Work Text:
“You lied, Mr. Gen. Your science leader was Senku, not Taiju.”
“Eh?! Really?! Well the two of them are inseparable. It was hard to tell who was the one coming up with all the ideas. It was an honest mistake!”
Gen kept his performer’s mask on tight; playing his role of the ignorant buffoon. He was all too aware of how suspicious the Americans still were of him. So all the more reason he couldn’t let any cracks in his facade show.
Not when they told him Senku was dead.
Not when the Medusa had been delivered right to their doorstep.
Not when he realized they were soon going to launch an all-out attack on the Perseus.
Despite all that, he had to keep up his act. His actions and words, over-the-top and exaggerated. All to keep up appearances. Play the clown. Play the fool. Provide whatever interference possible. Delay. Buy time. It was all he could do.
It was what he had to do.
It wasn’t until he turned in for the night. When he was locked in his room that was more of a glorified cell than anything. When he was finally alone. Only then, did the cracks form and he began to break.
His knees gave out as he stumbled towards his cot. He was sure he would vomit from the amount of stress gnawing at his stomach. That was, if he’d actually been able to eat anything. His head was dizzy and even now, hours later, his heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. Drained of all his energy, he could only drape himself over the edge of his cot. Lying half slumped on the floor, he remained motionless and silent for a several minutes before snatching his pillow and pressing it firmly into his face.
Then screamed.
Till his lungs ran out of air.
Till his throat went raw.
Again and again and again.
His fault. This was all his fault. Because he’d painted a target on his friends’ backs. Because he’d gotten cocky, thinking he’d have no problem manipulating the enemy like he’d done so many times before. He hadn’t anticipated just how ruthless the Americans would be. Hadn’t realized just how outmatched they were. And now, because of his arrogance, Senku was dead, if not already slowly dying. And who knew how many more of his friends would be mowed down or captured before Xeno was satisfied.
Gen raised his head, coming up for air. His face was hot and damp. “Senku-chan,” he muttered as quietly as he could. There was still a chance someone was listening from outside. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
This was all he could allow himself. He needed to keep up appearances. Put back on the mask. He’d be called on again and he couldn’t falter now. He was a performer.
And the show must go on.