Fic: The Things We Say
Title: The Things We say
Summary: The things said during October still haunt Linksano, and he can’t take it anymore.
Note: Filled for Kinkmeme prompt - was I the only one who felt bad for Linksano during the October storyline? I don't want to spoil anything, so I'll just leave it at that and say I've been hoping to see something sweet with him in it. I don't really care about anything specific, but bonus points if he's with Linkara.
Author's note: I did try to write something short and sweet, but this happened instead. I hope it's still acceptable to the OP.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. None of these characters are mine. This is a work of fiction and done purely for fun.
Linksano sat quietly in his lab, sat in front of an empty work station and did absolutely nothing for several hours.
What was the point?
The thought played over and over in his head in an endless loop.
Linksano clenched his fingers into a tight fist. Really, what was the point? Linkara hired him to do SCIENCE! and it had become quite clear what everyone thought of his efforts.
Stupid. Useless. Failure. Screw-up. Can’t do anything right.
Linksano had retreated to his lab as soon as he could. He had even felt a lot better once he was alone and away from the others, free to process everything that had happened at his own pace. But his relief didn’t last very long.
At first he had tried to simply ignore the nagging doubts that lingered in the aftermath of October. Because he was Doctor Linksano and he was a brilliant scientist. Sure his record was far from perfect, but so what? Science could be messy and unpredictable and like he had tried to tell the singer, there was always a margin of error to be had.
When that had failed to ease his mind, he had gone through the lab, grabbing all the successful inventions he had used since coming to this dimension. The teleporter he had used to cross through hypertime, the small device that could detect Vyce’s presence, the black light effect generator he had used to torment Linkara, his magnificent robotic grabby thing that he had fought Insano with, the Cybermat that ultimately did not attack Linkara like originally planned but still functioned just fine, and...and...
Linksano had looked at his meager pile and felt his chest tighten. Had he nothing else?
He struggled to think, but all he could hear was Finevoice’s accusations. The communicator he had made Linkara worked only for a little while before ultimately malfunctioning. The gun he designed never made it past the prototype phase. At best, the most he’d done for the team was upgrade a few weapons, which was hardly a consolation when that was something even 90s Kid was capable of doing.
For days Linksano continued staring at the tiny collection of working inventions he had so pathetically hoped could provide any bit of validation. The teleporter was useless as long as hypertime was stable, the detector was even more useless now that Vyce had taken on a new form, and suddenly Linksano’s meager list of accomplishments became even smaller.
He didn’t touch anything in the lab after that, just listlessly carried on the pretense of work.
Eventually, he couldn’t even pretend.
He could look past Finevoice’s words. The singer had babbled all sorts of ridiculous nonsense against everyone, but what really drove it all in was Linkara.
After berating Finevoice for his absurd statements about the Entity and for questioning the authenticity of everyone in the room, the hero had only one agreement. That Linksano was indeed unhelpful and a poor excuse for a scientific advisor. Everything else out of the deranged singer was declared preposterous but when it came to Linksano’s scientific abilities, Linkara had accepted Finevoice’s words as truth. And proceeded to make sure Linksano knew it.
Behind his goggles, tears burned at the corner of Linksano’s eyes.
Before he really understood just what he was doing, Linksano stood up, grabbed ahold of the closest thing, and hurled it at the wall.
What was the point? What was the point? What was the point?
What was he if he wasn’t a scientist? What did he have if he didn’t have that? His whole life had been built upon that foundation.
Another object hit the wall.
Was he really as useless as everyone said? Did he really have no talent? Perhaps it was dumb luck that he had ever managed to invent anything at all. Perhaps he should just give up science altogether.
He blindly reached for something and swung it across a table, the sound of shattering of glass ringing dully in his ears.
Linksano knew it was only a matter of time before Linkara tired of his constant failures and forced him to leave. Linkara had not offered him a lab out of the kindness of his heart. Linksano’s place in the team hinged entirely upon a mutually beneficial exchange of services. He had not been invited. He had been hired. And that would only last as long as Linkara thought he could be of some use, a status that Linksano could now see disintegrating before his very eyes.
At one time, Linksano thought he might eventually prove himself, but that foolish hope had come crashing down. The only thing that had given everyone any assurance at all was the fact that Linkara had been able to hold the threat of Vyce over him and once Vyce managed to escape the desolate ice planet, that feeble bit of faith had vanished. And when Linkara had confronted Finevoice, the moment Linksano had thought Linkara was going to come to his defense, what had the hero done instead? Merely assured Finevoice that it was still possible to get rid of him if necessary. That just because Vyce could no longer be used as a threat didn’t mean that he couldn’t still be exiled away to some far off corner of the multiverse.
Anger and frustration and other painful feelings boiled over in a frenzy of wild strokes as Linksano continued tearing the lab apart. Tears blurred his vision until he could no longer see exactly what he was doing, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care about the prototypes that he sent crashing, didn’t care about the rare samples he obliterated, didn’t care about the possibly toxic result of so many chemicals mixing as they pooled together on the floor, and he most certainly did not care that intermixed in all the din was the sound of his own pitiful sobs.
He did however, care a lot when a pair of hands abruptly grabbed ahold of him.
“What the hell are you doing, Linksano?!”
He instinctively struggled against the tight grasp, but quickly stopped when it registered that the one shouting at him was Linkara.
The overwhelming burst of emotion that had clouded over Linksano suddenly drained away and he froze as he realized just how bad the situation was. Nimue had probably sounded all sorts of alarms. Linksano felt his face heat up with shame as it finally dawned on him what the hell just happened. Throwing a damn tantrum like a child. He really was more pathetic than he had thought.
But embarrassment paled in comparison to his rising fear. He had just completely trashed the lab. In one stupid move, he had pretty much sealed his fate. A shaky giggle escaped him. And after all that worry, the final blow had not come from his poor excuse for SCIENCE! Just his complete inability to cope with the mere idea that it might come down to his SCIENCE! It was…it was quite laughable, actually. Linksano continued to giggle; wondering in the back of his mind why, if it was so humorous, could he feel fresh tears slipping down from behind his goggles?
“Linksano?”
Linkara’s voice was laced with concern as he loosened his grip, and there was a distinct lack of anger in his expression that unnerved Linksano. The scientist knew he should probably say something, but he had no idea what he could possibly say under the circumstances and he doubted he could manage to get his voice to work right even if he did figure it out.
“Nimue,” Linkara began before pausing, taking a moment to think, and for a few agonizing seconds, Linksano couldn’t even force himself to breathe. But then the hero finished with a simple order, “send us back down to the apartment.”
The world distorted for few moments as they transitioned, then the two were standing in the living room. Linkara gently nudged Linksano over to the futon where Linksano awkwardly sat down. He tried to choke something out but as he suspected, his body just wouldn’t cooperate.
“…I…I didn’t…I wasn’t…” The words stubbornly stuck in his throat.
“Just wait here for a moment,” Linkara said as he headed over to the kitchen and shortly retuned with a cup of water which he held out to the scientist.
Linksano’s hands trembled slightly as he accepted the cup and forced down a few tentative sips. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, just sat in silence as Linksano slowly drank, struggling to keep himself somewhat collected.
“What happened back there?” Linkara finally said when Linksano set the empty cup down.
His voice was even, not rage filled, not lashing, but Linksano flinched anyway because that hadn’t been a question. No, even if Linkara thought it was, Linksano knew well enough by now. It was an order. It was always an order. Every sentence Linkara spoke to him was some sort of command to be followed.
Linksano took a breath, every nerve on edge.
“I’m leaving.”
The effect on him was instantaneous. A dizzying rush coursed through him and he let out a deep exhale. He had said that. He really had just said that. He hadn’t done as he always did and followed orders, stumbling along trying to do what Linkara wanted in a desperate hope for approval. No, he had ignored Linkara’s question entirely. He didn’t have to answer. He didn’t have to wait in a cringing, huddled ball for everything to end.
He could go ahead and end it himself. On his terms. Walk away. Not be sent crawling.
The effect on Linkara seemed to be much more drawn out as evidenced by the way he looked at Linksano as though stunned.
“What?”
“I’m leaving,” Linksano said again. It felt good to say. Like a weight being lifted.
“Linksano, I don’t understand.” And from the look on Linkara’s face, he honestly didn’t. “You…you can’t just leave. What’s this about? Why were you crying? You were wrecking your own lab. What happened? Linksano, talk to me.”
Another order. Always an order. Always a command. He was so sick of commands. Sick of cowering. Sick of always being on the end of some leash. Sick of his entire life. Linksano stood up. His legs felt shaky and wobbly, but he forced himself upright.
“I’m going to pack. No, wait- never mind. I won’t bother with trying to sort what’s mine from what you merely let me borrow.” He wasn’t used to packing anyway. He hadn’t ever really had the luxury. Travel had come to mean just sticking what he could in his coat pockets and hoping the next dimension would be better. And if he could put a dimension between him and Linakra, he would.
Linksano let out a relieved giggle. “Yes, that makes things easier. I suppose I should fix the lab though. That was…unintentional, and I shall take care of it before departing.”
“And go where?!” Linkara exclaimed with distress.
“I don’t know. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter,” Linksano answered truthfully. “What’s it to you? Are you intending on tracking me for some reason? Whatever for?”
“Linksano-”
“Stop acting like you care!” Linksano suddenly shrieked, fists clenching.
Linkara stared at him wide-eyed. Then he spoke again and his voice was quivering.
“What’s going on? Please, Linksano. What happened? Just talk to me, please. We can work through this. We can come up with something. Just tell me what’s wrong. I do care. Please. Harvey’s left, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. I can’t lose another team member.”
“Oh, so now I’m a team member?” Linksano lashed back. “Because last I heard, I was completely disposable; just a pathetic failure. And I won’t just keep sitting here waiting for you to finally get rid of me!”
“This…is about October,” Linkara realized. “Listen, Linksano… what happened then…that wasn’t us. That wasn’t any of us. That was some shadow creature controlling our emotions, remember?” An expression of sorrow and guilt covered the hero’s face. “And all this time-”
“You meant what you said about me,” Linksano cut him off. “I know…I know we all said some things we didn’t mean. But that… You meant that part.
“No! I-”
“Would you stop lying already?” he asked, mostly just annoyed. “Look, I’ll be out of your way soon enough.”
Linkara took a deep breath and stood up himself, looking at Linksano with an unreadable expression.
“I’m not lying,” he said. “I hired you because I know you can do good work, and you have. Yes, it’s true that you don’t always make perfect inventions. But that doesn’t mean I want to get rid of you. You are a part of this team, and I need you to stay. Please.”
Linksano turned away but suddenly found Linkara’s hand grabbing at his coat.
“Please, Linksano,” Linkara pleaded. “Tell me what I need to do to convince you. I…I can’t lose any more of my team. I couldn’t take it. Harvey’s left, and Ninja Style Dancer hasn’t been around much, and if you leave too, over half the group is gone.”
Linksano’s thoughts drifted back to the mysterious gunslinger out for the hero’s magic gun. A tactical decision then, of course. How like Linkara. Always the strategist.
“So it’s about numbers?” he said, turning back to face Linkara.
“It’s about trying to keep my family together!” Linkara shouted.
“I am not your family!” Linksano shouted back.
“Yes, you are,” Linkara immediately said with a calm firmness. “Every single person living here is part of my family. Pollo, Ninja Style Dancer, 90s Kid, Harvey, and you. You may not think of it like that, but I do. I care about every member of this team we have.”
There was a part of Linksano that was genuinely touched by Linkara’s words, that wanted to give in to the beautiful lie that he could possibly matter to anyone. But there was just too much contradicting evidence.
“Forgive me if this is merely a difference between our respective universes,” he remarked bitterly, “but where I come from, holding exile threats over someone is not symptomatic of a family-type relationship.”
The torn look that suddenly appeared on Linkara’s face only prompted Linksano to go further.
“Loathe as I am to admit it, perhaps it is in fact beyond me to ever really belong somewhere. Maybe you are correct to forever remain suspicious of me. I suppose I could live with never being trusted by anyone here. I don’t need your trust so long as have my science. But it now seems I cannot claim to have even that.”
He jerked away from Linkara’s hold. “Maybe I am a useless failure at what I do, but it’s all I have dammit! And since I’m not good enough to work for you, let me just leave so at least I can still pretend I’m good enough for myself!”
Linksano quickly turned away again, unwilling to handle the thought of what else he might reveal if he kept speaking. If he left now, he might still be able to retain some shred of self-worth. If he hurried, he might still be able to walk out of this with his head up. If he-
His train of thought was disrupted when Linkara swiftly moved around so they were standing face to face once more. Then, all semblance of thought ceased entirely when two arms wrapped around him. Holding him. Hugging him. Linksano froze, standing rigid in Linkara’s gentle embrace.
“You’re brilliant, Linksano,” Linkara said softly. “You’re so much more than what you give yourself credit for. You fix things around the apartment when they break. You always know what to do when there’s an electrical problem. You point out scientific inaccuracies in comics that I would never catch. You maintain and upgrade Comicron-1’s systems. You belong in this team just as much as anyone else.
“When the hologram of me disabled Pollo, I trusted you to fix him. Even though I always insist on working and repairing Pollo myself, I knew we didn’t have the time. It would have taken me several hours to do what you did in the time it took me to review a comic. And even though I temporarily deactivated the hologram, you were the one to figure out his back up program, and you were the one who shut off the mobile emitter.”
Linkara let Linksano go for a moment and took a step back, only to put his hands on either side of Linksano’s shoulders and look him in the face.
“You’re a lot of things Linksano. You’re smart and resourceful and crazy and a damn good scientist. But all of the things you are, you are not a failure. What happened in October was the result of the gunslinger messing with our heads, letting loose something that would feed off our anger. None of us were in the right frame of mind. We were stressed, we thought we were trapped, and we let out paranoia overtake us. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I said to you.”
Linkara’s gaze slipped downwards. “I should have been stronger, and I wasn’t. I shouldn’t have let myself get drawn into a screaming match, and I did. And now my mistakes as a leader have fractured my team. This isn’t how we should be, and it’s my fault it’s come to this.”
With a helpless sigh, Linkara let his arms fall down to his sides. “I can’t stop you from leaving any more than I could stop Harvey. But if you leave today thinking you’re worthless and unwanted, then I’m the real failure. You don’t disappoint me, Linksano. If anything, you only continue to prove yourself as being a valuable and important person that I’m lucky to have around.”
With that, Linkara fell silent, leaving Linksano to try to gather all the thoughts that spun around in his head.
The hero’s words were entirely at odds with the negative voice that had plagued Linksano’s mind for weeks. Feeling overwhelmed, he found himself sinking back down onto the futon.
“Do you really mean all of that?” he heard himself whisper in a trembling voice.
“Yes.” Linkara’s voice answered back. Then he added “Are…you okay? You…” he trailed off and went to grab a tissue box on the other side of the living room.
It was only then that Linksano became aware of the wetness on his cheeks and the hitch to his breathing, and the look of sheer panic on Linkara’s face.
“No…it’s…I’m not…” Linksano mentally cursed himself for seemingly always being unable to spit out a coherent sentence when he really needed to. “I’m…”
Scared. Unsure. Confused. Hopeful. Struggling. Sorry. Trying to understand.
“I’m not…sad.” he managed to say.
It was true enough. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling, but it wasn’t sadness. Nor was it happiness. Relief possibly, but he wouldn’t even swear it was that. Whatever it was, Linkara’s words had engulfed him in it like a storm, stripping him of his previous temper and leaving him hollow.
Linkara peered at him closely, obviously searching for something in his expression. Soon enough though, Linkara came back over and sat next him on the futon.
Linksano let himself sink lower into the cushion. Crying was turning out to be a most exhausting process and definitely not something to be done multiple times in a short period. Yet the silent tears that kept running down his cheeks were different than the loud sobs he had cried back in the lab. And for some reason, Linksano found he couldn’t just stop. He could only wait for them to cease.
“I should go clean up the lab,” he said some time later when his face finally felt dry.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Linkara told him.
“No, I really should. At least to make sure no unstable compound corroded the floor or something.”
“You should rest. You look half-asleep already.”
Linksano couldn’t exactly argue that point, given that his eyes had been closed behind his goggles for a while, and he didn’t try to.
“How about this,” Linkara said after a pause, “I’ll wake you up a bit and we can both clean the mess up?”
“No,” Linksano said.
“It’s my fault too,” Linkara countered.
“No, it’s not. And yes, I know what you meant. It’s still not your fault.” Now there was a point Linksano could argue.
“Let me help. Please,” Linkara quietly insisted.
Always telling, never asking. Linksano wondered if it would be like that forever. Probably. But that was Linkara, and Linksano found that he didn’t really care at the moment.
“Drop it,” he murmured.
Linkara didn’t try to protest further, for which Linksano was thankful for. He also didn’t leave either, merely continued to sit on the other side of the futon, presumably not intending to leave Linksano by himself; and Linksano was too drowsy to figure out if he found that irritating or comforting.
So instead of thinking, and instead of feeling, he simply drifted, tilting his neck and shifting his legs until he was somewhat comfortable. He could try to make sense of everything later. For the moment, he wanted to stay right where he was.
And for the moment, he was convinced that was okay.