Closing Time
Yugao
Summary: Christie came to drown her sorrows in alcohol, only to meet the very man who took her grandfather's life from her…
Author's Note: SteveChristie. I didn't really like this pairing at first, but a lot of nicely written fics here have really made me enjoy it, so I hope you can read and review! This was inspired by a song by Semisonic (or something like that).
Disclaimer: Don't own Tekken, don't own the song.
"Closing time… every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end…"
A little bit of Christie's drink spilled onto the wooden bar, mixing with several other rings of liquor on the timber counter. She smirked as she swirled the drink in her glass, making even more droplets of it fall to the table. It was her third glass of alcohol that night, but what did it matter anymore?
She downed the glass, and cringed, finding the drink far too bitter for her tastes. Still, she motioned for the bartender to make her another glass. She wanted to forget – and yet it was the only thing on her mind.
"You're going to drink yourself to death if you keep it up, honey," the burly man behind the counter advised as he set her glass in front of her.
She answered with a glare.
"He's right, you know."
She looked up, scowl ready. Her brown eyes were slightly rimmed with red – though she wasn't sure if it was from crying or from all the drinks she'd had. Her chestnut eyes met blue ones, and in a flash of recognition, the glare intensified. "What do you care," she said in monotone, quickly turning back to get take another gulp of her drink.
"Christie, isn't it?" he said cheerily as he sat down on the stool next to her. "I'll pay for your drinks, but can you say that the one you're drinking will be your last?"
"Haven't you embarrassed me enough? I have enough money to pay for my own drinks, bastard," she spat. She wasn't usually this hot-tempered, but this was different… way different.
The man beside her seemed affronted by the comment. "Is this about the match from the tournament, Christie? Do you really think I've come to gloat?"
"Heh. Of course I do," she said with a smirk as she downed the glass once more. "After all, you just killed my grandfather by crushing my chances of ever paying for his operation. I guess you're happy now, huh?"
She was just about to signal for another round of alcohol when he took her hand and wheeled her around to face him. She seethed at this – looking at his sharp features, his sincerely concerned eyes only infuriated her more. Yet he didn't seem to notice. "You're going to explain," he whispered dangerously.
She smirked again, and this time it turned into a chuckle. "You should've asked that before you mercilessly defeated me a while ago."
"And what was I supposed to do? Lay down and let you win? I have my own reasons for joining that tournament," he countered.
Christie shrugged, and turned away. When he thought that she finally gave up, she turned to face him again, punching him square on the jaw.
Steve staggered a little from the impact. It was painful, considering the fact that it came from someone who was both drunk and tired. He got up off the stool, and Christie took it as a challenge. She stood up, too, a few lengths away from him. The others in the bar had stopped drinking and circled them as spectators had done a few hours ago. "Fight, fight, fight…" was the monotonous chant.
She took her stance, and not wanting to back down, he took his. Her auburn hair, which had been so neatly tied, was now in different forms of disarray. Her tanned arms and legs moved fluidly even in her daze. Her eyes, though, spoke the most: she hated him, she loathed him. "You just killed my grandfather by crushing my chances of paying for his operation…" was that why?
She struck first, with a dropkick that not only jolted him back to his senses, but erased much of his compassion for the poor girl. Still, he didn't want to hurt her…
Every fluid kick, every attempted punch he evaded or blocked. He marveled at how she maintained her balance even when she was like that… he supposed she was merely motivated. Or was it the true, fierce fighting spirit of the capoeira masters she had learned from that made her that way?
But then he spoke too soon.
In midair, she buckled, sending her to the ground. The young woman writhed in pain on the bar floor. The "fight" chants stopped, yet no one came forward to help her. Steve approached her concernedly, and knelt beside her.
"Don't touch me," she said, partly hissing, partly sobbing.
He shushed her. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"You already have," she whispered.
He ignored her, instead scooping her up gently into his arms. Strangely enough, she was limp, light – for all her strength she seemed to weigh no more than a child would. Then, he walked out the door, carrying the woman with him. Whispers from inside the bar followed them, but he paid them no heed.
Sunlight spilled in from the windows overhead, and Christie gave a long yawn. She set her arms down on the bed and tried to prop herself up so that she could sit, but for some strange reason, her whole body throbbed and ached.
The scent of alcohol in her breath brought back to her memory the events of last night, and though her migraine was murderous, she threw back the covers and tried to look for the man who had, though she did not want to admit it, saved her life. But when she pressed her foot to the floor, she found she was too weak.
She cursed mentally, cried a little for last night's stupidity.
Then, she noticed the envelope.
It was small and white, unscented; nothing special. There was no name on the outside to tell her whose it was. She carefully opened it, and her eyes widened. Inside the envelope was a great deal of money in a currency she was not familiar with.
Before she could wonder who could have forgotten such wealth, a note fell to her lap as she counted the bills. Curious, she opened it.
Dear Christie,
Good morning! I hope you had a pleasant sleep last night, though after three rounds of alcohol that is almost impossible.
Enclosed is the money for your grandfather's operation. Please tell him I wish he has a speedy recovery.
Hope to see you again soon.
Sincerely, Steve
Author's Note: Mmm… yeah, it wasn't all that great. I hope you still review, though.