Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Poseidon or any of the related characters. All I own are this story's plot and the Bartender.
Author's Note: Second of the two One-Shots I had been working on. I loved the Posedion movies (old, better than new perhaps, but only because of the christmas tree scene) and after watching the new one again, this idea came to mind. Hope you enjoy.
It has been fifteen years since Dylan Johns dove head first into a sea of trouble and survived what is now known as the greatest ocean tragedy since Titanic. Yes, fifteen years and a lot can change in that amount of time: society, presidents, and most certainly the way a person feels and looks.
Gray was creeping forward over his scalp, evicting the blonde that once stood in its place and making the previous hair color just another faded memory. His once tan skin was paling and wrinkling as the effects of gravity finally came to take their toll on the handsome man. He was almost fifty now and if the graying hair and paling skin didn't give it away, his eyes most certainly did. The sky blue orbs were not as appealing and full of life as they once were.
"What can I get you, sir?" The young bartender asked, his hands both on the oaken counter with his fingers spread. It was an awfully aggressive stance for someone who was so new to life and working in such a ritzy place.
"A scotch," Dylan replied, his voice gruff and unharmonious even to him.
The young bartender raised an eyebrow at the older man, "On the rocks?"
Dylan nodded as his eyes fell back to the counter. His arms were crossed in front of him, with his elbows just resting on the counter. The bartender came back with his scotch; Dylan once again nodded, this time in acknowledgment.
He picked up the glass and took a drink. The liquor stung as it worked its way down his throat, but after the second and the third even that numbed and drifted away into only a memory. He wondered if Robert were still alive, if he would be sitting right next to him - sharing a drink to remember what had happened.
Robert Ramsey was a real life hero - he had saved people as a fire fighter, as a mayor, and finally giving his life to give the Poseidon survivors a chance. He had been twice the man that Dylan had been before he set foot on the ship.
"Hard day?" The bartender questioned, upon seeing an unsettling look on the man's features. He figured he lost a hundred thousand or so in stocks - that was usually what big, rich guys like Mr. Johns came in the bar for. The young bartender had witnessed ten or twelve of these guys every week.
"A great man died on this date, fifteen years ago," Dylan replied, finishing the glass of scotch. The bartender refilled the glass; it was awfully slow at the bar today.
"Oh?" He asked, intrigued. The bartender wondered if Mr. Johns had been gay all along; had he been checking out the young bartender as he walked to his other customers?
"He was a hero. He saved my life, and hundreds of others," Dylan explained, in a languidness that was almost appalling. He took another drink from the scotch, "He saved four others and myself, fifteen years ago."
"From what?"
"The Poseidon."
"The what?"
"It was a cruise ship that capsized after a rouge wave hit it."
"Oh, I remember now, but wait, didn't the newspapers say that you were the hero, Mr. Johns?" He asked, confused.
"I found a way out," Dylan replied.
"Bartender!" A soft, southern accent disrupted the air, and the bartender scuffled away to get her another drink. Probably a
Mint Julep, as it would be the traditional, almost stereotypical, drink for a lady from Kentucky to devour.
Dylan fell back into his own thoughts as the bartender went to appease his other customers. Jennifer and Christian had gone on to get married almost thirteen years ago. They had their first child, Robert Dylan, ten years ago, and their second, Alexis Jane, two years later. Last that Dylan had heard, they were still just as happy as always - although, this day was always particularly hard for them. That little fact didn't exactly surprise him, and he couldn't begin to imagine the regret that Christian sometimes felt knowing that his would-be father-in-law gave his life knowingly to save them.
Richard Nelson was already very old, not to mention suicidal, when he boarded the Poseidon. After 'cheating death', as Nelson would have said, he had a newfound appreciation for life. He spent his time really living - spending days with those who were important to him (including Dylan, Maggie, and even young Connor), and doing all the stereotypical things that people do when they feel like they've got limited time left or had the spirit of life rushed back into them. He went sky diving, rock climbing, you name it, he probably did it. Nelson had also found a partner, not too long after the Poseidon mishap, and as far as Dylan could tell, they were very much in love. They fought for gay rights and got married in California, when gay marriage was legalized there. Unfortunately, he died seven years after he met Dylan and the others, surrendering to time in the end. He was in the happiest relationship and best physical shape of his life when he passed away in his sleep.
Dylan took a drink of scotch for the memory of his deceased friend. The bartender came back, and filled up the glass once again.
"Better slow down, or you'll be drunk before it's midnight." The tender said, motioning to the clock. 10:55 PM, at this rate, he would be drunk long before midnight.
The gruff millionaire shrugged, took a drink and motioned to a new arrival, "You have a customer." Dylan just wanted to be left alone.
It had been a very difficult past few years. Maggie had fallen in love with Dylan while on Poseidon; she had admired how committed he was, and how much he cared for Connor and herself, despite his lack of knowing them. Maggie and Dylan had dated for three years when he finally decided to ask her to marry him. They wed, and then, only two years later, they divorced. They were no longer happy together and decided it was for the best. Maggie took it okay, but only after moving herself and her son to Colorado after Nelson died. If Dylan had to guess, he would have to say that she didn't have any reason left to stay. Dylan tried dating again, but every date was the same stale senerio and the dates always left him wanting to be with Maggie again.
By now, Connor was an alumni of the University of Michigan and working as an architect. Nelson had inspired him or, at least, that was was Dylan had always assumed. Connor always kept in touch; Dylan had heard from him just two days before. Connor had told him that he was thinking about proposing to his girlfriend of five years, and Dylan had encouraged him to 'follow his heart'. If he didn't hear from the man he had grown to call 'son' tomorrow, he knew it would only be a matter of days.
"Another scotch?" The bartender questioned.
Dylan shook his head, "I think I've had my fill."
"I think so, too," A soft, feminine voice cooed softly from his right.
He glanced up and shot her the first real smile he had given in a long time, "What are you doing in New York?"
The brunette shrugged, "I decided it was time to visit an old friend."
"Did Connor tell you the good news?" He questioned.
She sat down beside him, "Of course he did, I'm his mother."
Dylan looked over at Maggie and smiled, "It's been a long time."
"I know it has Dylan," She replied, softly.
"What made you decide to come back?"
"Connor; he said you haven't been sounding like yourself lately. He thinks your depressed," Maggied explained matter of
factly, "And by the way you're drinking, I would have to agree."
She laid a warm, calming hand on his back, "What's wrong Dylan?"
He shook his head, "Do you know what the date is today?"
"Dylan, you have to quit blaming yourself. It's been fifteen years, fifteen Dylan, and no one else blames you for what Mr. Ramsey did. It wasn't your fault that he died; you gave everyone a fighting chance - without you, Connor, Christian, Jennifer, Nelson, and myself would have never made it out. You are a hero," She reminded him, as she had so many times before. She had sighted that as the reason for their divorce - he was always blaming himself for things that could not be helped. He was in constant remorse, and it dragged her down. It was hard to leave him, but she couldn't keep living like that and she couldn't understand how he survived all those years.
"You have to stop blaming yourself."
"I love you maggie," He told her, quietly. Silently wishing he hadn't of said it at such an awkward time, or maybe not at all, "I mean, I still love you."
"I know you do," She replied, softly.
Dylan stared off at the wall for a while and neither he nor Maggie could bring themselves to say anything. After fifteen minutes or so, Maggie sighed, "Well, I think I should be getting you home now."
He looked up at her, "Do you think things will ever be the same - for us?"
A silence filled the air, "I don't think it ever could be."
He smiled softly, "I don't either." There was another short pause, "Don't worry about me Maggie, I can find my way home alright, just go on. Go back to the hotel or wherever your staying."
Maggie sighed, grasping her purse in one hand and her keys in the other, "I was going to stay with you."
"But you said," He rejected softly.
Maggie rolled those big brown eyes that Dylan had once loved so much, "Things will never be the same, but that doesn't mean we can't -- reminisce."
Dylan blinked a few times, trying to make sure that she, Maggie, was not just another scotch-induced hullicination. When he realized that she was indeed standing there he smiled softly at her. Never before in all the time he had known her had she been so forward. It was shocking, but he wasn't about to object to it.
The next morning, the shirtless Dylan arose from bed stretching. His bones creaked quietly and his muscled ached; the man walked out into the hallway and heard the door close softly. Had Maggie left without even saying goodbye? Why had she come in the first place? Dylan sighed, walking down the hallway in a pair of gray sweats and looking into the living room. It was empty, Maggie's coat and purse were gone. She had left.
He didn't have much time to mourn her leaving him again; it was another day, and there was business to be done. He strode into his vast kitchen, glancing at the fridgerator. It had been customary for Maggie to leave a note whenever she went out while Dylan was sleeping or doing business, but fridge was void of anything. He sighed as he headed for the coffee pot, then poured himself a cup. At least she had made the coffee, he thought, that was nice of her.
The days went by listlessly as he went from place to place, bluffing and winning just as he always had. The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. Connor married and had children, Christian & Jennifer's children had children, and Dylan grew older. Time passed by just as it always had, while life drifted away just as the Posedion drifted into the ocean all those years ago.