"It's a great system," she says. "I love how you're so good at identifying people's strengths and how they fit in." She smiles. "And I know what it's like to be the people person in a partnership."
Ted smiles warmly at the compliment. He's not new to getting support and appreciation from his loved ones, but Joan's observational nature combined with her openness makes her really good at saying stuff that makes him both feel nice and seen. Because yeah, that's exactly the thing he's proud of. Figuring out how people tick, and helping them be their best.
"Oh yeah, I bet," he answers at the second part. Ted's spent all of a minute or something with Sherlock, and he definitely didn't strike him as the people person.
That would be an understatement. Sherlock has gotten a lot better over the years they've been working together, but he still tends harsh, and Joan sometimes takes point to compensate when a suspect or witness needs a gentler touch.
She's quiet for the moment, not knowing what to say and not really feeling the need to say anything. She feels completely comfortable just being quiet with him.
Ted smiles softly and gives her forehead a kiss, then rests his head against hers comfortably.
"Anything more you want to know?" he asks after a bit.
He knows there's stuff they should talk about eventually. Like what they're gonna do when she inevitably goes back to New York. And, now that they're having sex, probably some stuff related to that. But the former definitely doesn't seem urgent (and not necessarily something he wants to think about yet), and the latter he thinks he needs to drink a tiny bit more to be relaxed enough to discuss.
Those issues are definitely on Joan's mind, too, but she would agree that this isn't the time to think about being apart. And wouldn't object to a little more alcohol before talking about sex.
"I dunno what to say about mine that I haven't already said," he says, leaning forward to refill their wine glasses, which have gotten pretty empty even as they've been sipping it slowly. "What about you?"
She picks up her newly filled glass and settles back again, staring at the glass for a moment as she collects her thoughts.
"When I told you about my father," she says finally, "I didn't mention he's technically my stepfather." She smiles faintly. "Not a lot of ethnically Chinese people with a last name like Watson. He married my mother when I was very young, and adopted Oren and me."
"Oh yeah?" he prompts gently, interested to hear more, without actually asking specific questions in case there's stuff she doesn't want to talk about. Obviously what happened to her biological father is an implied question, but she can avoid it if she wants to.
She recognizes that he's leaving the door open for her to talk about her biological father without pressuring her to do so, and she loves him for it. She decides she's going to talk about it, in the interest of laying all the central difficult truths of her life on the table.
"Yeah." She takes a sip of wine. "My biological father was schizophrenic. It started manifesting when my mom was pregnant with me. She kicked him out."
She takes another drink, a longer one this time.
"I didn't know any of this until I was a teenager, when Oren told me. He's older and he got to know our dad before he left our lives. I looked him up and found out he was homeless. That's when I started volunteering at homeless shelters, hoping to see him. And I did, every once in a while. Sometimes he recognized me. Usually when he was on his meds. Other times..." She shakes her head.
Ted listens quietly, his arm still around her. He gives her a gentle squeeze as she trails off. No wonder she has that instinct to care for people.
It's also something that deeply saddens him, beyond a personal level, the fate of ill and homeless people people in America. Even in the best of conditions, living with mental illness or having mentally ill family is probably very difficult.
"And now?" he asks gently. Because she's very much talking about this in the past tense...
Joan has done a lot of advocacy for the mentally ill and homeless, volunteering at shelters, running clothing drives, and taking cases of missing homeless or mentally ill people pro bono when the police refuse to do anything. And Ted's right that Joan's desire to heal people is at least in part rooted in her desire to heal her own father, her own family.
"He died a couple months ago," she says softly. "It had been a few years since I had last seen him."
"I'm sorry..." he says softly, and really means it. There's nothing he can really say, nothing that can really fix that, so again he just sits there with her, hopefully just providing a safe space for her to share and be sad about it.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "My feelings are...complicated. I never got a chance to really get to know him. I wish I had. I think that's what makes me the most sad."
She's quiet for a moment, just letting him hold her, before going on.
"I found out a few months before he died that I have a half sister. Sometime after my mom kicked him out, my dad had a stretch of time when he was relatively stable, and he got married. Her name is Lin, and we have a pretty solid friendship. When my father died, he had a bible with him that had a letter tucked into it with my Chinese name on it. In the letter he told me about Lin. We had already met, but...he wanted me to know. In one of his lucid moments, he wanted to make sure that Lin and I had each other."
Ted nods in understanding. He knew his own father, quite well, but there's still so much lost time. And he never got to see the man Ted became.
He smiles softly at the part about her half-sister though. "That's nice," he answers. Even if she never got to know him, she did get more family out of it.
Their situations aren't identical, but they're similar enough that Joan knows that Ted does understand in a way only those who have lost their fathers can. And she's not surprised at all by his reaction to her half-sister. Personal connection is so important to Ted, central to his life and his purpose. Joan thinks about Lin, hoping she's doing okay, and resolves to have lunch with her when she gets back to New York.
Whenever that is.
His question draws a smile. "Jingyi," she tells him, using the Mandarin pronunciation.
Ted makes a face of concentration and tries to replicate it. "Djyn-yee -- no, hold on, say it again?" he requests. Already it's pretty evident this is something he's pretty bad at, but is trying to get right.
She chuckles. "Jingyi," she repeats. "Don't worry, it's hard for English speakers to get the pronunciation right." She kisses his cheek. "I love that you're trying, though."
He tries again, and it's slightly better the second time, even though there's definitely still something Kansas about it. "I dunno why I'm trying, I still can't even say Zoreaux's name right." That name is pretty close though, but again, still kind of Kansas.
He looks at her seriously for a moment, like he's deeply considering and evaluating it. "...Yeah alright, that's actually pretty close," he admits, then chuckles. "Not that anyone ever calls me Theodore. Well, Sherlock did, when he was summarising me."
She laughs. "That sounds like Sherlock," she affirms. "Now he would be able to do a Kansas accent. Accents are one of his many talents. Languages, too."
"Oh, I'd love to hear that," he answers, amused even just at the thought. "I can maybe do some accents when I'm being theatrical and doing voices, but languages, I got no clue."
"It's not my strong suit, either," she agrees. "I speak some Mandarin...not as much as my mother would like...but Sherlock speaks it almost like a native. I can't think of a language he cant at least read. And there have been many times when he's used accents in a case to lower the guard of people we needed to get past."
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"Oh yeah, I bet," he answers at the second part. Ted's spent all of a minute or something with Sherlock, and he definitely didn't strike him as the people person.
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She's quiet for the moment, not knowing what to say and not really feeling the need to say anything. She feels completely comfortable just being quiet with him.
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"Anything more you want to know?" he asks after a bit.
He knows there's stuff they should talk about eventually. Like what they're gonna do when she inevitably goes back to New York. And, now that they're having sex, probably some stuff related to that. But the former definitely doesn't seem urgent (and not necessarily something he wants to think about yet), and the latter he thinks he needs to drink a tiny bit more to be relaxed enough to discuss.
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"Do we want to talk about parents?"
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"When I told you about my father," she says finally, "I didn't mention he's technically my stepfather." She smiles faintly. "Not a lot of ethnically Chinese people with a last name like Watson. He married my mother when I was very young, and adopted Oren and me."
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"Yeah." She takes a sip of wine. "My biological father was schizophrenic. It started manifesting when my mom was pregnant with me. She kicked him out."
She takes another drink, a longer one this time.
"I didn't know any of this until I was a teenager, when Oren told me. He's older and he got to know our dad before he left our lives. I looked him up and found out he was homeless. That's when I started volunteering at homeless shelters, hoping to see him. And I did, every once in a while. Sometimes he recognized me. Usually when he was on his meds. Other times..." She shakes her head.
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It's also something that deeply saddens him, beyond a personal level, the fate of ill and homeless people people in America. Even in the best of conditions, living with mental illness or having mentally ill family is probably very difficult.
"And now?" he asks gently. Because she's very much talking about this in the past tense...
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"He died a couple months ago," she says softly. "It had been a few years since I had last seen him."
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She's quiet for a moment, just letting him hold her, before going on.
"I found out a few months before he died that I have a half sister. Sometime after my mom kicked him out, my dad had a stretch of time when he was relatively stable, and he got married. Her name is Lin, and we have a pretty solid friendship. When my father died, he had a bible with him that had a letter tucked into it with my Chinese name on it. In the letter he told me about Lin. We had already met, but...he wanted me to know. In one of his lucid moments, he wanted to make sure that Lin and I had each other."
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He smiles softly at the part about her half-sister though. "That's nice," he answers. Even if she never got to know him, she did get more family out of it.
He pauses. "Wait, what's your Chinese name?"
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Whenever that is.
His question draws a smile. "Jingyi," she tells him, using the Mandarin pronunciation.
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"I love that you're trying," she repeats softly, eyes on his.
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"...Bet you can't say 'Theodore' with a Kansas accent," he jokes mildly.
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