POV
[Author's note: Another early fic, before I got the AU up and running. This is a sequel to 'Rescue Mission.']
Berg Katse stepped out of the private shower. The last swirls of hair dye disappeared down the drain, along with his humiliation. He studied his bandaged face and chest. Under other circumstances, he would transform, partly healing his injuries. He was still too weak for that. Instead, he would consult one of the few doctors he trusted. A few pints of blood, proper surgery on the damaged blood vessels, and he would be ready to go.
He donned his uniform, feeling renewed with every tug and fastening. Just before the mask, he ran a hand through his hair. Both his personae were rather vain about the long golden tresses he had sacrificed. A necessary loss. It would take a long time to regain that growth.
Don't dawdle. Farquhar needed instruction. It was entirely possible that the science ninja scum would win yet again. The survivors of Galactor had to gather and renew their efforts to take over the Earth.
He heard the knock, and the deferential, "Sir?" His assistant had resumed his proper place. "Come in, Farquhar."
The green mask hid much, but there was no mistaking the young man's reaction to him. He has a man-crush. On me. This was too good to be true.
This man was no ordinary minion, to be tossed bare bones of inspiration and praise. As he gave his instructions, Katse added a small thing that would feed Farquhar's devotion: acknowledgement of their recent shared adventure.
After Farquhar left, Berg Katse half-sat on the edge of his desk. That took more out of me than I expected. Sleazy motels and moving buses were no fit places to sleep.
Still, he was alive and free, thanks to ---
Damn. He laughed softly.
He actually liked Farquhar. How had that happened?
Plenty of minions had showed him proper respect and deference, yet, aside from Helen Geary, he had felt little for them besides tolerance or contempt. There was no shortage of loyal, intelligent, resourceful personnel. So, why this one?
No time to dwell on that. He had a war to win.
***** ***** *****
During the interminable wait under the doctor's care, he thought about recent events. A thousand times during their flight, he could have abused and chastised Farquhar. He would have done so with any other minion. That wretched, filthy van; slinking through the night in search of a doctor because he could not command one; putting up with a lumpy mattress and stained bedding (and he did not want to think of the origins of those stains): all humiliating and beneath him, yet he had not lashed out. He'd been amused by that biker get-up, for heaven's sake!
It's reaction. I've been days without proper rest or food. That's all this is.
"I would normally advise rest, Lord Katse," the doctor said.
"Regrettably, there is no time for that. After we defeat our enemies, I shall take all the time you recommend." An easy sop to throw this man.
"Yes, Lord."