Survival Of The Fittest

The gesture was foreign to Diego. He took it anyways.

He stuck out his left hand towards Ty, twisted it awkwardly to shake his hand. His right hand was still slick with blood, so it would've been in poor taste to use that hand, probably.

The word 'goodbye' felt so formal, final. But it fit. He didn't feel like leaving without offering at least one word of assurance, however. Taking without giving was in character for Diego, but it didn't always have to be.

"Thanks, Ty. And, uh. Good luck. With everything."

Something was better than nothing, he guessed. But he said it with a smile, sincere and encouraging, he hoped.

With that, he turned around and walked back down the hill.

((Diego Larrosa continues in Crimewaves))

Ty allowed himself to hope Diego survived. Even if it was seemingly impossible to really make it out of here, or to make it out with anyone else. For a second, he imagined they’d meet up again in a few years.

Behind the counter at his bar, he’d look up to barely recognize a face. Maybe Diego would’ve done a a few of those things folks often did when they escaped high school and their hometowns - a few new tattoos, maybe a beard. They’d both have grown into their skin, scars and all. They’d share a look, taking a second to really recognize one another, to size up how the last few years since SOTF had treated them.

After that, Ty would grab Diego and the guy he brought in with him a drink, on the house, and a shot of bourbon for himself. The next time they’d meet eyes, he’d raise a glass and Diego would raise his back. They wouldn’t have to say a word, so Diego didn’t have to explain anything to his date, but they’d both know what they were drinking to.

Ty smiled. It was a nice image to hold in his mind. There wasn’t any need to sully it, as much as his instincts pushed him to do so. There was no harm in imagining things the way they should’ve been. He watched Diego descend down the path away from the Temple, and out of sight.

Sighing, he looked back at the building. The others were still inside, their task still left unfinished. Something that needed to happen, that felt like it shouldn’t have to. Whatever motivations they had didn’t make it any less wrong. Her betrayals still didn’t make his own any easier to commit.

Picking up the crowbar, he walked back inside, silently wishing that they could while away the hours left in the day without incident.

((Tyrell Lahti continued in A Roaring In The Blood))