Multi-part: Halcyon (NC-17 overall, various, Andy Roddick/Roger Federer) Title: Words and… (Halcyon 4) Rating: R Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish, hints of Roddick/Federer Summary: … The world ended. People didn’t. Not quite. Notes: AU fic set in a hypothetical post-‘apocalyptic’ near future (I do love my apocalypses and jumping on the current AU bandwagon seemed like a good idea.) But this is one plot bunny that hasn’t had enough caffeine to sort itself out yet and I’m still sorting the threads out, so bear with me. Disclaimer: Hasn’t… um, won’t happen to my knowledge, the various tennis players own themselves. Blame the plotbunnies. They started it. Warnings: Abuse, violence, deaths of various RL people you may be fond of, mentions of terrorism, voluntary/involuntary drug use, the world post-‘apocalypse', probably more I've missed. It’s all fun and games here.
18th May 2011 – somewhere in South-west England
Mardy stays very still, trying not to choke with panic. Tommy’s hand is cutting off most of his air supply and he can feel his heart pounding, the urge to hit out at the German almost overpowering. Only the heavy chains, caught beneath him and effectively pinning down his arms, stop him lashing frantically out. Tommy’s eyes are wide, close enough for Mardy to see the bloodshot lines threading them and he can’t reconcile this half mad creature in front of him with the smart, calm Tommy Haas he once knew.
“Fish,” Tommy hisses and Mardy’s heart leaps because Tommy does recognise him. He rolls his eyes frantically in reply and surprise replaces the fierce look on the German’s face, as if he didn’t realise how rough he was being. He loosens his grip a little and Mardy gasps in a long breath, chest heaving.
“Tom-“ he starts again pleadingly and this time the back of his head hits the wall when Tommy slams him back, hand once again over Mardy’s mouth. Stars burst into white showers behind his eyes and he can’t bite down a whimper, lips moving against the muffling hand.
“Not. One. Fucking. Word.” Tommy snarls. “I’m not just here for you Fish and I swear to whatever deity you believe in that I will leave you here to freeze if you get in my way.” There’s brutal honesty in the words and something in Mardy breaks; he’s been caught and tortured and drugged and now the first familiar face he’s seen in weeks is filled with threat. He screws his eyes shut against the burning tears and nods, once.
“Good.” The hand is removed slowly and the pressure of Tommy leaning on his chest eases. Mardy doesn’t open his eyes because he knows he’ll cry if he does and he’s fucking tired of bursting into tears. He can’t help thinking, with an ache of sadness, that all he wanted was a friendly face. There’s a pause and he hears Tommy’s indrawn breath.
“Mardy?” he says a little uncertainly and it’s too much. Mardy drags his chained hands up to hide his face and bursts into tears.
There’s a startled exclamation and after a moment arms go around him, dragging him in close. Mardy buries his face in Tommy’s shirt, smelling sweat and something musky, like wood smoke, as he sobs. Tommy rocks him gently, arms tight around him.
“Oh Fishy,” he whispers softly and the regret in his tone sounds like the old Tommy. “I didn’t mean… I forgot you wouldn’t be used to me. I’m sorry. Shh.”
Mardy stays silent, the painful bruise on the back of his head a reminder of Tommy’s order not to talk but he shows his gratitude by wrapping his arms even tighter around the German, swallowing the sobs and quietening, tears still trickling down his face as he hangs on to Tommy’s warmth and solidness. Tommy shifts a little to see his face but Mardy refuses to loosen his grip. His longing for Andy suddenly intensifies, stabbing through him and drawing out another sob, because Andy would know exactly what to say to make it better, would make everything okay just by being there. Mardy presses his face harder into Tommy’s shoulder because maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can pretend it’s Andy hugging him.
“Mardy, shh.” Tommy repeats, shattering the illusion. “I’m sorry, I’m really… … Everyone’s usually used to me being rough, it’s just… are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Tommy sounds so anxiously childish that Mardy chuckles through his tears, startling himself. None of this makes any sense but, as half-crazy as he seems, Tommy is still something familiar to cling to. Turning his head to free his mouth, he catches sight of Niels staring at them in bewilderment. Mardy smiles to reassure him and whispers, expecting Tommy to cut him off.
“I’m fine.”
“Good.” Tommy doesn’t loosen his grip, seeming content for Mardy to stay wrapped around him or maybe just unwilling to attempt to detangle himself. “Don’t speak if you don’t have to, and never say any names got it?”
Mardy frowns. “Why?”
Tommy frees a hand from around Mardy’s waist and reaches up to the American’s throat, lightly touching the scar at the base. “I’ve seen these before. You were at Paris right?”
“I don’t know.” Mardy flinches as Tommy presses a little too hard and the German hurriedly withdraws his hand. “I never saw outside.”
“They like to do it in Paris. They stick a little chip in your throat and send you off here without you being any the wiser. Meanwhile this,” and Tommy brushes a fingertip across the scar again. “Is transmitting everything you say back to them. Does it through vibrations or something, I’m no scientist. They never could get it to pick up outside sound, for which we should be grateful. We’d all be dead by now if they had.”
“Everything?” Mardy whispers in horror. Oh fuck had he said anything since waking up that could be used against him? Fuck had he mentioned Andy? He runs the conversation with Niels back through his head, scanning for anything that might give Andy away. He finds nothing that the corporation doesn’t already know.
“You’ve said nothing since you woke up?” Tommy seems to read his mind. “I meant to get in here before you came out of it but the fucking guards had other ideas. Can you remember saying anything-“
“No.” Mardy swallows and now he knows what’s there he can feel it, a hard lump beneath the skin. “Get rid of it.”
“Nein, not yet. I’m more likely to kill you than get it out.” Tommy bends his leg up, stuffing a hand down his torn leather boot. It comes out gripping a small, sheathed knife which he holds in front of Mardy’s eyes. “You know how to use it?”
Mardy nods. He hates guns, refuses to even touch them unless it’s a matter of life or death. He went to great lengths to avoid them in Texas, using knives, crossbows, even a sword at one point and he’s much deadlier with a knife than even Andy’s guessed. He just doesn’t like to show it too often. “If I have to.”
Tommy presses the knife into Mardy’s hand and folds his fingers around it. “You’ll have to. Don’t lose it, it’s all I could smuggle in for you except…” He trails off, searching through his other boot. “Dammit where did-“ He breaks off as he discovers what he’s looking for, a small packet of lock picks. Shifting Mardy over a little, he starts working on the chains around the American’s wrists with an ease that suggests long practise. Mardy watches him with a small frown, head still resting on the German’s shoulder.
“You’ve been busy.”
“So have you, if you can use that knife.” Tommy hisses in triumph as the first manacle falls away. “Been in Texas with Roddick?”
“Yes,” Mardy whispers, reaching up with his freed hand to wipe away the last streaks of tears. “You?”
“I’ve been here mostly, with…” Tommy frowns in concentration as he changes picks, feeling his way through the lock carefully. He’s rewarded with another click and the second manacle falls away, clattering to the ground. “With… well. You’ll see. Let me get your feet.”
Mardy obediently lets go, shifting round so Tommy can get to the chains around his ankles. A hand grips his shoulder and he glances up in surprise, meeting Niels’ cold blue eyes.
“You’re as mad as he is. You won’t get past the guards, never mind the weather.”
“Better than staying here,” Tommy comments without looking up. Mardy nods.
“He’s right. Come with us.”
“No,” Tommy and Niels snap in unison and Mardy flinches, making Tommy drop the lock pick. “For fuckssake Fish, stay still! He’ll just slow us down. He stays.”
“But-“
“I don’t want to go with you,” Niels hisses. “You’re fucking crazy. You’ll get the rest of us killed.”
“No one is getting killed.” Tommy smiles in satisfaction as the final manacle springs open. “Come on Mardy. One more thing to pick up and we’re out of here.”
“What?” Mardy asks, stretching stiff legs before taking Tommy’s hand and letting the German pull him upright. A restless murmur runs through the rest of the captives and Mardy glances around, meeting silent, accusing eyes. “Tommy are you sure we can’t-“
“One more word out your mouth Fish and I’ll chain you right back up. You’re the cherry on top of the cake but if you try to rescue anyone else, I will leave you behind.” Tommy slides a hand under the waistband of his jeans and pulls out a switchblade knife, bigger than the one he gave Mardy. “Stay behind me and keep quiet. You fall behind I leave you. Got it?”
“Yes.” Mardy shivers, because there’s a cold tone to Tommy’s voice, making the threat sound entirely sincere. “I understand.”
“Good.” The German looks around then sprints quickly across the short distance to the door, Mardy on his heels after a guilty ‘sorry’ to Niels who just snorts in disgust. Tommy listens at the door for a second then goes to work on the hinges. Mardy looks back and meets a fierce, malicious stare. He opens his mouth to warn Tommy a second too late.
“GUARDS!” Niels’ yell echoes around the room. “Help! They’re getting away!”
“Why you fucking little-“ Tommy’s moving faster than Mardy can blink, across the room and cracking the hilt of his knife against Niels’ head. He crumples to the floor and Mardy stares in horror as Tommy sprints back towards him.
“What did you-“
“He’s not dead, though he deserves to be.” Tommy spits disgustedly as there’s a clank of the bolt from outside. “Well, at least he got the doors opened for us. Ready to prove you can use that knife?”
“Yeah.” Mardy swallows and closes his hand around the hilt, wishing it wasn’t so small and flimsy. Tommy flashes him a grin through the gloom, teeth white against filthy, cracked lips.
“Afraid of dying Fish?”
“Yes,” Mardy whispers. Tommy’s grin widens and he turns to face the doors as they swing open, guards swarming in.
“Good. You should be.”
15th August 2011 – Halcyon Estate, Switzerland
Andy’s curled against him, breath warm against Roger’s neck. The Swiss sleepily opens his eyes, catches sight of tangled blond hair and closes them again with a soft groan. He aches all over from sleeping with Andy wrapped around him but the sudden urge to hug the American close and keep him safe is worse than the aches.
He’s still in shock. He doesn’t mean any of it… Roger’s thoughts trail off as he remembers wet lips pressed to his just as he drifted into sleep, Andy’s breathing still rough with tears. Under other circumstances, a lifetime ago, Roger may have responded but now it wouldn’t be fair to either of them. Roger can’t tell how much of his growing affection for Andy stems from being alone for over a year and how much of Andy’s is a simple reaction to losing Mardy and needing to cling to something.
It doesn’t stop him wanting to kiss the sleeping American. It just stops him actually doing it.
Roger digs his nails into his palms to drag his mind away from kissing and starts to quietly detangle himself, sliding towards the edge of the bed. Andy’s breathing quickens, taking on an uneven edge but Roger keeps moving. The last thing he wants is for Andy to wake up in a position to take advantage because Roger knows he couldn’t push the American away-
He realises Andy’s breathing is too fast for him to be simply waking up the moment before the American gasps, body arcing up off the bed. Roger’s back beside him in an instant.
“Andy, wake up!” He grabs the flailing wrists and catches sight of the pale face, lips tinged with blue and eyes screwed shut. Fuck, fuck- “Andy!” Roger silently apologises and backhands Andy across the face to snap him out of it, catching the American as he jerks upright, chest heaving. “Andy, breathe!”
“Can’t,” Andy rasps between short, heaving gasps, bloodshot eyes fluttering open. “Roger-“
“Ssshhh.” Roger’s seen it before and is ready for it as the next spasm hits the American, supporting him as Andy’s hands fist in Roger’s shirt. “I’ll be right back. Breathe.”
“Rog-“ Andy can’t finish, choking. Roger half falls, half sprints across the room to a drawer he keeps locked, fumbling frantically for the key. Andy’s gasps for air are loud behind him as he yanks the drawer open and hunts through the white boxes in it, scattering them carelessly aside until he finds the right one. He rips it open and crumbles the first pill in his haste, swearing as he is forced to open the second more carefully. He never thought he’d have to use these. It had been almost a joke to keep collecting them after Tommy recovered, Marat mocking him for being over-careful and laughing as Roger acquired yet another drug for yet another eventuality. Roger silently thanks whatever made him ignore the Russian as he reaches the bed with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other, crawling across the tangled sheets. Andy’s on his back, hands fisted in the blankets and back arcing up with every tortured breath, each shallower than the last.
“Andy.” Roger waits until puffy eyelids slide open, Andy struggling to focus. Roger presses the pill to his lips, fear making his hands unsteady. “Open your mouth.”
Somehow Andy obeys and Roger drops the pill in, following it with water and Andy chokes, spluttering as he swallows. Roger helps him to sit up and slides behind him, an arm around the American’s waist as Andy bucks back against him, still choking. Roger moves his hand soothingly across Andy’s back and down his arms, rubbing warmth back into cold skin. “Ssssh, breathe,” he whispers into Andy’s ear, feeling the counter-drug start to kick in as the tortured breathing deepens. Another convulsion rocks the American against him but it’s easier than the earlier ones and in only minutes Andy sags against Roger’s supporting arm, breathing still fast but deep enough for Roger to relax. The nagging voice in his head however continues; if he hadn’t been in the room, if he hadn’t thought to get the right drugs on the off-chance he’d need them, if he hadn’t moved fast enough…
“What…?” Andy asks, his voice still hoarse. Roger presses his face against the sweat-damp blond hair, closing his eyes. He’s shaking with leftover adrenaline and tension, what ifs running through his head. Andy shifts a little, turning his face into Roger’s neck and Roger can feel the tears, wet against his skin.
“It’s a side effect, from coming off the drugs suddenly,” he answers softly. “The last traces are fighting against your system and sometimes seizures are the result. I’m sorry. You were dealing so well, I never thought...”
“Don’t apologise.” Andy’s voice sounds like his throat is in shreds and Roger can’t hold back a wince. “I think you just saved my life.” He kisses the side of Roger’s neck, breath hot against skin. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Roger tries for a light tone but can’t help tightening his grip on Andy, willing himself to stop trembling. He feels Andy’s frown against the side of his neck, the American shifting a little.
“Roger I’m okay,” he murmurs, voice still raspy. “You were great.”
“It’s…” Something is nagging at Roger, aside from the anxiety. “Andy when did you say you took the last hit?”
“Must be a month ago now.” Andy reaches for the water and Roger helps him sip it, the American’s hands trembling too much to keep the glass steady. “It wasn’t a lot either; I was almost out before I got on the plane.”
“That’s strange.” Roger leans over to set the empty glass beside the bed, wrapping his arms around Andy and leaning back against the headboard. “Seizures usually happen in the first week, rarely in the second. I’ve never heard of one this long after.”
“Will there be more?” Even with a harsh, raspy voice Andy sounds small and scared, lying with his head pillowed on Roger’s chest. “I don’t- If you aren’t here next time-“
“I will be.” Roger hastily tightens his grip, pulling Andy closer. “I doubt there’ll be any more. I’m surprised there was even this one, that’s all.”
“I swear I haven’t taken any-“
“I know, I’m not accusing you of anything.” Roger sighs and shakes his head, dismissing it. “I’m no expert, so it could just be a complication we don’t know about. At least we know what to do about it in future.”
“You knew now,” Andy points out. He’s still shivering and Roger pulls the blankets back over them both, Andy a dead weight against his chest. He doesn’t care, because this close he can feel the reassuring beat of the American’s heart, a quick pulse against his side.
“Luck,” he replies softly. “I spent the first six months trying to know everything, do everything, have everything. And we might have needed them – did need a few of them - for Tommy.”
“Tommy?” Andy speaks too quickly with surprise and coughs, wheezing for breath. Roger starts to sit hastily up to fetch more water but Andy pushes him weakly back down, swallowing.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound-“
“I’m fine.” There’s unexpected steel in Andy’s tone and Roger almost smiles. Andy Roddick was always a legendarily bad patient. “Tommy?”
“Marat picked him up on a hit-and-run job in Berlin.” Roger reflects that it’s easier to say the big Russian’s name now, as if he released some demons while yelling at Andy yesterday. It still hurts but he can say it. “He was on everything you can think of and a lot more beside but Marat wouldn’t give up on him. Every minute he wasn’t working on the plans to invade Headquarters, he was with Tommy. I think Tommy saw him as a guardian angel.” Roger half smiles at the memory. “He got Tommy cleaned up, almost back to normal again but there was always something… all the drugs left something not quite right.”
“How’d you mean?” Andy asked, shifting a little to get more comfortable. Roger inhales sharply as one hand skims over his waist, coming to rest on his stomach. Andy seems oblivious to the Swiss’ reaction. “Was he crazy?”
“No, not all the time. When Marat was here you could barely tell. Marat kept him under control.” Roger’s smile fades and he forgets Andy’s closeness as a cold shiver runs through him. “He fought against Marat going. Fought all the way up to the very day he left.”
“Did he go after him?” Andy asks softly. Roger shakes his head.
“Not right away. Marat made him promise but when we finally decided he wasn’t coming back…”
“Tommy went to look?”
“Yes. After ripping his bodyguard to pieces and stealing enough amphetamine to keep a small army awake for six months.” Roger sighs. “We never heard from him again. Either he found Marat, in time or too late, or he got himself killed. Or he finally pushed it too far and burned out. We’re still looking.”
“Never give up hope,” Andy comments optimistically and Roger flinches the second before the American does, the same thought running through both their minds. “Oh…”
“I’m sorry Andy,” Roger says softly, looking down at the blond head. Andy’s face tilts up to look at him, still pale and the hazel eyes shiny with tears. “He might still be out there.”
“Don’t make me hope Roger. He’s gone.” Andy lifts the hand from Roger’s waist and shakes back his loose shirt sleeve. Silver catches the sunlight, sparkles of it reflecting from the engraved fish. Andy stares at it for a long minute, Roger watching the bleakness chase grief through his expression. “I really loved him you know.”
“I know. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.” Roger tightens his arms in mute comfort. “He loved you too Andy. He’d want you to be happy.”
“I just wish I knew-“ Andy breaks off sharply, turning his face into Roger’s shirt and letting his arm drop. “Nevermind.”
“What happened to him,” Roger finishes anyway. Andy nods against his chest and Roger sighs.
“I know he was at Paris but it would be suicide to go there. If my spies can’t find a trace of him then we’d have no chance. And they’d spot you the moment we walked past the first camera.”
“I know.” Andy shakes his head. “It’s not important Roger. I’ll deal.”
“My people will keep looking anyway, just in-“ Roger is interrupted by a shrill ring from the phone beside the bed. Both he and Andy jump at the unexpected noise, tangling themselves even more together. Roger is the first to laugh as the shock fades, followed by an unsteady chuckle from Andy as Roger picks up the phone.
“Federer.”
“Federer,” a smooth voice says at the other end and Roger’s blood runs cold. Only corporate staff are so politely disdainful, distaste in every syllable of his name. If he’s being called, it can only mean a horrible coincidence or that they’ve discovered Andy. Oh… he can’t find an expletive strong enough and clears his throat instead.
“Yes?”
“You’re wanted at Headquarters. The plane will be there to pick you up in two hours. Don’t be late.”
“But I was in Zurich just a month ago; surely it can’t be-“ Roger tries to inject as much sweetness and innocence into his voice as he can, aware of the tension thrumming through Andy, still tangled around him. He’s interrupted.
“Not Zurich. You’re going to Paris. Be at the airport in two hours. The pilot will let us know if he has to wait.”
“But-“
Dial tone.
Roger hangs up in numb shock. Andy’s staring at him, eyes wide.
“What’s wrong?”
Roger shakes his head. He’s never been called to Paris before and he doesn’t believe in coincidence which suggests there’s a hidden agenda somewhere in this. All he knows for sure is that Paris may be dangerous but, especially after this morning, he’ll be damned if he lets Andy out of his sight.
“Nothing’s wrong, yet,” he answers slowly. “But I think we’re going to Paris.”
15th August 2011 – Unknown
Mirka circulates like she’s supposed to, a butterfly alighting on each pack of wolves she passes to exchange greetings and move on in search of the news she wants to hear. She can feel her husband watching her approvingly from the group of VIPs in black suits near the door, the group everyone is surreptitiously avoiding. She lets her smile flash in his direction before pausing near a smaller group, the organisers of training programs throughout the corporate cities if she remembers rightly. And she does, she always does. If her husband knew how many of them she could identify on sight, she’d be cold and dead in a deep ditch somewhere right now.
“Well I think he’s a liability!” one man is saying angrily. Mirka labels him ‘Head of Weapons’ without even having to think about it. “Pierre was the best I’ve trained in years and this Federer-“
Bingo. Mirka snags a glass of wine from a passing waiter’s tray and drifts closer, intent on every word.
“- this Federer just casually murders him. And now apparently he’s done the same to the new one too!. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”
“He only ever kills the spies though,” another man – Head of Tactical training Mirka identifies – remarks. “He’s shown no sign of rebellion apart from to protect his privacy.”
“Which is a sign enough for me. I say good for the Corporation, finally taking action.” The third speaker is a small man whom Mirka doesn’t know and that annoys her, but not as much as his cryptic comment. A thread of fear makes her hand tighten around her drink, almost cracking the fragile glass.
Action? What… She risks a casual step closer.
“Yeah but they aren’t aiming to get him, they’re aiming for Roddick!” Head of Weapons snarls. Mirka almost drops her glass and when an arm circles her waist a moment later, there’s a shriek on the tip of her tongue before she bites it back.
“Sweetheart you’ve been wonderful tonight,” her husband murmurs in her ear and she flushes prettily, the expected reaction even though she longs to get closer to the group now talking in hushed voices. If there’s going to be an attack on Roger, she needs to know.
“Would you like some good news?” her husband asks, apparently oblivious to her inner tension. Mirka smiles, turning in his arms. Most of her attention is still on the conversation taking place behind her and she catches the words ‘while’ and ‘away’ from the flurry of whispering before she has to answer him, breaking her concentration.
“Of course.”
“Pack your bags.” Instantly he has her full attention and he smiles broadly. “We’re going back to your favourite place in the world.”
Mirka’s heart sinks, though her smile doesn't show it. Oh no. If he means what she thinks he means… the security’s so tight there, she’ll never get a message out to Roger.