016 (Legacies) [SVW]

"SO. WHAT ARE YOU REALLY HERE FOR?" Stanley Schwartz-Rottonbottom dropped heavily into the lawn chair, before passing his baby brother a glass of suspiciously-cloudy beer.

"I don't know what you mean," answered Chauncy, daring a sip and pulling a face. "That is awful. Are you home brewing again?"

"It's improved since his last batch," offered Percival, taking the chair on Chauncy's other side, making a liar out of himself with the glass of lemon squash he'd chosen instead.

"Almost drinkable," pronounced Stanley, and sat his bottle beside the leg. "We're not here to disparage my skills— and drink up, Chaunce, it'll get better the more you drink— we're wondering what you've flown all this way for. Lie to me again about just wanting to touch base, and I might have to punch you."

"Perhaps I just missed the shopping," answered Chauncy archly, grimacing with the second sip, and regretting it instantly. "To be honest, I don't know why I'm here, it's just—"

"Trouble in paradise." Both brothers glared at Percival, ignoring his off-handed shrug. "It probably is, what else does he come for? It's not your bloody beer."

"It's better this batch," insisted Stanley, and leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking alarmingly. "He's right, though. You only ever turn up here when there is uncomfortable. Which means you've done something wrong."

"When do I ever—"

"All the time." Stanley shrugged. "It's true. So what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything." The truth was a little more complicated than that, but Chauncy was still quite sure that there wasn't anything specific that he could possibly have done wrong. He'd been honest about his dislike for children, especially the small variety, and it had somehow turned into some sort of out-of-the-blue discussion about parenthood, when he'd been entirely sure that it wasn't something either of them wanted, and now, although the conversation was over, he was fully aware that it was suspended, not done, and he'd have to try and defend a position that sounded judgemental of all of their friends with children, when he didn't dislike any of those babies, mostly because he could give them back. He sighed. "The topic of parenthood came up..."

"Oh." Stanley rolled his eyes. "And you've stated your position and it didn't work out quite how you planned it?"

"Well, yes." He winced. It made him sound so mercenary when put that way. "I don't want them, and I would have thought that if Lawrence did, he might have mentioned it."

"Maybe he didn't, and he's changed his mind." Percival shrugged. "I didn't, I changed my mind, and ten years on, we're both happy. Probably doesn't hurt that we needed an heir, which you don't, of course, and Katie is pretty accommodating. And our Sebastian is a good kid—"

Stanley burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Sebbers is a little horror and you know it. Don't use him as an argument for parenthood, or this one'll never even listen to the other half. Seriously, now, Chaunce, your trouble is not that you don't like kids, it's that you don't like change."

"No, I—"

"He's right. If you had your way, Nanny would still be cutting the crusts off your toast soldiers. Not only that, but you've always gotten what you wanted. Spoiled rotten, what with being the baby and all."

"That's not—"

Percival shushed him, and continued. "It's turned you into the king of arbitrary decision-making. When it comes to things, you like to be in charge, and you don't like input. You'll listen to it, sure, just to sound accommodating, but then you just do it your own way anyway. Look at how you got in that relationship."

"You're hardly being fair."

"The truth never is." Stanley motioned for him to take another sip of the dreadful beer, and Chauncy complied only to prove Percival wrong, wishing he hadn't, the moment it washed over his tongue. "But it is true. You set your cap for the man and chased him down with your particular brand of single-mindedness, and now that you've finally got things together again, you're so ball-shrivellingly-terrified that change'll muck it all up again, that you're fighting tooth and nail to keep everything the same as it always was."

"There's grit at the bottom of this glass."

"Don't change the subject. You got yourself in this conversation, and since you flew all this way, it's because you needed to have this conversation. Some things you have to compromise on, and you can't expect Larry to be the one giving all the concessions."

"I don't—"

"Look." Percival stood up, and motioned for his brothers to join him. "You do fine with change once you accept it. The world moves on, baby one, and you're not getting any younger. Why not consider your legacy?"

"And if it's really not for you, you need to think about what that might mean. I'm not advocating that you make a choice that you don't want to make, I'm saying that it's not one you can make for somebody else." Stanley, bracketing him on the other side, said evenly.

"So say yes or bog off, then?"

Stanley's hand hit the back of his head hard, and he ignored Chauncy's glare. "No, idiot, I mean, not every situation has to have a yes or no. Not everything is black and white. Not everything is Chauncy Blimmin' Nottingham Versus the World."

"I didn't say it was."

"What you say and what you really say aren't always the same things." Percival grinned. "I'm just saying, don't make arbitrary decisions and call the results logic. Unless you like being single, in which case, move in with Stanley and stop him brewing."


There was a bowl of pretzel sticks on the wooden bar between them and Lex Collins had taken out a handful, lining them up on the bar with a straight line along the right side. Gowan watched as he fiddled with them absently, barely looking before they were arranged in order of shortest to longest. Then and only then, he picked up the longest one and started taking bite after bite off the end as he pushed it between his lips. At least, for the time being, he wasn't guzzling booze as though prohibition was looming around the next bend.

"Hey, Lex?" Larry's voice came out soft, as affable as it usually was although it was clear he was treading carefully. "Can I ask you something? Honestly?"

Collins grunted softly, not bothering to look up as he adjusted the column of pretzels. His right hand shook slightly as he picked up another, almost dropping it before it went between his lips like a toothpick. "These're fuckin' stale," he muttered.

"What's it like?" Larry turned towards him, resting his elbow on the bar as he looked up at Lex.

"Huh?" He frowned, rapping his knuckles against the bar to get the attention of the tender. "These pretzels're makin' me thirsty— bring me a beer? Bud if you got it. You want one, Lare?" Gowan shook his head, "alright. Make his a Shirley Temple or somethin'... onea them virgin drinks with the fruit an' junk—"

"Just a glass of water with a shot of lime would be wonderful," Gowan cut in smoothly, waiting until the man left to fill the order. "Being a father, Lex. What's it like?"

Lex said nothing, breathing in slowly— his nose whistled on the inhale and then he held it for ten seconds before reaching for another pretzel. "Why the fuck'd you ask me somethin' like that right now? The hell's the matter with you, huh?"

Larry's eyes were wide, realisation dawning on him that he'd made a terrible mistake. "I didn't mean—"

"Cram it up your ass," Lex muttered, closing his eyes as he shook his head, "you meant to. You're just... goddamnit." He ruined the line, bunching the salty sticks up before snapping them between his thumb and index finger. "I miss her, Lare. That little face... the way she laughs... the way she follows me 'round from room to room an' she's gettin' so good at walkin' now. I just... you wanna know what it's like? It hurts, man. It's fuckin' agony 'cause you don't know if what you're doin' is gonna be the right thing, the good thing... the whole time you're walkin' through landmines an' you're tryin' to juggle chainsaws at the same time an' she's lookin' at you like you hung the moon 'cause you dried off her bum and cleaned that diaper when it was startin' to itch— made me feel like I could do anythin'."

"Chauncy and I had this awful fight a few weeks ago—"

"You ever had that urge where you just wanna bite your tongue so hard your teeth go clean through?"

"What?" Larry blinked, staring at him in confusion.

"Sometimes it's all I can think about, y'know? An' I guess that's prob'ly why I was so scared when Han came an' told me she was expectin'... at first, I almost wanted— shit." He reached up, rubbing a hand across his jaw, "goddamn, almost forgot how that went down." 

"How what went down?" Larry barely glanced up as their drinks arrived, reaching for his absently.

"We had a fight. I told her I didn't wanna do... that." Lex was back fussing with the pretzels, taking more from the bowl and lining them up. "An' she fuckin' stormed out like this prissy little princess... gets in a fuckin' accident a couple blocks away an' she's too much of an asshole to even call me or have someone else do it so I'm stuck sittin' round wonderin' where in the hell she vanished to for a couple hours 'til finally I get this stupid message from her sayin' she's at the hospital. So I go down there an' she's all ready to just pull out the magic eraser an' rub out that little mistake growin' inside her—" he exhaled sharply, lifting the bottle of beer to his lips, draining off half of it in one long swallow.

"Goodness," Gowan was aghast, torn between sympathy and hatred for Hannah in that instant. Surely she couldn't have been actually considering abortion? "I'm not sure this is something you should be telling me."

Collins let out a rude snort, taking another pull of his beer. "What's it matter? S'all gone to shit now anyhow an' you wanted to know what it's like to be a dad so here you go. Insider info an' all that happy crappy. You wanna feel like you're never gonna be good enough? You wanna know actual fear? Go on out an' get yourself a baby, Lare. You'll sober up on that dream real quick the second you realise you ain't the man you thought you were—"

"Hey," Larry reached out, placing his hand on his friend's arm, "no. You're a good man—"

"Charlie Brown," Lex interjected, pulling his arm away from Larry's grasp. "S'at what you see when you look at me, Larry? This good guy... some fuckin' saint? That what you think? Good husband. Good father. Good friend— hell of a guy an' now you're just parrotin' the stupid shit Magnum said. Gonna tell me how much you envy me too?"

"No." Larry replied, taking a pensive sip of his water. "Because the pain you're feeling right now isn't something I'm in the least bit jealous of— I've been there, Lex. Hell, I spent a year walking that road and I'm going to offer you a little advice: if you're going to Chicago, maybe you should stop in and see her; have an actual conversation and take a little time to see Allegra if you miss her so much."

He fished out his cell phone, dropping it on the bar in front of Larry. "Go ahead an' look. She hasn't sent me more'n a handful of messages..."

Sighing, he swiped the screen and scrolled through Lex's messages before looking up at him again, eyes narrowing slightly. "You stopped replying to her first, Lex. What did you expect her to do? Keep on sending you the same thing over and over?" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Believe me, I've been on that end of things. I must've sent a few thousand messages to him over those first six months and I got maybe thirty replies back. Kept rebooting my phone, kept refreshing to make sure there wasn't some error keeping them from coming in. I can tell you how she's feeling right now—"

"Please don't." He downed the last of his beer before slamming the bottle back on the bartop a little too hard. "You want me to be honest, Lare? I don't give two shits how she's feelin' right now... an' that's the worst part. See, I got all this noise rattlin' round inside," he lifted his hand to gesture vaguely at his ear, "an' I know what you're gonna say. A good man always thinks of others first, right?"

"That's not a definition, no." Larry replied, shaking his head. "I mean, sure, it's the basis of being an honourable sort... patient, kind, gentle, loving... but altruism isn't the be-all and end-all for sainthood, if that's what you're gunning for—"

Collins snorted in derision, cutting Larry off. "Not 'gunnin' for' a goddamn thing. I dunno why everything's gotta have a label on it all the time. Why can't we just be who we are an' be done with it, huh?"

Gowan chuckled ruefully, taking another sip of his water through the straw. "The world needs its heroes and martyrs, Lex, just like they need their villains and monsters. They fitted me with the white Stetson a long time ago and I've never really let that get to me, never really let that become some crutch of a definition. White- or black-hatted, we all ride off into the same sunset in the end—"

"As long as the hat fits, which in your case, it does. Hello, Collins." Chauncy laid a hand on his partner's shoulder, the slow sigh sounding like relief— which of course it was. He'd been worried, the moment he'd seen that Lawrence intended to meet him in the airport bar, that this worry about their collective current state may have led to the falling off of proverbial wagons. He ought to have known better, and already scheduled an apology for once they'd left Lex's side. "Shall we find somewhere more comfortable?"

Lex grabbed his cell phone, swiping the screen before staring down at the time. "My flight's not boardin' for another hour," he looked up at Larry again before his gaze drifted to Chauncy standing behind him. "Thanks for the company... but you can go on without me. I'll be alright, Lare— promise."

Gowan hesitated for a few seconds before hopping off his stool, giving Collins a one-armed hug. "Call me the moment you arrive safely, even if it's late. Otherwise I'll be up all night worrying—"

Lex waved him off. "Yeah, sure. The second I set foot back on solid ground. Now get outta here," once against his eyes settled on Chauncy and there was something there in his gaze for a second before it vanished, "nice seein' ya again, Mr. Nottingham."

"As always." Chauncy's smile, and the nod of acknowledgement that accompanied it, were as reserved as always, but perhaps the more genuine for it. "Do look after yourself."

Reluctantly, Larry turned away from Lex before he could get drawn back into that horrible conversation they'd been having. Instead he reached out and took hold of Chauncy's hand, giving it a squeeze as they moved away from the bar. "I missed you terribly," he said softly. 

"Likewise. I'm proud of you, you know. That must have been difficult, sitting at the bar and not... well, you know. You did it, though, and I must say, you looked almost comfortable. Good show." He returned the gesture, in the lightest of touches, an almost bold display for somebody normally so reticent.

"I didn't even think about it," Larry admitted with a sheepish laugh, "I was more concerned with his state of mind than any cravings of my own."

"Yes, he didn't exactly look his best. Dare I ask?"

"It's not really my place to say, but he's troubled to say the least. I'm sure he'll manage to sort it out when he gets home... at least I hope he does." Glancing back over his shoulder to see Lex still hunched over his pile of pretzels on the bar before they moved out of eyeshot, Larry let out a sigh. "I've thought about it and you're right, by the way." Before he could ask for clarification, it was supplied, "the worst thing we could do is add a child to the mix."

Chauncy inhaled sharply, but bit back any sort of verbal response, simply tugging on Larry's hand and nodding curtly. He'd consider that conversation shelved, though. Not over.