Chapter Text
It was the ass-crack of dawn and Luther was stood on the fringe of a huddle of soldiers, waiting. They’d all been here since long before sunrise, waiting for orders. He’d briefly overheard rumours that they were being sent to a military base, though he didn’t follow up on them. Whatever’s gonna happen’s gonna happen, he thought. Instead, his mind ran over the events of the last few hours in an attempt to organise his thoughts. The fighting had been brief, but intense. By the end of it, the unit he’d fallen into was in such a shambles that no-one questioned where he’d come from; when asked, he’d mumbled something distantly about being an escaped prisoner of war. Ultimately, after a day’s nonstop fighting he’d been considerably roughed-up, so nobody batted an eyelid. He was simply added to a newly-arrived unit which, incidentally, hadremained unscathed. So far, he was yet to meet any of them.
A short while later, the rickety transport bus finally reared its head over the horizon and tore from the road, screeching to a halt in front of them. As Luther waited at the front of the queue – he didn’t, after all, have any belongings to pile into storage – he began to stare in bewilderment at the journey ahead of him. He considered the hours-long, ass-breaking trip planned for his immediate future and afterwards he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting to what might await him at the end of it. In all honesty, he really hadn’t thought this far ahead. Throughout the firefight, his head had been racing with thoughts of 2019 and getting home; making up plans to beeline for the briefcase as soon as they were done, dreading what he might find once he got there. He’d never foreseen that the briefcase wouldn’t work. His stomach still flipped at the prospect of having to go through the physical side of time travel again, yet here he stood; in mismatching army fatigues, wanting nothing more than to be split down into his essence and then smeared back into existence by latent force. As far as his mental state went, it might as well have been happening now. His grip tightened around his torn shirt, itself wrapped around the briefcase handle. Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him.
‘Hey, man.’ It was the guy from earlier. So he’s still around. Less groggy than before, it seemed he had a much sunnier disposition than Luther had originally thought. Despite not exactly feeling in the mood for small talk, he resolved to engage with him; the last thing he needed was to draw contempt from the others, or become an outcast while he was stranded here – though ideally he’d prefer it if he could lie low. Begrudgingly, he remembered his father’s words. First impressions are important, Number One. He was just thinking about introducing himself when, abruptly, the guy knocked him on the arm to get his attention. Luther started; he must have been staring into space. Shit. He turned to face his companion.
‘Uh, hey,’ he replied with a curt smile and a nod. Think of something to say, think of something to say… no idea where this is going, head empty; fuckkk–
‘Lost in your thoughts?’ the other guy said easily, then let out a vaguely hollow chuckle. ‘I’ve been there,’ he mused, ‘– want one?’ He dexterously pulled a cigarette from a carton with his mouth and offered up the packet to Luther. Inexplicably, he took him up on the offer – it took considerable effort for him to pluck the tiny cigarette end from the opening, but he managed it without too much of an outward struggle. Phew.
‘Thanks,’ he said, easier this time, as he held it between his fingers.
‘I’m Dave,’ said the other guy, lighting up.
‘Luther,’ he replied, then paused. ‘It’s a lot, huh?’ He gestured with his free hand to the bus, the growing queue behind them, their uniforms – distractedly, he noticed Dave had his sleeves rolled up – but if he could have done, he would’ve mentioned the humid air itself; the distant sound of helicopters that it carried; the very place and time they’d ended up in together. It was all completely absurd and very nearly overwhelming. He looked back over at Dave for a sense of understanding, but instead met with a quizzical look, which he immediately rallied back. Dave’s eyes continued to bore into him, until he finally voiced his confusion–
‘Aren’t you gonna… you know?’–he gestured towards the now rather frail-looking cigarette dangling from Luther’s other hand, then to his own smoking–‘…You need a light?’
‘Oh, right,’ said Luther humbly as he lifted his hand, now too staring at the rapidly crumpling cancer stick he was trying to hold lightly between his fingertips. Infuriatingly, his mind was rushed with memories of his recovery and with them, a pang of guilt. It wasn’t that the operation had substantially reduced his fine motor skills; he’d actually gotten back into his childhood hobby of building model planes as a part of his rehabilitation. Rather, it was nerves that shot his grip to bits. He’d never quite managed to get a hold over those. Nevertheless, by the time he left for the moon, Grace had told him his co-ordination was as good as it had been before his accident. Accidents – he closed his eyes to push the thought away. It had felt gratifying to unburden Grace, even if he didn’t quite believe her words of encouragement himself. In general, he supposed he was the same as before; everything was just a little bit harder. ‘I– I don’t smoke,’ he replied eventually. ‘Sorry.’ This went well. Dave waited, sarcastic comment withheld when he saw the funk Luther was about to fall into.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said cheerfully, gesturing about the two of them, ‘Think of it as a welcome present, soldier.’ He laughed briefly. ‘I s’pose it’s a smart move anyways… These things’– he referenced his cigarette once more before taking a final drag out of the stub left –‘are like special currency ‘round here. Though, if you’re not into cigs I doubt you’d find any of the trades particularly useful…’ he grimaced. Luther wasn’t sure of what exactly he meant by that, but he quickly decided he didn’t want to know. Dave simply grinned to himself, then nudged Luther and said in the subsequent mirth, ‘You know, I really think we could use a guy like you; someone to keep us on the straight and narrow. Someone good.’ Inwardly, Luther groaned. He’ll find out what I really am soon enough, he figured. Oblivious, Dave stamped out his cigarette, then nodded to Luther’s jumbled outfit. He winked, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘See you around, Lost and Found,’ he said, then turned away.
Before Luther could respond, Dave was gone, vaguely smartening his uniform as he went. By the time he’d reached his destination, facing the long line of soldiers waiting to board the cramped–looking tin can of a vehicle parked in front of them, a different look had come across his face. Luther caught a glimpse of his insignia. He’s a sergeant? Standing stock still alongside his fellow officers and his superior, it seemed Dave had been chosen to address the troops before them. He straightened his posture even further, then with a voice barely recognisable shouted, ‘ALLLRIGHT, GIRLS! BOARD THE BUS NUMBER ONE!’
Luther was so dumbstruck, he almost forgot how to follow orders. Almost.