Payday
Title: Payday
Author: quiesce
Rating: R
Pairing: Badger/Tracey
Spoilers: set before The Message (thankfully)
Disclaimer: Badger and Tracey belong to Joss.
Word Count: 716 Words
Notes: *smooches* to llaras for the beta.
Tracey stumbled through the streets of one of Persephone's busier trading towns, pausing every few steps to spit on the ground. The coin pouch in his pocket felt like it was dragging him off balance, weighing him down, but he knew it was all in his head. As much as the money had seemed like a small fortune when it was just beyond his grasp, it wasn't actually enough to do that. Not enough for what he wanted to do with it, either. Certainly not enough for what he'd had to do to get it.
It was just supposed to be an easy delivery for a friend. Tracey wished he'd kept his mouth shut and been satisfied with the small cut Roger was going to dole out on his return.
Money and contraband had switched hands and Tracey knew he'd been as good as dismissed. He probably had only a few seconds left before his presence would no longer be tolerated.
"Um, I was told you might have some small jobs you might need done. For money. Roger said to ask."
Badger set his papers back on his desk and locked his eyes on Tracey. They never wavered as he stood slowly and sauntered over to the younger man.
"Yeah, got somethin' you can help me with."
Badger's hands roamed in and out of a seemingly infinite number of pockets before finally coming up with what he was looking for. A small cloth pouch jangled in front of Tracey's face, letting him judge how many coins were inside by the clinking they made. Badger shoved the pouch down the front of his pants before Tracey could ask what was wanted in trade. This he was not prepared for. But even if all the coins in the pouch were the smallest denomination available in any of the five standardized currencies, it would still be more money than he'd scraped together in months. Tracey reached out a hesitant hand.
"No, I think you're misapprehending my meaning. Have to do your earning on your knees."
Blanching, but not breaking eye contact, Tracey dropped to the floor and started to reach out again.
"And no hands neither. Keep 'em behind your back, even."
Tracey thought about the words he'd exchange with Roger when he got back. No, deck him first so he wouldn't have time to prepare; the words could wait until his friend physically understood that his suggestion had not been appreciated. Surely he'd known what he was setting Tracey up for, telling him to ask a man like Badger if he could be of any additional service. Better to think about what he would do, than what he was doing. Tracey's jaw would've been clenched if he didn't need his mouth for what he was doing. As it was, his hands were curled into tight fists behind him. Pouch in his teeth, Tracey was pulling back when Badger swatted it to the ground.
"Gotta finish the job first. Then it's yours do with as ya like."
Tracey once again relied on his memory and imagination to occupy him. He remembered the war and his many close calls. The pathetic house his parents had been forced into after Unification. The dream house he'd buy them as soon he could.
Get this over with. Get the money. Get out of here.
Tracey worked quickly, efficiently, grabbed the money bag as soon as he was permitted to do so, and ran off without looking back.
Spitting into the dust once more for good measure, Tracey promised himself there would never be a repeat of the afternoon's events. No matter how good the money, no matter how far it would go towards helping his parents out.
When he'd first gone to Roger for suggestions, Tracey'd dismissed most of his money-making schemes without consideration. He'd been cut up more than enough in the war; no way would he let someone open him up for money. But now that seemed like a helluva better idea than what he'd just done. More pay, and all he had to do was travel from one clinic to another. And nothing to leave a bad taste in his mouth, so to speak. Walking quicker now that he had a plan again, Tracey headed off in search of transport.
Author: quiesce
Rating: R
Pairing: Badger/Tracey
Spoilers: set before The Message (thankfully)
Disclaimer: Badger and Tracey belong to Joss.
Word Count: 716 Words
Notes: *smooches* to llaras for the beta.
Tracey stumbled through the streets of one of Persephone's busier trading towns, pausing every few steps to spit on the ground. The coin pouch in his pocket felt like it was dragging him off balance, weighing him down, but he knew it was all in his head. As much as the money had seemed like a small fortune when it was just beyond his grasp, it wasn't actually enough to do that. Not enough for what he wanted to do with it, either. Certainly not enough for what he'd had to do to get it.
It was just supposed to be an easy delivery for a friend. Tracey wished he'd kept his mouth shut and been satisfied with the small cut Roger was going to dole out on his return.
Money and contraband had switched hands and Tracey knew he'd been as good as dismissed. He probably had only a few seconds left before his presence would no longer be tolerated.
"Um, I was told you might have some small jobs you might need done. For money. Roger said to ask."
Badger set his papers back on his desk and locked his eyes on Tracey. They never wavered as he stood slowly and sauntered over to the younger man.
"Yeah, got somethin' you can help me with."
Badger's hands roamed in and out of a seemingly infinite number of pockets before finally coming up with what he was looking for. A small cloth pouch jangled in front of Tracey's face, letting him judge how many coins were inside by the clinking they made. Badger shoved the pouch down the front of his pants before Tracey could ask what was wanted in trade. This he was not prepared for. But even if all the coins in the pouch were the smallest denomination available in any of the five standardized currencies, it would still be more money than he'd scraped together in months. Tracey reached out a hesitant hand.
"No, I think you're misapprehending my meaning. Have to do your earning on your knees."
Blanching, but not breaking eye contact, Tracey dropped to the floor and started to reach out again.
"And no hands neither. Keep 'em behind your back, even."
Tracey thought about the words he'd exchange with Roger when he got back. No, deck him first so he wouldn't have time to prepare; the words could wait until his friend physically understood that his suggestion had not been appreciated. Surely he'd known what he was setting Tracey up for, telling him to ask a man like Badger if he could be of any additional service. Better to think about what he would do, than what he was doing. Tracey's jaw would've been clenched if he didn't need his mouth for what he was doing. As it was, his hands were curled into tight fists behind him. Pouch in his teeth, Tracey was pulling back when Badger swatted it to the ground.
"Gotta finish the job first. Then it's yours do with as ya like."
Tracey once again relied on his memory and imagination to occupy him. He remembered the war and his many close calls. The pathetic house his parents had been forced into after Unification. The dream house he'd buy them as soon he could.
Get this over with. Get the money. Get out of here.
Tracey worked quickly, efficiently, grabbed the money bag as soon as he was permitted to do so, and ran off without looking back.
Spitting into the dust once more for good measure, Tracey promised himself there would never be a repeat of the afternoon's events. No matter how good the money, no matter how far it would go towards helping his parents out.
When he'd first gone to Roger for suggestions, Tracey'd dismissed most of his money-making schemes without consideration. He'd been cut up more than enough in the war; no way would he let someone open him up for money. But now that seemed like a helluva better idea than what he'd just done. More pay, and all he had to do was travel from one clinic to another. And nothing to leave a bad taste in his mouth, so to speak. Walking quicker now that he had a plan again, Tracey headed off in search of transport.