Fic: Solidarity 8/14 (Watchmen)

[anactoria]

Title: Solidarity
Author: anactoria
Fandom: Watchmen
Characters/Pairing: Dan/Adrian
Rating: R overall, PG-13 for this part.
Disclaimer: Nope, they aren't mine.
Summary: It's 1992 and this isn't Utopia.
Notes: Thanks to muse_of_graphia for beta-reading. :)
Chapter 1 Chapter 5
Chapter 2 Chapter 6
Chapter 3 Chapter 7
Chapter 4




June 1992

They don't tell anyone, exactly, but perhaps they don't really need to. Dan can't even put a name to their relationship, this warm, new, fragile thing, not really. They're more than friends, but not exactly lovers. Circumstances kind of force them to spend most of their time together, but Dan finds he doesn't mind that, and he's pretty sure Adrian doesn't, either.

Not that it seems to matter what Dan calls it, in his head. It just gets quietly accepted that they work together unless they're forced not to, that Adrian sleeps in Dan's room, that in the comms. room or around the kitchen table they always sit side by side and that there are glances and touches and words between them that are private, outside of the general hubbub of discussion. Nobody says anything. It just becomes part of the way things are.

Which figures, Dan guesses. After all, in a situation like this one, you really don't care if the guy who uses his contacts to get your medical supplies and the guy who flies refugees over the border in his airship are sleeping together.

They aren't. But that's okay, too. Dan's never really even thought about sex with another guy, before, and the idea isn't weird or unappealing like he might have expected, if he had considered it. But that's not to say it doesn't make him a little apprehensive. And besides, he hasn't forgotten the night after they first kissed, the way Adrian just got on his knees before him like it was expected, the tight-wound tension in his movements and the way he closed his eyes like he was trying to shut something out. Or the relief in them when Dan made him stop, helped him get free of whatever nasty little memory had been about to get its claws into him. When -- if -- it happens, it has to be what they both want, and not part of some twisted notion of relationship etiquette. It has to be right.

Of course, that hasn't stopped people -- and by people, he means Maria -- from assuming. Dan's pretty sure she's been gossiping to Serk, too, because he's stopped barging into Dan's room to rant unannounced when he's in a panic, and started knocking and waiting a respectful few seconds before pushing the door open instead. That's a plus -- even if, usually, they're just sitting like this, Adrian cross-legged on the floor, scrutinizing a newssheet; Dan sprawled out on the bunk, picking out odd sentences over his shoulder.

"'Party Plot to Destabilize Steele'?" he reads out, curiously.

"There's no source cited. Probably just a rumor. This, however--" Adrian taps a fingernail on one of the smaller items; a riot in Houston, the third in as many weeks. "--is interesting. It suggests that an a coordinated attempt on the local Party headquarters was behind at least some of the violence. Resistance cells working together. And you'll have noticed that Steele has been making fewer televised appearances of late. In the face of enough organized resistance, it's possible the Party might look for a less... controversial leader."

Dan's eyebrows arch in surprise. "You think? Steele is the Party, as far as most people are concerned. He's practically Big Brother."

"Unlikely, I'll admit. They'd risk in-fighting. Factionalism. The whole organization could fall apart."

"We should be so lucky."

Adrian smiles, just slightly, and places the newssheet beside him on the floor. He turns his head, half-facing Dan, and Dan leans in and kisses him lightly.

He wishes they didn't end up discussing the Party so much, sometimes; that speculation and furtiveness weren't the stuff of their lives; that the burden of guilt Adrian still carries with him wasn't so all-pervasive. Dan can bring him out of himself for longer, these days, can get him to smile and accept gentleness more often, but the moments when Adrian gets that faraway, sad look in his eyes and just closes himself off are still far from rare, and it still hurts like hell every time.

There's a knock at the door, loud and urgent, and this time only a fraction of a second passes before it flies open.

Serk's face is drawn, and there's a tuft of hair at his forehead sticking up at an odd angle, like he's been running his hand through it, anxiously. "Do you guys know where Maria is?" he demands.

"She went out on a supply run," Dan offers. "Ration vouchers."

"Yeah -- three hours ago! She ought to be back by now."

Adrian frowns. "He's right. The rendezvous point is thirty minutes away, and she knows the area well enough."

Serk squeezes his eyes shut for a second, sighing. "Yeah. That's why she insisted on going alone. I shouldn't have let her. I should've gone with her anyway."

Dan gets to his feet. "Come on. Let's check the rest of the building before anyone starts panicking. Do you know who's been watching the entrance since she left?"

"One of the newer guys. Nick, I think, or maybe James."

"I'll ask them," Adrian cuts in smoothly, unfolding himself from his seated position. He gives Serk a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure Dan will help you search the rest of the building."

Serk nods gratefully. "Thanks. I guess she could be in the loading bay. I'll check her room; it'd be just like her to wander off there without telling anyone she got back."

But Maria isn't in her room. Or the loading bay, or the kitchen, or the rest of the building. Nobody has seen her return.

An hour later, she still hasn't shown up. A Patrol van circles the block, slow and leisurely. Then another one. Then Judith yells from the comms. room and they all go running, straining to hear the radio bulletin that's coming through on one of the more indistinct unofficial frequencies.

There's been a Party raid on a building off Bristol Street, two blocks from the pickup point to which Maria was headed. No known casualties; a couple of members of other resistance groups missing; one guy who was quick enough to slip past the perimeter of vans and back to his group's base in Allston before he could be hauled in for questioning. The Party's claiming the building was in use by a drug ring, but the guy who got out of the area didn't see any contraband being dragged out of there by the Patrols, just people.

"We should go look for her," Serk insists immediately.

"No way," Judith says, cutting him off. "Curfew's coming up, we've no idea where she might be, and the place is gonna be crawling with Patrols. Even if she didn't get picked up, she could be hiding out anywhere. We wouldn't even know where to start. If she did-- well."

There's no need for elaboration. No-one knows, really, what happens to the disappeared, where they end up if they don't talk.

If. Of course, there's always the other possibility -- that they got her and she's cracked, she's spilling her guts to them right this minute -- but nobody brings it up. It's too soon for that; even thinking it still feels unkind. Disloyal. Dan knows you're not supposed to trust anyone, these days, or at least he knows he's supposed to know it. But that doesn't make the idea of one of their own selling them out any easier to contemplate. It goes against every instinct in him, even now.

Serk shakes his head, scrubs a hand through his hair. "I-- Shit. I need a minute," he says, and walks out into the corridor.

Adrian's been silent through all of this, just sitting with eyes straight ahead. Dan's about to reach out for him, just to reassure or try to work out what he's feeling, when Adrian turns to meet his eyes, steady and level, and takes his hand instead.

Dan blinks in surprise. It hasn't occurred to him -- it never does -- that Adrian might think he needs comforting.

"She's your friend," Adrian says, softly. "For all that she can be an inveterate nuisance at times."

"She's everyone's friend. We're a team."

"I--"

Dan braces himself for the inevitable I'm sorry, because in front of Judith it will sound like a simple condolence and he can't argue, not without giving everything away. But then Adrian breaks off, falls silent and just squeezes Dan's hand instead.

Judith eyes their linked fingers. She doesn't look pleased, exactly -- well, that would be pretty inappropriate -- but her expression's the tiniest bit less grave than it was a moment ago. "Would you guys keep an eye on things here?" she asks. "I'm going to go after Serk. He looks pretty upset."

"Sure," Dan says, nodding. "I think he feels responsible. He's beating himself up over it."

"He really should have gone with her. It was a new contact, and we didn't know the rendezvous point. It was a two-person job."

"Yeah. But Maria's pretty impossible to argue with when she's set her mind on something. And anyway, there's no point in him torturing himself over it now. All we can do is wait."

Dan feels Adrian's fingers tense over his as Judith leaves, and shoots him his best stern look, hoping that it's adequate to convey, Don't even think about thinking this is your fault. He covers Adrian's hand with his free one, so he's clasping it in both of his own.

They sit together for minutes without speaking, listening to the crackle of static. Adrian doesn't pull away from him, or break eye-contact, or get that bland, shut-off look in his eyes that means he's mentally retreated to some private corner where he can torment himself with his guilt. And, somewhere beneath all the worry, Dan feels a tiny, totally inappropriate flicker of happiness.


December 1991

Dan still speaks to Laurie whenever he can, from payphones at first -- the operator has to take details before connecting international calls, but there's a resistance sympathizer in City Hall who passes them records, and even Dan can't deny there's a perverse pleasure in giving the names and ID codes of Party bigwigs -- and then from HQ, when they get their lines set up.

The last time they speak is December 22nd. She sounds harried when she's called to the phone, and though her "Hey," rises with pleased surprise when she hears his voice, like it always does, there is still a note of tension in it.

"We're leaving," she tells him. Though the French authorities aren't as sympathetic to the Party as some, being conspicuously American in Paris with false papers is getting more and more dangerous. They need to hide out somewhere less risky.

"Where are you headed?" he asks.

"There's a group in the UK. Somewhere pretty rural, in the west. It's self-sufficient, apparently, and they don't work against the government, or anything like that, so they don't get bothered by the cops. It's just a hideout, basically." Her tone turns rueful. "A refugee camp, I guess you could say."

Dan swallows, tries to keep his tone upbeat. "Doesn't sound much like your scene."

"Yeah, well, neither does a cell in Immigration. There are a few of us going. Me, mom, Hélène, Gareth." Names he's heard her mention before, but can't put faces to, like characters in a novel. "We've got transport. We're leaving in two days."

"Take care," he says, uselessly. "Let me know when you arrive. If you can."

"Of course. And Dan-- I--"

She breaks off, and Dan hears a voice in the background say something in rapid French. Laurie responds, "D'accord, un moment" -- she's become pretty fluent over the last few months -- and then, to him, "I have to go. Sorry."

"Okay." Dan hangs on for a moment -- he's no longer sure how to end their conversations, now that Love you isn't appropriate or true anymore, and See you soon would be laughable. Then the line clicks, and she's gone.

Three weeks later, Serk hears a noise, a little unfamiliar click, on the line, and they have to rip them out and get in new ones with new numbers, numbers Laurie doesn't know. Dan tries her Paris number from a callbox, but it's dead, disconnected. All he can do after that is scan the airwaves and the bulletins, and ask around whenever he runs into someone from another group. And hope.


July 1992

And then their world begins to shrink.

It draws in around them. First, there are reports in the newssheets, and on the radio stations. There is talk of dissent in the Party rank and file, of organized resistance groups preparing to mobilize in the countryside, of international relations becoming strained. They don't have any way of ascertaining whether the reports are true, and everyone they speak to holds a different opinion.

But there's a mood of uncertainty in the air, of expectation, something incipient. Perhaps Steele and his government sense it, because suddenly the Party gets tough. Tougher, rather.

The Patrols get more numerous, the reports of arrests and disappearances more frequent. Steele issues orders to the FCC -- and official news coverage is suddenly restricted to one TV channel, one Party-endorsed newspaper. Everyone else gets stuck with running fluff, candyfloss: sitcom re-runs and nostalgia-fests on TV; vacuous celebrity interviews in the press.

The newssheets alternate between outrage at the Party's attacks on the underground, and crowing over what are perceived as desperate actions. (Judith furrows her brow when she reads that sort of thing, and says she'll believe it when she sees it. Adrian murmurs something about how Steele does seem to be getting a little defensive, but refuses to commit to a prediction. Dan thinks he's afraid of getting too hopeful. Things are probably going to get worse before they get better, after all.)

Their contact with other groups gets more sporadic, but the communications, when they come, are urgent in tone. There's no time for politeness, no extraneous banter, not any more. Maria doesn't resurface.

Word gets back to them that the Canadian border is no longer safe. Checkpoints and controls are being increased, and then the safe-houses taking in refugees start to be raided. Nobody's sure whether the Canadian government is allowing it, or whether the secret police are simply acting outside their jurisdiction, too quickly and too quietly to be stopped. Besides, the safe-houses aren't exactly run by respectable citizens. Perhaps no-one cares that much.

Their new supply of fake IDs runs dry, and then the supplier gets busted. The trail could still lead back to them, so Judith decides it isn't safe for them to trawl for another source, or to act too conspicuously right now. They're going to have to suspend activities, and just hole up for a while.

So that's what they do. They watch the doors, and run out in pairs to do the most necessary errands, and run back as quickly as they can, glancing behind them all the time. Serk manages to pick up some discreet handheld radio devices from a contact in another group, and insists that anybody who leaves HQ takes one. They always do, even if it's out of sympathy for his guilt after the Maria situation as much as concern for personal safety.

Dan thinks that he might start to find the whole situation unbearable, if it weren't for Adrian.

That's a thought that, six months ago, Dan couldn't have imagined ever occurring to him. But it's true. Their relationship still isn't a defined one, not really, but he's just gotten used to having Adrian there, to care about and curl up with at night, to the way Adrian's eyes seek out his reaction first when he makes a suggestion, to the fact they can just be together and be comfortable without having to talk much when they're both exhausted. And slowly, so slowly, Adrian seems to be accepting it, the way they are. Sure, he still gets distant, still drifts away, haunted, when they're alone, but it's easier for Dan to drag him out of it with kisses and reassurances, back to the moment in which it's just them. And on the rare occasions -- rarer, now -- when he wakes shuddering at some unwelcome dream or memory, he just lets Dan hold him without protest, instead of getting up to brood. Those sound like little things, but somehow Dan finds they make him unreasonably hopeful.

They also make him want to keep touching Adrian, all the time -- just in little ways, just to stay connected. Like now. They're sitting in the kitchen, side-by-side. Just sitting. It's after curfew, and HQ is quiet with just the permanent inhabitants around, nobody passing through, waiting to get out and over the border. Both entrances are already being watched, and Serk is on comms. room duty. Dan's spent the afternoon tinkering with Archie's electronics, but right now he's stalled, because he doesn't have the right rating of cable, and the soonest his contact can get any is tomorrow morning.

He isn't used to having nothing to do. Neither of them are. Adrian reaches out to pick up a newssheet he's read twice already, turns it over, places it back down. Dan moves his hand so they're touching, just little fingers, and Adrian looks sideways at him with a rueful smile.

"Forgive me," he says. "I'm a little restless."

Dan strokes the back of his hand absently, tracing delicate bones and blue veins. "Me, too," he says. "But hey. We'll wonder what we were complaining about once things get moving again."

Adrian's gracious enough not to point out the platitude. Instead he just turns his hand palm-up, lets Dan's fingers explore it like he's telling fortunes. Dan occasionally wonders what it would be like to know the future, what's going to happen to them and where they're going to end up, whether it would make things easier. It seems appealing right now, sure, when they live with uncertainty every day -- but that's most likely false. It would probably get unbearable, eventually; drive him crazy in the end.

"Serk?" Judith calls, out in the corridor. "I'm making coffee. You want some?" There's an indistinct reply, and she shoulders the kitchen door open, both hands occupied with mugs. "You guys?"

Dan shakes his head, and she shrugs and flicks the kettle on. Then she leans over to the cassette player that's in the corner of the work surface -- a recent development, one Judith freely admits to using to block out the silence -- and presses play. It's a child's toy, small and plastic, with big red buttons and a Fisher-Price logo above the tape slot. The sound is so tinny it takes Dan moments to recognize the song, the whine of synth and the flat, breathy vocals.

"Heroes," by David Bowie. It's so inappropriate he almost laughs. Then he glances at Adrian out of the corner of his eye, and is surprised to see the corners of his mouth curl up, nearly enough to make a smile.

Then there are footsteps in the corridor, and a voice downstairs yells, "Judith! Guys! Can you get down here?"

Judith snaps off the tape recorder with an abrupt click, and then she's out of the door, lips pressed together in concern. Dan's on his feet, following her, in seconds. He doesn't need to look to know that Adrian will be right behind him.

*

There are three of them. Refugees, the last remnants of a group in New York. Two women in their early-twenties, who could be sisters or lovers from the way they huddle close together, and who don't say much, and a graying, cadaverous guy around fifty, who introduces himself as Howard and who seems to have ended up spokesman by virtue of the others' silence.

They were, he explains, involved with one of the underground presses in New York, seeking out and disseminating information about Party activities -- what happens in its detention centres, what's really going on in its ranks behind the carefully whitewashed news-reports -- via weekly newssheets and the occasional pamphlet. They're all that remains of their group, now.

"We were lucky, I guess," Howard says. "I was out picking up printing supplies, and Georgina and Steph here--" He gestures towards the two women. "--were... Well. Doing research."

Judith raises an eyebrow. "I'm guessing they weren't in the NYPL."

"You guess right." Howard says, and he squeezes out a grim smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. Dan's seen that look dozens of times, since he started working against the Party. Plenty of people use gallows humor to cope, but it doesn't always work. Some things are just too raw, too painful. "Anyway. By the time I got back to our offices, the place was crawling with Patrolmen. They'd arrested everyone in the building. All our equipment, all our files, everything -- gone. It wasn't safe to stick around, so I headed downtown. We knew a couple of sympathizers in the area, people who'd be willing to hide us if things got tough. Luckily enough these two had had the same idea."

"So why not stay there?" Judith asks them. "You had a place to stay. Traveling out of the city's risky."

"We figured out quickly enough that we were wanted," Howard says. "Someone talked. Guess the Party wants to tie up any loose ends."

Judith frowns, and Dan feels a twinge of unease. It makes sense -- the Patrols like to be seen to be thorough -- but the guarded tone of Howard's voice and the women's silence make him wonder if there isn't something else, something this guy isn't telling them.

Not that that necessarily means they can't be trusted. Sometimes telling the truth doesn't make the people you tell it to any safer. And besides, the fear emanating from these people is a real, familiar one, the same one they all live with, constant and inexorable, tightening its hold with every passing day.

"I'm sorry," Judith says, and her voice is tight and regretful. "I don't know how much you've heard about what's happening over the border, but as far as we know -- well, even the safe houses aren't safe anymore. Border controls are tightening up, too. We can't get you to Canada."

Howard looks down at the floor, but when he speaks his voice is level and he doesn't sound surprised, or disappointed, really. Just tired. "Yeah," he says. "We knew that much. But we've been in touch with a group in Europe, sort of an extension of the underground railroad you have going on here. There's one in England, that we know of, and one in France. They have safe-houses set up, outside the major cities. They'll hide us, if we can just get there. We heard someone in the city had an airship, that they might be willing to help us."

Judith bites her lip. Dan's mind races -- it's pretty far, and he'd need a day or so to be sure Archie's up to the journey, but they could make it.

"If you know anything-- if you know anyone-- please."

Judith is turning towards Dan with a pained and doubtful expression, and he's about to open his mouth to volunteer anyway, when a voice beside him says, "We'll do our best to help you. Won't we?"

Adrian hasn't been saying much, just watching the whole exchange quietly and carefully, and Dan's surprised to hear him speak. Not so long ago, he'd have been indignant at hearing Adrian just cut in like that, but Adrian's voice is gentle and questioning, not commanding, and Judith doesn't exactly look delighted, but she nods agreement, and Dan finds himself feeling sort of pleased. He's not quite sure whether it's because he agrees -- because they have to help, it's what they do, they can't not -- or because it's a little sign that Adrian recognizes what they do here matters, that he can still help to do good.

"Yeah," Dan agrees. "I can be ready the day after tomorrow. That okay with you guys?"

Howard's shoulders sag with relief, and shorter of the two women -- Steph, he thinks -- takes a step forward, regarding Dan with dark and earnest eyes.

"Thank you," she says.



Chapter 9