#in the words of adam reed: it's a shit deal

[demigods-posts]

it hurts so bad to know that everyone ostracized percy as soon as poseidon claimed him. knowing he couldn't control who his dad was. it hurts even more upon realizing that a lot of the older campers knew of and/or heard of thalia, a big three kid who gave her life to protect her friends and big three kid who zeus ordered to stand protecting the camp in the final moments of her death. and by shunning percy. welcoming whatever fate the gods bestowed upon him without a care. and the worst of all is we learn that at least some, if not all, of the head counselors in tlo were campers who knew of the great prophecy long before and during percy's time at camp.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Back in Time (Indruck superhero AU)

This was based on a prompt requested by several folks on the Indruck discord, and is set in the same universe as “The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight,” taking place some time after “Aww, Rats.”  It deals with memory loss, so if that’s a no-go for you this is one to skip.

Duck Newton is proud of how far his boyfriend has come. How a man who was once, in his own words, “a hissing, scheming villain” now dedicates his life to protecting the city of Kepopolis, fights side by side with Duck to keep their home, their city, and their friends safe. 

But sometimes, he wishes the self-preservation instinct that ruled him as a villain made more appearances. If it did, Duck might not be sitting outside the med bay of the hideout, jiggling his knee while he waits for news. Indrid might not have thrown himself in front of the blast from Dr. Amig Dahlias’ newest invention. 

Duck might be unconscious in the med bay instead, but he’ll take that outcome any day.

The door slides open and Dani pokes her head out, “He’s waking up.”

“Oh thank fuck.” He rushes inside, takes Indrid’s hand as the silver-haired man groans and shifts on the cot. 

“S’okay sugar, you’re in the base, everyone is safe, just take it easy.”

Red eyes blink open. Then stay that way, wide and scanning the room.

“I...I am glad everyone is safe. That is good. But, ah, I, I…” he turns to look at Duck, “I’m sorry, I do not know who any of you are.”

----------------------------------------------------

“Is it permanent?” Duck corners Dr. Octavius the minute he’s out of the room. The doctor is one of the best when it comes to dealing with damage from supers of all kinds. 

“I’m not sure. That blast he was hit with dealt a massive blow to his memory; as far as I can tell, he can’t remember anything from his past. Not his childhood, not his time as a villain, not all of you. I don’t know if this was the intended result, but the blast also severely dampened his precognition; his powers are functionally dormant.”

“Fuck.”

Dr. Octavius sets a hand on his shoulder; they’ve known each other a long time, he’s been patching Duck up since his days with the Chosen Squad. Some childish part of Duck’s brain had hoped he could make Indrid better, the way he always made Duck. 

“It may not be permanent, and I think the chances are good the memories are all suppressed, rather than gone. I’ll consult with some colleagues to see what can be done.”

“Thanks, Doc. Is he okay? I mean, uh, is he scared or anythin?”

“Mainly confused, which is understandable.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Thanks.” He waves as the man departs, then grabs his phone. Maybe there’s someone else who can help. 

Dr. Mwangi arrives a half hour later; she’s Indrid’s therapist and, like Dr. Nelson, the vet, she’s one of the few people in Kepopolis whose office is neutral territory. She helps supers of all alignments, and Indrids’ flashbacks are more easily handled since he started seeing her. 

“Just...do you think there’s anythin I can do to help him remember?”

“Any photographs, items of emotional significance from his past or present, those might help bring some memories back to the surface. Maybe taking him places that he’s fond of, or where important things happened. And I agree with you all that keeping all the super hero business quiet for now, as it could be completely overwhelming. Other than that, all we can be is patient. Is he staying with you?”

“Yeah. Our place is the safest, thanks to all the security he installed, so if word gets out where we live or that he’s incapacitated in some way, no one’ll be able to get in and hurt him.”

“That’s good. But I was more concerned with the need for him to be with someone he trusts. Even if he doesn’t remember you, I suspect he’ll feel safe with you.”

Duck looks into the other room, where Indrid is chatting with Aubrey (“I have a niece? That’s wonderful”). 

“God, I hope so.”

----------------------------------------------------------

“You are...my boyfriend?”

“Yeah” Duck is fighting to keep a gentle smile on his face, to not crumple at the lack of recognition in Indrid’s eyes, “we been together almost two years.”

“You seem very nice. And handsome. I must be very lucky.”

“Here we are.” Duck flips on the lights, shuts the door and arms it, “home sweet home.”

“This is love--OH, oh hello.” Indrid smiles as Chicken runs up to them, demanding her dinner, “who is this.”

Duck’s heart twists with disappointment for the three-hundreth time that day; he keeps hoping the next thing they encounter will be the one to jog Indrid’s memory.

“That’s Chicken.”

“She’s so charming. I had no idea cats could be hairless.”

Duck nods with a tight smile, is digging out the new bag of cat food when Indrid chirps with delight. 

“Rats! You have rats!” His face is pressed to one of the boxes of Ratopia, his mischief of five scurrying up to greet him, “I love rats, they are so clever and resourceful.”

“They’re, uh, they’re more yours than mine. They missed you, see?” He opens the nearest door on the enclosure and five furry little bodies run out, squeaking for treats and attention. Void clambers up Indrid’s body like a black comet, letting out indignant noises when he finds Indrids coat without it’s usual special pocket for his “heart rat.” Indrid scoops Void into his hands, studying him. 

“I am sorry, little ones. You seem to know me, but I don’t know you. I would like to, though.”

“You, uh, you wanna spend some time with them while I get dinner goin?”

“Yes, please.”

Duck starts water on the stove, pulls down the box of pasta, when Indrid speaks from behind him. 

“The same applies to you, you know. I do not know you, Duck Newton.”

The box crunches in half in his hands

“But I would very much like to.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been three weeks, and Indrid’s memory shows no signs of returning. Duck tries to hold onto hope, tries looking on the bright side, but it all turns to rubble when he feels the empty space beside him in bed, makes a comment or reference only for Indrid to blink in confusion. 

There is one bright spot, which is that Indrid insists Duck starts their courtship over. He’s adamant that he wants to build up to dating Duck again, that he clearly has met someone wonderful and is not about to let a little bout of amnesia get in the way, thank you very much. 

So Duck takes him on date after date, finding some happiness in watching Indrid experience things he enjoys for a second-first-time. They get Gelato, Mrs. Nguyen shooting Duck a puzzled look when Indrid asks to sample several flavors, rather than ordering his usual Blue Moon with marshmallow sauce on top. They go to the movies, the zoo, to one of Aubrey’s magic shows, and all the while Duck keeps his hands glued into his pockets; Indrid is still learning to be comfortable with him, and he will not so much as brush a hair from his face unless he’s sure it’s what he truly wants. 

When Indrid takes his hand as they’re walking out of a movie, Duck tears up with embarrassing speed. 

Today, they’re in the Monongahela, Duck taking Indrid on the lake loop. As they round a patch of reeds, the taller man points out onto the sparkling water. 

“What kind of ducks are those?”

“Wood Ducks” he replies softly, then laughs to himself, “you must really like ‘em, they were one of the first things you ever, uh, ever asked me about.”

“Really? I suppose that makes sense, their coloration is stunning.”

“Yeah.” Duck watches the two birds paddling on the water; he can’t be certain, but he thinks they’re the same mated pair that fascinated Indrid two years ago. The memory of Indrid, voice curious and shy rather than taunting, asking Duck what the bird was over the phone makes him ache down to his neurons. 

“I’m sorry, Duck. I know this cannot be easy on you.” Indrid is watching him through his slightly tinted tortoiseshell glasses, “to have to wait for me to fall in love with you again.”

“‘Drid” Duck takes him by his shoulders so they’re face to face, “I can’t lie for shit, so I ain’t gonna say I don’t wake up everyday hopin you remember me. But what I want outta all of this is for you to be happy, to have whatever kind of life feels right to you. Even if we don’t end up together in it or I, uh, I ain’t in at all.”

Strangely, Indrid smiles, soft and bright, as the admission hangs between them. Then he cups Duck’s cheek and leans down, kissing Duck so lightly that it’s only the sensation of too-cold hands on his skin that let’s Duck know he isn’t dreaming. 

���Wha-”

“It just felt right.” Indrid smiles wider, and holds a little tighter, wondering if this is it.

His phone rings, the tone that signals “shits going down, suit up.”

“Fuck.” He grabs it, brings it to his ear “go for Duck”

“It’s the fucking White Star boys again. They’re threatening to set off a bomb from the top of the GreenBriar Mall and are causing a major scene downtown.” From the sound of it, Barclay is driving as he talks. 

“Fuck, okay, lemme get Indrid somewhere safe and I’ll be right there.”

“Somewhere safe? Duck, what’s going on.” Indrid pulls his sweater around himself

“Long story, swear to fuckin god I’ll tell you later, now come on.” They run back to the car and Duck floors it out onto the highway. The nearest safehouse is close to the mall, so he can drop Indrid there, change, and go help his friends. 

This plan goes up in a literal cloud of smoke as cylinder hits the hood of the car, releasing a black cloud and causing Duck to careen into a fire hydrant. 

“Guess we’re closer to the whole mess than I thought.” He grumbles, grabbing his spare mask from the glove box and ripping off his shirt to reveal his hero garb underneath, “you okay?”

“Not really, as we just crashed and there is a lot of yelling happening outside.”

Duck takes his hand, “It’s probably obvious, but I’m a superhero, and a bunch of dipshits are tryin to blow up innocent folks. Stay close to me, I’ll try’n get you somewhere safe and come find you after this is taken care off.”

Indrid does not look convinced, holds onto Duck’s hand like he’ll be sucked up into space if he lets go. 

“It’ll be okay, ‘Drid. I promise.”

----------------------------------------

He focuses on Duck’s hand as they run, as if the link between them is enough to keep him safe. The chaos around them, the shouting and dust and disaster in the air, it all feels familiar. Then again, of his boyfriend is a superhero, maybe Indrid’s been in this situation before. 

Duck’s fingers are ripped from his own as the hero is tackled by a bulked-up man with a white star on his back. They two grapple on the ground, rolling out of sight in the surrounding smoke. Before he can call out, pain shatters through the back of his head and he hits the ground, pavement scraping his hands. He flips over, finds another starred man sneering down at him. 

“There you are. We all had bets going on whether the good doctor killed you with that ray.”

“I” Indrid scrambles back on his hands, head ringing too hard for him to stand up, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb, Cold. Everyone knows where the Knight is, you’re right behind him like some weird fucking shadow.”

“I’m not, I swear, please, I have no idea what’s going on.”

The man hits a button on his belt, and a short staff, covered in what looks like sci-fi barbed wire, springs into his hand. 

“Let me tell you, then: you’re a pain in the ass, and I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

“Wait, please” his hand connects with something cold, and his fingers tell him it’s a bit of broken pipe. 

“Oh yeah, it’s gonna be fun to squash you like the bug you are.”

Indrid watches him raise the weapon. His fingers curl around the pipe. 

And he lets instinct take over.

----------------------------------------------

Most of the mob scatters as soon as Aubrey gets the smoke under control, but some of the more determined White Star Boys put up a fight. Duck throws one off of him, turns towards the commotion of two more fighting-

Oh fuck.

“Indrid!” He runs towards the melee, then skids to a stop as his boyfriend takes one down with a skilled, precise blow to the head. The lands a cut on his cheek with a Bowie knife and Indrid snarls, whirling to break the offending hand and knocking the man’s head to the side with the lead pipe he’s using as a staff. 

The man goes down, hands weakly covering his face, and Indrid hits him again. And again. 

“Moth, for fucks sake, stop! He’s down, you don’t gotta kill him!”

Indrid locks eyes with Duck, tilts his blood-spattered head to the side.

“You have the wrong villain, hero. I am The Sword. And you are in my way.”

Indrid lunges and Duck braces to take the hit that never comes. There’s hissing and cursing from above him, and he looks up to see Indrid trapped in red light.

“I came to help the Lady Flame” The Quell regards Indrid with sorrowful eyes, “but it seems we have a far worse problem than those little  power-mad stars.”

-----------------------------------------------

“He’s much quieter than his brother” Stern stands outside the Pine Guard holding cell with Duck, while Indrid sits calming inside, eyes shut as if in sleep, “The Flame monologues whenever he gets a chance.”

“Of all the goddamn parts of his life to remember” Duck clonks his head into the wall. 

“I called every specialist on our roster; the consensus is that one of the white star boys must have attacked him. In moments of that kind of intense stress and fear, sometimes people revert back to what they first learned. In Indrid’s case, it was his training to be the perfect villain.”

Duck grunts in acknowledgement, keeps his head on the wall so he doesn’t have to look at the man he loves reverted to his worst instincts. 

“I promise we’ll take good care of him until our next move becomes clear.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

The agent takes a final look through the glass, “We’ll get him back somehow. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

They’ve just reached the parking lot when alarms sound and lights flash, Joe’s communicator ringing like mad. He looks at it and blanches. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Indrid got out?” It’d be the perfect, shitty cap to a perfectly shitty day.

“Yes. Do you want me to call in back-up?”

Duck shakes his head, “No. I was real good at huntin’ down the Moth. Think I can find The Sword the same way.”

He doesn’t add, as Joe wishes him good luck, that he has a horrible feeling he already knows where Indrid is. 

Unlocking the apartment door, he takes two steps before his own SmartWhips close around his torso and arms. Indrid steps out of the hall, grinning at him.

Duck sighs, “Yeah. That’s why I figured.”

---------------------------------------

Indrid studies the trapped hero, wondering if he should ask him the main question  on his mind, which is whether this location they’ve been pretending is an apartment is Indrid’s hide-out or his. He’s been searching it for twenty minutes and even with his foresight back he cannot tell. He did find his staffs, smart glasses that are confusingly red rather than silver, and a set of wings he knows are based on a prototype of his. 

But that is not the most important question to his mission. 

“Where is The Flame?”

Duck shakes his head, “Not tellin you. You were the smartest villain I ever faced, Indrid, and I don’t doubt you could bust him out no problem. But you and I both know you don’t want that.”

“It is my duty to free my partner. It is for the best.”

“Is it really? You honestly tellin me you wouldn’t be happier far, far away from that brother of yours?”

Indrid forces his face to stay calm, but his guts twist; how could Duck know how often he wishes Apollo would go on a mission and never come back, or just leave him be for a few days so he could do something, anything other than villainy.

“You know nothing of my brother.”

“The last time he saw you, he tried to blow you up, tortured me, and then tried to kill in some weird trainin arena. He’s a cruel, egotistical dipshit.” 

“That...that sounds exactly like him. Very well, maybe you do know what you are talking about. So tell me where he is, and I will not be forced to get the information from you another way.”

Duck squirms, afraid, but stays silent. Indrid hauls his to his feet.

“Tell me where he is.”

“No. Let him rot, it’s what he deserves.”

“What he deserves is immaterial. What matters is he will get out one way or another and if he does it without my help he will-”

Duck gives a knowing look. Indrid huffs, drops him back to the ground. 

“Nevermind.”

“He’ll hit you with that lightning rod of his? Or threaten to drown you, like he did that time in, uh, in Kansas City?”

“Would you kindly shut up so I can think?” Indrid turns on his heel, begins pacing. Duck knows a great deal, which means Indrid must have confided in him at some point, likely before he lost his memory. Maybe he was interrogated by him? But even then it doesn’t make sense; Indrid can withstand any kind of torture. Well, almost any kind.

Why on earth did he tell the hero those things?

He spots the rat run, the little black one (Void, that was what Duck called him) sending demanding squeaks his way through the plexiglass. Indrid leans down, touching his fingertip to the glass to mirror the placement of the rat’s paw.

“I wonder if I could take you with me. Doubtless you would make a skilled minion.”

“‘Drid, the scariest thing he’s ever done is wear those glasses that make him look like a giant monster rat to scare off intruders.”

“What part of ‘shut up’ was unclear, chivalrous one?” Indrid glances over his shoulder, finds the hero sitting up with a hopeful expression.

“That nickname. ‘Drid, it’s the first time you called me that since you lost your memory. Do you remember anythin’ else about that name, about why you call me it?”

He thinks, gets flashes of images that he’s certain are the past, not the future; Duck, the Green Knight, throwing him out a window, chasing him from warehouses, trapping him in those blasted SmartWhips. Oh yes, he remembers him now.

“You. You are my nemesis.” 

“Uh, I was, but-”

Indrid laughs, high and sharp to cover the disappointment in his chest, “Oh that is diabolical. I lose my memory and what do you all do? You put me in the hands of my nemesis, convince me that I had a life with someone who cared for me as if that could change my nature. Not even I could concoct a plan that cruel, chivalrous one.”

“Indrid, please, you gotta remember the rest.”

“I do not need to do any such thing. But it does change what I do with you.” He stalks forward, wrenching Duck up by his hair. 

The whips close around his wrists, trapping them together. 

“Let me go this instant!”

“No can do, sugar. I ain’t gonna fight you, but I ain’t gonna let you hurt me, or anyone else.”

“You” Indrid sees the explanation coming, “you stole one of my smart picks! You are as bad as Apollo is!”

“Trust me, I ain’t.”

Indrid tries to hurl him against the counter, but Duck holds fast, causing the villain to simply unfurl the whip some. The hero giggles, quiet at first, then growing louder.

“Christ, it’s like fuckin deja vu, you and me bein like this. At least I did it on purpose this time.”

The villain is about to snap that there’s nothing funny about being trapped with one’s nemesis. Then the memory comes, he and Duck taken from enemies to allies in an instant as they tried to undo the malfunctioning smartwhip trapping them together. The night, about a week later, when Duck sent a spy B.U.G just to make sure Indrid wasn’t too badly hurt from a fight. 

The Green Knight, looking after the Moth as if he was a friend, not a villain. 

The Moth. He’s the Moth.

He surges forward, slamming his lips against Ducks mouth. The hero gasps, bound hands gripping the front of Indrid’s black shirt.

“My love, my love, Duck, I’m sorry, I am so sorry, one moment, I can get us unraveled.” He kisses him again, his mind and body registering the full weight of almost a month without his hero’s touch.

“Please tell me this means what I think it does” he mumbles into Indrid’s mouth.

“It does my love. More or less. Things are not coming back in a linear fashion, but it feels as if my memories have all awakened and will be in order eventually. I, I feel like myself, my full self, again.”

“Thank sweet baby christ, fuck” Duck huddles close, shoulders shaking, “didn’t know how much longer I could stay calm, you’re fuckin terrifyin  when you want to be.”

“Oh, oh dear, apologies” The whips drop to the ground, “I did not remember, I, I was more lethal, more willing slash and burn when I was The Sword, I never wanted you to be on the receiving end of that, oh goodness, I’m so sorry, my sweet.” He holds Duck to him, buries his face in his hair when he thinks of what he might have done.

“You’re back.” Duck presses a kiss to his neck, “you’re back. That’s all that matters, fuck, I missed you so much.”

Indrid shuts his eyes, holds fast to the man who makes his mind sing “home” with every beat of his heart.

“I missed you too, chivalrous one.”

----------------------------------------

Dr. Amig Dahlia prowls towards her laboratory. The Pine Guard brought her latest scheme crashing down, and it’s high time to make them all into blank slates, the way she did with the meddlesome Moth. At least he’s still nowhere to be found.”

“Hello, doctor.”  

Seated directly in front of the memory ray is none other than The Moth. He stands, patting the ray, “this is a very clever device, and had it not made my life, and the lives of others, miserable, I might applaud you for it. As it is, I am here to demand you disable it, and turn yourself in.”

“Last I checked, my ray didn’t damage your intelligence, so that idiotic idea must be all yours.”

The Moth cocks his head, “Is that a no?”

In answer, she steps forward, pressing in the sequence to arm the device. 

The hero stays put, right in it’s path, “firing on me will not end well. I  modified your device while you were distracted by my teammates. It will backfire when you pull the trigger”

“Nice try,but you’ll need a more convincing lie to get out of this one.” The lights on the side of the ray turn green. 

The wide smile changes, all ice and edges, “Before you make your choice, consider this; Because of you, I almost hurt the man I love.”

She rolls her eyes, touches the trigger, and white light explodes all around her.

-------------------------------------------------

“What did you do to that ray?” Duck stands next to him as they watch medics help a sobbing Amig Dahlia into an ambulance. 

“In addition to reversing the direction of the energy, I changed how it interacts with memory; instead of blanketing them over it pulls certain ones out and plays them on repeat. Namely, it pulls out those memories one would most like to forget.”

“Jesus.”

“Believe it or not, the futures show this being an exercise in empathy. The effects are not permanent, and when she comes out of them she will swear off villainy and move to Key West.”

He does not add that this seems a fitting quid pro quo for the fact recovering from her device means memories of his childhood appear without warning more than they usually do.

Duck is no longer beside him. There’s a metallic crack, and the hero drops the two halves of the ray on the ground. 

“Just to be safe.”

“A wise idea, chivalrous one.”

They finish up at the hidden lab, and the Moth and The Green Knight disappear into the Pine Guard base. Twenty minutes later, Indrid Cold and Duck Newton step inside their home. It’s warm and comfortable, bustling with love and promise. 

Just like Indrid remembers. 

[dat-fandom-losertown]

The Drift Between Us

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Chapter 3: I’ll Do Better

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Hank Anderson x Connor and Gavin Reed x RK900

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: I think I’m just gonna stop putting swearing as a warning? Cause it’s in literally every single chapter Lmao, Arguments, a moment with PTSD and anxiety

Word Count: 8,739

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Tina teases with her signature smirk as Gavin sits down next to her at their table.

    “Fuck off, Tina.” Gavin shakes his head, knowing that his words don’t have the venom they would if he were to say them to anyone else.

    “Aw, come on! You look even more bothered than usual and you’re not gonna tell me what happened?” The woman doesn’t give enough time for him to reply before continuing again. “I have ten bucks in my pocket that says it has to do with the new trainees roaming around.”

    “That and Hank fuckin’ Anderson.” He begins around the food in his mouth, “Didn’t even know he could be awake at this hour anymore, let alone be sober enough to pull the ‘my old partner’s the current marshal’ card. I mean, he didn’t use it on me, but I heard him use it on one of the new fuckers.”

    “One of the trainees? What’d they do?”

    “For once in my life I was just mindin’ my own fuckin’ business, when two newbies come around the corner. Of course, I’m just trying to get to lunch, right? So I plan on just walking around them, but this kid fuckin’ tries to shoulder-check me! And when I didn’t budge he started acting like I started it!”

    “So you picked a proper fight?” Tina’s turned towards him now, engrossed in Gavin’s story.

    “No! Like I said, I just wanted some fuckin’ food! So I threatened the guy a bit and... gave a warning, you could say. I could immediately tell he had an ego larger than my ass, so I couldn’t just let him walk away, ya know?.”

    Another woman’s voice pipes up, “Wait, you said there were two trainees. What about the other one?” Gavin doesn’t know when she got here, but now she’s sitting across from Tina.

    “It was the same dude I saw daydreaming in the hall yesterday, and he kept trying to get the other dude to just walk away like the fuckin’ coward he is. He even got the shit beat outta him sometime after dinner yesterday. He was all bandaged up and limping a bit. Anderson rounded the corner before I could even start with him.”

    “And you said he was awake, walking around, and sober earlier? Wow.” Tina leans back in her chair. “I’m impressed. That’s the second time this month he’s been sober and calm so early in the day.”

    “You think he’s finally coming to terms with whatever happened to him?” Tina’s official partner– Angie? Allie? Amy? Who fuckin’ knows and who fuckin’ cares– asks, sounding genuinely hopeful for the washed up drunkard.

    Gavin barks out a harsh laugh, “Nah, there’s no way. His hangover probably just woke him up earlier than normal.”

    “What exactly do you have against him, Gav?” the same lady asks.

    “What do you mean ‘what do I have against him’? He’s done nothing but sit around on his ass drunk as hell for the past couple of years and no one’s done anything about it because he’s the ‘oh so great Pilot Anderson’ and his fuckin’ bff is the one in charge of this shit hole!” Gavin leans back in his chair with crossed arms, his food already scarfed down and tray empty. “If any of us acted the way he has been for even a month we’d be kicked out of here before we could even pack our stuff! Besides, isn’t he too fuckin’ old to pilot anymore anyway? Why in the hell is he even still here?”

    “He’s only barely in his forties you know,” Tina informs patiently, having heard this rant a hundred times over by now, “He started going grey in his early twenties, something about genetics. Can’t imagine the stress and grief helped at all, either.”

    “Grief. What could have possibly happened to make him ‘grieve’ for this long? Like, don’t get me wrong, I get it, but it’s been fuckin’ years of this shit. He needs to get it together, ‘cause at this point he’s just dragging us down.”

    Gavin lowers his head and averts his eyes, enviously thinking about how he wasn’t ever given the kind of treatment Anderson is given on a daily basis. His face must start looking softer because Tina looks at him with a sort of concern and confusion. He scowls at her and shakes his head with a huff in dismissal.

    All throughout training, each pilot is taught that no one can hold back any memories from their partner while in the drift. While that fact was usually used to keep trainees in line since everything they do will be seen by another person eventually, it was true. Mostly. After certain things took place long ago, Gavin accidentally stumbled upon a way to keep memories from whoever was his partner. From the complaints he’s heard in the past, it’s just as uncomfortable for them as it is for him, if not more so. So far, only Tina and her new partner have been able to put up with it more than twice..

    The whole point is, no one here truly knows his story. The people who did have either retired, or they were killed in action, or their name is Jeffery Fowler. No one knows what kind of life he had growing up, if he has siblings or not, how long he trained to be a pilot before arriving here; and nobody knows if Gavin’s “pissy, jackass attitude” is a result of something or if that’s just who he is.

    Spoiler alert: it’s just how he’s fuckin’ been his entire damn life, and he has no intentions to change any time soon. Even if Gavin wanted to, he doesn’t think he could actually change enough for it to matter, anyway. So fuck it.

    “You don’t know what happened!” Tina’s partner sounds thoroughly offended on Anderson’s behalf. She must be newer or more empathetic than he thought. “They said this started right after a particularly big battle with a kaiju, he probably lost family or something!”

    “I lost my family and my home when I was 17, and no one’s ever seen me moping around, constantly high as fuck and unable to do my job! ‘Cause heaven knows I wouldn’t get drunk of all things to forget my problems, I still have some self-respect.”

    He must have said something wrong because the looks on both women’s faces make him feel like he’s the main attraction of a pity party. He scowls again and is about to snarl out “what?” when Tina finally speaks, albeit softly, as if he, Gavin Reed, a man tougher and more stubborn than the most overcooked jerky, would break.

    “You were only 17 when..?”

    And just like that, it clicks.

    “No, you fucks!” he exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, “I was kicked out by my bitch-ass mother. They haven’t died or anything like that. At least, I don’t think they have…”

    Both women relax, Tina already going back to her almost finished meal as if nothing happened, knowing full well that they weren’t going to get anything else out of Gavin for the rest of the week. However, her partner seems a bit more adamant on knowing the story, if the look in her eye is anything to go by. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, Gavin abruptly stands up. It’s time to get the hell outta dodge.

    “Well, as much as I’d like to say it was a pleasure talking to you asshats, I can’t.” Tina’s smirk is enough to let Gavin know that she knows he’s just messing around now. “Don’t have a sucky ass day, I guess. Or do, I’m not your fuckin’ parent.” He promptly turns with his empty tray in hand and leaves the food court area after putting everything in their designated places.

    Whenever Gavin gets worked up, going to the gym usually helps. Growing up, the only way he learned to deal with his short temper was to let it out through physical exertion. When he was younger, that meant getting into fights and punching walls until he felt calm and safer to be around again. Now, though, it means going to the gym and showing anyone else who may be in there how it’s done. Not only does he feel better about himself– contrary to popular belief, punching the nearest person or thing had never done well for his conscience after all was said and done– he also gets some of the best scores in fighting skill from his admittedly excessive training. To be completely honest, those high scores are probably the only thing keeping him here at this point.

    Gavin takes his sweet, precious time getting to the gym. He meanders through the endless, reinforced halls until he gets to his room. They placed him right across from Tina’s room since she’s the only one who can tolerate him and is the only one Gavin doesn’t regularly want to deck in the throat. Even though she has an official partner now, that girl’s still relatively new and Tina is a better match in the drift for Gavin than anyone else is. Now that he thinks about it, he may not be able to slack off like Anderson, but he can admit that the higher-ups of this place have done a lot more to keep him here than they likely would have for anyone else. Not even he had to do “intern work” for Fowler during his first week of training, and it’s that one assbag’s second day here and he’s already managed to fuck it up.

    He changes into his work out clothes quickly and grabs the wraps for his hands. He puts them on expertly on the way, having gone through the wrapping process much more often than anyone he knows has. Gavin’s about to turn into the gym when he hears the voice of that daydreaming coward coming from around the corner.

    “Connor, would you stop your whining. Do you want what happened today in class to happen again?”

    Gavin quickly backtracks to hide behind one of the support beams on the wall. He wants to know what happened during their class, because he has a feeling it has to do with how fucked up the guy was this morning.

    “No I don’t,” the same voice replies? Is he talking to himself? Is this another case of Fight Club? “But we just got told to lie down and relax today since our hands are too bruised to hold pens. I don’t think it’s wise to go in there in case–”

    “–In case we’re found here while this injured, I know.” Well, it’s definitely not the same person, since there were clearly two voices talking over each other just then. “You’ve said that only a million times now. We’re allowed to be in here, we just won’t be using the equipment.”

    Gavin takes a chance to lean his head out and look at whoever is talking. He immediately recognises daydreamer on the left by the light grey shirt he’s wearing, which means his identical twin is wearing the black shirt. The doppelganger– apparently named Connor– looks slightly worse off than his twin.

    These pilot wannabes just got here recently, right? So they must have been paired up for the initial evaluation and roughed each other up good. Maybe the twink-looking asshole isn’t a coward at all. Maybe the dude is just confident that he could win in a fight against Gavin. Although, that doesn’t explain why he was so certain that Gavin could win against that other fucker– was it Alex?– in a brawl just earlier. Maybe it’s more of an “You can’t beat me, but you can win against him” kinda deal.

    Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum both enter the gym, still continuing on with their conversation about morals and finding loopholes within rules and orders, and Gavin takes that as his cue to follow them inside.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    “I still think we shouldn’t hold back around the instructors. They’re here to evaluate us, right?” Connor asks, still very much concerned about hiding things from the people who are above them in rank.

    It’s just that, what if they get caught holding back and are punished for it? Connor doesn’t even want to think about the times that had happened while training with Amanda, let alone repeat it. He knows logically that Luther wouldn’t dream of doing something like that to his students, but the inconvenient part of Connor’s head is not letting him actually believe it. It’s better to expect the worst and get better results than assume decent results and get blindsided.

    “Yes, but if we don’t hold back, then they’ll probably make us graduate much earlier, which means less time to find new partners.” Ritch hisses at him.

    Connor just sighs, knowing he’s right but not liking to go behind instructors’ backs, even for something as important to them as this. Ritch likely knows what kind of war is going on in his head right now, which is probably why he’s being much more patient with him than usual today.

    “I know you don’t like this, but it’s necessary.”

    “I know. You’re right, as always.” Connor relents finally, sitting down in the far corner of the gym where it will be obvious that they’re just sitting there, watching everyone else train and work out. They need to get a feel for how much they should be holding back for now, and how fast they should progress throughout training.

    A few minutes pass of silently watching a man on a treadmill, another at a punching bag, and a woman lifting weights before Connor leans over to speak into Ritch’s ear.

    “Are we going to match their skill? Or are we going to try going weaker than them?”

    “After the show we put on earlier, I don’t think we can pull off playing as much weaker or less skilled than these people without the others becoming suspicious.” he answers immediately, eyes never leaving the tiring man on the treadmill.

    Connor nods silently, leaning back into his own space again. It isn’t long until Ritch is leaning over to whisper in his ear, this time.

    “Do you see the guy at the punching bag?”

    “Yes?” Connor confirms, watching the man go to town on the hanging bag.

    His technique is very good, and he has a lot of power behind each punch. It’s obvious that he’s tougher and stronger than he looks, not unlike Ritch and himself. Connor wonders if Ritch is going to suggest matching with him. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all, seeing as how he seems to be at almost the same level as them. Plus, judging by the scars littered around his face and arms, he has real experience in combat, which gives him a leg up on the other trainees.

    Actually… That might be Pilot–

    “That’s Gavin Reed.” Ritch unknowingly confirms his thought. “He’s trouble, so just try your best to avoid and ignore him. I’ve already run into him twice and both times he’s tried to pick a fight with me.”

    That wasn’t what Connor was expecting. He knew the rumors of Gavin Reed being testy and short-tempered, but he’s picking fights with Ritch of all people so soon after their arrival?

    “Really? It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.”

    “Yea. The first time he shoulder checked me while I was walking on the correct half of the hallway while he was going the opposite way, and the second time happened just before lunch. Apparently Alex bumped into him but he–” he nods to Gavin “–was adamant on finishing what was started. Mr. Anderson had to come and diffuse the situation.”

    Connor turns to face Ritch. “Mr. Anderson was there?”

    “Yes.”

    “Did he seem okay? He seemed to have a terrible hangover this morning at lunch, and I’m sure any yelling that was happening wasn’t helping.”

    Now Ritch turns to him. “Why do you care? He hasn’t been in a jaeger in years. Unless you became much more attached to who he once was than I thought.”

    Connor huffs out what could be considered a growl and turns back to Gavin, “Can’t a guy just care about someone else’s health?”

    “Not you.” Ritch follows Connor’s gaze, “When you care about someone’s health, it’s one of the first signs that you’re getting attached to someone, and I really don’t believe that Mr. Anderson is someone you should be getting attached to.”

    “Why do you think that?” Immediately defensive.

    “People talk, and he isn’t–.”

    “Just like how they used to talk about us?”

    “This is different than us.”

    “How so?”

    Ritch sharply turns back to his twin, irritation causing his eyebrows to set even lower and his mouth to thin. “Look, I don’t give a damn about who you imprint on or whatever anymore. I am trying to help you out here, because unlike the times people have talked about us, what people are saying about Mr. Anderson are all factual and we’ve both seen the proof. You need to lay off of him because not everyone feels the incessant need to not be alone.”

    Connor finally allows himself to snap back. “Maybe you’re wrong this time. Yes, he drinks and he’s a miserable human being who doesn’t like other people, but how do we know that just who he is? What if he’s just like how we were way back in the orphanage, where everyone treated us like glass or ruined goods all the time? What if he wants– needs someone to be fuckin’ normal around him for a change to bring him out of his pit, and no one is there?”

    “If he wanted someone, he would have found someone. He had plenty of friends before he started this!” Ritch raises his voice from a whisper, and Connor can already tell that this isn’t going to end well, especially since he isn’t willing to roll over and surrender this time.

    “We had plenty of friends too, but they just didn’t understand once they found out, huh? They ended up just making things worse until all we had was each other. And there’s the thing! We still had one other person who understood! We had each other! And we’ve never remembered whatever trauma we’ve been through! He remembers it probably like it was yesterday and he is completely alone!”

    “This isn’t a fairy tale, Connor! This is real life, and in real life you can’t just swoop in and save the depressed, rumored suicidal alcoholic through the magical power of friendship!”

    “I don’t plan on saving anyone!” Connor shouts. The entire room becomes silent all of a sudden. He takes that moment to take a breath and continue at a normal speaking volume, “This is what you and everyone else don’t understand. I don’t want to save or fix people! I just want them to realize that there’s still hope for a somewhat normal life after their entire world shifted on its axis!” Connor takes another breath, recognizing that the three people in the room are no longer hiding the fact that they’re listening to him.

    “I know I’ve said before that people can’t ‘fix’ or ‘save’ other people. They can only ever offer hope and a sense of normality among the chaos and hope that person finds enough of their own strength to fix themselves. And go ahead and make fun of me for being ‘naive’ or whatever you want. This is what I’ve always thought and this is the one thing I will not let anyone change about me. Now, I’m going to go take a nap. Enjoy your people watching.”

    With that, Connor calmly makes his way across the gym area, a contradiction to the anger showing on his face and burning in his chest. He needs to calm down, and the best way to do that is to curl up in a calm, quiet place. He nods a silent greeting to the supposed troublemaker, Gavin Reed, on his way towards the door. Mostly to spite Ritch, but also because the guy had a really good form and the strength to back it up, and that deserves some kind of acknowledgement in Connor’s opinion.

     Connor vaguely hears his name being called by Ritch as he steps out of the gym area, and normally that would be enough to make him pause, which then gives him think over the argument. Nine times out of ten, during this process of thinking things over, his brain somehow convinces himself that the entire fight was his fault and the person won’t ever forgive him. This time, though, he doesn’t pause. He doesn’t give his messed up head a chance to twist things on him. Connor knows he’s right this time, and he’s not going to allow himself to bow down to Ritch about this topic. In this case, bowing down to Ritch would be the equivalent of bowing down to Amanda, and she isn’t here to control him anymore.

    No matter how far Connor was pushed during training as punishments, he never let her think she brainwashed that part of him, and she had not gone easy on him whatsoever.

    Call him naive, childish, innocent, too optimistic, whatever. He’s heard all of that and much more and much worse from countless people. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, he likes giving people second and sometimes third chances (but only if they truly deserve it, and never a fourth). He likes to think that most people in the world don’t mean to do harm, and if they do they have a reason behind it. This way of thinking is the only thing that keeps him going some days, and on the days he’d temporarily forgotten how to maintain that mindset were the days that not even threats and cruel promises from Amanda could get him out of his bed. Mr. Anderson may have been able to get away with staying in bed most days, but that’s because he was once a decorated jaeger pilot. Connor is barely an official trainee, he can’t afford any more missed time.

    “Connor!”

    The familiar, gruff voice snaps him out of his thoughts. It doesn’t sound like that’s the first time he’s tried calling Connor, either.

    “I apologise Mr. Anderson,” He starts with, turning on his heel quickly to not keep the older man waiting for his full attention a moment longer, “I was a bit lost in my head there for a few moments. I won’t let it happen again.”

    Mr. Anderson makes a face that falls between scowling and confusion, “Must’ve been deeper in there than you thought ‘cause this ain’t close to any place you’d be needed.”

    Looking around, he’s right. Connor doesn’t recognise these walls at all. There are different pipes and the floors are a slightly different texture than the rougher, more worn down metal or concrete of the other places he’s seen. He’s definitely in a bunker area, though, just not anywhere he’s been before, which means he’s probably in the area meant for more experienced pilots. Their bunkers are placed closest to the jaeger loading docks for faster take off. Connor must have taken a wrong turn at some point, still not completely used to this place’s layout.

    It was probably for the best, though, since the first place Ritch would surely check for him is their room (especially since he claimed that he was going to take a nap), and he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in the gym nor a chance to apologize to his brother for the sake of ending the fight. Both options are equally possible at this moment, so plan “get back to the dorm to calm down in the quiet” changes to plan “avoid Ritch while finding a good place to calm down in”.

    “Fucks sake, Connor!” Mr. Anderson calls again, once more sounding like that wasn’t the first thing he’s said to the younger man since he had zoned out.

    Connor immediately tenses, not liking when people start raising their voices at him, and snaps out of his thoughts again. Here he is, causing problems and inconveniences for people again, just like the fuck up he’s been lately. He needs to find a calm, peaceful place to relax sooner rather than later; he can’t be in public any longer like this.

    “I’m sorry,” Connor takes a step back, then another, all while curling into himself, “I must have taken a wrong turn, I apologize for taking up your time,” He takes a few more steps back, not lifting his gaze from the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave now. Sorry again–” Connor finishes weakly and darts out of the area, giving Mr. Anderson no chance to say anything to him.

    He tries to force his head to stay in the real world so he can actually register where is and find out where he’s going, but it’s slowly getting more difficult. He speed walks through the huge jaeger storage room, easily dodging all of the busy people moving about and doing their jobs. After a particular quick change in direction to avoid the woman with her nose in her clipboard, Connor is painfully aware that his leg is still throbbing from this morning, despite the painkillers he was given.

    At the reminder of the training room, he quickly finds a safe spot to stand in then checks the time. He hadn’t realised how much time has passed since lunch, and he isn’t sure how long of the past hour and a half was spent in the gym people watching and how much of it was spent wandering around aimlessly. He supposes it doesn’t matter at the moment. What does matter is that the training room should be empty by now, since everyone should be taking the written part of the exam so they can get a break from the physical exertion.

     Connor eventually makes it to the vacant room successfully. No one else tried to stop him or talk to him. No one else seemed to take any particular note of him at all. There was no sign of Mr. Anderson, Gavin Reed, or Ritch that he’d been able to find. He should be safe here.

    The first thing he does when he enters the room is find the best spot to spend over an hour in. He decides to camp in the left corner of the room, leaning against the wall the doorway he entered from is on. A minute or so of sitting and bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers pass before Connor decides to do some stretching. Yoga has always been his guilty pleasure and one of the few things that calmed him down completely. Besides, Amanda never complained about him being more flexible during fights. She said it complimented Ritch’s more solid technique.

    Why does every little thing bounce back to her? Stop that. She’s gone now, so stop thinking about her. Stop thinking…

    He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he knows he’s been in the Child’s Pose for a fair amount of time, if the pin pricks in his calves and feet and the ache rising in his knees and lower back have anything to say about that. With a quiet grunt, he rolls onto his back and straightens out his body, trying to stretch out all of the aching joints and muscles. Connor doesn’t think it would be as bad if it was his entire body that ached, because then it would be easier to ignore it and move on.

    “Oh shit. Connor, what are you doing in here?” North asks, making Connor jump.

    Connor should have realized that he wasn’t alone in the room. With how tired he was, and still is, there’s no way he would have woken up on his own while the sun was still up.

    Connor notes the random sounds of concern and confusion and the footsteps growing closer to him. He decides to go with sarcasm and humor, rather than the blunt truth. He’s already caused enough inconveniences today, and he knows this group well enough to know that they won’t somehow be offended by it.

    “Oh, you know. Just doing yoga. I don’t recommend falling asleep in the middle of a pose though…” Connor fails to cover a groan as he sits up. His legs have gotten a bit better, but his back and ankles certainly haven’t yet. “Yea, definitely not the best position to fall asleep in.”

    Markus offers a hand to lift him up to his feet, and Connor gladly takes it. “Why are you doing yoga in here of all places? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

    “I didn’t even know you did yoga,” Josh jumps in.

    Connor elects to ignore Markus’ question for the time being, “It’s always been a guilty pleasure of mine, and once my… Once the person who was taking care of me and Ritch figured out I was doing yoga in my spare time instead of doing extra studying, she didn’t actively try to stop me.” He starts leaning and twisting his torso in different directions to try to stretch his back, grimacing at how it pulls at some of the bandages and injuries on his torso. “She actually said that my flexibility and fluidity in fights complimented Ritch’s more rigid and solid form.”

    “Jesus,” Simon breathes out, “The way you and Ritch describe– Amanda was it?” Connor nods, “Makes it seem like she wasn’t your stepmother at all.”

    One would think that Connor would learn to think before replying.

    “That’s because she really wasn’t.” He finally straightens up for good, his back better, now. “I think she only adopted us because we said we wanted to become jaeger pilots when we grew up. Well, I did, anyway.” Connor adds that last part softly, massaging his left palm with his right thumb.

    “Wait,” Josh blurts, “You said her name was Amanda?”

    “Yes?” Why does Josh look like he’s found the missing last piece to a 500 part jigsaw puzzle?

    “Amanda, as in, Amanda Stern? Do you share her last name?”

    Seeing how everyone’s eyes light up confuses Connor even more. He’s definitely missing something here.

    “Yes? Have you met her before or know somebody else who has?”

    “Have we met her!?” North suddenly exclaims, “Are you kidding me!? Only a small group of people have met her, everyone else just knows of her and her work! She’s a fucking legend among the jaeger pilot and special forces trainers! She always trains the best fighters! No wonder you two are so far out of our league! Especially if you’ve been in her care for so long!”

    “I didn’t realise she was popular.”

    “She’s more than just popular. She’s downright famous within the jaeger and military community.” Simon corrects.

    “I’m actually shocked you didn’t know. Did you never question what those gatherings were, as you and Ritch call them?” Josh asks.

    “Uh, no? Asking particularly dumb questions usually meant more work the next day for us, so neither of us wanted to ask. We just knew that wealthy people came over for conversation and drinks and we had to stay out of the way unless sought out and spoken to.”

    Markus seems to snap out of his silent contemplation then. “More work for asking dumb questions. A life wearing nothing but uniforms and sleepwear, little to no toys and electronics growing up despite her having the funds for more than enough. That mixed with how you guys are pretty much soldiers already and claim to have learned most of it on your own… She does not sound like someone who deserves the high praise she gets. It all sounds questionable at best.”

    “I mean… I guess? But she was only trying to get us used to following orders and stuff so we wouldn’t get in trouble here.” Right? “I don’t think she wasn’t a bad person? She just liked having things a certain way and was very determined to get it that way. We just weren’t good enough pilots for her in the beginning, is all. She was very nice and pleasant to us when we did something right, and always was to other people, too.”

    Whatever Markus is thinking, Simon catches on too. Maybe they have the telepathy thing that Connor and Ritch have, too. “Were you and Ritch holding back this morning?”

    Connor doesn’t know where this is going, but he doesn’t like it.

    “What do you mean? We were told to go all out so we could be evaluated properly.”

    “That’s what you were told to do,” Markus puts a kind hand on his shoulder. It’s oddly and undeniably comforting. “But did you actually?”

    “No. We held back.” Ritch’s voice says from the doorway, having just popped in, “We had to be at least a little more gentle than usual because we were on those thin mats, and not mud or thicker foam like we’re used to. But after seeing everyone else’s skill levels this morning, we decided it would be best to blend in and hold back more.”

    “What happened to keeping that hidden? What if Luther and Chloe find out?” Connor steps towards his brother, causing Markus’ hand to fall from his shoulder.

    “I see no reason to hide that from this group in particular.” Ritch remains as stoic and unbothered as always. “They’ve proven themselves to be trustworthy, and at least two of them had already figured it out. It’d be more effort to try to continue hiding it from them.” Connor goes to retort, but Ritch continues, “Why are you getting upset? I thought you wanted to come clean?”

    Connor has to curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw to keep the angered words and growls from leaving his mouth. It doesn’t help in the slightest that he never got to properly calm down from the fight earlier. He just fell asleep on the floor.

    “What brings you here, Ritch?” he asks calmly, instead.

    He rolls his eyes– a thing he would have gotten smacked for if they were still under Amanda’s roof, Connor’s brain supplies. “Well, you kind of stormed out earlier.”

    “That generally means that person doesn’t want to be in the other’s presence anymore.”

    “Oh would you stop being a child for two seconds and come with me to eat dinner. You need to eat and we can finish talking then.”

    Connor sharply looks to the side. “I’ll be there in a few. Go ahead without me.” He continues as Ritch opens his mouth to say something, “And if you just stay here and wait for me I will purposely skip dinner and breakfast tomorrow. And you know I’ve lasted longer without food before and it won’t faze me.”

    “And you know it won’t faze me either.”

    “Won’t it?” Connor usually lasted just over three days without food before giving in during Amanda’s “survival evaluations”. Ritch only lasted one and a half on average.

    There’s a heavy, tense silence where Connor is painfully aware of the other four’s presence, and that they have no clue what to make of this or how to handle it. Thankfully, Ritch caves first with a sigh.

    “Fine then, but I don’t want you near Mr. Anderson.”

    Connor clenches his fists and law. “Good thing you’re not my guardian or superior then.”

    “He is, though. Your superior.”

    “And he hasn’t kicked me off of his table yet. And don’t even claim that he could be letting me stay just to be polite or whatever. We both know he isn’t like that.”

    Another silence, less tense and much shorter this time, though. Yet it’s broken by Ritch’s sigh once more.

    “Fine.” He snaps, shaking his head, “It’s your life, your downfall, your embarrassment, and your panic attack when he comes to dislike you.” He turns around and starts walking out of the room. He doesn’t pause as he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t come crying to me this time. This will be all your doing, and I am not your guardian.”

    “Wasn’t going to.” the other half calls back.

    Well that was a disaster. Well, not so much of a disaster as a wreckage of notable size. Here Connor was, thinking that it would be himself that would ruin his relationship with Markus, North, Josh, and Simon, but oh no. No, it was going to be Ritch that destroyed it in the end. That robotic asshat.

    Well, time to do some damage control.

    “I am so sorry you guys had to see that–”

    “Are you two like this all the time?” Josh interrupts.

    His question makes him freeze and stumble over his previous thought. Why would he care how he and Ritch act around one another?

    “Yes and no? I mean, when we’re not talking business, we’re either doing our own thing and leaving each other alone or training together, but our arguments don’t usually last this long. It’s usually solved one way or another by now.” Connor takes a deep breath, and finally relaxes his fists and stature, not realizing he was tense for a fight. He turns to the group that is now cautious, not unlike treading on eggshells, but not treating him as if he were delicate or unpredictable. More like unsteady, if he was forced to choose a word. “You guys know how siblings are, after all. This will pass.”

    No one says or indicates anything. Are siblings not usually like this?

    Markus takes a step forward. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but were you and Ritch pitted against each other often?”

    Connor almost considers leaving the room right then, making use of the out he was given. He’s been talking way too much today, anyway; he feels the way his throat is getting hoarse with how much he’s been using his voice. On top of that, he just doesn’t want to go into detail about their training. He doesn’t want their opinions of him or Ritch to change because of what they’ve done in the past. Although, if his twin didn’t feel like waiting until they were alone to continue their dispute, then why should Connor spare him of this?

    “I was under the impression that everyone fought against their partner in order to train. It helps both trainees’ styles to be either complementary to one another or near identical, and it helps them think in similar or complementary ways during battles, too. Did you guys not spar against each other regularly?”

    “There’s a difference between sparring against your partner and being pitted against them, Connor.” North responds this time, uncharacteristically subdued.

    “Well, yes, I suppose so…” There are so many regrets right now. After this, he’s just not going to talk anymore. It’s not worth it.

    Simon takes a slow step forward, watching his reaction, “Stop me if I’m going too far, but were you guys ever told to fight with the intentions to harm or subdue each other, rather than just to train? ‘Cause that is usually considered illeg–”

    –hand in his hair, boot digging into his back. He can’t breathe, he may as well be drowning on the mud he’s being pushed into–

    “No.” he says with a sharp shake of his head. Whether it’s an answer to Simon’s question or a reaction to his thoughts, not even Connor himself knows.

    –he takes the knife from his leg, wincing and hissing as it tears through–

    No.

    –loses his grip, causing him to be pinned again. He can’t move his arm. Why can’t he move his arm?–

    No, no no no no no–

    –it’s cold in summer..? Why is my vision so blurry? Wait, why am I alone now? No, wait! Don’t leave me! Please! I’ll do better! I promise I’ll do bet–

    “Connor?!”

    Connor finally snaps out of it with a small gasp, realizing that his vision really is getting blurry, but for a different reason. Crying is extremely disgraceful and impolite, especially in front of others. You have to be on your best behavior in front of people, and crying and curling up on the ground is not good behavior. He straightens up and forcibly relaxes his posture, using a single knuckle to wipe the threatening tears in the corners of his eyes. It’s now that he realizes he was beginning to hyperventilate. He needs a minute to be alone and calm himself, but he doesn’t want to be left alone. He really doesn’t want to be left alone–

    Ah, but he isn’t alone right now and they won’t be leaving him, he can distantly hear them telling him that right now. Maybe there’s a chance they won’t completely avoid him in the near future. Although, for now, he needs to be fine, and his small group of allies certainly don’t see him as fine right now. He needs to calm down. He’s making a fool of himself in front of them. He needs to reassure them that he’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll definitely be fine–

    “Connor, I’m so sorry.”

    “No, it wasn’t your fault. I apologize for the way I reacted just then.” Manners are key, especially when forced to cut a conversation short. He bows his head with practiced grace, “And to answer your question, no, we weren’t ever told to fight each other with such an intent. Honestly. It– ah– we weren’t technically against each other…” He looks up at the clock on the wall; it’s nearly dinner time. “Ah, you guys came in here earlier for a reason and I just keep getting in the way. My apologies.” Markus opens his mouth to speak, but Connor doesn’t give him time. “Thank you for keeping me company, though.”

    “Connor, I’m sorry for asking–”

    No no no. Can’t think of that. Don’t think. It never happened. It was just a bad dream. Just think of it as a bad dream. Ritch said it would help. Amanda may lie, but Ritch doesn’t. Does he?

    “No no, you’re quite alright. You didn’t know, it wasn’t your fault. It’s natural for people to be curious, and it really wasn’t that bad. I simply have a habit of over reacting to things.” Connor tries to make his following laugh sound genuine, but falls short. “Well, I should go now. Dinner will be starting soon and you still have business to attend to. I’ll see you guys later if you’re interested.”

    Connor finally manages to shuffle out of the room, but he never makes it to dinner that night, even if he told Ritch he would. Despite what he just claimed, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk to them again. People hate when others are large burdens, and that’s exactly what he’s becoming for them. He thought he could be better with fresh, new faces, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. It’s not how it works. It won’t ever be how it works, so it’s better to just leave them alone and let them have peace.

    Ritch was right. He probably needs to start leaving Mr. Anderson alone. He understands now. Maybe he can still sit there to be alone? But why would he stay here at the base just to be alone? If he can’t even handle getting casual friends, how will he ever find a partner? And Connor’s replaceable in a way the ex-pilot is not, so they would not be nearly as patient with him.

    Does that mean he needs to quit after all? What could he even do if not this? What would Ritch do? Connor’s the reason he’s even here in the first place. He’s the reason Ritch will be stuck in a life style he never particularly wanted growing up. Why can’t Connor ever do anything right? Everyone is right, he’s too naive, too childish, too quick to get too deep into things. It needs to stop. He’ll pack his things tomorrow and tell the instructors about all of this and he’ll be gone by tomorrow evening or the next morning, whenever Ritch isn’t around. If Ritch finds out he’ll definitely blame Connor and make him stay with him as payback or something. Connor can’t stay, though. He’s useless.

    His room’s door opens with a creek, causing Connor to instinctively curl into himself, but he forces himself to relax and slow his breathing. If Ritch thinks he’s asleep when he gets back, he’ll leave him alone. With every footstep, adrenaline rushes through Connor. He’s distantly aware that he’s being like this because he’s afraid Ritch is going to pop out of nowhere and confront him, knowing he won’t have the energy to fight back now. They’ve been arguing all day and a good chunk of yesterday too, it’d only make sense for Ritch to try something like that.

    Instead of doing so, though, Connor simply changes into sleeping clothes and climbs into bed. The main light was never turned on, so the room has been coated in darkness from the start. After some time of resting, though, there’s the creak of the door, then a click accompanied by a soft, yellow light flooding the room. It stays on for a long while before Connor hears Ritch shifting around again. This time, the other twin climbs out of the lower bunk and sounds like he’s about to put on his real clothes again, but pauses in the process.

    “Connor.” The man in question can hear the stern frown in Ritch’s voice. He uses all of his self control to not stiffen because of it, but it apparently wasn’t good enough. “Connor, I know you’re up. Why didn’t you eat?” that same stern frown is likely still on his face.

    Connor doesn’t move, hoping that if he keeps up the act and ignores his racing heart, Ritch will convince himself that he was just seeing things. He knows it’s not a realistic thing to hope for, but still.

    “Connor, even if you weren’t up before, I know you would be by now. Why weren’t you in the food court? The others were.”

    No response. He remembers what he said before in the training room, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone anymore. It just makes things worse. Besides, his throat is still a bit scratchy.

    “Fine. Be a child. I don’t care. I’m not putting up with this shit anymore.”

    No, wait, please don’t leave. I take it back, I’ll get better at talking so I can do it without messing up, like you can. I’ll teach myself how to respond better so I don’t have to worry about making things worse anymore. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want anyone to hate me. I don’t want to be alone again. Please–

    “Connor?” Soft footsteps creep closer. “Are you crying?” If Connor didn’t know better, he’d almost say that Ritch sounded concerned.

    Before responding, he takes a shaky breath so he can speak without too many tremors in his voice. “I’m not crying.” Another, shorter breath. “It’s impolite and childish, especially in front of people.” The next breath is shakier, and definitely a give away that he’s slowly failing his attempt at not crying. “I’m fine. You need rest.”

    “Connor–”

    “You’re not my guardian. You don’t need to babysit me. Just let me self destruct like you said you would. It’s not even anything serious. Goodnight.” Just because his sleep schedule is going to be completely ruined, doesn’t mean Ritch’s has to be as well.

    “Connor…”

    He doesn’t respond.

    There’s a shuffle of Ritch sitting down on the bed as he asks, “Did they ask more questions?”

    “Yes, but you were there for them.” Maybe he’ll let him go to sleep if he plays along.

    “Was that the only thing they asked?”

    Connor sighs, annoyed. “Yes.”

    “What did they ask?”

    Connor finally makes himself sit up. “Ritch, I just said–”

    “Connor.” If a tone of voice could paralyze, Connor wouldn’t even be able to blink.

    He sighs again, this time in defeat. “If I tell you, would you let me sleep?”

    “Depends on if what I’m told and if it’s a lie or not.”

    Connor hesitates.

    “...if I promise to tell the truth, will you leave me alone?”

    “Depends on what the truth is.”

    “Then no.”

    Ritch jumps up from where he sat on his lower bunk. “Connor! I swear to god–”

    “They brought it up, okay? God, are you happy now?”

    “Brought what up, Connor? Use your words–”

    “It.” he snarls, “They asked a question that made me think of when it happened. And I know you aren’t as affected by it as I am, but I can’t handle anything like you can. I just can’t...” Connor finally lets himself fall back down on his bed in a desperate attempt to hide the silent tears that are finally falling.

    This time, Ritch is the one that doesn’t have a response. Good. Let him think about when it happened. Let him suffer just like Connor was trying to avoid because he’s a nosy prick.

    Ritch heaves a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I can talk to them about it tomorrow, try to calm them down. They’re probably very worried about you or both of us now.”

   Connor grunts. They probably should be worried, but he knows that leaving things as they are now would only make things worse for himself in the long run.

   “Connor.” Another grunt. “Please try to eat something tomorrow. I’ll talk to Luther to see if you can take tomorrow off. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

    “I’m not a child anymore.” he grumbles.

    “No, you’re not.” he agrees softly.

    Another grunt, this time followed by a heavy sigh. He won’t be getting that break. Even if he did get it, the chances of him being put in the danger zone of being sent home are more likely than most of the other trainees. If he can’t even handle being here for two days without becoming so completely and utterly useless, then what business does he have trying to be a fully-fledged pilot? None, that’s the answer.

    He is distantly aware that Ritch has started trying to talk to him again, but Connor really just wants to go to sleep and forget about today, and so he does. He assumes his twin goes to bed soon after he did, though, because when he tries to wake Connor up for breakfast the next morning, he appears to be well rested. No obvious dark circles or bags under his eyes, no sluggish movements, his eyes clear. That’s good. Ritch will do just fine here. He knows how to talk like a normal human being and responds to others well. He’ll definitely find a new partner in no time.

    Ritch walks out the door. Connor almost tries to get up to get ready for class, then figures that if he’s actually going to quit soon, then he may as well just stay put. Therefore, he’s still in bed by the time breakfast ends and the first class begins. No one tries to come get him. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting. He tries to convince himself that it’s just because Ritch told everyone that he needs a day off, but, if anything, that makes the sting in his chest worse for some reason.

    He’ll try going in after lunch, after he’s had some time to settle down a bit.

    After deciding on that, he goes to his dresser drawer and pulls out the small bottle of strong sleeping essential oil that Ritch and Amanda have no clue he has, let alone needs often enough for it to maybe be unhealthy. Here, he has it stuffed in the back of his dresser-locker under some clothes. He rubs a bit of it onto his foot then pulls a sock on because he doesn’t want that horrendous smell getting all over his sheets. His head doesn’t even quite make it onto the pillow properly before he’s out like a light.

    Sleeping means no thinking, and no thinking means no stressing, after all, and that oil does a damn good job at knocking people out.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <~> Masterlist <~> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait! I promise future updates won’t take this long! I’m just in the middle of a move and  life kinda bitch slapped me outta no where there for a hot minute, but I think things are going better now. The next update probably won’t be as soon as I want it to be, but y’all won’t have to wait four months again Lol. Thank you to anyone who stuck around this long, despite me being new Heheh 😄 Thank you for reading and I hoped y’all didn’t hate it!! I absolutely promise that next chapter will be filled with lots of comfort and fluff!! 😄💖💕

[diinofayce]

Shadows on the Horizon - 4

Pairing: Winter Soldier! Bucky Barnes x OFC! Layne Hardin | Word Count: 2,666 (I’m very amused that I ended on that) | Warnings: Language, ANGST, Layne falls off the wagon | A/N: I believe everyone needs to fall down once to pick themselves back up stronger. This is a sequel to my story Like A Whisper in the Night. | Shadows on the Horizon Masterlist

“Fuck,” Layne murmured.

“Friday! Any read on him?” Tony’s voice came billowing out from the other side of the floor as he landed in full Iron Man suit.

“It seems like he’s heading towards the living quarters, boss.”

“Shit!” Steve swore harshly and turned on his heel to bound up the stairs.

Layne’s hopes rose, she would be first to admit that she thought maybe, just maybe Bucky broke through and he was just going back to their room to take one of his scalding hot showers. The kind that made Layne feel the like the flesh was going to sear from her bones. And go to bed. It’s been a long day for all of them, bed with Bucky sounded so fucking amazing.

Layne rushed off after Steve, she knew she would never beat him up there but she would be hot on his heels.

They found Bucky in his and Layne’s room, Steve blocked the doorway with his broad frame which caused Layne to try and squeeze in under his arm, but he jutted his hip to the side and cut her off.

“Bucky?” Steve asked hesitantly to the man who had his back turned to them as he stared out the window overlooking New York.

He turned slowly and Layne stopped fighting to get under Steve’s arm. It was still the Soldier, his eyes as cold and expressionless as ever, the only read she could get on him was the confusion that tugged at his eyebrows.

“You always call me that,” the Soldier acknowledges and Steve softens slightly. Layne digs her nails into his elbow to keep him on alert, now was not the time to go soft, no matter how bad they wanted too.

“That’s your name,” Steve presses.

“That’s his name.”

Steve and the Soldier stare at each other for a moment, assessing one another, trying to get a read on the other’s next move. But they were too alike, trained by different people to fight in the same manner.

Layne finally managed to push herself in front of Steve. “Then tell us yours.”

The Soldier eyed Layne up and down, his gaze pausing on the handprint bruise that spanned her throat. It was already a deep purple with green around the edges, if he had squeezed any harder that would have been it, he would have crushed her throat. They both knew it, but she was ignoring it, looking past it like it was something completely trivial, like her brainwashed boyfriend didn’t almost squeeze the life out of her with his bare hand.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he responded stoically, turning to look back out the window.

He wasn’t dropping his guard, not by any means. He knew that Susanna and Sam had been portalled into the hallway in case everything went to shit. He knew that Stark hovered below the window line, the soft sound of his boosters giving his position away. He knew that Thor stood on the roof, waiting to give chase if necessary. He was surrounded in enemy territory, but he’s been in worse situations.

“In our room, James?” Layne asked, cocking an eyebrow and moving herself slowly to the side entering the room further.

“That’s not my -” he started, his voice still cold and monotone.

“I know it’s not. But you don’t have one, they only ever called you Soldat or Asset, and that’s not right. It’s not fair.” Layne was trying to put herself between him and the far wall. The wall that with one press of Bucky’s flesh hand would open and reveal the hidden arsenal of weapons. A literal smorgasbord of guns and knives and grenades. She didn’t know if he knew they were there, some deep-rooted muscle memory having brought him here to begin with, but she couldn’t take the chance of him getting into it.

The soldier ground his teeth together, not looking at her, not looking past her to the wall, just a steady beaded gaze out the window over the Manhattan skyline.

“I’ve seen you,” Layne continued softly, motioning for Steve to back off because she was sure his intense stance was only putting the Soldier more and more on the defensive. “I have. On the nights the nightmares are so bad and I wipe away Bucky’s tears, I can see you. I see you in his eyes and I know you saw me last night when they woke you up. Before they hurt you again. I know you saw me.”

“I am not him.” He gritted out once more.

“Yes you are and he’s you.”

“You’re just going to lock me away again.”

“What if we don’t have to?”

“Layne,” Steve hissed, a threatening edge to his tone.

The soldier finally turned to look at her. To actually take stock of the small woman in front of him, with her slim shoulders and narrow hips, limbs long and frail like a bird’s. Her chocolate waves were streaked with auburn highlights that caught like fire in the morning sun and were frizzing out of a poorly kept ponytail that sat high on the back of her head. His icy stare landed again on the bruise he placed on her throat, the blotchy purple standing out grotesquely on her creamy flesh and somewhere deep down inside of himself he felt a searing hatred for himself for doing that to her.

“You are James Buchanan Barnes and I love you. I love you so much that I will do everything I can possibly think of to make your two halves work as one if that’s what it takes. No one is going to lock you away, no one is going to put you in the dark. If I had known that was what was they had chosen as a solution, I promise you, I would have offered to find a different way sooner,” Layne swore vehemently. And she could see it in his eyes, the icy blue cold precision of what he had been trained to be, and the warm intuition and insight of the man Layne loved. Because as much as Bucky needed to hear that he wasn’t the Soldier, the Soldier needed to hear that he was Bucky, or at least someone.

The soldier closed his eyes and took a deep-drawn breath. It was the first break in composure any of them had really seen from him. He swallowed heavily, his Adam's Apple bobbing in his throat.

“You need to leave,” he said with finality, his voice coming out harsh and raspy like crunching gravel. The warmth that had been there for just a quick flash was gone from his eyes and Layne scoffed in disbelief, her jaw falling open and her hands falling to her sides.

“Well. No. You can’t just be here on your own. Like you said, you aren’t him. Only he gets to stay here,” Layne argued.

“I can stay. Being in here is probably better for him than the container,” Steve piped up and Layne shot him a venomous glare.

The soldier turned and eyed Steve up and down before nodding. “That’s fine, but she needs to go.”

Layne ran her tongue along the front of her top teeth, sucking on them harshly as she tried to bite back the hot sting of tears and rejection.

“Fine!” she finally snapped. Slamming into their shared bathroom she grabbed her overnight bag and then her guitar off the wall of their living room. “Fucking fine. Kick me out of my own goddamn motherfucking apartment. FRIDAY! Wipe all of Sergeant Barnes’ passcodes and prints from all of the safes!”

“Done, Agent Hardin,” came the AI’s reply.

With one last glare at Steve and the thing that was invading the body of the man she loved she turned like a hurricane and stormed from the apartment. Steve had to practically jump out of her way; Loki and Susanna still stood in the hallway, all three watching Layne warily like she was about to break or rabbit from the tower completely. Angry at Hydra, angry at the world, and angry at herself and her inability to keep her boyfriend safe she ducked her head against their stares and pressed her thumb into the handle of the door directly across the hall. It clicked, the little light flashing green before she threw it open and slammed it closed in everyone’s faces behind her.

It must have been Susanna that kept them from going after her because if anyone would know when to leave Layne alone it was Sue and if anyone could stop a bunch of overbearing superheroes that cared too much it was Sue. Susanna had been there through most of the rough patches in Layne’s life. First when Danny disappeared, and then with the ex-boyfriend, and again when everything with The Avengers and Bucky had gone to shit for a while. That wasn’t counting all the little times in between, the not-so-major life events that Layne might not have come out as unscathed as she had if Susanna Sweet had not been by her side. But Susanna was also very skilled at knowing when to give Layne space.

It was not a crowning moment of maturity and it certainly wasn’t the best way to handle the situation at hand. But she didn’t want to see their looks of pity any more than she wanted to deal with the cold, hallow, emptiness that sat like a heavy pit in her stomach. She looked around her old room, the one she hadn’t even moved back into since she left to go on tour a year back when she needed a break to sort herself out. As soon as she came crawling home she had moved into Bucky’s larger apartment. He hadn’t even thought for a moment about taking her back, it was instantaneous, all slights already forgiven on both sides.

Tony still had cleaners for all the empty rooms, so they didn’t go stale, so there wasn’t any lingering dust on the furniture. The furniture that he had let her pick out on her arrival, her old bright orange down comforter looked like it had washed recently, the bedding crisp and clean. Hooks for her guitars still hung on the wall, she wishes she knew that before she ordered new ones off of Amazon. Hanging her cherry red Paul Reed Smith from the bracket in the hall she caught a look of herself in the mirror and was startled to see that she was crying.

Dropping her bag at her feet she swiped harshly at her face and sniffled softly because now that she was aware she was crying she was finding it hard to stop. She observed herself in the mirror, the face-framing of her brown hair pulled free from its hair tie and sticking to her damp cheeks which were flushed pink with anger and pain. She had dried pine sap crusted to the shoulders, back, and ass of her uniform from sitting in that goddamn tree and she was sure if she reached up to check it was probably matted in her hair too. She could see why everyone kept staring at her neck, it looked bad, hurt like hell - but not as much as her heart. She didn’t heal as fast as the boys, already the super fiscal cuts and the burns from the chair had already healed on Bucky, she’d have this bruise for at least a week.

What she hadn’t noticed, until now, was the amount of blood that was crusted to her from after she returned to her body to rush into the compound with Thor in her attempt to save Bucky. Too late, she had been too late. Maybe if they could have gotten to him before they stuck him in the chair? No. He was just as dangerous after the words and before the chair. The important thing was that they had killed all the Hydra operatives before anyone had given the Winter Soldier a mission. She had killed Hydra operatives. Tackled the scientist at the switch and pressed a pistol between his eyes and fired. That was probably why Bucky was being so compliant, everyone who was supposed to be giving him orders was dead. But she was still too late. She should have just sent Thor in, lightning flying, stealth be damned. Maybe they wouldn’t have had time to finish the words, could he be half activated?

Screaming once more in anger and frustration she ripped the mirror from the wall and threw it across the room where it shattered, silver glass tinkling sadly to the floor. Grabbing her go bag she stomped into the bathroom. She had done that too much in this room, shatter mirrors while trying to repair her shattered heart. The only difference was you could always buy a new mirror.

Stripping off her combat suit, she started the shower and immediately stepped in. Bucky needed his showers scalding hot, all the time, the heat that flayed the skin from your bones if you weren’t careful. But she understood that lived with that, after decades of being stuck in cryofreeze there was no way she could ever expect him to take one of her showers. Layne needed the water like ice when she got like this. It made it so she could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest, could feel the air ripping through her lungs as she raggedly gasped for breath. The water pelted onto her bare back, finding cuts she didn’t know she had, numbing bruises she knew she did while leaning forward - arms outstretched in front of her - holding her body up with the wall.

It was there she let herself fall apart and break. Crumbling disastrously as she clawed fruitlessly at the tiles until her nails, soft from the water, gave way and bled. She screamed at the shower wall, screamed at the gods, screamed at herself. This should have been different, she should have been better, she should have never come back. All she did was poison and hurt everything, she was in charge, her soldiers should have come home safe and in one piece. But now her soldier, the most important one of them all, was broken in two all over again. All because of her.

Layne turned the water off when her fingers stopped bleeding and started turning blue and she couldn’t get her teeth to stop chattering. Stepping out she realized there were no towels and numbly threw on what clean clothes were in go bag over her dripping form, the clothes instantly soaking and sticking to her skin. Layne stared at the toilet, wondering how thorough Tony’s cleaners were as she reached out with shaking hands and lifted the lid from the tank. Licking her lips with a feeling of regret and trepidation she reached in and pulled out a tied off plastic liquor store bag. Untying it she pulled out the 750 of Jack Daniels and set it down on the closed toilet lid. Slowly she sank down to the tile bathroom floor and pulled her knees to her chest, staring at the bottle of amber liquid that had been her fall back for so long.

It was like an affirmation, like it was okay, just this once. Because it was still here and accessible and no one was here to tell her no. There was no sponsor, no Bucky, no anything to tell her to just be strong. Before she could talk herself out of it she reached forward and snatched the bottle to her chest, ripping the plastic off and breaking the seal on the cap. She pressed her lips to the lip of the bottle and froze, blinking once at the tile wall of her bathroom, contemplating for a just a second about what she was doing, before tilting her head back and letting the amber liquid burn a path down her throat.

[thesamepictureofconnor]

Soon

((Yes, requests are coming up. I just started my sophomore year of college this week tho so cut me some slack bois. Here is some angsty, very self-indulgent Gavin/RK900 solely written for me to get some practice working with their whole dynamics. Forgive me if either are too out of character. I love you.))

Gavin had been having a shit day, but what else was new. He sat in the driver’s seat of his car, tapping his thumb against the wheel. It was pouring outside just as it had been since early in the morning. Next to him, Richard sat in the passenger seat staring forward out the window.

“The Wilson’s should be arriving back to their apartment before noon.” The android had his hands folded on his lap, just as robotic and annoying as usual.

“Yeah, I read the memo, Data. Do you think Picard would put up with your monotone ass?” Gavin leaned back, taking a sip of his coffee. For as much as he complained, Gavin was warming up to Richard, despite his best intentions. “When the assholes show up, I want you stay behind me. Got it?”

“They do not have a history of violence, detective.” Richard finally turned, LED turning yellow for a moment. “But, I will follow your lead on this.”

“Good to know deviancy hasn’t made you stupid, at least.” The detective groaned, leaning his head back. “Ughhh. Stakeouts suck ass. Boring as shit.”

“Normally, I’d argue your work ethic,” Richard turned back to the window. “But in this case, I agree. Stakeouts do ‘suck ass’.”

Fowler wasn’t worried about the Wilson case. It was cut and dry, really. The young couple were frequent criminals, both hooked on their own Red Ice supply. The department had been watching them for months, even prior to the android revolution. Now that they finally had enough evidence to make the arrest, though, they were so busy dealing with human protestors and other bastards all around Detroit, the case had been shoved aside to the nearest free desk.

, Gavin thought.

“You never buckle your seat belt when you drive,” the android said suddenly, without turning from his view. “Why is that?”

Gavin shot him a look and shrugged. “I don’t know? Where the fuck is this coming from all of a sudden?”

“Just a question. No real reason.” A moment of silence paused till Richard addressed the glare his partner was giving him. “Lieutenant Anderson suggested to me that you might appreciate what he called ‘small talk’. I thought I should try and be conversational since we are partners now.”

“Ugh, gross,” Gavin sighed. He needed to make a call to his fucking cousin and ask Elijah why the fuck he made androids so goddamn clueless. “Listen, one of the great things about having friends is that you don’t always have to fill your time together with conversation. So shove off. Kapche?”

Nines turned to face Gavin, his head tilted to the side. “We are... friends now?”

“Oh my god. Do

make this gay, dude” he groaned. Another quiet moment passed before he ran a hand over his face. “That’s them on the left, right?”

The Wilson’s looked like any other couple. Both were athletically built, Mrs. Wilson being a bit more bulky than her lean husband. Judging by their attire, they seemed to be coming back from a jog together. They were clearly in love, holding hands and smiling and shit. It was hard to believe just looking at them that they were wanted criminals.

“I just sent a message to the department that the subjects are in sight.” Richard’s led spun for a moment as Gavin opened the car door.

“Come on, let’s grab them-” He started to say, but was cut off by Richard grabbing his arm over the console.

“Wait till they enter the house,” Richard said, a sharp look in his icy blue eyes. “We risk civilian casualty if we engage out in the open, not to mention the risk of them escaping capture.”

“If they get into the house we’ll be in their territory,” Gavin argued back. “Plus we’d literally be giving them a chance to arm themselves, dipshit. We’re taking them now.”

“Think with your head, not your instinct, detective. They are clearly both fit individuals. If we attack them on the street, there is an 87% that they will over power us and a 93% chance that at least one of them will escape. It isn’t crowded on the street by any means, but our mission objective is ultimately to protect the people of Detroit, no? We stand only a 2% risk of any passerby being harmed if we wait.”

Despite having the same face as Connor the Puppy Dog Detective, Gavin had always thought Richard’s features always came across more jagged and strong. As the android stared him down, Gavin caught himself watching the way he gripped and ungripped his fist, the marks on his plastic lower lip from him biting them nervously, all the little bits of deviant humanity that had been leaking into his partner.

“Jesus Christ, fine.” Gavin closed the door and turned to watch the Wilson’s unlock the door to their home. “But don’t get used too used to being right all the time,

.”

They watched the cars pass by occasionally, splashing puddles onto the sidewalk. The detective made sure to keep his eyes on the windows, looking for the lights to come on. He gave in to his partner, waiting about for five minutes or so in front.

Once they were sure that it was clear, they ended up in front of the door. “Cover my back in case they try anything, Nines,” Gavin said, taking the lead. He grabbed the door knocker and waited for a response.

“Detroit Police,” he called when he could see they weren’t getting anywhere. “We have a warrant. Open up!”

A minute passed as well as three more calls from Gavin with no signs of movement from inside. In fact, the moment he’d said the word ‘police’ it was like everything suddenly died.

Richard put his hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “May I?”

“Guess we have no choice.” He stepped aside. “Just try not to get shot, asshole?”

He began to line himself up with the door. “You’re overwhelming concern is truly touching, but may I remind you that I am the plastic one? I can usually be repaired, but you are much more…”

“Weak?”

“No. More… Squishy.” Stupid jerk had a smirk on his face that made Gavin want to toss him into the door himself. Richard took a running start, smashing in the door with a quick lunge.

The inside of the house was barren, near empty. It was a stark scene compared to how average the house looked from the outside. All that filled the open first floor was a folding table, two chairs, the desolate kitchen, and terribly thin looking cat sleeping on a filthy paper bag.

“I detect two heat signatures upstairs,” Richard drew his baton. It was still illegal for androids to wield guns, but hopefully he wouldn’t need it.

“Alright, keep the cuffs ready and follow me.” Pulling out his weapon, Gavin climbed the stairs. They were creakier then they looked, waking the mangy calico and very likely alerting their suspects. “Ah, fuck.”

As soon as they reached the second floor, Richard pointed over his partner’s shoulder to a closed door. Gavin nodded, aiming his gun forward and waved on in compliance. It was getting to be scary how in-sync they were anymore.

“Adam and Rebecca Smith! Come out with your hands up!” Gavin beat his fist on the door harder. “Come on! Don’t make this harder than it needs to be!”

Suddenly, a large muscular man came barrelling through the door, tackling the detective to the ground and dealing a hard punch to his face. Gavin’s head hit the ground hard, definitely causing a concussion judging by the fuzz that over took his vision.

“Reed!” He heard Richard’s voice calling out as he struggled to stand back up. There were more sounds as the world stopped spinning. Once he was up again, Gavin caught sight of his partner dealing out another, harder blow, breaking Mr. Smith’s nose and knocking him out cold.

, Gavin groaned inwardly as he felt for the blood flowing down his face.

“Adam!” Mrs. Smith screamed as she burst into the hallway after her husband. She was a stocky, well built woman, a bit more muscular than even Mr. Smith, but she was no match for Cyberlife’s infamous ex-deviant hunter.

Gavin jumped off the floor, coming out of his haze and climbing on top of the unconscious Mr. Smith to cuff his wrists behind his back. He was still dizzy from the head wound on his forehead, but stitches would have to come later. Once the detective was happy with how secure the first suspect was, he looked up to see Richard manhandling a struggling Mrs. Smith against the wall.

“Please cooperate.” The android managed to get one cuff on but was having a hard time grabbing the other. The red headed woman was fighting something fierce. It almost made Gavin laugh to finally see his partner so frazzled.

Mrs. Smith landed a sharp nailed punch into Richard’s chest, though it barely moved him. “You bastard robots are the reason we’re here in the first place! If you hadn’t taken my husband’s job, we wouldn’t have to be selling this shit!”

“You have the right to remain silent, ma’am,” Nines said, finally grabbing her a bit better. “Anything you say can and will be held against you-”

Very suddenly, Gavin’s blood rain cold.

There was a loud

that filled the air. Richard freezed. Mrs. Smith jumped out the window onto the roof. The cat meowed on the staircase.

He should chase after the suspect. Gavin knew that perfectly well that he

be chasing after her, but once again, his brain was leading him to do something illogical.

“Richard?” The detective took his shoulders, just in time to get a good look at the gaping hole in the android’s neck before he collapsed to the ground.

The android was surprisingly light as Gavin caught him in his arms. Thirium filled the air and stained his clothes, but nothing could make the detective care about that now. Blue quickly began to soak the gross shag carpet as a static sound began to leak from Nine’s lips.

“Stay with me. Stay with me, okay?” Gavin tried to be careful, gentle, but the guy was taller than

he had thought. Hoisting him up was even harder, but there was no exit wound that he could see. It didn’t take a mechanic to know that time was of the essence. “Just stay with me, Nines. Hold on. I’ll have you there soon. Just hold on.”

He practically bolted down stairs, forgetting Mr. Smith on the floor, forgetting Mrs. Smith on the run, forgetting the cat escaping the house, forgetting the rain as he ran to the road.

“

” Richard tried to speak, but his voice was diluted with static. He cursed as he opened the backdoor of his vehicle, slowly laying Richard in and down.

“Don’t try

, you hear me?” Gavin practically dived into the driver’s seat, belting himself in quickly. “Don’t talk, don’t move, just- just

, Nines.”

The android made a noise Gavin didn’t want to interpret. Part of him wanted to floor the gas, punch on his sirens, and get to safety as soon as he could, but his heart was pounding and he knew if he panicked things could get only worse. So, he kept the ride smooth and steady, unlike how he was currently feeling.

“I’m taking you home” He made a particularly stunning turn that at a better moment he’d want recorded. “Connor can fix you right? I’ll take you to Anderson’s and he’ll fix you. You’re gonna be okay. I promise. You’ll be fine. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“

Gavin felt sick to his stomach, like he was going to be the one vomiting blood next. In his mirror he could see vibrant blue soaking everything like a crime scene. Richard’s eyes were barely open, LED flickering on and off while constantly red. “

“Don’t be scared,” he said. Any sense that Gavin took from the noise he blamed on adrenaline. The genuine tone he took, however, had no explainable cause. “We’re gonna be fine. Everything is gonna be fine, Nines. I’m taking you home. You’re going home, I swear.

.”

A van pulled out in front of him at an intersection, nearly causing a crash. Again, if his partner wasn’t bleeding out behind him, Gavin knew he’d be way more pissed. He’d jump out of the car, gun in hand. He’d slam the driver in the gut. There would be a scene, police would be called, he’d get a warning to watch his temper. But Nines was dying and it was his fucking fault, so none of that happened. Gavin flipped the lady the bird and pressed on.

It took a crushing five more minutes to get to Hank’s place. As soon as Gavin pulled up to the sidewalk, he jumped out and pulled Richard out again.

“

He was screaming, even if he could hardly hear himself over how loud his chest was.

Gave made a mental note never to joke about Hank being deaf ever again, because he was outside with in seconds. A massive dog followed close behind, hair raised and on the alert.

“Gavin what the fuck do you-

He only ever seen the lieutenant run once or twice, but never as fast as then. Hank made a move to take Richard from Gavin or perhaps to just help carry him in, but Gavin automatically found himself pulling his partner closer to himself.

“He needs help. You have to-” Gavin had to swallow down a lump in his throat. Just as before, he had to blame the hand that snaked itself into Richard’s hair on the adrenaline. What else could it be? “He’s been shot. In the neck. I-I didn’t know where else to take him. Connor can help him. Please tell me Connor can fucking help him.”

“Slow down, okay, kid? Take it easy, now.” Hank raised his hands in defense. “Jesus fuckin- Bring him in the house. Connor’s not here, but I can call him over. Just calm down, Reed.”

He did not calm down. Gavin couldn’t calm down even when he was laying Richard down on Hank’s couch, trying to arrange too long limbs to fit more comfortably. He heard Hank rush over to a phone and shout into it. The dog waddled in last, apparently contented that his home wasn’t being attacked.

“Okay.” The lieutenant took a deep breath after hanging up the phone. “Okay, Connor’s on his way home.

Gavin, you’d better tell me what’s happening before I lose my shit for real.”

He seated himself on the coffee table, letting out a weak sigh of released tension. “We-We were on a stakeout. The Wilson case?” Gavin waited for Hank to nod in understanding. He had placed himself on the coffee table, eyes fixed on Richard. “Fowler sent us to make the arrest. We were cuffing them but the she- she grabbed a gun. I-I didn’t know it was there. I didn’t think-”

“It’s okay, Reed. I get it.” Hank ran a hand threw his loose gray hair with a deep breath. “Christ almighty. This just happened, right? Did you call Jeffery? Fuck, don’t answer that. I’m gonna call Fowler and make sure they take care of everything. Don’t worry about it.” He pulled his cell phone out again and quickly began to dial. “Connor ran out to meet with Markus, but he said he’d be here in a few minutes. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Hank ran outside into the yard to call the department, leaving Gavin alone with his partner.

In the silence, he was suddenly very aware that of how much he was shaking, of how cold he was, of how fast his heart was racing. He had a strange urge to just

as he looked down at Richard’s blue bloodied face. Fingers buried in his hair, the detective grimaced, reminded of his own battle wounds.

“

Richard began suddenly itching, eyes closed.

“Yeah, Nines,” he said softly as he cradled his own head. “Connor on his way. You’re gonna make it. I promise.”

Before Gavin could respond, Hank burst back through the door with Connor right behind him. The other android went quickly to his brother’s side, carefully moving his head to the side to examine the wound.

“Hank, I need you to go heat up one of the kitchen knives. Quickly. He’s lost too much thirium.” Connor was wearing a white dress shirt and khaki pants, clearly having come from some kind of formal Jericho meeting. Still, he didn’t seem to care about getting his sleeves soaked as he turned to force Gavin’s head down.

“And keep an eye on Detective Reed,” Connor added as he moved back. “He doesn’t appear to have any internal bleeding, but his concussion is quite severe.”

He made a face of annoyance. “Fuck you. ‘M fine.”

“Oh yeah, jerk. You’re just peachy.” Hank appeared behind the couch, handing Connor a red hot chef’s knife. “You won’t be any good for him with your head like that.”

“M’ fine,” was all he could repeat. Hearing the actual words took something out of him, deflating like a balloon. His head hurt more than he had realized now that his panic was fading down a bit. Hands were trying to move him off of the table oh so gently, murmurs passing around the air about ‘shock’ and ‘stress levels’.

Gavin didn’t want to go and he didn’t think it was the adrenaline this time. He had

. He’d promised Richard would be alright. Sure, bastard was a robot, but he had

that promise. No matter what asshole face Gavin normally kept up, he was too tired and delirious to care.

“You called Fowler, right?” He turned a little too fast, forcing Hank to catch him before he fell onto the tabletop.

“So

is the time you chose to worry about work, eh?” The lieutenant actually had the balls to laugh as he pulled Gavin up to stand. “I let the bastard know what happened. He sent some officers down to cover the scene and look for the asshole that did this to you guys. You both have tomorrow off, obviously.”

Connor took the seat he’d left immediately, assumably to cauterise Richard’s neck wound closed. Deviancy had made Connor into a new animal, much like all the others, but in that second Gavin couldn’t help but notice how much of a difference there was between the two models in the room. It was in the way Connor blinked rapidly when he was thinking hard, how his hand flinched a bit when he heard the sizzle on plastic, things that made androids human.

Maybe someday, when neither of them are bleeding out on Anderson’s fucking carpet, he can finally admit that his partner was a bit more human and a bit more than a partner.

...

RK900 MANUAL SHUTDOWN INITIATED

INITIATION: 2% LOADING

SAVING MEMORY LOGS

…

DESIGNATION CHANGE

GAVIN REED: PARTNER

…

...

...

GAVIN REED: FRIEND

...

SHUTTING DOWN

[wbwest]

New Post has been published on WilliamBruceWest.com

New Post has been published on http://www.williambrucewest.com/2017/07/07/west-week-ever-pop-culture-review-7717/

West Week Ever: Pop Culture In Review - 7/7/17

I took last week off, but I hope y’all had a great 4th of July weekend. Life’s still kinda kicking my ass, so this’ll be an abridged edition this week.

I finally got around to watching a movie! It’s been on my list since I first heard it was in pre-production, and I’m amazed it took me this long to watch it, considering my love for the source material. The Founder stars Michael Keaton as Ray Kroc, the “founder” of McDonald’s who really just stole the concept from the McDonald Brothers. A down-on-his-luck shake machine salesman, Kroc happens upon the fledgling McDonald’s restaurant in Southern California. Knowing a good thing when he saw it, he pretty much insisted on becoming a part of the operation, mainly focused on franchising the business. And that’s when things get interesting. I LOVE McDonald’s. You can hate me all you want, but like Jim Gaffigan says, “Everyone has their own McDonald’s”. Mine just happens to be the actual company. I don’t know enough about the history of the company to know how factual an account the movie was, but it was sure damn entertaining. Keaton is amazing in it, and I feel like anyone would enjoy the movie even if they think they don’t give a rat’s ass about McDonald’s as a company. I highly recommend this film.

We finally got our first trailer for Marvel’s Inhumans, and now I realize why they were so hesitant to release it. MY GOD THIS LOOKS TERRIBLE! It looks like Into The Badlands – a show that I hate because people fawn over it when it looks like something that would’ve aired after Xena on Saturday afternoons 20 year ago. Yeah, I even told one of the Badlands creators that when he confronted me over my “appraisal” on Twitter. Badlands is a bad show, but it gets “diversity points”, so folks give it a pass. This show doesn’t even get diversity right, so it’s really just a shitshow in the making. I hate hate HATE that this is considered an official part of the MCU, even if it’s just a part of the never-referenced TV wing. Anyway, this trainwreck debuts in IMAX on September 1st, but will officially air on ABC beginning September 22nd.

Speaking of diversity points, CBS lost all of theirs when they let the Asians go from Hawaii Five-O last weekend. Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park both left the show after salary negotiations broke down as they requested pay equal to their costars. I’ve never seen more than 15 minutes of that show, but I know the dude from Lost seemed pretty important to things. He was basically the White guys’ interpreter to all things native. CBS has claimed that they offered them sizable increases, which weren’t deemed acceptable to Park and Kim. Now the Five-O showrunner, Peter Lenkov, is now joining the side of the network, saying that CBS made “generous offers” to the stars, yet they decided not to renew their contracts.

This has turned into a discussion of race in Hollywood and how things still aren’t equal across the board. I’m a big fan of billing. Billing is important, and should go to the most well-known star. It’s the reason all the ’89 Batman posters say “Jack Nicholson” first. Dude was a bigger star. Now, I didn’t watch Lost and I didn’t watch Battlestar Galactica, but I still recognize Kim and Park from those shows. Maybe it’s just because I’m a geek and folks were always talking about those shows. The show’s star, Alex O’Loughlin? I can’t name a thing he’s been in. Don’t know that dude from Adam. And the other lead? James Caan’s kid? Whatever. Y’all mean you couldn’t pony up the cash to keep Lost Dude and Battlestar Girl? We’re not talking about big names here so, unless there was a favored nations clause where O’Loughlin would have to get a raise if they got raises, thereby thwarting the whole “equality” thing, I don’t see what the problem was. As has been pointed out, all O’Loughlin and Caan had to do was stand in solidarity with their costars and this would’ve been a non-issue. Word on the street it O’Loughlin is quitting at the end of the season anyway, so it’s not like we’re talking another 5 years here. He couldn’t keep his ego in check for a season? Nah, for too many folks, as long as they’ve got theirs, they don’t care if you’ve got yours.

We also got a trailer for Pitch Perfect 3, forcing me to reiterate that NOT EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE A TRILOGY. I know everyone involved likes money, but sometimes there are natural, built-in ends to things. That thing was a 2-movie franchise and that’s it. Don’t forget – I lived that life. I was in the same competition the Bellas won in the first film (we came in 2nd), and I experienced the aca-graduation blues that the girls experienced in the second film. That’s pretty much it. There’s nowhere else to go. I mean, sure there are some random outlier outcomes. One of my groupmates is a hit producer in Asia now. Another is a pretty big pop star in Hong Kong. The rest of us? Dead-end jobs and bills. I used to occasionally do karaoke, but even that got to be too depressing. That shit is fun while it lasts, and then you’ve got to move on. So, in that vein, I can understand the plot of the 3rd movie, with the girls wanting to have one last hurrah, but I don’t really understand the concept of putting them on a USO tour. Is that something the troops wanna see? Has Pentatonix been dropped into the theater of war? It just seems kinda farfetched to me, and I was fine with how things were left in the last movie. Sure, I’ll see it, but it won’t be in a theater.

Things You Might Have Missed This Week

Hide grandma’s wallet – QVC is buying out Home Shopping Network.

After 3 seasons, The Carmichael Show has been canceled by NBC. I really wish someone else would snatch it up, as it’s a smart show

Netflix has renewed Dear, White People for a 2nd season. Meanwhile, they canceled Girlboss after one season. Reed Hastings giveth and he taketh away.

Speaking of Netflix, hearing the cries of fans, Sense8 will officially conclude with a 2-hour finale special

Netflix also renewed one of my favorite original shows, F is For Family, for a 3rd season.

Apparently a series based on the popular Step Up film series, called Step Up: High Water, will premiere on YouTube Red, where absolutely NOBODY is gonna watch it.

Fuller House season 3 will coincidentally premiere on the 30th anniversary of Full House, September 22nd.

Make your vacations weird again, as Cirque du Soleil has purchased Blue Man Group.

Patton Oswalt is engaged to 80s actress Meredith Salenger. Ya know, the same Patton whose wife died last year. I guess we all grieve in our own ways…

Lack of interest brought down The House, which bombed at the box office last weekend. It was reportedly Will Ferrell’s lowest live-action opening for a major studio.

Nick Fury will reportedly be making his MCU return in 2019’s Captain Marvel

HBO is reportedly getting the True Detective band back together, with a 3rd season to star Mahershala Ali

Nixing speculation that she was still up for the White House Press Secretary job, Kimberly Guilfoyle has reupped her contract with Fox News

Rob Lowe and his sons will chase the supernatural in The Lowe Files, and I literally cannot wait.

New game show, Snap Decision, premieres August 7th. Hosted by David Allen Grier, the show breaks precedent because it will debut on GSN and in syndication on the same date.

The world’s leading (and only) bar scientist favorited my tweet this week

We’re gonna do something different here this week. Usually, if you’ve been paying attention to the week’s news, you can at least try to figure out who or what had the best week. Some weeks it’s harder to choose something than others. Then I remembered, “Will, this is YOUR site.” After all, this is all pop culture through my lens, so it’s my rules. So, sometimes I might choose something that meant a lot to me that week, while you were none the wiser. But I bring it up on the site so that we’re all on the same page. And that’s the kind of pick I have this week.

After watching The Founder, I was left thinking, “Michael Keaton is a goddamn national treasure”. After watching Spider-Man: Homecoming last night (yeah, we’ll talk about it next week, when more of y’all have had a chance to see it), I was thinking “Why have we been sleeping on Keaton the past 20 years?” I mean, with the exception of The Other Guys, I honestly hadn’t seen a Michael Keaton movie since probably Batman Returns, and yet Birdman is the one considered his “comeback vehicle”. In The Founder, he really made you feel for a traveling salesman who was at the end of his rope. After a string of laughable failures, he finally found something to which he could hitch his wagon: McDonald’s. And while he also had to prove this to everyone in his sphere of orbit, most importantly he had to prove this to himself. He really needed a win, and Keaton did such a great job conveying that.

In Homecoming, Keaton plays Adrian Toomes, better known as the Vulture (though he’s never called that by name in the film). Not unlike Alfred Molina’s Dr. Octopus, he’s something of a sympathetic villain. Were it not for the fact that comic book franchises deal in the good/bad binary, you could almost relate to him and understand where he’s coming from. He’s a modern-day working class guy who feels ignored by the fat cats up on high. He doesn’t have evil goals. He simply wants to provide for his family, and he has a code of honor that dictates he must do whatever it takes to make good on that promise. I felt that Keaton did a great job expressing the plight of the working man. Sure, he got to utter some cheesy villain dialogue, but that simply comes with the territory. If you stopped for a minute, and ignored the fact that Spider-Man HAS to win, you realize that Toomes is actually kind of on to something. Again, though, I’ll get into more Homecoming thoughts next week.

My pal Chad pretty much swears by Michael Keaton as his favorite actor – a lot of that having to do with his immense love of 1989’s Batman. I’ve gotta say, I was never a huge fan of Keaton’s Batman, and when Chad would laud Keaton’s praises, I wasn’t really seeing it. I see it now, though. I have seen the light and I am healed! Dear Hollywood, more Michael Keaton, please! He pretty much impressed me on two different cinematic fronts this week, and that’s why Michael Keaton had the West Week Ever.

[rykerelias-archive]

TRANSFERRED FILE. || @suburbanrelapse  Sage & Elias VERSE: modern. ( undercover. ) 001. THREAD: to be named.

“What made you change your mind?” Not that they’re complaining- they’ve been trying to convince him they wanted in for weeks. Not that they were eager to be used as a call girl for various pieces of shit around the city, but getting in was the only way to move up. Only way to take this thing down from the top. “You seemed pretty adamant about refusing me the last few times we met.”

    HE hadn’t changed his mind.  HE still wanted them to stay well away and clear from the Devlin’s and their ‘business’.  Hell HE wanted to stay well and clear away from the Devlin’s and their business – but he didn’t have a choice.  Not if he wanted to see them ACTUALLY brought down, once and for all, to put their drug-dealing, sex-trafficking skeazy asses behind bars.  And to do that… he had to do things like this.  And act like it was no big thing.  Just another day, another dollar in his pocket.  He didn’t dare let himself think about what it meant that he COULD.  That was a rabbit hole he didn’t dare even tip toe towards.   “What can I say, you’ve got aSTUBBORN AS SHIT sense about you I just couldn’t resist.”  More along the lines of his bosses had figured out that Sage wanted in, and there were more than a few creeps that would be paying TOP dollar to get their hands on them….  “So, you in or not cause I don’t particularly feel like going through the whole spiel if you’re not.”  

“I’m in. I know what kind of money this can make me- you think I’d turn that down?” They make enough where they are, but it’s a good enough excuse. Sage knows perfectly well that they cater to a particularly niche market for the depraved clientele of this service. It’s disgusting, really, the extent to which people can fetishize people like them. But it sells, and that’s their in. Not to mention the deliciously ironic sense of satisfaction that comes from the idea of exploiting it to kill them. “I’m comfortable enough being seen this way, might as well take the step up if it comes with a pay raise.” They shrug, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “So say what you have to say, and let’s get started. I don’t have anything better to be doing tonight.”

  Her words twisted his stomach, a hand sliding up to rub against the bridge of his nose, to scrape up through hair that had grown a little too long over the last couple months and he just hadn’t been bothered enough to care.  Money – one of the greatest evils of the world, the worst kind of addiction there was. Don’t have it, and it’s everything. Have it, and it’s not enough.   He let his tall frame drop back against the wall, his hands dropping into his hoodie to snag his own pack of cheap ass, always half crumpled smoke, pulling one out, Zippo snapped open and flicked on, held out towards theirs first before lighting his own.  

    “This shit’s not like the movies.”  It was brusque, CLIPPED.  It was an easy trap, to make it seem romantic and luxurious somehow, when really it was about the opposite of it as one could get.  “These assholes, they might play at wining and dining you, but – they only give a fuck about one thing, and that’s getting their jollies – and it ain’t always fun and games.   Some of these people …   Sure. I’m probably supposed to tell you that you won’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to but it’s a load of horse shit.”  Way blunter, way more to the point than he should’ve been.  Should’ve gone the sweet talking route, promised them  money and glory and fame, work six months and you’ll never have to work again.   But if they backed out now, it’d be easy enough to come up with some excuse, even if it meant having Marius breathing down his neck in vexation for all the potential money lost.  

They light their smoke on his offered flame, stepping back as they take the first drag. “Oh, I’m well aware of how it works- I’m not delusional, I’m just looking for work. But considering it’s either crawl back to my brother or do a little bit of hustling in this line, I’ll take the latter.” Not even that much of an exaggeration; Reed would love to see them come running back for support. They really would rather sell themself to strangers than go near him again, that much isn’t a ruse.

“I could do this on my own. Stand around on a corner, pull in clients from tourists and the like- but you lot have connections. You have a network and a Rolodex and the numbers of all the big wigs willing to pay top dollar for a little bit of attention with me. They’re gross, but they’re rich.” Sage shrugs. If it makes their… acquisitions of illicit substances a little easier, who are they to complain? Revenge and cocaine. Motive enough to dip into the prostitution game in their book. “Bottom line is, I’ve done some questionable things for free in my lifetime. I have eccentric tastes, and I know I have a… unique product to offer for your client base. I might as well start getting paid better for it than I do just taking pictures.”

  The way that they were so MATTER OF FACT about the whole thing didn’t help his mood much, though luckily the part he was playing didn’t exactly scream chipper and cheerful, or necessarily all that clever, either.   He bit back a grimace behind a cloud of smoke, a shrug thrown in their general direction like it was no sweat off his back one way or the other.   “Can’t really argue the logic, there, can I.” Half flat, an assessing glance given back their way, taking in the look, the build, the features.  The appeal was easy to see, even from his point of view. He could onlyIMAGINE the kind of plans Maria had in store for them – his gaze twisted away, a hand shoved into his jeans as he pushed himself off the wall, dragging his keys from his pocket.  

    “Rules are simple enough.  Don’t get caught doing whatever it is you’re doing, and if you do, you don’t know nothin’.   Dates are handled up the food chain, covered through an online dating app, hookups put in the system after the arrangements have been finalized – any money that gets handed off is a gift, not a payment.  If you do get tagged, there’s lawyers on standby to handle whatever trouble you can’t talk your way out of – you’ll have a handler at every meet, meaning if you get tagged, the lawyer’ll be at the station before you do.  Best rule of thumb, you mind your own business, you collect your money, you go home. Don’t open your trap about anything you hear, anything you see. PERIOD.”  

   It was cold, and sharp, the last word, though the rest of it he’d seemed no more invested in than if he was ordering pizza, though he was watching them to make sure they were paying attention.  “Whether it’s to the cops, the papers, the tabloids, you get any shiny ideas about making a quick buck by selling out your latest date with a few salacious pics, or a hashtag on twitter?  It won’t end well.”  A stoniness around his eyes for a moment, gone, just as quickly, as he loped towards the parking lot, chirping the alarm on the fire engine red Chevrolet Corvette – sleek and shiny and fast, and far from subtle.  There were a … FEW perks of the job.  “Get in. I’ll take you to one of the clubs we shuffle business through.  Have a few drinks, maybe get to know a couple of the other girls, see how the night goes.”

Sage listens, but only bothers retaining what might be useful in either self-defense, or in faking their way into the business. Of course, they’re not stupid; they know they’re going to have to play the part for a little while. Sleep with some clients, do what they ask, behave (or don’t, depending on the partner), and don’t let anyone suspect that they have ulterior motives for crawling deeper into the underworld. They drop the half-finished cigarette in the parking lot.

Following him across the asphalt, Sage doesn’t bother correcting him. The ‘other girls-’ as far as the clients care, that’s what they are. Just a girl. Maybe some different parts in different places, but still. Just a girl. No room for anything too unique when it comes to jobs like this. They slide into the car, glad that they decided to dress the part for this meeting. It’s not their Sunday best, but it will more than pass for a prostitution networking party. Highlighting the right features, downplaying any faults. Not that they have many of those. Speaking of features, they should probably get something out of the way.

“You know I’m not…” they speak as soon as the handler is in the car with them. “-I’m not cis, right? I don’t know how much you know about me, and I don’t know how much you’re involved in the detail work, but I don’t have all the same assets working for me that the other girls you deal with do. I mean, I’m sure plenty of them have my fake tits, but I don’t have any work done downstairs- and I don’t intend to. So fair warning, in case you were thinking of getting closer acquainted with me while we’re working together, don’t be fucking surprised if you try anything.” They end it with a laugh at his expression, keeping the mood light despite the explicit content. “Just thought you should know.”