Fic: Solidarity 10/14 (Watchmen)
Jul. 23rd, 2009 08:49 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anactoriaTitle: Solidarity
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anactoria
Fandom: Watchmen
Characters/Pairing: Dan/Adrian
'Verse: Movie
Rating: R overall, PG-13 for this part.
Disclaimer: Don't own them; they own me.
Summary: It's 1992 and this isn't Utopia.
Notes: Beta-read bymuse_of_graphia. Thanks!
Chapter 1 Chapter 5 Chapter 9
Chapter 2 Chapter 6
Chapter 3 Chapter 7
Chapter 4 Chapter 8
July 1992
Dan wakes without the insistent bleeping of his alarm clock in his ears, and for a moment he's confused. This isn't his bunk; he's used to something far less comfortable. Then he remembers where he is, and his heart thuds at the absence of another body in bed beside him.
His brain immediately starts running worst-case scenarios. Adrian's going to tell him that last night was a mistake, and he's going to have to pretend to be relieved. Or Adrian's retreated back into his guilt, decided that he can't allow himself this, after all, and he's going to shut himself off and never let Dan get through to him again. Or, worse, it's nothing to do with that at all, and in a second Dan will feel the blankets being pulled off him, he'll be dragged out of bed and into the back of a Patrol van and they'll never see each other again--
Then he opens his eyes and remembers that he's being ridiculous, letting his imagination run wild. Adrian always gets up before he does, and he hasn't gone anywhere. He's just sitting on the edge of the bed, half-dressed and cross-legged, the sunlight that's slanting through the gap between blind and window-frame painting a golden stripe down his side.
There's a cup of tea in his hands, but he isn't drinking it. He's just looking at Dan with this quiet, intent gaze, and an expression that, if not exactly cheerful, is far from unhappy. It turns into a smile when he sees Dan stretch and yawn and pull himself up into a sitting position.
"Good morning," he murmurs.
"Hey." Dan rubs a hand across his eyes and scoots down the bed. "You ok?"
The answer is in the small, contented sigh Adrian lets out as Dan settles beside him, and the way his eyes slip half-closed. He almost seems... peaceful, Dan decides. At ease. Dan could get used to seeing this look more often.
Of course, right now it probably means Adrian's avoiding thinking about what they have to do tonight. That's okay. Dan doesn't particularly want to dwell on it until he has to, either. It's going to be difficult: hundreds of miles over water, and people they barely know waiting on the other side. He just leans into Adrian instead, places a light kiss on his shoulder and then rests his head there.
Adrian turns to look at him through lowered lashes -- a look that, if the idea weren't so laughable, Dan would almost think is shy -- and a drop of water lands on Dan's nose. Adrian's hair is shower-damp and he smells of soap, and Dan realizes he's probably nowhere near as fragrant himself.
Groaning, he gets to his feet.
"Towels are in the cupboard," Adrian tells him, and he looks as though he'd like to say something else, but then he doesn't.
It's only after Dan's showered and dressed, while he's standing in front of the bedroom mirror trying to persuade his hair into some semblance of tidiness, that Adrian appears behind him. An arm curls round his side as Adrian passes him a cup of tea.
Dan takes a sip and then sets it down on the dresser, turns round, into Adrian's arms, and hugs him. Their lips meet briefly.
"You don't need an excuse," he tells Adrian. "Not ever."
Adrian dips his head forward, so that their foreheads touch. "Forgive me," he says. "I'm sure I must be... difficult to deal with, at times."
"Not for me." Dan's arms tighten instinctively round his waist. "Well, okay, maybe sometimes. But that doesn't matter. I don't care how difficult it is. I-- like you anyway. I'd just like to see you happy, that's all."
"Dan." Adrian meets his eyes, and suddenly there's something deeply serious in the look. "You make me happier than I have any right to be. And-- I'm glad. I don't want to lose you." Then he blinks, and looks surprised by his own words.
Dan's taken aback, too, but then he can't help grinning. Because that's the most hopeful thing he's heard Adrian say in-- well, since he showed up at HQ back in February. It's like he's not running away from it any more.
"You won't," Dan promises, and kisses him again.
It's Adrian who breaks the kiss. "We really should be getting back," he says, regretfully.
Dan glances at the clock. "Oh. Yeah. Shit."
He gulps down his tea, finishes dragging a comb through his hair, and as he's shoving on his glasses he catches Adrian looking at him in the mirror. And fuck, this is almost normal, they just look like a couple getting ready for work, and for a moment he finds himself wondering what that would be like, how they would be if this were all over. If they got to wake up somewhere peaceful together every morning, if they had time to just be.
Then he catches himself, because there's no point starting on that track. Things aren't normal, it isn't all over, and that way madness lies.
But he reaches for Adrian's hand again before they step through the door, and doesn't let go until he has to.
*
It is mid-afternoon when the message from Terumi arrives. HQ has been running low on first aid materials, but the hospital has just had a delivery, and she has managed to order a few extra supplies undetected. Her contact is on his way to the maildrop right now. With any luck, they should be able to collect the delivery in an hour or so.
This is good. It means they'll be able to take some basic medical supplies on the trip with them, and still leave enough behind for HQ to be able to cope in an emergency. Judith sighs with relief when the communication crackles through, and then looks sideways at Adrian.
"You usually deal with these guys," she says. "They know you. Think you can get there and back before curfew?"
"Of course," he reassures her. glancing at the clock. "It's half an hour away, maybe a little more. Barring any accidents, I should have plenty of time."
But when he arrives at the offices of the maildrop company, the stout young woman behind the desk eyes him with surprise, and then shakes her head.
"Nothing here, I'm afraid."
Adrian raises an eyebrow, and then frowns, disguising his consternation as the annoyance of one who has been mildly inconvenienced. "I suppose nobody has left a message?"
The woman shrugs dumbly, and he allows himself a small, irritated sigh.
"Then perhaps I could use the telephone?"
"Go ahead." She jerks her head towards the rear of the office.
He dials the number of Massachusetts General from memory, and is unsurprised when a clipped voice on the other end of the line informs him that Doctor Yamada is no longer employed by the hospital and that she has, regrettably, left no further contact details.
Adrian keeps his tone unconcerned as he thanks the receptionist for her trouble, but his mind is racing. It's clear that Terumi has been compromised. Arrested. (Your fault, shriek the voices in the back of his mind, shrill as gulls swooping on prey -- but then he remembers that dwelling on his own culpability will change nothing, and forces himself to ignore them). Perhaps the contact was a plant, or has been intercepted en route. Either way, the Patrols will arrive before long.
A glance out of the side window confirms it. There is a surveillance van parked across the road, in full view of the office building. No doubt they saw him enter, and if he's seen leaving, he will be traced back to HQ.
And that is not an option.
Quickly, Adrian runs through his mental map of the building. The offices of the maildrop company open onto a sixth-floor corridor. There is a fire-escape at one end of it; it's possible that that might furnish an exit route invisible from the main road.
"I should take the rest of the afternoon off, if I were you," he remarks, casually, to the receptionist as he leaves the office. A clearer warning might be picked up, if the office has been bugged; would incriminate the people who work here, who have been handling contraband unawares. He hopes it will be enough.
A quick glance down the corridor to ensure that no-one is watching, and then he is at the fire door. The alarm is easy enough to disable. Adrian lets himself out onto the fire escape, surveys the back-street onto which it leads.
His heart sinks when he sees the Patrol van pull up at the end of the alley.
It simply stops -- a predator lying in wait -- but it is enough to close off that escape-route. The whole of the alley is most likely clearly visible to anyone inside the van. And even if he were able to escape, they will, no doubt, be viewing footage all around the building even now. Their technology is capable of relaying the images to Patrols all over the city in seconds. (Adrian should know. His company designed it. And he is surprised, momentarily, when the thought raises fury in him as much as guilt -- but there is no time for that now.) He would be followed; there is no doubt of that.
He is near the top of the building; there are two stories above him. The surveillance cameras are fastened to the walls halfway down. They don't look up--
And then there is a tangled wail of sirens, and the Patrol van opens its doors to disgorge a rush of black-clad figures, and he has no time to think about it further.
The gap between the top of the fire escape on the roof is considerable, but he makes it, and is up and over the edge before the Patrolmen reach the top floor, blood racing in his ears. There are voices in the corridor; Adrian hears them through the steel doors.
"Cameras definitely picked up someone entering the building. Picture's not clear, though. Could be our man."
"There's a fire escape. Leads down into the alley."
"We've got guys out there."
"How about the roof?"
"Nah. You'd have to be some kind of gymnast to get up there. Search the rest of the building. Let's go."
The footsteps retreat. Long moments pass before Adrian can be certain that they have left the corridor; before he can allow himself to breathe normally.
His view of the main road is obscured. He does not see the girl from the maildrop office leave; he will never know whether she has walked out by herself, or been hauled out by the patrols. He will simply have to hope that he has managed to prevent one innocent party from being caught up in this today.
When it feels safe to move again, Adrian glances at his watch. An hour has passed since he left HQ. He will be missed soon. They should be preparing for tonight's voyage -- and Dan will be worried.
The thought of causing him distress is mildly sickening, and Adrian's fingers itch to flick on the radio device he's carrying with him, just to let Dan know that he's safe. But using it while the building is still being searched would be an idiot risk. He has to wait.
So he does. Adrian waits while booted footsteps swarm up the building, and then die away; while two of the Patrol vans parked at ground level readmit their passengers and pull off, leaving two more to keep watch; while the minute hand of his watch edges closer to curfew. Every minute is an agony of impatience.
(The sensation is new and unpleasant, and Adrian finds himself feeling childishly indignant in the face of time. He is still unaccustomed to worry, as it relates to individuals. He has never cared so much for the feelings of another before.)
It is safe, he decides, at last. He switches on the devices, and it crackles awake.
"Hello?"
The voice is Dan's. Even in the urgency of the moment, Adrian feels something pure and hot and bright spark in him at the sound. "Dan."
"Adrian." His name is a relieved sigh. "Where are you? I was starting to worry."
"There has been something of an incident. No supplies."
"Shit. What's happened? Shit. Are you-- ?"
"I'm fine," Adrian reassures, at once. "And in no immediate danger."
"But?"
"The building is still being watched. I'm afraid there's no way I'm getting away from here in daylight."
"Oh." Over the radio, Adrian hears Dan swallow. And he can imagine the pained, worried look in Dan's eyes, knows that Dan will be taking off his glasses and turning them over in his hands, rubbing a palm across his eyes. "Oh, fuck. It's fucking July. It's not gonna be dark before curfew. You won't have time to get back here before we have to--"
"There's time to call the trip off," Adrian suggests. "Postpone it. You shouldn't fly alone."
"I know. But if we wait until later tonight, it'll start getting light before we can land the other side. And-- well, those people are in a panic. I walked in on one of the girls crying in the kitchen earlier. You really think we can afford to keep them here any longer? If the Party wants to find them that badly, it won't be long before they trace them to us."
Adrian closes his eyes, and lets out a sigh. It's a good point. Sensible.
"Rich has some piloting experience," Dan goes on. "Nothing like Archie, but it's something. I'm sure he'd be willing to come. I'll speak to the others, see what they think. Hang on."
There is an indistinct flurry of speech in the background, and Adrian considers Dan's suggestion. Richard joined them shortly before Maria's disappearance. He seems reliable; solid. But still, the notion of allowing Dan to set off across the ocean without Adrian beside him -- to help, or simply to share the danger -- is a terrifying one.
But it seems inevitable, too. The acceptance of it has settled hollowly in his chest before Dan's voice distinguishes itself from the hubbub again.
"I'm going," he says, sounding resigned and determined. "Take care coming back, okay?"
"I can go unnoticed when I need to." Adrian manages to keep the tremor out of his voice. Then he allows his tone to soften a fraction. "It's you I'm worried about."
"Don't be. Twenty-four hours. That's all it should take. It isn't long."
"I'll hold you to that."
"Do. And Adrian-- "
"Yes?"
"I-- I. I'll see you soon, okay?"
Adrian notices the break in Dan's voice, and his pulse flutters. He does not know what Dan was going to say, but the brief pause ignites all kinds of things-- hope and elation and fear--
He shuts them down, silently scolding himself. Now is not the time.
"Soon," he agrees.
January 1992
The telephone rings once, and the voice that answers it is unfamiliar. Yes, this is Senator Blackman's office, it informs Adrian, but she is regrettably unavailable at the moment. Even to him.
"It's quite urgent," he says, allowing an edge of displeasure to bleed into his words.
The voice remains firm. Unavailable.
The click of the receiver is quiet and final. And Adrian knows, then.
He has been trying to work through legitimate channels. There are others who sympathize, and Rose Blackman was one of them. They have been in communication, under the Party's radar, for some months. A viable alternative to the Party. That is -- was -- the goal.
It appears they have been betrayed. It hardly matter by whom. The Party has taken Rose Blackman, and they will come for him next. And they will come.
A knock on the door in the night, or a bullet from behind, one that will be too unexpected for him to catch and that the press will blame on some long-held criminal grudge.
He has no choice now. None but flight. He might have days, but no longer.
Very late that night, Adrian stands high above the glitter of New York, and looks down. The city is subdued, now, after the introduction of curfews, but there is still light pollution enough that the stars are indistinct, things viewed through mist or old glass. The streets still follow the same patterns they have always done -- and, God knows, he has surveyed them like this on enough occasions.
Atop a building, arms folded -- a hero's stance, a protector's.
The thought sickens Adrian as it occurs. He shivers, and leaves.
Leafing through papers and newssheets, considering routes, Adrian toys with the idea of not running at all. He could simply wait, allow them to take him, suffer the worst excesses of whatever it is he has helped into this world. Considered from one angle, it seems only fair.
And then a word snags his gaze. The backs of some newssheets -- those from the more closely-guarded channels -- contain the bare bones of contact details. Pseudonyms; oblique clues. This one suggests a resistance group, somewhere in Boston. The short line of text simply instructs the needy to ask for 'Hollis.'
It could be nothing. But--
Adrian does not feel the lessening of his despair, not then. It does not occur to him to wonder whether there is not, after all, still goodness in the world.
(He does not allow it to occur. He does not dare hope.)
But he comes to a decision.
July 1992
The radio hisses, flat and unrelenting, and makes no other sound. Adrian's eyes are dry and sore, and there is a small, insistent throb of pain behind them.
The door to the communications room opens, and Judith steps halfway through the gap.
"I'm sending Serk down to join you," she informs him. "You can go get some rest, if you like."
Adrian forces a smile. "Thank you," he says.
He does not move, however, and after a moment Judith shrugs and retreats into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind her. She is tactful enough not to press the matter, or to ask how he is.
Forty-nine hours have passed since Dan left. He has not returned.
Chapter 11
Author:
anactoriaFandom: Watchmen
Characters/Pairing: Dan/Adrian
'Verse: Movie
Rating: R overall, PG-13 for this part.
Disclaimer: Don't own them; they own me.
Summary: It's 1992 and this isn't Utopia.
Notes: Beta-read by
muse_of_graphia. Thanks! Chapter 1 Chapter 5 Chapter 9
Chapter 2 Chapter 6
Chapter 3 Chapter 7
Chapter 4 Chapter 8
July 1992
Dan wakes without the insistent bleeping of his alarm clock in his ears, and for a moment he's confused. This isn't his bunk; he's used to something far less comfortable. Then he remembers where he is, and his heart thuds at the absence of another body in bed beside him.
His brain immediately starts running worst-case scenarios. Adrian's going to tell him that last night was a mistake, and he's going to have to pretend to be relieved. Or Adrian's retreated back into his guilt, decided that he can't allow himself this, after all, and he's going to shut himself off and never let Dan get through to him again. Or, worse, it's nothing to do with that at all, and in a second Dan will feel the blankets being pulled off him, he'll be dragged out of bed and into the back of a Patrol van and they'll never see each other again--
Then he opens his eyes and remembers that he's being ridiculous, letting his imagination run wild. Adrian always gets up before he does, and he hasn't gone anywhere. He's just sitting on the edge of the bed, half-dressed and cross-legged, the sunlight that's slanting through the gap between blind and window-frame painting a golden stripe down his side.
There's a cup of tea in his hands, but he isn't drinking it. He's just looking at Dan with this quiet, intent gaze, and an expression that, if not exactly cheerful, is far from unhappy. It turns into a smile when he sees Dan stretch and yawn and pull himself up into a sitting position.
"Good morning," he murmurs.
"Hey." Dan rubs a hand across his eyes and scoots down the bed. "You ok?"
The answer is in the small, contented sigh Adrian lets out as Dan settles beside him, and the way his eyes slip half-closed. He almost seems... peaceful, Dan decides. At ease. Dan could get used to seeing this look more often.
Of course, right now it probably means Adrian's avoiding thinking about what they have to do tonight. That's okay. Dan doesn't particularly want to dwell on it until he has to, either. It's going to be difficult: hundreds of miles over water, and people they barely know waiting on the other side. He just leans into Adrian instead, places a light kiss on his shoulder and then rests his head there.
Adrian turns to look at him through lowered lashes -- a look that, if the idea weren't so laughable, Dan would almost think is shy -- and a drop of water lands on Dan's nose. Adrian's hair is shower-damp and he smells of soap, and Dan realizes he's probably nowhere near as fragrant himself.
Groaning, he gets to his feet.
"Towels are in the cupboard," Adrian tells him, and he looks as though he'd like to say something else, but then he doesn't.
It's only after Dan's showered and dressed, while he's standing in front of the bedroom mirror trying to persuade his hair into some semblance of tidiness, that Adrian appears behind him. An arm curls round his side as Adrian passes him a cup of tea.
Dan takes a sip and then sets it down on the dresser, turns round, into Adrian's arms, and hugs him. Their lips meet briefly.
"You don't need an excuse," he tells Adrian. "Not ever."
Adrian dips his head forward, so that their foreheads touch. "Forgive me," he says. "I'm sure I must be... difficult to deal with, at times."
"Not for me." Dan's arms tighten instinctively round his waist. "Well, okay, maybe sometimes. But that doesn't matter. I don't care how difficult it is. I-- like you anyway. I'd just like to see you happy, that's all."
"Dan." Adrian meets his eyes, and suddenly there's something deeply serious in the look. "You make me happier than I have any right to be. And-- I'm glad. I don't want to lose you." Then he blinks, and looks surprised by his own words.
Dan's taken aback, too, but then he can't help grinning. Because that's the most hopeful thing he's heard Adrian say in-- well, since he showed up at HQ back in February. It's like he's not running away from it any more.
"You won't," Dan promises, and kisses him again.
It's Adrian who breaks the kiss. "We really should be getting back," he says, regretfully.
Dan glances at the clock. "Oh. Yeah. Shit."
He gulps down his tea, finishes dragging a comb through his hair, and as he's shoving on his glasses he catches Adrian looking at him in the mirror. And fuck, this is almost normal, they just look like a couple getting ready for work, and for a moment he finds himself wondering what that would be like, how they would be if this were all over. If they got to wake up somewhere peaceful together every morning, if they had time to just be.
Then he catches himself, because there's no point starting on that track. Things aren't normal, it isn't all over, and that way madness lies.
But he reaches for Adrian's hand again before they step through the door, and doesn't let go until he has to.
*
It is mid-afternoon when the message from Terumi arrives. HQ has been running low on first aid materials, but the hospital has just had a delivery, and she has managed to order a few extra supplies undetected. Her contact is on his way to the maildrop right now. With any luck, they should be able to collect the delivery in an hour or so.
This is good. It means they'll be able to take some basic medical supplies on the trip with them, and still leave enough behind for HQ to be able to cope in an emergency. Judith sighs with relief when the communication crackles through, and then looks sideways at Adrian.
"You usually deal with these guys," she says. "They know you. Think you can get there and back before curfew?"
"Of course," he reassures her. glancing at the clock. "It's half an hour away, maybe a little more. Barring any accidents, I should have plenty of time."
But when he arrives at the offices of the maildrop company, the stout young woman behind the desk eyes him with surprise, and then shakes her head.
"Nothing here, I'm afraid."
Adrian raises an eyebrow, and then frowns, disguising his consternation as the annoyance of one who has been mildly inconvenienced. "I suppose nobody has left a message?"
The woman shrugs dumbly, and he allows himself a small, irritated sigh.
"Then perhaps I could use the telephone?"
"Go ahead." She jerks her head towards the rear of the office.
He dials the number of Massachusetts General from memory, and is unsurprised when a clipped voice on the other end of the line informs him that Doctor Yamada is no longer employed by the hospital and that she has, regrettably, left no further contact details.
Adrian keeps his tone unconcerned as he thanks the receptionist for her trouble, but his mind is racing. It's clear that Terumi has been compromised. Arrested. (Your fault, shriek the voices in the back of his mind, shrill as gulls swooping on prey -- but then he remembers that dwelling on his own culpability will change nothing, and forces himself to ignore them). Perhaps the contact was a plant, or has been intercepted en route. Either way, the Patrols will arrive before long.
A glance out of the side window confirms it. There is a surveillance van parked across the road, in full view of the office building. No doubt they saw him enter, and if he's seen leaving, he will be traced back to HQ.
And that is not an option.
Quickly, Adrian runs through his mental map of the building. The offices of the maildrop company open onto a sixth-floor corridor. There is a fire-escape at one end of it; it's possible that that might furnish an exit route invisible from the main road.
"I should take the rest of the afternoon off, if I were you," he remarks, casually, to the receptionist as he leaves the office. A clearer warning might be picked up, if the office has been bugged; would incriminate the people who work here, who have been handling contraband unawares. He hopes it will be enough.
A quick glance down the corridor to ensure that no-one is watching, and then he is at the fire door. The alarm is easy enough to disable. Adrian lets himself out onto the fire escape, surveys the back-street onto which it leads.
His heart sinks when he sees the Patrol van pull up at the end of the alley.
It simply stops -- a predator lying in wait -- but it is enough to close off that escape-route. The whole of the alley is most likely clearly visible to anyone inside the van. And even if he were able to escape, they will, no doubt, be viewing footage all around the building even now. Their technology is capable of relaying the images to Patrols all over the city in seconds. (Adrian should know. His company designed it. And he is surprised, momentarily, when the thought raises fury in him as much as guilt -- but there is no time for that now.) He would be followed; there is no doubt of that.
He is near the top of the building; there are two stories above him. The surveillance cameras are fastened to the walls halfway down. They don't look up--
And then there is a tangled wail of sirens, and the Patrol van opens its doors to disgorge a rush of black-clad figures, and he has no time to think about it further.
The gap between the top of the fire escape on the roof is considerable, but he makes it, and is up and over the edge before the Patrolmen reach the top floor, blood racing in his ears. There are voices in the corridor; Adrian hears them through the steel doors.
"Cameras definitely picked up someone entering the building. Picture's not clear, though. Could be our man."
"There's a fire escape. Leads down into the alley."
"We've got guys out there."
"How about the roof?"
"Nah. You'd have to be some kind of gymnast to get up there. Search the rest of the building. Let's go."
The footsteps retreat. Long moments pass before Adrian can be certain that they have left the corridor; before he can allow himself to breathe normally.
His view of the main road is obscured. He does not see the girl from the maildrop office leave; he will never know whether she has walked out by herself, or been hauled out by the patrols. He will simply have to hope that he has managed to prevent one innocent party from being caught up in this today.
When it feels safe to move again, Adrian glances at his watch. An hour has passed since he left HQ. He will be missed soon. They should be preparing for tonight's voyage -- and Dan will be worried.
The thought of causing him distress is mildly sickening, and Adrian's fingers itch to flick on the radio device he's carrying with him, just to let Dan know that he's safe. But using it while the building is still being searched would be an idiot risk. He has to wait.
So he does. Adrian waits while booted footsteps swarm up the building, and then die away; while two of the Patrol vans parked at ground level readmit their passengers and pull off, leaving two more to keep watch; while the minute hand of his watch edges closer to curfew. Every minute is an agony of impatience.
(The sensation is new and unpleasant, and Adrian finds himself feeling childishly indignant in the face of time. He is still unaccustomed to worry, as it relates to individuals. He has never cared so much for the feelings of another before.)
It is safe, he decides, at last. He switches on the devices, and it crackles awake.
"Hello?"
The voice is Dan's. Even in the urgency of the moment, Adrian feels something pure and hot and bright spark in him at the sound. "Dan."
"Adrian." His name is a relieved sigh. "Where are you? I was starting to worry."
"There has been something of an incident. No supplies."
"Shit. What's happened? Shit. Are you-- ?"
"I'm fine," Adrian reassures, at once. "And in no immediate danger."
"But?"
"The building is still being watched. I'm afraid there's no way I'm getting away from here in daylight."
"Oh." Over the radio, Adrian hears Dan swallow. And he can imagine the pained, worried look in Dan's eyes, knows that Dan will be taking off his glasses and turning them over in his hands, rubbing a palm across his eyes. "Oh, fuck. It's fucking July. It's not gonna be dark before curfew. You won't have time to get back here before we have to--"
"There's time to call the trip off," Adrian suggests. "Postpone it. You shouldn't fly alone."
"I know. But if we wait until later tonight, it'll start getting light before we can land the other side. And-- well, those people are in a panic. I walked in on one of the girls crying in the kitchen earlier. You really think we can afford to keep them here any longer? If the Party wants to find them that badly, it won't be long before they trace them to us."
Adrian closes his eyes, and lets out a sigh. It's a good point. Sensible.
"Rich has some piloting experience," Dan goes on. "Nothing like Archie, but it's something. I'm sure he'd be willing to come. I'll speak to the others, see what they think. Hang on."
There is an indistinct flurry of speech in the background, and Adrian considers Dan's suggestion. Richard joined them shortly before Maria's disappearance. He seems reliable; solid. But still, the notion of allowing Dan to set off across the ocean without Adrian beside him -- to help, or simply to share the danger -- is a terrifying one.
But it seems inevitable, too. The acceptance of it has settled hollowly in his chest before Dan's voice distinguishes itself from the hubbub again.
"I'm going," he says, sounding resigned and determined. "Take care coming back, okay?"
"I can go unnoticed when I need to." Adrian manages to keep the tremor out of his voice. Then he allows his tone to soften a fraction. "It's you I'm worried about."
"Don't be. Twenty-four hours. That's all it should take. It isn't long."
"I'll hold you to that."
"Do. And Adrian-- "
"Yes?"
"I-- I. I'll see you soon, okay?"
Adrian notices the break in Dan's voice, and his pulse flutters. He does not know what Dan was going to say, but the brief pause ignites all kinds of things-- hope and elation and fear--
He shuts them down, silently scolding himself. Now is not the time.
"Soon," he agrees.
January 1992
The telephone rings once, and the voice that answers it is unfamiliar. Yes, this is Senator Blackman's office, it informs Adrian, but she is regrettably unavailable at the moment. Even to him.
"It's quite urgent," he says, allowing an edge of displeasure to bleed into his words.
The voice remains firm. Unavailable.
The click of the receiver is quiet and final. And Adrian knows, then.
He has been trying to work through legitimate channels. There are others who sympathize, and Rose Blackman was one of them. They have been in communication, under the Party's radar, for some months. A viable alternative to the Party. That is -- was -- the goal.
It appears they have been betrayed. It hardly matter by whom. The Party has taken Rose Blackman, and they will come for him next. And they will come.
A knock on the door in the night, or a bullet from behind, one that will be too unexpected for him to catch and that the press will blame on some long-held criminal grudge.
He has no choice now. None but flight. He might have days, but no longer.
Very late that night, Adrian stands high above the glitter of New York, and looks down. The city is subdued, now, after the introduction of curfews, but there is still light pollution enough that the stars are indistinct, things viewed through mist or old glass. The streets still follow the same patterns they have always done -- and, God knows, he has surveyed them like this on enough occasions.
Atop a building, arms folded -- a hero's stance, a protector's.
The thought sickens Adrian as it occurs. He shivers, and leaves.
Leafing through papers and newssheets, considering routes, Adrian toys with the idea of not running at all. He could simply wait, allow them to take him, suffer the worst excesses of whatever it is he has helped into this world. Considered from one angle, it seems only fair.
And then a word snags his gaze. The backs of some newssheets -- those from the more closely-guarded channels -- contain the bare bones of contact details. Pseudonyms; oblique clues. This one suggests a resistance group, somewhere in Boston. The short line of text simply instructs the needy to ask for 'Hollis.'
It could be nothing. But--
Adrian does not feel the lessening of his despair, not then. It does not occur to him to wonder whether there is not, after all, still goodness in the world.
(He does not allow it to occur. He does not dare hope.)
But he comes to a decision.
July 1992
The radio hisses, flat and unrelenting, and makes no other sound. Adrian's eyes are dry and sore, and there is a small, insistent throb of pain behind them.
The door to the communications room opens, and Judith steps halfway through the gap.
"I'm sending Serk down to join you," she informs him. "You can go get some rest, if you like."
Adrian forces a smile. "Thank you," he says.
He does not move, however, and after a moment Judith shrugs and retreats into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind her. She is tactful enough not to press the matter, or to ask how he is.
Forty-nine hours have passed since Dan left. He has not returned.
Chapter 11
