To Do and Die (Peregrine X DotCom)

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"What... happened to me?" Jack now seemed almost incoherent with rage now. Any trace of humor, however cruel, at the situation vanished, leaving nothing but primal rage. It only took him a moment to recover, and then he exploded. "You... you dare to ask what the fuck happened to me? You? Oh, that is fucking rich."

He calmed down an instant later, but his icy wrath was much worse. It promised things that hot fury never could. It promised painful, dark things, that would be far too much for any mortal man to bear. "You know exactly what happened to me. Exactly. After all, you've read my file. You've read every single one of the twisted, fucked up things that was done to me. But what's more, you knew who was behind them. You knew that my country, the country I went to war for, the country I was prepared to die for, not only condoned the things that had been done to me, they fucking funded it!"

It seemed that in the heat of the moment Lily had been pretty much forgotten. She still sat, crumpled in her chair, tear-streaked and unresponsive. Jack glanced her way momentarily, before dismissing any concerns about her. Her mental stability wasn't his problem. Andy was the one who dragged her into this mess. He turned back to the source of all this misfortune.

"But you... You knew the moment I began to explain what had happened to me, that I was the subject in those files. But what did you do? Did you tell me? No. You did everything in your fucking power to keep it hidden from me. You didn't give a fuck about what those bastards might be doing, so long as precious, broken Andy got his best friend back.

"You don't want to save me. That is complete and utter bullshit. No, what you want to do is fix me. To make me 'all better'. All you want to do is go back in time, and pretend that none of this ever happened. Well, you can't. There is no fixing this. I'm not human anymore, Andy. I'm even less human now than I was when I saved your life a few days ago. But you, you are still as naive as ever. You want to live in a happy little world, where no one ever gets hurt and people stay best friends forever. But even that wasn't enough, because you weren't content to let me stay gone.

"You've fucked it up, Andy. You've fucked it all up. You fucked yourself up, you fucked Lily up, and you've fucked me up, in ways you can't even begin to comprehend. All you had to do was publish that information, and then I would have taken care of the rest and vanished. You would have been left with your perfect memories of 'Jack', to treasure until the day you died. Instead, you get this."

He started to gesture to himself, but realized in an instant that Andy wouldn't get it. All he'd see was the body. The shell. Which meant absolutely nothing anymore. There was no way to truly make Andy understand. Not really. Instead, Jack settled for finally clothing himself. The clothes were heavier, more substantial this time. They almost looked like real clothes.
 
The first and last fist fight Andy had ever gotten into -- at least before shipping out -- had been in his freshman year of high school. He was awkward and scrawny and too sarcastic for his own good and the only girls who ever spoke to him were the kind that started crying after a bad break up or losing a pet or whatever the hell bothered fourteen-year-old girls. It'd been at lunch. Andy had lost. Badly. And he hadn't even been involved in the fight so much as he'd been trying to break it up.

He'd known then and there, laying on the cafeteria floor, staring up at the ceiling, tasting blood as he felt his eye start to swell shut: violence was not really his thing. How he'd ended up in the army was still well beyond him. Probably Jack had something to do with it. So there was something else to blame him for.

Andy felt his hackles rise as he stared Jack down. Most of that was pretty normal. In all the years he'd known Jack, he'd also known how good Jack was at getting under his skin. Andy could do it, too, he just tried not to use it so vindictively, and it lost a lot of power when he was just being petty. No, Andy tended to do more damage when he didn't think first.

Like now.

Staring at Jack, listening to Lily falling apart behind him, he wanted to hit his friend, if only to shut him up. Jack had hit every nerve just precisely where it hurt most, and Andy felt helpless. He didn't make a move. He couldn't. He wanted to defend himself against Jack's every cutting word, but he couldn't speak and didn't even try to until Jack wound himself down, like he always did. At least he hadn't disappeared this time.

Andy balled his shaking hands into fists, able to hear a hundred thousand different arguments in his head for why he'd done what he'd done. All of it -- keeping the news from Jack, being slow to publish the files, forcing Lily into their feud. He had a whole list of arguments and excuses, not because he thought he might win, but because it would make Jack angry, and Andy hurt and he wanted Jack to hurt, too.

Or he tried to tell himself he did.

When he finally did speak, the words were so unexpected, he couldn't keep the surprise from his face.

"I'm...sorry," he said finally. They weren't the words he expected. He wasn't even sure he wanted to say them, not here, not now. Jack wouldn't hear them, never had. He was too angry, too focused on tangibles. Jack wanted results. Sometimes, Andy wondered how they'd ever been friends in the first place.

And then he remembered.

"Okay? I'm sorry. Jesus Christ, Jack. I'm sorry." His legs felt like rubber. He wanted to sit down, but he was afraid if he moved, he'd do something stupid, and if Jack chose to disappear again, Andy needed him at least to hear this.

"I'm sorry I didn't...didn't share what I found. I'm sorry I never told you knew. I'm sorry all that, everything, ever happened to you. You have to know I'd have stopped it in a heartbeat if I could. Maybe not for anyone else, no. But for you Jack."

The Jack he'd known would have all but taken a bullet for Andy. Andy had that effect on people, whether he liked it or not -- that small tug of irresistible charm, or whatever the hell it was, that made people want to protect them, even if they wanted to strangle him for it. He'd spent a long time using that to his advantage, but Jack had changed him. He didn't know how or why or when, but Jack made Andy at least want to be different, even if he couldn't change himself.

"So, tell me what you want me to do. Huh? You want me to publish those files? Fine. Okay. Tomorrow morning, fuck, right now. I'll send that shit to every paper in the country if you think that'll help. I'll take out ad space in the Times, I'll rent a fucking page of my middle school nephew's year book and then it'll be out there, and you...what? Take revenge? By yourself? Who do you think you are, Rambo?" He wanted to make a First Blood joke, sensing he couldn't do much more to his best friend than he already had.

Instead he sighed and raked a hand through his hair.

"Look. I know I'm...it's too late. For any of this to matter. That all you want is...fucking vengeance, I guess. And maybe that's okay, I mean, you go through with this, and they can't do that shit to anyone else. Which is great, don't get me wrong. I should care about that. I do care about that. But what does any of this do for you, Jack? Are you so fucking hellbent on your own destruction that you just...just...Whatever. Forget it. I'll publish the files. And maybe that'll be good enough for you. I hope it's good enough for you, Jack."

Suddenly exhausted, he turned and walked back to Lily, who still hadn't moved. Slowly, very slowly, almost painfully so, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Hey, Lil." If he'd fucked everything up, like Jack said, at least he knew what to do here. Where to put his hands. How to help. How to fix. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up, okay? C'mon. Here we go." He started to help her up, then changed his mind, pulling her into his arms to carry her down the hall.

Over his shoulder, he said, "You know you're not as different as you think you are, Jack. You still call me Andy instead of Andrew. You still make that same stupid face when you get pissed." He laughed quietly. Almost sadly. "We still fight like hell. And for what it's worth, I'm...sorry I couldn't fix you. But it doesn't have to be too late to let me help you."
 
Of all the reactions Jack had been prepared for from Andy, it hadn't been for the man to suddenly apologize. For a moment, he didn't know what to make of it, and he simply stood there, listening in silence. For a moment, Jack thought he might be able to hand in his anger towards Andy for something a bit more gentle, even if it wasn't complete forgiveness.

What did Jack expect from this revenge? He was no longer naive enough to think it would make him feel complete again, even if that was what he had believed at one point. He was too changed to believe in that kind of innocent notion. He understood full well that, once it was all over, he'd be in exactly the same place as he was now, except for the fact that he would likely have drifted even further from humanity at that point. Not that Jack knew how much further it was possible to drift.

No, what he got out of it was entirely in the moment. It was purpose, it was a goal. He had spent time drifting in a state of confusion, and that was what had led him to become a hitman for Altman. Jack could have fled at any point, taken matters into his own hands and "completed" his debt. Instead he had stayed, not because he feared Altman, even though he was certifiably insane, and liked to prove it on regular occasions, but because he didn't know what else there was to do. Even at that point, he had known it was now impossible for him to live a "normal" life. He no longer had need of food, or shelter, or any of the basic necessities that drove most people. He couldn't reenter the work force, and he certainly wasn't going to go back to the military.

All of that was many times more true now than it had been back then. He was far more demon at this point than he was man. He was immune to death, and there was nothing anyone could do to harm him. What was more, he could now do and think about countless things at once, or collect all that intelligence into one location to create a superhuman genius. There was no way he could pretend to be normal. It was impossible.

Yet Andy said he hadn't changed as much as he thought he had. It would have been a laughable statement if it hadn't been so maddening. Andy knew nothing. He understood nothing. Andy said that Jack was still Jack, but even Andy knew that was wrong. Jack had seen that look, had felt the spike in Andy's brain that had accompanied it. When Andy had looked at Jack earlier, he hadn't recognized him. He had known that the man standing before him was no longer the friend he had known.

Jack had clung, stubbornly, to his identity as "Jack". He had clung to the flaws that went along with the persona because he had thought it meant something. But what did it really mean? The only one it might have mattered to was Andy, but even that was long destroyed, because part of the flaws of Jack was that Jack couldn't go through all that shit and remain unchanged from it.

No, that wasn't completely true. As Andy walked away, Lily tucked gently into his arms, Jack stood there and thought about what it meant to be Jack. Because it did mean something. Jack knew he could release the persona if he wanted to, and for a moment he had been on the edge of doing that. But the persona, the flaws and the emotions and the way they were triggered, they were also what gave him purpose. As long as he wanted to have a purpose, he was Jack. Whatever the hell that meant. Maybe, when all this was over, he'd take that final step, and release the flaws that were his last anchor to humanity. There was no telling what he might be then. Maybe it would be the perfect monster. Maybe it would be nothing at all.

For now, though, he had his purpose. That was all that mattered. He was no longer mad at Andy. He understood why Andy had kept the information hidden, and, at least in part, why he had used Lily to force Jack back out into the open. It didn't matter that the reasoning was childish, that Andy desperately longed for his friend back, exactly the way he had been before. It was still a reasoning. But that didn't sway Jack from his purpose. It was all he had left now.

He would keep Andy safe, in tribute to the bond they had once shared. And, maybe when this was over, he'd see if he could go about giving Andy his Jack back. But not yet. Because there was a risk he'd never come back from that, and the purpose still demanded completion. It was the oddest loop. He needed his personality to have a purpose, and his purpose was what demanded he keep this personality.

When Andy was gone from sight, Jack went to the spot where Lily had hidden Andy's phone. He'd watched carefully as Lily had put it there, in case an opportunity ever came to bring it back out. This was the moment. He put it in the middle of the dining room table, in plain sight.

Then he cleaned up every trace of Andy's blood in the house. He removed it from both Andy and Lily's clothes, before getting rid of the shirt with the giant hole in it. It was beyond salvation anyways.

And then... then he left, leaving nothing behind but a little spider in the corner of the counter.
 
He waited until Lily had fallen asleep -- or at least until her shaking had lessened to where it was no longer obvious from a distance -- to go back out to the main room. He didn't want to. He didn't want to leave Lily, and he didn't want to go back and argue more with Jack, and more than that, he didn't want to see what he knew he'd find when he returned after an hour. He wasn't surprised to find Jack gone. That was what he had come to expect, at least from this version of Jack. He was surprised, though, at how hurt he was by it. Maybe it was just the loss of everything altogether.

When Rob had revealed Altman's name, Andy had been scared, sure. But he'd been relieved, too. he had his route back to where he'd been before, to those nights he still saw through rose-colored glasses. Maybe Jack was right about that. Maybe he had no desire to save Jack, to better himself, to expose what had been done to him. Maybe what he'd wanted, all he'd ever wanted, was his friend back. It was so spectacularly selfish, it felt hard to believe. But when he thought of what he did to Lily...it made a little more sense.

The blood in the kitchen was gone -- Andy didn't know what to make of that; it was clear Jack had done it, though he couldn't begin to guess why -- but the whiskey he'd poured for Lily was not. For one long moment, his hand hovered over the bottle.

You've fucked it up, Andy. You've fucked it all up. You fucked yourself up, you fucked Lily up, and you've fucked me up, in ways you can't even begin to comprehend.
Click to expand...

Suddenly feeling too exhausted to stand, Andy abandoned the bottle to sit at the table. He should be sleeping, or maybe watching Lily. But he felt more compelled to sit at the table with those files on his phone. It was going to be a long night, anyway. Might as well make it a productive one.

With a yawn, he pulled up his documents folder and began to convert each one for dark web storage. And them, just for fun, a pdf version for Facebook. He laughed a little to himself, keenly aware it was the only thing keeping him from screaming. He wanted to drive his fist into the table, just to keep from exploding, but he didn't want to wake Lily.

Instead he said, "Okay, Jack. Here you go. Let's see if you've still got the same sense of humor at least."
 
It was hard to rectify the Jack that Andy had known with the Jack that now existed. Some might even say it was impossible. He had always been fierce and strong and willful, but there had always been a sort of bright enthusiasm behind it that wonderful to behold. Everyone had always known that Jack had been the sergeant's favorite during training, and it was exactly for that reason. He was one of the best, but never the best, at anything, but the trainers loved him because he wasn't trying to prove anything, he was simply striving for "better". To see what was possible.

His self-confidence did set him slightly at odds with the other members of the boot camp, at least at first. That was quickly overcame, though, when they began to find out that, with the right motivation, it was easy to get Jack to become "one of the boys", simply by posing it as a challenge. Even if he was never directly invited to any of the events, whether sanctioned or not, no one ever objected if he showed up to go.

He and Andy had ended up paired up the very first day of boot camp, perhaps because they had been recruited from the same city. Somehow, neither quite remembered how, they'd immediately begun to push each other's buttons, and had nearly broken out into a brawl. They'd been subsequently un-partnered, even if they were still in the same sub-group of the training base. That had somewhat lowered the hostility between the two, but not completely stifled it.

However, the first time a couple of the older soldiers had gone looking for a fight and gotten one out of Andy, they'd come down the next day with a mysterious case of facial bruising. Jack had never admitted to touching them, even though he came to training the next day with an eye so black and swollen he hadn't been able to see out of it.

That was, perhaps, why whenever Andy got invited for an outing, Jack would end up there as well. They usually avoided each other, as much at the insistence of the other members of the group as their own will, but he was always there. No one ever thought to question it.
 
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No one was more surprised than Andy himself when he signed on for active duty a year out of high school. He'd graduated at seventeen, just over halfway through what otherwise would have been his junior year and had spent thirteen months building computers and taking them apart again. The idea of school had never appealed to him, but he knew pretty quickly he wanted to move out of his parents' house, if not out of his hometown, and the Army seemed like the fastest way to do that, since he didn't much care for holding down a job.

It had taken him all of a week in boot camp to learn the same things he had known in high school: he was smart, if not all that physically adept; a fast learner and a faster runner, though maybe a little too empathetic for his own good. But the idea of serving on a team appealed to him. He loved people, always had, even if it took most a little while to return the favor, if they ever did. But his enigmatic, quiet sense of humor could inspire loyalty in the small handful that cared enough to stick around. In retrospect, Andy wasn't exactly surprised to learn he'd found a friend in wolf's clothing.

That, however, was all he would know about Jack for some time.

Well, that, and how irritating it was when he showed up places uninvited. There were days Andy could swear he couldn't sneeze without running into the looming stranger with an uncanny knack for pushing every single one of Andy's otherwise hard-to-find buttons.

Still, it'd been a tough enough week that when Andy walked back to a table where a couple of the older guys -- who had apparently decided to take Andy under their collective wing, which he would have been suspicious about, were it not for that strange and inexplicable charm he could sometimes exude -- with a tray full of brown beers and spotted his partner of 36 hours, he own groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Of fucking course," he muttered, his normally bright eyes having darkened to something stormier for the moment. "I swear, the dude is stalking me."

"Who?" asked one of the older soldiers in a bored off-hand, grabbing a beer and turning to see where Andy was glaring. A grin broke across his suntanned face. "Oh, that kid? He's not so bad. Sarge fucking loves him. Hell, he got us out of running laps last week just by field stripping his weapon. Near record time. Guy's a damn ringer."

Andy said nothing, and the solider who'd just spoken, a Texan in his late twenties named Hank, nudged the kid closest to him, Mike. Mike smirked.

"Weren't you partnered with him for a minute? Heard you guys couldn't keep it in your pants."

Andy smiled a little, though his gaze went flinty at the memory. Asshole, he grumbled to himself. He made himself physically turn from Jack to face his friends, going for a real smile this time.

"Well, you know how it is," he muttered eventually. "Us FNGs tend to get excited early on." The older Marine's smiled. Krueger was a weird kid. But funny weird, so it could be worse.

"Anyway. What the fuck ever, right? Let's drink to exactly..." Andy checked his watch, "118 more minutes of shore leave. Cheers."
 
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If there was one thing military boys were really good at, it was getting drunk. The local bars all had to compete for the attention of people off-base, authorized or not, so every place had a hefty military discount, and it wasn't as though there was anything else to spend the money on. Of course, if they came back too wasted then the sergeant or one of the others would notice that night or the next morning, and then everyone would get in trouble. None dared risk that. But that didn't mean it wasn't possible to have a little bit of fun.

Despite how seriously he took everything when it came to boot camp, Jack was not immune to enjoyment and tomfoolery. He'd settled with the other group of boys who had come along for the excursion, and was already working his way through his second glass of beer, covertly snuck to him by the man who had led this whole expedition. One of the nearby girls was batting lashes at him, and he was flirting back with an inexperienced self confidence that was surprisingly charming, even if it did have the other boys, not as old as Andy's new friends, but older than Jack, constantly break out into muffled laughter.

"Fucking go, man," one of the boys, a tall black man named Shaw, who had been champion of his high school wrestling team, punched Jack hard on the shoulder, nearly pushing him off the bar stool. "She's been making goo-goo eyes at you for the last half hour, and if you don't get over there now I'll go myself."

Jack laughed and took the last swig of his beer. Despite the fact that it felt like there was a little bubble in between his mind and body from the beer buzz, there was no wobble in his step as he began to make his was over towards the booth. The girl glanced over her way, only to see him walking towards her. She smiled slightly, before rapidly turning her head away. Her friends giggled.

However, in between Jack and "his girl" was an unexpected obstacle. There was another group of boys, most of them tattoo covered and dressed in traditional "punk" attire, who had pushed several nearby tables together and spread their feet out to claim the area. Everyone did their best to avoid them, as the young men were obviously edging for a fight, and no one wanted to get thrown out. However, what neither Jack, Andy, nor any of their friends had noticed was that said group of boys had been throwing dark looks their way since the moment Shaw and Rudy had pulled out their military IDs.

Jack's path towards the girl ended up taking him one table too close to the punk group. One of the boys stuck out his leg and Jack, eyes still on the pretty girl on the far side of the bar, didn't see it until it was far too late. He tripped painfully, barely catching himself on the edge of a nearby table before falling face-first to the ground.

The punk laughed cruelly, but embarrassing Jack in front of the girl he was trying to impress seemed enough to satisfy him, at least for now. Bright red with embarrasment, Jack pulled himself back to his feet. For a moment it looked as though he was seriously considering turning around after that, but he squared his shoulder, self-consciously straightened his shirt, and kept on walking.
 
"Dude," warned Mike, following Nuñez's gaze to the rowdy group near the bar. "Sleeping dogs."

It was always good to see a new recruit knocked down a few pegs -- especially when said recruit had clearly garnered the attention of one of the better looking chicks in the bar -- but Army guys knew how to protect their own. And even then, Jack had inspired a strange sort of loyalty.

"Let 'em lie, man. Don't get involved with that shit. Heard they have it out for all of us still on base."

"Yeah, so maybe we don't gotta fight 'em," Nuñez whispered back. "That's not what I'm saying. Just...maybe send a message."

Mike's smirk widened into a grin. "A message? Like what?"

"Andy. It's Andy, right?"

Across the table, Hank was watching Andy carefully. The new kid had put his back to the other group -- or rather, the other new kid with a healthy swagger -- and appeared to be focused on smoothing the air bubbles out from underneath the sticker on his beer.

"What?" he said, clearly distracted. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Andy. Or Drew, I guess, but no one really calls me that anymore."

"Uh-huh," said Hank, who was now only half listening as Mike nudged him, leaned over, and whispered something. Andy, having a chanced a glance back at the door, missed all of it. Because of course he did.

"Andy. So, how exactly did an FNG with a face like yours land half a dozen beers, anyway?" Hank was watching Andy carefully, half curious, half amused. "What are you, 18? 19?"

"19 next winter," Andy answered dutifully. "But they say I've got a youthful glow."

"Yeah, and that chick behind the bar in your fucking back pocket," said an Asian kid named Kenny. "Did you even pay for these?"

Andy beamed. "Who, Sara? I was here earlier this week, picking something up at the pharmacy down the street. Stopped in for a minute to watch the game and reconnected the cable for her when the box fell down. Said she owed me. So," he gestured at the bottles he'd brought back. "Cheers."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Well, ain't that sweet. Here I was servin' with the fuckin' Dalai Lama himself and didn't know it."

Andy laughed. "Actually, I prefer Mr. Lama, but you couldn't have known that."

The others stared in silence for a moment before Andy gave them all that goofy grin and said, "Joking."

They looked at each other and laughed.

Yeah, this was going to be fun.
 
Jack, still blushing but at least now not as red as his hair, made it over to the table without further incident. Unfortunately for him, the girl had decided that she didn't exactly intend to make it easy on him, despite the fact that they had been sharing glances pretty much since Jack had arrived. She and her friends pointedly ignored his approach to the table, talking about an upcoming chemistry exam they all had, and which it sounded like only one of them had actually studied for.

Jack slowed his step slightly, chewing on his bottom lip, but he sure as hell wasn't going to back away now. Instead, he glanced self-consciously back over his shoulder to where the other army boys were watching, before resolutely pushing forward. He had been hoping that there might be a lull in the conversation as he drew close, a small blessing from the girls to make it a bit easier on him, but no such luck. Heart rate beating so fast he thought it must have been possible to see his whole chest vibrating, Jack broke in as smoothly as he could. Which all things considered wasn't that smoothly at all.

"Excuse me," he said, rather louder than strictly necessary. The girls cut off their conversation and turned to look at him. While her friends had a rather serious expression on their face, she looked rather pleased, as though she was proud to have been flirting with a boy who was bold enough to break into the middle of a girls' conversation. The blush returned in full force.

Jack did his best to ignore her friends, instead turning to face the girl. "I believe the traditional thing at this point would be for me to offer to buy you a drink, but I don't think the bartender would like that very much. So, instead, I'll just have to settle for an introduction. I'm Jack." He offered his hand, and she took it politely, nodding her head once, somewhat vaguely.

"Allison."

There was a moment of awkward silence as Jack waited for Allison to say something, anything more. Nothing. Her two friends giggled, but Allison maintained a straight face, watching him expectantly. Good lord, what did she want from him?

"So," Jack began again, desperately praying something rather pithy would come to his lips. "Since I cannot offer a traditional bribe," bribe? Bribe? What did he think she was, some kind of prostitute? "Lure," he hastily corrected. "Perhaps instead I can spirit you away to the other side of the bar with a tempting offer of club soda and complimentary peanuts, and..." Oh, god, why hadn't he thought about what he was going to say before he came over? "You can... tell me a bit more about yourself." He finished, rather lamely.

He friends giggled again. Allison, however, took a moment to think it over (while Jack seriously contemplated the merits of fleeing the state) before nodding. "Alright," she agreed, picking up her drink and waving a couple fingers at her friends in farewell. "Let me know what you guys end up deciding to do for the study group."

"Will do," one of her friends said, managing to briefly regain a straight face before cracking up again. She buried her face in one hand, shooing Allison away with the other.
 
Across the bar, Mike, Kenny, Hank and the others were silently whooping their appreciation, expressions ranging from reluctant awe to annoyance and disbelief.

"Did he just fucking..."

"Dude, he fucking got her," Kenny laughed, clapping Mike on the shoulder as he raised his bottle to Jack's retreating form. Beside him, Andy glowered imperiously, watching Jack pulled out a stool at a corner table with the pretty girl he'd whisked away. He didn't feel personally victimized, quite. That would require an ego not even Andy could summon -- and the girl, while cute, was hardly his type.

But it was frustrating to see Jack be so...normal with someone -- anyone -- else. Together, they had only ever managed to argue, which was quite a feat for Andy, who didn't even really like to watch cop shows on TV. But something about Jack brought out a new Andy, one who's self-deprecating charm became a razor sharp insight into what he could say to piss Jack off. It was fun. But it was absolutely maddening, too.

Meanwhile, Hank watched Andy watching Jack, and missing another woman entering the dive -- making a grand total of four, not including the blonde behind the bar. The new girl was pretty, all dark hair, long legs, and freckles, with a pin-up of Rosie the Riveter tattooed on her thigh. The girl walked by, obviously in a hurry, tossing a wave and a flirty grin to the punk group in the middle of the floor before grabbing an apron from a stool and joining rushing behind the bar.

It gave Hank an idea.

"Hey. Kid. Andy. New bartender just walked in -- does she owe you any favors, or was it just your friend from the other day?"

Distracted, Andy squinted at the dark haired girl behind the bar. "Uh. No, don't think so. She looks kinda familiar, maybe she was there, but I didn't catch her name."

Hank picked up his near empty bottle and shook it meaningfully. "Maybe you should go do that?"

"Fuck yeah," roared Kenny, though whether he was catching on, or hoping to ride a two-drink buzz, Hank couldn't guess. "Go work your weird nerd skills, poindexter. Lemme know if you need me to break the jukebox or something."

"Uh..." Andy looked around at the others, who were now all staring at him expectantly, before breaking into an eager grin. Hell, he'd take any chance to meet new people, really. Especially when the person happened to be a cute girl who lived nearby.

And that had nothing to do with Jack's recent success.

"Sure, guys. Be right back. Lemme see what I can do."

The boys whooped and hollered again as Andy ducked away, flush with pride and booze. It felt almost like he floated to the bar. He grinned at Sara, offering her a wave, before parking himself in front of the new girl's tap.

"Hi," he said brightly. "My name's Andy. Did you know you can hack an old DVD player to play old NES games?"

She stared at him blankly for a second then raised a brow.

"Really?"

"Sure. You got a pencil and paper?"

"I can offer you eye liner and a napkin."

"That'll work. What if I need to erase?"

"You better not make any mistakes."

Andy frowned in mock disappointment. "That's where you're supposed to offer an alcohol wipe, or whatever the fuck, and I make some crack about just taking the booze."

The girl stared again, then laughed aloud, and Andy smiled and never noticed the punk group behind him turning to watch.
 
As soon as Jack and Allison were safely tucked away in the corner of the bar, Jack buried his face in his hands and groaned slightly. "Allison." he said her name as though trying it out, running the syllables over his tongue. "I thought you were trying to kill me."

Allison giggled, grabbing her drink and taking a quick sip. "What? The big military boy can't handle it?"

"I can handle lots of things," Jack protested through his fingers, in good humor. "Tell me to carry a hundred pound pack on a 20 mile run? Sure thing. Ask me to field strip a weapon in less than a minute? No problem. But try and get me to approach a girl in the middle of a crowded bar, with a whole bunch of people staring at my back and that girl purposefully trying to make it hard on me? I'd rather face three SEALs in hand to hand combat."

"Well," Allison did, and there was something in her tone that was half flirtatious, half consoling. "You did pretty well."

Jack perked up almost immediately. "Did I?"

"Yup. Not perfect, but pretty well."

"What'd I mess up?"

Allison laughed. "That is something you are going to have to figure out yourself."

Jack pouted for a moment, but quickly got over it. He grinned, running fingers through his short cut. "So, how about that club soda now?"

He returned a couple of moments later with two glasses in hand, watching Andy out of the corner of his eye as he spoke to the newly arrived bartender. Something about the situation set his teeth on edge, like the expectation of a storm even when the sky was perfectly clear. He forced himself to completely turn his back on the situation. Andy had his own friends. And, sure, he might have only come along because something in him refused to let Andy too far out of his sight. The fool seemed to have a knack for getting himself into situations that were way over his head, and being utterly incapable of getting himself out of them again. But Andy would not be happy were he to see Jack watching him. In all likelihood, it would just make the situation, whatever the situation was, worse. Idiot.

Instead, he turned his attention back to Allison, handing off the cold glass, which was starting to bead with moisture.

"So, did you grow up around Chicago?"

She shook her head, setting aside the empty glass to pick up the soda. "I'm here to study chemical engineering at Northwestern. I'm originally from California."

Jack grinned. "Me too. I'm from the San Fransisco Bay Area. What about you?"

Allison peered at him, somewhat skeptical. "If you hadn't led with that, I might have thought you were trying to be a very cheesy flirt."

"What?' Jack asked, taken aback. "Led with what?"

She smiled, a faint, soft thing that caused his heart rate to double. "I grew up in San Jose."

Jack felt a goofy grin cross his face, followed by a faint laugh. "You see?" he chuckled. "We have so much in common already."
 
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"So. Andy."

"So. Kate."

He knew Hank and the others were probably waiting for their beer, but he figured they'd all be willing to wait the much longer for free booze. Besides, Kate was cute. And funny. And not completely unreceptive to his otherwise ill-received flirting, so it seemed like a good night.

"I hear you're the one we have to thank for getting more than six channels again?" Kate smiled at him over the rim of the glass she was drying, green eyes bright and mischievous in the dim light of the bar.

"Uh-huh," Andy replied, sliding over to take a seat without thinking about it. "Though about...200 of those'll be in Spanish, so unless you're bilingual...?"

"Does six weeks of high school French count?"

Andy laughed. "Non. Lo siento, señorita."

Kate sighed and shrugged. "Well. Even old Friends reruns is better than nonstop grainy baseball. So, it looks like I owe you a drink."

"I feel morally obligated to tell you your friend Sara," he waved at her as she walked by, "already did you one better. Or six better, I guess." He gestured over his shoulder to his waiting friends.

Kate squinted. "You boys all from the base camp up the road?"

Andy tossed her a faux salute. "Ma'am."

Kate grinned uncertainly and glanced over his shoulder, but Andy didn't bother to follow her gaze. Kate cleared her throat and said, "Well, I dunno if I can go giving free six packs away. But I can manage a pitcher. And maybe something...special for our cable guy? What're you drinking?"

Andy shrugged. "Highest proof for the lowest price, usually," he bluffed.

Kate giggled outright at that. "Tell you what. I shouldn't drink on the job, but -- "

"But when has that ever stopped you? Who's your new friend, Katie?"

Andy turned as a kid probably a few years older than himself slouched up to the bar -- uncomfortably close, but reeking of whiskey, so understandable -- and grinned drunkenly at Kate, whose smile wavered before catching again.

"Hi, Dylan," she said politely. "This is Andy. He helped Sara get the TV up and running again over the weekend. You can watch shitty wrestling in three languages now."

"Can I?" slurred Dylan in a tone that was undeniably mocking. Kate or Andy himself, Andy wasn't sure. But it made his skin crawl.

Kate must have felt it, too, because she frowned a little and said, "He's a good kid, Dylan. Be nice."

"I'm always nice," Dylan said. "Actually, I was just gonna ask him if he wanted a drink. My friends and I -- " he turned, gestured to the large group in the middle Andy had noticed and subsequently ignored when they'd arrived. "Just wanted to thank the big Army guy for his service."

Something about the way Dylan said 'big Army guy' made Andy suspicious. He looked at the large group, then at his own, all of whom were apparently very deeply involved in conversation. Andy felt a bad idea began to tickle at the back of his brain.

"No thanks necessary," Andy said with a smile. "Haven't even finished training yet. You wanna thank someone, thank -- "

"We want to thank you," said Dylan coolly. Then he smiled again. "Especially if you helped out Sara and Katie. Katie tell you we used to date?"

Andy grinned thinly. "That must have been quite the experience for her," he said.

Dylan stared at him for a minute before offering up an insincere grin of his own. "Funny," he said. "What're you drinking, Army boy?"

"I -- "

"Whiskey," Dylan interrupted. "Two, straight up, Katie. Give this kid some hair on his chest before he ships out." He turned to smile at Andy again. "C'mon, you're not gonna make me drink alone, are you? Not after I put your drink on my tab? You even got an ID, kid?"

Andy looked at the punk group, then Katie, then his own, who still hadn't looked back at him. Dylan was a little bigger than he was, but Andy was fast. And sober. And he was almost certain no one could be dumb enough to want to fight a solider this close to an Army base.

"Uh. Sure. Yeah, I can hang out for a second, I guess. Not like my friends are objecting to it," he added sardonically. He reached for the shot Katie had just poured and tipped it back without hesitation. It burned like hell, but he kept as straight a face as possible.

To his surprise, the punk grouped nodded approvingly and cheered. Even Dylan seemed impressed.

"Army boy's not afraid of a little bite," he said, slapping Andy hard on the back. Amazingly, it didn't so much as sting. Andy gave a goofy grin that came a little easier this time as he sat down with the others, trying to calculate what the chances were that he didn't regret this whole evening.
 
Jack was in the middle of a sentence when he noticed what was happening with Andy. It trailed off halfway through, and Allison gave him a weird look. He noticed, but found that he didn't care as much as he usually would. His eyes, which had been firmly locked on Allison since the moment he had sat down with her, strayed away, flicked back, before turning to look at Andy, who seemed to be drowning in the shadow of the man who had tripped Jack.

"Friend of yours?" Allison asked politely.

"No," Jack replied, almost a bit too hastily. Allison lifted an eyebrow. "Really. He'll tell you the same thing. I'm pretty sure he hates my guts."

"If that's true, why are you worrying about him."

"Well... Andy's an... idiot, with a knack for getting himself into trouble that he can't get out of. Repeatedly. Even when he know's better. And he's training to go to war. He's going to get himself killed if he keeps that up and..."

"And none of that explains why you care," Allison cut in. "Don't get me wrong, it is good. We need more people in the world who care about each other. But I'm sure he's not the only man on the base who gets himself into trouble."

"No," Jack agreed, "but he might be the only who is utterly incapable of getting himself out of the trouble he gets into. There's very much a sink or swim mentality here, and Andy can... doggy paddle." Allison snorted, and Jack blushed. "Well. Not exactly the best analogy. But what I mean is that Andy's got just enough skill and whatever that he's going to get through training. But then he'll be shipped overseas, and he'll get himself into a situation he can't get out of. But then he won't earn a couple broken ribs for it, he'll be dead. I can see that, but he can't. Honestly, I think I might be the only person who can see it. The rest of them think it's all a great joke, and he'll be just fine, but he won't. But whenever I try and point it out, he gets so... pigheaded. Even more than usual."

Jack sighed, taking a large gulp of the club soda. The carbonation burned his tongue and the back of his throat, almost like real alcohol. "All I can do is try and save his ass while he figures out how to roll with the punches, and hope he figures it out himself, because whenever I try and teach him anything he refuses to listen."

Allison blinked. "I'm honestly not quite sure what to make of that. It isn't the way I would handle it in the least. But I'm not a boy, and I'd never join the army. So." Her expression softened somewhat. "It sounds like you care about him quite a bit."

"I have no idea why, either. We fight. Constantly. You think I'd just get mad and leave him to his fate, but I just can't."

"And that is what makes you a good man," Allison said, softly. Her hand reached out, gently folding over Jack's own. On the other side of the room, Rudy wolf whistled, and Allison's hand immediately shot back. Jack shot the man a filthy look. In the process, he caught sight of Andy, now seated at the table with the rest of the big group. Worry creased his brow again, before he shook his head in resignation.

"See what I mean," he said, jabbing his thumb towards the table. "Any sane person would stay away from that group. They are drunk, and bitter about something. But not Andy. He's going to sit down right in the middle of them, and even his weird charm won't be able to keep him out of trouble. And when that happens, his "friends" are just going to sit there. And if no one does something, he's going to end up in the hospital, and have no clue how he got there, or what went wrong."

"Except you'll do something," Allison pointed out.

Jack glanced at her. "Yeah, I will. And I'll get thrown out of the bar, too, without ever getting your number."

Allison blinked at him, before starting to laugh.
 
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"Boys," Dylan announced in a slur that had somehow become much more pronounced in the eight feet between the bar and the sprawling group at the center of the floor. "This is Mandy."

"Andy," said Andy, recalling like nicknames from middle school. Mandy, Sandy, Candy...He shot a glance back to Hank and co just in time for all them to turn away so quickly, he'd have guessed at least one was in danger of whiplash. He could see where this was going. It happened whenever his 'weird charm' read only as 'weird'...which was pretty often in Andy's first weeks of knowing anyone at all. Somewhere between, "Hi, how are you?" and "Leave him alone," they always thought, "Fuck, I'd like to see this kid fall on his face." Maybe because he never really reacted, except to laugh it off. He'd always been the sort of guy to go with the flow, pitch in when help was needed, hang back otherwise, always ready with a hand or a laugh, even at his own expense. He'd never really been close enough to anyone to resent them or feel hurt by it; when things got tough, he was just as happy moving on.

Except that wasn't really an option in the army.

Not for the first time, Andy wondered idly what he'd gotten himself involved in, and how much it was going to suck before he resolved it again. Because he always resolved it again...usually with help. But it always sucked first.

At least he had gotten a few free drinks out of it.

"Right," said Dylan, throwing an arm around Andy's shoulders. "Randi. This is Chuck, Tyler, Matty, Cage, and Doyle. Boys, th'is...yeah, you heard him. Invited Andy the Army boy over for a drink. C'mon, Andy. Sit."

Dylan didn't sit so much as he sort of toppled over, and Andy went with him, because it was that, or let him drop. And probably he could have done that, but he was keenly aware that he was outnumbered now, and Hank and the others clearly weren't planning on stepping in anytime soon. And even if Andy was decent at his 'job', and taller than about half of Dylan's crew, they were all of them drunk and loud and staring at him the way cats looked at fish in bowls. Andy took a breath and let himself tense. He wasn't the type to start anything. But he sure as hell couldn't let them finish it, either. Not here, anyway. Not this close to base.

Not when he knew that asshole from his hometown wouldn't let him forget for shit.

"So. Andy," slurred Matt or Chucky or whoever the fuck. "You here from...from th'Army?"

Andy nodded. "Oh, yeah," he said casually. "They actually can't call me 'Andy the Army boy' unless I was. Trademarked, y'know, and copyright law's a bitch."

There was a long pause, and Andy, grinning a little -- and feeling that shot of whiskey maybe a little more than he'd have liked -- said, "Relax, dude, it's a joke. Parody and satire fall under creative commons and public licensing."

A longer silence, and Andy figured he better get out while he could. He half lurched to his feet, saying, "Well, you've been a great audience, but -- "

"No." Dylan wrapped a meaty hand around his bicep. He was still smiling, except only with his mouth and not at all with his eyes, and Andy had read somewhere the eyes were the way to see a real smile. So.

"Uh...yeah," Andy said with his own half smile, breaking free of Dylan's grip easily enough. "Yeah, I'm gonna go. My friends over there look busy and uninterested, but that's only because they are. Thanks for the drinks, though. Bye -- "

He started to turn and instead walked smack into Matty and Chad. Or whoever the fuck. Andy made a face.

"Guys, I'm flattered," he started, taking a step back to put a little space between him and his new friends, casually dropping now fisted hands to his sides. Best to look as unthreatening as possible until shit actually started going down. It was hardly Army standard, but then...neither was Andy.

"Really," he went on with a lopsided grin. "But my girlfriend up in Canada would be pissed."

"You talk too much," said maybe Matty.

"So I've heard."

"The fuck they let queer ass lil fucks like you in and throw us all out on our asses?"

Andy held up his hands in mock surrender. "Well, you said 'fuck' and 'ass' twice apiece just now. Maybe that's it?" he supplied. "Dunno if you know this, but they're not too big on -- "

He saw the blow a second before it came, and it gave him just enough time to react, to get his feet underneath him, roll with and away and reserve his momentum for when he came back up. Because he would be coming back up. The way maybe Matty had decked him, and the way low whistles and cheers broke through the buzzing in his ears, they thought he'd hit the ground. Hard. A few months ago, he would have.

Andy wasn't right for his job. But he wasn't bad at it, either. Or not that bad.

He hung down over his knees just long enough for his ears to stop ringing, then lifted his boot and planted his heel on top of Matty's foot, wondering if it was possible to break juuust enough bones for Dylan and co to leave him alone.

Probably not.

Matt howled and lurched forward and Andy took the opportunity and drive his elbow into the other man's temple, crumpling him to the floor. The other sounds in the bar had stopped, except for a girl's voice. Sighing, Andy swore under his breath and turned to give a less-than-charming, slightly bloody smile to a stunned looking Kate.

"Hi," he said sheepishly. "Really sorry. Are you alri -- "

The next blow he'd been expecting, but not in the way it came. Which, looking back, maybe he should have. But years later, he would be glad he hadn't.

It hadn't been the still stunned (though now also pissed) Chad to rescue his buddy, but Chuck or Code or someone. And not with another mediocre right hook, but just by barreling into him like a linesman. If their goal was to get Andy on the floor, this was definitely the more effective method.

Andy felt the wind crushed out of him, felt the back of his head connect with the floor at the same time a table crashed to the floor, upending heavy glasses somewhere behind him. His ears were ringing again, albeit for an entirely different reason this time, and when he opened his eyes, there were two Dylan and co's standing over him, a naked snarl stretched between their bobbing and weaving faces.

"Look at the big Army boy," Dylan drawled, his arms folded over his chest, as Chuck and whatever almost comically cracked their knuckles behind him.

Andy swallowed a groan as he struggled to find his breath again, automatically reaching behind his head for something, anything, to give him a little leverage, satisfied that if Dylan and his friends sent him to this hospital, Hank and his friends would be running suicides for a week.

"I...I can see why you guys woulda struggled on base," Andy grated out once his vision had stopped spinning. His right hand closed on a napkin dispenser, which would be more help than nothing, but not by much. "If Matthew there's your lead, y-you all are in for a shit night, y'know?"

Let it never be said Andy hadn't gotten the last word.
 
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It was almost as though some sort of tension had filled the air, some foreboding of what was to come. Jack trailed off in mid-conversation once more, and was about to turn, when there was the sound of something heavy crashing violently into the floor. The group cheered.

"Fucking shi..." Jack muttered, unconsciously. He stood up from his chair without further word, almost casually, and turned to go. But just before he left Jack turned back, offering a half smile, pained but sweet, to Alicia. He didn't remember what look she had given him back. He didn't know whether she had been upset, or concerned, or proud. In that moment, it hadn't really been his biggest concern.

He hadn't gotten her number. He left anyways.

When he was asked about it later, Jack wouldn't be able to remember anything he had thought in that moment. He would tell people that it had all been pure instinct, that the marines had done their job beating training into his head. But that wasn't it. In that moment, despite the sound of the blood that was rushing through his head as he prepared to fight, Jack's mind was full of nothing but hard, cool logic. There had been six boys with the group. Andy had taken one out, so they would have to finish this fight before he had a chance to wake up, further worsening their odds.

Five against two. Maybe. Andy was resilient, but from the look of the people around him he would have already taken several hard blows. Even if he could stand, he would still have to be ready to fight, and that would require a certain level of clearheadedness that might have already been bashed out. So maybe five against one. He wouldn't be able to survive that, no matter how good a fighter he was. In this fight, there were only two goals: get as many as possible out of the fight, and try and stall the whole thing long enough to give Andy time to recover and join back in.

Jack's eyes locked on to the man who had walked over to the bar to grab Andy. He was the leader of this whole thing, and taking him out was by far the most important thing Jack could do. A couple of the other boys would keep fighting for sure, but he was also willing to bet that at least one would run if they lost their ringleader. Unfortunately, standing between him and the top dog were several other people. A sudden idea struck him.

When he had covered half the distance to the group Jack broke into a run. None of the group had expected anyone to join in on the fight. Not when it was so obviously suicidal, and Andy's "friends" had already made it clear they had no intention of helping. Therefore, Jack had just enough time to take them by surprise. He threw himself onto the back of the nearest man, unbalancing him and wrapping an arm around his neck. It clamped tight on each side of his neck, cutting off the flow of blood to his brain. Whoever he was had just enough time to grunt in surprise. "What the fu...?" He started reaching back to grab Jack, but long before he was able to complete the motion blackness filled his vision, sending him crashing to the floor.

Jack followed him part of the way down, before throwing himself forward, landing mostly stable, and using his own forward momentum to throw a spinning kick at Dyaln's head. The man yelled his shock, throwing himself backwards to get out of the way of the incoming foot. He dodged the blow, but was sent crashing heavily into the nearest table, which toppled over under his weight, causing him to land heavily on the floor. Even as Dylan recovered his three remaining cronies began to close in. Jack lunged forward, jerking his knee up in a feint of a straight kick, before twisting suddenly to the side and sending a crashing blow of a roundhouse kick to the leftmost guy. He crashed to the side, running into his own friend, causing both to stagger. Unfortunately, one man was unharmed by the move, and before he even seemed to realize that his friends were down he had thrown himself forward, with a strong, straight punch right to Jack's face. Jack, still partially unbalanced from the strength of the kick, was only able to partially twist out of the way before the fist connected solidly with the side of his jaw.

Staggering, Jack caught himself on the edge of the bar. Dylan was righting himself, and his two friends had already untangled themselves. Off to the side, the man Andy had hit was obviously starting to wake up.

"Andy," Jack said fiercely. "Get the fuck up."
 
Andy watched most of Jack's struggle from his place on floor, where he lay curled around his ribs and his napkin dispenser, wheezing and cursing, and just generally trying not to puke. Whether that was the byproduct of his aching head, or his spasming solar plexus, or just the whiskey, he couldn't say. Later, much later, after training and after war, and after everything that would follow Andy would look back and see far more than he had at the moment. Mostly Jack. Usually Jack. When he looked back at those days, it was usually Jack he was looking for. He was never hard to find.

Jack, standing calmly, almost casually, from the other side of the room, leaving the pretty girl he'd been with the hurl himself into the fray when not a one of Dylan's clan had been so much as looking in his direction. Jack, somehow always just around any corner, especially once Andy was off base and drinking. Jack, forever offering unwanted, but not entirely advice as training started to ramp up, and Andy started to get nervous. Jack, on the night before they'd shipped out. And Jack, the day before they'd gotten pinned down.

Later, Andy would see it all laid out like a map before him, each and every piece of the puzzle screaming, shrieking what Andy should have seen long before. It would bring terror and relief and a sort of inevitable epiphany all at once.

But that was later.

For now, Andy only Jack, getting involved again where he didn't belong. The guy had an ego the size of Jupiter. Or else he just really loved proving Andy wrong.

But.

From the moment Dylan and his friends heard another of their party drop behind them, they all spun to face this newly and entirely unexpected threat. Andy had to give them that. He'd have been the last to guess anyone would come to his rescue. Least of all Jack.

Fucking figured.

Still, though. Dylan and his buddies turned to face Jack, and Andy started to follow -- to try to stop them, or to just quietly slink away and lick his wounds, he wasn't sure.

One of the others beat him to it.

"Fuck you, Army boy," he said with a sneer, planting a foot somewhere between the last of Andy's ribs and his kidney. "Better stay down, if you know what's good for you."

Andy hissed out to keep from puking, rolling to one side to protect his stomach. And see how Jack was getting along. Which was...better than him. Of course.

Scowling, Andy forced himself to take a breath, rolling to his feet just as another of Dylan's friends lost his. Three of them, Dylan included, were rising again.

Andy grunted and rolled on his side, kicking out with one leg to sweep Dylan's feet from under him while he was still unsteady. He went down harder this time and Andy rolled to his feet with a muted groan before the other could change his mind.

He immediately reconsidered and bent over his knees to catch his breath, glaring up at Jack from underneath sandy hair.

He cleared his throat and spat onto the floor.

"Dunno," he panted, as the last of Dylan's crew sized up their quarry. It was two on two now, a much fairer fight, even if Andy's half had already taken a beating. But it couldn't be much longer before someone played bouncer and all eight ended up on their asses outside. Probably.

"Seems like I'm doing okay for myself down here," he said coolly. "I had it fucking handled, Jack." A beat passed. Two. "But...thanks for the breather."
 
"Fucking handled," Jack repeated, before snorting. "Yeah right." And then there was no more time to talk.

In the end, the fight was interrupted before it could reach its conclusion by the owner of the bar walking out of his office with a metal baseball bat in hand. He didn't take any time to figure out who was at fault, or what was going on, but chased Dylan and his boys, Andy, and Jack out of the bar, stormed out after them, and made sure that each group walked in opposite directions. Then, without further word, he stormed back into the building. There was the sound of his office door slamming shut.

Jack made it around the corner before he came to a halt, pressing his back against the cold glass window of a deserted business building. He groaned slightly, gently running fingertips along his stomach, the side of his neck, and over his swollen lip. He winced slightly, probed it a bit harder, before spitting out blood and letting his hand drop. There was a small cut on the side of his forehead, which was bleeding rather heavily, but he was almost certain that nothing was broken. He was hopeful that he could contribute the fact that he wasn't able to walk in a perfectly straight line to the fact that he was a bit buzzed, and not to the fact that one of the money's meaty fists had dislodged something important in his skull.

He was thinking about Allison. Thinking about the way she had looked at him before he had ran off to save Andy. A part of him wished he could have just let the idiot get beat up, and spent the rest of the evening with her. He knew he wished he had gotten her number.

"Why the fuck did you have to get yourself into that situation?"
 
"I was bored," Andy grumbled sarcastically, wincing as he put a hand to his side. It felt hot and puffy under his fingers, but he was too wired and too buzzed to care that he might care in an hour.

"Why the fuck did you have to ruin my fun?" Without meeting to, he came to a halt just on Jack's other side, doing him one better by leaning up against the building then sliding down to let his arms dangle over his knees.

Everything throbbed in time with his heart, and Andy could swear he felt somewhere between guilty, worried, and pissed. But he couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't died. No one was in the hospital. And he'd gotten his cathartic night out, despite it's ending somewhat more violently than he'd have anticipated. Things had a way of doing that around Andy that he was coming to hate. The only common factor he could suss out...was Jack.

Prodding the hot flesh around his right eye experimentally, he turned his head to half squint, half scowl up at Jack.

That he'd decided to step up was...surprising, to say the least. Not because Jack was especially reserved or pacifistic himself, though he had an undercurrent of both for a guy his size in the Army. Even given their mutual hatred of each other, Andy might have guessed Jack wouldn't have let Andy be killed. He was pretty sure he could say that of most people in the bar.

But nine times out of ten, when he and Jack were fighting, it was because Jack was being fucking condescending. Which, alright, wasn't unusual. Andy attracted all matter of attention, ranging from unbidden flirting to more forceful taunting, as was the case tonight. He was used to ribbing, both gentle and decidedly not. But when it came from Jack...he just wanted to punch the guy. Had punched the guy. If he'd taken the night again from the top, it seemed the most likely outcome would have been a smirking Jack, waiting for Andy to wake up so he could point out everything he'd done wrong.

Like he was trying to do now, almost. Except that first, he had ditched the cute girl to come get his ass beat right along with Andy.

And Andy couldn't figure out why.

He studied the side of Jack's face suspiciously, suddenly wondering if he was being set up again.

"What the fuck is this, Jack? We both know you hate my guts. So, what, you setting me up again? You got another crew of your friends hiding behind that telephone pole over there, waiting for me to blink?"
 
"A crew of..." Jack blinked. "Fucking hell, Krueger, is that really what you think of me?" It almost hurt to hear Andy say that. Of course, he should have known better. Should have known that was exactly what Andy thought about him. What else was he to think? Jack had seen the way Andy's face had darkened every time he came into sight. "I don't hate your guts. I never have. You are just such a fucking idiot sometimes, and you never learn. Not even when someone's shoving your face in it."

Jack let out a noise that was half sigh half growl, before shoving himself away from the glass pane. "But, fine. You do whatever you want. Have your goddamn "fun". I don't know why I even bother." He pushed his hands into his pockets, ignoring the stab of pain in his shoulder. He was going to have to get that looked at. "You just keep doing whatever the fuck you want until you end up coming home from overseas in a coffin."

Jack didn't mean the words, not really. Even if that was what Andy thought of him, even if it was what Andy would continue to think of him, Jack couldn't bring himself to abandon the idiot. But in that moment, he was wishing he had let Andy get beat up a little bit more before he had intervened. Maybe then he would have gotten Allison's number.

Maybe she had followed him out. Maybe she was standing by the door of the bar right now, wondering which way he had gone, but not wanting to pick the wrong direction and run into the bastard group that had started the fight. He decided he would go check.
 
Andy coughed a bitter laugh, mostly to keep from swearing again. "Yeah, well, those chartered coffin flights are notoriously cheaper, so score one for the fucking home team," he muttered angrily.

Even so, it was clear he'd struck a nerve. Which was...unexpected. Or rather, it had not been the nerve he'd expected to strike. He'd spent enough time with Jack now that he knew most of the ways to get under his skin. Hell, for a guy as easy-going as Andy, he had quite a few techniques for pissing people off, strangers included. He'd known Jack would hate that he was clueless as to how the fight had begun, that he hadn't seen it coming from a mile away, or that he hadn't seen any problem in joining a group that outnumbered and out-drunk'd him. What caught him off guard was the fact that Jack appeared to be most irked by Andy's otherwise completely logical insinuation that Jack had had it out for him the whole time.

He'd thought their dislike had been mutual. That it wasn't was...beyond a revelation to him.

Then Jack was huffing and puffing and doing his usual down talking bullshit and Andy was content to see him go, until he realized that no, he really wasn't. He leapt to his feet so fast, his head spun, and even as he put a hand against the building to steady himself, he was putting out another hand to stop Jack, trying to quell the sudden panic in his belly.

"Wait!" For a moment, Andy was so shocked he'd spoken, he forgot whatever he was going to say, if he'd had anything prepared at all. But he had to say something. He didn't know what and he sure as hell didn't know why. But he knew he did. For all he got himself in trouble, Andy's intuition could be powerful when it kicked in. If it kicked in. And if he didn't say something now, he was going to regret it forever.

"I...I didn't mean it like that. Or...fuck, I dunno, maybe I did, but I guess I shouldn't have. You're different than the others. I know that. You wouldn't have...done all that shit in there if you weren't. I still don't know why the fuck you bothered, so if you get any news on that front, let me know," he added with a wry grin. "But you stepped in, and you didn't have to, and I guess just...thanks. Yeah. Thank you, Jack." He stuck out a hand awkwardly, and waited, uncertain of what traditionally followed next. Was this truce? Or friendship? Or something in between? Even just the imaginings of the 'told you so's' floating throat Jack's head now were enough to set his teeth on edge and yet...he couldn't deny Jack had broken every rule of 'friendship' Andy had ever known. Except the handful or two Andy himself maintained.

He watched the other man under the orange streetlights for a minute, then exhaled. "So, are you alright?" he asked finally. "The big ugly one fuckin' clocked you good," he said with a laughing, pointing to the cut just above the other's temple. "Oh. That girl you were with - was she, uh...I mean, did you..." He shrugged, then made a face, then committed.

"Look, if you want her number, I can get it for you. I'm good at shit like that. And she likes you. So it'll be easy."
 
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