AN: This was written for a contest. Prompt: a pairing, Honda x Anzu. See ending notes for more information.

.

There is no age of dissent

.

There is solace in small things. Scratching a cat behind the ears. The sound of raindrops on a metal roof. Dancing. Dancing? How things changed.

Anzu lifted herself by one hand and spun around the metal pole. Her taut muscles strained at the effort but she made it appear effortless to the onlookers – not that they cared much about her muscle strength. She surveyed the audience absentmindedly while her body went through the motions expertly. There weren't too many lines of work available for a dance major, at least until, or unless, you made it big. Giving children dance lessons wore off quickly, and was more kindergarten work than anything else anyway. Her projects with different troupes had met with various levels of success, but once you accounted for the myriad hours of practice they did not even approach minimum wage. And so this.

She flipped and held herself upside down by her arms, then slowly lowered her feet in mid-air, controlling her every limb perfectly, until she was perpendicular to the pole. Someone near the front clapped loudly while a few voices and whistles were raised in lewd approval, but for the most part the crowd kept silent. She'd come into this line of work sideways, through people she's met doing burlesque, which she still did occasionally but which did not pay the bills. Burlesque was similar but different; more of an art form, more room for creativity and even humour at times, and the crowds were supportive. Here the audience cared about little but fleshy bits, and the most popular dancer had enormous melons she'd bought on the cheap. No one seemed to care that her tits looked like they'd been patched by Dr. Frankenstein, or that she couldn't tell the difference between an entrechat and an écarté. Anzu had found it frustrating at first, still did, but it let her live off what one could call dancing, which is all she'd ever wanted to do.

She wrapped her body around the pole then climbed to the top in two quick pulls, then dropped upside down holding herself only by her feet. She unclasped her bra and threw it to the wolves. It was a hard scene; unlike most of the girls, at least, she'd managed to avoid the traps of drugs and alcoholism, although it felt like it was getting harder every time she turned down an offer. Everytime she had to remind that one time would be one too many, that there was no such thing as 'one time', but something somewhere in her wanted to believe otherwise.

Her show was coming to a close. She dropped to the floor and shook her ass at the audience a bit, then did a suggestive little tour of the stage to let the men insert bills into her thong before waving them goodbye.

She was getting dressed when one of the bouncers approached her. "Hey Annie, ya got a guy out there asking for ya".

She did not hesitate. "You know I don't do tables, Lars. Why are you even coming to me? You should have just refused in the first place."

"I know love, I told him so, I did, I told him 'Annie don't do no lap dances, mate', but the guy said he knows you. He wouldn't give his name, said it'd be more fun if it was a surprise."

Someone she knew? That did not seem like an attractive proposition. Anzu wasn't exactly ashamed of what she did, because she kept her routines to a high artistic standard that let her at least pretend she was better than just a stripper, but it wasn't her proudest moment either. She started considering the possibilities: someone from her milieu could be a positive, they'd understand, maybe want her for a show, to pole dance with her clothes on for a change. Someone she'd studied with would be embarrassing. When Anzu did not seem convinced, he added, "He seemed like a nice guy otherwise, though. Called you Anzu, that's yer real name, right?"

Something in Anzu's chest - her heart, she realized - thumped really hard. That couldn't be good news. If it was some relative, she'd just kill herself. Her parents thought she was piling contracts as a research assistant.

When Anzu didn't react, the bouncer took the opportunity to close the interaction for them both. "I dunno, love, maybe put on some clothes and check him out, you don't have to do no nothing. I'm just relaying the message ya know, just relaying, and if he give you shit you know I gotchyer back."

Anzu let herself feel convinced. The man had set a pretty good reputation for keeping 'his' girls out of trouble - which was one of the reasons she'd started working here and not elsewhere in the first place. "Okay Lars, I'll get dressed and pay him a visit. Where's he?"

"He's at table seven." He pointed at it helpfully, "the tall guy with brown hair. I gotta go back on the floor babe, take care of yerself. I'll be watching to make sure there ain't no funky business goin' on, m'kay? That's me Annie." He gave her a thumbs up and left. She peeked from behind the curtain; three men were seated at table seven. The 'tall one with brown hair' seemed familiar but she couldn't place him exactly. He was kind of cute despite the buzz cut. Coming to think of it, the three men had a military air to them, probably army buds. She didn't think she knew anyone in the army. She put on a pair of shorts and a loose sweater and made her way to the table.

The men had just ordered shots and the mystery man was distributing them around. Only one was paying any attention to the performer on the stage, an external talent hired for the night with attributes as massive as her attitude problems.

"Hey guys, having a good time?" she started with, unsure how to begin. It sounded lame the moment she said it and wished she could take it back. The guy she supposedly knew looked up and flashed her a smile - in an instant he'd gotten up and pulled her a chair, on which she reluctantly sat.

"Anzu! Or should I call you Annie? I'll just call you An, that way I'm sure not to mix it up, right?" He laughed easily and pushed a shot glass towards her. "Them's White Russian, I can order you something else if you don't like those. Wassup An?"

Something unpleasant settled at the bottom of Anzu's stomach. Her brain wasn't ready to recognize that voice just yet, and she couldn't see the man's features too well in the dark. "I don't mean to be rude, but would you mind telling me your name? I can't seem to place you," she replied, not feeling like beating around the bush. "I don't drink at work by the way." She pushed the glass back towards him.

"Aww, spoilsport. I mean, I can't blame you too much, it took me a while to recognize you as well." He flashed her another of those smiles. "I'm Honda. Hiroto, from high school, remember? Ah! you remember now, I can tell. These guys are Cedric and Mark, although we mostly call him Sarge. Say hi to my friend Anzu guys."

Honda? Jounouchi's porn-tape buddy Honda? The guy who kept hitting on his best buddy's uncomfortably younger sister Honda? The immature kid who kept lifting her skirt up at school in front of everyone Honda? She felt a shock, partly at the embarrassment of not having recognized him, partly at the embarrassment of having been seen by a schoolmate. Not that high school mattered anymore. There had been college after that, and a few more years out in the workforce since then. They were almost due for a reunion.

Thank god he wasn't with Yugi, though. Then she'd have killed herself right on the spot. "H-heeey Honda, long time no see!" she stumbled, trying to regain her composure.

"I know right? Musta been six years, seven maybe? Man, time flies… you still see the gang? Haven't seen anyone in ages."

"No, not really. I last saw Yugi at my graduation two years ago, we maybe hung out together once or twice since. We're both pretty busy, you know how it is sometimes." Anzu desperately wanted to get out of this meaningless conversation, away from this table. "How's life been treating you?"

"Great, great, life's been great. Listen, we're here for Sarge's birthday, you know, and we were wondering if you could maybe give him a little show? We saw you on the stage, you're amazing."

The guy named Cedric added emphatically, "You've got great tits babe, really amazing bod." He really sounded like he was making an utterly sincere compliment. What a true, classy, respectful gentleman.

"I'm sorry guys, I don't work tables." Damnit, Honda what the fuck, Honda, did you really ask me this, Honda? She smiled. "Maybe I can set you up with Crystal? She's very good and much prettier than I am, I'm sure you guys would love her." Honda looked despondent - much like he did not understand what she was saying or why. Fuck fuck fuck.

"Come on Anzu, it has to be you. Sarge was saying how pretty you were and then it dawned on me that you were, you know, you, and I told Sarge I'd get him a lappy. Look at him, he'll be so disappointed if you don't". He flashed her that smile again, all confidence and sunshine, and pushed the White Russian her way again. Damned jerk. "Get a drink and make the sarge happy okay, for old time sakes?"

This wasn't fair. Anzu knew that yes, things had changed, and yes, Honda was probably under some pressure to please his superior, but why wasn't he trying to understand where she was coming from? Had all those moments fighting the forces of evil side by side amounted to nothing? True, Anzu might never have befriended Honda if it weren't for his friendship with Jounouchi, and her friendship with Yugi, and Yugi's friendship with Jounouchi. But still.

Anzu did her best to appear contrite. "I'm sorry guys, I really don't do that stuff, all the staff knows it, all the regulars know it. I understand it would be fun for you guys and I'd love to help but if I make an exception then everyone's going to want a lap dance, you know? Maybe you'd like Trisha better? Her ass is... out of this world." She was running out of things to say, just wanted to run out and hide, or maybe grab the shot glass, break it on the table and punch it in Honda's eye socket. Her heart was beating fast. She started getting up. Honda did too.

"Aw come on Anzu, for old times' sakes. Don't leave us hanging. Have a drink, dance a bit, have fun, enjoy life, you know." She started leaving. He grabbed her arm. She froze. She wondered if he was drunk. He neared her, as if to speak to her in confidence, and she could not smell the trace of alcohol in his breath. "Come on, Anzu. Do this for Sarge. Do it for me, for old times' sake. You know?" And then he had that face, that good natured, adult-kid face he'd do whenever he was around Shizuka. Were these two together? Did he grab her by the arm, too, when he couldn't get what he wanted?

One of the military men behind him stood up and she regained her senses. She wanted to beat the shit out of Honda but felt like retching at her powerlessness, her inability to make him understand that no means no. What was wrong with him? Where was the somewhat good guy she'd known? Had he changed that much? Could people change that much?

Almost instantly, Lars was there, grabbing Honda by the nape. "Hey buddy, be careful with Annie okay. No touchin' the girls, we got an understandin', do we? No touchin'." Anzu broke free as Honda turned his attention to the bouncer. She ran to the backstage and tried pulling herself together, her chest heaving. Back at the table, she could see Lars restraining Honda and two more bouncers joining in.

"Anzu, ANZU, YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! Come on, we're friends, just for old times' sake. ANZU!"

.

.

.

EXTRA LONG AN This was written as a reply to a review by the lovely Lily-Liegh.

I'm aware that positioning a pairing protagonist, especially when they are 'one of the good guys' in canon, was a gamble. We all like to think that the characters we like are perfect. I think, though, that if I had tried to wedge in some of Honda's POV or at least some background story to explain how he and Anzu drifted, it would have made the pill easier to swallow. I hadn't thought of that and I thank you for pointing it out.

I guess what I tried to show in that fic is the internal conflict and dilemna that many girls and women face, of having men which are dear to them acting disrespectfully towards them as women, or displaying sexist and misogynistic behaviours. I am female and have several male friends with whom I get along really well, but who, from time to time, will say something which goes against my values (say, like, something pro-pornography or about some women being good and others being sluts, etc.), and they are so oblivious to it that broaching the topic becomes very difficult - we often come across as hot tempered or overreacting when we do so, and sometimes put our friendship at risk in the process - because sometimes, they even feel attacked by our objections, and their feelings get hurt in the process.

Here, I wanted to portray Honda as one of those guys, who wanted to pay his respects to Anzu by offering her a drink and seeing nothing wrong with asking a stripper to do a lap dance for someone else - it's her job, after all, no? I imagined it would be very plausible that Honda, after years away from his friends and in the macho environment of the military, and eager to please his colleagues, including a superior, would act like this.

Well, if I had had more time, and if I was a more skillful writer, this would have ended up in the story, and not in a side note :) It might also be the case that maybe Honda wasn't the right sweetheart to do the job of illustrating that idea.