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Sanford had a partner before him.
It wasn’t immediately obvious, but once Deimos noticed, he was certain of it. Sanford had never said any other name than his before. It was “Deimos,” casually, or “Deimos!” sharply, when they were in the middle of battle, or a whispered “Dei…” when it was just the two of them in bed. That was his first clue, Sanford never sounded like he was addressing him, even when he said his name.
His second was how goddamn careful the guy was around him. He always tried to get Sanford to goof off, to let loose a little, but he was just so serious all the time. Deimos couldn’t understand it. In the back of his mind he couldn’t believe Sanford was so pragmatic, because the guy loved his jokes, loved when he acted like a fool just to get a laugh or smile. So why couldn’t he just play along? He wanted to, that was for sure, but something always stopped him at the last moment. And then Deimos realised that Sanford was acting exactly how he would if he’d lost someone he’d loved. This partner that came before him wasn’t around anymore.
The realisation made him feel awful at first, like he was a replacement. He knew it wasn’t Sanford’s fault, but wished he would slip up and say that other name anyway. Just so he had a reason to bring it up. While he was kissing him, while he was fucking him, he waited for Sanford to moan the name of that mysterious partner. He never did though, innocuous little ‘Deimos’ and ‘Dei’s passing through his lips. Ones that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recognise as his own name.
As the weeks wore on he became more and more certain, while at the same time realising how fucking insane he sounded. “Hey Sanford? Did you have a partner before me who’s name was also Deimos?” He couldn’t just say that, right? He had to be sneaky about it. Or he could just wait till the anxiety killed him.
“Sanford?” He called, when the insecurity hit an all time high. The doppelganger that existed only in the white space of Sanford’s voice was becoming more and more tangible in his mind.
“Yeah?” His partner was fresh out the bathroom, toweling off his hair. He could ask him now, exorcise that demon and put those vexing thoughts to bed. When he didn’t answer immediately, Sanford stopped what he was doing to throw a worried glance at him, ”What’s wrong, Dei?”
“Nuthin’,” he huffed, throwing the sheets off and feeling stupider than ever. “Get over here.”
He couldn’t talk about it. “It” felt like some awful taboo, like if he brought it to light, he wouldn’t be real anymore.
Yeah it sounded stupid even in his head. He was really just going to let some intangible phantom ruin his relationship with his partner. All because he couldn’t keep a lid on his childish panic, Sanford noticed too, started fretting even more over him when he acted distant.
“What’s wrong?” He kept asking, holding Deimos by the face and kissing his forehead. “Are you alright?” And “Tell me what’s on your mind, Deimos.” Over and over and over.
“You’ll make fun of me,” he ventured to say one time, almost in tears from that fear. But Sanford hushed and reassured him like he was a goddamn baby, and he hated to admit but he fucking loved it. Putting his forehead in the crook of Sanford’s neck he finally asked, "I'm your first partner right?”
A pause. “Deimos, why- why are you asking this?”
“Answer the question.” He said hoarsely, unable to even look at the guy. If he saw any confirmation he was right he was going to cry.
“I’ve had… some flings,” Sanford began haltingly, but stopped when he clicked his tongue in frustration.
“I mean like me, someone you worked with? Someone you- you cared about?” It almost physically hurt to say and he still couldn’t place why.
“You’re my first partner,” Sanford said decisively, pulling him into a tight hug. He’d kept his head down then, mumbling some bullshit about how glad he was that Sanford was being honest.
Because before the answer was a pause, one that was filled with the sound of gears turning, scales being weighed. Weighing technicalities, he feared, being honest while lying through his teeth. He didn’t want to be angry at Sanford but fuck, he was seething. It wasn’t fair at all, not to Sanford, not to himself, but he started doing reckless shit just to piss him off.
If Sanford wanted to worry about him so badly, he’d give him something to be worried about. Deimos almost wanted to hurt himself, just to get Sanford to say his name, not that strange imitation name that bounced off his ears. So he always ran ahead, always took the biggest gun, always stared straight forward when Sanford yelled “Deimos!” He would turn around when it sounded right, he told himself, but it felt like that day was never coming.
Maybe if he were a better partner, maybe if he worked harder, was smarter, Sanford would finally see him and not that elusive eidolon that had stolen his name. He was being paranoid, but he couldn’t even tell who his partner was talking to when he said “I love you, Deimos”. The real Deimos, or the fake one? And which one would he be?
It took a few more days for him to decide. Of course it didn’t matter. In the end, he loved Sanford, that much was the truth. There was no way he would stop, even if his worst fears were true.
Even if Sanford didn’t love him back.
And then, because neither of them could catch a break, Deimos got shot in the chest. It was just his luck that he could never be happy with himself, but the way Sanford said his name as he lay bleeding in his arms sounded all wrong. “Deimos,” Sanford begged, voice cracked and torn, "Deimos please don’t leave me. Please not again, Deimos. I’m so sorry.”
Juggling pain and awareness, he squeezed Sanford’s hand, “I’m not- leaving you-“
“Doc,” Sanford was looking elsewhere now, somewhere it would have taken him too much effort to turn his head toward. “Doc, please.”
“Oh dear. Again, Sanford?” He could hear doc’s voice.
“No, no, doc. He’s still alive, this time. Please help him.” The way Sanford’s hands dug into his skin, and the way he was talking about him, even though he was dizzy with agony and blood loss it made Deimos smile. Sanford was talking about him, not that spectre anymore. He was sure of it.
“Sanford…” he muttered, feeling himself get picked up, tucked close to a throbbing heart.
“Stay with me, Dei,” his partner begged, and the exquisite panic in his voice was reserved just for Deimos. “No, no no Deimos,” his voice sounded so far, but no less potent. ”Deimos!” Sanford screamed, like a lover’s whisper in his ear. Then all Deimos knew was darkness.
---
The good news was that doc managed to perform a last minute transplant to save his life. The bad news was that doc still hadn’t learned how to be nice to him. “You’re lucky more than half of the bodies in that building are perfectly compatible with yours.” He groused, and Deimos just laughed.
“Thanks, doc,” he smiled, honestly still feeling like he’d been put through a grinder but just happy to be alive.
“Try not to talk too much,” he continued, "we don’t want your other lung to fall out. Well you wouldn’t want that at least. I like to be an optimist.”
“Yeah yeah. Uh, hey, doc,” he played with the bandages on his temple, unravelling them just a teensy bit. “Hm, there’s no nice way to say this.” Deimos muttered, starting to pick at the raw scar that followed the line of his pectorals. It looked kind of like Sanford’s scars, he thought. That was a little funny.
His continued silence made doc hiss in annoyance. “God’s sake, just spit it out.”
“I’m a clone of the original Deimos, right?” Deimos posited.
That got doc to stop bustling around. He dropped the still bloody tools into the sink, wiping his hands off on his apron. “So he finally told you?”
“Nah, no. Its just that you guys weren’t very subtle when, oh, when you thought I was dying!” He threw his hands up and immediately regretted it when a spike of pain tore through his chest. “Fuck! That smarts.”
“Easy,” doc pushed him back against the headboard, the shove almost gentle. “Do you want me to call Sanford?”
“Yeah, I think-yeah I want him,” he breathed a sigh, tugging at the bedsheets and letting the seams catch on his claws.
Doc hummed, tapping away on his phone before putting it away. The next few minutes were spent in silence, only the splash of water and metallic clinks as doc cleaned up his equipment and Deimos found other shit to occupy himself, like guessing where doc was hiding his acid this time. He had his money on the ceiling, just at the edge of the room was a loose tile[1]. It was the perfect place to hide shit. He was ingenious.
Sanford’s footsteps tromped down to the basement, and he knocked all polite at doc’s door. “Come in, Sanford. He’s waiting for you.”
“Deimos,” he looked so relieved it was cute, hurrying over to his side. “How’s the,” he waved his hand over his chest area. “All that.”
His name sounded just right coming out of Sanford’s mouth this time, despite the prevalent ache in his body he cracked a wide smile. “Feels like I got run over by eight trucks, one after the other,” Deimos laughed. “Boy am I glad to see you again, San.”
“Same here, buster,” it was like heaven, Sanford’s smile. Nothing in the world was better than knowing his partner was so happy to see him.
“Deimos here wants to discuss the clone situation with you,” doc just had to butt in, wiping his hands on a rag and at the same time the look off Sanford’s face.
Sanford’s head turned to face doc, eyes wide behind his shades, “What? You told him?” His voice held a tinge of betrayal and it made Deimos feel a little uneasy, like Sanford was planning to keep this a secret his whole life.
“No, he’s just smarter than you give him credit for,” doc shrugged, tossing the rag and his apron on a bench. “Should I go?”
“It’s fine, doc. ‘S’not like we got any dark secrets to hide,” he laughed, not meaning to sound so bitter. “Not anymore at least.”
The guy shrugged and took a seat at the rickety desk on the other side of the room, probably about to document his own avid success on paper. “Fine. Sanford?”
His partner still looked pale, but when Deimos gave him a smile and patted the area beside him, Sanford scooted in close. Deimos offered his hand, and with another sad smile, Sanford squeezed him lightly. “You died, a few months ago. We walked right into a trap and you put yourself in front of me to tank the brunt of it. There was a lot of, ah,” Sanford lifted his glasses to scrub at his eyes and Deimos just held him until he was ready to continue. “We were in one of those big facilities, so there was a cloning vat nearby. I was so desperate to bring you back that I just tossed your body in there and let the machine do its thing.”
“So the og went kaboom, huh,” he picked at the edge of his stitches, contemplating that kind of death. “Ouch. Poor amigo.” Oh, Sanford looked like he was about to cry. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. “I mean,” Deimos backtracked, "it couldn’t have hurt that much. He’s not a pussy.”
That got a laugh out of Sanford at least, he was glad. “Fuck, Deimos. I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just thought it would be hard for you to accept, or understand-“
“Yes, yes, I know you love treating me like your family heirloom christmas baubles.” He huffed, "I am a clone, Sanford. I think I can handle being a clone again. Cloneception, whatever. Say clone six times fast.”
“Still,” Sanford chuckled, "I don’t think it matters. You’re still my partner, the same you always were-“
“Wait, I’m gonna stop you right there.” he cut in, starting to realise something even more horrifying than getting played for a fool. That was the least of his concerns right now, not when he was starting to realise why the past few months had felt like he was wrestling with an ill fitting shoe. “It’s not the same,” Deimos stressed, inadvertently digging his claws into the fleshy part of his partner’s palm. “Sanford, did you even grieve for him? Or did you just throw yourself into pretending he’s me?”
“Ah,” those brown eyes went wide. “What?”
“Oh my god,” he said, feeling far away and too close all at once. Overwhelmed, Deimos snatched his hand out of Sanford’s grip. “Doc, are you hearing this?”
“I’m not sure why I’m still here,” he deadpanned, probably getting off on his frustration. Now that was a thought that sobered him quickly.
“What’s wrong?” Sanford asked, the question so familiar and yet, when he said it this time it only sparked dread. “Deimos?”
“I’m not him.” He had to set the record straight. “I’m not the partner you lost, Sanford. He’s Deimos og, I’m Deimos neo, do you get it?” He flustered, unable to explain it to someone who didn’t already know. “You can’t replace him with me, that’s not how it works.” It took three more seconds of staring into Sanford’s agog face before Deimos started trying to inch himself off the bed. He was immediately stopped by both of them before he could get far. “Did you guys even bury the body?” He asked quietly, heart sinking.
“A ways outside the base,” Sanford told him in a voice just as soft. “I didn’t want you stumbling upon it and wondering.”
He let out a tight breath. “You had me scared for a moment that you just left the poor guy behind.” Deimos slumped back down against Sanford’s hands in relief. “Take me there, please.”
“You’re still badly hurt, Dei,” Sanford gently lead him to rest against the headboard. “It’s not that far but in your condition…”
“Tomorrow then,” he said firmly, then turned toward doc with his best set of puppy eyes. “I’ll rest up real good, doc. Pleaase?”
Doc’s face literally twisted into a cringe at the sight, but as far as he knew that was the guy’s favorite expression. He gave in eventually thanks to Sanford. Tomorrow, they both agreed, and all Deimos had to do was sit tight for twenty four hours. Needless to say, he napped fitfully. He thought a lot about Deimos, his predecessor. He tossed and ached and touched his chest and got his hands slapped many, many times, but by the time Sanford showed up at the door of the workshop again he was ready to go.
Together they walked through the hills, Sanford trying to be slick and convince him to take frequent breaks, breaks he resisted with the ferocity of single minded determination. Along the way his partner had picked up a stick to help him walk and Deimos would have been offended if he wasn’t so grateful for it. They hiked for what felt like miles, but when Deimos looked back, their base was literally right there. Shit, doc was right. If they got jumped right now he was sure he was just going to keel over. Walking was turning out to be worse than a chore, fighting was completely out of the question.
Finally they stopped next to a small mound. “Is this it?” He asked, sweaty and shaking.
“Yeah,” Sanford put his hand out for him to grab, but he declined with a small shake of the head. It was more about respect than anything, he needed to do this on his own feet to honour the sacrifice of his predecessor. Back at the agency it was pretty standard to do something small for their lost seniors. There were always more bodies every day so it was impossible to linger long over a death, but every single one was acknowledged, even if it was just a number on a thick, thick book. The auditor never appreciated it but what the hell would she know about caring for people anyway.
Hobbling over to the crude tombstone, if not by his own power then by the stick, he dropped to his knees before the thing with a loud gasp. “Hey, Deimos,” he called, trying not to sound too out of breath as he left a smattering of paper flowers just under the plaque. He took a second to pant subtly, holding the area under his ribs as if his lung was just going to slide out if he didn’t. Luckily for him, Deimos original flavour was very patient. Heh. “S-Sorry you got the short end of the stick, bud. But thanks- haah fuck- thanks for taking care of Sanford while I was, uh, not in this world yet.” He took another big pause after the stuttering, wheeze ridden dialogue, more composed this time. “I got it from here, alright? You can rest.” Brushing his thumb along the carved block letters, he pictured Sanford out here engraving the name into place. He imagined Sanford crying, but more likely he had that determined look set into his face as he worked. Shoveling, carving, working so hard he completely forgot to mourn his loss.
“Your turn,” Deimos nodded for Sanford to go ahead while he shuffled back a distance.
His partner popped open a grand thing of wine, tipping the bottle to let the red liquid slosh onto the soil. It poured, staining both the ground and the origami a deep maroon. He stopped at the halfway point, getting to his knees and using his wine stained hand to wipe at some of the dirt that had accumulated on the headstone. He hadn’t been here in months, nobody had, and if Deimos hadn’t already ripped Sanford a new one for it he would be hopping mad right now.
But now it was time for Sanford to grieve.
He readjusted himself into a sitting position, the stick over his lap as he watched the sky. The sky was ugly as hell he just remembered, so he watched Sanford press his forehead to the tombstone, he always did that when he wanted to be closer, lips moving in fervent little mutters. He couldn’t hear what the guy was saying, but he didn’t really want to. It could be prayers, maybe poetry, he knew Sanford was sweet like that, but again it wasn’t his place to speculate. Eventually he was done spilling his heart though, voice having steadily dissolved into stuttering hiccups. Deimos crawled forward to sit by his side while the poor guy cried big wet sobs.
“I miss him,” he heard Sanford moan, hiccupping and hiding his face. “Deimos, I miss him.”
“I know, pimiento,” he put his hand around Sanford’s shoulder, patting and rubbing him while he shook with tears. “Wanna know something?”
Sanford sniffled in affirmation, leaning into him. Deimos didn’t even care that it was right over the fresh wound across his chest. His partner was in so much more pain right now, he could bear a little bit of it.
“He loved you so much, as much as I do. Maybe even more,” Deimos murmured, twining their fingers together. “Probably loved you so much he didn’t even know how to bear it. So it would have made him very happy dying like that.”
“Did he think about how it would make me feel?” Sanford said in a soft voice, scrubbing away more hot tears with the heel of his palm. “I loved him too, you know.”
“Stupid to pretend you wouldn’t have done the same for him,” Deimos smiled, reaching over to grab Sanford’’s hand, the one that still held the bottle. He lifted it and pressed the tip of it encouragingly to Sanford’s lips,”Drink up.”
He did, lush gulps that made Deimos thirsty just watching. Sanford passed the bottle to him and he polished it off with the same fervor. “If doc saw us chugging his expensive wine like that he’d beat our asses,” Sanford laughed, still sporting a mess of tears all over his face.
“Thank god he’s not here then,” he giggled in turn, resting his head on his partner’s shoulder.
They watched the grave a bit more solemnly, before Deimos broke the silence again. “You believe in the afterlife, San?”
“People like us are probably going to hell,” he scoffed, "so it’s best not to hope too hard.”
“That’s depressing,” He complained. “You’re depressing.”
“But you love me?” Sanford nuzzled his head, and god he melted.
“You’re damn right I do,” Deimos pushed him playfully, before he leaned forward to drive the empty bottle into the ground. “All better now?” He hummed. “No more being haunted by guilt?”
“I- ah, Sanford rubbed his face, sniffling loudly and wiping all the gunk off. “Yeah. Much better. Thanks, Dei.”
“What kinda bestie won't even accompany you to the grave of their own double,” he paused. “I guess I’m the double, huh. Y’know we don’t really get to think of this stuff at the agency, there aren’t many shared memories between us clones. We just get popped out and then start living life.” He traced a nonsense shape in the dirt, the gritty crumbs sticking under his fingernails. “But me and Deimunos have much more in common than we do with the others.”
“Deimunos?”
He sighed in mock exasperation, cheeks warm from the wine. “Deimos numero uno, babe. Keep up.”
Sanford raised a brow, and he could see the same flush painting his nose. “And that’d make you?”
“Obviously Doseimos. Talk about a fake fan,” he tossed the handful of dirt he’d gathered at Sanford, only to be retaliated with a big glob of wine mud to the face. They both laughed, and Deimos scraped most of it off to return it to the foot of the grave. He smiled at the lively spectacle they’d made of the humble little burial site, sad and fond all at once. “Ready to go, San?” He asked, shifting his stick to one hand and finding Sanford’s with the other.
“Yeah,” he breathed out a long sigh, looking much lighter than he had in months. He gave Deimos a small grin, pulling him to his feet. “I think... I’m ready to move on.”