CHAPTER 5: OFF THE CLOCK

– POV: QUEUE –

(ROLEPLAYERS: VEN, TEA)

(ADAPTATION: VEN)

It's been a couple hours, since the meeting with the Blackstone Emperor, Chaos. That’s long enough, though – it's been long enough that the sun is beginning to set, and everything is getting quiet. Darker. Queue finds himself lingering in the halls of the White House.

He also soon finds that he’s not the only one who’s had this particular train of thought about hanging around. As they round the corner they spot Jeremy – standing in the hallway, fumbling with his keys as he locks the door to his office. They hang back and watch for a bit.

Jeremy starts to walk away, but then abruptly stops, seems to curse under his breath, and then walks back, repeating the process all over again. Queue lets out a quiet huff of amusement.

Now he steps out of the shadows, small wings fluttering.

"I think you locked it right the first time."

Queue speaks casually, despite their uneasy mood. They're lingering around the White House after the events of the meeting like a disturbed spirit of some sort, unable to rest for the life of them.

But unlike a disturbed spirit, he has a relatively friendly expression on his face. Or at least, he’s attempting to have one.

They don’t fully process the way Jeremy freezes.

"Honest, I understand! But ... man, we all need to ease up a little, huh?" Queue looks and feels a little wistful, now. A little thoughtful, thinking of a better time for a moment. But it passes, and then he's back in the present.

"How have you been?" Queue asks. It's conversational, casual. Trying not to break their usual routine, between the two of them, too much – Queue knows Jeremy just enough to puzzle out that ... that would not go over well with him.

They bite their tongue on other than the lock troubles, that sounds a bit mean.

Jeremy whips his head around in Queue’s direction. Eyes wide, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have. And he stares, for just a minute.

And as he looks at them with those wide eyes Queue wonders for a second if they shouldn't have said anything, meeting his gaze with slightly widened eyes of his own. And then the man relaxes slightly, the moment passes, and oh, thank God, things are normal again.

Jeremy looks away. Vaguely embarrassed, if Queue had to guess. Well, they had caught him at kind of a bad time, they suppose. Maybe they could have been nicer, about that, but hey. Now that the guilt has passed … It was kind of funny, okay?

"... I've been fine," Jeremy says, finally. Pocketing his keys and turning to face Queue fully. "I was a bit behind schedule, but. Ah. What can you do, right? I managed."

He nods to himself. Queue tilts their head.

"What about you? You got around organizing the scouts, yet?" Jeremy asks, looking at Queue with his usual neutral expression.

"I've been working on what I can, but to be honest it's been really hard to actually focus on much of anything with the stress," Queue admits openly with a little huff of breath. "The Emperor himself sure left a bad impression, that's for sure. I've been running around trying to calm people down."

That much was true – but most of it had been inside the White House. God knows what they'd have to do outside of it, people who were just living their lives and still hurting from the war would be terrified of Chaos appearing.

Jeremy huffs. "Well that's the Emperor, for you," He says, with what Queue thinks might almost be distaste or disdain. But it’s hard to tell with Jeremy. "Hopefully we don't have to – I don't know. Just let him in, again. Like it's nothing."

Crossing his arms, Queue frowns.

"Well, unfortunately, it's not like we had much choice in the matter." You aren't the one who saw -- "It can be kind of life or death, with the guy." They huff out another short breath, a sigh. "But you're right, in a way. I hated just seeing him walk in like he owned the place."

"... I know," Jeremy admits. It’s almost surprising. "Still don't like it, but – actually, whatever," He waves a hand, dismissive. Then there’s a pause. Queue rubs at his arm subconsciously, a nervous habit, and then decides to move on.

"Sorry about your schedule." They shrug. It's genuine, at least – they’re sorry for what everyone at that meeting had to be put through. A schedule is the least of everyone’s worries, he knows, but sometimes people mask their bothers with simple complaints.

A beat of silence passes, and Jeremy blinks.

"Oh, it's fine, really." He says, and it sounds automatic. "Nothing I can't handle. I'm just bitching about it." Sure enough, Queue was right. Jeremy is bothered by something else. Not that Queue is going to press for it.

"Just bitching, huh." He laughs a little. "Yeah, I understand that."

At that, Jeremy dimly laughs, too. Sort of, it's a quiet kind of sound. "Yeah, just bitching. Lot to bitch about, you know? I just ... don't say anything, usually. Most of the time." Oh, yeah. Queue knows.

"There sure is," He says tiredly. "Even without the Emperor getting involved there's a lot of things to be doing." Their wings rustle. He always gets this odd feeling, talking to Jeremy, especially lately, when the man would just ... talk to him, like an equal. Queue can't really put a finger on it.

It reminds him of how someone else made him feel, but. Well. They don't like thinking about those feelings.

"Anything else in particular worth bitching about, you think?"

"People," Jeremy blurts out immediately. "God, people. People. Overwhelming bunch of –" He groans, saying something inaudible in between it that’s not quite decipherable. "The phone calls? I can handle them, most of the time. Maybe today I was just – already pissed off. I dunno."

He shrugs.

"But like I said. I cope."

Damn, Queue thinks. Can't really relate, but okay.

They don't say that, obviously, and, well, maybe they can relate a little more than he'd like to admit ... dealing with the community was something that he loved but could only take so much of. It's draining him, a little.

"I get it, I think," Queue says thoughtfully. "Kind of. Glad you're coping, though." He offers a smile.

Their wings twitch.

"Of course,” Jeremy replies.

And then there’s silence between them. It lasts an uncomfortably long amount of time, enough for Queue to almost want to say, okay, maybe I should be going now, see you later! However, Jeremy clearly doesn’t have the same train of thought, because …

"Hey – are you doing anything this evening, perchance?"

One, two, three.

Queue blinks. Several seconds pass. The gears turn in his head, steady clockwork powering his brain slowly as it reasons through that line of questioning. Their mouth opens to speak, and then closes again. And then –

"Uh, no. I'm not. Why?" His brow furrows, still trying to puzzle out what's going on here. Or is this just ... a Jeremy thing? It's probably just a Jeremy thing but he's really, really not sure.

"Do you wanna get a drink?" Jeremy asks. "Or – or something? I dunno."

Another pause. There’s a loud dial-up tone in Queue’s head as he processes, and he swears it's audible to Jeremy, too.

Then they blink, and it's gone, and they're saying –

"Yeah, sure! I don't see why not," With a big smile, maybe a touch too warm, like nothing is wrong at all. "Like, right now? Or later?" God, what are you even asking? "Just – just for clarification, because it is late ..."

Jeremy just kind of blinks at him.

Fuck, Queue thinks.

"Oh, well. I usually go after, work … ? Would you rather it be later?" Jeremy looks at Queue with what must be mild confusion. And possibly judgment.

"Oh – no, no, it's fine! We can go. Whenever." Queue shoves their hands in their pockets abruptly and the feathers on their wings fluff up considerably for a moment, bristling slightly in embarrassment. "I'm free, so."

For as socially adept as he can claim to be – Queue can seriously suck at the most basic of human interaction. Or – what he thinks is the most basic of human interaction.

"... Okay,” Jeremy says, and Queue for the life of them cannot read his tone. "Let's, go then?" Oh – he's already starting to walk. Expecting Queue to follow, clearly.

"Yeah, alright!" Queue says, jogging after Jeremy to keep up.

Off they go.

—-

"Okay, I know what you're thinking –" Jeremy starts off, walking into the bar. Holding the door open, for Queue to walk through. "It's obnoxious. Right? But, listen – the service is pretty fuckin' good, yeah? Surprisingly so. And also, it happens to be close. So."

Vague … hand gesturing. "What can ya do. It certainly speaks for itself, doesn't it?" Jeremy’s right. The bar certainly does speak for itself.

Getting around the way he does, Queue has seen this place once or twice, but never really gotten anything to drink – alcohol wasn't exactly his favorite flavor, and he was wary of the concept of getting drunk, anyhow.

It’s one of the few bars around town. What's particular about this one, though, is the fact that it's run by pirates – former pirates, that is. But they didn't exactly let you forget –

The entire bar has a theme to it. Wooden floors – planks, looks like – nautical flags strewn about, the anchor theming – it all looks like it's trying to emulate a ship.

But to Queue, despite Jeremy’s words, it's hard to find obnoxiousness in a place overflowing with so much passion.

Queue's eyes are wide as they walk into the building, not because they're scared, but because he's genuinely a little awed and excited by the decor and the people who frequent the place.

There are just some places his mind has labeled as not supposed to go because of his status (and other reasons) and bars were one of them.

Alone, that is. Alone. Right now, he has Jeremy with him, he's not alone. Queue has backup, so to speak. So they feel a little more confident as they glance around and adjust to their surroundings gradually. Okay. He can work with this. Jeremy is saying the service is good.

Okay! Sweet!

"Yes," Queue says with a grin. "It does speak for itself, and it speaks rather grandly, too," He murmurs, careful not to disturb the populace with loud outbursts. "Interesting theme. I like it, actually. If the service is good, that's even better."

As Queue says all of that, Jeremy blinks, as though a touch surprised, though he quickly gets over it outwardly as far as Queue can tell. Nothing seems to last long with that guy – emotionally, at least.

"Yeah... certainly brimming with personality, isn't it?" He says, closing the door behind Queue as they step in. Walking further in – again, expecting Queue to follow.

It doesn't take long to reach the bar itself – like a lot of things in No Man's Land, the building was rather small. Quaint. Jeremy practically climbs his way up onto one of the stools, and sits down.

Queue pauses. The stools are tall …

Oh, damn it. If Jeremy has to almost-climb a stool, Queue has to scale the damn thing. They are short.

Huffing out a quiet sigh, Queue, with some difficulty, aggressive flapping of his small wings, and odd looks from a few strangers makes it onto his stool and immediately sits down with complete dignity as though nothing had happened.

Jeremy doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, doesn’t comment (thank God), and leans on the counter. Must be waiting.

"... D'ya know this place is owned by pirates?" Jeremy mentions, idly. Voice a little a louder than a murmur. "Hah – pretty obvious, right? Guess they wanted to remember their lifestyle, even when they settled."

Queue blinks, but honestly? Isn't that surprised.

"It definitely looks the part," He says, and it's honest. "Our histories are kind of intertwined anyway, yeah? Pirates and No Man's Land." They laugh quietly, glancing around the establishment again to see what there is to be seen.

There are actually a couple of familiar faces in the bar – and Queue's own expression lights up when he sees them, offering a quick wave here or there to say hello silently. All-around, this experience ... isn't terrible! And Jeremy seems to feel the same way, as far as Queue can tell, so ... win-win!

"Mm," Jeremy hums. "Yeah, they are, aren't they? I guess it's only fitting." Jeremy's fingers tap against the table, idly. Waiting, waiting.

Stolen story; please report.

And as if on cue --

"Evenin', Jeremy!" A rather tall, bulky looking woman slides into view. If it weren't for the relatively friendly expression on her face, you'd actually find her quite intimidating, you think. (Especially with the scarring on her face... hm.)

She glances to the side, eyes landing on Queue. "Ohhh, who's ya friend, here?"

"He's my co-worker," Jeremy answers unremarkably.

"Another co-worker? You really need to start getting actual friends, Jeremy. It's getting a little sad!" She snarks, a pointy looking grin on her face.

Queue glances between them, blinking as they go back and forth.

"Oh -- shut up," Jeremy practically ducks his head, shoulders hunched, face flushing slightly in – embarrassment? Is that embarrassment?

The woman rolls her eyes, before turning her attention to Queue. "I feel like I've seen ya face around, before." She squints, like she's reaaaaally studying that face, of theirs. "Can't really recall, though – I see different faces every day! Please do jog my memory."

A friendly smile breaks onto Queue's face. As of now, there's no reason to be intimidated – scars never hurt anyone, and her attitude doesn't seem sour at all. Though Queue does have to crane their neck up to make eye contact.

"Queue. Queue Andrews," he says easily. "It's a pleasure to meet you!" They beam, smile all warmth. And it's genuine! It's honest! Queue wants to know more about this place, they've always meant to learn more about this side of NML's history, it was just ... intimidating, for a while.

But now he has (a friend?) backup with him! So it's not like anything is going to happen to them, really.

The bartender snaps her fingers. "Queue Andrews! Ahh, I remember now! I've heard a lot about you, yanno," She grins. "Mustn't be easy, getting around like that..." What does she mean? What does she mean by that? Queue’s brow furrows.

Mustn’t be easy … Well, someone has to do it, right? Someone has to make sure the people are happy. Safe. Despite the ups and downs. Someone has to –

The bartender leans on the counter, now. Seemingly considering them both. Her gaze slides over to Jeremy.

"So what will it be, Jeremy? Today a good night, or a bad night?"

And surprisingly, Jeremy almost seems to bristle, visibly. Queue’s eyebrows raise in surprise, snapping out of their momentary daze. Though he supposes it’s not new to see Jeremy bothered about something … or at least, confrontational? Mm. Whatever.

"Today is a fine night," Jeremy says, a bit sharply. But there's no malice behind it, as far as Queue can tell. This must be a routine of some sort. Jeremy then glances at Queue. "What do you want?"

... Queue is a bit taken aback. He almost pulls a grimace. They ... they're not big on alcohol. Might as well be honest.

"I don't ... usually go to bars. Or ... do alcohol," They admit, and it feels like pulling teeth. "Hate the taste." Hate the idea of being loopy. "Is there anything else?" He looks to the bartender, blinking curiously.

Jeremy looks away. Expression unseen. This does not go unnoticed by Queue. Their brow furrows – cues from Jeremy are often small, they find, but you didn't have to be the most adept person in the world to figure out that someone ducking their head that way is not feeling the best.

After a few moments Jeremy looks back, face perfectly neutral. Placid. Somewhat expectant, like it often tends to be. Queue doesn’t make eye contact.

In fact, he doesn't press on it all, though he resists the urge to pat Jeremy on the back for reassurance. They're pretty sure the man wouldn't appreciate that gesture, either.

"Aahhh," The bartender drawls. "Well, there's some sodas in the back?" She gestures behind her. "Soft drinks, stuff like that? Will that do it, for ya?"

"Soda is fine," Queue says with a smile to the bartender, some sympathy lingering on his face from when they'd been looking at Jeremy. They hadn't realized how much their expression had softened. "Just ... anything that won't get me loopy is good."

God. The thought almost makes him shudder.

"Loopy," The bartender echoes, like she hasn't heard that phrasing before. It takes a moment, but then – "Ahhh, I understand."

She leans back, away from the counter. Glancing between them both, again. Queue suddenly feels extremely self-conscious, but doesn’t move from their stiff position.

"Anything else I can do for you both?" She asks, generally.

Jeremy's fingers tap, tap, tap against the wooden counter. Queue guesses he must be a bit restless. They feel a prick of guilt for making him so clearly uncomfortable by complete accident.

"... I'll also have a soda," He says quietly. Queue glances at him. The bartender also raises an eyebrow at him, like it's an odd request. But she also looks a bit expectant, like she's waiting for something else. Jeremy, then clarifies – "Surprise me."

Queue breathes out. Okay. Now –

"For me, anything sweet is fine." He says to the bartender with a smile, head tilting ever so slightly. Their wings twitch subconsciously.

"Okie dokie!" She grins, all very sharp teeth but still managing to look somewhat approachable. The bartender leans away as far back as she can, turning her as she does so, and goes –

"EY, JOHNNY. GET ME TWO SODAS WILL YA?"

Almost comically, as if on cue, two cans of soda slide down across the counter with just enough momentum to reach them.

Queue gives a faint, slightly amused smile. It’s kind of absurd. They glance back at Jeremy to see his reaction and …

Jeremy’s lip twitches. No other reaction is seen from the man, at least not visible to Queue. It’s almost frustrating at times, the blankness.

"Gotta love Johnny," The bartender muses, to herself.

She taps the counter, with one more note before departing: "I'll put it on your tab, yeah, Jeremy?" She smiles, tilting her head. "Give me a shout if ya need anything."

"I most certainly will not," Jeremy says with what must be just the slightest bit of amusement in his voice. A sliver, of it. The bartender easily barks a laugh, though, and – she's off.

There's a long pause as Queue watches her go, and then the two coworkers are … mostly alone.

More silence, until it can’t be stood for any longer.

"... You know, I don't go to bars often, like I said," Queue mentions idly, to Jeremy, "But I don't mind this one. It's just that –" He bites his lip. How do they word this without sounding like a coward? "– I dunno. I get nervous." He winces. God – fuck, it's good enough.

"I'm quite sorry, by the way," Jeremy says, suddenly, instead of mocking Queue or anything of the like. Turning to look at them. "I – didn't know. I really didn't." It’s a little stunning.

And … eyes widening a touch, Queue blinks, realizing that that must have been what was bothering Jeremy when he looked away. It makes sense now – the cues from before. He sighs, and shakes his head. They smile faintly, and nudge Jeremy slightly with their elbow.

He barely budges.

"Of course you didn't know. I didn't say anything," Queue says with a touch of sympathy to their voice. Almost a softness – yet, chiding, in a way. "It's not your fault. And like I said, I don't mind it here at all. It's okay!"

"I would've preferred if you did," Jeremy says, if not with the slightest beginnings of a smile. Like he's realizing that it's okay. "I'm glad you don't seem to mind it, though..."

He looks down, and finally opens the soda can with an audible clack. He doesn't drink from it yet, though. He peers at it, as if to consider it. Queue watches curiously.

"... Been going here for a while, actually," Jeremy muses. "Like, for years. Kind of hard to imagine. My brother –" His lip twitches into a frown, briefly. Queue blinks. "He introduced me to it, in the first place."

"Really?" Queue looks at Jeremy curiously. Dully, he somewhat recalls his own family – before swiping the train of thought away and off of his mental table entirely. Not the time to be dwelling on such things.

"Your brother introduced you to it. Huh," They hum, and take a moment to struggle with the lid of their own soda. And then another, and then another and -- okay, that's quite a few moments, Queue, surely you'll have gotten this by now.

"Yeah," Jeremy says, raising the can to his lips, clearly not having noticed Queue’s struggle yet. "One of the few good things that he did," Murmured.

Queue rapidly mutters a long string of curses in Spanish under his breath. Many of them should likely not be repeated in English around pleasant company.

Then. Defeatedly, Queue says …

"... I can't open this."

Jeremy turns to look at them. Blankly. Staring with a completely neutral expression, which almost adds insult to injury, honestly.

"... Do you need help." It’s more of a statement than a question.

"No – no, actually," Queue changes their mind the second that Jeremy offers, suddenly feeling indignant. He struggles with the lid again, with a little bit more intensity this time. Perhaps too much intensity –

Caught at a bad angle and with too much force, the tab pops! clean off – shoots through the air – and hits Queue directly in the face. Between the eyes, luckily not in one of the eyes.

"A —" Queue bites down on a shout, covering their face with their hands immediately after. "Fffffffuck. Shit." Muffled, from behind their palms, and in complete and utter shame and embarrassment.

"HhhHahha —" They stiffen as they hear the beginnings of a laugh from, someone. Queue's fingers part, eyes searching for who -- J ... Jeremy? Their hands drop from their face as they just kind of stare for a few moments in shock. Jeremy. Laughing. Wait, wait …

Laughing AT him. Just as quickly as the disbelief washed over Queue, embarrassment and indignance follow directly after and their face flushes a deep, deep red.

"Hey -- hey hey hey HEY it's not THAT funny –" Queue complains, swatting at Jeremy. He's trying not to be so loud as to disturb other patrons but is also feeling EXTREMELY slighted. But more in a kind-of fun way than in an actually angry way. "It hurt! Like a bitch!"

"Did it?" Jeremy asks, borderline snickering and raising an eyebrow. An actual smile, on his face. What the hell. What the hell! "Did it really?"

He leans his side against the counter, looking Queue up and down.

"What a shame."

Registering the actual smile, the look, the well. The everything, really, Queue's face gets a touch redder and on top of it their wings puff right up, spreading slightly. The little yellow things give a small flap for emphasis when Queue next speaks –

"Yes!" It's almost hissed, because they're trying so, so hard not to be obnoxiously loud like they usually are. "It did hurt! Like a bitch!" He puts a hand to his forehead dramatically and leans on the counter himself. "So don't make fun of me. 'Cause it was so, so painful." Still. Despite the redness of their face, the bristling of their wings, the tension of their frame –

Queue is smiling now. He can't contain it. Can't help it. He can't be angry, here – they just struggled with a soda in front of an entire bar and hey! It got Jeremy to laugh! Which Queue has never heard before. It's the kind of laugh that sticks with you, simply because you never, ever hear it.

"Ohh, well. Boo-hoo," Jeremy snarks, smile turning into a smirk – a smirk?! – if only for a brief moment. It lingers, before his expression eases into its more natural neutrality.

"... Do you, er. Do you want my soda?" It's a half amused, half genuine question. "Since, well. Can't exactly open yours, can you?"

The question catches them off-guard. The smile drops from Queue's face, if only because he's startled. Their wings twitch and he looks at Jeremy with an utterly perplexed expression for a long few moments – the warm red not leaving his face.

It feels different, though. Where it was once indignance it's now something they ... can't identify.

"I, I haven't even drank from it, yet. By, by the way,” Jeremy quickly clarifies, and Queue blinks. Okay, that’s good, at least …

"... Uh, sure." Queue looks away, casting a glance at his own soda. It ... it is kind of ruined, isn't it. They clear their throat. "If it isn't a problem. Obviously," He clarifies, looking back. "Wouldn't want to cost you extra just because I fucked up my own soda. You know?"

Jeremy shrugs. " 'S just a soda, Andrews," He mutters, sliding his mostly untouched opened soda, to them. Glancing down at it, then glancing back up. Eye contact.

Eye contact. Queue holds it for a few seconds before deciding he can't take it anymore and redirects their gaze to the soda. He takes it and finds himself feeling slightly dizzy. Maybe a bit nauseous? Hmm.

"Doesn't cost me a thing." Jeremy’s voice is …

Queue frowns down at the drink for a long few moments, before looking back to Jeremy. Their eyebrows go up, wondering if that statement is actually true but – it's Jeremy, who isn't exactly known for lying to people. At least, not often.

"... Really? That's good. I think." His wings twitch. It's not like he'd know much about the way a bar works.

Jeremy hums, fingers tapping against the counter idly. Looking at Queue, like he's considering them, carefully … Queue feels a bit inspected, but it’s fine.

"... Did you know that you can use soda to remove rust?" He murmurs, randomly. Somewhat absently. "Tried it before, actually."

Both eyebrows go up.

"Really?" Queue is genuinely intrigued. "I didn't know that, do you have any details on how it works, exactly?"

They're content to spend the rest of the night like this, talking, like nothing is wrong. Blocking out the world, just a bit.

He smiles to himself and thinks –

Everything will be okay.