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Whenever the four of them are on earth—which is always once in a blue moon, but it happens more often than one might think—they all go to a bar for a few drinks. (It used to be that they would hit up Warriors, but Guy got a little uppity about it being his establishment that they were frequenting, so it became mutually agreed upon that they would find a neutral location to get wasted.)
The place they’ve chosen tonight is Dini’s, a nice little hole in the wall where the four of them don’t get so much as a second glance in their civvies and the conversation washes freely over them, distraction enough to anyone else from whatever they might talk about. Which, at the current moment, is nonsense.
“Ever think about getting a haircut, Jordan?” Guy asks with a sneer, his eyes raking over the length of Hal’s mane, for lack of a better word, that is freely flowing over his shoulders. He knocks back a heady swallow of his beer, waiting for the retort that Hal will volley back his way.
“Bold words coming from you, Guy.” Hal returns back from Guy’s left as he runs a broad finger over the rim of his Old Fashioned. “Besides, I don’t get complaints about it up in space.”
“Well, that’s because guys like Tomar-Re and Kilowog don’t have any hair to talk about,” Kyle butts in on the left side of Hal to mediate the colorful reply that Guy is gearing up to say, if the merry twinkle in his eye means anything. “They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”
“Gotta flaunt what you have,” John adds in helpfully. “Besides, there’s no good barbershops out on Oa.”
“Like you’re one to talk, Stewart,” Guy retorts. “You’re the most straight an’ narrow of all of us.”
“Yeah, but I still have eyes, Guy.” John replies—this prompts a round of laughter that circles the table as he takes a drink from his own beer.
“Shows what you know,” Guy’s smug even in conversational defeat, “But I ain’t arguin’ with people that got no appreciation for the finer things in life.”
“Like yourself?” Kyle can’t resist poking the bear, even though John gives him a warning glance—this isn’t their first drink of the night, after all.
“Yeah, like me.” Guy says, the smirk still present on his face. “Glad to hear you got good taste, Rayner.”
“Yeah, well,” Kyle says, taking his own sip of beer, “I do have that artist’s eye, you know.”
It’s sometime around then, as they continue to shoot the shit, that John, who is facing the door, clocked you walking in through the entrance of the bar with the chill wind that accompanied you through it. He watches carefully as you ghost past the curtains that separate the outside riffraff from the inside riffraff, turning reluctantly over your shoulder before you seem to decide better upon it and beeline straight to a free spot in the already cramped bar counter.
But he notes that you don’t order a drink—and upon closer inspection (not because you’re cute, that’s besides the point) he notes that you seem to be the most sober person in the bar. And certainly, he thinks, the most quietly terrified one.
The dazed fear in your eyes, the way that you clutch your bag to your chest, the way your shoulders seem to hunch in on themselves mark someone who does not want to be noticed, and someone who is trying very hard to—
“Whatcha lookin’ at, Stewart?” Guy asks coarsely, waving a wide hand in front of John’s eyes, making him start and look back to his companions for the night. “Need you to back me up on this shit and you’re fuckin’ spacing out—”
“Sorry,” John says, but he can’t help but cast his eyes from Guy’s incautious confusion back up to you, as you turn back to the counter, and back over your shoulder again—what are you running from?
“Just got distracted.” John continues, but there’s a knowing chuckle from Kyle, and John sees with mounting dread that Rayner’s eyes are following the same trajectory that John’s been eyeing.
“Yeah, sure he did,” Kyle grins, pointing with his thumb; Hal and Guy turn to look over their shoulders as he tacks on, “I guess I would be too, if I were you.”
Guy takes an admirative moment to search you up and down from the distance the group has and turns back with a jeering, “Like he’s got a chance.”
“Like you do?” Kyle jokes back rapidfire. “Some people actually have standards.”
“Sure,” Guy grunts, exuding his natural charm and grace, “An’ maybe they’re high enough to get a class act like me.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a boy’s night tonight,” Hal says dubiously as he eyes the other three who seem to be otherwise distracted, as if he himself didn’t take his own lingering glance. “Why don’t you let them be?”
“Just ‘cause you got hookups down here and up top in space don’t mean everyone else does, Jordan,” Guy grins. “No harm in admiring the goods.”
“Yeah, but maybe we shouldn’t all be staring?” Kyle asks. “Kinda comes off as creepy.”
“Takes one to know one,” Guy replies back cool as a cucumber, ignoring Kyle’s pointed eye-roll to the ceiling.
John tries to salvage his momentarily ruined reputation, looking to the rest of them as he pleads his defense. “I was only looking because they seemed like they were scared. When they came in they looked frightened, frantic.”
“Well, looks like they’ve changed their mind,” Hal says wryly, making John and the others look up sharply from their conversation to see as you approach their table with a smile a tad shaky, “Because that looks like interest to me.”
“Try to act natural, John,” Kyle grins encouragingly, “Use that cool Marines charm.”
“Ain’t no such thing,” Guy jokes back. “‘S like askin’ Batman to be calm and collected.”
“He’s only pissed off and angry around you, Guy,” Hal shoots back, but there’s really not much more to say before you are there, stopping right at the empty seat between John and Guy, looking up to them all as you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. John notes the tremor in your hand as you affix a more natural-looking smile to your face; if it was the genuine article, it would really suit you.
“Hi, everyone, sorry I’m late,” you grin, speaking with a familiarity that denotes a longer relationship than the ten seconds you’ve known them, “Mind if I take this seat here?”
Hal’s the first to recover out of the spot of confusion that your apparent acquaintanceship with everyone causes. He gestures to the open seat to be yours for the taking. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks,” you say, letting some genuine emotion into your voice as you pull the seat back and climb up, placing your bag onto the table. “I really appreciate it.”
Kyle’s frowning, trying to place you and failing. “Where do we know you from…?”
You take a quick breath to regulate yourself and keep the smile on your face. “Sorry—I just needed an excuse to sit with some people, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Don’t mind at all, honey,” Guy says, looking at you appreciatively as he knocks back another swallow. You smile back at him without really looking, your mind elsewhere.
“—I’m just trying to avoid that guy over in the corner. Please don’t look—”—you hold up your hand to stop the instinctual swivel that Kyle and Guy and Hal are already making as they look—but John already sees him. Has seen him, from the way that he sits at the only empty two-seater and bores his eyes into you, an edge of disappointed, seething anger that you’ve found a worthy obstacle to his designs.
Hal is the most restrained as he turns back, Kyle casting a wary glance back to the man—Guy foregoes your plea, openly staring the man down. John is only looking at you, noting the way that your eyes dart back and forth between the four of them, trying to ascertain if you bet on the right horses tonight.
“You know him?” Hal asks, letting a little bit of the reassuring authority he usually enforces planetside bleed into his voice. You shake your head vehemently enough that it’s obvious you’re telling the truth.
“No, I don’t. I was at Mustang Sally’s down the street—”—You jerk your head in the general direction of the previous bar you hail from—“—And the guy wouldn’t leave me alone. So I tried to go to Carrie’s, but he followed me there. Almost—got his hands on me.”
You swallow thickly, running your pink tongue over your lips, letting a quavery laugh escape you. “So I came in here hoping that would shake him off. But I guess this is good too.”
You gesture to the group, giving a broader smile, more confident now that you have reinforcements, but only a little.
“You want us to talk to that asshole?” Guy asks, and you shake your head emphatically no.
“How’s that gonna help?” Kyle asks in your defense. “They’re scared, Guy.”
“I’m a real good communicator,” Guy reassures with a cheeky grin to you; you feel brave enough to send him one back.
“Do you have a ride home?” John asks carefully, making you turn from Guy to him. There’s a protective urge he feels shock through him as he sees the wide-eyed, worried look on your face—you’ve been terrified.
You nod at the only silver lining you have. “My roommate is coming to pick me up. But she’s about fifteen minutes away from here.” You sigh, a tremulous noise. “I didn’t know what I was going to do, until I saw you all.”
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” Hal’s voice is encouraging and warm. “We can walk you out to your ride when they get here.”
“That’s sweet of you,” you say, smiling a little more bravely at Hal, who matches it. “I just hope the creep gets the hint.”
“Usually they need a little more encouragement,” Guy says, looking askance back to said creep, who pointedly avoids his heated scowl. “Either way we gotcha covered.”
“You want something to drink?” John asks you, and you look back to him, a touch of embarrassment on your face. This looks good on you too, John thinks.
“Oh, I’ve already imposed enough.” You try to dissuade him. “Besides, I think I’m too nervous to have anything alcoholic.”
“Think they got Red Bulls here,” Kyle says, squinting at the chalkboard menu behind the counter. “We’ll get you hooked up.”
“I’m not sure—”—you begin unsurely, but John gently interrupts.
“We don’t mind.” John’s voice is a calm, serene note. “Besides, Guy’s paying for it all.”
“Hell I am, Stewart—”
The fifteen minutes pass by fairly quickly, and the four of them are good company, better company than you could have hoped for. You hear about Kyle’s illustration work, Hal’s multiple stints as a pilot, John’s tour as a Marine and his dayjob as an architect. You hear but don’t quite believe Guy as he says he’s a teacher (“Ex-teacher, anyways—they pay me the big bucks now, honey—” “I didn’t know that’s what they called it nowadays—” “—Watch it, Rayner—”).
Pretty soon, you’re able to relax in your seat, the laughter more and more genuine, especially when Kyle regales the group with an exceptionally funny story about an uptight coworker that just does not have a sense of humor. You have to put a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing so hard, not noticing the varying degrees of interest as you do so—that out of courtesy for your situation, will remain unknown to you.
But then, your phone chimes brightly, and you fish it out of your bag, reading the message that illuminates your face. You look back up to them as they await your news.
“My roommate’s here, thank god.” You say, palpable relief in your voice. “I guess this is it for me, boys.”
“We’ll walk you out,” John and Guy say at once, beating Kyle and Hal to the punch. You don’t clock the glare that Kyle exchanges with Guy as you replace your phone into the depths of your bag, looking back up to them.
“Only if you’re sure,” you begin uncertainly. “I mean, you already bought me drinks and everything.”
“It’s our pleasure,” John says. “We want to make sure you get to the car safely.”
“Yeah, and make sure chucklehead over there doesn’t get any dumb fuckin’ ideas,” Guy says—because of course the creep is still waiting for any opportune moment.
“Okay. Thank you.” You say, and hop down from your seat—John and Guy move in lockstep with you, your heralding guards to the carriage that awaits you outside. Kyle and Hal watch as they keep you talking as you walk past the far corner where the stalker follows you with his eyes—Hal turns to his companion as your trio exits out the door.
“Shall I, or do you want the honors?” Hal asks, cocking a brow to Kyle.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Kyle grins, and his ring gleams with a familiar glow as the man rises to follow after you—and finds that he can’t move his leg. Maybe that has something to do with the manacle and ball and chain that Kyle’s affixed to his leg under the table, unnoticed by the rest of the patrons here at the bar. But who knows.
Kyle waits to release it until Guy and John return back into the bar and re-seat themselves, a neutral expression on John’s face, a smirk on Guy’s. The man stumbles out of the bar, confused and unmoored, but it’ll be no use. You’re already long gone.
“They get to the car safe?” Hal confirms with them, and John nods. Guy looks like the cat who ate the canary as he leans back in the chair.
“Sure did,” he says, “And gave John a little souvenir to remember ‘em by.”
“Which is?” Kyle asks curiously, eyebrows jumping up his forehead. John looks a little miffed that Guy had to draw attention to it, but shows a slip of paper that makes Kyle slap the table excitedly the second it’s produced.
“You got their number? My man—”—Kyle’s able to look past his own disappointment to reach across the table and clap John on the shoulder, who offers a grimace.
“Technically, they said that the number’s for everyone—just so they can meet up and pay us back for a round later.” John says, trying to qualify the achievement that Kyle is jubilant on his behalf for.
“Yeah, but they didn’t give me the paper or that cute lil’ doe-eyed look.” Guy shoots back, draining his drink, perhaps drowning whatever sorrows he can. “That’s all you, Romeo.”
“So much for standards,” Kyle teases, Guy gives an almighty shrug.
“Ah, they were scared. Next time we seem ‘em—we’ll see if fear wasn’t influencin’ their decisions.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Guy.”
“Up yours, Rayner. Now who’s buyin’ the next round? Sure as fuck ain’t me.”
John catches Hal’s eye, who smiles at him—and he returns it back. Maybe the next time you all meet, he can get an honest answer from you. But that’s for later, and so he slips the paper into his pocket, and returns his attention back to the conversation at the table.