The journey itself, is freedom
by Ainzfern
15
Sitting across from his head curator in his lavish office at the rear of the Midas Museum of History, Tahna Lam suppressed a rapidly strengthening urge to heave a great sigh as Quinn alternately stuttered and droned his way through the minuscule details of the monthly expenses report. Normally, Tahna was quite an attentive listener when it came to this particular interaction, the chance to point out any little mathematical oversights never failing to amuse him. Especially when Quinn went that peculiar color and scrabbled for his pocket calculator.
It was small and petty, Tahna knew, but then... he was like that sometimes.
In truth, Quinn had gotten pretty good these days. The likelihood of catching any errors was now very low. And, if Tahna was to be absolutely truthful about the whole matter, his mind really wasn't on the job this afternoon. In fact, it had been elsewhere most of the day.
Back with Charlie's offer, and the conversation he had had with Chey Neeson immediately after it.
Damn the wretched man and his even temper, and his disgustingly fair-minded approach to every blasted thing.
Honestly – Tahna cupped his chin with one hand, staring blanking across the desk at Quinn and his pile of papers – couldn't Chey just once act like the selfish nasty pieces of work that every other Federation politician seemed to be? Why, when there was such a vast choice of hooligans available in the Senate, did Tahna have to score one who was as honest as the day was long?
"I'm not going to tell you what to do, Tahna," Chey had told him quite bluntly during their call last night.
Tahna had thrown his hands up, glaring at the wall of his apartment. "Oh, for goodness sake—"
"No," Chey had cut him off, his voice warm but firm. "This decision is one you have to make for yourself... and it has to be for the right reasons. Otherwise you'll regret it and end up hating everything about it. You know that."
"Well, will you at least tell me what you would like?" Tahna had asked him.
"That's no secret," Chey's beautiful deep voice, rich with affection and laughter, had come back to him over the sub-space uplink. "I want you to give the rest of your life to me. I want you to get your shapely backside on the first transport off Amoi that is heading in my direction. I want you to agree to be my spouse so that I never have to leave you behind again."
"There... see?" Tahna's voice had throbbed with triumph. "You do want me to accept the position at the University!"
"But what I want, Tahna, most of all... is for you to be happy."
"Oh, damn you," Tahna had hissed, his teeth clenching, his stunning eyes flashing cold fire.
Chey's laughter had filled the room once more. "Listen, Charlie said you had time, right?"
Tahna huffed a baleful little sigh. "Yes."
"So, give yourself that," Chey went on. "Look at the pros and cons. Get some feedback from people you trust. Treat it logically."
"...Make a list, too?" Tahna muttered snidely.
"I happen to like lists, Blondie," Chey chided mildly. "They direct a multitude of sins."
"Stop that, you're not in the Senate now."
"No I'm not," Chey's voice had softened then. "But what I can tell you is that this is a life-changer, Tahna. Whatever you decide, I will support. Whenever you need to talk to me, or bounce ideas, or just to vent your gorgeous self silly, I will be here." Tahna had heard his sigh clearly across the link. "I love you, y'know."
Tahna had sat down on his sofa; his shoulders dropping in something that felt oddly like defeat. "I know," he had murmured, "I've never doubted that."
And that was quite true. He never had.
Now, sitting across from his employee, Tahna was beset by the strongest urge to try Chey's advice, to test the waters, so to speak. "Enough," he muttered, his violet eyes flicking up to Quinn's startled face. "We can review the expenses later. I have a rather pressing query that I wish to gauge your opinion on."
Quinn looked deeply startled. "You uh... you want my opinion, Sir?"
"Well I don't see anyone else in the room, Quinn," Tahna shot back flatly.
"Ah. Yes. Well," Quinn sorted through his report with fluttering fingers. "What exactly did you, uhm... want to ask, Sir Tahna? Sir?"
Tahna leaned forward slightly, his flawless face solemn. "What would you think about me leaving?"
Quinn fussed busily with his little pile of papers. He kept his eyes focused on his hands as he spoke, but Tahna could see by the set of the little man's shoulders, the downward turn of his mouth, that the question had upset him. "Leaving the museum, Sir?" he asked in reply to Tahna's query.
"No," Tahna sat back a little, steepling his long fingers together, his splendid eyes narrowing as he gauged Quinn's responses, "...leaving the Department, the Syndicate." His rich mouth curved wryly. "In fact, leaving the entire planet."
Quinn stilled, looking up and staring directly at him. He sat down, his brow furrowed and his eyes troubled. "Uhm... for how long? Exactly? Uh... Sir?"
Tahna lifted one elegant shoulder in an artfully nonchalant shrug. "Ostensibly for twelve months."
Quinn frowned even more. "Ostensibly?"
Tapping the fingers of one hand idly against the blotter on the desktop, Tahna pursed his lips thoughtfully, considering his answer. At length he sighed, almost disgustedly, his flawless face creasing for a moment into a delicate grimace of disdain for all things emotionally motivated in general and Chey Neeson in particular.
"Ostensibly," he clarified, "in that I may very well decide not to come back." He shrugged again. "Excluding the occasional visit, of course."
"Oh," Quinn gnawed at his lower lip for a moment. "Well, uhm... I can't say that I...," he broke off, fidgeting, "well, it's... erm..."
Tahna felt his mouth thinning, one pale brow lifting dangerously. "Quinn..." he murmured in a warning tone.
Quinn nodded, straightening up and pulling in a deep breath. "I don't think I'd like it very much, Sir," he blurted out quickly, his pinched little face flushing with the effort of speaking an unbroken sentence. "At all," he added for good measure, "Sir Tahna. Uhm... Sir."
The Blondie did a small double take, genuinely surprised. "Truly? I would have thought you'd have been relieved to see the back of me."
Quinn looked back down, re-neatening his pile of papers. "No, Sir Tahna," he said quietly. "Actually, uhm... quite the opposite, really."
"Really?"
"Oh yes," Quinn flashed a fleeting nervous little smile at him, clasping his hands in his laps, his entire frame radiating earnestness. "Before I came to the Department of Arts and Antiquities, I wasn't, well... what anybody would call successful," he grimaced in embarrassment. "At all... not even a bit."
Tahna tilted his head, his large eyes holding Quinn's almost shame-filled gaze. "Now, this fact has always puzzled me," he admitted. "Because you had only been employed as the assistant curator in the museum for twelve months before I was willing to second you into the head curator's position."
"Oh, I know, Sir...," Quinn smiled again, once again little more than a quick blink of expression. "But I think that was because you were willing to overlook my... well, uhm...," he shrugged, pulling an embarrassed little face at his Elite boss.
"Peccadilloes?" Tahna gave a long-suffering sigh.
"Well... yes," Quinn stared down at his hands again. "The thing is, before I came here... everywhere I worked, I just, uhm... well – y'know...my personality, it just, it... it irritated people so much."
Tahna shot Quinn a look that spoke volumes, propping his chin wearily upon on elegant hand. "Quinn, I sincerely hate to be the one to have to inform you of this fact but your personality, such as it is, irritates me as well."
Despite Tahna's rather brutal appraisal, Quinn looked anything but hurt. "Oh, I know, Sir," he replied quite happily, "I know that." He lifted his thin shoulders ruefully. "But... the thing is, Sir Tahna – uhm, Sir, is that you've never hidden that. From the first day, you've told me every single time when I've annoyed you."
"I see," Tahna peered askance at him, wondering if and when the actual point was going to emerge.
It was, he had to admit, quite difficult to tell with Quinn most of the time.
"Every single time," Quinn clarified again. "No matter how small my transgressions might have seemed."
"Right."
"I mean, every single time. You never missed one—"
"I think," Tahna held up one hand, his tone growing waspish, "that we have established that fact, Quinn."
"Yes. Of course, Sir," Quinn drew in a deep breath. "The point, Sir Tahna, is that you recognized that I had abilities, anyway. You gave me opportunities and, and... well, you allowed me to prove myself. Plus, I always knew where I stood with you, right from the very first day."
"Underfoot?"
Quinn smiled, a genuinely amused look crossing his face. "Well, I uhm... rather think that goes without saying, Sir." He sobered, this time holding Tahna's gaze steadily, "The thing is... you never pretended that everything was fine to my face only to say... well, y'know – horrible things about me to others behind my back," He looked miserable for a moment. "You gave me a chance, Sir... rather than just passing me over again and again for promotions or invitations, or events."
Sitting back, his beautiful face smoothing out as clarity hit, Tahna nodded. "I see. And am I correct in assuming that is what your previous employers and colleagues did to you?"
"Yes, Sir Tahna," Quinn nodded sadly, "Yes, Sir. They did, Sir. I was always shunted to the outside, you see... because, well... my character didn't fit the standard mold, I guess."
"Huh," Tahna turned his gaze away for a moment, staring almost absently out one of the tall side windows that flanked the end of his office. "Oddly enough, Quinn," he murmured, a mere breath of sound, "I can genuinely empathize with you there."
"I'm sorry, Sir?" Leaning forward, Quinn had tilted his head, trying to catch the Blondie's words.
"Oh nothing," Tahna flashed a brittle smile and faced his employee once more. He lifted one shoulder, his smile softening a touch. "Well... as gratifying as it is to know that my apparently quite blunt honesty has endeared me to you, it does not actually solve my problem."
Quinn looked blankly at him.
"In the event that I do decide to leave," Tahna explained, "where am I going to find a replacement to run the Department?" He waved a hand at Quinn. "I mean, concerning the Midas Museum, of course it would remain in your care."
Quinn flushed, his gratification clear. "Well, thank you, Sir."
"Mmm," Tahna waved that off with an airy flick of one hand. "But I still have an office at Eos Tower, an entire department that has to be run, and budgeted for, and audited and directed, with its staff properly coordinated. And, then there's you," Tahna shot Quinn a flat look, "who, through some completely bizarre quirk of fate, have practically become my departmental P.A. Honestly, where am I going to find another Elite who can frighten you enough to snap you out of your infernal fussing about, without terrifying you into a full seizure?" His eyes narrowed with disgust. "It's a delicate balance, you know. You are quite the most high-maintenance employee I have ever had."
Once again, Quinn's mouth curved into a peculiarly knowing little smile. "Sorry, Sir Tahna."
Tahna vented a deeply disgusted little huff. "And you may get that smug little look off your face, while you're at it, please."
Pressing his lips tightly together, Quinn composed his expression, but his eyes remained warm. "May I ask you a question, Sir Tahna?"
Heaving a sigh, Tahna arched an elegant brow. "I suppose so."
"I'm assuming that you've been offered a position outside of Amoian territory?" Quinn hazarded softly. "One that is, well, very tempting from a scholastic and intellectual perspective?"
"Ye-ess," Tahna drew the word out slowly, his tone carrying a clear warning.
Which, to his utter disapproval, Quinn chose to ignore completely.
"But... am I also correct in assuming that Minister Neeson might, uhm... y'know... have something to do with... it, uhm...?" Quinn trailed off and shrank back, his face blanching at the look on the Elite's face. Tahna's narrowed eyes pinned the diminutive man in place. "Perceptive little creature, aren't you?" he asked, his tone deadly soft.
"Uhm..." Quinn swallowed hard, flushing. "I don't, I mean... I don't want to cause offence."
"Too late," Tahna snapped out.
"I apologize, Sir Tahna, I uhm... I really do, but—"
"There's a 'but'?" Tahna shook his head, his full mouth curving into a scornful sneer. "You're feeling that fearless today?"
Quinn sighed, lowering his gaze back down to his lap. "Well... no, Sir. I'm never actually fearless. I just wanted to say that I was glad, y'know... for you. And the Minister, of course, but... well, mostly for you."
"Oh." Tahna blinked, considering his words, turning them around in his head and carefully investigating them for any opportunities to renew an attack. Alas, to his endless dismay, there was very little there that he could get aggravated by.
Except...
"Tell, me Quinn," he asked, his tone artfully mild, "how is it that you have guessed what practically no one outside of Iason Mink and Raoul Am are actually aware of yet?"
"Well," Quinn gave him a nervous look through lowered lashes, "it's just... whenever the Minister has been to visit you, you're always in a good mood."
"That's it? You based your entire conjecture on a good mood?"
Quinn blushed, grimacing apologetically at him. "Uhm... it's a very good mood, Sir."
"Is it?" Tahna blinked with mild alarm.
Quinn shrugged, and then nodded at him. "It's, uhm... quite a bit like the mood my brother was in right after his honeymoon—"
"I think you can stop there." Tahna rubbed a hand across his brow, "As a matter of fact, I think that this part of the conversation has quite clearly reached its end."
"Sorry, Sir."
Tahna cleared his throat, sitting back in his chair once more, his chin up, his pose regal and imposing once more, every inch a Elite Blondie, albeit one with the slightest flush of heat across his smooth cheeks. "The bi-annual Syndicate dinner will be hosted by Iason and his irrepressible little mate at Partia this evening," he frowned slightly, "Normally, I would rather eat a plateful of razor-blades than attend such a function but, in this case, I might actually make an exception."
Looking intensely relieved that the ship of dialogue had steered back to safer waters, Quinn nodded. "Would you like me to arrange your driver for the evening?"
"Yes, I would," Tahna pursed his full mouth into a thoughtful little moue. "I really have no idea how long I will remain at the function, so make sure that he is aware that he will be staying in attendance for me."
Quinn collected his papers and rose to his feet. "Do you think that you might find someone who can run the department in your absence, Sir?"
"Well," Tahna pulled a little face, "it'll be a conference hall filled to rafters with the Elite leadership caste, so naturally the odds aren't good... even if I can drag them away from trying to out-class each other for more than five minutes."
Quinn manfully struggled to keep the amusement out of his face as he bowed respectfully and turned to leave. "Well, I uhm... certainly wish you the best of luck."
"I shall need it, I would imagine." Tahna sighed and pushed back from his desk. "By the way, Quinn?"
The little curator turned back, his eyes questioning.
"You are quite right," Tahna set his jaw, an almost proud look crossing his beautiful face. "The Minister is very much a part of this decision." He lifted one shoulder in an artfully cavalier gesture.
"Well," Quinn smiled briefly. "As I, uhm... As I said, Sir Tahna... I'm very glad about that. No one should be alone."
Tahna's gaze softened a touch. "If you could call my driver..?" he prompted softly.
"Of course, Sir." With one final nod of his head, Quinn turned and left.
The journey itself... – chapter 14 << >> The journey itself... – chapter 16