#agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bellafarallones2 · 5 months ago

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prison break (2/2)

part 2 of this, in which questions are answered

Duck Newton used a nondescript keycard to swipe into the Bureau of Hero Management building at eight thirty. His footsteps were deafeningly loud on the tile in the empty lobby: any sane employee had already gone home for the evening.

Getting summoned here always made him feel a little bit like he was in trouble. Especially when the summons was “at your earliest convenience.”

He took the elevator down to the lowest level of the basement. Maybe Agent X had a new upgrade for one of Duck’s weapons, though these days more of Duck’s sparring with his nemesis had been verbal than physical.

The elevator doors opened, and Duck found himself in a familiar windowless room. The lights had been dimmed, illuminating only the steel table where Agent X was sitting on a stool, a laptop open in front of him. “Good evening, Mr. Newton,” said Agent X. His voice was perfectly pleasant, but Duck had always found him unsettling.

“Uh, yeah. Hey, Agent X. What did you want to meet about?”

“I assume you heard about the prison break in Nevada in May,” said Agent X.

“Yeah, that was wild,” said Duck, only more confused about why he’d been summoned here. None of Kepler’s heroes had even had anything to do with search efforts, as far as he’d heard.

“We have recovered pieces of the explosive that was used to breach the prison wall. From outside, oddly enough.” Agent X gestured to the steel table in front of him, and Duck leaned over it to examine the charred pieces of the device.

“The method seems flashy,” Agent X continued. “More like a supervillain than an ordinary criminal, but none of the escapees have connections to any known supervillain, and none of them seem to have known it was coming. I know you’ve been a hero for several years, and are familiar with most of the major villains in Kepler. Does this workmanship look like anything you’ve seen before?”

Duck squinted. He could reconstruct it in his mind, sort of, the way a device small enough to fit in a backpack had been engineered to produce enough force to blow through a wall. It was clever. The soldering was very neat. It reminded him of…

He bit his tongue and looked up at Agent X. The agent’s face was blank, as always, his blue eyes as cold as the table they were standing over.

“I’ll think about it,” said Duck.

–

At home, posted up on the couch in his boxer shorts with his cat around his shoulders, Duck pulled up The Moth’s file, rereading the text he already knew pretty much by heart. The Moth - Indrid Cold - had few known associates, certainly not any of the men who’d escaped from prison in Nevada. Duck sighed at the prospect of cross-referencing the Moth’s dates of activity against the lives of the escapees to see if any of them could have met.

Then his phone buzzed with a news alert. Six of the escapees had been captured at once, together in an abandoned hunting cabin a few dozen miles from the prison. That meant only one was still at large.

Barclay Cobb. According to the news article Duck pulled up, he’d been a mild-mannered cook before his arrest for the murder of the man he’d been sleeping with, an FBI special agent called Joseph Stern. A cook - Duck thought of the time a few weeks ago when he ran across The Moth sitting on a fire escape, eating something out of a Thermos. Duck had never seen him eating anything except packaged snacks. My roommate said if I was going to be out all night he should pack me a snack, he had said when Duck asked what he was doing. He’s an amazing cook.

But Duck was distracted from that thought almost instantly. There was a picture of Special Agent Joseph Stern on the page, smiling at the camera in his black suit and tie, and it was a picture of Agent X.

It couldn’t be. Did he have a twin? Duck read further - Agent Stern’s body was never found, but the last person to see him alive was Barclay, Stern’s fingerprints were all over the inside of Barclay’s car, and a jury had found him guilty of the murder. And sentenced him to die.

A loud rapping at the window above Duck’s head made him yell “Fuck!” and shove the laptop off his lap. A ghostly face had appeared in the darkness, with reflective red sunglasses.

Duck almost tripped over his laptop cord in his haste to get to the window and throw it open. The Moth, dressed in all black, slipped inside.

“You broke Barclay Cobb out of prison,” said Duck.

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” Indrid teased.

“You’d never done a prison break before! As far as I knew. Why’d you do this one?”

“Because I knew he was innocent.”

“How?”

“I had a vision. I didn’t know what actually happened to Joseph Stern. But I think you just figured it out.”

“There’s no way. He must be a twin or something.”

“I don’t think so.” Indrid smiled, that smile that always made Duck’s knees and professional ethics alike go weak. “Do you want to go searching for birth certificates? Or do you want to cut to the chase and just ask him?”

Duck pulled out his phone and dialed the laboratory. “We might have to call back tomorrow if he’s asleep now,” Duck warned.

But Agent X picked up immediately. “Hello, who’s speaking?”

“Hey, uh, it’s Duck. I thought of something about that prison break. Can I come talk to you sometime? Sometime soon?”

“How soon can you get back here?”

“Uhhh…” Duck covered the receiver and looked at Indrid. “I don’t think the trains run this late more than once an hour.”

“I brought my car,” said Indrid.

Duck spoke into the phone again. “I’ll be there soon.” He hung up and looked at Indrid. “Just let me put some real pants on.”

–

Indrid’s car was parked in the alley behind Duck’s apartment. “You know that’s a no-parking zone,” Duck grumbled as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Indrid just tapped the side of his glasses smugly. The radio turned on automatically as Indrid started the engine, and Duck was unsurprised to discover that Indrid had it tuned to a Kepler police scanner.

“I know, I know, you’ve got powers and can tell whether you’re gonna get a ticket or not. Do you need the address?” Duck added as Indrid pulled out of the alley.

“I know where the Bureau of Hero Management is, chivalrous one.”

“Of course you do.” Duck reached under his seat to scoot it forward - the last person to sit there must have been tall as fuck.

Without traffic they made relatively good time. “I’ve never actually been inside before,” Indrid admitted as he pulled into the parking garage. It took him two tries to make the ticket machine give him one.

They took the elevator from the garage into the same place Duck had been just a few hours ago. He’d wondered before, seeing Agent X here at all hours, whether he might sleep here.

Agent X barely allowed surprise to flash across his face at the sight of Indrid in the elevator at Duck’s shoulder. “Hello, Ranger,” said Agent X. “And who’s this? I hope you have good reason for bringing him here.”

“Are you a twin, Agent X?” said Indrid.

Agent X tensed instantly. “Why do you ask?”

Indrid cocked his head. “I have a photo to show you.”

He pulled out his phone and pulled up the picture of Joseph Stern, smiling. Agent X bent over it. “Who is that?”

Indrid sighed, pulled a compact mirror out of his pocket, set it on the table so Agent X could see his own reflection.

“Oh,” said Agent X. “Oh, fuck. Who is that?”

“A man who’s been presumed dead for ten years.”

“...Who are you?”

“I’m Indrid Cold. The Moth. Duck’s nemesis.”

Agent X buried his face in his hands. Then he took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t know if I have a twin or not. I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything before… ten years ago, it would be. Working here. But I… Duck.” He met Duck’s eye and then touched the back of his head, parting the hair as he turned so Duck and Indrid could see the scar running horizontally along the back of his skull. Like someone had cut his scalp open from ear to ear and then sewed him back up. “Who is in that picture?” He turned back to face them.

“Special Agent Joseph Stern,” said Indrid.

“I… that name means nothing to me,” said Agent X.

“What about this picture?” Indrid pulled up another one, of a man with an auburn beard. It took Duck a moment to recognize him; he looked different than he had in his prison pictures. Less miserable.

“Barclay,” breathed Joseph. “I - I know him. I don’t know how. I know he’s important to me. Or he was. Where is he? Is he okay?”

“Until a few weeks ago he was on death row for your murder.”

“What? What the fuck? Oh, no, he… the escapee. The Nevada police all think he’s dead; he had no experience surviving outdoors and there’s no logical reason they haven’t been able to find him. He must have died in the woods or the desert somewhere.”

“You really don’t remember anything from before?” said Duck, not quite believing.

Agent X shook his head. Then suddenly his gaze went sharp again. “Hayes. Agent Hayes would know.” He started for the elevator.

“Uh,” said Duck. “It’s past ten, there’s no way he’s here.”

“We could still search his office,” said Indrid.

The three of them took the elevator all the way up to the top floor. The windows here afforded panoramic views of Kepler’s skyline, and Hayes had a corner office.

“How do you want to do this?” said Agent X. “I can start with his desk and you guys can do the file cabinets?”

“Just give me a minute,” said Indrid. “We don’t have to go through every drawer.”

“Oh. Your powers. Of course.”

Indrid was silent for a moment, eyes closed, rocking back and forth almost imperceptibly on his heels. Then he reached for a drawer in the middle of the filing cabinet.

It was locked. Indrid sighed and went digging in his pockets.

Agent X reached across him and yanked the drawer out hard enough to break the lock.

“That’s another option.” Indrid pulled out the drawer, flipping through the manila folders inside until he pulled one out and put it on Hayes’ desk. It bulged with papers and the lump of a slim, black leather wallet.

Agent X opened the wallet. “Oh, fuck.” A Wisconsin driver’s license belonging to one Joseph Richard Stern. A very faded Costco membership card. A photo of an infant in a pink onesie.

“I don’t know who that is,” said Joseph, holding the photograph.

“Your niece, I believe,” said Indrid softly. Joseph and Duck both looked over at him.

Indrid shrugged. “Barclay told me you had a two-year-old niece who you adored.”

Someone had written on the back of the photograph in blue pen Baby Olivia, 11-14-2009. Joseph stared at it for a long moment, then looked back up at Indrid. “Is he okay? Barclay?”

Indrid was quiet for a moment. “About as well as could be expected,” he said finally. “He has nightmares. But he’s sleeping through the night more often than he did back in May.”

“And all because of me.”

“Hey, whoa,” said Duck. “I’m not getting the vibe that you agreed to have all your memories wiped. And even if you did, it sounds like it was more the DA in Nevada who decided to blame Barclay for you disappearing.”

Joseph put everything back in the wallet and put the wallet in the back pocket of his slacks. “I still have to fix this.”

Duck cleared his throat. “So, uh, should we still call you Agent X?”

“Please call me Joseph.”

–

The three of them were still there when the first others people started arriving in the office the next morning. It reminded Duck of stakeouts he’d done before as a hero, except with slightly comfier seating and less fast-food takeout.

Finally an older man in a black suit came into the office and shut the door behind him. This must be Hayes. His appearance was unremarkable in every way, the kind of man you’d forget as soon as he left your field of vision.

“Agent X?” he said. “What are you doing here? And who are these people?”

Joseph stood up. There were dark circles under his eyes. “What happened to me?” he demanded.

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Joseph Stern. That’s my real name. And you knew it, and you never told me, and Barclay was sentenced to death for murdering me!”

“That was never my intention. I didn’t realize the Nevada prosecutors would be quite so zealous as to put a man on death row with no real evidence.” Hayes sat down in his desk chair and started booting up his computer. “But really, what’s one life against all the good you’ve done working for us?”

“Not just one life. All of his friends and family, all of my friends and family… that’s not just collateral damage!”

“You were going to quit. I couldn’t let you.”

“Well, consider this my resignation. And give me my memories back.”

Hayes laughed. “Oh, no, you think I have your memories in a bottle somewhere? Like a science fiction movie? No. We opened your skull and used a laser to abrade your hippocampus. The man you were before is gone. Forever.”

Joseph made it two steps into a lunge for Hayes before Duck tackled him out of the way. “Hey, man, do you really want to start a fight here? Or do you want to go tell the police in Nevada that you’re alive so you can get Barclay set free?”

For a moment Joseph fought him, but Duck was stronger. And then Joseph went limp on the tile floor. “Let’s get out of here.”

–

“Thirty-five dollars for parking??” said Indrid when he put the ticket back into the machine to pay.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Joseph. “Maybe my employee ID will work?”

Indrid took it from him and scanned it. “Invalid employee ID.”

“Fuck,” said Joseph.

“I’ve got some cash,” said Duck, pulling out his wallet. He handed over a ten and three ones.

“All I have is a twenty,” said Joseph.

“Fine, fine,” said Indrid. He flinched an instant before the car in line behind them honked, and then fed the bills as well as some from his own wallet into the machine.

All three of them let out a sigh of relief when the gate opened to let them out.

“So, uh, where are we going?” said Duck.

“I want to see Barclay,” said Joseph.

“I’ll have to call him and warn him that we’re coming,” said Indrid. “Do you want me to tell him you’re back? Or do you want to do that yourself?”

Duck looked around and saw that Joseph looked nervous, like a kid about to ask his crush to prom. “...Will you tell him? I’m not sure I’d put it in the right way.”

“Alright,” said Indrid. He picked up his phone and handed it to Duck. “Duck, will you call Barclay and hand me back the phone?”

Duck handed it back while it was ringing. He and Joseph could only hear Indrid’s half of the conversation. “Hello, Barclay. I just wanted to alert you that I’ll be back in about twenty minutes and I have two people with me. One is my nemesis, Duck, and the other one is Joseph Stern. Yes, we found him. It turns out he’d had his memory wiped by a shadowy government organization but he’s at least somewhat back now. Yes, he remembers you. No, he knows you didn’t have anything to do with what happened.”

Joseph made a sound like a choked-off sob.

“No, we haven’t had breakfast yet. Yes. We’ll see you soon, Barclay.”

Indrid hung up the phone.

“Is he still…” Joseph’s question trailed off.

“Single?” said Indrid, sounding slightly amused. “As far as I’m aware.”

“Can we stop somewhere on the way back so I can buy flowers for him? He… he always liked flowers.”

Indrid looked over. “Alright.”

“Thank you. Just let me run in.”

They stopped in a grocery store parking lot and let Joseph out. Duck and Indrid sat there in silence, watching people and cars go by. A woman with a baby in one arm left the grocery store with her purchases, twelve-packs of RC Cola stacked up in the bottom of the cart.

“Well, it’s been a long night,” said Duck.

“Yes, it has.” Indrid’s body was slack against the driver’s seat. “But I thought you might like to see this through before you go home to sleep.”

“Yeah. How do you feel about all this? Reuniting people, uncovering truths… it all seems a little heroic for you.”

“On the contrary.” Indrid smiled. “The Bureau of Hero Management just lost their most competent agent. Every villain in the city should be thanking me.”

A few minutes later Stern emerged from the grocery store with a spring bouquet, mostly pink and red flowers. He slid into the back seat and buckled his seatbelt. “Thank you. Now I’m ready to see him.”

–

Duck had been curious to find out where Indrid’s lair was, and he watched the street signs as they drove closer.

“Don’t bother,” said Indrid quietly. “Now that you know where I live, I’ll be moving soon.”

“That seems like a hassle,” said Duck.

Indrid shrugged. “Life of a villain on the run.”

The door of the basement apartment opened as they reached it. Duck was startled by what a big guy Barclay was, even taller and broader than Indrid and Joseph, who were both over six feet. But Barclay wasn’t looking at Duck. He was looking at Joseph, his brown eyes red-rimmed with emotion.

Indrid’s voice broke the tension. “Let’s get inside and then you two can catch up.”

“Of course,” said Barclay and stood aside to let them in.

“Hey,” said Duck. “Uh. I’m Duck.”

Barclay nodded. “Indrid has a picture of you above his workbench.”

“Really?”

Indrid had his head in his hands. “There were so many futures where you didn’t say that.”

“Do I inspire you, ‘Drid?”

At that moment Joseph offered Barclay the bouquet of flowers. “These are for you. I’m so sorry for everything. I’m going to go to the police in Nevada and get this all cleared up, I’m so sorry, I didn’t remember, I never thought…”

“Oh, Joseph.” Barclay pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m just so fucking glad you’re alive, holy shit, I thought, I thought you were dead!”

“I know. I’m sorry. And I… I still don’t remember everything from before. I don’t know if I remember my family.” Joseph held Barclay at arm’s length for a moment to look into his face, eyes now brimming with tears. “But I remember loving you.”

Barclay kissed him, hard, and after a moment of surprise Joseph melted into his arms.

Duck averted his eyes. Then he felt Indrid’s cool hand slip into his and start tugging him back towards the front door. “Let’s give them some space.”

#sternclay

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 months ago

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Golden (OT4)

The winner of one yeehawgust poll was: Fools Gold

The entrance to the trail is innocuous. The normal sign posts, the wooden information board with faded tips for identifying rattlesnakes and avoiding heat stroke that half the hikers never even read.

“Ready?” Duck pulls his hat lower over his eyes against the evening sun.

“Indeed.” Indrid adjusts his red sunglasses; they’re the same ones he wore when Duck first found him in the mountains, the only part of his wardrobe he hasn’t updated to match this century.

As they cross from the parking lot onto the trail proper, a massive, shaggy-furred dog lopes toward them, boofing happily.

“Hey Sass” Duck kneels, “don’t suppose the big fella is right behind you?”

The dog wanders over to the nearest shade structure, sniffing around the water fountain. If Barclay were coming down that trail, Sass would be doing what he always does; running back and forth between his owner and the people he’s excited to see.

“I’ll radio Juno and ask her to come get him.” He pulls out his walkie talkie as Indrid pours some water into Sass’s waiting mouth, “then we better get goin’. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

—---------------------------------------------------------

If Sass weren’t so fucking cute, Barclay would be really, really pissed at him for running off and leaving him behind. But he knows the big pile of fluff didn’t mean to; dogs never seem to get as discombobulated by this place as humans. He thought Barclay would keep up like he always did.

The sun peeks around the pile of rocks he’s using for shade and he scoots across the sandy dirt until he’s behind another boulder. He knows his friends will find him. They always find each other. He just wishes he knew where he was.

Or when he was.

He has no one to blame but himself; they know that whatever weirdness surrounds this portion of the Superstition Mountains, it has the potential to grow and shrink without warning. That’s why Duck insists they all carry survival backpacks with them if they’re within a mile of the last known boundary. Barclay came out looking for Pine Nuts–he loves making brittle with them to give as presents. He went to his usual gathering area, Sass trotting along with him and snuffling the brush.

Then he turned and realized the way back wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The fucking mountains had swallowed him up.

He sips some water and waits, listening for familiar bootfalls. Aubrey’s in Phoenix performing, and Dani is with her, which means Indrid and Duck are probably the ones who’ll find him.

Feet shuffle in the dry earth and he stands, intending to wave down whoever it is in hopes they aren’t lost or, better yet, are looking for him.

The man who’s just rounded the corner is dust-covered and sunburnt, and Barclay’s heart sinks a little.

“You okay?” He steps forward as nonthreateningly as he can; he’s a big guy with, “the air of a mountain man” to him, according to Indrid, and that can freak people out if they’re surprised by him.

The man doesn’t seem to see him, keeps walking past, close enough that Barclay can see he’s in the remnants of a suit.

(Who the fuck wears a suit out here?)

“Hey man, do you need water? I’ve got plenty.” He touches the stranger’s shoulder.

“Shit!” The man backs away in a hurry, not seeing the rock behind him until he trips over it and falls to the ground.��

“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Barclay holds his hands up, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I didn’t mean to freak you out you just…you weren’t responding.”

“I didn’t think you were real. I’ve seen so many mirages lately I just gave up believing anything promising was really there.”

“Pretty sure mirages can’t talk. Or carry granola bars.” He holds one out, “I’m Barclay.”

The shiny green package is cautiously taken from his hand, “I’m Special Agent Joseph Stern.”

“That explains the suit.”

A bitter, cracked laugh, “I was supposed to be out here an hour looking over a site. Not a fucking month.” He slumps down in the shade with the offered water bottle. Looks at Barclay’s boots, then slowly up the rest of him. Were a hot guy giving him a once over in any other context, Barclay would be into it, but this one seems to only be adding to the panic in those blue eyes.

“It has been just a month, right?”

“Since?”

“Barclay? That you buddy?”

“It’s me, Duck! I’m by the boulder that kinda looks like a bear eating a cactus.”

“The what now?”

“This one, my sweet.” Indrid, in denim shorts and a white tank top, rounds the rocks first, “it really does look like that.”

“If you say so.” Duck follows behind his boyfriend. He’s still in his park ranger uniform, and breaks into a smile when he sees Barclay.

“I so fucking glad to see you guys.” Barclay lets Indrid wrap him in a hug, laughing when he kisses him, “can’t believe Duck let you come out with so little sun proofing.

“I consider my outfit an indication of my faith that we would locate you quickly and that Duck will guide us home safely. Also, I am wearing an entire bottle of sunscreen.” He notices Joseph, “my apologies, I did not realize you had found someone else.”

“I…I’m Special Agent Joseph Stern. FBI.” He sounds almost distracted, eyes flicking between Indrid’s legs and Barclay’s face.

“You sure about that? You look pretty rough, sun can really do a number on you” Duck taps his temple.

“Yes I’m sure! I’m lost, not insane. Look, here, I’ll prove it.” He hands Duck a battered ID badge.

Duck whistles, “That’s the real deal, sorry for…not…aw fuck.” He turns the ID so Indrid and Barclay can see it as he says, “I hate to ask this, agent Stern but, uh, how long after gettin’ that did you come out here.”

“Three years.” Joseph’s face is hanging onto calm by a thread.

“Hoo-kay.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “so, uh, here’s the good news: you ain’t gonna be stuck out here any more. Bad news is you’re a long, long fuckin ways from 1972.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Given what must be going on in his brain right now, Joseph is holding it together pretty well.

He’s also holding Barclay’s arm hard enough it’s starting to bruise.

Duck can’t blame him; people go to pieces after being lost in the normal parts of this desert and without an existential crisis on top of that.

Indrid and Barclay are doing their best to bring the agent up to date on the last fifty-odd years, ranging from the end of the Cold War (“oh, thank the lord”), to cell phones (“incredible”), to the fact the Cubs actually won the world series (this got a gasp of awe).

He’ll join in the conversation once they get to the parking lot. Right now, he has to focus. They’re on the Twin Canyons trail, the south end. He knows that route, knows what the path ahead of them should look like. The desert flickers a moment, the view now subtly different with no trail in sight.

That ain’t it. I ain’t gonna even notice it. This is the south end of Twin Pines, nothin’ weird at all

The trail is back how it usually is.

His friends have speculated on why the mountains have never been able to suck him in and turn him around; Aubrey thinks it might be magic, Ned worries it’s luck that’s bound to run out. Duck’s pretty sure he’s just too damn stubborn to let some weird-ass wormhole time and space bullshit tell him he’s not on the trail he thinks he is.

All the same, when they step onto pavement, his shoulders relax a hair.

“This is us.” He beeps the lock on the Jeep, Barclay taking shotgun (he gets motion sick) and Indrid climbing into the back with Joseph.

“Tell me, agent.” Indrid buckles in, “what led you into the mountains?”

“Assuming it’s not, like, classified. We’re trying to figure out if why you’re there makes a difference in getting lost in the anomaly.” Barclay adds.

“I was looking into missing person’s cases. There’d been three groups that had just disappeared, all in the span of a month, and that was on top of a history of disappearances in the area overall. Two of the three were looking for the Cold Treasure. Is that still a story around here?”

Indrid sighs, “Indeed. Now and then it fades from the greater public memory, only to be reignited by some television show or other. I was never even convinced there was something in those damned boxes. I think someone managed to trick us, but my father and brother were not sold on the idea. You likely heard Alistair Cold and his sons were never seen again, yes?”

“That’s how the story goes.”

Duck sees Indrid smile in the rearview mirror, “That is not entirely true. I am seen often, though I may not have been had a certain, intrepid civil servant not found me.”

“More like stepped on you, you were passed out on the red rock trail.”

“My point stands.” Indrid blows him a kiss.

“You…you’re…” Joseph sounds like he’s about to have a revelation or a full-on breakdown.

“The outlaw Indrid Cold, in the flesh. I know, you are shocked by my youthful appearance.”

“You don’t look a day over a hundred.” There’s a weak laugh and Duck’s heart warms at corniness of the joke.

Indrid had looked much closer to his grand total of 145 years of age when Duck found him, what with the being near death and all. He’d been in the desert, by his count, 50 days, having fled after his brother tried to murder him in his sleep to increase his cut of the loot.

“All that is to say, Joseph, that should you want to talk with someone who has dealt with much the same leap forward as yourself, I am glad to.”

“Thank you.” There’s an audible gurgle from the backseat, “I, I hate to cause more trouble, but is there any chance we get something to eat?”

“Way ahead of you.” Duck pulls into the Burger King on the edge of town and waits patiently at the menu sign for Joseph to choose his first meal of the 21st century.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t thank you enough.” Joseph finishes setting up the sofa-bed in Barclay’s small living room.

“Seriously, Joseph, it’s not a big deal. I’d do the same for anyone we fished outta the anomaly.”

Barclays face, that gorgeous, bearded face, parts in a smile that would make Joseph believe just about anything he said. Except, when they stopped at Amnesty Lodge, Barclay’s work and clearly the headquarters of the group of rescuers, the conversations he overheard suggested it wasn’t common for one of the members of the Pine Guard to offer their couch to a rescuee.

Maybe Barclay thinks he’s special. Maybe he likes him. It feels like ages since anyone liked him for him, rather than what he could do.

“Is Mr.Cold, um, I mean, is Indrid coming back tonight?” He has approximately six hundred questions he’d like to ask before he no longer has the chance to interview an time-traveling, 1880s outlaw.

“Nah, he lives with Duck.”

“Oh.” He nods, smiles to show he’s hip, “free love?”

Barclay chokes on his tea, startling Sass from his dog bed, then quickly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Sorry, sorry, uh, I mean kinda? We don’t really call it that anymore. But yeah, Indrid is both my and Duck’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend.” He repeats, sitting down on his temporary bed, “it’s…its funny. To hear another man say that word. Not bad!” he turns, hurriedly, “just…is it really allowed now?”

“Fuck of a lot more than it was when you got lost. There are still some really fucking bigoted people and places out there but, like, even in a small town like this, I can be out. Aubrey and Dani can be out as girlfriends. Stuff like that.”

Joseph closes his eyes and digs his nails into his palms, “I’m like that too.”

There’s no immediate reply, which terrifies him. Then a weight settles next to him on the bed and Barclay takes one of his hands.

“Kinda figured. From what your face did when you saw Indrid kiss me. And, like, that’s for sure gonna be different in 2024. But you don’t have to figure out everything in one night, or remake yourself in one. You’ve got time. You’ll be okay.”

Joseph looks down at their joined hands and believes, for the first time since he got lost, that things might just work out.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mercifully, libraries are more or less the same as he remembers them. No more card catalogs or microfiche (“unless you need to look at the newspaper records, in which case I’m happy to get them for you” offered the woman at the reference desk). But he can still find books on every subject he needs, and leaves with a canvas bag stuffed full of them.

When he gets back to Barclay’s place, after patting Sass on the head he sets the bag next to a smaller one of clothes from Goodwill. He bought several he’s excited about, but steps back into the summer heat in a borrowed t-shirt and gym shorts; he’s not putting anything on until it’s washed, and Barclay said he was taking his laundry to the mat tonight anyway.

The state park is the main tourist draw, and a corner of town dedicated to faux-western theming has sprung up in response. Joseph wanders through it, no goal but to take in the sights. He knows that soon, the lack of direction will tie him in knots, but there’s no harm in a day or two to recover.

As he passes a shooting gallery in the arcade, there’s a flash of silver hair. Indrid is at the counter, knocking down targets as kids with sticky lollipops and precarious ice cream cones dart around between the games and their exhausted parents.

Joseph positions himself by the soda fountain for a better view. Indrid doesn’t miss a target; yesterday, he seemed to always be moving, like a moth in the night air. Here, he’s calm and measured, hands steady and arms…

Christ the man has a lot of tattoos. Joseph wonders how much of his body they cover, and how it would feel to trace the shapes of them with his fingers.

“Care to play a round?” Indrid lowers the fake rifle, shooting him a smile.

“Sure.” He takes up a spot to Indrid’s left as the former outlaw hands the bored teenager behind the counter some bills. When the little mechanical targets of coyotes and jackrabbits begin moving, he lets his training take over.

Indrid knocks down all but one. Joseph knocks down all them,

“Well done, agent.” Indrid inclines his head towards the soda fountain, “allow me to buy you a victory phosphate?”

Joseph accepts, and follows Indrid into the air-conditioned, echoey building. His phosphate–soda water, syrup, and ice cream–is coffee flavored, while Indrid opts for strawberry.

They sit at a table out on the wooden porch, watching the families pass by.

“How are you doing so far?”

“Okay. It’s overwhelming. In a lot of ways. So many things are different. It’s exciting half the time and completely fucking terrifying the rest.”

Indrid laughs, “Yes, that sums it up well. I swung wildly between wanting to indulge in every luxury of modern life and needing to lie very still in the dark and quiet of Duck’s guest room.”

He smiles, sheepish, “I mean, compared to you, what I’m dealing with is child's play.”

“I suppose, but there’s no need to compare woes. We have both gone through a very drastic change thanks to the anomaly; that is enough.” He sips his drink, fidgets with the gold rock on his necklace. There’d been the same kind on the bracelet Barclay put on this morning. And a pin of one on Duck’s hat-band.

“That’s fools gold, right?”

“Yes. Apparently when Duck found me, I babbled to him all the way to the car about how it ‘was all fools gold.’ He brought me this from a rock shop a few months later. It was the first gift he gave me, the first time he told me that some mundane element of daily life reminded him of me. I’ve worn it ever since.”

Joseph smiles but looks away; the happiness of the moment seems too intimate, like he’s intruding on it.

Indrid’s hand settles on his forearm, “Shall we finish these while we stroll? There’s a reptile house that claims to have the worlds largest Gila Monster. Duck insists it’s a painted Chuckwalla, but regardless it is fascinating.

“I’d love to.” He stands, following Indrid down the stairs and repeating the words, “this is not a date” in his mind until they lose all meaning.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay hates being sick for a lot of reasons, but one is that it’s so fucking boring. He can’t do anything, and nothing on T.V is good enough, or trashy enough, to hold his attention.

The front door opens and Joseph hurries, shopping bags in both hands and sweat dripping down his chest. The agent has discovered he likes V-necks and tank-tops in the summer. Barclay has discovered the sight of Joseph Stern in tight, white shirt and navy shorts is masturbation fodder for a week.

“Okay, I got everything I could think of to help with a cold. What would you like? There’s soup, saltines, ginger ale, gatorade, and if you want something more substantial I can make kimchi fried rice. Did you know they have kimchi just in regular grocery stores now? Dad had to make ours”

Rustling bags from the kitchen, the flick of a receipt being tucked into a folder; Joseph insists on keeping track of how much he buys with Barclay’s card, telling him he’ll pay him back once he has his job and his status of being legally dead sorted out.

“Just gatorade for now, babe.”

“What was that?” Joseph’s head pokes around the fridge.

“Bud. Some gatorade, bud?” Jesus, Joseph has only been in the house three weeks and Barclay is already tongue-tied.

Joseph brings a bottle for each of them, gets on his knees to study the shelf of DVDs when Barclay suggests he pick something.

“They…they made Lord of the Rings into a movie!”

There goes his boredom problem.

“Three movies.”

Joseph holds the DVD to his chest, delighted.

“Let me go change into something less sweaty.”

Barclay would let him crawl under his blanket soaking wet if he asked. All the same, he smiles when Joseph comes down in sleep shorts and his “Bigfoot is my boyfriend” shirt Duck bought him as a joke after he admitted his fixation with the monster. The agent sits next to him on the couch. By the second disk, his feet are in Barclay’s lap. And by the time he hops back onto the couch after putting in The Two Towers, Joseph doesn’t bother keeping any space between them at all.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

“Not sure how I feel about the music I listened to in college being on the ‘classic’ station.” Joseph steps from the Jeep into the grim heat of the Phoenix parking lot, slipping on his sunglasses.

“You think you feel weird, they’re doin’ the same stuff with my high school favorites, and I ain’t even got the excuse of jumpin forward in time. I’m just old.”

“You’re just experienced.” Joseph smirks. It’s the line Duck uses whenever Indrid jokes about his own age, and Duck likes hearing his tired joke on Joe’s tongue.

“My conference is done at 6. You want me to come back for you then?”

Joe shakes his head, “I have no idea how long this will take. Aubrey showed me how to use an Uber on my phone, I’ll get one and go to the hotel when I’m done.”

“Works for me. See you tonight, slick.” He winks as Joe shuts the door, enjoying the way he blushes in reply.

Duck’s in Phoenix for a forestry conference, representing Lost Dutchman State Park, and as luck would have it, the week before Joe was finally able to get through to the right person at the FBI. Long story short, he agreed to a DNA and fingerprint test to confirm his identity.

The conference goes well, and he kills an hour after shooting the shit with some folks he knew from his forestry program back in school. Gets to the Radisson, unwinds with some mindless HG-TV while he waits for Joe to text him.

Joe doesn’t get to the room until 10, lays down on the opposite bed with muffled sounds of annoyance.

“That don’t sound good.”

The agent turns his head, cheek to patterned comforter, “They believe me, but since I was legally dead my pension went to my parents, and they refuse to consider anything resembling back-pay. They’re willing to give me a lump sum of twenty grand and won’t lock me in an observation facility provided I agree to not go public with my experience.”

“You take ‘em up on it?”

“Didn’t feel like I had a choice. Besides, even if I can’t go public, I can still help the rest of you get people out. I can maybe even solve some missing person’s cases. Bring families closure, even. I just won’t be doing it as a federal agent.”

Duck watches him a moment, “somethin else happened.”

Joe rolls onto his back, staring at the stucco, “I found out how long they looked for me. I was their top agent. I was supposed to be invaluable, they always said that, always made that the reason I had to give up everything for my work. Two weeks. They gave up on me after two weeks. I know, I know that sounds like a lot but…I just thought I was worth more than that. You know?”

Duck moves from one bed to the other, “Gonna be honest slick, if you went missing on my watch, I’d do anythin’ I could to get you back.”

“You do that anyway with the Pine Guard.”

“Suppose so. But, uh, let’s just say I’d put even more into it than I usually do. Wouldn’t be able to give up.”

Joe looks up at him, curious, “Why not?”

Duck leans down and kisses him. There’s mint on his tongue from the wintergreen lifesavers he’s always slipping into his mouth, and he makes a surprised noise that’s so charming Duck can’t help but kiss him just to hear it again.

“Duck I, do you really-”

“Yeah, slick, I do. ‘Drid too, though I’m bettin you’re sharp enough to notice him eye-fuckin you every time you enter a room. And Barclay’s so goddamn into you he talks like you two been datin’ for four months instead of just livin together.”

“I guess we do act like a couple a lot of the time…”

“Point is, I’m part of a three man fan-club, and I don’t give a single flyin’ fuck what the FBI thinks your worth. Cause it’s more than gold to me.” He cups Joe’s cheek, “if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine by me. But it seemed to me now was a real good time to show you how fuckin glad I am that you found your way into my chunk of history.”

Joe’s eyes drag up his body, smile never dimming, “I think, Mr. Newton, the way I feel can be best expressed if you’d come all the way down here. Ideally with your shirt off.”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice. But, uh, gimme just a sec, gotta text ‘Drid and tell ‘im goodnight.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid smirks, setting his phone back on the nightstand as Barclay cuddles up to him.

“Good news?”

“Wonderful.” He takes Barclay’s hand and kisses it, “the kind that means that tomorrow, you and I need to go get a shiny, new piece of fools gold.”

#ot4: government men and their cryptid boyfriends #yeehawgust 2024 #indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #taz amnesty #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #duck newton/agent stern #Inclay #agent stern/indrid cold

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