By the time they made it over the last few miles of dirt track to the School, it was getting on towards evening, and Jeb had to shake ter Borcht awake when he'd found a parking place.
"You didn't say how long you expected you'd be staying, so the best I could do was get you a spare room in on-site accomodation," Jeb said as ter Borcht lifted his duffel bag from the back seat and picked up his briefcase.
"Thank you," he said, as Jeb led the way toward the low building. "I cannot be sure how long I will remain here. I'm grateful for your hospitality."
Their shoes crunched on the gravel of the path. This was the back parking lot, and it always reminded Jeb of parking at concerts and county fairs. It provided access only to the on-site accomodations, and was littered with cigarette butts, gum wrappers, and the million small indicators of human presence. This in contrast to the front parking lot and structure where visitors and those who lived off-site parked. That lot was kept pristine, and while the gravel back here sometimes washed away in the rare rains, the black asphalt of the front lot was always new and smooth.
Jeb fished in his pocket and handed a key card to ter Borcht, who awkwardly stuffed it into the breast pocket of his shirt. "That'll get you anywhere you need to go. I used the most recent photo we had on file of you, from 2000. I don't think anyone will give you crap for not looking like your photo."
Ter Borcht didn't laugh, and Jeb turned back to open the door into the building. A gust of cool air swept by them, and they stepped inside.
"Your place is number 112," said Jeb. "Down at the end of the hall, on the right. I, uh, made over the bed with some spare blankets. The cafeteria will start serving dinner in about two hours if you're, uh, hungry."
Ter Borcht nodded. "Yes. If you'd permit it I'd enjoy joining you at that time. In the meantime I intend to lie down and rest for a while."
"OK." Jesus Christ I am so awkward. "Uh, if you need anything I'm in the next building over right now. Room 224." Why not invite him over for coffee while you're at it?
Ter Borcht smiled tiredly. "I'll remember that. Thank you very much, Jeb."
When ter Borcht didn't appear at the time they'd agreed on, Jeb went looking for him at his rooms, the natural assumption being that he was still asleep. Which thought sparked a little amusement, given the lenghts ter Borcht had gone to earlier to appear put-together and above it all.
Even he had to sleep, it seemed.
Jeb knocked on his door. And knocked again. And listened carefully for any sound of movement within. And had just raised his hand to keep knocking when the door jerked slightly open and ter Borcht looked out at him, expression blurred by sleep and hair mussed by the pillow.
"Thank you for coming to wake me," he said. "I'm afraid I... overslept."
"That you did. Are you dressed?"
He had the luxury of a moment to regret his phrasing while ter Borcht blinked, once, at him. "Yes. Let me find my shoes."
In a moment ter Borcht stood in the hallway next to him, and he hesitated for a moment before shutting the door.
The cafeteria was in the main building, and as they walked out onto the path that led there from on-site accommodations, Jeb at once saw it all through a new perspective. The low, white concrete buildings must look terribly drab to his visitor. Ter Borcht and he, when they had shared a lab, had done so at the Institute in New York, always the lovelier complex. They had worked over the years to have improvements done at the School, but it would always look exactly like what it was: a repurposed military facility.
Then again, though he'd never visited it himself, Jeb had heard that the Itex facility at Lendeheim was beyond over-the-top; ter Borcht had sent him an awkwardly-shot picture of himself and Director Janssen in front of it just before his disappearance, and if Itex was still operating out of that Baroque monstrosity, Jeb would eat his hat.
The path was groomed gravel, neater than the parking lot though there was still little cause for the occasional official visitor to ever venture back here, even for a furtive smoke. There was a perfectly nice smoking area at the front of the building, though the staff didn't use it much. Most people preferred to light up out here, where there was a view better than "Brutalist architecture" to appreciate, and no risk of getting snuck up on by a visiting client or someone from Itex out inspecting the regional labs.
"What do you think?" said Jeb.
Ter Borcht squinted into the low sun from the west. "Well, I'm thinking of how I'll explain my presence here to your superiors. As I think you've gathered, my 'transfer' here was less than official." He paused. "Also, I like what you've done with the place. I never liked the fashion for landscaping. It makes everything look like a theme park."
I just work here, I didn't design the grounds. Jeb held his tongue, fumbling through errant thoughts (if you don't have an alibi, how am I supposed to explain myself?) before managing an unsteady "Thank you."
"You're welcome," ter Borcht returned smoothly. "You do still have your license, correct?" His voice purred over the Rs, and when Jeb didn't answer him, he went on. "You are still licensed to practice as a physician, yes?"
"Uh, technically, yes." Where are you going with this? "Are you planning something? If you're planning something, leave me out of it." He stepped up to the door, slid his key through the reader, waited for the beep, hauled it open and held it for ter Borcht. "I covered for you once, and that was enough."
"That was fifteen years ago," ter Borcht said archly. "Thank you. And I'm afraid my plans are in somewhat of a shambles, as it happens, or I wouldn't be here."
The door swung shut behind them, and they proceeded down the hall. "You'd better have something by tomorrow morning, or we're both going to be in a lot of trouble," Jeb said. "Left here."
"I'll do my best. I should still have a few friends left at Itex who owe me favors." He eyed the door to the cafeteria with great suspicion. "Please, you first."
"A few friends? Look, I know you weren't the most popular person there, but what did you do?" Jeb held the door for him, and when it looked as though ter Borcht were about to answer, added, "No, don't answer that. We can talk later."
"You know, I don't mean to make an ass of myself, but I'm afraid my cash reserves are rather low," ter Borcht said stiffly as they stood just inside the cafeteria. "Would you mind?"
"Buying you dinner? Dude, you bought me my first legal beer. Of course I'll pay for your dinner."
"I had to hold your hair back while you vomited in the gutter," ter Borcht returned. "I think that's more than worth dinner."
"I forgot about that," Jeb said. "I think it's pizza night. You want pizza?"
"Deflect all you want. Your American drinking laws are risible," he sniffed.
"Risible? Really? There is no reason to flaunt your 'superior education' anymore, you went to college twenty years ago, I don't care if it was Oxford." For a moment it was 1994 again, the two of them verbally sparring while waiting for coffee.
"Yes, yes, that's true," he said, and waved one hand dismissively. "If this is how we're to converse, then yes, pizza is fine."
"And I know you don't care about toppings," Jeb muttered. "God knows you stole my pizza enough times no matter what I got on it."
"Food is food." Ter Borcht shrugged. "And it's hard to get a good pizza in Europe."
"OK. Pizza then. They should have Pepsi, you want a Pepsi?"
"Just water, thank you."
"Fine. Go find a place to sit. Oh, by the way. I put some money on your tab here, courtesy of the American military and Itex. Should be effective by tomorrow morning, thank me later."
"I doubt the government will appreciate paying for my meals," ter Borcht commented. "I think they could have me arrested if I weren't so useful to them."
"That's great. I'll come find you." And Jeb walked away to get in line. He was never any good at ending conversations like a proper adult.
Ter Borcht scanned the room for empty tables. Jeb was reminded, fleetingly, of high school whenever he entered the cafeteria. Ter Borcht, product of the German educational system, was reminded only of the hospitals where he had worked. All their cafeterias had been the same, and nearly two decades later, he was amused by the similarity that still held.
Someone tapped his shoulder, and he turned, uncertain what to expect. Other than Jeb, he knew no one here, which was one of the reasons he had chosen the School for his bolt-hole in the first place.
You should still be in high school, he thought when he saw the young woman standing there, and immediately followed that with Christ, I'm getting old.
"I don't mean to be intrusive," she said, "but are you Roland ter Borcht?"
He looked at her for a moment, trying to place her by appearance. Her hair was in a short afro, her eyes green and intelligent behind her glasses. She reminded him of an old colleague, but was far too young...
"Yes, I am," he said. "I'm sorry, have we met?" He held out his hand, and they shook hands.
"No, we haven't." She smiled. "I just, uh, never thought I'd get to actually meet you in person and I wanted to say hi if it was actually you."
"None other," he said.
"I read your thesis on gene alteration with retroviruses," she said. "I mean, I know that was a long time ago, but it was just revolutionary. I was supposed to read it in college, but I skipped it then and I just picked it up a couple weeks ago. You're, um, you were kind of my inspiration for getting into science at all."
"I'm very flattered," ter Borcht said, aware of how stiff he must sound. "Your name was?"
"Sorry, I got carried away. I'm Natasha Petrova. It's very nice to meet you." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I came over to ask if you needed somewhere to sit. No offense, but you look kind of lost."
"I've never been here before," he admitted. "And that would be very kind of you."
"All right! Right this way," she said, leading him towards a small table huddled against the wall, where a half-finished tray already sat next to an open book. "I'm eating alone tonight, so just sit wherever you want."
He was reminded of himself in college, eating alone in his rooms or with a book as companion at a restaurant, and felt an absurd note of compassion for this young woman, so much like the person he had been. He settled himself into a chair opposite her tray, and she sat down immediately.
"I couldn't help but see you came in with Jeb," she said, toying with her fork. "You know him?"
"Know him?" He smiled. "I worked with him for the better part of a decade. We've been out of touch for a while, but yes, I know him."
"Yeah, it looked like you were old friends. I just ask 'cause I work in his lab and he didn't mention anything about having a visitor. He is pretty scatterbrained, though." She shrugged, pushed a lump of mashed potatoes around on her plate.
"Please, eat. And my... transfer here was rather sudden. I'm not surprised he didn't tell you," he said, turning to check on Jeb's progress through the line. Still shuffling by the salad bar. What on Earth did he want a salad for? He turned back to Petrova. "So you work with him?"
She nodded, swallowed a mouthful of mystery meat. "Every day. I about died when I got the assignment, let me tell you. We learned about both you guys in the same breath in college. People put you on the same kind of pedestal as Watson and Crick, I swear."
Flattering. "I do try not to steal research," he said. "But about Jeb: tell me how he runs his lab."
"I would love to," said Petrova.
note: I said I would try for weekly updates, ha ha. I've had to drop a class, which has lightened my workload, but I'm still waiting on an appointment this Thursday before I even know where treatment for my leg will start. Fun times.
Also, yes, there's gonna be slash in this. Just not yet.
