Disclaimer: not mine. Waaaaaaaaaa!
A/N: Okay, this is a total reconstruction of this story. I came up with the idea a while back and I reread it recently and decided it was poorly written when I was a naïve young freshman failing Mrs. Brady's lit class. So, here is the new and improved version, now from Beni's POV because he is so much fun to write! Now if only I could get around torturing poor Beni... Oh well, I'll just have to have several ice packs on hand. Heh heh. I mean, Pooooor Beni!
Friendship's a Funny thing
By Kitten
I suppose my life up until my eighteenth year wasn't all that bad. Back then I thought it was hell, and, puh, who am I trying to kid, it was. I grew up in Hungary, Budapest actually, lovely place. Lovely while you're not fleeing for your life from street gangs or dying of starvation, that is. Allow me to elaborate: I grew up in a slum of Budapest, where people that you knew died everyday, where roaches and rats as big as dogs ran threw the street, a place I now fondly refer to as piszkas allat. Hell.
I thought it couldn't get any worse, that when you're down, the only way to go is up.
Just when I thought I'd hit rock bottom, someone handed me a shovel.
It seemed to be a normal day, the light rain being squeezed out of the clouds, pigeons cooing to each other. I remember thinking that day, how nice it would be to be one of those pigeons, how simple...
My mother was trying to hide her tears, to protect me, I suppose. I was old enough to know what had happened, that my father wouldn't be coming home that night for supper. Mama was treating me like a child, and I let her, feeling that she needed me to be her son.
My father had worked down at the tracks, train tracks that is. Everyone knows is not exactly a safe job, but a job pays money, and money pays for food and shelter. Men lost their arms and legs down at the tracks, horrible accidents. But it seemed it would never happen to Elek Gabor, as he always came home every night.
He was proud of me, though I don't really know what for. Maybe it was simply because I was his son. I had never done anything particularly extraordinary, except maybe learn to read. That was a big deal to my family. Or maybe because I picked up some English. He was always talking about how we'd all pick up and go to America someday.
Suddenly, everything changed.
It was just me and Mama for a while, working to keep bread, or crumbs as it were, on the table. Papa never had allowed her to work, even when things got rough. He always took care of the family. And I tried. I really did try, but...
I slithered through a few jobs, but it just wasn't enough to make ends meet without him, even with Mama taking on a job as a seamstress.
That's when I became the conniving weasel people take me for today.
Conning and pickpocketing weren't necessarily righteous jobs, but hey, it's not like I joined the mob or anything. I'd never even killed anyone...
Anyways, I'm not telling this story to be judged. So fuck you.
We were getting along decently, Mama and I, for about two years, even before that bastard came along.
I know she didn't love him. I know she'd never cling to him just because he was a meal ticket, but I'm sure as hell she didn't love that bastard O'Connell.
Don't get me wrong, I understand that widows often times remarry, simply for the fact that is they don't, they're doomed. Widows were right down there with unwed mothers, it seemed...
I could've dealt with it, I guess, if that goddam American wasn't such a prick. I could tell right away that I wasn't going to like him. He had a temper, and he seemed the type to drown his soul in booze more often than not.
So I put up with him, for my mother's sake. After all, I'd be gone soon and I didn't want to leave her with no one. And if she wanted to marry him, hey...
I may be incredibly intelligent, but that doesn't mean people listen to me.
It wasn't until the day that James O'Connell and Alisz Gabor exchanged vows that I regretted it.
It wasn't until I met the son of a bitch that would ruin my life...
Oh, God, did I regret it.
Like father, like son, I suppose...
Rick, that was his name, Rick O'Connell.
Though I don't ever recall calling him Rick...
I can't say that we hit it off well at our first meeting. It was kind of a mutual disregard of one another...
Great, a new brother. Just what I wanted. It was like opening presents on your birthday and getting socks...
I wasn't about to pretend that I wanted a new sibling, especially one twice my size and three times my weight.
As can be imagined, we weren't exactly what you'd call close.
I was practically overjoyed when he signed up with the French Foreign Legion to waltz through Libya...
Unfortunately, I wasn't quite rid of him.
I stayed at home a while longer, just long enough to see my suspicions through, unfortunately. That is, just long enough to have James O'Connell's drunken ass beat the hell out of me.
I made sure he had never laid a hand on my other, and I left. I just got up and left, hoping to maybe find a real job, hoping to dig myself out of the hellhole that I found myself living in. Regrettably, old habits die hard...
Let's get this straight: I'm not a bad person, but I may have made some not-so-wise decisions. For example, impersonating a clergyman in order to steal from an extravagant church may not have been overly brilliant on my part.
But it was fun.
Hey, even geniuses have their weak moments...
Anyways, those Catholics are always preaching 'Give to the needy!' Well where the hell are they when I'm needy? They're all full of shit.
Well, maybe I shouldn't be complaining. They gave me a choice: time in prison, or join the French Foreign Legion.
Obviously, I chose the latter.
I don't know why I ever joined the goddam Legion. I constantly found myself regretting the decision, continuously thinking how much better prison might be.
I was only here because some damn alter boy realized that I wasn't actually a monk...
Then again, I was happy for the regular meals. I suppose you could've said I was content. Except for the shooting and the violence and any mention of pain...
Unfortunately, my habit of picking pockets didn't make me especially popular with the other children...
I hadn't been there a month and I was being held up by the collar of my shirt by a couple of legionnaires, one a big burly bastard by the name of Tommy Rourke, some Irish-American scumbag who had temper like a disgruntled lion, and his little French buddy Jacques Legout, about as much a greasy sniveling thief as I was. Rourke was the muscle and neither had any brains.
Legout, was holding a shiny blade to my throat quite unceremoniously, not exactly as relaxing as a Lay-Z Boy chair might've been...
"Oh, c'mon," I whimpered. Yes, I whimpered. I am not a coward, I simply don't like pain. "It was just a little trinket..."
"That watch was gold," Rourke hissed, his breath having a foul stench. "That was gonna buy me some much needed company tonight. You stole it, now give it back."
"I-I," I was at a loss for words as I tried to bullshit my way out of it. That watch could save my life, financially, that is. Or at least buy me a drink.
"Problem, boys?" That was my oh-so-beloved stepbrother, O'Connell. Just my luck, he had been newly promoted captain and just transferred to our regiment; it seemed he was so full of himself that no one could show him up. At first I thought he was just joining in on the fun, but apparently he felt he had some family-tied obligation to save my neck (figuratively and literally).
As much as I hate to admit it, that was one time when I was remotely relieved that he was around.
He beat the sons of bitches to a pulp, and I must say, it was quite amusing on my part. Until he started the lecture.
"You should learn to stay outta trouble," O'Connell said to me, so beginning what I knew would be the inevitable sermon.
"What are you, my mother?" I groaned back.
"I can bet your mother would slap you if she heard you be so impolite..."
"I'm amazed at your intelligence..." He just looked at me, like a puppy expecting a reward for performing a new trick. "What, do you want me to thank you? Thank you. Happy?" I was just about to tell him to go fetch...
I did resent the fact that someone I loathed had just saved my life, but that was just it: he saved my life.