Now, Wait, Wait, Wait for Me, Please Hang Around. I'll See You When I Fall Asleep

[Pippi]

Roy blinked, and for a moment, with the lowlight and the piercing rain and the cloud of fog in his mind, he saw nothing, and wondered whether it was all going to be over for him before Johnny even picked himself back up. That’d just be the final kick in the balls for today, wouldn’t it? Not even going out in a blaze of glory, getting taking out in a full-on bleeding-knuckle dustup, mano-a-mano. Just lying there, feeling his bleeding and bruising seep into him, and passing away in the mud.

Nah, son. That was the bitch way out. And if Roy wasn’t gonna let Johnny beat him to death without dragging him down as well, he sure as fuck wasn’t gonna give the guy the satisfaction of watching him bleed out.

It felt like his heart would burst as he pulled his arm across his body and wiped his eyes free of sweat and rain and dirt and blood, before pressing his palm against the dirt to try and push himself up, his limb shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. He was almost, tantalisingly close to getting back into a sitting position, when he saw Johnny move over him and felt his hands wrap around his neck, and squeeze, and squeeze harder with every second.

If there was ever a moment where it was tempting to give up, it was right then. But y’know what? Fuck that. Fuck that temptation that had flashed across his mind for a moment, and fuck ‘Badass’ Johnny Lancer, so badass he could only win a fight against a one-armed man, and fuck. This. Shit.

Blind rage was one thing. Spite was another.

So as Johnny increased the pressure around his neck, Roy grabbed hold of his wrists, trying to lever them away, and looking right into Johnny’s eyes, daring him to look back, daring him to have some balls for once in his goddamn life, even as he felt his airways being cut off, and little white lights popped into his vision.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Johnny was off of him again, and Roy gasped as he breathed again, spitting out a mixture of phlegm and blood onto the ground beside him. He pushed himself up, before his legs could begin to protest, and he heard, over the soft sound of rainfall, something drop out of his pocket and bounce against the ground.

Roy looked down. A narrow smile crossed his lips. He bent down, scooped it up, and pointed it at Johnny’s prone form.

“Step down, fucker,” Roy snarled, pointing the kiss of death at Johnny’s heart. “There’s a bullet in this thing.”

[Maraoone]

And Johnny looked back. Matched his anger, matched his spite. He wanted to see it all, see this fight to its very end. His hands, they almost vibrated as they squeezed around his airway. He could almost see Roy's face bulge.

And then, a flash of light. A crack. Yet no thunder.

More flashes of light. He opened his eyes. White dots scattered in his visions. Small flames dancing around his face, on his cheek. He coughed out some blood. Roy and Dan stood together over him. He half-laughed, half-wheezed as he noticed the lipstick pointed at him.

Then, he noticed the smile. Heard the explanation.

He pushed himself up on shaky arms. Laughed, even as it sent spasms of pain across his torso.

He'd had a weapon the entire time. He never said a word about it, not once, not once in the five days they were together. Not even when Irene was pointing a harpoon at him. He never said a single word.

He pushed himself back, away from the two, lipstick still pointed at him. Stepped down. Cut his losses. Continued to wheeze more than laugh now. Then, he turned his back on them. Didn't look back. He didn't want to see a second more of Roy's smirk. Continued wheezing, stumbling, for a few more minutes.

As soon as he was sure they couldn't hear him, see him, he slumped against a tree. Fell slowly.

His cheeks felt wet. They stung. Tears, blood mixing. He didn't even have it in him to sob, to scream, even if he wanted to. He'd spent all his energy on finding Rachael, fighting Roy.

What a waste.

He sat back against the tree and stared at the leaves, in silence.

((Johnny Lancer continues in Sinking Man))

[Courtography]

His fists were in agony. Fucking hell, of course punching someone in the skull hurt. Maybe he hadn't thought things through like he should have.

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that Roy wasn't out of it and he had the lipstick and...? Oh. What the hell? They could disguise guns as lipstick? That was insane. And somehow Roy knew that and hadn't told either of them this whole time. He thought they were friends.

"Jesus Christ, man."

And then Johnny was gone. Dan wasn't going to follow him.

But Roy was still around. "Shit, you okay man?" Probably not, they'd really gone at it. Wait. Would Roy really have shot Johnny when it came down to it?

He took a step back. He felt the puddle he stepped in splash his ankle.

[Pippi]

Roy stood there, the only movement in his body the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he just about managed to breathe, keeping the gun pointed at Johnny, his normal mane of hair slicks against his skull with rain and sweat. For a moment, the moment Johnny started laughing, he thought the guy was trying to call his bluff, daring Roy to try and shoot him with a tube of lipstick before rushing at him.

And, fuck, man. When everything was said and done, Roy really didn’t wanna have to shoot Johnny if he had the choice.

But then Johnny turned and walked away, and Roy kept his arm pointed at his back for a good few seconds longer before he finally let it drop to his side. He let out a sigh of relief. Hell fuckin’ yeah. Bet that stung, didn’t it, dipshit? He’d had the upper hand the entire time! Blind rage was one thing. Spite was another. A loaded gun? That was a whole different ballgame.

Roy let the feeling of triumph wash over him for a moment. Then, reality struck with a goddamn vengeance, and he doubled over, hands on his knees, pain and realisation wracking his entire body. He could feel blood trawling down what must have been every other part of him, feel the broken bones in his nose to match his arm, and. God. God, he’d really been prepared to kill Johnny, hadn’t he? Jesus. That had never, ever been something he’d wanted, fucking Christ, it’d been the exact opposite of what he’d set out to do, ever since he’d first woken up outside this very same building.

And yet here was the bleeding and the bruising to remind himself that it really had happened.

And now, here was Dan. Dan, who when push had come to shove had decided to pick Roy’s side, even when Roy really didn’t think he deserved it. Dan, who through everything, had always been there, always with the group, always managing to stay safe and out of harm.

And was Roy to thank you for that fact? God, no. It’d be beyond arrogant to claim that it was.

“Not really,” he muttered, tone hiding how much he appreciated the sentiment right now.

He closed his eyes, tipped his head up slightly and breathed. That was what they did in films and shit, right? After the climactic battle in the rain, the hero would breathe and sigh and let the knowledge that everything was over and everything was fine heal them.

But Roy could still feel his bruises and the cuts criss-crossing his body, and his heart felt like it was going to give out at any moment, and the rain was beginning to sting against his skin, and he heard the sound of Dan stepping backwards and the silence that reminded him that Johnny wasn’t here any more.

God, he’d really fucked this whole thing up, hadn’t he?

“Hey Dan?” Roy said. “Keep on trying to do the right thing, yeah? Keep on… being you.”

And with one last parting remark, he turned, and slowly, each footstep feeling like it’d be his last, walked away from Dan.

“You’ll be better off without me.”

((Roy Benson continued in Did you really think I'd fall to my knees just to pray for some sweet simplicity?))

[Courtography]

Dan had been tempted to argue with Roy, to let him know that they were still better off as a team than going it alone. His aching hands didn't agree, but that wasn't important. And then he was alone in the rain. Roy had left, they'd beaten off Johnny, so it wasn't like he could try to follow Johnny to wherever he'd crawled off to. For however long they had left, that bridge had been burned.

He stood there for awhile. The rain was annoying, but that didn't matter. He wasn't sure how long it had been when he realized that Roy wasn't going to come back and let him know that he'd changed his mind. He glanced over at the mess hall. He hated this damn place.

He went inside one last time, grabbed his shit, and left.

(Dan Liu continued in Hard Impacts)