Espio took his jobs very seriously. Some would say too seriously, but he chose to ignore their input. "I don't remember asking you" was his rejoinder, if he even gave one in the first place. At most, you could count on the accusation of stiffness being met with an eye-roll or a humph and little else. Half of the time, he wouldn't even respond at all. For him, there was no good to be had in fretting about what others thought of his work. They weren't the ones putting themselves at risk in that particular instance, after all. And they certainly weren't paying the rent for his apartment. He was, above all else, a professional, and a true professional didn't give a rat's ass about some schmuck's input on what was appropriate for something they never tried themselves.

A concern he did acknowledge, however, was one that he was working too much. Freelance work was taxing, especially in the areas he specialized in, so they might have had a point. Espio's social life definitely suffered because of it; his circle of friends was small, and rarely expanded. Granted, they were true companions he could count on- Silver, Blaze, Vector, Shadow (to some extent), Knuckles, and certainly Mighty all held a place in his life- but beyond that, he hardly had an extensive social network. His love life was even more embarrassing. His skills with women were pitiful, no doubt an extension of underdeveloped social skills, and not helped by how little free he gave himself when not working.

He shook his head as he headed down the hallway to his apartment. He could figure his "work-life balance" out later. He was a professional, and his jobs came first. They had barely eked out enough rings to pay the bills last month, and this week was off to a rocky start. No time to be feeling sorry for yourself, he figured.

Espio put his keys into the lock, only to notice the lock was already undone. Strange, he thought; his roommate would usually be out late on nights like these, no doubt celebrating a "job well done," or maybe with his girlfriend. If the door was open, it meant that he was either home early, or someone had picked the lock. This wasn't exactly a safe part of town, so sadly, it was a possibility. The chameleon placed a hand on his knife's sheath and knocked cautiously on the door; going in blade brandished would lead to a panic, and the last thing they needed was another scuffle with the neighbors.

"It's open, my dude," Mighty's voice came from the other side. It was sluggish and a bit slurred, no doubt a sign of drinking. Carefully, Espio opened the door, and as he suspected, Mighty was sitting on their beat-up couch, a beer bottle clasped in one of his muscular hands. The armadillo turned to face his roommate and waved lamely. "What's shakin'?"

Espio tried to keep up his usual demeanor. "What are you doing here?"

The armadillo laughed. "What kind of question is that? I live here."

"Not what I mean. You're usually out with friends around this time. At the very least, you should be drinking with someone else, not just yourself."

Mighty's smile faded groggily. "That's right," he admitted. "You always were a good detective."

Espio looked closely at his closest friend. His appearance suggested this wasn't his first drink- the way his body moved was too heavy to suggest he just cracked his first bottle, and his speech was slower than usual. His posture was sullen, leaning forward and looking down at nothing in particular. His clothes were not for going out; he was wearing his hoodie and sweats, his training attire. This was not a Mobian drinking for the hell of it; no, this was a Mobian drinking to drown his sorrows.

Mighty looked back up, and clumsily outstretched his arm. "You want a drink, bro?"

"I'll pass," Espio declined. "I'll ask again: why are you here?"

"'Cuz I don't have anywhere else I wanna be." Mighty took a swig of his drink, then shuddered.

"Really? No friends to celebrate with?"

"They're busy," he slurred. "No wait…no, I'm busy, actually."

"In what sense?"

Mighty laughed again, but this time it was dripping in self-pity. "Ya got me again, detective. You're right, I'm not busy, just…don't wanna be with Mobians right now."

Espio sighed. "Mighty, I came home to stop being an investigator for a few hours. Why don't we just cut to the chase and tell me why you're miserable."

Mighty side-eyed him as best he could. "Who says I'm miserable?"

"It's obvious. Besides, Mobians who drink alone tend to be more miserable than not. So what's going on?"

Mighty looked back down to the floor, the fight leaving as quickly as it came. He sighed heavily, clumsily placing the beer bottle on the table. He swallowed, then shook his head. "It's not important, man. Just…get some rest. I'll be fine. Hungover, but I'll bounce back."

Espio hesitated. Mighty was his oldest and closest friend, and with that territory came a deep understanding of the armadillo. He was a friendly Mobian, but also one who tended to burrow his true feelings too deep for his own good. He never wanted to burden others, but it came at the price of himself. The chameleon had seen enough morbid episodes with snapped Mobians to know this won't end well. Besides, he hated seeing Mighty beat himself up; it sat wrong with him worse than a homicide scene. So without saying a word, he walked over and sat down next to his drunk roommate. "It's important to me."

Mighty was puzzled, but it took a while for his face to register the surprise. "Wuh?"

"Mighty, I am not leaving this couch until you tell me what the hell is going on. If I have to sleep here, I will."

The armadillo stared at his roommate, blinking like a delirious donkey, before shaking his head. "You really want to know, huh?"

"I really do. I'm not going to sit here and let my friend kill his liver like this."

"Thanks, man." He paused, then sighed and shrugged. "Promise not to freak, or laugh?"

"Of course."

"I…" he swallowed, then chuckled bitterly. "Shit, I'm just gonna say it- I feel useless."

Espio was so awestruck that he might as well have been suckerpunched by Knuckles. What could have possibly happened to make him think this?

Mighty sniffed, then continued. "Well, not useless now. But I'm sure as shit going to be useless in a few years if things continue like this."

"Mighty, why would you say that?"

"Because it's true," he replied glumly. "The only thing I'm good at is being strong. I bust heads, I move things, shit like that. Problem is," he looked at his hands, "muscles don't last that long. They get weak, no matter what you do. Aging's a bitch. And then what?" He turned to Espio, a fear emanating from his red eyes. "I'm not smart, Espio, but I know that my power's all I got. I'm not good at anything else. What then?"

Espio's mouth fell open, words refusing to come out. He wanted to say something to reinvigorate his friend's confidence, but all that really came to mind was Chaos, you've got it rough. In a sense, he was right- his worth was mainly tied up as hired muscle, but time finds a way to sap all strength. "Mighty-"

"I'm not smart," Mighty repeated. "See, you're smart, Espio. Like I said, you're a damn good detective. You always know what to do, or who to call. You don't have to worry about ever being useless. Me? Everything everyone says feels like it flies over my head these days." He shakes his head again. "I can't help anyone."

"That's not true," Espio said reflexively.

"How? I'm dumb muscle, you know that."

Espio tried to reconsider his approach. This seemed to be a deep-seated fear wrenched free thanks to the alcohol. "There's more to a Mobian than what they do for a living."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm talking about the quality of your character, Mighty. You're a good man, and that'll outlast any muscle in your body."

Mighty's paused, eyes fixed on the stained hardwood floor. "You're just saying that."

"Bullshit. You're kind, patient, good-natured, a good friend, you have a strong sense of justice- there's no shortage of things to like, Mighty. And before you say anything else, you mean a lot to so many. Ray, Honey, the Chaotix crew, Sonic- you're a lot more important to them than you realize."

Mighty said nothing. He just kept staring, neck craned downwards like a gargoyle's.

Espio continued. "I understand you're not feeling well, but you must know that you're worthy, regardless of how strong you are. Your friends prize you because you're a good Mobian, not just because you crack skulls. Trust me, I'm speaking for myself as well."

There was a silence that followed Espio's last comment. He had hoped that the last bit of vulnerability would really help his friend out of whatever abyss he was wallowing in. The initial response was not promising, as the armadillo kept looking downward, no change in expression or posture. Even his eyes refused to budge.

"Mighty-"

"I heard you," he finally said. His voice was shaky, more addled than agitated. "I'm drunk, not deaf." Espio chose to say nothing, letting his roommate cobble together a response. "You really think I'm all that?"

"I do. And if you talk to any of your other friends, they'd say the same."

"I dunno about that, but…" he trailed off. He finally looked up, then chuckled. "This'd be a lot easier if I weren't shitfaced, huh?"

"In what way?"

"I'd be able to think, for starters." He turned to Espio, and it was then that the chameleon realized how blurry his friend's eyes had become. "I'm not gonna lie, bro, what you just said… It means a lot. I'm," he trailed off again, wiping his hand over his face. "I'm not sure what to say back."

"Then say nothing," Espio responded. "Just take it easy. If you need someone to talk to, I'll be here."

"Thanks," Mighty nodded. "I need some time, though. I need to think."

"About what?"

"About what you said. You know, about what's really important for a Mobian to have." He tried to get up, only to stumble immediately. Espio bolted to his friend's aid, allowing Mighty to wrap his arm around his shoulder. "Thanks," the armadillo slurred.

"Where to?"

"Bed. I don't wanna drink anymore, but I'm too drunk to do anything else."

"Fair." Espio started guiding him to his bedroom, taking care to help him navigate the cluttered apartment.

"Hey, Es?"

"Hmm?"

"You're wicked smart," Mighty grinned sloppily. "You always know what to say."

"So I've heard."

"Why'd you say all that stuff, though? You could've just left me there?"

For the first time all day, a genuine smile crossed Espio's lips. "Because if I couldn't help the Mobian that lifts me up so much, I'd actually be useless. Come on, let's get you to bed."

A/N: Wanted to write something a bit darker/rougher for a change. Originally, Mighty was supposed to escalate, but I'm not sure if that really fit the way I wrote him here. The vocab I used was supposed to invoke Espio's PI background, and I hope that came across instead of just being pretentious. As always, feedback is appreciated!