Fic: Making Tea For Superman
Title: Making Tea for Superman
Genre: Superhero verse, Action
Rating: PG
Summary: Steven Mueller has the opportunity to see what most normals don't: the day to day inner workings of a superhero base. He works logistics on the Globe, a sky base above Septima City where many superheroes live and work, including Nicholas Barnes, code name the Cobra. Or alternately, the Thorn in Mueller's Side.
Notes: Written for Asexual Awareness Week (story features a biromatic asexual character), and for LT3's Odd Man Out challenge. Partially inspired by grimmsical's superhero verse Negative Space and Kurt Busiek's Astro City. Also, holy CRAP, I wrote this entire thing in one day. This is why the story is a bit rushed. Now with companion piece He Blinded Me With Science.
Bonus: you get to hear me use American twenty-something vernacular in a fic for the first time ever since this is my first piece of truly contemporary writing.
Also for anyone interested, these are the sort of coffee+liquor drinks I imagined McGrath's coffee bar would serve. Enjoy.
Mueller slammed the blast doors shut as the enemy plane skidded in. He activated shielding around the plane and ran through the shield surface with a fire extinguisher. There were some residual flames licking at the plane's wings and going dangerously close to the fuel tank, and he sprayed them liberally till they went out.
The cockpit door suddenly burst open, and the Ygthrai pilot emerged with a roar. Mueller turned and sprayed him too. He could see the pilot's clawed arms pinwheeling through the white clouds, but Mueller just advanced and kept on spraying till the pilot was forced back into the plane.
"That will do, Mr. Mueller," Centurion said, and Mueller leapt backwards out of the shield with a faint pop. After a moment, the alien jumped out of the plane and tried to come after him in a blur of leathery blue legs, only to bang into the shield like he'd just slammed into a wall.
"Resonant badges," Mueller said and tapped the round green light clipped to his shirt pocket. "Lets us in and out of the shield. Not you, sorry to say, though that was a very good try."
"Please don't taunt our guest," Centurion said. His face wasn’t visible behind his helmet, but Mueller got the impression that he was trying to hold back a smile. "Now, if you would leave us."
Mueller nodded and ducked out. Negotiating and political diplomacy were Centurion's fortes. It was the reason the Ygthrai queen had contacted him to apprehend her army's rebel faction and send them back to their home planet to stand trial.
"Now," he heard Centurion say to the alien in a cold voice that he only reserved for super-villains, hostile invaders, and slow drivers. "We've defeated your fleet and your captain is in the middle of an unconditional surrender. I advise you to do as I say."
Mueller ran across one of the catwalks to the bridge and listened to the clamour of people and machines echoing from down below. Working on the Globe wasn't too bad sometimes, even if he was the only normal human among a league of superheroes. He was the man behind the scenes, the one who handled the PR and expenses and all the little things that the supers seemed to forget. They usually waved it off with a, "Oh, you'll take care of that, won't you, Mueller?" and Mueller was happy to.
It was a rare pleasure to see the supers work and live inside the Globe, and they respected his discretion and quick efficiency with genuine gratitude that his former employers had never expressed. Of course, it had been quite a leap from being a project manager in Septima City's largest engineering firms to the…whatever he was on the Globe, but Mueller didn't miss it much. He had broad scope for autonomy here as long as he didn't send the Globe and its inhabitants crashing down to earth, and the pay wasn't too bad either.
He swiped into a utility room and opened the hatch in the floor. Light and the sound of beeping electronics came flooding up to meet him, and he swung his feet over and dropped silently onto the bridge. A man wearing blue and silver nano-armour was standing with his arms crossed in front of the wrap around glass windows. The sky outside was just beginning to lighten, and there were still a few battered ships lingering in front of the Globe, but they were friendlies and had permission to occupy their airspace.
"Well that was over quickly," Mueller remarked, and the man jumped.
"Damn it, Mueller," he said. "Have you been taking lessons from The Lynx?"
"A few," Mueller replied. "Good to see the Ygthrai didn't run you ragged, Newton."
"They didn't shoot at the Globe very much," Newton replied and sounded disappointed. "They were targeting our drones, mostly." He brightened. "But one of them fired a plasma shot straight at the bridge. They didn't expect me to throw it back at them."
"Yes, people don’t remember the 'equal and opposite reaction' part of the law, do they?" Mueller said.
"Almost killed Cobra," Newton said lightly. "Thought you might want to know. The plasma beam missed his ship by a few inches. He's a lucky sonovabitch."
"I'm sure," Mueller said. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd seen Kinetica. Got a job for her."
"Don't you have your earpiece?" Newton frowned and craned his neck to inspect the little black plug in Mueller's ear.
"Yes, but hers isn't working. She was with Volta when he sent out that electromagnetic burst."
"Volta," Newton said and sighed. "He needs to tone it down."
"He's young," Mueller replied. "He'll learn."
"Does that mean you'll be sparing him the regular lecture on destroying our equipment?"
"Oh no, I'm going to put him through the wringer," Mueller replied cheerfully. "Those electronics are damn expensive, and little bastard needs to learn that."
Newton grinned and then touched a hand to his temple. "She's in the armoury."
"Thanks," Mueller said. "Wish I had that superhero telepathy."
Newton shrugged. "The transmitter only works for people with the gene."
"I know," Mueller said. He began climbing the ladder back up to the hatch in the ceiling. "I'll track down Kinetica. Thank you."
He did indeed find her in the armoury, cradling some stolen alien weapons and looking far too pleased with herself. With her help, Mueller moved the crashed plane from the hangar to the giant workshop in the basement and then clamped the plane into the lifts to be stripped down. Sometimes it was very useful to work for people who had the power of telekinesis.
"You must be excited," Kinetica said, and her white-within-white eyes crinkled. "Shiny new alien technology."
"Not exactly shiny," Mueller replied and then arched an eyebrow as part of the scorched wing fell off. "But yes."
Mueller knew he wouldn't be needed for a few hours, so he changed into his long-sleeved canvas coveralls and got to work. He had Kinetica take out the engine and float it over to his workbench while he wheeled a ladder over, climbed up with his toolbox, and began taking apart the rest of the plane.
Of course, Gadgeteer had been better at this, his raw natural gift outstripping the gruelling years of schooling and experience Mueller had worked through. But Gadgeteer had been killed in a factory explosion last year, so Mueller supposed the supers would have to make do with him till they found another technopath for the job.
He wasn't incompetent by any means. He had come from one of the best engineering firms in the industry, and he'd been on the fast track till he'd found out the CEO was also one of the most notorious supervillains in Septima City. He was certain whistleblowing in other normal cities didn't include being held prisoner in the dungeon of a secret lair. Fortunately, most of the equipment, including the bio-print door locks, had been designed by Mueller's old engineering team, and he had broken out and met his very surprised rescuers in the hallway, the three that he now knew as Strike, Cobra, and Centurion.
They'd been in the middle of a firefight with the facility goons and had been reluctant to have him tag along. Then he had fixed Cobra's broken laser pistol in one minute flat, and they had let him come with them to apprehend the super-villain. Then he'd shown them how he'd broken out of his cell, and they'd offered him a job. Mueller had accepted on the spot; he had never been one for traditional workplace environments.
"Christmas has come early, I see," someone said from the bottom of the ladder.
Mueller didn’t even turn around. "Barnes." He ripped out a tile of burned insulation and threw it down where he hoped it would hit Barnes in the face, but unfortunately he knew that Barnes would dodge it easily. His superhero name wasn't Cobra for nothing.
"Watch where you're throwing that," Barnes called up.
"Why are you here?" Mueller said and ripped out another piece of insulation.
"Thought you could use some help keeping the ladder steady," Barnes replied, and Mueller rolled his eyes. He had learned from the past that Barnes could be very charming when he wanted. Mueller had been charmed in the beginning before Cobra turned into Nicholas Barnes, who had turned out to be nothing like his alter ego.
He tried to wrack his brains for a polite way to tell Barnes to fuck off, but nothing came to mind. "Don't they need you at the peace negotiations?" he asked instead.
"Nah. Centurion told me to leave. Apparently I was agitating the Ygthrai captain."
"You? No, how could it be?" He glanced down at Barnes. "Hey, heard you almost died today."
Barnes beamed back like it was some kind of compliment. He was wearing his scaly black armour that shone with an almost iridescent sheen in the Globe's fluorescent lights, but it was dented and scored in places."Almost is almost," he replied. "So how will you be enjoying the post-battle celebrations? Drinks? A little time-off with the girlfriend?" He waggled his eyebrows.
"I thought we've discussed this before," Mueller spat. "Specifically with fists."
Barnes sighed. "You can't hate me forever, Mueller," he said.
"Oh yes I can," Mueller snapped back and this time didn't even bother disguising his attempt to brain Barnes with a piece of metal. Barnes took the hint and shouted up a nervous goodbye before running out.
The Septima Asexual Meet-up was a bi-weekly occurrence that usually consisted of a small group of people holed up in McGrath's coffee bar for a few hours on Friday evenings. Mueller was a regular member.
"Where is everyone today?" Mueller asked. Usually they got at least five or six. Today there were only Bettony and Mark.
Bettony shrugged."Must have stayed home, seeing as random shit was falling out of the sky yesterday. I see you didn't get killed in the invasion." She twirled one of her dreadlocks around her finger.
"It was pretty close," Mueller replied. Sometimes he couldn’t resist playing to their fascination. After all, he was the only normal to know the intimate workings of the superhero base. "An enemy ship flew straight into our hangar near the end of the battle." He shrugged. "Anyway, now I have alien technology to take apart."
"I'll try to contain my excitement," she drawled. "Guess I know what you'll be doing this weekend."
"Not my fictitious girlfriend, like Cobra insinuated," Mueller muttered.
Bettony swore and put out her cigarette. The bracelets on her wrists jangled. McGrath was fine with smoking, but god help the poor soul who propped his feet on the tables. "You need to stop letting him get to you. Man's a dick."
Mark looked up from his phone to listen in. "Are we talking about Cobra again?" He pointed to Mueller. "It's Cobra, Cobra all the time. You two have major UAT."
"UAT?" Mueller repeated. He raised his hand to the barkeep for another café royal.
Mark snorted. "Unresolved asexual tension. Try to keep up, dude. I thought you had a major thing for him."
"We used to be friends till recently," Mueller gritted out and tried not to assault Mark with hot coffee. "Before I knew Ba- his alter ego was an insensitive ass."
"Still sounds dubious to me." Mark's nostrils flared as the barkeep handed Mueller his drink. "Hey, what's that?"
"Dark roast coffee with bourbon," Mueller replied.
"Oh, hell yes," Mark said and ordered one for himself. Mark liked to joke that he taught undergraduate philosophy at Septima college and deserved to drink more than any of them.
"Should you really be drinking this much at…" Mueller checked his watch. "Five thirty in the evening?"
"Fuck off," Mark replied. "The wife is dragging me to see a movie later on. Don't think I'll make it through sober."
"Drink up now. You won't be able to do that much anymore," Bettony said.
Instead of scowling, Mark grinned from ear to ear. The adoption papers had gone through earlier in the week, and he and his wife were well on their way to welcoming a daughter into their house. "You want to see pictures?" he asked and began to hunt through his wallet.
Bettony and Mueller groaned.
"No," Bettony said. "No, not again. Please. Come on, man, it's the weekend. I'm getting these ulcers, see?" She poked her stomach. "The art exhibition isn't going as well as I hoped."
"I went to your exhibition," Mark replied.
"Me too," Mueller added.
Bettony snorted. "Yeah, you two are practically the only suckers I could talk into coming."
"I brought the supers on opening night," Mueller reminded her.
Bettony grinned. "Yeah, you did. That was cool. I got to see Captain what's-his-ass. The hot one."
"I don't think aces are allowed to say things like that," Mark said.
"I'll say what I want," Bettony replied. "Oh, and Kinetica actually bought one of my paintings. You know she's a painter herself? God, I'd love to share some studio time with that woman."
"I know you're being serious, but in some circles, that would be considered a euphemism," Mark pointed out.
Bettony grinned with her teeth. "Yeah? Well in some circles, you would be considered a giant twat."
"Ooh, zing," Mark laughed and clutched his heart. He straightened as Mueller's phone began beeping. "Changing of the guard?"
Mueller nodded. "Yeah, my shift is coming up on the Globe."
"On the Globe," Bettony teased. "So pretentious."
"What are you going to do about Cobra?" Mark asked.
"He's not going to do anything about Cobra," Bettony cut in. "He's going to pretend the douchebag doesn't exist."
"I think you should just clear the air," Mark said.
"Exactly," she agreed.
"-and make out with the guy."
"Gross," Bettony said and stuck out her tongue.
"Some of us like to kiss," Mark said and then looked at Mueller. "Some of us, right? Some as in you too?"
"I don't know," Mueller said. "I haven't really dated since college. I haven't had the opportunity to find out."
"Steven, dude." Mark clapped him on the shoulder and ignored Bettony's spluttering. "As a friend, some friendly advice? Find out."
Fridays on the Globe were usually when Mueller relaxed. He cooked himself a three course meal in the exorbitantly large kitchen and then sat back to watch a movie on the huge telescreen in the main conference room. Or sometimes he played old jazz over the speakers and sat in the bridge to look up at the stars and catch up on IEEE articles. Most people just thought of the Globe as the white megaship that floated above Septima City like a second moon and deployed the world's best superheroes to fight for truth and justice and all that crap. They didn't know that it could be peaceful up here among the clouds.
Or it would have been, if today had been a regular Friday night. Yesterday had been the end of the invasion, and with most of the supers gone for well-deserved rest and medical care, Mueller was left responsible for patching up the ship and getting it back to working order by the time they came back.
"Yes, we need new panelling in the hanger bay," Mueller shouted into the phone as he raced down the hall to see if there was any damage to the engine room. "Yes, I've already scheduled a time for someone to come and appraise the damage. And about ten thousand feet of shielding tile has been blasted off the outside of the Globe. How much will that cost me?" He took down notes as the contractor threw a few numbers at him. "Mhm, mhm. Fine, yes. We'll be in touch." He hung up. "Think I'm an idiot, do you?" he muttered and crossed their number off his datapad.
One of the doors near the personal quarters whooshed open beside him, and Barnes stepped out whistling and towelling off his wet hair. He was wearing a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms and looked different without his costume. Smaller, more vulnerable. His eyes were a little darker and without the mask, Mueller could see faint laughter lines around his eyes. Barnes saw him and stopped. "Mueller."
"Barnes," Mueller said. "Didn't know you were still here."
"Yes, just ah…" Barnes jerked his chin back to his room. "Taking a shower and heading out. I'm going to visit Strike in the hospital."
"I tried to see her earlier today but they told me supers only." Mueller fought down a bubble of resentment. "Let me know how she is."
"I will. I heard they're moving her back here soon." Barnes hooked the towel around his neck and leaned forward. "So, how was the first day of vacation?"
Mueller tried not to take a step back to compensate. He held his ground and looked Barnes in the eye. "Did the inventory and the ledgers, and I've started on reconstruction for the Globe."
"God, Mueller, don't you have any fun?" Barnes asked and grinned.
Mueller didn't like that grin. It looked far too patronising. "I went out earlier with my friends from the McGrath asexual meetup."
Barnes's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"
"Why do you look so surprised?" Mueller asked.
"I thought you asexual lot liked…you know, being alone."
"My lot," Mueller repeated. "Really? Did you just say that?"
"Look, I'm not trying to be an ass," Barnes snapped. "And I'm not stupid."
"Ignorance is bliss," Mueller said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
"Not really." Barnes rubbed the back of his neck. It was a very human gesture, and Mueller remembered again that for all of his superpowers and heroics, Barnes wasn't much different from him, and they had been friends once. "I want to be able to talk to you like a civil person, but you…you make it difficult."
"You don't understand anything," Mueller replied.
"You don't let me understand," Barnes replied. "All this asexual business."
Mueller crossed his arms. "I tried to explain that business last week, and you wouldn't let me."
They had all been getting drunk after a very successful mission, and in a rare moment, the supers had been discussing their personal lives. Mueller had relented after a few hours of drunken pestering and had tried to explain asexuality and how being a romantic was different from being sexual.
"It's an emotional thing," he'd explained with the eloquence of four bottles of beer. "I mean, there's a non-sexual part of a relationship, isn't there? Mine is just...that part. S'nice."
Most of the supers had taken it rather well, but later on a very drunk Barnes had taken him aside and asked in genuinely concerned tones if there wasn't anything that had happened to him in his childhood, and did Mueller want to talk about it?
Instead of replying, Mueller had punched him in the face, and Barnes had been so surprised that he hadn't even dodged it. He had been the butt of jokes around the Globe for weeks till his black eye had faded away.
Barnes caught his eye as if he knew exactly what Mueller was remembering. "Yes, and I'm sorry about that," he said, and for once his expression was solemn. "I didn't apologise, and I'm the one that paid for it. Mueller…Steven. I almost died yesterday, and I realised there are some things I need to say."
"What do you mean?" Mueller said. He didn't like where this conversation was going.
"I know it hasn't always come across, but...I've always been interested. In you," Barnes said. Mueller wanted to catch his breath and protest that, but Barnes was pushing forward like a rock gaining momentum. "Remember I met you in Galagor's lair, and you fixed my laser pistol in the middle of a firefight? You were just…" He trailed off and cleared his throat. "Everyone else knows I turn into a complete idiot around you, and they think it's funny. And well...clearly you don't."
"The others…know?" Mueller said, horrified. He wondered what they thought of him. God, he would never earn a shred of respectability around them now.
"Most of them," Barnes said. "Volta's a little stupid." He tried to grin, but it was weak. "But they don't know that you can't stand me. And that's…that's the real joke, isn't it?"
Mueller sighed. "Barnes. It's not that I can't stand you. I'm very…you're alright to work with, and I…I might have overreacted. But really, if there was one person I expected would understand, it was you." He stopped, because Barnes hadn't blinked. "Barnes?" He gave Barnes a push, but his broad shoulder resisted as if he were made of stone. Mueller leaned over to put an ear close to Barnes's mouth, but he wasn't breathing either. Mueller tried to push him again. "Barnes? Barnes, stop it." He looked down at Barnes's wristwatch and saw that it was frozen, the second hand deadlocked. "Shit."
He was getting hysterical, and this wasn't the time for it. Mueller took a deep breath in and out. "Right," he said and then ran down the hall to the control room. He tried calling most of the people in the super league directory, but none of them were picking up. That, in and of itself, set off loud warning bells. Mueller picked up the phone again and called the one person he hoped he would never have to call.
He got the answering machine. "This is the Song residence, please leave your name, number, and a brief message after the beep."
Mueller swallowed. "Director. Mrs. Song," he said. "I'm Steven Mueller from the Globe. This is about your husband-"
She picked up. "You fool," she hissed. "Were you really going to say my husband's code name on our answering machine?"
"This is Mrs. Song, I presume," Mueller said. "Is this a secure line?"
"I'm CIA. Of course it's a secure line," she said. "If you're calling me, that means all the superheroes in your immediate area are out of commission, am I correct?"
"So Centurion is out too," Mueller breathed. "It seems like they're frozen. Like they're frozen in time."
"I know. We're treating this as a localised threat," Mrs. Song said.
"How localised?"
"Septima City and its outskirts," she replied, and that was like a punch to the gut. "Right now, you're the only one still alive up there in the Globe. Make sure it stays that way."
"Yes, ma'am," he said.
"I mean it. We're sending a few of our men up to you, and we don't want to get blasted to pieces. Find a secure place. Where are you?"
"The control room."
"Good. Don't move from that spot."
"Yes, ma'am," Mueller said. He hung up, put then phone back in its cradle, and then he moved. Damn the Centurion family, but he wasn’t just some glorified gofer. He was Stephen Mueller, godammit, and he owed the super league his life. It was time he paid that back with interest. He turned around and headed to the engine room.
There was something Mrs. Song had overlooked. Something that connected the Septima City supers and made them different from supers in the next city over. The telepathic transmitter.
"Shit," he said and went to check it. There were no obvious external anomalies, but he hadn’t expected any. This felt more like a virus. Maybe it was a last parting gift from the rebel Ygthrai. The virus would be completely inaccessible from any of the Globe terminals, but it would destroy the best minds in Septima City. He didn't even dare think of what would happen if the virus gained access to the flight controls and the Globe dropped out of the sky.
"Hell with it," Mueller said and ran into his workshop, where he proceeded to rip out all the communications interfaces from the broken Ygthrai plane. There was something like a diadem that was supposed to rest against the user's temples and read commands into the interface. He booted the communications up using power from his own systems and then tried to think on very loudly. Nothing happened.
He cursed because time was running out, and there was no room for stupidity. He was already wasting hours on this. He patched together a string of programs to read in his mental input in Ygthrai and write it to a laptop screen. This time when he thought on, a small foreign icon appeared.
"Yes," he hissed and then ran it through the Ygthrai-English translation software he had been writing for close to a year. He thought again, and a new window appeared that had ON written at the top in large bold print. The grin Mueller gave the screen was nothing less than a baring of teeth, but he felt very savage at the moment.
He dumped the entire thing, laptop and all, into a trolley and wheeled it into the engine room, where he hooked it up to the telepathic transmitter. He wrote up a batch of code that would translate the English commands into machine code and integrate it with the transmitter commands.
He was cold and sore from hunching down on the metal floor for so long, so he got up to make himself a strong cup of coffee. When he checked the clock in the kitchen, it told him he'd been working for six hours straight. The sky through the bridge windows was probably yellow and pink. So much for a relaxing Friday, Mueller thought, and fought down a burst of hysterical laughter.
He swung by the control room on his way back and deleted the three messages from Mrs. Song to ensure some semblance of plausible deniability. He also deactivated the defensive laser canon systems just in case. He didn't actually want any CIA agents getting shot in Globe airspace because he supposed that would be bad for public relations.
He finished the coffee in a large gulp that scalded his tongue and then ran back into the engine room to check over the setup again. There was nothing else for it. He was going to hook himself up to the transmitter and see if he could clean the virus out. If it was a virus at all.
He thought of all the superheroes lying frozen in time, of Centurion and Kinetica and Newton. Of Barnes.
Mueller put on the diadem.
It was like the sudden shock of water, like falling or fainting with a fuzzy distorted static running under his eyes. He had fallen to the floor and stood up to find himself in an utterly black space. He looked down at his feet and had a sense of vertigo, because there was nothing to define the walls from the floor, and it looked like he could fall forever.
He heard a thunderous boom in the distance and chased after it. There were streaks of white and red in the corner of his eyes and when he stopped, they slowed down and drifted like jellyfish tentacles. He saw a clump of red and reached out to touch it, but it burned his hand like a live wire.
"So you're the enemy," he said, or at least he thought he said it. He didn't really have a corporeal body in this place. He separated the clump into a single strand and traced it. He was already writing virus definition code in his head, and somehow he knew that it was being translated through the Ygthrai device. He found a white strand with his other hand and looked at both of them, the twists and turns and snarls. It was gruelling work; he would look up from the strands after what seemed like hours and then promptly forget what all the threads meant, so he would have to start again.
A corner of his mind thought about Barnes as he worked, and that seemed to calm him. He had never mentioned it because he knew Barnes would have teased him mercilessly, but Cobra had been his favourite superhero until his alter ego, Nicholas Barnes, had opened his beautiful mouth and ruined Mueller's image of him forever.
Maybe that wasn't it. Maybe Barnes had just taken Cobra and made him…human, fallible. Mueller had seen him cheat at poker and spend hours restoring old record players, because Barnes loved his vinyls more than anything. He had seen Barnes gobble up dinner and shamelessly ask for seconds. He had seen him hurt after a battle with a terrible wound, and he had seen Barnes ask for tape and some painkillers so he could go back into the fray again.
Barnes had deserved his black eye because he had misunderstood everything Mueller tried to tell him. He had misunderstood both the what and the why. He hadn't understood why Mueller had expected him to understand. Because Mueller had put him on such a high pedestal that falling from it had been inevitable. Because Mueller had only fixed his broken laser pistol to impress him.
Mueller's fingers slipped to the end of the strand, and he thought, finally. And he thought DELETE.
The strand wavered but remained.
DELETE, Mueller thought again with irritation, but the strand persisted.
Then he found the sharp knob at the end of the strand. He added that to his definition and thought DELETE again. The entire strand disappeared.
Yes, Mueller thought with triumph. I have you. DELETE, he thought again, and the clump was gone. He took a second to mourn the data that had been in its place but then turned around like a maestro and waved his hands. DELETE, he thought. Get out of our ship.
The virus was cowardly and tried to disappear and hide from him, but he knew his way down those paths and pursued them. He brought his arms up and pulled the entire batch of data crashing down on top of him like a waterfall, and he killed red strands as they tried to hurry past. The data itself would be in a mess afterwards, but he could come back and reorganise it later.
I've got you, Mueller howled. The space around him was all black and white now with only a few traces of red. He killed the strands with a swift cut of his arm.
Then he turned around and realised he had been walking into a trap, that a few of the surviving strands had coalesced into a cage around him. He pounded his fists against the rails, and they sang out in awful triumph. He turned around one way and the other. There had to be a way out. He looked at the strand patterns and saw that they had woven into each other to make a completely new design. It could take him hours to re-code it into his system, and he didn't have that time. He could sense that the interface was on its last legs, and he didn't want to know what would happen if it went dead while he was still inside the transmitter.
Then he stepped back and looked at the cage again. It was familiar. Not at the virus itself but the structure. These are my bio-print locks, Mueller thought. I designed these. I've broken out of these before, and I can do it again.
He threw open the cage and made it vanish in two clean moves. He stepped forward and couldn't feel the floor, felt himself falling down and down into the depths, and his last conscious thought was that he would be lost down here with no way to get out.
"Mr. Mueller," someone said loudly in his ear, and Mueller jolted awake. He stared up at Centurion and Volta and then tried to sit up.
"No no," Volta said and pushed him back, accidentally giving him a little shock in the process. Mueller jumped, and Centurion gave Volta a withering look.
"We are unhooking you from this contraption," Centurion said. "And then we are putting you on a gurney. We will take you to the infirmary, where Dr. Yia will confirm that you are perfectly healthy. Then you will tell us exactly what happened. You will not argue with any of this."
Mueller nodded, dazed. "Yes. Of course."
Centurion's face softened. "Thank you for whatever you did," he said. "We owe you a debt."
"No, you don't," Mueller said. The medics came in with the gurney and shifted Mueller onto it. He realised his body felt rusty and swollen, as if he had both overused it and neglected it. "It's what you would have done for me," he called out as he was wheeled out the door. Centurion's expression was pensive.
"I'm sorry," Kinetica was saying to a group of people as the medics wheeled him past Mueller got the fleeting impression of cheap black suits and very expensive guns. "Mr. Mueller is very dear to us and an integral part of operations here on the Globe. We understand he is not a superhero, but we ask that our rights to fight crime with impunity extend to him as well."
Mueller suppressed what should have been a grin, but it made his face contort strangely. In the infirmary, Dr. Yia checked all of his vitals and declared him sound but still insisted upon keeping him for observation. Mueller was only too glad to comply. The infirmary was the best place to hide from the CIA, and he knew Dr. Yia would guard the doors and send them away immediately if they dared show their faces. Dr. Yia was viciously protective of his patients.
Mueller turned his head and saw Strike unconscious in the bed next to his, and his own eyes began to drift closed too. He must have fallen into a stupor, because he was jerked way by Dr. Yia's sudden shout.
"No, you can't be in here! My patients are resting! Get out!"
"Only for a minute, Dr. Yia," Barnes's voice said, and suddenly Mueller was awake again. He turned his head in Dr. Yia's direction and gave him what he hoped was his most pathetic expression. It apparently worked, but more because Mueller felt like he had been run over by a truck, and any of his expressions probably looked utterly pathetic.
"Fine," Dr. Yia snapped, and Barnes suddenly came into view beside Mueller's bed in the same ratty t-shirt and pyjama bottoms he had been wearing before. He sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over to peer into Mueller's face. "How are you feeling?"
"Ugh," Mueller said, and Barnes laughed.
"Yes, that sums it up, doesn’t it?" He hesitated. "Thank you for what you did to help us. That was brilliant and incredibly brave."
"Can't tell people that your staff can't hold their own," Mueller croaked.
Barnes laughed again and then leaned down to kiss his forehead. The press of his lips felt cool. Then abruptly he pulled back. "Are you fine with," he began. "Sorry, I never asked you. I mean, may I-"
Mueller grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer for a real kiss. He discovered after a few moments that he did rather enjoy kissing. There were complexities to it that he had not expected, and he imagined that he and Barnes could have entire conversations like this, one that were perhaps more honest and gentle than any they'd had with words.
Barnes put his hands around Mueller's shoulders, and Mueller liked that. But then Barnes pressed his thumb just under his Adam's apple, and Mueller wasn't sure why. It made him slightly uncomfortable. He made a small questioning noise, and Barnes pulled back his thumb.
"Sorry, sorry," Barnes murmured and resumed kissing him. Mueller was completely fine with that.
They pulled apart slightly breathless, and Barnes wouldn't stop staring at him. It should have been unnerving. "You know, I read somewhere that asexuals like cake," Barnes gasped.
"Oh, really?" Mueller quipped. "I read somewhere that sexuals like pizza."
Barnes cracked a smile. "Touché. I suppose that wasn't the way I should have put it."
"No," Mueller agreed. "But I appreciate the thought. I have it on good authority that you act like an idiot around me and I act like an ass around you, so I guess I forgive you."
"So," Barnes started and then stopped.
"So," Mueller repeated and gave Barnes a patient stare.
Barnes drummed is fingers against the sheets. "So, Mueller. Steven. Would you like to go out for cake?"
"What?" Mueller asked. "Now?"
"Of course," Barnes said and then lowered his voice so Dr. Yia wouldn’t hear. "After I spring you from the hospital, of course. And take the back way out so we can avoid the CIA. You cause a lot of trouble for a normal man."
"Thank you," Mueller replied.
Barnes smiled again. "So. Cake?"
"Don't like the stuff. Too sweet for me," Mueller replied. "But if you want to go out for drinks, I wouldn't say no."
Barnes looked relieved. "Oh. Right. Yes, that would be…" He looked down at his old shirt as if he'd just realised he was wearing it. "I'll change, alright? Then we can go out, and you can tell me all the things I've said that piss you off-"
"Barnes," Mueller interrupted. "Shut up and go change."
"Right," Barnes said, and then added, "Wait here," before he left, which was completely unnecessary, but Mueller didn't argue.
He lay there and waited. Strike opened her eyes while Barnes was gone, and he couldn't help but give her an incredibly smug smile. She rolled her eyes and proceeded to ignore him the rest of the time.
Yes, Mueller thought. Life on the Globe wasn't bad at all.