Chapter Text
When the father calls for him and Carlos, Lando already knows what the talk will be about.
If there will even be a talk first, and the black van isn’t already waiting for them in front of the house. He briefly peeks out the window already knowing it’s a useless move: his window faces the yard, not the street.
“Charlotte, what is he like?” Lando asks their Martha.
Charlotte shrugs.
“Sad. Disappointed. What did you two do?”
Something punishable by death. Lando doesn’t have the heart to tell Charlotte.
Charlotte is a good Martha. She is careful and loving, Lando thinks of her as an older sister, not some random woman belonging to his father’s house.
Commander Brown’s house.
“Sad? Not angry or –”
“No, Lando. Just sad.”
“And he’s alone?”
“Who should he be with?” Charlotte frowns at him.
Lando sighs.
Some Guardians. Eyes, maybe. Another Commander of a lower rank, just to ensure he and Carlos are thrown in the van properly. Lando knows what it looks like usually, handcuffs and muzzles, then Guardians chain criminals to the wall of the van by a ring in the collar so that they cannot reach each other. Cannot touch each other.
To touch Carlos is what Lando wants the most right now.
But it is why his father, Commander Brown, is calling for him in the first place.
“No, he’s alone.”
This gives Lando a little bit of hope. He smiles at Charlotte and walks out of his room to face whatever is waiting for him in the Commander’s office.
When he enters the room, Carlos is already there, kneeling in the center, silently looking down at the wooden floor before him.
Lando wastes no time in kneeling beside his Guardian.
“So, you two already know what this is about,” Commander Brown says with a sad sigh.
“Yes, father,” Lando says quietly, while Carlos remains silent.
Lando’s palms are itching with the urge to reach for Carlos’ hand, to hold it, maybe for the last time in his short life. But he stays still, just like Carlos, looking at the floor. There’s a scratch in one of the wooden planks, long and dark, covered with several layers of lacquer, Charlotte must have spent quite a lot of time polishing it.
“I don’t know what you were thinking.”
That’s easy. They were thinking that no one would ever find out. That no one would ever walk in on them, naked and kissing fiercely in Lando’s bed.
But Bianca did. And though they were hoping she wouldn’t tell the father about it, she must’ve been too shocked and scared that she couldn’t keep it a secret.
In other words, they were reckless and stupid.
That’s what the father tells them.
“Now what?” Lando asks in a barely audible voice. “You’ve already called the Eyes, and they are coming for us –”
“I didn’t call anyone.”
“– because gender treachery is punishable by death, and I just want to know how much time we have, I want to say goodbye to the boys and Bianca before we go and, and maybe you could let Carlos see his family –”
Lando is interrupted by his own convulsive sob.
Lando is scared.
Oh, how scared he is.
He does not want to die.
No one wants to die, he thinks, and those who want are out of their minds, no matter if this wish is caused by some kind of noble motif or pure insanity or days of torture. Lando doesn’t want to be tortured, he assumes that a quick death is much easier.
But, God, he doesn’t want to die.
His vision is blurred with tears, his nose is stuffy, he lacks air and is panting heavily. His head is dizzy, and the crack in the wooden plank seems to be moving like it is a snake or something.
He doesn’t hear his father’s even heavy steps, approaching him. He doesn’t feel the movement of the air around him, and only reacts when Commander Brown squats down near him and places his palm on Lando’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly.
“Lando, I didn’t call anyone. No one is coming for you. No one is going to die. I’m not a monster to send my own child to the wall.”
“What?” Lando says, choking on his own words, coughing.
The father pulls him up.
“Come on, stand up. You too, Carlos.”
He makes them sit down on the armchairs that stand in front of Commander Brown’s table. Too far from each other, leaving Carlos out of Lando’s reach.
“So, it means we can stay?” Lando asks, unsure. “I promise, we’ll be careful from now on and –”
“Of course, not,” Commander Brown exhales loudly. Lando shuts up in no time. “This ends now. Carlos, you will leave our house today and by the end of the week you will join the battalion going to Detroit.”
“Father, please!” Lando screams.
“As for you, right now I’m making arrangements.”
“There’s no difference between going to war and being executed here!”
“Lando, please, stop,” Carlos says quietly. “There is a difference.”
“Those rebels, they’ll kill you –”
“I’m so grateful for your mercy, Commander Brown, sir,” Carlos says to Lando’s father as if Lando is not here at all. “I won’t forget it and I’ll do whatever is possible to never make you regret your decision.”
“Carlos…” Lando whispers.
“Hey,” Carlos gives him a little smile. “There are good chances I’ll survive.”
“And return?” Lando sobs.
“By the time you hopefully return, you’ll be given a new assignment outside of Los Angeles.” Lando clenches his jaw so hard it hurts. They escaped death only to be separated. His father will make sure they never see each other again. “Now, I want you to go pack your belongings and return to your barracks. Give this,” he holds out a piece of paper to Carlos, “to your Commander. This is my authorization for your dismissal. By the time I’m done speaking to my son I want you out of my house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carlos,” Lando whispers hopelessly.
Carlos pats Lando on the shoulder on the way out, and winks at him when Lando manages to desperately grab Carlos by the hand.
That’s all he gets.
“Now, you,” Lando’s father, Commander Brown, says, when the door closes behind Carlos.
Lando raises his eyes to his father and tries his best to listen carefully. It just so happens to be the only thing he has left.
***
“Sebastian! Blessed be the day!” Daniel grins.
“Blessed be the day, Daniel,” Sebastian quietly agrees, dragging Daniel from the street by the elbow.
Honestly, Sebastian doesn’t know how Daniel is still alive to this day, sporting a grin like his while saying the sacred words must be considered heresy.
“Not so fast,” Daniel moans painfully, trying to keep up with Sebastian's quick pace.
He is obviously limping.
“What happened?” Sebastian frowns, stopping on the sidewalk.
Daniel shakes his head, looking around and lowering his voice so much it’s barely audible.
“Not here.”
The quieter the street, the less likely they are to be heard. It’s understandable. Looks like Daniel has finally learnt the basics.
Sebastian’s truck is not allowed near the living buildings, so they have to walk to Daniel’s place by foot. Though it’s clearly not easy for Daniel to walk, he chooses the longer path with fewer eyes and ears. He has learnt his basics, indeed.
They knew each other before.
Before it all has started, before Gilead. Same school, different years, a nerdy quiet senior and a wide-smiling troubled sophomore. They were never friends, and Daniel’s company was always giving Sebastian a hard time. Who knew back then that they would end up being allies?
But here they are, a nerdy quiet farmer and a wide-smiling troubled Jezebel's bartender. Two Mayday contacts in the heart of the sacred state of New-York.
Before today, Sebastian didn’t know Jezebel's staff were allowed to walk around the city unattended. They only always saw each other in Jezebel's, when Sebastian was delivering groceries there and Daniel was the one to pick them up. But today, it’s different and unplanned. Daniel ran into him on the street.
“Luckily, I was gifted with a dick,” Daniel chuckles. “Things are easier in Gilead when you have one.”
And so much harder when you like them. Dicks. Because it means that you’re either a woman so you’re automatically fucked or a gay dude which means you’re fucked even more.
Once again, Sebastian doesn’t know how Daniel is alive. All gender traitors were either killed or sent to the Colonies at the very dawn of Gilead.
But not Daniel Ricciardo, the luckiest bastard on Earth.
Back during their school years, well, back in Daniel’s school years when Sebastian had already graduated and Daniel hadn’t yet, Daniel had asked him out. Showed up on Sebastian’s porch one day, wearing ripped jeans and the most outrageous baby-blue hoodie Sebastian had ever seen, wide-smiling as always, and asked, like there was no history between them, whether Sebastian would come with him to the cinema. What was playing then? The Hunger Games or something like that. Sebastian had told him ‘no’. He liked Daniel - his smile, his style and his jokes - but bullying isn’t something that disappears from memory the moment your bully smiles at you and asks you out.
Who would’ve known back then? If Sebastian knew Gilead would come, shattering their lives into pieces, ripping them out of the safety they lived in, he would’ve said ‘yes’. Just to seize the opportunity and try it out.
Sebastian was gifted with a dick just like Daniel. Unlike Daniel, he was also gifted with bisexuality.
He married Hanna, his sweet precious Hanna, two years after that incident. One year later, Gilead came.
No more baby-blue hoodies for Daniel.
Nowadays, he wears dull gray Econoclass stuff, just like Sebastian, or, when he’s at work in Jezebel's, expensive classic suits, because Commanders like to pretend they are in a nicer place and not in the world they themselves built. The suits suit him just fine, well, everything suits Daniel just fine, except for the Econoclass stuff. Funnily enough, that hoodie has become a symbol of freedom for Sebastian. The moment he saw Daniel there, in Jezebel's kitchen, picking up the groceries, wearing a simple gray button down and woolen pants, he remembered that hoodie and never forgot it since.
“So, what happened?” Sebastian asks again, when they are settled on a bench in a small park, just outside of the Econoclass living hood.
“Commander Jefferson, sick bastard.”
Not the answer Sebastian expected.
“What?” Sebastian frowns. “What did he do? He… punished you for something?”
“The fucker has torn me open.”
“What!?”
Daniel laughs bitterly, “Wait, I never told you what my job at Jezebel's is?”
“You’re a bartender…” Sebastian mumbles, shocked. “At least that’s what I thought.”
“Well, I am a bartender,” Daniel stretches his lips in a sour smile, “but that’s not all I do there. Obviously.”
“How is it obvious?”
“Not for you, maybe. I don’t judge you. You’re pretty naive, my sweet Seb.” Seb’s not naive, but no offense taken, Daniel is in his right to say so. “There’s a whole bunch of gender traitors in the highest echelons of Gilead, and since the whole concept of Jezebel’s seems pretty outlaw as it is, so why not add some more sins to an already cursed place?”
“It is insane. How do you –”
“It was either that or the wall.”
“Jesus!”
“He has nothing to do with this.”
“Do you need… Can I do something for you? ”
“Yeah, get me out of here.”
“What?” Seb frowns.
Daniel shrugs, “I know you smuggle stuff back and forth all the time –”
“Letters! Drugs.” They are speaking pretty quietly, but Sebastian lowers his voice even more, “Weapons. Not people.”
“I’m pretty compact, no?”
“I’m sorry, Daniel.”
“That’s what I thought,” Daniel sighs, and his smile fades.
Sebastian feels guilty. They are not friends, not really, but Daniel is suffering and he can do nothing to help him. He is helpless. That’s what he is. He thought he was doing something meaningful with Mayday, something to fight back, something to destroy Gilead from the inside… But does it really matter? Gilead is here to stay, an abomination of a country, and all they are capable of is crumbs.
He asks because he cannot bear the silence, not looking at Daniel, picking on his cuticles, “Is it just him or –”
“Commander Jefferson. Commander White.” Daniel sounds numb. “Commander Smith, the one working with transportation. Commander Benedict. Commander Sowell. Commander Horner. Chris is actually a nice guy –”
“Who rapes you.”
“Nah, he likes to bottom.”
“Would be easier to prove the fact of his treachery.”
Suddenly Daniel turns to him, throwing a deadly glare.
“Don’t you dare to drag Chris into this.”
Daniel sounds really serious, like he means it. Ok, not Commander Horner then. But the others… Transportation, weaponry, sick bastard Jefferson manages the Eyes as far as Sebastian knows. This might be a bomb much bigger than any of those he ever smuggled into Gilead. And while those fuckers would be licking their wounds, the Mayday would be able to do something much, much more powerful. Something that would really matter.
“Can you get me some proof? Not on Horner, but –”
“What proof, Seb?” Now, Daniel’s angry. “Drip you some jizz from my asshole when another Commander is done fucking me?”
“I don’t know? Maybe.”
“You think they’ll listen to a Jezebel’s ass-fucker? Not to mention the fact that I’m also a gender traitor here and most likely, the only one to face consequences after you tell anyone. Nah, I’ll pass.” He gets up with a struggle and yet another short moan of pain. “Either get me out of here and maybe I’d bring you something or shut the fuck up. Under His eye.”
***
“Mister Wolff,” Alex says with a little bow, “Praised be. I’m here to inform you that Commander Horner has arrived, and your father, Commander Wolff, asks you to come to the living room twenty minutes from now.”
George chuckles, grabbing Alex by the collar of his jacket and dragging him into the room.
“Thank you for your service, Guardian Albon.”
He likes this little game of theirs: Alex acts like an unbearably gallant servant even when there’s no need for it, and George must admit whenever there’s no need for it, it sounds the hottest. What a shame they have no time for anything right now.
Alex grins at him. George locks the door – he always makes sure it’s closed even if they are not doing anything – and gives Alex a little peck on the lips.
“Twenty minutes,” Alex reminds George.
George nods and steps back with a sigh.
“I know. I still have to change.”
George is in his usual home clothes, dark gray pants and a turtleneck in the same color. But since Commander Horner is paying his father a visit, it means it’s time to put on his navy blue suit. It is the very first time he is going to wear it for someone to see, not just the suit, but a little show to put along with it.
Alex frowns, not getting it, “Change? Why?”
“Because every time Chris comes here, it is time for him to be humiliated just a little.”
“How are you supposed to humiliate him by wearing a suit?”
“It’s not a suit, it’s the suit.” Alex gives him another confused expression. “You see, Commander Horner doesn’t have any sons eligible for higher education.”
“So your father wants to basically throw you to his face and see how he’d react?”
George shrugs lightly, with an eyebrow raised, “I too would love to see how he reacts, to be honest.”
“You Wolffs are insufferable people.”
“My father is, indeed.”
“You’re too. Don’t act like you aren’t.”
“No, I mean… I was raised by him, it’s not surprising.”
“And yet you manage to surprise me every time.”
George smiles contentedly and gives Alex another peck, but that’s it, he really cannot afford wasting any more time. He unbuttons his pants, takes off his turtleneck, replaces it with a white, neatly ironed shirt and puts on the suit pants, official looking ones of a deep navy blue. It’s the same fit his father wears, but in a different colour.
Color is important. Commanders wear black, Wives are allowed to choose from different shades of turquoise; pink and baby blue are for girls and boys of a young age. There are grayish green uniforms for Marthas and red for Handmaids… Sons, chosen to study in the University of Gilead, are to wear navy.
George was the first one to be chosen. There are more Commanders’ sons, who will be Commanders after their fathers, they are destined for high positions: in the army, in the government of Gilead or in the local offices, depending on their successes. In very few years from now, they are to rule, one way or another, and George is proud to acknowledge that. It’s also nice to see the expression on Commander Horner’s face when he sees George in his uniform for the first time.
Alex doesn’t shy away, looking at him changing. George smiles: that’s why he does it in front of him in the first place. He wants Alex to look at him like this. He wants Alex to want him. Even if they don’t have time now – there will be time later in the peace and quiet of Alex’s room above the garage, out of reach from Commander Wolff, George’s father.
George is not stupid or naive, he knows the laws of the country they live in, he’s fully aware of what the punishment is for what they do. They don’t leave hickeys on each other's bodies, they never do anything that could be traced back to them, they never fully undress in case they are to dress back up quickly. They never spend too much time together, so there's no cause for any suspicion. It’s certainly not ideal, but it will do. It’s the price they have to pay to stay together and stay alive.
After another quick and almost innocent peck to Alex's cheek, he leaves his room.
When downstairs, he immediately hears two voices, his father’s higher one with his rough angular accent, saying something about trade restrictions and the soft lazy tenor of Christian’s tone, asking clarifying questions.
Just before entering the living room George puts on an impeccably polite smile and walks in.
“Blessed be the day, father, I heard your voice and thought I could talk with you about –”
He pretends to notice Christian just now, even though he was warned about his arrival in advance and came fully prepared. He bows a little, “Commander Horner, praised be!” Then smiles even wider and steps back. “I’m so sorry I interrupted you. Father, I’ll see you later, when you’re free.”
“Oh, no, George, Commander Wolff is just humoring me with some small talk,” Chris seems to swallow the bait, observing George’s suit with jealousy and greed, “please stay with us!”
“Looks like you don’t like my small talk that much, Christian,” Commander Wolff smiles contentedly.
Making sure neither are looking at him, George allows himself to roll his eyes. Chris is clearly hooked now.
“What was it that you wanted to talk about?” Chris asks.
Shit. George doesn’t really have any topic to discuss. But nonetheless he gives Chris his best smile and shrugs him off.
“Nothing serious. Just some… logistics.”
First thing that came to his mind, really. Of course, every detail there was to be discussed has been already discussed; the University is really near, so he and Alex are to go there on Saturday to get settled, then on Sunday the opening Ceremony will be held, so that Monday could be their first day of learning. Well, George’s first day of learning, as Alex is going with him just to serve as his Guardian. The campus itself seems to be a pretty safe place, so there's not much job for a Guardian, but Sons are not Handmaids and are allowed to leave the premises whenever they want, except during the studying time.
“What kind of logistics?” His father frowns, caught off-guard as well as Christian Horner.
But, unlike his father, Chris cannot know that George knows.
“It’s about Alex,” George says and explains for Chris, at the same time giving himself some more seconds to come up with a strategy, “my Guardian, Alex Albon.”
“What about him, George?”
Commander Wolff gestures for him to sit down. George finds himself a place on the couch opposite to Chris – just so he could observe George in his full splendor.
“I just wanted to clarify whether he’s going with me or not.”
“Of course, he’s going with you.” His father is starting to realize what George’s getting at.
“But the place is totally secure?” Chris breaks in, a tad bit confused.
“It is, indeed, but the campus is quite large, so a spare couple of eyes won’t hurt. Moreover the Sons won’t be locked up there, and outside the perimeter they’ll need their Guardians to follow them as usual.”
George’s father looks at him with a splash of disappointment for coming up with a weak excuse.
But George is not done asking, and he smiles brilliantly, also rounding his big eyes that make him look like the most eager student, “And he’s to follow me inside the perimeter as well?”
The expression on Christian’s face is condescending.
“Yes, George.”
“What about the lectures?”
“While you’re studying, your Guardians are to wait outside the classroom.”
“Why don't we let them attend classes with us?”
“Why do we what?” Chris frowns.
George smiles lazily: Chris is so easy it’s pathetic.
“Because it’s the perfect and the easiest opportunity to reward the best.”
“Explain,” his father demands, his look turning proud in no time. He must’ve finally understood the brilliance of George’s trap for poor Commander Horner. George is so proud of himself for coming up with this idea in no time.
George chuckles, thinking of Alex and what he’d just told him not long ago, about them Wolffs being insufferable.
“Well, where do I start,” George says after a thankful nod, “there are young men amongst those who weren’t raised in Commanders’ families, and some of them are clearly smart enough to master the educational program. Like Guardian Albon, for whom I’m ready to vouch, since I’m absolutely sure of his abilities. Among those, Gilead may find its most loyal servants with little to no additional efforts and costs. And Econofamilies would be motivated by the opportunity for their sons, which would also serve Gilead just right.” George takes a pause just to observe Commander Horner’s face, which looks clearly impressed. As well as Commander Wolff’s, who smiles at George contentedly. “So, father, what about Alex?”
“You know,” he clears his throat, “I’m not the one in charge of education. But I’ll surely bring this up with the board. It sounds like a good idea.”
“A good idea indeed,” Chris admits, disappointed, realizing what has just happened.
“You’re looking at the youngest soon-to-be Commander, Christian,” George’s father states with pride.
George blushes, just a bit. His father’s words are well deserved, but still flattering to hear.
But, suddenly, it makes Chris light up.
“Actually, to become the youngest Commander, George doesn’t have much time left.”
“What do you mean?” George’s father frowns.
“Remember Max?” Commander Wolff shakes his head slowly. “He is a Son of Commander Verstappen. He is of a lower rank so you may not know him –”
“I surely don’t.”
“It doesn’t matter, not really,” Chris smiles proudly. “What matters is that Max is now a Commander, too. Right now he’s heading to Michigan, where he’ll lead our brave forces fighting the rebels. And he’s just about half a year older than George.” He looks at George and nods. “So you better hurry up.”
***
“We’re all gonna die, aren’t we?” Pierre asks bitterly, leaning against the wall of the freight car they are sitting in. “We’re all gonna die before we see the first rebel.”
They are about a hundred miles to the battle line, but the railways are blown up, so they can't go any further. While the battalion was being formed, rebels gained a huge advantage. Seems like the upper peninsula is no longer an option as Gilead has definitely lost it so they are to fight for the lower one first.
Lucky them for not being here a day earlier, though. It could’ve been them being blown up along with the railway track. The casualties would have been a couple of train cars… and hundreds of soldiers.
Carlos knows that he and Lando will never see each other again but thinking of dying so soon and making Lando lose him for real sends shivers down his spine. No difference between being executed in Los Angeles and being blown up in a freight car in the middle of Ohio, that’s for sure.
The car’s door opens and without any command they stand up.
“They don’t have enough people to fight back,” Carlos says in response, quiet enough not to be heard by anyone but Pierre, before he loses the thought. “If they had, they would’ve waited for us and blown up a train, but they chose not to confront us, instead just slowed us down. They are weak and scared.”
“Your name, soldier,” Carlos hears a second later.
A literal kid, no older than twenty, with the insignia of a Commander on his jacket, stands in front of him. That must be him. Commander Verstappen. Carlos had heard already that they were to be led by a kid but didn’t have a chance to see him in person yet.
“Carlos Sainz, sir.”
“While standing in front of the higher rank officer, one shouldn’t speak. Do you know that?”
Of course, Carlos knows that. He’s just sick of all this military bullshit. All he wants is to go back to California, find Lando, steal him from his father’s house and run to Mexico. Carlos speaks Spanish, they could’ve gotten lost there and never been found. Or maybe they could’ve run even further south all the way to Argentina, and lived there happily till the end of their days. Instead, Lando is God knows where, and Carlos stands in front of a kid younger than him and is to report to him on the most insignificant matters.
“I apologize for speaking in your presence, sir. I didn't see you from here.”
“It's fine, soldier Sainz, I get it,” the kid – Commander Verstappen, now it’s clear as day – says unexpectedly. “Actually, I’ve been going around the personnel telling them the exact same thing.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Carlos frowns just a bit.
“Rebels are weak and scared,” Commander Verstappen says loud enough for the whole car to hear, “otherwise they would’ve blown up us, not the rails. They are not ready to fight us. They don’t want to fight us. All they want – and can do – is to sit in the woods, praying for us to leave them alone and for them to stay alive a little longer. We are not going to give them such mercy.” He looks around, making sure all the personnel in the car are listening to him attentively. “Get some rest, soldiers. You’ll be given rations soon enough. At four in the morning we will gather and start marching towards our destination point. It will take us a bit longer than the train, but we will be there soon. And then we start fighting, taking Gilead’s sacred land back from the dirty hands of the rebels.”
What if he just runs away while marching through the woods? It could be so easy to leave unnoticed. Going back to California would be much more difficult, of course, but he could go north instead of south, reach Canada and then start searching for Lando from there. There’s no way Lando is hurt. Physically, of course, Zak won’t allow anything to happen to his most beloved son, the only one, as far Carlos knows, of his own blood, with all the others – Pato, Oscar and David – being adopted. Emotionally, Lando looked like he was dying on the inside the last time they saw each other in Zak’s office. But Lando will survive that, just like Carlos did. And if he’s alive, well and not hurt, Carlos will find a gap, would latch on to the slightest opportunity to find him and to get him back.
“Soldier Sainz,” Commander Verstappen says, turning back to him. “Please, follow me to the command carriage.”
“Commander, sir?” Carlos takes a step forward but stops confusedly.
Commander Verstappen smiles at him. He has a big frog mouth which stretches in a quite unattractive way.
“I like your way of thinking, soldier. I want to speak with you. You see, I need smart people for this battle to succeed, and you might be one of them.”
“Of course, sir,” Carlos nods and starts walking next to the Commander. “I’m thankful for this opportunity.”
But not for the fact that this opportunity just made the whole running away plan so much harder to carry out.
Command carriage is in the middle of the train, which confuses Carlos at first, but the very next moment he realizes that this is the most secure place for it. If those rebels were to blow up them and not the rails, the first carriage would be doomed. Plus the last one is an easy target for an ambush.
“Checo, get me the profile of Carlos Sainz, please,” Commander Verstappen says, entering the carriage.
A short, Hispanic man in his thirties nods and rushes to the shelving unit full of thin paper folders. A minute later he hands one of the folders to Verstappen.
“Thank you,” Commander says with a surprising warmth in his voice.
Checo – judging by his uniform, is a Guardian, not a soldier, most likely, the personal Guardian of Commander Verstappen and, apparently, also his assistant – pats him on the shoulder, smiles briefly and nods, “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
A Guardian, an assistant and, apparently, a kind of a nanny. Not in a bad way, though. Carlos has never seen a Commander that young, the kid must be really good. Even though he needs someone older to look after him. How old is he, though?
“Twenty one,” he says, not raising his eyes from the folder he’s reading.
“Sir?”
“You’re curious but too afraid to ask because it’s out of subordination. I’m twenty one. Three years younger than you.”
“You must be really good to become a Commander at such a young age.”
“I am,” Commander Verstappen answers simply. “Your father Carlos Sainz Sr. was offered a Commander's rank. Why did he refuse it?”
Carlos asked himself the same question too many times. So did Carlos’ mom to her husband. Life could’ve gotten so much easier if he was a Commander – nicer house, better food – but both times his father was offered a promotion, he politely declined it. He didn’t want to collaborate with the Gilead government in any way, even if it meant privileges for him and his family.
Carlos isn’t sure it’s safe to share the real reason with Commander Verstappen. It’s not about him, after all he has nothing to lose, but his family back in California is perfectly safe and secure – only as long as he doesn’t say anything extra. Luckily, they have a story specifically for such situations.
“His promotion to Commander’s rank included participation in the battle for New Mexico and he didn’t want to leave us behind.”
“Lucky him, having a luxury of choice,” Commander Verstappen mumbles thoughtfully and flips a page.
“You weren’t asked?”
Fuck subordination. Carlos wants to know. Now that he has lost the chance of running away and has nothing else to do other than risk his life in battle for a country he hates, all he wants is to at least know more about people he’s about to fight alongside with.
Commander Verstappen finally looks at Carlos over the papers. Carlos sees his crooked face and a weak sour attempt at a smile on his frog lips.
“No,” he finally says, and he sounds just as sour as he looks. “It was convenient to send someone like me into battle, in order not to lose a real Commander.”
He spits out the word ‘real’ like it’s a swear.
“But it doesn’t matter,” he continues, “because now, I’m a real Commander and this is my battle, and I’ll do whatever it takes to win it and to return back to New York with a victory.”
To throw it in the faces of those old fuckers who sent him here, Carlos gets that. Not that he likes this idea, though.
“How many of us will die, Commander?” Carlos asks simply.
His question seems to catch Commander Verstappen off-guard, as he snickers and raises his eyebrow.
“You’re afraid to die, soldier?”
Carlos is not going to give up that easily.
“You’re not?”
Fuck subordination, once again. This time Carlos doesn’t even call him ‘sir’. They seem to be in the same boat, and this boat is about to sink.
“Didn’t have any real life, you know, to regret losing it. Did you?”
Carlos thinks about his family. His parents, as in love with each other as they were on their wedding day. His sisters, both married already and living close by, smiling happily every time they see each other in the streets. His little nephews, two loud laughing beans.
Carlos thinks about his friends. He doesn’t have many, but they are decent people and he loves them dearly.
Carlos thinks about Lando. His plump lips smiling at Carlos, his weird colored eyes sparkling under the sun, his moles like constellations all over the sky of his body. The way Lando exhaled, fascinated, whenever Carlos had touched him.
Carlos smiles at his thoughts, a bit sadly.
“I did.”
“Why did you volunteer then?”
Another page of his profile. Yeah, there must be a note about him volunteering to go into a battle. Zak made it look like he had nothing to do with it. Carlos is still thankful, though. Due to him, Lando is alive and well. And Carlos will do whatever he can to survive and get out.
“I did not.”
Carlos smiles at his thoughts once again. Is it a weird thing, wanting to be honest with his Commander? Carlos finds such a wish inside him, looking at the kid three years younger than him with a Commander’s insignia, who didn’t choose this, who didn’t want to go and die but also didn’t have a life to mourn for.
Will this kid have every right to send Carlos to the scaffold? Yes. Will he do it? Most likely, not. He said it himself, he likes the way Carlos thinks. He also said he needs smart people to help him lead this battle. No way he’ll kill Carlos just because Carlos acted somewhat wrong according to Gilead law, back in California.
“But it says here that –”
“I was going to die either way. I’m a gender traitor, sir, and I was about to be executed.” The expression on Commander Verstappen’s face is surprise and intrigue. But not disgust, not in the slightest. Seeing it keeps Carlos going. “But there was a Commander who offered me an alternative.”
“Who?”
“I’m not telling you, sir, you must understand. He committed a serious crime, letting me live. I’m thankful to him and I’m not giving him away.”
“Of course,” Commander Verstappen nods with an understanding smile on those frog lips of his. Funnily enough, Carlos doesn’t see them as ugly anymore. “I understand. Just wanted to thank him for the smart soldier he placed under my command.”
Just as Carlos calculated, no way Commander Verstappen is going to kill him. He is smart, indeed.
“Welcome aboard, lieutenant Sainz.”
Commander Verstappen offers him a hand. Carlos shakes it, slightly confused.
“Lieutenant, sir? Did I hear you right?”
“It’s my army and I do whatever I want with it,” Commander Verstappen smiles, wider than ever before. “So, as of today, you're a lieutenant. I don’t care who you slept with. Ever had any battlefield education?”
“No, sir. But I’m a fast learner.”
“You better be,” he nods in response. “Follow Checo… Guardian Perez for a while, it’ll help you learn even faster.”
Thinking of his Guardian makes Commander Verstappen smile shyly.
“He’s a brilliant strategist, I must say. I’m really lucky to have him by my side.”
“Understood, sir,” Carlos smiles, too.
Commander Verstappen chuckles and shakes his head, laughing.
“I’m Max, by the way.”