Who: Justice and Gus (and NPC’s) What: Justice swallows her awkwardness and calls in a favor, Gus sees more of the Big Picture Where: The Cellar When: Thursday evening Rating: PG-13 Status: Complete
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck Fuck--! It wasn’t here. She knew she’d bought the chili powder, but it wasn’t in the two shopping bags of spices and ingredients she’d bought for the big pot of venison chili she was attempting. There were already two weathered veterans sucking down beers at a booth across the bar, waiting for twenty of their buddies to show for a birthday bash that privatized the Cellar that night, and Justice couldn’t find the one big basic ingredient.
A slew of unsavory words were clogging up her head when she tore through the bags one more time. Looks like she’d grabbed coriander instead, because the recipe she’d gotten online certainly didn’t call for it, and it was the only odd thing out at this point. The meat was already browning on the big stove in the bar’s rarely used kitchen, the vegetables were chopped up and waiting, and Justice was running out of options. This was her biggest day since New Years, and it was going to get her financially past at least two months of back-bills. Plus, she wasn’t exactly needing to be tersely harassed by a bunch of ornry old soldiers who still looked at women Marines like some kind of dangerous mythical animal.
She was out of options. With Dad on a job out of the city for the last month, there was only one person she could call that she knew would actually do this sort of mundane favor for her, right this minute.
It’d been two and a half days since she talked to Gus - and their last conversation was awkward (at best), and god knew she’d been beating herself up over the decision to stay away or call and make things right. Somehow, this little hiccup in her plans seemed to be the big weight that finally broke her resolve.
She missed him. A lot more than she wanted to admit.
Her hand rested on her forehead as she listened to the phone in her ear ring, knowing Gus was off shift - she knew his schedule by heart at this point. A small part of her hoped he didn’t pick up, so it’d force her to deal with this some other way and keep him at a distance that didn’t require her worrying about him in these dark fucking times. But only a small part.
Gus had been turning over quite a few things the past few days, and with no real solutions in sight (he couldn’t stay away from The Cellar anymore than he could stay away from Dan’s diner), he was resigned to the fact that he’d just have to try and push past all the shit that seemed to drop on him. He was settled in watching TV, beer in hand, when his phone went off. Gus rarely got personal calls, so his immediate thought was that something was up with the kids.
He picked it up on the second ring.
“Hello?” he asked, leaning on the arch that separated his kitchen from his lounge area. Gus had left his beer on the coffee table, and had instead taken the remote with him, turning the volume down so he could hear the call better. He really needed caller ID on his home phone, but he so rarely used it, it seemed sort of pointless.
The first thing he heard was Justice clearing her throat. She did it because for some reason, it refused to work on the first try.
“Yeah--hey...” she finally managed to get out. Pinching the phone between her ear and her shoulder, she shot both hands for the pot of stewed deer meat threatening to burn - or at least, that’s what her nose was telling her. Cooking so wasn’t her thing - Justice was the furthest thing from a domesticated animal, and it was showing.
“Um--Are you incredibly busy right now? I need a favor.”
“Oh, hey Coop,” Gus pushed off the wall, and while his concerned expression wasn’t visible, it probably came through in his voice, “Uh, nope. Not busy. Everything okay?”
He winced. That was way too loaded of a question, and he didn’t even think he wanted to discuss what had happened the other night. Or what hadn’t happened.
“Yeah, I’m good, it’s just...” An exasperated breath followed when she nearly dropped the phone into the frying pan, then caught it - at the expense of the frying pan. It clamoured back to the stove with a chaotic bang, and a distant swear word from Justice before she had control again.
“Dammit, sorry. I got a bar full’a Vets who’re expecting chili in twenty minutes, and I forgot the goddamned chili powder. Can you pick some up and drop it here?”
Gus raised his eyebrows and moved over to his pantry, pawing through the slim pickins, but he couldn’t find the chili powder he’d bought. Huh. Well, he’d thought he’d gotten some. He could just grab some at the supermarket, though.
“Sure, no problem. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes, think you can hold ‘em off until then?” he asked, already grabbing his wallet and keys from the coffee table.
A short wave of relief washed over her, and the resulting smile could probably be heard in her voice.
“Yeah, yeah I think I can keep’em occupied. Hey--thanks. I, uh--I won’t keep you long.”
“See you soon,” he said awkwardly. It didn’t help that she sounded frazzled, either. Gus hung up, nearly left the house with his cordless, and finally got himself situated for a quick trip to the supermarket. As quick as it could be, anyway. The Cellar and the supermarket weren’t exactly close. While he was strapping on his seatbelt he kicked something, and with an annoyed growl, felt around on the floor of the car.
When he found the offending object, he just sat there for a minute. Staring.
Oh, you never know when you’ll need some chili powder.
No shit. The tissues, he could brush off as coincidence. The chili powder? That was getting a little weird. And now he had a really uneasy feeling about the salt she’d placed in his cart. What the hell was he going to need that for?
No, come on. That was ridiculous.
“Ridiculous,” he said out loud, tucking the little jar in his coat pocket and heading out to the Cellar. He’d show up in ten minutes instead of twenty, then. When he arrived, Gus went around to the back entrance so as not to start a riot with her patrons, knocking on the door and hunching his shoulders against the cold.
“Hey, Coop, it’s me,” he called out. His hand, shoved deep in his pocket, curled around the jar. Mostly to convince himself it was real.
She’d been in the middle of doling out a round of Boilermakers when the muffled, distant voice cut across the rest of the din, sticking out because it was distinctly different, and familiar. The first thing that registered on her face was confusion, but that was replaced almost immediately by pleasant surprise. That was quick.
Justice excused herself from the gruff horde milling around the counter to cut through to the back door. She slid the chain lock from it’s place and ushered the big Sheriff inside, hurrying to close the door behind him to keep in the heat.
“Christ, you’re speedy,” she said with a genuine smile. This made her night a hell of a lot easier. “C’mon back - I gotta mix it in and let the whole thing boil for twenty minutes.”
“Turned out I had some, so I didn’t have to go to the store,” Gus said, gratefully stepping inside. He couldn’t help but smile at Justice, despite the awkwardness lurking in the corners. It was good to see her, especially with her place busy.
“Uh, here,” he took it out of his pocket. Even though he claimed to have had some, the plastic seal hadn’t been broken, “Smells great, by the way.”
He wasn’t even sure why he was coming in back. No, that wasn’t true. The favor felt very much like pretense, and he wasn’t going to bug out on her. It’d probably be quick and painless anyway - Gus hoped she wanted to stay friends with him as much as he wanted to stay friends with her.
The truth of the matter was, Justice didn’t have a conscious reason for inviting him into the kitchen, save for saving him from dangling in front of a bunch of slightly riled old Dawgs who loved their perverted old jokes and reliving war like it was a party weekend in the Keys. Their way of coping, she guessed, and didn’t judge. Still, it was a different generation.
But there’d also been something beneath that, but she wasn’t really focusing on that.
“Thanks - good to know it’s not a complete disaster,” she said, taking the little jar and cracking the seal with her fingernail. Even short, they were always really sharp.
While she measured the required amount and tossed it in the stock pot, Justice sent a look up at him. They were lit only by the lamp above the stove, since the overhead bulbs never seemed to work right and always tripped the breaker on cold nights like this.
“I know it’s chaos out there, but you’re welcome to grab a beer.”
“Oh, nah,” Gus grimaced, “I don’t want to hear about how back in their day, they actually fought their wars, or whatever the hell.”
He could do without those conversations. Gus pulled off his beanie and held it front of him. They had twenty minutes, right?
“I’m sorry about how things happened at my place the other night,” he said, “No hard feelings?”
He offered her his hand. Maybe it seemed too simple, but Gus didn’t think there was much else to really say. They’d been drunk, they both had their issues, and things had ended pretty damned awkwardly. Gus would rather call it water under the bridge than try to pick it apart.
Justice wasn’t sure what the feeling was that suddenly washed through her like a hard, rogue wave. It wasn’t comfortable, that was for sure, but it also wasn’t anything dark. She could pick those feelings out real easy. Being dead sober at the moment helped a lot - but that still left her confused on what to call it. Or more importantly, how to deal with it.
After a moment, she put the wooden spoon down and swallowed a sigh.
“Just forget about it,” she said gently. “You didn’t to anythin’ wrong.” He hadn’t - she was able to recognize how her reactions afterward were completely disturbing in their potency. They were dangerous, and he didn’t need to be a part of that.
So why did she not want to shake his hand? It seemed somehow wrong - or at least, counter to what she wanted. In the end, she did anyway, and smiled as she did. “It was a drunk mistake - my mistake. So don’t worry about it.”
Gus saw her hesitation, but she eventually did shake his hand, and he felt a little relieved. Not all the way, but enough for them to move forward. He hoped so, anyway.
“I probably could’ve not brought the ticklemonster into things,” he said, grinning a little. After the handshake, he gave her shoulder a friendly pat, hoping that the weird tension he felt was entirely of his own creation.
“You know, funny story, about that chili powder,” a subject change was all he could think of to escape further discussion, “The other day... actually, further than that. I did this seminar at the high school, usual winter safety crap, and I met the art teacher.”
He didn’t realize it, but he smiled a little wider, talking about her.
“Anyway, she’s a real space cadet,” he said, “And I bumped into her at the supermarket. So get this - she starts pretty much leading me around and putting random stuff in my cart, telling me the history of Valentine’s day. It was this ridiculously large box of salt that I don’t think I’ll ever use up, that powder, and a Kleenex box with Spongebob on it.”
Gus paused, making sure Justice was following, but he didn’t pause long. He’d been dying to tell her this story, “So I go out to the parking lot, and there’s this woman who’s obviously an army wife. She’s locked out of her car, her son is screaming - I hand over the Spongebob tissues and help her out, since I had gone shopping in my damned uniform. Weird, right?”
He pointed to the chili powder, “And then you call me up, needing chili powder. I mean it’s a complete coincidence, but it’s really worming around in my brain.”
It sounded a bit sillier out loud than it did in his head, “I mean, she even said, when she put it in my cart ‘oh, you never know when you might need it’,” Gus laughed, “So I don’t know. Maybe the high school art teacher is a psychic.”
Ha ha, just jokes. Seriously, though. He was a little creeped out.
Justice listened and stirred the bubbling pot of chili, definitely noting the subtle brightening of Gus’s face with the subject. Or perhaps it was the object of the subject he was beaming about - a fact that twisted something deep in her gut, but she ignored it. It was good to just shoot the shit again. Though things weren’t perfect, they were easier - back to their version of ‘normal’.
But he went on to describe the things this woman said, and did, and the events that followed... stringing everything together, bells were going off in her brain that she wasn’t entirely certain she should entertain. Coincidences were coincidences, and weird things happened, sometimes at random, with no deeper meaning.
But not in Babylon.
“She gave you a big box of salt?” Well, that was definitely a big clue. Also the fact that anything with the blood of hell in their veins couldn’t look into the future, especially not for the purpose of helping people. Justice moved on, putting a mildly amused smirk on her lips.
“Who knows, right? Did she, uh--she have any tattoos? Like, quirky, Native-like stuff, with feathers?”
Gus just laughed when she repeated the salt thing. Yeah, it was weird. When Justice asked about tattoos, he looked vaguely embarrassed. He wasn’t even sure why. Gus had looked Marion over, however, and not seen any tattoos.
“No, not that I could see,” he said, “She dresses all New Age-y, though. Weaves feathers into her hair. Real colorful skirts, too.”
He itched his jaw, unsure why it was so uncomfortable to tell Justice about the art teacher he’d wanted to chase after and get a number from. Maybe just some residual awkwards from the other night.
“And she talks really strangely,” he added after a longish pause, “She referred to my ex-wife as a fallen woman. Who talks like that, right?”
Justice knew who talked like that.
The smirk in her cheek pulled a bit deeper into the parenthesis dimple created there, and she turned her attention back to the chili. The pot probably didn’t need it, but she went back for another round of stirring.
“Different strokes for different folks.” It was her own little play on the riddlesque, sometimes archaic way of speaking a lot of Heaven’s Hosts displayed. Some didn’t - some adjusted pretty well, usually the ones who were on the front lines, as it were. Like Ken. It sounded like the one Gus had caught was probably of the older variety. A seer.
Man, was she conflicted.
“I think I might’ve seen her around; sounds like someone like that would stick out.” She hadn’t actually seen anyone of that description, but she had to set it up in case Gus caught on that she knew a little more about the ‘weirdness’ than she should have. If one’a those fortune-telling angels was popping up around him, it was likely because the Big Plan included him somehow.
And that could only mean bad things for her... but, at least he had one of the ringers watching his back. Justice couldn’t do it all the time.
“Yeah, she’s definitely different,” Gus said. He leaned on the small counter, folding his arms over his chest, “You know, she offered to come by the station and teach everyone to make sand candles. And I don’t think she was joking.”
He laughed and shook his head.
“Anyway, I just thought it was a weird story. Not sure about the salt,” he smirked, “Maybe someone’s having a magarita party and they’ll run out. My walk does get pretty icy, too.”
It was going to sort of bug him, actually, if he didn’t find a use for the salt. He eyeballed Justice, shifting his weight, but he decided asking her if he ought to get Marion’s number was probably a little too much. Especially after what had happened between them. He wasn’t that big of a moose.
“You need a taste-tester for that,” he pointed at the stew, “I’ll definitely take that bullet.”
“Sure,” she replied, though possibly a little distracted. It was difficult to meet his eyes, but she thought she was coping pretty well, far as normalcy goes. She even dipped the spoon in the chili and blew across it, shielding the floor from drips with her other hand. Justice lifted it toward Gus, watching the spoon more than anything.
“Did she say anything about the salt?” she asked, making it casual and curious.
He leaned forward amicably and tasted it, making a pleasant sound and giving her a thumbs up.
“That is fantastic,” he said, “And I don’t think... oh, yeah. She got it from a Valentine’s endcap and said it was ‘the good stuff’. Or something like that.”
Gus waved a hand vaguely, like he hadn’t been repeating that entire conversation over in his head since it’d happened.
“She knows a lot of history for an art teacher,” he mused, “And a lot about town for being new,” he laughed, “She even knew what I named my car.”
Justice rolled her lips a bit, but forced a nonchalant smirk with her eyebrows bouncing high, right before turning to the sink to wash off the spoon.
“Sounds like she is psychic.” Her tone depicted the very dry sort of cynicism both of them were used to, but this time, it had a purpose besides burying demons that were hard to deal with. The problem that was rolling around in her mind was why a prophesying angel would be giving Gus a large supply of ‘good’ salt. Sea salt, probably. Justice wouldn’t have been surprised if it was certified Kosher.
“Hey, if it’s come in handy twice already, why mess up a good thing?” Keeping herself busy, she moved back to the stove and stirred the pot again. “Better keep it close.”
“Ah, I don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” Gus waved at the air, not realizing how completely ridiculous his supposedly cool, logical statement was, “But I’ll admit it’s pretty strange. I’ve got it in the cupboard, right by the Fruit Loops. Think I should keep it on the nightstand instead?”
He was only joking. Sure, it was a little strange, but that sort of stuff wasn’t real. Fun to pretend about, fun to watch movies about, but real life was complicated enough without mind readers. Or fortune tellers.
Justice just snorted, pushing the sound into a laugh. And kept stirring.
“God knows,” she quipped quietly. It was difficult to keep up enthusiasm for the conversation, but she was trying. The whole point of a lot of her aggravation lately had been to keep him from getting pulled into it. Maybe she’d realized it was impossible earlier, when they ran into each other at the casino. After all, he was the head of law and order of the town that would be known as Armageddon.
The logic didn’t make things any easier, and suddenly Justice really needed a drink.
“So you gonna stay and beat the horde away from me or you headin’ out?” she asked with a quick half-smile sent his way, flipping off the gas under the stock pot.
“Oh, I-,” Gus wasn’t sure and he had to consider a moment, “Yeah, I mean, if you don’t mind. I’m a bigger target than you - I can draw fire.”
All he had waiting for him at home was TV and the beer he’d left, half-drunk, on his coffee table.
“Can I help you with anything?” he offered, finally shrugging off his coat.
Part of her was genuinely glad he decided to stay. Another part was twisting with tension that Justice was getting better at swallowing.
“Here, carry this out to the table by the bar. I’ll be right behind.” Stretching on the toes of her boots, Justice opened the above cabinet, grabbing the bags of shredded cheese and fresh chopped onion. The bowls and spoons were already set out.
Three hours later, the veterans were fed, mostly drunk, and laughing off their fun night out, trickling out the Cellar door in groups. It hadn’t been too bad, slinging drinks for such a quirky, if rowdy bunch - Justice had a few good stories in her head afterward that she really didn’t need forming images in her head - usually spurred on by words like ‘war scooch’ and the like. By the time the last few of them left, she was piling paper bowls and plastic spoons in on themselves to toss in the big bin. The chili was completely gone. So much for left overs.
Gus waved at a few of the stragglers, and once the place was emptied out, he helped with clean-up. Why not, right? He was feeling a bit better overall about things. Things weren’t as awkward with Justice (still a little bit, but he was pretty sure that was normal), and maybe he’d go into Dan’s tomorrow and talk to Lucy, too. Big picture, right? His life wasn’t so bad.
“You open tomorrow night?” he asked her, yawning into the back of his hand. It’d been a long day, at this point, but he figured he’d do one last sweep of the Coop situation before he filed it under ‘solved’.
“You know it,” she said after plopping the last of the garbage in the can. She braced it with her knees and tied the bag off, leaving it by the end of the bar to take out on her way. Justice’s next and immediate destination was the rum and coke she’d made for herself an hour ago, but never got to drink.
She took about half of it down in one breath, then swiped a bead away from the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
“Not gonna be as busy, obviously.” She pushed a hand through her hair, rolling rum on her lips and watching Gus. “You stoppin’ by?”
“Definitely,” Gus said, shrugging on his coat and smiling at her, “I can only drink so many beers by myself before I start telling war stories to the coffee table.”
He thumped the bar with his hand, “Take it easy, all right? And thanks for letting me stick around tonight. It was good to hang out with you again, Coop. Your friendship means a whole hell of a lot to me.”
The smile she sent him was genuine. Though something still felt a little off, maybe it would just right itself in time. Maybe the angel that found him was just helping him help people. Maybe... he’d just skate by the whole horrible thing.
But until then, the words helped a bit.
“Hoo-ah,” she started, then ticked her chin up at the door, implying the night itself. “Be careful out there.” Under the bar, Justice was fishing out another cigarette. “Keep your eyes open.”
“Hoo-ah,” he agreed, “Will do, Coop. G’night.”
Heading out to his car, Gus realized he hadn’t felt this good about things in a really, really long time. He didn’t even know what to attribute it to, but he was glad for it. Things were okay with Coop, so he felt like he could probably patch things up with Lucy, as well. And maybe he’d just drag his ass to the gym every day after work.