~ Disclaimer: I do not own anything~

IV: Trainwreck Thursday, Part 1

The silver-haired man whistled to himself as he straightened the pour tip and replaced the glass bottle to it's spot on the shelf. Having just handed out another round to a patron and his party on the left, tonight was going pretty damn well as far as he was concerned. The lights were a low, the music was loud, the bodies were hot, and at… he glanced at the clock on the wall…eleven on the dime, this party was finally getting somewhere.

He slipped a hand in his pocket which contained several bills, feeling the edges to get some idea of where he stood. So, his tips weren't so great yet. But so long as he managed to sneak away from the bar to one of the open spaces of the lobby where the guests would crowd and begin to dance, it would all work out just fine. Hell, in these jeans with these boots, he could probably make half his rent tonight if he worked it.

He chuckled arrogantly to himself, and smiled, eyes finding the mirror behind the bar.

Gilbert ruffled his hair with one hand and determined that oh yes, he would do well tonight.

"PEEP!"

He sighed, looking up to an alcove concealed above the bar, where patrons likely had no idea that a little bird was sitting, and ruffling his pale yellow feathers in concern.

"Calm down…. We haven't had a problem in weeks, we didn't even have to make a call yesterday, and damn I thought Lud was gonna murder that guy," he shrugged, knowing that the music would cover up his dialogue.

"Peep Peep…PEPEPEEP!"

He growled with slight irritation in his voice. It was Trainwreck fucking Thursday, Gilbert was not gonna continue getting chewed out by his pet.

"You think you got problems? I'm sitting here arguing with a damn bird and you think you got problems?"

If a bird could sigh in defeat, Gilbird did just that, and his owner grinned merrily at his success.

That is until a familiar shriek echoed from across the lobby, followed by the sound of shattered glass. For the third time since business had picked up.

Gilbert's crimson eyes narrowed as he shook his head, how many more times is this gonna happen? It was just a waste of perfectly good beer…

As anticipated, the frazzled Canadian made his way over to the bar, looking possibly more horrified than last time. It wasn't doing much for his color, he was already a bit pale. Not that Gil was one to talk of course. But the waiter seemed to sense his dismay, addressing it at the outset.

"I know, I know, I'm wasting, I'm stupid, I'm sorry. But I'm gonna need another lager…" Matthew mumbled angrily under his breath, impressed that his stuttering seemed to vanish when he was frustrated and frankly not wanting to make eye contact with the man who seemed intent on making his life more difficult. Because, why not? The universe didn't already have it out for him or anything.

Gilbert was not thrilled. No, of course not. The new waiter couldn't at least ask properly, something like "I know, I know, I have failed you and your awesomeness…but might I repent and get this poor, desperate customer another drink, and make it up to you later tonight if you would grant me the honor?" The bartender laughed to himself at the mental image. Yeah right, not this bumbling waiter.

Matthew had stood patiently given his mood, or so he though until he heard the bartender laughing, and he clenched his fists at his side.

"GILBERT!"

The taller man blinked in surprise. Well that was something, at least we're using using names now. But that wasn't enough, this had to be remedied somehow, for the kid's own sake. He sighed.

"Listen Birdie, this has gotta stop…" his tone became more serious as he began to fill a glass from the tap.

"What. Are you talking about?" Matthew demanded, he wasn't particularly in the mood for another lecture about how miserable he was from this arrogant, self-absorbed, good for noth-

"THAT. That is what I'm talking about," Gilbert cut the new waiter off from his thoughts, holding the full glass in his hand, crimson eyes scowling. "You have got to chill. For god's sake its good that people are responding to ya, but you can't freak out every time they do. Hell, you'd probably making as good of tips as me, well almost, if you could just oblige a little bit! I mean, shit, no one's gonna accost you kiddo, your purity is not threatened by working here."

Violet eyes narrowed in disgust, "Okay. First, I know for a FACT that some of these people aren't old enough. They are freshman! And second, most of these people have obviously had waaaaayy too much to drink-"

"Something you should try sometime." The bartender snapped, unable to keep his commentary to himself and his tone was scathing. All this serious shit was going to give him wrinkles at this rate.

Matthew stuttered, flabbergasted, though sure that he was going to muster up a scorching comeback when two girls sitting next to each other at the bar began to giggle uncontrollably.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, correcting his tone to it's usual purr, "something the matter, ladies?"

The shorter of the two, cheeks furiously red while trying not to fall off the bar stool, finally got enough control to spit out, "Your boyfriend is so cute when he's angry!"

Red eyes opened in surprise, blinking slowly, well he actually wasn't expecting that one.

Matthew rolled his eyes with a look of disgust, "Oh, you do shut up once in a while. How nice." And promptly decided to not give any more of his time to this crap, grunted and ripped the glass out of the other's hand before trudging back to the other side of the lobby, where a customer was beginning to get grumpy about his missing drink.

Gilbert didn't protest as the drink was taken and watched with amusement as the frazzled boy stomped off.

Well, he was kinda cute when he was angry. The bartender muses to himself, watching the other leave. But boyfriend …not so much? Not too good at that. Occasional plaything would be nice, maybe, we'll see... if he has any personality beyond being a stuck-up, morally upright, pain in the ass...

He turned back to the two girls, leaning over the bar to whisper closely to them. But they don't need to know that. "Not yet…" he whined quietly, eliciting the expected squeal from the two inebriated young women.

As an interesting thought came to his awesome mind, as a small grin began to play on his lips and widened as he continued to speak. "But anyway, you said you think my friend's cute huh?"

Looks like he wasn't just going to make a killing a tips, actually, he was going to have some fun. The Prussian with the cheshire cat smile was officially up to something.

An unimposing man of normal height and stature, observed the Thursday nightlife from the street. As of yet, no one was overwhelmingly intoxicated, and he had yet to be buzzed to whichever hangout in about a three mile radius from the campus had a fight on their hands, or was about to.

He looked at his watch, scratching the scalp under his dark-blonde hair with the other hand. It was early yet, but not that far off of midnight. That's when the "fun" tended to start.

He was dressed casually enough, with beige pants, a white button-up and a dull brown peacoat that let him blend pretty well with the crowd that was beginning to form in waiting lines outside of each late-night hotspot. For all they knew, he was their age, though he wasn't really that far off, and was just another student looking for a good time.

It was amazing what these kids would tell you when they thought the wrong people weren't listening.

Then again, they weren't as acutely aware of the sleek black handgun that rested in its holster snugly against his ribs under his left arm. Nor, if they were lucky, would they come privy to the sight of the badge secured in his back pocket that identified him as Police Captain Arthur Kirkland.

Finding himself a bit exasperated at the night's potential, he found himself sitting on a bench while he had the chance. He sat in as relaxed a manner as possible and pulled his pager from his pocket, resting it on his leg.

What will it be tonight? He pondered while glancing up at what little of the sky he could see between the buildings.

Frankly, the last couple of weeks had been pretty calm, relatively. Just a few drunk and disorderlies, an almost fight, a few escorts. Little things.

Then again, he hadn't gotten a call to the usual disaster zone.

Come to think of it, that was concerning.

Arthur mumbled something incoherent and hung his head in dread.

He had the misfortune of knowing the owner of this particular dive, and even more unfortunately had the honor of visiting the place for what felt like almost every damn week because of some completely ridiculous situation.

Until recently. It had actually been quiet on the front line. For, lets see, he recounted in his mind, three weeks.

The police captain grunted, a bad feeling brewing in his gut. That couldn't be a good sign.

The blonde huffed as he made his way back to the kitchen to pick up the umpteenth order of sweet potato fries. Drunk people evidently loved potatoes. At the thought, the waiter concluded that his brother would get along very well with these sort of people.

He opened the kitchen door and stepped inside, realizing to his great relief that he had yet to have to return to the bar after that embarrassing little episode.

Boyfriend? He screamed mentally. They can't possibly be serious…he's just…just…

"Matt?" Toni's voice cut his thoughts and Matthew turned his attention to the other man who was holding a platter of orange fries with a look of concern on his face.

"Oh, ummm…. Yeah. Fries, I need those, thanks," he muttered taking the dish.

"Are you okay, you looked umm…kinda stressed out there," the chef determined as he observed the fidgeting waiter.

Matthew tried to come up with a good excuse but sighed miserably and found himself looking at his feet.

"It's just…..ugh. I'm really really not good with this kind of thing. I mean these people, well not that I'm too good with any people, and then the damn bartender, and these girls, and…"

The Spanish man nodded, attempting a small smile of reassurance. "This is the worst night of the week Matt really, you just gotta get through it. Hey then you can get through anything I guarantee you! You're getting more efficient training than Francis could ever give ya just by keeping up with these orders and you keep going back out there no matter what. We've had people quit before just like that…"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah… we really were hurting for help, no one was kidding about that."

The waiter managed a small smile, and shook his head, bracing himself and straightening his shoulders. "Well these fries are getting cold…"

A loud clang from around the corner, caused both men to jump while a loud, angry voice followed shortly.

"ARE YOU GONNA GET THE FUCK BACK IN HERE AND HELP ME OR WHAT?"

Matthew watched as the other man's face went from his usual happy-go-lucky to intensely serious, dark eyes flashing in a manner the waiter had never witnessed.

"I will be back in a minute… Those wings better be done when I am and done right damn it!" he barked in a commanding tone, prompting the renewed and frantic clattering of pans without another sound.

Matthew blinked wide-eyed at the unwavering strength in the chef's voice.

Antonio looked at the waiter harshly for a moment, before snapping out of it, shaking his head, and returning to his bubbly self without skipping a beat.

"Well, gotta go! Lovi calls as you can hear!" He waved happily before turning. "I'm coming right now Lovviiiii, how are those wings?"

The blond man shook his head and hustled back out the door to deliver the platter to the waiting customers. The table of four accepted their dish happily and required little else for the time being. About to turn around and begin another round of table checks, Matthew swung himself promptly into the chest of his boss with a little shriek of surprise.

"Well, well," Francis looked down at his flustered employee with interest. "And how is my promising waiter doing tonight…"

He sighed, been doing that far to much tonight, "Busy. Crazy. Busy. Not in any particular order."

The waiter's exhaustion didn't go unnoticed by his employer, but he had already had a head's up from Antonio that the poor kid could use a breather.

"I suppose it is a bit much isn't it?"

He failed to come up with a sufficient response but merely shook his head wearily as his boss looked at the clock.

"Well, its soon midnight so that will mean round two of guests, why don't you take a break quick, get some fresh air or something before it starts."

Matthew looked up, violet eyes full of relief and surprise. But he was not about to complain. "Oh, oh, thank you," he said hurriedly. "Oh but what about my tables?"

Francis nodded understandingly, "Ah well, Feli can handle grabbing refills."

"Oh," and with that he really didn't feel like spending the time to wait around as he heard the owner call for the small, energetic man, and made his way quickly to the door.

As he opened the back door, he met the bouncer, who was likely on his way in to do another round inside, and nodded at him politely.

Ludwig casually held the door for the nervous new waiter, nodding in return and letting the smaller man pass before he entered inside.

Walking a few feet to the side of the door, Matthew proceeded to ungracefully, flop himself down onto the sidewalk and give his legs a rest.

"Maple…" He muttered, removing his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes, before placing them back on his face. His face tilted upward as he looked at the sky meekly, not even expressing the effort to think right now.

"You my friend, look exhausted…" came a subtle voice from his left.

Several feet away on the other side of the door, leaned a lanky, spiky-haired man, smoking from a long silver-colored pipe.

Matthew assessed the situation quickly. He looked normal enough, maybe about his age, dressed in a pinstripe shirt with a simple vest. He had a calm expression and pale eyes that didn't seem overwhelming judgmental. Matthew admitted that the eye patch was almost a bit seedy, but the scar stretching from underneath it and up onto the man's forehead was enough for the waiter to drop any concern. And given his current level of enthusiasm, he really almost didn't care.

"Yeah," Matthew responded, taking a deep breath, steadying himself. "That's about right."

The other man regarded him with a small tilt of the head, standing upright and taking a few steps closer while taking another inhale of the pipe.

"Do I know you? You look familiar?"

Here we go again. No, no you don't know me. "No, you're probably thinking of my brother Alfred Jones."

"Alfred Jones? That prick? No, no, I was thinking I seen you in the library. Maybe not…"

"Oh," Matthew blinked in surprise. "Oh yeah, maybe. I mean I work there sometimes…"

"Yeah, yeah, okay that would be it." The man smiled at him and extended a hand. "My name is Lars, I'm a DJ for the campus radio, we record upstairs in the building."

The waiter nodded, shaking the man's hand awkwardly. "Oh I'm umm.. Matthew Williams. Waiter-not-so-extraordinaire…" He managed a small, sarcastic laugh, which brought a smile to the other man's face.

He motioned to the empty space beside Matthew on the sidewalk. "Can I?"

Matthew shrugged, "Why not?" He dealt with plenty of other forward people tonight, at least this one was nice and sober.

As the Lars sat down beside him, the waiter became distinctly aware of his pipe and the smell that emanated from it. It didn't smell quite like the cigarette smoke that seemed for forever linger around in the street, it was strange, sweeter smelling.

Lars watched the quizzical look that appeared on the other man's face but decided he had little to worry about given that he didn't jump up or freak out or anything. Besides, he was pretty cute in that shy, adorable sort of way, despite the fact that he was really quite attractive but probably didn't know it.

He pulled the pipe from his lips and held it in his fingers towards the man on his right.

"Here, you could use a bit of relaxation right? You need it more than me…"

Pale eyes regarded him curiously and Matthew was not sure how to react. He never really drank or smoked or whatever. I mean it was just.. Not the kind of thing he got involved in. That tended to coincide with louder, more popular, more secure people than he, albeit they were often pretty stupid.

He didn't know if he ever heard of smoking making people relax, but he supposed he shouldn't say no to kindness, given how rough the night had gone thus far. Besides, this Lars guy didn't anywhere near as scary as most of what was going on inside.

"Umm…okay, thanks…" he muttered awkwardly, taking the pipe and not entirely what to do with it, put the end to his lips and quickly inhaled and exhaled, surprised at the taste.

Lars smiled, he's never done this before… interjecting as Matthew looked around uncertainly. "No no hon, you need to take a deep breath," he imitated doing the same, "and sort of hold it in for a little bit, not too long, you'll feel it."

"Oh…" the waiter mumbled shyly. Bars, waiting, assholes, smoking, it was like he was introduced to the entire world in about two days time.

Keeping in mind what the other man said, he took a deeper breath this time, holding the smoke in his chest. He thought he was doing fine when all the sudden he felt it, just like the other said he would. It burned like hell and he exhaled sudden with a few coughs.

"That's alright, that's alright…" Lars beamed, patting the blond on the back.

Matthew nodded, surprised at what was sort of a fuzzy feeling spreading from his chest. Okay… He took another drag off the pipe, more carefully this time.

Matthew returned to the restaurant about ten minutes later, looking notably better and feeling pretty damn okay about it if he did say so himself. I mean he did get himself a job, and there were some okay people, he got a fucking polar bear, and he just had a very nice stranger share his pipe with him. Nice.

Strolling inside with a slightly dazed but happy expression, he decided after some thought that his first course of action should definitely be to find Francis. Yes, find Francis, so that he knew that he was back and ready to start work again. Find Francis. Check,

The best part was that finding Francis meant walking, and Matthew had also decided that walking was suddenly more fun than it had been in a long time. So he began to make his way around, resisting the urge to put his arms out to imitate an airplane, and walked off not in any particular direction, looking for a scruffy Frenchman who would tell him pleasantly what to do next.

He didn't get far.

Two girls that he seemed to faintly remember from earlier, he thought, had approached him drunkenly and began to mutter happy things that he couldn't quite understand all the while tugging at his sleeve in an attempt to pull him towards the other side of the room.

The waiter was slightly confused at all the sudden attention, but allowed himself to be ushered into an area that was becoming more and more crowded. Have to give the customers what they want right? He grinned at the thought. He was totally doing it right!

To be continued…