Reality Check, ch. 75
I'm somewhat conscious that this isn't a terribly awesome chapter 75. Bah. Chapter Seventy-Five: Friction
"Fuck, I've missed coffee."
"I'll drink to that. Cheers." Kyle lifted his mug in a mock toast.
"Cheers."
For a miracle, they were the only people in the cafeteria, even though it was two in the morning, normally a peak hour for night shift.
Fuckin' weird.
"So what brings you here?" No matter how innocently he meant it, the phrase still rang in Kyle's ears like a bad pickup line. I may not be Fred Flintstone, but I can still make your bed rock.
Ter Borcht eyed him for a moment, then set down his mug (on which faded letters proclaimed something in German). "Couldn't sleep."
"I hear that." Kyle drank from his own mug, which looked brand new next to ter Borcht's. "I'm in between projects."
"Mmm." Ter Borcht wrapped his hands around his mug, covering whatever was written on it.
"What's your mug say?"
He raised his eyebrows, then glanced down at the mug, taking his hands off it. "A friend gave it to me when we were in college. 'Future doctors unite'." He shrugged. "I've had it ever since."
"So you brought it here?" Kyle winced. Despite what his teachers had said, there was such a thing as a dumb question. Example A: the one he just asked.
"Nah, it just appeared." Ter Borcht snorted. "Yes. The mug and a few books. Other than that -- clothes."
"Reminds me of college," Kyle muttered, regretting the tragic loss of his brain-to-mouth filter. College is a bitch.
"Ah."
Kyle sipped his coffee. "You want another cup?"
Ter Borcht shook his head. "I'm fine."
He nodded, and then something occurred to him. "So where's, uh--"
Ter Borcht cut him off mid-sentence (thankfully saving Kyle from trying to remember what the hell he'd named his daughter). "I left her with Jeb."
"She must be real cute if she looks like you."
He looked surprised for a moment. "Is that a compliment?"
Kyle shrugged. "Uh... sure." I'm such a dumbass.
He didn't have a lot of rules (other than don't get caught) but high on the short list was a simple maxim: don't hit on anyone who's already taken.
Then again, everything he'd done in high school probably already had him a first-class ticket to hell, so what was it worth, really?
"Then thank you."
Kyle glanced at his watch. "It's been great, but... I gotta run."
You never would have known, just looking at him, but ter Borcht was a master of the deadpan. "Peace."
"Yeah, peace out," Kyle said, and then he beat feet."Thanks for staying so late."
"No problem. Cheers, Eli."
They tapped their glasses together and drank.
Reilly turned back to the console he was sitting in front of and keyed in a brief command.
Eli took another sip. "So remind me what your program does?"
He spun in his chair. "Well, it's not mine, but basically it's collating all the recorded data on the avian-human hybrids. Should be done in a few hours."
Eli grinned. "Good work, Reilly." He refreshed both their glasses.
"You can call me Beau."
He glanced up. "Pardon?"
Reilly rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Beau, as in Beauregard. It's my real name."
Eli nodded and smiled. "Then it's been a pleasure working with you, Beau, and I hope we can continue our association for a long time to come."
Being on first-name terms with his boss was... pretty awesome, Reilly decided, as the computer hummed quietly away behind him (it wasn't actually doing the heavy processing work, the School's servers were, but there was still something visceral about the hum of a computer that indicated 'hey, you mind, I'm doin' fuckin' work here'). Prescott, being a dicksock, had never referred to him by name, and Jeb, even though he'd never actually been Reilly's boss, had only ever called him by his last name.
You could probably chalk all of that up to the fact that on a normal basis, Reilly hated his first name. Too goddamn hicktastic. Having to introduce himself as Beauregard made him feel like he was wearing a sign that said "Hi, I'm from Buttfuck Nowhere, the Deep South".
Except this time, when it wasn't some random Yankee he was introducing himself to -- it was someone his parents might have grown up just down the street from.
For all Reilly knew, Eli and his aunt Cissy had played kick-the-can together as kids. It wasn't like he made a habit of remembering anyone from his hometown (except Kyle). They weren't worth it, and he'd never see them again.
He felt the impulse to shudder (goose must've walked over my grave, I guess), but suppressed it. No reason to spill on himself.
"I hope so too, man," Reilly said.
Eli chuckled, then inhaled deeply. "You're familiar with Dr. Batchelder?"
Everyone is by now. He shrugged. "Yeah, we talk sometimes."
He raised his eyebrows. "Beau... I'm sure you know this, but -- shotgun weddings rarely end well. Give the doctor my warmest regards, won't you?"
Reilly glanced down at his drink. "No problem, Eli."
He knew what Eli was getting at, though an actual wedding hadn't been involved -- the saying back home was marry in haste, repent at leisure. He had better hopes for Jeb than that, though. Poor man deserved a better hand from fate than that.Overhead the stars were emerging from thin clouds, but ter Borcht didn't spare them a glance as he walked between the buildings -- it was well past midnight, and though he wasn't tired, he needed to come home.
The hallway was dim and silent, and he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand as he opened the door. Perhaps he'd be able to sleep now; it would be a relief.
Jeb was sprawled across the bed, the picture of exhaustion. He seemed to be working himself ragged lately.
Ter Borcht eased the door shut behind himself; it had a tendency to slam when you weren't looking.
Elsa was asleep as well, clutching a corner of her blanket in one hand. She, on the other hand, was doing fine.
Everything seemed to be at peace, and ter Borcht relaxed as he kicked off his shoes and undressed. Often he worried that if he left something bad would happen, either to Elsa or to Jeb, but it seemed tonight he'd gotten lucky.
Ter Borcht sat down on the edge of the bed. Jeb's hair was a mess; he had a tendency to toss and turn before he fell asleep. He'd apologized for it until ter Borcht informed him that it didn't matter either way (and as a matter of fact, he found it quite endearing).
His hair was soft, too, no matter how long he'd gone without washing it -- ter Borcht ran his fingers through it, idly playing with the individual strands.
Jeb stirred, then drew his outspread limbs back towards his torso. His eyes opened halfway. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"I should be."
He brought one hand up to rub his eyes. "Come here." He grabbed ter Borcht by the shoulder and pulled him down onto the bed.
There was a brief flurry of blankets as Jeb pulled the covers over both of them, then silence as Jeb slipped his arms around ter Borcht's chest.
"You are an octopus," ter Borcht grumbled, trying half-heartedly to move away from Jeb's hands.
"You like it," Jeb murmured, putting his head on ter Borcht's chest. "Besides. Sleep."
"Yes, doctor." Ter Borcht closed his eyes. He felt the heat of Jeb's body against his bare skin; the cafeteria had seemed so cold and lonely. Quite the contrast against this dark, warm room where he was safe in his lover's arms. "I'll sleep."
"Good."
"Love you too."
This time sleep was waiting for him, and he welcomed it.I do have more plot planned out for this fic, and it shouldn't be long 'til I can put a wrap on it. Woo.
Edit: I think this is the longest it's ever taken me to notice and resolve a major formatting fuckup. My b. Previous chapter. Index. Next chapter.
"Fuck, I've missed coffee."
"I'll drink to that. Cheers." Kyle lifted his mug in a mock toast.
"Cheers."
For a miracle, they were the only people in the cafeteria, even though it was two in the morning, normally a peak hour for night shift.
Fuckin' weird.
"So what brings you here?" No matter how innocently he meant it, the phrase still rang in Kyle's ears like a bad pickup line. I may not be Fred Flintstone, but I can still make your bed rock.
Ter Borcht eyed him for a moment, then set down his mug (on which faded letters proclaimed something in German). "Couldn't sleep."
"I hear that." Kyle drank from his own mug, which looked brand new next to ter Borcht's. "I'm in between projects."
"Mmm." Ter Borcht wrapped his hands around his mug, covering whatever was written on it.
"What's your mug say?"
He raised his eyebrows, then glanced down at the mug, taking his hands off it. "A friend gave it to me when we were in college. 'Future doctors unite'." He shrugged. "I've had it ever since."
"So you brought it here?" Kyle winced. Despite what his teachers had said, there was such a thing as a dumb question. Example A: the one he just asked.
"Nah, it just appeared." Ter Borcht snorted. "Yes. The mug and a few books. Other than that -- clothes."
"Reminds me of college," Kyle muttered, regretting the tragic loss of his brain-to-mouth filter. College is a bitch.
"Ah."
Kyle sipped his coffee. "You want another cup?"
Ter Borcht shook his head. "I'm fine."
He nodded, and then something occurred to him. "So where's, uh--"
Ter Borcht cut him off mid-sentence (thankfully saving Kyle from trying to remember what the hell he'd named his daughter). "I left her with Jeb."
"She must be real cute if she looks like you."
He looked surprised for a moment. "Is that a compliment?"
Kyle shrugged. "Uh... sure." I'm such a dumbass.
He didn't have a lot of rules (other than don't get caught) but high on the short list was a simple maxim: don't hit on anyone who's already taken.
Then again, everything he'd done in high school probably already had him a first-class ticket to hell, so what was it worth, really?
"Then thank you."
Kyle glanced at his watch. "It's been great, but... I gotta run."
You never would have known, just looking at him, but ter Borcht was a master of the deadpan. "Peace."
"Yeah, peace out," Kyle said, and then he beat feet."Thanks for staying so late."
"No problem. Cheers, Eli."
They tapped their glasses together and drank.
Reilly turned back to the console he was sitting in front of and keyed in a brief command.
Eli took another sip. "So remind me what your program does?"
He spun in his chair. "Well, it's not mine, but basically it's collating all the recorded data on the avian-human hybrids. Should be done in a few hours."
Eli grinned. "Good work, Reilly." He refreshed both their glasses.
"You can call me Beau."
He glanced up. "Pardon?"
Reilly rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Beau, as in Beauregard. It's my real name."
Eli nodded and smiled. "Then it's been a pleasure working with you, Beau, and I hope we can continue our association for a long time to come."
Being on first-name terms with his boss was... pretty awesome, Reilly decided, as the computer hummed quietly away behind him (it wasn't actually doing the heavy processing work, the School's servers were, but there was still something visceral about the hum of a computer that indicated 'hey, you mind, I'm doin' fuckin' work here'). Prescott, being a dicksock, had never referred to him by name, and Jeb, even though he'd never actually been Reilly's boss, had only ever called him by his last name.
You could probably chalk all of that up to the fact that on a normal basis, Reilly hated his first name. Too goddamn hicktastic. Having to introduce himself as Beauregard made him feel like he was wearing a sign that said "Hi, I'm from Buttfuck Nowhere, the Deep South".
Except this time, when it wasn't some random Yankee he was introducing himself to -- it was someone his parents might have grown up just down the street from.
For all Reilly knew, Eli and his aunt Cissy had played kick-the-can together as kids. It wasn't like he made a habit of remembering anyone from his hometown (except Kyle). They weren't worth it, and he'd never see them again.
He felt the impulse to shudder (goose must've walked over my grave, I guess), but suppressed it. No reason to spill on himself.
"I hope so too, man," Reilly said.
Eli chuckled, then inhaled deeply. "You're familiar with Dr. Batchelder?"
Everyone is by now. He shrugged. "Yeah, we talk sometimes."
He raised his eyebrows. "Beau... I'm sure you know this, but -- shotgun weddings rarely end well. Give the doctor my warmest regards, won't you?"
Reilly glanced down at his drink. "No problem, Eli."
He knew what Eli was getting at, though an actual wedding hadn't been involved -- the saying back home was marry in haste, repent at leisure. He had better hopes for Jeb than that, though. Poor man deserved a better hand from fate than that.Overhead the stars were emerging from thin clouds, but ter Borcht didn't spare them a glance as he walked between the buildings -- it was well past midnight, and though he wasn't tired, he needed to come home.
The hallway was dim and silent, and he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand as he opened the door. Perhaps he'd be able to sleep now; it would be a relief.
Jeb was sprawled across the bed, the picture of exhaustion. He seemed to be working himself ragged lately.
Ter Borcht eased the door shut behind himself; it had a tendency to slam when you weren't looking.
Elsa was asleep as well, clutching a corner of her blanket in one hand. She, on the other hand, was doing fine.
Everything seemed to be at peace, and ter Borcht relaxed as he kicked off his shoes and undressed. Often he worried that if he left something bad would happen, either to Elsa or to Jeb, but it seemed tonight he'd gotten lucky.
Ter Borcht sat down on the edge of the bed. Jeb's hair was a mess; he had a tendency to toss and turn before he fell asleep. He'd apologized for it until ter Borcht informed him that it didn't matter either way (and as a matter of fact, he found it quite endearing).
His hair was soft, too, no matter how long he'd gone without washing it -- ter Borcht ran his fingers through it, idly playing with the individual strands.
Jeb stirred, then drew his outspread limbs back towards his torso. His eyes opened halfway. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"I should be."
He brought one hand up to rub his eyes. "Come here." He grabbed ter Borcht by the shoulder and pulled him down onto the bed.
There was a brief flurry of blankets as Jeb pulled the covers over both of them, then silence as Jeb slipped his arms around ter Borcht's chest.
"You are an octopus," ter Borcht grumbled, trying half-heartedly to move away from Jeb's hands.
"You like it," Jeb murmured, putting his head on ter Borcht's chest. "Besides. Sleep."
"Yes, doctor." Ter Borcht closed his eyes. He felt the heat of Jeb's body against his bare skin; the cafeteria had seemed so cold and lonely. Quite the contrast against this dark, warm room where he was safe in his lover's arms. "I'll sleep."
"Good."
"Love you too."
This time sleep was waiting for him, and he welcomed it.I do have more plot planned out for this fic, and it shouldn't be long 'til I can put a wrap on it. Woo.
Edit: I think this is the longest it's ever taken me to notice and resolve a major formatting fuckup. My b. Previous chapter. Index. Next chapter.