Ginny's chest heaved as she gasped for clean air, but finding only damp misery clawing at her throat.
Valentin huffed in dissatisfaction, but didn't comment further.
"I know," Ginny snarled, clenching her hands and screwing her eyes shut. She reached down, down inside, seeking a flickering fire caught in a cage and-
She bit her lip nearly to the point of blood as her suppresor band gave her a warning shock. Ginny shook her wrist, trying to unseat the nuisance but knowing it was a pointless action. Habit, just like coming down to the tiny storage room and trying to exercise her power.
Valentin picked at his nails.
Ginny's skin was starting to steam from the effort, compounding the horrible humidity in the cramped space.
"Deep," Valentin coached for the hundredth time, "like ocean. Breathe. Find the fire."
Dive deeply into your power, and breathe it in. Become the fire. Rise with it. Bring it to the surface. Ginny dove. The suppressor shocked her faster this time, and Ginny let out an involuntary yelp.
A whisper of a knock interrupted her second try, and a long pause before the final knock. Valentin opened the storage door to let in Mr. Volkov.
"No good," Valentin reported without bothering to hide his contempt for Ginny's effort.
Ginny, skin steaming, crouched over and nearly heaving from exertion, flipped him the bird.
"Clearly something's happening," Mr. Volkov chuckled. "Here," he offered ginny a bottle of water, "drink."
It went down in three large gulps, clear and fresh and not at all like the poorly-filtered greenish water she was used to seeing at mealtimes. But everything seemed just a little green nowadays. Condensation clung to every surface, little algal blooms along the floor, and black mold in the cracks between spaces. Their jumpsuits were always returned still a little damp from laundering, and the sheets of their cots clung to damp, sweaty skin at night. Always a little too warm, always a little too humid, and getting a little worse each day.
No longer were there buckets to catch the rivulets of seawater dripping from the ceiling - the water ran, and dripped, and caught where it would catch. Crusts of sea salt collected in the cracks of Ginny's hands from wiping the water off her seat, off her bed, off of her hair.
Her hands tingled as she wiped the sea-salt sweat from her brow, hot and frustrated and still-steaming. Ginny sniffed her arm. "Ugh," she said, "Why do I smell like bleach?" She sniffed again. "If they're treating the water to kill the mold it isn't working."
Valentin left the space without any visible indication from Mr. Volkov, but Ginny wasn't stupid. "Mrs. Ellis," he started, taking a seat on an overturned plastic bucket, "I do have some concerns."
"I'll be ready," she promised, already wishing she hadn't finished her clean water so soon, but not daring to ask her almost-employer for more.
"If you aren't, our agreement is null and void."
"I understand." She nodded. "How long do we have?"
In a rare expression of frustration, the older Russian sighed. "That is uncertain. There seems to have been an unexpected shift in the weather, so rainstorms strong enough to cover our operation aren't predicted for some time. We may be waiting for Hurricane season after all."
Ginny's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Can you wait that long?"
Mr. Volkov shot her a warning look, and Ginny raised her hands, palm-out, in a harmless but defensive gesture. "Forget it."
"Exactly how much," Mr. Volkov said slowly, "do you presume to know about what we're doing?"
A test? Ginny wondered. "Well," she said slowly, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck and trying to ignore the salty-bleach smell she was putting off. The steam was starting to die down and the smell was going with it. "It can't be a coincidence that you're here with two henchmen," Ginny nodded at the door, and the absent Valentin. "The likelihood of three Russian gang members - or Russian government, I'm not convinced you're not spies - being identified and captured for sentence to the Raft is low, especially considering that you're not a moron."
"So you're all three here on purpose. Some people thought that they're your bodyguards, but they didn't bother intervening during riots. So they're not here to guard you, so they're here as another kind of muscle; the lifting kind." Mr. Volkov raised an eyebrow, but did not contradict.
Ginny continued. "You time responses of all kinds, looking to see how long power outages last, guard response times, and Avenger response times. That must be to identify your heist window."
Ginny feigned cleaning her hands off on her jumpsuit, though it didn't do much. "You three were intentionally captured to steal something heavy, and intensely valuable, from a part of the raft that you'll need lots of time to infiltrate."
Mr. Volkov shook his head and chuckled lowly. "You are woefully underutilized as a housewife. All this power, all this," he gestured widely at her, "to save one poor soul."
"I won't leave him in there," Ginny said quietly. "You know they'll never let him out."
He clucked his tongue at her. "And without some semblance of power at your willing disposal, neither will you."
Ginny risked another question. "Do you know what happened to him?"
Ivan gave her an appraising look. Without his gargoyles looming over he seemed strangely taller. "How much do you know about attempts to force mutations? Enhanced, that is?"
She shrugged. "Absolutely nothing."
He rubbed his index and middle fingers against his thumb and picked something out of his fingernails. "In my experience, there are three kinds of powers. Those blessed by God - such as yourself - those blessed by science - like your Captain - and those cursed by Man. Your friend falls into the last category."
"I don't understand," Ginny replied, frowning.
Ivan Volkov flicked his wrist in the common gesture, trying to ease the itch of his suppressor band. "My mother Russia - do you believe they sat idly by while the United States flaunted God's Righteous Man for almost a century? Of course not," he waved away the thought. "They endeavored to make one of him, of course. They tried many times."
Ginny let her head fall back to rest against the wall. "I feel like I don't know anything."
That made him smile. "I would not argue with that. Your much larger friend - De Leon - he is another blessing entirely."
"I'm not even going to ask," Ginny said, shaking her head.
"That seems wise. Such stories are not meant for the dark."
Something still bothered her, though. "But you called Lukas's power a curse."
He hummed in reply. "If it were a blessing it would not be beyond his ability to control. He was never meant to have it, as he was not made for it. Just because the potential is there does not mean it should be bent into that shape."
Now she understood. "It's too much for him is what you're saying."
"While yours remains stubbornly out of reach, despite your best efforts. Ironic, no?"
"I'll be ready," she vowed.
He dipped his head in what some might see as a mocking deference. "Of course, Mrs. Ellis. I expect nothing less."
Valentin opened the door without knocking, and Mr. Volkov stood. "Take the day. Get some sleep. Perhaps the clarity of sleep will be our ally."
Ginny let her head droop as the door closed behind them, taking a moment to revel in the brief silence and peace. She flexed her hands, trying to ease the ache from hours of tight clenching in determination. Her joints creaked as she massaged her hands in turn, trying pointlessly to smooth out new callouses and salt-irritated flesh.
She stood, stretched, and groaned as her back cracked. She had just enough space in the small room to really stretch - to reach her arms out and feel her shoulders roll, to feel the aching changes of captivity and determination. Leaning to the side, she could feel new muscles running under her clothes ripple and roll, smoothly and effortlessly following along what had once been a challenge. She folded, propped up on her hands and kicked her feet up, balancing easily.
These new things came easily, but her power still remained stubbornly out of reach. She could feel the hum of the Raft under her hands, the constant vibration of engines and water-pumps and the subtle tap-tap-tap of water that echoed everywhere, but she couldn't touch that buried fire.
It had to be there, of course. She kicked down from the handstand, patting at her jumpsuit to help it settle again, and wondered when she had lost the last of that stubborn belly-fat that had resisted any and all exercise after her second pregnancy. Her belly ached deep as she thought about her children, and she clutched at her stomach. She would do this for them. She would escape, she would be free again, she would. She just had to find that fire in time.
Checking to make sure everything was just as she found it, Ginny opened the storage room door and slipped out into the dark hall.
"Geneva," Miguel's voice rumbled from the dark, "please stop this."
Ginny flinched in surprise but did her best to hide it with humor. "No can do," she said flippantly, "And, honestly, I'm disappointed in you." She started to walk back towards her bunk, Miguel appearing out of a dark alcove.
He walked beside her, indifferent to the rules that disallowed their company. He did this from time to time, with no consistency. The growing shadows as intruding water continually interrupted delicate electronics could only aid them both, and all efforts to repair the Raft seemed to be an increasingly uphill battle.
Ginny glanced at her friend, thinking about Volkov's comments. "Does that thing even work on you?" she nodded to his suppressor bracelet.
"It tickles sometimes." He flicked his wrist. "But it is not what keeps me here. I stay for you and for my family. If I leave, I am not so naive to believe there won't be repercussions for my loved ones."
Questions swirled around her head. "You stay for me, for your family, but not for Lukas?" Her reasons weren't a mystery to the large Mexican; she had tried to sway him to her side multiple times, and he had always refused.
"I do not understand what it is about that irritating child that inspires such compassion in you." Miguel sighed deeply. "Lukas was beyond saving the moment he released his power. Do you think liberty will save him? He would burn this place to ashes given freedom, whether he meant to or not."
"Fuck you," Ginny hissed.
Miguel seized her arm as she tried to turn away. "You have no idea what it's like to suddenly be drowning in a power not meant for you. You are not like them; the artificial ones. "
"And apparently neither are you, so mind your own damn business." Ginny could feel the electricity in the air as Miguel's eyes glittered gold. Her hands tingled, her flesh heating, but that angry fire still only a distant wish. "I won't give up. I refuse to die here; why are you just… fine with it?"
Miguel let go of her arm. "I have no plans to die here either, Geneva. I am just more patient, and less compassionate, than you."
"Then what are you waiting for so patiently?"
The internal debate on whether or not to answer played out on his face. He yielded only briefly, sighing. "A crack in the dam which has not yet finished construction. Patience, Geneva."
Aching hands clenched, tired joints creaking against frustration, and she burned. "You and Volkov really are the same." She jabbed an accusing finger at Miguel. "If you've ever been my friend, then stay out of my way."
That seemed to hurt. "I am your friend, Geneva. That's why I'm still here. I will stand beside you on this road to ruin, begging you to stop. Volkov and his monsters will let you burn alive to light his path."
He seemed earnest enough. He appeared, time and time again, pleading for her to turn away from this near-vengeance. Ginny stopped, taking a steadying breath. "If I turn away and leave him there. If I stop and just say 'phew! Glad it isn't me!', I am ignoring the fact that someday, it will be me they put in that box. Someday, they'll say 'that firestarter is a monster, she deserves to be in there to keep the rest of us safe,' and away I'll go."
Her chest ached as Miguel contemplated her words, captured in the coming and going of glittering gold in his eyes. His suppressor band never made a sound, and Ginny wondered if it could even detect… whatever his power was. Almost as an afterthought, she added; "I wouldn't trust Ivan to carry a suitcase of State secrets, but I believe that he'll keep his end of our bargain."
"Your compassion, Geneva…" Miguel groaned, rubbing a hand along his face in frustration. "But Volkov?"
"I could choose a worse monster to follow," she joked. "Besides, aren't we all monsters here?"
"Not yet." Miguel's sad smile spoke volumes. "I think…" he hummed, and Ginny's heart leapt with hope. "I don't understand the depths of your compassion." The sinking of her heart must have shown on her face, because Miguel held up a waiting hand. "But," he said, "perhaps that is because you were meant to teach me."
He held out his hand in the flickering light. Ginny took his hand and he shook it, once. "How can I be of service?" he asked, eyes glittering like a conqueror's golden dreams.
The first thing that Lukas did on awakening was sneeze. The humidity was murder on his sinuses, and he often blew out bloody mucus morning and night. But it was quiet, at least. "Morning, Gruesome," he greeted automatically, sitting up on his slab of a bed and stretching.
In the cell directly across from his, a pile of vines rumbled, rolling over like discarded yard waste being shoveled around, and coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape. Tight ribbons of plant and leaf and vine lifted and looped around itself, the thick material groaning like a solid person might yawn.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, checking his socks draped over the little steel sink to see if they'd dried properly in the night - no luck. He'd go barefoot again today to give them a little more time.
The pile of vines collapsed all at once, then reformed into the human-shape, but lumpy. Something not an arm and something not a finger lifted to point at the thick acrylic pane that served as its only window into the Box. It had carved several squiggly words into the surface, mostly correctly, but a few of the letters weren't carved right. There was a YES and NO, a question mark, and that was pretty much it.
NO, the arm slapped.
"Yeah," Lukas groaned, trying to get a stiff spot out of his back by stretching, "me neither." Lukas stared at his plastic slippers. "I don't know if today's Sunday, but it feels like a Sunday." he looked up at his friend. "Were you - are you… religious?"
It seemed to contemplate the question, something that wasn't eyebrows furrowing over twinkling lights in something that wasn't eye sockets. A not-arm lifted, gesturing to one of the carved words.
YES
Lukas knelt at his bedside. "I think I want to pray. Do you want to pray with me?"
YES
Lukas nodded. "Our Father, who art in heaven…" Lukas stopped. "Dear God, you dick," he began again, "who gave you the right?" white knuckles still clasped in prayer, head bowed in supplication, he prayed to his angry God. He couldn't come up with more to say, not without feeling the emotion claw the words back into his chest, never allowed to fly freely.
The vines rumbled; a grumbling, whining, discontended sound. It collapsed, no longer the shape of a man, and churned on itself. It stood again, slightly more shaped, but the arms were still too long. They dragged as it drew closer to the huge acrylic pane that defined its cell.
NO. It smacked the word with some irritation.
"What, I can't be mean to God?"
NO.
"Spoilsport. He was mean first." Lukas bowed his head again. "Thank you for my new friend. They don't talk much, which lets me talk as much as I'd like. I-" he paused, glancing at the vines. "I need a name for you, Gruesome."
The vines churned again, dropping into a heap. They wiggled, like a dog rolling around on a carpet, struggling to reform. Lukas watched for a minute before returning to his prayer.
"Thank you for this second chance, and… the silence. I forgot what it was like to feel like my feelings were my own. I wish I hadn't ignored all of your signs not to volunteer for that place. I… I needed the money. I didn't think they'd make me do those things." There was that shame again. "I'm sorry."
A scraping, scratching sound drew his attention up again. The vines had reformed again, slightly better shaped, and had lifted one malformed arm to carve into the acrylic. It had done this before, with the YES and NO, but hadn't done much since the question mark.
Lukas had to tilt his head a little to read the letter. "P?" he asked, unsure. It could have been an R or a K as well.
YES.
"Does your name start with P?"
YES. YES.
The vines continued, scribbling a near-resemblance of another letter. "P-A-... sorry, Gruesome, you need to work on your handwriting. Patrick?"
NO.
"Peter?"
NO.
"Parker?"
"Paisley?"
The vines grumbled.
NO. NO.
"Has to ask. Patton?"
NO.
"Paul?"
The vines wiggled in what could only be described as delight. YES. YES. YES.
Lukas laughed, the sound echoing strangely in the confined space. "It's nice to finally meet you, Paul."
YES. YES.
Lukas bowed his head to finish his prayed. "And God, thank you for my friend, Paul. Amen."
A/N: So, because I think I'm clever, I've hidden a hint to an absolutely MASSIVE plot detail in this chapter. Did you spot it?
Look at me struggling to switch over to the B Plot.
I've been reading a lot on writing tools, because while I've got the big plot triggers and moments written out, I want them all to make sense. I want it to almost seem inevitable, to be both shocking and unavoidable. While WIAS is my most researched story, intended to be as true to the source material and history as possible, OVOH really is my exploration into human nature, idealism, nationalism, and obsession. It's a lot to put on a fanfiction story, but apparently I like writing love stories where the world itself feels so real, and the love portions are a relief and a retreat from the external.