Work Text:
the shortest distance
between two points
is the light
from me to you
Crane watched silently as Brecken paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth, his steps smooth like a cats paw and lithe enough to make a tiger jealous. The taut look on his face was indeed reminding Crane of a caged animal, walking the length of its prison in a daily routine that already bordered on madness.
“This is getting ridiculous.” Brecken said finally.
A challenge sat in the clear green eyes, daring him to object. Crane, who had no intention of doing so, leaned back against the table, crossed his arms in front of his chest and waited for the rest of it.
“My head feels fine and I haven't had a seizure in over two weeks. I need to get back out there. I need to run!”
Crane smiled a little at the fervour in Brecken's voice, the English accent always charming to his American ears. Brecken looked at him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What?”
Crane raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I'm not the one telling you what to do.”
“No. Only the first one to jump and do my runs for me.” Brecken shot back, but the smile he gave Crane was fond, making it clear that his words held no accusation.
“The Tower needs you, Brecken.” Crane said, “if you die out there, the people here would be in real trouble.”
Brecken scoffed. “I think you overestimate my importance, mate.”
Crane said nothing for a while, thinking that it was an unwritten rule somewhere that good leaders never really wanted the job. Loud out, he said: “Well, maybe I do, but so does everybody else. Which makes it sort of true, I guess.”
“What does that even mean?”
Crane smiled. “It means, the people have spoken. Sorry.”
Brecken snorted. He cocked his head in contemplation while his eyes rested on Crane in comfortable silence. “Run with me, then.” he said finally. “I need to stretch my legs, see how it goes out there. The training grounds are just not the same.”
Crane sighed. “Look, I understand, but...”
“Come on, mate!” Brecken insisted. “I need you to watch my back. Or are you afraid you can't keep up?”
“What? Oh, come on...” Crane rolled his eyes at the not very subtle teasing, trying to ignore how his heart leapt in his chest at the prospect of spending an afternoon with the Tower's leader. “Alright, fine. But I'm gonna tell Lena we're going out. And if she thinks it's still too early for you...”
Brecken waved a hand at him, already busy preparing and totally not listening. “Yeah, yeah. I'll meet you downstairs.”
It was so easy to push his buttons these days, Crane thought as he made his way towards sickbay. It seemed like he had forgotten to say no to anyone or anything. Instead, he said maybe a lot, which was the closest he could manage, and always ended up running errands, nearly tripping over himself to help people out. Then again, Brecken wasn't anyone and the sooner he was back on his feet the better. They could hardly keep him cooped up indoors forever.
The doctor agreed with him, but she was not too enthusiastic about it either. Still, she equipped him with a couple of meds in case Brecken's injuries acted up and told him to stay close to the Tower, no matter what. And like a good little soldier, Crane nodded dutifully to everything she said.
Running with Brecken was indeed something else. Each jump was perfect, every landing smooth and quiet. His body seemed to weigh nothing as he flew over the roofs. But it was not the way he moved, that made this such a revelation for Crane, but how the city's architecture seemed to transform under his feet. He did not care what something was supposed to be, did not care for material or function. He turned street lamps into staircases, brick walls into floors and the rooftops made a bridge for them, tempting them with infinity. Watching Brecken was like watching an artist at work and Crane followed right behind, revelling in the experience.
They stopped on top of a multi-storied house further up the hill, with the slums spreading out below and the ocean glinting in the warm afternoon sun. Behind them rose the Tower, its protective shadow never too far away. The shuffling of undead feet in the streets below came as an unwanted reminder of the reality he had found himself in, but it wasn't enough to dampen his mood. He was floating on a runner's high and his smile mirrored Brecken's, as he wiped the sweat from his brow and closed his eyes to enjoy the mild gusts of wind cooling his skin.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle pat. “Not bad for a bloody noob.” Every word gleamed with appreciation. Crane found himself basking in the glow.
“Excuse me?!” his indignation was all feigned. “Aren't you the one telling everybody I'm the best runner you've got?”
“Only to piss off Volcan.” Brecken said with a wink.
He had to bite back a laugh. “Well, that worked like a charm.”
Brecken smiled. “So I've heard. But apparently you let him eat your dust a couple of times and he's become a lot quieter since.”
Crane gave a modest bow.
Before he could say anything else, a deep humming noise filled the air, quickly growing louder and louder. It was the sound every runner in Harran was tuned to and even his comparatively short time among them had been enough for it to restructure his own priorities. It sent his heart racing and his spine tingling. It was the sound of life and when you heard it, you dropped everything and fucking went for it.
The shadow of a small plane passed them with a roar and they saw the airdrop go down over the quarantined city, dangling from a bouquet of white and orange parachutes, a gift from the outside world. It seemed in no hurry to touch the sullied ground and the crates swayed lazily in the breeze as they floated towards the earth. The plane quickly gathered height and speed after it had relieved itself of its burden and the roar faded back into a disembodied drone before it disappeared completely. It left them once again with a quiet sunny afternoon they only shared with the moaning biters, agitated by the noise. They looked at each other. The drop went down so close by, it would be a sin not to go after it. No way Rais' people would beat them to it this time. Without a word they started running.
The crates had landed on the Infamy bridge and thankfully in an area mostly devoid of biters. Crane had to swallow a cry of joy as he realized they were indeed the first to reach it. There was no sign of Rais' men. He quickly opened the first of the two crates and felt relieve flood through him on such a profound level, it made him want to laugh and cry in equal parts. He was looking at a full batch of Antizin.
“Fuck yeah” he heard Brecken mutter. “This'll make us last at least a month. Longer if nothing unexpected happens.”
“Yeah, how likely is that, exactly?” Crane said albeit jokingly, while they stored the precious medicine safely away in their sling bags.
“Not very, but one can always hope for the best. Now let's get going before somebody else shows up.”
As if they had taken Brecken's words for queue, he spotted five men running towards them across the bridge, their progress slowed by the deserted cars that clogged the street, but hell, they were quick. And they all wore the unmistakable black and yellow armour of Rais.
“Fuck” Crane cursed. “What now?”
Brecken didn't answer. He stared at the fast approaching men, face and body suddenly tense, his eyes gone cold with hatred.
Crane understood his sentiment only too well. Not only had they beaten Brecken to a bloody pulp just recently, but the frustration and anger he himself had faced every god damn time he chased after an airdrop, just to find it already snatched away by Rais' men; always taunting, always teasing, always without mercy, while the people of the Tower were in desperate need for supplies... It had caused him to snap one day and he had killed all three of them in a fit of blank despair and boiling anger. After it was over, he barely felt anything. He had done it a couple of times since, when occasion presented itself, which really wasn't that often because he was always outnumbered and despite everything far from suicidal. But killing had never come so easy before, with so little consequence on his conscience. He wondered if Brecken had ever done the same. He wouldn't have thought so a minute ago, but the look on his face made him reconsider. It seemed only with difficulty that Brecken tore his eyes away from the oncoming group and turned his attention back to Crane.
“We run.” he spat. “Keep to the ground and follow me, they'll have a harder time tracking us if we keep off the roofs. We can loose them in the slums. Stay close.”
And with that he went off. Crane followed him through the narrow alleys, dodging heaps of garbage and rotting corpses, trying to avoid the loitering biters as best as he could. It was a dangerous endeavour. While Brecken managed to sprint past them before they even realised he was there, Crane had a harder time of slipping through their outstretched arms whenever he fell to far behind. Clammy hands clawed at his shirt, ripping the fabric and where there was none, blunt nails and fingers dug into his skin in the attempt to get a grip on him. The smell of rotten flesh was enough to make him gag. But the plan worked. Once or twice he could hear angry shouts nearby, but he never saw any of their pursuers as the maze hid them from enemy eyes. On the downside, he had somewhat lost his sense of direction, as he had practically never walked the streets before. So when he to dodged a group of biters, already roused by Brecken's quick feet, and turned the corner, he found the narrow alley before him empty. A soft curse fell from his lips, as he stood there, rooted to the spot, while precious seconds ticked by. He shoved the sudden wave of panic that washed over him out of the way with a little less professional ease than he would have liked and looked around for any trace of Brecken. A hand on his shoulder nearly made him jump as he was pulled inside a small and dusty shack. He was pressed against the wall and in the dim room he could only make out Brecken's face, sweaty and wide eyed, but flushed with excitement and adrenaline. Crane's pounding heart settled a little. They stood there for a while, Brecken's hands on his shoulders a reassuring weight, warm breath ghosting against his even warmer skin, and listened for approaching feet or muffled voices, anything that would let them pinpoint their pursuers. But there was nothing. The only sound he could hear was the rush of his own blood in his ears and their stifled panting. He looked at Brecken and motioned towards a small ladder that led up through a hatch in the ceiling to the roofed balcony. Brecken nodded and slowly they crept upwards, careful not to make any sound. Once in the open, Crane kept close to the ground risking a peek over the balustrade. Both men scanned for signs of enemies until he heard Brecken inhale sharply. “There.” he whispered, pointing to a rooftop straight ahead. There was movement up there and sure as hell it was one of Rais' guys, keeping a lookout. They spotted three more further in the distance, all of them positioned on high ground between them and the Tower.
“They're cutting us of.” Crane said with another curse on his lips. “You wanna try and sneak by?” Brecken seemed to contemplate this, but shook his head. “No. We're lucky to have made it this far without running into trouble. We wont make it all the way back to the Tower without getting eaten down on the ground. And the sun's already low...”
He was right. The shadows had grown longer during their escape, the brightness of the sun further dimmed by a gathering of clouds on the horizon. They promised rain.
Crane nodded. There was a small Safehouse near the train yard that hardly anyone ever used. It was a neat little shack with a small balcony and a nice roof deck, but the train yard usually crawled with Volatiles at night and that was enough to keep most people away. Going there would take them even further from the Tower, but it would also put some distance between them and the other guys. It was a place where they could lay low until nightfall would force their pursuers away to find a shelter of their own.
They made their way into the Cauldron in many loops and circles. Brecken insisted on laying false trails in case someone had spotted them and tried to follow. Crane didn't object, but he felt himself grow tired. Sweat had soaked his shirt and glued it to his skin. It burned in his eyes and in the thousand small cuts and scratches he had collected over the day. Not much longer and Brecken would have to be the one to take care of him instead of the other way round, he thought almost grudgingly. What the hell?
With the dusk came the rain. It started as a mild drizzle that soon turned into a full fledged thunderstorm. Lightning tore the darkening sky apart and thunder ripped through the air as they finally reached the small hut. The white banner that promised safety inside the paper thin walls shook with heavy gusts of wind. It waved at them to hurry inside and escape the approaching darkness and its howling nightmares. Just one more jump and they would be safe. With a small grunt Crane pulled himself over the balcony. His arms were shaking with exhaustion, his legs felt almost too heavy to take one more step, but they had made it. He could have bottled the relief that flooded through him when they stumbled over the threshold, panting and dripping wet.
“Well, that could've gone worse.” he said, between gulps of air.
Brecken nodded, catching his breath. “Yeah... so much worse...” there was a tinge of distress in his voice but he covered it quickly by cracking a smile and giving Crane's arm a gentle squeeze. “But we were lucky, for once. I'm going to radio back to the Tower. Let them know what happened. We spend the night here and make our way back as soon as the sun rises. Any objections?”
Crane shook his head. “None whatsoever.” He watched as Brecken stepped out on the balcony and back into the rain. The falling water drowned out his words, blurring his outlines and features. He seemed to fade, as if he was becoming part of the approaching Nightmare-world, where predators with split jaws stalked the roofs; tongues lolling, faces made of teeth and malice; round eyes so insane with rage all you wanted to do was crawl away and hide. They prowled the night that gathered behind Brecken, his yellow shirt a bright dot against the dark. The sight filled Crane with unease, not unlike the tight feeling in his guts that used to tell him whenever a mission was about to go sideways, yet altogether different. A mix of fear and anticipation, pooling in his lower body, inexplicable and strangely exciting. Unable to pinpoint the source, he turned to switch on the UV lights, basking the Safehouse in a cold violet glow. It did little to appease him and it was only when Brecken returned back inside, that he felt himself relax. Bit by bit the tension left him and made room for other visitors to move in. Cold crept down his spine to have a chat with his empty stomach. His throat felt too parched to contribute anything to a meaningful conversation, so he fumbled in his bag for the bottle of water that was still largely untouched. It was warm and tasted of plastic, but once he had taken the first sip, he couldn't stop until the bottle was empty.
Brecken was already busy rummaging through the big duffel bag that apart from a mattress on the floor with a few blankets and a wooden dresser made up the only inventory of theroom. He threw Crane a faded t-shirt and some jogging trousers that both had seen better days, but they smelled clean and they were dry. As it was, fashion took a place at the bottom on his list of current priorities. He peeled his wet shirt over his head and wrung it out as best as he could. When he turned to hang it over the dresser he caught a look at Brecken's face who was watching him intently. Leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest, he followed Crane's movements with eyes that seemed to pay attention to every detail of his body. Crane froze and looked right back at him, blinking a few stray drops of water out of his eyes. Outside, the rain kept falling, drumming a wild and irregular pattern against the corrugated iron
Strange how aware of himself he felt under Brecken's calm gaze. It was like a tentative touch, a subtle caress without substance but no less powerful in its intimacy. His skin tingled in response, not in discomfort, but welcome.
“See something you like?”
It was supposed to be a joke. A bad joke, but whatever. It did not come out as one. He knew it the instant the words left his mouth, his voice too low, too seductive to be delivering a harmless joke. He felt it in the way his heart fluttered and in the warmth that pooled in his belly, despite the goosebumps rising on his arms and neck. Fuck. He mentally slapped himself. He was supposed to be a goddamn professional, but somehow this mission had turned out to be one huge fuck-up right from the start. And now he was carelessly throwing himself into waters that were so dangerously easy to get lost in. What the fuck was wrong with him?
To his further distress, Brecken pushed himself off the wall and rose to the challenge with a sly smile playing around his lips.
“You bet.“, he said softly, looking at him like a cat might look at a bowl of cream. “I also see a couple of nasty looking scars that make me even more curious. What did you say you did for a living?”
His tone was easy and playful, nothing was hidden behind that question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but to Crane's guilty conscience it came loaded like a freight train. He looked down at himself and then back at Brecken, who was standing so close now, he could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the sweat and the rain on his skin. Warm fingers traced along his collarbone, following the silver line of scar tissue he knew to be there. Breath left him with a sigh. It took away any reasonable lie he could have come up with. He was left naked and shivering, a creature of desire and not of intellect. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Grabbed a fistful of Brecken's soaked shirt and gave it a desperate little tug, like it could stop his mind from reeling. God, how he hated lying to everybody. Confess, a voice hissed in his head, but where even to begin? His hands went to Brecken's hips, pulling him in. Lips brushed over sharp collarbone, before he pressed them into the crook of the neck, nipping at the skin, the taut muscle. He heard Brecken inhale sharply, before he in turn felt hands on his waist and a body pushed against him. His mind screamed a warning, but it was insignificant compared to the sheer force of his want. A helpless groan fell from his lips, before Brecken sealed them with his own. Hands were tugging at his belt and he leaned back eagerly to give them better access. His drenched trousers pooled around his ankles a second later, leaving him naked but for his underwear. Again he felt those eyes on him. Their caress more urgent this time, more demanding, possessive even. His own eyes fell closed as hands roamed over his chest, fingers digging into his skin and playing with his nipples, making him sigh with pleasure. How long had it been since he had been intimate with someone? He couldn't even remember. There had been the occasional fling, on trips to a club or gay bar with men he had found attractive but couldn't care less about. Good for unwinding after a job was done and paid for, but the nature of his occupation had never granted him much opportunity for a deeper relationship with someone. There had always been too many secrets for him to keep and too many places he had called home for only the shortest of times. And while it didn't bother him on most days, there were nights where he longed for something that went further than just physical pleasure. For trust and companionship and above all a wish to belong. Touching Brecken soothed that very ache and Crane stripped him of his shirt with desperate hurry. The body it revealed was everything he had imagined. Athletic and muscular, it held the power to transform a whole city to suit its needs; Crane tended to it with all the dedication his hands and lips had to offer. He was rewarded with soft moans and murmurs of encouragement, his own arousal growing, washing over him wave after wave, an ever rising tide lapping against the shore. Brecken took hold of his wrists, pinning his arms above his head. Crane gave a small noise of protest as his hands were denied further exploration, but he didn't resist. He would not have known how. His body was pressed against the wall, trapped between the coolness at his bare back and the heat, that engulfed him from ahead. Brecken ground their hips together, the fabric of his trousers not thick enough to conceal his hardness and Crane followed his rhythm, enjoying the way their bodies accommodated each other, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
“Fuck... Harris...” he groaned, as a hand slipped past the waistband of his trunks and warm fingers wrapped themselves around his cock, slowly stroking and rubbing. His head fell back against the wall and a long moan escaped his throat, too loud to be drowned by the falling rain. Brecken let go of his wrists and put his hand over his mouth, effectively muffling the sound.
“God, you're just gorgeous.” he whispered with a wicked smile. “But you need to keep it down, you know that.”
As if to underline his words, the shrieking and roaring outside reached an eerie crescendo as Volatiles burst from their hiding places. Night had arrived at their doorstep, and even if the UV lights were on and the doors were barred, they would fare best to be as quiet as mice, to not invite death to come looking for them. Crane nodded, the apology lingering in his eyes, not on his lips. Brecken lowered his hand, but Crane grabbed his wrist, catching fore- and middlefinger between his lips, slowly sucking them. Brecken's smile was all gleaming teeth. He pushed his fingers further into the warmth of Crane's mouth, their pressure a pleasant weight on his tongue. His other hand continued stroking and again Crane moaned, this time around the fingers in his mouth, sufficiently muffling the sound. God, how he wanted Brecken to fuck him. Push him up against the wall and fill him with his cock and just bang his god damn brains out. Instead, Brecken seemed insistent on slowly driving him mad. It made him feel weirdly out of his depth. The clever fingers took their time, exploring, teasing and the green eyes never wavered in their attention towards him, while his own threatened to fall closed with bliss. Finally, he let them. Surrendered. There was no need to keep looking over his shoulder. No need to fear prying eyes. There hadn't been since he left the military, really. But by then secrets had become his second nature; a form of self protection that at least gave him the illusion of control, even if it left him lonely and at constant odds with the world. And he realised that he would happily leave all of that behind. “Please...” he whispered. “Please don't stop.”
The rain had slowly subsided. Water dripped from the roofs in an unsteady pattern, too little and too late to wash away the piles of rot in the streets, but the air at least tasted all the cleaner for it. He took it in deep gulps as he tried to regain control over his breathing, his body still pulsing, still glowing. He leaned against Brecken, who had given so generously, and Brecken in turn wrapped him in a gentle embrace. They stood there for a while, sharing the fresh black air seeping in through the cracked windows and even the sounds of the surrounding night were not enough to disturb the peace Crane felt right now. If anything, the moaning and the mindless shrieks made him pity the creatures who were unable to find rest until the last meat had fallen from their bones or somebody cut them to pieces. He shuddered at the horrors of such existence, even if there was no mind left to feel it.
“You cold?”
The question made him smile and he shook his head as it rested against Brecken's shoulder. Never in his life had he felt warmer.
He lifted his head and looked into Brecken's face. He was met with a lopsided grin.
“Well. You are full of surprises.”
“You have no idea.” Crane said in a low murmur.
Brecken suddenly grew serious. “You're right, I don't.” It didn't sound reproachful, just sad, and it made Crane's heart clench painfully.
“I've seen you fight, I've seen you run…” His fingers traced the stubble on Crane's jaw, and his eyes went soft as he added: “And now I've seen you fuck. Yet I still have no bloody idea who you are or why you're here.” His lips touched Crane's for the briefest of seconds. “I wish it were different, is all. I wish you would trust me enough to tell me.”
Crane swallowed around the bitter lump in his throat. The need to come clean battled with his guilt. Go on, tell him that all you did was lie to him and manipulate him from the day he took you in. Sacrificing his people because you're a man on a mission. For a bunch of AAA assholes. That's gonna go so swell...
“Ask me anything.” he said quietly, closing his eyes to prepare for the inevitable question.
“Who are you?”
Kyle took a deep breath. To late to turn back now. “I'm a freelance operative, working for the GRE.”
Brecken's face fell. “You're … what??”
The pang of guilt that hit him at the sight made his stomach cramp. “I'm a GRE agent.” he repeated, “or at least I used to be. I'm.. I'm not working for them anymore.”
He told Brecken everything. It was like he had predicted, once he had started, there was no turning back, no stopping until he had spilled everything and as he watched Brecken's face slowly turn to stone he himself grew colder and colder. “I'm so sorry.” he said at the end, voice barely above a whisper. “I should have told you sooner.” he stared at his hands, avoiding eye contact because the bitter disappointment in Brecken's face was nothing he could handle. But as the silence stretched, he risked a glance and saw Brecken starring at him, jaw tight and shoulders clenched, like he was ready to scream at him. But Brecken said nothing. Instead he stood, grabbed his clothes and headed out without another word.
“Harris...” Kyle pleaded, reaching out to touch him. But the look Brecken shot him was enough to make him reconsider. So he drew back his hand and shut his mouth and hung his head in defeat as he was left to contemplate thousand different ways of saying sorry and how to fix something like this.
When he couldn't take it anymore, he went out and up to the roof where Brecken stood, looking out into the night. Biters wandered aimlessly through the streets below. They seemed more human in the dark, where no light illuminated the state of their decaying flesh, the rotten faces and bloodshot eyes in which no mind was found, only the void. They seemed like sleepwalkers, who had left their beds to seek the counselling of the moon, their sad grunts and longing moans a language the waking world had no means to understand. Their peacefulness was also an illusion, a lie that concealed the horror like the pale light concealed their true nature.
Brecken did not turn around to face him, but a subtle shift in his body told Crane he was very well aware of his presence. Tentative he laid his hand on Brecken's back. Warm muscles tensed under his palm, but his touch wasn't shrugged off, so he grew bolder and rested his forehead against the other's shoulder. Brecken sighed, but still he made no move to show him that his touch wasn't welcome.
“Please, Harris,” he whispered. His other arm wrapped itself around Brecken's waist and he leaned in, nestling himself against his back. “It's dangerous out here. Please come back inside,” he said, the urgency in his voice hushed by the need to keep quiet. “I can go and sleep somewhere else, if you don't want me around.”
Brecken sighed. It sounded nothing but weary and tired.
“I am too exhausted to argue with someone who just literally blew my mind, you manipulative little shite,” his voice sounded weary, too. “So please don't be ridiculous, Kyle.”
Kyle swallowed at the harsh words, but he didn't break away from the touch. To his surprise, Brecken's hand came to rest upon the arm slung around him and he sighed again. He didn't turn around, but Kyle could feel him slowly relax.
“I'm sorry, mate. It's just..., sometimes it's just so hard to keep it together. I know there are people depending on me. Looking up to me, a lousy parkour instructor, can you imagine that? They call me their leader and they want me to tell them that everything's going to be alright, but I felt more and more like all I had to offer them were lies. Lies and failure of epic proportion that is, but they still trusted me... even when I was ready to give up. And then you came.” Brecken shook his head. “You have no idea, how important you became to me. Not only as a runner. But also as a friend. I shouldn't get mad because you were honest with me. I'm glad you were, really. It... It explains a lot, you know. I was often wondering how you managed to do the things you did. Makes much more sense now I know you're basically James fucking Bond.”
Crane gave a soft laugh. “I wish. Than I could act like an asshole all the fucking time and in the end I would still save the day and get the girl.”
Brecken turned to face him, finally. He studied his face and Crane found himself transfixed by the keen eyes. “Well, I don't know which girl you're after, but if you play your cards right, you might still have a chance.”
“Thank you.” Something warm is blooming inside his chest. “No more lies. I promise.”