They were right.
I was sitting in the breakroom, shivering under about a billion towels, still reeking of containment foam. Like it was my fault the elevator had decided I was a Stranger or something. For what felt like hours I'd been stuck in there, face smushed against the wall, barely able to breathe. And what had I gotten for it? I'd gotten laughed at by the Wards.
It was bullshit. My first real day in my dream job working for the PRT, and this was what happened. At least the PRT officer who helped me had been nice. Really, everyone had been nice to me… except the Wards.
The door opened, and I looked up, expecting to see the nice officer with the change of clothes she'd left to grab. My heart sunk.
"Hey," Recoil said, closing the door behind him. He had his shotgun slung, unmasked as always. I looked away. Maybe if I wasn't such a fuckup I would've had the balls to at least look him in the eyes.
There was a scrape of a chair, and Recoil plopped down next to me, setting his monstrous gun between us. There was quiet for a bit, me sitting there like an idiot, trying not to make my shivering from the confoam too obvious, him just… sitting there.
Finally, he spoke. "Don't worry about them."
I snorted. "I don't know what you're talking about." To think a day ago I would've been ecstatic to talk to a Ward in person. Funny how one or two things could sour that excitement.
Recoil sighed. "Look, if you're gonna be an asshole to me too, I'll go. I'm being nice."
I looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time. He didn't look happy. I shrugged. "You don't have to be. It's not like you'll ever see me again."
"The fuck makes you think that? Because some kids made fun of you for an accident?"
"It's my first day!" I cried out, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of this shitshow. "I just got this job and I fuck this up? I'm just here waiting for HR to come by and tell me not to bother coming in tomorrow."
"They ain't gonna do that," Recoil replied.
"What makes you say that?"
"They just ain't. You're being silly. That elevator's messed up anyway. Been telling them since I started."
Maybe… maybe he was right? If he was, it'd be fine, I'd just have to avoid the Wards for the rest of my life. Easy enough, right? "Okay," I finally said, quietly.
"I'm Recoil, by the way." He stuck out a hand. Slowly, I reached out a confoam-inundated hand and shook it.
"Sara."
My dad told me once about rubber duck debugging. It was something nerds did when they were programming. Talk the duck through what you were doing, teach it about your code or whatever, and you'd help figure out any issues.
"...anyway I'm thinkin', if I put that in it'll act as a sorta grenade or somethin' and…"
One thing had led to another, and now I was spending my lunch on the roof while Recoil used me as his rubber duck. I felt about as smart as the duck.
Still, even if I didn't have any idea what he was talking about, it was nice listening to him. Ulysses had… something about his voice always felt honest and reassuring. He seemed like the type of person who'd be a horrible liar if he tried. Maybe that really meant he was an extra-good liar though. Either way, it was relaxing. I couldn't help but smile.
"Sara?"
"Oh, hi?" I said, with a blush. I hadn't even realized he'd stopped talking about Tinker bullshit.
"I was asking how your writing was going," he replied with a snort, stealing one of my shitty PRT cafeteria chips with a smirk.
"Oh! It's, um, going okay I guess. I'm kinda stuck on a bit." I shrugged.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Huh? Oh, I mean, I wouldn't want to bug you with it…" I trailed off, stealing one of his shitty PRT cafeteria french fries.
"I just spent ten minutes rambling 'bout exploding shotgun shells. What's your story 'bout?"
I hesitated. "It's… well, the story I've been working on lately is about two… co-workers, falling for each other. Except one of them's forgotten how to love, and the other is… they've got other stuff going on." Hopefully that was vague enough. I pulled out my phone, opening up my draft and scrolling to the point I was stuck and staring at the cursor blankly. "I guess I just wrote myself into a corner."
"Mind if I take a look?"
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I glanced over at him, then back at my phone. Should I?... But Ulysses was my friend, right? But what if he hated it? But what if he told Chain Link and Ley Line that I was writing porn of them on the internet?
...But what if he didn't tell them? What if it was our little secret? We could share knowing glances whenever Chain commented on Ley Line's pants choice of the day, or spend slow afternoons thinking up ship names for his teammates, or… a whole universe of possibilities opened up.
I handed him the phone. He started scrolling through, sipping on his smoothie. Then his eyes widened, and he set the smoothie down on the ledge. Scrolling intensified, his eyes getting wider with each passing line of text.
Finally, Ulysses spoke. "I… does he even have one? Wouldn't it just be a bit of chain?"
"Artistic license," I muttered, shame turning my face a bright red.
He paused for a second, then nodded. "Yeah, I could see it I guess."
There was another long moment as he scanned the page. Then his thumb moved, and before I could say anything, he'd tapped on one of the links in my signature.
"Uh," I said, with characteristic eloquence.
"Cutting Edge and," he paused. "What's rule sixty three?"
"Uh." I paused. "Um… make them a girl? Or a boy, if they were a girl. Genderbending, y'know?"
"And you can just do that? Like, how would that even..."
"I mean…" I trailed off. "I just thought it would be cuter if Flamewar was a girl, so I made him one. It's not like the Teamsters read their own fanfiction." Unless they did. I mean, Flamewar was one of those names that clearly was inspired by the Internet…. Oh god.
"So if you just think someone would be cuter, you can just write them being a girl." Recoil said, snapping me out of my spiral of shame.
"Yup!" I grinned. "Genderbent fanfiction is the best. Lotta people say it's trashy, but they're stupid."
"What would it—fuck, this is gonna sound stupid. Would you write me genderbent?"
I blinked. Then I blinked again. "Um… sure I guess?" Wait, was he…? "... do you want me to?"
"I'm curious. I, fuck, I dunno." He was almost glaring at my phone. "It was stupid. Whatever. Shut up."
I… okay. "Ulysses, do you want to be genderbent I-R-L?"
"The fuck does that—is that the fucking tax people? What do they have to—"
I cut him—them?—off. "In real life, dipshit. Are you, uh…" What was the term? I wiggled my fingers. "Switching?"
"I guess I would if it was, like, a thing I could do. But, fuck, it's not like that's—I'm a guy, you know? Fuck. At least back in the swamp I didn't have to think about this shit."
"That's totally a thing you can do, yo. Like, people do it all the time, it's all the rage. Don't ask me how, but like. Pills and shit that make you a girl? I mean, you already have the hair for it." Wait, swamp? Shit, so he—they—were legit a feral swamp child, and they still had better hair than me? Fuck my life.
"I—thanks." They looked up at the sky. "Who do I even fucking talk to about it? I don't want my fucking counselor to throw me back out there because I'm a nut."
"Wanting to get rid of your nuts doesn't make you a nut," I quipped. Wait, that's probably not something I should say. Fuck. Aaaaaaaaaa! "I mean, um…"
They barked out a short laugh. "Okay. Maybe I'll just ask. Even if I do get thrown out on my ass, I can make it out there. Did it before, can do it again."
I gave them—her!—a hug. "The PRT is, like, hella cool with it, I think. I mean plus you're a Ward, if they try anything can't you go yell at the uhhh Youth Guard people?" I wasn't exactly sure what all the Youth Guard did or how they worked, but from an intern's-eye-view into their office that seemed like something they'd love to stop.
She returned the hug. "If you say so."
"Hey, where are you?" I shouted into my phone, the din around me making it nearly impossible to hear my own voice, much less Lana's.
"Pioneer Square. Where the hell are you?"
"...Pioneer Square."
"Well shit, stand on something and holler, would ya?"
"Seriously?" I looked around, spotting a garbage can, the kind with a sturdy metal cage around it so nobody could steal the can or whatever. I clambered atop it, desperately hoping the guys nearby were at Pride because they were gay, not bi. I picked a random direction to wave in, hoping I'd stick out among the crowd. "Can you see me?"
"Keep waving would ya?"
"Oh god I'm sorry!" I spun around, looking for any sign of Lana, waving my spare hand like an absolute moron. "Anything?"
"Yeah," I heard Lana say behind me. I spun around, to see her, grinning like a fool. "Found ya."
"You ass!" I shouted, jumping off the can with a flourish of rainbows.
"Hey, you're the one who kept waving."
"You told me to!"
She snorted, grabbing me into a tight squeeze of a hug. "C'mon, I don't wanna miss my first Pride."
"Yeah, definitely!" I laughed. And then it hit me.
Lana was in her usual not-exactly-ladylike ensemble, coat and all, but she'd added something. A pink, blue, and white flag, tied around her neck like a cape. That color was… oh? "Wait, are you… is it time?" She'd said she was too anxious to come out, but had still wanted to go.
"Fuck it, it's time," she said with a laugh, looking me over, or more specifically looked over my rainbow fishnets, rainbowey skirt, and pan-colored shirt. "Wait… are you…?"
"Pan? Yeah," I said with a laugh, giving her a hug. "God, I'm so proud for you Lana, this is gonna be so awesome!"
Lana snorted. "I was so wrapped up in me coming out and shit I didn't even think about you being the one who wanted to go in the first place. Oh, but it's Recoil. Cape mode." She lifted up the trans flag/cape to show her shotgun slung across her back. I was so used to its neverending presence, I hadn't even noticed.
Others had, though, and I guess I just hadn't noticed them either but there were some schmucks with cameras taking pictures of us, and I could see what looked like a news crew approaching, apparently a cape coming out was more interesting than recording the perennial Pride protesters.
"Sorry. Speaking of which, company coming," I said apologetically, gesturing at the camera crew.
"Fuck 'em. Let's go check it out." Recoil grabbed my hand and dragged me into the crowd.
The next few hours were… well, amazing was the word. We'd grabbed rainbow-flavored ice cream, Recoil'd taken some pictures with fans, I'd bought some trans-colored flowers to stick in her hair. We found ourselves awhile later, in the midst of a sea of Portland food trucks, waiting in line for grilled cheeses. I found myself swallowing the nervous lump in my throat. Recoil found herself looking at me with a weird look. "You okay Sara?"
"Yeah… I just wanted to ask you something."
"What's up."
Are you really going to do this, Sara? "I was, uh, wondering if…" Deep breath. "Well, let me put it this way. If I were to write a shipfic featuring you and my self-insert, would that be okay?"
Recoil shrugged. "I don't know what that is, but sure."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
"I… I… okay, cool." My face was approximately the temperature of a fusing sun, I could tell, but suddenly I was grabbing her hand, squeezing it tightly. There was a reassuring squeeze in response. She looked over at me. I looked up at her. Our eyes met. I smiled, and so did she. I leaned closer. Her phone rang, and suddenly she was pulling away, the hand that had held mine now sliding into a jacket pocket.
"Oh, it's the Deputy Director. I gotta get this, it could be… work stuff."
"Oh… yeah, sure. I'll grab our food, don't worry," I waved her off, sad that the moment was so short.
And then it went from the best day ever to one of the worst.
