This is a fic I started back in December as part of of 'Tales of' Christmas exchange, not at all expecting it to be quite so expansive. In practice, Rideaux had far too much to say, and I wasn't able to make it the one-shot I had initially anticipated. Instead, here we are, ongoing. I won't tell you what the prompt was precisely because it implies the tone of the eventual ending, but essentially they wanted an AU focused on Rideaux and Julius. And that's exactly what this is! I have been posting it at regular intervals on Archive of our Own, and today thought that perhaps people here would enjoy it as well: here's hoping for that!
So this fic is for Nienna, should they happen to pass along this way. so glad you've enjoyed so far, so glad to have the chance to write for you! Everyone else, please enjoy!
Perhaps if he had known what was to come, Rideaux would never have listened to the message.
Seated at his desk, Rideaux was enjoying the sensation of having very little to do. Just one of the perks of his new promotion—as Director of the DODA, passing off work to lesser employees had never been easier or more acceptable. Sure, his coffee was still served too damn cold, but who would dare to complain if he sat behind Julius's— sorry, his desk all day and did absolutely nothing at all? Not even Bisley would care, busy as he was pressing forward with the final preparations for Origin's Trial.
Life was looking as fine as it ever had. Maybe there wasn't a great deal of competition for the title 'Best Time in Rideaux Zek Rugievit's Life', but even so. This was it.
That was, until the message ruined everything.
Rideaux picked up his GHS without a second thought, flicking it open to see what had prompted the notification to sound. Not a text at all, but instead a voice message from an unidentified number. That was certainly unusual, and he sat a little straighter before tapping to listen.
Meet with me, you know where. Come alone.
That was it. No time, no place, not even so much as a greeting. So very, very typical of Julius. Rideaux pressed the GHS hard to his ear and listened with rapt intent, replaying the message and trying to catch any clue or sign as to where the sender might be. That was all he wanted, just some innocent tell-tale background noise to reveal where the message had been delivered from. Was that really too much to hope for?
But of course it was, and he should have known better. Julius had always been much too careful for that sort of thing. Even so he listened three more times before deleting the message, and only on the last play did Rideaux allow himself to begin considering the words.
Meet with me, you know where. Come alone.
Julius. Julius, it was always damn Julius who found some way to sour his morning. Even when he wasn't present he found a way. Rideaux sat back, shifted around in a fit of newly frustrated discomfort, then leaned forward again to rest his elbows against the polished surface of his desk. This office had always been too stuffy. No wonder if had suited Julius so well all these years.
Why would he agree to such a thing? Blind curiosity? Did Julius really think him such an idiot? Rideaux swigged a mouthful of his too cold coffee and resisted the urge to spit. That was just like Julius too, to have such a low opinion of him. Why would he ever fall into such an obvious trap? Bah. He had half a mind to do it, just to give Julius a well-deserved piece of his mind. Show him just how difficult it was to truly catch him off-guard.
… And it was true that he had nothing else booked in for the day. Bisley was unlikely to call on him, all his other tasks had been delegated... And he really didn't fancy being served any more of this abysmal tar they were calling a macchiato.
Come alone, though? Not a chance. Rideaux rapped his fingers against the desk as he considered, before shoving himself to his feet.
This was not how he had envisioned starting his day.
Standing in the gloomy backstreets of downtown Duval, Rideaux turned and fixed Ivar with one final deathly glare.
"This is the last time. Say it back to me."
Ivar stood taller, chin raised as if to try and contend with the height difference between them. "You're here on private business, sir, not to be repeated to anyone, sir. My job is to scout the vicinity and report directly to you if I see anything suspicious. If you don't come back out in one hour's time, I'm to force my way in and use any means necessary to—"
"Just aim for his face," Rideaux interrupted, taking a moment to imagine the sight. Ivar would be no match for Julius, but with the edge of surprise in his favour? Maybe he'd be able to land a hit or two before being annihilated. It would be nice to see Julius sporting the blackened eye for a change.
"Right. Aim for his face, sir." On that Ivar crossed his arms and nodded firmly, before casting a conspicuous eye over their surroundings. "I'll get to it."
Rideaux watched, deadpan, as Ivar disappeared down an alley and out of sight, and considered—not for the first time that day—the depths of his own foolishness. It was a novel experience, at least; he was usually far more cautious than this. Yet here he was, answering a summons from Julius and bringing Ivar of all people to serve as his back-up.
Julius had told him to come alone, but Rideaux was never going to make a choice that stupid. His scalpels were pinned beneath the pressed sleeves of his suit—if he was to have some clandestine meeting with wanted fugitive Julius Will Kresnik, then he was at least going to do so armed and prepared.
Or at least as prepared as possible on such short notice. Julius hadn't provided a time, which meant 'come immediately or not at all'. As for the place... 'You know where' could really only be here, a bar that Rideaux enjoyed and Julius merely tolerated, and a place they'd met frequently during their embattled teenage years. How long now since they'd last been here together?
Too long, a part of him thought.
The stupid part, clearly. It was Julius who had grown less and less inclined to deal with him, something that made more sense now that little Ludger Kresnik was in the picture. Sure, he and Julius had never been friends, not in the way normal people would mark such things, but there might have been a time once when they'd be lesser enemies. Julius was to blame for that. Julius was to blame for a great many things.
And yet, again. Here he was. With one last cynical glance, Rideaux walked down the steps of the Film Noir and stooped his way through the door.
The bartender was familiar, and familiar with Rideaux. More importantly, he was familiar with Rideaux's increasingly influential position in Spirius, and was very well-behaved as a result. Just the sort of qualities Rideaux liked to see from a lowly common man. Indeed, his customary bottle of Duval Noir was served before he'd even made his way across the room, accompanied by a single glass topped with ice. Rideaux smiled.
"A second," He ordered glibly, watching the flicker of surprise in the barman's eyes as he obeyed. "And I'll be taking this to the back room today. You'll know my guest when he arrives. See he's let through, and please, let's be sure to keep this hush hush, mm?"
It was funny what a man could read into a polite request given in just the right tone. The bartender nodded, placed a second chilled glass atop the bar, and went back to his work without any further comment. Still smiling, Rideaux collected his drink, the glasses, and headed to the back.
Privacy was something he'd always savoured. Too many days spent beneath unwelcome eyes had seen to that. The back room was dingy and erred toward unclean, carrying with it the sort of grim haze associated with long nights of poker and illegal—or illicit—liaisons. Given the unique circumstances, that suited Rideaux just fine. The room held three booths, each with space to comfortably sit four or uncomfortably cram six. Otherwise there was a thin wooden bar along one wall, lined with long-legged barstools—that sort of space had always suited him better, and that was where Rideaux settled himself to wait.
It didn't take long.
He didn't bother looking up when Julius entered, settling for a sidelong glance and a thin shrug of shoulders. "You kept me waiting," he lied, and let Julius draw whatever conclusions he liked from Rideaux's apparent disinterest.
In truth he wanted nothing more than to stare Julius down. No, better, he wanted to shake the truth out of him, and maybe throw a little violent revenge into the bargain. They still had a score that needed settling. Their last encounter, and Julius's grand escape from captivity, had been a... less-than-satisfactory experience, in the sense of it being a complete and humiliating disaster. Never mind the bruising to his precious face.
Even Ivar had had a good chuckle at that one. When you were low enough for Ivar to laugh at you, something had gone terribly wrong.
The whole fiasco played through his mind, and Rideaux silently commended himself for maintaining nonchalant composure. If he wanted to find out just what game Julius was playing, he had to appear to be following the rules. At least for now.
Broad-shouldered, and looking eminently composed, Julius silently closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room. He didn't appear to be armed—but then, neither did Rideaux, and they both had the Chromatus at their disposal. It was a polite fiction, at least, and one Rideaux took note of.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," Julius said, and for a second it almost looked as though he was going to smile. Barely a shadow of warmth, yet a lot more than Rideaux had come to expect between them. Perversely, he almost found himself returning the gesture—managing at the last moment to twist the empty sentimentality into a far more fitting smirk.
"Consider it curiosity," He said, and shrugged again as he motioned for Julius to join him at the bar. "Not the wisest choice I've ever made, no doubt, but it really would have eaten me up not to know. Sit down, Julius. Have a drink with me." Rideaux topped his own glass from the shared bottle to punctuate the point, holding Julius's gaze as he took a fire-laced sip. See? No poison. You can trust me.
Even so Julius didn't move. Rideaux placed his shotglass back down with a heavy thud, unimpressed at having his courtesy ignored.
"Does anyone know you're here?" Julius asked, and continued asking when Rideaux met the question with a withering look. "I'm serious. Does Bakur know you're here?"
He should, Rideaux thought. "No. He doesn't, Spirius doesn't, nobody knows." Except Ivar. "I'm not armed, I'm all alone. Here I am, Julius. So, you would care to tell me what's going on? I don't like being kept in the dark, least of all by you."
"When have I ever done that?" Julius replied, as bare-faced a lie as Rideaux had ever heard. "I've done a lot for your over the years."
"Really," Rideaux drawled, crossing his legs in one long languid motion. "I can't say I ever noticed."
"Of course not," Julius snapped back without hesitation, then belatedly seemed to catch himself. Rideaux watched with mounting fascination as Julius took several deep breaths, gathering composure in apparent preparation. Despite everything Rideaux leant forward, attention thoroughly captured by this strange performance. Just where was this going? Julius drew in air, opened his mouth to speak.
"Mrrrow," said a voice from beyond the door, followed immediately by a young girl's loud conspiratorial whisper; "Shh, Rollo! Not yet!"
There was a long silence. Julius, damn him, didn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed. Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed to the thinnest of glowering points, Rideaux asked, "Do we have guests, Julius?"
He didn't even bother to answer, instead simply turning on one smart heel and opening the door. There - like something out of a weekend morning comedy – stood, crouched and knelt a too familiar bunch. Elle was on the floor, hands pressed across the jowly face of Julius's grossly fat cat. Beside her was Ludger, looking alarmed, and a very pink-faced blonde girl who's name Rideaux had never bothered to learn. One by one he checked off the rest of them—Maxwell herself, looking affronted to even be in his presence. Alvin Svent, the vying businessman, and next to him the reporter girl. Doctor Jude Mathis, possibly most familiar of all. And behind them stood the important ones, the Rieze Maxian officials.
Floating above, all great billowing hair and an expression of falsely delicate shock, was the spirit wench. "Oh dear," She crowed, sounding too pleased by half. "It looks as though we've been discovered. How scary."
"Quiet, Muzét," King Gaius murmured, motioning. Rideaux watched them file in, and felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach, something between excitement and dread. It was a feeling he knew well by now: the looming threat of attack.
I've survived worse odds than this, he thought to himself, not dwelling on whether or not that was particularly true.
The group fanned out to fill the room, Julius closing the door behind them and standing with arms crossed at the back. Rideaux gave him another withering glare before turning his attention to the rest. None of them had their weapons drawn, but they were all armed, and wearing expressions that ranged from mild curiosity to outright disgust. He found himself liking those faces much more—it was always nice to know he'd made a lasting impression.
If they were all going to stand then so was he; Rideaux rose, and smirked ice at the collective ripple that followed his movements. Oh yes, they were all quite prepared to fight him. And here he was, surrounded. He'd gone against his own damn instincts, and now he was surrounded. By amateurs. It was enough to curdle the blood.
"I came here in good faith, and this is how you repay me. What is this, Julius? You lure me out here and then you kill me?" Rideaux's mouth twisted, something between grimace and smirk. "I must say that seems low, even for you."
He looked at Ludger, then, with something more akin to a sneering grin; Ludger, the dim-witted little brother so very adept at following orders. Or so it had seemed. "Have you been working together this entire time? If so I must say I'm impressed. Here I thought you truly were nothing more than Bakur's convenient pawn. Bravo indeed.
And here I am. Innocent, unaccompanied, and so willing to hear what you had to say. Quite a reversal, isn't it? By all means, try and make me regret it."
It was the Svent who answered first, with far too much cocky dismissal for Rideaux's liking. "You really do like the sound of your own voice, don't you?"
"Shut up, Rideaux." Julius. Of course that was Julius. "And sit back down. Unless that willingness to listen is just another of your bluffs."
It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, not even close. Rideaux caught himself in a moment of frozen indecision, swallowed surprised and narrowed it into suspicion. "Don't make me keep asking this." Rideaux settled back slightly on the heels of his smart dress shoes, one hand settled on his cocked hip. "Just what game are you playing?"
"This isn't a game." Jude Mathis, no friend of his. He knew better than to trust that placating tone. "We really are here to talk."
"And that requires twelve of you to just one of me? I'm outnumbered and unarmed. You're making me uncomfortable." They all exchanged glances at that, so beautifully predictable in their desire to be fair. Under other circumstances he would have rolled his eyes. Of course they wouldn't want to thin their numbers, but he could almost see the cogs turning in their collective do-gooder minds. Where could he possibly go? Even if they stepped outside the room he'd still have to break through them to escape.
Tch. The thought alone chafed him. How could he have let himself step into this farcical trap in the first place?
Rideaux swallowed and watched, weighing their reactions. Ludger was looking to his brother for guidance. Milla Maxwell, arms folded, seemed prepared to fight to the death before giving a single inch—Rideaux graced her with a heavy-lidded smile, and suppressed another smirk at the way her eyes narrowed in response. Gaius was looking equally staunch, and that damnable spirit alongside him... well, who knew what she was thinking behind that vacant smile...
One long breath, then another, before he delicately began to sidle left. Distracted as they were, perhaps... but no. And it wasn't even Julius who cut him off. The Rieze Maxian Prime Minister was there, a disarming expression on his face as he softly suggested, "You probably shouldn't try."
"Probably not," Rideaux agreed through a gritted smile. This was ridiculous, and his patience had run its limited course. With a surly glower towards all present he turned, perched back on the barstool and poured himself another glass of Duval Noir. If Julius wasn't going to share with him, then fine. He'd just drink it all himself. "Enough dawdling," he snapped, drawing their eyes back to him. "If you aren't going to kill me, how about getting to the point. The sight of you all is giving me a headache."
It was Maxwell who took the bait, looking no more willing to move than before. "Firstly, you've already lied to us."
"Is that so?" He replied breezily, and wondered what he might have said to warrant the accusation. She probably wasn't wrong.
"You told us you're here unaccompanied. That isn't true."
"We've already seen Ivar," Jude added, in a tone almost apologetic.
Ivar. Ivar. Just another one for the list of terrible decisions he'd made today.
"Of course you have." Rideaux curled his lip, taking a long sip from his glass. They were still no closer to telling him what this is all about. "Would you like a written apology? I said, get to the point."
The girl in the hat grinned at that, looking as though she would enjoy a written apology very much indeed. Rideaux privately resolved to send something scathing to the paper she worked for.
Jude motioned to Ludger, an ambiguous gesture. Rideaux wondered if it was an invitation to speak, or an offer to do so in his stead. Either way, baby brother Kresnik returned a stricken look, glancing first at Elle and then plaintively at Julius before finally speaking up. "Elle is... Elle's becoming a divergence catalyst." Ludger met his gaze at that, his eyes suddenly filled with a spark of something disgustingly Julius. "We have to find a way to stop it."
"Fascinating," Rideaux said shortly. It was Julius who had his attention now, Julius who stared back at him with stiff shoulders and dead eyes. He hasn't told them, Rideaux suddenly knew, a satisfying blossom of realisation. It was about time something went in his favour. "Go on."
Once again, it was Milla Maxwell who spoke. "Julius believes you might be able to help," she began, the disbelief in her voice very apparent. "He says you have been involved with catalysts, and the Chromatus itself, for a long time. He values your expertise. If we want to find a solution quickly enough to save Elle, he believes we need your assistance."
That at least seemed to pull a response from Julius—a low grumble, heedless of the fact Maxwell wasn't done speaking, followed by a muttering, "I don't remember saying all that."
With a firm shake of her head, Maxwell continued. "I disagree. You've already proven yourself untrustworthy. We have solved many problems together, Jude, our comrades and I. I see no reason to involve anyone we don't have cause to trust— in particular, I see no reason to involve you."
Young Elle wasn't the only one still mourning that fake Maxwell, then. It must have been terribly easy for them to judge him, especially now having him at such a disadvantage. Rideaux ground his teeth in muted frustration, taking silent note of the pained look on Jude's face, the pointed one Maxwell returned. More knowledge worth having—they were in disagreement about this plan.
Oh well, not that it really mattered. Time to shatter their dreams.
"Again, this is fascinating," he said, in a tone completely devoid of fascination. "There are so many holes in what you're saying I don't know which ones to point out first."
"I know it sounds bad," Jude said, a colossal understatement. "But we have to try."
Ludger nodded, firm, fervent, short-sighted in the extreme.
Rideaux sighed, swirling idly the contents of his glass. "Surely Julius has already told you everything I'm about to say, but let me repeat it for the class. Spirius has always been aware of what happens to those who overuse their Chromatus. Do you think you're the first ones to try and find the escape clause? There isn't one. There never has been, and there never will be. No amount of belief is going to change that." Then he smiled, at the girl Elle and the furious glare she returned. "What you need, girl, is to get your affairs in order. Because pretty soon you're going to be gone. Would you like me to make some arrangements?" With false brightness he turned the smile to Julius, "Is that the sort of help you wanted me to offer?"
"That's enough, Rideaux," Julius interjected firmly, at the same time Maxwell snapped, "You're disgusting to taunt an innocent child." Between them it was more than enough to set him laughing.
"I don't want him to help me!" Elle shouted into the din, shaking herself free of Ludger's attempts to hold her. "He killed Milla, he's horrible! I hate him!"
"And yet here I am, the only one telling you the truth." Rideaux lurched to his feet once more, bending forward to grin at her, almost face to face. She was crying, snotty-nosed and red-cheeked, too comical for words. "You should really thank me."
Instead she ran, pelting out the door with her stupid fat cat in tow. He wasn't sorry to see her go. Even crying children couldn't entertain him for long. Ludger chased her immediately, of course, the two younger girls following after. Smiling placid satisfaction, Rideaux straightened and turned, beginning to reach for his drink.
Julius blocked him, eyes steely behind black frames. Rideaux jerked back, but too slow—Julius caught hold of his wrist, squeezed tight. There weren't many alive who could make Rideaux grimace with only their bare hands, but damn Julius...
"I said, that's enough." Julius intoned, deadpan voice punctuated with a savage twist of his iron grip. Rideaux hissed and twisted with it, but managed to smirk around clenched teeth.
"And I heard you. What else would you like me to tell them, Julius? I can think of a few things." Rideaux flicked his gaze to Julius's gloved hand, the one busy grinding the fine bones of his thin wrist... and gave another hiss, relieved this time, when the grip finally lessened. Julius didn't let go, though.
"Everyone, wait outside. I'll talk to him."
Rideaux scoffed at the minor uproar caused by Julius's words. Just who did these idiots think they were to try and argue with—with either of them. No one, and it was one small blessing that they didn't take long bickering about it. Jude gave a long measured look before asking Julius 'not to hurt him', a comment that almost had Rideaux biting his tongue in irritation. Gaius was the last to leave the room, and not before making it clear that he would only be on the other side of the door should any need arise. Julius thanked him, low and humble before foreign dignity. Rideaux, still loosely restrained, did little more than sneer.
And then, finally, they were alone once again.
Julius shoved him hard and followed at pace, giving Rideaux no room except to back up into one of the seating booths. It wasn't the sort of space he liked, a low table scraping high knees, but with a nod of mock deference he took his seat and shuffled along the bench. Julius, still sharp-eyed and unimpressed, took a place opposite him.
"Isn't this cosy?" Rideaux smiled, before glancing mournfully at his drink still resting on the bar. The table where they sat was stained with old familiar rings of coffee and liquor, and the harsh scratched dent of knife-point; the legacy of a heated poker dispute. Rideaux hadn't been at the Film Noir that night, but the story afterwards had been amusing.
Rideaux knew himself. Knew well enough that there was nothing in this world he 'loved'. But even in fractured dimensions he'd always found a particular soft spot for this wretched bar. It always felt like his, as much as anything ever did. But now these idiots were tainting it with this ridiculous set of humiliations, and Julius—of all people, damnable Julius—was acting as their ringleader.
"I don't appreciate this, Julius." Not the first truth he'd given that day, but it certainly felt like the most honest.
"Talk to me, Rideaux," came the response. Unexpected, again. "Do you really think this is impossible?"
Rideaux tapped a fingernail against the tabletop, eyes narrowed in deep contemplation. Finally, "We both know it can't be done." He leaned forward, scrutiny deepening into outright suspicion. "Unless there's something you're not telling me. What do you know that I don't? You've discovered something, haven't you?"
"No." Julius had never been the sort to show weakness easily, even with the number of missions he and Rideaux had served together. We're both too proud for that. Nonetheless he raised one hand, elbow settling on the table as he massaged the bridge of his nose just above his glasses. "Nothing new."
At least I'm not the only one getting a headache, Rideaux thought, watching the methodical motions of Julius's fingers. When it seemed as though Julius wasn't going to say anything further Rideaux spoke again, voice low and, alas, sincere. "Was I right about the glove?"
That pulled a response; Julius looked at him, expression sharp and openly surprised. "You were guessing?"
"An educated guess, and years of observation," Rideaux snapped in turn, folding his arms and leaning back so far as his current position allowed. "If that's how you want to put it. If you're going to tell your new friends I'm oh-so-smart then why don't you try believing it. I know how things work, Julius. You and I have both been at this for years."
Julius continued to stare at him, expression shifting only enough to take on its customary guarded look. Shaking his head, Rideaux continued, "Since this is just between us, I'll admit it—we both know you've destroyed more fractured dimensions than I have. It only stands to reason that now you would be in worse shape." In this regard, at least. "What is this really about, Julius? Do you really want to save the girl? Or are you just using them to save yourself?"
"I want to save Elle," Julius replied, whip-like. Rideaux only raised his eyebrows in polite inquiry, arms still crossed as he waited for Julius to inevitably give in and elaborate. "She's important to Ludger, and an innocent child. After her, it'll be Ludger who suffers."
"If Bisley doesn't get him first," Rideaux muttered in response, deciding not to make any other comment on Julius's priorities.
"Rideaux, I know this has been tried before. Believe me, I know that. But things are different now. Ludger has allies that Spirius has never been able to turn to—Maxwell herself, for one. Jude Mathis. I've seen the things he's achieved, here and in the fractured dimensions. Rowen Ilbert, he's no fool. Yes, it's true, we've never seen a dimension that had a cure—that doesn't mean there isn't one. I doubt we'll even be the first ones to have found it. But only if we try."
"Should I say it again?" This time he spoke clearly, frustrated to be forced into the cowards role by Julius's uncharacteristically blind enthusiasm. "Bis-ley Ba-kur. Do you think he'll just allow this? Time is running out, and he wants Origin's Trial done. You think he's going to agree to putting all his efforts on hold while the DODA starts on this fools errand?"
"But I'm not asking the DODA. I'm asking you. This has nothing to do with Bisley."
"Oh, don't be an idiot, Julius. You want my help? That means you're asking me to go behind Bakur's back. Do you know what would happen to me if he found out? Two words." Rideaux grimaced in distaste at the thought of that impending future. "Which, thanks to your worthless brother, is looking increasingly likely anyway. Bisley's taken a perverse shine to him, you know."
Julius twitched at that, but kept his expression otherwise neutrally blank. Waiting for Rideaux to buckle and break the silence; yet more typical Julius behaviour.
At times like this Rideaux hated how well they knew each other.
"What's in it for me?" He finally asked, turning away and chewing his tongue in silent petulant thought.
"You have to ask?" Julius did a good job of masking the disgust in his voice, but Rideaux knew too well that it was there. "Anything that benefits Elle benefits you too. We're talking about removing the effects of Chromatus overuse—a way to avoid becoming a catalyst. You said it yourself, Rideaux. This is something that affects both of us."
"Mm." Not untrue, even if he had managed to keep the physical signs at bay, at least so far. It was easier to avoid Chromatus work these days, with so many willing agents flocking to Bisley's cause, and company darling Ludger working so hard to pay his exorbitant debt. He hadn't been to a fractured dimension in months. Even so... "It can't be done, Julius."
Silence.
"It can't be done," he repeated, turning back to negotiate the point. "And I have no reason to trust you, or your ragtag group of Super Best Friends. Now that the Key is back in play and all the Waymarkers have been gathered, it's only a matter of days until Bisley's finished his preparations."
"What about this one?" Julius asked, reached into a pocket, and placed a small, gleaming device onto the table. It was spherical, a tiny ball of light surrounded by orbiting wheels of gears.
Rideaux knew a Waymarker when he saw one. He was fast, but Julius better prepared; Rideaux cursed at the heavy fist that crunched down across his knuckles when he made a darting attempt to grab the thing. "I don't think so," Julius smiled that warning smile he had, something else about him that Rideaux knew all too well.
Withdrawing his fingers gingerly, Rideaux glowered in ill-disguised astonishment. "How did you get that?"
For once, Julius actually looked passing pleased with himself. "It isn't Ludger's fault if I took him by surprise and overpowered him, is it? With just one Waymarker missing, Bisley can't go ahead. He'll either hunt me, or try to replace it from another fractured dimension. Either way, it buys us some time."
Unless I go and betray you right now. Rideaux watched in more thoughtful silence as Julius pocketed the Waymarker once more, and instead pulled out a GHS. This he slid across the table for Rideaux to take. It looked to be a standard model, the sort given to just about any Spirius employee. Even Ivar had one, not that Rideaux had ever seen him use it.
"They can't track you on that," Julius said, and Rideaux found himself grudgingly remembering that Julius was the one who had developed GHS technology. "Think about it, Rideaux, and contact me when you've made up your mind. If you want nothing to do with this then fine. I won't ask you again. And I won't ask you to keep Bisley out of it—if you say no, I'll assume you've told him everything."
A perfectly reasonable assumption. Which did nothing to explain why it bothered Rideaux so much to hear Julius come right out and say it.
"Only an idiot would agree to this," Rideaux sighed, swallowing down the strange feeling and nonetheless pocketing the untraceable GHS. Such a rudimentary device, much worse than his current model. Would it even take pictures? He resolved to check later.
"Just let me know."
It was the last thing Julius said before he shuffled free from the table and stood. Rideaux watched, surprised to find himself hoping for one last sign from Julius, one last clue to explain how they'd reached this strange juncture of dangerous choices. Instead Julius nodded, turned, and marched from the room. Rideaux could hear the heavy tenor of his voice for a minute before everything went quiet outside. They'd left.
And he was still alive. Still alive, and quite a bit more knowledgeable than when the day had begun. All he had to do now was...
"Damn you, Julius," Rideaux growled, and finally retrieved his drink.
That was where Ivar found him, perched on his barstool next to a drained bottle and a two glasses of melting ice.
"Uh, Mr. Director, sir?"
Now there was a questioning tone. "Do you have a problem, Junior Agent?" Rideaux glanced, sharp enough to cut, and then rolled his eyes at Ivar's predictable flinch. Hopeless. "Sit down, Ivar."
"Uh..." Was all Ivar said, again, but at least he did as he was told. The kid was old enough to drink—old enough to do anything, at least on paper—but he still gave the impression that he'd never set foot in an adult establishment in his entire mediocre life. On a different day Rideaux might have found it amusing. Now, he simply looked Ivar up and down, considering his options. Could he really trust this idiot not to give everything away?
On the other hand, would anyone ever really think to question this one? Rideaux thought not.
"You're an agent of Spirius," Rideaux said, and Ivar straightened in recognition of his professional tone. Good. "And I am the Director of the Department of Dimensional Affairs. So you do as I say. Understand?"
"Of course, sir." If nothing else, Ivar had always been good at this part. He seemed to enjoy taking orders, frankly just a little bit too much—Maxwell most likely to blame for that little quirk.
Rideaux propped one thin elbow on the bar and smiled, waiting for the precise moment where the silence had drawn on too long and Ivar had begun to squirm in discomfort before taking mercy and speaking again. "We weren't here today. You were not here. I was not here. Most importantly, Julius was not here."
Ivar nodded, even while he seemed to be mulling the words over with whatever limited brain power he possessed. "Not here. Got it." Then, nervously, "Are we in trouble?"
"Only if you go repeating things you shouldn't." Looking to the bottom of his glass, and the faint dark swirls left in the ice water, Rideaux murmured, "A great deal of trouble indeed."
Rideaux's apartment was, first and foremost, vastly superior to Julius's. Dazzlingly metropolitan, it was only the lack of a balcony that kept it from being at the very top end of Triglyph's property market, which suited Rideaux just fine. He had no interest whatsoever in gazing out on this miserable city and its miserable inhabitants, and the less anyone else could see of his privacy the happier he was. Even Rideaux's ostentatiousness had a limit, and that limit was having the freedom to glower at trashy soap opera reruns from beneath an over-large duvet and not have the threat of anyone ever being able to witness it.
He'd seen this episode several times before, which was just as well, because he couldn't have paid better attention even if he'd wanted to. Instead he'd taken to flipping through the GHS that Julius had bestowed upon him, a halfway distraction from the problem at hand.
There wasn't very much of interest. Julius hadn't left him any messages, obvious or concealed, and by all counts it did seem to be nothing more than a typical standard issue. Completely boring, honestly, and Rideaux might have tossed the thing away if it wasn't for the realisation that Julius had taken the time to install a few apps before handing it over. The first, and easily the most important, seemed to be specifically for snapping pictures. That kept him occupied for close to an hour, first making sure to christen the device with a worthy first selfie, then taking the time to set himself an acceptable new wallpaper. It was hardly the best he'd ever looked, but considering the day he'd had Rideaux decided it looked pretty damn good. In fact, given the circumstances, he was positively enticing. Satisfied, he moved on.
Next was something far more dull, a simple map reader with a space to input co-ordinates. Standard, and particularly useful for anyone assigned to enter a fractured dimension. Rideaux flicked past it, and the next one too; a basic calender and note-taking system.
"Boring me now..." he muttered, all petulance, before stopping at the last one. It was represented as a paw – a familiar one at that, creamy white and large. Curious despite himself, Rideaux clicked.
It took a moment for him to understand what the flickering across his screen was supposed to represent. A feather, waved back and forth. Some quick experimentation soon changed the image to that of a particularly persistent insect with an annoying drone that sounded curiously like Ivar's prattling to Rideaux's ears. The final option seemed to be a mouse, darting back and forth in digital terror. A toy, then. Playtime for the fat cat, the furry lard ball who looked as though he hadn't so much as glanced at prey in his short obese life.
Not for the first time, Rideaux wondered what it would be like to have other people to bestow such inane efforts upon.
"You poor, sad bastard," he said, and made up his mind.
When Julius's text reply arrived, it was terse.
'Next time you have something to tell me, use words. No more snapchat.'
A second message followed the first, less than a minute later.
'Thank you.'