He'd driven silently, letting Eleanor's throaty song soothe him in a way that no drink or drug ever could. The connection he'd always had to this car was almost creepy...sometimes he could almost swear she had a personality. He supposed loneliness had played a part in his deep rooted attachment, but no matter, the care was still a beaut.
He maneuvered the silver queen to the curb, not bothering to turn the engine off. She shifted next to him, and he turned to look at her, one hand still on the shift. Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes had cooled some, and the lines that had marked her face in taut anger had smoothed.
He thought about her request, unsure if it was a good idea. The woman had been tortured...what if someone saw them together? He didn't want to put the old wheels in motion on her again. But the look in her dark eyes nudged him to turn off the car. He owed her at least a drink, he supposed. Alright. I'll get you a drink." His voice lacked the usual confident luster it had once had. Now he just sounded tired. "Remember to lock her."
He got out of the car, locking his own door before standing and surveying the area. Before him was the club he'd spent so much time in, living a good life with his wife and the friends that had been his family. He frowned, barring his memory from shifting back to those old times. This was now. Their empire had fallen, so to speak, and he was nothing but a relic of his former self. It was over. He unlocked the trunk so she could get her suitcase.
He had taken only a couple of steps when his gaze slid over a large Renegade. It looked like it was old, and his interest was piqued. Could it be some of the crew had made it here already? Perhaps he was foolish, getting his hopes up over a single old Jeep. He looked at Nancy. "Didn't think I'd be back in this old joint." He said softly. "It's gonna be weird." He supposed he was talking more for his own benefit. It was likely she didn't want to hear much of what he had to say.
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