48 Beers

Author- Fayth

Rating- PG13

Disclaimer- I own nothing

Pairing- M/L- but shippers won't like it.

Genre- Angst.

Summary- answers at the bottom a bottle.

It's the Post-Pulse age old question- how many drinks does it take to get a transgenic drunk?

Not just tipsy but rip-roaring, forget your own name, drunk? Forget EVERYTHING drunk?

I know the answer; it takes two double shots of scotch, one bottle of Jack and 48 beers before the world becomes tolerable.

Before life doesn't seem to so bad and the blur at the bottom of the bottle is the most important thing in the world.

More important than the so-called normal life that you gave everything up for.

I thought that everything would be different once me and Logan got the cure for the virus; you know that pesky Manticore spliced one that meant that we couldn't touch?

Well now we could touch- we could finally be together and be happy right? Have the normal life that I've dreamed about since I ran away from Manticore.

Well now I have the life that everyone else has.

I wake up to the sound of the love of my life tapping away on the keyboard on his one man mission to save the world. I turn over and try to lose myself in the cold sheets but before long I have to get up and have the inevitable argument that follows my less than enthusiastic response to having to get ready for work. But I still go to my boring 9-5 job that Logan got for me to pay our rent so he can carry on with his Eyes Only missions without having to worry about something as trivial as cash.

I slave in a job that I hate with people that look down on me because I am a transgenic, and are unable to fire me due to Discriminations Act 10 vii, in which it is illegal to fire someone because they are transgenic, yet it is perfectly acceptable to hound them out of one.

I get hit on by customers who think all transgenics are easy and I can't retaliate because I'd lose my job.

I come home to the sound of the love of my life tapping away on his keyboard on his one man mission to save the world and, if I'm lucky, he'll have remembered to cook me some pasta before the inevitable argument about me going to Terminal City to spend some time with my friends.  He thinks that now we are together I shouldn't spend as much time as I do with them because I'm more human than they are. What he fails to understand is that no matter what I do I will always be a transgenic and I'm proud to be. I also will always feel responsible for unleashing them on the world and I genuinely want to help them to integrate like me… well maybe not exactly like me. 

Of course since Alec was made governor, Logan is doubly intolerant of me going, saying that Alec should shoulder the whole responsibility and that it will be good for him.

I head out to Terminal City and spend a few hours lying to my friends, pretending that life is perfect before coming home to the sound of the love of my life tapping away on his keyboard on his one man…and now one house broken X5's mission to save the world.

He'll have some Eyes Only mission that I have to go on, even while he lectures…sorry…lovingly corrects, me that crime is wrong. Sometimes there'll be a shindig that he can't get out of and I will have to transform from cat burglar to debutante and listen to old men talk shop and try to grope me but I can't say or do anything about it because I am the transgenic mouthpiece who speaks for the nation.

If my mouth does happen to run away with me I can guarantee a lecture…sorry…loving correction from the love of my life on the stony ride back to his penthouse apartment.

Then if he is not too tired a quick roll in the hay before I fall asleep to the sound of the love my life tapping away on his keyboard on his … you get the picture.

Ladies and Gentlemen- my normal life.

Of course what Logan doesn't know is that I sneak out at night and come to Dive.

It's not as upmarket as Crash- imagine that, a place less classy than Crash.

Dive is really a dark, damp hole in the wall bar, no one I know would ever even step foot in here—the basis of its appeal.

The décor is more post-apocalypse than post- pulse, the main theme being dirt black and it's frequented by bikers and prostitutes- the down and out and desolate. I guess I fit in here.

The night ends with a brawl rather than a bang and it's a great way to relieve tension.

At first the barman had a bit of trouble with a woman drinking alone in his bar, in his eyes it was a recipe for a disaster that he couldn't afford to avert.

But after a would-be rapist lost three front teeth and the use of his limbs, old barkeep lets me stay, uninterrupted and pushes the beers home.

I'm great insurance for him. He knows how I love to be left alone and peaceful and so any sign of a brawl that breaks more than it takes and he calls on me…I sort it out and get the Jack on the house.

Call me the in-house bouncer.

Yeah Dive is my kinda place. You know they used to say that no matter what happened humans would always need the basics- food and clothes and fuel and if you managed to stockpile or get in the market you had it made.

They forgot that alcohol is number one on that list.

See even folks that can't afford clothing on their backs can somehow afford to buy liquor and it helps them forget that they can't afford to eat.

I can. I can afford to eat, clothe and still have enough left to drink myself into a transgenic stupor.

It gets expensive though, I don't know Alec managed it.

Alec.

Dammit.

I promised I wouldn't think about him tonight but it always happens about halfway through my thirtieth beer. He's the only one who can see through fake-happy Max. His piercing green eyes ferret out my lies and softly beg me to be happy. Of course I always push him away. Always.

No matter how much I want to fall into his arms and cry.

No matter how much I want him to hold me and to tell him that I made a mistake and I appreciate the fact that he always has my back.

No matter how much I want to tell him that he's the best part of my day and the only thing I ever look forwards to…that I love him.

No matter what- I push him away.

Because I'm too proud to tell him that I've forgotten how to be happy.

Forgotten what it's like to smile, to love, to live, to be free.

Forgotten what it's like to feel anything but being alone and hurt and trapped.

So I'll hunch myself over on my barstool, count the seconds until I'll see Alec again and try to forget the normal life that awaits me at the end of the bottle.

How many drinks does it take to make a transgenic forget?

Two to go.