Title: The Man in the Mirror
Rating: R for language
Spoilers for Two Fathers
Author's notes: This is my first fic. It came out of some idle talk about how we never see Alex doing anything normal.
Disclaimer: The character belongs to Mr. Carter, et al., but he sure is fun to play with.
Feedback: Please, please, pretty please?
e-mail to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Archive: Please ask permission, but I'll almost certainly say yes.
Acknowledgements: To Janet and Anne who both think that writing is a worthwhile activity, and have held my hand and encouarged me through the entire process.
Beep beep beep beep beep.
What--? Oh, alarm. What time is it? 6:45?? Why the fuck is my alarm going off 6:45?? Oh, meeting. Stupid meeting. Stupid 9:00 in the morning meeting.
Coffee or shower? Coffee and shower? No, soap never tasted good in coffee. Shower first, coffee later.
Beep beep beep.
Oh yeah, I was supposed to get up. Old men. 9:00 meeting. I hate mornings.
Good water pressure, the boon of my existence; stings the abrasions on my stump, but nothing's perfect. Okay, mind on business. Shit, what am I going to say to these people? I hate giving presentations like this. What if they ask questions that I can't answer? Fuck, what if they shoot the messenger? It's not like the news I have is good. Think positive. I can do this.
Hair, face, armpits, between the toes; okay I'm clean now. Oh, have to shave. Better go with the electric, my hand is shaking so bad, I'll probably end up slitting my throat otherwise. Dry off, run the razor over my face. Time for coffee. Maybe it'll help me think.
Instant coffee. Not great, but at least it's strong.
What to wear? The old bastard said suit and tie. Is the fucker nuts? He knows I can't tie a tie. Buckle on the arm. Ouch! Damn, that pinched. Jesus, pay attention. How am I going to get through this goddamned meeting if I can't even get myself dressed? Shirt, this grey one will do. Black pants, black jacket, wish I could wear my leather. But I have to look respectable. Damn, now I remember why I stick to t-shirts. Too many fucking little buttons.
Strong coffee, restoration of brain function. Need another cup.
Okay, I'm dressed; check the mirror. I look like a geek. A dead on my feet, pencil-neck, little geek. How do people actually make this look good? Oh, well, I guess this is as good as I'm gonna look this morning.
I better brush my teeth. Fresh breath is a plus if I have to get in someone's face. Brush my hair while I'm at it; have to look my best. Have to look strong and confident, like I know what I'm talking about. Those guys will eat me alive at the first sign of weakness; can't let that happen.
One last cup of coffee while I go over my notes, can't seem unprepared. Smokey and I have a couple of things to go over when I pick him up. Medical staff in Arizona, research facilities in New Mexico and the southwest destroyed; how many dead? Plus the recent losses at the trainyard. This is bad. I hope it doesn't get any worse.
Oh shit, time to go. Shoes, keys, gun. Okay, out the door. Strong and confident. Yeah, right. Dammit, I am not a morning person.
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