"This feels good," she mused.
"What? Sitting like this?"
"Well. Yes, that. But I was referring to this." She ran a hand over his arm, loving the feel of silk under her fingers and his muscles under her palm.
"Oh."
"What?" She looked at him, wondering what that note in his voice portended.
"I just don't know how I'm supposed to respond to that."
"Most guys would say thank you."
"I say things like that and you hit me and call me conceited."
"Not this time I won't."
"Thank you." He said it tentatively, and she smiled, then buried her nose in the nape of his neck. Breathing deep of the scent of him, her smile widened.
"What are you doing?" he asked, moving forward a bit so her nose was no longer firmly planted on him.
"You smell very nice. I love the way you smell; I missed it." She quashed all thoughts of pheromones.
"I smell?" His voice was unsure.
She drew back and smiled at him. "Like feathers and warmth. Very nice things."
"Ah." He cocked his head to one side and looked at her, then buried his head in her hair.
She ducked her head and grinned. "What? Turnabout is fair play?"
"Of course." His response was muffled by the top of her head, but still audible.
"So what do I smell like?"
"Hair."
She laughed.
"Hair, and green growing things. And sunshine."
"Oh." She grinned again. "Those are nice things."
He breathed deep again and sat back. "Very nice things."
She nestled her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She slipped into a bit of a doze, feeling safe and happy, and willing to just let herself feel and not try to understand the feelings.
Knives looked down at her, and he wondered just what about her made him feel so… happy. Holding her, being close to her… he never wanted to let her go. She was his, she had proved it by following him here. He wanted her in ways that he had never wanted anyone before, and that scared him a bit. Now, granted, he had never spent much time in female company, and that might be why he had never felt these sorts of things for the vermin before, but even so…
She should not be in his heart. She didn't belong there. But there was no denying that she was there now, firmly ensconced. He couldn't dislodge her no matter how hard he tried. And how he had tried.
Vermin. Burrowing everywhere, getting into everything, especially places they weren't wanted. Impossible to get rid of them completely; even when killed they left evidence of their presence behind. His hand reached up and stroked her neck. How easy it would be to snap it; how fragile she was when all was said and done. He could picture the light leaving her eyes, see death as it closed in on her. He could picture it in his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It would break his heart to pieces when she finally left him; he would not hasten that day.
He sighed and rested his cheek on her head. There was no use fighting this anymore. She had won, not him. He would win only when she and all her kind were dead. And she was slowly stealing the fight from him.
Damn her for that. And damn him for being to weak to stop it. Next thing you know, he'll be all weak and snively like his brother, crying at the drop of a hat, or the death of any of these pathetic humans. And what a disgusting thought that was.
His grip on Kiley's shoulder tightened. She made him weak.
But he was miserable without her.
He sighed. What a dilemma.
This last week had nearly driven him mad. He checked behind himself after nearly every step, sure that he would see her slowly gaining on them.
But she didn't. She never showed up. Every night, as he lay down to sleep, he was sure that he would wake to see her standing over him, that slightly superior grin dancing on her face as she watched him.
But each morning he awoke, only to be greeted by the suns and Ace. No smug expression of badly concealed glee, no sarcastic comment masquerading as witty. No Kiley.
Then, when he saw her coming on the ships sensors, the thrill that shot through his heart energized him. He waited in the control room long enough to be sure that it was her, then dashed down to the doors. He made her wait as long as he could stand, unwilling to let her know that he missed her.
Then she had to go and be so infuriatingly calm, playing with string of all things. She looked perfectly willing to camp out there, as if the wait for the doors to open meant nothing to her.
She must try to be aggravating. No one could be that maddening on accident. His left hand reached across his body of it's own accord and grabbed hers. The feel of flesh on flesh, palm on palm was so right, so wonderful that for a moment he forgot to breathe. The process came back to him, and he gasped slightly, breath hissing through his teeth.
"What?" she asked sleepily. Her hand grasped his more tightly.
"Nothing."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I don't need to move?"
"You don't get to move," he said sternly.
"Oh." She smiled. "Ok." She tried to return to resting, but the moment had passed. A minute went by as she resisted the pull of the inevitable, but she finally acquiesced.
She sighed and made to sit up. Knives reluctantly let her, sighing as well.
"Where's Ace?" she asked. "I'd like to say hello to her, too."
"That… won't be possible," Knives remarked hesitantly.
Kiley stiffened. "What did you do to her?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft and calm.
Knives stood and crossed his arms. "I didn't do anything to her. She was just so tired still, she wasn't bouncing back from that blast she did. I had to." He glared at her.
She glared back. That little explanation made absolutely no sense. "Had to do what, exactly?"
He shifted his gaze a fraction. "Put her in a bulb."
"You did WHAT?" she yelled, her voice breaking on the last word. "How could you do that? To her? My god, what were you thinking… I've got to get her out of there!" She spun on her heel and would have gone off to find her but Knives grabbed her arm.
"Where is she?" he asked calmly. She glared at him. "Do you know where she is?"
"In this ship," she forced out through a clenched jaw.
"I'll take you to her if you listen to me first."
"Fine. Speak."
"When grievously hurt by Vash, I spent twenty years there, recovering. The environment is made to support plant life; it eases stress on the body and promotes healing. A human would die if they entered a bulb, but for us it's like re-entering the womb. It's not a bad thing; we're just hoping that some rest will help her regain her energy."
"It's not hurting her?"
"No. Definitely not."
"It's not sucking anything from her?"
"No. Not really, no."
She looked at him suspiciously. "Define not really."
"Well, anywhere that comfortable saps the desire to do anything else. Going into the bulb can be addictive, can make one withdraw from the real world and merely exist. It is calm and peaceful in there; much like the human ideal of heaven."
"So she… may not want to come out."
"She will come out again. I won't let her stay in there too long. A couple weeks, at most."
"Weeks?"
"She's healing. It's not an instant process. For most of us."
"It's not entirely instant for me, either."
"Whatever." He shrugged, dismissing the topic. "Now, do you want to go see her?"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course I do."
"Fine. Follow me."
She grabbed her bag with her left arm and slung it over her shoulder, then hastened after Knives.
She decided as she followed him that she would never have made it to Ace on her own. She didn't know who had designed this spaceship, but they made getting from one point to another difficult. Bulkheads blocked rational paths, corridors twisting on themselves with no rational pattern. She ended up glaring at the walls.
And saw the remains of welds and joins that suggested that Knives might have lent his hand towards a little remodeling. The mavens of better homes everywhere would not have agreed with his ideas, but they did…
Protect the plants. The entire maze was just another way that Knives protected the plants. She rolled her eyes at his back. Just on the off chance that some mob decided to storm the place with pitchforks, she guessed. Any army worth the name would have no trouble clearing these obstructions out of the way.
She grinned. His paranoia was so cute. Even misguided and pointless, he still tried to protect what was important to him.
And she… he left out in the desert. She sighed and stuck her tongue out at his back. If only he knew… But she didn't want to tell. She was going to make him accept her on her terms, or she would leave. It was that simple. Really. She had no other reasons for not telling him. Not like denial or anything. She was a firm believer in the truth. Lying was admitting that you were too weak to face reality. She wasn't too weak to face anything. She just didn't want to face Knives with the particular truth at the moment.
She wasn't lying to him, not really.
She sighed again.
"Getting enough oxygen back there?" The sarcasm dripped.
"Yes." Flat tone, sarcasm deficient.
"Don't worry; we're almost there."
"Good. This ship is freaking huge."
"Do you need to take a rest?"
"No, no. Don't mind me; I'm just whining."
"If you say so."
"So."
"Hmm."
She grinned. "You never know quite what to make of me, do you?"
"Yes I do. I just mostly ignore you."
"Aw…"
"It works for me. Otherwise I think I would get entirely confused."
"Yes. You would. That's the point."
"You want to confuse me? Why?"
"Because it's fun. I like to keep people guessing. Makes life more interesting for me."
He paused, turned, and shot her a wry look. "The life you have led, you think you need to make it more interesting?"
She paused, thought, and smiled. "Life? No. People… Yes. Most of the time."
He sighed. "You are impossible."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"Maybe not when it left you lips, but by the time it reached my ears it had undergone the most miraculous transformation into something I liked to hear."
"You are so strange."
"I think I'm happy, Knives. It makes me do some of the most strange things."
"Happy? To be here?" His hands indicated the bare walls, the dim lighting. "This place is dismal."
"But my favorite people are here. I'm much more interested in what an environment contains."
"Favorite… people?"
"Oh, does that scare you?"
"…no." He looked at her again, then grabbed her arm.
Her breath hissed through her teeth as his grip sent a spike of pain up to her shoulder.
"Oh. Sorry," he said, flushing a little.
"It's ok. I'll heal. Then you can try that… whatever it might have been when I feel better, alright?" He nodded, then continued the trek through the corridors, but at a slightly slower pace.
She grinned. "I hurt my arm. Not my legs."
He huffed a little, but said nothing she could make out. His stride did lengthen, but she couldn't tell if that was on purpose or not. She grinned a little, glad that they were finally reaching their destination. Or almost; it was a few more minutes of walking before Knives paused outside a large and impressive door.
"I'm just going to guess," she started, cutting in before he could say anything. "Behind this door is a plant."
He shut his mouth and looked at her with a slightly exasperated expression. After a short pause, he remarked quietly, "Yes."
She nodded. "I just stole your speech moment didn't I?" she asked, chagrin tinting her tone. Faintly.
"Yes. You have a tendency towards doing that."
"You have a tendency to make long winded speeches. I think that makes us even."
He narrowed his eyes. "Do you want me to open this door or not?"
"Yessir. Sorry sir. I'll shut up now…" She did her best to look chastised.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Don't bother trying to act innocent. You fail miserably." But he turned and palmed open the door.
The room beyond was huge, huge and dimly lit, save for a bulb at the center of the chamber. A soft blue light permeated the room, picking up highlights in his eyes and hair, playing gently over his features. She slowly entered, her pack slipping off her shoulder to lie unheeded near the door.
The contents of the bulb were mostly obscured by distance. Kiley took a few cautious steps towards the plant, and when Knives made no move to stop her she strode more confidently forward.
She passed by banks of computer terminals, some blinking softly, monitoring things that she assumed were vital in some way, but at casual glance looked more like twinkling Christmas lights than warnings and cautions. She smiled at the thought, then shifted her gaze back to the edifice in the center of the room.
The bulb was huge, much larger than she was prepared for. She supposed that was a good thing, as it comprised the entire living space of a being, but she hadn't expected it so tower above her quite so far. The closer she drew, the more it filled her sphere of vision, until her eyes could not comprise the whole of it. She reached the platform at the base and slowly climbed the stairs, her courage all but failing her at the last moment.
Finally, slowly, she reached the edge of the bulb. Her hands reached out to touch it, but heat radiated from the surface and she held them close instead, inches from the barrier between her and another world.
She peered in the depths, looking for Ace. Somewhere, somewhere… oh!
Over there, that must be her! She walked over to the left, one hand trailing as close to the bulb as she dared. A small shape drew nearer, and as she approached, she could make out more details.
The cute Ace she had known was gone. This small creature looked entirely different. Her skin looked like that which covered Knives' angel arm, her face looked entirely too composed, even in repose. She was covered in feathers, her small limbs edged with them, her torso sprouting them. She looked for features she could recognize and found none. Even so, her heart knew it was Ace, and she grinned.
"What?" asked Knives from behind her.
She jumped. "When did you get there?"
"About ten minutes ago."
"No way."
"Yes. You were a little… absorbed."
"She looks so cute."
"She's darling."
Kiley turned and looked at him.
"What?"
"You said darling."
"So?"
"I never, ever, ever thought I would hear a word like that come out of your mouth."
He glared, then pointed. "Look. Here comes Shamra."
"Who? Oh, the plant!" She turned, and saw a larger version of Ace come floating her way. She paused and peered out, looking curiously at her and Knives. The reflection of her face was superimposed on the being before her. She grinned, but the grin sickened and died on her features as seconds passed. Suddenly, it was too much. Things were too much for her. Her mind put her in the bulb, saw her flesh changing, saw it transforming, sprouting, mutating on her. She was losing herself again, her identity slipping through her fingers, warping on her. She began to have trouble drawing air into her tortured lungs, began to see spots in front of her eyes, began to lose control.
Oh, dear god in heaven and all the saints, buddhas, prophets and other assorted deities, she was losing herself. Tattered threads or her soul slipped through her fingers, unraveling skeins of her psyche twisting in the dark wind that surrounded her.
When she came back to herself, her gaze took in the corridor outside the plant room. A puddle of vomit congealed near her feet and she was covered in a cold sweat. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the wall, seeking some support. She swallowed hard, trying to erase the taste in her mouth and failing miserably.
That was her. That could be her. That wasn't her.
She didn't know if she could handle this.
She sighed and lifted her head from the wall.
And saw a very angry Knives.
"What?" she croaked.
"You. You and all your talk of acceptance. And you run." Words were obviously failing him, but he was visibly upset, hands shaking, face flushed, eyes sparking.
She swallowed and closed her eyes again, wondering what she could say. I'm sorry, it's ok for you to be a plant, and for other people to be weird shape changing powerful freaks but not me? Words to try to explain her feelings cluttered her throat, dying there, choking her, leaving her saying nothing. Her shoulders shook as she reacted to what she saw, how she pictured herself.
She just didn't know if she could handle this.
Knives watched her enter the room, slipped softly in behind her, careful to not distract her. She was entranced by what she saw, her gaze darting around the room quickly but centering on the bulb. He watched her steps slow, but not stop, as she took in the enormity of the bulb. He watched her reach out towards it, and could not help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth as she drew back from the warmth. It was such a cold light that many assumed it possessed no heat, but it did.
He walked up the stairs as she moved closer to Ace, stood behind her as she stared at the girl. He wanted to reach out, to place his hand on the nape of her neck, but feared to startle her. Instead he watched her, gauged her reaction. Curiosity, yes, and love, both were present.
But not fear.
She was not afraid. He had worried that seeing Ace in her plant form would scare her, would frighten her away, but it seemed that he had worried for nothing. He began to relax, then motioned for Shamra to come down.
And then there was the fear that he had so wished to not see.
Something about the grown plant frightened her badly, and for the life of him, he could not tell what it had been. She had merely swum down for a closer look, had only come nearer, and then Kiley was backing away.
No, she wasn't backing away. She was running. He could smell the fear on her, watched her eyes as they stared unseeing into the bulb. She slowly moved away from the bulb, one cautious step after another until she bumped into the railing around the platform. Without even looking, she vaulted over it and fell the twelve feet to the floor.
He heard her grunt as she landed, then saw her dart from the room.
And during all of this, he still hoped that she might come back.
Shamra was distressed, wondering what she had done that had frightened her so. He spent a few minutes reassuring her that it was nothing she had done, nothing to do with her at all. It was all Kiley's fault, all her inability to see the beauty that was before her. Slightly mollified, she drifted back into the recesses of the bulb, to think over what had occurred.
Knives watched her go off to brood and sighed. His sigh threatened to turn into a scream of anger, but he bit down on it before he could frighten Shamra any more.
That bitch. He was so angry with her, with what distress her actions callously caused his sister… At least Ace had not been awake to see her friend flee from her in fear. She was saved that memory. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to walk calmly from the room. It would not do for Shamra to see him leaving in anger. That would only distress her more.
He exited and palmed the door shut, to place a barrier between the ugly scene he knew was coming and the innocents who did not need to see it. Then he turned and let his gaze take in the scene in the corridor. His eyes narrowed further at the sight.
Kiley had lost control of her stomach and sat curled in on herself, as close as one can get to the fetal position while still on their feet. She was drenched with sweat and quivering slightly, her body shaking in time with her pulse. Minutes passed, and he stifled the impulse to shake her. The way she was now, she would not even notice. It would be a waste of his time and his rage.
He watched her come back to herself, watched her eyes regain a measure of sense. She closed them, and leaned her head against the wall, obviously seeking support. His lip curled. Weak. Weak and cowardly, like all humans. His rage rose again, and he began to shake with the effort of suppressing it.
This time, when she opened her eyes, she saw him. He made no effort to hide how he felt, no attempt to soften the blow of his ire.
"What?" she croaked.
"You. You and all your talk of acceptance. And you run." His throat closed on more words, but the ones he could utter pleased him. Each one hit her with the force of the blows he didn't want to rain upon her. She flinched from them all.
She stayed silent for a moment. For once her gaze was not shuttered from him, but showed him plainly the fear and pain she felt. The scent of her sickness rose between them, filling the air with an almost tangible presence of the emotion raging between them.
"I thought I could handle this," she said weakly.
"You were obviously wrong."
"I'm sorry."
"I don't care." He threw the words at her, and was rewarded by seeing her flinch again. She closed her eyes again, seeking to escape.
He wouldn't let her. With one quick motion, he grabbed her chin and pushed her backwards, her head hitting the floor with a sick thud. "You are filth. You speak and prattle and pretend to be more than you are, but when it comes time to show your true colors, you turn into a coward and run. You ask why I hate you? Your scene in there hurt her feelings, and I care much more for her well-being than I do for yours. She is important. You will die in a matter of moments, as far as we are concerned. What happens to you falls apart into dust as your body rots, but what you did to her she will not forget and I will not forgive, not for the length of eternity."
Her eyes met his, or as much as she could focus on him. "I thought… I can't… There is… I…"
He stopped her lips with a finger. "I. Don't. Care."
She tried to close her eyes again and he shook her head roughly.
"Stop trying to escape."
"Then stop glaring at me!" Her voice broke, cracking under stress.
He slammed her head on the floor again. Her eyes lost focus, then it snapped back again as she began to fight him.
"I seem to remember being in this position in this ship before," she said grimly as she forced an arm between their bodies.
"Going to run again?" he taunted. "You seem so good at it. Had much practice?"
She braced her right shoulder against the floor and pushed, gaining a few inches of space between them. Knives grabbed her wrist and squeezed, grinding the bones together. The pain drew a red curtain over her vision, but she used it to push harder. One final push, and she managed to force him off of her.
But his grip didn't ease. She was pulled from the floor, her weight suspended by her arm until the forces on it were too much. There was a snap, then a white hot wave of pain that grayed out her vision and made her gasp. Knives let go with a final twist, grinding the ends of the bones against each other. She fell onto her left side, curled around her arm, shaking with the pain.
A foot took her neatly in the side, sending her sprawling. Her arms flew out for balance, and the right hit first the floor and then the wall. Breath was forced from her lungs, and she could not find the means to gather more.
Despite this, she stood, using the wall as support. She didn't try to use her eyes, the haze that pain curtained over them fogging the world. Instead, she listened carefully, focusing through the echoes, finding him… there.
He was coming towards her right side. She pivoted on her right and blocked the punch he threw her way with her left arm, then kicked out with her left leg, a roundhouse kick that took him in the side. Breath whistled out of him and he doubled over, hands automatically clutching his side.
She pushed herself along the wall a few feet then sat down hard. She closed her eyes and grabbed her right hand with her left, then pulled, a swift, sharp tug to force the bones back into alignment. Her head swam in the pain and threatened to drown her, but she fought through it. She was glad, though, that she had already emptied her stomach.
She wrapped her arm tightly with a band of force, holding the bones in place until she had a chance to truly heal them. Fighting the waves of pain, she opened her eyes and flinched.
Knives was peering closely into her face, his angry blue eyes inches from hers.
"We have anger management problems," she said, in as close to a conversational tone as she could manage.
"Maybe you shouldn't make me mad, then," he said softly.
His hands came down on either side of her, trapping her. They moved to her hips, almost seemingly of their own accord. His eyes didn't leave hers as they slid up to her waist, grabbing the slack in her dress and pulling it tight to the floor.
Then, with one swift motion, he ripped the skirt off, tearing from the seam at the waist, pulling the fabric from beneath her and balling it up. His left grabbed hers, and his right forced the wad into her hand.
"Clean up your mess," he said coldly, then got up and walked back into the plant room.
She watched him go, barely comprehending what he had asked, but managing to make it to shaky knees and crawl over to the puddle of vomit. She cleaned up as best she could, then sat back against the far wall. Her head rested against the cool metal, her eyes closed as she forced what healing she could on her arm. The pain slowly receded, and she slowly made and relaxed a fist.
Good enough.
The remains of the dress were set beside her, and she closed her eyes, suddenly tired as her body crashed from the adrenaline high.
Oh, how she had made a mess of things. Knives was right; she was a coward. But he just didn't understand… she was afraid of herself. She was afraid that she was losing herself, that in being something other than human she stopped being who she was and instead became… oh, she didn't know what. And it wasn't like she was proud of who she was, like the person that she had been was anyone to try to remain. But it was familiar, and known, and if she had felt lost on this planet before, she didn't know what words to place on this feeling now.
She was scared, so very scared. She ached for someone to hold her, and tell her that things would be alright. But… that would be a lie. Her problems lay inside her, and no one could help her with them. She needed to deal with them on her own, needed to find out who she was now, if she wasn't who she thought she was.
Or maybe she was who she thought she was and nothing else had changed. Or mattered. Or maybe not.
She shook her head, trying to clear out the thoughts as they spiraled downward into a morass of confusion. Feeling a draft, she pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The feel of flesh on flesh steadied her a bit.
Whatever else she was, she was real. She was here. She would manage whatever came her way.
As her resolve firmed, Knives exited the plant room, carrying her bag.
"Get up."
She stood easily and ignored his gaze as he took in her body. She had suffered through more lecherous gazes when she had lived in the barracks. No one was more crass than a group of soldiers.
"You are a skinny twit, aren't you?" he mused.
Ok. So it didn't take crass to make her blush.
"Can I have my clothes?" she asked.
He thrust her bag at her, but before she could draw out a pair of pants he was moving off down the hall. She glared at his retreating back, but shouldered her pack and grabbed the remains of her skirt before following.
He led her again on a torturously twisted route through the ship. They followed the route that Knives had led her on to reach to plants for only a few floors before his new path diverged. Kiley noted the twisting and turnings, imprinting them on her memory as a means of avoiding having to think.
Of course, thoughts assaulted her anyway.
Had she done the right thing, in coming here? She had avoided dwelling on the question as she traveled over the sands, but she could ignore it no longer. Saying that she was here, and saying that she would have to just deal with the results of her arrival were only means of denying an answer that had meaning.
Should she have come here? Her heart told her that she could not have gone anywhere else, but she was old enough to know that the heart is not the most important factor to consider when making a decision. She padded softly after Knives and wondered what she brought with her, wondered if her presence was worth the disruption she had already caused.
She brought companionship, but he would get that from Ace. He hadn't seemed to miss it much, anyway, seemed to be doing alright before she burst in on him. So if she left, it wasn't like he would be alone.
She brought knowledge, but she could write that down, could make it accessible to him without any need for her to be near. He knew the basics now, and could learn the rest without linking. That was how she had learned, anyway. It was possible. Easy enough, if you were smart and dedicated. He would do just fine.
She brought a lot of other things, too, strife and disharmony and discord. Fear, and distrust, self-loathing and violence. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea.
She was shaken out of her reverie when she almost ran into Knives. He had stopped outside a room and palmed open the door. She stopped abruptly and looked up in time to catch the sneer that rippled over his lips. She let a frown linger on hers.
"Going to lock me in this one, too?" she asked unkindly.
"No. You are free to roam about. Any rooms you aren't allowed in won't let you in."
"Thrilling."
"It wasn't meant to be."
"Goody for sarcasm, then."
She turned to look in. The room was dismal and gray, the lighting dim, the space cramped. The bed looked hard, the bathroom tiny, and the closet space non-existent.
"Homey," she commented, walking in.
"Glad you approve." He moved in behind her, and the small space seemed abruptly tiny.
She dropped her pack on the floor by the bed and pulled out her blanket, smoothing it over the bed. The colors brightened up the room a tad, but it still seemed entirely too small.
"Do you mind? I want to get dressed," she snapped.
"I do mind," he said. "I don't want to leave right now." He sat down on the bed, one leg tucked beneath him, hands draped around the other knee as he leaned back against the wall.
"Well, it's my room."
"It's my ship."
"But you gave me the room."
"I can take it back and make you sleep in the hall. You should try to get over these silly notions of privacy; it's not like you had any back at the oasis."
"Fine." She grabbed her bag.
"Where are you going?" he demanded, leaning forward and catching her by one arm before she could leave.
"The bloody hall."
"Why?"
"Because it was an option."
"Then I take it back. I want you here."
She shook her arm from his grasp. "I want you somewhere other than here."
"Too bad."
"Do you think I gave up all my rights when I came here? I can always leave."
"Try it and I'll bring you back. You're mine."
"Like a dog? A toy? What happens when you get tired of me? Going to let me go then?"
"No. You are a danger to my plans."
"So I'm a prisoner now?" Her eyes narrowed as she looked around. "I've been in larger cells."
"You aren't imprisoned here."
"But I can't leave."
"No."
"Knives, is this your first language? Because I think you're having some trouble grasping a basic concept here."
"It's only a prison if you want to leave," he said, leaning back again.
"So what's going to make me want to stay? You? Ace?"
"That's why you came in the first place, isn't it?" he asked with a grin. "Me? Ace?"
"I love you guys, but that doesn't mean I feel like staying here until I die."
"You what?" He looked at her intently.
"Might want to leave sometime?"
"Before that. Say it again."
"Love you guys? Oh, platonically." Her eyes shifted to the floor.
"What we have between us is not platonic," he pointed out.
"And what is it that we have, exactly? Cuddling interspersed with bouts of violence?"
He looked at his hands. "We could… Could…"
"Avoid each other except for designated cuddling times?"
He looked up. "That might work," he started, in agreement until he caught a glance of her face.
"That's not a relationship. That's just sex. And if that's all you want, there are plenty of people who are going to be better at it than me." She sat down next to him on the bed, but kept her distance.
"But I want you."
"You can't have it both ways. Either it's just fuzzy bunnies or it's something more. And it's not going to be something more if we can't figure out how to spend more than a week together without beating the crap out of each other."
"We've gone longer than a week."
"Barely."
He turned to her. "I have a theory."
"What is that?"
"All the violence is just suppressed sexual tension between us."
Her eyes widened, but he was already reaching out towards her.
Kiley put her hands out in front of her chest. Knives bumped into them and reached around for her shoulders.
"Whoa, there, Knives. Are you forgetting something?"
"I forget nothing. I'm just tired of waiting."
"Tough," she said, and struggled in his grasp. "We aren't doing this."
He scooted closer to her on the bed. "You know you want to."
"I don't want to like this."
"That's too bad for you. This is how it's going to happen."
"No, Knives."
He grabbed her chin and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. "Stop me. I want to feel you struggle." His hand dropped back to her shoulder, then slid down her arm, stopping with a tight grip at her elbow.
She moved back, placing her back against the wall for leverage. "I thought you were mad at me."
"I am. I'm tired of you pretending to be something other than the vermin you are."
"And you still want to screw me? I thought you despised vermin."
"Who says I don't despise you?"
She pushed at him, but couldn't loosen his grip on her arms. "Then why?"
"Because I want to."
"You are one messed-up, sick, psycho bastard." She tried to throw herself on the floor, but he trapped her legs under his body. He straddled her to stop any similar actions.
"Enough sweet words. You act like you are any different from me."
"I try to be." She quit struggling, realizing that her efforts weren't getting her anywhere.
"And it gets you nowhere. The freshest blood lies on your hands. You greet every situation with violence. Given a chance, you cause harm to others to get your way. Your power lies in your potential to commit acts of violence. All your attempts garner you is a heavy heart."
"At least I care."
"Oh, and how thrilled your victims are to hear that. I'm sure their ghosts are comforted by your remorse."
"Stop it."
"What, no witty comeback?"
"Stop it, Knives. I know I have problems, I know I screw up all the time."
"I'm going to screw you up." His hand slid under the remains of her dress.
"Don't be so crass. I'm trying to do better."
"And failing miserably. Emphasis on the miserable."
She pushed his hand away. "Why this?"
"Because I want to."
"Why me?"
"Because you're here."
"Why now?"
"Why not? Now shut up."
She subsided, accepting the inevitable. At this point, the only way she knew how to stop him was to kill him, and what was to come wasn't so bad as to deserve that. His hands on her were heavy, his body trapping her on the bed. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine that things were going the way that she had dreamed they might, that his hands were gentle instead of cruel, that they were sharing, rather than he was just taking.
That it was love, rather than just sex.
She tried to help him along, but he forced her hands away. All he wanted was for her to lay there and accept what happened to her.
So she did.
And when he was done, he rolled off her, collected his clothes, and left. The door opened and closed for him almost soundlessly, and she sat there, unmoving, until she was absolutely certain that he was gone. After a while, she opened her eyes again and sat up. Her body was sore in unaccustomed places, and she slowly inched off the bed and into the bathroom. She cleaned herself up, noting where she was bruised and where she wasn't with eyes devoid of tears.
It was just sex. She could handle it. She had before. Sex meant nothing, which was really the only horror of it. Something that personal should mean something more. Something more than just satisfying an itch, or trying to possess someone, or whatever Knives' reason had been. She didn't know and couldn't bring herself to care.
She reached out the door and pulled her toothbrush out of her bag and tried to clean the taste of vomit out of her mouth. And if she brushed her teeth a few minutes longer than she normally did, her excuse was that the taste in her mouth lingered and lingered and lingered.
*******************************************************************************
Knives walked grimly through the ship, his eyes fixed resolutely before him, his mind thinking only of the walk, and not of what had just transpired. It was a relatively short trip to his room, but it seemed to take forever.
He entered his room and threw himself down on his bed. His body was tired, but his mind raced.
He had taken her.
Finally, he had had her.
She had taunted him and teased him, bothered him, annoyed him, and finally he had his revenge.
A tear slipped from his eye. He wiped at it with a finger and looked at the smear of moisture. It seemed out of place. Why would he be crying?
Another tear fell, and then another, and then more. He couldn't stop them, couldn't hold them back. His shoulders shook as he cried, his head buried in his arms to muffle the sobs.
This wasn't what he had wanted at all.
He had wanted something that he couldn't walk away from when it was over. He had wanted a chance to examine every inch of her, to hold her and caress her and love her.
He wanted to share something with her, but he took from her instead.
It was his first time, and it was nothing like what he had imagined. It was so much less, and his heart broke on the difference between his dreams and reality. There was no meeting of hearts, only of bodies, and he knew that he had not even done well with that part. She had just lain there, unmoving as he took from her what he thought he wanted. Everything had gone so wrong.
And the worst part was he knew that he had only himself to blame.
*******************************************************************************
One of the worst parts about bad days is that curling into a ball and hiding your head does not make your troubles go away. As soon as you pull yourself together enough to face the world again, there they are, still staring you in the face. This might be why many people who fall into a pit of despair find it so hard to crawl back out again. Why bother facing the world when your troubles will be the first things to greet you? Better to avoid life altogether than face something you'd rather avoid.
Kiley didn't have that luxury.
Her room had no food.
So, after enough time passed for her to feel slightly lightheaded, she uncurled herself from around her pillow, combed her fingers through her hair, and resolutely faced the door.
Then found herself cuddled around her pillow again.
She didn't want to leave her room.
Her stomach rumbled.
She couldn't stay.
She sighed, checked to make sure that every inch of skin was covered with some form of clothing, knotted the laces of her boots to make them nearly impossible to get off, and faced the door again.
Her hand shook a little as she reached for the lock pad, but her palm print did key the door open. She clenched the hand into a fist and let it fall to her side. Her gaze took in the hallway outside, but she saw nothing to stop her from exiting. A cautious look to either side of the door let her know that the hall was empty. She shot one last look at her bed, but suddenly was seized with revulsion. She didn't want to stay in this room a second longer.
She stepped out resolutely. The door swooshed shut behind her, nearly soundless, but the sudden movement startled her. She paused and made sure she could open the door from this side as well, then turned to the right and walked down the corridor. After she ascertained that Knives was to her left, that is.
She started out checking every door she passed, looking for food, but after a long succession of rooms much like her own, she decided that a kitchen would be larger, the doors spaced differently. And, as she decided as she reached the end of the corridor, not in this hallway.
She turned to the right again, for no other reason then it got her farther away from Knives again. She started trying doors again, and not all of these opened for her. Those that did appeared to be offices, and any food that might have been stashed in those desks was far too old for her to eat.
Even Twinkies.
At the end of this hallway, she turned left. After about a quarter mile of walking, she found something rather interesting behind one of the closed doors.
A huge gymnasium stretched before her, recesses lost in the dimness of the emergency lights. She flicked on the lights, and as they slowly powered up she peered about, noting what was present.
There… rows of exercise equipment. There, high-low bars and other gymnastic equipment. There… strength training machines. Over to the left, and back a ways… a large open space with a padded floor. She couldn't tell if it was meant for martial arts or aerobics. Either way, it looked inviting. Her gaze flicked over the room, but her body was drawn to the horse. Someone, at some time, had left a bag of chalk by the base, and she dusted her hands before grabbing on and beginning to play.
She spun about and let her body move, let motion overtake thought, let exercise erase memory. She shifted about the equipment, easing her body back into the motions she had almost forgotten. It had been so long, since her last time in a gym, her last time playing on real equipment. This was nearly heaven.
As her breath began to rasp in her throat she desisted. She spared a moment and a frown over the state of her conditioning. That had been merely a little over half an hour of rather light fun, and here she was, tired. Pathetic.
Oh well. She had started out tired and hungry. That might have contributed. Her stomach grumbled as she walked over and got a drink of water from one of the fountains ringing the walls. After easing her thirst, she looked over at the strength conditioning equipment. What she wanted was normally placed near there… ah.
She found some tape in a cupboard near the punching bag and wrapped her knuckles. She stood back and looked at the bag, made sure that there was no visible wear, that it hung well, that nothing was likely to break if she went all out.
She started out with a few light jabs, gauging the hardness of the bag, then started to work on it. Left, right, left, right. High left, low right, switch. Repeat. Kick. She carefully placed her punches over the bag, aiming for accuracy and speed. She worked her speed up, letting her fists fly as fast as her body could push them through the air. Her body began to sway with the rhythm as she fell into a pattern that she could execute at near her top speed. It was designed to topple a man in the fewest number of blows, and she once could perform the task three times in a second. Try as she might, she could not get below two and a half now.
She stopped and sat heavily on the floor, panting. Failure. Out of shape. Her thoughts taunted her as she panted, one insult for each breath. She glared at the bag, letting it take the heat of her disappointment in her poor performance. It slowly swung, motion dwindling to a stop before her breathing eased.
"Thinking of anyone in particular?" came the slightly mournful voice from behind her. Her shoulders tightened, and she wondered just how long he had been back there.
"No," she said shortly.
"Oh. You know, I sometimes forget just how dangerous you can actually be."
"I noticed."
"That was… pretty good. Fast."
"I've done better."
"To people?"
"Yes. Not much point in just taking out a punching bag, now is there?" she asked, slightly pissy.
"Guess not."
She stood up slowly, resting halfway up, her arms on her knees. Knives stayed back, and she wasn't sure whether she preferred that or not. With a final push, she made it perpendicular to the floor. She swayed slightly from foot to foot as her head swam.
"I'm hungry," she said, more as a notation of being than a query for food.
"Would you like me to show you to one of the kitchens?" he asked quickly.
"Please."
He turned and walked away at a brisk pace. Kiley forced herself to follow, lifting each foot carefully so she wouldn't stumble. Even so, as soon as they entered the hallway she began walking by the wall. It's presence by her side comforted her, supported her. She realized that she was running a hand along it, just in case, and forced the traitorous appendage to lie by her side.
She was concentrating so much on the simple mechanics of movement that she didn't pay much attention to the route they took. In fact, she almost passed by Knives as he entered a room. The sudden lack of him before her drew her up short, and a quick glance to the right later she noted an open door. She left her wall and carefully walked across the hallway, entering the room and sitting down hard at a table.
She buried her head in her arms and fought passing out. Her head swam, and she began to hallucinate the glorious scents of food.
A quick look at the table before her reassured her. There was food there; it wasn't just a vision. She stared at it dumbly for a moment before digging in.
The first thing she downed was some sickly sweet drink. The taste of it as it hit her mouth was pure heaven, and she swallowed as fast as she possibly could. As she felt the affects of the drink hit her bloodstream, she dug into the pasta dish before her. It was spaghetti, much like what she had ordered in December, but a much larger serving. She attacked the plate, barely pausing in her intake to chew. There were some assorted cooked vegetables over to one side which alternated every few bites with the pasta, and meatballs she shoved in her mouth two at a time. These last she mostly ignored until near the end as they took longer to chew.
When she ran out of large pieces of food to shove in her mouth, she grabbed the bread off the edge of the plate and mopped up every last bit of sauce. Then she looked mournfully at the empty plate and sighed.
A hand came and took it away, leaving a fresh one in it's place.
"Thank you," she said automatically, then collected herself enough to look around. Knives was leaving the room, the empty dish in his hand. She sighed, but ate off this plate a little more slowly, watching the door he had left through.
He came back a few minutes later with another plate of food in one hand and a dessert in the other. She watched him impassively as he walked behind her and set the plate of food on her left, and the dessert on her right. She stared at her plate as she chewed, trying to ignore him as he stood behind her.
His hands came down and rested lightly on her shoulders.
She couldn't help herself; she flinched. He drew them back quickly, like she had burned him. He sighed and walked to her right, then around the table to sit across from her. He steepled his hands together, then rested his chin on his hands and stared at her as she ate.
"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, pausing long enough in her meal to force the words out.
"No."
"It's not like I'm the only one who got some exercise today," she said coldly, putting her fork down.
The barb sank home; he flinched.
Shifting slightly in his chair, he sat back and wouldn't meet her eyes.
She dug into her food again.
Silence reigned in the room. Kiley tried to ignore Knives' presence, and Knives didn't know what he was supposed to say, so stayed silent.
Kiley made it about halfway through her dessert before her appetite failed her. She began to play with what was left, squishing cake crumbs between the tines of her fork, carefully involved with the task so she wouldn't have to look up. Finally, she sighed and set the fork down.
Looking up at him, she sat back in her seat and just stared. He grew more uncomfortable by the second, which was her aim. Guilty consciences were always her allies.
"What?" he asked, finally.
"Nothing."
"Aren't you going to say anything?"
"Thank you for dinner."
He stared at her, nonplussed for a moment. "That wasn't what I meant."
"Tell me what you meant. Don't make me guess," she said coldly.
"I…" He fought for words, but none came out.
"You. Amazingly erudite, Knives."
He glared, but it held no heat. "This wasn't what I wanted."
"What wasn't, Knives? Let's not dance around the subject."
"The sex!" he exploded. "What did you think I was talking about."
"Oh, that," she said flatly. She pushed the dessert plate out of her way and splayed her hands on the table, looking at her fingers for a moment before meeting his eyes again. "I don't see what's bothering you about that." He stared at her, saying nothing as she paused. After a moment, she continued. "I figured that you decided that I had been raped enough times for once more to not really matter."
He quickly sat up straight, head coming up in a sharp motion, cheeks flushing at the remark. Unfortunately, he had been on the back edge of his seat, and the precipitous motion sent it toppling. He leaned over and picked it up, blushing furiously. Kiley just stared at her hand on the table, absorbed in the contrast of flesh on plastic as a means to ignore the world.
"I didn't rape you," he started. "It was… not rape."
"I said no, Knives."
He stammered for a bit, then managed, "You didn't stop me."
She looked up at him, very serious. "I was an assassin, Knives. I don't know many ways of stopping someone that don't involve grievous bodily injury or death."
"Oh. Um."
"Yeah. So I could either kill you or just… lay there."
"Oh."
"So what was your problem with it? I mean, you made damn sure you were the one in control."
He looked down at his hands. "Um."
"Oh, come on Knives. No reason to be shy now."
"I… it… I…" he stammered. "It didn't feel right," he said finally, lamely.
She laughed dryly. "That's encouraging to hear."
He glanced at her quickly, then back at his hands. "…Why?"
"I'd have worried a bit more about letting you near Ace if you though that was a fun time."
His head shot up and he glared at her. "I would never hurt her!"
"But it's all right to hurt me?" she asked, slightly morose.
His eyes narrowed as he assessed her. "You don't seem all that angry."
She sighed, and looked past his shoulder, fixing it on a random spot on the wall. "I'm not angry. I'm just sad." She paused for a moment, looking for words. "I think I have been raped too often. As far as unwanted sex goes, that wasn't the worst I've ever had. I wasn't bleeding at the end; that's always a plus. It… things like that make it very hard for me to care, about anything anymore."
She sighed again. "It's a bit sad. You may be crazy and genocidal, but there is something about you that tries very hard to be honorable. I like that about you. But then there's that part of you that has been so cruel for so long that it overwhelms anything that the honorable side of you tries to accomplish."
She pushed away from the table, standing up. She forced a smile and, with false cheerfulness, said, "Just another scar on my soul. It's ok. You can get used to any sort of pain, I guess." She turned and walked to the door. She paused in the frame for a moment, but Knives stayed silent.
She moved on.
******************************************************************************
Knives buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on the table. The half eaten dish of chocolate cake sat directly before him. He stared at it as if it could give him the answers he was looking for.
He hadn't even thought. Not about what he was doing to her. Not about what he was doing to her… again. His mind brought up some of the memories she had shared with him, memories of her childhood, memories of her treatment at the hands of her stepfather. Where sex was just a means of exercising power over her.
A lot like what he had just done. He moaned softly and ran his fingers through his hair, looking for an answer that would make things better, that would make what he had done less… evil. This wasn't what he had wanted.
He had wanted to hold her, much like that night at the oasis. He had wanted a chance to explore her, and learn all about her. He had wanted to share.
But he had been angry and upset and had stolen what he hadn't even needed to. She had been trying to… She had made overtures towards sharing, and he had pushed them away. He had taken what he had wanted in an effort to control her, and he just ended up hurting himself.
And her, too, of course.
He stretched his arms across the table and rested his forehead on the cool surface. Abruptly, he sat up and looked at the plates. They seemed to accuse him, but that may have just been his conscience. He stood and carried them into the kitchen, tossing them into the cleaner, throwing them away as if that could in some way erase what he had done, before leaving the kitchen to go to his room. He had planned on visiting Shamra this afternoon, but she would know that there was something wrong with him, and this was most definitely not something he wanted to try to explain to her.
He threw himself down on the bed again, mind reeling. He hadn't thought, hadn't known. He had just wanted, and been angry, and she was there, already mostly undressed. The time had seemed right, he had thought that he was in control of the situation, finally. She had been so frustrating, with her insistence on being treated like an equal, and he had just thought that he was finally putting her in her place, but it looked like he had broken things between them completely.
He looked around his room. Strange how it had never felt so empty before, so plain. The shirt he was wearing was about the only splash of color. He had never noticed the lack before, and wondered what else she had changed about him without him noticing. With a thought, he made a few hundred tiny pinpricks of light in all the colors of the rainbow and placed them on the ceiling. The room brightened considerably, but he wasn't cheered.
He laced his fingers together and placed them behind his head while he stared thoughtlessly at the ceiling.
He had seriously messed things up. And he had no idea how to make them better.
He sat up abruptly. But maybe he did know where to start…
*******************************************************************************
A soft chime sounded, sounding strange in the room. The noise seemed to be eaten by the walls, sounding then falling flat. Kiley cocked her head to one side and tried to place the noise. It chimed out again and something clicked.
Doorbell.
She set down the shirt she was holding on the back of the room's chair, then went and opened the door. She was both surprised and unsurprised to see Knives there. Surprised, because she hadn't expected to see him for awhile. Unsurprised, because who else was there in the ship to be at her door?
"I'm sorry," he said abruptly, speaking before she could potentially say anything.
She wasn't sure what to say to that abrupt apology, so she fell back on the old standard of prevarication.
"Hmm?"
"I said I was sorry," he repeated, with a slight edge of asperity.
"For what?"
He looked at her. "For what I did earlier, of course."
"And just what exactly was that?"
He looked torn between wanting to be mad at her for making this difficult and being ashamed. Finally, he settled for looking at the floor and mumbling out, "I'm sorry that I," pause, "raped you."
She waited a moment, mind searching for a response. Finally her mouth opened and out popped a word. "Good."
He looked at her again, slightly shocked. "Good?"
"I guess."
"That's all you have to say?"
"At the moment."
"Oh." The lost look on his face demanded that she explain her answer in a way that his anger never managed.
"Knives… what you did to me wasn't the most horrible thing that has happened to me in my life. Sadly, it doesn't even come close. One of the fun problems about being strong, and female, is that there are many men who want to prove their worth by dominating me. While what you did was wrong, and horrible, what I'm having problems with right now is dealing with the memories it sparked. Your actions uncovered a dark pit of horrible, hated memories and let them come bubbling out. What I'm trying to do right now is force them back into their dark little hole."
"Oh." He looked at the floor again.
"Yeah. So don't take me too personally at the moment. I'm just trying to stay sane." She stepped back from the door and reached out to palm it shut.
"Wait!"
She paused, hand over the pad. "Yes?"
"Would… talking… help?"
"Not really. Some things you just don't want to share." She hit the switch.
Then she went and sat on the bed, grabbing the blanket and throwing it over her, holding her knees to her chest. Her shoulders shook with the force of the memories that assaulted her, memories of her childhood intermingled with more recent memories of her treatment at the hands of her enemies.
Oh, oh, oh… it had hurt so much. It hurt so much. Her gaze fixed on the wall, but her mind saw visions much more terrible. Hands grabbing her, hitting her, holding her down no matter how hard she fought… It was so much easier to just lie there passively and wait for it to be over, to just hope that maybe this time it wouldn't hurt as much as she feared. And being wrong so many times…
She just sat there and shook, reliving each memory before she could force it away. Her fingers clenched the edge of the blanket so tightly they crimped the cloth, knuckles white, bone standing out in stark relief.
She took some comfort in knowing that the people that had done that to her were very far away, and that they could never touch her again. It was a cold comfort, and not much of one. If she closed her eyes she could still imagine them in the room here with her, hands pinching, bruising, fists pummeling, mouths biting, hurting, stealing… pain.
Ah, the pain. Nothing like a high pain tolerance to make people want to see just how long it takes to make you scream.
She rested her forehead on her knees and just let herself shake, let the shudders echo through her body. She forced the pain away as best she could, then swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. There was only one way to finish off this process. Keeping the blanket snug around her shoulders, she exited the room and went back to the gym. She bypassed the gymnastic equipment and punching bag for something much more primal. The strength training machines. She shrugged out of her blanket and folded it neatly, setting it near her on a bench, then grabbed a bottle of water and set to work.
There is nothing like making every muscle in your body ache from exhaustion to remind one of the here and now, and divorce you from the memories of then and there. She started out working her legs, adding more weight every twenty reps until her joints screamed for mercy. Then she went and worked on her shoulders and her arms until her hands shook so much she could no longer hold the pin steady enough to move it.
She rubbed a bleary hand over her eyes and contemplated making it back to her room. That notion was discarded as unworkable; her legs would not hold out that long. Besides… she really didn't want to sleep there tonight. She finished up the last of her water and wondered if she should go get more. Memories of waking up dehydrated decided her, and she staggered over to a fountain and drank as much as she could hold.
Splashing her face and arms, she tried to scrape off the worst of the sweat, but a full shower was beyond her. She filled the bottle and took it back to her blanket with her, so she would have something nearby when she awoke later in the night. Despite her exhaustion, she knew she would.
Days like these always led to bad nights.
