A/N: This is a slightly updated version of the story I posted on KAEX. It is sort of a "flashforward" chapter, meaning I was thinking ahead to where my longer story (To Know is Not Enough) would end end up. This is a stand alone chapter though. Due to its dark nature, I have decided not to bring TKNE down this path. Nonetheless, it was a fascinating and at times difficult story to write. Please be warned - if you are sensitive to somewhat descriptive assault/abuse you might want to avoid this story. Although not explicit, it is implied and may be difficult for some readers. Reviews welcome. Rated M for adult themes.
I do not own Voltron or its characters.
Desert Breath
Had I not looked up at just the right moment with the sun in just the right position and my head tilted slightly to the side, I probably would have died. I was moving westward with conviction, as far from Galaxy Garrison as I could get, when this moment happened. As such, I caught the faintest of beacons glimmering in the distance and I was facing south, wading through the shifting sands. I was suddenly driven by the hope that food, water, and shelter awaited me. And maybe even a bath. I was desperate. My stomach was pinched in hunger. My mouth was barely movable through the paste of drying flesh. I had no tears to shed, no sweat to bead through my skin. It didn't matter what dangers were there, it was somewhere I needed to be just to live.
When I neared the compound, I watched for a moment from afar and saw nothing of immediate concern. In fact, there was little movement at all, but I knew someone was inside. I had watched him go in, into that dark rectangle I imagined to be cool and soothing, a refuge from the hell on the outside. Somehow the door was suddenly before me and I balled my hand into a fist. I knocked and stared at the gray splinters of the weathered door as my strong desperation had words with the instinct to hide from strangers while in a strange land.
It seemed like forever before someone even moved. It must have been awfully comfortable in there to keep a person waiting on the outside. I bit my chapped lip and tasted blood. I had tasted and vomited blood for days now. I could take no more of it. I knocked again, louder and faster. When I finally heard shoes grinding wayward desert sand against the floor, I straightened and clasped my hands before me in a manner that would have made Nanny proud.
"Whadya want?" the man huffed as he swung the door open. Did he even saw me through his squinting eyes? I figured it was just because he was in a dark room looking out into a bright hell, but I later discovered that his eyes were perpetually held fast in his head by the tightened folds of his lids. He was weathered and gray like the door, aged by the desert I assumed.
"I need a job." I coughed the words. It had been so long since I'd spoken and the scourge of thirst was reaching deeper.
"I ain't got any." He finally looked down at me and his lip curled. It may have been a smile or a scowl, or perhaps he was adjusting his cigar. Whatever it was, I shivered.
"Please." I blinked up at him. Pathetic as I was, begging was not my forte. It crossed my mind that I might have to flirt to get what I needed. It was not a hidden fact that many Earth men were particularly susceptible to wily women. His hidden eyes made him difficult to read, but it was evident where his mind was as a hand wandered down to his crotch. I weighed my options.
He adjusted himself and then reached for a flask tucked into his vest pocket. After a long sip of some fire liquid he spoke. "You any good with a blade?"
In a fluid motion, I lifted my knee and pulled at the knife strapped to my boot. With a straight upper arm, follow through to the wrist and then a flick of the hand, I discharged the blade into the dark chamber behind the man. A distinctive vibration followed a thud as metal penetrated wood.
"Is that good enough?" I asked. Without waiting for a response, I stepped inside and retrieved my knife. It had landed just where I aimed – slicing in half the tiny image of planet Doom on the wall map of the universe.
"Sure." He was chuckling, or coughing. It was hard to tell which. "I'm Rolsten, yer boss. What'll I call you?"
"Al—uh, Alice." An alias seemed fitting. After all, I was a wanted woman. It wouldn't be the first time I had avoided telling people that I was the princess of Arus.
**
With nourishment came strength. Within days I was keeping up with the best harvesters in the fields. I awoke with the dawn to avoid the heat of afternoon sun as much as possible. As I strapped a standard-issued machete to my side every morning, I was reminded of my days as a warrior princess. It felt like years since I had battled Zarkon and run from Lotor's obsessive grasp on my life, years since I had last seen the Voltron Force. In reality, it hadn't been that long at all, but I could no longer distinguish one month from the next. In this desert, leaves didn't drop from trees, snow didn't fall, flowers didn't bloom. This desert was empty, except for the thousands of acres of artichokes, obviously growing by some miracle, or more likely a marvel of mankind. And in exchange for food, water, and shelter, it was my job to harvest them.
I walked out of the shack where I slept, my body cloaked in torn cotton clothes and my head wrapped in a dirty linen rag. These were the best defenses against the sun whose offense was a ripe, tortuous burn. There were two other women sharing my shelter. As far as I knew, we were the only women in the entire compound. I nodded and said good morning to them in my exit as I did each morning. I never got a response. Nothing but frightened stares from them. I wasn't certain they spoke any language I knew. It didn't really matter though. In this land, I was no longer the diplomat and I wasn't looking for allies.
Sunrise over the fields was always impressive. In the desert, sky was bigger than land. This morning, the sun lifted above the horizon and singed the night time clouds with pinks and deep oranges, burning their edges until they evaporated into nothingness. This happened while I crouched over rows of plants, slicing away at the thistled delicacy that was headed for some unknown destination.
I needed to fill my baskets quickly today, so I paused only briefly to watch the new day emerge. It was bath day. I worked hard and fast in anticipation of the trough of clean water that awaited me in the shack at lunchtime. Even though I would return to the dust and heat after lunch to sort the morning harvest, I could count on being clean for at least those fifteen minutes that I lay soaking in the tepid water. For those fifteen minutes, I would feel human again.
Finally, I made it to the shack, my arms tired from the hours of constant motion. My clothes were drenched in sweat and I peeled them from my skin with a delicate touch as though removing a bandage from a gaping wound. I tossed them in the water to soak and stood naked in the shade of my home. Sand scattered to the floor as my hands sifted through my hair. I cursed to myself and swept at the curves of my body where more grains had gathered. And finally, I stepped into the trough and lowered myself.
I was fully submerged in the liquid embrace when the door to the shack flew open and one of the regents stepped in. There were about five of them who ruled over the fields while Rolsten holed up in the office. They rode horses between the rows, taunting and berating us as we worked. I had yet to meet one I liked.
My intruder's was named Bronx, and like them all, he was strong and intimidating. As he charged in, I grabbed at the clothes soaking with me and covered my body, but I doubt that prevented him from noticing my nakedness. Sure enough, he swaggered toward me as I rose and spread the cotton over me with a clumsy hand.
"Well, well." He paused to spit on the earthen floor and stepped closer. I eyed my blade, glimmering in the slanted sun ray that pushed through the weathered wall slats. It was still strapped to my boot and out of my reach. "The boss wants to see you. But I bet he can wait just a few more minutes."
He reached a hand out and touched my hip, squeezed it, and pulled at the wet cotton that clung to me. I wondered if he was the reason my roommates seemed perpetually scared.
"Don't do it," I warned as he penetrated the cloth and found my skin. With the feel of his hot, calloused hand on my stomach, I balled my fist and slugged him in the face.
"God damnit!" he flailed and cried out.
I must have felt light as driftwood as he crushed me with his strong arms and lifted me out of the tub, as delicate as crystal as he tossed me on the nearest cot, as worn as an old shoe as he forced his mouth against mine. But it ended there. I bit down and spilled blood when he started his oral exploration. He screamed and spat, his hands writhing and landing on my throat. I was almost relieved when another regent stepped into the shack.
"Bronx! The boss is waiting," he said. "Get her dressed and let's go."
The intrusion saved my life, I think. Although it probably wasn't intentional.
I dressed quickly under the watchful eye of Bronx. In the dry heat, my clothes were only damp now and I snaked them on with little attention to detail. I had a feeling it didn't matter how I looked. As I walked toward the door, Bronx grabbed my elbow, I assumed to escort me forcefully to the boss. But he pulled me close to him and bent down to my ear where his bruised tongue made contact with a flick. Sure that he had my attention, his words caught on my dampened ear. "You'll pay for that, bitch."
I deflected his anger with my own, pinning him with narrowed eyes. "So will you."
*
I wasn't expecting Rolsten to be my hero. In fact, I feared him more than I feared Bronx or the others. At least with the regents, I knew what they wanted. They were proud, masculine, and power hungry. Rolsten was different. He was brooding, elusive. I knew he watched me from the dark, cool building where he spent his days. I knew he had me work the rows nearest him for that very reason, but exactly why he was watching me was a mystery. Still, I was surprised that he hadn't requested me sooner.
Bronx pushed me through the door to the office and I stumbled in. When my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I saw that it wasn't just Rolsten waiting for me. Two other regents leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, kicking at the sandy floor, and grumbling. Regents were not known for their patience.
"Alice, Alice, Alice." Rolsten walked out from behind his desk and looked down where I crouched on the floor. It was silly, but that was how I had landed when I stumbled in, and I felt comfortable and safe there. With a gentle hand, he touched my elbow and raised me up. Suddenly, I felt every vulnerable.
"Yes, sir?"
"Alice. How long did ya think you could get away with it?"
"With what sir?" I asked.
"I know yer type. Pretendin' to be all shy, but really wantin' a good man. You want me to treat you bad, honey?" he asked, his hand grazing my cheek.
"No."
"I think ya do. I think you forgot to tell me somethin', Alice. Yer special, ain't ya?"
I had no idea where he was going. I swallowed hard and shook my head.
"Oh, pretty little thing. Forgot to tell me yer an alien, sweetheart. Here I been figgerin' I'd get to pleasure you, but come to learn you ain't from Earth." He held my chin and leaned in, sniffing the air around me. "You smell like one. As sure as the hair on my head, I'd say you ain't no Earth girl."
"So what?"
I shouldn't have said anything. My face burned with the force of his hand against it and I fell to my knees. Everything shifted around me, all caught up in the whirlwind of blood that pounded against my aching head. Their voices were muffled as though words spoken through a pillow, and then sharp and loud in my ears.
"So what? Now I can't get what I want, now can I? I ain't gonna catch some alien death from takin' you. Not gonna risk that. Sorry to disappoint, honey. I know you were wantin' some of this." He kneeled down and parted his lips against my neck. His tongue made a slippery trail upwards to my ear and he whispered words I didn't want to hear. "Yer a space whore. I'll never let ya forget it neither."
His hands wrapped around my neck before I could focus and reach for my knife. He lifted me and two regents held my arms while Rolsten swung giant fists at my face, my ribs, my stomach. I breathed heavily, gasping for air between blows, waiting for an opportunity. When it came, I leaned back, propped against the arms holding me so tight, and kicked. My boot made contact with him as he came in for another blow and he stumbled backwards. He called me a name I had never heard before. An insult, to be sure. One that not even Lance had ever breathed in my presence.
I kicked again when Bronx came toward me. His cheek split open but his adrenaline was fierce and he barely seemed to notice. He grabbed my legs and and tipped me so my back was flat against the desk. I writhed when his hands tore at my clothes, but he didn't dare relieve his desire within me. Their own stupidity had saved me from a most horrible fate. In that I was lucky. I continued to fight as one by one they rubbed against my thigh and fondled every inch of my body with their thick hands. And in my fight, I heard the door slam open. I hoped and partially expected to see Keith standing at the threshold, his eyes poisoned with rage, but he didn't come. So I fought until something else saved me. As I twisted my body away from their touches, I felt the sting of desert sand against my skin. As the wind drove harder, I fell away from myself, leaving my bruised body to suffer alone. The desert breath had stolen my soul.
I became less enraged and more resigned as I waited in stillness for the sand to pile in and smother us to death. I would die there in the desert, battered, abused, disrespected. Far from my home, far from the my protectors, the men who had sacrificed so much for me. I had lost them and been plunged into a world where Earth men were not noble and compassionate. And that is how it was. These Earth men were angry and filled with lust, and I was their outlet. They would beat me, taste my skin, and relieve their primal desires onto me so that I was soaked in their leftovers. I always rinsed off in the drinking trough after their lusting. I only shared water with the horses now. Horses were better than men.
*
The wind had not ceased blowing since that first day they took me. Was it crying for me now as it moaned past my ears? Its consistency seemed to prevent daily encounters with the regents or Rolsten. They hid from it like cowards as I worked the fields. But I knew they would come. Lust could only be delayed for so long. I curled into my work as though the plants themselves would protect me. But they didn't. So I cringed at any noise, my eyes darting around trying to anticipate. The knife I wore on my boot seemed so small and useless. Even the much larger machete was nothing but a stick in my hands. I was sure it would shatter into a thousand pieces if I used it to defend myself. Eventually, they would call out my name, willing me to turn from my work at the sound of their voice. And when they did finally call, I dropped the machete and forgot about the knife. I would walk steadily toward the voice through the blowing sand, not knowing or caring who it was.
"Alice!" I heard one call out to me. I dropped my work and started my journey toward the voice. He looked ghostly in the distance, a dark blob rippling and waving in the rising heat. It was then I noticed with little interest that the wind had stopped blowing.
"Alice!" he called again. He seemed impatient as I walked a slow pace through the row. I never rushed toward this particular destiny.
"Alice?" he questioned when I stood before him. I waited for him to yell at me, to slap my face and call me names for taking my time. I waited for him to have his way with me. But nothing happened.
I stared at him, unseeing and removed. He spoke my name again, his voice searching, almost pleading. Alice. Alice. Al…. Allura. I blinked as that word, so familiar and comforting, was repeated over and over. And then I saw him. He took shape before me. His mousy brown hair dampened by sweat, his blue eyes framed by sun-reddened skin.
"Lance," I mumbled and fell to my knees. The hallucination burned at me, mocked my dreams, and reminded me that I was truly alone.
But then he spoke again. "Allura. You're safe now."
I felt his breath on my ear as I leaned forward and vomited. A foreign warmth spread across my back, moving in small comforting circles. It was a touch of kindness and it drew me to him. I looked up into his eyes, narrowed and sure, and I whimpered. "Lance."
"Yes, sweetheart. It's me. And there's someone else." Lance glanced behind him and I followed his eyes. In the distance, three other figures quivered in the heat. One was moving toward us in a steady jog. "Go on. He's missed you."
Lance helped me stand and urged me toward the moving figure. My legs shook as I walked quickly down the endless row until I could just discern a shot of midnight hair atop an urgent expression. As we neared he caught my eyes and smiled. I wanted to smile back, but I couldn't. Barely a foot separated us and all I could do was stare. He looked so real, more vivid and alive than Lance. But how? I had forgotten his face long ago when he left the castle to hunt down an assassin. But now he stood before me, the crisp lines of his white dress shirt tucked neatly into black soldier pants. His eyes danced but his body remained still. He was waiting for me, and I placed a tentative hand on his chest. Flesh and bone. He was real. I was real. It was my skin against his beating heart. My Keith.
Without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. He was patient and gentle, as though he knew I might break. And as I parted my lips to taste him, I was consumed and flooded by it all, at once in pain as well as elated. I gasped as though the desert had returned my breath to me. He pulled away from me and lifted his hand to wipe my tears. I flinched at his movement and he immediately stiffened. He was real, as real as my new found breath. He was the man who had bowed before me, swearing to serve and protect me beyond death. He was the man who had fought all that is evil in the universe to insure my safety. He was the man I had loved and longed for in absence, and he was now the man from whom I cowered.
He lowered his hand before it even touched me and his face went stern. "Who hurt you, my princess?"
I was panting, alert to his presence, his touch, his strength. I looked him square in the eyes and frowned. It came out in a low growl full of conviction, the same conviction that had me on the run and brought me to this place. "All of them."
*
There was little anyone could have done at that point. And no one tried to stop him. His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, but really he was looking beyond me, at the map of action laid out so clearly in his mind. His eyes shifted to Lance who stood a respectful distance away. Something passed between them, and as Keith turned away from me without a word and walked toward that dreaded triangle of darkness where Rolsten sat unsuspecting, Lance pulled me in the opposite direction.
Panic boiled in my stomach and gnawed at my heart as I watched Keith walk away. I thought perhaps it was fleeting, pressed into me after such a long separation from him, only to have him leave me again. I wanted him to take me from this place. I wanted him to secure me in his arms forever. I wanted to be home. But then the panic turned a new face, one where Keith was destined to die at the hands of these men who had brought me such horrors. Had I not just been awakened from the stupor of trauma I might have laughed at that notion. I had seen him fight, and knew what he was capable of. But I was not in my right mind and I pulled away from Lance.
"Allura! This is his fight now!" I heard Lance's words only on the fringes of a sudden gust of wind as I ran after Keith. He was wrong anyway. It was now our fight.
By the time I reached the door, Keith had already subdued two regents, both unconscious on the floor. As I stepped inside, his body moved in a blur, evading, absorbing and rebounding blows from Bronx and Rolsten. These were the strongest of the men who had harmed me, the most brutal and consistent in their abuse. They were dark and unrelenting. They were killers. But quickly the scuffle ceased as Keith's mastery of hand combat overpowered their strength. They were pinned against the far wall by nothing more than his strong, precise fingers pressing into their necks. It was clear Keith had not asked any questions. I had accused them all, and that was enough for him.
His eyes never shifted from his captives, but he knew I was there. I stepped beside him and watched the muscles in his forearm pulse as though a writhing creature lived there, separate from his heart and mind. But those muscles weren't separate. It was all him, calculating and purposeful. And just as they were part of him, mine were a part of me, part of my own heart and mind. Blood surged, bringing my muscles to life and they throbbed as I swung my hand with a force I had forgotten I owned. Rolsten's cheek flooded deep purple and appeared to shatter as burst vessels webbed across the bruise. A line of blood oozed down his cheek where the skin had split apart.
"That had to hurt," Keith snarled beside me, his body unmoving as Rolsten's hand shot up to cradle the injury. Keith's fingers pressed into the man's greasy neck, a quick reminder of who was in control. The flesh turned white around the pressure point and spread upward into Rolsten's face where his squinting eyes bulged. I assumed he was in pain.
I moved to the other side of Keith where Bronx was held fast against the wall. My lips quivered, but I didn't let him see this. I now had the upper hand. Placing a finger on his pink scar where I had once retaliated with my boot, his angry glare turned from Keith to me.
"I see she did some damage," Keith hissed. He had seen Bronx glare at me, and I could feel the rumble in his voice, a clear warning on the edge of his words. "You must have been an extreme ass."
Without having to tell him, Keith knew. Somehow, he knew these men had done more than just beat me. From where I stood, I could feel his chest thundering, like a wave building with power and energy, ready to crash in on itself. But Keith was in control of this wave. He knew how high it went and where exactly it would land. He was prepared to kill. But my own need for retribution matched his, and my fist tore open Bronx's face once more, revealing a writhing, bloodied tongue behind blood-stained teeth. It was a sharp reminder of what I had told him not that long ago - he too would pay. I wanted to speak it, but my voice cracked and all that sounded was a pathetic bleat.
"You both deserve to die," Keith growled, his voice strong where mine was not. And with a smoothness that surprised me, he shifted his eyes to me and spoke my name, tenderness and compassion juxtaposing the rage just revealed.
I faced him and stumbled into his dark eyes, captured by their genuine warmth. Neither of us spoke and I remained locked in his gaze, my own heart purging a darkness and swelling as I explored the layers within him, finding nothing but love there awaiting me. Whatever we did next, we would do together, and I ducked between his arms, still held straight with a strength with which I am now so familiar. I know it was that strength that prevented Bronx and Rolsten from trying to break free. It was that strength that allowed me to stand so close to them, and face them without fear.
Keith exhaled hot breath against my ear and the sting of his hair whipping against my cheek reminded me of the desert sands blowing about us, protecting and sheltering my soul as I had succumbed to my abusers. I shivered but I was not cold, nor afraid. No, I was in a fever burning with a need to end my nightmare as much as to embrace a new passion. But I knew the latter could not happen now, so I simply parted my lips and matched Keith's breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Our bodies were in rhythm, our breath making love. His cheek pressed against my temple and I felt a liquid warmth trickle down to my jaw. Keith choked on an inhale, and in that moment I had never loved another human being as I did him. He shed tears for my pain.
I nuzzled against him and pressed my lips to his face, collecting his tears as they fell. It all felt right, even as we stood upon the brink of my nightmares. These men, my perpetrators, needed to witness it. I wanted them to watch Keith touch me. I wanted them to know the depth of his love. I wanted them to know that he was the only man who would ever lay a hand on me again. And as I thought this, still unable to speak, Keith's voice cracked above me. "You never should have touched her. No one touches her."
Except you, I thought at Keith. I matched stares with Bronx, his chest heaving and nostrils flaring. I saw him as a cornered bull, stomping at the ground, building strength to fight his way out. Rolsten appeared calmer, more focused on Keith's fingers and the awareness of his own pain. But his eyes were more alert than I had ever seen before and he too focused on me. I blinked and pressed my back against Keith. I felt his warmth and power, and no longer hesitated. My hands encircled his biceps and they twitched at my touch. His crisp shirt was damp with sweat now and I moved my fingers down the length of his arms to the cuffs folded up across his forearms. I stopped there, my breath gathering as I touched his moist skin with spread fingers. I could feel Keith shudder behind me as this strange dance of ours deepened and my fingers slid to his wrists. I grasped them and then curved my hands under, our palms flush. His hands were firm, rough, and hot to the touch. He was on fire, his flame subdued by some force I could only attribute to love. He loved me enough to give me a part in this, and I could make him wait no longer. Again, my hands encircled his wrists, and together we jabbed at the two men. They collapsed without a sound. The desert wind invaded the dark room I had once, ever so briefly, seen as a refuge. Fiery sand pushed in and scattered about as we stood watching their still forms, arms at our sides, my hands still grasping Keith's wrists.
*
There are two pressure points on the neck, one for subduing, the other for killing. They are millimeters apart and one slip could dramatically change the outcome of a fight. Keith kisses each spot on my exposed neck as we lay under the Arusian sky alight with stars. He is gentle with me, caring and mindful of what I have been through. But it is evident he wants me to know how to subdue and how to kill. And beyond that is a hidden message, one that I read clearly between his words and caresses. He is telling me that Bronx and Rolsten may or may not be dead. It is a gift, really. Keith is offering me relief through death, but also relief from the guilt of murder. Perhaps the desert breath simply stole their lives momentarily, or perhaps it stole their souls away forever. It doesn't matter to me now. I am safe with my friends and teammates, secure in the arms of a love I have always desired and never knew I could have. I am home.