Chapter Text
It's Monday, the week has barely begun and Jack is already pissed. Well, 'pissed' is actually a bit of an understatement. Or a lot of an understatement, but whatever. The point is, his employees suck, but what else is new?
"So, what you're saying," Jack starts, voice shaking with barely controlled fury, cutting off the panicked ramblings of his Head of Accounting. Who is trembling in the uncomfortable conference room chair and shrinking in on himself like the little turd he is.
Normally this display of primal fear would put a smile on Jack’s face, tempering his fury enough to weigh the pros and cons of murdering his little worker bees, maybe even enjoy the whole process by putting on a little show for dramatic effect. But today the cowering of this employee isn’t enough to quell his anger. Not by a long shot.
Jack rounds the table that separates him and the living shitstain that is his soon to be ex-Head-of-Accounting and leans menacingly into the guy’s space - Jameson? Jefferson? Whatever the fuck his name is. "is that you are a moron who doesn't notice when some ASSWIPE steals ten million dollars right out from under his nose!?" he yells, clenching his fist to keep himself from murdering this guy on the spot. And this fucker actually has the audacity to try and defend himself. Which, how fucking stupid even is this jerkwad? "Everything seemed to be in order, Sir. There was no reason to check-''
Jack's hand around Jameson's throat - he’s pretty sure the guy’s name is Jameson - cuts the plethora of useless excuses (and the man’s air supply) blissfully short.
"Nu uh!" Jack tuts and gives Jameson a little shake, starting to squeeze the man’s windpipe in earnest. "As MY Head of Accounting, keeping track of MY money is your friggin' Job! That is the literal job description! And there’s always a reason to check, dickbag!" Jameson's hands start to scrabble at Jack's wrist, uselessly trying to pry the fingers loose from around his neck. "P-ple- please, Sir!" he manages to wheeze out and Jack snorts a lough at how fucking pathetic this guy sounds. And how fucking dumb he is. As if Jack would let him live after a stunt like this. He’s not even close to done with the prick.
"Blake?" Jack addresses his PA, who's been sitting quietly in the corner of the room and doing whatever the fuck he does when Jack needs to strangle someone. Probably play Tetris on his ECHO-Com or something. "Call this mess in to janitorial, say in thirty minutes or so, and go get the guy to my office who actually-" Jack’s hand tightens even more around Jameson’s throat in renewed fury and he thinks he hears something crack. Good. "friggin!" Jameson's eyes start to bug out and his clawing at Jack's hand becomes even more desperate "paid attention!" As if on cue, Jameson actually starts to piss himself and Jack cackles. He friggin’ knew this would get messy. Oh he is so looking forward to this.
Blake doesn't even bat an eyelash at the violent scene in front of him, his pale face forever arranged into a bored expression. Jack has yet to figure out whether his PA really doesn’t give a fuck or if he’s just that good at pretending. It certainly adds a little… je-ne-sais-quoi, in any case, to have someone look on impassionately while people like Jameson beg for their lives.
"Yes, Sir." is all Blake says, in his usual haughty drawl, before picking up his ECHO-Com and promptly exiting the conference room. Jack will never admit it out loud, but he’s come to like his pompous, emotionless dick of a PA.
Redirecting his attention back to Jameson, Jack relishes in the panic he can see in the man’s bloodshot eyes. “Please, Sir.” the former Head of Accounting pleads weakly, voice scratchy and strained with the CEOs fingers still wrapped around his throat, though not as tightly as before.
Jack’s grin widens. “Should’ve done your job properly, babycakes. Daddy has no patience for incompetence.”
At that, Jameson actually starts to cry. Loud sobs that shake his entire body and are deeply satisfying for Jack. He so enjoys a revenge killing and he’s intending to make this one last a while yet. Strangling is way too nice.
"So, Jameson." Jack starts, loosening his grip around the man’s neck another fraction. He barely manages to suppress his laughter, when there is actually hope shining in Jameson’s eyes, now that he can breathe again. What a moron. As if Jack didn’t just tell him there’s no way he’s surviving this. "What are your thoughts on knives?".
"Assistant Vice Janitor Rhys! Please report to conference room 1A for a stage three deep-clean. We hope you haven't had lunch yet." The automated voice of Hyperion echoes throughout the halls and corridors of Helios, audible for every single person on the space station, making Rhys want to scream. He swears, every time that cheery voice calls him to yet another unscheduled task for everyone to hear, he has to relive the shame and humiliation of being demoted. And not only being demoted but being demoted by none other than his longtime rival and douche-extraordinaire: Hugo Vasquez. Who is probably sitting in his shiny new office, evil-laughing his slimy ass off with every new announcement as he gazes out over Elpis.
Sighing deeply, Rhys puts down his sandwich - probably better he didn't get to eat it since a stage three means, that there is a dead body (or several) to dispose of - and uses his ECHO-Eye to call a Loader Bot up to conference room 1A. His new colleagues can make fun of him all they want, but Rhys is NOT touching a dead body, thank you very much. He doesn't care that calling a Bot to help him with disposal might take longer and thus means he may have to do overtime. According to his supervisor all the tasks on his list have to be completed by the end of the day and as the guy bluntly put it: if your tasks are not done, neither are you.
Did he mention that he really hates his new job?
Grumbling to himself, Rhys puts his lunch back into the fridge, exits the bleak excuse for a break room and grabs his cleaning cart. He would be impressed by the deliberately depressing design choices, if he didn't have to look at them every day. Talk about a place where dreams go to die.
Shamefully pushing his cart along, Rhys makes his way over to the closest elevator on this floor. He had actually planned to watch the newest episode of Pandora's Boxes while he eats - a reality dating show, where the contestants are sent to Pandora to compete in various tasks (read: death-matches) for the supposed privilege of dating the bachelorette (Stacy), who pairs off the contestants each episode by throwing their names into a conveniently box-shaped vessel, which the men had to open to find out who their opponent was this round - and since the new season just started a few weeks ago and the first episodes are always the best, Rhys was kinda looking forward to that.
But now he not only has to skip lunch, he also has to deal with a dead body and whoever put it there. Which is always so gross, and Rhys doesn't think he's ever getting used to it.
Please god, don't let him get used to it!
Rhys is so absorbed in his little pity-party, that he almost runs head-first into the Loader Bot waiting for him in front of the conference room doors. It's only thanks to the automated proximity alert from his ECHO-eye that the collision can be prevented.
"Hello Assistant Vice Janitor Rhys!" The Bot greets him, unnecessarily loud and enthusiastic, and Rhys would very much like to shove it right out of an airlock for that, but filling out the paperwork would be a pain in the ass (and mean even more overtime), so he refrains and instead half-heartedly raises a hand in greeting.
"Let's get this over with, LB." he grouses and pushes the smooth black double doors open. He immediately wishes he’d called in sick today. The sight and smell (oh God, that smell!) of a literal bloodbath greet Rhys and he freezes in his tracks, trying very hard not to throw up. He'll only have to clean that up too.
And boy, is he glad he didn’t eat that sandwich. This is probably the worst scene he has encountered since he became part of janitorial and that is saying something, because this is Hyperion, and at Hyperion, it seems, the day isn’t complete without a couple of gruesome murders. Rhys carefully takes a step into the room and immediately steps on something red and squishy. The urge to dry heave is getting nearly overwhelming, but he somehow manages to squash it down.
He’s a little ashamed to admit, that his first thought is about how fucking annoying this clean-up is going to be. Maybe he should talk to someone about that. But then again, who's got the money for that?
Rhys’ not really sure where to start, though. There is blood and... other substances (he really doesn't want to examine those too closely) literally everywhere in the room.
The sudden sound of voices startles Rhys out of his immobility and he quickly scans the room for the noise’s origin. When his eyes land on the lone figure sitting at the conference table, engrossed in something on their ECHO-Device - which is the source of the noise - Rhys is certain his life is just one big cosmic joke, and this right here is the punchline.
Because sitting before him is Handsome Jack, CEO of Hyperion and Rhys’ longtime idol. Yes, the man is covered in blood - much like the rest of the room - but he is still so goddamn good-looking Rhys’ mouth runs instantly dry at the sight of him.
Heart valiantly trying to beat out of his chest, Rhys has to shake himself a little before he can drag his cleaning cart further into the room, ignoring the wet sounds his feet are making with every step.
He really hopes he's going to survive meeting his hero, considering all the blood and gore surrounding him, but honestly death-by-Handsome-Jack wouldn’t be the worst way to go. To his eternal shame - and his friends worry - Rhys has actually fantasized about that before. Loudly. While drunk off his ass. Yeah, he doesn't have any excuses for that one.
Loader Bot follows him into the room, after Rhys finally clears the doorway, and immediately goes to pick up the heavily mutilated corpse that Rhys has avoided looking at too closely. He only saw that the body seemed to be much more… empty than it should be and quickly averted his eyes.
So yeah, not airlocking the Bot seems to have been a good choice after all. “Thanks’ LB” Rhys says quietly, shooting a nervous glance at Jack who is still very much engrossed in his ECHO-Device and thankfully doesn’t pay any attention to Rhys. Which is relieving, even though the horny part of Rhys' brain is bemoaning that fact very much.
He has to violently wrench his thoughts away from the downright pornographic images his brain conjures up of Jack, him and the conference table, so that he can focus on the job ahead.
“You are very welcome, Assistant Vice Janitor Rhys!” Loader Bot chirps way too loudly, as he drags the dead body out of the room by one ankle, leaving a fresh trail of blood and… stuff behind. Maybe airlocking is still very much on the table, Rhys thinks, as his cheeks burn in embarrassment. Chancing another glance at Jack, he is simultaneously relieved and annoyed to find him still not paying attention.
During the next ten minutes Rhys can’t help but keep sneaking glances at Jack, but the CEO is completely focused on whatever it is he’s watching. Which finally gets Rhys to relax and focus on his work.
It’s roughly another twenty minutes later and Rhys is on his hands and knees scrubbing away at the rivers of blood seeping into the carpet (after he collected the bigger pieces - so gross ), when Jack suddenly jumps up from his chair. “Oh, come on!” he yells, and Rhys nearly throws his brush away in shock, fingers spasming around the utensil. “You can’t seriously think friggin’ Chad is more attractive than Jason! What kind of stupid bitch are you?! Friggin’ Stacy!” And Rhys really wishes he had more self-control or self-preservation, or anything really, that would stop him from speaking up, but-
“What’s wrong with Chad?”
-unfortunately not.
As soon as the words are out of his mouth Rhys sees his life start flashing before his eyes, certain that this is where he dies. And over a reality dating show, no less. His mother will be so angry.
Jack turns around to him slowly, eyes full of disgust “What do you mean, what’s wrong with Chad? That guy is a complete neanderthal! All those steroids shrunk his stupid little pea-brain until there’s nothing left! And he looks like a freakin’ blow-up doll with all that fake tan. It’s super gross.”
Rhys stares at Jack, still on his hands and knees, mouth falling open in indignation. He did not just say that about Chad. "That's not true! He just takes care of himself!" Rhys defends his favorite contestant and Jack huffs. With a flick of his fingers, a scene of Chad wrestling with a giant Stalker is being projected onto the screen at one end of the conference room. The stalker's body is actually covered in little splotches of orange, that look suspiciously like tanning lotion, and Jack points at the projection as if that proves his point.
In for a penny, in for a pound Rhys thinks and sits back on his haunches, throwing his brush into the bucket next to him. “Well, maybe he went a bit overboard with the fake tan.” he allows “but Jason not only looks like a walking parody of a waxing studio commercial, it’s like a stiff breeze could just blow him right over. He’s just skin and bones.” Jack’s eye-roll is comically exaggerated. “At least he has two brain cells to rub together – unlike friggin’ Chad. I mean, who brings tanning lotion to Pandora of all places? As if the sun didn't shine ninety hours a day on that hell-hole of a planet. And what a stupid-ass name is Chad anyway?”
While he complains about Rhys’ favorite character, Jack sits down again and kicks out the chair beside his own. When Rhys doesn’t move immediately, Jack pats the chair, impatiently grunting in Rhys direction, and Rhys takes the hint, deciding not to question what is happening right now.
He quickly gets off the floor and crosses the distance to sit down besides Jack, vibrating with nerves, but determined to make the most of this chance. Clearing his throat and rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs, Rhys does his best to ignore his horny brain and sets out to defend Chad’s honor.
What follows is in equal parts the best and weirdest experience of Rhys’ entire life.
Because he actually spends the next half hour good-naturedly arguing with Jack about every single contestant of Pandora’s Boxes and every challenge the men have to face. In the end the only thing they can agree on is that Stacy is an ungrateful bitch-
“I mean she told them to collect Varkid eggs and now she complains about how disgusting they are and that’s why they’re up for elimination? Urgh! I hate her so much. I mean, here’s a pro-tip: don’t ask people to collect Varkid eggs! God, wouldn’t it have been great if one of those things hatched and ate her face? Like, that would’ve been awesome.”
-and not that surprisingly, Jack wants the season finale (at the latest) to feature Stacey’s death. Possibly at the hands of Jason. “Or Chad,” Rhys chimes in, because he can’t just not. Chad is by far the best contestant. Jack looks at him thoughtfully. “How about both?” he asks, grinning playfully and Rhys’ heart skips a beat. “They would look kinda hot making out.” Rhys can only whole-heartedly hum in agreement, momentarily speechless.
Jack's further commentary throughout the episode is equal-parts hilarious and bloodthirsty and he actually seems to know a lot about surviving on Pandora for how much he despises the planet. "Oh, come on ! How much of an idiot do you have to be to pitch your tent there? That's clearly Thresher territo- See?!" he yells as tentacles burst from the ground on screen to snatch up Bradley and Ken, and then sets about explaining to Rhys how one can recognize Thresher territories and what kind of terrain the creatures prefer. It's not only interesting - even if Rhys hopes he'll never have to use that knowledge - but it's also really endearing to see Jack like this. Passionate about something as mundane as a TV show, arguing good-naturedly and just happy to share some of his knowledge. Usually when Rhys hears Jack yelling like that it's over the space station's PA-system and someone (or several someones) is about to be brutally murdered. Like that one time with the whole Marketing Department. But that was a bit excessive, even for Handsome Jack.
Rhys is ninety percent sure the whole thing is a hallucination brought on by inhaling the fumes of cleaning products all day, but even if that’s the case - still the best day of his life.
Near the end of the episode Jack’s ECHO starts to ring and he ends the projection to answer it. Watching him, Rhys is suddenly reminded of why he's in the conference room in the first place and quickly slips off the chair to pick up his cleaning supplies again.
It’s like reality just doused him with a bucket of ice water. An uncomfortable reminder of his current occupation and his consequent non-existent social standing at Hyperion. Under normal circumstances the CEO wouldn’t even be in the same room as him, let alone talk to him. The thought burrows itself into Rhys' brain, taking root and causing him to physically shrink in on himself as he sets about getting the halfway dried blood out of the carpet.
Meanwhile, Jack ends his call. He looks at the empty chair Rhys occupied a minute ago, head slowly turning in search of him, until his ganze lands on Rhys, once again on his hands and knees. Jack pins him with a curious expression and for a few seconds they just stare at each other, before Jack snorts, shakes his head and makes his way to the door. “Well, it’s been fun, Kiddo.” he says with a little wave over his shoulder, “But this company doesn’t run itself!” He pauses just outside the door, looking back at Rhys still kneeling on the floor and for one crazy moment Rhys thinks Jack is going to ask him to hang out or go on a date or something , but all those silly little notions die a horrible death when Jack opens his mouth. “There’s a meeting scheduled in here in like twenty minutes, cupcake, so you better hurry up. I’m not paying you to sit on your ass all day.” and with that the CEO is gone.
For the rest of the day (and the inevitable overtime) Rhys is caught between elation and despair. Elation, because he spent the better part of an hour with his idol. Talking about his favorite TV show and having fun, which is like his ultimate fantasy. Despair, because, well, Rhys is sure that Jack’s behavior didn’t really have anything to do with him, personally, and more with Jack being bored and Rhys just conveniently being there. So yeah, all in all a fun workday.
A total of eleven hours of cleaning up other people’s messes later, Rhys finally opens the door to his and Vaughn’s appartement, wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower, eat junk food and maybe jerk off to his new memories of Handsome Jack. Or well, a slightly modified version of the events.
However as soon as Rhys opens the door, a tiny ball of muscle slams into him and nearly bowls him over. “Dude!” Vaughn yells at him, clinging to his shoulders and shaking him slightly “Where the hell were you?!” Rhys opens his mouth to answer, but Vaugh immediately cuts him off, obviously too excited to wait for a reply. “Guess what happened to me today, bro?! Come on, guess!” By the way Vaughns eyes shine and his breath is going way too fast, Rhys knows better than to try and reply. He hasn’t even finished the thought, when Vaughn practically screams the answer in his face. “Handsome Jack personally promoted me to Head of Accounting!”
Rhys feels his jaw drop open at the news and does his best to focus on feeling happy for his best friend and not the bitterness trying to claw its way up his throat, screaming at him that he should have been the one with a promotion.Thankfully, he has a lot of practice shutting that bitter voice up after nearly a month in Janitorial.
“That’s so awesome, bro! Congratulations! We need to celebrate, like right now!” Yes, Rhys is exhausted, but this has been his best friend’s dream for a very long time and he absolutely needs to make a big deal out of this. Vaughn deserves this.
“Way ahead of you, bro!” Vaughn’s grin is so happy, it’s infectious and Rhys can feel the bad feelings the news elicited vanish. “Go get changed, Yvette is coming over and we’re ordering take-out, I’m buying.”
“We’re not going out?” Rhys asks, puzzled. He thought they’d get drinks or something. “I can’t, bro.” Vaughn says. “I need to be up super early tomorrow and I kinda wanna get into the groove of things first, you know? See if I survive the first week. I thought we’d go out saturday.” Rhys squeezes Vaughn in a tight hug. “You’re gonna be the longest lasting Head of Accounting Hyperion has ever seen, just you wait, bro. No one is better than you.”
They exchange a quick fist-bump, before Rhys hurries through the living room, down the hall and into his room to quickly pick out a comfortable outfit. Preferably one that doesn’t smell like corpses and bleach. While getting dressed, Rhys decides not to mention his own meeting with Handsome Jack today. Vaughn deserves all the attention to be on him and if he heard about what happened in the conference room, he would just start to worry about Rhys.
Plus, it’s not like Rhys is actually going to see Jack again, or hear from him, or anything. He’s been on Helios for four years and today was the first time he even saw the CEO in person. Still, Rhys can’t help but hope and if he tells Vaughn and Yvette about that , they are just going to tell him what he already knows: that Handsome Jack will never go out with him, especially not now, with him being a janitor and all. They will try to be nice about it and talk around it and all the while all three of them will know what they actually mean and that would just depress Rhys even more. And - which is the most important part - take the focus away from Vaughn completely. So, keeping quiet, it is.
Rhys grabs his favorite Hyperion hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants and dashes into the bathroom for a quick shower. Conference room 1A wasn’t his only dead body today and he’s desperate to get the smell out of his nose.
The doorbell rings right after he finished getting dressed and Rhys hastily stuffs his work-clothes into the washing machine - it’s kinda sad that he’s become a bit of an expert at getting bloodstains out of fabric - before he makes his way into the living room.
On the way, he activates his ECHO-Eye to check his messages and his mood takes a bit of a nosedive again when there’s nothing waiting for him. Jasper still hasn’t answered any of his texts from the past three weeks - ever since Rhys got demoted. But that probably has nothing to do with it, right? His boyfriend’s just busy with work, that’s it. Nothing to worry there. It’s only been twenty-one days of radio silence. Happens in every relationship.
“Hey, Rhys! Hurry up, I’m hungry!” Yvette calls, just as he rounds the corner into the living room. “There you are.” she says, turning around to look at him. She’s already sitting on the couch, feet propped up onto the coffee table in front of her.
Yvette eyes him critically, head to toe. “You lost weight, Rhys. You should really apply for a new position. Janitorial isn’t healthy - I’m worried.” Rhys sighs, but refrains from pointing out that she’d lose weight too, if she was confronted with the gruesome crime scenes Rhys has to see every day. It’s enough to make any sane person lose their appetite.
As for searching for a new position… Rhys has practically been doing nothing else for the past three weeks, but being demoted to Janitorial is kind of a death sentence, career-wise. Everyone automatically assumes he must’ve done something particularly horrible to deserve a demotion like that and by now Rhys has applied to every single department on Helios and has been rejected by each of them.
So the only options he has left are either to continue working as a Janitor until he’s found enough blackmail-material to force his way back into a decent position, or… to leave Helios. Which is unacceptable. Rhys loves the space station way too much to let someone like Vasquez bully him into giving it up.
“I’m fine, Yvette, really. Don’t worry. Anyway, have you guys thought about what kinda food we’re getting?” he asks, looking around for Vaughn, who is nowhere to be seen, and as far as subject-changes go, it isn’t the best, but it doesn’t have to be. They both know he’s lying and they also both know that right now there is nothing either of them could do about it.
“In the kitchen, bro!” Vaughn shouts, voice drifting through the open door to Rhys’ left. Moments later the accountant in question comes striding back into the living room, carrying a six-pack and the contents of their take-out drawer (which is a fancy way of saying that that’s where they throw all the flyers and brochures of the various restaurants and delivery services on Helios).
Rhys hurries over to take the six-pack out of Vaughn’s hands and sets about freeing the cans from their plastic prison while he listens to his best friends bicker about what kind of food they should order. Rhys smiles. No matter what happens, he thinks, as long as he has Vaughn and Yvette by his side, he’ll be alright - even if he gets stuck in Janitorial.
“Rhys, tell him we’re not eating skag sushi. That stuff is vile and should be outlawed.” Yvette says as Rhys hands her a beer. Rhys shrugs. “I say, Vaughn gets to decide since he’s the one that got promoted. But I do want to add that no one should ever be forced to eat skag. It tastes like corpse. Or, well, like a corpse smells, but, same difference.” Wrinkling his nose, Vaughn throws one of the brochures into the trash can.
In the end, they just order pizza and settle in to watch one of Vaughn’s favorite programs, which is a channel that exclusively runs those old gaming shows, where the contestants have to fight each other with giant Q-tips and a bunch of other non-lethal stuff. To make things more interesting they bet on the winner, with Yvette setting the (very scary) terms - “We’ll bet on a favor, to be cashed in in the future that can’t be declined, no matter what it is.” - and they end up having an amazing night together, cuddled up on the couch, eating pizza, drinking beer and yelling at the screen.
To the surprise of no one, Yvette wins the bet, telling them ominously that she’ll collect her favors when she needs them. Rhys kinda feels as if he’s just sold his soul to a crime syndicate.
Still, he goes to sleep that night, feeling better than he has in a while. They should really hang out more, he thinks. Sighing, Rhys buries his face in his pillow. He can’t wait until Saturday.