Fuck the bike.

He’d needed something valuable to show at the gate and the bike had seemed a reasonable choice. Recovered recently during a raid on a small nest, it was the sort of salvage he’d heard Eclipse was interested in. Valuable enough to give him a reason to stick around and haggle, not just dump it at the door and leave, yet its providence was feasible to fit with the mercenary cover that had been, regrettably, forced on him. He’d had someone fix it up enough to run.

Except whoever had worked on it had screwed it up and the engine had packed up a few miles from the Junkyard, forcing Gabe to push it the final way. His arms ache from the effort and he’s sure he’s got a few delightful bruises on his shins where the fucking thing had attacked him.

He’s been in a bad mood about the new assignment all week, since being pulled into the office and given his new orders. Infiltration, really? Him? It’s a waste of time and he can’t help but think there’s something else behind it, some other reason they’re pulling him off active duty hunting down monsters and sending him to monitor Eclipse. It’s a waste of his talents and he hates it, but he can’t work out where he fucked up so badly that they’ve wanted to get rid of him for a while. Eclipse is an annoying leech on society had hardly a threat compared to the vamps, a few would-be rebels too scared to take on the Military in truth. From the research he’d done, they were nothing more than opportunistic scroungers, taking advantage of the desperate to make a few extra dollars.

But he was loyal, so he’d obeyed without questioning it.

He misses his uniform and the comforting weight of his rifle. The costume they’d assigned him is comfortable but worn, tactically practical, and he tries not to think too hard about where it’s come from. The gun he’d been assigned – a sad pretender to the Military-assigned rifle he was used to using – had not been allowed past the gate, nor had the mismatched bits of body armour, and he feels naked.

He flirts absently with the Eclipse member who takes him further into the building as a way to cover his annoyance, though his attention is on the base itself. As hoped, the bike is enough of a prize to draw someone more important than those assigned to the front gate, and he spends the time trying to draw more information about the group out from the woman who waits with him. They clearly don’t trust he won’t wander off if left unattended.

He’s made little progress with his watcher when someone else arrives. Gabe eyes them up appreciatively for a moment before his gaze settles on their face. Clearly someone the woman had been subordinate to, from the silent interaction as they’d traded places, but he has no idea who he’s dealing with. Military intelligence on the group had been patchy at best. It doesn’t really matter. He just needs a way in, someone to convince he could be useful and to vouch for him when he eventually tries to worm his way into the group proper.

“Morning,” he drawls, fingers possessively curling around the bike. Now that he’d pushed the fucking thing so far he’s determined to get a decent price for it, even if the money means nothing to him. “It depends. What are you offering?” Having it fixed wouldn’t be a bad option either, he decides, as it gives him a reason to come back, and whatever workshop they operate might be further into the base than he’d been allowed so far. “I know what I’ve got, there’s not many of these left. Sure you can afford it?” Ok, it’s only a dirt bike, and it looks like it lost a fight with a bear, but working vehicles were rare enough for it to still be valuable. Even if this one wasn’t, technically, entirely working at the moment.

Seriously. Fuck the bike.

It's clear to see he’s hit a nerve, but Gabe has no intention of backing down apologising. The irritation that flashes across the other man’s face is a salve to Gabe’s own bad mood, glad that he can bring someone else down with him. His head tilts to the left slightly as he briefly raises his eyebrows. Maybe.


“Maybe I just thought I’d try my luck here first, I was told you’d take anything,” he snipes back, oddly possessive now it was a contest, when he’d have happily abandoned the bike in a ditch somewhere earlier this morning if he hadn’t needed something to show at the door. Irritatingly the man continues – he’d known he wouldn’t be able to put off starting up the bike’s engine at some point, but he’d hoped to put it off a bit longer.


With a bravado that is entirely unjustified, he makes a show of turning the key and starting up the engine. For a moment he thinks that luck is smiling on him as the engine briefly flares to life, but then chokes to death in an echo of earlier, although there’s less cursing from Gabe this way around. There’s mock surprise plastered across Gabe’s face, not entirely believable, as he pulls back from the bike with a shrug and a cheeky grin. “May have hit a slight snag with the running bit of it,” he admits, breezily. “Ran fine earlier. Maybe it’s just out of petrol. Was a fair ride out here.” Considering his complete lack of knowledge about the vehicles, it could even be the case, though he doubts it.

Gabe’s eyes study the other man, not stupid enough to mistake the kind words for anything but fake politeness. Watches as he takes a step closer towards Gabe, unsure whether it’s threat or power play or just part of the game. Whatever it is, it’s far more interesting than the bike. He’d much rather barter for a much different sort of ride.


“You think I’d come all the way out here if I didn’t have something decent to sell?” The Junkyard was hardly conveniently placed, one of the many reasons the military probably hadn’t bothered to do anything about it yet, and there’s the little issue of him being entirely unarmed in the smugglers’ stronghold. He’s no doubt that someone would just shoot him if they thought he was just trying to cheat them.


The other man is still willing to play. He can work with that. Shame that he was technically working; the man was pretty enough that Gabe would probably have bought him a drink and tried his luck, but he knows better than to risk his mission for a quick fuck. Or maybe it would be a quick hack to making friends, so long as he can make it a regular occurrence. Wishful thinking, maybe, since he doesn’t even know the other man’s name.


“Fetch some oil,” he mock commands, and takes a step forward to match the smuggler’s, though the my men comment doesn’t go unnoticed. Someone with some sort of rank in the organisation then, which is exactly what he’s looking for. “Trust me. I’ll make it worth your time.”

Self-satisfaction blooms as his order is obeyed, though he’s surprised that the other man hasn’t pulled it up on him; it’s clear he thinks Gabe’s probably lying, and he does have to wonder what there is to gain by indulging him. Suggests he was a little more desperate for the bike than he was letting on. Or was interested in what else Gabe could offer.

He’s no stranger to being admired; sex is easy, and though he’ll never admit it he is desperate to feel wanted, even if it’s only temporarily. His eyebrows quirk at the obvious way he’s being checked out, though it’s more part of the game than anything genuine, he’s sure. If this asshole is expecting him to back down first in this unexpected game of chicken, he’s going to be disappointed.

“It’s not looking like much of a challenge from over here,” he points out, rolling his shoulders as he deliberately turns his back on the other man to fake interest in the bike once again. “You haven’t even given me anything to be interested in.” Decides it’ll annoy the other more to be dismissed, as it’s clear he’s used to being obeyed.

His hand trails down to trace the moulded plastic seat. Counts down in his head before he glances back across his shoulder, smug grin firmly established. “Can you even negotiate for something like this? Might want to fetch someone who can.”