Encore (Prodigy: 3)

Paying Respects

"Why am I carrying all this shit? How much does one man need to buy?" Zane snarled as Locke opened the door to his hotel room and Zane barged passed him, hurling the dozens of shopping bags onto the sofas, collapsing into an armchair and dropping his head back.

"Oh man up, it's just a bit of clothing," Locke said as he started to look through the first of the bags.

"It is not just a bit of clothing," Zane growled, "I have gone shopping with girls. I have gone shopping with extremely rich girls. I have carried their shopping. You out shopped them. In just five hours!"

"Eh, I needed to stock up. What should I try on first?"

"I don't care what you try on. I'm not sitting here while you parade around like a fucking catwalk model, you've exhausted me."

"Aw, and I didn't even get to do anything fun to you," Locke said with a grin, walking over and setting his hands on the armrests, leaning down.

"And you won't get to do anything fun to me," Zane said, planting a hand on his face and shoving him back, "Especially after today, I'm having an early night."

"You're such an old man," Locke said, grinning and walking away, pulling off his top and throwing it aside, revealing his smooth, toned body, the subtle abs rippling under his pale skin as he bent down and pulled out a jumper.

Zane just got to his feet and prepared two cups of tea, leaving Locke to strip and parade around the suite, mostly in his boxers, tossing clothes everywhere, accepting his tea when Zane handed it to him.

Zane took his seat again, settling back, crossing his legs and watching as Locke fit outfits together; apparently content to play dress-up and nothing else for the rest of the evening.

"Will you be going this weekend?" he eventually asked, after a half hour.

"Going where? There's nothing on this weekend," Locke said and Zane could spot the lie a mile off even without Locke looking at him.

Nevertheless, he expanded. "To the funeral."

"A funeral? God no, what a boring waste of a Saturday."

"I'll be going."

Locke's hands paused as he pulled off a new shirt. He was still for a moment, then shrugged it off. "Why? You didn't know the guy."

"I met him once or twice and he was Rich's husband, it's only polite to pay my respects."

"Respects to a man who married a guy decades younger than him and continued to pay for rent boys during the entire marriage? Oh yeah, there's a man who deserves respect," Locke said, snapping the tag off a jumper before throwing it on and sitting down.

"My respects don't have to be genuine."

"Then there's no pint in giving them."

"A lot of people don't give any real respects to people like him."

Locke looked up from his tea and just watched Zane for a while, his black eyes deep and dark, a coldness settling in them.

"What?" Zane finally asked.

"We first met ten years ago."

"I know."

"I don't think you would have said that ten years ago."

"Huh?"

"Ten years ago, you were more sincere. Respect is given where respect was earned. That's how you used to be, or at least that's what I believed to be the case."

"We didn't know each other very well ten years ago."

"I thought I knew you well enough."

"Oh yeah?"

"Would you have paid your respects to the man your mother was dating at the time if he had suddenly died."

Zane's muscles instantly tensed and he looked away.

"You remember that man? I remember him even without having met him. The men who left you battered and bruised. Who sent your siblings into hiding at friends' houses even week? Who beat your mother if he couldn't get to you and he could always get to you because you would sooner be hurt then see a loved one hurt. You remember him? ...Because I know you didn't pay your respects to that one."

Zane's eyes widened and he looked at Locke who was looking passed, towards the window.

"I did hear, how he was killed a while back in a bar fight. Heard about the funeral. Not even your mother went – bless her heart, I'm glad she didn't. But you didn't either. That man did as much for you as Rich's husband and he was just another form of awful... so why attend his funeral? Why pay respects to the man who doesn't deserve them? Why stoop so low?"

Zane looked away again, then set his mug down and got to his feet, beginning to fold up the clothes, setting them in three neat, towering, piles along the sofa.

"At seventeen I could afford to judge people," he said calmly, methodically folding a shirt. "When you're young you react the world as it really is. The unjust, the damnable, the cruel and wicked people of this world. When you're young you can stand up against them with the loudest of voices because you still have an unjaded view of the world. The wicked are punished – somehow, someway. But when you're older, and that jade had set over your eyes, it is harder to call out the unjust. It's easier to just protect yourself and play along."

"That's no excuse," Locke said, shaking his head, "That's the words of someone weak."

"I never claimed to be strong."

"But you are strong, you have to be!"

Zane looked at him. "Are we still talking about the funeral? Or do you feel that I've let you down again, just in general?"

Locke looked down. "I don't think you let me down," he muttered, "just disappointed."

"It's much the same thing. You gotta stop having such high expectations of me, Locks; I'll keep letting you down."

Locke looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Locks?" he copied.

Zane shrugged. "Shall we order room service for dinner or would you like to go down?"

Locke looked at him for a moment, then got up. "Room service," he said, gathering up up his new clothes and taking them into the bedroom, starting to hang them up on in the wardrobe next to Zane's clothes and leaving the ordering to Zane as he called downstairs, ordering for them both, including one horribly spicy dish for Locke – just to see how much spice he could handle.