It's finally here! The promised "something completely different". It may not be quite what you were expecting to see, but please appreciate the sheer amount of work that went into this. I think it's literally the single most challenging thing I've written to date, and one of the most enjoyable. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you have as much fun reading it. Enjoy!
It has been a full hour since he jacked out, and he still feels wrong. Still cold, even in Zion's arid, close heat. Still uneasy, even after their medic gave him the all-clear and told him to sleep it off. Still afraid, even though the Agent is long gone. He remembers so little of their encounter, but the few seconds that linger in his mind are enough to make his pulse quicken.
"Oh, God."
Smith will suffice.
(Pain like something's tearing out my heart, I'm dying, I'm -)
Waking up in the cold, familiar haven of the Caduceus, wondering what the hell happened. Was it trying to kill him or…?
"Bane!" It's a welcome snap out of his haunting reverie. Automatically he turns towards the source of that voice, smiling already even though he can't see her yet.
"Alite!" The beautiful Zionite throws her arms around him, joyful sobs emitting quietly from her throat. He buries his face in the dark mass of hair that falls to her shoulders, inhaling deeply. She smells of cinnamon and cloves, a warm, welcome smell; it helps to ground him a little. He holds her warmth as close as he can, trying to banish the lingering chill at last.
"You okay?" She's holding him at arm's length now, scrutinising him closely with intense, dark eyes. He nods, still uncertain but willing to ignore it for her sake. She doesn't need to worry about him. Alite looks unconvinced for a beat or so, but banishes it quickly with another smile.
"I missed you," she says simply, pulling herself closer once more. Willingly, he leans in and seizes her lips in a long-desired kiss.
Something inside of him recoils at the contact, clamping down on his mind hard enough to trigger a stabbing, sudden headache. Revulsion and the irrepressible need to push her away fill every part of his being, and he can't understand it.
No, it hisses in a voice he senses more than he hears. Virus.
Alite obviously senses his sudden tension because she pulls away, confusion and concern in her eyes.
"Are you sure you're all right? You don't look…right." He does his best to smile again.
"I'm fine. Tired." She nods her understanding, but breaks away, clearly bothered.
Deep within him, something shifts. He feels triumph, victory, but they are not his emotions. They belong to something…else. He shivers.
Once home, all he can focus on is the seeping chill slowly pervading his body. Starting at his core, it fills his entire body, eliciting mild shivers despite the fact that his mate has been forced out of her modest clothing and into something much lighter just to avoid baking alive while she prepares dinner. Sweat glistens on her burnt-caramel skin in tiny beads, loose strands of her ebony hair cling to her face and neck. He knows he should want her, badly, especially after several months of isolation, but he doesn't. He can't. The mere sight of her body is enough to bring back a shadow of his earlier revulsion. Every vaguely suggestive thought makes him shudder and turn away. She's perpetually in motion, even in the heat, his eyes moving double-time just to keep up. Even when she's not pacing the tiny kitchen area, her hands are moving, her eyes are bright and alive with motion. His head throbs just watching her, and he lets his eyes close a moment.
And she's barely stopped talking since they got home. Normally this wouldn't bother him, but the sound of her voice hurts, physically hurts him. Maybe he's just tired; this is all a side-effect of the kind of exhaustion that comes when you haven't slept a full night in over three months.
"They're planning a counter-attack," he interjects, noting the hollow sound of his voice. "I don't know when they'll need me back, but..." She cuts him off with a sharp wave of a henna-tattooed hand, polished beads of black stone clinking softly around her wrist.
"Shut up," she commands, her tone stern in spite of the playful smile quirking up the corner of her mouth. "Don't spoil this for me." He lowers his head in response, hoping he looks suitably chastened. There's a few brief seconds of silence before she speaks up again, and he hopes that he doesn't visibly recoil.
"I picked a little something up for today," she says, the tone of her voice indicating that this is a big deal. He looks up; in her hands she's clutching a small glass bottle. He raises his eyebrows, impressed. The alcohol itself isn't anything special; it's brewed from the same cheap grain that makes up the bulk of their diet, but since most supplies are used for food, such things are prohibitively expensive.
"How did you…?" Lord only knows how she managed to get hold of it. She smiles proudly.
"What can I say? We've got a lot to celebrate." Really, the bottle's tiny. He reckons it holds about enough for two cups, maybe less. Not enough to get drunk on, but maybe that's for the best.
He compliments the food and she grins playfully in response, giggling her way through a show of false modesty, both of them knowing that it's a lie: Alite can't cook to save her life, and most of this is probably the handiwork of one of her friends.
Not that it matters. He has no appetite, despite the fact that real food after months of tasteless nutrient gruel is a blessing that cannot be matched by anything. He picks half-heartedly at the meal that tastes of little but ashes, forcing conversation to flow and volunteering to clear up in a vain attempt to draw less attention to how little he's eaten.
Things only get worse once they head to bed. In the silence of their small bedroom, she presses against him, minute purring sounds falling from her lips. If anything, the meagre drink they shared has only heightened her desire, making her impossible to dissuade. He knows what she wants, and in a way he wants it too. But the thing in his mind won't let him get anywhere close. Alite doesn't understand, thinks he's just playing hard to get. She giggles and shifts, nudging up against him persistently, teasing him to distraction just so he'll give in and say yes. Warm, playful fingers brush against his chest and stomach; her eyes practically glitter in the candlelight. Light kisses fall against his neck and shoulders. Temptress. Yes, yes, he wants her, wants this. He does. He pulls her closer to him impulsively, once more craving the warmth of her body. Their lips meet ravenously, truly tasting one another in a way that they've both been yearning for. Intimacy is all too rare in times of war, and when the opportunity for it arises it needs to be embraced. Her forehead gently bumps against his chest.
"Get these clothes off of me," she growls, sounding so unlike herself that a thrill courses through his veins. Adroit hands begin work beneath the thin sheets, divesting his lover of what little clothing she's still wearing as she does the same for him.
No. Something isn't right. His heart starts to race, and it has nothing to do with the activity he's currently engaged in. A breath catches in his throat, and the chill that has been lingering for a while returns in full force, a sudden shivering fit catching him off guard.
Don't touch me, murmurs that scarcely audible voice in the back of his mind, dripping with pure hatred. Nausea wells in the pit of his stomach, and it's all he can do to resist pushing her away then and there. She notices though, inevitably, that something isn't right.
"Bane…" she sighs, and the moment is gone. The bubble of intimacy bursts as though it never existed, and she slowly wriggles out of his arms, pushing herself away from him.
"Alite." He wants to apologise, but she cuts him off with a dismissive shake of her head.
"If you're not up to it, that's okay," she says softly, but he can tell that she's slightly hurt.
"I just…" He breaks off, unsure of what to tell her. He somehow doubts that she'll accept the explanation of strange voices in his head, at least not without dragging him straight to the infirmary with the assumption that he's losing his mind.
"It's okay," she repeats tonelessly. "You should probably get some sleep." She rolls over and settles, far too quickly for him to believe that she's fallen asleep already. Another penetrating chill wracks his body, and he lets his eyes drift shut, praying that he'll be able to follow the medic's advice and just sleep this off.
Alite isn't sure what wakes her at first; she just knows that something's happening. Blinking back drowsiness, she sits up, taking in her surroundings. It's still just as warm as it was, and she's about to throw back the sheets when something catches her attention.
At first, all she can make out are a few sleepy, indecipherable murmurs from her sleeping mate, and she almost smiles. Another slurred sentence, out of which she understands maybe two or three words, before he lapses back into silence. He never used to talk in his sleep before… Then she notices how violently he's trembling. Faint worry dredges up inside of her, but rational thinking pushes it back. A nightmare…?
"Bane?" It's a struggle to keep her tone even. This isn't right. She tentatively reaches for his bare shoulder in the dark, finds him much hotter than he should be, though he's shivering like a man freezing to death. Before she can completely surrender to panic, the rational part of her mind steps back in. Just a fever. Just a fever. He'll sleep through it and be fine by morning. Just let him sleep. As if sensing her thoughts, Bane jerks back to consciousness with a sudden cry, eyes immediately searching for something.
"Hey!" Her hands automatically close around his shoulders, holding him still. Their eyes meet, and she recoils. The blue-grey eyes she sees before her are not those of the man she knows so well; they hold nothing but hostility, clouded by delirium.
"Bane?" In the silence, she can hear his swift, ragged breathing. His eyes flicker slightly at the sound of her voice, but, other than that, he gives no further signs that he's recognised her.
"Are you okay?" Such a simple, stupid question, especially given the circumstances, but she doesn't know what else to say. Again, a minute flicker of lucidity, but it's gone in a heartbeat. Her shaking hand travels up to touch the side of his face – warm, too warm – and he pulls away from the contact as though her touch burns him. He's definitely not with it; the almost-manic look in his eyes tells her that.
"Bane, you –" She's cut off as he springs from the bed with inhuman strength, and before she knows what's going on she's pinned up against the wall and his hands are locked around her throat.
"Virus," he snarls at her, his eyes glassy and gleaming with sudden bloodlust. For the first time in her life, Alite is afraid of her lover. Because, looking deep into his eyes, she realises with a soul-chilling certainty that he has the power to kill her, right here, right now.
"Bane," she gasps out with what little air she can muster. "It's me, it's Alite. You're delirious, you're…sick." She tries to force a calming essence into her voice, but most of it is lost as she focuses her attention on breathing. He smirks, his expression icy, and his grip tightens painfully, cutting off what little air she's able to pull in. If she gets out of this alive, she'll be wearing the bruises for at least a week. If she gets out of this alive. She tugs hard on his hands; his grip does not slacken, it's as if he's unaware of her touch.
"Bane! Can you…hear me?" Each word is a struggle, and her lungs are beginning to burn. Darkness begins to ebb around the edges of her vision. He shows no signs of remorse, no signs that he's going to stop anytime soon. This is it. He's actually gonna kill me.
"No!" The single word forces its way out of her without warning as her mind surrenders to raw panic. If she were capable of it, she'd be hyperventilating by now. "Please! You can't…do this…" With an unexpected burst of strength, she begins to struggle, to fight against him, her entire body flailing madly. Her foot clips him hard in the stomach and he barely blinks, though the force is enough to send a shockwave of pain through her entire lower leg. Just when she feels herself on the verge of blacking out, his death grip loosens. He blinks, and though his eyes are still clouded, they look as though they belong to him again.
"Alite?" he breathes, sudden horror dawning on his face. He lets go completely, and she crumples to the floor, coughing and gratefully pulling in much-needed oxygen, one hand massaging her throat. She instinctively cowers away from him, although the mad look is receding from his eyes.
"Back off!" she hisses, curling into herself tightly, her terrified rage slowly dissipating, leaving her teary-eyed and shaky. "Don't touch me!" He recoils at her words and tone. He's shaking again, just like he was when he first awoke, before this whole nightmare happened.
"Alite?" he repeats, and this time she's satisfied that it's actually him. He looks about as frightened as she feels now, and the last of her anger melts like ice in the sun.
"Hey…it's okay," she says in the most reassuring tone she can manage with her voice still raspy and trembling. His eyes are wide, momentarily straying to the livid marks on her neck, bruises in the making.
"I don't know what's…happening," he says, his voice cracked and fearful.
"You were dreaming," she chokes, not sure if she believes it herself. The aftershock of what just happened fully hits her, and tears begin to well in her eyes. "…Just a dream." If she tries hard enough, maybe she can convince herself that it's true as well. He reaches out to pull her to her feet and she actually hesitates before giving him her hands. They feel like ice beneath her skin in spite of the fact that he was burning up a few short minutes ago.
She doesn't know what to think, what to do. Most of her just wants to get up and run, run clear across the city, letting the adrenaline in her veins carry her as far as it can. But some small, well-masked part of her is genuinely scared, and not just because her boyfriend just went temporarily off the deep end and tried to choke her half to death. No…something is very wrong here, and though she doesn't know what it is, she fears it. Her every instinct is screaming at her to do something, anything, she just doesn't know what. Her mind feels numb, paralysed by lack of air and blind panic.
In the end, all she can really do is get back into bed. She doesn't say another word to Bane, but he eventually takes his place beside her. He seems to drift into unconsciousness almost immediately, and she counts his deep, ragged breaths until she too surrenders back into sleep.
The man known as Bane dies in his sleep, though it's not a conventional death. His heart continues to beat, his lungs continue to breathe. Physically, he is still very much alive. But the last fragment of his mind, the single part of him that stopped him from killing his lover, that part fades with his consciousness.
Holy squiddy, this might just be the longest story I've written so far. And we're only halfway there! Yes, my friends, this is a twoshot. Having it all together just seemed like too much of an info-dump. So I'm giving you the chance to catch your breath and possibly run away if you feel the need. If you have any questions or comments, don't hesitate to review.
