A/N: Meh, can't find an alternative publishing spot for this, so I guess I'll post it here. Everything is tasteful anyways. Be warned...this is definitely a NC-17 chapter, with semi-graphic descriptions of romantic scenes (although the naughty bits haven't been explicitly named!)



-4-


Over the next month, a few subjects return, dragged roughly into the quarters by the guards and left to bleed on the floor, covered in open, undressed wounds. It is clear that many of the
individuals will die. Only four of the injured Y's survive the night. Only two of the Y's that were taken away are still in fair health, and it is whispered that they have healing factors, which
were activated during the experimentation.

He watches the female quarters every chance he gets, waiting, hoping against hope that he will see X. That she is still alive. He tries to find out which Y's have access to the females, to ask,
but is unsuccessful. No one wants to get in trouble. Josh tells him to leave it be.

Then, one day, he is being led back to the male quarters, just as the moon breaks through the clouds. He glances to the side as he follows the pack of internees, seeing a van. The back doors
are open and a guard is reaching in. A newcomer, he thinks. He stops in his tracks as he sees the girl that emerges—she is, perhaps, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. She has long black
hair that shines in the moonlight, and skin so pale it is almost white. Her features are perfectly formed. And curves, actual breasts which he has not seen in about half a year. It is obvious she
has not been at the camp long—she must have been local, because she does not look as if she has been starved at all, or even hurt. On the ground now, she stands straight, surveying her
surroundings. He wishes he were closer, to take her in properly.

A rifle butt slams into his back, causing him to stumble and almost fall. "Keep moving, you dumb piece of shit!" the guard shouts, furious.

In his cot, he does not fall asleep instantly as he had planned. He scrambles to the window and peers out into the darkness, towards the female complex. There! The girl is being led towards
the preparations building, where her hair will be shorn and she will be washed with a hose. He bites his lip. It's a shame to cut off all that long, beautiful hair…it's horrible of him to even think
of it, but all the same he wishes he could see her as she is washed. No, better, naked…for him.

He watches the preparation shed and falls asleep on the window sill.

The next day, as they are being herded out for the workday, he trails by the fence, hoping to catch another glimpse. The guard is busy yelling at someone who has tripped up ahead, hitting
them with the butt of his rifle.

Clink. Beside him—the girl is at the fence, her fingers hooked into the chain links. She has glossy, pink nails with white half-moons, almost a manicured look. And green eyes, brilliant green
eyes that watch him under thick lashes.

It can't be.

"X?!" he whispers, unable to help himself.

She gives what he assumes is a small nod, her lips tilting up slightly at the corners. They're much fuller now—her whole face is.

He reaches through the fence for just a moment—touches her fingertips.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU IDIOTS STANDING AROUND FOR?! GET YOUR THUMBS OUT OF YOUR ASSES AND KEEP MOVING!" The rifle is fired in the air, and he tears himself away, annoyed
instead of scared. He wants to stay and touch her more, a lot more.

He'd like to snap the guard's neck for interrupting them, which is a dangerous desire.

-x-

"DISOBEDIANCE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!" the guard screams, walking back and forth along the line. Someone has done something—splashed his potato-water in the supervisor's face.

Now they will all pay the price.

His breath catches as the guard pulls his pistol out of his holster and begins to shoot. Blood splatters in the air and hangs there, mist-like in the beams of sunlight leaking through the rafters.

Blam. Blam. Blam. Three men are shot in cold blood. The guard walks further down the line—towards him—and he sees it in slow motion, the pistol, the trigger finger as it depresses the
hateful piece of metal—and the consequent bullet, as it leaves the barrel and passes through Josh's head beside him on the way to the wall behind.

SPLAT! Half his face, and his shoulders, is covered in his friend's blood and interstitial fluids. Josh keels straight over on the ground and leaks the rest onto the thirsty, dusty ground at his
bare feet. He feels hate and vomit rising up in his throat, but Santo beside him raises his hand and places it heavily on his forearm, his eyes pleading him not to.

His death will do no good. It will help no one, no one at all. It might get everyone a bullet in their head. He struggles to understand that martyrs have no place but a shallow grave here. He
swallows the vomit, because he'll pass out if he loses the little left in his stomach. No one has gotten to eat, because of the incident.

The blood has made them blend in. No one else is shot, and they are sent back to work, trembling and soaked. He almost cuts off his own hand several times, tears streaming down his
cheeks, and his face aches from contortion.

He wants to die, he realizes. He should have acted out, right then. Rip out the guard's throat with his bare fingers, which are certainly strong enough after all this labor. He'd have been
shot, for sure, but it would be worth it.

-x-

He punches his pillow angrily, the only thing that will not make noise and bring the fucking guards running. He crouches on his bed, realizing that he's never going to see his friend peer over the
edge again, telling him a tall tale, and he considers making a noise.

That might get everyone killed, though.

He slips into a shallow sleep, almost like unconsciousness. Blacking out. He starts sometime later and looks up at his window for reasons he is uncertain of.

The girl is at the fence, watching him. She beckons with her finger.

Before he would have hesitated, but now he just doesn't care. Let them shoot him. He creeps to the door and peers out, sees that the guard has his back turned and is smoking a cigarette. Very
quietly he rounds the corner and disappears from view. The side of the quarters, this section of the fence, is unmonitored. He approaches her, his heart beating hard in his chest.

"Wha—" he whispers. She reaches through and places her finger to his lips. Be quiet. He's always to be quiet. Her eyes are sad. Maybe she knows what happened. Her finger runs down his lower
lips, to his chin, and she hooks her finger, pulling him closer. He doesn't want this—kissing her through a goddamn fence—but he can't help it. The links taste bitter between them, but he can feel
part of her lips through it. It's enough, for the moment. He wants to pull her closer but he can't get his arm through the links.

He wants to kick the fence but that will be the end of it—for her, too. He wouldn't risk her life for something so trivial. For anything, actually.

He slips two of his fingers through the link and places them over her heart, feeling it beat softly under the thin paper gown. She has instructed him to be quiet, but he has to tell her. "I love you," he
whispers earnestly. It's the first time he's ever said it in his life, and he's never meant anything more.

She smiles slightly and holds her finger to her lips again. Then she reaches up, and slowly pulls on the fence, beside the pole. It peels away, and his eyes widen, as it acts like a makeshift gate. It has
obviously been fixed by someone for this purpose.

She pulls the flap aside, towards her.

His heart pounds in his ears. He wants to rush through the hole and knock her against the wall, but he must be slow and silent. He forces himself to slowly maneuver through the gap, his bare foot
sinking into the wild, unkempt grass and weeds, on the other side. Not even in his fantasies has he considered being able to do this, to be here.

Completely on the other side now. She pushes the flap back in place, and it blends acceptably with the post. It will probably hold under quick inspection.

She leans in, her lips by his ear. "We have an hour. Be quiet and copy me." Her hand takes his and he doesn't argue. They creep towards the preparations unit, where newcomers are taken. There are
no guards by the door, and he wonders what she has done to affect this.

He decides he doesn't want to know.

Click. The door shuts behind them, and she turns the lock. Now there is an empty, dimly lit room (with light from the washing room). There is a gurney in the center, and she's walking towards him, smiling
again, her fingers reaching for his waist. So direct.

"Wait," he whispers, and he reaches for the hem of her white paper shift. He wants to tear it away, but then she wouldn't have anything. It slides off, revealing the smooth skin he's been dreaming
about. He finally gets to touch it, cup it, feel it under his fingers. Soft. Softest thing in this camp.

He presses against her so she can feel how he appreciates her figure, and she pulls back her upper body slightly, studies him, her eyes shifting back and forth in the dark. She looks—surprised? He
can't tell. He doesn't need to know, right now as he backs her into the gurney and lifts her up on the edge, not sure what he's going to do. He's never done this before, what if he disappoints her? He
thinks back to everything he knows on the subject and starts by pressing kisses down her shoulders.

He reaches her breasts, which fascinate him endlessly. He's never gotten to touch a boob before. He's always wondered what they feel like. Now he cups it, and feels compelled to explore it
further. She seems to find this acceptable; after a while of nudging the center with his tongue he looks up and sees that her eyebrows are drawn together. For a second he's worried that it's a
look of displeasure, but then she smiles at him, just slightly, and he continues, reassured that he is on the right path. He switches to the other swell and explores it, trying to find differences
but failing. Her skin is flawless and soft.

"Lower," she whispers, and he realizes her breathing has changed. He puts his hand on her ribcage and feels that it is rising faster.

He smiles—he hasn't done that for a while. It almost hurts his face.

His fingers slip down her sides, to her hips, and he bends down. It's an awkward position, but he's not complaining. He kisses her stomach, her navel, then her hipbone, wondering if he'll know
what to do. He wishes he had paid more attention to porn before. His heart pounds in his ears as he slides his tongue down to the center, the union of her legs, and tastes, closing his eyes.

It's like bananas, and strawberries. He hasn't had anything sweet for more than half a year now, and he realizes it makes him hungry. He licks it off her slowly, and her legs arch. He scoots closer and
pulls them over his shoulders, then delves deeper into her, thinking he might explode just doing this. She's breathing heavier, trying to keep quiet, then he notes something is more pronounced and
pays attention to it. She tosses her head back and makes a very soft noise, which he takes as a good sign. He continues, focusing his exploration on this area and suddenly she tenses her abdomen
under his fingers, her breaths making soft whuffs in the still air.

"Stop," she whispers, a moment later, her hand on his shorn head. He looks up and catches her eyes, which are slightly glazed.

"Did you—"

She nods slightly, then takes his hand, on her abdomen, and pulls him up, so he is standing between her legs. He has again that thought that he might burst as she touches him, there, guiding him.

"…" he doesn't have a word for the feeling. She's so tight, squeezing him out as he tries to go in. His mind goes completely blank, completely instinctive, and he pushes all the way in. He lasts about
three seconds, her hands gripping the muscles of his behind and squeezing.

"Uhh," he grunts involuntarily, his arms shaking and his stomach seizing. He feels like he's pushing his insides, blood, guts and all into her because it hurts. At the same time, it's the best feeling. He
isn't finished and already he wants more.

X looks serious. "Be quiet," she whispers sternly in response, instead. Her hands slide up to his neck and tilting his head into her shoulder. He takes it into his mouth, needing something to hold.

"Do not do that again," she whispers.

It occurs to him that he hasn't heard her voice for a long time, her real voice. She's always whispering. He draws back and looks at her, wondering what she means. Then he understands.

It's something he's never had to think about before. He pants and wonders if even this is going to turn against him. And her.

For a minute they stay like this, then he needs more, despite what they have just thought of. She lets him play with her a few more times (he is careful now) before she finally reaches for her shift.

"We must go back," she warns.

At the door, she stops, turns around, lays her hand on his shoulder. "Do not think about your friend," she whispers, her eyes gleaming in the dark.

He realizes he'd forgotten about Josh, for the duration of the hour. Does that make him a monster? His eyes burn again.

"But—"

"It was not your fault. He is in a better place now."

He feels better. X has told him what he needs to hear, like a command. She squeezes his hand then leads him into the darkness. He feels afraid again—he doesn't want to let go of her hand,
doesn't want to be alone again. They are at the fence, though, and she draws back the section.

"I—thank you," he whispers. She shhh's him.

He looks at her as she smiles. Her teeth…her teeth are perfect again. None are missing. He stares, then dismisses it.

It's not important now.

They kiss one last time, then he reluctantly steps through the gap again. He wants to ask if he will see her again, like this, but when he turns around, she is gone. He stands for a moment, then
creeps back to the Y quarters just as the guard's boot disappears around the corner. It's the end of the night watch, and the guards are changing. He slips in quickly and tiptoes back to his bed.