Evenfall (21 page)

"It's a commendable attitude to stand up for what you believe in regardless of whether it's widely accepted."

The comment seemed to please Ryan and his expression lightened some. He'd seemed somewhat on guard since the conversation had started, as if he'd expected ridicule or scorn for his outlook. "I'm glad you're not another asshole. A lot of that tends to go around here. It's like, in the air."

"I've noticed," Boyd said mildly.
Ryan popped out the flash drive and stood up. He hiked his huge backpack over one shoulder. "Well I have to jam but let me know if you want to talk or if like, you want any advice about Hsin. I'm not best buddies with him but I'm kind of a Vega lexicon. I've studied him like a creeper for awhile. It's a little gross. This obsession should really stop sometime before they think I'm a stalker."

It wasn't entirely clear how serious he was about the last couple of lines and it seemed to amuse him to say them out loud. "Take care, Boyd. I hope we can talk more. You're not a bad kid."

Boyd quirked his eyebrows slightly. He had to wonder exactly how much Ryan knew about Sin, and how much Sin knew Ryan knew. "I'll keep it in mind," was all he said.

Ryan headed to the door and gave a little wave. "See ya around. And PS, you should try to get him to come to briefings!"

That being said, the skinny R&D agent disappeared out the door.
Boyd watched him go. After a few thoughtful moments, he left as well.

Chapter 7

The two trainees in the corner seemed to be watching Boyd's every move. It hadn't taken long to determine that. Between sparring, when they paused to wipe their faces with towels, they angled themselves so they could both watch him askance. Their lips moved subtly but he knew without doubt that they were talking about him. He didn't let his own gaze linger on them but once he'd noticed it, he felt their stares burning into him even when he was turned away.
He didn't have to hear the trainees to know what they were saying. He'd continued to overhear whispers as he passed and feel stares on his back the longer he spent time on compound.

It was all the same as it had been since he'd joined. Indignant anger over his placement and the general consensus that it was due to nepotism and nothing more. Comments about his androgynous looks and derogatory debate about what that meant about him. Rumblings of whether he would make it as an agent. Mocking whispers about his prowess in the training room and his oddities, like how he always wore a long-sleeved shirt and never removed it no matter how hot it may make him. Rumors that exaggerated any of his failures. Scattered, joking bets about how soon he would die and how it would happen. As far as he'd heard, the bets were so far in favor of a gruesome death at Sin's hands but a few people held out that he'd be killed on a mission long before Sin snapped.

He let it all wash over him in the background but he couldn't deny that the words took to him on some level. Small seeds of doubt and resignation sprouted roots that wormed their way deep into him. But then, it had always been this way. Even before the Agency, long before anything had happened that had made him want to run away from the world and shut himself off completely, there had been whispers behind his back and slanted, taunting stares.

He sighed quietly to himself and pushed away wet strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. Soon he wouldn't be able to use the facilities in the training complex anymore and he'd have to find a new place. David was letting him only because he was still on probation and he'd been having troubles with gaining and maintaining the proper amount of muscle and weight.

That was part of the trouble; there was some truth in their whispers. Boyd had been trying to train hard but he came from a sedentary lifestyle. He'd spent years as a ghost in his own home, barely bothering to move between rooms. And before then, he'd never been particularly athletic. Trying to throw himself wholeheartedly into a workout
regimen
that had become a nearly daily event was tiring, even after several months.

His build was naturally lean and although he didn't have too much trouble maintaining that, the Agency seemed to want him to meet standards he wasn't certain made sense for him. But he couldn't say that to anyone so all he could do was come to the training rooms and workout tirelessly while whispers and mocking stares came and went.

Noon felt like it came quickly. He gathered his things and disappeared into the locker room, using one of the bathroom stalls to change in private rather than staying out in the larger area like most people did. It was yet another quirk of his that caused others to question him.

Over time he'd realized that Cecilia, the agent he'd met during training, had apparently not gotten over her dislike of him. She and a few of her associates seemed to go out of their way to badmouth him on a regular basis. An agent named Moua seemed to take particular delight in it, since he was especially at odds over Boyd's androgynous appearance.

Although Cecilia had instigated it, Moua had been the one to start the joke that Boyd probably stayed covered up because he was really a girl, or even a transsexual. He'd suggested to Cecilia and another agent, Miles, that one day they should follow him into the locker room, hold him still, and find out for themselves. Dover had been present that day, and despite the fact that he didn't appear to like Boyd much more than the others, the comment had seemed to disgust him.

For Boyd, the idea of anyone forcing him down and yanking up his clothes was highly disturbing.

It wasn't the first time anyone had commented on his appearance. When he was younger, a few of the kids used to tease him about it at school. He'd cut his hair short at one point, hoping to mimic the other boys who looked more normal. It hadn't made much of a difference. There was something indefinable about his features that would always lend an androgynous air to him.

It used to bother him. His mother was a striking woman when she wasn't glaring coldly, but his father had been solid and masculine. Boyd used to resent that he'd taken so much after his mother's build and features, like her full mouth and hair, and had gotten so little of his father. Adding to that the fact that he was gay, it had seemed a bit like the universe was playing a joke on him. For someone as private as he, his looks alone gave many people reason to make assumptions about his sexual orientation that, unfortunately, were true.

After a point, though, he'd become resigned and stopped caring about any of it. He couldn't change the way he looked and since having short hair didn't make a significant difference, he'd taken to keeping it long. At least then he could hide his expression if he ever wanted to.

Lou used to say he liked the way Boyd looked and had gone after anyone who'd said otherwise. He wondered what Lou would say about any of this and whether he would have stormed up to short but muscular Moua with the intentions of picking a fight. He cut the thought off immediately and buried it deep within himself the way he always did when Lou crossed his mind.

Today he was thankfully alone in the locker room and was able to change quickly into fresh clothes. When he left, the two trainees stared after him until their view was cut off by the hallway. He headed straight toward the medical wing, not wanting to be late for his assessment. They were checking him monthly so far to keep track of his weight and muscle gain, but he'd been told that once he reached the appropriate levels he would be dropped down to a yearly check up like everyone else. He had to meet with a physician and a nutritionist and all the information was sent to David, who was still his supervisor for physical training.

Boyd didn't like
doctors’
offices in the first place but he especially didn't enjoy his trips to the med wing. Doctors seemed to think they had rights to their patients' bodies; they could push up or pull down a shirt wherever they liked, and demand anything else in the name of their profession.

For the most part, Boyd was able to stay fully dressed. Still, he always felt highly disturbed when they made him push up his sleeve so they could draw blood, or when they would slide a hand beneath his shirt to touch his skin or listen to his heartbeat. He spent most of the time staring blankly at the wall, trying to ignore the nausea that caught at the back of his throat and made his stomach clench. At least he had one doctor who was assigned to him, so he didn't have to deal with a lot of different strangers, although he never knew what nurse he would get.

"Agent Beaulieu," Doctor Hagerty greeted him with his typical wide, false smile as he stepped into the room. "Let's see how you're doing today, shall we?"

He always spoke boisterously and with great cheer but Boyd never believed the truth of any of it. He could see the calculation in the man's eyes and there were times that cheerful smile seemed aimed only to bare his teeth.

Boyd was tense and straight-backed as they poked and prodded him. His jaw was set and he focused on breathing evenly as Hagerty ran his large hand up Boyd's arm and pushed up his sleeve. The brush of calloused fingers against his skin was as unwanted as it always had been and he kept his face turned resolutely away.

He could feel Hagerty's gaze burn into his temple, as if the man was trying to see through his skull into his mind, or maybe he was studying the closed off quality of Boyd's eyes. Whatever the case, Hagerty prattled on about useless things and Boyd breathed in and out, focusing on some sense of calm despite how much he hated being in that room. How much he hated those hands, clinical though they may be, taking liberties with touching him at will.

It seemed like it took forever but finally Hagerty was done with all his tests. Boyd barely paid attention as Hagerty explained at length his progress. What it basically came down to was he still needed to work hard because he hadn't yet reached the levels he was supposed to achieve.

A nutritionist came in afterward, giving him a detailed diet planned down to the last grape. She was kind enough but Boyd thought hers was a forced cheer as well. Although with her, it seemed more like she was distracted and making an effort at proper bedside manner rather than faking everything like Hagerty. She sent his dietary plan to his Agency account and assured him that in another month or so, he should be where he needed to be.

"I bet you've never been so healthy in your life," she joked with a small smile before she left.

The relief he felt once he could leave was as strong as it always was in the med wing. He straightened his clothing and stepped out into the hallway. As he headed toward the main waiting room he mused that the nutritionist was probably right but that he would take unhealthiness and privacy over all of this any day.

The main room was teeming with people; some seated and some standing in small groups talking amongst themselves. The receptionist was at the desk looking annoyed with two people speaking intently and quietly with her. The guard standing outside the door to the med wing seemed more interested in watching a very attractive woman in a very short skirt bend over while filling out a form than he was
in watching the hallway beyond.

"Go fuck yourself, you amazon bitch!"

The shout interrupted the otherwise quiet atmosphere as a short, plump girl with curly black hair was escorted in by two guards. A woman who was her polar opposite in every way physically came charging behind. She was tall, willowy but athletic, and had the fluid movements of a field agent. At the moment though, her nose looked crooked and was bleeding freely.

"I don't have to fuck myself, fat ass. One of the perks of being attractive."

The short girl reddened and actually tried to barrel past the guards to lunge at the field agent but she was hauled back.

"Relax, Wanda, you're in enough trouble as it is. Again," Officer Randazzo said blandly, shaking his head in obvious exasperation.

"Let her go," the field agent snapped, wiping blood on the back side of her black sweater. If her nose was broken, she didn't seem to mind the pain too much. "I won't get sucker punched this time."

"You shut up too," Randazzo snapped, casting a look of dislike at the agent.

Wanda yanked her arm away and ran a hand through her hair in obvious agitation. Her dark brown eyes were flitting around the room and when she turned her face slightly, Boyd saw that she had taken a few good knocks herself.

"You're both going to see medical, and your superiors are going to handle this. I'm sick of this shit and I have better things to do," the other guard was saying, looking quite disgusted with them both.

"Where's Bree?" Wanda demanded.

"And what the hell do you think she's going to do?" the field agent asked snidely. She looked quite dramatic with her blood streaked face and cascades of blond hair hanging over her shoulders.

"See, now that's the kind of talk that gets you in trouble with my peeps, Agent Podkalicki," a breezy voice broke in as the doors opened.

Boyd watched silently as a short woman with even shorter blond hair came in and forced her way into the middle of the crowd. She stood there right in the center, further blocking the exit and making it impossible for him to leave without barreling through the entire group.
"Bree, this is total fucking cunt--"

"Bree, they're all yours--"

"She is not my super--"

Bree whistled shrilly and interrupted them all. She glared at each in turn through wide rimmed black glasses and crossed her arms over the multi-colored fringe vest she wore. "Lieutenant Kaplan, what the hell is going on?"

The older of the two guards, apparently Kaplan, raised his eyebrows. "According to the others in R&D, Agent Podkalicki stormed in blaming Wanda for faulty
Intel
and a mission gone awry, they exchanged words and Wanda socked her in the nose before Podkalicki jumped her. Are we through?"

"Yes. Go make the rounds of the deadly corridors."

Kaplan made a face and Randazzo smirked but the two men headed out the doors without a backward glance. The three women were left to themselves as Bree, whoever she was, regarded them both icily.

"Podkalicki--"

"You're not my superior," the haughty blond agent repeated, raising her eyebrows and managing to look down her broken nose at Bree.

Bree pursed her lips together. "Don't interrupt me again, little girl. You may be a fieldie, but I'm the head of R&D which makes me so far above you in classification and experience, that I could probably break both your arms and a leg and still only get a stern talking to."

Podkalicki leaned forward to say something with her finger pointed in Bree's face but before she could get the words out, Bree grabbed the field agent's wrist and twisted it back. It elicited a sharp cry and Podkalicki scrambled backwards.

"Don't get it twisted, sister. I may be R&D but I've been here going on two decades. That gives a lot of time to get myself trained to fight. Especially up against a third rate valentine who can't even hit level eight. Got it? And the next time you have beef with one of my peeps, you take it up with your superior who will take it up with me."