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Another day, another mission. Tom opted to pass the time while making his way to his next target by thinking about his past self. There really wasn’t much else to do, and it was at least mildly interesting. After a certain point, he knows exactly what his past self would say if they saw him. He would ask why, why, would he work with the person who had hurt Matt and Edd and blew up their house. And his answer would be: well he didn’t. Not for a long time. He stayed mad for years. Every picture of Red Leader was burned, every mention of Tord was met with a scoff. For the first few months, Tom even had a reaction to the color red like some sort of fucked up bull. He never expected to talk to Tord again, much less work with him. But if he had to give his past self an answer, it would be that Tord apologized.
Tord was never too good at verbal apologies. When he wanted to make up with Tom after they fought when they lived together, he would knock on Tom’s door with a bottle of Smirnoff and a video game controller. Sometimes it was some popcorn and a bad horror movie. He would end up leaning into Tom, muttering a quiet “sorry”, and by that point Tom was too drunk to care about the argument anymore. Or at least that’s what he told himself. So when Tord apologized this time, it was in a similar way, and Tom found himself reacting much like he did back then.
Matt had accepted it, really. It was definitely his fault. The black eye Tord gave him never healed properly, and the doctors were about as helpful as the quack cures Matt had looked up on the Internet. When Tord reached out to him to apologize, he did so first with the memory gun— letting Matt come fully to his own decision. Then Tord offered to help with his eye, and later her jaw. Tom tried to treat Matt as dead to him too, but he knew that Matt never had the same amount of vitriol he had towards Tord. And he had to admit, she looked… happy. And not the happy where Matt was trying to fake it, which Tom had seen after endless failed dates, but the genuine joy of when they found a new thing to put in their room.
The visor was next. It had been sent to Tom anonymously, though it didn’t take a genius to figure out who created such an advanced piece of tech. Despite tinkering with it for weeks, Tom couldn’t find anything malicious in it. No mind-control virus, no tracking device, not even the ability to update remotely. Just a simple messaging feature with a request from Tord to just see what the army was like.
He went there begrudgingly. He didn’t mean to stay. He somehow stayed anyways.
His apology to Edd, Tom soon found out, was targeted leeway on the cola ban. The ban itself, was only a small part of a series of bans on processed foods, but Edd reacted like Tord had killed Ringo. Edd’s subsequent shenanigans were justified in Tom’s opinion. If Smirnoff was ever banned, he would be much, much worse. Since then, Tom had always tried to leave at least one route open for the cola smugglers, to prevent withdrawals. He still remembered when Tord found out.
“Why are we leaving this route open? There’s definitely a smuggler down there.”
Tom hesitated, trying to think of a good answer, but that answer was all Tord needed.
“Ah. Edd?”
Unable to think of a lie, Tom went with honesty. “You got me. I know he knows about that one.” Tom gave Tord a wry smile, hoping that the old Tord wouldn’t shine through and that he wouldn’t be kicked to the curb.
“How about we open the route in the north and close off the west street? He knows about that one, but it’ll still reduce the active flow of cola in the city. We do still have to keep him on his toes.”
Tom’s visor flashed in surprise. “You’re not going to cut him off once and for all?” He waved his arms a bit for emphasis.
“Definitely not. I owe him at least this after what I put him through. I’d take back the ban, but going back on my word would cause an explosion in rebellions—they would think that they could change my policies.”
It was as that moment that Tom started working with Tord genuinely. It was a surprise to him that they worked so well together, but they had always been similar. Tord was more tactical, but Tom often reeled him in when he got too aggressive with attacks. The reverse worked for legislation, with Tom wanting to go for the most extreme measures and Tord tempering it out. Every so often, an idea occurred to them simultaneously, and when they locked eyes and smiled, Tom knew that whatever was going to happen would be fun. They still butted heads, and the hallways of the base often rang with the sounds of arguments, but more often than not, they came from the mouths of half-smiles and smirks, with taunting eyes (or in Tom’s case, sarcastic screen expressions). He was reminded of just how fun Tord could be, and he hated to say it, but he was enjoying himself.
While Tord did most of the front facing work, Tom didn’t shy away from a bit of theatrics himself. Hell, he ended up coming up with the army theme (and if it has too much brass, so be it). Besides occasionally taking Susan out for a spin at army events, he gladly played the part of one-man-army when he needed to. Chugging a bottle of Smirnoff and jumping in, guns blazing, aim still deadly despite the alcohol? The rush was almost as good as the alcohol itself. And of course, Tord’s face projected on the scene, laughing maniacally as Tom mowed down enemies was always a treat for them both. All of the world leaders talked about MAD, but as far as Tom was concerned, for them it was Mutually Appreciated Destruction. And if his heart beat a little faster for a little longer when he turned back to face Tord during those times, that was his business.
It was his business, too, if the two of them lounged together after hours, watching movies like they used to, Tord leaning on him like he did after their arguments. It was his business if they sparred together sometimes, faces flushed, the energy in the air so high he wondered if Tord could feel it too. Even in their quieter moments of shared glances, hands brushed against each other as they pored over maps, he wondered if Tord could feel—whatever he was feeling. He didn’t really want to name it, but Tom knew that deep down he knew what it was. But there was time to think about that later. He had a mission to get done.
Today was a quiet mission, a sneaky little removal of the leader of a particularly pesky rebellion whose violence had quickly gotten out of control. Positioning himself on a nearby rooftop hadn’t been a problem at all, so now all he had to do was take the shot. He aimed, lining up the targets on his rifle, visor aiding in making minute adjustments to his positioning. Exhale, and…. Fire. One clean shot and it was done.
“Got it done.” Tom said out loud, after pressing a button on his visor, automatically messaging Tord. A reply popped up on the side of his vision soon after.
Man, that’s hot.
What?
Tom’s first instinct was to believe that some audio had been caught from Tord watching hentai, but he had really cut back on it, especially when on duty. Maybe he was saying that to a particularly nice bit of tech? Or a recruit or something? It certainly couldn’t be about him.
“I’m guessing that was your hentai, commie?” Tom asked, trying to remain as lighthearted as possible in the face of… whatever was happening.
New message.
Fuck.
Another message.
Look just come to my office when you get back, okay?
Well that wasn’t ominous at all.
The walk back to the base was probably the most stressful one Tom had had since the first time he had gone back to see Tord in person. The resemblance between the two was alarming. A brief knock, and then Tom entered Tord’s office like he had done countless times before.
Tord looked nervous too, which was unlike him at work. But he cut right to the chase. “That message was about you Tom.”
That marks the second time today where Tom was at a complete loss for words. “What?”
“The way you took that guy out, it was hot. Really hot.”
How funny, that earlier in the day Tom had told himself he would unpack what he was feeling later. It seemed as though all of his feelings had been tossed out of the suitcase by the very man that was the subject of them.
Tom’s mind was still reeling, but it seems as though his body had already decided his reaction for him, as he rushed over to Tord, grabbed him by his lapels, and smashed his lips against his own, pushing both of them against the wall. There was an explosion of sorts between their lips, a release of pent-up emotions giving way to pure passion. Tord froze for a second, but soon started chasing after Tom’s lips with a kiss of his own, deepening it until their tongues and teeth met. They broke apart to catch their breath, Tord’s eyes wide, holding that same spark in them as when they would fight together. Tom’s visor seemed to be unable to find the correct display for his emotions, leading to a near-frantic shift in eye expressions.
“Holy shit.” Tom managed to get out, breathing hard. Despite the fact that he had started the kiss, the intensity made his head spin. “Tord, I-“
Tom didn’t get to finish before Tord had pushed him up against the wall, his lips were on his again, then on his neck, stretching the collar of his shirt in a way that made him sure that he would have to get a new uniform issued. But he couldn’t care, too busy focusing on the slight pain of Tord marking him up, pleasure blooming underneath the bruises. One of his hands, desperate for anything to hold onto, grabbed onto a handful of Tord’s hair. The unintentional pull drew out a proper moan from the norsk, and Tom groaned as he felt his pants tighten at the noise. Tord immediately caught on, smiling as he positioned his knee between Tom’s legs, applying more delicious pressure as he shifted against him and-
There was the sound of a door opening.
“Red Leader I got that report you wanted-“
Tom and Tord shoved themselves apart like two magnets had suddenly been forced between them, but it was no use. Between the absolute mess that was Tord’s hair and the disheveled state of Tom’s shirt, it was obvious what had been going on.
The soldier that had entered—a new recruit, it looks like— made a noise in the back of his throat. “I can- I can come back later.”
The door was slammed shut and rapid footsteps faded out as Tom and Tord stared at each other. It was evident that neither of them ever thought they would get this far.
Tord decided to cut to the chase. “So. Are we…?”
Yes, Tom wanted to say. Yes. But he settled for a much more chill “I guess so.”
Tord laughed a little. “I’ll have to introduce you as my partner at the next banquet now.”
Tom nearly fell over as he attempted to fix his clothes. “Holy embarrassment at a gathering, Tord, anything but that.”
“Oh, come on!! We can play some ska over your entrance and everything!”
Tom and Tord bickered, holding hands, all the way to dinner.