[fic] Solidarity

[Tyloric]

[fic] Solidarity

Part One


I had been staring at the white void of my computer screen for a decent thirty minutes now. It had to be laughing at me by this point. "Ha ha!" it prodded, "You can't think of anything to write!" Taunting me, over and over, like some incessant bully on the elementary school playground. This demented computer had it in for me, I knew it. Even the help tools were shaking their heads at me in distaste.

My fingers fiddled with the keyboard, thinking that maybe if I held them there on the keys they would eventually form coherent words. But, like always, they didn't. Nothing came, nothing at all. The screen stayed blank. It was always blank; a white blob in the middle of the computer screen. I could all but hear my eyes sizzling from having stared at it for so long.

I couldn't help but let my mind drift back to my childhood and about how much easier, about how much more fun it had been to write things. The words wouldn't stop coming to me then; overflowing, spilling on to the pages. Stories, poems, it didn't matter. They just all seemed to come naturally back then. Granted, they made absolutely no sense and left many of my teachers sending me to the school therapists, but all artists must suffer for their art, don't you think?

Heh, adulthood. I wonder how anyone could consider someone like me an adult. I mean, yeah, I was twenty-two but that doesn't mean--

No! Cut that out. You're wandering again. Stop wandering. Focus on the words. The words. Focus… focus… maybe, just maybe… nope… nope, thought I had something there.

I stared at the title for a bit: UNTITLED by Henry Thorn Sparrow.

I sighed, defeated, and closed the laptop, clicking the desk lamp off. The street lights spilled into room from the small cracks in my window's blinds. The digital clock on the illuminated the morbid numbers 'eight fifty-seven PM', mocking me almost as much as the computer screen had.

But still, I had given it an effort, right? That's what counted. At least this Friday night (in on a Friday? You're so sad) hadn't been a total waste.

Deciding that writing just wasn't going to happen tonight, I stood up and head out towards the kitchen. As soon as I opened the door to my room, however, that proved to be a more difficult task than originally anticipated. The top half of my apartment was shrouded in a thick, white, fog. Or, more accurately, cigarette smoke. I sniffed. Marlboro, full flavor 100' if I were to trust my sense of smell.

"Well, this is new," I coughed a bit. My body was slightly more heavy than it had been a second ago.

"What's up?" A deep voice queried from inside the hazy abyss that used to be my living room.

"Paul?" I questioned.

"'Sup?" the haze replied.

"Didn't we talk about smoking in the apartment?"

There was a slight pause. "I seem to recall something of the sort."

"Uh-huh. And what are you doing in the apartment?"

Another pause, "…smoking?"

My head felt like it was about to fly away. "Oh lord, I need some air."

Gathering all of the courage I had in my in me, I braved the toxic smoke, praying that I would not encounter any sinister creatures within its blanket of death. I didn't take three steps before I smashed my big toe into something. I fell forward, too disoriented to catch my balance in time, and landed with a hard thud on the hard wood floors. "Ow, dammit!"

There was another query from the direction of the couch, "'cha doin' down there?"

I moaned in pain and frustration, my toe throbbing.

Paul barked a laugh. "I think you're a bit of a lightweight, bro."

I sighed. "Just how many cigarettes have you had since I went in my room?"

Yet another pause as he considered his answer. "Six? Seven? Fifteen? Hell if I know."

I glared at the ceiling, or where the ceiling would have been if I could have seen it. "How have you not suffocated yet?"

I could hear the grin in his voice, "Practice."

I got to my feet again, my legs feeling a bit like jelly. Let me emphasize a bit more clearly; it was like being in a biker's bar during happy hour on a Saturday night, and smelled similarly.

I walked over to where I knew the window would be. It was one of those windows that slides vertically, rather than horizontally. When I gave it a solid tug, however, I was dismayed to find that it wouldn't budge. Again.

"God damn thing, open!" I braced myself on the opposite side of it, so I could push it rather than pull and forced all my weight on the stubborn frame.

"Do ya need some help?"

"I've… almost… got… it…" I grunted out each word, my voice strained as I worked against the steel framed window. I was sure it was going to move soon… until my palm slipped from the smooth surface and tumbled forward, landing a good face plant in the process. The resulting thud echoed. This just wasn't my night.

"Son of a *****," I groaned, rolling over. I just lay there for a bit, wallowing in my own frustration. The padding of bare feet came up next to my ear, and I glanced over to see Paul looking down at me amusedly. I noted that he had very nice feet, perfectly clipped nails. Very nice.

He was wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, a necklace with the St. Christopher, the Patron Saint of Travelers, dangling from it.

"Hi!" I said cheerily.

He rolled his eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I was just trying to open that window there," I gestured at it dramatically, "but then I saw how utterly spotless this here floor was," I stretched, "and I just had to lay on it. Join me?"

"Pass," he said, and reached to open the window.

I huffed, "Good-" he slid it open with a brief grunt of effort, "-luck."

"Don't mention it." He padded off back towards the couch."

"Yeah, well, I got it loose!"

I stood, wobbled for a moment, and then turned to glare at the open window. Mumbling a quick curse, I stuck my head out into the chilled night air. The dank city air smelled wonderful compared to the gas chamber that used to be my apartment. The light-headedness seemed to melt away as the strength in my limbs returned. It got me to thinking, not for the first time, about why anyone would smoke? What was it that smoking made them feel that was so great? Because it just seemed… gross.

Turning around, but leaning in a way that my head stays outside, I gazed back in to the living room appraisingly. The smoke had cleared a bit (damn chain smoker) and my eyes wandered over to Paul, who was sprawled back on my maroon-red couch, PSP in hand.

I haven't known Paul all that long, a week and a half maybe. He was one of the only decent people to have responded to my ad looking for a roommate in the paper. In the end, it was either him or a preppy, overly joyous cheerleader who was a student at the university a few blocks down. I came to the conclusion very quickly that no one can possibly be that happy and that she was either a, a serial killer, or b, after my soul to feed to her cheerleading cult. I wasn't willing to take a chance on either.

Paul was the kind of guy who didn't have to try to be cool, he just was. He had tightly curled straw-blond hair, green eyes, and stood just over six feet. He had side burns that traveled from his ears, to his chin, and up to his bottom lip, his cheeks being free of facial hair. He had a build that was muscular, but he wasn't too big. He was more lean than anything.

He was unfairly cool. The only real problem I had with him was that he smoked. A lot. All the time. I mean, I had my head sticking out of the window become there was so much smoke in the air. It was irritating, I'll be honest.

"So, no more smoking inside."

He frowned, "We don't have a balcony."

"Well, you could lean out the window like the rest of the people in the complex."

"But what If I drop my PSP?"

"Don't play it while smoking?"

He considered this. "But-"

"No smoking inside, Paul," I said with finality.

He huffed, "Yeah, sure thing, Captain."

I blinked. "What?"

"Captain."

"What?" I repeated.

"Captain Sparrow."

I tilted my head to the side, looking at him like he was crazy. "Who?"

He returned the gaze with a 'you have got to be kidding me, you idiot' one, "Didn't you ever watch Pirates of the Caribbean?"

It took a moment for everything to click into place. "Oh… Oh. Ha, aha. I get it. Clever."

He grinned wolfishly, "Now you're catching on."

"Well crewman, I'm going for a walk. I'll be back later."

"Aye aye, captain." He saluted.

///

The sky was that orange hue that happens when it's over cast, and the city lights are reflecting back down at you. I loved it, it was like a permanent sunset. Couple that with fall weather beginning to set in, it was the perfect time for a stroll.

I was one of those people who just liked to walk everywhere. Go around the block once or twice and my head would suddenly be clear of any and all problems, just me and the pavement beneath my feet… and maybe a prostitute or two, maybe a bum, but usually just me and the concrete; soothing.

But, as always, when you speak of the devil…

"Hey there, good looking." A voice came from in front of me when I reached the corner, "Looking for a little… company?"

Raising my head to look away from one of my closest friends, the sidewalk, I saw what appeared to be a woman. Well, she didn't appear to be, she was a woman, or rather, had been. Now she resembled what looked like a beached whale. She was dressed in clothes that were far too small for her, her tight pink **** straining at the seams, and oh my, those poor denims. I could practically hear the button and zipper crying out in pain as they tried to contain this woman. They had to be at least three sizes too small.

"Naw, I'm good." Slapping on my best smile.

"Aww, come on, sugar. Everyone could use a little…" she smacked her lips lightly. Girl had talent, I'll admit. "Company," she finished sensually.

A couple thoughts had begun running through my head at that point. One was to run away screaming 'I need an adult, I need an adult!' just because it's something I would do, and would otherwise find funny. But that would humiliate her, and I'm not that big of an ass. The other was that I take her up on her offer and have some fun. That thought lasted all of two seconds before I disregarded it.

I looked at her sadly, "Sorry, hun. I'm batting for the other team."

She actually looked disappointed. "It's always the cute ones." And with that she just turned and walked back down the street.

It, for some reason, felt bitter sweet turning her away like that. For all I knew, I just made it so her kids wouldn't have anything to eat tomorrow. I shrugged the feeling off, not letting it too far past my defenses. There was nothing I could do about her problems.

Still, the thought continued to linger in the back of my mind, ever after I got home.

///

When I woke up the next morning, I felt odd. A bad sort of odd; I could tell today was going to be a bad day. My life would probably be so much better off if I would just pay attention to this feeling whenever it comes around.

But, I can't. Like all productive members of society, I have to go to work.

Reluctantly, I grabbed hold of the covers, threw them off my body, and sat up. The cold, hardwood floor nipped mercilessly at my once snuggly wrapped feet, reminding me yet again that I really ought to buy some house shoes.

Shambling over to the bedroom door like a zombie, I walked lazily in to the living room to find Paul still dressed in yesterday's attire, still playing his PSP.

He gave me a brief, distracted glance, "Morning, Cap'n."

I glowered at him for a good fifteen seconds before zombie walking towards the bathroom. "My name is Henry," I mumbled.

"Morning, Captain Henry."

Ass, "Have you been there all night?" I asked as I walked by.

He gave me a look of mocking bewilderment. "Of course not."

I grunted.

"I mean, I did get hungry eventually, had to take a leak, so not all night."

I didn't even dignify that with a response. I just kept walking toward the bathroom, my goal set. Shower, shave, breakfast. Routine is routine.

When I finally stepped in to the shower, I groaned as the warm water stretched my tense muscles, cascading down my body. This was the only drug I need. I was a man of simple pleasures, really. Warm bed at night, chilly walks in the evening, icy cold showers.

Wait, what?

I screamed bloody murder as I realized the shower had suddenly gone from steamy to arctic, jumping out of the tub like a kangaroo. The floor was too wet to offer enough friction to stop my sudden advance, and I went crashing to the floor. Instinctively, I reached out to grab the nearest thing to steady myself, which in this case was the shower curtain. But it wasn't strong enough and the thin plastic was ripped away from the metal rings. I ended up sprawled out over the floor in all my naked glory.

To make matters even more pleasant, the bathroom door opened.

"Are you o-" Paul stopped mid-sentence as his mind tried to register what he was seeing. He blinked, blinked again, and then something strange happened: his face turned beat red and he averted his gaze to the ceiling. It was one of the most adorable things I had ever seen.

One thing you need to know about me, though, is that I tend to use nonchalant humor to cope with embarrassing situations. "Hiya, Paul," I said

"H-hi." He stammered, "You, um… you okay?"

"Water heater cut out." I said.

"You… need help with anything?" he swallowed.

"Nope. I, uh, I think I'm good."

"Yeah, okay. Cool." The door could have closed any faster.

I knew I should have stayed in bed.

///

The place where I worked wanted you to think that it was the best place on Earth. "We here at Plugged Electronics have the fairest prices, and the best service than another other electronics store in the country!" Both of those points were true, and because of those points the employees had to suffer. It was the natural order of things.

The service was only as great as it was because this was a cut throat company. If you have only two complaints against you, you're put up for review. Which means after just two complaints, you could get fired.

I wish I was joking.

"You are late!" Carmen's shrill voice cut through the store like a police siren does in traffic.

Carmen Sanchez was the Customer Service Manager, as well as my supervisor. She was great at her job, to be honest. She has the uncanny ability of talking people into buying something they previously had absolutely no use for. When it came to customers, she was an angel; the sweetest, most charming person on the planet.

For the people working under her? Not so much.

"I'm sorry, Carmen. I had things going on at home."

"I don't care if your mother died." Wait, seriously? You cold hearted *****. "If you don't call in to tell me you're going to be late you're getting a citation." She grabbed her notepad and her pen of doom. No, really. That's what we call it.

I looked down at my watch to see the time; eleven o-six. I was only six minutes late. "But-" I started, only to have a yellow slip of paper shoved, quite literally, in my face. I never understood this policy. It felt like I was being given a parking ticket.

I stared at the paper in my hand sorrowfully. Tough crowd.

"Now get to work," she snapped at me.

"Yes ma'am," I said, just barely holding back a salute.

I'd work in the customer service booth for about a year now. I was the guy you heard when you called in with some sort of complaint or problem, usually the former. I was the seemingly unhelpful prick that you ended up screaming at and demanding to talk to the manager.

"Hi, Henry!" Sharon greeted me happily. Sharon was my best friend. Well, really one of my only friends. I met her my first day on the job.

She was a beautiful women, tall, ruby red hair, though I'm pretty sure she dyes it, and green eyes. She was stunning, but she was also intelligent. Not that she would let on that she was, she likes to play the damsel in distress routine to hide that top notch intellect of hers.

I waved at her. "Hey, Sharon. How goes it? How was your blind date?" I asked, stepping behind the counter and clocking in to the computer.

She said nothing, and when I back at over her she had a sad smile on her face. "Ouch. That bad, huh?"

"Oh, Henry!" she said dramatically, draping herself over my arm, "it just seems that every guy I meet is either a sex-craving man whore or just some desperate creature that still lives with his mama."

I grinned, "The man whore bit sounds kind of fun. Which one was it this time?"

She groaned, "Both."

"Ouch," I said, "Maybe getting your friends to set you up with guys isn't the way to go. Maybe a bar? Or a café? Hell, maybe even a dating site?"

"Honey, I've tried just about everything. Maybe God is just trying to tell me that romance isn't what he has planned for me."

And that is why Sharon and I but heads sometimes. She was deeply religious, her whole family was. Me? Not so much. I admit to the fact that there has to be a higher power of some sort out there, but I remain skeptical on what 'He' has planned for everyone. "I don't believe it," I said, "if He really knows what's best for you, and I'm not saying He does, he has to have someone out there for you, right?"

"D'aww, I appreciate that, sweety. So how's your new roommate working out?"

I considered. "He's okay, I guess."

A mischievous gleam came in to her eye. I knew that look, something was up, "So it's a he, is it?"

I sighed, "Now, don't go getting ahead of yourself. You know it's my policy to not date roomies."

"Right, right, but is he at least cute?"

I hadn't really thought about it in that way, to be honest. But now that I did… No, don't go there. "Paul's alright, I guess…" I murmured, scratching my chin.

"Oh, Paul," she drug out the l sound. "So masculine," she teased.

I gave her a tired look. "It's a normal name."

"I think it's sexy."

"You haven't even met him."

"Yet." She said with a sweet smile. "But I will~," she sang.

I sighed yet again. "Oh, lord."

"How about tonight?" she asked.

I stared at her for a moment. "Tonight?"

"Yeah, if I were to just… stop by…"

The alarm bells in my head started ringing. "I don't know if that's such a great idea…"

She gave me a hurt look, "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't want you to scare him off. I need him for bills are such, and he was the only remotely normal person who applied."

"Are you sure that's the only reason you want him around?" she waggled her eyebrows.

"Oh, please. How old are you again?"

"Oh, come on, sweet! I really want to meet him." Puppy dog eyes.

I stared at her for a few seconds. "Fine."

She fisted pumped. "Victory."

///

 

[Tyloric]

Re: [fic] Solidarity

Customers were morons. I'm sorry, but it can't be denied. It didn't matter how enlightened you are in your life; you could be the smartest, most relaxed person in the whole damned world, but once you step past those sliding glass doors you are a different person. You are, as I've said, a moron.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't exchange this unless you have a valid receipt with you." I said, again, like a CD on repeat.

"I've never needed a receipt before!" The man shouted angrily. Like hell, you haven't.

I wondered idly if it was just me who made people like this, "Sir, this has always been our policy."

He grabbed the item back off the counter so quickly that my eyes could barely keep up with the motion, "Screw you and your ****ing policies," and with that, he stalked away and out of the store.

A lot of people seemed to want to screw me lately.

"Sparrow!" Carmen, of course, was one of those people.

My heart skipped a beat, "Yes, ma'am?"

"What the hell is this?" Her eyes were on fire.

I gulped, "He didn't have a receipt."

She scoffed, "No, not that. The hell with him," well, at least we can agree on something. "What the hell is this?" She shoved a piece of paper into my hands. She has a habit of doing that.

I gave the paper a once over:

INTERNET ACTIVITY REPORT
Employee No. 529708 / Name: Sparrow, Henry T.

Ohhh… crap, "Umm… Well…" I started.

"Care to explain what you're doing on all these websites during work hours?" She crossed her arms.

I sighed, "Look, Ms. Sanchez, I'm sorry, but during the week there is literally no one in here in the mornings."

"Let me make myself clear, Sparrow. If this continues, you're fired," and without another word, turned and walked away, leaving the report in my hands.

I just stood there for a few moments. I was sad; sad that I had been caught having fun on duty, and irritated that they would rather we stand around and do nothing when there was literally nothing to do. But, then, I guess that was the working world for you.

I glanced at my watch: five forty-five. Thank you lord, only fifteen more minutes.

Next to me, Sharon was finishing up with her own customer. "What was that about?" She asked me when she was done.

"I got caught looking at porn," I deadpanned.

She stopped and did a double take, her face twisted into confusion and disbelief. Priceless. "Seriously?" she asked.

"No, but the way she was acting I might as well have."

Sharon blew out a sigh of relief, "Well, we're free in fifteen minutes babe. Don't forget," her eyes twinkled, "you get to feed me tonight."

I let out a distasteful groan, "Right. Just… don't be any earlier than seven thirty. Paul deserves to have fair warning."

She just winked at me.

I really should have just stayed in bed.

///

Paul looked up from his spot on the couch, raising an eyebrow, "She wants to meet… me?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, tossing my tie into the laundry basket.

"Why?"

"Sharon makes it her business to inspect anyone I have a relationship wish, no matter how casual it is."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "That's… strange."

I sighed. "Yes… she is a peculiar person. But she's harmless, for the most part."

Paul snorted, "If I had a dime—no, a nickel, for every time I heard that a girl was harmle, I'd be a god damned millionaire. I have scars, deep ones."

I was curious about those scars despite myself, but I let it go. "Just this one time, Paul?" I clapped my hands together to get in to the begging stance, "Please?"

His eyes narrowed at me, and I could see the wheels in his head turning. I was a good sixty seconds before he responded with, "fine."

Cue fist pump. "Yes, thank you."

"What are you going to make, anyway? I didn't know you cooked."

I smiled slyly, "I don't cook! So I'm going to make the one thing that absolutely no one on the planet can screw up."

"And what would that be?"

I puffed my chest out, grinning like an idiot. "Spaghetti."

He laughed at that, and for some reason I felt my ears get hot. He had a good laugh, "That's it?"

"Hmph, don't mock the pasta."

His smile didn't fade, "Yeah, okay."

///

The moment the door opened Sharon almost literally fell in to my arms, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. "Hello, Henry, my dear."

"Yeah, hi, oxygen," I stammered out.

She let out a girly giggle before letting me go and skipping past me. "You haven't changed the place at all since I was here last."

I walked back in to the kitchenette to make sure the noodles weren't boiling over. "The last time you were here was a week and a half ago."

She sighed dramatically. "It seems like year ago, darling, years."

I eyed her. "So, what, you've traded in your accent for another one now?"

"I was aiming for Audrey Hepburn. How's it working?"

I shrugged, "I'm not feeling it."

She sighed, "Shoot. I-" she stopped there as the bathroom door opened and out stepped Paul. She turned her entire body to face him, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, hi," he started, and his face fell a bit when Sharon didn't reply and just kept staring at him. He raised his hands, stopping just short of his neck. "What, is there something on my face?"

Sharon turned her gaze back to me, her eyes beaming with playful smile on her face. "Well," she said in a low, provocative voice, "it seems you have made some fine additions to your home." It was all I could do to not face palm myself. She walked over to Paul and began circling him, looking him up and down, like a lioness circling its prey.

Paul looked at me, eyes wide. 'I'm sorry' I mouthed to him, offering an apologetic expression.

"You're not as tall as I'd thought you'd be," she said finally.

I started back in to the kitchenette to take the pot off the stove. "Please don't scare him, Sharon," I said for the second time that day. Grabbing the strainer and tossing it in to the sink and poured the contents of the pot in to it. As the steam rose from hot water meeting cool air and steel, I couldn't help but wonder if this was going to be a good night or not.

///

I don't remember ever feeling as awkward as I did right then. Not even the time when my mother had been really drunk at one Thanksgiving meal and ended up rubbing herself against my uncle ted, much to my father and I's amusement, did I remember feeling this awkward.

And, as always, leave it to Sharon to make things worse. "So, Paul, Dating anyone?"

Paul blinked and looked up from his plate, the question seeming to have taken him by surprise. After swallowing his current mouthful, he took a deep breath. "Not anymore, no." 'Oh god, Paul, no! Wrong answer!' I wanted to scream.

But it was too late. "Not anymore? So you were?" Sharon followed up.

"Sharon…" I started, but she just shushed me.

"It's a harmless question, Henry."

Paul seemed to be looking at me out of the corner of his eye, because every now and then his eyes would flicker over in my direction. It was like he was asking for help. But I had none to give; Sharon had forced him over the deep end and diving in after Paul now would be suicide. I could only frown in his direction.

"Well," he said, "yeah, I was-"

"What was her name? Was she cute?" Sharon was leaning towards Paul ever-so-slightly.

With each question, Paul's face seemed to get harder, his eyes a little bit more distant. "Tiffany," he forced out, "her name was Tiffany."

"Why did you two break up? Did she cheat on her?" The Sharon gasped, covering her mouth with her face, "Did you cheat on her?!" I know this all sounds terrible, but this was just Sharon. She didn't know when to stop, didn't know when too far was too far.

Paul looked like he was ready to explode. I had to put a stop to this. So I played the only card I had. "Desert," I said simply and they both turned to look at me, confused. "Time for desert." I smiled a fake smile, but hoped it looked genuine anyway.

Paul caught on immediately, his eyes flashing relief. "I'm game!" He said a bit too loudly and enthusiastically, grabbed his plate, and shot off towards the kitchen.

When he was gone, I glared at Sharon. "What the hell were you thinking?"

And there were the puppy dog eyes. "What ever do you mean?"

"You can't just put the poor guy on the spot like that. Neither of us even really knows him that well!"

"Exactly, I'm trying to get to know him."

I rolled my eyes, "Then start small. Who's your favorite band? What's your favorite color?! Anything but past relationships."

That earned me a small smile. "Henry, honey, trust me," she winked, "its all part of the plan."

I huffed, grabbed her plate and mine, and went off to the kitchenette. I found Paul standing in front of the fridge, his head leaning up against it, a hand covering his eyes. Needless to say, he looked to be in a bit of distress.

Frowning, I set the plates in the sink and went over to stand next to him. He had yet to notice my presence, and I raised a hand to rest it on his shoulder, but back out at the last second. I rolled my eyes at myself, took a quiet step back, and cleared my throat. "You okay?" I asked gently.

"Yeah," He coughed, "Yeah. I'm fine. She's just… she really doesn't pull any punches does she?" He laughed weakly.

I smile. "She's like that with everyone. Even me."

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Seriously." I replied. "I'll get her to leave after desert." I offered.

He waved a hand in my direction. "What ever. I can take anything she can dish out. I was just caught… off guard."

"Leave it to me," I said, giving him thumbs up, and opened the freezer to grab the tub of ice cream.

The rest of the night was a quiet one.

/tbc