January, 2015

Although it was never official, being ostracized from one's country was a more than a bitter pill for Erik to swallow. There were no sympathetic condolences for the loss of his ex-wife just a scant few months before, no concern as to where he would relocate to, no wonder if he had enough money left after a divorce (then a proper funeral.) Never mind the legal fees that followed the LaFlamme incident.

Erik made constant, mental reassurances to himself that moving back to New York was inevitable. Deep down, though, he knew that he was no longer welcome in Europe. LaFlamme's fans definitely saw to that. Erik couldn't say that he didn't deserve their hatred and scorn, but he didn't have to enjoy it. In fact, he wallowed in it. He just added it to the list of unjust wrongs made to him.

"Earth to Erik," a thick set of fingers snapped in front of his face. "The cab's here."

Erik jerked his head back at the gesture and blinked roughly. "Okay," he growled in reply when he managed to reorient himself back to the present. He bodily shouldered his knapsack, the bag having seen much better days, and tried to shelter the thinning canvas from the rain that steadily dripped from the lip of the overhead they had been sitting under.

"Pietro," Erik mumbled as an afterthought, "Seatbelt."

The teen snorted incredulously but made to buckle up anyway. Erik had the feeling that he should have reprimanded him for the attitude, but he already felt hypocritical enough as it was. He still couldn't understand why Pietro had chosen to stay with him, rather than do what Wanda had done: stay with Magda's brother and his family in Poland.

"Hey," a voice cut in his thoughts from the front seat. A dark-skinned young man placed a hand on the front passenger seat and turned his head to look at Erik meaningfully. "You too, sir. It's a rule in my cab. I'm not about to have a stranger's death on my conscious. No sir."

"Are you planning on putting us in some kind of danger?" Erik asked dryly. He didn't really expect an answer in reply and had in fact already started to listlessly look out the rain-splattered window when the younger man drummed his fingers against the headrest his hand was placed on.

"It's New York, sir," the cabbie answered back, but his tone of voice definitely had less bite than Erik's did. "You never know what's going to happen around here."

"Indeed," Erik replied with a little nod of his head. He thought of the first time he and Magda reunited. He thought of their first night together. He thought of the news of her death.

"Hey, Pensive Polly, can you put on your damn seatbelt so we can get going already?" Pietro griped from his side of the vehicle. He had removed an earbud and was clasping it tightly between two fingers as he waited for Erik to catch up to the program. Metallica burst through the little speaker, loud enough for Erik to wince at the damage to what it must be doing to the teenager's ears.

"Sorry," he managed to get out from his tight throat as he moved to do what the others were apparently waiting for. He clenched and unclenched his hands as they trembled. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to get the belt to click, and the cabbie turned around and began to pull out into the thick New York traffic. Erik caught Pietro's curious gaze on his hands. He clasped them and rubbed his damp palms together. "It's nothing."

Pietro shrugged indifferently and muttered, "Whatever," before he replaced the loose bud back into his ear. He crossed his arms over his chest and pointedly stared out the window.

It was impossible for the ride to be entirely silent. Darwin, the cabbie, was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and humming to himself. The rain was softly striking the windows and running in tiny rivulets across the glass. Pietro's music wasn't loud enough to discern the lyrics, but the bass was audible even with a seat between them vacant. And Erik couldn't help but notice that the closer they got to the South Bronx, the more frequent police sirens going off became.

There was another lull in traffic, and Darwin tried and failed to meet Erik's gaze through the rear-view mirror. So, he cleared his throat and casually announced, "I know you. I mean, I know who you are. I should. I've got a picture of you on my wall." He half-laughed awkwardly.

Erik frowned but didn't tear his gaze from the windowpane. "A little old for fanboy crushes, aren't you?" He ducked his head slightly, the better to look up through the trees lining the sidewalks and upward to the buildings.

Darwin laughed, his teeth strong and white in the waning sun. "Not entirely. But that's also not what I meant. I meant The Wall at my bar. It's sports-themed." He visibly lit up as an idea struck him. "Hey, maybe you should come in some time. Drinks on the house, of course. I've got a friend who's a big fan of yours."

Erik rubbed at his nose with the knuckle of a scarred-over hand. "That'll make one," he muttered to himself before he shrugged noncommittally. "I'm always up for a free drink."

He wasn't sure, but he thought he had heard a derisive snort from Pietro's side of the cab.

TBC...