Happy holidays, everyone!
To celebrate the holidays I decided to gift you all with an early update! :D From this chapter onward we'll see a bit more of the Red Army and their inner workings more closely. Hope you all enjoy it and I wish you all a wonderful time!
"I am so sorry! Really, I would've never done that if I had better control over myself!" Tom apologized profusely, hiding his face in his hands to conceal the crimson hue tainting his cheeks as he flushed with utter embarrassment over the situation.
"Its fine, Thomas!" Tord laughed it off, trying to dismiss Tom's concerns despite being just as embarrassed as he is after he told him what took place in the enclosure the day prior. "Really, it's not that big of a deal."
"Easy for you to say! You weren't the one snuggling someone's leg naked!" Tom retorted.
They were in Tord's office; discussing Tom's progress in his training and his control over his monster half when they came upon the topic of Tom's frequent nudeness issues.
"Should I be concerned that it took you this long to think that "huh, maybe I should do something about my test subject getting naked every damn time he shifts!"?"
"Not to worry!" Tord reassured, placing a hand on the brit's shoulder. "I have already started planning a solution to your little problem. However… it might take several days for it to get ready, so… you're going to have to endure a few more instances of being unintentionally naked."
"Joy." Tom droned.
"Anyways, Thomas, how is your control over the monster coming along? Do you remember anything from our last session?" Tord asked eagerly, hardly aware that he was leaning closer to Tom.
"I feel it's getting better." Tom answered. "I no longer feel as though I lost all my senses or that I am being dragged around against my will. Sometimes I see… windows of what's going on and I get input from time to time. Not a lot, as some things are still mostly fuzzy, but just enough to make a difference I think."
"That's great!" Tord exclaimed. "We're making progress! We've moved you from the trunk of the metaphorical car to, I'd say maybe the backseat. Now all we need to do is to keep this up and hopefully get you on the driver's seat and everything will be fine!"
Tom frowned. "I don't think full control is possible, though. When I transform everything is very… primal. Not a lot of room for reason, and is mostly emotion based as far as I can tell? It's hard to explain, but I can't think logically while I am a monster. It's less about "oh he wants me to do this thing, maybe I should do it" and more like "don't feel like obeying him right now – kinda tired and want to relax" does that make any sense?"
Tord stared at him for a long moment before nodding. "I think so." He made a mental note to write all that down on his files later.
"Also, by the way," Tom said, squinting. "I keep getting vague memories of a squeaky dog toy – what's that all about?"
"I would explain it to you," Tord started, looking deep into his eyes; mock serious. "But I feel as though Paul will have a much better explanation for you. You should totally ask him about it next time you see him!"
"Are you guys treating me like a dog or something?" Tom asked, his voice light with humour.
"N-nooooo," Tord said. "Well… maybe a little bit? But in our defence you do act a lot like one while in your monster form."
"Hmm, and that's all the excuse you need to teach me to roll over and shake your hand, huh?" Tom teased.
"It's only a temporary thing, I assure you. Just to make sure training the monster is at all possible for future references." Tord ducked his head shyly. "Doesn't really help that you tend to be very affectionate in your monster form."
Tom rolled his non-existent eyes. "Definitely don't remember that part, so… can't comment."
"Seriously though, your training is coming along great! Both monster and soldier training." Tord stated proudly, grabbing hold of both of Tom's hands in his own. "In fact, I think you are more than ready for your assessment."
"My… my assessment?" Tom echoed, huge eyed.
Don't get him wrong; he already knew this was expected of him. Training to become a soldier for so long it was obvious he would have to go through the assessment at some point and officially become part of the Red Army, but he didn't think it would be this soon! Tom hadn't enjoyed his free time nearly as much as he probably should've; and though he had complained for not having much to do before, Tord now wants him to start his services.
He's expected to kill for the army.
The foreboding sensation that he was expected to die to avoid that fate from happening pulsed strong in his brain, sending him into a panic to put his plan into motion again and keep Tord from reaching his goals.
Tord must've sensed his unease, because he started rubbing small circles on the back of his hands to try and soothe him. "Relax! There's nothing to worry about. I am confident that you'll pass with flying colours." He reassured, thinking that's what distressed the eyeless man. "Although, I suppose your test is going to be slightly different than what most soldiers go through, since it makes sense to test your control over the monster too. But I am sure you will manage just fine!"
Tom wondered what would entail if he were to purposefully fail his assessment and postpone his official initiation into the army.
But one good look at Tord's face; seeing the pure joy and excitement gleaming in his one eye as he gazed back at him with such pride – pride in him – and what's to become of him made it impossible for Tom to confess what's bothering him.
No one ever thought of him as capable of anything in his life. No one ever expected anything out of him. Why would they? Tom would've most likely let them down. He was nothing special.
But not to Tord.
Clearly the man has high hopes for him and this means a big deal to him. Tom couldn't bring himself to ruin the moment by bringing up his own issues, much less fail on purpose and disappoint Tord. He might think less of him if he does, and for some strange reason that really mattered to Tom.
Pushing his worries for the future aside, Tom put up his best smile. "Can't wait to be tested on my rolling over and shaking hands skills. Truly, a very essential part for any army."
"Dumbass." Tord chortled, the sound turning Tom's smile all the more genuine.
"In all seriousness though, your soldier assessment will evaluate three essential skills in order for you to pass." Tord proceeded to explain. "These skills are as follows: Aim, agility, and combat. Pass all of them flawlessly and you will become an official soldier."
"Let me take a wild guess; the combat one involves me fighting you – the great and "unbeatable" Red Leader? Am I correct?" Tom asked, lifting one eyebrow.
Tord shifted. "Not necessarily."
Tom grinned, leaning closer. "You're not afraid of facing me again after your humiliating defeat in our last training session, are you?" He teased.
Tord narrowed his eye and huffed. "Of course not! I will be more than glad to show you just how wrong you are to think you bested me."
Tom laughed despite himself, although he was fiercely trying not to. Tord just looked so wounded and so mischievous at the same time as he said that. "Bring it on, Commie!" He challenged, lifting his chin. "I can take you on any time you want."
"Oh, really?" Tord tipped his head, his voice suddenly taking on a more sultry tone, giving him a charming grin as he leaned closer.
Tom felt his heart start to thump hard against his chest, and his face grew warm at Tord's closeness. Their chests were almost touching. What's… what's happening?
Their fingers intertwined.
"How about you take me on right now then?" Tord gazed at him with a half-lidded eye.
Gulping, Tom became aware of how the distance between their faces seems to be shortening ever so slightly. What's worse is that he couldn't even tell if this was Tord's doing or his own. They were so close now. Everything was moving in slow motion as though he were in a dreamlike state. Tom's mind started to go haywire. Oh god. What is this? What am I doing? Am I doing it? What is happening? Why am I strangely okay with this? Get a hold of yourself – this is Tord of all people! I can't want this and yet I kinda do… Oh god. I can't do this! I need to get away before something happens-
The office doors suddenly creaked open.
In a flash, Tom and Tord pulled away from each other. Both wide eyed and flushing furiously as they recomposed themselves.
"Red Leader, I- oh!" Patrick began before blinking in surprise as he entered the room. "Apologies. I was not aware the two of you were conversing. I'm not intruding anything, I hope?" His gaze shifted between the two.
"Nope! Not at all!" Tom scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Just talking about training, and nothing else whatsoever!"
Tord stared at him, his heart still racing. That was a really close call. He accidentally slipped into his Red Leader persona – the side of him that's just begging to take Tom for himself already, because he was possessive like that – and tried to make a move on the eyeless man. He couldn't help it! Tom was just so… enticing. For a brief moment it seemed like Tom was into it too! Tord instantly brushed that off as the Brit being too confused over the situation to function.
God, what was he thinking? They were finally getting along and he just had to ruin it by taking it too far!
Then he realized with an excited skip of his heartbeat that they were still holding hands.
He wasn't the only one to notice it, as Tom ripped his hand away from his not a second later. Tord tried not to feel hurt by the gesture, already missing the contact but understanding that Tom didn't feel the same way.
"I need to have a private word with Red Leader; would you mind waiting for me in my study, Tom?" Patrick asked, not at all oblivious to the awkward tension in the room. "We can get started with the mental evaluation as soon as I am done here."
"Oh, right! Totally forgot we had that today. Yeah. Man, I would forget my own head if it weren't attached to my body, haha. " Tom rambled nervously, his heart still palpitating after what just happened between him and Tord.
"In fact, you just reminded me!"
Tom fished his pocket and pulled out a tiny device in his fingers. "I think the Dreamcatcher might be busted or something. I had a seriously weird trippy dream last night!" He turned to Tord, but couldn't bring himself to look in his eye as he deposited the device in his robotic palm. "I hoped you could fix it?"
Tord inspected the device in his hand, looking for any external damages that might have caused it to malfunction. "I'll see what I can do." He replied. "But can you stand to sleep at least one night without it?"
Tom inwardly winced at the thought of being plagued by horrific nightmares again. However, since starting his treatment of accepting his monster side things have been improving, so perhaps his dreams won't be as disturbing as they were.
"I can handle it."
Once that was done with, Tom quickly stepped away and made his way to the bookshelf and frantically started pulling books at random to summon the elevator; desperate to get away from Tord. "Great! It's settled then! I best be on my way and leave you guys be to talk about boring army related things, which is none of my business! I'll just wait around in the study, not thinking about anything relatively important whatsoever and maybe stare at the wall. You know, nothing out of the ordinary!"
When he failed to find the correct book Tord extended his robotic arm past him, startling Tom briefly before he pulled on the correct book. The bookcase pulled aside to reveal the lift. Tord blinked at him kindly, trying to catch his eye.
Tom shot him an anxious smile and quickly stepped inside the lift. "Thanks! Anyways, see you guys later or whenever hahahahaha I'm laughing for too long what's taking this elevator so damn long?! Hahahaha!"
Needless to say he was extremely relieved when the lift doors finally did slide shut and he was left alone with his thoughts.
Tom closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh, leaning back against the wall as the elevator descended. His mind still struggled to grasp what just occurred in the office with Tord. Were they about to-? No. There's no way. It's impossible. They don't like each other. It could never happen, and even if it did Tom wouldn't want that… would he?
This incident and the strange unknown feelings that are stirring inside his chest triggered the memory of the weird dream he experienced last night.
The soothing sound of waves roaring as they lapped the shore reached his ears. The sun shining brightly up above him warmed his being. The scent of saltwater overwhelmed his senses and relaxed him. Tom sighed contently as he felt a gentle hand card through his locks. He was lying down, sprawled out in the warm sand with his head resting on someone's lap.
"It comforts me to see you so happy. You deserve it after all the hardships you've been through." A soft voice murmured above him. "You won't have to die anymore, Tom. Your friends are all safe."
The sound of splashing and laughter rang in his ears. Tom turned his head and blinked one eye open to investigate.
His heart swelled with joy to see all of his friends playing together in the sea. Seeing the image of Edd, Matt, Paul, and Patrick all together in one place probably should've been a little jarring but Tom was just so happy to see them all safe and sound that it didn't really faze him.
They are fine.
They are all happy.
He doesn't have to die to make any of that happen. They can be carefree with him still existing. That's all he ever wanted.
"See? You don't have to make yourself miserable and suffer in our account. We're all here for you." The silky voice continued petting his head. "You are a great friend. You may be rough around the edges, but you still care deeply for those you love. And for that, no one else is as well-loved as you, Thomas."
I am loved? The thought warmed Tom all over.
Tom looked up, blinking open his eyes to see a silhouette leaning over him. But it was hard to make out who it was against the harsh flare of the sun shining above them, making Tom flinch and close his eyes. The voice chuckled softly, and a shadow fell over his face. When he carefully opened his eyes again, he found Tord peering down at him, his gray eye glowing with love.
"Tord?" Tom breathed, a little startled by the warmth he found in the other's gaze as he looked at him so lovingly.
Next thing he knows, Tord gently gathers him in his arms and adjusts his position so that he was sprawled across his lap. A robotic hand caressed and cupped his face. Tom's heart started beating a little faster inside his chest only for it to nearly skyrocket to oblivion as Tord pressed a kiss to his temple.
Tom blushed furiously as he vividly remembers the details of last night's dream. As soon as the elevator's doors opened he marched into the kitchen area, nearly flinging the fridge door off its hinges as he grabbed the special vitamin drink Pat had already prepared for him. He sipped the tasty healthy beverage anxiously in a desperate attempt to calm down, but to no avail as his thoughts ran rampant.
That dream didn't really mean anything. It couldn't have! So what if the Dreamcatcher supposedly shows him his greatest desire in his sleep? The device was obviously faulty! That's the only logical explanation.
But if that's the case, how does this explain the strange fluttering sensations he feels whenever he's around Tord? Or the fact that he feels generally lighter and cheerful at the thought of the Norwegian man? Or how his heartbeat escalates when they touch?
What would've happened if Patrick hadn't walked in that precise moment?
Tom downed the entire drink in one go and tossed the plastic cup away as he became overwhelmed with strange feelings. What's happening to me? He wondered, hands flying to grip both sides of his head and gasping for air as though the room he currently occupied was suddenly deprived of all oxygen. What is this strange feeling that I have?
The feeling itself wasn't bad per say, but it was heavily associated with Tord and Tom couldn't put his finger on it. Didn't help that he was panicking for absolutely no good reason.
Apparently he must've been lost in his thoughts longer than he realized, because the small lift to Tord's office revealed itself once more and out stepped Patrick; who halted in his steps as he instantly picked up on Tom's erratic state of mind.
"Tom? What's the matter?" Patrick asked, filled with concern. "Is it the voice? Are you about to shift? Would like for me to call Tord to come down and check on you?"
"No!" Tom blurted. The last thing he needs right now is to see Tord again so soon after what just took place in his office, when he still wasn't sure what the matter with his feelings were.
There's only one thing he can do now; he needs to get to the bottom of this. However, he is going to need help.
Wordlessly, Tom grabbed Pat by the arm, shooting him an apologetic glance before dragging him along to the study where they conduct the mental evaluations. He hurriedly sat Patrick down in his usual seat, and then rushed over to sit down across from him; his hands constantly fidgeting with one another.
Pat blinked at him in surprise.
"I don't know what's going on, Pat! I feel all warm and tingly inside, and- and- and- and I'm sweaty as f#ck! I wanna smile all the damn time- actually no. I specifically wanna smile when I'm around Tord for some stupid reason. I can't explain it! There's no rhyme or reason for me to be feeling this way all of the sudden and if I can't find an explanation I think I might lose my mind-"
"Stop stop stop."
Patrick interrupted his mad frantic ravings, putting a palm out to signal him for silence.
"Firstly; let's take a couple of slow deep breaths and try to calm down. Breathe in. Breathe out."
Tom did as instructed, taking a long intake of air and then releasing it a few heartbeats later. He repeated the motion a couple of times, trying to dispel all his concerns in favour of clearing his head and being rational; but much to his chagrin he still felt every fibre of his being filled to the brim with anxiety.
"I don't think this is working, Pat."
"Wait here, please."
The Polish soldier promptly left the room, but it wasn't long before he returned with an ice cube in his hands.
"Eat this. You will find it quite soothing to your anxiety." He offered.
Tom raised his eyebrows sceptically, but was so desperate to get rid of this feeling that he didn't object and just popped the ice cube into his mouth. After chewing and rolling the cube around with his tongue for a little while, he not only found his erratic thoughts dispersing, but his muscles were relaxing and the uncomfortable sensation that was stirring inside his chest was easing as though he were deflating like a balloon.
"Feeling better?"
Tom nodded, amazed that this actually worked.
"Alright, I'm going to ask you a couple of questions to help discern what the matter is, understand?" Patrick went on, pulling out his reading glasses and tablet to write down his notes. "You say you feel strange – particularly around Tord, is that right? Could you please calmly elaborate a little bit more on that?"
"I just… it's hard to explain, but lately I feel as though I want to be near and as far away from him as possible at the same time." Tom explained, the ice cube crunching between his teeth. "I want him to be happy – to give him a hug and never let go, but also to kick him in the face repeatedly and maybe set him on fire after."
Patrick frowned. "But how would you describe the overall feeling? Does it make you feel good or bad?"
Tom fidgeted. "Good, I think. But somehow that makes it worse because I feel as though I'm not supposed to like it! Not only is it too good a feeling for me to have, but the association with Tord makes it as though I should be ashamed of feeling this way. Does any of it make any sense?"
"You feel guilty for having this feeling then?"
"I suppose so."
Pat narrowed his eyes pensively. "Let me ask you something; this pleasant feeling that you get… it's only when Tord is involved?"
"Yes."
"And guilt aside, do you like this feeling?"
"... y-yes?"
Patrick pursed his lips. "Do you feel generally happier and brighter when Tord is around?" He asked, masking the building excitement as he pieced things together.
"I guess so?" Truth be told Tom hadn't noticed how much Tord affected his mood as of late until this very moment when prompted. He would go from thinking how much of a parasite he was by taking advantage of their kindness and offering nothing in return, to wondering about Tord's schedule for the day or what his newest invention would be as soon as the Norwegian man steps in his line of sight.
"Do you find your thoughts drifting to Tord every so often?"
"On occasion. I don't know. I mean, in my defence it's not like I have other things to do – my schedule isn't exactly booked, you know!"
"Indeed." Patrick jolted down on his notes. "Given all your answers I think I have a hunch on what's going on with you. Tom, is it at all possible that you may have grown… fond of Tord, perhaps?"
The question made Tom freeze, a light pink tinge dusting his cheeks. "What… what are you trying to say? You're not seriously suggesting that I might…" He trailed off, the words getting clogged in his throat. "That I might have a crush on the Commie, are you?"
Pat steadily met his gaze. "You tell me, Tom."
Tom was at a loss for words, and for several frantic seconds he floundered like a fish. This isn't possible. It can't be possible! Him? Falling in love with Tord? Tord of all people?! That's absurd! Ridiculous even! Had he forgotten all the bad things Tord is responsible for?
He expected to be swarmed with countless memories of all of Tord's past bad deeds; to provide himself with evidence that he could never feel anything but hatred towards the Norsk. But those memories seem distant and hazy now. Instead, his mind supplied images of more recent events – incidents where Tom was shown another side to Tord other than the overly ambitious, power-hungry, mad man he had once firmly believed was all there was to Tord. A warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in his chest at the memories. Tord can be compassionate. He can be fair. He is understanding. Patient. Charismatic. He seems to have an answer for everything. Charming. And he is not too bad on the eyes either.
Tom's heart dropped like a stone inside his chest as he realized that, not only was he thinking very fondly of Tord, but that the persistent warm tingling sensation was full on active right now; making him feel as though he were floating.
Oh… oh god… I actually do like him. A lot.
Gulping, Tom hugged his knees to his chest; trying to process this new revelation.
Sitting across from him, Patrick observed his facial expressions shift back and forth in quiet fascination. "Tom?"
"It… it doesn't really matter." Tom shook his head and uttered softly. "This isn't real, anyway."
Pat furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Why do you say that?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Tom smiled sadly. "I used to hate the Commie with every fibre of my being. Then he shows me some basic human decency and kindness and all of the sudden I start really liking him. Don't you see? I am so pathetic that I end up developing a crush on someone purely because they were nice and felt sorry for me! How lame is that? Stockholm syndrome at its finest!"
"Is that how you feel? Or is that what you want to believe?" Patrick asked. "Listen, I am not here to tell you how you should feel. I can only help you. And I don't wanna discredit your thoughts because, well, they are yours and you know yourself better than I do." He hesitated. "But if you want to know my honest opinion, I think you should embrace your emotions – whatever they may be – rather than trying to downplay or try to justify against them. You were conditioned by the voice to think that you don't matter for nearly over a decade; and thus, bottling up your feelings and hurting yourself as a result."
"But this doesn't make any sense!" Tom insisted. "Even if what I felt for him were real – which I'm not saying that it is – what could I possibly do about it?" He hid his face in between his hands, a blush creeping up his cheeks at the thought of the formidable Norwegian man that invaded his every thought.
How could this have happened? I can't possibly like him! He thought desperately. But deep down inside Tom knew that he did, more than he ever thought possible.
"Pat." He growled softly, lowering his hands. "How… how did you know that you had feelings for Paul? If you don't mind me asking."
Now it was the Polish soldier's turn to blush as he remembered the early days when he first joined the Red Army. "Well… I was never quite sure at first either. We were good friends, but after a while I started picking up on little traits about him that I greatly admired. My day would brighten up significantly whenever he was around. I could be having the best day ever, and Paul would still make it greater than before. I'd find my thoughts always drifting off to him, and just get this pleasant fuzzy sensation whenever he was around."
As he responded, Tom started making a mental checklist to tick off whatever similarities they have in a last desperate attempt to convince himself that what he was feeling was not it at all.
But alas Tom found that every single detail Patrick had listed matched his own recent experiences with Tord to a tee. F#######ck.
"How repulsive. ~"
Don't remember anyone asking your damn opinion, so shut it! Tom was not in the mood to deal with the voice's sh#t right now, and he had no problem snapping back at it even at the threat of pain.
But the voice did no such thing. It did way worse. It chuckled; the sound lifting the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck.
"As if you weren't pathetic enough, you actually go one step beyond and fall in love with the man that, not only utterly despises you, but is also manipulating you into abiding with his schemes! ~" It cooed, nails tapping along Tom's shoulders in a rhythmic fashion. "You really outdone yourself this time, worm. You'll believe anything these people say if it means you can keep prolonging your sorry existence, even when they're so clearly taking advantage of your weakness for their own benefit. Falling in love with Tord… that's just going to be a bonus to him. Imagine how utterly ecstatic he'll be when he learns how easy you were to bend to his control; how desperate you are for validation that you would be willing to do absolutely anything for him! ~"
I would never! Tom thought outraged. I may have… I may kinda like him now, but that doesn't mean I will blindly go along with every single thing he says! I will keep on opposing him whenever I think he's in the wrong and tell it straight to his face that I'm against him.
"Oh really? Like you did this morning when he mentioned your assessment? ~" The voice challenged. "You clearly don't want to do this, and yet you kept your mouth shut just so he wouldn't be disappointed in you. He already has an effect on you. ~"
Tom winced. That's not true! I was… I was just a little nervous at first. That doesn't mean anything.
The voice snorted. "Don't insult me with your lies, worm. I literally live inside your head. I know what you really think and how you work. ~" It sneered, coiling around Tom's neck and squeezing hard. "You love him, and yet you don't fully trust him. You don't want to kill anyone, but you can't bring yourself to burst his little bubble and destroy all the expectations he has in store for you. ~"
You're lying to me.
"That's insulting. No, worm. I'm the only one willing to tell you the truth in this miserable existence. ~"
Despite his best efforts, Tom couldn't block out the voice completely. Though the sensations of physical harm were less frequent since his treatment began, that didn't stop the voice from making its presence known in every way it could.
"This other side of him that you seem to grow so fond of is not real. Nothing more than an illusion to trap you in his clutches. ~" The voice hissed scornfully. "And besides, even if he is being truthful why would he ever feel the same way towards you? Look at you! You are nothing more than a useless, worthless, disgusting vermin that should have never been born. He is the Red Leader – soon to be the most powerful and brilliant man in the world. He can have anything he wants… so why would he stoop so low as to choose you? ~"
A wave of anguish washed over him and broke his heart. The voice was right. Tord is unbelievably proud of his status and power; he probably has a bunch of admirers fawning over him, and all of them must have something to offer him in return. If not looks alone, then maybe some other quality that would suit him. But Tom has nothing. He is nothing. He doesn't stand a chance. And what is he to do about this anyway? Confess to him? That will ruin his life!
Damn me and my self-destructive tendencies-!
A cold splash of water to his face jolted Tom out of his conflicting thoughts. He blinked in surprise only to find Patrick with a spray bottle across from him.
"Tom, please kindly tell the voice to shove it and that it has no business commenting on your life." The Polish soldier politely advised, and yet Tom could still hear the menace in his voice, though he knew it wasn't meant for him. The smile never left his face, however.
It took a while, but over time Pat learned to read Tom's body language to tell exactly when the voice was making contact. Ten years of hiding his condition from everyone else made Tom a great actor, Pat won't deny that. However, there were small hints in his expression that gave away that something was not quite right.
And of course, to counter the voice's effects and lose the grip it has over Tom during those periods, Pat always kept a spray bottle of water close by to snap Tom out of it. So far it has proven to be most effective.
Well, you heard the man. Tom asserted, gaining back his bearings. So… away with you!
The voice grumbled in distaste but slowly untangled itself from him. "Fine. Have it your way. ~" It growled. "Just don't say I didn't provide you with a warning. Trust me, he will get rid of you the moment you are no longer of any use to him. ~"
F#ck off!
"Alright, Tom, back to the topic at hand." Patrick continued when he noticed a significant change in Tom's posture, handing the man a tissue to dry his face. "Thing is; you don't need to be afraid of your feelings. It's purely natural and a part of life, and rejecting them is just going to do you more harm; as you've already experienced that for yourself first hand."
"I don't think you understand what the real issue here is, Pat. I'm not afraid of my feelings." Tom grumbled as he cleaned his face. "I'm just… I realized I have been handed a- a… a bowl of affection from the cosmos that I have no idea what to do with. I'm supposed to hand it to someone else, but that someone else might not like it or throw it back in my face, and then things will be weird and my life will be ruined, so I might as well just keep standing here holding the bowl of affection until the end of time. This bowl will come with me to my grave, I say!"
Patrick couldn't help but frown.
While he is very much aware that Tord deeply adores Tom, and now he has the clear confirmation that the attraction was mutual, Pat can't really interfere in this situation. Telling either one of them what the other feels will not only be an invasion of privacy but also a huge trust breaker, even if the end result was well meaning. Besides, after everything Tom went through being under the influence of the voice and not having a choice of his own, Pat didn't feel right trying to coerce him into something he wasn't completely sure about himself. Surely sooner or later either one of them will realize that the attraction is mutual? If they fail to spot the obvious within a year then Patrick will step in. But for now he will let them handle this in their own terms.
However, that doesn't mean he can't give Tom a little nudge here and there.
"That's entirely up to you, Tom." Pat murmured, dipping his head politely. "But if there's even a slight chance of reciprocation, wouldn't it be worth expressing yourself?"
Tom stared at him for a long moment before giving a tiny nod. "I… I will think about it. I need to sort myself out before I do anything drastic. Just-" He sighed, looking down at his hands. "Please don't tell anyone about this."
"Of course! Have I ever?" Pat placed a hand over his heart earnestly.
"You know, it just hit me." Tom said, inspecting his nails. "You're not a real psychologist. And yet, how come you're so good with reading people and knowing exactly what to say?"
Patrick knows that this was an attempt to change the subject, but he was happy to engage nonetheless. "Oh, I took psychology classes growing up. It was either that or anthropology. And I just so happen to be an empath, so I thought that psychology was best suited for me; and I read a lot of books on the topic-"
Tom tried to be attentive and listen as Pat rambled on, but every so often he found his attention slipping away. Drifting to thoughts of his most recent realization and what this could potentially mean for him and his ever still sombre future. Developing a crush on the Commie was not at all on his plans, and will surely only bring him trouble. But he can't deny what he feels for him is genuine either.
Christ, what a mess.
What do I do?
(Meanwhile…)
For most of her life, Ella always tried to be positive.
Should the worst happen she always managed to get through it with her head held high, a smile on her face, and with hope in her heart. After all, she was hardworking and kind – life may be tough at the best of times and knock you down hard, but she always believed that if you follow the rules and be nice to others you will always be rewarded for it in the end.
Her favourite story growing up was Cinderella. Not only because their names were almost the same, but the message that you should remain strong in the face of difficult times and good things will come was one that Ella firmly believed in.
But there was one instance where she nearly faltered in her beliefs.
It had been raining hard that day. A storm raging rampant throughout the city. Most people would have stayed indoors, or at the very least be properly equipped for the weather. But Ella couldn't bring herself to care as she ran through the streets, her eyes blurry with tears as they cascaded down her face and disguised as rain drops. A couple of people slipped out of her way with angry curses as she barged past, but Ella ignored them.
It can't be much farther. She thought desperately. Guilt and shame dragged her down.
There was only one place she could find comfort now. Her family wouldn't be able to help her now. Not after all they've done for her, and she still managed to let them down. She won't be able to stand to see the look on their faces upon learning of her failure.
And finally there it was – the white and blue house with the red door, marked by a large tree in the front yard. Ella nearly cried out in relief and stumbled towards it, skidding to a halt on the doorstep and ringing the bell.
The door of the house opened, and a dark-haired man with blue eyes emerged. His eyes widened upon seeing her state; doubled over and gasping for breath, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
"Ella? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"
He opened the door wider and guided her inside. Ella was having a hard time trying to gather her thoughts and speak when her friend handed her a towel for her to dry herself with.
"I- I- I didn't get in." She sniffled, holding back from bursting into tears again. "The university that I wanted. They rejected me."
"I'm so sorry, Ella." Her friend's eyes clouded with sympathy. "Does your family know?"
She shook her head. "I just got the letter. But I can't tell them. I can't! Not after everything they did to support my choice even though our financial situation is so tight right now. And it's too late to apply for a different university – all the applications are closed by now. They're going to kill me if they find out I wasn't good enough to get in!"
All her sorrow, all her concerns, and all her fears came crashing down on her, and she sank her head between her palms with a moan of despair. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Zach. I really needed this to work, but now…"
Zach surveyed her calmly. "Wait here." He left her sitting on the sofa of his living room as he made his way up the stairs.
Ella watched him leave, thinking about her desolate situation. She had worked hard to study and improve her grades in order to apply for this specific university. She had her heart set on studying there, get a degree, and become a teacher one day. Then she could start working, help support her parents, maybe move out into her own home – perhaps a nice little cottage on the countryside. But now her dreams were crushed, and she was at a loss on what to do.
How is she supposed to accomplish any of these things now? She worked hard. She was good. But she failed anyway.
She lifted her head wearily as Zach returned, his hands behind his back. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but during my stay in this town you have been a good friend to me." He began, shifting nervously as he stared at her meaningfully.
This made Ella curious despite her anguish. Since she first met him, Zach had always been confident in everything he did and was hardly afraid of anything. What could have made him so uncertain now?
"Thanks. You are a great friend to me too." Ella tried to smile despite her tears.
And she was being sincere.
She has a few friends both at the bakery she works at and in high school, but none of them were as fun or daring as Zach; who inspired her to do things she never otherwise would've if she'd never met him, but he also respected her boundaries and never made her do anything she wasn't completely comfortable with.
Zach cleared his throat briefly before continuing. "I can't stand to see you so unhappy. I can see how much this means to you, and really, it's not fair for this to happen to you after all the work I saw you put into achieving your dream. You deserve better, Ella." He shifted. "I think… I may have a solution for you."
He pulled out a card from behind him and held it out toward her.
Ella blinked as she took it from him. Inspecting the card, it was completely black with what appeared to be a bloodied red symbol with two jagged lines stretching outward almost resembling horns.
"I need you to keep this between us. I work for a secret organization known as The Red Army." Zach explained, sitting down beside her. "Our goal is to change the world for the better by taking complete control over it. We help individuals who are struggling with their lives – we give them the means they need to succeed... in exchange for their services in the army."
Ella flicked her gaze to his face. "An army?" She echoed. "I can't possibly join an army, Zach. I don't know the first thing about fighting."
"They'll offer you extensive training." Zach reassured, seeing the uncertainty glittering in her eyes. "You can get new living accommodations and get paid super well. You join us and you will be set for life, Ella!"
Sounds too good to be true. Can she even manage army life?
She jerked out of her thoughts by a hand brushing against hers. "You don't have to decide anything right now, Ella." He said, his eyes shining. "I just… thought I would offer you the chance since I think you deserve better. You work hard enough as it is to both study and help sustain your family. Will you at least consider it?"
Looking into his pleading blue eyes back then it was easy to get sucked in the promise of a better life. Maybe that's why she was so easily convinced into joining. She'd been desperate, and she trusted Zach. If he was a part of it and was fine with the organization, then she saw no downside.
Of course, Ella had her work cut out when she first joined and started her training. It was just as vigorous and demanding as she had expected from an army. But she kept telling herself she needed the money to help her parents, and over time she saw how much good they will do to all the other people like her out there and was honoured to take part in such a life-changing historical event. Zach was by her side the entire time, however. Cheering her on and being immensely supportive. She ended up making lots of friends in her time serving the Red Army. When she finished her training and became a proper soldier she was placed in the same squadron as Zach and all her friends. Despite the future she had envisioned for herself not turning out quite the way she wanted, Ella was still happy with the outcome. Once again, she was proven right by her beliefs.
By working hard and following the rules, she earned herself her happily ever after.
… and then the border patrol massacre happened.
In the blink of an eye, everything she worked for was brutally ripped away. The friends she made. The future she had imagined. The life she had made for herself. All gone.
And Zach. Her faithful old friend who had stayed by her side and supported her till the very end; he was no more. She was all alone now. Left to pick up the pieces of her fragmented life to start over from scratch.
She was confined in the infirmary for several weeks, miss her squadron's funeral, and go through a rehabilitation process supervised by Lieutenant Yanov; the head of the medical facility. She'd been in pain at first, and grieving through most of her stay there but after a while she was bored and restless; wishing she could do more to put her mind at ease. The moment she was deemed fit enough for duty she was discharged and assigned a new squadron; having to move all her stuff to a new floor, wing, and room.
The moment she left the infirmary Ella instantly knew something was wrong. Everywhere she looked soldiers would turn their heads and stare at her ominously with a range of emotions flickering in their eyes before quickly looking away again to converse amongst themselves. She recognised shock, pity, repulsion, and sometimes even fear in their gazes.
Ella was clueless as to why that is at first. Was it her eyepatch?
But then she reached her new room and found out the reason why the moment she caught her reflection in the mirror.
Freshly healed scars stretched across the entire right side of her face, bare flesh where skin should've been; partially exposing her jaw and teeth. Her eye was gone, leaving behind a big gaping hole where it once was, covered up by an eyepatch, and her ear was reduced to a few shreds.
Her hands flew up to her face in dismay. Not once in her entire stay in the infirmary did she ever see the true extent of her injuries. She always wore bandages up until her last week. Looking at herself now no wonder people were so terrified of her.
For several moments Ella was overwhelmed with grief. Everything that's happened to her as of late came crashing down on top of her all at once, and threatened to send her toppling to her knees and burst into tears for her predicament. But she pushed her grief aside with a bittersweet smile and lifted her head. Sure she lost a lot but this doesn't have to be the end. Besides, the Red Leader was counting on her to get over this difficult situation and return to her duties. The Army needs her. She can't afford to be weak now.
She will just have to work harder from here on out to get her life back together. Make new friends. Start anew.
However, despite her best attempts at befriending the members of her new squadron, people still avoided her. It was obvious that she made them uncomfortable. During training hours, whenever they needed to work in pairs to spar she was always the last one picked with whoever was left remaining partnerless. Ella tried to branch out her options by trying to make friends with others outside of her squadron, but to no avail. She was met with the same result time and time again.
It's okay. I just have to try a little harder, that's all. She would tell herself. They just need to get used to my appearance. Someday the shock will wear off, and then they will give me a chance.
So preoccupied with her thoughts Ella was startled to reality by a silhouette appearing into her vision from her blindside. She flinched with a yelp and backed away, accidentally bumping into someone in the process.
"Hey!" A voice shouted in her good ear. "Watch where you're walking!"
Ella jumped and whipped around. Three frustrated soldiers faced her with scowls on their faces, the one directly in front of her holding an empty cup in his hands and the one to his left was wearing a stained uniform.
Realizing what she'd done upon bumping into them, she dipped her head low and began to apologize profusely. "I-I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"
"Can't you use that one eye you have left?" One of the soldiers interrupted.
Ella was stunned into silence by the rude comment, her jaw dropping as she thought of what to say. "I- well- you see, I-"
"Now that was totally uncalled for, don't you think?"
Out of nowhere, a man materialized beside her as though he stepped out from thin air. The four of them turned to face the newcomer. Ella tensed upon instantly recognising who this is.
"Well, hello there. ~" Said Reagan with a sly smile and a wink in her direction. Ella shivered. "Are these pals giving you trouble, doll face?"
She stepped back. She'd heard of Reagan before. That was one of the first things she learned when she joined the Red Army.
"He's intense." Her late best friend, Jill, warned her back then. "He is nothing but trouble. It's a little unsettling, really. He has a total vibe of knowing way too much about everyone. He tends to go after the newbies to do his bidding, so do yourself a favour and stay as far away from him as possible. Nothing good can come from associating with him."
Since then she always made a point to stick close to her friend group and avoid him as much as possible so as to not get in any trouble. It worked then. She never interacted with the Irishman in all her years of training and serving the Red Army, and he never had any reason to want to mess with her. So why was he here defending her now?
The three soldiers shuffled their feet nervously, their previous bravado gone upon Reagan's arrival. "She made me spill my drink!" The biggest one blurted.
"And right on my uniform, too!" The other one chimed in.
"Truly a disaster." Reagan conceded sarcastically. "No wonder you had to be so rude to this poor girl who just made an innocent mistake."
Bewildered silence followed his words.
Reagan put one arm around Ella's shoulders, blatantly ignoring her discomfort. "She's been through a lot, in case you haven't noticed. I think a little kindness and patience goes a long way, don't you agree? No need to stoop so low over such a common mistake, am I right?"
The three soldiers exchanged uneasy glances.
"Huh, I… I guess we did go too far." Said the biggest soldier gruffly. "Sorry we yelled at you."
"Yeah." Said the other two. "We're sorry."
"See? Isn't this much better than yelling and making rude remarks?" Said Reagan with a smile. He pointed at each of the soldiers in turn. "I mean, hey, I don't see you guys picking on her despite all the nasty things she's been saying about the two of you behind your back; or him for hoarding most of the snacks from the canteen to himself and cheating at the games; or them for being thoroughly sick of both of you and wishing they knew anyone interesting. But anyways, sorry for the spill – we'll be on our way now!"
He turned and escorted Ella away, leaving the three soldiers glaring at one another.
Reagan snickered to himself as he glanced back at then over his shoulder. He released her and waited until they were out of sight from the others to speak. "I think we're out of the woods now." He sighed, running a hand through his messy locks. "So nice to meet you, doll face. I'm Fitzroy. Reagan Fitzroy. But most people call me prick! Ha!" He extended his hand out for her to shake.
But she was no longer beside him.
Blinking, Reagan peered around in search of her. She couldn't have gone far. Then from far away he caught a glimpse of a ginger ponytail disappearing around the corner. He chased after her. "Hey, wait up!"
Ella quickened her pace and kept going even as she heard him follow her.
Reagan fell in step with her, grinning widely. "You know, most people would be grateful to have someone stand up for them like that, but I guess you're not the type of gal who appreciates heroism. I can respect that! Sorry for butting in where I am not wanted, doll face; but it looked like you were in a bit of a pickle."
As he chattered away Ella couldn't help but notice with dismay as everyone they came across instantly turned tail and left upon the sight of Reagan accompanying her. Or are they running from me? She brushed the thought aside and tried to be more positive.
Ella kept on ignoring Reagan, hoping he would eventually take the hint and leave her be. Since he's been demoted, her rank far exceeds his; which means that she doesn't necessarily owe him the favour of engaging in a conversation with him. But after walking several paces it was clear that he has no intentions of leaving. With her patience running out she gathered her courage to finally whirl around to face Reagan and dismiss him. For a fleeting moment she was actually surprised that the Irishman steadily met her gaze without flinching.
"Go away, Reagan." She uttered through clenched teeth, pushing him away. "If people see me hanging around you I am never going to make new friends."
Reagan blinked down at her. She barely reached his chin. Trust me, doll face; I'm not the one who is driving all your potential friends away. Your face is pretty good at that already! He inwardly snickered but reigned himself in.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He ducked his head and stepped back, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "I just… I know it's none of my business, but I couldn't help but notice you sulking around all by your lonesome and figured you could use a friend."
"To what purpose?" Ella narrowed her eye.
Reagan tipped his head. "Why – we're comrades, you and I! Surely that's more than enough reason for us to get along? After all, we were brought together here by our shared desire to improve upon the world."
Although what he was saying was true, Ella didn't lower her guard just yet. People can still be assh#les toward each other even if they're fighting for the same cause. Her recent bump in with the soldiers in the mess hall proved that much.
"Besides that, we have a lot in common. You and I." Reagan continued when he sensed her reluctance to trust him. He circled her. "We both lost a lot these last few weeks. We lost our squadron. Our friends. We're loners, though not by choice but because others seem to have already made assumptions of us."
"True. But here's where you and I differ: while I lost everything through tragic consequences, you managed to lose everything by angering the Red Leader and getting yourself demoted." Ella sassed.
Reagan's grin twitched for a split second but he managed to hold his temper and keep up the facade. Not as meek as she appears. Good to know. He thought with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Touche, doll face." He grit his teeth. "Doesn't change the fact that we're pretty damn similar."
Ella stared at him for a long moment before turning her head away. "What? Don't you find me repulsive like everyone else?"
Reagan shrugged. "Would it comfort you or disturb you if I said that I've seen worse?"
She didn't know how to respond to that other than giggle. She didn't mean to, but she found Reagan's laidback attitude somewhat refreshing after only encountering people who were either afraid or pitied her all the time. Still, he is a troublemaker and he can't be trusted.
"Why did you bother sticking up for me back there?" She asked.
"I'm just looking out for you." Replied Reagan, sidling up to her. "No matter our circumstances, we're still loners that nobody wants. The army is not a very nice place to be without friends. So why not join forces in our time of need and be there for each other? After all, birds of a feather should flock together." He extended his hand out toward her.
Ella hesitated. She yearned for a chance of normalcy. To return her life back to the way it used to be; surrounded by friends and no more grief tugging at her heart, constantly dragging her down and making every single day of her life feel sombre and meaningless. But this is Reagan. He will only get her into trouble if she befriends him.
No. She thought decisively. I won't give up just yet. There has to be someone else here who won't mind the way I look and give me a chance. There are thousands of people here. Surely there can be more than one person who she can befriend?
"Look, I appreciate what you did for me back there and thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I will have to turn you down." Ella rejected as gently as she could, weakly pushing his hand away and stepping back. "We might have our similarities but we're still too different. No offense but I don't think I can get along with someone who breaks the rules constantly, blatantly disobeys orders, and gets himself into trouble so often. Please, just leave me alone."
Reagan would've felt annoyed by her refusal if it weren't for the melancholic and, dare he say, desperate tone he could hear in her voice as she said those words. 'Go away' is just a lonely person's way of saying, 'show me that you care enough to stay'. He thought smugly. She just needs more of a reason to trust him.
He was about to open his mouth to reply when someone called his name.
"Fitzroy!"
He glanced back over his shoulder to see one of the Lieutenants marching toward him. For some reason the man looked uneasy and furious. "Why are you not in the training room with the rest of the recruits? Quit lollygagging and get your ass back there!"
Reagan clenched his fists and glared at the Lieutenant, but wisely held his tongue. He didn't have the security of his former rank as Officer to freely snap back. He was just a lowly recruit who has no power whatsoever.
Keeping his temper in check he turned back to Ella, his gaze softening. "Duty calls, doll face." He smiled. "I still believe we should be friends, but that's entirely your choice. Just remember; if you ever change your mind I'll be there for you."
He winked at her and turned away to leave before she could respond.
As Reagan followed the Lieutenant back to the training room he let his thoughts wander. Ever since he returned from his failed attempt of getting answers out of Eddie, he'd been plotting another way he can get back at Red Leader for making a fool out of him, and gain back his power. In his spare time he'd been eavesdropping here and there, trying to catch up with the recent happenings around the base in his time away to heighten his power and influence over selective individuals, and he ended up learning some pretty interesting things.
For instance, apparently Red Leader's super secret weapon went berserk and broke out of confinement and killed soldiers in what people like to dub as the border patrol massacre. How entertaining.
And this is where his sudden interest in Ella comes from. She is the sole survivor of that event. She saw the secret weapon up close and personal. She knows what Red Leader is hiding in the basement. If he can befriend her, earn her trust, and get her to spill the beans to him, Reagan can get a head start on his plans. Once he finally learns what he is dealing with he'll need to find a way to sneak down into the laboratory and get his hands on the secret weapon, and then use it against the Red Leader.
I'll make him pay for what he did to me! I'll make everyone pay!
(Meanwhile…)
Tom stared intensely at his hands, willing for them to turn purplish-black at any moment and for his fingers to shred into claws, but to no avail. He and Tord were back in the laboratory, trying to figure out what exactly triggers his transformations and whether it is possible for him to shift at will, but so far there have been no conclusive results.
It didn't help that he could feel Tord's stare burning him, watching him so intently; making Tom self-conscious of all his actions. Or the fact that they were standing so close to each other after what took place in Tord's office earlier that very same day. Since his conversation with Patrick and realizing the truth about his feelings for Tord, Tom found his concentration slipping further and further away, and he could not bring himself to act quite the way he used to before this discovery. It's as if unlocking the truth suddenly opened up a forbidden gateway that should've never been opened, and Tom felt extremely awkward every time Tord so much as glances at him.
And the memory of this morning's events was enough to make him want to squirm with discomfort.
"I can't do it." He lowered his hands in defeat and sighed, sitting on the edge of the examination table.
Tord hummed, pacing back and forth. "Think back to all your past transformations. How do you usually feel when you're about to turn?"
"I don't know. Anxious, I guess?" Tom replied, looking away from him so as to avoid his gaze. "Although, maybe the reason for that is because of the stress of shifting rather than being the direct cause of it."
Despite his best efforts of keeping a low profile, Tom couldn't help but follow the Norwegian man's movements in the corner of his eyes, somewhat entranced with every little thing he says and does, and Tom found himself eagerly anticipating his next course of action. The way Tord's mind works is just really fascinating to him.
"There was that one instance where I gave you a taste for human blood and that prompted you to shift." Tord pointed out, breaking Tom out of his musings. "Would that be worth a try?" With no hesitation on his part, he opened one of the drawers to pull out a scalpel and raised it to the palm of his organic hand.
Tom jumped to his feet wide eyed. "Whoa! Hold on for just a second!" He exclaimed, marching up to Tord and ripping the scalpel out of his hands without thinking. "There's no way to tell how I am going to react if you bleed right in front of me. For all we know I could go full feral on you and I really don't want to hurt you, Commie."
A moment too late he realized what just slipped out of his mouth, but no matter how much he was inwardly cringing at his own actions Tom did his best to pay it no mind because it was the truth. After everything Tord did for him, he wouldn't want to be responsible for harming him, even if by accident.
Tord blinked. "I know, Thomas. I trust you completely. That's why I'm not afraid of doing this." He reached to take the scalpel from the Brit's hands.
"Fair enough. But put it this way; if the only way to trigger my transformations is to have someone bleed right next to me, is it really worth it? Sounds a tad inconvenient for my tastes." Tom argued.
"I… I guess you have a point there." Tord conceded.
Having won the argument, Tom handed the tool back to Tord and the Norwegian man stored it safely away back in the drawer.
"Fine. I suppose our next best bet would be to list off each emotion and go by elimination order." Tord suggested. "Let's start off by scraping happiness right off the bat because, well… I seriously doubt that's what triggers it."
"Yeah, I can tell you with absolute confidence that none of the times that I transformed were ever after a moment of happiness." Tom left it at that. He tried thinking back to all those instances in an attempt to remember what he felt then and what all these memories have in common. But he could only recall the pain of being silent.
"I guess anger would make the most sense, but I don't know. Lately your transformations have been rather calm and you never seem to express much anger in those moments."
Tom shrugged. "True, I haven't been feeling much anger lately. And if I did in the past it was most likely at myself, so…" He trailed off, not wanting to go into further detail as he glimpsed a gleam of concern in Tord's gaze.
"Sadness?"
"Could be." Tom contemplated. "I mean, there were plenty of instances where I was feeling down so it would make sense. Although I'm not sure how practical that would be in battle. Imagine, just out in the battlefield and having to think up sad thoughts on a high stress situation in order to shift? How ridiculous would that be?" He rambled nervously.
Tord chuckled. "Well, that would be easy. I'll just have you remember the saddest moments in 'The brave little toaster' and that would work like a charm!"
"Oh wow, I do remember crying at that movie! But I was six then." Tom recalled fondly. "I also remember you sobbing your heart out at the end of 'The Iron giant' though."
"That movie was an emotional, beautiful, masterpiece. Anyone who says otherwise is not to be trusted!"
The seriousness in Tord's voice as he said those words made Tom chortle. Who would've thought that the great Red Leader would hold a kids movie to such high standards? If this man takes over the world then Tom figures that they could have ended with a way worse dictator.
"So are you willing to try?" Tord leaned closer to him, catching Tom off guard.
"Huh?"
"Think sad thoughts." Tord explained. "To see if that triggers a transformation."
Tom frowned. "That's a little weird, but alright. I will see what I can do." He shifted uncomfortably. "Just… can you please stop staring at me so intensely as I do so? I feel as though you're trying to set me on fire."
"Oh sorry." Obeying his request, Tord turned his gaze toward the ceiling as though it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever encountered.
As silence fell upon the lab, Tom tried to conjure up sad thoughts as he stared down at his hand. But when the first few thoughts failed to make him feel the desired effect, his mind started bringing up darker examples. I will never see Edd and Matt ever again… everyone will be better off if I were dead… Tord doesn't really care for me and he's just using me…
"It's not working." Tom sighed, his shoulders drooping. "Great. Now I am just bummed out."
Tord felt a flicker of guilt growing in the pit of his stomach as he saw the dejected look on Tom's face. It hasn't skipped his notice that Tom was behaving strangely odd since the beginning of this experiment. Acting kind of skittish and more alert. Was he still shaken up by Tord's gutter brain slip-up from earlier? Was he nervous that Tord might try and make another move on him?
Tord wanted to kick himself for his stupidity and lack of restraint.
He hesitated, thinking of what to say to cheer him up now. Hesitantly, he began: "You know… you mentioned something about setting things on fire, and that got me thinking… you remember that one time when we were nine and we set a girl's hair on fire in the middle of class?"
Tom snorted. "You mean the girl that sat in front of you and who was always harassing Matt? Yeah, I remember that. But that was strictly a you thing. I didn't do anything!"
"What do you mean? You gave me the go-ahead to do it!"
"I thought you were asking me for a pencil, you dipsh#t!" Tom laughed. "You turned to me, gave me a nod, and I turned away for one second to grab a pencil and came back to find you with a lighter and igniting a flame on a strand of her hair!"
Tord doubled over wheezing. "And then-" He couldn't get his words out. "And then everyone in class proceeded to beat her over the head with books to try and put the fire out while she was panicking."
The two of them broke into sheer laughter, their sides stitching as they leaned against each other and lost their sh#t. It took a while for them to calm down and get their breath back. As the laughter died down Tom realized that his previous sadness had been short lived as he was feeling much better now after a good laugh.
All thanks to Tord.
For his part, Tord was just glad he managed to cheer Tom up and erase some of the awkwardness that had settled between them. It won't completely wipe away the events that took place this morning, but hopefully it is a right step toward a more comfortable relationship.
They were back on track with the experiments soon after, testing out different emotional responses to see what would trigger his transformation, all the while making idle chatter. A major improvement from their attitude toward each other in the earlier experiments. But several hours seem to have gone by and there were no results and Tom was growing impatient. Nothing he did was good enough.
He glanced over to where Tord was jotting down the results gathered so far on a file, worried that the Norwegian man was secretly frustrated with him and their lack of answers. Geez, can't I do anything right?
Tord paced around the lab in long strides, hand to his chin and deep in thought. "Throughout this whole experience," his voice broke the silence. "You haven't felt the slightest urge to shift? Not once?"
Tom shook his head. "Zilch."
Humming pensively Tord halted in front of Tom, his eye narrowed. "I have one last suggestion. Are you up for it?" When he received a nod from Tom he continued. "Let's try something a little different then. If this doesn't work, then… we're out of ideas and I'll need to think of something else. But I think it's worth a try all the same."
"Okay?"
"Close your eyes and take deep breaths." Tord instructed. "Then focus as hard as you can to try and bring the monster out yourself. Call out to it. Picture it in your mind and try to imagine your body changing. Remember; the monster is inside of you, and you're the one who decides when to let it out. Not the other way around. Think you can try that?"
Tom was taken aback by the strangeness of his request but did not argue. It was so wild it might just work, and they were running out of options anyway.
Doing as he was told, Tom shut his eyes and took long deep breaths. He tried to remember the sensation he usually gets just as he is about to transform. The flaring, tingling feeling in his wrists spreading to his ribcage. Growing light-headed. And his body morphing into something different. With a clear mind, he visualized his limbs turning purplish-black and horns protruding from his head; a long tail sweeping behind him and his hands grow into claws. Energy suddenly pulsated through him.
"Is it working?" Tom half opened his eyes to look.
Tord was staring at him in awe, nodding slowly with a wide grin on his face. Tom was slightly confused by this reaction until he lifted a hand to see a massive dark purple paw in its place. He looked at it in bewilderment at first, not quite believing what he was seeing. Then he chuckled, amazed that this tactic actually worked. But then the shock wore off and was steadily growing into horror as he thought of all the people he had butchered with his claws.
He started hyperventilating.
"Thomas? What's wrong?" Tord reached out for him in concern.
In hindsight Tom knew he shouldn't be quite so alarmed. He'd always known he was a monster. But he wasn't at all prepared to see himself actually become one. This isn't just another nightmare. This is real. He turned into a monster.
"Don't panic, Tom." Tord's words fell on deaf ears as Tom jumped to his feet and started to back away on shaky, uneven steps.
"These hands aren't mine." Tom uttered in a low, desperate voice. His face twisted, horror warring with despair and confusion. "These aren't my claws." His voice turned into a deep slithering growl near the end of his sentence and that set him off even more.
He nearly tripped over his tail as he whirled around in frenzy. He can't be free. There's no telling what he might do with this kind of power! Innocent people could get hurt and it will be all his fault. Tom shuddered in a big, bone-wracking way. His mind threatened to shred itself into pieces.
"Tom, you need to calm down!" Bewildered, Tord leaped onto his back and tried to subdue him. "Your control is slipping – you mustn't panic."
Too little too late. Tom's cries of distress turned into guttural grows and shrieks as he- no- as the monster trashed around in his hold trying to throw him off.
So much for giving Tom control over the situation.
But the truth of the matter is that Tom is still too terrified of his own power, of his own claws, to really take the reins and control his monster half himself. He is afraid of what he might do.
Tord was slammed against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. The monster rounded on him and trapped him against the wall with both claws on either side of him. It towered over him with a furious snarl. Needless to say, Tord was both terrified and turned on by the situation.
Still, it's important that he gets a hold of the situation now and find a way to hand the control back to Tom.
He gently rests his hands on top of the claws. The monster snarled quietly.
"Hey." Tord soothed, his gaze locking with the monster's. "It's alright. You don't have to be afraid. It's just us here."
Tentatively, he slowly starts to run his hands up and down the monster's paws. His breath hitched in his throat as the asset leaned down to nuzzle the top of his head. He could hear its teeth chattering in his ears and it was making small grunting sounds.
"Come back to me, Tom." Tord murmured. "This power is yours to control. Not the other way around."
"T-Tord."
At once, Tord perked up at that wide eyed. "You can talk?"
"Tord." The monster repeated as though trying out the sound on its tongue, blinking slowly. "Tord. Tord. Tooooord. Tord? Tord!"
"Yes! It's me!" He peered up at the monster closely. "Tom... is that you?"
In response, the asset- no- Tom carefully lifted his claws to cup Tord's face, relaxing against him. A deep crimson blush bloomed in the Norwegian's face but he didn't dare pull away even if he had the option. Tom rests his head against Tord's, breathing in his scent and taking comfort from the familiarity as he tried to bring himself back to reality.
Then the most amazing thing happened.
As they stood there pressed up against each other Tom's height started to lower; his claws retracting back into hands and his ears and horns growing shorter as he slowly turned back human.
"…Tord." Tom sighed softly, closing his eyes.
Tord swallowed thickly, adverting his gaze to the floor. He wasn't used to affection and didn't know how to respond to it. Well, he really wanted to wrap his arms around Tom and just drown in his touch but he held back, figuring that's not the best way to go about this.
Once Tom was fully transformed back into human he opened his eyes again. His gaze locked with Tord's for an embarrassing long time before he stepped back and released him.
"Sorry, I hope I didn't scare you." Tom muttered bashfully as he scratched the back of his head.
"No, it's… quite alright." Tord breathed, eyeing him with fascination. "Are you okay though? What you just did was amazing! Tom, do you realize what this means for you? You can control when to shift now!"
"Yeah, that's great. I am going to be okay, I just-" Tom gagged. "I think I'm gonna be sick. Also, I'm pretty sure my tail ripped my pants, so if you can give me a new one that would be great."
