He bunched the collar of his shirt with one hand and repeatedly hit Gavin in the face, bellowing, “You lousy piece of – I thought you let this go – I did*’t kill Martin – did*’t ask him to –“ He was hauled off the battered body and shoved across the room, his arms held behind his back. He might have blacked out a little then, because the next thing he was aware of was that he, Sorokin, and Gavin were all being thrown out of the bar into the street. They weaved back and forth for awhile until they found their bearings.
Gavin’s nose was bleeding profusely, and he pulled his shirt off to hold it to his face. Lucas could feel bruises forming along his own skin, and Sorokin was still rubbing his jaw. “My nose,” Gavin moaned. “You busted up my nose!” He staggered back toward Lucas, who, more sober than his opponent, was able to dodge him easily.
“Leave off, Gavin!” he shouted. “For Gods’ sakes, people die in a war! Don’t keep trying to pin it on me!”
Gavin tripped and sat down hard in the dirt road. Lucas stopped to stare, and realized the older man was weeping. He walked back and crouched, aware of Sorokin watching, and reached out a hand to rest lightly on Gavin’s shoulder. “I feel terrible about it, Gavin, believe me.”
“Gotta blame someone,” Gavin said roughly.
“The Kandarins killed him. If it hadn’t been saving me, it would have been in an explosion, or an arrow, or something else,” Lucas said softly.
Gavin nodded, and hauled himself slowly back to his feet. “Need to be alone,” he mumbled. He wandered off in the darkness. Lucas watched him go, shoulders slumping. He felt exhausted. Sorokin was leaning against a wall, hand over his eyes. “The hell was all that about anyway?” he sighed.
Lucas rubbed his temples. His head was pounding fiercely now. He was drenched in sweat, and wanted nothing more than his bed. “Long story…tell you some other time.” Sorokin draped an arm companionably over his shoulders, and they began the hike back to the barracks.
23-Jul-2010 19:56:18