Everytime
It was Dark in Agent Six's room. The man had pulled his tie off at 11, the jacket was gone by twelve, and his shoes had found themselves abandoned on the floor once 1 had rolled around. He sat now, barefoot, and half dressed at his desk. The small lamp next to him provided the only light in the room as he stared down at the five leather books sitting innocently on the tabletop. The snifter of amber liquid swirled its contents around.
Each of the five books were in various states of disrepair. He knew that a sixth, and very similar book existed; it was down the hall and under a mattress. That is where Rex always hid his journal. Every time. Six knew that eventually, that book would join these. Six gently stroked the oldest book. When he had pulled it and its siblings from their hiding place, he had scraped it against one of his hidden blades. There was now a fresh line in the already scarred surface. On an impulse, and knowing what he was beginning would have to be followed out to the end, he pulled the old leather notebook closer to his body, and opened it to the first page.
"Six gave me this Journal. He says that if I forget again, I can read this and at least know a little about my past. So, to the future me. Our name is Rex, and right now, we are 16 years old. Or, close enough anyway. See, no one is quite sure, and Holiday says that I fit the specs for-"
Six closed the book gently. He could recite most of it already anyway. When the first Rex was gone, he had been 19. Six hadn't really believed that Rex would phase out, not again. Six waited and by the time Rex had, well, lets just say he was old enough to make certain decisions. The sudden, total, loss of the first Rex and his still too new confession had almost broken the older man.
Six pushed the first book away, and tried to push his memories with it. After a few moments, he reached out and touched the second book in the series. This book was the thickest by far. The second Rex was the only one to get his past journal. At once, he became totally obsessed with recording everything about himself to an almost insane degree. He tried too hard to be like the 'other' Rex, and he didn't get any chance to be his own. And through it all, he wrote, recorded. He scheduled out his meals, his height his weight. His journal looked more like a scientist's experiment than a real journal in some places. Six learned from him that he could not show the journals each Rex had to live their own life, and learn his own identity. Besides, even when they didn't know, they all ended up in the same arms anyway. Six pushed that thought away even as he tugged the journal towards himself, opening it to a random page.
"For breakfast today, I had three trips of bacon, two fried eggs, and a short stack of pancakes. Lunch was a baloney sandwich, no crust, cut in half. Bobo says that tonight we are having meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I wonder if I like them as much as he did. Maybe I can go check the old notebook. I might have missed something. I saw Six today in he hallway to White's office. He was wearing his green suit, like always. I'm gonna tell him tonight. I just have to get up the courage to ask hi-"
Six shut the book with a snap. That was a bad page to pick. He reached out, and gently drew the small glass of whisky into his hand, staring into its golden depth before taking a small sip. The liquid glowed with warmth as it slid down his throat. The slight burning sensation helped him steel himself to continue. He had started this, and now he had to finish it. If he didn't, it would be unfair to those who came after.
The third Rex was 23 when he came, and he was the gentlest incarnation. Six brushed his fingers over the scarred cover of the journal, though it was the most well cared for of them all. Six had been wary of the cycle then, he had spent most of his time avoiding him in a way that he just hadn't with any of the ones who came before or after. Still, he was Rex, and Six never had a chance. Not really. He opened the journal gently, smiling a little at the odd formation of the entries. This Rex hadn't written a diary. The third Rex had written a book of poetry.
"Did you ever notice,
black ink can be red?
Did you ever notice,
the stars are not stars?
Did you ever notice,
the way look at you?
Did you ever notice,
the way I feel about you?
Did you ever notice,
Me?"**
Six reached under the lens of his shades to wipe away the slight moisture there. He sat for a moment, remembering before forcing himself to move on. He still had two journals and two loves to get through.
Rex's fourth incarnation had a vendetta. It was almost as if he had been trying to make up for the peaceful nature of his previous life. At 26, everything about him was hard, hot and fast. Everything. He didn't care much for his journal, so there were only a handful of entries before it had been abandoned altogether. Six flipped open the cover of the book to read the messy scrawl that was imbedded on the page.
"They tell me my name is Rex. I don't know if I believe them or not, but I will find out the truth."
That was the first thing written on the thick, unlined paper of the book; it took up an entire page. Rex hadn't lasted long, but he was fire branded on everyone's memory. For Six, the mere sight of that messy writing had sent him instantly back to a night full of fire, sweat, and a warm body moving against his. He pulled himself away from the memory almost impatiently. Out of all of Rex's lives, that was the one that was the one he was least devastated to see go. In fact, when he found out, he had almost been relieved. Not that he was gone, but because the memory failure had happened before something more permanent had happened. Something like getting himself killed. He would miss him, but he would not mourn him. That's the way he would have wanted it anyway.
Six turned to the final book, instantly feeling an ache form in his chest as he regarded the worn leather binding. This pain was the freshest of them all, and the knife still bit deep. He took a moment to swallow a sip from the glass beside him. This Rex was, well, just like him. He had been mostly serious, but with a sense of humor that came out in the oddest times. By the time he had come into being, White had passed and Six had, for the most part, assumed his position of command within Providence. Rex's nature had made it much easier to settle into a leader's less active persona. With Rex as he was, he was reassured that the world could make it without him on the front lines. In so many ways, this Rex had made it infinitely easier to transition than any of his predecessors would have. Six, of course, never told him that.
This new, more mature Rex had slowly, carefully, wedged himself into Six's heart and eventually, his arms. He followed all the proper steps for such a thing, unlike any of those before him. Six loved him for it. Six loved them all, but there was a special little piece of himself that had been lost when that Rex woke up one morning a different person than he was when he went to sleep that night. Six was struck, as he usually was, at how strange it was to grieve for someone who was still breathing, and usually standing next to you. Nevertheless, he was gone.
Six stroked the binding of the last journal, but he could not quite bring himself to open it. He just wasn't ready for it yet. He kissed his fingers and touched them gently on each book in turn, lingering on the fifth just a moment more than the others, before he reluctantly secured them in their protective case, and slid them into the secret compartment in his wall.
He had just finished locking the safe when a low knock sounded from the door. Six glanced at the digital clock that glowed from its position by his bed. It was 2:43 Am. He was right on time. It sill got to him, that some things happened over and over again, no matter the circumstances, no matter the people. They still happened, every time. Things like, the exact day and time that a not-so-young-anymore man would show up at his door, with the same words on his trembling lips. Six moved slowly towards the sound of the knocking. Rex was standing outside, exactly how he always had. There was a certain set to his face that Six only saw on these special visits, and that he used every time.
"I need to tell you something." Rex's voice was slightly rough with nerves, and second or third guesses. Just like every time.
"Come in." Six replied simply, stepping out of the way to allow the dark haired man in. He allowed himself a small, knowing smile as Rex walked past. He knew what Rex would tell him. He also knew that no matter how many times he had learned his lesson before, that he would make the same bittersweet mistake. After all, he made it every time.
In apology to all of those who have read my chapter Fic Trying to Live, and are mentally cutting me to bits and pieces because I haven't updated, this is for you.
This is also an entry to a contest, based on Six for St. Patty's day, though I do not expect to win, as the host is not exactly a fan of SeX.
This is, along with everything else, a fic I wrote just for the love of writing, the love of this pairing, and the love of those who read what I have created.
Please, Read, review, and Criticize.