Who: Liz and Max What: Drinks and Catching up. Where: The Edison. When: BACKDATED! Uhm, to the night of the march? (I think?) Warnings: Some swearing, but that's it.
Liz had found herself a rather comfortable spot at the bar in the Edison. She didn’t have much time to prepare after work, so the girl looked rather messy and worn out as she ordered a glass of scotch. Just as she had told Max, she was wearing her ratty army jacket, the tank-top, and some ripped jeans with her combat boots to piece it all together. She knew she didn’t look as though she were coming to bring someone back to her bed, and she hoped that it would keep most people from talking to her. These sorts of places hadn’t been her stomping ground in quite some time, but even Liz couldn’t keep herself from eyeing the more attractive of people around the bar. Old habits die hard, it seemed.
The scotch warmed her as she downed the glass in an experienced gulp, and Liz leaned herself back, to look over the crowd. She was looking for someone that was trying to find her, but more than that, she was looking for people that might cause trouble. After all, it was kind of what she lived for, but after all this time, every person she watched seemed to be the sort. She let out a heavy sigh, and ordered another drink, shaking her head as she mumbled quietly to herself, “God, I hope I have the right time...”
Max was a few minutes late. Life had become a cycle of chaos lately, and this night was no different. It had taken some work to even manage to get to the Edison, but with all that had been happening recently, she could use the drink. And, if she was honest, she wanted to see the woman she’d saved when she wasn’t even old enough to drive.
The night was imprinted in Max’s memory like something out of a movie. The gunshot, and the woman on the street bleeding. It had been dark, raining, and she’d been running away from home. Her bag had been hoisted high on her shoulder, and she had decided to leave the General and all his hopes and dreams behind in favor of her own. It had been the one glaringly selfish moment of her entire young life, and it had all changed with that gunshot.
Elizabeth Jacks hadn’t woken up, not in the year Max spent visiting her, and she had been beyond surprised to learn the woman was in Seattle; she wanted to see her, even if it meant maneuvering an infant, a teenager and a Bat to do so.
Max looked for the Army jacket and the blonde hair, and she had the advantage. The other woman hadn’t changed, not at all, and Max squeezed in at the bar and ordered a beer, before looking over at her. “Hey,” she said. She was dressed in slim jeans, heels and a gray tank top, her jacket tugged off and laid across the barstool as she waited on her drink. “You haven’t changed.” She held out a hand. “Max.”
Liz’s eyes shot to the side at the greeting, and for the briefest of moments she nearly said something rather rude and uncalled for. The woman didn’t seem to be like one of the cretins she had been eyeing, but the next statement made her eyes go wide. Liz smiled genuinely, though it was far from bright and shining, and took Max’s hand to shake it. “I wish I was able to say the same, but it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Max.” A warm look stayed in her eyes, even if the smile seemed to fade on her face. It wasn’t that she was unhappy to see Max, it was merely the fact that Liz rarely smiled, so the muscles grew tired quickly.
Liz turned to the bartender and motioned that Max’s drink was on her, before she tossed her hair over her shoulder to look back at Max. “I haven’t been around too long, so that could be it, but I like to think the lack of blood is a welcome change.” She scratched the back of her head, almost sheepishly, as if she was uncertain what exactly to say. “I have you to thank for that. I didn’t think I was going to make it. Er... and sorry for the gratitude to have come this late.”
Max took a very grateful sip of her beer, then another, nothing graceful or demure about the tipping back of the bottle. “God, I could get so fucking drunk,” she said, laughing at herself as she put the bottle down on the counter. “It’s been awhile, and it’s been a shit few days,” she explained. She still hadn’t seen Thomas, and it was starting to wear on her; getting drunk sounded like fucking heaven just then.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Max added after giving a bald 40-something that approached them an unimpressed look. “You changed things for me, too, you know. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t gotten gunned down on that street.” She didn’t pull punches when she said it, and she tipped her head immediately after, a question in the movement. “I always wondered what happened. I’d sit in your hospital room and wonder. Fill me in? I promise it won’t go to print,” she said, accustomed to having to defend her profession all over the place.
Liz sighed softly, a fall in her shoulders accompanying the defeated laugh. She never really gave it too much thought, but she could see how a nagging question for that long could wear on a person. After all, Liz was going through a living hell trying to figure out why they made exotic scented handles on razors. This was a bit more intensive, to be sure. “There isn’t too much to tell, to be honest. Maybe I had a bit of a fucking death wish.” She drummed her fingers on the counter, wondering if she was going to be kicked out if she lit up a cigarette.
“You ever look out at the world and say, ‘That. That right there is fucked up.’? That’s what I did that night. I overheard someone talking about using their kid to get the blow past the cops.” She waved her hand in the air as if trying to dismiss any sort of thought about what else they had done with the kid, and continued, “I confronted the asshole, and while he and I argued his buddies came up. I guess I posed enough of a threat that one of them shot me.” Her fingers ran through her hair before she ordered another drink from the bartender. She turned back to Max and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s sort of a blur. I don’t really remember even being shot.” Her tone through everything was rather nonchalant, as if anyone would have done the same. “Now... how does it work that things changed for you?”
Max finished one beer and asked for a next, and she downed half of it before responding. She laughed at the idea of realizing the world was fucked up, and she ran her finger around the rim of the beer bottle. “I cover homicide for the Times; I know life is fucked up,” she said honestly, taking another swig. “Did you at least have a weapon when you confronted the asshole?” she asked, sounding impressed, because she was impressed. “I was running away that night, but I wanted to see how you were, so I stayed,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn’t stayed,” she said, knowing it was the truth somehow. “And I have some shit that means a lot to me right now, so thank you. Back then, it didn’t feel like anything was worth sticking around for.”
Max didn’t smoke, but she reached out a hand for a cigarette anyway. “Still got that death wish?” she asked.
Liz tilted her head as she listened, “I don’t envy your job. I think I’d go fucking mad if I was faced with it day in and day out.” It was the truth. She was disappointed in the human race twenty-five hours a day as it was. If she had to sit there and write about it, she’d probably take a gun to her head within the first few days. “But to answer your question, no. I didn’t. It wasn’t anything I planned on doing that night. I think it could have ended worse if I had. I still think about that kid, though. I wonder what happened to him. I hope he was given a second chance, but I don’t think I got through to his asshole father before I was shot.” She was rambling, and as she caught herself, she shook her head and took a large drink of her fresh scotch.
She looked at Max carefully, something stirring inside of her at the woman’s words. “I know the feeling. Not having anything to stick around for.” Liz chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek for a moment. “I mean, if my being shot did the slightest bit of good, it was worth every second. I just feel like I’m the one that should be thanking you every day that I wake up. So, I’m honored to meet someone that did the right thing... and gave enough of a shit to stick around. There aren’t many people that would have done that if they were in your shoes. I could count the number on one hand of people like that I’ve met. Gives me hope for people to know there’s at least one more..”
Liz shook a couple of cigarettes loose, and handed one to her, before she flicked her lighter open to light the both of them. She flinched in pain at the static electricity shock from coming in contact with the metal, but shook it off quickly. With the cigarette still dangling from her lips, she smirked and snapped the lighter shut, “Every day of my life. As long as it was worth something.”
The woman spoke like a Mask. Max knew that tone, that anger at society, that driving desire to make a difference even when everything was complete fucking shit. Looking at her, though, Max didn’t think she actually was a Mask - at least not yet. She’d be fucking shit at being part of a team, and she’d be mouthy and impossible, and she gave a damn. Yep, definitely a Mask.
Another beer bottle was set on the counter as Max topped it off, and she asked for a third for both of them, the second one already giving her a comfortable buzz that she hadn’t felt since she’d found out she was pregnant (which felt like an eternity ago as it was). “My job is a pain in the fucking ass,” she agreed. “When I moved here, I thought I could make a difference. Make every damn bastard sitting in an armchair realize they could make a difference. It didn’t fucking work.” She motioned toward the outside of the bar with the fresh bottle. “And now they just try to shoot anyone who they think might be helping them.”
Max lit one of the offered cigarettes, and she gave the other woman a reporter’s look over. Nothing casual in the slip of her gaze. “Still don’t have anything to stick around for, huh?” she asked, hazarding a guess and hoping for a payoff. “It’s harder once you have something worth losing. Let me fucking warn you in advance,” she said, blowing smoke over her shoulder. “What are you doing with that death wish these days?”
Liz laced her fingers together before she turned her palms outward and stretched her hands out in front of her, cracking her knuckles in one rather loud go. She smoked the cigarette greedily, as though she had been waiting far too long for it. “Well, to be fair, anyone that helps is taking the chance of getting shot every night. People should be happy someone is out there helping clean up the streets. It’s not like anyone else is going to fucking do it.” She took another long drink, shaking her head slowly as she finished. “After all, people don’t like to change when things are comfortable for them.”
A smirk appeared on her face, turning up one corner of her mouth as she listened to Max though. “If I had something to stick around for, I wouldn’t be here.” Liz wasn’t entirely sure if she was talking about Seattle in general, or where she was in her life, but the statement rang true either way. “As for the death wish,” she laughed quietly, almost morbid in her realization, “Who says I’m living now?”
Max turned on her barstool, crossing her legs at the knee and regarding the blonde. She could have been looking at herself a year ago, a strange sort of mirror. She stubbed out the cigarette, only half smoked, and she finished her beer, the buzz going nicely to her head. “Ever think of hooking up with them?” she asked, referring to the Masks. “Or that too much teamwork for you?” she asked, a question tinged with curiosity and nothing more, not outwardly. “And you never know, finding something to stick around for might land you right where you are now,” she told her, a confession in it. “It might make you take even more risks. The only fucking difference is you don’t want to die, when it’s all said and done.”
She looked at Liz - really looked - and then she sat back a little. “Where are you staying?” she asked.
Liz sighed a little and shook her head. “I haven’t really given it any thought.” She knew what Max was talking about, and the thought of it sent her into a bit of a funk. “It’s not the teamwork, to be honest with you. I could easily work with people if they’re doing the right thing. Most of them don’t. It’s a thin line, you know. I’ve seen people... it normally comes down to revenge. Or doing it for themselves. Or some sort of obligation. It’s fine, when it goes to the same end. But every fucking time they wind up having to make the choice, and every fucking time it ends one of two ways. One,” Liz put up one finger, as she took a drag from her cigarette. “They choose to go back to their life because there’s no use trying to make a difference, or their family is more important. Or two,” She put up another finger. “They cross the line, and realize they can do what they were doing to benefit themselves. Becoming what they originally started out fighting.”
She stamped out her cigarette in the ashtray, and took down the rest of her drink in two easy swallows. “I don’t need something to stick around for to put my life on the line. There’s a little girl that lives over the liquor store I work at. She wants to be a ballerina. I just want there to be a world where she has the chance, Max. Why should the whole fucking world stand in the way of her dreams?” Liz rubbed her forehead in frustration before she ran her fingers through her hair and let out a long and heavy sigh. “I’m at the Hamartia. 203. If you’re ever in the area.”
That speech was the most convincing one Max had ever heard for putting on a mask, and she ordered them both another round before saying anything at all. “What do you do?” she finally asked. “How, where, what?” She tipped back the beer, and she tried to figure out if it was just the booze that was making her talk, but now. There was something about this woman that she couldn’t put her finger on. Maybe it was the fact that she’d watched her sleep for weeks on end, willing her to wake up. Maybe it was the fact that she’d dreamed an entirely life for her in that bed. Maybe it was a million things she would never understand, but at the end of the day there was something there. “I don’t know if you follow the news,” she said, “but I’ve covered the Masks a whole hell of a fucking lot in the last year. They’re a passion for me,” she said. “I can’t speak for all of them, but the ones I know, they do it for the same reason you do. They’re the real thing. I can get you a meet, if you want. A good woman, that’s something they’re short on.” The last part was said with another tip of her beer and a grin.
Liz lit another cigarette as Max talked. She debated why she was telling Max everything without holding things back. It wasn’t anything she was trying to hide, and while she may have had a few drinks, she was far from being drunk enough to talk. No, it had to be due to the fact that she felt she owed Max the respect of being told the truth, even if she didn’t know this woman from anyone else on the street. She had saved her life, and she deserved to have that life to have been worth the effort. Liz took a few drags from the cigarette as she debated it, blowing the smoke away from Max, but seemingly not having cared that she blew it right into the face of one of the sexier men that was coming up to talk to them. He turned around and left and Liz let her gaze fall back on Max. “I just help where I can. If that means infiltrating the mob, or stopping someone from getting beat to a pulp in a bar... Try to show people they can have a second chance. Unless you meant for a job, because that’s really very trivial comparatively. But, if they are as you say they are, then I wouldn’t be opposed to a meeting.”
“Things are complicated right now,” Max said, already knowing this woman wasn’t going to give a shit about complications. “I figure you have a right to know about that up front.” She didn’t mention the Bat or the mess in the papers. She just finished off the beer, and she set it on the counter. She was definitely more than buzzed, that sort of peace that came with too much drinking seeping into her, an old and familiar friend. “I thought you were a cop,” she said, “when I helped you. And then I decided you were a hero, because heroes are better than fucking cops. And I remember the nurses would come in and ask who I was, and I lied and said I was your kid sister.” She laughed quietly, and she slid off the barstool. “Someone will be in touch,” she said, and she held out a hand as she swayed slightly - slightly left, slightly right. This woman made her feel young in a way she hadn’t in a long time.
Liz listened to Max, and there was a misty moment when she called her a hero. She felt her eyes sting with the proud tears that she fought back instinctively. It was the one time she could honestly believe that someone thought that, and she dropped her gaze for a moment as she smoked. “If I did have a sister, I’d want her to be like you.” A flip of her hair over her shoulder, and she looked back at Max with a small but genuine smile. “Thank you.” There was quite a bit of emotion behind those two words, wanting to thank her for everything she possibly could, but the words seemed to fall flat. She slid off the bar stool and took Max’s hand, shaking it once with warmth as she noted her swaying. “Maybe we should get you a cab.”
“You should try telling my actual sister that,” Max said, a fond grin on her lips despite her near-constant exasperation at Audrey. “Audrey alternates between wanting to beat people up with baseball bats and crying when someone hurts her feelings. I’m pretty sure it’s all my fault somehow,” she added, but even that sounded fond. She started to wave off the offer for a cab, but then she thought better of it and pulled out her cell, calling for one without any argument. “I have to swing by the hospital anyway,” she told her, thoughts slipping a little thanks to the beer. “I haven’t had a drink since I had the baby. I think I’m going to have to work on my fucking tolerance again.” She smiled, then, a wistful smile. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, because she was. It made her remember a thousand fucking things she didn’t want to remember, but she was still glad. “It’ll be good to have an old friend around.” Even if they had never spoken before.
Liz smiled and chuckled quietly at the description of Max’s sister, grabbing her drink and downing it like a champ. She finished off her cigarette, inhaling it down to the filter, before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “I’m more than happy to help you with the tolerance. Any time.” Of course, she hit on the target word Liz had been afraid of. Baby. But, as she thought back over what Max had told her, all of it suddenly hit home. It was something to fight for, something to live for, and she smiled up at Max. If anything, she would fight for that kid. Max deserved that much. She pulled a rather abused and chewed on pen out of the pocket of her jacket, gripping the cap between her teeth, and scribbled her phone number on a napkin to hand it to her. She snapped the pen closed and nodded, “Call me. Anytime.” She grinned a little, one side of her mouth turned up more than the other, “I mean it. Even if I’m hungover as fuck, I’ll be there.”
Max took the pen from between Liz’s fingers, and she returned the favor, scribbling her own number on another napkin and adding Bathos 404 beneath it. “I live with the aforementioned sister, but the door’s open anytime. I mean it,” she said a little forcefully, because it wasn’t an offer made out of politeness; she meant it. “Call, knock, whatever; I don’t sleep much,” she admitted, grabbing her coat and sliding it on with only a hint of steel glinting at the small of her back when she did it, the gun visible there for just a second. A jerky nod followed, the kind that meant she would have hugged the other woman if she had any idea how to ease into it. “And careful with that offer. I might be crying in your drunken ear before the week’s out.”
Liz took the napkin and folded it carefully as she put it in the small pocket of her jeans to keep it safe. A smirk spreading on her face when she saw the gun, but she just gave Max a knowing nod. There was no real way to have taken the hug, or given one, and so to save the awkward moment, Liz just pulled her jacket a little tighter around her. “I’ll keep that in mind. And the offer wouldn’t have been made if I didn’t mean it. I’ve never been good at the advice, but I’d give it a shot. Especially for you.” She smiled and threw some money on the counter, enough for both of their drinks and a fairly large tip, and motioned towards the door. “Let’s get you in that cab.”