String Theory

Chapter 9

Eggsy's concern is less than obvious, but the protectiveness is more serious than any agent-client relationship he's had before. Though Peter does a fantastic job of keeping his three friends at arm's length, without the bandages, it's fairly obvious how easy it was for 018 to damage him. Eggsy has no idea who or what Peter really is, or what he's capable of. By all rights, to Eggsy, Peter seems... fragile. His skin looks soft, besides the harsh marring from the gashes on his neck, and Peter's grip is always gentle, as if he's afraid he'll hurt whatever he touches. Occasionally, when Peter fixes him with those wide, brown eyes, Eggsy can physically feel his chest start to ache.

His better judgement warns him to maintain his emotional distance, but when has he ever listened to that?

When Peter stops to idly inspect the back of a box of cereal, Eggsy stops, too, looking over his shoulder. "Don't think I've had those before."

"Lucky Charms?" Peter asks, brows furrowing. "Really? Never?"

"Nope."

"Not getting those, either," Ginger calls over her shoulder.

Peter pulls the box off the shelf and hugs it close to his chest. "Why not?"

"Do you know how much manufactured sugar is in those? —James, tell them I'm right." It's a little weird to hear Ginger call him anything other than Bucky. Neither of the boys have quite yet gotten used to it.

"Listen to your mother," Bucky says absently, peering at the back of a soup can. Eggsy snickers.

When Bucky and Ginger are sufficiently out of earshot, Eggsy taps his pocket. "I've got my wallet. We can get 'em anyway." The same idea dawns on the boys at the same time, and they exchange grins. Their feet scuffle on the floor as they dart away from Ginger and Bucky, disappearing into a new aisle. Peter snatches up a hand-basket on the way, and they immediately begin loading it up with whatever junk food they set their eyes on, giggling quietly to each other.

"Can we get, like, four pizzas," Peter pants, hefting the basket higher on his chest. "No, five. Five pizzas."

Eggsy raises his brows, but loads the boxes of food on top nonetheless. "You gonna eat that many?"

"I mean— I normally eat three?"

"Three? By yourself? " Eggsy looks taken aback. "Mate— you're a fuckin' toothpick. Where's it go?"

The pile of food in the basket is nearly up to Peter's eyes now, and he lifts his chin to peer over it. He doesn't struggle with the weight of it — just the balance. He responds to Eggsy with a grunt, and pins down the top of the pile with his chin. "Okay, no more. This is gonna fall."

Eggsy nods in agreement, setting off towards the counter with Peter just on his heels. At the end of the aisle, he holds his fist up, abruptly halting his party of one.

"Oh, my god," says Peter, sounding fully exasperated despite the giddiness that tugs his mouth into a grin. "Just go, dude!"

When he peers around the corner, Eggsy can see that Bucky and Ginger are still preoccupied, this time squabbling over what sort of bread would be best for dinner tomorrow. With a nod and a wave of his hand, he darts into the first checkout lane he can find.

Miraculously, Eggsy manages to turn around at the same time Peter's foot catches on the edge of a soda display. His balance pitches forward, the food clatters to the floor, and he topples, unable to catch himself. But instead of hitting the ground, Peter finds himself buried in Eggsy's chest, with a set of arms fastly around his waist, keeping him upright. Eggsy's grinning down at him, eyes gleaming with amusement. "You good?"

"Fine," chokes Peter, who is anything but fine. He extracts himself from Eggsy's grip, cheeks flushing hot. He catches a whiff of Eggsy's aftershave — woodsy and metallic, with a hint of vanilla. It would have been intoxicating, had he stopped to fully inhale, but instead, Peter drops to his knees, scooping up the assorted boxes and trying to hide his now-pink face. Eggsy helps him, loading the things onto the conveyor belt quickly. Peter briefly considers how much he sucks, and mentally sizes himself up for his own coffin.

Eggsy will admit his heart skipped a beat — out of concern or excitement, he's not sure, but he can't wipe the sheepish smirk off his face. The cashier flashes him a knowing look as he pays for the items. Peter faces away, trying to pretend that he isn't flustered.

At the end of the store, Ginger flags Eggsy down. She and Bucky have already checked out. Eggsy scoops up their bags and heads in that direction. Peter goes to follow him.

"Wait," says the cashier, holding something out to him. "This is your boyfriend's wallet."

"W- what?" Peter stammers, eyes going round. "We aren't — he's not my..."

"He should be," she says, winking. Unable to come up with an adequate response that isn't " NO!", Peter takes the wallet from her and scurries away, muttering his thanks as he goes.

They quarrel pleasantly on the way home, tossing soft verbal jabs among each other and comparing food choices. It's fairly mundane. For a bit, they manage to forget that this is a world-end scenario; it's peaceful, but only for a moment. When they pull up to a red light, they're interrupted by an alarm over the radio: three dial tone bursts, followed by one long, harsh siren.

National state of emergency, Peter recognizes, and the color drains from his face. "Turn that up."

Ginger does as asked. A man's automated voice crackles from the speakers, and a chill falls over the car. "This is a broadcast from the International Emergency Alert System. This is not a drill. REPEAT: this is not a drill. Martial law has been enacted for the safety and wellbeing of the people. Due to unknown threats in Orthus-governed areas, military force is needed to protect the civilian population. Obey local curfew and central laws put forth by your Orthus representative. Dim lights and conserve power as needed. Do not attempt to resist Orthus inspection. Refusal will result in discipline to the full extent of the law. Listen and follow instructions given you. Do NOT stop for any unmarked vehicles with unknown intent."

The dial tones play again, followed by the siren. When the radio falls silent, the car is filled with only the sound of their breathing. Though the light has since turned green, Ginger makes no effort to drive forward. There's no chorus of horns from the cars backed up behind her, no angry shouting from the drivers; they all heard the announcement. Peter looks out his window, noticing a silver car in the lane beside them. The windows are too tinted for him to see the driver, but his hair stands on end, and dread fills his stomach.

Orthus' happy announcement jingle plays, and Leslie Meyers speaks up.

"People of New York," she says, calm as ever, "today is a good day to remember that Orthus is caring for you. Each day that passes by, we discover new ways to undo the plight of amnesia among you. While we cannot ensure that everyone will regain their memories, we are doing everything in our power to keep you safe. It's important to remember that if you don't do your part, we can't do ours." Her voice sharpens a little, as a mother would scold her child for trying to touch the stove. "This means you don't interfere with our technology or our the operation of our memory clinics. Vandalization, theft, violence, and disruption of public peace are punishable with whatever force Orthus sees fit."

Peter glances to Eggsy. Those are things they could be held responsible for: vandalization and theft of Mesonet equipment and data, disruption and violence at the memory clinic... Peter's gut twists, and he feels like throwing up.

Meyers continues, and though her words are harsh, her tone is sweet. "Association with anti-Orthus individuals will be prevented and punished with the full force of the law. Orthus will not let their people be harmed by these agitators. These laws are only here for your protection. Orthus," she pauses. Her smile can be heard. "For the people."

The emergency tone plays again, and the automated man lists curfew times and miscellaneous laws. The four exchange looks, and the same thing dawns on them at once: Orthus's control isn't just limited to North America and their orbiting satellites.

It's worldwide.