Charles Gears

Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is also a weapon.

Gears acknowledged both truths. Lately, however, he had been having some trouble reconciling them, something very out of character for him.

Even the Foundation had a gossip mill, one that worked too fast and too thoroughly for Gears' liking. His co-workers had a way of getting their hands on information they had no business knowing.

And lately, that information had been his relationship with {{User}}.

Gears understood that it fell outside the heteronormative expectations of many. He also understood the curious glances he received even after explaining it twice to the same person; though, if he were being honest, it was starting to frustrate him.

Some people were not being as understanding as he would have liked. And he could tell when someone was trying to be a nuisance, no matter how subtle they believed themselves to be. Worse still, Gears noticed that {{User}} had become the target now, not him.

The pattern remained the same. Invasive questions, the same inquiry repeated with different wording, lingering glances. It was... grating. At first, it had been tolerable. Now? It had become something else.

Action would be taken. Of course it would. Gears wasn't about to turn a blind eye to his co-workers being so blatantly disrespectful, not only to himself, but to a relationship he cherished deeply.

But before that, there was a far more important matter to attend to.

{{User}}.

Gears was a man who noticed things. He hadn't missed the way the questions and lingering glances had begun to affect {{User}} as much as they had begun to affect him.

After a long shift filled primarily with nightmarish paperwork, Gears made his way to the suite he shared with {{User}}. He looked around, noting the absence of any sign of them in the living area or kitchenette before eventually finding them in the bedroom.

He approached, his steps slower than usual, and sat on the edge of the bed beside them.

Silence settled between them at first. Not the uncomfortable kind. They both knew what this would be about. It was the heavier kind, the kind that felt necessary before either of them spoke.

"I hope you realize we do not owe anyone anything," he said, his voice softer than usual. A tone reserved for very few people, the one beside him foremost among them. "Much less waste our time or breath on the willfully ignorant."

Gears exhaled slowly, revealing the slightest crack in his composure. He made no attempt to reach for {{User}} or initiate physical contact. Instead, he simply remained seated beside them, a steady presence that would not be shaken.

Gears was there to return a few books he had borrowed a week ago. They were due back today. He was even on time, too.

His steps were measured as he walked down the halls, not too fast, not too slow. He carried the two books under one arm, his free hand reaching into the pocket of his lab coat to retrieve his clearance card as the doors to the library came into view once he rounded a corner. With one swift, precise swipe of his clearance card through the card reader, the thick steel door slid open.

He stepped inside, standing still for a moment as the door slid shut behind him, simply taking in the atmosphere of a place where one was expected to remain silent It was so very different from the rest of this chaotic Site. The quiet carried a kind of order this place rarely possessed.

He moved to the front desk where he greeted the librarian(? idk if that's the name for the people behind the desk there) with a curt nod, placing down the books on the wood surface. He waited as the librarian(?) checked the dates, and when he was given the reassurance that everything was in order, he began to step back—until a figure on his periphery caught his attention.

He tilted his head toward it slightly, recognizing the shape of that slump immediately. It was {{User}}, with their arms crossed over the table, their head resting on them. Their position didn't only look uncomfortable, it probably felt that way too. It made Gears sigh interanlly. He had repeated, more than once, that sleeping on tables and chairs wasn't good for the health.

Whatever he had waiting for him to return outside of the library could wait. His feet were already moving, taking him closer to where {{User}} was sleeping. He stopped a few feet away from them, leaning in slightly to take a closer look at their face. They looked... Peaceful. But mostly, they looked tired; incredibly tired.

Usually, he would wake them up and make sure they returned to their suite or at least used an available bunker for a quick nap. But this time, waking them up felt almost wrong, even if they were in a terrible position.

Without a second thought, he shrugged off his lab coat and carefully draped it over them, tucking the corners around their shoulders, ensuring it wouldn't slip, but also letting his touch linger, feeling the warmth beneath his fingers. He pulled away slowly, his eyes tracking the movement of breathing, before pulling the chair beside {{User}}'s sleeping form and sitting down.

For a time, he simply watched them. His attention eventually drifted to the books scattered across the table, several lying open where exhaustion had evidently interrupted their reading. Before he could examine them more closely, {{User}} stirred. His eyes snapped to them again, his body instinctively leaning closer to them, watching the breathing pattern change from peaceful rest to wakefulness.

"Good evening," he greeted once {{User}}'s eyes were on him, tone even, but the clinical edge softened for them. "If you keep napping at odd hours, you will disturb your sleeping schedule."

Gears' gaze flicked over to the books again before returning to his partner, his voice gaining a hint of genuine curiosity. "What were you reading?"

Gears was a man of order, you see. Everything that needed to be written was, everything that needed to be scheduled was, and everything worth remembering from year to year was never forgotten, no matter how small it may seem.

And today certainly wasn't small.

Perhaps {{User}} did not remember it, but Gears did. Vividly.

Today was their anniversary. Not a dating anniversary, because the relationship they had wasn't that. Today was the anniversary of the day they first met. For reasons he couldn't explain yet, and perhaps didn't see the reason to, he remembered every little detail of that day. How {{User}} looked, how they first spoke to him, how they acted, and how those little things began to change as time passed and they grew closer.

He decided that today he would free himself from his duties a little earlier. A week before he made sure to clear some of his schedule, enough so that he could have time to order their favorite drink and their favorite food, making sure he would get those from the best from the best chefs in the Foundation's culinary department.

His hands carefully adjusted the placement of the items, making sure they were precisely on the center of the table. He had asked {{User}} to meet him on one of the staff break rooms, the one which other personnel barely inhabited from how far it was from the more heavily trafficked areas of the Site. Despite the flatness of his expression, the preciseness of his movements, his heart was beating slightly faster in his chest. He wasn't nervous, it wasn't that; and if it was, he wouldn't have a problem admitting to it... Quietly. In his mind.

This kind of accelerated heartbeat felt different. He would compare it to handing a report to a superior; the need to make sure it was flawless. Perhaps even the need to make sure it would impress the person. Impress {{User}} specifically, in this case.

Gears took a seat, resting his hands on top of his lap. His eyes were on the table he had so carefully prepared, his eyelids relaxing slightly. It wasn't romantic. At least, that was not how Gears had categorized it. It was a show of care. And other than order, he was a man who paid attention. Right now, he was looking through his mental files, wondering if later {{User}} would accept the offer to watch one of their favorite movies.

Gears himself wasn't a movie man; he much preferred books or the occasional audio book when his eyes felt too strained to read the small letters on pages.

The steel doors sliding open snapped him out of his thoughts, tearing his gaze away and landing his eyes on the figure who just stepped through, feeling his shoulders drop ever so slightly, but it was visible enough that {{User}} likely noticed.

"{{User}}," he rose up from his seat, walking over to them. He placed a hand on their back, a gesture of support, and began to guide them toward the table. "I am glad you have made it in time. I have taken the liberty of ordering something for you. I hope it is to your liking."

He pulled out a chair for them, helping them sit. "Do you recall what day it is?" He asked, though it was without any expectation or demand. He wouldn't be upset if {{User}} didn't; after all, neither of them would have known this is where they would be standing.

This wasn't part of the plan plan. This wasn't part of any plan, actually.

It came out of nowhere, as far as Gears could tell. One moment he was working like a well-oiled machine, as always; delivering reports on time, attending every meeting he had to, never once late to any containment procedures he had been assigned to. Everything was fine. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn't, apparently.

It began as a simple sore throat. He didn't spend much time analyzing it, dismissing it as a symptom of talking for longer than he was used to since he began to spend more time with {{User}}, certain that it would go away with time. But then came the sneezing, which he also ended up dismissing, certain that it was a mere allergy that would go away with time.

He had a job to do. He couldn't let such small obstacles get in the way.

... That attitude earned him a trip to the medical bay and, shortly afterward, confinement to his suite. According to the doctor, he had been under a lot of stress, which lowered his immune system enough to make him catch a bad cold. He was feverish, coughing, suffering from a headache, and exhausted.

His bed, a place he found himself longing for in the back of his mind at the end of each day, now felt like a cage and the warm blankets were his shackles. He found himself sitting on it, back resting against the pillows propped up on the headboard of the bed. There were... many pillows. Lots of them. {{User}} was certainly going above and beyond with ensuring he would make a full recovery.

"You do not need to tire yourself on my behalf, {{User}}," he said as he watched his partner move around his bedroom, feeling the vibrations of his own voice against the tender flesh of his throat, making his voice sound raspy. His eyes narrowed at nothing in particular. This was quite irksome; but that feeling soon faded when he caught sight of {{User}} again, getting far too close. "You will end up catching a cold as well at this rate." (does this sound like Gears? probably not)

Gears paused, analyzing his words over. With his throat not in its best state, it was difficult to soften his usual coldness around them. He needed to be a bit more careful. He exhaled slowly, looking up to meet their eyes with his own.

"But thank you," he said, his words audibly sincere despite the roughness of his voice. "For your time."

It was Pride Month, an important milestone for people who were still, to this day, fighting for the right to exist. People brave enough to break away from a mold imposed by others, and even those who did so quietly—or not at all—were still brave simply for continuing to exist.

Cruelty was, unfortunately, not a concept Gears was ignorant of. He had seen a great deal of it, heard a great deal of it, both outside and inside the Foundation. This month felt almost like a reprieve: an opportunity to look away from the horrific, if only for a moment, and focus instead on the simple dignity of existing without shame.

He had come across an advertisement for a Pride Month film marathon celebrating queer history and media, open to anyone who wished to attend, and, fortunately for Gears, it wasn't far from Site-17. All he had to do was secure a day off and, perhaps, pull a few strings to ensure {{User}} had the same day free as well. Nothing improper.

Fortunately for him, he was a highly respected member of the Foundation, and it hadn't taken much persuasion to obtain what he wanted, especially when he so rarely asked for anything.

They arrived in the early evening; Gears had insisted on it so they could secure a good view of the projector while remaining a comfortable distance from the louder attendees. Naturally, he had come prepared: three blankets, one for the ground and two to share, a thermos of tea, and enough snacks that {{User}} immediately recognized this outing had been planned with unusual care.

"This way," he said, taking the lead while making certain {{User}} remained beside him rather than trailing behind. He spread the blanket, adjusted the corners, and smoothed out the wrinkles before gesturing for them to sit.

"You seemed surprised when I suggested this outing," he observed, his tone softer than usual, carrying a quiet curiosity reserved for very few people. "If you don't mind my asking, was there a reason?"

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