Chapter Text
Chapter I:
In which we see the present
Moxxie had never been a particularly lucky guy.
From always being under the one wall that happened to fall and never moving fast enough to get away from it, to always being the one that was caught in traps when they were out on the field; he was used to expecting the worst out of every situation he found himself in. Nothing new there.
Bad luck might as well be his middle name by now.
But surely, surely, not even him would be that unlucky.
At least that’s what he told himself when Joe yelled that name and he felt himself freeze, his stomach turning inside his body as though it had been flipped upside down.
“Striker!”
No. It couldn’t be.
Hell was too big of a place for them to be talking about the same person. The same Striker. It must be a coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.
Moxxie held his breath from the moment Joe called their new helper out, to the moment the figure on the horse got close enough to become identifiable. Moxxie held onto the little hope he had for as long as he could before it was shattered into a million pieces.
“Howdy!”
Oh, crumbs.
Call him Moxxie “Bad Luck” from now on, then.
“You must be the famous Mildred.”
Moxxie felt as though he was watching himself in third person from afar, like he was living a memory rather than seeing things that were happening right then. There was no way that was real. It could not be.
His brain could not process what his eyes were seeing and that was about to make him throw up in confusion. He could already taste what he had last eaten. The only way he wouldn’t throw up, is if he passed out first.
Which he might as well, with how dizzy he was getting.
After greeting Millie, the tall imp that had joined in turned to face Moxxie, and although Moxxie could hear he was being talked to, he still found himself frozen in place. He could hear words being spoken, he could see what was happening in front of him, but he didn’t feel as though he was there.
“Hey, Moxxie!”
Moxxie was violently awoken from his state, realizing Blitz had slapped the back of his head back into reality.
“Hey!” He screamed at his boss, rubbing the spot where he had been hit.
“You have to apologize Moxxie, he’s a bit of an airhead sometimes,” Blitz said, turning his hand into a fist and rubbing Moxxie’s scalp, “Aren’t you, you little baby-”
“Stop that,” Moxxie pushed Blitz away from him, fixing his hair before he shot Striker a menacing glare. “Yeah, thing is that this is…”
“You must be Moxxie,” Striker cut him off before he could finish his sentence, nonchalantly holding out his hand, “I heard some things about you as well.”
Moxxie looked down at the hand in front of him, for a moment opening his mouth to reply in anger. He drew in a sharp breath, Striker giving him a wink before he could say anything and taking him aback. Moxxie felt like he was about to start frothing from the mouth.
Striker then mouthed something Moxxie couldn’t make out, and that made him want to punch the teeth out of his smile even more. And he would have, had it not been for the rest of the crew staring at him in disbelief and confusion. He blushed slightly before cleaning his throat and finally taking the hand in front of him in resignation. He didn't need to give them any more reasons to think of him as pathetic.
“Yeah, that’s me. Nice to meet you… Strider, that is?” Moxxie spoke, the normality he tried to fake barely being good enough to fool everyone else.
“Striker. And pleasure’s all mine, Mox,” Striker replied in a much lower tone, drawing out the ‘s’ in ‘pleasure’ like a snake would.
How fitting, Moxxie thought, still fighting the urge to throw up.
Striker then turned around to once again talk to everyone else but Moxxie, turning his back on the smaller imp and never once looking back. Moxxie heard a few muffled words about dinner, a few more about games, but he wasn’t focusing enough to make out what anyone was saying.
“Moxxie?” Millie laid a hand on his shoulder, seemingly being the only one who noticed he wasn’t doing so well, “Hun, are you ok?”
“I… I just need to go to the bathroom.”
And so he did, making a run for it. He barely managed to get there before he finally put out everything he had eaten that day; retching again and again even after his stomach had been emptied.
Sitting on the cold floor, shirt clinging to his chest and covered in the remains of his last meal, Moxxie punched the wall in front of him. And he kept doing that, until his knuckles started bleeding and his hand was shaking in pain.
He usually didn't like how it felt. But now, he was just glad to feel something.
He threw himself under the shower and turned on the coldest setting; still dressed up but not caring in the least. He just wanted to calm down, he was about to scream and explode trying to wrap his head around it all.
So Striker was alive, after all.
Moxxie thought he was going to throw up all over again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go have dinner, hun?” Millie asked for what must have been the tenth time that day, “Or go see the festival?”
Moxxie nodded, not moving from the spot he had been laying on for the past hour on their bed.
“I've never really liked the festival... And I’m really not feeling like being around people right now,” He spoke softly, and then turned away from her; his tail wrapping around himself.
Millie sighed, sitting on the bed and laying a hand on his shoulder.
“Is it because of my parents? I promise you, they don’t hate you… That much. I’m sure they’ll warm up to you!” She struggled to find the words, “Well, someday, on their deathbed maybe, but they will!”
“It’s not that, I promise,” Moxxie sat up on the bed and turned towards Millie, taking her hand in his, “I’m alright.”
She smiled at him and reached up to fix his hair, messy from laying there so long.
“Do you want me to stay here with you?”
Moxxie shook his head, “I think I want to be alone a little bit. And I wouldn’t want you to miss out on being with your family because of me. I’ll be alright, you can go. Have fun.”
Millie closed her eyes and gave him a kiss on the forehead.
“I’ll bring you some food, alright?”
Moxxie nodded, and after a final hug, Millie finally got up from the bed and left their room; giving Moxxie a last wave before closing the door behind her and leaving him alone.
Finally alone with his thoughts, Moxxie plopped down on the bed with his arms stretched out on either side of his body. He stared at the ceiling for a while, as though that could give him the answers he wanted.
But he wasn’t even sure he knew what questions he was meant to be asking.
Moxxie got up from the bed and walked to the window, opening it to allow some fresh air to get into the warm room.
He looked out of the window, watching it as other imps got everything ready for the festival that was soon to begin. He had never been one for such festivities, or anything that involved large crowds; but that might have been at least a little fun if he could go with Mille and Blitz… If only everything hadn’t been ruined.
Leaning his head on his hand, he looked up at the moon in the sky. The red light coming from it gave everything an eerie aura, yet it was calming once you got over that.
Moxxie’s head hurt, and his stomach still felt as though it might escape him at any moment.
He needed some fresh air, that was it. He needed to get out of that house, at least for a little bit.
There was no way in hell he would go out of the front door, though.
Looking down the window, Moxxie gulped and jumped over it, landing on the roof and trying to keep his balance by holding onto the windowsill. Of course they had to be on the second floor, he thought.
That’s just how lucky he was.
He sat on the roof, his back pressed against the wall under the window, still holding onto it. He tried to calculate his moves, taking a deep breath. It should be easy enough to let go of the window, push himself slowly all the way down the length of the roof, hang from its border, and then let go to carefully fall on the ground.
That would be easy.
And then, as soon as he let go of the window, he lost his grip and rolled down the roof, falling flat on the ground.
“Ouch.”
And then a piece of the roof came loose and feel on his head with a loud cracking noise.
That time, he didn't even bother to groan in pain. Why he even tried anymore, he didn’t understand.
Moxxie sat up on the ground and threw the piece aside, hoping no one would see it was missing. He tried to look into the window of the living room and saw a few shadows sitting at the table; it seemed that they were speaking far too loud for them to notice all the noise he'd made trying to get out. Thankfully.
He took a deep breath and got up from the ground at least, dusting his clothes off before he walked around the house.
He felt himself immediately calm down once he got to the back of the house, facing away from the festival and away from anyone else. He walked up to the fence and sat down on it, struggling to keep his balance for a moment. A small smile appeared on his face for the first time that day as he closed his eyes.
Just a moment alone; some peace and quiet. That’s all he needed.
“Hey, Mox.”
And just like that, he let out a gasp and fell down backwards on the ground again.
Moxxie stayed on the ground and grunted, his head spinning and the sharp pain that was already on his back intensifying itself with the second fall. Suddenly, his surroundings seemed to get darker and he opened his eyes, only to find himself staring straight into Striker’s as the taller imp stood between him and the moonlight.
“You’re still as clumsy as it can be, hum?” Striker looked down at him, a bottle in one hand and the other hand on his waist. Rather than reaching out to help Moxxie, he just stayed in that position and looked down at him with a sly smile.
“Ugh”, Moxxie got up from the ground for the second time that day, dusting himself off yet again, “Leave me alone, Striker, I swear to Lucifer.”
He turned around and started to walk towards the house, only to find himself being held back when Striker wrapped his tail around him and spun him around once again in one quick move.
“Mox, come on,” Striker ran the tip of his tail under Moxxie’s chin, the body of it still wrapped around Moxxie’s body, “Is that how you greet an old friend?”
“Get that off me,” Moxxie wrapped his hands around the muscular tail and tried to pull it away from him, only for Striker to tighten the grip on him. Moxxie gasped for air as it suddenly made it hard for him to breathe.
“Oh? If I recall correctly, you used to like when I did this,” Striker looked down at him with a smug smile, and yet again a wink.
Moxxie could feel his cheeks warming up at the memory, shaking his head before they could get too intense. Striker seemed to notice it, as he let out a low laugh.
“Striker, let me go, I’m serious. I’ll bite your tail off if I have to!”
“Kinky,” Striker tilted his head as he placed the tip of his tail right in front of Moxxie’s mouth, “Try it, I might like it.”
Moxxie groaned and shook himself instead, although he might as well have done nothing. No matter how much he tried, Striker still had the advantage of size. He made a move to grab the tail again, but to his surprise, the grip loosened naturally as Striker let him go.
Although glad to recover his freedom, Moxxie didn't let his guard down. He looked up and saw Striker walking away from him, going toward the same fence he was sitting on previously and sitting on it as well. He then took a deep breath before taking the bottle he held to his lips and taking a sip.
Moxxie stayed still, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for Striker try to punch him. Attack him. Anything.
But all he did was drink from the bottle, a lonely drop escaping his lips and running down his neck until it reached his shirt and stained it. Moxxie gulped, shaking his head back to the present moment.
By the time Striker lowered the bottle, he seemed surprised that Moxxie was still standing in front of him.
Striker looked from side to side, and then back at Moxxie, “What? What do you want?”
Moxxie's eyes went wide.
“What do I want?” Moxxie sputtered, appalled. Was Striker really that clueless, or was he trying to mess up with him? “You were the one that followed me here!”
Striker seemed confused, before he nodded in comprehension.
“Wow, I didn’t remember you thinking so highly of yourself,” Striker shook his head, "That was always my thing, wasn't it?"
In the short silence that followed, Moxxie shuddered as he realized Striker addressed their past for the first time that day, even if subtly.
It was more than he'd expected.
“I didn’t come here to talk to you, dumbass” Striker rolled his eyes as though that was obvious, “This is where I come to relax. Your Mildred’s family there is… quite loud, at times. It can get a bit overwhelming. You just happened to be here as well.”
“Oh,” Moxxie nodded and looked back at the house. That, he had to admit, Striker was right about, “Yeah, that makes sense. How silly of me to think you might have wanted to talk to me at all after how you behaved this morning.”
“Awh, are you let down?” Striker cooed.
“I don’t know, Striker,” Moxxie folded his arms, “Would you be let down if I disappeared for ten years and then suddenly came back like it was nothing and didn’t even bother to talk to you?”
He realized his voice raised midsentence, even without him meaning to. He tried to recompose himself, hoping no one but Striker had heard that.
“Oh, that,” Striker nodded in agreement, “Yeah, guess so.”
Moxxie suddenly felt himself heat up again.
“You guess so? I just-” He stomped his foot, much to Striker’s amusement, “You guess so? That’s, that’s-” Moxxie tugged on his hair, tugging chunks of it off in frustration, “You are unbelievable! You know what, I don’t have to be here, I don’t even know why I am here talking to you and entertaining this!”
Moxxie turned around in a quick spin, starting to stomp towards the house.
“Awh, so soon? Where you going?” Striker asked, leaning back on the fence and making himself more comfortable.
“Anywhere away from you!” Moxxie screamed without looking back.
“Oh, so back to your in-laws and boss? Because that’s so much better than being here with me. Or you can go to the festival and take part in the games, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun there. Mind if I bet on you dying?”
Moxxie stopped on his tracks.
“Well, no, then I will, I…” Moxxie tried to think of something, anything, he could do; anywhere he could go that wouldn't fill him with dread. But came up with nothing.
Fuck. He hated to admit it, but Striker was right.
What luck he had.
“Listen,” Striker patted the spot beside him on the fence, “You don’t want to go there, neither do I. Might as well sit here with me. You know, like the old times.”
“Oh, like the old times? The same old times you enjoyed so much that you ran away from?” Moxxie gave him a daring glare, as though daring him to explain himself, but once again Striker seemed unfazed.
Moxxie just could never get to him.
Some things never change, it seemed.
“Well, maybe we can talk about those times.”
Moxxie’s mouth dropped. He wondered if Striker was being serious, or just trying to get to him – and unfortunately, succeeding. He looked back at the house once more, wondering if perhaps it was the more desirable option of all he had - even though it was still a miserable one.
Only for his heart to ache at the thought of walking away from a chance of finally understanding what happened.
Sure, maybe Striker was fucking with him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But he wouldn’t know unless he tried.
With a sigh, he hung his head down and walked to the fence, climbing it up and sitting down beside Striker; who stroke a satisfied grin. Which, once again, Moxxie wanted to wipe out with a punch. Instead, he just stretched out his hand and motioned toward the bottle Striker held.
“Oh,” Striker’s eyes widened in surprised as he handled it to him, “I thought you didn’t drink”, Striker looked Moxxie up and down as he watched the smaller imp take the bottle; which was almost too big for his tiny hands. Striker shook his head slowly.
He was still adorable.
“And I don’t,” Moxxie replied, taking the bottle to his mouth in a quick move, “But if you do, so can I”.
His snarky behavior faltered the moment the liquid touched his tongue; eyes widening as he coughed it out and spat it on the ground.
Striker closed his eyes and laughed as though he had been expecting that. Moxxie frowned and shoved the bottle against Striker’s chest, the cowboy almost losing his balance for a moment but never losing his smile.
Moxxie’s cheeks warmed up and he folded his arms as he shrunk in his spot. Just another thing Striker was better at than him, apparently. Better add that to the list his in-laws were writing down.
Literally, they had a list on the frigde.
“Don’t be mad, Moxxie,” Striker laid a hand on his shoulder, and shook the bottle with the other, “This stuff is strong. I had to build up my way to here. Should have warned you.”
Striker’s tone was comforting, and surprisingly honest. But just when Moxxie thought there was some good in him, Striker followed his words by chugging down more of the liquid until the bottle was almost empty as he looked down at Moxxie. As though to rub it in even more, he let out a relaxed and satisfied sigh, licking his lips with his eyes almost closed.
“But if I had…” Striker continued, pinching Moxxie’s lower lip, “I wouldn’t have gotten to see that cute little pout when you spat it out.”
“Shut up,” Moxxie shrugged, slapping Striker’s hand away from his face and pretending not to have noticed Striker’s gloating, “It’s fine. It wouldn’t be the first time you hurt me now, would it?”
Striker’s face immediately crunched up and he rolled his eyes in an utmost annoyed expression.
“Eesh, talk about holding a grudge,” Striker played with the bottle on his hand, “Can you talk about anything else at all?” He looked at Moxxie with a daring look.
The audacity of that fucking cowboy.
And to think once Moxxie found that endearing.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s ‘holding a grudge’ as much as it is being justifiably angry at the what you did to me.” Moxxie said, making air quotes with his hand.
Striker had to be fucking with him. There was no way someone was that little self-aware.
Then he thought of Blitz, and yeah, maybe there was.
“What do you want me to say, Mox?” Striker shrugged, finally getting a bit more serious than before, “Sorry I left? Saying sorry now doesn’t fix anything. It’s all already broken and shattered, ain’t it? I don’t see the point in that. Get mad all you want, it’s what happened.”
Moxxie felt his heart being tugged.
“You’re just incapable of realizing you’re wrong, aren’t you?” Moxxie groaned, “You can’t even apologize. After everything I’ve been through, I…”
Moxxie trailed off as memories flooded his mind.
The day he woke up to find Striker wasn’t by his side like when they fell asleep. The endless waiting after that, hoping he’d show up again at some point.
The worry that Striker might not be ok, or might even be dead. Because why else would he leave him like that?
Sure, Moxxie had said he loved him, only for Striker to never say it back. But Moxxie must have meant something to him. He wouldn’t just go away like that. He must have had a reason.
But as it appeared, he was wrong.
“I’m not even mad about you leaving, Striker. Well, that too,” Moxxie shook his head to get back into topic, “I’m mad about you not telling me why. About you disappearing like it was nothing. Like this,” Moxxie pointed back and forth between the two of them, “like we were nothing to you.”
Striker looked away from him, staring up at the moon and taking another sip instead of replying.
“If you wanted to break up with me, you could have done so, Striker. That’s all I’m saying. Instead of, you know, leaving me in the dark. That's what I'm mad about.”
Moxxie took a deep breath and held it in, waiting for Striker to say something else. But he didn’t.
He was staring at the moon, and like that he remained.
Moxxie finally let out the air he’d been holding and jumped down from the fence. It was too late to be dwelling in the past like that.
“But I didn’t want to,” Striker said, just audible enough for Moxxie to hear him.
Moxxie’s head perked up, and he turned around. Striker was still facing the other way, looking up at the moon as though it was the most fascinating thing ever. The wind blew softly, ruffling the white hair on his head between his horns that became tinted red under the soft red light.
Moxxie bit his lip with the sight. Not even all the remorse in the world could make Moxxie see him as ugly. Even at their lowest, Striker was still breathtaking. Moxxie almost hated himself for thinking that.
“What?” Moxxie questioned after a moment of silence.
“I didn’t want to break up with you, Mox,” Striker finally looked down for a moment, staring at his feet before looking towards Moxxie again, “I didn’t. I wanted to be with you. That’s why I didn’t end what we had. I never meant for it to end. Especially not like that.”
Moxxie’s eyes widened when he saw that the yellow eyes looking at him were shining; more than how they usually did on their own. As though they were shining from the moisture of unshed tears rather than by their own design. Striker’s trembling smile and eyelids added to that theory, but Moxxie shook his head.
Striker never cried. And he wouldn’t, ever.
Especially not for Moxxie.
Would he?
“Well, your past actions and your words are very conflicting, then,” Moxxie spoke carefully as he raised an eyebrow, “Because if that's the case, why…”
Striker drew in a sharp, deep breath and licked his lips. Moxxie’s words died in his mouth when he did so.
“I got my first job as a hitman that day,” Striker tapped his fingers on his knee, looking up as the memories came to him, “And I knew you didn’t approve of that. Not back then, anyway. You were mad enough when I said that's what I wanted to do. Life is funny, though, ain't it? Look at you, now. Doing exactly what you were mad at me for.”
Moxxie’s cheeks got warmer in shame.
“I was worried about what might happen to you. And listen, I, I was young back then. I didn’t know how that stuff worked, to be fair I still struggle with that, you know, we had to off a woman that had a family and I just couldn’t at first and then Blitz-”
Striker held his hand up.
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Mox. You don’t owe it to me. I'm just saying it's ironic, that's all,” Striker shook his hand as though to dismiss the topic, “But I think I owe you an explanation. What matters is that back then, I knew you would have a problem with that. Wouldn’t you?”
Moxxie looked down in silence, which was enough confirmation for Striker.
“So I had to leave early that morning. I had everything planned. It was supposed to be a fast, clean job. I was going to be back by noon, and you would never know. But I overestimated my abilities.”
Moxxie watched as Striker tail wrapped itself around him like a scared puppy would do. The smell of alcohol invaded his senses when the wind blew against Striker and towards him. Of course, with the gloating sip he'd taken, he had gotten himself just drunk enough to start talking; the proud bastard.
Who knew he was an emotional drunk.
“Remember, I was young then, too.” He whispered.
Moxxie finally walked back to the fence, climbing it up and sitting beside Striker again. He felt like it would be a while before that conversation was done.
“What happened, then?” Moxxie looked up at him, regretting the question as soon as it left his mouth – scared he’d scare Striker away and he’d stop talking before Moxxie got the answer he’d been wanting.
Striker rolled his eyes again and his pose faltered.
“It didn’t go as planned. I was caught. They wanted to know who had hired me, but I didn’t budge. It took me a few days to escape them… hardly unharmed.”
Moxxie gasped softly at the thought. Striker then looked down at his arm, Moxxie following his gaze. Barely visible on his wrist, the tip of a scar could be seen before the rest of it disappeared under Striker’s sleeve.
Moxxie gulped, and closed his eyes to allow the memories to come in. He realized that when he thought of Striker’s body, what came to mind was the memory of a clean chest, free of scars and marks; a warm and soft body he used to sleep against every night. He wondered what he looked like now under all his clothing; how much he had changed since Moxxie had last seen him bare.
How many scars did he have now?
On the very back of his mind, Moxxie felt the urge to undress him and run his fingers on all of the scars he saw; following the drawings that had been left on his body by the years of recklessness. But the will was short lived, Moxxie being taken away from his fantasy when Striker tugged his sleeve so that it covered the scar again.
“I had to finish the job, still,” Striker shook his head, “I knew I couldn’t go back to you until it was done. I had too many people after me, now. I didn’t want you to be in danger. So I laid low, away from anyone’s gaze.”
“Oh, yeah, you had to lay low,” Moxxie nodded, trying to absorb all he had just learned as he folded his arms, “For ten years?”
Striker sighed.
“Listen… by the time I got everything cleaned up, and I thought I was safe again, it had already been a couple months. Might have been a full year… You lose track of time when you’re watching out for your back the whole day.” He tapped his fingers on the fence.
Moxxie nodded, somewhat understanding, somewhat mad.
“What about the remaining nine years?”
“Will you shut up and let me finish the story?” Striker glared down at him.
Moxxie held out his hands with an annoyed frown, “Oh, I’m so sorry, go on.”
Striker looked up as though trying to remember where he had left off.
“Well, to sum it up, I got caught up in another mess before I knew it. And another. And another. You don’t get as good as I am now if you don’t get the chance to practice, and well, I had plenty,” Striker adjusted his collar and straightened himself up, clear expression of pride on his face.
Yeah, it wouldn’t be Striker without some gloating in there somewhere, Moxxie thought.
It didn’t last long, though, as Striker’s smile died and he shrunk back.
“And, well… when I finally could go back to you, when that was finally a feasible option… I was scared it had been way too long. I thought you’d have forgotten all about me by then.”
“You thought I'd just forget you?”, Moxxie whispered incredulous, before raising his tone, “And then you decided that not showing up again was the best thing to do?”
Striker’s tail snapped and wrapped itself around Moxxie’s mouth, Moxxie squealing under it and scratching at it.
“Will you let me fucking finish?” Striker asked, visibly more annoyed than before. Moxxie did his best to nod despite the strong grip around his head, although he was also clearly annoyed at the cowboy.
“I did decide to go after you in the end, dumbass. I thought that sure, it’d been a couple years, but I thought I could try,” His voice lowered for a moment as his tail let Moxxie go, “I had to try… So, I went back to your old address, checked your old job, went back to our old place. Nobody seemed to know… You were gone.”
Moxxie thought a bit and nodded, looking down slightly focused. If his memory didn’t fail him, Striker must have taken at least five years to go look for him again, for that had been when he moved away to start anew as Blitz’s employee.
And to think he had stayed there for as long as he had in hopes that one day, Striker would come back for him. But of course, he wouldn’t let Striker know that.
Moxxie also would never let him know that for a second, he wondered what might had happened if he had waited a little longer… if he had still been there when he showed up.
Better shake those thoughts away, before they managed to push out the tears that started to prick his eyes.
“I looked for a little more, before getting caught up again, and thought that would be it for you and I… and then, well, I saw the ad for I.M.P.”
Moxxie allowed himself a smile despite the dire situation he found himself in, “Oh god, not the one with the jingle?”
Striker smiled back, “Yeah, that one.”
“Ugh, not that one, is it still airing?” Moxxie pinched his forehead, “Nobody likes that jingle!”
Striker looked up innocently, “I like it,” He shrugged.
Moxxie raised an eyebrow, “Ok, maybe it’s just me then. But don’t say that in front of Blitz.”
Striker let out a heartfelt laughter, and for a second, Moxxie thought himself to be back to how they were those years back. When it was so easy to make Striker laugh, and his heart fluttered at the thought of doing so.
“Well,” Striker continued, “I saw you on TV. I ran out of the motel, followed the address, got to your office in the middle of the night. And waited till morning. I still remember… I was in my car, and I saw you all get there. You, Blitz, Millie, the hellhound, I saw you. I swallowed dry, you were right there. I finally had a chance to make things right. I found you. For the first time in years, I could go talk to you.”
Moxxie tilted his head.
“Then why didn’t you?” His voice came out with a crack, more disappointed than he had hoped for.
“I was going to, I swear. I got out of my car, I walked towards you. And then… You kissed Millie. And I realized you two weren't exactly... just coworkers.”
Moxxie’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Oh. Yeah, by then I already… we already…”
Striker smiled, his lips trembling again.
“I hadn’t thought of that. In my head, I would get there and you would be waiting for me, just like I’d been waiting to find you. I figured…” He trailed off and shook his head, “I was selfish. I’m sorry.”
Moxxie felt as though he needed to apologize as well, what for however, he didn’t know. And then, he realized it was the first time Striker had ever said those words to him, despite how many times they’d fought because he refused to apologize over something stupid.
Striker finally apologized for something he did.
Moxxie would have been so happy to hear those words a few years back. Now… he just lowered his head in silence.
“Of course you’d moved on. It had been what, almost ten years? It was obvious. I don’t know how I didn’t think of that. I was blinded by my wishful thinking. I thought I’d get there, tell you I was back, and I would apologize; you’d forgive me and jump into my arms and we’d walk away into the sunset together. Like in those stupid movies you always made me watch with you.”
Moxxie gasped, “They’re not stupid! It’s just that you don’t appreciate anything done with emotion,” He shifted in his place and folded his arms defensively.
Striker then looked down at him and let out a laughter.
Moxxie gulped.
He knew that laughter. It was the kind of laughter one lets out when they want people to think they’re laughing along after they’ve been the subject of a joke – but they're actually hurt inside and don't want anyone to know.
Moxxie did that one quite a bit.
“Well, as bad as you think they are… it’d be nice if life was like those movies sometimes, hum?” Moxxie’s lips turned into a small, sad smile, as he thought of the possibilities. How it might have turned out, if only…
“Yeah. Guess you don’t know what you got till it’s gone,” Striker shrugged, “It wouldn’t be fair, I thought to myself. I watched you for a couple more days. I pondered. I wondered if I should write, leave a note. But the more I saw you two, the more I thought it wasn’t fair.”
“You, with a sense of fairness?” Moxxie raised an eyebrow, “That’s a first, ain’t it?”
Striker shrugged, “And I think it might have been the last time, even to this day.”
Moxxie nodded, “I believe that.”
A moment of silence passed, Moxxie's heart growing impatient.
“Anyway… I decided it wasn’t fair to do that to you. To just show up. If you had already moved on, I’d reopen an old wound. If you hadn’t, I would make it harder for you. I didn’t want that, I never did. You were happy, you seemed accomplished. So I got into my car, and now… Well, the rest is history. I never could have imagined we would end up meeting again. Had I known these were Millie’s parents, I would have never accepted the job. I'd have found another way to cover up.”
Moxxie looked up at the moon as well. A few hours before, his biggest worry about the trip was getting along with Millie’s parents. Now… That seemed so small next to everything else he needed to process. If only he could go back to that morning.
“I guess when some things are meant to be… life finds a way.”
Striker raised an eyebrow, “What?”
“I, I don’t know… Don’t you believe some things are just… meant to be?” Moxxie scratched his arm awkwardly, “I like to believe that, sometimes. Maybe we were meant to meet again, if anything, for you to tell me everything. Hell, I thought you were dead for the longest time there. Maybe we had to meet for me to finally get some peace of mind.”
Striker blinked.
“That sounds like an excuse to blame fate for your actions instead of taking the blame like a man.”
Moxxie punched Striker’s chest with his elbow; both letting out a low laugh.
They stayed in silence afterwards, looking up at the moon together.
“Well, fate or not… did this bring you any peace of mind, at least?”
Moxxie looked up and down as he pondered.
“Did it to you?”
“I asked first.”
Moxxie rolled his eyes and looked down.
“I… I don’t know. In a way I guess I’m glad to finally know why my boyfriend of a year who I thought I was going have a life with just disappeared…” He muttered to himself like a child would, “And I guess I’m glad you weren’t, you know, dead in alley, never to be found or something.”
Striker’s eyes widened at the unexpected subtle care in that sentence.
“But… I’m still pretty hurt,” Moxxie sighed and took his hands to his temples, rubbing them in circles, “Do you understand what it was like? Day after day, year after year, not knowing when to finally accept you weren’t coming back but slowly coming to realize that’s what happened? And when I’m at a good place, when I think I’m past everything, you come back from the dead. I, it’s just…” Moxxie sighed, voice getting lower.
Striker lifted his hand and it fluttered in the air around Moxxie, but he retracted it before he could touch Moxxie's shoulder.
“You didn’t even say goodbye,” Moxxie looked up at Striker, eyes wide and visibly wet. Once he blinked again, it was enough for the tears to be pushed down his eyes, rolling down his face.
Moxxie looked down immediately, facing away from Striker. Not even now he could be the stronger person.
The taller imp took his hand to Moxxie’s chin, lifting his head back up so that they were looking at each other again. In a gesture so gentle that Moxxie almost doubted it’d come from Striker, he wiped his tears away with his thumb.
“Well, I guess it isn’t too late for a goodbye, if that’s what you want… is it?” Striker leaned down until they were at the same eye level, looking into Moxxie’s eyes with earnest desire.
Moxxie panicked for a second, staring up at Striker’s eyes and then down at his lips. For a second, he wondered if he’d misread the situation; but when Striker leaned forward even closer, there was no doubt left. His heart pounded inside his chest, his tail shaking in anticipation for a kiss that didn’t happen.
Because Striker was waiting for permission; one word and he would stop. The power of choice had been placed on Moxxie’s hand, and if he took the opportunity, he knew he would be the only one to blame.
Moxxie gulped, Striker’s hope never faltering as he stayed ready in position, his hand never leaving Moxxie’s face.
If Moxxie had given himself a second more to think, he might have done something different. He might have realized what a terrible, awful idea it would have been to give in to that.
Too bad he didn’t wait a second longer.
Moxxie proceeded to grab a fistful of Striker’s shirt and pull him in, closing the gap between their lips for the first time in over a decade. Striker seemed barely taken aback, as if that was a moment he’d been waiting for.
Maybe it was.
They both knew it was wrong, and perhaps that’s what made it so tempting. The world around them blurred away, and suddenly they were the only ones left in it. The danger of being caught, the sense of finding again what you thought was lost forever, the strange familiarity of each other’s embrace.
Moxxie’s head was spinning as Striker stroked the back of his head and pulled him closer, opening his eyes for a second to look at Striker before closing them again and allowing himself to get lost in the moment once more.
For a second, it was like Striker never left.
Like they were back to the room they shared that one year, when being together felt so easy.
Moxxie only pulled away when he found himself needing to breathe, lips swollen and tongue hanging out his mouth as he took a warm breath. He hadn’t realized he’d started sweating, strings of saliva connecting him and Striker still.
“Now that is a proper goodbye,” Striker tried to laugh, but coughed when he was too breathless to do so.
Moxxie’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized what he’d done, guilt quickly washing over his body and making him all warm again. He glanced at the house, worried that someone might have seen them; thankfully that didn’t seem to be the case.
But still.
His legs folded as he folded over himself, taking a hand to his mouth, which now tasted of alcohol and cigarettes; and of a familiar taste. That of Striker, which he knew so well. And which he used to love so much.
“Moxxie?”
Moxxie’s fist turned into a ball as more tears ran down his face.
“Moxxie?” Striker leaned closer to him.
Next thing Striker knew he had fallen on the ground on his back. His nose eradiated a sharp pain that quickly spread to the rest of his face. He wasn’t even sure what had happened, until he saw Moxxie sitting on the fence with his fist closed, looking down at him with rage on his eyes.
“What the…” Striker got up from the ground, touching his nose to see if Moxxie had managed to draw blood, but it didn’t seem to be the case. He had to admit, seeing Moxxie finally man up and challenge him was kind of an interesting behavior… that he wouldn’t mind seeing more of.
Moxxie watched as Striker stood up, licking his lips to feel that sour taste of cheap beer once again.
And suddenly, it was too much.
He all but collapsed into his hands, tears running down his eyes freely and soaking the sleeves of his shirt as he hiccupped.
There was only so much holding back he could do.
“Moxxie?” Striker tilted his head in confusion, walking back up to the fence a bit carefully, to make sure he could avoid any new incoming punches that might be thrown his way.
Moxxie was too lost into his crying to do anything though, it seemed.
“I… I’m sorry,” Striker sighed as he sat back down.
And there they were again, those goddamn stupid words. Fuck it, why couldn’t Striker apologize as easily back then? Why did he have to mess everything up? And why did he have to show back up when everything seemed to be almost alright again?
And why did Moxxie still care so much?
Moxxie was heated, more than before. And he might have punched Striker again, had he not taken a hand to Moxxie’s head to slowly stroke his hair as he hummed a soft tune. Soon enough, Moxxie had his head on Striker's chest, taking comfort in his heartbeat.
If not for the hard wood he was sitting on, Moxxie could have sworn they were back to their room, all those years ago; when Striker comforted him almost every night that very same way and they fell asleep together.
And he hated how much he’d clearly missed that; despite telling himself he hadn't.
“Come with me,” Striker whispered into his ear.
Moxxie’s head perked up, as he looked up from Striker’s shirt.
For the first time since he’d first seen him that day, Striker had a complete serious expression.
“What?”
“Come with me,” Striker held him by the shoulders, “It’s not too late for us, Moxxie. I know I did you wrong, but this,” He took Moxxie by the hands and looked into his eyes, “This is not something we can ignore. I thought you’d have forgotten me by now, but now I see, you haven’t. You still love me; I can see you do. And I still… I still…”
Moxxie held his breath.
“I still do, too.”
Ok, maybe Striker had still to outright say it. But he’d just admitted it, in his own way. An apology, and a confession, all on the same day. Everything Moxxie wanted to hear, for so long. The implication that he loved him even back then, when Moxxie doubted it so often.
He was going to throw up again, wasn’t he?
“Striker, I don’t know if I still… if I…” Moxxie wanted to tell Striker not to put words into his mouth. But should he, when those words were true?
Fuck it. Maybe he did still love him.
Striker was right when he called him pathetic all those years ago.
Yeah, they didn’t have the best of relationships, Moxxie realized. But somehow, Moxxie still…
“I’ll finish my job tomorrow morning. Then I’ll get on my horse, and lay low for a while again. Come with me. Nobody will find us, and with you by my side… I know we can do great things together.” Striker smiled at him, his eyes shining under the moonlight.
“You… You can’t possibly be serious.” Moxxie looked between the house and Striker. He thought of Millie, of Blitz, of I.M.P, of everything else he’d achieved in those years.
“Come with me, Moxxie,” Striker held out his hand, “Let’s run away together! Two hitmen who don’t need anyone but each other. Like it was always meant to be. Didn't you say that some things are just meant to happen?”
Moxxie blinked, his breath getting caught in his throat.
"Maybe this is one of them," Striker nodded, his hand approaching Moxxie even more.
Moxxie drew in a deep breath, his hand hanging in midair, unsure whether to take Striker’s hand or not.
“I…”
Striker watched him with anticipation; his heart beating so loud Moxxie could hear it. Or maybe it was his own heart. At that point, he couldn’t tell.
“It is… tempting,” Moxxie said, which made Striker smile; but that was short lived, as Moxxie’s hand lowered, “But… I don’t know.”
Striker sighed and closed his eyes.
"It's just too much to decide like this," Moxxie bit his lower lip. He had opened his mouth to say a hard no, but that was what had come out instead.
“Tell you what,” Striker lowered his hand as well, “I’ll be gone tomorrow by sunrise, before everyone else wakes up. If you want to go with me, knock on my door just before the sun comes up. If you don’t do that, I get it… And I promise we will never cross paths again.”
Moxxie opened his mouth to reply, only for Striker to turn around and walk away towards the house once more.
“You should come have dinner, I killed it myself,” Striker said as he walked away, waving at Moxxie.
Killed? Moxxie's eyes widened as it suddenly hit him,
“Wait, Striker,” Moxxie called out, “Who do you have to kill tomorrow?”
But Striker was already gone.
EPILOGUE:
Moxxie stayed at the fence, and he wouldn’t move until a few hours later when Millie came to grab him herself.
She asked if he was alright, to which he replied by giving her a kiss and a hug.
“I will be,” was all he managed to say, before taking her hand to take her back to house.
The next morning, he would wake up before the sun could rise. That much he knew. He needed to make sure he would have a choice to make.
But whether he would go knock on Striker’s door or stay in bed with Millie, he didn't know yet.