Title: Fallen (1/1)
Summary: Jace doesn't shake off her conditioning very easily.
Spoilers: Female Troubles (or is it Problems?). Most of the dialogue
comes straight out of that episode.
Rating: R for sex, language, and general unpleasantness.
Disclaimer: Cameron and Eglee.
Date: March 31, 2001.
Water, she couldn't think of sex without the memory of water. All of them together, because they were soldiers and they could not afford modesty or unease with bare flesh and watching eyes. (Leave them naked when you question a prisoner, watch their unease grow, fear burns hotter without the pretense of protection). Hot water, droplets hard against her upturned face. Muscles held tight beneath the spray of cleansing water, she couldn't shake loose from the tension building around them, a constant thrumming.
There were things they didn't talk about, a pretense of privacy in close quarters and amongst superhuman senses. Didn't comment when one of their brothers woke up with damp sheets. Didn't comment when the scent of blood hung heavy and fresh about their sisters. Didn't look or speak or joke when their bodies' control slipped to arousal. Didn't ask questions when someone chose to remain behind in the showers, feeding hungry flesh with calloused hands.
Strange, quivering tension tightened, snapped, lashed out against them all. Tosh turned, wild eyed. Brought Ro, squirming and whimpering, to the ground. Wide eyed awed watchers, silent and shocked, knowing and wanting. Jace had stood with water pounding at her back, followed the movement of hands and heads and hips until guards spilled into the room, rushing boots sending tiny droplets of water spraying. They had turned away from Tosh and Ro and animal want, barred lips and fisted hands, a wall between order and instinct.
"Do you miss him? The father, I mean," Max asked.
Jace bit down on the inside of her cheek, held back a sneer and sparking hatred. (Snake. Rat. Plague. Traitor. Coward.) Max was all serious and soft, playing at normal, girl talk, woman to woman, heart to heart. As if she _cared_, and that was a joke, because Max didn't care about anything save her own useless flesh; or she'd have stood straight spine, chin up, shoulders back and took it like the soldier she was supposed to be.
Went soft and dumb, mirrored her expression to Max's. "His name is Victor. He's a lab tech. at the base," Jace said softly, some great revelation that made Max's expression twitch and twist into sympathy. Shrieked her rage at that soft, stupid, hated face. (Snake. Rat. Plague. Traitor. Coward.) And Max imagined temporary warmth in Manticore cold, created images of forbidden meetings, brief snatches of time, soft whispered words that cried of love and longing. It hadn't been anything like that, and the real Max would have known that. Heat burning through her, wailing animal need. Jace had grabbed a man, and he'd turned faceless and nameless in her memory -- hadn't had a face or name even then -- slid her hand down the front of his body. Had driven herself against him, hard and fast and cracked him to pieces with mindless strength.
Soft, slow, an unwilling question. "You've never regretted leaving Manticore?" (Traitor!) Watched Max from beneath lowered lashes, small and vulnerable and ready and willing to be saved. (Most people are willing to believe what they want to see.)
"Never once," Max replied -- so predictable, so stupid, lying bitch. (Snake. Rat. Plague. Traitor. Coward.)
"You're happy out here?" That question was easy, scorn and disbelief and disgust. "In a world that's dirty... diseased... corrupt?" Jace had seen them, dirty creatures, subhuman, beasts. Looked at her with wide eyed fear-hope-oh God, help us, please! Lifted scarred and dirty arms towards her, screaming, crying -- please, please, we're dying here! Fragile, kicked clinging creatures aside, a tumbled pile of dirt and rags and the stench of desperation. (Spare no pity for civilians. They are weak, diseased, lazy, corrupt. They breed chaos, disrupt order. They suffer due to their own weakness. Beggars, thiefs, whores, they would drag this nation into ruin with them should we allow it.)
Max shook her head. "It's all those things. But at least I choose how to live my life. It's not up to some military command. It's called freedom."
Jace had to shift her eyes away from Max, swallowed back a harsh bark of laughter. She believed it, she believed in her precious freedom, in life and liberty and fairy tale unreality. Freedom was an illusion. (Most people don't have the right knowledge, the necessary skills, or enough intelligence to make the proper choices. The population must be guided, must be led into proper channels.) "Spare me the propaganda."
Former sister bristled, hard edged instinct and training gone soft with the world. "You think anybody back at Manticore's gonna ask you if you wanna keep that baby? The question won't even come up. They'll give you an order."
Oh, Max, Jace could have said, you don't understand at all, do you? Like she wanted to be fat and slow and vulnerable with her legs splayed apart and hands pulling at her. Like she grew warm and fuzzy at the thought of weakness growing in her belly, tiny grasping fingers, small mouth opened to emit a shrieking cry. She was a soldier. She had neither the skills nor the desire to play at mommy. Feeding and changing and loving small piece of flesh and bone and blood - of what did she know or care of that? She was strength and duty and fury let fly on a barked command. She was death and destruction and survival. "And I will follow it."
"And you'll hate yourself for it. Because what they don't tell you is that you're more than just a soldier. You're a human being, with free will," Max said, all wide eyed belief, so eager to drag her into a dreary, dirty hell. (Humanity as a whole rarely chooses what is best. Men and women put their faith in freedom, scream their defiance at anyone who questions their right to exercise their free will. And they will happily, blindly march into oblivion.)
She didn't hate herself, never would. (You are soldiers, and you will obey! What we say is right _is_ right, do you understand me?!) Looked at Max and thought that her ex-sister didn't have quite the same assurance. All that free will, drowning in her precious freedom, torn to bloody pieces by right and wrong and survival and humanity. Her beloved free will, and Max hadn't chosen any better than the rest of the blind, stupid masses of humanity would have. Chose this place, dug in her heels as her pursuers drew closer.
(Show no pity. Show no mercy.) Max had pity oozing from soft featured face, big eyed mercy and faith in the rightness of her words, their power to convert. Jace met her eyes. "Easy for you to say. You're not in restraints." (Don't give into prodding. You have no need to prove a point.)
Max paused, thoughtful, before reaching out to undo the restraints around Jace's wrists. Big eyed emotion -- see? See? Look at how nice I am, how _good_ I am. Manticore wouldn't do anything like that, would they? You get it, Jace? _This_ is freedom, this is free will, this is how good the world can be.
Jace sat up, swallowed a smile. "How do you know I won't try to kill you?" (You won't _try_. You'll _succeed_.)
"I don't. I can help you, Jace, if you'll let me."
Jace had used to believe that her brothers and sisters could be saved. She'd been wrong. Weakness and corruption and pity had sunk into Max, warped her, made her nothing more than another of the subhuman things that crawled and crept and slunk through the world. "Oh, Max..." Jace sighed, quivering emotion and blinking eyes. She reached out and smiled as Max stepped into her arms. (Don't let your guard down. Ever.)
(_Traitor_.)
~end~