Chapter Text
If I have to wake up to that incessant buzzing one more time, Warren tells himself, I’ll just start screaming.
Blue Sky just flicked the lights on, and she excused herself before he could order her to turn them back off. They buzz like flies over his head, evil, bright, annoying flies. His heartbeat monitor only worsens the repetitive cacophony. Warren sighs loudly, rolls over, and contemplates how quickly an aide will run into the room if he tries smothering himself with his pillow.
Before he can test this theory, Aubrey and Hester breeze in, the hiss of the door heralding their arrival.
“Hello, Warren.” Hester’s voice is clipped, and less familiar to him. She’s half a head shorter than Aubrey, but makes up for it by doing twice as much irritated glaring. Warren likes her, in a way. He can appreciate knowing someone as professional as her is in charge of making sure he won’t die. And he likes that she’s one of the few doctors around that he doesn’t still at least slightly associate with Bryony.
“Morning, Warren.” Aubrey’s tone is lighter, tinged with something he could call relief. “Today’s the day. Welcome properly to 2064.”
Warren squints at the ceiling. He could sit up, but he doesn’t. “I don’t feel very welcomed.”
“The tubes will do that.” Aubrey flicks at his IV while Hester moves in circles, one monitor to the next, pushing buttons, waiting for her readouts.
The floor underneath Warren’s cot is a jungle of wires and plastic tubing, some plugged into machinery, others plugged under his skin. He can barely remember what it felt like to live without, to sleep in a normal bed a regular height off the ground, with real sheets against his skin.
Aubrey and Hester have mentioned offhand how strained Red Valley’s resources are by now. Warren can’t believe this is all just for him, their ‘most successful patient’. He feels guilty for taking so much, then angry for having to deal with it all, then guilty again for getting angry. It’s one of the more consistent parts of his daily routine, his little circular self-pity ritual.
Hester wakes him up, pressing a cold finger onto a tender spot on his inner elbow where his skin is thinnest. She checks the needles, looking for blood pooling beside his veins. “How are you feeling? It must be odd, to know you’re going to see the future like this.”
“I feel like–”
“Like a weird immortal god, coming back to check on the progress of humanity?” Hester supplements, grinning like she’s in on some joke Warren should understand.
There are more wrinkles around her mouth. It’s nothing Warren would have noticed before, and they look good on her, make her appear reliable, but it’s strange all the same.
“Like the family dog you’ve somehow brought back to life after he’s been put down. Everybody’s all grown up without me. But I’m still… old.” A little warning signal brushes off its dust in Warren’s brain and blinks on. He needs to stop saying too much too quickly to Aubrey and Hester. Especially not about how terrible he feels. He doesn’t trust them enough yet to not just shove him back in the cryopod to fix this.
Almost to prove his point, Hester narrows her eyes and picks up a clipboard with a stack of papers on it so thick, the clip squeaks. “A sense of time disarray is common in cryo recovery. Maybe we should put you under isolated observation for a bit longer. Let this settle. There’s no–”
A confiscation of both Hester’s clipboard and the hand holding it stops her sentence short. Aubrey presses a kiss to her wife’s palm. “Habibti, he’s sat still long enough. Let’s get him his medication and leave him be.” She discreetly slides the clipboard between the cot’s sheets, winking at Warren. “Besides, I want to show him off at the party tonight.”
Hester playfully slaps Aubrey’s hands away and rolls her eyes. “He’s not an award from your shelf, Aubrey.”
Warren blanches. “There’s a party?” A party. “With who?”
Aubrey is half-distracted trying to chase Hester’s hand back into her own while the other woman grins like a fox. This is a game they play repeatedly, by the look of it.
“What?”
“The party. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry. Forget I said anything.”
That just makes everything worse. Forgetting isn’t something Warren likes to do easily. “But with people? People people? How many other people are here?”
Aubrey shrugs, “Not so many. Anybody who’s around.”
Warren feels like he’s going to vomit. Hold it together. If you throw up they’ll use it as an excuse. But which would be worse, being locked in his room like a Victorian child with the flu or going to a mystery party with so many unknown factors that it's making him sick?
Hester wins their playful tussle somehow, shoving her hands into her lab coat pockets and planting a kiss on Aubrey’s cheek “Fine. He’s on you tonight. See you at the party, Warren.” She marches out, sending him a pointed look before she disappears.
Warren shudders a little, then nods slowly. Party it is then. Whatever it is, Aubrey will be there. They both will. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. They wouldn’t throw something at him that he couldn’t handle, right?
“Hey,” Aubrey snaps her fingers in front of his face, drawing his attention. He might have been hyperventilating, who knows. “Hey. You’re ready. A few days ago you were falling over yourself trying to get out. Believe me, this is a good time.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But if you show even one bad sign, I’m hauling you back here so fast your head will spin.” Aubrey leans in closer, stern authority plain on her face.
Oh, he’s definitely going to vomit.
She rights herself quickly and gives him a small smile, attempting reassurance. “I’ll give you a bit of time to dress. Be back soon.”
And without another word, Aubrey is gone too. Warren sits in silence for a moment, stunned, staring at the wall. His hospital gown crinkles as he runs his fingers against it. Aubrey is right, real clothes would be a nice change. It feels like nothing in his life has been real for a long time. So much of his life has been lost to this, because of something he doesn’t even remember doing. Sleeping and sitting and waiting, taking their fake job and fake wife and fake life, swallowing medications so his body will run without him. Everything on autopilot.
Warren pulls at the fabric of the gown, pinching it until it rips a little. The dotted pattern splits unevenly, satisfyingly weak. His fingers itch to tear it further but he lets go. For the first time in a long time, Warren has somewhere to be.
He sits up a little and sends the clipboard crashing to the ground. Papers spill, swishing against the tile, littering the cold floor like a blanket of snow.
*****
Warren tugs nervously at the hem of his jumper. It’s almost definitely a size too small, curling up along the edge of the button-down he has on underneath higher than it should. Aubrey walks in front of him, dressed in a similar style of casual, warm, and neat. There are no traces of the Overhead-branded sweatsuits and t-shirts that used to make up his strict wardrobe. Aubrey isn’t even in her lab coat, and it’s all making him feel a bit strange, to say the least.
“It looks like we’re mismatched co-workers off to get drinks, or something,” Warren quips, trying to make himself feel better.
“Hmm,” Aubrey pauses at a door to punch a code in, “And what would our jobs be?”
Warren shrugs as a long hallway opens up before them. “Why not accounting? It’s the only thing I remember doing. I think you’d be good at it, actually. Lots of maths, repetition.”
“I’d be awful at it then,” Aubrey shakes her head, taking this hypothetical too seriously. “Repetition would kill me.”
There are people walking by as the pair make their way through the stomach of the mountain, bundled in knit hats and puffy coats. Warren assumes they’re only waving and smiling at Aubrey, but when a woman he doesn’t recognize in a yellow raincoat and equally yellow earmuffs gives him a thumbs up, he realizes they’ve all been looking at him.
“How many people live here?” Warren avoids eye contact with all the passing strangers, bowing his head. The tunnel is long enough that some stand to the sides of it, chatting in small groups and peering at him over each other’s shoulders as he passes.
He wonders if Aubrey even heard him, it takes her so long to answer.
“That’s tough. What do you personally think constitutes as ‘living?’”
“Oh, fuck off, Aubrey.”
She smiles, then it dims. “If you want a real answer, the future has been tough on all of us.” A little girl waves at the two of them as she skips past, a light blue scarf wrapped up to her ears. Aubrey waves back, but the warmth on her face still slips from her eyes. “So many people come here seeking answers we don’t have. We can’t afford to keep everybody, we can’t afford to turn everybody away. I wish I had more to give, but it turns out I’m mostly good at just one thing.”
Warren can feel her gaze on his shoulders, both cautious and proud. It’s a little comforting to know she thinks the same way he does. Neither of them asked for this.
The tunnel ends at a set of elevators. Aubrey leads Warren in and clicks the button to go up. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder in silence for a minute.
“Besides,” she pushes her shoulder into his lightly, testing how far this temporary cohesion will go, “some would argue I’m still quite shit at it.”
Warren chuckles. “You haven’t killed me yet. That’s better than some.”
“Thank you.”
Warren can see without looking at her face that a weight has eased off of Aubrey’s features. His praise means more to her than he thought it would. And she takes all of her jobs so seriously, why wouldn’t it?
The quiet woosh of the elevator accelerating is the only noise again, and Warren shifts his feet as it settles on him how viscously underprepared he is for whatever’s at the top. Is the future here the same as everywhere else in the world? What have people done to each other in 44 years?
“I am sorry,” Aubrey whispers as the elevator stops, “I wish I could have prepared you more.”
The elevator door splits open like a floodgate to light so dense and bright Warren feels like he should be covering his eyes for safety. It rushes out, warm, orange, and glowing, seeping through his skin and right into his bones like an aggressive hug from a friend you haven’t seen in years.
Warren wants to retreat to the back of the elevator, but he holds himself in place. Luckily, almost nobody turns towards the elevator, nobody seems to care. This isn’t super reassuring compared to the sheer amount of people who now stand, talking and laughing and eating in what used to be the Red Valley cafeteria, now kitted out with homemade party decorations. Streamers hang from the low ceiling and the wall farthest from the elevator has a sign that reads “Happy Continuation, Jade”.
Aubrey clears her throat, already standing on the other side of the doors. “We don’t bite.”
A man Warren has never seen before walks up behind Aubrey, laughing and slapping a hand onto her shoulder, “Well, some of us do!” Warren expects her to bristle, but she smiles and turns to hug him.
“Marmite, thank you for handling the decorating. Everything looks perfect, I’m glad I could trust you.”
“Eh, don’t give me too much credit. Jade was very precise.” For a moment, the man looks over at Warren, scanning him, and then he turns back without a word in his direction.
Warren’s face burns. He immediately starts to hate this man. What the hell was that?
Aubrey scoffs at Marmite, “You weren’t supposed to let her help! She needed rest.”
“She insisted! Said she would have plenty of time to rest tonight.” Marmite lifts his hands in a shrug, miming that the blame should fall somewhere else. “It’s lovely to see you and all, but I’ve got to be off, Robin said they needed help with sound setup.”
“Uh, nice to–” Warren opens his mouth for a quick greeting, but the strange, energetic man is already gone.
“He does that,” Aubrey hums, looking around for somebody else. “Now, let’s go see the woman of the hour. She’s been pestering me to meet you, you know. You’re a bit of a celebrity to some.”
Warren’s hands start to shake. “A–” His voice cracks. He tries to clear his throat. Calm down. “A celebrity? To what extent?”
“I’m joking! I'm joking,” Aubrey laughs. “Jade’s just interested in you, that’s all. A little curiosity. Nobody here has little clay idols of you or worships at altars of your used sweatshirts, if that’s what you were thinking. I promise I won’t say celebrity again.”
The party looks smaller now, outside the elevator. Attendants cluster along the walls while a healthy stream of traffic goes to and from tables laden with food and drinks. At least alcohol doesn't seem to be too big of an issue in the future.
It appears that all the plastic tables have been removed from the ex-canteen, either for this function or long ago, Warren can’t tell. There’s a spot of clear floor to the wall on their right, where large black speakers and snaking wires prevent guests from getting too close to a pile of instruments. He watches as Marmite and a woman quietly argue, pointing from one speaker to the next.
“Warren?”
Aubrey’s voice snaps him back to place. He needs to stop drifting like that. “Yeah? I was just– uh–”
She must have left, because now Aubrey presses a yellow plastic cup into his hands, the sharp, tacky smell of alcohol strong. “Just a bit. I figured you might want some. Be careful, though, it’s homemade. Moonshine.” She says the last bit like it’s a personal insult to her, and Warren catches on that she might not gel with whoever decided the Valley was in desperate need of a drinks reserve.
“Thanks.” Warren lifts the cup to his lips for a small swig, nodding at the instruments at the same time. “You have a band?”
A strange look crosses Aubrey’s face, like loathing and humor at once. “Yes, actually. It’s a funny story, that’s– Oh, Jade!”
Warren looks away from the instruments, distracted by the interruption. An elderly woman now stands beside Aubrey, beaming at the both of them. Aubrey takes her hand warmly and squeezes it, smiling back
“You look lovely tonight.”
“Pssh,” the woman, Jade, scoffs and throws Aubrey’s hand off dramatically. “The things you say. It’s the party that’s lovely. Couldn’t have asked for anything better.”
Warren shuffles his feet, immediately feeling more awkward than when nobody was looking at him. “Um, happy birthday?”
“Ha ha!” Jade claps her hand over his, surprisingly strong, and skates it enthusiastically. “I like this one, Aubrey. Very funny. I’m glad you could make it, young man.” She emphasizes this last part like it’s a joke, and this time, Warren gets it. All at once he feels more at ease. Her hand is warm and firm, and he leans towards it a little, the most affectionate contact he’s had with another human in a while.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jade”
The old woman squawks as he smiles at her. “Oh! What a charmer. We need more men like you in the apocalypse. Aubrey, are you hiding more in the basement? This is ridiculous, you have to share, you know. It’s a shame I won’t be here tomorrow…”
Aubrey rolls her eyes at Warren and mouths something that looks like ‘don’t encourage her’.
Warren rolls his eyes back and takes another sip of his drink. Aubrey was right to warn him, the moonshine is strong. It’ll be even stronger on his empty stomach and his lowered alcohol tolerance, but at this point he’s treating it like his own personal experiment to see how quickly he can get buzzed.
“Uh–” both women turn towards him, expecting something else, “So… where are you traveling to? Is there another commune nearby, or… uh…”
Aubrey’s face drops like he’s made some kind of massive future-party faux pas he couldn’t possibly know about. She looks frightfully at Jade, but the older woman appears completely unfazed. “Oh, dear. Did nobody tell you? I’m saying goodbye.”
Her words hang in the air for a moment before they sink in.
The vague party banner. Her age. This woman is going to die tonight. How? Why? Most importantly, what the hell is going on?
“Sorry– I’m, I’m sorry– I didn’t–” Warren’s hands start shaking so bad he almost drops his cup. His eyes sink, studying the floor times fervently. One day out. One day out and you’re already fucking everything up. They’re going to put him back. Any minute now. These were the bad signs Aubrey was talking about. Oh god.
“It’s alright, son.” Jade reaches across the space, lifting his cup away with one hand and pulling his hands together with the other. “It’s okay.”
Warren closes his eyes, trying to figure out how to breathe slower. Her skin is so much warmer than his, it amazes him all over again. It’s like a tiny furnace cupping his palms, sweet and safe.
“If anything,” she laughs, “I’m annoyed at this one for not giving you a heads up.”
Now it’s Aubrey’s turn to look away. Guilt flickers over her face as she clears her throat, “This was a tough situation for everybody. Hester and I are still trying to determine how quickly to reintegrate him, you know this–”
“Oh, hush. I’m not mad at anybody,” Jade sighs. “Now, appease an old bat and tell me how that wife of yours is doing. I’m disappointed she couldn’t make it…”
They talk for a while, Warren mostly tuning out Jade and Aubrey’s back and forth about life in the Valley. This would be crucial information, but he gave up trying after the eighth or so name he didn’t recognize. Occasionally he nods or offers a phrase of understanding, trying not to stick out so much in a room full of people who belong.
Minutes tick by. Warren finishes his drink. He briefly wonders if he should get another one, and excuses himself to try.
As he pours himself a new cup, Warren can’t help but notice that the instruments are spaced out properly now. There’s a drum kit that’s at least half upturned buckets, a keyboard, a beat-up black guitar, and an even more beat-up red bass.
Marmite scuttles around, fussing at the cables. Suddenly he stops, clapping his hands for the room’s attention. “Everybody! Everybody, listen up! We’ve got a special treat for you all tonight!”
Warren feels like a sardine as a crowd surges up around him, people pushing forward to get closer to the makeshift stage. The chatter grows louder in anticipation and there are some excited whoops. He lets people through, not caring if he’s standing three rows behind everybody else. He doesn’t even know what this is, so clinging to the wall is safest for now.
The four members of the band walk out to more cheers, and the crowd presses closer together. Warren recognizes the drummer as the woman Marmite was arguing with earlier, Robin. She picks up a set of drumsticks, swinging them confidently around her hands while the other three settle in with their instruments.
It looks like the lead is the bassist, a man with scruffy black hair and glasses, currently fidgeting with the layers of peeling duct tape around the bass’s body. He gives Robin a signal, and she clacks her sticks together.
“We are Pus Crank!” Robin screams, her smile all teeth, “And this is Morior Invictus!”
Music so loud Warren is sure the floor is shuddering under his feet suddenly blares out of the eclectic speakers. It’s a rough, raucous tune fueled with anger and spite. Metal, Warren thinks. Is this what everybody listens to?
It seems very popular. There’s an almost constant screaming glee from the partygoers in the first row. People are dancing, swinging and stomping around, grinning like a pack of hyenas. Even more are singing to the strange lyrics Warren doesn’t recognize. It must be an original.
After a few songs, Aubrey walks up from behind him, looping an arm through his. “Try to keep from running away on me. I’m on strict babysitter duty tonight.” She frowns when she notices his cup is full again.
“I didn’t know there would still be metal bands in the future.” Warren hasn’t strayed from his spot near the wall, but he’s been feeling the pull of the crowd all night. Music had never really been a thing for him. There’s just something about this band, though.
It’s only the moonshine, it must be.
She glares, “Believe me, there aren’t any others.”
“Who’s that?”
Warren points, hoping Aubrey can tell he’s gesturing at the lead singer through the crowd. He picks a bad time. The last song just ended and there’s so much applause it rattles his skull.
Aubrey shrugs, “Don’t know. Come on, they’ve finished up. I’ll introduce you.”
Before Warren can protest, Aubrey is dragging him forward through a reversing crowd. It sounds like Jade is holding court somewhere behind him, her voice growing louder as the two of them walk away.
“Uh, Aubrey, it’s not a big deal– we don’t have to–” Warren tries tugging his hand out of her grip. “I just– Please–” He’s sweating. Fuck. Why is he so nervous?
Aubry releases him. Warren turns to go, noticing only a second too late that they’re already standing in front of the band. He awkwardly turns back around.
The keyboard player and the guitarist have disappeared, but the bassist and Robin are chatting together while unplugging wires.
“Aubrey!” Robin exclaims, smiling warmly. The man next to her waves. His eyes seem to linger on Warren, glancing away only to look back. Warren realizes he’s staring too.
“This is Warren, everybody,” Aubrey says, shoving him forward a little. “Play nice.”
Warren offers an unsure smile, “Uh, hello. I liked your set. It was, um, riveting…?”
Aubrey grins, somehow getting the most out of this interaction. “Warren, this is Robin, our drummer, and Gordon, the lead singer.”
The man, Gordon, reaches out to shake Warren’s hand. Something passes over faces just as they touch, shock and glee at once. “Wait a minute… It’s you! You’re the Brigadoon!”