Who: Justice and Gus. When: Early evening. What: After Brimstone and her ‘accident’, Gus wants some answers. Where: Gus’s home in Lake Ridge. Rating: PG-13. Status: Complete. Gus had waited a few days, and even that, he felt, was admirable. He still couldn’t quite get past what had happened with Justice - not even filing a report had felt all sorts of wrong - but what he really needed to know came before that. Namely: what the hell had she been doing at Brimstone that day he’d gone inside? She’d basically backed him off the topic, and he’d gone along with it at the time, but after dealing with Lucy’s little ongoing meltdown, he couldn’t just let the whole ass-kicking thing slide.
He sent her a text, one he felt like she’d be able to go along with. It read: Let’s talk. I’ve got beer.
Hopefully she knew how to check her damn texts, at least. His place was relatively spartan, furnished but totally undecorated, and it didn’t have much of a lived in look or feel to it. The garage was different, but at this time of night, the garage (and Daisy inside) was closed up tight. He didn’t expect her to text back, and instead kept peeking out the window, not really watching the TV. Would she turn up? She could just as easily pretend she’d not gotten it.
She had, but ignoring it certainly had crossed Justice’s mind, and more than once. As if the situation wasn’t already complicated enough, now Gus had reached his stretching point and was likely going to try and pry a more solid explanation out of her. Not that she could blame him; it was his job, after all, and putting herself in his shoes certainly wasn’t helping her resolve.
Even on the way to his place, she was still mulling over the pros and cons of turning around and avoiding the whole thing. But she never turned around. There were reasons for that, too, but nothing she was happy about admitting.
Eventually the truck rumbled into his driveway and died when she turned the key. Justice just sat there for a moment, peering up through the wind shield. It’d be more secrets. More distancing herself from one of the first people she considered an actual friend since the Corps. Justice sighed and pushed the door open, which creaked in protest, and rattled when she knocked it closed.
There was no more limp to her gait, no problems breathing or taking the steps to Gus’s door. Even the shiner and split lip were almost completely healed. Not bad for a few days of rest.
He opened the door when she knocked, and while he registered a bit of surprise at how well she’d recovered, he figured that maybe it had just looked worse at the time. That was the only thing he could think of, so he went with it.
“Hey, c’mon in,” he said, standing aside so she could move past him. He closed the door, wanting to keep most of the heat in, and scratched the back of his head, “Thanks for coming over, Coop. I guess after last week, and this weekend, I’ve got some things gnawing at me.”
Gus didn’t think he needed to say what, either. She wouldn’t have come if she didn’t have some idea.
“You want a beer?” he gestured towards the small kitchen, “I might have some JD somewhere around here if you want something harder, but I don’t really have a big selection.”
“Whatever’s closest,” she answered, slipping the loose wool hat off her hair. She’d dyed it again; this time, it was honey-blond, much lighter than the cherry-coke color it’d been at the casino, or when she was attacked. By this time, Justice was pretty damn sure that’s where Ugly had caught sight of her.
“Mind if I smoke?” She was already fishing a cigarette and lighter from the crumpled pack from her coat pocket before shrugging out of it completely. Beneath was a pair of jeans worn so well and thin, they were soft as raw cotton, and a black tank top. The tiny ball-bearing chain that normally held dog tags was around her neck, and disappeared under the neckline.
Gus almost said no out of habit, but the rental agreement hadn’t said anything about smoking, and Francine wasn’t going to pop in and screech about war buddies smoking up the place, so he nodded after a short pause.
“Yeah, it’s fine, lemme just grab you something to ash in,” he went into the kitchen to grab two beers, returning with three bottle. One was empty and had the label peeled off, and he offered her a half smile, “Classy ash tray just for you.”
He twisted off the top of his beer and took a swig, gesturing for the couch before sitting in it himself. It was large enough that she could sit on it and still leave some space between them.
“So, pretty crazy week,” he said, unsure of how to start. He felt like he ought to just cut the shit with Coop, but at the same time, she was a friend, and he didn’t want to tear her goddamn throat out as soon as she walked in the door.
Justice, however, had had a lot of pussy-footing around, both on her end and otherwise. At his painfully awkward segue, she just sighed through her nose, and sparked the lighter close to the Marlboro’s tip. The flame washed gold across her features, then dissolved the next second when she put it away.
“Say what you gotta, Gus. I’m not gonna bite your head off.”
She took a drag and tapped the tip on the offered ‘tray’, sending him a crisp and clear blue gaze.
The way she said it didn’t exactly convince him, but he nodded anyway. Fair enough.
“I still can’t get over seeing you at Brimstone,” he admitted, rather grim. So grim that he didn’t even bring up the dress, “How many times have we bitched about that place? Seeing you there like you were a regular, I don’t know, Coop. It threw me.”
Gus took a big swallow of his beer, and then took a deep breath.
“And then a few days later, I find you walking back into town, beat to hell,” he glanced at her, reminding himself that wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, “And I basically had to sweep that under the rug. I guess I just want to know what’s going on with you.”
He shrugged his big shoulders, obviously at a loss. There were so many options that he’d not come to any solid conclusions at all.
She looked back at him, expression almost completely unchanged. Soft, but neutral... but the truth was, she was just as unsure of herself as he likely was. Brimstone had been a complete clusterfuck, even though nothing particularly alarming had happened. As a friend, he had every right to question. She also didn’t have any answers.
“For what its worth,” she started. “I still hate that place.” As if that fact really made much of a difference right now. She was frantically going over the things she’d thought of as excuses on the way here, but a part of her was still very reluctant. She normally didn’t care about lying to people - it actually came quite naturally. So why was it so difficult right now?
“But the reason I was there had nothing to do with how much business its takin’ from me, and I’d really rather not talk about it. There’s a shit-ton’a things you don’t like talkin’ about, right?” Justice felt something pull in her chest, uncomfortably. She didn’t want to play that card, but she needed him off her back. For her safety, and for his. Hopefully he’d make the connection: that it was personal. However, that didn’t guarantee he’d drop it.
Gus grimaced at the card she played and itched his jaw. He could play another one just as easily, the ‘I’d tell you if you were worried’ card, but that didn’t seem entirely fair. Not that card playing was ever fair.
“Short talk, I guess,” he said, unable to help but look a little wounded. Gus definitely counted her as his closest friend, but if he was honest with himself, that still wasn’t very close. It had worked well (for both of them) until this particular moment.
He cleared his throat and looked away, taking another long pull from his beer. Gus looked down at it when he talked next, “Sorry I pushed it. I’m just worried about you. I won’t bring it up again.”
Fuck. Now she felt like she’d just kicked a puppy. The trained solitaire in Justice whispered in her ear; keep going in that direction. Push him further away. Say it, it hissed, and she was disturbed at how natural the urge was; also, whether it was something she’d conditioned herself for, or if it was just a part of her personality.
“Gus...” she started, then stopped, seemingly stuck on her own words. She took a drag to reboot, and tried again. “I appreciate what you’re tryin’.” She looked at him directly. “Honestly, I do. I know its your nature and its your job.”
What the hell am I doing? The thought interrupted, and Justice rolled her lips while she stared at his face, lost for a moment on what she was supposed to say next.
“Just know that--that I got some really personal, really fucked up shit on my end, that you don’t want any part of. And you’re not obligated for, personally or professionally.”
The Sheriff looked at her sideways as she talked. She sure looked sincere enough, but really, how fucked up could it be? Gus had seen some pretty gnarly shit in his day, and he was pretty sure he’d see worse, so what sort of personal issues could she not tell a brother in arms? He nodded anyway, even though he wasn’t totally convinced. If she didn’t want to talk about something, then it was her business, wasn’t it? Maybe he ought to keep his nose out of peoples business, anyway. He’d pissed Lucy off a bit the other day, and he didn’t want a repeat performance with Coop. Justice was probably the only person in town close enough to sort of get him.
“Sure, Coop,” he said, “If you ever need help, though, you know you can come to me right? Off the record and everything. I know I... that I’m not the greatest buddy on the planet, but I’m still really,” he sighed heavily and looked away again, eyes on the muted TV even though he wasn’t really seeing it, “Just not having a great winter.”
Lame finish, but even Gus knew better than to put himself out there when someone else was really holding back. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to spill, or feel guilty for not spilling on account of him. He eyeballed his bottle of Bud, and then hers, and raised his eyebrows at her.
“I should find that bottle of JD,” he said. Half asking it, really - Gus was sort of expecting her to leave, but he hoped she didn’t go. Even if it felt like the elephant in the room was sitting on both of them.
She continued to look at him, though something in her eyes was more disarmed; the difference between threat level orange and threat level red, but there was still a divide there. Over everything else that she was Justice was the bartender; she knew exactly how hard his winter had been. Regardless of how hard she’d been trying to separate herself from it, the compassion had built over time.
She let a small smile curl the ends of her mouth, and nudged his knee with her own.
“At least you can say you saw me in a dress.” The smile tilted. She was trying to veer the topic. “I’ll even let you hold that over me for as long as you want.”
Gus saw and recognized the tactic, and he managed a smile at her in spite of himself when she brought it up.
“I kind of don’t want to think about that dress,” he said, raising his eyebrows and moving into the kitchen again, “It ruins my entire image of you, you know. Here I am, thinking you sleep on a bed of nails, eating bullets for breakfast.”
He was still wounded, but the topic was a welcome and warm one. Giving each other shit was good and familiar.
“Then I see you in a dress - legs shaved! - and it’s all ruined,” Gus returned from the kitchen with a plate of what had to be home-baked cookies and the bottle of Jack Daniels. The bottle was about halfway gone. He set both on the coffee table, tapping the plate, “Courtesy of Lucy, from Dan’s diner. I can only bake things that come in boxes with directions.”
“You an’ me, both.” Justice stuck the cigarette in her mouth and left it there, breathing smoke through her nostrils like some blond-headed dragon as she cleaned off a place for the bottle and cookies on the coffee table. Her eyes flicked back up to him as she accepted the Jack, brows arched a bit. “And just how closely were you looking at my legs, mm?”
The comments were expected, but what she wasn’t prepared for was how entertained she was by them. Normally, there wouldn’t have been a second thought - her platoon was 95% male, and all of them made comments - but it seemed different, looking back. Plus, her interaction with the Darker Things of the world wasn’t exactly ‘flirtatious’, even if it did get decidedly vulgar.
Justice chuckled smoke, pouring herself a drink after filling Gus’s cup.
“Pretty close,” he said glibly, winking at her, “I’m the Sheriff, you know. Gotta make sure I get every detail just in case its crucial.”
He took a swallow from his glass, not too concerned about mixing it. While he’d certainly had a night or two with the bottle alone, it was much better with a friend. Less guilt and questioning himself this way.
“Speaking of details,” he squinted at her, eyes glittering, “You look different. Get your nails done?”
He’d noticed the hair, but while he was playing at being a typical jarhead, he might as well fail to properly notice her change in color.
“Yeah. That’s what I did,” she answered him in the same quick, jovial tone, arching her brows at him emphatically. Tapping the cigarette on the can, Justice used her best Newport Royalty voice and wiggled her free hand. “Gotta get my weekly mani-pedi in or, y’know, I totally go psycho.”
She took one last drag before cramming the butt through the can’s open tab, looking at him and subconsciously tousling her lightened hair with a free hand. She knew he wasn’t talking about her nails, which were trimmed short and unpolished, as usual. Justice also had a strong inkling his observation wasn’t entirely casual, that Gus was thinking deeper into it. Could’ve been her paranoia wrought from their earlier conversation (which wasn’t going away, even if they weren’t talking about it anymore), but that was unlikely. She of course, couldn’t blame him for making the connection.
“Y’know what...” she said, peering up at Gus. This time the subject change was for more personal reasons. “I don’t think we’ve had a chance to get drunk together. You got nothin’ goin’ on today? “ Nevermind the fact that it was difficult for Justice to actually get past tipsy, but right now, she was willing to try her hardest.
“Nothing until morning,” Gus said, still laughing about the mani-pedi comment. He regarded her a moment, and then turned his attention to the bottle of JD, “I don’t know if we have enough.”
The beers would help some, but he was pretty sure between the two of them, it would take a whole lot of booze to get to where they were going. Still, it was worth a try. It’d be nice to be drunk at home and not be by himself.
“Game on,” he said, refilling their glasses, “I hope that blonde hair doesn’t mess with your tolerance.”
“Challenge accepted.” Justice nudged his glass with her’s, then took the bourbon down without a beat. The burn was nice, even made her eyes water a little, but he was right about needing a hell of a lot more to keep this party going.
She cleared her throat by habit, pointing a finger around the empty glass in his direction. “Game plan--” Justice found his eyes with her own, pointedly, a bit of her own naturally persuasive influence hopefully conveyed through them. “You make a quick liquor run, I’ll pick us up some barbecue from Dan’s. Rendezvous back here in 30?”
Hooah,” Gus grinned. It’d be a good distraction, anyway, from the earlier... awkwardness? He didn’t know if it was awkward so much as disappointing, really. Nevermind. Getting drunk with a buddy was definitely in the cards for tonight.
The only minor hiccup was that people recognized him everywhere. He was a pretty obvious guy in a small town, and he muttered something about having a party to the clerk. Not all of this booze was for him. Half was for Coop.
It was still way too much, but they were both seasoned drinkers. Or more accurately, Coop was, and he made up for his years of easy drinking with sheer mass. By the time he returned, it looked like Justice had beat him, and he entered through the garage door with their evening’s entertainment.
“If this isn’t enough, we’ve got problems,” Gus commented.
Truer words never spoken,” she agreed from the kitchen, unloading Styrofoam boxes full of pulled pork sandwiches, steak fries, and slaw, with a whole cherry pie for them to share later. Not that she was feeling particularly hungry at the moment - actually, her stomach was still flipping as a natural reaction to the protective wards she’d drawn in salt chalk under each of Gus’s door mats.
That’d been her main reason for the split-up, but more booze was a nice bonus. Also, a little peace of mind. She could live with the discomfort that would come from entering or leaving his home, so long as she knew her fuller-blooded brethren would be stuck on their feet if they ever tried it.
Next was Daisy, but that was going to be a chore. She’d have an easier time getting access to his police cruiser.
“So you wanna get right into the drinking games, or did you need a food-advantage?” she teased over her shoulder, pushing a steak fry into her mouth.
It took a solid two hours of drinking (the food held them back a bit), but Gus had been pretty dedicated to their evening activity, so he was pretty far gone. Everything was hilarious, the old stories were new again. And he was very, very drunk. Gus probably hadn’t been this drunk in awhile, and that was counting when Coop had driven him home just last week.
Both of them were slumped on the couch, and Gus had his feet up on the coffee table, boots and all. Hell with it! It was a goddamn rental anyway.
“How come we haven’t done this before?” he slurred, gesturing with a mostly demolished bottle of bourbon. It sloshed as he gestured, which just reminded him that he needed another drink.
Justice wasn’t nearly as gone, but she had a hell of a buzz going, and was doing her absolute best to hold onto it as long as possible, which meant languidly snatching the bottle from him, a lazy, tilted grin on her lips.
“Y’know. Schedules... Serve an’ protect an’all that shit.” She didn’t quite slur, but her voice had dropped into a darker, warm and gritty timbre. It’d been described as a ‘tiger purr’ by someone left far in her past. Indirectly, he kept popping back in her thoughts the more she drank, which in turn, prompted her to drink even more.
“We should make it a once-a-week thing, maybe. Build up your tolerance.”
Gus laughed, clumsily snatching the bottle back from her. He couldn’t help but more or less envelope her hand in his a moment, but he didn’t really think about it too much. Even smashed, he didn’t think he had it in him to get all amorous.
“I see yer game,” he said, “Get my tolerace up, get me t’spend more at th’bar. S’all right, I’m used t’bein’ used.”
He’d meant it as lighthearted, but the comment made him grimace briefly. Gus took a long pull from the bottle in turn and offered it back to Justice.
“We should talk ‘bout somethin’ funny,” he said gravely, “‘fore I start mopin’ about crap.”
“Somethin’ funny...” Repeating it was supposed to put her mind on track, but it didn’t work that well. Her thoughts kept jumping around, topic to topic, testing it out in her head then vetoing each. A little lost, she looked at him from over her knees (which were pulled up lazily on the couch between them), then took the bottle.
“Fuck if I know funny,” ironically said with a low laugh. She killed the rest of the bourbon and stretched out toward the table to put it with the rest of the empties, just barely able to keep it from clunking to the floor. “I dunno...Hey--!” That last part came out as a whisper, and an almost impish leer aimed in his direction. “Maybe you’re ticklish--”
And without warning, she playfully jabbed her bare toes into his ribs. Then again. And again. “That’d be funny.”
Gus grabbed her ankle on the third jab and gave a pretty solid yank, pulling her down onto the couch and giving her a warning look.
“Don’t fuck with the ticklemonster,” he suggested, his smile wolfish, “First and only warning.”
He took another pull from the bottle, looking mildly perplexed, but he was unwilling to think too deeply on what was being initiated, here. She had been tickling him with her toes - she’d started it.
“The ticklemonster?” Justice practically snorted out the laugh, and pushing the lumpy throw-pillow off her face to the floor. She didn’t go for another jab, but wiggled her ankle out of his grip to cross them on the armrest on his other side. “That a threat, challenge, or cry for mental help?”
Her turn to drink, but this bottle was a little more difficult to maneuver in her new position. She caught the ribbon of bourbon down her cheek with the back of her hand, then dropped her head back and laughed a little more.
“Or, you’re just hidin’ how ticklish you are ‘cause y’know you’ll shriek like a lil’ girl.”
“Your call if you wanna find out,” he said, leaning towards her and trying to grab the bottle back, “I toldja, you only get one warning.”
Gus wasn’t especially ticklish, truth be told, but he was a little. It was more about the banter, anyway. Right? Nothing to do with the fact that this was the second time in two years there was a woman in his place of residence. He tried to snag the bottle, but his train of thought made him wonder if he ought to drink anymore. There was probably a point of no return somewhere in the bottom of the bottle, and Gus wasn’t too sure he wanted to get there.
Playing ‘keep away’ with the Jack hadn’t been her original intention, but it happened anyway, for no other reason than the hell of it.
“Right, right...” She zigged the bottle out from his grab for the second time, smirking devilishly before relinquishing it on his third attempt.
“So you gonna tell me what happens after that ‘one warning’--” Justice watched him much more acutely than she had for the last hour, inherently timing her words as the bottle eventually headed for his mouth. “--or you think that pure intimidation’s gonna work.”
There was no time for an answer, because the second he tipped the booze up for a drink, she went for the kill - or possibly ticklish under-knees, in this case. Besides the almost predatory planning, there wasn’t much thought or motivation behind it - except for things that were harder to control when she drank this much.
Gus was smirking as he drank, intending on answer afterwards, but she went after him, and he had warned her! Given, the warning only really worked on his kids (not anymore, that was for sure), but it was still a legitimate threat!
The big man actually took a moment to set the bottle on the coffee table, watching her tickle under his knee. It was making his leg twitch a little, but instead of twisting away after a moment, he lunged, grabbed at her wrist with one hand and going straight for her abdomen with the free one. Often, he had found, those that wanted to ‘see if someone was ticklish’ were the most ticklish people in the room.
“Warned yah!” he grinned. Because this wasn’t a questionable course of action at all.
“Nngaaah-!” she half laughed, half-shrieked, and doubled over with a surprising amount of agility. Even though she was still laughing, it was like a switch had been thrown. The next instant, she was hovered over him. The difference between light and dark, her lazy, drunken ease changed to strong, sharp movement that twisted her hand out of his sprawling grip, and pinned it down to the couch.
“Nice try,” she said lowly, a ribbon of clear playfulness wrapped around her tone, along with something with more of an edge.
Surprise registered on Gus’s face when she completely reversed their positions, and he started laughing and shaking his head.
“Shit, Coop, some of us actually leave the service,” he joked. She’d definitely got the better of him. By a wide margin.
No surprise that she liked to be on top, right? There was something a little sobering about it, although it would take more than a change in tone to actually override all the booze in his system.
“Well, this is probably the first time the ticklemonster’s been bested,” he said, “Mercy?”
Gus raised his hands in surrender, grinning.
“Stop callin’ yourself ‘ticklemonster’...” Justice chuckled, right back to being nothing but very buzzed, but it was through a good amount of personal effort that she lost that sudden...rigidity. She also meant to slide off and out of his personal space, but...
There was only so much she could handle. That booze-induced bliss and the things it was stirring up was a hell of a lot of temptation that seemed more and more harmless by the minute. That’s why they’d done this, right? For a break.
The pause that came after his short bout of laughter started to get lengthy. Shit or get off the pot time, and Justice was really tired of fighting.
“That what you want?” she asked, dropping her shoulders back a bit, smirking, but her eyes stayed on his face. “‘Mercy?’”
“Uh,” Gus mumbled, finding himself very uncomfortable all of a sudden. Was it what he wanted? Even drunk he could tell it was a loaded statement, but he’d started down this road, same as she had.
This was a tipping point of sorts, and Gus found himself balking pretty hard.
“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” he said, awkwardly putting his hands on her shoulders and somewhat gently urging her away instead of towards him, “Mercy’d be great.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes.
Normally that would’ve been the nudge in the right direction she needed. Later, she’d breathe a sigh of relief for the near-miss of doing something that’d complicate things, regardless of her usual pension for keeping such instances purely linear. But she was as drunk as she’d been in a very long time, and it was really, really difficult to cage the thing in the back of her consciousness, that snarled and thrashed for what it wanted.
The outward reaction was a strangely tense grip, but she relaxed it a second later. The tension was still in her shoulders and down her spine; that’d have to be worked out later.
“Sorry,” she rasped through a somewhat embarrassed smile, then rolled back onto the couch and snatched up the bourbon. Justice was doing her best to show there wasn’t any ill-will there. There wasn’t. Hopefully. “Been a hard winter.” The drink she took downed about an eighth of the bottle.
“Yeah,” he said, sitting up once he had his personal space back, “Sorry.”
Gus rubbed his face with both hands, feeling even more awkward the more time went past. What was wrong with him? Was he really still this fucked up about what Francine had done to him? Had he completely lost the ability to have a one night stand and still be able to look that person in the face the next day?
Shit.
“You want a cab?” he offered, sounding suddenly very tired. Originally he would’ve offered her the couch, but that seemed like a supremely bad idea.
Hearing that did weird things to her insides. Justice found herself combating a flare of temper beneath everything else. She barely contained it by rolling her lips hard enough to press the blood out of them.
For the best,” she forcibly thought, setting the Jack down to pull on her boots, one by one.
“Nah, I’ll grab one at the bus stop,” she said, her tone low. She would, even though she considered herself fine to drive. She was still a bit gunshy about walking too far. Coat and hat came next, the familiar weight of the bone-dagger sewn in the lining offered a mild, rooted sort of comfort.
Gus grimaced. Had he been a bit more sober he would’ve protested her going out alone, but he was too mired in a mixture of self-pity and booze-haze to think too deeply on anything.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, daring a glance at her, “Sorry as hell, Coop. I’m just... I can’t...”
He made an irritated noise, but it was directed solely at himself. Oh he had some real balls, trying to make excuses while she got ready to go out in that weather and catch a bus.
“Look, you can crash on the couch if you want,” he said. He didn’t really think it was a great idea, but it was the least he could do for being such a limp-dicked asshole.
“Gus--stop,” she snapped a look up at him, sharp and clear, regardless of the alcohol in her blood being far beyond the legal limit. “Just--stop. No reason to torture yourself. Really.”
She pulled at the zipper of her parka, then gave his arm a pat on her way to the front door - which she knew was going to screw up her insides like an electric blender. That was besides the point. Her boots stopped right in front of the doormat, just to give herself a moment to prepare. To cover it, she sent him another pointed look. Hopefully it was reassuring, and didn’t pass on the fact that she was probably going to beat the holy fuck out of something at the gym within the hour.
“I’m a big girl. Go sleep it off - we’re good.”
Gus managed to conjure a very thin and uncomfortable sigh.
“Sure,” he said, “G’night. Be safe.”
The Sheriff didn’t fall asleep for a long while, and when he did, it was on the couch. His last thought was of being drunk enough to black out the entire evening, but he knew he wouldn’t be that lucky.