Something I Love About Blitz And Millie--

Something I love about Blitz and Millie--

When Millie was fighting to get Moxxie back so he didn't have to marry Chaz, Blitz stayed out of her way, but was always watching. He joined the fight what, once and a half? When she was momentarily knocked down, he stepped in just to provide a distraction long enough for her to get back on her feet and continue absolutely destroying Crimson's idiots. When she was ready to take the car, he was there and kicked the door shut for her. They're good at knowing where the other is on the battlefield and they respect each other's skills.

I love that. I love it so much, love that Blitz might be an idiot, but he knows how incredibly badass Millie is. He knows that in general, Millie doesn't need anyone's help when she's in the mood to fight. Millie sure as fuck doesn't need anyone to hold her hand.

That woman is a powerhouse. Dainty, feminine, dangerous, capable, kind, and ruthless. Blitz respects the shit out of her. He doesn't put her on a pedestal, doesn't think she can do it all on her own, he's ready to help however he can whenever she needs it, but he knows that Millie's limits are so damned far above most people's, and honestly, Blitz loves that about her.

Any time there's a scene where the I.M.P crew are fighting together, just flawlessly having each other's backs, staying back when needed, counting each other's bullets, working seamlessly together, I love it so damn much, because that shit is hard. It's hard to fight together. It really does take time, it takes training together, it takes practice, it takes trust. And so every time any of them show what they can do together, how they can support each other and be so much stronger together? It just gives me so much joy.

Okay, I'll hush. I just. Yessss. I love them, Your Honor.

Blitz heard the notification go off on his phone and just about had a damn heart attack. Stolas. That was Stolas's notification-tone, and Stolas--fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Were they actually going to talk now? Now that Blitz finally fucking got it? The sound of the text alone was enough to make his adrenaline spike up and his heart kick into high gear, the panic response painfully strong, but Blitz tried to keep a relatively cool exterior.

He pulled over and parked, glanced in the backseat--captive was still firmly tied and gagged, great, good--then finally took his phone out and read the text and...

Fuck.

He should be elated that Stolas was messaging him at all, but somehow, this just felt... What was this? Were they just going to pretend like everything was fine? Like they were just a couple of exes who could move on like nothing had ever happened? What--what was this, what did this mean...?

He stared at the screen for a solid ten minutes, tears burning his eyes but refusing to fall, letting traffic whoosh by loudly a few feet away.

It was fair, Blitz realized. This was the shit he had always done to Stolas, just pressing on like nothing had happened, like everything was fine. He owed it to Stolas to play the game now. No matter how badly he wanted him back, no matter how much he wanted to explain that that drunken song and the conversation that followed after had gotten through to him, Blitz had to start meeting Stolas where he wanted to be met.

So, although his chest felt tight and his hands almost numb, he wrote back:

>>You got it. Tell me when and where to meet you. I'll be there. >>No charge this time. I owe you.

Maybe that second text was too much, too emotional, but Christ on a fucking stick, Blitz couldn't take money from him right now. He couldn't--fuck. Fuck.

He held the phone against his forehead, eyes closed, and just tried his damnedest not to cry as he waited for a reply, well-aware it might be hours before Stolas even felt the need to check his phone, but all the same, unable to move on just yet.

@doublejango liked for an apology tour starter IT WAS WRONG TO USE BENJI THE WAY HE HAD. Stolas knew that and yet he'd allowed himself to be swallowed whole by the fantasy of being wanted, of being desired : being somebody's somebody. He was dodging calls now, text messages and knocks at the front door. The Prince knew he should let the imp down gently and yet he couldn't seem to let go of the crutch that he'd become. He was too afraid of what might happen if he brushed him off completely. For so long Stolas lay crumpled in his bed like so much trash, sobbing and sulking into the moonlight. But then didn't this make him just as bad as Blitz? Wasn't stringing this imp along just as hurtful as whatever had been done to him in the past by the very person he'd been at that party to celebrate a hatred of?

Owl groans and throws his arm over his eyes in an attempt to block out the light from above. Cell phone buzzes and he's more than a little disappointed to see it's Benji calling once again. Another cacophony of discomfort followed by the smash of a talon against the ignore call button. Stolas grumbles and finds himself navigating to Blitz' contact information. He hesitates a while and finally hits the empty chat box he'd purposefully avoiding for so long.

This is awkward but I don't have any other choice. I need protection next week and you and your crew are the best mercenaries i know. If it's too uncomfortable I understand. I'm free today to discuss details, otherwise take care.

SEND.

Blitz looked at the handkerchief for a moment like he didn't recognize what it was, then actually smiled. The smile was small and sad and maybe it didn't touch the heartache at all, but that was alright. Moxxie's kind gesture was something, surprising enough to be distracting. By now, Blitz wouldn't be surprised if Moxxie took the opportunity to get a few digs in, kick him while he was down. He was fairly certain the other imp didn't like him much, and this would be a good time, a strategic time...

But Moxxie wasn't going out of his way to hurt him. The handkerchief wasn't the prelude to a sneer or an insult. He stayed. He didn't have to. He could just walk out. They were the only two here, no one would know, but he was here. Staying with Blitz. It mattered. It helped.

Blitz took the handkerchief and pressed it against his eyes, just letting the tears soak in for a few painful moments as he fought to control his breathing. Everything felt cataclysmic right now, like the world was going to fall apart, but it wasn't. It wasn't, he reminded himself more firmly, wiping the tears away.

"Thanks," Blitz said very softly, crushing the handkerchief in his hand, unable to let it go yet, staring at the floor. "All this time, Mox, I've... I've been in love with Stolas. Since our first night together. I just... don't know how. Love is supposed to work. Fucking obviously, right? But I thought he--that I was a toy. He called me his impish little plaything. That's how it fucking started, so sure, why not? His dad bought me for him when we were kids, why wouldn't he think that's all that... I'm good for.

"But tonight he took the book back. Permanently. And he said I didn't have to come back unless I wanted to. And I thought..." Blitz wrapped his arms around his head. "I thought he was fucking with me. Roleplaying. But he wasn't, and he didn't want to hear me talk, he just broke it off and I chased him and then finally understood that he-- I think he fucking loved me. And I reached out and he used his magic and sent me out and he left and he's gone. And I'm a fucking mess. It's....

"Fuck, you know? Just... fuck."

Having gotten all of that out seemed to have helped somewhat, at least; Blitz physically relaxed a little more, leaning against the wall instead of staying hunched in a ball, and he looked over at Moxxie.

"So, uh... how... was your night?"

Moxxie had never seen Blitzo sob like this before. He almost stood there in shock. He looked around to be sure they were alone. He had always known Blitzo to be the clownish type to deflect with humor project on the defensive. Sometimes it was hurtful. It hurt less when Moxxie figured out that Blitzo was a damaged imp like himself. But seeing this  just stung.

“Blitz…” he stepped forward and allowed his boss to sink to the floor, not trying to keep him standing or interrupting him. If he had something to share then it was best to let him air it.

He kept saying Stolas was gone. His mind jumped to the worst case scenario. Had Stella finally succeeded? Had that asshole Striker killed Stolas? Had another assassin?

It might be too delicate a question to ask while Blitzo was like this. But then again, the elephant wasn’t just in the room, it was suffocating them. So instead he went and sat beside Blitzo on the floor. Looking at him, he pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to Blitzo.

“Do you want to talk about it? Maybe it’ll help. I know when I’m alone and bottle things up, the feelings ‘grow.’”

He had noticed over the years Blitzo stalked them on dates, invaded their space, insisted on being called a ‘family. But more and more he understood that the other imp was trying to supplant himself into what he imagined a happy family must be. So maybe offering attentiveness could help. The Stolas comment had him jumpy too but he would let Blitzo explain that.

— Khalil Gibran

"Hey, Blitz? Ah'…..ah' know yeh' think yeh' gonna die alone because a lotta fuckas' have told yeh' that and….and ah' know yeh' ain't perfect by a long shot and have made some mistakes. But ah' just wanted yeh' tah' know that ah' lo-….ah'….lov-….geezus, nevermind. Ah' ain't even drunk. Ah' just….yeh' mean a lot tah' meh', okay? And that might sound pretty worthless comin' from a whore like meh' but ah'….wanted yeh' tah' know that."

Maybe for some people, a sweet and loving voicemail wouldn't break a heart.

Maybe for the lucky ones.

Blitz listened to it three times before he could breathe. He sat in his officer chair, feet up on the seat, tail and arms around his legs, staring down at the phone on his desk. The blue-white gleam from the screen and the golden glow from his eyes were the only lights in the room. Everything else was dark. Quiet.

"...ah wanted yeh tah know that..."

Angel sounded sincere.

He sounded like he meant it.

Angel Dust.

Angel Dust hadn't been at the party. Fizzarolli hadn't been at the party. Moxxie and Millie hadn't been at the party. Loona hadn't been at the party.

Blitz hit play again.

And this time, this time he heard it.

"I just wanted you to know that I lo-- I love..."

Eyes widening, he sat up slowly, dropping his feet to the ground. Blitz backed recording up and replayed that part. It--it couldn't be what it sounded like, because why the fuck would it? Why the fuck would anyone...

Shit.

Shit.

Feeling sick to his stomach, he stood up and walked over to put his face in the lemon tree. Hope no whores are stealing our lemons, he thought, the YouTube video still living rent-free in his head, loud and inane and completely out of place right now against Angel Dust's sweet voice admitting to-- almost admitting to something that had to be a mistake. Some cosmic fuckup. Because what if--

What if this time next year, Angel Dust was at the party?

What if he was the one leading a song?

What if he was the one aching with regret?

Blitz hugged the stupid tree, his breath shaky, fighting back tears. He wasn't going to cry. Not again. And somehow, he vowed, somehow he was going to protect Angel Dust from him. He was going to make sure Angel never, never ended up at the party.

"I won't break your heart," he whispered, not that Angel could hear it. When was he going to see him again--a few days? Blitz had lost track of time.

Fuck.

He straightened up, letting go of the tree, and leaned his head back.

The phone was quiet, so he walked over and hit Play again.

Angel's voice in the darkness, sweet and sincere, tentative, aware of the danger.

When I see him, Blitz told himself, I'll do whatever it takes to protect him. Anything. No matter what. Angel... Angel deserves better. He deserves so much better.