Follow You Down
Chapter Fourteen: Hidden Charms
Summary: Mairon and Thuringwethil try to solve the merger mystery and dig up some interesting dirt.  Mairon finally gets a clue to really understanding the Silmaril program.  Melkor realizes dinner might be harder to come by than he thought.
I just want to apologize (like, ten thousand times) for the absurd delay in getting this out.  If anyone is still reading, I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means that you’re still out there.  You are really and truly the absolute best.  Enjoy.  [read on ao3]

“Hey.”

“Mmmph.”  Mairon blinked tiredly and turned his head to find Gothmog smiling sympathetically at him.  “What?” he asked, yawning.

“We’re here, doofus.”

Mairon groaned and turned his faced toward the window, wiping away the condensation with his sleeve.  He could see the entrance to the building through the drizzle of rain that was falling beyond the fogging glass and he sighed, turning away again and closing his eyes.  “Five more minutes,” he murmured, settling back against the seat and retreating within the warmth of his coat.

“You can have five hours if you just let me take you home,” said Gothmog.

Mairon opened one eye and scowled at him.  “Are you kidding?  I’ve been gone for ten days.  I’m honestly surprised the place is still standing.”

“Oh, please,” said Gothmog, unimpressed.  “I was here the whole time.”

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Gothmog, I love you, but you are not my first pick for babysitting this place.”

“Why not?”

“Come on,” said Mairon, narrowing his eyes at Gothmog.  “You were throwing water balloons at my test models like, two days ago.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and?  They’re test models, Gothmog.  I put a year and a couple million dollars into them.”

“They’re drones, dude,” said Gothmog, grinning unrepentantly.  “If they can’t stand a little water, then you’ve got bigger problems than one thwarted water balloon prank.”

“Do you really want me sit here and explain to you the difference between test models and finished products?  Because I will.”

“And besides,” said Gothmog, ignoring him, “we never even got out of the building, let alone to the test site.”

“Thank God.”

“No, thank Thil.  Honestly, if you’re not going to trust me, then at least have some faith in her.  She was here the whole time, and believe me, she was doing a damn good job of following your own personal no-fun guidebook.”

“First of all,” said Mairon.  “Rude.  But I guess it’s nice to know there was at least one responsible person here last week.”

Gothmog flicked him in the side of the head.  “I should’ve left your ungrateful ass at the airport.”

“Watch it,” said Mairon, glaring at him as he smoothed his hair back into place.

“Right,” said Gothmog, rolling his eyes.  “Can’t mess up your perfect hair.”

“You know,” said Mairon, extracting his keys from his pocket and opening the car door at last.  “Your tone says insult, but all I hear is a compliment.”

“Carly Simon could’ve written a song about you, you know,” said Gothmog, stepping out onto the sidewalk and slamming the door behind him.

“It’s not vanity if it’s the truth.”

“No, at this point, I think it’s just narcissism.”

“You’re such a jerk,” said Mairon, shoving him through the door.  Gothmog caught himself midstep and turned to lunge at Mairon, catching him in between the shoulder blades and pushing him forward.  Mairon reached for the edge of the desk to steady himself, his bag slipping from his shoulder as his fingers slipped over the polished edge.

“Easy,” said Melkor, reaching out and catching Mairon by the shoulder.  He looked up at Gothmog.  “Don’t break my best engineer.”

“Not my fault,” Gothmog protested, laughing.  “It’s that giant head of his—he’s top-heavy.”

“I hate you,” said Mairon, scowling at him.

“Hey now,” said Melkor.  “Do we need to have a seminar about hostile work environment or something?”

“If we did,” said Gothmog, “it would literally be a list of things you’re no longer allowed to say to your subordinates.”

“Things like…go fuck yourself?”

“Yeah, just like that.”

“No, but really.”

“Fine,” said Gothmog unconcernedly.  “Find yourself another shmuck willing to pick you up from the bar at three a.m.”

“I have other friends, you know.”

Gothmog snorted.  “Like who?”

“I don’t know.  Thil.”

“Yeah,” said Gothmog, rolling his eyes.  “Good one.”

“Fine,” said Melkor.  “Mairon, then.”

“Try again,” said Mairon.

“Aw, come on,” said Melkor.  “You’d be up anyway.”

“Fair point,” said Gothmog.

“You know,” said Mairon, stepping through the elevator doors as they opened, “you two really need to up your insult game.  It’s pretty weak this morning.”

Gothmog grinned at him.  “Careful what you wish for you—”His phone chimed, and he glanced at his watched.  “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.  “I gotta go.  Just let me know what time you’ll be done, okay Mai?”

“I might be late,” Mairon warned him as Gothmog backpedaled toward his office door.  “I’m crazy busy today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gothmog, stepping into his office and rolling his eyes.  “What else is new?”  He shut the door, disappearing from view.

Melkor turned to Mairon and raised an eyebrow.  “Busy, huh?” he asked.  “What do you have going on today?”

“Honestly?” said Mairon, starting to unbutton his coat.  “There are about a hundred little things that all need my attention like, now.”

“Oh, really?” asked Melkor, rolling his eyes.  “Only a hundred?”

“Yeah,” said Mairon, grinning as he shrugged off his coat.  “So, you know, about ninety-nine more than you.”

“Hey,” said Melkor, feigning offense.  “Watch it, or I won’t buy you dinner.”

“Oh, right,” said Mairon.  “About that.”

Melkor raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah?”

“You still want to go?”

“Unless you changed your mind.”

“No such luck.”

Melkor grinned.  “Any idea what time?”

Mairon sighed.  “Hard to tell,” he said, laying his coat over his arm.  “Check back with me this afternoon, okay?”

“So I have permission to interrupt you later?”

“Since when have you ever needed permission?”

“Good point,” said Melkor, grinning.  He turned and started toward his office.  “See you later, then?”

Mairon waved as Melkor disappeared around the corner.  He looked down the deserted hallway and sighed.  Then, he paced down the hall and stopped in front of Thuringwethil’s closed door, knocking gently.

“I’m busy,” she snapped, the wood of the door doing little to soften the harsh tone of her voice.

“Fine,” said Mairon, pushing open the door and stepping inside.  “I’ll just go and see my other best friend.”

“Like there’s any other option,” said Thuringwethil, standing and rounding her desk with a grin.

“There’s Gothmog,” Mairon reminded her.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed.  “What’s he ever done to earn the best friend status?”

“He did pick me up from the airport this morning.”

“He lives closer.  And anyway, I dropped you off—at ass o’clock in the morning, I might add.”

“Fair point,” said Mairon.  “I guess it’s a tie, then.”

Thuringwethil laughed, crossing the distance between them in a few quick, short strides.  “You don’t know how happy I am that you’re back.  Do you have any idea how insane your workload is?”

He snorted.  “You know, I think I might.  Thanks for covering for me, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Who else was going to do it?”

“True.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned.  “Did you come straight from the airport?  You know you didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly.  “To tell you the truth, I really needed to see with my own two eyes that the place hadn’t burned down or anything.”

“I was here, you know,” she said reproachfully.

“Yeah well, it’s been two against one for almost two weeks.  I figured you could use a hand.”

She reached out and gently straightened the knot of his tie, letting her hand rest for a fleeting moment on his shoulder before withdrawing.  “I’m glad you’re back,” she said firmly.

“Me too,” he said, shifting his coat farther up on his arm.  “So, fill me in.  What have I missed?”

“Since I talked to you yesterday?  Very little.”

“Thil.”

“Oh, you know,” she said, walking back toward her desk and perching on its edge.  “Meetings with the research and development teams, test flights, paperwork…though, to tell you the truth, a lot of my attention has been focused on that Formenos-Alqualondë bullshit.  Call me crazy, but something just feels off about it.  I don’t like it.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, walking over to survey the uncharacteristic mess of her desk.  “It doesn’t sit right with me, either.”

She sighed and laid her palms flat on the desk, leaning into the solid weight as she thought.  “So what is it?” she asked at last.  “Are we just paranoid because of the whole debacle involving a certain program which shall remain nameless?”

“I don’t think so,” said Mairon, shaking his head.  “Look, Thil, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.  We just haven’t seen the flames yet.”

“That’s what worries me,” she said.  “This buyout took us completely by surprise.  I don’t like it.  If we don’t know what they’re doing, then we can’t defend against it, you know?”

“I know,” he said.  He sighed, running a hand over his head to smooth his hair.  “You know what?” he said suddenly.  “Let me see what I can dig up.”

“Have at it,” she said, shrugging.  “But don’t expect much.  I’ve been looking for days and haven’t found a thing.”

Mairon folded the paper and tucked it into his bag.  “Then it won’t hurt for you to take a break,” he said, turning toward the door.

“I know that tone of voice.  You’re up to something.”

“I’m always up to something,” he said noncommittally.

“Fine.  Be vague.  Just don’t do anything illegal, alright?  I’m up to my eyeballs in legal bullshit, and I really don’t feel like adding another case to my workload.”

Mairon turned in the doorway and gave her a grin that was far from reassuring.  “Come on, Thil.  You know I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep.  How about we settle for a promise not to get caught?”  He turned and walked across the hall toward his own office.

“The last time I heard that,” she called, glaring at his back, “we ended up with an audit and a court case.”

“Yeah, well, last time I wasn’t the one who said it.  Relax, Thil.  I know what I’m doing.”  He flashed her a shameless smile as he stepped into his office and closed the door.  Thuringwethil sighed and turned back to her work, trying to push the worry from her mind.

***

It was getting dark when Gothmog shouldered his way into the office, stepping carefully to avoid spilling the hot coffee in his hand.  He walked up to the desk and set the paper cup on the edge, watching as Mairon continued to type.  A few seconds ticked by in silence until Gothmog cleared his throat.

Mairon jumped and looked up, noticing him at last.  Gothmog looked pointedly at the coffee on his desk, and Mairon leaned forward eagerly to retrieve it.  “Thanks,” he said, picking it up and taking a sip.  “You’re a lifesaver, Gothmog.”

“You’re back one day and I’m already feeding your caffeine habit,” said Gothmog, frowning his disapproval.

“What are friends for?” asked Mairon, grinning.

“You know, I ask myself that all time,” said Gothmog.  “About as often as I wonder if you clowns are even worth the trouble.”

“Liar,” said Mairon good-naturedly.  “You love us.”

“Very conditionally, and on a rotating basis.”

“That’s such a load of crap,” said Mairon, laughing.

“Fine,” said Gothmog, grinning.  “You caught me.  Anyway, I thought I was giving you a ride home tonight.”

“I thought you were too,” said Mairon, raising an eyebrow.  “Something come up?”

“No, but I’d like to go home sometime, you know, today.”

“I’m finishing up,” said Mairon.  “Just give me an hour.  Two at the most.”

“Mai, it’s seven-thirty.”

“No, it’s—”Mairon glanced at his watch, then his computer, and finally at his phone, before making a noise of disgust.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  When did it get so late?”

“I’m going with progressively,” said Gothmog.  “Y’know, throughout the day.  Like it always does.”

“You are the opposite of helpful,” said Mairon.

“I do my best,” said Gothmog, preening.  “Anyway, are you ready or what?”

“Are you kidding me?  I didn’t even make a dent in the work I needed to do today.”

“So that’s a no.”

“You go ahead,” said Mairon.  “I’ll be a while.”

“You just said an hour—maybe two.  Define a while.”

“I don’t know,” said Mairon, shrugging.  “Three hours?  Maybe four?  Five at the absolute most.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” said Gothmog.  “I guarantee you there’s nothing going on here that’s so important it can’t wait until morning.”

“One thing?” asked Mairon, raising his eyebrows.  “I can name six off the top of my head.”

“Listen, nutjob, don’t you dare sleep in your office on your first day back,” Gothmog warned.  “You need to go home and get an actual night’s sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mairon unconcernedly.

“I’m serious,” said Gothmog.

“So am I,” said Mairon, wrapping his hands around the coffee and breathing in the heat.  “Look, I’ll do my best, okay?  Just let me get a little more done.  I’ll find my own way home.  I promise.”

Gothmog sighed, but relented.  “At least come get dinner with me,” he said.  “I’m reasonably sure you haven’t eaten all day, and—”

Mairon drew in a sharp breath, setting his coffee down hurriedly on his desk and sitting bolt upright.

“What?” asked Gothmog.

“I forgot about dinner,” said Mairon, pushing himself back from the desk and scrambling to his feet.

“I know,” said Gothmog, raising an eyebrow at him.  “That’s what I just said.  Well, implied, I guess, but—”

“No,” said Mairon, sweeping papers into haphazard piles and picking up his phone.  “I meant with Melkor.”

“Oh, right,” said Gothmog rolling his eyes.  “That’s still happening, huh?”

“Probably not now,” said Mairon anxiously, rounding the desk.

“I meant more generally,” Gothmog needled.

“I don’t know,” said Mairon, heading for the door.  “Maybe.  What do you care, either way?”  He paused in the doorway and looked back at Gothmog.  “Don’t wait up for me, okay?  I’ll just see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Gothmog, trailing him out into the hall.  Shaking his head, he headed toward the elevator.

Mairon walked into Melkor’s office to find him still at his desk, looking intently at the screen of his laptop.  “Hey,” said Mairon, walking slowly toward the desk.

“Oh, hey,” said Melkor, flashing Mairon a grin.

“What are you working on so late?”

Melkor snorted and pushed the computer around so Mairon could see the screen.  Mairon watched the opening sequence of Top Gun play silently across the screen and rolled his eyes.  “Why are you watching Top Gun alone in your office with the subtitles on and no sound?”

“Well, Gothmog didn’t want to watch it with me,” said Melkor.  “Clearly, I need to reconsider our friendship.”

“Clearly,” said Mairon, rolling his eyes.  “But why is it muted?”

“Because I lost my headphones,” said Melkor, “and Thill yells at me when I watch movies with the sound turned up.”

“Thil left an hour ago, you know.”

“She did?” said Melkor.  “Fantastic.”  He reached out and turned the volume up to the max, grinning as Danger Zone roared out of the struggling speakers.

Mairon winced and shook his head.  “You must be a delight to share walls with,” he said loudly.

“You have no idea,” said Melkor, grinning and nodding in time to the music.  “Great song,” he added, turning down the volume to something approaching reasonable.

“And you criticize my taste in music,” said Mairon, shaking his head.

“Don’t you dare insult Loggins in my office,” said Melkor.

“Perish the thought,” said Mairon, rolling his eyes.

“I’m serious,” said Melkor, his grin belying his words.  “Loggins haters buy their own dinner.”

“About that,” said Mairon.

“Oh, I was totally kidding.”

“Yeah, I know.  I just—”

“Don’t tell me you’re canceling on me.”

“No, I’m not.  I just—”Mairon sighed, running a hand distractedly through his hair.  “Can we maybe reschedule?  I know it’s super late notice—past late, really—but I’m totally swamped, and—”

“You’re not still working, are you?” asked Melkor.  Mairon shrugged apologetically.  “Come on,” Melkor wheedled.  “You’ve been at it all day.  You could use a break.”

“I’d love one,” said Mairon.  “Really, I would.  But I still have to go over the research summaries from every department, and review the flight test results from last week, and finish up my report from the conference for the Research and Development meeting.  Oh, and there’s the—”

“I’ll take overscheduled for $200, Alex.”

“I know,” said Mairon.  “I know.  But if I don’t get some things done—”

“You won’t be able to relax,” Melkor finished for him.  “Yeah, yeah.  I know you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Mekor.  “You are who you are.”

“Still.”

“Look, don’t apologize.  I’ll pin you down sooner or later.”

“Is that so?” asked Mairon, a curious grin spreading over his face.

“With any luck,” said Melkor, returning the grin.

“Well then,” said Mairon, raising an eyebrow.  “Good luck.”

Melkor laughed.  “Now this is the Mairon I like to see,” he said, his tone approving.

“What do you mean?”

“This right here,” he said, waving a hand at Mairon.  “The Mairon who makes jokes and laughs and isn’t so uptight all the time.  You know.  Fun Mairon.”

“As opposed to…?”

“As opposed to business Mairon, the one who’s so stressed he can’t breathe and so busy that he makes other people bring him coffee.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, well, I think you like that Mairon just fine, actually.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah, it is.  I mean, business Mairon is the one who makes it so that you can sit in your office watching Top Gun without the business crashing into the ground.”

“Alright,” Melkor conceded.  “You’re right.  Business Mairon is pretty great.  But you know what?”

“What?”

Melkor grinned, leaning forward.  “I wouldn’t mind seeing a little less of Business Mairon—even if it means I’ll have to, you know, do something once in a while.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Mairon laughed.  “Well, that’s very generous of you.”

“That’s me,” said Melkor.  “Look up generous in the dictionary and you’ll see my face.”  Mairon pulled his phone from his pocket, and Melkor frowned.  “What are you doing?”

“Looking up generous in the dictionary.”

“You ass,” said Melkor.  He laughed, throwing a pen at Mairon, who easily dodged it, grinning.  “I thought you were totally swamped.”

“I am,” said Mairon, picking up the pen and tossing it back on the desk.

“Then get to it,” said Melkor.  “Sooner than later, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mairon, heading for the door.  “Good night, Melkor.”

“Night,” Melkor said, watching Mairon go with a satisfied grin.

***

“You have got to be kidding me,” said a voice from overhead.

Mairon blinked his eyes open and slowly lifted his head off his numb arm, flexing his fingers as he looked blearily across the desk at Thuringwethil.  “What time is it?” he asked thickly, grimacing.

“Seven,” she said.  “Tell me you didn’t sleep here last night.”

“What’s it look like to you?” he asked irritably.  He reached down and pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a fresh shirt.

“You know,” she said, eyeing him disapprovingly.  “I should’ve tossed that stuff while you were gone.”

“My desk drawers lock, you know.”

She snorted.  “Please.”

“What, you want me to sit around in yesterday’s clothes?”

“No,” she said.  “I’d like you to go home once in a while.”

“In an ideal world, I would.”

“Mairon, half-living in your office is not an acceptable life decision,” she said firmly.

“My life,” Mairon countered, “my decisions.”

“Stubborn asshole,” she muttered.  She sighed and opened her bag, pulling out a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil.  “I’m telling you, Mairon.  This is not the way you live your life.”  She tossed the sandwich across the desk to him.

“You know,” he said, “I’m pretty sure you can’t make that point and enable me at the same time.”  He grinned and peeled back the foil, sighing contentedly as warmth flooded him.

“Yeah, well,” she said begrudgingly.  “Someone has to make sure you don’t die.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, eyeing the coffee in her hand.

She rolled her eyes and handed him the cup.  “Find anything new about Formenos?” she asked, leaning gently against the edge of his desk.

“I’m working on it,” he said through a mouthful of food.  “Give me a couple more hours.”

“I don’t know,” she said, sighing.  “Maybe we are being paranoid.  Maybe there’s really nothing to find.”

He snorted.  “Good one, Thil.”

“Whatever,” she said.  “I just think we have enough to worry about without devoting resources to chasing ghosts.  Might I remind you that we’re being investigated?”

“How could I forget?” he asked, rolling his eyes.  “Look, just let me have a couple more hours, and then I’ll leave it alone.  Okay?”

“Sure you will,” she said.  She sighed, looking as though she wanted to say something more.  Then she shook her head.  “Don’t make me have to check on you again,” she said, stepping away from the desk.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said, smiling brightly.  She rolled her eyes but retreated, leaving him in peace.

Mairon sighed and nudged his mouse with the back of his hand.  He glanced down at the paper that had spent the night crumpled under his arm and frowned, tracing one finger between the notes he had written and the ones Thuringwethil had made.  There was something there; he could feel the shape of it lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for him to put the pieces together.  Frowning in annoyance, he leaned into his keyboard and began once more to dig.

***

“Got a minute?” asked Mairon, pushing open the door of Thuringwethil’s office and striding quickly to her desk.

“For you?” said Thuringwethil, looking up.  “Always.  What’s up?”

Mairon tossed a stack of papers onto Thuringwethil’s desk and sat down on the edge of a chair, leaning forward and watching impatiently as she picked up the pages, skimming them quickly.  “What am I looking at?” she asked.

“Emails, mostly,” he said.  “Do me a favor and read the first, oh, five lines out loud, would you?”

Thuringwethil raised an eyebrow at him, but she cleared her throat and began to read anyway.  “Recipient: Olwë.  Sender: Fëanor.  Subject: Potential Partnership Negotiation.”  She shook her head, looking up at him again.  “Mairon, what is this?”

“It’s not just the what,” he said.  “Read the date.”

“Sent on…holy shit.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This was sent three months ago!”

“Uh-huh.”

“But,” said Thuringwethil, looking up sharply at him.  “Hang on.  So this wasn’t a spur of the moment thing?”

“I mean, it is if you discount the three months of conversations leading up to the acquisition.”

“I don’t want sarcasm.  I want you to tell me what the hell is going on.”

“It’s complicated,” said Mairon.  “I’m honestly not sure I even have it all figured out yet.”

“Well, walk me through what you know so far.”

“Okay,” he said, taking a breath.  “Okay.  So I pulled a crap ton of emails off the Formenos server, right?  Most of them are just your regular, mundane business crap, but there are a few that really stand out.  Like this, for instance.”  He reached out and tapped the topmost paper in her hand.  “Three months ago, Fëanor contacted Olwë to discuss a potential partnership.”

“Why would Formenos want to work with Alqualondë?”

“That’s a good question.  Melkor wasn’t so far off the other day when he said that Alqualondë hasn’t made a decent product in ten years.  I mean, they used to do a pretty good trade in private and commercial maritime vessels, but they haven’t had any new tech developments in more than a decade, and their stock has been steadily falling for years.  Their money troubles aren’t new; I’ve been hearing rumors of plant closings the last couple of years or so.  From what I understand, it was getting pretty serious.  So I’m thinking that someone made them this grant offer, and they just couldn’t turn it down.  The problem is, they needed that money just to stay afloat.  I’m guessing that not a lot—if any—of it went toward actual useful development programs.”

“Okay, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“I know, I know,” said Mairon.  “I’m getting there.  So we know there was a grant, right, and we know Alqualondë took the money.  Years pass.  They’ve missed all the deadlines for development, and the feds have probably realized they aren’t getting any new tech out of the deal.  So it moves into mediation for repayment, right?  Except Alqualondë doesn’t have the money anymore.  It’s gone, and they have no way of paying back what they took.  But they still tried.  They filed extensions.  They got payment plans.  There was mediation.  But none of it changed the fact that Alqualondë had what amounted to no means to pay back the grant money.  Which brings us to—”

“Bankruptcy,” said Thuringwethil.

“Exactly,” said Mairon.  “Bankruptcy.  So what’s the first step here, Thil?  What would they do?”

“They would go to court,” she said, frowning slightly.  “Try to figure out if there was any possible cash flow that could support a repayment plan.”

“Right—which is where Formenos came in.  Fëanor stepped in and basically offered what amounted to an exit strategy.  He wanted to partner Formenos with Alqualondë—make it a subsidiary.  The company could’ve kept its name, and Olwë could’ve even still retained control, although he would’ve been reporting to Fëanor.”

“And Alqualondë could’ve had incoming cash flow to minimize the bankruptcy damage.”

“’Could have’ being the operative phrase,” said Mairon.  “Olwë wouldn’t take the deal.”

“What?  Why not?”

“That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question.  Now, I’m a little fuzzy on this part—the emails reference conversations that must’ve happened in person, so I’m not entirely sure what they discussed—but from what I can gather, Olwë didn’t like the direction Fëanor wanted to take the company.  He wouldn’t take the deal.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Thuringwethil.  “Alqualondë was sinking.  I don’t care what stupid plans Formenos had for the company.  Olwë had no choice.”

“Except, he did.  He had one other option, and he took it.”

“What are you—oh.”

“Starting to make sense?”

“Olwë was going to let the company be liquidated rather than give control of it to Formenos.”

“Exactly.”

“Jesus,” she said.  “That’s harsh.  What the hell was Fëanor proposing?”

“I wish I knew.  What could possibly be so heinous that Olwë would rather let the company be destroyed than give it to Fëanor?”

“Never mind the what,” said Thuringwethil.  “We still haven’t even gotten to the how.  If Olwë refused the deal, that should’ve been the end of it.  What the hell happened?”

“Well, you know Fëanor.  He didn’t like being defied, especially by someone he called—what was it?”  He rifled through the papers on Thuringwethil’s desk and pulled out one near the bottom.  “Oh, right.  A ‘useless old man destined to be ground into dust beneath the wheels of progress’.  That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

“Jesus,” said Thuringwethil, rolling her eyes.  “Melodramatic much?”

“You call it melodrama, I call it narcissism; either way, it’s the same result.”

“Which is?”

“Which is Fëanor pulling every string he can reach.”

“To what end?”

“Well, they had just started the proceedings for dissolution of Alqualondë.  It hadn’t been made public yet, but they were in the process of valuation of Alqualondë’s assets.  From the sound of things, it was coming in at way less than they hoped to recover.  So Fëanor made the feds an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

“Which was?”

“Fëanor contacted the people handling the Alqualondë case and basically offered to buy the company for the cost of its outstanding debt.  They put it through as a private auction, and voilá—Fëanor suddenly owns a shipbuilding company.”

“Oh my God,” said Thuringwethil.  “I mean, now that you say it, I’m not surprised.  But still.  That’s about twelve kinds of illegal.”

“Ha,” said Mairon, rolling his eyes.  “I’m going to say Fëanor doesn’t give much of a crap about legality when it’s him committing the crime.”

“Well,” said Thuringwethil mildly.  “We really don’t have any room to talk on that front.”

“Our own alleged indiscretions aside, this is a seriously shady business deal.”

“Oh, for sure.  There’s no two ways around it.  This is shady as fuck.”

“Which, you know.  Good news for us.”

Thuringwethil picked up the topmost paper on the stack and held it up, tapping the bottom edge on the desk.  Then she sighed, laying the paper back on the stack and tapping her fingernails against the polished wood of her desk.  “Okay,” she said slowly, “so we potentially have a bomb here.  What are we going to do with it?”

“That’s the thing,” said Mairon.  “I don’t know.”

Thuringwethil raised an eyebrow at him.  “That might be a first.”

“Shut up.”

“How about the Times?” Thuringwethil suggested.  “You’ve used them before.”

“That was my first instinct too,” said Mairon.  He bit his lip gently, his uncertainty evident on his face.

“But?” Thuringwethil prompted him.

“But it…I don’t know, Thil.  It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Hell of a time to have a sudden attack of conscience, Mai.”

He sorted.  “Come on, Thil.  I hope you know me better than that.”

“So what’s your hang up?”

He sighed and sat back in his chair, considering her thoughtfully.  “Call me crazy, but it just doesn’t seem like this thing is done yet.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know.”  He shook his head.  “It just feels like there’s something more here.  It’s like I can see the shape of it, but I can’t make out any of the details.”

“You know, I might take you up on the offer to call you crazy.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.  I mean, I don’t have anything solid to go on.  It’s just…”He shrugged.  “I just feel it.  I want to wait.”

“Okay, this is officially weird.  Leaving this alone?  Basing your decisions on a feeling?  That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Trust me—it’s no less weird to me.  But the way I figure it, this thing isn’t going anywhere.  I can sit on it for as long as I like.  It’s not going to change.  All I have to do is wait for the right opportunity, and believe me, when it comes, I won’t hesitate.”

“Now that sounds more like Mairon.”

He laughed.  “Look, Thil.  Will you do me a favor?”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll keep this to myself.”

He smiled.  “Thanks.”

“No problem.  Just promise me you’ll let me know when you plan to make a move.”

“I’ll do my best.”  He glanced at his watch and sighed.  “God.  Is it me, or do the days just keep getting shorter?”

“The days are the same length they’ve always been.  You just keep trying to cram more shit into them.”

He snorted.  “I’d like to defend myself, but—”

“You can’t.”

“Well, when you’re right.”

“And I usually am.”

“That’s the Thil I love.  Modest.  Humble.”

“Hey,” she said, shrugging.  “I’m good, and I know it.  Why deny it?”

He laughed.  “I swear to God this place attracts the worst kind of narcissist.”

“And there you are, up at the helm.”

“Touché.”  He glanced at his watch again.  “Alright, I need to go get some stuff done before I head to lunch.”

“Ha.”

“What?”

“Oh, I thought you were making a joke.  I mean, you have to admit that the thought of you taking a break to do something as mundane as eating is pretty hilarious.”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “It’s a real riot.  But seriously,

“We are such enablers.”

“And I love you for it.”  He stood up and sighed, bending to sweep the papers from her desk into his arms.  “Alright, Thil.  I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Sounds good, Mai.  And hey—I meant what I said.  Keep me in the loop, okay?”

“Bye, Thil,” he said, heading for the door.  He paused outside the door, shuffling the papers in his hand and sighing.  The Formenos problem was weighing on his mind; it was the type of prickly, circuitous problem that would, unresolved, eat at him until he had no choice but to find its solution.  Still, he knew it would have to wait.  There were company issues that took precedent, and he had already neglected them too long since his return.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Mairon stepped into his office, glancing back down at the papers in his hands.  He had spent enough time in the space to know it by heart, and so he easily navigated the length of the room without taking his eyes from the emails.  His feet carried him across the plush expanse of carpet, gently circumventing the chairs in his path and leading him around the edge of the desk.  He reached his office chair and glanced up at last, drawing in a startled breath as he realized the seat was already occupied.

“Jesus Christ,” he complained, raising a hand to his chest and feeling the frantic hammer of his heart.  “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not this minute,” said Melkor, leaning back and shifting his weight.  Papers crinkled under the heels of his shoes, which rested on Mairon’s desk.

Mairon winced, watching his freshly printed pages crumple.  “What are you doing?”

“I was waiting for you to get back.”

“Uh-huh.  And your shoes are on my desk because…”

He shrugged.  “You were gone for a while.  I figured I better get comfortable.”  He shifted his weight, crumpling the topmost paper further under his heel.  Mairon’s eye began to twitch, and Melkor grinned.

“Is it your life goal to drive me nuts?” asked Mairon, scowling.

“I mean, I think it’s more incidental effect than conscious effort.”

“Great.  Well, I hate to interrupt your lurking, but I do have work to do.”

“You think you’re the only one around here who works?”

“Not if Thil’s in the building.”

“For your information, smartass, I just so happen to be working on a very important project as we speak.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What project is that?”

“The one where I figure out what it’s going to take to get you to have some fun, for once.”

Mairon rolled his eyes.  “I have fun,” he said, setting his papers down on the desk and crossing his arms.

“Most people wouldn’t classify reading progress reports as fun.”

“I don’t know if I would, either, to tell you the truth.”

“Then how come you told me you read them on your ‘breaks’, huh?”

“Because when I’m stuck on a project, it’s nice to read through the staff scientists’ work and remind myself how much smarter than them I am.”

Mairon snorted.  “Only you,” he said.

“Excuse me?  The last time you went to a staff meeting, you fired the head of quality assurance for—and I quote—subjecting you to the most idiotic combination of words ever strung together by a human being.”

“That was work,” Melkor insisted.  “I wasn’t doing it for fun.”

“Really?  Because I seem to remember you making him stand out in front of the building for the rest of the day handing out photocopies of his staff picture with the words ‘king of the idiots’ written across the top.”

Melkor laughed.  “That was hilarious,” he said.  “But unfortunately for you, that was also business, not pleasure.”

“Not buying it.”

“Dude, that was a lesson for the staff.  Say stupid shit, you get fired.”

“And humiliated,” Mairon added.

“Damn right.  Anyway, I bet the quality of the staff meetings went up exponentially after that.”

“Not that you’d know,” said Mairon.  “You haven’t been to one since.”

“I’m not exposing myself to that level of idiocy again.  That shit’s contagious, you know.”

“Yeah, well, one of us has to risk it.”

“And while you do that, I get to do the real, important work.”

“You know, when I walked past your office earlier, you were making plans to hold a bracket-style tournament to decide who the best eighties action star is.”

“Like I said,” continued Melkor.  “Someone has to do the important stuff.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Mairon, rolling his eyes.  “You’re doing a real service to mankind, there.”

“All in a day’s work,” said Melkor, his tone mock-serious.  Despite himself, Mairon laughed.  “See?” said Melkor, grinning.  “I knew I could do it.”

“Do what?”

“Make you have some fun.”

“Yeah, well.  Everything in moderation, I guess.”

“Moderation,” Melkor scoffed.  “Do you even know what that word means?”

Mairon raised an eyebrow at him.  “Do you?”

Melkor laughed.  “Fair enough,” he said.  “But since we’re on the subject, I was thinking—”

“Hey, Melkor,” said Gothmog, coming into the doorway, “have you seen—Jesus, Mai!  Where have you been?”

“Um,” said Mairon, twisting around to look at him.  “Here?”

“Are you alright?”

“I think so.  Why do you ask?”

“Because the R&D meeting started fifteen minutes ago.”

“No,” said Mairon, glancing at his watch.  “It—oh, no.”  He stood up so suddenly that he stumbled, lurching forward to grab a notepad from his desk before turning on his heel and sprinting from the room.

Gothmog leaned on the doorframe, surveying Melkor with his arms crossed.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“I mean, probably.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Sitting here,” said Melkor, gesturing at the chair beneath him.

“Don’t be an ass.  I meant with Mairon.”

“Nothing, yet,” said Melkor, grinning.  “Give me time, though.”

“God, Melkor, can you be serious for one minute?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never really tried.”

“You need to think about this—really think about what you’re doing.”

“Dude, what’s to think about?  We’re all adults here, and last time I checked, I didn’t need your approval to do—well, anything, actually.  So how about you kindly fuck off and leave me alone, okay?”

“Have you even considered—”There was a chime, and Gothmog glanced at his phone, his frown deepening.  “Shit,” he said, scowling at the screen.  He looked up at Melkor, his face stern.  “Don’t think we’re done here,” he said, turning and heading back into the hall

“Don’t think I’m suddenly going to care,” Melkor called after him.  “What a buzzkill,” he muttered, annoyed.  He surveyed the office and wondered, vaguely, how long the meeting would last.  Sighing, he put his feet back up onto the desk and settled in to wait.

***

Mairon was not, by nature, one for sloppiness.  When he had started as COO at Melkor’s company, he had made a challenge to his staff that if anyone ever found an error in his work, he would personally pay them $1000 dollars.  It was, if he was being truthful, a two-sided strategy.  He liked the reassurance that everything coming out of Utumno—and later, Angband—was double, triple, even quadruple checked before it ever left the lab.  It gave him a sense of security, an extra assurance that everything they made was absolutely beyond reproach.  The added bonus, of course, was that it conveyed to his subordinates exactly how confident he was in his own work.

He had been challenged on exactly seven occasions.  He had yet to pay out a single cent.

Confidence, he knew, was contagious.  Self-assurance went a long way toward fostering trust, but it was quality that bred respect.  The scientists on his staff respected him because they knew, to put it simply, that he was the best.

Perhaps that was what irritated him about the Silmaril acquisition.  Mairon spent practically every waking moment thinking about how to put Angband ahead.  He had given up food and sleep and comfort in the pursuit of perfection, and yet Melkor had risked everything they had built to for someone else’s work.  In the deepest, most guarded shadows of Mairon’s heart, it felt like a betrayal.  He had given his life to this work, and Melkor seemed ready to abandon it all for a chance at Fëanor’s Silmaril system.

The part of it that really stung was how inarguably, maddeningly good the system was.  Mairon had been over the thing inside and out, and though he hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to find a flaw.  Even worse, there were parts he still hadn’t managed to crack, aspects of the programming and the applications he still couldn’t make himself understand.  He had taken to running through the code in all his spare time, trying to figure out what each little fragment did, and how it all fit together.  At night, he found the lines of code running endlessly through his mind, his brain picking at every little piece until he could no longer stay awake.  He slept less and less each night, and yet he was never any closer to cracking the horrible thing, no matter how many times he sifted through it in his head.

He knew that he was missing something.  He knew it as he trudged the familiar path back to his office, eyes scanning half-heartedly over his meeting notes.  He reached for the handle and pushed open the door, stepping into his office.  As he crossed the threshold, he realized the door had been unlocked, and he frowned, glancing up in time to see something rapidly approaching his face.

He ducked a miniature, household drone and watched it swoop past him as the papers tumbled from his hands.  “What are you doing?” he demanded, scowling in the direction of his desk.  Melkor cackled and flew the little drone in a rapid loop of the office.

“Cool, right?”

“Not from this angle.”

“Oh, please,” said Melkor, grinning widely as he flew another loop of the office.  “I wasn’t going to hit you.  As Dustin Hoffman once said, ‘I’m an excellent driver’.”

“You know Rain Man was only allowed to drive slow in the driveway, right?” said Mairon, picking up the last of his papers and standing.  “Besides,” he said, walking toward his desk, “driving implies a car.  You’re technically a pilot.”

“Am I?” asked Melkor, raising an eyebrow at him.  He landed the drone neatly on the desk and picked up a second controller, toggling the switches.  A miniature monster truck roared out from Mairon’s desk, it’s black paint shining under the office lights as it zoomed around the perimeter of the room.  “Take that, pedant.”

“I must be hallucinating,” said Mairon, sitting down with a sigh.  “I could swear you’ve got flame decals on that thing.”

“You’re damn right I do,” said Mairon, zooming the drone and the truck in circles around Mairon’s chair.  “Fuckin’ sweet, right?”

“God, sometimes I swear you’re like, fourteen years old.”  He leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin in his palm.

“Yeah, well,” said Melkor, landing the drone easily on Mairon’s desk and bringing the truck to a halt.  “What’s that say about you, huh?  You work for me.”

“Fair point,” said Mairon, stifling a yawn.  “The real question,” he said, watching the little car race around the carpet, “is why do you need two toys?”

“First of all,” said Melkor, “they’re not toys.  And second of all, are you joking?  Why have one of anything when you can have two?”

“I guess it depends on the thing,” said Mairon, sinking low in his chair and sighing.  “I mean, no one wants two, I don’t know, gunshot wounds.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” said Melkor, rolling his eyes.  “But seriously, though, I couldn’t pass these up—buy one, get one, you know?  Buy a drone and get any other remote controlled vehicle from the same manufacturer for half-off.  So obviously, I—”

“Wait a second,” said Mairon, sitting up in his chair.  “What did you say?”

“BOGO, dude.  You can’t pass up that kind of a deal.”

“It can’t be,” said Mairon.  He jumped out of his chair, pushing Melkor out of the way as he rounded the desk and urgently shook the mouse to wake his computer.

“I know, right?  They were practically giving the things away.”  He watched as Mairon furiously typed his login credentials into the computer.  “What are you doing?” he asked.

“No way,” Mairon muttered as his desktop came into view.  His fingers pounded into the keys, typing a string of security codes before opening the file containing the Silmaril codes.  “It can’t be.”  He leaned closer to the screen and scrolled through the folder, clicking on file after file and shaking his head in disbelief.  “I don’t believe it,” he said, eyes widening as he scrolled through the files.

“Are you having some kind of stroke?” asked Melkor, not sounding particularly concerned.

“I don’t believe it,” said Mairon again, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” said Melkor, slightly annoyed.  “I got that.  Are you going to explain, or…?”

Mairon turned to Melkor, a look of disbelief on his face.  “It’s so simple,” said Mairon, still shaking his head.  “I don’t know why I couldn’t see it before.”

“Dude, I swear to God—”

“The Silmaril program files,” said Mairon quickly, pointing at the folder on the screen.  “I’ve been trying to understand why there are three separate, complete files here.  At first, I thought the first two were prototypes—like, maybe the thing was still a work in progress or something.  But it just didn’t make sense.  They were all too fully formed, and they had these weird inconsistencies, like parameters and functions that didn’t make any sense.  So I thought they were just bugs, or that Fëanor was just an idiot, but that didn’t make sense either.  They were just written too well; those kinds of mistakes didn’t fit.”

“Okay, so…what?  If they aren’t prototypes, then what are they?”

“I thought Silmaril was a drone program,” said Mairon.  “And, well, it is—or, one part of it is, anyway.  But it’s not just that.  It’s a template, a kind of backbone program, and it’s adaptable.”  He turned to look at Melkor, admiration and excitement plain on his face.  “Program three is for drones.  It’s the one that always made the most sense to me.  It’s what I assumed the other ones were prototypes for.  But they aren’t prototypes.  They’re completely different programs.”

“Programs for what?”

“For new kinds of unmanned craft.  One for air, one for land, and one for sea.”

“You’re joking.”

“It’s true,” Mairon insisted, jabbing a finger at the screen of his computer.  “All those misplaced parameter and random functions?  They only make sense if we aren’t talking about aircraft.”

“Different vehicles?” said Melkor.  He frowned, as though turning the information over in his mind.  “But that wouldn’t explain—why would Fëanor—”He looked over at Mairon.  “What the fuck?”

“Melkor, what are you talking about?  Wouldn’t explain what?  What about Fëanor?”

Melkor considered him for a moment.  “Look,” he said, growing serious.  “I’m going to level with you, okay?  I didn’t just randomly stumble upon this Silmaril stuff.”

“Then how did you find it?”

“I heard Fëanor talking about it.”

“You did?  Where?  When?”

“One thing at a time,” said Melkor.  “This was a while ago now—the week I got out of jail, I think.  I was at the courthouse, and I saw him.”

“Why were you at the courthouse?”

Melkor rolled his eyes.  “So I could piss in a cup, if you must know.  Jesus, you’re nosey.  So anyway, I go do my whole drug test, are-you-being-a-good-parolee bullshit, and I’m getting ready to head out when I see Fëanor heading inside.  So obviously I had to know what he was up to.”

“Oh, right,” said Mairon, rolling his eyes.  “Obviously.”

Melkor ignored him.  “Alright, so I follow him up to the fourth floor.  You know what’s on the fourth floor?”

“What?”

“The patent office.”

“What was he doing at the patent office?”

“Honestly, I don’t know for sure.  I was kind of hiding around the corner waiting for him to go in.  Except he didn’t go in right away.  He ran into someone and started talking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing, really.  ‘I’m so glad we could work together, the initial tests are exceeding our expectations, you’ve been a real help to the program’—you know.  That kind of shit.  But it sounded like whoever he was talking to had done some collaboration with Formenos.”

“Collaboration?  That doesn’t sound like Fëanor.”

“I know, right?”

“So who was he talking to?”

“That’s the weird thing.”  He hesitated, looking at Mairon as though sizing him up.  “He was talking to Yavanna.”

“Yavanna?” repeated Mairon, looking startled.

“That’s right.”

“Why would he be talking to Yavanna?”

Melkor shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I was actually hoping you might have some ideas.”

“Why would I have any idea what she was up to?”

“Because,” said Melkor, as though explaining something incredibly obvious, “you know her.”

“So do you,” said Mairon flatly.

“Not as well as you do.”

“Did,” Mairon corrected him.  “I haven’t seen Yavanna in six years.  I have no idea what she’s doing now.”

“But you know her work,” said Melkor, pressing him.  “What could she have contributed to a project like this?”

“I don’t know,” said Mairon frowning.  “Are you sure it was Yavanna?”

“A hundred percent,” said Melkor.  “I passed her on the stairs after they quit talking.”

“And you’re sure they were talking about Silmaril?”

“I mean, they didn’t mention it by name, but what else could it have been?  I didn’t see any other giant, top-secret projects laying around Formenos.”

“Man,” said Mairon, shaking his head.  “This just gets weirder and weirder.”  He looked over at Melkor and frowned.

“Tell me about it.”

Mairon glanced once more at his computer screen and shook his head.  “I feel like I just cracked the Rosetta stone,” he said, acknowledging, albeit grudgingly, his admiration.  “I mean, there are so many possibilities for this.”

“Yeah,” said Melkor.  “I know.”

“It’s like, where do we even start?  Do we stay with the aircraft?  Move to a new medium?  Do both?”

“What I really want to know,” Melkor said, “is what the fuck did Fëanor think he was going to do with this thing?  I mean, they do a decent trade in programming, but they do absolutely nothing on the production side.  It’s a huge investment to get into, even for one kind of craft.  He was looking at, what?  At least three, right?”

“Yeah,” said Mairon absently.  “Pretty stupid, if—”He stopped short as several things pieced themselves into an idea in his mind.  “No,” he said softly, his eyes widening.  “It can’t—could it?  Oh my God.”

“Can we not start this again?”

“That son of a—”Mairon pushed himself away from the desk and stalked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Melkor called after him.

“Don’t move,” said Mairon, picking up his pace.  He jogged down the hall and knocked on Thuringwethil’s door before opening it.  “My office,” he said tersely, already heading further down the hall.  He made the same demand of Gothmog before turning on his heel and striding back up the hall to his office.  He paced the length of the wall as he waited for them to come, impatiently glancing at the door every other second.  “Shut the door,” he said to Gothmog as the big man cleared the threshold.

“What did you do to him?” Gothmog asked Melkor, nodding in Mairon’s direction.

“I didn’t do anything,” said Melkor, shrugging.  “This is all him.”

“What’s going on, Mairon?” asked Thuringwethil.

“You might want to sit down,” Mairon advised.

“Maybe you ought to sit down,” said Thuringwethil, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Seriously,” said Gothmog.  “You’re making me nervous.”

“Where do I start?” Mairon muttered to himself.  He shook his head, composing himself.  “Right.  Let me bring you two up to speed first.  So it turns out that Silmaril isn’t what I thought it was.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I thought this was just a different version of the work we’ve been doing.  It’s not.  Look, what Fëanor was working on is basically a drone shell—something that takes the drone idea and applies it to other fields using the same basic programming idea.”

“Which means what?”

“Fëanor was trying to expand unmanned flight.  He was looking into applying the principle to other vehicles, like unmanned cars or tanks or—”

“Ships,” said Thuringwethil abruptly.  “Oh, no shit.”

“Why would you jump directly to ships?” asked Gothmog, looking at her curiously.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Melkor, hitting his forehead with the heel of his hand.  “Alqualondë?  Really?”

“Why else?” asked Mairon.

“Okay,” said Gothmog, “but that deal literally just went through.  They lost Silmaril weeks ago.  Why buy a company you can’t even use?”

“This isn’t a new deal,” said Thuringwethil shortly.

“How do you know?” asked Melkor.

“Because,” she said, “Mairon’s been digging around in the Formenos server.”

“Is that right?”

Mairon walked over to the desk and opened the top drawer, pulling a stack of papers out and plopping them onto the desk in front of Melkor.  “I found a ton of emails,” he said, by way of explanation.  “There’s talk between Fëanor and Olwë going back months.”

“No shit,” said Melkor, picking a few pages up off the stack.

“Yeah, but that’s not all,” said Thuringwethil.  “Turns out Olwë wasn’t really interested in being brought into the Formenos fold.”

“You mean bought?” said Melkor.

“Look, all jokes aside, the old man was pretty adamant about telling Fëanor to go fuck himself.”

“Obviously not,” said Melkor.  “I mean, last I heard, Formenos now owns Alqualdondë, so…”

“Yeah,” said Mairon.  “About that.”

“It wasn’t exactly what you might call above-board,” said Thuringwethil.

“Oh please,” said Melkor, grinning.  “Tell me more.”

“Thil?” said Mairon.

“Look, it’s a little convoluted, but here’s the gist of it.  Fëanor wanted Alqualondë as a subsidiary.  He tried to use the company’s debt as leverage, but Olwë didn’t want anything to do with it.  Apparently there was a bit of a back and forth that didn’t end well.  Olwë was going to let the company go to bankruptcy—everything should have been up for forfeiture.”

“He was going to let the company be dissolved rather than let Fëanor have it?” said Melkor.  “Man, I’m starting to like this guy.”

“Right,” said Gothmog, “but that’s not what happened.”

“No,” said Thuringwethil.  “It’s not.  See, Fëanor made a pretty shady deal with feds.”

“Let me guess,” said Melkor.  “Ten million in exchange for the company?”

“Hang on,’ said Gothmog.  “Why would they make that deal?”

“Because bankruptcy sucks,” said Thuringwethil.  “You sell off assets piece by piece and hope you make back everything you’re owed, but there’s no guarantee.  Formenos offered them easy money, and they took it.”

“That sounds illegal.”

“Oh, it’s incredibly illegal, but they did it anyway.”

“How long have you been sitting on this?” Melkor demanded, looking at Mairon.

“Just a day,” he said quickly.  “I wasn’t sure what to do with it.”

“What are you talking about?  Put that shit in the paper!  You’ve done it before.”

“I was waiting,” said Mairon.  “I wanted to have a better grasp on what Fëanor is up to before we did anything.”

“Yeah, well, now we know.”

“Do we?” said Gothmog.  “I mean, it’s like I already said.  Formenos lost Silmaril weeks ago.  Why would they still be trying to buy Alqualdonë now?”

“That’s what worries me,” said Mairon.  “I wouldn’t spend ten million on anything I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about.”

“Which means Formenos must still have something,” said Thuringethil.

“Or,” said Melkor, “it means Fëanor has a damn good poker face.”

“That’s a hell of a bluff,” said Thuringwethil.

“True,” said Melkor.  “But if anyone has the obnoxious amount of self-confidence you’d need to pull some shit like that, it’s Fëanor.”

“Or you,” muttered Gothmog.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, boss.”

“Which is exactly what Fëanor has.  Look, he probably figures that if he built this thing once, he can build again.  That’s what I’d bank on in his position.”

“Do you think he could?”

“Maybe,” said Melkor, shrugging.  “I mean, like I said, he built it once before.”

“Thil,” said Mairon, turning suddenly toward her, “we’ve got to get that patent application in as soon as possible.”

“Oh, for sure,” she said.

“Then it won’t matter what Fëanor has to fall back on.  We’ll have the license to use it.”

“Okay,” said Melkor.  “Thil, make that your top priority.”

“Got it.”

“Gothmog, I want the security shit locked down, you got that?”

“I’m on it,” said Gothmog.  “But I’m telling you right now, if I get another false alarm from one of the server sites I’m going to flip the fuck out.”

“Yeah, well, figure it out.”

“I’m working on it.”

“I can help you,” said Mairon.

“I need you on this Formenos shit,” said Melkor.  “One way or another, I want it out to the public.”

“I’ll work on it,” he said, “but it might not be tonight.  There’s a dusk landing test tonight.”

“I’ll do that.  You do this, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Jesus.  I think I can handle babysitting a flight test.”

“You’re right,” said Mairon.  “Sorry.”

“But just in case…”

“It’s at six,” said Mairon.  “I’ll call you at five-thirty.”

“Good.”  He looked around at them and grinned.  “Alright, then.  Ready, team?  Break.”

***

Mairon looked up at the knock on his door.  “Hey,” said Melkor, leaning on the doorframe.

“Hey,” said Mairon, returning to his writing.

“Landing test is done,” said Melkor.  “Everything went great.”

“Good,” said Mairon, chewing the end of his pen.

“You lost me twenty dollars, you know.”

“Yeah?” said Mairon absently, pen poised over the page.

“Yeah,” Melkor confirmed.  “I bet Gothmog you’d breakdown and show up at the test.  I thought for sure you wouldn’t be able to resist checking up on me.”

“I didn’t have to go to the site to do that,” said Mairon.  He looked up at last, turning his monitor to face Melkor.  “I just opened the feed from the security cameras and watched the whole thing from here.”

“Of course you did,” said Melkor, rolling his eyes.  “I’m still keeping the twenty bucks, though.”

Mairon laughed.  “Go ahead.  I won’t tell Gothmog.”

“So,” said Melkor.  “I’m going to be you haven’t eaten anything yet.”

As if on cue, Mairon’s stomach growled.  “I’d say that’s a smart bet.”

“Good,” said Melkor.  “Come on.”  He turned and disappeared into the hall.

“Come on where?” Mairon called after him, but there was no answer.  Mairon looked at the work on his desk and sighed.  Resigned, he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood up, rolling out the stiffness in his neck before following Melkor out into the hall.

He walked through Melkor’s open office door and stopped abruptly, trying to process the sight that greeted his eyes.  Melkor was standing behind his desk, which had been cleared of its usual clutter, only to be replaced with at least a dozen white cardboard takeout cartons.  “I didn’t know what you’d want,” said Melkor, waving vaguely at the cartons.  “So I got one of everything.”

Mairon looked at the display with disbelief.  “What is this?”

“Dinner,” said Melkor simply.  “You won’t stop working long enough to let me take you out, so I thought I’d bring it to you instead.”

Mairon wrestled with the completely unfamiliar feeling of speechlessness, a smile blooming upon his lips.  “I don’t know what to say,” he said finally, still standing by the door.

“Don’t say anything,” said Melkor.  “Just eat.”  He seated himself behind the desk and fished a pair of chopsticks out of the array before him.

Mairon crossed the office and dropped into a chair, taking the chopsticks Melkor proffered to him.  He let the smell of food wash over him, taking a deep breath and sighing in satisfaction.  “Jesus,” he said, scanning his options.  “I’m starving.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Melkor, digging into a carton of pepper steak.  “You never eat.”

“I eat,” said Mairon defensively, pulling a container of broccoli chicken toward him.

“Rarely,” Melkor countered, “and usually only when someone makes you.”

“Not true,” said Mairon.

“What did you eat for breakfast?”

Mairon chewed on a piece of broccoli and considered the question.  “Coffee?” he hazarded.

“Not a food,” said Melkor.  “How about lunch?”

“Definitely coffee,” said Mairon, taking another bite.

“See what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mairon unconcernedly.  “You know I’m busy.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t get much work done if you starve to death.”

“Alright, Thuringwethil,” said Mairon.

“Low blow,” said Melkor.

“I’m telling her you said that.”

“Please don’t,” said Melkor, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I think I’m still half-deaf from the last time she yelled at me.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” said Mairon.  “It was probably, what?  Three hours ago?”

“Not true,” said Melkor.  “Three hours ago I was at the test site.  No Thil around for miles.”

“Mmm,” said Mairon around a mouthful of food.  “Fair point.  Thanks again for handling that, by the way.”

“No problem,” said Melkor.  “It was actually kind of nice being out in the field again.”

“Man,” said Mairon, wrapping lo main around his chopsticks with a practiced twirl of his wrist.  “I wish I’d recorded that.”

“Why?”

“So I can play it back to you next time you’re complaining about having to do work.”

“I would never,” said Melkor, his feigned affront belied by his grin.

Mairon sighed and set down his carton of food, resting his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand.  “Jesus,” he complained.  “I think this is the first time I’ve sat down without a pile of work in the last week.”

“Just one week?” said Melkor, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mairon.  “I know.  But things get done, don’t they?”

“You know,” said Melkor, “they’d still get done if you took a break.”

“That’s an untested hypothesis.”

“We’re testing it right now,” he said, grinning.  “Look, you have no work in front of you, and I’m pretty sure the company hasn’t exploded yet.”

“Give it time,” Mairon muttered darkly.  Then he sighed, rubbing his fingers into his eyes.  “Look, I’m sorry.  You did a really nice thing for me, and I’m ruining it.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” said Melkor.  “Relax, Mairon.  It’s fine.”

“You know, sometimes I wish I could just shut off my brain for a while.  It’s like, every time I stop, I just see my to-do list growing.”

“You want to talk about the landing test, don’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

Two hours later, they had exhausted Mairon’s impressively extensive list of concerns regarding the test.  Mairon had long since finished eating and had leaned forward against the desk, resting his chin on his crossed arms and listening to Melkor complain about his neighbors.

“I mean, honestly,” Melkor was saying.  “I own the place.  You’d think that would entitle me to a little privacy, but no.  I get the cops called on me at two a.m. just because those numb-nuts can’t tell the difference between a home invasion and a first-person shooter.”  He set down the last container of food and leaned back, heaving a satisfied sigh.  “Man,” he said, laying a hand on his stomach.  “For once, I don’t think I could eat anything else.”

Mairon did not reply.  His head had fallen to the side, his cheek resting on his arm.  His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, steady breaths.  Melkor shook his head and stood as quietly as he could, beginning to gather the dinner detritus into his arms.  He gently deposited the empty containers into the trash, careful not to make any noise.  He watched Mairon for a moment, taking in the smooth contours of a face that was rarely so peaceful awake.  He smiled faintly and slid his coat from the back of his chair.  Round the desk, he laid the heavy coat over Mairon’s shoulders, standing still as Mairon shifted slightly in his sleep.   Mairon did not wake; he merely sighed and slept on, oblivious to the figure standing over him.

Melkor resisted the urge to run his fingers through Mairon’s hair and instead stepped back, forcing his feet to carry him to the door.  He flipped off the lights and stepped out into the hall, gently closing the door behind him.  As he walked toward the elevator, he could not stop the satisfied grin that spread over his face.