Nowhere Bar

by DuAnn Cowart

 

 


Standard disclaimers apply. All characters save the speaker belong to Marvel. The speaker belongs to Kaylee, who has graciously allowed me to use her for the purposes of this piece. This is a NOT really a serious fic, and doesn't belong in Kaylee's Kai universe. :)

NOTES: There is a Nowhere Bar in Athens, Georgia, home of my alma mater the University of Georgia. The bar in question, however, is generally patterned after Riverfront Bluez in Macon, Georgia, though I took some liberties. The actual bar isn't in that bad a neighborhood at all.

The band mentioned herein is real, though their use is unauthorized. Said band is composed of incredibly gifted artists, and, gentle reader, if by some strange chance of circumstance you ever get an opportunity to hear them play, do so. You'll regret it forever if you don't. In other words, they kick ass.

And now, the true purpose of this fic-- say it with me, people--

Happy Birthday, KJ!

Rated PG-13 for language.


Well, you see, it all started like this. We were out of beer. Logan's sorry ass drank all the beer and didn't replace it before he left. Bastard.

He'd gone to go visit some people he knew, Mac and Heather Hudson. No big deal, just a quick trip to see old friends. He invited me, too, but I turned him down. So what if his face got that impassive look it sometimes gets when he doesn't want me to see what he's feeling? So what if I didn't go see his friends with him? So what if I felt like shit?

I don't have a real good track record with Logan's friends, and besides, playing 'remember when' with strangers isn't exactly my thing. Especially when I can't even remember my own when, much less theirs.

So he left. Drank all the beer before he did, too, and didn't even leave me a note. The bastard. And there I was, all alone in the apartment with nothing to do on a Friday night.

No psycho enemies were attacking, nobody was kidnapped and needed help, there were no missions with the X-Men. Hell, there wasn't even anything on TV, and the only movie out I wanted to see was sold out. The jeep was washed, the apartment was clean, and I wasn't particularly hungry, so dinner was really out.

To top it off, it was gray and cloudy outside, so I couldn't even use my telescope. There wasn't a star in sight. Fitting, wouldn't you say?

In short, I was bored. Bored, bored, bored. Bored. Bored.

I don't like it when I'm bored. It happens so rarely that I don't know what to do with myself when it *does* happen. Usually our lives are so damn action packed that whatever down time we have we spend sleeping or training or drinking or--

--I wonder when my default pronoun turned into 'we'--

Anyway. None of the usual things *I* do when I'm not 'working' seemed to apply right then, and I'd sat on my ass pouting about being left all by myself long enough.

Damn him anyway, for leaving like that. Irrational as it may sound, I was bored, and he wasn't there, so it was naturally his fault. Naturally.

So I got up, changed clothes, and went over to the mansion. No pansy ass gym for me- not when the Danger Room's open 24 hours a day, after all. Like the Waffle House, always open.

I drove over there. I parked, went through the security system, exchanged a few wise-ass remarks with the Cajun- who was *not* happy about having guard duty on a weekend night, might I add- as I passed, and headed straight to the Danger Room.

I walked up the hall, turned to the left, already taking off my jacket in happy anticipation of a good old fashioned ninja workout. Nothing like a few dozen artificial ninjas to get a girl's mind off her problems.

I walked up to the room then stopped abruptly. A panel on the door was illuminated with bold red letters.

OCCUPIED.

Occupied? OCCUPIED? I threw my jacket to the ground, frustrated. What loser sufficiently lacks a life that he works out in the Danger Room on a Friday Night?!?

Me, of course. And all these X-idiots who've been working in this crazy life so long they've forgotten what the real world is. Occupied. I had to wait, and my patience was not something to write home about at the best of times. This was not the best of times. I leaned against the wall, and gently beat my head against it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I was about to get to the fourth thud before I heard a familiar voice call my name.

"Kai."

My shoulders stiffened, but I didn't turn around. I didn't have to, the voice was unmistakable. I didn't know the woman well, but we'd worked together often enough that I knew who she was.

"Domino," I closed my eyes and regretfully aborted the thud, instead turning around to face her.

Damn. I blinked when I saw her. She looked like a Harley Davidson pinup, dressed in black leather from head to toe, and it was low cut and tight enough to show what she had for dinner that night. Her makeup was perfect- of course- and long black hair flowed down her back.

'Bitch,' was my immediate reaction. Why didn't *I* look like that when I wore black leather? I'm fit as hell, and I'll be the first to admit that I didn't fall off the ugly tree by any stretch of the imagination, but I didn't look like *that*. For a very brief moment, I was glad Logan wasn't there to see her.

Jealous, me? Never.

Anyway, she walked up to me, an unpleasant expression on her face. "Strange seeing you here tonight."

"I could say the same," I replied cautiously. X-Force really didn't live at the mansion anymore, just popped in for occasional visits. It was unusual to see their co-leader just hanging around the halls of the mansion like this.

She laughed humorlessly, the sound oddly discordant against her usual clear voice. "Yeah, I guess it is, at that."

She was quiet for a minute, studying me carefully. I recognized the gaze- it was one professional to another, sizing me up. I returned it, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

'Implants', some snide voice inside me whispered. 'Gotta be implants.' I, very tactfully, did not say that aloud. After a respectable period, I broke the silence. "Where *is* everyone?" I asked by way of making conversation.

She looked away and sighed. "The kids have gone out with fucking *Xavier* to a *seminar*, of all places, Nate's off who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what, and let's not even *talk* about what the rest of these assholes around here are up to," she waved her hands in the general direction of the mansion, nose wrinkling in distaste.

"Ah," I replied sagely, not quite knowing what to say. Something about the frustrated tone of her voice was echoing precisely how I felt at the moment. "And how are you?"

"How am I?" She paused, and I could see a vein on her forehead throb for a moment. "There's no job for me to do, McCoy wants to poke me with needles and give me a fucking *physical*, Jean wants to do 'girl-talk'," she snorted, "Scott keeps looking at me like I'm the big bad wolf who wants to corrupt his baby boy and I'm about to go stark fucking crazy in this fucking ass fish bowl, thanks for fucking asking."

She took a deep breath and scowled, tucking a black lock of hair behind her ear. "And how the hell are you?"

"About the same," I responded tersely. Her anger really didn't bother me, as I got the feeling she'd be cursing at the ceiling if I weren't there as a convenient target to levy it all on, and I knew exactly what she meant about the residents of this mansion. I'd had my share of 'friendly' conversations around here, all designed to see what my intentions toward Logan were. I'd never met a more protective bunch of people.

'At least they give a shit,' that same voice inside me whispered, and I hushed it promptly. I didn't need to think about who did- or who didn't- particularly give a shit about me right then. I was in no mood to think about stuff like that, especially when Logan had up and gone off in such a huff.

'That's it, Kai, talk yourself into being mad at him and you won't have to deal with being pissed at yourself because you didn't go.' I told myself.

To which I replied 'Shut the fuck up, self. If I want to be immature and pout, I will. So there.'

'Well, be that way, then,' I told myself.

While I was having this internal debate, we stood in silence. Finally, I spoke up. "Who's in there?" By this point her bad mood was beginning to rub off on me, and a little Danger Room ass-kicking would hit the spot right nicely. I was ready for whoever it was to get the hell out.

Domino jerked a bit, and I realized she hadn't been paying attention, either. "Nobody." She muttered. "Apparently it's out of order." Her voice was low and mocking, and I could tell she was parroting one of the residents of the house.

"What? But the sign-" I pointed to the occupied sign, and I hate to admit it but my voice probably sounded pretty damn petulant just then. I could see my plans for the evening going down in smoke.

"It's just stuck that way. There's nobody in there- the whole system's down. Trust me on this one- I tried to work out earlier, and the friggin' lights wouldn't even come on." She rolled her eyes, and I have to say at that point I echoed her frustration.

"Seriously?" I closed my eyes, and seriously contemplated thudding my head against the wall again. Never underestimate the soothing power of a good thud.

Damn. No Danger Room. No exercise. Nothing to do. Shit.

She must have read my face, because her expression softened into something approaching understanding. "Yeah, I know."

She took a step forward, patent leather outfit gleaming in the bright overhead lights. "As for what I'm going to do, *I* am going to get shit-faced." I don't know what made her do what she did next. She eyed me speculatively, and I could tell she was considering her next words. I still don't know what made her ask. "Wanna come?"

I was taken aback. I mean, normally I don't socialize with the X-Men- nothing beyond an occasional beer at Harry's or a meal or two on the road. I didn't know what to say, so I stalled for time.

"I don't know. . .I don't quite feel up to the club scene tonight," I ventured slowly, studying her outfit, if you could call it that. I glanced down at my jeans and tank top. "I'm not really dressed for that, anyway."

"Club scene? Hah!" She laughed again, and this time I heard the kernel of amusement in it. "I don't have patience to deal with puppies half my age trying to get into my pants tonight. I want to go somewhere, grab a table, drink several gallons of beer and feel the blues wash over me."

The blues? Well, now. That was something entirely different. I raised an eyebrow. "Music? You mean guitar-playing, saxophone wailing, lost my job, woman's gonna leave me, my dog don't like me blues?"

"Damn straight," she nodded curtly, but I could see an almost-smile behind that bright red lipstick. "There's this place I know in New York, best damn music in town. You coming?"

It only took a moment to decide. "Damn straight," I replied, then stooped to pick up my forgotten jacket from the floor as I followed her out the door.

*****************

It was a dive.

No, dive was too good a word for it. It was a hovel. A dirty, stinky hole in the wall bar in a part of town even I didn't know existed. Sandwiched between two ragged alleys, it was a tiny gray concrete block rectangle with a torn awning overshadowing the front entrance. Graffiti decorated both sides of the gray building, and black iron bars covered tiny windows. Hulking, threatening looking men hovered outside, and a row of extremely well maintained motorcycles were parked outside of the bar.

A flickering neon sign over the door spelled out 'N where B r' in faded red with missing letters. Nowhere Bar. She brought me to a place called the 'Nowhere Bar'.

"This is it?" I asked dubiously as we miraculously found an empty parking space right in front of the building, and Domino nodded happily.

"This is it."

"Lovely," I murmured under my breath as I stepped out of the car. We'd taken one of the vehicles Xavier perpetually kept at the mansion for the use of the residents. Domino had picked out a particularly nice SUV, and I noticed the gleam in her eye as she did so.

"This is gonna be *fun*," she'd told me, but refused to elaborate. Now I knew what she meant. I had to surpress a smile myself as I got out of the car- if Xavier knew this top of the line baby was parked here, he'd shit a gold brick. Somehow I got the impression that he'd find out one way or another, and that alone made the trip worthwhile.

"You sure this is a good idea?" I asked, glancing around the street. Puddles of oily water reflected light from flickering streetlights in iridescent glimmers, and torn and cracked concrete sidewalk framed the liberally pot-holed street.

"You didn't have to come," She reminded me, but there was no malice behind her words. Surprisingly enough, the trip to the city had been actually-- enjoyable. In the moods both of us were in it was good to have someone to bitch with. During the trip we talked a little bit. Seems we actually had a lot in common, knew a lot of the same people. Of course, neither of us could discuss particulars, but it's always good to talk to another woman in the 'business'.

Talk about a male dominated field. You think it's tough being a female doctor or lawyer or ditch-digger? Try working our job some day-

Or no, on second thought, don't. It's a hell of a life.

Anyway, it's probably an understatement to say that neither of us is a particularly open person. I guess you'd hardly call our conversation warm and fuzzy, but it wasn't too bad. Turns out she feels about the same way as I do about the X-Men. And it's probably a close race, but I think Cable might *almost* piss her off as much as Logan does me.

Almost.

Anyway, we got out of the car and walked over to the bar. I couldn't help an admiring whistle at the row of Hogs lined up in front of the bar- Logan would be drooling right about now, I knew.

The men outside greeted us with appreciative leers, but I barely paid them any mind. The smell of garbage bins in the back assaulted my senses, but that was nothing compared to the smell *inside* the bar.

Smoke was so thick in the air that when Domino opened the outside door it wafted out to meet us in an almost solid rush, as if greeting us and making us welcome. Domino didn't even blink, just walked in, head held high as if she owned the place. Hell, I thought, symbiote acting to keep my eyes from tearing against the harsh smoke, for all I knew she might have.

The bar was packed. Everywhere you looked, there were bikers. Tall, short, fat, skinny, they were there in frayed denim vests and tee shirts, faded jeans and chaps, and of course the obligatory black leather and chains. Smoke filled the air, and a deep, mournful guitar solo echoed loudly through the room.

I loved it.

The men outnumbered the women, but women were there, too. I hadn't seen that much permed hair and miniskirts since 1987. I swear, everyone there had to have at least three tattoos each-- it was great.

My booted feet stuck to the floor as I followed Domino up to the bar. Luckily enough, there were two stools open, and we sat down to order.

The bartender sidled up to us. He had dusky skin and dark hair, almost the same shade as mine, and even in the dim light of the bar I could tell his eyes were that really crystal shade of blue- well, you get the picture. He was young, too, not even thirty yet, and as for his body- um, let's just say he wore his leather well.

I wasn't the only one who noticed it. She might deny it now, but Domino tossed her hair over her shoulder and stuck out her chest when he walked over to us.

Yes, she did, too. I saw it.

He turned to Domino, and for a second I thought he was gonna kiss her hand. "Lola! Who's your friend?" He turned that charming smile on me, and I was hard pressed not to grin back at him myself. He was so smooth he made Remy look like coarse grain sandpaper.

I had to yell to make myself heard over the music. "Jean," I introduced myself cooly, and beside me Domino stifled a laugh. "And you are?"

'Lola' leaned forward. "--Jean, meet Jason, the best bartender in New York. Jason, this is my --co-worker, Jean."

"Charmed," he grinned, shifting out of the way as another bartender scooted around him to open a glass cooler for more beer. "Now what can I get you ladies tonight?"

Domino didn't waste a second. "Tequila. Lots of it." She turned to me. "'Jean'?" The corners of her lips fought off a smile.

I shrugged. "Just beer, and keep it coming." Damn, he really was gorgeous.

"What kind?" He was already pulling out the glasses.

"Surprise me," I said, and he did. Some brand I'd never heard of- normally I don't touch that microbrewery shit, but this was actually good. Really.

We chatted with him a few minutes longer, then left to find a table "He's gonna make some man a wonderful husband one day," Domino told me as we walked away.

"Really?" I asked regretfully. She nodded. "Then why were you flirting with him like that?" I asked, brushing past a particularly bulky man in my way.

She glared at me. "I was *not* flirting with him."

"The hell you weren't." I looked around. "This is your place. Where're we gonna sit?" The crowd thronged around us, and the atmosphere was growing increasingly festive. I looked around the room.

"There," she pointed to a small table. "That one's opening up." It was in the corner near the tiny scuffed dance floor ringing the stage. The table was close enough that we were illuminated by the nimbus of the red light bathing the stage, and were even close enough to almost speak to the men milling around tuning instruments and amplifiers.

We took our seats, each one of us moving the heavy chairs to the same side of the table so we could have our backs to the wall. No great surprise, there- even cops learn to be uneasy with their backs to crowds, and both of us wanted to be in a position to have a clear view of the room. It becomes second nature, after a while.

After a moment, I was satisfied the room was safe. "So he's gay, huh?"

"Yep. So's his boyfriend." She took a sip of her drink, studying the band as were setting up.

"Damn. What a pity." I shook my head, taking a long swallow of the cold beer. The symbiote has an effect on alcohol, you know, so I don't get drunk like a normal person. Makes it a bit more interesting, to say the least.

"Wouldn't want Logan to hear you say that." She smirked, and I narrowed my eyes.

I took another swallow before answering. "Logan who? I'm sorry, I don't know any Logans tonight. Perhaps you mean *Nathan*?" My tone was decidedly sweet. My irritation with Logan had faded along with my boredom, but I still didn't want to think about how I probably should have gone on his little trip with him.

She grimaced, then idly flicked me the bird. "Fuck you very much, but good point. Touche'."

I wondered what Nate had done to piss *her* off, but didn't ask. If she wanted me to know, she'd tell me, and besides I didn't make it a point to dig into people's private lives. I cleared my throat, changing the subject. "Who's the band tonight?"

Domino's sour expression evaporated, and she leaned forward to pour herself another drink. "Big Mike and the Booty Papas."

"Big who and the who?" I choked, grinning despite myself. Man, I love blues band names. You just don't get names like that in other genres.

"You heard me. Big Mike and the Booty Papas," she grinned, and the smile softened her whole face. I barely recognized the woman- she looked like she was actually having enjoying herself. To be honest, though, I probably looked pretty damn relaxed myself.

I snorted into the last of my beer, then motioned over the waitress to bring me another one. She was barely back before a large, handsome man with a tremendous belly and a shiny harmonica stepped on stage and introduced himself.

"Hey, everybody! I'm Big Mike, and these are the Booty Papas!" He motioned to the men behind him, who all waved to the crowd before they started to play.

And *damn*, did they play. At first it was fast paced music, lots of guitar, lots of drums, and from behind me I could hear hoops and yells the like of which I haven't heard since that certain Christmas party in 1993 . . . Now *that* was a party. To this day I *still* don't know how Darius got that reindeer antler out of his. . . um, never mind. That's totally beside the point.

Getting back to *this* party- let me tell you something, all those stereotypes about bikers as the shy, bashful wallflowers just aren't all true. Let those boys get a few drinks in them and they can party like you wouldn't believe.

Domin- er, 'Lola' and I *tried* to stay inconspicuous, but between her outfit and my sheer animal sexual magnetism it wasn't long before we had company.

Homer was the first guy who came up- he was actually kind of sweet and funny, and tried his best not to appear cheesy while trying to pick us- either or both of us, apparently- up. It wasn't long after that until his buddy Jamie came up, and then 'Lola's' friends 'Mando and John and Randy and Suzanne- before long there was a table full of drunk, rowdy bikers.

Wasn't long after that we hit the dance floor. Now, let me tell you, I don't dance. I really don't. I *don't*. With that music, though, you really didn't have to put that much effort into it. The music does it for you--

Well, it wasn't long before somehow I was wearing a really big denim jacket with 'Albuquerque Sundowners' embroidered across the back, and Domino had this ridiculous leather visored hat-- don't ask. You *really* don't want to know.

Well, the night went on. The music got louder, and stronger, and more emotional-- it sucked me under. I was already feeling pretty loose, and the combination of laughing and drinking and generally having fun let me relax to the point where I could quit worrying about everything and just listen to the songs.

And damn if that music didn't somehow seep beneath my veins and lift out every unspoken emotion that I couldn't even put words into and breathe it right out into the open, so strong at one point that I could hardly bear it.

Sounds pretty shitty, doesn't it? It's not. Somehow it was if everything I've been through, everything I felt had reason, had purpose. It was like the music pulled who I was out of me, the good stuff *and* the bad, and it was ok. Even if I can't exactly *remember* that most of the time, it was like the music knew and let me feel it anyway. For those few moments, I was transported, pulled away into a different world where I could let go and not worry about things and just *be* for a few minutes.

Catharsis, thy name is Big Mike and the Booty Papas.

Domino felt it too, I could tell. At one point she was just sitting in her chair with her eyes closed, lips curled in a soft smile, and she almost radiated a sense of peace. Peace, from one of the tightest strung people know. Let me tell you, there's power in that music--

It faded eventually, of course, but we sat through all three sets, drinking and laughing and just generally enjoying the brief jolt of freedom carved from the chaos that makes up our lives. We stayed all night and even afterwards, only leaving when the bar closed that morning and Jason the sexy bartender (who was just as handsome and nice in the daytime as at night) regretfully kicked us out.

We stumbled into the morning sun, bleary-eyed and hung over. I looked at Domino, who was still wearing that stupid cap, and she looked at me. We both grunted and looked around. The gentle sunrise bathed the city in a soft yellow glow. While it sure as hell still wasn't a vacation spot, everything seemed-- better somehow. Softer, more hopeful--

Or maybe it was just my imagination. Who knows? It doesn't really matter, I guess. All I know is that despite my best predictions to the contrary, Xavier's car sat gleaming untouched in the sunlight, our chariot waiting to carry us away. I looked up at the blue sky, and felt better than I had in a long, long time.

We walked up to the car, and Domino put one hand on the hood, steadying herself. She paused, then looked up at me. "Shit. I can't drive. . . I'm still a little bit drunk."

"Thought you were gonna stop," I looked at my watch again. I didn't even want to *think* about what that big brown stain was. "Six hours ago."

"I *was*," she muttered, rubbing her temples. I noticed her nail polish was chipped. "I just didn't get around to it."

"And I thought you could drink *anybody* under the table," I taunted her with her earlier boastful words, and the bloodshot look she gave me carried an unmistakable meaning full of anatomical improbabilities.

"I *can*," she managed a grin, pocketing the keys. "And I *did*, if you'll stop being smug long enough to remember. I'm just not stupid enough to get on the road drunk. You didn't drink that much- you drive." She tossed me the keys, and I felt an arctic chill sweep through my bones.

'Not stupid enough to get on the road drunk.' Shit. I closed my eyes, and clutched the keys tight in my hand, remembering another man who, not so long ago, had not had the foresight to realize how . . . fucking. . . stupid it was to do just that.

Sensei, I thought, squeezing my eyes tight. Sensei, the kindest, gentlest man I'd ever known. My hero who had wrapped his car around a tree after getting himself well and truly drunk. Just like this. . .

I shook my head, swallowing back the emotion that inevitably rose at the very thought of my old teacher. I'd learned a lot from him, and maybe this was his final lesson to me.

'Hell of a way to teach it,' I thought grimly, then tossed the keys back to her. I was sober enough, but there was no sense taking chances.

"Nah, I'm not driving either," I told her, and straightened my shoulders. "Not yet. Let's go get some breakfast and we'll decide what to do later."

Later, when I was sober, and later, when I'd had time to process the emotions the music evoked, then I'd think about Sensei and what he meant to me. Not here, not now. Not while the sun shone so brightly above.

Domino grunted her assent, then stuck the keys in her pocket. "Fine with me. I think I know a good diner a few blocks from here," she yawned. "Kai?"

"Yeah?" I asked, following her as we picked our way across a littered sidewalk.

She shielded her eyes from the morning sun. "My head's fucking killing me."

"If I had a head like that, it'd hurt, too," I answered cheerfully, and she responded with yet another curse I hadn't heard before. Gotta say this, the woman knows how to curse.

We walked on, and after a few minutes I asked. "How much farther is this diner of yours? I'm friggin' *starving*. I'm gonna have cottage cheese, and greasy bacon, and runny eggs, and--"

Domino made a funny face, then shook her head. "Kai?"

"Yeah?" I grinned mischeviously.

"Shut the fuck up," she moaned as we turned the corner to the diner. She mumbled a few more words, but all I recognized was "--Next time *you're* driving."

I laughed aloud, and just because I was feeling generous I did shut up for a few minutes. Not for too long, though, because--

Oh, never mind. I guess that's another story.

Fin.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KJ! We love you!


-DuAnn

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives, give I unto you. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. -John 14:27


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