#willem viceroy iii | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladylynse · 6 months

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A RC9GN ficlet that's a prequel to this three sentence fic, as my half of a fic/art trade with @imadumdumjewel.

In which Viceroy learns of his father's death.

Also on AO3

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“He’s gone.”

Viceroy’s mother had never been one to mince words, but the death of Willem Viceroy II had practically stolen them from her entirely.

They’d been stolen from Viceroy too, clearly, or he’d be doing something other than staring blankly at his computer screen while still holding to his ear the phone he technically was not supposed to answer during work hours.

Not that he’d ever abided by that, especially with McFist. Work hours for McFist were hardly normal work hours. Viceroy made sure he was paid his overtime, and that overtime was substantial. If he didn’t take a personal call now and then, he’d have no contact with anyone outside of McFist Industries except when he dragged his sleep-deprived body to mundane places like the grocery store.

And he’d never been one to ignore his mother.

Typically, his parents never wanted to bother him while he was at work, always apologizing whenever they did, so when Eva had called now—

He’d known something must have happened.

When she’d spoken, the sudden pain inside him had solidified and settled over his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t been able to find the words to ask, but some part of him had known even before she cleared her throat and choked out a clarification. “Your father. He’s gone.”

What was he supposed to say to that? How? Why? When? His father hadn’t been sick. There had been nothing in the news in terms of accidents. Viceroy always made very sure that no WNDs ever tracked to that side of town, to the point that the old neighbourhood had gained the reputation of being a safe one to live in. His diligence meant the neighbourhood itself was turning around, becoming revitalized. His parents enjoyed—

No.

Not his parents, not anymore.

Now it was just his mother.

“Wim? You still there?”

Right.

He hadn’t said anything, had he?

“What happened?” It came out as a croak, though some part of Viceroy was surprised the words made it past the lump in his throat at all. It felt too large for anything to slip by, and the iron banding his chest was hardly helping matters.

He couldn’t see the computer screen in front of him any longer; it was all a blur of bright white and colour, even once he blinked and the tears started to fall.

“He wasn’t feeling well.” Eva’s words came in a rush, and suddenly one sentence was tumbling over the next like she was trying to get the words out before her voice failed her again. “I took him into the hospital two days ago, and he was feeling better after a transfusion. They ran their tests and thought he’d be discharged tomorrow. He didn’t want to worry you with it. It—” Her voice cracked. “It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. His heart….”

She didn’t finish, but she hardly needed to. Viceroy knew about the family heart. It had taken Uncle Otto three years ago, his grandmother Maud before his parents had even gotten married, and had had Aunt Mila in and out of the hospital with one problem or another for years. His father had (had had) a pacemaker, but he’d always been fine beyond that. A little out of breath whenever he had to walk any distance, sure, and on a fistful of medications to manage potential problems before they could crop up and make things worse, but—

Viceroy hadn’t realized it was this bad.

He would have taken some of his vacation time if he’d known.

He wouldn’t have taken his last vacation in France if he’d known.

It had been six weeks since he’d seen his parents despite them living across town, and he’d only seen them then because he’d specifically made sure he could be there for his mother’s birthday supper. And to check in on Nicolas, technically, but they knew to keep him away from fire. They’d been as smitten with him as Viceroy had been—and still was—so when he’d asked if they’d give Nicolas a proper home in the first place and they’d agreed, he hadn’t been worried. Inability to take care of someone, even if that someone wasn’t strictly another person, had never been a failing of theirs.

“I-I should have been there,” Viceroy said, his words sounding thick and garbled as he forced them out. It felt as if a stone had lodged in his throat, and he had to take shallow breaths to avoid breaking down entirely. There was plenty of time for that later. If he just didn’t think about it—

But he couldn’t think about anything else.

Especially not right now.

His father—

Viceroy sniffed and reached up to wipe his face with a tissue before the tears could run any farther. Not that it would help much—enough tears had already tracked into his beard before he’d found something—but he’d need the tissue for his nose in a moment anyway. If he hadn’t been wearing his lab coat, he might’ve used his sleeve for the tears, maybe even for his nose, but just because he didn’t always work in a lab, it didn’t mean he wanted what was on his lab coat anywhere near the sensitive tissues of his face.

But that didn’t matter right now.

What mattered was that he should have been there and he hadn’t been. He hadn’t even known. Part of him wanted to lash out and say you should have told me, but he knew why they hadn’t. He was busy at work, he had all those important secret projects to do, they didn’t want to bother him— They gave him back the same excuses he gave them whenever he was using his work at McFist Industries to get out of attending family functions that turned his stomach into knots, and his parents added a few of their own excuses to boot.

He hadn’t perfected time travel yet—the latest attempt where he’d thought he’d gotten it right had turned out to be an unmitigated disaster, and the memory of the smell still haunted him sometimes—but even once he did hammer out all the kinks, going back to all of this would be less of an option for him the more he learned about the situation.

It wouldn’t be an option at all, really. He couldn’t simply not learn about this situation. He needed to know things. Besides, who knew how long it would take him to successfully time travel? Trying to slip back for one more visit would only help him if he figured things out soon, before he’d changed to a point that it would be noticeable.

Some rules were made for the breaking, but others were very much there for a reason.

Revealing anything that might be useful for the ultimate domination or destruction of the world had never been encouraged at MSU; too many other aspiring mad scientists had eyes and ears everywhere, ready to snatch up research or ideas to use for themselves. When Viceroy did perfect time travel, McFist would be the only one to know about it.

Well, McFist and the Sorcerer, because McFist was almost certain to tell the Sorcerer.

And Marci, come to that. McFist couldn’t keep secrets from Marci. Not without her knowing he was trying to keep a secret from her and letting him keep it despite that, anyway. But no one else would know, and that’s how Viceroy intended to keep it until he was ready to pull his big move.

He had no idea how he’d start any of that, though, and now wasn’t the time to try. He should get to the hospital. Or his parents’ home? Was Eva home? They’d given up their landline last year, so it was no surprise that she was calling from her cellphone, but—

“Do you think you can get tonight off?”

Technically, Viceroy was supposed to have every night off.

His mother knew it didn’t work that way.

“I’ll get off now,” he said. His own words still sounded hollow, distant, like he wasn’t the one speaking at all. Otto, chiming in that the newest WND was ready for testing, sounded more real than he did.

“No,” Eva said, and Viceroy wondered if she could hear Otto as well as he could. “We—I—know how busy you are. Tonight is fine. Mila came to stay with me.”

Aunt Mila had come. She lived half a day’s drive from here. When had she heard that her brother was in the hospital? When had she suspected she might not see him again if she didn’t go when she had the chance? When had she known that she’d been right?

Viceroy managed to say something in response, though he forgot what the words were the moment they left his mouth. Gratitude? Protest, an insistence that he come immediately anyway? Something that didn’t actually make sense?

Whatever it was, Eva accepted it, so it must have made some amount of sense.

Maybe he’d said I’ll get there when I can. He planned to get there when he could, and he planned for that to be almost immediately, but he still had to go through McFist.

Not drive, though.

Probably wouldn’t be a good thing to drive right now.

He’d borrow a Robo-Ape.

“I love you,” Eva said, and Viceroy echoed it immediately. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d said it to his father; he wasn’t going to ignore the opportunity to say it to his mother when it was true in both cases.

Eva hung up, and Viceroy found himself listening to the dial tone. When he did finally hang up, he stared numbly at the phone in his hand. He’d had opportunities to see his parents in the last six weeks. Why hadn’t he taken them? Why had he always made excuses? Why had he always counted on the fact that there’d be another time, when he was a little less busy, a little less stressed?

Otto piped up again with, “Construction on the Robo-Spider is completed, sir. It is ready for testing. Would you like to commence testing?”

Viceroy put a hand to his chest instead of answering. He could feel the hole that had opened inside his heart like the entire thing had been gouged out of his chest, and it ached. Digging his fingers into his flesh was a different sort of pain, but it did nothing to negate the abyss inside.

“—ider is completed, sir. It is—”

“Otto.” It shouldn’t be this hard to talk. Viceroy cleared his throat, blew his nose, and tried for something louder than a whisper. “Halt all WND construction and testing for the week.” He wanted to say two weeks, but he wanted a job to come back to, and taking two weeks without telling McFist first would involve grovelling. He could update the order remotely once McFist knew.

McFist might not want to wait, but he’d wait if he knew what was best for him. If the Sorcerer convinced him to override Viceroy’s orders, fine. The man wasn’t a complete idiot. He shouldn’t manage to destroy the town just because Viceroy was taking an impromptu vacation. If nothing else, the Ninja would take care of things.

Viceroy had high hopes for his WNDs, but he did not have high hopes for projects where he didn’t have the last word before they were deployed.

Unfortunately, with McFist’s eagerness, the latter was more common than the former, and the Ninja had only grown more competent. Somehow.

He was also incredibly lucky, which really seemed to be the determining factor in most of his battles, but Viceroy was sure that luck would run out one day.

But not in the next week.

Viceroy was not unlucky enough for that to happen in the next week. Or even two.

Viceroy took a deep breath as he finally pocketed his phone, hoping that would steady him, but it shuddered in and out of his chest like each smaller breath had before it.

Maybe he’d just leave McFist a note. Give it to a Robo-Ape to pass on. Then he wouldn’t have to try to figure out how to say any of this. He wouldn’t have to say anything. A sticky note would do. He’d be able to write legibly enough without being able to see perfectly clearly. All he’d need is a line or two, maybe three. Taking a week’s leave for a family emergency. Maybe two. WNDs not ready for deployment.

It was McFist.

Viceroy didn’t need to be eloquent.

He scribbled the note, buzzed for a Robo-Ape, and returned to his desk after passing off the note to rest his head in his hands. He just…. He needed a minute. Maybe more than a minute. He couldn’t—

How could his father just be gone?

Viceroy felt the lump growing larger in his throat as tears swelled again in his eyes. No. He couldn’t break down now. Later. It had to be later. If he didn’t think about it for now, he could get through these next few minutes, and then the few after those, and then—

Then—

He’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Viceroy wiped at his nose again and sucked in another breath, pushing the thought away and raising his head. “Otto.” Why did his voice have to crack? “Arrange for a car and driver to be out front in ten minutes.”

That should give him enough time to assure himself that the important processes were winding down correctly and nothing would explode in the meantime. He’d leave his lab coat on its hook at the door and leave the rest of his things where they were; there wasn’t anything he needed to take with him that he didn’t already have. He hadn’t had lunch, true, but his planned lunch had been coffee, and he didn’t have the appetite for even that right now.

For all that his stomach had decided it didn’t need to make itself known, though, the clawing ache in his chest was only growing worse. He was going to get to his parents’ place (his mother’s place) and take one look at his mother and start crying all over again. He wasn’t sure he could be the strong one for her. They’d have to be strong together.

There would be so much to do. Calling the rest of the family would be well underway by the time he arrived, he was sure, but there was talking to the funeral home and arranging for the burial and everything involved with the ceremony itself (the date, the location, the casket, the flowers, the service, maybe a second service, the officiant—and the plot? Had his father ever bought a plot at the cemetery? Had he picked out a specific one if he had bought one?). And they’d need to write the obituary and get it into the paper, and then deal with the bank, the lawyer, the accountant. Get copies of the death certificate. Get bills and titles and whatever else switched over to Eva’s name, anything that wouldn’t transfer automatically.

They wouldn’t have to worry about food, at least. Viceroy knew his relatives, and he knew his parents’ friends. As soon as the news spread, they’d receive enough food to feed a small army.

It was getting easier to breathe.

If Viceroy just focused on what needed to be done instead of why it needed to be done, he could get through the next two minutes, and then the next five, and maybe the next five after that.

Viceroy had nearly finished checking over the production plans when the door to his lab slammed open, which only meant one thing.

McFist was here.

“Do you have a real family emergency or did you get some crazy idea into your head like baking a birthday cake for your beard?” McFist demanded.

Viceroy could hear him stomping across the room, but he didn’t bother looking over. McFist’s ramblings didn’t really deserve an answer. A family emergency was explanation enough.

“You’re not taking a week either way,” continued McFist. “We can’t just shut down production of the WNDs. I promised the Sorcerer—”

He broke off, and Viceroy looked over at him. He’d finished up the important stuff, anyway.

McFist’s anger, always so blatant in his features when he was upset, was no longer etched into every line of his face. Instead, something that might actually be genuine concern had settled there. “We on a deadline for the end of the world? One of your old college buddies do something you can’t turn to your advantage?”

Viceroy tried to smile. He wasn’t sure it came across as a smile. “I wouldn’t call it a family emergency if that were the case.” His voice sounded thick, almost hoarse, and he expected that he didn’t look any better than he sounded. He sniffed and tried clearing his throat again. “I’ll be taking my two weeks.”

“One,” countered McFist, but the usual growl wasn’t in his voice. “And a half.”

Viceroy nodded, locked his computer, and got to his feet.

He’d get the full two weeks in the end regardless of what McFist said now. If nothing else, Marci would insist on it when she found out. Viceroy was confident in that much.

“I’ll get you a car,” McFist said as Viceroy strode past him towards the door.

“I’ve already got one waiting, sir.”

“You’re not supposed to—!” McFist cut himself off, and Viceroy looked back at him from the door as he removed his lab coat. “Right. Well.” McFist glanced at Otto, which had entered power-saving mode and settled onto the desk when Viceroy had locked his computer. “Anything in this place going to run without you?”

“It would be best if you waited for my return before attempting the capture the Ninja, sir.” That wasn’t precisely the answer to McFist’s question, but it was the answer he needed to hear.

McFist grumbled something under his breath. Then, “What about a progress report?”

Viceroy smiled—not because he particularly felt like smiling but because McFist had asked for the one thing he could get without Viceroy’s help, and it was a relief that his last request was an easy one. “Ask Otto to print one for you.”

Viceroy didn’t stick around to see how the printing went.

For the first time since his trip to France, he put work completely and utterly out of his mind.

Of course, without that to occupy his thoughts, they inevitably returned to his mother’s call and the hole that had been left in his life with his father’s unexpected absence.

It didn’t feel real yet.

He suspected it wouldn’t feel real until his father wasn’t there to greet him with the usual pat on the back.

But even that thought—

Viceroy drew in a careful breath, blinked back tears, and tried to maintain a semblance of control until he was in the car and headed for his parents’ place. He wasn’t sure he’d been entirely successful, but no one had stopped him. The Robo-Ape driving him had politely inquired if he wished for conversation and had kept his silence when Viceroy had declined, but that was protocol. He’d speak if Viceroy was the one to strike up the conversation now, of course, and Viceroy thought perhaps he should, just to keep his thoughts from spinning, but….

He needed this time. This silence. Loss was a weight, he was realizing, and though it was lodged in his chest, it hadn’t properly settled. It would weigh him down either way, constant as the heartache, but he wouldn’t get a proper measure of it until it had sunk in.

It wouldn’t drown him.

Objectively, he knew that.

There were too many others with him, too many who would keep him close and help him keep his head up. There was comfort in that. He wasn’t alone, and he wouldn’t be the only rock for his mother, either. But he still—

He still felt lost.

Viceroy leaned his head against the cool glass of the side window, ignoring the occasional jostling of the car as best he could, and let the tears fall where they would.

He’d get through the rest of today, somehow, even when everything he saw reminded him of his father and he had to face anew the realization that they’d never have another conversation, another laugh, another bet.

He’d get through tonight, even though he already suspected his thoughts wouldn’t settle long enough for him to sleep a wink of it.

He’d find a way to get through tomorrow and the day after that, too.

He’d just need to live his life in little moments for the foreseeable future, tiny chunks of time that didn’t seem as insurmountable as an entire day, let alone anything beyond that.

Yes.

He could find a way to do that.

For his father.

(see more fics)

#rc9gn #willem viceroy iii #willem viceroy #rc9gn fanfiction #fanfiction #grief #death #angst #my writing #ladylynse #rc9gn snippet #snippets #I'll crosspost it when I figure out a title but you've waited long enough for this #so anyway viceroy's in shock and things haven't quite sunk in but distraction is a great way to put off dealing with everything right #I’m open to title suggestions btw

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