The Orchard

Summary: Walking After Midnight is the first XCOM story I ever posted. I've edited it a little since I first put it up, but I mostly consider it 'non-canon'. At best, it's Weir lying in his journal.

--

(Broom Closet AU)

“Just pretend to be my date.” Bradford walked into the casino without further ado.

“Oh, I should have worn a nicer jacket.” Weir followed close behind.  “Do we have time for the five dollar tables?”

“No.”

Weir eyed a camera.

“I hope they don’t recognize me. I got tossed out of here about ten years ago.”

“Counting cards?”

“Ha! No. I caused a bit of a mess in the buffet.”

Bradford opened his mouth to ask, then thought better of it.

“Hey, don’t let me buy a pack of cigarettes.” Weir said as they passed an ashtray. “The smell of them is making me weak.”

You can’t afford that kind of habit, anyway.”

“Shhhhhhh–” Weir covered his lips with a finger “–we’re in a casino, don’t say something like that out loud. Besides, I have more money than  you think I do.”

“What? You sell sandwiches out of a van in your off hours?”

“I do make a mean PB&J.”

Bradford laughed.

They approached an out-of-the-way door with a tower of muscle guarding it. Bradford produced the letter that had shown up at the hotel that morning.

“He’s my plus one.” Bradford wrapped an arm around Weir’s waist.

The bouncer grunted and stepped aside.

Inside the large, private room, someone had set up a small arena. Two men circled one another in the closed area. Scales covering their shoulders drew Weir’s attention. His eyes moved from the scales, to the strange orange tint in their eyes, to their sharp teeth.

Bradford led Weir over to group of people idling in a corner, away from the crowd of spectators. Weir passed a man he recognized as General Hawkins. It was a damn good thing the General had never met him before, or even knew who he was.

“Jackie,” a tall, man in a fedora that obscured his eyes called, flagging Bradford over. “My friend. I’m so glad you could make it!”

“I wasn’t about to miss this.” Bradford kept his arm around Weir, pulling him just a little bit closer.

Weir suddenly wished he wasn’t so affection starved. It’d been sometime since he’d last been with anyone. He practically melted into Bradford’s side. On the plus side, it reinforced their cover.

“Who’s your friend?” the man’s eyes raked over him, assessing.

“This is Bill,” Bradford said. “My lawyer.”

The man grinned, his attention fading.

“Ah, good to keep one of them close. In this country, best allies you can have when you run into trouble.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Bradford rubbed Weir’s back, which did not help.

The man nodded towards the arena. The fighters were struggling on the ground now. One of them had produced claws sharp enough to gut the other. The wounded one healed so fast it looked like someone had zipped up his stomach.

“Go enjoy the show,” the man said. “I’ll have Harvey bring you a pamphlet.”

“Thank you, we will.”

Bradford lead him over a ringside spot just as a fighter threw a kick so hard, it busted the floor.

“Do you have a plan?” Weir whispered into his ear.

Bradford smiled.

“I have you.”

William hated parties.

And crowds.

And politics.

And Weir.

And ADVENT.

William hated a lot of things, but that was nothing new. Just in case someone wasn’t aware of this little fact, he glared at everyone who passed within three meters of him. John included, though it lost most of its heat on him.

John stared back such in a way Will knew it meant: ‘you brought this on yourself.’

He wasn’t wrong. Hell, he had asked for this.

William really hated the Commander and the big target he sported. Why couldn’t they lock the man alone in his quarters? That way he’d be safe from assassins and everyone else wouldn’t have to deal with Weir’s personality. Everybody wins.

Except John seemed to think imprisoning the Commander wasn’t a reasonable solution. William couldn’t imagine why not.

Which brought him to volunteering to bodyguard at the party meant to honor Weir and XCOM for everything they had accomplished. Central wasn’t here.  William could see in the way Weir glanced to his right as if expecting someone to be standing there that Central’s presence was missed.

He shifted in his spot and watched Weir laugh at something Den Mother said. His smile stretched across his face, but didn’t quite reach his eyes. Eyes that got this pinched look to them when he was surrounded by too many people. It was his only tell and you’d only know it if you spent a lot of time examining the man. 

William hated his eyes did the same thing. At least he didn’t have to pretend like he was having a good time. 

John finished his sweep of the room. He returned to take up position by one of the big windows on either side of the entrance. The meeting hall was a large one, befitting Freedom Point’s status on the top five largest havens in the resistance. Plenty of people from all over the area had come in attendance.

In short, it was a security nightmare. Large crowded room and advertised in advance. He knew Central and Weir had a serious talk about backing out, but that would mean a huge dip in morale. Something they couldn’t afford.

When they left Central standing in the hanger bay he looked about ready to run out to join them anyway, despite the danger that would put XCOM in. They couldn’t make a target out of both the first and second in command. In Central’s opinion, they shouldn’t make a target out of the Commander at all, but Weir had spoken.

And William had kept his mouth shut about the assassination plot he unearthed. He wanted to to say something, but trying to put into words that he was still in contact with ADVENT was…

Well he wouldn’t have to confess anything if he took care of the problem himself. John thought it was dumb. He thought it was even dumber when William volunteered for guard duty.

“You know that tipped him off, right?” John had said. No ‘maybe’ about it.

Too late now. 

William spiked the punch the second the party started. He dumped a whole bottle of vodka into the oversized bowl, much to the Commander’s dismay. 

None of them would be drinking any of it, of course. Guard duty meant sobriety, but observing who and who wasn’t getting pissed could prove valuable information. 

Montoya sidled up to him.

“Who do you like?” he asked.

“The woman in the pink jacket,” William said. Not much older than him, she stood on the second floor landing looking down on the majority of the crowd. Stone cold sober and she checked on the placement of him and the other bodyguards once every five minutes.

Montoya clicked his tongue.

“Could be one of Den Mother’s,” he suggested.

“Fine, then,” William said. “Who do you suspect?”

“Everyone.” Montoya grinned.

“Anyone specific?”

“I dunno, do you hold a grudge against our intrepid leader?” Montoya asked.

William rolled his eyes and moved to stand a little closer to Weir. More within tackling range in case he was right about the woman on the balcony.

The Commander was shaking hands with people now. They’d get him signing things next at this rate.

He scanned the crowd, stopping on a man in a hoodie trying to catch his eye. He grinned at William and nodded at the Commander as if to say, ‘go on, I’ve got you covered.’

William sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. He understood. The hit first, so they knew for sure their target was dead. Then chaos second, to obscure the evidence.

How were they going to provide cover? Shooters? Bomb?

He didn’t know. All William could think to do was grab his shotgun and fire it over the heads of the crowd.

Sure cleared the room quick.