staring into open flame,

The music was already giving him a headache. 

Henry felt old tonight. Defeated, always, but especially old tonight. He had two drinks -- straight whiskey, quick and easy -- and he was finished with that. He wasn’t on duty, but his gun still rested on his hip and he wanted to be prepared in case shit went haywire. Which he knew, eventually, it would. Everyone was playing nice, the air felt light, and it was hell of a homecoming party for the Wolves. The vibe was soon change, he knew, and he wasn’t sure if his old man bones could take it anymore.

Stepping outside the entrance, he scooted off to the side and lit a cigarette. With his sister gone and out of town, there was no one to harp on him anymore for smoking. No public to deem his actions unworthy. Just him and the cold, harsh truth of-- “Shit,” he muttered, searching his pockets for the second time, “do I really not have a lighter? Are you joking?” 

Henry was an unhappy man. He had lost his job (kind of), his sister had left town (rightfully so, probably something he should’ve done as well), and now he was forced to look at the back of Mia’s head knowing the last action he wanted to take was to speak to her. Their last conversation hadn’t ended on the best of terms and while he was certainly unhappy, he was scared shitless as well. The moment he saw this bar reopening, he knew her coffee shop would most likely follow as well. He was almost ashamed he always made sure to drive by her shop on the patrols, to make sure no one got too brave to break into the Wolves’ territory, whether they were around or not.

No one had ever gotten brave enough.

With a heave of his chest and a promise not to drink anymore tonight, he took the few gentle steps it took to make it to the seat next to hers. He sat down in silence at first, looking down at his hands, feeling the cowardice poking at him from the inside. “You had me worried they were going to start putting Starbucks in town,” he went with a joke, and a bad one at that, and made sure to notice all of his escape routes. “I missed your coffee.” Definitely didn’t miss you, his brain tried to lie. 

“The irony,” she observes the crowd, commenting to another stranger passing by, “oh the irony.” Nat laughs to herself after taking a sip of her own drink, turning on her heel to make a proper introduction. “I find it hilarious that half of this town wants to celebrate, whilst the other half is trying to kill each other. Isn’t it.. delightful?” She casts them a vivid, but sharp smile. 

“I’m Natasha,” her hands reach out to the stranger’s. “I’m sure you’ve heard not-so wonderful things about the Mayor’s daughter, haven’t you?” She narrows her eyes at them, but it’s not like she cares about what’s being said and what’s not. She wasn’t her father – if she had a reputation to maintain, it’d be as doomed as her taste in men. 

It was a true wonder as to why Henry still made appearances at things like these. He thinks he couldn’t help himself anymore-- even as he no longer wore the badge of the Sheriff, but only a deputy, he still feels responsible. He knows he can’t do anything to prevent tragedy from happening, but if he’s here... then maybe, just maybe, he could help a little bit.

It was a hopeful thought, one currently being nursed by the drink in his hand, a thought that vanished the moment he heard a female’s voice speaking. Henry knew who she was. Her father, a man now sitting in the seat of where his father once sat. He wonders if he’s as tortured as all the mayors beforehand, crooked or not. “I wouldn’t use the word delightful,” he gruffly replied, a bit of deadpan in his tone. “Henry,” he offered in response to her introduction and then shrugged. “If I listened to every rumor that was spread in these streets, I’d go insane. I prefer to make my own opinion of people. Not that it’s helped me much,” he muttered the last bit, sighing, and then downing what was left of his whiskey. 

First he had to wonder, was any night ideal for a quiet drink? Would he ever have peace if he wasn’t hiding out on his office? He could go home, but Reagan was more than stressed lately and it was causing the little one to act more wild than normal. Maybe he was missing the nanny the three of them had become fond of, very quickly. She  had been kind and patient and if that wasn’t enough to handle the Coopers, he didn’t know what was. She had left the job, however, with no explanation to either of them. Henry hadn’t needed one. In any case, he wanted to avoid his sister as a bad brother would do. He wanted to avoid this whole town. He wanted to avoid Mia. Maybe it was time he gave up. Maybe he should instead play dirty like the rest of this town to take them down. But his parents -- his father had never wanted it done that way. Remembering where he was and who he was talking to, Henry had to physically shake his head to rid himself of the thoughts running around in his brain. “It’s not like you have much competitions in the way of coffee shops,” not that it would’ve mattered, he figured, knowing Mia did indeed have the best. At least that was one thing her could appreciate about her publicly. He had appreciated a lot about her in private, but in the past, in the past. “Yeah,” he snorted, not wanting to speak anymore of Carlie Knight, not in the mood to poke Mia’s nerves. “I am bored. I’m bored of this place being the same shit filled, dirt bag full town. Even with the quiet that’s been suffocating it, it never lasts. You know that, Mia.” She caused it, didn’t she? She was the mayhem.

“So this thing, it’s supposed to be hard?” she asked, card in hand, smile on her lips?

Henry was never quite sure on how to feel about Alessa Falcone. Usually, he tried his very best to stay away from her. She was a dangerous woman, that much was sure. The President of any motorcycle club was threatening-- but a woman president? It scared the living shit out of him. Even the sight of her made him want to light a cigarette. After finding himself surrounded by the people he disliked the most, she was the last person he wanted to speak to. Couldn’t help it as a chuckle escaped from his lips however, her words amusing him more than he would’ve liked.

“Is anything difficult for you?”

It was possible he was imagining that she could barely make eye contact with him. He really wonders what it was between the two of them. Whatever it was that existed. Sometimes she infuriated him so much on their differing opinions. She was stubborn and what she did, what she supported was hurtful. To this town and everyone in it, even herself. Maybe that was it -- maybe he wanted to save her. Maybe he should mind his own damn business. That, however, wasn’t what earned him the title of Sheriff. “No, I came for alcohol. Everyone...” he paused, looking around the room with disdain, before looking back at Mia with an attempt at a neutral expression. He wanted to take his eyes off her. “Everyone else was a lucky bonus, I guess.” He finally broke his stare, choosing to signal the bartender who was a very, very busy man. But he needed his whiskey. “Hadn’t seen you around.” His fault. Her fault. “You all about the birthday wolf?”

Having been knocked in the shoulder by the guy running to have the puke of his life, Henry stood still to check his jacket for less than savory stains. He was out of uniform tonight, off duty. Had even completely forgotten about his choice of setting being a birthday party tonight. The headache had already started. Henry had just wanted a whiskey and to sulk, by himself. Instead he was surrounded by people he hated and hearing a certain brunette’s voice, people he wanted to avoid. After being satisfied that his jacket was still clean, his feet led him to the seat beside Mia despite his brain screaming against it. “I don’t think anyone is winning tonight except for DUIs and public intoxication.”

“By avoiding them and then when I do see them, arguing with them. If I really like ‘em, I arrest them.”

“Definitely the hair.”

“If there is, I don’t say them. Try not to seem as dumb as I actually am.”

“A couple times. Practically lived up there one summer, long time ago. Left a lot behind of those rooftops, though.”

“Rooftop and a bottle of wine.”

“Not following my parent’s path a little more. Probably would’ve been a lot prouder of me when they died.”