A/N: Oh hey, it's another one of mine. This one was probably my favorite to write, mainly because I'm really happy with how well I achieved the emotional tone I was aiming for. At least... it feels that way when I read it. Hopefully it has the desired effect on you as well.
Enjoy
John Bradford sat alone in his office. The door was locked, though it didn't really matter too much since the residents of the Avenger were steering clear anyway. Mac had given him an odd look a day and a half ago, told the Central Officer to "take a day off," and that he would keep things chugging along in the meantime. XCOM needed to lay low for a bit anyway. Let the dust settle after the Merlot op, observe how the world was taking it, and to plan out their next move. The covert ops teams were already working to figure out how to fight back against Cinder's inevitable condemnation of the assault, and Odei asked him to trust that they would find a way.
So Bradford took MacAuley's offer and holed himself up in his living quarters aboard the ship. It was plenty spacious, and the furniture was comfortable. But try as he might, Bradford found himself unable to rest. His mind raced, replaying everything that had happened before, during, and after the operation. Every detail, every success, every failure…
After a day (or was it more?) of failing to follow Mac's instructions to take it easy, Bradford found himself sitting at his desk. With no work in front of him, and no personnel across from him, it was just Bradford, the room, and his thoughts.
And the alcohol cabinet staring at him from behind the miniature wet bar.
Bradord seriously considered breaking it open to try and force himself to relax, but he also knew what lay down that road. He drank when the social occasion called for it, such as when he was entertaining Bailey aboard the Temple Ship or Ironwood during their meeting in this very room, but even that was a test of his willpower. Central Officer Bradford the Boy Scout wasn't that way because he'd never gone to dark places, but rather because he managed to pull himself out of them. There was a reason he kept his SpecOps director in spite of the fact that his first impression of her was finding the woman playing games with an empty bottle of whiskey and a half-loaded revolver.
But he wouldn't go that far. He just needed sleep. And since sleep wasn't coming to him, he needed something to grease the wheels a bit. Just a bit.
"What do you think, Beags?" He asked, rubbing his eyes and calling out to the ether for advice from the man who'd been at the forefront of his thoughts for a large portion of the day.
"I think you're not you when you're drunk."
Bradford almost fell out of his chair at the sound of Beagle's voice.
He looked up to see the Captain leaning against the doorframe between Bradford's office and his living quarters, arms crossed and a melancholy look on his face. The two men just stared at each other, with Bradford still trying to process what his eyes and ears were telling him and Beagle evidently content to patiently wait for his superior officer to parse the situation.
Was he already drunk?
"Beags you're… you're…" Bradford's voice trailed off as his throat refused to finish his sentence.
His guest took pity on him.
"Here?" Beags supplied, pushing off from the doorframe. "Sort of. Don't worry, boss. You're not drunk, and I'm not the Ghost of Christmas Past come to help you see the error of your penny-pinching ways." He chuckled, then added, "Though I imagine she wouldn't mind if you pinched her cheek, to be honest."
Yeah, this was Beagle alright.
Bradford stared. Really took a moment to focus his eyes and make sure he wasn't just imagining Beagle standing in his office. If the smirking Rocketeer was an apparition, he wasn't going away.
"You're dead," Bradford said.
"I am," Beagle agreed, "but that doesn't mean that I'm not here. I'm just…"
He tapped his forehead, smiling.
Wait. This… this was all in his head? But how? Bradford was no stranger to hallucinations, but this felt real. Really real. God, now he really wanted a drink.
"I don't think you should touch that stuff, boss," Beagle repeated. "We've got a war to win, don't we? Everyone needs you at 100% if we're gonna pull this off."
But at what cost? How many more Beagles do I have to sacrifice in order to-
"Don't."
That wasn't Beagle's voice.
Bradford looked up. Beagle was gone, and in his place stood Eshragi and Conrad.
The former looked as calm and serene as always, while the latter offered up his usual grin.
"Long time no see, Boss," Conrad said. His nose wrinkled, and he added, "You, uh… looks like you've seen better days."
He couldn't argue that one. Even though he hadn't taken a look in the mirror lately, Bradford felt ragged. And that was before he was starting to see spectres of his dead friends.
Conrad pulled him out of his thoughts. "Shruggie's right, though. You can't do this to yourself, Boss. Ain't right."
"I thought Beags said he wasn't the Ghost of Christmas Past," Bradford muttered.
A hand pressed against his shoulder, and Bradford looked up to see Eshragi smiling at him. A tactile hallucination. Well, now Bradford had seen (or felt) everything.
"He is the part of you that knows that your guilt is misplaced. We are not sacrifices to the God of War, Bradford. Nor are we grim trophies of your failures. You learned this lesson a long time ago."
"I know," Bradford sighed. "I know. But when you lose so many good people, and for what…?"
"So that others may live," Conrad countered, "or have you already forgotten what we stopped in Merlot's lab? How many lives were saved in that hellhole, and how many more were spared abduction in the Downside? You have to know how much legwork Shruggie and I did before we passed the baton to Odei."
"Trust in our choice, Bradford. Just like we trust in XCOM's vigilance," Eshragi whispered.
But they were all here, Bradford thought, putting his face in his hands.
XCOM was trapped here. They had come out on the other side of Earth's greatest war for survival. They had won, and they should have all been relaxing, living out the lives they fought tooth-and-nail to earn. But instead, Bradford had dragged them here. To fight and die in a hell that wasn't even their own.
How many more losses would it take before they thought about whose fault that was?
"I'd do it again in a pinche heartbeat."
The next in Beagle's procession had apparently arrived.
"You never made it to Remnant, Bolts," Bradford said, catching sight of the (in some ways literally) larger-than-life man admiring the wet bar. "Or have you forgotten that you were claimed by the Long War?"
Bolts snorted. "Like that changes anything, Brad. Of course I would have loved to have seen mis pequeñas niñas again, but the same could be said of all those poor souls in India. Or Guatemala. Or Canada…
"Or Atlas," He said, raising an eyebrow expectantly at the Central Officer.
"But why does it have to be you?" Bradford growled, standing up from his chair in one sudden movement. All of these apparitions were beating him over the head with the same XCOM-isms he'd heard since the first war began. That didn't make him feel any less guilty.
It was easier to put on a face for others, to be strong when someone else needed it. And Bradford rarely found himself in a moment when there wasn't someone else in need of his strength. But here? It was just him, an office he felt he didn't deserve, a cabinet of alcohol he couldn't touch, and the ghosts who (for whatever reason) were incapable of resenting him.
The desk chair clattered as Bradford threw it aside before storming across the room to come face to face. He was just so… so angry that Bolts wasn't. How could he stand there, smiling at the man that denied him life? Happiness?
"Why are you the one that has to make the hard choice?" He repeated, eyes narrow.
"Because I can, amigo," Bolts said with a smile. "I had the power, and I did what I thought was right." He gently placed a mechanical hand on Bradford's chest and slowly pushed him back while asking, "How are the kids, by the way?"
Bradford saw right through the question. He knew what Bolts was trying to do, and a part of him was even more enraged that his friend would try to use RWBY as an excuse for giving up his own right to life. He wanted to yell at Bolts, tell him he was an idiot for accepting his fate like this, knock some sense into the man and that had every right to be furious… but a small voice in the back of his mind stole the wind out of Bradford's self-loathing sails.
"... Alive," He sighed.
Bolts grinned and asked, "Oh?"
"... Because of you."
"And Vance," the MECt added. "Claymore says 'hi,' by the way. Didn't want to bombard you with too many of us all at once, so he felt it was better if I just passed along the message."
Bradford snorted. "What? Is there an exclusive club where everyone who died from my choices hangs out together?"
His fury and shame had evidently downgraded itself to annoyance and self-mockery. They were being insufferable with their positivity. Yeah, sure, that was the essence of XCOM, but it was just Bradford and Bolts. Nobody else was around that needed them to put on the mask. Bolts had every right to look Bradford square in the eye and ask, "Why did you let me die?"
His friend looked on as Bradford's mind went to war with itself. Apparently, now was the time for Bradford to face the ugly truths that he'd managed to keep locked away for God knew how long. Beagle was the loss that made the dam break. The embodiment of XCOM, of its energy and optimism, its ability to look danger in the face and laugh at it… and now he was gone.
And it was Bradford's fault.
He was on the line when Mac was pleading with Beagle to turn around. He heard every word of their conversation, heard Beagle say that it was time. Bradford knew about Jamball. Of course he did. He knew how Beagle struggled with her loss. He even tried to talk to the Captain about it once, though he quickly dropped the idea of trying ever again after that first attempt.
But still… he was on the channel. And he said nothing. Was he afraid that Beagle would ignore an order to fall back? Or did he agree that Beagle made the right choice?
How many other deaths did he agree with?
"We aren't here to hold you back."
Bradford looked around once more. Bolts was gone, replaced by Adrienne Price. She stood behind the wet bar, fixing a pair of cocktails while she kept one eye on Bradford.
"We all feel your pain, John," She said, sliding the drinks onto the island between them. "Both the living and the dead. There isn't one among us who is unaware of the sacrifices you make and the hardships you endure for all our sakes. We are here to help you remember what you're fighting for, not to be chains that hold you down."
She nudged the cocktail and smiled. "Have a drink."
Bradford shook his head, taking a seat. "You know I shouldn't."
"And the fact that you hold fast to your convictions is what makes you the best of us," Adrienne answered, pulling the drink back and knocking it back herself. "That's what makes you the Central Officer."
Though he refused the drink, Bradford caught sight of the mirror sitting behind Adrienne, and had the chance to get a look at himself for the first time in days.
Dear God, his face looked absolutely gaunt.
"Christ," He muttered, "Conrad wasn't kidding."
Adrienne laughed. "Nothing a good night's rest can't fix. And maybe a trip over to see Doc Vahlen."
He missed her. He missed all of the operatives who were no longer with him, but Adrienne could light up a room in a way that few others could. Lucian managed to make peace with his sister's passing, but he wasn't the same. How could he be?
"You would be proud of Apollo," Bradford said, watching as Adrienne continued to experiment with the drinks available to her. "He didn't let your death destroy him. And now he's found a way to help others heal like he did."
"I should hope so," She answered, sampling one of her mixed drinks. "He's a medic after all. Coco's lucky to have my little bro looking out for her."
In any other situation, Adrienne's comment about her twin would have made Bradford laugh. But right now, the woman's nonchalance didn't make his turmoil any easier. And yet, even though this was all in his head, even though these fragments of Beagle, Eshragi, Adrienne, and the others were just his memories of them, he knew that this is what they would say.
"How many more of you are there?" He asked.
"Plenty enough until you get it through your head that it's not your fault," Adrienne answered with a smirk. "A Christmas Carol ain't got shit on us."
"I just… wish you were here. Really here."
Adrienne hopped up on the counter and scooted over towards Bradford. "We never left, you know."
Bradford sighed. "It's not the same, and you damn well know it."
"It's not," Adrienne agreed.
"But it's enough," a new voice said.
Bradford was expecting this visitor. Ever since he realized what was going on, he knew that one of his friends would be making an appearance no matter what.
"Hello Zhang."
Chilong took a seat next to Bradford and picked up one of the untouched drinks left behind by Adrienne.
"It's good to see you again, Central," Zhang answered. He sampled the cocktail, made a slight face, and put it down. "Though I wish it was under better circumstances."
Bradford snorted. "What, it's not ideal that one of us is dead and the other is apparently having a mental breakdown?"
"That's XCOM," Zhang said before making another attempt at trying Adrienne's drink.
So what wisdom had XCOM's most decorated Colonel come to impart that hadn't already been said? What Zhang-ism did he have for Bradford?
"Your head's in the clouds of your own self-doubt, Bradford. You are spending so much time trying to claw away the fog that you have lost sight of what is truly important."
What the hell, Zhang?
"And worrying about keeping people alive isn't important?" Bradford shot back.
Zhang looked at him. No, not just at him. Through him. It had been so long since Bradford had seen the man's piercing stare that he'd forgotten how effective it was. All of Zhang's concern, annoyance, frustration, and judgment was wrapped up in a single, wordless look that bore into the depths of Bradford's soul.
"We didn't fight because we believed you would keep us safe," Zhang said, his voice barely above a whisper, "We fought because we believed in our cause."
Bradford knew that. Obviously he knew that. That wasn't the problem it was-
"Get this through your head, Bradford," Zhang growled. "'We do what we must because we must' is not simply some empty platitude. There may be soldiers in XCOM who don't believe it at first, but they don't last long before understanding the strength of that philosophy. That is what drives us forward, Bradford. No matter the odds. No matter the losses. We fight to the last, and we die standing."
"Just as Beagle did…"
"You're damn right that's how I did it."
Bradford's heart sank when he looked over, expecting to see one of his trusted friends gone once more. Instead, Zhang still sat there looking at him, but Beagle stood behind the Colonel.
The scowl on Zhang's face softened, and the beginnings of a smile cracked across his lips.
"Now you're understanding it. Just because we're in your head doesn't mean we're wrong."
"The opposite, in fact," Beagle added. "We're the parts of you pushing back against the guilt. And you know we're right."
"Beags got it in one," Conrad said, stepping out from the living quarters to join the others.
A hearty laugh signalled Bolts's arrival as well. "Of course he did! Mad though he may be, Beagle knows his stuff."
"You haven't forgotten us," Adrienne said, taking her position behind the bar once more, "and we know that you won't forget us."
Eshragi appeared, standing shoulder to shoulder with Adrienne. "Let us give you strength instead. Take our hopes and dreams, and let them be the motivation you need to push through to victory,"
Bradford stared, wordless, at his friends -his family- gathered all around him. They were always in his thoughts, but to see them here, personified? The pride on their faces as they looked upon XCOM's rock, the Central Officer? They didn't judge him for his weakness. They were here to help him. To be the strength that he had almost tried to search for in the bottom of a bottle.
"Stay with me," He whispered. "Just for a while longer. Please."
"We're with you until the very end," Zhang answered, "whether you can see us or not."
Beagle elbowed Bradford's shoulder and winked. "Buuuuuuut after we're done here, maybe give the lady a call? You know the one I'm talking about."
No he didn't.
"Yes, Brad. You do," Beagle insisted. He wrinkled his nose and added, "Maybe clean up a bit first, though. Gotta maintain that good impression, after all."
Bradford rolled his eyes. "You might be right that a diplomacy call is in order, though I'm not sure about your tone or intentions."
Zhang sighed.
"Did it work?"
I do not know, Navigator. All I can do is help Bradford see his Ghosts. As to what they are telling him, I cannot say.
Annette nodded. Hopefully they were telling him what he needed to hear.