Work Text:
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Felix tracks Locus out of the corner of his eye, not that there’s much to track. He’s sprawled on Locus’s bed, tossing a ball at the ceiling, trying to see if he can get it to bounce back at him fast enough to make it hard to catch. Locus is just sitting at his scrawny excuse for a desk; overhead light on, and the occasional scritch of his pen on paper. Pencil? One of those.
Thunk.
He wonders what Locus is working on. Probably something boring. If I toss this fast enough, will he come over here? Considering it for a moment, Felix settles on “most likely not”; chances are it would just irritate the upstairs neighbor before prompting any reaction from Locs. He sighs, quiet but frustrated, and considers tossing it at that stupid overhead. Maybe then he’d come over. Pay proper attention to Felix. You can’t just ignore your partner half the time and expect it to turn out fine, war or not.
Thunk.
Come to think of it, that whole… situation was awfully ambiguous, wasn’t it? Felix huffs to himself. No, no it wasn’t - it was clear, and is clear to anyone and everyone that Locus is his, nobody else’s. He doesn’t need to talk it out with him, there’d be no point. It’d be a waste of breath, and there are far better things to waste those on. But then again…
Thunk.
Felix reaches to catch the ball on its bounce back, sighing when it slips just out of his reach, now sprawled over the poor excuse for a headboard. You’d think they could afford better bunks for their leaders. He sighs, and glares at Locus, who doesn’t react, much less look over. Fucker.
“Hey Locs, why do you always call me Felix, anyways?”
Locus sits up straighter in his chair, watching the wall now instead of his papers - still not me - and sighs.
“What brought that up?”
“I mean, when you call me anything at all, I guess.” Felix sticks out a tongue at him even though he can’t see it. It’s the principle of the thing - besides, he might turn to look, if Felix is lucky. “It’s gotten to the point where I hardly think of myself by my own name. You do know my name, right?”
Locus - Sam, Felix corrects internally - sighs again and actually looks over his shoulder this time, still not swiveling the chair or himself, but it’s progress.
“Of course I know it, but we have codenames for a reason, Felix.” He’s such a hardass when wars are happening. That they have active and current roles in. And considers things to be actively dangerous or detrimental to their purposes.
But, like, also just in general.
“C’mon Saaaam-” Felix - Isaac, call yourself by your own goddamn name - draws the word out, grinning at the mildly irritated expression Sam gives him. “Or would you prefer Samuel? Sammy? Oooh, I like that one, Sammy’s not half bad~”
“Locus, considering we are at work,” he pauses, “Or rather, that I am.”
Felix frowns at that. Isaac. Whatever. “I do my part in the field.”
“But we aren’t always in the field, Felix.”
Isaac gives him a sharp look - more of a warning than a glare, but still something, and Sam just rolls his eyes.
“I’m going to keep using them until we’re out of the way. Unless you’re saying you don’t want to spend your money when this is over, or have to change your name in your daily life outside of work? Actually use it and have it once we’re done here?”
Isaac frowns slightly, but admittedly, he has a point. Still. That wasn’t Isaac’s point. He does his best impression of a pout - something that’ll get seen through before he opens his mouth, sure, but it’ll convey the message - and does his best “complaining” voice.
“But it’s diiiiifferent, it’s just the two of us here aaaanywaaaays, c’moooon Locs, pleaaaase? Here, I won’t even use your name, you just use mine! Not even out there-” he waves vaguely to the door, “-just when it’s safe, it’ll be fiiine, and won’t matter for you anyways! All on me~”
Sam presses his lips together slightly. Hah, gottem~ He shakes his head and sighs again.
“That’s not the point. It doesn’t have to just be consequences for me to matter. I’m not going to.” He stops there, almost like he’s finished, but starts back up after a second, “...and appreciate that you won’t use mine either.” It’s tacked on at the end, like an afterthought. Fucker.
“But why can’t I!? And why shouldn’t you?? This discussion isn’t over since we don’t agree yet.” The energy he was channeling into different methods and skirting the issue gets redirected back towards his main frustration all at once - Loc - Sam thought this was over? Far from it.
He pauses, then turns back towards his desk. “We agree that we don’t see eye to eye, and you are clearly capable of not calling me by my name, which is all I wanted from the conversation. Poor negotiating practice, Felix.”
“But I’m not negotiating with some random enemy, Locs, I’m talking to my partner about something that I want, it’s - you should - you know that’s different.” He hates it when the words don’t flow right, but the fact that Locus thinks this is anywhere near over is, in a word, flabbergasting.
“And I told you what I want, and they don’t align. Difference is, mine is grounded in material consequences, so it takes precedence.”
He’s about to scream in frustration. Or throw something at him. No! That’s wrong, what do you mean?
“But it wouldn’t impact you at all so why do you care?? Fuck you get stubborn sometimes.”
There’s a pause before Locus - Sam - responds.
He’s quieter than normal.
“It will.”
Isaac pauses before responding too. He frowns, looking at Sam - or rather, his back - more than a little confused.
“How?”
“...Nevermind.”
This time, Isaac does throw something at him. The nearest thing, in fact.
Locus jumps slightly as the (sheathed) hunting knife hits the wall he’s facing at about eye level and turns around, frowning more aggressively this time. At least it’s a reaction, I guess.
“What, Felix?”
“Tell me how! I’m tired of your bullshit, just talk for fucking once in your life, will you?”
Locus pauses again, eyes narrowing slightly, but in the end, he sighs and swivels his chair 90 degrees - massive progress - turning to look at Isaac.
“I was under the impression that this job wouldn’t be the end of our…” he pauses for a long time. Too long. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four… “Our association with each other.”
Isaac blinks, a bit surprised. The following jumble of thoughts ranges from “That was it??” to “Say it again,” to “What does that mean” and he isn’t quite sure where to start. Leave it to Locs to manage something like that.
He turns back to face his desk again, and Isaac lays back down on the bed.
I guess it was clear after all.
...Mine.