Work Text:
Wake up.
Your name is Sam- Wait. Stop. Make corrections.
Your name is Private Ortez- Wait. Stop. Make corrections.
You are Locus. Right. That feels right.
Once, there was a man, not quite as firm in reality as those around him.
Wait. Stop. Make corrections.
It’s not about the man. Flesh and bone have no part in what he is.
Once, there was a man that did not quite obey all those petty rules. His name was Isaac, no- Gates, no- Felix. Right. That feels right.
You did not love Felix, not at the end at least, but you felt towards him all the same. You are not supposed to feel. You are a soldier, you are a weapon, you are a set of armor. You are not supposed to feel.
But Felix is dead, and every one of those rules were rules he dictated for you. You were a soldier because he said so, you were a weapon for him to hone, you were a set of armor because if you were a person that would mean he cared about you, and Felix didn’t care about anyone but himself.
You are just six months, approximately half a year, past your 18th birthday when you meet him. He is, against your better judgment, devastating in every way possible. Devastatingly gorgeous, says your traitorous mind. He’s not conventionally attractive, not really. He’s lanky, all lean muscle, with a wiry figure and sharp cheekbones. His teeth are crooked just like his smile, and he’s kind of a piece of shit.
You learn he was not drafted, but intentionally joined the war. Everyone calls it The Great War, but in the dead of night when he is drinking and you are not, he calls it The Great Waste. Waste of supplies, of money, of warm bodies, and God is he warm.
His hands are warm when you hold them.
His lips are warm when he kisses you in the dark.
His blood is warm on your palms when you are the only survivors, and he is delirious and laughing and you-
Forget how to smile, even when the war ends. You look at each other, up at the apartment you share, and walk away hand in hand. He smiles sometimes, but it's not the same. It's not the one you recognize. This smile is all bared white teeth, and if you look hard enough you're sure you can see the beast that is caged behind them.
You are 25, eight months past your birthday, when you meet Siris. He is everything that Felix is not- he is regulated, introspective, and careful. You think you'd like Felix less if he was like that, if he wasn't so inexplicably Felix.
Siris sticks around for a while, long enough to raise an eyebrow in your direction when Felix, delirious from blood loss, tells you your eyes are beautiful. You shrug it off and don't tell Felix a thing about it when he's coherent again. Siris leaves after the Lozano job, and you and Felix are alone again.
It's strange, getting used to life with Felix again. You take odd jobs here and there, but that doesn't last you any longer than Siris did. You are haggard and tired and half-starved when you and Felix steal a ship and find yourselves in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the solar system.
Chorus chews you to pieces and spits you back out just in time for Malcom Hargrove to lay his plan out.
He contacts Felix. Not you. Never you. Not without Felix.
You are 32 when Isaac Gates kisses you goodbye for the last time.
Later, when you're alone with him, you will not recognize the flesh and bone in front of you. He is not Isaac Gates anymore, and never will be again.
Being Doyle’s partner is a much-needed break from whatever Felix is doing to your psyche. Instead, you are the one in control here, the one pretending to care. Doyle reminds you of yourself when you were younger, when you knew how to trust. When you cared enough about a war to be prepared to give your life.
Your deception lasts years too long, and Project Freelancer’s loose ends are what make you realize that Felix is not in his right mind. You aren’t as opposed to the death of innocents as you are to your own death- and if you stay with him, you’ll surely meet the same fate.
There is something that happens to a man, when you know you've gone too far. You learn what it feels like to hit a wall, one you'd never thought you'd reach. You learn that if you go further, you wouldn't be you anymore. You figure that Felix has long passed this point, and without a care he had shattered that wall.
Wake the day after he dies and try not to think about him. Try not to think about how he felt when he died. Don your armor as the world falls apart around your footfalls and know Isaac would have hated to see you like this. He who loved you, who cared for you, who-
Who was dead, and had been for far longer than Felix.
Remember it fondly, as it is long gone, and all you have are fading memories. Know that the first thing you forget about someone is their voice. Don’t forget, per se, but do lose. Where every noise and vocalization was once categorized neatly, find chaos.
Try not to think about it. You are the only one who remembers him. Try not to internalize it. You aren’t stupid enough to try to explain.
Read loss off the backs of your eyelids in the night, and wake and wonder why. Nobody would understand even if you tried. You can hear his voice- Isaac, not Felix- in your head, laughing and telling you Why even try in the first place?
Recognize that Felix was cruel for cruelty’s sake, and Isaac was cruel for your sake. You protected Felix because you thought the man you fell in love with would surface, but he never did, and you watched him fall. You’re sure he died cursing your name, and it’s so him that it hurts.
When you cannot remember his laugh from
his
sneer, his anger from
his
apathy, you sigh, you pick up your sword, and you start again.
Your name is Locus.
Once there was a man named Isaac Gates, and you loved him.