I need you to leave - SCP Foundation

⚠️ content warning

previously...

After the destruction of Site-19, Gears made a specific request to relocate to Site-17, at least until rebuilding began. Seeing no reason to deny him, Gears joins the evacuation team, watching from the air as 682 continues its rampage unimpeded.

Before letting him do much of anything, they sat him in a closed off room and asked him his thoughts on Kondraki’s actions; the actions that required his evacuation in the first place. Gears answered as honestly as he could bear.

Kondraki was loud spoken, radical, unafraid to make his grievances clear, but as loyal as Gears himself. He cared for the Foundation’s principles as much as he cared for the people who worked for them, and the people in containment.

He could admit, at least in his head, that he had a certain admiration for Kondraki. Gears couldn’t believe that Kondraki’s actions were some sort of reckless act of pointless violence. But for what purpose it served, he couldn’t guess.

Who better to ask than Kondraki himself?

As Gears enters Kondraki’s office, a wave of nausea washes over him. He sees Kondraki lying on the ground in a pool of thick, crimson blood.

For a moment, he’s standing in the doorway of Iceberg’s home, looking down at Iceberg’s corpse. He supposes he can’t be too surprised; men like Iceberg were never made to last. This was only a matter of time.

Men like Kondraki on the other hand… you don’t find a man like that often. Gears supposes he can’t be too surprised by this either. After the move he pulled at Site-19, martyring himself would assure his legacy. Gears stands in the blood of the second Chaos Insurgency.

Right when that thought passes his mind, he hears a soft sniffle from what he assumed to be Kondraki’s corpse. Curious, careful not to step into the puddle of blood, Gears circles around the desk and approaches the body.

He finds Kondraki alive, curled up in a fetal position around a humanoid skull. Face and clothes stained with blood, Kondraki looks up at him with eyes red and wet with tears. Gears looks back and sees, not a martyr, but a man who’s very afraid.

“Did they send you?” He asks, voice shaky and meek.

“Did who send me?” Dropping to one knee, Gears puts a hand on Kondraki’s arm, hoping to coax the skull out of his grasp. Kondraki squeezes himself into a tighter ball.

“You’re gonna kill me for this, right?” Kondraki whimpers, eyes fearfully darting around the room. Choking on a sob, he finds no tears left for him to cry.

“I have not been sent to kill you. Not yet… Would you allow me to see what you have?”

Sniveling, Kondraki attempts to wipe his face with his sleeve, only smearing the blood. He uncoils, props himself up on his elbow, and presents the drenched skull with a shaky hand.

It appeared like an average human skull, except for the teeth. Gears takes it, finding a certain satisfaction in confirming the death of 083 firsthand.

“I thought I could… fix him. I thought- at least if he killed me… I’d see it coming.” Kondraki’s hands are shaking. He stares down at them, as if suddenly noticing the blood clinging to his skin.

“It’s good your… experiment did not work.” Gears sets the skull down and grabs the tissues from Kondraki’s desk to clean off his fingers. “083 would have killed, not just you, but, in all probability, a good portion of the site before he could be re-contained.”

Kondraki’s mouth hangs agape, only a soft squeak manages to escape him. He lies back down, covering his face with his hands.

This is not the Kondraki Gears has come to admire.

“They’re going to kill me for this, aren’t they?” Kondraki asks, voice small.

Viscous liquid still drips from the skull’s sockets.

“Yes,” Gears answers, “you will be killed.”

“Oh…” Slowly, he drops the hands from his face. He looks pale, faint even. Gears sees now that this was not a second insurgency; this was a sick man who was being killed by the very place meant to protect him.

But, if Kondraki’s actions were not one of rebellion, then…

“Why did you do it?”

“Because… I thought it would be funny. I don’t know what I was- what was even going through my mind. I just- starting going and I couldn't stop myself!” His voice gets more unsteady as he speaks, his breath quickening, his entire body shaking. Gears puts a firm hand on Kondraki’s chest, grounding Kondraki long enough to focus.

“I have a boy at home,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It means nothing to the Foundation. To them, you’ve made a move against them. You’re a rebellion waiting to happen.”

Kondraki trembles but remains quiet. It’s uncomfortable seeing a man so loud and boisterous just a miserable shell of his former self. It makes Gears feel… which is more than he’s supposed to.

“You think they’ll send Clef after me?”

Gears takes a deep breath through his nose. “No. Clef is an accomplished assassin, yes, but he is older now. Given his record and your… personal connection with the doctor, there would be too much risk in sending him. When the Foundation comes for you… they will send me to finish you off.”

A moment of silence.

“… So you are going to kill me.”

Now isn’t that a question. Is he going to kill him? Gears has to think about it. If the Foundation wanted Kondraki dead they would have a good reason to, Gears believes. But… now he knows something the Foundation doesn’t. Which is he more willing to sacrifice? His morals or his loyalty.

“Dr. Kondraki… I need you to listen to my next words very carefully, I will only be able to say them once…”

…

Once upon a time, maybe a decade ago at most; Clef would spend his lunches surrounded by friends and colleagues all jammed around one table. These days Clef gets it to himself. Iceberg’s dead, Kondraki might as well be dead, Clef can’t stand to look Dmitri in the eyes anymore, Rights, the smart one, got out of here before this place could eat her, and Gears…

Clef is fine with being alone. He got enough entertainment terrorizing a few junior researchers or his assistant Adams. For the most part, he was fine with the silence. Numb to it even.

It’s not as though he even eats lunch in the cafeteria anymore, or at all for that matter. There’s no longer any satisfaction in eating; no warmth to be gained. It’s starting to show in his cheeks; in the hollowness of his eyes.

At least he’s remained productive. Because that’s what matters here. Productivity.

Ergh- He needs to get drunk. Not the shitty drunk that he usually gets sipping Kondraki’s beer; he needs to get black-out drunk, until he forgets whatever made him want to start drinking in the first place.

Gears. That’s who he needs to forget right now. He needs to forget everything about him.

Sitting in his office, Adams silent beside him, Clef feels a headache prodding at his temples. He props his arm on his desk and rests his forehead against his knuckles, eyes closed.

“Adams?” He says.

“Sir?”

He opens his mouth, ready to send her home early so he could get out of here. A knock on the door cuts him off. He lets out an exhausted sigh and sits up.

“Would you get that?”

Adams furrows her eyebrows. The door is opened. Clef thought he was supposed to be the devil, but here Gears was, staring him down.

“Thank you, miss…” Gears trials off, focusing his attention on Clef. Clef bares his teeth at Gears in a mock grin. They spend a solid minute staring each other down like alley cats.

Gears clears his throat. “Dr. Clef, would you come to my office? I have a matter to discuss with you.”

“You’re already in my office, just say it to me here.”

“It’s… a personal matter. I would rather have the privacy,” he says, casting his eyes on Adams. Adams keeps the neutral look up well, but Clef can see the sweat running down her forehead.

Clef feels cornered, and in a very literal sense he is. There’s no way he’s walking from one cage to another.

“Adams, go home.”

“What?”

“Shoo.” He clicks his fingers at her. “Go home or wherever you go after here. I don’t care, just git.”

Adams looks at him, then at Gears. “Very well…” She scoots around him and leaves, closing the door behind her.

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“No one asked you. Would you sit down?” Clef swivels in his chair and kicks open his mini fridge for a can of beer. Anything to get him not thinking about how a few nights ago he was sharing a bed with the other man, begging him to-

Gears pulls out a chair, unceremoniously sitting down. His expression, as usual, is blank, but Clef can see something in his eyes.

“I believe that you should move in with me.”

The phrase catches Clef so off guard he chokes on his drink. He feels the back of his nose burn. He wipes the spittle dripping from his lips and coughs out a cackle.

“Are you alright?” Gears offers out a handkerchief like Clef wants to wipe his face with a gross cloth Gears totes around everywhere.

“You’re funny. I kiss you once while drunk and you think I’m in love with you or something? Bet you asked Iceberg’s hand in marriage after the first date too!”

Gears bites the inside of his lip, it’s subtle but it shows that Clef’s clawed under his skin. Clef wonders if Gears is about to try to strangle him again. He almost wishes he would, at least physical violence is something he’s familiar with.

“No… Iceberg and I never discussed the possibility of marriage. My proposition has very little to do with your actions the other night.”

“Oh? But not nothing?”

Gears purses his lips. “You have been on a self destructive streak, as of the past few months. The incident in question was only one of many things that led me to this decision.”

Decision, that’s a real funny word to describe a request. That caged animal feeling returns, stronger this time. Clef feels faint, he digs in nails into his desk to focus. Sweat dripping down his forehead, he grins, showing off too many teeth.

“You think I’m some man-child that can’t care for himself?”

“No, I believe you are choosing to be self-destructive and it is negatively affecting your work and behavior.”

Clef almost snorts. He’s always been unpleasant, prided himself in it even, and he knows his work is good. No, no this is personal.

“I’m not interested in being babysat. Is that enough for you?”

Gears shifts, straightening out. “I’m afraid you might be misunderstanding my proposition. If I was looking to restrict your autonomy, I could simply have you contained.”

Clef’s eye twitches. “Oh really?”

“One report, and believe me, I have several, of erratic and potentially harmful behavior and there would be no question.”

Clef sways, catching himself before he can fall forward and smack his head on his desk. He can’t can’t fill his lungs all the way. Gears stares him down, intentions clear. On the verge of tears, Clef keeps his disingenuous smile on.

“Is that a threat, Charlie?”

“No, simply a reminder. As you can see, I have no intentions of doing so.”

Clef could try weaseling his way out of this, he’s a professional weaseler, but Gears really has him pinned here. What kind of cage does he want? A small humanoid cell, or a comfortable yet suffocating house on the edge of nowhere with him?

Is there really any choice at all?

“Okay,” Clef says, an air of resignation in his voice. He lets the tension out of his shoulders. He struggles to look Gears in the eyes, staring straight through his chest.

“Okay?”

“I’ll move in with you.” He’s gotten used to plenty of cages, he’s due for a fresh one.

“Good,” Gears says, with a curt nod. “We can discuss the details at a later point. I’ll have a moving van at your home soon.”

“Cool.” Without his input his eyes slide down to stare at his desk.

“I will take my leave now. Thank you for your time.”

Gears stands, pushes the chair back into place, and leaves. He opens the door to reveal Adams mid-retreat. Seeing her is almost a breath of fresh air for Clef, relief washes over him.

“It’s rather rude of you to eavesdrop,” Gears says through his teeth.

Adams swallows. “Sorry, sir.”

“I expect better from those here.” Gears scoots past her and disappears from Clef’s view.

Clef can’t help but grin at her. His usual, predatory sneer, with an air of genuinity behind it.

“Yeah, Adams, don’t you know eavesdropping is rude?”

…

On a plastic chair out on his front porch, Clef watches a moving van pull into his driveway. Up until this point Clef could convince himself that Gears was fucking with him. Even as he was packing his few precious belongings into boxes he told himself that Gears would change his mind.

From his house in Cornwall, to the cramped GOC bunkers, to living out of the back of his truck… This cabin, in all of its run down glory, is the first home he’s ever truly had to himself. There’s more of him in that house than there is anywhere else.

Leaving this place he feels like he’s leaving pieces of himself behind.

While Gears’s hires feed his life into the back of the moving van, Clef’s Little Shit of a cat, ‘affectionately’ called L.S. for short, waddles outside. It hops into Clef’s lap, uselessly flopping over. Clef runs his fingers through its fur, smiling to himself.

“You don’t have a single clue what’s going on, do you?” He scratches behind L.S.’s ear. “Don’t worry, you’re not going back to the streets.”

Gears’s house, which he supposes is his house now too, is grayer than he remembers. With L.S. tucked under one arm and his box of personal items tucked under the other, he’s the most colorful thing in this place.

“I want my own room,” he says, looking Gears in the eyes.

“I have several unoccupied rooms upstairs. You may have your…” Gears trails off, eyes locking onto the thing Clef is holding. Clef grins, squeezing L.S. possessively.

“You brought your… cat,” Gears says, sounding awfully unsure at the word cat. Clef could see a wrinkle form on his forehead.

“‘Course. Was I just supposed to leave it to fend for itself? What do you take me for?” Clef holds L.S. out to Gears. You forced me into your house, now you get everything that comes with me.

L.S. is a fuzzy brownish-orange thing, with graying, matted fur, a missing eye, and always some kind of goop coming out of its nose or mouth. Clef found it in his garbage can and took it in, assuming it was going to die pretty quickly anyway. That was almost ten years ago, and the damn thing hasn’t died yet.

“Merow,” L.S. says. Clef sets it down and it takes a few shaky steps forward before it flops over at Gears’s feet. Gears takes a step back, steeling his nerves.

“It is… vaccinated… correct?”

“Eh? Probably.” Clef shrugs with a grin. He is pretty sure L.S. is as healthy as a ten to fifteen year old cat could be, but leaving an air of mystery about it is funnier.

“I see.” Gears scowls. “As long as you continue to take care of it… You may pick a room upstairs for both of you.”

Box in hand, he heads upstairs, which is somehow even more barren and prison-like than downstairs. L.S. prattles along after him, following him into one of the empty rooms.

It’s small, about the same size as his old bedroom. The only light streams through one measly window, which looks out to an empty street. It’s deafly silent. Clef takes a seat under the window and wonders if he’ll ever get used to this place.

L.S. curls up beside him. At least the rumble of its purrs are familiar, comforting even.

“Wish I could adapt as easily as you.” Clef pulls his ukulele out of his box. L.S. jumps in, putting itself among Clef’s other irreplaceables. Clef tsks and shakes his head.

At least one of them would be comfortable here.

…

Over the next couple of weeks Clef watches as Gears thoroughly inserts himself into Clef’s life. Clef comes to work one day to find his office on the other side of the site, and he finds himself eating lunch in Gears’s office. Soon they’re carpooling to work and home everyday and Clef can feel himself slipping.

It’s not as though Gears treats him bad. It’s just that Gears is so predictable. Within a week Clef knows exactly how to avoid him. At least with Kondraki-

Clef cuts the thought off before it finishes. He would rather not think about Kondraki right now, or ever again.

Two plates in hand, Gears enters the dining room and places one before him. Always some bland slop that’s probably designed to be ‘healthy’ or whatever. Gears won’t let him anywhere near the stove so this is what he’s stuck with.

Gears stops before his seat and stares down at something.

“Clef… would you please move your cat?”

“Just give ‘em a little nudge and it’ll fuck off.”

“Would you please move it?” Clef can hear him breathing. What’s his fucking problem?

“Scared of a little cat?” Clef scoops L.S. up. He’s about to put it upstairs when another thought occurs to him. He cracks open Gears’s bedroom and nudges L.S. in.

A half hour later, Gears enters his bedroom and spots the Little Shit making a home in his bed. The thought of all those tiny, greasy, loose hairs all over his bed makes his skin crawl and his stomach twist.

How long has that thing been in here? Has it touched anything else? Oh god, there could be tiny fucking hairs everywhere. His sanctuary has been violated. Gears is going to faint.

“Clef?” he calls out, his nausea leaking into his voice. He can see L.S. nuzzling into his pillow, smearing its snot all over.

“Yeeeessss, Coggy dear?” Clef slides up next to him. He’s disappointed to find that L.S. didn’t break anything.

“Get your cat out of my room,” he almost hisses.

Clef shows off his teeth. “I dunno, it looks pretty comfortable in there. I would hate to disturb it.”

Gears clenches his fists. “Clef, may I remind you this is my space? If you can not keep your cat out of here I might have to-”

“Have to what? Throw us back to the streets? Be my fucking guest.”

He’s being toyed with, he knows he’s being toyed with, but the longer Clef plays this game the more cat rubs off on his bed. He wishes his stomach would make up its fucking mind on whether he’s going to throw up or not. If he vomits onto Clef right now at least this game would stop.

“Perhaps-” he grinds his teeth together, “-if you can not handle your animal then you do not deserve to keep it.”

The smug look drips off of Clef’s face. “I swear to fuck, Charles, if you throw my cat out-”

Gears wants to hit him. Gears want to hit him so fucking bad right now. Anything to get him to shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!

He puts a hand on Clef’s shoulder and squeezes. Clef cuts himself off.

“Get your cat out of my room… Please.”

That seems to satisfy him, at least enough for him to grab his cat and leave. Gears rushes in to strip the bed and lent roll the sheets. Ugh- it’s no use! He’ll have to put them through the wash. Waiting for the laundry to finish will throw off his usual bedtime but he’ll never sleep if he doesn’t.

Waiting for the laundry gives him time to vacuum and scrub down the rest of his room. He can’t see them but he knows there's cat hairs everywhere. He makes his usual walk around the house to check all of the locks before wheeling the vacuum into his bedroom.

From his place on the stairs, Clef thinks Gears looks crazy running around the place like that. Gears was never as fun to provoke as that guy that should not be spoken about.

Gears exits his bedroom, relieved to have his space sanitized. He swaps the wash into the dryer and decides he can get a headstart on his work tomorrow while that-

The front door is unlocked.

The door was locked, he knows that he locked it. He swears he already made his usual walk around the house.

It’s fine… This is fine. He can relock the door. He must’ve just misremembered. Just misremembered.

The windows are unlocked too, a few of them were partly open. When did he open them? Maybe he didn’t. He’s slipping.

He makes a second trip around the close. This time he’s sure he’s locked up the entire h-

The door.

This is fine. This is fine. This is fine. This is fine.

He locks the door. He’s sure that he’s locked the door. The door is locked and he’s the one who’s locked it. He takes a step back and examines his locked door, which is locked.

Still forty minutes on the dryer. He enters his office and the window is open. He slams the window shut and storms out of his office in time to catch Clef unlocking the front door.

“Clef!” He doesn’t shout. Fuck, it’s almost a relief it’s just Clef being an asshole. Gears would still like to bash his skull in.

“Huh? Oh hey, Cog!” Clef looks him in the eyes while sliding the chain-lock undone.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Oh this? I was just going to step out for some fresh air! This place could use some ventilation! I mean pop open a window for something!”

Gears is going to start hyperventilating. His cheeks are already flushed. Clef keeps grinning at him. This is fucking hilarious to him.

“Oh calm down, Charles!" says Clef. "It’s not that big of a deal,” says Iceberg. He has a hole in his head and his brain is spilling onto the carpet. That’s the only way Gears can picture him anymore.

“You broke into my private office. I wish you would have just asked.” They’re sitting at the kitchen table. Iceberg leans back in his chair, arms crossed. It feels like they’re in an interrogation room.

“I didn’t want to ask.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Gears’s eyes soften, a small but genuine expression he wouldn’t dare to show to anyone else.

“Oh what does it matter to you! I didn’t take anything! I was just looking!”

“Looking for what?”

Iceberg crosses his arms, refusing to look him in the eyes.

“Iceberg… If something is the matter you’re supposed to talk to me.”

“You sound like a fucking robot when you talk like that! You can’t even pretend like you actually give a shit!”

Gears doesn’t flinch, though he almost does. It feels like a dagger has been rammed through his chest.

“I do care.”

“Do you? Or are you just programmed to say that?”

Gears stands up, his sympathy melting into bitterness. “Is that why you thought it was okay to invade my privacy? Because I’m simply an android? Less than human to you?”

Iceberg bites his lip. “I didn’t mean that.”

“But you thought it, you thought it enough to stay it outloud.” Gears wants to drive his head through the wall. “I’m going to bed.”

“Uh Cog?”

Gears blinks and focuses on Clef. They’re closer now, Gears has him almost pinned to the door. He’d apparently stepped closer while lost in thought. What was he just thinking about anyway?

The door, that’s right. He reaches past Clef and slides each lock back into place. Clef sweats.

“Bed… Right, I’m going to bed.” Gears turns his back and marches away.

…

Mold grows in the house. Not just in the cups and plastic bottles Clef hides and collects like some kind of game. It grows in the walls, between the floorboards, under the tiles, inside of Gears himself, though he doesn’t know it yet.

In the months Clef has spent in Gears’s home the mold has begun to grow in him too. He can feel it, even if he doesn’t know what it is yet. He’s a man who knows what it’s like when a house starts to live in you.

Gears is in the kitchen, cleaning the stockpile of glasses he extracted from Clef's room. There’s no point in chastising Clef over it, not anymore.

Clef stares at the table and scratches his name into its surface with his nail. Gears can hear the grading sound from the kitchen. He wants to restrain Clef but he needs to finish cleaning.

“I want to go out for drinks,” Clef announces.

“We have alcohol here.”

“I don’t want to drink here. I’m going out.” It’s been a while since he’s gone out in his truck. He stands up and heads upstairs to get his keys.

Gears trembles but says nothing. Moments later he hears Clef storm back down the stairs.

“Where are my car keys!?”

Gears thinks of a locked box hidden in Clef’s closet. He pats his pants pocket, finding Clef’s keys there. “I don’t know. Have you misplaced them?”

Clef growls. “Where did you put them?”

“I haven’t touched them,” Gears lies, “perhaps if you can’t find your keys you should say in.”

“Give me your keys.”

“I will do no such thing.”

As Gears finishes washing their dishes Clef storms into the kitchen. He jams his hand onto Gears’s pocket, causing Gears to flinch and drop a glass. It shatters on the floor. Gears spins around to rip Clef’s hand away and slams him into the counter, but not before Clef gets his hands on his keys.

“Do. Not. Do. That.” Gears holds him there, glaring into his eyes, edge of the counter digging into Clef’s spine. His heart hammers, his entire body shaking. Clef shrinks.

"I thought I was supposed to be the liar here," Clef growls. “You don’t have any right to keep me here.”

“If it concerns your safety, it does.” He thinks of walking into Kondraki’s office to the smell of blood, he thinks of dragging a delirious Clef out of a bar. Bile crawls up his throat.

Clef wants to sink his teeth into Gears’s shoulder. He could, he really could, but then what? Clef could get away with subtlety, the little things that drive Gears insane, but could he get away with something so violent?

“Fine. I’ll drink your bullshit.” Clef pockets his keys and wriggles out of Gears’s grasp.

Gears straightens up, peeling himself away. He backs up and begins to clean up the shattered glass. Clef scoots around him to grab a bottle of room temperature beer. It wasn’t the shitty stuff that reminded him of Kondraki, nor was it particularly good, it was… fine.

Clef sips at the foam, watching Gears work. The glass slips from his sweaty hand. He tries to catch it, only managing to smack it towards Gears.

The bottle shatters.

Everything stops.

Gears watches, unmoving, as the puddle of beer streams into the mess of glass and his shoes. Slowly, he looks up at Clef. Clef can’t help but crack a grin.

“Oops.” He grabs another battle and smacks it off the counter. Gears grinds his teeth.

“What do you hope to accomplish with this?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Clef maintains eye contact as he drops another bottle. “Oh! Silly me! You know how clumsy I can be!”

The sound of breaking glass makes Gears’s hair stand on end. He stands up, cracks his neck, and goes to dump the shards in his hand. He is fine, he is not that bothered, he can handle this.

Another bottle breaks. The entire room stinks, the alcohol burns his eyes. Before Gears knows what he’s doing, he’s ripping a bottle from Clef’s grubby fingers. The feeling of taking that bottle and smashing it over Clef’s thick skull is the best thing Gears has felt in ages.

Then, the moment passes. Gears stands there, gripping the neck of the bottle so tightly it strains his arm. Clef is drenched, glass shards in his hair, blood and beer running down his face. His eyes are wide and wet with tears.

For a moment he’s standing over Iceberg. Oh God, oh God! He just took a chunk out of Iceberg’s head. He feels so fucking sick.

“Why can’t you just be good?” Gears gasps, desperation and fury crawling into his voice. “Am I not kind to you? Have I not cared for you?” He drops the bottle, letting it clang against the floor.

Clef stays silent. Gears forces himself not to cry, his throat already aches from shouting. He goes to his room, resisting the urge to kick L.S. out of the way, and collapses onto his bedroom floor.

He hears Clef walking around, the sound of running water in the bathroom, and then the sound of Clef’s truck leaving the driveway. Once Gears is sure he’s alone, once everything settles down, once the stench from the kitchen wafts into Gears’s space, Gears screams.

He screams his throat raw, letting the angry, painful tears run down his face. He throws his night stand over, tears the photos from his wall, throws a vase at L.S., and he wonders why he can’t just be good enough for Clef.

Why doesn’t he get what Clef has? They’re so similar and yet Clef is so cruel to him! So selfish. Gears can’t see the animal he’s caged, only the claws and teeth as they sink into him.

Once he’s calmed down he’s left with a ruined kitchen, a ruined bedroom, and a terrified cat. He feels ragged, sick to his stomach. He hunches over the bathroom sink and spits up only bile.

He walks into the kitchen and begins picking up the largest shards. The feeling of warm, sticky beer against his skin makes him want to cry, but he has to do this. The shards slice into his fingers, but that pain is better than whatever consequence awaits him if he doesn’t do this.

When the glass is gone he drops to his hands and knees, a towel and sponge in hand, and scrubs the floor until it sparkles, until the sponge turns black with mold. Soap seeps into the cuts but at least no one would ever be able to tell what happened here.

He locks L.S. in Clef’s room and returns to his own, taking similar care to pick the place clean. His body aches, the even the action of reaching out and flexing his fingers is agonizing. Exhaustion weighs on him, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not like this, not in this state, not until he's done.

As he picks up his nightstand to set it upright, a drawer slides open. Quickly, Gears shuts it. He hears something rattle inside and, after a moment of thought, slowly reopens the drawer.

A bottle of pills sits there, sleeping meds. Gears grabs the bottle, finding it almost completely full. He was recommended these a long time ago, but never used them as he would always sleep longer than intended.

… always sleep longer than intended…

Gears returns to his kitchen, fills a glass with water, and drops one single pill in. The pill fizzes, bubbles, and dissolves. He takes a spoon, stirs, and finds he can barely tell the difference.

He takes a small sip and holds it in his mouth, shifting it around to get a feel for it. There’s a slight texture, something he might notice but Clef…

Gears spits the drugged water out, dumps and washes the cup, and drops a new pill in a fresh glass of water. He walks upstairs and carefully, as to not let L.S. escape, he leaves the glass on Clef’s nightstand.

The next morning Gears finds Clef fast asleep, the glass drained. He attempts, half-heartedly, to wake him, with no success. Gears nods to himself, takes the empty glass, and closes the door behind him.

He can write an excuse for Clef’s absence, it would just be one time in the name of science. Once he had a routine down he could have Clef asleep more than he’s awake. He slashes the tires on Clef’s truck before he leaves, just as a precaution.

…

Clef opens his eyes. Fuck, what time is it? His hangovers are getting worse. He rapidly blinks the exhaustion out. He was just in a bar- wait no- he was just in Gears’s kitchen- no, no the kitchen was first… what was he doing in Gears’s kitchen?

He remembers… breaking glass… room temperature beer… being afraid.

“Sir?”

Clef jumps. He’s in his office. When the hell did he get in his office? What is he doing here? Pen in his hand, paper on his desk… he was writing something? What was he writing? The words blur together. Adams is beside him. Right, right, in his office.

“Huh?”

Adams’s eyes dart across his features. Subconsciously, he wipes his face on his sleeve. He couldn’t look that bad, could he?

She takes a deep breath, knowing deeply and instinctively she’s going to regret her next words.

“Are you okay?”

He stares at her like he doesn't comprehend the question. He looks around the office, as if seeing it for the very first time. Is he okay?

“What time is it?” He asks.

“It’s almost six.”

Gears would be getting off soon, given nothing else came up, which meant Clef would be leaving soon. The thought of going home with Gears, back to that prison cell disguised as a house, has him short of breath.

Adams observes him, watching realization and fear fill his eyes. She grinds her teeth, terrified of the implications. She's tempted to ask again.

“Adams…” he says, voice small. A shot of adrenaline shoots through her heart.

“Sir?”

He slowly turns his head, looking at the office storage closet. Eyes straightforward, he smacks his pen off his desk. “I’ve lost my pen, would you go into the closet and grab one for me?”

If this was code, it wasn’t one she was familiar with. Hoping she would understand, Adams stands up and steps into the closet. The door slams behind her.

“Sir! Clef, what the fuck are you doing?!” She jiggles the handle and kicks at the door. She hears Clef shove one of the chunky chairs in front of the door, barricading her in.

“Oh this is the last fucking straw! I swear to fuck, Clef, when I get out of here-!” This is what she fucking deserves for giving a single shit about her boss. She was going to H.R. about this and then getting out of this site.

“Adams, don’t you know eavesdropping is rude?” Clef says in a sing-songy sort of tone.

Adams pauses, finding a moment of clarity in the storm of her rage. Those words were familiar. She quiets down and presses her ear against the door.

[Enter Dr. Gears]

Gears: “Clef? I heard some commotion in here? Is everything alright?”

[Clef’s desk creaks]

Clef: “Yeah, yeah everything’s all good in here.”

Gears: “Where is miss Adams?”

Clef: “Sent her home.”

[Adams bites her lip, tasting the tension in the air]

Gears: “I see. We can go home now.”

Clef: “I don’t want to.”

[A pause]

Gears: “Doctor, I would rather you not do this tonight.”

Clef: “Do what? Express my desires as a person? Fuck you, Cog.”

Gears: “You’re tired. Come home.”

Clef: “So you can drug me more? I know what you’ve been doing to me! You’re sick.”

Gears: “That’s a bold claim. Do you have any evidence or are you just lashing out as you tend to do?”

Clef: “Don’t fucking play with me! I fucking know what you’ve been doing!”

Gears: “What do you want, Clef?”

Clef: “I want you to say it! Say what you’ve been doing to me! Admit it!”

[Adams can hear the desperation growling in his voice, bordering on panic. She steps closer, accidentally tapping the door with her foot. Her heart stops.]

It’s quiet for a moment. Then footsteps, the chair slides away, and Gears opens the closet door. He stares at Adams, who would give anything to not exist right now, then looks to Clef for explanation.

Clef’s face is red, he wipes the tears from his eyes before she can see and cracks a grin at Gears.

“Oops. Must’ve forgotten her in there. Silly me, I must be going totally psycho! Are you gonna lock me up, Charlie, like you promised you would?” Clef dissolves into manic giggles, tears and snot streaming down his face.

Gears grips the closet handle tightly. Adams looks down and notices worn bandages covering his hands. “Get a hold of yourself.”

“Or what? You’ll hit me? Oh I know you wanna! Come on! Hit me Cog! Hit me!”

Gear clenches his fists. For a moment Adams is sure he might do it.

“Miss Adams,” Gears says, voice flat. “I’m sorry you had to witness this. You may stay home tomorrow.”

Clef’s grin drops. “No! You don’t get to do that! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

“You’re irrational. You’re scaring your assistant.”

Adams is scared, though who she’s scared of she isn’t sure.

“Adams, don’t!” He tries to growl, but it comes out as a squeak.

Gears walks up to Clef and grabs him by the shirt collar. “Miss Adams? Please leave.”

Clef stares her down, eyes red. Adams sees betrayal fill his eyes as she dashes out the door. This is his problem. What’s she supposed to do for him?

As Adams disappears, Clef goes slack in Gears’s grip. The manic energy fades away and he’s just tired.

“You gonna hit me now?” He asks, a hint of humor in his voice.

“Believe it or not, Alto, it does not bring me pleasure to physically harm you. What did you hope to accomplish with this?”

What did he hope to accomplish? He felt like he was losing it. He wanted, no, needed someone to see what was happening to him, for him to confirm he wasn't fucking losing it.

“… maybe I’m just going crazy,” he answers, resigned. When has Cog ever actually hurt him? Clef certainly can’t remember anything.

Gears lets go of him, helping him stand up straight. “Let’s get you home.”

…

Clef remains completely silent during the following ride home. He’s so tired and ashamed of himself. All he can do is stare, bleary eyes, into the plate Gears placed before him.

He hears something rattle behind him, like the sound of a pill bottle. He glances over his shoulder. The movement is subtle, Gears slides the bottle back into his pocket and sets a glass of water in front of Clef. Always the water in his right hand.

Clef stares at the water, finding it perfectly clear. He looks at Gears, who’s expression admits nothing. But Clef knows. He knows the water is drugged. He knows what Gears is doing to him.

… When has Cog ever hurt him?

Looking Gears in the eyes, Clef drains his glass.

« Part 1 | Part 2 (you are here) | Part 3 | Part 4 | Finale »