femchurch/wash
UUUUUUUUUUUUHH I DON'T KNOW I HAVE NO EXCUSE FOR THIS.
genderswapped leonard church and wash. yep.
yeeeeeeeeep. asaf is the name that elenen picked for counselor after playing him! :)
__
It’s stupid-- she should know better. He’s not Alan, he’ll never be Alan. He follows orders down to the last, he’s eager, he doesn’t fight, he doesn’t bicker, he doesn’t argue. It irritates her, sometimes, but she doesn’t want to think too hard on it, not right now. Not when David-- no, Washington, is slipping to the floor in front of her desk while she sits on the edge of it, not when he’s on his knees in front of her.
Church smiles faintly, thumbing over her nails as he just looks up at her for a moment, watches the way he sucks in a breath, unconsciously-- or, maybe consciously straightening his shoulders, keeping his hands to himself for the moment as he kneels there. The fact that she has this power, this control-- that she’s able to do anything right now, doesn’t escape her. It extends beyond this room-- this facility is hers, and it’s more enthralling than anything else except for the blind loyalty she sees splashed across David’s face.
“Ma’am,” he says evenly, and responds, just like that to the little hand gesture, slipping his hands up her skirt, pushing over her thighs and she doesn’t bother hiding the shudder, spreading them for him, letting him ease closer as she toes her shoes off to the side and drags one foot up the inside of his thigh, not missing the way he shudders. “I thought I was--”
“Later,” Church murmurs, and curls her fingers in his hair, stroking perfectly manicured blue-painted nails through it, lightly over his scalp just to see the way his eyes close a moment, and he starts to drag her stockings down, catching her panties slightly on the way, but he doesn’t go for them, not just yet.
He knows better, she thinks almost giddily, intoxicated by the way he reacts-- trained to respond to the slightest gesture, a tip of her chin, a stroke of her hand, through his hair, pulling, and his head goes back easily as he helps her out of her stockings and leaves her in just the skirt and blazer. His eyes go dark, just like that-- men are predictable in that way, at times, even Alan himself, though he didn’t like to admit it-- when her fingers stroke over the nape of his neck. She’s already informed him of her plans, already gotten his agreement, now all they need is the AI. He’s certainly not Alan-- Alan doesn’t react like that, isn’t so passive, blindly trusting, but, she thinks, perhaps the Counselor as right-- there is merit in someone who says ‘yes ma’am’ first, before anything else.
___
The Counselor’s profile is very specific about him-- all the way up until a point. And her interest in him doesn’t wane-- doesn’t ever fade, until they fracture Alpha so much until it’s not a normal fragment, it’s him it’s him it’s him.
Lenora just stares mutely at the screen, at the readout, at the simulation of him, and has to stop a moment, breathing in and out and she doesn’t resist when Asaf puts his hands on her shoulders and directs her away. “I’ll deal with it,” he says smoothly, and she sits, instead, watching him shut the program down, stop all simulations on Alpha, and he doesn’t comment on the way her hands shake the whole time, all the way until he’s gone, shut down for the moment. “He’s just a byproduct of the process, Lenora.”
Her head lifts, and she stands in one smooth movement, fingers sweeping over the screen, tracing over the readout. No. No. They’ve seen the broken fragments, the parts of Alpha that are too damaged to do more than deteriorate. No, he’s something else all together. “He doesn’t have the same read-out. This whole summary-- it’s entirely different than the rest.”
And, for the moment, she pretends like she doesn’t know Asaf so well. Pretends she doesn’t know when she’s just being humored, pretends like she doesn’t notice the way he simply inclines his head and powers down everything with a murmur of that’s enough for today.
She walks back to her room in silence, save for the click of her heels, and she slides her blazer off the moment she’s in the room, barely taking note of anything until she tosses it onto a chair, and notices David leaning against her desk, just watching her. “You’re upset,” he says, and she nearly curses herself for having forgotten she’d ordered him here-- partially to go over the surgery tomorrow, and partially for other things. The second idea is entirely out of her mind, though-- instead, she shakes her head at him, kicking her shoes off, and drags a stack of papers out, pushing them into his arms, hands drawing back before he sees them shaking.
“Read those. The bottom sheet goes to me, the pink one to the Counselor, and the blue to the complex head. That’s all.”
For a moment, she thinks he won’t follow her orders. He opens his mouth, shoulders tensing, about to protest, but it takes just a look to get him to back down.
“I do believe said that’s all, David. You’ll return to your quarters. I’ll see you before the surgery in the morning.” Her accent thickens when she gets angry-- irritating, but she swallows it down ( shoves down the memories of him, red hair and green eyes, asking her to talk about nothing in particular, because she knows the accent reminds him of home more than anything else. )
David doesn’t argue, and just moves out the door with a soft yes, ma’am, the papers tucked beneath his arm after he salutes her and leaves her standing the dim room, staring at the floor.
Alan didn’t say yes so easily-- doesn’t yield, doesn’t follow orders unless he thinks they’re worthwhile. The idea that David follows orders so easily almost disgusts her, really-- a soldier needs a backbone, more than anything else. Good soldiers don’t simply follow orders, not really.
That night, she doesn’t sleep. She spends all night running over projections and papers and god knows what else, and pours over hand-written notes, scribbled in the margins of paper that she still needs to type up. She rolls out of bed the next morning and showers, dressing quickly, ignoring the way the Counselor gives her a knowing once-over and hands her a coffee, walking with her to the lab. He doesn’t need to ask if Lenora’s going to attend the surgery-- it’s so far from her mind as to be nonexistent. Instead, he walks her to the lab, gives her a second cup of coffee, and quietly tells her he’ll be back in a few hours.
By the time she’s too tired to even think, the surgery is over and she’s fragmented Alpha four more times in the span of just a few hours, giddy with the possibility of what they’re doing. Self-doubt has no room in there-- the computers are still running tests on the piece, still scanning over it and determining exactly what it is, but she knows. It’s Alan. It’s as goddamn close to Alan as she can get, and she already knows what she’s going to do.
Asaf slides back in the door with a blanket and a glass of water this time, pressing one into her hands, the other draped over her shoulders. “You need to rest,” he says evenly, and walks her to the couch where she’s spent many nights, pleased that she doesn’t argue. “I’ve-- made your excuses to our Agent Washington, as to your absence. He was....concerned, to say the--” She’s already asleep by the time her head hits the pillow, and he trails off, adjusting the blanket, powering all the computers off for a few hours.
__
“He’s acting within suspected parameters, you know,” Asaf sighs over breakfast, watching her pace as the simulations on Alpha run in the background, and she nurses a glass of sweet tea, fiddling with the lemon on it. “His outburst this morning before the implantation process was entirely understandable, considering previous--”
“Transgressions, yes, indeed, Asaf, I am more than aware of your feelings on my impulses,” Lenora drawls, and squeezes her lemon into the tea, tossing it into the trash when she’s done, glancing over at the datapad next to her every so often. In the room in front of her, glass windows showing everything, David is strapped in, metal clamping over his wrists, his legs, and his head is supported by cushioned clamps as well, just in case. He glances over, every so often, and Asaf tries not to sigh at the way David’s face looks every time he realizes that no. No, she’s not looking over, she’s paying attention to the datapad or something else.
They’re very, very close right now-- closer than they’ve ever been to running all this, and much as Lenora is his friend, she is also prone to bouts of foolishness.
Neatly, he plucks the datapad away from her, and turns it off, nodding pointedly at the glass. “We have not gotten as far as we have right now, Lenora, for you to waste it making enemies of the very men and women you’ve spent the last two years gaining and befriending. Rumors have already started circulating among them of rougher than projected implantation. It would do you, David, and the rest, a great deal of good to go in there with him, rather than staring at data that is still compiling.”
For a moment, he thinks she’ll disagree, but she nods, silently, sliding out of her chair and into the room, barely noticing the way David’s face goes slack with relief, twitching in the restraints. “You came,” he says, and smiles, brilliant and relieved, loyal down to the last, like a dog, really. He looks up to her-- respects her just as much as anything else, and even when they were in bed, he still looked at her in that goddamn reverent way.
( Alan doesn’t smile like that-- it’s sharp and mocking and goading, even, like he’s daring her to say something, to fight with him about the most inane things, and it still makes her stomach clench in the best-- )
“Indeed,” Lenora murmurs, already heading for the computer to check a few things, sliding back when they come in with the chip-- Asaf knocks on the window, twice, and she takes the damn hint, reaching out without being told, and gripping his hand. The sigh of relief doesn’t go unnoticed, and she smiles at him, patiently, counting down the moments until this is over and she can go back. “It’s easier if you relax, and close your eyes, they say.”
David does, and the chip slides home, and from the way he screams, sharp and sudden and straining against the metal, crushing her hand in his, Lenora wonders if this is one of the last times he’ll actually obey her.
___
genderswapped leonard church and wash. yep.
yeeeeeeeeep. asaf is the name that elenen picked for counselor after playing him! :)
__
It’s stupid-- she should know better. He’s not Alan, he’ll never be Alan. He follows orders down to the last, he’s eager, he doesn’t fight, he doesn’t bicker, he doesn’t argue. It irritates her, sometimes, but she doesn’t want to think too hard on it, not right now. Not when David-- no, Washington, is slipping to the floor in front of her desk while she sits on the edge of it, not when he’s on his knees in front of her.
Church smiles faintly, thumbing over her nails as he just looks up at her for a moment, watches the way he sucks in a breath, unconsciously-- or, maybe consciously straightening his shoulders, keeping his hands to himself for the moment as he kneels there. The fact that she has this power, this control-- that she’s able to do anything right now, doesn’t escape her. It extends beyond this room-- this facility is hers, and it’s more enthralling than anything else except for the blind loyalty she sees splashed across David’s face.
“Ma’am,” he says evenly, and responds, just like that to the little hand gesture, slipping his hands up her skirt, pushing over her thighs and she doesn’t bother hiding the shudder, spreading them for him, letting him ease closer as she toes her shoes off to the side and drags one foot up the inside of his thigh, not missing the way he shudders. “I thought I was--”
“Later,” Church murmurs, and curls her fingers in his hair, stroking perfectly manicured blue-painted nails through it, lightly over his scalp just to see the way his eyes close a moment, and he starts to drag her stockings down, catching her panties slightly on the way, but he doesn’t go for them, not just yet.
He knows better, she thinks almost giddily, intoxicated by the way he reacts-- trained to respond to the slightest gesture, a tip of her chin, a stroke of her hand, through his hair, pulling, and his head goes back easily as he helps her out of her stockings and leaves her in just the skirt and blazer. His eyes go dark, just like that-- men are predictable in that way, at times, even Alan himself, though he didn’t like to admit it-- when her fingers stroke over the nape of his neck. She’s already informed him of her plans, already gotten his agreement, now all they need is the AI. He’s certainly not Alan-- Alan doesn’t react like that, isn’t so passive, blindly trusting, but, she thinks, perhaps the Counselor as right-- there is merit in someone who says ‘yes ma’am’ first, before anything else.
___
The Counselor’s profile is very specific about him-- all the way up until a point. And her interest in him doesn’t wane-- doesn’t ever fade, until they fracture Alpha so much until it’s not a normal fragment, it’s him it’s him it’s him.
Lenora just stares mutely at the screen, at the readout, at the simulation of him, and has to stop a moment, breathing in and out and she doesn’t resist when Asaf puts his hands on her shoulders and directs her away. “I’ll deal with it,” he says smoothly, and she sits, instead, watching him shut the program down, stop all simulations on Alpha, and he doesn’t comment on the way her hands shake the whole time, all the way until he’s gone, shut down for the moment. “He’s just a byproduct of the process, Lenora.”
Her head lifts, and she stands in one smooth movement, fingers sweeping over the screen, tracing over the readout. No. No. They’ve seen the broken fragments, the parts of Alpha that are too damaged to do more than deteriorate. No, he’s something else all together. “He doesn’t have the same read-out. This whole summary-- it’s entirely different than the rest.”
And, for the moment, she pretends like she doesn’t know Asaf so well. Pretends she doesn’t know when she’s just being humored, pretends like she doesn’t notice the way he simply inclines his head and powers down everything with a murmur of that’s enough for today.
She walks back to her room in silence, save for the click of her heels, and she slides her blazer off the moment she’s in the room, barely taking note of anything until she tosses it onto a chair, and notices David leaning against her desk, just watching her. “You’re upset,” he says, and she nearly curses herself for having forgotten she’d ordered him here-- partially to go over the surgery tomorrow, and partially for other things. The second idea is entirely out of her mind, though-- instead, she shakes her head at him, kicking her shoes off, and drags a stack of papers out, pushing them into his arms, hands drawing back before he sees them shaking.
“Read those. The bottom sheet goes to me, the pink one to the Counselor, and the blue to the complex head. That’s all.”
For a moment, she thinks he won’t follow her orders. He opens his mouth, shoulders tensing, about to protest, but it takes just a look to get him to back down.
“I do believe said that’s all, David. You’ll return to your quarters. I’ll see you before the surgery in the morning.” Her accent thickens when she gets angry-- irritating, but she swallows it down ( shoves down the memories of him, red hair and green eyes, asking her to talk about nothing in particular, because she knows the accent reminds him of home more than anything else. )
David doesn’t argue, and just moves out the door with a soft yes, ma’am, the papers tucked beneath his arm after he salutes her and leaves her standing the dim room, staring at the floor.
Alan didn’t say yes so easily-- doesn’t yield, doesn’t follow orders unless he thinks they’re worthwhile. The idea that David follows orders so easily almost disgusts her, really-- a soldier needs a backbone, more than anything else. Good soldiers don’t simply follow orders, not really.
That night, she doesn’t sleep. She spends all night running over projections and papers and god knows what else, and pours over hand-written notes, scribbled in the margins of paper that she still needs to type up. She rolls out of bed the next morning and showers, dressing quickly, ignoring the way the Counselor gives her a knowing once-over and hands her a coffee, walking with her to the lab. He doesn’t need to ask if Lenora’s going to attend the surgery-- it’s so far from her mind as to be nonexistent. Instead, he walks her to the lab, gives her a second cup of coffee, and quietly tells her he’ll be back in a few hours.
By the time she’s too tired to even think, the surgery is over and she’s fragmented Alpha four more times in the span of just a few hours, giddy with the possibility of what they’re doing. Self-doubt has no room in there-- the computers are still running tests on the piece, still scanning over it and determining exactly what it is, but she knows. It’s Alan. It’s as goddamn close to Alan as she can get, and she already knows what she’s going to do.
Asaf slides back in the door with a blanket and a glass of water this time, pressing one into her hands, the other draped over her shoulders. “You need to rest,” he says evenly, and walks her to the couch where she’s spent many nights, pleased that she doesn’t argue. “I’ve-- made your excuses to our Agent Washington, as to your absence. He was....concerned, to say the--” She’s already asleep by the time her head hits the pillow, and he trails off, adjusting the blanket, powering all the computers off for a few hours.
__
“He’s acting within suspected parameters, you know,” Asaf sighs over breakfast, watching her pace as the simulations on Alpha run in the background, and she nurses a glass of sweet tea, fiddling with the lemon on it. “His outburst this morning before the implantation process was entirely understandable, considering previous--”
“Transgressions, yes, indeed, Asaf, I am more than aware of your feelings on my impulses,” Lenora drawls, and squeezes her lemon into the tea, tossing it into the trash when she’s done, glancing over at the datapad next to her every so often. In the room in front of her, glass windows showing everything, David is strapped in, metal clamping over his wrists, his legs, and his head is supported by cushioned clamps as well, just in case. He glances over, every so often, and Asaf tries not to sigh at the way David’s face looks every time he realizes that no. No, she’s not looking over, she’s paying attention to the datapad or something else.
They’re very, very close right now-- closer than they’ve ever been to running all this, and much as Lenora is his friend, she is also prone to bouts of foolishness.
Neatly, he plucks the datapad away from her, and turns it off, nodding pointedly at the glass. “We have not gotten as far as we have right now, Lenora, for you to waste it making enemies of the very men and women you’ve spent the last two years gaining and befriending. Rumors have already started circulating among them of rougher than projected implantation. It would do you, David, and the rest, a great deal of good to go in there with him, rather than staring at data that is still compiling.”
For a moment, he thinks she’ll disagree, but she nods, silently, sliding out of her chair and into the room, barely noticing the way David’s face goes slack with relief, twitching in the restraints. “You came,” he says, and smiles, brilliant and relieved, loyal down to the last, like a dog, really. He looks up to her-- respects her just as much as anything else, and even when they were in bed, he still looked at her in that goddamn reverent way.
( Alan doesn’t smile like that-- it’s sharp and mocking and goading, even, like he’s daring her to say something, to fight with him about the most inane things, and it still makes her stomach clench in the best-- )
“Indeed,” Lenora murmurs, already heading for the computer to check a few things, sliding back when they come in with the chip-- Asaf knocks on the window, twice, and she takes the damn hint, reaching out without being told, and gripping his hand. The sigh of relief doesn’t go unnoticed, and she smiles at him, patiently, counting down the moments until this is over and she can go back. “It’s easier if you relax, and close your eyes, they say.”
David does, and the chip slides home, and from the way he screams, sharp and sudden and straining against the metal, crushing her hand in his, Lenora wonders if this is one of the last times he’ll actually obey her.
___