all the planes have been grounded
cw mentions of war + violence, alcohol (they drink some beer but nothing happens)
What a view.
The Earth, far below, blue and green and white, dotted here and there by what one could only assume were explosions from the war-ravaged factions.
Here on Rhadamanthus, high above anything else, so mighty and distant, everything felt so insignificant. Reports still came in from below, numbers and statistics, so desensitised to the fact that those were real people, too. Thousands of people were killed every single day, all in the name of supposed peace.
Aoidos never seemed to care about those people. They cared (ha) about their workers, the scientists scurrying about like starving rats through a maze, the soldiers armed to defend the Beanstalk, the ever-replaceable faces in front of squares of light that blended together into a meaningless jumble.
There were the civilians protected in Elysium, of course, but those were a trophy, a shiny distraction for Aoidos to say 'Look at us! We care so much! We keep people safe and protected! Nothing can ever get us on the Beanstalks!', a pretty sticker slapped over a glaring hole.
It made Klaus sick.
Aoidos only chose the civilians that were pretty, the ones that news stations could fawn over, could heap praises on them for taking in. Klaus would know; he was the face of the science team, a child genius and orphan, taken in and shined up, presented to the masses as a palatable hope. He only ever had scripted appearances, a dog on a leash, never allowed to snarl and bite at them, to tell the world the truth.
Aoidos didn't have a plan.
They had found the Conduit, yes. Kept it away from the Saviorites, were studying it, presenting it as a gift, a beacon of both metaphorical and literal light. But even in the months (years, nearly) they had been studying it, they still understood so little.
And yet! And yet.
Klaus had learned to rein in his temper from a young age. His peers hated him for being so smart, gifted at everything he did, picking fights and taunting him. Prospective parents would never choose the angry child, though, the child who lashed out, impatient and afraid and desperate to be loved.
(It hadn't mattered, though. Klaus had done his best to be quiet, put on a pretty smile, to be smart but not too smart, and none of it had ever mattered.) (He had been small and scrawny, always the last to be picked for sports and games. Had there ever been a chance he wouldn't be the last to be picked in any other situation?) (So he grew up, went to school, made people pay attention to him. He was smart, clever, hardworking. He got his degree, and then he got another one, and another one. Then people noticed him.)
Seeing all the destruction and violence in the world had made him angry. Furious at the injustice of it all. It was not limited to the war. Kids had fought with each other in the home. Strangers fighting in the streets. Family members pitted against each other.
None of it mattered. Where was the unity? The peace everyone proclaimed they wanted? No one ever worked for it. No one ever tried.
Klaus could change that, he knew it. If he could just get the opportunity, he would make other people see.
But, oh, he was impatient. He had never been good at the long game, waiting his opponent out. Aoidos had first noticed him when he was nineteen, had offered him a scholarship and a job. They had applauded his effort in university, chasing his multiple doctorates. It was a decade, now, more or less, five years since he joined the team on Rhadamanthus, and still there was no progress. If anything, things had gotten worse.
The Saviorites were becoming more confident. They had bases on every continent, enlisting support from civilians and foreign governments alike. They were determined.
Klaus stared emptily into the night sky. So many late hours he spent here, contemplating the futility of it all. All was quiet around him, all the other overachievers having retreated to bed at long last. He would be surprised if anyone else was awake, aside from the handful of guards still on rotation.
It was empty, meaningless. Nothing they did ever changed anything. The Conduit was extraordinary, compelling, but it refused to give away any information, instead a steady pillar of incomprehension. It was far greater than human minds could understand, but Klaus vowed to interpret at least a portion of its knowledge.
He glanced past his reflection, instead making eye contact with the silver shine of Galea. She looked tired, hair loose around her shoulders, clothed in a dark tank top and red satin pyjama bottoms.
"Klaus," she said, voice scratchy from exhaustion. "You need to sleep."
Klaus smiled mirthlessly, eyes moving back to look at their blue planet. She used to ask why he was up, if he'd even gone to his room, or, on more fanciful nights, what he was thinking about.
"At least stop staring out the window," she said, eyebrows low. When she reached out, he let her take his hand, guiding him down long metal hallways that all blended together in the existential fog.
The touch grounded him, somewhat, the sensation of her tough calluses against his soft palms. It was just one of the things he admired about her- she was a worker, she worked on things with her whole heart, throwing herself in, not afraid to get her hands dirty. She was always right there next to someone, a friend and a partner.
How lucky was he? That she had reached out to him, had seen him as more than just a genius professor? She saw him as a person, unafraid to point out his mistakes, to critique him and help him become better.
She pushed him to do more, and she didn't even realise it. It was the way she encouraged others, the way she took charge, had confidence in her own skills. She didn't leave others out to dry, or take credit when she had done nothing (and when had she ever done nothing? Neither of them could ever be content to sit back and watch).
He had gone from watching one world to another- from staring at a ruined planet to looking at a woman he was glad to orbit. He laughed to himself.
"What?" Galea snapped, pausing to look at him.
I love you, he said. You make life bearable. I wish I could stop the world for a moment, just to pause and breathe with you. I want to see all the amazing things you do, if you would let me.
"I love you," he said.
Galea closed her eyes, inhaling long and slow through her nose. After a quiet moment that stretched on, she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, back and forth.
"Come on," she murmured. He followed her obediently, silently, trailing her like a shadow. From this angle, just a step behind her and to the side, he could watch the muscles of her back shift, the angle of her shoulder blade sharpening as her arm moved, hand still held in his.
He had been in her room before, of course. They had shared notes, meals, conversations stretching late into the night. She left him in the doorway, letting go of his hand to turn on a low lamp.
Her room had always been surprisingly impersonal. Few decorations, unless you counted piles of paperwork and notes. She had a single framed photo of her family, and a handmade throw blanket she said came from her great-aunt.
"Sit down," she said, gesturing to the couch. "You've been here often enough, you can make yourself at home."
Wasn't that a thought? To share a home with her. He sat slowly, sinking into the worn cushion.
"Here," she said, sitting next to him, handing him a bottle of beer, cold with condensation.
"It's been a while since we've done this," she continued, pulling her feet up onto the seat and tucking them under herself. "Just sat, shared a beer. It's a bit late, though." She raised an eyebrow at him, taking a short swallow.
He watched her throat bob, hands fidgeting on the twist-off cap. "Sorry...?"
She snorted, leaning forward to set her beer on the coffee table. She had to lean halfway across him, her long silver hair swinging forward with the movement.
"I don't know why I'm even surprised anymore," she said, mostly to herself. "You avoid sleep like it's the plague."
Klaus rolled his eyes, but he didn't deny it. Wordlessly, he handed his bottle back to her, as though to ask her to open it. She rolled her eyes back, a short exhale of a laugh through her nose, but complied, the cap twisting off with a hiss.
"What's going on, Klaus?" She asked, hair longer than a moonbeam. "You've been so distant lately. Is it still the Conduit?"
He chewed the inside of his lip, expression moued. He picked absently at the paper label, damp scraps sticking to his nails.
"Everything's just getting worse and worse. All of our progress- but it feels like we're moving backwards. The Saviorites are getting cocky. Does any of it even matter anymore?"
"Of course it matters!" Here, late at night, her eyes were dark without their usual contacts. Rich and endless. "It may not feel like it, but we are making a difference."
What difference? They were faceless workers to Aoidos, forgettable. Everyone was so focussed on the war, ignoring the climate disaster; no one actually cared to fix things!
The Conduit had allowed them to find it, he was sure of it. The Conduit was right there, an answer to all their prayers. If he could harness its power- well! Things could actually change! They could rewrite the world!
Galea could never understand. The Conduit had chosen him. She was content to do her meaningless tasks, refining the AI for the Trinity Processor (but they would not need personalities to connect to the Conduit! They were just wasting time!), but Klaus knew he could fix everything.
I'm there, and you're here, he thought, desperate for her to understand, to stand with him on the edge of a new world.
"When's the last time you slept, Klaus?" Her voice was soft, catching his attention once more. He hadn't even taken a sip of beer yet. "And I mean actually slept, like, at least six hours."
Klaus groaned, sinking back into the couch and taking a long drink. "Time is meaningless, Galea," he said sagely.
She shoved him, beer sloshing over the lip of his bottle and spilling on his blue shirt. He laughed, drinking again, shoving her back gently.
"This isn't healthy. How are you supposed to change the world if you're not at your best?"
Playing that card, was she?
"I'm always at my best," he sniffed.
"I'll believe that when you actually brush your own hair," she said, taking her bottle and curling back against the armrest.
Later, he would claim he absolutely did not squawk, instead making a noise to indicate his offence and indignation. How dare she!
But in that moment, he squawked, mock outrage and genuine offence. How dare she! His most trusted confidant, his friend and ally.
Galea was laughing, hiding her bright grin behind her hand. Her eyes twinkled in the low light. And in this quiet night, how could he not love her? He was not so arrogant as to say she completed him (they both could stand alone), but they had a balance, a delicate equilibrium he would not upset.
I love you, too, said her eyes, her shoulders, the toes she pressed under his thigh.
What words could be said that mattered more than their shared silence? To be together was a comfort, a quiet unspoken relief. There was no need to interrupt it.
Her old-fashioned clock ticked evenly into the night, unrelenting. Empty beer bottles sat together, sweating on ring-marked wood (Klaus swore he would bring her coasters to stop the damage from continuing, but he always forgot). A contemplative calm, hazy thoughts drifting, lulling them away.
Klaus sighed. "It's late-" he started.
"Stay with me," she said. "Just- stay with me?"
He could do that.
"Take off your coat, silly," she said, smile quirking as they stood. His brain took too long to catch up, her hands already rising to push at his shoulders. With her heels off, they were almost the same height. Klaus was frozen, patiently enduring her help, breath shallow as her hands ghosted by his throat to undo his tie.
The standard-issue beds were almost uncomfortably small, but they had dealt with worse in the past. Klaus slid under the sheets, folding himself against the wall. Galea followed after him, pausing to click off her lamp (what a small space it was, that that little lamp could light the whole room), and then rolling on her side to settle next to him.
In the darkness, he pretended his eyes had already adjusted, imagined seeing the fall of her hair across her face.
Like this, she was untouchable, unknowable. Her arm was folded between them, the edge of her little finger resting against his chest. She was right here, but there was a gulf between them.
"Go to sleep," she mumbled into her pillow. Klaus laughed through his nose, shifting to get comfortable. Their knees knocked together. Grumbling, Galea started swatting vaguely at him, hand climbing from his hip to find his face.
He caught her hand as it came to his cheek, turning to press a kiss to her palm. She exhaled gently, tangling their fingers together and bringing them to her chest. Slowly, her breath evened out, a faint whistle through her nose almost covering the persistent ticking of her clock.
He closed his eyes, but didn't fall asleep.