Multi-part: Halcyon (NC-17 overall, various, Andy Roddick/Roger Federer) Title: ... Actions (Halcyon 5) Rating: R Pairing: Implied Roddick/Fish, Roddick/Federer, implied Federer/Vavrinec 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.
If there’s one thing the corporate bastards are good at, it’s making people wait Roger reflects bitterly. They’ve been in Paris two days and no one has even made a move towards telling them why they’re here.
Andy wanders in from the en-suite, tugging his jacket straight. Roger decided the best place to hide the American was in full view and gave him a bodyguard uniform, complete with a peaked cap to pull down over his eyes. There wasn’t time to do much physically before they had to catch the plane – and Roger isn’t really sure what he could have done in the way of disguise, even with more time - but the long blond hair is now trimmed and dyed black, spikes of it sticking out from under the hat. Roger can’t decide if he likes it or not but the main thing is keeping Andy from being recognised and for that he’s willing to deal with the little frisson of shock he gets every time he sees Andy’s hazel eyes under black bangs.
And of course he has no right to make judgements on how the American looks. He forces himself to remember that as Andy drops down beside him on the bed, taking a long gulp from a water bottle. Roger reminds himself that Andy has just lost Mardy; is still recovering from the drug abuse and is prone to breathlessness that worries Roger more than he will admit. Taking advantage of Andy – because that is exactly what it would be, he knows that - now would cruel and selfish.
It gets a little harder to remember that as Andy tosses the bottle aside – Roger insisted they both stick as far as possible to the food and water they brought with them, to lessen the chances of being poisoned – and throws an arm around his waist, snuggling down with his face pressed to Roger’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Roger whispers, ignoring the flutter of… happiness? Lust he insists to himself and dismisses it impatiently. “Don’t do that. There might be cameras.”
“You checked.” Andy sounds sleepy and his breath is warm through Roger’s sleeve. “You said it’s all clean.”
“Yes but I could easily have missed something.” Roger gently lifts Andy’s arm from around his waist and places it gently by the American’s side. “It’s not worth risking.”
“Yeah.” Andy drags his hand free of Roger’s and turns over to bury his face in the pillows. “I know.”
Roger looks at him for several long seconds then sighs, rolling off the bed. Andy doesn’t really mean the rough tone to the words or to force Roger to choose between consoling the American and keeping a safe distance to stop either of them doing something they’ll regret. There’re many reactions to grief and Roger’s seen most of them, gone through a few of them himself. Andy’s simply looking for comfort from sex, one road Roger’s been down and wishes he hadn’t. They’ll both regret it if he gives in this time. He won’t do that to Andy. Maybe in a while, if they survive this trip and Andy starts to come to terms with losing Mardy somewhat-
A knock interrupts his thoughts and Andy’s off the bed before Roger can speak, tugging his hat on as he strides over to yank open the door. Roger moves to see who it is, keeping a few wary steps behind Andy in their roles of guard and master.
The messenger at the door doesn’t even blink at Andy’s abrupt treatment of the door. She’s a courier, one of many that have access to all levels of the city to deliver important messages and Roger can’t tell if she’s the same one who delivered the last message or not. She hands a sealed envelope to Andy and stands silently waiting, face expressionless. Andy runs his hands over the envelope cautiously and opens it to check inside before handing it to Roger. Every guard goes through the same routine with unfamiliar letters but Roger’s terrified every time he watches Andy play the part, wondering just maybe if someone has recognised the American and decided an envelope laced with toxic powder – a favourite among corporate officials and one reason the couriers wear thick white gloves – is the best way to dispose of him. He brought another guard but left him to watch the planes, just in case they need to leave in a hurry. He knew Andy hiding in plain sight was always going to have risks. It doesn’t mean Roger can relax about them.
The letter is brief and to the point, simply giving a corridor and office number, along with a command to be there immediately. Roger glances up at the messenger.
“Is this a genuine summons or is it like the last four, just an excuse to leave us sitting in a waiting room for hours on end?”
“Not my business,” the girl chants with a faint French accent. “Do you have a return message?”
Roger sighs. He daren’t disobey, not when he’s trying to stay unnoticed. “Yes. Tell them we’ll be there shortly.”
The girl nods and sprints off down the corridor, feet soundless on the white carpet. Andy shuts the door, leaning against it as he turns to look at Roger. “Are they for real this time do you think?”
“No idea.” Roger picks up his jacket and searches his pockets for the room key. “Probably not but better safe than sorry. Did you have the-“
The key is pressed into his hand, Andy’s fingers wrapping warmly around his. The American doesn’t let go and Roger sighs, refusing to meet the hazel eyes.
“Don’t do this Andy. It’s not what you want, believe me.”
“How do you know what I want?” Andy’s other arm snakes around his waist, tightening as Roger tries to pull away. “I want- I need to feel something Roger. Please-“
“No,” Roger starts to protest but Andy’s lips on his cut him off, desperation lacing the warmth of the kiss. Roger opens his mouth to it without thinking then jerks free with a gasp, turning away. Andy flinches back with one hand covering his mouth.
“Oh god Roger I’m sorry-“
“It’s okay.” Roger takes a deep breath and tastes Andy’s lips pressed to his, the faintest hint of tongue before he pulled away. He’s never been more glad of his ironclad self control. “It’s just a way of reacting to Ma- to losing someone, I’ve done it before. It doesn’t help Andy. It just makes things worse.”
“Roger-“
“Forget it.” Roger heads for the door. “We shouldn’t take too long. If it’s genuine they might get annoyed.”
Andy hesitates a moment longer and Roger can feel him searching for something to say. The Swiss waits without looking back. He doesn’t trust himself not to react to the hurt he knows will be on Andy’s face. It’s a few long – infinitely long to Roger - seconds before there’s a sigh and footsteps, Andy pausing a safe metre away.
“You’re right. Lead on.” He sounds blank and calm which is somehow worse than tears or yells. Roger has to fight the urge to look back as he heads out the door into the cold white and grey hallway.
It won’t help, he thinks fiercely, trying to make himself believe it. It won’t help at all.
17th August 2011, Paris (outer offices), France
Mirka’s starting to panic. She’s not been able to find out more about the attack on Roger, other than it’s to take place while he’s ‘away’ – away where? – and they’re aiming to find Andy Roddick. It’s news to her that Roddick’s in Europe at all but she hopes neither Roger or Andy are in the house right now. Everywhere she turns there’s more security and getting a warning out to Roger would be more than her life is worth.
Oh god she hopes neither of them are in the house.
She strides down the corridor, heading unerringly towards the outer offices. She’s been to Paris often enough to know her way through the maze of corridors that are designed to confuse and disorientate. She’s passed no one else for almost ten minutes apart from a courier who raced past her too fast for Mika to see his or her face. The empty silence would frighten her if she hadn’t seen a thousand corridors like it, or if she hadn’t done far more dangerous things. This is child’s play in comparison, especially with the apparent lack of security in this sector. She’s just going to find out which city Roger’s in so the moment she leaves Paris she can-
Her ears register the voice just before she rounds the corner but it’s too late to stop, her stride carrying her forward into someone who makes a sharp sound of shock. Mirka catches herself on the man’s shoulders and glances up-
- only to almost lose her balance again, Roger’s dark eyes wide and surprised as they meet hers.
“Mirka?” he whispers incredulously. “How…?”
For a moment Mirka can’t think, can hardly breathe. She hasn’t seen Roger in months, not since she left. She knows too much has changed between them for it to ever be like it was but for a second all she wants to do is throw her arms around him and hang on. It takes an immense effort to get a grip on herself.
“Not here,” she hisses urgently, catching sight of a bodyguard over Roger’s shoulder and she has to look again before she believes her eyes. Andy smiles, just slightly.
“Hi.”
“Are you fucking crazy-“ She bites the accusation off as the walls slam down behind Roger’s eyes, his face turning blank. The last thing they need is another fight, especially in a corridor that almost certainly has surveillance cameras and she glances frantically around, catching sight of a door she passed a short distance back. Ignoring Roger’s stifled noise of protest she grabs his arm and drags him into the room, from the look of it an unused office. Andy follows them in, closing the door.
“What are you doing in Paris?” Roger demands of Mirka the instant the door shuts. “You said you thought you were somewhere in Norway-“
“I was. At least I think I was. We just arrived here yesterday.” Mirka turns away, running her hands through her hair to hide her confusion. She can’t separate the relief at seeing a friendly face – Roger’s face – again from the memories of the fight they had before she left. Communicating through short, coded messages is entirely different to speaking face to face and she swallows, struggling to get a grip.
“Do you know why they brought us here?” Andy asks from by the door and it’s enough to snap her attention back to what matters. She turns, ignoring the wariness in Roger’s expression.
“Yes! It’s a diversion Roger. They’re attacking the estate while you’re not there, thinking they’ll find Andy. As far as I can tell they know he’s in Europe and basically his movements since he landed but no one wants to risk you creating trouble for them.” She glances over at Andy and her tone is grudgingly impressed as she finishes. “I never thought you’d actually bring him right into enemy territory. Guess they didn’t either.”
“Wait, they’re attacking Halcyon?” Roger’s gone pale and he turns away to pace a few anxious steps. “So that’s why… We need to get back. Now.”
Mirka shakes her head. “It’s too late, they’ll be in there by now. There’s nothing you can do.”
“That’s for me to decide.” Roger’s response is curt and she barely manages not to flinch. “Which way is the airport from here?”
“I’ll show you.” Mirka swallows a sharp comeback and moves towards the door. Another fight with Roger will only endanger all three of them but the last few times they’ve spoken, something about him just seems to bring out her waspish side. She can’t help it; she hates what he’s become, hates what she’s become in order to survive and hates that there’s no way she could ever change back. She knows it’s not Roger’s fault, not entirely but it’s harder to keep that in mind when he’s right in front of her and all it would take is one sharp reply-
Andy puts a hand on her shoulder as she reaches the door and she’s about to shrug it off impatiently when she takes in his pale face, the blue tint to his lips. He’s breathing in quick, shallow gasps and before she can yell for Roger he’s there, wrapping a supporting arm around the American’s waist.
“Shh Andy, breathe.” He grabs the water bottle from Andy’s hand and uncaps it, steadying it as the American takes a sip. A second later he chokes and Mirka barely catches the bottle as he drops it, a finely honed sense of suspicion making her taste the drops splashed across her hand. As she expected there’s a tang to the water, leaving a faintly metallic aftertaste.
“Roger-“ She’s surprised at the worry in his eyes as he glances up; is there more going on with him and Andy than… she dismisses the thought to consider later. “It’s the water. It’s drugged.”
“What?!” Roger glances down at the bottle incredulously, still holding Andy up. “That’s impossible. We brought it with us-“
“So how loyal is your staff?” Mirka impatiently tosses the bottle aside, catching Andy as he sags unexpectedly and Roger staggers. “Do you have anything to give him?”
“Yes.” Roger frees a hand from around Andy’s waist to dig through his pocket, coming up with a few foil wrapped tablets. He pops one free one-handed and lets the rest fall. Andy opens his mouth without Roger having to ask and Mirka watches in amazement as the American obediently swallows around the gasps for air, closing his eyes and burying his face in Roger’s shoulder after.
“You’ve done this before,” she remarks. Roger frowns at her.
“I thought he was reacting to coming off the amphetamines. If the water we brought was drugged then everything since he…” He trails off, shock in his eyes. “He could have died.”
“He is still here thanks,” Andy rasps out then his hands tighten around Roger, a shudder running through him. “Fuck-“
“Andy?” Roger is just about to ease the American down to sit when both he and Mirka catch the sound of voices from the hallway. They exchange a frantic glance and Mirka knows there’s no way Andy in the state he’s in could escape being taken to the hospital, no doubt to be recognised by the first sharp eyed doctor, not to mention blood tests might bring up past medical files. Roger looks on the verge of panic and she grabs his shoulder, shaking him to get his attention.
“Get him behind the desk in case they look in,” she hisses, nodding towards the large desk gathering dust in the corner. “I’ll distract them.”
“But-“
“Shut up and do it. To get to the airport from here you need to head back towards the guest rooms, take the… third left, the next right and then keep on going until you find signs to follow. Whatever they want Andy for, I don’t think it’ll be pretty. Get him out of here as soon as I’ve lead them away.”
“But-“
“Shut up.” Mirka’s already at the door, listening to see how close the voices are. She glances back to see Roger helping Andy across the room towards the desk. Roger looks back at her and takes a deep breath when their eyes meet.
“Mirka…”
“What? Quickly.” She can hear the voices just around the corner. Roger shakes his head wordlessly and she sighs, opening the door.
“Good luck,” he finishes quietly. She smiles without looking back and shuts the door, taking several hurried strides away from it. Hopefully whoever is coming won’t even think to look in there.
She has just enough time to realise that one of the voices belongs to her husband before a hand closes around her arm, hard enough to bruise. She slows and blinks up at him, radiating innocence.
“Hey love, I’m so glad to see you. I’m completely lost. Where was I supposed to turn for-“
“Oh come on sweetie,” he interrupts and icy fear shivers down Mirka’s spine. It’s the honey-sweet tone he only uses when he’s winning and he knows it. He’s never spoken to her like that before and fear has her wrenching her arm free, turning to run only-
- only to run right into the two guards that follow him everywhere faithfully. She swallows, stepping back into his arms.
“Now my love, that’s not very well behaved is it?” he murmurs. “In fact, I think you’ve been misbehaving far too much lately.” He runs hands teasingly across her shoulders, down her arms and she shivers, trying to pull away without success. “Did you think I didn’t know you were Federer’s little pet? We’ve been watching you with interest for a while now. Getting to… own you was a bonus.” His hands move to her hips, rubbing suggestively against silk and she makes a small sound of horror. If she screams Roger will come running; he’s just on the other side of the door and all she has to do is scream-
They’ll kill him. She knows it without even having to think about it, knows they’ll kill Roger and Andy and then probably her as well or maybe her first, she isn’t sure what they’d enjoy most. She presses her lips tightly together and shuts her eyes. She won’t scream.
There’s a sigh in her ear and she shudders away from the hot breath, fingers on her hips digging in to hold her still. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to keep you longer but they want to question you about Federer. Maybe if you don’t fight too much, they’ll let me keep you after.” He kisses the back of her neck. “Would you like that?”
“Go to hell,” she whispers. His laugh is low and sharp.
“Tempting but I’d rather stick around a while to watch them question you.” With a sharp push he sends her tumbling forward, one of the guards catching her around the waist as she writhes frantically to escape. “Take her to the lower levels, you know the place. I’ll be down soon.”
Mirka watches him walk off in the opposite direction as she’s dragged away, kicking and biting without making a sound because these guards are armed and Roger’s not. Her gaze flicks to the door to the old office then away and she bites her lip, closing her eyes. He’ll assume she did what she was supposed to and get himself and Andy out. He won’t even know anything is wrong until the next report doesn’t show up on time. The door vanishes from sight as she’s dragged around the corner and she presses her lips harder together, gritting her teeth.
She won’t scream.
18th May 2011 – somewhere in South-west England
Mardy can’t decide which hurts more, the bullet in his shoulder or the freezing wind knifing through him. His teeth are chattering hard enough to shatter and his bloody hand seems to have frozen around the knife. He skids the last few feet to Tommy’s side, huddled together out the wind beside what, as far as Mardy can tell in the darkness, is a metal shed.
“What the hell are we doing?” he demands hoarsely, wishing he could stop shivering. “Tom-“
Tommy’s hand is over his mouth again in an instant and Mardy can taste the blood. He’s lost track of how many guards they’ve killed in the last ten minutes and on some level he’s amazed they’re both still alive, though how much longer he’ll be able to think that is debatable. He can hear the yells of more guards searching for them in the darkness and driving snow. It’s only a matter of time before one of them gets in a lucky shot – the pain from his shoulder tells him how close someone got already. Mardy shivers and spits out the taste of blood as Tommy takes his hand away, expecting more of a reaction for his slip. Instead the German just turns to the shed they’re leaning against, pulling the lock picks free from his boot.
“What are we doing?” Mardy demands again. He’s cold, he’s tired, he’s losing blood and all he wants is to wake up at home in Texas, curled around Andy’s comforting warmth. Even the idea hurts and he pushes it away, concentrating on staying alert in the freezing cold. “I’m not-“
“Guard!” Tommy warns him without looking up from working the shed’s padlock. Mardy’s head snaps around and he sees the dark shape trying to sneak up on them. Tommy is apparently occupied and Mardy’s running on autopilot now, survival instinct taking over. The guard’s dead in seconds with no more than a strangled gasp and Mardy drops to the snow, feeling sick. He’s spent years trying to avoid this. Hell, he’d almost rather be chained back in the barn with crazy Niels. At least it’s a little fucking warmer back there.
“Please, what are you doing?” he begs Tommy as he crawls back to the German’s side. “Tell me or I walk out there and let them shoot me. I mean it.”
“I told you,” Tommy snaps without turning round. He’s intent on the lock, feeling his way through it with the lock pick. “We’re picking someone else up. Now shut up and keep a look out before we both get shot.”
“It’s too fucking dark to keep a look out!” Mardy hisses back but does as he’s told, crouching in the snow and looking around. All he can see is wind-driven snow fading away into the darkness, faint light from the distant floodlights barely enough to see by. His teeth chatter harder if that’s possible and he shifts back against the shed, realising with a start it’s not as big as he thought. In fact it’s barely big enough for a big guy to stand up in. He glances over at Tommy with a frown.
“Who-“
“Ja!” Tommy hurls the opened padlock aside and stands, yanking open the door. A thousand things he might see race through Mardy’s mind and he takes a wary step back, because Tommy really has seemed half-crazy for the last half hour-
There’s a stream of curses that he barely identifies as Russian before someone falls through the door, Tommy catching him before he hits the ground and babbling ecstatically in German. Mardy leans closer, hardly believing his eyes but there’s no mistaking it, even in the almost-darkness.
Marat Safin blinks up at him, eyes gleaming in the faint light.
“Mardy Fish,” he says in surprise, his voice harsh as if it hasn’t been used in a while. “What the hell are you doing here?”