Re: B&B: Janus, Steve, Atticus
The newcomer appeared at the door before Atticus could snarl at Janus. Just like Janus, he thought, to pull out the 'I told you so.' But snarling was interrupted, and all Janus acquired was a hint of eye roll. One good eye, obviously. The other eye wasn't going to involve itself in any rolling at present. The pain wasn't anything significant. Atticus had experienced much worse in his life, but his other scars were hidden. This was visible, and Atticus didn't much care for public sympathy. It made him uncomfortable, bringing back the memory of childhood hurts and nurses leaning over hospital beds. He could do without the attention.
Atticus didn't need to ask who the newcomer was. He'd been honest when he explained his parents' academic proclivities. Growing up with an American History professor and an American Literature professor meant that Atticus knew precisely who Captain Liberty was. Atticus had only been with his parents until his tenth birthday, but that was enough to know who had just walked through the door. He knew, with perfect clarity, that he could find Captain Liberty memorabilia somewhere in his father's things, if only he looked. Atticus did not intend to look.
Atticus wasn't often concerned about his own appearance, which was evident. But, as he'd told Janus, he hardly felt up to par with Steve in the picture. That was before Atticus had seen the man. Now, Atticus had seen him, and his opinion hadn't varied. Insecurity, he knew, was unattractive in a man his age. Also ridiculous. It was also ridiculous in a man his age.
He waited for Steve to shake Janus' hand, and then he offered his own bruised palm for a shake. Atticus' grip, at least, was substantial. He stepped back and motioned to the boxes. "Need help with those?" A grin. "Janus would be thrilled to oblige." More grin.
Atticus stepped away, and he poured himself a coffee, black, and he leaned back against the counter and took a sip. That sip betrayed his exhaustion as much as his appearance did. It was too long, eyes closed and grateful for the bitter grounds. Connie made good, strong coffee. Above them, the trombone played, and Atticus looked up toward the ceiling fondly. "Janus likes to give me shit. Didn't walk in on anything. It's a common occurrence." Atticus wondered just how much Steve knew about Janus. The relationship between the two men was founded on a battlefield, and literature had led Atticus to believe those relationships to be particularly close. It was interesting to ponder. In an entirely academic way, of course. Atticus, himself, couldn't seem to get anything out of Janus. Information. He couldn't seem to get information out of Janus. Academically.