#( plot three. )

he didn’t think it was possible to stand more out of place in a group of people who were clearly mourning. he’d never been the sorts to be so emotional, really. a typical guy, perhaps. though one might pin his lack of anything in his features on the fact he’d spent a decade telling families their loved ones had passed in the most brutal of ways and that, does something to the way one might handle the way they feel.

and god knows leon didn’t handle his emotions very well.  or, anyone’s, actually. that’d been cole’s strength, not his.

so here he stands at a wake with no where to go, a beer in hand behind the bar, occasionally serving the sorry lot with a typical thin lined and awkward smile and a mention of how he’s sorry for the tragedy that struck long before he and bash even arrived.

his only saving grace for the moment, would be the fact that the man and fellow bartender standing with him, looked just as odd as he did.

if there’s one thing he hates, it’s tearful women.

not in the awful sense of, ‘god, a woman crying, how annoying.’ but more in the, ‘oh no, what do i do, i’m not good at this’ sorta way. whenever there was bad news to share, his partner always did it for them. a heavy burden to carry, yes, but it’s how they shared the load when it came to the job. cole did the emotional stuff, the bits where he needed to sit down a loved one to change their lives forever in the worst of ways.

leon did the hard stuff. the bits that cole didn’t have the stomach for.

only, cole wasn’t here now, was he? just another ghost that would haunt him until he died and, probably thereafter, actually. 

so it’s with a great reluctance that he grabs a napkin and approaches the woman with tears in her eyes, holding it out at a distance awkwardly, attempting to do the whole ‘shoulder to cry on’ thing cole would be acing right about now.

how does one attend a wake without indulging in the beer?

it’s not a question leon will ever have the answer to. in fact, the moment he’d gotten to hard times, he’d helped himself to the stash behind the bar, leaving tokens behind to pay for it all, of course. he’s not completely a heathen just yet. bash had ended up... somewhere, and while leon liked to think he had it in him to stick around just in case — god, did he fucking hate funerals.

so it isn’t any wonder that he gets himself the hell out of there the second he gets the chance to, a beer in hand he so casually walks away with. yeah, he’d probably hear about it at some point. but right now, he didn’t care.

not for the mourning, or the people. or his own aches and pains.

or, he doesn’t until he spots finn creeping around, anyway.

and like he did the day he spotted him walking past the cafe, leon whistles in his greeting, a grin splitting into his features when he realises just what the boy is up to.

why they’re here, he’ll never know, nor understand.

bash’s insistence they at least stop by to ‘pay their respects’ had him all kinds of confused. so much so he’d stropped about their apartment about it. why would he want to go to a memorial for people he didn’t know? and, in saying that, why the hell would bash want to go at all in the first place? they’d just gotten to town. and, besides finding his long lost brother who was very much alive... it just didn’t make sense.

well, at least, it didn’t until the service started. and leon saw the younger boy’s face.

they weren’t here for the people of fairvale. not the ones living, or dead. they weren’t here to pay their respects to those who’d died of an illness that had plagued the town so suddenly.

no, they were here for sammy, weren’t they?

and, maybe it isn’t his place to pull the boy away like he does when the speeches end and everyone moves to set their candles down. maybe it’s not fair of him to keep him from his real brother who, undoubtedly, would be mourning too. but he does, putting an arm around bash’s shoulder in a tight embrace, moving him away from the main crowd to a small spot on the side.

because whether he liked it or not, the twins had become his, in the end. and god knew he missed sammy, too.

“deep breaths, kiddo,” he murmurs, moving his hand to sit at the top of bash’s head. “deep breaths.”

she could’ve sworn he’d been with her for the first half of the day. never too far from her, even as he hovered around his mother. truth be told, she didn’t quite know where he stood on the famous, bartending councilwoman. a toe dipped in everything, she assumed. relief that she’s alive, and here, and every now and again, some sort of deep shame. not that she would even pretend to understand it. she’d long since let go of those sorts of feelings when it came to the opinion of her parents. they did, after all, kick her to the streets the moment she brought about embarrassment.

she hoped to god that wasn’t the case for micah. 

still, at some point after the memorial, he’d disappeared. when, she couldn’t be too sure, so busy playing guard over fletcher. 

and she does look for him in the crowds, in the cafe and the tavern, finding chomsky and not her son. it’s odd, really, though perhaps not a surprise that he’d be avoiding these things. it’s not as if he had anything to mourn here with the rest of the town. but, the fact he isn’t with her, or trying to be...

well, it doesn’t sit right.

so when she’s sure fletcher is in good company, the thief slips away from the tavern with a frown. like her, micah favored high places and, with the night sky as clear as it is — well, it’s not as hard as one might think to track him down.

slipping up into the guard tower unnoticed had become a rather well practiced skill of hers, mostly because she took amusement in scaring her fellow guards when shift changes came around. only, when she reaches the top silently this time, it’s with the intention of watching her boy for a moment or two, an attempt in gauging where his head is at.

the best part about a wake is the free food.

an unpleasant admittance, but it’s an opinion she has and stands by. the thief had attended more than her fair share of funerals and wakes the moment she found herself deep within her crew, burying member after member every other week. it’s a thing she’d gotten used to, in a way. built up a tolerance to. 

so much so that, maybe it’s a little unsavory, the way she walks around the buffet filling her face, still keeping an eye on fletcher, of course, but taking advantage of the fact she wouldn’t need to worry about dinner tonight.

“these lil sandwiches are insane,” she sighs to no one in particular, popping yet another into her mouth.

it didn’t feel right, nor natural, to be keeping away from fletcher as she had been. 

not when he was so obviously torn up about the memorial, and now, the wake. though, suppose it’s in his best interest for the time being, to allow him to go through the motions of being thanked for all of his help, for his efforts. to mourn and grieve with his colleagues after a battle well fought. perhaps she’d slide up and steal him away when the night came to a close for a moment of quiet that, maybe only she could offer.

but for now, as she did during the speeches and the candle holding, she’d simply watch. look for the signs that he needed saving, if he ever needed it at all.

and it’s all too easy to pick caleb from the crowd to perch beside. maybe a little too easy, actually. it’s not as if she thought all too hard about it when she spotted him and found her feet carrying her towards him anyway. he’s sitting at the bar, and she leans against him the moment she reaches his side. a little bit of contact and stability to keep herself balanced, is what she tells herself when her head rests on his shoulder.

it’s obvious by anyone’s standards that he’s well and truly done.

the way he shies away from the people still here, still drinking, still remembering. the way he flinches the moment anyone gets too close. liam’s head remains bowed and hidden, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and, there’s a small hope inside his head that maybe, if he pressed his back against the wall hard enough, it would eventually open up and swallow him whole.

and he’s so focused on this very thought that, he almost misses kai and the way he puts an arm around his shoulders, guiding him through the crowd in a way that, liam doesn’t even notice the faces they pass by. it’s not until they’re outside and free of all of the noise that he chokes back a sob, one arm wrapping tight around kai’s waist while the other clings to his shirt, his face hidden against the other.