Title: Hot Blood Rush (1/1)
Summary: Ben has raised some issues which Max is having a hard time dealing with.
Characters: Max, Ben, Logan.
Rating: R, just to be safe.
Disclaimer: Cameron and Eglee.
Date: April 26, 2001.
Tell me a story, Ben.
...They ran through the woods, easy. Picked their way across roots and stones and fallen branches, racing across littered ground, more animal than human in their motions. Found their prey, took him down with grace and brutal normality. Felt bone splinter beneath their fists, flesh tearing and splitting for nails and teeth. A heated rush of blood, overwhelming. Hot richness against their tongues, easing down their working throats.
I don't like that story.
It's true, you know it is.
No, not anymore.
Tell me that you don't still wake up with that day crisp in your mind, heart loud in your ears, the taste of blood strong in your mouth. We're soldiers. Predators. Killers. That's always been true. Always will be true. Look, listen, tell me what you feel right now--
Logan, I can feel Logan. I can smell him - fabric softener, soap and shampoo, the cologne most men don't have the money to waste on, sweat, blood. I can hear him - each breath he takes, the brush of cloth and skin as he moves, the rustle of papers, the pumping of his heart.
Tell me what you feel for him this very instant, what you want from him, what he is to you.
...Affection. Respect. Love, maybe.
Don't lie to me, Maxie. You don't respect him, do you? He's weak and slow and so painfully human and moralistic that your teeth must itch whenever he speaks. Affection, love -- you are joking, aren't you, Maxie? When did you suddenly start believing in love? It's a weakness, a lie, you know that. There is only duty and discipline and _us_.
You, all of you - that's love.
We are more than love. We are less than love. We are history. We are blood. We are death. We are the memory of pain and brutality and despair. We are strength, shared inhumanity and animal needs. Tell me the truth, tell me what you want, right now.
I... I want...
"Max?"
"Huh?" she startled. She caught sight of her face reflected in the window, pale and savage against the night sky. Max blinked, shutting away the image of what she was not, _would_ not be. She opened her eyes, shifting her gaze to catch Logan's faint image in the window. He was as hazy and distant as a fading dream. Max swallowed, shifted on the couch to face him. "What?"
"You okay?" Logan asked.
Worry, worry, worry... fear? Ah, yes, that is fear, isn't it? You can practically taste it, can't you, Max? You know the signs of fear, don't you, what magic terror works in the human body. Remember the taste of fear beneath your lips, exploding against your tongue. Why do you figure he's afraid? Of you, isn't it? Maybe he sees it, maybe he's looking at you and seeing blood at your mouth, my blood staining your fingers.
Shut up!
I saw your face, Max. Don't try to tell me you weren't enjoying our little encounter in the woods. You love me as much as our kind is able, and you were ready to tear me apart. I'm sure you can still remember the sense of exultation at bringing an enemy down, howl of victory bubbling in your throat.
"No," Max said. "I'm not okay."
Logan hesitated. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, voice soft.
Talk? Yes, why don't you tell him all about it, Maxie. You were ready to take me out for their kind, for the weak, for the slow, for the soft and unknowing. You think he'll possibly comprehend what that means to you?
Max's eyes filled with tears which she quickly wiped away with the back of her hand. "I killed him. I killed my brother, Logan."
"You did what you had to, Max."
Oh, you did more than what was necessary. You got so far drawn into instinct and training that you snapped me to pieces, left me weak, left me helpless. All unthinking heat, snap and crack and don't leave me here, Max! He's using you, you do realize that. He'll take your body, your strength and training and send you out into the world against his enemies. And he'll sit back, noble and pure and righteous. He uses you and makes no effort to understand the weapon he uses so often, so easily. At least Lydecker made no excuses, didn't hide behind lies and self-justification.
You don't know Logan at all. He cares for me. He respects me. I help him because his fight is a good one, because I can respect what he's doing.
You help him because doing so lets you pound your fury out on flesh and bone, spill blood with the conviction that your actions are justified, that you're no longer Lydecker's creature but a woman who can choose what actions to take and can better the world.
"What I had to do?" Max repeated, upper lip curling back in an unconscious snarl. "Your platitudes are easing my pain, Logan, really."
"That's not what I meant--"
Isn't it? Do you think he really cares, Maxie? I don't. He'll shed no tears, feel no sorrow at my death. I'm a monster to him, something vicious and cruel, a rabid animal to be put down. He wanted you to move against me, gave no thought as to our shared past, our connection and what taking me down would do to you. He doesn't care that you've killed me, self-proclaimed righter of wrongs secretly relived that you've done what he wanted you to do.
Max shook her head. "Look, I don't want to talk about this right now, okay?" She stood up, felt the movement of her muscles, easy grace of her motions. Felt the increase of Logan's heart-rate, the rasp of his breath. She shot him a look, small and weak and smug, and for a moment she despised him. "I'm goin' to bed," Max said around the sudden upsurge of rage laying hard and tight within her chest.
"Max--"
She slid out of view, turning the corner towards the guest bedrooms. The door firmly clicked shut behind her.
Do you think he'll lock his door behind him tonight?
Shut up!
You're right, he probably always has done so.
Just leave me alone. I'm not listening to this, this isn't me and it isn't true and I am not a monster!
Shh, Maxie. Don't be like that. You aren't a monster - you are what you are. You are a predator, natural and necessary to this world. It's true, you know it is. You don't need to listen to know that, you can feel it, inside of you, twisting through your brain, coiling through your body. Shh, Max. Don't cry. Don't fight. Don't lie to me, to yourself. Let me take care of you.
...Tell me a story, Ben.
Open mouth press to blood stained flesh, jaws working against skin. Tore free quivering globs of flesh and meat, ground to mush beneath teeth. Crouched beneath still trees, the world watching her children as they moved through ancient actions, filled eternal needs. Looked up from still lump of useless humanity, eyes to eyes to eyes in silent communication. Shared something deep and powerful and they knew what they were and felt no shame, no guilt, no horror. You remember, Maxie?
I remember.
No shame, no guilt, no horror.
No, no shame, no guilt, no horror. Not then.
Not now.
Yes, now. Sick, Ben, awful and monstrous and terrible.
Not then. Not now. Never, because that is what we were, what we are, and everything we are can't be wrong. Don't lie to me, Maxie. Don't lie to yourself. Truth between us, here and now.
I'm sorry.
Oh, Max. Give us some time, and you'll learn. Sorry is useless. Sorry is a lie. We are what we are.
~end~