A/N: Written for a New Years contest on Deviant Art, where it was given first place. Written in 2008.
If he closes his eyes, Jack Ryan can almost pretend he is still with his parents topside, toasting a glass of champagne to welcome in the new year. By now it seems a distant memory, though he isn't exactly sure how long it's been any more. He assumes he's been down there for days, but it could very well be a few hours. With a heavy sigh, he slides onto a lone and broken bench somewhere in the vast green that is Arcadia, a bottle of Merlot in one hand and his trusty – if not filthy- wrench in the other. Part of him thinks that maybe if he drowns himself in alcohol, he'll be able to forget this nightmare and think back to happier times. Another part of him knows that he should set the bottle down and continue with the task at hand, but Arcadia seems safe enough now that the splicers have been dealt with and the oxygen is restored.
Briefly, he wonders if his Irish companion is watching him; Jack reminds himself that Atlas is always watching him, be it through a security camera, bot, or some unknown method. Atlas's brow is probably wrinkled in annoyance at Jack's sudden break from the task at hand. His radio companion is sure to be muttering curses under his breath, his fingers drumming against the desk at which he sat. For a moment, he considers making contact with Atlas through the shortwave radio that rests on the left side, hooked firmly to his belt. He decides against it. This has been the only time he has been able to truly relax, other than the short bathysphere rides to his next destination.
His brown eyes close as he takes a swig of the Merlot; the alcohol runs down his throat, creating a warming sensation. After another few swigs, his tense muscles begin to loosen up and his eyelids grow heavy. He considers taking a nap, but he quickly reminds himself that he was never really safe, even if it seems so.
The radio abruptly begins to emit static, nearly causing him to jump up with a plasmid at the ready, but before he can almost hear the thick Irish brogue he has become so accustomed to. It takes several minutes for the signal to become clear again. Jack promptly reminds himself to pick up a few sets of batteries from Dr. Langford's office before he boards the bathysphere to Fort Frolic.
"Boyo-" The voice cuts off again and he brings the cool metal of the machine to his ear, guaranteeing that he won't miss the next set of words that escape the device. It takes several minutes before Atlas's voice becomes clear again. "Can you hear me, boyo?"
"Loud and clear, Atlas." His own voice sounds hoarse, probably from when the gardens had been void of oxygen. He clears his throat and takes another swig of Merlot, letting the dark red liquid wet he throat. It doesn't seem to help much unfortunately, because when speaks again his voice still sounds the same. "What do you need?"
"What the hell do ya think you're doing, lad? Do I gotta remind ya what we set out to do?" The man's voice is laced with displeasure and Jack nearly snaps at him. He forces himself to take a deep breath, allowing the alcohol to relax his body once again. Neither of them says anything for several minutes and Jack continues to down the Merlot. Finally with a sigh, Jack spoke.
"I'm ringing in the new year."
"A little late for that, boyo."
Jack licks his lips and sighs softly, his head starting to swim. He closes his eyes and focuses on the darkness behind his eyelids. It doesn't make the whirling in his head stop, not by a long shot. Atlas doesn't complain about not getting a response from the young man though and Jack almost believes he hears the squealing of a chair against a smooth wood floor. He wants to ask Atlas where he is going, if he should be concerned, or if he should meet him somewhere, but his hands feel far too heavy to reach for the radio only a few inches away.
After several minutes of absolute silence, Jack decides to sit up and call Atlas. He presses the button firmly and says the man's name, but receives no reply. In that instant, Jack's heart begins to race rapidly, but his head is still too dizzy for him to stand. He tries to call again, but the results aren't any better.
"Calm down, boyo. You're gonna give yourself a panic attack." Jack's head instantly turns to look at the source of the voice. He comes face to face with the blond haired man whose voice he has becomes so accustomed to. He nearly falls forward from the sudden movement, but Atlas grabs his shoulders and steadies him.
"Woah, ya seem a plastered there, lad," Atlas's blue eyes stare down at him and Jack chuckles a bit. The Irishman slowly sets him down on the bench where he had been previously.
"What are you doing here?" Jack says, his voice not nearly as hoarse as it had been previously. He keeps his eyes on Atlas's face, trying not to let his head drop, but failing for the most part. "Why aren't you at your headquarters watching the cameras? Ryan could find you."
Atlas smiles brightly, showing off his straight teeth and pats his back a bit to roughly, causing him to lean forward a bit far, "I thought we could celebrate together. After all, I don't think either of us have had an incredible New Year. Now if you're done askin' questions, pass me the Merlot and we can toast."
With another low chuckle, Jack passes him the Merlot and they toast imaginary glasses in the air, "Here's to gettin' outta this hellhole, lad."
"Together," Jack adds as Atlas offers him the bottle.
Atlas nods and takes a long chug of the sweet liquid and suddenly Jack knows. He knows that everything is going to be all right. They're going to escape Rapture and move on with their lives. Just then, because of that one-shared promise between two men and despite the howling of insane splicers, or the lonely wails of a Big Daddy, Rapture really was paradise.