Sid is (ex_seeingred41) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-07-28 04:32:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | robber bridegroom, rose red |
Who: Drake and Sid
What: Happy and joyous reunions where no one is emo or sad
Where: Sid's place
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: Um, emo and sad?
Sid already didn't like this city. It wasn't Kansas, and every block wasn't dotted with some rundown mom and pop. It wasn't California, where the sun shone bright and everyone lived off protein shakes. It wasn't New York, with its eclectic cuisine and open attitude. It was a glitter gulch, and when he'd traced Drake here, he'd been completely unsurprised. Drake, who had more wanderlust than anyone who'd ever met, would never get bored in a city filled with neon lights and showgirls. A nice rack always kept his brother from wanting to cut and run, and Sid had thought it fitting for Drake and Rome to settle here. Sid had always wanted to settle down. He'd always wanted normalcy. Drake had always wanted the open highway and a sweet ride. Barring that, he wanted a nice rack and some diner food. Vegas had plenty of both.
But that had been a week ago, and now Sid knew better. Rome was dead. Just like Anne. And Lucien was alive. And somehow the old nightmares were all back again.
At first, Sid had been pissed. He'd slammed a fist into the drywall of the big open house that he'd settled into. He'd made the baby cry without meaning to. He'd spent the whole night trying to figure out how they'd gotten it so wrong. Because they'd fucked up. Make no mistake, man, they'd fucked up.
By morning, when Sid had fallen asleep on the couch, Zoe napping on his bare chest, he'd calmed down. He wasn't calm, but he was calmer. They'd get him this time. This time, he'd do this shit himself. No way was Lucien walking away twice.
And no way was he letting Drake go on some suicide mission.
Sid knew his brother. He knew the guilt Drake carried over Spencer, and he knew how much Drake had loved Rome. Sid had loved the kid too, but not like Drake. Rome had been Drake's chance to get it right, to redeem himself, and it had ended up going all wrong. Sid had never felt that kind of responsibility. He was pissed, but not at himself. Maybe he was just too selfish for that. But what it came down to was simple. He wasn't going to let Drake get himself killed, and he wasn't going to let Lucien survive. Simple.
He'd set Zoe down on her belly in the living room, a pink blanket taking up most of the open space, and he'd gone to put some coffee on. He had no idea when Drake was actually going to show, but he wasn't worried about needing to put on a show for the brother that he'd grown up with. He and Drake had spent most of their lives in rundown motels and the back of a car. Anything resembling a house was a mansion to them. And Sid had done well for himself since Seattle. The house was testament to that.
Coffee on, Sid warmed a bottle, and he scooped Zoe up and wandered around the living room as he fed her. He hummed some old rock tune as he walked, and he thought about how to kill the man that should have already been dead.
Drake had changed his mind a ridiculous amount of times in the days leading up to his arrival on Sid’s doorstep. Back and forth he went, round and round, weighing pros and cons that were grossly skewed by his own paranoia and distrust for the whole damn world as a whole. He knew he needed to go, because convincing his brother to bail on the phone hadn’t worked and that meant in-person was his only option left. He needed to lay it out to him, to make him see reason. Hell, he had a kid now. Sid was a father. The reality still boggled his mind, but of the two of them the younger Wallace had always been more likely to have a wife and kids and a nice house with a dog out front. So maybe that dream had died along with the wife in that scenario, but Sid still had a chance. He could get himself and his daughter clear of the blast radius and leave Drake to fix his mistake. See, he didn’t care if he died. There was no sense of self-preservation that made him want to survive round two with Ian. So long as the bastard was finished off once and for all, his own fate was inconsequential. Whatever needed to be done, he’d do. A soldier to the very end. His old man would’ve been proud.
Finally, after multiple packs of cigarettes, too much booze to count, and a couple of sleepless nights, he made his decision. Bleary-eyed and not quite sober from the night before, he left his car at the motel and nabbed another one from the lot, a beat-up generic thing that he drove all around town before ditching it a couple of blocks from Sid’s address. Then he walked around for about fifteen minutes, a sight in torn jeans and sneakers and a black t-shirt, gun tucked into his pants, until he was mostly mollified that he hadn’t been tailed.
It had been a long, long time since he’d seen his brother. The guilt of Rome’s death still weighed heavily on his shoulders, an added burden to what he already bore; he had a lot of deaths on his hands, and even decades-old ghosts still followed him around wherever he went. Unlike Sid, he’d had a couple of weeks to blame himself and layer on the self-loathing for their failure to kill Lucien, and he was still on that ugly roller-coaster now. Funny how he didn’t blame Sid, even though they’d both been active participants. The eternal older brother, he shouldered all the guilt and all the blame. He’d make Sid see, somehow, that he didn’t need to do this. He didn’t need to be here. What he needed was to get the hell away from Ian, and the hell away from Cerise, who would undoubtedly drag him back down the moment she managed to hook her claws into him again. Drake had already lost practically everyone he’d ever cared about; he wasn’t going to lose his last remaining family member too.
Itching for another cigarette, or a glass of something strong, he made himself stop staring at the door like an idiot and knocked.
Sid's security system had picked Drake up as soon as he stepped onto the white concrete that led up to the house. The motion detector had beeped, and the surveillance camera had given him the first-time advantage when it came to seeing his brother after five years.
When Sid had left Cuba, he'd known that Drake wouldn't be staying there long. Ever since they were kids, he could tell when Drake's wanderlust was kicking in. Where he'd always wanted to stay, make friends, make honor roll, Drake had wanted to move on. Cuba had been that way, and Sid had always known Drake would take Rome and leave Zari behind. He hadn't given up on Drake finding someone to settle down with after that, but he'd accepted that it needed to be a very particular kind of someone. It had been easy to convince himself, during the years of silence, that it had happened. That Drake had found that someone, and that Rome was learning to live a semi-normal life. And maybe he'd been fooling himself. Maybe they'd never been cut out for anything normal, but it was a nice illusion while it lasted.
But the illusion shattered as soon as Sid actually saw the man through the eyes of the surveillance camera.
Sid hadn't changed much in the past five years. Still tall, still broad in the shoulders, there were lines starting to deepen around his blue eyes, and he still hadn't managed to develop any smile lines, though he had plenty of early grey peppering his hair. He had on a pair of khaki pants, and the white undershirt he'd slipped on while he made coffee was clean and new. His white socks were just as clean as the shirt, and he looked like life was treating him well. It wasn't, but Anne's life insurance made him successful, and that showed. He pulled open the door with a pink baby blanket tossed over one shoulder, Zoe's cheek pressed against the soft fabric as she slept, and an empty baby bottle in one hand.
"Drake," he said without preamble. "You look like shit, man. Get your ass in here."
The first thought that ran through his mind was that Sid looked like he’d just stepped out of some campy little sitcom about a married couple and their kids and the damn dog. Drake didn’t know many normal people, so his basis of comparison might’ve been more than a little skewed, but he wasn’t strung-out or bleary eyed, and while he wasn’t as young as he’d been five years ago in that delirious aftermath of killing Lucien, age hadn’t done a number on him yet. It just made him angrier at himself, really, because if he’d just killed the bastard properly, Sid wouldn’t be here with a dead wife and a newfound burden to shoulder along with a kid. During the past five years, he’d imagined the sort of life his brother was leading; happy and stable and smooth. They hadn’t exactly kept in touch, but that was okay. Drake had always known that, in the end, he and Sid were cut out for different lifestyles. So long as his brother was happy, he didn’t mind. His own happiness had never quite factored in.
Even now, that was all he wanted. For Sid to get away, to give being happy another shot. Maybe he could do it. If Lucien died like he was supposed to this time, maybe it wasn’t impossible.
After his too-long silent scrutiny, his gaze moved to the baby, looking like the most innocent thing in the world as she slept. He almost felt like he shouldn’t even be around her, but Drake didn’t turn to leave. “Shut up, Sid,” he said, just like old times, and maneuvered past him to step over the threshold and into the house.
Sid chuckled, despite everything, and he shut the door after Drake walked in.
The security alarm beeped as Sid armed it, and he followed Drake into the large living room. Without the aid of the surveillance camera, he looked at his brother more closely, and his first thought was to wonder where Drake was living, and his second thought was to wonder how much booze was stashed in Drake's fridge. Drake had never been a saint, but Sid had always been the one with dependence problems in the family. He stared at Drake's back for a moment, a frown marring his features, and then he glanced at the bubbling coffee machine and decided to grab the bull by the horns. Once, Sid had researched and studied the hell out of every damn thing before he did it. That had changed since he'd started working. Gut instinct mattered in his line of work, and he'd learned to trust himself more than he trusted research. He still looked shit up, but he didn't let himself be inactive if he didn't have all the pieces to a puzzle.
Sid walked around Drake, and he handed over the baby. He didn't ask. He didn't make it optional. He just did it, and then he turned for the kitchen. "Her room's upstairs. You can't miss it. I don't fit in the crib. Put her down, and I'll get the coffee poured, man." Coffee, black, without any booze in it. Sid thought Drake needed the caffeine as much as he needed to hold onto something that squirmed and was warm. Zoe was blonde and healthy, a solid sleepy weight, and most days that was the most reassuring thing in Sid's life. He knew when Drake looked strung raw, and Drake looked strung raw. This was the soft version of tough love.
"Cerise says she saw you," Sid called out, already partway to the kitchen.
The inside of the house was such a far cry from his shitty motel room that Drake almost laughed as he looked around, trying to remember the last time he’d been inside a proper home. Even down South, with Rome, their place hadn’t been a damn thing like this. Neither of them needed much; living above the garage was enough. It was confirmation that, even though Lucien had once again fucked up their lives, Sid had managed to do well for himself beforehand. That just made their current situation and his part in bringing it down on them sting all the worse.
He wasn’t ignorant to the way Sid was staring at him; back turned or not, he could feel it, and he regretted not sobering up fully before stopping by. Any claims of I’m fine were going to be little more than hot air with all evidence pointing to the fact that he was very much the opposite. That wouldn’t stop him from slipping into full-on denial mode if questioned, though, however much of a lost cause it might have been. He braced himself for something, whether it be another observation about how he looked or some kind of head-on question concerning his current living conditions. What he wasn’t expecting was for Sid to hand the baby over, just like that, no warning or request for permission. It was, admittedly, smart on his part, because the suddenness of it meant that Drake reacted without thinking, awkwardly extending his arms to accept the precious bundle and holding her like he had no idea what the hell she was or what the hell he was supposed to do with her. He stared at Sid when he gave him directions to her room, a silent what the fuck reflected in his gaze, but he didn’t take the baby back, and what was he supposed to do, fucking drop her? Drake looked down at the tiny person in his arms, biting back a string of curses as he turned carefully towards the stairs; the sooner he put her in her damn crib, the sooner he could stop feeling like he was infecting her with his poison just by holding her.
Halfway up the stairs he paused, the mention of Cerise making him scowl. Of course the two of them had been in touch already. “She did, huh? Fu--” He cut himself short, jaw clenching as he glanced down at the baby. Goddammit. “Ian sent her to follow me,” he called back, sullen. “Big surprise. Please tell me you’re not stupid enough to get mixed up with her again, Sid.” He knew they had history, and Cerise had some kind of weird hold over him; he didn’t like it one bit, and he was certain she’d just drag him down all over again, even if she hadn’t looked the least bit strung-out on the hood of his car. Finding the baby’s room was easy, and Drake was all too eager to lay her in her crib before he could do any damage. He did hesitate, just for a moment, looking down at his niece (that was a weird fucking thought) before turning on heel and heading back downstairs.
The hallway upstairs was open and visible from below, and Sid moved into the living room with two cups of of coffee and watched as Drake disappeared into Zoe's room. "Not getting mixed up with anyone, Drake," he called out. "Not in high school, man." Because he'd done precisely that shit in high school. He'd gotten mixed up with Cerise to the point where he couldn't see straight without her telling him which way to look. But that had all changed in Seattle. He loved Cerise; there was no point lying about that anymore. But they brought out the worst in each other, and they always had. It was why he'd let Cerise go off with Jack in the first place, and he hadn't forgotten that fact. He'd wanted her to have someone who was good for her, and he'd wanted a different kind of life for himself. The fact that he hadn't been able to love his wife the way she deserved, that was on him, not on Cerise.
"Told me he had her following you. She's supposed to swing by, but I'm not getting mixed up with her," Sid reassured, and he sat on one of the long grey couches and set Drake's cup on the coffee table. He knew Drake would think trusting Cerise to come to the house was a bad idea, but Sid had never thought Cerise would sell him out to Lucien. Even after five years, he was damn sure she'd sacrifice herself before doing that. Cerise had always been that way, but Drake had just never seen it.
Sid took a sip of his coffee, and he motioned up toward the bedroom. "You're going to stay and help me with her?" he asked. It wasn't entirely a selfish suggestion. Drake looked like shit, and a house with steady meals would do wonders for his brother, as far as Sid was concerned. Drake had always looked out for him, and maybe it was time he started repaying the debt. "That was the reason I came out here. Wanted family around." He hadn't know anything about Cerise or Lucien; that wasn't why he'd come. It was why he was staying, but it wasn't what had brought him out to Vegas.
Drake rolled his eyes at the high school comment, because he was damn sure Sid knew exactly what he meant. Some people could forgive and forget, but not him. He couldn’t do either. Cerise could save a burning building full of children numerous times over, and his opinion of her still wouldn’t change. Love didn’t matter either; he’d probably never believe that his brother loved her, really loved her, but maybe that had a lot to do with his own inability to understand what it was like. Oh, he knew love, but only the kind that ran deep between family. Romantic love wasn’t his thing, and he’d probably only ever felt it once or twice in his entire life without even knowing it. Regardless, with Sid and Cerise in the same place, he was almost certain he’d have to do his damndest to keep them apart and prevent history from repeating itself. “You know what I mean,” he retorted, and while it didn’t surprise him that she’d told him about Ian assigning her to tracking duty, his expression darkened into a scowl when he said she was swinging by. Yeah, right, they weren’t getting mixed up with each other again. “She’s coming by for a friendly visit, huh?” He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily through his mouth, taking a seat on the couch opposite the coffee table after a moment’s hesitation. “Damn right you’re not, because if you do I’ll kick your ass,” he told him, and it was a viable threat. He was a failure when it came to the whole older brother schtick, but it was still his job to protect his sibling and he wasn’t capable of stopping just because he’d fucking up royally in the past; it was practically hardwired into him.
Staying here had never once occurred to him. He didn’t have a home, and the place he rested his head at night wasn’t someplace he’d ever want his brother seeing. There was a sort of freedom on that type of solitude, though. No one knew or cared what he did in his free time, and if there were too many empty bottles scattered about, well, it was his business and no one else’s. But if he was here, he couldn’t exactly drink days away and go through pack after pack of cigarettes within hours. He’d never touched drugs, not aside from the prescription type when booze stopped putting him to sleep, but he’d cultivated his own vices since Rome had died and he’d stopped caring all over again.
“I don’t think you want me around, Sid.” It was probably the most honest thing he’d said in a while, and it was the closest he was willing to come to admitting that he wasn’t okay. “Especially not around your kid. Besides, you should be taking her and hitting the road, not sticking around here.”
"I tried to get her to come by two times before this, man, and it didn't work," Sid admitted, taking a sip of his coffee and lounging lazily on the couch. He was an arm across the back, knees spread and his long legs beneath the table. He didn't look like someone who was pissed off, but man was he ever. Bubbling beneath the skin were all kinds of revelations that he wasn't happy about, but none of that showed in his face. The damn hotel had told him that he was numb, but he was sure you had to dig deep to get there, because all he felt just then was icy rage. But there was a grin for his brother as he sipped his coffee, and a casual shrug of a shoulder. "She didn't want to see me. Finally gave in," he added of Cerise. And still being hung up on the girl she'd been wasn't the problem here. In fact, he saw Cerise as a checkmark in the positives column. She was inside Lucien's house, and he trusted her. He'd get her out if she wanted to leave, but he wasn't above using her while she was there. Sid had accepted the fact that he was a bastard the day he buried his wife, and he wasn't spending any time lying to himself about it these days. "Cee knows better than to hook up with me, Drake." Because, and it was the truth, he was the dangerous one in the equation, not Cerise.
"You let me figure out what I think, Drake," was Sid's response to Drake's insistence that Sid wouldn't want him around. "I get that you're fucked up," because, face it, that was pretty fucking obvious, "and I know you're only concentrating on Lucien right now." Because Sid knew that too. He could probably walk away, if his anger simmered long enough, but Drake never would. Drake lived for his family, and he always had, and Lucien had messed with that shit for years. "But look at it from where I'm sitting, dude. I have an infant that I want to keep safe, and I have a job I dig that I'm not leaving just because Lucien's in town. I have a house, and you're probably sleeping in some shithole with an avocado colored bathroom. I'm staying, and it'll be easier for me to keep Lucien from torching this place if you're in it during the day, while I'm at work." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and blue eyes angerdark. "We're gonna get this guy. You're not doing this shit alone, and I'm not leaving you to pick up the pieces by yourself once it's done."
Once Drake formed an opinion about something or someone, it was damn near impossible to sway him. In his mind, while Sid wasn’t a squeaky-clean perfect saint, Cerise was the one at fault, the one to blame. He scowled into his coffee as Sid told him that he was the one who’d pushed to see Cerise, stubbornly refusing to believe it. While he would have seen merit in the idea of using her for inside information, his problem was that he didn’t trust her enough to believe what she might tell them. He’d always wonder if she was just feeding them what Ian wanted them to hear, and taking her words as truth required faith he didn’t have. Hell, he barely had any faith in himself, never mind other people. “Yeah, I’m sure she didn’t want to see you,” he muttered bitterly. Maybe, in a different life, under different circumstances, he could have liked Cerise. But this wasn’t a different life and it wasn’t different circumstances, and on good days the most he could muster up was general disdain towards her; bad days were hatred, though never as burning or deep-seated as his hatred for Ian. “You’d better know better than to hook up with her too,” he warned, as though he actually had some sort of control over that aspect of his brother’s life.
No argument or denial came, because he was fucked up, and he was entirely focused on Lucien. His life had become a single-minded quest to kill him once and for all, and there was nothing beyond that. But Sid, Sid was different. He began to shake his head, to tell him that leaving was the best way to keep his daughter safe and that he could find another job somewhere else, somewhere far away. But he knew his brother, and he knew that if he wanted to stay, he’d stay. He could rant and rave all he wanted, but he couldn’t make Sid leave if he didn’t want to. After a long, long moment, Drake set his coffee down, still mostly full, and rubbed at his eyes with heels of his hands. “Alright,” he said, finally. “I’ll stay here. But if we’re doing this together, Sid, then that means together, alright? No going behind my back or doing shit without telling me.” And maybe that was hypocritical of him, since he was likely to do the same thing, but he was more worried about Sid than he was himself just then.
"Cee's not exactly fond of me these days, man," Sid reminded his brother. "I left her for another woman, remember?" Not that Irene was around anymore, but he knew it was what Cerise remembered when she thought of him. Personally, he thought Irene had gotten lucky. She'd gotten out, and she was alive somewhere as a result. "Relax," he added. He knew Drake wouldn't, because Drake could be an obsessive motherfucker, but he'd never kept from saying things just because it was a given that Drake wouldn't listen. "Man, you're pushing forty like we used to push the car when it ran out of gas. It's time to end this thing and put it in the rearview." He stood, grabbing his coffee mug and using it to point at his brother when he passed him on his way into the kitchen. "And if you don't dry out, we're not gonna get this guy." Simple. Drake looked like he hadn't slept in days, and like he hadn't been dry for even longer. "It's sad when the addict is telling you to dry up." There were days when Sid missed the needle more than he missed any single dead person in his past, but he didn't give in, and Drake wasn't going to reach for a bottle, either.
Sid poured himself a fresh cup of brew, and he leaned back against the kitchen counter. He grinned when Drake agreed to stay, and despite the thirty years on his bones, it was a kid's smile, crinkled eyes and win at getting his older brother to fold like a wet towel. "You have my word," he said, using the new coffee cup as a toasting mechanism, then taking a sip. "I work all hours. I hired an old woman to come. She doesn't speak a lot of English, and she won't sell us out to Ian." He crossed his ankles, and he sighed. "If things go crazy, you're going to have to call. I lose track of time at work." Which had made him a terrible husband, a terrible father, a terrible friend, and terrible brother, but, just like Drake, Sid had his own ways of coping.
Things with Irene hadn’t worked out, sure, but she was a damn sight better than Cerise and Drake wasn’t going to waste whatever sympathy he had left on her. “Far as I can remember, Cerise left with another guy too.” Personally, he felt like Jack probably would’ve been better off without her too, but whatever. As long as Sid kept his distance, he didn’t care who else she decided to get shacked up with; anyone else who got mixed up with her could deal with the consequences of their decision. He scowled again when Sid told him to relax, but there was less actual anger in the curl of his lip and more of an instinctive response. As for pushing forty, his age wasn’t something he gave much thought to. Birthdays didn’t matter; he hadn’t celebrated one in a while. Getting older didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, now, except killing Lucien and finally ending this. Even if he made it out alive, he had no idea what he was supposed to do with his life when it was over. There was no Rome waiting in the wings, no Zari he could follow back to Cuba; that was done and finished, now. And of course Sid would bring up the drinking instead of beating around the bush, and he actually felt a faint pang of something like shame that his little brother had to tell him to dry out. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, staring down at his knees. He was no saint, but he wouldn’t drink around the baby and he hadn’t sunk so low as to take off for the sole purpose of drowning his sorrows. He had no idea how the hell he was supposed to just stop, but he’d already agreed to stay here and he couldn’t have both.
Drake looked over his shoulder when Sid gave his word, a reluctant smile tugging on his lips as he raised his own coffee mug in return and, after eyeing it critically for a moment, took a deep gulp. The mention of work made him think of trying to find some actual employment, rather than his usual methods, but he could think about that later. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and then paused. “You like your job?”
"I don't think Jack and Cee are like that, man," Sid said. He had nothing to go on but his understanding of Cee and his knowledge of Jack. The former was damn extensive, and the latter could fit in a shot glass. But he'd never been jealous of Jack back in Seattle, and Sid liked listening to his gut when it came to women. If Jack and Cee had been all into each other, he would have known. He'd had plenty of sex with Cee then, and she didn't act like a woman that was getting it on the side. That might have changed, but somehow Jack and Cee had drifted apart, and he wasn't asking questions. "They aren't together now, Drake. If they were, Cee wouldn't be crashing with Lucien. No man would let Cee crash with Lucien if he gave a damn about her." Which, really, was all he needed to know about Jack Corvus these days. The coffee mug was used to point again, an extension of Sid's arm that was intended to drive something home. "Doesn't matter if you break up with a woman, if she runs into trouble, you get her out of it. That guy's walking around here not doing a damn thing. He doesn't give a shit. I've had more relationships than you, bro, I trump on this subject."
Sid was glad when Drake didn't argue about the booze, but he knew better than to take that yeah, yeah as agreement. Drake wasn't big on telling him no. Drake had always been an 'agree and do whatever the fuck he wanted' kind of guy, and Sid know it better than anyone. But he'd be able to call Drake on it later, if it came to that, and that was really all he gave a shit about. "Love it," Sid said of the job instead, choosing to focus on a positive. "I went back to law school when I left the island, but I shifted gears quick. Did the EMS thing, lost Irene with all the long hours riding along nights. Got into a firehouse, and fell in love with the job." He shook his head sadly, and he took a long swallow of his coffee. "I was a shit husband, man." There was something to be said for actually saying those words aloud. "You woulda liked Anne. She was hot." He grinned, knowing his brother's criteria for women, but there was sadness in the grin. He pushed away from the counter. "Are you still pulling scams and hustling pool?"
Drake had no idea what Jack and Cerise were like, and he didn’t really give a damn. The guy seemed interested in seeing Ian go down in flames and that was enough for him. Didn’t seem stupid enough to take her at her word, either, which was a mark in his favor. “Whatever. Didn’t say that they were all lovey-dovey, Sid. I just know they left Seattle together. He seems worried about her now, but he’s more interested in seeing me-- us, now,” he added, “kill Lucien once and for all.. Lot of people ‘round here wouldn’t care if we put a bullet in his head.” Oh, he still had his money, the bastard, and his connections, but things were different here. Barely even a month, and he’d already managed to piss off an angry mob. Hell, maybe when it was finally over they’d have themselves a parade. The Wallaces would be heroes. He almost laughed at the thought, absurd as it was, his swallowed the not-so-sane sound down and refocused on the topic at hand. He wasn’t about to get all offended on Cerise’s behalf at Jack’s apparent lack of concern, so he simply shrugged. “Okay, so he doesn’t give a shit. You’re the expert. My track record with relationships is shit.” Which was putting it nicely.
In his entire life, he’d never found a job he loved. He didn’t know what it felt like, though he thought it probably felt pretty damn good, but he wasn’t going to begrudge Sid any happiness he could find. “Good,” he said, with an approving nod. “People go their whole lives without finding something like that.” He knew better than anyone. As for Sid being a shit husband, he just shook his head. “Least you were one.” Drake was almost certain he’d die without ever having been married, or had kids, or done anything with his life except get people killed and leave them in the dust. But maybe, just maybe, killing Lucien and making it so that his brother could, at least, have some semblance of normality would make up for all of that. He smiled when he said he would’ve liked his wife, which turned into a cocky grin at the addition of her looks. “Sounds like she was out of your league, then,” he said, and shrugged again, just one shoulder this time, in response to the question about how he was earning his money. “Hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
"I noticed he was being a moron," Sid said of Lucien. "He used to be more careful. Now he's just pissing everyone off. But that's good, man. He won't live out the year, even if we don't get to him." But Sid did want to be the person that got to him. He wanted to take Lucien down, and he wanted to watch the life leave the man's eyes. He didn't want to go through this again, and he didn't want Drake going through this shit again, and he wanted Zoe to grow up with being scared of flames in the night. He didn't care about being a damn hero. He was pissed, even if he was grinning harmlessly into his coffee. He wanted this to end, and he wanted it to end messy and hard. Maybe he took after his dad more than he wanted to admit some days. He realized Drake was still talking about Jack and Cerise, and he chuckled. "Whatever, man, I've never been good for Cee, and she's never been good for me." Which was just the plain, God's honest truth.
Sid shrugged his shoulders at Drake's approving nod about his work. Leave it to Drake, the perpetual older brother, to manage to pull some approving shit out of his ass just then. Rome was dead, Anne was dead, Lucien was alive, and Drake was still ruffling his hair. "I'll thank Lucien for setting me on my career path, just before I put a bullet between his eyes," he said, his grin wry and joking, because they'd learned to smile through nearly anything, the two of them. Might have just been surface smiling, but it was better than just lying down and giving up. He didn't like Drake's "Least you were one," when it came to being married. "Drake, dude, I was giving you shit about your age. We take care of Lucien, and you'll get your chance." Maybe Drake needed someone as free as him, but Sid wasn't willing to accept that Drake's life was going to be nothing but bottles of cheap beer and the occasional stop at Zoe's ballet recitals. "Don't argue with me," he added. "I'm bigger than you, and I can kick your ass." But he grinned about Anne being out of her league, because she had been. There wasn't any doubt about that.
Upstairs, the baby cried, and Sid set the coffee down and stood. "Go get your shit, dude." He walked to the kitchen, and he pulled his keys off a nail that was hanging there. He slid one free, and he tossed it to his brother.
Good, yeah, but while an angry mob might not be a bad thing Drake shared Sid’s desire to be the one to end things. It was personal for them in a way it wasn’t with anyone else. It went back years, generations, and he felt like it had to be them. Or him, at least. “Yeah,” he said, distantly thoughtful. “Sure would be nice to be the ones to get to him first, though. That’s the plan.” As for Jack and Cerise, he just shrugged, sullen, like a little kid who didn’t want to agree but no longer had it in him to argue.
Sid’s joke might have made some flinch, and maybe it was in poor taste, but he grinned regardless. Their sense of humor wasn’t like anyone else’s. “Bet the look on his face’d be priceless,” he remarked. As for getting his chance at being a husband, that made him crack up. He’d never seen himself getting married, and no matter how he squinted or tilted his head, he still didn’t see it now. That sort of thing just wasn’t for him. He’d accepted it. “Yeah, sure. I’m not getting fucking married, Sid. I’ll argue with you all I want, and bigger than me or not, you couldn’t kick my ass even if you tried.” He leaned back on the couch and raised his eyebrows. “I can still kick yours, though.”
There had still been time, before then, to change his mind. But then he tossed the key his way, and he caught it out of pure reflex; in a way, that sealed the deal. He nodded, and he rose from the couch. “Alright.”