This is one of those one-shots where, right before I post it, I lean back and say, "What the heck did I just write?" This story is based on a theory I humorously created a few episodes back. It is most certainly not a true theory, and I now have evidence to back it up (as in, I have proof it couldn't happen). Nonetheless, be warned, you might not look at a few characters the same way after reading this. Parts of this story probably won't make sense unless you've seen 'Face Off,' by the way. I don't own Lab Rats, just the idea. Enjoy.
* * * Façade * * *
She scurried through the alley as fast as her feet would take her. She was flying; gliding; soaring though the air. When she saw him standing there, him with his back against the wall, him with the dark smirk on his face, she was metaphorically grounded. His face was twisted, just like always. It was enough to make her stop dead in her tracks.
"How did it go?" he asked harshly; coldly; evilly.
"It went well," she replied. "I think he had a good time."
"And he buys it?" He took his back off the wall and turned to face her. She wondered how he had ever managed to pass as a high-schooler; he seemed way too old. Not that she actually knew how old he really was.
"Y-Yes," she stammered.
"Great." His lip twisted up into an ugly snarl.
"How did yours go?" She was almost afraid to ask, but she knew that she had to. She had to do a lot of things. Wanting to do those things . . . that was another story.
"She hangs off of every word I say," he replied. "He'll be pleased."
This stupid pronoun game again, she thought angrily. But it had to be done. Neither of them dared to speak the name of their master. Not yet. Not here. Not now.
As she glanced up from her feet, she saw that he was looking her over. His eyes seemed to bore into her soul. She stiffened. Don't hurt me. That was silly to think – he couldn't read minds. But she was pleading it in her heart.
Outwardly, she remained as hard and as cold as stone. It was the face she displayed to make him happy . . . with him covering just about every male she knew. Well, all except for one.
"We will strike soon," he hissed. She could tell that he was trying to catch her off-guard. He failed.
"Just as planned," she said calmly; smoothly; in control. That was one thing she was not: in control, that is.
"Are you ready?"
She hesitated for a mere second. "I suppose."
His eyes narrowed. "You are not."
"W-Well . . ." she stammered, "I was thinking it would be nice to stay for just a little while."
He walked closer until he was almost toe-to-toe with her. She didn't budge, choosing instead to stare at the blue lines on his shirt. "Look at me," he hissed. She didn't obey. "Look at me!"
She lifted her gaze and met his. She shifted uncomfortably. She always had trouble making eye-contact, especially with the boy in front of her. His piercing gaze make her insides tighten and her thoughts race – not in a good way. More like a 'how in the world can I get away from him?' way.
"We are going to do this," he hissed in her ear. "We have to do this. You should be willing. Why aren't you?"
She didn't reply; instead she attempted to swallow the lump in her throat. Why won't it budge? Don't cry, don't cry. Her knees began to shake and she cursed her body for being so . . . human.
"Don't tell me you actually like him!" He took a few steps backward, staring at her incredulously. Her lip quivered. That was enough. "You do."
Those two words fell like a sentence on her ears. Strangely enough, they sounded like "you die." She knew that was it. She had to deny it.
"No!" she blurted out too fast; too quick; too strong.
"You do." Again, those harsh words, spoken as if they were poison. "We had two rules!" Here he began to shout. "We do not get attached, and we do what we are told to do! No objections! No rebellion! And certainly, certainly no falling for him! Him, of all people!"
She remained silent as he spoke a string of curses so vile she wanted to rip off her ears. He railed against her, her personality, her supposed weakness . . . everything he could think of. All she could do was stay silent.
"No getting attached!" he repeated. "No! It is forbidden and you know that."
Tears were filling her eyes. "He's . . . he's nice."
"Nice," he said with a scowl. "Nice? That alone should make you incompatible! You are not 'nice'! You have never been nice; you never will be nice."
Her breathing became ragged. She had faced his rage before, but something was different now. Perhaps it was knowing that everything he said was true; knowing that nothing could be done about it.
"I can't help my feelings!" she practically shouted.
"You aren't supposed to have feelings!"
"I don't want to live like that!"
He narrowed his eyes. "Live? As in, life? Since when have you had one of those? Your life is not your own. My life is not my own. I'm only reminding you of what you already know."
She looked at the ground again. "What if I want my life back?" she whispered in a nearly inaudible voice. Please don't hear that.
"Imbecile." He heard it. "Not an option. Never an option. Why are you complaining? He gave you everything! Everything! You have power."
"I don't care!" She had started, and now she could not stop. She knew that every word brought her closer to certain punishment, but she didn't seem to care anymore. No feeling. None at all. "This power isn't worth it."
He raised his hand slowly. She gasped, preparing for what came next. The invisible force gripped her neck with enough force to bruise. She choked and spluttered, knowing that it was no use; knowing that he wouldn't stop.
"This isn't worth it?" he asked. "Are you sure about that? Because I, for one, relish it."
"Th-There's more to life!" she gasped out. "S-So much more!"
"Not for us!" he snapped. "And I've had just about enough of you! First, you run out, nearly blowing it! Luckily he was gullible enough to come right back to you, but that could have been a deal-breaker!"
She clawed at her neck as the grip got tighter. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision. Her lungs burned from the diminishing oxygen.
"Then you have the audacity to suggest that we stay longer, all because you broke a rule and fell for your assignment!"
"H-He's a p-p-person!" she squeaked.
"No!" he shouted. "He . . . is . . . your . . . enemy!"
The grip released her and she fell to the ground. She started to shake violently. Coughing; choking; gasping; wheezing. Not unusual. Not at all. She rubbed her neck and winced.
"I knew I would regret getting paired up with you for this assignment," he hissed. He walked closer and she soon found herself staring at his shoes. She didn't dare get up.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. In reality, she was not sorry at all. Not one bit. Not one smidge. Not one ounce of her being was sorry. In pain, yes, but sorry, never.
"You should be," he snarled. "You're a disgrace. A failure. I don't understand why he didn't toss you out."
"You only tell me that every day," she murmured.
"Because you seem to forget. I will keep reminding you until you don't forget."
Oh, how she wanted to slap that stupid smirk off his face. Oh what she wouldn't give to be the one looking down at him; the one laughing at his pain; the one smiling in victory. With her speed, she could do it fast enough. But he would grab her. He would grab her and stop her. He was too powerful for her. There was nothing she could do. She could never do anything.
"Get up," he hissed. "Up!"
She stood up, legs shaking. She had taken worse from him before, and it wasn't hard to get back up again. She could do it. She had done it before.
"You will fix this, S-14," he said as he looked her in the eye. "Continue to fool him. Get him to fall for you. Our plan will come together soon enough. But whatever you do, do not fall in love with him!"
Too late. It was too late. She loved him. So what? He was great. Kind, gentle, and sweet. If she was normal, she would want for him for a boyfriend. Perhaps that was why she was craving normality so much right now.
"Understood, J-3," she said quietly.
"Good." His lips twisted up again in that snarl she hated so much. "Then call him. Fix this, S-14. And if you ever mess up again, I will make sure they send a replacement for you and that you get the punishment you deserve. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," she said through gritted teeth.
She turned away and reached into her pocket to pull out her cell phone. She typed in the number with shaky fingers and held the device to her ear. A male voice answered.
In that split second before she replied, she drew herself together. The lump in throat miraculously vanished and she composed her mind. He was listening, and there was no way she could blow it now, despite the fact that every fiber of her being wanted to blow it.
"Hi Chase," she said chirpily, in a tone so much happier than she actually felt. "It's Sabrina. I was wondering if you wanted to go out again sometime this weekend."
His excited voice – which he attempted to keep calm – brought tears to her eyes. Her treachery and deceit were destroying her on the inside.
"Hi Bree, it's Jake." She overheard the conversation he was having on his own phone. He shot her a deadly look as she half-listened to Chase's rambled ideas for date locations.
Mr. Krane will be pleased, she thought. But I don't really want him to be pleased. I don't want to do this anymore. I really, truly, absolutely, with all my heart do not want to do this anymore.
So she fooled him again: The boy she might really be falling for. Her enemy. She did it not because she wanted to, but because she was forced to. She put on her mask; her cover; her masquerade; her façade.