Rolling Stone (Nov 2023)

Workiversary carried on from here 

@urbdev-assistant​

He never failed to surprise her, Rita would credit him there. She’d gotten used to a decade’s worth of habits, yet she still found herself always caught off-guard by his self-deprecation - and his unfailing kindness. She felt certain none of the other Executive assistants had Directors that even cared about city parks or ‘workiversaries’. She smiled, and yet felt a pang. She wished he could see himself as she saw him: Devoted, never giving up even in the face of failure. Hardworking. Diligent. Sweet.

“A ‘Workiversary’ celebration, huh?” The question tickles her. It feels so unexpected, him asking in earnest. Rita ponders, feeling playful. “I like that. Marking 10 years of you keeping the same assistant - clearly you’ve done some things right, even if you don’t believe it yourself,” she teases. “So that should be your sign that you made a good impression in the Corporate Archives and beyond.” She straightens her posture, grinning at him. “Actually, I always admired that you used the archive so much - most of the other Executives never bother stepping foot there….”

Rita refocuses to his question. “Anyway, let’s see, let’s see. What’s a good ‘workiversary’ plan?” She scrunches her nose, thinking deep. “Well, in January is also my 30th birthday, which means that it’s an extra special time. So obviously,” she exaggerates, “whatever we do, the occasion calls for fireworks,” she grins, feeling giddy, but grateful knowing he didn’t mind her occasional silliness.

“And I’ll have be the one to borrow Papa’s cane since someone acts like being in their thirty’s is old.” She faux-glares at Reeve, shaking her head. “I don’t know where you get this idea that you’re a creaky old man who doesn’t do enough around here. That’s certainly not the case!” She almost leaves her chiding at that, but seeing the opportunity… “Of course, if you’re feeling old, regular sleep and eating habits would also probably help with that, Director.” Rita keeps her tone light, to convey there’s no real bite to her words.

“As for what I want to do for our Workiversary…” she feels impish, excited by her plan. “Well, I have an idea. And I think it’s quite a good one…but I just don’t know you’d go along.” She sighed play-dramatically. “I’m not sure you could handle it, sir….”

@animus-inspire​

Reeve was no stranger to self-deprecation, it was true. For many it was a form of defence. Or manipulation too if he was to be entirely honest. The rest of the time, he generally perceived himself to be a pretty average kinda fella. Sure he was an Executive Director in the most powerful company on the planet, and had certain other traits that could be seen to set him apart if his vast output of work had anything to say for itself. But compared to the frankly barmy collision of personalities within his direct peers, to the departments of SOLDIER and the Turks, Reeve was comparatively an everyman and he certainly did not feel special in the slightest. Neither did he much appreciate self-aggrandisement, for he saw far too much of that on a day-to-day basis. From people who really should not possess that much arrogance or conceit in his humble opinion.

If he knew of the adjectives that were passing through his assistant’s mind right now, Reeve might have struck up some debate with her assessment. Arguably he was devoted, and he tried to never give up on a problem that was challenging him to find the solution. Hardworking and diligent, objectively so, but it still felt too little for Reeve personally. And sweet? Well, he had far too much blood on his hands, metaphorically speaking, to ever entertain that notion. But he was not Rita, he was Reeve, and it was difficult to have a sense of objective perspective upon one’s own person. Much like she did not credit herself enough either, “That is entirely down to you, Rita. I remain the common denominator across your predecessors and your good self. But you?” He smiles at her, still earnest in tone but also a little tickled warm because of her teases, “You are clearly different. Ten years you’ve managed to put up with me and the... demands of this company for longer than that. Frankly, I think you deserve a medal or something.”

Reeve leans back in his office chair and folds his hands into his lap, rocking slightly as he hums, “Well as much as I like new technologies, there is something to be said for an actual book.” If Rita only knew of his childhood, where books where one of his most favourite things. Non-fiction, encyclopaedic tomes though they may have been, they nonetheless had been a perfect stimulus for a rather over-active imagination. He smiles again, more to himself as his eyes nearly close, then blinks instead to steady a gaze back at the red-head, “Plus those archive-bots are adorable, and nobody else seems to do any form of maintenance on them.”

The Director glances away when his assistant scrunches her nose up cutely in thought, though he quickly turns back with his entire body, a look of surprise on his features at her words, “It’s your birthday? Did I know that already?” He was going to add in his apologies, perhaps even an explanation, but Rita had already continued on to mentioning fireworks and the child-like side to the man was starting to let itself be known, “Oh! Fireworks, a wonderful idea!” He claps his palm on the desk edge, mischief slipping into his features, “Keep it a secret between you and I, Rita, but there is a distinct possibility that some Wutaian specialities could be ah, negotiated.” They were well reputed for their spectacle and beauty after all and Reeve had just the contact in mind.

“I’m not one to go around calling 29 year olds middle-aged,” Reeve announces rather exasperatedly into the office, “But others certainly do, I can assure you of that fact.” It still rankles him, though he tries to not let such petty thoughts distract. There was so much else to concern himself besides being perceived as old. Becoming old and unable to carry out his work for one. He merely huffs at her suggestions, also light heartedly. Who knows, one of these times, he might just listen. But not today, or any time soon. Not when there was so much left to get done, and time waits for (almost) no-one.

Oh-hoh, a challenge. Reeve flickers away his dark hazel guiltily from the thrill, schooling his features back and deciding to stand, resting back on the side of the desk, arms crossed in front of him, “You don’t say. Why not let me be the judge of what I can and cannot handle...”

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