Who: Rusty Beck and Phillip Stroh What: Not a pleasant encounter When: Backdated to Friday afternoon Where:Starbucks Warnings: Language Status: Complete narrative
Rusty was just about done with his first year of college, something that felt more than a little weird. He was a functional adult, or a reasonable approximation of one. Did he still have issues? He had entire back catalogs of them. But he had parents who loved him, he had friends, he was safe. Did he always feel safe? No. Even now, no. Difference was, now he knew he didn't have to get through it all alone.
He'd just gotten out of his class for the day and was in dire need of caffeine. He hadn't exactly been sleeping well, because how could he be expected to given that Phillip fucking Stroh was in town. Right about then, Rusty was really hoping this was more of the dome's shenanigans because the idea of that man being in town for very long? It scared the shit out of Rusty. For himself, yeah, but for other people as well.
Rusty was trying not to panic and freak out, and it was pissing him off that he even had to feel that. He'd reached a point back home where he'd decided that he couldn't live his life being afraid of Stroh, and now this? He was just going to blame it on the man's invading what was supposed to be a safe space for him. And as much as he hated that he had to be followed, he was choosing to be grateful that Peter had at least put people he knew up to it. It was marginally more palatable that way. Marginally.
He was standing off to the side waiting for his coffee -- it was one of the busier times of the day -- and had his nose buried in his phone, checking his email for school, so he wasn't particularly cognizant of anything other than keeping an ear out for his name.
"William!" the barista called out. "Quad espresso macchiato for William!"
"Right here, thank you."
Smooth, calm, collected. And one hundred percent a voice he knew.
"Hello, Rusty."
Well, hell. "What are you doing here?" Sullen and unfriendly, much the way he'd been upon first arriving. Rusty couldn't help it, Stroh just had a way of bringing all his fears out, even moreso now that the bastard had managed to escape from prison.
"You know, I'm really not sure. You could try asking the dome, but I don't think that'd be very helpful." Stroh took a sip of his coffee. "At the moment, I'm still settling in. I don't think it'll take very long, though. Adapting never does."
Rusty suppressed a cringe. The idea of the man having long enough time to adapt terrified him, especially since Stroh was one of the lucky ones who could go into the field they'd been in back home. The man had been a fantastic lawyer, never mind the type of clientele he'd worked with. "No, it doesn't. But sometimes, people shouldn't be allowed to adapt. Don't deserve the chance."
"Oh, come on, now." Stroh just arched his eyebrows. "Do you really think that? There are plenty of people out there who would say you should just suffer, that what you did in the past means you can't have anything good."
"And you're one of them."
"On the contrary. I wouldn't have given half a shit about you, ever, if you hadn't nearly ruined my life." Still calm and even, but with an edge not usually there.
And that would be when Malia popped up. She'd been a little ways behind in line, intentionally so to keep an eye on Stroh, and now she'd seen enough. "And this is the part where I promise to rip your spleen out if you so much as think about going after my brother."
Well, well, wasn't that interesting? "Wouldn't dream of it," Stroh assured her. "I don't have a reason to."
Rusty could practically feel Malia's anger at that. Before she could do anything, Rusty's name was called. "And that would be us taking my drink and getting the fuck out of here," he said, grabbing his drink in one hand and stuffing his phone back in his pocket to start trying to move Malia towards the door. "I am so not explaining to Dad why you lost your shit on some guy in the middle of Starbucks."
"But -- "
"No!"
"Ugh, fine." A pause. "What if I explain it to him?"