Vander is still surprised sometimes, when he turns around and his gaze falls on the different decor now adorning the Last Drop. Neon lights, the dancer pole on the right… He frowns slightly, tightening his grip on the glass he's cleaning. He has tried to bring the subject to Silco once, but his partner has only raised a brow and then dismissed him, pointing out that it worked better with the new way of the Lanes. People didn't want quiet anymore, he argued, they weren't looking for a place to drown their exhaustion in peace; no, they wanted to feel their heart beat faster, to remember why they were proud of being Zaunites, why they would even be ready to fight. Vander scoffed.

"You sure you aren't projecting there, Silco?"

"Oh, I don't like it either, mind you. The music is too loud, it gives me a migraine."

Ah, yeah, neither of them was young anymore. Vander smirks at himself at the thought of them both as grumpy old fucks, complaining about how the youth entertains themselves these days. It's true that the population of the Last Drop is mostly people well under thirty now. At least that means not many of them are aware of his history with Silco, so they aren't asking to many questions at seeing him behind the bar again. They probably just think he has gotten his old job back after his time in Stillwater, that's all.

"Can I have a beer?"

"Keep dreaming, Vi. I'm not serving alcohol to my kids."

"I'm not a kid anymore!"

He puts down in front of her a glass filled with water and the syrup used for some cocktails, ignoring how her frows deepens when she poked at the straw.

"So you're fine with Ji-ji going around shooting at people, but not without me having one beer under your supervision?"

Vander winces, slowly putting the new glass he just picked up to clean back in the sink. That's… That's a sore spot, for both of them.

"You can go around and punch people if that makes you feel better Vi. I don't think I've ever been able to stop you from doing that, right?"

"Don't try to flip that on me now! Vander, come on, you're okay with that? With her being just… just another soldier in Silco's war?"

He sighs heavily, now turning back to her, resting his forearms over the counter opposite to her.

"I thought you wanted to fight."

"I do! But I can't bear the thought of her being hurt… Mylo and Claggor already died because of Silco. Sure, he didn't want that, but it's still the consequences of his actions. Also, I'm pretty sure he would have tried to kill us too even if the explosion didn't happen."

Likely, yes. The minute they attacked, they weren't kids anymore in Silco's mind. To his defense, Vander thinks bitterly, life hasn't allowed Silco to truly ever get the meaning of childhood.

"I don't want to see you hurt either, Vi. Am I preventing you from wandering outside as you want? Janna, you were conducting an heist Topside when this all started!"

Vi groans around the straw she has finally relented to drink from.

"You think Silco's good for her, really?"

"No. But he was there. She's still alive, is she? That means we can try and help her now."

"I guess…"

She's stirring her drink with the straw now, poking it against the bottom of the glass until it bends. She clearly wants to say something else, but she's making him wait.

"Come on, Vi. What is it?"

"Are you… are you and Silco… you know. Together?"

Vander's hand reaches up on its own, checking that his shirt collar still covers the mark Silco left over his collarbone, three days before.

"Uh…"

Vi snickers.

"Ah, that's a yes, isn't it? Congrats! You're not a single dad anymore."

"Vi…"

"Eh. I just hope you won't forgive him everything for those freaky mismatched eyes."

"Vi. Leave it."

If someone really has forgiving to do… it's not me.

"Okay. We are going for noodles tonight with Ji-ji, is that fine?"

"Just noodles?"

"We… might walk around a bit after?"

"Just don't do anything stupid, Vi, alright?"

"Alright. See you later."

She finishes her drink and slides off her stool, leaving the dirty glass for Vander to clean. He sighs and picks it up to put it with the others in the sink. It's another half an hour before he finished cleaning, and then, wiping his hands on his trousers, he heads upstairs.

"Hey, are you free for the evening?"

Silco reluctantly looks up from his paperwork to meet Vander's eyes.

"Why? What for?"

"I was thinking of sharing that."

Vander holds up the bottle in his hand, the deep red liquid sloshing against the tinted glass, almost black in the greenish light. Silco furrows his brow.

"That's not from the Last Drop, is it?"

"Nah, it isn't. Walked past a liquor stall at the Entresol Market," he explains, "that's how I got the idea. By the way, the girls are going out for the evening, so it will be just the two of us."

Next time, you do the work.

That's what Silco said three days ago, laying on top of him in bed, his voice still weak from pleasure. And of course, Vander knows he was thinking of sex then. His legs were still shivering from the strain of riding him, as they laid amidst the bunched-up covers silently afterward, and Vander caught him getting up for his chair with a grimace the next morning, rubbing at his thighs. He considered teasing him about what was obviously sore muscles from, ahem, bedroom activities, but their… relationship was still so fragile that he didn't quite know how to handle it.

Now, he hopes to be doing his part to change that.

Silco's words echoed in his mind as his steps slowed down to a halt when he caught sight of the stall. It brought out memories, of one particular night when Silco and him had stolen a bottle of blackcurrant liquor at the Boundary Market, from what was obviously a Piltie stall. Neither of them even knew what a "blackcurrant" was, but given the picture on the label they figured that it was some kind of fruit. It tasted overwhelmingly sugary, but it made kissing all the much sweeter.

"I have work to do," Silco says, his attention already shifting back to his paperwork.

Vander waits for an addition to that statement, which never comes. Silco always has work, same as when they were young – the man can't stay idle for shit, and uses "work" as an excuse way too often to Vander's tastes. Back then, he used to pick him up and carry him to the nearest available surface, vaguely private ideally, to fuck him to his heart's content. And to be honest, he won't hate doing just the same right now, bend him over that damn desk and rip the fancy clothes off – oh god, he thinks about it every time he looks for too long at all the clasps and buttons, just how good it will look popped open – but. He has matured by now; he can keep it together until their relationship hopefully gets back to a point where Silco won't mind such manhandling. For now… he has something else in mind. Softer, sweeter. Kinder.

"I can help you finish what you need to finish by tomorrow," he offers, because the thought of turning heels and passing through that door frame alone is more dreadful than the prospect of damn paperwork, somehow.

"I don't trust you to do this properly," Silco replies without looking up. Then, with that very slight smile that's more of a tense line than a real pull of his lips, and that makes Vander want to kiss him so badly: "No offense."

"A little taken. Come on."

He waits half-patiently as Silco meticulously annotates what he was reading, before putting his pen down with a sigh.

"Fine, I guess that can wait." He gets up, then pauses, one hand still gripping his chair's armrest as if for support. "Do you… happen to know where Jinx is?"

"I think she's still downstairs, but she will go out soon. Why?"

Silco doesn't answer immediately, instead opening a drawer and taking out something Vander doesn't quite have the time to identify. It seems like some kind of device, metal glinting in the greenish light flooding in through the rosace window.

"I just have something to see to with her first. Give me five minutes and… we can meet on the stairs to the roof, okay?"

"Okay. Sure."

Five minutes slowly morph into ten as Vander waits – he knows because the clock hung up in the corridor makes a louder tick each time the seconds hand reaches zero – he remembers that from the long years when the Last Drop was his home. He's almost not expecting Silco anymore, the neck of the bottle feeling more and more slippery against his sweating palm, when the floorboards creak, footsteps approaching.

"Took your time, Sil? Getting ready, reapplying makeup, were you?"

"Actually, yes."

It was meant as a joke, and Silco's tone is light, alright, though Vander suddenly has a flash of that day, at the cannery, and how dark and visible the scars were then. He never really thought about it. Was glad, in fact, to not have to think about it as much as when Silco didn't… well, hide them? He has seen Silco wearing make-up before, when he was still taking shifts at the brothel all these years ago, sometimes just to accentuate the magnetism of his eyes, others to mask the bruises left on his olive skin by enforcer, or rivals… or Vander himself, at times – times he always regretted immediately after, but that weren't enough to get him to learn to tame his temper, not until the river.

"Are you planning to actually climb the rest of those steps, big guy? Because I can't get past you, and you're standing in the way."

"Oh– yeah, right."

He misses the doorknob at first, muscle memory short-circuited by the thoughts currently circling around his brain, anticipation and… well, guilt, and also lust, if he has to be honest with himself. Silco always made him feel things, but this is a new, rather disturbing mix.

The fresh air helps a bit. He inhales its familiar scent, a mix of chemicals and fried food that he has come to associate with home. There, at least, the Gray never becomes so thick that it clogs his throat, makes his eyes water. The perfect place for what has now become the Lanes, as they both thought years ago.

He resists the urge to turn around to check if Silco's following him. When he sits down, nevertheless, his partner does so in turn. Vander motions to unscrew the bottle cap and in doing so notices a little oversight in his planning.

"I… didn't bring glasses."

Silco thinks it over for a second or two, then extends his hand, fingers outstretched in a silent request.

"Don't care." Then, as Vander doesn't comply immediately, amused: "Come on. Give me that."

"I thought you were fancy now," he comments as Silco snatches the bottle and takes a big gulp from it.

He gets a middle finger in response, just like in the good ol' days. He watches Silco bring the bottleneck to his lips again, the movement of his Adam's apple as he swallows, then before his brain has too much time to entertain shameful fantasies Vander leans over and steals the bottle back. That earns him a falsely annoyed look, before Silco settles more comfortably, undoing the clasps of his vest with one hand before shrugging it off.

This little corner of the roof, it's tucked away in between two blind walls, a quiet bubble amongst the hum of Zaun all around them. There, it feels easier to just be, the two of them.

"This is as when we were young," Silco says, an echo to his own thoughts. "But with better alcohol."

Vander nods in agreement, then can resist adding:

"Speak for yourself, I'm still young."

"You're two years older, Vander."

"Age is a state of mind."

He holds Silco's unimpressed gaze, knowing full well this was stupid and that he hopes no one else had heard his rather pathetic attempt at banter, but it's worth it to see Silco's features ease into a smile, then– That's the first time he has hear him genuinely laugh in so long. And even if it was barely more than a chuckle, it's enough to get a soft warmth spreading through his chest.

"You're an idiot."

"Sometimes," Vander agrees. "Yeah."

They pass the bottle back and forth until well over half of it is gone. A pleasant buzz has settled inside Vander's head, making the lights scattered across the Undercity just a little bit fuzzier at the edges. He's mindful to keep his hands to himself even though, reign in his desires, but the words flow freely. With that dazed warmth that alcohol brings, it's easier to talk about the past. The good parts.

Him and Silco, they go way back, to a summer afternoon where he stepped in to help the younger boy before they both realized they underestimated the trouble and a slender hand found its way in his, leading him through a race across half of Zaun. He remembers his laugh, irregular teeth that he found adorable, and the fire that was already burning behind those teal eyes, how their color reminded him of the sea his father brought him up to see on his name day. He remembers insisting that they met again, first to conquer the climb of Old Hungry, the clock tower, then just to enjoy each other's company – insisting, months later, that Silco came to live with him, too. He remembers falling for him fast, and hard.

Afterwards, that childhood crush got meddled with hardships and lust, responsibilities and violence. Somewhere, though, the simplicity, the absoluteness of it remained through it all.

"You know, Sil, I think I loved you since that very first day."

"Really? Kindreds, that was fast. What did you even know from me, then?

"That I found you very pretty, to begin with."

"And now that I'm not, are you trying to tell me you don't love me anymore?"

"Nah. Now, you're handsome instead." Silco scoffs, rolling his eyes. "What? You are. But no, really. I always admired your strength and passion. You're… I don't know how to put that into words. Intense?"

"Intense. Hmm, sure. Okay"

"Come on, don't laugh at me. You're dedicated, you never give up, and you're brilliant, too. Happy, now?"

Silco hums, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Better."

"You're a jerk," Vander retorts. "But, eh, what about you? What is there to like in me?"

"Fishing for compliments now, are you?"

"I answered your question."

"Fine. It… took me quite a long time to actually fall in love, but… I was surprised that you even helped me, that day we met. That made me curious. You hadn't yet given up kindness, like so many others do. And, remember, when I talked about dreams, down in the ruins? You told me that this is what life was about. Finding a purpose, and fighting for it."

"I said that, eh…"

"Yeah. And I believed you."

Vander turns to look at him with the first sparks of worry fluttering inside his chest, but Silco's expression is still relaxed when he returns his gaze.

"You are sort of right, you know," he continues. "I do feel intensely. And you helped ground me, at times. We fit well together. But I'm not really answering your question, am I? Let's see… As I said, you can be kind. You care about people, whether you really know them or not, in a way I don't think I will ever be able to. You want to do good, and you're ready to do what it takes if you believe this is right."

Vander grimaces at that, but Silco doesn't seem to notice. He's looking up, leaning on his elbows, gaze lost in the lazy ribbons of Gray drifting over their heads.

"You're charismatic. And funny." His eyes shift back to Vander. "Tell me, was that enough for your ego?"

"More than enough, love."

"Hmm… Is that pet name here to stay?"

"Why, do you something against it?"

"Not really. I could get used to it."

Silco motions to hoist himself up then, shoes slipping on the smooth tiles, before one of his arms gives out and himself gives up entirely, choosing to slump against Vander's shoulder instead. If he noticed the way Vander tensed up for once, caught off-guard, he doesn't say anything.

"… Still a lightweight, Sil, are you?"

"Obviously," he mutters with a vague gesture towards his body, the side of his lips pulled into what was probably meant as a grimace but looks more like a smile. It highlights that little line near the corner that Vander's eyes and heart are drawn to.

After a second of hesitation Vander wraps one of his arms around the other's shoulders, bringing him a little closer – very pleased to not find the usual tension, Silco's muscles twitching under his touch. Maybe it's only the alcohol doing, but he would gladly take it, even if it only lasts the night.

"What was it you used to say when I teased you about it, back then?"

"That it was a good way to cut costs. Cheaper to get hammered." He shifts so he can take a glimpse at Vander. "Don't quite need that these days, though…"

"Getting drunk?"

"Nah. That, more than ever." A pause, then Silco's expression turns more serious. "What about you?"

Vander blinks at him.

"What, what about me?"

He feels Silco half-shrugging against his side.

"I don't know. I guess I'm asking how you are doing." A beat, then: "You spent years in Stillwater. And I… I'm sorry about what happened to your two kids. I don't know what I would do, if Jinx…"

"Yeah. I hope you never find out, for both of us. It…" He pauses, searching for words to say, and realizes too late that it was a mistake. The grief is still very much alive, if only tucked away. "It fucking hurts."

He wants to add something, but finds out that his throat has closed up. There was so much happening outside – rediscovering Zaun, the sisters making up, his own slow dance around Silco, and the whole shitshow with the Sheriff's deal and those other assholes – so much that he very carefully avoided to ever look back. To think back to the broken bodies of his two boys, eyes unfocused and unseeing, and of memories that hurt even more – when they were still alive, because to know they were and that now they aren't… He has had to lock away the thought, because inside the four walls of a cell it would have driven him insane.

Now, it all comes down flooding in, swirling inside his skull. That grief so intense that it feels like suffocating, and worry, the kind that keeps one up all night long, worry about the two kids he had left. About Vi, and what shit a young girl like her could have to face in prison, about Powder, before she became Jinx, Powder who he last saw with the man he should back then have considered his enemy as the entire cannery collapsed. About himself, and the people he knew, outside. And anger. A lot of anger. At Silco, at his own powerlessness, at the guards and the other inmates and the walls themselves, knuckles bloodied, at Topside and at that fucking world they were born in. A world where you learn violence and fear before tenderness and love, that ends up pushing you to wrap your hands around a partner's throat, a world where you can be thrown into prison without trial and forgotten about. A world where children die.

Rage, at the unfairness of it all, rage that only feeds on his pain.

He's brought out of that loop when he feels the feather-light touch of hands cupping his face, a thumb wiping away the single tear that has rolled over his cheek. He put his own hands over Silco's wrists, squeezing lightly, he meets his gaze and it suddenly feels like a dam breaking open inside. He doesn't think he has cried in years, but suddenly he can't fight back the tears anymore.

He isn't even sure what he's crying about. There sure is a lot to pick from.