"Briareos. My office, if you please?"
Looking up from his reports, he saw Col. Knute's resigned expression and braced himself for the unknown. If the old officer had been angry, or even annoyed, then that would be something, but his bland amusement didn't bode particularly well.
Not work related. He deduced as he carefully pushed his chair back and stood up. Several months back into the daily grind and he was still adapting. Several years more, and he had a hunch he'd _still_ be adapting. He couldn't help it. Sometimes being back in the old rotunda, crammed in with all the other officers, made him feel like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. He was the proverbial nail that stuck out. The fact that Deunan was usually glued to his side honestly didn't help with the impression much, given how much shorter she was.
Between the pair of them they were not _quite_ the most extreme ends of the spectrum on the team. That honor went to him and Office Monsanto, given the old woman was an awe inspiring 4'11" when standing fully upright. But Deunan was the shortest member of SWAT, and getting stuck next to her in a team portrait was far more likely. Last time, one of the captains had joked that he might as well sit on his heels while she sat across his shoulders in order to try and make everyone fit realistically into the standard rectangular format for a group photo. The resulting mayhem, as _everyone_ tried to take a turn clambering over him like a living jungle gym had been pretty funny in hindsight. But not terribly effective.
Briareos wondered sometimes if maybe Deunan had done her work, making him more approachable, too well. He was glad the cringing had (mostly) stopped. But if the alternative was to become some sort of damned mascot, he wasn't sure he was all that much better off in terms of always drawing a crowd. Better to be loved than feared? He mused as he carefully navigated the narrow space between desks, apologizing for the inevitable bumps and tipped papers.
The room really wasn't geared for someone his size. That they'd found a desk he could even get his knees under, was a blessing, but that didn't mean he could actually get to it some days without some careful choreography. Luckily people seemed to find his constant blundering rather amusing, again owing to the mascot thing. He tried not to sigh in dismay at the way the cute trio of traffic officers all giggled and waved at him as he carefully avoided a mail cart only to step backwards into a railing. He was damned performance art. The urge to go sulk at Deunan down on the track was pretty high. She'd laugh, sure, but at least she seemed to understand.
Weirdly, the other person who seemed to 'get' the awkwardness of his new found role, was her father. The old man looked up as he let himself in to the office, tilting his head sideways to note the still smiling group of girls before sharing a knowing look with him. "Close the door."
"Yessir."
"Work is ongoing to reshuffle space on the floor below so that we can make proper aisles up here for the first time in years. I appreciate your patience."
"It's only when I'm not on the field." He agreed, resigned to feeling cramped in most of the interior spaces of the police headquarters. It wasn't the building's fault that it wasn't designed for guys like him. Hell, parts of the facility were old enough, that he doubted there even _were_ civilian cyborgs on active duty, when it was constructed. "Don't rush on my account."
"I beg to differ. We must rush on your account." Carl Knute smiled sardonically. "Those uppity little do-gooders over at the statehouse will undoubtedly threaten to reduce our funding if we don't prove that we are able to provide a safe and comfortable working environment for an officer with special needs."
"Bloody hell. They make it sound like I'm a cripple or something." He shook his head in disgust. "Everyone's got an agenda for me these days, I swear."
"You must admit, Briareos, you are uniquely qualified to be a 'Poster Child' for any number of causes, regardless of your personal feelings towards involvement in any of said causes... Which I fear, brings me to the topic of the moment."
"Who wants a photo of me now?" He hunched lower in his chair, resigned to yet another fight to retain some semblance of privacy. "And what do I have to do to get out of it?"
His commander looked upwards in a moment of thoughtful meditation braiding his fingers together against his chest. The seemingly serene pose, combined with his chronically wild mop of hair, made the old man look like some sort of bizarre tribal mystic consulting his gods. Carl Knute's gods, Briareos supposed, were the opposing forces of Justice and Practicality. There wasn't much room for mercy under either of their auspices.
"I hope you will appreciate, lieutenant, that the _first_ request I received was that we dress you in some ridiculous futuristic costume armor, and put on a demonstration on the proving grounds with the aid of some of the movie-industry's finest pyrotechnics..."
"Oh god, no. Please no." He buried his face in his hands. "I just... want to do my job. Why can't they let me do my job? If I wanted Hollywood, I'd have gone to Hollywood!"
"Indeed." Colonel Knute sighed in annoyance. "It's hard enough to stay on top of crime in this city without the constant distractions. Frankly at this point I'm forced to consider authorizing the hire of another full time PR person to the department just to deal with requests for _you_. Which while good for overall publicity, is completely untenable."
"Thank you sir."
"Don't thank me, it's an entirely selfish response. You cost too damned much to be put on a shelf. The department paid a disgusting amount of money to the army after your return as a way of soothing ruffled feathers over the whole mistaken identity debacle. And no, you don't need to remind me that you also provided considerable private funds as well. I am aware. But still. You, young man, are bought and paid for by me, twice over, at this point. I intend to get my money's worth out of you. Which cannot be done, if you're not _working_."
"Thank you? I think?" Briareos put his hands down, half tempted to laugh at the rant, despite the fact that the central argument there in was his fundamental indentured slavery to SWAT. As slavery went, it wasn't so bad.
"So." Carl continued, looking his usual stern self. "A compromise has been reached. Namely, you, attending this year's Christmas ball downtown at the Governor's mansion as part of the police delegation. We do an official announcement of your merits and achievements, a short, and may I say _heavily_ edited video of your on-field tactics... _with_ your teammates so that they can see you all in action and pat themselves on the back. The governor and his aides all get a few pictures and handshakes, you get a nice dinner. And we all can get back to work the following morning with the minimum of fuss. I've already contacted the department's tailor on your behalf. Your new dress uniform will be ready a week before hand."
"Eugh." Briareos sat back, already not-looking-forward to the way the stiff feeling coat would pin his arms. "Better than a space-man-costume, I guess."
"Or being asked to show up stripped to the waist." Carl agreed with a wolfish grin, pulling a new cigar from his drawer and retrieving the lighter from his pocket.
"You have got to be kidding."
The older man simply shook his head in disgust. "Everyone wants a spectacle. And apparently dolling you up like some sort of futuristic-berserker is 'in fashion' this year. God help us all."
"Do I dare ask who else is going? Or am I to be thrown under the bus alone on this one?" Briareos swept the wrinkles from his pants, trying to not think of how embarrassing it would have been to be obliged to show up for a formal dinner half naked. Give the choice, he'd wear a damned tuxedo instead, and he _hated_ bow-ties.
"I will be there, naturally. And Captain Foed, who will probably be doing the actual presentation, since he has the flair for such things. Hollister and his wife will be there, so you won't be entirely at sea, in terms of people you know. He's down from the north representing the ICIS, and will enjoy catching up with you, I'm sure. Chief Geonetto and his crew will be representing Fire and Rescue as they do every year. If he tries to sweet talk you into volunteering your services? Don't say yes. They can get their _own_ cyborg. You're ours."
The old man grinned wickedly around his cigar at Briareos' noise of wordless disgust. "Those, I believe, will be the 'friendly' faces at least. As far as who else to watch for? Traci Lords will be there as liaison for central hospital blood and tissue bank. I don't doubt she'll have that horrible Fram woman in tow from the City Cybernetics Clinic and will want to corner you about 'giving back to your new community' in some way. Tell them they'll have to clear it with _us_ first and that you can't make any promises."
"Maybe I can have a training accident the day of..."
"Don't even think about it." His commander vetoed grimly. "They'll just reschedule for some other time, even more annoying."
"Is there anything else I should be aware of?" Briareos resigned himself to a stress-filled evening. "Other than to mind my manners and wipe my nose?"
"The less you say, the better, honestly." Carl agreed calmly. "This may be one of those times, Briareos, where the phrase 'just be yourself' doesn't apply. All I ask is your presence, and you're toleration of events, for a period of time not to exceed five hours. I don't care if you're sleeping on your feet, or filling out the daily crossword inside that armor-plated cranium of yours, so long as you can manage the occasional 'yes', 'no', and 'thank you' on the appropriate cues."
"Yes sir." He stood, taking that as his hint to get back to work.
Wandering down to the training grounds was looking better and better. Maybe he'd pretend to go do some laps and just go collapse out in the tall grass at the back of the track where people never bothered to mow. He needed a few minutes to himself to mentally adjust to the idea of being 'showcased' at the biggest social 'do' of the holiday season.
Just prop me up next to the overly done-up Christmas trees wearing a nutcracker coat, why don't you. He thought uncharitably to himself as the old man flicked a hand at the door, encouraging him to get lost. Or better yet, strip me naked and polish me up, and sit me down in the motor pool behind red velvet ropes, right next to the newest police cruisers the city had just acquired, so that they can _really_ get an eyeful. Look everyone, he's still got that 'new car smell'!
"It is traditional, Briareos. That unmarried officers attending formal occasions such as this bring a guest of the opposite gender..." The Colonel's voice caught his attention as he was about to slop out the door.
"Excuse me?" He turned, wishing he could blink in surprise at the reminder.
"And since you are a guest. And not a piece of luggage... the department has procured a second ticket for you. If you happen to find someone willing to stand up with you for an evening and not embarrass the department? By all means bring them along. If you feel awkward asking, I'm sure we can muster a volunteer from somewhere."
Briareos digested the vague suggestion slowly, looking for any hidden agendas. There really was only one female he'd be _expected_ to ask to such an evening or risk a solid kick to the shins if she was snubbed. But why not just say 'there's a ticket for Deunan too'? Or was she deemed too risky, for such a formal occasion?
Admittedly the Colonel's daughter wasn't the first girl to come to mind, when he tried to picture a low-profile date to a fancy downtown party. Deunan was _Deunan_, low-key wasn't what she was all about. So, he wondered, was he supposed to let his commander choose a non-threatening 'date' for him? Thus saving him from having to explain to the girl that he wanted to take someone less... exciting?
Honestly, did he _want_ to drag Deunan to a party if she was obliged to be nervous the whole time about being herself?
Or was this just Carl's way of continuing his general trend of denial, in terms of actually admitting that Deunan was now living with him? They'd never formally 'announced' it to the old man, but it was hardly a secret either. It was impossible to read the old man's motivations.
"I'll... have to get back to you on that." He temporized, escaping before he was given any further shocks for the afternoon.
88888888888888888
He could hear her looking for him long before she actually came within view.
It was another gorgeous day in LA, complete with blue sky and puffy white clouds. In yet another weird quirk of being a cyborg, he could feel the sun warming his skin, and even measure the precise temperature differential, but neither _feel_ warmer or cooler based on it or the persistent breeze. The blades of grass tickled his elbows where he'd rolled up his sleeves. The sound of Deunan, methodically inspecting a different section of unmown grass for his oversized carcass was just as easy to pick out as the hum of random insects hard at work beneath the flattened grass behind his head, and the distant call and response of the drill instructors and new recruits. Deunan paused to stretch, her back popping with the effort, and he imagined how she probably looked, with her t-shirt hiked up around her stomach as she worked the kinks out of her spine.
After a moment she sighed in frustration. "Marco..."
"Polo." He humored her with an answer. Not wanting to hide from _her_ specifically, just the world at large. Her humph of satisfied amusement made him want to smile as he let her find her own way after the clue provided.
"Thought you'd be back here." Her shadow crossed him as she bent over to give him a poke. "No fair hiding behind the hill like that."
"Didn't want to be bothered for a while."
"Oh." She raised an eyebrow artfully, "Does that mean I should go away now?"
He snorted at her tease, reaching up to guide her to sit next to him and get comfortable. Deunan didn't need much encouragement to slouch against his chest and relax. Folding her arms on top of his ribs, or what had once been his ribs, she gave him a cheerful wink. "So... what're you brooding about?"
"Christmas." He'd very nearly decided what he was going to do about the whole thing, given a half hour to weigh pros and cons. Going wasn't open to negotiation, but _how_ he was going to go, and how far he was willing to play along with the script, and who he was going to go with... those were still factors he could chose to control if he wanted. He watched Deunan puzzle over his one word answer, clearly confused by the unexpected theme of his thoughts.
"As in... what to get someone for Christmas?" She hedged, curiously. "Or as in 'What to do about Christmas' in terms of work schedule? Or are we going for the more existential angle here... give me some context, big guy."
"Existential?" He couldn't help but laugh. "Like what?"
"I don't know." She made a face. "Isn't that was the day is all about? You know, Christianity? Immaculate conception? Three kings visiting some barn in the middle east? 'Unto us a Child is given? You feeling born again with the whole cyborg thing?"
"Uh. No." He blinked at the way she could find a tangent to _anything_. "Nothing quite that deep, thanks. Just trying to figure out what I want to do with an invitation I got for a Christmas party. That's all."
"... An invitation that's left you brooding out in a field for the afternoon." She pointed out drily. "I take it you don't want to go."
"Not especially. No." He brushed her hair back from her face, noting a large band-aid on her scalp as he did. "What the... Deunan...? What did you do to yourself now?"
She smacked his fingers away when he might have poked at the wound. "Leave it. Just a scratch! I promise. Don't freak out. My own helmet got me, if you must know. I was ducking an elbow to the face. Just wasn't fast enough."
"Christ." He propped himself on his elbows to get a better look at her. Stripped of her combat coveralls and armor, she was in her usual post-training t-shirt and shorts, with a new collection of bruises and scrapes readily apparent. "Must you always play so rough with the other kids?"
He tried to make his scolding into a joke, but she must have picked up on his anxiety. Deunan rolled her eyes and primly tucked her arms between them such that he couldn't exactly see how banged up they were. "I'm fine. You should see the other guy!" Her eyes moved over his face, as if reading his mood from the static assortment of lenses and plates. Tilting her head sideways, she offered him a tired, but far more genuine smile. "Really. It's cool. I'm learning a lot. Better that I get banged up in practice, then get mauled because I'm under-prepared for the real thing, right? I want to do this."
"Masochist." He sighed, shifting so he could smooth her hair down and continue the caress down her shoulder and arm. "Promise me he's not pushing you too hard?"
"I know how to say 'uncle' if it gets to be too much." She agreed, relaxing against him again with a contented sigh.
"Knowing, and doing, are two separate things." He disagreed softly. "It's the second one that I'm worried about. Seriously, girlie-girl. You're already plenty good. Some of the stuff he's showing you... it's well beyond anything you'll ever see in SWAT. Hell... some of the stuff he's showing you, I only know because I learned as a young punk because someone was trying to kill _me_ with it. I... I don't really like the idea of you getting as hands-on as he's taking you."
"Would you rather I stand back and leave all the 'dirty work' to you?" She raised an eyebrow again, this time not in jest. "Be the good little woman who will do thus and thus, but never that? Because I'm sure if I explain that to the guy coming after me, he's sure to understand why I won't use every weapon at my disposal to keep myself alive... he's bound to do the chivalrous thing and only attack me in ways I can counter according to the rulebooks."
Briareos sagged backwards and stared at the sky instead, knowing he was caught. It was all well and good to say Deunan shouldn't be learning - there really was no nice way to put it – how to be a dirty cop. But really, if she wanted to get to the top of her given field, she'd have to compete against guys who _did_ know these things, who had, to some extent or another, _lived_ them. Stealth killing, underhanded fighting, interrogation, unorthodox weaponry, illegal weaponry, torture? She was right. He'd seen it. And while he'd never done _some_ of it himself - he'd had limits, even as a freelancer - he knew how to do it.
The first time he'd watch her dislocate a man's fingers, under her father's calm-faced observation, while threatening the suspect with far worse, he'd had to step out of the room or become physically ill.
The worst part, he supposed, was that she could just switch it _off_ as easy as you please. One minute, she'd be... terrifying. And the next, she'd be the Deunan he knew. How long, he wondered, would she be able to keep those two sides to herself separate? The perfect-soldier her father was grooming her to be, and the Deunan he... cared for. In the uneasy confines of his subconscious was the worry that maybe he'd just been gone too damned long. That in the year that he'd been dead, she'd changed completely, and the woman curled against his side was merely an artifact, a facade. Like he was? Like he had once been, his heart insisted fiercely. It'd been a long time, since he'd felt like he was 'faking' at being Briareos. Irony of ironies, it was Deunan who'd made the transition possible. Instinctively he draped an arm over her shoulders and gave her a squeeze, feeling marginally better when she reached around his chest to squeeze him back.
"You're going to give yourself a migraine, worrying all the time like this." She sighed candidly. "Whatever it is, leave it? For once? Tell me about Christmas instead."
If he could have winced, he would have. He resigned himself with bouncing his head against the ground with a whine of annoyance, which elicited a snort of laughter from his audience. Deunan was Deunan. He told himself to take her advice and stop worrying for the moment. He was here _now_, he could keep an eye on her. Make sure that she wouldn't get sucked into doing anything too outrageous, make sure that she was still given space to be... something other than an extension of her father's master-plan.
That, more than anything, settled his own plans for once and for all. To hell with what Carl wanted. If he was going to be sucked into a damned PR party, he wasn't going with some random office-appointed matron. If the old man didn't like it, he shouldn't have offered. And if Deunan wanted to end the night by dropping LSD into the punchbowl, he wasn't going to stop her.
"Do me a favor hellcat? Schedule yourself out on Christmas eve, you're officially reserved for special duty downtown that night."
"What? Ewwe!" She sat up to give him an evil look. "No way! I do not want to be pulling honor-guard duty at some stupidly boring state dinner on Christmas. Come on. If I can't get the night off-off, which I can't, because apparently _you_ can't, and I'm not spending Christmas home alone... I might as well be busting heads."
"Nuh uh." Briareos vetoed her whining. "If I have to be downtown, I'm dragging you with me. Otherwise I'll be tempted to wedge myself behind that oversized spruce they'll have in the grand ballroom and refuse to come out until New Years."
Deunan stared at him incredulously. "They roped _you_ into honor guard crap? Oh shit. I'm sorry. That is so lame! Don't we have like 20 guys benched for medical stuff right now? Can't one of them be propped up in dress blues and made to do the chore? What a complete..."
"Cock-up." He sighed, completing her thought. "It's not so bad for you, though. You don't have to wear your blues. Actually you're kind of expected to wear a dress. Probably a ballgown... do you even own a ballgown?"
"A what?" His girl blinked and tried to keep up. "I have... cocktail dresses... well... I have _one_ cocktail dress... and that ridiculous dress I bought for that stakeout that one time... but I don't think that's what you mean..."
Briareos squeezed her again, unable to resist imagining the absolute horror in the eyes of her parent if she wore _that_ particularly revealing dress to something like the governor's ball. They'd get thrown out before even getting through the door. Which, he mused, would be a _memorable_ way to duck an unwanted evening, but not necessarily good PR for the department. "No, tradition states you need something floor length I believe. And possibly, something that doesn't show skin down to your navel. I'm not sure of current fashion... But as your father will be attending the party as well, discretion might be advisable."
"Ok." She closed her eyes and opened them to fix him with a stern stare. "Start from the top, handsome. What exactly have you gone and volunteered me for?"
"I'm being compelled, for reasons too stupid to bother you with, to attend the Governor's Ball this Christmas." He admitted in defeat. "I haven't volunteered you for anything yet, officially, but I'd really appreciate it, if you'd come with me... as my date. Although I can promise you right now, it's going to be a very boring night."
"No shit!" Deunan was abruptly all smiles. "So we're going as like... guests? Food? Free booze?"
"Those are the only high-points, yes." He shrugged. "I have to let some idiots shake my hand and make vague noises in support of various interdepartmental initiatives without actually promising anything like actual time, or money... Pose for a few pictures, let some fool at the PR department tell happy lies about how great I am as a new asset for the city police. You just have to stand there and look pretty. Probably flirt with some councilmen, generally stay out of trouble and keep me from strangling anyone."
"Oooooh sounds fun!" She hoisted herself up his chest in order to kiss his chin. "I've never been to a swanky party before! I wonder if they'll have ballroom dancing..."
"Probably. I'm sure if you bat your eyes at someone there, they can show you the steps. I'll heckle from the sidelines."
"Aww, come on. I bet you could dance just fine. It'd be like old times, remember when you taught me to tango that one time?" She chided, tapping his nose with a finger as she all but bounced with excitement. "Although where we're going to find you a tux in your size, I really don't know..."
"I'm in uniform." He reminded her grimly, ignoring her tease about dancing, and his lack of interest in crippling her for life by stepping on her toes. "So it's just a matter of finding you a dress that won't bankrupt us. Do they rent dresses?"
"I'm sure they do." She shrugged. "Or I can buy on consignment. I'll send some feelers out. Don't you even think of helping. I'm a big girl now, I can buy my own clothes." Pausing, she gave him a knowing look. "That is, of course, assuming you trust me to pick out something without your prior approval, of course?"
He huffed, knowing that if he said 'no, that he trusted her' he'd be left tearing his non-existent hair out for the next three weeks over whether she'd be wearing something that would get them both in hot water, or if he said 'yes, that he wanted to chaperone' that she'd be in high snit with him for the whole time for being treated like a little girl. Something in his silent desperation must have provoked her pity, because Deunan leaned down again to kiss him in placation. "Ballgown. Respectable. Within budget. Three weeks. I got it. No nagging. Deal?"
"Thank you." Briareos said simply. Not wanting to provoke her if she was willing to humor him without a fight. She nuzzled his jaw playfully in revenge, which really wasn't much of a punishment, in his opinion. He pulled her into a slightly more comfortable sprawl and let his hands drift over her shoulders and back. His body might be insulated enough to ignore the breeze, but her t-shirt was still damp from the sweat of her morning and afternoon battles on the training grounds, he encouraged her to leach off of his heat if she wanted. "What's on your docket for the evening, hmm?" He listened to her heart beat slow as she went limp against his skin.
"_We_ have team drills starting at 7 going until like midnight. In case you were inclined to forget, tin-man." She teased lazily. "Where in I am perfectly ready to admit, I'm going to play it pretty conservative, for once, because my back has already taken a beating today and I don't need another. Before that, I'd like to grab something quick for dinner. Do you have the caf' menu stored in that head of yours?"
"Breaded Sole." He recited from memory. "Or Pasta Primavera."
"Beige with a side of limp veggies, or... beige tossed together with limp veggies. Can you hear the joy in my voice?" She drawled. "I vote Chinese food. I'll drive?"
"Count me in." Briareos chuckled. "Going to nap until then?"
"If you don't mind?" She stretched and tucked herself a little tighter around him, effectively stiffing any chance of protest, if he'd been inclined to make one. "Just for half an hour. Wake me if I'm konked out? I want to grab a shower before we eat."
"Yeah sure." He settled his arms carefully so as to not put too much weight on her and resumed his earlier cloud watching.