3
Alex walks in when Ryan's making up the bed. He didn't make Sam stay to help with that, so now he's climbing over the mattress from one side to the other, trying to get the sheets vaguely straight. He doesn't actually care a huge deal, but it's something to do. That's the trouble with this place; there's nothing really to fill the hours. They can't risk a TV connection and usually the computer is being used for important stuff. Ryan wishes he had thought to take that big pile of books he'd been meaning to read for years when he left, but he hadn't, so now he fills his time trying to make sure the bed sheets don't crease.
Ryan doesn't look up when Alex walks in, or when Alex says, "Hey," though he says something that could probably be taken as a greeting. After a moment, Alex kneels on the other side of the bed and pulls the sheets tight with Ryan, straightening it out and folding it under.
"What are you doing?" Alex says.
Ryan shrugs. "I thought I'd better give you your bed back."
"Right," Alex says. "Right." Ryan sneaks a look at him and Alex is wide-eyed and blinking, like not much makes sense. "I -- you know I didn't mind, right?" he says hesitantly, and Ryan stands up and goes to get the blanket from where he'd put it on a chair, throws it over the bed.
"Oh, okay," Ryan says, and Alex stands up, folds his arms.
"You're mad at me," he says. Ryan rolls his eyes and Alex makes a startled noise, shaking his head. "Jesus. I can't believe you sometimes."
"Yeah, well," Ryan says. He turns the light off and goes into the kitchen, starts on the dishes. He's not sure if it's his night, but he can't remember the last time he did them so it seems like a good thing to do.
Alex follows him. "Ryan," he says, tightly. "What the fuck, is this about before?"
"I don't really -- like, I'm not in the mood for talking.” Ryan looks down at the basin of the sink as it fills with water, soap bubbles rising faster than the rest. A few drift free and float off, and usually Ryan would pop them but he lets it go this time. "So, you know. If you didn't mind."
"Is this because I," Alex says, and then lets out a breath. Ryan sneaks a glance at him and Alex has his arms folded, back straight. "I didn't realise we were like, not acknowledging anything."
"Yeah, Alex," Ryan says, "I would have much preferred you kept it secret, and indulged me for the rest of the stay until you went crazy and -- and murdered me."
"What?" Alex looks confused, now. Ryan wishes he could stop looking. "I -- what are we talking about?"
"You're already a little bit crazy, you know," Ryan mumbles. It's cruel, but Alex goes quiet after that and then leaves, so Ryan supposes it's done the trick. He supposes he should be glad, now.
Eventually Greta comes in and sits up on the counter, kicking her feet a little as she watches Ryan scrub another plate clean. She keeps quiet, though.
"Hey, Greta," Ryan says, waving to her with a soap-covered hand. "What's up?"
"What, uh," Greta starts, then stops herself. "You could have had your bed back. I mean, you still can? I kind of thought."
"It's okay," Ryan says. "I mean, unless you really want to trade. We could do that. I just made the new one. Hospital corners on the sheets and everything."
"I haven't really changed my sheets since I got here, though," Greta says, making a face. "I don't know if we have time to do laundry tonight. Not for the sheets to dry at least. I guess that's a shitty trade."
Ryan lets out a breath and closes his eyes because he's thinking mostly about how Alex's sheets smell, and how comfortable and warm that blanket is, and how the mattress is just the right level of beaten up to be a bit like sleeping on a dream and how he had the pillows set up just right, and the now-familiar view of the ceiling from his side of the bed when he can't sleep. There's a picture of seagulls taped up over a crack in the ceiling, and Ryan likes to give them names and think about where those birds are now.
"It's okay, seriously," Ryan says.
"I just thought," Greta says, and for a while Ryan thinks she might not finish the sentence, but she goes on. "At first I thought I was really inconveniencing you, but Sam kept saying we had extra mattresses somewhere so I figured you must, I don't know, either have a good reason to be there, or just, like, prefer it." She pauses. "It being Alex's room, since I didn't specify."
"Yeah, well." Ryan shrugs a little and cleans down inside a cup. He wonders if they can find some awesome mugs somewhere, like the ones Z has. "Whatever. Maybe you shouldn't just assume things."
"I think you." This time Greta does stop. "Anyway, I guess it's not any of my business."
"Probably not," Ryan agrees, then catches himself. "Wow, sorry. I'm not usually this much of a jerk, you know?"
"Hmm."
"It's just been a really weird week," Ryan says quietly, looking down. He's almost done with the dishes, just a couple of mismatched forks and a spoon left to clean.
"It just seems like, I don't know," Greta says. "Like you should talk it out with him or something, right? He's already, I mean, he's better, I guess, but I don't think fighting with you is going to help him any."
Ryan holds back that's not my fault and well, he should have thought of that and just says, "I don't owe him anything."
"Maybe not." Greta hops down off the counter and paces a few steps away, arms crossed. "I'm not trying to say you do, but it's just, it's not fair."
Ryan starts laughing, because he had the stupid urge to say life's not fair which is about the most cliché thing he could have said, and instead he says, "I just wanted to help."
"Uh-huh?"
"That's all I was trying to do," Ryan says, and he's still kind of laughing, because it's ridiculous how hard he was trying. "And if he doesn't, if that's not. Then. He's known Darren and Sam and Jeff for pretty much forever, they can help. If he needs something. They're his friends too."
"Right," Greta says. "Right, it's just."
"They are."
"I know," she says. "Sorry."
"So," Ryan says. Greta won't stop looking at him, and her expression is very kind, and Ryan hates it. He wishes he'd kept being a jerk. Maybe then she would leave.
"I think it's different," she says. "With you, I mean."
"Okay," Ryan says. "Well, I don't -- whatever, anyway. He pretty much said he didn't want me around, so."
"Oh," Greta says. "Ryan. Really?"
Ryan lets out the water for the dishes, washes it spiral down the drain and picks out the little bit of rice that clog up the sink. He counts them in his palm. "Anyway," he says, "I'm pretty tired, so I'm just going to go to bed."
"Okay," Greta says. She waits for him to leave, which Ryan hates, a little bit, because it means that he has to go, can't waste time wandering around the kitchen.
He spies a book kicked into a corner in the hallway, and he picks it up and takes it with him. It's an old pulp science fiction novel, it looks pretty crappy, but he puts it carefully on his pillow and then goes and brushes his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror, and pulls on the old t-shirt he sleeps in with his boxers. He doesn't know whose t-shirt it was; not his, obviously, he didn't have anything when he came here. He'd suggested, just once, that they go back to his apartment and pick up some stuff and Alex had stretched his legs out over Ryan's lap and said, easily, "Or not. You want to go out dumpster diving with me for batteries? I found my old DS the other day, we can totally waste some power on it for a day or so before Sam finds out and tells us off."
It's probably Alex's t-shirt, Ryan thinks, plucking at his shoulder. It could have been anyone's, but Alex is closest to his size and it has "Space Center Houston" emblazoned across the front, so Ryan's pretty sure. He goes to bed and crawls in under the sheets and doesn't kick them around, even though they're tight enough that it's a little uncomfortable, being bound so closely to the bed. He reads the whole novel, and then lies on his back and wonders how to pronounce the main character's name.
-
The next morning Alex is in the kitchen with Darren making vegan pancakes. "Special treat," he says to Greta as Ryan walks in. "To celebrate having food again." He looks at Ryan, face blank, and says, "Hello."
"Morning," Ryan mumbles, and sinks into the closest chair. Nobody brings him coffee, but after about ten minutes Alex puts a pancake down in front of him. "Thank you," Ryan says, and Alex turn away like he doesn't want to hear it. After a moment, Ryan gets up and makes his own coffee.
Jeff wanders in, raking his hands through his hair. "There's been more raids," he says. "Overnight."
"Raids?" Greta looks up.
"Police breaking into people's houses," Jeff says. "No warrants, no reports, just at random, they find anything even vaguely -- indecorous, they take you away. There was a lot of it a decade ago, when things were getting really bad and people were complaining, just to keep everyone quiet, but it's faded away a bit, and. This isn't good."
A decade ago Ryan was thirteen and Alex was twenty. Ryan wonders if that was when Alex got started doing all of this, if he made a decision and left.
"Maybe we should get out there," Alex says. Ryan looks up.
"What?" Jeff sounds unsure, too, knocked off balance.
Alex flips a pancake. "Try and break in, maybe. Get ahead of them, for once. See if we can find anything that tells us what's up. You could check the databases, first, but we might have to be on site."
"Alex," Darren says. "You -- you sure that's a good idea?"
"Why?" Alex looks straight at him, but he's flicking Ryan little glances out of the corner of his eye. "Anyone not up to it?"
Darren flexes his wrist, rubbing at it with his other hand, and says, "Well." He spreads his fingers out, curls them up again. "I think I could manage."
Jeff says, "It's not really going to be that easy, you know."
"It's not supposed to be easy," Alex says. "I'm not expecting easy."
Ryan hasn't finished his pancake, and he's sitting still waiting for his coffee to finish. He doesn't look up. "I'll go."
"You'll what?" Alex laughs a little, sharp and startled.
"Wherever it is," Ryan says. Now he looks up, defiant. "Are we talking offices, a police station? What? I'll do it."
"For the love of ..." Alex trails off, shaking his head. Ryan can see him tense up and swallow, hard. "You know, you said it yourself, that you're not really that great at being useful."
Darren says, "Alex."
"Maybe I was wrong," Ryan says. "Let me do it, okay? I'm not as, as well known as any of you guys."
Alex lets out a long, slow breath and doesn't look at Ryan.
Jeff says, "He's right, though, Alex. It's way less likely he'll get recognized. I mean, especially since you've got, you know." He gestures at his hair, almost grinning but not quite.
Ryan says, "My dad used to - he was in the military, I still know some people. I might even be able to get it done before curfew, if I tried."
Jeff says, "Well, there is that office not that far from here, that recruiter. Their computers are all on a network, and it'd be easier to look for stuff on the LAN instead of digging around remotely and hoping you've got the right passwords and shit. They've probably got internal memos and all."
Alex says, "You don't know what they'll do to you."
"No," Ryan agrees. "I don't."
Alex is staring at him. Ryan looks at Darren and says, "Do you have false identities we can use? I mean, they know my name."
"That's right," Alex says, sounding triumphant. "You were on the broadcast just a couple of weeks ago. You'll be way too obvious, they'll pull you in right away--"
"I don't think any pictures were ever put out," Ryan says mildly.
"Doesn't mean they're not in police databases," Alex says. "You don't know them like we do."
"Maybe not," Ryan says. "But I bet if we go to the local office, there won't be anybody there who's actually looked at those photos. Imagine how many people like me there are per week. They couldn't look at all the photos. And my hair's longer now, too, and everybody looks kinda the same with sunglasses."
"This isn't a good idea," Alex says.
"It was yours," Ryan says.
Darren says, "We have ID we can give you, yeah."
"Cool.” Ryan stretches his arms out in front of him, fingers locked together. "I'll probably need a crash course in computers and stuff too."
"Yeah, I can show you the ropes," Jeff says. "It's not urgent, we can probably take a couple of days to work things out."
"I think we should try and work it out as fast as possible," Ryan says, tapping his fingers idly on the table. "Like -- I don't want to get lazy. I think the sooner the better."
"Right," Jeff says uncertainly. "Well, I mean. We can do that. You don't have to be able to analyze the data, just get it back here."
"Okay," Ryan says. "So maybe tomorrow, if we work on that stuff today."
Alex stands up, chair scraping back noisily. Ryan waits, but Alex doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arms hanging loosely by his sides.
Ryan says, "So okay. I'll do that and see what we can get and." He doesn't have any plans beyond that, because this isn't his plan and he's not in charge, and he just says, "And you guys can figure out what to do with it, whatever we learn."
Jeff says, "Yeah, maybe we'll be able to head them off or something. Did you just want to start when you're finished with breakfast, then?"
"Yeah," Ryan says, and pushes his plate away, pancake half-eaten. "I'm not that hungry. Greta, hey, you want the rest?"
"Yeah, sure, thanks," she says, taking his plate eagerly. "These are really good."
Jeff spends the next few hours showing Ryan around the software the government uses, and what settings he's going to have to tweak and where the directories they're most interested are located in the file structure, and a bunch of other things that it takes Ryan a few tries to even remember.
They skip lunch to keep working, and for a while Darren comes and talks over a few other things with both of them, just in case.
"My friend," Ryan says at one point. "This friend of mine, Jon, he delivers water to that building. Every morning, for their water coolers, right? Before anybody else even gets there. And he's, I mean. It'd be easy to get in I think."
"Okay, see, that's a terrible idea," Darren says and laughs. "What guarantees he's not going to turn you in?"
"We cooked taquitos in his backyard one weekend and wrote a whole album while really, really high," Ryan says. "Plus I'm pretty sure he and his friend Joe are still growing weed in a closet somewhere. He's not a big fan. I wouldn't tell him anything."
Jeff says, "Well."
Darren looks at Ryan for a while, considering. "How long have you known him?"
"Maybe five years." Ryan keeps his head up, looking between them, looking them both in the eyes. "I trust him."
"We should check with Alex," Jeff says, unconvinced.
"Alex is never gonna agree," Darren says. "It could work, though. It's worth a try."
Jeff rubs at his face. Eventually he sits back in his chair and says, "Yeah. You're right. I don't, I mean, I don't like it, but you're right. Okay."
Alex doesn't talk to him at dinner, but after he corners Ryan alone. "You don't have to do this. It doesn't prove anything, except maybe that you're an idiot."
"Yeah, but we knew that.”
"Christ." Alex shakes his head.
"It was your plan," Ryan reminds him. "And I can probably still fit in better than anybody, except maybe Greta. How long's it been since you guys lived up there?"
Alex just looks at him. Ryan can't figure out his expression.
Ryan says, "I'll be okay." He thinks maybe he's doing this less to try and prove that he's useful, and more because he still wants to do everything he can to protect Alex even though that's not what Alex wants at all. He doesn't know what Alex would do if one of the others got captured, but Alex has known them a lot longer, and they really are a lot more useful, and Ryan wants to but doesn't say that it'd be so much easier losing me than them.
-
He doesn't sleep a lot that night but he wakes up before dawn, like they planned, feeling alert and as awake as he's ever been. He supposes it's nerves, and gets up even though he doesn't really have to for another hour -- Jon doesn't get there in the mornings until seven, just before the main shift starts, and Ryan really only has to be ready to leave at six-thirty. It's five AM when he opens his eyes and is immediately awake, and nothing's going to change that, so he gets up and gets dressed.
Alex is the only one in the kitchen. His hair is tied back, ridiculously, pulled into a loose ponytail right at the end of his hair, so that a whole bunch of it still falls around his face. He's got a mug of black coffee in front of him and Ryan watches as he traces his finger in a circle on the tabletop, round and round, and then switching direction and going round and round again.
"Hey," Ryan says. Alex doesn't look up, shoulders tense. "Wow, okay, let's do this, this is great. If you don't talk to me, I respect the maturity of your argument all the more."
"You're being so stupid," Alex says. "This is so -- why are you doing this?"
"You said," Ryan says, stubbornly, "you said someone had to. Why shouldn't it be me? You want -- you want to throw Greta in, instead, or maybe you'll trot down again, like, a week and a half after they did -- after they--"
"It should be anyone.” Alex pauses a moment. He still won't look at Ryan. "Anyone but you."
Ryan sucks his breath in. That's not really fair, he thinks numbly, staring at the straight line of Alex's back. You don't get to be mean like that, it's not fair.
"Well," he says. "I'm going to do my best."
Alex laughs. "Sure. Of course you are."
Ryan wonders what they did to Alex, in there. He wonders if the same things would happen to him, if he gets caught. Probably not, he's not as wanted or dangerous as Alex is, but he half-wishes they would. It would almost be worth it, if he got the chance to work out what's going on in Alex's head, what's changed.
He goes to the cupboards instead, and there's a box of cereal so he eats some of that, dry. He's not very hungry, his stomach feels small and uncomfortable, but he thinks suddenly getting hungry on the job would be a lot worse than forcing down some food now, so. Alex doesn't look at him then, and he doesn't look at him when the others get up, and he doesn't look at him when Ryan gets his bag together and heads down the corridor for the door, Jeff following and chanting problems at him, Ryan trying to remember what solution goes with what.
They all stand by the door and say goodbye to him. Greta gives him a hug, fierce and warm, and says, "Come back safe, okay?" with this determined air that makes Ryan smile despite the fact he feels a little bit sick.
When he steps back, Sam and Darren hug him, and Jeff ruffles his hair and says, "If it crashes, reboot first and then get home as quick as you can -- and don't forget to plant that virus, that'll stop them from noticing their files have been messed with, hopefully--"
"Got it," Ryan says.
"Be careful." Alex’s voice is low enough that Ryan would have missed it if he hadn't been listening for Alex, hadn't been stupidly, uncontrollably conscious of every movement Alex made. He turns to Alex, and Alex says, "Please be careful."
Ryan nods, jerkily, and then he leaves.
-
Ryan hops into the passenger seat of Jon's truck, and tips his hat - there was a spare smushed under some things in the back. "How's it going, Jon?"
"What - Ryan?" Jon is probably staring. He tips his sunglasses up a little to look at Ryan from under them and says, "Holy shit, you're alive?"
"Sure am," Ryan says. "You wanna get rolling? It'll look suspicious if you're late, and I need as much time as I can get anyway."
"What's even going on?" Jon asks as he starts up the engine, pulling out from where he's parked. His truck chirps a chipper hello and tells him which way to turn. "What - just, what? You're not going to get me killed, right?"
"Nah," Ryan says, trying to feign more confidence than he really has. "I just need to check some stuff on the computer at, you know. That office building on the 1600 block."
"That's all government," Jon says, slowly. "Holy shit, Ryan."
"I won't be any trouble. Just pretend you're training me or something if anyone asks. Here, look, check," Ryan says, raising a hand towards his eyes, and Jon taps at the side of his sunglasses and curses under his breath.
"I always knew you were crazy," Jon says, shaking his head, then laughs. "Okay, Steve, sure. Let's do this. I can show you the ins and outs of the fine art of water delivery."
Ryan's grateful that Jon doesn't ask questions, but Jon's good about that kind of thing anyway. He asks after Jon, and Cassie, and his old friends who he hasn't thought of much for months. Ryan sits back and closes his eyes and listens to Jon talk.
Jon says, "Are we cool to stop at a drive through for breakfast? I do that some mornings. Like, I make enough money, I can buy you something too."
"It should be okay," Ryan says, and hopes he's right, and nothing happens. He gets a sandwich with egg and cheese and sliced sausage and lots and lots of grease, and smelling it is enough to make him actually hungry so he eats it slow and savors it and ends up feeling stupidly guilty about it as soon as he's done.
Jon keeps talking to him until he parks the truck in front of the building. Ryan helps him load the big five-gallon jugs onto a little trolley, and Jon says, "Wow, this is actually really helpful having someone else along."
"Try not to get used to it," Ryan says, laughing a little. "You seriously have to do this every day?"
"Yup," Jon agrees. "Every day. And we pick up the empties in the morning, too. Those are way easier, though."
"Huh," Ryan says. Jon's job is really not that interesting. He knew that, but experiencing the tedium firsthand is different.
They get in, and past security, without any trouble and Ryan actually helps out on the first couple stops then gestures to the side and Jon gives a tight-lipped smile and nods and they part ways. Ryan wonders if he's ever going to see Jon again.
Most of the computers have been left on overnight, and Ryan picks one where the monitor is on, too, a screensaver of tropical fish casting a shifting glow across the wall in front of it.
He plugs in the USB drive that Jeff gave him and runs the first file, the one that runs through the whole dictionary and more besides to brute-force a guess at the password. It's another two minutes to log in, the computer whirring awake slowly, and Ryan's heart is pounding, his fingers shaking a little. He's really not built to do this stuff.
He wishes this was one of those old spy movies, where he could have someone in his ear, talking him through stuff. Maybe Alex would stop being mad at him long enough to do it; would tell Ryan what to do, keeping him grounded, keeping him safe. As it is, Ryan's on his own, and having trouble keeping all the instructions Jeff gave him straight, so probably it's better not to think about Alex for a while.
He digs through the file system until he finds the right directories, and starts copying those files across, but it's not going to be as easy as that. He opens up the e-mail program and starts copying over everything in the inbox, too. The important one is the search database, the one that has the list of all the people the government wants or has under watch, and Ryan has to use a technical bit of code to copy the whole thing across that he's almost sure he's going to mess up. It's not a great feeling.
"Hey," someone says, and Ryan looks up, heart stuck in his throat. The guy standing in the door is wearing uniform, short blond hair smoothed back and heavy boots. There's a gun in his holster. "What are you doing?"
Ryan licks his teeth. His mouth is dry and tastes sharp and awful. He brushed his teeth not that long ago. "Getting an early start," he says.
"Huh," the officer says. He leans forward a little, says, "Isn't that Howard's computer?"
Ryan slumps a little, but tries to just sound bored. A lot of people have told him his voice is pretty tough to read, and he’s hoping that holds true despite his nerves. "No.”
"Eh," the officer says, and turns around, snagging the elbow of someone who passes. "Fucking HR guys," he says. "So fuckin' cold--"
Ryan breathes out. The last of the emails from this computer have copied. He opens up the database and sets it copying, then hesitates.
He doesn't have a lot of time.
Alex Greenwald, he types, and presses 'search'.
The government wants Alex for a lot of things, and has for a long time, nearly nine years. The list of offenses are thickest towards the early years and the present day - there's a few years where all that's listed is a whereabouts unknown and a do not kill order, no actual charges. This year and last, he's been implicated in a few robberies, and his name shows up in conjunction with someone named Elizabeth Berg a few times.
The older entries have less detail. Elizabeth is mentioned in the early ones, too, and the entries on Alex start out innocuous - contraband material, disposed of peacefully; noise complaint, resolved successfully; suspected of public intoxication, came back clean. Then little notes on present at May 8th demonstration and spoke at May 20th rally and seen in public with Mark Ronson, June 3rd.
The big one, in all caps, is vague - OFFICER DISPATCHED TO 1822 W SUNSET BOULEVARD FOR PUBLIC DISTURBANCE. SUSPECT SEEN FLEEING THE SCENE; WHITE MALE, EARLY TWENTIES WEARING STRIPED SWEATER, BLACK CAP, AND BLUE PANTS. After that it's just periodic mentions of Alex's reported whereabouts, and then, and Ryan will look at this later, something about by any means necessary.
So that's something, at least, and Ryan drags the whole folder about Alex onto the USB drive, too, even though that's going to waste both time and space. Maybe he can look at it again later. Maybe he can say - he's not sure what excuse he has for putting it there.
Ryan keep staring at the clock, because it's getting later and later and this is taking so long, he just wants to leave. He doesn't want to be here. He wants this to be done and he wants to be home and curled up in bed with - with a book, maybe. A book would work instead.
Ryan's about ready to leave - he's cleaning up after himself, he's got the files he needs transferred and he's run the script Jeff told him to run to erase the computer's activity log for the past three hours and replace it with idle time, and a few other little things just to fuck with people's heads, and he's pretty sure he's remembered everything but he stays where he is, half-standing, waiting for the USB drive to successfully unmount or whatever, and then he gets a, "Hey, that's my computer, what the fuck?"
"Oh, is - sorry," Ryan says, quickly. "IT's still got mine, and I was just checking my e-mail really quick, you know. Those fucking guys take forever. How am I even supposed to do my job, you know?"
"Christ, I know," the guy says, shaking his head. "This one time, it took them a week to get me a new keyboard. A week."
"Man." Ryan shakes his head. "Anyway, hey. All yours. Sorry about that, man."
"Yeah, don't do it again," the guy says. "You know we just got those new terminals up on the fourth floor, right? The public ones? They're actually pretty sweet, but Chris, over in accounting, keeps setting this creepy Japanese porn as the wallpapers on 'em, so. Watch out for that, I guess."
"Thanks, Howard," Ryan says, pushing up his sunglasses. "I'll see you around."
"Later, Steve."
He actually makes it all the way to the door before anything actually goes wrong, then someone's saying, "Wait, who is that? That guy doesn't work here, does he?"
"Is he new?"
"Hey! Steve, hey, wait up, looks like your authorization’s busted or something. Just come on back and we can sort this out," the voice says, and Ryan breaks into a run because he's panicked and he doesn't know enough about himself, about Steve, to keep up any kind of believable act, and maybe running's a worse idea than trying to talk his way out but it's too late now.
Ryan is a lot better at running than he ever used to be, at least.
There are people chasing after him almost immediately, and Ryan's kind of impressed despite himself at how quickly they react. Most of him is just concerned with getting the hell out of there, though, and the moment when he bursts out the main doors and into the early morning sunshine is one of the best in his life, breathing in the fresh air, away from the carefully regulated air conditioning inside.
It takes him a stupid second to realise that of course they're not going to stop chasing him just because he got outside, and he takes off again as the door bangs open, someone close enough behind him that Ryan actually feels their hand at his back before he jumps down the steps and moves. He runs blindly, charging down the pavement and weaving around other people as best he can, because he has no idea where he can go. If he runs home, he's just going to lead the whole police force down on the safehouse; Z's place is off-limits for the same reasons, and because Ryan doesn't think he could even find it from here.
The police are shouting behind him, and a passerby grabs his sleeve, tries to pull him in. Ryan reels around and punches the guy's face, almost by instinct, and it's not a very good punch but it surprises him and he lets go and Ryan takes off again. This time he turns into a more deserted street, which means it's going to be hider to lose his followers, but also that do-gooders aren't going to try and take him in.
He twists around another corner and he's in a park. Ryan plunges into the nearest bushes, and they scrape at his arms and face and knock his sunglasses off, but he scoops them up and worms his way deeper into the hedge and curls up there, still as he can. The police 'round the corner and start barking orders, and Ryan tries to pant quietly, resting his forehead against his knees. He wonders if they'll be able to hear his heart beating.
"Shit," he whispers, to his knees, but after a long moment the police move on. Ryan watches their feet in the tiny gap in the leaves, watches them run in different directions.
Ryan doesn't think he's going to come out anytime soon, and he wishes he could listen in on the police dispatch right now, if the call is out for Steve or they somehow figured out who he actually is. He doesn't think that's likely, not at all, and hopes he avoided cameras well enough. He had his hat on for a while when he went in, and took it off later, so that should help too.
There are sirens so Ryan stays hidden.
Hopefully there isn't a real Steve out there, somewhere, getting his apartment raided and his life ruined. Ryan never learned just how the fakes work, where they get their information from that it checks out with the databases, because there can't be two of the same person in the system at once - it's not coded that way - and dead people get taken off the list pretty quickly.
A long, long time goes by, so Ryan has a lot of time to think about things. He tries not to, mostly, and his thoughts get interrupted whenever he hears boots go by, which is too often for comfort but the periods slowly grow longer and longer between people, until, once, there is a three hour interval. It's nearly dark out. When Ryan got here, it wasn't even nine in the morning yet, and he's cold but still alive, which is what counts. He hopes he won't get sick.
Ryan waits another twenty minutes after that last cop leaves, then very carefully extracts himself from the tangle of leaves and branches, earning more scratches on the way out than he got going in, probably. At least, with the cold weather, there are no bugs to worry about.
Darkness means it's colder than before, and Ryan keeps his arms folded up and his head down as he walks, sunglasses back on. It's a few minutes until curfew, and he wonders if he should have waited until after, but he might not have been able to get out of the park.
He has to remind himself, though, that Steve is wanted now, even if he wanted to go inside somewhere. He couldn't get past a rudimentary check. Being out here is dangerous at all; he bets that anyone who looks at him can see the big red WANTED beneath the name.
The chase took him the wrong way and he is very, very far from home and this time he doesn't have a friend with a truck to ride along with so he walks the back alleys until he gets somewhere more familiar, and it's after curfew now and he thinks of just ditching the glasses entirely but he doesn't, not quite yet, because maybe they can be - reused or something. He doesn't want to drop them somewhere along the way, because maybe it'd be a clue, a hint, bring the cops down on them, and he doesn't want to do that.
When he finally gets home - he has to stop a few times and hide from patrols - it's nearly morning again and he hasn't slept in a long time but he's not particularly tired, and he's pretty sure everyone back home will be asleep again. He's been gone long enough that it's not worth waiting up on.
He slips inside very, very quietly, because most of the lights are already out, and leans back against the door with his eyes closed and just breathes and breathes and breathes.
His hands are shaking, and Ryan wonders if its because of the cold or because of how scared he was, is. He takes his sunglasses off and puts them on the little table by the door. He looks down at his hands and they're covered in dirt and scratches and Ryan makes a face and then walks very quietly down the hall and into the bathroom. He thinks maybe he should eat something, too, but he's not feeling particularly hungry so he doesn't go into the kitchen, just turns the shower on and pulls his shirt off. He brushes his teeth, too, because his mouth tastes bitter with adrenaline and then he remembers Alex brushing his teeth and stares at himself in the mirror for a moment before he rinses his mouth and checks that the water's heated up properly.
"Darren, are you heading out already--" The door swings open, and Alex stops talking. Ryan looks up, hands still on his belt.
"Not Darren," he says. "Sorry," and then Alex moves too fast for Ryan to work out what's going on before Alex is wrapped around him, fingers digging into Ryan's bare back, face pressed into Ryan's hair.
"Fuck," Alex says, shuddering. "Fuck, fuck." Ryan pats at his back awkwardly and Alex says, "Oh, God."
"Hey," Ryan says. "I, uh. What's going on?"
Alex pulls back enough to give him an incredulous look. "You were meant to be here, like -- twenty hours ago."
"Yeah," Ryan says. "Sorry. I got the information though, it's cool."
"Shut up," Alex says, reeling Ryan back in, hiding his face against Ryan's hair. "Shut up, oh my God."
"Okay," Ryan says. He goes quiet for a while, closing his eyes, breathing a little steadier. Then he says, "I should probably shut the water off, if -- I mean, it's a bit of a waste."
"Okay," Alex says, but doesn't let go of Ryan, and after a moment Ryan shuffles Alex over to the shower and reaches over his head to turn the water off. His arm gets spattered with warm water, and Ryan's kind of cold and really wishes he could go and get in there and warm up, but it's better with Alex holding onto him like this. Ryan doesn't really understand but he's not stupid, he'll take what he can get. Ryan raises a hand and pets blindly at Alex's hair, and then Alex has a hold of his wrist and is saying, "Holy shit, what happened to your hands?"
"Oh," Ryan says. "I scratched them up a bit, it's fine. It doesn't really hurt, just stings a bit."
"How?"
"I was hiding in some bushes," Ryan explains. "They worked out that I was fake coming out of there and then I had to run and hide and -- that's where I was all day, anyway, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I thought they got you or something," Alex says. "And they put out a wanted call but we didn't have any information saying you were, you were caught and I thought -- I thought they might be doing it underground, might not be alerting the others because they just, they just wanted you to disappear--"
"Hey, no," Ryan says. He blinks at the curve of Alex's shoulder and neck. He's kind of glad he didn't have Alex's imagination -- or broader knowledge of the workings of the police -- when Alex was caught. "No, it's cool, I just. You know. Sat in a bush for a day. It's fine."
It takes Ryan a second to figure out what Alex is even doing, until he realizes that Alex is picking leaves and bits of seed and twig from his hair. Alex isn't even looking, just blindly feeling through until he finds something and drops it on the counter by the sink. It's kind of weird. Plus, a hairbrush could do the work a lot more easily, or a shower, but Ryan decides it's better just not to say anything at all.
"It's just, you know." Alex breathes in deep, hand stilling for a moment. "You're alive."
"Yeah, I know," Ryan says. "I got a lot of - a lot of stuff. Is everybody asleep? Why aren't you asleep?"
Alex huffs out a laugh. He picks another little leaf out of Ryan’s hair. "Yeah, everybody's in bed. Greta only went a little bit ago. We hung out in the kitchen for a bit."
Ryan wonders what happened to their fight, but then, he wasn't doing anything for Alex this time, so maybe it doesn't count as annoying, or unappreciated, or whatever, that he was out so much longer than expected.
"We should get - let me get the first aid kit," Alex says, but he takes a while to actually move and seems reluctant when he finally does, getting out some cotton swabs and alcohol, and he says, "Okay, here, sit down."
Ryan sits down, legs crossed, and Alex follows suit directly across from him and takes one of his hands and says, "This is going to sting, okay?" and he supports Ryan's hand with his own while daubing gently at each and every cut with an alcohol-soaked ball of cotton. Their knees are knocked together, and if Ryan moved his foot just a little he could poke at Alex's, but he doesn't, because that seems weird.
Ryan winces at each touch at first, but then he gets used to it and just sits and waits and looks down at their hands. Alex is very intent, his eyes intense, and periodically he'll get a clean cotton ball because he's wiping away dirt, too, in the process.
"And we should probably put on some Neosporin," Alex says, like he's finishing a thought even though he hasn't said anything for a while. "And, and a few of these probably need bandages, just in case. You don't need an infection right now."
"I don't need an infection right ever," Ryan says. He wonders how long he's been awake. Almost, if not more than, 24 hours, probably, and he tries hard not to yawn. His eyelids are heavy. He wonders if he could maybe just sleep here, just lie down and used Alex's lap as a pillow and maybe a towel for a blanket.
"No," Alex agrees, and moves on to the other hand. He says, "Don't - don't do that again."
"At least it was just me," Ryan offers, consolingly, because - he doesn't see how Alex can be so surprised. Ryan is tired and defensive and he just wants to sleep. Alex is the one who kept saying he shouldn't go and that he was useless, that he didn't want Ryan helping, but Ryan did it, he came back and he has what they needed, and he says so, too, "And anyway, I got what you wanted. I did. Sometimes I'm useful, too, okay?"
Alex doesn't answer for a while, busying himself with Ryan's hands. Ryan wishes he hadn't taken his shirt off; he's shivering a little, and he feels too conscious of himself, his ribs standing out through his skin, his narrow chest. Brendon used to laugh at him sometimes, call him a little old man, and Ryan never minded then, but he feels young and strange, sitting in front of Alex like this. He wonders if it would be too weird if he stopped Alex to put on his shirt. Probably.
After a moment, Alex looks up at Ryan. He looks unhappy, mouth twisting down, and Ryan blinks at him.
"Yeah," Alex says. "Yeah, I -- you did good, but just. I wish you wouldn't."
Ryan's so tired. "I did my best," he says. "I know I was late and stuff but Jeff said it wasn't urgent anyway, it's not like we really needed it this -- yesterday afternoon. I mean. You can all look at the stuff now and I just. I need to sleep a bit."
Alex is frowning at him. "I'm not talking about the fucking information," he says, and Ryan rubs his eyes. Alex plucks a splinter out of Ryan's palm, a little harder than is necessary, and Ryan winces. Alex smoothes his thumb over the hurt without taking his eyes away from Ryan's face.
"I -- okay?" Ryan says. "Then I don't get why you're mad."
Alex stares. "I thought they caught you."
"Yeah, but," Ryan says. "I mean, they didn't. And if they did -- I wouldn't have -- I wouldn't give you guys up, or anything, you know."
"You wouldn't--" Alex makes a harsh, disbelieving sound. "You don't even know what they can do to you in there, Ryan."
He bends his head, wrapping gauze around Ryan's left palm, where he's scraped it along gravel, red and painful. Ryan doesn't remember falling. He watches Alex's careful movements, Alex's face hidden. Ryan doesn't know what Alex looks like just now, and he knows Alex is mad, but it still feels good to have all of Alex's attention on him like this, nobody else there to talk or make Alex laugh or interested. It's selfish, Ryan knows, but he's had a pretty awful day, he thinks he can indulge himself for a couple of minutes.
"I know that," Ryan says. He raises his free hand and touches Alex's head, very lightly, not sure if he's allowed. "I would have done my best, though, and anyway, you guys would have heard that I was arrested and been able to find somewhere else to stay, if worst came to worst."
"You're not listening to me," Alex says.
"You're angry, I get it," Ryan says. He's having trouble keeping his eyes open; only the sharp little stings as Alex cleans his hands are keeping him awake. "I just -- I don't, I'm sorry I was late and you thought I was in trouble or whatever, but I don't get why you're still so mad and. Alex. I'm really tired."
"I'm not mad," Alex says. "You fucking terrified me, you fucking prick."
"I what?" Ryan says, because he didn't do anything. His mind's working in slow motion, all sleep-addled. "I was hiding in a bush. That's not scary. Well, I was kind of nervous when the cops were around, but otherwise it was just me and the dirt and leaves. Unless you're scared of bushes, I guess."
"Fuck." Alex starts laughing, and he seems genuinely delighted, and Ryan's not quite sure what they're laughing at but he laughs, too, because it lets out the tension.
Ryan stares at him. Alex is a little fuzzy, and Ryan blinks a few times and opens his eyes wider so he can actually focus. "I did really good getting away, though."
"You did," Alex agrees. "I was still fucking terrified." When Ryan still doesn't get it, Alex adds, "I was worried, Christ. Do you need me to translate it into Spanish for you?"
"I don't speak Spanish," Ryan says. "I'm sorry. You could try, though."
Alex shrugs. "I don't speak it either."
Ryan says, "You were, though? Why were you worried? It's not like, not like you were going to, not like it was Jeff. Jeff's really useful. Or Sam, Sam always knows where to find the good shit, food-wise, or if it was Darren, because he's --"
"Shut up."
"Okay," Ryan says. He's not sure what to do with himself, with his free hand, so he rubs a thumb along Alex's cheek and tries to memorize how that curve feels, the texture of skin there and the way his cheekbones feel right under the surface, and how right under Alex’s eyes the skin is dark and soft and puffy and makes him look so, so worn out. "Okay. If I, if I shut up, can we, can I go to bed?"
"Yeah." Alex has yet to let go of Ryan's hand.
Ryan thinks about getting up, to make Alex move, but he decides to just let himself fall forward and tries to take Alex down with him, because stretching out on the bathroom floor seems like a really great idea. It's a lot more convenient than a bed.
"You can go to bed," Alex says, "but not on the floor, dude, wow."
"But I'm comfortable."
"Now you are," Alex says. "But when you wake up you'll be all, 'oh, Alex, my neck hurts and I'm all sore and I wasn't in my right mind last night and you're a horrible friend,' and then you won't speak to me again, and I fucking hate it when you won't speak to me."
Ryan blinks at him. "You started it," he says, and Alex takes Ryan's other arm and slings it around his neck and staggers up to his feet, free arm around Ryan's waist.
"I did," he says, and bumps his forehead against Ryan's. It's a weird little gesture but it makes Ryan smile. "I'm sorry, I did, it was dumb, you make me dumb." Ryan doesn't know what that means, but he's busy thinking about bed, now, Alex steering him down the hall. Ryan can barely get his feet to move; he slumps heavily against Alex and closes his eyes, lets Alex half-drag him along, kicking open Alex's door and then depositing Ryan on his bed.
"Let me get your shoes," Alex says, and he bends down and takes them off, and Ryan's socks, too, and then he unbuckles Ryan's belt - Ryan never quite got it off - and takes Ryan's pants off, too. "Are you going to be warm enough?" Alex asks, and Ryan nods, head heavy.
"C'mon, then," Alex says, and he pulls Ryan up again and throws back the blankets and Ryan sinks into the bed and thinks it feels better than anything else in the world, and then Alex crawls in beside him and puts an arm around Ryan's waist and pulls Ryan back against him and Ryan revises his opinion. Alex strokes Ryan's hair back behind his ear, hovering over Ryan for a moment, staring at him, and Ryan wants to look back, he does, but he's tired. He closes his eyes. Alex says, very soft, "Goodnight."
"Night," Ryan mumbles.
He wakes up what feels like only an hour or so later when he hears voices.
"-back safe?" Darren is saying.
"Yeah," Alex says, near Ryan's ear. "Yeah, I mean - his hands are pretty beaten up and he's exhausted and, like - he was a bit shaky, I think he might have gotten too cold? Not hypothermia, but, like."
"Yeah," Darren says. "Is he alright now?"
"Warming up," Alex reports. "I think we should just let him sleep for a while. We can all have a look at the files later."
"Good plan." Darren hangs in the doorway a moment longer - Ryan can feel the light flooding in from the hallway against his eyelids - and then he says, oddly gentle, "Get some rest, Alex."
"Doing my best," Alex says, and then Ryan's pretty sure that Alex isn't going to leave so he goes back to sleep.
-
Ryan wakes up again, a long time later, feeling rested, and at first he startles, thinks maybe he fell asleep in the bushes but in the process he knocks his head against Alex's chin. That makes Alex jerk awake, too, with a, "What the fuck, is, what?"
"Sorry," Ryan says, awake enough for an apology. Alex has his hand pressed up against Ryan's stomach, and it's kind of a weird feeling when he takes a huge, just-waking breath and Alex's hand rises and falls with it. Alex's fingers are rough against the bare skin, and it almost tickles so Ryan makes a face and wriggles a little which makes it - not worse, since it's not bad. Just more.
"Morning," Alex says, eventually. "Try not to kill me in your sleep next time, please."
"Sorry, sorry. I said sorry," Ryan answers, pushing himself up on his elbow a little and rubbing at his eyes. He tries to figure out if Alex was just smelling his hair, but that doesn't make sense because probably it just smells like dirt right now. "Is, can there be breakfast?"
"There sure can," Alex says, but he seems reluctant to move, and Ryan doesn't blame him much because it's warm and comfortable and he's pretty sure they're not fighting anymore, probably.
Ryan puts his hand over Alex's, and Alex holds very, very still, and Ryan's first sleepy impulse is to pull Alex's hand up to his mouth, but that's stupid. Ryan needs his morning coffee so he just moves Alex's hand away and rolls out from being pressed up so close together and gets up to put on the first shirt he can find. The room is cold without the blankets and body heat to share. Socks are his next priority, and then he asks, again, "Is there breakfast?"
"There's always breakfast, what the hell," Alex says, not having moved at all yet except to let his hand fall to the mattress. “You already asked that.”
"I'm really hungry," Ryan decides, and says, "I'm going to go see what there is to eat. Is it morning? Maybe it's not, maybe it'll be lunchtime, but it's breakfast for me. I'm breaking my fast."
"Uh-huh," Alex laughs.
"It's," Ryan begins, not sure to say. "You should eat too."
"Mmph." Alex rolls onto his back and flings an arm over his eyes. "I'd have to get up."
"I got up." Ryan leans back across the bed to poke Alex in the side, repeatedly, until Alex rolls away and curls up on his side, laughing. “If I got up, you can get up.”
"Fine, fine, wow," Alex says, and when he sits up Ryan stops. "I need sleep too."
"You got sleep the other night, though, I was stuck in some bushes."
"I didn't," Alex tells him. "You were off being all missing and shit - and anyway, I didn't."
"What? You should have slept.” Ryan frowns a little before meandering his way out and into the kitchen, trailing his hand along the wall on the way there to remind himself that he is home and safe.
-
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