25. Date nights

Summary: joke turned to a date turned to a robbery

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Writing mediocre ooc stupid fanfiction has become my coping mechanism and you are the victims. God I need a ciggie

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Dave's personality was a fabrication. It consisted of exaggerations and artificial facades carefully constructed to appeal to those around him, Jack had always seen right through it. Everyone did, his boss had crudely reminded him of that in his speech no less than a few days ago. One of the few things he remembered from it; all the accusations and brutally confrontational facts had drifted directly past him. He always did seem to remember more when Dave was involved, though he couldn't admit to himself that it was because he genuinely cared for someone again after years.

Jack, unlike his boss who didn't hold a singular positive emotion in regards to Dave, found it particularly endearing to unravel the little truths that hid beneath his words. He'd been closest to Dave, been his best and quite possibly only friend, seen sides of him no one else would ever know existed. His tone got a lot more honest when he was comfortable, letting his carefully constructed guard down as Jack pulled little bits of information from him under the company of a few drinks. Unfortunately his accent never faltered, and Jack would often find himself clinging to that more than his actual words. He concealed the implications of that beneath his own, less obvious, facade.

He could read Dave's subliminal intentions through almost everything he said, a craft that had taken time to perfect. His most recent discovery, one that really should have been obvious, was that Dave was most definitely flirting with him. He'd appointed it to be one of his odd mannerisms at first, really wanted it to be that; simply more of Dave's antics that would never lead him anywhere. But everything kept adding up: the off-handed and frankly unnecessary comments he would make, his appearance in his bedroom, all the affirmations, the fact that he had dubbed this their honeymoon most of all.

This consideration would become increasingly prominent when he woke up tangled in Dave's limbs every Vegas morning. Surely, even outside of his oddly flirtatious dialogue, that also had to mean something. He was used to Dave executing his own intentions eventually; he'd began talking about Henry by himself and would mention things Jack had already deciphered long ago. Yet, all Dave's seemingly romantic or plain sexual comments had remained as that; comments. It made Jack doubt just about anything he thought he understood about Dave.

Even now, when he felt Dave wake up in his arms by the way his hand started gently trailing his back, he was uncertain. They lay in silence, and Jack kept all his questions to himself in favour of basking in another person's warmth for a little while longer. That was the thing too; he'd convinced himself that it was all unwanted, but he found himself growing increasingly more endeared by the idea of it. This was amplified, of course, by the way he would find himself wrapping his arms around Dave's slender frame every damned night.

"Dave?"

His voice came to life from where his head rested against the crook of Dave's neck, buried away from what concerned him outside of the filthy motel room. If he could stay there forever, without worry, he would have. Dave tiredly hummed in response, a sound that made his throat reverberate. Jack was so close that he swore he could feel the noise travel through Dave's body. He'd never have suspected he would grow this accustomed with someone, found himself wondering whether he was also contributing to the ambiguity of their relationship.

"You got any plans today?"

He offered in response to that affirmative hum, knowing damned well they hadn't had a plan for the entirety of their stay in Vegas. Most nights ended up with them wandering the streets until they found a bar, casino, or stripclub to pollute until they were blackout drunk, and that was part of the fun. It was a break from the cycle, simply being free to do anything their alcohol filled minds desired, although the hangover was a given.

"Not in the slightest, old sport."

Dave's voice came alive, still oozing in that tired tone which made Jack smile for reasons that he hadn't wanted to address just yet. He cleared his raw throat given he spoke with difficulty, making Jack wonder what exactly had prompted the slight hoarse undertone in Dave's voice. Scattered memories of the night before came rushing back to him, something about a karaoke bar and Dave getting his hands on the microphone.

"It's our honeymoon anyway, we can do whatev'ah we want!"

Jack wasn't left to reminisce for long, wanting to catch the opportunity while it presented itself. He gave Dave's sentiment a few seconds to sink in, trying to think of something that wouldn't make him seem suspicious.

"You talk about this being our honeymoon all the time, yet you've never taken me on a proper date."

He mused against Dave's collarbone, voice softer and far less sarcastic than he'd wanted it to be; great going. Dave just laughed in response, pulling Jack closer against him as he raised a hand to cradle his head, resting his own chin on top of it.

"Oh c'mon sportsy, we've had plenty of midnight kebabs."

"Those don't count!"

He immediately bit back, giving Dave a light shove as both let a laugh escape their mouths. They were quite literally entangled in the bed that they had shared for days on end, Jack considered that trying to make any platonic excuse for this was already too far fetched. Whatever he said wouldn't escape that awfully sweet tone anyway, it was best to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

"What old sport, now you've got high demands?"

Dave joked, poking Jack's side to make him jolt in place. It always did feel easier to laugh when it was because of Dave, curious. He briefly wondered if he was simply looking into Dave's comments too much, if he was searching for something he hoped existed within them. It could've simply been friendly banter, a result of Dave's questionable social skills, he could've been grasping at straws just to satisfy something buried deep within himself.

"So what if I do...?"

He didn't intend for his voice to come out so utterly pathetic, like a child asking for something he knew he would never get. Yet simultaneously hopeful, as if this conversation was serious instead of the result of drowsy early morning musings. Jack was usually so good at shutting out his thoughts, repressing anything that concerned him until he could address it with indifference, but Dave always seemed to penetrate that defense mechanism. It was similar to the way he would pull information from Dave out of that exaggerated facade, though he felt dubious Dave was insightful enough to do this consciously.

"Well then, old sport!"

Dave started, and something in his tone betrayed that Jack had set something in motion. He should've known better, with the way Dave had some elaborate plan for just about everything.

"If ya' want a fancy 'schmancy date so bad, I'll have it arranged!"

Yup, there it was, Jack was already regretting having said anything. He was especially regretful as he felt Dave begin the notion of crawling out of bed and, with that, Jack's embrace. He groaned as Dave untangled their legs and swung his own over the bed's edge, leaving Jack feeling awfully cold.

"Dave, come back- I was joking."

But his words were lost somewhere in the distance between them, leaving Jack with his arm sprawled over the bed as he attempted to fist a hand into Dave's shirt. He hated being in the bed alone; couldn't fall asleep and would be haunted with nightmares if he somehow managed to, though he'd rather suffer than tell Dave this. Maybe that was Dave's reasoning as well, he considered, before a voice interrupted his thoughts:

"Nope, no take-backsies old sport! Get yer' neatest clothes out, when I come back I'll have the creme of the crop waitin'...!"

At this point, he couldn't decipher if this was another one of Dave's genuine thoughts concealed behind an artificial personality, or some strange desire to prove himself. Both were plausible. Regardless, he was already shedding the rags he'd dubbed his pajamas and replacing them with the least stained shirt he could find. Jack simply groaned and turned to lay on his side, acknowledging that he was the one at fault for this.

"Alright then, goodluck to ya."

Jack mumbled, already having accepted that there was no interfering with Dave's stubborn nature as he wrapped his arms around a pillow. It didn't even come close to having Dave there, it was oddly shaped and way too cold against his chest. Before he could properly comprehend it, Dave was out of the door. He could only hope that he didn't come back with the police or a rabid dog chasing him.

Much to Jack's surprise, Dave returned sooner than later with a wide smile on his face.

"You best be ready at eight, old sport!"

He'd proudly proclaimed, absolutely beaming. Jack didn't have high expectations in the slightest, suspected that all he'd done was bribe some poor fool for a reservation at a mediocre establishment. Despite that, though, he couldn't suppress a small smile at the sentiment. Maybe tonight would bring him a little close to deciphering what was going on in Dave's brain, or lack thereof.

Given their absurd sleep schedule, eight wasn't too far away from now and Jack decided he might as well get ready. It was ridiculous, really, but he found himself genuinely excited at the prospect of being taken out on what was supposedly a date. It gave him a reason to take proper care of himself for the first time that entire trip, standing under the water until that alcoholic stench finally washed off him. When he exited the bathroom with his makeup reapplied, he was met with Dave combing his hair back.

He looked neat, dressed in all black with surprisingly little stains across his clothes. Jack was so accustomed to seeing him drenched in blood or liquor that it took him a moment to process. It somehow managed to make him more aware of the fact that he had not a single idea of what they were at this point, let alone what kind of date they would be going on. Dave seemed to be putting way too much effort for this to be something that was only meant to poke fun at Jack, he just couldn't decipher how to voice that observation.

"You look nice."

He mused, leaning against the doorframe that separated the bathroom from the rest of their establishment. Dave only now seemed to notice him, tilting his head to meet his eye with a cocky grin plastered across his face. It seemed he was well aware of the effect his surprisingly decent presentation was having on Jack.

"Only the best fer' our date, old sport!"

He winked with his statement, and Jack found himself smiling at the gesture. No matter how fake and exaggerated, it couldn't be denied that Dave had a certain charm to him. Through the chaos, he'd make comments that still managed to catch him off guard.

"About time"

He shot back, with no real bite to his words and a smile on his lips. Now it was Jack's turn to find presentable clothing amidst the mess of Hawaiian shirts that had unfolded in their room, something which proved rather difficult. Eventually, he settled on the jeans he'd worn when they first arrived and a plain shirt that must've belonged to Dave. Time had passed quicker than expected, and before he knew it; they were seated in the back of a taxi.

Jack, having set his expectations low, was surprised to find himself in front of an establishment that looked to be worth more than their undead lives combined. He knew not to undermine Dave and his ability to do whatever he put his mind to, but he felt doubtful the two of them would even be allowed inside. Dave, seemingly a lot more confident, was already headed for the door.

"Dave, wait-! How the fuck did you even get us this place?"

Asked Jack, a hand around Dave's wrist to stop him from walking through the imposing doors. He looked up to bright golden letters on the frontage, some name in a language he didn't understand. This hardly looked like the place they belonged in.

"Connections, sports! An old friend from the circus runs this place."

He wasn't given time to question what 'the circus' entailed as Dave continued to drag him inside. He hadn't lied: once he gave his name to the receptionist, she guided them to a table reserved for two. It was awfully quiet, every conversation seemed muffled and the cutlery wasn't half as audible as it should have been. People, dressed in posh garments, eyed them as they passed by. Finally sat down across from one another, Dave immediately ordered a bottle of their best wine and two cocktails with ridiculous names. Jack could feel the guests around them stare as they did.

Jack felt too awkward to disrupt the unsettling silence by speaking, instead following Dave's example in picking up a menu. He couldn't decipher half of the names on it, kicking Dave's feet under the table for their eyes to meet. They both muffled a laugh, the type of laugh that showed both were clearly amused with their displacement amongst elitists. Though Dave returned his gaze to the laminated paper, Jack observed the way he seemed to simply rest his eyes on it rather than actually read anything.

"What'cha ganna have, sportsy?"

He then asked, slamming his menu down on the table a little too harshly for people not to shoot them a dirty look. Jack'd had a suspicion in regards to Dave's literary skill for longer, he couldn't recall ever seeing him read anything and his handwriting was borderline unreadable too. He knew Dave was smart enough to get others to do it for him, hell, he had gotten Jack to commit murder for him; he could get anything read out to him.

"Fuck, I don't even know what half o' this is!"

Their drinks were being brought at this point, the woman who poured their wine wincing at the curse that fell from Jack's mouth. He paid it no mind as he redirected his attention to the wine, throwing back about half of the glass' content just to earn a disapproving look. Despite that, though, she proceeded to ask them whether they wanted to order. Dave, adamant not to expose his own illiteracy, took his chance:

"Well, m'lady, what would you recommend?"

Jack physically cringed at the use of m'lady and their server seemed to have a similar reaction, although she was clearly being paid too much to actually express this. Not to mention the usage on their date, of all times! Jack still didn't know if he could even consider this a date or simply another one of Dave's weirdly steadfast attempts to prove himself; he always did try to make himself useful.

"May I inquire what suits your culinary preferences?"

God, even the language used here sounded expensive. Jack could only imagine how Dave was planning to pay for this, especially since his answer to that question wasn't exactly of high class:

"Kebab."

Jack couldn't suppress a laugh while watching the poor woman's face turn into a grimace. With the necessary difficulty, she peered over to Dave's menu in hopes of anything that could possibly support her in this dire time of need.

"Sir, you are currently viewing the lunch section."

Dave, upon hearing this, closed his menu at once and placed his hands overtop of it.

"I knew that. Just- Get us both the most expensive dishes for all three courses!"

Now it was Jack's turn for his expression to falter, if Dave didn't magically summon several stacks of money they would be washing dishes for years. He had a lot of trust in Dave, but not that much.

"Are you certain?"

It seemed Jack wasn't the only one with concern, as their server hesitantly wrote their orders down once Dave furiously nodded. Jack emptied his glass of wine and simply hoped for the best as she departed without another word. Dave didn't seem half as concerned, leaning back in his uncomfortably expensive looking seat as he picked up his cocktail. He raised his glass towards Jack, speaking in a loud tone that got at least one person to hiss at him under their breath:

"Cheers sportsy, to our honeymoon!"

"Dude, how are you even going to afford all this-?"

Jack whispered, keeping his voice low enough for only Dave to hear in fear of judgement from those around them. He raised his glass in a motion similar to Dave's, sipping at the bright fluid that tasted as sweet as it looked.

"Don't wreck yer' pretty brain over that old sport, Davey's got it all arranged! This date's all for you to enjoy!"

He spoke joyfully, and Jack could practically see the disapproving glares shot into his back. They could hardly talk like they normally would, their crude vocabulary wasn't fit for this type of establishment.

"C'mon, you can admit you're just trying to prove a point..."

He leaned back, tried to get comfortable in the odd fabric but couldn't manage.

"I'm hurt ya'd think that old sport!"

And he couldn't even say anything to it, because there was really nothing to address. Dave kept his comments so vague, played them off as jokes so easily, that there was no significance for Jack to point to. He wouldn't deny nor confirm what this really was, why he'd gone through all the effort of getting him here when they would just converse like any other day. It seemed they had always been like this, whatever that entailed.

They sat there for a while, attempting to find a topic of conversation, but often fell flat as Dave too began picking up on the social clues by those around them. Everyone seemed agitated with their loud mannerisms, hushed complex and degrading sentiments towards them under their breath. They didn't say anything outright, neither of them would have paid it any mind if it weren't for their entire section of the restaurant to have shifted in tone. Despite being accustomed to it because of their odd physicality; they felt horribly unwelcome and out of place.

So, instead, they occupied their mouths with glasses of wine and cocktails they really shouldn't be able to afford. It was easy to simply let the alcohol consume them, amplify that feeling of unease in combination with what occupied them before. For Jack, this was the everlasting uncertainty of what Dave wanted their relationship to become, which also challenged the question of his own standpoint on that. It was nice of him to arrange all this just because he joked about it, he had to admit that, and he did look good when he actually took care of himself.

Turns out, if you looked at Dave outside of Freddy's and with a little alcohol down your throat, he had a lot of redeemable qualities. He was loud and obnoxious, sure, but it was that same strong presence which always managed to make Jack laugh. He was spontaneous, always managed to come up with pleasant surprises when their day appeared dull and unwelcoming. Dave made the judgemental glances and whispers around him disappear for a moment, he liked that about him. He hated that he couldn't bring himself to voice any of this, considered he was just as fake as their boss had made Dave out to be.

Dave had just ordered a second bottle of wine and a fifth round of cocktails when their starter was finally brought out. They could've complained that it took too long, but both knew damned well that they were simply drinking too fast. What was on their plates didn't look half as appealing as Jack had hoped it to be, he could hardly make out what was supposed to be in front of him. Even when their server gave them a thorough explanation about anything and everything that went into the dish, he couldn't find it within him to work up an appetite.

"Fuckin' hell, this blows-"

Dave whispered to him under his breath upon taking the first bite, and Jack reciprocated the emotion through his facial expression. To someone who had too much money to waste the dish would've absolutely tasted better, but when the best meal of your life would always be drunk kebabs; its flavour would be far too foreign. They ate for a while, both finished about half of it before they locked eyes and came to a silent agreement that they found it disgusting.

There was hardly room for conversation, both leaning back in their chairs as they awkwardly eyed their plates. It was then that a mischievous grin found its way to Dave's face, picking up the largest knife that was provided with his cutlery. He turned it around in his hand, brought the blade to eye level, and proceeded to slice a perfect cut into his napkin. Just as Jack was about to inquire, he replaced the knife with his glass of wine. He then, very graciously, proceeded to down his entire glass in one go and put the whole bottle to his lips once finished.

Jack was too dazed with it all to even process it, not that this was the weirdest thing Dave had ever done. Having chugged back a decent amount of the wine, he handed the bottle to Jack and began working on his cocktail. He had no idea what was going on, but this frantic outburst was better than the tensed silence in which they didn't belong. So, Jack put the bottle to his lips and let poison gush into his system, slamming it back on the table with a groan. The look in Dave's eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"C'mon sports, let's do what we do best..."

Dave had finished his cocktail, hand around the knife again as every vessel in his body seemed to tense. Jack put the bottle to his lips once more, chugged as much as he could until he felt it run dry. Instead of putting it down, he let it clang against the edge of the table, a harsh noise which made heads turn towards them. Then, provided with his signal, Dave stood up from his seat with the knife in hand, pointing it ahead of him. Jack followed, now slamming the empty wine bottle against the table's edge with such force that it shattered into a million pieces.

"Wallets on the table, this is a fuckin' robbery!"

Dave loudly announced, pointing the knife at any unlucky fool who happened to be close by. This felt more like them, a relief in contrast to the stiff meal that had occurred prior. Jack wasn't given time to consider the implications of the fact they only seemed to feel united through violence, alcohol rushing through his veins as he swung the shattered bottle towards anyone who dared to look at him.

"Everyone stay put, and we won't hurt anyone!"

He added. It was clear all these people came from a background where they never had to learn how to initiate or handle a robbery, as they complied and held their hands up above their heads. Dave was already pulling wads of cash from expensive looking wallets while Jack maintained an overview of the guests, though he was easily distracted by the way Dave seemed to operate effortlessly. Even though the posh folk had clothes worth more than their years salary, he still found that Dave looked the neatest amongst them. He was the only one who looked authentic, Jack had always liked that about him.

His musings, however, were quickly disrupted as a distressed woman started loudly wailing. The kitchen seemed separated from the dining area, and seeing as nobody had moved, Jack presumed authorities weren't called yet. Jack feared that her crying would alert whichever poor souls remained blissfully ignorant, and moved to swing his charred bottle at her. The motion alone made him realise how unstable he was on his feet, all the overpriced liquor and adrenaline making quick work of wrecking his system with pure bliss and ecstasy. Once his eyes focused again, he noticed Dave had already made his way over to the lachrymose woman.

"One more noise from you, and it'll be yer' last."

He hissed through gritted teeth, looming over the complete stranger with his knife resting before the underside of her chin. She sobbed, whispering wordless excuses, clearly trying to keep her composure. The more she struggled to go quiet, the closer Dave brought his knife, until the tip was eventually pressed into her skin. She held her breath, and suddenly the room was dead silent again as Dave flashed a deeply unsettling smile. He retreated the knife for Jack to see that he had drawn a pinprick of blood, dragging down right along the blade as he snatched all the cash from her wallet.

There was no mistaking Dave for something beautifully authentic, no matter what clothes he was put in, he would remain dangerous. People went on dates to cherish each other, hold hands and reminisce about both the future and the past, not to cause spontaneous robberies. He felt his arm grow limb against his body, the bottle cold against his skin even through the fabric of his jeans. As much as he sometimes wished for a normal life, one where cheesy fantasies were plausible, he knew it couldn't be. Not with Dave.

He stuck alongside Dave, not because he wanted a regular life, but because this was the best he could receive. His chances were ruined long ago, he could see this every time he took a wipe to his rotting face, and Dave was all he had. He simply stood there, wondering if this was really all there was, if anything he thought he ever felt was just a way to cope for him. Even if he did abandon every remaining moral instinct within him, even if he would admit to himself what he felt for Dave, he wouldn't ever be sure of the truth behind it.

Sirens had started blaring outside, sudden blue flashes outside the window that Jack had failed to register. Had they been approaching this whole time, or were they suddenly turned on to corner them; Jack didn't have a single notion. Before he could make sense of it all, Dave grabbed his wrist and began dragging him towards the back of the restaurant, making him drop the remainder of the glass bottle. He pushed up a door hidden behind a row of plants, and now they were rushing through the kitchen.

Dave was a weirdly large man with even weirder proportions, and to keep up with him Jack eventually opted to hold his hand instead of letting himself be dragged along. At last, one of the many doors Dave pushed open lead outside, and they rushed away from the sirens through an alleyway, fingers still intertwined. That fraction of normality, that one part that should've been insignificant, was what made it all worth it. They'd find a way to achieve it, through everything and anything, he would get that ordinary gesture which he longed for.

It was odd to feel that sense of closure when running from the police, but Jack knew to take his chance when he got it. He knew he would never have the guts to put it to words, that he couldn't expect Dave to do so, and that it was best to simply enjoy what he had. Even though Dave was dangerous, he was still the one that got to hold his hand when they ran. When riskiness is all you have, you learn to embrace it.

Even when they crashed against a dumpster several alleyways later, they were still holding hands. Dave didn't let him go as they slumped against each other, breathless and sweaty from the effort of running. He heaved, flashed Jack a mischievous look as he retreated a fraction of their loot from his pockets with a growing smile. Jack couldn't help but laugh too, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead without care for how it smudged his makeup. Dave had seen him bare before, he didn't think badly of him; they were much the same anyway.

"Fuckin' hell- If this is your idea of a date I can see why you were never married!"

Jack said, between laughs and heavy pants, nudging Dave's side playfully. It seemed genuine joy in this manner could never be obtained through regular methods for them, there always had to be something ridiculous for it to fit in their lives.

"Awh c'mon sportsy! I did take ya' out like promised-!"

Jack supposed that he was just as much at fault for not being normal as Dave was, and it had been ridiculous for him to suggest a genuine date -of all things- to begin with. But he was right, he had kept his promise, and that already made him a little better than Jack. Dave had many sides, but he knew there was something good beneath what he was shaped into.

"That you did..."

He wished it was easier to admire Dave, to stare at the way his shoulders shook when he laughed and the genuine smile on his face that momentarily distracted Jack from the scars around it. He wished he didn't find himself glancing away when he met Dave's eye, his open-mouthed laugh fading to a grin that said more than words ever could.

"Say old sport, ya' wanna go in there?"

He could only take what he could get, and currently that was following Dave into the small pub he pointed at. They were probably best off out of sight anyway, he convinced himself. They entered, hands still intertwined with smiles on their faces, off to a night that wouldn't live to see the morning. If drowning out anything meaningful with substances would make it more tolerable, then Jack had peace with that.

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[5093 words]

Uhhhh. Lost the plot a little... Didn't feel like writin' much of an ending, wuteves, sue me!