clare328 (clare328) wrote in jamponygifts,

  • Mood:


Title: Donuts
Author: clare328
Summary: The decision whether or not to head back to Seattle is made by a 300 pound security guard who thinks that donuts are preferable to doing his job.
Rating: M, for language.
Recipient: for evenasiwander
Warnings: None.
Notes: from the prompt - Biggs just being cool. Or Whatever
I tried to include Max and Alec on a run, witty banter, but unfortunately I struggle with dialogue full stop, let alone witty dialogue, so hopefully Biggs here is cool enough to make up for that. This is how he always is in my head.
Un Beta'd, and though there are no spelling/grammar issues, there are some serious structural ones, that are annoying me, but that I don't have time to fix if I want to get this in on time. That and I'm not sure how to fix them just yet. So feedback would be really appreciated.

The decision whether or not to head back to Seattle is made by a 300 pound security guard who thinks that donuts are preferable to doing his job. This would normally work out perfectly, except that on his way back to the donuts, he spots Biggs in the middle of stealing a particularly fine piece of jewellery from the late art nouveau period. Which sucks for everyone really, although Biggs takes small comfort from the fact the security guard certainly came off worse. Donuts, however, do not compare to sixty thousand bucks. Even if they’re triple chocolate.

This being the eighth heist that has gone south in as many months (he’s always been lacking in the stealth department), it’s definitely time to try something new. And Seattle, whilst a number of other things not worth thinking about, is definitely new. That, and there appears to be plenty of opportunities to kick some ass.

So he packs up his shit, gives his pain-in-the-ass landlady the finger,
(“Thanks for the memories, Beryl”)
and heads off into the sunset. With maybe a few sideline trips to visit some lovely (read: awesome breasts, no brain) ladies along the way.


Seattle is a dump. Like, truly the most awful hellhole in the world. Most of America is slowly dragging itself up from the decrepit pit it’s been in for the past ten or so years, but Seattle just sucks. Which is why there’s a grin on his face, because really, where’s a better place to have a shitload of fun than in a place that’s about as anarchic as you can possibly get. He spots some weird looking steelheads as he makes his way through the city,
(“Oi mate, what the fuck you looking at?”)
He’ll have some transgenic style fun with them later.

The word on the street is that the underground transgenic help line runs from a messenger place in sector 9, and considering he entered the city through sector four, this requires some rather delightful cop avoiding. Or, it would be delightful if he hadn’t just spent the last day and a half riding nonstop, so he’s dead tired and really can’t be fucked jumping fences. He finds himself a place to stay for the night with a lovely brunette
(“How you doing?”)
and figures he’ll go find his species in the morning. Or better yet, the afternoon.


Despite his rather beautiful act of bravado and sexy-fun-times charm, Biggs actually is a human being (well, close enough), so when he hears a particularly familiar voice bickering in the background as he walks into Jam Pony, he can’t actually stop his heart from racing a little. Not in a homoerotic way or anything, it’s just that he’s gone over eight months without seeing his best friend, and its taken its toll. Just a little.

494 is standing relaxed against the lockers, teasing the fuck out of what looks to be 453. Who is not taking it nearly as well as she used to.
(“Alec, you dick, what the hell did you do that for?”
“Because you looked like you needed it, Maxie.”
“I thought I told you to stop calling me that!”
“You did, but I decided I didn’t want to stop.”)
Unfortunately calling out 494’s designation is a sure way to bring the shit down on all their heads, so he has to settle for a lame “Hey.” It works though, and 494’s head shoots up faster than a heroin addict, a grin breaking out though he’s obviously trying to control it. Biggs makes his way over, (slowly, not about to jump into his arms or anything), making sure to be as cocky and charming as possible.
494 holds out his hand, “Hey, man.” And then they’re hugging, proper hugging without worrying about how it looks, because this is his best mate and he has fucking missed him. That and they need to whisper their new names to each other so they don’t screw up their cover. It would look kinda strange to be hugging each other like this and not know each other’s names.

The chick Alec was teasing clears her throat and stands there looking equal parts self righteous and curious. Alec sobers a little. “Right, sorry Maxie. This is my good friend Biggs. Biggs, this is Max. The long lost twin of a friend of ours.” At this it clicks, and he’s fighting 12 years of conditioning really hard to smile at her and pretend like he doesn’t want to knock her out. He figures that if Alec can stand to be around her in a somewhat friendlike capacity, then hey, what did Manticore ever know really. But Max seems to pick up on his I’m having a hard time being around you vibe, which she must get a lot of really. She smiles, “Nice to meet you Biggs. It’s good to hear Alec actually has friends, though I honestly never knew it was possible,” and leaves. Alec feigns hurt at her comment, though Biggs can see its just routine, then turns to him “How ‘bout a drink?”


It’s the first time in a very long time that Biggs has been in a bar with no intention of meeting a fence or finding some girl. He feels a little insecure about that, though he’s never met a challenge he can’t bullshit his way out of.
Alec is different than he remembers, less fake bravado and more real confidence, but it suits him. He suspects he’s seeing the side of Alec that was hidden desperately away out of reach from Manticore, and it’s a bit of a revelation really. He was always colder than this, harder. Biggs knows he can still easily be that way, but Seattle seems to have done him good.

Alec delivers the latest round of beer, and flops in his chair with a grace even a transgenic would envy.
“So where are you staying, while you’re in these parts?” Biggs grins at this, because like Alec ever thought that he wouldn’t crash with him.
“With you, you idiot.”
“And what if I don’t have a place for you to stay?”
“You do, but if you didn’t then I’d find a place and you could crash at mine.”
“If that’s kinky you must have the most boring sex ever.”
“Touche, though I haven’t really got time these days.” Biggs can believe that, what with the insanity that is the national transgenic panic, Seattle at the epicenter. It’s not too bad elsewhere, especially not for an X5, but this city just amazes him. And not in a good way.
“I’ll guess I’ll have to stick around then, help out, make sure you’ve got some free time to, experiment,” he grins.
Alec’s face lights up, “Really?” And Biggs is floored by the realization that Alec seriously thought that he wouldn’t have planned to stay as soon as he knew Alec was around. Abandonment issues. Manticore really did a number on all of them, but Alec more so than most. Biggs needs to remedy that, preferably with beer and girls and friendship.
Tags: alec mcdowell, biggs, by: clare328, for: evenasiwander
  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded