The Committee for National Security

Chapter 10 – Breather

6 Months after expulsion / June 6th/7th, 1980

Across Time and Space, June 6/7, 1980

"Suicide is painless,

It brings on many changes."

Johnny Mandel,"Suicide is Painless"

Generalmajor Yuri Gagarin [Soviet Armed Forces – Soviet Air Forces] The Kremlin, Moskva — Dated June 6, 1980

Yuri couldn't help but glare at the other Yuri—the one from that new Spetsgruppa. The one with the purple armbands—as he nodded at the words of General-Secretary Romanov. That slimy bastard had something in his eyes that Gagarin just couldn't shake off. As he cupped his cheek and nodded along to Romanov, he still couldn't shake off the feeling of suspicion.

"Now, I thank you for listening to my plan for the destruction of our capitalist opponent, the United States of America," The General-Secretary said, his overweight body towering over the short Gagarin and the other Yuri. The nepotism hire. A glance shot at him by Gagarin, and Gagarin knew that this asshole was bad news. And to think that this fatass failure of a General-Secretary got him where he was. Eugh. "The glorious Union rests on your shoulders, you two. The glorious legacy of Russia shall be topped with our victory over the West!"

He stopped to grab his pet turtle. Sam. Gagarin wasn't even sure if he really needed a pet turtle. Why the hell do you even have a turtle at the Kremlin? "As my great friend Sam here wants to demonstrate," He said as he picked up the poor thing. "All we need is one critical strike on America's heart, and- boom! Haha!" He made an explosion with his hands using the turtle as a base while he laughed heartily, his eyes betraying his jolly behavior. Gagarin just winced.

This fatass was a failure to the Soviet Union. And it showed. "However," He put the turtle down. "We need to cripple their rotten structure from the inside. The American empire is decaying, everybody in the World Socialist Alliance knows this."

"Hence why comrade Yuri over here leads Spetsgruppa Э," Ah, Gagarin chuckled. Spetsgruppa Ye. KGB Directorate Ye, or Yepsilon. Money-hogging bastards who took the only realistic solution to fighting America and Europe away from him. He glanced several times at Yuri, who still had a stony face as he stared down Alexander Romanov, who bellowed and slapped his stomach like a fucking seal. "Which is an… honor," Gagarin could barely hold his fist together as he grit his teeth calling Yuri's leadership of Yepsilon an honor. "I think that he will do great with the resources he has been given."

"Ah, excellent! True comradeship in the aftermath of socialist competitiveness! Proof of our inherent superiority over capitalism!" Gagarin cringed and closed his eyes, silently snarling as Romanov grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him pats there and there. He may have been shorter than that fucking baldie, but he was not a child. "You see this, Comrade Yuri? Comrade Gagarin wishes you the best of luck in the name of defeating international capitalism!"

"I take pride in being able to secure victory in the Union's favor," By the name of Stalin, Yuri couldn't stop being such a smug snake as his soft-spoken voice betrayed his real intentions. Maybe, Gagarin thought, drinks with Romanenko wouldn't be too bad now. "And I thank you, General-Secretary, for letting me prove my resourcefulness in defeating the Union's enemies."

"Now, you two!" Romanov continued as he sat down on his office, spinning his chair. Immature. Gagarin only squinted at Romanov as he continued on and on. "Remember our plans for what we are supposed to do. Gagarin?"

"Mhm," Gagarin nodded and gave Romanov a salute. "The gassing of rebel villages has been authorized. We've loaded a squad of Foxtrots around Grozny with VX Gas."

"Stalin's special! Haha! Those insurrectionists in Dagestan will not know what hit them!" Gagarin cringed once again. Could he not see that he was dealing with a serious matter? By the Rodina, could he at least stop the bombastic behavior? "I trust that you also know what to do to those who've gone on strike in the Turkestan mines, yes?"

"The beacons have already been deployed, Secretary-General. They will bow to the will of the Union soon enough."

"Excellent! Excellent! I shall see to it that you will get a toast for your glorious actions in defending the Union from parasites!" Romanov stood up and flailed his arms around in joy, a fake smile plastered on his face. Gagarin snarled in disgust. This cow didn't deserve the seat of Secretary-General.

It was only because of the equally if not more idiotic Allied Powers that Gagarin had to answer him. He was going to need a drink, he thought as he put his hands in his pockets, Romanov coughing and seemingly straightening himself.

"Now, you too. See to it that your jobs are done immediately. I want Grozny cleansed and those strikers put down," He slammed his hand on the table as his jolly expression faded into one mocking seriousness. Despite his attempts, he could never be serious in Gagarin's eyes. He was always a failure. "I shall," Gagarin grit out as he gave a salute and a stone-cold expression to Romanov. "I will get the telegram to 120th Guards. Engels-2 will also be instructed to launch a second bombardment of gas."

"The beacons will be deployed hastily, Secretary-General."

"Good! Dismissed" Romanov boomed as Gagarin and Yuri quickly turned around, going for the door. Gagarin could hear Romanov being playful with that damn turtle of his even as he held the door handle before Yuri could get it. He then pulled it back, and stormed to the left, heading for his car.

He glanced at his shoulder. That arrogant son of a whore Yuri continued striding on, this time to the left. As if he never cared. That man represented the excesses of Romanov's nepotism. Of Secretaryship.

The idea that the General-Secretary's word is above all written law, even the Soviet ones.

He sighed. He couldn't really protest that much anymore. His space program had lost the funding war no thanks to Secretaryship, and he couldn't do anything more than that. A walk down the stairs with his hands on the guard rail taught him that much. The moment he went down, he was greeted with his aide. A man from Leningrad.

He passed a slip of paper to his aide. "Get this to Colonel Ivanov. He knows what to do with it." His aide saluted as he turned around and then ran to Colonel Ivanov. In that slip of paper was the authorization code for the attack on those villages. It had been a while since the Air Force had used VX gas for counterinsurgency operations.

But, he thought as he approached his car, ever since the invasion of Chechnya, the counterinsurgency operation had been given… a little more room to expand, so to say. Gagarin didn't really care. As he turned the car on, he could only think of where he was going next. To that accursed bar in the middle of fuckall, Moskva.

The gas pedal gave way for Gagarin's thoughts to fester like termites to a rotten piece of wood, idly sitting there as he approached another bout of traffic. Did he really have to listen to that Yuri bastard complain over and over again about how using the weapons he authorized was 'anti-human.'

So long as there is counterrevolution, these things are necessary. It may be dirty, but in defense of Union- It matters more. If only that peacenik bastard could understand that, he thought as his grip on the steering wheel became tighter, taking a left into the street containing the bar.

Something that always bugged him, even as he exited the car, was how contradictory Romanov was. Whenever he spoke patriotically, it was always about the Union. Yet, in private, whenever Romanov had nobody around him- It was always 'Russia.' Russia's legacy. Russia's revenge. Those peeping conversations gave him more than he needed to know about the actual workings of Romanov.

Someone who didn't actually care about the glorious legacy of Russia. Just another boyar using it to corral the people into staying bound to their chains.

But, ah, no matter. That fatass could rot by his lonesome. And so can his lackey, Yuri. Gagarin had better things to do.

Like address his good old friends.

A quick trip to the bartender, and he was waiting for the man to finish up cleaning up his glass so that he could place his order.

Amusingly, the moment that he laid his eyes on Gagarin, he put the glass and rag used to clean it down on the sink, approaching Gagarin as the rest of the bar drunk themselves into a stupor.

"What can I get you, Mr. Gagarin?" That was the sound of the bartender. One Mr. Abrahamov. Gagarin simply cupped his cheek, his short stature rendering him relatively unimposing compared to most of the guests. "Is it the, uh, 'special' you always get?"

"Well, yes, that and a glass of booze. Western quality, really," He said. "Pass me the glass and the booze before you gimme the special."

"Noted," Abrahamov said as he walked to the glass he put down earlier, and then grabbed a bottle of western booze. While he took off the lid and poured it in, Gagarin could only tap on the table as he thought back to it again.

That son of a whore, Yuri, had to lecture him on 'anti-human' actions after he lost the competition for Romanov's approval and funding. Pfft. What makes gas inherently more anti-human than… Whatever the hell Spetsgruppa Ye is coming up with?

Simple. Yuri just has an ego and believes that what he says is anti-human is absolutely right and any opposition is likewise anti-human. Pfft. Asshole.

It was just a shame that Yuri is Romanov's oh-so-favorite son of a whore.

Maybe someday he could snap out of that idiot's words. Not that it would really change Gagarin's opinion of Romanov anyway, he thought as Abrahamov approached him, glass of booze in hand. It was set down. "I assume you want the special now, Mr. Gagarin?" He asked, cleaning the glass.

Just as usual. He knew the routine for this already.

Gagarin nodded. "One Union Shot please." Gagarin said as he grabbed the glass of booze, looking around to see the other members of the bar either engrossed in their conversations, shitfaced drunk, or trying to seduce the barmaids.

Why did they even have barmaids in the Union again?

Either Abrahamov was horny or Romanov was horny. One he could only wince at, the other he wanted to kill.

A sigh escaped him when Abrahamov pressed the 'special' button, a secret wall opening in an 'unused' and 'closed' bathroom of the Bar. Nodding in thanks, Gagarin paid his tab, 320 Rubles, and headed to the 'special' corner.

Rounding a corner to the right, he came face to face with an open wall, its door having retracted upward, leading to a secret room built into another building attached to the bar's building. He clicked his mouth once more.

It used to just pull the door to the side. Now it retracts it upward. Abrahamov will never stop spending his hard-earned money from the struggling people. He sighed heavily as he walked past the hole, with the door closing behind him.

A brisk walk in the secret room and a turn to the right- And there he found who he was looking for. Nothing but a smirk on his face as he heard their all-too-recognizable laughs.

"That is exactly what I've been saying, Misha," The laughing voice of KGB Director Yuri Andropov, the only respectable Yuri in the KGB's upper rank, echoed as he was joined by another person's laughter, which continued as he spoke more. "Romanov's way too busy staining his walls to ever notice his heart's failure!"

"Comrade Andropov, I rebuke you!" Was the voice of Generalmajor Mikhail Gorbachev, a respectable man of the Soviet Army. Someone who's also been hanging around Andropov way too much, Gagarin snickered. "Our Glorious Secretary-General Romanov is fully aware of his creeping heart failure, but defeating America comes first! Not even heart failure shall stop this task!"

The two of them burst into uncontrollable laughter as Gagarin sipped his glass of booze. It seemed that the two of them had also had two glasses of alcohol each. Well, they weren't lightweight anyway. The joke he missed probably was that funny.

"Gentlemen," Gagarin interrupted as he took his usual slot, just in the right of the table, with Andropov having taken the middle seat and Gorbachev having taken the left seat. He slid the chair back and positioned himself atop it, before fully settling in and looking at the two. "I see that you two have had quite the wondrous discussion. Humorous, if I may add."

"Well, yes. We were just making fun of Romanov once more. I mean," Gorbachev said. "Can you really trust him with defeating America when he's got heart failure to worry about first?"

"Oh, no, I have no complaints against making fun of that failure of a Secretary-General." In fact, he encouraged it. A smirk appeared on his face as he took another sip from the glass of booze. "He is… a failure in many ways." Yes, he was a failure.

A failure at handling the glorious revolutionary legacy of Russia against the forces of counterrevolution, that is. That man Romanov could never be trusted with the keys to the Union.

Just a shame that the Allied Nations had placed him in charge instead of going with anybody else. Just a shame.

"I see, I see," Gorbachev nodded. "Well, Andropov- Gagarin's here. Remind us again what we were supposed to be briefed on?"

"Let us begin, then," Andropov stated as he pulled out a briefcase. "This is what we know currently." He said, as he opened up the briefcase, exposing folders and papers that Andropov had, uh, swiped. Some of them more… so to say, compromising.

To Directorate Ye, anyway. The Soviet Air Forces were not affected by any of these damning documents- Only the KGB was. And even then, only Directorate Ye. Gagarin thanked any supreme being out there that Romanov was this dumb to let Andropov remain his KGB Director.

A file caught his eye. Stamped on it was the signature stamp of FAILURE. Something that… interested Gagarin. Since when did Directorate Ye fail at their jobs? He immediately picked it up, and inspected it closely.

"Operation Trojan?"

"Yes. Operation Trojan was, well, spearheaded by Directorate Ye. You remember that damned American who managed to steal information about our MIDAS missiles a while ago?"

"Oh yes, I remember him," Gagarin snarled. "Was this supposed to be an operation to eliminate the fucker?" He asked, not opening until he could really know that it was, indeed, supposed to be about shooting him.

"Yes," Andropov chuckled. "Open the document. It's got some real funny moments in there."

Grumbling, Gagarin opened up the document to read it- Wait. He squinted at it. CODEPINK assets were activated the moment the CIA agent had made landfall, and so were FREETRUCK assets.

He read further. Right, he understood what they and their useful idiot student unions were supposed to do- Tie up the National Guard, emergency services, etcetera- and to waste the U.S. government's time and effort in Seattle while they looked for this CIA agent.

But how did it get marked as a failure- He grinned when he read through the rest. Apparently, they had resorted to spreading fliers calling the agent a CIA provocateur and offered bounties. Oh no. They just painted a target on themselves-

He winced, however, as he read further. A CODEPINK 'activist' had managed to track down the CIA asset and alert Directorate Ye, only for them to escape- and that activist was dead one glance later. Gagarin shook his head as he read further.

There was a snippet, however, talking about how Directorate Ye murdered an activist who discovered their outpost in Seattle. Gagarin's grip tightened and he scoffed. Never trust them with local assets, it seemed.

The dossier then ended abruptly. Gagarin's eyes widened at the photos recovered. Agents with their brains removed from their bodies. Some agents just plainly shot dead. Some slashed. Some with shotgun wounds to the stomach. Directorate Ye's outpost located in the middle of Seattle had been compromised.

And massacred.

The only reason they were able to discern this was because they had sent a recovery team, only for them to find the bloody aftermath of whatever hit them. They had been long dead by the time the recovery team had managed to get there. Several hours dead.

He dreaded to read more. But that was it, given that the dossier ended on with the note that they failed to capture that CIA agent and they managed to waste CODEPINK assets from a few months ago and FREETRUCK assets loaned by the British.

If there was a God, then Gagarin was thankful he made life for Yuri hell. Directorate Ye could not get away with their injustices for longer anyway. Gagarin closed the folder and slid it back to the case, motioning for Andropov.

"In some darker news," Gagarin said as he giggled at Directorate Ye's failure, which was the lightest thing he's ever read in a long time. A glance at Andropov told him that even the KGB Director thought it was funny. "How was the talk with Romanenko? Did you manage to pry out the reason the Akula-class missile submarines were exported to the ARA out of him, or…?"

Yuri Andropov sighed and nursed his head. "I haven't really been able to talk to him about that, no. That man is consummate as it goes. That being said, he has elaborated on the supposed official reason."

"Well, I've always wondered why the excuse was 'We're bolstering revolutionary allies' so… Hit me."

"Well, there's been concerning developments coming from America. Rumors of weather control and one of those chronospheres from the Second Great War."

"The Great Humiliation, right," Gagarin lazily replied as he tapped the table. "Go on."

"Well, the Akula-class is supposed to bolster ARA defenses against the U.S. Navy, and even strike against the US' buildings. Given, well, the alleged sightings of a Chronosphere," Something that was rare these days, yes. "And the rumors of the Americans being able to control the weather. Goodness knows what would happen to the ARA surface fleet without them?"

"Well, Romanenko has been very helpful in that regard then," Gagarin acknowledged as he continued sipping from his booze glass. "It's hard to imagine-" He was interrupted by a haughty laugh from Mikhail Gorbachev.

Gagarin simply turned around to the man with a birthmark on his head, unfazed and almost dozing off, hand resting on his left fist while his right hand gripped the booze. "What was so funny this time, Misha?"

"Oh, I just read the Dossier on the status of Operation Rockwell."

"Ah, right, I'll never understand Directorate Ye's co-operation with reactionaries," That, Gagarin knew. Had he been in charge of the KGB, none of that would happen. Unfortunately though, as it stands, it seems that Directorate Ye is above the law, as per Secretariatship. "Continue on, Misha."

"So- So their, uh, co-operative asset from Britain smuggles guns to, uh, TRILBY," Ah, TRILBY. Directorate Ye's codename for reacitonary militias in the East Coast. "And rather than succeed in their plot to blow up the hotel to send a message- Their bomb fails to explode, and- And, get this…"

Gagarin raised his eyes. "What is it?"

"TRILBY got fucking slaughtered! Their entire camp- Those 20-something armed men with guns they don't need? All of them wiped out in a single day."

"Well, so much for success," Gagarin sneered. "Any idea who caused it?"

"Well, no- Not anyone specific, at least. But there's a bunch of suspects in the file. Some of them… odder than others," Gorbachev noticed. "Take a look at what Directorate Ye's managed to scrape from American news."

The folder was passed over to Gagarin, who closely inspected it, hands on the base as he drank oncemore from the booze glass. His attention was caught when he hovered over the most likely suspect.

Central Intelligence Agency Director George Bush. But there were notes. "He couldn't have slaughtered them all by himself" was one. "The bodies were mutilated beyond human capability" being another. Another one, "Bodies too bloody to be gunshots" joined in as the third. And it all came converging together with a last one. "Extremely weakened. Could not have used a weapon."

Hmph. Directorate Ye being self-absorbed once again. His eyes darted over to the other suspects.

What immediately caught his eye was a very mysterious, authoritative woman with a piercing glare wearing a peculiar uniform of vague black and gold colors. Under her picture was a name marked with quotation marks. "Garion." The comments from Directorate Ye were… interesting. "ALIBI: Was said to be in the restroom the whole event. Blood on her says otherwise" was one. "Looks scary" was another. And the third and final was just "Suspicious bitch."

To the right, a man in a suit- Wait. He bore a large resemblance to George Bush. Quite a lot. Gagarin looked back and forth- There was just no way. Though it was through a Black-and-White picture, he could tell that they shared… a concerningly large amount of features. But the CIA Director looked… 20 years older. And a different haircut.

This man, "Roland" had looked the inverse- 20 years younger. The comments had been equally odd. "ALIBI: Was said to be sleeping after an alcohol trip. Blood on hair and suit says otherwise." Was the first one. Second one, "Looks like George Bush" Ha. As if Gagarin didn't know that already. He glanced at the third comment. "Looks washed-up to me."

Never underestimate your opponent, Directorate Ye. His eyes then widened when he got a look. The amount of scars on her face was not something that should be within human reach. What the hell was this woman- He shut his brain off as he read the name. "KALI" in bold unlike the rest.

He glanced to the comments. "ALIBI: Said to have killed only in self-defense. Photograph says otherwise." He glanced- and winced. There was a piece of brain matter near her neck. And in her hair, an eye stuck out. A third line in the comment got his attention. "LIKELY slaughtered an agent."

The second and third comments weren't any better for Directorate Ye's morale. "Evil" was just another word used to describe her. He couldn't exactly deny it as he looked into her eyes- Nothing but rage and brashness in her eyes. Something that Directorate Ye despised. But he applauded that.

He then darted to the third comment, which made him snicker. "CONSIDERED CIA ASSET: ELIMINATE AT ALL COSTS."

They were going to lose it all to this woman. He grinned as he shook his head and gave the folder back to Gorbachev, who responded by chuckling more. Gagarin likewise just smiled as he downed the booze in its entirety in one go, uncaring about the potential risks to his throat. Not like he could really care about it.

"Oh, how I pity Directorate Ye for their transgressions against the United States of America," Gagarin half-heartedly weeped as he tightly gripped the glass, barely trying to avoid breaking it. He just hated Directorate Ye that much. "But I fear that they may have made a terrible mistake that shall take their lives."

"What is it, Yuri?" Gorbachev said. "Painting a target on their back? Sucking up to Romanov so much that he wants them dead?"

"No," Gagarin laughed as he shook his head, waving off Gorbachev and Andropov, both of whom looked at each other in confusion just not a minute later.. "I fear that Directorate Ye has lit up their position to the Sleeping Giant like a bunch of idiots."

Roland Orlando [United States Government – (Illegally-hired) Central Intelligence Agency Agent] Norfolk Public Library: Little Creek Branch — Dated June 7, 1980

"I missed a meeting… But it was probably the best excuse I had for missing that meeting anyway," George Bush chuckled as he and Roland shared a coffee at the outer edge of the public library. It had been a rather hectic day. But to be honest? Roland was just glad he had someone outside of the Library to talk to. "So, uh, I guess we both had our experiences ruined that day."

"You tell me," Roland scoffed half-heartedly, chuckling as he did so. "I just wanted to have a simple nap at a hotel."

"And I had to meet with President Gerald Ford."

"Yeah. Guess that makes us even, huh?"

"Most so." George Bush muttered as he sipped from his coffee cup. Roland did so too, letting an 'mmm' out when he finally drank it It was a warm, creamy and sweet flavor. Mocha, he thought it was. Very neat flavor.

He glanced at the rest of the Librarians, who sat in a table behind George Bush, who had been reading through Earth's works. But Roland personally? He couldn't really read. Joined by Kali. Sure, they enjoyed the comic from the airport, but still couldn't quite grasp the more complicated words.

"Huh, look at that, Binah," Tiphereth comments as she reads through a newspaper. "You're described as one of the many mysterious detainees from the situation at the hotel."

"A rather… dull conclusion," Binah noted as she sipped tea, bought locally. She liked it, apparently. "But I suppose my appearance catches the eyes of those unfamiliar with the role of the Arbiters."

"Oh, that's not all- Look at this," Hod says, pointing at a part in Tiphereth's newspaper, which caused Binah to lean over. "The guys running this paper interviewed the security who detained us at the end of the siege."

"Hmm? What do these snakes have to say?"

Yikes, Roland snickered. It seemed that Binah hated the, uh, journalists.

God, he dreaded having to interview the journalists and their, uh, ilk- Reporters. He was thankful that the security forces and Bush managed to get them away. For a while.

As Roland sipped his coffee with Bush, Hod read out the words from the newspaper. "In an interview, FCPD SWAT Sergeant A. Aaron, who detained Garion, described the detainee, only known as Garion, as a 'stone-cold killer' who 'unflinchingly' stared him down when brought to the car."

"Not incorrect."

"When asked later, Aaron described her as 'someone with a heart of iron' and was 'concerned' when Garion was released, later stating that 'she'll be on the news again.'"

"An extremely likely prediction. Commendable."

"Oh, look at this one- Second interview," Hod said. "This one's, uh, FCPD Sergeant Wallis Milton," Hod said as Roland raised an eyebrow, interested. Seems like Earth had a lot to say. "In an interview, Milton said that Garion was 'most likely' to have killed the gunmen before FCPD, but so far she has refused to comment. However, other officers say that it was Kali who was 'most likely.'"

"Why speculate on the obvious?" Binah sneered. "We had all joined together to… cleanse those parasites. I see not a need for speculation about the affairs of Fixers and Arbiters." She said.

Roland wondered what they said about Gebura- Or, well, Kali to them. To be quite honest, he wasn't exactly sure how they'd handle Gebura. Given that she had, well, the scars and the looks to scream 'I killed 'em all.'

But he was at least thankful that they were just released after one court summoning, just earlier today. Ruled self-defense and the Librarians were allowed to go free.

And, well, hence their presence at this Library.

To be honest, Roland did feel more at home here than the Library- Not that he'd tell Angela that. At least there were more people around in this library. The one he came from? Oh, definitely had people. Assistant Librarians.

It was just a shame that Angela didn't have enough Light to revive them. Not until she managed to figure out how to obtain more Light to reform their physical bodies. A task that was no easy feat.

But, eh, he supposed that George Bush finds a way.

"Hey, Director- I've been meaning to ask, but," Roland opened up as he put down his coffee cup down. "How do you feel about you and I looking alike?"

"I… Could you repeat that, again?" Bush had asked, somewhat in disbelief- Almost as though he just heard it the first time.

It wasn't. Roland knew it. But it was just one thing atop a pile of another in the Director's list of issues that he dared not speculate or prod about.

It was already painful trying to humor Bush's insistence on his brief staredown with Roland as some sort of 'forbidden flashback' that Bush had suffered. He knew that underneath those eyes, there was something.

Something that made him twitch. He saw how the Director often flinched when looking around him. Even in the company of friends, nothing could have stopped him from looking around.

Something that made him frustrated. He saw how the Director very easily could find himself forcing a strain physically as he often did his everyday tasks- Even tightly holding onto water.

"I just wanted to know what you think about us, uh, looking quite alike?" Roland couldn't deny it, even as he blinked once again. George Bush was an almost exact one-to-one of him. But the main differences were obvious if pointed out. "I know that, uh, I look more gray-skinned… and have this black hair on me, but…"

"Well," He awkwardly sputtered out as he finished the last sip of his coffee, putting it on the table with haste. "To be quite honest… It was actually… terrifying, in a way?" He said. "Like seeing… seeing an alternate version of you that's lived a way different life than you."

"So…" Roland muttered as he checked the clock nearby, the time showing that he had exactly 30 minutes before Bush's flight to the rescheduled trip took place. Excellent time. "I take it that…"

"Yeah. It felt… trippy," Bush said. "But… I'm just glad I never got to the assassin business. Good lord, my life would be different if I was… And Barb…" He sighed. "Oh God, Barb..."

"Mr Bush… I take it your marriage is, ah, a core part of your life, is it not?" Roland heaved with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he finished his coffee cup. Hands clasping together and tightly holding onto each other for dear life, Roland waited as George Bush had to process this… almost obvious information.

And predictably, he answered. "Oh, yes," Roland sighed. He'd have to come clean someday. "Yeah, Barbara… She's had her moments where I, well, cringe, but she's still the most beautiful woman I've ever met in the whole world," Roland bit his lip.

Uncomfortable feelings seemed to surge into him as he heaved in and out, breath barely noticeable as Bush seemed to gush about his wife. Oh, how he wished he could do the same.

Being called Mister… Pranking him when he was napping… God. To think that he missed doing those things… He kept his eyes closed barely holding back tears.

Bush had… gotten to a place where he envied him. A place of happiness. A place...

"-And that's why I love her so," Bush seemed to finish as Roland relaxed his breathing and quieted his thoughts, focusing back on Bush.

Roland nodded. "I see… Thank you. I'm just glad-"

"I… Actually remember when you asked me about, uh, Barbara- Back when we first met, Roland. The milkshakes."

Oh yeah. The many milkshakes that Bush consumed. Enough to give a man diabetes. Sheesh. "Yeah. What, uh…"

"Why did'ja direct the conversation elsewhere when I brought up that she was my wife?" Bush seemed to ask, leaning over, head tilted right and an eyebrow raised in questioning, which gave Roland a scare. "Did… You have something going on yourself, or did I…?" Roland sighed.

"I… was married, once," Roland said, opening his eyes to find himself staring down a Bush with his eyes wider than saucers. "It… Ended in a tragedy."

"...Divorce, or…?"

"My wife was murdered while I was doing a contract errand for a friend," Bush seemed to gasp in horror as Roland revealed that, with Roland himself barely holding back tears as he grabbed the table. In the distance, he could hear the Librarians stopping what they were doing- "It all happened while I couldn't protect her… And… and..."

Faint voices told him more than enough about what they were doing.

"And I couldn't… I just…" Roland stammered as the painful memories came back- The agonizing scream that shattered the sky repeating in his head. His wife's lifeless, pregnant corpse- hanging on the twisted form of a musical note.

The fetus barely attached- He anxiously snapped out of it with frantic wheezing and breathing, blinking all the way as the Librarians seemed to rush out toward him. Oh, Head, he was… He was going to… He-

A pat and a rub to the back snapped Roland back to reality as he turned to his right- only to see Angela, looking concerned and giving a smile. "I… I'm…" Roland stammered, as George Bush seemed to join in, putting his hand on Roland's, causing the man to turn and look at the Intelligence Director.

"Look, Roland," Bush seemed to grit out, an emotion- a wince- many things hidden underneath that old mask that Bush wore. A haunting visage of what should have been to come instead of his life being turned upside down. "I understand the feeling…" Bush said as he stood up, placing his hand on Roland's shoulder. "I offer you nothing but my sincere condolences, Roland."

"Don't-"

Angela seemed to take the show's spotlight as she gave Roland a smooch- the cold metal impressed against his cheek causing him to stop what he was thinking, his thoughts trying to reform- Only to find themselves halted as Angela gave him a hug.

"You speak as though those around you hold contempt for a tragedy you could never have prepared," Binah said. "The reality of the situation says otherwise, however."

"Listen, Roland…" Malkuth said as she sighed. "I know it's just… Very hard on you. Nobody here blames you. I don't."

"Nobody could've predicted what happened, Roland," Netzach said. "We're here for you."

"I, however, would like to apologize for bringing up the topic of marriage, Mr. Roland," Bush sighed, shaking his head. The sadness on his face seemed… melancholic. Solemn.

It wasn't the sadness of a man who hated himself for failures. That he knew.

However, it was the sadness of a man who saw something in Roland that they shared.

...Guess that makes for two now.

"Don't apologize, Director Bush-" Angela intervened as she drew George Bush's attention, the irate, solemn, and twitchy man turning his face to George Bush. "He has been through… What you would describe as hell."

"And yet he persists." Yesod commented, Roland watching him nod.

"No, I'll still apologize- Mr. Roland, I am sorry for causing any uncomfortability during your employment under the Central Intelligence Agency," Bush said as he placed both of his hands on Bush's shoulders while Angela gave him a hug. "It's fine…" Roland sighed heavily. It had been a tragedy that has long since slipped past by his head. The memories of discussing with Angelica what the baby names would be. The purchase of a crib and assorted accessories. The… the excitement that he felt when he found out that it was nearing the end of the term.

All gone in a flash.

But Roland… Roland still saw some of himself in Bush. More than physically. He was a man shaped by tragedy. An irate man of service. But not of fixer service.

That man was… He was right. It was terrifying to know that this man shared things so similar yet so different. If all it took was…

Roland sighed heavily as Bush shook his head. "But I am happy with where I am now, Mr. Bush. Thank you for your condolences anyway."

"No problem. I just… had to do what any friend… employer… would do." Roland glanced at Angela and gave her a nod, and she responded back. This man… He was really like Roland, at least to an extent. A Roland with everything in life- A high-enough job and a loving family.

But there was still a deep sadness hidden inside his heart. A sadness that… he knew she would exploit. He bit his lip as he observed Bush's attention being drawn to the Librarians about his life.

Angela… That name was beautiful indeed. Roland sighed as he stood up from his chair, giving a hug to the Director, a thanks- Though one that would never be enough.

To Roland, as he let go, it wasn't unclear how he would repay the Director for his willingness to aid him and the Librarians. To put his life in such a line like that… Roland looked as Bush glanced at his watch. He wasn't certain how that debt would be repaid.

But one thing was certain to Roland, however.

Never again must the tragedy that shaped him happen to George Bush.

Never again must a man be destroyed by forces out of his control.

And never again shall she wantonly destroy the lives of everyone around him for her selfish gains.

He snapped out of his thoughts as Bush shook his head and solemnly looked at the Librarians.

"Oh, man. I would love to talk with you all more about these things- Just so many to talk about. But..." Bush muttered as he looked at his watch, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "Flight's in fifteen minutes."

"No worries, Director," Angela said." I bid you farewell to today, Director."

"Good luck!" Hod shouted.

"Have an awesome day, Bush." Gebura said.

Now it was Roland's term. "...Good luck, Bush."

The man responded in kind with thumbs-ups, a smile on his face- A smile that brings light to this man's soul in spite of the world around him.

But as he faded away and the greetings began to end, Roland looked at the last of the Librarians. He was not sure what to do with them now…

But, he thought as he leaned to the left. "...Perhaps attending one of Earth's libraries would not be a bad idea." He said as he turned to Angela. "Angela! I've got an idea!"

"Hmm?"

"Let's all go visit this library," He said as he stood up, pointing at the Public Library nearby. "We're going to go reading today."

Hod followed suit, walking with him. Then Tiphereth. Then Yesod...

Perhaps, Roland thought as he opened the doors to the public library, the gasps and awe of some librarians—in particular Tiphereth and Malkuth—being etched into Roland's memory. But that wasn't what he was here. He turned to Hokma, very reluctantly, and sighed.

"May I ask you for your aid in figuring out Carmen's vectors of transmission?"

This was going to be good.