Chapter Six: A Fox and An Otter Walk Into a Bar
Actually, screw cooking.
Those were the thoughts running through Finnick's head, having taken five shots of hard liquor at that point. The bartender, a good friend of his, knew not to say anything about his sorry-looking state. The bags under his eyes had bags, his fur was unkempt and dirty, and he was pretty sure he forgot to take his ear infection medicine, which kept him away from, well, infections, while on his many jobs. With ears as big as his, any amount of weird crap was bound to get inside them. Either way, this time was the best for drinking, especially at a bar such as this, without much activity in the early morning hours. Drinking with loud people was an annoying venture without any friends.
He felt just a tiny bit, a very tiny bit bad about leaving Greg alone in the van. He was part of the reason why he was here, but the boy was still someone he cared about, despite going behind his back and slipping his secrets, which were going to be revealed by Finnick anyway. He got the outburst he expected, but she found out the wrong way. For that, Greg deserved at least one night where the tod didn't talk to him. It was better that way, anyway. Nothing good came from words.
"One more, Bo," he said to the horse on the other side. "I ain't done yet."
"You gonna be done anytime soon, though? I'm not about to drag you out of my bar if you pass out."
"Man, why the long face? I will cause no trouble for you. Have I ever done that before?"
"Yes," he answered right away. The fennec grumbled and just got on with his drinking. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a group of mammals talking very enthusiastically about something. He couldn't help but catch a bit of that conversation.
"Let me tell you, she was so surprised, dude, haha! She never expected me to be there," an otter with a black and white shirt with letters spelling out Otto on the front, said very loudly. Finnick was getting a headache.
"Who are those guys?" He asked the horse.
"You don't wanna know. They're bad news."
"And why are they at your bar?"
"Business is business, Finnick. I know you know that."
He knew. He nodded and took another swig. Despite his indifference, his ears kept picking noise from that table.
"Sam's such an idiot, man. Even after I was annoying the heck out of her, she still kept thinking she was better than me, acting all courteous and crap. I snapped, threw a glass of water at her, and got out of there. It's too fun to mess with her."
Sam? thought Finnick. Were they talking about the Sam? He was an otter like her, but that didn't automatically mean they knew each other. However, that story he was talking about with the glass of water at her feet, was very much the story Sam had told him. He might have been surprised she was there, and his mind might have made a multitude of ideas to try and save his ass, but he still listened. Her feet had seven cuts from that. Still, it's not like he cared anymore. Sam made it very clear that he was dead to her, so why should he give two craps about a very abusive guy bragging about physically hurting her and clearly having no qualms about doing it again? Why should he care that she could be in danger for a second time and get even more hurt than just cuts on her feet? Yeah, he had a deadly crush on her but it was all for nothing. He didn't care at all. Not. one. bit.
"That bitch is glad she caught me on a good day. I better not see her anywhere again, or-"
"Or what, buster?" Finnick said loudly, turning his chair towards the otter at the table. "What are you gonna do?"
"Who's asking?"
"You blind? I'm asking."
"You deaf? I'm asking who are you to ask me that?" He got up from his chair. "This don't concern you, fox."
"I think it does, a little bit. Why are you abusing girls? Didn't your mother teach you good manners?"
"Didn't your mother teach you not to butt in on other people's conversations?"
"Wait, Max, I think I know who that guy is!" claimed another otter at his table. The otter whose name seemed to be Max looked at him. "That's Finnick F. Volpe, a con-mammal of Savannah Central. He's been active for a lot of years. They say that's not even his real name."
The otter grew a questioning face, turning back to the fox. "What my buddy said is true?"
"Yeah, what about it?" he said, not caring that they knew who he was.
The otter walked over to the barstool at the right of the fennec. He had a smile on his face. "In that case, I'll buy you a drink. Don't wanna disrespect someone as important as you."
The sarcasm was more than evident in the otter's face, but Finnick went along with the charade. "I suppose some hard apple cider wouldn't hurt," he told the otter.
"A bottle of hard apple cider for me and my new best friend!" he said to the bartender, waving around a few bucks in his right paw while also grabbing Finnick's shoulder. The fox noticed the paw was tense, a grip strong enough to dig into his skin. The fennec paid no mind to it. Bo came to deliver the bottle of cider and put a glass in front of each of them. The otter opened the bottle and poured a decent amount on both glasses. As soon as he stopped pouring, the fennec digged in, savoring the cider in his mouth before it descended down his throat.
"What's the F. in your name mean?"
"Doesn't matter."
"But for me, it does, Mr. Volpe. That's how I know someone's character."
"Just by their middle names?"
"By their full name," the mustelid said, taking a sip of his cider. "A person that hides their middle name is also hiding a part of themselves."
"So what's your middle name then?"
"Maximilian M. Otto."
"See? You're hiding it too."
"Simply a stylish preference. I don't care to hide anything about me."
"That much is clear," said Finnick, joining the otter by taking a gulp of the cider. The quiet persisted for a long time. The fox didn't know the angle of the otter. Despite being good at reading people, Max was not an open book whatsoever. He was shut tight. There was nothing he could discern about him from face alone. He would need something more than a poker face.
"So," the otter began. "How long have you known Sammy?"
This took the fennec by surprise. "Who is this Sammy you speak of?" he tried to fool him.
"You think I'm stupid? You don't seem like the chivalrous type."
"Because you don't know me at all."
"Oh, no, Fin,-"
"Don't call me that," the fox interrupted.
"I know a lot about you simply by looking at you."
"You're full of shit," Finnick said, but he wasn't so sure about his own words.
"Did she go down on you? I gotta tell you, she has quite a majestic mouth. Nice and cozy."
"You son of a-" the fox rapidly turned to the otter, furious, showing his fangs and growling. Despite being able to hide his emotions most of the time, that comment about Sam had gone too far. Unfortunately, that reaction gave it all away.
"See? You do know Sammy! What a coincidence, don't you think?"
He groaned again, cursing internally that he had let his inner feelings slip like that. "And what If I have?"
"Well, all I'll say is that she's off-limits."
"Off-limits? How?" he asked, acting stupid. He needed to be sure about what Max meant.
"She's still mine, no matter what. She's a difficult otter, but soon enough I'll make her obey me again, and we'll be together forever."
The fennec gripped the glass dangerously, his claws unsheathed, making a mark on it. "What makes you think she's the kind of otter who would submit herself to a lowly mammal such as you?"
All Max did was laugh incredulously. "Look who's the pot calling the kettle black! Holy shit! She did a number on you, huh? Don't tell me anything, let me guess," he adjusted his throat, and started talking seriously. "Naive little otter goes to work one day at her restaurant. Hustling fox enters said restaurant, faking some kind of sob story, which makes the otter give him free food. Fennec ends up having feelings for said otter, and they start hanging out. Soon after, she discovers how the fennec swindled her for free food, and she completely breaks down, telling the fennec how much of a horrible person he is. And now, he's at a bar, drowning in his sorrows because he finally realized no one will ever love him, because love is for people that are good and honest, something he clearly isn't. I hit the nail on the head, Mr. Volpe?"
"You say a lot of uninteresting words, Mr. Otto," Finnick simply said. "I just have a few ones to say to you: Touch Sam the otter again, and it won't end well for you. Capiche?"
The otter just looked. His eyes widely took in as much of the fox as he could. He got up from his spot at his side, not before gathering the full bottle of cider. He takes a couple steps toward the table where his cronies were still present, and then looks back again. "Sam is always meeting the most interesting characters, isn't she?" He gives no warning as he swings the full bottle at his head, easily breaking it. This made the fox fall out of the stool and into the hard wooden floor of the bar. He was now face down.
"Hey! No fighting here, asshole! Get the hell out!"
"Watch your mouth or you're next, horsey!" he said, laughing some more. "I'm gonna have my fun. Take a smoking break."
The horse saw the fox motionless on the floor, and looked back at the threatening otter with fear. "Screw this," he said, leaving through the back door.
"Pawn, go guard the front. Don't want anyone else to come in." Pawn, another otter, got up from his comfortable seat and moved to the front like Max had ordered. "Now, Fin, repeat back to me what you just said. Slowly this time. I wanna savor every single word."
The otter kneeled and grabbed the fennec by one of his ears to turn him around and inspect his damage. A small flow of blood had formed from the base of his head down to his neck, staining parts of Finnick's muzzle and right eye. His ear was twitching. His left eye was still open, looking at the otter with a smile, "Touch…Sam…the…otter…again-"
He was interrupted by a right hook, Max's left paw holding onto his shirt. "Slower."
The tod kept his smile. "and… it… won't… end… well… for you, Maxwell"
The otter looked even more irritated. "It's Maximilian!" this time he chose a head butt, which in all honesty was pretty weak to Finnick. He just chose to not be a smart ass and keep shut about it.
Blood came out of his nose. He took out his tongue and licked it off. "Do you think I could get more cider now? My fur's kinda sticky from the one you threw at me, hahahahaha!"
"You…you insufferable little fox! Beg for me to stop! I won't stop beating you until you do!"
"So that I can satisfy your ego, Maxwell? Come on, you're talking to the hustle king here. I know everything there is to know about you now. This little tantrum of yours? Boy you can't stop breaking things can't 'cha. It's so childish."
"I'm gonna show you how childish I can be," the otter backhands the tod, slashing his left cheek with his dull claws. "Why won't you fight me? You scared?"
"Nah. Just don't think it's worth it, right now. I already said it. Touch Sam, that's it for your life. Touch me? Well, nothing like some manhandling to spice up the evening, eh?"
This did take the otter by surprise. "You disgusting prick!" he let him go, only to get up and kick him in the stomach. Despite both being around the same height, the otter was still stronger, having a lot of built up muscle in his legs and arms. "I'm not afraid of you. Sam will never get rid of me!"
"Well…" the fox attempted to get up, cleaning off some of the glass still in his clothes and wiping some of the blood off his face so that he could open his right eye. "We're at an impasse then." He managed to go back on both feet, and now realized their height difference. If Finnick were to look straight, he'd be staring right at Max's neck, but his eyes were focused on the otter's own. "You'll just have to keep hitting me until you're tired. Cuz I'm not turning back on my promise to beat your ass if so much as a claw of yours touches her. She doesn't deserve you running around trying to hurt her, and yeah, maybe your story was right and she broke my heart, but I broke hers first, and I won't stop fighting until that heart of hers is mended again."
The otter whistles. "Wow… what a gentlemammal you are. I thought you only needed a few words. That was quite a mouthful."
Finnick grins again. "Words are good when it counts. Like right now, I don't need to throw a single punch to win this fight. You're so small when I look at you. Throwing yourself at fights you know you'll win, getting a kick out of making people feel vulnerable under your weight. Well I'm not that mammal for you, Maxwell. I don't beg, I don't kneel, and I sure as shit won't make you feel any pleasure while you're doing this. In the end, even your buddies might leave you, to find something better than what you offer 'em. When that day comes, I'll be right there to see it. If I haven't already killed you for hurting Sam, of course."
A small silence, and then long hysterical laughter ensued from the otter, not believing that someone was brave enough to go toe to toe on him like that. "You've got guts, Finnick, I'll tell you that," he said, getting dangerously close to the fennec again. He didn't waver, however. Finnick wasn't afraid one bit. The otter aggressively grabbed the hem of his shirt again. "Now, what do you say we end this, hm?" He unsheathed his dull claws once again, and Finnick just looked at them with an air of boredom. He would not show fear. Fear is weakness. He doesn't have to pretend much, though. Max is as pathetic as they come, a violent boy with no future on his paws. Just a lifetime of needless violence.
The slash never came, as a flash of light hit the bar counter with extreme force, then landing on the floor. Max released him, curiously wanting to inspect what had caused such damage. It turned out to be Pawn, his crony that was tasked with watching the front of the bar. His face was beat up completely, and his back had gotten a bad hit when it crashed with the counter.
"What the hell? Who did that to Pawn? Go look, you idiots!" he directed himself to the other friends still sitting at the distant table.
"Release him, and I may let you live," said a voice in the front. Entering the door, they finally saw the culprit. A very muscular arctic fox, very angrily looking at them both. A closer inspection would let Max know it was a woman. She was cracking her knuckles and looking at him with a sadistic smile.
"I ain't sharing him with you, Himmel," said Finnick.
"I don't see you punching him."
"Who the heck are you?" asked Max in confusion.
"A friend. Finnick partner sent me." From the back of Himmel came another arctic fox, this time a young male with a fox band shirt, also looking at Max with anger. Finnick sighed. He didn't expect to see the young fox again until sunrise.
"You better let him go, bozo," Greg said, trying to sound intimidating with his voice. "You don't wanna see what she does with her hands!"
"Pretty sure they all saw it, Greg, I mean look at that guy," Himmel said, pointing to the otter whose shit had just been rocked by her fists, sleeping soundly on the ground. Was he sleeping? Finnick couldn't really tell.
"I'm hyping you up, Himmy! They gotta know you mean business."
"They already know, look at that guy!" she reiterated.
"Shut up, both of you!" said Max, getting out a tranq gun. "None of y'all are rescuing this fox. He chose to disrespect me so now it's time to give him a lesson. Guys, beat the shit out of them!" He addressed the mammals still sitting at the table, but they didn't move. "I gave you an order!"
"Hehehehe, they're scared of Himmel," Himmel said.
Finnick could swear that Max's face was getting red. He probably had never been as angry as this in his entire life. The otter didn't hesitate and aimed at Himmel, intending to shoot her. He was too slow, as another shot of tranquilizer knocked the gun out of his paw and pinned it to the wall. He looked to the side and saw another white figure, nonchalantly drinking some booze she had probably taken from the bar, leaning on the counter. "'Sup, seabitch? Gonna let him go now or should I aim for your gonads this time?"
"You too, Skye?" Finnick asked, scoffing. "I don't need babysitting."
"You clearly do, otherwise we wouldn't be here. Greg was worried for you, dude."
He was partly proud and partly angry, mostly proud. Greg had gone to great lengths to find him, even if he probably didn't think he was in danger. Goddamn that kid, he thought with a grin.
"Uhhh, Max?" said a walrus, one of his buddies at the table. "I don't think we should be messing with these guys."
"And why is that, Teefs?" the otter asked. "What's so special about them?"
With a trembling hand, he pointed to the vixen at the entrance. "Red-pawed Himmel," and then pointed at the vixen at the bar counter. "Black-pawed Skye."
"Am I supposed to be scared? I don't know who they are."
"They're the Frost Sisters, you idiot," said Finnick, still hanging in his grasp. "Queens of the Underworld."
"And I'm Greg!"
"Well, former queens, but hey, we still pack a punch," boisted Skye, still with a direct aim at the otter. "Now let him go before it gets ugly."
Finnick looked at the otter, who was now looking in every direction as to what he could do to play this in his favor. He was cornered and he knew it. He also didn't seem like the type to have many plans. Whatever he did, he probably knew it wouldn't end well. With another small laugh, he pushed the fennec away. "Fine. You're not worth the risk. You're a weak mammal, Finnick."
"Heh. Pot. Kettle. Black." Finnick said, calling back to their previous conversation, making the otter seethe where he stood once again. "It's been fun, Maxwell, but I'm past my bedtime and my mommy will get mad. I hope you understand."
"This isn't over, Finnick the fennec. We will meet again."
"I bet you say that to everyone. It really loses its impact when you say it too much. Remember: less words do the trick."
"Less talking, more moving, the fuzz might be here any minute, and Himmel ain't going to jail," said the menacing vixen. Finnick approached them but turned back to Max again.
"Do not forget my promise, Max. I've lost people I loved for turning my back on them. That will not happen this time. Sam the otter is off-limits. She doesn't belong to you or me. She is free." For good measure, he gave the otter a cold look, his resolve not wavering, not even as his legs felt wobbly from the blood loss. He couldn't help but tease him a bit more, culminating his speech with a cocky, "Ciao, bambino," before being walked out of the bar with the help of Greg.
Greg wouldn't consider himself a prideful fox. Most foxes in his life were extremely prideful, and didn't admit when they were wrong, or whenever they needed to cry and wouldn't, or whenever they needed to express any kind of feeling that wasn't anger or lust. But Greg did do all of that. He cried whenever he was alone. Talked about his feelings with people that know jack shit about mental health, and had a lot of complex emotions. He was mostly devoid of anger, save for a few moments where he truly felt like he needed to bring in his evil Greg side, like he had to do for his uncle Finnick. Lust? Just about as much as a twenty-something healthy young fox would have. His thoughts mostly centered on Himmel, and his usual celebrity crush of the month.
But admitting he was wrong for telling Sam the truth? Nope. That he wouldn't do. He loved Finnick to death, but he could easily do a 180 and try to lie to save his butt. He's selfishly done that before, and it never ends well. He saved him some trouble in the long run, he kept thinking. Although it truly was saddening to see such a nice person like Sam breaking down in front of two nobodies, Greg hoped it served as a wake-up call for the fennec. It surely seemed that way. The first thirty minutes after Sam left, the small tod stayed still, sitting at the edge of the van with the back doors still open. Moments after that, he took off, not telling Greg where he'd be going. Greg was afraid to ask.
He kept himself busy by cleaning up some of the messes in the van, like getting rid of the burnt salmon, which had smelled delicious when first he had come in, as well as taking out some of the trash. Might as well take care of his baby before he gets back. Maybe that could earn him some points to be on Finnick's good graces again. He thought about texting Uncle Nick, but ultimately decided not to, imagining the fox drowned in work and having to worry about Finnick too. This was a problem he could solve by himself.
By the time midnight rolled around, Greg began to feel worried. It wasn't the first time the fox had come back to the van in the early hours of the morning, but this wasn't a normal day where he went out for drinks for fun. He would be looking to forget what had happened that day, and that included anything from drowning in alcohol to just about jumping into oncoming traffic. This gave the arctic tod a terrible sensation and decided to go look for him. Making sure the van was fully closed, the fox sped up into the night to look for Finnick. But not before recruiting some help.
"So let me get this straight," a tired-looking vixen said. "Finnick is heartbroken because his otter girlfriend-"
"Not his girlfriend, just a person he hustled and then tried being friends with," Greg corrected.
"Okay then, so his friend chewed him out for being a hustler, he felt bad about it, and now he's roaming the city alone and with a death wish?"
"I left out some important bits for the sake of time, but that is the jist of it."
"Greg, you buffoon! You didn't think to get him sooner?"
"I thought about it, but I thought he wanted to be alone! I was the one who told her about him, so he's mostly angry at me."
"What he wants doesn't matter! He's unwell right now. We'll discuss this later, we'll go get Himmel and look for him together. He can't be too far."
Skye's ride was a much more impressive machine that Greg's Zoodan or his uncle's van. It was a white moostang with red stripes, and just a look at it gave away how powerful it was. It was clear that her mechanics business had boomed impressively, which had led to her being able to build her dream car from scratch. Himmel's home was only a few blocks away from Skye's abode, and while this mission was about tracking Finnick, he couldn't deny his excitement in being able to see the beautiful vixen again, who could easily crush him in between her paws like a noodle. Just his kind of woman. Focus, Greg. Uncle comes first. Himmel hadn't been too excited about being woken up, but seeing that her sister truly cared about what happened to Finnick, she didn't hesitate to hop in the car to look for him as well.
Greg wasn't that big of an idiot. He knew his uncle could get in trouble, especially with his very, veeeery short fuse. Not to insult his height, but the guy packed a lot of anger for such a small body. What he didn't expect, however, was to see his opponent completely unscathed, with Finnick receiving all of the punches. It didn't make any sense. His face had an otter-made slash and a cut across the back of his head that had started wetting his shirt with blood. Mixed with the blood, Greg could smell he was also drenched in hard apple cider. Apple particles were still sticking to his fur, and some had gotten inside his ears. He was due for a shower.
He was sure he'd never forget the way that otter looked at Finnick so hatefully. If he hadn't been there, he was sure it would've been a much worse outcome. If he had just come an hour later, where else would he have found Finnick? Thrown out in a trash can, stabbed to death? Hanged, maybe? Greg became nauseous at the thought. He was in the back of the car, Himmel to his left. Finnick was asleep on his lap, with a bandage around his head. Greg pressed on the wound slightly to let the fennec rest. Skye took a moment every now and then to look at the fennec, glancing at Greg with a disapproving look, and shaking her head in disappointment. Greg noticed this. He knew Skye was pissed at him. But what else could he have done? The fennec didn't want to see him. It's not like he planned for him to get hurt. Still, trying to excuse himself did not shake away the guilt. The fact of the matter was, he got hurt, and Greg had come too late to prevent it.
"Want me to drop you off at Zyg's?" Skye asked him.
"That would be great, thanks," Greg answered.
"You sure he don't need stitches? No hospital?" Asked Himmel.
"No. No hospital," Greg said. "Uncle hates them. He's not exactly on the right side of the law most of the time. They could call the police. I can patch him up just fine."
"Okay. If you sure," said Himmel. Greg warmed up at her worry and gave her a warm smile. In all honesty, it would be the first time he did this to his uncle. His wounds had never been severe enough that he couldn't do it himself. But this time he was drunk and with a possible concussion. No way he can do it alone.
"We're here," Skye said, pulling over by the gas station named Zyg's. "For the love of all that is holy, don't let him out of your sight for the next month or so. The last thing he needs is to be alone right now."
"Thank you, Skye, really. You too, Himmel," Greg said, carrying Finnick gently and opening the back door.
"Don't mention it. He's my friend, and I hate to see him that way."
"Want me to visit otter who fought him? I could give him a beating," the stronger sister said, cracking her knuckles.
"Not necessary, Himmel. Sleep well, you two."
With that, Skye took off, leaving the pair at Zyg's, a 24-hour gas station that also had showers inside. It was practical for them due to how cheap it was to rent it, as well as the other useful cheap items they could buy. It was also very close to Sandy Lofts, where Finnick's van was always usually parked. With the fennec still in his arms, he pushed the door open and began gathering some medical materials. He got gauze, bandages, Q-tips to get rid of any excess apple from his ears, as well as some painkillers for his future hangover from the alcohol and pain from the wounds. After gathering everything he needed to cure the fox, he headed to the counter.
"One shower, please," said the fox to the person heading the counter at that hour, a middle-aged anteater with a bored gaze. Another great thing about this establishment was how little the employees cared about what went on in the late hours of the night. As long as you kept to yourself, they wouldn't ask. The anteater collected the money Greg gave him in cash, put the items in a bag, and gave him the key for shower number seven.
Greg opened the door to the showers, which was a big enough space for the both of them due to being aimed at larger predators like leopards and lions. Thankfully, the settings for the shower were at different heights for separate mammals. Greg turned the valve and the shower head started spouting water at the floor. Getting out of the blast, Greg realized there was still one factor needed if they were to get fully clean. Greg took off his clothes, hanging them at the top of the door, then started doing the same for the smaller fox. Greg was not prude. He had seen his uncle naked before, so it did not bother him. Adjusting the heat settings to only be slightly warm, the fox began to clean the fennec, using a brush and some soap. He started from the nasty cut on his head, only using his paws to clean it. At this point, Finnick seemed to be awake, and it kept puzzling Greg that he made no attempts to let go of his grasp.
"If you're going to ask, let's get it over with now," said the fennec, still getting his head cleaned from all the blood and cider.
"I know better not to ask, uncle. I'm just glad you're okay."
"It wasn't worth it. I didn't want to fight. Even if he's the one who hurt Sam."
"Hold on, that's his ex? Now I'm definitely curious, how did you not punch him?"
Finnick sighed. "Cuz I don't wanna be the guy to throw the first punch anymore. I told him if he touched Sam, then I'd mess him up."
"How would you even know if he did? Let me remind you that she doesn't want anything to do with you right now."
"I'd find a way. Maybe stalk him or whatever. Just because she hates m doesn't mean she has to suffer from an asshole."
"On that, I agree. He seemed so violent."
"A coward is what he is. I wanna see him go against a lion for a change. Not that it'd matter, cuz I could beat him just as easily."
"That's the uncle I know," Greg grinned, finishing up cleaning his head and back. "You wanna do the front yourself?"
The fennec nodded, starting to clean up his belly and unmentionables. After all was over, Greg began his treatment, administering antibiotic creams on both the slashes and the head wound, as well as ear using the Q-tips and ear medicine on Fin's large lugs. After that, he used bandages and gauze to seal both openings, using a handkerchief on the finer details of his fur to get rid of the last bit of dried blood.
"There's no way you're putting those bloody clothes on again, I bought a cheap shirt and pants for you to put on."
Finnick didn't complain. He just wanted to get to his van and sleep for five days. It seemed he hadn't gotten a break that entire week. He would also not be keeping himself busy chatting up Sam anymore, so he had nothing else to do but sleep. After putting on his new clothes, Greg offered to carry him, and he didn't say no to that either. Now at Finnick's van, Greg gave him some painkillers to be able to sleep the night. Finnick felt himself about to pass out. He really was exhausted from the long day, but he still had something else to do before he gave himself up to the arms of Moorpheus. He was sick of people walking out of his life.
"Alright, you're all set, uncle. I'll go sleep in the front."
"Wait, Greg," Finnick said, grabbing his arm with the little energy he had left. "I'm…i'm sorry, man. All this time, I've been a huge ass to you, and you don't deserve that. I know I'm a terrible guy, but…don't…" his eyelids felt like ten-pound weights. It wouldn't be long now. "Don't leave me too, please," were his last words, before all he saw was black, and a small waiter with glasses took his order with kindness, happy that he was there.
Greg's eyes couldn't help but widen as Finnick's closed. His sincere thoughts were nothing short of shocking. He had never heard him feel so beaten down; so destroyed before. He thought Finnick had already been through enough pain to be closed off forever, but he was wrong. Nick leaving had filled the cup to the brim, but Sam had brought it down. He was all empty now. Greg had underestimated Finnick's strength, and he would do all he could to fix this. He looked at his sleeping face, who he now knew was filled with sorrow, and couldn't help but give it a soothing kiss where his head cut was, also caressing his damaged cheek. While just a whisper, he garnered the strength to say something important, but that he wasn't ready for Finnick to hear. "I could never leave you, Dad." With pride in his heart, the young fox joined the tiny bed, sleeping comfortably with one of the mammals he loved most.
