#this was supposed to be about andreil but i fear it works a little too well for gallavich as well so

[sunflowerius]

happy pride month to whatever the fuck the literal human incarnation of a guard dog and that fucking ginger have going on and to THEM ONLY !!

[phantaloon-books]

All We Are is Bullets

AFTG songfic, Andreil centric, Andrew POV, inspired by Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance

Trigger warnings:  violence, graphic descriptions of violence, death, major character death, gunshots, guns, gunshot wounds, injury, angst, hurt no comfort, sad ending, blood, car crash, life on the run. This one’s on the heavy side sorry.

Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

I would drive on to the end with you, a liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full

It had been over 7 months since they last had an encounter with anyone from the Moriyamas or the remaining of the Butcher’s people. 

They had grown too comfortable, too soft. Andrew wasn’t even sure how that happened, considering both his and Neil’s upbringing, but it happened anyway. They were reckless and careless, jumping from town to town along the United States, jump starting cars and making gas station stops and robbing liquor stores, and they’d grown to feel safe.

What a ridiculous thing it is, safety. Neither Andrew nor Neil should be able to afford to feel safe.

But they did. 

And these are the consequences. 

Andrew shakes his head, pressing harder on the gas, willing the stolen sports car to just go faster. One hand on the wheel, the other hand hovering over Neil’s pressed against the bleeding wound on his stomach. 

Neil’s breaths are getting rougher, and Andrew tightens his hand on the wheel. Of course Neil notices, and icy blue eyes look up towards haunted hazel. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve dealt with worse, it’s gonna be fine,” Neil’s words are supposed to be soothing, but his voice is too hoarse for them to work. Andrew snarls.

“Shut the fuck up, Josten, just stay awake, I’ll get us out of here, and we’ll stop soon to patch you up.”

“They’re gonna be on our tails soon, Drew, I don’t-”

He breaks off in a coughing fit, his lungs rattle, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth, Andrew sees the red that paints his hand. Andrew swears his soul leaves his body.

“I’ll pull over on the next stop-”

“Andrew, we don’t have time to stop right now, you know we don’t, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, if we stop we’re dead.”

Andrew knows that’s true, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it. Instead he holds on to Neil’s hand tighter, and Neil’s expression softens.

“Until the end, forever, remember?”

I will drive until the end with you. I mean this forever.

This isn’t supposed to be their lives. They were supposed to be done after the shitshow that was Neil’s freshman year. The Moriyamas were supposed to leave Neil alone. The FBI was supposed to deal with what was left of the Wesninski circle. They never should have trusted the feds to do their fucking job. Instead what was left of the Wesninski claimed war on the Moriyamas and Hatfords. Ichirou was beyond furious, with both Wesninskis and Hatfords out for blood and revenge. And he blamed it all on Neil. 

Andrew would never understand the Moriyama lord’s logic. To blame a mob war on a 19 year old kid, whose only crime was being born to two mob families, one of which was tied to the yakuza. 

But they were out for Neil’s blood then. Had nearly killed him outside the Court the first time, he would have been shot in the head if it wasn’t for his incredibly quick instincts. The shot hit his shoulder instead. They didn’t wait for a second time, Andrew just shoved their stuff in a bag, took Neil’s remaining money and together they ran. He only left a letter for Aaron, and he didn’t regret leaving their family behind. 

Neil had been upset with Andrew at first.

“You have no idea what you just did, Andrew! You have no idea what it’s like to run for your life every single day, not knowing if you’re gonna live long enough to see the next, you have no idea what you just did!”

“I don’t care about that, Neil.”

“You should! This isn’t a little adventure, this isn’t a road trip, this is fighting to stay alive, and bullets and knives and hiding and lying forever!” his voice broke, and dropped to a whisper, “I never wanted to put you through this.”

“You’re not understanding me here, I’m trying to show you but you don’t understand. You mean too much to me to care about all the things you’re saying, I’d end my days in a hail of bullets to keep you safe, I would drive on to the end with you, I’ll keep running with you to prove to you how much you mean to me.”

Leaving bought them 4 more years. 

Until today. 

Until the end of everything.

The sun is going down on the highway as Andrew floors it, going too high above the speed limit running from Neil’s demons. But he’d signed up for this, as Neil had so kindly put it. Neil’s hand trembles, growing cold. His blood is slowly pooling on the car seat below him. He fights to hide his grimace, but his face is pulled tightly in pain anyway. 

“I’m going to fucking stop, Neil.”

“Goddammit, Andrew! No, we can’t afford to stop, right now!”

I’m trying to let you know how much you mean.

“Andrew, we’re not stopping, I can hang on however long we need to get somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere is safe, Neil, we’ll never stop,” Andrew can’t help the snarl, anger is curling inside his chest and it’s too much, “You’re bleeding out, don’t you understand? We need to stop now.”

“I know this is frustrating for you, Drew, I get it, but we have to wait until we reach somewhere safer-”

“Goddammit, Neil-”

The car is thrown forward at once, and Andrew has to take both of his hands to the wheel to stop the car from veering sideways and crashing. With a curse, he takes a look through the rearview mirror, and he curses once more.

Fuck.

They’d been too busy arguing to notice the black SUVs and trucks on their tails. There’s a lot of them, nondescript, but obviously Moriyama. Andrew’s heart starts to race, as he wills the car to go faster, beyond its own limits. But there’s too many of them. There’s no way they’ll make it out this time. 

He glances at Neil, blank mask long forgotten, worry and dread and terror seeping out of him like it never has before. Because Neil is crying softly, despite the serenity of his entire posture. Tears are streaming down his face, eyes closed but body and face relaxed. 

The car is nearing 200 mph when Neil opens his eyes, tears flowing freely. The black SUVs are getting impossibly closer, caging them on the sides. 

“I’m so sorry, Drew,” Neil’s voice is a shattered whisper, and it breaks Andrew’s already shattering heart, “I never wanted to get you involved in all of this, I never wanted this life for you, I’m so so sorry, I ruined your life.”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil, I chose this, I chose to run with you, I wanted-” the words are stuck in his throat and he can’t get them out. I wanted to spend however much time was left with you. That’s how much you mean to me. That’s how much this means to me. “I meant it then, and I mean it now, Neil Josten, until the end.”

Neil’s eyes are pained, something like grief and sorrow shining through the icy blue. But he still forces himself to smile, as if he can read what Andrew thought, and Andrew knows full well he does. 

“We’ll show them all how much we mean.”

The first shot comes from Andrew’s side and he barely manages to dodge the bullet that cuts through the glass like it’s nothing, shattering the window at once. Neil crouches with a cry, and Andrew shoots a glance his way as much as he can as he attempts to keep the car under control. Neil’s right shoulder is bleeding, the window on his side just as shattered as his own. Andrew didn’t even notice the car getting close enough to Neil’s side, or the shot aimed his way. Neil feels his stare, the overwhelming alarm and horror that drowns Andrew from the inside, and turns pained yet calm eyes his way.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

Understanding.

Neil knows he’s not going to make it, they are not going to make it. This is going to be their last run. With a deep breath, Andrew buries all the fear and worry deep down, and stares at Neil with nothing but determination.

“I’m about to get us killed, but when it stops, we run in the other direction and into the city, we hide as best as we can.” The or die trying goes unsaid, but Andrew knows Neil understands, he always does. 

“I love you, until the end of everything.”

Andrew stares at Neil, and he wants to say I love you too, you mean everything to me, but instead what comes out is “Hang on, tight,” and he hits the brakes at once.

Despite Andrew’s eidetic memory should make sure that he remembers what happens next, but it’s all a blur, and when he can get to consciousness and focus his eyes, it’s to Neil half carrying him as he limps his way down the highway, looking frantically behind him. A quick glance behind them and Andrew sees the wreck he left behind; cars pile one on top of the other, some are on fire, including the one they were driving, and they set each other aflame, like pouring fuel on scarecrows. Moriyama men are dragging themselves out of the cars, and trying to find a way out of the wreck. Andrew can’t help the smile. He didn’t think they’d make it after braking a car going 200 mph, but he somehow manages to make his legs listen to him, as his ears echo. 

Neil notices when he feels Andrew take back some of his own weight, turns a bloodied and dirty face at him, and smiles back brightly. Neither of them have much hope of making it to the other side of the road and finding a place to hide, but in that one second, they begin to run hand in hand, and things are okay, despite Neil’s bleeding wounds, and Andrew’s aching head.

They both know it won’t last long, so Andrew pulls Neil for a kiss, as long as he dares to, it’s merely a brush of their lips, but it’s everything that matters. 

They’re about to reach the other lane when the first shot rings through the air, but Neil’s always bright instincts pull them both out of the way. They would be helpful if there were two or three men, but Andrew risks a glance back. There are dozens of men regaining their composure, readying their weapons, and before he knows what’s happening, both Neil and him are hitting the ground hard. 

Neil just pushed him.

And then the bullets come, lead rain passing through phantoms.

He’s too disoriented at first, but then burning pain lights his body, like nothing he has ever felt before. He gasps, but he pushes through the pain, and forces himself to look around. He doesn’t have to look far, he finds what he needs next to him.

“Neil! Neil!” His voice seems far, far away, but Neil is looking up at the blue, blue sky, breath coming in insignificant little huffs, more like sighs than breaths. Blood is pooling underneath them. “Neil, look at me, stay with me.”

Moving hurts, burns, but he makes himself push through it harder, until he’s somehow leaning on his side, with a clear view of Neil. Neil who’s bleeding too much. Neil who has too many bullet holes on his body. Neil who just pushed him to the side to protect him. Neil who is bleeding out. Neil who despite everything turns his head so he’s facing Andrew, even if his eyes are still looking up. 

Andrew’s own eyes are blurring with unshed tears, and he blindly reaches forward to grab Neil’s hand lying limply by his side. 

He feels like he’s falling.

Neil’s lips are turning red, and he’s coughing, choking, trying to force out words that can’t come out. He gasps and moans in agony, and Andrew’s own chest hurts, not just from the bullets he couldn’t escape. This is it, a pool of blood, falling and touching hands.

“Neil, look at me, look at me, it’s gonna be alright, we’re gonna be alright.”

Andrew’s own voice is cracking. He doesn’t understand how Neil remains awake, but his stubborn idiot rabbit is still breathing. With another strained whine and a choked sob, their eyes meet at last. Icy blue and deep hazel, one last time.

And Andrew is falling, falling, falling.

He squeezes Neil’s hand as tightly as he can, and chokes out a whisper despite the metallic taste flooding his mouth, “It’s okay, we’ll be okay, just let go, it’s okay.”

He feels the thuds of footsteps approaching, but black is already creeping at the edges of his vision, his eyelids are growing heavy, and Neil’s own breaths are coming slower.

Neil closes his eyes, and Andrew closes his as Neil’s shredded chest stops moving.

I’ll meet your eyes, I mean this, forever.

lol sorry

read on ao3

[xlady-saya]

slurred [drabble]

Relationships: andrew/neil

Summary: They're not the type of people to give up control, but with each other they're willing to bend the rules.

Tags: rated m, tipsy andreil, too much fluff and cheesiness 

Read on ao3!

“Waaaait,” Neil slurs, putting too much emphasis on the last letter. He grabs Andrew’s sleeve and stares at it a little too long, like the creases of pleather will aid him in speech. His brow furrows, eyes blinking away the haze of alcohol as best he can. It doesn't necessarily work; Andrew is nothing but a man of his word.

He'd mixed Neil's drinks well.

Andrew doesn’t consider himself easily amused, except for when it comes to Neil. He can admit that now, begrudgingly, but he doesn’t let the smile he’s fighting reveal itself as Neil tries to form words. It probably fails, because Neil is looking up at him again, wide eyed like Andrew handed him the world.

Mm, weird comparison. Andrew's barely tipsy, if at all, but having a drunk Neil in his lap is almost secondhand. It makes his head swim, pulling it every which way.

For once, he can't find room to mind.

Neil shakes his head, puffing out his cheeks while he pokes Andrew's barely-there smile. “Just wait.”

He does indeed wait.

Andrew hums, resting his forehead on Neil's. He does it a little too hard, knocking against him. What's going on in there?

Drunk Neil is more of an enigma than regular Neil, but still just as interesting.

They do this now...sometimes.

They're not comfortable drinking in excess around anyone else, but around each other they've started the tradition of stealing away to the Columbia house to indulge in ways they normally wouldn't.

Calling it ‘comfortable’ might be a strong word for it.

Andrew's eyes drift over to the door while Neil's lips brush his sloppily, side-tracked. He returns it, since that's what these weekends are for. Indulgence.

His tongue licks into Neil's mouth, soaking up the taste of whiskey and trying to convince himself that's the only reason he hums into it. Like it's not all Neil, with his body buzzing against his and still thinking, thinking.

Distracting, but still, Andrew's vigilant. The dresser in his room is pressed against the door, sealing them in, sealing threats out. The windows are shut, his knives are nearby, but he never bothers with his armbands during nights like this.

Neil stays too close for that to be an option, too unwilling to leave Andrew's warmth, and...Andrew doesn't want him to.

And it's the most amusing thing, how he's come to that point, how he's been at that point for so long yet it still feels like a novelty.

The full body urge to deny is barely there.

For some ludicrous reason, his protectiveness surges, and he pulls Neil farther into his lap. Neil's yelp dissolves clumsily into a hiccup, which Andrew greedily swallows. Neil's cheeks are too warm, stained red from his flush, and the soft smacks of their lips are a decent accompaniment to the creak of the bedframe.

Andrew's back presses into the headboard, drawing out more sounds from the wood as his muscles tense in anticipation that won't be fulfilled.

He doesn't drink a lot, partly because he hates being out of control, and partly because it makes him vulnerable. He always makes sure everything is secure when they do this, and there's always boundaries for both their sakes.

In the back of his mind, he knows he allows this, wants this, because Neil is important. The unfortunate flip side of that is...Neil is important.

And real.

And extra vulnerable like this.

Yet, Neil pays it no mind. It's not that he's unaware of it, the dangers of being inebriated. It's why he never allowed himself in the past. But here he considers it worth it, welcome. He trusts Andrew, so it's--

"Hmm, nice," Neil babbles intelligently, pulling away half an inch. Andrew can feel his breath against his lips, and wills himself to not dive back in.

Their boundaries are simple for these nights: no sex, no matter how much they discuss it prior. Andrew trusts Neil to say no when he's sober, not any other time. He would never risk it. But the kissing is welcome, the trail of hands anywhere above the waist is encouraged unless Andrew says otherwise.

And within those boundaries, Neil is as handsy as ever.

Neil becomes fixated on the stretch of the fabric around Andrew's shoulders, squinting until his fingertips press down against the muscle he's looking for. It was giving Andrew trouble earlier in the week.

For someone so toasted, Neil can be terrifyingly aware.

"Am I still waiting?" Andrew asks, and as if the words are a reminder that oh yes, Andrew indeed has a mouth, Neil tries to lean in for another kiss. Andrew stops him, just in time. "Neil."

"That is me."

"Your question?" Andrew huffs out, hand going to Neil's nape to steady him, the roughness of split ends so familiar to his fingertips. He uses his grip to move Neil's head, like a puppeteer, making him nod.

Dummy.

Neil shakes him off with a snort, before he's finally blessed with his eureka moment. "Oh! Did you crush on anyone while in juvie? I don't--I don' think I've asked you that one."

It shouldn't sound so revolutionary, but after so many years, there's not many questions Neil hasn't asked him.

Andrew rolls his eyes, pushing Neil over until he flops onto the bedspread. As tipsy as he is, even he knows trying to sit up is a bad idea, and waits for Andrew join him.

"Seriously?" Andrew scolds, leaning down so he can be beside his disaster. He pulls down Neil's shirt to cover up the strip of revealed skin, telling himself not to fixate on it. "I've never had a crush."

The need to get off? An appreciation for hot men? Sure. No crushes.

Infuriatingly, Neil grins up at him like the cheshire cat himself. "Except on meeee."

Andrew tries to tilt Neil's face away from him, but it springs back automatically, grin wider and wider.

He tries twice before giving up.

Andrew can't fight the urge anymore, as dangerous as the position is. He drapes himself over Neil, bracketing the striker's head between his elbows, and Neil's legs instinctually wrap around Andrew's hips.

They both freeze. Neil at least has the decency to look sheepish, though there's that fire lurking in his gaze, mixed with the delirium and adoration Andrew often can't stomach. Deadly; nothing good comes from that look, precisely because when sober Neil gives him that look Andrew ends up abandoning all other tasks.

But this is not sober Neil.

Despite that, Andrew isn't worried, or antsy. Neil won't cross the boundaries they laid out, no matter how close they get, no matter how much their bodies want it.

There's something exhilarating about that, about knowing they can toe the line without fear of hurting each other. Andrew has never handed someone that trust before Neil, and has certainly never had it handed to him to such an extent.

It's more intoxicating than liquor, than nicotine in his lungs.

"Hey," Neil asks, wriggling in place. Even with the content of his words, his smile turns soft, and Andrew feels Neil's thighs press against his hips tighter. "Wanna do it?"

Andrew throws him an unamused expression, and Neil's laugh is broken up by hiccups. Andrew's glad he cut him off when he did; Neil smells too much like all of Andrew's addictions. Alcohol, cigarettes, and an unidentifiable scent that's a combination of both of them. Neil's shampoo, Andrew's leather jacket...

"I didn't say let's do it, I asked if you wanted to," Neil points out, pulling Andrew down to kiss him. Of course, Andrew picks up the distinction.

It's still annoying.

Andrew lets all of his weight fall down on Neil as he returns the kiss, bucking his hips only once before removing himself entirely. Neil seems less than displeased, body moving slowly until he fits right against Andrew's chest. He knows the drill, knows when it's time to sleep so Andrew can nurse their hangovers in the morning.

Andrew's arm finds his waist easily. Safer, still connected.

Andrew does still have some work to do, he supposes, because only when his face is pressed into Neil's neck, where those glowing blue eyes can't pull him apart, does the word come easy.

"Yes."

And Andrew's not sure what they're talking about anymore, if they're talking about anything important or coherent at all. He's not even sure they're talking about sex.

Neil's brain is untrustworthy like this; Andrew never knows what he's thinking.

All he knows is that Neil sighs back into him, hand finding his.

"Alright, mmm then...tomorrow," Neil stretches out the 'w' this time, giddy with it as he giggles, and Andrew huffs a laugh along with it. "If you still wanna."

And as drowsy as he is, he gets a drop of clarity. Let's do this day all over again, together.

'If you still want me, and I still want you. As long as both those things are true.'

Delirious, the words rhyme and repeat over and over. A mix of things swirl in his head, some ugly, some doubting. But through the fog, Andrew is truly becoming hopeless.

Because at least on his side of things, he can't imagine those things ever not being true.

Andrew's ease grows, pressing itself into Neil like he can transfer it. He has something to blame it on, the alcohol making his limbs heavy, relaxed. But Neil's never been fooled before, and no matter how many times they do this, Neil never forgets anything.

That's alright too, he supposes.

"Ask me tomorrow," he breathes, and regards the door one last time. Locked.

Ask. Because he doesn't mind repeating it.

Neil hums, a sleep spell for the both of them, and Andrew allows himself a pat on the back.

Yes, he mixed both their drinks well, but they're not the reason for this feeling.

If that concerned him before, he lets himself be relieved it doesn't now.

[nekojitachan]

59. this year my family has decided we’re celebrating the holidays on a cruise and you’re the cute bartender who teases me for mourning the lack of snow, andreil?

*******

HATFORDS (so AU)

*******

Abram gave Jamie an incredulous look when she showed up at his flat with the news that Aunt Miriam had booked a Portugal river cruise for the family over the holidays. “Why?” he asked for what had to be the fourth time. “Doesn’t she understand that there’s work and-”

“It’s because of work that she did it,” Jamie said as she stepped out of his closet with one of his suitcases. “This way you and Uncle Stuart aren’t too busy with stuff to attend the family dinner or even take a break, nor Henry off in Edinburgh like last year.”

“So she traps us together on a boat,” Abram said as he wandered off to fetch a bottle of wine - no, wait, gin would be better. Jamie trailed after him, a bemused grin on her face when she saw him fetch the bottle. “Traps us on a boat with Ally.”

That wiped away Jamie’s smile and made her fetch another glass, which she motioned for him to pour gin into, along with a splash of lime juice. “All right, perhaps it’s not one of Mum’s best ideas but it won’t be too bad.” She sighed when Abram scoffed at that statement. “I’ll help you throw the git overboard if he causes trouble?”

He had a few swallows of the rather strong gin gimlet while he considered the offer. “Can we weigh him down first?”

“Hmm… sadly, no. Mum at least would probably object, possibly Dad, too.”

Dammit, he supposed his aunt and uncle were somewhat attached the pain in the ass, and would have to settle for the thought of Ally swallowing copious amounts of river water and looking like a drowned rat.

Abram spent the days leading up to the cruise working frantically on everything in his inbox, on clearing out as much he could before Aunt Miriam’s ‘no work unless absolutely vital to the organization’ moratorium came into effect. He didn’t know what he was going to do during the ten day cruise when he was used to just spending a day or two on the holidays at best.

He was eternally grateful for his aunt and uncles in taking him in, in providing him sanctuary when his mother had worked up the courage to send him away after his father had broken his left arm and left him covered with cuts for ‘interrupting’ an important meeting - he’d been little more than six years old at the time, and already bore several scars from his father’s ‘lessons’, including one from an iron on his shoulders. His mother had finally reached her breaking point, at least in regards to the abuse directed his way, and he’d been on a plane the next day, confused and doing his best to hide his fear while he traveled with a stranger (an old Hatford associate) to London.

His mother hadn’t lasted long after that act of defiance, which the Hatfords had made sure Nathan Wesninski had paid for, and Abram had never forgotten the debt he owed his mother for ensuring he escaped that house of fear and pain, nor her family for taking him in. He loved Stuart for giving him a real home at last, as well as Uncle Will, Aunt Miriam and his cousins… he just wish they’d leave him alone to do his job.

“Don’t look so glum,” Bren said as the enforcer drove him to the airport, where he’d catch a flight to Lisbon for the first part of the cruise. “You’ll see some pretty things, enjoy some good food and drinks, and bring back a bunch of stupid shite for us, right? Just try not to kill anyone during your holiday and surprise us all.”

Abram glared at his bodyguard/friend through the rear-view mirror. “Very funny. Just for that, no souvenirs for you.”

“Okay, go ahead and kill someone,” Bren sulked. “Don’t want you to be all grumpy when you don’t get to be stabby.” He laughed when Abram made a rude gesture. “Least I don’t have to be the one to clean it up this time!”

Abram wished Bren a happy holiday with his girlfriend (part of the reason the man was staying behind in London while Davis, Cal and Liz were tagging along to help watch over the family), then checked in and joined the rest of the family in the VIP lounge; it was odd to be flying for personal reasons and not business for once.

He had a glass of wine while waiting for the flight and chatted with Stuart, Henry and Liz while Jamie seemed to be stuck with keeping Ally under control. They kept their discussion general, about the changes to the itinerary they planned over the next week and a half (Abram loved his aunt, but there was only so much ‘tourist’ stuff he could do) until it was time to board the plane.

Ally kept leaning over his seat to ask Abram for pick-up lines in Portuguese, until Aunt Miriam used that particular tone of voice of hers to make him sit back down and behave, at which point in time Abram pulled out his tablet and watched a movie in Russian (passable, but a good excuse to keep his headphones in and ignore everyone else).

It was a short drive to the hotel where they were staying for the first day; Abram had been to Lisbon twice before so he only left his room when Jamie dragged him out for some drinks and snacks, rarely able to refuse her anything. He had to admit that it was an enjoyable few hours, watching the way that his cousin drew men’s attention, the confident yet not cruel way she turned them down, content to spend the time with him.

“Some of them are interested in you,” she pointed out. “Still no interest?”

“Still no interest.” He knew his cousins hoped that he’d find someone to date one day, that his uncles and aunt worried about him, but after what had happened to his mother and the Walker syndicate’s attempt to ‘sweeten’ him up that time… no, he was fine. He’d never had more than a passing interest in anyone, male or female, and was best on his own.

“You need to live more, Ram,” Jamie told him. “Do more than translate and look after the family.” When he gave her a blank stare for that statement, she sighed and shook her head. “Okay, I won’t bring it up for the rest of the year.”

“Lucky me,” he said, the words loaded with sarcasm since that wasn’t much of a reprieve and she knew it.

The next day was spent touring the city during the first half, then they finally got on the boat so they could set sail on the river to Porto. At least Aunt Miriam had booked them the largest rooms that the boat had, so Abram had a small bedroom and a sitting area, as well as a balcony and private bath.

He spent part of the first afternoon exploring the ship, making sure he knew as much of it as possible (old habits from work, from needing to know the exits to everywhere and places to hide in case the job went pear-shaped), then met up with everyone for dinner. As Bren had said, the food was good and there were several bottles of wine to go along with it, although he only had two glasses; he enjoyed watching his family relax, in hearing Uncle Will and Stuart retell stories from their childhood, to watch Jamie and Henry and even Ally laugh.

Cal and Liz made sure that everyone got back to their rooms safely, though Stuart asked Abram to join him at one of the bars, where he ordered a gin gimlet and a whisky for them. “I wish your mother was here for this,” he said after the bartender, a young man with blond hair who appeared even shorter than Abram’s 5′3″ height, served them their drinks. “She’s the only thing missing.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To Mary.”

“To Mary,” Abram echoed as he clinked their glasses together, his throat tight as he thought about his mother. “Though she’d complain about wasting all this money when we could have just stayed at home.”

Stuart snorted at that, to the point that he almost spilled his drink. “Damn right she would, unless it was her idea in the first place.” He shook his head and stared at Abram with something resembling nostalgia. “You’re so much like her, you know?” That surprised Abram because from what he could tell, he took after his detested father with his pale blue eyes and auburn hair, even down to most of his facial features - what he had inherited from his mother was the Hatfords’ lack of height and slim build. “There’s days when I think she sent you to me so I’d be plagued by her all over again.” Now his expression was pure fondness.

“I try my best,” Abram admitted, the words rough as he thought about how he did do his best not to let his uncle down.

“I know, kiddo.” Stuart reached out to ruffle his hair; Abram caught the bartender gazing at them and had to wonder what the man thought of their conversation.

Fortunately it took a more mundane turn after that, with them joking about what to get Bren and the others for souvenirs, and after one more drink they retired to their respective rooms. Abram found himself returning to the bar often, either to get out of his room or to join one or more of his cousins, or for an after-dinner drink with Stuart. Most of the time, the handsome bartender with the intent hazel eyes was there, to the point that he’d have a gin gimlet ready for Abram soon after he arrived.

It was when they’d reached Régua that Abram sat down at the bar alone, his mood sour as he thought about ‘celebrating’ Christmas Eve with his family in another couple of hours. “Aren’t you supposed to be wandering around some palace,” the bartender - Andrew - asked as he set down the gin gimlet.

“I’m not really in the mood for that,” Abram confessed as he stirred the drink with the plastic stick. “For pretending to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’, or dealing with Ally asking me yet again for pick-up lines I don’t even know, or smiling for my aunt when I’m bored out of my bloody mind.” He let out a weary sigh before he picked up the drink and drained most of it in one go. “And I’m bloody sick of all this sun,” he added on to the growing list before he set the glass down on the immaculate bar. “I want to be back in London, or at least Aunt Miriam could have picked a place with snow. I miss snow - what’s the point of a holiday trip when there’s no snow? Why can’t we be at some chalet or something?” Then he thought about it for a moment. “Except I don’t like skiing, I suppose. Might be worth it, though, to shove Ally off a mountain.” Oops, he probably shouldn’t have said that in front of Andrew.

Except there was the slightest of quirks to the left corner of Andrew’s mouth as he wiped at the already clean bar. “Of course you’d whine about such a thing. I don’t like snow, though I agree with you on shoving your one cousin off a cliff.”

“Hmm.” Abram finished his drink then indicated he wanted another one. “You’re American, what are you doing working a cruise like this?” That had been bothering him the last few days, and if Andrew was willing to talk…. “Sorry, if that’s a personal question.”

Andrew shrugged then surprised Abram by pouring another drink - a whisky, neat - which appeared to be for him. “My cousin lives in Germany and after I graduated university, I decided to stay with him for a while. Was looking for a job and since I knew bartending and German, this was a good fit.” He paused to toss back the drink, his attention never wavering from Abram. “I don’t usually work this cruise, I stick with German ones, but I was asked to fill in.”

“I’m glad you did,” Abram said, and for some reason he felt his cheeks heat up. “Uhm, I mean… you do a very good job?” Why did that come out as a squeak?

Andrew continued to regard him for several seconds then motioned to the ignored gin gimlet in front of Abram, which he’d been neglecting. “What do you mean by not knowing any pick-up lines? I’ve heard you speak Portuguese and it sounds rather fluent to me.”

Abram had to wait until he finished swallowing to answer. “Ah, it’s just… I don’t pick people up? People don’t hit on me?” Did that make sense?

“I find that difficult to believe,” Andrew said as he looked Abram up and down; usually Abram found the gesture insulting, but right then… right then he felt his cheeks heat up again.

“I just, haven’t been interested in people before,” he tried to explain. “No one stands out to me.”

“No one?” Andrew continued to gaze at him until Abram had to duck his head and finish his drink.

“Ah… no, not usually.”

It was quiet for about a minute or two, during which Andrew cleaned their glasses and Abram attempted to figure out what was going on. “You live in London?” Andrew finally asked.

“Yes.” Abram smiled, the expression a bit lopsided. “Though I do travel a lot for work.” He hoped that Andrew didn’t ask him about his ‘job’.

All the other man did was nod. “Yes, so do I.”

It was quiet again after that, with Andrew off to pour drinks for some other guests and Abram answering texts from Jamie and Stuart on his phone. He was about to leave when another gin gimlet was set down in front of him. “I have a day off soon,” Andrew told him. “When we dock at Salamanca. Could use an interpreter.” He didn’t say anything else, just stared at Abram as if daring him to do something.

Abram found himself smiling as he picked up the drink. “I’ve been told I’m a very good interpreter, as it happens to stand.”

Andrew nodded once then left to deal with more guests, which left Abram to finish his drink (it probably should be his last one if he didn’t want to embarrass himself at dinner). Even as he left the bar, the smile lingered on his lips, his foul mood from earlier utterly vanquished.

Perhaps Aunt Miriam’s idea had been a good one after all.

He still hoped to be able to throw Ally overboard before they returned to Porto, though.

*******

I couldn’t see Andrew teasing Abram THAT much, sorry. Not when they don’t know each other too well yet.

So this is an Armies AU? Something like that. My head hurts.

[alicentsargent]

“Did you do this to yourself?” Andrew to Neil

1. I used two quotes from nora’s extra content that andreil say when talking about jack, so if you spot them that’s where they’re from! 2. if this is a bit messy its bc i tried not to edit too much as i tend to go into an overthinking spiral.

Keeping his eyes downcast while Andrew tended to his hands, Neil felt like an idiot.

It wasn’t that hard for Neil to ignore that little rational voice at the back of his mind whenever he felt those hot flashes of anger run right through him. From past experience, things that made him that angry had to do with Riko, his fear of being found out, his father, someone hurting Andrew, or a variation of all four.

His anger was all consuming, spitfire and laser sharp words rolled into one; body shaking with suppressed emotions, heat and rage and sweat making up his entire body. Sometimes it got so bad that Neil felt like he’d crack right in the middle, splitting his body into two with no way to stitch himself back together.

Neil always knew he had his father’s vitriolic temper, knew it had gotten him in trouble countless times but, as everyone liked to say, there was much to be said about his unfailing attitude problem.

***

“Did you do this to yourself?”

“He started it,” Neil said glumly.

Andrew’s voice tightened. “I don’t care.”

Neil’s eyes sharpened and he fought the urge to scowl. He tried to remove his hand from Andrew’s care but Andrew ignored his efforts so Neil pursed his lips and stared at the dented locker.

“I know,” Neil replied, voice blank.

Andrew paused his ministrations to let go of his hand and tilt Neil’s chin up. Andrew searched Neil’s eyes for what felt like the longest time before Neil started to feel his anger simmer back to life.

Neil flung his head away from Andrew’s hold with no resistance. Andrew took that as invitation to grab the bandages beside him.

“You have to show him that he can’t step all over you.”

“I’m not letting him step over me!”

Andrew gave him a dry look.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do here, Andrew? I’m his Vice Captain, I give him directions just like anyone else. I try and help him play better as we’re all part of this team, and what he gives back is- is- this!”

Neil is out of breath by the end, face turning red with frustration. “I need to watch my back on the court enough as it is without having to worry about my own teammate trying to pull me down.”

Neil knew Andrew didn’t care much for his complaining right now but Andrew just continued slowly wrapping up his hands as he waited for Neil to finish.

As if reading his mind, Andrew asked him, “Finished?”

Neil exhaled loudly. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Andrew said, “You need to listen to yourself sometimes.”

Neil gaped at Andrew, part in confusion, part offence. “Excuse me?”

Andrew’s eyes met his as he gave Neil a bored look. “You need to start taking control of this or next time you might break your hand,” Andrew said, “I don’t want to have to hear you complaining about being unable to play your precious Exy,” he finished, the tightening of his hands betraying his apathy.

Neil tensed, hit with the reminder he was never able to forget. His career in Exy couldn’t be delayed or failed, otherwise he’d have Ichirou Moriyama to answer to.

Swallowing down his unease, Neil asked bitterly, “So what do you suggest I do?”

Neil noticed Andrew had paused with hands but continued as soon as Neil noticed.

“You need to make him realize that he can’t just do or say as he pleases,” Andrew said, finally finishing up. Neil didn’t even look down to check, he trusted Andrew.

Hands suddenly feeling sweaty under the light bandages, Neil had a stupid hope that Andrew would continue to hold his hands. He told himself it was only because the warmth of Andrew’s hands kept him steady, but that proved fruitless as Andrew let go of him to lean against the lockers, arms crossed against his chest.

Glancing away for a moment, Neil focused back on Andrew’s words, shaking his head in confusion. He didn’t understand what Andrew was angling at that he hadn’t already done.

Seeing Neil’s reaction, Andrew came closer, once again sitting in front of Neil on the bench. His hands were spread out in front of him and in this position, Neil noticed how Andrew’s shoulders bulged against his shirt, straining against the material.

Hearing a distant cough, Neil snapped out of it. “Maybe stop looking like that and I’ll stop staring. You’re distracting me.”

Andrew offered him no response but he did raise his eyebrows, looking more amused than irritated.

“Anyways…” Neil started, “Um, what were you going to say?”

Andrew pretended to ignore Neil for a moment before he said, “You need to make him fear you.”

Neil flinched. “Uh. No- I-” Neil swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked away from Andrew. “I’m not my father.”

“I need to make him respect me,” Neil concluded. He didn’t want Jack to fear him every time they were in the same room, he didn’t want to instill fear in others. He needed Jack to work with him, with all of them.

“Neil,” Andrew said.

When Neil looked to him, Andrew said, “Yes or no?”

Puzzled and just a little shaky at the mention of his father, Neil nodded. “Yes.”

Andrew brought his hands to firmly rest on Neil’s cheeks, calloused hands cradling his face, grip flexing. “He’s never going to respect you. You need to force him to whether he likes it or not.”

Neil looked away and Andrew dropped his hands. “If you want I know where to hide his body,” Andrew suggested. Neil only half took him seriously, he knew if worst came to worst that Andrew wouldn’t hold back- except Neil didn’t think he’d go as far as to bury Jack’s body on campus property. Neil appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Neil huffed an unamused laugh and shook his head once. “No.”

He needed better control dealing with Jack, he needed Jack to see him as his Vice, respect his instructions and stop giving him shit on the court. After today though, it seemed like it was going to be harder than Neil imagined; but Neil would try his hardest to make Jack respect him, or at least pretend to respect him as long as he kept his opinions about Neil to himself.

Neil kept his eyes on Andrew and thought of all the things he could say or do to Jack the next time he decided to open his mouth. How he could lose control and use his fists against Jack instead of a locker, how he could let Andrew threaten him into submission-

But he looked at Andrew and the strength in his muscles, thinking of his constant, unwavering support and Neil knew he had to deal with this alone.

“I can handle him, I’ve got this.”