ARCHIVE: With permission
By Valjean
Too Little, Too Late
"Christ! Nearly a four hundred I.Q. between them, and I swear if it wasn't for ordinary humans like us those two might just as well go live in a zoo!"
Logan was nodding in agreement with Donald Lydecker's words, and to Max's consternation, so was O.C.
"Hey," Max said tartly. "I resent that. We can take care of ourselves -- usually."
"Which is why the always unpredictable but ever-so-charismatic 494--"
"Alec." Max corrected.
"Pardon me," Lydecker said icily. "Which is why the always unpredictable but ever-so-charismatic 'Alec' is at this very moment probably being made somebody's bitch in Langford Prison." He rounded on Max before she could protest. "And don't tell me it wasn't his fault. That boy's a trained soldier. He knows perfectly well how to take care of himself but he still keeps managing to get in the damnedest ..." Words seemed to fail him.
"Pickles?" O.C. offered helpfully.
"Situations," Lydecker said with a glare at the dark skinned girl. "Let's see." He began counting off on his fingers. "There have been foreign mercenaries twice, and the Familiars too many times to count. Wasn't he supposed to be a human sacrifice at one point? Not many soldiers I know can lay claim to that. And we won't even talk about the bizarre, and ultimately fatal, attraction he was for the late Madam Renfro. And, oh yes, amnesia wasn't it? Then there was your latest museum shoot-out complete with spectacular acrobatics off a balcony that made the front page of the Miami Herald the next day. Didn't notice the photographer lurking in the wings, did you? Oh, and should I mention him being Prophecy Boy, the Protector of Mankind?"
"Stop," Max said, burying her face in her hands. "You've made your point. "Alec tends to get into trouble. We all know this."
"It's sort of like a gift," O.C. chimed in. "Or maybe a super power? I don't know. You're the guys who built him. What did you add in his mix? A dash of Tasmanian devil maybe? That would explain a lot."
Logan was checking his computer screen again. "A batch of new prisoners were dumped in Langford late last night. Caucasian male, no name, age approximately 24, six feet tall, 175 pounds, light brown hair, green eyes, identifying marks bar code tattoo on the back of neck, flagged as a possible transgenic, CDC to be notified." He looked up. "Sound like anyone we know?"
"They're going to ship him off to the CDC?" Max said.
"Eventually, maybe," Logan replied. He leaned back in his chair and ran fingers through his thinning hair. "With everything so chaotic and so many people dying the transgenic threat has sort of gone on the back burner. I imagine it'll be weeks, if not months, before anyone really bothers deciding if--" He glanced at the screen. "--prisoner 1126798 is a transgenic or not. In the meantime it looks like they've just thrown him in with the general population."
"Not good," O.C. said. "Not with him sick."
"Not good at all," Lydecker agreed grimly. He looked at Max. "How's the leg?"
"Just like new," Max lied.
"Then come with me," he said. "I don't have much authority any more, but my I.D. ought to at least get us past the front desk. Once inside we'll have to find him and figure out a way to get him out." Lydecker took a gun out of the inside pocket of his bomber jacket and checked the clip.
"What's this going to cost us?" Max asked. "You're not helping just out of the goodness of your heart."
Lydecker's lips turned up in a tired smile. "My price is that I want you and Alec to quit lying to me about the situation on Chimera, and quit trying to scam Sandeman. We're all supposed to be on the same side here. I know it's difficult for you, Alec, and the others to trust anyone, but we're really way beyond that now." He looked directly into her eyes. "I need my kids on board."
"We're on board," Max said quietly.
"Good," he said. "Then let's go get our boy."
*****
Strip searched, body cavity searched, hosed down, and doused with lice spray that got in his eyes and stung like hell, Alec finally found his clothes shoved back in his arms just in time to be literally thrown onto the cold cement floor of Langford Prison's general population ward.
He managed to get his jeans back on, and his boots, but someone grabbed his t-shirt and jacket, vanishing with them into the crowd before he could even try to stop them. Shivering in the unheated compound from something far more dangerous than the cold, he braced his bare back against the wall and slowly slid to the floor, sitting with arms wrapped around his naked shoulders, trying to keep watch and keep warm at the same time.
Alec could feel the seizures building, each series of spasms subtly stronger than the last. He'd never been this long without taking tryptophan before, and honestly didn't know how badly his body was going to betray him. But what worried him most was the way the other prisoners were eying him, like a pack of hyenas waiting for its prey to weaken just a little bit more. Sinking lower on the wall, he hugged himself more tightly and rested his chin on his knees, his own eyes wary.
One of the guards was looking at him, and a moment later motioned to a prisoner and nodded in his direction. Six foot five if he was an inch, 250 pounds, with enough tattoos to double as clothing, the inmate grinned, then started walking toward him.
Alec readied himself, trying to summon enough strength to at least climb to his feet, but his legs were trembling too badly and his head hurt so much he felt like he was going to boot his breakfast.
So instead he closed his eyes, wishing fervently that this was just a bad dream, that it would all to go away -- but the voice came anyway.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
Calloused fingers pawed his shoulder and Alec jerked away.
"Smooth as a baby's behind," the leering voice said.
"Leave me alone," Alec growled. He opened his eyes and looked up. "I'm sick."
That gave the other prisoner pause -- not surprising considering there was a killer plague on the loose.
But then the leering grin was back. "They wouldn't have let you in here if you had the Snakes," he said. "Your blood test would've shown if the poison was in you."
Snakes. Alec had never heard the plague referred to as that, but it was oddly appropriate considering snakes were the host animal for the pathogen, the way the Familiars' breeding cult had cultivated the virus all those millennia just waiting for the right moment to unleash it on mankind.
There had been a blood test, he remembered -- during the humiliating medical exam he'd been put through. It would have shown him immune.
"Come on," the bigger man said, grabbing Alec's arm and hauling him up. "You're pretty enough for the warden. He'll pay well for a fresh young thing like you."
At any other time in his life Alec knew he could have killed this guy in two seconds, but to his humiliation he found he couldn't even make his weak and shaking limbs move enough to resist.
"Warden's gonna enjoy himself tonight," the prisoner said. "He likes 'em young and hard and tight, if you get my meanin'." He moved one hand lower and gripped Alec's ass through his jeans. "And it seems to me you'll be plenty tight."
This can't be happening to me. I'm a soldier. I'm Manticore. No one beats me. No one rapes me. Max ... Help me.
He was half carried, half dragged down a long corridor behind the cell block to what appeared to be a private wing of the prison. "Don't worry," his tattooed escort said. "They say it only hurts real bad the first time. After that you can just sort of lie there and take it."
Alec knew he had to at least try. Summoning all of his remaining strength, he got his feet under himself and twisted in the big man's grip, striking a blow at that ugly face. The next thing he knew his own face was being ground into the dirty floor, one hand firmly on the back of his neck, the other twisting his arm in a hammerlock.
"You don't wanna struggle," a voice hissed in his ear. "'Cause, ya see, if you fight back the warden's got these ways of makin' you do things ... drugs and such. And he can also make it hurt a whole lot more."
Alec closed his eyes. He felt like he was going to be sick.
"O'Brian," a woman's voice said from up ahead. "What are you doing?"
"Just bringing the warden some fresh meat, Marissa."
Alec couldn't move his head, but he opened his eyes and looked up to see a pretty young woman with grey eyes and close cropped red hair standing in the middle of the corridor. Actually, woman was an overstatement. She was barely more than a girl, maybe sixteen years old. She knelt down beside him and turned her head sideways so she could look in his eyes.
"Is this the one they were talking about?" she asked. "The one with the bar code?"
"What do you mean?" O'Brian asked.
With O'Brian still holding his head in a death grip, she reached out and brushed the long hair covering his bar code aside.
"Well, I'll be damned," O'Brian said. "It's one of them transgenics. But I thought they were supposed to be freak supersoldiers with all this strength and speed." He shoved Alec's face deeper into the floor. "Not much super strength in this one."
"He looks sick," Marissa said, her voice oddly dispassionate. "The warden won't want him if he's sick." She hesitated then-- "Take him to my room. I'll see what's wrong with him, maybe make him better so he'll be of some use."
"Whatever you say, Marissa," O'Brian agreed.
*****
The bed Alec fell into was pathetic as far as beds went, but it felt so much better than the cold cement floor he wasn't about to complain. Marissa drew a thin blanket up over his shaking shoulders then reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead with her hand, checking his temperature.
"You're burning up," she said.
"I don't have a fever."
"Then what's wrong with you?" she said. "You're sure not healthy."
"Seizure," Alec got out. "I need some milk if you can get it."
"Milk would help?"
Alec nodded and clutched the blankets closer around himself. The spasms were deepening, and he didn't know how much longer he could remain conscious. If he passed out he'd be completely helpless. The warden might come in and--
"I won't be able to keep you from the warden for long," Marissa said as if knowing what he was thinking.
"Are you his ...?" Alec bit down hard on his lower lip, willing his muscles to quiet. "Are you ...?"
"Yes," Marissa said. "But at least it keeps me off the main floor. I also have my own room and plenty to eat."
"If he's got you, then why does he want me?" Alec gasped, finding it increasingly difficult to talk.
"Because sometimes he likes boys," Marissa said matter-of-factly. "And you're really pretty." She stood up. "I can get some milk. I'll be back."
It seemed like she was gone forever. While he waited, Alec concentrated on the blanket clutched in his tight fist, counting the rows of fibers, deciphering the weave, anything to keep his mind focused on something other than the fact he was probably going to be raped, and then he was going to die, and he'd never see his family ... Max ... his son ... again.
Max, help me.
When Marissa returned he grabbed the glass of milk off the tray and gulped it like a junkie getting a fix.
"It's your lack of serotonin, isn't it?" she said.
Alec, his lips and chin dripping with white liquid, looked up at her in surprise.
"They say the transgenics lack serotonin in their brains and can suffer seizures. It was on one of the science programs the warden sometimes watches. I remember now about the base body temperature too. One hundred one point six -- three degrees higher than a human's, which is why you feel so warm to me. You are a transgenic, right? The bar code?"
Alec knew it was probably his imagination, but the milk seemed to be helping a little, either that or the seizure cycle was winding down for now. Exhausted, every muscle in his body on fire, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, curled into a fetal position beneath the blanket, and answered her.
"Yeah. I'm a transgenic."
"X5?"
"X5."
"The best Manticore made."
That surprised him. "You sound like you admire us," he mumbled, his voice thick and husky with exhaustion.
"I do, in a way."
"Most people hate us, at the very least are afraid of us."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"Why not?"
"Probably because I know so much about your kind." Marissa glanced at the closed door behind her, then came over to the cot and knelt down beside him. "When I first heard about the transgenics I was fascinated. I read all of the newspapers and magazine stories, watched all the shows on television, even went down to Terminal City and tried to get a glimpse of you guys."
"It's always nice to have fans," Alec muttered. He was getting sleepy, his eyes growing heavy.
"You're supposedly perfect," Marissa said, lightly stroking his cheek with her fingers.
Alec shivered at the touch, and he forced his eyes open again. His sixth sense, the empathic ability he seemed to have, was trying to tell him something. And his empathy was never, ever wrong. There was danger here.
"The warden's really going to like you," she said softly, her breath tickling his ear.
Alec tried to raise his head but felt like a lead weight was pulling him down. "The milk," he gasped. "You put something in the milk."
"Rohypnol," Marissa said. "You know what that is don't you, 494? On the street they call it the date rape drug. Roofies? Technically it's a sleeping pill, but it has this way of knocking you half out, taking away all inhibitions, making it so you don't struggle ... you get the picture. It'll help you get through the night with the warden. Look at it as a favor. This way you'll hardly know what's happening to you." She was still stroking his face. "Oh, and I made it a double dose considering you're a transgenic and all. Couldn't risk you being able to fight back."
494. She'd called him 494.
Summoning strength from he didn't know where, Alec's hand blurred and he grabbed the girl around the throat. "Who are you?" he snarled.
She was choking too much to speak and he eased his grip. And then she was smiling, the look in her grey eyes maniacally happy. "I told you," she giggled. "My name's Marissa. Marissa Lehane."
"Lehane?" Alec's eyes widened even as his fingers slipped from her neck, the Rohypnol kicking in, stealing that last tiny bit of strength.
"Yes," she said, her voice growing cruel and hard. "Lehane. My brother was Simon Lehane. Remember him, 494? That handsome, gentle young boy you murdered so you could steal his identity? I've waited a long time to meet you -- the hideous monster who killed my dear sweet brother. It's really rather ironic don't you think, that I finally find you here, under these circumstances? One might even say it's poetic justice. And you can't imagine how much I'm going to enjoy watching what the warden does to you tonight." She giggled. "He likes me to watch. Really, he does."
Alec's heart was beating so fast he felt as if it would burst through his chest. Never in his life had he been so helpless ... so hopeless ... not even when he'd been in White's vicious clutches or undergoing torture at Manticore.
"Marissa ... I ..."
"Shhh," she said, putting a finger to his lips and glancing back at the door. The knob was turning. "The warden's here. I told him I'd have you ready. Just remember when he's hurting you ... doing it to you ... the pain and terror my brother must have felt while you strangled him."
The door began to open.
There is one upcoming chapter in this story that might not be acceptable for fanfiction.net's new guidelines. Anyone who wants to read "The Best Laid Plans 2: Death and Life" in its entirety as I write the story is invited to my website: http://www.michaeleaston.com/DA/DAfanfic.html. I also have a number of other DARK ANGEL M/A fanfiction stories there that I've not made available on ff.net as of yet. I even keep an email list of interested readers whom I notify when I post new work on the site.
Also, I'd like to encourage all M/A DARK ANGEL fans to read Max Collins' official prequel novel BEFORE THE DAWN. True, Alec isn't in the story (yet), but there's lots of canon background material in the book that would be pertinent to Alec later on. Plus, Mr. Collins says that Alec and Joshua will be "centerstage" in the DARK ANGEL sequel novel SKIN GAME coming out next February. -- author's note