wanderer

full name: Nixon Gray gender & pronouns: cismale he/him age & date of birth: 25, October 10th 1997 where do they live: Southside time living in bradford springs: 2 months, previously 20 years occupation: Staff at Pins positive traits: laid-back, adventurous, outgoing negative traits: fickle, self-centered, ill-attentive

About:

-

Angel smiles. It’s the first one to grace her face since her less than fortunate reunion with Nix, but it’s the sound of his pain that brings her a flicker of joy. Admittedly, it does take some of the edge off. Now that she’s gotten it out of her system, she might have a better chance of tolerating him. He’s still an annoying son of a bitch who knows how to push her buttons, who knows just the right words to say to get right up under her skin. It’s a fact that’s changed none, but now, she feels the tiniest bit of vindication, and it feels so damn good. “It’s for being fucking annoying,” Angel shouts loud enough for him to hear without having to turn around and face him. When she’s finally met with silence, that same small joy begins to spread — the indication he’s still trailing behind her is in the sound of his footsteps picking up again across gravel. It’s a small, small victory in comparison to the shit he put her through. After years of him being gone yet feeling the massive weight of his mark on her, it finally feels like she has just an ounce of control or maybe even an upper hand. It’s a weird thing to want, and it doesn’t make sense, but she needs this. That bruise that will undoubtedly form against his skin, that pain that radiates where her fist met his face, it’s nothing when compared to the damage he’s done her, but it’s something. 

Still riding her pseudo high, Angel changes her pace none when Nixon finally emerges from behind to take the lead, her stroll more casual and laid back now than it was when they first stepped foot out of the gas station. Her eyes stay on him as he climbs. Can I help you, is on her lips when he beats her to speaking by begrudgingly offering his assistance. Clearly, she’s struck a nerve. Good. Angel doesn’t mean to laugh at him, but she can’t help it, not when he’s being so completely ridiculous, acting like a goddamn baby. “Nixon, I really don’t give a shit,” She says, beside herself with amusement. What was that supposed to be? Some sort of threat? I could just get high without you. Okay and? She could be doing the same thing. Chuckling still, Angel shakes her head before climbing over the wall without any help at all. She never needed to take his hand back when hopping fences was a regular practice, but she took it anyway because she wanted to. She liked feeling cared for by him, and now there’s no need for it. “Looks like we’re both bitching and sulking, huh?” She grins sarcastically and hops down to her feet, laughing at him, not with him, as she walks ahead again. 

Maybe, just maybe, if this wasn’t years after the fact, Nixon wouldn’t mind getting punched in the face by Angel O’Connor. Maybe if they were still in the cycle of amazing highs and swooping lows, he’d find it hot. But they weren’t, and yes, he’s to blame but isn’t Angel too? He thinks all of this as he walks behind her, staring a hole in the back of her head. He’s to blame for her vices and not being able to handle them? Fuck no, rule number one know your fucking limits. Nixon’s limit was cradling a passing out body of his girlfriend with stockpiles of cocaine and ketamine and everything else under the sun in the trunk of his car. But she doesn’t seem to care about that, only thinking of herself. 

He flails the hand that she refuses, falling into another sulking walk behind her as his temper begins to work against him. Nixon is all laughs when he thinks it will work for him, but it clearly isn’t now. They’re beyond that. The arguments are now no longer just irking disagreements which can be fixed with a laugh or a kiss. It’s serious now. And he hates it. “Fuck you, Angel.” he calls to her, stopping his journey from following her. “I’m trying to fucking fix things, and you don’t want to.” he then says, thinking that if she doesn’t care about talking to him then he will enjoy his high in peace. “I’d rather get high by my damn self than put up with this shit.” he decides, looking to her as if he’s confused at the person he can see. “You fucking survived, Angel. Would you rather we both be in jail or something? Like I don’t get it.”

This kid talks way too much. It was fucking annoying to say the least and it had Finn wondering if this kind of shit worked for him in the past. “That makes my job easier.” Because why the fuck would he care if Nix had a heart attack? That sounded like a him problem more than a Finn problem. It would be the easiest disposal of his life with little clean-up. Ideal situation in fact. He rolled his hand in the air while the younger man got in trying to hurry the process. Once he was in place he shut the trunk and hit the top. “Good boy, sit tight.” Finn got into the car and started to drive. The destination in mind wasn’t far away, a ten minute journey tops. However, he wasn’t going to go straight there. Instead he drove around for a while, giving Nixon some alone time to think and maybe sober up a little. Somewhere between a half an hour to an hour Finn parked on a hardly traveled road in the industrial area of town. He got out and moved to the back of the vehicle. Before he opened the trunk, he pulled on his leather gloves. No way he was going back to prison on a technicality.

“Rise and shine,” he greeted Nix in the low amber light from the few street lamps still holding on for dear life around them. He reached in to pull him out and on his feet. “Now that it’s just the two of us and you had some time to clear ye head. Time for a chat.” Finn shut the trunk and pulled out his pistol again. Not to point, more as a warning for if he tried to run. “Alright, kid, this is your one and only opportunity. Ye got somethin’ ye want to say to me that ain’t bullshit, I’d get it out now because when I start I don’t like to be interrupted.”

Nixon likes to believe that he can laugh about most things. During his adventures, the more dangerous they became, the funnier he found it. This doesn’t seem so funny as he’s holed up in the darkness of a trunk with a man driving him who he’s certain is a psychopath. Nixon’s ideology of being able to talk his way out of trouble is being shifted. Maybe he can shut up his way out of trouble. He’s never tried that before, and if there’s one thing Nix likes, is new things. It feels like they’re driving forever, and Nix doesn’t use the time to self-reflect or come to any mindset other than...How can I get out of this?

When it’s finally time and Finn is pulling him out of the trunk, Nixon has clearly worked himself into a state of silent shock. When shit gets real, his cowardice shows. Just like New Mexico, just when his cocky jokes fell flat after trying to double bluff literal con-men. Life seemed to be easier when he was younger, a few smiles after kicking over trash cans. A strange story after breaking in a window. What happened? He blinks nervously at Finn and then the gun, hugging himself and then letting his arms fall to his side so he didn’t look like a weakling. “I...what do you wanna know!?” Nix expresses with fear for his life because now they’re somewhere he doesn’t recognize and shit has got all too real. Like New Mexico. New fucking Mexico. “Is this about Angel!?” he gestures an arm out but it falls back to his side again. “I talked to her, Finn. I don’t know what any of you want me to do, it happened I can’t...I can’t change what happened so what the fuck can I do!?” Nix talks at full speed from sheer panic, taking deep breaths between one sentence to the next. “You hate me for it, I get that. But I had a bunch of drugs in my fucking car. I was trying to figure out what to do with them before I went back.” That part of the story is new, it was never there before...he likes how it sounds. It sounds admirable. “I was gonna go back, Finn. But if I went back we’d both be in jail, which is basically like dying, right!?”

Ruben wasn’t dumb, he knew why people hated Nixon. It took all of his own strength to not wrangle his brother’s neck most of the time, but they were still family. “Pretty boy face? Is that what they’re calling it now?” Ruben hummed, grinning at his own comment as he started the drive to Nix’s work. “Dust storm.” Ruben repeated again, laughing while blinking because he couldn’t believe the balls his younger brother had sometimes. “So when you called me to say you had a bunch of guys trying to kill you and chasing you in their SUV, that was bullshit? Or, was the dust storm bullshit?” he asked pointedly. “Or there was a dust storm while they chased you? Fuck it, pink and purple aliens helped you find a payphone too.”

“They’ve always called it that but you wouldn’t know, you never had one.” Nix’s eyes are hinting with mischief as his head falls back with a satisfied laughter. Even when Ruben catches his bullshit, Nix is laughing with his feet up on the dashboard as they drive and giving his brother an amused look. “You make it sound like I was in a high speed chase, I wasn’t. I totaled the car, and people were trying to get me. So I freaked out and called you. ‘Cause I had no way of getting away.” Nix re-explains the story, maybe with a few details missing or changed but he doesn’t care. “Nah the pink and purple aliens already happened before that, keep up.” he leans into the joke, reaching a hand to roughly tussle his brother’s hair. “So, this date. Temel. New thing or just a whatever?”

-

“Yes,” Angel says stubbornly, knowing it’s stupid to argue with him, especially over something as silly as whether or not doing drugs in silence is some new thing. It won’t get her anywhere sooner, especially away from him. Still, he’s so goddamn annoying, she can’t help the reaction that rises out of her. “That way, hearing your fucking voice won’t ruin it,” She moves her feet, walking again as she maintains her distance. She folds her arms across her chest, a seemingly permanent scowl nestling between her brows and resting on the corners of her lips. This is stupid, and she’s stupid for doing this. Angel could be halfway home by now, alone and free of her irritation, but she continues trailing her ex as they move further away from the gas station.  A lifetime ago, she would’ve been by his side, laughing and talking, hand in hand and fingers intertwining. The little bit of nostalgia is over the second he opens his mouth again. “Jesus fucking Christ, Nix,” Angel groans, fed up as her words overlaps his. How is he still talking? Why couldn’t he just shut the fuck up and grant her that peace? It’s the very least he could do, but apparently, it’s too much. 

Of course, it’s only natural that Nix pushes it too far. There was a time when a kiss could turn the tension tightly wound in her into passion, when the right touches could find other ways to resolve her anger directed towards him. They used to be ‘fight hard, love harder’ personified, and Angel loved it. The rush of Nixon Gray was just as all consuming as any drug she’d ever laid a hand on, but the casualness of which he brings it up to her now, fight-fuck later, even if it’s nothing more than a joking suggestion, it pisses her off. The rest of whatever he says registers none, her focus narrowing on him as she picks up the pace of her casual gait, taking larger strides to close the distance between them. When she’s within reach, Angel swings at Nix, her knuckles colliding hard against his jaw. It’s the exact kind of catharsis she’s needed. “Fuck you,” She says from the very depths of her soul, venom flowing through her words as she walks past him and in the direction of their old spot “Hurry the fuck up,” She shouts back to him, keeping it moving without turning to see if he’s following her at all.

Nixon is confident as ever that this is all an overreaction on Angel’s part. Of course he loved her, and of course he drove away in a panic and fear in New Mexico. Who wouldn’t? He saw his girlfriend slump in an overdose and knew he had enough drugs in his car to take out a rhino. In what possible universe could he have done anything different? Nixon isn’t going to let her talk over him, so he spins to counteract her words and turns straight into her oncoming punch. It gives the exact intended effect, making Nixon’s words falter into nothing but a pained and shocked noise. “Fuck sakes!” he grips his face, watching as Angel marches ahead. He remains there for a few moments, letting the impact register for a moment. “What the hell was that for? Talking? How are gonna get high and not talk?” Nix calls after her, starting up his paces again but he ends up sighing like a spoiled child. He follows in silence for the rest of the way, shoes scuffing against the concrete as he soothes his jaw with his hand. He’s in a quiet sulk for the rest of the walk, hanging back in case Angel wants to take a swing at him. He supposes she isn’t much different, they always managed to find something to argue about but there was never any argument big enough to stop them falling back to one another. It was a tried and tested routine, Nix assumed Angel to be on the same page he is. This was a blip in their story but not one they can’t write over.

It’s only when they reach the parking lot that Nixon takes the lead, climbing over the wall first and then peeping over it to see if she needs help. It takes him a moment to muster the courage and speak again, eyes flicking from the ground and then over the wall back to Angel. “Am I allowed to give you my hand or are you gonna be a bitch about that too?” he asks spitefully, offering it anyways to help her. Silence isn’t something Nix enjoys, it gives too much room for his thoughts to grow in volume so now he’s broken his silent tantrum, he isn’t going to stop. “I could just get high without you, did you think of that? I’m not doing this just because I wanna give free shit away like some idiot.”

-

The question should have been a straight forward yes or no answer, but things were never that simple with Fox. Considering most days blurred into one and his sense of time was abysmal, he had no idea whether he was high or not. He sat with his feelings for a moment, half trying to remember if he had smoked or had any shrooms. The other half of him trying to see if he felt any weirder than normal. “Uhhhhhh…not today.” he eventually settled on, before his nose wrinkled. “Actually, maybe? Kinda. I do feel kinda fuzzy.” he shrugged. Fox’s big eyes widened even further at the other question, his mind immediately wondering why this guy asked so many. “Then you should…not be sat outside here incase they come back?” he suggested slowly, feeling like he was failing a pop quiz at school. The idea of handing over a whole pack of smokes normally wouldn’t bother Fox, and he glanced to and from the stranger and the box. “I only got four left, so I doubt that’s any use. I was meant to get some more but I figured I can do it on the drive home with everyone, if I remembered. But I can like ask Angel or River to remind me.” he rambled, absentmindedly handing the box over. “Actually, can I have one? While I wait?”

If there’s one thing Nix can respect in someone, it’s them being high so the stranger’s response makes him warm to them immediately. He nods and flashes a large smile, laughing approvingly. “Well, whatever you’re on, I want some. You’re just gone, aren’tcha?” he teases coyly, whipping his fingers into the air from his temple in metaphor. “Gone with the wind.” he whistles and smiles. The statement about not hanging around outside the club is a fair and true one, but Nix doesn’t embody either of those things. He shrugs and rubs his jaw like it’s all water off a duck’s back. It isn’t, he’s in pain and he’s cold. And he’s jealous about the trippy long-haired stranger’s high. His wore off in possibly the worst comedown he had experienced. It’s Angel’s name that makes Nix pay more attention, tilting his head. “A dancer or you mean O’Connor by any chance?” he’s curious now, wondering how the other would know her if they’re thinking of the same one. “Curly hair? Mean mouth?” he adds, taking the box of smokes with the tiniest nod in gratitude. He lights one and then watches him with a small click of his tongue. “Ah, sorry dude. Only got three left.”

.

“My bad, guess I got a little carried away,” Finn deadpanned. He was already past the state of being annoyed. Nixon’s shitty attitude and his snide rat face with his stupid hair cut. Just looking at him pissed Finn off. Having to hear him just made it worse. The older man watched the boy nod one time too many and slowly shook his head. Kid was higher than a kite. Why would he assume anything different? “Ye ain’t bleedin’ on her interior dipshit,” Finn stood up and switched the safety off of the pistol. A sharp exhale came out of his nostrils. “You got five seconds to make your choice or I make it for you.” He readied a bullet in the chamber. To help him along, he decided to give him a quick shove toward the vehicle. There was a small urgency to get going. Not just because Finn was incredibly impatient all the time but also not having to do damage control if anyone decided to pay attention to what was going on in the darkened street. “There’s even a tarp and a blanket back there. Real comfy just for ye.” He flashed a quick, ironic smile and took a step back. “One, two, three…” Finn half hoped he chose option three, no need for a conversation and problem solved. Might even fake a solemn face at his funeral.

“Yeah, no shit!” Nixon sighs with a pained moan, still clutching his face. Is he blacking out? Has his nose broken? There is a tiny flicker of remorse in Nixon’s brain, though. Not enough to apologize but remorse for himself for ending up at the receiving end of the punches, and the whole situation. He hopes he can make it out alive, because this is going to be an impressive story. Nixon can think on his feet whenever he is in a spot of bother, and he’s quite proud of this but right now he’s not on his feet, he’s on his ass, holding his face like it’s about to slide off his neck. He hears the safety click and his free hand raises up as if it could stop a bullet. “Alright, alright! Fuck.” he admits defeat, scrambling backwards slightly. “Just give me a second, Jesus. I need to re-cooperate.” he waves his hand, taking a few deep breaths. “I don’t like small spaces, man. I’m gonna have a heart attack.” Nix then pleads again after his eyes lock to the trunk and his fate even though he hoists one leg into the back and starts lowering himself in. “If the cops stop us how the fuck you gonna explain I’m back here?” Nix pleads all at the same time as getting into the trunk and curling into a ball. “This is some bullshit, I swear to God. This is so fucking crazy.”

“It’s whatever you want.” Ruben replied with no enthusasim. His brother had only been back for a few short months and already he felt exhausted trying to help him. He was a lot worse than Ru remembered, but it wasn’t surprising. Whenever Nix did bother to call or text, often times his voice was slurring or all the messages looked in a different language. “Mhm.” was all he responded back about Yasemin, sighing when Nix’s lovely words of encouragement followed. “Thanks, and the girls just love you right back don’t they?” he messed up Nixon’s hair with a sharp ruffle before he pulled him out to the truck listening to his brother’s manic laughter fill the air. “No.” Ru said roughly, swatting away Nix’s hands from the console. “You mean sad that you totaled it? You know there’s a word for that, right? Like, sorry.”

“Deal.” Nixon finds everything funny, even more so when the person he’s with isn’t finding it as funny as he does. He’s the type of person to hold in bursts of laughter during serious or somber occasions, and even now as his brother continues to pad through a collection of miserable emotions, Nix is grinning. “You got the stocky build, I got the pretty boy face. I do just fine.” he slaps Ru’s cheek before he buckles up, clueless to the remorse he should show for the little accident that ruined his brother’s car. He shouldn’t have taken it in the first place but...needs must. “That wasn’t my fault. There was a dust storm, couldn’t see shit. I was fighting for my life, I coulda died.”

.

“Lets not start this little chat with lies, yeah?” The words were strangely calm compared to the rage that burned bright behind his eyes the moment he saw Nixon’s face. Finn didn’t believe for one fucking second that he wandered into his club not only forgetting who owned it but also that he hadn’t come there for his sister. “Agree to-” Finn scoffed a laugh of disbelief and couldn’t, no wouldn’t, begin to explain everything wrong with the words that had just left that little shits mouth. Instead he smiled at him when he broke free, hand ready to grab the gun holstered at the back of his pants if he chose to try and run. “Free one, huh?” Finn nodded slowly like he was considering the offer. Weighing the options of his actions as if he didn’t already have the next moves planned before the conversation even started. The older man shrugged his shoulders, “why not?” In quick succession he stepped forward and slammed his fist against Nixon’s face not once, twice, but three times. A decorated hand wiped at his mouth and he opened the trunk to his car. While the younger man dealt with the aftermath of his request, Finn pulled out his gun and crouched down to address him, letting the weapon lazily rest in his hand supported by one of his knees. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up and get in that trunk willingly and I promise I won’t shoot you.” He pointed to Morticia’s open back end with the pistol. “Your other options are I put you in the trunk with all the care I just showed you or you can try to run, but then I can’t promise I won’t shoot you and I have been known to be a feckin’ precise shot with my baby here. Either way this ends with you in that trunk, ye understand?” He looked Nixon over. “Nod for me, now so I know ye heard.”

Nixon is undoubtedly too high for this. He’s often too high for anything, for that matter. His mind knows that he has two options...to shut up and not make Finn any worse. Or maybe run for it. The second one starts to seem doable, until he remembers that his legs feel like lead right now and his head feels heavier. Heavy but empty, which is an oxymoron. Nix doesn’t even have time to make a verbal response before he sees Finn’s fist fly towards his face. It doesn’t take much to knock Nix to the ground, and he’s eating shit before he can even mentally register what the hell is happening. “I said one! Free one!” Nix yells in pain, grabbing his face and nose to check that he’s still in one piece. The taste of blood fills his mouth quickly and he spits some away and coughs in distaste. He rolls to his back and slowly sits up in time to see Finn crouching with the weapon and he starts nodding quickly. He nods so much that he doesn’t even hear the orders, which he’s sure are terrifying. “Loud and clear, loud and clear.” he repeats, showing that he’s an astute listener despite none of Finn’s words making sense. So then there’s the awkward stale mate as Nix glances from Finn, to the gun, and to the car. “The trunk?” he questions, confused and still bleeding. “Dude I can sit in the back I won’t make a sound, honest. God is my witness, I’ll just sit in the back we’ll look like two friends on a drive. If you wanna make sure I don’t see where we’re going, I’ll just cover my eyes, it’s not a big deal.”

;

“Cops!?” Elijah repeated Nix, glancing into the rear view mirror and sighing when it was just an ordinary black car. “Man, you need to chill out or something because you’re getting me paranoid and I’m not even breaking the law.” Eli laughed, looking to his friend. It was good to have Nixon back in Lockwood but Elijah could tell that it was almost like a completely different person. He didn’t know much about where Nix even got to while he was gone, but he wasn’t in much of a position to pass up friends. “I think there’s a big difference between speeding in a car than a plane but what do I know.” he mumbled, smacking the radio so it would turn on since the dials no longer worked. “No aux or bluetooth, sorry.”

“I’m not breaking it either.” Nixon states, eyes still flicking through the back window so he can watch for anything that seems suspicious. How he’s avoided jail for this long is something he doesn’t ever want to test, or get too comfortable with. He wouldn’t last a minute. “You might’ve hated it.” Nix laughs, slapping Elijah’s shoulder in a friendly motion. “Imagine you did all that training or whatever they make people do, and then you got up there and just vomited all the time. Or you crashed and died.” Nixon rambles a little, watching Elijah try and get the radio on. He helps by turning the dials closest to him, randomly. “S’fine, as long as there’s no country station, I’m good.”

-

Fox immediately reached for his wallet when the stranger admitted his living situation. “Do you wanna…” he paused the offer to grab some food together, catching the insult about the way he dressed and frowning slightly just in case he misheard. “I uh…yeah, a few people but…I’m pretty sure Ted Bundy did all his weird shit in the 70s. Completely different era of fashion.” he mumbled, glancing at the said chains. Did they give serial killer vibes? Great, this whole time people thought he was a serial killer? Surely not, Bowie and River would’ve told him. Fox’s eyebrows then bounced up at the question, and were practically hid under his messy bangs by the time this weird stranger was done talking. “Anyone can be a threat to a dancer, you know the whole way men in particular dehumanize them so yeah. You could.” he answered quickly, not trying to offend him but…it was true. For some reason, Fox was running out of sympathy for him, but of course he’d never be rude enough to let it be known. “Want a smoke or something?”

This seems just his luck. Getting stuffed in a trunk, beaten and now being talked to by an apparition from the 1970s or 80s. Or even 90s. Nix’s grin just curls menacingly, watching the other person seem to jump from topic to topic. “Are you high?” he asks, not judging in the slightest but more so curious if there’s anything to share. It would be a great way to end a shitty night, and Nix would be able to crash into his bed later on that night without a care in the world. “Well, I’m not. I was attacked unprovoked. So what do you have to say about that?” he laughs slightly, pushing himself up so he’s standing. A cigarette would be nice but he needs more than just one. “Tell you something.” he begins, wagging a finger. “I’m actually all out of smokes but I don’t have any cash on me.” this part is true, so Nixon doesn’t feel bad for lying to a complete stranger. Not that he has much remorse for lying to anybody. “If you give me the whole pack, we can do that like...serendipity IOU thing. Like, if I’m meant to give you a pack back, we’d see each other again by chance somewhere or something. Trust in the universe sort of thing.”

-

The way he looks at her doesn’t go unnoticed, just simply unaddressed like the words he directs towards her. It’s for the best, or else she might start spiraling. In the look he gives her is a glimpse of a past Angel has forced herself to forget, or at least try. It wasn’t a better time or a simpler time, not really, but they had their sweet moments. And in those moments, she could remember why she had loved him in a way she’d never loved anyone before. But that was then and this is now. All she wants is to get this over with and go back to the strangers they’ve become. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, it is. An annoyed sigh leaves her now that he faces her again, her expression changing none from its state of being entirely unamused. What is she doing?

Angel’s eye twitches involuntarily, her stride coming to a stop in the place where she stands. How could anyone be so goddamn stupid? If Nixon Gray has anything, it’s the fucking nerve. Their last real conversation didn’t exactly end with them hugging it out and singing Kumbaya. And the time before that was years ago, when he dumped her over the phone weeks after abandoning her in what is indisputably the lowest point in her life. “Would it kill you to shut the fuck up? I don’t owe you a goddamn thing,” Angel all but hisses at him, but then he’s waving the pack of cigarettes at her. Her eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you talk–?” The cigarettes. She had picked up his favorites and didn’t even realize it. Not that it actually matters. She still remembers her father’s favorite whiskey. It doesn’t mean she holds any sort of love for the evil, rotten son of a bitch. “Where are we going, Nix? What are we doing?” Fed up, she changes the subject to one she’s much more interested in. Not because she has any desire to go anywhere with him ever again, but rather he has something she wants. What sucks is that he knows it. “And I’m not pretending,” Angel throws in childishly for reassurance, not wanting him to get any ideas. She absolutely hates him.

Nixon can remember when Angel used to be fun. When they’d laugh at everything and when it felt as if the whole world was theirs for the taking. Now she seems hollow and he can’t work out why, and he swears it used to be easier to resolve an argument than it is right now. Nixon may be stupid but he knows better than to wind an arm around her or bury kisses to her neck as a form of an apology. What a stupid thing to argue about, too. A misunderstanding. “So you want to do drugs with me in silence? Is that a new thing?” he teases her, grabbing a cigarette with his teeth and then offering the box out to her while his other hand searches for a light. “Does it make the high last longer or something?” he grins then, knowing that he is skating on thin-ice. Not even skating, he’s jumping on the frozen layer but maybe he wants it to crack so he can plunge into the excited way Angel can make him feel. He’s missed it, even if he’s aware there may be no going back. 

“So you hate me? I don’t hate you.” he challenges her, lighting the cigarette and exhaling with a laugh as he begins to walk. “But that’s cool, we can fight-fuck later then I guess.” he shrugs a shoulder and it’s only the smile that makes it obvious he’s joking. Nixon slowly slides the bag from his pocket, and then nods towards Angel. “If you got any keys we can get this started right now and who knows, by the time we’re done, you might actually be nice to me.” he gestures with his chin further up the street, the big old parking lot that they used to spend many nights in before they ever left Lockwood. It’s sheltered enough, no cameras from what he can remember, or at least comfortable enough corners that are hidden. “I thought our old place is close enough?”

Ruben let out a deep sigh, as if it derived straight from his soul. He waved the phone in his hand and shook his head. “Outta luck. Guess you have to say it to Brenda’s face.” he goaded, but that was a realistic possibility. In the two months of Nix coming home, Ruben had learned to keep an ear at the ready for any suspicious sniffing noises. Even implementing the no drugs in the house rule didn’t work, because Nix just used it all before coming back or stayed out all night instead. “Yasemin. Second date, and I actually like this one but hey, who cares.” he sighed again, following his brother around like a hired bodyguard. Or carer was more accurate. “Actually, the word you’re looking for is pissed off. Just get in the truck and get food on you’re break.” he huffed, grabbing his keys with one hand and Nixon’s jacket collar with the other.

“Is that a challenge?” Nixon looks to his brother with a smile before he quickly pays attention to his reflection again, rearranging the mess of his hair without much luck. He makes a little whistle noise and chuckles childishly. “Yas-e-min.” he repeats, amused and playful. “Temel, right? I remember her.” he angles his chin, and then scrunches his face up, finding it peculiar that this is the flesh prison he’s been given on this earth. Could be worse. He could be out of proportionally tall like Ruben, with a weird head. “No point liking her too much, she’ll hate you eventually.” Nix laughs, but the noise turns into a strangled garble as his brother pulls him away from the mirror. He still finds it amusing, laughing the whole way to the truck until he’s inside and sighs. “Oh, can I borrow this next weekend?” he asks, smoothing his hands over the dashboard. “This is way nicer than the other one but it’s kinda sad it got totaled.”

-

“Well?” Angel prompts him when he doesn’t immediately respond, her thin patience running even thinner. This is too much. It’s too much, and she’s entirely too sober to be playing whatever fucking game this is with Nix right now. Facing him, looking at him, talking to him feels so surreal, like she’s stuck in a less than nostalgic loop of the past. Maybe it would be easier if he was just some byproduct, a side effect of whatever hallucinogenic she got her hands on. That way, when she comes down, he’ll be gone and back far away to wherever he ran off to when he decided he no longer wanted her. But it’s not a hallucination. He’s back and real and in the flash, and she’s so angry she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Mostly, however, she’s tired. She’s so tired. Of what exactly? She has no idea. There are too many things she could point to as the source of her everlasting exhaustion, but all it, it pushes her closer towards the edge. Nix being back has her teetering right on it. 

Hearing his proposition irks on an even deeper level, somehow. Of course, this would be the day she’s fresh out of cigarettes. Fucking hell. Okay. Unimpressed as she weighs her options, Angel watches as his dumb ass backs away from the counter and towards the door. She takes another glance towards the display behind the counter. Sorry, Dusty, Angel thinks as she sits her snacks down and hops up on the counter, climbing through the opening in the glass. Out of habit, she grabs the pack she remembers he used to smoke and gets the hell out of there, easing her way out the way she came. Don’t stab him, she thinks as she snatches her snacks and heads towards the door. Of course she’ll follow Nix. There’s a long, long list of things she’s done for a quick fix that no one would be proud of, and hanging out with the ex that left her for dead pales in comparison. It doesn’t mean she’s thrilled, though. Don’t stab him. Don’t stab him. Don’t stab him, Angel repeats her little mantra the closer she draws to him. “Here’s your fucking cigarettes,” She pushes the pack into his chest as she breezes past him and out of the gas station into the cold. 

While Nix believes delusional thoughts often, he isn’t as stupid as he seems. He knows forgiveness from Angel does not come quickly nor easily. But he also knows she’s as tightly gripped by substances as he is. It’s their own bonding agent, and in his own perception he didn’t do anything as terrible as she is treating him. It was a mistake, justified by the fact he was so far gone and trying to avoid being put away for life. She survived, didn’t she? She’ll come around eventually. Giving a little push in the right direction isn’t so bad. Maybe she’s enjoying a game of cat and mouse, trying to fire up their previous passion which was left in the dust in New Mexico too.

As Nix watches her, it reminds him of the several stops they made through their travels and he doesn’t do much to conceal his nostalgic gaze or sweeping grin, even as she shoves by him and uses the packet of cigarettes as a bat. “Kind of you.” he comments teasingly and quiet while he then follows but he strides ahead and spins in place to walk backwards, gloveless fingers fumbling to open the pack while he looks at Angel again. “You know it won’t kill you if you talk to me properly.” he deadpans with a shrug. “You said everything already, right?” he thinks it’s like a simple math equation. They already had the discussion, so why is it lingering? He then waves the packet of smokes in his hand for her to take a good look at them. “Still know my favorite so why are you pretending to hate me?” 

@nixon-gray​ at: outside restricted access

-

The only thing Fox hated about being friends with Angel was when he’d offer to give her a ride home after her shift with River too, and he’d have to stand outside Restricted Access like an absolute loser because the idea of seeing mounds of naked flesh just terrified him. Dancers were scary. Today, somebody else seemed to be there too which made Fox let out a small sigh of relief. “You waiting for someone too? Thank God. I always feel like I look like I’m waiting for the dancers to come out alone, which obviously is not a good look. I hate going in there.” he said, talking as if they were old friends. He didn’t know the guy, but once stepping closer he saw that he looked a little roughed up. Little was an understatement. “Shit…did a dancer do that?” he asked, automatically assuming it was an impressive dance show at first before then quickly realizing this guy could be a creep. So, Fox took a step backwards slightly. “What’d you do if a dancer did that? Because I’ll be honest, you might’ve deserved it and if you deserved it, then good. Just saying.”

Nix has every intention to slump his heavy feeling legs back to Southside but his energy only got him as far as the street before he slid down a wall and sat in self-pity. He doesn’t expect anyone to notice him as he contemplates texting Ruben. “No, I’m homeless.” Nixon lies with ease and a sly grin, clicking his neck each side. Finn has definitely done more damage than he ever thought was possible, and Nixon doesn’t believe for one second that it was a justified response. “Are you waiting for someone? It does kinda look creepy. Especially with the chains.” he points to the other man’s belt. “Ted Bundy shit.” he adds with a little croak of a laugh. Nixon doesn’t respond to the question, he simply readjusts how he’s sitting and rests his elbows to his knees. “Do I look like I’m a threat to a dancer?” Nixon waves a pale hand to himself. “I was just trying to get something to drink but some psycho decided he hates me. Been a great night.”

.

Normally, if Finn was at Restricted Access it was to check in with Angel or have drink, relax, and watch the show. That day, it had been to go over the books and inventory with the operator. He had to leave the junkyard early to get it all done. Took most of the afternoon to complete, but they got it done and he was able to go sit at the bar for a quick drink or two before he needed to go check in at the Stanley. He’d just got that second drink when he watched that plague rat walk in the door, to his club, like he was fucking invincible or some shit. Finn knocked back that whiskey and stood up from the stool. Ain’t no way that was going to fly. He had yet to welcome the little fucker back to town anyways, this seemed like as good a time as any.

A few quick steps forward and a quick thinking bouncer blocking the door, had Finn caught up to Nix in no time. He quickly grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him inward so he could wrap an arm around the front of his shoulders, just below his throat.  “Where ye runnin’ off to so quick?” The blonde motioned for the bouncer to move out of the way so he could bring the slimy little snake outside for a chat. “I mean, ain’t even goin’ t’ say hi? Or was I not the O’Connor ye came to see, hm?” Finn moved with the younger man toward where his car was parked. Every bone in his body wanted to move his arm up a couple of inches and squeeze until he couldn’t hear that raggedy breath come out of his mouth anymore. But, seeing as there was enough trouble in his life at the moment he was going to take a different route first.  

Nixon is surprised he’s caught up with so quickly, he was certain he had the advantage of speed on his side even if his legs were barely carrying him. He doesn’t make a sound as Finn grabs him, he tenses as much as possible and tries to dig his heels into the ground. He knows what’s going to happen, even if he can’t exactly predict the future. It’s just common sense to know the future is not looking so bright. “Look, I got the wrong place.” he says with a sharp breath. “Easy mistake. I’ll stay outta your hair.” he waves his hands around desperately despite his arms being pinned to his side by solid arms. “Wrong O’Connor? No, nope. I was just trying to get a drink and see some tits.” he tries to avoid answering properly, it’s what he does best. Trying to push back Finn’s easy guide towards the car is a futile mission but that doesn’t stop Nixon from trying to dead weight and wiggle like a trapped eel. “Come on, this is...Finn, I know you’re mad but me and Angel solved it. We’re staying out of each other’s way. Agree to disagree kind of thing.” Nix states with a pleading tone, finally crouching out of Finn’s arms and spinning around to skip backwards away from the man. He’s already out of breath. “Just send me on my way, a quick one here.” he taps his cheek, inviting a “free” punch. 

If trees could talk, Nix thinks they would probably tell everybody they’ve fucked the planet over big time. He thinks this with a lit cigarette in his mouth, pulling up his falling jeans as he walks to the club. He’s done well to avoid Angel’s brother for the previous two months, Ru giving him a heads up to avoid certain places. Nix can’t quite remember the specifics, he was...not exactly listening. Call it a feeling of invincibility thanks to the cocaine and pills or the way he focused on Ruben’s nose hairs as he talked angrily. Words were just words anyways. Didn’t mean anything.  He has that same feeling of invincibility now, bidding goodbye to the cold air as he seeks warmth within Restricted Access. No place better to be, and it gives him the chance to see Angel again. 

He stands by the door for a moment, soaking in the change of temperature which almost numbed his bony knees thanks to the large slashes in his jeans. Then he takes a few steps further into the fun. He strolls as if he owns the place, and it’s while walking that he sees a familiar face. Not Angel’s, or anybody else from his previous life in Lockwood that he missed. Finn’s. The sense of invincibility melts away quite quickly then.  “Nope.” Nix says to himself, locking eyes with Finn for a second only to break it as he turns heel to make a rush for the door. He knows it’s coming. Why was he running so slowly?