Cpt. Nathaniel Renko, Special Forces (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cpt_timeruiner) wrote2012-09-18 11:11 pm
cpt_timeruiner) wrote2012-09-18 11:11 pm
Entry tags:
Mind the Gap
who; Captain Nathaniel Renko and Victor Barisov
what; He gave up on restarting the timeline, instead working something out with a friend of sorts.
where ; Katorga-12, Barisov’s underground vault
when ; 2014, more or less
warning(s); … old guys doing it? idk
notes; Takes a fourth option as far as the endings.
He tried to finish things about seven or eight times before he got it right. Renko could remember it now, once the issues with the singularity were resolved. He’d done everything else seven times – Demichev sawed off his arm the fifth time, he can recall the rending of his bone and screaming, so much screaming - but the end he needed eight more chances for. He still isn’t sure how number six turned out the way it did, as some kind of collared pet for Demichev. But he got it right, this last time. Mostly. Barisov lived but Renko didn’t go back. He’d already shot himself in the head once in the past; having to get to the island and find a way to destabilize the rift had been a pain in the ass. Especially with Devlin chasing him. Christ Devlin. He never got it right with his friend. At least this time he got it right with Demichev and Barisov. As right as it all gets.
There was no going back. Only forward. And with Barisov at the lead of MIR-12 things were starting to settle down in the broken USSR, as much as it could be said to calm. Renko had trained the creatures of Katorga-12 and took a contingent of them to put America back in order. The third time he’d become a ruthless dictator so he’d learned a thing or two about subduing military splinter groups. He and Barisov were working together on this at least. Much easier than evading MIR while trying to restart the United States. At least there was support this way, and a lack of a certain island blowing up.
One they still met at maybe one or twice a year to discuss plans that were in the works. They had to find some way to get everything back to rights after the USSR crumbled without Demichev’s leadership. Renko still took a certain pleasure in having shot the man multiple times… though he still sometimes brought up a couple fingers to loosen the collar he didn’t wear anymore. Getting out of that had been a pain. He thinks.
His brain feels like a Jell-O mold sometimes: mostly the same consistency but with thick chunks of disparate memories stuck in it that he can’t separate out.
The helicopter touches down at one end of the island and he makes his way towards the old research labs at the interior. The Barisov kept the TMD in originally was quiet and out of the way, and more importantly sealed-off from the monsters of the island. It was the safest place for their little meetings. If nothing else, it was out of the rain, though Renko was soaked by the time he got there anyway. He dropped his coat and hooded jacket on a table before walking into the vault itself. Barisov was waiting for him, papers and a map already on the desk they’d put in.
Australia this time. Apparently Demichev had been using it as a prison for political dissenters. Took a page from the Brits, more or less, and – surprise surprise – the inmates were taking over the asylum. It was enough to give Renko a headache. But at least Barisov had mostly worked the kinks out of using E99 to grow supercrops. They weren’t mutating people anymore. Or irradiating them, more importantly.
At some point when there was a pause in their discussion, Renko queried about Barisov’s daughter, if the scientist had ever found her. Barisov looked surprised that he’d asked. (This was the right reality, wasn’t it? It must have been.)
It had been, for some reason, enough excuse for Barisov to push the papers off of the desk and to push Renko on to it. Mostly because he allowed it, really; Barisov may have been spry for being in his eighties - very spry Renko had to admit – but the soldier could still have overpowered him, if he really wanted to. He does look forward to these scant few encounters, as surreal as they feel. Then again, everything’s been surreal since this whole mess started.
He could recall being half-conscious on the docks, hearing the low rumble of air escaping The Pearl as it sank again, a mouth on his forcing air into his lungs until he turned his head and coughed up water and fainted. Waking up sometime later – he didn’t know how long and he forgot to ask, not that time felt important anymore – and wandering in to see Barisov look… relieved? Grateful? Kissed the scientist proper because it was the best thanks he could give, awkward as it felt.
Had that been this time? Was it some other one?
He’d still had his arm. So not that time.
Metal clinks and jangles quietly on his left arm as he pulls the rest of his clothes off. He’d cut himself out of his old uniform after things had resolved this way and had taken to wearing baggy long-sleeved shirts and coats to cover the TMD. It discouraged others from trying to take his arm. They had dispensed with fumbling and awkwardness a long time ago, dispensing with clothes with ease. The only thing that stayed was the TMD, and as Barisov encouraged Renko onto his back (which would ache later, not that it mattered) he wrapped one hand around the gauntlet and pulled that arm over Renko’s head with surprising care. It didn’t keep the Captain from digging his nails into Barisov’s back while his hips rolled in time with the scientist’s, groaning out his name. It was the only time he ever called Barisov “Victor”… and the only time the doctor ever called him something besides “Captain”.
Barisov pulls Renko off the desk sometime after they finish, dropping them both onto a cot that one of them had dragged down when this started to seem like an inevitability a year ago, finally answering Renko’s initial question; he hadn’t found his daughter yet. Still. She might still be out there, somewhere… or could have been just another body lost in the last fifty years. Renko leans his head on the other man’s shoulder lightly, muttering an apology. He’s sorry about a lot of things. Like the last fifty years. Not that it helps anything; the only time he can fix is the present. It’s the last thing on his mind, though.
Now, they’ll sleep, the TMD’s metal warming against Barisov’s chest where Renko has curled his arm. Then they’ll figure out this problem with Australia and complain about their forces and look sheepish about the injuries they’ve done to each other until one of them brings up phase tick stew or mad scrawlings in E99. Maybe they’ll end up sweeping the papers off the desk again. Renko will make a move in their chess game.
And then it will be back to work for another six months.
what; He gave up on restarting the timeline, instead working something out with a friend of sorts.
where ; Katorga-12, Barisov’s underground vault
when ; 2014, more or less
warning(s); … old guys doing it? idk
notes; Takes a fourth option as far as the endings.
He tried to finish things about seven or eight times before he got it right. Renko could remember it now, once the issues with the singularity were resolved. He’d done everything else seven times – Demichev sawed off his arm the fifth time, he can recall the rending of his bone and screaming, so much screaming - but the end he needed eight more chances for. He still isn’t sure how number six turned out the way it did, as some kind of collared pet for Demichev. But he got it right, this last time. Mostly. Barisov lived but Renko didn’t go back. He’d already shot himself in the head once in the past; having to get to the island and find a way to destabilize the rift had been a pain in the ass. Especially with Devlin chasing him. Christ Devlin. He never got it right with his friend. At least this time he got it right with Demichev and Barisov. As right as it all gets.
There was no going back. Only forward. And with Barisov at the lead of MIR-12 things were starting to settle down in the broken USSR, as much as it could be said to calm. Renko had trained the creatures of Katorga-12 and took a contingent of them to put America back in order. The third time he’d become a ruthless dictator so he’d learned a thing or two about subduing military splinter groups. He and Barisov were working together on this at least. Much easier than evading MIR while trying to restart the United States. At least there was support this way, and a lack of a certain island blowing up.
One they still met at maybe one or twice a year to discuss plans that were in the works. They had to find some way to get everything back to rights after the USSR crumbled without Demichev’s leadership. Renko still took a certain pleasure in having shot the man multiple times… though he still sometimes brought up a couple fingers to loosen the collar he didn’t wear anymore. Getting out of that had been a pain. He thinks.
His brain feels like a Jell-O mold sometimes: mostly the same consistency but with thick chunks of disparate memories stuck in it that he can’t separate out.
The helicopter touches down at one end of the island and he makes his way towards the old research labs at the interior. The Barisov kept the TMD in originally was quiet and out of the way, and more importantly sealed-off from the monsters of the island. It was the safest place for their little meetings. If nothing else, it was out of the rain, though Renko was soaked by the time he got there anyway. He dropped his coat and hooded jacket on a table before walking into the vault itself. Barisov was waiting for him, papers and a map already on the desk they’d put in.
Australia this time. Apparently Demichev had been using it as a prison for political dissenters. Took a page from the Brits, more or less, and – surprise surprise – the inmates were taking over the asylum. It was enough to give Renko a headache. But at least Barisov had mostly worked the kinks out of using E99 to grow supercrops. They weren’t mutating people anymore. Or irradiating them, more importantly.
At some point when there was a pause in their discussion, Renko queried about Barisov’s daughter, if the scientist had ever found her. Barisov looked surprised that he’d asked. (This was the right reality, wasn’t it? It must have been.)
It had been, for some reason, enough excuse for Barisov to push the papers off of the desk and to push Renko on to it. Mostly because he allowed it, really; Barisov may have been spry for being in his eighties - very spry Renko had to admit – but the soldier could still have overpowered him, if he really wanted to. He does look forward to these scant few encounters, as surreal as they feel. Then again, everything’s been surreal since this whole mess started.
He could recall being half-conscious on the docks, hearing the low rumble of air escaping The Pearl as it sank again, a mouth on his forcing air into his lungs until he turned his head and coughed up water and fainted. Waking up sometime later – he didn’t know how long and he forgot to ask, not that time felt important anymore – and wandering in to see Barisov look… relieved? Grateful? Kissed the scientist proper because it was the best thanks he could give, awkward as it felt.
Had that been this time? Was it some other one?
He’d still had his arm. So not that time.
Metal clinks and jangles quietly on his left arm as he pulls the rest of his clothes off. He’d cut himself out of his old uniform after things had resolved this way and had taken to wearing baggy long-sleeved shirts and coats to cover the TMD. It discouraged others from trying to take his arm. They had dispensed with fumbling and awkwardness a long time ago, dispensing with clothes with ease. The only thing that stayed was the TMD, and as Barisov encouraged Renko onto his back (which would ache later, not that it mattered) he wrapped one hand around the gauntlet and pulled that arm over Renko’s head with surprising care. It didn’t keep the Captain from digging his nails into Barisov’s back while his hips rolled in time with the scientist’s, groaning out his name. It was the only time he ever called Barisov “Victor”… and the only time the doctor ever called him something besides “Captain”.
Barisov pulls Renko off the desk sometime after they finish, dropping them both onto a cot that one of them had dragged down when this started to seem like an inevitability a year ago, finally answering Renko’s initial question; he hadn’t found his daughter yet. Still. She might still be out there, somewhere… or could have been just another body lost in the last fifty years. Renko leans his head on the other man’s shoulder lightly, muttering an apology. He’s sorry about a lot of things. Like the last fifty years. Not that it helps anything; the only time he can fix is the present. It’s the last thing on his mind, though.
Now, they’ll sleep, the TMD’s metal warming against Barisov’s chest where Renko has curled his arm. Then they’ll figure out this problem with Australia and complain about their forces and look sheepish about the injuries they’ve done to each other until one of them brings up phase tick stew or mad scrawlings in E99. Maybe they’ll end up sweeping the papers off the desk again. Renko will make a move in their chess game.
And then it will be back to work for another six months.