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Apr. 18th, 2009 02:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bzarcherAnother idea fragment.
George turned away from his laptop to rub his aching eyes and scratch at the stubbly growth of beard starting to appear on his chin. Stretching and letting out a long yawn, he stood. Time for a break - he'd been working on the numbers for almost the entire night.
As he reached for the doorknob, it turned of its' own accord and light slashed into the darkened room as Roberts stepped in, holding a cardboard carrier with two steaming to-go cups in his other hand. "Figured you could use some coffee."
Nodding gratefully, George took one cup, let the aroma waft around his nose for a moment, then drank. It was probably $.50 gas station coffee with some week old creamer and sugar dumped into it, but right now it tasted better than a $5 mug of demitasse at the fanciest coffee bar you could think of. "Thanks, I really appreciate it." Walking back to his chair, he settled back down without returning to work just yet. "Hey...that reminds me."
"mm?"
"Everybody always calls you Roberts."
"Seeeing as that's my name, yeah."
"Yeah...but what about your first name?"
"Don't have one."
"What?"
"Made a deal - gave it up."
George just stared at the senior operative with a plain 'I can't tell if you're bullshitting me or not' expression. Taking off his suit jacket, Roberts pulled another chair over with his foot, reversed it, and sat down, his arms folding over the seat back as an impromptu rest.
"Awhile back, when I was on a job like this, I had....well, I guess you'd call it an opportunity. How old do you think I am?"
"I dunno...30s? Maybe a really good taking care of yourself early 40s?"
"Right. So, we were on a job back in '85..."
George interrupted again. "Bullshit. Back in 85 you were working at McDonalds to buy a car."
"Nope. I was in my third year with the company. Like I said, I made a deal with something we ran into." Roberts rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You gotta understand...I love this job. I love working here. And I really didn't want to hit the point where I was slowing down to where I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't want to get stuck at a desk. And I was starting to feel that happen."
George was stuck in a faint state of shock. He couldn't quite imagine the idea of Roberts being at least, what, 60? 70?
"So, this one time, we found something, and we were actually doing pretty well at just asking it to leave. We showed it that it wasn't going to be all that happy here, long term, and it was pretty damn reasonable. So before it left, it asked each person if we wanted anything before it went home." Roberts leaned back a bit, taking a drink of his coffee before going on.
"I told it that I didn't want to get older. I wanted to be able to keep doing what I was doing. And in exchange, I gave it my first name. Nobody knows it anymore. Nobody could use it if they wanted to. Hell, I don't even remember it."
"Driver's license? Social Security? Birth Certificate?" George still couldn't quite believe it...
Instead of replying, Roberts opened his wallet, and pulled out his driver's license. Where his full name should have been was simply 'Roberts'.
"Didn't you get in -trouble- for that?"
"Sure I did. Nobody else took anything. We usually aren't supposed to. But I didn't really care that much...all the other guys I used to work with, if they aren't retired, they're all top men, now. Seven figures, big houses, fast cars they don't drive...I'm on field work. I've been on field work. I'll probably be on field work until I die." George felt a lurching, creeping horror in his gut, and he felt a huge urge to GET OUT OF THERE, leave the room, go SOMEWHERE, but his feet felt like they had been bolted into place.
"I got sentenced to keep doing what I love, George." Roberts grinned. "Ain't that something?"
George turned away from his laptop to rub his aching eyes and scratch at the stubbly growth of beard starting to appear on his chin. Stretching and letting out a long yawn, he stood. Time for a break - he'd been working on the numbers for almost the entire night.
As he reached for the doorknob, it turned of its' own accord and light slashed into the darkened room as Roberts stepped in, holding a cardboard carrier with two steaming to-go cups in his other hand. "Figured you could use some coffee."
Nodding gratefully, George took one cup, let the aroma waft around his nose for a moment, then drank. It was probably $.50 gas station coffee with some week old creamer and sugar dumped into it, but right now it tasted better than a $5 mug of demitasse at the fanciest coffee bar you could think of. "Thanks, I really appreciate it." Walking back to his chair, he settled back down without returning to work just yet. "Hey...that reminds me."
"mm?"
"Everybody always calls you Roberts."
"Seeeing as that's my name, yeah."
"Yeah...but what about your first name?"
"Don't have one."
"What?"
"Made a deal - gave it up."
George just stared at the senior operative with a plain 'I can't tell if you're bullshitting me or not' expression. Taking off his suit jacket, Roberts pulled another chair over with his foot, reversed it, and sat down, his arms folding over the seat back as an impromptu rest.
"Awhile back, when I was on a job like this, I had....well, I guess you'd call it an opportunity. How old do you think I am?"
"I dunno...30s? Maybe a really good taking care of yourself early 40s?"
"Right. So, we were on a job back in '85..."
George interrupted again. "Bullshit. Back in 85 you were working at McDonalds to buy a car."
"Nope. I was in my third year with the company. Like I said, I made a deal with something we ran into." Roberts rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You gotta understand...I love this job. I love working here. And I really didn't want to hit the point where I was slowing down to where I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't want to get stuck at a desk. And I was starting to feel that happen."
George was stuck in a faint state of shock. He couldn't quite imagine the idea of Roberts being at least, what, 60? 70?
"So, this one time, we found something, and we were actually doing pretty well at just asking it to leave. We showed it that it wasn't going to be all that happy here, long term, and it was pretty damn reasonable. So before it left, it asked each person if we wanted anything before it went home." Roberts leaned back a bit, taking a drink of his coffee before going on.
"I told it that I didn't want to get older. I wanted to be able to keep doing what I was doing. And in exchange, I gave it my first name. Nobody knows it anymore. Nobody could use it if they wanted to. Hell, I don't even remember it."
"Driver's license? Social Security? Birth Certificate?" George still couldn't quite believe it...
Instead of replying, Roberts opened his wallet, and pulled out his driver's license. Where his full name should have been was simply 'Roberts'.
"Didn't you get in -trouble- for that?"
"Sure I did. Nobody else took anything. We usually aren't supposed to. But I didn't really care that much...all the other guys I used to work with, if they aren't retired, they're all top men, now. Seven figures, big houses, fast cars they don't drive...I'm on field work. I've been on field work. I'll probably be on field work until I die." George felt a lurching, creeping horror in his gut, and he felt a huge urge to GET OUT OF THERE, leave the room, go SOMEWHERE, but his feet felt like they had been bolted into place.
"I got sentenced to keep doing what I love, George." Roberts grinned. "Ain't that something?"
