(no subject)

A warm spring breeze carried the sounds and smells of Central London through an open flat window, causing the old curtains blackened by air pollution to flutter in its wake. Nate felt it against his back like a soft, encouraging hand, though it was the last thing he needed at the moment. He was stretched out on the hardwood floor of his living room, holding himself in a one handed pushup for what felt like hours. Stealing a glance at the clock on the wall put it at five minutes. With a huff he adjusted his feet to keep his spine straight and started again, all the while fighting the urge to put his free hand on the floor. This was his third set since he woke up, and if he didn't find something else to preoccupy himself, it probably wouldn't be the last. With his shuttle in the shop, he was fully grounded on taking new bounties until the repairs were finished. All he could do was wait for a call from the mechanic.

Nate had just managed to count to ten again when his sweaty palm caused him to slip.
“Fuck--” He collapsed onto the floor with a thud. After groaning at the initial dull pain in his knees, Nate decided it was time to find something else to do. Without work or someone to talk to, he always found himself getting very antsy very quickly. He changed out of his sweats and threw a knapsack full of his equipment over his shoulder-- there was one place he could go.

Once outside, he didn't bother trying to hail a taxi. The day was too beautiful for that, even with all the noise of traffic. Things had changed significantly in the universe since he was young, but from a ground view on Earth, London was very much the same. The crowds, the pigeons overhead, the scent of grime fused with the aroma of coffee, and the thousands of different sounds rising in a unique cacophony that he had yet to hear replicated even lightyears away; they weren't necessarily the most seasonal, but for Nate, it was pleasantly nostalgic.
A few more blocks and a ride on the tube later, Nate found himself at a small building in the outer suburbs of town. He could already hear the pops of gunfire in the distance. It was his first time at the shooting range in months, so he doubted he'd give his best showing. Still, he was due for practice, and now was as good a time as any. He checked in his gear and headed to the locker room, where he still had one on reserve. By now it was full of dust and a few blank cartridges, though he wasn't sure why he had them. Before he could think about it, Nate felt a clap on his arm. He looked up to see a giant of a man behind him, dressed from head to toe in combat gear.

“Hope you got a license for that thing you're carrying.” Recognition dawned on Nate's face at the sound of the man's voice, and a grin came with it.

“Paul, you sneaky bastard,” he said affectionately, even as he was being laughed at. He pulled the man into a rough hug, half embracing him and half shoving him into the lockers. “What are you doing here?”

“You're asking me, mister space pioneer? I haven't seen you since you were chasing down some poor sod on Galandria,” Paul replied, cuffing Nate on the shoulder.

“Well, I'm grounded until I get my heat shields fixed.”

“You're still piloting that piece of shit shuttle, aren't you?”

“The finest my credits can afford,” Nate replied, shrugging. The pair continued to playfully bicker about his taste in spacecraft as they walked to the range. Paul was an old friend of his, a former bounty hunter who started the work around the same time as Nate did. However, while Nate thrived on the unpredictability and high risk, Paul joined the hundreds of young hunters who never made it past their rookie years. He dropped out of the game and enlisted in the Earth Defense Corps, the international army that was created upon the realization that humans weren't as alone as they thought in the universe. It was one way of exploring, but for Nate, there were simply too many rules.

He and Paul went through several rounds of bullets trying to compete on their accuracy. Nate fared better than he thought he would, more than passing typical shooter standings, but Paul easily wracked up more target kills. Nate didn't really mind-- he never aimed for the head. There was only a handful of times where he'd had to do more than just rough up a target. It was usually self-defense, and it would haunt him for long periods afterward. As a bounty hunter, he was fine with knocking a few heads, but he wasn't a hitman, and definitely not a soldier.
They ended up in a pub back in town, as they always did, drinking stout and telling tales. Maybe they should have skipped the shooting and just done with the dartboard, Nate wondered.

“I don't know how you still do this, mate,” Paul said, taking a chip from the basket they'd ordered and swiping up some vinegar. “The pay always looked good, but they never tell you how much hospital bills cost on other planets.”

“You never were creative with your money,” Nate replied, smirking. “Besides, the trick is not getting hurt. Worst thing I've had happen in the past year is a dislocated shoulder. No hospital necessary.” 

“You're fucking mental, Nate,” Paul laughed. “You should enlist, the army needs more loonies to get things done.”

“Oh, yeah. Can you really see me in the army?” Nate drawled.

“Hell no. You'd drive a CO up the bloody wall.” Paul shook his head. “They've practically been begging for new personnel since relations with the planets in Sector Lambda have gone tits up.”

“That bad?” Nate asked, frowning. Paul just shrugged.

“Same posturing as always. We were the same way back when we thought we were all alone.”

“Bit old to enlist, anyway, yeah?”

“Not these days. Don't talk like that, man, you always make us seem ancient.”

“Maybe not, but you're not doing the same drills as the draftees, are you?” Nate laughed, pointedly looking at Paul's gut. It was an easy deflection from the subject of age. He was promptly told to fuck off, and Nate's laughter became easier. It was easier still the more pints they had, continuing to reminisce about old hunts, whether it was for treasure or for outlaws. Eventually they were back out on the streets, walking with no real direction. An old church bell tower several blocks away chimed twice, and Paul cursed.

“I should've been back to base hours ago. Hopefully there's still a shuttle running.”

“Thought they were shit, you said,” Nate drawled, flashing Paul a boozy grin. Paul shoved him playfully, and they both stumbled.

“You alright to get home?” Paul asked.

“I'll be fine. Got nothing to drive.”

Paul suddenly clapped Nate on the shoulder, looking at him very seriously, almost too seriously for the amount of beer they'd had.

“Good luck out there, mate,” he said somberly. Nate, confused, patted Paul's arm.

“You need it more than me, sarge.”

With a final goodbye, they parted, and Nate started his walk home. The night air was cool, and that along with the blocks between him and his flat allowed him to sober up a bit. It was as quiet as it got at night in the city. Engines occasionally still hummed overhead, and cabs passed him by, hoping to get a passenger who might accidentally pay them too much. The silent lapses between put Nate a little on edge, which he was quick to blame on the alcohol. There was no reason for it otherwise. It was stupid, he thought, considering the amount of time he could spend alone drifting in empty space, or the days on end exploring ruins of half discovered planets on his own. That was when he felt most alive, but being alone in an epicenter of human contact was different, somehow. When he heard distant conversations that would continue long after he walked by, or when he saw pairs of discarded cigarettes, some with lipstick stains and some without, Nate felt as if he was missing out on something. It didn't matter what or with who, just the sensation of being on the outside of a bigger picture, barely clinging to the frame while everything else was in stark focus.

The curtains were still fluttering back in his flat, and Nate swore at the sight. He thought he'd closed the windows. Being on the upper floors meant no harm done, but it made it far too chilly to sleep. Whether it was the cold or the morose thoughts seeping in that kept him awake, he was glad to ignore. Regardless, he tried to sleep. Not bothering to undress except to shed his jacket and his shoes, Nate lay out on his bed, bleary eyes staring at the ceiling. Lights from passing cars below sliced through the blinds of his window from time to time, but the sharp angles of the shadows twisted a bit in his drunken haze. His sense of loneliness had become more acute the minute he stepped in the door. Nate frowned. It wasn't the sort of lonely that led him to strange women's beds on occasion, but a desperate need to be outside of himself. Suddenly, he missed Paul so strongly it was as if he'd heard news of him dying. Not just Paul, but another half dozen friends that randomly came to mind, none of whom he'd seen in months, all of whose company was preferable to trying to fall asleep drunk at three AM. Even when he was sober these thoughts would intrude on his attempts to rest, but tonight it felt worse. The shuttle being in the shop had something to do with it, he was sure. That made it feel like his escape route from his own thoughts was blocked off, trapping him like a scared animal, alone with irrational doubts he needed to face, but couldn't.

They drove him out of bed, and a few frantic paces later he found himself by the window he left open, smoking a cigarette from an old pack lying about in the flat somewhere. The tobacco tasted stale, and he never liked the things much in the first place, but it was simply a desperate effort to calm his nerves. He hated this sense of bereavement that attacked him when he left the company of others, and the questions he was left with instead. What impact did he even leave in this rapidly expanding universe? There was no chance it could be significant, no matter how many people he made laugh, no matter whose lives he might save or ruin by hunting down the wanted. So what the hell had the past few decades been for? Nate wanted to answer that; he wanted to know so badly that it almost seemed to boil the blood right out of his brain. However, all he could do was watch the stars-- what few could be seen in the London sky. He'd be among them again soon enough, able to roam freely and alone with the better parts of himself, those that had the guts to stand up to humanoids twice his size, to blaze trails through impossibly foreign ruins on primal planets, and to greet danger with a reckless grin.

Nate snuffed out his half-smoked cigarette against the window sill and flicked what remained to the street below. It joined the countless others on the sidewalk, becoming just another hint at the untold stories Nate saw in all of those little things, where he never even thought he might have a place.