Prophet

by Sin Blaché

“Eventually, all things merge into one,” Rao observes portentously. “And a river runs through it.” “That’s not a bad Redford,” she says. “Thank you.” Adam frowns. “There wasn’t a fishing trip.” She shakes her head, looks disappointed. “It was terrible cover. Fishing trips generally are. But we have a possible lead. It concerns the contents of his laptop.” Rao sits up. “You want us to watch his porn? I’ll do it.” “You don’t want to watch his porn, Rao. He was a commanding officer,” Adam says quickly. “Oh. Missionary only, huh?” “Aggressively heterosexual,” Miller confirms in passing.

It’s odd, he decides after a while, how Adam never smells bad. Maybe it’s the way the American government stamps them out. Maybe they put something in the mix like Twinkie preservatives. Because sometimes Adam smells hot and clean, like laundry, and sometimes more like vermouth and knives. Sharpest when he’s angry, sometimes when he’s tired. Iris root too. Hint of motor oil, but maybe it’s not motor oil. Maybe it’s C4.

he smells like laundry and knives and something uniquely adam. god, this truly is an inception fic with the serial numbers very lightly filed off.

“No. It’s not. That’s not how this works. Choices aren’t traps, like the things regular people make. They’re hinges. The world swings from them, you know?”

“What you did in there, it’s important.” “If you say so.” He tries again. “You’re feeling like shit because what happened didn’t lock you in a fake loop, like other people, it opened you up instead. It opened you up to—” Adam raises a hand. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’m a doctor,” Montgomery protests. “So was Renfield,” Rao shoots back. Adam looks down at the tabletop and smiles. Rao’s not seen that smile for a while. He wants to see it again. “He’s not going to start eating flies, is he?” he whispers.

no he wasn't???? Renfield was the patient, Seward was the doctor. annoying inaccuracy.

Adam crosses the room, sits on the other bed. “She said . . .” He pauses. Hates that he does. Stupid. “Rhodes said that it didn’t want me.” Rao crows with sudden laughter. “Story of your life,” he splutters. It’s weird how quickly Adam forgot how to handle Rao saying things like this. The insults that aren’t quite insults. It’s the purest form of Rao familiarity: find the weak joint and pull until the structure groans into near collapse. Adam isn’t ready for it, this punch to the gut.

“Yep.” Adam pops his p.

NO. NOOOOOOOOO. WHY IS THIS VILENESS SPREADING. no more popping ps!!!!!! i hate it i hate it i hate it