Captive
Title: Captive
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma/Emily
Rating: NC-17 - REALLY. NOT KIDDING.
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: ~8000
Apologies: WARNING: Contains Rapey Sex, Violence, mental health issues. I never thought I was actually going to finish writing this one, since it was just squicky. But I did. Shockingly, it's not really porn, although it may be hard to tell the difference. It's a backwards story, like a lot of my stories are, but I think it's interesting. I hope other people do.
You know, if no one comments on this, I'm just going to have to accept the fact that I'm a terrible person who repulses everyone with my fiction and should seek psychological help. This is probably true regardless.
It was the girl that first made her wonder. Emily knew working in a psych hospital wasn’t going to be all finger painting and free association, but she hadn’t really thought it would be like this. The day nurse, Derek Morgan, was giving her the tour, telling funny stories about the patients. He demonstrated bedpan etiquette with a bit too much flourish, and Emily laughed at him. A lot of the patients seemed pretty normal. One blond young man had cracked jokes with Morgan every day until he finally got enough rope to hang himself. A woman smiled at Emily and asked her if she were Catholic. When Emily nodded hesitantly the woman seemed to swell with excitement and said she hoped she’d join her for bible study. Emily had just been hired to work as an orderly, on the night shift, which was basically cleaning crew, and Morgan showed her the hallway where she would be working. A huge man locked behind iron bars glared at them.
“You won’t have to do him. We hire a special service to go in there. And then there are these ones.” Morgan took out a ring of keys and unbolted the door. “You want to be careful in this room. They’re all kept restrained, and pretty much drugged out of their mind, but still, it pays to be cautious.”
The room was full of beds bolted to the floor, and each patient was bound hand, foot, and neck to the cast iron bedstead. And then she looked closer. Some of the patients were different: blue skin, abnormal appendages. But the strangest thing about the room was how quiet it was. Other rooms had had patients restrained, some drugged into comas, but they had been mixed in with the babblers, the shakers, the ones who talked to god. But this room was dead silent, save for the beeping of a life support machine on the far end. And that was when she noticed the girl, because she looked over, slowly, almost incidentally, her eyes foggy with narcotics. But still, she was the only one who looked.
“What is this?”
Morgan gave her a sidelong look. “Government needs to put them somewhere. Prisons didn’t want them, too dangerous. You’re in charge of keeping them clean. There’s usually about a three-day rotation here, a third a day. Wash them up, disinfect any sores. We don’t need them dying on us. The government gets pissy if too many of them go.”
He laughed, but Emily didn’t. She would really rather if none of them died while she was working there. Drugged up criminal lunatics were one thing, but corpses were quite another. He led the way down the aisle to the boy at the end hooked up to the life support machine. Emily stared at the body. It had to be a body. There was a hole in his chest.
“This one’s on life support, but he’s conscious some of the time, so don’t ask me what’s up with that.” Morgan shrugged. “Just try not to unplug him, kay?”
Emily nodded, still focused on the gaping hole. Morgan pulled her away, leading her past a few more beds, and then they were at the girl. She was pale and skinny, with dirty blonde hair, and she didn’t look more than fifteen. Both her arms and her legs were bound, but strangest of all, there was another binding around her neck. All of them had bindings around their neck.
“Look,” Morgan turned to face her. “Maybe you think that because they’re kept drugged up like this, you can undo the bonds while you do your job, but don’t. You’ve got to remember that. In some of the other rooms, you undo one arm, or one leg while you’re cleaning, but in this room, you don’t take any of the bonds off.” Morgan flashed Emily a loaded glance. “You don’t know what they can do. No one does.”
Emily didn’t exactly know what he meant, but she knew a lot of criminals who got off on psych defenses were relegated here, and if they got sent here, not many of them got out. But she looked down at the girl, eyes mostly closed, strapped to the bed. She was just a girl. What could she have done?
“This one,” Morgan said, letting his hand fall on the girl’s shoulder. “You should keep a special eye on. She just got back from surgery, and they’ve lowered most of her med doses. So make sure she’s not succumbing to infection, and if she shows any signs of…” He winced and made an odd expression with his mouth. “…thinking, you need to tell someone.”
* * *
Emily’s mother was waiting at home when she got back, getting ready for work. She poured her a glass of orange juice. “How did it go?”
Emily shrugged. “It was… interesting. Just menial labor really, but it will look good on my applications.”
Elizabeth nodded. “So you’re not suddenly drawn towards med school?”
Emily gave a half grimace. “I’d rather people who think they’re insane and can be convinced otherwise.” Her lips tightened. “I just… I want to help, to fix things. It’s just maintenance there. It feels like they’re waiting for them to die.”
“I’m sorry dear,” her mother said disinterestedly. “I have to run. We’re meeting with the vice president to talk about the mutant problem.”
“Yeah,” Emily said, uninterested in her excuses. “See you later.”
* * *
The hospital was half lit, grey and miserable, and Emily went through her work, forty-seven pairs of latex gloves, and the six stages of loneliness. It was strange to be surrounded by so many people and have none of them aware of your presence.
The girl had noticed her.
She had finished her third of washings, bedpans all changed, and had a few more hours of just watching. The girl was just laying there, eyes closed, as if she were asleep. But that was probably what she was like all the time. If she was never unbound… she wouldn’t be pushed around on walks, they probably kept her drugged up as high as they could. She was unchanging.
There were red marks on her wrists from the bonds, but no sores there, and then she tilted her head a little, her feathery shorn hair falling away and revealing an ugly oozing wound on her neck.
“Oh god, I need to clean that.” It spread all the way to the other side of the collar. The skin around it looked red and swollen. She needed to take the collar off to clean if properly, but she wasn’t allowed to unbind these patients. But it was just the neck. What use was a restraint on someone’s neck?
Emily made sure the wrists and ankles were tight, and then moved to undo it. The girl shifted, her eyes, still half unfocused, tracking towards her face. Emily could almost feel the shock.
“Hey, hey, it’s all right. I just have to clean that. It must be hurting like hell.”
She unfastened the odd catch on the collar. It came apart easily, displaying ugly sores all along its length. A sharp pain shot into Emily’s head. “Fuck,” she muttered, half at the disgusting mess the saw and half at the pain. She cleaned out the wounds as best she could, hot water and soap, and spread antibiotic ointment over it. It wasn’t going to be good enough. She’d have to leave a note for the nurse to get her some proper antibiotics. She bandaged it carefully, disinfected the inside of the collar, and then carefully replaced it. The headache was still there, but it was manageable now.
“I hope that’s better,” she whispered, letting her thumb brush the girl’s cheek. Then she turned and moved on.
“Thank you,” she heard. It was barely a whisper, but it was so shocking that Emily turned, and looked back. She was as motionless, as drugged as always, her eyes closed, but she had definitely spoken.
“You’re welcome,” Emily replied, with a small smile.
That night she had the first dream.
* * *
It didn’t feel like a normal dream, she was running in the forest, alert and looking for something. There was a weight in her hand, a gun. She looked down at herself, touched the nylon encased Kevlar of her bulletproof vest, and heard the crackle of the radio. Automatically, her hands flipped out the radio and turned the dial on the top. “Prentiss here, over.”
“Unsub’s been spotted heading west.” She heard the whirr of the helicopter above. “Taking a path ten yards north of your position. Stay alert.”
And Emily saw the blur of motion, and started running. She burst out behind the figure, bushes tearing at her trousers, gun useless in her swinging hand. There was a cabin in front of them, bare clapboards, a pine needle clogged roof, and the figure ducked inside.
Emily knew she would be visible from the windows so she hurried and flattened herself against the wall, next to the door. She tried to quiet her breathing. She should call for back up, she knew that, but what if there was a back door? She was loosing time. Readying her gun she leveled it at the door, and then fiercely kicked it open.
The room was empty. There was a table, peeling linoleum on the floor, a small pile of soggy pine needles where a hole in the roof had let them in, and another door on the other side, screen door still banging.
Dammit.
Emily stepped inside, her gun drooping, and then a blow cracked across the inside of her knees. They buckled, sending her tumbling. She lost her grip on the gun and it skittered across the floor. Quickly she pushed herself up, turning over to see her attacker just in time to meet another blow from the broomstick across her face. She saw stars, and her head spun, and then her vision cleared.
It was the girl, in a short dirty white shift, barefoot, her legs and feet bloody from running through the bushes, and her hands and inner arms stained with blood that wasn’t her own. She held the broom like a baseball bat, ready to swing again. But it was her eyes that were the most unrecognizable part of her. They were no longer half closed and drug fogged, but bright and burning with anger.
Emily raised her hand, and the girl swung, cracking against her elbow so hard that Emily was sure she had broken it. She gasped, pulling her arms into her, and the stick came down again, hard on her shoulders. She sobbed, and tried to get up, but the stick whipped around and knocked her feet out from under her. She collapsed on the linoleum, and the girl poked the stick into her chest, keeping her down. She stepped forwards, eyes boring into Emily, and placed her foot on her lower stomach.
“I want to kill you,” she said, her voice a soft hiss. The end of the broomstick traced its way up from Emily’s chest to her throat and came to a stop right under her jaw. Then her heel bore down quickly, digging into her gut, making Emily jerk up, the stick choking her, and the girl swooped down and jerked the handcuffs out of her belt. Emily could see her hands shaking, and the stick slammed flat across her chest. The girl knelt on it, pinning her so tightly that she couldn’t breathe, and she grabbed for Emily’s hands. Emily fought her and the girl thrust a vicious elbow into her temple. Dizzy from the pain, she let the girl grab her wrists and cuff them around the sturdy leg of the table.
“What are you-“ It came out far more like a whimper than she had intended.
The girl jerked away from her, rescuing her broom and holding it casually. Emily bent her leg, trying to push herself into a sitting position, and the broom snapped out and cracked across her knee.
“Don’t move.”
Emily felt her eyes filling up with tears, and she held in a whimper. It didn’t matter. The girl swung the broom so it cracked against her jaw. Her lip dug into her teeth and she could taste blood. God, wasn’t there backup coming for her? Why hadn’t they found her yet?
The girl was swinging the broom again, repeatedly, a crack across her hip, her ribs, her shins, treating both sides evenly. A vicious strike to her twisted shoulder, and Emily let out the sob. The girl made a disgusted sound and dropped to her knees, jerking on the Velcro of the Kevlar vest, and pulling it open. She couldn’t get it off, not with her wrists bound like that, and she cursed. Then she stood up, planted her foot on the space she had opened up in the vest, and drove her foot down. It knocked the wind out of Emily, and she gasped for air, trying not to suffocate.
“Please don’t-“
“Don’t what?” She reached down and jerked open Emily’s shirt. “Don’t give you what you deserve?” She knelt on Emily’s stomach, opening her shirt farther, and then jerking on her bra, exposing her. Emily stared up at her. What was she- Her burning eyes were intent but disinterested, like a surgeon, cutting out a heart for science.
“Please-“
“Shut your fucking mouth!” With a harsh jerk the girl pulled at her bra until the hooks popped and the catches around the arms broke, and it came off. She grabbed Emily’s jaw, shoving the bra into it and tying the ends behind her head. Emily tried to yell, but the gag muffled her.
The girl moved away, picking up her broom and wandering over to the table. She leaned the broom against it, raised her foot, and stepped down. With a crack like a gunshot the broom snapped, the center becoming two long sharp jagged fragments. She took the non-broom end and wandered back over to Emily. Using the shorter more manageable piece, she hit her again, in the face, on her wrist, her elbow, she brought it down like a hammer on her chest, as if she were trying to break her collarbone. Emily whimpered into the gag. The blows each stung, and then an ache would blossom from them, hot and overwhelming.
And then she flipped the stick. The long sharp part pointed at her, and the girl brought it down until it rested in the hollow of her throat. “There’s no point in beating you,” she hissed. You can’t even feel it, dirty fucking monster.”
It didn’t sound like her, and distracted, Emily didn’t notice the stick moving until the sharp point nicked her breast, scratching a small bloody line across her nipple. She tried to gasp and choked on the gag. It scraped across her other nipple, and then traced a line down her stomach to the waistband of her trousers.
She looked desperately at the ceiling. When was she going to be rescued? The point of the stick was pressing into her crotch now. She spread her legs so the cloth would be more taut and farther away.
“No one’s coming to get you,” the girl said softly. “But you don’t want them to.”
The stick moved against her, and Emily shut her eyes, trying to block this out. She couldn’t deny the sticky wetness pooling between her legs, but she didn’t want to be here. She knew her tears were falling freely now, and the girl flicked the stick so it popped the button off of her pants. Then she jerked them down. Emily thrashed, trying to stay away from her. The stick came around, cracking against her knees and then landing a blow right across her breast.
“Now be good and I won’t hurt you anymore.”
Emily sobbed into the gag, but she went limp, and the girl finished shuffling down her pants and underwear. Then she just looked, an ugly contemplative smile crossing her face.
“Not much anyways.” She leaned forward, taking the bra and unwinding it from around her head, then she pressed her hand against Emily’s mouth. “Stay quiet.”
She removed her hand and replaced it with the rounded end of the piece of broomstick. It pressed firmly against Emily’s lips. Emily kept her mouth shut.
“You don’t want to suck it? It’ll hurt more if you don’t.”
Emily winced but parted her lips. The varnish stuck to her dry lips but slid against her tongue. The girl fed it into her mouth until it pressed against the back of her throat.
“You’re disgusting,” she said softly. “You’re such a weak little creature you’re not even fighting anymore.”
Emily tried to jerk away from the stick, but the girl’s hand jerked and drove the end brutally into her throat. Then she drew it out, wet and sticky, and wiped the spit across Emily’s cheek.
“Lucky your mouth’s already bleeding or I’d give you the other end.” Emily just closed her eyes, tipped her head back and waited.
The rounded end of the stick moved down her body, pressing into any place that looked like it might bruise. It pushed into her, right under her stomach, and she bit her own lip, keeping back the sound. Her knees slid apart, and the girl moved the end of the stick, running it down her cleft, hard against the bone, until it settled at her entrance. Emily’s fingers clenched into fists, and she waited. Her body ached from the beating, every part of it making its injured presence known. Her nipples stung, and she could still taste the wood in her mouth, her throat raw from the girl’s violence. But she needed it inside. If she woke up now-
The girl thrust it brutally inside of her and she screamed. She was pumping it violently in and out, her free hand clawing over Emily’s skin, dragging nail marks into it. And every time it ripped her open, Emily couldn’t help crying out, and then the girl jerked it out, flipped it around, and shoved the splintered jagged side into her, and she screamed again and came.
* * *
She woke up to sweat damp sheets and a bloodstained pillow. She sat up and touched the raw corner of her mouth. She must have bitten her lip while she was asleep. The stickiness between her thighs was unprecedented, but there was a first time for everything, right?
Emily lay back down and rolled over, burying her fingers between her legs. If she could just come while thinking about something normal- But still half asleep, she felt the girl’s hand twist in her hair, and her fingers dip into her. She brought them up and licked off the bloody come.
* * *
The girl was in her rotation that night. Emily bit her lip as she approached, changing her gloves slowly.
“So,” she said uncomfortably, trying to make this less awkward, even though she was the only one conscious enough to speak. “I had a weird dream about you last night, well, today. I’m sorry.” The words came out stiffly. “I don’t really know what got into my subconscious.” She glanced at the chart taped to the base of the bed. “Emma,” she read. “Your name’s Emma.” She glanced around, but the room was unconscious. “It’s kind of like mine. I know I don’t… know you at all. But, you thanked me before, didn’t you? So I’m really sorry for putting you in that sort of role.” She moved up to the head of the bed, hovering over the girl, with her sickly pale skin, and washed out light hair. “You’re not that kind of person.”
There was a flicker of eyelids. Her eyes were lazy and vacant, but so blue. Emily reached out, her hand curling around her face, fingers brushing against her cool skin. “Why are you here?”
But she couldn’t answer, not drugged up like she was, and Emily had a job to do.
It was… humiliating, to take off the hospital robe, face her body, bare and vulnerable, and weak and emaciated. It made her stomach turn. At least in her dream she had seen her with firm muscled legs, living and aware, angry. But she ought to be angry at being treated like this. If she took that anger out on Emily, in Emily’s own subconscious, what did that mean Emily thought of herself? But of course, she was complicit in this violation, and she didn’t even know why the girl, Emma, was here, whether she could possibly deserve this.
There were bandages on the girl’s stomach. Emily frowned and sponged around them carefully. Morgan had mentioned that, hadn’t he? that she was just back from surgery. Had she gotten sick? Why hadn’t they noticed what was wrong with her neck while she was in the hospital? Hadn’t they taken off her restraints when she was under anaesthesia?
Emily grit her teeth as she moved the sponge between her legs. She had to do this right. It wasn’t fair to be sloppy just because she was uncomfortable. But doing her legs was somehow even worse. “God! How long have you been here to lose this much muscle mass?” But what was she comparing it to? The dream?
* * *
The next night she dreamed about going in to work, but when she unlocked the door and looked inside, she found all the beds empty, except for one. The girl, Emma, was sitting on her bed, one leg crossed, the other dangling towards the floor. It was the dream one again, pink-skinned, eyes alert, hair lush instead of lank. And she was looking at her.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Oh,” Emily said, uselessly. “You’re awake.”
“Thanks to you.”
Emily frowned, confused. She opened her mouth to ask, but Emma shook her head, her hair spilling over her shoulders, and spread her legs.
Somehow Emily hadn’t noticed that she was entirely naked. Maybe it was because she acted like someone wearing a full suit of bulletproof armor.
“Strip for me,” she said, catching her chin in her hand, and watching, an amused smile on her face. “You came so prettily before.”
Emily hesitated for a moment. Emma arched an eyebrow, and Emily hurriedly pulled off her scrubs. Then she glanced at the girl, who just looked impatient, and shucked her bra and underwear as well.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
Emily obeyed.
“Now crawl over to me.”
Emily crawled across the cold concrete floor, her knees bruising, until she reached the bed. She stayed in the position, but pushed against Emma’s foot with her head. Emma’s feet cupped her head, toes curling into her hair, and then rubbed up and down over her cheeks.
“What are you?” the girl asked. “Some sort of idealist? Naive? An idiot?” She patted the bed. “Up now.” Feeling a little like a dog, Emily got to her feet and crawled onto the bed. The girl cupped her face, looking at her intently. “Are you kind? Is that something you just can’t overcome?”
Emily opened her mouth, and the girl pressed a finger against it. “Don’t speak.” She moved back, leaning against the headboard, and spread her knees. “Please me.”
Emily looked at her, from her eyes, clear and disdainful, and then down. She swallowed.
“Get the fuck on with it,” the girl snapped.
And Emily leaned in, breathing hot air, until she heard a whimper. Then she pressed her nose against the girl’s clit, and slid her tongue in, dragging it up in one long stroke. She heard a small hiss of breath, and smiled, before tilting her head up and letting her tongue tease around her clit. The girl’s legs clenched around her shoulders, taut and strong, and she burrowed back in, pleased at the squeak as the girl tightened her grip on the headboard.
* * *
For a long time, Emily had considered herself functionally asexual. Her body would sometimes make demands, and she fulfilled them, and often she felt a little lost and at loose ends since she didn’t have anyone, and she didn’t think she ever really would. But it was the matching up of the two feelings that didn’t work for her. Sometimes she would be vaguely attracted to someone, but they wouldn’t be the sort she wanted to spend time with, and the people she really cared about just weren’t sexually interesting. Her mother was still living in hope that she’d get over this, but she didn’t ask anymore. She had learned that at least.
People told Emily that she’d meet someone eventually who would hit both targets (and then, she thought the subtext usually was, she’d have her heart broken, as was good and proper.) But she hadn’t. And now she was worried that she was developing a sexuality in entirely the wrong direction.
Morgan was still in the locker room when she showed up for work. “Hey Emily!” he said with a grin. “How are things going?”
Emily forced a smile. “Pretty good. I haven’t had any trouble really.”
“Excellent. I’m glad you caught that infection on 11-18.”
“Emma?”
Morgan turned and gave her a long look. “Did you-“ use her name, was the unspoken part.
“I just checked her chart.” She felt caught. “You said she needed extra attention.”
“Yeah,” Morgan said slowly.
“Um…” It was a risk, but she wanted to know. “How long has she been here?”
Morgan shrugged. “Three, four years? Before my time at least.”
“Oh.” That was a long time to spend lying in a hospital bed. “What’s wrong with her?”
Morgan frowned. “I thought you understood.” He seemed hesitant to say anything more, but he sighed and didn’t meet her eyes when he spoke. “They’re mutants.”
* * *
“You didn’t talk to me today.”
Emma was sitting at the window overlooking the quad that ran up to Healy Hall. It had been the view from Emily’s dorm room the two years she had lived on campus. She had a cup of tea, and nodded towards the other chair. Emily sat in it. Emma poured a second cup.
“I didn’t know you noticed.”
“I’m just drugged out of my mind. I’m not dead.”
“I know that.”
“Really? I couldn’t tell.” She muttered something that could have been ‘repressed necrophilia.’ Emily grimaced.
“You’re a mutant.”
“Am I?” Emma took a sip of her tea and arched an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
Emily looked away. “I probably should have been paying more attention when my mother was talking.”
“I could be anything then,” Emma said blandly. “I could be a monster or a victim. You don’t know.”
“Are you really here?”
“I’m a figment of your imagination.”
“Is that all?”
“Sadly, yes. I’m the memory of a person who is as good as dead.”
“A memory or the memory.”
Emma looked at her, her eyes cool but intent. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
“Well, most figments of my imagination aren’t rude to me.”
Emma snorted. “I don’t believe you.”
* * *
“Mom.”
Elizabeth looked up at her daughter, rather surprised at being addressed, particularly this early in the afternoon when Emily was still rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Yes?”
“What is this mutant problem that you keep talking about?”
“You want to know about my work?”
Emily nodded and went to make tea.
“Any particular reason why?”
Emily looked at her and frowned. “Tell me what it is first.”
“Well, you’ve heard of mutants, haven’t you? We’ve had the devil of the time keeping them out of the news.”
“You’ve been hushing things up?”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow in a way familiar enough to make Emily rather uncomfortable. Was she giving Emma her mother’s mannerisms? That made everything a good oedipal degree worse.
“It’s a complicated situation. And unfortunately, mutants are quickly becoming a fact of life. Eventually we are going to have to admit their existence, and figure out what to do about them. It’s unfortunate that the democratic process is uniquely unsuited to deal with this sort of problem.”
“What’s so dangerous about them?”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Mainly the problem is that they can have powers that could undermine our legal process, corrupt our government, and derail our economy.”
“Like what?”
“Do you have any idea of what a telepath could do in congress? This is why any crimes committed by mutants cannot go to trial. Giving one free rein with a jury? We just don’t have the infrastructure to counter the effects.”
“They don’t get trials?”
“Oh, we collect evidence, and determine guilt, but a trial? I am afraid that many are imprisoned for being potentially disruptive even if they are deemed innocent. Our best option is the inhibitor collar, if we could just get the legal tangles worked out, but in Switzerland they ruled use of mental dampeners a human rights violation. Unless we get it through the legislature, and terrify the public, the ACLU will be all over us. Of course, if we manage to set a precedent defining mutants as not technically human, then things can go on the way they are.”
“You mean you can keep imprisoning mutants without a trial, mentally incapacitating them, and effectively sentencing them to death of old age without having any life in between?”
“And what would you have us do? Put murderers back on the streets?”
Emily looked away, a bitter sickening taste in her mouth. “I don’t know.”
Elizabeth sighed. “That’s why it's a problem.”
* * *
Inhibitor collars. Emily’s fingers traced over the restraint around the girl’s neck. Then she moved back to the foot of the bed and looked at the chart. “So, Emma Frost,” she read. “Age 19.” She looked down. “Nineteen.” And she had been here four years. What could a fifteen year old do to deserve this? “Previous illnesses: sprained ankle, broken nose, broken arm.” Emily laughed quietly. “Sounds like you got into some trouble as a kid. Family history: Chemical dependence, Depression, Anxiety.” Emily looked up at the unconscious girl. “A parent? I’m sorry. Medicatons:… I don't even know how to pronounce these things. Drug Allergies: none. Lucky for them.” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment. “I think you’re a telepath,” she said. “I think that’s what happened when I took off the collar to clean the wounds. I think a little bit of you got into my head.”
She walked down the rows of people, lying unconscious and motionless. She looked at their faces, glanced at the charts, names, faces. Kurt and Marie and Calvin, Susanne, Alex, Shiro, Jean-Paul, Danielle, Jono. Many were young, some still seemed healthy, others had the pale emaciation that Emma did, from having been fed on IV for too long. And then she moved back to Emma, leaning against the side of the bed.
“You didn’t get a trial. I don’t know anything else, but I know that.” She looked at her for a long moment, tracing the lines of her face with her eyes. If things were different, she doubted this girl would look at her twice. But right now she was helpless. She needed so many people just to keep her alive, and she was still trapped. Emily leaned down, cupping her icy cheek, just intending to brush their lips together chastely, when a voice cut through the silence of the ward.
“Emily?”
Morgan was there. Emily spun, really caught this time. “What-“
“What are you doing?”
“I-“ She backed away from the bed, ending up bumping against the wall. “I was just checking- I mean, she was cold. I wasn’t sure she was breathing.”
“Emily-“ He looked stricken.
“I wasn’t- I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” She knew she sounded desperate, but he couldn’t fire her, not now. Not when everything was still so tangled up.
But he was looking away from her, at a patch of concrete floor by Emma’s bed. “Don’t you know?”
Emily stiffened. Did he know what she had done? That she had unbound the inhibitor collar and released something her mother was terrified of. “Know what?”
Morgan pressed a hand to his face, as if he couldn’t bear it. “Do you know why she was in surgery?”
This wasn’t about her. Emily wasn’t sure whether she should be more or less terrified. She slowly shook her head. “It wasn’t on her chart.”
“I’m pretty sure most of the records have been conveniently lost.” He sighed. “The orderly before you… He did some things that-“ He looked ill, and Emily suddenly felt her stomach churn with bile. “They have monthly blood tests here, and they realized that something was wrong, and the orderly caught wind of it, and he beat her, and when that didn’t work, he stabbed her four times.” Morgan laughed weakly. “He was trying to get rid of the evidence. He should have figured out that stabbing was more obvious than…”
Emma was just lying there, still and unconscious, always still.
“Than rape,” Emily said softly. How could someone do that? Unless… What if he had done what she had? “What did he say? Did he try to defend himself?”
Morgan shook his head. “His defense was that they were just mutants. It didn’t count.”
Oh. She swallowed. That first dream she had had... it hadn't been her perverted imagination that caused it, but it hadn't been the girl's either. Those words she had said, 'you can't even feel it,' 'you monster,' 'you deserve it,' they hadn't sounded like her, because it hadn't been her. It had been her memory.
Emily looked around the room. “I can see where he got the idea.” Her eyes fell on Emma and drifted to the patch of blanket, underneath which lay bandages, and under those… nothing anymore. “I have to go,” she said, words barely a whisper. “I have to.”
“Emily-“ he didn’t call her back. “You care. But that’s not always something you can afford.”
Emily looked at him, just once, and saw his flinch as he registered the expression on her face. Then she left.
* * *
She walked, then ran, then walked again. She didn’t want to think. There was nothing open at three am, and she went home. She broke into the bottom drawer of her mother’s desk, and took the whiskey. It didn’t work. It wasn’t fast enough. She broke the bottle on the floor, shattering glass cutting her arm. Cursing, she held a wad of cloth to it, and curled up on the sofa, sniffling, and trying not to cry.
And then she fell asleep.
Was it the same forest? It was nighttime now, and she was wearing the same bulletproof vest, the same gun in her hand, but no radio, no sound of a helicopter, just silent trees and endless shadows. There was a sound from behind her, a howl, and it went straight to the prey part of her brain. She started to move. She heard the howl again, closer this time, and ran.
She dodged around trees, was scraped by branches, caught by thorny bushes. And then she tripped over a root, and fell face first with a splash into some viscous warm liquid. She pushed herself up, and a beam of moonlight shot between the leaves to turn the black smear on her hands to red. She jerked back, horrified. A body was lying beside the pool of blood, limp and broken. “Emma-“
She didn’t move, and Emily knelt beside her. Her head was flopped to the side, eyes open and empty, blood still gushing from her gut. Emily pressed her hands against the wound, trying to make it stop, but it wouldn’t. It flowed over her hands, soaking the tail of her shirt, turning the ground under her knees into blood.
“Look up,” said a voice, and Emily did. There was a body, hanged from a rope dangling from one of the trees. It was a large man, wearing what looked like a suit, drifting in the light wind. “I did that.”
It was Emma’s voice, or at least the one she had always used in the dreams.
“I wanted it. I had to want it badly enough to make it happen. And it did happen. I never thought my life could be worse outside his power. Perhaps I never made it outside his power. Even his death controlled me.”
And then there was something rising up under Emily’s hands, it was lumpy and hot, and organic, and she knew what it was, and she jerked back.
“Everything I touch dies. Why haven’t I?”
Emily made a decision, and stood. She turned around. There was another Emma there, pale and thin and broken, eyes haunted, not vacant, not angry. She stepped forward.
Emma jerked back. “Don’t touch me!”
But Emily kept moving. She backed the girl against a tree, and she couldn’t get any farther away. “Please don’t- you don’t-“
And Emily cupped her face in her bloody hands and leaned in to kiss her.
* * *
“You look terrible,” Elizabeth said, when Emily dragged herself down the stairs in the morning. “I assume you were the felon who broke into my office last night.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Emily said sadly.
“Is this about work? It seems that it might be too hard on you.”
Emily clenched the table. “You have to do something. You have to fix this.”
“Me?”
“If you could kill someone by just wanting them dead enough, how many times over would you be a murderer?”
“Emily?”
“I know it’s dangerous. I know its possible that just one could destroy the country. But that’s not an excuse for taking children and essentially murdering them. You take away everything that makes life worth living, and just give them the opportunity for more suffering. Mom!”
Elizabeth stared at her, utterly bewildered. “Do you know how much we’ll owe in reparations if we admit that we’ve been guilty of human rights violations in the millions?”
“You’re thinking about money!”
“You have no idea about the implications of any action!”
“You’re no better than that man who raped a living corpse!”
“Emily!” The crack of the slap across her face stung bitterly, but it didn’t compare to the sickness in her gut. Emily spun and ran to the door. “Where are you going?”
“To work!”
“It’s morning!”
* * *
Emily changed into her scrubs and slid through the halls unobtrusively. Morgan was in the mutant ward, doing IVs.
“You’re back,” he said softly.
“I am.”
He shoved his thumb towards the small herd of IVs in the corner. “Fill the other half, I’ll put the lines in.” When she finished, she looked up to see Morgan bringing in a chair. He set it down next to Emma’s bed. “Why don’t you keep an eye on this ward for me?”
Emily’s shoulders sank in relief. She nodded. He gave her a weak smile and then slipped out. Emily moved slowly to the chair. She sank into it, not having realized the extent of her exhaustion. And then she reached out, tangling her fingers in Emma’s, cool and limp where they hung in the restraints. She leaned her head against the mattress, and before she knew it, she was asleep.
* * *
“We’re here again,” Emily said, looking out at Healy Hall.
“Yes.” Emma didn’t look up. “I like it here. I never had the opportunity to go to college.”
“You’re nineteen, you-“ And then she realized the mistake she had made.
“Sorry. Did I use the wrong tense?” she drawled. “I will never have the opportunity to do that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? Somehow, you have hope.” Finally she looked at Emily, her eyes bitter, and yet warm. “You’re leaving, aren’t you? If you go too far I suppose eventually I will be nothing but a memory. But it’s better to be a memory in your mind, than a prisoner in my own.”
“Emma-“
“You know,” she said casually. “I was a virgin when I was arrested.” She stood, and touched Emily’s face. “Give me a few more sweet memories before you put me away for good?”
* * *
Emily lay back on the bed, her hands bound above her head. Emma settled over her hips, her hands moving in slight semi-circles over her body. She cupped her breasts possessively, and leaned down, nipping lightly at the skin of Emily’s neck.
Emily stared up at her, only able to see the skinny pale girl, bound to a bed, spread and vulnerable to all comers. She closed her eyes and felt the caress of lips on her neck. “What would you do if I unbound you?”
Emma flinched back. Her eyes widened and she stared at Emily.
“Would you… would you manipulate my mind?”
“Would you blame me if I did?”
Emily swallowed, unable to draw her eyes away. “What would you do to me?”
Emma sat back, tracing a finger in a serpentine path down her chest. “Perhaps… I would make you love me.”
“Oh.” Hadn’t she already done that?
Emma cupped her cheek, leaning close, so Emily could feel the imaginary whisper of her breath on her face. “I would use you. I would make you hide me and protect me, do anything to keep me safe. I would warp your life to save myself. Would you blame me for that?”
“And other people?”
“I would make them forget me. I would never have existed. Convince them that I was human, make them forget my sins and my suffering. I would protect myself. I would do anything not to be here forever. I would try to end this system, but quietly. I’d rather die than be put back here. Would you mind that?”
Emily just tipped her head up, offering her mouth to be kissed.
* * *
Emily woke up to Morgan shaking her shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”
Emily blinked up at him, still feeling lost and separate from this world. She wanted to be back in her head, wrapped in warm arms, not here, with the endless beep of the machine, the cold concrete and ubiquitous syringes. Emma’s hand was still clasped in hers, but it was limp and icy. She shut her eyes, trying to block the involuntary tears that burned her sleep-dry eyes.
“I’m just doing the last round of drugs, and then my shift ends,” he said softly. “Are you all right for tonight? Or should I call in a substitute?”
“No, I’m fine,” Emily said, her voice coming out an unconvincing whisper. “Just had a good nap.” That was a little stronger, but still embarrassing.
“If you say so.” Morgan gave her a pitying smile. “I just…” He gestured with his head towards Emma. “The doctors think she’s healed enough to go back on her full medication. So if you want to…” He looked sad. “…say goodbye or something. She won’t acknowledge you again.”
Emily stared at him, and he gave a weak half-shrug. He checked a chart, then drew out a syringe, filling it from a few vials. The liquid inside was a reddish brown. Then he stuck it in the IV bag. Emily watched blankly as the dark liquid mixed with the clear and then worked its way down towards the tube. It was three quarters of the way down the tube when she heard the door shut behind Morgan. She jumped up, and jerked the needle out of the girl’s arm. Her fingers fumbled with the catch on the neck restraint, but she undid it, and then jerked it, ripping the catch out of the collar, so they couldn’t put it back on. An alarm began to ring. Of course they’d want to know if a collar was damaged. God. She pressed her fingers against the girl’s temples.
“Please, please do it fast,” she begged. She leaned down, pressing her lips to her sweat-slick forehead. “Please,” she whispered.
And everything went grey.
* * *
There was a knock on the door. Emily glanced up from her reading. She had sixteen articles to get through before she could even consider starting that paper, but any break was welcomed.
Emma was sprawled out on the floor, half asleep on her textbook, and Emily couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face when she saw her there. She stepped over her, ignoring the small noise of protest, and went to the door.
Her mother was outside, holding a bag of takeout. She stepped inside when welcomed, and looked around, seeming impressed. “I’m always so surprised when I see your new apartment,” she said, sounding pleased. “Emma,” she said in greeting to the girl who had gotten up off the floor and was coming towards her. “You’re looking well.”
“Senator.”
“How many times have I told you to call me Elizabeth?” she asked, and pulled Emma into a light hug. “I’m here to feed you.” She pushed the bag of takeout into her hands. “We need to put more meat on your bones.”
Absently, Emily glanced over the other girl. That was true. She needed more feeding. A flicker of something uncomfortable flashed through her head, but it was derailed by the wry smile that Emma displayed as she took the bag. “The flu took a lot out of me,” she said. “But don’t worry. Emily’s looking after me quite well enough.”
“I’ll believe that when I believe Emily can look after herself,” Elizabeth said, and put her arm around Emma’s shoulders and pushed her towards the kitchen.
“How is your work, Sen- ah, Elizabeth?”
“It seems to be going quite well.” Emily tailed them to the kitchen, not wanting to get back to her articles. “I think I’ve won enough support to get the mutant rights bill through. There are always a few dissenters, but I believe it’s balanced enough that they won’t be able to get the public worked up into a frenzy of fear.”
“That’s good,” Emma said, moving to pull out plates and silverware. The three plates together made her arms shake, and Emily stepped in, taking them from her before she could drop them.
“You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard,” Emily told her softly. “Sit down. And you should go straight back to bed after dinner.”
Emma flinched. “I don’t- I don’t want to sleep. I feel like I’ve done nothing but sleep for so long.”
Emily looked at her, not liking the tangled knot of emotions behind her eyes. She set down the plates and cupped her cheek. Her temperature was good, even her color was coming back. That was good. The time Emma had been sick was a little blurry, probably because she had been so worried and upset by it all, but she knew at least that she was much better now, not as healthy as she could be, but on the way there.
“Well, alright. I’ll let you stay up this once.”
Emma laughed, and leaned into her, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “You’re such a pushover.”
Emily wrapped her hands around her waist, happy to hold her there. “Maybe. For you.”
Elizabeth coughed to draw attention to herself. “As much as I am pleased by this set of circumstances, I believe we should eat before the food gets cold.”
Elizabeth left after dinner, and Emily moved onto the couch with her articles. Emma was on the other end, her eyelids drooping sleepily, as she tried to focus on her book. Finally, Emily reached out and took the book away from her. Emma gave her a sleepy, petulant scowl, and Emily patted her leg. Grumbling, but acquiescing, Emma lay down, resting her head in Emily’s lap. Finishing an article, Emily set it down on Emma’s shoulder. Emma shrugged it off and it fell to the floor.
Emily chuckled to herself, and let her fingers tangle in Emma’s hair. She scanned through the abstract of the next one. It sounded interesting. That was good.
“You know,” Emma said softly. Emily blinked and glanced back down at her. “I couldn’t have done it.”
“Couldn’t have done what?”
“I couldn’t have made you love me.”
Emily blinked down at her, puzzled.
“I wouldn’t have known how. But I didn’t need to, did I?”
Emily let her fingers curl around her ear. It was warm. “Guess not.”
Emma shuffled in her lap, pulling herself up to sit in it. “I could never have even imagined it would feel like this.”
Emily looked into her eyes, bright blue, and soft, in a way that seemed unfamiliar. “I think… I think I know what you mean.”
Emma’s fingertips ghosted against her cheek. She could feel her breath, her face coming closer, and Emily closed her eyes tilting her head, and leaning forward, just a bare few millimeters, and their lips touched.
For the first time.
FIN