Vagrant (Malachy!Flynn) [Backstory]

[myeyesarehollow.livejournal.com]

He had only rested his eyes for a second...

Or that had been Malachy's intention. It had not been what had occurred. He was exhausted and he had gone out to try to busk for money. He had actually done okay as well, managing to squeeze a few pounds out of passersby. On his back back to find Ardal, his head had spun dangerously and he had needed to sit down. He placed his guitar beside him and he had bent over, trying to make the world stop spinning. The world was quite uncooperative, so Mal had decided maybe he needed just a few minutes rest... That would make everything better. And then he could return to Ardal and they could buy something to eat. He just needed to rest a moment.

When he had awoken, several hours later, it had been dark and he was being manhandled by two officers of the law. Mal let out a yelp of fear as they pulled him up off of the small bench he had been sleeping on. "Oi, stop! Stop, I didn't do nothin'!"

"You were sleeping in a hotel courtyard. It's private property." One of the men informed him.

Mal's eyes widened and he tried to struggle, but even then...even after sleeping, his head swam and blackness crowded out the sides of his vision. "Auughhh...."

"He's gonna faint, Man." The other cop said, and he tightened his grip. "He looks like he's on death's door."

"Just get him to the lockup. I'm sick of these kids. Druggies, most of 'em. Martha would have a fit if Richie ever got caught like this. Makes me ill."

Mal only half heard their words, and when he opened his mouth to argue, no sound came out. He went limp in their arms and he let them carry him to the car without further protest. He hoped Ardal was okay, but he didn't have the energy to fight this.

Mal had blacked out again and when he came around, he opened his eyes to find bars in front of him. Quickly he jumped off of the cot in the tiny jail cell, and he ran to the bars, gripping them as tightly as he could. Which did a lot to keep him from falling over. "Hey! Let me the fuck out of here! I didn't do anything!" Mal's heart pounded frantically against his chest, and he felt his throat constrict. They couldn't keep him in here, could they? What about Ardal? Without Mal, what would Ardal do? Would he go home, or would he die on the streets with no one to look after him.

A rather rotund cop came to face Mal and he held one hand up. "Calm down, kid."

"Calm down?! Why did I get arrested, I didn't do anything!!"

"You were trespassing. You're here to make sure that's all you're guilty of."

"Where's my guitar! And my money? Did you take 'em?!"

The fat man held his hands up again. "You'll get your things back tomorrow. For now-"

"Tomorrow?!" Mal's jaw dropped and he shook at the bars, which only made him feel like his brain was rattling around in his head like loose change. "Let me the fuck out?!" Oh god, what if Ardal left?! What if he went back home and Mal never saw him again? What if someone hurt him?! "Please! Please, I can't stay here!"

"We're running your prints. You might as well cool your heels." The man leaned against the wall behind him. "Name's Neil. I'll have someone bring you somethin' to eat while you wait."

"I can't wa..." Mal blinked then, and all the fight instantly went out of him. "Eat?"

"Yeah, kid. You look like you're about to keel over. Wait there."

As Neil waddled away, Mal licked his lips and he took a deep breath. Food. They were going to give him food. And it was warm in here, even if he couldn't leave, and he didn't know where Ardal was. It was not a substitute for his lover in the least, but he did appreciate the lack of cold. And he was bound to appreciate the food even more. He hadn't eaten anything substantial in days.

As soon as the food arrived, all fight went out of him. Malachy O'Reilly, ex-PIRA member, was a model prisoner. He did everything they asked. He answered their questions about his previous arrest, his past, why he was sleeping on courtyard benches. The only thing he didn't do, was tell them about Ardal. Ardal was a run away. If they got their hands on him, it was a one way ticket back to Whitehead. Mal, however, had been thrown from his home. He had no one looking for him, and he was seventeen. They couldn't turn him over to the county to be kept in some children's home.

They did, however, plan to keep him overnight. And as much as Mal hated himself for it, he didn't protest. A warm place to sleep, even behind bars, seemed like such a luxury. And the promise of dinner, and then breakfast in the morning...it was almost overwhelming. Mal felt disgusting, and rather like a sell-out. But food and warmth were what they were.

More than anything, Mal hoped that Ardal was safe too. Hoping he was warm and fed...Mal knew that was too much.