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"I have great faith in fools; my friends call it self-confidence."
--- Edgar Allan Poe
"Sometimes, you hit the bar, and sometimes the bar hits you."
--- Jeffrey Lebowski
"I drink to prepare for a fight. Tonight I am very prepared."
--- Soda Popinski
Requiem for the Sinners Part 24
Drunken Iscariot
Howard walked into Orion's with the quick and quiet proficiency of a man who had been in hundreds of bars during his lifetime and would be in dozens more before he finally decided to kick the bucket.
Finally, he spotted the person he was looking for. A hunched figure in black was draped over the circular bar in the center of the tavern, three dirty glasses in front of him and another half full in his hand.
Howard walked over and sat on the bar stool next to him. He spoke without looking over, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.
"You aren't really going to drink that, are you kid? It's poison. You may as well shoot yourself in the liver."
The young man Howard addressed pushed away from the bar a little and turned slowly, sliding his sunglasses down his nose to reveal brilliant indigo eyes. A small rueful smile touched his lips as he raised his eyebrow at the old tech.
"How'd you know it was me? You've got a lot of guts, old man, talking about my liver with that cancerstick bobbing in your mouth."
Howard settled onto the bar stool, leaning his elbows on the bar. "You set Hilde on watch. And the sunglasses indoors at-" He looked at his watch, "-one thirty in the morning ain't exactly inconspicuous. And-" The old tech reached over and tapped the bill of the young man's cap. "-your rat-tail is sticking out."
Bowing his head to hide the movement, Duo stuck the end of his braid under the black courier's cap on his head, snickering drunkenly.
"Bullshit," he replied, picking up his glass and taking a deep swallow. "Admit it, pal. You just knew where to look."
Howard's eyes gleamed with good humor. "Not really. You're not exactly a lush." He looked at Duo's mixture of milk and vodka with distaste, an unsweetened White Russian commonly referred to on Bottomside as a "Russian Bitch."
"I don't know how you can stomach that stuff. Makes my eyes water just smelling it."
"Different strokes, buddy. Bottoms up." Duo swallowed again, then grimaced. "Besides, Hilde has my pager number, in case any shit hits the fan."
"Any reason you're getting shit-faced in a bar, kid?"
"Other than taking advantage of the fact that the drinking age is 18, you mean? Or the fact that getting shit-faced on the street is a really really good way to get killed? Not a clue." He scowled comically. "... And I am not shit-faced."
Howard leaned close, pretending to look closely into Duo's face. He raised an eyebrow at the young general. "Looks like shit to me."
Duo rolled his eyes, leaning his forehead against the bar. "Hah hah, very funny Howie. You could do stand-up."
The old tech snorted. "On the pay I get with you, kiddo, I could use the extra cash." Howard snapped his fingers, flagging down the bartender, who outweighed the elderly man by over a hundred pounds and could have thrown him out of the bar like a Frisbee. "I'd like a glass of water."
The bartender looked down at Howard disdainfully, wiping his hands clean with a rag that looked as if it had last been used on the inside of a mobile suit drive system. "... We don't serve water here, Gramps."
Duo shifted in his seat, sliding down the glasses again to glare at the bartender. His gaze was cold. "For Christ sakes, get the old man a fucking glass of water. I'll pay the price for a bourbon. Just do it." Howard spied a nasty shiner swelling at the corner of Duo's eye before the young general slid the glasses back up.
"What happened to you, D? You look like you've been boxing with your hands tied behind your back."
"... You and Groucho Marx, Howard." Duo smiled a little, turning his head away. "You should see the other guy... Would you believe I don't want to talk about it?"
Howard laughed softly. "No, I wouldn't. You're sitting in a bar. You want to talk about it, just not with someone who's going to tell you what an idiot you are. I figure a couple more White Russians and you'll be relaying the whole sordid affair to the barkeep there. Thank you," Howard added, as the bartender brought him his water in a questionable-looking glass that looked like it hadn't seen a proper dishwasher in a few days.
Duo snorted, resting his chin on one hand. "Whatever."
"Don't you 'whatever' me, kid, or I'll knock some sense into you. Don't think I'm too old to do it." Howard took a sip of his water. "You've got to figure out why you think you need this beat-up blue-eyed second-hand pilot so much. If it was just skill, you could have found someone better by now. And more reliable."
Duo ran his hands through his bangs, sighing harshly. "Nobody's better." He didn't ask how Howard knew about his problems. The old man's ability to gently touch down on the source of any problem was already creepy.
You must control your emotions, grasshopper, Duo thought, grinning.
"Something I said?"
Duo just grinned back at him. He could feel the fourth Russian Bitch doing its job quite nicely. "No, sensei. Wax on, wax off," he declared solemnly, circling his hands in the air.
Howard rolled his eyes.
Duo rested his head on his arms, his voice muffled. "I don't know, Howard. I don't know shit about any of it. He's... safe, I guess."
Howard shook his head. "Fool you. He's got just as many demons, kid. You've just never met all of 'em."
~~~"Goddammit, Heero, you're a colonial soldier! You're a killer! It's what you were made to do, so do what you were made to do!"~~~
Duo thought about the look on Heero's face and was silent for a few moments. He sighed, shaking his head. "Man, I fucked up."
"Well, that's not so unusual."
Duo looked up at him, scowling. "It isn't funny, Howard. I mean, I really fucked up this time. Not just a little bit. Not like normal. I mean, this is one of my more major fuck-ups, hands down."
Howard clapped him on the shoulder. "Your problem is that you're still just a dirty half-starved gutter rat stowed in the back of a Sweepers ship, kid. All that helplessness and rage is still inside you. You're looking for someone as dangerous as you."
Duo raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You're saying I chose him because he's a killer?"
"No, you missed the point, brat, as usual. I'm saying you chose him because you're a killer."
"Ah, go on, you're breakin' my heart." Duo took another swallow of his milk and vodka.
Howard ignored the sarcasm. "Violence appeals to you like nothing else, kid, because of who you are. Letting him get close enough to hurt you is not enough to get him to trust you again."
And care about you, he added silently. He wasn't sure he approved, but he had seen the two pilots together back during the One Year War, and though he was old, he prided himself in being neither blind nor stupid, something he considered an accomplishment at his age.
Duo drained his drink and slammed the glass on the bar, causing the empty glasses he had already lined up on the bar to rattle. A few patrons looked up, then dismissed the disturbance.
"Hit you again, brat?" the bartender called. Duo slid his glass to the burly man silently. Howard started to protest-the young man was already plastered, from the looks of it-then shook his head. "I know it's not easy, Duo."
"No shit."
Howard's voice grew soft. "Four years ago, you brought me that boy on the run from the Alliance and begged me to hide him on my ship. You were disgusted by the way he was, by what they made him. And I remember you told me that girl Peacecraft he was going to kill tried to help him anyway. I thought it said a lot about him. And you."
Duo swallowed hard. He nodded acknowledgment when the bartender brought him a fresh drink, gulping half of it with a grimace.
"I'm not carrying you out of here, kid. My sainted mother always said to let 'em lay where God flung 'em," Howard said with disapproval, knowing full well that if Duo passed out, he would be carrying the young man back to base. There was no way he would leave the leader of L2's army lying in this drink-dive shithole the patrons liked to call a bar.
He leaned forward, towards the former Gundam pilot, dimly aware of how much he looked like an old pervert picking up a young trick.
"Give yourself a break, kid, and give him a break. Neither of you asked to get dragged into all this. You hoped the Peacecraft girl would throw her weight around for us."
"Didn't happen that way," Duo said bitterly, taking another gulp of milk and vodka.
"No, it didn't. And OZ didn't get the shit kicked out of it in Daybreak. And the Alliance didn't leave the colonies be when Odin Lowe shot Heero Yuy. Ten years ago, a group of salvage junkers didn't space the gutter rat they found on their ship. Farther back than that, some L1 bastards did things to a Jap hybrid brat that made him what he is now."
Howard sipped his water. "Nothin' but backstory, kid. Can't change it, so fuck it. Making yourself a martyr for this shithole may fool everybody else, but don't expect me to be singing your praises."
"The last thing I want at my wake, pally, is your singing," Duo answered curtly, a lopsided smirk on his face. "I've heard you. Anyone ever tell you you sound like Frank Sinatra on skag?"
"Who?"
"Nevermind. Don't you listen to classical music?"
"No, I feel old enough as it is."
Duo took a last swallow of his drink and laid twenty creds on the bar, getting up. He immediately staggered, and Howard grabbed him by the shoulder to steady him.
"Why don't we get a cup of coffee before we head back, kid."
Duo shook his head foggily, bracing himself against the bar to stay on his feet. "Coffee? That's just what I need on top of a White Russian, Howie. What do you want me to do, puke a latte?"
Howard grimaced at the visual as he rose to help the drunken young man out. "Lovely, brat."
"I try."
Duo's arm was heavy across his shoulders, and he helped the young man across the bar floor in an alkie's lead-footed shuffle.
Suddenly, a beeping noise came from beneath Duo's jacket, and Duo pulled his arm from Howard's shoulders, fumbling for his hip and managing to fall into a man coming into the bar at the same time. He landed flat on his ass, laughing cheerfully even though Howard was sure it had to hurt like hell.
Howard expected the man Duo had run into to be furious, but the huge Hell's-Angel type grabbed Duo by the front of his shirt, pulling him to his feet and dusting him off in a gesture that was bizarrely gentle.
"Sorry, General," the man rumbled. "Didn't see ya there."
Howard jerked, startled.
How many times has he come here?
"Noooooooo, s'okay, really," Duo replied, waving the huge man off with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.
If Death could giggle.
The former Gundam pilot ripped the pager off the top of his jeans with more force than was necessary, peering at it.
Duo leaned on Howard's shoulder, close enough that Howard could smell the vodka on him. "Howie, read this for me, would you? I can't, uh-"
Howard grabbed the pager impatiently, plucking his reading glasses from where they were tucked in the top of his shirt, peering into the little rectangular screen.
DUO 911 ITS WUFEI CHANG CHECK YOUR INBOX
"Duo, we need to go to the network booth. Hilde's trying to contact you."
"But I didn't finish my-"
"Now. It's business."
Finally, Duo shook his head sharply, the courier's cap threatening to go flying off into a far corner of the bar. When he lifted his face, his eyes were more clear, as if he hadn't just taken in enough alcohol to send a larger man to the hospital. "Right. Let go, I can stand." But as soon as Howard did, he staggered.
Howard took the young man's arm over his shoulder again. "Bullshit, you could never hold your liquor. Come on."
Submitting, Duo allowed himself to be helped out into the warmth of the night. All around him, garish neon burned into his eyes through the dark sunglasses, making him feel a little sick. He bowed his head.
"You okay, Duo?"
"... Just remembering where I came from."
"Hm." Howard helped the young man to the network booth at the corner. After inserting a cred card, Duo logged into the Telnet system, heading for his email.
To: SHINI@L2319292:TELNET
From: SWEETGERMAN19@L22319287:TELNET
***INSECURE LINE***
D - WC IS BACK. WANTS TO TALK TO YOU. SHOOT DOWN? - H
Laboring, his brow furrowed with concentration, Duo typed out his response.
To: SWEETGERMAN19@L22319287:TELNET
From: SHINI@L2319292:TELNET
***INSECURE LINE***
H - DO NOT SHOOT DOWN. LET HIM DOCK. HOLD UNDER GUARD. COMING HOME. - D
After he finished, he hit SEND.
"Thank you. A charge of one credit will be debited from your account."
Duo rubbed his eyes wearily, seeing the neon double. The light from the console hurt his eyes as he reached over to grab his cred card, and he felt as if he might throw up soon.
"Great. Just who I needed to see tonight."
"It's a good sign," Howard said, smiling.
Duo sighed, smiling even as he leaned up against the console booth with exhaustion. "... I'll bite. Why is it a good sign, you old fart?"
Howard winked at the young general, his smile widening into a knowing grin.
"Only your best friends come unarmed and unexpected."
TBC...
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