Tiny Dancer [EverlyxSterling]

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Natalia started to say something else, then thought better of it. Instead, she got on the elevator alone and watched the doors close before she bothered pushing the button to take her down to the first floor.

As soon as the doors were open again, she was out. She walked past people who were anxiously going to visit friends and family, barely sparing the security guards a glance as she strode by. They did not deserve her attention, the bastards. Of course, she was not finished dealing with them. Her next visit would be forced to go through them first. And the one after that.. and the one after that.. She sighed, shaking her head a little as she pushed her way through the heavy doors and emerged on the sidewalk. Alright. Time to go feel better before grabbing lunch.

She walked along, lost in thought. Damien was odd, she decided. One minute he was disapproving, the next he was helping her, but then afterward he seemed.. standoffish. Perhaps he was PMSing. That would explain a lot. Or maybe the stress of whatever his mother situation was had been getting to him. He should light one up and relax instead of getting all wound up about Andrei. She rolled her eyes at the thought. As if he would ever let loose like that. She'd met the guy twice and already doubted he even knew what having fun meant.

Her walk soon took her two blocks away, to a boring looking apartment building. It was easily passed by, but her target was standing right next to it, leaning against the corner that was easily shrouded by the shadow of an alleyway.

"Always a pleasure," he said, grinning at her around the joint in his mouth. "I've missed seeing that hot piece of ass 'round here."

"Shut up," she muttered, flipping him off. She didn't have the patience for his copious amounts of bullshit today. Turning a bit, she reached in her bag and pulled a handful of cash from her wallet, discreetly handing it to him.

"Somebody's desperate," he observed, his amusement clear. He pocketed the cash in a flash and slipped her a plain brown paper bag that was all rolled up, like a kid might carry to school with lunch inside. She smirked and tossed it in her purse, giving him a single nod before turning and walking off.
 
Damien emerged from the bank of elevator distressed. Went straight from the elevator into the classy, yet uncomfortable chairs across the lobby and took a seat. His heart was racing, and not in a good way. The entirety of the past hour came crashing down upon Damien with the weight of a grand piano. He'd done a number of unwise things for a disturbed and reckless stranger, one who ultimately proved ungrateful for the degree of risk he offered. Helping people in need had become a habit for Damien ... more of a hobby, now. At some point, he was going to get into trouble and there would be real consequences to his charitable attitudes. The hospital already had Damien on their "shit-list", and he had just assisted in a conspiracy to mislead, implying fraudulent legal documentation where none likely existed.

The hospital could bar him from the premises and he wouldn't see his mother until her funeral. And, that would be the least onerous of punishments. Damien could be sued, arrested, imprisoned, fined ... for the money used toward life support for Lily. Damien lowered his head into his hands. He had to be more careful. Then, the realization dawned upon Damien ... Natalia. She was someone who seemed to be popping up in his existence more, and her presence presaged hardship and threatened to undermine everything he held dear. She was an unholy angel, snagging people to trip on their own vices, tumbling toward their own destruction. Maybe that's what happened to Lily. Natalia seemed to loath herself when they attended Lily alone, perhaps she had a part in her being there?

"Eh ... Who knows? Who cares?" That was Blair speaking in Damien's distant voice. The strung out musician was normally the last person Damien would emulate for wisdom or advice. But in this instance, he thought he might just follow his lead.

As Damien walked toward his mother's room he passed another plate-glass window. His phone immediately beeped, alerting him he had four messages. He looked down, all from Jenny. It looked like he would be entertained this evening one way or the other.
 
Colors.

Lights.

Voices.

There was too much to focus on and Natalia didn't bother to try. She didn't know exactly what she had taken, but she knew it was a combination of a few things, and she knew that she was higher than she had ever been in her life. Her stress and worry about Lily was gone, forgotten. Instead, she was giggling to herself, her steps unsteady as she wove down the sidewalk to work. Hours had passed and she was running late, as usual. This time, Evan didn't even notice when she came in, which was probably a good thing since she nearly fell when she went backstage.

"Natalia? Are you okay?" one of the other girls asked, eyeing the giggly blonde.

"Oh, I am fantastic," the stripper breathed, downing a glass of whiskey that she had swiped from the bar when she had gone by. She felt warm and the colors in the room were all swimming together like a dancing rainbow. It was gorgeous. The twinkling lights and pulsating music made her want to just sit and enjoy the pleasure, but she had to work. She smiled and stripped off her jacket and shorts, soon tossing her shirt aside and running her hands through her hair. Perfection.

It was a miracle that she made it up the stairs to the stage. She curled her fingers around the pole and started dancing, her movements languid at first until she started getting more into it. Instead of doing the same routine as usual, she gave them something new. It was a much more erotic dance, leaving her audience cheering and whistling at her as she dropped her undergarments aside. Soon she was dancing in nothing but stockings and heels, not even noticing in her daze that cash was littering the stage. She dropped to her knees, humming to herself and dancing on all fours over to the edge of the stage to smile at a man who was sitting right there.

"Hey, baby," she cooed, scooting over the edge to straddle his lap. The music continued and she braced her hands on his shoulders, giving him a lap dance that he would likely never forget. From his expression, he was about to explode in his pants, but then Evan hauled her off. She barely heard his tirade as he marched her backstage. He was going on about only getting completely naked in the back rooms for legal purposes and about how she shouldn't try to fuck a guy in front of everybody else. She flipped him off and he yelled at her to leave after throwing her tips at her.

Fine.

She stuffed the money in her purse and wiggled in to her shorts, but the shirt and bra combination proved too difficult. Shrugging, she tugged on her jacket, leaving it open about three inches in the front as she walked out of the club and decided to go to a bar.
 
Damien's feet felt heavy as he climbed the handful of steps leading to the apartment building. He was still unconvinced of the wisdom of what he'd started, but start it he had. Damien slid the key into his lock when Jenny's door opened, and her bright face appeared with a perky glow of excitement.

"Hi, Damien! Are we … still on for a drink?"

Damien forced a smile at her enthusiasm. Her long, light-brown hair was beautifully prepped into slight curls, and her lips were carmine from lipstick put on an hour ago.

"Yeah, sure … let me just shower up, and I'll come get you."

Damien entered his apartment nervous, though he tried desperately to discern the reason why. Was it the mere fact he was about to spend time with a woman? Was there a deeper feeling for Jenny that was bubbling to the surface? Damien told himself he didn't know, but in his heart, he knew perfectly well what was stirring deep in the abyss of his personal torment. He promised himself he'd not let her get too close tonight. He didn't want it to come out.

Showers were a nightly ritual for Damien, who was used to waking and moving in stride into the schedule of his busy day. He normally wasn't home this early, but he completed his shower with efficiency, finishing with a razor shave while his skin was still soft from the hot water. He dressed himself in a pair of jeans and a white, ribbed tank top, along with his green fatigue jacket. After slipping on a pair of black boots, Damien nervously stepped out into the hallway and knocked on Jenny's door.

The door opened in precisely five seconds, and the young woman sprung from wherever she was coiled into the door frame. Jenny was dressed to impress this evening; she wore a flirty dress of metallic-gray that clung to her mid-section and came down above her knees. She grabbed a black satin jacket hanging next to the door and slipped on a pair of studded kitten heels. They were soon on the street walking in stride. Damien was used to walking a great deal and maintained his usual cadence, and it seemed Jenny was trying to match it without complaint. The clicking of her footsteps betrayed her difficulty, and he eased his pace. The sound of her heels conveyed more stability as they slowed, and Damien felt Jenny's hand wrap around his arm.

"Where to?" Jenny asked.

"You chose." Damien's voice was hoarse.

"How 'bout the Steamhead?"

"Um, sure. That sounds great." The bar was known for its informal atmosphere, and decent selection. It was halfway across the borough, so they hopped into a yellow cab. Jenny still clung to Damien's arm, though less tightly than when they walked. Damien wondered if Jenny's grip was a product of her affection, or her wanting to avoid falling hard onto the concrete sidewalk.

Steamhead's was quiet for this time of night. Most of the tables were open, but Jenny asked for two stools at the bar. "I find people are more chatty at bars," she posited. She slid luxuriously onto her stool, her skirt fabric catching, and clinging to her legs as they swung around. Damien removed his jacket and hung it over his chair back. They both ordered Pilsners, and each wondered how to break the ice.
 
Natalia was too out of it to fully appreciate the reactions she was getting from everybody she passed. To be fair, nothing terribly inappropriate was showing.. but it was close. Her bare stomach was easily seen, as well as the inner curves of her breasts. As she walked, the jacket shifted around, making several men stop just to stare. She hummed to herself, a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers that she remembered once in a while to take a puff from. This was incredible. She felt as though she was soaring on a tidal wave in the sky, higher than Icarus or the stars.

She walked in to a bar at random, paying no attention to the name of it or anything about the people inside. All she really comprehended was that it wasn't crowded, which allowed her to take a seat at the far end of the bar, next to the wall. Good. She slid on to the stool and crossed her legs, leaning back and unintentionally giving the bartender such a fantastic view that he just stared, forgetting to ask what she wanted.

"Sex on the beach, please," she purred, smiling at the bartender as he flushed and scrambled to make the drink. As he left, she shifted and held her head. Oh, it ached..

And just like that, her beautiful high was changing. Instead of feeling warm and wonderful, she was quickly being dragged down into something else. Her head ached and her mind was bringing to life old nightmares that she had forced herself to forget for years. She rested her forehead in her hands, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out as she saw her father drinking again and hurling empty bottles against the wall right before her mind flicked over the hundreds of denials she had gotten when she was auditioning for dance companies.

No, sorry, thank you, not what we're looking for, not good enough, not there yet, no, no, no, come back some other time, just let go, she's dead Natalia..

She groaned softly, unable to hold it in. This was wretched. She hadn't even noticed her drink being set down in front of her.
 
Damien lived his life by adhering to a few simple rules. The wise might coin them sophist, but Damien thought they embodied the ultimate truths about the topics in question.

Take women, for instance.

Damien held to the belief that women really only wanted to talk about themselves, and only asked the questions they wish they were asked in turn. Women really didn't care about what men thought or felt, unless it affected them somehow. Jenny was a nice girl, very sweet in her own sheltered way, but she was unfortunately following this pattern without deviance. Perhaps she indulged in conversation as an art form, or perhaps she wanted to draw Damien out by overloading him with facts of herself hoping to receive an equal share in return. So far, he'd learned that Jenny grew up in Northern Connecticut, her parents worked at a college, and she liked horses - Dappled Grays, in particular.

Whatever her strategy, Damien played along by focusing the conversation on her in hopes of running out the clock. He found the act of relentless listening draining, and given his semi-illegal activities at the hospital, Damien wondered how spectacularly he would collapse this evening.

"So, what happened after you went to Vassar?"

"Well, you know, majoring in Econ helped open some doors. So, I was lucky enough to apply to Morgan Chase downtown, and they hired me after a grueling interview process. There were five of us in the same room, at the same time. Seriously, at one point I thought they were going to hand out spears."

Jenny paused when Damien failed to respond to her joke. He was looking down at the bar surface, admiring its cleanliness. The length and width reminded him of a runway, but the lacquered slickness gave him a shiver. It was like ice on a frigid landing run in Northern Germany in late December. Luckily, Tiny Dancer only broke her front landing strut that day; the uncontrolled stop could have gone much worse if he piloted a lesser craft. But, Tiny Dancer was a tough girl - she'd been through the rigors of abuse and war and still flew proudly. She'd been damaged in ways only he knew, and when the service techs performed their periodic Phase Inspections, they never found the damage Damien felt was in plain sight. The casing around the hydraulic manifold was dented - just enough - to slightly affect Tiny Dancer's yaw at take-off. The dual rear fins stabilizers practically negated the yaw issue, but her listing could be felt when he fired her 30mm cannon. She was imperfect, but she was his; she had been damaged, but was stronger because of it.

"Damien?"

Jenny's voice was loud, but concerned. He woke, as if from a dream, recalling in an instant where he truly was and why.

"Is ... Is everything ok?"

Damien realized his arms were crossed, and his brow was creased like a granite ledge. He relaxed, realizing the hard, non-verbal signal he was sending.

"I'm sorry," he said. He tried to project a voice that was assuring and sincere. "I'm listening. I just have a lot on my mind." Damien uncrossed his arms and placed his hands upon his lap. "You mentioned spears?"

Jenny opened her mouth, but no sound was produced. She discretely licked her bottom lip, and Damien thought this was the end of their "drink". Damien was certain Jenny was about to pout some petty grievance and storm out teary-eyed. But, he was wrong. Jenny's face softened, and she ran her hand over Damien's shoulder.

"I just realized I've been doing all the talking." She laughed self-consciously, and Damien thought her nervous compassion was compellingly beautiful. "I asked you here to learn more about you! You must think I'm conceited."

"No. No, I don't." Damien looked into her hazel eyes for the first time that evening. He felt a palpable binding, like a rope tethered about their waists. It was a feeling both assuring and also frightening. He wondered how long it would be before the rope began to chafe, like it always did.

Jenny slid her hands down on top of Damien's hand in his lap. His heart quickened, and he admitted to himself that he enjoyed the feel of a woman's soft skin pressing against his own. "You're from South Dakota ... right? What's in South Dakota?"

"Nothing," Damien answered, "absolutely nothing." It was a matter-of-fact statement that came without apology for its honesty. "It's a barren place, and I don't miss it at all. I've a brother who is god-knows-where. Just up and vanished a few years ago, like my dad did when I was young. My home was more of a house." He hated that tiny shack of a homestead, stuck on that damned plot of wind-swept hard clay. The soil was so inhospitably infertile that only a handful of meadow grasses could sustain the conditions, growing in ragged and erratic clumps. "My mom ..." He began, but paused for some reason.

"... is still in the hospital? You said that's why you moved here to New York?"

"Yeah, ... to access Kettering. She's there now, but in the general hospital part. She gets transferred for specific treatments."

"Cancer?" Jenny asked.

"Yeah."

"What kind?" Jenny's question came with soft compassion.

Damien was silent for a moment, fighting back the liquid that pressed against his eyes. "You know the kind of cancer you get better from?" Jenny nodded. "She ain't got that kind."

"Oh, Damien. I didn't know. I'm so sorry." Jenny's hands squeezed Damien's. It was a loving gesture, one that he was unfamiliar with and didn't quite know how to accept. His stomach turned then, and he was gripped by the phantom malady in his mind. No one really spoke to him in this way, and he wasn't sure whether he liked it or disliked it. All he knew were effects.

"I was a pilot." Damien's statement pronounced itself unbidden and without his consent. It came without reservation, in a way that made his skin crawl. Why had he offered that part of his hidden history? So freely to a virtual stranger?

"Oh," Jenny said, in mild surprise. "You mean ... commercial?"

Damien turned and looked at her with a coldness that gave her pause. "Military." And then came the regret. Damien had opened a door that should have remained firmly locked. He knew closing it would be difficult, and debated how much to share with this pretty, young thing before she ran screaming from the nightmare of his darkness.

"Over ... Overseas?"

Damien nodded. "A-10 Thunderbolt II, ground-support attack aircraft. Two deployments ... Second one got cut short."

"Shot down?"

Jenny's guess drove Damien further into himself. Pale images of stark violence flash through Damien's mind like a demonic cinema: orange fire blasting at the fuselage nose; the gutteral roar of Tiny Dancers 30mm cyclic cannon; dusty clouds of fulminary sparkle erupting, leaving pieces of metal and men behind; the shock of the SAM impact and the wind lashing his face upon ejection; darkness, then the crash and pain of returning to earth; daylight, filtered through wrapped linen; and the voices, Arabic and angry, attached to searching, unkind hands.

Jenny hesitated. "Captured?"

Damien nodded weakly.

"More?"

Damien could not move. His jaw was clenched and his eyes squinted at dark memories past, but not forgotten. He started at Jenny's touch, then realized she was trying to pry his fingers from their vice-like grip around the edge of the stool. His hands relaxed and he sat back exhausted.

"Jenny," Damien said weakly, "I need to be ... alone ... right now. Why don't you go home, and I'll stop by in an hour or so. I need to clear my head."

The young woman fought a hurt look, but pursed her lips confidently and slid off the stool. Her heels clicked as they made contact with the wood floor. "Alright, you'll stop by?"

"Promise," Damien whispered to her.

Jenny rubbed Damien's back, then moved an inch closer, wanting to kiss his cheek. Then stopped. "I'll be waiting up for you." Jenny then turned and slowly walked outside to a waiting cab.

Damien was alone with his thoughts, and couldn't stand being alone. He decided to indulge in an old comfort. His hand lifted and the bartender strode over and cleared the three empty beer glasses away.

"Wild Turkey Bourbon ... Leave the bottle."
 
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Damien was here.

Natalia heard his voice faintly over the sound of the others in the bar, getting a hint of it in the lull between songs that were flowing out of the jukebox. At first she assumed that she was hearing things since there was no logical reason that she should hear from him again today, but then she heard it again. She blinked and sat up, glancing around until she spotted him sitting at the bar with a woman that she did not recognize. Together? Somewhat. The woman was chattering on and on and Damien had an expression that Natalia recognized all too well. His eyes were glazed and his mind was quite obviously elsewhere. There was no smile on his face, though, so she doubted he was sitting there picturing his companion naked. It was something else.

Something worse.

She watched him cast his eyes to the bar, wondering if the woman next to him realized he had long since tuned her out. After a moment, she stopped watching. She shouldn't be snooping, even though she had nothing better to do in a public place. It was his business. Whatever was bothering him would come out eventually. It always did.

She had carried guilt with her for years. When her mother had been killed in the car accident, she had been on her way to pick Natalia up from a dance rehearsal. It was the night before a very important recital, one that Natalia was looking forward to for months. She had waited and waited for her mother to show up, until all the other girls were gone and the teacher finally called the house. Nobody was home. She had finally decided to take Natalia home herself since she knew where the girl lived, but barely ten miles into the drive, they had come across the wreckage of her mother's car. There was no erasing that sort of thing from her mind, ever. She could still recall how her teacher had begged her to stay in the car, worried about what could happen. Natalia never was one to listen.

The guilt and pain was topped off with an overwhelming sorrow that she kept buried deep inside, but it had to come out. And so it did. Years later, she fell apart, choosing precisely the worst possible time to do so. Her father passed away and it was too much to bear once they told her that he had wanted her to come home before he died. She hadn't known. The stress had caused her performances to decline as well as her studies, and where was she now? Stripping for anybody with a dollar and getting high with anything she could get her skinny little hands on. Now she was adding the guilt of Lily on to the pile. Was there to be no end to the pain she caused?

She shook her head a little, reaching in her bag for a cig before remembering they were gone. The cold feeling in her chest was too much to bear. This was what being sober brought. Pain. Nothing good. Why did people enjoy this? She didn't want to remember. All she wanted was to forget everything. Her fingers brushed up against a packet and she glanced down, eyeing the pills. Hmm.. perhaps later. Right now, she wanted to get so drunk that all she could manage was a giggle. She downed her entire drink, which had sat untouched for several minutes. That done, she glanced back at Damien, realizing he was alone now. Maybe his ladyfriend had gotten sick of his lack of attention.

Or maybe he was gay.

The random thought struck her as funny and she smiled to herself, sitting in a bubble of mild amusement until somebody slid in to the stool next to her and leaned in close. It was a man easily three times her size, with a suit on. Business type. Probably loaded and bored with his home life and looking for a good time. He even still wore a wedding ring, she noticed. She cocked an eyebrow at him, assuming that he thought she was a hooker and was looking for a piece of ass.

"Hey, honey," he said, his tone overly confident. Idiot.

"Go away, fuckhead," she muttered, gesturing to the bartender for a refill.

"That isn't very polite," he said, sliding his stool closer and putting a hand on her inner thigh, his fingers uncomfortably close to her shorts. She frowned and smacked his arm away, but he moved and caught her wrist before she could draw back from it. "I think you need a lesson in manners. Get up. We're leaving," he murmured, using his hold on her to pull her against him, his free hand exploring her bare skin under her open jacket.
 
Damien knew that voice.

He closed his eyes and sighed in intense vexation, then glanced over to his left. Trapped against the wall, behind a large man wearing a suit, was Natalia. She was dressed more like a whore than he'd ever seen, and the large prick feeling her up apparently thought so as well. She was more than annoyed, she looked in pain from the grip he had on her wrist.

What the fuck, Damien seethed to himself. This woman was making a habit of orbiting his life and getting into trouble, almost goading him to save her from her stupid decisions. But then, it wasn't her fault the doctor's insisted on pulling Lily's plug; and Natalia had a right to dress how she wished without having an overbearing asshole molest her.

Here we go again, he thought. He downed his tumbler of bourbon and called the bartender. "Hey … what's going on over there?"

The bartender glanced over with a disgruntled grimace. "Dunno his name … He stops in here twice a month or so … harasses the hottest ladies in the place and tries to get them to leave with him." He gives the brute a sidelong glance. "Usually gets his way."

"That sounds bad for business," Damien said.

"Well, since he's been hanging around, not as many girls come here. I don't blame them. But, if gals aren't here, the guys aren't here trying to buy them drinks, ya know?"

Damien sighed and downed another tumbler. "Ask him to leave. If he doesn't, I'll make him leave permanently."

"Hey buddy, I don't want a fight in 'ere-"

"It won't take much … it'll be over before anyone notices. Besides, you want that asshole prowling your customers unchecked?"

The bartender regarded the fondler again, and saw Natalia's helplessness. "Make it quick ..." the bartender said.

Damien rose from his stool and casually moved into position near the large man. From his perspective, Damien could see the man was larger than he, but Damien was a hardened warrior; and the advantages of size are dispelled when pitted against a will forged to dominate. Damien intended for the man to learn this lesson most painfully. The bartender moved toward Natalia, and the man was now brazenly fondling Natalia's tit. The sound of the bartender clearing his throat brought a brief intermission. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave … now."

The man gave a threatening glare. He began to shout, "FUCK YOU, ASSHO-"

The dolt never finished his sentence. Damien kicked his foot at the base of his stool, grabbed the fabric above the man's shoulders, and toppled him viciously to the ground. His head contacted the wood with a sickening thump that made every table in range shift from the impact. The man sprawled on his back, concussed and dazed. He was immobile for roughly three seconds – precisely enough time for Damien to deliver a disabling blow. Damien shot out a single, powerful punch to the man's groin area, and his face screwed in total agony. Although prone, Damien spotted the man's right hand slipping toward his breast – that meant only one thing. Damien's foot flicked the man's arm up, and he wrapped the suited arm around his thigh and began to break his elbow joint. The man began to scream, until Damien leaned forward, smashing his knee into the man's jaw with crushing weight. Damien felt inside the man's jacket and produced a Beretta 9mm pistol. With this knee still crushing the man's face, Damien expertly removed the clip, and ejected the round already chambered. He lifted the weapon up and handed it up to Natalia without looking at her.

"Time to take out the trash," Damien muttered.

Damien curled his strong arm, tempered from daily batting, around the man's neck and began to drag him toward the front door. The man tried to resist, but when he curled his legs to stand, the pain impulses from his groin reigned supreme and his legs folded into useless limbs. His face turned blue from suffocation, and though more massive, the man proved little more than a dead weight to Damien's desire for his departure.

Damien deposited the man near a cab on the gritty concrete sidewalk. Damien's voice came cold and harsh. "Come back here again, and I'll rip your fucking head off … got it?" The chilled air would have felt refreshing if Damien could feel anything at that moment. The adrenaline from combat had him on-guard, and minor sensations – such as heat and cold - were shunted by his military training. The cab purred away in a rush as Damien emerged from the outside into the warmth of the bar. The sundry patrons sitting at the tables stared at him with a look that was indecipherable. Damien returned to his bar stool, aware that Natalia was also examining his every move. He sighed internally, here comes the bile.

Then, someone began to clap. The clapping started softly, and then grew in number and volume. It lasted but a few seconds, but the sentiment was genuine. A middle-aged man came to the bar, bearing a grateful personality.

"Sir, thank you so much. That man was pestering my wife and I, and was threatening us. Please, let me pick up your tab tonight?"

"No," Damien replied. His voice was reduced to a gravely whisper. "Thanks, but that's not necessary." Once the man left, Damien turned to Natalia, chiding himself in the process. "Are you alright?"
 
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Natalia squirmed uncomfortably as the man allowed his fingers to rub and tug at whatever he wanted. She tried to shove him away, but he was stronger than she was and there was nowhere else to pull away to with a wall at her back. He obviously had known what he was doing. When she continued to deny his wishes to leave, he got closer, his touches getting rougher as he whispered in her ear all of the wretched things he was going to do to her. It was beyond perverse, it was horrifying. She knew a lot of kinks and was familiar with what most men liked, and it seemed that he was a bit more hardcore than most. It was hard to believe his wife - if he was really married and that ring wasn't just a prop - was still alive with what he was saying to her. She swallowed, getting severely anxious until the bartender intervened.

She looked up at the bartender, relieved, but the man denied his request. Fuck. She started to squirm again, but it proved unnecessary since he was gone before she could even put a great deal of effort into it. What the..? She blinked and looked down, watching him sprawl on the floor. Damien. It was him down there, making easy work of fixing her problems. He disabled the man as easily as one might push a man in a wheelchair down a flight of stairs. She stared at him in surprise, trying to comprehend both his easy skill and the fact that he had helped her.. again. The gun was in her hands before she knew it and she quickly set it on the counter with a grimace. No need to have that around!

She looked up and watched Damien drag the man outside without hesitation. That was.. incredible. She stared at him when he came back inside, quickly fastening up her jacket to prevent a repeat performance. Why had he done that? Not that she wasn't grateful, because she was, but she simply did not understand. She hadn't heard what he was saying to his date earlier or perhaps she would have had a clue, but perhaps not. Either way, she knew she'd be in quite a bind if he hadn't stepped in.

"I'm.. fine," she managed when he turned to her. After a moment she shook her head slightly and looked down. "At least, I will be. Thank you. He was.. saying some awful things before you stepped in there," she added, mentally scolding herself for being so fucking lazy and idiotic as to leave the club without a shirt on. Sure, she had been high as a kite, but now she felt like an exposed moron. Dressing like a slut was one thing. Having everything visible was another. Now she had learned her lesson and was not apt to forget it any time soon. She hesitated, wanting to say more to Damien, but not knowing what she really had to offer him. He did not seem to like her much from his expression and tone, despite helping her twice now, but that was no surprise. She couldn't think of anybody besides Lily that particularly cared for her, and Lily liked everybody so she didn't really count as far as that went.

"It gets easier," she said suddenly, looking back up at him. "Earlier I saw you were.. out of it. Somewhere else. I don't know what happened or anything, but I know that look. I've.. been there. I get it. It fucking sucks. But.. But I wanted you to know it gets easier the longer you go. I can't help you like you helped me, but you should know that. Maybe it'll help someday. I'm sorry, for whatever it is," she said, her voice soft. She hesitated a moment, then kissed his cheek gently and turned to leave.
 
Damien's arm was already out when Natalia turned to leave. It cupped her waist and held her fast, though she could break free with ease if she wanted to. Damien was still staring at the bar, and that same pained expression was painted on his face. His hand dropped from her side, and his head motioned to the bar stool next to him.

"Have a seat ... I shouldn't finish this by myself." The bartender, without being bidden, produced a second empty tumbler and set it in front of the seat to Damien's left.
 
Natalia paused when she felt the arm around her waist. She blinked and looked down, then looked over at Damien, but he wasn't looking at her. That was odd.. She watched him in confusion, glancing at the stool as he nodded toward it. Oh. Well.. Perhaps a drink or two couldn't hurt. She slid onto the stool and crossed her legs, unsure why he would invite her to drink with him. Hadn't she caused enough trouble in his life for one day?
 
Damien seemed to relax a bit when Natalia sat down beside him. He felt he could breath easier, somehow. Damien filled Natalia's glass first, then refreshed his own. He picked it up, then clinked the glasses together gently. When the crystal collided, he did what he'd been fighting all day, he looked into Natalia's eyes. He laid his vision upon them openly, without saying a word. Damien's eyes were a warm, light brown; they were eyes that should have been connected to farmer's hands wielding an axe or a mattock. They were calm, but shined with a restless, industrious aura more befitting a frontiersman. A crooked smile broke across his face.

"Here's to me not getting you out of anymore jams."

Damien emptied his glass and set it upon he bar counter. It was then that Natalia could see the tattoo on Damien's left shoulder. It was fully exposed now, as opposed to being half-hidden in Judy's office. In truth, the design was quite unique, not trite like what is so often seen those days. It was a skull and crossbones design, but in place of bones there were two multi-barreled cannons of some type. Flanking the skull were lighting bolts that resembled bats wings, but ascended upward like roman laurels. Above the skull was a number reading "356th", and below the crossed cannons was a latin phrase in medieval script, Angeli Mortis. There was one more feature that stuck out - the eye sockets. They looked hollow, primarily filled with black, but in the center where an eye should have been were single, white dots. The dots gave the skull a sentience that was disturbing and haunting; they conveyed a presence possessed with an unrelenting and perfect malice.

Damien filled his glass, then poured more into Natalia's. "Jenny was the girl just here. She's my neighbor, and wanted to get to know me more. I think she had other ideas."

Damien took a swig, then continued. "She's nice, I guess. But, she didn't see me the way you did ... You saw the real me with nothing more than a casual glance. That means you know what to look for ... you've been there."

The bourbon was starting to affect Damien then, and he slid the glass from himself. "You said things get easier the longer you go. I find that things stay exactly the fucking same. But, the longer we go, the more new ways we find to cover over whatever's eating at us from the inside. A lot of people have died because of me, people that deserved to live."

Damien paused in silence for a minute. "My mom is down the hall from Lily. She's terminal. And that damn hospital is like a den of fucking vultures. I'm afraid. I'm afraid when my mom dies, I'm going to just fucking lose it."
 
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Natalia picked up her glass when he had filled it, then glanced at him with an amused look when he clinked them together. Seriously? When he announced his toast, she half smiled. Not bad. She wouldn't mind it, either. If she stopped getting in to such stupid situations, the day would have been a lot easier. She rolled her eyes at the thought and tipped the glass back, drinking nearly all of it before setting it back down. Ah, that was good. She relaxed as she felt the burn in her throat, her eyes lingering on Damien's tattoo. A guy with ink was always hot as hell but his piece was interesting. It made her think of the military somehow, but she was sure there was a meaning there that she was missing.

"Of course she had other ideas," she muttered, shaking her head. She could easily see the woman wanted Damien by how she had been sitting. Was he truly so dense or just not interested in the poor woman at all? She shook her head, watching Damien as he argued with what she had said about it getting easier. Staying silent, she didn't say anything else until after he spoke about his mother.

"I lost it when my father died," she admitted, mentally stunned that she was even saying this to him. "We weren't even close, at all, but for some reason it broke me. I think it just piled on top of all the guilt from my mother dying. He wanted me there, back home, but I didn't go. I guess he cried. I don't know if he was sad that I wasn't there or upset that he couldn't have vodka on his deathbed."

She stopped talking, looking down at the bar. Why had she said all that? It wasn't his business and he likely didn't care, but the flood had escaped. She sighed, then finished off her drink and set the empty glass aside. The alcohol was likely to blame, she realized.
 
Damien listened in quiet horror when Natalia revealed she'd lost both parents. Her Russian accent more apparent now, a more clear picture of this woman's situation came crashing about Damien as he tried to fathom the hardships Natalia must have faced. A foreign national, all alone and isolated in New York City. That's fucking horrible. The degree of pressure must have been crushing, as would have been the urge to give in to the kind of depression that always lurks at the margins of such hardships. There was more to this woman than met the eye, and Damien felt certain there was more damage to Natalia than she shared. Although, in truth, Natalia had offered more personal inner workings than most other do in a lifetime. That honesty aroused him, as did her reticence. Jenny was such an open book, which was pleasant in its own way, but not sharing every detail of one's life hinted at an awareness that life was not always a bowl of cherries. Some people didn't want to be reminded of their past, but were cursed by it's lingering procession upon their character.

Damien then realized that he and Natalia were two such people. She was a disastrous mess of a woman. She was likely a stripper or a hooker ... he couldn't tell, and wasn't sure it was any of his business. But, sitting next to him at that bar was a person who was real, who had felt the shattering of their soul in the most profound way. The shards of that utter breaking still poked through from memories into thoughts, and affected the fabrication of life in the present.

And then she mentioned the dreaded G-word - guilt. That's what the therapist at the VA kept prattling on about. That Damien had to let go of the self-blame. What the hell did that bitch know? Was she there? Had she seen the gun cloud veer from those trees across the bank into the cluster of American troops? Granted, Damien was trying to regain control after the SAM hit, but he could have done better - he could have done more. The Purple Heart didn't help either, and he could feel the accusatory stares from the other flight officers when that general pinned the award to his lapel. The Purple Heart was primarily a symbol of endurance having sustained wounds in the line of duty, and it was shameful for him to be commended when others died at his expense. He never knew for sure, but no one could survive a burst from an A-10's aft Gatling gun. And, that's not to mention the two ParaJumper dudes who bought the farm trying to extract him. The coppery taste of Captain Herger's blood still lives in Damien's mouth when his mind returns to that day; it's a memory only the taste of bourbon can wash away.

Damien enlisted as a way to bring an assured paycheck to his mother, who had lost her job at the plant. Joseph always had his nose in books, and never bothered to lift a goddamn finger around the house, or work out in the real world to bring in desperately needed cash. Damien always was the one to help his mom, while Joseph was always catered to and pampered. Being the younger brother, and of thinner build than Damien, his mom felt he needed special attention and gave him allowances and waived his responsibilities around the house. Damien was resentful, primarily because he knew Joseph was taking advantage of his mother's sympathy for his own gain. Whenever Joseph evaded some responsibility that was handed to Damien, the younger brother would smile wickedly, betraying his selfish motives and delighting in his success. Sibling rivalries are common, but Joseph displayed an uncanny willingness to manipulate others at a young age. Damien later learned that his younger brother was likely a sociopath, and gave him wide margin before his first deployment. It was a week before Damien started his second tour when he learned that Joseph had abandoned his mother, leaving her alone and isolated in South Dakota.

"I'm really sorry to hear about your parents. Maybe your ... dad knew he made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Some are forgivable ..." Damien finishing the bourbon he slid away earlier, thinking of his brother. "... some not."
 
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"Yeah, maybe."

No, he didn't. If it was one thing that Natalia was certain about, it was that her father had never thought he was in the wrong. He was a man so assured by his own choices and opinions that everybody who disagreed was instantly thought to be wrong and often disliked. His pride was like a shining pedestal that he stood on, allowing him to overlook those who did not know the real truth as he did. He was a stubborn fool, something that he had passed down to his only child. Natalia knew that he would sooner take a sword to the heart than admit his folly. He had done as he thought was right and nobody would ever convince him otherwise, even himself.

All those years, all that hard work. She could still remember walking all those miles alone to practice, carrying her bag over her shoulder as she went. Rain, snow, it didn't matter. She went to her dance class, then turned and walked back home in the dark. For years she would go, practicing more and more. It was the only thing she had left from her mother, and her father had not cared enough to help her. Instead, he stayed home, getting more drunk with each passing second. He assumed that his anger and emotional disconnect was reasonable, not once apologizing even when dance instructors attempted to reason with him for Natalia's sake.

"Thanks for the drink. I should go," she murmured after a minute, feeling awful. Maybe she should go back to work and find some guy looking for company so that she didn't have to go home to an empty apartment later. Was that pathetic? Yes. Did she care? Not really. She just didn't want to be alone.
 
"Alright ... here, I'll walk you out. I should get back myself."

Damien acquired two drink napkins, and a pen near the back of the bar surface. He wrote the same phone number on each with the name "Damien" above in clear, precise letters. He handed one to the bartender. "Let me know if that asshole comes back ... unless I'm at work, I can be here in ten minutes."

The bartender nodded. "Thanks." Damien reached back to retrieve his wallet, but the bartender wouldn't hear of it. "That guy and I have been arguing over who gonna pick up your tab ... forget 'bout it, alright?"

Damien nodded silently, then handed the other napkin to Natalia. In truth, he didn't really know why he was giving her his number. It wasn't as if she wanted his company or attention ... especially after the last two days. She was hot enough to land any man she wanted or needed, but a stray thought entered his mind to justify his action. "I'll be checking in on Lily when I see my mom. Let me know if you run into any problems, or need any help with her. I'm there everyday." Damien could sense Natalia's discomfort, and was uncertain if he'd said anything untoward. She was likely the same as him ... a bundle of potential fuses ready to be set alight, and then desperately trying to contain or mitigate the resulting outfall. He understood, and settled for enjoying her presence. The idea of Natalia willingly accompanying Damien was a thought that would never have entered his mind the day before when she strode into Andrei's.

The cool greeted the pair as they left the Steamhouse. Natalia had her jacket on with nothing beneath, and must have been uncomfortable, but she showed no sign of discomfort - that inner resolve aroused Damien, and he somehow knew she would never have complained.

"Can I walk you home?"
 
Natalia nodded as he offered to walk her out. She carefully slid down from the bar stool, her heels clicking faintly on the floor as she straightened up. Thankfully she hadn't had too much to drink so it was no hard to retain her balance. She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, walking toward the door slowly as she waited for Damien to take care of his bill. Once she was by the door she paused, lingering until he joined her and handed her a napkin. She blinked and looked down at it, stunned to see his number. He was giving her his phone number? Really? She looked up at him, nodding once as he explained why. Oh. Well that was different.

"Okay," she agreed simply. She tucked the napkin in to her bag and followed him outside. It was colder than when she went in, helped along by the fact that she was no longer high and now actually aware of what was going on. She slid her hands into the pockets of her jacket, not sure what to say until Damien offered to walk her home. No guy had ever offered that. It was usually something more along the lines of 'come back to my place, sugar' or 'let's get a room'. Damien wasn't like that, though, she realized. Even if he wanted a fuck, she had a feeling he was a bit classier than a dingy motel room.

Strange.

"Sure," she said after a moment of silence, nodding once before turning and starting to walk in the right direction. She lead automatically, knowing that he wouldn't know where she lived. It was rather strange to be walking around with a guy that she wasn't buying drugs from.
 
Damien allowed Natalia to lead in the right direction. He walked solidly by her side with his fingers placed into the pockets of his pants. Damien's personality shifted considerably from the way he acted in the bar. While planted on the barstool, with the brightness of the overhead lights upon him, he delved more into himself and would have appeared unresponsive to an outside observer. Walking on the streets commanded a different personality, one that was more defensively-oriented and required an active mind.

Damien's eyes shifted about like a ferocious bird of prey. They scanned cars, piles, and alley ways, searching for any threats that might emerge. Damien walked beside Natalia primarily on her left, between her and the building facades. Occasionally, when they approached a group of men shooting the shit on someone's car hood, he discretely move to place himself between Natalia and the potential threat. He performed his protective dance smoothly, without thinking, and in complete silence.

The clicking of Natalia's heel pecked at Damien's resolve. He knew she was aware of the gaze of men about her. She must like it, or she would not invite it by dressing so provocatively. When Damien first open the door at Andrei's Studio, he knew he must have given her a lustful look that she had received a million times. She seemed displeased then, and Damien tried to keep himself from looking at her in that way since.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Damien had enjoyed opportunities at the bar to gain revealing views of her chest, and drag his eyes along the sweet contours of her stockinged inner thighs. At that time, he had not enjoyed the view. He was more aware of her now, and just how scantily she was clad.

Damien's stomach churned at what would happen when they reached Natalia's home. Guys asked to walk women home either because they were gallant or they were seeking an opportunity to screw. Damien was soundly the former, and he realized a hidden part of him desired the later. He kept his eyes on the streets for the duration of the walk, until they reached the Natalia's residence.
 
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As they walked, Natalia noticed that Damien kept switching sides that he was walking on. At first the reasoning confused her, until she realized that he only did it when there were men around. Was it a natural protective instinct or something else? She wasn't sure, but she found the gesture oddly pleasing. It was easy to pretend that he cared when he was acting that way. She glanced at him, half a smile playing around her lips for a moment before she looked away again.

For once, walking in silence was not stifling. She did not feel obligated to fill the gap with meaningless chatter, and she knew that he didn't either. They were companionable without being annoying. A rare thing indeed. She relaxed as they went, leading him along until they stood in front of the bakery. It was late enough that the bakery was closed now, the dark windows empty of the baked goods that normally filled them. She went down the alley next to it, pausing in front of the locked door that marked her apartment. Once inside, it was simply a flight of stairs upward, then another door to her living space. There was a light above the outer door, but it was rather dim and unhelpful. Still, it had assisted her in finding her door more than once when she was wasted.

"This is it. Not much to look at, but it's better than a cardboard box," she murmured, half shrugging as she pulled her key out of her bag. She paused and looked up at him, sorely tempted to invite him inside, but she didn't feel like getting rejected by a guy who seemed nicer than any of the other ones she knew. "Thanks for walking me. It's not the best neighborhood... Are you sure you're okay to walk back through alone in the dark?" she asked, unable to stop her next words from tumbling out. "You can stay until morning if you'd rather. Safer."
 
This was precisely the choice he desperately wanted, but was now terrified of making. Her request was smooth and reasonable, lacking any subtext of an ulterior motive. Did it really matter? This woman had been thrust into his life so suddenly, so intensely, that Damien felt helpless against the rushing tide of fate that seem to have swept them both up. And, although her excuse could have been as transparent as glass, there was a degree of truth in what she said about safety. Damien had taken a cab to this area with Jenny. And although he knew the route back to his house, he was less than thrilled about the neighborhoods he would have to navigate through in order to return home.

"Uh, ... yeah, sure," Damien said. "If you don't mind."
 
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