Chapter Text
Philip is crouched down on the floor, head resting on the table as he admires the turtle’s slow movement, she seems to be enjoying her tomato.
It’s been three weeks with no missions. Two without seeing any of his teammates. He felt stuck in this garage, suffocated. It’s not the first time it took them weeks to get a mission, but he had Carly on comms asking for music, he had Trever torturing him into jogging and meditation, he had his heroin addiction and Marcy was almost always there to help him with it. But now, nothing. The team had no reason to communicate outside of check ins. That meant he was alone, away from almost all human communication. Ray obviously is not included in the equation, considering how he stopped by only once for bets.
He gets up, legs a bit funny by being crouched for too long, but he walks it off. Leaving the garage and walking around the city.
It was night, the city being bright with all different coloured ads, people going about their day, families and friends, enjoying each other’s company.
He watched them as he walked by, making up stories for the people he saw.
He decided to go to a bar that he passed. A 21 year old enjoying the ability to buy alcohol on a clear Friday night? Sounds very 21st century to Philip. His host seems like the kind of person that would do that.
The bar was surprisingly quiet, it was loud, but for a bar on a friday night? It was quiet.
Philip takes a seat at the bar, patiently watching the bartender finish making a cocktail. The bartender didn’t take long, so after he hands out the cocktail to a person, Philip calls out. “Can I have a.. beer, please?”
Beer is a common thing to drink at a bar, he never really looked up what it’s made of, or what it tasted like, but it’s popular, so it must be good.
The bartender pours him a pint, and leaves it in front of him.
Philip was going through his pocket to pay, but the bartender left, so he decided paying can wait.
He pulls the glass closer to him, watches as the foaming lessens. It intrigues him.
He takes a sip, his face crunches in disgust, leaning back in his stool. “Blegh.” It’s yeast, very bad yeast.
In the future, they almost only had yeast, he hated it. On bad days of his training in the traveler program, he dreamt of the day he’d come to this century and try actual food.
But this? This tastes like how a yeast meal from the future turned into a bad carbonated drink.
Philip decides to just sit there, watching the foam disappear slowly from the top of his drink. He listens to the faint music, it’s glossed over by the tv and the chatter.
“If you don’t like it, why order it?” A man says, taking a seat on the stool next to him. Philip looks up. Buzz cut blonde, muscular man with a sweet smile.
“ I don’t know, never tried beer before.” Philip says honestly to the stranger. He gives a little chuckle.
“Yeah, only miserable old men like beer.” He says, taking the beer away. “Let me help you find your drink of choice. What else have you tried?”
Philip looks down at the little wet circle from where the glass was, he’s not sure if he should continue this interaction.
“Name is Oliver, by the way.” The man says, extending a hand for a shake.
“Philip.” Philip answers, taking his hand. “And the only other drink I’ve tried was cheap champagne.” He remembers the night after helios, when Trever wanted to celebrate 21st century style, smiling a little to himself for the memory.
Oliver gave a little laugh. “Yeah, that would do it…” he glances at the bartender, then looks back at Philip. “Tell you what? Let’s start with shots and chasers.” He turns giddy, drumming the table before calling the tender.
Philip watches as Oliver orders three different shots and lime and the bartender is quick to deliver.
“Okay so.. you have to drink shots in one go, then the lime.” Oliver explains, handing him the first shot.
Philip takes it, a bit hesitant, but he does take the shot. It’s sour and burns, his face crunches at the taste. “Lime, lime, lime.” Oliver says quickly, putting the lime in Philip"s mouth. “Just suck on it.” Oliver’s energy seems to be going up. Philip’s mouth is sour with weird flavors.
“Ohh, that burns.” Philip says, still making a face.
“Was it good?” Oliver asks, with a big smile.
“I don’t know, I only taste lime.” Oliver laughs at the response.
It’s been two hours since Oliver approached the guy. Philip was straight up drunk, as they were sitting in a booth at a different bar. Oliver suggested taking Philip back to the hotel he was staying at, only for Philip to quote something about a Russian author. So, now they’re sitting in the bar of the hotel.
Oliver is having fun. He"s a bit tipsy, but fully aware of what he’s doing and where he is.
He sits there, watching Philip. remembering the poker game he had with Felicity two days ago, where if he lost, he’d come here to investigate Philip. The only things he got out of Philip are about how he just left college after his roommate died, and that he has a turtle, he hates a lawyer, and his last relationship wasn’t great.
That’s the only personal information he talked about. Otherwise, he went on these rambles about weird details and how the world is messed up and can never be fixed, no matter how hard they try.
Oliver was trying to make Philip say who They are, but it didn’t work. And then, he talks about philosophy.
“Let me tell you about that one time..” Philip starts, giddy and slurring his words. “Me and a friend we’re setting up this scene, where..” he leans on the table. “As if these two people had a bit too much to drink, we didn’t know how much wine was enough for a blackout. So, we poured like.. three, maybe four.. wine bottles down the drain.” He laughs to himself.
“Didn’t know how expensive good wine is.” He continues, Oliver listens intently. “I wanna try wine.” He turns to the fancy bar. “Do you think they serve wine here? Let’s order some..”
“Noo.” Oliver said, tugging Philip’s arm to stay seated. “You’ve had enough drinks for the night.”
“Okay, but can I try it tomorrow?”
Oliver ignores his question, getting up. “Let’s get you to sleep.” He said, pulling Philip up, holding him up as he led him to the elevator.
“Huh, this is fun. I’m drunk, are you drunk?” Philip asks, looking at Oliver with a big stupid smile.
“Nope, just you.” Oliver answers. Hitting the elevator key with a steady hand around Philip’s waist.
“Thanks.” Philip says when they enter the elevator. He slums his body on the wall. “You’re a better friend than Ray. Did I tell you about him?” Oliver hums no, eyes on the ceiling. “He helped me out, got me a turtle.. but he used me for his gambling addiction, never saw me as a friend.” Philip says mindlessly.
“How’s that?” Oliver asks, hoping to finally go somewhere with this.
“I’m great at guessing winning numbers.” Philip says, rubbing his eyes, trying to force some sobriety back into his mind.
Philip wakes up in pain, as if he was stabbed repeatedly in the head and stomach. He groans in pain, turning to his side and pulling the comfortable duvet over his shoulders. It felt like he was laying on a cloud suspended in the sky, with the sun directly above him.
He tries to open his eyes, but he quickly shuts it with his hands over it. Why is it so fucking bright?
He hears a beep, and a door opening and shutting, steps getting closer. “Where am I?” He asks. He feels sick. It"s not the withdrawal type of sick, it’s the “someone beat me with a hammer” type if sick.
“Morning.” He hears a man’s voice. “Got you something for the hangover.” He looks up to the nightstand, the man sets a water and a bottle of medicine on it.
Philip groans, squishing his head back into the cloudy pillow. “Can you turn off the light?” He asks.
He hears blinders and curtains being drawn. “Your phone rang twice by the way.”
“Yeah.. okay.” Philip mumbles, fading back to dreamless sleep.
“Philip? Where are you?” He hears a loud Maclaren in his head, over comms.
“Just.. sleeping.” He mumbles again, hoping that his comms are on, he doesn’t have the energy to move his hand and press it.
“Philip?” Maclaren, more angry.
“Yeah yeah, yeah.” Frustratingly, Philip sits up, turning his comms on, in the process. “What?”
Oliver looks up from his phone, turning to him. “What?”
“Where are you?” Maclaren asks.
“Where are we?” Philip repeats, eyeing Oliver.
“Hotel room?” Oliver says, unsure of Philip’s behavior.
“Hotel room.” Philip repeats, now looking at the room for the first time.
“What are you doi-?.. never mind, we need you back at ops, now.” Maclaren says, over comms.
“Mhmm.” Philip says, scratching his neck and turning the comms off.
The feeling is back again, the pit in his stomach, the twisting of rocks in a volcanic acid in the middle of his digestive system.
“I think I’m gonna..” Philip gags, getting up and running to the bathroom. He throws up, it’s all acidic liquids, all burning his mouth and throat.
Philip miraculously makes it back to ops, after repeatedly saying no to Oliver for a drive, but he ends up getting one, asking to be dropped off two blocks away.
He opens the door, Oliver’s fancy sunglasses on, and a whole load of ibuprofen in his system.
The team is all here, eyes turning to him, concerned.
“Where were you?” Maclaren says, angry.
“Protocol 5” Phillip answers, going to his desk chair, but Maclaren stops him, taking the sunglasses off. Philip covers his eyes in pain of the harsh light.
“Are you high?” He asks.
“No, just a little hungover is all.” Very hungover. He pushes past Maclaren to his chair. “Had a few drinks.”
“You know, you shouldn’t be drinking. Your host is prone to addiction.” Marcy said. She was obviously concerned, like all of the others. Philip was annoyed by that, he knows that his team doesn’t trust him when it comes to these sorts of things because of his history, but it still annoyed him.
“What’s the mission?” He asked, changing the subject. He logs on the deep web, ignoring Trevor’s knowing stare. For a teenager, it’s a little creepy how old and knowing he is.
“Retrieving an old artifact, and delivering it to another team.” Trevor answers. “The artifact is rumored to have magical properties, but I think it’s needed for the type of stone it"s made of, some kind of meteorical stone.”
“So… where is it?”
“A collector’s penthouse.” Maclaren answered. “I want the blueprints, and the security camera if there is one.”
“On it.” Philip said, already clicking away on his computer.