It was a different world back then...
IneffableFandom March 2008 Prompt #1: "It was a different world back then..."
Back then, we ran CTU, he and I. We were partners. I sat in on countless meetings and active protocols, provided countless, exact amounts of eight fluid ounces of hydration, caffeine, and sugar to the Director of CTU: LA. No one knew the boss like I did. I would warm his hands through every trauma. I would keep his coffee at just the right temperature for a solid fifteen minutes while he finished up a call with Ryan Chappelle. I would go hours without so much as a rinsing if the city was in crisis, as strong and durable as any of those shiny, young melamine things. We'd see them parading up and down the aisles without so much as a handle on... my master may have looked (he is human) but he never touched.
On occasion, I strayed. It was understood between Master Tony and myself that times were hard. Comfort was paramount, especially for those we loved. We agreed that our open marriage was now to be only extended to those we trusted implicitly and, surprisingly, such an arrangement worked well. As a result, the only others who have touched me since those later days at CTU were, of course, my Mistress Michelle, Occasional Master Jack, and his daughter. I must confess to a special fondness for Miss Kimberly, the first one to enquire about my history upon her arrival at CTU. I shall have to share with you that glorious day some other time.
We all have secrets, even from those for whom we love and serve. Despite our intimacy, I shall never, not even under duress of torture, confess to my master, of those times I was left unattended and violated. We have never spoken of Nina Myers and the mornings she would use me for her own vile, treacherous tea. The sting of her lemon still lines my core. I must just be grateful that Master Tony cannot taste her poison whenever he drinks from me. If he only did not have briefings at District on those days... but no. I cannot blame him. It is not his fault.
Just as Master Tony blames himself (and everyone under the sun) for the death of Mistress Michelle. We are having coffee this morning, as any other. My Master today requires cream, a rare request that I almost refuse to indulge. His taste for self-pity and nostalgia is almost more than even I can tolerate. But I have seen how he has changed since Mistress Michelle and I do not dare double-cross him. Insubordination, even with the best of intentions, is deadly. Some mornings, he looks at me as if I mock him, as if I ever would *conceive* of such idiocy. I know he sees history in me, as I do in him. But he does not let me go. It is as it was when we lived with Miss Jennifer-- my master spent hours trying to forget but only remembering.
My subliminal suggestion of a sailboat was, if I do myself declare, a healthful one. Master Tony appears more at ease here on the ocean and the sun has brought some color back to his skin. He still sports the hardened soul patch and leather jacket, however. I feel as if even I cannot temper that. I miss Occasional Master Jack, who would have listened while I confided these frustrations. Mistress Michelle and I had a lovely rapport and I miss her tremendously but everything I thought would end up known to my master. A mug must have some privacy. Occasional Master Jack, though... he just listened. I saw him on television the other night, when I was servicing my master with one of his preferred comforts (hazelnut-flavored). O.M. Jack is being charged with acts of terrorism. The filthy injustice of the conspiracy makes me feel as if I've been plunged into a sink of unwashed dishes. Master Tony and I are drowning slowly. Something must soon give but I anticipate (and fear) that it soon will. Upon seeing his former compatriot on the screen, my master's grip on me tightened slightly and he spoke to me for the first time in weeks.
"Right, Cubs," he said, in that low whisper of his that entrances so many humans and mugs alike. "Here we go."
He has since taken me along while he makes his plans in the mornings. I am sworn to secrecy and will never break. I must say, however, that I both dread and crave to see this come to fruition.
Back then, we ran CTU, he and I. We were partners. I sat in on countless meetings and active protocols, provided countless, exact amounts of eight fluid ounces of hydration, caffeine, and sugar to the Director of CTU: LA. No one knew the boss like I did. I would warm his hands through every trauma. I would keep his coffee at just the right temperature for a solid fifteen minutes while he finished up a call with Ryan Chappelle. I would go hours without so much as a rinsing if the city was in crisis, as strong and durable as any of those shiny, young melamine things. We'd see them parading up and down the aisles without so much as a handle on... my master may have looked (he is human) but he never touched.
On occasion, I strayed. It was understood between Master Tony and myself that times were hard. Comfort was paramount, especially for those we loved. We agreed that our open marriage was now to be only extended to those we trusted implicitly and, surprisingly, such an arrangement worked well. As a result, the only others who have touched me since those later days at CTU were, of course, my Mistress Michelle, Occasional Master Jack, and his daughter. I must confess to a special fondness for Miss Kimberly, the first one to enquire about my history upon her arrival at CTU. I shall have to share with you that glorious day some other time.
We all have secrets, even from those for whom we love and serve. Despite our intimacy, I shall never, not even under duress of torture, confess to my master, of those times I was left unattended and violated. We have never spoken of Nina Myers and the mornings she would use me for her own vile, treacherous tea. The sting of her lemon still lines my core. I must just be grateful that Master Tony cannot taste her poison whenever he drinks from me. If he only did not have briefings at District on those days... but no. I cannot blame him. It is not his fault.
Just as Master Tony blames himself (and everyone under the sun) for the death of Mistress Michelle. We are having coffee this morning, as any other. My Master today requires cream, a rare request that I almost refuse to indulge. His taste for self-pity and nostalgia is almost more than even I can tolerate. But I have seen how he has changed since Mistress Michelle and I do not dare double-cross him. Insubordination, even with the best of intentions, is deadly. Some mornings, he looks at me as if I mock him, as if I ever would *conceive* of such idiocy. I know he sees history in me, as I do in him. But he does not let me go. It is as it was when we lived with Miss Jennifer-- my master spent hours trying to forget but only remembering.
My subliminal suggestion of a sailboat was, if I do myself declare, a healthful one. Master Tony appears more at ease here on the ocean and the sun has brought some color back to his skin. He still sports the hardened soul patch and leather jacket, however. I feel as if even I cannot temper that. I miss Occasional Master Jack, who would have listened while I confided these frustrations. Mistress Michelle and I had a lovely rapport and I miss her tremendously but everything I thought would end up known to my master. A mug must have some privacy. Occasional Master Jack, though... he just listened. I saw him on television the other night, when I was servicing my master with one of his preferred comforts (hazelnut-flavored). O.M. Jack is being charged with acts of terrorism. The filthy injustice of the conspiracy makes me feel as if I've been plunged into a sink of unwashed dishes. Master Tony and I are drowning slowly. Something must soon give but I anticipate (and fear) that it soon will. Upon seeing his former compatriot on the screen, my master's grip on me tightened slightly and he spoke to me for the first time in weeks.
"Right, Cubs," he said, in that low whisper of his that entrances so many humans and mugs alike. "Here we go."
He has since taken me along while he makes his plans in the mornings. I am sworn to secrecy and will never break. I must say, however, that I both dread and crave to see this come to fruition.