oceans brawl

[ text → WTF is this dude at. ]: You're going to leave me again? Fuck.

[ text → WTF is this dude at. ]: I got some money, if you're stuck in a rut. I can help you out. Seriously, hit me up if you need to get out of here.

[ text → MARCUS B. (L.A.) ]: oh you know you're not the reason

“Maybe, as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters in the end,“ Ryan shrugged. Not everyone had a happy ever after, but he wanted his friend to have a good life, to be happy. “Please, as if Denise doesn’t snuggle with his bestie. Joking aside, you know I’m always here if you need me. Plus, I have the good alcohol, that helps.“

Beck shrugged. “I’m happy. I think I just don’t want to be stuck anywhere, you know? I need the mobility.” Maybe that just spoke to his flightiness, but Beck was in deep denial—he was certain he didn’t have any issues. Or, at least, he was certain he didn’t want to know what those issues were. “I might pass on the snuggling, but I’m always here for some good booze,” he said jokingly, a crooked smirk on his features. “I’m good, though. Seriously.” 

“A cookie cake?” Dillon stifles a laugh, resting a hand over where her heart was. “How could I not have? I live for when people combine foods. Well, most foods. The fact that macaroni salad is a thing drives me a little crazy. Yeah, it may be good sometimes. But it’s just… not right,” she goes on, joking more than anything. Only second later, the girl’s face lit up. “You could make one if you can’t find one anywhere! Even if it doesn’t turn out good, it’ll still be so good!” 

“It’s a game changer, seriously,” he said, frowning approvingly as he nodded. “Macaroni salad is not a salad and it’s barely macaroni. That one, I agree with you,” Beck replied with a laugh. He raised his eyebrows. “You’re seriously overestimating my capabilities here. Not to mention my oven probably doesn’t work. Most of my kitchen doesn’t work and because my landlord is an ass, he never fixes anything.” 

“Wherever the wind takes you,” Ben repeated, giving Beck a light smile, silently hoping that just like the wind, this conversation would blow over. Clearing his throat and then readjusting his posture, the man readied himself to begin to have the discussion that he had learned to loathe. Of course, his life was something one had longed for, but some days he felt he hadn’t done enough to deserve it. “I did the college thing for a few years, then I graduated and all of that. And… I like to say it was because of my family’s influence–but they say otherwise–I got a pretty good job offer at this investing place and…” trailing off, Bennett shrugs his shoulders, as if to signal this was the end of his statement. 

Beck snorted. “It sounds dumb, but it’s pretty much my life’s motto. I’m not trying to plan too much.” He nodded as Ben spoke, chewing on the inside of his cheek lightly. “Are you happy?” he asked suddenly, almost as soon as Ben stopped talking. It didn’t seem so much like he was, but Beck wasn’t one to judge. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe Beck was the one who made his day bad. The insecurity suddenly gripped at his heart and he leaned back in his seat slightly, trying to gauge Bennett’s expressions to try and figure out if he should excuse himself or not. It was starting to seem like that might be the better answer—he probably didn’t want his past to come back and smack him in the face like this. Beck sure as hell didn’t. 

Only a half-second of eye contact and Zig could tell there was something more, something swimming between them in the air. And it made Zig feel utterly sick, utterly anxious at the precarity of this whole situation. They had some connection, didn’t they. Something like that. It was apparent from how specific this stranger was about their previous connections, how tactile he was withdrawing back into the cool air of Los Angeles. Zig did his best to retain a neutral expression – somewhat optimistic, even – but in the presence of someone who was nothing more than a stranger, acquaintance at best…

Or maybe they were nothing at all, and this was some twisted prank.

With that look the stranger was giving, though… it kind of made Zig want to  make out with him, just to see where that would take him. Instead, he stood cooly without much affect or expression to share.

“Yeah, been around,” he said shrugging. “Kind of don’t know what I’m doing right now.” His answer was as earnest as it was aimless. Post-high school Zig was as lost as he was. He’d opted for the military because it was something to do, something bigger than him. So to hear all of this without actually remembering – it was frustrating. “Not doing much right now, though… You want to catch up?” A half-smirk surfaced over his lips as he tilted his head and licked his lips dryly. “Let me ask you… what do you want?”

He didn’t know what else to say. It was growing painfully obvious that Zig didn’t want to talk to him and Beck was just standing here making a fool of himself. Beck’s fight or flight response was strongly weighted towards flight—at the first inklings of anxiety, Beck was ready to take off. Even as he stood there, he shifted his weight uncomfortably, clearly looking for a graceful way to bow out of the situation. There had to be a way out, right? Maybe he should just make up some lame excuse that was obviously an excuse—if Zig wanted to get out of the conversation, Beck was willing to give him an out. 

Beck thought they were friends, at least. Apparently not. 

It stung in a way that Beck couldn’t quite explain, hurt him somewhere deep in his chest, not because he harbored any residual romantic feelings towards Zig but instead because he wanted to believe he mattered. This was just proof that in the long run, he didn’t. 

“I know what you mean.” He glanced up and down the street, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tried to figure out what he wanted to do before he turned back to Zig. “I gotta get to work soon anyway,” he said. It was a lie, a lame one at that—it was so obvious from the outside that he was lying, it was almost painful. He shook his head slightly. “Just give me a call anytime. You should still have my number.” He shrugged a shoulder. “It was just nice to see you stateside.” 

“Yeah.” That was all he could think of saying, his only response. It was almost worse than Beck’s struggle to find a proper answer to a question he didn’t really asked or would. Ever. Why. Why did you leave. Why are you back. Gio didn’t feel like he was in any position to ask one or the other. In Gio’s true fashion, he kept it all in, and he would until it was dragged out of him. Until there was no more air to breathe and his lungs burned and ached, and it would come out of him as one last, desperate gasp for air. Beck was his what could’ve been. He was no more. 

“Someday you just might figure things out, Beckett.” His words carried an almost sour taste. Pressing his lips almost apologetically, as if he had caught himself just a second too late after the words escaped him, Gio shrugged and dared to come closer to the other man. “It’s good to see you, though. I mean it. Good to know you’re fine. Alive, at least.”

Beck tried not to let his emotions show on his face, but he couldn’t help but purse his lips—it was either that or to look as upset as he felt. He couldn’t allow that. Beck was still willing to forget it all, to ignore it and repress it until it went away. He realized with a start—now that he was looking for his mother again—that he had done the same thing to Gio that his mother had done to him. He had disappeared and he hadn’t said a word to the people who cared about him. The thought suddenly made Beck feel sick to his stomach and he shifted his weight uncomfortably. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, for lack of other words, better words. He didn’t respond to what Gio said, not wanting to think about the tone with which he said the words. He shook his head slightly to himself. “Yeah, alive, I guess,” he said, wiping down the bar that he had already wiped just to do something with his hands. 

Eli wasn’t a stranger to waking up (or simply being awake) at odd hours. Did they miss getting a solid eight hours of sleep? Sometimes. But even on the odd times they did enjoy an undisturbed sleep they hardly noticed, there was always something going on. A lot of locals in the building coming to knock on their door to solve some problem or another, thinking that cutting out the middleman (aka the 911 operator) meant that they would be able to solve any problem presented forth. So, they’re operating on autopilot as they shrug into a hoodie, fumbling to zip it up as they reach for and open the door to…they’re still sort of groggy from the painfully short sleep and “Coffee?” they echo as they accept the offered cup, its heat a soothing balm to their hands as they try and match the face to a name.

Doesn’t live in the building… but they knew them so… “Beckett I…?” a grimace as they sip at the drink once, and then taking a full swig– I really, really need your help.

Eli had never been one to turn away someone in need, even before he had a badge.

Nodding they step aside and wave the other inside, their brain already starting to churn out possibilities without even knowing a single fact. “Talk to me,” they say now alert as they close the door behind him “This…had better not be anything illegal…”

They move further into their apartment, flicking the lights on as they go before putting some effort forth into clearing the small dining table of work related files and general clutter “And…I get the whole no small talk thing but ya’ gotta let me say this here; Beckett it’s four in the morning. Sure normally I’m the whole early bird gets the worm, in at the office bright eyed, bushy tailed all that. But… I’ve been on nights for the last while and,” they swallow thickly, pausing to take another generous sip from the cup “I’m not gonna turn you away but…I’m going to need a little more to go on.”

As soon as Eli took the coffee, Beck dropped his hands down to bend the notebook in his hands back and forth nervously, a deep frown curving at his lips. He knew that he needed to give more of an explanation as to why he showed up at a terrible hour asking for help. He knew it was a lot. He knew that Eli didn’t need to help him, not if they didn’t want to, and Beck was probably most worried about that—that he would look a fool, that he would have come here for something so personal and he would end up back where he started, just ashamed and embarrassed of what he was asking. His lips pressed into a tight line as he steeled his nerves, knowing that he was just going to have to bite the bullet and deal with whatever came next. Beck had been preparing himself to open this can of worms for a while. 

It couldn’t be a mistake that his mom left this journal behind, right? She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t have just forgotten. 

Maybe Beck was just seeing what he wanted to see. 

Beck knew that it wasn’t fair of him to go knocking on Eli’s door when he hadn’t been in town in months, but he didn’t have the money for a private investigator and he didn’t trust some stranger with something so important to him. Carrying his mom’s journal from the year leading up to her leaving—she had left it behind in Beck’s room, which, somehow, he didn’t think was an accident—he rapped sharply on Eli’s door with two knuckles. It was too early in the morning, he was certain, but he hadn’t been able to sleep since he got home from work. He kept thinking about this. 

He looked up with an expression not unlike a deer in the headlights when they opened the door, his jaw dropped for a moment before he closed his mouth, lifting the cup in his hand. “Coffee,” he said simply, thrusting it towards Eli. “I know, I know. I’ve been gone for ages. Let’s skip the small talk and get down to it.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I really, really need your help.” 

             Casey in high school had always found it more comfortable being alone — keeping a few friends to say one isn’t a complete loner. It simply was easier that way ; no judgement. If someone doesn’t know who you are, you can’t be a disappointment. Casey always thought that should be the easiest path, but no one ever says how exhausting it is to fit the mold of what everyone wants you to be.

        “An entire duffel bag ?!” Painted brow arched in amusement, sparkling smile only widening. “Still not unpacked I see. You know that’s only bound to cause wrinkles.” A light jest, gaze melted as they peered up at Beck, teeth grazing bottom lip in a vain attempt to stop their smirk. “The only fun part of a fashion shows is the changing room. If I had VIP access to that unfortunately I couldn’t then make any promises to how long the show would last, I’d get too distracted.” Casey quipped, feigning innocence with a playful bat of thick, false lashes. 

             Inwardly, Casey was mortified at their own words — again something they typically wouldn’t say OUTLOUD, even if they perhaps maybe would think it. But the looming text is still in their mind, && while Casey didn’t know how it was possible, apparently some time over the ten years they found their voice, && for once wasn’t afraid of it. The makeup, the new set of clothes that they also scavenged over the years made it easier ( even if all were applied with shaking, unsure hands ). Once again, thank the earth for drag.

        “Well you did look awfully lonely all over here by yourself. But I will give you the fact that I do pick the best looking person in the room. But again, dry night.” Casey teased, trying not to overthink their words too much ; which was almost impossible when Beck said things like that. Breath caught in their throat, still apart from their gaze moving down to Beck’s lips in the quickest of seconds before moving back up to his eyes. An airy chuckle, Casey leaned forward on their elbows, shortening the distance between them once again. “Well good thing it isn’t that kind of bar, Beck. I’ll have you know I’m a classy bitch ; it never would have worked.”

Beck was great at flirting and great at falling—he had a big heart, a soft heart, and he cared deeply about people quickly. Probably too quickly. That usually didn’t matter, not when everything he did was temporary and everything he did was just leading up to the next big thing. He didn’t need to make permanent connections, he never stayed anywhere permanently. Even if he fell hard and fast, he was usually gone before it could go anywhere. 

And that was good for Beck. As soft as his heart was, he was also cautious with it. Guarded. He was wont to disappear when he let someone in because he was afraid of his heart getting broken. He was afraid of them deciding that he wasn’t good enough, of them realizing that he wasn’t worth the time or effort and leaving. Before anyone could do that to him, Beck always left. He couldn’t just stick around and watch as someone stomped all over his heart—even if that wasn’t a necessary eventuality, in his mind, it was inevitable. Beck was great at flirting. He was great at falling. He wasn’t good at staying. 

“Maybe I could get you a VIP pass. If you’re willing to play nice.” Beck kept his crooked smile on his features as he flirted. This was the easy part, getting interested, getting attracted, finding out more. This was the part that he was best at and he was particularly on his game that night. He could clearly read it in Casey’s features that they were charmed by Beck’s flirtatious nature which only encouraged him to keep going. “In fact, you might be the only one invited. Then we won’t need to worry about you derailing the show,” he teased easily. 

He wrinkled his nose. “You’re just saying that to avoid stroking my ego, but it’s too late. The ego has been stroked,” he joked before his lips split into a grin again. His eyebrow quirked lightly at Casey, matching the rakish subtlety of his smirk as he leaned forward some more on the bar. “Oh, of course. You’re a lady,” he said, pressing his lips together as if he was approving what Casey said and nodding once. “I’m just saying that if you want the full effect of the line, that’s what it takes.” 

“Well, falling asleep on a train is…pretty much the worst idea all around. You’re lucky all that happened was a stolen passport.” She snorted, bringing her wine to her lips and taking the biggest sip she could in one take. “Oh god, you’re an optimist. I’ll need something stronger than wine just for that. Whiskey, please.” She licked her lips, frowning at him. “I get it, usually the bartender asks the weird personal questions—it’s not usually the other way around is it? Amsterdam to here is one hell of a change of pace. Did something bring you here?”

What was this guy’s name again? Fuck.

All of it happened so quick that it hardly registered on Zig. He seemed important, close to Zig in some way – what, with the way he fuckin’ manhandled him in that hug like there was something more – and yet… nada. Zig wasn’t exactly sure what the hell was goin’ on with his memory, with his life, but he could hardly make out who this acquaintance was. And that frustrated him. At the least, they’d gone to high school together, something of the sort.

It was hardly in his nature to respond so enthusiastically, but Zig hugged him back gently after letting out an oof. “Glad to see you again,” he feigns, not nearly as enthusiastic. His walls are up. But as his eyes run up and down the other’s form, they melt just as quickly. A lick of the lips and a quirk of the brow and Zig shrugs, his limbs never lighter. “You know me – makin’ it up as I go,” he said, punching Beck’s arm lightly. That was not something he would usually do, but it felt appropriate. “I see you haven’t died. Where’ve you been, dude?”

Beck realized quickly that Zig wasn’t matching the same level of enthusiasm that Beck had upon seeing him and pulled back immediately, awkwardly shifting his weight back into his heels and shoving his hands into his pockets. He thought this was fine. He thought they were fine. But apparently, it hadn’t worked out that way—and he wasn’t going to try and push Zig if he didn’t want Beck around. A shrug lifted his shoulders as Zig spoke, now second-guessing everything he said. 

“Oh, here and there, you know. I quit the Red Cross about 2 years ago, so I’ve just kind of been traveling and working odd jobs since then. What about you? I haven’t seen you since...” He paused, eyes flicking up and to the right as he tried to remember the last time he had seen Zig. “Jordan, I think. We were at the base in Jordan.” He tilted his head to the side slightly as he looked Zig over. “Have you been back stateside for long?” 

[ text → WTF is this dude at. ]: I dropped my phone. I don't know it off by heart. Wait.. you know mine, don't you?

[ text → WTF is this dude at. ]: Damn, cursed for life. So, what you doing now? Working?

[ text → MARCUS B. (L.A.) ]: likely excuse

[ text → MARCUS B. (L.A.) ]: yeah tending bar for now

[ text → MARCUS B. (L.A.) ]: until i save up for the next trip

“Yeah, its a thing. If anything happened to Dennis and I, they would take into account who we put in our will to be Darna’s guardian. It doesn’t have to be family, some families suck,“ Ryan explained. His own parents were dicks and would never get to their grandkids. “Personal preference I suppose. I just like everyone having a hallmark ending,“ Ryan shrugged. “You can always come and snuggle me if you get lonely.“ Ryan lifted a flirty eyebrow, teasing. 

“Well, I’m sure it’s a thing, but I don’t think bequeath is the right word. Or maybe it is, who knows.” Beck shrugged a shoulder. “Hallmark endings are overrated. My parents didn’t get one, I’m sure I’m not going to get one, but that doesn’t really matter. Things are still good.” He laughed easily. “I’ll let you pitch that idea to Dennis.” 

Parting his lips as he went to speak, Bennett found himself without words to say. He couldn’t imagine a life where he hadn’t gone to college, he didn’t get to make that choice. It was just something he had to do. While he did in fact imagine what it had been like to make choices of his own, he knew it was best if things like that were left in the past. “Guns suck,” he finally lets out, nodding in agreement. Hearing about what Beckett had been up to was intriguing. Ben loved to hear about those who he cared about, living their lives to the fullest. “At least you got out there though, right?” He lets out, offering a smile. “It’s not very often that someone can say they spent a couple of years living out of the U.S.”

Beck nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m thinking about going back, but I really don’t know.” He shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes me, right?” He tilted his head slightly. “So what exactly have you been up to since high school? College and then what?” he asked genuinely. As much of a talkative narcissist Beck could be, he was genuinely very interested in what Bennett had been doing for the past ten years. Beck had lost touch with everyone of his own volition, yes, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t interested in what they were doing. Bennett had been one of his only friends in high school—had been there when Beck was at his loneliest. That counted for something. 

Gio had been at Ryan’s bar for a few hours now though he hadn’t been drinking. A rarity, yes, but he had a session in the afternoon and he was professional enough to will himself away from getting drunk right before being trusted with inking someone permanently. Moving from the bar to a table in the back with some of the locals, he was about to leave the place without paying his tab again when he remembered he had forgotten his keys at the bar. It was the only reason why he returned, sneaking behind the bar without permission to retrieve it from a drawer, a flashing image, a ghost, holding him in place.

Part of him wanted to just keep going, to not look back and ignore seeing Beck there, but there was another part of him, one that was still hurting, that wanted answers. It took him a few seconds to convince himself to turn around and get closer to where his ex stood, still unable to say a word right away. His eyes took the other man in, what had changed, what hadn’t. He saw the lines he had so carefully crafted marking his skin, a permanent reminder that he was there once, that there had been a them. It had been another case of Gio allowing himself to let his guard down only to have his heart shattered into a million pieces. He thought it’d be different with Beck. He was wrong.

“You’re working here.” An observation. A question. A greeting. Who the fuck hired you? You’re back. Where the hell have you been? You should’ve stayed there. You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t be here. “At Ryan’s bar. You’re working here. How nice.”

Beck was good at forming connections, but he wasn’t good at maintaining them. As much as he had liked Gio, as deeply as Beck had cared about him, he had run off when things were starting to look more serious, more permanent. It wasn’t Gio’s fault. It wasn’t their relationship. Beck had been so scared of anything permanent for so long that he didn’t know how to stay for anything. He didn’t know how to not think of everything in short stretches, as flings, as temporary fixes for the aching loneliness that set into his bones when he thought about the impermanence of everyone and everything in his life. Gio had been an unfortunate casualty of Beck’s own ineptitude. 

He knew that and he knew that he should apologize. He would, when the time was right, when they were both up to talking. If he still knew Gio like he knew him back then, he was sure that Gio was not going to want to talk about them, either. He was going to beat around the bush, just like Beck would, until both of them had talked around each other in enough circles to be dizzy for a lifetime. Beck knew this about himself. He guessed this about Gio—but some part of him was certain that it was the case. Some part of him was still certain that he knew Gio. Intimately. 

Taking a slight step back and shifting his weight into his heels, Beck shoved his hands in his pockets. “Uh—yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s temporary. I’m still trying to—” He paused. “I don’t know. Figure things out.” 

Dillon rubbed her hands together, nodding along at his words. She understood all too well what it was like to live with a parent who clearly wasn’t meant to be a parent. It made a kid feel all different kids of things, but for Dillon, she had no choice but to grow up fast. “At least we’ve made it this far, right?” She let’s out smoothly, shrugging in his direction. “If you have a choice between something else and pizza, always choose the pizza. Unless… you could have like, a cookie, or something. Or more than one cookie? I’d do anything for an infinite amount of cookies,” she admits, more to herself than anyone else. 

“Yeah, it was a long, long time ago,” he said with a huff of laughter. Beck’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Have you ever seen a cookie cake? It’s like if cookies were pizza, it’s amazing,” he said with another laugh. “God, now I’m craving it. I’m craving a lot of food.” He rubbed a hand over his stomach, leaning back with a thoughtful frown on his features. “I don’t know if anything by my place is going to be open by the time I get out of here. I’m going to cry if I don’t get a cookie cake, like, tonight.”