Skeeter was worried sick.

As a result, he was also moderately pissed off.

“This job’s gonna be a cakewalk, he said. Ah go in, shoot the guy, then leave; he said. Really, Allen? Well ya didn’t say nothin’ about FUCKIN’ HOTEL FIRES, DID YA!?” Skeeter yelled to the ceiling. “Swear to God, if ya’ll come back without callin’, Ah’m gonna stick mah wrench so far up yer ass, Ah’ll have to…to…”

He trailed off as he heard his phone ring in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out and answered. “Allen?”

“Hey Skeeter.” replied Allen. Skeeter noted how breathless he sounded.

“Man, ya’ll better start explainin’ shit! First of all, why the hell-?” Skeeter began, but was abruptly cut off.

“I’ll explain everything when I get there, but you’ll need to grab your med kit first.” said Allen.

“Mah med kit!? Man what the hell-?”

“Skeeter!” Allen interrupted again. “I can’t explain things when I’m bleeding out, alright!? So just get the damn box and close shop please!”

“Alright!” Skeeter hung up and went to find his medical supplies. “Boy, ya’ll got some serious explainin’ to do.” he muttered angrily.

((((((*******))))))

Allen sat at Skeeter’s worktable while he cleaned, stitched, and bandaged the gash in his side. While that happened, he recounted everything that had taken place during what was supposed to be a cake job. Skeeter had calmed down by the time he finished, but was still pretty annoyed.

“Knew Ah shoulda kept ya’ll from that job.” Skeeter mumbled.

“I’m not even going to dignify that.”

Skeeter grunted in response, then leaned back to check his work.

“How’s it feel?” he asked.

Allen gave him a look. That’s a really stupid thing to ask.

“I have a big fat gash in my side. It hurts.”

“How bad, jackass?”

Allen stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “Not as bad as it probably should. Thanks, by the way.” he said as he tugged his shirt back on.

“S’all good.” Skeeter said simply as he went to his office to put his medical kit away.

“Also, sorry I couldn’t get rid of that piece of shit Prius for you.” said Allen, trying to find some way to lighten the mood.

Skeeter chuckled. “No worries man. We gonna need some fireworks to celebrate anyway. Hey, you could bring yer girlfriend along!”

Allen laughed. “She’s…she’s not my girlfriend, buddy.”

Skeeter came back with two beers. “Bullshit.”

Allen shook his head as he took the bottle that his friend offered him. “I shit you not.”

Now it was Skeeter’s turn to shake his head. “Nah, you’re shittin’ me. Ah know it.”

“What makes you think I’m lying to you?” asked Allen as he opened his bottle, wincing as the action sent pain shooting through him.

“Well…ya still ain’t told her about whatcha do for a livin’.”

Allen raised an eyebrow. “What I did, and I haven’t told a lot of people. I wasn’t even planning on telling you. What’s your point?”

“You’re worried about what she’ll think of ya.” he said as he took a sip of beer.

“Skeeter, I’m trying to protect her from an entire world that would extort her for her abilities. Now what do you think will happen if I tell her about my job? How do you think she’ll react?”

Skeeter thought for a second. “Probably be scared shitless.”

“Exactly, which could lead to her into doing something dangerous that would put the both of us on the radar. Which isn’t a good idea in a city infested by federal agents.”

“That may be true, but Ah saw the way ya’ll was lookin’ at ‘er yesterday. Ya’ll enjoy her company much more than mine or Arnie's. Ah may be a hopeless drunk, but Ah ain’t stupid. Ah know love when Ah see it.”

“It isn’t love Skeeter.” Allen replied, slightly annoyed. “We’re just friends. Now drop it.”

For a long while, each glared at the other

“Whatever.” Skeeter mumbled. “Damn, ya’lls a real stubborn sumbitch.”

“Look who’s talking.” Allen retorted. Skeeter shot him a dirty look, then returned to his beer.

They sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and punctuating it with the occasional swig of beer.

“On another note, it’s finally over.” Allen said with a smile.

“Yep.” Skeeter replied contentedly. “Got any big plans?”

“One pretty simple one, actually.” Allen said, downing the last of his beer. “Get a full-time job, lay low for a bit and wait for the feds to leave, then leave this dump for good using the money I’ve saved up during my career as a fixer.”

“Leave?” Skeeter repeated with interest. “Where ya’ll gonna go?”

Allen thought for a moment. “Canada.” he said simply.

“Canada? Oak leaf country?” his friend asked, wondering if he’d heard right. “Seriously?”

“Yup. I’ll be out of American jurisdiction, with the added benefit of being a complete nobody. Admin’s going to forge some new personal records for me and erase my previous ones, and as soon as I’m sure that no one will notice me, I’m gonna pack what I can into the Mach 1 and put this cesspool in my rearview mirror.”

Skeeter sighed. “Ah’m gonna miss seein’ you two roll into mah shop every coupla’ weeks.” he said sadly.

Allen reached over and patted his shoulder. “Thank you Skeeter. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me these three long years. I doubt I would’ve made it this long without you.”

Skeeter grinned. “Hey, what’s family for, right?”

“True. Just remember: I’m keeping my phone number. If you ever need anything, anything at all, I’ll just be a phone call away.”

“Thanks buddy.” Skeeter said appreciatively.

Silence returned to the garage for another few minutes, both men having finished their beer and now simply letting their minds wander. Skeeter looked over at Allen. “Quick question?”

“Shoot.”

“Feel free not to answer this, but why’d ya’ll hate bein’ a fixer so much?”

Allen’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Skeeter had never asked such a personal question about his job. “What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one.” replied the mechanic. “Ya’ll was pretty gung-ho ‘bout workin’ for that robo-creeper when ya first told me about ‘em, ‘bout gettin’ revenge on the fucker that killed yer family. Now, Ah can’t blame ya fer that. Anyone else woulda’ reacted the same way, Ah’m sure. Wha’s buggin’ me is what happened when ya finally got ‘em. Ya’ll sounded like ya was on a war path before the job, but when Ah came and saved yer ass afterwards, ya’ll was scared of somethin’ and wouldn't tell me what.”

Allen turned to look at him as he continued.

“What the hell did ya’ll see in there?”

He stared at Skeeter for a long moment, wondering whether or not he should tell him, then turned back around. “Let’s just say I saw myself clearly for the first time.” he said quietly.

Skeeter stared back at his best friend, trying to figure out what he’d meant by that, when said friend suddenly got up and threw his trenchcoat back on. “I better get going. I promised Twilight lunch.”

“Oh?” said Skeeter, mouth suddenly stretching into a wide grin.

Allen glared at him in annoyance as he put his fedora back on. “Can I take someone out to lunch without you saying things?”

“Sorry.”

He shook his head as he got back in the Mach 1, groaning contentedly in the leather driver’s seat.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.” he said as he turned the key, grinning as the car roared to life. “Never again, darling.”

Skeeter bent down and looked at him through the passenger window. “So when ya’ll wanna torch that Prius?”

“I’m meeting Admin in two days so they can give me my old paper records and we can properly cut ties. I’ll be over right after that, and we’ll head out together.”

“Good deal. See ya then!” he said as Allen backed out of the garage. The other man waved in farewell before speeding off toward his house.

Skeeter leaned against the garage door and watched with a frown as the black muscle car disappeared around a corner.

What ain’t ya’ll tellin’ me, man?

He stood there for a few more minutes, silently contemplating the mystery that was his best friend.

Then he shrugged in defeat and switched the store’s sign back to ‘open’.

((((((*******))))))

Allen pulled back into his driveway and got out, not even bothering to lock up the car before starting towards his front door. There wasn’t much point, seeing as they were about to leave again in the next five minutes.

He was searching through his pockets for his house key when he noticed a flicker of movement in his living room window. He stopped, suddenly apprehensive.

What the hell…?

Finally locating his key, he approached his front door, slightly more cautious than before. He didn’t have a choice. He had to go inside, regardless of who was in there. He unlocked the door and opened it slightly, peeking through the crack in an attempt to see anything suspicious waiting inside.

Suddenly, some unseen force grabbed him by his shirt collar and dragged him inside, slamming the door behind him. He staggered to a stop, holding his side in pain, and looked wildly around the room for his attacker. He calmed down slightly when the only one he noticed was Twilight, leaning casually next to the kitchen door. “Twilight, what the hell!?” he asked angrily. “That wasn’t funny! You scared the living-”

He stopped as he saw the look on her face. It was a look unlike any he’d ever seen before, and he had trouble reading it for a moment. It looked like the oddest mix of anger, sadness, and fear. He was about to ask her what was the matter when he finally noticed that the T.V. was on. He looked over and his breath caught in his throat, Gautier’s voice finally carrying over to him..

“…still have no idea who did it or if the two incidents are connected. Forensic teams are sifting through what’s left of the hotel room for any clues as to the identity of this mysterious terrorist, but they’ve already stated that any such clues have likely been incinerated. Police are beginning to question…”

“Well…” he began, trying to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. “…that’s-”

Before he could get any further, however, the guitar case flew off of his back and levitated over to her in a pink aura, unclasping and opening as it went. The case finally reached her and dropped to the floor, leaving his rifle floating in plain sight.

For what felt like an eternity, they both simply stared at the weapon.

“Twilight, listen. I-”

He stopped as she aimed a ball of crackling energy at him. “You’d better start being completely honest with me.” she growled. “What were you doing before you rescued me? Why were you in that part of town to begin with?”

Allen sighed. He should have seen this coming sooner or later. Twilight was too smart and he was keeping too big of a secret. There was no way out now except to cooperate.

“I was on an assassination job. I’d finished and was on my way back to my car when I heard you scream.”

“I can’t believe this!” she said loudly. “All this time, I thought you were better than the rest of your world, when it turns out you’re just like them!”

“Excuse me!?” he said angrily. “I am nothing like them! Unlike them, I didn’t get a choice in the matter!”

“We always have a choice! You chose to become a killer!” she replied.

“Don’t act like you know me! You don’t know anything about me!”

“Because you won’t tell me anything!”

Allen snorted and shoved past, headed for the kitchen. Twilight continued to rant.

“So tell me something! Anything! Why do you kill people for a living? What did you mean by not having a choice? Why did you even bother saving me that night?”

“I don’t owe you anything, especially answers.” Allen growled as he poured himself some brandy.

"You're kidding." Twilight said incredulously.

"No, I'm not!" he raged. "A week ago, I was happily sulking in my armchair with my revolver and a glass of brandy! Then you show up, and suddenly I'm being tossed across my house and hunted by the federal government!"

Twilight shook her head with a mix of anger and desperation. “What would your family think if they saw you like this?”

Allen froze, eyes wide.

Twilight raised an eyebrow at his reaction, then jumped slightly when the bottle slipped from his grasp and shattered on the kitchen tile. She looked at him, slightly worried.

“Allen?”

He suddenly turned around and leaned against the counter.

“Allen, what-”

“I wouldn’t know what they’d think.” he quietly interjected. “It’s not like I can ask them.”

Twilight clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing that she’d just crossed a line. “I’m-”

“Don’t. Just go away.” he growled.

She stayed for a moment longer, trying to think of something she could say to make up for what she’d just done. Then, realizing she couldn’t, she turned and disappeared upstairs.

Allen continued to lean against the counter for a few more minutes, then straightened up and walked back outside to lock his car.

He came back inside and locked the door behind him, stopping as he noticed the picture hanging next to it. His mother, stepfather, and little brother all grinned back at the stony-faced ex-assassin, who stared at the picture for what felt like hours before the tears began streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry.” he finally said to them. Naturally, they didn’t respond.

Allen took a shaky breath as he turned, picked up his rifle and case, and carried them to the basement.

His career as a fixer may have finally ended, but the pain it had caused him was here to stay.

Author's Note

The cat's out of the bag now.
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