Alcohol, it slipped down his throat in an all too familiar burn, the bitter taste invading his mouth and a spinning head taking over. He didn't mind, alcohol was the one thing he could rely on during his whole life. Wherever he was he could always find it, even when he couldn't find himself. He usually bought beers and drunk entire boxes, but today it wouldn't cut it. He preferred whiskey, vodka, ron... Something strong, bitter, and blinding. Anything to distract him, distract him from the pain, from the truth, from who he really was at this time. He spotted a dark corner in the musty bar and tried to move there, but as soon as he stepped down from the worn down black stool he lost his balance. He struggled to walk in a straight line, accidentally bumping into a big man.
"Watch it!" he growled. Lance just moved forward. Someone grabbed his arm tightly, pressing his black leather jacket against his skin, and spun him around. Lance found himself facing that man again. His eyes were dark brown and penetrating his lost ones, he was around his forties probably, the facial hair being grey in some areas. "Apologise you low-life." he barked, his other men gathering around him. Hunter smirked and turned away, he didn't have time for this shit. Once again, a big hand spun him around, this time however he found a clenched fist in front of him. He could have reacted, stopped the blow, but what was the point. A violent impact landed on his cheekbone and he tumbled backwards. The men around him threatened to continue if he didn't apologise.
Hunter could have gotten up and beat all of them down, he wasn't drunk yet, and even if he was, he had been one of the SAS finest. But today he didn't want to be the skilled mercenary, he just wanted to be a man, a man getting what he deserved. He didn't even flinch when kicks landed on his ribs, or when the alpha stepped on his face. The pain was almost better than the alcohol, it was more consuming. So he lay on the old carpet, watching how his crimson blood stained the grey fabric that covered the floor. Eventually he was dragged out of the pub and left on the cold street. His charming smile was now covered in red, his jeans were ripped, and his black t-shirt was stained. Breathing was hard at first, his ribcage would ache every time he would inhale and exhale. He leaned on a brick wall, his legs stretching in front of him, the mercenary just looked up at the night sky, wondering how things could have been if he had chosen a different line of work. A vibration in the pocket of his jacket interrupted his free thoughts. He carefully took out the phone, not wanting to stain it with blood, or drop it because of his unstable hand. His knuckles were open and bleeding, his index finger was probably broken, but he couldn't care less. His condition was making him dizzy, he could vomit or loose consciousness anytime, which meant he wouldn't have time to think.
The call was from Mack, strange. He ignored it, sliding the phone back in his pocket. His eyebrow was gushing, a trail of blood running down his bruised cheekbone like a tear. He remained still, his eyes locked on the wall in front of him. His vision was too unfocused for him to notice the patterns, or distinguish the different colours. The cold breath would turn white as it left his mouth, the cold night was somehow soothing to his blues. His phone rang again, he picked it up, seeing the caller was Bobbi. He ignored that too. He was on leave, couldn't they just leave him alone? Couldn't they understand he wanted to be left alone? He left the phone on his lap, his injured hand above it to ensure it wouldn't fall to a side and hit the hard concrete. The pain was starting to fade, he was gaining back his ability to concentrate. That would let him stand up and walk back in there, maybe get some major bones broken, some deep wounds, maybe even die. Or maybe he could get alcohol. Any option was fine with him. A buzz on his lap startled him at first, he then remembered it was his phone. It was Mack again, Hunter picked up, putting on his best 'spy' skills. If he had learned something from Barbara, it was how to lie and hide true feelings.
"Cheers." he greeted, his breath turning white again in the shivering London night.
"Hunter, where are you?" he asked, "And why didn't you pick up."
