Disclaimer: This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.
A/N: Sorry this update has taken so long. I haven't had a lot of spare time on my hands to write.
Chapter Nine
Hope and I are watching the sun breaking through the horizon. We've been sitting on the roof of Dystopia since she found me wandering through the streets, cursing another sleepless night. Apparently, I'm not the one who suffers from bouts of insomnia but according to Hope, hers are simply part of her genetics and have very little bearing on her ability to function properly.
I marvel at the beauty of the sunrise as I watch orange bleed into the sky. It's so beautiful that even the stone grey scene below us, that insists on spoiling the view, does little to mask its power. Hope smiles, resting back on her hands, as she keeps an unblinking gaze in front of her. I think I understand what true beauty is now. The sun is beautiful because it's so powerful. Hope is beautiful because she is also powerful.
My conclusion depresses me.
"I'm ugly," I mutter. My tone is matter of fact simply because I realised this a while ago. I've almost gotten used to my lot in life, you could say. Hope doesn't look at me, the smile still on her face. She doesn't seem surprised by my self assessment and I take this to mean that she agrees with me.
"You're not," she says, as though that should be the end of the matter but even though I can hear the sureness in her tone, I can't quite bring myself to believe it. The words are not are not strong enough to penetrate my own feelings of worthlessness. A part of me is glad. I have spent so long feeling bad about myself that I would hate to find out it was pointless.
Perhaps Hope notices the lack of conviction in my expression as I simply nod and lower my head because she grabs my chin. I cringe, just knowing that she will feel the tiny hairs that insist on sprouting, however much I will them not to. She turns my head until I have no choice but to look at her. "You're a young girl. You have your whole future ahead of you and you're open to discovering and exploring it. That's more beautiful than anything. You're not ugly, Beth. You just haven't been shown the little tricks that all of us ladies need to keep ourselves polished."
"I'm too short," I insist but Hope merely shrugs.
"So? Gives us an advantage in battle."
"And I have hair on my legs, on my face, under my arms—everywhere." I practically wail. I can feel sadness bubbling up in my stomach, threatening to spill over into tears and I try with all my might to force it down. I don't want Hope to see me cry. I know she will think I am weak.
She laughs and smoothes my hair. "Who gives a shit? All girls get hair."
"Even you?"
Another laugh. "Especially me. My donor must have been fucking Greek or something because I get it everywhere. Black as night and so goddam stubborn to get rid of it. And it's not just me. You should have seen Max three days ago. We had to send Alec on an emergency supply run to pick up some wax and razors."
She pulls up the leg of her trousers and grabs my hand. I can feel prickly hair under my fingers. Hope smiles and winks at me. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm a little behind on my routine."
She sighs as she notices my look of shock. "Perfection doesn't exist, Beth. At best it's an illusion."
Then we go back to watching the sun and thinking about Alec, braving sector police and the angry mob just the ladies of Terminal City can keep up appearences. It's enough to make me smile.
It is past midnight when I am awoken from a dream about chocolate. I discovered chocolate a few days ago, when Hope managed to sneak some truffles past sector police, the protesters, the news reporters, over four hundred hungry transgenics and Max herself.
I asked her why she bothered. She smiled and handed me a smooth glob of milky brown paste dusted with grated white chocolate. Within the first bite I got my answer.
The first thing I see is Hope's grinning face leaning over me. Becca mutters and lifts her head off the pillow, her mouth opening in a little gasp as she sees just who is responible for disturbing her.
"What's going on?" she asks, a note of uncertainty in her voice.I rack my brains for a lie that she will believe. Hope answers for me.
"Nothing. Tarran needs a hand in the infirmary. Max told me to get a few people together but I've filled the quota so you can just go back to sleep."
With a wink, she gestures to my camis, folded neatly beside my makeshift bed, and tells me that she'll wait in the hall. I pull my clothes on in a daze, half wondering what she could possibly want at this hour and half hoping she might make it quick so I can go back to sleep.
She is waiting outside as promised, foot propped against the wall, eyes focused on the ceiling. The tune she is humming softly to herself cuts of as she sees me and she gives me another bright smile as she beckons for me to walk with her.
I notice the rain on her jacket and the trail of muddy footsteps she leaves behind as she walks. "Have you been out?" I ask, my voice still rough with sleep.
She nods, excitedly. "Yeah, I went out to get some supplies. I only just got back."
"Maya, from the food distribution center, told me there were no supply runs scheduled for at least four days." I think of the flame haired X5 who never has a nice word for anyone and wonder if she might have lied to me.
Hope shakes her head. "It wasn't an official haul. They don't let me go on those, say I'm too reckless---like they'd know," she mutters bitterly before continuing. "I just went to pick up a few things. Personal items."
Then without giving me a chance to ask for an explanation, she grabs me by the hand and drags me away.
"Ow!"
"Stop fussing," Hope says with a giggle. She grabs another of my eyebrow hairs and pulls it from the root. Even with my superior tolerance to pain, I still wince.
I'm sitting on the floor in Hope's room, the products of her unofficial haul scattered around us. There is a strong smelling paste on my chin, guarenteed to disolve even the most stubborn of hairs with minimal redness, according to the box and my hair is coated in a thick unidentifiable mixture. Hope says it will make it glossy. I note the clump of my hair, scattered on the floor with some worry. While I have promised to trust Hope's creative vision, it hasn't escaped my attention that her tastes could be considered----extreme, to say the least.
She pulls back to look at me and seems unsatisfied by what she sees. "Y'now, my first foster mother was Italian---from actual Italy, not just Brooklyn," she says, biting her lip as she leans in closer to attack a particularly stubborn hair. "She wouldn't even let me go to school without being perfectly presented. 'Presentation is most important'," she quotes, with actual Italian inflection. "She would spend hours primping and preening both her and myself."
She sits back for a moment to assess her work and I see a proud gleam in her eyes. "There. All done." She brushes tiny hairs of her hands and raises her wrist to check the time. After clearing the paste of my chin, using water from her own supply, she hands me a cold cloth and advises me to drape it over my face while she rinses my hair into a rusty old bucket.
"It'll be red for a while but that'll soon go," she says as I try not to fall asleep. The feeling of her hands working through my hair is so relaxing that even the cold flannel is doing nothing to keep me awake. I ask what it's for.
"An old wives tale," she replies. "Gives your circulation a boost and makes your skin all pretty."
I'm so eager to see the results that I almost feel I could die, but it seems I'll have to wait a little longer. Hope wraps my hair in a towel, the cleanest she could scavange from the infirmary, and walks me back to my room. With parting advice to not keep it wrapped too tight or it won't dry, she pats me on the head and leaves.
I manage to sneak into my room without waking any of the others and lay down, prepared for another few hours of sleeplessness before I succumb. Then I remember how relaxed I felt as Hope washed the berry scented mixture out of my hair. I am asleep in seconds.