[C][AU][Future AU] Messages

Fleck was mulishly silent until he felt the gentle hand on his shoulder.

"A month," came his cracked voice. "I tried for a month, and you got- It took one try!"

The last word faltered as a wet sob tore from him.

Lucas' lips turned into a thin line.

He smoothed the hand to the back of Fleck's neck and brought him to his shoulder for a half hug.

"He only answered me because he thought we were in danger."

Fleck took a long, shaky breath in, then held it.

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

The exhale was a lot less shaky.

He pushed away from the wall, and gave Lucas' shoulder a firm pat as he also pulled away from him, heading back into the apartment.

Fleck sat down on the couch, legs crossed, staring down at the communicator. "Do you have a med kit, Red? No healing pods here."

Lucas followed Fleck in and opened up a kitchen cupboard.

"If you want to guilt the shit you got the press the button."

He joined Fleck opposite on the couch, crossed legged. He took and antiseptic wipe to clean Fleck,s bloodied hand with. God knows what was living on those wall.

Garrison issued wasn't exactly the highest quality.

"I'm not sure I want to talk to him."

He spent the last month trying to get hold of him, and now he was struggling with the idea of talking to him.

What do you say to someone that had been purposefully ignoring you for a month, then talks to your best friend pretty much without prompt?

Fleck didn't know.

He didn't take his eyes off the communicator as Lucas worked on his hand. He barely flinched as the antiseptic stung at his split knuckles.

Lucas hummed as before he silently patched up Fleck's hand. The communicator was just as silent.

Well, this was fucking awkward.

Satisfied with the job on Felck's hand - he packed up up the medical kit and stored it back away. He dropped back down on the couch for their pity party. All this time the communicator was silent until

Lucas, this is Fleck's communicator. Is he... Is he with you?

Lucas raised an eyebrow at Fleck.

Fleck watched Lucas get up and put away the kit. When he sat back down again, Fleck shifted, kicking the communicator from its spot on the couch and shiting with his back against the back of the couch, leaning against Lucas' shoulder.

"Answer him if you want."

Lucas hummed again and picked the communicator up. He spun it his hand, thinking.

"No. He left after hearing you answer me after being a cunt for a month and not answering, you know, your partner for the last ten deca-phoebs."

Silence.

Oh. His voice sounded cracked. can you give the communicator back to him when you see him?

"Depends if he wants it."

Fleck gave a little huff. It was hard to decide whether it was amused or not, it was so quiet and restrained.

He muttered quietly in Altean - an equivalent of 'he can go fuck himself.'

Fleck turned his face into Lucas' shoulder.

Lucas slung an arm around Fleck's shoulder in what he hoped was comforting. He spun the communicator in his hand again, waiting to see if there was a response.

There wasn't.

He threw the communicator onto the wonky coffee table and turned on the TV. An old film was on.

"So, what now?"

Fleck hummed in thought, eyes finding the old film on screen.

"Where's the fucking whiskey?"

That was now. Drowning out shitty emotions with shitty booze.

"That sounds like a terrible idea, Black. I love it."

He probably shouldn't be encouraging this, but who was he to deprive a man? Besides, it wasn't like he was letting Fleck drink by himself.

He poured them both a heart glass and took a swig, not bothering to make cheers now. What were they going to cheer about? Salute! Your partner of ten-years is sort of talking to you, but only by mistake.

"Everything I've done in the last month has been a fucking terrible idea. Why not one more?"

If they were going to mount up, why not really let them mount up? What was that old Earth saying...? In for a penny, in for a euro? Something like that.

He took a good long chug, enjoying the burn and the heat that seeped through his chest.

"Just don't go drunk calling."

The sounded like the optimal bad idea of bad ideas. Nothing came out of drunken calls. Nothing.

"Keep the communicator away from me then."

He took another large sip.

"I'd probably end up either screaming or crying at him. Neither response is dignified for the all-powerful Black Paladin."

"We don't want that. Our leader is supposed to be the level-headed one. I don't want you to take Red from me."

He took the communicator and strolled into his room. Then returned a minute later, communicator safely hidden from Fleck's drunk hands and bad decision making.

"Are you going to crash round mine?"

He opened the fridge to pull out the meal his sister left him. Lasagna. He could split that.

"I've done enough switching lions around in my time. Red's safe. Anyway, Giacinto doesn't like me nearly as much as she likes you. I think if I took Red, she'd skin me alive and wear my pelt as a Galran war robe."

He kicked back when Lucas stood and left with the communicator, snatching up the bottle of whisky to swig right from it.

"Yup. I don't think I can take another one of Chrys' healing circles and I know exactly what you've been through speeches. His speeches are worse than Giacinto's when she gets up on her high Snurltag."

Lucas snorted as he shoved the lasagna in the microwave.

"They're worse? I didn't think that was possible. But, hey, 'least you don't have to deal with either of them right now. Just me and a bottle of JD."

He leaned over the couch to steal the bottle and take a swig of it himself.

"Giacinto, at least, helps you through your problems after making you feel like shit. Chrys expects his speech come rant to have fixed everything wrong with you."

He turned the bottle and chugged a few large mouthfuls, gasping when he righted the bottle again, licking his lips, then wiping his mouth with his forearm.

"Small mercies."

So he didn't get left behind when the booze kicked in, he took the bottle back follow Fleck's lead.

The microwave dinged and he handed the bottle back to Fleck.

The lasagna was served still in its tupperwear with a single fork for them each. You couldn't say Lucas wasn't accommodating.

"My sister isn't the best, but I promise you she isn't as shit as me."

Or Dick.

"There aren't many people as shit as you at cooking."

He prodded at the lasagne before cutting a piece off. This had been one of his own signature dishes when he was back on Earth the first time. He hadn't had it since the last time he'd made it.

After a mouthful he decided that, like with human coffee, it was now much sweeter than the foods he was used to. Alteans and Galra alike favoured bitter and spicy foods. Much more bitter and spicy than most humans cooked. He still hadn't adjusted well to food here.

He'd lost a surprising amount of his bulk in the time he'd been on Earth, eating little just because he couldn't palette human food any more.

"Giacinto and I spent so much time catering to you inept people."

He shoved a bite in his mouth and came to the same conclusion as Fleck. It was too sweet.

He shoved his fork in and took another mouthful, having learned not to care about taste.

"I'm sorry not all of us can differentiate between types of mushroom."

The first year or two they had discovered the lions, and he was still a bratty kid, he had tried to make a peace offering by cooking. In which he almost murdered the defenders of the universe because he picked out the wrong fucking mushroom which made most of them sick and out of action for a few days.

He didn't have many attempts after that.

"Mushrooms," Fleck groaned in pleasure.

"That's one thing I've missed from Earth. Can't find a good alien mushroom in any food court or populated moon anywhere but here on Earth."

He'd spent eleven decaphebes trying.

Lucas snorted and wagged his fork.

"One reason to stay here then. Or maybe smuggle on board and start an illegal earth mushroom farm in space or whatever."

Another mouthful barely chewed before swallowing.

"If you go back to space, what exactly are going to do anyway? We have much of a purpose up there as we do down here."

"Illegal mushroom farm," he agreed, reaching for the whiskey.

Liquid dinner again tonight. Lasagne wasn't doing it for him.

"I'm going to defend the fucking universe. Just because Zarkon's gone doesn't mean the world is in a great age of peace. There'll always be something. Some struggle dispute or war between people that we can help with."

And as a Paladin, he had authority to do that.

Here on Earth he was lower than a nobody. He didn't have any authority, any ability to help.