Man of Steel

Nick Fitzwilliams 30 years old Metal Mimicry Security Personnel "Does not bend, does not break. Honor transcends death."

[danwritestuff]

I try to tighten my heart into a knot, a snarl, I try to learn to live dead, just numb, but then I see someone I want, and it’s like a nail, like a hot spike right through my chest, and I know I’m losing.

Angels in America, Tony Kushner (via danwritestuff)

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Fold It | Self

The voice prowled silently inside his head with muted steps. It waited patiently. Nick hardly even noticed it unless it was on the move.

Fold it. Fold it. Fold it.

It commended coaxingly in innocent purring, crawling underneath his skin. And when it did whisper, Nick filled his head with... well, anything, really. He occupied himself with anything he could possibly find, anything in his reach. He took up extra works. He read books. He exercised, ran. He ran away to forget that the voice existed at all. Silencing it wasn't enough. He couldn't accept that it spoke at all. It shouldn't speak at all. What? Nothing. Nothing spoke up.

Fold it. Fold it. Fold it--

"Ah, ah, ground control to Major Fitzwilliams." 

The calling brought Nick back to the task at hands-- carrying the chairs out of the small auditorium for the school dance. He was holding stacks of blue plastic chairs about five of them, tiered up, standing like a pole on the streets. In front of him was a boy of the same age as him, but less height, less built plus dark, bristly and dry brown hair instead of blond like Nick's, a pair of horn rim glasses on his nose and a clipboard with lots of memos in his hands. The student council president, Vince Greenfield, his friend, was giving Nick a disapproving look. 

"Focus, Nick. With the other kids running around like a bunch of blabbering monkeys, I can't afford to have you daydreaming like an idiot, 'kay? Who's gonna keep an eye out for people? And by people I mean your sister mostly..."

Vince talked, basically shot out the words like snapping, as if he was having a war against the world. Well, not against the world but against the students. Adolescence doesn't exactly make people very agreeable. The fact that Vince was a strict, organized hardass did not help. Nick was sort of a middle guy between the President and the rest of the students. Sure, Nick was a hardass as well, but he got along with most of people including Vince. Actually, since they lived in the same neighborhood and grew up together, they were close-- as good friends, Nick reminded himself. Except for Tessa and his family, Vince was the one he spent the most of his time with. A best friend, you might call. And people stare at their best friend when they are not looking, right?

"By the way, thanks for helping me. No one likes to work in weekends... And that stupid, student-autonomy policy. I mean, aren't parents supposed to help out in these things?" Vince ranted under the breath, sighing. "I can carry one or two chairs, y'know."

"No, no, it's fine. You deal with the difficult part like papers and announcements, meetings. Moving things around, that's my thing." answered Nick, shaking the head as he chuckled softly.

"You don't have to baby me, is all I'm saying."

"I'm not babying you, Vin, just trying to help." Nick shrugged.

"Just because you're taller than me doesn't mean you have to protect me from harm and whatnot."

"Of course it doesn't."

"I can carry my own weight."

"Of course you can."

"Don't patronize me."

"Of course I'm not."

That brief and familiar exchange was enough to draw a glaring squint from Vince, and Nick couldn't help but chuckle as the other turned around and starting to walk again. 

"So, where are we putting them?" asked Nick.

"The storage."

Then they walked the empty hallway of the quiet Saturday school without talking. It wasn't a short travel, from the auditorium to the storage, but it didn't tire Nick. After his ability manifested, nothing really did. But Vince didn't know that, and kept glancing back with the discontent, stubborn look. Every time Nick gave him a reassuring smile. He wanted to tell his friend to look forward, but he decided against it, not wanting to patronize and offend his friend.

"Okay, this is ridiculous." was what Vince said when they reached the room. Nick put down the chairs giving his friend an eye roll. "We have about fifty more to carry and even if you carry five at a time, that's gonna take ten more trips. I'm helping." He said affirmatively as he put down the clipboard.

"It's really fine! You don't even have to be here, Vin. Go do something more important. What presidents do. I can--"

"--do it on your own, yes, we all know, Nick. Doesn't mean you can't get any help. Seriously, man, you're no superman. You don't have to do it alone."

I kinda am, thought Nick crossing his arms. That somehow called the wraith of the President. He was slapped in the arm. "Ow?" said Nick rather halfheartedly with his brow raised. It was more of a forced reaction. He can barely feel anything.

"You cross your arms whenever you think you're right and others are wrong. Well, you're not this time. Now unfold so I can poke you in the chest threateningly." Nick did and was poked in the chest several times. "I know you're all freakishly strong and don't sweat and all, but you're also too wrapped up in this nice guy act, okay? When's the last time you said 'no' to someone asking you stuff?"

"I like helping people. That's all."

"But you can't, can ya? That's 'cause you don't. You don't say no. I've heard that you're taking Annie McCoy to the dance. Did you ask her out?"

"No? Wait, what does it have to do with this?"

"Did she ask you?"

"Yeah."

"And did you want to take her to the dance?"

"Well, she's--"

"Did you? Because it seems to me you only said 'yes' for the sake of avoiding 'no'." Vince stared up at him fiercely, poking the other again, right on the bull's-eye. "Who did you want to take to the dance? What do you want?"

Funny how you can feel threatened by someone whose head barely reaches your chest. The chest-poking didn't exactly hurt, but it had some kind of magnitude on him. It felt like with every simple nudge his chest reverberated internally, echoing with his drumming heartbeats. He grew nervous, uncomfortable. His own skin felt awkward on his flesh, especially on the face. It wasn't that much of a difficult question. What do you want? But he couldn't answer, even though it almost felt like all the blood in his metallic vein was sent to the brain to solve that question, only to result in overheating the head. But it was the question he never asked himself. A question he should never ask himself.

Then the voice grew louder in synchronized rhythm of his heartbeat.

Fold it. Fold it. Fold it.

"Alright, you win." sighed Nick, showing his palms as the sign of surrender. He still couldn't meet his friend in the eyes, though. "I gladly accept your help."

"That's not what I asked, Nick. Look here, people who neglect their needs don't... I don't know. They don't last. You're kinda like that. I'm worried about you."

"Didn't you just say we have fifty chairs to move?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Then that's what we oughta be doing, yeah?"

Nick slipped out of the siege and headed straight to the door not waiting for the other to follow. He strode in the hallway, blocking his ears from the heartbeat, turning his eyes away from the truth. The truth, the answer to the question was that-- fold it. He had to just fold it. There was nothing to think about. He had to slam on the brake and fold it. Put it in the box. Hide it in the closet where you don't have to look. Fold it. Stomp on it and bury it. Forget it. Let it rot. Let it rot until it's disintegrated, until it becomes nothing and you feel nothing.

Fold it. It screamed like a fire alarm in his head. Fold it.

He screamed inside his head until he couldn't hear anything.

[nick-fitzwilliams]

"Ugh." Nick makes a disgruntled noise glaring at the empty desk of his supposed co-worker. Booker has been disappearing during working hours recently, even though the staff are short-handed. He could go find this irresponsible moron but... well, he can't be bothered at this point and he's busy. As an alternative, Nick takes the stacked files from Booker's desk and carries to his, adds it up on his paperwork. Someone's gotta do the work, after all.

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Visit Original Link

And in this world of compromise I hit every curb, every red light Trying to keep both hands on the wheel But through it all I’m

Still undefeated With my back against the ropes Still undefeated You can knock me down with body blows But you cannot break my hope

[ivashkovadrian]

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Whoa, shit

[tristan-tillstrom]

(The news of Anya’s pregnancy and the fucking guilt he was carrying around since Henrik’s death were more than enough reasons for him to not be sleeping very well as of late. So just as he’d been doing over the past days, he went out to the back gardens to have a smoke, or sometimes more than one. On his way back to his room, well past 3:00am he noticed a fait light comming from one of the hallways. It was probably Fitzwilliams office, judging from the location he found himself in right now). Insomniac much, Fitz? (he states more than asks as he leans in a slouching manner against the door) Thought I was the only idiot ignoring that at this hour I should be sleeping.

[nick-fitzwilliams]

[Nick didn't expect to see anyone at this hour. The digital clock on his phone shows that it's three in the morning. Surely no self-respecting Projects would walk into security office. So when he heard the footsteps, Nick assumed it's one of the staff members. As Tillstrom walks in, he greets with a small nod.] Right back at ya. [He lets out a small chuckle, arranges the files that has been scattered because of his face lying on it.] If you're admitting that you're an idiot, I'm more than glad to agree with you. [He jokes lightheartedly, since Tristan doesn't seem to be in a good mood.] Nah, I've got some works to do. And I can go on days without sleep. It tags along with being a tinman. So, doing some work, or was doing it till I passed out for a while. How about you? What's keeping you awake?

[radtracks]

Visit Original Link

[nick-fitzwilliams]

A soldier on my own, I don't know the way I'm riding up the heights of shame I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest I'm ready for the fight and fate

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Whoa, shit

[Nick cruses under the breath as he wakes up disheveled from his desk. He must have dozed off for few while filing. Being able to go on without food, water and sleep longer than the others is one of the perks of being made of metal. But obviously three sleepless days are getting the best of him. His work, securing the others, comes to first, though.] Okay, one more hour... [He promises to himself to go to sleep after an hour, picks up the other stack of reports about Genesis.]

[tristan-tillstrom]

Huh?

[tristan-tillstrom]

Nah, I’m ‘kay (he replies with a flat tone but with a carefree shrug nonetheless. He didn’t have to give explanations to Fitzwilliams about anything). Yeah, it’s a power training class after all. Those that were out there shared their uh… experience out there and how they defended against those maniacs. Besides, I thought it was important they talked about any weak spots they might have find in their oponents, that way the others can be prepared if something like that happens again. (He nods at Nick’s words) Sure, I’ll give you the list (he says as he takes some paper and a pen, beginning to write down names. Wolfe, Booker, Taylor, the list was a long one, but after a little while he’s done and hands over the paper to Nick).

[nick-fitzwilliams]

[Nick may not be the most observant person, but he knows enough to understand when people say "I'm okay". It usually means the opposite. But he decides not to pry on it.] Well, if you say so. [Regardless of his instinct to care, he doesn't want to be intrusive.] That's reasonable enough. They all had healing factor. That's not the easiest to deal with... I hope it doesn't happen again, but it'd be silly to believe it wouldn't. [He waits patiently, takes the paper and skim through when Tillstrom is done.] Thanks-- wait, Booker? He was back in the asylum? He hasn't reported back... Weird. Anyway, thanks for your cooperation. I'd say I'll keep you posted, but you seem busy enough.

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Of all things we can do,

[genevievewoodsen]

"Well, old man with the stick up his ass, meet the party girl with a sailor mouth and rich parents. Typical, if you ask me." Shrugging her shoulders, she takes another sip of the water and tries to pretend it’s vodka. It doesn’t work. Snorting loudly at his comment, she lets out a long sigh of exasperation. "Let me fucking tell you. Let me fucking tell you. I’ve been saying that goddamn thing for years, now. Spoiler Alert: In the end we all die.” Pausing dramatically, she rolled her eyes and let out another snort. Well, they would all die — it was the reason they were here. But the old man didn’t need to know that. “Water tastes like nothing, boring, bland, blah. Fuck me, you’ve never gotten drunk?” Eyes widened, she opened her mouth and laughed loudly. “Oh God. You present me with a man who has never been tipsy and you don’t expect me to get him drunk off his ass.” Shaking her head in disbelief she squinted her eyes at him. “Alcohol will literally make all your problems go away. When you’re hungover the next day, the problems all come back. Wrapped with a nifty little bow of the worst headache of your life.” Leaning into him, she gave him a mischievous grin. “So… wanna get drunk?”

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Ah, I remember your face. You're one of the Woodsen girls. Not that would change anything. Nice to meet you anyway, party girl. [He simply presses his lips at her rather sudden outburst. He doesn't know the reason behind her reaction, but she seems distressed.] True, but I don't think that justifies killings, or standing by side and doing nothing. [He answers in collected tone.] It's a water, what do you expect? [He smiles lightly with her laugh, which kind of reminds him of Tessa. Shrugging, he leans back on the chair.] That sounds so interesting, and you can certainly try... But sadly, I've never been drunk because I can't get drunk. [He lifts a hand and transforms it to steel that shines in the light. He clenches and opens it in the air before shifting it back to the flesh.] Can't get a statute drunk. It'd a waste of liquor, obviously, unless you can turn my ability off.

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Of all things we can do,

[genevievewoodsen]

Holding a glass of water in her hand, she let out a sour chuckle as she made her way over towards the man grumbling to himself in a corner. “You know, it honestly looks like you’ve got a stick up your ass, standing there grumbling to yourself like some old man on his porch.” Lips pressed to a smile as she turned to face the room, standing beside him. “But look at it, so grand. So elegant. What’s not to love about a fucking great tradition where we celebrate the winners and get drunk off of free alcohol?” Light eyes flickered towards her glass of water and she let out a bitter laugh. “‘cept me, of course. Fucking great. What I would give for some champagne or tequila at this fucking useless piece of shit.”

[nick-fitzwilliams]

[With his brows up, Nick turns to the other and shrugs lightheartedly.] So I've heard. I have accepted my position as an old man with a stick up his ass if that would get some work done. [He sighs at the word 'grand' and 'elegant', and shakes his head.] What's tradition when people who could keep it up are dying? [He eyes the glass of water, presses his lips together.] Well, water is quite essential for your body, y'know. Alcohol, on the other hand, is not. I've heard that it kinda works for the soul or something, but I've never even gotten tipsy, so I wouldn't know.

[nick-fitzwilliams]

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Of all things we can do,

we have a freaking ball. [Nick grumbles as he looks over the room disapproving frown. He is not exactly happy about leaving the campus in times like this-- Booker has disappeared and that is something that bothers him too-- and because it's a tradition, he had to attend a ball instead of working.] Useless...

[ivan-altair]

Why do people even do this?

[Ivan looks down at the stupid fucking newspaper he’d picked up from the stand, frowning at it for a minute before crumpling it up and tossing it away from him. Someone made a face when it hit their back, and he just shrugs] sudoku man, it’ll getcha. [Waving the guy off who rolled his eyes and went back on talking to his ugly girlfriend, Ivan sits back in his seat, drinking his coffee. Why the hell was he even drinking coffee and sitting at a breakfast place? He had nothing better to do, that’s why]

[nick-fitzwilliams]

[Nick looks up from his memos on the Genesis attack when a guy complains about sudoku from the behind of his booth. He chuckles lightly. He quite enjoyed those little games when he had no time for a real hobby. He had to solve it fast, though, because some overgrown manchild throwing tantrum over his lack of entertainment.] It's a poor man's jigsaw puzzle, that's what it is. [He comments simply before going back to the working on the memo.]

[tristan-tillstrom]

Huh?

[tristan-tillstrom]

Yeah. What about it? (he asks, moving from one hand to the other the ball he was holding. The whole Henrik thing had him a bit distracted. Any moment now, his brother would drop dead… and he was also getting a bit worried about Anya and the way the antidepressants were giving her some side effects. He was afraid that maybe she’d have to stop taking them if things continued that way, and if she stopped, that perhaps all her improvement would go to shit… That couldn’t happen, he couldn’t go through something like that again) No. I stayed here. (He nods lightly as Nick talks) I know a thing or two about the ones that were out when those psychos attacked. We talked about it during my class (he explains, since his students had been curious to know how exactly the ones that had fought Genesis members had defended themselves. It was a power training class, so it was the right place to talk about how their powers and skills with them had saved their lives).

[nick-fitzwilliams]

[No joke or sarcastic remark? Nick raises a brow at Tillstrom's absent reaction.] You okay there? You seem occupied. [He shakes the head slowly, sighing. Students have died that night. Some of them were only teenager, untrained and defenseless. He was out there, but he couldn't save them all. He knows that. He just doesn't want to accept that.] In class? Alright... Do you remember who were out there? A list of Projects who talked about it in your class might be helpful. I could ask them if they know the others whereabouts. God knows what those bastards would do to the missing Projects if they were taken...

[tristan-tillstrom]

Huh?

What was that again? (he asks, looking up from the ball he’d been fiddling with for the last minute. He’d been a little distracted lately, to say the least, and he had no idea what the person in front of him had just said).

[nick-fitzwilliams]

The Genesis attack, Tillstrom. [He repeats with a sigh. He knew the man wasn't paying attention, but he didn't think he had to say it all over again.] Were you out there? I'm trying to estimate the damage we got and reconstruct the night. There are still missing Projects... Anything you know might be of help locating them.

[nick-fitzwilliams]

Nice try,

[Nick comments in level tone with concealed anger as the assailant's blow only bends his mercury body. It restores back immediately as Nick charges forward. Most of the time, not much is required to end a life. It only takes a pinpoint strike on the vital points. Changing his body to titanium at its highest solidity, he throws a single punch that effortlessly tears through bones and skins, rupturing the heart out of the opponent. Hopefully that will kill them. He lets out a breath, shifting his body back to flesh. Whatever is going on, saving Projects and innocent bystanders is the primary object. Killing the threat is one way to accomplish that-- even though it weighs on him that he has ended another life.]