Request from wiz-witch on Tumblr. This set is a lot more angsty than what I normally write, so be warned.
1. Broken
This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this. Agent Murphy, no, Milo, stolen from his time period and led away in chains. His smile strained at the corners, no longer bright and carefree. A boy who pushed through bad luck with a spring in his step, a child hanging out with his friends, a son who brought much joy to his family...
Never again. They broke him. He broke him. All because of his ridiculous pride. His stupid, foolish obsession with saving the world has led to many idiotic mistakes before, but none were as grave as ripping a child from a secure, loving home.
The Bureau's praise rang hollow. Oh, how he wished he could rip the document that detailed his promotion into shreds and shove it all down Block's stupid throat. Though the satisfaction wouldn't last. It would never last.
Dakota wouldn't speak to him. Or even look at him. He was right. Should've listened. Should've appreciated him more. Now his colleague and only friend hated him.
Not a hero. Just a villain.
2. Chains
The holding cell was nice. In movies, prisons were dingy, dusty, filled with rats and gigantic, hardened crooks who beat you up the moment you looked at one funny. But not here. In a way, it was almost worse.
The cell reminded him of his personal suite in the hospital. White, sterile walls, one door in the front, a small bed in the middle. But there were no family and friends to cheer him up with flowers and food, or to sign a brand new cast with messy scribbles, or promises to record the new Dr. Zone episodes so he could catch up on what he missed. Not in this place.
They had confiscated his backpack the moment he arrived. He had no tools to undo the shackles on his hands that bound him to the wall. He was free to pace the length of the room, sure, the chains gave him some freedom. But they stopped him when he was mere feet from the door, as if taunting him with the promise of freedom but dangling it ever so slightly out of his reach.
Words floated down from the observation deck above. Dangerous, jinx, erasure, prevention, they murmured. He couldn't hear entire sentences or their exact plans, but there was no reason that they couldn't let him be free. Right? He managed to survive. He pulled through. He always came through. So...
Why?
It wasn't so bad! They still fed him at least! And there was a bouncy ball he could throw at the wall! Maybe he could request some colored pens and paper so he doodle and brighten up this lonely, white place! Did they even have those?
Murphy's Law was unusually silent. He couldn't even count on his condition to accompany him now. Let something happen. Anything. It could be a falling vase-no, there wasn't a vase in here- or a crashing helicopter full of marmots (but they were inside), just... something! Anything!
The door opened, and James Bond undid his chains. Or at least, a man that heavily resembled James Bond. He wasn't so sure anymore. He wanted to ask, but his throat was too parched. A beautiful woman offered him water, and he gratefully gulped it down. She said he'd need it for the interrogation.
He wanted to trust them. He really did.
3. Night
In the past, the night sky offered a gorgeous view of the stars, people pointing out all the zodiac signs, constellations, and planets they could possibly name. Now, Dakota could barely see them.
Milo needed to shine. He had so much to offer, and they cruelly ripped away his future. For the greater good? How was kidnapping and interrogating someone just because they were extra unlucky for the greater good? Why didn't he fight Cavendish over this? Why did he not step in, cause a distraction, do anything to prevent him from being kidnapped?
Dakota needed to get some things off his chest. He crept out of the sleeping quarters, maybe he could see Milo and apologize. For everything. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he whirled around to face Cavendish. Anger boiled up inside at seeing his face, but he held back. Never, in all their missions, had Cavendish looked exhausted. Old, even.
Cavendish pointed to the holding cell. Dakota could set his anger aside for now. Oh, he still wanted to take his partner's ego down a few pegs, but seeing Milo safely home was the most important mission now.
They used their night vision goggles to navigate through the darkness. Dakota's heart sank as they approached the cell. Of course Savannah and Brick would be assigned as night guards.
Savannah exchanged a few heated words with Cavendish, berating him for allowing a child to be subject to the Bureau's brutal interrogation techniques. It was a wonder Milo hadn't snapped from the unbearable pressure. He was truly extraordinary. Brick said nothing, but passed a heavy, brown backpack to them. It was the one Milo always wore. A security blanket to anchor him to his loved ones.
The door opened, though Savannah and Brick remained at their posts. On the small bed, Milo clutched the thin blanket tightly. It wasn't cold, but Milo's body shivered and shook as he cried quietly.
Dakota dropped the backpack on the space beside Milo. The child looked up in surprise, then dove into his track suit, clinging to any kindness this horrible place had left. He awkwardly rubbed Milo's back as he sobbed, but Cavendish stayed by the door, unwilling to interrupt. But Milo noticed, then tried to approach him. The chains held him back, keeping him several feet away from comforting the older man.
Enough was enough. Dakota broke the chain with a sharp metal file, and kicked them aside. No more chains. And certainly never on Milo.
Milo rubbed his sore wrists, then held his hand out towards Cavendish. He offered him a tiny smile. Cavendish hesitated, his arms folded around his chest defensively. Slowly, he reached out and took Milo's hand, finally returning that same bright smile. Then he calibrated the Temporal Transporter, setting it to the 21st century.
Dakota squeezed Cavendish's arm. Next time they'd work through their hardships together. He couldn't stay angry. Not when Cavendish had finally recognized his mistakes.
A portal opened in front of them, a view of the Murphy's home sitting in the middle of swirling blue mist. Milo glanced between them, slipping on his backpack. He waved, then stepped through. Dakota and Cavendish waved back, cutting off the connection.
They could entrust Savannah and Brick to come up with a cover story. Their word held more weight after all. Block would likely strip their promotions in the morning, but they were all right with that. But they had successfully completed one mission.
Milo was home.
