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You Can't Go Home Again - (crossposted to ![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
non_plot, challenge #27: Proof of Loyalty)
This is part of the alternate-timeline Amsterdam that Jakob lived in before he met Fabian (and by extension everyone else.) The present government rules from Berlin with notions of prosperity and peace and an iron fist smashing everything that's different. They haven't overtaken the Netherlands as yet, but a lot of smaller countries have fallen under the Rammstein propaganda. Lack of loyalty, in this case, can easily get a lot of people killed or worse.
German Peace and Prosperity Accords, Section 6, subsection 9: Anyone engaged in practices designed to disrupt or interfere with the operations of Rammstein and its agents will be considered to be a political subversive and, upon arrest, will be rehabilitated until such time as they are deemed fit to be reintegrated with society.
Family Protection Act, Section 2, subsection 5: Anyone found to be engaged in sexual practices of a deviant or unnatural nature, or that has in the past engaged in practices of a deviant or unnatural nature, will be considered to be a political subversive and, upon arrest, will be rehabilitated until such time as they are deemed fit to be reintegrated with society.
The coffee tasted funny.
There was nothing wrong with it, of course; it was the same coffee that he had every night, with the same day-old pastry licked with smoke around the edges. But tonight the coffee burned going down, bitter sludge that sandpapered the back of his throat with grit. Jakob sighed and set the coffee cup down, his blue eyes scanning the crowd.
He wasn't here yet.
He probably wasn't going to show up. Just his luck. The one time he had the nerve to actually ask Schuyler to meet him somewhere for coffee, and he wasn't going to show up. Maybe he'd been reading the signals wrong. Schuyler probably didn't want to.
Obviously he didn't want to. He was just being polite about saying he'd try to show up before his 'other commitment'. Apparently the up-to-date version of 'I have to wash my hair' was now 'I have this study group I have to go to.' On a Friday night. Yeah. Whatever. He took his glasses off, plunging the room into a mess of discordant swirls, and wiped them clean on a napkin.
"So is it true?"
Jakob put his glasses back on hurriedly and glanced up at the new arrival. A young man with brown hair tied back in a ponytail was standing before him, a curious smile on his face.
"Is what true?"
"Do girls make passes at boys that wear glasses?"
"I ... I wouldn't know." Jakob felt his mouth go slightly dry. Maybe it was the coffee. Or the smoke. Maybe it was Schuyler's eyes, which were the perfect boundless grey of a winter sky, the promise of sunshine lurking just behind the clouds.
"You should look into that." Holding out his hand, he helped Jakob up from the sofa. "I can't stay long."
"Uh ..." The glimmer of hope that had leapt into being when Schuyler had appeared was starting to fade.
"Did you want to come along? You might find it interesting."
"A study group?" he spluttered incredulously. "On a Friday night?"
A faint smile touched the corners of Schuyler's lips. "You might enjoy it. There are some interesting things to learn in the world."
Well ... at least he'd get some time to ogle the cutest of cute boys, if nothing else. And he had nothing planned.
"All right." he said uncertainly, following him out of the coffee shop.
* * *
Schuyler led him through dark and serpentine streets, identical-looking buildings looming in the dark and fog around sudden, cruel corners. Jakob ached to reach out and take his hand, but common sense made him bite back that impulse and bury it under a pile of algebra formulas in the back of his head. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at what seemed to be their destination; the back entrance of a small branch of the public library.
He must have been thinking loudly enough to be heard, because Schuyler turned and smiled at him; his grin appearing, like the cheshire cat's, almost piecemeal through the fog. "Relax. We won't bite."
"I'm not scared." Jakob's voice sounded thick, deadened by the heavy air.
"You should be." Schuyler replied simply, and knocked at the heavy wooden door.
A light flickered in the tiny window; a shadow passed in front of it, and then the door opened with an otherworldly groan.
The room inside was dimly lit and lined with dusty, aging books; it seemed to be some kind of storage room. Three people were there already, huddled around a small oil lamp; the yellow, sputtering glow turned their faces into gargoyles.
One of them looked up. "I see you finally decided to join us."
"I had to pick someone up." he replied simply, sitting down on a box of books. "Jakob, this is Tieunis; and this is Roelof, and Willem."
Nods, murmured greetings. Roelof, a tall, gangly young man with dark hair and a protruding adams' apple, inspected Jakob intently - so intently that he felt his skin start to crawl.
"Is he safe?" Roelof asked sharply.
"Of course." Schuyler replied mildly. "Don't be ridiculous."
"How do you know?"
"Just call it my intuition."
"Has he been ... initiated?"
"I'll take care of it. Don't worry about it."
For some reason this seemed enough, and after one last suspicious stare. Roelof turned back to examining the large map he'd been looking over.
Jakob sat nervously on a box of books beside Schuyler, struggling with his own confusion. This was obviously not a standard issue study group, that was certain. Yet this was not only more important to Schuyler than a warm and friendly coffee shop, but also important enough to paint its true purpose over with something innocent.
Not that lies and deception weren't a familiar part of Jakob's life so far. If they hadn't been, he probably would have been 'rehabilitated' long ago, because he wouldn't have been smart enough to cover up his attraction to Everettdoorn's utterly delectable - and very male - postman. But this made white lies to his parents and illicit fantasies look like child's play.
"Eleanor from Rotterdam met me on my last trip home." Tieunis was saying. "There's apparently some important tactical documents headed to Berlin, regarding their operations in Poland."
"I've got someone in the routing office." Willem nodded. "What needs to be done?"
"Copies."
"Did you want the originals to suddenly get routed to Thailand instead?"
"Not a bad idea." Tieunis grinned wickedly, nodding. "And there's apparently a shipment of weapons to be expected heading through from Denmark. Our people in the Hague are handling that, but they want our help distributing them."
"What kind?"
"Glock, Baretta, the usual small range."
"Hm. What's the best way to deal with that?"
"I vote we accidentally dump them in the river." Schuyler murmured.
"If they catch us ..." Roelof's dark eyes glittered in the dim light.
"The damn guns won't do us any good if they catch us and you know it. They'll just make things worse." Schuyler's voice was calm, quiet as always, but with a hint of steel. "The river."
Grumbling, Roelof nodded.
It was then that Jakob realized exactly what was going on. Who 'they' were, the purpose of the secrecy and lies and deception, dark rooms and dim lights.
This was the Resistance. This was what was keeping them from enroaching too far into the Netherlands' borders.
"Shit." he breathed. "Vanderschpiegle, your grandmother always said you'd end up at a bad end."
* * *
They walked most of the way home in silence. It was dark and cold and raining now; even the streetwalkers stayed huddled in doorways.
"So, did you enjoy our little study group?" Schuyler asked as they took a shortcut through one of the parks, huge trees masking the lights from the street.
"It was very ... enlightening."
"I'm glad you thought so." Silence fell for a moment or two. "We meet every other Friday, if you're interested in learning more."
Jakob nodded.
"Of course, it's a very ... exclusive ... study group. It's not really the sort of thing that a lot of people would enjoy. I'm sure you understand that. It might be better for you to keep quiet about it?"
He nodded again. "Uh ... I have a question."
"Of course."
"Wh-what did he mean? Roelof, when he asked if I'd been ... initiated?" Jakob fought to keep his voice from shaking, not wanting to admit fear in front of this man he was so desperate to impress.
"Ah, yes. Thank you, I'd almost forgotten, and that would never do." Schuyler stopped walking and turned to face him, his face washed out in the darkness.
Jakob fought to keep his knees from shaking. What the hell was this, what did they have planned for him?
"Don't worry." Schuyler murmured, his hands on Jakob's shoulders. "Just relax. This won't hurt a bit."
"The last time someone said that to me I had my wisdom teeth taken out." he chuckled nervously.
"I imagine," Schuyler replied with a gentle smile, caressing the back of his neck, "that this will be a little more pleasant. At least I hope so." He leaned forward, brushing warm, soft lips against Jakob's own, a soft, beautiful flare of tenderness that cut through the cold and rain. Jakob's shoulders slumped with visible relief, melting like warm sugar.
And then Schuyler broke away, and smiled, and squeezed his hand gently. "Did you still want coffee? It's early yet."
"Sure." Jakob nodded breathlessly. "Absolutely."
German Peace and Prosperity Accords, Section 6, subsection 9: Anyone engaged in practices designed to disrupt or interfere with the operations of Rammstein and its agents will be considered to be a political subversive and, upon arrest, will be rehabilitated until such time as they are deemed fit to be reintegrated with society.
Family Protection Act, Section 2, subsection 5: Anyone found to be engaged in sexual practices of a deviant or unnatural nature, or that has in the past engaged in practices of a deviant or unnatural nature, will be considered to be a political subversive and, upon arrest, will be rehabilitated until such time as they are deemed fit to be reintegrated with society.
The coffee tasted funny.
There was nothing wrong with it, of course; it was the same coffee that he had every night, with the same day-old pastry licked with smoke around the edges. But tonight the coffee burned going down, bitter sludge that sandpapered the back of his throat with grit. Jakob sighed and set the coffee cup down, his blue eyes scanning the crowd.
He wasn't here yet.
He probably wasn't going to show up. Just his luck. The one time he had the nerve to actually ask Schuyler to meet him somewhere for coffee, and he wasn't going to show up. Maybe he'd been reading the signals wrong. Schuyler probably didn't want to.
Obviously he didn't want to. He was just being polite about saying he'd try to show up before his 'other commitment'. Apparently the up-to-date version of 'I have to wash my hair' was now 'I have this study group I have to go to.' On a Friday night. Yeah. Whatever. He took his glasses off, plunging the room into a mess of discordant swirls, and wiped them clean on a napkin.
"So is it true?"
Jakob put his glasses back on hurriedly and glanced up at the new arrival. A young man with brown hair tied back in a ponytail was standing before him, a curious smile on his face.
"Is what true?"
"Do girls make passes at boys that wear glasses?"
"I ... I wouldn't know." Jakob felt his mouth go slightly dry. Maybe it was the coffee. Or the smoke. Maybe it was Schuyler's eyes, which were the perfect boundless grey of a winter sky, the promise of sunshine lurking just behind the clouds.
"You should look into that." Holding out his hand, he helped Jakob up from the sofa. "I can't stay long."
"Uh ..." The glimmer of hope that had leapt into being when Schuyler had appeared was starting to fade.
"Did you want to come along? You might find it interesting."
"A study group?" he spluttered incredulously. "On a Friday night?"
A faint smile touched the corners of Schuyler's lips. "You might enjoy it. There are some interesting things to learn in the world."
Well ... at least he'd get some time to ogle the cutest of cute boys, if nothing else. And he had nothing planned.
"All right." he said uncertainly, following him out of the coffee shop.
* * *
Schuyler led him through dark and serpentine streets, identical-looking buildings looming in the dark and fog around sudden, cruel corners. Jakob ached to reach out and take his hand, but common sense made him bite back that impulse and bury it under a pile of algebra formulas in the back of his head. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they arrived at what seemed to be their destination; the back entrance of a small branch of the public library.
He must have been thinking loudly enough to be heard, because Schuyler turned and smiled at him; his grin appearing, like the cheshire cat's, almost piecemeal through the fog. "Relax. We won't bite."
"I'm not scared." Jakob's voice sounded thick, deadened by the heavy air.
"You should be." Schuyler replied simply, and knocked at the heavy wooden door.
A light flickered in the tiny window; a shadow passed in front of it, and then the door opened with an otherworldly groan.
The room inside was dimly lit and lined with dusty, aging books; it seemed to be some kind of storage room. Three people were there already, huddled around a small oil lamp; the yellow, sputtering glow turned their faces into gargoyles.
One of them looked up. "I see you finally decided to join us."
"I had to pick someone up." he replied simply, sitting down on a box of books. "Jakob, this is Tieunis; and this is Roelof, and Willem."
Nods, murmured greetings. Roelof, a tall, gangly young man with dark hair and a protruding adams' apple, inspected Jakob intently - so intently that he felt his skin start to crawl.
"Is he safe?" Roelof asked sharply.
"Of course." Schuyler replied mildly. "Don't be ridiculous."
"How do you know?"
"Just call it my intuition."
"Has he been ... initiated?"
"I'll take care of it. Don't worry about it."
For some reason this seemed enough, and after one last suspicious stare. Roelof turned back to examining the large map he'd been looking over.
Jakob sat nervously on a box of books beside Schuyler, struggling with his own confusion. This was obviously not a standard issue study group, that was certain. Yet this was not only more important to Schuyler than a warm and friendly coffee shop, but also important enough to paint its true purpose over with something innocent.
Not that lies and deception weren't a familiar part of Jakob's life so far. If they hadn't been, he probably would have been 'rehabilitated' long ago, because he wouldn't have been smart enough to cover up his attraction to Everettdoorn's utterly delectable - and very male - postman. But this made white lies to his parents and illicit fantasies look like child's play.
"Eleanor from Rotterdam met me on my last trip home." Tieunis was saying. "There's apparently some important tactical documents headed to Berlin, regarding their operations in Poland."
"I've got someone in the routing office." Willem nodded. "What needs to be done?"
"Copies."
"Did you want the originals to suddenly get routed to Thailand instead?"
"Not a bad idea." Tieunis grinned wickedly, nodding. "And there's apparently a shipment of weapons to be expected heading through from Denmark. Our people in the Hague are handling that, but they want our help distributing them."
"What kind?"
"Glock, Baretta, the usual small range."
"Hm. What's the best way to deal with that?"
"I vote we accidentally dump them in the river." Schuyler murmured.
"If they catch us ..." Roelof's dark eyes glittered in the dim light.
"The damn guns won't do us any good if they catch us and you know it. They'll just make things worse." Schuyler's voice was calm, quiet as always, but with a hint of steel. "The river."
Grumbling, Roelof nodded.
It was then that Jakob realized exactly what was going on. Who 'they' were, the purpose of the secrecy and lies and deception, dark rooms and dim lights.
This was the Resistance. This was what was keeping them from enroaching too far into the Netherlands' borders.
"Shit." he breathed. "Vanderschpiegle, your grandmother always said you'd end up at a bad end."
* * *
They walked most of the way home in silence. It was dark and cold and raining now; even the streetwalkers stayed huddled in doorways.
"So, did you enjoy our little study group?" Schuyler asked as they took a shortcut through one of the parks, huge trees masking the lights from the street.
"It was very ... enlightening."
"I'm glad you thought so." Silence fell for a moment or two. "We meet every other Friday, if you're interested in learning more."
Jakob nodded.
"Of course, it's a very ... exclusive ... study group. It's not really the sort of thing that a lot of people would enjoy. I'm sure you understand that. It might be better for you to keep quiet about it?"
He nodded again. "Uh ... I have a question."
"Of course."
"Wh-what did he mean? Roelof, when he asked if I'd been ... initiated?" Jakob fought to keep his voice from shaking, not wanting to admit fear in front of this man he was so desperate to impress.
"Ah, yes. Thank you, I'd almost forgotten, and that would never do." Schuyler stopped walking and turned to face him, his face washed out in the darkness.
Jakob fought to keep his knees from shaking. What the hell was this, what did they have planned for him?
"Don't worry." Schuyler murmured, his hands on Jakob's shoulders. "Just relax. This won't hurt a bit."
"The last time someone said that to me I had my wisdom teeth taken out." he chuckled nervously.
"I imagine," Schuyler replied with a gentle smile, caressing the back of his neck, "that this will be a little more pleasant. At least I hope so." He leaned forward, brushing warm, soft lips against Jakob's own, a soft, beautiful flare of tenderness that cut through the cold and rain. Jakob's shoulders slumped with visible relief, melting like warm sugar.
And then Schuyler broke away, and smiled, and squeezed his hand gently. "Did you still want coffee? It's early yet."
"Sure." Jakob nodded breathlessly. "Absolutely."