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"You going to see him after this?" Ponyboy shines a light into Dallas' eye, making his eye water. He's close — yet there's no scent from him even now. After a fight, Dallas' senses are always sharp, haywire. Not for the first time, Dallas wishes Ponyboy wasn't on suppressants. After a fight this good, he wanted something more than a drink in a bar with a friend. Or at least, wanted it first.
Ponyboy is adamant though. No relationships and not with a guy who he helped in the ring, especially. So Dallas just flicks a half grin, trying not to think about burying his nose in Pony's pretty soft neck and fucking him on the bench until his legs give out, until they're both more than satisfied with each other. "Yeah, always do. Why, you lookin' to join me and Two at the bar?"
A huff leaves Ponyboy as he checks Dallas' other eye. "No, I gotta go soon as I'm done. Going back to Tulsa for my brother's birthday." He clicks off the light. "You look okay, but get water, some food and ice up."
"So the usual," Dallas grins, lip split, side of his face still aching. He's used to this, the fact that soon he'll be feeling worse but not wanting to leave yet. He didn't get his bell rung at least, and when he lost he made it look real enough to get the money owed to him. It still makes him feel cheap, though, having to do this, having to just take the fall when told to even when he knew better, when he knew he could do it. And yet, it's worth it here in the locker room for just a few moments, with the pretty Southern nurse tending to him, with his pretty auburn hair and his sharp teeth even if he had no scent.
A grin flashes in Pony's mouth. "Don't stay palling around all night with Two-Bit, Dally. Ice up." He gives one last check, running his fingers on Dallas' face, checking his cuts. He lingers on Dallas left ear just for a moment; no matter how many times Dallas tells him that he's partially deaf there and that there's no need need to check on it, he does. But once his fingers (long, cool on Dallas' skin), he leans down to get his nursing supplies, unaware of how Dallas looks at him, how he wants him.
Then he's up, brown eyes bright, waving. "See you in a few weeks Dally. If you need me, I gave Ace my brother's number."
"See you, nurse," Dallas winks. Ponyboy shakes his head and goes down the hallway then out of the locker room. He's sure that Ponyboy hasn't ever been an athlete with his temparament, yet as he walks away, Dallas can't help but like the way he looks, as his body moves, as he gives every signal that he's exactly who Dallas would want and not anyone else. Then he turns the corner, leaves.
He should know better than to keep wanting someone unattainable. His tongue runs on his split lip; it stings, tasting of blood. Then again, he felt like that about so many things, wanting what he couldn't have or wanting what was never for him.
He shakes his head, stands up and knows that he's only got a few minutes to leave anyway. He's got a meeting to make.
"Jesus you took a beating," Dallas rolls his eyes when he limps into his seat. Two-Bit keeps talking anyway, already on his third beer, "Jaw's gonna swell up like hell in the morning."
The nice thing about this bar is that it's quiet. Most mob bars are whenever the higher ups were in and this one always has people meeting on match nights. It's great for two fighters to sit down and get a drink. Dallas doesn't have to ask for the cup of water from the bartender as he sneers back. "All that blood yours?"
"Not all of it," Two-Bit grins. He's still in his black wrestling boots, the laces stained with the aforementioned blood, even if it's hard to see. The shorts are half pulled up, his tank fresh. His jacket is slung over a chair but even as he talks, Dallas notices something is conspicuously absent from it, the one thing he came here to see. The one thing that Two-Bit had been excited about for ages, and simply wasn't there. "Just some. Yancy barely got the blade out to cut me right."
That's not good. Dallas' eyebrows furrow as the bartender sets down a glass of ice and pitcher of water. The evening news plays at a dull volume. "Thought you were fighting Sam tonight?"
A laugh — high, hyena like and sharp — leaves Two-Bit at his words. "Yeah so did I. Til I got told I wasn't. And I wasn't getting the belt, neither."
"Jesus, really?" The anger he has is just as sharp, watching Two-Bit drain his beer. Knowing that wasn't gonna be first, wasn't gonna be his last if what he's saying is true. "They said they'd give it to you! You at least get the money?"
"If I got the money, you'd see it," Two-Bit looks bitterly at the bar top, mouth dancing in that horrible laugh that he sometimes gets when upset. The laugh that had earned him his in ring name of the Hyena, that still usually got raucous roars and applause from the audiences, that made him stick out more than others. "They decided Yancy should get the old man's title. Not me. All cause I ain't as big and cause I'm the late one."
A simmering silence pulses between them as Dallas pours his water into the glass. It's years of history in that statement. Some he knows through conversations with Ponyboy and Two-Bit, what with them being childhood friends since Ponyboy was ten. Some he simply didn't know, for that same reason, years too deep with them both for Dallas to know more. If Ponyboy were here, he could help. He could at least ease the conversation, but he's not. His boundaries are clearly reserved for the locker room, for patching Dallas up.
He takes a swig of the water. It goes down cold, deep. On the television he can see Randy Adderson grinning in that snake way Dallas hates. Two-Bit pops another beer, that horrible hyena like laugh still bubbling up the surface.
His jaw is starting to ache as Two-Bit goes on. "Can you believe I left Oklahoma looking for him? Trying to find my Daddy and not only do I find him, my dumbass really thought I could step into his shoes?" The laugh comes up again and Randy Adderson keeps talking low on the television, smug and all too assured of himself. He hates taking a fall in the ring, but at least he doesn't have to really deal with Randy trying to shove a mic in his face, make him talk about pointers.
"Two," Dallas cuts through, "It wasn't like that exactly man, come on. Your mom needed the money for that kid you knew to take care of him."
"And Johnny died anyway," this time his voice is wet and Dallas pulls his eyes from the tv to look at Two-Bit. At the way his head hangs, at the hopeless, angry look on his face, the way his mouth pulls into an uncomfortable grimace as he goes on. "Got the money from two matches and kid died anyhow. And really... really thought I could make something of it, doing what my Daddy wanted. Fuck was I doing?"
It's a heavy burden to have that on his shoulders. Pony has spoken a little about it in the times he's patched Dallas up or done his wrapping. How his friend had killed someone in defense of Ponyboy, how they'd gone to a church together, for a week. A fire and a broken back and Two-Bit wanting to do everything for him cause he didn't have a family who gave a shit.
How they'd tried to do right by someone who had nothing but them and Two-Bit had made desperate measures.
Ones that turned into this, eyes brimming with tears over beers at a bar. "He looked happy I got the money, won. Even though he was dying, I ain't ever see that kid smile so big." His voice goes quiet, his shoulders slump. "And I guess I been chasing that high since and being stupid."
"If was just about winning that, you'dve quit already," he has to point it out before Two-Bit goes further, before he can slump more into the bartop. "Money or getting that from someone else."
"Not much different from when my Dad would cheer," Two-Bit shakes his head."I just don't know what I'm doing if they're gonna say every match I'm in has to go to a brother of mine or some newcomer who ain't know his elbow from his ass. I feel like a jobber who's never gonna move up, just in the ring until—"
Both of them pause when the door opens. Voices come up and in no time Dallas sees men in suits coming up steps and onto the bar floor. The colognes are familiar, get his haunches up immediately.
Texas steps out. Dallas can hear Two-Bit carefully set down his beer. Even though he's emotional, even though he's upset, they both know that the sight of Dallas' father is cause to be quiet, to stiffen up. He and the other mob guys walk out from their meeting room, into the light of the bar, the emptiness of the rest of it stark. Texas could come over there, order them to do a job on the side. He could come over, ask about the pay, about the fight.
Dallas is only grateful that his bad ear is turned to Texas as he looks over at him. If he wants him, he'll have to gesture and acknowledge him. He can't just bark out his name, on the off chance that Dallas won't hear him. His body is curled up, aches from the fight starting to really take root now as he watches his grey haired father look at them.
Then he turns away, exiting the bar with the other mob guys. He doesn't see Two-Bit relax so much as feel it beside him. The television seems to get a little louder, and Dallas lets go of his glass of water.
For a moment, neither of them talk. Texas' presence, what he could demand quieting Two-Bit for a moment, making some of their problems smaller for just a moment. When the door shuts, Dallas glances at Two-Bit, at his flushed face, at his clenched jaw.
Wordlessly, Dallas picks up his glass. Two-Bit picks up his own, and their glasses clink. They polish them off, a silent agreement to talk about everything later, and not now.