Okay, That's Enough, Let's Get You Home - SCP Foundation

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There are too many bars in this town, Gears thinks. Over the past couple of weeks he’s become quite acquainted with several of them. Apparently it just wasn’t enough for Clef to frequent one hole in the wall bar.

At least once Gears mapped out every place Clef could be it was only a matter of process of elimination. Clef’s truck sticks out like a sore thumb anywhere, especially the desolate parking lot of The Bitter End.

Twenty minutes ago the last few bar goers stumbled out. The neon sign outside reads CLOSED, but through the tinted windows Gears can make out one single straggler.

The door creaks as he enters and does not open all the way, forcing him to wriggle his way in. A lone, flickering, amber light illuminates the center of the bar, leaving the filthy sides obscured in darkness. Walking in, he finds the floor sticky, his well-kept shoes squelch against the floor.

It’s certainly not a place Gears would have ever willingly entered. The only two inhabitants are a very exhausted looking barkeep and a very drunk looking Clef. It’s sweltering and yet Clef is bundled up in a ratty, brown jacket. The barkeep’s eyes are void of any emotion.

“We’re closed?” he says, wearily. As Gears gets closer to the bar, the thick, burning smell of vomit gets stronger, making his nose scrunch up involuntarily.

“I know,” he says, voice flat. “I am here to take my associate home.” He puts a firm hand on Clef's shoulder, grasping it firmly. Clef flinches, nearly falling out of his chair.

Clef looks over his shoulder quickly, swinging his hat into his face. He burps and blows a wet raspberry at Gears. “Coggyyyyy baby, get the fuuuuck outta here.” His words are slurred and Gears doesn’t recognize the accent Clef is putting on.

“I’m afraid that’s not acceptable.” Gears wraps an arm around Clef’s shoulders so he doesn’t slip. Clef groans, flopping against Gears’s torso. He hic-ups, prompting a wave of drunken giggles.

“You’rrrrre not acceptable,” Clef says, breathless.

“How much has he had to drink?” Gears asks, turning his attention to the barkeep.

Without a word, the barkeep slides a bill over the countertop. Gears’s eye twitches as he glances over it. How Clef hasn’t drunk himself into a coma speaks volumes to either Clef’s tolerance or the alcohol quality this bar provides.

“What is your name?”

“Oh- uh- Johnathan Tucker.” Johnathan points to his illegible nametag.

Keeping one hand on Clef, Gears pulls out his checkbook and fills out two sheets, one to cover Clef’s binge and the other to personally compensate for Johnathan’s time. Johnathan examines them, a withered smile pulling on his lips.

“Have a good night, sir!”

“Goodnight.” Gears hoists Clef to his feet, fully prepared to drag Clef across the floor if need be; Clef ragdolls, apparently hellbent on being as unhelpful as possible.

“This is kidnapping!” Clef spits, “You’re letting this guy kidnap me!” He points an accusatory finger in the general direction of the bar. He writhes, ineffectively pawing at Gears’s arms.

“Have some maturity,” Gears says, bordering on a growl. It was enough struggle trying to lug Clef’s weight across the sticky ground without Clef actively fighting him.

The crisp night air burns Clef’s flushed face. He whines, letting drool run down his chin. Gears drags Clef to his car, dropping him off on the pavement. He pops open the passenger’s side door.

“I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t wannnnaaaaaa go home!” Clef says with the cadence of a small child.

“Then we will go to my home. Either way you’re not staying here.”

“Booooo!” Arms crossed, Clef sticks his tongue out and blows another raspberry.

This is exhausting. After all the effort Gears took to find Clef and ensure his safety, he believes he’s owed a little more gratitude. Perhaps he expected too much from his coworker.

“Can you stand up?”

Clef grunts, making several attempts to sit up only to flop back down. He looks stupefied, like nothing could possibly explain his struggle. Gears sighs, getting down to haul Clef up again.

He drags Clef towards the seat and pushes him in. He’s stopped by Clef’s hands shooting out and bracing against the roof of the car. Gears bares his teeth, putting his weight onto him.

“Clef-”

“Wait-!” Is all the warning Gears gets before Clef lurches forward, spewing his stomach onto Gears’s leather seat. Gears roils.

Clef spits, taking an uneasy step back. He holds onto the car, swaying like a branch. Vomit runs down his chin, clots in his facial hair, and drips onto his shirt. He rubs his face against his sleeve, smearing the bile further.

“Sorrrry,” he mumbles, blowing a spit bubble.

Gears stares at the ruined seat with contempt. He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, determined not to lose his cool. He nudges past Clef, leaning over the vomit splatter for the paper towels he always keeps in there.

He does his best to wipe down the seat and Clef’s face. Clef can only offer a blank expression as Gears cleans him up. He tosses the soiled paper towels into a plastic bag and tries very hard not to think about it.

“Do you feel like vomiting again?” Gears asks, voice calm, like he’s talking to a child.

“Huh…?”

Gears puts his head in his hands. “Please get in the back seat.”

He shuts the passenger’s side door, cracking open the back. Clef mumbles something, haphazardly flopping facefirst into the clean cushions. Gears reaches in and grabs a handful of Clef’s hair, using that to force him upright.

“Okay! Okay! I’m up!” Clef whines, getting in the correct position. Gears crawls into his lap and buckles him in. Clef flushes, turning his head to the side.

“What ab-bout my truck?” He waves a hand towards the truck in question.

“I will handle it.”

The drive is quiet, which Gears can only be thankful for. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but the burning stench of vomit certainly keeps him from getting too relaxed.

As the drive goes on he gets a crawling feeling down his back. He swears he sees a figure in the passenger’s seat. He’s scared to look, fearing he might turn to see Iceberg rotting beside him.

They pull up to a large house, within walking distance of Site-19 and well away from anything that could be called a community. The only light is a single flickering street lamp. Clef groans, sits up, and squints at the building, not immediately recognizing it.

“This isn’t my house?”

“Of course, this is my house. You will come inside.”

“Is that an order, sir?”

“I would rather it not be.”

Taking him by the forearm, Gears leads him inside. The house is dark and smells new, unlived in. Everything is unsettlingly clean. The furniture stands perfectly uniform and colorless. It’s like he just walked into an air-freshened prison cell.

There’s an island between the kitchen and, what appears to be, the dining room. The white countertops look so clean that Clef thinks even a single grain of coke would stick out on its surface. Gears sits Clef at the table and fetches a glass of water.

As Gears returns to Clef’s side he holds the glass out as an offering. Clef crosses his arms and sticks his nose up.

“Clef…” Gears says, patiently. “Please drink.”

“Nuh-uh.” Clef bites the inside of his lips, turning his head to the side as Gears continually tries to bring it up to them.

“Alto.” Gears puts a firm hand on Clef’s shoulder.

Clef opens his eyes, not realizing he closed them, and he finds himself not in Gears’s home but in an empty staff room at Site-19. He’s not alone here, Kondraki stands beside him, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

They’re close, too close, but in the tension of the moment Clef couldn’t care less. Kondraki looks at him, eyes filled with… if Clef didn’t know any better he would tell himself Kondraki was looking at him with affection.

“Are you sure you’re not thirsty?” he asks, waving his beer bottle in Clef’s face. Clef gawks at him, half tempted to smack the bottle out of his hands.

“No. I don’t see how you drink that shit. It doesn’t even have that much alcohol in it.”

Kondraki shrugs. “It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”

“Yeah, drinking acid isn’t that bad either once you burn your tastebuds off.”

It wasn’t that funny but Kondraki chuckles and Clef can’t help but chuckle too. Kondraki leans in, looming over him, cheeks warm with alcohol and joy. He looks Clef in the eyes and for a moment Clef is captivated.

Kondraki smirks, taking one long swig of his drink. He proceeds to push Clef up against the wall, pinning him there with his body. Heart hammering in his chest, Clef looks up, eyes wide.

The world stops.

The next thing he knows, Kondraki has his lips pressed against Clef’s. Clef sinks into the feeling, practically going limp, moaning ever so softly. Then he feels the sting of carbonation and his shoulders tense. Kondraki’s grip on him is strong, Clef can’t spit it out.

He swallows Kondraki’s disgusting beer, feeling all the worse for it. Kondraki pulls back, that stupid grin plastered on his face. He licks his lips slowly, like he’s mocking him.

Wiping his face with the back of his wrist, Clef says, “That was the most disgusting thing you’ve ever done to me.” He pauses, looking Kondraki in the eyes. “… You wanna do it again?”

Clef’s shoulders slouch. His eyes droop, not looking at Gears but locked onto something in the distance. The feisty energy visibly drains from his features. Gears takes advantage of the moment and has him drain the glass.

“Now… Was that so hard?” Gears asks, setting the cup on the island.

Clef turns to face him, quivering weakly, eyes wet with tears. Gears frowns and lets out a heavy sigh. He brushes the hair out of Clef’s face and cups his cheek, feeling the warmth in his palm.

Clef’s hands shoot out, snatching either side of Gears’s face. Gears fails to brace himself, barely managing to catch him on Clef’s chair. Their lips jam together in an approximation of a kiss.

Gears would be lying if he said he found the sensation unpleasant, but he will say so anyway. Clef’s lips are chapped, the kiss is far too wet and sloppy, not to mention the taste of vomit.

And yet… Gears can’t bring himself to pull away, not immediately. There’s a certain desperation to how Clef clings to him, how his fingers paw and scrunch up in his shirt and hair, the soft, needy noises he makes. It draws Gears in and leaves him entranced.

Nevertheless, this was unacceptable. He pulls back, straining out of Clef’s persistent grasp. Clef mouths against his collar. Biting the inside of his lip, Gears yanks Clef’s head back by his hair. He prays the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible.

“Ouch!” Cries Clef. “Don’t you like me?”

“You’re inebriated,” he says through gritted teeth, “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Clef scoffs. “Guh, fuck you. You could have pussy just lined up before you and you’d still be a virgin.”

Gears shakes his head. He turns and walks into the kitchen, taking Clef’s cup with him. This was just another one of Clef’s tantrums. He turns on the sink, letting the cold water run over the glass. Anything to occupy his hands so he doesn’t wring Clef’s neck.

“Don’t ignore me! Why won’t you touch me?” Clef drags himself out of the chair, leaning on the counter.

“I have stated my reasons.” Gears turns the water up, hoping to drown him out.

“Bullshhhittttttttt. Don’t act like you’ve never taken advantage of someone before.”

The sink shuts off with a thunk. Gears glares at his reflection in the glass, hating the man looking back at him. He attempts to swallow a lump in his throat; his mouth runs dry.

“… what do you mean by that?”

With his back to Clef he can’t see his expression, but he can hear the sinister grin in Clef’s next words.

“Don’t be coy with me, Coggy. Trying to hide all the shit you were doing to Iceberg. You’re a little freak aren’t you? Bet that’s why he shot himself.”

The glass clangs against the bottom of the sink. A shot of adrenaline shoots through Clef’s veins. He stumbles over the chair, backing himself into a wall as Gears stares him down, marching towards him with purpose.

Clef opens his mouth, maybe to beg for mercy, maybe to scream. Whatever noise he wanted to make is cut off as Gears wraps his hand around his throat. It’s not tight enough to block airflow, no, Gears is very precise about that. He pins Clef to the wall in a position that’s oh so familiar and oh so terrifying.

Clef wheezes, on the verge of hyperventilating. Gears can feel his speedy heartbeat under his fingers. It’s refreshing, the scared look on Clef’s face, how he uselessly worms about and claws at Gears’s fingers. Tears and snot run down his crimson face.

“Breathe,” Gears commands, keeping up the illusion of self control. “I do not wish to hurt you, and I will not if you do not give me reason to. It would do you some good to never mention Dr. Iceberg to me again. Understood?”

“Mmm-mhm!” Clef tries his best to nod. He feels Clef’s Adam's apple bob under his palm. Satisfied, and not wanting Clef’s snot to drip onto his sleeve, Gears releases him.

Once free, Clef crumbles onto the floor and hugs his knees to his chest. He struggles to breathe, each sharp gasp only burns. He sounds awful, raspy, like he’s having an asthma attack. Gears turns his back to him, about to return to the kitchen.

“You took everything from me… Why won’t you just finish me off?”

Gears stills, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. He shakes his head and continues on. The glass is dried and returned to its place in the cupboard. While there, he fetches a roll of paper towels for Clef.

He kneels down to Clef’s level, cleaning off Clef’s face for the second time. Clef sobs, choking on his own spit. Gears remains patient, finding something uncomfortably…familiar in the position he’s in.

“Why did he leave me?” Clef mumbles, reaching up to grasp Gears’s wrist. Gears’s breath hitches.

He combs his knuckles through Clef’s hair, trying to soothe him. His trembles slow and his breathing settles. He pauses in his motions, taking a moment to glance around his empty home. He believes he has privacy and safety here, but he never wanted to be careless. Not when a dear friend is on the line.

“You know why he had to leave,” Gears says, breath soft and warm against Clef’s neck. Clef shivers, hair standing on him.

“It’s not fair!” He hunches forward, face in his hands, and dissolves into another fit of sobs. “Why couldn’t you have protected him?”

Pushing Clef flat against the wall, Gears jams the wad of paper towel over his mouth. “I did protect him. Can’t you understand? He was only in danger here.”

“Why couldn't he have taken me with him?” Clef asks, shaky hands reaching up to grip the front of Gears’s shirt. His eyes are empty.

“Because-” Gears pries Clef’s fingers off him, “-he would have been safer without you. There was a warrant for his execution. If you had disappeared alongside him you would have put everyone at risk.”

“Oh…” Clef says, going slack. “It’s not fair.”

“I know…” Gears reaches out and plucks off Clef’s hat. He caresses Clef’s cheek, dabbing up the last of the tears before they can fall.

Once Clef seems calm, Gears disposes of the paper towels and finds a safe place for the hat. He returns once again to Clef’s side. After a moment of internal debate, Gears leans in, returning Clef’s earlier gesture by locking their lips.

It feels wrong. It feels good, but horribly wrong. Clef makes a soft noise, one Gears wouldn’t mind hearing from him more, and makes no move to stop him. Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s violating Clef by doing this, as well as violating Kondraki’s trust.

Kondraki rushes into Gears’s office. Gears sits at his desk, playing the role of someone hard at work. Kondraki slams the door shut behind him, sealing them in.

“Doctor Kondraki. You appear distressed. And injured.” Gears stands up to examine the wound on Kondraki’s shoulder.

“Ha- ha yeah,” Kondraki says, breathless, “I scared Dmitri and Clef pretty good. Clef’s probably not that far behind me.” There’s a pain in his voice, as the weight of what he’s forced to leave behind hits him.

“I can work with this.” Gears drags him over to the desk, bending him over so the blood from the shoulder wound drips onto the surface.

“Smart.”

408 decloaks around him. Half of them split off, taking the form of Kondraki himself. Kondraki takes off his jacket, taking a moment to examine the hole in the shoulder where Clef’s bullet tore through. There were a few dead butterflies clumped up in the fabric.

Kondraki’s stomach twists. “You know he’ll see right through this.”

“As long as the overseers are satisfied it doesn’t matter what he knows,” Gears says, pulling a pistol out of his desk.

“He’ll hate me for it.”

“I’m afraid you'll have to live with it.”

Kondraki takes one last look at his jacket and hands it to his illusioned self. They put it on and have a seat at the desk. After examining them, Kondraki removes his hat and places it on the illusion’s head.

“Goodbye my friends. And… goodbye Cog.” Kondraki embraces Gears, squeezing him tight enough to force the air out of his lungs. Gears commits this feeling to memory.

“Goodbye… Doctor.”

“Please, make sure Draven stays safe. Get him out of here if you can. And Clef… oh God, Clef,” he sucks in a shuddering sigh. “Take care of him for me.”

“You should get going.”

“Right.” With the second half of 408 Kondraki cloaks and escapes through Gears’s window. They won’t survive long out on the run with him but he owes them everything for letting him make his escape at all.

Gears closes the window and locks it, then, he looks to the false-Kondraki. Silently, he walks around the illusion, presses the gun to the back of their skull, and pulls the trigger. Even knowing it’s fake, it’s not a pleasant sight.

By the time Clef makes it there the scene is perfect. Even if one could doubt Gears’s word, they could never doubt Kondraki’s ever cooling body.

“…Was it at least hard for you to do?” Clef asks, sounding so very tired.

Gears could answer that two ways. No, it wasn’t hard to stage Kondraki’s death, but it was agonizing to let him go.

…

Gears holds the back of Clef’s head, keeping him still. He drags his fingers down the back of his neck, along his collarbone, finally settling on Clef’s shoulder. He runs his thumb over where the tear used to be, and where it seems Clef tried to patch it up.

The kiss lasts for too long. By the time Gears pulls back, Clef is breathless, cheeks flushed. Clef babbles something; Gears catches the name Ben in there a couple times. Leaves a bitter taste in Gears’s mouth. Fuck, Gears shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, even if Clef wanted it Gears shouldn’t have.

Eyes closed, a thin stream of tears still trickling down his cheeks, lips partially open, Clef is more vulnerable in this moment than Gears has ever seen him before. He could do anything to Clef at this moment and no one, least of all Clef, would try to stop him.

The thought terrifies him. He built his entire career, his very life, off of holding other people’s lives in his hands, but it’s never been so personal.

“Please…” Clef leans in, hands on Gears’s hips. Gears grabs his wrists and pushes him back. Clef’s eyes open, giving Gears a sad, pleading look.

“I shouldn’t have done that…” Gears shudders, a rock settling in his stomach. Knees popping, Gears stands and holds out a hand to help Clef do the same. Clef shakes, leaning on him for support.

“You’re mean…” He says, pushing his face into Gears’s ribs. Gears’s shirt is soft and it smells nice. He draws in a deep breath through his nose and lets out a satisfied sigh.

Gears shakes his head. “You should get to bed. You may use mine if you shower and change clothes.”

“Mmm-kay,” he says into Gears’s chest. Gears bites his lip, resisting the urge to shove Clef off. “It’s hot in here.”

“May I suggest removing the jacket.”

“Eh?”

Holding onto Clef, Gears leads him to the bathroom. He sits Clef on the toilet and helps him undress. As he attempts to strip Clef of his jacket Clef clings to it tighter. The muscles on his forehead tighten.

“Please cooperate.”

“Don’t take it.”

“I will return it to you. Do not make me use force.”

Clef trembles, burying himself further in the jacket. He’s tempted to rip it off him, but that would only make Clef more uncooperative.

“Alto,” voice flat and firm, Gears grabs his attention. “I will return the jacket, but you must remove it for the time being. Do you understand me?” He does his best to keep his tone consistent, hoping that if Clef couldn’t understand his words he would at least understand his point.

The effect seems to work, Clef drops his shoulders and allows Gears to take it. Gears lays it out over the sink and begins undoing Clef’s shirt buttons, careful to keep his fingers out of the mess. Clef leans back, resting the back of his head against the toilet tank.

“I assume you can handle yourself?” Gears asks when he’s finished stripping Clef. He gathers Clef’s clothes, leaving his jacket, and allows Clef his privacy.

While he waits he has a nightly routine to tend to. Change clothes, start the laundry, check every door and window, lock them if necessary, turn every light off… It’s always been a comfort to him.

“What are you doing?”

Gears stops in his tracks. He turns to face Iceberg.

“You’ve seen me do this before, have you not?”

“I wish you wouldn’t. I’m going to bed.”

Gears hunches over the kitchen sink and retches. There’s nothing in his stomach to throw up but that doesn’t stop his body from trying. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but he hasn’t allowed another person into his home since Iceberg…

Since he…

Augh, the taste of stomach acid is vile. He waits outside the bathroom, arms crossed, leaning up against the wall, to brush his teeth… He doesn’t hear the shower going. He can’t hear anything inside.

Nothing could have happened in the short time Gears spent surveying the house. Clef may have been drunk but there’s no way he would have fallen or drowned or tripped or done something to hurt himse-

Hard enough to rattle the house, Gears slams the door open and sees Iceberg’s cold body lying motionless on the f- Clef standing before the mirror, towel around his waist, holding his jacket.

“The fuck-!” Clef jumps, catching himself on the sink. He hugs the jacket to his chest, giving Gears a nervous look.

Hand over his heart, Gears can feel his pulse racing. Of course, of course, he had no reason to be afraid. He swallows, brushes the sweat off his brow, and reaches past Clef for the cabinet. He offers Clef an unused toothbrush and takes up his own.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better…” He looks better at the very least, his face and eyes aren’t so red, and Gears isn’t as worried about him collapsing.

Gears checks brush teeth off his mental checklist.

“What am I supposed to sleep in?”

“What do you usually sleep in?”

“My underwear.”

“I will provide clean boxers for you.”

It’s a struggle to find anything in Gears’s closet that fits Clef’s body-type, but he manages to scrounge up a pair of underwear. Clef insists on wearing his jacket. There’s any number of disgusting things clinging to that old rag, but Gears finds no point in fighting him for it now.

He doesn’t think about how Iceberg’s scarf rests in his closet. He doesn’t want to think about how many nights he slept with it in his bed.

“This is my bedroom.” He makes a sweeping gesture around the tidy room. “You will sleep here.”

“What about you?”

“I am perfectly content on the couch.”

Clef frowns, that sad, wet look returning to his eyes. “Don’t you want to stay with me?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’d be more comfortable with you here.” Clef lays in the bed. Gears stands at the foot of the bed for several moments before he crawls into bed beside him. Clef wriggles closer until they’re chest to chest.

“Goodnight, Dr. Clef.”

“Aren’t we going to do anything?”

“We are going to sleep.”

“But don’t you want to?” Clef reaches under Gears’s shirt and runs his palm down his chest.

Gears pulls Clef’s hand out. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m nottttt drunk! I feel sober! I know what I want!” He wraps his legs around one of Gears’s, trying to jam himself even closer. “I want you to make me stop thinking. Don’t you want me?”

“What I want is inconsequential. You are drunk and I will not be sleeping with you.” Pulling himself out of Clef’s grasp, Gears flips over. He wants to scream and he might do so if Clef keeps squirming.

“I’m sorry… come back?” His voice cracks. A dull pain shoots through Gears’s chest.

“You will be quiet or I will sleep alone,” Gears says before turning back over.

“Fine, asshole…” Clef presses his face into Gears’s chest. Gears winces when he feels tears soak into his shirt.

Eventually Clef falls asleep. Gears lies there, staring up at the ceiling. It’s nice… having something warm in his bed. It’s been so long since he’s held or been held.

When he closes his eyes he sees Iceberg. His stomach twists, a pressure growing in his chest. There’s no way for him to pretend that it’s Iceberg beside him. What has he done to earn the right to lie with someone else? The vision of Iceberg questions.

Sleep never comes for him.

Clef wakes up alone. The room is dark and comfortable but terribly empty. There’s a glass of water, two pills, and a note on the table. He doesn’t need to read the note to know what it says. Downing both pills, he wraps himself back in the blankets, returning to his restless oblivion.

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