AN: Thing that takes place after 'R&B's P'. For fun!
Juanita eyes the group with apprehension. It's not that there's a lot of them-they get largeish groups from Gotham all the time, usually from the mob-but it is a little weird, because these guys aren't mobsters. But no, it's mostly the one they haven't let out of their sight since they got here. He's a kid, or close, and, well, the hovering makes her wonder if he's, like...not here willingly.
You know.
And it's just...a couple of days ago, a very drunk, very belligerent guest had been getting on one of the waiters-just one of those things, happens too often but hey-and the kid had gotten involved. The guest had backed off, made a run for it when some of the others had showed up, and the kid had promptly been manhandled into a chair.
Weird. It's just a weird situation all around and she doesn't like it.
Today's her lucky day. They're all outside, and the kid's sprawled in one of the sun loungers with a book. The others are either nowhere to be seen or in the water-two of them are attempting to dunk the big one in the surf, but so far he hasn't so much as slid in the sand. They're far enough away, though, that if she acts casual about it, she should be able to approach the kid without drawing suspicion. She works here. She has to check in with the guests, make sure everything's all good, yes?
Up close, he looks terrible; sickly pale, with cuts and bruises mottling what little skin's visible. He's not dressed like a normal tourist, either, instead going with long, loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt that clings to the outlines of bandages wrapped around his midsection. He's got a knee brace, too, a good one, and that explains, at least a little, why he's usually got someone with him. The only normal thing he's wearing is the pair of large, mirrored sunglasses that do very little to hide or even obscure the brand on his cheek.
She thinks he's asleep, at first, but then she takes one more step and his head snaps sideways, sunglasses barely hanging on.
"Sorry to startle you," she says, trying for an easygoing smile. She gets a shy one in return.
"Not your fault. Did you need something?"
"Just checking in. Would you like a drink, or a snack? Our shrimp cocktail-"
"That's not what you wanted," he says gently. Fine.
"Are you okay?" Okay, it's blunt, but still. "Because we can absolutely get you out of this situation if you're not."
The kid laughs and sinks back, one arm draped carefully across his ribs.
"I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I'm not a-oi!" In the water, the big man has finally turned on the other two and is carrying one of them out to sea. "If he drowns, I drive back!" Whatever that's about, it stops the guy cold and he hurls his cargo into an oncoming wave. The kid sighs and mutters something about idiots before turning back to her. "They didn't kidnap me, I promise. Thanks for the concern, though. Means a lot."
If he says so…
"You okay, sir?"
Eep!
She's brushed aside by a man with a backpack, who crouches down and unzips it.
"I'm fine. Just getting a drink."
"No alcohol," the man warns. The kid's eyebrows go up like he's rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.
"I'm not," he grumbles, then turns to her and gives her a more confident smile. "C'n I get a raspberry lemonade, though?"
"Sure thing. Anything for you, sir?"
"No, thanks." He sounds distracted. "You take your antibiotics?"
"Thought I had to take 'em with food."
"It's like you're trying to die."
"I'm not-!" The kid sighs. "C'n I get some of those fried plantains with that?" The man gives him a hard stare. "Those are food!"
"I am this close to dragging you back to the hotel-"
"Don't, they're already worried you idiots kidnapped me-"
"We didn't," the man says to her, and it's the most unconvincing thing she's ever heard. "There. Now come on, you have to eat something else."
"I'll eat more at dinner, I'm not hungry."
"Fine. But if you puke, I'm going to say I Told You So."
"You say that anyway."
"Shut up." Out of nowhere, a bottle slaps against the kid's palm. "If I had my way, you'd still be in a nice, sterile hospital bed. Do not push it."
"Okay, okay. That'll be it, thanks."
"That'll be right out."
When she gets back, maybe fifteen minutes later, the man with the backpack is gone and the kid's asleep, sunglasses halfway down his nose and the paperback splayed across his chest. He's not alone; one of the men from the water is lounging next to him, slathering sunscreen on his arms.
"What do-oh. Step back. Hey, boss?" No response. The guy grimaces, mutters, "This is gonna suck," and leans over to poke the kid's elbow.
The reaction is sudden and explosive; his hand shoots up to grab the man's wrist and he pulls himself halfway up, sunglasses falling off his face and book tipping into the sand. His...friend...just stays still for a minute before nudging at his shoulder with his free hand.
"Hey. S'okay. S'just me."
"Drouot…?"
"Yeah. Mark's gonna pitch a fit if you don't take your meds, so, uh, wakey-wakey."
The kid lets go and sinks back, breathing hard, before leaning down to rescue his book and his sunglasses.
"Sorry."
The guy-Drouot-waves a hand.
"I hate to wake you up, but, uh. Yeah. Mark's scary."
The kid visibly bites back something, if the mischievous grin is anything to go by.
"Mm-hm. Thanks."
"Can I get anybody anything else?"
"I'm good."
"I've got a piña colada coming," Drouot says. The kid gives him a look that promises murder.
"If you sing so much as one line, I swear on God, you'll be another missing tourist." He leans up to take his food from her. "I mean it. One. Line."
Great, now that song will be in her head for a year. She's with the kid on this one.
"I do not want this," he's saying now. Then a wheedling, "I won't tell him if you don't."
"He's gonna know, and he's gonna be pissed. I'm open to fighting, like, Batman-" The kid snorts. "-but Mark will literally murder me if you try to get out of it, so. Sorry, sir."
"You should have left me to die," the kid groans, before handing her a handful of bills. "It looks nice. Thanks."
"Enjoy!"
She's not far when Drouot receives his piña colada. She knows this because he hums a few bars, resulting in a furious, "I wasn't kidding-"
"If you rip your stitches-"
"You'll go down for it, because you provoked me."
"That's fair."
Aaaand there it is. The song's in her head now. Thanks a lot, asshole.
THE END
