Work Text:
"One final question. Where do you see yourself in five years?"
Wheeler smiled nervously. "Senior management?" she quipped, and the CEO's assistant laughed in a way that almost didn't feel forced.
"Just kidding," she replied. "You've come too far to fail you on a cliché. But the enthusiasm has been noted and appreciated." She drummed her pen, still smiling. The silence turned expectant.
"So...?"
"There is just one more thing we'd like to clarify," the woman said. "The five-year gap in your employment history."
Wheeler went quiet, shifting in her chair. Her jumper itched, but she ignored it.
"What gap?"
Kim groaned with sympathy. "You're kidding me. They knew?"
Wheeler stirred her coffee miserably like that would calm the jitters. "Yeah. I worked there twenty years, Paul. They dig that up, I think I've tanked this one for good."
Paul Kim reached out to pat her ceremoniously. She used to be his boss, back at the job they couldn't talk about. The lack of hierarchy still felt strange.
"So what'd you say?"
"I spun some bullshit about a medical crisis, I think she bought it. Better they think I've got issues than… you know."
He did know. They'd both spend the rest of their careers pretending that black mark on their records didn't exist. Embarrassing enough to have wasted as much time on it as she had.
"Still, it's sloppy of them," Kim was saying. "It's basic cover-up. Wonder what else they've missed?"
Wheeler gave him a warning look. They'd both get buried in lawsuits if he kept on talking, so he took the hint. They sat in silence for a while.
Sitting like that with Kim was making her nostalgic, which she hated. She'd been good at her job. It'd been a sham and a waste of taxpayer dollars, but she'd aced it. And now her team was God knows where. The ones she still remembered. (Her memory wasn't what it used to be.)
Some days she missed them. People like Bart Hughes, who'd never lived long enough to see disgrace. Her old employer's safety standards had been slipping, even then.
She was about to ask Kim if he remembered Bart, but stopped. There was a bright spot of light in the corner of her vision — that migraine was back. She blinked furiously until it went away.
"So how are things with Adam?" Kim piped up, and Wheeler brightened.
Another coffee and a drink in, the lack of distance had grown comfortable. Kim was a good friend.
"I can't really picture you as a housewife."
Wheeler snorted. "You might have to. The job market's not easy when you're over fifty."
"I'm forty-five!"
"So just you wait! But I'm not going down without a fight."
"Think you can salvage the offer?"
Wheeler smiled confidently. She was feeling a little more like her old self. "I've got an idea or two."
"Well, you know what they say." Kim said it anyway. She said it with him:
"'Ideas are worthless. Execution matters.'"