#i could just settle down to a minimalistic profile with some pictures and call it a day

[gglitchshit]

Btw I absolutely love talking about Lucien as he doesn't even have a public toyhouse page as of now where ppl could look him up. Who is he you wonder? My creepy cryptid child who keeps saving my life just by existing. Hope this helps. :)

[thepetulantpen]

Two Librarians in Armageddon

(Day 5 of @shadowgastweek! Only had time for one fic this week, but after I read this prompt my brain said Pacific Rim AU and would not leave me alone until I wrote this. It’s pretty long, so here’s the ao3 link.)

(Pacific Rim AU, featuring the wizards as scientists!)

Caleb would not say he’s fond of working with others, let alone sharing his lab.

Solitary work is more in his nature, but after years of sharing close-quarters with Veth- and after getting adjusted to Jester, in general- he’s learned to tolerate, even enjoy, having company while he’s working. His friends have more than prepared him for anyone else he’ll have to work with; they’ve ensured that he’ll be hanging onto his habits of keeping anything important secured, in the event of an unexpected explosion, and of guarding his coffee with his life, in the event of poorly-timed pranks.

He does not think his new lab partner will be bringing any unstable explosives, or sugary abominations to replace his coffee with.

From what he’s been told, the new addition to their little pre-apocalypse team is a physicist working on tech for a competing company, someone far outside Caleb’s scope. The fact that they still have competing companies of mech-developers while there are aliens bursting from the sea to eat them is a nightmare all its own, but the writhing horrors of capitalism are a beast that science, and the Kaiju guts strewn across the table before him, has proved ineffective against.

The truce between them, in the interest of allowing powerful Jaegers to work together, is an uneasy and temporary one. Caleb, personally, doesn’t think it’ll last beyond one or two failures. He just hopes they won’t fall back into the slew of sabotages that plagued them at the beginning of their downward spiral, before everyone realized the world may actually be ending.  

The rather small detail of imminent Armageddon has made his preference, or lack thereof, for company inconsequential. In the long run- or short, if they don’t manage a major breakthrough soon- his opinions as an introvert are insignificant.

It’s not all bad- as an innately curious person, the opportunity to meet someone just as experienced as him in the field of Kaiju is fascinating. Particularly considering that their specialization is so different; he’s almost looking forward to the new insight. He’d even be excited if it wasn’t for the subject matter.

It can be challenging to be enthusiastic about the driving force of the apocalypse.

He digs deeper into the partially collapsed chunk of Kaiju ribcage in front of him, no longer bothered by his poor choice of distraction. It’s a misnomer to call it a ribcage, given that the Kaiju do not have bones in the classical sense, but it’s close enough in location to approximate. He’d rather have a brain to work with, though he’ll settle for what he can get. Storing Kaiju is difficult, with their accelerated rate of rot once exposed to the air- if he’s not careful, his work could be reduced to ash in an hour.

He needs to catalogue the differences between this corpse and the last, pinpointing patterns in organ placement. The work is dull, while still requiring his full concentration to avoid puncturing any of the many, many inexplicably acidic organs. If he wasn’t already good friends with the base’s medics, he would’ve been taken off this job long ago.

Once he’s elbow-deep in a Kaiju, he stops paying attention to the door. He does not notice the knocking, nor the quiet greeting, nor the faint whir of machinery as his new colleague hovers through the doorway.

“Should you be touching that? It looks toxic.”

Caleb jumps at the voice beside him and the scalpel in his hand jerks, cutting into the mystery organ he’d been considering removing. Something vaguely liquid hits his wrist above the glove and he waits two seconds to see if it’ll burn, before deciding he probably doesn’t need to run screaming to the nearest med station.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, partially in response and partially to himself. “I know what I’m doing.”

He looks down, towards his new colleague, who, at first glance, is thoroughly unimpressed at that lie.

He sits in a wheelchair- minus the wheels, as it hovers gently off the ground, coming to about the same height the wheels would give it. Clearly a new model- hovering technology aside- it’s a sleek, minimalist white, matching his equally sleek, swept back white hair. The high turtleneck and overly formal coat allow Caleb to immediately peg him as somewhat uptight. Near-apocalypse has made formality rare.

Caleb hurries to wash his hands, finding the nearby sink labelled for nasty, potentially lethal chemical disposal. “I was told you’d arrive today, but,” he glances up at the dingy lab clock, the glass cracked from Veth’s last visit, “I didn’t imagine it’d be so soon. It’s, uh, a bit of a mess.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he says, unconvincingly, and changes track, “That desk is mine, yes?”

There’s only one other desk in the room, moved there sometime yesterday after Caleb, under threat from his superiors, managed to shift away some of the boxes that line the walls. It’s only a small space, but it’s the cleanest part of the room.

The question, he reasons, is rhetorical, but Caleb nods anyway. He considers that answer enough- though the other man doesn’t move, staring at him expectantly. He’s oddly expressive, his attempts to keep a completely straight face only making any slipups, like the annoyed twitch of his eyebrow, more obvious.

It makes it easy to see the exact moment his patience runs out.

“I’m sure you were informed, but,” here, he looks to the side, dodging Caleb’s returning attention, “for the sake of introductions, I am Essek Thelyss.”

Ah, so that’s what he’d forgotten. Caleb thinks it’s unfair that he had to fail miserably at one of the last introductions he will have made before the end of the world- surely, he could’ve had just one go smoothly.

“Oh- I’m Caleb,” he reaches out a hand, meeting Essek’s already extended one for a brief shake- his hands may be clean now, but Essek doesn’t look thrilled at the prospect of touching Kaiju guts, even  indirectly, “Caleb Widogast.”

Something unidentifiable passes over Essek’s expression- disappointment or judgement, perhaps, at not recognizing the name. Widogast is not printed on any books, nor is it associated with anything high-profile like Thelyss; strictly, it doesn’t exist at all.

That, or the smell of the rotting Kaiju getting to him.

As he watches Essek pause halfway across the room to clear his path, and again to widen the space around his desk, Caleb is hit with the vivid realization that this isn’t going to be an enlightening, academic experience, nor an uncomfortable few days of socialization. It’s going to be more than a bump in the alien-fueled crisis that is his current existence.

This is going to be a disaster.

…

“Widogast, do you have any idea where my notebook’s gone?”

It has only taken Caleb three days to be able to identify the various tones for annoyed in Essek’s voice. There’s this is a minor inconvenience and this is a major inconvenience and this is one of many annoying things I haven’t pointed out yet today, including, but not limited to, the ever-present stench of Kaiju flesh.

He can say, with relative confidence, that this falls into the latest category.

“Have you tried all your desk drawers?” he calls over his shoulder, knowing the question is unnecessary but stalling for time as he heaves the last of the Kaiju parts- partially burned and fragmented limbs, today- onto his work table.

Essek, unlike Caleb, is meticulously organized, never misplaces anything and files according to system that escapes Caleb, no matter how many times he tries to decode it. From Essek’s perspective, the rest of the lab is a dangerous no man’s land of abject chaos- though Caleb has never lost anything. He knows, precisely, where everything is, no piece of preserved alien fading from his memory. An organization system is pointless, when one has a photographic memory.

That is, until one has to share a lab with someone who bothers to keep track of their belongings.

He doesn’t wait for a response, already able to picture Essek behind him, sitting with his arms crossed and looking deeply disappointed by Caleb’s suggestion, which amounts to did you turn it on and off again? Leaving the still sealed Kaiju parts where they are, he turns back to his own desk.

After exonerating himself and Essek, the list of suspects for meddling with their desks is very short. The base, these days, is not the hub of activity it used to be, back when there were far more Jaeger pilots alive and far better morale. Their lab is typically empty, aside from Caleb and Essek, as few people are inclined towards the smell of dead Kaiju. Even the corporals, some of the rare higher-ups with clearance, can’t be bothered to visit more frequently than their mandatory check-ins.

He can only think of two people who clearance would not be an issue for.

“Is he handsome, Caleb?”

“I don’t think it would be professional—”

“He definitely is, Jessie.”

Before today, he’d thought that Jester and Veth hadn’t gotten around to the visit they’d been threatening; clearly, they’d taken the liberty while he wasn’t in. Veth knows better than to steal notebooks- she wouldn’t be interested in them, anyway- and Jester isn’t in the habit of taking things, only misplacing them.

Caleb hardly ever uses his own desk, preferring to leave his notebooks scattered over the lab tables, in easier reach. Only the older ones are still perched on his desk, in a precariously tall pile- but one notebook stands out from the rest, not quite as ratty and overstuffed as his own.

“Ah, here it is,” he holds it up, gesturing Essek over and trying not to look too sheepish- it is not, after all, his fault. As he hands it over, and quickly turns back to his work, he can only hope that Jester hasn’t doodled anything too embarrassing inside. “Jester must have misplaced it, while exploring the lab.”

“Jester?” Essek asks, eyebrows furrowing in something that would be irritation, if his expression wasn’t trained to be so stoic, “Is she supposed to have clearance here?”

“The medical staff have free reign, in case of incidents with hazardous material.” He glances back at Essek, who still looks confused, and remembers that not everyone is on a first-name basis with the medics. “Jester Lavorre. You might know Caduceus- that is, Mr. Clay- better. He’s the more… healing inclined, of the two.”

“Jester Lavorre,” Essek starts, slowly as he unpacks his own question, “regularly comes here to… explore? What, she just, rifles through your things?”

He is not sure how to explain the idea of Jester to someone who doesn’t know her.

Essek already looks delightfully confounded- a considerable a departure from his typical stern concentration. Caleb almost wants to thank Jester for pulling Essek away from the handheld chalkboards he spends his days bent over, lines of nearly indecipherable equations appearing and disappearing with only the smudge of chalk on Essek’s hands as evidence of their existence. Distracting Essek has proved to be a challenge- even the sounds of saws and the number of other unpleasant devices involved in Kaiju dissection don’t get Caleb so much as a glance.

He does not try to explain Jester, opting to shrug, instead. “She knows she can find me here, so she stays until I show up. Sometimes she gets bored.” It occurs to him that other people haven’t been prepped for company in the same way he has. It occurs to him that it is abnormal to brace for a scavenger hunt every time he enters the lab. “I suggest you leave your important documents in a locked drawer.”

He refrains from telling Essek that Veth can pick locks and that Jester has broken open desk drawers before (there was an incident involving a prank war, smuggling, and increasingly desperate hiding places). None of it seems particularly reassuring.

Essek gives him a strange look, but nods. “I will keep that in mind.”

“You might also find things that aren’t yours by your desk.” Caleb looks over his shoulder to see Essek still watching him. “Consider them gifts.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” Caleb pauses, realizing that none of the things he was about to list are work-appropriate, “Well, it could be anything.”

Caleb’s starting to worry that he might end up causing the rift between companies that leads to the end of the world- with his terrible first impression, and equally bad secondary impressions- but when a parasol shows up at Essek’s desk a day later, he does not ask Caleb where it came from.

He does, however, quietly ask Caleb to send along his thanks to Jester.

…

“I am not imagining that it smells particularly bad today, yes?”

Caleb has acquired, in part thanks to Veth, partial halves of two Kaiju hearts. Partial is the best they could manage, on account of the massive holes blown in the beasts’ chests. Nonetheless, he’s ecstatic- an opportunity like this, for a direct comparison, is rare.

Kaiju barbecue, as it turns out, does not smell very appetizing. It is what he would think a bucket of cleaning supplies set on fire would smell like, though it leaves the air with the unpleasant aftertaste of cheap fruit snacks.

“They’re a little charred,” he says, hiding a smile- they are far more than a little charred, “Veth’s testing out different chemical combinations for the Jaeger ammunition. I don’t think she’s quite nailed it yet.”

Essek scoffs, cautiously approaching the table with one hand over his nose and mouth, the other resting on the chair’s controls. “How many people of wildly different departments are you on a first-name basis with?”

“Just a few.” Thoroughly distracted with cutting away the burnt pieces, Caleb doesn’t look up. “There’s also, uh, Fjord. He captains one of the boats, works on deployment.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” A soft whir, as Essek hovers a few inches higher, putting him at a better height to peer over the table with Caleb. “Do you need any help?”

Caleb blinks, surprised, and almost drops the scalpel he was sanitizing. “Aren’t you busy?”

Essek, with his old-fashioned chalkboards in the place of far more convenient holograms, never leaves his desk, never so much as turns around to bounce a theory off of Caleb. It seems like there’s a new pack of chalk and fresh notebook on his desk every other day- clearly he’s making progress, but the bubble of focus around Essek is too intimidating for Caleb to investigate.

“I’ve reached a stopping point,” Essek frowns when Caleb looks at him, waiting for him to elaborate, and sighs, “I’m stuck on the particle displacement we’ve detected at the mouth of the rifts, which only seems to effect the Kaiju, not the pilots. It’s- I don’t think you’d be interested. I need something else to do, while I brainstorm.”

Caleb manages to bite back his disappointment at not getting to hear the rest and points towards the sink- the one safe for normal use, that doesn’t currently have corrosion scars from caustic acids. “I can definitely give you that.”

Essek, unsurprisingly, is incredibly helpful. He might not fully understand the process, but he’s precise in following Caleb’s instructions and doesn’t complain when he has to touch the gross, slimy parts. He generously interprets Caleb’s just put them over there to mean place them very carefully in straight lines. It only takes him a few minutes to get the hang of it, effortlessly following Caleb’s lead as they work in parallel on their respective halves of the hearts.

“I can’t say I understand the appeal,” Essek starts, after many minutes of silence, “but there’s certainly something to working with the actual thing, rather than theory.”

Caleb is working at a particularly tough piece- the Kaiju are, if nothing else, heavily armored, inside and out- the exposure to oxygen making everything harder to pull apart, to cut up and catalogue. He doesn’t look up at Essek’s words, but finds his attention easily split.

“It’s all about,” Caleb pushes down, again, and the muscles finally give, “manipulating the body, finding what makes it tick. From there, we can change it.”

“Like,” Essek pauses, hesitating, “change it from living to dead, you mean.”

Caleb huffs, almost under his breath, “In this circumstance, perhaps.”

To his side, he sees Essek’s hands still, briefly, and feels eyes on him as Essek looks up. Essek has this way of looking at him, like he’s waiting for something, until an invisible tell gives him away. He feels both studied and seen through.

Caleb can’t say he hates it.

“You don’t sound as happy about that as I’d expect. Normally, people are thrilled at the thought of dead Kaiju,” Essek gestures, with one gloved hand, over the table, “More for you.”

Caleb looks firmly down at the heart, imagining the many cross-sections and pieces still unmapped, in the burned away absence. “I just think that more can be done.”

“I suppose that’s one thing we can agree on.” Essek is already looking at him when Caleb looks up, so their eyes meet, “The other side of the rifts are far more interesting. There’s no telling what we could find, how we could progress- but we need those doors closed, if we’re going to be alive to enjoy that progress.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as leaving them open or closed.”

Essek leans back over the heart, having found what he was looking for in Caleb’s expression, and mutters, almost to himself, “You might be right about that.”

Caleb doesn’t say anything else, just watches as Essek finishes with his portion of the heart. Essek’s hands, even with the borrowed plastic gloves, do not look like they belong amongst the controlled carnage of the lab table. Made for spinning chalk between fingers, and gliding across the holograms.

He lines up the scalpel again, just a bit off-target, just a bit too close to the arteries. “Ah, don’t—”

Caleb grabs Essek’s hand, stopping him before he pierces something he shouldn’t- the faint burns on his own hands are proof of this lesson learned. Essek freezes, startled by the contact, and grips the scalpel a little tighter before he catches up to what’s happened and pulls back.

Caleb lets him go, with some reluctance. “The blood is, uh, acidic. You have to cut around carefully, or it– you get the picture.”

“It’s good that you were watching, then,” Essek doesn’t smile, but his face suggests that he might have, if he possessed less self-control, “I owe you one, Widogast.”

Caleb does not possess that same control- he’s not sure what Essek hears in his voice as he says, “It’s no trouble.”

He thinks, in the end, he may have been more successful in distracting himself from his work, than he was in distracting Essek.

…

Caleb has reached the point where the crick in his neck from leaning over his work, the pages and pages of pieced together neural pathways and conflicting experiments, is threatening to make the hunch of his shoulders permanent. Essek cannot be in a much better place- Caleb glances over to catch him with his head in his hands, again, a half-filled chalkboard laying forlornly on his desk.

Caleb stands with no warning, letting his pen clatter on the table and pushing his chair away with more force than necessary. Essek looks up, alarmed and- unless Caleb’s imagining it- intrigued.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Which is how they’ve found themselves on the steel catwalk above the Jaegers, high up in the hanger and out of sight of people who know they shouldn’t be here. Neither of them are stealthy enough to pull this off for long- the equivalent of two librarians, tiny amongst the massive machines that represent their only hope against Armageddon.

“It’s always weird to see them from up here.” The giant, unpiloted mechs seem to stare back at Caleb as they’re shifted into place. Empty eyes, visors with no life behind them. “Feels like we shouldn’t be looking at them eye-to-eye.”

Essek hums, and leans forward slightly, as close to the rails as he dares. “I’m more used to seeing them in diagrams.”

Caleb had known, in theory, that there must be a tangled web of physics behind the engineering of the Jaegers, but it’s different to know that Essek holds those secrets. He’d love nothing more than to pick his brain about it, even if it’s far outside his field. It’s a shame the hanger feels like an inappropriate place to host a high-detail physics lecture.

“It must be interesting, working with us. Thelyss has been, uh,” he hesitates, unsure if this is rude to point out, “forgive me for saying, rather at odds with Dwendalian interests.”

Essek is quiet for a moment, almost long enough for Caleb to pull the ripcord and apologize, before responding, “It has been interesting. It is… an opportunity, for me, to work for something greater than I have in the past.”

“In the past?”

“We have not been as,” he pauses, searching for the word, “kind as we should have, in sharing our designs. Many have failed to consider the state of the world in our quest for progress.”

Corporate sabotage in the race for mechs is something of a well-known secret. The extent of it is hidden, mostly, behind the veil of the destruction that it coincided with. Trading the right secrets to the wrong person could take you far- it just might mean leaving burning cities in your wake.

Essek, overlooking the last of the Jaegers, the vestiges of hope for the world, suddenly looks so tired, older than Caleb had seen him before now. It reminds of Caleb of his own reflection, at night when the manic layer of end of the world is wiped away to reveal exhaustion. Essek’s formality, the organized face he presents, functions as just another mask.

“I have made many mistakes. I am hoping-” Essek shakes his head, correcting himself, “All I can do is try again. To be better.”

Caleb cannot absolve him, cannot lift the weight of things unsaid, guilt anchored deeply. He can only stand there, at Essek’s side, and carry his own guilt.

“Leave it to the end of the world to show us that we can only move forward, until we run out of road.” Caleb tries for a smile, one Essek doesn’t match. “Sometimes, I’m not sure there’s still road. Feel like I’m drifting over the dirt, these days.”

Essek’s response, agreement or disagreement, is drowned out as they start shifting another of the Jaegers, the dragging of metal and old supports strained to their limits forming a din that has passerby covering their ears. Caleb watches its pilots stare up at it, unflinching in the noise.

He finds himself talking as the noise stops, filling the vacuum of silence, “I was almost one of them, you know.”

After he says it, he immediately regrets it. In one moment, it feels like the thing to do- share something personal, after Essek had taken the first step- and in the next, it feels like an entirely unnecessary can of worms. Because, of course, the next question is-

“Under who?”

Caleb swallows and considers lying. He could do it. He could keep it vague- he should, it should stay buried like his name. He’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t want to.

“Ikithon.”

He sees it, the second he says it. He sees the recognition, the surprise, the fear. Essek knows that name, more than anyone in passing knows that name. To Essek, he is not simply an unpleasant teacher.

He doesn’t want to see Essek as someone who worked with Ikithon- he doesn’t want to know what it means that he would forgive Essek, in a heartbeat, but can’t do same for himself.

“I wasn’t able to drift,” Caleb continues, and almost believes that’s the whole truth, the entire, uncomplicated reason, “Dropped out of the Academy.” Not before the damage was done.

Essek looks down, studying the grimy floor beneath them. “Probably for the best.”

“I’m starting to think we should’ve put our funding into time machines, instead of Jaegers.” Caleb sighs, and feels a part of himself leave with his breath. He looks to his side, where Essek remains silent. “Should’ve gone into physics, I guess.”

People rush around below them, preparing for another Jaeger to enter. The gate is cleared, the runway lights up, and various maintenance teams stand at the ready. Caleb wonders how they can stand this, how they can keep going through the motions every day, even as less and less pilots return.

He supposes he could say the same about himself, about anyone still coming to work on this base. For the first time in a long time, they’re all working towards the same thing. They’re all looking to the pilots, spending what’s left of their lives to stack the deck in their favor.

“I know a few of them,” Caleb pauses, and clarifies, “The pilots, I mean.”

“You failed to mention that, in your list of people you know.” Essek tries to laugh, though it doesn’t quite come out right, and looks back up at Caleb, “Which ones?”

“I’m not sure you know them.” People in their position don’t generally interact with the pilots, directly. Caleb would say it’s strange for him to have friends in the Academy, but it’s not the weirdest connection he’s made recently. “Yasha and Beau on the Cobalt line. They’re only just out of the Academy.”

Only just out and making a formidable reputation for themselves. He’s only skimmed the statistics, but if there was a leaderboard, he’d say they’re pulling ahead. Knowing Beau, that’s greater motivation than the potential for saving the world.

Essek’s façade falls away completely, showing his surprise. “The two terrifying women in the Expositor?”

“Those are the ones,” Caleb leans against the railing, out of the shadows. A little more bold, now that most of the people below are distracted. A massive Jaeger, with chipping blue paint and massive jets affixed to its back, steps in through the gate, tracking in water around its heels. “Speak of the devil.”

He can imagine Beau and Yasha working in tandem, seamlessly, to bring the mech into the hanger, ducking its head slightly to make it under the doorway. One hand is occupied, clenched around a scaly leg, metal fingers dug into the fallen Kaiju’s flesh. It’s oddly small, not the fully grown beasts Caleb is used to seeing them drag through.

“Is that-“ Essek doesn’t finish his question, perhaps because he can see the answer in Caleb’s expression.

The Kaiju’s head is entirely intact, its skull spared at the expense of a hole in its chest. A full brain, no shrapnel or missing pieces. Exactly what Caleb has been waiting for, exactly what he’s been trying to piece together.

Essek follows at his heels as Caleb dashes for the stairs, stealth forgotten altogether.

…

The whirring of saws and grim, grinding sounds of bone being cut come to an end, at long last. There’s a tube prepped, filled with foul-smelling chemicals intended to preserve and suspend alien flesh. The sound, as the brain is deposited, is somehow worse than the grinding noise.

Essek looks at him, watching silently for a long moment. It is difficult, to feel his eyes on him and not look back, but Caleb manages it, keeping his gaze focused on the mass of nerves before him.

“I understand the temptation.”

Caleb laughs, with no humor. “Do you?”

The headset is light, almost flimsy, in his hands. He passes it between them, running his hands over the familiar metal and wires. It looks like it might fall apart any second now, not at all like it’s made of expensive, stolen equipment. Not all like Caleb’s been thinking about it for months, like it could save them all- if he can pull this off.

The Kaiju’s brain floats in the container in front of him, wires trailing off of it. Essek sits beside it, the filtered green light through the tube casting harsh shadows over his face. He’s not supposed to be here, but Caleb should’ve known that Essek wouldn’t stick to his scheduled breaks.

“I know more about temptation than you, Caleb.”

It’s rare to hear Essek angry- figures that he chooses a time like this to finally call Caleb by his first name.

“Then you should know that I can’t pass up this opportunity.” Caleb clicks the final pieces into place, watching the lights on the headset start to glow. He loses the fight against another temptation and glances over to Essek, who looks to be fighting fiercely not for a neutral expression, but to keep back tears. “I will not have more lives on my conscience. If this could win us the fight, I have to do it.”

He reaches for the control panel, lifting the headset with his other hand. He has to get this over with before he loses his nerve, before Essek decides to find someone who might actually be able to stop him, before Jester or Veth or anyone else stumble upon him

Essek grabs his wrist, stopping him. His eyes are wide, a little surprised at himself, but he meets Caleb’s stare dead-on.

“I don’t want to lose you to this,” he clears his throat, and looks down, away, “We all still need you.”

Even now, they can’t help but lie to themselves.

“I have to do this.”

Essek looks back at him and for once, seems frustrated to be unable to peer behind Caleb’s eyes, to get the answers he always does. He looks to the side with a heavy sigh, and Caleb thinks for a moment that he’s given up, that he’s going to agree, when Essek lets go of his hand to reach behind them, to the lab table still covered in wires and abandoned tech.

Many drafts of the headset sit amongst the wreckage, the results of late nights spent working with a collection born of Veth’s sticky fingers and Caleb’s hoarding. Essek grabs one, easily picking out the most functional of the bunch, and presses it into Caleb’s free hand.

“Fine,” his face sets, not in the neutral that Caleb’s come to expect, but in a determination that feels almost dangerous, “Then I’m coming with you.”

Essek’s eyes are a dare, waiting for Caleb to find a reason to deny him. He knows, as well as Caleb, that two of them would increase their chances of surviving this. He also knows, maybe better than Caleb, that none of that matters. Caleb would always rather take the brunt of it, than allow his friends to hurt.

This feels, distinctly, like an argument Caleb can’t win. Essek looks a few seconds away from hooking it up himself.

Caleb sighs, a faint smile escaping him. “Didn’t think you’d be repaying that favor so soon.”

Essek only pushes the headset more firmly into his hands, though it’s hard to tell whether he’s safe-guarding against Caleb losing his nerve, or losing his own nerve.

Caleb puts Essek’s headset on first, taking longer than necessary to adjust its fit, before putting on his own. They sit across from each other, in the distorted shadow of the brain. Essek’s gaze, fixed on Caleb, doesn’t waver and just before Caleb hits the switch, he holds out his hand.

Caleb takes it and turns on the machine.

The drift hits him immediately, like a weight falling on his brain as something too big climbs into his skull and pushes his mind out to the edges, pressed against bone. Everything else, outside of his mind and Essek’s mind and this new intrusion, disappears entirely. Sensation, apart from a terrible, sourceless pain, leaves him.

Essek’s mind bursts into focus like a searing light in the abyss, a star far above him. Caleb reaches for it, as the mind of the Kaiju, oppressive and all-consuming, threatens to swallow him up.

He feels their connection like entwined hands, before they collapse into each other, blurring into one. Warm and cool colors mix together in threads that wind and wind around until they are one inseparable string. Shared pain is conducted through it, a wire of strange electricity.

He is hearing a city on fire, screaming, and imagines he can pick out familiar voices in the chaos.

He is shaking a hand like a corpse, bony and terrible as its fingernails dig into his skin.

He is on a cold tile floor, aware that he is alone, alone, alone—

Somewhere, outside of himself, he squeezes Essek’s hand.

The Kaiju bears down on both of them and he finds himself standing beside Essek on a destroyed city street, its features a mashed together version of Caleb and Essek’s childhoods. It is too much for either of them, even standing together, but when he looks down at Essek, he sees only his smile, sharp and confident.

Everything begins to dissolve as the mind- the many minds- of the Kaiju falls over them.

…

Waking up is not fun.

Once, in grad school, Caleb stayed up for 52 hours, subsisting on diabolical combinations of energy drinks and pure spite for his professors. After turning in his last assignments, including a paper that served as a major breakthrough in his field but was so manic it was incomprehensible to anyone except Caleb, he crashed hard and did not wake for another day, when Veth checked to see if he was still alive.

He could’ve sworn, at the time, that the headache he felt upon seeing light for the first time that day was the worst he’d ever experience.

This headache easily doubles it.

The lights are, mercifully, left completely off, with only the dim sunlight leaking out from under the blinds turning the infirmary room a dull grey. He’s sat, partially upright, on the thin mattress of the hospital bed, a place he knows well. Outside the room, he can just make out the quiet, constant noise of their busy med station, conversation and machines overlapping.

To his right, similarly propped up, is Essek.

He wakes at the same moment as Caleb and they both turn, surprise mirrored in their faces. At seeing each other, at being alive at all- it’s anybody’s guess.

Objectively, Caleb is sure they both look absolutely terrible, but he can only see the light in Essek’s eyes and his tired smile. There’s a drowsy kind of comfort between the two of them, relief of tension being let go. They lived- they both lived.

“This is not the warm welcome to the land of the living I was hoping for.”

Caleb laughs, even if it hurts, a little. “This feels less like a welcome party, and more like breaking a window and climbing back in.”

There’s no connection between them anymore, no wires or drifts, but he still feels it faintly, a buzzing at the back of his head. Essek’s pain feels like an echo of his own, and his warmth is still there, as if he’s still holding his hand. It’s stable, an anchor to new wakefulness.

“They should’ve known better than to put two of us in the same lab.” Essek shakes his head, and winces at the movement. “It could only ever have ended in disaster.”

Caleb grins and is pleased to see Essek do the same, just as unguarded as he was in the drift.

They only have a few minutes before Jester comes in to yell at him for being stupid- possibly, the whole crew is lined up somewhere outside, lists of grievances in hand. Shortly following that, he assumes there will be a small battalion of military personnel waiting to hear what they’ve discovered.

Until then, he has time to do more stupid things, mostly unsupervised.

He drags himself out of the bed, pretending that he doesn’t nearly collapse as soon as his feet hit the floor, and wheels the bed closer to Essek’s, carefully maneuvering the wires still attached to his chest and arms. Once they’re an arm’s length away, Caleb stops and climbs back in.

This time, he holds his hand out first and knows, without a doubt, that Essek will take it.

[redisriding]

The Right Swipe - Chapter Five

A Court of Thorns and Roses Modern AU Fanfic

All character’s belong to the wonderful Sarah J Maas.

Tag List: @superspiritfestival  @duskandstarlight @perseusannabeth​ @courtofjurdan​ @omg-aelin​ @keshavomit​ ​ @rainbowcheetah512​

Azriel’s hands trembled as he punched the numbers into his phone. He had said he would call at this time. His promise, more to himself than her, the only thing holding him to actually going through with the call. Two hours ago he had told Cassian he was coming down with a migraine and had retired to his room. He had lay on his bed, as darkness slowly consumed the room, counting down the time until the call. Thinking up excuses to get him out of calling. Only to talk himself out of the excuses and into going through with it. 

There was one thing that Azriel wanted more than anything and that was to be in love. He often wondered that if the lie, the illusion of love he had lived for ten years had felt that good then what would the real thing feel like? When someone you loved, loved you back in the way they were meant to. 

There was a part of Azriel that thought he wasn’t worthy of such things, that there was nothing especially appealing about him that would make someone fall in love with him, the real him, not the fame and not the money. 

But another part of him, the logical part, knew that everyone was deserving of love. That everyone would find their person when the time was right. That included him. 

He also knew, however, that if he wanted to find his person, or let them find him, he needed to put himself out there and not cloister himself away in his apartment. No matter how safe he felt. 

So, hands shaking, heart hammering, Azriel pressed the call button and placed his phone to his ear. 

Time seemed to slow. The ringing in his ear going on forever. 

In reality however, she picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?” She answered. 

Adrenaline spiked through Azriel. For all of his anxiety about making the phone call, he hadn’t actually thought through what he would say when she picked up. Maybe he hadn’t really believed that she would.  

He felt sweat prick on his lip, his heart now pounding so hard it threatened to break free of the cage that were his ribs.

They had called to have a conversation, to get to know each other better than they could over messages, and yet every single thought emptied from Azriel’s head. What on earth did he say to her?

“Hello?” She repeated. 

Say something Azriel he screamed at himself. 

“Ugh…hi.”

Smooth. 

“Azriel?”

He closed his eyes. Her voice was light and airy. Soft. Kind. His name sounded nice falling from her mouth. 

“Yeah…Elain?”

“Yes! Hi!”

“Hi.”

Silence descended between them again. Azriel desperately tried to think of something to say. To try and remember something from their Swipe conversations, and still he was drawing a blank. 

“This is a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Elain giggled. 

The sound was so light and infectious that Azriel couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Just a bit…I, ugh, don’t really know that to say.”

“Me neither.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Called some random woman from Swipe?”

“Ugh…talked to someone I don’t know on the phone.”

“No one?”

“At all.”

“What about when you order pizza?”

“I use an app.”

“What about when you have to call a plumper or your bank?”

“I have people for that.”

Elain laughed again “Ooooh okay Mr Bigshot? What do you mean you have people for that?”

“Ugh…well…I have an agent who looks after my affairs.”

“Oh wow, you really are a big shot.”

“No, not really.”

“So, are you some sort of Ward of the State?”

It was Azriel’s turn to laugh. “No, I’m perfectly capable of looking after my own affairs…I just don’t.”

Silence fell between them again, but there was less panic coursing through Azriel now. 

“Azriel,” Elain whispered after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to video call?”

“Eh—.”

“So we can actually see each other’s faces, it might be a bit…less weird?”

Azriel paused for a moment, considering. Actually, maybe it would be easier if he could see her face, read her expressions. “Yeah okay.”

“Okay. I’ll call you right back.”

“Okay.

“Okay.”

There was another pause, and Azriel was sure he heard Elain take a deep breath before the line went dead. 

He pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it. His world somehow seemed greyer after speaking to Elain than it had before. Like she was the colour and light he was missing. 

In an eruption of light, startling Azriel and causing his just settled heart to again pick up its hammering, his phone displayed and incoming call from a number he presumed belonged to Elain. 

He punched the accept button. “Hey!”

Elain’s face filled the screen. 

Azriel’s pounding heart skipped for a second. 

She was stunning. 

Soft brown-blonde hair fell in waves framing her heart shaped face. Her eyes were big and brown, doe-like. With high cheekbones and soft pouty lips her beauty was soft, adorable. 

Azriel felt the binds he chained around his heart loosen. 

“Oooh,” she squeaked, “You’re in the dark?”

“Oh sorry,” he said as he stumbled from his bed, to try and find the light switch.

“Azriel?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you not want me to see your face?”

“Ugh—.”

“Because your profile pictures seem purposefully obscured. You suggested calling rather than meeting up at first. You hesitated when I asked if you want to video call. Now your room is dark?”

“No, I—.”

“If there is something wrong with your face, if you have scarring or something, I don’t—.”

Azriel’s fingers found the switch, light illuminating the room. He grinned at Elain’s sweet face twisted in a frown, her expression then turning to one of surprise.

“Oh!” She whispered, “Very beautiful.”

Azriel only grinned wider as she caught herself, even on the screen he could see the pink blush that flooded her cheeks. 

“I mean,” she stumbled over her words, “Not beautiful, just that…well…eh…not that it's not beautiful, just that…there’s nothing wrong with—.”

“Elain?”

“I just mean that I don’t see why you would hide your face,” she finally exclaimed. 

“Thank you,” he said, chuckling at how flustered she had become. 

“Why did you hide your face?”

“Oh eh…”Azriel hesitated. 

Elain didn’t appear to recognise him. He didn’t want her impression of him to change if she knew what he did for a living. 

Then again, hadn’t he lectured Cassian only yesterday about how it was important to be his authentic self. And wasn’t Cassian, not having taken his advice on board, now sitting on Azriel’s couch watching endless reality TV and eating chocolate? 

“Yeah, I didn’t want to make myself too easily recognisable just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“So…I don’t really know how to say this without sounding pretentious so I’m just going to say it.”

“Okay?” There was a lightness to Elain’s voice, like she was laughing. 

“Do you know who I am?”

“Eh…aside from the guy I matched with on Swipe, no. I don’t know anything about you.”

“Good! That ugh…makes a change. See Elain, a lot of people in this town know me…I…do you like hockey?”

“Hockey?”

“Yeah.”

“Not especially.”

“So you don’t follow the Velaris Black Wings?”

“No.”

“Oh…well…I joined the team this season. It was kind of a big signing, publicity-wise.”

“Oh my gods!” Elain exclaimed. 

Azriel felt his stomach drop. This was going to go either one of two ways and both were bad for him. One, she was going to be wooed by his money and fame. To want to get close to him because of that. Not give a damn about him as a person. The second option, was that she would want nothing to do with him, because of the money and the fame. Not to be able to see past those things to the person he was. 

He held his breath waiting for Elain to say something further. To reveal which of the two she was. 

“You’re such a liar.”

His heart sank. 

Gods this was impossible. 

Maybe he should give up on the whole dating thing until he was retired and happily back hiding in the Illyrian mountains. Although from Cassian’s reports, there wasn’t much hope there either.

“Elain—.”

“You are a Mr Bigshot!” 

Azriel paused, the breath leaving him in a sudden rush. She was neither enamoured or repulsed…she was joking with him?

He smiled at her shyly through the screen. 

“I can totally see, why you would want to keep your identity private,” she continued. 

“Yeah, I just don’t want to attract a lot of attention if I can avoid it.” 

“Makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed back into silence. An easy one this time, as they smiled at each other. 

It was Azriel who broke it, “Nice plant.”

“Oh this?” Elain moved to look at the leafy thing that was sprawling behind her shoulder. “Thanks, I’m nursing it back to health.”

“Forget to water it?”

“No, I found it in my sister’s coffee shop, dying. I asked her to smuggle it out for me so I could save it.”

Azriel chuckled, those chains around his heart slackening once more. “You like plants?”

“I love to grow things. To see little seedlings emerge from the soil, so brave, to grow into trees big and tall, or flowers bright and beautiful,” she shrugged blushing slightly, “It’s nice.”

“Maybe I should get some plants to liven up my apartment, it’s pretty grey…minimalist apparently.”

“Oh you absolutely should!”

And with that Elain launched into a discussion about which plants did best in what environments and which ones might suit his apartment best. 

Azriel leaned back on his bed, head against the pillow, content to listen to her talk for hours.