So Wrong, Yet So Right 20/?
anonymous
April 19 2013, 22:13:09 UTC
John watched Anderson get frog-marched out the door by Udina, his parting promise to answer if Jane called nearly drowned out by Udina’s admonishment at leaving his business half-done.
He should have known coming to see Anderson would have been a train wreck. The Council calling abruptly and promising nothing but moral support, Udina lecturing him about keeping tabs on his sister and not embarrassing humanity, and Anderson, unable to help. Throw in his sister walking in on his resurrected self, the one reintroduction he wanted to handle carefully, and now he could feel the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes.
Miranda walked by him, heading for the door as well.
I’ll be outside, Commander.” All business as usual. At least she had enough tact to realize he wanted to talk to Jane alone.
He looked back at Jane. She was still sitting on the couch, hands twisting violently in her lap. Her eyes hadn’t left him since she sat down, watching him give up on Council help and stoically endure Udina’s complaints. Even now she flicked her eyes all over him, as though trying to see every bit of him. Neither one of them spoke as the door closed behind Miranda. John wasn’t sure what to say. A large part of him wanted to run over, grab her, and mash her against him so hard one of them might break something. The ‘Commander’ part of his head told him that wasn’t what she needed. So he waited, the silence stretching on between them.
Jane stopped her hand’s writhing to pinch her forearm, hard.
“Still real?” she asked, her voice smaller than he remembered.
“Yeah,” he said, almost as softly. “Have I not been?”
She didn’t answer at first, still watching him, before she stood, one hand reaching out in front of her. “I’d look over, and you’d be there,” she said, now watching her hand get slowly closer to his chest, “Sitting at the desk. Or coming out of the bathroom. Or I’d say something, and wonder why you didn’t answer.”
John ached to reach out and wrap his arms around her familiar frame, bury his nose in her hair, anything. But he stayed still, heart hammering for no reason as the tips of her fingers touched his chestplate. Jane’s hand flinched back, but she mastered the impulse, moving forward until her hand lay flat on him.
“Psychologist said it was like ghost pains. When someone loses a limb.”
Now she was looking up at him, at his scars, hand still on his chest.
“She said Cerberus rebuilt you.”
It was both a statement and a question, her tone demanding an explanation. John swallowed, having dreaded this part of the conversation, as he nodded slightly.
Her eyes narrowed, and her hand fell away from his chest, suspicion clouding her face as she thought about the implications, he guessed.
“I’m me,” he said, lamely, expecting her reaction, “I mean, everything…feels normal. And I don’t feel like experimenting on everyone or everything.”
Her expression didn’t change, her lips tightening into a thin line as she glared at him. This was not going according to the carefully planned conversation he had mapped out in his head.
“What was your 18th birthday present?” she asked, her tone now accusatory instead of quiet, hard instead of soft and light.
John cast his mind back. Eighteenth? Would’ve been something special… The shotgun choke? No, that was their 19th…
“You got…a new hacking software,” he said, staring beyond her as he struggled to recall off the top of his head, “And I got… a new omni-tool. Because we broke mine trying to setting off the fire alarms during lessons.”
He finished with a slightly triumphant air, but it did not appease Jane. If anything, it made her angrier. The lines in her forehead furrowed even farther, and she folded her arms.
“My gift,” she said shortly, “Not Mum’s.”
Oh. That made more sense.
“You finally gave in and decided to have sex with me," he said, instantly, "But I made you grind against me until you begged for me to put it in. Then you ripped my shirt with your teeth as I broke your hymen." Most of that night was etched into his memory, triggered sometimes by a bottle of the perfume she had worn as she crouched over him, his shirt between her teeth to stop her from crying out and waking their mother.
He should have known coming to see Anderson would have been a train wreck. The Council calling abruptly and promising nothing but moral support, Udina lecturing him about keeping tabs on his sister and not embarrassing humanity, and Anderson, unable to help. Throw in his sister walking in on his resurrected self, the one reintroduction he wanted to handle carefully, and now he could feel the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes.
Miranda walked by him, heading for the door as well.
I’ll be outside, Commander.” All business as usual. At least she had enough tact to realize he wanted to talk to Jane alone.
He looked back at Jane. She was still sitting on the couch, hands twisting violently in her lap. Her eyes hadn’t left him since she sat down, watching him give up on Council help and stoically endure Udina’s complaints. Even now she flicked her eyes all over him, as though trying to see every bit of him.
Neither one of them spoke as the door closed behind Miranda. John wasn’t sure what to say. A large part of him wanted to run over, grab her, and mash her against him so hard one of them might break something. The ‘Commander’ part of his head told him that wasn’t what she needed. So he waited, the silence stretching on between them.
Jane stopped her hand’s writhing to pinch her forearm, hard.
“Still real?” she asked, her voice smaller than he remembered.
“Yeah,” he said, almost as softly. “Have I not been?”
She didn’t answer at first, still watching him, before she stood, one hand reaching out in front of her.
“I’d look over, and you’d be there,” she said, now watching her hand get slowly closer to his chest, “Sitting at the desk. Or coming out of the bathroom. Or I’d say something, and wonder why you didn’t answer.”
John ached to reach out and wrap his arms around her familiar frame, bury his nose in her hair, anything. But he stayed still, heart hammering for no reason as the tips of her fingers touched his chestplate. Jane’s hand flinched back, but she mastered the impulse, moving forward until her hand lay flat on him.
“Psychologist said it was like ghost pains. When someone loses a limb.”
Now she was looking up at him, at his scars, hand still on his chest.
“She said Cerberus rebuilt you.”
It was both a statement and a question, her tone demanding an explanation. John swallowed, having dreaded this part of the conversation, as he nodded slightly.
Her eyes narrowed, and her hand fell away from his chest, suspicion clouding her face as she thought about the implications, he guessed.
“I’m me,” he said, lamely, expecting her reaction, “I mean, everything…feels normal. And I don’t feel like experimenting on everyone or everything.”
Her expression didn’t change, her lips tightening into a thin line as she glared at him. This was not going according to the carefully planned conversation he had mapped out in his head.
“What was your 18th birthday present?” she asked, her tone now accusatory instead of quiet, hard instead of soft and light.
John cast his mind back. Eighteenth? Would’ve been something special… The shotgun choke? No, that was their 19th…
“You got…a new hacking software,” he said, staring beyond her as he struggled to recall off the top of his head, “And I got… a new omni-tool. Because we broke mine trying to setting off the fire alarms during lessons.”
He finished with a slightly triumphant air, but it did not appease Jane. If anything, it made her angrier. The lines in her forehead furrowed even farther, and she folded her arms.
“My gift,” she said shortly, “Not Mum’s.”
Oh. That made more sense.
“You finally gave in and decided to have sex with me," he said, instantly, "But I made you grind against me until you begged for me to put it in. Then you ripped my shirt with your teeth as I broke your hymen." Most of that night was etched into his memory, triggered sometimes by a bottle of the perfume she had worn as she crouched over him, his shirt between her teeth to stop her from crying out and waking their mother.
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