FicWad

By the time Claude got outside, he realized that the streets were no longer empty. Despite the horrible weather, many were braving the elements in order to get lunch at one of the many rather shabby cafes that littered the small city.

It wasn't a problem, though. Claude's otherworldly appearance, coupled with the fact that he was apparently crazy enough to venture out into the freezing November day without a coat, ensured that all the passerby gave him a wide, cautious berth. His dark expression seemed glued to his face, the only hint to the tumultuous chaos of his thoughts.

My fault. Everything's always my fault. James is dead, Grey is risking his job, Gabriel hates me. If I had just kept to myself and done what I was supposed to do . . . He let out a frustrated sigh and suddenly veered to the left, shoving open the door of the nearest bar. A few people who had been standing near the entrance winced as a wall of icy air blasted into the pub, then took a wary step back as they caught a glimpse of Claude's face. The Fallen angel shoved past them, dripping rainwater on the floor, and took a seat at the bar. He muttered almost incoherently for a gin and tonic, which the bartender prepared in record time in an attempt to get away from him as quickly as possible.

Claude sipped halfheartedly at his drink, then resolved to drink himself under the table for the rest of the night. It was the only way to dull the pain - that is, the only way besides reverting to his angel form, a state in which emotions weren't nearly as sharp or agonizing as those of a human. Needless to say, this wasn't an option. Drunk as they were, the patrons of the bar wouldn't overlook a glorious divine being suddenly popping into existence.

So a second drink came, then a third. By the time he was halfway through his fourth, his outlook had cheered considerably. After all, at least he knew it couldn't get any worse, right?

Claude's plan of staying in the bar all night suddenly fell out of his mind. Maybe if he wandered the streets, he could pick up a woman . . . not that he liked them, but picking up a man would be a little harder to do inconspicuously. What did it matter, anyway? Wasn't it all the same?

He hauled himself out of his chair and clapped the man in the seat next to him on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy. Thanks for treating me . . . I couldn't have afforded all those myself." Before the bewildered man could react, Claude was out the door. The bartender raised one eyebrow at him as he wiped down a glass.

"Treating him, huh? Well, you better cough up some cash . . ."

Claude stumbled out onto the streets, and once again people scrambled to get out of his way - but this time, it wasn't exactly because he was formidable. Now people seemed to be avoiding him because he was weaving like a rogue firecracker.

Rain still slicked the streets, but Claude didn't notice. Lights blurred in front of him, water ran into his eyes, thought slipped mercifully away . . .

"Ow!" There was a wet thump, and Claude snapped out of his drunken reverie. A young man sat at his feet, with a few bundled clipboards sprawled out around him. He glanced around, slightly dazed by the collision, then gave a frantic cry. "Oh, no! They'll get wet!" He scrambled around on his hands and knees, ignoring the stares of passerby as he attempted to collect up all of the stacks of bound paperwork before they became totally saturated with rain.

Irritated, the young man suddenly looked up at Claude, flicking a few strands of sodden hair out of his face with and angry jerk of his head. "You know, you could actually try to apologize and help me or something." When Claude made no response, he gave an exasperated sigh and scooped up the last of the clipboards. He straightened up and walked straight up to Claude, apparently unintimidated by the fact that the Fallen angel was almost an entire foot taller than him. "What's your problem? Do you always barrel through the streets, knocking people down and then just watching? Do you hate people, or are you just dumb? Why in the world would you -"

He suddenly seemed to realize just how intoxicated Claude was, and he let out another long, dramatic sigh. "Oh, god. Here . . ." He grabbed Claude's wrist and dragged him out of the middle of the sidewalk, taking shelter under an awning. "Where do you live?"

"In, uh . . . in, um, a . . . . an apartment," Claude mumbled blearily. The young man forced a smile.

"Okay, but where? Where do you live, on the East Side of the city or the West Side? Downtown or uptown?" he pressed.

Claude thought very hard for a moment, squinting his eyes as he stared down at the rain-slicked pavement. "Um," he began finally, "In . . . in an apartment."

"Yes, I know, but . . . okay, is your apartment really nice?"

"No. It sucks."

"Okay, so probably downtown . . . in the summer, are you closer to where the music festival happens or are you closer to the museums?"

". . . We have a music festival?"

The young man rubbed his temples wearily. It was obvious that he was getting nowhere with this, and he couldn't wander around downtown looking for the guy's apartment. At the same time, he couldn't just leave him to blunder around the streets. "Okay, listen. Are you listening? I have a cell phone. What's your home phone number?"

Claude snorted, then nearly tipped over as he lost his balance. The young man caught his arm and dragged him upright again. "I don't have a phone. I can . . . I can barely afford my . . . my rent, dammit. Y'know, scratch that, I can't afford my rent, so d'you really . . . really think that I'd have, uh . . ."

"Okay, alright," the man interrupted. "Let's just . . . um . . . get a taxi, okay?"

"Mmm," was Claude's only response. The young man ventured out in the rain again and flagged down a taxi, then motioned for Claude to join him. "Come on, let's get you home."

The taxi driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror. "Okay, where to?"

The young man was about to explain that he didn't actually know, but he was interrupted when the driver caught sight of Claude. "Oh, it's just him," he muttered. "Alright, I know where I'm goin'."

"Wait, you know him?" the man squeaked incredulously.

"Yeah. Usually - if I'm not with a long client - my route takes me right past here at the same time every night. He's outside about three days a week, drunk as an American kid at Oktoberfest." The taxi driver chuckled, rolling his eyes. "And he's usually accompanied by some kind of date . . . though it didn't know he was into guys," he added, glancing at the young man again.

"What? No! I'm - I'm not his date or anything," he explained hurriedly. "I just didn't want to leave him walking around like this, y'know?"

"Yeah. This city needs more people like you. If we all just took a little time to help each other out, maybe this place wouldn't be such a dump." Claude's apartment complex wasn't far, and by the time the driver finished his sentence he was pulling into the tiny parking lot. "Here ya go."

The young man dug out some money to pay. "Here you go. Thanks-"

"It's fine." The driver pushed the money back and winked at him, his bushy mustache curling as he smiled. "Couldn't just leave him walkin' around like that, y'know?" He laughed and turned his head to watch as Claude stumbled out of the car. "I never charge him when I pick him up . . . that'd be low. I just don't turn on the meter so my boss doesn't find out." He laid one finger on the side of his nose and winked again. "It's my occasional good deed. Just so I don't get fed up with the world."

The young man watched as the taxi drove away, slightly awed by this simple act of kindness. "Guess the world's not going to hell, after all," he muttered, smiling ruefully.

"Yeah, it is," Claude mumbled. "Still is. But, y'know, whatever. Free cab rides." He somehow managed to key open the front door and led the young brunette up to his apartment room. "Home sweet home . . . god, I hate this place."