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ragingpancake · 3 years

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I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part 2

It’s ten days before Carson deems Rodney “well enough” to return to his quarters. To date, this has been the longest infirmary stay that Rodney’s ever had and truthfully, he should probably stay a bit longer. His kidneys still aren’t functioning as well as they should, which means Carson’s been closely monitoring his water intake and urine output and a whole host of other things that John knows Rodney is embarrassed about. He’s also not entirely steady on his feet, courtesy of the muscle spams that wrack his calves and his thighs, bad enough sometimes to nearly bring him to tears. It’s ten days before John, Carson and Elizabeth have a very real, very difficult conversation about what a prolonged stay in the infirmary will likely do Rodney mentally, left with nothing really to occupy his time except, well, time to think about just how close he’d come to death. Carson is reluctant to release him; they haven’t yet gotten him back to solid foods and of course his kidney function is still a concern, but John knows Rodney, knows that he needs to be anywhere but here and he argues his case: Rodney can come stay in his quarters. His team is grounded for the foreseeable future, courtesy of John who is unwilling to go off-world without his entire team and while he’s offered to temporarily reassign Teyla and Ronon to Lorne, they share his line of thinking. Rodney can come stay with John, but he has his whole team who’ll be watching out for him, who will bring him for twice daily check ins, if needed, who will monitor any time spent in the lab, who just want Rodney to have some semblance of normalcy during his recovery. It must be an impassioned speech, because by the time he’s done, Elizabeth nods her consent and John finds for the first time in ten days, it’s a little easier to breath.

--- Rodney, predictably, complains about the arrangement. He’s not keen on having a babysitter and that hurts John’s stunted feelings more than he’d ever admit out loud. But when Carson makes it clear that the only option is an extended stay in the infirmary, he relents pretty easily and all that’s left is to prepare John’s quarters. Easy peasy. Right? Wrong. It turns out that the room John’s claimed for himself isn’t quite meant for two people. It’s small and while it’s fine for just him, he knows that it’s going to be too cramped, too claustrophobic and so he spends the eleventh day scouting out some of the larger quarters near the East Pier with Teyla, pretending to understand when she makes suggestions based on where the light from the rising sun falls and which room has the best view of the ocean, which she believes will aid in Rodney’s recovery. He’s never been much into new age bullshit that seems to be pretty common across two galaxies, but he’s willing to shove a couple of crystals up his own ass if it means getting Rodney better.

He enlists Ronon, Lorne and a couple of marines to help move their things. John leaves his own quarters to Wallace, Gregory and Barnes despite how uncomfortable the thought of them seeing his own personal effects makes him, and he takes Rodney’s room with Ronon and Lorne. Rodney, for his part, has a lot of stuff. It takes the better part of the afternoon to get everything moved over, including Rodney’s deceptively heavy prescription mattress, his four laptops and the whiteboard that he’d swiped from the labs within the first week of their arrival. John’s stuff, save for his own bed, mostly fits in a couple bags. By the time they’re finished, he’s tired, shoulders and back aching, reminding him just how fucking old he’s getting, but still, he trudges down to the infirmary, plastering a smile on his face for Rodney as he steps in through the paneled doors. “Hey buddy,” he greets. “Got us all set up in some new digs. Wait until you see the tub in this one,” he says, nodding as Carson comes over, Rodney’s chart in hand. “He all good to go, Doc?” “I suppose he’ll have to be, now won’t he?” He asks and there’s a scowl there that John cheerfully ignores. “I expect him back here at 10 and 2, Colonel. A minute late for either appointment and he’s back here, d’you understand?” “10 and 2, just like a steering wheel. Got it, doc. How about the food situation?” “Yeah, what he said,” Rodney frowns and John knows from previous experience just how miserable a clear liquid diet can be. “I’m alright with him startin’ on solids, but take it easy,” Carson warns. “Nothin’ too heavy,” and Rodney waves him off, but despite his lackadaisical nature, John really is taking this seriously, committing everything to memory. “Got it. We good?” Carson pauses for a moment before he sighs. “Aye. But not a moment late, Colonel!” He warns as Marie and Simpson come, pushing a wheelchair that Rodney tries to vehemently refuse. John settles a hand on his shoulder gently. “Hey, hey. C’mon. Easy. It’s a pretty long walk to the pier, alright? Let’s not push it too much on your first day.” “Traitor,” Rodney mutters under his breath and John actually does smile because it feels a little like it used to before those God damned Carneans. John steadies the wheelchair while Marie and Simpson maneuver Rodney into it and after what feels like forever, they’re finally on their way. “You did get my laptops, right?” “Yes, Rodney.” “And what about the Athosian soaps from the bathroom? Those were made specially for me by Gita and, and, and the medicinal properties-- “We got ‘em.” “My mattress?” “Of course.” Rodney harrumphs like maybe he’s expecting John to have forgotten something, as if John would ever. “What about—” “Your favorite red pen that you use to mark up all those damn physics journals? Yep. Got that too. We grabbed everything, buddy. And if there’s somethin’ you need that we don’t have, just say the word and we’ll make it happen.” Rodney falls strangely quiet at that. --- It’s easy to live with Rodney. Lorne had very nearly pissed himself from laughter when John said so after the first few days and honestly, John took a little offense to that on Rodney’s behalf. Sure, he’s messy and he’s loud and the longer he’s out, the more of his biting sarcasm is returning, but John’s all for it, especially when he considers the alternative. (And he does consider it, frequently, usually in the dead of night when he wakes up from nightmares of vomit and grey skin, of an antidote recovered too late). But honestly, save for the fact that John now has to deal with Rodney’s dirty clothes strewn across the room and the stupid whiteboard that takes up the space that John’s surf board should be occupying, not much has changed at all, a testament to just how much time the two of them had spent together even before this. John follows Carson’s instructions to a T, and okay, maybe that’s a little different too because John’s always been the one to avoid the infirmary at all costs when it comes to his own health and

well-being, but he’s not taking a chance with Rodney’s. He takes him to his appointments and at nights, when the muscle spasms seem to be the worst, John sits with him on that stupidly comfortable bed, kneading the tight muscles in his legs as he tries to distract Rodney with shitty 80s movies and random banter about anything and everything that he thinks will goad Rodney into a tirade that’ll take his mind off of the pain. He even lets Rodney have four hours a day in the labs, split into two hour segments with an hour break in between. Normalcy. That’s the goal here and Rodney’s always at his best when he’s in his element, berating scientists and defying all laws of physics. That’s where Rodney is when everything goes to hell. --- It’s been twenty days since the Carneans. Ten days of the two of them cohabitating, ten days of Rodney slowly working his way back to normal. He’s been subsisting entirely of power bars and MREs, which, while not entirely healthy has been cleared by Carson if only for the fact that they provide sustenance without being too taxing on Rodney’s still delicate system and John’s just thinking about whether or not he can try to convince Rodney to try something a little more substantial from the mess later that evening when the call comes in over the radio. “Zelenka to Colonel Sheppard, please respond.” He sounds harried and John closes the latest mission report from Lorne’s team, already on his feet and moving when he taps his comm. “Sheppard here, go ahead Doc.” “I need you in Science Lab 3 please. There is a… situation.” “What do you mean by situation, Radek?” But when Radek keys up his comm again, John can hear the panicked wheezing in the background and he picks it up to a swift jog. “I believe Rodney is having a panic attack,” he says. “I have tried to bring him around but nothing is working and I--.” “I’m on my way. Sheppard out.” He meets Ronon in the corridor and he doesn’t even have to say a word before the Satedan is altering his own course, following after John. They can hear it before they even open the door. Rodney’s on the verge of hyperventilating, the sound of his ragged breaths interspersed with pained moans and Ronon is quick to clear the lab of well meaning scientists who are gaping at the scene while Radek tries to shield Rodney from view as much as possible. “Hey, hey,” John says soothingly, trying to keep his voice calm despite the way his heart is beating against his ribcage. “I’m here, buddy. Rodney, look at me. Hey, hey,” and he reaches out, finger under Rodney’s chin as he tips his head up, wild blue eyes meeting hazel. John wants to take Rodney’s hand, but his arms are wrapped around his middle, clutching his stomach so tightly and John glances over at the toppled plate on the floor, shards of glass now mixed with what looks like not-meatloaf. “Talk to me, Doc,” John calls over his shoulder at Zelenka. “What the hell happened?” “He was out of power bars, but hungry, so Miko thought perhaps he might be enticed to eat by something from the mess, knowing that this,” he gestures, “was Rodney’s favorite. He managed a couple of bites and everything was fine until… until it was not.” “Cramps,” Rodney rasps, reaching out to grip John’s wrist painfully. “Cramps. Poison, I—I can’t--.” “Get Carson down here,” John snarls, voice softening as he turns back to Rodney. “Hey. Listen to me, buddy. Carson told us this could happen, remember? The cramps. That’s why we started light. You’re okay though. I promise, Rodney. You’re okay, I’m right here and I need you to breathe.” It takes a bit of manhandling but John manages to get Rodney up enough that he can slide behind the other, drawing Rodney back against his chest, taking a couple of deep breaths. “C’mon, buddy. Breathe with me. You’re alright. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Rodney.” That’s how Carson finds them a few moments later, Rodney trembling against the other, but thankfully no longer hyperventilating. “He’s alright,” John says, glancing up at Beckett. “Panic attack when

he tried to eat and cramped up.” “I thought—I thought--.” John pets through Rodney’s hair gently. “I know. You thought it happened again, but it didn’t, right? We’re gonna go down to the infirmary with Carson though and let him check you over so you can see for yourself.” “Easy, lad,” Carson says as Ronon comes over to help Rodney to his feet with more care than he’s shown anyone else, guiding him over to the gurney before he tugs John to his feet as well. “John—” Rodney rasps, the name catching his throat as the cramps hit again and he curls on his side, swallowing hard against the panic beginning to rise again. “I’m here,” John reminds him again, moving to take Rodney’s hand. “You’re alright, I promise.” And he is. He will be. John will be sure of that. --- The panic attacks don’t last long. He still cramps painfully when he eats, but the team is always with him at meal time to help him through it, John always, alwayseating a third of his food before switching his tray with Rodney’s for him to finish it, confident that there’s no poison. The effects of what had been done to him still linger, still present often and painfully, and sometimes, John doesn’t think what he’s doing is enough. That he should be doing more, that he should’ve done more back on that fucking planet to have saved Rodney from this entire ordeal. But Rodney’s getting better. John can see that when he goes longer and longer without a muscle spasm, or the first time he pees on his own and calls John in to see how clear it is, proof that his kidneys are finally starting to function normally. “You know,” Rodney says one night after they’ve pushed their beds close enough together that if they each scoot over to the edge, their shoulders are touching, “it probably won’t be too much longer until we can go back to our own quarters.” There’s an uncomfortable knot that twists itself up in John’s stomach at that but he swallows against the lump in his throat and says casually, “oh yeah? That’ll be cool. I guess.” “Yeah,” Rodney says and then he falls silent for a moment, as if waiting for something. Apparently, his impatience has returned full force because he doesn’t even give it a half a second before he’s speaking again. “I mean, unless we just… don’t?” Okay. That’s unexpected. “I just… this has been incredibly difficult, Colonel. Uh, John,” he corrects, “and you’ve… I know that this is probably because of some weird, misplaced guilt you’re harboring, because that’s how you are, Lieutenant Colonel Martyr, but… this has been okay… hasn’t it?” “Rodney, I--.” “I know I’m difficult. I’m messy and I’ll be going back to keeping weird hours soon enough and, and, and I know I can be annoying, but you’ve put up with that remarkably well and so I just thought--.” “I don’t want to go back to being alone,” John blurts out and he can feel the tension leaving Rodney’s body beside him. “Good. Me neither.” They fall into a comfortable silence then for a moment, the only sounds being their quiet breathing and the sound of the ocean waves through the open window. (Teyla was definitely right about picking this room.) “It’s not guilt,” John says after a moment. “I mean, not that I don’t feel guilty, because I should’ve never--.” He clears his throat and stops himself before he goes down that road. “You’re… I dunno. You’re McKay. Rodney. And I… when I found you that day, I thought you were dead,” and he can feel Rodney flinch at that, but he needs to get this out, he thinks. “I thought you’d died and I just… realized that I would’ve gone out of my fucking mind if you had, Rodney. Like, legitimately crazy because you’re… You’re you and I’m--. I’m yours. However you want me. If that means we forget this conversation ever happened and go back to how it was before all of this, I’m okay with that, but I just… I had to tell you because I came really fucking close to never getting another chance to.” Rodney is quiet, doesn’t say anything but after a moment, John can feel the other’s hand brush against his own before he

squeezes two of John’s fingers. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time in all the time we’ve known each other.” And John laugh out loud at that, an actual laugh, and as he does, he feels that knot inside of him loosen just a bit. “Which is to say,” Rodney continues, “that I… would very much like to notforget this happened. I… suppose that I’m yours too. Maybe I always have been.” John doesn’t know where they’ll go from here. He’s under no delusions that this will be easy, any of it, but when has it ever been? All that matters though is that they have time now to work through it, to figure it out together. Maybe they’ll fix each other.

#mcshep #hurt/comfort #hurt rodney mckay #whumped rodney mcay #john sheppard #rodney mckay #sga #stargate atlantis #fandom: sga #angst #poisoning #panic attack

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alexandenigtscreations · 3 years

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Chapters: 5/7 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

(Note: Bold Italic script indicates Nureyev speaking Brahmese)

Chapter 5

“God Damnit Thief! Pick up your damned coms when the bloody doctor calls!"

"Again, apologies Vespa, I-" he coughed weakly into his hand, tripoding over his knees.

"Do you know how many times I had to call you? Do you?"

Nureyev sighed "Afraid not-"

"Seven ! Seven goddamn times! Thought you were dead ! Or Steel! Or captured or whatever! We're in enough crap as it is without you two adding to the pile!"

“Vespa, I-”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, Thief; I swear to god I’ll snap your scrawny neck!"

"I'm-" he caught himself mid apology, "Understood-"

"I haven't heard Steel's voice, where is he?"

"Juno's- sleeping." Which is what he himself had been doing up to the moment Vespa rang. Stupid- a rookie mistake-

"Oh? And how sure are you of that thief?"

Nureyev wiped the sweat off of his face, "I'm sure-" it had been the first thing he checked when the beeping of the comms woke him. Even from here he could see the frantic rise and fall of Juno's chest. The lady wasn't doing well.

"Completely." He coughed harder into an elbow.

Vespa sniff on the other end of the line. Plainly suspicious, but that was nothing new.

"Fine, now you're on, we can get back to business…." There was a clatter outside, his head snapped towards it ".... temperature down, or it can cause…." and another- "gotta make sure he's in the recovery…" and another and confound it all Nureyev, focus! He shook himself back to the conversation just in time for Vespa to say "Did you get that Thief?"

"Hmm? I ugh-" he floundered. No, no he had not gotten it, and was just about to say so when he heard voices-

Lord, not now, please not now-

"Thief?"

Nureyev limped to a window. Even in the dim light of the street lamps, he could make out the security uniforms of Galactic Stars First Bank.

No-

Anxiety spiked his chest, making him queasy- or perhaps he already was-

Juno was in danger. That much, he was certain of. To say nothing about himself.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping lady. Even with his features pinched and weary, he was beautiful-

And vulnerable-

Plans began to formulate in his mind. His first impulse was to find some crevice to hide in, to disappear. But even with Juno’s help, he only just managed to get him to the sofa last time- If they were found- well, he didn’t want to find out what they’d do to him.

“Thief?!”

He could lure the guards inside, dispatch them quickly and save his leg the trouble- But no, that would be too messy. To say nothing of Juno’s sensibilities, inviting guards into their hiding spot introduced more blind variables than he’d care to gamble with.

Which left luring them away- Sharp teeth worried away at his bottom lip. The injury would make things- challenging. But he didn’t have to be fast. After all, it was a fool who thought the best getaway vehicle was the fastest-

What he needed now was a strategy; and to know how many employees he’d have to contend with.

“God Damnit Ransom, the hell-”

“Apologies Vespa, I need Rita.”

“What?!”

“Ha-How many guards, am I dealing with- Rita?” Nureyev grimaced, pressing his back tight to the apartment's tinker toy brickwork. Rita’s voice was going fuzzy around the edges, as though muffled.

It had been harder than anticipated to pick his way past the patrolling guards, yet alone work his way out of the safe house.

“Two, maybe four in your sector Mista Ransom.”

“Which is it? ”

“Hugh?”

“Which is it? The- er- two, or the four?” there was a throb of pain that made his breath hitch. Along with that ever present burning, biting its way deep.

“Not sure but- are- are you alright Mista Ransom?”

“I- am a tad worse for wear. Which is why I’d like to resolve this matter quickly.”

“Ohhh, ohh right! Well Rita can help with that!”

“Thank you Rita. Now- which way to the two or four individuals?”

He allowed Rita to guide him through the quiet streets. She informed him that a dome wide lockdown had been initiated while the intruders were at large. Sure enough, when he tried a few doors in passing, they refused to yield under his touch. The citizens took the lockdown seriously.

Nureyev made sure to make plenty of noise. He needed a show if he wanted this plan to work. What worried him was that he was only half acting as he stumbled his way over the cobbles on a stiff leg. He allowed himself to knock into bins and topple items into cars. The noise he raised wasn’t loud, per say, but it was conspicuous on the quiet streets.

“Where are these guards Rita?”

“They’ll be coming up any minute Mista Ransom, you just keep your eyes Peeled! Make a right up here-” she directed “Peeled, hugh, ever consider what a weird thing it is to say. That you should keep your eyes peeled? I mean you do that and your eyes ain't gonna be good no more, least of all you. Oh! But there was this one stream where the monster worked its way out of a beautiful man! Which was such a waist but what do I know about streams? And its eyes were doing this crazy-”

“Any- minute?” he was starting to have doubts about using his own injured self as bait. He filed that deep in his mind.

“What? Oh! Yeah! You got some baddies commin’ up right behind you.”

“Behind- Are you sure?” he panted.

“Yeah of course I’m sure Mista Ransom!”

A quick turn confirmed Rita’s intel. He was indeed being followed.

They shouted something at his back, and Nureyev picked up his pace to a skip-hop, while his pursuers broke into a run. A plasma bolt shot past his ear, sending a jolt of adrenaline through. In answer he flipped over several barrels. They cascaded into the small space, messing the ally nicely. That should slow them down some. It had to.

There was no time to pay attention to the ache of his lungs or the fire coursing through his leg. Even as each step pushed him that much closer to being physically ill.

File it away, Damn you- just file it away-

He screwed his eyes shut and pushed forward. Forcing himself to keep moving, to keep breathing, to keep-

He plowed headlong into an old chain link fence with enough force to knock him to the ground with a strangled cry. The traitorous links rattled and clinked all the way up to their restraints. As if to add insult to injury, they stretched maybe ten, fifteen feet in the air. There wasn’t a hope of making it over before his acquaintances caught up.

“Mista Ransom?!” Rita sounded scared, she’d even stopped typing. “What happened?”

“There’s-” he coughed “There’s a- barrier- ” There was another word, a better word, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of it. It was taking all his effort to push upright on shaking arms, threading his fingers into the wire mesh to haul himself to his feet.

“A barrier? Like a wall or a buildin’ or somethin? None of that is showing up on my schema-”

“A fence- Is there another way round?” He took a moment to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry but, there isn’t anythin’ on the map. Ya gotta get to the other side before ya have options. Can’t you like, break through or somethin?”

Break through, of course, Nureyev could kick himself; it was so simple. He extracted one of his plasma cutters from a pocket, heat humming through the blade. In the end, it wasn’t even a good fence. The blade made quick work of the links, slicing through them as one might margarine.

Another blaster shot forced him through the cherry red ruin of a hole before it had a chance to cool. He brought his arm up, shielding his face even as the sharp edges racked along his coat, hitting his leg- he hissed, nausea threatening to overtake him.

“Mista Ransom?”

He scrambled to the other side, barely keeping upright.

“Mista Ransom! You’ve got more company comin’ straight at you!”

“What-” his voice cracked in exhaustion. Through the gloom, he could just make out the second pair barreling down the narrow passage. He could hear them barking orders at him now, probably instructing him to surrender or other such nonsense that he had no intention of following.

“They’ve brought reinforcements! They’re gonna’ block your escape roots!”

“Reinforcements?”

“There’s at least four more heading straight at you!”

Nureyev glanced back and spotted the first pair shoving through the debris. Then that would make six- Six on one, he didn’t like those odds. A wrong step sent a jolt through him, his weakened leg nearly buckling under his weight sending him into a wall. Again the world went fuzzy, blood rushing to his ears.

He wondered if the Carte Blanche really would come back for him if he’d got captured. Something made him doubt it even as he shoved the ugly thought deep into a file.

Think Nureyev.

Time, he needed time. A had drifted to the modest arsenal on his chest. There were a few smoke bombs he hadn’t touched, but the situation called for something more dire-

He plucked a pepper grenade from the clip, lobbing it over the fence with the practiced ease of one who’d spent hours on throwing knives. Smoke tracked it’s flight through the air. It struck the ground at the guard’s feet. They yelled, scrambling back just as it erupted. The choking fumes swallowed them in seconds.

Nureyev was no longer paying mind to them, attention bent entirely at the remaining guards. Four on one were more....manageable.

He rushed the closest set, drawing a twin to his first blade wheeling them in tandem. The man was no fighter, as soon as he got into their space, the man shrank back, his blaster forgotten.

A tingling burn flushed across exposed skin making his heart plummet. He’d made a mistake. Nureyev hadn't accounted for the wind-

Spurred by the change in fortune, Nureyev dispatched the man quickly; maneuvering out of the way as he crumpled. Life’s blood spilled over the cobbles soon obscured by smoke.

Smoke?

Twisting and contorting, the smoke seemed to grow till it engulfed everything in its path. Pouring down the cramped space. The remaining guards tried to run, but were soon overtaken, same as the Thief.

Nureyev's throat closed against the onslaught. He gagged and coughed over the very air, vision hopelessly obscured by tears. The only good news was that he could hear his attackers do the same. Panic began to fog his reason.

He no longer noticed the burning of his skin or eyes, or the way his nose was running; no longer could feel the pain in his leg. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe . The single thought spun round and round in his brain, desperately trying to figure a way around it. He clung to the wall with every ounce of strength he possessed. The coughing picked up even harder now till his chest crushed in like a deflated balloon.

Try as he will, his lungs would not expand. There was simply no more air.

“Mista Ransom?” Rita, in the coms! Rita who was still very much with him. There was hope!

Just then a hand clenched around a fistful of his hair, dragging Nureyev lower still. He’d been found, even in a place like this, they’d still found him. The employees of Galactic Stars First Bank were more like his creditors than Nureyev liked. Even now she was growling at him in anger.

Though he couldn’t understand the language, he knew she was asking questions. Her breaths were short and forced yet still she managed to talk. Had he not been in the grips of fear, he would have found her admirable.

“Mista Ransom?!”

Through his bleary eyes, he could make out the cyan glow of a blaster pointed down under his nose. She meant to shoot him, but was hesitating. At any other time, he'd wonder why- Instead he reached up to claw, to cling at her wrist, still with a grip on his knives. She twisted and he bowed lower, leg quaking, his hand slipped and-

“Ah!” she squealed as his plasma blade bit into her arm, flinging him back to a wall. The impact miraculously forced air back into his lungs. Though as soon as he got it, his body started to cough it back up. Furiously he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold it in.

It didn't work.

“Mista Ransom!” If Rita had sounded scared before, that was nothing compared to now. Her voice was small and tentative in a way that would break any heart. Even so, he latched onto her voice with everything he was worth.

The light of the guard's weapon danced before him. She may have been hurt, but she wasn’t down yet. What’s worse was that she seemed to be calling for backup.

The blade sang out of his fingers, digging itself into her thigh. This time she screamed and hacked, scrambling for the off switch while Nureyev made his escape. It hadn't been where he'd been aiming, but close enough. With any luck, she'd have trouble moving for a time.

“R-ita-” he choked out, managing tiny gasps, every one a massive effort.

“What’s going on! Have you been Gassed!!!!!” thank stars he would not have to explain.

“Y-yes-” he gave into a violent coughing fit.

“Oh-Okay, you need me to show you the way out!”

“Yes-” the fight had turned him around, making it impossible to tell which way to go. He wanted to be free of the smoke as soon as possible.

“Can Do! Oh! This is just like one of those Spy streams like- well, never mind that right now. Alright Mista Ransom, I’m gonna need you to move forwards about a hundred meters.” She instructed conspiratorially. He obliged, thankful to leave the thinking to her. Using the wall to keep him straight. “Be careful when you reach the fork!” she cautioned “The passage on your left has a few baddies, the one on your right is clear!”

On his right- he could just make out two voids stretching before him. Stealing his resolve he propelled himself right and mercifully broke through the miasma. He crashed into a dumpster, nearly running smack into the center of another set of guards.

It had been the wrong way.

There would be no time to recover, no time for rest. Furiously he wiped his eyes and gulped down recycled air.

Rita shrieked in his ear, “Not your right, my right!” but he had no choice but to tune her out.

The fresh opponent rushed him, their partner charging their blaster. Nureyev stumbled back towards the smoke, just managing to use his attacker’s momentum to spin them round into their partner. Their partner roared, firing shots off at random as they fell. Blaster spun out of their grip on impact. A stray bolt savaged one of Nureyev’s coat pockets, scattering it’s contents on the stones. Hopefully there wouldn’t have been anything important in there.

Nureyev readjusted his knife grip and threw at the tangle of limbs. One of the figures stilled. He hobbled towards them as fast as he could, retrieving the blade. He’d already lost one and that was one too many.

It was a mistake.

Pain shot through his leg making him cry out. He fell hard separated anew from his weapon. He’d been struck down by the spare guard. They spat words that were sure to be insults as they disentangled themselves from the motionless body.

Nureyev gasped, twisting away towards the fallen blaster. It had landed some distance away, but one advantage of long limbs was reach- The guard growled and caught his foot, drawing him backwards. He kicked out and the hands clawed higher. It seemed they both were trying for the same weapon.

"Let go- " Nureyev bit out attempting to dislodge the guard.

"Never, scum- " they shot back in perfect Brahmese. Before that could sink in, fingers jammed into his bandages, into the wound- Nureyev keened, paralyzed by the shock of it.

First rule of thriving Pete, you can't afford to be loud.

Rita shrieked all the louder. Nureyev was at once hot and cold and utterly overwhelmed.. He knew he was hurt, thank you, he knew it! He could do without the constant reminders.

The guard made use of their opportunity by clambering over Nureyev. Hand planted on his spine, pushing him down. The thief refused to let it be that easy; scanning for something, anything he could use-

There!

His pocket knife!

Nureyev’s arm shot out, scooping up the tool and flicking it open. He twisted, simultaneously throwing them off and swiping upwards. The blade bit into cloth and flesh. They reared back startled, leaving Nureyev to wriggle free. On hands and knees he scrambled to the blaster.

Nureyev may not have the skills of a certain lovely sharp shooter, but at a distance like this, he couldn't miss.

The stunner went straight to their chest and all went quiet. He folded over, resting his forehead on the damp of the grimy street, forcing down bile once more.

"Mista Ransom!!! Oh Mista Ransom! Are you there? Please say you're there, cuz I'm not sure how I could face the boss if I…."

"Rita-"

"....got you blown up or somethin, cuz know I'd miss you oh so much but Boss- oh I couldn't imagine-"

"I'm- ha- I'm fine- Rita-" he tried again, louder this time. His voice was thick and rough, entirely unlike the persona he’d been so careful to maintain around the crew.

There was a loud clatter from the other end and a sharp intake of breath. It sounded as though Rita knocked something over "Mista Ransom! You ought to feel ashamed! Scaring a girl like that! Don’t you know that-" she cut off abruptly “Ugh oh, Mista Ransom! You gotta get out of there, stat! There are reinforcements on the way and I don't think they are too happy!”

Nureyev groaned and thanked Rita. He supposed it was a lucky thing that he was so averse to capture. It had been a long time since cold stone had been so welcoming.

“What are you waiting’ for Mista Ransom?”

“N-nothing- Rita. Merely -becoming acquainted with the cobble work.” he murmured. In truth, he was drained to his core. His head was spinning, body aching, leg burning and he was just so- thirsty. There was at least something he could do about the last one, but not for a while, and not without getting up. The entire distraction had taken far more out of him than anticipated.

“Mista Ransom, you know I don’t speak nothin but Solar-” she started, but he wasn’t listening.

Distraction. His mind snagged on the word.

That was right, he was luring Galactic Star’s First Bank away from Juno. Juno, gorgeous, wonderful Juno who’d taken a poison dart for him, who needed him right now.

Nureyev had to get back to him, no matter what.

In the end, Nureyev had trusted Rita to guide him back to the safe house. She’d insisted after he nearly ran into another set of guards. He was too tired to fight. More than once considering folding himself up into a corner and waiting for the excitement to die down. Moving in the open like this- didn't sit well with him.

It took a lot longer to return to the grubby street of the safe house, and longer still to check and recheck he hadn’t been followed or bugged.

“Thank you again- Rita-” Privately he vowed to do something nice for her if and when they’d return to the ship.

“Oh and Mista Ransom?”

“Hm?”

“Take care of yourself, alright? Ya make Mista Steel real happy- and- and I want ya both back in one piece okay?”

Nureyev was taken aback for a moment, mind blanking over the words. It was- touching, and he had no idea what to do with that.

He cleared his throat. “I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” and he meant it.

[Special thanks to Scarlet_Trust who got me excited about this again. Please, Please go over and read their wonderful works!]

#tpp #the penumbra podcast #junoverse #jupeter #juno steel #peter nureyev #fic #AlexandeNight #whump #hurt/comfort #tw blood #tw nausea #tw killing #tw fights #Nureyev is a baddass #my writing #fanfic

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Philtatos [5/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101543/chapters/47690671

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: During a patrol where Red Hood and Red Robin cross paths, Jason is infected with the blood of the Eros, the ancient God of Love, who informs them that they must track down his missing bow and arrows, or Jason will go slowly mad with an obsessive desire–for Tim. Though overwhelmed by the sudden attention being paid to him, Tim sets to work trying to solve the case, before Jason succumbs to madness. In the meantime, Jason discovers that there’s more than godlike powers at work here, as well as a legacy that reaches back through the sands of time.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Beta Reader: None at the moment.

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #secrets

First Chapter

Author’s Note: Someone mentioned in the comments about the characters ages. As I mentioned at the beginning of the fic, this story mostly follows the New Earth canon. I disregarded anything in the New 52 that directly contradicts that. So the ages of the characters are about as follows: Bruce: 44 Dick: 25 Cass: 20/21ish Jason: 20 Tim: 17 Damian: 13 Ages have been approximated based on clues from the comics. I may eventually tag this as Underage, but it depends on whether I decide to write a certain scene or not.

________________________________________________________________

Tim’s first instinct is to go after Jason, which is why his irritation is entirely justified when a caped shadow detaches from above and lands in front of him in a crouch, blocking his path.

“Father says to check to the condition of Hood’s victims, then wait for medical units,” Robin informs him.

Tim frowns. “Good for him. You don’t need two people to do that.”

He begins to head off again, only for Damian to bar his way again. “Obviously. But he was adamant about it.”

“And since when do you listen to everything he says?”

Damian’s mouth thins, nose wrinkling as it does when Tim does something irritating to him, like exist. It takes him a moment to catch up.

“Wait—he meant me?”

“He meant both of us, for whatever reason is beyond my comprehension.” His permanent scowl slides more to the side of a pout, suggesting he isn’t pleased with the directive. “He was determined to reach Todd on his own when he requested help.”

The kid sounds like he is confused and disapproving all at the same time, which Tim can kind of agree on.

Reaching out to Bruce for help is not something he saw coming. Though, maybe he should have, since Jason always did have a unique ability to act outside the parameters of his own established patterns. It’s why it was so hard to pin him down when he first returned to Gotham.

It’s practical, too, I guess.

Jason’s the sort of no-frill logic kind of guy. He knows out of everyone in the family, the person best suited to take him down if he needs taking down is Bruce—and much as he cares about him, Bruce will do it, too.

He really must be rattled to go with that option.

Tim’s heart thuds a little in sympathy at that, understanding exactly what Jason’s afraid of.

Before he died, he acted rash and could be violent, and was already justifying why certain kinds of people should be forfeit their lives. That conviction magnified when he came back to life. Killing another person, that might not have been something outside the realm of possibility—in a purely utilitarian way. But this—the idea that he might lose control of himself to an extent where he has anything in common with the creeps he’s killed?

Tim wants nothing more than to go after Jason himself, to assure him that he’s nothing like those criminals. But he also recognizes why it’s not a good idea right now.

Besides, B has him. Just have to hope their…usual issues don’t get in the way.

“I’m going to find the kid that was here,” Tim tells Damian. “Got to make sure he’s okay, maybe explain what happened.”

“Whatever,” Damian replies, toeing at the faintly stirring bodies.

Nice working with you, too…

Tim finds the teenager three blocks away, ducked into a corner to avoid the wind, sucking down a cigarette from shaking hands. When Tim rappels down in front of him, he gives a curse and jumps backward, nearly upsetting a trashcan.

“What the hell, man?” he demands.

“Sorry,” Tim replies. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t go anywhere.”

“Why, so you can have a go at me to?”

“I need to know what happened back there.”

“Twenty bucks.”

If this were a gangster or some rogue’s henchman, Tim would probably just beat the answers out of him. But he recognizes that this is a scared kid, who needs to feel safe right now, and who needs to feel like he’s in control. Given the background Tim suspects, it’s not something he gets very often, and will determine how helpful he could be in the future.

So, he counters, “Thirty, and you also give me your name.”

The kid snorts, but nods; as soon as he pockets the cash, he says, “Matt. Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Doctor,” Tim deadpans, and the kid smirks, but he lets it go. It gives him something to call him, helps ground himself in the fact this case is now involving actual people.

“Okay, Matt. Tell me what went down.”

“Usual thing. Some guy wanted to, uh, show me somethin’ in the alley. Turned out he had a bunch of buddies waitin’. Pretty sure I’d’ve gotten worked over if it weren’t for the guy in the helmet showing up.” Matt hesitates here, his eyes flickering with vulnerability in a way that tells Tim he hasn’t been on the street very long. “After he wiped the floor with ‘em, he went weird. Got real quiet, and he started lookin’ at me like…” He shrugs. “Like, I couldn’t see his face, but it felt like the way some of the junkies look when they think you’re easy pickings. And…”

The kid actually shivers here.

“Man, I thought he was supposed to be cool?” he snaps. “That’s what the girls all say. But if he’s a creep too, why d’you Bats let him go around like he does?”

“He was exposed to a mind-altering substance some time ago, and it’s messing with him,” Tim replies. “He’s not entirely himself right now, but I’m sure he’ll be fine after a bit of detox.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Matt continues to look distrustful. “We done here?”

“Yeah, we’re done.” Tim digs into his belt and passes him a card for the Neon Knights foundation. “Take this, too. It’s not just for younger kids, you know. There’s a program set up for teens and young adults that have aged out of the system.”

“So?”

“I’m not saying you have to go there or even asking you to trust them. But for tonight, at least, a bed and a hot meal are probably a safer bet than working a corner.”

Matt’s shoulder slump a little in defeat, and he looks away. “Whatever.”

“Second person that’s said that to me tonight. I might develop a complex being brushed off so easy.”

The teen’s mouth twitches.

Good sign. If you can still smile so easily, it’s not to late for you.

There’s buzz in his ear and Tim’s comm crackles to life. “B is bringing Red Hood back to the Cave.”

“Without a fight?” Tim asks, pressing the speaker to his ear.

“Hood asked him to sedate him.”

Shit.

If that’s not an indicator of how dire he thinks the situation is! Something like this only happens in life or death situations involving the whole Family, or the Joker. Or both.

“I’m on my way.” He turns back to Matt. “You going to be alright?”

“I’m always alright.”

That startles a chuckle out of Tim; he makes a mental note to track the kid down at as soon as he’s got a better idea of what’s going on

Hurrying back to Damian, Tim finds him watching with folded arms as an ambulance loads the last of the injured and unconscious men through their doors.

“Father, the clean up is finished. I am returning.”

Batman’s voice echoes in both their comms. “No. Continue with your patrol. Red Robin, he’ll stay with you for now.”

“Excuse me?!”

“What?!”

“Rendezvous at the Nest afterward and stay there until you receive further instruction.”

He signs off.

Damian and Tim exchange looks that are easily interpreted even behind their dominos.

“He knows that’s not happening, right?” Tim says. “You’d probably set my place on fire.”

“And I’m sure it would be an improvement. But no, it’s not happening.”

“Good. Glad we established that. How are you getting back to the mano? B brought Hood back in the car, so…”

“Obviously, with your bike.”

“Oh, obviously.”

“You would take issue if I stole a car. And you intend to return to the Cave anyhow.” Tim glares but doesn’t correct him. “I’m driving.”

“Fine.”

“Tt, you people and your antiquated—wait.” Damian sounds like his brain has to reboot. “Really?”

“You have an obsession with sharp objects, you’ve tried to kill me more times than Hood has, and you hate me. You really think I’m letting you sit behind me?”

Damian snorts. “That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“That is, of course, assuming you can reach the gears.”

He’s kind of surprised he doesn’t get punched for that one.

It’s an awkward right back, made even more so when Tim insists they duck into a treelined cove on the way to the manor and hide the bike to change into their civvies.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“B’s probably keeping Jason in a holding cell,” Tim explains, “which is on the same level as the garage. We’ll be seen.”

“So?”

“So, you want to get sent off to bed like a naughty kid before you even step foot in the door, or do you want to go down the stairs and find out what’s going on before B can stop you?”

Damian thinks it over, and nods. “This is tedious, but very well. We’ll do it your way.”

Tim exhales a bit at that. Though none of that was entirely a lie, he’s more concerned that if Jason’s woken up, he might see Tim coming in through the parking area and get upset.

“Look at us getting along,” he murmurs as he struggles out of his boots.

“This truce is temporary at best. If you continue to patronize me, I will have Titus defecate in your shoes.”

They arrive in the manor, slipping in through the family entrance, where they are greeted by Alfred.

How does he do that?

It’s a question Tim is pretty sure will never be properly answered.

“Master Timothy, Master Damian—what a novelty, you two entering the house together.”

“We didn’t enter together, Pennyworth, he followed in my wake. As usual.”

Alfred and Tim watch him head toward the main study.

“He’s in a good mood tonight,” Tim remarks.

“Indeed. He spent the afternoon following his studies playing Cheese Viking with Master Colin.”

“Oh, well, the world will be forever grateful.”

“I am considering a gift basket.”

“Can we get some coffee downstairs, Alfred? I have a feeling tonight’s going to be a long night.”

Actually, I have a feeling it’s going to be a long week…

“Of course, Master Timothy.”

“Thanks.”

When they get down to the Cave, it’s both a relief and not to see that Bruce isn’t waiting. Mostly because it’s Dick sitting in the big chair at the meeting table.

Crap. Crap crap crap, what is he doing here?

“Richard,” Damian says, a frown in his voice. “I was under the impression you were on your way back to New York.”

“O caught me on the way, said there was a Family emergency and I might need to hang around for a bit. Here I was hoping she meant something else by that, but…”

Tim’s brain stumbles to come up with a reason why Dick shouldn’t be here. Either this will become the stuff of teasing material for years to come, or Dick will be disgusted at the possibility of Jason entertaining any kind of feelings for Tim.

He has no idea which option is worse.

“B’s handling it,” Tim says. “Maybe you should do a quick patrol, though, since we’re all back here right now.”

“It’s covered. O said Batgirl and Signal are covering any gaps in our routes tonight.”

And Cass is in Hong Kong, which is at least a bit of good news.

He has a hard enough time hiding his feelings for Jason on a good day; if she were here while all of this is going on, there’s not a prayer he gets out of it without someone knowing.

“So, who’s going to fill me in on what’s actually going on?”

“I will.” By now they’re all conditioned to ignore Bruce’s sudden appearances. He’s still in the suit, but the cowl’s off, granting Tim a good view of the glare he’s levelling at his younger sons. “You two aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Sorry. I didn’t care,” Tim replies, his discomfort starting to crack his usual composed mask.

“And I am your partner,” Damian adds. “I will not be kept out of matters because of some misguided attempt to pander to my age. I had thought we came to an understanding on this, Father.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“Then what is it about?” Dick demands; he’s getting impatient.

“Jason’s been infected by a toxin that manifests itself by triggering obsessive behaviour.”

Dick processes that, then furrows his brow. “Are we talking Sheldon Cooper obsession or Alex Forrest obsession?”

“At this point it could be either,” Tim answers, and gives a quick rundown of everything Cassie told him.

“And who exactly is the poor fool Todd’s supposed to be fixated on?” Damian asks, looking repelled at the very thought.

Tim battles down his own embarrassment, reasoning that everyone needs to be on the same page if they’re going to help Jason, and gestures wearily at himself. “That would be me.”

Silence rings.

Damian tilts his head to one side. “Are we positive we shouldn’t just allow this to play itself out?”

“Damian!” Dick snaps, scandalized.

“Well, the outcome benefits everyone. Todd gets to drag the object of his interests somewhere that’s elsewhere, and we get rid of Drake.”

“It’s getting really old, Gremlin,” Tim sighs, rubbing his temples.

“No one’s getting rid of Tim! And Jason’s not…doing that!” Dick snaps. “We’re going to fix this. Don’t worry, Tim, he’s not going to get a chance to do anything to you this time.”

Tim shoots him a sharp look. “You know it’s not his fault, right? It’s like being dosed by Ivy, only stronger.”

“If what Wonder Girl told you is true, though, the infection may capitalize on feelings that are already there,” Bruce says. “And the fact is—”

“Jason’s tried to kill me before? Yeah. I was there. But it’s been years, and things have been getting better.” Everyone looks skeptical at that, and he scowls. “They were.”

“Be that as it may, you shouldn’t be here. Damian either.”

“Todd’s not obsessing over me, thank god for small miracles.”

Bruce ignores the byplay.

“Since you are here,” he says, turning to Tim. “I want Eros transported to the Cave. We can better interrogate him here and find out if he’s holding anything back. I don’t trust that he isn’t manipulating you both.”

“Oh, I know he’s manipulating us,” Tim replies. “I also know you won’t be able to interrogate him the way you want to, not with his powers slowly growing more out of control—and yes, they are doing that, don’t make me explain how I know that.”

“How do you—?”

“Nair, Dick. In your shampoo,” Tim snaps, jabbing a finger in his brother’s direction without looking away from Bruce. “Also, there’s no guarantee he won’t try to escape and give us the sleep because we underestimate him. And since I can’t be around Jason, I can at least keep working on that angle of the case back in the Nest.”

Because no way in hell are you benching me from this completely.

He can work from his place, and if there’s anything important, he can send it over. And he cam patch into the comms to follow along with the investigation from afar.

Whatever Bruce wants to say to that is interrupted by a tweeting noise from the computer. A beat later, a holographic projection of Wonder Woman appears in the front of them.

“You got my message.”

“Yes,” she replies. “And I can only corroborate what you already know. Nothing mortal can be done about the boy’s condition. Only an arrow from Eros’ bow will be able to temper the infection.”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change, but Tim can sense his disappointment.

“I must also warn you that the further his condition progresses, the less conventional sedatives will work. I am surprised they even worked this time.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Modern pharmaceuticals might be able to render him unconscious, but it will not stop his brain function. The fixation will continue, thoughts unrestrained, and could overstimulate his brain to a fatal degree.”

They are all silent, digesting this.

“You said ‘nothing mortal’,” Bruce says after a moment. “There’s another option, isn’t there.”

Diana sighs. “Yes. I do have access to a method of pausing a gradual descent into madness, or rather I can locate it.”

“Great!” Dick says. “Let’s do that.”

“What’s the catch?” Tim wants to know.

“The only means I know of stopping the progression is Stygian Sleep.”

“No,” Bruce says immediately.

“What’s Stygian Sleep?” Dick asks.

“It’s in the myth,” Tim says, his research brain kicking in. “In the story of Cupid and Psyche—or, Eros and Psyche, I guess—Eros wife was put into a cursed sleep. But I thought that was just a poetic way of saying ‘really deep sleep’.”

“No. It’s a philtre created using the waters of the River Styx. Extremely powerful,” Diana explains.

“What happened to Psyche?” Dick asks.

“From what I read, she got woken up by her husband.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“In the story,” Diana agrees. “In actuality, he was unable to wake her. Her body wasted away and her soul was trapped in one of the darkest parts of Hades, bound to the Styx itself.”

And…that’s less good. Explains why Eros didn’t want to talk about it.

“None of this matters, because it isn’t an option,” Bruce declares.

“Don’t be closed-minded about this, Bruce, it isn’t a magic potion in the sense you think it is. The Sleep functions as a means of preserving his brain function without allowing the same deterioration that would be caused by mortal medicine. It will freeze him in the moment, keeping him safe and preserved while you seek out the means of his recovery. But if you don’t act quickly, his condition will worsen, and even if you employ the Sleep, it will be far from peaceful for him.”

“And if we don’t find that cure, he’ll be effectively braindead. No. We will find another way.”

Diana makes an impatient noise. “While I know you have every right to be confident in your abilities, you’re talking about a life. Your son’s life. Hubris is not a condition that was lost to the ancients.” The translucent body of her hologram turns as if to leave the room. “I will procure some of the philtre in case you change your minds,” Diana says, not sounding pleased. “I would hope you choose to think of the boy and not your own feelings on the matter.”

And she leaves them alone to stare at each other, the choice hanging over them more tangibly than the bats.

⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #batfic #tim drake #damian wayne #dick grayson #bruce wayne #secrets #warriors #angst #drama #stubborn boys trying to save stubborn boys #undying love #reincarnation

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orokinarchives · 5 years

Text

Ticker Dialogue

In addition to the black-market debt-bond trading, Ticker also runs a shop called Ticker's Secondhand as her cover job. She sells Solaris-themed decorations for the Tenno to place in their Orbiters or Dojos, accepting debt-bonds as payment. She also will receive debt-bonds to be traded directly for Standing with Solaris United. With these exchanges, it is possible for a Tenno to essentially buy Solaris United Standing with credits, by purchasing debt-bonds and then redeeming the debt-bonds for Standing.

Like the other vendors in Fortuna, Ticker will reveal her true face, hidden in her chest compartment, when the Tenno reaches the rank of Old Mate with Solaris United.

Idle quotes

These are un-subtitled lines that Ticker says when she is not interacting with the Tenno.

"Hey there, Stardust. Our stock is hot, hot, hot, right now. Mmm, mmm!"

"Odds and ends need love too, sweet thing. Let's you and Ticker talk about giving something that once knew love a second lease on life."

"The once-loved in need of a little TLC, Stardust. I hope you came here with credits and good intentions."

"Hello, hello, hello! Old things looking for a new home at very reasonable prices. Under less stressful conditions."

"Every trinket a story! A story waiting to be shared, my lovely. A story waiting to be freed."

"Get over here, doll. Free love to a second home. Treasures that deserve a second chance."

"Let's go lovely, tippity-top!"

Greeting the Tenno

(if the Tenno is new to Fortuna) "Well, well. Look at you: a Tenno, fine, kind, and benign. Ticker can spot an ambidexter a block away, and, Stardust, you ain't it. So listen, and listen tight: my real line is debt forgiveness. Charity. You buy some poor rig jockey's debt, and they sidestep brain-shelving. Every sinner's a winner. Now… I'd appreciate you keepin' this little ol' conversation to yourself. And when I ask you for help, you look me in my baby blues and say 'yes'."

"Here's the kicker for Ticker: the Temple teaches charity? Mortal sin. Ticker gets caught helping a repo? That's me done, Stardust."

"Don't matter to Nef one whit if you're an engineer or a lowly thrower. You owe, you go. That's where Ticker comes in, ray of sunshine that she is."

"Well well, here comes hope for the hopeless. Gimme some good news, Stardust."

"Got good people hoping to see another sunrise. No time for sweet talk, Stardust. Save some lives."

"Time's running out for those on my books, Stardust. What have you got for me?"

"It takes long winter nights to teach a girl how to cultivate within herself invincible summer days."

"I've never met a priest who could tell you anything about Heaven, but they knew every square inch of Hell. They should. They built it."

"Ain't no victims on these lists, Stardust. Every one of them workin' against the impossible to make things right for them and theirs. Makes them a hero in Ticker's eyes. Still… like the man said… show me a hero and I'll write you a Void-damned tragedy."

"Best advice I was ever given? 'Ticker, you'll be a lot happier once you stop caring about the opinions of a culture that is beneath you.' I learned my worth, learned the places and people that matter. Opened my eyes."

"Sometimes strangers don't know any better, but I swear to the Void… I do try to keep a lid on it, but sometimes the wrong thing just lets all the bats out."

"A person gets told a lot of things over the course of a life. Who they are. Who they should be. Amateurs, lecturing a professional. Anything that can't survive scrutiny, shouldn't."

(if the Tenno has just reached the rank Old Mate) "Ugh, finally. I do so prefer dealing with clients face-to-face, but, you know, one doesn't just give it up on the first date. Pleased to meet you. Again. Shall we deal?"

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "Well well, if it isn't my little spray of Stardust. Ticker's gonna put the comm on the hook and take five. How are you?"

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "Well! Pump the brakes, look who it is! Stardust. Where have you been?"

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "Ugh, Stardust, don't even ask what kinda day Ticker's having. Tell me about you."

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "Love took me places, Stardust. And love brought me back. We fell to this place together, he and I. But I was the only one who stood back up."

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "Modification's a strange bird, Stardust. It happens, and you think you've lost yourself. I was my arms, I was my legs, I was that person. But, live with it long enough, truth is, the only thing you didn't really lose was precisely who you are. Ain't nothin' left but what's behind your eyes. So you make sure that's beautiful. And Ticker… mmm mmm. She loves her some beauty."

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "I don't think much of myself, if I'm honest. Oh, don't misunderstand. Ticker's astounding and she knows it. Just that I've been so many people over the course of a life long lived. These days I think more of the world."

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "Stardust. Let's you and me talk about what I can do for you, then I've got to run a few nutrient canisters to little ol' Smokefinger. I swear if I didn't make him intake once a cycle he'd spend all week just staring at rocks."

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "Some think Zuud is a bit much, but I got time for the old lady…[sigh] and all her invisible friends. 'Ticker,' my mother once said. 'You be home by 12. The Void's takin' me at 12.' And, sure enough, I get home at 12:02 and there she is, dead in her rack. So yeah, I got time and an open mind. Anyway, what can I do you for?"

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "The Business loves Venus for the growing thing that it is. But not all things that grow are good. Bad days, Stardust. Bad days lead to bad thoughts, and bad thoughts grow like weeds. Livin' here, you learn fast: keep that garden tidy. Blood's a hell of a fertiliser."

(if the Tenno is rank Old Mate) "You like stories? Someone like you, Gara, faced up to an Eidolon – might as well have been a god – never blinked, saved a world. See, the value of stories isn't in telling you there are monsters, Stardust. It's in showing you they can be kicked square in the down-belows."

Opening a dossier

"Terrible choice to have to make."

"We all need help time to time."

"Life's a hell of an adventure, isn't it?"

"Comedy or tragedy, depending on your wage bracket. Isn't right."

"Some day, things will be different."

"Some see life as adversity, or adventure. The adventurers make it."

"Life's a ride, isn't it? Hell of a ride."

"They never gave up on themselves. We shouldn't either."

"They can save themselves, with a little help."

"They could use your help."

"There is no shame in helping your fellow creatures."

"Keep the light from dying inside them, Stardust."

"We all do what we can, Stardust."

"Everyone makes mistakes. Shouldn't be a crime."

"An entire life can change thanks to one act of kindness."

"Really quite sweet, that one."

"One of the good ones, that one."

Purchasing a dossier

"You're doin' good, Stardust."

"No guarantees in life, but that don't mean we gotta like it. Thank you."

"The life we get is so rarely the one we planned for. You've done good, Stardust."

"The only happiness we ever know is love, Stardust."

"The Void sent you to us, I'm sure of it."

"Your wish is my commish."

Exiting debt-trading without purchase

"We all do as best we can."

"I have other options. There may still be a chance."

"There's no shame in giving what you can, when you can."

Ticker's Secondhand

"Not sure what's in here, to be honest."

"See a little somethin'-somethin' to make a house a home?"

"Hey, this cover's gotta be useful for something."

"Ticker don't do retail, so… lemme know what you find."

Purchasing an item

"Isn't that a pretty little thing. Here y'go."

"Done deal, darlin'."

"…and this is for you."

Exiting Ticker's Secondhand without purchase

"Mm-hmm. Knowing when to move is half the game, luvvie."

"A cool head. I like that."

"Mm-hmm. Do what you gotta."

Redeeming debt-bonds for Standing

"Something you want to talk about?"

"What is it you have for us, Stardust?"

"I'm listening."

Upon redeeming debt-bonds

"Appreciated."

"Well, aren't you lovely."

"You're one of the good ones, Stardust, and no mistake."

Declining to redeem debt-bonds

"Something else?"

"Another time."

"Chek-chek."

Bidding farewell

"Check back in a little bit. New merchandise all the time. All the damn time."

"You know where to find me."

"I'll be here, til it's me on those dossiers. Til then, we dance, don't we, Stardust?"

Ticker's story is also told in the memory fragments scattered around the Orb Vallis.

Discussed in: Ticker

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rezby · 7 years

Text

reminiscions, so to speak

I’ve been thinkin about this for a while, but havent really sat down to try to formulate this. But a lot of people whom I knew as teenagers or early 20s, when I was a teenager. There are sooo many people who are now (publically) trans, or at least not-cis, that I remember from back in jr high or high school, before anybody had really figured out The Genders. It makes me really glad, to see how many people are self-actualizing. I love to see the updates in their lives that they post on fb, at least the ones who haven’t defriended me. (This enjoyment is only a little vicarious, truth be told. It is mostly genuine happiness for them).

I know its very likely that I’ll never reconnect with any of the people with whom i’ve grown distant (not through any fault of their own. it really is 90% circumstances (everybody moving across the country, to either like boston or ... seattle? portland? Big Oregon City, or for those who are still local just issues of me not having a lot of free time with which to hang out with them) and 10% my hell brain self-sabotaging relationships/avoiding everything), but I often think about them and how they’re doing.

One of the people I’ve mentioned hasn’t defriended me on FB, and I still interact with their posts every now and then - I think a lot about the time when I was 16 and said some really horrific things to them without realizing just what I was saying. I’ve been feeling terrible about it, but I know I’ll never actually send them the apology I want to send - they deserve better than to be reminded of it out of the blue.

At one point last October, I was on this other person’s FB wall, i dont even remember why. sometime in like january or Dec, I saw a comment on somebody else’s status by somebody with the same last name as this person, with similar viewpoints. I click around, and figure out that this person has defriended me, and also publically came out on fb as trans. Last week I saw a photo posted of them with their sign at the chicago trans liberation march (which obvs I didnt go to, i’m not Out and I dont intend to be, until the time of my choosing, so i dont interact publically with Trans (tm) things. i’m fb friends with both my parents), and they looked really happy. Not about the occasion, but as a person, it looked like they had let an awful amount of weight off their shoulders. I remember them being as deeply unhappy as many of us were, back in high school (a lot of us were deeply depressed. It just turns out for a few of us that the depression was tied to the Genders so getting stuff done for the one helped the other). So, I’m glad that theyve realized their gender and are happier for it. I also wonder (a lot) if thats why they defriended me - I’m not really out on fb, and since I haven’t spoken to this person in years they probs wouldn’t even know that I’m also non cis, so maybe they defriended me when they did their official fb transition stuff. I get it, it would make sense to, but... it still wounds me, a bit.

those two were a couple years older than me and I was never that close to ‘em in high school. this third person was in my grade and a couple classes with me, and.... I was a horrible person to them. Not intentionally, I’ve always had the best of intentions, but that doesn’t mean the actions i had done weren’t horribly misogynistic or racist. A few things I didn’t even realize until years later, what I actually had been doing. They defriended me a couple years back. They’re non-cis as well, but I dont know anything more specific than that.

That was the Complicated Feelings w/r/t the non-cis folk i knew in high school. I had some online friends whove also come to realize their own genders as well, who I’ve also grown apart form. This one was largely due to MSN messenger no longer being a thing, and then me getting busy with irl stuff and basically never being online anymore. I don’t really got any Complicated Feelings for most of this group, its mostly that I miss them but realize there’s p much no feasible way to get back into regular comms with them, and I’ve accepted that.

There was one person, who knew they were trans all the way back when I first met them. But they never talked about it with me. At least 85% of our conversations were political. At the time, I was in early high school, where I was a libertarian at the time. They were staunchly communist, I figure marxist is probs the best term for their beliefs but I’ll be honest, I know jack diddly squat about the academic details of the different schools of communist thought. Anyways, we chatted a lot on MSN back when that was around. At one point I started FB friending the other online friends I’ve got, but this person never actually accepted the friend request. its still in their inbox. I last talked to them about 3 or 4 years ago, I believe in my 2nd year of college. I asked why they hadnt accepted the friend request and they said somethin to the tune of ‘im an asshole lol’. this persons typing style is completely different from that but thats the effect my memory has of that message. Our conversation at the time also turned political. Now, after getting to college and having my eyes opened at, well, a lot of stuff, i’ve since become fairly leftist. probably communist? socialist? idk. Anyways, at the time, I was pretty caught up in the politics of one tumblr user Moneycat. If you weren’t around for that, the gist of it (as i recall) was that... actually, i honestly can’t recall the minutae or which parts werent very good. there are other posts going around from some years back that go over her politics and the flaws thereof. one of their ideas was that gender is a social class, inasmuch as bourgeoisie or proletariat are, and that trans women are a distinct social class from cis women and men. I had recently read one of her posts about how gender theorizing had led her to become a communist, and how the two were inextricably linked, and tbh she was this huge popular rly smart trans lady blogger so i p much hero worshiped her and adopted as many of her politics as i could understand. So I tried explaining this gender theory of communism to my old communist pal, and they were very displeased by it. I did a poor job, to be sure, but they disagreed staunchly. I dont remember the other details of what I was arguing but I do remember it was more out there than just what i’ve typed so far. Cuz I opened the conversation with “hey did you know that i’ve also become a communist now?” or somethin like that, and they were like ‘oh nice, how did you come to this conclusion?” and I went into moneycat’s gender communism and they did not agree. And that was our last conversation. and idk how to start conversations. Even tho we’re not fb friends, i can still IM them via fb, so the option is always open, but I never do it. I miss this person a lot, and its been hurting me for years that they never accepted the friend request. we actually had been decently close online (as far as I recall. i have poor memory at best in general, and there’s a good chance I actually have brain trauma that’s making my memory even worse but that appointment is in may). and they’re fb friends with all our mutual online friends. so its just me. i’m not good enoguh.

And I know if I actually ever made a snapchat I could probably easily get back in contact with literally everybody ever, I know for a fact that all but the last person have snapchats, and I’m p sure that they’d all be receptive to at least messages over it, but.... I tried making a snapchat once, and was immedietely conflicted. Do I go with my IRL name and snap with my family and classmates and colleagues? If I do that, I dont want to have my snapchat available online here cuz I want to maintain at least a veneer of separation between my online identity and my “family” “professional” identity. Or do I go with my online name, but then refuse to snap w/ like my mom and sis? I ended up deleting the app and never doing anything with it. so I basically refuse to have a snapchat, and p much only have fb these days, which... is not the best method of communication.

Compounding this is my awkwardness with people i’ve known for a while - my memory really does get atrocious about some things, to the point where i’ve hung out with people for years before actually knowing 100% their name. this is deeply embarassing for me, and I dont wanna hurt em, so I dont let on that I dont remember their names. especially if i’ve known them for forever, but havent had a ton of meaningful interactions with them, theres a v good chance i’ll know them, i’ll recognize them, but i wont be able to drum up their name from the depths of my mind. this is awkward. so i sometimes avoid going to places where there are people who might fit this bill. some people from high school who I kinda knew and hung out in the same friend group as me, and a lot of my not immediate (step)relatives. so at the photos for the trans march, where I saw the photo of the one person from 2nd bullet point, I also saw a lot of other people from high school who I’d be awkward around. altho this reminds me, there was a 4th person actually, from high school as well. i think... they blocked me? i dot remember. i know they werent on fb a lot, but they were fb friends with me. i just went through my own friend list as well as that of 2 people who i thought would be mutuals with them but... i dont see them. I’m p sure i recall seeing like,,,, last year or 1.5 years ago that they had changed their fb name from their birth name to a feminine name, as well as changed their gender and all that other stuff that comes with coming Out? but I dont recall and I cant find em anymore. if they have blocked me.... oh well. nothin i can do about it. about any of it really. nothing that i’m going to do anyways.

#bluh

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