Hibiscus Tea

Date/Timing: 26 July 2023
Setting: a dive somewhere in Portland, Oregon, USA
in collaboration with Gotham; as sometimes happens in the Tea stories, this is Yancy's personality steering Raleigh's body
.
Yancy slouches into the dive the new crew pointed out, scans the space full of tired and unfamiliar faces, sighs at the sameness of it all.
The redheaded guy at the corner table tickles his memory, though.
Weird. 
It's the first time he's been to Portland since the asshole'd worked down the Clackamas so he shouldn't recognize anyone.
The ginger's wary blue eyes double-take him and he gives Yancy the slightest head-bob of a greeting.
Deciding that was an invitation, Yancy plods over, slides in across from him.
"Help yourself." The guy waves to a pot of tea and a spare mug. 
"Thanks." Yancy pours himself a mug of what smells like cheap tea, maybe even the instant crap. He wrinkles his nose out of old habit. 
"Beggars can't be choosers." There's only resignation in his words, accented Aussie with touches of California and something Irish-ish.
"Yeah." Yancy sips, forces the brackish stuff down. "Know how that is." 
The redhead rolls his mug between his palms. "What're you calling yourself these days?"
"'Yancy's good enough."
Another funny look, quickly shrugged off, for that.
"What about you?"
"Don Rourke." 
No bells there, but his memory keeps tickling. 
"What brings you to this rainy corner of hell?"
Yancy shrugs. "Chasin' shifts. You?"
"Same." The redhead knocks back the rest of the mug, grimaces. "Headed north or south?"
"North. You?"
"Nah, south. This is as far north as I ever wanna go. Chasing shifts /and sunshine from now on."
Yancy snorts, braves another mouthful, which's even worse than the last. 
Rourke swallows some, too. "Said this shit was supposed to taste like the tropics." Peers into the mug. "Don't think they've ever been."
Yancy almost laughs, pushes his mug away.
"Never thought we'd end up here, ay?"
He drawls, "Used to be PPDC, too, huh?"
Rourke grunts.
Yancy frowns at the muddy tea flattening out in waves in its chipped mug. "I figured I'd bite it out there, honestly." Shrugs. "Things never turn out how we think they will." 
"Amen to that." Rourke leans back, puts his hands behind his head.
Yancy tilts his head to the side, studies the guy, and lets the way Raleigh did things take over for a moment. 
The hair, the attitude, the accent—"I know who you are." 
"Do ye now?" The piercing gaze narrows and Scott Hansen makes to leave. 
"Sit down," huffs Yancy, tapping his mug. "'s'not like anyone here cares about two has-beens." 
Hansen winces, but sinks back into his chair. After a moment, the smirk Yancy remembers from dozens of photos and interviews surfaces and he says, "You still wear 'em."
"Huh?"
Hansen points. "Tags."
Yancy glances down, chest aching. "My brother's an' mine. Didn't feel right to get rid of 'em, you know?"
The smirk fades. "Yeaaaaaa ... still have my brother's, too. The one for the armor?"
Yancy nods, remembering the slot in the chest piece that kept your copilot's name over your heart while you fought. Remembers another thing, trapped between the circuitry suit and the armor next to the tags, edges ragged from being tucked into the space. 
"Mine I left in a bin in Panama, though." Hansen pushes his empty mug around the tabletop. "I'm through with soldiering for good. Gotten too old for that shit."
"I feel about a million some days."
Hansen snorts a little laugh. "Then I must be a million-plus-twenty."
"Still not too old to be climbing walls," teases Yancy.
"Trying to make a living; scrape together something for the future, too." Hansen sighs. "If there's gonna be a future."
"You still care?"
Hansen hangs his head, goes back to rolling the mug between his hands. "Want there to be one for my kid."
Yancy startles, squeaks, "Kid?"
"Wasn't planned, never wanted kids—but he's here and deserves a life."
"Where is he?"
"With his mum and her family, Sydney-ish."
Yancy's hackles come up and he growls, "Why aren't you there with them?"
"She and I agreed it was best this way." Rubs the back of his head. "I want—I'd rather—" Sighs. "I'd just ruin his life."
Yancy ducks his head. 
Hansen goes back to his mug.
"You, uh, have any pictures?"
Hansen grunts, digs in an interior pocket, pulls out an battered, outdated cellphone, thumbs around a bit before offering it to Yancy.
He takes it.
A toddler, all freckles and wispy red hair and bright blue eyes and a big, big smile.
"He's three next month."
Yancy hands the phone back—
Hansen tucks it away.
—asks, "When'd you see him last?"
Hansen cringes. "Never have."
He snarls, lip curling. 
"Down, boy. His mum agrees it's better for him. 'sides, his uncle's doing the male role model thing and's making a better job of it than I ever could."
Yancy mulls it over carefully, then, "Well, if this guy's anything like our uncle, uh—"
"Sean."
"—Sean'll be fine."
"An old friend vouches for him and's keeping an eye on things and I trust her, so." Hansen shrugs, then turns a raised eyebrow on Yancy. "You ever want a tyke of your own?"
"Already kinda have had: mostly raised my brother and sister and changed more diapers than most guys ever will, in the name of being big brother." Yancy leans back and blows out a breath. "If the world ever stops being shitty, I'd want a few. Spoil all of 'em rotten. I'd never run off the way my Kaiju-shit-stain of a donor did and I'd make sure to call or email or find some way to communicate with 'em and their other parent." 
Hansen chews on that. 
"I get why you're leaving the little one to a stable-ish life. Nothing worse than Dad coming home and then taking off again in half a breath."
Hansen grunts an agreement.
"Do me a favor though, one has-been to another?"
Hansen waits.
"Let your kid know you're there when he can understand." 
"That's ... that's the plan: wait 'til he's old enough to make his own call on meeting me or not, then tell him where I'm at."
"That'll do."
"Thanks for your permission, kid."
"'m a bit old for a kid."
"Well, I'm a bit older." Hansen smiles, for real this time. "Respect yer elders, kid."
Yancy rolls his eyes, smile playing around his mouth.
Category:Ficlet
Category:Portland (setting)
Category:Tea Lovers Association storyline
Category:Scott
Category:Scott (ficlet)
Category:Sean (mention)
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