Closet (Apocalypse AU)
Jun. 27th, 2018 12:40 pm( Read more... )
Rear Commander Gibson was proud of her job and the people under her command.
That was not a guarantee she wouldn’t kill someone before this trip was over.
Two weeks trapped in a ship, traveling to another dimension was proving the greatest challenge of her life.
When they first got aboard, the android assigned to Squad Three sat down in their chair and promptly said: “You know where my on button is if you need me.”
And powered down.
Lucky bastard.
At least Michaels had gotten sick of saying ‘are we there yet’, every hour, on the hour.
Weir didn’t dare take it back their main headquarters.
That puddle of green ooze was the cause of it all. The thing that terrified the Elders so badly they resulted to extreme measures in a hope of stopping them.
One wasn’t so bad.
But there was never just one of them. That puddle was made up of a city of psionic individuals. Each attacking you all at once. Even an Ethereal couldn’t hold off the simultaneous coordinated assault of thousand.
He could hear them laughing even in the security booth. A cacophony at the edges of his perception.
The idea of those things colonizing a human horrified him in way he couldn’t put into words. Worse than what the Council did to him. Worse than the Avatars.
Weir shivered.
It’d been a long time since he’d been afraid like this.
He wondered if these small things–nervous and wary of the bigger, larger creatures gawking at them as they tried to figure out what to do with them–were the last of their kind. Raised in captivity as farm animals for eventual slaughter.
The decision to rescue the Sectoids found in the micronoid’s food chamber was a split second one by Rear Commander Gibson. She was old enough to remember ADVENT and the horrors the Sectoids had committed against them, but…
Well, look at them.
Well fed and docile, but intelligent enough to know their end was guaranteed within a specific timeframe.
Not so guaranteed now. There were some who wanted them all executed, sure, but Gibson was already putting up a fight. She rescued them, she felt responsible for them. Her squad leaders were rallying around her, some more out of personal loyalty than actually caring about the aliens, but the support was there.
Weir admired their spirit, but he doubted they were ready for the political shitstorm gathering over their heads.
He was not looking forward to The Cult of Sirius finding out they had Sectoids staying in their medical wing for lack of a better place to put them.
“Should I discreetly contact the Mutant Alliance?” Mike looked from the observation window to their boss.
“Please.” Weir closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. John was going to have something to say about this. He knew it. He could feel it.
Today might be one of those days he slept in his office.
“Put Kader on damage control and send Gibson my way before she does something regrettable,” Weir said.
“She’s already punched a reporter.”
“Oh, goddamn it.”
Weir was about two seconds away from stealing Kader’s car and driving over to Megapol HQ himself.
The lines to the station were busy. John wasn’t picking up his phone, and the Squads sent in to deal with the situation weren’t done mopping up yet.
Officers and other employees were supposed to be in safe rooms while XCOM handled the latest alien incursion, but who the fuck knows with Megapol. Some days they let XCOM handle it, others they were getting themselves killed taking potshots at UFOs.
Who knows if John would have retreated instead of picking up a rifle.
There were confirmed Brainsuckers on site. Anthropods toting around the launchers. Kader had already sent him a message about a casualty. A squaddie that’d been with them since before this whole mess started. Now just a staring husk with no hope of salvation.
No one deserved to go out like that, but the idea of John….
He should have been the one to lead the mission. His detractors be damned. At this point he couldn’t care if that would have fueled the fire of criticism aimed at him and John. Kader was (admittedly) good at running missions, but good wasn’t good enough–
"Sir,” Mike’s voice piped up through the intercom. “Chief Bradford is on the line.
Kader had spent a lifetime dealing with nonsense from people who thought they knew best. ADVENT, his parents, his former agent back when he was doing modeling, the senate…this though, this threw him for a loop.
He tried to contain his laughter without much success.
“Wh-what do you want me to do about it? She isn’t my kid.” Here he was, five minutes before a meeting with Nutrivend talking about a teenager’s choice of clothing. Sally’s tastes ran tacky, sure, but at least she was happy.
He listened, barely able to comprehend what he was hearing.
In addition to attending meetings Weir couldn’t be bothered with, he was apparently now also responsible for hearing people complain about his daughter. It was plain annoying, and it rubbed him the wrong way. Sally was a good kid.
“Alright, I’ll be sure to forward her a fashion magazine. Have a wonderful day, ma’am.” Kader ended the call. He used the last few minutes before the meeting to look into the PR department. He was sure they only wanted to do their job, but goddamn if he wasn’t getting flashbacks to his agent.
Sally should be able to do what she wanted.The anniversary of XCOM’s win over ADVENT was a day Weir would rather spend alone with John.
Weir combed his hair. In the mirror’s reflection Sally gestured back towards the living room where he knew Currer was fast asleep. He would be for some time. He’d tired the dog out at the park before he came home to take his shower.
“Someone’s got to watch him, and since you have to give a speech, it can’t be you.”
“Currer’s fine on his own for a few hours.” Weir rubbed his eyes. He wanted to go back to sleep.
“I heard border collies can chew through walls when they’re bored.”
“Gives us an excuse to renovate.” Weir walk passed her. He entered his bedroom to look for a tie. “I hope he chews on the dining room wall. We could get rid of it and make the living room bigger.”
“Currer will be lonely!” Sally looked at the tie he picked up. “No, not that one. It doesn’t go with the jacket.”
Weir held up another for her approval.
She nodded.
He’d be lost without Sally. Leslie would probably yell at him more.
“I thought you liked the dress you picked out with Mike.” God knows, the android had better sense of fashion than he did.
“I do,” she said. “I just…”
“Don’t want to go?” Weir clipped on the tie.
She nodded again, pleading eyes turned up to full blast.
“Tell you what,” Weir said. “We’ll both stay, but you have to explain to John, Leslie, Mike, and Kader why we’re absent.”
They stared at each other.
Her shoulders dropped.
“I’ll go change.”
“Cheer up, the food’s always great.”“Look, if you want to change it–”
“We have no reason to.”
Bradford turned down the volume on the TV as the grav ball game went to commercial.
“This is going to blow your mind, but sometimes you don’t need reasons to do things,” he said.
“I know that.” Will munched on a pretzel, frowning at the taste. The store was out of the kind they usually got.
Bradford would tell him he didn’t have to eat them if he didn’t want to, but knew that would turn into another mini argument.
He understood. He did. Hell, Bradford still had a thing about making sure he knew exactly where the meat on his table came from, and insisted on keeping the heater running in the winter even if it drove up the electric bill.
“What if I want to renovate?” Bradford tangled his fingers in Will’s wavy hair.
“Why would you? You love the way this place looks.” Will leaned against him, closing his eyes.
“I want a pool table. We don’t have room for one,” Bradford said.
“Remember the last time we played pool together?…and the time before that, or any other time we ever competed against each other?”
Bradford smiled at the memory.
“You’re not making a good argument against it,” he said.
“Sally might object.”
“I guess so, but speaking of our daughter, I think she’s been trying to convince Currer to destroy the kitchen wall for you.” The game came back on. Bradford turned the volume back up.
“Why the hell would she do that?” Will asked.
“Give you an excuse to renovate,” Bradford said.
“It was a joke!”
“You should know Sally takes you too seriously.“ Bradford winced as the Wildcats scored another goal. “The only way to stop her now is to renovate before she teaches your dog the destructive trait.”
Will laughed so hard he almost fell off the couch.
“Was that a Sims reference, old man?”
Bradford lightly shoved him.
Will caught himself with one arm before he could fall. He shuffled back up to Bradford, and placed a soothing kiss on his cheek, still chuckling.
“You know–” Will made himself comfortable again “–I was trying to shut Sally’s argument down with the whole renovation, but she’s going to have the last laugh when I call the contractor tomorrow.”
“Can’t have her teaching the dog bad habits,” Bradford said.
“…Unless I send Currer to a spa until this whole thing blows over and she forgets.”
“Will.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll call contractor.”As long as Sally was safe, he didn’t usually care what she did with her day. She was a good kid–if a little low in the wisdom department, that’s usually what got her into trouble–she always made sure to at least leave a note if she went out.
He couldn’t find her.
Weir kicked his paranoia down. Somehow he didn’t think John would appreciate finding out he filed a missing person’s case with Megapol just because a teenager hadn’t left a note (and Currer was still sleeping on the couch next to his old parka Sally usually stole).
Sally was probably fine. She still had a stun grenade she promised not to tell John about.
He walked back into the living room figuring if she didn’t reappear ten minutes before they were supposed to go to the Grav Ball game, he would officially get worried.
Currer woke, lifting his head. Tail wagging.
Was that a foot?
His dog was lying on top of a pair of legs. Weir located the source, and picked up his parka.
The movement woke Sally. She blinked at him.
“Wha?” She tried rolling over, but Currer still lay on her legs.
“Are you planning on seeing the Ravens play with bedhead?” Weir asked.
She sat upright, dislodging Currer.
“What time is it?” Sally rolled off the couch.
“Time for you to find your jersey,” Weir said.
Sally ran out of the room.“This is a goddamn robbery!”
Sally screwed the lid back on the jar of dog treats.
Currer, ears flat against his head ate from his dish.
Sally hurried to the door as the doorbell rang again.
Section Commander Kader stood on the other side. His jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Hello, Sally.” He smiled. “Is Weir home?”
“Yes, we destroyed a goddamn highway. We destroyed the goddamn highway protecting this goddamn city from goddamn aliens. Including your goddamn headquarters!”
Kader’s eyes went passed Sally and towards the hallway the very Australian voice drifted down.
“He’s talking with Lydia,” Sally said.
Kader winced. He might not know what exactly that meant. He didn’t know anyone at Transtellar named Lydia, but he had picked up the context clue over the years.
“I was hoping to get to him before they called.” He put a hand to his mouth. “Think about your blood pressure, sir!”
“SHUT UP, KADER!”
“Think he’d let me take the phone?” he asked.
“Don’t count on it.”
Currer came up behind Sally. He sniffed the air. Only to run away when he smelled Kader’s cologne.
“Fine! Terminate the goddamn service! I’m sick of you people anyway!”
Kader cringed, but managed to clear his expression by the time Weir emerged from his office.
“We still have a Valkyrie, don’t we?” Weir asked
“Mothballed.” Kader rubbed his jaw.
“Tell Williams he’s a delivery boy until Transtellar comes to their senses.”
“I could call my mother, sir, maybe she can–”
Sally darted out of the way. She sat down beside Currer in the sitting room.
“Don’t you fucking dare!”
–
Bradford exited the parking garage as Kader entered.
“Evening, Chief.” Kader did not attempt to stop him for small talk this time around.
Bradford watched him jump in his hovercar and fly away at what he suspected was over the speed limit.
He went up to his apartment. There, he found Sally curled up on the couch watching TV with a tub of ice cream he didn’t think they had before he left for work that morning.
“Lydia called and another Lydia came over.” Sally gestured with her spoon. “Will ordered take out.”
“Must have been bad.” Bradford wandered into the kitchen. A pizza box sat waiting for him on the counter. “What’d Lydia do?”Why wasn’t he surprised?
“It’s Saturday,” Will said, digging into the carton of ice cream.
“You have to speak in front of the senate in an hour,” John informed him as though Will wasn’t already well aware. “You have to leave in eight minutes.”
“No point in getting ready now, then. I guess I’m not going.”
“You’re going.” John reached down to lift Currer off of him, waking the dog in the process. He gave a quiet bark and darted out of the room.
“How dare you.” Will tried to maneuver away to prevent John from taking his ice cream too, but only succeeded in rolling off the couch. “Oomph.”
“You’ve got four minutes to shower and dress. Move, move, move.”
Will collected himself off the floor.
“Yes, sir.”“Supreme Commander! I wasn’t expecting you!” Kader tried smoothing his hair down, but it bounced back into odd angles.
“Did my arrival interrupt your beauty sleep?” Weir opened another box with the Nutrivend logo printed on the side.
Kader had the decency to blush.
“I was just preparing for the Marsec negotiations, sir. I need to be well rested for that.”
“Nice save,” Weir said. He noted the contents of the box–variety potato chips–and closed it back up.
“Might I ask what we’re doing in the storeroom, sir?” Kader asked after a minute of silence.
“I was inspired to moonlight as a food inspector,” Weir answered. “I don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“Food inspector?” Kader tilted his head, staring at him.
“All of this is perishable goods,” Weir said.
“Yes, sir,” Kader defaulted in the way military people do when they don’t follow, but know better than to start asking questions.
Weir tapped his fingers against the counter.
“What happens if there’s a siege?”
“Are…are we expecting a siege?” He smiled.
“Work with me, Section Commander.”
Kader chewed over his words before responding.
“I could draw up a new contract with Nutrivend. See if they have goods with longer shelf life.”
“Make sure the food lasts no less than three years,” Weir said, picking up his tablet. “Better yet, contract them for research into meals that can be used in long deployments without spoiling or requiring cooking.”
MREs weren’t a thing these days. The best they had was nutrient paste. While that would do the job, no one in their right mind liked the stuff. Food that doesn’t taste like grass and sawdust blended together could go a long way towards keeping morale up during an op.
“I’m not sure we can afford-”
“I’ll find the money, Kader. See that’s done. Mega-Primus will be the test bed for it,” Weir said.
“Yes, sir.”
Weir looked around. Not a single box of Jell-O. You couldn’t call your food stores complete unless there was Jell-O.
“Sir?” Kader prompted.
“What is it?”
“Are you expecting something?” he asked.
“Don’t you watch TV, Section Commander? I’m a paranoid recluse. Nothing more.”Weir turned his head to squint at the alarm clock. What woke him wasn’t a grand mystery. He needed to look no further than the empty spot on the bed beside him.
He had always been the type of person that popped awake when pulled out of sleep. Considering it was 2:30 in the morning and he had work in four hours, it felt more like a curse than blessing. Waking up was one thing, getting back to sleep was another.
Weir pushed the blankets off. He found his slippers in the dark and shuffled out of the bedroom. The smell of brownies hit him the second he stepped into the hall. He followed his nose to the kitchen.
The sight made him blink, his brain struggling to process it.
John stood there, leaning against the counter and hugging a bowl to his chest as he stirred its contents. A pan sat in the oven.
“Is everything alright?” Weir asked, scratched his head and further messing up his hair.
“I wanted brownies,” John said as though that was any kind of explanation. He poured the batter into another pan. When he finished he offered the spoon to Weir, keeping the bowl for himself.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to eat raw batter,” Weir said. he held the spoon, unsure what to do with it.
John shrugged.
“Hasn’t killed me yet,” he said. “My grandma always used to let me have the bowl when I helped her bake something.”
There, Weir realized, was the real answer to this mystery.
He leaned against the counter next to him.
“Want to talk?” Weir asked.
He sighed.
“Not really. Not right now.”
“Okay,” Weir said. He cast an eye over the ingredients laid out on the counter. There was enough for one more batch. He gave John a crooked smile. “Want any help?”
“No,” he laughed, making Weir smile wider.
“Who do you plan on giving all these brownies to?” He licked the spoon, the perks of having psionic healing meant he could take a few chances with his health.
“Well I figured you would eat a whole pan yourself,” John said.
“I’ve got a marathon to run in two days,” he said. “I need the energy.”
“Sure, that’s the reason,” John retrieved a new bowl and spoon to begin on the next batch. More dishes meant more busywork for him, less time standing around and thinking instead of sleeping.
Weir reached out with his free hand to rub John’s back. In response, he turned and gave him a quick kiss.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said.
Weir shook his head.
“If you hadn’t, something else would have.” He thought he knew the answer to his next question already, but felt it polite to ask, “Do you want to be alone?”
“No,” John measured the flour and dumped it into the bowl.
Weir wrapped an arm around shoulders. They slumped and John moved closer so Weir could pull him into a full embrace. They stayed like that until the oven timer went off.“Good morning, sir!”
Weir was too professional to try and jump out the nearest window, but boy did he want to.
“Section Commander Kader,” Weir greeted. It was only decades of practice that kept the annoyance out of his voice. He looked over at Mike and gave them a glare he hoped conveyed the question, ‘why didn’t you warn me?’
The android either didn’t get it or pretended not to notice.
“I’m shocked to see you up and about so early,” Weir continued. Kader never went to work before noon. 8 AM was unheard of thus far, but here he was, dressed and polished as always. The expensive cologne he wore was already giving Weir a headache after only a minute in his presence.
“I seem to be having trouble getting you in a meeting, so I thought I would drop by before the day got too busy,” Kader said with his politician’s smile.
‘Any day I don’t have to deal with you or your parents is a blessed day,’ was what Weir wanted to say.
“If it’s about Transtellar, I said all I needed to say in the memo and the four e-mail clarifications I wrote to you,” Weir said instead. “I hardly think a meeting is necessary.”
“But, sir, their request isn’t an unreasonable one! Putting fewer armaments on our attack crafts would vastly reduce the amount of damage to the city,” Kader said. It was nothing Weir hadn’t already heard from the Senate and from Transtellar themselves. He didn’t need this from someone who was supposed to be on his side. Goddamn nepotism.
“Oh, I see,” Weir said.“Let the UFO’s land and deposit aliens to body-snatch our people. Wonderful idea, Section Commander, I ought to give you a pay raise for these fantastic ideas.”
A flush rose to Kader’s cheeks.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said.
“Then what did you mean? I haven’t got all day.”
Mike chimed up, “meeting with the chief quantum physicist in ten minutes.”
Weir gestured at Mike as if to say, ‘see’.
“I just…” Kader took a breath. “The disrupters we’re using on our craft are too destructive and our pilots are clearly too inaccurate. We need something more elegant.”
“What, like a lightsaber?”
“Sir?”
“Star Wars, a film released in 1977 that gain worldwide acclaim. A lightsaber was a weapon used in the film similar to our power swords.”
“Thank you, Mike,” Weir said. God, did he feel old. He saw a New Hope in theaters.
Kader frowned.
“I don’t think power swords would help our air defense, sir.”
“Oh, you never know, we can tape a few to the tops and have our crafts ram the enemy,” Weir said.
Kader smiled the smile of someone who wasn’t sure if the other person was joking.
“I was actually hoping to discuss the viability of modifying the toxigun for our Hawkes,” he said.
“A wonderful idea, Section Commander!”
“Thank you, sir,” Kader said, looking pleased with himself.
“So wonderful in fact, I started looking into it the minute we were successfully producing Type As several months ago.”
He deflated.
“Is there anything else?” Weir asked. He had a meeting to get to. So much for reviewing his notes before then.
“My father-”
“That was a rhetorical question. If there is anything else, you know how to make an appointment.” Weir turned around and left, his briefcase still in his hand. He never even had a chance to get into his office. “Good day, Section Commander!”
“But-”
The door slammed in Kader’s face. He sighed and turned to Mike who hadn’t moved from their desk the whole time.
“So, when can you fit me in?” he asked.“You want to dance?”
Weir almost choked on the punch he was drinking. He laughed a little, wiping his mouth.
John smiled at him, tilting his head towards the dance floor where elegant men and woman were waltzing. Actually waltzing. He didn’t know people still did that.
“You know how?” Weir asked.
“No,” he acknowledged, “but I thought we could wing it.”
“They’d throw us out,” he said.
It was John’s turn to laugh.
“After all the fuss they made about you being here? Not a chance. At least not until you give your speech.” He squeezed Weir's hand tight at his cringe.
“I don’t know why they want me to. You’re better at the speeches. Besides half the City Council hates my guts,” Weir said. His eyes found Councilman Wilkes speaking with a group of reporters. The man would happily see him dead in a ditch somewhere. Even after all these years the paranoia that he was a threat to them hadn’t lessened at all.
“You’re still the man who got us here,” John said.
“I had help.” Weir gave John a small smile.
He wanted to kiss him. Only the watchful eyes of the people at the party kept him from following through. Neither John nor he were big on public displays of affection. They always hated it when it ended up on TV or some gossip magazine. Not that a lack of physical displays ever kept them out of gossip rags. They had been easy pickings since their marriage. It made him want to hide in their home and never come out. These people were lucky he agreed to show up.
“Maybe,” John said. “But you were the man with the plan. Not everyone has forgotten that. Your voice still carries weight, in part because you rarely use it. Your blessing would give Mega-Primus the auspicious start it needs.”
“It’s not like humanity has a whole lot of other options. The megacities are our last chance for survival as a species.” Weir finished off the last of his punch to shut himself up. Happy thoughts. This was a celebration, after all.
“If dancing is out of the question, we could go find a janitor’s closet.” John grinned at him.
Weir laughed hard at that. In the corner of his eye he saw a journalist capture it on camera. A rare shot indeed. He’d be well paid for it.
He tried not to let it bother him. John was trying to lighten his mood. He couldn’t let something like those vultures sabotage his efforts.
“A tempting offer.” It really, really was. “But I don’t know if my back could take that.”
John snorted.
“Yours could, mine couldn’t. Though, I suppose Leslie would kill us if I messed up your hair.”
“They would never find our bodies,” Weir agreed. His looked for the council’s PR woman in the crowd, one hand over her ear as she spoke rapid fire into her phone. When they arrived she had taken one look at him and dragged him into the bathroom to fix the absolute ‘mess’ he was. The woman was 5' 4" of terrifying.
The pair fell into a comfortable silence together. Observing the party. Neither of them had any desire to go over to mingle.They watched the people drinking champagne and smiling at one another, secured in the knowledge that this was the first step towards humanity healing. Weir wasn't sure he agreed with them. The possibilities of the future had always terrified him, to the point where he rarely stopped thinking of it. He didn't know how people could look forward and see anything but hardship on the horizon. That didn't mean they wouldn't get through it, of course. They would.
He had to admit that a lot of that certainty came from having John at his side. As long as he was nearby he felt like he could face anything. Even with Asaru gone.
And though he wanted John to remain his Central Officer, Weir was glad he had accepted the position as Chief of Megapol. He was the best choice, and more than deserved it. XCOM was already waning again. It would continue to do so until another alien threat arose. John didn’t need to be dragged down with him.
Not that he saw it that way. He never would, and Weir loved him for that.
John knew him better than anyone else alive. He knew his many flaws, and still stuck around. To this day he was the most steadfast, honest man he had ever met. Before he had met John he thought people like him were mere fantasies. It would not be an entirely untrue statement that John had restored his faith in humanity, while at the same time making Weir a little more human himself.
He idly rubbed the back of John’s hand with his thumb.
"You have your speech, right?” The City Council would be summoning everyone to the stage soon. The cameras would be rolling and every living human, mutant, and android with access to a TV would see him attempt to inspire hope in people.
“I thought I’d wing it,” he said. They both knew he was joking. Weir had spent days writing, re-writing, and editing the damn thing.
John shrugged, “that’s what I always do. Keep your voice strong and try not to think about how corny you sound.”
“That’s why you’re better at speeches than I am,” Weir said. “I’ve memorized mine to death. I’ll be lucky if it doesn’t sound canned.”
John squeezed his hand.
“You’ll do fine.”
“I am a good actor,” he conceded. All those years of working undercover had given him a lot of practice.
“That’s not what I meant,” John said. He didn’t elaborate, but all Weir had to do was glance at him to know what he was getting at.
He may not have the most faith or hope for the future, but he had no doubt they would find a way to survive. They would fight tooth and nail for it. He didn’t believe it was in human nature to go down gentle. They were too much of a contrary species to just let go. They had already proven that.
“You’re right,” Weir said. “I think I can manage a little fire.”
John smiled, knowing.
“Commander!” Leslie popped up, disturbing their moment.
He cleared his throat, straightening up and letting John’s hand go.
“It’s time, I take it.” Weir almost ran a hand through his hair, but stopped at her sharp glare.
“It is, Commander. If you would just follow me, sir.”
He nodded, and turned to John one last time before departing. There was that look he always gave him. One Weir was more than familiar with. The look that told him that John had the utmost confidence in him.
Fuck it.
He pulled him into a kiss. It was quick and firm, and no less than ten cameras caught it. He barely noticed passed John’s encouraging smile.
“Good luck, Will.”
Yeah, he could do this.