Fic: Silent Tango 5/5 Part 2
Title: Silent Tango
Fandom: Fake News
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/'Stephen'
Summary: With Stephen back from Iraq, Jon and Stephen struggle to deal with their divorces, their budding relationship, oh, and a telepathic mind link, an assassination attempt and bananas on their breakfasts, too.
Chapter 5.2
Silent Tango 5.2
“Mr. Stewart, within the past five minutes you have accused the U.S. Military of Threatening, Kidnapping and Attempted Assassination of a U.S. Citizen. I don’t even want to go into the other insinuations you made, as I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about. You have also directly threatened a U.S. Army General…”
Jon didn’t hear the rest of the speech. He had already succumbed to the hand holding a chloroform soaked cloth over his face.
***
He woke up cable tied to a folding chair, its legs cemented into the ground of the small, fluorescently lit room.
He was instantly aware of the fact that Stephen was right next to him, conscious as well and on his way to a full on panic attack.
Jon?! Jon are you okay?! Oh, please, God, Please be okay, I don’t want to-
I’m fine Stephen. It’s okay. Relax, you’ll pull your stitches.
He turned his head to ensure the man beside him was all right.
Stephen was also tied to a chair, albeit a slightly more comfortable one in consideration of his condition. He was dressed in the suit Jon had brought to the hospital for him last week in anticipation of his release, and he’d been blindfolded and gagged, and Jon became aware of the fact that he was gagged as well, almost choking himself in the sudden panic of the realization.
The only other furniture in the room was another folding chair, this one not fixed to the ground, leaning against the wall. There was only one door to the room, and no cameras or two-way mirrors that he could see.
Stephen had indeed pulled his stitches, and blood was slowly seeping from the wound, staining his new bandage. Jon was concerned, but idly thought that Stephen would probably be most annoyed by the fact that the blood was staining both the red and white stripes of the flag.
I’m Bleeding?!!
A note of hysteria was creeping back into Stephen’s ‘voice’ as he began to thrash against the ties that held him once more, and Jon had to use a bit of his newfound authority to calm him back down.
Stop struggling, you’ll only make it worse. We’ll get you out of here and get it taken care of.
Stephen stopped moving immediately, hanging limp in his chair.
I love you.
Jon frowned.
We’re going to get out of this. I promise. Can you tell me what happened?
Stephen was calm now, and quiet. Jon found it more disconcerting than his previous fear.
I woke up early, put on my suit and sat down to watch TV to wait for you…then…this doctor came in to check on me, and there was this weird smell then I fell asleep and woke up here.
With me?
There was more passion to his voice, and more than a note of relief.
Yeah. With you. How’d you find me, anyway?
You’re not going to like it Stephen. Recycling saved your life.
NO.
Jon smiled despite himself.
Yep. Recycling, Jimmy, and a lazy immigrant cleaning staff.
You’re kidding me.
Jon was relaxing now too.
We’re going to get out of here, right?
It was an affirmation, not a question, but Jon didn’t have time to answer anyways. The door to the room swung open with a metallic screech, and General Richmond, now dressed in fatigues, walked in, then nodded out the open doorway. The door snapped shut with a solid clang that reverberated around the tiny room with a deafening finality.
Stephen tensed, but took his cues from Jon and stayed still.
“You two,” the General sighed, walking up to Stephen and removing his blindfold, “Are a right pain in the ass.”
Leaving their gags intact, he moved to the folding chair leaning against the wall.
“Ever since I heard the proposal for that USO tour,” he continued, setting up the chair opposite them and taking a seat, “I just knew you were going to be trouble.”
Confidence restored with his sight, Stephen joined Jon in glaring at Richmond.
“You,” he nodded at Jon, “You were an unforeseen complication. A civilian dragged into all this unwittingly, but you,” he now gestured at Stephen, “You got yourself into all this, then you go and break your non-disclosure…”
Jon glanced at Stephen, who was alternating between staring at Jon and Richmond with confusion and defensive anger.
Stephen? What did you do?
Nothing! I swear!!
What non-disclosure did you sign besides what the studio got for your location?
…Just some basic forms…they said.
Did you read them?
…
Stephen?!
…Not really…
General Richmond got to his feet and strode towards his captives, removing first Jon’s, then Stephen’s gag.
“If you don’t mind, I’m feeling a little left out of this conversation, boys.”
Stephen’s surprise was evident. Jon winced. He’d been so busy trying to calm Stephen down he hadn’t told him anything.
Sorry, yeah. He knows everything. More than we do, probably.
“Straight to business then. Your first night at the Water Palace, you managed to stumble upon and activate a top secret military R&D project, codenamed ‘Silent Tango’.”
Jon had suspected something like this for a while, but it was still a shock to hear it from the horse’s mouth, as it were. Stephen looked more shocked than he did. Jon thought he was ready for him to say almost anything…
“What, the sandwich machine?”
Except that.
Almost simultaneously, both Jon and the General repeated incredulously, “Sandwich Machine?”
Stephen nodded, seeming to understand now.
“Yeah. I got hungry, and all they brought me was this weird foreign food, so I went looking for the kitchen. I figured it would be down a servant’s hall, so I just wandered until I found this room with this giant machine in it.”
The general seemed beyond words, so Jon took over. “Stephen, why on earth would you think it was a sandwich machine?”
He shrugged, wincing as he was reminded of the wound in his shoulder. “It looked like a mass production assembly machine in a major troop base in what I figured was a kitchen. A sandwich machine would be easy, high output, low cost and require little manpower.”
Jon blinked. “Wow…that actually kind of makes sense.”
Richmond sighed, turning to head back to his chair. “No, it doesn’t, It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but it’s only natural you would agree.”
“And why is that?” Jon asked curiously.
“Never mind that,” Stephen interrupted excitedly, focusing on the General. “America has a telepathy machine?!”
Jon suppressed an affectionate giggle. Apparently, even while tied to a chair and being interrogated by a U.S. Army General about meddling with a top-secret weapon, Stephen was still a geek.
Richmond seemed to stop to consider the question before answering. “We think so.”
“Think?” Jon arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got two pretty decent pieces of evidence before you.”
“I’m sorry, I meant we think that’s what it was designed for. It’s obviously what it does. America didn’t actually build it. Why don’t I start from the beginning?”
Jon nodded. Stephen was too obviously crushed by the knowledge that someone had beaten America to the discovery of superpowers to respond.
"Project Silent Tango was originally designed by some of Saddam Hussein's chief scientists around 2003. When we took control of the Water Palace we found it in a laboratory in one of the back halls, uncompleted, but showing great promise."
Jon snorted. "So you decided to help yourselves."
Richmond and Stephen both shot him a glare.
"We did what we considered best for the United States and its citizens. Tactically, we thought it was best if it wasn't left to waste or destroyed."
"Yes, but what is it? How does it work?! Technology like this is-"
"You don't need to know how it works. We still believe you shouldn't have ever known of its existence. What it does though, turned out to be the problem, and is why we believe the project was terminated by the Iraqis.
“Meaning you haven’t got a clue how it works, but thought it would be a good idea to fool around with it anyway,” Jon translated helpfully.
“No,” he was corrected, "According to our scientists' research and the data we found on the project, Project Tango was intended to create a stable mental link between two man teams of operatives. Obviously, the tactical applications of such a link would be immense. Teams could work in perfect tandem without ever having to audibly communicate and risk giving away their positions."
"I'm assuming something went wrong," Jon spat, remnants of his earlier, previously undiscovered mood still remaining, yet now infused with his usual sarcastic tone.
"Of course. For reasons our scientists have still been unable to identify the link did not connect the 'infected' operative with his mission partner. Instead, it linked our men with operatives of opposing viewpoints, often Al Qaeda terrorists."
Richmond sank into the chair, apparently exhausted. "The only explanations we received from R & D were shrugs and 'Opposites Attract, I Guess.'"
Jon and Stephen shot glances at each other, before Stephen finally summoned the courage to speak, stammering slightly.
"W-What Happened?"
"The higher-ups decided to keep the project running, hoping to gain intel on the movements of enemy forces. It seemed that, at first, only the operative that could comprehend what was going on was able to control the connection. However, over time, both became aware of the connection and something neither Saddam's nor our scientists had foreseen occurred."
He was silent for a minute, head downcast, looking vaguely beaten. Jon and Stephen were erect and attentive, waiting for him to continue. If not for the fact they were cable-tied to their chairs one would think for all the world that the General was the interrogated prisoner.
Drawing a shaky breath, he continued.
"If...left...in a state of continued subconscious communication for a period of weeks, the two opposing viewpoints of the operatives would, over time, begin to meld, bringing them to a middle ground, so to speak. However, if the two operatives were not of equal stubbornness or conviction in their beliefs, one mindset would begin to dominate both men.”
He buried his head in his hands.
"Nobody realized until one of my best men blew himself up in a car bombing in the middle of the city."
Jon and Stephen sat dumbstruck, staring at the man before them. Their minds were swirling, and now it was even more difficult than before to tell whose was whose.
Oh God...I agreed with Bill O'Reilly last week, didn't even think...
Really was a weapon of mass destruction in Baghdad, I knew it!
This weapon could bring about world peace! With the right leaders connected...
Sweet Jesus...I'm half Jew...
When everyone told me I was being irrational, and I just shouted at them…
Half Pinko...I'm cream pink...pink cream?
Does fiscal responsibility really make me non-liberal?
I'm an unpatriotic liberal bastard...
Disagreeing with Obama…that’s me, right? I mean, the man is not fulfilling his campaign promises or…
He made me get in touch with my feelings. Dear, sweet, fully Christian God...
A full several minutes later they both regained enough motor function to start shouting.
It was a full on, coordinated attack with all the strength of a hundred Kramer-level chew outs and a thousand Colbert Patented All-American Rants.
It was a single case, both sides in one, coming from one mind with two voices, each picking up where the other paused for breath. They cursed the government, the army, Al Qaeda, every possible suspect on every side, right, left and above.
Finally, breathing hard and red in the face, Jon stopped. Stephen looked like he could have gone on for a while, but also fell silent.
Silent throughout the verbal barrage, Richmond resumed speaking as if he’d only been momentarily and rudely interrupted.
“Obviously after that the project was mothballed and the operatives removed from active duty. We didn’t bother to put a guard on the machine because we didn’t expect a nosy civilian to be wandering unsupervised four levels beneath the Palace. It was scheduled to be deconstructed this month.”
“What happened to the operatives?”
There was no reply.
“General?! What happened to the operatives?!” Stephen was beginning to panic again.
Trying to send the equivalent of a calming hand on the shoulder and reassurances he didn’t quite believe himself, Jon took a deep breath, and asked the biggest question of all.
"I think what Stephen wants to know is that now we know all of this and you've realized killing us is a PR nightmare..."
Richmond looked up from his boots.
"What are you going to do with us?"
To Be Concluded
***
Comments are love! Epilogue to follow in a day or so! Thank you to everyone who's followed this story with my ridiculously late updates!
Fandom: Fake News
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/'Stephen'
Summary: With Stephen back from Iraq, Jon and Stephen struggle to deal with their divorces, their budding relationship, oh, and a telepathic mind link, an assassination attempt and bananas on their breakfasts, too.
Chapter 5.2
Silent Tango 5.2
“Mr. Stewart, within the past five minutes you have accused the U.S. Military of Threatening, Kidnapping and Attempted Assassination of a U.S. Citizen. I don’t even want to go into the other insinuations you made, as I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about. You have also directly threatened a U.S. Army General…”
Jon didn’t hear the rest of the speech. He had already succumbed to the hand holding a chloroform soaked cloth over his face.
***
He woke up cable tied to a folding chair, its legs cemented into the ground of the small, fluorescently lit room.
He was instantly aware of the fact that Stephen was right next to him, conscious as well and on his way to a full on panic attack.
Jon?! Jon are you okay?! Oh, please, God, Please be okay, I don’t want to-
I’m fine Stephen. It’s okay. Relax, you’ll pull your stitches.
He turned his head to ensure the man beside him was all right.
Stephen was also tied to a chair, albeit a slightly more comfortable one in consideration of his condition. He was dressed in the suit Jon had brought to the hospital for him last week in anticipation of his release, and he’d been blindfolded and gagged, and Jon became aware of the fact that he was gagged as well, almost choking himself in the sudden panic of the realization.
The only other furniture in the room was another folding chair, this one not fixed to the ground, leaning against the wall. There was only one door to the room, and no cameras or two-way mirrors that he could see.
Stephen had indeed pulled his stitches, and blood was slowly seeping from the wound, staining his new bandage. Jon was concerned, but idly thought that Stephen would probably be most annoyed by the fact that the blood was staining both the red and white stripes of the flag.
I’m Bleeding?!!
A note of hysteria was creeping back into Stephen’s ‘voice’ as he began to thrash against the ties that held him once more, and Jon had to use a bit of his newfound authority to calm him back down.
Stop struggling, you’ll only make it worse. We’ll get you out of here and get it taken care of.
Stephen stopped moving immediately, hanging limp in his chair.
I love you.
Jon frowned.
We’re going to get out of this. I promise. Can you tell me what happened?
Stephen was calm now, and quiet. Jon found it more disconcerting than his previous fear.
I woke up early, put on my suit and sat down to watch TV to wait for you…then…this doctor came in to check on me, and there was this weird smell then I fell asleep and woke up here.
With me?
There was more passion to his voice, and more than a note of relief.
Yeah. With you. How’d you find me, anyway?
You’re not going to like it Stephen. Recycling saved your life.
NO.
Jon smiled despite himself.
Yep. Recycling, Jimmy, and a lazy immigrant cleaning staff.
You’re kidding me.
Jon was relaxing now too.
We’re going to get out of here, right?
It was an affirmation, not a question, but Jon didn’t have time to answer anyways. The door to the room swung open with a metallic screech, and General Richmond, now dressed in fatigues, walked in, then nodded out the open doorway. The door snapped shut with a solid clang that reverberated around the tiny room with a deafening finality.
Stephen tensed, but took his cues from Jon and stayed still.
“You two,” the General sighed, walking up to Stephen and removing his blindfold, “Are a right pain in the ass.”
Leaving their gags intact, he moved to the folding chair leaning against the wall.
“Ever since I heard the proposal for that USO tour,” he continued, setting up the chair opposite them and taking a seat, “I just knew you were going to be trouble.”
Confidence restored with his sight, Stephen joined Jon in glaring at Richmond.
“You,” he nodded at Jon, “You were an unforeseen complication. A civilian dragged into all this unwittingly, but you,” he now gestured at Stephen, “You got yourself into all this, then you go and break your non-disclosure…”
Jon glanced at Stephen, who was alternating between staring at Jon and Richmond with confusion and defensive anger.
Stephen? What did you do?
Nothing! I swear!!
What non-disclosure did you sign besides what the studio got for your location?
…Just some basic forms…they said.
Did you read them?
…
Stephen?!
…Not really…
General Richmond got to his feet and strode towards his captives, removing first Jon’s, then Stephen’s gag.
“If you don’t mind, I’m feeling a little left out of this conversation, boys.”
Stephen’s surprise was evident. Jon winced. He’d been so busy trying to calm Stephen down he hadn’t told him anything.
Sorry, yeah. He knows everything. More than we do, probably.
“Straight to business then. Your first night at the Water Palace, you managed to stumble upon and activate a top secret military R&D project, codenamed ‘Silent Tango’.”
Jon had suspected something like this for a while, but it was still a shock to hear it from the horse’s mouth, as it were. Stephen looked more shocked than he did. Jon thought he was ready for him to say almost anything…
“What, the sandwich machine?”
Except that.
Almost simultaneously, both Jon and the General repeated incredulously, “Sandwich Machine?”
Stephen nodded, seeming to understand now.
“Yeah. I got hungry, and all they brought me was this weird foreign food, so I went looking for the kitchen. I figured it would be down a servant’s hall, so I just wandered until I found this room with this giant machine in it.”
The general seemed beyond words, so Jon took over. “Stephen, why on earth would you think it was a sandwich machine?”
He shrugged, wincing as he was reminded of the wound in his shoulder. “It looked like a mass production assembly machine in a major troop base in what I figured was a kitchen. A sandwich machine would be easy, high output, low cost and require little manpower.”
Jon blinked. “Wow…that actually kind of makes sense.”
Richmond sighed, turning to head back to his chair. “No, it doesn’t, It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but it’s only natural you would agree.”
“And why is that?” Jon asked curiously.
“Never mind that,” Stephen interrupted excitedly, focusing on the General. “America has a telepathy machine?!”
Jon suppressed an affectionate giggle. Apparently, even while tied to a chair and being interrogated by a U.S. Army General about meddling with a top-secret weapon, Stephen was still a geek.
Richmond seemed to stop to consider the question before answering. “We think so.”
“Think?” Jon arched an eyebrow. “You’ve got two pretty decent pieces of evidence before you.”
“I’m sorry, I meant we think that’s what it was designed for. It’s obviously what it does. America didn’t actually build it. Why don’t I start from the beginning?”
Jon nodded. Stephen was too obviously crushed by the knowledge that someone had beaten America to the discovery of superpowers to respond.
"Project Silent Tango was originally designed by some of Saddam Hussein's chief scientists around 2003. When we took control of the Water Palace we found it in a laboratory in one of the back halls, uncompleted, but showing great promise."
Jon snorted. "So you decided to help yourselves."
Richmond and Stephen both shot him a glare.
"We did what we considered best for the United States and its citizens. Tactically, we thought it was best if it wasn't left to waste or destroyed."
"Yes, but what is it? How does it work?! Technology like this is-"
"You don't need to know how it works. We still believe you shouldn't have ever known of its existence. What it does though, turned out to be the problem, and is why we believe the project was terminated by the Iraqis.
“Meaning you haven’t got a clue how it works, but thought it would be a good idea to fool around with it anyway,” Jon translated helpfully.
“No,” he was corrected, "According to our scientists' research and the data we found on the project, Project Tango was intended to create a stable mental link between two man teams of operatives. Obviously, the tactical applications of such a link would be immense. Teams could work in perfect tandem without ever having to audibly communicate and risk giving away their positions."
"I'm assuming something went wrong," Jon spat, remnants of his earlier, previously undiscovered mood still remaining, yet now infused with his usual sarcastic tone.
"Of course. For reasons our scientists have still been unable to identify the link did not connect the 'infected' operative with his mission partner. Instead, it linked our men with operatives of opposing viewpoints, often Al Qaeda terrorists."
Richmond sank into the chair, apparently exhausted. "The only explanations we received from R & D were shrugs and 'Opposites Attract, I Guess.'"
Jon and Stephen shot glances at each other, before Stephen finally summoned the courage to speak, stammering slightly.
"W-What Happened?"
"The higher-ups decided to keep the project running, hoping to gain intel on the movements of enemy forces. It seemed that, at first, only the operative that could comprehend what was going on was able to control the connection. However, over time, both became aware of the connection and something neither Saddam's nor our scientists had foreseen occurred."
He was silent for a minute, head downcast, looking vaguely beaten. Jon and Stephen were erect and attentive, waiting for him to continue. If not for the fact they were cable-tied to their chairs one would think for all the world that the General was the interrogated prisoner.
Drawing a shaky breath, he continued.
"If...left...in a state of continued subconscious communication for a period of weeks, the two opposing viewpoints of the operatives would, over time, begin to meld, bringing them to a middle ground, so to speak. However, if the two operatives were not of equal stubbornness or conviction in their beliefs, one mindset would begin to dominate both men.”
He buried his head in his hands.
"Nobody realized until one of my best men blew himself up in a car bombing in the middle of the city."
Jon and Stephen sat dumbstruck, staring at the man before them. Their minds were swirling, and now it was even more difficult than before to tell whose was whose.
Oh God...I agreed with Bill O'Reilly last week, didn't even think...
Really was a weapon of mass destruction in Baghdad, I knew it!
This weapon could bring about world peace! With the right leaders connected...
Sweet Jesus...I'm half Jew...
When everyone told me I was being irrational, and I just shouted at them…
Half Pinko...I'm cream pink...pink cream?
Does fiscal responsibility really make me non-liberal?
I'm an unpatriotic liberal bastard...
Disagreeing with Obama…that’s me, right? I mean, the man is not fulfilling his campaign promises or…
He made me get in touch with my feelings. Dear, sweet, fully Christian God...
A full several minutes later they both regained enough motor function to start shouting.
It was a full on, coordinated attack with all the strength of a hundred Kramer-level chew outs and a thousand Colbert Patented All-American Rants.
It was a single case, both sides in one, coming from one mind with two voices, each picking up where the other paused for breath. They cursed the government, the army, Al Qaeda, every possible suspect on every side, right, left and above.
Finally, breathing hard and red in the face, Jon stopped. Stephen looked like he could have gone on for a while, but also fell silent.
Silent throughout the verbal barrage, Richmond resumed speaking as if he’d only been momentarily and rudely interrupted.
“Obviously after that the project was mothballed and the operatives removed from active duty. We didn’t bother to put a guard on the machine because we didn’t expect a nosy civilian to be wandering unsupervised four levels beneath the Palace. It was scheduled to be deconstructed this month.”
“What happened to the operatives?”
There was no reply.
“General?! What happened to the operatives?!” Stephen was beginning to panic again.
Trying to send the equivalent of a calming hand on the shoulder and reassurances he didn’t quite believe himself, Jon took a deep breath, and asked the biggest question of all.
"I think what Stephen wants to know is that now we know all of this and you've realized killing us is a PR nightmare..."
Richmond looked up from his boots.
"What are you going to do with us?"
To Be Concluded
***
Comments are love! Epilogue to follow in a day or so! Thank you to everyone who's followed this story with my ridiculously late updates!