Contingency Plan- Revamped Version!
A Metalocalypse Fanfic
Rating: Mature, for language, sexual imagery, and violence.
Summary: Charles Ofdensen has two families: Dethklok, and his life with Zoe and Sarah. But when Rawhide resurfaces, will Charles finally have to sacrifice one for the other? Sequel to "Risk Factor!"
Author's Note: STOP! If you have not read "Risk Factor," this story will make little sense to you, as it is a sequel. Please, if you are still interested, take the time to read the original that started it all! I promise you won't be disappointed!
For everyone else, welcome back! It's nice to regroup here! I just can't stop. I was going to take a break from writing, but it's all coming to me so fast I can't look away! Bad news for my sore wrists, great news for you if you're as pumped about this as I am.
This is set just a bit in the future from the end of "Risk Factor." In fact, we've jumped ahead about 3 3/4 years. I'm excited to be writing this with the advent of the 4th season- I took a long break from working on it, though I've had the entire thing planned out in my head since before Risk Factor was even completed. As it is, I'm very happy to see parallels and openings appearing throughout season 4 that give me an excuse to write this very close to canon events. Hopefully this will continue to be viable after the close of S4, but even so, hey- it's just a story.
The only other thing that I can think to say is that there will be (as far as I can see) one or two more minor OC's that crop up besides the pre-established cast, and maybe even one or two scenes that only involve Zoe, but I think by this point she's been received well enough for me to get away with it. And yes, this will be another thriller, with a side order of comedy, romance, angst, and all that other good stuff! So, thank you all for coming back, and enjoy!
Chapter 1
"Unngh." Charles Foster Ofdensen groaned and rolled over, fumbling for the alarm clock snooze button. Without opening his eyes, he found it, and smacked it down, nearly knocking the abused device off the nightstand in the process. It took him a moment longer to process that the alarm clock hadn't been going off in the first place. The small voice came again.
"Daddy? Mommy?" He could hear his beloved Zoe stirring beside him, and he rubbed a hand over his face.
"What time is it?" They were the first words he could think to say. Zoe growled something incoherent at him, blinking at the ceiling.
Charles sat up and turned on the lamp. Sliding his glasses onto his nose, he looked blearily at the door that had squeaked open.
"Sarah? What's, ah...what's wrong?" The three-year-old wiped her eyes and sniffed, clutching her teddy bear closer to her chest.
"I had a bad dream." Her little voice warbled through tears. Charles felt his lips twitch upwards in a sympathetic grin. He sighed, casting a glance at his wife, who was immediately wide awake and pushing herself into an upright position, then beckoned the little girl over.
Sarah's short legs kicked into action, and she trotted across the bedroom and crawled up onto the bed from the bottom. The little girl wiggled up the center of the sheets, nestling herself between her parents. Zoe pulled her close, kissing her temple gently.
"Wanna tell us about it, sweetie?" Mother brushed away the tear streaks from her daughter's cheeks and poked her in the nose with a smile. The little girl nodded, wrapping her pudgy arms around Zoe's neck and looking at Charles with frightened hazel eyes.
"Well, there was a monster, and he had lots of eyes, and a zillion arms, and he was all slimy, and I was in my bed, and he said 'grr! I'm a scary monster!' and I got scared, and I ran and ran, but he caught me and ate me!" It was too much for her to recount. Sarah scrunched her eyes and started to cry again.
Charles didn't mean to chuckle. What got him was the irony. Most parents spent nights like those indulging the children and trying to calm them down, but they were rolling their eyes behind the kid's back. Charles spent his nights taking Sarah's nightmares seriously to heart because of the things he had witnessed in the not-so-distant past. This time was no different, and he found himself trying to picture the beast that plagued his daughter. In his head, he wondered if it more closely resembled a particular lake troll, or, given the fact that she was three and in love with all things colorful, a certain garishly dressed rock-n'-roll clown.
Zoe rocked the little girl back and forth, smoothing her ginger curls and making gentle shushing noises. Charles took his glasses off again, folded them, and set them next to the clock.
"It was just a dream, baby! It'll be okay." The woman beside him crooned, and Sarah eventually quieted. Again, the big, doleful eyes met his. He reached out and gently lifted her chin.
"Would you like to, ah, sleep here tonight?" A brilliant smile flashed across her face, and she nodded with vigor.
Blissfully, Charles sank back against the pillows, watching with a happy eye as the child let Zoe toss the covers over her and lay down, rubbing Sarah's back. She blinked at Charles, who tucked the stuffed animal, which she had abandoned in favor of her mother's arms, in beside her.
"Good night Mommy. Good night Daddy." Sarah murmured, sleep already reclaiming her small body. Charles kissed her forehead before reaching over to turn off the lamp.
"Night sweetie." He whispered, trying to force himself back into the realm of dreams before the alarm clock really did sound off.
Thankfully, Charles was awake before the hellish clock could ruin the finally-peaceful slumbers of his wife and child. The deep blue light of pre-dawn filtered through the shades, and he stretched, careful not to disturb the bed's other occupants. Mornings such as these were to be cherished, as they were a rarity now. To wake in his favorite bed, next to his wife, in his own house...these were not things taken for granted by him, the way they were by most men. He was very careful to never let himself become accustomed to his secret life. He had learned, all too well, just how dangerous of a move that was.
Most men who carried the title Chief Financial Officer were still asleep at 4 am. Most men of any job title were still asleep. They would rise at 6 or 7, depending on what they wished to accomplish before returning to the grind, and go about their business, working out, dressing, eating breakfast. They would go to their jobs, make money, and do whatever it was they had to do. At 5 pm, most men were released from the cubicle, and returned home, to eat dinner around the table and talk with their families. Then, they finally retired to bed, just to rise and repeat the next morning. Such were the lives of most men.
But Charles Foster Ofdensen had never been "most men."
Silently, he disarmed the diabolical alarm and slid out from under the sheets. Padding around the room and collecting his clothes for the day, Charles slipped into the adjacent bathroom and slowly closed the door. He made a mental note to fix the obnoxious squeaky hinge at some point in the near future.
The businessman showered, shaved, and dressed quickly. Combing his hair, he grimaced when he noticed the gray that stood out against the chestnut. Even a few strands threw off his image. Without so much as wincing, he plucked out the grays, knowing more would simply form in their place, but making yet another mental note to let Zoe dye his hair when she got the chance.
Back out of the bathroom and across the bedroom. Thus came the tricky part of not waking anyone up- crossing into the hallway. He placed a hand on the doorknob and inhaled.
Charles pried open the door, slid outside, and shut it as quietly and quickly as he could. He breathed out, relaxing. Perhaps that morning was lucky!
The tell-tale rapid fire clacking against the hardwood floor made him slump. Bentley struggled to round the corner without sliding into the wall, heading for Charles. The dog's entire body wagged with the force of his happiness at greeting his master promptly in the morning.
Charles had no idea why he had given into getting a dog. An animal for protection he could understand. But this...this was no such creature. It wasn't even a dog. It was simply a cleaning utility that had been outfitted with four legs, a tail, and a tongue.
The tiny Komondor tried to stop just short of his master, but could do no such thing on the slick floor, and slammed headfirst into Charles' shins. It didn't hurt, but rather managed to slightly annoy him. The dog sat back, shaking his head. Firmly, Charles reached down and picked up the disoriented mop-dog, tucking him under his arm and descending the stairs.
"You are, ah, more trouble than you're worth." He grumbled to the animal, who wriggled in reply.
He set the dog down by the door and reached for Bentley's leash on the coat rack. Bentley twirled in circles, his dread-like coat of fur wafting out like a ballerina's tutu. Charles raised an eyebrow. He didn't have time to try to lasso a moving target.
"Hold still!" He commanded, and the dog actually stopped and looked up at him. Or, at least, Charles assumed the dog was looking at him, because it was a rare moment when Bentley's eyes were actually visible. Finally he slipped the latch of the leash through the d-ring on the dog collar, and punched the alarm code into the keypad by the door.
The fresh air hit him, and he shivered, but breathed deeply. Bentley sniffed the air and then lowered his snout to the porch. He made snuffling noises that almost drowned out the delicate songbird somewhere in the trees that bordered the backyard.
Charles hopped down the stairs, dog in tow, and then started off down the walkway. Bentley, happy to be on his morning walk, finally caught up to his master's strides and bounced along beside him.
Four years he had been doing this, and going out with the strange looking creature by his side still made him want to bury his head in the sand. Charles Ofdensen was not supposed to own a small dog. Charles Ofdensen was not supposed to own any dog, or any pet, for that matter. Charles Ofdensen was not even supposed to own a modernized colonial in the middle of an out of the way town where he secretly stashed his allegedly dead wife and allegedly non-existent daughter, but that was a little easier to swallow and explain than the animated drooling mop, in the long run. But his time at the house, as usual, had come to a close much too quickly.
He couldn't complain. For a man nearing forty-two years of age who was the manager of the biggest band in world history, dealing with the not-so-small repercussions of having a family was a drop in the bucket of life. It was a punch he would gladly take, if Dethklok ever found out. So far, however, they still believed Zoe was long blown to pieces across their lawn.
The streetlights flickered off like clockwork as the sky grew light enough to see by. Charles circled the block at a brisk clip, looking up at the clear sky that still bared the faint, low moon. Bentley panted and inhaled, the scent of the neighbor's new puppy coming to him on the wind.
Returning home from the excursion, Charles looked up longingly at the white house. He had never thought such a cozy place could be called home, but it was definitely a part of him now. He could never choose it over the dark-age comfort of Mordhaus, but it was the perfect place to raise his family.
He checked his watch, and his shoulders fell. Not enough time to make coffee. He looked down at Bentley, who had retrieved his food bowl and dropped it at Charles' feet with a clatter. The CFO groaned, and bent down to pick up the bowl.
He wandered into the kitchen and over to the sink. Bentley followed, nudging Charles' leg in an urge for him to be more expeditious. He opened the cabinet below the door and scooped a cupful of dog food out from the hidden bag. Bentley barked loudly, and Charles shushed him, anger rising.
"'S'okay." A voice caught his attention from the stairs. "I'm already up and Sarah's still out cold." Zoe pulled her silk robe tighter around her shoulders, scuffing towards her husband as he set the food bowl down in the corner.
She walked straight into Charles, wrapping her arms around his waist and yawning into his sternum.
"I know I say this every time, but be careful out there. And come back soon." She whispered, receiving an even tighter embrace. Charles tipped her head up and smiled fondly.
"And I never, ah, cease to take your advice." He leaned in, capturing her lips gently. Zoe pressed him backward into the counter, taking advantage of their small window of time together.
Time flew by. Charles eventually pulled back, gasping, his glasses fogged up from the heat of their combined skin and breath. Zoe giggled, running her fingers through his mussed hair.
"Do you know when you'll be back?"
Charles wiped his glasses on the dishtowel beside him and caught his breath.
"In a couple of days. A, ah, week at most." Zoe's face fell, but she nodded.
"Alright. Just...say goodbye to her this time, okay? She's just..." Zoe trailed off, uncertain, but Charles caught her drift. He looked away.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would, ah, bother her."
The redhead stared at him incredulously.
"Charlie. You didn't think it would bother her? She's your daughter! You leave for days, weeks...months at a time, and you expect me to be able to explain why you're gone every night when she asks 'where's daddy?' It's not an easy task, babe."
Charles sighed and rubbed the nape of his neck after Zoe backed away, filling the coffee pot with water and pouring it into the top of the machine.
"I know. But she's only three!" He protested, grabbing the filters in the cabinet above his head without being asked. Zoe glared at him and snatched the filter away that he held out to her.
"Seriously?" She questioned, hunching her shoulders.
Charles looked at her bristled form and shook his head. Without a word he turned away and climbed to the second floor. Sarah was still asleep in his bed, and he watched her for a moment, leaning against the bedroom wall. When he had no more time to waste, Charles sat down on the edge of the bed and gently shook the little girl's shoulder. She opened her eyes slowly, her fingers curling and uncurling around her teddy bear.
"Daddy?" She looked as bewildered as a three-year-old possibly could. He brushed a piece of her hair out of her face.
"Hello, ah, sweetheart. Did the monsters go away?" Sarah nodded, sitting up and crawling into his lap.
"Listen Sarah...daddy has to, ah, go away again. But it's just for a few days." The child touched the side of his face searchingly, and then reached out for a hug. Charles embraced his daughter, already missing her. The situation made it so difficult for him to watch her grow up, but thus far, he was doing the best he possibly could.
"Okay daddy. I'll miss you." There. There it was. That unwavering trust that he had to stay true to. So many people had such a trust in him- Zoe, Dethklok, certain Klokateers... but only one had the delightful unlearned sensitivity of a child. He smiled and set her back down on his side of the bed, tucking her in. It was too early for her to be awake and stay awake.
"Bye sweetie." He murmured, pecking her cheek and straightening his tie. Grabbing his keys off the dresser, Charles was halfway across the room when Sarah called out.
"I love you, daddy!" He looked over his shoulder at the little girl swallowed up by the giant bed.
"I love you too, Sarah." With that, he was back down the stairs and grabbing his jacket.
Zoe's wrath had filtered out of her with the dripping coffee, and she met him at the door with Bentley. He looked at her wordlessly. They had done this dance so many times before that speaking now seemed inadequate as a goodbye. She followed him out to the Mercedes, which was idling in the driveway from the remote start up. Charles turned when he reached the door, only to find himself being tackled to the lawn.
He landed with a thud, and Zoe giggled. They tousled in the yard for a moment, but Zoe knew enough to let him go before he ended up with grass stains on his suit. He scrambled to his feet, catching Zoe in his arms from behind and burying his face in her shoulder. She laughed when he tickled her ribs, and then leaned back against his chest.
"Call me?" She murmured, turning around and fussing with his suit, his hair, his tie. Charles nodded, and shared a quick kiss with her.
"Bye, Zo." He said as he got in the car. She smiled, tapping the roof of the car twice and retreating to the porch.
Charles pulled out of the driveway and waved at her.
"And for God's sake, make them behave! The news lately has not been pretty!" She called as an afterthought, recalling the Dethklok Minute segment that had dropped her jaw with its stupidity. Murderface's impromptu hospital visit in Poland had not gone unnoticed by the media. Never leave a staple gun within reach of a man who was over-pissing himself due to the practical joking of his bandmates.
Charles drove. He picked up a coffee and muffin on the way, seeing as his stomach growled louder than the morning rock radio that poured through the car stereo. As he drove, he felt the past three days disappear from his face, from his body, and from his entire being. His expression slipped into the well practiced blankness that had been a favorite of his for twenty years. His impatience to start the day at what he considered the best job in the world mounted as the miles rolled by. Dethklok would be returning from Poland a few hours after he arrived, and he planned his day, which included making sure Murderface had plenty of ice on hand, booze ran free, and everyone who didn't need to know of his absence remained in the dark. As his mood changed, he turned the radio dial and caught up with the latest world news, and then tuned into a tax cut discussion.
Finally, Mordhaus rose up in the distance. He pulled onto the small road and was cleared for entrance by the guardian Klokateers. The road ahead widened into the massive, river-crossing highway, and, with little interest in his surroundings or anything other than work, he passed into the belly of Mordhaus' garage.
A family man had woken up that morning and left home reluctantly. Now a businessman was returning home, and was more than ready to start his day.