9 December 2012
Sam sighed and put the phone down, his hand limp around the rather expensive new handset. He leaned back against the wall, sunk to the floor and let his lungs empty themselves through his clenched teeth. His other hand ran through his hair, ruffling the soft blonde down that he'd grown since his mohawk had been removed for a job. Sam pulled his knees to his chin and thought hard about what he was going to do.
Now he had a job, but that meant he had to get some hardware. Usually, he'd call Alistair and see if that old coot had anything of interest, but Alistair hated Sam's connections with Elle and her so-called security business. Still blamed Elle for stealing Sam from the Alphas, which was incredibly stupid. Sam had left of his own accord, driven by the guilt of his best friend's death and the blame of the failure of the mission that had been placed upon his shoulders.
He stood up, his body aching from the busy day of running his bar, he wouldn't close for another three or four hours anyway. He walked through the dimly lit back rooms until he reached the front room, the lighting wasn't much better here but it allowed the customers to see each other while it afforded them some privacy too.
Sam looked around his backstreet heaven, his little kingdom. There were a few places like this throughout the cities he'd visited with the Alphas, but none had reached the notoriety that he'd achieved. The bar was stylishly decorated, open plan and easy to search quickly. The searches were never carried out by the police though, usually it was one set of mobsters or another. Sometimes it was the hunters, mercs looking for a scumbag that'll make them a quick buck. Sam thanked God he wasn't anything like them.
"S-sir?" The kid - Sparks - stammered. Sam couldn't remember how he'd got the nickname, but it suited him. He was 16, pale, skinny and a horrifyingly bright ginger. A quick, bright little thing too but he was incredibly nervous about everything. Orphaned, poor kid. He lived in the bunk rooms in the back, his entire life was this bar and the assorted family it housed.
"Yeah?"
"A customer was looking for you, him in the booth." Sparks said, his eyes darting past Sam's face and settling on the clock behind him. His hands were clenched around a glass that he was setting up to serve to the hulking lumberjack on the other side of the bar. "I said you'd b-be over when you were ready."
Sam nodded and took the glass from Sparks' hands, raised it to his lips and drank deeply. "Change the barrel after this one."
Sparks dipped his head and took another glass from the shelf and pulled the pump, letting the dark liquid fill the glass and settle with a small white head on the top. He passed it to the customer and turned to look at Sam, who was walking with his silent confidence towards the man in the booth. Sparks couldn't place it, but something about the man made him uncomfortable. He shook his head, most people made him uncomfortable so there was nothing to worry about. He looked around the bar, everyone settled in their seats with glasses that wouldn't need refilling for the next five minutes. He left the bar and walked down into the underbelly of the building.
Sam settled himself down into the comfortable plush booth that his visitor had chosen. He looked over the man sat opposite him; over middle aged, a lined face with deep scars on his cheeks. Someone had tried to make him grin. Sam suppressed a shudder at the thought, he'd never liked the idea of slicing open people's mouths as a punishment. There were all forms of mutilation that were practiced in gangland that he never wanted to be part of.
"Samuel." The man had a thick cockney accent, undoubtably English. "I heard from a friend of mine that your friends here," he waved his hand at the bar, "are a family to you."
Sam nodded, his body was cramped in this booth. It made him decidedly uncomfortable and he made a mental note to redo the bar, the booths had to be made bigger. "They are. What of it?"
The older man paused, he drummed his fingers against the table. "What of it?" He asked himself. He looked up, his shockingly green eyes pierced into Sam's - what was left of his - soul. "You worked on the Alpha Project, didn't you?"
Sam nodded, stuck dumb by the blatant mention of one of the biggest secrets in the world.
"They adopted you, a child... Trained you, yes?"
Sam looked down into his glass. "They raised me."
The British man's eyes caught Sparks wiping down the bar. "At his age?"
"Younger." Sam said quickly, keen to move the conversation on. If he stayed on this topic much longer, he migh- Sam stopped that thought and focused on the bar he was in. He took a deep breath and looked up. "What's this about?"
"I was Cap's teacher... I'm Draco." He reached across the table and offered his hand to the American. Sam was sat perfectly still, stunned by the sudden revelation that Cap - who had been his mentor and guide - had a teacher, someone who taught him everything. He looked over Draco and saw that he had the same posture as Cap had... He made up his mind there and then.
Sam reached out and took Draco's hand in his, being careful to keep his grip light. "I'm Sam... Well, Runt."
Draco grinned. "Good to meet you, son."
Bar Work - 2 - Working It Out • Opuss № I