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2017-09-28
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2017-10-24
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3/?
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Off the Beaten Path

Summary:

Side quests, side characters, and headcanons for the DX:MD universe.

Notes:

Each chapter can be read as separate from the others, though I think most of them will hover generally in the same universe. I'll add tags as I add chapters.

Chapter 1: intravenous (Jensen + Miller, Neuropozyne)

Summary:

Adam gets called in on a Friday, only a few weeks after London.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Adam gets called in on a Friday, only a few weeks after London.

It's not over the pager this time, at least. He gets an email from Miller instead, short and to the point, asking him to stop by the director's office. He frowns at it for a moment before he rises to obey.

He’s been summoned to Miller’s office plenty of times, of course, but usually he has some idea of why. He’s not working any urgent cases right now, there'd been nothing worrisome on the morning news, and he can’t remember any recent transgressions that would require a personal chewing-out from the director. So maybe...

He sighs, squares his shoulders. Only one way to find out.

Miller isn’t on the phone when Adam gets there, which seems like a rarity these days. He’s typing on his laptop instead, his jaw set and an irritated crinkle forming between his eyebrows, but he looks up when Adam enters and waves him over. “Give me a moment, Jensen.”

So he does—he hooks the leg of a nearby chair closer with his foot and folds into it, watching Miller carefully as he finishes whatever he’s working on. They haven’t really had an opportunity to talk since GARM and Miller’s confession in London, between the cleanup and Miller’s recovery. So while Miller isn’t on his suspect list anymore, Adam also isn’t entirely sure where they stand. And he’s not fond of the uncertainty.

The director finally pushes his computer aside and turns to Adam, leaning his forearms on the desk. His face is set in its usual stern lines, but he looks more exasperated than truly displeased.

“So,” Miller starts, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly. “I got an interesting complaint from Dr. Phillips this morning.”

From...oh. Adam winces. He doesn’t get along well with the task force's doctor and avoids the infirmary when he can. And now he might have some idea of what this is about.

“Apparently, you’ve been lax about picking up your neuropozyne prescriptions.” Miller is watching him closely, but Adam doesn’t feel like it’s accusatory. At least not yet. “She’s concerned that you’re obtaining it from other…less savory sources.”

Adam valiantly resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m not. It wouldn’t make much sense,” he points out, because it really wouldn’t.

“Considering the price and the scarcity, I’m inclined to agree with you,” Miller allows, “but this is the fourth month in a row, Agent, and you’ve only been here for six. I can understand why she’s concerned.”

Perhaps Adam can understand as well, distantly, but that doesn’t stop it from irritating him. Of all the things to be reported for... “And counterterrorism has been overloaded since I got here. Sir. I know Dr. Phillips has a job to do, but I had other priorities.”

Miller's eyes sharpen and Adam gets the sudden feeling that he’s somehow misstepped.

“I’m familiar with the effects of rejection syndrome,” Miller says slowly. Adam is very careful not to show any guilt as he thinks of the man’s daughter. “Busy or not, I’d expect avoiding that to be higher up on your list.”

Ah, there’s the problem. Adam hesitates. He’s told people the truth before—hell, he’d told Dr. Phillips back when he’d first transferred to Prague. The thing is that no one ever seems to believe him. Miller, though…Adam doesn’t think Miller will just brush him off. Not now. If he goes with the truth this time, it’s probably going to stick.

But then, he’s got enough lies to keep track of already. Truth it is.

“My body doesn’t reject augmentations.” He keeps the explanation simple. “I’ve never actually needed neuropozyne.”

Miller straightens, arms sliding off the desk. As Adam watches, his expression turns steely, but a moment later it loosens again, shifting more towards thoughtful instead of disbelieving.

“Three weeks ago and I'd have called that bullshit,” he says, one corner of his mouth curling sardonically, “but this doesn’t seem like something you’d lie about, Jensen.”

He still has a pink line on the side of his lip: a half-healed cut, the one that had been bleeding when he’d said my gut always told me to trust you. Something loosens in Adam’s chest at Miller's quick acceptance—at being believed—though he does his best to quash it.

He wants to trust Miller too. And that’s dangerous.

“No, sir,” he agrees quietly and Miller leans back, rubbing at his forehead as though Adam is giving him a headache.

“I didn’t know that kind of immunity was even possible.” Aside from his frown, Adam can’t quite read his expression this time. “The chances of it must be—”

“One in a billion. Yes, I know.” Adam has to work hard not to snap. It’s not the director’s fault this is a touchy subject.

Luckily, Miller doesn’t press the how’s and why’s of it. “Well, what are you doing here, then? I expect there’s more than a few companies that would pay a small fortune to study you. If they could replicate whatever you have—”

“Sarif was looking into it,” Adam agrees, and probably doesn’t manage to keep all the bitterness out of his voice by the way Miller’s eyes narrow, “and…some of his scientists might still be trying, with whatever data they managed to keep. But with the way things are now, I don’t think most companies are interested in making things easier for augs.”

“With the profit they could pull in, I think they’d make an exception,” Miller points out, but then he shakes his head. “Never mind. Your career choices aren’t my business.”

“I’d prefer to be out in the field over being locked away in some lab,” Adam offers and Miller nods, his expression almost approving.

“Can’t say I blame you for that.” Then Miller straightens up slightly, frowning. “What did you do with the neuropozyne you already picked up, then?”

Adam resolutely does not fidget.

“Traded it for information, sometimes,” he admits, “and there’s always someone in my building who needs it.”

Miller frowns deeper—he doesn’t look too disapproving, but he doesn’t seem pleased either. Considering the rather exorbitant cost of neuropozyne, Adam can’t really blame him too much.

“I did tell Dr. Phillips. She wasn’t taking no for an answer,” Adam reminds him and Miller makes a displeased noise in his throat, but nods.

“Right. Well, I’ll have a word with her.” He looks irritated again—another item on his already full plate, most likely, but there’s nothing Adam can do about that. “You’re already seeing another doctor for your augs. Shouldn’t be difficult to file this away as an exception.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And that should be the end of it, but Miller doesn’t dismiss him right away. He looks away to nudge a pile of paperwork on his desk instead and asks, almost lazily, “Have any interesting plans for the weekend, Agent Jensen?”

Adam blinks in surprise, and then stiffens despite himself. This kind of exchange is common enough from his coworkers, but from Miller?

No. Something's off.

“Nothing concrete, sir.” Adam can’t quite reach Miller's level of nonchalance, but he stays even, unremarkable.

“Hmm. Well, Prague's a busy city. Keep an eye out; you might find something,” Miller says and it’s such banal, everyday small talk, but cold expectation is starting to creep its way up Adam's spine.

It says something, doesn't it, that Miller isn’t willing to have this conversation in headquarters.

“Dismissed, agent,” Miller says, eyes shuttered, and Adam slips back out of his chair and through the door without another word. The thought sparks as he leaves that perhaps he should discuss this development with Alex, but he just as quickly puts it aside. 

He'll figure out how to handle this one on his own. 

Notes:

Not beta'd. If you notice any mistakes, please tell me!

And screw you, DX:MD, for ending the game right after I /finally/ got to have an almost straight talk with MIller. Actually, screw you for a lot of things, but I really wanted to see where that was going to go.
(Suppose I'll just have to write it myself...)

Chapter 2: in kind (Jensen + Koller: Kamil Horak/The Golden Ticket)

Summary:

Adam Jensen isn’t the sort of person that Václav usually treats.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Adam Jensen isn’t the sort of person that Václav usually treats.

Oh, not that he minds—not with augs like those. He doesn’t get to play with Sarif tech very often and he’s not about to pass up the chance. And he likes Jensen as well, of course; the tough guy act doesn’t fool him. Man’s got his heart in the right place and by now Václav honestly counts him as a friend.

No, the biggest difference is that most of his clients are desperate. Jensen, in contrast, is well kept if not well treated, and that stands out.

But there are…other differences as well. Václav can tell, by the dings and the scars and simply his bearing. The man knows how to use those augs he’s carrying, has seen some shit that Václav, god willing, never will. So when he finds himself in the sewers, breathing in the wet metallic tang of blood and gunpowder, Jensen’s link is the one he reaches for.

“Ah…Jensen?” He tries, and hears just how high his own voice has gone. He swallows against it. “You got a minute? I’ve got…a bit of a problem.”

“Hmr?” Jensen’s first response is not particularly coherent and Václav winces as he remembers how late it is. Or how early. He shakes it off quickly, though. “Koller? What is it?”

“There's…I’ve got a body in the sewers. Below the shop, you know—” A body, like it’s not Kamil sitting there slumped against the wall. He blinks rapidly. “I mean— I didn’t bring it here, it’s just—”

“Koller. Breathe,” Jensen says, slow and even, and Václav does. He can hear the rustle of cloth in the background over the other man’s infolink. “Are you in danger?”

“No, I think he…no.” The gun next to Kamil's hand and the bullet wound through his head tell more than enough of the story. “But I can’t have a body down here, man. If the police find it—”

“Right. I get it.”

He can block off the tunnel to his workshop in a pinch, but that’s not going to stop the police from busting through it if something draws them in. And he’s got a lot of people, Jensen included, who need that space; he can’t risk them finding the entrance, even hidden as it is.

The body needs to be moved and Václav can’t do that alone—Kamil has almost a head in height and a few stone in weight over him. Simple difference in size will make moving him awkward; Václav doubts he would even be able to get him out of the sewers. Then dragging him through the streets…no, he’s almost guaranteed to get caught. And he doesn’t like to pull on the Dvali unless he really, really needs to.

So for all that the man is technically Interpol, he thinks Jensen is the most likely to know how best to handle this without blowing everything. The man is an aug as well as an agent—Václav trusts him not to screw them all over. “I mean, I’m not saying hiding bodies is your thing, man, and I know I’m dragging you into this, but—”

“It’s all right.” He’s reassured of his decision by the way Jensen sounds so calm, as though Václav had just told him that he’d lost his dog or something. Something that’s not this. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Václav breathes just a little easier at this, though not too easily—the smell is sticking in his nose and coating his throat and even though he’s doing his best not to think, his stomach twists horribly every time he glances towards Kamil’s empty face.

“Right. Okay.” He leans against the ladder leading up to the surface and stares at the opposing wall. “I’ll just…wait here.”

Jensen grunts in answer, short and noncommittal. But he also leaves the infolink open, lets Václav hear the shift of his coat and the click of his door as he leaves. Václav should close it himself, maybe, but the background noise helps the sewers around him seem just a bit less cold and hollow. He follows Jensen’s progress through the streets and clenches his fingers, feels them move. Feels alive.

He should pull Kamil’s augs, comes the sudden realization, and he swallows. It’s a bit too close to harvesting for his taste, but the man is dead and if someone else should need…

He hears the grind of the manhole cover when it shifts, both above him and through his infolink and that’s when he finally cuts the connection. Jensen drops down once he moves away from the ladder, ignoring the rungs as his augs absorb the shock.

The man glances over at Kamil, takes in the scene, and his mouth twists. “Damn.”

It’s more sympathy than surprise, like this sort of thing is normal. Expected, even. It makes something flare in Václav’s gut, helpless and jagged and angry.

“I told him I’d help.” And he would have, too, but now he can only wonder if he should have done more, offered more. Even if he doesn’t know what. “I told him he could stay with me. I wouldn’t have let him go to Golem.”

“He was a friend?” Jensen murmurs, stepping carefully over to the— to Kamil.

“Yeah. Worked for me in the shop. Got evicted recently, so I told him he could live in the back room.” His anger fades quickly, twists into some sickening, unpleasant weight that lingers in his stomach and chest. “Guess I’ll have to—”

He stops himself, stricken, before he can say hire someone else. It feels like a betrayal with the blood still drying in front of him. Jensen sighs, soft and heavy in the small space—his shields hide most of his expression, but Václav can see the downturn of his mouth and tension beneath his coat.

“I’ll take care of this, Koller.” He leans down and hefts the body into his arms. “Go back and—”

It’s distasteful, it really is, but… “Wait. There’s something I need to do first.”

 

Jensen doesn’t protest. That, more than anything, convinces Václav that he’s doing the sensible thing.

He knows the other man stays nearby, hears the occasional rumble of words and shift of his coat. But he’s too focused on the task at hand to truly hear him—he’s not thinking right now, he’s just making the cuts and severing connections, pulling away Kamil's hands.

He’d helped the man upkeep them often enough that they’re familiar to work with. That only makes it worse.

He removes the cranial augs last—it’s all started to feel distant, automatic almost, but once he has them all put away and the mess cleaned up, there’s a sheet thrown over the body and Jensen’s hand is at his wrist, tugging him along. If this were any other day he’d make a joke or at least ogle the other man’s augs, but right now it’s just not coming to him. He lets Jensen nudge him to the bed and fling blankets over his shoulders without even a token protest.

Jensen disappears for a moment and then pops back up to shove a mug into his hand. Tea, though that’s not all that’s in there by the smell of it. The cup is still warm and Václav wonders if the man made it just now or simply reheated it.

“Stay here,” Jensen tells him, as though he has anywhere else to go. “I’ll be back when I’m done.”

Then he leaves again and takes the sheet-covered form with him. Václav doesn’t even have the energy to worry about his chances of getting caught. They’re probably pretty low anyway.

He sips his tea and for a while he thinks about Kamil. About what he himself might have done, if he’d known. But that sort of thinking isn’t going to get him anywhere. Just useless guilt and even more anger—it’s not that he likes the bombs and the attacks, but sometimes…

He downs his tea and pulls a pad to him and starts designing. He’s been meaning to upgrade his rig anyway. The distraction doesn’t quite take away the heavy weight pressing down into him, but it does at least give him something else to focus on.

He falls into it with determination, enough so that he only notices Jensen’s return when the other man folds carefully down onto the bed next to him and leans back against the wall.

“You all right?” He asks finally.

Václav considers his answers—there are many that might fit. In the end, he goes with the most honest.

“I don’t know.” He looks away, presses his knuckles to his forehead. The cool metal helps a bit. “Just… dammit, Jensen, this city sometimes—”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, heavy, and there’s nothing more to say.

Or actually, there is. “Thanks, man. For helping.”

Jensen turns to look at him more fully for a moment, something shifting in his face. But all he says is, “I told you before, your problems are my problems. To some extent. So call me when you need to.”

That’s not quite everything. That doesn’t cover the tea and the blankets and the quiet, steady support. But Václav isn’t going to push it. He knows better.

Jensen doesn’t seem inclined to move and Václav doesn’t push that either. He’d prefer the company for the moment anyway. So he turns back to his work and lets Jensen’s solid presence anchor him down.

 

He doesn’t sleep—that’s common enough for him, anyway. Not so unusual. And he gets plenty of his best work done late at night. So when he looks up and the clock tells him that he’s worked through to the morning, he’s not surprised.

He is surprised to find that Jensen is still there.

Perhaps he didn’t mean to be—the man is slumped back against the wall at the foot of the bed, his eye shields drawn back and his chin resting uncomfortably on his chest. His fingers twitch occasionally against his rumpled coat. Probably just fell asleep there; Václav had woken him from his rest last night, after all.

Still. There’s something comforting about his presence, intentional or not. Václav doesn’t remember the last time someone waited up with him. Or for him.

So he slips upstairs without waking him—likely an accomplishment in itself, he thinks—and once he’s cleaned up, he gets the other man breakfast and pokes him. “Wake up, sunshine!”

Jensen peeks one eye open to glare at him, metallic iris gleaming, and Václav shoves the plate into his lap. He hadn’t known Jensen’s preferences, so he’d gone with his own favorites and ordered a special from the Chicken Foot. Good for breakfast: protein and all that.

The look on the other man’s face indicates that this is perhaps not the correct food choice, but it’s incredulous enough to make Václav grin, a true smile that finally warms him just a little. And Jensen scoffs at him, but it’s friendly, amused rather than scornful.

It’s good enough. Things aren’t all right, perhaps, but Václav will be, eventually.

There’s really no other choice.

 

Václav gets a call a few weeks later, early in the afternoon.

“Koller.” Jensen pings him. “That back room you told me about still free?”

Václav blinks, remembers, and pushes on even as his heart twinges slightly. “Yeah, sure it is. What, you get evicted?”

Not very likely, he thinks, but nothing in this city would surprise him.

“Not for me.” Jensen sounds even more grim that usual. “For a…friend. She needs somewhere to lay low for a while until her paperwork comes through. I’d let her stay with me, but they still raid my building most weeks.”

Václav grimaces—he’s mostly safe from the searches, another nice side effect from his deal with Radich, and he doesn’t envy Jensen the trouble. “Room’s open if you need it, Jensen. But…you trust her?”

“I don’t think she’ll cause any trouble.” Which isn’t quite an answer, but perhaps it’s good enough. “Shouldn’t be more than a few weeks. I’ve got someone working on making her…as close to legal as we can get. I can give you credits to cover—”

“Eh, let me meet her first. Bring her over.” Credits aren’t too much of a concern for him and at this point he’s willing to trust Jensen's judgement. “Long as it’s only one. I fit too many people back there and someone’s going to notice.”

“Just one,” Jensen promises.

Barely one, Václav sees when the man shows up. She’s a little slip of a thing, hardly taller than he is, cowering meekly in Jensen’s shadow. She has limb augments, an arm and a leg—Tai Young, he thinks, and old models. They’ll need a few tune-ups, by his practiced eye, and in his mind he’s already cataloguing what he needs.

She’s also clutching a toy robot in her arms, while Jensen has the head of a stuffed rabbit sticking out of one pocket. He decides not to ask.

“Dr. Koller, this is Irenka Bauer.” Jensen ushers her forwards and Václav fixes on his hands, like always. Damn, but Sarif does beautiful work. “Irenka—”

“Irenka is hiding,” she says: scolds, almost, her eyes narrowing and her mouths turning down. The mouse has some teeth, at least. She turns to him. “I am the robot Helena. I will speak for us; Irenka does not want to come out now.”

He blinks, blinks again, and then grins. “You a fan of R.U.R, then?”

She perks up visibly, wary eyes brightening, and Jensen rubs a hand over his face and inserts himself between them.

“Ir— Helena. You remember what we talked about?”

“We are hiding again.” She nods, serious now, and turns to Václav. “I’m quite good at it, even if Irenka doesn’t like it. We will be careful.”

She seems steady enough. He peers at her and then over at Jensen. The other man wavers, but says nothing. Probably doesn’t want to talk about her while she’s standing there.

“Well, let me show you the room.” He claps his hands and waves them to follow. “You like books? I could use an assistant in the back anyway, if you want to work while you’re here.”

She turns her head back towards him—she’d been craning to look up at his bookshelves. “I would like to work. And it would be better here, since I wouldn’t have to go out.”

There’s a giraffe sticking out of the small bag on her back, he notices. She meets his eyes. “May I read them, sometimes? When I am not working?”

A worker and a reader. Both points in her favor. He grins again. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

The room isn’t much, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Jensen places his stuffed passenger on a nearby table and he follows Václav out, leaving Irenka to drop her bag and poke carefully around the room.

“So?” Jensen asks once they’re out of earshot. He sounds as close to uncertain as Václav has ever heard. “I know it’s a lot to ask—”

Václav shrugs. “Nah, we all have to look out for each other. And hey, looks like you even found me an assistant. But…why this one? Doesn’t really look like your type.”

Jensen actually wrinkles his nose. It’s faintly adorable, and it also means that Václav is totally right.

“I told her I’d help her. I said I’d find a way for her stay in Prague and then…I couldn’t follow through,” Jensen admits. “But I couldn’t just leave her. I only barely got her out of her last place before the police hit it.”

“You can’t save them all,” Václav reminds him, and even he’s not quite sure if he’s trying to comfort or warn. Jensen just scowls at him.

“I know that,” he growls, and then modulates his tone. “But if I can help this one…It’s not enough, no, but it’s better than nothing.”

True enough, and it’s more than most people would do. Václav turns his palms up and shrugs. “Well, personality oddities aside, I’ve got no problems with her. She can stay, long as she doesn’t get me into trouble.”

“I’ve told her. And it won’t be for long,” Jensen promises again. “Thanks, Koller.”  

“Yeah, yeah.” He’s rather glad of the chance to help the other aug in return, honestly, even if Jensen wouldn’t demand it of him.

It seems Jensen still has places to be that day, though, and as neither Václav nor the girl need supervision, he doesn’t linger long. But as he watches Jensen say goodbye to Irenka and move to the door, a thought strikes him and he calls after Jensen, “You know, you can call me Václav, if you like.”

Jensen stops in the doorway and tilts his head. Then he smiles, that quiet, unobtrusive quirk of his lips.  “I’ll see you later, then, Václav.”

And he only mangles the pronunciation a tiny bit. Václav turns back to Helena, smiling himself.

All in all, it’s been a good day.

Notes:

Why yes, I am one of those people who wants to save absolutely everyone in video games, why do you ask?
Not beta'd. Please tell me if you see any mistakes.

Chapter 3: marching orders (MacReady + Miller; the new guy)

Summary:

“Christ, Jim, really?”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Christ, Jim, really?”

MacReady looks mutinous as he flips the file back onto the desk. But even though Jim can understand some of his reasoning, he can’t afford to commiserate here.

“He’s already been assigned. The paperwork’s gone through.” Jim cuts him off with a look when it seems like Mac might protest again. The other man shuts his mouth reluctantly and Jim softens just a little. “They didn’t exactly give me a choice here either, Mac.”

“Well, tell them what a fucking terrible idea it is, then.” Mac pushes up from his chair to pace. “He’ll have the police dogging him every step no matter what he does and that’s the best case scenario. I mean, look at his records, his psych evals! I can already damn well see he’s going to be trouble.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Jim starts, rubbing his temples against the start of a headache, but Mac isn’t done.

“And basic augs would be bad enough, but if this one fucking loses it—”

“MacReady,” Jim warns him, sharp, and finally he subsides.

Jim glances down at the file of their newest member, now open on his desk in from of him: Jensen, Adam. Born in ’93, a bit younger than Jim would like without matching military experience, but between his years in SWAT and the unique challenges of working corporate security for Sarif himself, Jim imagines he has enough equivalent experience in the field, at least. As for his augs—

Well, augs like that would have made him wary even before the Incident. Simple common sense—the man’s practically a walking weapon, and Jim’s not even entirely familiar with all the hardware he’s seeing.

There are a few gaps in his file that Jim doesn’t like and—MacReady is right—some incidents that are a cause for concern. His departure from SWAT, for one. But the missing links could all be filled in once he arrived, and in regards to attitude, they’d just have to wait and see.

Because Jim doesn’t think there’s any fighting this right now, not without a more concrete reason. Not when Manderly was the one to sign the transfer paperwork; Jim’s learned by now that very few arguments sway that man once he’s decided on a path.

So while Jim would like to know why—why here, why now, why this man in particular—he doesn’t think he’ll be getting any clear answers. And he certainly doesn’t think he’ll make any headway trying to stop it. So he’ll do his job, which means integrating Jensen with a minimum of fuss. Or bloodshed.

“I understand your reservations,” he says, making sure his tone leaves no room for contradiction, “and I’ll keep a close eye on the situation. But I need to know that you’ll be able to work with him.”

“I can handle it. You know that.” Mac grimaces, but tromps back over to his chair and slumps down. “If we have to have an aug, might as well put him to good use. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. Or him.”

With great effort, Jim holds back a sigh. One of them has to act like an adult here.

Besides, MacReady gives all his new subordinates trouble—it’s a well-established routine by now and unless it gets out of hand, Jim is going to let him and Jensen sort it out between them. He’s not here to play referee.

“Glad to hear it,” he says instead. “I’ve already sent you a copy of his file. He’ll be here next week.”

Mac nods and for a moment Jim hopes that perhaps that’s the end of it.

“Fine. But I’m telling you, having him working under both of us is a bad idea. If we start muddying up the chain of command—”

Jim resists the urge to rest his forehead against his desk. And if he’s quietly cursing Manderly in the back of his mind, well, it isn’t the first time. Probably won’t be the last, either.

...

(It isn’t.)

Notes:

How did that transfer even work anyway? Did Jensen request it? How did he justify wanting to go to Prague of all places? Or did Juggernaut do it, and somehow Manderly playing along didn't throw up any red flags? Am I missing an obvious answer?
...I probably am.