like that
Tulio: [sighs] Well, it was nice working with you, partner.
Miguel: Tulio, I just want you to know... I'm sorry about that girl in Barcelona.
Title: Like That
Rating: PG
Pairing: Miguel/Tulio
Disclaimer: Imitation is the highest form of compliment.
Notes: The girl’s name is not pronounced a-me-lee-ah but a-meh-lee-a. This is important because I said so. OH GOD I HAVE WRITTEN ANIMATED MOVIE SLASH I AM GOING TO HELL. Or possibly jail. Do not sue me, please, Dreamworks.
And then there was the matter of the woman in Barcelona.
Because really, when it came down to it – or so Miguel thought, and everyone knew that was all that mattered, really – it was only a matter of time, with a girl like that. ‘A Girl Like That’ being the type of girl that Tulio always managed to attract. The type that had those big hips, and even bigger…piles of gold… and sweet blonde hair and if that wasn’t hard enough to find, he didn’t know what was.
And they always, always spent the night.
Except the problem was, really, if Miguel tried to put his finger on it – the problem was that she didn’t just spend the night, she spent the day, too. And the next night, and then again the day after that, until he suddenly realized that this wasn’t going to be one of Tulio’s-Girl-Like-That.
She was going to be Tulio’s Girl. Like that.
And that, Miguel…Miguel could not have that.
Even if Tulio could.
Just for clarification, by the way, it was Tulio Having A Girl that Miguel could not have. Not Girls In General. Even though Miguel really couldn’t have girls in general, either, because their voices rather annoyed him and they didn’t roll dice right (gave away their moves with the way they held their wrists) and honestly, five o’clock shadows looked all wrong on anyone with even bigger…piles of gold.
Because really, when it came down to it – or so Miguel thought, and everyone knew that was all that mattered really – Tulio was better off with Miguel.
For gambling, Miguel reasoned. For gambling, and quick getaways, and crazy adventures, and also, strangely enough, for knife juggling, which was something they had discovered by incredibly fortunate accident.
And she kept spending more time, and it…it just got bad, that was all, really, because you couldn’t scam a heist by yourself, you just couldn’t. And you couldn’t gamble properly without someone to blow on the dice for you, and you couldn’t make quick getaways unless you had someone to fleece the crowd, and you certainly couldn’t have crazy adventures unless someone was there to tell you that you were being insane, and to give you that sideways have-your-brains-turned-to-beadwork expression, or someone to give that expression right back to.
And you really couldn’t juggle knives.
Miguel had tried.
He ended up off his feet for a week.
Which meant that when she would stop by and leave messages for Tulio, Miguel would nod and smile and kiss her hand and as soon as she left, conveniently forget them.
Which meant that when Tulio would have to run out to the market and would leave flowers for Miguel to deliver to her on her arrival, Miguel would mangle them until only the stems remained. And as much as she was Tulio’s Girl, she just didn’t appreciate a bouquet of stems.
When meant that when she would spend the night, Miguel would sing.
All night.
Tonelessly.
Rhythmlessly.
Until one morning, with his bandaged leg still propped up on a pile of pillows near the window, so he could watch the market open up below him (and plot a bit of melon thievery for later on in the day), when she came and found him.
“Miguel,” she said.
“Girl,” he replied, even though her name was Amelia and he knew it, and she knew he knew it, and she squinted at him for it.
She leaned her hips up against the rough stone of the bench and was careful not to jostle his leg, and crossed her arms over her…large piles of gold. “Is there anything you want to talk about?
Miguel looked stubbornly out the window, and shifted his jaw. “No.”
She made a sound like laughing, but when he looked back, her face held only a mischievous smile. “You don’t like me.”
“I don’t like you,” he confirmed readily, still staring out the window. The vendor just below him was setting our scarves that were sure to blow to the wind, and if he hadn’t been hobbled, he’d be down there trying to snatch them away to sell himself.
“You like me,” she said, and he snapped his gaze back on her.
“I thought you just said I didn’t.”
She gave him her shifty smile again, and leaned farther back against the wall, leaning out the window to see what he’d been watching. “You like me fine. You like Tulio more.”
“Of course I like Tulio more. I like…”
He stopped.
She looked up at him, her smile broadening on one side to show a little tooth.
“Oh,” Miguel said. And then, a little quieter, “Oh.”
“I’ll just be going, shall I?” she said, and thumbed out the window. “I’m going to try and get some of those scarves.” She pushed away from the wall, and walked past him, and then reconsidered.
He was staring at her. I like Tulio more. I like…
She patted him on the shoulder and her face saddened a little, but only a notch. “Take good care of him. Boy.”
“I.”
She laughed her little invisible laugh again, and was down the rope ladder. “You,” she confirmed, and the word drifted up to him.
* * *
Even when there was no money, there was enough money to drink.
Which was where Miguel found Tulio, the sun setting like a blaze of fire on the horizon, casting odd shadows into the small room they used to store the goods they managed to hold on to for more than a week. Miguel tried not to find it ironic that the girl had been one of those goods – Tulio and she had spent an awful lot of time in here, it doubled as Tulio’s bedroom – and focused on the fact that Tulio had already managed to empty a bottle of…something. He gave the empty bottle a whiff, and wrinkled his nose.
“Miguel,” Tulio said, reaching up for him, his hair pulled back severely at the base of his neck but flying away, from there – like retribution of some kind, punishment for trying to tame it. “Miguel, she’s gone.”
Miguel didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then dropped down next to Tulio, both of their backs against the wall. “Yeah. Yeah, she is, Tulio.”
Their shoulders pressed together and Tulio brought a second bottle up to his mouth, and the sound of sloshing liquid was his only reply for a moment. And then Tulio spoke, broken sounding and hollow. “And you didn’t… I mean, did you say… say anything, that would…”
“Of course not,” Miguel snapped, eyes going elsewhere.
Tulio’s breathing hitched in a bit of a sob, except Miguel knew that Tulio certainly wouldn’t be getting weepy over A Girl Like That. Except she wasn’t, really.
She was an okay sort, if Miguel had to admit it.
Which he didn’t.
“She just. She just left,” Tulio said miserably, as if that explained it all. Which it did, really, only Tulio didn’t know that, and Miguel wasn’t about to explain it to him. “I’m so… Miguel. I’m unlovable.” He was suddenly clutching at Miguel’s shirt, the open collar flapping and distracting them both. “I am. Aren’t I. Unlovable. You can go, too. If you want.”
And really, when it came down to it, Miguel was bad at this sort of thing. Really, really, very bad. Because the right thing to do, really, would to have been to suggest pooling their assets and investing in another bottle of wine (as he had finally ascertained was the beverage of choice this evening). Or pulled out the dice and suggested a bit of friendly You’re-Drunk-And-I’m-Taking-Your-Money. Or even spent the evening, shoulders pressed together – even though they already were – swapping stories of old adventure and insanity and that one time in France when they’d spend three days in jail.
Tulio was particularly fond of that story.
What Miguel did, though, was twist a little, and put his hand on Tulio’s shoulder to shake him a bit, and make sure he was aware of how absolutely serious Miguel was when he said “I won’t go.” The and-you-can’t-make-me was unspoken.
“Oh,” Tulio said, still sounding rather melancholy, and skidded his gaze down off of Miguel’s face and to the bottle. He set it between them, an offer to share, and Miguel knew that everything would probably be alright, because Tulio really only horded the alcohol when he was terribly upset about something.
But just to make sure, Miguel wrapped his other hand around the flyaway hair at the back of Tulio’s head and pulled him in close. And there was a rasp of stubble and an uncomfortable clack of teeth and then there was mouth and hot and Tulio, just like he’d always figured there should have been. And immediately following, Tulio was pressing in and running his tongue over Miguel’s bottom lip and things just had to be tripled, because upping the ante was something they both did so well. So the hand wrapped closer, and they both dragged a little against the rough wall, and oh, there was the wine, on the roof of Tulio’s mouth.
They broke when Tulio whimpered, a distinctly unexpected sound, and Miguel gasped (which was still probably unexpected for Tulio, but Miguel had felt it coming a while back) and had to unwind his hold on Tulio’s head, and unclench the fingers he’d been digging into Tulio’s shoulder.
“What,” Tulio said, and then stopped himself, and just stared. And then his voice pitched lower and his hand was curling in Miguel’s shirt again, a happy curl of warm where their skin nearly touched, and said “double or nothing,” and kissed him again.
And really, when it came down to it, it wasn’t so bad, after all, being A Boy Like That, as long as it was for Tulio. And Miguel suspected Tulio didn’t mind terrible either, since things seemed to go back to normal after that, give or take a few small changes.
And Miguel even got to move into the storage room, and stayed for more than a week.