A.N.: Justice.
I'd like to say a huge thank you to everyone who has posted reviews and sent me private messages of support. Thank you for waiting patiently for me to update. I've been working on job-applications and interviews, which is why it's taken me longer than I would've liked to update. Curse real-life responsibilities! Also, obsession with Star Wars and The Mandalorian has to take some of the blame, though I make no apologies for that!
Also, is anyone interested in stories for Aquaman and Shadowhunters?
*A.N. written B.T. (Before Theft): This chapter is dedicated to Jillian2232115, I love what you wrote about when JJ and Liv are together, they both breathe easier - that's exactly what their relationship is! So this one's for you!
This is also dedicated to PamelaLillianIsley - you're on the frontlines: If my fanfic keeps you going, then you can bet I'll be writing! It's the only way I can say thank you.
Golden Pogues
07
Don't Listen
"Looks like people are gettin' their appetite back," Caius remarked, with some relief, as he flipped burgers and steaks, and Liv pinned a new order up for him, checking the counter for her orders.
"Looks like," she said softly, smiling, and paused only long enough to yawn into her shoulder before balancing five loaded plates on her arms. Over the last nine months, she had developed asbestos-arms: She could carry anything, no matter what the burning heat did to her skin. She sometimes felt like one of those circus-people who could spin dozens of plates on sticks, balanced on the tip of their toes. All she had to do was get through the next hour, then she could go back to the Château and sleep off the night before.
And what a night.
She'd left John B in his room, sprawled on his stomach, a bruise the colour of an eggplant already flourishing around his eye. He'd be feeling it for weeks, and Liv thought he'd be lucky if he could even open his eye.
Thankfully, Liv had taken precautions so she didn't feel like John B looked: a tonne of noodles, a tonne of water and Gatorade, and the bike-ride over to the diner in the cool pre-dawn had cleared the cobwebs from her mind. Eye-drops helped, too. Plus, she was sixteen and bounced back like a racquet-ball. She picked up her orders, and made an art-form of evading customers, other servers and wayward coffee-cups slipping off the table as a toddler had a tantrum. She dodged the oatmeal being flung about, noted another waitress heading over with dishcloths and mop - by the look on her face, intending to swat the parents for letting their child misbehave and assume someone else would clean up after them - delivered the meals with a smile, and plucked her order-pad from her apron as she approached her new table with an armful of menus.
"Good morning," she said brightly, hitching a smile onto her face. Of course they'd be here, in the same clothes they'd worn last night. Of course they'd be sat in her section. Of course Topper's cheeks flushed with shame and regret as he gaped at her, suddenly embarrassed that she was the one serving them. He'd always been awkward about that, when they'd dated; not because she was staff, but because he didn't like the way other people treated her when she was working.
"No Sarah today?" she asked gently, glancing at Topper, who shifted uncomfortably in the booth, sprawled in the corner. He raised bloodshot eyes to her, and grimaced subtly.
"Doubt we'll see her 'til tomorrow," he said knowingly. Sarah Cameron had flung herself over that line of drunkenness that signalled humiliation coupled with memory-loss. She wouldn't remember the hateful things she had said, her sloppy behaviour - could deny hooking up with other boys while her boyfriend bought overpriced pulled-pork sandwiches to take care of her and sober her up so she didn't hurt herself. She'd embarrassed herself last night; and only they would remember that she had been out of control, aggressive and insulting. The backhanded beauty of alcohol was, she wouldn't remember her behaviour to be humiliated by it. But they remembered. Topper definitely did.
"Can I get you some drinks to start off with?" she asked, and the boys ordered their coffees, juice and root-beer floats, all of them giving her side-eye. They knew who she was; they had been at the Boneyard to watch the fight. Her hand stung, reminding her. She'd hit Topper. She'd never smacked anyone before. And she didn't like it.
She also didn't like watching her brother being drowned.
Liv left Topper and his boys with their menus to peruse, filling their drinks order, and serving several tables their meals, collecting tips and ringing up cheques at the counter. She liked it when it was like this - busy. She liked being rushed off her feet, so busy she could barely think straight: It made the hours fly by. And by the way her feet were screaming their protests, it was nearing the end of her shift. She wondered if Caius would ask her to stay; they were back to pre-hurricane levels of business. She carried the boys' orders over to their table, and continued waiting tables, cleaning up after diners, taking more orders - Caius did ask her to stay on - and dread settled in her stomach when she glanced around, and realised the boys had disappeared.
Leaving empty plates, and an unpaid cheque.
Ordinarily, business-owners kept tabs on the dubious-looking kids lingering by the shelves. In OBX, those kids were the ones busing tables and scrubbing yachts. They weren't stupid enough to make trouble for themselves being caught stealing. In OBX, it was the pristine, well-dressed kids with money to burn that business owners clocked the second they walked through the door. Entitled, with limitless credit-cards, and zero qualms ditching after dining.
Especially if it came out of the pay-cheque of the pogue kid who waited on them, and was associated with a kid who'd been in a fight with one of their own the night before.
Wounded egos and all that.
She sighed, resisting the urge to rub her face as exhaustion settled on her shoulders, mentally calculating their cheque, wondering how she would tell Caius, feeling physically sick, on the verge of tears as she filled another drinks order, pausing at the window to tell Caius that a group of teenagers had skipped out on their cheque. Someone rang the little bell by the cash-register, and she turned to see Topper. He was waiting shame-facedly at the counter, barely able to raise his eyes to her face.
"How much was it?" he asked quietly. The diner was in one of its lulls, after a hectic lunch-rush, winding down for the day. If they had waited any longer to escape, Liv would have noticed: But they had chosen the perfect time, while everyone was rushed off their feet, to get away. She swallowed, and pulled the cheque out of her apron-pocket, noting that her fingers were trembling. Because she felt physically ill that those boys had snuck out on her watch, leaving a hundred-dollar cheque unpaid.
"It's a hundred and twenty-two fifty," she said quietly, and Topper nodded, reaching for his wallet. He counted out the bills, handing them to her. "I…went to the restroom and they were gone. Thought they'd paid."
"I bet they got a kick out of it," Liv said, clearing her throat, and Topper nodded, as she rang the transaction through and handed Topper his change with a receipt.
"Yeah, they were laughing their asses off," Topper said, and Liv sighed, shaking her head.
"Have a good afternoon, Topper," she said resignedly. She didn't miss shit like this when she'd been dating Topper. He'd been wonderful: the rest of his world had been atrocious to her. And she knew she deserved better than to be treated like this, purely because of the family she had been born into.
"Hey," Topper said gently, and she glanced at him; he had his hand outstretched, a bill folded between his fingers. He looked contrite and embarrassed.
"Topper, I'm not taking - "
"It's your tip."
"That's…more than a tip," Liv said, eyeing the number just visible in the corner.
"Well, you've earned it," Topper said fairly.
"Topper…you can't try and drown my brother one day and then be nice to me the next, that's not how it works -"
"I know! It's not - it's not because of that," he said, though his eyelashes fluttered as he glanced at her, his cheeks warm. He reached across the counter, her lips parting as he tucked the money into the pocket of her apron. He glanced into her eyes, and asked quietly, "Is he… He's okay, right?"
She nodded, sighing heavily, and said, "Yeah. He's okay."
"I - " Topper broke off, uncertain what to say. Liv glanced up as one of the other waitresses approached to take over the cash-register and ring up another diner's cheque.
"Have a good afternoon Topper," she repeated, soft and resigned, the $50 bill burning in her apron pocket. He nodded, glancing at the other waitress, and melted out of the diner as a large group appeared, hoping for a table now that the lunch-rush had died down.
"Hey, I thought you'd be off the clock by now," a familiar voice said, and Liv glanced over her shoulder, taking a bag of takeaway food from the serving-hatch to hand over to a customer waiting patiently.
"Caius asked me to stay on," Liv told JJ, who leaned across the counter as soon as the customer disappeared out the door, to give her a one-armed hug and kiss her cheek in greeting. His body radiated heat, and his cheeks glowed red, making his blue eyes glow. "What happened to the sunscreen?"
"Sweated it all off," JJ shrugged. He looked fresh, all showered and wearing clean clothes, his hair curling at the nape of his neck as it dried, smiling easily. She'd bet he smelled good, too. "Just came from Mrs Crain's house. John B wants to head over to Lana Grubbs' place."
"What? Why?" Liv blurted, wiping down the counter as she tucked empty plates away.
JJ sighed, shaking his head. "He's obsessed with that damn compass." Liv shot JJ a quick look.
"The men in my family!" she grated, shaking her head. "I swear, they get lock-jaw. Chomp onto something and refuse to let it go, ignoring good sense."
"Yeah, and J.B.'s convinced Miss Lana knows why Scooter had the compass," JJ said, shaking his head. "You know it's bad when I'm being sensitive about other peoples' feelings."
Liv scoffed, smiling; just his presence cheered her up, made her forget how tired she was, how much her feet hurt, how desperate she was for a cool shower - or just to get out onto the water. "You're a lot more intuitive than most, JJ," she said warmly. Yes, John B had the reputation for being a bit of a bleeding heart, compassionate and doe-eyed - but JJ…got people. He understood them, in a way John B never quite managed to. JJ was…wiser than John B, in a lot of ways.
"Anyway…can you come with? John B's getting all tunnel-vision agitated," JJ said, and Liv nodded.
"Let me ask. We're settling down from the rush," she said, and took opportunity to carry dirty plates into the kitchen for the dishwasher. She never liked to shout through the hatch to ask Caius if she could clock off. She asked; Caius thanked her for staying late, and he put together a BLT with home-fries to take with her.
JJ met her out back, where she had locked up her bicycle; his eyes landed on the takeout container, which she shielded from his reach. His lips twitched, but he dropped his hand, and unlocked her bike for her, pushing it out toward the parking-lot, where John B was waiting in the van, listening to obscure reggae Kie had discovered, cap pulled low over his eyes as the sun beat down. It was breathlessly hot again; Liv hadn't noticed, thanks to Caius' air-conditioning. Now, all she wanted was to liberate herself of underwire and makeup and throw herself into the water. JJ tucked her bike into the van, offering her the front-seat; she sat in the back, all too aware that letting either JJ or her brother within reach of her lunch was the surest way to lose it in a matter of minutes.
As she cradled half her BLT in her hands, takeaway box in her lap as John B drove back to the Cut, the boys seemed to forget she was in the back of the van, continuing a conversation that they seemed to have been having when they pulled up to the diner.
" - I'm just saying, like, I just don't understand why you don't at least try with Kiara, she clearly likes you," JJ said, John B rolling his eyes beside him.
"What I don't understand is why you're obsessed about this," John B said. "And no pogue-on-pogue macking, remember. Them's the rules."
"Stupid-ass rules," JJ retorted. "And Liv would agree you're in with a shot with Kie. Right, Liv?"
"Uh-huh," Liv nodded, sighing as she consumed her BLT, scarfing down a handful of fries.
"Don't pretend that you don't notice - I see it in your eyes!" JJ grinned. "You're like 'I kinda like that' and you start blushing and shit."
"I blush?"
"Yeah," JJ grinned.
"You're a blusher," Liv agreed, offering JJ a fry. He winked, chewing as he reached for the dashboard, where the compass glinted in the sunshine, admit hula girls and sparkling glitter-globes.
"Hey, don't - "
"I'm just looking at it!" JJ said, holding the compass out of reach as John B tried to snatch it. "I gotta admit, your father's compass in Scooter's boat…that's freaky."
"And that's why we're going to talk to Miss Lana," John B said calmly. "Figure this whole thing out.
"And I'm sure she'd love to talk to us," JJ said, kicking his feet up on the dash, relaxing into the seat. He opened his mouth for the fry Liv offered him, and sighed. "It's not like her husband just drowned or anything."
"Yeah, just drowned sailing a Grady-White out into a hurricane," John B muttered.
"If I was her, I'd be wondering why he was out in the storm in a boat like that at all," Liv said quietly. Especially with nearly a hundred-grand tucked away in a motel-room with a gun and photos of the Merchant, she added, and JJ caught her eye over the back of the seat. His eyes dipped to the takeout container, and his lips quirked.
"Hungry?"
"Starving," Liv said, unabashedly, as she tucked the empty container in the trash-bag they always kept in the back of the van, and emptied nearly every day. Otherwise one of them would've been lost to the debris months ago, like that scene in A New Hope in the trash-compactor. Well-fed, she reached for her water-bottle in her backpack, draining it, pulled out a cleansing wipe to remove her makeup, applied moisturiser and sunscreen, and wriggling with her t-shirt, sighing in relief as she tucked her bra into her backpack.
They always knew they were back in the Cut by the state of the roads; potholes and cracks across the roads, overgrown in places by grass and weeds, and John B took a turn onto a dirt-track road, a property boundary-line marked by a redbrick column, on which a colourful sign had been nailed, reading, 'Welcome to Tree Spirit Your Reiki Head-Quarters'. According to Kei, some kind of alternative Japanese healing art that had something to do with palmistry. She waited for JJ to make a crude joke about hand-jobs, but he was back on John B's inability to "swoop" on Kiara when she so clearly was sending out messages that she'd happily sit on his face.
"JJ, I want you to forever not suggest that image to me, thank you," Liv said, and JJ grinned licentiously at her as they climbed out of the van, blatantly sweeping his eyes over her. John B flushed as he shut the door. The Grubbs' house was vibrant sun-washed fuchsia with green trim and shutters, the walls painted with colourful lizards, sunflowers and butterflies, and a lot of care had gone into the flowerbeds.
"Know what this house looks like?" JJ asked, idly reaching for Liv's hand as they wandered toward the house, insects chirping happily in the tall grasses. "Whoever lives here smokes too much weed." John B's lips twitched, mimicking smoking, and Liv gazed at the house.
"I don't know. It's pretty - it's cheerful," she said.
"You're not painting the house pink."
"She who pays for it paints it," Liv retorted, and JJ grinned, intertwining their fingers as they wandered through the grass. He did a stutter-step, and Liv frowned, as the sound of something smashing inside the house carried on the still air. Once, maybe they could chalk up to a dropped glass. But then it happened again, as they stepped forward with more hesitancy, and Liv glanced at JJ, frowning as her body tensed.
"Bullshit!" a man's voice bellowed.
"Maybe we should come back," JJ said, glancing at Liv, who scanned the house dubiously. "It's a little too soon."
"No, no, shut up," John B hissed, waving his hand, creeping closer. "Shut up, JJ."
"Tell me where it is," the man inside bellowed, "or I'll fuck you up."
That was when they heard a feminine gasp of pain, and Liv stopped, rooted to the spot. She caught JJ's eye, and he glanced uncertainly at the house.
"I'll sink you in the fucking -"
They heard a feminine scream, and both boys ducked away, gasping softly. They shared a wide-eyed look, as Miss Lana screamed, "You're hurting me!"
"I - " JJ stammered, some of the colour draining from his face as he eyed the house.
"Shut up," John B breathed, grabbing JJ's sleeve. "Come on." Liv's lips parted, and JJ's eyes widened, the sound of things smashing and breaking continuing over the man's yelling - and Miss Lana's screams.
"Where the fuck is it, you bitch?"
"I don't know!" Miss Lana sobbed plaintively, and they hid under the window, pressed against the vibrantly-painted wall. JJ flinched when they heard the sound of someone being hit.
"Is it here in this house?" Miss Lana sobbed, and Liv wished they had repaired the towers. The one time they needed to call the police. "Is it somewhere else?"
"Please - I didn't - I - I - " The sound of more things breaking, glass smashing, overrode Miss Lana's sobbed protests.
"You - " JJ stammered, and John turned on him, finger pressed to his lips.
"Shut up!"
"John," Liv warned, watching JJ carefully.
"Still think we should stay?" JJ asked, his voice low, his hand squeezing Liv's as they hid under palm fronds. There was a deep thumping noise.
"The compass wasn't in the boat!" Liv, John B and JJ all exchanged a look, as the breath escaped Liv's lungs; suddenly, they were all very still, and very silent.
Whoever it was, they were tearing Miss Lana's house apart to find Big John's compass. Were hurting her over it. The compass that had been tucked on-board the Grady-White that Scooter had been sailing the day of the storm, the day he had died. The day he had been out looking for the Merchant, with a bottle of Macallan and nearly eighty-thousand dollars in cash in his motel-room…with a gun. The compass that had been in the Routledge family for generations; and returned to them, after disappearing with their dad, with Liv's name carved inside a secret compartment.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know," Miss Lana whimpered, moaning, as glass smashed.
JJ was clenching his jaw, flinching every time they heard a crash, or the sound of someone being hit. He muttered to himself, "Don't listen."
"JJ, look at me," Liv whispered, gently tugging on the hand he was squeezing around hers. He turned wide blue eyes on hers, and she gazed back. He focused on her; not on the sound of Miss Lana being beaten, or her house being smashed to pieces. The sound of her crying.
They all flinched as paint-chips rained down on them from the window, and Liv's lips parted as Miss Lana's cries echoed so close, she had to be only the other side of the wall. They pressed themselves against the wall, grimacing, hearts hammering in their throats, and by the look on John B's face, he was regretting coming - but JJ… His breathing was laboured, even as shut his eyes, pressing himself against the wall as if wanting to melt into it; his hand shook as he squeezed hers, his palm damp. Liv shot John B an accusing look. They should have turned back the moment they first heard the man yelling.
"Is that paint?" JJ breathed.
"Yeah, that's paint," John B murmured, running his hand through his hair to dislodge the white paint-chips. Inside, Miss Lana wailed in pain.
"Let's get the hell outta here, man." Liv glanced up, mouth popping open in panic, and scanned the area. They hadn't parked beside anyone, or it might've been easier to convince John B to come back another time.
John B darted around them, to peek around the corner, as footsteps thumped away from them. Close by, they could hear Miss Lana crying and sniffling, but Liv was focused on JJ, who was struggling to catch his breath, his expression pained as his leg jigged. They heard an engine fire up, and John B ducked away, tucking close to them, as a sleek black speedboat sluiced away through the water.
"That's not a boat I recognise from the marina," John B breathed. Liv barely saw the backs of two men, one larger, both built and wearing dark clothing unsuitable for the beach. They weren't locals.
"Me neither," she said. And then John B disappeared, around the corner of the house. As JJ sank down the wall, unable to catch his breath, Liv squatted beside him, John B and Miss Lana forgotten. "JJ. JJ." She reached out, cupping his jaw, and turned his face to hers. "Look at me… You're safe." He blinked at her, then frowned softly. She stroked his cheek tenderly, soothing his rattled nerves, and he took a shuddering breath, nodding, and the tension in his body seemed to uncoil.
And then, because he looked so stricken, and his eyes were so impossibly blue, Liv leaned in, and kissed him. A gentle brush of her lips against his, giving his lower-lip a tiny butterfly-kiss after, and when she leaned back, he was staring at her as if he'd been struck in the face by an anvil. His eyelashes glowed gold as they fluttered, his lips parted, stunned.
Then he untangled their fingers, to slip his through her hair, drawing her closer. Her hands found his neck, his shoulder, holding him close, and his free hand rested, heavy and hot, on her waist, capturing a kiss. It was gentle and slow and searing, and he gasped, and she sighed, and she felt it from her nipples to her toes when his tongue tentatively dabbed at her lower-lip.
"Hey - " someone whispered, and they sprang apart, wide-eyed. Startled, blinking dazedly, Liv glanced up as John B hurtled round the corner, tucking the compass chain into his pocket. He looked as startled as she felt. "Where were you? We gotta go."
"Is she okay?" Liv asked.
"We've gotta go," John B repeated, already headed for the van. Liv glanced at JJ, who was staring at her lips; she blushed, and raised her hand to trail the backs of her fingers across his lips. He smiled softly, and they clambered off the ground. His smile widened, tucking his arm around her shoulders, as they made their way to the van.
She had kissed him!
And he had kissed her back!
He opened the van door for her, and she settled in the back, smiling to herself; he shot her a secret grin as he climbed into the front-seat, and John B reversed the van, turning them around in a great arc before driving away.
Liv shook her head, to clear it of the thought of how soft JJ's lips were, how warm, and the spike of pleasure that had shot through her body as his tongue swiped across her lip.
She reached for her water-bottle, taking a long swig, and panted, wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist as John B drove toward the Château. She had kissed JJ.
Her heart was thumping inside her chest, a smile tugging incessantly at the corners of her lips. Because she could see JJ, and his eyes were sparkling, and he kept licking his lips, flitting his gaze over his shoulder at her.
"So - what'd Miss Lana say?" JJ asked, frowning, as he reached up, to shake the paint from his hair. Liv reached up, frowning to find paint-chips and dust covering her own hair. She'd need to have a shower when they got to the Château. Thankfully a cold one, she thought, eyeing JJ thirstily.
A.N.: Let's face it, we're all thirsty for JJ. I hadn't intended for them to smooth this early on, but it felt natural. And that "Don't listen" line wasn't me; that's canon. That's JJ telling himself not to listen to someone being beaten to hell.
Side-note: I think what offended me most about the theft of this story was the thief's association of my work with a Taylor Swift song. If any album inspired this story (because I alternated bingeing Outer Banks with listening to it while I wrote this fic!) it's Dua Lipa's Future Nostalgia. Now that is an anthem. To say I'd considered squinting at my sports-bra to learn the routine to 'Physical' as quarantine-exercise is accurate.