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Part II: Small victories

  Part II

  Derrek wished he was dead. He had been a different man the past three weeks; distracted, paranoid, constantly on edge, even if no one else could see it. He was a frozen ocean, the churning waves under the surface not making even a ripple on his icy surface, even if he keenly felt every current. He was spending more and more time at the office, burying himself in his work, not letting his mind go idle. He hardly ate, barely slept, and never rested; even his weekends were packed full of study and training, anything to keep his mind from wandering. None of it mattered. As soon as he was still, even for a second, he was back in the barn, reliving the entire ordeal within whatever instant he had. He had just sliced off the top of Adams’ head for the twenty-first time that day when the final item of the board meeting came up.

  “And last on the docket,” Samantha straightened her papers by tapping the stack on the table, each tap like a hammer driving a nail deeper and deeper in Derreks’ ear, “Our deal regarding Olympic Powers’ new Crete fusion plant has been finalized.” Tap. “We came out very well; Frostbyte will receive twenty percent of total profit until the principal is repaid,” tap, “which by our estimates will be less than five years, after which we will receive a flat ten percent from there on.” Tap. “If everything goes according to plan, we’ll break ground in November.” Tap. “In fact, I even floated the idea of commissioning a future plant stateside.” Tap. “If we play our cards right, and Shale wins the election, There's a very real possibility of making it a reali-”

  Derrek slapped the table before she could tap those goddamn papers again, and immediately regretted it. A silence hung over the room, every one of his department heads staring at him, and he knew they saw it; the cracks. He could feel it in their hearts, the desire to see him gone, to replace him with one of their own. He put on a smile and slapped the table again, lighter this time, then pointed at Samantha. “That's very good, Sam. It's about time we dipped our toes into clean energy.” There was a round of nods and agreeing platitudes and his paranoid delusion shattered. None of them had anything to gain from deposing him, save for Barnes, who was the natural successor before Derrek. There was the possibility of them conspiring against him, anything was possible of course, of replacing him with Barnes, but frankly, nobody liked Barnes enough to carry it out. He checked his watch, but it was nothing but a circle with numbers in it, and he pretended it said it was time to go. He smiled up at his board of directors, his cheeks burning with the strain. “Looks like that's about it for today. As always, it's been a pleasure, and I look forward to seeing you again in two weeks.” He stood and straightened his tie, slipping out the door before anyone could wish him a good weekend and force him to say another word in reply. He stood just outside the door, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose, his head pounding.

  There was a tap at his shoulder, and his eyes shot open, locking onto his target. Neil Jenkins flinched and pulled his hand back, his usual carefree smile replaced with a concerned curl. “I was gonna ask if the madhouse was taking its toll, but it looks like it just might've. You alright, young buck?”

  If there was anyone who could see it, of course it would be Jenkins. Derrek had worked next to him for years, aside from Shale there might not be anyone who knew him better. Derrek put on a small smile, all too aware of how fake it felt. “I'm hanging in there, just need to learn how to cope a little better.” And with more than just the stress of the job. “What brings you up to corporate today? Coffee?”

  Jenkins blinked, his heavily-lensed eyes glazing down to the mug in his hand. “Yeah… they’ve got better coffee up here.” He looked back up at Derrek, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you sure you're alright? I've never seen you this… tense.”

  I can't do this. Derrek forced his smile a degree wider and planted a hand on Jenkins’ shoulder. “I'm alright, Neil, I promise. I’d love to catch up, but I’ve got a meeting in five.” A lie, but far from his first that day. He winked. “Grab yourself a bag of the good coffee while you're here, might save you some time. Maybe you'll even get some work done.”

  Jenkins looked at him for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. He slowly nodded, looking at him levelly behind his thick glasses. “I think I’ll do that. You take care now, young buck. Swing by logistics sometime, the old crew would love to see you.”

  Derreks’ stomach clenched into a fist at the mention of the old days, when life was no more complicated than clearing deadlines and navigating office politics. He would give anything to go back, to change something so everything wouldn't turn out so horrible, but that was never a choice. Forces outside his control had stolen that life from him, and now here he was, lying to one of his oldest friends. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to choke on the words. “I think I will. It was good to see you, Neil.” He patted the shoulder once more and marched off, heading for the elevator, feeling Jenkins watch him all the way as he maneuvered past the Friday afternoon rush, everyone hurrying to tie up loose ends so they could start their weekend, a sentiment Derrek felt no appreciation for.

  “Take care, young buck!” Jenkins called again as Derrek turned a corner, feeling the weight of his friends’ gaze lift away. He reached the elevator and was elated to see the door open on his approach, a handful of his employees filing out. They recognized Derrek, and thankfully only smiled and nodded to him as they went on to their tasks, save for a lanky asian intern, who held his arm over the doorway to keep it from closing. Derrek lightly tapped the intern on the shoulder as he boarded the elevator and hit the button for the seventieth floor.

  “Thank you,” He said, willing a smile onto his face, “very kind of you.”

  The intern beamed. “Of course, sir. Have a nice weekend!” His employee scampered off to catch up with the group he exited the elevator with, and Derrek held the smile only until the door closed, leaving him alone. He braced himself against the handrail and leaned back against the wall for a moment, listening to the mechanical groan as the compartment started to rise. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see his reflection in the mirrored walls, and his mind filled with white light as Kurts’ shovel cracked across his face, sending him spinning across the barn, crashing against the wall. The scythe fell in his lap for the thousandth time, and the scene sped up, the bloody confrontation reduced to the stricken faces of the cultists, close-ups of carnage, jump-cuts of the gore, a montage of morbidity.

  The elevator dinged as the blade jerked upward, and Derrek opened his eyes with a start. He rubbed his eyes and took a moment to calm his heart. He slapped himself, his forehead stinging from the contact. The stitches came out a week earlier, but it was still tender, a pink zig-zag a few inches above the faded line on his cheek Bernmore had given him. Questions had been asked, and Derrek had lied, writing it off as a few too many at the party and an unfortunate meeting with the corner of a sink. The more he lied, the easier it became, but the same could not be said of what he was lying about. He straightened his tie again as the doors opened, and he stepped out, his gaze fixed ahead at the heavy wooden doors to his office. He almost strode past Janice without noticing, but she caught his eye just before he reached the door.

  “Oh, Mr. Snowe, you have a visitor waiting for you.”

  Panic stabbed through Derreks’ chest, knowing it had to be Discord. He wasn't ready to see him again, not even if he had already stopped Ragnarok and solved immortality to boot. Regardless of his feelings, he couldn't let the panic show, and he raised an eyebrow at his secretary, his hand tight on the door handle. “Who is it?” He asked, successfully masking his horror.

  Janice checked a note and the tightness in his chest released; if it were Discord, she wouldn't need to write anything down. “A Mr. Blaze, he said you were expecting him.”

  Derrek narrowed his eyes. He didn't know a Blaze, and he very intentionally left his schedule empty so he could drown himself in work. “Hmm.” Whoever it was, Janice was just as clueless as he was; nothing to do but greet him and see what he wanted. He turned the handle and strode into his office, a tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun, admiring the city behind Derreks’ desk.

  “Quite the view, isn't it?” Blaze, if that was his real name, had a smugness that drenched every word he spoke. He turned around as Derrek approached, and if it was possible, he looked even more smug than he sounded. He was in his late-forties and had slicked back red hair with a goatee to match accentuating his sharp face, his grinning teeth disgustingly white. He was dressed in a red suit surprisingly similar to Discords’ party attire, but more garish, with matching polished red leather shoes that clicked with every slight movement. He looked like the Devil trying too hard.

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  Derrek was unimpressed, and annoyed at this strangers’ intrusion into the bargain. “Can I help you?” He said it in much the same way he would have said, ‘Get the hell out.’

  Blaze didn't seem to catch his meaning and slowly sauntered around Derreks’ desk, smirking as he approached. “Stephan Blaze.” If there was an arrogant way to offer a hand, he achieved it. “I'm sure my reputation precedes me.”

  Derrek ignored the hand and stared at him blankly. “Never heard of you.” He brushed past Blaze and rolled out his chair, taking his seat and leaning back, lacing his fingers over his lap. “If you're looking for a job, I suggest you visit HR, my secretary can direct you.”

  It was a direct assault on Blazes’ ego, and Derrek almost smiled for real when he saw how deep it cut. His auburn eyes flashed with rage, a thin line of his gums showing as his furious grin widened. His offered hand clenched into a fist and he clasped it with the other behind his back. “No. You misunderstand. Perhaps proper introductions are in order.” Every word dripped with venom, and he brought his hands around and leaned over Derreks’ desk. “I am Stephan Blaze, owner and CEO of Spitfire incorporated. We would have met weeks ago at your party,” Blazes’ eye twitched, “but I did not receive an invitation, as it would seem.”

  Derrek tilted his head back slightly, unmoved by the display of dominance, if that's what it was supposed to be, and put his hand to his chin, looking off into the distance for a moment in thought. He remembered something about Spitfire from orientation in Germany, supposedly a competitor to Frostbyte, but it hadn't come up since. “Yes, I think I’ve heard of Spitfire. Was there something else, or are you just here to try to earn an invite to the next function?” He was having fun toying with Blaze like this, prodding at his ego, and maybe that was a bad sign. He was being reckless, not thinking about his words, and he didn't care so long as he kept getting a reaction. “You're doing a great job so far. Showing up without an appointment, letting yourself into my office, excellent manners. Impeccable, even.”

  Blaze gave up on his grin and sneered down at Derrek, his fingertips pressing against his desk with white nails. “I came here to… bridge the gap, so to speak. I wanted to meet you, to see the man Shale raised after all he and I have been through. I had hoped I could offer some guidance, mentorship even. I thought Shale jr. would be smart enough to see the benefits of a positive relationship with me,” he tilted back, looking down his nose, “but you're nothing like him. Just an arrogant child.”

  Derrek smiled. It was an easy smile, and it came easily for the first time in weeks. He slowly rose from his chair, straightening to his full height, exuding cold control against Blazes’ hot fury. “I see why Will never mentioned you; you're an altogether unpleasant individual. It was great to meet you, there's nothing more important than knowing who not to deal with, and I'm glad to see I wasn't missing anything with Spitfire.” His smile stretched a tooth wider, and he gestured to the door. “Now if you would be so kind, please get the fuck out of my office.”

  Blaze was livid. He shook with rage, veins popping out from his forehead, his hands clenching and unclenching over and over. He scrunched up his face, breathing hard through his nose, reminding Derrek of Brutus the bull, but nowhere near as threatening. His hand moved in a flash as he stabbed a finger at Derreks’ face, only an inch or two from contact. “This isn't over. I will see you destroyed.”

  Derrek didn't flinch, he didn't even acknowledge the finger and gestured to the door again. “And I will see you leave my office. This may be a foreign concept, but I have work to do.”

  Blazes’ knuckles clicked as his fists balled tighter, his eyes furious auburn pinpricks. He seemed on the brink of saying something, some final cutting remark, but all he did was storm away, stomping on Derreks’ floor. Derrek enjoyed watching the tall man try to rip the door open, only to find himself without the strength to pull it off, the large wooden slab only opening slightly faster than usual. Blaze clearly hurt something in the act, but refused to show it and pulled the door closed with an admittedly satisfying slam! Derrek sat back down and pressed a button on his desks’ intercom.

  “Janice, would you have security escort Mr. Blaze out of the building?”

  “Right away, sir,” the little speaker replied.

  It was odd, but the confrontation had put Derrek in a good mood. He felt lighter, brighter, more alert. It was cathartic; he hadn't been in a fight since the barn, and even this battle of wits against an unarmed opponent was enough to stoke the embers of victory. He didn't realize until now how much he relied on his Saturday excursions for stress-relief. He pulled out his phone and almost called Discord. He opened his contacts and stared at the name, that strange four-digit phone number, but he went no further. In another endless instant he slaughtered the cultists, but this time it didn't end with Adam. The altar split, and burned bones fell from the smoke cocoon, growing into Discord before his eyes. A jump forward, Grim waving the scythe away, Desk guys’ Rorschach eyes, the world was ending. Derreks’ soul…

  He slammed his fist on the desk, leaving a dent in the thick mahogany. He wasn't ready to see Discord, and he wasn't sure he ever would be. On some level, he knew it didn't really matter if he got an afterlife; it had no effect on how long his life was. But that wasn't the point. It was something he deserved to know, and it had been kept from him. If he was going to let Discord back into his life, it would have to be on better terms. On Derreks’ terms.

  He scrolled down through his contacts to the ‘T’ section, and smiled at Terras’ name. They hadn't seen each other again, but she got his number somehow and had sent him a text a few days after the events of the farm. It was a simple message, just a greeting and clarification it was her along with a winking emoji, but he was petrified every time he tried to reply. He hated texting, it was so impersonal, so disconnected. The Reapers’ touch muted his emotions, and he could never convey himself to her properly through the written word. Still riding the high of humiliating Blaze, who was likely being guided out of the lobby by now, he boldly tapped on her name and put the phone to his ear, listening as it rang.

  Ring.

  His confidence immediately vanished. What if she doesn't answer?

  Ring.

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, his heart rate rising. It's been weeks, why would she answer? I'm such an idiot.

  Ring.

  There was no way he could leave a voicemail, he could already tell he’d freeze immediately. How strong are these windows? Can I throw my phone through them?

  Click.

  “Why hello there, stranger.”

  Derreks’ heart skipped a beat. Her voice was playful, a smile clear through her words.

  “He-” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “Hey. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, it's been a crazy few weeks.”

  She laughed, and a chill ran through him. “I've heard some of it; Zeus won't stop bragging about that deal of yours. Very savvy of you, I must say.”

  He grinned, leaning back in his chair, the sound of her voice putting him at ease. “It wasn't anything special, just had to tell a few people to talk to a few other people. Anyone with a big chair could've done it.”

  “Don't be modest, Zeus is much like my son Jupiter, unwilling to deal with anything less than his equal. His acceptance speaks highly to your character.”

  He couldn't quite tell if she was teasing him, but he didn't care; he was delighted just to talk to her. “You flatter me. I feel like I've just been tumbling through this job, dealing with what happens rather than making anything happen. I'm glad I at least appear competent, at least.”

  She laughed again, like honey in his ears, and he couldn't help but join in. There was a pause, but there was no tension in it, a comfortable moment which she didn't so much break as allow to finish. “I assume you didn't call to hear your praises sung. What's on your mind?”

  A lump formed in his throat, and he coughed away from the phone to try to clear it. It was still there, but he forged onward with all the confidence he could muster. “Well…” he swallowed again, sweat beading on his forehead, “I was wondering if you had any plans tonight.”

  Another silence, and Derrek heard nothing but his heart in his ears until she spoke again.

  “Derrek Snowe, are you asking me on a date?” Her words were slow and smooth, an instant salve to his worries.

  “That's right,” he said, the words coming easier, “I was thinking La petite cuillère, or maybe MeGuiars if you don't feel like French.”

  She hemmed and hawed, teasing him for sure this time, “I suppose I can make space in my busy schedule if you can do the same. MeGuiars will do nicely, pick me up at seven.” She hung up, but Derrek only smiled wider. His phone buzzed against his ear, and he saw she had texted him her address. It's really happening! There was work to be done, but it could all wait. He rose from his desk, his chair rolling back, and he didn't bother putting it right as he strode out of his office. Janice had already packed up and left, but he appreciated her waiting until Blaze had left to do so. He pushed the man out of his mind; the less mental energy spent on him the better. All he needed to worry about now was getting a shower and a shave. He stepped into the elevator and pulled his suit jacket to the side, sniffing his armpit. His nose scrunched up and he recoiled away. And deodorant.

  Nothing a quick trip home can't fix.

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