Archive of Our Own

The GDA was always working on something new, always studying, discovering, and trying bizarre tests. Setting the stage for the next new breakthrough, always biting away at what sounded impossible. 

One potential weapon that the lab boys have been dying to get their hands on is a truth serum, or something that acts like one. A way to force something, anything sentient, to answer as honestly as possible. It would save manpower, prevent betrayals and disaster years ahead of time. Weed out those with information and bad intentions. The only argument that could be made against it is how gross it would be to strip someone of their free will in such a way, but that's not something the GDA hasn’t heard before. Morality has gotten a bit shoddy after the Omni-man incident, so frankly, the care for ethics have been at an all time low.

The project began a little less than half a year ago, greenlit by Cecil Stedman, with the project lead being Donald Ferguson, all the information regarding its progression would go directly to him.

Donald was selective about the information that he would relay back to his director, most of the progression had been slow, small steps forward. But lately the feedback has been more optimistic.

A scientist had come to him in person to tell them they were running their first tests with a gas prototype. Donald went along to go see the testing in person, Cecil having started the research himself opted to tag along.

A volunteer employee had a gas mask strapped to him sitting at a desk with medical staff around him. He inhaled the toxin, took off his mask and placed it in front of him. The director and his assistant stood a fair distance away, monitoring and intently listening.

The test subject was asked if he felt any different.

“Not that I am aware of.”

A worker raised up a blue book. “This is red, right?”

The volunteer stared for a moment, opened his mouth to speak but started to sputter. His expression grew anxious, but he also looked confused.

“No… of course it isn’t red, that book is absolutely blue.”

“Can you tell me that it’s red?”

“I… can’t do that. I don’t wish to do that.” He began to sound stressed. The staff around him curiously peered closer, slightly concerned to if he was actually being harmed.

“How does it feel when you try to lie?”

“Feels like needles in my neck. It hurts like I might die if I don’t answer honestly.”

“Do you believe that you will die?”

“I shouldn’t, but… I don’t know.” 

The interrogator nodded, picking up a tablet and writing down her thoughts and opinions.

Donald turned to his boss who seemed to be thinking. Cecil had a hand in his pocket with the other idly to his side. His usual stance, one Donald has grown to expect. 

Cecil walked up to the volunteer who was still answering questions, explaining what the gas was doing to his mind and upon seeing the director, he froze up and went silent. While he did not know exactly who the GDA director was, he most likely got a bad feeling from his appearance alone.

It was common enough that it became something they both got used to. In honesty Donald liked the way Cecil looked. Unique if not anything else.

“How are you feeling?” Cecil asked.

“...Uncomfortable.”

“Wanna say why that is?”

“You’re intimidating- you’re frightening to me.” The volunteer tried to cover his mouth, he looked rather horrified that he was speaking against his better judgement. 

Donald from the back found it rather funny, Cecil knew a majority of staff saw him as a daunting presence and he never took it personally. The volunteer was at no risk even if he somehow said something genuinely nasty.

Cecil chuckled. “Hm, I suppose that's not a bad impression to give off. Any other thoughtful opinions on me?”

The volunteer grabbed his mask, slightly squeezing it.

“I have opinions, yes.” The volunteer gripped the mask and the tube so tightly his fingers turned white.

Cecil had an amused smile on his face. “Keep them to yourself.” 

He turned to the scientist who had been questioning the man. A kind faced older woman, who had been trying not to laugh at the situation.

She stood up and picked up the container that held the serum, and showed it off to the director. 

“Only got one so far, the materials needed are rare and hard to process in a quick manner, sir. But so far it appears that it works, we will need to study any long term effects.”

“You think it works on non-humans?”

“Working theory is that it works on anything sentient with a sense of guilt and awareness of being purposefully dishonest. If our dear tester over here were colorblind, he could’ve possibly said the book was orange. Of course to him he’d be telling the truth and we can’t do much about that.”

Donald turned away to a nearby assistant. Throughout the months he’d been keeping Donald up to date on their work. He was a nice and thoughtful man, while they were in a semi casual discussion, a loud clank of something metal falling to the ground caught his attention, alongside the clatter was the yelp of a woman.

The scientist was pointing an accusatory finger at the volunteer, screaming and looking irate off, the contained was on the ground. She picked it up and shoved it into the man’s face, her voice was now high pitched and hard to make out. Next to them  Cecil stood, wiping his face with his sleeve, looking mildly agitated.

Donald came over swiftly and got the full picture of what happened.

As she was talking to the director, the volunteer shoved the table forward to exit his chair. It collided directly into the scientist's torso causing her to get bumped and drop the canister, much to their dismay it was not properly sealed. Causing the director to get sprayed.

He wasn’t hurt, didn’t really look much phased after the initial surprise. But she was outraged at resources being wasted and the director getting possibly injured. Donald, a little panicked, tried to talk to Cecil who very adamantly shook his head and covered his face. Refusing to engage in any type of conversation.

Medical staff, more than a little urgently, escorted Cecil away. 

While the volunteer had fully consented to any side effects that may occur, the GDA could not afford to have issues with their director. Not one this valuable anyway.

While the medical exam shouldn’t have taken long in theory, they double checked, even began to triple check.

Donald spoke with the doctors and learned that while not harmful, the effects were purposely designed to last upwards to 12 hours. Luckily he hadn’t inhaled a full dose, but that just made it harder to determine how long Cecil would be under its influence.

Ideally, the director shouldn’t work until the time was up, but any situation could be delicate and would need his input. He couldn’t be gone for long.

Cecil, a little more hesitant now, walked out from the medical room and back to the main office with Donald by his side. It was clear he was uncomfortable but begrudgingly did what he had to.

While Donald respected his boss with his highest regards, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t itching to ask him something. 

He had looked into the serum’s effects a little more thoroughly- It tricks the mind into believing that lying is harmful, categorizing it into their irrational fears, thus forcing out the truth. 

Technically someone could resist it, but the closest comparison to put the feeling into perspective is asking someone with arachnophobia to step into a room filled with spiders. They definitely could, but that’s a hard mental barrier to get past.

Donald, whilst handing Cecil a cup of coffee asked a mundane question. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful, I want to lie down and never wake up again.” As soon as those words left his mouth, Cecil let out a forced cough and covered his mouth.

“Thanks for the coffee, I don’t want to talk to you.” Cecil said, as he walked away. 

Donald, a little dumbfounded, fixed his glasses and continued his work. He always knew Cecil kept a lot of things to himself, but hadn’t considered white lies nor minor inconveniences as well.

Against his better judgement, he was deeply curious as he knew Cecil would never be this truthful ever again.

At any given chance, without being too intrusive, he’d ask questions when he was near the director.

“Sir, what do you think of this book?” Donald asked, holding up a well known American literature.

Cecil looked at the book, a neutral expression on his face. “That book makes my skin crawl, I read it for college and I never want to see it again.” He grabbed the book from Donald and shoved it back onto his office bookshelf with more force than necessary.

Donald found it half impressive and half concerning that Cecil was expressing negative feelings whilst maintaining an unbothered appearance. 

Donald repeated this process a handful of times. Asking minor questions out of curiosity to hear Cecil’s real person. 

Thoughts on people, items. Concepts. He learned quite a few surprising things about Cecil.

He likes cats but finds dogs too needy. He thinks soda tastes bad, Cecil likes the texture of certain clothes. He hates the sound of metal spoons being in contact with other metalic objects.

While they monitored a situation, Cecil unintentionally commented on how unattractive lean muscular body types were upon seeing one of their heroes at work, at his mistake he corrected himself by saying he finds chubbier bodies to be aesthetically pleasing. He promptly had to excuse himself and Donald didn’t see him for another 45 minutes.

Later when he did, they momentarily sat together in the cafeteria. Cecil had a plate but was distracted by something else.

Donald eyed his boss poke at his food, not actually putting any in his mouth.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

Cecil looked up at him, his brows twitching to furrow but remained relaxed “No.”

Cecil spoke clarified. “I’m not hungry. Appetite is a little harder to find these days.”

“Of course. I understand that.”

“I don’t think you do, but that’s fine.”

“Are the effects starting to wear off yet?”

“I don’t feel any different in more low stake environments. Try asking me something a little less basic.”

“Like-like what?”

“Use your judgement, Donald.”

“Uh-” Donald shrugged, and used the most recent memory he was just thinking about.

“Remember that time you said something snide in response and I accidentally laughed? Were you actually angry?”

Cecil looked down at the table, his eyes fixating on nothing.

“No, not really. I liked that you laughed. I thought about it later and saw why you thought it was funny.”

“I genuinely thought you were upset about it.”

“I play it up a bit.” He admitted. “Very few things piss me off so a lot of what you do and say don’t bother me.”

“Oh, but I do see you irritated quite often?”

Cecil smiled. “Yeah I know right? Too bad my work environment consists of those exact few things.”

Donald stared down at a few carrots on the directors plate. “Do you have any food preferences?”

“I'm not sure anymore. I haven't eaten for taste in a long time.”

“If you had to choose, what would it be?”

“I don't..” Cecil looked at someone else’s plate, looking for a throw away dish.

“I'd be fine with an omelet?” Just a random answer. It was rather funny how something so minor could stump him.

“Sir, what is your opinion…-” Donald vaguely gestures to one agent he knows well. “On her?”

Cecil looked at her for a moment, he knew hundreds of names and faces, it always took him a second to recall anybody not constantly in his sights.

“Great at her job, don't like her accent. If you were dead, she might've taken your position.” 

Donald took a sip from his cup, ignoring the dead comment. “She is rather competent, I agree.”

“Though it’d never be the same, obviously. I like having you around, so watch out for yourself, yeah?”

Donald swallowed a little hard, the statement made him feel odd, but not in a negative way. 

“I’m flattered, sir.”

Cecil pushed away his plate, still the same as when it was handed to him. 

“When was the last time you ate, sir?”

Cecil shrugged. “I don't remember.”

Donald frowned slightly. “Ah. Well you should eat a little bit at least? If you’re struggling with it you can always go to the medical staff.”

“Huh? Oh, no. I was diagnosed with an eating disorder years ago. I just don’t care.”

Cecil's face scrunched up a bit before he dismissed it with a hand gesture. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that.” He got up with a little more celerity to his pace. Leaving his assistants vicinity before more could be said.

This wasn’t surprising in the slightest in retrospect, Cecil knowing and actively not caring was in character for him, or was that unacceptable to say about his boss?

Donald thought about it for a while, even as he worked and checked up on active situations. It was just something he wasn’t expecting. A random itch in his body he couldn’t get to.

Not long after he went into the directors office to hand him a file. 

With him he brought along a pastry, kind of hoping he could convince Cecil to eat something. 

What he was trying to do was obvious, but he gave it a shot anyway.

To his mild disappointment, Cecil thanked him, but put it to the side as if it were an unwanted gift and very quickly forgot about it.

“Sir?” Donald got his attention again. 

Cecil looked up, pen in hand, about to sign a document.

“Are you still under the effects of the serum?”

He took a sharp inhale through his mouth.

“Probably. Why?”

“Just checking up.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need it.” Cecil said. He looked to his monitor, his shoulders raised like he had just remembered something.

“By the way, I’ll need you to transcribe the latest incident and talk to the guardians, give them a rundown of their performance. I would do it myself but, you know.”

He nodded. Cecil being faced with Rex and the like with no filter would not be ideal. A screaming match would be imminent.

“Right. Of course sir.”

“Just do me a favor. It’s been tiresome today.”

“I'll get on it right away, It’s just I..”

Cecil raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Donald paused in silence for just a brief moment. A sentence or two on his tongue. Debating which ones he should vocalize.

A single one immediately locked into his mind, one that might just get him in trouble.

“Sir, is there- uhm. Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

“There's a lot. Why-” Cecil dropped his pen “Why are you asking?” 

“Just curiosity.”

“Keep your curiosity away from me.” Cecil's eyes darted from Donald to something else behind him. Didn’t take much to realize he was looking at the door. This reaction irked him.

“What is it?” He asked. A question that couldn’t be avoided with just any vague answer.

“Donald.” Cecil hissed, standing up in an instant.

The clearest expression of panic on his face, one Donald’s never seen before.

“Is there something wrong, sir?” Donald tried again. “Sir?”

Cecil put his sleeve into his mouth, biting down hard on it as he pushed passed. He mumbled a bit into the fabric, sounding like curses. He wasn’t predicting Cecil to pull a move like that, but it was one that was effective regardless. 

Donald followed behind, for others it must've looked strange. Two of the most important men, one basically fleeing from the other. But it's hard to say it’s unusual.

Donald, not particularly eager about starting a situation with a crowd present, gently but firmly yanked Cecil and pushed him into a room he knew was empty. He felt exceptionally bad for choosing to be physical with Cecil, but not bad enough clearly.

It was an old lab reserved for renovation, no one with clearance to enter but them. An ideal place to have a conversation. Or perhaps worse.

Cecil pushed himself away from Donald, backing off into the room. His hand still tightly covering his mouth.

“I’m sorry sir…” Donald could almost feel the consequences waiting for him tied up in a neat bow. 

He continued “-Really, I am sorry, but I just thought you’d rather stay away from prying ears.” Honest or not, the reasoning was solid enough.

Cecil took a second to compose himself, his hands moving up from his mouth to cover his eyes, then to the sides of his head, tucking away a few stray strands of hair. 

His eyes had a strange look to them, the look of a man with crowds of thoughts circling in his head. 

While his facial expression matched, his eyes remained stagnant in an unnatural way.

“What are you doing?” Cecil sounded calm, but his shoulders were tense, his legs slightly parted and his arms stiff at his side. 

He continued.

“This entire day all you’ve done is prob me, waiting for me to slip up and expose something about myself or otherwise. Cecil this, sir that.” He said, a mixture of anger and mockery.

“You think you're so funny, Donald? You find this amusing?” Cecil’s voice raised, an audible strain forming in his words.

Donald froze at his anger, he did his best to brush it off. He’s been yelled at hundreds of times before, it gets to a point where it doesn’t feel like anything anymore. Like your body adjusting and the once cold water now feels warm.

“The question I asked was fairly straightforward, I didn’t ask for anything personal or classified, I don’t understand what's making you react this way.”

“What's it matter to you anyway, Donald? I know what's best-if there was anything I thought you should know, I would have told you already. So take the hint.”

“How am I triggering such a strong response from you, sir?”

Donald stood firm, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t feel strong butterflies forming in his gut. He thought of backing off, but since the cyborg incident he’s learned that letting doubt fester wasn’t beneficial to anybody. 

“You’re not triggering shit.” He said, venom in his tone.

Cecil's hand shot up to his neck, like he was reacting to pain.

“You’re lying.” Donald stated.

Cecil covered his eyes with his hand and he cursed in pain.

“Fine-Yes you’re making me panic and I want you far away from me.”

As soon as he admitted it, he sighed and straightened his back once more. A bit of dignity returning to his face. He fixed his collar and continued speaking.

“I’m just sparing you from myself because I know you won’t like what I have to say, there's nothing more at stake.” Cecil's voice sounded suppressed, exhausted.

Donald's eyebrows furrowed. 

“You’ve said more than nasty things in the past, what could you have to say that I haven’t heard before?"

Cecil’s eye twitched. It looked like he was going to be sick.

“It’s not what you’re hoping it’ll be. I promise you that.”

Donald took a couple steps forward. “Are you hiding another secret at my request?”

“No.” Cecil said it quickly, and rather fast. 

This very quickly crumbled down any working theories Donald might’ve been contemplating.

“Is it about me at all? About my work? My person? Do you hate me?” He shot in the dark, hoping to hit something.

He felt Cecil’s stare sharpen at his words.

“You sound moronic. You know that? Everything we’ve been through and the best you can do is ask if I hate you?” Cecil laughed at the absurdity. “No, I don’t fucking hate you. No one does, no one could.”

“Then what is it, Cecil?”

“Why are you so persistent?” The man yelled, the sound of his voice filling the room, yet did not echo.

“What do you want me to say, what do you want to hear from me? Does desperately wanting to hear about my grief for you make you feel better about yourself?” Cecil’s brows furrowed, he looked like he frowned like he just felt a deep disgust as he felt the words left his mouth. His own words surprised him just as much as it did Donald.

“Why- when have you ever felt this way? What grief?”

Cecil looked away. He looked like he wanted to claw out his throat. 

“Remember the first time you bit the dust? No? Well I remember every miniscule detail. The way I couldn’t let others see how disturbed I really was. The way I had to pretend like it was nothing to me since work ate away at every crevice of my life own life. Too busy to even comprehend the fact that someone I cared for died in front of me.” Cecil walked forward, closer to Donald.

“What next?” Cecil balled his fists. “Curious to know how many times I’ve had to change this suit because I couldn’t get your blood stains out of it?” Cecil ranted. “Or maybe, you’d want to know about all the times I’ve watched doctors declare you deceased?”

Donald went quiet, his mouth slightly ajar. The expression Cecil had was eerie. It put a large dent in his chest, he felt his heart skipping beats.

Cecil’s rage faded just as fast as it came up. Like the realization washed over him in an instant.

To Donald’s surprise, Cecil cackled. He put a hand over his own face, stepping back away, nearly pressing against the wall. 

“So stupid.” Cecil softly said. Even without clarification, Donald could tell it wasn’t directed at him.

“Fuckin’ serum.” Cecil muttered, barely audible.

“Cecil, I- I’m sorry.” Donald said, nothing better coming to mind.

“The worst part is you are genuinely sorry. Aren’t you?” Cecil asked.

Cecil’s hands dropped back to his sides, putting it into his pocket. His face softened, just a considerate amount.

Donald stared at the floor. The tension in the air lingering like an upcoming deadline. A sense of running out of time.

Cecil scoffed. “You always do this.”

Donald looked back up and found that Cecil was refusing to look him in the face, but he spoke up again, most likely having sensed the other man’s confusion. 

Cecil's breathing became funny again, like he suddenly had to manually control it. 

“No other person could make me react like this. No one else does it like you, Donald. You don’t like pressing my buttons, but you do so anyway, right?”

Cecil shrugged, a bit sluggish. “You snoop in my files, you disappear for long periods of time. You like to pick fights with me…” Cecil looked to Donald. “Not the first time you’ve shoved me into rooms, either.”

Donald slightly cringed. 

“Go meet up with Invincible behind my back, why the fuck not? Who-” Cecil sighed. “Who even cares?”

Donald wasn’t surprised. How could he be? He’s suspected Cecil knew for a long time he could just never prove it, not until now anyway. 

With how much Cecil always knows and keeps track of on a daily basis, Donald’s activities were obviously not exempt from it.

His mind repeatedly pulled out blanks, only vague ideas on what to say. Nothing salvageable.

“I-I never had any ill intentions.”

Cecil shook his head. “I know. Donald. I've always known, and I can’t even blame you because I do the same thing. The only man I ever trust my ass I can’t even tell you that I-” He stopped abruptly, his eyes widened. The panic he saw back at the office was present again.

Cecil looked baffled at himself. The same look he’d give the guardians, he’d give mark and anyone else he genuinely found appalling.

“After all we've been through.” He repeated once more. “who'd thought I'd be so concerned about what you think of me?”

“Really, sir. I can assure you that I couldn’t possibly think any differently of you. I still respect you like the man I met twenty years ago.”

Donald couldn’t tell if Cecil heard him or not.

“It took me uncharacteristically long to realize something so simple. Blame myself or blame my environment. It doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“What did you realize?”

They made eye contact, and for the first time in months. Donald saw a softness in Cecil’s face that he rarely had. One that was atypical.

“One day it just occurred to me that…” Cecil crossed his arms. “I cared about you in a way I’d never manage with anyone else.” 

Donald's eyebrows slowly raised, he felt his body relax a bit.

“It's unfortunate, really.” Cecil continued.

Donald spoke.

“I don’t mean to ask more questions but,” Donald felt a tightness in his throat.

“In this context, what do you mean when you say care about me?”

He could almost see Cecil's eyes dilate, but perhaps he was making it up.

“It's clear what I'm talking about.” 

Donald swallowed hard. He grabbed his own tie, a slight shake in his hands.

“In all these years, you've never implied anything close to this.”

“Yes I have” Cecil’s eyes widened at his own statement. “I guess I have.” 

If Cecil himself was unsure, how could Donald get a grasp on the situation either? 

“For example?” Donald asked.

Cecil sighed. He seemed in defeat trying to continue to censor himself. “I… suppose it was selfish of me to rebuild you that many times.”

“That’s not how you phrased it to me initially.”

“What I said to you was accurate. I just left some details out.”

“Half truths?”

“Half lies, mostly.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

“How could I, Donald?” He sounded so very genuine.

“You had a wife, a job to do, you were never all that close to me to begin with. Just an obligation to you at the end of the day.”

“It was always so much more than that.”

“Was it?” Cecil asked. “Was it really or do you say that out of necessity?”

“Regardless.” Cecil refused to hear an answer to that question. 

“It would have been unprofessional, I’d never willingly put you in that position. Worst of all, I am a horrible man to be with.”

“Don’t say that, Cecil. We’ve always been in the same boat.”

“Don’t compare yourself to me, that’s basically slander against yourself.”

“Why does that offend you?”

“It doesn’t offend me at all, really. Just don’t want you comparing yourself to a man damned to hell.”

“No, no. You don’t get to act like you’re the one who carries all the fault and I am just the ignorant accomplice. You’re not going to do that to me. I know what I agreed to, I knew what I was doing just as much as you.”

Cecil grimaced. “If that’s so, how come you always have an opinion on my decisions? My calls? More often than not you always find a way to object to all of my plans.”

“You’re right that I don’t always agree with you. But it’s never been like that. I don’t interject because I think of myself as better than you, sir.”

“Must I remind you that one of us has gone to prison for murder? You’re just fortunate enough to say it isn’t you.”

“No, I…” It took Donald a moment to recall what Cecil was talking about. Donald remembers, albeit a distant memory. 

“Would you have done it again?” He asked

“No.” He said it flatly. One could tell he wasn’t happy with his answer.  

“I see the value in their work, though I don’t find them valuable as people.”

“Why’d you keep me alive, then?”

Cecil scoffed with a small laugh. “Ridiculous question. You know why.”

“You’ve said so much, but I can’t help but notice you’re not being direct.”

“If I said it in undeniable terms, you’d never let me live it down.” Cecil stated.

“I’m not that kind of person, Cecil.”

“You’d think so, but I’ve been surprised.”

The room's silence seemed to catch up as they talked. Letting the quiet linger too long felt wrong.

“Sir, I-” He stuttered. “I don’t know how you thought I’d react, but you were wrong regardless.”

“Humour me.”

It had been rather rough facing a part of himself so suddenly. He had to think, really think about what he felt for the director. 

For years it’s only been strictly professional, which is a factual lie that Donald had just convinced himself to be reality. Even with gaps in his memory, he can’t deny the times he’s acted a bit of a fool in Cecil’s presence. Perhaps staring at him for periods of time wasn't typical.

“I uhm-” He skimmed through his memories. “I remember the first time I saw you, I still remember my first impression.”

“What was it?”

“Thought you looked nice, I liked your hair.” Donald suddenly felt a cold sensation wash over him, embarrassment suddenly running in his blood.

He realizes he used past tense, and felt a strong urge to clarify.

“My point is that I still think so. Regardless of what's happened or what’s developed.” He sheepishly added.

Cecil just stared at him for a bit. His eyes unmoving, then he finally found a small smile creep up. He lowered his head.

“Mine was far worse. I actually grew to be very fond of your voice over time.” Cecil sighed and shook his head.

“What are we even doing, Donald? We’re too old for this.”

“I disagree, we’re talking, we’re working through something that needed to be tackled for years now, we can make it work.”

“No we can't.” Cecil said, a new level of firmness in his voice that was not present this whole time. Before Donald could speak, Cecil added.

“I do like you, but we need to be realistic. Our job, our responsibilities. It'll be a mistake, a distraction.”

“Is that really what you think?” Donald felt like someone had just grabbed his face with an ice cold hand.

“Yes, and I need you to understand that too. The best outcome, and only outcome right now is for you and I to forget this happened.”

“How are you going to look me in the eye and ask that of me? Act like nothing's changed?”

“Because it hasn't changed. I've went on with my life for years with no hiccups until now. So please, just drop it and don't mention it to me again.”

Cecil began to circle around and to the exit, but Donald stepped to his side, and while not forcefully, placed a hand on his director's arm. With hopes to stop him.

Cecil snatched his arm away in a flinch. “You've pushed me around more than enough today, Donald.” He sneered.

He was caught off guard, but knew to step down and let him leave. There was a haste to his step, his presence leaving a noticeable void in the room. 

It was a long while later until Donald saw Cecil again. While it may have only been half a day, every minute felt eternal.

The effects had completely worn off and his boss was back to how he was before, when he wasn’t fighting with himself not to spill everything on his mind. 

Donald entered the control area that they usually monitor fights in. Cecil stood at the top, centered. Agents around him working, giving him live reports and the such. He felt a bit of a sinking feeling in his chest as he walked near.

“Sir.”

Cecil had his usual displeased look, he eyed Donald before turning back to the screen before them. 

“Donald.” He said

He took his usual spot right beside him, though obviously it felt different. It was awkward, a tension lingering only for them. The fight going down in front of them did minimal to help, the constant angle changes and chaos only an eyesore. 

Donald exhaled, looked around at the agents, really felt the environment, and felt the existence of the man next to him. He had a lot of time to consider what Cecil told him, how they were better off forgetting about it for the sake of themselves.

He thought about it for hours. Eventually coming to the conclusion that while he was very bitter about it, he did agree. It was just a momentary fantasy for him in the end, neither needed the extra baggage. 

His turned his head a bit, and he looked at Cecil. His director turned to him as well and they made eye contact. In that moment he saw Cecil, and the possibilities, before it slowly dwindled and he forced himself to see his boss once again. The man before him was his boss, and no body else to him.

Donald turned away, and closed his eyes.