Dover

Look at that. Pep has arrived.

Take a seat. Nothing formal, just some pasta. You want something to drink?

[He nudged out one of the chairs closest to the stove for Dover, going back to his cheese.] 

Meeting? Oh, man, no. I’m not, like, a leader or any of that shit.

I just figured that before gunfire starts we should get to know each other. That okay with you, Pep?

My name is Dover.

[He had half the mind to just go back to his room. The dinner was beginning to seem like a completely terrible and altogether poor decision on everyone's behalf. Besides, Nashville seemed to be having quite some fun, even in the rest of Alpha's absence. Dover wasn't too bright, that he had come to terms with, but he was smart enough to know that if his absence made no difference, neither would his presence. But he found himself sitting down anyways, not hungry at all, but deciding that forcing himself into the situation was likely to produce some kind of beneficial result. Hopefully.]

Did we not bond enough when you tried to jump my bones a week ago?

[Nashville had slaved over a hot stove for, like, forty minutes to get dinner together. Not that he minded. He had on his Kiss the Cook apron, sleeves rolled up, dancing around the kitchen to some awesome new West Earth Techno Folk.

He’d even set the table, ready for his teammates to arrive. That was love, right there.

Nashville had prepared a big pot of spaghetti and meatballs, some garlic bread, and arranged everything out family style. Now all he had to do was wait for people to arrive.] 

Alas, there was not grilled cheese. Only spaghetti. What a damn time to be alive. Dover just looked around a bit awkwardly, feeling somewhat incomplete and incapable without Leo by his side. Leo always knew what to say. Dover did not.]

Is dinner really the only excuse you could manage for a meeting?

Kind of cool. Interesting phrase.

Leo contemplated on what the phrase meant coming from Dover. He’d heard the phrase used many times before, all in different contexts. Did Dover mean that it was only a little bit cool? Did he mean that it was cool in general? Was he being sarcastic? There was a small twitch in between his brows that made it look like they were furrowed, but it faded as soon as Dover added that the thought was appreciated.

The A.I. beamed at his Agent. Straight teeth revealed by a charming smile, bright blue eyes to match the expression. Approval wasn’t something that Leo yearned to hear from many, since his confidence was still programmed the way it was the day he was activated, but ever since he had started to realize what feelings were, approval from Dover was something that he seeked.

"I’m really happy to hear that you like it, Dover! I recognized my constellation immediately and had to buy it. I’ve never seen anything like it… I hoped to find something that represented your name, but I was without luck." He frowned for a moment, but it didn’t last long. "All that matters is that you like your gift."

Reaching forward without really weighing the consequences, Leo grabbed Dover by the wrist and pulled his arm up (gently, unlike what he’d learned from Orion!) and examined the piece of jewelry on his companion’s wrist. It looked better than he could have imagined. “It matches you perfectly, Agent. It looks badass, if I do say so myself.” He laughed softly. Being around his Agent was something he’d truly missed.

"Glad to see you didn’t get sick, either…It may be an opportune time to start training again."

Training? Oh yes. That was a thing that happened, wasn't it? Dover hadn't exactly been falling behind-- he still did exercise daily-- but he had been slacking off. Leo's reminder was well needed, in honesty. Nodding and smiling, Dover did his best to feed off of Leo's positive energy, rather than rebuff it and continue to wallow in his own pool of negativity.

"Train?" Dover asked, still recovering from Leo's smile. Had the Director programmed him with such a great grin, or had that been Leo's touch? "Yeah, of course." Dover said with a nod. "We need to get better, anyways."

Pulling his arm from Leo's grip, he added, "As a team."

It was the truth, something Dover was trying to teach himself to use more often. Solo training was only so effective, especially since Dover was paired up with Leo almost every other mission. So, deciding that the moment between them had lasted entirely too long and was getting entirely too uncomfortable, Dover glanced down the hall.

"I hate you."

"You’re dead to me."

"I trust you."

"I’m dying."

"I’m pregnant with your baby."

"I never really loved you."

"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."

"I’m proud of you."

Normal?

"I d-dunno, I don’t remember m-my training being normal." Charlie had hated his training then, but for some reason now, it brought a faint smile to his face. "Pr-providence was always, ah, yelling at us t-to do something new and h-horrible. R-running with equipment o-or some unwinnable, ah, sc-scenario or something."

Something next to normal.

Charlie wasn’t sure what to make of the words. They seemed as optimistic as Dover would allow himself to be, and he decided to take that. He paused from the clean up to lean over and, were Dover to allow it, give him a quick kiss, just a peck, really.

"B-better than normal," he nodded. The two men had never spoken about their pasts, but to Charlie, that was a huge thing for him to say. The cryptographer spent so long searching for normalcy or some semblance of it that he had managed to make it into something it maybe wasn’t, but he truly believed that Dover surpassed that. Sometimes he still wondered how he had been so lucky as to catch the other’s eye in the first place. When he glanced over to take the ingredients and see if Dover shared the same sentiment, though, he didn’t quite see the same enthusiasm he himself felt.

Charlie wished he could reach out and give Dover the extra bit of comfort he thought would make all the difference. Unsurprisingly, though, Charlie found himself at a loss for words. A quick moment was spent staring down at the counter. It was his own fault, really. Maybe both of theirs. He knew that he enjoyed (almost) every minute he spent with Dover, but the fact was that to a degree, neither of them had taken steps to become close in certain ways. Charlie hesitated as he remembered Atlanta’s advice to be careful. Looking at Dover, though, he didn’t want to be careful - he just wanted the agent to be happy.

"I could tell you what was bothering me," Dover said, turning on the stove and running a hand through his hair, "But you wouldn't believe half the shit I said."

Truly, Dover's life seemed more like some kind of corner-store action film than a real biography. No one cared about fucked up amputees who beat other people up because it made them feel like they were relevant for a few hours out of the day. Hell, no one even cared about fucked up amputees in the first place. And a lot of things were bothering Dover-- asking him what they were was such an unbelievably tall order.

As he peeled the wrapping from the butter, he asked himself, what was he being bothered by? Dover was always thinking about his family back on Mars. Did they miss him? Were they concerned about him? Did they even care how he was doing, or were they glad to have one less mouth to feed? Maybe they thought he had failed a mission and died. Dover wouldn't be surprised that they would come to such an assumption. Even as a teenager, the margin between fights he won and fights he lost was pretty close.

And then there were other things, more present and important and pressing matters. When was the next mission? Was everyone okay? How did he feel about Leo? How did he feel about Charlie? Where was the Director when everything was going to hell? Obviously, Dover had no answers to any of the aforementioned questions. So they stewed in his mind as he put the first slice of bread on the pan, staring at it with enough anger and frustration, that his gaze alone might have been cooking it.

"There's no..." Dover nearly stopped himself. "There's no easy way to talk about myself." He said with a shrug. "So I just don't."

Pyxis remembers only running into Agent Dover once or twice but luckily, not many words were said. Now, he realizes what a buffoon he truly is. After this experience, he hopes never to run into this man again. He would gladly take Agent Raleigh over him and his toasted grilled cheese any day. 

Once his voice became louder, directing at Bismarck who seemed to be taking this situation much lighter than anyone else, he stepped forward as to shield the younger man from the older one. “Watch your tone.” The words almost came out in a hiss with his eyes boring into the shorter man. “You do not have to explain yourself to him.” Directing the next comment at his agent, it was shortly after that he heard his voice in his head. 

Yes, I know. He spoke as if they were on a phone call and needed to introduce themselves. It was nearly amusing. After he finished his speech about leaving the man be, Pyxis almost grunted. But he was probably correct. He must be more careful, he wouldn’t want light shined on him for getting in a heated argument with a pitiful human such as he. They might consider him a danger to the mission, take him apart and agree that he was too aggressive. This could not happen.

But some things were inevitable, and  Pyxis's entirely-too-chatty nature was just one of a long list of inevitable things. So Dover turned around and took one final, sidelong glance at the grilled cheese. He let out a deep sigh and looked slowly around the kitchen for anything to help clean. Dover was angry about it, truly, but there was no way he was going to force Bismarck to clean the entire mess up. Maybe it was Dover's pity for him, being old(er) and whatnot, but something inside him said that just because he was angry, didn't mean he had to treat Bismarck like shit.

Besides, Bismarck was one of the few agents who hadn't been proven to be a complete buttmunch (the irony of the nickname eluded Dover) when they first talked. Yeah, he probably had a few screws loose or something to be how he was, but that would be the pot calling the kettle black. The Freelancers were like some ragtag team of soldiers, destroying so many monsters that they forgot that they were also destroying themselves and those around them. It was a bit of a generalization-- Agent Juneau wasn't too bad. Charlie, of course, wasn't the worst either. But there was this air to all the Freelancers, that Dover knew well.

There were secrets that would never be told. This much, Dover knew. The Freelancers succeeded at, if anything, being incredibly and entirely too fucked up.

"We might want to get some towels. I don't think bare hands are going to cut it."

I didn’t think you had a sentimental bone in that body of yours, Leo.

A smile cracked upon his features. He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and laughed softly. What was this feeling? Happiness? The note that they’d left their relationship off on had been a rough one, but he was sure that this would help patch things up, if not only a little. He may have been an Artificial Intelligence, but he knew what friendship was.

Another moral he’d picked up from Forrest Gump.

Without further ado, Leo stood up from “his” couch and made his way out of the recreation room. He started off down the hallway towards Dover’s room, determined to see his friend in person for the first time since their shore leave. Coming up from behind Dover, Leo placed his hand on his shoulder. He’d done this numerous times before and it’d always been a mistake. Maybe this time it’d be taken the way he wanted it to be. The A.I. left a smile across his features, eyes softer than usual as he looked down at Dover’s wrist.

He was wearing the bracelet.

"While I don’t exactly have bones, Dover, I will admit that I have picked up on sentimental values by watching other humans since our time on Meridian. It was a great learning experience for me, actually." He laughed softly and waited for Dover to turn around to look him in the eye. Part of him was afraid of rejection, but the excitement of Dover actually wearing the bracelet and understanding the reference (hopefully) had overtaken this fear for the time being.

"I thought it would remind you that I’m always with you even when we’re not on the best terms. With all of the losses lately, I deemed it necessary to let you know I will protect you until the day I am destroyed or deactivated."

He wasn't really the person to wear any kind of jewelry. Aside from his dogtags, Dover's repertoire of accessories was somewhere near nil. And yet, he liked it. Maybe an expansion of his collection (dare he call it that) wouldn't be too bad of an idea. After all, if he was going to try and get on good terms with Leo, he had to prove that the gesture meant something. And it did. There wasn't much effort required in showing Leo how much it meant.

In Dover's life, gifts had been few and far between. Even birthdays were sparse. But he didn't waste his energy thinking too much about it.

Then Leo was talking about Deactivation, and Dover became incredibly uncomfortable. Deactivation? Was that even a possibility? Dover didn't-- couldn't-- imagine it becoming a reality. Leo was just entirely too much to him. God, come to think of it, Dover would fight tooth and nail to keep him. How long had he felt that way? Leo was, if anything, a good comrade. He was a fighter and a friend, and there was no way in hell that he would be Deactivated.

"Yeah, it's-" He turned his wrist over, not quite sure what to say. "It's thoughtful, Leo. And kind of cool."

Kind of cool? Dover would have shaken his head, had he not been in Leo's presence.

"The thought is, uh... it's appreciated."

It had been a….tough week to say the least.  With everyone sick and stuck either in their rooms or the med bay, there had been little they could do.  She couldn’t heal Agent Montgomery, only bring him food and make sure he got enough rest and didn’t get out of bed.  And then when Agent Jackson died, everything exploded.  People were worried.  She had been so scared.  Atlanta and Annapolis getting put to sleep and taken off the ship only made everything a lot worse.

She hadn’t wanted to let Montgomery go with them but she didn’t have a choice.  FILSS had accessed her system remotely and shut her down and she was stuck in the restoration lab, having nightmares about death and destruction until all the agents were checked out and given clean bills of health.  It had been the worst experience ever.

So when he found out that a gorilla (a gorilla?) had hurt Charlie, he was reasonably angry. Dover had been over this before: only he was allowed to hurt Charlie. So when it turned out that someone (or rather, something) had chosen to take the opportunity, he went for second best. If he couldn't beat the gorilla- which, admittedly, was a hilarious mental image, then he would beat up the person who had accompanies him. Which ended up being Sagittarius.

He had never spoken to her before, largely because she looked so young, and it was off-putting. She was almost child-like in her looks, and so speaking to her was always the kind of thing he wanted to avoid. But that was one thing that could not be avoided. Especially under such circumstances.

Dover found her staring into space (literally), and approached her at a brisk pace, standing beside her with his arms crossed.

"Want to tell me what happened with Charlie?"

Was it obtuse? Yes. Was it rude? Yes. But Dover's nature was such. He was not one to beat around the bush. Especially not under such circumstances and conditions. Sage (was she called sage?) was surely a good person, but her irresponsibility left much to be desired, at least to Dover. Part of him wanted to believe that it had been an ambush. Then he realized that, ambush or not, he likely would have still forced the responsibility for what had happened onto her shoulders.

"I am not a female chicken that lays eggs." Turning his gaze toward his Agent, he felt his forehead scrunch with confusion before disregarding the strange comparison. He should be used to this by now, anyway. 

The memory back at Solace resurfaced and while Pyxis did feel as if it could have been handled more discreetly, he did not regret his actions. He was programmed to protect the innocent and the contraption with bright colored paper protecting it’s hidden substance along with eyes as black as death, there was no telling what it could hold. “High strung? I beg to differ. You,” He directed his tone to the other agent. “should have been more careful not to burn your food.”

Pyxis saw it coming right before it happened, however he made no move to stop it. Once pressing the button hard enough, white substance shot out to cover the room. Including a good amount on him.

If there had been a single minute instance of physical damage to his sandwich, Dover would gladly and promptly have both of their heads on a platter. However, to his great and indescribable relief, Dover found the sandwich to be completely untouched by the explosion. Rather, Dover had sustained the worst of the explosion, the extinguisher.... foam? coating a good inch or three of his arm, and a good portion of the counter behind him. Whatever God there might or might not have been smiled down upon him, and thusly he decided not to cause bodily harm to neither Bismark nor Pyxis.

Rather, Dover muttered a string of increasingly offensive profanities under his breath as he shook his arm, trying to get the thick foam off of his skin.

"What the hell was that for?" Dover asked, glaring at Bismarck.

Then Pyxis was doing the damn annoying thing where he spoke, and Dover glared at him. "It's fucking toasted. My sandwiches are nothing short of damn perfect."

There was more to say, but Dover cut himself off. How ridiculous the situation was! A twenty-something-year-old eating a grilled cheese sandwich, being attacked with a fire extinguisher by Bismarck, of all people! Bismarck, who had parkour-rolled in (with the utmost elegance for someone his age, mind you) and looked like he was investigating a crime, rather than a perfectly-baked grilled cheese sandwich! Dover nearly laughed. Nearly. He couldn't laugh. Not when grilled cheese was on the line. Not now, not ever.

Rather, he continued to frown. "What the hell did you expect to happen? It's a fucking fire extinguisher, for Christ's sake!"

Dover might have been angry that his grilled cheese had been put in danger. Just a bit. Well, not a bit. Momentously. Mammothly. Dover was beyond pissed that his grilled cheese had even been put in a situation where it might have been grazed by something he did not want touching it. So he crossed his arms, adding one final remark,

Her hands clawed at his shirt, her fingers grazing over his arms, trying to pin him to the ground. She was so close to victory, a victory she had earned. Maybe she wasn’t useless, if she could just win this one thing, if she could just have control over one situation. But he wasn’t fighting back. He wasn’t…Olympia’s eyebrows contorted slightly. For just a second, he seemed to rest against the floor, looking into her eyes. His eyes were a darker shade of brown, around the same as hers, she realized. 

You’re supposed to be training…sparring. Stop acting like some sort of fucked up artist, staring at people’s eyes as you’re trying to pin them to the ground. 

This voice of reason snapped Olympia to reality, and she quickly slid her eyes off of his, instead focusing on pinning him completely to the floor and winning the spar. It seemed too easy…even for one so green as Dover. 

Agent Olympia was above him, pinning him to the floor. He smirked even as she did so, her voice commanding and angry and violent. Was that how people were? Get on top, then treat those on bottom however they damn well felt, because the weaker one couldn't fight back? Dover just let out a deep sigh.

"If I'm going to be honest, my body is pretty damn impressive." He said, not shifting his position as he forced himself to retain eye contact with Agent Olympia. "But if I wish to remain honest, I should also admit that you've won."

But Dover, being Dover and not anyone else, decided for one more act of resistance. He shoved Olympia off of himself, standing up in the same swift motion.

"Consider yourself lucky." He said vaguely, wiping his hands off on his shirt and walking towards the door.

Part of Dover wanted to tell Olympia that his loss was intentional. That she had made him, for the first time in his life, made him want to lose. He wanted to tell her everything: about being young and violent and feeling all the things she felt. But things like his past were kept under lock and key, and it took more than a flash of sentiment and a unbelievable victory to access such a confession. Maybe someday, he'd take the time to tell someone else his life, make them into a living, breathing biography. In his later years, maybe, he'd do it.

But presently, he was too young and foolish to care about himself in such a magnitude. He still had time to be self-destructive and misunderstood and tragic, and so he was. There was no reason to rush into caring about the little things like life and death and physical wellness. Rather, Dover exited the training room without paying attention to another word from Agent Olympia. There was no higher ground in what had happened, and Dover would never confess that he had thrown the fight.

Maybe Dover was foolish to allow himself to be young, but frankly he couldn't be bothered to give a single semblance of a damn. As soon as he was out of the training room, he headed towards his own room, deciding he had earned himself a solid nap. If he overslept, Leo would be knocking at his door and calling for him anyways. Leo was some kind of sentient fucking alarm clock.

Granted, this particular moment wasn’t as ideal as it could have been. The ship-wide sickness seemed to have gotten Dover down, even if it didn’t look like he was actually sick. Dover said something and losing people, and how it would be even more devastating. Charlie bit his lip for a moment, wondering if he should say what he thought would go over better, or what he really felt.

"W-well, it’s not good, but I’m sure H-helena’s doing her best. She’s r-really smart - she’ll know when t-to, uh, call for help." Charlie paused to stir the contents of the pot. "If it even, ah, g-gets that bad. Maybe it’s j-just a little thing?"

He knew even as he said the words, though, that they were a lie. Charlie shrugged apologetically at Dover, looking back down at the counter after a quick second.

"B-besides, uh…I’m s-sure once everything g-gets back on track, we’ll be right back to normal, r-right?"

Of course it would be, that’s exactly what it means.

Charlie wanted to sigh, to beat himself over the head for saying the most ridiculous shit. How could Dover not think Charlie was an idiot sometimes? He felt his cheeks warm out of embarassment, and he was silent for a minute before he piped up again.

"Normal?" Dover shook his head and picked up a loaf of bread, turning it over in his hands and shaking his head minutely in disapproval. Wheat, not white. It made all the difference, but he wasn't about to complain. "We haven't seen a normal day since training." It certainly wasn't a complaint; normal was an alien concept to Dover. He certainly wasn't going to complain, but Charlie was really the closest he had to normal. Most of the first recruits to Freelancer were dead. Or sick. The thought paralyzed him momentarily, before he tucked the loaf under his arm and searched for cheese (American cheese, always American cheese). "But-" he hesitated "But we've go something next to normal, I guess. And that's okay."

It was a flat-faced lie, but it was all Dover could manage at the time. It was hard not to be positive, at least with Charlie. Had Dover been a bit more of a spiritual person, he would have mused to himself how Charlie was arguably one of the most positive energies on the ship. Maybe that was why Dover enjoyed being around him, because Dover was an endless supply of negativity and because opposites attract. Was that how it really worked? Were people like magnets in such a way as that? Dover held a stick of butter as he silently mused to himself. Damn, only in such a time and place would Dover be musing to a stick of butter as Hamlet did to Horatio. Why was he thinking about Shakespeare? The bag was long gone!

He set the ingredients on the counter and spared Charlie a sidelong glance, before looking down at the grilled cheese ingredients with what must have been complete and utter dejection. Grilled cheese was routine. Training was routine. Meals were routine. Sleeping was routine. Fighting was routine. Maybe that was why he refused to acknowledge Charlie. Maybe that was why he refused to allow Charlie to become another routine. Dover couldn't allow Charlie to fade into the woodwork of his life. A metaphysical wallflower. It wasn't, Dover realized, that he didn't like Charlie. It was just the opposite. He saw Charlie as such an unprecedented thing, that he couldn't afford to treasure or appreciate or look at it for too long, for fear of it losing its value.