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clo_again...trying to find a way I won't be killed for this. Keep in mind the saying 'don't believe everything you read'. Trust me. I sort of know what I'm doing.
Title: Living on Promises (Halcyon 2/?)
Rating: PG-13/R (for now)
Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish (again for now.)
Summary: … The world ended. People didn’t. Not quite.
Notes: AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future (I do love my apocalypses and jumping on the current AU bandwagon seemed like a good idea.) But this is one plot bunny that hasn’t had enough caffeine to sort itself out yet and I’m still sorting the threads out, so bear with me. Centred mainly around Roger’s POV with side trips into... well that would be telling. ;)
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Dedications: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
liroa15, who may refuse to speak to me after this. For scoobydumblonde who let us convert her. For everyone who encouraged me with this. It may have been a bad idea. :)
Warnings: Abuse, violence, deaths of various RL people you may be fond of, mentions of terrorism, voluntary/involuntary drug use, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more I've missed. It’s all fun and games here.
halcyon - adj 1: idyllically calm and peaceful; suggesting happy tranquillity; "a halcyon atmosphere".
~
Part One - The Wasteland
~
Living on Promises
“While you’re staying here, you do not leave the house.”
Roger pauses, expecting protests. The old Andy Roddick would fight tooth and nail to avoid being confined; he’s not expecting anything less from the ‘new’ one. Instead Andy just nods. He’s sitting in the middle of Roger’s large bed, wrapped in the thick white duvet and half buried beneath pillows but Roger can still see him shivering.
“I can’t watch you outside the house as well as in. The grounds aren’t safe unless I’m with you and maybe not even then. They sometimes take aerial photographs; you’d be recognised instantly.”
“Roger I get it.” Andy’s voice sounds a little slurred. He slept for sixteen hours straight once Roger finally got him to stay in bed; every time he’d tried leaving the room, Andy was nervously pacing the halls or hovering in the doorway of wherever Roger was within twenty minutes. It took three attempts to get the American to stay put before he realized what Andy really wanted was not to be left alone. He’d given in, curled up on the couch in his room and gone to sleep; when he woke up eight hours later Andy hadn’t moved, looking small and fragile in the middle of the bed. Roger had let him sleep himself out, taking care not to leave the room for longer than five minutes at a time and when Andy finally stirred he’d been there to catch the American as he half-leapt, half-fell out the bed before remembering where he was.
“Okay then, next rule. You don’t talk to the staff. I trust most of them but I’ve been wrong in the past. I’ll be assigning you a bodyguard who I’d trust with my own life but don’t talk to him either. We don’t want anyone realising who you are.”
“I wasn’t exactly discreet about it as I was dragged in here,” Andy says quietly. “I didn’t think. Sorry.”
“Dealt with.” Roger had traced Andy’s path through the house and only four people had been within hearing range, the dead spy, the two guards and the cook who Roger knows is trustworthy, because he’d be dead by now if she wasn’t. Only the main rooms are bugged and none of them are sensitive enough to pick up sound from the hallways, Roger’s made sure of that. If he was optimistic, he’d say they’d got away with it. Being pessimistic, he’s just waiting to find out they haven’t.
Andy blinks. “That was… organised.”
“Organised stops us getting caught,” Roger points out dryly. “There’s a gym and pool in the basement. I’ll show you the back ways to get there so no one will stop you. The library if you feel like reading something-“ He waits for the laugh but only gets a wan smile. “- is on the ground and first floors, I’ll show you how to get to that too. You can’t carry guns inside due to the sensors but I’ll provide you with knives, clubs, whatever you can use. The practice room is attached to the gym.”
“And what about company?” Andy asks. There’s a resigned tone to the words, as if he already expects the answer. “Do I ever get to see you? It sounds like you’re giving me a list of things to do so I don’t get bored while you get to do all the fun stuff.”
Roger catches his breath with a thrill of delight. He’d forgotten Andy’s bluntness; the American had never liked dancing around an issue and after years of politics it was refreshing for someone to finally come out and honestly state an opinion. Not as good though, is that he has a point. Roger has no idea what to do with Andy while he’s here. Finding Mardy is going to involve a little legwork and there’s no way Roger is taking him along for that.
“I meant it when I said stay in the house. I’m just providing you with things to do so you won’t be bored enough to challenge me on it.”
“Don’t worry Rog, I’m not going anywhere.” Andy pulls the blankets up further, so only his face is visible, teeth chattering. “Is it just me or is it cold in here?”
Roger sighs, crossing to the bed and sitting on the edge. Andy watches him warily but doesn’t move. “How long?” Roger demands softly.
“Three weeks.” Andy knows exactly what he means. “I took the last hit as I got off the plane over here but it wore off before I reached you. I passed out in some abandoned house for a week and was delirious for a while when I woke up.” He shifts uncomfortably and Roger can feel his shivering almost shaking the bed. “I swore I’d never use them but every minute I had to sleep was a minute not looking for Mardy. I paid the price.”
“And will be paying it for a while yet.” Roger sighs. The newly developed endurance drugs, designed to keep a person awake and hyper-alert for days on end, were still experimental when they’d been leaked to the black market. The more you took, the longer you could keep going and the longer the crash time was when you finally ran out. If you didn’t burn yourself out first. “How long did you take them for?”
“About two months.” Andy’s eyes are huge in his pale face, bluish-black shadows under them as if he hasn’t slept for weeks… which of course, he hardly has. “I know what I’m doing Roger. I’ll sit it out.”
“Not much else you can do.” Roger contemplates it for a moment. The quickest way to recover is to sleep, he knows that, but if Andy won’t sleep in an empty room then Roger won’t be able to accomplish much towards finding Mardy. “Andy, I can’t stay in here to watch you all the time you know. If you want me to find Mardy-“
“I know.” Andy flushes, pink skin against white sheets. It had taken a two hour bath and half Roger’s considerable stockpile of soap to get rid of the ingrained dirt but Roger privately thinks it was worth it. Andy looks more like the American Roger remembers despite a few new scars and the signs of exhaustion… but the Andy Roger knew would have died before admitting he couldn’t sleep without someone to watch him. “It’s a stupid habit but I’m just so used to having people on guard and Mardy being there and…” He breaks off as his voice cracks, swallowing hastily. “I’ll try. I will.”
“This is the safest room in the house.” Roger gestures to the wooden paneling over the walls, concealing layers of steel and concrete; the window is one-way, reinforced glass and the door itself is his favourite, a system of locks that only release when he personally touches the handle. “There are no bugs, no cameras, and no way to get in unless you’re me, though I’ll recode the door to admit you too. No one can touch you in here Andy, I promise you that.”
“How do you know?” Andy pushes the blankets back, dark blond hair sticking up at all angles as if it was cut with a blunt knife. Roger inwardly sighs, because some things never change. “That the room isn’t tapped? You might have missed something.”
“No, it’s not just having checked the room. I have plans for when they bugged the house before I moved in, what went where and how strong it was. They gave up after I disabled the bugs in here four or five times. I do what I’m told otherwise and they respect my privacy.”
“Never heard of the corporate bastards respecting anything,” Andy comments, the words razor edged. Roger shrugs.
“They can’t afford to replace me. For now I’m mildly eccentric but efficient. It’s when I become a problem that I have to start worrying.”
Andy’s quiet for a moment mulling it over and Roger realises abruptly that this is the new Andy, the tactician and leader weighing up a situation before he dives in. It uncomfortably reminds him that it isn’t the twenty two year old Andy Roddick sitting beside him, contemplating rankings and points and prize money but a… it comes as a shock to realise Andy’s nearly thirty. Which means Roger already is. God he hadn’t thought…
“Where’d you get the plans?”
Roger blinks, dragging his mind away from how old he suddenly feels. “What?”
“The plans? How the hell did you get hold of something like that?”
“Oh.” He’s never had to explain to anyone before, simply because there’s been no one he could safely tell. He has to fight to stop himself flinching because after all this is Andy, not some corporate official prying into his secrets but he still takes a deep breath to steady himself before speaking.
“I had… insiders at Headquarters. They got into the computer system.”
“Insiders?” Andy’s staring at him in complete disbelief, mouth open and eyes wide. Roger feels a little flush of pride at the American’s obvious awe. “How the hell…”
“Time. Patience. And…” Roger’s pride fades as he thinks of the cost of the information. “Persistence.”
Andy’s eyes darken and a hand wriggles free from the suffocating blankets to wrap around Roger’s. Roger laces his fingers gratefully through the American’s. However at Andy’s soft “Who was it?” he shakes his head.
“I… I don’t…”
“It’s okay,” Andy says quickly. “You don’t have to tell me.” He squeezes Roger’s fingers. “We- we lost James… a while back now. Mardy didn’t speak for a month and I wasn’t much better.” He swallows and looks down, staring at their intertwined hands. His next words are small and faint, on the very edge of audible. “Do you think you ever stop feeling guilty?”
Roger thinks about it. He thinks of burying Gaston in the mountains, of Marat’s necklace, garish gold bright in his trembling hand. Mirka’s face flashes across his mind and he closes his eyes against the burning tears.
“No. It never stops.”
Andy’s arms sliding tentatively around him is a shock, his second hug in as many days after too long without them and Roger lets the American huddle against him, hands still locked together. When Andy speaks the words are choked and hesitant.
“Mardy- it was all my fault. I should’ve been there-“
“Sssssh.” Roger turns into the hug in surprise, arms coming up to hold Andy close. “That’s one thing you shouldn’t feel guilty for Andy. You couldn’t have known.”
“I promised.” Andy presses his face into Roger’s shoulder and the Swiss can feel the tears, wet through his shirt. “I promised I’d look after him and I wasn’t there-“
“We’ll find him Andy.” Desperation threads Roger’s words; he can’t deny what Andy’s saying and he can’t do anything to help except promise something he can only wish was true. There’re too many faces in his head that he owes and maybe, just maybe they’ll find Mardy after all. Silently, Roger promises himself that no matter what it takes he won’t give up, not until they find Mardy or…
… Or proof of what happened to him.
“We’ll find him Andy,” he whispers honestly. “I promise.”
~
3 Months Earlier
“So Mr. Fish, what’s it like being a fuck-toy? Do tell because I’m genuinely curious.”
God he despises these people. “Go to hell,” Mardy snaps, tugging hard at the handcuffs. He’s chained with his back to a wall which is better than flat on the table where they’d poked and prodded him for concealed tracking devices earlier. Finding nothing of interest – though despite his protests, they’d taken the engraved identity bracelet that Andy had given him for his last birthday – they’d dumped him in this room and left him to rot for a while. He’d had just enough time to calm himself down – Andy’ll find me, he won’t just give up – when the guy in the suit had shown up and abruptly Mardy was terrified again. He’s corporation through and through; polished shoes out of place against grimy stone, tailored black suit better made than Mardy’s seen in years, slim silver case in one hand. In the dim light from a single overhead bulb, he’s painted in shades of monochrome, sharp eyes black and the creepy smile filled with glittering white teeth that look a little too plastic to be natural. Standing a few feet away, he surveys Mardy with an air of detachment and the American shivers under the cold appraisal.
“Now Mr Fish, that isn’t very polite.”
“I’m chained to a wall. Manners aren’t high on my list of priorities.” Mardy swallows and presses back against rough stone as the man steps closer. He can feel moss, wet and spongy between the sharp rocks that are digging into his back and shoulders. And to think he’d always pictured corporate buildings as sparkling and clean. More fool him.
“I should think they would be a very high priority, considering what happens to you depends on how much I like you.” The man’s smile widens but it doesn’t reach the black eyes. “For example I could kill you, right here. Would you like that?”
Mardy tries not to whimper. Andy had always been the brave one, the adventurous one, diving into trouble and out of it again with barely a pause to draw breath before the next fight. Mardy on the other hand, preferred peace and quiet, curled around each other by the campfire while they roasted makeshift S’mores, and talked about things that didn’t involve fighting or killing or risking death every day. Andy used to tell him that it was okay he didn’t like fighting. That he loved Mardy because of who he was rather than in spite of it, soft comfort whispered to him when they were tangled together beneath sweat-soaked blankets. When all Mardy could taste was Andy, salty and warm on his tongue, when the stars were bright in the dusty sky overhead and the world didn’t seem such a bad place after all. When he had thought that maybe, just maybe, one day it would all be okay.
Instead he’s going to die. And he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.
“Is this a trick question?” he asks, tears stinging his eyes and he won’t cry, he won’t, not in front of this asshole. The expression of blank calm on the man’s face doesn’t even flicker.
“No.”
“Oh.” Mardy swallows again, hard enough to hurt his throat. It makes his next words hoarse and the corporate guy’s smile stretches just a little wider. “Then I’ll pass thanks all the same.”
“Now you’re being reasonable.” The words have a pleased tone to them and Mardy feels a thrill of further fear, icy shivers down his spine. He gets the feeling he just agreed to something he won’t like but with the alternative being dead, he doesn’t see what option he had. He flinches a little as the man leans in closer, barely inches away.
“So,” he whispers. “Where’s Roddick?”
After a disbelieving second, Mardy actually laughs. There’re a lot of questions he’d answer to save his own skin; where they keep the weapons; what their plans were for the next few months; how they did some of the things they’d done. He never liked the guerilla war they’d been fighting anyway and freely giving information that won’t endanger anyone doesn’t seem like a big price to pay for his survival. He knows it may seem a little cheap and that most of their group would die before talking, but Mardy’s not a fighter. He just wants to keep on breathing as long as he can.
But if that involves selling out Andy, then suddenly breathing seems very overrated.
“If you think I’ll give you my boyfriend to save myself then you’re either very optimistic or very stupid.”
“Oh but you will.” The man smiles. “Because you’re a reasonable man Mr. Fish.” He crouches to put down the silver case, opening the lid so it hides what he’s doing from view. Mardy cranes his neck trying to see then wishes he hadn’t when he catches the metallic flash of a needle.
Oh fuckfuckfuck… Andy, now would be a good time for you to come crashing through that door.
It’s wishful thinking and he knows it. Andy’s in Montana somewhere, secure in the knowledge he left Mardy safely at home and Mardy hopes like hell he stays that way as long as possible. The longer Andy’s away from Texas, the less chance there’ll be of him getting caught when he gets back. Mardy doesn’t let himself think about how little chance Andy will have of finding him with the trail gone so cold. From the look of things, Mardy won’t need to be found for very much longer.
“So you must see my point Mr. Fish.” The man stands, holding a hypodermic filled with clear liquid and Mardy bites his tongue to stop himself begging. If he has to do this, he’s going to do it with a little dignity. “Either you prove your worth to us by giving us Roddick, or I end this little chat because in all honesty you’re not much good to us without your fuck-buddy. What’ll it be?”
Mardy thinks of warm Texan nights lying beside Andy as he sleeps, listening to his lover murmur Mardy’s name in his dreams. He thinks of races on horseback for the sheer fun of it, red dust billowing up behind them in clouds and Andy’s broad smile when Mardy lets him win; the way the tip of Andy’s tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating; of hazel eyes that turn dark gold in sunlight. And he thinks of Andy kissing him gently before he left, promising to bring him back something pretty; thinks of the soft ‘love you’ whispered in his ear and smiles.
“Go to hell.”
The man sighs. “I’m disappointed in you Mr. Fish.” The needle slips into Mardy’s arm smoothly, barely enough to sting and after only a few seconds everything starts to go fuzzy. Mardy closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, feeling suddenly exhausted. It’s too much effort to fight the drug and he lets himself drift.
I’m sorry Andy. I tried.
“We’ll be watching you Mr. Fish,” the cold voice whispers in his ear. Mardy tries to frown but his face is numb and he can’t make his mouth form the question.
How can you watch me when I’m-
Blackness.
~~~
Part One|Part Three
To be continued... I hate those words.
I am so very sorry. Don't kill me. Just ask yourself if I would *honestly* do half the things I seem to have done in this? Trust me. I'm an English student. ;)
~
Title: Living on Promises (Halcyon 2/?)
Rating: PG-13/R (for now)
Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish (again for now.)
Summary: … The world ended. People didn’t. Not quite.
Notes: AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future (I do love my apocalypses and jumping on the current AU bandwagon seemed like a good idea.) But this is one plot bunny that hasn’t had enough caffeine to sort itself out yet and I’m still sorting the threads out, so bear with me. Centred mainly around Roger’s POV with side trips into... well that would be telling. ;)
Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it.
Dedications: For
liroa15, who may refuse to speak to me after this. For scoobydumblonde who let us convert her. For everyone who encouraged me with this. It may have been a bad idea. :) Warnings: Abuse, violence, deaths of various RL people you may be fond of, mentions of terrorism, voluntary/involuntary drug use, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more I've missed. It’s all fun and games here.
~
Part One - The Wasteland
~
Living on Promises
“While you’re staying here, you do not leave the house.”
Roger pauses, expecting protests. The old Andy Roddick would fight tooth and nail to avoid being confined; he’s not expecting anything less from the ‘new’ one. Instead Andy just nods. He’s sitting in the middle of Roger’s large bed, wrapped in the thick white duvet and half buried beneath pillows but Roger can still see him shivering.
“I can’t watch you outside the house as well as in. The grounds aren’t safe unless I’m with you and maybe not even then. They sometimes take aerial photographs; you’d be recognised instantly.”
“Roger I get it.” Andy’s voice sounds a little slurred. He slept for sixteen hours straight once Roger finally got him to stay in bed; every time he’d tried leaving the room, Andy was nervously pacing the halls or hovering in the doorway of wherever Roger was within twenty minutes. It took three attempts to get the American to stay put before he realized what Andy really wanted was not to be left alone. He’d given in, curled up on the couch in his room and gone to sleep; when he woke up eight hours later Andy hadn’t moved, looking small and fragile in the middle of the bed. Roger had let him sleep himself out, taking care not to leave the room for longer than five minutes at a time and when Andy finally stirred he’d been there to catch the American as he half-leapt, half-fell out the bed before remembering where he was.
“Okay then, next rule. You don’t talk to the staff. I trust most of them but I’ve been wrong in the past. I’ll be assigning you a bodyguard who I’d trust with my own life but don’t talk to him either. We don’t want anyone realising who you are.”
“I wasn’t exactly discreet about it as I was dragged in here,” Andy says quietly. “I didn’t think. Sorry.”
“Dealt with.” Roger had traced Andy’s path through the house and only four people had been within hearing range, the dead spy, the two guards and the cook who Roger knows is trustworthy, because he’d be dead by now if she wasn’t. Only the main rooms are bugged and none of them are sensitive enough to pick up sound from the hallways, Roger’s made sure of that. If he was optimistic, he’d say they’d got away with it. Being pessimistic, he’s just waiting to find out they haven’t.
Andy blinks. “That was… organised.”
“Organised stops us getting caught,” Roger points out dryly. “There’s a gym and pool in the basement. I’ll show you the back ways to get there so no one will stop you. The library if you feel like reading something-“ He waits for the laugh but only gets a wan smile. “- is on the ground and first floors, I’ll show you how to get to that too. You can’t carry guns inside due to the sensors but I’ll provide you with knives, clubs, whatever you can use. The practice room is attached to the gym.”
“And what about company?” Andy asks. There’s a resigned tone to the words, as if he already expects the answer. “Do I ever get to see you? It sounds like you’re giving me a list of things to do so I don’t get bored while you get to do all the fun stuff.”
Roger catches his breath with a thrill of delight. He’d forgotten Andy’s bluntness; the American had never liked dancing around an issue and after years of politics it was refreshing for someone to finally come out and honestly state an opinion. Not as good though, is that he has a point. Roger has no idea what to do with Andy while he’s here. Finding Mardy is going to involve a little legwork and there’s no way Roger is taking him along for that.
“I meant it when I said stay in the house. I’m just providing you with things to do so you won’t be bored enough to challenge me on it.”
“Don’t worry Rog, I’m not going anywhere.” Andy pulls the blankets up further, so only his face is visible, teeth chattering. “Is it just me or is it cold in here?”
Roger sighs, crossing to the bed and sitting on the edge. Andy watches him warily but doesn’t move. “How long?” Roger demands softly.
“Three weeks.” Andy knows exactly what he means. “I took the last hit as I got off the plane over here but it wore off before I reached you. I passed out in some abandoned house for a week and was delirious for a while when I woke up.” He shifts uncomfortably and Roger can feel his shivering almost shaking the bed. “I swore I’d never use them but every minute I had to sleep was a minute not looking for Mardy. I paid the price.”
“And will be paying it for a while yet.” Roger sighs. The newly developed endurance drugs, designed to keep a person awake and hyper-alert for days on end, were still experimental when they’d been leaked to the black market. The more you took, the longer you could keep going and the longer the crash time was when you finally ran out. If you didn’t burn yourself out first. “How long did you take them for?”
“About two months.” Andy’s eyes are huge in his pale face, bluish-black shadows under them as if he hasn’t slept for weeks… which of course, he hardly has. “I know what I’m doing Roger. I’ll sit it out.”
“Not much else you can do.” Roger contemplates it for a moment. The quickest way to recover is to sleep, he knows that, but if Andy won’t sleep in an empty room then Roger won’t be able to accomplish much towards finding Mardy. “Andy, I can’t stay in here to watch you all the time you know. If you want me to find Mardy-“
“I know.” Andy flushes, pink skin against white sheets. It had taken a two hour bath and half Roger’s considerable stockpile of soap to get rid of the ingrained dirt but Roger privately thinks it was worth it. Andy looks more like the American Roger remembers despite a few new scars and the signs of exhaustion… but the Andy Roger knew would have died before admitting he couldn’t sleep without someone to watch him. “It’s a stupid habit but I’m just so used to having people on guard and Mardy being there and…” He breaks off as his voice cracks, swallowing hastily. “I’ll try. I will.”
“This is the safest room in the house.” Roger gestures to the wooden paneling over the walls, concealing layers of steel and concrete; the window is one-way, reinforced glass and the door itself is his favourite, a system of locks that only release when he personally touches the handle. “There are no bugs, no cameras, and no way to get in unless you’re me, though I’ll recode the door to admit you too. No one can touch you in here Andy, I promise you that.”
“How do you know?” Andy pushes the blankets back, dark blond hair sticking up at all angles as if it was cut with a blunt knife. Roger inwardly sighs, because some things never change. “That the room isn’t tapped? You might have missed something.”
“No, it’s not just having checked the room. I have plans for when they bugged the house before I moved in, what went where and how strong it was. They gave up after I disabled the bugs in here four or five times. I do what I’m told otherwise and they respect my privacy.”
“Never heard of the corporate bastards respecting anything,” Andy comments, the words razor edged. Roger shrugs.
“They can’t afford to replace me. For now I’m mildly eccentric but efficient. It’s when I become a problem that I have to start worrying.”
Andy’s quiet for a moment mulling it over and Roger realises abruptly that this is the new Andy, the tactician and leader weighing up a situation before he dives in. It uncomfortably reminds him that it isn’t the twenty two year old Andy Roddick sitting beside him, contemplating rankings and points and prize money but a… it comes as a shock to realise Andy’s nearly thirty. Which means Roger already is. God he hadn’t thought…
“Where’d you get the plans?”
Roger blinks, dragging his mind away from how old he suddenly feels. “What?”
“The plans? How the hell did you get hold of something like that?”
“Oh.” He’s never had to explain to anyone before, simply because there’s been no one he could safely tell. He has to fight to stop himself flinching because after all this is Andy, not some corporate official prying into his secrets but he still takes a deep breath to steady himself before speaking.
“I had… insiders at Headquarters. They got into the computer system.”
“Insiders?” Andy’s staring at him in complete disbelief, mouth open and eyes wide. Roger feels a little flush of pride at the American’s obvious awe. “How the hell…”
“Time. Patience. And…” Roger’s pride fades as he thinks of the cost of the information. “Persistence.”
Andy’s eyes darken and a hand wriggles free from the suffocating blankets to wrap around Roger’s. Roger laces his fingers gratefully through the American’s. However at Andy’s soft “Who was it?” he shakes his head.
“I… I don’t…”
“It’s okay,” Andy says quickly. “You don’t have to tell me.” He squeezes Roger’s fingers. “We- we lost James… a while back now. Mardy didn’t speak for a month and I wasn’t much better.” He swallows and looks down, staring at their intertwined hands. His next words are small and faint, on the very edge of audible. “Do you think you ever stop feeling guilty?”
Roger thinks about it. He thinks of burying Gaston in the mountains, of Marat’s necklace, garish gold bright in his trembling hand. Mirka’s face flashes across his mind and he closes his eyes against the burning tears.
“No. It never stops.”
Andy’s arms sliding tentatively around him is a shock, his second hug in as many days after too long without them and Roger lets the American huddle against him, hands still locked together. When Andy speaks the words are choked and hesitant.
“Mardy- it was all my fault. I should’ve been there-“
“Sssssh.” Roger turns into the hug in surprise, arms coming up to hold Andy close. “That’s one thing you shouldn’t feel guilty for Andy. You couldn’t have known.”
“I promised.” Andy presses his face into Roger’s shoulder and the Swiss can feel the tears, wet through his shirt. “I promised I’d look after him and I wasn’t there-“
“We’ll find him Andy.” Desperation threads Roger’s words; he can’t deny what Andy’s saying and he can’t do anything to help except promise something he can only wish was true. There’re too many faces in his head that he owes and maybe, just maybe they’ll find Mardy after all. Silently, Roger promises himself that no matter what it takes he won’t give up, not until they find Mardy or…
… Or proof of what happened to him.
“We’ll find him Andy,” he whispers honestly. “I promise.”
~
3 Months Earlier
“So Mr. Fish, what’s it like being a fuck-toy? Do tell because I’m genuinely curious.”
God he despises these people. “Go to hell,” Mardy snaps, tugging hard at the handcuffs. He’s chained with his back to a wall which is better than flat on the table where they’d poked and prodded him for concealed tracking devices earlier. Finding nothing of interest – though despite his protests, they’d taken the engraved identity bracelet that Andy had given him for his last birthday – they’d dumped him in this room and left him to rot for a while. He’d had just enough time to calm himself down – Andy’ll find me, he won’t just give up – when the guy in the suit had shown up and abruptly Mardy was terrified again. He’s corporation through and through; polished shoes out of place against grimy stone, tailored black suit better made than Mardy’s seen in years, slim silver case in one hand. In the dim light from a single overhead bulb, he’s painted in shades of monochrome, sharp eyes black and the creepy smile filled with glittering white teeth that look a little too plastic to be natural. Standing a few feet away, he surveys Mardy with an air of detachment and the American shivers under the cold appraisal.
“Now Mr Fish, that isn’t very polite.”
“I’m chained to a wall. Manners aren’t high on my list of priorities.” Mardy swallows and presses back against rough stone as the man steps closer. He can feel moss, wet and spongy between the sharp rocks that are digging into his back and shoulders. And to think he’d always pictured corporate buildings as sparkling and clean. More fool him.
“I should think they would be a very high priority, considering what happens to you depends on how much I like you.” The man’s smile widens but it doesn’t reach the black eyes. “For example I could kill you, right here. Would you like that?”
Mardy tries not to whimper. Andy had always been the brave one, the adventurous one, diving into trouble and out of it again with barely a pause to draw breath before the next fight. Mardy on the other hand, preferred peace and quiet, curled around each other by the campfire while they roasted makeshift S’mores, and talked about things that didn’t involve fighting or killing or risking death every day. Andy used to tell him that it was okay he didn’t like fighting. That he loved Mardy because of who he was rather than in spite of it, soft comfort whispered to him when they were tangled together beneath sweat-soaked blankets. When all Mardy could taste was Andy, salty and warm on his tongue, when the stars were bright in the dusty sky overhead and the world didn’t seem such a bad place after all. When he had thought that maybe, just maybe, one day it would all be okay.
Instead he’s going to die. And he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.
“Is this a trick question?” he asks, tears stinging his eyes and he won’t cry, he won’t, not in front of this asshole. The expression of blank calm on the man’s face doesn’t even flicker.
“No.”
“Oh.” Mardy swallows again, hard enough to hurt his throat. It makes his next words hoarse and the corporate guy’s smile stretches just a little wider. “Then I’ll pass thanks all the same.”
“Now you’re being reasonable.” The words have a pleased tone to them and Mardy feels a thrill of further fear, icy shivers down his spine. He gets the feeling he just agreed to something he won’t like but with the alternative being dead, he doesn’t see what option he had. He flinches a little as the man leans in closer, barely inches away.
“So,” he whispers. “Where’s Roddick?”
After a disbelieving second, Mardy actually laughs. There’re a lot of questions he’d answer to save his own skin; where they keep the weapons; what their plans were for the next few months; how they did some of the things they’d done. He never liked the guerilla war they’d been fighting anyway and freely giving information that won’t endanger anyone doesn’t seem like a big price to pay for his survival. He knows it may seem a little cheap and that most of their group would die before talking, but Mardy’s not a fighter. He just wants to keep on breathing as long as he can.
But if that involves selling out Andy, then suddenly breathing seems very overrated.
“If you think I’ll give you my boyfriend to save myself then you’re either very optimistic or very stupid.”
“Oh but you will.” The man smiles. “Because you’re a reasonable man Mr. Fish.” He crouches to put down the silver case, opening the lid so it hides what he’s doing from view. Mardy cranes his neck trying to see then wishes he hadn’t when he catches the metallic flash of a needle.
Oh fuckfuckfuck… Andy, now would be a good time for you to come crashing through that door.
It’s wishful thinking and he knows it. Andy’s in Montana somewhere, secure in the knowledge he left Mardy safely at home and Mardy hopes like hell he stays that way as long as possible. The longer Andy’s away from Texas, the less chance there’ll be of him getting caught when he gets back. Mardy doesn’t let himself think about how little chance Andy will have of finding him with the trail gone so cold. From the look of things, Mardy won’t need to be found for very much longer.
“So you must see my point Mr. Fish.” The man stands, holding a hypodermic filled with clear liquid and Mardy bites his tongue to stop himself begging. If he has to do this, he’s going to do it with a little dignity. “Either you prove your worth to us by giving us Roddick, or I end this little chat because in all honesty you’re not much good to us without your fuck-buddy. What’ll it be?”
Mardy thinks of warm Texan nights lying beside Andy as he sleeps, listening to his lover murmur Mardy’s name in his dreams. He thinks of races on horseback for the sheer fun of it, red dust billowing up behind them in clouds and Andy’s broad smile when Mardy lets him win; the way the tip of Andy’s tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating; of hazel eyes that turn dark gold in sunlight. And he thinks of Andy kissing him gently before he left, promising to bring him back something pretty; thinks of the soft ‘love you’ whispered in his ear and smiles.
“Go to hell.”
The man sighs. “I’m disappointed in you Mr. Fish.” The needle slips into Mardy’s arm smoothly, barely enough to sting and after only a few seconds everything starts to go fuzzy. Mardy closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, feeling suddenly exhausted. It’s too much effort to fight the drug and he lets himself drift.
I’m sorry Andy. I tried.
“We’ll be watching you Mr. Fish,” the cold voice whispers in his ear. Mardy tries to frown but his face is numb and he can’t make his mouth form the question.
How can you watch me when I’m-
Blackness.
Part One|Part Three
To be continued... I hate those words.
I am so very sorry. Don't kill me. Just ask yourself if I would *honestly* do half the things I seem to have done in this? Trust me. I'm an English student. ;)
~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-05 02:12 am (UTC)Poor Mardy. Poor Andy. Poor Roger. So... if they're gonna be watching Mardy, he's not dead... at least not yet.... but... eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.... I want more!!! I am not above begging to get what I want.
*smishes you* Loved this!!
no subject
Date: 2005-03-05 03:44 am (UTC)Do not...
Date: 2005-03-05 03:48 am (UTC)MORE!!! I must find out what happened to Mardy!
no subject
Date: 2005-03-05 04:09 am (UTC)*whimpers*
*waits for the next bit....*
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Date: 2005-03-05 07:09 pm (UTC)*smishes you back* I'm just glad we converted you! :-D
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Date: 2005-03-05 07:12 pm (UTC)Glad you love it and am at work on the next part. ^__^ Thanks for commenting especially when I'm so bad at it. *makes a note to go give some comments* Glad the post-apocalyptic idea is working, because I had no idea where it was going when it started. :)
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-05 07:15 pm (UTC)I... I can't say anything without giving plot away I don't think. I knew you'd be mad about Gaston. It was just bad luck that I needed to kill someone and he fit the bill. *hides* And... it would be a *little* drastic of me to have killed all three of them wouldn't it? *looks demure and innocent* And that's all I'm saying.
More before long because I have work to do and ficcing is an ideal way to avoid doing it. :)
no subject
Date: 2005-03-05 07:16 pm (UTC)... Shutting up now before I give plot away.
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-05 07:26 pm (UTC)Of course I'm angry about Gaston. I love his cute shortness. I suppose I must take solace in that fact that at least you don't something against him.
Also, demure and innocent might work, if I didn't know you better.
Ah work and the avoidance of it. And excellent plan. I have math to do today. *sigh*
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-05 07:54 pm (UTC)No, it was just a matter of 'Who can I absolutely not kill?' and 'Okay so who does that leave after?' and his name was the first to pop up. *sighs* Poor short Gaston. I'm sorry.
... Dammit! I keep forgetting the Inmates see through that act. Hhmm. Need a new plan...
Okay your work is eviller than my work (Mine involves reading fairy tales). *pets poor Lirpa* Math is truly evil. Fic is far more important! :D *pokes the muses*
no subject
Date: 2005-03-05 10:05 pm (UTC)I'm not real thrilled at being converted, but I'm getting used to it. :-D
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-05 11:04 pm (UTC)And yes, we see through that act.
*pets poor Gaston* I'm sure she won't kill you all the time. After all, then Marat couldn't give you piggybacks. *chuckles at the mental image*
Ah yes, well we'd definitely shake up Lancaster, although I'm not sure most people who appreciate it.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-06 03:23 am (UTC)You'll learn to love it. ^__^ Best. Fandom. Ever! (or one of them at least.)
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-06 03:26 am (UTC)*still thinking of another act to use*
Nope, not all the time. I'll make it up to him somehow, because he is indeed pretty. And those are good mental images. *giggles*
Ah, it'd do them good. Something like 50-60% of the population of Lancaster are students anyway, I think, so it wouldn't be too out of the ordinary for them to see craziness. :)
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-06 03:37 am (UTC)They are indeed pretty mental images. And I should warn you, he tends to pout and mutter to himself in Spanish when he doesn't get his way, which is both amusing an frustrating because I don't quite understand what he's saying, but I know it would be good, if he would just share.
I know. But our kind of craziness? I don't think they're reading for that yet.
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-06 04:08 am (UTC)I know even less Spanish, so I will no doubt be utterly confused. *sighs* But he is pretty, so I won't mind. ;) (Why can't I find a nice Italian tennis player, since I'm trying to learn Italian in my spare time? >_< Trust me to pick the one language...)
... Is anyone ever ready for our craziness? ^__~
no subject
Date: 2005-03-06 05:20 am (UTC)*waits*
no subject
Date: 2005-03-06 06:20 pm (UTC)Best Fandom Ever, huh? Well... I don't know about that. The guys are certainly pretty.... and the fic is excellent so far... but I love my hockey! :-D
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-06 08:50 pm (UTC)He's very pretty, and I think the Spanish makes him sound prettier. Are there even any Italian players anywhere in the top 50?
no subject
Date: 2005-03-06 11:03 pm (UTC)Well. It's close. ^__^ It remains to be seen how big it'll get. Speaking of the fic, how much of the 'old' fic have you read from the last few months? I didn't realise until I was going through Play Suspended today just how much there was. :)
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-06 11:06 pm (UTC)Mmmm, pretty Spanishness. *tries not to drool too much* He is indeed pretty. And I'm fairly sure Italy sucks even more than Britain at tennis, so I don't think so. Something to look into. *contemplates*
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Date: 2005-03-06 11:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-06 11:53 pm (UTC)I have read a lot of it. In fact, I've been reading way too much way too quickly. I'm gonna run out of old stuff and there's no new stuff to read. :-(
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Date: 2005-03-07 02:02 am (UTC)Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-07 02:12 am (UTC)Trust me when I say that my mad scheduling skills are all that allow me to sleep.
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-07 06:37 pm (UTC)And I know! The one language apart from English and Welsh I can say more than 'yes' 'no' and 'please' in and no hot tennis players speak it! *woe*
I am v. impressed with your mad scheduling skills, especially since I have none. *pets poor work!overloaded
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-07 07:29 pm (UTC)Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-07 07:49 pm (UTC)I suddenly feel very bad for not doing any Philosophy yet. o_O
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-07 07:53 pm (UTC)I have a physics lab tomorrow. *cries*
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-07 08:30 pm (UTC)*pets you* Evil physics. Would it help if I told you I'm just on my way to post you a 'making-out-on-the-couch' ficlet?
Re: Do not...
Date: 2005-03-07 11:21 pm (UTC)