One toke? You poor fool! Wait 'til you see those goddamn bats.

It's days like this that Sid wishes he was dead.
A normal, drizzly early morning in inner city Birmingham, and he's out jogging. Five am. No fucker jogs at five am.
Well, no eighty year olds, anyway. He jogs in fatigues. They're only things that feel normal any more, seeing as he can't dress in the usual carpet slippers and cardigan combo that most pensioners favour, but he'd feel a prick trying to dress any younger.
So it's always the same army surplus that he wears when he's out saving the world. He's not a real person any more, just a pair of cargo pants and a t-shirt thanks to that bloody Super Soldier program.

Captain bloody America doesn't have to deal with this sort of thing. He's still the right age, his powers match his body.
That's what Sid hates the most - when he sees the bastard's smiling face on the front cover of the Mail, grinning away like he hasn't got a care in the world, still blond and loved and totally at peace with himself.

Sometimes, when he feels up to it, he'll visit Nancy's grave. Beautiful, caring, dead Nancy. If he ever meets Captain America, he'll bring him here - force him to look at the sort of normal, mundane things that Captain Midlands has to deal with every day.
No-one should ever have to visit the woman they love in a churchyard for forty-five years.

"... I'm sorry, Nancy, love. I haven't been up for a while," The grave is silent and cold, as he expects. He talks anyway, just in case. "I've been, eh, busy, you know?" He clears away the wilted flowers - only he brings flowers - and smooths the dirt back across.

Sid settles down with his back pressed against the stone in front of hers, staring at the engraved name that's all he has left.
Nancy Ridley - beloved wife of Sid.
In God's arms.
What a load of bollocks, she shouldn't be in anyone's arms but his. It's not right. Nobody bloody mentioned this when he signed up for the Super Soldier Program. Sid doesn't see your loved ones getting a tumour the size of a bloody grapefruit and leaving you old and alone forever written in the small print.

"I miss you, you know. I mean... Even though it's been... S-So long, I still miss you, Nance," He can feel his voice breaking a little, so he waits until it's steady enough to go on before he says anything else. "But this... This isn't living. I'm eighty one years old, Nancy. I don't want to keep being a hero. I want them to let me die." This time, he presses the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until the stinging feeling in his eyes subsides.

Nancy doesn't reply. There isn't even some kind of 'sign', for him to be comforted by. He's just an old man, sat in a graveyard, talking to a lump of rock in the pissing rain. And, Sid thinks, that is what being a super soldier is all about.

It's nearly half past twelve when the doctor returns. Tora, who has been pacing for almost the full eight hours, springs on him immediately. He proffers a nervous smile.
“We have him stabilised.” The look of sheer joy that crosses Tora's tightened features is warming even through her icy exterior.

“Can I...” She hesitates. The doctor nods briefly.
“Yes. But I'm afraid that these two gentlemen will have to wait here.” Her face crumples a little, but Booster shakes his head with that trademark grin of his.

“No! Go on, Tora. Tell Guy we say hi, and that we'll kick his ass if he ever pulls a stunt like that again.” Tora hesitates for a moment, then smiles widely through a faceful of tears, flinging her arms around Booster and Ted.
“... Thank you.” She sniffles gratefully.

“Don't mention it. We'll go grab a coffee or something downstairs. Come find us when you're done,” Ted smiles, patting her back gently. “C'mon Michael, let's leave her to it, I'll buy you a drink.”

They watch Tora hurry after the doctor, grinning stupidly, wiping at the mascara streaks under her eyes. There's silence for a second, then his team-mate grins.
“Sounds good. But call me Booster.”
“... C'mon Booster, I'll buy you a drink.”

The coffee is awful, of course, but to Ted it may as well be liquid gold.
Not that liquid gold would taste great, his mind unhelpfully points out. Metaphors have never really been Ted Kord's area of expertise. Still, knowing that Guy's okay for the moment, and actually sitting with Booster Gold being civil certainly makes a change.

“Listen,” Says Booster, frowning over his polystyrene cup. “I... I'm sorry for being such a jerk these past few weeks...” He even looks duly ashamed, and Ted has to hold back a chuckle at the rather pathetic upward glance he offers.

“Don't worry about it, Booster,” Ted tries the name out with a curious fascination. It's a similar feeling to being let into an R rated movie for the first time. “Let's just forget about it, okay?”

Booster frowns, almost sullenly, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes. He struggles to find appropriate words, then finally comes out with something that Ted wasn't even vaguely anticipating.
“How come you're always so nice to everyone?” He asks frustratedly.
“Why not? It's no fun being bitter all the time.” Ted says, taking a sip of his coffee which has, ironically, almost seven teaspoons of sugar stirred into it.

“No... But, I mean... You barely know that Jaime kid, and he's just taken your car!”
“Well he needs to get home somehow! He's got school tomorrow!” Ted protests plaintively, holding his hands up in defence. “Anyway, the kid's a formula one driver – he's hardly likely to want an aged Ford Focus with a broken radio.”

There's silence, then Booster sniggers a little childishly.
“If you've sat in it, he probably is.” He smirks, and Ted chuckles.
“... He was a little too excited to be driving it, wasn't he?”

They lapse into silence eventually, Booster frowning thoughtfully and Ted watching the twenty four hour news channel playing quietly in the corner of the hospital lobby.
“Hey, how are you getting back, then?” Booster finally asks nearly ten minutes later. Ted blinks, sipping at his coffee idly with a shrug.

“To my hotel? Taxi? I dunno. I hadn't really thought it through.”
“A taxi? At this time of night?”
“... Walk?” Ted tries again.
“At this time of night?!” Booster offers back again.
“You and Tora are walking back to your hotel!” He points out with a rather childish whine. Booster pulls a face in frustration.
“Doesn't count. Our hotel's, like, a three minute walk! In a group!” He informs Ted, talking wildly with his hands.
“Well I already gave Jaime my car!”
“Let me give you a lift back.” Booster says seriously, leaning over the table to frown a little too hard at Ted's face.

“... Is this some trick to lure me into your car and strangle me?” Ted asks, only half joking. Booster blinks owlishly, then wrinkles his forehead.
“No!” He complains indignantly. “Why would you even think that?!” He gives an annoyed huff of breath that Ted can't help but find unexpectedly endearing.
“Relax, I was joking. You can give me a lift back.”

[ INTERLUDE OF SOME KIND I AM LAZY FUCK YOU D:]

“Well thanks for a wonderful evening, Booster, I'd ask you for a goodnight kiss, but my dad might see,” Ted jokes, elbowing open the car door. There's a rather awkward silence that should, ideally, have been filled with laughter. “... Booster? That was a joke. You're meant to laugh.”

Booster blinks, then looks up suddenly, his eyes very, very blue and very, very intense.
Oh god, maybe he is going to kill me... In the parking lot... He's going to leave my body out as a warning to others... Ohgodohgod.
“Ask me.”
“W-What?” Ted understands. At least, he hopes he understands.
“Ask me.” Booster repeats, and Ted really does understand. Unfortunately, his lack of any sort of social skills means that all he can do is blush fiercely.

Lucky for him, Booster takes control, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a hesitant kiss.
It's gentle and experimental, but it makes Ted's brain shut down regardless. Booster doesn't taste of anything cliché and romantic, no whiskey or cigarettes or inexplicable strawberries. He tastes mostly of bitter hospital coffee and then the warm dampness of his mouth distracts Ted from anything else. A tongue teases across his, then flits away skittishly as Booster pulls away, looking thoroughly ashamed.

“Oh man... I'm so sorry.” He looks the epitome of humiliated, and flinches back when Ted reaches out to him. “I didn't mean... God, I'm sorry. I've gotta... Go. Go check on Tora...” He doesn't meet Ted's eyes, his eyes fix instead on the passenger side footwell.

Ted, still too utterly thrown to do anything else, finds himself nodding unhappily.
“Oh... Uh... Yeah. Yeah, that's okay. I... See you tomorrow, I guess.” He blinks, pulling away sharply, hesitating a moment before he closes the car door.

John always tries to get Chas to stay over after a pub crawl, or an exorcism or a fight with Renee. He doesn't let on how desperate he actually is; he makes Chas think that it's him who had the idea.
But there's something so normal, so domesticated when Chas is over, that it's harder than any drug Constantine's ever tried. And he's tried a lot.

At half nine, John'll wake up, on his rather D.I.Y. bed that currently consists of a mattress on the floor, some cushions off the sofa, and a duvet; Already there'll be the sound of Chas mucking around in the kitchen, trying to find something vaguely edible.

Again, John knows there's nothing there, but he lets Chas look anyway, until:
"What the fuck do you eat, you daft cunt?" Floats down the hallway. It's not quite a good morning, but it's a decent enough reason for John to drag himself up out of the nest of makeshift pillows and lumpy mattress to go and see what the bastard's whinging about.

"I dunno." John grunts, scratching a hand through greasy hair, frowning at Chas like he's just made an incredibly stupid comment.
"All I've found in your whole kitchen is a can of tuna, some chocolate biscuits, teabags and something that looks like it used to be cheese." He jerks a thumb at the 'fridge pointedly, and John looks at the refrigerator with the expression of someone who's forgotten that it exists entirely.

"'M not usually up in time to eat anything - the pub opens in an hour," Is his eventual reasoning. "Just have a biscuit." He takes one himself, and chews the soggy digestive, grinning in an attempt to look as if he's actually enjoying it.
"If the pub opens in an hour, you've got enough time to go down bloody Tescos and get something," Chas is worse than Kit ever was. "Get dressed you lazy bastard, we're going shopping."

-

Of course John has no real problem with this, but he makes out like it's a huge inconvenience, just to goad Chas a little. It works, naturally, and by the time John's finally dressed the pub would be open anyway but Chas is going to drag him around the supermarket just to make a point.

"So what do you actually need?" Bless him, Chas has actually gotten paper and a biro from somewhere, and is writing a shopping list. John lights two cigarettes, hands one to Chas and opens the kitchen window, to let in all the fumes that London has to offer.

"Everything. You've already told me this, but not teabags." He exhales smoke, and watches Chas in what he hopes is an inconspicuous manner.
"Right. Bread. Er... Milk."
"Eggs?" John supplies helpfully, getting quite into this domestic thing.
"Yeah... Ehm. Bacon. I could murder a bacon sandwich."
"Well if you don't get a speed on, you can make a tuna and teabag one between two biscuits,"
"There's only one biscuit left." Chas tells him seriously, and carries on scrawling away on the paper.

Ten minutes later, there's the vague outline of a shopping list, to which John has contributed 'fags, and more teabags', whilst Chas has smoked his way through another cigarette and has managed to assemble the rest of the list based on what Renee usually buys.

"Come on, let's go, I'm starving." He grabs his bomber jacket, and tosses Constantine his trench coat, that he entirely fails to catch.
"You throw like a nancy," John grumbles, pulling his arms through the sleeves as he follows Chas out of the flat.

-

They walk to the nearest supermarket, which turns out to only be a five minute walk away, and which John insists that can't remember ever seeing before.
"You've lived here nearly ten years!" Chas exclaims, grabbing a trolley and nudging John pointedly in the backs of the legs with it.

"'S not my fault," John frowns, rubbing his thighs with a hurt expression.  "I only come here when my fuckin' wife's over."
"You don't have a w-- Wait... Oh, you bastard!" Chas yells across the trolleys at John's retreating back and storms off after him under the watchful eye of the spotty, teenage security guard stood rather uselessly at the sliding doors.

"Oi, you can't smoke in here either, you daft twat," He pulls the freshly lit silk-cut out of John's mouth and crushes it in one of the one quid mugs on display for father's day. "Don't you know the first thing about shopping?"

There's an odd pride in Chas's voice, the same as when he's explaining The Knowledge or talking about Trish's school plays. It's the kind of reassurance that maybe John's not always better than him. That he's always got something no matter how small or stupid it seems, that he can do well at. John just plays along with it.

"Nope. None." He frowns at the display of mugs, picking one up to examine it closely. "'S why I bring you along for the ride, innit?"
Chas takes the mug and puts it back on the shelf carefully, like John's some very slow, very thick kid.
"I don't trust you not to break it. Leave stuff alone." He explains, shoving John again with the trolley, in an effort to get him to move away from the father's day display and back on track  with the actual shopping.

-

"Can we not just go to the pub?" John finally complains after nearly twenty minutes of Chas comparing different prices for different kinds of cheese and onion crisps, before putting them both back and getting ready salted instead.
"No we bloody can't!"
"It'd be so much easier!" He cries, throwing a well aimed multipack at Chas's head. Chas snatches it out of mid air and turns with a face like thunder.

"You," He points at John with a long middle finger. "Are making a scene."
"What're you gonna do about it?" John asks snidely, throwing another bag at Chas, who sidesteps out of the way and stands on it. There's the bang of air escaping from the multipack, and then stony silence before Chas informs him that,
"I'm gonna shut you up."  knuckles tightening on the sides of the trolley.

The woman beside them suddenly seems engrossed in the nutritional value of the rice crackers in her left hand, but still interested enough in the two of them to cast rather unsubtle glances across the aisle.

"Oooh. You're going to shut me up? You going to make me sit in the trolley, too?" John knows exactly what's going to happen if he provokes Chas, but it's okay because he's got a plan. "Can I have the end of the bread if I shut my gob?"
Rice cracker woman leans in fractionally, her mouth hanging open loosely at the soap opera style argument John's leading.
"You can have my fucking fist in your gob if you don't shut it!"
"That a promise, Chandler?"

By this point, Chas is finally shaking with barely controlled rage


[*HAS RUN OUT OF STUFF HALP*]


"We started a bloody domestic in the crisp aisle," Chas says, looking a little stunned. His eye's swelling up, and John's split lip is leaking gore all down his face. They are kicked out of Tesco in disgrace.

Sat in the trolley park outside Tesco in the pissing rain, John tries to light a cigarette. It goes out, then falls apart, adding to the general defeatist attitude.
Neither of them wants to be the first to say it, but finally, Chas is the one that relents.
".... Shall we just go to the pub?"
".... Yeah, all right then."

Title: Secret Keeping
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Comic Strip Presents...
Characters: Ace/Squealer [Slags sketch]
Summary: Squealer isn't known for his secret keeping, or his eloquence.
Warnings: None.
Notes: I'm so very sorry for butchering this magnificent show. ;;

( I know what you're like you know, Ace, I know, you know... )

Title: Would you kindly..?
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Bioshock
Characters: Jack/???
Summary: Things always seem a better idea at the time.
Warnings: Sex, Swearing, Kinda Dub-Con.
Notes: Dedicated to Wade and Nate. Because hey, why not?

( Would you kindly get on your knees? )