Broken Heartstrings (gift for jhondoe789)

by Nun1m0usely

Summary:

A sax player dressed in scarlet; and a fiddler wounded black and blue. Out of all of the sentiments came regret, when he found him down at an avenue.

The blue-clad fiddler wore a weary smile, he usually played a merry tune, not a ballad. The sax player eyed him for a while though he could tell that it was truly sad.

Chapter 1

Zib struggled to light a match to smoke a cigarette. With trembling paws he flicked a match and the phosphorous tip lit up. The tiny flame danced around the butt of the cigarette as he began to smoke. 

 

The scarlet-clad sax player had shown his concern, considering that Dorian Zibowski rarely showed any other sentiment that wasn’t indifference nowadays. The Brass Boys had been commenting about the gunkid. The orange tabby looked like a baby, it had been either a gift or a curse to discover that the new marksman had a similar laugh as Rocky. 

 

Albeit, Zib didn’t like Rocky’s cousin that much. The kid was practically a stranger, though Ivy and Rocky were tagging along in their bootlegging escapade. 

 

When Rocky came back from the trip to Defiance, he looked worse for wear. After the head injury, Rocky hasn’t been the same. It worried him, in fact, he’d been having regrets from accepting Mitzi’s blood money (which she had acquired by foraging Wick’s signature). 

 

Zib wouldn’t have thought that he would see the day Mitzi became more like Atlas and find Rocky down in the dumps. 

“Rocky?” He hated seeing the kid getting worn and ragged. The little gleam in Rocky’s blue eyes was fading. “Are you there?”

 

Rocky was staring off into space, most likely a consequence from the head injury. As he saw a blurry image of Zib, he tried to deflect. 

 

“Hi, Zib, how are you?” Rocky’s voice came out groggy.

 

“Peachy.” Zib lied, then asked, “how about you?”

 

“Aces.” Rocky asked before he repeated himself. “Hi, Zib, how are you?”

 

“I’m fine, kid. Do you want pancakes?” Zib asked him. For a second, Rocky’s bloodshot eyes had a hopeful gleam, mouth agape, then smiled. “Yeah.” 

 

Zib may not be the most optimistic of the bunch, but he didn’t want Rocky to become world-weary like him.

 

“I’m taking you to Little Daisy. How does that sound?”

 

“Aces.”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Rocky admits to not having his first time with anyone yet and asks Zib for some advice.

Notes:

I wrote this inspired by one of foldedchip's unfinished Zib/Rocky drafts.

When Rocky had confessed to Zib that he hadn't gotten the chance to be intimate with anyone at all caught Zib off guard. First, it wasn't common for men to openly admit to not having their first time with a woman, (or with anyone in this case) but the fact that Rocky had been honest about it was something he hadn't expected to hear. Secondly, there was the absurd stigma about a man not having sex with a woman or hadn't had more than one woman: Either the guy was impotent or a homosexual.

 

Zib had experimented with both men and women throughout his youth despite the taboo subject associated with men who lived a double life. Zib undoubtably exploited the perks of being an attractive sax player during his prime even though the music scene wasn't so glamorous as one had hoped when it came to gypsying across towns and busking from city to city in hopes of landing a gig.

 

Rocky came forward to Zib for some advice. Hoping to acquiring knowledge about the art of seduction or to find a solution. At least the caracal assured Rocky had managed to take the first step: being honest, which was a risk on its own when it came to achieving some form of intimacy.

 

“Listen kid,” Zib said as he smoked a cigarette while lighting another one. “There's one thing you need to know before you have sex.” Rocky paid attention while Zib smoked both cigarettes, the caracal pulled both cigarettes away from his lips to make a short demonstration. “You will be entrusting your body to someone else in the heat of the moment.” Zib shows both cigarettes in hand, each cigarette symbolizing a sex partner. “It takes two to light a spark.” Zib exhaled smoke. “After that spark ends, it's over.”

 

Rocky's ears lay flat against his skull when he saw Zib connect the butt of the cigarettes as the pieces of ash fall off. He hadn't meant to discourage Rocky but he had to be blunt with him if he wanted to know what it entailed to have sex. “Don't get me wrong, sex can be great but you need to be careful with how you end up doing it with and with who. If I'd known what I know now, well—” Zib sighed, trying to not reminisce in what had lead him to where he was now. “Let's just say that things would've turned out a lot differently.” Zib put the cigarettes back on his lips while he propped his elbow on the bar table as the smoke danced in the cavernous space while he sat on a barstool.

 

“About that,” Rocky began, giving a sheepish grin, “I have thought about it and I wanted to have my first time with you. I mean—you don't have to if you don't want to—”

 

“What?” Zib asked, not sure if he had misheard him.

 

“It's that I've been—” Rocky was blushing and darting his eyes, trying to avert his gaze. “—hoping that you would—” If Zib hadn't been feeling so melancholic, he would've found the confession endearing. If Rocky didn't come off as child-like in some areas than perhaps he would've considered it. “—give me a—”

 

And it just occured to him that it might be what they both needed at the moment. Zib eyed Rocky for a few seconds. “—chance. With your consent of course.”

 

“He's not exactly Sy, but beggars can't be choosers.” Zib thought as he was contemplating at the tabby before him with a different angle. They boy wanted to become a man, and he had gained the courage to confess to him, and to think that his violinist had been pining for Mitzi all this time.

 

“Is that a yes?” Rocky asked as he noticed the way Zib was staring at him. The red-clad caracal stood from the barstool and looked at Rocky straigh in the eye.

 

“Alright.” Zib's tone didn't come out as detatched or unjolly but it was a good start. “Why not?” Zib shrugged, nonchalant. “I've got nothing to lose.” He then put out the first cigarette out in the ashtray and kept smoking the second one. “Meet me backstage in an hour.” Zib said before shoving both paws in his pants pockets before sauntering his way out of Lackadaisy.

 

 

Chapter 3

Rocky had no idea what to do.

 

He thought that it might've been a joke but when Zib accepted to have sex with him, Rocky was at a loss for words. The gray tabby only had 58 minutes left to get ready to meet Zib backstage. An hour could be a long time or a fleeting moment. Perhaps Zib was giving him time to prepare.

 

Yeah, that's it. Zib was giving him a head start. Biding enough time for Rocky to make the next move. Like a game of chess. The pieces moved across the chessboard until one of the pieces reached the king. Only this time, a passing minute was like sacrificing a pawn but what would role did Rocky have in this waiting game? The rook? The horse? The bishop? Or the queen? Or was he the other king on the opposing side of the chessboard?

 

Would I be the one to king Zib or would he be the one to king me? Rocky was scratching his head just trying to think about it when he was supposed to stay focused and get prepared to meet up with the scarlet-clad sax player backstage.

 

55 minutes left...

 

Rocky headed out of the speakeasy and lifted the wooden door that lead to the garage. The pick up truck that used to belong to the pig farmers was parked and not far from the heavy vehicle was the Struggle Buggy, a worn out sedan where Rocky lives. He thought about going for a drive just to clear his mind. He fished the car keys from his pants pocket and approached the vehicle.

 

Once he opened the door and climbed into the vehicle to start the engine, his employer had peered out the glass window and stepped out of the café. Rocky had adjusted tne rearview mirror before he recognized her hourglass figure approaching.

 

Oh, yes, Miss M has come for my assistance. Rocky gave a wide grin as she approached to the passenger seat. “There you are, hun. Would you mind dropping me off at Wick's estate?” Rocky held onto the steering wheel at the mention of the wealthy backer, imagining having the fancy Mr. Sable in front of him and squeezing his windpipe.

 

“Of course,” Rocky replied before he felt one of his eyelids twitch. “Anything for you, Miss M.”

 

It was a half hour drive to get to Mr. Sable's property. A massive Manor that had hundreds of acres wide, the courtyard was neatly trimmed and maintained spectacularly. Even the chauffer was conversing with a gardener. After Rocky had opened the door for Miss M. her stilettos clacked againsted the stone cobbeled steps. Rocky saw her saunter her way up the steps wearing her fluffy apricot stole while her long coat and dress had a sandy color. Her bonnet was adorned with a white daisy. The only thing Rocky could do was admire her beauty for a few seconds while his Lady Dinoysus ascended to the echelons of society to mingle with Hephaustus— or at least the rock collecting equivalent.

 

Rocky eyed the chauffer and went up to ask him. “Excuse me, sir. What time is it?”

Bix pulled out his pocket watch from his vest pocket to check. “Seven thirty eight.”

Rocky quickly got into the Struggle Buggy and drove out of the estate as quickly as he could. All he had to do now was to go back to Lackadaisy and take the quickest route to get there. Even if it meant driving by one of Marigold's routes to get there.

 

20 minutes left...

 

It was still plenty of time for Rocky to make it. He was sure it. He stepped on the gas pedal as the sedan accelerated. The gray tabby drove 60 MPH just when he thought that he was getting closer to his destination, he heard police sirens. He didn't have time for this.

 

He drove faster and tried ditching them. He really did but as fate would have it, he was running out of gas, even if Rocky managed to escape the cops, he wouldn't be able to make it to the rendezvous to meet up with Zib on time.

 

How ironic, a bootlegger locked up for speeding.

 

He was detained in a cell, his possessions were confiscated and he couldn't get out without bail. And worst of all, he wasn't going to have his first time with Zib either. “You're here too?”

 

Rocky turned around and didn't expect to find Zib of all people locked in a cell next to him.

 

“Zib! What a pleasant surprise! So, what are you in for?” Rocky asked as he saw the caracal sitting in a corner with a black eye and stared wearily at the gray tabby.

 

 

“Busking.”

Chapter 4

Summary:

A brief flashback to how Zib wound up from busking to waking up in a police car.
Rocky just wants to make a phone call.

Ending up in the housegow wasn't what Zib had in mind for an extended vacation from Lackadaisy. He had opted to skip town more than once but didn't have the incentive. Sure, the last wad of cash Mitzi had paid him by using Wick's paycheck as a last resort from being destitute waned significantly after the last time Zib was released from the police station.

 

The sleuth from the treasury department hadn't cared much about the vanquished empire, his only line of expertise was keeping tabs on tax evaders than wanted criminals. At least Zib didn't need to see Dominic Drago ever again for that matter.

 

Zib had only been at the Little Daisy an hour ago, eating a chicken sandwich with salad dressing. He had thought about how to deal with Rocky's problem but chose not to delve deep while he was munching on his food. It was around in that moment that he casted a once-over at Mitzi's direction when he had noticed that she was dressed to impress Wick. Or in this case, trying to smoothe things over once she decides to confess to the dashing Siamese anytime soon (regarding how she foraged Wick's signature). With the grim realization that she was becoming more like her deceased husband, Zib came to terms that the Mary Ellen he once knew was a distant memory. The only thing he could do was watch at how the widow raced to hitch a ride.

 

After Zib had ate his dinner, he returned to the speakeasy to grab a bottle of booze from the cellar. Fortunately, the bartender was missing in action and the band had gone to their homes hours ago. Only Horatio was the only one who had access to the speakeasy and a few mice where entertaining the chubby doorman while the sax player picked up the case which he stored his instrument and drank some hooch to gather some courage to start busking.

 

Zib played the sax on the streets around St. Louis.

 

Most of the passerbyers ignored him, some paused to listen though only one or two random strangers actually gave spare change to the sax player. It only been nearly a half hour before he was playing the instrument by himself when a prostitute had been strutting from across the street in hopes to hitch a ride, the sax music helped set the mood. As far from Zib could see was that the floozy in question had a similar physique to Mitzi, except that she had short white fur. The lady of the night had a dark wavy bob and pearlescent earrings, an amethyst and emerald brooch the trench coat complemented her figure, upon loosening the strap of the trench coat she flashed part of her lingerie at Zib's direction before one of her clients arrived riding a car to pick her up. The prostitute blew a kiss, whether it was ditected at the client or at Zib neither of the client knew nor did Zib care.

 

After the car drove off the semi-romantic tone slowed and lowered turned into a more somber one now that he was alone in the streets. The only source of light came from a nearby lamppost. He had been immersed in his own sad song that he hadn't heard footsteps approaching.

 

In a blink of an eye, Zib had been knocked out cold. When he woke up, he had been found by the fuss. It wasn't the first time Zib woke up in a random location he hadn't recalled being, but the fact that he got handcuffed and taken into custody was what really threw him off.

 

Did he get apprehended for drinking booze or for smearing lipstick on an cop? Did he try flirting his way out and didn't remember getting clocked or was he in the midst of a strange dream? It wouldn't be the first time he had crossdressed without remembering it. One inappropriate comment Zib had made had earned him a black eye which confirmed that he wasn't dreaming.

 

He was painfully aware and wide awake.

 

Zib's long face constrasted with Rocky's hopeful smile.

 

“Me too!” It was an obvious lie, even another cat snorted out loud from a cell across from them. Misery loves company as they say. “How long do you think we'll be locked up?”

 

“I don't know. Maybe a day or two.” Zib guessed, pensive. “I could use a cigarette right about now.”

 

“Do you think Miss M. will notice if we're gone?” Rocky asked, sitting in the ground, arms around his knees as he flicked his bottlebrush tail nervously.

 

“Not unless someone tells her.” Zib commented which gave Rocky an idea.

 

“How about I call her?” Rocky suggested before he got on his feet, held his paws against the bars and hollered; “I HAVE THE RIGHT TO MAKE A PHONE CALL!”

 

“I don't think the boys in blue will let you out so soon.” Zib commented before he put his arms behind his head and crossed his legs, turning his left ankle to and fro.

 

“But I have to Zib, Miss M will be worried. I can't abandon a grieving widow in her time of need.”

 

“Isn't she with Wick as we speak?”

 

Rocky's left eye twitched, then his ears arched darkly, though Zib wasn't able to see Rocky at the moment.

 

“Oh Zib, Mr. Sable is just a stepping stone in the grand scheme of things. A little pebble if you will. He may boast about his knowledge of stone and masonry but he's not the foundation of Lackadaisy.” Rocky stated as if were matter-of-fact.

 

At the mention of Lackadaisy, Zib remembered something and uncrossed his legs and stood up. “About that, they didn't found the club pin on you did they?”

 

“Of course not! What do you take me for?” Rocky replied in a mock-hurt. Whether the gray tabby was either joking or speaking in earnest, Zib didn't buy it.

 

“Get rid of it.”

Notes:

In all seriousness, I'm considering on making enough chapters for the eventual ZibRocky smut. Get your fingers crossed if you wanted by Thanksgiving (or if I'm still invested in this fanfic by then).

Chapter 5

Summary:

Zib tries to have a private conversation with Rocky but someone gets in the way.

A nondescript tom had been hearing the conversation because — let's be honest — what else was he supposed to do? Count sheep? There was nothing else he could do other than wait for his confinement to end. The guy recovered from a hangover the previous night and the few things that were on his mind where when was he gonna eat? When will the cops let him out? He didn't care neither what his newfound company were talking about for the most part, but he hadn't heard someone mention Lackadaisy for quite some time.

 

He had visited the speakeasy once or twice during its prime with a close friend. Waiting nearly two hours for the line to budge, the booze he drank had cost him twice his salary, his friend lost nearly 30 dollars gambling at the wheel of fortune and blackjack. The best part was hearing that southern belle sing. Acquiring the clover shaped pin back then would've cost $10, and the membership wasn't cheap either. One would've needed to have connections with the employees who worked there in order to get it.

 

To think that both he and his late friend had struggled to get the three lobed pin back then and nearly got thrown out by that one eyed giant Atlas May had as a bouncer. Talk about karma! Atlas May garnered the reputation of being the big shot in St. Louis and wound up getting shot instead, and to hear that the one eyed behemoth get kneecapped by his partner was the icing of the cake.

 

“Get rid of it.” Rocky looked at the tom that stood across from his cell a little bit to the left. “If ya have any shred of dignity left, you'd throw that damn thing in da trash.”

 

“No one asked you.” Zib interjected.

 

“Well excuse me.” The tom that spoke to Rocky had pitch black fur and medriatic yellow eyes, his voice had a slightly bassy tone. “Da last time I heard of Lackadaisy, one of Atlas' top goons got shot while da otha one abandoned ship to work with the big boys. If ya ask me, I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that, unless ya wanna be the laughingstock around 'ere.”

 

One of the cops approached and held a keyring with his right paw and had a baton to his left. As the cop picked one of the keys to open the cell to bail the black tom out, Zib began to whistle a tune.

 

“Time's up.” The cop said before opening the cell.

 

“Well it's about time!” The black tom hollered but as he stepped out of the cell, the tom in uniform extended the baton as a warning.

 

“Stay out of trouble.” The cop scowled to get his point across.

 

“Zib, I have a question: if murder is a crime than why are we here killing time?” Rocky asked while Zib rubbed his nape pondering at the question.

 

“That's a good question. If I were to guess, the penalty for our crime in killing time would be an endless cycle given that the longer we stay confined in this place we would remain guilty for the rest of eternity. The solution to drop this charge and to end this cycle would be if we were bailed out immediately.” Zib replied, stating his opinion.

 

“Undoubtably, my good Zib.” Rocky concurred. The cop accompanied the nondesript tom out of the station while Zib waited for them so he and Rocky could resume their conversation in private.

 

“Rocky, listen.”

 

“I'm all ears.” Technically, Rocky was mostly ears, eyebrows and smiles but it wasn't the time nor the place to make jokes so he leaned next to the wall to listen to what Zib had to say.

 

“There's something you need to know. The last time I was locked up, an agent from the Treasury Department found the pin I had on, his name is Dom Drago. That smug bastard could pose a threat. We're barely scraping off with the money Mitzi swindled from Wick. If we don't make ends meet with paying Uncle Sam, we're going to be on Drago's radar soon. Whether if Mitzi comes clean to Wick or not, it's not my problem but if you're still going to be her errand boy after this just know that you can do much more than—” But before Zib could finish he heard footsteps and spotted the aforementioned agent.

Chapter 6

“Uh... Zib... are you ok?” Rocky asked because Zib suddenly got quiet. The red-clad caracal chose to let out a yawn and laid back down in case Dom approached to their cells. Zib wasn't in the mood to face the agent again. “Zib?”

 

Zib's voice was a murmur.

 

“Wake me up when it's over.” Zib was emotionally drained and disconnected but not tired enough to sleep so he laid face down on the ground, his backside facing the cell with his tail tucked between his trousers. Rocky peered out of the cell before he saw a dashing gray tom approach with a manila folder in hand.

 

As the imposing individual approached, Rocky hollered. “HEY! EXCUSE ME! I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE A PHONE CALL!” Dom Drago looked at the gray tabby wearing a blue zoot suit, the second he saw the skinny lad give a broad grin, he could clearly see that the guy wasn't in his right mind. The scar on his forehead hadn't fully healed, the stitches though recent required to be changed.

 

“Give me a minute.” was his reply before he walked away. Zib heard the footsteps move closer for a second before it faded, he hadn't moved a muscle until he was certain that Dom was out of earshot.

 

It had taken a few minutes for a guard to approach Rocky's cell to and to unlock it. The metallic clicking and the squeak from the cell could be heard. Zib could hear Rocky comment, “how nice of you to escort me.”

 

“Move along.” The guard stated as he directed Rocky to the nearest phone booth at the police station. As their footsteps faded from earshot it was when Zib moved his tail, then turned to the side to sit before he saw a shadow looming over him. When the caracal turned to see who it was he immediately saw the smug expression on Drago's face. Zib mentally cursed at his bad luck, it was bad enough that he got arrested twice in the span of a month. The caracal kept a straight face despite the black eye.

 

“Mr. Zibowski, I didn't expect to see you so again so soon. Unless you're involved in fraud or tax evasion, you're in for an unpleasant surprise.” Drago warned, though the smug expression it sounded more of a taunt than a warning.

 

“Aside from seeing your ugly mug? In case you forgot, I'm a musician not a flim-flam.” Zib said.

 

“Oh yes, the sax player. Are you still playing mournful sax for the vanquished empire?” Dom queried condescendingly.

 

“There's a thing called minding your own business, you should try it sometime.” Zib suggested, nonchalant though deep down he wanted this conversation to end and was in need of a cigarette right now.

 

“A sassy sax player to boot. You sure have a penchant for getting yourself into trouble, Zibowski.”

 

“Or trouble has a way of finding me.” Zib held the bars to look at the swanky looking agent. “The way I see it is that trouble keeps following me and the next thing I know, I wind up here. Strange shit happens.”

 

“That's called Schaudenfraude.” Drago stated, “if you keep it up you'll end up in prison. Good luck finding a good lawyer.” Drago walked away sniggering, just like the last interaction. Zib waited until the agent was out of earshot once more and dropped the façade, and groaned. He hated being locked up, the last time Zib was locked up he had Virgil to talk to but now he was stuck all by himself now and he had no idea how long he was going to endure the withdrawal.

 

He didn't have any intention in quitting cold turkey in his agenda other than busking to make ends meet with the rent. He had slept around in random places, on the streets for the most part but he had no clue where the hell he left his saxophone. If the cops had confiscated the instrument, at least he'd have the hope in getting it back.

 

Zib sat back down on the ground propping his elbows on his knees, mussing the the tuft of his fur before hearing Rocky's cheerful voice before the guard brought gray mackerel tabby back in his cell.

 

“Cheer up, Zib. We'll be free in the next 2 days.” Rocky told him.

 

Zib replied in the most dry, unjolly tone he could muster. “Hooray.”

Notes:

Not the best chapter but I'm actually relieved to say that it's finally done. It was originally meant to be part of the previous chapter. This is the last chapter of them being locked up by the way. If I get around to writing the next chapter, they'll be back at Little Daisy.

Chapter 7

Summary:

Rocky drives Zib to where he lives and writes down the addresss in case he forgets.

The wait finally ended and both musicians were free men once more.

 

Rocky had to pay the fine for speeding. It wouldn't be an easy task (he would have to procure lots and lots of hooch for the few following nights), but that wasn't going to stop him from getting back on his feet. Perhaps perform a ridiculous stunt in order to get some money.

 

Anything to prevent Miss M. from requiring Mr. Sable's paycheck to rescue the speakeasy. Either cajole Miss Pepper to grift some unsuspecting chap for a noble cause, or snatch the wallets from some witless rubes. A sinister thought had crossed Rocky's mind from collecting blood money from gangsters. They wouldn't need money if they were dead, right?

 

Rocky offered to drive Zib home while he cranked the engine of the vehicle, the caracal simply hummed in agreement, staring at the gray tabby briefly before looking at the clear blue sky. The need to get home for basic necessities, like eating some food, drink refreshments from the fridge, a warm bath, some shut eye with some peace and quiet.

 

He didn't mind chatting with Rocky from time to time while they were taking short breaks from rehearsing for musical numbers or eating at the cafe but there were times when Zib needed to lay low to recover from his deppressive episodes.

 

When the engine began to sputter and purr did they get on board the vehicle, both cats looked tired. “How are you holding up?” Zib asked before Rocky snapped out of the haze.

 

“What?” Rocky's eyes darted to Zib.

 

“How are you holding up?” He repeated.

 

“Never better.” Rocky lied, it was an automatic response, trying to stay positive despite feeling like garbage. “Do you want to go to Little Daisy or—”

 

“—Home. It's not too far.” Zib replied as he looked at the road before snagging a glance at Rocky and he noticed that look again, the kind of worn out expression Rocky rarely exposed but had a harder time hiding this time.

 

“Of course.” Rocky gave a weary smile. The ride on the Struggle Buggy was nearly a silent drive except when Zib had given simple directions. Turn right. Take the next lane. Rocky turned the steering wheel clockwise, keeping his toe away from the gas pedal, light enough to reduce the speed and took the direction as they were a minute away from arriving to an apartment complex.

 

After Rocky drove the Struggle Buggy to a parking lot next to the building, Zib muttered “Thanks kid.” The caracal dismounted the rundown sedan before closing the door. The blue-clad tabby simply eyed the building as he saw Zib slowly walked his way into the building, slouching somewhat, shoving his paws in his pants pocket. The engine kept running for a few more seconds before Rocky shifted the car keys and turned off the car. Rocky wanted to know which apartment Zib lived in. Just to be safe.

 

A lie that went off in his head. A short jaunt. A little detour from his usual route. To ensure Zib made it inside his residence. Check his address in case Miss M. asked for his whereabouts. Nothing out of the ordinary. Rocky had followed Zib, far enough so that the sax player wouldn't see him.

 

Four or five yards from walking distance, then the distance shortened from two more yards as he followed Zib up the stairs to the 4th floor. Listening to the slow tempo of Zib's footsteps. The slow swish of Zib's tail as it dangled lazily, the tip of his tail making an occasional zigzag.

 

Breeching another yard from walking distance until Rocky was just 8 feet away when Zib had pulled out his dorm key from his vest pocket to open the door. Jittery jazz handsshy away from shoving the key inside the keyhole, with a twist Zib unlocked the door.

 

Rocky simply watched him open the door and go inside. The door closed, waited a few seconds to see the number of the apartment. Just to remember it. Rocky blinked for a second to register the number because he didn't want to forget.

 

His head injury was nearly healed, though he had scratched the stitch from time to time.

 

Bentonville Avenue, St. Louis

Delta Apartment No. 408

4th Floor...

 

He stared at the number of the door again.

 

Room No. 22

 

Nope.

 

Bentonville Avenue, St. Louis

Delta Apartment No. 408

4th Floor; Room #029

 

Rocky memorized the address and went back to the the Struggle Buggy as he rummaged through his belongings for a marker as he opened the glove compartment to find something to write on. A crumpled piece of paper, an unfinished rough sketch, anything if it meant to not forget that new information. He scrawled the address, trying to fill the space of the used paper that was marred with dried syrup stains.

 

 

“ROCKY.”

 

 

“Not now, Cactus Friend.” Rocky said as he jotted the address down to the last number.

 

 

“WE HAVE TO GO.”

 

 

“Oh we will, my prickly protégé.” After Rocky finished writing it, he folded it as neatly as he could despite how worn and used the vellum sheet looked. He put it back in the glove compartment along with other paraphernalia stacks filled with newspaper articles, comic books and marbles Rocky had collected. “But first I have to get changed.”

 

“AND I NEED SUNLIGHT. THE COPS KEPT ME LOCKED UP FOR TWO DAYS. TWO DAYS WITHOUT YOU! YOU'RE LUCKY THEY DIDN'T FOUND YOUR PIN IN MY POT!” Rocky moved to the backseat to pick up the potted plant, stared at Cactus Friend intently for a couple of seconds. Squinting at the prickly plant before clawing some of the the dirt from the pot to pick the Lackadaisy pin.

 

“I'm gonna get you a new pot one of these days, but we'll just have to make do for now.” Rocky could feel how sturdy the roots were, it coiled around within the pot and the cactii needed more room to grow. Rocky put Cactus Friend back on the cluterred matt as he wiped away the dirt with his padded toe beans. Then wore the pin on the left side of the collar of his dress shirt though it was placed inward, hidden in plain sight.

Notes:

I'm posting this fic instead of eating breakfast.

Notes:

Even though this fic looks like a flashfic or a oneshot. I've thought about adding more chapters later on regardless if it's fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, etc.