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thehoneydee · 6 months

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R&D Chapter 2

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Adjusting to his new reality is difficult for Rhys.

He knows logically that returning to his home dimension isn’t a good idea. They can’t return to their old life without raising questions; they’re missing years of major cultural events and technological development, and everyone they know knew most likely believes them to be dead. But just because they understand the reasoning behind their staying - their own reasoning too-, doesn’t mean he doesn’t desperately wish to go home.

The worst part about the whole situation isn’t the loss of his entire world, but rather how much Rhys grieves over a life and a home they’ve never actually felt all that attached to. He hated his shitty apartment and worse job, avoided his family at every opportunity, and rarely found the energy to spend time with friends.

Yet their chest aches with the thought of never being able to see their family again. With the knowledge of old friendships that had already been drifting beyond repair staying forever out of reach, the gap between them now insurmountable, unable to be mended. With the loss of an environment they’d grown comfortable in -despite its frequent and extremely frustrating downfalls.

The knowledge that none of those things would be waiting for him even if he decided to throw caution to the wind and jump through that damned portal causes the ache in their chest to swallow them whole, leaving them to drift aimlessly through the void held within his ribcage.

His WaynePhone™ 4 buzzes aggressively in his pocket, the Ghostbusters theme signaling Danny, and Rhys lets the song play out until the buzzing stops.

Work is good. Work is safe. Work is so completely overwhelmingly busy that Rhys has no time to drift in their grief. The unrelenting indifference of metal and wires and paperwork and meetings are comfortable, acting as an anchor to the here and now, giving him no time or space to think of his failure. Of his loss.

Their skin doesn’t sit right over the bones of his prison, with the void under their ribs threatening to swallow that too.

But right now, grease and polish is smeared over the shell of their body, and it makes them feel slightly less fragile, less like a puppet feigning humanity.

Blue paper crinkles within his hands, white lines constructing something that could be real, something that Rhys could help make real. They release the drawing and stand, making their way toward the supply room. Just because he isn’t real right now doesn’t mean he can’t help something else be real.

Lost within themself, they don’t see the concerned glances his coworkers give him.

Lucius watches him through the glass wall of his office, a worried frown tugging at his lips.

Metal has a particular smell to it, one that most would find themselves unable to describe despite being able to recognize it easily. Heat is similar in that it has a unique scent, yet it is only truly noticeable when something is actively being burned.

The heat of summer is marked by hot dust and melting tar. The heat of a fire recognized by the smoke and sweetness of wood as it burns into carbon. And the heat of cooked meat identified by the savory tenderness undercut with the faint lingering smell of blood.

Fried electronics have a particularly strange scent, one that is quite difficult to put into words yet is so unmistakable. Heated metal, burning copper, and -even more difficult to describe- singed fiberglass.

Rhys feels a migraine coming on. What with his terrible sleep schedule and worse diet, their body isn’t exactly at it’s best -especially since they haven’t been taking the pain meds their doctor prescribed for the definitely dislocated rib he got upon his arrival to this universe, and the smell is just too much for his body to handle without consequences. (Pain medication leaves them feeling sluggish and disoriented, so they’d decided to just deal with it until it finishes healing.)

The offending smell of ‘Complications™’ is overstimulating, filling the lab with its overbearing presence and making it harder to think. A gutted, slightly smoking WaynePhone™ 5 sits on the workbench in front of Rhys, taunting them with its partially melted circuit board. (They absolutely loathe the stupid product naming PR chooses and vastly prefer Agnes’ rejected suggestion of The Antaeus, but alas.) Rhys stares blankly at the charred hunk of technology in front of him, wondering how the actual hell it got to be in this condition.

For a phone that’s supposed to be nearly indestructible, it shouldn’t be able to burn a hole in the center of its circuit board over a simple test call. The casing and screen are completely undamaged, leaving Rhys with just the entire internal system to figure out how to fix.

It could be worse.

The code definitely needs looking into, but the main issue is that the phone sustained physical damage. The whole point of The Antaeus is that it is going to be practically immune to earthly damage. Meta powers and alien tech are too OP and unpredictable to create a feasible resistance to them on such a small and hopefully reasonably priced bit of equipment.

The body of the phone has proven to be immune to the elements and capable of withstanding extreme force, able to stop a bullet with only cosmetic scuff marks on the casing. Yet, the circuit board starts burning at temperatures above 950°F. Obviously, this is because the internal fans aren’t effective, at least not in the way that the heating coils are in extreme cold.

In order for the phone to withstand emergency situations such as house fires, the circuit board needs to be able to handle temperatures up to 1500°F without sustaining damage so that anyone trapped in the building can reach emergency services.

The reason this particular phone has a hole in it is because the wiring started sparking during the test call, releasing more heat than the circuit board could handle, heat that got trapped within the casing, effectively melting the fiberglass of the circuit board.

The lab still reeks from ’Complications™’, and Rhys is struggling to think past the smell. They feel like the solution to this problem is practically staring them in the face, but they can’t seem to organize their thoughts well enough to figure it out.

He stands, stretching the stiffness from his back, and grabs their thermos. Fresh coffee and maybe some sunlight will probably help his migraine, or at the very least it’s an excuse to get out of the choking smell of failure.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee follows Rhys as he opens the door to the balcony adjacent to the cafeteria. The humid midsummer air rushes to greet him, making their hair feel heavy and leaving their skin slightly tacky. It’s quieter outside the building, despite the constant background of car engines, police sirens, and the occasional gunshot. The air is dense, full of smog and seawater, a vague feeling of death imbued in it. He brought it up to Danny after their first visit to the city. Apparently it’s something only the dead can truly sense beyond just ‘bad vibes’, and through his exposure to the large amounts of ectoplasm in the Realms, Rhys tangentially falls under the dead umbrella.

He misses Danny. Tuck and Technus too -even if the old ghost is kind of annoying.

He’s trying not to think about Danny. Thinking about Danny means thinking about the portal and the fact that they can’t actually go home anymore and the fact that they were stupid enough to think they might be able to anyway and how much it hurts that they got the portal to work at all only to have it taunt them with its unfeeling swirl of orange and cyan and-

And there they go, spiraling over nothing again.

He takes in a shaky breath, forcing themself to focus on the slight warmth of the thermos in their hand, the smell of salt in the air. Exhaling, he makes his way to their favorite spot on the balcony: a small bench hidden from view of the doors by a large potted baby tears plant -a name that makes him chuckle every time he remembers it. They make their way just past the hanging planter and stop short, finding an unexpected visit to his spot -it doesn’t belong to them, why are they being so possessive?

Lucius notices them before they can bolt, and wordlessly gestures for him to sit down. Feeling off balance from the bizarreness of meeting someone outside of their normal setting, Rhys hesitates a moment, shifting on his feet before managing to tamp down his anxiety, finally sitting on Lou’s right. It feels strange, being around the man outside of the department, sitting next to him without a desk to separate them.

They fidget with their thermos for a moment, twisting the lid on and off to give themself something to do, anything to fill the awkward silence. His fidgeting is silent and Lou still hasn’t said anything, and staring at their hands isn’t helping to make them feel less uncomfortable. They look up, studying the shape of their neighboring building where the balcony handrail frames it. The sky -dark and perpetually clouded as it is- is reflected in its windows, the lone figure of a pigeon flying across its surface, making its way up the side of WE, past the highest floor Rhys has ever been on. The bird makes it past what the glass can reflect and Rhys imagines that it’s going all the way to the top, that it has a nest atop one of the gargoyles that watches over the city.

He looks at Lou.

The man looks more relaxed than they’ve ever seen him, suit jacket folded over the arm of the bench, sleeves rolled partway up his arms, glasses resting atop his graying hair while a cigarette dangles from his lips. They don’t think the Lucius that sits next to them is the same Lou they’ve gotten to know as an employee. This Lou is somehow younger and more real, a human and not just a job description.

“I didn’t know you smoke.”

The words come as a surprise to Rhys, he hadn’t realized he was going to talk until after the statement had already fallen past their lips.

Lou huffs a laugh, the sound dry and humorless, and he looks almost sad for a moment. “I don’t -or at least I didn’t.” He isn’t really smoking, the cigarette hangs there, caught in the fingers by his mouth, burning away without the man making any real attempt to breathe it in. The comforting smell of peach flavored Black & Mild hangs in the air. Rhys doesn’t know how they managed to miss it until now, not when it’s so achingly familiar. Their brother smoked those whenever he was too broke for Marlboros, although they were usually out of peach, so he’d have to just get originals.

“I quit, years ago, when I had my daughter.” Pride is written all over his face, his eyes just gleaming with clear affection toward his child. “I decided that no matter how hard it was, I wouldn’t put her health at risk over my own bad habits.”

Lou sighs, holding the cigarette over an ashtray Rhys just noticed balanced on the man’s left leg. He drags his free hand over his face, suddenly looking far more tired than they’ve ever seen him. They let the man compose his thoughts, the silence something almost comfortable now.

“Lately,” Lou drops his hand, turning his face to look up at the balcony above them, brown eyes studying every detail of their concrete ‘ceiling’, “There’s been so much to do, all the time, and I just haven’t felt like I can get enough air.” A deep breath and he closes his eyes, opening them again a moment later and shifting to look at that same building Rhys was staring at just minutes ago. “Nicotine makes me feel like I can breathe again, and I know that’s just the addiction talking. I know that it’s a terrible coping mechanism and I definitely don’t want to pick the habit up again, especially since I’ve managed the last 28 years without it, but I just-” He swallows and takes another deep breath.

“It’s just all been a bit too much lately.”

The statement hangs in the air between them, heavy and probably more than the man meant to share, but too late to take back. Rhys understands, far more than Lou will ever know, a crushed pack of menthols sitting on Ember’s coffee table. The void in his chest feels quiet right now, less all-consuming, and they decide to share part of themself in return.

“I can’t go back.” They stare at their hands, deciding that it’s easier if he doesn’t actually look at Lou. “Home, I mean. Too much time and whatnot.” The void feels bigger now, yet somehow lighter. Talking about it makes it feel painfully real, and he’d prefer not to acknowledge it at all, but hiding from something doesn’t actually stop it from being able to hurt you, so they suck it up and continue. “I didn’t leave anyone behind, not really, and there wasn’t even much of anything to go back to anyway, but it feels like someone ripped out my heart and threw it through that stupid portal.”

He doesn’t feel like crying, rather he kind of feels like laughing, but they do neither, choosing to focus on the twisting and untwisting of the cap on their thermos instead. “I have a bad habit of choosing to ignore my own needs when I’m upset, or even outright self-sabotaging. It’s easier to just throw myself into a task instead of letting myself feel, I delude myself into thinking that the problem will just fix itself if I pretend it away, but I know it’s not going to work, definitely not this time.”

They look up from their hands, meeting Lou’s gaze, and give him a small sad smile. “How ‘bout you give me, eh…a week or two, and I’ll see if I can come up with a way to lessen your workload, and in return, you have lunch with me twice a week so I can use you as a rubber ducky?”

A look of bewilderment overtakes the man’s face. “A rubber ducky?!”

“Yeah,” Rhys laughs, “like programmers?” Lou’s expression remains impassive and Rhys realizes with a small amount of glee that he gets to explain the concept to his boss. “Well, programmers often have trouble with like tiny bits of their code, so they tend to find it easier to just walk through the code with someone else until they can find it. So they keep these rubber ducks at their desks so they can talk at them, and when they find the problem it usually is kind of upsetting, so they can then throw the duck as a harmless way to blow off steam! Don’t worry, I won’t throw you.”

Lou laughs, a real genuine laugh, and holds out his hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

They end up walking together back to the lab, impulsively taking the stairs, and Rhys has an idea. The main idea behind The Antaeus is to give the average person a lifeline, something to help them get help faster whenever they (eventually) end up getting caught up in a rogue/villain attack. The parameters for the phone’s cold tolerance were centered around Mr. Freeze and Captain Cold’s tech. Tech that Wayne Enterprises has analyzed.

“Hey Lou?”

The man raises an eyebrow and gestures for him to continue.

“Do you know where I could find a breakdown of how Dr. Fries’ freeze gun works?”

This time he stops, causing Rhys to stumble in their haste to do the same, and he turns to properly look them in the eyes. A moment passes as the man scrutinizes his expressions, and he slumps in something that seems like defeat.

“I’ll find you a copy of the blueprints,” he starts, voice heavy with resignation, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his glasses up as a result, “but only if you promise not to do anything nefarious with that information.”

Rhys makes a show of weighing the idea, humming as if in disagreement before bursting into laughter at Lou’s expression of terror. “Yeah, no, that’s completely reasonable.”

Anxiety rolls in his stomach as he stands outside the door. Their talk with Lou was only three days ago, but it helped them realize a few things. One of them being that if they’re going to stay in this world, they need to start putting down roots. Real things to tie them down aside from a job he got that was explicitly meant to be temporary.

Steeling himself, he opens the door, walking into the living room. Ember is on the couch, tuning her guitar, and for a moment Rhys almost backs out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Hey Em?” God, they hate how small they sound. It’s so much easier to deal with his anxiety by adopting that cocky confidence they’ve been using as a shield, but she would see right through it in a second and get all concerned in that weird ‘I definitely don’t actually care, no siree’ type of attitude and then this whole thing would be even harder than it already is. And…, there he goes, spiraling again. Fun.

“I’d like to talk to you about something.” Their heart pounds in their chest and they’re feeling kind of nauseous, but this is something they need to do. Why can’t they just suck it up? Why does this have to be so stupidly hard?

Ember gently sets the purple and blue guitar off to the side, giving Rhys her full attention -something he kind of really doesn’t want actually. “What’s up Green Bean?” Her voice is tinged with genuine care and oh god they can’t do this, why does she have to care? Keeping the panic internal and shoving down their roiling nerves, they force themself to just get it over with.

“I really appreciate you letting me stay with you during this whole mess and I absolutely adore you, but I’m going to be here long term, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to have to put up with me all the time, and it’ll probably be good for me to stop relying on others all the time, and, like, I’m really gonna miss being here, I’ll especially miss hanging out with you, but, like, I think I need to get my own place and try to actually settle in, you know?” And it would be rad if he didn’t immediately fuck up and start rambling.

Too many beats pass in silence, Rhys’ fidgeting going from mostly unnoticeable shifting to outright wringing their hands, Ember blinking blankly at them. “Ooookay, I’m going to ignore the absolute mess that was and cut to the chase.” He somehow manages to tense even more at her statement.

“You’re saying you decided to get your own place and move out, right?” He nods silently, fixing his eyes to the shag carpet under their feet. “That’s okay bro, no worries.” They whip their head up to look at her, making themself a bit dizzy with the whiplash. “You need your own space, especially since you’re sticking around, and I can’t exactly expect you to want to stay with me forever. Besides,” she grins, ”you promise to visit me still, right?”

He lunges over the coffee table, ambushing her with a hug, and nods vigorously. “Definitely,” he says, voice heavy and tight with emotion as she wraps her arms just as tight around theirs, “I swear.”

#r&d's resident dictator #fanfic #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc x ml #oc heavy #hiatus over #gave the boi some sad this time #also Salami made a playlist for this that i'll drop a link for once there's more in there

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