#my brain is fighting me SO GODDAMN HARD about doing my lab report right now

[storm-and-starlight]

god I haven't had an executive dysfunction moment quite this bad in a looooong time

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

Rivalry

requested by @micapearls (ed hearing jon full body laugh for the first time)

Ever since he first met Jonathan Crane, Edward has had an unshakable fixation on eliciting any type of emotional expression from the other man. To the untrained eye it would appear Jonathan was unable to experience any human emotions beyond displeasure and annoyance. Jonathan doesn’t cry, he doesn’t shout when they argue, he doesn’t allow any facial expression to inadvertently cross his stoic features. Over time, Edward has been able to get a better feel for the subtle cues that indicate his partner’s emotional state, but Jonathan still makes an effort to hold his feelings and opinions close to his chest. Edward wants so badly to break him of this habit. He’s lost count of the amount of meaningless arguments he’d blown out of proportion in the hopes of making Jonathan visibly angry. But perhaps that’s just trauma reenactment.

It was after one such failed attempt to goad Jonathan into an argument that Edward finally got what he was looking for. He had unsuccessfully tried to get a rise out of the other man, throwing out the cruelest, most spiteful things he could think of. Things he didn’t mean, things he doesn’t want Jonathan to think he meant. Unfortunately, this only resulted in Jonathan disappearing off into the lab, leaving Edward to sulk alone in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, staring absently at the television when Jonathan finally reappears from the basement, his expression as austere and unreadable as ever.

“I’m having a drink,” the older man announces, breezing past Edward and into the kitchen. He removes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and holds it up for Edward to see. “Do you want one?”

Edward doesn’t particularly care for whiskey but he can recognize a peace offering when he sees one. He nods wordlessly, sliding to one end of the sofa to make room for Jonathan to sit if he wanted to.

Jonathan pours the two drinks, bringing them into the living room and handing one to Edward. He accepts. Takes a small sip, trying to ignore the unpleasant taste.

“What are you watching?” Jonathan asks as he sits down a respectful distance away from Edward.

“News,” he says. “I’m looking at it more than I’m really watching it.”

Jonathan studies the screen for a few moments, sipping his own drink steadily. “Turn up the volume,” he says abruptly.

Edward obliges, directing his own attention to the TV as well. The reporter onscreen is standing in front of the Gotham University campus. There are cop cars and officers crowded around the building, many of them with heavy tactical gear and weapons.

“Shit, I hope whatever this is doesn’t screw up the heist I had planned for next weekend,” Edward mutters as he puts his drink down on the table.

“…As you can see the police are behind me attempting to negotiate the release of the thirteen hostages currently being held on the University grounds.” The camera cuts away from the reporter to show a closer shot of the police officers at the scene. Edward can make out commissioner Gordon speaking into a walkie-talkie at the front of the group. Bullock stands beside him, looking generally burly and gruff but otherwise not contributing much. “The location and condition of the hostages is unclear; all we know is that those thirteen students and faculty members are trapped somewhere in the Joker’s sadistic maze. More updates on the way as we continue to document the most recent criminal exploits of Gotham’s most fearsome criminal.”

“Ouch,” Jonathan says dryly. “Seems unfair that I’m not the most fearsome criminal in this city but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Edward, in the meantime, is too busy trying to navigate the mixture of anger, surprise, and jealousy that has begun burning in his chest to even register Jonathan’s comment. “He—I feel like I’m having a stroke, I mean, did that reporter say what I think she said?” he splutters, standing up from the couch to gesticulate wildly at the screen.

“What’s your problem?” Jonathan asks. “Joker does something like this every week, you can’t be surprised at this point.”

“You don’t understand,” he snaps, ignoring the heat he can feel rising into his face and ears. “I was going to do a sadistic maze at the university. Me! That fucking clown stole my idea! I mean, am I the only person with any goddamn integrity in this vile city?” He collapses back onto the couch, throwing his arms up. “I had the whole thing planned out, all the pieces built and ready to be set up and he just swoops in with his dollar store makeup and awful dye job and ruins everything like he always does. I mean, do you know how hard it is to build a maze from scratch and make it appear with fully functional traps and people in it before the cops show up? It’s not easy, I’ll say that. And it’s not cheap either!”

Jonathan watches Edward’s hysterical monologue in silence, takes a few moments to digest the entirety of the rant, and then bursts out laughing.

Edward’s jaw drops. Usually when Jonathan laughs it’s little more than a sharp exhale or the hint of a smile. But this laugh is a loud, unrestrained cackle, so raspy in places it almost sounds like a wheeze. It’s the first time he’s ever seen his partner seem genuinely tickled by something and he can’t even enjoy it because it’s at his own expense. He can’t tell if he’s more shocked to see his partner’s entire body wracked with laughter, or more indignant that he’s being laughed at in the first place. He snaps his mouth shut, his face screwing up into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“It absolutely is. Your whole thing with the Joker is hilarious.”

“It is not! He’s completely destroying my reputation, my career in this town. I mean, now I can never do that heist I had planned because the Joker already did it and everyone’s already accusing me of ripping off his costume and gimmick. If I even mention that I had the same idea, then people are going to try and accuse me of stealing his fucking intellectual property too.” He gets up again, pacing almost frantically around the room. “It doesn’t even make sense for him to do something with a school, I mean, I’m the one whose whole aesthetic and MO has to do with knowledge and learning. He should go terrorize a fucking comedy club or something, leave the higher education to those of us whose brain cells haven’t been fried by a vat of acid.” He glares at Jonathan who is still doubled over with laughter. “Stop laughing at me, I’m serious.”

He raises a hand to cover his mouth, though it does nothing to soothe his amusement. “I’m sorry. But you have to admit, you sound ridiculous right now.”

“I fail to see how this is ridiculous.”

“You’re demanding artistic integrity from a man who dresses like a clown and kills people for fun.” Jonathan manages to stifle his laughter a bit, but Edward knows he’s never going to let him live this down. “Besides, neither of you went to college so I don’t see how you have more of a right to a university based maze heist than him.”

He rolls his eyes. Jonathan loves to point out that Edward never went to college because it’s the only real accomplishment he has that Edward couldn’t easily replicate. Just because Jonathan suffered through nine years of higher education that would have driven Edward into a murderous rage doesn’t mean he’s better than him. “A maze is a type of puzzle is it not? Last time I checked I was the prince of puzzles which, in my eyes, makes me more entitled to use mazes in my traps. I also think it makes me sound cooler. I mean, ‘clown prince of crime’? How pathetic is that.”

“They’re both pathetic,” Jonathan says. “I don’t know why people keep trying to call us princes like we’re not all broke psychopaths.”

“I’m not broke.”

“But you don’t deny being a psychopath?”

Edward continues to glower at the other man who is still fighting against a smile. “I can’t believe you’re not on my side right now.”

Jonathan shrugs. “I mean, you have to admit your costume color schemes are remarkably similar.”

“They are not! My preferred color scheme is green and purple, his is purple and green, okay, they’re distinctly different!”

“Edward,” he says, using that tone he always takes when Edward is acting irrational, “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too seriously?”

“Not in the slightest,” he insists, knowing that this is arguably a stupid thing to care about. “You’ll never know what it’s like to always play second fiddle to everyone’s favorite costumed criminal. At least people are scared of you. Everyone just thinks I’m some kind of joke thief.”

“Well, maybe you need to give them something to be scared of. Show them you mean business.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you propose I do that in a way that is both on brand and not derivative of the Joker’s own crime sprees?”

Jonathan’s smile changes, becoming less humorous and more devious. Edward can see the familiar gleam in his eye that indicates the Scarecrow’s mind is hard at work. There’s the Jonathan he’s used to. “I bet I could give you a few ideas,” he says slyly, finishing the rest of his drink in a single swallow. “If you don’t have any qualms about torturing people.”

Despite the fact that he’s still annoyed with Jonathan for making fun of him, Edward can’t help but flash a smile back at the other man. There’s just something about those clever, sinister eyes that always draw him right back in. “What did you have in mind?”

[echo-bleu]

Brothers

A little Manes brothers canon divergence for @eveningspirit ‘s birthday! I hope you like it :) It also happens to fit with today’s @alexmanesappreciation theme: legacy.

[concussions, mentions of vomiting, mentions of abuse, mentions of the shed scene]

The exact sequence of events that leads to him, Flint and Gregory sitting together on a mattress in the bared living room of a house he doesn't know will remain blurry in Alex's memory. He puts it on the massive concussion he sustained at the hands of his own father, because he was careless enough to let his guard drop for ten seconds and the bastard managed to sneak up on him.

He remembers waking up in his childhood home and almost throwing up on the floor of the basement at the goddamn awful feeling of being back there−or maybe that was just the concussion. Probably the concussion.

He'd suspected that his father was faking most of the consequences of his stroke for a while, and he'd known about the bug on his phone for days. He just didn't expect his father to act so fast, in the middle of the junkyard, when Alex was supposed to report back in the morning.

Maybe Jesse heard something in his voice down in the bunker. Alex let his emotions carry him away and said more than he meant to, so maybe his father figured out that he was made somehow. Either way, he got the drop on him, and Alex woke up with a killer headache, pissed off, confused, and, yes, scared. Even after all these years, after three tours overseas, his father still scares the shit out of him.

The one who greeted him upon waking up, however, was not his father. It was Flint, a gun in his hand and a hard look on his face. Alex's sudden hope that Flint was here to free him was squashed quickly at his sneer. He listened to Flint and their father argue up in the living room about where to keep him for hours−something about Jesse grabbing him too early, before things were ready−before Flint came to get him. He'd learned his lesson from last time, because he stayed out of range of Alex's zip-tied hands the whole way out of the house. Alex nearly fell down the stairs at least three times because of the dizziness, and threw up, with some satisfaction, on his father's shoes.

It's been days, but he's still dizzy and nauseous all the time, and the killer headache is a constant companion.

Greg's hands are on him, checking him over. He finds one of the bumps on his head and Alex flinches away, almost overbalancing off the mattress when the cuff on his wrist pulls him back. “Are you alright?” Greg murmurs. Alex nods, and immediately regrets it as it sends a spike of pain down his spine.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Greg?” Flint growls. For once, he doesn't have his gun in his hand. Alex realizes that it's because the gun is tucked in Greg's waistband and he frowns, trying to keep it in his line of sight just in case. He thinks Greg actually cares, that he's not in on this with Flint and their Dad, but if he's not, why is he here?

“Now that's a real funny story,” Greg smirks mirthlessly. “Why don't you sit down, Flint?” He formulates it as a question, but it's obviously an order. And in a situation where there's only one gun, ranks don't matter much. Greg is out of the Navy and Alex outranks both of them anyway. Flint slowly drops to the floor, just outside the mattress, and crosses both his legs and his arms petulantly.

“See, yesterday morning, I got a call,” Greg stars. “It's the funny thing about being the only one in our family Alex trusts enough to list as next of kin. You get these calls. I got one before,” he nods to Alex's leg. “No, two, actually. There was that one time−” Alex glares at him and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, back to the point. I was told that Alex had been AWOL for 72 hours, and they were looking for him.”

Alex winces. Of course he already knows that crawling this way out of this one, even if everything ends well and no one dies, is going to be impossible. Being AWOL will earn him jail time, which is already bad, but if they start looking into his recent activities out of suspicion...well, he hopes to God that Liz has really emptied the lab, or things will get a hell of a lot more complicated.

Speaking of Liz...

Helena Ortecho was a surprise. There's a kind of irony in there, that Alex would be more surprised at being held captive by a woman he hasn't seen in over a decade than by his own family. He wonders what Liz would think of Helena being a kidnapper−or of her being more motherly to him that he's ever seen her be to Liz and Rosa. She watched Flint tie him up to a radiator without a word and then brought him food and clothes that weren't covered in vomit and dust, even getting Flint to briefly untie him at gunpoint to get his arm through the sleeve. Alex might have tried to seize the opportunity to fight back if he'd been able to see straight.

“Now I'm a good brother, and I know there's no way Alex would go AWOL without a good reason,” Greg continues. “Especially the day after he drove to the rez with a bunch of suspicious people who are supposedly his friends, and tells me he thinks that Dad has changed.”

Flint huffs.

“Yes,” Greg nods. “Either our baby brother really is more naive than we thought, or something fishy is going on.” Alex rolls his eyes, and Greg just glares at him.

The last few days, after getting to the house, are even more fuzzy. Alex remembers trying to push the mattress against the wall to get a better range of movement, and Flint coldly making him pull it back. He remembers pulling off his prosthetic, his stump swollen and sore from too much time with it on, and then trying to hit Flint with it the next time he came by, which earned him what is probably a second concussion from the butt of his brother's gun. He doesn't really remember anything since then. From the stubble on his face, it's been at least three days, but time is wonky and his mind unreliable.

Which brings him to now, and now has Greg sitting beside him on the mattress. Alex tries to blink away the confusion and sit up properly, wincing when his stump moves on the mattress. Days without a shrinker will make it a bitch to get back into the prosthetic.

Greg shifts. “I took a family emergency day, since that seemed to be the case, and I drove to Roswell. I had to look up my own brother's address in the phone book,” he glares again.

Alex throws his free hand up. “Hey, you're the one who didn't want to come.” His voice is weak and hoarse from disuse, and Greg looks more concerned than chastened.

“Right. I broke in−sorry, Alex, I'll replace the lock if you want me to. Alex's house was empty but his suitcase was still waiting on his bed. So I looked up Isobel Evans.”

“Really? Isobel?”

Greg shrugs. “I don't know what's going on between you, Guerin and Maria, but I'm not getting in the middle of it. Besides, Isobel seemed the most sensible of all of you.”

“You're just attracted to her,” Alex mutters.

“Alex, the choice I had was her or her brother. I know you're gay, but would you really go to Max Evans first?”

“I see your point,” Alex concedes, though he's still really not sure “sensible” is the adjective he'd use to describe Isobel. His muddled brain can't seem to come up with a better one, though, so he lets it go.

“All Isobel could tell me was that no one had seen you since you came back from the rez, but she got everyone moving to find you. Guerin went at it with Dad, got him to admit that he got to you first and Flint took you from him. Don't ask me how, I don't know.”

Isobel, Alex thinks after he's parsed all this−with at least a thirty-second delay. Isobel must have gone into their Dad's head, he would never have told them that willingly. But Greg doesn't know about aliens and there's no way he'll risk telling Flint something he could use against them, so he keeps quiet.

“After that, it wasn't hard to follow Flint here from his place,” Greg finishes. “I disarmed him once I confirmed you were here.”

Flint grunts. Alex looks over at him, amused. He's never been the best at self-defense, even when they were kids, too easily overtaken by his temper.

“Now will someone explain to me what's going on here?” Greg straightens up more, in a stance that looks relaxed but Alex can feel is fully vigilant. He may be missing part of the story, but he's a force to be reckoned with.

Alex and Flint exchange a glance. Somehow even as they stand on opposite sides of this fight, this decision−tell Greg about the aliens or try to lie their way through some kind of resolution−comes down to them. “Where's Helena?” Alex asks.

“In town,” Flint answers, some of the confrontation gone from his tone. “She won't be back for a few hours.”

“Who's Helena?” Greg asks.

“Flint's accomplice,” Alex answers. “Ironically also my friends' mom.”

“Which friends?” Greg frowns.

“Liz and Rosa. You remember them?”

Greg nods. “Rosa was the girl in Flint's year who died, right? Her mom is helping you?” he asks Flint.

Flint shrugs and looks at Alex again, trying to communicate something silently. Alex doesn't bother figuring out what it is. His head isn't quite clear enough to see all of the implications, but he already knows that there's no way Greg will settle for anything short of the truth. And Greg has always been very good at reading his brothers.

Plus, Greg is in control here, and he's been more than sympathetic to Alex since his injury. This could come out well for Alex, so he won't let Flint turn this to his advantage.

“Dad tried to take me down because I've become an inconvenience to his little genocide plan,” he says before Flint can stop him. “Flint thinks he can use me to get Michael to build him a bomb.”

That's the little he's gathered from Flint's talk with Dad the other day, and from Flint and Helena's interaction. He has no idea where Helena comes into it or how she learned about aliens, but he knows Flint's motivations well enough. They've been clear since Caulfield.

“Wait, genocide? Bomb?” Greg spits out in shock. Then he shakes his head, as if realizing that he shouldn't be surprised. “What the fuck are you doing, Flint?”

“They're invaders,” Flint says. “They're dangerous.” He's looking at Alex rather than Greg, as if he's trying to convince him. Alex wonders if he's not still trying to convince himself. Dad's twisted ideas coming from Flint's mouth sound so perverted and out of place.

“They're people,” Alex shoots back.

“They're aliens!”

“They're refugees!”

“Whoa,” Greg throws up his arms. “Am I missing something obvious or did you suddenly become a racist asshole? Are you even hearing yourself?” he asks Flint. Flint has the good grace to look a little abashed.

“Literal aliens,” Alex mutters. “We're talking about actual aliens.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not even a little,” Alex sighs.

Greg closes his eyes. “Okay. Aliens. And Dad−”

“Wants to kill them all. Kept some of them prisoners for decades and experimented on them.”

Alex watches both Greg and Flint's face closely as he says that. Greg's is suitably horrified, but he doesn't know how to interpret Flint's expression. It's not disgust. It's not glee, either. He may be parroting Dad's rhetoric, but he's not lost to it.

“Dad was just trying to protect us,” he says. Not perfectly assured. The facade is cracking.

“Was?” Greg notices.

“He's been weaker, since the stroke.”

“You know he's faking the limp, right?” Alex asks.

A shadow goes through Flint's gaze. “Of course,” he says, but it's obviously a lie.

“Another lovely moment, finding out my father has been faking a disability for months when he hit me over the head with his cane,” Alex casually turns to Greg. Flint winces, glancing down at Alex's empty pant leg. “I love how well we communicate in this family.”

“Alex−” Flint starts.

“You don't get to say anything. You've been holding me chained up for days against my will. You've lost the right to tell me how great a family we are.”

“I'm still hung up over the alien thing, but I have to agree with Alex here,” Greg says. “What the fuck were you thinking, Flint?”

“He wants Michael to do something for him,” Alex says when Flint doesn't answer. “I don't even know why you'd think Michael will do anything. We're not together. And you're asking him to build a bomb designed to wipe out his entire species, Flint.”

“Wait, wait, Guerin's an alien?” Greg interrupts him.

“Yep,” Alex pops out the 'p'. “That's Dad's great threat to earth. Three orphan refugees who just want to live their life.”

“They're not alone,” Flint mutters, at the same time as Greg asks, “Three? Who else?”

“Max and Isobel Evans,” Alex smirks. The cat is out of the bag anyway, since Flint knows, and this little revenge feels good. Having one of his brothers on his side will feel good.

Greg blinks. “Okay,” he drawls out. “Let me get this straight. Guerin and the Evanses are aliens, even though they look just like us. And Dad knows about this, and wants to...wipe them out? And you're helping him?” he points to Flint.

“It's not just them,” Flint says. “We had specimens in Caulfield who could cause cancer with a simple touch, blow up whole buildings. They have dangerous powers.”

“And you have a gun,” Alex says. “How is it less dangerous than any of those powers? Powers, I should add, that Dad had no trouble using for his own agenda when it came to eliminating Jim Valenti.”

“Jim Valenti was killed by Subject N-38,” Flint frowns.

“And what, you think he went into his cell for fun? I have all the video surveillance, Flint. All the records. Decades of Dad and our grandfather randomly torturing people before going home for Sunday dinner.” From those surveillance tapes, he knows that Flint never had real contact with any of the prisoners. He never even went beyond the upper level, where he did the designs for his bomb. Alex spent hours and hours watching those tapes. “They're the same as us. Just people.”

“They want to wipe us out,” Flint says.

“They're my family,” Alex counters softly.

The shock on Flint's face would be comical, if it wasn't so painful. Greg's gaze on Alex is lost and sad. “They're more my family than you've ever been,” Alex adds for Flint.

He tries to mitigate that blow by putting a hand on Greg's arm, to show him that he doesn't mean him, but Greg shakes his head and gently moves away, guilt obvious on his face. Alex pushes through and leans his shoulder on Greg's, welcoming the support. His head is clearer now, but he's aching all over.

“Did you ever stop to think, when you were overseas?” he starts, his voice barely more than a whisper as he's trying to conserve some energy. “When you pointed your gun at insurgents or civilians or whoever it was that day you were ordered to contain or kill, did you stop and wonder who they were? If they had a life, too, a family? A brother?”

Flint looks away.

“Michael was the first person who really understood,” Alex continues. “He grew up in the system and he got the worse luck. He made me feel safe, for the first time since Mom left. He made me feel like I could get out of Roswell, escape Dad.”

“What happened?” Greg asks in a murmur.

“Dad found us,” Alex answers. “He didn't know what Michael was, but it didn't matter. He knew what I am. He started to choke me, and Michael tried to step in, so Dad took a hammer to Michael's hand.”

Neither of his brothers look shocked. Greg is clearly pained, and he drapes his arm around Alex's back in comfort, and Flint won't look at him, but they're not shocked. That's probably the saddest thing, that they all know exactly what Jesse Manes is capable of.

He waits until he's caught Flint's eyes again. “Michael's mother was in Caulfield,” he says. “He got to see her blow up with the building. He wanted to stay with her. He dreamed of going to college, but he stayed in Roswell because his sister needed him. He used to play the guitar while I sang, before Dad ruined his hand. That's the threat you're trying to eliminate, Flint.”

Flint swallows. “Did Dad really kill Jim?”

“I have the video on a secure network,” Alex nods. “We'd have to go to my place to show you, but yes. He did. I'm sorry,” he adds after a moment.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I'm sorry that Dad isn't the man you wish he was. I wished for something else for a long time, too.”

Flint stands up suddenly, and starts pacing. “I've read the reports,” he says. “The aliens attacked people when they arrived. And there's been thirteen murders in the last ten years done by aliens.”

Greg looks at Alex. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Alex sighs. “They're people. No worse than us, but also no better. We found the murderer. He's dead now.”

“We're talking about a serial killer, Alex!” Flint loses his cool. “What if they're all like that?”

“What if they aren't?” Alex yells back. He regrets it as the sound rings painfully inside his head. “Tell me how many times you've heard that same question asked about Native men, Flint.”

Flint opens his mouth, and closes it again. He paces the length of the room faster, giving the edge of the mattress a kick when he passes by.

Greg clears his throat. “Can we go back to the bomb? What the fuck is it?”

“It's not really a bomb,” Flint says. “It's a chemical agent, designed to eliminate people who have specific DNA strands.”

Alex can almost see the cogs turn in Greg's head. “How do you plan on dispersing it?”

“My team designed an atomizer,” Flint explains. He looks hesitant, like he knows he shouldn't be talking about that but he can't quite remember why. They've got through to him at least a little, Alex realizes. “I just need someone to build it.”

“Michael,” Alex explains for Greg's benefit. “He's a mechanic. And a genius.”

“So it's not a sanctioned mission,” Greg raises his eyebrows. “You and Dad have been working on this for...how long? Years? A Manes family mission to commit genocide?”

“We're doing what needs to be done,” Flint stops pacing and stands at attention.

“By fucking kidnapping Alex? Flint, did you stop even once to think about what you're doing?”

“They got into Alex's head. I'm doing this for his own good.”

Alex lets himself fall back until he's lying down on the mattress, prompting his brothers to look at him. His headache is getting worse, not better. “His words, in your mouth,” he tells Flint. “I expected that from Clay. Not from you. Have you forgotten everything, Flint? All of Granddad and Granny's history lessons?”

Flint looks away. Greg seems to seize the opportunity, and he stands up and grabs Flint's arm. “Let Alex go, Flint.”

“I can't.”

“Do you remember the last time we were all at the house together?” Greg lowers his voice, almost as if he doesn't want Alex to hear, but the room is small. “We promised we'd look out for him,” he nods toward Alex. “That we wouldn't let Dad get to him again.”

“He shouldn't have come back to Roswell,” Flint sets his chin stubbornly.

“Maybe not. But he's still our brother. We need to stop failing him.”

For the first time, Flint truly looks torn. “I'm trying to protect him from the aliens,” he says slowly.

“I think you and I both knows that's not who we need to protect him from,” Greg says.

Alex resists the urge to retort that he can protect himself−his current situation would tend to disagree, although he swears he'll free himself the minute his head stops swimming−and finds himself feeling oddly touched.

Flint looks down at his shoes.

“Let him go, Flint.”

“Fine,” Flint finally relents. He grabs a key from his pocket and tosses it to Alex, who scrambles to open the cuff around his wrist.

He eyes the gun in Greg waistband again, trying to figure out if it's worth making a go at it, but he decides to trust Greg. It's not like he can stand up, anyway.

“What now?” he asks.

“We should really get you to a hospital,” Greg says.

“No. I need to see that Michael's okay. And I need to stop their plan,” he waves at Flint, including Helena and his father as well. He gives Flint a defiant look. “I can't let you harm them.”

“I know,” Flint sighs. “Helena's gone to bring Guerin here.”

“Will you stand down?” Alex asks him. “Let me do what I have to do?”

“I won't try to harm you,” Flint holds his empty hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Or your family,” he adds reluctantly.

“Good.” Alex turns to Greg and holds a hand up to be helped into a standing position. “You have a phone? I'm going to need it.”

“Who put you in charge?” Greg asks, amused. “You have a concussion, Alex, you need medical care.”

“I know. I'm doing to call my doctor,” Alex answers. “After I call Michael, anyway. Anyone know where my leg is? We have a lot of work to do.”

[insideoutstory]

Inside Out → Chapter Twenty-Three

summary: Christine and Nancy finally have some downtime to discuss their friendship. word count: 4.7k warnings: Just some girls being girls, and some Sad Mike.

[ masterlist ]   [ FF.net ]

The fallout was easier than Christine had imagined. 

She’d gone home with the Hendersons for the night, which wasn’t so bad. Dustin, ever so chivalrous, had opted to sleep on his floor so she could have the bed. What was more, he even pretended not to hear her crying into his pillow. She hoped it would dry up by morning. 

She’d expected the worst part to be lying to her dad. But as it turned out, lying was coming pretty naturally to her these days. Even when he came rushing into the Henderson’s kitchen, choked up and frantic at the sight of her wheelchair, Christine kept her cool. 

“Dad, honestly, I’m fine,” she assured him. “I literally just fell off the road. It was really dumb.” 

“This is all from falling off the road?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yeah. I was rushing to get to Dustin and I landed on my ankle wrong, which meant landing on my arm wrong, which meant landing in the bushes on the side of the road. Don’t remind me.” 

“Well where was this? Why were you running?” 

“I was with Nancy and Jonathan at the Byers’ place.” 

“Jonathan?” He stared at her, more confused by the second. “Why were you and Nancy with Jonathan?” 

“…Homework.” 

He raised his eyebrows, and Christine gave him a sharp look. She indicated Dustin on the other side of the table, hoping it might look like she just didn’t want to talk about it around the kids. Her father quickly nodded. 

“Oh—yes. The—The homework you had…to do. Good. Well, that’s fine then. Hope it went well.” 

Christine rolled her eyes and smiled down at her eggs. If she was good at lying, she didn’t get it from hanging out with Dustin or her dad. 

When the subject of Jonathan had come up again around dinner, over their traditional welcome-back-Chinese-takeout, Christine told him the truth. Mostly. 

“It’s all about Nancy,” she groaned, twirling a fork through her noodles. “She started spending a lot of time with Jonathan after the funeral, which made Steve really upset. He really, really likes her, and I think Jonathan does too. So we went over there to talk to him about his intentions or whatever. It didn’t go great. Honestly, I’m kinda glad I broke my leg. At least it diffused the tension.” 

“You know, this is not what I had in mind when I said you should get out more,” he chuckled into his soup. “I’m gone for eight days and two kids go missing, one comes back from the dead, you break your leg and end up in some dramatic love triangle.” 

“Ha. I’m not really part of the triangle, Dad. I’m more like an outlier point.” 

She frowned down at the plastic container, dragging her fork around lazily. It was stupid to still be upset about boys after everything that had happened. Somehow, she still had the emotional capacity to be upset about everything at once. She felt like exploding, between Steve and Barb and Eleven. Sooner or later, she’d have to burst or let something go. 

“Any news about Barb?” her dad asked gently. 

“Not really,” she mumbled. “The paper said they found her car at a bus station, a couple towns over. But it…it doesn’t make any sense…” 

“Maybe things were getting too much for her around here. Small town, all that pressure, the drama…” 

Christine drew a circle on the bottom of the tray. It faded in a matter of seconds, disappearing in the sauce. 

“I should have done more.” 

“Honey, you can’t…” 

“I should’ve,” she said firmly. “Nancy and I were being stupid, fighting over some dumb jock. She got put in the middle, and I know how much she hated it. And then I showed up to that stupid party, and I said I was going to help her, but—but I wasn’t. I was going to stick it to Nancy cause I was mad. And then she got mad at me, and I got mad at her, and we were fighting and Barb was panicking, and that was the last thing she ever saw before…b-before…” 

She dropped her fork, and pressed her only good hand over her face. 

Her father’s chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it closer to her. He didn’t pull her hand away, just gently stroked her arm. 

“You can’t blame yourself for anything that happened to Barbara, bumblebee. I know it hurts, to lose someone. But remember what we practiced. What was the last thing you said to her?” 

Christine wracked her brain, flipping through fuzzy memories of crying in the Harringtons’ living room. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered tearily. “I—I said I was sorry.” 

“See? You told her. Even then, you knew that you were wrong, and you were trying to make it right. Barbara knew that. And wherever she is, whatever reason she left, I’m sure she’s sorry too.” 

It pushed her over the edge. After a whole week of putting it off, reality speared her through the gut. Barb wasn’t sorry. She wasn’t anything. Because she was gone. She’d been dragged into the Upside Down, and she’d died there, cold and alone. And she wasn’t coming back. No more comedies and fried chicken at the Holland residence. No more knowing looks and comforting glances when Nancy started talking about her love life. No more indelicate snorts or good advice or late night joy rides to get ice cream and sing in the car. Barb was gone. 

Christine’s father held her as she burst into tears. It was hard to cry, physically difficult when she was restrained by the sling and the cast. Her frustration made her cry harder, and eventually, her father had to pick her up and carry her to bed. He didn’t ask about the pillow fort in the corner. She wondered if he noticed that seeing it made her sobbing worse. 

Somehow, the lying still wasn’t the worst part. It was a good contender, along with the nightmares she kept having about the Demogorgon and the Upside Down. She was always trapped there, but she found different things every night. Barb’s body. Eleven’s body. Nancy’s and her dad’s and Steve’s. All the boys battered and broken with sunken eyes and vines crawling over their limbs. She’d tug at them and tug at them, but nothing could break them loose. Sometimes she’d run from the Demogorgon for what felt like hours, only to jerk awake and find she’d only been asleep for fifteen minutes. It was exhausting. Even when she was unconscious, she didn’t seem to be getting any rest. 

Somehow, that also wasn’t the worst part. It wasn’t lying, or crying, or having nightmares, missing her friends or jumping every time she turned the lights off. 

No, the worst part of the whole thing was this goddamn wheelchair. 

She’d never felt so inconvenient in her life. Hawkins was not built to be accessible, and she’d never really noticed it until now. Everyone around her had to accommodate for her, and she was absolutely sick of it. She didn’t like being a burden. 

It was impossible for her to use her bike, which meant they had to set up a carpool to get her to and from school. Her father was going to work late every morning so he could drive her and Nancy. He assured them he’d cleared it with the office and shifted his hours, but it still made her feel like crap. Mrs. Wheeler drove them home every afternoon, and Christine would stay with them through dinner until her father could pick her up after work. This change would have happened anyway, since Nancy no longer had Barb to drive her home. But watching Mrs. Wheeler struggle to fold the wheelchair and stuff it in the back was enough to make Christine consider ripping the sling off and dealing with the consequences. 

Nancy’s schedule had changed too. The office had given her a pass to leave early and arrive late to class so she could ferry Christine around the school. Most people would’ve adored a pass like that, but Christine knew it was stressing Nancy out. She was a nerd at heart, and wanted to spend as much time in class as she could so she didn’t miss anything. She told Christine that it didn’t matter to her, that she was happy to help, that they both knew there were more important things than schoolwork at this point. But she always did it with a tight smile that showed her growing strain. 

The other problem was that picking up Christine meant Nancy kept bumping into Steve. 

“You still haven’t talked to him?” Christine asked one afternoon, over a week later. 

They were doing their homework in Nancy’s room. It was a hassle to get up there. Christine had to hop up the stairs one step at a time with her arms around Nancy’s shoulders. But the girls valued the privacy more than the extra work. Anything was better than working in the living room while Mr. Wheeler snored over The Price is Right. 

“You know I haven’t,” Nancy sighed. “I’m too busy to think about it right now. You come first.” 

“And I appreciate that. But you can’t keep using me as an excuse to avoid him.” 

“I’m not avoiding him.” 

It was a feeble excuse at best. Christine sent her a knowing look, and Nancy folded immediately. 

“I just feel like it’s best for both of us,” she amended. 

“For you and Steve? Or…for you and me?” 

Nancy smiled sadly. She pushed her homework aside. 

“Christine. I’m really sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry. I was being dumb, and…” 

“Maybe we both were,” Nancy insisted. “Just…Just let me go first, okay? Please?” 

Christine pouted, but leaned back against Nancy’s headboard. Nancy nodded, and wrung her hands in her lap. 

“That whole week, I…I blamed you for a lot of things. I think it was just easier, you know? Than acknowledging it. And I told you that you were being a bad friend, but…I was being a bad friend too. Worse, even. I never should’ve kissed Steve. I knew something was up when we went to that party, and I just ignored it. I was so…I don’t know, excited that he liked me that I didn’t think about how it would look, or how it would make you feel, or how shitty he was being to you. I mean, he manipulated you into bringing me just like he was always doing with your lab reports and…that’s so messed up.” 

“That’s what Barb said,” Christine confided with a weak smile. “I remember being on the phone with her after we had that fight. She was like ‘you cannot be that dumb.’” 

“Yeah,” Nancy laughed. “Yeah, she said that to me too. And I knew what he was doing but…he’s just so good at making you feel…” 

“Special,” Christine said with a nod. “I know. That’s why I kept doing the work. Even when I knew you guys were dating, I just kept doing everything he asked me to. It’s just stupid.” 

“He’s stupid,” Nancy insisted. “You’re smarter than twelve of Steve. Screw him.” 

“I thought that was your job.” 

Nancy’s jaw dropped, but Christine was smirking. She giggled at the look on Nancy’s face, and was promptly smacked with a textbook. 

“Ow! Watch it, I only have one good leg.” 

“Then maybe you should be more careful with your words,” Nancy warned. Still, she was grinning. “But seriously. Forget Steve. I’m not gonna hang out with someone who uses my best friend like that. Or someone who used me.” 

“You?” Christine squinted at her. “What do you mean he used you?” 

“Let’s face it, Christine, he just wanted to…you know. Sleep with me. Barb warned me when we went to his house, and I didn’t listen. But…she was right.” 

“No, she wasn’t.” 

Nancy looked over at Christine in surprise. “Chris…” 

“Look, I know that I’ve been pissy about this whole thing from the start. And Steve’s done a lot of fucked up things, to me and to you. But you can’t look at him and think he doesn’t care about you. That’s insane.” 

“No. No, it’s—it’s not…” 

“It is, Nancy. Steve really likes you. I mean, he kept talking to you and checking up on you even after that party. He lashed out when he thought you were cheating on him—which I will totally kick his ass for after my leg heals—but it’s because he was really heartbroken. And then he came back to apologize, admit he messed up, and that he wanted to make it up to you.” 

“You can’t think he was being serious,” Nancy said dismissively. 

Christine shrugged. “Actually, I do.” 

Nancy didn’t look convinced. 

“Think about it like this,” Christine offered. “When he realized what he did, he went to apologize to Jonathan. Not to you. Jonathan. If this was all about getting you to sleep with him, wouldn’t he skip the one on one apology and go straight to convincing you he was sorry?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, I guess…” 

“Exactly. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he hasn’t exactly been buddy with Tommy and Carol this week.” 

“That’s just because Tommy’s using him as an excuse,” Nancy reminded her. “You know he told everyone he and Steve duked it out because he doesn’t want to admit you almost broke his nose.” 

“That may be true, but the point still stands. And I didn’t get the chance to clean the graffiti at work.” 

“Christine, anyone could’ve done that…” 

“But they didn’t. Anthony told me.” 

“And?” Nancy said adamantly. “That’s like, the bare minimum he should’ve done. So what?” 

“So, it’s a start. I mean, don’t look now, but it seems like Steve’s genuinely trying to be a better person.” 

“You’re insane.” Nancy shook her head, grinning incredulously. “I can’t believe you want to give him the benefit of the doubt. You of all people.” 

“I’m a sucker for a redemption arc,” Christine said offhandedly. “And a nice head of hair.” 

They giggled together for a while. It almost felt like being back on her living room floor, drunk off sugar and soda and pizza, playing Truth or Dare while horror flicks played in the background. 

Nancy sobered first, fixing Christine with another bittersweet smile. 

“You still like him,” she observed. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Christine sighed, and let her head thump back against the wall. “I know that sounds super dumb, but…it’s hard not to like him.” 

“I know. But that’s exactly why I can’t go back to dating him, Chrissy. I don’t want to let some guy come between us again. If there’s anything that I’ve learned this week, it’s that you’re way more important to me than any boy or any test. I can’t…I can’t lose my best friend again.” 

“I don’t know. We make a pretty explosive combo—Psycho Bitch and the Slut.” 

Nancy let out a breath of laughter, and rolled her eyes. “Shut up, dork.” 

“So is that it?” Christine asked, sitting up a little straighter. “Can we be friends again?” 

“Yeah.” Nancy smiled, and nodded her head. “I’d really like that.” 

 “Great…then it’s my duty as your friend to let you know that Steve’s crazy about you, and you’re still not allowed to use me as excuse to avoid it.” 

“Ugh! Christine!” 

“I’m serious, Nancy,” Christine countered. “You think I haven’t learned the same lesson this week? I’m not gonna let some stupid thing like jealousy get in the way of your happiness.” 

“Chrissy, you make me happy.” 

“And so does Steve. Besides, you not dating him isn’t magically gonna make him like me. If he likes you, he likes you. And I know how much you like him, logical flaws aside. So it might take me some time to get over it, but…I’m not gonna stand in the way of that. You can’t live your life always putting other people’s feelings first, Nancy. Life’s too short, you know?” 

Nancy nodded, but she still looked conflicted. Or…no. Conflicted wasn’t the right word. She looked almost put out. Clearly the conversation had not gone the way she’d planned it to, and she wasn’t happy with the result. 

Christine narrowed her eyes. 

“This isn’t even about me, is it?”

“What?” Nancy’s head popped up too fast, her ponytail bouncing wildly. “Christine, haven’t you been listening to me? Of course it is.” 

“Ugh, Nancy!” Christine whined, flopping onto her side in the pillows. “I cannot believe you are about to make me have this conversation.” 

“What conversation?” 

“This conversation! About you liking Jonathan Byers.” 

“What? What—no! No, that’s—that’s totally not what this is about!” 

“So you admit it?” Christine baited. “This isn’t about that, but you do like him?” 

“No! I—I do not like Jonathan.” 

“You are such a bad liar. We might not have been speaking for a while, Nance, but I’m not blind. I was third wheeling for a solid two hours while you two were playing horror house.” 

“No way! Christine, it wasn’t…” 

“If I have to listen to you say ‘it’s not like that’ one more time this month, I’m rescinding our friendship. Every time you say that, it is exactly like that, and you are just trying to run from your own feelings.” 

For a moment, Nancy resembled a very distressed fish. Her mouth gaped open and closed. She was searching for some kind of excuse, some obvious reason to ward Christine off, but she could not find one. After several seconds of choking sounds, she fell forward onto the mattress and screamed into her blanket. Christine cackled, and Nancy looked up at her with hair in her eyes. 

“Do you hate me?” she asked in distress. 

“I could never hate you,” Christine assured her. “I don’t always understand you, but…I guess you just have a…very wide spectrum of taste.” 

Nancy smacked her again. 

“Ow! Hey, I’m allowed to be critical! That’s part of the best friend deal, right? I have to judge if they’re worthy of you.” 

“Of course he is,” Nancy sighed. “I mean, he saved my life, you know? That’s not something a lot of people can say.” 

“I know, I know. There’s a lot of stuff that you two went through together that no one else was there for, and no one else will ever understand. I get it. It’s just…it’s Jonathan Byers, you know? He barely talks to anyone at school, and he hardly sticks around outside it.” 

“It’s just cause he has a job. He told me he picks up shifts at the auto shop to help out his mom. And he just…doesn’t like talking to people. It’s hard, and he isn’t super sociable. That’s not that weird, right?” 

“No, but taking pictures of people from bushes is. Taking pictures of people from bushes is actually my main concern here.” 

Nancy groaned and rolled onto her side to face Christine. 

“I know. And I shouldn’t forgive him for that. But he apologized, right? And then he worked to make it better. How is that any different from forgiving Steve?” 

“Because Steve…It’s because…” Christine pouted. “At least Steve’s cute.” 

“Shut up! That is so shallow!” 

“See? Even you don’t think he’s cute!” 

“I do!” 

“Oh my God, you think he’s cute?” 

“No, I—He’s cute in his own way, okay?” 

“Yeah, like ugly cute.” 

“Christine, stop!” 

“Fine! Sorry, I’ll stop picking on your boyfriend.” 

Their giggles died off quickly, and Nancy pressed her face into her blankets. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, reminding both of them of the facts. “Right now, neither is Steve. And if I’m being honest, I…I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” 

Christine bit her lip. Her first impulse was to make a joke about the plights of Nancy Wheeler, trying to decide between the two boys who were head over heels for her. But for once, she swallowed her sarcasm, and tried to think of something helpful. 

“You’ve just gotta give it time. Think it over, and do what feels right. Go through a pros and cons list or something.” 

“Chrissy,” Nancy groaned. “They’re people, not a science project.” 

“I know, but writing it out helps organize your thoughts. I’m not trying to give you an equation, just something that could help.” 

Nancy frowned but grabbed her notebook. She flopped onto her stomach, taking her pencil and creating a chart with four columns: Jonathan (Pro), Jonathan (Con), Steve (Pro), Steve (Con). 

She went off on her own, rambling to talk things out, scribbling down notes in her book. Christine watched with a bittersweet smile. She knew it was Nancy’s problem to figure out. Whatever conclusion she came to, she had to do it on her own, and Christine didn’t want to interfere. But she could’ve told Nancy the answer right off the bat. All she had to do was look at the first thing her brain had written down. 

They spent the hours before dinner neglecting their homework to talk about boys. Christine expected it to be uncomfortable, full of the same awkward pauses as the conversations they’d had after Jenny’s party. But after two weeks of fighting monsters and breaking bones, it seemed like they’d finally got past the awkwardness. Christine grabbed for Nancy’s pens and tried to scrawl a long list into Steve’s pro-column, which all looked like chicken scratch cause she was using her left hand. Nancy had plied her for all the information she could remember about hanging out with Jonathan in middle school, before he’d ditched AV club for the art department. Christine held back her comments about the stalker photos, even as Nancy wrote it on the page, and added her own line to Steve’s cons. 

“Dumb as dirt.” –Barbara Holland 

Dinner was a quiet affair. Mr. Wheeler seemed to like it that way, even if it made the meal feel more tense. After a week of eating with them, Christine was beginning to understand why Nancy hated mealtime so much. It was nice to have a large family to sit with, but Christine would take a low-key takeout meal with her dad any day. 

After about fifteen minutes, Mike asked to be excused. He’d barely touched his food, but his mother didn’t put up a fight as he disappeared into the basement. 

“He’s like this all the time, now,” Mrs. Wheeler said to Christine, as if she hadn’t watched Mike do the same thing for the past five days. “I just don’t understand it. After all that, Will comes back. You think he’d be ecstatic.” 

“I think he’s just drained, Mom,” said Nancy. She was free to defend her brother so long as he wasn’t in the room. “He went through a lot. He just needs time to process.” 

“I know. I just wish he’d eat…” 

“Actually, do you mind if I’m excused too?” Christine asked. “The meatloaf is delicious, Mrs. Wheeler. My pain meds are just affecting my appetite.” 

“Oh, of course. I’m so sorry, Christine.” 

“It’s fine. Thank you.” 

Nancy got up, wheeling her chair around into the living room. Without instruction, she looped around until they’d reached the door to the basement. 

“Think you can get down there okay?” she whispered. 

“Yeah,” Christine assured her. “Down is fine. I just need to convince Mike to carry me back up.” 

Nancy smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and walked back to the dining room. 

It took Christine some time to situate herself. She stumbled out of her chair with as little noise as possible, and swung the door to the basement open. Then she had to ease herself onto the floor. It was tough to close the door behind her, and even harder to do it quietly, but she managed it by the tips of her nails and a quiet click. 

“Okay, Mike,” she called down. “If you want me to leave, you better say it now, cause it’s gonna take me about five minutes to get down these stairs.” 

There was no response. 

Christine grit her teeth, and with one hand on the banister, began to scoot her way down the staircase. She had to go one step at a time, moving her good leg and then her butt. Her cast hung awkwardly out in front of her, dangerously close to smacking the stairs or the railing. But finally, she was able to hop down the last few steps. 

“You’re gonna break your other leg.” 

Mike had not looked up. He was sitting in the blanket fort under the table, his radio in his hands. It hummed faintly, but the sound was steady. There was no warbling interference or mysterious voices to be heard. 

“Well you could always help me,” Christine reminded him. 

“Nah. It’s funny to watch you hop around.” 

“Glad my pain amuses you.” 

 She stuck her tongue out at him, and hopped the last few feet to the fort. He scooted over so there was room for her, and lifted the blanket roof so it could clear her head. 

Neither of them said anything. They listened to the static on the supercomm, Mike occasionally changing the channel in case he could get a different result. It must have been ages before he finally turned it off. 

“I do it too, you know.” Christine stared down at the radio. “Leave my stereo on, scan through the channels. It’s driving my dad up the wall.” 

“Have you heard anything?” 

She shook her head. 

“Then how do we know if she’s out there?” 

“Cause she’s Eleven,” Christine said with a shrug. “I think she was a lot stronger than either of us knew. And if Will can survive in the Upside Down for a week, I’m sure she can.” 

“Twelve.” 

Christine turned to Mike, her brow furrowed. “What?” 

“It’s been twelve days,” he explained. “That’s more than a week. That’s almost two weeks. If she’s still there…” 

“Then maybe she’s not,” said Christine. “It’s like the magazine, remember? Sometimes you can’t control where you come out or…” 

“No.” Mike shook his head down at the radio. “She’s here. I know it, I just…I don’t know why she won’t come home.” 

That sat in silence again, until he felt comfortable enough to confide one other thing. 

“I thought I saw her. When we got back from the school. There were all these agents here, talking to my parents, telling them we had to let them know if she contacted us. And I swore I saw her in the window. I’ve done everything I can to get her back. I’ve tried calling her. I’ve tried leaving out Eggos. I even left the fort up. I don’t understand.” 

“Mike,” Christine said softly. “If your house in under surveillance, coming back here is the last thing she’d do.” 

“What about your house, though? It’s safe haven, right?” 

“It was. But they know about me too. My place was crawling with agents when you guys were hiding in the junkyard. I wouldn’t be surprised if they opened up all my phones and put bugs and stuff in them.” 

“Do you think that’s how they found us?” he asked brokenly. “At the school?” 

“No.” Christine clenched her jaw. “No, I don’t think that’s how they found you.” 

“Then what did we do?” 

Christine twisted on the floor, grabbing one of Mike’s hands. 

“We didn’t do anything wrong. You saw her, right? She’s out there, somewhere. She’s alive and she’s hiding, and we both know how good she is at that. I think…I think we just have to accept that wherever she is…we’re not what she needs right now. It’s too dangerous, with either of us.” 

“But this is home. She…She has to come back.” 

Mike took his hand back, covering his mouth as he coughed. It was a suspiciously wet cough, but Christine let him cry in peace. She didn’t want to wound his pride. 

Maybe this, she thought. Maybe this was really the worst part. Not the lying, or the injuries, but the not knowing. The closure that no one could give them. 

She leaned a shoulder against one of the chairs that was acting as a column for the fort. 

“She will, Mike. I know it. My blanket fort’s still up too.”

[vagrantblvrd]

Given Michael’s love for the Ruiner 2000 I would love that  Knight Rider AU. (You know the one.)

Michael [Name Redacted] ~hardcore criminal who gets recruited into the Roosters new law enforcement agency program after shit goes spectacularly wrong for him one day and he walks into an ambush.

Gavin’s the main brain behind Michael’s new partner, and it turns out that he has an Arch Nemesis in the Vagabond. (This is discovered over the course of his ~adventures, because of course it is.)

Michael agrees to work with the agency because he figures they’re his best bet of figuring what the hell is going on with his life. Also, sweet car?

He gets a new identity to go with his new face. Rolls his eyes when he sees they game him possibly the best/worst last name in “Jones”, but hey. Whatever.

Goes around being a do-gooder for a bit. Meets up with the Mobile Operations Platform or MOP for short (lolololol) after missions to bicker with Gavin and give Matt a hard time and so on and so on. Bonds with the others working for the agency and reluctantly admits to himself it’s not so bad working with these assholes.

And Gavin, okay.

He’s this annoying little shit always with his questions about Michael and his partnership with the Ruiner (let’s just call it MOGAR, because it makes me laugh). Also, the utterly stupid, ridiculous hypothetical questions he comes up with and God, he cannot stand the guy. 

Really.

Except you know, for the time spent in the lab when MOGAR’s on the fritz after a rough mission, watching Gavin work. Arguing with this A.I. he helped develop. Catches him playing games when he can’t sleep, mind going a mile a minute and holy shit, he’s so fucking bad, better show him how it’s done, right?

Taking him for a spin in MOGAR when they’re testing out upgrades - new missiles/speed boosts. The fucking parachute, that kind of thing.

Gavin getting caught up in trouble every so often and Michael and MOGAR coming to the rescue. And that, of course,results in Michael trying to teach the idiot to defend himself? 

Montage scene of Michael teaching him how to throw a punch, how to shoot - all the things that require them being in each other’s personal space and the like. Empty shooting range at some Rooster base or a city they’re stopped in for a bit. 

Michael fighting it because he knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s gotten so damn fond of Gavin over time. May or may not have ~feelings for him, and vice versa but they’re both too dumb to do anything about it?

AND THEN.

They get word the Vagabond’s been seen again in Los Santos after going underground for a bit. He’s been gangs and crews apart and whatnot and they think he’s setting up to make his move, do something big, and Michael, okay.

It’s never sat right with him, the things they say he did. Less and less so the longer he spends working for the agency because how could he do what they say he did? 

But he must have, because it’s in the files they showed him that first time, the ones he convinced Gavin to help him find. Try to piece together a picture of the kind of man this Michael [Name Redacted] was through the old records and reports various law enforcement agencies have of him.

Gavin keeps looking though, because this is important to Michael and he has the feeling something’s wrong too, but he doesn’t say anything. Just does what he can to help Michael. 

The thing, though, is that if his records and files are a hard read, the Vagabond’s are worse.

Nothing redeeming to be found about the guy anywhere, but Michael can’t shake the feeling that’s wrong too. 

Call it a gut feeling, whatever, something isn’t right.

More ~adventures on their way to Los Santos, Michael getting more and more restless because everything feels wrong and he doesn’t know why.

Gets his memory back in bits and pieces, little flashes here and there that don’t make sense and just end up frustrating himself. Stupid useless brain, and then they get word something’s happening in Los Santos, where all of this started.

His superiors want him to take the Vagabond out before he succeeds at whatever he’s planning, and he can’t tell them no because on paper he’s an absolute monster.

Gavin and Matt and the others get all worried because Michael’s not acting like himself. (When Gavin says so, it’s all Michael can do not to laugh in his face because how the fuck would Gavin know that? Michael doesn’t even fucking know.)

There’s a fight, and Michael takes off for a drive in MOGAR while the MOP is stopped somewhere to refuel and take on supplies and whatnot.

When he gets back a day or two later the thing is on fire, and holy shit, what the fuck happened???

His superiors tell him it was the Vagabond and Michael is like, well all right then, guess this is it - and then Matt runs in. Tells him the Vagabond has Gavin because of course he does.

Michael doesn’t hear whatever else his superiors are saying after that, just looks at Matt who looks like shit. Has his arm in a sling and look, has his arm in a sling and exhausted because the attack on the MOP was not a gentle thing, people died and the Vagabond has Gavin and goddamn it.

So he sneaks out while his superiors are making plans - plans Michael already know won’t work, will get Gavin killed - and Matt stops him.

Does the thing where Michael and MOGAR are leaving the Rooster base and have to slam on the brakes because Matt’s the kind of idiot who’d stand in the middle of the road in their way. Didn’t consider for a moment Michael and MOGAR might not stop in time, so Michael gets out and starts to yell at Matt - 

“Holy shit, dude, that was close.”

Michael’s so fucking angry because Matt shouldn’t be here, should be back at the base not getting run over - 

And Matt is like, “So, Gavin didn’t have time to install them, but he came up with new upgrades for MOGAR. Also, he found some stuff you need to see?”

They go to a ~secret Rooster base where Matt and some of the techs from the agency install the upgrades and Michael goes over the files and whatnot Gavin found. 

Something that looks like a cover-up, like the cops in Los Santos are dirty. Did their best to make Michael the scapegoat for some horrendous crimes and he wants to believe it, but he doesn’t have the time for that now.

Tell Matt to keep the files somewhere safe, not to tell anyone about them and takes off to rescue Gavin and maybe get some answers. (Knows exactly which on is the top priority, easy decision in the and.)

And then he gets to Los Santos and MOGAR helps him track Gavin down and then there’s the ~tense confrontation between Michael and the Vagabond.

This little cat and mouse game in the warehouse Gavin’s being kept in (fuckin’ cliché bullshit). Just when they get to the ~dramatic showdown they hear something being knocked over and some British idiot going, “Shit.”

Both of them looking over to see Gavin trying to get his foot untangled from old rope or wires or something and doing a terrible job of it. Falling on his ass and muttering to himself because that’s just perfect, isn’t it?

Michael looking at the Vagabond because the guy just sighed, probably one of the few people who truly understand what a goddamned pain Gavin is. Probably should feel like that’s something they agree on, because Arch Nemesis? But, uh.

 Also Gavin, who finally notices he’s not alone and freezes. And then looks annoyed - with them.

Yanks his foot free and stomps over, gets up in their faces and they back up because he looks genuinely angry and that’s startlingly rare.

And then Gavin starts yelling at them, demanding to know what the hell they’re doing.

Michael and the Vagabond sharing this look because, uh, Arch Nemesis???

Gavin sighing like they’re the idiots.

Pokes the Vagabond in the chest, “Did you not read the files I sent you?”

Turns to Michael and flaps his hands, “And you! I told Matt to give you the files if something happened, don’t tell me - “

There’s this little tremor in his voice because, again, that attack on the MOP was not a gentle thing. It occurs to Michael he might not even know Matt survived, and oh,shit.

“Uh, yeah,no. He gave them to me. Kind of had other things on my mind, though? Like this asshole kidnapping you, maybe?”

The Vagabond snorting, arms crossed as he looks at Michael like he’s the idiot, and okay, goddammit. Michael is an idiot, but this time he doesn’t know why?

And then Gavin explains that he fond out someone has something very, very bad planned for Los Santos (the ~world, but Los Santos is a good start) and intends to place the blame on Michael and the Vagabond?

Started by framing them for all the crimes that are in their records and whatnot

He and Matt discovered the cover-up not too long ago, but the moment they did Gavin cut Matt out. Tried to keep him out of it, refused to tell him what he’d found because it’s ~dangerous. Someone needed to be there to take care of MOGAR and Michael if the baddies realized they were on to them, you know?

And he found a way to get into contact with the Vagabond (not all the the people working for the Roosters came from a law enforcement background, after all). Has been sending him all this information when the baddies realized what was going on and decided to put a stop to it, and hey. If they can pin the blame on the Vagabond, all the better right?

The Vagabond showing up when he found out and grabbing Gavin in the confusion when people were trying to kill him very, very dead. Running out to this safe house he’s been using and waiting for Michael to show up.

Michael just listening and being so confused because why? Why him? Why this weirdo in the stupid mask?

Gavin faltering, not meeting Michael’s eyes, not meeting the Vagabond’s. 

“Because we were partners,” the Vagabond says, looking at Michael. “And you said - “

He stops, anger leaking into his voice and says, “You said you’d stumbled onto something. The reason the cops were after us so fucking hard, said you knew what was going on. Said you got a call from a an old contact, and then you fucking died on me.”

~DRAMA~

Gavin and the Vagabond filling Michael in on what they’ve found - because they’ve been working together for who knows how long now. Trying to get to the bottom of things, and it’s super ridiculously bad action movie?

Like.

Michael and the Vagabond being partners for a while, but not the monsters the baddies are trying to make them out to be. Not the guy Michael’s been reading about for over a year now, this twisted fuck who’s done horrible things and laughed about them - because that’s a thing all the files and report agree on. 

This asshole delights in the chaos and destruction he caused. This laugh he’s heard that were recorded by news cameras or a bystander with a phone and no common sense. This laugh that’s made appearances in Michael’s nightmares. This thing that’s so close to the one that bursts out of him when he and MOGAR are perfectly in sync in the field, fucking up whatever stupid plan the baddie of the week has set up. When he fucks with Gavin or Matt or any of other Roosters.

And now he finds out that he’s not that fucked up asshole, that he never was. That the Vagabond isn’t the monster they told Michael he was, either.

Oh, they were never nice people, that’s for fucking sure, but they’re not depraved fuckers either.

The Vagabond staring at Michael as he talks, like he’s looking for his old partner in Michael’s new face. Trying to see if he’s still in there or if he’s someone else entirely, a stranger.

 And this is the thing neither Gavin or the Vagabond tell Michael because the Vagabond made Gavin fucking promise, or else. 

That whole partners thing? 

True in more than one sense of the word, but you know, no reason to rip that old wound open again, right? Not when Michael doesn’t know, doesn’t remember, and there are more important things to deal with. 

(Gavin wondering why everyone he knows is so stupid? Like Matt and that nice agent Jeremy at the one of the Roosters’ bases the MOP tends to stop off at, and now this? Also, ouch, his own little heart, but you know. Not like Michael is interested or anything, so...)

Michael agreeing to work with the Vagabond (and Gavin) to clear their names. Getting in touch with Matt and various sources and coming up with a plan of action and spending the downtime being awkward idiots together. 

Because you know, The Vagabond is still a notorious criminal, and Michael is law enforcement now. (Technically, although really he’s just not a raging douchebag when he stumbles on situations here and there or gets handed an assignment. Does the Right Thing even though it gets him yelled at most of the tie for his...unique way of resolving things?)

And Gavin is just acting like nothing’s strange about this at all?

Pushes the Vagabond around in the man’s own space like it’s nothing, like he wouldn’t kill him for it, and oh, God.

Michael having a heart attack every fucking time Gavin does it the first few days? Until he realizes the Vagabond’s actually amused by the little idiot. Is giving him shit and fucking with him for shits and giggles. That the guy seems to like Gavin, God help him. (Gavin hasn’t started in on his stupid questions, too busy trying to untangle this mess, but it’s only a matter of time.)

Michael and the Vagabond having those weirdly awkward moments together when Gavin’s working on/with MOGAR or sacked out after pulling an all nighter.

Michael trying to figure the guy out and vice versa because Michael wants to know the kind of guy he’s dealing with here since everything he was told is a lie. And Ryan, he’s doing the same because this isn’t the Michael he knew, and he has to remind himself of that too many fucking times because he is, where it matters, and it’s fucking hard remembering.

The two of them fighting and Gavin and MOGAR pointedly ignoring the pair of idiots being angry at each other for the wrong reasons.

More ~DRAMA~ until they start to get along, act like a team.

Michael taking the Vagabond out for a spin in MOGAR, Gavin screeching in the backseat because Michael drives like a maniac.

Eventually they get to the point where they’re ready to bring the baddies down, The Vagabond and Michael and Gavin and the people they trust to be on their side in this, and they go do the thing. 

Everything goes to shit immediately, but that’s okay because they planned for that? (Maybe not Gavin getting grabbed by the baddies, but you know.)

Car chases and explosions and things on fire - so many things on fire.

They get to the device or virus or whatever the baddie was going to use for his ~evil plan, and head baddie makes his escape using Gavin as a human shield.

Leave the Roosters to deal with rounding up the baddies hired muscle and handle clean-up while they do the Hero Thing. 

More car chases and explosions and things on fire - many more things on fire.

End up chasing head baddie through his company’s office building taking out cannon fodder hired muscle along the way. 

Keeping score for each one they drop - dead or incapacitated - and Michael wondering if this is what is like with them before. Anticipating each other and covering their weak spots without having to think about it, that kind of thing - 

And then they get to the baddie - on the roof of the office building with a waiting chopper because of course. 

Why break his terrible cliché streak now? 

Typical stand-off with Evil Villain Monologue. Michael and the Vagabond letting the baddie confess everything, otherwise how would they ever clear their names? 

Best to have it recorded and all, and Gavin watching Michael and the Vagabond for his cue because he’s not helpless. 

After they get what the need out of the baddie Gavin puts some of the training Michael gave him to use and  gets himself free and out of the line of fire.

There’s this pause where the baddie realizes he just lost his leverage, is facing two people he’s tried to kill at least once (came damn close with Michael). These very dangerous men he’s been framing for horrible crimes for a while now, and that’s probably not good, right?

Especially when he went after their friends, allies, too. Went after Gavin.

And the thing is, the Michael from before, the one the Vagabond knew, wouldn’t have hesitated to put a bullet in this fuckers head. (Not a nice person, after all.)

The baddie tries to use that against him, twisting the things Michael did. Telling him he’s gotten soft, working for the Roosters. Isn’t the killer he used to be.

Goes on and on and on, and Michael just stares at him, lowers his gun and listens to the idiot gloating when he goes to check on Gavin. Turns his back on this piece of shit. 

The baddie’s getting more and more agitated, spitting insults and threats because money talks, and he’s rich a million times over, a billion. He’ll be out on good behavior within a year. This is just a setback. They can’t stop him, he’ll be back for them, for that stupid pet scientist of theirs - 

The other thing is, the Vagabond from before, the one that Michael used to know, wouldn’t have hesitated to put a bullet in this fuckers head. (Not a nice person, after all.)

The difference between them, of course, is that the Ryan now is colder, sharper without Michael there to give him a reason not to be.

And this man, this pathetic little bastard took Michael from him, and is threatening to it all over again. To hurt Gavin, who he likes for some unknown reason, and Ryan?

He doesn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the bastard’s head now.

Doesn’t have to after the baddie snaps when they don’t react to his insults or threats. When he pulls a gun and starts to swing it around to bear on Michael and Gavin.

Just pulls the trigger and down he goes along with all the twisted little plots he carefully crafted.

Michael meeting his eyes, both of them knowing the bastard wasn’t going to leave here alive anyway. (Not nice people, because that comes back to bite you in the ass and you do what you have to in order to protect what’s yours.)

They call in the Roosters for additional clean-up and get the hell out of there. Go outside to find MOGAR waiting for them and start driving off into the sunset, as you do when these things are over - 

But then Gavin is like NO. Tells MOGAR to take them someplace for medical care because Michael and the Vagabond didn’t get through this mess unscathed. Are a little beaten up, a little shot, and so on and only idiots don’t get those kind of injuries seen to!

Michael and the Vagabond turning that right back around on Gavin who isn’t exactly a vision of beauty himself, what with getting knocked around to keep him in line and such.

Debriefing and all that fun stuff happens, the Roosters working with various law enforcement agencies to clear everything up.

Get Michael’s name cleared along with the Vagabond’s and their shady allies too. Get them pardoned of their crimes for saving Los Santos/~the world.

Michael not sure what to do now because a lot of shit happened, and he’s not the monster he thought he was, but he’s not this ~hero the Roosters tried to turn him into. 

The Vagabond intending to vanish somewhere, but Gavin is very much intentionally stalling him with Matt’s help. (That whole whole mess of Michael and the Vagabond, and without any ~peril on the horizon maybe they can do something about that. Gavin’s seen the way Michael keeps looking at the Vagabond, and vice versa and it would be nice if they did something about it???)

Also, there’s talk of the Vagabond being an asset the Roosters would love to have on their side, if he can be convinced to sign up, so...

Gavin making himself scarce because it’s easier all around that way. Buries himself in his work, tweaking MOGAR’s systems and the like. Asking his opinions on new weapons and such.

Doesn’t expect Michael and the Vagabond to corner him one night, ask him why he’s been avoiding them.

“The fuck, Gavin?”

And Gavin, all right. He’s tired and worn down and maybe not quite healed up from the whole saving the world thing. Maybe gives himself away, gestures at Michael and the Vagabond who are working towards something. He’s honestly glad for them, but he’s got work to do so if they could leave him to it, that would be lovely.

“Holy shit, you’re an idiot.”

“What he said.”

Gavin looking at them all confused because they’re not wrong, but an explanation would be nice and all?

And then the awkward confession and leaving it up to Gavin if he’d be interested in two emotionally stunted criminals - 

“You’ve been pardoned - “

“Not the point, asshole.”

- and if he is, maybe stop by their quarter later to watch movies with them. 

“Netflix and Chill?”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole. Bring bevs if you decide to show, and not the cheap stuff.”

========

Gavin totally does show up, and he totally brings the cheap stuff.

Michael recovers his memory a little at a time. Has moments where he struggled to reconcile his past with his present, but he manages. Has Ryan and Gavin and MOGAR. The rest of the Roosters.

Ryan may or may not tinker a bit with MOGAR’s weapons systems, poke at the A.I. Gavin and Matt are developing for future agents. May or may not help Michael out on missions. Absolutely terrifies new agents and science staff, makes friends with that nice agent Jeremy.

Matt may or may not make a move at an office party at some point, may or may not make Michael and Ryan a few hundred dollars richer thanks to the betting pool. 

[isolavirtuosa]

Unlikely Office Romances 1-2

[fanfiction] Gundam Wing, 1x2x1, probably PG-13ish though there are some mildly sexy times and the usual trashmouth

Dr. Heero Yuy, Preventers forensics expert, can’t seem to get over his crush on his former wartime comrade Agent Duo Maxwell.  Agent Duo Maxwell can’t seem to stand the sight of him... and yet...?

I was so excited to be posting this story which I started writing 4 years ago, but then I realized who is even the audience for this ahahahaha

Parts 1-2

- 1 -

             “Ugh.”

           I glanced up from playing solitaire on my computer, eyes locking with Andrea Schultz’s, the agent whose desk was next to mine.

           “What’s up?” I asked, tilting my head inquisitively.

           “Yuy incoming,” she muttered, turning back to her own computer and attempting to look busy.

           I tried to shrink down the solitaire window, but it was already too late.

           “Fooling around like usual,” came Heero’s nasally, judgmental voice from behind me.

           I practically jumped out of my seat. “Christ, Heero!  You’re such a goddamn creep!”

           “Ballistics report from the Myers Case,” he said, dropping a folder on my desk.

           “Great,” I muttered, flipping open the file and taking a look.

           I could feel Heero still hovering behind me.

           I turned slowly.  “What?”

           Heero stared at me impassively.

           I shifted.

           “Is the report to your satisfaction?” he asked.

           “Uh, I guess it’s all right,” I said.  “I haven’t exactly read through all…” I paused, flipping through the folder quickly, “eleven pages of it yet.”

           Heero shrugged, continuing to give me his patented creepy stare.

           “Thanks?” I said, wondering if that would be the magic word to get him to go away.

           Heero abruptly turned around and left.

           Andrea let out a sigh of relief.

           “God he’s such a freak,” I muttered, tossing the folder aside and turning back to my solitaire game.

           “I don’t know how you can deal with him,” Andrea said, shaking her head.  I’d seen her stare down a crazy neo-Nazi terrorist holding a bigass shotgun without even blinking an eye, but for some reason she was completely freaked out by the mere presence of all five foot three of Heero Yuy.

           “I mean, yeah he’s a weirdo, but he’s all right I guess,” I said with a shrug.

           “Heero?” Hilde asked, plunking down a coffee cup on my desk.

           “Hilde, my angel!” I gasped, grabbing the cup and staring at it in elation.  It was from the coffee shop down the street, a vast improvement over the sludge in the break room.

           “Yeah, make it up to me by doing some of my paperwork,” Hilde said, gesturing towards the pile of folders on her desk.

           “But I had a really good game of solitaire going…” I protested.

           “Thanks, Schbeiker,” Andrea said, accepting her cup graciously.  “If there’s anything I can help you with, I’d be happy to.”

           “Suck up,” I muttered, taking a gulp of my coffee.

           “You bet your sweet ass,” Andrea said, nuzzling the coffee against her cheek.  “The things I would do for good coffee…”

           “Just don’t do them in the office,” Sally commented, breezing through the door.

           Wufei, Trowa, and Agent Daniel Warner shuffled in behind her.

           “How was the big downtown meeting?” I asked, twirling my chair around so I could face the new arrivals.

           “Crap,” Trowa said flatly.

           “Waste of time,” Wufei muttered.

           “We got coffee,” Hilde reminded him.

           “Who cares about some damn coffee?” Wufei growled at her, taking a seat at his desk in the back of the office.

           “Anyone with half a brain,” Sally said, sitting on Wufei’s desk and sipping her coffee.

           “Po!” Wufei raged, gesturing wildly at Sally.

           “Yes, Chang?” Sally asked, keeping her back to him and smiling.

           “My desk is not a place for your posterior!” he snapped.

           “Well I’m the boss and I do what I want,” Sally said with a shrug, taking another casual sip of her coffee.  “Maxwell, Schultz, how were things here?”

           “I played a good round of solitaire, ma’am,” I offered.

           “No phone calls, no emails…” Andrea said.

           “No wonder they won’t give us more funding,” Sally said despondently.  “Where’s a psycho terrorist organization bent on taking over the world when you need one…?”

           “Po, do you even listen to what you’re saying?” Wufei asked in disgust.

           “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Sally said, sliding off of his desk.  “I’ll be in my office conferencing with Une if anyone needs me.”  With that, Sally disappeared into her office and shut the door, leaving the rest of us with a crabby Wufei.

           “What are you all staring at?” Wufei growled. “Get back to work!”

           “But there is no work…” I pointed out.

           “Did you finish everything for the Myers case to go to court?”

           “Well, I mean mostly kind of sort of…”

           “Finish it.”

           I rolled my eyes, picking up the folder that Heero had brought me as I prepared to enjoy eleven pages of godawful drudgery.

           “Duooo,” Andrea said, spinning around in her chair. “Wanna go out tonight?”

           “What did you have in mind?” I asked, eyes flicking over the report.

           “Marty’s?” she suggested.

           “We always go to Marty’s,” I said.  I was tired of the same old bar with the same old drinks and the same old people.

           “There’s a new club on the main line,” Hilde interjected.

           “No more tabletop dancing,” I said, waving the suggestion off.

           “That was one time,” Hilde said with narrowed eyes.

           “And now we all have it burned in our retinas,” I said, putting down the file and crossing my arms over my chest.

           “Or burned on our hard drives,” Daniel said, waggling his eyebrows at Hilde.

           Hilde made a disgusted face at him.

           “We could go to Finnegan’s,” Trowa suggested.

           “No way!” everyone chorused.

           “I like Finnegan’s,” Trowa protested.

           “We know!” we all chorused back at him.

           “We could go to that Chinese place,” Andrea put in. “Their scorpion bowls are really good.”

           “Or that dive bar on Sixth Street.”

           “Or Al Fresco.”

           “Or Red Barn.”

           We ended up going to Marty’s.

           “What’s wrong, Duo?” Trowa asked, coming up behind where I was slumped at the bar.

           “I’m in a rut,” I said with a sigh, taking a dejected drink of my beer.

           “No action?” he asked knowingly.

           “None, nada, zippo.”

           “Poor baby.”

           “If you’re not even going to fake sympathy…”

           “You hate liars.”

           “Whatever, unibang.”

           “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Trowa said, ordering another beer and taking a seat next to me.

           “That’s how this friendship works,” I said, swirling my beer around the glass glumly.

           Trowa’s beer arrived and he took a long drink.

           “Holy shit, Tro,” I said, smacking him on the arm.

           He coughed, putting his beer down and giving me a sour look.  “What is your problem?”

           “Look,” I said, trying to contain my mirth as I pointed to the door.

           Trowa squinted, then let out a snort.

           “The Nerd Squad has arrived,” I declared, watching as Heero, Quatre, and Mariemaia, their fellow lab tech, all trooped into the bar.

           “I didn’t know they drank,” Trowa commented. His one eye looked amused.

           “Is it even legal for Mariemaia to drink?”

           “She’s in college now.”

           “Christ, that makes me feel old.”

           “You are old.”

           “Twenty-nine is not old.”

           “That’s like 65 in lion years.”

           “Oh my god, Tro, just go and sit with the nerds.”

           “Lions are cool.”

           “Are you drunk already?”

           “I don’t need to be drunk to know that lions are cool.”

           “Uh-huh,” I said, ordering myself another beer. Clearly I was being left behind in the drinking.

           “Fancy seeing you here.”

           I jumped, my glass clattering on the bar. “Holy fucking shit, Heero, why do you always do that?”

           “Do what?” he asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

           “Sneak up on me.”

           “You must not be very good in the field then,” he said.

           “And you must not be very good at not being an asshole,” I muttered, turning back to face the bar.

           Heero finally got the bartender’s attention and ordered three margaritas.

           “Seriously?” I said.

           “What?” Heero asked, giving me his confused face again.

           “You havin’ a girls’ night or something?” I asked.

           “Well, Mariemaia is a girl…” Heero said, still looking confused.

           “Why do I even talk to you?” I murmured, glancing towards Trowa only to realize that he’d gone back to play pool with Hilde and Andrea.

           Heero continued to stand by me, waiting for his drinks.

           I thought about retreating over to the others, but that seemed cowardly, and I was no coward.  I drank my beer sullenly instead.

           The bartender brought over the three drinks to Heero.  Being Heero, he balanced all three perfectly and turned to carry them back to his table. “See you around.”

           “Uh, yeah, I guess so,” I said, watching him skulk back to his table.

           Quatre and Mariemaia looked frantic, taking their drinks and quickly bowing their heads together, talking and gesturing wildly.

           “Freaks,” I muttered, pushing my empty glass towards the bartender.  I thought about getting another, but after surveying the bar, I decided it was another hopeless night, and that it was time for me to go home.

           “Hey, kids,” I said, going to lean casually against the pool table.

           “You’re leaving?” Hilde asked.

           “Aw, come on, Duo,” Andrea whined.

           “There’s no one for him to bone,” Hilde said, picking up her pool stick and lining up a shot.

           “The lady has a point,” I said, nodding.

           “There are other things to do at bars besides pick up wayward dudes,” Andrea said.  She’d barely been at the Preventers a year, so I could excuse her not knowing how everything she had just said was wrong.

           “Oh, Andrea,” I said, shaking my head.

           “You and Heero were looking pretty friendly earlier,” Trowa said casually.

           I shuddered.  “Don’t make jokes like that.”

           “He’s basically your type,” Trowa said.

           “Has a dick and is breathing?” Hilde chimed in.

           “Check and check on both accounts,” Trowa said with a nod.

           “I hate you both,”

           “Really?  Yuy?” Andrea asked, wrinkling your nose.  “He’s such a nerd.”

           “He’s got a great ass, though,” Hilde put in.

           “You can tell because he’s always wearing spandex,” Trowa added helpfully.

           “He’s wearing women’s skinny jeans tonight,” Hilde said, trying to keep a straight face.  “Just how I like it.”

           “Why is Hilde hitting on Yuy?” Daniel asked, appearing behind us.

           “She’s trying to fight Duo for him,” Trowa said.

           Daniel shrugged.  “He’s a good-looking guy, I guess.”

           “I thought you were straight,” Andrea said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

           “If I say that I’m confused and that I need you to come home with me to help clear up my sexuality, would you come?”

           “No.”

           “Then yes, I am very heterosexual, and am merely sharing an objective opinion on the attractiveness of another human being.”

           I stayed quiet because I didn’t want to think about how somewhere behind his unkempt hair and terrible fashion, Heero Yuy actually was pretty attractive.  And during the war…

           What a horrible thought.  I needed to get laid.

           “Yeah, I’m out of here,” I said, waving to everyone.

           “I’ll walk with you,” Trowa offered.

           “Stay,” I said, waving him off, but he followed me anyway.

           We walked down the dark street, spotted with drunks, heading towards the station.

           “Do you want to go to Second Street?” Trowa ventured.

           “Nah, not in the mood,” I said.

           “When are you ever not in the mood for gay bars?” Trowa asked, arching his brow.

           “Just seems pointless,” I said, looking straight ahead as we walked.

           “Is Duo Maxwell looking to settle down?”

           “Is that what this is?”

           “It’s either that, or it’s time for Viagra…”

           “Shit, isn’t there an option C?”

           “Nope.”

           I hesitated.  “Do you ever think about it?”

           “About Viagra?” Trowa asked.  “No, I’m quite virile.”

           I punched him in the shoulder in annoyance. “Settling down and shit.  Finding a guy.  Buying curtains together or whatever the hell it is that couples do.”

           “That sounds incredibly boring.”

           “Yeah,” I agreed.

           We parted ways at the station, and I went home alone.

 - 2 -

             I watched Duo leave the bar.

           “Go after him,” Mariemaia hissed, giving me a push.

           “No,” I said sullenly, picking up my drink and taking a long sip.

           “After we came all the way here…” Mariemaia said exasperatedly.

           “At least we got these delicious drinks,” Quatre said with a dreamy smile.  He was already completely intoxicated.

           “I can’t believe you just gave up like that!” Mariemaia said with a loud huff.

           “I know an impossible scenario when I see one.”

           Mariemaia crossed her arms over her chest. “Really?  Asking a coworker to have a drink together is an impossible scenario?”

           “Duo Maxwell is not interested in me,” I said flatly.

           “That’s why you need to make him interested!” she said, slapping her hands on the table.

           “Why are teenage girls so…?” I said, searching for an adequate word.

           “Wonderful?  Beautiful? Amazing?” Mariemaia suggested through gritted teeth.

           “Aggressive,” I decided.  “Very aggressive.”

           “Maybe you’re just weak.”

           I stared at her.

           “Well, you’re too scared to even ask a guy out.”

           “She has a point,” Quatre agreed, pointing at me with a drunken finger.  “I can’t believe you’re afraid of Duo.”

           “I’m not afraid of Duo.”

           “Then why don’t you ask him out?” Quatre countered, raising his drink to his mouth and missing.

           I was tired of the circular logic, so I didn’t answer.

           Mariemaia sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring at me.

           I stared back, and I could see she was doing her best not to look away.  She was always stubborn like that.

           I was more stubborn.

           After almost five minutes of it, Mariemaia finally gave up with an exasperated huff.  “You’re so stupid.”

           “I’m a certified genius,” I responded.

           “That doesn’t make you any less stupid.”

           “That is a logical fallacy.”

           Mariemaia looked like she still wanted to fight, but then she looked confused.  “Where did Quatre go?”

           We both looked around and immediately spotted Quatre at the bar.

           “Is he getting more drinks?” Mariemaia asked, squinting at him.

           “This mission needs to be aborted,” I said, standing up and going over to collect Quatre.

           Mariemaia sighed and pulled on her coat.  She’d known me long enough to know that she had pushed me as far as she could.

           We all walked towards the station together, Quatre much drunker than I had expected him to be.

           Of course, it had been a very long time since he had gone drinking.  We had our work, and it didn’t leave much time for socializing.

           Also, there was the fact that we were socially inept. That put a damper on the whole socializing thing.

           This had all been a very stupid idea.

           Quatre leaned against Mariemaia, and she linked arms with him, trying to support him as she limped along.  The function in her legs had been damaged when Dekhim shot her during the Barton uprising, and despite years of physical therapy, she walked with a limp.

           “I want you both to forget about this nonsense,” I finally said as we stood in line waiting for the next train.

           “No way,” Mariemaia said.  “We’re getting you a man.”

           Quatre nodded empathetically, then looked a little queasy.

           “I don’t want a man,” I said, feeling annoyed.

           Mariemaia and Quatre both snorted.

           “This from the guy with a creepy-ass stalker scrapbook,” Mariemaia said.

           I tried to kill her with my eyes.

           “Careful, Maia,” Quatre said, still laughing. “It’s not a creepy-ass stalker scrapbook, it’s a collection of newspaper clippings about an old comrade.”

           I regretted living with Une and Mariemaia during my university studies.  I also regretted Mariemaia looking under my bed and finding the collection of newspaper clippings about my old comrade Duo Maxwell.  I especially regretted her telling Quatre about it.

           “I think he’s mad at us,” Quatre tried to whisper, his voice coming out very loudly as we got on the train.

           I stood by the door, and Mariemaia and Quatre came to stand near me.

           “You should sit,” I told Mariemaia.

           “I’m fine,” she said, giving me an annoyed look.

           I shrugged.

           “Heero…” she said in her melodramatic teenage way.

           I let my eyes meet hers.

           “I just want you to be happy.”

           “I’m fine,” I said.

           “You’re not fine at all, you’re kind of a creepy weirdo.”

           I frowned.

           “I mean that in a fond way.”

           “That doesn’t make it better.”

           “Well then try leaving your apartment sometimes.”

           “What am I doing right now?”

           “I forced you to come.”

           The train pulled away from the station with a jerk, and Mariemaia caught herself on one of the poles.

           I gave her A Look.

           “Shut up,” she snarled.  Mariemaia wasn’t one to be held back by her disability, and I admired that about her, except when she was being stupid about it.

           Quatre, who had barely been able to walk to the station on his own, now seemed perfectly poised as the train bumped along. He offered Mariemaia his arm and she gripped it while turning her back to me.

           I needed to get home.

           Quatre got off the train with Mariemaia, saying he’d walk her to her dorm.  I said goodbye, watching them disappear up the stairs as the train sped away.

           I felt like everyone was staring at me.  I turned my glare on, eyes meeting the woman sitting across from me.

           She flinched, looking down and pulling her purse more tightly towards her chest.

           The train finally reached my stop and I hurried up out of the station, heading towards my apartment.  It was a short walk, only five minutes, but my body was thrumming with tension that made the walk seem longer.

           I thought about Duo’s look of disdain when I’d talked to him at the bar.  I thought about him and his friends looking at me and laughing.  I thought about earlier in the day when I’d given him that report at his desk.  How he’d seemed so annoyed and uncomfortable.  Every conversation that we’d had that day kept replaying in my head over and over, making me flinch.  I was so awkward, and everything that came out of my mouth around him was stupid.

           I tried to stop thinking about it, but my thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone.

           I was embarrassed.

           I wondered if Duo knew.  It seemed so obvious, the three of us showing up at the bar we knew he always went to.  The way I’d approached him.  The way I always seemed to get tongue-tied around him.

           It had all started another lifetime ago. Duo and I had been close during the war, in our own way.  I still irritated him then, but he seemed almost affectionate in his exasperation. I considered him a friend, even if I never vocalized it.

           Things started to change when Duo was captured and imprisoned.  I was sent to execute him, but found I couldn’t do it.

           As I patched him up after our escape, Duo looked so broken.  I was momentarily distracted from my single-minded focus on the war, reaching out to push Duo’s sweaty bangs from his eyes.

           He flinched, touching the bandages on his ribs that I had just finished taping up.

           I felt strange.  My hand slid from his forehead to his cheek, cupping it gently. My skin tingled where it touched his.

           Duo’s eyes drifted up to meet mine.

           I didn’t know why I was touching him, but I didn’t take my hand away.

           Duo’s hand slowly inched out, resting on my hip.

           We didn’t speak.

           We didn’t move.

           And then there was a buzzing from the radio, and the moment was over.

           I didn’t think any more about it until after the war, but even then I couldn’t make sense of it.

           We met again during the Barton uprising. Duo was the same old Duo, and I felt at ease working with him.  But as we prepared to go into enemy territory, he’d stopped me, touching my hand and murmuring, “Be careful.”

           Once again, his skin on mine left a tingling sensation.

           I found myself aimless after the war.  Une approached me about joining the Preventers, but I told her that I was done with fighting.

           She told me that there were other ways to save the world.

           I went to school, first studying engineering, which was incredibly boring, then switching to medical science and forensics. After graduating, I joined the Preventers as a laboratory technician.  I enjoyed the work and found it fulfilling.

           Sometimes I thought about Duo.

           The other former gundam pilots drifted into the Preventers one by one.  First was Wufei after the Barton Uprising, then Quatre and I as lab techs.  Next came Trowa, drawn in by the guerilla skirmishes happening on L3 that led to an attack on his circus.

           Duo was last, joining only two years ago. His previous job as a bounty hunter frequently brought him in conflict with the Preventers.  Those conflicts usually cost Duo money, and after a fight in Une’s office heard all around Preventer’s headquarters, Duo came out wearing a uniform and badge.

           No one knew how Une had finally tamed Duo, but his entry into the Preventers had been like a hurricane.

           Seeing Duo in the flesh every day cleared up any confusion I had once held about why his touch made my skin tingle and why I kept a collection of newspaper clippings about his bounty hunting exploits under my bed.

           I was attracted to Duo Maxwell.

           It was a confusing thing with which I had no experience.  But I was pleased with an explanation for something that had been plaguing me for years.

           This was attraction.  This was… love.

           Duo barely even glanced my way.

           Whatever had been between us during the war was gone, and now Duo was impossibly far away.

           I put the key into my door, opening it with an immense feeling of relief.

           I was home.

           I yanked off my shirt and tossed it into the hamper in my room, followed by my pants.  Down to only my boxers, I padded over to the cage on the bookshelf.

           “Sorry I’m late, Gray,” I said, handing a treat to the gray hamster.  “Sorry, Brown,” I said, handing another treat to the brown one.

           They just chewed on their sunflower seeds, seemingly unaffected by my lateness.

           I flipped open my laptop and turned it on. I walked over to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, then returned to the laptop.  I opened the internet browser, squinting into the backlight. My hand fumbled over the desk for my glasses, shoving them up the bridge of my nose.

           Most of the physical enhancements I had gone through during my training were permanent.  I still had physical strength and endurance beyond the capacity of a normal human being.  I just had terrible eyesight.  Une was always telling me I spent too much time in front of the computer screen.

           I took a drink of water as my tabs loaded. I needed to rehydrate after the alcohol consumption of the evening.

           The screen was suddenly inundated with messages. It seemed my latest posting as ‘WingPilot01’ had been very popular on the Gundam 00 message board.

           I settled more comfortably into my chair.

[aspiratixxn]

Flowers on the grave of memories (2/?)

Summary: Meeting the winter soldier and the remnants of one James Buchanan Barnes. 

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, torture, mentions of death, brainwashing.

Word Count: 1670

Notes: I really wanted to play with the idea of some kind of goo because when I’m not me it feels gooey. Continuation from @nacho-bucky‘s writing challenge. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

Find Part 1 [here]

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The winter soldier is neat and organized, like beige file cabinets with individual files labeled in square text. Everything is done cleanly, orderly, obsessively. Know only the mission, nothing more and nothing less. Forget no spare detail, not until the report is given. The cabinets sit in an endless white room, blindingly white. Tucked in the corner though, there is a cabinet swathed in black, no handles visible to open. It rattles, at times, but nothing ever comes out and eventually it stops so he doesn’t pay any mind to it.

Except one day it explodes. It bursts open and black sludge pours out, drowning the white floors, crawling up the walls and dousing the room in darkness. The file cabinets are but cubes haphazardly thrown about now. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what’s happening but he knows what triggered it. His target, who could dodge and fight. That man, the one who had looked at him like he was the answer to the universe.

“Bucky?”

Was it someone from Before? He doesn’t know and it’s hard to decipher anything in the sludge. It’s a blanket of pain, pain that stings and burns and aches. Instead, he growls and lunges for the throat.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

It gives him a splitting headache later, that name. Bucky. Who in the goddamn fuck is that? He stares, in the lab, out towards the stains on the wall. Pierce comes in and Winter looks up. Though Pierce is speaking, none of it registers. “I know him.” A sigh, exasperated and definitely not willing to listen. But he can’t stop thinking about it. “But. I knew him.”

“Wipe him and start over.”

The sludge in his mind needs to be shoved back, so he can do his work. He takes the mouth guard and bites down hard, even though they’ve just barely started. The chair restraints fling out and around his arms and he feels his heart race, his breath coming in pants and wheezes too fast. The panic shows in his chest’s rise and falls, in his wide eyes though he might try to be brave. The machine rotates, the terrifying prongs sparking in preparation. They latch into his head and they buzz and he screams. Screams as the sludge is forced back, even as it wriggles and fights. No, no! I’ve finally seen him! No!

The doctors fix it, temporarily every few missions. They use their machines, use their drugs, and force it back into its file cabinet, but it’s sloppy. It bubbles and oozes, trying to see the other cabinets again. They force it back every time and he accepts it, it’s easier than trying to deal with it himself after all. He’s a short-term tool, he knows that.

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

Each mission is coordinated and scripted, just how it should be. Not like that fight with the curious man. And yet the darkness lurks against the edge of his mind, ready to consume him again. He doesn’t like that. It’s too much of a variable, so he requests that they do the shock treatment just before being sent out on the final mission. Well, perhaps not requests so much as coerces them into it, but the Winter Soldier does not stand for uncertainty. There is only the mission and the mission’s successful completion.

Someone had argued once that this blood lust would come back for him. That someday someone would face him with the same edges and chip at his perfect blade.

It sounds like thunder, but feels like an earthquake and he’s thrown, slamming against the thick glass. If it had been any thinner, perhaps he’d be free falling to his death again. Again? Who? Has he died before? Then he’s pinned under the bars and he shrieks, panic pushing his limbs to action. But as strong as he was made, there are some things he can’t do. Bile rises to his throat and he wildly looks around, looking for something, anything. He can’t die here, not yet, not again.

And there he is again, that man whose very presence drowns him. He swallows thickly, eyes so wide they might just pop out of his head. He won’t beg for mercy, not like this. He refuses, it’s a fate worse than death to be begging for mercy like so many he’s seen before. And he certainly won’t do it to this man, who’s bloodied appearance makes his heart ache and cry (no, Steve, Steve! Steve! I’m right here! Please, Steve!). But the man doesn’t do anything to him, doesn’t try to kill him or leave him there to die. Instead he lifts the bar even an inch up, giving the winter soldier just enough space to dart out, like a cat escaping through a closed door. They wheeze together on the glass, even as everything rumbles around them, collapsing on itself.

The black bursts from the cabinet again, and he’s losing control and he’s there, he’s there punching and punching and punching until there’s blood spattering against the glass. Why didn’t he fight back? Why did he throw away his shield? Why why why why why- The black isn’t just covering things now, it’s filling the room. It’s consuming the cabinets, consuming the fabricated memories, consuming the protocols, consuming everything that the winter soldier is and he screams, smashing his fist into the other man’s face one more time. He grinds out each word, “YOU. ARE. MY. MISSION.” A pathetic attempt to regather himself, as if saying that with enough desperation would make it true.

But it hurts. It hurts, hurts, hurts, it’s cold, it’s cold? The winter soldier doesn’t feel cold. His hand is reared back and he can’t breathe, his chest so tight it might just crush his heart and lungs. There’s buzzing in his ears, whispers from someone who shouldn’t exist. It whispers of darkness, cold, fear, pain, loneliness, nostalgia. And what cut through the buzzing, are the quiet words, “So finish it. Cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

End of the line. With you ‘til the end of the line, end of the line, end of the line.  Winter is consumed, in murky memories that blur at the edges. Laughter, bright and lovely and loving. Touches that are firm and kind and warm. Hugs that feel like home. He can’t handle this, these aren’t his to know, and he lurches back, terror firing off every nerve. It’s like he’s been doused in ice water, everything tingles and burns and he can’t breathe and-

He needs to move, needs to go because he failed his mission, he failed. But his body won’t move, doesn’t want to move. The exhaustion and wounds run bone deep, suddenly weighing his bones, and he can’t make himself move. It’s reflex that grabs the railing as the glass caves and the blond man drops, falling without any resistance. Not even an attempt to reach out for the railing. And Winter watches him.

It’s graceful, in the way that battlefields are. With the still smoldering edges of debris and the man slowly vanishing to a blur of blue and red. The small white water splashes that he sees make something inside of him crumble. Crumple like the warping metal around him.

He swallows.

He lets go.

He falls.

And again there’s that sensation of dying. The room in his mind is completely submerged in black, and the memory sparks. Falling surrounded by blue and grey and white, away from that man, falling away and crying out and absolutely surrounded by the bite of winter chill. This time it’s falling from blue skies, warm sunlight, a few clouds fluffy in the sky. The green of the forest blurs past along with some grey-red-orange pieces.

He takes the dive, executed like an Olympic gold medalist. There’s hardly a sound as he hits the waves at near maximum velocity. It’s cold but not like before. He closes his fist around a mop of wet fabric but for a moment, even though they’re in the water, he feels weighted. Like he can never rise to the surface and his body reacts without his brain, clawing for the surface.

If the dive down was simple, the way up is like dragging himself from the fields of punishment in Tartarus. An unending, cruel punishment to always be pulled down when the goal is the surface. When he breaks, it’s like a baby’s first breath. And he wheezes, as he treads water with the unconscious weight in his arms, looking for a shore.

Nothing looks like a shore, but he blindly chooses what looks to be the closest tree and aims there. None of his movements have the same efficiency as before but they’re still smooth as butter.

It would be easy, to just leave him there to die. He’s meant to die after all, it’s the mission. And yet he doesn’t let go, doesn’t let him fall into the water again and into its dark depths. Why? Why is he rescuing this man? The mission- The mission doesn’t matter anymore because I’m with him ‘til the end of the line. Winter stops moving again, bobbing in the water in an almost comic manner. Who was that? Why did it sound so familiar? Why does it ache?

His feet hit the ground and he huffs as he takes the last steps up the shore. The gravel crunches beneath his feet and he drops his luggage with an unceremonious thud. He has to go, he has to hide, he can’t be found like this. The black sludge is half urging him but Winter also can’t risk being found again. They do not treat failures well, and even if he is an elite unit, anything that doesn’t serve its job is dead weight. So he staggers off, into the woods, but it feels like he’s leaving something behind with that man laying on the shore. He swallows the feelings and locks them away, somewhere in the sludge.