Wrench

It starts, as it always does, with Prime_Eight.

It's not exactly early and it's not exactly late, but Horatio and Josh have already turned in for the night, leaving Wrench and Sitara alone, on the wind down of celebrating their most recent successful op. They've been barhopping all night, Wrench is on his somethingth beer, all is going well, and then a bunch of Lenni's goons walk in.

They recognize them, him immediately, sitting a table not far off the bar while Sitara gets them another round, and make their way over. Wrench sees them coming, and about the time their leader, some skinhead-looking douchebag in a P8 vest, helps himself to a seat at their table, he's on his feet. Prime_Eight, unfortunately, seems to take that as a slight, however, and one of the others steps forward, trying to shove him back into the chair. He holds his ground, tries to push past the guy with a shoulder of his own, and gets treated to another elbow, this one more violent than the first.

The second time, Wrench manages to get past them -- and then freezes when one of them mutters something he doesn't quite catch beyond mask and fag. Normally, he's secure enough it his own masculinity, his own sense of self, that the words wouldn't bother him, but he's a little drunk and a whole lot high from their triumph, still, and so he's willing to go if they are. He's always wanted to kick the shit out of a bunch of Prime_Eight wannabes. It'll be another nice notch in his belt, this evening.

Distantly, he's aware of Sitara calling his name as she catches wind of the situation and starts back from the bar, a warning not to start shit, or not to stoop to their level or whatever, but he tunes her out. He flashes her a (~_^), then fires the proverbial first real shot, not a shove, this time, but a punch. Lieutenant Asshole goes down like the shitsack he is, and a merry (^_^) arcs across the mask as his friends rush in to fill the void.

It's all kind of a blur after that. He gets hit half a dozen times, in the stomach, the chest, the hip as someone aims for his balls, presumably, and he twists away; he returns the favor, flailing dangerously. Someone wraps their arms around his waist from behind, hoping to pin him down; he pushes back against their chest, using it as leverage to kick out, to keep the flurry of blows at bay. Even when it becomes clear he's not going to win this one, too many hands on him, on his arms, holding him down, now, he doesn't stop fighting back, doesn't surrender, like Horatio said of him once, not willing to go quietly. He bucks as they push him down into the bar, but to no avail, and something hot and bright sparks across the face of the mask, stunning him. He gasps for air and the heat on his face, on his face under the mask, lingers.

"Cops'll be here in five minutes, people!" someone yells, though while Wrench misses that much, he doesn't miss the fact that the hold Prime_Eight has on him sudden evaporates. He starts towards the floor, knees losing their ability to support him in slow motion, and then there's a hand on his arm, dragging him back upwards. He pulls away weakly, tries to, and the fingers on his arm twitch before Sitara's voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. "Wrench! Wrench, it's me, relax!"

He does and she drags him towards the door. The two of them trail Lenni's crew out onto the street, away from the promise of the impending police, and then veer in the opposite direction. Sitara pulls them into another bar as a a cop car streaks by them, and once they're inside, pushes him backwards towards the men's room. He stumbles backwards into the door, catching himself on it as it swings open, and skitters inside, all at once more afraid of Sitara than any of Prime_Eight's goons, if only for the look on her face. She backs him into the sole sink in the room, and he holds up his hands at once, trying to hold the inevitable dressing down he's about to get at bay.

"Sitara, wait," he starts, stops as something on her face changes, deflates. Confusion registers on the face of the mask, alternating (O_o) and (?_?) -- or it should, anyway. Instead, there's another sharp, white flash behind his right eye, and swears immediately, reaching up for his face.

"Oh, my God," she breathes, reaching for him, too, "your mask." Her fingers hesitate on his skin just below where the mask starts, then snap back all at once. For a moment, Wrench thinks she finally remembered herself, but then she's reaching for him again. "Shit, you're bleeding."

He weaves when he should be bobbing, but he still manages to duck away from her fingers and turns to face the mirror. The mask, caved in and cracked over one eye, greets him in the mirror and when he tries for a look of shock, its face only displays one of the exclamation points and fries him again for good measure. He starts a step back from the mirror, almost tripping on Sitara in the process, and hisses an "Ah, fuck," as the mask goes dark. It can't even manage the default (x_x), apparently, and for better or for worse, yes, he is bleeding and distantly aware of the smell of singed hair.

"Fuck," he repeats, as he turns under Sitara, facing her.

"No joke," she shoots back, reaching for him again.

He tries to fight her off, really he does, but this time, he doesn't have much in the way of luck, and before he knows it, she's leaning around him to rest the mask on the edge of the sink. He looks away when she returns her attentions to him, caught somewhere between trying to sink as far into the hood of his sweatshirt as he can and all but looking over his shoulder, the side of his face with the birthmark turned away from her. She studies him for a moment, even so, and he makes a small noise, near-choking on his shame. He ignores him and reaches up to touch her fingers to what's very clearly a cut on his face, and he sucks in a sharp breath, regaining the one stolen from him when she took off the mask.

"I don't think it's that bad," she tells him after a minute, pulling away. He turns his head just the tiniest bit, trying to follow her out of the corners of her eyes as she moves for the paper towel dispenser on the wall. She glances back over her shoulder at him again, as she begins to crank out a length of wadding, and he drops his gaze again. "It's gonna bleed like a bitch, and I'm pretty sure you're mask is fucked, but ... "

"I'll figure it out," he tells her immediately, almost violently.

Humming, she wads up the paper towel and turns back, passing it to him. Her jaw works, as he takes it from her, like she plans on arguing (or, at very least and most likely, suggesting he not put the mask back on until he does, for fear of setting his face on fire), but whatever it is dies on her lips as the door starts to open. Immediately, she's on in front of it, one foot catching the door to stop it before she kicks it back shut. There's a bit of a struggle as she reaches for the lock, and to ensure her victory, she yells, "I'm giving him a blowjob!"

The door stops ratting all at once, and after a beat, Wrench tries, "Don't I wish."

"Mm, no," Sitara says, managing to make her refusal sound casual enough that it doesn't make Wrench feel like she's judging him and his face. Leaning back into the door, she crosses her arms over her chest. "Take a minute and get cleaned up, then we'll go home."

"Yeah," he answers, turning back towards the mirror. He catches her eyes briefly in the reflection before he looks away again, tending to gash on his forehead, left by the mask as it caved in. He puts the offending thing back on, once he's done and once he's turned it off so he doesn't end up shocking himself again, and in silence they walk back towards the hackerspace. Wrench isn't sure if that's a good thing or a bad one, but he's too tired, now, and too sobered by the events on the last hour to press it.

He falls onto the couch when he reaches it, wakes up at some ungodly hour, half-hungover and feeling the beating he took, and pulls himself upright with a groan. He gets up, heading for one of the cabinets under his work space, and comes up with a bottle of aspirin. Shaking two into his hand, he puts on a pot of coffee to take them with -- and, more importantly, to work with. He might as well, he figures. Now is the only time he's going to get in the hackerspace alone, and he needs to get the mask fixed before anyone wanders down for the day.

Four hours later, and he's gotten exactly fuck-all anywhere, for all that he's finding he needs a second pair of hands to fix what those Prime_Eight assholes did to the mask and, after leveling a kick at the leg of his table, he throws his head back and howls "Fuck!"

He has no idea that, at some point in the last few hours, he's gathered an audience.