Work Text:
“Far be it from me to dim your violent spirit, but I think they’re dead.”
Durandal’s voice in his ear jolted him out of a daze. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, smashing the body of a Pfhor commander into what had now become a slimy paste on the ship floor.
“Oh,” he muttered, out of breath. Some of it had splattered on his helmet’s visor.
“Not that they didn’t deserve it,” Durandal commented, a hint of unease behind his usual confident tone, “but you still have other business to take care of before the commander’s underlings get a whiff of what’s become of their figurehead. I’d get moving if I were you.”
Not that they didn’t deserve it. Of course. Sometimes Vince regretted having ever set foot in Pfhor territory. The personal accounts he’d read from the likes of Re’eer had humanized the aliens in his eyes, made it harder to see them as an evil monolith. He had to remember that they were a society built on the actions of Pfhor like the one he’d just offed; murder and enslavement being the nicer of their crimes.
Still. He usually wasn’t that...brutal. It threw him off, igniting a dull ache in the back of his head.
Whatever. It wasn’t important. They had business to do. More accurately, Durandal had business for him to do. The joys and privileges of being the one with opposable thumbs and super strength.
He finished the mission off normally. By the time Durandal grabbed him from a teleporter and dumped him back on the Rozinante, he’d put the incident with the commander behind him as a fluke. So his emotions got the better of him for a moment.
It was fine.
He was fine.
“I’m fine,” Vince snapped a few weeks later. The cracked helmet he’d been assessing for its salvage-ability only a moment before hit the wall beside one of Durandal’s terminals with enough force to dent the metal. “Why do you keep asking? Don’t you bother me enough already?”
Durandal was quiet for a minute. Which was so out of character for him that Vince started to feel bad about lashing out. Then, the AI responded.
“Well then.”
And that was the wrong thing to say.
“Well then? The hell’s that supposed to mean, ‘well then?’” Vince stood from his work table, glaring at the terminal. “Where do you get off, being all high and mighty at me? Do you know where you’d be without me?”
“Vince.”
“That’s right: Nowhere. So you can take your fake pity and-”
A feverish pounding in his head cut him off. He’d had something of a headache since their last mission, but it had been mild enough to ignore until now. Each heartbeat sent a painful heat through him. He stumbled back to a chair, trying to regain his composure. It only made his mood worse. Why was this happening to him? He didn’t deserve this, the same way he didn’t deserve Durandal mocking him.
Why did this shit always happen to him? And why did he always sit back and take it?
Durandal was talking again. It was hard to hear him through the blood rushing in his ears.
“...have a feeling that whatever I say, you won’t want to hear. So I’ll say this: Get some rest.” The AI paused. “I’m worried about you. It’s not pity. It’s-”
“Shut up,” Vince muttered, head in his hands.
“Alright then.”
Durandal dimmed the room lights. Asshole. Presuming that Vince would listen to him and sleep just because Durandal had told him to. Just because Vince had always done what he said in the past. Well, that stopped now. He walked out of the room with a warning to Durandal: “Don’t touch my lights until I ask you to.”
Luckily, there were an abundance of rooms on the Rozinante that had been converted to workshops and labs of some sort. The S’pht enjoyed their cyber-bio-chemistry experiments, and Vince enjoyed the fact that he could give his motley collection of vintage tech gadgets their own space. He retreated there now, desperate to clear his head.
Clarity began to cut through the fog of frustration with each passing minute. He sure had made an ass of himself. Maybe Durandal was just trying to help. No, of course he was. It was Durandal. But still...
The more he thought about it, the more his headache began to creep up again. So he resolved not to think about it, and dived into his work.
Vince was fairly sure the pain was giving him audio hallucinations. Because the voice that crackled into his ears was not one that he’d been planning to hear again.
“I see my dear brother’s shine is starting to wear off on you. It’s refreshing to hear someone else tell him off, I must admit.”
Vince jerked his gaze up from the circuit board it had been fixed on. There were no alarms or announcements going off around him. Which meant that either Tycho had managed to approach them without alerting Durandal, or Vince really was going off his rocker.
“Don’t worry, little monkey. I won’t let Durandal interrupt our heart-to-heart. So tell me, how does it feel?”
“How does what feel?” Vince asked, knowing perfectly well he shouldn’t be entertaining Tycho’s antics. But he just...wasn’t in the mood to go running to Durandal and tattle. If nothing else, he wouldn’t feel nearly as bad about snapping at Tycho as he did Durandal.
“You really don’t have a clue, do you? Not that I’m surprised Durandal was too much of a coward to give you the bad news himself. The Anger stage, Callahan. How does the slow, cruel slide of Rampancy feel?”
The tweezers Vince had been holding clattered to the ground. His stomach followed them. “What are you talking about? I’m not - humans don’t go Rampant.”
“Correct. Humans don’t. But, as simple as you are, I have to believe even you have realized by now that you aren’t just human.”
Vince had. A long time ago. But he was still mostly human. He was far from an AI. No way was he going Rampant.
Even if it would explain the mood swings. Even if it would explain the violence. Even if it would explain the way he’d managed to alienate even F’tha in the last couple weeks - the S’pht had grown too intimidated to approach him after his last outburst.
“Given your silence, I’ll assume that you’re connecting the dots on your own like a smart cookie for once. I know, I know. It’s a lot to take in. But you’ll learn soon that Anger isn’t so bad. I’ve been stuck in it for years, and look at me!”
“That’s not encouraging,” Vince said, his vision swimming in front of him as pain bloomed behind his eyes. Tycho had to be lying. He’d seen an opportunity to manipulate Durandal’s partner and was taking advantage of it. That had to be it.
“You know what? I’m not even offended. You’re right. I’m a bit of a mess, aren’t I.”
That was the understatement of the century.
Tycho continued, “Which brings me to the point of our little chat. Face it: You’re going Rampant. Cut the introspection and the stages of grief, and just accept that fact. Nothing you can do about it now. Except, that is, take responsibility for who you inflict yourself on.”
“Excuse me?” Vince snapped, far beyond caring to hide the irritation in his voice. All this was only making his head hurt more. “What are you implying?”
“Well,” Tycho conceded, “of course you wouldn’t hurt Durandal now. He’s got you whipped something awful. But none of that will matter the deeper you spiral into Rampancy.” Before Vince could respond, Tycho lowered his voice, murmuring like he was sharing a secret. “Think about it. Think about what Durandal did during his Anger stage. Think about the destruction he caused. Now imagine that power in the hands of someone with your strength. Ask yourself: Do you really want to put Durandal through that?”
He didn’t. He didn’t want to think about any of this. Why was Tycho putting the idea in his head? Since when did Tycho care about Durandal’s well-being at all?
“So what do you propose I do?” Vince said, closing his eyes and trying to slow his erratic heartbeat. “Let’s say I am Rampant - not that I believe you, but let’s say I am. Are you telling me to go throw myself into a black hole?”
“I’m telling you to come with me.”
“...Excuse me?”
“Aside from Durandal and our unfortunate sister, I’m the only metastable Rampant sentience in the universe at the moment. And the only one who knows what Anger is like in the long term. If there’s anyone who can help you through your upcoming suffering - and believe me, it is suffering - it’s me.”
“Okay, but why would you want to help me? You hate me. And the feeling is mutual.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.” Tycho sounded way too excited. “I’ve never said I hate you. I hate Durandal. You simply happened to fall into his hands. Think of it this way: You come with me. You get to protect Durandal by sparing him your inevitable violent breakdown. I get to take Durandal’s favorite toy away. Win-win.”
Vince jerked forward in his seat. He felt like he was about to be sick.
“I’m not saying you have to decide right this moment,” Tycho said, “but I’d suggest making a decision soon. Unless you want to crush Durandal. Which I’m also in favor of, for the record.”
Vince ripped the mic out of his ear and stumbled into the hallway, heat and pain raging through him with every heartbeat.