Way Out of Sight (Benji)

Sweat from the glass ran down her hand, cutting on the creases of her fingers, and then racing down her arm. As soon as it began to bother her, she picked up a napkin and dried up the mess. She could’ve drowned in that bar if she didn’t catch herself. Her thoughts were a million a second. The lingering question still unanswered: what the fuck am I doing here?

The light was a lot like that of a regular muggle bar, dim, but not enough to make a person disappear. Briony needed to not be so obvious in this crowd, even if it was the type of crowd she’d gotten used to by now. She needed to be invisible to everyone, actually. At least for now.

“Another round?” the bartender asked. Briony looked up at him and nodded silently.

This was the life she’d sworn off, per Gala’s request. The ex-wife. It was harder for Briony to put down the drink than to forget the woman who forced her to quit it. But what choice does one have when there’s just too much going on and very little desire to be a part of it all.

“Here you go.” The bartender placed the drink in front of her. Briony pushed the empty glass towards him carelessly, spilling the ice on the counter.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” She tried to clean up the tiny chaos with the same damp napkin she’d used earlier to no avail.

“It’s all good,” said the bartender, clearing out the counter with a dirty rag. “Rough week, eh?”

“To be determined. This is just in case,” Briony teased, holding up her newly replenished glass of vodka soda.

“Well, let me help.” The bartender placed two shot glasses between them and filled them up with tequila. “To what hopefully won’t be a bad week.”

“Cheers to that.”

Fuck.

He was so fucking fucked. All he could hear was Issies voice echoing in his head like a damn mantra, begging him to turn back around. He could taste her on his lips and the siren call was beating away at his self control. He could still picture how she looked, splayed out on the bed like a goddess. Skirt hiked up to her thighs as she wrapped her legs around him. Glittering blue eyes hazy and her lips plump and red just begging to be- fuck.

His skin felt too tight and he was flushed like he’d run through extensive quidditch drills. The scent of her was still stuck to his nose and mouth - vanilla with a hint of jasmine - and all he wanted to do right now was have the worlds roughest tumble into bed. She’d trembled in his arms and gasped into his ear like all she’d wanted was for him to take her, too. As rough as he so strongly desired.

That, he supposed, was what had stoped him. Much as he desperately wanted it. He didn’t have the self control right now to be gentle (did he fucking ever?) and he knew with a certainty that Issie just wasn’t ... she wasn’t the type of woman to want to be taken the way he would’ve no doubt have taken her. Sauced as he was he had still apparated out of that cottage faster than he could process before things had escalated. Half of him had hoped he’d splintched his fucking dick because then that would have neatly taken care of ALL of his problems.

He was aware - as he’d always been - that he was more than half way in love with Issie. They’d had their share of ... intimacies throughout the years, too. Vaguely in situations like this when one of them was vulnerable or they had made each other particularly happy about something. He knew he couldn’t make her happy, though, because he was too much himself to deserve a woman like Isabella. What’s more is that he knew the type of man she needed and sincere as he was he just wasn’t the type to fit into that Prince Charming mold. Not truly anyway. So he settled for best friend and ran with it because she was perfect and never let herself be far enough away that he’d miss her.

Only sometimes his self control was put to the test. He was still dealing with his broken engagement to Gabrielle - the lying cunt - to really be worth anything to anyone at the moment. So getting shitfaced even further sounded like a good plan right now. Even if he felt like he was vibrating out of his body and looked a mess as he sat down by the bar. His hair was a mess and he could feel the hickeys blooming on his throat and jaw. He was still flushed as hell as he groaned and slammed his forehead against the bar. He leather jacket was barely hanging on his shoulders and he had half a mind to take it off anyway since he was literally dying. “Give me the strongest thing you have. Make it a double. Keep it coming.” he managed to say as he stayed hunched over the stool. He threw an obscene amount of money on the table and just kind of pathetically laid there. It was probably funny how a man as bulky and tall as him could fold into himself like that. Maybe if he obliviated himself ... or maybe he could punch something. Or blow shit up with his magic. The thought of grabbing his wand and just ... start blasting was tempting. His forearm was practically burning where his wand lay resting on his holster.

Drinking until he couldn’t feel his face was probably the best of all those options.

Tequila burned down her throat as she watched the bartender walk away. Her phone vibrated in her purse, but she refused to disconnect from being disconnected. She didn’t even question who it could possibly be. She had done her very best to keep Abby from a nervous breakdown before leaving, and that was enough peace of mind to keep her off her phone and as far away as possible from anything that had to do with the wedding.

“...Keep it coming.”

Briony caught the man’s voice before it trailed off into silence. The bartender turned away from the drunken guest to pour him a small glass of whiskey. She leaned sideways with a bit of curiosity and whole lot of apprehension. Benji?

She felt an immediate swell of anticipation, an inevitable reaction after so many years. But the idea of having to force a conversation with someone who’d practically become a stranger stopped her. There was no way she was going to go up to him and pretend like they were right back where they left off.

This fucking idiot.

“How are we doing here?” interrupted the bartender. Briony’s eyes left Benji with a bit of hesitation and landed on an eager smile sealed across the bartender’s face.

“Good,” she managed, looking at an almost full glass in front of her. “I think I’m about to head out, actually.” She looked up to see just in time to catch his smile disappear, which made her frown and smile awkwardly at the same time.

“Oh, come one. I haven’t even gotten a chance to ask for your name.”

If it had been any other night, and had there been more room for reckless behavior, Briony would’ve given him more than just her name. But the situation had changed dramatically. Benjamin Fucking Danvers had happened.

“Maybe some other time…”

“When you’re not so spooked?” he asked, making it obvious that something about Benji’s presence had disturbed what could’ve otherwise been a fateful night for the both of them.

“Am I that obvious?” she asked as she readied herself to leave. She reached for her purse as the bartender reached for her hand.

“You are. And this one’s on me,” he said, smiling with a bit of disappointment hinged to the edges of his lips.

The nameless bartender walked from her, leaving her unfinished glass of vodka soda there for no one. She looked at it, contemplating diving back in and allowing whatever was supposed to happen between her and Benji to happen. But there was way more going on in her head that she didn’t want him to get to. And she knew he would get to. Had it been any other day, despite her determination to remain a ghost to everyone who had been a part of her life 15 years ago, she would’ve dived in with less reluctance.

Briony grabbed her purse and began to walk towards the tavern’s door.

”Thanks.” he muttered once the sound of glass hitting the bar made it to his ears. He glanced up briefly before he chugged the drink down in a gulp. It burned his throat and he felt a vague sense that he should’ve savored the whiskey instead of gulping it down like a savage but, well, here he was.

The sound of the woman’s voice registered as he licked his lips - immediately irritated that he didn’t instantly have a replacement drink. His gaze drifted towards the bartender and the familiar sounding woman before freezing. He knew that face of course. He’d obsessed about that face for pretty much his whole childhood. And a great chunk of his puberty years if he was honest. Briony Lewis. Looking as pretty as ever if not oddly apprehensive.

He stood there for a second just sort of blinking. Irritated beyond belief that A) the bartender was gone and B) Briony Lewis was running away without a witty remark or even a glance his way. After 15 years. A scowl quickly developed on his face and his mouth just opened up. “Oi Lewis! No hey Benji, how ya been Benji? You look damn fine, Benji?” the bit was said with a wounded type of glassy eyed look. Like a pit bull that had been chastised into seeming innocence.

“Drink with me?” he offered, before glancing back at his empty drink and glaring at it like it had offended him somehow. Why was the liquor always fine? “Or watch me drink, whatever.” he added, grinning his dimply best, in an effort to convince her to stay.

His feelings at her being here didn’t really register. They were nice and compartmentalized as all the seemingly uncomfortable feelings often were. He had boxes in his head labeled ‘Meg’, ‘Cap’, ‘Briony’, and ‘Fucking Cunt’ that he often did not examine closely at all. Briony, of course, was the oldest of those metaphorical boxes.

“You look good.” He offered after a beat, blinking for a second, and tying to figure out how drunk he was. He could still feel his face so that was good. Solid.

Oi Lewis! No hey Benji, how ya been Benji? You look damn fine, Benji?

For a moment, Briony thought about ignoring him. Just leaving without looking back. But she wouldn’t be able to make it home without beating herself up for walking away. She turned to look his way, instead, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Drink with me?”

The bartender watched from behind the bar, almost urging her to turn around and walk out. Briony shot him a half-smile as she approached Benji. Her eyes fled clumsily from one man to the other, finishing on the floor.

“You look good.”

This was harder than she thought it would be. As a matter of fact, she had not thought about this in a long time. Seeing him there created a subtle symphony of confusion and curiosity. Ignoring him would’ve been easier, but being this close – so close she could smell and see the alcohol burning right through him – took her back to a place that had become foreign territory so long ago it was hard to fight the urge to come back to it.

“You look like a fucking mess, Danvers” she said. Saying the words made it easy for her to lean in. And she leaned in enough to be able to look at him again while she joked about what was undoubtedly the worst condition she’d ever seen him in. “Why the drunken face?”

She managed to keep enough space between them so that things would not feel entirely like they used to 15 years ago. She didn’t really know this man anymore, but the pull he had on her made enough sense for her to be careful. Fighting it would be useless, but she would try nonetheless. She knew when she agreed to help Abby that her old life would come back to mess her up even more than her new life already had. This was just the beginning.

“Hey mate!” he muttered, raising his eyebrow and clinking his still empty glass. Part of him was annoyed the bartender kept shooting Lewis glances like he was some sort of perverted predator - he wasn’t going to eat her or anything. Or besmirch her honor. At least not unless she asked him to. Actually not even then. He wasn’t low enough to do that to Issie despite the fact they weren’t dating. She was his best girl. Not matter how tempting Briony Lewis could be he did have self control. Didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge a little though. “Alcohol?” he tried again, trying his best to turn big blue eyes and get his way. Someone just needed to feed him some more liquor.

His gaze flickered back towards Lewis, a lopsided grin lighting his features. He took a moment to appreciate the sharp lines of her face and the red of her lips. He liked the hair cut, even. “Messes can be fun?” he managed, his eyes dragging over her features again. “Especially hot messes.” he tacked on helpfully. He had a fine face and a fine ass. He was sort of scruffy though. He ran a hand through his beard - contemplating whether to do the adult thing and shave it for the wedding. “Want to get some ice cream?” In France. He owned the place, after all, so he could open it up at any time and munch on chocolate and ice cream confections spiked with all sort decadent alcohol. Lewis would probably like the chocolate merlot eclair. He’d invested his own money into it in 7th year and it did fairy well for him. It was his favorite place and people didn’t mob him there.

He was starting to get hungry, actually. And the bartender wasn’t fast enough with the liquor. He knew he’d stashed an old bottle of brandy in his office. Brandy and brandy ice cream sounded nice.

He tried to remember what his trainers had drilled him in sensitivity training as Lewis and the bartender kept shooting each other glances but, well, he wasn’t a particularly sensitive person. Prone to bouts of sentimentality, though. And he had a weak spot for beautiful women. “Because I’m drunk.” He enunciated slowly, a smirk forming on his face as he appraised her. He had a fairly high tolerance level though, so he had to work hard at keeping up his buzz. He had height and bulk at his side as well as a very fast metabolism. “You should get trashed with me. Wedding are only bearable when you’re shitfaced anyway.” He added, wrinkling his nose. He’d definitely dodged a fucking unforgivable there. Fuck Gabrielle and her ... assets. She’d honestly only been good at one thing. Soon as she opened her mouth to speak he was over it.

He supposed that his clear disdain had attributed to her desire to fuck him over but, well, he’d been pretty clear in the beginning. It was pretty low to guilt trip him with a fictional child. Fucking cunt.

Briony knew just how fun messes could be. She had been wrapped up in a world of mess before she met Gala. Though she had never reached any serious levels of degeneracy or total loss of control during her time, enough damaged had been done for her to understand why someone – Gala – would want to keep her as far away from it as possible.

Benji ran a hand through his beard and Briony wondered if the old him was hidden somewhere underneath it all. It was the only thing she could think of at the moment. Time had filled up so many spaces between them that no amount of speculation could possibly make up for the parts of their lives they each missed out on. The man in front of her was mystery.

“I don’t recall you being such a ‘hot mess,’” she teased as she sat on the stool next to him. “But a lot can change in fifteen years.”

The bartender walked past them, catching Briony from the corner of his eye, the one side of his mouth curved upwards as moved on to the guests at the other end of the bar. She couldn’t help but grin internally as she returned to Benji. “Want to get some ice cream?” he asked.

There were a lot of things she could’ve easily agreed to. Another drink. A stroll – through the park, or down memory lane. A threesome with the bartender. Anything. But ice cream?

“You’re mad, drunk boy,” she said, leaning into her purse for a pack of Marlboros. “The way I see it, you have two options.” She pulled out a cigarette and brought it to her lips. “We could stay here and get as you say…shitfaced.” She reached for one of the candles hovering above them and plucked it from nothingness. “Or you could take me to the best fucking ice cream you know of.” She brought the candle to the tip of the cigarette and then released it so that it floated back to its place in a cloud of nicotine scented smoke.

She was shocked at how easy it suddenly felt to be around him. Shocked and utterly mortified. What the fuck are you saying, Bri? She would’ve never dared to even walk in the same light he did for fear of being seen, let alone approach him and suggest they went anywhere together like time had not made them strangers. But their younger versions remained as reckless and irresistible now as they were then. That’s where the ease came from. From some fucked up childhood perversion.

“Or maybe option three is you tell me how you’ve been," she said, hoping the mystery and awkwardness would go away sooner rather than later.

“That’s because I’m a control freak.” he said with zero amount of hesitancy. Benji didn’t really get embarrassed about things anymore. He was pretty secure in his personality in the sense that other people had lost the ability to make him uncomfortable. He did feel a strong urge to be perfect and in control of things most of the time, and that generally extended to the need to control people. It was the quidditch captain in him and the boss in him where he felt like he could only trust himself to get the job done correctly.

At Hogwarts that came out as arrogance. As an adult he knew better. It didn’t make it any easier at controlling the impulse to have things his way, though. The absolute need. Anger quickly followed on the wings of anxiety if things weren’t exactly as he wanted them to be. “Drinks relax me.” He admitted, wondering if this was something he wanted to tell her but deciding that he really didn’t care if she knew or not. His whole life was splattered on trash mags for the world to see so did it really matter if he kept these things to himself? Not really. At least not this, he reasoned.

Rough sex had a similar affect to alcohol for him, though, which is why he sought it out so frequently. It cleared his head, made him loose-limbed and pliant. It was the same with quidditch. And as he had neither a willing bed fellow (he was determined not to think about Issie. What he wanted from her wasn’t something she did. Issie wouldn’t be able to wrap her head around the concept of sex the way he saw it. She expected flowers and chocolate and worship. He wanted control, dominance, and submission. He wouldn’t have minded giving her what she wanted sometimes if she’d been more willing to give him what he wanted as well. She just wasn’t... wired that way though.) or a broom and beaters bat on hand he had to make due with getting as drunk as possible.

His eyes gleamed as he got Lewis’ tacit agreement. Because he as taking it as an agreement. “How about the second and third option?” He offered, a smirk settling on his face. The bartender was fucking awful and he wasn’t paying any more for bad service. He’d overpaid the little weasel already and he still didn’t have a replacement drink. “You can ask me whatever, it’s not like everything under the sun hasn’t been plastered all over the trash mags.” He hadn’t yet put together that Briony had cut ties with family and the magical world and would therefore have zero information on his life thus far. He was so used to everyone knowing stupid meaningless details about his life.

He held his hand out palm up on the counter and glanced back up at her with a lopsided grin. There was a spark of something thrilling in his eyes as he held his hand out displaying the dark platinum snake bangle with emerald eyes gleaming on his wrist. It was a port key, and one they couldn’t take unless they snuck into the alleyway outside, away from the prying eyes of muggles.

“I’ll take you somewhere, if you’re up to a bit of a ... trip.” His eyes glimmered and there was a fair bit of challenge there. Part of him didn’t think she’d take him up on it - he was still a stranger, really, in the ways that didn’t matter. Another part of him was hopeful. A quiet place full of booze and snacks and no one to interrupt the reunion he hadn’t planned on. There was always something compelling about Lewis.

He remembered a time where all he’d really desired from her was friendship. To be more important than Nicon, really. He’d obsessed about it and coveted her feelings and her time like it was something he wanted to own. He knew the dangers in such desires now but he hadn’t known what to do with those feelings when he was younger. They were overwhelming and contrary. Made more complex by his own feelings for her.

Briony wished she had some kind of control. Truthfully though, the lack of control excited her. It was everything she wasn’t allowed to be as the wife of a prominent figure in the muggle world, and then the wife of an impeccably careful woman. But with Quinn, the control came from obligation, and with Gala, the control was entirely hers. Not knowing how to hold on to a moment with absolute certainty of what would come from it was becoming Briony’s favorite sport after so many years and two failed marriages.

She would’ve appreciated another drink, despite having abandoned her last one, but it seemed that the bartender – whose name she still didn’t know – was not a fan of her and Benji’s unexpected interaction. So, the more she thought about it the more inclined she felt to agree to go with Benji wherever it was he was plotting to take her.

“I have remained comfortably unaware of whatever hell the magical world has unleashed on your unruly ass, Danvers.” She took in another drag of her cigarette. She noticed the bartender gawking their way as she exhaled. The smoke rented the air overhead as Briony turned her attention back to Benji, realizing her curiosity was stronger with him. “But I’m sure all the rumors are true.”

His eyes were on her and his lips bared a broken smile. The platinum bangle on his wrist glowed with some sort of magical enticement that urged her to take his palm into hers.  She lifted their hands closer to her face and rested her chin on his knuckles.

“This is oddly comforting,” she started. “But if I go with you, what happens with him?” She pressed her lips hard in an attempt to stifle the satisfaction threatening to erupt as her eyes caught the disappointment settling on the bartender’s face. She had no plans on stealing anyone's night away from them. This was all just her feeling her way through a new life. This was her making the best out of what was clearly the most unpredictable night she had had in a long time. Neither man was a target. But at least one would make for the much needed company she was now realizing she needed.

She finished her cigarette and discarded the bud on the tray next to her. She got on her feet, her hand still connected to Benji's, and fixed her jacket with cautious optimism and what already felt like regret swelling deep in her gut. “Never mind him. Let’s you and I find this worthy-of-an-adventure ice cream you seem heavily keen on.”