Chapter Text
“Hello friend,” Red Leader, Tord to those he was close with, chuckled wryly. After so long, it was hard to believe he was back. Blue Leader had been sent into deep cover within another organization. His work had led to their destruction, and now he was back in home base. Tord sighed, “I can't talk much now Tom, but I promise I'll be back”
He stood and walked out of the room, putting his helm back on and straightening it. It'd been so long since he'd seen his friend's face. The time had blurred together, just one long day in his mind. He walked the empty hall, though it wasn't truly empty; it simply held nothing of importance beyond himself. White lights shone from fixtures placed at conservative intervals. Recruits hustled past him, their footsteps slowing the instant they thought he wouldn't notice, as if he cared how quickly they went about their duties so far beneath him. The speakers for the intercom wrapped around each corner, too high to be tampered with easily. They'd been quiet today. Whoever ran them must've known the most important news had already spread, that Blue Leader was back.
All the halls were essentially the same, but Tord knew the way to his apartment well, his steps not something to be focused upon right now. His mind was already at the small table beside his bed, though his body was still making it there with all the composure in the world. It had a drawer in the top, with a little knob and no lock. Only fools kept truly important things so close to where they slept. There were letters there, more a collection of notes, bound within a hastily tied string. The writing on the haphazardly creased paper would be illegible to all, save himself, and perhaps Tom. None of them had dates, he never had the time to confirm those, and he hated inaccurate details. They contained his scattered thoughts over the past months in Tom's absence; having no one to confide in or bounce ideas off of was a real inconvenience. His thoughts were beginning to sound like them too. Hopefully that would stop now that he had returned.
Finally his body caught up to his mind, opening the drawer with a flick of his mechanical wrist, and his other hand lifted the bundle of tattered pages. He sat on the edge of his bed, perfectly upright as his thumb brushed the edges of the papers. Some were full pages, folded to fit neatly, while others were torn off of a larger project with varying degrees of care. Most were white, many were stained. He smiled at the few blue scraps within, torn from the edges of important documents that passed over his desk, or even blueprint paper. He relaxed a little and slipped off his helmet, then read the first one, his door closed to give complete privacy.
“Damn today has dragged on forever. I never really realized how much paperwork I pushed off on you. You're really going to hear it when you get back from that mission. You'd better be successful too, or I'll use you to test the latest missile I'm designing.”
He smiled and gently laid it aside, writing facing downward. This must've been written only a couple days after the mission commenced, only one true sleep after he had bid a brief farewell to his second in command. How was he to know how bored he'd be without Tom? Sending Blue Leader was such a foolish choice. Had they had a spat that triggered this decision? It was too long ago to remember; what was done was done. The next one was one of the blue scraps, the blank bottom half of a shorter form. He vaguely wondered if it was the colour that had prompted him to write this one.
“ The intel you've gathered is valuable. Reminds me of that time we flew for a scouting mission, nearly two weeks together, early in your career. The information gathered then was valuable too, both below and within the plane.”
Though it wasn't written, he knew that was when he realized that Tom was all he had left of his old life. No one had known him as long, no one understood most of his offhand references. The robotic fist clenched. No one knew how to get under his skin better.
The next few were fairly mundane, memories brought up by this or that. Soon there began to be comments on how the base was running, dangerous if it were to fall to the enemy. Thankfully his handwriting was abysmal. Despite that, he could still make out a common phrase in these notes. “ I'll let you know more upon your return.”
How confident he was to assume that. Numerous times Blue Leader's life had been at serious risk due to discovery or his orders from the organization head. Tord decided these must've been during the time he had decided to deliver them as letters, or at least use them to base his summary of events in the base during his second’s absence. They were still venting his frustration passively, but it was more directed than the first few.
The first note written on the deep blue of schematic paper marked another change.
“ This latest project has been giving me some trouble. The pieces just won't fit.
No, I haven't tried those chemicals exactly like that but surely that wouldn't work. Thanks anyway.”
Though it was vague, he knew the instance it spoke of, and that the combination that came to him in that moment had indeed worked. This was the start of increasing amounts of dark blue paper until finally it switched to proper note paper, when he finally realized how much it helped his process. This was the replacement for all those times Blue Leader had dutifully brought food to the lab at any hour that he remembered, showing no interest in the project, but throwing in genius offhand remarks. Or when he came in with the sole intent to distract him, dropping helpful ideas and scorning the outrageous plots. He had picked up a lot in his time in the army, Tom knew almost as much about some of the science as Tord did before the mission. He was infuriating, but even Tord couldn't deny his usefulness at times. He suspected Paul and Patryk sent Blue Leader in sometimes when they knew he was struggling. He was much too apathetic to take an actual interest in the lab himself.
A knock sounded at the door. Tord stretched, confused for a moment as he looked away from the papers. The ceiling was infront of him. No, not quite. At some point he had laid down without realizing it, legs still dangling from the bed. The knock sounded again, and he sat up while sliding on his helmet. His altered voice, Red Leader's voice, called out, “You may enter Paul.”
Paul was the only one allowed to bother him here. There was a long moment where the door didn't move, and when it did, an only vaguely familiar face looked at him. They were at least intelligent enough to not cross the threshold. Their eyes darted from his masked face to the papers in his hands, then back again. “Sir,” he squeaked out, then cleared his throat. His voice had more depth now, “Sir, Paul sent me to tell you that it is time. All the preparations have been made and they await your arrival.”
“I'll be there shortly. Go,” the messenger glanced nervously at the clenched metallic fist, and he didn't need to be told twice. The nerve of those two! Though Paul and Patryck were co-seconds in Blue Leader’s absence, they had no right to send someone else when Paul could've done the same. Red Leader thought it best to let this time go, but make it clear that Blue Leader’s return was not that extraordinary.
He went back into the functionally empty hallways, bundle of notes in hand. He hadn't quite gotten through them all, but the last few were fresh enough in his mind regardless. One in particular resonated within the confines of his mind right now, likely due to the ache in his shoulder. It was a mock pardon for the treason committed when that harpoon was fired. It had been scribbled on a napkin, from a food tray that had been laying in his lab for who knew how long, after he had just woken up from a short nap containing very vivid flashbacks to that time. He wasn't angry about it anymore, though he had been for years following the incident involving his giant robot. Almost two years. He almost could chuckle at that, but the hallways weren't truly empty, and Red Leader had an image to maintain. During that two years, he had strived to recruit his two friends that hadn't turned on him. It took much convincing and reassuring, but he had done it. It wasn't until one of them went rogue, stealing one of his old prototypes, that he had been able to convince Tom to join him. The success of that mission, and the improved vision supplied by the high-tech goggles, was what secured Tom's place in the army. With time, the other two decided military life wasn't for them, and left only he and Tom to rule. That marked the creation of Blue Leader.
In these past two years of Blue Leader’s absence, Red Leader had considered recalling his two old friends to see if they'd be willing to try army life again. Time changes people. He still toyed with the idea now.
Before long, he strode back into the room with the returned Blue Leader. He waved all others out of the room and stood over his second in command. Silence reigned free in the room, broken by the sound of Red Leader’s helm sliding off his head, leaving only Tord to address Blue Leader. Still, he said nothing, instead removing the goggles from the other man's face with utmost care for the delicate technology. Setting them aside, he was satisfied; Tord would be dealing with Tom now. He took the blue clad man's hand and pressed the bundle of letters into it. “You needn't read these, but they were all intended for you.”
There was no response, and Tord expected none from his friend. He launched into a thorough summary of all the events within Red Army within the past two years. Sprinkled throughout were updates on Edd and Matt, who Tom never asked after, but had secretly appreciated knowing. As Tord went on and on, Tom was uncharacteristically silent.
When he was finally drained of information, Tord stood, breathing deeply. The smell here wasn't pleasant, but few aromas in an army base were. “As promised, I've told you everything now that you're here for me to see again.” He slid his helmet back on and slipped Blue Leader's goggles into a deep pocket, then called out of the doorway, “You may come in again. I've said what I needed to. I assume you've gathered his belongings?” He didn't need to look up to know his subordinates were nodding, “Then take that and his body to the crematorium, I want no trace of his existence left that cannot fit into a proper urn. He has no family to notify or send him to, so it will go into the soldier cemetery after the service. That will begin at eighteen hundred sharp.”
While the others briskly set about enacting his orders, he headed to his office to alter the officer eulogy as needed, to respect his high rank at the time of passing.