#On a completely different note Sigma gives GREAT massages

[alphawave-writes]

Evil actions and good intentions chapter 4: One day, three autumns Sigma x Harold Winston

Synopsis: Harold desperately tries to hide his secrets from Talon, all the while pining over Sigma. He also gets a pretty sweet shoulder massage.

Read it here or on AO3. If you want more Sigma, check out my series ‘The universe sings’. If you’re hankering for fluffy Sigma x Harold oneshots, check out my other two fics ‘It’s lonely at the top’ and ‘Under the milky way’

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It’s hard for Harold to convince everybody that he’s fine when all known logic dictates that he shouldn’t. Given the extent of his injuries, he should be bandaged from head to toe at the very least, unable to walk or move. Yet he runs and smiles without so much as a hair out of place, no scar or wound to be seen. The biting stares once reserved for Siebren are now given to him as well. They glare at him like he is a ticking time bomb, or an omnipotent god walking amongst mortals. A freak of nature. If only they knew he would never put anyone in harm’s way. If anything, he puts himself in danger by using his abilities so brazenly.

If someone were to ask him if he regrets his decision to save Siebren, the answer would be a resounding no. He is used to sacrificing himself for others. 

He goes by his day, trying his best to get used to the eyes constantly pressed on his back. Siebren does his best to make him feel comfortable, and he appreciates the gesture, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that they’re searching him for something, stripping him down to the molecule until they find the answers they are looking for.

At least Siebren is by his side, laughing and smiling easily, grazing light touches over his skin like time doesn’t exist. Harold grins warmly as he looks up into his ocean blue eyes and feels years and years of affection well up to the surface, waiting to spill out of his lips.

One day, three autumns, his mother told him when he was young, obsessed with idioms of her homeland as he was obsessed with books. His father had flown off to America again, leaving him and his sister to stay with his mother’s family in Lijiang. She’s proud in that typical Asian tiger mom way, but beneath the surface, she missed her husband greatly.

Yí r­­ì s­ān qi­­ū, she repeated in her native Mandarin. When you miss that special someone greatly, you say this. When they go away, one day feels like the passing of three autumns. You stare out the window because every single second they are gone is too long. You cling to their memory, hold it close to your heart, and eagerly wait for their return. She clasped him on the shoulder and said, Do you miss your papa?

That was her word for his father, ‘papa’. She was mama, and he was papa—a compromise between her Chinese culture and his father’s American culture. He nodded eagerly, as all young boys did. I miss papa.

She smiled with grave melancholy. Yí r­­ì s­ān qi­­ū, she said. I miss him too.

If one day is three autumns, he cannot imagine how many eternities have passed since he lost Siebren all those years ago.

After Harold woke up from his coma, Siebren doted on his every whim and need, following him around everywhere. He makes Harold breakfast in the morning and reaches for the mugs in the high cupboard. It's all rather unnecessary but Siebren does it anyway. “You can never be too careful,” the astrophysicist tells Harold, the astrobiologist with an expert understanding of gorilla and human physiology. “I don’t mind helping you. It’s the least I owe you for saving my life.”

In the past, perhaps Harold might have told Siebren that he can handle himself quite fine, but present Harold is smarter and wiser and he also has the added knowledge that Siebren is an adept masseuse with strong fingers. A few stray thoughts of how Harold came to know this filtered into his brain and drew the heat up to his cheeks. He thinks he sees Siebren make a similar reaction when he makes the request for a massage, back when they’re alone in his bedroom, but it’s lightning fast, too quick for him to catch. Siebren quickly rounds up behind him and presses his fingers firmly into Harold’s wound flesh.

Even after all these years, Siebren’s touch is familiar. Comforting. Delicate.

Maybe he likes to get pampered, Harold convinces himself as Siebren undoes a knot in his back, drawing out a soft groan. Maybe he likes how easily he unravels by Siebren’s touch, transforming all the stress and guilt that rests on his shoulders into radiant heat. Maybe he likes the feel of hands on his body, the touches forbidden to him for so long, lighting a long dormant fire in the pit of his stomach. 

After a few minutes, Siebren speaks, curiously out of breath. “You’re enjoying this.”

“And you’re not?” Harold smiles knowingly over his shoulder.

Siebren clears his throat loudly behind his back. Harold smiles mischievously.

“I’m an old man now, Siebren. I can enjoy a massage every now and then.”

“Yes, well at our age, I think we’re entitled to it,” Siebren chuckles. “Not that I would ever force someone to massage me.”

“Why not? I basically made you do it now.”

“It’s different when it’s you,” Siebren admits quietly.

Harold’s eyes widen. There’s a spark in Siebren’s voice, a breathy quality Harold catches that conjures memories of silken sheets and soft pillows and warm skin, all made more potent on the dark expanse of the moon. Harold keeps his gaze forward, a dark blush betraying his otherwise neutral expression.

Siebren uses the silence to concentrate further on the massage. His fingers tap out rhythmically on Harold’s skin, a piano tune playing on pliable skin. Siebren begins to hum under his breath, a ragtag jumble of discordant notes that make no sense on their own but nevertheless sounds beautiful from his lips. It’s strange yet haunting and very very Siebren.

“What song is that one?” Harold asks quietly.

Siebren stops humming altogether. He coughs loudly. “N-nothing.”

“I’ve heard you hum that one before,” Harold comments. “New song or new formula?”

Siebren goes unnaturally quiet as his hands retreat from Harold’s shoulders. Harold turns towards him only to find Siebren staring at the dust molecules in front of his face. His lips are pursed tight. He’s floating higher, eyes wide and haunted.

Harold cups Siebren’s face, steadying him as he floats down to the ground. He sees the clarity dawn slowly upon Siebren like the birth of a sunrise,  gravity shackling him once more to Earth. The expression Siebren gives him is not a familiar one. His face speaks of ghosts, nightmares, and sleepless nights.

“Harold…do you trust me?” He asks slowly.

“Of course I do.” Harold doesn’t even hesitate. “Tell me.”

Siebren gazes deeply into Harold’s eyes for any signs of doubt but finds nothing but warm and summery emotions, kept tempered and dormant by the forces of Harold’s willpower. With a final nod, he summons the hyperspheres.

They float idly around his right hand, spinning in circles before fusing into one being. The dark matter within has coalesced into a bigger sphere, the components that hold them together crumbling away like dust in the wind. Harold stares into the void, sees time and space fold into itself.

Harold frowns. “What am I looking at?”

“Sshhh,” Sigma hushes. He brings it closer to Harold’s ears.

It’s only then that he hears the music, a violent clash of thudding pianos and dark whispers and Shepard tones constantly rising to the heavens.

“What…what is this?” He gasps.

“The universe’s melody,” Siebren replies. He stares at the orb, watching it hover above his hand. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

It is, Harold admits to himself, but not as magnificent as Siebren right now, vulnerable and gorgeous at the same time, familiar and unfamiliar in every right way. “Is this what you hear all the time?” he asks.

Siebren nods. “This was all I heard after the accident. For years I thought it was the universe taunting me, enslaving me to be servant to its whims. Alone in my own mind, I was trapped, fighting for release. And then one day I saw it. The bridge between time and space, a wormhole tearing the fabric of reality apart wide enough that I may glimpse through. And there I saw infinite realities, infinite versions of myself warped and changed through the efforts of infinite realities. But it was only for a second. And it never happened again.”

Harold stares at the dark orb in front of him, his breath disappearing into the mist. Slowly, shakily, he raises his fingers to touch it. Pain spikes when he touches it, fading away rapidly when he retreats his hand.

The orb harmlessly floats from his hand into Harold’s. Siebren tilts his head to the side, eyes wide in rapturous adoration. “So you see what I have to do, right? If I can just figure out this melody, if I can just find the formula, I might be able to prove the existence of multiple realities. I could see far into the past and future, and glimpse at the beauty the universe hides from us. I could learn so much more.”

It’s times like this that Harold wishes he shares Siebren’s passion for the mysteries of the universe, but their ultimate goals always differed. Siebren searches for the unknown far off into the galaxy, while Harold searches for the hidden potential lying dormant within all living creatures. Siebren sees the beauty in everything that he can’t see and touch, but Harold sees the beauty in the present, the sunlight in an excited grin, the dazzling stars behind sky blue eyes, the supernovas that explode from a gentle caress.  

It takes Siebren a moment before he catches himself. He hides his shy smile behind a closed fist. The orb dissipates into thin air. “I-I know this sounds like I’m insane. I know my mind is no longer whole, but I just know the answer lies here somewhere.” He stares forlornly at Harold. “I understand if you don’t believe me. It sounds ridiculous.”

Harold smiles as he places a hand on Siebren’s shoulder. “Of course it sounds ridiculous," he says before chuckling. "But then again, people thought Copernicus was ridiculous when he said the Earth revolved around the sun back in the day.”

“So you believe me?” Siebren asks, hopeful.

“If you believe it, I believe it,” Harold says. He squeezes Siebren's shoulder lightly. “I trust you.”

Siebren takes Harold’s hands into his own, gazing down with childlike eyes. Harold can feel the gentle hum of power within Sigma’s palm, waves pushing and pulling at invisible strings. He doesn’t pull back when Siebren places a quick kiss on his cheek. The patch of skin where his lips left their mark fizzled pleasantly with electricity.

“I needed to hear that,” Sigma admits with a whisper. “Verdante, Harold.”

Harold blushes as he glances down at their entwined hands. He wants more—tender kisses, small touches, soft words—but he doesn’t have the courage to ask for more. He sees the way Siebren brightens in his presence, the joy and relief of knowing a long-lost love has been resurrected. He doesn’t have the courage to commit and break Siebren’s heart again when he returns to the grave, even if it means he must deny himself his own selfish wants.

He is used to sacrificing himself for others. It’s familiar. Normal.

“Come on, tough guy,” Harold smiles. “I think I owe you a massage after all that.”

Siebren protests loudly, but it falls upon flat ears. He isn’t going to get away that easily, Harold smiles to himself.

 Moira catches him when Siebren is away on a training exercise. An additional check-up, she claims, though Harold is quick to narrow his eyes. It’s been more than a week since that fateful mission, and she only approaches him now when Siebren must temporarily leave his side. The timing is almost a bit too convenient.

He’s not usually a cautious person, but Moira rubs him in all the wrong ways. There’s a coldness in her stare that speaks of cold clinical data and complete detachment. Years ago, he wouldn’t have thought anything about it because he intrinsically trusted people to be benevolent and kind. A lifetime’s worth of betrayals have finally taught him otherwise. Not a day goes by when he wishes to see the world in rose-tinted glasses once more.

“All my medical tests have been up to date,” he says slowly. “My last checkup was two days ago.”

“Ah, yes, but this is a psychiatric examination,” Moira says. “You have been through a rather unfortunate accident. It is standard practice here in Talon to perform psychiatric examinations of all our personnel after any traumatic event.”

“Siebren hasn’t had an examination,” Harold points out.

“He shall have one after you. Now, if you will please join me?”

He’s got no choice but to follow. The choice she gives is an illusion, he thinks morosely.

She doesn’t take him to the medical bay where Dr. Irvin Laszlo’s office is. She doesn’t take him to her own office next door, pristine and professional apart from a few anime figurines on her shelf. Instead, she leads him down to the lower levels, past keycard-encrypted doors to a single, dark room.

It smells of decay and disuse, bringing back memories of Horizon One and the torturous loneliness he felt at Horizon Two afterwards. There are no windows, the only light coming from LED lamps above. The only items in the room are three plastic chairs, two facing the third, which stands beneath the spotlight. Moira takes her seat on the first. The second is occupied by a man he’s never seen before with sandy skin and a short spiky haircut similar to Harold’s own. She gestures for him to sit in the third, already scribbling notes on a clipboard with her other hand.

He glances into the shadows and thinks he spies a pair of eyes gazing upon him, but Moira clicks her fingers impatiently at him. The mysterious man presses a button on an old tape player. It’s analogue. Antique. Untraceable.

“This is the psychological examination of Subject: 31,” the mysterious man speaks with a British accent. Tones of his native Indian can be faintly heard. “We are here to examine his mental wellbeing after the failed mission at Cape Town.”

Moira steeples her fingers. “Tell me, if it’s not too much for you, what happened that day?”

There’s something wrong about all this, but he’s not sure what. Is it the stranger, Moira, or that insufferably dehumanizing nickname? He suppresses a frown and wills himself to sound calm. “I was on the mission with Siebren. The men in our contingent had killed all the poor omnic soldiers.”

“You feel sympathy for them?” She asks.

“Well, they are people, even if they’re not necessarily living.” His lips pull tight as he remembers the explosion. “Even if they are criminals, they didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Moira makes a note, scowling to herself. The stranger perks up. “So what happened after?”

Harold frowns. “I would think that’s common knowledge. The omnics all suddenly blew up after a countdown. If Siebren didn’t react fast enough and shielded the both of us, I would’ve probably perished with the rest of the team.”

He hopes his lie goes through undetected but the stranger glares with the intensity of a solar flare. “Surely that wasn’t all that happened, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, thinking about it logically, the omnic corpses were found scattered all over the base, meaning you would have been engulfed by flames on all sides. And even if you happened to be in an area where it can be easily blocked in one direction, that doesn’t explain how you got all burned up and Sigma escapes without a scratch.”

“I can’t answer that,” Harold lies. “I’ve never been in combat before. I was disorientated to say the least.”

“So why did you offer to go anyway? Talon gave you no combat experience. You had no reason to go.”

Harold bristles. “Siebren could have been in danger.”

“So could you.”

“Rather me than him.” Harold feels his face go flush with worry. He lowers his head. “Or anybody else for that matter," he quickly adds. "I know I’m living on borrowed time. I might as well give that time to someone who needs it.”

The stranger leans back in his chair, his posture casual but his eyes firm. Moira scribbles something. “We have reason to suspect Subject: 31 has been involved with Sigma in the past, Sanjay,” she tells him.

The stranger known as Sanjay smiles, as fake and plastic as the chair he sits upon. “So that’s what it is.” He turns to Harold. “Is this true?”

The realization dawns upon him far too late. He stands up from his seat, eyes wide. “This isn’t a psychological examination, this is an interrogation!”

“Sit down, please,” he orders.

In the darkness, a shadowy figure is disturbed from their place by the wall. The dark shine of a pair of shotguns stares back at Harold, crossed menacingly over the figure’s chest. In the back of his mind, Harold recognizes something about this person, but he doesn’t want to test his luck. He lets out a breath and slowly sits down, keeping his gaze firmly on Sanjay.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

“It’s fine,” Harold sighs. He glances at the section of the wall where the dark figure once stood, now gone without a trace, a dark whisper in the wind. He turns his head to Sanjay, his eyes still fixated on the wall. “…A long time ago, before the incident at Horizon One, we were…in a relationship.”

“Could you clarify?” Sanjay asks.

“Do I have to?”

“Only if you want to.”

Harold takes a quiet breath. “A romantic one,” he admits. “But that was only back then. Not anymore.” The words sting far more than any flesh wound.

“But you would say you are still close?”

“I think so. We are friends.”

“And you’re sure Subject Sigma—sorry, Dr. Siebren de Kuiper—” Sanjay says the name like it’s a foul aftertaste, “—you're sure he feels the same?”

His whole life has been built on him being observant and perceptive; he’d be a fool not to notice Siebren’s actions recently. He notices the secret little glances when Siebren thinks he’s not looking. He notices the soft smiles, sweet words desperate to escape a warbling throat. He notices the tender affection in Siebren’s touches, full of love and hesitation. He knows Siebren is falling for him again, but he doesn’t do anything about it. A part of him wants to be the one to capture Siebren’s heart all over again.

“I’m sure he does,” Harold says finally. As something more than friends, he wordlessly adds.

They ask him a few more basic questions about his stay, but everyone knows they won’t get anything out of him. He’s given a short debriefing, which is essentially an official reprimand for illegally accompanying Siebren on the mission. Fortunately, Moira has mercifully handwaved the incident away, not that Harold feels very fortunate. He really doesn’t want to owe anything to her.

He slowly stands up from his seat and is escorted out by Sanjay. In the middle of the hallway Siebren leans besides a wall, wearing a blue and black bodysuit that clings to his form. It’s athletic gear, Harold’s mind explains, even as his eyes inevitably trail downward. The bodysuit leaves very little to the imagination. It takes all of Harold’s willpower to keep his gaze level on Siebren’s face. 

“Did it go well, Harold?” Siebren asks expectantly.

He wants to say something, but Sanjay is next to him, and the door is still open behind him. Moira waits within the room, pen primed in her hand. Harold forces a smile. “Nothing special,” he lies. “Just a standard psych examination.”

Siebren smiles, none the wiser. “Good to hear. I’ll see you for dinner after, correct?”

Harold smiles back, faltering when he feels Sanjay’s presence beside him. He turned to him. “Could I have a word alone with Siebren? Just for a second.”

Sanjay gives a look to Moira, who only tilts her head. He nods slowly. “Take your time,” he says, before returning to the room, closing the door behind himself.

Siebren frowns when he sees the stern expression on Harold’s face. “What happened?”

“Don’t…” Harold pauses, before adding, in a whisper, “don’t tell them how I saved you on the mission. Just say you put your barrier out. I did nothing.”

“Harold, you want me to lie?”

“Please, trust me,” he pleads.

Siebren’s eyes search Harold’s, for what he doesn’t know. Answers, Harold guesses. Clarification, Harold hopes. Whatever Siebren sees, it’s enough to make him frown. “If you say so,” he whispers, patting Harold once on the shoulder before opening the door. He takes a step forward, pauses in the doorway, and looks over his shoulder. “Take care, Harold."

Harold lets out a breath he doesn’t even realise he’s holding, brushes his hands on his clothes, and heads for the elevator. He presses a button on the wall, waits for the door to close. His heart pumps wildly in his chest, not in excitement or love but in fear. Thinking back on the previous few minutes during the interview fills him with a deep feeling of dread, but even he could not point out what made him feel this way. 

 Harold waits patiently in his bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring into his worn and wrinkled hands. He pulls the sleeve higher, gazing at the veins and arteries that runs down his arm. He flexes his arm, squeezes his fist tight, and watches as his blood vessels begin to glow. He stretches his hand out wide, shaking with effort, the glow dripping up his palm to his fingertips. He tries to maintain the light but the cold chill crawls under his skin as fatigue sets in. After three seconds, his arm drops limply to his side. He props his left arm up with the right and tries again and again to maintain it. With every attempt, his flesh loses a bit more colour. After the tenth attempt, he's forced to stop.

He asked Siebren to meet him here after dinner—to talk, he said. To tell the truth of his abilities and give some clarity for what happened that day, Harold wanted to say, but he feels the eyes on his back with every step he takes. It has to be here, where privacy is as assured as it can be.  

Maybe while he’s at it, he can tell Siebren that he knows how he feels about him. That he feels the same way. That maybe they can start their romance anew.

The time that they agreed upon came and went, and Siebren was nowhere to be seen. The clock ticks on and Harold can’t help but wonder what happened. Siebren is usually a punctual person, and always leaves a message of his whereabouts on the few occasions he is late. Impatient concern grew in his lungs. His mother’s words flutter in his mind. Yí r­­ì s­ān qi­­ū, she whispers to the wind. One day without him feels like three autumns. You miss him.

I love him, his own voice corrected. He’s surprised by the conviction in the tone, like it's an assured fact. A universal truth.

Half an hour later, the door slides open. Harold sits up expectantly, his heart leaping out of his chest. Siebren’s smile is soft and full of relief and breathtaking. Harold is ready to hold Siebren tight and kiss him fully on the lips, but he falters when the door opens fully to reveal the forms of Moira and Sanjay.

“Subject—Dr. Winston,” Moira corrects, “we’ve been looking at your scientific work, and after some discussion, I think we can offer you a full position in one of our sister organisations.”

Sanjay pulls a piece of paper from a folder and hands it for Harold to read. It’s a pamphlet for a shining metropolis. Young adults frolic about, carrying books and computers as they sit in the shade of a tree or walk by the many stone paths. They smile widely to the camera, the rest of their faces hidden behind intricate golden masks. The writing is all in Arabic, but he recognizes it to be a university. 

“The Ministries of Oasis have been looking for new scientists to join its legion. After seeing the research you two have been producing here both in the present and the past, I think you both shall be a good fit.”

“Both?” Harold asks.

Siebren smiles. “There is a position open for me at the Ministry of Physics. Who knew that Dr. O’Deorain is the Minister of Genetics for Oasis? How funny the world can be sometimes,” He chuckled. “I must say, I’ve always wanted to visit. And it certainly beats being holed up here, does it not?”

Harold cannot respond. Sanjay is staring at him intently with the kind of withering gaze that unravels weak men. He turns his head to Moira, forcing a polite smile on his face. “I'm afraid you have a misconception about my career. Though I also have a background in physics, my specialization is in biology and animal science.”

“The Ministry of Biology is also looking for new recruits. I believe you will work quite well there,” Moira states. “Of course, these positions I’m offering are not for free. You will have to compete with other scientists with equal pedigrees for these positions. It is highly competitive. I can give my recommendations to help you out, but the rest is up to your skills and intellect, and of course how well you do the interviews. But I can safely say you have a very good chance of getting in should you take this opportunity.”

“It sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?” Siebren smiles.

Harold cannot smile back. In the past he would leap at the opportunity, but he’s not blind to the world anymore. He sees the glimmer in Moira’s eyes, the tight jaw on Sanjay’s face, and knows they see something he doesn’t. They see the bigger picture, the grand scheme of things. Him and Siebren, they are just cogs in a machine, chess pieces in a game.

Every bit of self-preservation tells him to refuse but one glance at Siebren quells their reservations. If this really is danger, he won’t let Siebren go alone. He will protect Siebren however best he can, even if it means going into the belly of the beast. He’s spent a lifetime away from Siebren, and he can’t bear to be apart from him. Not again.

“A wonderful opportunity,” Harold says blankly. He turns to Moira. “Do I need to prepare anything for the trip?”

Moira smiles genuinely for once, her eyes crinkled with what appears to be amusement. 

It's not long before Moira and Sanjay finally leave. As soon as they’re gone, Harold shuts the door behind Siebren. He opens his mouth to say something, but Harold approaches him swiftly and holds him in a crushing hug. He feels Siebren stiffen for a few seconds before relaxing. Harold feels a hand trails tenderly over his upper back, mapping stars and constellations. His eyes flutter from the sensation.

“What’s with you, Harold?” Siebren asks, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Harold doesn’t respond. He just clutches tighter, burying his face into Siebren’s shoulder, inhaling that deep scent of sugar and pine nuts that clings onto Siebren’s clothes. As Siebren chuckles quietly, a ditty hummed under his breath, all Harold can think of is the strength of the arms holding him, safe and strong and warm.

Just this once he’ll be selfish, he tells himself, as he nuzzles into the junction between Siebren’s neck and shoulder and feels a lifetime of autumns shed their leaves beneath his feet.