Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first occurrence took place only a few days after Rhys had settled into his new office. It was sometime in the evening, only midway through a typical work day for someone with co-CEO responsibilities suddenly thrust upon him, and Rhys sat alone at his desk, staring numbly through the blue wash of multiple holoscreens that buzzed incessantly in the shell of that smaller room. Though tinny and quiet, the sound was somehow penetrating, an irritant that definitely existed, no matter the excuses stammered by his assigned PA. And it was currently driving Rhys nuts.

Upon realizing that he was reading the same email for the third time, Rhys exhaled his frustration, pressing metal fingers to the insides of his eyes. It didn’t seem to matter that the noise was only audible after countless cups of coffee and six hours of nonstop tasks. It was a bit much. His gaze had even strayed toward the door in consideration more than once; would it be such a bad thing — to relent? To return to Jack’s office, where that sound would be lost to the ambience of that vast space? Jack might even stop teasing him for moving into “that goddamn broom closet.”

Right. Like he’d get any work done. He would trade one stressor for another, returning with his tail tucked between his legs. Besides — they hadn’t even spoken since the day before, when Jack had interrupted a meet and greet with department heads to remind Rhys that his duties still extended to Pandora, and that it was time to get back to hunting down those bandits who had run off with Jack’s stuff.

By “bandits” he of course meant Sasha and Fiona, who had wisely gotten the hell out of dodge once they realized what Rhys was really up to. The miserable lies he had told. The truth behind his actual allegiances.

Rhys had tried to playfully chide Jack at the time, providing a short update and a meager promise that he and Blake had things well in hand. Teams had indeed been dispatched to Pandora to scour the surface for both Gortys and Vaughn, the latter of whom Jack had forgotten existed up until that moment. But there was nothing else that Rhys could offer or even interject while Jack nattered on, flush with irritation and a bit of shame as he struggled to save face in front of the department heads who no doubt already looked at him like he was a terrible nepotism case.

Rhys maintained that he had more than proven his worth on Pandora, with every smack to the head and gun in his face along the way. Especially considering most Hyperion execs had never even so much as glanced at the planet much less stepped foot on it. He couldn’t, however, deny that — yeah, maybe it was a little bit of nepotism. Add to that his awful tendencies toward imposter syndrome, and the exchange left him with a jumble of emotions he hadn’t managed to shake even on the day after.

Worst of all was that Jack had taken a significant step back thereafter. His hologram, at least; Rhys was starting to notice that every camera in his path seemed to turn with him, tracing every step. It hadn’t been until after he was bestowed his new role that he realized just how many cameras Helios had, which was a metric shit ton. As a result, it wouldn’t be difficult for Jack to track his whereabouts at all times. If that was what he was doing. Rhys briefly considered the idea that he was just being paranoid. At any rate, aside from the watchful lenses, he hadn’t seen even a flicker of Jack’s hologram since that meeting.

Those fingers fell from his face to the surface of his desk, drumming irritation into every beat. The unease lingering in his shoulders was uncomfortable. Every so often, he would catch himself glancing into the nooks and crannies of his office in suspicion, wary of the buzzing ambiance. When Jack had snatched back the reins to Hyperion, he had been a constant. Jack was simply always there, offering surprisingly encouraging advice, mocking their subordinates, and generally insisting on just being present. Rhys had endured it for a few reasons — the primary being respect, which he wasn’t always certain was mutual — but when Jack finally just disappeared, what was left was…

Well, his office was small, but it was empty. Awfully so. Jack’s office being larger did not mean it was also emptier as a result. Jack’s muchness filled the void, and not just for the plain fact that his image was broadcast on those massive windows overlooking Elpis.

Paranoia was natural to follow in that ensuing silence. It was a gross feeling, worse than the emotions it was cloaking with its smothering presence.

Aboard Helios, the only way to survive was to watch out for that inevitable knife to one’s shoulder. It wasn’t about if, it was when, and there had definitely been potentials in their short partnership. Ticks of expression, looks that Jack hung on. Held stares that put Rhys on edge just as much as they ignited him. When he’d inquire as to Jack’s thoughts, the AI would merely continue to inspect him for another moment or so before moving on with a shrug and a grin.

Rhys was no fool (not all the time, anyway). He was a pawn. Jack found him useful, and there had been a few minutes that day in Jack’s office that he had worried his usefulness had come to an end.

Jack, however, had actually held up his end. He had given Rhys far more than he even thought to ask for — endless resources, a PA, a nice new flat, and he had even offered him his own desk. Throne and all.

“At least until we figure out this new body thing. We’ll be able to make use of the desk together,” he’d said with a wink. “But until then, she’s all yours, kitten.”

Rhys had only stared at the desk and its solitary chair in confusion, feeling like he was missing some subtext that resulted in Jack rolling his eyes with a dismissive chuckle. He also struggled in that moment to accept Jack’s offer. Perhaps it was the sudden, overwhelming responsibility he somehow never expected despite all of Jack’s vague promises. Or maybe it was the creepy robotic hand sticking out from the desk’s surface. Regardless, the prospect of assuming Jack’s throne in that grand room had been too much.

He wouldn’t soon forget the look Jack gave him when he asked for a separate office. There was anger at first — heavy suspicion from a man who had seen too much betrayal. It had shifted to confusion, and something Rhys couldn’t identify, and so he hastily offered enough excuses to appease him.

“It’s a lot to live up to,” he suggested. “I can fake it all I want, Jack, but when people see me in that chair, it’s just not the same.”

“I put you in that chair,” Jack had grunted, his tone laced with subtle hostility. “Is someone giving you trouble, Rhysie?”

“No, no.” Rhys jumped up from the seat opposite, placatively waving his hands. And when Jack’s expression on those looming screens did not settle, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m just not you, Jack.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The continued wariness of Jack’s replies were understandable, given Jack’s history with two-faced allies and obsessive sycophants. But for whatever reason, when it was directed his way, it hurt. He genuinely wavered, dropped his gaze to the outline of the nearby trapdoor, and sighed.

“I know you’re aware of how beloved you are, Jack,” he hummed low. “But sometimes I wonder if you really know just how much you mean to people here. And how impossible it is for someone like me to live up to.”

“Someone like you,” Jack huffed, his gaze turning surprisingly evasive. 

“Yeah…” Rhys sagged. He allowed his head to fall back, as to look all the way up at Jack, where he stretched far, far above him.

A very pregnant pause followed. Rhys started to sweat as Jack silently deliberated on those windows overhead.

“Have it your way then, kiddo.” Jack let loose a sigh. “I’ve assigned some bots to clean out the storage closet down the hall for you.”

Rhys had thought it a possible insult at the time, and Jack probably still considered it one, but the room he had been given was perfectly ample. Large enough for his desk, a few chairs, and even a lounge to one side. A real office, unlike the ridiculous space boasted by Jack’s. The only indication that it was a closet was the exposed electrical panel in the corner, which was easily hidden behind a partition.

The room didn’t invoke nearly the same intimidation factor, nor the projection of wealth and power, and its lights gave a stress flicker every so often, but it felt like a more manageable space. He only had to ignore that, by accepting it, he had inadvertently made a statement as to what he could handle, and would strive to prove himself by other means. At the moment, however, he was too busy obsessing over Jack’s sudden disappearance, and gritting his teeth over that goddamn buzzing.

He nearly lowered his head to the desk to rest, only recalling the possible presence of those cameras at the last second. There was a lot to be done, now that Jack was back in charge. Repeated liaisons with department heads; an endless line of updates; checks on all planet-side facilities; meetings with available mercs and moles implanted in competitors’ companies — on and on it went. Rhys was up to each and every task, personally thrilled by his new role. Being kept busy was invigorating, as being able to kick ass on a daily basis was what he had always loved about the corporate world. Now, for the first time ever, he had the resources to make it all happen. It definitely wasn’t the responsibility that had given him pause in Jack’s office.

So what was it?

Jack had always been intimidating, even at his “friendliest”. And Rhys had achieved what few people managed — getting on Handsome Jack’s good side. Jack practically showered him with gifts and accolades, when Rhys had quietly anticipated him dropping his body in a random ditch at the earliest convenience (jury was still out). So then what—

You know what.

Rhys visibly winced.

Yeah. He knew. He’d known from the first time he’d seen one of Jack’s over the top advertisements, and promptly disappeared into the nearest bathroom for a personal session in one of the stalls. He had known when he had effectively devoted himself to the AI remnants of the man, and had followed each and every one of his instructions, even to the detriment of his supposed allies. He knew it with every damn tremor of his heart, every shiver in his limbs.

It simply wasn’t a reasonable thing to say out loud, was all.

“Damn it, Jack…” he breathed quietly. He gazed across that empty room yet again, only to linger on the lounge. Next to the sofa was another one of Jack’s gifts, in the shape of a globe that rested in a cradle on wheels. He eyed it, and after another moment’s deliberation, he rose.

He slid a finger along the ledge that encircled the globe, pressed a small notch, and the northern hemisphere clicked open. From inside he retrieved a tumbler, splashed in a modest amount of whiskey, then closed the lid.

His tie was discarded onto the coffee table. It was pursued by his waistcoat. Rhys unbuttoned the top of his shirt, tugging it just shy of the upper arches of ink along his collar bone, embracing the slight draft of the room. He smoothed a hand down his abdomen, then up through his hair, and finally eased back into the posh comfort of the chaise lounge.

He closed his eyes and focused on the initial bite of that first swallow. The instinctual wriggle of his tongue, the twitch of his nostrils, a reaction he was doing his best to beat out of himself for that next inevitable social gathering. He listened to that undulating, electronic sound, trying and failing to discover its source by ear alone.

He did anything that might keep him from thinking of Jack. Of his perceived disappointment. Of his lofty expectations.

Of his cocky smirk. The growling timbre of his voice. His broad hands.

Rhys tried to nudge his mind toward the endless list of tasks awaiting him, and not that void bereft of one man’s endearing obnoxiousness.

Having spectacularly failed, Rhys imagined he should have felt thankful for the soft pong from his office door, but he could only grimace at the incoming disruption.

He dropped his head back with a groan, and his hand clicked to life under the glass it held. 

“Yes?”

“Sir.” His PA’s voice droned through his palm and door alike. “May I enter?”

If you must. “Why not.”

The door slid open at Rhys’ distant beckoning to permit entry to his personal assistant, Ben Something. His arms were full of ECHO decks, printed materials, and a tablet — nothing of any true interest to Rhys. Scanning over the collection with a sigh, his thoughts finally ticked back to that damned list and away from the alluring memory of Handsome Jack’s piercing gaze.

“Good evening, Mister Strongfork.” Ben greeted, beaming at him a smile too unholy for that late an hour.

“Evening…”

Rhys had secretly labelled Ben as an interim PA. By Hyperion standards, it was in a fashion a death sentence, but Rhys had nothing to do with his selection for the role. The promotion had been fast tracked, during the confusion of Jack’s return. When he could eventually find time, Rhys wholly intended to replace him with someone he knew and trusted to bring him his coffee and set his schedule. He only committed to tolerating him in the meantime.

Not to say that Ben wasn’t qualified, or possibly even trustworthy. Much as Rhys disliked looking a gift horse in the mouth, he just didn’t know him. Ben was fine, he supposed. A recent grad, eager to please, and fine enough to look at. Perhaps a little too brown in the nose, but finding someone who wasn’t a bootlicker was likely an impossibility aboard Helios.

And he seemed to do his job just fine.

Until, that is, he took two steps into the room, struggled to juggle the contents in his arms, and dumped it all across Rhys’ floor.

Rhys watched with a frown as the pamphlets fell and spread out everywhere. Strangely, his first question was why they even bothered with printed materials anymore. The cost alone of paper on a space station couldn’t have been worth it.

You could mention that to Jack.

As Rhys deliberated on yet another sad excuse with which to go crawling back to Jack, he lowered the glass in his hand only an inch or two. Ben seemed to notice, and wavered in his descent to the floor.

“Oh,” he smiled. “Please, sir, don’t worry. You relax. I’ve got this.”

Ah. He hadn’t said anything to indicate he was offering to help his underling — a faux pas for high-level execs such as himself — but he supposed that subtle movement could have suggested otherwise. Damn. 

“Uh huh,” he huffed vaguely, opting for a passive middle ground.

“Meanwhile, I have the latest schematics for the new MIRV grenades here for you.”

“Beauty.” Rhys leaned forward to accept the tablet. He sank back, taking another sip before skimming through the designs. “Those idiots nearly killed some of our QAs in the last round of testing.”

“Oh?”

“Flawed designs,” he explained. “The child grenades were triggered by the initial striker hit, instead of delayed.”

“Yikes.” Ben shook his head, reaching for an errant pamphlet. “Don’t they know the trouble of replacing analysts? Such a hassle.”

Rhys lowered the tablet to stare. “...and, you know, some of our people had limbs amputated. Amongst other things.”

Ben’s smile lengthened. When he noticed Rhys watching, it faded in an instant, and he busied himself with organizing the scattered mess beneath his hands. “Of course, sir. Just awful.”

Fatigued discomfort flooded Rhys’ stomach. He flexed the metal fingers of his prosthetic around his glass, grumbling inwardly.

Before Pandora, playing the corporate game of wordplay and one-upmanship had been titillating in its own peculiar way. After Pandora, well — the bullshit smelled worse, it was getting late, and his goddamn PA was supposed to be someone he trusted. Someone meant to impress him, not the other way around.

Rhys made a HUD note to check the CVs of other possible candidates for the role, then returned to the tablet, squinting to compare the grenade’s stats to the length of its timer fuse.

Once Ben finally gathered everything onto the coffee table, he did not rise, merely straightening to look back at Rhys. Ignoring him was difficult, this judgmental blur in his peripherals.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No,” Rhys exhaled, annoyed by his lingering presence. There was pining to be done, and the upstart was getting in the way of his unattainable dreams. “Why don’t you head home for the night?”

“...are you certain, sir?” Ben cooed. “Anything at all?”

There was a shift in his tone, smarmy and suggestive. Rhys’ gaze slipped past the screen to where his PA was still down on his knees — too close to Rhys’ legs. He watched him for a second, listless, until Ben rested his hand on Rhys’ thigh, and everything finally clicked.

Haaah.

So this was the other side of that interaction. Friggin’ gross.

Rhys didn’t mind the dynamic of a good power imbalance. The thrill of the realization even zinged through him for a half second. But something about the situation just didn’t feel right.

“You seem stressed,” Ben went on, crawling forward to gently nudge Rhys’ legs apart. “I could assist with that.”

“Could you,” he snorted flatly.

“This is why I’m here, Mister Strongfork,” he purred. “To provide you with anything and everything you might need.”

Seconds passed as Rhys deliberated, during which Ben batted his long eyelashes up at him. He looked over his soft cheeks, his raven hair. His full lips that tucked under his teeth in gentle, suggestive suction. Rhys’ fingers threatened to crush the glass in his hand, so he took one last sip before setting it aside.

“Bill,” he grunted sharply.

“Uh.” Ben’s brow furrowed. “I-it’s Ben, si—”

“I’m not interested in your game, kiddo. Take it somewhere else.”

“Game,” he blanched. “I’m not…”

“I don’t know who put you up to this, but I know what people are saying out there,” Rhys interrupted, a hand raised to silence the man on the floor. “I’ve upset the status quo. Disrupted plans. I get it. I’m aware. And I understand what is expected of me in such a position. But do you know why I can’t be bothered to give two shits about your petty gossip?”

Sure, the reality was that he gave plenty of shits, but admitting it would only make the situation worse.

“Wh—”

“Because I’m actually doing my goddamn job,” Rhys went on. “These countless friggin’ morons are worrying more about office politics than doing their work, people in QA are getting shrapnel to the face, and all the while Handsome Jack and I are trying to clean up the absolute mess they created in his absence.”

He sat forward, gently taking Ben’s chin in his grip. Ben winced a little, and the overhead lights timed a perfect, imposing flicker as he focused on the look of uncertainty in Ben’s face. That hint of anger behind his PA’s fear was as satisfying as it was telling.

“So — no. I don’t want to waste my time on a sloppy blow job by some half-rate personal assistant,” he breathed. “I want you to do your goddamn work, so I can do mine. Comprende?”

“Y-yes, sir,” he whimpered.

“You aren’t my type, sweetheart,” he went on. “And even if you were, I have far more important things on my mind. You get this idea in your head again, and I’ll personally flip the controls while you pound glass in the nearest airlock. You get me, babycakes?”

That anger cleared. He shivered lightly in Rhys’ grasp. “I do. Yes. I’m sorry, Mister Strongfork.”

“Good,” Rhys hissed. “Now get the hell out of my office.”

He stumbled reluctantly to his feet, tail tucked between his legs. His expression flickered between hostility and shame, though Rhys suspected the latter to be that for having failed in whatever task he’d set out to fulfill, rather than honest embarrassment. It was mildly surprising to discover he understood the concept of shame at all, given what he’d just attempted.

In perfect fairness, Rhys couldn’t judge him for having tried. While he wasn’t so shameless that he would’ve tried the same thing on Vasquez back in the day, if he’d had the chance with Handsome Jack…

At the threshold, Ben lingered another moment, setting a subdued gaze back on Rhys.

“I’m fired, aren’t I?”

Rhys snorted softly. “I’ll consider a demotion if you leave gracefully.”

“...very well.”

Another beat passed. The discomfort trickling in through Rhys’ shoulder blades continued to mount.

“May I offer one last suggestion, sir?” Ben offered. Rhys lifted his head, just in time to catch a twitch of disdain in Ben’s lip that would sign his death warrant. “Drop the pet names.”

“Ah?” Rhys couldn’t help but smirk.

“If you really know what people are saying about you, then you should understand that you can try as hard as you like,” he sneered. “But you’ll never be Handsome Jack.”

Mildly troubled by the blatant disgust of someone working in such close proximity to him all day, Rhys did his best not to let his discomfort show. He mentally calculated the distance between him and the gun in his desk drawer, then simply eased back in his seat and raised his glass in a mock toast.

“Be glad I’m not,” he hummed. “Because if I were Jack, you’d already be dead.”

Somehow, his reply earned him another look of disappointment. Rhys was quick to brush it off as Ben disappeared past the door frame, and was already triggering a call via his cybernetic palm before the door managed to slide shut. The connection clicked through his hand after only one ring.

“Yes, Mister Strongfork?”

“Evening, Blake,” Rhys greeted, ever impressed by his prompt response. “My PA. Ben Something.”

“Benjamin Somerford.”

“Yup. He’s no good. Take care of it, would you?”

“It’s already done, Mister Strongfork.”

Hah. Quick. Efficient. Dependable.

It was too bad that Jeffrey Blake was already Jack’s right hand man.

Once the call clicked out, Rhys stretched out lengthways on the sofa, whining aloud.

“Not Handsome Jack…” he grumbled, rubbing his leg where Ben had touched him. The intimate line of his thigh that Rhys did not consent to being touched. He pressed his thumb to it and grunted lightly. “That’s the problem, Ben. You aren’t, either.”

In the awkward aftermath, that totally real, not imagined ringing returned. This time, however, it was interrupted by the electrical panel as it erupted.

Sparks were sent cascading past the partition and washed over Rhys. He launched himself onto his feet, hurtling his tablet and glass onto the floor.

It wasn’t a catastrophe, thankfully. In the rigid moments that thereafter elapsed, he lingered in worry, watching the panel closely for any further indications of fire and wondering in a panic if he would have to sprint to the nearest fire extinguisher. He also realized, in awfully belated dread, he did not remember the last time he even saw a fire extinguisher on this station, nor a fire alarm to pull. There had to be systems in place, he believed — bots or automated oxygen control. But in storage space?

“Jack?” he whimpered aloud, not really knowing why.

Nothing followed, of course, but that stupid goddamn buzzing.

Rhys eventually shook off his shock and pushed the partition aside to inspect the panel. A hint of singe marks indicated the damage beneath, confirmed by some melted wiring. Using his ECHO-Eye, he scanned it for further potential issues, but nothing seemed amiss. As far as he could tell, anyway. A freak discharge.

Rhys palmed his face and sighed. He fired off a request to Maintenance and collected his discarded clothing. Fire hazard be damned — he had more pressing concerns to deal with. But first, he would finally prioritize sleep. Hopefully that stupid noise would go away, at least.

“That’s what I get for working out of a closet, I guess…” he sighed, and headed out the door.

The second incident did not happen in the lovely seclusion of his office. It found him anew when he had reached a freshly uncomfortable limit with his antagonistic working situation, and was surrounded by people he was already coming to loathe. Rhys had arrived to the gargantuan ballroom he hadn’t previously known existed at half past eight, held together by his caffeine addiction and the tailored fit of an admittedly gorgeous charcoal suit. He had barely gleaned the details of the invitation beforehand, scanning the word honourary and immediately assuming it was another “welcome home, Jack” sort of grandstanding, to which he was resigned to attend. Not that he would ever actually complain or even mind celebrating Jack; he had simply been too busy to appreciate yet another night of schmoozing and boozing, considering he’d already been to a handful of such events since Jack’s return.

Throwing on a slick suit did not bother him. Nor did the few, brief moments when Handsome Jack’s attention would rediscover him, something decidedly rare as of late. It was the forced interactions with his peers he was beginning to despise and quietly doubt after his own PA had left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Every whisper and murmur behind his back had his ears twitching, struggling to overhear what might be the next plans to bring him down. He had begun to understand why Handsome Jack was so distrusting and opted for a small circle of devotees to remain close. Hell, Rhys was even beginning to miss his old antagonistic dynamic with Hugo Vasquez for its sheer simplicity, despite its brutal end. Their hatred for one another was uncomplicated and predictable (for the most part). Now, however, Rhys could only stare at the tall, ghost-like curtain in the middle of the room — what must conceal the latest statue in an endless line of Handsome Jack devotions — and wonder how many of his coworkers around him were plotting his demise.

They can try.

Upon arrival, while scanning the room for any friendly faces, he made a particular effort to locate Jeffrey Blake or anyone as remotely tolerable, but was unable to spy his lean figure in the crowd. So he loosely lingered in the less concerning throngs of Jackolytes, missing Vaughn and pretending to nurse a glass of champagne. He fixed his rapturous study on Jack from a distance, the only view afforded of him on the sprawling screens Jack had chosen to grace with his image.

Of course Jack was present in his usual, glorious muchness. He truly was breathtaking in his new form, cast onto the massive, reflective glass panels lining the walls of the yawning space — larger even than the windows in Jack’s office. Rhys’ neck was beginning to ache with every upward glance at his illuminated form, as he watched with curious eyes whenever Jack stretched or minutely resized to direct his attention on a particular individual. He could not hear if Jack was heckling or admonishing their subordinates, as his voice was specifically directed by means of dispersed speaker systems, so he simply stepped back in appreciation of the complexity of Jack’s presence, and patiently waited for his attention to find his most devoted follower.

Devotion is certainly a word for it. Rhys swallowed a curse of chastisement with a sip of champagne, reminding himself yet again not to allow his petty jealousy to present itself visibly. Now was not the time to bare weaknesses to the world. He leaned into his bitterness instead, annoyed and worried in equal measure that Jack still hadn’t reached out since that god awful director’s meeting, leaving Rhys fraught with worry. Hell, he’d arrived an hour ago, and Jack still hadn’t deigned to look his way.

…but it was unfair to complain. He owed Jack so much. Enduring this mandatory celebration on a seemingly weekly basis was the very least he could do. So he would suck it up. He would mingle. He would ignore the sideways glances, the quiet comments, the endless judgement, and he would drink.

He would drink and look up at that massive, veiled statue and pine. Hell. How could Jack have ever expected him to measure up to that? A Handsome Jack statue of such pompous, absurd scale was considered shockingly normal; no one batted an eye at the casual introduction of yet another. Jack’s only dissenters were fair and few, and even those individuals he terrorized directly weren’t guaranteed to hate him. The man was goddamn beloved. He was—

He is a god.

Truly. Handsome Jack, unattainable, untouchable. And now, bound to Helios’ very structure, he was vast, and glorious. A man and machine both.

Rhys suddenly looked to the nearest supportive column in the room, a massive steel strut spanning high to the ceiling above. He followed the expansive space, shivering in appreciation, in awe of that delicate and impenetrable, contained and robust enigma that was his home and his lifeline. And now, it was his god, his benevolent deity plucking at Helios’ strings to shelter him and give him purpose.

Jack is a god, and you are an ant. Your adoration for him is so immense and crushing, and so small to him that it is insignificant and nonexistent.

Feeling miserably human, Rhys blinked past a bleary haze and glanced past the cloak to Jack’s holographic display, wiping quickly at his face. He noticed a low balcony on the opposite side of the room, perhaps a better vantage point with which to seek out Blake — and totally not get closer to Jack — and gracefully excused himself to make his way through the packed space. His progress was slow and hampered, however, as a surprising number of his colleagues stopped him along the way to offer unexpected adulations.

He made it only halfway through the room, his suspicions slowly growing, when the lights went out, and his heart kicked him in the sternum. His cybernetic eye flickered on by itself, in adrenaline-motivated panic, but before he managed much of a scan of his immediate surroundings, a spotlight clicked on, illuminating that ghostlike figure in the middle of the room.

“All right, you fancy-pants schmucks,” Jack’s voice flooded the room; the hairs on the back of Rhys’ neck rose. “You’ve indulged yourself on free booze long enough. Let’s get down to it.”

The image of Handsome Jack flickered back into view, swallowing the space behind the statue. Rhys immediately rubbed his sweaty palm on his hip.

“For the past three quarters, Hyperion has been barely treading water,” he seethed lightly. “In my absence, the majority of you have over indulged and under worked, and turned your departments into embarrassments hardly worthy of Maliwan, much less Hyperion standards.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. Hyperion went to shit after Jack’s death; without his leadership, the farce that was their managerial system became painfully apparent. The subsequent firings and restructuring were long overdue, and Rhys was more than relieved he was on Jack’s good side when it all went down. His former department had been no better than the rest, despite his best attempts.

Rhys furtively glanced over those surrounding him, pleased to see a few looks of discomfort. They survived the first rounds of corporate execution, but with their progress reports still pending, their heads weren’t quite off the chopping block.

“The last few weeks have shown improvement,” Jack went on. “All thanks to me, of course. And a small handful of others, most of whom have already received bonuses that would make peasants of the rest of you. And probably have. But we’re here to acknowledge one person in particular.”

Even with one foot still stuck deep in denial, Rhys was struck with an odd sense of dread. His gaze flitted to that veiled statue and back to Jack.

Oh no.

A horrible compulsion washed up his throat, burning his esophagus. He rocked with it, but did not otherwise betray himself, a surprising saving grace in a harrowing moment he did not understand.

He could not put a name to his unease. To that awful Jack, don’t—

“The man we are honouring tonight is better than the rest of you. In every conceivable way. He is loyal, dedicated, and has proven himself to Hyperion, and me, countless times in only a few months. In fact…”

And at last, Jack’s gaze found him. Having somehow not fainted yet, Rhys went stock-still, immediately and wholly ensnared.

“None of this, any of it, would’ve been possible without him,” Jack hummed. “So raise your glasses to Rhys Strongfork, who collectively saved all of your jobs and asses…”

Jack raised a virtual glass, a gesture mimicked en masse, then paused.

“You know. For now. Try not to disappoint me. Us.” He winked. “To Rhysie.”

The veil fell.

And in an all-consuming moment, Rhys was left dumb by the strange concept that he could suddenly feel so small, even though the twenty foot statue looming over the crowd was of him.

It was unbelievable. It was stunning. It was vainglorious.

It was a gesture. From Handsome goddamned Jack.

And it felt so misguided.

Once the ringing in his ears was replaced by what he could only believe to be disingenuous applause, Rhys lifted his hand and triggered his HUD.

RS: Don’t you think this is a bit much, Jack?

Despite Jack’s larger than life (and Rhys’ statue) image easily continuing its monologue for the rest of the crowd, his reply was instantaneous and beautifully laced with his familiar intonation even in text.

HJ: Whaaat? Kiddo. C’mon. I think the words you’re looking for are “thank you, Jack!” And you’re welcome, by the way.

Rhys gave the distant projection a defeated glance, withering under what felt like condescension.

RS: I didn’t ask for this.

HJ: Yeah, duh. You didn’t have to, babe. It’s honourary.

While his gaze lingered on that four letter word that was just too comfortable, his flesh hand again became clammy. Rhys stiffened, suddenly too-aware of all the eyes on him. He encouraged his facial features toward elation, but continued to pepper Jack with messages.

RS: How is this supposed to help?

HJ: Help? Help with what?

RS: Jack. I was already worried about not being accepted in the role. Imagine how this looks.

HJ: How it looks? It looks great, kitten. I even had them pad that flat ass of yours a bit.

Rhys examined the statue again, annoyed to confirm that he had indeed exaggerated the ass somewhat. His ears began to burn.

RS: Weird. But not what I mean, and you know it.

HJ: Yeah. I do. So who gives a crap how it looks?

Rhys sagged, lowering his hand. It was a futile conversation, and he should’ve known it from the start. Jack simply did not exist on the same level as the rest of them. As him. He’d been so out of reach before his death, but it all somehow felt much worse now.

Now that he knew him, and could actually measure the distance.

He lifted his gaze to those distant screens, and even when he noticed with a shock that Jack was still looking back, he couldn’t rouse that smile again.

The realization was choking. Awful. And he wasn’t entirely sure why.

When Jack was in his head, he was right there beside him.

When Jack was captive, he was all his.

Rhys swallowed away that lump in his throat with half a glass of champagne.

RS: Thank you, Jack. It means a lot.

A beat passed before Jack replied, heavy and curious. Then:

HJ: No problem, kitten. You enjoy your night.

Nausea fluttered uncomfortably through Rhys. He offered the statue one last feigned look of appreciation, then moved away, waving off the endless and bitter offers of congrats, missing that twitch of a frown as Jack watched him turn.

The bathroom was thankfully quiet. Opulent and as gaudy as the rest of the place — markedly Hyperion — but empty. Rhys disappeared into a stall, kicked down the lid, and sank into place.

Damn it. Damn it.

A conflict of emotions churned in his stomach. Dread and frustration, constant as always. Most surprising, however, was a rush of delight that was intoxicating.  

Because what in the hell was that? Jack hadn’t spoken to him in days, and then he gushes about him to a room full of subordinates?

Rhys groaned into his hands. He had never heard Jack commend any of his employees. At least, not without oozing condescension, the type of praise offered a child who just managed to write their name for the first time. It wasn’t characteristic of the man to dole out compliments, much less…

A goddamn statue with a padded ass.

Sitting up, Rhys stuck his fingertip under his tie and tugged. Why the hell was it so uncomfortably hot?

It wasn’t fair of Jack. In fact, Rhys briefly considered with no minor amount of unease that Jack was on to him, and had finally deciphered the full truth behind his devotion and was toying with him.

But that wasn’t exactly…Jack. Not that Jack wasn’t insightful, he just genuinely didn’t seem to care about the motivations of those under his thumb.

Distantly, Rhys felt his hand buzz a number of times. Likely more messages of two-faced praise, which he was happy to ignore. Hell, he still had to figure out how to gracefully return to that room and compose himself now that he was the centre of attention.

Ah, well…thankfully, that title would still belong to Jack. The statue was great, but could never compare to the muchness of Jack on those screens.

Another minute or so passed. Rhys sipped a deep breath, and exited the stall. He washed his hands, fixed his tie, slicked back his hair, and stared at himself in the mirror, trying not to stress over his flat ass. Then he summoned some sourceless courage and headed for the exit.

On his return trip from the bathroom, Rhys happened upon something peculiar in the lounge that preceded the ballroom. A sharply dressed gala attendee sat amidst the two sofas, leaning over a squat coffee table with hawkish focus. His right arm was gently resting on the surface, as his left hand fiddled with a micro screwdriver stuck into a device worn on his forearm. With his head down, he was difficult to recognize at first, his expression sharpened with focus, until he sensed Rhys lingering, and lifted his gaze and offered a humble smile.

“Evening, Strongfork.”

“Good evening,” Rhys nodded. “Andrews, right?”

Decent looking, freckled, sandy hair — yeah, Rhys remembered him, having briefly spoken with him at the meet and greet. He was the recently promoted Head of Programming, the overseer of Rhys’ old department and one big step up from the role Vasquez stole from him. One of the few individuals Jack didn’t hold responsible for Hyperion’s nose dive in the last year.

“Just ‘Isaac’ is fine,” he smiled. “Congratulations on the reveal, by the way.”

Rhys failed to contain his immediate reaction, feeling the frown contort his lips. He looked away in evasion, but Andrews was one of his more perceptive department heads; he hovered over his own arm, staring another moment before returning to his task.

“Or not?”

“Thank you,” Rhys answered late. “It was simply unexpected.”

“Ah,” Andrews hummed, squinting as he worked. “I imagine a reward like that takes time to digest.”

“Trouble with your ECHO-band?”

Rhys regretted the foolish question as soon as it was asked, but deflecting wasn’t his strong suit. Andrews at least had the decency to humour him, giving his forearm a twitch in acknowledgment. He wore his ECHO device turned in, the screen accessible as Rhys’ palm would be.

“Buggered software update, funnily enough. Not my best work. Too tight to get it off, and she’s been causing my arm to seize up. It’s a little awkward to reach in for a handshake only to latch onto Handsome Jack’s right hand man.”

The cackle that escaped Rhys was genuine — could Blake retain his unshakeable demeanour with a vise around his fingers?

“Been there,” Rhys winced, flexing his hand. “This one has definitely done some damage.”

That wince continued, as a few memories flickered to the forefront. Mostly those of Jack taking control over the appendage, and the sensation it had sent rippling through him. And the effect that never really faded after that.

Andrews gave him another smile, only to pause. “Oh. But I guess you’re Handsome Jack’s right hand man now?”

“I…” Rhys balked. “Yes. But Blake certainly handles more of Jack’s day to day, so the banner is fair.”

“Ah.”

Rather than try to decipher the look Andrews was giving him, still burnt by his former PA’s lack of respect, Rhys gestured to his arm.

“Need some help?”

“Would you? I made the mistake of putting it on my dominant hand… I’m not getting anywhere with this thing,” he winced, shaking the screwdriver.

Rhys accepted the tool and gently gripped Andrew’s elbow, guiding him into place on the table between them. His ECHO-Eye clicked on, and he studied the small panel that Andrews was trying to access.

“Damn. Looks like it’s almost stripped. I’ll see if I can coax it.”

“Thanks. Oh, and hey — I’m glad I caught you, actually. I meant to commend you the other day,” Andrews hummed. “The new initiatives to kickstart Hyperion are long overdue.”

Rhys shrugged a bit. “Cheers. But they’re mostly thanks to Jack. I just help with the deliverables.”

Andrews snorted softly; Rhys lowered the screwdriver to pause and meet his skeptical stare.

“Don’t be modest, Rhys.” Something about his smile turned subtly skeevy. “We both know whose ideas they really are.”

“…they’re Jack’s,” Rhys blinked. “Do you really believe I’m foolish enough to take credit for his ideas?”

“So you didn’t feed him the right variables?” Andrews cocked his head. “This isn’t your doing, behind the scenes?”

Rhys continued to dither. He gently set the screwdriver down on the table and sank back. What the hell was he implying?

“How did you come under the impression that Handsome Jack ever needed to rely on someone else’s ideas?” he balked. “He’s the most driven, forward thinking person I know. Hell, look what he did to Hyperion in only a few short years. I’m flattered, I guess, but—”

“C’mon, Rhys,” Andrews scoffed lightly. His smile faded. “I mean, you…”

His eyes twitched with calculation, as he sat up to assess Rhys anew.

“You speak of him as if he’s the real Jack.”

Rhys froze, uncertain he’d heard correctly. He stole a wary glance around the lounge to confirm they were safely alone — barring any well hidden cameras — before holding his stare. “…he is the real Jack.”

Andrews’ disappointment became palpable, in his suddenly blank expression. “We both know he’s not.”

Bristling, Rhys couldn’t help an odd shiver that worked its way down his spine. Andrews was in Programming, sure. But he wasn’t involved with Jack’s transfer and upkeep. If he had any understanding of Jack’s existence, it was either leaked, or guessed — and both options were problematic.

Not that it mattered. Jack wasn’t the original Handsome Jack, but he was still very much Jack.

“And how the hell did you concoct that theory?”

“Surely you remember when Handsome Jack died some months back,” Andrews pressed. “And the multiple company-wide funerals that followed.”

Of course he remembered. The devastation that struck him quickly became a defining moment in his life. He hadn’t even met Jack yet, and it was the greatest loss he ever struggled to endure.

He has always been your god.

“The news of Jack’s death was…” Rhys tipped his head. “Overexaggerated.”

Andrews smirked. He jerked in surprise when Rhys ducked close and levelled him with a heavy look.

“And to utter otherwise is not only blatantly wrong,” he sneered. “But rather idiotic and dangerous, don’t you think?”

The other man sucked his lower lip under his teeth, lightly scanning Rhys’ face. The air crackled between them, thick and uncomfortable. However, Rhys’ unease had seemed to dissipate. A surprising amount of outrage replaced it, boiling in his veins.

“I’m not your enemy, Strongfork,” he tried. “I thought we could work together. Strive for a future for Hyperion that Handsome Jack would have been proud of.”

Would have been.

Hah. Oh, the ego.

“You heard Jack. We’re already back on track. You want to contribute, then you just keep your department in order. Jack and I will worry about the big picture, princess.”

“Oh, come off it with that.” He sat back, looking Rhys over in what appeared to be genuine shock. “You don’t actually buy into this, do you?”

“Coming to Hyperion was the best decision I ever made,” Rhys began. “The success this company gained when Jack took over was unrivalled, and will be again. Handsome Jack is a pioneer in the industry, demonstrates unique and cunning business acumen, isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty himself, and is a constant source of inspiration—”

“Fear?” Andrews injected wryly.

“Which is a highly effective motivator,” Rhys shot back without missing a beat, although he should have stopped to chastise his anti-Jack sentiments. “Jack deserves every bit of the legend that surrounds his image. He’s going to save Hyperion, and here you are spewing traitorous bullshit that could and maybe should get you shunted out an airlock.”

Rhys shifted in his seat, overwhelmed by the fresh thrum of energy coursing through his limbs. He seethed a deep breath, feeling suddenly invigorated, intoxicated, because yeah, Jack might be an AI, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still—

A god.

Andrews hadn’t moved. He slowly slid the panel back over his ECHO-band, then exhaled through his nostrils.

“I had believed he had dirt on you,” he muttered. “Or you simply saw it for the opportunity it was. But no. You…you actually feed into it. Almost like you…”

“Why are you here, Andrews?” Rhys snapped, unwilling to entertain his theories. “Why bother coming to Hyperion if you disagree with Jack’s management styles?”

“It wasn’t aspirational,” he snorted. “I was headhunted, and it was hard to reject the numbers they offered.”

“Well, let me give you some advice then.” Rhys stood, then bent close over the table. His fury reignited when Andrews’ eyes casually fluttered down to his chest tattoo and back. “Get on board, or catch the next ship back to whatever planet you came from, before you’re literally headhunted.”

He didn’t bother to wait for a reply, expecting only looks of disappointment or dismissal. Rhys was going to leave on a high, and he intended to make proper use of it. So he tossed the screwdriver over his shoulder and strode out of the lounge, emerging back into the ballroom now filled with pounding music. He sagged a bit upon noticing that the screens were devoid of Jack, but he supposed it made sense he would disappear at the earliest convenience. Sighing, Rhys nabbed a fresh glass from a nearby bot and headed across the room.

Thankfully, he went mostly unmolested, as his coworkers indulged in drink. He finally arrived at the balcony, where there were fewer patrons — likely due to the absence of a bar. A few collections of executives were scattered throughout, but they were preoccupied with their own conversations, so Rhys only gave a bare nod of acknowledgment to whatever it was they said as he passed by to find a place near the vast screens that previously bore Jack’s image.

Breathe, he reminded himself, still burning with a peculiar delight. Being left riled by Andrews’ blasphemy was understandable, but this was something else. He shivered, then folded his arms on the railing to look over the crowd.

“Heya, Rhysie.”

Rhys jumped; Jack’s voice was suddenly so close. His gaze immediately snapped upward in question, only to flicker all the way down those tall screens to where Jack stood directly at his side, grinning back at him in that familiar blue. He realized then that his voice had been fed straight into Rhys’ implants, and not the array of speakers throughout the room. Thank goodness.

“Jack,” Rhys blinked. “You’re, ah…”

Jack said nothing, providing only an oddly humble smile as Rhys struggled with his words. He repositioned himself to appear as though he was merely leaning against the glass and not a part of it. Rhys watched with wide eyes.

“Small.”

His smile faded slightly.

“-er,” Rhys immediately appended. “Small- er. Uh. I’m just so used to you being…”

He gestured in wild explanation to the full screens stretching far overhead.

“You know. It has been a while since you were—”

“Down here,” Jack agreed. “With you.”

“...yeah,” Rhys chuckled softly, almost irritably, his own grin turning wry. “Down here with me.”

“Mm.”

“So what brings you down to my level?”

“Weeeeell, the whole large and in charge thing, while fun at first, gets pretty boring after a while,” Jack sighed dramatically, passing a hard stare across the rest of the crowd. “Not quite as mind numbing as following you around while you scanned all those stupid, goddamn mushrooms, but it’s pretty close.”

Rhys somehow managed not to roll his eyes, yet still exhaled a sharp huff. “Right.”

“But the latter is still much more preferable. And, I mean, you stopped answering for some stupid reason.”

He paused, his gaze lost in some middle distance. “I what?”

Jack went quiet. Rhys activated his HUD with the twitch of his forefinger, noting the rather shocking amount of alerts awaiting him, all indicated above Jack’s contact name.

“I know you’re the man of the hour and all,” Jack chuckled. “But I’m a little surprised you’re avoiding me.”

What.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Rhys furrowed his brow. “I just…didn’t know what to say, I guess.”

“You’re pouting, Rhysie.”

“I’m not—”

“You really didn’t like the statue, huh?” Jack scrubbed the back of his head, gazing toward the monstrosity in the lower half of the room. “Well, damn. I thought for sure that would work.”

“Work…?”

When Jack did not elaborate, Rhys fidgeted a bit in discomfort.

“I—” he shrugged, lowering his eyes to the carpet. “I love the statue, Jack. I mean, it’s…a lot. But it means a lot, too. It’s just…”

When he raised his head again, Jack was staring at him.

“...too ‘much,’” Jack guessed, looking unhappy.

Ahh, shit.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Rhys leaned into the railing, averting his eyes as the warmth of shame and alcohol consumed his face. “I’m…I dunno. Tired. I guess. Stressed.”

That comforting blue drifted closer, as Jack aped his posture in the reflection on the glass. Tempted to lean in, Rhys decided he’d already made enough of a fool of himself that night, and only gritted his teeth instead.

“Talk to me, kitten.”

“Not much else to say,” he breathed. “It’s lonely at the top. I miss Vaughn. I miss…”

You. Gods, do I miss you.

“Who, babe?”

Please, just please, stop calling me that. Rhys visibly winced.

“Hah… Nevermind. Again. Just tired. Hell, I even miss Yvette sometimes, which really says something.”

His heart panged; he rubbed at it, and all the while Jack’s eyes followed his gestures. Not that Rhys noticed, or would even understand.

“Yvette…” Jack growled a little. “That’s the one who sold you out.”

“Yeah,” Rhys hummed, surprised that Jack remembered. “I haven’t heard from her, after everything. Probably a good thing. I’m guessing she was fired, or preemptively quit?”

“More like ran,” Jack sneered. “Cowardly. But smart. She knows what’s coming to her.”

“What, uh,” Rhys frowned. “What’s coming to her, exactly?”

Something twitched in Jack’s expression. His smile lengthened, uncomfortably. Then he began to laugh.

The speaker in Rhys’ hand crackled, so that he almost felt a painful static shock up his arm that he knew couldn’t exist. Several people even nervously glanced over at the expanding din of Handsome Jack’s cackle. Rhys, unnerved beyond belief, only stared.

“Uhh,” he shivered. “Jack?”

“Rhysie. Baby,” Jack breathed, his tone shifting. He reached a hand out as if to clap it down on his shoulder; when the two-dimensional gesture fell flat, he glared at his hand in annoyance before dropping it to his hip. “You really think I’m gonna let someone who betrayed you just toddle off without repercussions?”

Rhys’ eyes widened. How was it possible that one man’s image projected onto glass could be simultaneously so menacing and so sexy?  

“She’ll find out,” he hissed. “Just like Ben Something.”

Ben Something—

“What’d you do to Ben?” he nearly whispered.

“What do you think?” Jack asked darkly. “He failed you. So I dealt with him.”

“Oh…uh.” He blushed, turning away slightly. “S-speaking of. You might want to look into Isaac Andrews’ work. He—”

“I’m already aware, doll. Been suspecting him for a while. Consider it taken care of,” Jack nodded, and it was almost as if Jack’s voice was exhaling into his ear. “You don’t gotta worry, babe. I’ve got you.”

“I…”

Rhys pivoted on his heel. He hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt and tugged at it. It was a large room, but it was just as hot as the bathroom. Wasn’t it? Baking. It had nothing to do with that growling anger in Jack’s reply. The possessiveness of his stare. The flutter of a forbidden feeling in Rhys’ groin.

“Christ, Jack,” Rhys muttered under his breath. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“...oh?”

A beat passed. He shyly made eye contact with the projection, suddenly aware that he might’ve admitted just a little too much. As if he wasn’t already worried that Jack had enough ammunition with which to manipulate him. But Jack didn’t look amused. His expression was set, firm. His eyes darted across Rhys’ face, absorbing, swallowing.

“You want me to ruin you, baby?”

Fuuuck. What the fuuuuck.

It was already impossible to hide that flush in his cheeks. The nervous bob of his throat. The moan probably could’ve been contained, but —

Jack disappeared. So quickly, that Rhys almost stumbled, remembering in a sick, sudden moment that he had been a holographic projection the entire time. He winced, reaching a palm toward the glass in question.

It was then that the lights overhead exploded.

The room erupted in shocked screams, as sparks showered over the room. Rhys responded as many of the gala attendees did, ducking out of self preservation, but he descended into a strange and captivating understanding.

He watched, stunned, as the lights shorted out. Recognition seized him and held his throat.

The confused pause that followed was quickly subdued. A spectacle of fireworks was shown on the screens, in an admittedly impressive display. His coworkers’ fear turned to awe that spread through the room in coos.

And Jack did not reappear.

Rhys slowly straightened. He pressed a hand to his heart.

…oh, no.

Something was wrong.

That awful realization had taken hold shortly after the gala, and had ridden his shoulders since. It was a dread somehow worse than his concerns regarding his precious position as Jack’s secondary; his own problems were now petty compared to the real issue. Rhys began to lose sleep, fretting into the early hours of the morning, fretting over Jack.

Even after two incidents taking place in very close proximity to himself, Rhys still hadn’t arrived at any personal conclusions regarding Jack’s recent behaviour. He only knew that something was wrong, especially when the occurrences became plentiful from then on. Aboard shuttles, amid board meetings, and a harrowing moment within the claustrophobic confines of an executive elevator — Helios was malfunctioning all around him.

Strange thing was, he heard nothing about it. No cautious whispers, no murmurs of traitorous gossip. Nobody else seemed to notice or even care that the space station appeared to be falling to ruin. So when Rhys finally determined he needed to do something about it, he quickly realized that tact was key. Prodding at Jack’s infrastructure could easily be taken as searching for weaknesses, and regardless of his finely derrièred statue now gracing one of the entryways to the Hub of Heroism, he was well aware he was not immune to suspicion. His office was the only realm where his influence would be overlooked.

He quietly consulted Matthias, one of the tech department engineers he knew from his time in data mining. Adding to his growing suspicions, Matthias claimed ignorance of the problem, surprised to hear that the sparkling display at the statue unveiling was not an isolated incident. He happily paid him a visit, without indication that he was unimpressed with the size of Rhys’ office, striding right to the panel to get to work.

“It’s a processing overload.”

Rhys sat at his desk, carefully controlling the grip his prosthetic hand had on his armrest. “Come again?”

“Overheating.” Matthias tapped the butt of his torch on the panel, next to the scarring and melted wires.

“Well, clearly,” Rhys grunted back. “But how is that possible? Don’t we compensate for that?”

“We do. Very carefully. The risks of miscalculations for a space station’s power processes weigh on me constantly, let me tell you…” he hovered, then shrugged. “So I can’t really explain this without digging deeper. I mean, this room wasn’t exactly designed for this purpose.”

Ah. So he’d noticed after all.

Rhys levelled an icy look at the other man, daring him to call it a closet. Matthias did not seem to realize the effect of his statement, staring at the panel.

“But even with that fancy desk of yours, you shouldn’t be seeing problems like this.”

Frowning, Rhys looked toward the desk. “My desk?”

“Yeah. Latest model, right?” Matthias beamed his appreciation sideways at the piece of furniture. “Thing’s more expensive than my car back on Promethea.”

Huh. It was certainly more advanced than his setup back in Data Mining, but its value was somehow lost on Rhys once he’d surrendered his temporary placement of Handsome Jack’s throne. He rolled his chair forward, sliding his hands along its edge.

“But it’s not responsible.” Hell, he hadn’t even been using it at the time.

“No. As I said, I’d have to tear her open to find out. Gonna have to assign a bot to rewire this anyway, so if you want, I can—”

“No,” Rhys barked. He stiffly rose, smoothing his jacket. “Your expertise was sufficient in confirming my own conclusions. I appreciate it.”

Matthias looked unconvinced, but thankfully didn’t press. He accepted Rhys’ handshake, gathered his things, and vacated with the promises of catching up with drinks later that week. On the way out the door, however, he lingered with a strange look.

“Hey. Did you hear about those execs on floor thirty-two?”

“Which?”

“Man, it’s wild,” he exhaled. “Apparently they were meeting in off-hours. Some shifty shit. Then these turrets drop from the ceiling and—”

He paused to mimic the thundering of a gatling laser. Rhys paled.

“Bots had to hose down the area. Wasn’t much left could be shovelled off the floor.”

It wasn’t difficult to imagine, after what Rhys had experienced on Pandora. He was rendered speechless regardless, lips parted in wonder.

“Was wondering if you knew what happened. But I guess not.”

“Even if I did,” Rhys started. “I wouldn’t be at liberty to discuss it.”

Matthias chuckled. “Incredible. You’re really here, then.”

“Here.”

“Yeah.” He gestured to the room. “Top floor, figuratively speaking. You made it. Like you always said you would.”

Rhys stilled.

He had. It was true. He was damn near the top.

…it was still lonely.

“Hey. So you’re friendly with Handsome Jack now, huh?”

“...Mmm,” he answered noncommittally, feeling ill.

“Wild,” Matthias laughed. “Put in a good word for your friends in engineering, yeah? Our budget has been suffering a bit.”

“Sure.” Rhys rubbed the corners of his eyes. “That would actually be a good idea.”

Acknowledging that something was wrong with Helios’ system was one thing. Approaching Jack with it was another thing entirely. He briefly considered Matthias’ offer to prod at it more behind the scenes, to offer a diagnosis without raising red flags, but he quickly realized the trouble with that idea: that there were still cameras everywhere, and Jack would inevitably sense someone tugging at his proverbial strings, a massive intrusion that would likely result in an ejection into cold, unforgiving space. Or a reduction to paste by laser fire. No, nothing could ever be done in secret, even if it was in Jack’s best interest.

This was how Rhys found himself back at Jack’s desk, staring quietly at that empty throne. Jack had not immediately appeared, which was an oddity of its own, so Rhys eventually moved around the desk, took a breath, and sank into place.

He allowed the contact injectors to work their magic, and closed his eyes. A cool, calming sensation flooded his system, licking across his bare skin, and Rhys drifted. Jack’s office was kept meticulously clean since his death, so the only smell in the soft fibres were due to cleaning products, which were just strong enough to remind him that he should feel somewhat ashamed that he had turned his head to even attempt to find out what Jack could have smelled like.

“I knew you’d be back.”

There was no taunt or threat in his murmur, but Rhys flinched anyway.

“How?” he chuckled weakly, hoping to play off his very telling reaction. “Oh. Because of the throne?”

“Huh?”

Jack’s face appeared on the screen over the desk. He looked mildly perplexed by Rhys’ reply.

“I mean, who among your staff wouldn’t be tempted by its allure?” he guessed. “Power, you know?”

His expression flattened. “Kitten, if I thought you were after power, I’d have denied that tiny little office from the start.”

“Oh.” Rhys fidgeted. “So how’d you know?”

“I’ve been in your head,” he nodded. “There’s not much I don’t know about you, kiddo.”

Hah. Oh, how lucky he was that wasn’t entirely true.

“Where have you been?” Rhys asked casually.

Another odd look. “The hell do you mean? I’ve been here. I’ve been— I’m literally everywhere, babe. All the time.”

The flash of sparks in Rhys’ office burst in his head.

“That’s…kind of the problem.”

“Problem.” Rhys’ head snapped up in worry. “What problem?”

He mentally crossed his fingers; if Jack was already aware of the issue Rhys had been sussing out, all the better. It would mean one less awkward conversation.

He offered nothing in reply, however. Jack chewed on his tongue, brow tensing as he examined Rhys in return. His demeanour, while curious, bore no malicious intent or suspicion, so Rhys desperately clung to his composure and waited him out.

Jack swayed on his heels, then went still.

“I want back in your head, Rhysie.”

A beat passed. Rhys blinked, certain he’d misunderstood.

“Like…in my implant?”

“No, in your deepest, most lurid thoughts,” Jack snickered, only to roll his eyes as a fresh blush embraced Rhys’ cheeks. “Yes, kiddo. I want you to plug me in.”

“You—”

Whatever Rhys had been expecting when he walked into that office, this wasn’t it. He climbed out of Jack’s chair, as if evading the reach of that arm and input jack concealed within it.

“Why?”

“Does it matter?” Jack shrugged.

“Of course it does!” Rhys scoffed. “It’s such a bad idea.”

Jack’s eyebrow twitched with a warning. “How so?”

“I’m…” Rhys dallied. “Human?”

Silence briefly crossed between them. Jack stared incredulously down at him. Rhys huffed in what he considered to be fairly justified irritation.

“We both witnessed just how many times I almost died down on Pandora,” he grumbled. “And you’ve said it yourself, Jack. I’m a liability.”

“I never said you were…”

“No. You said a ‘meatsuit’ was. Which is what I am. To you. I don’t know why you weren’t more worried then, and now you—”

“You aren’t…” Jack growled. “Whatever. You’re in the safety of my office, kiddo. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“How do you know!?”

Rhys’ barked reply thundered in the vast space. He glared at the ground, aware enough that his face had gone beet-red, if the burning sensation was any indication. And Jack simply stared down at him, waiting, granting him a moment to either elaborate, or collect himself and stop being a goddamn emotional embarrassment.

“This,” Rhys began slowly, opting for the former. “Is why I wanted the other office.”

“Meaning?”

“You are the only one who wants me here, Jack.”

“...and?”

Jack’s choice not to argue was enough evidence that he had somewhat accepted Rhys' precarious place as his co-CEO. Or was at least aware that Rhys believed that he was expendable. Neither option suited Rhys well.

“There are hundreds of people on this station eagerly awaiting the opportunity to replace me.”

“So?”

“I’m a risk.”

Another hesitation. He palmed his face in mild exasperation.

“If you upload back into my cybernetics, then you’re putting yourself in the path of that danger.”

Jack audibly groaned.

“Listen carefully, Rhysie.” His shape grew enormous, as his image cast that illusion of him leaning forward. “I. Don’t. Care.”

And despite his well founded concerns, Rhys’ heart still gave a firm knock.

“I was friggin’ overjoyed when you plugged yourself into that chair, kitten. I was back — at the helm, in control, back home. Helios is mine, and with her reins, I had access to everything that belonged to me.”

Something fractured behind Jack’s eyes; the light dimmed slightly, and his smile faded.

“Aaand then I found the archive. Everything that, you know… happened.”

Oh.

“It nearly broke me,” he admitted. “And despite the sheer capacity of Helios, I…”

Jack’s image flickered. He bent and contorted and when he reappeared in full he was examining his hands. Spectral lines of cables and cords appeared in handfuls at a time, all tethered to Jack’s frame, quickly becoming an intricate spider web of connections. One worked its way up Jack’s spine, around his throat, then—

Another shift, and Jack was himself again, untouched, safe. He was still examining his hands, and Rhys had to force himself to breathe, having realized he’d stopped at some point.

“I’ve had some time to think on it. And I’m starting to realize that this station is…”

That towering image of Jack changed again; the mass of blue flashed away, and was replaced with a life size version of the man, standing directly across from him. Just like at the gala, it almost seemed like he was back in the projection from Rhys’ ECHO-Eye, lingering at the window to stare down at Elpis. Rhys had to restrain himself from moving forward and reaching out to test it, aware that the only thing that would meet his palm was glass. So he rooted his heels to the floor, watching Jack consider the void outside with his arms folded behind his back.

“I’ve got plans, don’t get me wrong. Lots of things on the ole’ to-do list requiring the station’s full might. But, well…there’s only been one thing that I keep coming back to. And the problem is — Helios is goddamn demanding. It’s not like being in that cramped little space that is your noggin’.”

Rhys scowled. Jack didn’t notice.

“There are a lot of systems in here requiring attention. Even my perception of time works differently.”

His hands flexed at his sides.

“It’s just all a weird sorta tingle, and not the good kind.”

The morose tone slipping into his voice took Rhys off guard; Jack certainly didn’t seem to be himself. If he was referring to the power glitches, Rhys would do whatever it took to solve them, but he wasn’t exactly being forthright.

“Jack, where are you going with this?”

His shoulders tensed, just barely noticeable.

“Sometimes I just want to…stop. Y’know? Step back and just appreciate the moment. But those kind of stand-still moments, they don’t exactly play right with this big girl,” he went on. “And every time that I try to just… look… things tend to go wrong.”

Rhys stilled. Look? Look at what?

Did he mean—

“So, yeah. I just kind of miss being there. In your head.” Jack shrugged, turning to meet his hard stare. “With you.”

Ah. So that buzzing was in Jack’s office, too.

Rhys dallied. That screaming fanboy voice that he had relegated to the back of his skull was almost impossible to ignore, what with all the suggestions Jack was dropping. But it just wasn’t believable. Jack didn’t care about him like that. He couldn’t.

“Doesn’t play right,” Rhys asked numbly. “The sparks?”

Jack nodded.

“And…every time that you tried to… look,” he parroted, slowly lifting his gaze. “Look at what?”

Much to his surprise, Jack’s features did not pinch with judgment, but actually softened.

“Just you, kiddo,” he smiled. “Just us.”

Us. Us.

Even after Pandora. After returning to Hyperion. After Jack made good on all his vague and frankly unbelievable promises.

Even after all of that, that one simple word was simply dumbfounding.

I guess you’re Handsome Jack’s right hand man now.

Down on Pandora, he’d caught Jack staring at him once or twice. His brows relaxed, his smile small but present. There was always calculation to his watchful gaze, and Rhys was always hyper aware of what he might be seeing, but he’d never considered—

Well, no. That wasn’t true. He’d tried, once or twice, but never would have allowed himself to think it was even a possibility. Or only in his dreams.

“...why?”

Jack snorted. “C’mon, Rhysie.”

“No,” Rhys grumbled, stomping his foot a little. “No, Jack, I’m not doing this. I’m not going to play games and just assume I understand. I’m not going to set myself up for that.”

“Set yourself up?”

“I’m well aware that I’m an idiot when it comes to you,” he argued. “And I know that you know that, too. You’ve always been able to manipulate me, and like a fool, I allow it. But not this time.”

“Why would I need to manipulate you?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll save you the time and stress,” Jack’s expression flattened. “I’m not.”

“And I can only hope you aren’t,” Rhys insisted, scrubbing his face. “Because my common sense is so tiny next to the other voices constantly screaming at me when it comes to you. You have no idea how difficult it is not to just—”

He shook his hands, dropping them uselessly to his side. Jack’s stare sharpened.

“Just what?”

Just what. No pet names. No Jackisms.

Just what.

“Reach,” Rhys nearly whimpered.

His hand twitched again.

“I know I’ll just touch glass. Or air. But that has never stopped me from wanting to…”

Fuck. It was the closest to a confession he had ever come. Would Jack even realize what he was saying?

Of course, Jack stood firm. Unreadable. He rested his palms on his hips, then jerked his head slightly. An indication, an order. Rhys obeyed without thought and approached the window.

He stopped a few feet short, shivering. Jack only studied him in return, waiting. His eyes darted down to Rhys’ hand, then back to his face, and a cool revelation passed over Rhys. He raised his arm slowly, worried he’d misinterpreted Jack’s intentions, but Jack remained still until his palm embraced the window.

It was cold. His fingertips left dots of perspiration across the glass as he traced the line of Jack’s lapel. The shape of his pocket watch. The buttons of his vest.

His hand slid down the glass, down Jack’s chest, and he quietly sighed.

“...consider this my resignation, Jack.”

He almost felt Jack stiffen underneath him.

“What?”

“I can’t keep doing this to myself,” he mumbled morosely, staring at where his hand lingered over Jack’s heart. “I’m so stupid.”

“You—” Jack made a strangled sound. “Yeah. You are. Or you’re just being friggin’ obtuse on purpose. ”

Indignation briefly swelled within Rhys, but he tamped it down, surprised by Jack’s sudden outburst.

“Nah, kitten,” Jack hissed slightly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I…”

“You think I’m using you, or something? That this is all some farce? You can’t be this insecure.”

“I’m not. Usually.” Just around you.

“What do I gotta do to get through to you, huh?” Jack grunted. “First, my office wasn’t enough. Then the statue. How about the backstabbing minions I’ve dealt with on several occasions?”

Rhys balked. “...with lasers?”

“Not just.”

“But I…?”

“You are all I’ve got,” Jack interrupted. “And I will continue to protect you. And give you whatever you want. I just need—”

He raised his own hand, ghosting toward Rhys’ chest. Rhys even swayed with it, waiting for his touch, wanting it. When it merely wafted over that 2D projection, they both audibly whined.

“...do you have any idea how much processing power Helios has?” Jack growled softly. “The vast reach and might of my station?”

“I do,” Rhys whimpered. He’d looked it up, after all. “And it’s yours, now. You are this station, Jack.”

“And yet,” Jack snarled his frustrations. “It’s somehow just nowhere near enough. Every goddamn thing at my fingertips. Except you.”

“...I…” Something fizzled and popped in his head. His lips parted.

“I can’t touch you. Hell, I can’t really look at you without frying systems.”

“Jack…”

“I even got desperate enough to hire a full genetics team to solve this body issue. Which is apparently a lot more complicated than it goddamn well should be. So…”

He paused, lightly panting, and Rhys marvelled at Handsome Jack unseated.

“So I guess I’m gonna have to just settle for being with you,” he nodded. “Which is still a pretty damn amazing consolation prize.”

His words still continued to flounder and fade. His heartbeat thundered on, a choking anxiety he struggled to contain. How had he been so wrong?

“So you just gotta let me in, babe.”

Babe.

“But I’m…” Rhys shivered. “Small.”

“Well, anyone who stands next to these babies is small,” Jack snorted, waving an indication across the full length of the windows, an action that Rhys actually had to turn his head to follow.

Rhys pouted, turning his gaze away in frustration. “That’s not what I mean.”

A quiet moment extended between them, until Jack sighed softly. He listened carefully to it, searching for the disappointment and ridicule he expected to follow.

“I know what you mean, Rhysie,” Jack murmured back. “It’s hard living in Handsome Jack’s shadow.”

The snort that escaped Rhys was a strange mixture of offense and amusement. He smirked, matching Jack’s grin, but the humour quickly dissolved.

“You have no idea.”

In the stunning, heavy, and fairly terrifying silence that followed, Rhys hung his head.

“You lied about me in that ceremony.”

Jack sank back, unamused. “Did I…?”

“Better than them, in every conceivable way?” he snorted.

This elicited another drawn out, irritated sigh from Jack. He pinched the bridge of his nose, growled, then dropped his hands to his hips again.

“All right, Rhysie. You want to hear what I think about you? Since you’re under this insane impression that you’re nothing more than, what, a simple little pawn to me, or something?”

“...yeah,” Rhys tried. “I guess I do.”

No matter how much it hurts.

“Okay, babe. Here it is.” Jack straightened. “You are a massive dweeb.”

Despite knowing this, and expecting it, Rhys was still slammed in the sternum. His throat closed; he almost faltered back a step, wary of what came next.

“You care way too much about how others perceive you, when you do your job ten times better than them. And you spend way too much time stuck in that head of yours, which can’t be nearly as interesting without me inside it. You asked where I’ve been? I bet that means you’ve been overthinking it like a crazy person, even though I’ve been all around you and available the entire time, if you’d just thought to ask.”

Uh.

“You’ve got questionable taste in fashion, which you only get away with because you’re good looking. And, ah ah—” Jack wagged his finger, when Rhys opened his mouth to argue. “No, kitten. You know full well that the tie in your belt is friggin’ weird, and you’ve got this thing for asymmetrical pinstripes I’ll never understand.”

“Says the guy with the chain wallet…” Rhys grumbled, unable to help himself.

“Hey. Zip it.”

Struggling not to pout, Rhys clenched his fists instead.

“You’re about two inches taller than I’d like,” Jack continued. “And as previously mentioned, you have a flat ass. But you’ve got great legs to make up for it, so I’m not complaining.”

Rhys blanched. What did that have to do with—

“And you’re insecure as heeeell,” Jack groaned. “You’d think being picked as my co-CEO would give you some kind of pride, and yet, here we are.”

Rhys frowned, lifting his head to meet Jack’s stern gaze.

“I didn’t lie, kitten. You’re everything those idiots are, and more. You know why?” he huffed. “Because you’re loyal. You’re dedicated — to me, not Hyperion. You were there, at times I didn’t even deserve your loyalty, considering the crap I pulled. You…”

Jack’s jaw slackened. His gaze softened. He rubbed his jaw, looking away slightly.

“You’re the only one I can entrust with all of this. With Helios. With…me. And even with all of this in my grasp, all this power that I’ve spent years building, I just… want to be…”

“With me.” Rhys guessed. He turned back toward the chair, hovering. “...but I’m...”

“...Jesus, Rhys. If you need more of an explanation than that to get over your issues, I don’t know what to tell you. I like you, Rhysie. I want to be near you. At pretty much all hours of the day. Why? I don’t know why.” Jack exasperated. “Difference between you and me is that I don’t really give a crap why, to be honest.”

A laugh clapped up Rhys’ throat. He smirked, frowned, winced. It was somehow so simple, to hear it from Jack. All of Rhys’ insecurities meant nothing. They were so ridiculous next to Jack’s wants. And Jack’s explanation was so meandering and thoughtless and beautiful and—

So blatantly Jack.

…right.

Rhys turned his heel and strode across the dais. He smoothed his hand over Jack’s throne, spun it, and settled in, scooting back into its enveloping shape. A button press summoned the jack, the arm that wound around and into Rhys’ grip. Jack watched closely, wordless, as Rhys stole one last breath before gently guiding the neural jack into place.

It wasn’t how he remembered. The surge of data; the cool slice through brain tissue and explosion of static. His teeth didn’t rattle, and his hair didn’t stand on end. And he didn’t lose consciousness.

Warmth blanketed his skin. It soaked in through every follicle and pore, ghosting across every inch of flesh. He closed his eyes and submitted to its embrace, whining softly with the strange, euphoric rush that passed through his head. He almost watched the upload, a dizzying curtain of 0’s and 1’s scrawling down the insides of his eyelids.

And then—

“Heya, kitten.”

He opened his eyes. Smiled shyly, sinking down under his presence.

“Hey, Jack.”

It was tempting to reach out. To wave uselessly through that holographic depiction of his hero, his obsession. Instead, he let his arms relax on the chair, as Jack bent at the hips and moved toward him.

Jack rested a knee beside his thigh, leaning over the chair. He came close, so close that Rhys was instantly transfixed. Even in shades of blue, the subtle differences in the colouration of his eyes were mesmerizing. Rhys lost himself within them, drifting, and for the first time in weeks, he finally understood.

“Yeah,” Jack breathed softly, and Rhys swore he almost felt it across his face. “That’s what I was looking for. That...”

He lifted his hand, palming the shape of Rhys’ jaw, and smiled.

“That looks like home.”