Title: I Will Remember You
Fandom: Doom Patrol (TV)
Rating: T
Length: 3.5k
Relationships: Cliff Steele/Larry Trainor, Keeg Bovo | The Negative Spirit & Larry Trainor
Content Notes: -
Author notes: Inspired by Angel: the Series episode s01e08.
Summary: In an attempt to get Larry to realize that he needs the Negative Spirit, he separates them, and Cliff and Larry can finally be together.

To get this superhero team to be a superhero team, they need to deal with their fucking problems. I mean, come on, Larry, just accept the Spirit already, right? I can see the recaps now and they’re all saying the same thing: why can’t he just get over it? We need to accelerate things a bit. They’re getting rather tired of your brooding. How do you get a depressed sack of shit to realize that he actually just might   need    the alien living in his roasted body? He was getting so close, the last few episodes, and then - boom. John died. 

 

 Watch and learn. Ugh. 

It had taken Larry a long time to realize that it wasn’t the Negative Spirit’s laughter he had heard in Paraguay. It may have had the Negative Spirit’s form, it may have carried its sparking and  burning  identity - but, he realized on the plane ride back to Ohio, as he played the incident over and over in his mind like a glitching video, like  torture,  that laughter was all Mr. Nobody. He hadn’t realized it, at the time; too wrapped up in the thought of  freedom, separation, a rescue from the fear - anger - sin. 

 

He was in Mr. Nobody’s domain, then, inside of the machine where he had risen. It was tempting. What if he had been able to leave? What if his path hadn’t been blocked? What if—-

 

None of that is useful in this moment. It was Mr. Nobody’s sick laughter, it was  him, not the Spirit.

 

Which means that he can recognize Mr. Nobody’s laughter, now, anywhere that it lands. Which means that the laughter filling up his bedroom like water also belongs to Mr. Nobody—-it has the same texture, the same inflection, the same utter mania.

 

He tries to call out for help. Instinctively, for Vic, the only person who actually knows what he’s doing. 

 

“No point in that. They can’t hear you.”

 

In front of Larry, as Larry sits up on his bed, bare and unraveled: Mr. Nobody in his fragmented form, splinters of his appearance floating  dangerously close to Larry’s flesh. 

 

It’s  disgusting. 

 

“What the hell do you want?”

 

It doesn’t sound confrontational, nor does it sound like strength; it is more reminiscent of his reluctance all those years ago, captured in the Ant Farm.  What the hell do you people want from me, he had said, too similar, too painful to relive. He relives it. He has never sounded brave.

“Actually, it’s more about what  you want.”

 

This does surprise him. “What?”

 

“Your meeting with your former lover today was beautiful. I mean, really,  really beautiful.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Let me finish. Before you left, you said something quite interesting, didn’t you? Let’s see.” He pauses, and then, in a voice that sounds hauntingly similar to Larry’s: “There is a relationship I want to tell you about. It’s not a traditional relationship, per se, but there’s something inside me. I wouldn’t say we’re friends but there’s definitely a connection there.”

 

Larry blinks. “So?”

 

“ So,  what if I could give you a chance to explore that connection?  What if you could exist separate from the Negative Spirit, as you were before the accident, and both of you had your own lives, both of you could communicate?”

 

“Leave me alone.”

 

“Admit it, it’s a tempting thought.”

 

“I said leave me alone. Or, if you’re going to hurt me, just do it already. I’m tired of this.”

 

Thick laughter. Again. “Hurt you? No, no, why would I do that? It would be too easy. I’m offering you something that, frankly, I don’t think you can refuse.”

 

“I’m not taking anything from you.” Larry freezes, adding: “It wouldn’t work, anyway. I’d probably die without it.”

 

“You’ve thought about it before, then?”

 

“ No.  We’re going to find the Chief, and—”

 

“For the love of God, Larry, you don’t get a choice here.”

 

His fingers float in the air, a glitching movement when he snaps them together; after this he disappears, after this the lighting in the room becomes vibrant, and Larry looks down at his skin like a primal urge —  normal. Unharmed. The absence of scarring.

 

He looks human again. He has regained his humanity. Looks at his alarm clock: 04:19 AM.

The Spirit is floating in front of him - it feels alien, feels horrific. This is the first time he has  truly  seen it - not in the machine, not on video all those years ago, but it - they -  their  essence, in the air,  their frame. Crackling and burning with - a sense of confusion, he knows this somehow, can feel their confusion as if it is his own.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

—-

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Vic says, shaking his head back and forth an unnecessary amount of times, “Mr. Nobody appeared to you last night, made you not radioactive, un-burned you, and separated you from the Spirit?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And you just let this happen.”

 

“I tried to tell him no, Vic,” Larry says, sighing,  fear. “I know there’s something more to this. There has to be. I tried to refuse, but he just… does whatever he wants, I guess.”

 

This is when Cliff stands up, and ruins everything inside of Larry, makes him  fall.  “Okay, yeah, this is bad and all… but come on, I can’t be the only one who noticed, right?”

 

“Noticed what?” Vic asks, intrigue. “What did you see?”

 

“That Larry is like,  super fucking hot. This is what you looked like before the accident?”

 

Larry nods, slight and faint. He feels like he’s on fire. Cliff did not mean to affect him this way, and he doesn’t know that his compliment has stained Larry, he isn’t aware of what it  means. He cannot ever grasp the hope that it sparks.

 

For Cliff, appearance-related compliments between men mean nothing. They don’t cause anxiety, they don’t ignite panic. They’re  normal.  

 

Because Cliff is straight, and will never—-

 

“You really won the sexiness lottery. Holy fuck. Wish I had looked like that.”

 

“I’ve seen pictures of you from before,” Larry says, and he’s trying to be loud, trying to hide his shameful hope, “you looked fine.”

“Yeah, I looked  fine. Just ‘fine’. Not like you.”

 

“Cliff—”

 

“Okay, you two can flirt later,” Vic interrupts, and Larry  is  burning now, he’s on fire, becoming his old self once again, this is  too much. “We need to figure out why he did this.”

 

“I assume,” radiates a deep, harrowing voice, “that he thinks giving us our deepest desire will stop our search for Niles Caulder.”

 

 No, it’s because I need you guys to find Niles sooner so I can ruin his life sooner, you stupid ghost. 

 

Their heads snap in the direction of the voice immediately, drenched in shock.  “ Was that…?”  Cliff asks, for once nearly speechless, but he knows the answer - they  all know the answer—

 

It was the Negative Spirit. He found their voice.

 

Larry moves towards them. “Since when have you been able to talk?”

 

“I have always been able to talk, you were simply unable to hear me. Nobody must have somehow scrambled the frequency I speak on.”

 

“Well,” Cliff says, “this day has been real fucking interesting. So what are we going to do about this?”

 

“What are we going to do about this?” Larry repeats, ridiculously. It’s a sincere question. If the Spirit is right, though - what  are they going to do about it? The act has already been completed. They are already separate. They are no longer cosmically interlocked. 

 

The thought of the Spirit’s deepest desire being freedom from Larry elicits an ache, somewhere. Again ridiculous, again harrowing. Of course that is their deepest desire; it had been Larry’s deepest desire for decades. Not returning to an old life, a ghastly past - but  freedom.  

 

Still. The one person Larry always thought he would have—-

 

Oh. They don’t need each other anymore. The Spirit can do whatever it wants, now. They are free.

 

It - hurts.

 

“Is there anything we  can  do?” Larry asks, finally,  finally. “I mean, we can still look for the Chief. Nothing is stopping us from doing that. This wasn’t really planned well, on his part.”

 

 Oh, but it was. 

 

Vic holds a hand up. “Yeah, but this is Mr. Nobody we’re talking about. It  has to be a trap.”

 

“I don’t know if it is,” the Spirit says, their voice radiating through the room,  thunder. “Quite obviously there is some sort of ulterior motive, but as we were being separated, I didn’t sense anything similar to, say, the trap laid in Niles’ throat when he was returned to us briefly. I don’t think there is anything wrong with us, physiologically.”

 

“And how would you know if there  is anything fucked up? He’s like, omni - om - omnipo--”

 

“Omnipotent?” Larry offers. He’s tired.

 

“That. He’s omnipotent. He could be hiding something from you.”

 

“Cliff, you’re assuming that I have the same capacity of knowledge as you do. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

 

“Um, is it just me, or is the Negative Spirit actually kind of a dickhead?”

 

Larry shakes his head, feels his hair touch his face, selfishly forks his fingers through his hair, feeling the mourned texture.  God, he’s missed this.

 

“I think for now all we can do is adjust,” Larry says. “We can figure this out later.”

 

“Right.” Vic looks at the Spirit, studies it for several eternities, until his eyes finally peel away and refocus on Larry. “I’m gonna go wake up Jane and Rita and see what they think. What are you two going to do?”

 

“I,” Larry says, and -  oh, his face is allowing him to smile, muscles uncharred and whole, “am going to watch the sunrise.”

 

—-

 

Larry Trainor has not been able to feel the cold for sixty years. 

 

He can feel it now, the air chill against his skin, the fine hairs on his arm beginning to turn upright, vertical. He tugs his coat tight around his body, tight, but he enjoys the sensation of freezing, finds solace in the bite of temperature.

 

He doesn’t know where the Negative Spirit is, and that lack of knowledge - that  void - feels like a gift, feels like a plague, feels celebratory, feels sickening. He has wanted this for so long. Had dreamed about it, every night for decades, this exact situation.

 

Now he is sitting on the manor’s grass, legs crossed, entirely uninhabited. Alone. 

 

It is - uncomfortable.

Their connection had spun into Larry’s mind when they pushed him to find John - to find  peace.  Larry had his realization, experienced his epiphany;  the Spirit does not hate him. They may feel trapped with him, but they do care for him. If they hated him, why would they help him? 

 

 There’s definitely a connection there.  

 

He feels different without them inside of him. It’s as if his entire molecular structure has shifted; as if a vital organ has been removed—-

 

“You look cold.”

 

Larry jolts at the words, but relaxes when he sees Cliff. “I am,” he says. “It’s funny, it’s been sixty years since I’ve been this cold.”

 

Cliff struggles to move his body, eventually sits himself down next to Larry. “It’s been thirty years since  I’ve been cold.”

 

“Do you miss it?”

 

“Not at all. Shit sucks.”

 

“And warmth?” Larry asks, but it sounds incriminating - it’s too  revealing, it strips him of all skin and muscle, it exposes his core. Cliff doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t analyze things to the extent that Larry does; he’s always been fluid, has always taken things at face value and with confidence, and it’s incredibly endearing.

 

Admittedly - when they first met, Larry’s first thought was  I am not alone. Of course he was never alone; he had Rita, it was a horrific haunting of the mind.

 

Cliff is different. He loves Rita. She’s his best friend. But Cliff—

 

“I do miss that. But, I realized that I can find warmth in things other than temperature.”

 

“That’s awfully poetic.”

 

“It’s the truth, Larry. I meant what I said back there.”

 

—-

 

They could go home, if they wanted to. They could break Flex Mentallo out of the Ant Farm, and he could help them get home. They could go  home. 

 

They are capable of anything now. They can accomplish anything, and they have wanted this for lifetimes, they have craved this with everything in their composition. 

 

It is - uncomfortable.

 

Larry was finally -  finally -   after so long, after millennia -   beginning to understand the extent of their bond. He had thanked them, hours ago, had placed his hand against his chest when they pushed against the surface. A reminder, perhaps,  you’re welcome, you needed this.  

 

Things were getting  better. 

 

Where are they going to go now? They could find Flex, but the Ant Farm’s location is confidential, and was never in their scope of knowledge. There has to be someone else that can help them get home, but - how would they find someone with that power?

 

How can they possibly go home now that they have experienced such harmony? Maybe harmony isn’t the right word; they are certainly never harmonious, they rarely cooperate with one another. Cosmically, however - they  have  to be involved, they have to defeat Mr. Nobody. It is a sense of duty, now. In every concept, a deeper knowing: they  belong inside of Larry Trainor. It is a very difficult realization to grasp.

 

—-

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

In an attempt to not let any kind of  hope  envelop him, Larry forces himself to look away. Cliff is simply being  Cliff; there is nothing hidden here, there is no underlying emotion beyond Larry’s indubitably unrequited passionate hell. 

 

He has to look away. Cliff can see his face now; he can read Larry’s expressions, and although he had thirty-five years to practice stopping the revelations they bring, he’s been out of commission for a while.

 

He can never know.

 

“I mean, not gonna lie,” Cliff says, “I thought you were hot before this happened. You know, the whole bandage thing made you mysterious, which is sexy. And yeah, I struggled with that shit a lot too. Like, am I gay? No, ‘cause I like women, but—-”

 

“Please tell me there’s a point to this.”

 

“ But  then I realized that people can like both men  and women.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

He’s trying to ignore it; the only possible outcome of this is bad, there are no possibilities here beyond heartbreak. Hope is a dangerous, disfiguring thing.

 

“So I just don’t want you to think I’m just saying this because you’re not… you know… covered in burns anymore.”

 

“Cliff, look—-”

 

“I like you, Larry. I like you a lot.”

 

Larry’s heart hammers within his chest, every crucial internal part beating and pulsing at the words. Cliff likes him? Cliff reciprocates? It’s - not - it’s not - it’s not  possible. Cliff cannot feel the same way; that would be something good, a blessing, and Larry does not deserve blessings—-

 

“Well, you’re not saying anything, and this is real fucking awkward, so I’ll just go—”

 

Larry tries to stop him, but does so by placing a hand on Cliff’s thigh; it’s too risky, too primitive, overtly fueled by desire, and therefore unacceptable. “Wait,” he says, regardless, feeling something akin to bravery rise up, “you just… took me by surprise.”

 

“You don’t feel the same way.”

 

“It’s not that.” Larry sighs. “I’m going to be honest with you, Cliff. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a relationship with anyone. The idea of it now is intimidating.”

 

“I’m confused.”

 

If Larry is already feeling brave—

 

“I do… reciprocate,” he says. “I have for a while. It’s just that, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been terrified of my emotions. And I wasn’t the best at this, last time, to put it lightly. I don’t want to hurt you because I’m too wrapped up in my own shit.”

 

“Then don’t get wrapped up in your own shit.”

 

“Cliff—”

 

“Seriously, Larry. I don’t think you could ever hurt me.”

 

He wants to fight back. He wants to hiss his words;  if you don’t think I’m capable of hurting you, then you obviously don’t know me very well. Everything that composes Larry is howling, now,  reaching for safety, he has to keep himself safe, he has to keep everyone else safe from him. He loves Cliff, he cannot ignore that anymore, but—

 

If the Spirit still resided within him, his body would be glowing. A reminder; this is your second chance, Larry, why can’t you be  happy? Can you ever allow yourself to breathe? Can you ever let the vulnerabilities guide you into joy?

 

He feels empty without them. But this isn’t about the Spirit; this is about Cliff. Cliff, and love, and comfort.

 

So: Larry  breathes. 

 

A grin surfaces. He presses his forehead into Cliff’s forehead, and Cliff takes his hand, intimate, elegant — the culmination of every shameful fantasy Larry has held. It’s perfect, peaceful. Larry’s eyes flutter closed, his mind entirely content—-

 

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Cliff slumps over in his arms.

 

When Larry looks up: a shadow, across the road, disappears viper-fast.

 

“Cliff?” he asks, grasping onto Cliff’s body and shaking it. “Hey, Cliff. Come on. I’m not losing you like this.”

 

Cliff’s fingers twitch. His eyes are still vivid; the light hasn’t gone out. That’s a good sign. Larry will interpret this as a good sign.

 

He tries to pick Cliff up, but he proves too heavy to be held;  if he was still radioactive, if he still housed the Spirit, he would be able to carry Cliff with ease. 

 

He can’t carry Cliff, so he is reduced to  screaming;  he cannot ever remember a time in the past where he screamed this frantically in panic. He calls for Vic, Jane, Rita—-  anyone  who may be near,  anyone who can help, he can’t lose Cliff, he can’t—-he can’t—--

 

“Is he dead?”

 

The Spirit must have been the only one in earshot, but in a way Larry had always imagined it like this: Larry Trainor and the Negative Spirit at the end of all, with no one to hold beyond each other. It is nightmarish, consuming - this has to be Mr. Nobody, this can’t be real—-- he will have the Spirit when he has nothing —- it isn’t real — they are one —-

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Larry says. The Spirit drops to the ground, stands on the dirt humanlike. “We were… talking. And then… I looked away, and I heard a gunshot, and when I looked back I saw a shadow, and Cliff just… stopped.”

 

“Do you think it was Mr. Nobody?”

 

“It has to be,” Larry replies. “There’s no way it isn’t.”

 

Larry lies Cliff down on the grass carefully, places his arms over his chest. He’s still twitching, still making small movements, still causing Larry’s body to decay.

 

“If I was here with you,” the Spirit says, “I would have noticed. I could have stopped this.”

 

Larry nods. “And I’d have the strength to get him help.”

 

The Spirit moves closer to him. “I think you know what we have to do.”

 

Larry doesn’t want to go back. 

 

Larry doesn’t want to go back.

 

Larry  doesn’t want to go back.  

 

Larry has to go back.

 

He is better, with the Negative Spirit. They make him useful. They give him purpose. It has been sixty years of hatred; the Spirit was only trying to  help him, would have saved Cliff if they had the chance. Without the Spirit he is vulnerable, weak, and without Larry the Spirit is stranded - lost - bewildered.

 

They have to go back.

 

“I know you can hear me,” Larry whispers. “I know you’re listening to this. You have to merge us again.”

 

 Well, that didn’t take long. 

 

Larry continues to plead. “Please,” he says. “We never asked for this. I don’t know what you were trying to do, and I know we wanted this for so long, but.... not anymore.” He looks at the Spirit. “I need them. Please, I’ll tell them to stop searching for Niles, I’ll—”

 

“No, you won’t.”

 

The sun had risen during Larry’s confession, but now the skies are bleak and piercing. He can no longer feel the cold. Mr. Nobody stands in front of them, brandishing a handgun. “ But, since you asked so nicely, I will take back my generous gift.”

 

“Just like that?”

 

“Just like that. Oh, but there’s one catch, though. To undo it, I’ll have to reset the last twenty-four hours.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“That means your metal friend here will be just fine, and  you will remember it all, but…”

 

“Cliff won’t remember anything we talked about,” Larry finishes. “We’ll do everything over again, and I can never be with him, because I’ll be radioactive.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. So, you  really want to be merged again?”

 

Larry looks down at Cliff’s body, gazes at the Spirit, moves his stare back to Cliff.

 

“Yes,” he says. Anything to save Cliff, anything to make himself worthy. “ It’s all I want.” 

 

—-

 

He watches John die again. Vic gets kidnapped by the Bureau of Normalcy. Everything happens in a sequence that feels familiar, as if it was  supposed to happen this way.

 

Cliff can never know.