Title: It takes all that I have just to cry for help
Fandom: Wiseguy (tv)
Content notes: Missing scene from Loose Cannon; very definitely spoilers.
Challenge: Fragile
Length: ~750 words

Summary: But that’s why he came here, isn’t it?

Vince stares blearily at the empty glass in his hand. He’s not sure how many he’s had; the bartender’s been whisking the empties away like he’s got a side-gig in three-card monte. The only reason Vince still has this one is because he’s still holding it, watching the ice melt and wondering if he’s drunk enough yet.

But that’s why he came here, isn’t it? It’s one of Sonny’s bars, not a place Vince usually went unless he was working. He didn’t like the way they watched him, solicitous like he was some big shot. Your money’s not good here, Mr. Terranova, they’d say, like Sonny’d skin them if they let Vince run up a tab. But he couldn’t face the boys in the neighborhood tonight, couldn’t stand the idea that someone might ask him about Gina.

Gina.

Vince pushes the glass away deliberately, opens his fingers like a drowning man reaches for a rope. And sure enough, the next full glass appears. He latches onto it like a lifeline.

He’d driven Gina to her sister’s place in Baltimore. She’d refused the very idea of a hospital, and with the body cooling in her living room neither of them suggested the cops. So it was three hours in the car, her still barefoot in her bathrobe and crying, sometimes, when she wasn’t just staring blankly out the window. Vince didn’t have anything better to say, either. There weren’t enough words to say he was sorry, and she shouldn’t forgive him anyway.

He stopped once on the way back, to get gas and use the pay phone. It could’ve been Frank, maybe it should’ve been Frank, but it’d been Sonny’s number he dialed first and he doesn’t even regret it. Sonny’d said he’d take care of it, and Vince was grateful to just let it go. The body would disappear, the house’d be cleaned, and the next time Gina went home there’d be no trace of what happened. It was the best Vince could do for her.

The glass is empty again. However many he’s had, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. He can drink til he falls off the barstool and still remember what it felt like: Gina’s terrified face, the helpless rage boiling up in his gut, the vicious joy of pulling the trigger. His first murder.

And even if he regrets every single choice that led him to that moment, he can’t find a scrap of remorse for the act itself.

***

One of the waiters helps him outside with the ease of long practice. Vince’d asked for a cab, but they’d told him there was a car waiting. He hadn’t questioned it, too busy trying to coordinate arms and legs that felt more like noodles than limbs. The floor tilted madly back and forth. At least he’d succeeded in getting drunk.

The chill night air slaps him in the face, and he blinks stupidly up at a street light, trying to get his bearings.

“I’ll take him,” someone says, and the hands supporting him change. An arm slips around his waist, and Vince finds himself leaning into it automatically.

Sonny. If anyone had asked him if he could recognize Sonny Steelgrave with his eyes closed, he’d have said no. But there’s no one else this could be. The rustle of his overcoat, the vague scent of his aftershave, the utter confidence in the way he moves. Vince thinks he could point to the exact spot in space that Sonny inhabits even if he were blind. From the other side of the planet, maybe, it’s so obvious.

“You look like shit.”

Vince manages to get his eyes open and working long enough to see Sonny’s face. He can’t tell if it’s concern or amusement; maybe both. “I feel like shit.”

Sonny’s mouth quirks up. “Let’s get you home, then. Let you sleep it off.”

Vince nods, and the nodding turns to something else when the world spins again. Sonny laughs, and it ought to sting, because Sonny’s laughing at him.

But it doesn’t sting. It feels good.

And it feels good to be manhandled into Sonny’s car, the warm air from the vents wrapping around him like a blanket. It feels good to let his head tip onto Sonny’s shoulder while the driver takes them anywhere at all. They could drive all night for all he cares. Because Vince doesn’t have to worry about it; he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Sonny will take care of it.