Disclaimer: I don't own The Deep Blue Sea, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
Expectations
Women are selfish, ridiculous, he thinks with a grimace, and takes it all down, ignores the burning in his throat. God, he's drunk. Drunk enough to feel like he can walk on water, head down to the station and stop an arriving train dead on the tracks. But he won't, can't, what with Jackie hovering about his shoulder, like his conscience, trying to tell him what is and isn't a good idea.
Go home, Jackie tells him. It was just a stupid mistake, is all. There's really nothing to be so angry about, no reason to lie to her and keep her in the dark. Freddie disagrees. They're trouble together, he knows that. Yes, she's beautiful, maybe even exciting. But she's needy, clings to him, never shuts her mouth when he just needs to sit down and think. So he always leaves, comes out to the bar to drink and, when some foolish bastard really irks him, even fight.
Jackie nudges him again, says he's better off just telling her the truth.
"Oh, shut up," Freddie mutters, and, damn, he's drunk.
Fuck expectations, he thinks, demands another bloody drink and lays his head down on the counter. He's going to wake up miserable in the morning, hung over and bothered by every little thing. But it won't matter, because listening to Jackie try to play the voice of reason is preferable to Hester and her nagging. God, does the woman ever shut up?
He can't be here, he realizes, as his bar mates begin singing again. That same damn song that, were it any other day, he'd be more than happy to join in on. But tonight he's drunk and tired and finds that every fucking thing is getting on his nerves. Two more minutes, he thinks in a haze, and he might just turn and hit someone in the mouth just because he can. And, again, Freddie thinks that people's expectations of him can just fuck themselves. He'll go back to the flat and collect his things as he is. And, when he wakes in the morning, he'll get the hell out of town and not look back.
It's cold outside as he shoves Jackie away at the door, and, before he knows what's going on, he's walking. They're blurred, the lights of the streetlamps, and he blinks, imagines that he's flying again, watching all the world fly past like wispy white clouds. How thrilling that had all been, feeling nothing short of invulnerable while watching those bastards fall right out of the sky, sparks and plane parts and all. Burned up on the spot, he remembers, right there in the cockpit, no chance, no way to get back down on the ground as a whole.
There's the sound of a gentle humming, and Freddie wheels around, nearly stumbles backwards with the force of momentum, thinks that he's missed one of them, the bloody bastards. But there's no one lingering behind him in the dark. Just the same dull and empty street by the flat. There's a car, he realizes as he faces forward again, and there they are, standing beneath the light of a streetlamp, talking in hushed tones.
Hester and the brilliant judge.
Freddie smirks. Fuck expectations, he thinks. Drunk or not, he's going to have quite a ball with the old boy. And Hester can bloody deal with it.