#physixian

the bauers, as a rule, do not disagree. ( or, alexi and genevieve disagree enough for the rest to remain in peace, but even then they do it in private. ) the world is ending and they are busy. ( the world is always ending. )

today, the war room. today, code black. today, genevieve and alexi in complete agreement. half sentences, half words, nonsense to an onlooker. cathryn miclea was killed, is now clinging to life, may not come back. there wasn’t even a discussion, really, on what to do.

( it was worse when genevieve initially heard cat was dead. an immediate halt on all of her projects, ministers snubbed so she could go on a war path. there would be blood, lots of it. alexi called, roused from whatever valentine’s day festivities he had planned with the horrible monster perfectly respectable doctor who shares his bed he is dating exclusively and happily. )

the war room so rarely sees genevieve and alexi in agreement.

ginny greets her older brother without looking up. “we kill him.”

the good captain closes and locks the door behind him, taking off his coat but leaving his holster on while he responds with a deadpan, “obviously.”

the door is locked, but locked doors have never bothered francis before. the door is locked, but her brother knows she’s there before she knocks.

“you are both being idiots.” stupid, brash, marines and mercenaries. there is no place for this, not now. francis is not a contractor, not really, no skin in this game except for her siblings. she is aware of things like reputation and pride and honor, but as far as she’s concerned, it’s all abstract and, more importantly, dangerous.

there is a pause as her siblings look up from the table, both a mirror of the other with their hands braced on the wood. they don’t say a word, their attention rapt. it’s all the prompting francis needs. few words are ever wasted between bauers.

“you don’t need to kill him.” francis does not lie, but this is dangerously close to the realm of opinion for it to matter. her siblings tense as one, jaws clenching.

as always, genevieve provides the voice for the two. “yes, we do.” the smallest in the room straightens, assuming the posture she’d take on if she was arguing with a foreign minister. the bauers do not argue, and yet---

“you shouldn’t.” hardly eloquent, francis has the same steel to her that her siblings wear. call it genetics.

“yes, we should, and we’re going to.” “no, you’re not. i love cat just as much as both of you, but you are not going to kill sam.” “ignoring everything else, he’s dangerous and obviously still a threat to others. it’s not just about cat.” it is mostly about cat. “we leave plenty of dangerous people alive.” they are, after all, dangerous people themselves. their lovers are dangerous, their parents are dangerous, the men who work for genevieve are dangerous. it is all danger and violence. of course something like this happened. you can’t bring chaos and electricity together and expect placid goings.

alexi catches ginny’s eye in a shared glance. francis doesn’t like what she saw in that look. the eldest speaks up, finally. “we can’t let this go unanswered. if people find out that one of ours---”

“she wasn’t one of yours. she’s one of kasun’s. so is samuel.”

“son of a bitch,” ginny breathes, running her hand over her hair, pushing back from the table. genevieve bauer does not touch gangs unless they fall into terrorist territory, unless they kill the wrong people. hell, some of her best informants are members of other organizations that she’s cozy with in the enemy of my enemy way. ( it’s not lost on her that her name is ‘godmother’ in slavic languages, that she has her men and her territory, of sorts. that she is called upon to be a moderator to people who don’t want all out war. she is very good at stopping wars. ) an oversight. there’s so much--- there is so much knowledge out there. she didn’t anticipate having to deal with cat being involved with a gang. she made sure she was eating, but didn’t delve much more beyond that, didn’t need to, she saw the girl at least once a week.

genevieve has always been blind when it comes to those she loves, however. it’s a fault most bauers share.

alexi’s face darkens. if they’re kasun’s, then they’re technically nicht’s, which is a huge headache for everyone in the room. the good captain doesn’t move, waiting, as always, for genevieve to be his voice.

“<<then he’s as good as dead anyway.>>” bosnian from genevieve. a sign of the looming crisis.

francis looks to alexi, who avoids her eyes and runs his hand over his face. he looks to genevieve, who in turn ignores him. she knows, she knows, for fuck’s sake, lex, she knows.

“let me handle this.” a pause, frank’s voice ringing out in the vacuum of the room. “all of this.”

“i don’t---” ginny is scowling, but she stops midword at frank’s look.

“i have killed for you.” a plea, a reminder, a statement of fact. francis jean bauer never lies.

there is a prolonged silence. genevieve holding frank’s gaze, alexi looking at them both. francis has killed for her sister, followed her to the end of the world ( the world is always ending. ) and provided a little help from above. francis has blood on her hands for her sister, for love, for love.

“<<if there is any trouble--->>” ginny is ancient, tired and cold.

“i know.” stupid as she thinks it all is, frank knows the rules her family operates by, what is expected of them. she needs to find sam.

genevieve and alexi sigh in unison after francis leaves. there is a long look, another shared sigh, and genevieve beginning another fight before the dust settles.

          “you have to be fucking the boss.”                                                                                            “not now, gin.”           “the man’s more trouble than you know what to do with---”                                                                                            “what do you want?”            “you. safe.”                                                                                            “i can handle myself.”

there’s silence, both still firmly in place next to one another and looking at the surveillance photos spread out on the war room table. they don’t have the physical, blow out fights of their youth anymore. they keep it that way by not moving at all when they argue.

        “you can’t trust him.”                                                                                             “i don’t.”        “you do. you have to. you love him.”

alexi couldn’t describe what her voice sounded like, in all honesty. he just knew what it meant, what it carried. fear, resignation, pain. he breaks their rule of no moving to pull her into a tight hug, his lips planted on the top of her head. she’s limp in his arms, her head against his chest.

her words are muffled by his shirt when she speaks. “i can’t lose you again.”                                                      “you’re not.”                                                                                  “there’s no happy ending, lex.”

her hand in his, his on the small of her back, she did not know he would be here, but she is a fool, and he is a fool, and she can still make little jokes in German in his ear as they glide around the floor. “Du hättest mir sagen sollen dass du hier bist — “ you should have told me you were here, informal, informal, — “Ich könnte Ihre Fliege fixiert haben.” I could have fixed your bow tie. She swears she sees him smile, though it could just be a trick of the light, it could just be her wanting it so, but if it was, then it would be the first time, and her heart is breaking, if it was, she knew she was in too deep, if it was — 

THIS IS NOT HOW IT ALL BEGINS, BUT; 

@beautxfulbeautxful

The Girl is small enough to hold in her arms, small enough to twirl around the office with a view of the East River behind her desk. “If you want to lead, you can lead next time, alright, lapushka? Never let anyone tell you you can’t lead or be in charge.” She spins around quickly before dipping the toddler dramatically. “It just means they’re afraid of you.” 

@allpurposebogeyman

Mr. Liu has briefed her on Mr. Kasun. ( briefed might be too formal. Danny Liu and Genevieve Bauer are partners, but also friends, but also tired of running, but also lionhearted souls twisted into something else, something awful, but something that is very good at surviving. Danny Liu is not here today, he’s busy meeting her representative to London, which is to say, he is busy trying not to brain Eric Lane with his own bust of the queen. ) Sgt. Madame Bauer has her hands extended to Mr. Kasun and a little smile in place. There is a song playing on the radio, old and slow, and she would like some company, and she would like to know how terrible Mr. Kasun’s range of motion in his arm is getting. No business, not now, just a break right before the sun rises, before the world begins to fall apart once more. 

@physixian​

THE WAR IS OVER ; 

It is good to see the Good Doctor outside of an exam room. It is good to see the Good Doctor this side of the Atlantic, away from --- well, there are things buried by the War, you know. ( she has yet to learn they always come back. ) There are no words as she comes up to his side and slips her hand around the crook of his arm. A look up, her smile falling to show the expression she wore for five years in Germany, in France, in the USSR, Little Jack, too serious for his age, his size, gone in a flash. “It didn’t close properly until ‘45,” she whispers as she moves in to kiss his cheek in parting. To erase any doubt of who she once was. ( Doctor’s orders, before going to Doc, were bedrest. Obviously, not an option in France in 1943. A small little hospital, a man Alexi trusted, and quiet words in Serbian. “Možete li da naučiti mog brata kako ga pravilno očistiti? Nikad ne sluša kada ga uputim.” Could you teach my brother how to  clean it properly? He never listens to me. A soft laugh as pain shoots through Jack’s body, pain enough to make his strong little hands shake. “Ohn vas voli.” He likes you better. ) 

@jamesgros​

He is not hers, but her head is on his chest as they move slowly about the room, his humming matching the music, his heart keeping time. It’s alright to pretend, sometimes, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean anything, the way she leans into him, the fact that there is no one else around for this show, that it’s just them in a hotel room, with a half empty bottle of whiskey, with their bloodstained clothes in a trash bag, with the smell of sulfur not quite washed out of her hair. But it’s alright, they’re alright, and she swears she feels his head rest on top of hers as she closes her eyes, maybe it’ll be alright, maybe this won’t end with his pistol pressed against her sternum. ( she will remember how little it all meant. ) 

@physixian​

Francis is not one for dancing, not unless there is a purpose, a distraction, a gnawing in her chest to touch something that will stain her hands and there are no paints around. There are men who would like to dance with one or the other of them, women, too, and Francis is Tired and Cold. The Good Doctor and his Dear Heart are Not Friends, but she sleeps in his bed and knows the sound of his pain seeping through the bandages he administered himself. They are Not Friends, but she’d kill for him, if he needed it, if there was no one else around, if it’d please him, isn’t that funny? They are Both Tired, but the dance goes on, so they might as well dance together. 

@beautxfulbeautxful

( a fever dream, a vision at Delphi. ) Something just out of reach, something in the dark he couldn’t name, something other than hunger and force and want and want and WANT. Alexi was not allowed, but it didn’t feel like choice so much as punishment. All hot mouth and bruises, collision and eruption. He has a scar on his collarbone, beneath the Other One, newer and lovely, a result of sharp teeth, a bar fight, who knows but him. ( The Good Doctor knew. But the Good Doctor is in the ground and Alexi can’t bring himself to visit the grave. Not even when Francis asks, not even when he misses the sound of cotton ball heartbeats against his palm. ) He is angry. There is no repentance for his fury, no confession, no forgive him, forgive him. Alexi Bauer is angry, his smile gone. 

His grief is tied up in a knot in his chest, the fibers of it laced with rage and betrayal and sad resignation that he is not allowed to want. 

It wouldn’t be so bad if — 

                       He kissed him goodbye, all hot mouth and clean hands —-

Alexi knew he could die, but he didn’t think —

                      There’s an agreement among the dead men walking,                       he thought, he could have sworn —- He has his family —                       It’s complicated. He is not alone, but —It wouldn’t be so bad if —                       He had gotten so good at not wanting, you know,                        at forgetting about sex as anything but self destruction,                       at keeping love as God’s territory —He is angry. 

The Good Doctor was heartless, when it came down to it. ( A gun, a choice, a dead man brought back to life left behind. ) Alexi did not think it would be so much crueler to walk into death with open arms than to leave it to chance, but he left, he left, and Alexi has lost his smile. 

Alexi is not allowed to want. He remembers, now, God forbid, God forbid it. Unholy thing that he is— it is a test of his faith, a trial of his will, and he failed, and look where it got him. He loses all that he wants, isn’t that the way? He had settled he had accepted, there was Nicht, with the way his skin burned, with the way he would work through Alexi’s anatomy. Pressure and release. He could forget the rest, other wants, as easily as slipping his hand through the strands of Doc’s hair. He kept himself occupied, kept himself out of trouble. Now he is alone and trouble is back. 

             It wouldn’t be so bad if —-

Alexi is angry and he doesn’t know if he will forgive for this. Even in death, the Good Doctor is cruel. He doesn’t say How could you? because he knows how. He doesn’t say You left me. because of course he did. He does not answer as to why. He deals with it like a Marine. 

“Fuck off.”