Middleman/28 Days Later: The Mirror Christmas Carol Reinvention (2/5)
Rating: PG13 for some language and implied violence
Word Count: 1,367
Disclaimer: Middlecharacters and places belong to Javi Grillo-Marxuach, West belongs to Danny Boyle, I think.
A/N: For visiblemarket on my advent calendar. Better get this up before Christmas is really gone. I'll post a chapter a day.
Summary: The head of Fatboy in the Mirror Universe gets some visitors on Christmas Eve.
Warning: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR "PALINDROME REVERSAL PALINDROME."
Stave One
Wendy’s cot is very narrow. You notice when you’re not alone in it. “Hey, Dub-Dub.”
Wendy snaps awake and all but falls out of the bed, reeling with confusion by the presence of another person as well as half-blinded by the inexplicable brilliance coming off of them. She squints into the light, trying to make out who has invaded her hidden sanctum. “What- who-?”
“Oh, sorry, let me dial that down a notch.” The glow recedes, revealing none other than Lacey Thornfield lounging on Wendy’s cot.
“Lacey- how’d you get in here?! Where’s the Middleman?” She looks around the cramped space as if the hero could somehow fit inside it without being seen.
“Sorry, Wendy, I’m not Lacey Thornfield. An incredible simulation, though, don’t cha’ think?” She nods down at herself, and Wendy must concur. She even recognizes the gauzy white outfit from a performance piece of Lacey’s, years ago.
She shakes her head as if clearing away fog, “This is a dream. This isn’t happening.”
Lacey’s mouth twists, “Didn’t Manservant Neville explain everything to you? I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. You know, the first of three? Did he cover any of this?”
“He was a hallucination!” Wendy insists. Then she pauses, “No, I know what’s going on here. You’re working together, aren’t you? This is a trick, to make me release Manservant Neville from the cryo-bed.” She laughs, “Nice. You know, you almost had me going for a second or two. I’m calling the guards now.”
Lacey rolls her eyes, “Go ahead, if you wanna look like a complete loon in front of your employees. Or how about, if it makes you feel better, just accepting that this is all a dream and in a little while you’ll wake up in your bed with everything back to normal. I promise.” She gives a cheeky smirk that Wendy narrows her eyes at.
“I don’t suppose since this is a dream I can just wake myself up, huh?”
“Nope. I’m afraid you’re gonna have to ride this one out.”
Wendy shrugs, “Okay, spirit, let’s get it over with, I guess.”
Lacey’s smirk grows into a smile, and she climbs off the cot and stretches her back, “Yeesh, you sleep on that thing? No wonder you’re so cranky. You don’t even have any room for company on it.”
Wendy scowls, “I don’t need any company, now can we proceed or do you want to criticize my décor a little longer?”
“Are you always this much fun to be around?” Lacey fires back, but lifts a hand, “Grab hold. We’re going on a little ride.”
“A ride? What are you-?” Wendy starts to ask, but Lacey snatches up her hand and suddenly the world falls away in a blaze of white. A hard jolt almost knocks Wendy over, but she stays standing on the linoleum floor she discovers below her feet. She looks up and sees her quarters replaced by a dorm room only slightly larger and packed tight with various art supplies, haplessly strewn clothing, and two messy beds.
“Look familiar, Dub-Dub?” Lacey says, nudging Wendy with her shoulder.
“It’s... it’s the dorm room we shared, at the art school.”
“Not you and me. Them.”
On cue, the door opens, admitting a second Wendy and Lacey, chatting and smiling and holding two boxes of garish Christmas decorations.
Wendy freezes, waiting to be noticed, but the pair doesn’t so much as glance at them. “We’re completely undetectable,” the spirit says, “They can’t see, hear, or feel us. And the answer is no, you can’t have the technology that allows us to do that.”
Wendy shoots her an acid smile, and turns her attention back to her past self and Lacey. They’re unrolling fuzzy gold garlands, paper snowflakes, and multicolor light strings from the boxes. Talking all the while like they would never run out of things to say to each other.
“Don’t think about it so much,” Lacey is saying, “The harder you try the worse it’ll get, I’m telling you. It has to come naturally, it can’t be forced. But it will come, sooner or later.”
“Yeah, hopefully before the semester’s out,” Wendy replies darkly. “I dunno, Lace. Sometimes...”
Lacey stops untangling lights, “What?”
“Sometimes I just think, ‘What am I doing here,’ you know? How am I ever gonna support myself on art alone? I mean, what if I don’t make it- will I just be a temp all my life? Can’t ever get a decent job because I blew my last years of education painting pretty pictures?” She heaves a sigh, “Sometimes it really doesn’t feel like it’s worth the risk.”
Lacey’s face fills with sympathetic pain. She reaches out and strokes Wendy’s arm. “Hey, Dub-Dub, we all feel like that every now and then. And, you know, I won’t say you don’t have a point but... We don’t do this because we want to. We do it because we have to. Because life wouldn’t be worth living if we had to do something else. You just gotta have faith, you know? I know that’s not your strong suit, but... you do, right?”
Wendy manages a tiny smile. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do, Lacey.”
“Liar,” the secret dictator of Fatboy snaps. “That’s how I felt all the time. I knew I was wasting my life chasing some ridiculous dream. Deluding myself. I hated how easy it came for Lacey. She didn’t have a care in the goddamn world beyond her art.”
“Yes she did,” the spirit says. She takes Wendy’s hand and the world dissolves again into white.
They stand on the campus lawn, surrounded by people carrying signs and chanting anti-Fatboy slogans. “And where’s this?” the spirit asks.
“The protest,” Wendy answers dully, “When Fatboy bought the school and announced it would shift curriculums to management training.”
“ ‘Shift curriculums,’ that’s a pretty phrase for sucking the beauty and creativity out of this place and leaving nothing but a calculator and a spreadsheet.”
Wendy turns on her, “Hey, there’s beauty and creativity in business. Plenty of it.”
She pats her arm, “That’s right, keep telling yourself that.”
Wendy turns away in time to see Lacey leading a group of protesters, railing into a megaphone about the evils of Fatboy and the commercial empire. Wendy hadn’t seen much of her roommate in the weeks leading up to the rally, not being able to keep up with Lacey’s growing outrage. Not believing in it, deep in her heart. Feeling alone, and out of control.
“Where are you right now?” the spirit asks.
“Campus security. I’m telling them the protesters have a bomb, that they could hurt someone.”
“Classy. You knew perfectly well Lacey would never take it that far.”
“Did I?” she stands straight before the spirit, “Maybe not then, but these days she’s trailing after the Middleman. They both want to see me dead.”
The spirit shakes her head, “You’re wrong. Taken down a few dozen pegs, sure, but dead? Not likely. And anyway, you know Lacey. You’re probably not even outside her statute of limitations for forgiveness yet.”
Something twists in Wendy’s stomach. Around them but somehow remote, police officers storm the protest. “We’re different people now. What’s done is done and there’s no undoing it. Why won’t you admit that?”
The spirit steps closer, wearing Lacey’s “silly Dub-Dub” smile. She takes Wendy’s face in her palms, “Because people change. And no one’s beyond saving.”
Wendy’s throat tightens, and she wrenches herself away. “Don’t give me that crap,” she snarls, and snatches the megaphone from the memory of Lacey’s hand. She stuffs it over the spirit’s shining head and forces it down, down until all the light is gone.
And it really is gone, as Wendy looks around to find not the protest that changed her life forever, but her darkened Fatboy quarters. She’s on her knees with her phone in a death grip pressed to the floor. She stands without permitting her legs to shake, but “One down, two to go” slips out before she can stop it. She frowns at herself and climbs back into bed, intent on salvaging the rest of the night’s sleep. Once again, she’s out like a light.
Stave Three
Word Count: 1,367
Disclaimer: Middlecharacters and places belong to Javi Grillo-Marxuach, West belongs to Danny Boyle, I think.
A/N: For visiblemarket on my advent calendar. Better get this up before Christmas is really gone. I'll post a chapter a day.
Summary: The head of Fatboy in the Mirror Universe gets some visitors on Christmas Eve.
Warning: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR "PALINDROME REVERSAL PALINDROME."
Stave One
Wendy’s cot is very narrow. You notice when you’re not alone in it. “Hey, Dub-Dub.”
Wendy snaps awake and all but falls out of the bed, reeling with confusion by the presence of another person as well as half-blinded by the inexplicable brilliance coming off of them. She squints into the light, trying to make out who has invaded her hidden sanctum. “What- who-?”
“Oh, sorry, let me dial that down a notch.” The glow recedes, revealing none other than Lacey Thornfield lounging on Wendy’s cot.
“Lacey- how’d you get in here?! Where’s the Middleman?” She looks around the cramped space as if the hero could somehow fit inside it without being seen.
“Sorry, Wendy, I’m not Lacey Thornfield. An incredible simulation, though, don’t cha’ think?” She nods down at herself, and Wendy must concur. She even recognizes the gauzy white outfit from a performance piece of Lacey’s, years ago.
She shakes her head as if clearing away fog, “This is a dream. This isn’t happening.”
Lacey’s mouth twists, “Didn’t Manservant Neville explain everything to you? I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. You know, the first of three? Did he cover any of this?”
“He was a hallucination!” Wendy insists. Then she pauses, “No, I know what’s going on here. You’re working together, aren’t you? This is a trick, to make me release Manservant Neville from the cryo-bed.” She laughs, “Nice. You know, you almost had me going for a second or two. I’m calling the guards now.”
Lacey rolls her eyes, “Go ahead, if you wanna look like a complete loon in front of your employees. Or how about, if it makes you feel better, just accepting that this is all a dream and in a little while you’ll wake up in your bed with everything back to normal. I promise.” She gives a cheeky smirk that Wendy narrows her eyes at.
“I don’t suppose since this is a dream I can just wake myself up, huh?”
“Nope. I’m afraid you’re gonna have to ride this one out.”
Wendy shrugs, “Okay, spirit, let’s get it over with, I guess.”
Lacey’s smirk grows into a smile, and she climbs off the cot and stretches her back, “Yeesh, you sleep on that thing? No wonder you’re so cranky. You don’t even have any room for company on it.”
Wendy scowls, “I don’t need any company, now can we proceed or do you want to criticize my décor a little longer?”
“Are you always this much fun to be around?” Lacey fires back, but lifts a hand, “Grab hold. We’re going on a little ride.”
“A ride? What are you-?” Wendy starts to ask, but Lacey snatches up her hand and suddenly the world falls away in a blaze of white. A hard jolt almost knocks Wendy over, but she stays standing on the linoleum floor she discovers below her feet. She looks up and sees her quarters replaced by a dorm room only slightly larger and packed tight with various art supplies, haplessly strewn clothing, and two messy beds.
“Look familiar, Dub-Dub?” Lacey says, nudging Wendy with her shoulder.
“It’s... it’s the dorm room we shared, at the art school.”
“Not you and me. Them.”
On cue, the door opens, admitting a second Wendy and Lacey, chatting and smiling and holding two boxes of garish Christmas decorations.
Wendy freezes, waiting to be noticed, but the pair doesn’t so much as glance at them. “We’re completely undetectable,” the spirit says, “They can’t see, hear, or feel us. And the answer is no, you can’t have the technology that allows us to do that.”
Wendy shoots her an acid smile, and turns her attention back to her past self and Lacey. They’re unrolling fuzzy gold garlands, paper snowflakes, and multicolor light strings from the boxes. Talking all the while like they would never run out of things to say to each other.
“Don’t think about it so much,” Lacey is saying, “The harder you try the worse it’ll get, I’m telling you. It has to come naturally, it can’t be forced. But it will come, sooner or later.”
“Yeah, hopefully before the semester’s out,” Wendy replies darkly. “I dunno, Lace. Sometimes...”
Lacey stops untangling lights, “What?”
“Sometimes I just think, ‘What am I doing here,’ you know? How am I ever gonna support myself on art alone? I mean, what if I don’t make it- will I just be a temp all my life? Can’t ever get a decent job because I blew my last years of education painting pretty pictures?” She heaves a sigh, “Sometimes it really doesn’t feel like it’s worth the risk.”
Lacey’s face fills with sympathetic pain. She reaches out and strokes Wendy’s arm. “Hey, Dub-Dub, we all feel like that every now and then. And, you know, I won’t say you don’t have a point but... We don’t do this because we want to. We do it because we have to. Because life wouldn’t be worth living if we had to do something else. You just gotta have faith, you know? I know that’s not your strong suit, but... you do, right?”
Wendy manages a tiny smile. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do, Lacey.”
“Liar,” the secret dictator of Fatboy snaps. “That’s how I felt all the time. I knew I was wasting my life chasing some ridiculous dream. Deluding myself. I hated how easy it came for Lacey. She didn’t have a care in the goddamn world beyond her art.”
“Yes she did,” the spirit says. She takes Wendy’s hand and the world dissolves again into white.
They stand on the campus lawn, surrounded by people carrying signs and chanting anti-Fatboy slogans. “And where’s this?” the spirit asks.
“The protest,” Wendy answers dully, “When Fatboy bought the school and announced it would shift curriculums to management training.”
“ ‘Shift curriculums,’ that’s a pretty phrase for sucking the beauty and creativity out of this place and leaving nothing but a calculator and a spreadsheet.”
Wendy turns on her, “Hey, there’s beauty and creativity in business. Plenty of it.”
She pats her arm, “That’s right, keep telling yourself that.”
Wendy turns away in time to see Lacey leading a group of protesters, railing into a megaphone about the evils of Fatboy and the commercial empire. Wendy hadn’t seen much of her roommate in the weeks leading up to the rally, not being able to keep up with Lacey’s growing outrage. Not believing in it, deep in her heart. Feeling alone, and out of control.
“Where are you right now?” the spirit asks.
“Campus security. I’m telling them the protesters have a bomb, that they could hurt someone.”
“Classy. You knew perfectly well Lacey would never take it that far.”
“Did I?” she stands straight before the spirit, “Maybe not then, but these days she’s trailing after the Middleman. They both want to see me dead.”
The spirit shakes her head, “You’re wrong. Taken down a few dozen pegs, sure, but dead? Not likely. And anyway, you know Lacey. You’re probably not even outside her statute of limitations for forgiveness yet.”
Something twists in Wendy’s stomach. Around them but somehow remote, police officers storm the protest. “We’re different people now. What’s done is done and there’s no undoing it. Why won’t you admit that?”
The spirit steps closer, wearing Lacey’s “silly Dub-Dub” smile. She takes Wendy’s face in her palms, “Because people change. And no one’s beyond saving.”
Wendy’s throat tightens, and she wrenches herself away. “Don’t give me that crap,” she snarls, and snatches the megaphone from the memory of Lacey’s hand. She stuffs it over the spirit’s shining head and forces it down, down until all the light is gone.
And it really is gone, as Wendy looks around to find not the protest that changed her life forever, but her darkened Fatboy quarters. She’s on her knees with her phone in a death grip pressed to the floor. She stands without permitting her legs to shake, but “One down, two to go” slips out before she can stop it. She frowns at herself and climbs back into bed, intent on salvaging the rest of the night’s sleep. Once again, she’s out like a light.
Stave Three