Work Text:
Court
After a week Randall brought her coffee, offering the hot mug with a slight bow and a self-mocking twist of his lips. It had been years since she had coffee, but the smell kick-started the old addiction as if it had never gone away. She wrapped her fingers around the mug, heat seeping into her bones, and knew that she should throw it over him
Instead she drank it, justifying to herself that the false dawn of caffeine in her blood would give her some clue as to know to get out of this.
It didn’t work – not on just one cup.
Grace is probably smarter than Randal. That isn't an insult, she is smarter than most people. Look at her, she worked out how to turn off the power!
Intelligence hasn't been the advantage she would have imagined. He acts, she reacts. By the time she has worked out all the probabilities and worked out the best course of action, he has tased her and picked a path on instinct.
It isn't always the right path, but he's still three moves ahead of her.
'What does it matter if Monroe has the pendant?' she asked, reaching for the missing weight of her own. Her fingers bump her collarbone instead and fidget there absently. 'It is short-range only, of limited efficacy and short duration. It won't help him turn the power back on.'
Randall wraps bony hands around his own mug. They look work-worn, not the smooth cubicle hands from before. Maybe he’d not hidden away the last 15 years in an underground bunker with the president like she’d thought.
'In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king,' Randal said gnomically. 'In the land of the powerless, the man with a part-time arsenal is emperor. Mornoe having even limited access to power will destabilise the area.'
A bitter laugh escaped Grace before she could catch it. 'We are living in a totalitarian state in the middle of the USA,' she said. 'How much more destabilised can things get?'
He looked at her hooded eyes and reached for her cup. Even though it is empty she held on to it for a second, wanting to keep the smell of stained china.
'Did Ben ever tell you why we turned off the lights?' he asked, cocking his head to the side curiously.
Grace opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out for a second, '...No.'
Ben had emailed them and messaged them, 'They are going to do it'. None of them had even known it was an idea, or a viable possibility - none of them had solved the medial power transfer uncoupling issue.
Except Rachel had, apparently, and not told any of them. And Ben...
Randall finished her thoughts like he could see them. Maybe he could, they couldn't have been the only 'mad science' project he worked on. 'Ben did know. It's strange he didn't tell you isn't it? Afterwards.'
They hadn't seen him afterwards. He'd disappeared without a word, leaving them to frantically come up with their plan to scatter and their ramshackle computer 'network' to stay in touch. Grace bit her lip and Randall smiled. He left, locking the door behind him. Two days later he brought her a bar of chocolate and told her that the founder of the Republic was Ben's brother.
‘Not that it means anything,’ he said, mild as a snake. ‘It’s just interesting, isn’t it?’