Disclaimer: Same old, same old: ain't mine.
A/N: Here's the next installment. Hope you guys like where it's headed.
She was assaulted by memories, snippets of them, voices-so many of them-were ringing in her head. She couldn't tell who was talking but she heard them…she could only see Ben in a sea of namelessness and facelessness.
Only Ben.
Tell us the story Ben… Children's voices echoed through her head.
Only the best soldiers go to the Good Place. The ones who fail…you know what happens to them? Ben's childish voice was lowered in a hushed whisper.
They disappear. Max's shivered reply.
To the Bad Place. Ben confirmed, his voice a warning.
The scene faded and Max was propelled through time.
….Ben, what are you, doing?...
A whispered plea into the night air as she sat atop a high place looking down at the twinkling lights of some nameless city. Max's heart ached, her mind swimming in confusion.
Ben killed those men. You heard me. He killed them. An accusing voice, also nameless and faceless, but strong and certain. Each word stabbed at her, forcing her to acknowledge a truth she refused to see.
If your brother was a murderer, would you want people to know? If the boy you used to love had turned out to be a murderer, would you want people to know? Would you want to know? Max knew in her heart that she didn't.
Ben, why are you dong this? A confused question, a pleading look. Please…make this right, Ben. It's all a mistake. Tell me it's just a mistake.
You know why.
A vision of Ben filled her mind's eye. Older, and more beautiful, a strange gleam in his eyes, his lips bared in a sneer. She had never seen him so cold, so calculating. He had been completely distant from her, completely untouchable. It was like she didn't know him at all.
She had never felt a loss so keen as finding Ben that day. To search for someone only to find him lost to her…wishing that she had never found him at all.
…figure out what went wrong with you…
Nothing went wrong with me! I'm doing what I was made to do. What we were taught to do! An angry outburst, like rage exploding from a volcano. Bitterness, pain, regret raining down with it.
You're one of the few people who could possibly understand. An angry allegation, a reminder of what she was.
I don't understand. A denial ripped from her heart.
What's the matter, Maxie, you afraid to remember? A warm voice, taunting, golden green eyes mocking, beautiful lips twisted in a derisive sneer.
I don't want to remember. The most honest answer from a girl whose whole life was a lie.
"I don't want to remember…" she whimpered. "I don't want to remember…" Her hands went to cover her ears, to drown the voices out. She was rocking back and forth to comfort herself. But the onslaught of memories continued.
You give them your barcode, then you hunt them down and kill them. Don't you get it? You're killing yourself over and over again!
A laugh echoed through…hysterical, it was almost like a cry.
Do you hate yourself that much? She demanded, but her question was only answered by a gleam of madness in his eyes.
No. You're the nomlie. The genetic mistake. The monster in the basement. She had said those words to him in anger. Hurtful words to counteract the pain he was rending in her. Hurtful words cast like stones to hurt his bones. Hurtful words to protect herself. What if she was the nomlie? What if she was the genetic mistake? What if she was the monster in the basement? Was that why she was always running away from herself?
We never should have left. Everything made sense there. To him, everything made sense there.
There…there…Manticore. She remembered Manticore.
"No, Ben. Manticore didn't make sense…it didn't!" she screamed, her hands still against her ears, her fingers clawing into her skull, her eyes tightly shut. Warm arms tried to hold her, but she fought them as much as her body would let her. She refused to be held. She opened her eyes and saw his face. She lifted her hand and slapped him. "I hate you!"
"Max, get a grip!" cried the man. He was holding her by her upper arms, holding her up because her legs wouldn't support her. His grip was so tight. It was painful, almost bone-breaking.
She glimpsed the anger that lit his eyes. But there was mostly concern. And she remembered his love for her. Her fury died, only to be left with despair. "Ben, why are you doing this?" she sobbed.
She saw more anger flare up, but he kept rigid control of it. But Max was so tired. She never heard his whispered answer, as the darkness engulfed her, as she slumped against him in a boneless heap. The darkness of her despair and fears had won tonight.
Alec was worried. He watched Max crouched against the wall. She had shut her eyes and was rocking rhythmically back and forth, caught up inside her own head.
He approached her soundlessly, slowly, not wanting to frighten her. He paused slightly as her lids began to twitch, the way eyes do when in deep REM sleep. She whimpered slightly and Alec didn't know what to do. She was reliving something in a dream—no, a nightmare—but somehow Alec knew that she wasn't asleep.
Her lips were forming soundless words. Her face was undergoing several different emotions. But her eyes remained shut, twitching. It was the eeriest sight Alec had ever seen.
"I don't want to remember…" she whimpered. "I don't want to remember…" Alec barely heard her whispered moans. She threw her hands against her ears and her body rocked harder back and forth, back and forth. Sometimes she hit the wall so hard, it really concerned him that she might be hurting herself. She continued her five-word litany under her breath.
He took a few more steps toward her, not sure what kind of comfort to give her. Whatever memories she didn't want to remember seemed unrelenting. Suddenly, she slipped back into that ghostlike quiet.
Alec crept closer and knelt an arm's length away from her. She didn't seem to notice that he was there. He was still afraid to touch her, not sure whether he should have called for help or if he should have just left her alone. No, he wouldn't leave her alone. He had promised her. Even if she had thought he was Ben, he had still made the promise.
"No, Ben. Manticore didn't make sense…it didn't!" she screamed, her voice splitting the tenuous silence. Alec was startled by the unexpected outburst and almost jumped back from Max. Her eyes were still closed, but tears were still flowing freely through the lids. She was clawing at her head, as if she wanted to tear out the memories inside.
Alec couldn't take it anymore—he couldn't just stand there and watch her suffer like this. He wrapped his arms around her. She fought him. Even in her weakened state she put up a fight. Alec struggled to keep his arms gentle but firm. He didn't want to break her.
Her body arched against his wildly as he forced them to stand up, her fingers turned into claws scraping painfully on his arms and shoulders. He gritted his teeth against the pain. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at him.
There was such burning anger in them, and betrayal, too. She slapped him, and Alec felt the sting on his left cheek, his head twisting sideways, his ear ringing. "I hate you!" she said, her voice bitter.
"Max, get a grip!" he whispered vehemently. He felt his own bitterness and anger well up inside. I'm not Ben! he wanted to shout. He wanted to shake Max and make her see him. But she was already like a rag doll against him. She was still so weak, but she had fought him anyway, and now she was drained. He pulled her up against him, supporting her weight.
He felt all of his bitterness drain away. How could he be mad at her? She didn't know what she was doing. He just looked at her face, still streaked with tears; he stared into those dark brown eyes. He didn't know his heart could break any more, but it did.
To look into her eyes…the eyes of the woman he loved, only to find that to her, he never existed. To have everything he'd ever wanted in his arms, only to find that he was nothing to her. No, worse. That he was someone else.
And like salt on an already gaping wound, those brown eyes looked at him with such agonizing love and she whispered, "Ben, why are you doing this?"
He felt shattered.
"I'm not Ben," he murmured angrily. But he saw that she never heard him. Her head had lolled unconsciously against him, her eyes shut as she fell into a deep sleep. He sighed deeply, and ran a hand through her hair, supporting her head. He laid a kiss on her temple, "Max, I'm not Ben," he whispered again. He hoped that even if she never heard him, her heart would understand.
Alec laid Max gently on her bed. In sleep, she looked peaceful. But he knew it was a deceptive peace, just like the most placid of waters have the strongest of undercurrents. He had a feeling that Max was being pulled under by something far stronger than she was. Sometimes she broke through the surface, but only to be sucked back in.
He wanted to save her, so he had dived in and tried to rescue her. But so far, they were both being pulled under. They were both very close to drowning. He let his hand stroke her brow and she whimpered lightly, responding to his touch. "I love you, Max," he sighed softly to the sleeping form. He knew that even if he drowned, he was going to dive in again to try and find her. He climbed onto her bed, settled himself against her, and fell into a tired sleep.
Alec woke up to Max thrashing in bed, fighting a phantom attacker. He quickly rolled off the bed and tried to pin Max down before she hurt herself. She was getting stronger, but he was still dominant.
"Max," he said, his tone hushed and comforting. "It's just a dream, Max,"
"Ben, I can't…" came a strangled whisper from Max. Her eyes were still closed, but tears were streaming from them.
There was that name again. It still stabbed at him, but this time, Alec understood what she was reliving in her nightmares. He could feel tears well up in his eyes, too. Alec had cried before, though the occasions came few and far between. This time, as the tears spilled over his cheeks, he wasn't sure whether he was crying for himself, Max, or his dead twin. Somehow, the emotions that roiled up had converged to make it even too much for a supersoldier to bear.
Suddenly, a look of utter peace fell over Max's face for a second. Alec was transfixed. She had stopped crying, her breathing had calmed, and her face was serene. "Tell me about the Good Place…"
But just like that, the serenity was shattered when her eyes flew open and she sat up quickly. She stared at her shaking hands, alternately clenching them into fists and opening the palms wide. "No!" she sobbed. This time, the tears were not silent, but gut-wrenching. Her whole body shook as she buried her head in her hands. Tears trickled in between her fingers as if the tears could wash away the proverbial blood on her hands.
Alec stood there for what seemed like hours, just watching Max cry. He didn't touch her, afraid that she would break. "Max, I'm sorry,"
"No…I'm sorry." She whispered. "I never said I was sorry…I never told you how sorry I was…" her words were muffled by her sobs, and Alec swallowed painfully. "I was so angry I didn't want to tell you I was sorry…Ben, why? Why?" she asked in anguish.
Alec closed his eyes briefly and rocked on his heels. He really had no answers.
This is for you, Maxie, so you finally understand what I'm doing. Ben's voice rang through her head. She saw the memory as if she were reliving it. He had his foot over a priest's chest, effectively holding his victim down.
Suddenly, the scene faded and she found herself facing Ben, fighting him.
They had circled each other warily. I don't want to fight you, Ben…she had thought at that moment. But it had to be done. Ben had to be stopped.
They'd both landed several punches and kicks on each other. But Max had known—she had felt it—that Ben wasn't trying very hard. He had wanted to lose to her. Ben had kicked her against a tree, and stupidly, or perhaps intentionally, tried the same move again. She'd caught his leg and with a sickening crack, broke it.
As he fell to the ground, as he struggled to get up, Max had felt physically sick. This was the boy she had loved all those years. This was the boy whose memory had always made her smile. Now, here he was: vulnerable and broken. And she had done it. Now, his memory would only ever haunt her.
She knelt over him and cradled his head. She remembered the sounds of helicopters closing in, the sounds of distant footsteps rapidly approaching through the forest. Manticore was coming.
And suddenly, Ben had transformed into that sweet boy again. His eyes had lost that glazed look, and they stared back at her with aching tenderness, as if memorizing her face. They had both tried to get up, but failed.
Don't leave me here. Don't let them take me.
Ben, I can't carry you. We'll both get caught. Never had Max regretted any decision more than at this moment. Max started to cry now, she could feel the hot tears coursing down her cheek, but still she couldn't wake up, as if this particular memory had a very strong hold on her, making sure she remembered everything.
I know. His reply was quiet, his tone forgiving. How could he have let her be so selfish at that moment? She would never know. Instead, those green eyes had begged her silently for redemption.
"Ben, I can't," she whispered, not knowing that she had said the words out loud, not realizing that she had a devastated witness standing by her bed. She only knew that in that moment, she had never hated anyone more. How dare he ask her to do this? She couldn't save him like this…this wasn't redemption. This was…cowardice. They were both being cowards!
Please…he had begged her…and she had been driven by fear, self-preservation and selfishness, so she had relented.
Tell me about the Good Place.
Ben had smiled beautifully at her. Where no one ever gets punished.
And no one gets yelled at,
And nobody disappears. And when you wake up in the morning you can stay in bed as long as—she clenched her hand…and then there had been nothing, but the sound of her hand snapping his neck.
Instantly she woke up, as if the cracking sound had woken her. Her eyes flew open and she sat up. She stared at her hands, still seeing Ben, his head falling lifelessly back. She looked at her hands…at what they had done…at what they were capable of doing. "No!"
And then the sobs came. She cried just like she did in those woods. But this time, she cried because she didn't know if there was a Good Place. She desperately wanted to believe that there was a Good Place and that Ben had finally been happy.
She wanted so hard to believe that he was saved.
There had to be a Good Place. There had to be! Because the alternative meant that Ben was just gone. The alternative meant that in a single second, Ben had ceased to exist.
"Max, I'm sorry," said a voice close to her. It was a warm and comforting voice, but it only brought more tears.
"No…I'm sorry." She whispered. "I never said I was sorry…I never told you how sorry I was…" her head was in her hands, trying to stifle her sobs. "I was so angry I didn't want to tell you I was sorry…Ben, why? Why?" she asked in anguish.
Then she lifted her face to look at the man beside her, offering her comfort if she was willing to accept it. She saw his face and felt recognition dawn inside of her. He was standing stiffly, his face carefully blank. His dark blond hair was slightly ruffled, his clothes were quite rumpled as if he had slept in them. His golden-green eyes were shadowed, and his lips were turned down slightly at the sides in a small frown.
Looking at that face, something inside of her quieted down. Her tears dried up, and her heartache eased a little. She took a deep breath as cobwebs started to clear in her mind.
Somehow, she reached out to him, her hand seeking his. For a moment, his shoulders tensed, but he took her proffered hand in his, holding it lightly.
As her mind cleared, a part of her told her that this man was someone very dear to her. And that he usually held himself with languid grace, that his face was usually very expressive. He liked his hair to be perfect, and his clothes to be clean. She also knew that those eyes were supposed to sparkle with amusement or fire up in anger—not look at her with a defeated expression. And she definitely knew those lips were supposed to be twisted in an amused smirk.
"I know you," she whispered, her lips twitching into a tentative smile. She saw him raise an eyebrow, and she correctly—she didn't know how—interpreted that as a good sign. "I know what your smile looks like," she continued hesitantly, "And how you look at me with those eyes when you're angry at me."
"Max," he started to say.
She tilted her head slightly and raised a hand to stop him from saying anything else. "You're special to me. I can feel it."
He smiled at her—the way she somehow knew he would—and she felt warmer inside. Warmer than she had felt in so long. He was chasing away the shadows inside of her.
"Yeah? What makes you say that?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual. But Max heard a note of uncertainty in his voice.
She smiled wryly, not yet understanding why she felt this way. "I don't know. I just...know you. And I have this funny urge to hit you upside the head."
He chuckled.
It was the sound, the rich low timbre of that laugh, that finally broke through the last of the cobwebs of her memory. "Alec?"
AN2: To be continued...
