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#also my pity is coming soon maybe in about 30-40 wishes so i might be getting a 5 star
kjclfaller · 3 years
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XINGQIU IS GONNA BE IN THE NEXT BANNER YEAHHHHH
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thekisforkeats · 3 years
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Ooh jm + shy kiss for the prompts?
Ohhh good one! I had to think about this a little and actually wrote up a bunch that didn't quite work at first. But! Here it is!
Set somewhere in the first few minutes of 160, in those weeks between arriving at the safehouse and Hazel Rutter. Featuring autistic Martin trying to navigate social situations because that is evidently what I write now.
(Incidentally the term "weak ties" was coined by a Stanford researcher in 1973. Link to the relevant paper. Credit where due, and all.)
(No beta no edits we die like archive assistants.)
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It takes Martin a week to convince Jon to come down into the village with him.
If he's being honest with himself--and he's trying very hard to be honest with himself these days, so he can identify any Lonely-type thoughts--he really just wants to show off his boyfriend to the nice lady at the little shop in the village where he's been picking up essentials.
Martin is a naturally friendly person, or maybe a naturally personable person. This was not always the case; he had to practice a great deal to memorize all the scripts to smooth social interactions that other people seem to navigate without thinking about it at all. It can be horribly exhausting, just going to the shops. It's one of the reasons the Lonely appealed to him; how much easier to just move through life without having to recite all those canned lines?
Now that he's out of its grip, he's come to realize how much those interactions matter. He's been reading a lot on the internet about depression and social interaction, about social circles, and one thing that caught his eye is the idea of "weak ties," those people we're not exactly friends with, but who we see on a regular basis and who help us feel connected to a larger community. People who don't really know us and yet know something about us that helps us feel seen. The bus driver who gives you a familiar nod every morning. the barista who's prepping your order as soon as he notices you in line, the shop lady who tries to keep your favorite tea in stock.
So Martin is trying to cultivate those relationships, to feel part of a wider community, rather than just relying on Jon. He thinks that maybe if he'd had more of that, before, if he'd tried harder to go through the world being seen, he might have handled Jon's coma and his mother's death in some kind of healthier manner.
Maybe not, of course, but he's going to use any tool he can to keep the Lonely at bay.
At any rate, even beyond being very good at social scripts, Martin does genuinely like people, he's a good listener, for an autistic guy he's practically a social butterfly. And Elspeth is a nice lady, maybe mid-40's, the kind of person who runs a shop because she actually likes interacting with a stream of customers on a regular basis. So she's just the sort of person for Martin to practice his "weak tie" skills.
Because, naturally, one of the key benefits of "weak ties" is that they are the sort of people you get to be public about your relationship with when none of your closer friends are around.
Yeah, no, all of the above is just flimsy justification, if Martin's being really honest with himself. He's just madly in love and wants literally everyone within a 500-mile radius to know.
That morning, Martin makes a big show of how badly he wants to spend time with Jon, no really, but he really does have to go down into the village.
"We're out of tea!"
"I don't think we have anything for dinner!"
"But I really want to keep listening to you talk about Scottish history!"
And so on.
Jon gives him a tolerantly amused look, and Martin flushes. Is he that transparent, or is Jon just that good at reading him?
"I suppose I can go into the village with you, Martin," he says, eyes glittering. "Since you're so terribly interested in the House of Stuart. I'd hate to leave you wondering what happened to James II."
Martin would feel guilty, but he can tell Jon is pleased to be "indulging" him, and it's not like Martin hasn't been listening to Jon infodump about whatever random facts Beholding's been given him all week.
They hold hands all the way down into the village, and it's nice, to walk through the place and be seen, together. It's comfortable. They'd held hands on walks before, long ago in London, before the Unknowing, but back then they hadn't been sure what they were, hadn't managed to broach the delicate barrier between "friends" and "something else." Now, they're "boyfriends," and Martin keeps finding himself wanting to go up to each person he sees on the street and shout, "This is my boyfriend, Jonathan Sims!!"
By the time they reach Elspeth's shop, he's feeling a little giddy.
He pushes open the door and the little bell rings, and Elspeth looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Martin!" she says, and Martin's whole body warms in a very pleasant manner, that this woman he's only known a week remembers him. "Oh, and this must be the elusive Jon." She gives them one of those teasing smiles people give to new couples, glittering eyes and amusement at the silly things people do when they're in limerence.
"Yes," Martin says, and suddenly the words stick in his throat. "Yes, this is... is... umm..." Oh, why has he suddenly frozen like a deer in headlights? Why can't he remember the right words?
"Jonathan Sims," Jon says smoothly, stepping forward to offer the woman his hand. "And yes, I'm Martin's boyfriend."
It occurs to Martin, all at once, that neither of them have said that out loud to anyone else. No wonder he's frozen up.
Elspeth glances at the burn scars on Jon's hand only briefly, then smiles--and it's a genuine smile, not one of those pitying ones people sometimes put on when they see scars like that--and shakes said hand. "Pleased to meet you," she replies. "Elspeth Douglas." She has the Highland accent, but softened; she spent her 20's and 30's in London, she's said, and came back to take over the family store when her father fell ill. The similarity might be part of why Martin likes her--that and the fact that it seems that helping her sickened parent improved her life.
"Ahh, yes. The not-so-elusive Elspeth." Jon actually flashes a grin, which Martin finds remarkable. Since when is Jon... friendly? Well, maybe he's trying for Martin's sake. If so, Martin very much appreciates the effort.
The woman behind the counter laughs, and says, "How can I help you?"
"Oh," Martin manages, his brain catching up and letting his mouth work again, "we're just here for tea and things."
"Of course," Elspeth says. "I'll be here when you're ready."
They turn away, to go deeper into the aisles.
"She seems nice," Jon says almost absently. "Shame about her fa--" He pauses, and frowns. Shakes his head, looking irritated. "You didn't tell me about that," he grumbles.
"No, I didn't. But thank you for trying to keep it in," Martin says.
Jon sighs, lowering his voice. "It's becoming harder and harder to separate what I've learned on my own from what Beholding gives me. How much of my thoughts are mine anymore? Did I actually memorize all those facts about the House of Stuart, or am I getting the... mental Wikipedia page, as it were?"
"Seems like a thing you'd know," Martin comments offhandedly. He's focused on figuring out what kind of rice to buy. He wants to try his hand at sticky rice, which really should have calrose, but Jon likes jasmine rice. Do they get both?
He doesn't want to think about Beholding, and how much of it is Jon anymore. He prefers just thinking about it as something like a smartphone app Jon can use without having to actually have a phone in front of him. He does not want to think about how much of his boyfriend has been potentially consumed by some kind of eldritch thing that feeds on fear.
He really doesn't want to think about the idea that maybe soon, Jon won't even need rice anymore, and will just live off statements, no matter how much he jokes about his partner's "eating habits."
Jon has been talking as Martin's been staring at the rice, but Martin hasn't heard any of it. He's brought back to himself by a squeeze of Jon's hand in his.
"Hey," Jon says softly. "You okay?"
In Jon's voice, Martin hears all the concern that Martin himself has been feeling. He forces himself to look at Jon, and sees bright green eyes staring out of a deep brown face. He realizes he's gotten used to the color of Jon's eyes; before the coma, Jon's eyes were brown, like a deep carnelian, and so large and dark sometimes Martin thought he could fall right into them and be happy drowning there. Now they're green, bright and disarming, and Martin's pretty sure this is why Jon still wears glasses he no longer needs, to hide those strange eyes behind plastic lenses.
Those eyes are looking up at him intensely now, and Jon's brow is furrowed, and his mouth is pulled into a frown in a way that highlights one of the worm scars near his lip, and all of it is adorable, but it's also disconcerting for the contrast between the softness of his voice and the intensity of his expression.
Is Jon as afraid of losing Martin to Forsaken as Martin is of losing Jon to Beholding?
Martin frowns at him for a moment, then sighs. "I just..." He has to look away, back to the bags of rice. "I just... don't like thinking about that. Beholding, and... all of it. I just... I just wish..."
"You wish we could be normal." Jon's tone is still soft, and filled only with love and no sort of guilt or self-recrimination.
"Yeah," Martin says, still staring at the rice.
There's a hesitation, and then Jon says, softly and slowly, "You know... normal people deal with these sort of difficult things, too. There's so much out there that can hurt people... the things we deal with, they're weirder than most of the rest of it, but..."
"Yeah, I know, Jon, I just..." Martin hunches his shoulders. "Don't want to lose you again," he finally mumbles.
Jon hesitates a moment, and then he leans in to give Martin a soft kiss on the cheek.
Martin flushes bright red--Elspeth's right there!--and turns to stare at Jon. "W-what... what was... that for?!"
Jon, too, is blushing. "I just... ah... I just... wanted you to know that... that I'm... here. You haven't... lost me. Or anything."
"Oh," Martin says. "Well. Thank you."
There's a moment where they just look at each other, and then Jon blurts, "...Can I kiss you again? It's just, I haven't all morning, and I really sort of wanted to spend the morning cuddling, but you wanted to come down to the shops..."
"Here?!" Martin stares at him.
"We can go behind the shelves if you like," Jon says, blushing furiously.
For some reason, this makes Martin giggle, and then he leans down to brush his lips to Jon's. Softly, shyly, as if they haven't been kissing each other all week, because he really is terribly aware of the fact that there are other people around.
"Tell you what," Martin says as he pulls back, surprisingly breathless despite how short the contact of their lips was, "let's finish up the shopping and then we can cuddle all afternoon."
Jon smiles up at him. "Promise?" The smile widens. "You're not going to drag me around to introduce me to every villager individually?"
"I was not--!" Martin glares at him, but now Jon's smile has become one of those shit-eating grins he gets sometimes, and Martin can't stay mad at him at all.
"You knew," he accuses, but there's no heat in it.
"I had a hunch," Jon says, humming. "I didn't want to spoil your fun, though."
Martin rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take Jon's hand again. "Well, then, we'd better get to it. Jasmine or calrose? Rice, I mean."
"Both, I think," Jon says. "I find myself very much desiring normality of late, and rice is a terribly normal sort of thing."
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Take My Love: 3/?
SERIOUS WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER. THIS IS THE ACADEMY. PLEASE SKIP IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE TO THINGS LIKE. KIDS BEING TORTURED/EXPERIMENTED UPON. Also blood, mind control, manipulation, abuse, abuse of psychic powers, trauma, assumed major character death... there's just... a lot...
@sroloc--elbisivni wrote part of this and says they're sorry.
Summary: Allison Texas is a wanted woman. She stole something very valuable from the Alliance. And even if it’s going to bring a world of trouble down on their heads, Carolina can’t help but think it might be worth it.
Pairings: Church/Tex/Jackie (OC)
Previous
Also on Ao3
Five months and six days after Church leaves (four months and five days after Church breaks up with her) Jackie gets her email congratulating her on her acceptance to the Academy.
Unlike Church, refusing isn’t an option.
She’s a scholarship kid. Refusing means going back to the Rim with a useless education and no qualifications. At the Academy, they tell her, she’ll get proper training, so she can help people.
“What do you want to do with your life, Jacqueline?” The interview is a part of the process. Church just got in, but they’re making Jackie jump through hoop after hoop. Jackie sits very still in her best uniform (the one that cost her every penny she’d saved for a year to buy).
“I want to be a psychologist,” she says. “I want to help people.”
“You scored very highly on your entrance exams,” the man says. His eyes are a burning, familiar shade of green. But they’re different than Church’s eyes. Jackie loves Church’s eyes--they’re leaves and springtime and life. Jackie thinks this man’s eyes are dead. Poison, maybe.
“Thank you,” Jackie says.
“Tell me, Jacqueline. Have you found your field has helped you to understand people better?”
Jackie is sixteen, almost seventeen. She has been alone for several months, alone in a giant school without Church or Tex to hold her back in her experiments or to haul her away from her books. She nods. “I do, sir,” she says. “I think it’s helped a lot.”
He glances at her file again. “I believe you might be just what we’re looking for, Jacqueline,” he says, and his smile is nothing like Church’s. It’s brittle and cold and it causes a sinking feeling in Jackie’s stomach.
He offers her a hand. “Welcome to the Academy,” he says.
She takes it. His hand is cold but his grip is firm and she determinedly does not think of Church as she shakes it. “Thank you sir! I won’t let you down.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” he says, and his eyes are cold and cruel.
Jackie’s a week into the Academy before her first session.
She’s called out of class, and she sees the pitying looks the other students give her. She wonders what this all is about.
She’s shown to a room where the floor is bare concrete and there are no windows.
“Hello Jackie,” the man says. “My name is Aiden Price. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Jackie sits down carefully in the only chair in the room. The chair looks odd. She doesn’t understand what’s happening.
“Leonard has spoken very highly of you,” he says.
“That doesn’t sound like Church,” she says automatically, before biting her lip. She needs to watch her tongue. Insulting the son of the Director could get her in trouble. But she hasn’t seen Church all week and she knows he’s avoiding her, so she’s bitter.
He raises an eyebrow at her, amused by her candor instead of insulted. “Let’s begin.”
“Begin what, exactly?” She asks. She doesn’t understand the purpose of “sessions”. What are they supposed to do?
He takes a step towards her. “I believe a demonstration is in order. It’s far more effective than explanations” He touches her forehead with the palm of his hand and fire burns through her mind.
Jackie screams.
Church’s head snaps up. He knows that voice.
“Jackie!”
“Shut up!” His roommate hisses. She’s curled up on her side, bleeding from her nose again. “They’ll hear, and then they’ll make you watch her next session.”
Church clenches his jaw shut.
“Don’t have friends, idiot,” she says, coughing. Blood goes onto the pillow. “You’ve got to be careful, if you want to survive this place.”
The door swings open.
“Leonard,” the Counselor says. “I believe you’re acquainted with Jackie?” He’s holding Jackie’s arm. She’s got her eyes half-closed and she’s slumping up. His grip on her arm is the only thing keeping her upright.
Church stares at her, panicking. She’s not looking at him.
“I believe she will make an excellent roommate for you. Why don’t you come with me, Lucille?”
“No!” Church’s roommate flinches away. “I’m good, I’m fine, I’m—”
“Take her away,” Price says flatly, and security walks in, and drags her away.
She screams the whole way, too weak to fight but not still shouting curses and protests, begging and pleading. Church doesn't know what they’re going to do with her. He doesn’t think Lucille knows either.
“I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted,” Price says, letting Jackie drop to the floor. She doesn’t even manage to break her fall, doesn’t even move when she gets to the ground, just lays there, eyes still half shut. It takes everything Church has not to run to her until the door swings shut after him.
“Jacks,” he says, cradling her head in his lap, helping her adjust to a more comfortable position. He knows how much everything hurts after a session, knows how hard it is to get your muscles to move. “Jacks, are you okay? You with me?”
“Church?” She whispers, her eyes fluttering open and focusing on him for a moment. Her glasses are gone. Church wonders where they are. They’ll find them soon.
“I’m here,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I wish I didn’t.
Jackie’s mouth parts slightly, her eyes not focusing quite right. “I think something’s wrong,” she whispers.
“Everything’s wrong here,” Church says. His hand finds hers, but she doesn’t twine her fingers through his like she usually does, she just grips it as tightly as she can.
“Don’t leave me?” She asks. Tears are leaking out of the corner of her eyes, and Church feels helpless and furious and he doesn’t know what to do.
“I won’t. I won’t.”
Church has another session in five hours.
It’s Jackie’s turn to listen to his screams.
“Tex will come for us,” Church whispers in her ear, his arms wrapped around her waist. She’s bleeding from the nose today, but at least she’s not coughing. The coughing is bad. The coughing is when they take people away.
Nosebleeds they can handle.
She’ll come, she’ll come, she’ll come, he whispers into her mind.
That’s their secret.
That it’s working.
Show me again, she asks. Show me what you see.
There are several versions, but he picks the best one. Tex, in a uniform, breaking down the door. They’re both healthy. They take her hands. They run.
In some versions, she has to carry one of them.
In some versions, they have to leave one behind.
In some versions, one of them is already dead.
So Church focuses on this version instead; on the stark relief in Tex’s eyes, on the way fresh air feels on their faces when they run, on the way Jackie laughs when she feels sunlight on her skin for the first time in forever.
Jackie’s eyes flutter shut, soothed by the potential. Church presses his ear to her back, listening to her heart beat to reassure himself that she’s still there.
When he goes to sleep, he dreams of the Director cutting open Jackie’s brain.
“David!” Jackie writhes on the floor. “David!”
“Jacks!” Church tries to hold her hand but her eyes aren’t focusing on him, they’re staring into space. “Jacks! Wake up!”
“David!”
The door opens. “What’s happening in there?”
“I don’t know!” Church yells, trying to keep himself between Jackie and the guard as much as possible.
Jackie lets out a scream that’s as bad as any she lets out during her sessions, and Church tries to get into her head to calm her down but it’s wave after wave of panic and hurt and he doesn’t know how to battle through. Jackie’s head is usually an easy place to walk into but right now it’s a mess.
“What’s going on here?” Price is there, and Church freezes.
“David,” Jackie sobs again. “No, not David.”
The Counselor suddenly looks interested. “Is that so?”
“She’s having a nightmare,” Church blurts, desperate. “That’s all.”
“Perhaps,” Price says. “But I think Jackie might have been lying to me last session. This requires further examination.”
One of the guards knocks Church aside and picks up Jackie.
Church yells and tries to fight back, but the other guard backhands him into the wall. He tastes blood.
Jackie looks small and fragile in the guard’s arms. Her glasses are on the floor.
“Jackie!” Church yells, both in the real world and through their minds.
Jackie doesn’t say anything back.
--
Everything changes after that.
--
They’re trying something new at this session.
Church is restrained in a chair, as-per-fucking-usual, and there’s a screen, which isn’t unusual, but instead of pulling up the visual of a die or some computer program, footage of a battlefield starts playing.
It’s comprehensive, showing all the angles, and before he can stop it his mind is filling up with the odds of the next wave having tanks and how long the rebels with guns will hold out in their nest up on the north side and when this soldier will fire and he tries to stop but they keep pouring in—
67.2% odds of the Independents making a stand on the hill. 40% chance it will succeed. Introduce aircraft, odds drop to 22%. The soldiers holing up in the supply cache have a 78% chance of trying to make a run for it. 51.2% says they succeed.
He can feel Price in his head, plucking and sifting through all the information and can hear him dictating it, and wants to stop but can’t can’tcan’t—
The viewing angle shifts, going in closer, focusing on the Independent’s headquarters, and Church’s mind starts to lay out the possibility of the inhabitants surviving a direct grenade through prodding from Price.
30% 27%. 59%
Then the door opens.
Church’s mind suddenly pulls up images of red hair redder with blood, green eyes gone dull and dead, a brown coat torn to pieces, limbs separated from a too-familiar body and it’s all too much to much no please not her i won’t i won’t I won’t
“CAROLINA!” he screams, and his mind latches onto won’t won’t won’t won’t won’t and the images and probabilities of her dead and dying and broken and bloody and wounded and deaddeaddead won’tstop coming and
It’s a relief when he passed out.
He wakes up with Jackie prodding at him, psychically and physically, back in their room.
Church, Church, wake up wake up wake up you have to wake up this isn’t good at all at all at—
“Jacks,” he croaks, and tries to figure out the probability of her next session happening before they could both get some sleep and—
He sits bolt upright, almost whacking her in the head.
“Church?” her voice is strangled, some of his panicdelightfear carrying over
“Jacks,” he chokes, not sure which emotion to embrace when the images of his dead sister won’t leave his head. “Jacks, I can’t see anything."
Church has nearly three times as many sessions in the weeks that follow. Price is furious, doing everything he can to try to force the precognition back.
Today, Price tried to recreate the first session, and Church is throwing up, unable to keep anything down, while Jackie wraps her arms around him, trying to keep him upright long enough to finish emptying his stomach.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, she whispers in his head, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face.
Church shakes his head. They won’t stop. But I can’t see that again. I can’t I can’t.
She’s fine, Jackie tries to soothe him, guiding him back to her bed. Church’s is currently covered in blood from the major nosebleed this morning. You said she’s the best, she’ll be fine.
But what if she’s not? What if it’s my fault, what if I showed them how—
Jackie presses her lips against his forehead. Not your fault. Never your fault. Their fault. Theirs.
Church closes his eyes and tries to believe her, even as she wraps her arms around him, holding his head against her chest so he can hear her heartbeat.
She pulls him into her mind, and Church tries to relax.
It’s the grove back at school today—the grass is fake beneath their feet, but it’s there, and Church can savor it, because it’s something other than concrete and blood. They turn the corner, the lowest branches of the trees brushing against their faces, and Church smiles as he sees Tex, waiting for them.
The door bursts open, and Church stumbles out of the fantasy, just in time to feel Jackie pulled away from him.
He’s grabbed too, which is wrong, they never take both of them, that doesn’t make sense.
They’re pushed in separate directions, and Jackie yells his name, and Church yells hers, but the guards don’t react at all, pulling them apart.
Church goes to one of the main session rooms, and Price is waiting for him.
“Always good to see you,” Price says, as the guards manhandle Church into the chair. The restraints go around his wrists and his ankles as usual, but today there’s one around his forehead too. That’s never a good sign.
“Fuck you,” Church snaps, testing the bonds without any hope of them coming undone. They never have before.
“Hmm,” Price says, raising an eyebrow.
“Sir,” a female orderly pokes her head in. Church knows her. She runs the soldier section of the program. Church frowns, wondering what she’s doing. “Subject Sigma is in the ring and ready to go. Is the psychic ready?”
Church freezes.
“She is,” Price says.
“What?” Church yells, trying to turn to see the orderly better.
“We have plenty of psychics, Church,” Price says, kneeling in front of him. “Jackie’s… significantly less useful. And our soldiers always need to test themselves.”
A screen turns on behind him, and Church sees the arena, with Jackie standing in the middle of it.
“No,” Church whispers, eyes wide as a huge, hulking guy wearing black throws Jackie backwards.
“Of course,” Price says. “Jackie’s link with you is still open.” He smiles. “If you were to see the future, I suppose you could tell her how to survive.”
Church’s mouth tastes like ashes. He reaches out through the link. Jackie’s not thinking in words. It’s a blur of runhurtfearhurtrunCHURCH.
The soldier grabs Jackie by the throat and presses her against the wall, choking her. Church feels her pain through their link, feels the way the fingers are pressed against her trachea and the way her lungs burn and—
Church screams.
LET ME GO. The force of Jackie’s mental command reverberates through the link, and Church’s hands unclench instinctively, even though he’s never been compelled to obey Jackie’s manipulations.
And on the screen in front of him, Sigma’s grip falters for a moment, long enough for Jackie to break free.
She collapses onto the ground and starts crawling away.
“She’s getting better,” Price says. “Unfortunately, I doubt that trick will work again. Sigma is very good at shielding his mind.”
Church watches Sigma stride towards Jackie, who’s struggling to get onto her feet again, and he’s got a grenade, and Church freezes, remembering Carolina.
Jacks! Dodge right and then roll! He screams through their link, and Jackie scrambles to listen to him, relief pouring back to him.
Sigma doesn’t lay another hand on her for the rest of the round.    
Price smiles at him in that bland, meaningless way of his, pressing his palm against Church’s forehead, but there’s no pain this time. He’s just checking that everything’s back in place. “Very good,” he says, a satisfied look in his eyes. “I think Jackie won’t be needing to go into the arena again, don’t you agree?”
Church is drenched in sweat and miserable, shaking from head to toe in the restraints. Probabilities and possibilities and statistics swirl in his head again, and Church knows that if he opens his mouth only numbers will come out so he clenches his fists instead of replying.
Price digs his fingers into Church’s shoulder. “I really should thank you for bringing Jackie to our attention, Leonard,” he says. “It’s such a shame to think we might have passed over such a bright mind. What a waste it would have been.”
Church jerks back, because no. That’s a lie, it has to be a lie, there’s no way…
But they hadn’t been interested in Jackie before his first session.
Price is touching him, so Church does something incredibly stupid and follows the path back to Price’s mind to see if he’s telling the truth and—
Price’s mind is fire and lightning and steel teeth, and Church lets out another scream as Price smiles at him, perfectly aware of what he’s doing.
“I think it’s time for you to rest now, don’t you agree? Subject Alpha?”
Church wakes up on the bed with Jackie’s arms tightly wrapped around his stomach, her knees pressed into his back awkwardly. Jackie’s shaking like a leaf and her mind is radiating fear and anxiety and confusion.
“You’re awake,” she whispers, out loud for once. She scoots upward so she can hook her chin over his shoulder. “You slept a long time.” I was worried, she adds. I was so scared when they put me in there. Thanks for getting me out.
“Don’t thank me!” Church snaps, pushing away from her. He yelps as he goes over the edge of the bed. He rolls up onto his knees.
“Church?” What’s wrong?
“My fault, my fault, my fault,” Church presses his hands against his eyes. “You and Carolina and—”
Their fault, Jackie yells in their heads. Theirs!
Carolina’s not coming, she’s not coming and she’s dead and you nearly died and you’re here because of me, and—
Church is spiraling, and everything hurts, hurts worse than a session, hurts worse than Sigma’s fingers around Jackie’s neck—he can see the bruises and he wants to scream, so he does, because everything hurts.
“Church!” She grabs him. “It’s going to be fine!” She’ll come, she’ll come, Tex will come, she’ll get you out.
I can’t take it I can’t take it, Church thinks. I can’t take it I can’t take it.
That is the first time Leonard Church makes himself forget.
It will not be the last.
They bring Jackie to the arena again. For once, she isn’t drugged, but the guards have their shock batons out, in case she tries anything.
Jackie frowns, wondering if this is a session. Maybe it’s a new kind. Like the way they’ve been cutting open the brains of the new children.
Jackie hears them screaming a lot.
“Hello Jackie,” Price is a non-entity in Jackie’s mind, slipping in under her radar effortlessly. She hates it, hates being out of control even more than she usually is. “Today we’re going to try something new.”
Jackie feels cold. New is never good. New means another three days of headaches and nosebleeds and throwing up.
She clenches her fists but keeps her mouth shut.
“Bring them in,” Price says. Two of the soldier candidates are escorted out, dressed in all black and covered in bruises. They look at her with dead eyes.
“These two have been causing a lot of problems,” Price says to her. “They refuse to participate in the program.”
“We won’t fight for you!” One of them yells.
Price smiles indulgently. “Jackie,” he says in that perfectly mild way of his that still makes her skin crawl. “You will order them to fight. To the death.”
Jackie freezes in horror. “What? No!”
Price shakes his head at her. “Bring out Alpha.”
Jackie’s stomach sinks in horror as two orderlies drag out Church.
“Now that the war’s over,” Price whispers in her ear. “There’s a lot less applications for a precognitive psychic. Things are… more flexible.”
Jackie keeps her jaw clenched shut to prevent herself from calling his bluff. Church is too valuable. They won’t kill him, no matter what Price says.
But they’re never afraid to hurt him.
Church screams.
Don’t do it, Jacks! Church tells her, through their link. Don’t kill for them, it’s not—the thought is cut off by Price, who digs his fingers into Jackie’s shoulder, blocking their connection. Jackie claps her hands over her mouth to stop herself from crying out, while Church’s screams grow louder and louder. Jackie sees blood. She hears a bone snap, and she feels herself crack right down the middle.
Jackie closes her eyes for a moment, before turning to the soldiers. “Fight!” She yells, pushing out with her thoughts. The subtle manipulations, Jackie has found, are always more powerful. When she has time, to convince them this is what they really want. They can’t second guess themselves, they can’t help it. Her wants become theirs.
But she can also do this—throw all her energy out at once, override them with sheer force of will. It’s exhausting, it’s draining—she can already feel blood trickling out of her nose. But it works.
The two throw themselves at each other instantly, and Church’s screams fade into whimpers as the subjects brawl on the floor.
Jackie watches one of them win. She watches them latch their hands around the other’s throat. She can’t look away--she refuses to. This is her fault. She has to watch.
Once it’s over, the survivor freezes, suddenly free of Jackie’s command. “What did I do?”
Price nudges Jackie mentally, escorting her forward. “Tell him he wanted to do it,” Price says. “Convince him.”
Jackie throws a look over at Church, who’s staring at her, disbelieving, his mouth hanging open, propped up on his knees by the orderlies. He watched too. Jackie swallows. She still can’t feel him--their bond is still blocked.
She kneels down next to the soldier, touching his arm. He’s kneeling over his friend, sobbing.
“You wanted to do this,” Jackie whispers. “It felt good. It made you happy. You won. You don’t care about this.”
Price’s voice rings in her mind, prompting her. Get up, report for duty.
“Get up,” Jackie says, staring into his eyes. He meets her gaze, looking dazed and confused. “Report for duty.”
He stumbles to his feet and staggers away.
“I don’t know if that will work,” Jackie begs, turning to Price. “I don’t know if it will stick.” She tastes blood. Her nosebleed is still going strong.
“Excellent work, Subject Omega,” a familiar voice says, and Jackie bites the inside of her mouth as she sees the Director for the first time in years. “I believe, that with further study, we can find many applications for you and your abilities.”
Jackie feels cold. She can’t meet Church’s eyes as the orderlies drag him away.
“Assassination,” Price muses, and Jackie hates the feeling she gets when the two of them turn their eyes towards her. “Yes, I believe we can do a great deal with this.”
Jackie wonders, as they drag her back to her cell, if she’s just made an awful mistake.
“Church?” She asks, voice small. He’s lying on his bed, facing the wall.
“Yeah Jacks?” He rolls over and gets to his feet. “Hey, you’re actually upright this time!”  
Jackie goes cold. His eyes are different. They don’t look like they did when she last looked at him.
“You did it again, didn’t you?” She whispers, her shoulders slumping.
“Did what?” He blinks at her.
She reaches up and touches his cheek. Their link is open now, and she feels his raw confusion pouring through. She shoves her memories back, hiding them from him.
“Nothing,” she whispers, the lie heavy in her gut. “I just… you look so tired.”
“I’m always tired,” Church says, and he looks it. “I’m just… so tired, Jacks.” He frowns, finally noticing something. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s stopped,” she tells him, not even bothering to brush it away.
“They pushed you hard today,” he frowns. “I thought—” He pauses, clutching the side of his head, groaning quietly in pain.
“Shhh,” she places a finger on his lips. Her throat feels tight. “Rest up,” she tells him.
When Tex comes for us, you need to be able to run.
He gives her a half-hearted grin and gets back on his bed. He looks at her, clearly waiting to see if she’ll join him.
Instead, Jackie lies on her bed, away from Church, and stares at the ceiling. She wants to cry. She doesn’t.
She takes what happened today and she puts it in the basement of her mind. She wraps it up in a neat little bundle and locks it away where Church can’t find it. Along with everything else that Church isn’t allowed to know about.
Sometimes she wants to hate him, for leaving her alone like this. Leaving her with all the memories, with all the knowledge of exactly what’s happening. He can forget. Jackie can’t. She’s tried. Church meanwhile keeps discovering it over and over again, dealing with each awful thing as they come. He doesn’t forget everything—only the things bad enough to break him. Price knows about it. He thinks it’s fascinating.
She won’t be the one to make Church remember this. Or the last time. Or the time before that.
Not when he forgets everything for a reason.
It’s a bad day.
Most days are bad days, Church has to admit, but today’s a worse day.
There are two kinds of sessions; there are the normal ones, and there are the ones which Price attends.
Price has been at Jackie’s past three sessions. They’re showing her off, her ability to pluck people’s thoughts out of their minds. They’ve been using her in interrogation.
Church’s skill is elsewhere. In the possibilities he sees laid out before him; in the numbers and the possibilities. It’s less concrete. Less useful. Harder to show off.
Which is good for him, but bad for Jackie, since it means more attention on her lately, now that the war’s over. They’re working on new ways to test him. And they’re more afraid of breaking him. They’ve got plenty of psychics of Jackie’s type. Precogs like Church are more rare.
Jackie’s nose hasn’t stopped bleeding in the two hours since her session ended. She’s curled up on her bed, not saying anything, even through their link. They must have threatened him again to get her to behave.
Their cell is nice. There are books and the beds are comfy and there’s carpet on the floor. There are bright colors and there’s even a fake window. Nothing but the best for the star pupils.
It’s almost easy to pretend that all the furniture isn’t bolted to the floor and that there’s nothing sharp or pointy or even any fabric that they can tear. Nothing they could damage themselves with. It’s almost easy to pretend there aren’t bugs everywhere or cameras watching their every move, and to pretend that there’s not blood on the bedding every morning. That they can’t even go to classes anymore, because they’re too valuable.
Church grabs a book and moves over to Jackie’s bed. It’s been long enough. Jackie lets him be alone for longer, but Church can’t stand watching her like this, can’t stand not feeling her in his brain. It’s the only thing that makes this even remotely tolerable.
That and the solid, confident knowledge that Tex will come for them.
He sits by her feet, and starts to read out loud. It’s a physics textbook. That should do it.
Sure enough, she hits him with a pillow before he finishes the page. “Jerk,” she says. Her eyes are red and the skin around them is puffy.
He grins at her with a mirth they both know he doesn’t feel.
“Want to play chess?”
Jackie finally gets up, pushing her glasses back onto her face.
They’re partway through a game when Jackie freezes, her hand on a pawn. Her eyes are distant.
What is it?
A new mind. But I know it.
What?
Church’s range is further than Jackie’s, but Jackie’s more sensitive.
The mind she’s focusing on is anger and gunpowder and determination. It’s shadows and desperation and...
Tex! He thinks, giddiness flooding through his veins, because she’s here! He turns to the future, but the probabilities aren’t solidifying, nothing’s changing yet.
She’s not close enough yet. Searching.
They finish their chess game.
The door breaks down.
There. She’s wearing black armor and her face is covered by a bandana, but it’s Tex. There’s a gun in her hand which she holsters the minute she sees them, and a small device comes out of her pocket, which disrupts the cameras.
“You’re alive,” she says, pulling her bandana down.
“Tex!” Church gets to his feet, pulling Jackie with him. She sways on her feet for a moment before straightening, throwing herself towards Tex.
“You came,” she says, her eyes wet. “He said you would.”
Tex holds her for a moment. “Of course I did,” she says. She kisses Church, quick and fast and breathless, and then pulls her bandana back up. “We need to run,” she says. “Can you move?”
Jackie tests her leg. “Yes.”
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