Middleman/28 Days Later: The Mirror Christmas Carol Reinvention (3/5)
Rating: PG13 for some language and implied violence
Word Count: 1,770
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 Two
Wendy is pulled from sleep by a strange orange glow that shines on her closed eyelids. She climbs out of bed and creeps to the secret door to her quarters, which is outlined by the light like something out of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. She releases the catch and it slides back, remembering to shield her eyes as supernatural light beams in around her.
“Hi there,” says a voice. Wendy steps out into Manservant Neville’s office. It’s filled with warm orange light as if a fire is burning somewhere. Wendy Watson sits at the large desk, feet kicked up on its polished surface. She wears the same thing the dictator of Fatboy saw her wearing during her last visit to this universe, though the gun holster on her hip is empty and looks disused.
“Evening, Dub-Dub. I don’t remember inviting you back to my universe.”
“Indeed you didn’t. But I’m not Wendy Watson.” She points to her chest, “Ghost of Christmas Present, at your service.” She winks and clicks her tongue.
“Right.” Wendy shifts her weight, tapping a foot and crossing her arms, “Shall we then?”
The spirit stands up, bracing her arms on the desk and leaning over it with a smile, “We shall.”
She steps out from behind the desk and hooks an arm through Wendy’s. Wendy waits for the world to shift around them, but it doesn’t. The spirit starts walking- striding really, leaving Wendy to stumble along beside her. “Ah, right, Christmas Present. So no warping back to emotionally significant events of my past?”
“Not this time.”
They walk through the bowels of Fatboy Command where the machines still run, even this late in the night. The spirit doesn’t slow until they reach the security office from which all the guards and Major West work. It’s a white box with windows all around set above yet another work floor. It’s filled with desks and filing cabinets and computers, with racks of weapons and protective gear along the back wall as well as a door leading to locker rooms. A small group of guards sits together around one desk and Major West stands with them. The spirit leads Wendy up a flight of stairs and into the office, and she sees the major holding up a glass of something fizzy. The other guards each have their own glasses.
“Are they drinking on the j-?” Wendy starts, but the spirit hushes her.
“Tonight,” says Major West, “One hour and-” he checks his watch, “three minutes into Christmas Day, I’d like to make a toast. To our leader, Miss Watson.”
Wendy’s eyes dart around to the faces of the guards. They don’t look especially pleased.
“Now, now, I know what you’re thinkin’. How could Miss Watson expect us all to work straight through Christmas, of all days? Well, the way I see it, it’s an honor, and always has been. We are charged with protecting the safety of every soul in here against crime, accident- and Middleman.”
There’s a round of grudging smiles at that.
“Is there more glamorous work? Certainly. But is it more satisfying? Is there anything else I’d rather be doing? I can’t speak for all of you, but for me- the answer’s no. And I have one person to thank for that. An’ that’s Miss Watson. So, cheers to her, and a happy Christmas, however she chooses to spend it. Me, I’ll be here.”
There is quiet applause, some nods, raised glasses and sips. Even a small chorus of “To Miss Watson.”
Wendy turns to the spirit, all set to crow about her loyal enforcers, when she’s brought up short by the spirit’s wide Cheshire grin. “What?”
“He liiikes you.”
Wendy rolls her eyes, “Shut up, he does not.”
“Are you blind? He so does!”
“So what if he- does. It’s not like it matters.”
The spirit looks aggrieved, “Doesn’t matter? Of course it matters! I know you’ve got that whole ‘monolith dictator ice queen Grand Moff Tarkin’ thing going on, but he’s pretty hot. And he even knows about Manservant Neville. He’s practically on a platter, if you ask me.”
“Good thing no one did,” Wendy snaps, “Anyway, can we move on?”
The amusement slides off the spirit’s face. “Sure, let’s.”
They leave the security office and walk down the steps to the work floor. As they go, Wendy sees the faces of the laborers at their machines. About half a dozen of them are looking up at the office, at West and his Christmas party. Their gazes are filled with cold anger. “Wend- Spirit. Hey, hang on, these people-”
“Aren’t my concern,” the spirit tosses over her shoulder, “My job is the Present, not the Future.”
“What does that mean? Hey!” Wendy reaches out and grabs the spirit’s arm, pulling her around to face her. “What are these people planning? Are they going to attempt an assassination?”
“I see an empty desk in the security office,” the spirit replies, “and a gun without an owner, carefully preserved. If things stay the way they are, the major will die.”
Fear Wendy Watson has never felt for another person grips her heart. “But, it might not happen?”
The spirit gives a half-smile, “It might not. Depends on you, of all people. Best of luck to West.”
They travel to other areas of the complex, visiting other illicit Christmas parties. Wendy watches but doesn’t comment. She’s having difficulty ignoring thoughts about uncomfortable topics like morale. It’s impossible not to feel the warmth of her workers’ happiness as they’re given a break from their duties to wear paper crowns and pass around newspaper-wrapped presents. Wendy wonders why she never noticed a decrease in productivity on this night each year- possibly they make up the difference by working harder after their celebration, which is undeniably interesting. If she was to harness this energy... maybe Fatboy wouldn’t suffer for a little holiday cheer. Within reason.
The spirit gives her arm another tug, and she feels the world rush past her. “Ugh, I thought you said there wouldn’t be any time warps,” she whines when she gets her balance.
“Who said we went through time?” The spirit walks ahead and she must have a hint of Middle Wendy Watson in her because she moves like she knows every inch of this building. Wendy can’t help being cautious as she follows- as one does when stepping into the headquarters of one’s greatest enemy.
Lacey’s been at it again. The room seems festooned with all the decorations that aren’t up in Fatboy Command. A jazzy Christmas tune plays from somewhere, and the Middleman and his sidekick cling obscenely close as they sway to the beat. The smile still doesn’t look particularly at home on the Middleman’s face, but he’s clearly making an effort for the beaming Lacey. He leads her out into a spin and she laughs before curling back into his arms.
“Aw,” the spirit coos, “don’t they look cozy.”
“Yeah, like conjoined twins,” Wendy replies, turning away to examine the room. She should be taking advantage of this opportunity, not gazing at her enemies’ apparent bliss.
But then the spirit’s hands are on her arms, pulling her away with a tutting sound, “No peeking, Miss Nosy, or didn’t your mother teach you that? Anyway, you think this is all a dream, right? So who’s to say if any of this stuff is in the real MiddleHQ.”
Wendy must admit she has a point, though she hasn’t reminded herself this is a dream in some time. In any case, the song has ended and Lacey and the Middleman have torn themselves away from each other. Lacey trips over to a window and Wendy moves closer to see what she’s looking at. The spinning mascot atop Fatboy Command is just visible over the tops of the buildings and through the smog.
Lacey sighs, “Merry Christmas, Dub-Dub.”
Wendy’s mouth drops open. “Oh please! Yeah, now I know for sure this is a dream. Lacey’s pining for me on Christmas when she could be off frolicking with her boss? Yeah, dry that one out you could fertilize the lawn.”
The spirit just shrugs over crossed arms, “What can I say? For some reason she still loves you, Dubby. You know you probably have your alternate self to thank for that. She reminded Lacey that somewhere not so deep inside that Armani by way of the Gestapo suit is her best friend.” The spirit pauses, looking thoughtful, “Tell me, how long has it been since you last painted?”
The question delivers an unexpectedly powerful pang to Wendy’s heart. “None of your business!”
She nods, “That long, huh?”
“I’m finished here, okay? Take me back. Right now.”
The spirit holds up her hands, “Fine. My time’s about up anyway.”
They begin to walk out of MiddleHQ, and Wendy asks, “Your time’s up?”
“There’s only one Christmas Present, you know. So, that’s all the time I get.”
Wendy hums, “Well, sucks for you.”
“You get used to it.” The spirit is walking ahead, through the shadows of the street. Wendy watches her, sees her darkened form seem to change.
“Uh, spirit? You’ve got something...”
The spirit stops and turns, and so do the two creatures now on either side of her. She puts her hands on the shoulders of a boy and a girl, both of them haggard with disease and malnutrition, gazing up at Wendy with wide bloodshot eyes. Their hands are like filthy claws as they cling to the spirit, whose face has somehow aged decades. “These kids are Ignorance and Want, Wendy. Say hello- you’ve had a bigger hand in their making than most people.”
Wendy is horrified by the children, but she summons up her nerve and says, “Hi.”
They don’t answer, thank god, but continue to burn holes into Wendy with their huge empty eyes. “They’re both dangerous, but Ignorance especially,” says the spirit, “That’s where doom is written, Wendy. Stay blind to everything around you, and you will reap the whirlwind.”
The shadows gather and Wendy can’t see anything. She whips around to find the spirit and the children gone, but she can make out a figure not far away. A familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette carrying a cannon of a gun in both hands. He marches forward, and the shadows remain a shroud around him, hiding everything but the outline of his figure.
Wendy swallows, her throat gone dry with fear. She feels herself cringe at his approach. “You- you’re not the Middleman, are you.”
The spirit shakes his head.
“The Ghost of Christmas Future, I presume?”
The spirit nods.
Stave Four
Word Count: 1,770
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 Two
Wendy is pulled from sleep by a strange orange glow that shines on her closed eyelids. She climbs out of bed and creeps to the secret door to her quarters, which is outlined by the light like something out of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. She releases the catch and it slides back, remembering to shield her eyes as supernatural light beams in around her.
“Hi there,” says a voice. Wendy steps out into Manservant Neville’s office. It’s filled with warm orange light as if a fire is burning somewhere. Wendy Watson sits at the large desk, feet kicked up on its polished surface. She wears the same thing the dictator of Fatboy saw her wearing during her last visit to this universe, though the gun holster on her hip is empty and looks disused.
“Evening, Dub-Dub. I don’t remember inviting you back to my universe.”
“Indeed you didn’t. But I’m not Wendy Watson.” She points to her chest, “Ghost of Christmas Present, at your service.” She winks and clicks her tongue.
“Right.” Wendy shifts her weight, tapping a foot and crossing her arms, “Shall we then?”
The spirit stands up, bracing her arms on the desk and leaning over it with a smile, “We shall.”
She steps out from behind the desk and hooks an arm through Wendy’s. Wendy waits for the world to shift around them, but it doesn’t. The spirit starts walking- striding really, leaving Wendy to stumble along beside her. “Ah, right, Christmas Present. So no warping back to emotionally significant events of my past?”
“Not this time.”
They walk through the bowels of Fatboy Command where the machines still run, even this late in the night. The spirit doesn’t slow until they reach the security office from which all the guards and Major West work. It’s a white box with windows all around set above yet another work floor. It’s filled with desks and filing cabinets and computers, with racks of weapons and protective gear along the back wall as well as a door leading to locker rooms. A small group of guards sits together around one desk and Major West stands with them. The spirit leads Wendy up a flight of stairs and into the office, and she sees the major holding up a glass of something fizzy. The other guards each have their own glasses.
“Are they drinking on the j-?” Wendy starts, but the spirit hushes her.
“Tonight,” says Major West, “One hour and-” he checks his watch, “three minutes into Christmas Day, I’d like to make a toast. To our leader, Miss Watson.”
Wendy’s eyes dart around to the faces of the guards. They don’t look especially pleased.
“Now, now, I know what you’re thinkin’. How could Miss Watson expect us all to work straight through Christmas, of all days? Well, the way I see it, it’s an honor, and always has been. We are charged with protecting the safety of every soul in here against crime, accident- and Middleman.”
There’s a round of grudging smiles at that.
“Is there more glamorous work? Certainly. But is it more satisfying? Is there anything else I’d rather be doing? I can’t speak for all of you, but for me- the answer’s no. And I have one person to thank for that. An’ that’s Miss Watson. So, cheers to her, and a happy Christmas, however she chooses to spend it. Me, I’ll be here.”
There is quiet applause, some nods, raised glasses and sips. Even a small chorus of “To Miss Watson.”
Wendy turns to the spirit, all set to crow about her loyal enforcers, when she’s brought up short by the spirit’s wide Cheshire grin. “What?”
“He liiikes you.”
Wendy rolls her eyes, “Shut up, he does not.”
“Are you blind? He so does!”
“So what if he- does. It’s not like it matters.”
The spirit looks aggrieved, “Doesn’t matter? Of course it matters! I know you’ve got that whole ‘monolith dictator ice queen Grand Moff Tarkin’ thing going on, but he’s pretty hot. And he even knows about Manservant Neville. He’s practically on a platter, if you ask me.”
“Good thing no one did,” Wendy snaps, “Anyway, can we move on?”
The amusement slides off the spirit’s face. “Sure, let’s.”
They leave the security office and walk down the steps to the work floor. As they go, Wendy sees the faces of the laborers at their machines. About half a dozen of them are looking up at the office, at West and his Christmas party. Their gazes are filled with cold anger. “Wend- Spirit. Hey, hang on, these people-”
“Aren’t my concern,” the spirit tosses over her shoulder, “My job is the Present, not the Future.”
“What does that mean? Hey!” Wendy reaches out and grabs the spirit’s arm, pulling her around to face her. “What are these people planning? Are they going to attempt an assassination?”
“I see an empty desk in the security office,” the spirit replies, “and a gun without an owner, carefully preserved. If things stay the way they are, the major will die.”
Fear Wendy Watson has never felt for another person grips her heart. “But, it might not happen?”
The spirit gives a half-smile, “It might not. Depends on you, of all people. Best of luck to West.”
They travel to other areas of the complex, visiting other illicit Christmas parties. Wendy watches but doesn’t comment. She’s having difficulty ignoring thoughts about uncomfortable topics like morale. It’s impossible not to feel the warmth of her workers’ happiness as they’re given a break from their duties to wear paper crowns and pass around newspaper-wrapped presents. Wendy wonders why she never noticed a decrease in productivity on this night each year- possibly they make up the difference by working harder after their celebration, which is undeniably interesting. If she was to harness this energy... maybe Fatboy wouldn’t suffer for a little holiday cheer. Within reason.
The spirit gives her arm another tug, and she feels the world rush past her. “Ugh, I thought you said there wouldn’t be any time warps,” she whines when she gets her balance.
“Who said we went through time?” The spirit walks ahead and she must have a hint of Middle Wendy Watson in her because she moves like she knows every inch of this building. Wendy can’t help being cautious as she follows- as one does when stepping into the headquarters of one’s greatest enemy.
Lacey’s been at it again. The room seems festooned with all the decorations that aren’t up in Fatboy Command. A jazzy Christmas tune plays from somewhere, and the Middleman and his sidekick cling obscenely close as they sway to the beat. The smile still doesn’t look particularly at home on the Middleman’s face, but he’s clearly making an effort for the beaming Lacey. He leads her out into a spin and she laughs before curling back into his arms.
“Aw,” the spirit coos, “don’t they look cozy.”
“Yeah, like conjoined twins,” Wendy replies, turning away to examine the room. She should be taking advantage of this opportunity, not gazing at her enemies’ apparent bliss.
But then the spirit’s hands are on her arms, pulling her away with a tutting sound, “No peeking, Miss Nosy, or didn’t your mother teach you that? Anyway, you think this is all a dream, right? So who’s to say if any of this stuff is in the real MiddleHQ.”
Wendy must admit she has a point, though she hasn’t reminded herself this is a dream in some time. In any case, the song has ended and Lacey and the Middleman have torn themselves away from each other. Lacey trips over to a window and Wendy moves closer to see what she’s looking at. The spinning mascot atop Fatboy Command is just visible over the tops of the buildings and through the smog.
Lacey sighs, “Merry Christmas, Dub-Dub.”
Wendy’s mouth drops open. “Oh please! Yeah, now I know for sure this is a dream. Lacey’s pining for me on Christmas when she could be off frolicking with her boss? Yeah, dry that one out you could fertilize the lawn.”
The spirit just shrugs over crossed arms, “What can I say? For some reason she still loves you, Dubby. You know you probably have your alternate self to thank for that. She reminded Lacey that somewhere not so deep inside that Armani by way of the Gestapo suit is her best friend.” The spirit pauses, looking thoughtful, “Tell me, how long has it been since you last painted?”
The question delivers an unexpectedly powerful pang to Wendy’s heart. “None of your business!”
She nods, “That long, huh?”
“I’m finished here, okay? Take me back. Right now.”
The spirit holds up her hands, “Fine. My time’s about up anyway.”
They begin to walk out of MiddleHQ, and Wendy asks, “Your time’s up?”
“There’s only one Christmas Present, you know. So, that’s all the time I get.”
Wendy hums, “Well, sucks for you.”
“You get used to it.” The spirit is walking ahead, through the shadows of the street. Wendy watches her, sees her darkened form seem to change.
“Uh, spirit? You’ve got something...”
The spirit stops and turns, and so do the two creatures now on either side of her. She puts her hands on the shoulders of a boy and a girl, both of them haggard with disease and malnutrition, gazing up at Wendy with wide bloodshot eyes. Their hands are like filthy claws as they cling to the spirit, whose face has somehow aged decades. “These kids are Ignorance and Want, Wendy. Say hello- you’ve had a bigger hand in their making than most people.”
Wendy is horrified by the children, but she summons up her nerve and says, “Hi.”
They don’t answer, thank god, but continue to burn holes into Wendy with their huge empty eyes. “They’re both dangerous, but Ignorance especially,” says the spirit, “That’s where doom is written, Wendy. Stay blind to everything around you, and you will reap the whirlwind.”
The shadows gather and Wendy can’t see anything. She whips around to find the spirit and the children gone, but she can make out a figure not far away. A familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette carrying a cannon of a gun in both hands. He marches forward, and the shadows remain a shroud around him, hiding everything but the outline of his figure.
Wendy swallows, her throat gone dry with fear. She feels herself cringe at his approach. “You- you’re not the Middleman, are you.”
The spirit shakes his head.
“The Ghost of Christmas Future, I presume?”
The spirit nods.
Stave Four