this planet is still something fre’zhia ( or, freya as the soldiers have come accustomed to calling her ) is getting used to. it is different than her home planet, vastly different. there has never been a war amongst her own people on her planet. these people do not live in the same place, but they are still humans.
humans killing other humans. humans hating other humans. it is a disgraceful sight. the other zherizi’s would recommend taking over the planet to stop this needless fighting. they are not necessarily a peaceful species, but they do believe in protecting others who cannot protect themselves.
freya is walking through the camp in her human disguise. her normal form is quite the sight compared to the humans, so she has chosen to shift into something a bit more comfortable for them. a dark skinned woman who’s only six feet three rather than her seven foot tall form. still taller than most of the women, and some of the men. freya was looking for captain rogers, wanting a word with him about their next moves, but he seems to be gone. or, at the very least, avoiding her.
she stops when she finds sergeant rojas. a man who seems quite keen on impressing her at every turn. luckily for him, freya finds him charming. “rojas.” her voice has an accent. not one you’d find on earth. it’s soft and sweet, but it is slightly misleading. “have you seen rogers? i think he might be avoiding me.”
ft. brief mentions of @tenccs, @nogoodwitch, @affirmatxve, @mutav
There are Obligations. There is doubt.
The Good Doctor is not a good man is a Warlord gearing up for battle is Tired and Tired and Tired, forgive him. There are Obligations. There are people counting on him to keep the promises he has made. ( funny funny funny, when he made them he didn’t have any reason to stick around. now the Good Captain stays closer to home and the kids could use a little direction and he is all out of time ).
Forgive him, he isn’t afraid of dying. but something keeps him siting in the kitchen in the dark, surrounded by the sum of the good in his life laid out in neat boxes. There’s no point in wiping down the apartment, really, but there’s precious little of him left here. Someone will come by a little later to make sure things to to who needs them, fifty-thousand dollars to Cat and Sam to keep them stable after he’s gone ( he neglected them, he knows, but you can’t change the past and he’s run out of future ); the paintings to Frank ( the one from the sub-basement especially, red-raw like a wound ), the medical gear to local clinics; clothes to donation.
It leaves him with forged papers more than a decade old ( Godfrey W. Nicht does not exist, will not exist when this is done ), photos of the boys he knew in his youth ( dead now almost to a man, and his hands are red, red, red ), the reminder of what he’s leaving behind. Phone, keys, an invitation to Carol’s next dinner, Frank’s gallery opening. The seats at his table. The empty space in his bed ( The Good Captain is elsewhere, thankfully, thankfully, gone to see his sisters. forgive him, forgive him, he can’t face him with this ).
Alexi’s jacket is the heaviest thing he’s ever worn and it gets harder and harder to lie with its weight on his shoulders. He knows his soft edges have been wearing down and there is nothing, nothing, nothing good underneath ( The Good Doctor is not is something that you hope dies before it gets out is a black hole is the End of the World in slow motion speeding up ). It won’t matter soon. He just wishes-- he just wants--
It doesn’t matter.
There are Obligations. There is doubt. There is no more time.
He leaves the jacket neatly folded on the table when he goes. ( he took the debate pin, forgive him, forgive him. if he cannot eat your heart he will at least steal your tongue )
It started as a text from an unknown number to her private cell. ( one only a handful of people have access to. how funny. )
[ text: ??? ] The man I was with today called you boss.
[ text: ??? ] May I have an address?
[ text to: ??? ] I make it a habit of being hard to find. Which man?
[ text: ??? ] “John Martin”, real last name Abernathy.
[ text to: ??? ] I’m at my office now. I’ll forward the address.
For John Martin, she’ll take a risk or two. She knew he was out on a job with someone else. Something happened. This is that someone else. Probably just a capture, the other man needing some help retrieving John. No problem at all. Ginny has the forces and the funds. For John Martin, moving the heavens would be nothing.
Boss. John hadn’t mentioned much. There hadn’t been time. But if--- there’s a lot of things--- Alexi Bauer is certain---
If John trusted this Boss, then Alexi will trust this Boss, and he needs to know. ( what kind of Boss is working at ten at night on a Saturday? ) There are black clad men at the door. Alexi hasn’t slept or shaved since John died. “The Boss is expecting me.” He’s armed. He expects them to take his weapons away. They do not. Strange, strange. ( there are protocols here of a mad man, not a crime lord. just who was John working with? )
The Good Captain is aware he’s shutting off, shutting down, and ignoring the clawing at his throat, the way his heart feels fit to stop beating. John is dead. John is dead. John is dead. But this person needs to know. This person is his new commanding officer, he has to be made aware that a Good Man, a Great Person, is gone. ( there is guilt, tied up in it all. John died on Alexi’s watch. Alexi swore he’d never lose another man. of course it had to be the one who mattered most. he will grieve later. now there is only duty. )
Ginny Bauer is unflappable, unshakable, a force of nature condensed to just larger than a child. She makes movement to stand before she takes a look at the man before her. ( it’s not the face that makes her stop. it’s the shoulders. it’s his stance. no one- she’d know that anywhere. she’s know him anywhere. half a decade after he left her, she left him, one or both were buried in the desert and she knows him from the slightest sign of his shoulders halfway in her doorway. )
“You’re dead.” A statement of fact from a hardnosed businesswoman. In truth, a statement she’s said before in the same manner, to people who were, in fact, as good as dead. But this is a different situation entirely. She is sick to her stomach and shaking like a leaf. She stands fully, in all the regalia of her position- battle armor- black dress, heels, hair in a tight bun, and red lips in a firmly expressionless line.
The man before her is a ghost, a dead man, she saw him die, sees him die every time she falls asleep. ( she has killed a thousand, ten thousand, in her grief of it. )
Alexi is not so quick on his feet, forgive him. He stands in her doorway, mouth open, hand on the doorknob partially to keep himself from falling over. His vision is growing spotty, tunneling and he is sure--- absolutely sure--- this is some sort of sick joke put on him by the men who just killed his brother. He is aware of his feet moving, his arm reaching out to her--- he doesn’t notice the men standing behind her drawing their weapons or her hand movement that sent them out of the door-- he is only aware of the way she fits against him, her head buried in his chest, that his lips find the top of her head and he’s crying, shaking, sure he died too when John did.
The words are nonsense to anyone looking in. Half sounds, half words, half sentences stopped and started, crossing three languages and held in the air as holy, holy. There is madness in this, in them in this moment. She assumes, still, that John is missing, captured, the thought at the back of her mind.
“John?” she manages, looking up to her war worn, time worn brother.
“Dead.”
“Oh.”
Lions, tigers, devil dogs. Semper fidelis isn’t just a nice phrase to mutter as a casket passes. Bauers are dangerous to cross alone, but cross a pack of them. Well.
The world will light up for John Martin. Even if it’s because they have to burn it to the ground.
Roderick S. Kasun has never had an emotion in his life, how dare you, and he certainly doesn’t let a bit of not-quite-commentary get to him. It’s been a while since the last time he had to work with Captain Bauer, but that isn’t at all relevent to his current line of thought, of course, of course.
Roderick S. Kasun is not a serial killer. Sure, he kills people on a semi-regular basis, but that’s a work thing. Sure, he enjoys being good at his work, but that’s more of a professional pride thing than a ‘murder is cool and great” thing. Sure, he often acquire things that his targets used to own but-- actually, he doesn’t have much of an excuse for that one.
Sometimes things are just shiny, and you gotta say to yourself “I want that”, even if they have a little blood on them.
Isn't it terrible enough to be here -- his childhood bedroom, his home, all warmth and the smell of spiced tea and mulled cider. The Good Captain has been burning hot since he arrived here. Gifts had been exchanged, but Alexi has something else, in the dead of night, red ribbon and parchment paper. He hands offers it silently, grinning. Inside is his varsity jacket, pristine white and blue; accolades pinned to the collar. "I told you I had it somewhere." Merry, mercy, mercy.
@affirmatxve
Alexi is burning and he is cool in comparison, how funny. ( there’s a joke, there’s a need for a dead man walking. Alexi’s heart is pumping blood again and the Good Doctor has just two years left, haha. He hasn’t told him yet. Oh god, oh god, forgive him ) He doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks at it, just fiddles with the collar and tries to be as happy as he ought to be. There had been a joke a while back but he hadn’t thought– Ah, he supposes he ought to give the spy more credit.
“You get one of these for debate? Chess team?” They were soldiers once, or something close to it. There are old habits that bubble up; the way he turns his shoulder to bump Alexi instead of thank him, the way his mouth keeps running ( the way the tangle of ribbon reminds him of blood, blood, blood ) “I bet you kept all your trophies, too, all neat and polished. Bet your dates were very impressed”
Another bump, maybe a little harder than necessary. It’s a guy thing, an emotions thing ( it’s the howling wind outside, the countdown he is trying to drown out, the knowledge that he is going to destroy the Good Captain and his Deer sister in his wake ) “I know an excuse to get me in more of your clothes when I see one, huh?”
