[Zeta already has a difficult enough time on field missions.
And he's already been having a difficult enough time pretending to be human.
But now he's bloody bored. Fuck, he hates stakeouts.]
This is the part that isn't supposed to be my job, [he's muttering to himself, regardless of the human with them.] I swear, the next person who assigns me on another damn field mission...
At least they got out of that Pythia cursed basement. And the moment they're out of the building, out of the range of the damn amplifier, Zeta rips his collar off.
But as Zeta was asking Fevrain if they have enough Earth money to get a hotel room to recuperate, the human offers to let them use his flat instead.
And...
And, they accepted.
And Zeta can't stop thinking about what it'd mean.
He wants to talk to Fevrain about it, but only in private. The human doesn't live far -- near enough they're walking there. The only way to have privacy like this is if they speak telepathically, and after the day they've had... Zeta finds himself reluctant.
And so now they're standing in the human's slightly damp living room. Zeta lingers awkwardly by the door, wallflowering a bit. His throat still feels sensitive, almost like he can still feel the weight of the collar.]
[Norton removes his suit jacket and tie and loosens the top few buttons of his shirt before sprawling on the sofa. Fevrain watches as the human's throat is revealed. It's positively scandalous by Gallifreyan standards of dress.]
There's no need to stand on ceremony. Unless your alien race has ceremonies for entering other people's houses?
[Zeta never sleeps well on field missions, in the rare occasions they aren't resolved within the day. The environment is just too unfamiliar, and it never feels entirely safe. The only reason he's able to get any sleep at all that night is because he can press up against Fevrain.
(And that is a blessing in and of itself. Finally, some alone time together, with the space and the safety to touch mind to mind, exchange gentle affection... shut out the world around them. It's such an immense comfort to focus on Fevrain, and only Fevrain.)
Still: It isn't a surprise to him when he wakes early the next morning. He's groggy, but can already tell he won't be getting back to sleep. After simply enjoying the contact, he shifts away from Fevrain and leaves the safety of their blanket pile on the couch. His goal: the kitchen, to put on some water and help himself to the human's tea.
He doesn't think twice about, or even realize, the state of his hair.]
[Norton wakes up and stretches in his bed. Between all the excitement last night and then a good charvering after, he slept soundly and is feeling more lively than he has in weeks. He spends an extra minute just lying in bed, but there's a busy (and hopefully interesting) day ahead of him and he's eager to get started.
But first, breakfast and tea.
He walks to his kitchen, still nude because this is his flat after all and also it's not as if his guests haven't already seen it all. And he's not afraid to give them a second look during the daylight hours either.
Zeta's beaten him to the tea.
Zeta looks like his hair might be considering a hostile take-over of Zeta's head.]
Blimey! Your hair! [Norton squeaks and bursts out laughing in delighted, high-pitched laughter.]
[Norton ends up taking longer to get changed than Zeta had anticipated. It makes Zeta antsy, and by the time Norton finally rejoins him at the lobby, it shows -- He's in a state of twitchy fidgeting, foot tapping, fingers fussing, weight shifting from one leg to the other. He barely kept himself from pacing. But it isn't simple impatience -- The moment Zeta lays eyes on Norton, his shoulders start to ease away from where they were trying to bunch up by his ears.
So what if he shouldn't have been so worried while they were in Norton's own workplace. So what if he shouldn't have gotten so worried at all when it isn't hardly as though they're close enough to warrant it. Shut up.
Zeta is mostly relaxed by the time they get back to Norton's home -- only mostly, because being out in public still made him tense. He's so ready to get inside that his eyes almost entirely skip over the handkerchief tied to the stair railing.
[There was only one scientist in the lab when Norton returned, which was lucky for him because when the sample test concluded and the man exclaimed "Lord God Almighty, this is from a Time Lord! We need to tell Rigsby right away, activate the Black Squadron!" there was no one around to witness Norton grabbing a microscope and beaning the man across the head with it.
Norton acts quickly but with unusual calm. He lives and thrives in the unexpected. He arranges the scientist at his work station as if he fell asleep there, then unlocks the cabinet and removes a small dose of Torchwood's memory-blurring drug and shoves it down the man's throat.
Done and done.
Before he leaves, he picks up the hat he'd absent-mindedly left earlier and puts it on his head. A highly productive visit to the lab, minor hiccup notwithstanding. From there, everything goes to plan, no more surprises, up until he reaches home.
And that surprise wouldn't have been a problem except that Zeta is awfully nosy.]
[In the end, Zeta does reach for Fevrain's hand. They're still near enough to the club where Fevrain's little entourage witnessed him get snogged, so he doesn't think he needs to be self-conscious about it. But the reason why he does it is less to soothe himself and more to establish a solid mental connection, one that'll hold even after they aren't holding hands for the entire walk. It'll need refreshing now and then, but a brush of fingers will be enough for that.
The first thing that happens is Zeta's emotions billowing up -- anxiety, guilt, frustration, longing, a twinge of outright fear. Zeta punches it down to focus. Even so, it's hard to figure out where to start.]
A lot happened. [That's... a little pathetic.] I made one major mistake, but that isn't all I'm worried about.
[Zeta steps up to Norton's mind, but stops just shy of where a Gallifreyan's shields would be.
It's easiest, he thinks, to offer a visual representation to help Norton get used to it, rather than leave things nebulous with tendrils and auras. So, after a nanospan of deciding what scene would be best to set, he gathers it together: a simple room, resembling, in truth, an unoccupied CIA office. A cadonwood table and pair of matching chairs occupy the center, the office's desk shoved up against the wall and out of the way.]
Here, [he calls to Norton, this time extending a tendril, a stream of golden light leading to the office's door.] I thought meeting in a neutral space would be easiest to start with.
[The office Norton sees in his mind, like he's dreaming, isn't quite like the sort of government offices he's familiar with, but close enough that he can feel the impersonal, businesslike atmosphere.]
I feel rather like I should have prepared for a job interview.
[Zeta returns with Norton to the psychic space at his mental doorstep and walks him through the process of focusing psychic energy into shields specifically. Only after he finds the progress satisfactory does he have Norton apply it to his own mind.
Norton's psychic shield is like Ranser's -- non-traditional. Disorienting to experience. A stretch of openness, as if you'd expect to see clear through to the other side, only for the distance to fade strangely into the fine mist. Zeta manages to keep his kneejerk reaction of "what the fuck" to himself, but it's a near thing.
The next step has Zeta hesitant. In order to proceed, he'll have to enter Norton's mind -- Something he absolutely did not want to do until Norton had shields, until Norton could appropriately make the choice and let him in. But while Zeta introduced Norton to the basic concepts of weaving needed for the tampering seals in the neutral space, Norton doesn't know where to apply them -- and Zeta can't guide him, because he doesn't know where humans store memories in their minds. When the time comes, Zeta laces himself up firmly with gentlemanly manners and crosses gently through the opening in the mist.
As he lingers just inside the door, allowing both of them to adjust, as if he's blinking into a newly lit room, it occurs to him that this might be a good time for that idea he had.]
Before we proceed, there's another little trick I'd like to show you.
[Although it was difficult learning how to create a shield, once he does it it's like it's always been there. He's reminded of learning to ride a bicycle: feels impossible until suddenly it clicks and then it's rapidly second nature.
He's feeling rather pleased with himself about it.]
[Zeta walks Norton through setting up the tamper seals, then teaches him a few basic offensive psychic techniques, passive and active both. By the time he's satisfied with the progress made, it's mid-afternoon. After a brief break, as both he and Norton need it, it's decided that they'll pursue the Camden lead. What Zeta really wants is a good, hard fuck and a long nap, but Fevrain is restless and Norton is eager to properly get to any kind of action. And it's true that the longer they wait, the more likely it is that the Camden lead will go cold. They need to get moving.]
We'll need to be on our toes, [Zeta warns.] The renegade already expects his own kind will be coming after him, remember? If it truly is where he's set up his base, then he'll have set up traps.
[Norton is definitely ready to be out of his head and back on the streets by the time the training is over. Camden Town isn't his neighbourhood the way Soho is, but it's not far away and still familiar ground. He's been to most of the clubs there at least once and a few months back had a lovely late night encounter with an anonymous gentleman in Regent's Park.]
Maybe that's where I'll come in handy. He expects you; he doesn't expect me.
[The room is spartan and dimly lit. Three people in black and white robes cluster together muttering among themselves by a control panel. The only other thing in the hexagonal-shaped room is a chair in the centre with glowing forcefield restraints holding down a handsome, dark haired man with an expression of unrepentant murder in his eyes. One of the CIA agents notices the threatening stare and speaks. Utterly calm.]
You should be grateful to us. Cardinal Daldrell wanted you sent to the Final Death.
[Zeta's vision fades in. His mind has curled in on itself, shields held tight, and he feels disoriented and almost nauseous. But this isn't his physical body, this isn't a physical space. He doesn't know what, exactly, it is, though. Zeta begins to uncurl his mind and truly take in his surroundings.
He knows he is still on Earth in reality, but there's no mistaking it: This is the CIA. This is Gallifrey. He knows that even before the words Cardinal and Final Death are spoken.
And the man in he chair... That is Fevrain. Zeta has never seen any of his previous regenerations, but he can sense it, can sense Fevrain's mind. His current mind, the mind Zeta knows. And he isn't the only mind he can sense.
Zeta extends a tendril in that direction, searching.] Norton?
[The transmat takes them all, including the two new guests, off of Gallifrey to the test site.]
And this is why I hate field missions, [Zeta grumbles to himself, off-script of the memory. The fake Narvin and accompanying agent don't seem to notice.
Otherwise, Zeta plays along. Mostly. His tone has an air of annoyance and exasperation as he relives the bulk of the test: following Narvin along as he pinpoints the clues specifying where he will find the test bomb, sharing idle commentary with the field agent as they observe Narvin decide which of those clues are false leads, the pointless amount of walking involved between traps Narvin has to locate and disable. It goes smoothly right up until the moment it doesn't.
Zeta notices it first. He's standing over Narvin's shoulder, watching him work. The tip-off is small: a faint light inside the casing that shouldn't have been on. But at that first hint, he doesn't pull the plug, instead leaning in closer, seeking confirmation. He gets it -- a soft noise the bomb shouldn't have made if it was truly safe.
In the memory, he orders Narvin back. In this recreation of it, he grips Narvin's arm and pulls him away, bodily putting himself between Narvin and the bomb. At Zeta's sudden action, the field agent springs forward, and there's no time for anything else to happen. The explosion goes off, impossibly loud and bright, amplified further by the fact that this is Zeta's memory of it. The agent is vaporized on contact, and Zeta is caught on the edge of the blast. Narvin is just beyond that edge.
There is an accompanying explosion of pain, crippling and breath-stealing. The scenery blurs, glitches, along with Zeta's perception through the pain. When it settles, Zeta and Narvin lie sprawled on the floor, Zeta's robes charred and bloodied, and any exposed skin is already glowing gold from within. Distantly, he is aware that Narvin is stirring, taking in what's happened, beginning to panic. But it's all fuzzy still, as though witnessed from deep underwater.
The pain is excruciating. He is dying. He is dying and he knows it, knows what's coming, knows it's too early, and then comes the realization that this is his first regeneration since the divorce. In this psychic space, it is tangible: a crack of lightning, sharp fear, fierce loss -- The lack of entrelacement is keen and miserable and Zeta has never been so afraid in a regeneration. Then it all explodes again into gold, every cell screaming as it is rearranged, re-molded, changed -- ]
[When the world coalesces again, it takes the shape of an office. Each wall features a window overlooking a CIA laboratory, and the desk is cluttered with alien technology. Zeta's lab -- Zeta's office.
And Zeta -- Zeta 5, with the correct face, the correct brown curls -- sits in his wheeled chair at his messy desk, reclined back, head leaned back, eyes closed, brow heavily knit, hands gripping the armrest tightly.]
[Norton doesn't step through the door, but suddenly he's somewhere else. Disorientated, he glances around and immediately recognizes the tall trees and thick bushes of Russell Square. It's daytime, and he can hear the sound of cabs humming by on the street, and the distant murmur of pedestrians, but the sky is dark and cloudy, and they're well within the boundary of the park, and the bushes hide them from the outside world.
Them. Not him, Zeta, and Fevrain. (Those names drift away as soon as he thinks them as the memory sucks him in.) Him and Adam.
Norton is up against a tree, suit coat unbuttoned and Adam's hand skimming up his side. Adam dives in for another insistent kiss and Norton can't resist, but after a few seconds he pulls away again, remembering why he'd stopped the kiss earlier in the first place.]
I need to get back to work. [Norton keeps his voice quiet, mindful that despite the helpful bushes, they're still very much in public.]
Back to the library? I'm sure they can manage without you for a while longer. [And Adam kisses him again, Norton again not resisting, even as Adam presses their hips together.]
[One nanospan, Zeta is standing in the memory of his office, still holding Fevrain close to him, watching Norton cross towards the door. The next, he's in an unfamiliar Earth park... still holding Fevrain close to him, but Norton is not immediately in sight. Zeta's pulse kicks up and his hold on Fevrain tightens as he casts his gaze around.]
That was fast. [Looks like his hypothesis was correct.
He hears voices -- The first, thankfully familiar. Norton. It's quiet, but it's him, and it means he has to be very nearby, otherwise Zeta wouldn't have heard him at all. Then, an unfamiliar voice, but Zeta is still exhaling with relief. Good. He's still with them, then.]
Come along, nova, let's go collect our human. [Zeta follows the direction Norton's voice came from, and ends up popping up around a tree.] Alright, Norton, let's -- Oh.
He doesn't remember falling asleep... But he must have dozed off at some point. This is what he gets for keeping all-nighters so often. He wishes he'd at least had the forethought to move over to the cot he keeps in his office, because now he has an annoying crick in his neck.
But he also doesn't remember what woke him. He feels as though there was something specific that interrupted his impromptu slumber, but his brain feels sluggish, foggy, disoriented, and he can't place it. He furrows his brow and rubs his forehead.]
[Norton knocks again, but the second time he doesn't wait for an answer. He reckons he's given enough warning now and if Dr. Zellweger were in the middle of something dangerous, he'd have shouted at the door by now. So Norton bursts in.]
Hello, darling, here for my weekly physical. How do you want me? Lying down or standing up? I'm good with any position.
[Norton doesn't remember when he started drinking, but he feels tipsy right now and the rest of the day feels like it went by in a blur. He doesn't remember if it had been him or Adam who had suggested they go out to the club, but after a terribly uneventful day at work (must have been uneventful because he can't recall any details about it, just a sense that he went to work, did some work things, and came home), going out for some fun sounded like a fine idea.
So here he is now, in the club and seated on a sofa on Adam's lap with the remains of a martini in his hands and Adam nuzzling his neck. He gasps as Adam nips at a particularly sensitive spot and his cock twitches.]
Adam...Adam, we're in public. [And somehow Norton's just now properly realizing it. Not "in public" in the sense of the general public, no danger of being arrested unless there's a raid, but more public than Norton is entirely comfortable with as Adam seems intent on getting him worked up.]
And? [Adam's hand drifts down to Norton's crotch and massages lightly. Norton's eyes flutter closed as he starts to harden, despite the discomfort that's growing along with his cock.]
And people are starting to watch. I'm not a performing monkey here to put on a show for them and you're not my circus master. Can't we just...go to a back room? Alleyway? Something?
[Behind the sofa, there is a pointed tapping sound, like someone tapping a cane against the floor. Then, a cool, measured voice with clipped words:]
Honestly, Adam, I am disappointed.
[Zeta stands behind them, both hands resting on a walking cane, his expression calm but eyes chilly. (But he doesn't direct them to Norton, doesn't look at him -- instead, seems intent on boring a hole through the back of Adam's head.)]
["Step One: Convince Adam of the ploy and to follow them" is a success. Adam is suspicious, as expected, but Norton knows just how to assuage and play his ego. It's impressive watching him work -- The thought of how good of a CIA agent he'd make resurfaces again.
Stepping inside Torchwood's prison, even this fascimile, makes Zeta's skin crawl. The space feels muffled, thanks to the heavy psychic insulation, and he had already intended to include a note about it in his report, but now his motivation to do so doubles. It's a psychic equivalent to someone having stuffed cotton in his ears. And when he thinks about what it must have been like for Fevrain to be left down here, isolated, alone, with Pythia-knows-what memories draped over his mind...
Zeta realizes he's clenching his fists, and he forces himself to relax his hands again.] Right. We don't know which console the alien virus is occupying just yet. Adam, if you get started on that end, I'll begin on this one. Norton, keep on your toes in case a cell opens.
[Norton's hand drifts to the edge of his jacket, where there's a pistol hidden in a shoulder holster. Keeping up appearances of being here as an Agent supervising the prisoners while the scientists work.
The way Fevrain's icy eyes are watching him, he's a bit concerned that he really might try to attack them when the cell is opened. That's a wrinkle. But one he'll let Zeta deal with. His priority is to get Adam into the cell.]
[There is no dramatic fanfare when it breaks. Zeta had expected something -- the world around them warping, the shatter of the shield holding them in, the trap to fight them one last time -- anything at all.
But no -- One moment, they're standing amidst Norton's fields, directing their combined psychic attack. It was like striking a solid wall, and they had to brace themselves to add more force. Then --
Zeta jolts awake. It is utterly fucking disorienting. The floor is solid beneath him, the back of his head has a sharp ache, his time sense is jangling. He swears at length, groaning and covering his face with his hands for a moment. But he doesn't let himself languish in his misery for long.]
Roll call, [he announces, still lying on the floor with his face covered.]
[The next steps are blissfully simple and straight-forward. Azenes is secured within the TARDIS' holding cells, the TARDIS technician is fed lines about having to observe the amplifier's aftereffects once it's removed, the amplifier is then removed...
... and Zeta makes true to his promise to Norton, and they go out to have that fanciful dinner at that fanciful restaurant. It is far, far from Zeta's kind of scene -- something Norton and Fevrain tease him relentlessly about the entire time -- but it's worth it, more than worth it. For the chance to pamper Fevrain a little bit, give him a chance to breathe and be spoiled after all that happened. For the extra time spent with Norton, to watch him happy and bright and twittering away, single-handedly carrying the entire conversation at times.
It isn't without struggle, though. Because Zeta cannot touch either of them, and they cannot be truly free to speak as they wish, not in public, certainly not amongst random humans. And it isn't without hiccups, between Zeta occasionally losing control of his volume, and his suggestion that they dance after dinner. (It is then that he finally, finally finds out what Norton's meant this entire mission. It puts a lot of things he's said and done into context. But... When Zeta loses control of his volume in his surprise, it beats out all the other times. Because. Seriously, what? Humans.)
But... It's peaceful. It's fun. And Zeta is thrumming with everything he had to keep restrained when they return to Norton's home.
Once the door is closed, he can't help himself. He reaches, almost blindly, for whichever of them is closest and squeezes his shoulder firmly. Yes, he knows, useless on humans if he gets Norton, but the point is there.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
And he's already been having a difficult enough time pretending to be human.
But now he's bloody bored. Fuck, he hates stakeouts.]
This is the part that isn't supposed to be my job, [he's muttering to himself, regardless of the human with them.] I swear, the next person who assigns me on another damn field mission...
no subject
Or lock yourself in the lab and refuse to open the door next time.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
At least they got out of that Pythia cursed basement. And the moment they're out of the building, out of the range of the damn amplifier, Zeta rips his collar off.
But as Zeta was asking Fevrain if they have enough Earth money to get a hotel room to recuperate, the human offers to let them use his flat instead.
And...
And, they accepted.
And Zeta can't stop thinking about what it'd mean.
He wants to talk to Fevrain about it, but only in private. The human doesn't live far -- near enough they're walking there. The only way to have privacy like this is if they speak telepathically, and after the day they've had... Zeta finds himself reluctant.
And so now they're standing in the human's slightly damp living room. Zeta lingers awkwardly by the door, wallflowering a bit. His throat still feels sensitive, almost like he can still feel the weight of the collar.]
Right... So.
no subject
[Norton removes his suit jacket and tie and loosens the top few buttons of his shirt before sprawling on the sofa. Fevrain watches as the human's throat is revealed. It's positively scandalous by Gallifreyan standards of dress.]
There's no need to stand on ceremony. Unless your alien race has ceremonies for entering other people's houses?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
next day
(And that is a blessing in and of itself. Finally, some alone time together, with the space and the safety to touch mind to mind, exchange gentle affection... shut out the world around them. It's such an immense comfort to focus on Fevrain, and only Fevrain.)
Still: It isn't a surprise to him when he wakes early the next morning. He's groggy, but can already tell he won't be getting back to sleep. After simply enjoying the contact, he shifts away from Fevrain and leaves the safety of their blanket pile on the couch. His goal: the kitchen, to put on some water and help himself to the human's tea.
He doesn't think twice about, or even realize, the state of his hair.]
no subject
But first, breakfast and tea.
He walks to his kitchen, still nude because this is his flat after all and also it's not as if his guests haven't already seen it all. And he's not afraid to give them a second look during the daylight hours either.
Zeta's beaten him to the tea.
Zeta looks like his hair might be considering a hostile take-over of Zeta's head.]
Blimey! Your hair! [Norton squeaks and bursts out laughing in delighted, high-pitched laughter.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
norton's
So what if he shouldn't have been so worried while they were in Norton's own workplace. So what if he shouldn't have gotten so worried at all when it isn't hardly as though they're close enough to warrant it. Shut up.
Zeta is mostly relaxed by the time they get back to Norton's home -- only mostly, because being out in public still made him tense. He's so ready to get inside that his eyes almost entirely skip over the handkerchief tied to the stair railing.
His eyebrows twitch down.] What's this?
no subject
Norton acts quickly but with unusual calm. He lives and thrives in the unexpected. He arranges the scientist at his work station as if he fell asleep there, then unlocks the cabinet and removes a small dose of Torchwood's memory-blurring drug and shoves it down the man's throat.
Done and done.
Before he leaves, he picks up the hat he'd absent-mindedly left earlier and puts it on his head. A highly productive visit to the lab, minor hiccup notwithstanding. From there, everything goes to plan, no more surprises, up until he reaches home.
And that surprise wouldn't have been a problem except that Zeta is awfully nosy.]
It's a handkerchief. [He answers dryly.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
The first thing that happens is Zeta's emotions billowing up -- anxiety, guilt, frustration, longing, a twinge of outright fear. Zeta punches it down to focus. Even so, it's hard to figure out where to start.]
A lot happened. [That's... a little pathetic.] I made one major mistake, but that isn't all I'm worried about.
no subject
This is even worse than he'd thought, and clearly sending Zeta to find Norton didn't solve it.]
I can see feel that. Start from the beginning.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
It's easiest, he thinks, to offer a visual representation to help Norton get used to it, rather than leave things nebulous with tendrils and auras. So, after a nanospan of deciding what scene would be best to set, he gathers it together: a simple room, resembling, in truth, an unoccupied CIA office. A cadonwood table and pair of matching chairs occupy the center, the office's desk shoved up against the wall and out of the way.]
Here, [he calls to Norton, this time extending a tendril, a stream of golden light leading to the office's door.] I thought meeting in a neutral space would be easiest to start with.
no subject
I feel rather like I should have prepared for a job interview.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
Norton's psychic shield is like Ranser's -- non-traditional. Disorienting to experience. A stretch of openness, as if you'd expect to see clear through to the other side, only for the distance to fade strangely into the fine mist. Zeta manages to keep his kneejerk reaction of "what the fuck" to himself, but it's a near thing.
The next step has Zeta hesitant. In order to proceed, he'll have to enter Norton's mind -- Something he absolutely did not want to do until Norton had shields, until Norton could appropriately make the choice and let him in. But while Zeta introduced Norton to the basic concepts of weaving needed for the tampering seals in the neutral space, Norton doesn't know where to apply them -- and Zeta can't guide him, because he doesn't know where humans store memories in their minds. When the time comes, Zeta laces himself up firmly with gentlemanly manners and crosses gently through the opening in the mist.
As he lingers just inside the door, allowing both of them to adjust, as if he's blinking into a newly lit room, it occurs to him that this might be a good time for that idea he had.]
Before we proceed, there's another little trick I'd like to show you.
no subject
He's feeling rather pleased with himself about it.]
Oh? What trick is that?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
camden
We'll need to be on our toes, [Zeta warns.] The renegade already expects his own kind will be coming after him, remember? If it truly is where he's set up his base, then he'll have set up traps.
no subject
Maybe that's where I'll come in handy. He expects you; he doesn't expect me.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
In The Mind
You should be grateful to us. Cardinal Daldrell wanted you sent to the Final Death.
Fuck off. [The bound man replies.]
no subject
He knows he is still on Earth in reality, but there's no mistaking it: This is the CIA. This is Gallifrey. He knows that even before the words Cardinal and Final Death are spoken.
And the man in he chair... That is Fevrain. Zeta has never seen any of his previous regenerations, but he can sense it, can sense Fevrain's mind. His current mind, the mind Zeta knows. And he isn't the only mind he can sense.
Zeta extends a tendril in that direction, searching.] Norton?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
1/2
And this is why I hate field missions, [Zeta grumbles to himself, off-script of the memory. The fake Narvin and accompanying agent don't seem to notice.
Otherwise, Zeta plays along. Mostly. His tone has an air of annoyance and exasperation as he relives the bulk of the test: following Narvin along as he pinpoints the clues specifying where he will find the test bomb, sharing idle commentary with the field agent as they observe Narvin decide which of those clues are false leads, the pointless amount of walking involved between traps Narvin has to locate and disable. It goes smoothly right up until the moment it doesn't.
Zeta notices it first. He's standing over Narvin's shoulder, watching him work. The tip-off is small: a faint light inside the casing that shouldn't have been on. But at that first hint, he doesn't pull the plug, instead leaning in closer, seeking confirmation. He gets it -- a soft noise the bomb shouldn't have made if it was truly safe.
In the memory, he orders Narvin back. In this recreation of it, he grips Narvin's arm and pulls him away, bodily putting himself between Narvin and the bomb. At Zeta's sudden action, the field agent springs forward, and there's no time for anything else to happen. The explosion goes off, impossibly loud and bright, amplified further by the fact that this is Zeta's memory of it. The agent is vaporized on contact, and Zeta is caught on the edge of the blast. Narvin is just beyond that edge.
There is an accompanying explosion of pain, crippling and breath-stealing. The scenery blurs, glitches, along with Zeta's perception through the pain. When it settles, Zeta and Narvin lie sprawled on the floor, Zeta's robes charred and bloodied, and any exposed skin is already glowing gold from within. Distantly, he is aware that Narvin is stirring, taking in what's happened, beginning to panic. But it's all fuzzy still, as though witnessed from deep underwater.
The pain is excruciating. He is dying. He is dying and he knows it, knows what's coming, knows it's too early, and then comes the realization that this is his first regeneration since the divorce. In this psychic space, it is tangible: a crack of lightning, sharp fear, fierce loss -- The lack of entrelacement is keen and miserable and Zeta has never been so afraid in a regeneration. Then it all explodes again into gold, every cell screaming as it is rearranged, re-molded, changed -- ]
2/2
And Zeta -- Zeta 5, with the correct face, the correct brown curls -- sits in his wheeled chair at his messy desk, reclined back, head leaned back, eyes closed, brow heavily knit, hands gripping the armrest tightly.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
Them. Not him, Zeta, and Fevrain. (Those names drift away as soon as he thinks them as the memory sucks him in.) Him and Adam.
Norton is up against a tree, suit coat unbuttoned and Adam's hand skimming up his side. Adam dives in for another insistent kiss and Norton can't resist, but after a few seconds he pulls away again, remembering why he'd stopped the kiss earlier in the first place.]
I need to get back to work. [Norton keeps his voice quiet, mindful that despite the helpful bushes, they're still very much in public.]
Back to the library? I'm sure they can manage without you for a while longer. [And Adam kisses him again, Norton again not resisting, even as Adam presses their hips together.]
no subject
That was fast. [Looks like his hypothesis was correct.
He hears voices -- The first, thankfully familiar. Norton. It's quiet, but it's him, and it means he has to be very nearby, otherwise Zeta wouldn't have heard him at all. Then, an unfamiliar voice, but Zeta is still exhaling with relief. Good. He's still with them, then.]
Come along, nova, let's go collect our human. [Zeta follows the direction Norton's voice came from, and ends up popping up around a tree.] Alright, Norton, let's -- Oh.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
???
He doesn't remember falling asleep... But he must have dozed off at some point. This is what he gets for keeping all-nighters so often. He wishes he'd at least had the forethought to move over to the cot he keeps in his office, because now he has an annoying crick in his neck.
But he also doesn't remember what woke him. He feels as though there was something specific that interrupted his impromptu slumber, but his brain feels sluggish, foggy, disoriented, and he can't place it. He furrows his brow and rubs his forehead.]
no subject
Hello, darling, here for my weekly physical. How do you want me? Lying down or standing up? I'm good with any position.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
no subject
So here he is now, in the club and seated on a sofa on Adam's lap with the remains of a martini in his hands and Adam nuzzling his neck. He gasps as Adam nips at a particularly sensitive spot and his cock twitches.]
Adam...Adam, we're in public. [And somehow Norton's just now properly realizing it. Not "in public" in the sense of the general public, no danger of being arrested unless there's a raid, but more public than Norton is entirely comfortable with as Adam seems intent on getting him worked up.]
And? [Adam's hand drifts down to Norton's crotch and massages lightly. Norton's eyes flutter closed as he starts to harden, despite the discomfort that's growing along with his cock.]
And people are starting to watch. I'm not a performing monkey here to put on a show for them and you're not my circus master. Can't we just...go to a back room? Alleyway? Something?
Feels to me like you're performing just fine.
no subject
Honestly, Adam, I am disappointed.
[Zeta stands behind them, both hands resting on a walking cane, his expression calm but eyes chilly. (But he doesn't direct them to Norton, doesn't look at him -- instead, seems intent on boring a hole through the back of Adam's head.)]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
torchwood building - cells
Stepping inside Torchwood's prison, even this fascimile, makes Zeta's skin crawl. The space feels muffled, thanks to the heavy psychic insulation, and he had already intended to include a note about it in his report, but now his motivation to do so doubles. It's a psychic equivalent to someone having stuffed cotton in his ears. And when he thinks about what it must have been like for Fevrain to be left down here, isolated, alone, with Pythia-knows-what memories draped over his mind...
Zeta realizes he's clenching his fists, and he forces himself to relax his hands again.] Right. We don't know which console the alien virus is occupying just yet. Adam, if you get started on that end, I'll begin on this one. Norton, keep on your toes in case a cell opens.
no subject
[Norton's hand drifts to the edge of his jacket, where there's a pistol hidden in a shoulder holster. Keeping up appearances of being here as an Agent supervising the prisoners while the scientists work.
The way Fevrain's icy eyes are watching him, he's a bit concerned that he really might try to attack them when the cell is opened. That's a wrinkle. But one he'll let Zeta deal with. His priority is to get Adam into the cell.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
camden
But no -- One moment, they're standing amidst Norton's fields, directing their combined psychic attack. It was like striking a solid wall, and they had to brace themselves to add more force. Then --
Zeta jolts awake. It is utterly fucking disorienting. The floor is solid beneath him, the back of his head has a sharp ache, his time sense is jangling. He swears at length, groaning and covering his face with his hands for a moment. But he doesn't let himself languish in his misery for long.]
Roll call, [he announces, still lying on the floor with his face covered.]
no subject
Blimey, it feels like the most peculiar hangover.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
at norton's, that evening
... and Zeta makes true to his promise to Norton, and they go out to have that fanciful dinner at that fanciful restaurant. It is far, far from Zeta's kind of scene -- something Norton and Fevrain tease him relentlessly about the entire time -- but it's worth it, more than worth it. For the chance to pamper Fevrain a little bit, give him a chance to breathe and be spoiled after all that happened. For the extra time spent with Norton, to watch him happy and bright and twittering away, single-handedly carrying the entire conversation at times.
It isn't without struggle, though. Because Zeta cannot touch either of them, and they cannot be truly free to speak as they wish, not in public, certainly not amongst random humans. And it isn't without hiccups, between Zeta occasionally losing control of his volume, and his suggestion that they dance after dinner. (It is then that he finally, finally finds out what Norton's meant this entire mission. It puts a lot of things he's said and done into context. But... When Zeta loses control of his volume in his surprise, it beats out all the other times. Because. Seriously, what? Humans.)
But... It's peaceful. It's fun. And Zeta is thrumming with everything he had to keep restrained when they return to Norton's home.
Once the door is closed, he can't help himself. He reaches, almost blindly, for whichever of them is closest and squeezes his shoulder firmly. Yes, he knows, useless on humans if he gets Norton, but the point is there.]
no subject
Have you been waiting all evening to do that?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...