

"Mason, you are such a stupid arse."

"Does that translate as "Yes I will go out with you again" in the Douglas Mackenzie Scottish to American phrase book?" I ask him, my mouth twitching into a smile because his laughter is really infectious, "We don't have to come back here, not ever if you don't want to even though it is my favourite restaurant." I flutter my eyes again and he laughs harder,

"God." He growls, "Yes, I will go out with you again, just to shut you up but can I choose next time?"

"Of course you can." I smile, an excited, toothy smile, and sit up straight in my seat. I resist the urge to clap my hands and wag my tail which I am convinced has appeared out of my ass. I even resist the urge to feel for puppy dog ears which I am sure have sprouted out of my head. Douglas Mackenzie, prickly, standoffish and so guarded he is almost an island is actually saying he wants another date with me,

"Yay." I say, and actually do clap once before I stop myself. Doug groans and hides his face in his hands,

"Have you had too much wine?" he asks, in a long suffering tone, "You're supposed to be driving us home."

"I only had the one small glass." I say indignantly, holding up the still quarter full glass that he poured me. I hold it up in a toast to him, "To our next date, wherever that may be." He grunts in acknowledgement, "Because anywhere will be fun if it's with Scotty dog."

His scowl returns as I call him that and I give him an apologetic look. Instead of cussing at me he simply shakes his head in resignation. Scotty Dog it is then.

We have finished our main courses and I am starting to think about what's next,

"The deserts here are out of this world, Doug, are you going to have a desert?" he looks interested, but he has a weird look on his face. It isn't a smile but it isn't a scowl either. It isn't even that weird, just that I'm so used to seeing the scowl that anything else is kind of out of place,

"I think I might have had enough sugar for one day." He says sarcastically. That was what the look was, he's being witty, and he's doing a good job,

"Ah," I say as I lean across the table and lay my hand on his. He doesn't pull away but gives my hand a wary look before looking up into my eyes. His green eyes are soft and velvety and I feel myself melting inside as I say, "You can never have enough sugar, Scotty Dog."

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A/N okay, a short but sugary sweet chapter. Not too sugary sweet but it is Mason after all. Here endeth their date. Or at least what we will see of it. The next chapter is Doug at his most prickly, but the prickles might just be softening a little, don't you think?

DS