What's In A Name

by TamLin

"Put on my jacket, Dubby."

She looked at him as if he was nuts. It was a look she gave him – a lot. And it was usually over mundane things that he got it too. Sure, she could take insect-porcine aliens, zombifying aquatics and poltergeist infected tap shoes without batting an eyelash but he was the one that those 'looks' were reserved for. He was always vaguely proud of that fact for some strange, perverse reason.

"You'll freeze," she protested and he gave a chuckle that came out sounding weaker than he would have liked.

"I think that's the point."

-

freezer in the Love Boat's Ice Creamery a notorious den of teenage after-school hijinks and early dating rituals

15 minutes after averted apocalypse

The freezer of the Love Boat's Ice Creamery – a notorious den of teenage after-school hijinks and early dating rituals was surprisingly sparse of anything but – well, ice cream, Wendy thought as she helped her boss limp into the walk in ice box. One of his arms was over her shoulders and he was actually putting weight on her – which meant he was really in trouble. Usually that meant they'd saved the day and he gotten hurt and now it was time to go back to the Middleheadquarters for a bag of ice, a non-sympathetic quip from Ida and a tall glass of milk. Usually. Because they had managed to save the day and avert the water to molten lava apocalypse the Lachesisarian aliens had planned for their newest amusement park colony complete with lava flume rides when the water mains of the city exploded into fiery ore – and Boss had gotten hurt. But they weren't headed back to Middeheadquarters and the freezer of the ice cream parlor was a heck of a lot bigger than a Ziploc of ice.

"I mean it, Dubby. As functional and stylish as your uniform choice is, it won't keep you warm for long. My jacket has built in heating fibers."

"You just miss subjecting me to Hitler's smoking jacket at work everyday" she answered as she helped lower him to the floor. He chuckled again, that quiet sound of his and then grunted as he settled onto the ice cold concrete of the floor. Not that he was wrong. The freezer was – well, freezing! Wendy lowered herself onto the cold floor as well, wincing as the cold seeped up through her butt now to match the cold that was seeping into her skin from the rest of the air. She from Miami for gosh's sakes. She was a heat-oriented creature.

The Middleman was fumbling with the buttons of his jacket. Something about the fact that those long fingers of his, usually so capable and steady, were having a hard time with something as simple as buttons scared her on a bone deep level and when she shifted around to face him, she rested the outside of her thigh against his. Just – you know – for the shared warmth. That and – and she always felt a little bit better – like things were going to be okay – when she touched him.

"You're sure this is going to work?" she asked, possibly, if not for the hundredth time at least for the six or seventh and he smiled that close lipped smile of his that said he was putting on his 'Dudley Do-right' in the face of adversity as she reached out and started to unbutton his jacket for him.

"Lachesisarians are notorious heat seekers. Their native planet is hundreds of times hotter than ours. If a regular weather pattern of temperatures makes them uncomfortably cold then a stint in a freezer should make things unbearable."

She wondered if he was playing 'Nature Channel' to inform her so she could store it away with the rest of her Middlelore like usual or if he was trying to distract her. Probably both. Because when his jacket came off and revealed what was under it – she wanted to scream she felt so angry. And so helpless.

The Lachesisarians wore small clips that let them take on just about any form. The only way you could distinguish them when they wanted to look human was their aversion to anything cold – a nearby hot chocolate bar with a soaring business during one of the city's record heat waves had been what had tipped them off to the Lachesisarian presence. Wendy had picked up on that pretty quickly and they'd 'saved the day'. Again. The only problem with all of that informative goodness was that when they weren't in 'camouflage' form pretending to be human, the Lachesisarians were – well, they looked like giant slugs to her. Eyeless, earless and unfortunately not mouthless, one of the aliens the size of her mother's favorite oversized frying pan had attached itself to the Middleman's chest. Salt apparently didn't work but cold was supposed to. They'd already used up their frost guns supply and the local fire extinguishers. Hence the duck into the freezer of the local preteen drama center of the world. Luckily it wasn't opening time yet – school was still in.

Unluckily – that slug was killing her boss.

He winced as he shifted his shoulders to help get himself out of his jacket and the white of his shirt around the slug's body went a little bit redder. He gave her one of his grins.

"Don't worry, Dubby" his voice was that slightly lower note he got when he was being serious and reassuring. "I'm trained, remember? I'm used to extremes. The Lachesisarian will give up before I do." He nodded to the jacket she was now holding. "Now put it on and tuck your fingers in. Frostbite starts in the extremities, you know."

It was the third time he'd called her 'Dubby' in less than ten minutes. The nickname he always used when he was being reassuring, affectionate or serious was starting to make her really worry. She struggled into his jacket and then, telling herself it was for his comfort and not just hers, she slipped her hand into his larger one and wound their fingers together.

"Nothing to it, Boss" she agreed. "Navy SEALS eat slugs for breakfast, right?"

He chuckled softly and leaned back against the wall of the stacks of frozen ice cream barrels but she felt the way his fingers tightened, strong and reassuring, on hers. Because it wasn't the cold she was worried about. It was the fact that there was so much blood. She hadn't seen what a Lachesisarian mouth looked like in slug form. But in fake human form it had teeth. Lots and lots of rows of really sharp looking teeth.

The Middleman's jacket was warm and she tucked her free hand up into the sleeve of it. It was warm – like him. Warm and oversized and it smelled like the soap he used when she tucked her nose down into the collar of it. Like him. It made her feel surrounded and safe.

Like him.

It was ridiculous that a modern day woman that lived in a busy city in a lower rent area and was Sensei Ping trained counted on someone else to feel safe. She was a single girl and she was Cuban. Women like her were tough. She could take care of herself. Now that she was a Middleman in training better than ever in fact. And she faced down evil, monsters, robots and aliens every day without feeling really afraid. But – the Middleman made her feel safe. He always had. Even when there was nothing she needed to feel safe from.

"So are you coming to Art Crawl?" she asked. Because he'd closed his eyes and she noticed that muscle in his jaw was standing out even though his face was relaxed. Was it eating its way through him? He'd tell her if it was, wouldn't he?

No. He wouldn't. He'd just count on that stupid Code 47 to make things better afterward.

Sometimes she thought all his Code 47 messages were Gommer Pile upbeat because he didn't want to say anything serious on them that would haunt her later.

Jerk.

Thoughtful, selfless jerk.

He smiled but didn't open his eyes and to her at least it looked a little strained.

"I'd like that" his voice was normal enough, even though it misted the air in front of him. She was stupidly glad that he never seemed to mind talking to her. She tended to talk when she got nervous and had nothing active to do. He cracked one eye open to look at her and gave her hand in his a squeeze. "You did schedule it on Tuesday after all."

Tuesdays. For some reason the world didn't usually seem interested in ending on Tuesdays. Mostly, Wendy suspected, because it knew it had a long week ahead of it and didn't feel like burning all its energy and having nothing left in case it didn't end and really did have to drag its way through the rest of the week. That's why they'd scheduled it for Tuesday. Not like the people that lived in her building or came to the Crawl worked regular schedules anyway.

"Well, good. Because it's a supernatural theme this time and Lacey and I are decorating our hallway with fake cobwebs and glow in the dark stars."

He smiled to show he was still listening even though his eyes had closed. Like he actually cared and was just – well, if not just as excited as she was – still excited. And not just in that 'well, its important to you so I'll pretend to care for your sake' kind of way but in the way a little boy got interested when he was presented with something new and couldn't wait to see how it turned out. He was always like that. Interested in her world like it was something new and special and surprising. Interested in her that way.

"I look forward to seeing what you've painted since the last time," he told her cheerfully. At least as cheerfully as someone that probably couldn't feel their lips anymore and had a giant slug trying to burrow its way through your chest could sound. "And to hearing Mr. Noser's famed 'stump the band'. I'm sure Lacey will be doing another of her monologues as well?"

Lacey. It should have been awkward but it just felt – it felt right. Weird, but right. Because Wendy loved Lacey too and she couldn't imagine anyone not. It was just – it was just –

She was glad she didn't have to share 'Sexy Boss Man' with Lacey. They were best friends. They shared everything. Clothes, shoes, food, money, movies, emotions, tears and laughter. It was just – Wendy – she really was just glad she didn't have to share the Middleman too. And it wasn't in any jealous way either, it was just –

He was hers. He could be with her friends and she even liked that on the strange, rare occasions when he momentarily did but – he was hers. He wasn't Lacey's boyfriend. He was – he was 'Wendy's boss'. Hers. And she didn't get why that was so important – but it was.

She'd feel more guilty about it too if he hadn't made it so obvious if he'd really wanted to date Lacey he would.

Funny. She didn't feel that way about sharing Tyler –

"Oh, yeah. We worked this whole thing out with - Oh – crap! What time is it?" She looked at her Middlewatch and groaned. "I was supposed to meet Tyler at the Fat Boy's Ice Rinkaporium."

"I didn't know you could ice skate" the Middleman quipped and she made a noise and slumped against his shoulder.

"I can't. But Manservant Neville just opened it so that the inner city kids could get off the streets and pursue their Olympic and Icecapade dreams and Tyler was going to teach me how to skate."

The Middleman made that approving noise of his in his throat but she noticed it was quieter than usual and he didn't open his eyes. She shot a worried look at the slug. The red stain that was covering most of the usually pristine white shirt- had it gotten larger since she'd looked last time?

"Well, if you need to call young Tyler go right ahead." 'Young' Tyler. As if less than ten years was really all that much. Except – it wasn't the years that made such a difference… The Middleman's smile that – somehow – never managed to be wry even when it should have. "Its not as if I'm going to interrupt with anything news worthy in the next few minutes." His thumb rubbed weakly over hers. Reassurance she was sure but it just made her heart tight and painful in her chest. "Ice skating is an invigorating and pleasurable past time. Tell him we should be done here soon."

That wasn't reassuring at all.

"No. It's okay. He'll understand." She hated that slug at this moment. Hated it the way she'd never hated anything before. Not because it had made her miss ice skating – which she'd been dubious about anyway. And not because Tyler wouldn't understand her not showing up – because, the weird thing was – he would. But because there it was – stuck to her boss and he was freezing and bleeding and – and maybe dying – and Wendy wasn't ready to lose him yet.

She knew she wasn't ready to be the Middleman. Or Middlegirl. Or whatever. Sure, she could handle the weird stuff but she knew that whenever anything came up, the Middleman would be there and he'd have a solution. Yeah, they'd fight the evil together and sometimes they pulled off their 'salvation of the world' by the skin of their teeth and quick improvisation but – but the Middleman was always the one who knew what was going on and how to fix it. She never felt over her head when he was around simply because he'd have some obscure knowledge about the situation that would make it all make sense.

But she wasn't ready to lose him yet because – because she needed him. In this weird, totally non-codependent way. She thought – even if she never saw him again – she'd still need to know he was out there. Somewhere. Things just didn't seem right any other way.

"Hey, Boss?" she kept his now lax hand in hers and scooted around until she was sitting behind him. Careful she nudged him until he was leaning back against her chest, the back of his head in the curve of her shoulder. He let her, actually seemed to relax a bit as his back settled against her. It meant something – when someone like him trusted you enough to be weak in front of you. She didn't think he did that for anyone else. "Thanks for not telling me I should go."

His weak chuckle and his fingers weakly squeezed hers.

"No, Wendy. Thank you for not being the kind of person that would."

She shut her eyes for a minute and rested the side of her cheek against the top of his head. He knew her. He trusted her.

"Boss?" she asked softly after a long moment and it was a longer moment before he grunted his reply. They'd be 'done here soon' he had said. She believed him because he'd said it. But he hadn't said whether it would be soon because they'd win.

Or because she was going to lose everything.

"Can I ask you a question?" It suddenly seemed important. So important. And yet she suddenly felt… shy. Wendy Watson – felt shy. After a long moment, his voice, drowsy, answered with only a mild slur:

"First Amendment says go."

And yet, she hesitated. What if he did die? What if this really was the 'over soon' that she'd always pretended she didn't know was probably going to happen one day? What if she really did have to listen to his cheerful, encouraging 47 and wonder what he'd really wanted to say but hadn't wanted to hurt her with? Light, barely there, she reached up with her free hand and touched his hair. She pressed her lips together and then quietly asked:

"What's your real name?"

He wouldn't tell her. She'd gotten that much. When you became a Middleman you gave up your name. Everything that went with it. It was a mental thing and she got that. She got that being called 'Boss' kept a distance between them too. If he was 'Boss' than there wasn't any confusion about him being - anything else. She got all that – it was just –

It was just she couldn't imagine remembering him and only being able to call him 'Boss' in her head for the rest of her life.

He wouldn't tell her. But she had to ask.

"Michael."

It was a barely there whisper and she might have imagined it. But 'Michael'... And the first thought wasn't to translate it to 'Mike' and think of what an honest and straightforward name that was for a man like him. No. Her very first thought was her mother taking her to church as a kid and the stained glass windows above the candles. There had been a Michael there. With great white wings and a sword of flame in one hand and a little lamb in the other. The archangel Michael, lord of the armies of God.

'Be not afraid' Michael.

"Michael" she murmured it back but he didn't answer, breathing slow and even against her chest. Michael. Her Michael. And she knew she'd never tell anyone. Then her eyes narrowed.

Wendy Watson.

Guy Goderson.

Michael…

"Wait a minute" she was surprised to feel almost indignant. "Don't tell me your last name start with an M."

For a minute there was no response. And then his lips – his 'pillow lips' – slid into that secret smile of his that said he wasn't going to answer but what he knew was amusing.

Angel her ass!

And just as she was torn between hitting him and going on a laughing/crying jag – the slug shuddered and slipped off of him onto the floor of the freezer, gray and lifeless. What it left behind was too much of a mess of blood, cloth, and slug goo to make much out of but Wendy didn't see anything pumping or moving in the mess and that had to be a good sign.

"Come on, Boss" she slid out from behind him and helped him struggle to his feet, bearing most of his weight. But he stood. He moved his legs. He held her closer against his side than was needed to help him get around. She found herself smiling stupidly and couldn't seem to stop. "The Middlemobile's right outside. Let's get you back to Ida."

They were going to be all right. They were.

She blasted the slug into oblivion before she shut the door on the freezer.