Chapter Text
It had been the easiest thing, to slip into this role. It's still easy; he doesn't have to think about it, to paste the smile on, to be the person he never had. Blitz understands, really. He's spent a lot of time in the last two months wondering how differently he would have turned out if he'd had someone--anyone--in his corner when his world burned down. He's grateful that he can be that person for Stolas. He wants to be able to take care of him, to help him; even if Stolas hadn't saved his life, hadn't torn it apart for Blitz's sake, he would still have wanted to protect him. To try and shield him from the worst parts of Hell. The parts no one shielded Blitz from.
So, it's easy, all things considered. Blitz likes taking care of Stolas. He lives for those little hooting giggles that only Blitz can reliably get out of him. He loves the little smirk Stolas gets sometimes; it reminds him a little bit of Moxxie when he'd first started getting his feet under him. He feels like he's on top of the world when he gets Stolas to really laugh, as rare as it is. He loves the less joyful parts, too, the ones that feel like Stolas has reached in between his ribs and wrapped his talons around Blitz's heart to squeeze. As much as it kills him to see Stolas hurting, every time Stolas lets him comfort him feels like a victory.
It is work, but it is work he will do.
Blitz is familiar with work. He loves his work; he loves the killing and the loving and the ramshackle team he's cobbled together over the years. Caring for Stolas feels a lot like it did to care for Loona when he adopted her. It feels like guiding Moxxie to his apartment after breaking out of prison when Moxxie had nowhere else to go. It feels like guiding Millie into a brand new office and telling her that if they don't deserve this, then no one does.
It's work, and it's work he loves.
But it is starting to wear on him.
Two months of smiles, of caring, of reassurance. Two months he'd never do differently. Two months with his second favorite person in the world, of Blitz picking Stolas up off the ground, of teaching him how to live like a peasant.
But also: two months of sleeping on a bean bag. Two months of swallowing down his irritation, his exhaustion, his anger. He had his month and a half of wallowing before the trial; that's what he tells himself when he finds himself drooping in his office on a quiet afternoon. Blitz pops his spine and leans forward, massaging his head. The haze of exhaustion has been growing thicker for the last two weeks; he's been feeling it creeping up over the horizon like a looming ghost. It flickers in the edges of his vision. Every morning he wakes up feeling less rested than the last.
It is more than physical.
Lucifer, he grew up in the circus. He slept on mats on the ground until he was nineteen. He was on the streets after that. He'd told Loona two months ago, when she'd asked if he was going to buy an air mattress, that he was durable; he could and would sleep anywhere.
I'm not that old, he'd told her.
Sure, Dad. But she'd smiled. She's been doing that a lot more lately. It makes him teary when he thinks about how far she's come in the last six years.
Blitz scrubs his face and stares down at the thin stack of paperwork on his desk. Things that Stolas and Moxxie can't do for him: contracts to sign, reports to approve. There's a list of suppliers to call and amounts of inventory to order in Moxxie's cramped handwriting. There's a new contract typed in some weird font that Stolas has started using.
Blitz doesn't quite manage to swallow the yawn as he shuffles the papers and stares down at Moxxie's inventory list. The letters swim around the page; his head pounds; the fog thickens. Blitz's head droops.
I'm so fucking tired, he thinks faintly, and it is with the sort of resignation unique to people who have been exhausted since they were fifteen.
There is a sharp rap against his office door. "Hey, B, can I come in?" Millie's voice carries through the door.
"Yeah," Blitz says, and even surprises himself with the lack of energy. The door creaks open; the hinges have been fucked since he knocked the door down during his latest depressive episode. Millie steps in with an expression on her face that he thinks is a little similar to the one she wore then, too; the door clicks shut with a snick, and she frowns at him.
"You okay?" she asks, drifting closer to the desk.
"I'm fine, Mills." Blitz pushes down the irritation, forces his spines to relax, swallows the instinct to bat at her like a stray cat. His smile feels acidic on his own face. He can hear the ice in his tone; Millie's eyebrows shoot up, too. "What'd you need?" He's hoping she'll ignore it; he wants her to use her previous strategy of Wait for him to figure his shit out on his own; he's a big boy, he can handle a little back pain and some sleepiness.
Millie hops up to sit on the desk, twisting to face him. "I was goin' to talk to ya about somethin' personal," she says. "But you know what?" She grins at him; all teeth, familiar, a little feral on the edges. "We should go out. Just the two of us. I'll tell ya' all about it later." She leans in a little and punches his shoulder lightly--or, lightly for her, which is to say that it hurts like a bitch and Blitz has been punched with less force by full career assassins who were actively trying to kill him. "I don't think I've gotten to hang out with you since the trial."
Blitz's chest squeezes. He wants to; he's barely seen her outside of work, she's right. "Stolas--"
"We can set the boys up with some musicals and some wine," Millie suggests. She waggles her eyebrows. "With any luck, Mox'll start inviting Stolas to the theater sometimes, too."
Blitz doesn't know when Millie picked up on Stolas's love for musicals, but for a moment, he feels like crying. This is real, a voice in his head reminds him. They like Stolas. They know him, too.
It's easy for it all to feel like a dream. For the first time in a long time, he's glad that it's not a dream.
"But Loona--"
"Heard her mention she's hanging out with her friends tonight." Millie rolls her eyes. "Stop deflectin', B, I know you wanna say yes."
Blitz huffs and offers her a weak grin. "Alright, you've convinced me. Drinks after work."
"That's the fuckin' spirit!" Millie cheers. She jumps off the desk and grimaces at the stack of paperwork. "We could even call it early. Been a slow day, and we've barely taken a day off since Sinsmas."
Blitz makes the same face at the paperwork. "You're a fuckin' genius," he says, and stands, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms above his head. His spine crackles loudly.
Millie stops halfway across the office to blink at him. "Satan, B, d'ya need to see a chiropractor?"
"Gesundheit." Blitz rolls his neck and guides her to the door. "Nah, just a lil' stiff, Mills." He kicks open the door. "ALRIGHT, CHUCKLEFUCKS!" he shouts, exploding into the main office. "We're callin' it quits early today. Millie and I have a date with an excruciating hangover."
Moxxie grimaces. "Blitz--"
"We were thinkin'," Millie interrupts, sliding up to her husband where he sits on the couch, "that you and Stolas could hang out tonight."
Stolas flushes at his desk. "I wouldn't want to impose," he says quickly, but he's eyeing Moxxie with the same sort of wide-eyed excitement he'd given the used bookstore Blitz had taken him to the weekend before.
Moxxie gives Millie a look before he blinks. "Wait," he says, then turns to Stolas. "We could watch Chicago--"
Stolas hoots in excitement.
"You can watch whatever the fuck you nerds want," Blitz crows, leaning on Stolas's desk. He offers him a grin; this one does not feel acidic or plastic. There is a gaping hole in his chest cavity that it pours out of. It throbs, but it feels like a drug at the same time. He's addicted.
Stolas's eyes scrunch up, and he does a little sway with his hands bunched up, and Blitz feels a high unlike any he's tried in the past.
"You idiots have fun with that." Loona pushes up from the extra desk they'd shoved in the corner of the office. "If you puke, clean it up, this time?"
Blitz cringes. "'Course, Loonie."
He hasn't gotten that drunk in a few months. But who knows; maybe getting blitzed (heh) will scratch the itch that's been burning up inside him for the last two months. He's been doing so well, he thinks. He's due for a little bit of controlled self-destruction.
Blitz wasn't planning for nostalgia when he went home to change, but he ends up in the same jacket he wore when he recruited Millie. There's still a blood splatter on the collar from when Millie cut his face with one of her throwing knives. Blitz stands in the bathroom, fidgeting with his gloves. He's got the smaller fingerless gloves on; he doesn't want to take the crystal if he's going to get drunk off his ass, and Millie hasn't used it before. The issue, of course, is that this outfit makes his scars a lot more obvious.
He doesn't look at himself in the mirror. It's practiced, the way he avoids his face and focuses on the buckle of his belt, on the torn jeans and boots.
"Dad, M&M are here!" Loona shouts.
Blitz swallows hard. He opens the door.
Millie is in the same outfit she wore earlier, but she's got a leather jacket on over her jumper, and she's leaning against the kitchen counter by the front door. Loona is kneeling by her door, tying her shoes. Moxxie is fussing in the kitchen, holding a stack of Tupperware. Stolas is by the couch, his hand buried in a blanket thrown over the back of it, his eyes transfixed on Blitz and wearing a cute little blush that makes Blitz's stomach feel funny.
"I ain't seen that jacket in a while," Millie says, grinning at him.
Blitz cracks his knuckles and saunters toward her. It's not to show off his ass in these jeans to Stolas; he's a very respectful roommate with absolutely no ulterior motives. "Haven't seen that one in a while either, Mills," he comments. He matches her grin. Blitz feels a little bit euphoric, in this little bubble of a moment: his family is all gathered into one room, not because they're his employees but because they want to be here. It's domestic and comfortable, and he already is a little drunk on it.
It's strange, how he feels on top of the world and deep in the mud at the same time.
"You alright, boys?" Millie asks as Blitz makes it to the front door.
"Just fine, honey," Moxxie says, finally sticking one of the containers in the microwave.
Blitz spins in a circle and smacks his hand on the counter. "You remember where the crystal is, Stols?"
Stolas finally snaps out of whatever stupor he was in. "Ah, yes. Under the bathroom sink."
Blitz clicks his tongue and grins. "Exactly. Mox knows how to use it." His chest tightens a little, his tail swings. "Not that you'll need it. But just in case."
Millie shoves Blitz a little. "They'll be fine, B, come on." She grabs him by the wrist and drags him, blowing a kiss at Moxxie on their way to the door. Blitz flails.
"Fuck--ah, be safe, Loonie, love you bye--" and they're out the door.
Millie slows down a little once they're in the hallway. "You wanna stick to Pride or head down?"
Blitz makes a show of thinking about it. "Hmmm... We could go to Envy. Really up the nostalgia."
"Fuck yes." Millie's grin is just as unhinged as Blitz's as they step onto the street, heading toward the elevator. Blitz stifles a yawn, swallows it down. He can be the Old Blitz again, can waste himself on cheap booze and mind-numbingly loud music. Then again, Old Blitz would have spent the night looking for someone to fuck or fight, any way to make his head a little quieter, any way to settle the ringing in his ears.
Blitz is definitely not going to do either of those things tonight. Well, the fucking at least. He can't make any promises about the fighting. It is Hell, after all.
Millie seems as content as Blitz is to walk in silence, though they've never had any issue coming up with conversation before. In the years Blitz has known Millie, they've always had common interests. The killing and fighting, of course, but more than that--both of them grew up working, Blitz in the circus and Millie on the farm. Millie is pretty much the only one who understands what Blitz is talking about when he gets really technical about horses, because she's the only one who's worked with them. Millie has been alone as an assassin before; she's never questioned the gaping mystery of Blitz's past, though he knows she's curious. Millie and Blitz both understand family in ways different from the rest of I.M.P.: they grew up with siblings, and while they'd never admit it, sometimes they lean on the other as a proxy for the siblings they're missing. They're both protective and violent. It makes it easy to talk to her; Blitz can point at someone being an idiot and say, "Let's kill that asshole," and Millie will nod along and ask if Blitz wants the honors or if she can do it. He distantly remembers that first day with the book, of them chanting Kill them all! about human children because Moxxie was being a wuss.
By the time they make it to the elevator, Millie is humming a tune, her hands in her pockets. "You eat yet?" she asks as they enter.
Blitz shakes his head. "If I'm getting wasted, I'm getting fucked up on some greasy shit, too."
Millie snorts. "Y'know, when I said we were going out, I didn't mean you had to get wasted."
Blitz clicks his tongue. "Mm, yeah, but I think I'm overdue. Haven't gotten wasted since..." And he trails off, because he does remember the last time he was wasted. He'd thought about getting so drunk he couldn't walk, after Verosika's party, but all he could see was Stolas throwing it back like he was drinking to forget. Vices don't taste as sweet when you see them from the outside.
"Since Ozzie's?" Millie guesses, because she's Millie.
Blitz ducks his head. He doesn't apologize, because the words get stuck in his throat, but Millie just bumps their shoulders together.
"I know your thing with the prince has been a mess since the start," Millie says. "But he's been good for you."
"I know." Blitz knows it, more than he knows anything else, and it's the reason he's pushing so hard, working so hard, caring so hard. He thinks of the person he was the first time he slept with Stolas and barely recognizes him. The Old Blitz. The one that came before Stolas. It didn't really strike him--either of them, he suspects--until Millie and he had gone to that shitty hotel, and Millie had asked if he was going to stop stalking them. It had been good-natured, but Blitz...
Well. Stolas has changed him. Blitz only wishes that the ways he has changed Stolas weren't so destructive.
By the time they make it to Envy, Millie has caught Blitz up in a conversation about the latest episode of a show they both watch when they have the time. It's a shitty spy drama that makes Blitz smirk during the fight scenes because of how bad they are. Blitz lets Millie lead; she doesn't take them to the bar they met in, but the difference between seedy bars like this is minimal. It's quiet; it's still early, and this is away from the main streets.
Blitz and Millie slide up into seats at the bar. The bartender, a scowling loan shark, walks over. "Whaddya want?" he growls.
Blitz taps his claws against the wooden grain of the bartop.
"Can ya handle a virgin bloody Mary?" Millie asks.
The shark wrinkles his nose. "Virgin?"
"You heard her." To be honest, Blitz is also a little confused--Millie is the type to drink beer with Blitz, not sip on a cocktail, and especially not a mocktail--but she's also Millie, so he's inclined to defend her on principle.
The loan shark scowls. "What do you want?"
"Whatever your cheapest beer is."
The shark rolls his eyes and steps away.
"Mmm, cheap beer? I thought you were getting wasted." Millie lifts her brows. "We coulda gone to Gluttony, y'know. Beelzebub's got the strongest stuff."
"Eh, that's Loona's stomping grounds. Don't want to run into her and her think I'm following her around." Blitz knows he is overprotective, overreactive, overbearing. He knows, consciously, that he's suffocating at the best of times. But he also knows where Loona's hard limits are, and following her around with her friends would definitely be crossing one. Blitz sighs. "Besides, last time was on Bee's shit. I threw pretty much all of it up. Makes me kinda sick to think about drinking it again."
"Fair 'nuf."
Blitz eyes her, tracing his claw down a divot in the grain. "You're not the mocktail type," he says after several seconds, unsure if she's going to bite his head off for it. She doesn't. She just lifts a shoulder.
"Not really in the mood to drink. Besides, you're famous now. Better that one of us is sober enough to fight off anyone who gets any ideas."
"Famous." Blitz rolls his eyes. Yes, they'd had a surge in business recently, but he was more famous among imps than anyone else, and imps generally weren't looking to have people on Earth assassinated. "Please."
Millie opens her mouth, but whatever she is about to say is cut off by the bartender returning with a bottle and a tankard. Blitz and Millie both slide money across the bar, and the bartender pockets it and then walks to another customer without a word.
Blitz doesn't quite manage to stifle the yawn; it sneaks up out of nowhere as he's wrapping his fingers around the bottle. Millie looks at him as she takes a sip of her drink; there's that look again, the one she'd had in the office earlier. But she doesn't say anything, and they drink in silence for several minutes until Blitz has downed his first beer. It barely blurs the edges, but he does feel a little warmer, at least.
"How's Stolas doing?" Millie asks after Blitz has purchased another bottle.
Blitz's tail sways behind him. He doesn't notice the stupid smile that he makes, but Millie does, and her own lips lift a little at the sight. "Getting better, I think. He's got bad days, y'know, but who doesn't? He's sensitive about some stuff--especially if I'm too affectionate with Loona." Blitz had noticed that, though Stolas was doing a remarkable job at hiding his reactions from Blitz. Well, Loona had noticed and told Blitz to knock it off when Stolas was already feeling down. Sometimes Blitz was not the most observant; it was a good thing his daughter was. Now that he knew, though, it was a lot easier to see. "Or, like, chores and shit. If he fucks up, he gets in his head about it and spirals."
Millie sips her drink. "Sounds familiar," she says slowly.
Blitz shoots her a glare. "You better not be talkin' about me."
Millie just smirks into her tankard. Blitz rolls his eyes.
Blitz takes her silence as an invitation to keep talking. "I think he's pretty much adjusted to living with us. He doesn't complain, at least. I know he's uncomfortable, I know the couch is terrible for his back, but..."
"But it's the best ya got." Millie props her chin on a fist and turns more to face him. "You're doin' good with him, B."
Blitz shies away from the compliment. "Anyone would--"
"No, they wouldn't," Millie says, and she is, of course, right.
Blitz deflates a little. "I would always have taken him in. Even if it hadn't been for me that he'd lost his..." and he doesn't know where to go, so he just finishes with, "everything."
"I know." Millie takes another sip. They're both silent until Blitz has finished this bottle. "You want another?"
Blitz opens his mouth to say yes, but then he looks up and squints at her. He's starting to feel it, a buzz at the edges of himself. A looseness he doesn't usually have. He trusts Millie with his life, but he's also deeply suspicious of everyone and everything. "Are you trying t' get me drunk?"
Millie snorts. "Nah. Just seemed like you needed it. You've been real stressed lately."
Blitz squints at her. Millie stares back, unbothered. Blitz's gut--which he isn't usually led astray by--is telling him that she's up to something. But it's Millie. Whatever she's up to can't be that bad, right?
"Yeah," he agrees slowly. "Yeah, I'll take another."
Millie grins.
They'd been working their way through the bar's shitty selection of games. They were so on point in darts that the other patrons had chased them away, and Blitz had won a drinking game that was meant to be played by two people on a team, and now they are at the eight-ball table. The sticks are too long for them, but it makes Blitz chortle to see Millie shooting eight-ball with a stick twice her size, and he suspects she finds it similarly amusing to watch him fumble with his. She's beating him by a long shot, which makes sense. She's sober, and Blitz is drunk enough that he has to lean against the table so he doesn't lose his balance.
When Millie beats him a fifth time in a row, she grins and loops an arm around Blitz's. "Let's get some water in you," she says, dragging him to the bar. The bar's gotten more crowded, but Millie glares at some succubi that quickly vacate their seats, then pushes Blitz up onto one. The bartender comes back over. "Two waters," she says.
Blitz grins lazily, leaning on his hand with his elbow propped against the bar top. "Feel kinda fuzzy," he tells her.
Millie smirks at him as two cups of water are slid across the bar. She picks up one and sips, then nudges the other toward Blitz when he doesn't immediately reach for it. "Drink up, B, or you're gonna be miserable tomorrow."
Blitz snorts. "Probably will be anyway," he says, and he's not really sure if he's talking about the hangover.
Millie's lips tighten again.
Blitz shoves a finger in her face. "Tha's your worried face," he says. "Means you're--you're thinkin' too much. 'Bout my bullshit."
Millie pushes his hand away. "Blitz, you're my best friend. I'm always gonna think about your bullshit." She glares. "Drink your fucking water."
He pouts, like a petulant child, and picks up his cup. He spills half the glass down his shirt in the process of bringing it up to his lips and giggles a little. "D'ya think Stols'll think I'm hot in a wet shirt?" he asks.
"I'm pretty sure he thinks you're hot in literally anything," Millie says, with a lot of confidence Blitz wishes he had and didn't have to fake. "He was practically droolin' at you when he saw ya in that jacket." She pokes his shoulder.
Blitz makes a rumbling noise in his throat that's half groan, half growl, half whine. "He's so pretty. Could do a lot better than me."
"Yeah, B, he threw his life away for you because he's holding out for someone better." Millie rolls her eyes. "It's not about what you or him do or don't deserve, Blitz. Love ain't a competition."
Blitz laughs weakly. Even to him, it sounds kind of pathetic. "Sure feels like it." He takes another drink of the water. "I gotta--I gotta make up for all the shit I did to him. All the shit he did for me."
"He's not gonna hold that over your head. Not after what he did." Millie's drumming her claws against the bar like Blitz was earlier. "You know that."
"He won't," Blitz agrees, finally looking up to meet Millie's gaze.
"But you'll hold it over your own head?" Millie guesses.
Blitz looks away again. He doesn't quite have the energy to agree, but he doesn't have the motivation to argue, either. He knows it would be a lost cause.
When he yawns, Millie sighs. "I asked about Stolas earlier," she says. "How are you doing?"
Blitz stares into his cup. "'m tired," he mumbles.
"Not been sleepin' well?"
He moves his cup in a circle so he can watch the water swirl. "Beanbag's shitty. Kills my fuckin' back." He yawns again. "Stols has nightmares and I gotta wake 'im up. An' when he's not, I'm havin' 'em."
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Nope." Blitz pops the P. "Depressin' shit."
Millie sighs. When Blitz looks back at her, she's staring down at the bar top, brow furrowed.
Blitz frowns. "Are you okay?"
"Mm, yeah." Millie doesn't look up at him. "Do you think I'd make a good mom?"
The question is so out of left field that Blitz has to blink several times before he's parsed what the fuck she's asked. "The fuck? Obviously." He rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his water like he's taking a shot. When he puts it down, Millie is frowning at him.
"Why?"
"Why?" It seems obvious to Blitz. "You're strong, you're protective, you're kind, and you don't take shit." He burps. "You remind me of my mom sometimes."
He doesn't realize what he's said until Millie says quietly, "I don't think I've ever heard you talk about your mama."
Blitz exhales, slowly, and suddenly finds it very hard to look at her. He looks at the back of the bar, instead. "Prob'ly not," he agrees.
"You wanna tell me about her?"
If Blitz were sober, he'd be running from this conversation like he'd lit his own tail on fire. "She was funny," he says. "Protective. Argued with Dad a lot about how he treated us. She took one look at Fizz when he showed up at the circus and pretty much adopted him on the spot." He knows his rambling is disjointed. He's not even sure Millie knows to connect Fizz to the Fizzarolli. "Kept Barb and me from killin' each other before the age of ten, so she was doin' something right." He smiles a little and taps the counter. "She was terrifying when she was mad, though. Turned into a mama bear. I bet you would, too."
Millie makes a noise that Blitz isn't used to hearing, and he looks up to see her sniffling, eyes watery.
"Oh, fuck--" Blitz scrambles in his seat and falls off, face planting before pushing himself back up. He wraps an arm around Millie's shoulders. "Fuck, Mills, I didn't mean to--"
"You're fine, B." Millie leans her head against him, eyes shut. "I just--I haven't told anyone, yet, and I don't know what to do--"
"Wait--told anyone what?" Blitz stares down at her. He traces their steps backwards through the conversation and stiffens a little. "Ohhhh, shit."
Millie snorts and buries her face into his shoulder. He pats her back.
"Not even Moxxie?" he asks, a little incredulous.
Millie shakes her head. "I don't know what to do."
Blitz puts his hands on her shoulders so he can push her back far enough to see her face. Her eyes are watery, still, but she doesn't look two seconds away from sobbing. "What do you want to do?" he asks. His tail swishes behind him. He's going to panic about this later, spiral some. But right now he's drunk, and Millie is upset, and Millie is supposed to be the put-together one, not the one crying in a bar.
Millie sniffles and wipes her nose. "I dunno."
"Why haven't you told Mox?" he asks, speaking slowly so he doesn't trip over his own words. He's very much inebriated but he's trying to focus on Millie.
"I don't know how he's gonna react," Millie admits. Her voice is low and a little wobbly. "We haven't--I mean, we've talked about kids. As an abstract concept. A some-day-in-the-future kinda thing. But after everything with--with the trial--" and she chokes a little, so Blitz pulls her back into a hug, squeezing her shoulders. He doesn't tell her that some of his nightmares feature her and Moxxie and Loona in that courtroom again.
"I don't know what you should do," Blitz admits, because he's honestly not sure what he would do, either. "But whatever you want to do, I'll help ya." He pats her back. "If that means pissin' Mox off so he doesn't spiral about being a dad or helping you get rid of it, doesn't matter to me."
Millie hugs him back. "You're a good friend, Blitz."
Blitz doesn't believe her, but he knows better than to argue with an emotional Millie. Instead, he waves his tail at the bartender and orders two more waters. By the time they arrive, he's back in his seat, and Millie has wiped the tears away.
"How long have you known?" Blitz asks.
"Found out on Sinsmas."
Blitz tries to sort through his memories of Sinsmas. Most of his memories of that day are not focused on Millie. "Damn."
"Yeah." Millie sips her water. "I gotta make a choice, soon."
Blitz rubs his face. "Fuck, I cannot think clearly enough for this."
Millie giggles, albeit a little hoarsely. "I meant to tell you sooner," she admits, "but I kept chickenin' out."
Millie? Chickening out?
"Mm, well." He's trying to think of something helpful, but his brain is sluggish and all he's really thinking about is how cute imp babies are, and how Goetia babies are so fucking ugly that they circle back to cute, and there's absolutely no connection between those two thoughts at all, fuck you very much. "Whatever you pick, lemme know." He sways a little. "I gotchu."
Millie laughs for real this time. "I know."
He feels a little warm at the fact that he's the first person she's told, but his head is swimming, and he's so fucking tired.
"Hey, B?"
"Wassup." He turns his head toward her.
"You know I'm here for you, too, right?" She looks at him with the Worried Millie look. "You don't gotta be strong all the time. You can let us help ya."
Blitz shrinks down and looks away. "Don't need any help."
"Maybe you don't need it," she agrees, "but that don't mean you have to carry everything alone."
"I can handle it," Blitz says, and he's not even sure what it is. "It's fine."
"Uh huh. When's the last time you took a day off?"
Blitz glares at her. "I'm your boss," he grumbles.
"And I'm your best friend." Millie crosses her arms and glares back. "Blitz, you can't keep goin' like this. You're gonna crash and burn when it gets to bein' too much."
Burn. He almost laughs. "I gotta," he says. "Someone's gotta."
Millie leans toward him to put a hand on his shoulder. He meets her eyes, almost guilty, either at the confession or at how long he's been swallowing it down.
"You can let us help," she says. "Let Mox and me take Stolas out for the day. Or take a day off, we can handle the office. Satan, have Moxxie teach Stolas how to shoot. Then you could really afford to take it easy."
The idea of putting a gun in Stolas's hands is simultaneously petrifying and arousing, and judging by the face Millie makes, she knows exactly where his mind goes. Blitz shakes it off. "'s not that simple."
"Why not?" Millie doesn't say it like it's an accusation, and maybe that's why Blitz says what he does.
"I gotta be the person for him that I didn't have." Blitz stares into his water. "So he doesn't end up as fucked up as I am."
Blitz nearly falls off the barstool when Millie punches his shoulder. "I like you fucked up."
Blitz chokes on a laugh when he manages to look back up at her. "You might be the first."
Millie rolls her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake. We all like you just the way you are." She softens a little. "That doesn't mean you shoulda been alone. I don't know what happened, what fucked you up--and I wish it hadn't--but there's nothin' wrong with you."
Blitz stares. "Millie. There's a fuck ton wrong with me."
"So?" She waves a hand. "There's a fuck ton wrong with everyone. Some of us are just a lil' better at hidin' it." She winks at him.
Blitz manages a smile, then yawns.
"You wanna head home?"
"Yeah." Blitz's smile widens. "Wonder if Stols is still up."
Millie hops off of her bar stool and helps Blitz off of his without him face planting. He wobbles a little as they walk out. "He ever seen you drunk?"
Blitz shakes. "Seen him drunk. He's never seen me." The smile fades as he remembers the last time he saw Stolas drunk.
Millie loops their arms together so that Blitz doesn't fall over as they walk back to the elevator. "I wonder how many musicals our boys have watched."
Something in Blitz's chest sparks at that. "Our boys," he says, and it feels right.
They're approaching Blitz's apartment building when he stops suddenly and gapes at Millie. "You bitch," he gasps, "you got me drunk so I would talk about my feelings, didn't you?"
Millie laughs and tugs him toward the building. Blitz complains the whole way up the stairs. But he's too drunk to hide his smile.