fic: Tom Cruise Must Die (8/10)
Title: Tom Cruise Must Die (8/10)
Cast: Kristen Bell. Jason Dohring. Joshua Jackson. With sundry guest stars of the CW and Scientology variety!
Authors: buffyx & missdeviant
Rating: NC-17 (this section is R)
Notes/Warnings: Rule number one of VM RPS: Do not talk about VM RPS. Not to the actors, anyway. It's just not cool, and DEFINITELY NOT AT ALL FUNNY, OKAY? OKAY. Just so we're clear!
When Kristen comes to, it takes her a minute to open her eyes. She’s spread out on her stomach, her cheek flat against-something. A hard, cold surface. Cement, maybe. She can make out the fuzzy orange-red of the insides of her eyelids, which feel stuck together, and there’s a faint hum buzzing in her ears.
Oh, god, her head. It’s aching like it’s been split open with a baseball bat. She rolls slowly onto her side, picks her head up off of the floor as much as she can manage. Blinks groggily at the cool white light emitting from the fluorescent lamps affixed to the ceiling high above.
She braces one hand against the floor and pushes herself up slightly, touching the other to the egg-shaped bump on the side of her head. There’s blood in her hair and her temple is tender, a little swollen, sure to bruise. With a wince, she shifts into a sitting position, on her knees with her legs tucked under her. She looks up and tries to figure out, exactly, where she is.
Okay. She’s surrounded by four glass panels that extend nearly all the way to the ceiling. In the six inches of space between where the glass ends and the ceiling begins, heavy steel bars allow air to circulate into her five-by-five prison. She’s not wearing her own clothes; it’s some god-awful combination of mint-green hospital gown top and matching scrub pants.
Shakily, she gets her feet under her, stumbles upright. Everything looks blurry and slanted at a wrong angle.
Her hands reach out and press up against the glass, testing it cautiously; it’s thick. She can't tell how thick from this angle, but she guesstimates it to be several inches at the minimum.
Oh, crap. This… this can’t be good.
“Wakey, wakey.”
The two words rip through her veins, an icy tenor that makes her feel like she's still trekking through the forest, exposed to the elements. She whips around so fast she almost loses her balance. The room still seems to spin even as she freezes in place. Her sluggishness is starting to fade, thankfully, but the combination of the blow to her head and the sheer terror of WAKING UP IN A GLASS BOX have left her a little on the wobbly side.
When her crazy Tilt-a-Whirl vision finally comes back into normal focus, it doesn’t really help matters.
Oh god.
Tom. Cruise.
At the sight of her panic, he merely chuckles low in his throat. He begins to pace back and forth outside of her enclosure, studying her like she’s a fish in one his fetish-fulfilling aquariums.
One of which she happens to spy behind him as he paces. The electric pump of the tank circulates the water with the same low buzz she heard moments before.
“Wh-what…” Kristen struggles to make her tongue work correctly. She shakes her head to clear it, tries to concentrate. “What did you-what did you to me?”
“The sedative seems to be wearing off,” he notes. “They said it worked like a charm. Knocked you out in less than ten seconds. Impressive, huh? Now, fun little Tom Cruise Trivia Fact for you: I never graduated high school. Can’t pretend I know too much about this chemical science garbage. But from what I’m told, it’s a newly formulated tranquilizer, developed by top Scientologist medical researchers right here in these very laboratories. Once it gets FDA approval… and trust me, it will… ka-ching, ka-ching! ”
He punctuates the cash register sound effects with two giddy pumps of his arm.
Laboratories. Tranquilizers. She rubs her hip absently, the spot still sore from what she has just deduced as the prick of a needle. How long has she been knocked out?
Kristen attempts to peer through the glass at her surroundings, but everything is cloaked in darkness; there’s no natural light, just the dull illumination of fluorescent bulbs. Has she been in here for hours? Days? The fog in her brain is dissipating with each passing second, leaving her with nothing but paralyzing fear.
Tom Cruise comes to a stop inches away from the glass, frowning.
“You’re actually the first human subject to be tested with it, so, hopefully any side effects aren’t too long-term.” He pauses to make a face of faux-consternation. “But no, really, I wouldn’t worry. From what I’m told, they’ve done some extensive animal testing, and I’d wager you’re not all that different from a small dog.”
Her stomach turns, and she tries to steady herself against the glass, keep her voice even and calm. She’s an actress, dammit. She can do this.
“Have you resorted to kidnapping in order to get a captive audience?” she questions with a wrinkle of her nose. “I know you’ve probably forgotten what having one is like, being so long and all, but you’re not supposed to take it so literally. How’s that whole ‘being-dropped-from-Paramount’ deal working out for you?”
For a second something dark and dangerous flashes in Tom Cruise’s eyes, but then they’re bright again, bright and manic.
“So, we’ve got a mouthy one, have we?” He lets out a loud laugh and leans in as close to the barrier between them as possible, his breath fogging the glass. “Well. That’s going to make this more interesting.”
The leer he shoots her after that is like a pin piercing the balloon of her false bravado, deflating it instantly. She hates the way she instinctively cowers back, but her body is still working to catch up with her brain and she has no clue in hell how she’s going to get herself out of this tight spot.
Quite literally.
“Stupid move, the two of you coming here alone without backup,” he tells her with a smug grin. “With the way he’s talked about around here, I thought Dohring, at least, would be smarter than that.”
Wait. He didn’t mention Josh or Craww. They must’ve been able to get away undetected. There’s hope, there’s hope, not all is lost. If they just go for reinforcements, if she can just buy time for her and Jason--
“Jason,” she remembers suddenly, heart racing again. “Where is he? Did you--?”
She can’t even say it. Several scenarios run through her mind at once, all tangling with each other, and none of them end well.
“If it were up to me… but no, sadly, he’s fine. Wait, let me rephrase that.” He sets his fingers into a steeple under his chin. “He’s alive. Been wide awake quite a bit longer than you, since we didn’t use such heavy sedatives. Want him to be nice and alert for what we’ve got in store for him.”
“In store?” Kristen echoes.
“We’re going to-well, you’ll see,” he finishes vaguely, waving her off with his hand as he turns away from her. “Now that you’ve chosen to deign us with your consciousness, we can get to the fun part.”
The queasy feeling in her gut only heightens as Tom Cruise strolls over to a man at the doorway in a dark blue uniform standing guard. She can’t see much but she is pretty sure there’s a gun holster on his belt.
Tom glances back at her once, smirking, and says, “Tell them we’re ready.”
The guard disappears, and Kristen feels her stomach sinking. She is doomed. Doomed to die at the hands of Tom Cruise, or become impregnated with a turkey baster, or some other equally hideous alternative-and to think, she used to find him kind of attractive, back in his Jerry Maguire days. Before he started with all the crazy. Or, at least, started exhibiting it in public venues and on Oprah’s couch.
Times, they have changed.
Okay. She has to do something. Maybe-maybe she can appeal to his paternal side; amidst the bizarro behavior and psychosis, there has to be some tiny thread of humanity lurking underneath.
“I don’t get it,” Kristen blurts out, watching him from behind the glass. “How can you do this? How can you let them do this to your daughter? Don’t you love anything?”
Tom whirls around, eyes blazing.
“Suri is my child!” he snaps furiously. “We were family, until you came along and ruined everything! And now. Now she can fulfill her greater purpose, and then I can raise her as my own.”
She scoffs. “What makes you think they’ll ever give her back to you?”
“Promises have been made. They’ll keep their end of the bargain.”
His voice isn’t quite certain as he speaks the words. Sensing his doubt, Kristen jumps on it.
“It’s not possible! Don’t you even know? The ceremony is going to kill everything in Suri that makes her who she is. She’ll just be, like, a vegetable. If they go through with it, she might as well be dead.” She tries to sound more sure of that than she actually feels. “They’re lying to you, don’t you see that? You’re just a pawn--”
"They wouldn’t lie!” he bellows, with such force that a cord in his neck pops out from the strain. “I didn't know who I was. What I was. Not before I came to them. They showed me! They need me. You’ll see that."
He wags his finger in a menacing fashion, then backs away, nodding like he’s convinced himself of something.
“You are deluded!” she shouts with one last pound of her closed fist against the glass.
But it’s an exercise in futility, since he’s already turning and walking away from her.
Dammit. The tiny flicker of hope that had sparked inside her at detecting the trace of doubt in Tom Cruise’s eyes dies out as fast as it had been ignited. No sense trying to reason with crazies, she supposes, slumping against the glass in despair. If she could just stop panicking on the inside and think, maybe, maybe she could figure a way out of this-
Fuck. She never should’ve fucking left theater. FUCK!
The door the guard had disappeared through earlier creaks open, allowing in a shaft of cool white light. She blinks against it and sees two figures dragging something-no, wait, someone-through.
More lights overheard flicker on and illuminate the lab. Seconds later and she realizes that someone is Jason, being shoved forward by two burly uniformed guards who keep a vice-like hold on both of his arms, looking worse for wear. From her vantage point she can see a jagged cut over one temple, a smear of blood across his swollen bottom lip. He looks thrashed, like if he was released he would hardly be able to stand on his own two feet.
“Jason!” she cries out, unhinged, and fuck, she doesn’t want to cry but the tears are thick in her throat, choking her, and oh god, oh god-
His head snaps up at the sound of his name, and it’s then that she sees it: the look in his eyes. Clear and alert, more alert than they should be, given his state. His entire body jolts, straining suddenly against his captors.
“No,” he mumbles, “no, not her, she doesn’t-she doesn’t know-“
“Save it!” barks Tom Cruise. “Shut up and sit down.”
The guards roughly shove Jason across the room until he’s seated in the single chair at the empty table about fifteen feet in front of her. They stand at both of his sides, silent and perfectly still, like gargoyles.
Tom swaggers over and leans across the table.
“You’re in my territory now, Dohring. My game, my rules.”
“How long have you been practicing that one?” asks Jason snidely. “Because you’ve really nailed the cartoonish, villainy response. I’m sure Michael Bay would be impressed.”
Even though Kristen can only see his back, she can tell Tom has tensed, his rigid shoulders squaring.
“You think I’m the villain in this piece?” he snaps. “You are the one who stole Suri! You tore my family apart! We finally recover her, bring her back to where she belongs, and you think I’m gonna hand her over to you and your little whore? Not. Happening.”
Jasons stares back at him, unflinching.
“If you so much as lay one hand on her,” he vows in a low, frigid tone, “I will rip your throat out.”
“Oh, really?” Tom chuckles. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats.”
“Think of it as a promise, then.”
The laugh that bubbles out of Tom then is nothing short of condescending. He retreats from his position across the table from Jason and swivels back to face Kristen.
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that,” he says with a cluck of his tongue. “See, while your partner here was unconscious, our researchers took a little blood. Had her tested, and turns out, she's a prime candidate for the same procedure Kate underwent.”
A chill runs through Kristen as she notices for the first time the white bandage encasing her right forearm. Blood? Candidate? Procedure? None of it sounds remotely good.
“Now, see, you and your little cockroaches blew up the Center, and I’ll admit-for a bunch of amateurs, you guys pretty effectively destroyed our research for this project,” he continues, gaze glued to her. “So while we wouldn’t be able to replicate the initial method, I’m willing to subject her to the insemination phase myself.” His eyes travel up and down the length of her body, and she shudders. “Manually.”
Her eyes grow wide as she realizes the implication of Tom Cruise’s words.
“Maybe I'll even allow our Sea Org members to... warm her up a bit." He glances back at the guards. “You boys would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Over my dead body,” she spits at him, a mixture of fury and fear surging up in her chest.
They may be strong, but she can run fast. Plus, it’s been awhile since she’s seen her manicurist, so her nails are nice and long and kind of jagged. And there was that time in fourth grade when Bobby McMillan spilled bleach on her favorite sweater on purpose in art class and she punched him in the face so hard it gave him a nosebleed.
Yeah, she can get her way out of this one, what with her wiliness, sharp nails and mean right hook. Toss in her sparkling personality, and she’s totally got the upper hand here.
Right.
“And what a fine body it is,” drawls Tom with a lewd smirk. His face darkens. “Oh, I think I’m going to have fun, playing with you.”
There’s the sound of chair legs scraping on concrete flooring as Jason leaps up from the table, lunging for Tom.
“If you touch her, I swear to god I will-" he roars, face red with rage, but he doesn’t get to finish before the Org guards automatically seize him by the shoulders.
They slam him back against the far wall, and Kristen gasps as one of them grabs him in a choke hold, thumb digging into his windpipe. Jason makes a strangled, pained cry, struggling under their hold, his eyes bulging.
“Stop! Stop, god, please don’t-" she pleads. “Please, whatever you want, just leave him alone.”
Tom waves one hand and the guards release Jason on command. He pitches forward, coughing and sputtering, holding one hand to his throat.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” sneers Tom to Kristen. “There’s nothing you possibly have to bargain with. No, it’s Dohring here who has a decision to make. He already knows the score. It’s up to him to make the deal or not.”
“Deal?” Kristen stares at him. “What deal? What are you talking about?”
Jason’s face remains impassive, and Tom just smirks in response.
“Looks like you two lovebirds have something to chat about,” he sing-songs. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk it over.” He turns to one of the guards. “Put his chair up to the glass so they can work this out more intimately.”
The guards jostle Jason out of the chair and move it so it is perpendicular to Kristen’s glass enclosure, then shove him down, strapping him in with several binds. She watches as they fasten them tightly on the arms and ankles, pinning him down. He's only inches away, and now she can examine the damage done to him up close and personal. Jesus, they've done a number on him.
“Me and the boys will step outside and leave you two a moment of privacy,” Tom tells them with another smirk. “Give us a holler if you need anything.”
With that, Tom and the two guards exit out the door, shutting it with an echoing slam.
There’s a long moment of mutual silence, Jason in the chair and Kristen behind the glass, before she breaks the ice.
"I'm surprised they didn't do a better job of securing us,” she comments sarcastically, eyeing the abundance of ties strapping him down. "So. Krav Maga didn't teach you anything about escaping underground lairs, did it?"
She lets out a nervous half-laugh, but Jason doesn’t react. He’s staring at the binds on his wrists, flexing his hands up against the restraints as far as possible. She clears her throat awkwardly.
"No, seriously; what's the plan? Other than, you know. Be scared and die."
Jason doesn’t meet her eyes. “There is no plan.”
“But there’s always a plan,” she responds, bewildered. “I mean, sure, sometimes they’re half-assed ones that nearly get us killed, but there are still plans. There has to be a plan--”
This is the same Jason who saved a fucking baby from a collapsing building! He's like Superman! But not in a vacant Tom Welling way. He's supposed to be the one who saves her. Logan and Veronica, Kristen and Jason-- he's always the one who's got her back when things get messy.
"Kristen. I have to do this. I can't let them hurt you.” He’s still gazing intently at his wrists, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I can't let them do to you what they've done to me."
"What have they DONE to you, Jason? What’s going on?” she demands. “What are they asking you to do? Tell me, please, tell me."
"It's all in motion, I feel it. There's not enough time."
“Time for what? What do you-"
"This room's bugged, you know that?” he cuts in. He glances her way, his eyes frenzied and mad. “They're waiting for me to say something that can be used against me. Listening to us. Learning our secrets. The things that make us bleed quicker, the things that make us burn harder. That's what they do."
"I don't know what you're saying!” she cries in frustration.
Ignoring her, he twists as much as is allowed in his chair to face the door.
"SHE DOESN'T MATTER, TOM!" he yells. "NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO TO HER, IT WON'T CHANGE MY MIND!"
“Jason, you’re scaring me!” Kristen’s voice cracks. “Please, just-- what's going on? What do they want from you? Talk to me!"
He looks at her, finally, and she sees the wetness glimmering in his eyes, the barely perceptible trembling of his mouth.
“They knew I couldn’t choose,” he says plaintively. “You. Her. The mission, it was always the mission. Default. Nothing else. Used to be so easy, you know?”
“What used to be so easy?” she whispers.
“It. Everything.” He lets out a strangled sound, like a laugh that flirts on the edge of a broken sob. “And then. There was you.”
All at once she understands: He values her, more than his own well-being. More than the mission.
She is his Achilles heel.
“I have to do this,” he tells her soberly. “I’m sorry.”
His voice catches, and he tilts forward, resting his head up against the glass barrier, eyes closing.
“You don’t. Whatever it is you think you have to do, you don’t.” Kristen lowers herself to his level, leans so that her forehead is touching the same point as his. “Just… hold on, okay? We’ll get through this. We will.”
“Kristen, I." Jason opens his eyes and swallows hard. I lo-"
He breaks off suddenly, like he can’t bear to finish, and scoots away from the glass, straining to turn back to the door.
“TOM, I’M READY TO TALK.”
A second later the door swings open, Tom Cruise swaggering through, trailed by both of the guards.
“So you’ve come to your senses and decided to agree to the deal?” he questions. “Her freedom for yours. I think that’s a rather generous offer, considering.”
Wait, what? No. No, that is not how it works. Tom Cruise does not get to blackmail Jason into becoming their prisoner with rape dollars.
“Fine,” he agrees. “Whatever you want. Keep me, just… let her go. Don’t hurt her.”
“I won’t let you do this!” Kristen calls out, and her entire body is shaking when Jason locks eyes with her. “I won’t. Not because of me.”
“This is all very romantic,” interrupts Tom Cruise with a glance at his watch, “but we really are running on a tight schedule here. So if you could hurry up this little heartbreaking-goodbye, lovers-torn-apart-by-destiny scene, it’d be appreciated. I do have fish that need feeding. So unless you plan on changing your mind…”
His voice trails off as he looks to Jason, who shakes his head.
“No. I’ve made up my mind.”
She shivers with the raspy intensity of his voice.
“Good!” Tom clasps his hands together and turns around. When he sees Kristen, his mouth twists downward in a mock-pout. “While I regret missing the opportunity to… get to know you better, I’m sure you’re relieved to know your freedom has been secured.”
If blood could actually boil, hers would be steaming right about this second. Now, it’s personal, and there is going to be hell to pay. As soon as she gets out of this stupid box, that is.
“Take him away,” Tom commands the Org appointed guards.
They immediately hurry to the chair, undoing the fastenings holding him down. Once they’re loosened, they clutch Jason’s upper arms and begin to drag him off. Kristen beats on the glass as they shuffle him toward the door. It’s too much, too much, and a sob rips from her throat. Jason doesn’t fight back, or say a word-but his gaze never leaves her.
“Don’t do this!” she sobs, clawing at the glass in vain. “Jason, you can’t do this-- god, please-- I won’t-I won’t-"
I won’t be able to live with myself if you do.
That is, of course, when the lights go out.
Blackness engulfs her so suddenly that she thinks she went blind, or died, or something, all in the blink of an eye. But she can hear her own uneven, heavy breathing as she continues to fight back tears, and the glass is still cool and solid under her hands, even if she can’t see it.
“Don’t move!” It’s Tom Cruise’s voice she hears barking out the order; he sounds alarmed, unnerved. This is not part of the plan. “Get him back here!”
“The main line must’ve gone out,” a voice says out loud-one of the guards, she assumes. “Could be because of the shock treatment; maybe it overloaded.”
Shock treatment. The idea of Jason strapped down to some table in a white room, and them doing god-knows-what-she thinks she is going to be sick.
“Maybe,” Tom replies, but he sounds doubtful.
“The backup generators should fire up in a minute,” the guard continues. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried!” he shoots back testily.
“You should be.”
Kristen instantly recognizes the voice as Jason’s-low, dangerous. Tinged with something like… hope.
Yes. Hope. She decides to cling to that feeling, however blindly.
The generators must kick into gear, because less than a minute later the overheard fluorescent lights flicker on, illuminating the room in a dim glow. The guards are still holding onto Jason, looking confused, and Tom is practically twitching, his eyes brightened with anxiety.
There’s a loud thunk, metal hitting metal. Tom scrambles toward the guards.
“You!” he snaps, pointing to the smaller one. “Go patrol outside. NOW!”
The guard salutes and rushes out the door. Seconds later, there’s the sound of footsteps thudding outside of the lab door, more metallic clanks.
“What is that?!” he shrieks.
“That would be your imminent demise,” Kristen smartasses, feeling like her entire body is buzzing with the idea of some way out of this mess, that someone might be coming for them.
"Silence! Or I swear to Xenu I'll slit your throat!" Tom threatens.
Okay, so that shuts her up pretty effectively. Not that it matters-anything she possibly could have retorted with would have been drowned out by the sound of something exploding outside the door.
Tom begins to flail, breaking into a heavy sweat. "Call all units for backup! Backup!"
"I can't!" The guard shakes his walkie talkie uselessly. "All radio connections are down. I repeat, all radio connections are down!"
Another explosion sounds off, so loud Kristen fears her eardrums are splitting open, and as she covers them she looks up and sees that the door has been blown cleanly off of its hinges. A group of figures decked in black come swarming in, smoke and fire in their wake.
Before she can start to scream or beat on the walls for attention, someone tosses another grenade. The bomb explodes, the impact of it shaking the glass of her enclosure and sending her diving to the floor for cover. Overhead the lights flicker on and off.
When she picks herself up, she throws her body against the glass, hammering her fists on it over and over.
“I’m in here!” she screams. “Please! I’m in here! Get me out!”
The problem is that she can barely hear herself over the chaos going on outside, and when she looks out she can't see anything but smoke.
But then: Josh's face. Slick with sweat and cinder, nothing but determined.
“Josh!” she gasps, shocked, heart in her throat.
He’s mouthing something at her-she can’t tell what-but then he holds up a long, thick club and gestures with it. Kristen gets the idea; she flattens herself against the opposite wall, watching as he brings one arm back and swings the solid stick at the glass in one motion. It cracks, and then gives way after the third blow, shards piecing off and falling to the floor.
Within a few minutes, he’s created enough space for her to duck through. As she does, her gown top catches and tears on a splintered glass edge, and she rips it off entirely. Balls it up and tosses it aside so she's wearing only her dark skinny-strapped camisole and the scrub pants.
“Here,” Josh offers, and his arm wraps around her waist, scooping her up and over the scattered glass.
He sets her down, steadies her for a moment, then steps back.
“You okay?” he asks.
She nods, righting herself on the cool cement, coughing at the sudden onslaught of black smoke.
“Good,” he says, right before spinning on one heel and smashing his baton straight through the glass of the aquarium behind them.
The aquarium shatters instantly, the water gushing out through the large gaping hole. It bubbles out in a steady burble, and she jumps back in surprise as some of it sloshes onto her bare feet.
“Why did you do that?” Kristen shouts.
“I’ve always hated those things,” he explains with a shrug.
Well, Kristen thinks, if PETA found out, they'd totally revoke her Sexiest Vegetarian Alive award. But then, knowing Tom Cruise's bizarre fetishes, Josh probably did the fish a favor.
Right then, one of the overhead lamps explodes, a spray of electric sparks showering down. She gasps as Josh yanks her into a shadowed corner.
“Listen, you gotta get the hell out of here!” he yells, grabbing her by the shoulders. “The Scientology Storm Troopers are gonna be coming in, so move!”
“But-" she starts.
“Just GO!” He shoves her toward the exit and then disappears back into the fray.
With a deep breath Kristen plunges forward, the billowing smoke engulfing her, stinging her eyes and cloaking everything. There are bright orange-yellow fires crackling in several places; the intense heat makes it difficult to draw in air. More people are swarming around in all kinds of directions, some in all black like the Resistance team and others wearing the same dark uniforms as the Org guards had been, but no one seems to take notice of her in the cover of smoke.
Jason. She has to find Jason, get to him, make sure he’s okay and--
As she comes to a short stop to catch her breath, she snaps her head around and finds him. Standing on his own, stumbling to the side and squinting through the smoke, far across the other side of the lab. He catches her gaze a second after she's located him and holds it.
The rest of the world slides away as they both push through the carnage and chaos, her eyes locked on his, unwavering.
By the time she reaches him, she’s broken into a flat-out run, and they crash into one another at full speed. Neither of them miss a beat-- their mouths meet instinctively, kissing like they're drowning as the roaring fire raging around them intensifies. She crushes her body to his as if she can bury herself in his solidity. If this were being filmed, the camera would be circling around them dizzingly, doing a three-sixty right now.
But it’s not-- it's real, so real, he's here and alive and she clutches to him desperately, hands traveling up to his matted hair, pulling him in closer. Even as another furious explosion sends the ground underneath their feet shuddering violently, bright flame flaring in her vision, they hold on. Tongues tangling as she kisses him with all of the breath in her body.
Finally they break apart for air, and he must see the question in her eyes, because he grabs her wrist, leans in and says, "Run."
They do.
Cast: Kristen Bell. Jason Dohring. Joshua Jackson. With sundry guest stars of the CW and Scientology variety!
Authors: buffyx & missdeviant
Rating: NC-17 (this section is R)
Notes/Warnings: Rule number one of VM RPS: Do not talk about VM RPS. Not to the actors, anyway. It's just not cool, and DEFINITELY NOT AT ALL FUNNY, OKAY? OKAY. Just so we're clear!
When Kristen comes to, it takes her a minute to open her eyes. She’s spread out on her stomach, her cheek flat against-something. A hard, cold surface. Cement, maybe. She can make out the fuzzy orange-red of the insides of her eyelids, which feel stuck together, and there’s a faint hum buzzing in her ears.
Oh, god, her head. It’s aching like it’s been split open with a baseball bat. She rolls slowly onto her side, picks her head up off of the floor as much as she can manage. Blinks groggily at the cool white light emitting from the fluorescent lamps affixed to the ceiling high above.
She braces one hand against the floor and pushes herself up slightly, touching the other to the egg-shaped bump on the side of her head. There’s blood in her hair and her temple is tender, a little swollen, sure to bruise. With a wince, she shifts into a sitting position, on her knees with her legs tucked under her. She looks up and tries to figure out, exactly, where she is.
Okay. She’s surrounded by four glass panels that extend nearly all the way to the ceiling. In the six inches of space between where the glass ends and the ceiling begins, heavy steel bars allow air to circulate into her five-by-five prison. She’s not wearing her own clothes; it’s some god-awful combination of mint-green hospital gown top and matching scrub pants.
Shakily, she gets her feet under her, stumbles upright. Everything looks blurry and slanted at a wrong angle.
Her hands reach out and press up against the glass, testing it cautiously; it’s thick. She can't tell how thick from this angle, but she guesstimates it to be several inches at the minimum.
Oh, crap. This… this can’t be good.
“Wakey, wakey.”
The two words rip through her veins, an icy tenor that makes her feel like she's still trekking through the forest, exposed to the elements. She whips around so fast she almost loses her balance. The room still seems to spin even as she freezes in place. Her sluggishness is starting to fade, thankfully, but the combination of the blow to her head and the sheer terror of WAKING UP IN A GLASS BOX have left her a little on the wobbly side.
When her crazy Tilt-a-Whirl vision finally comes back into normal focus, it doesn’t really help matters.
Oh god.
Tom. Cruise.
At the sight of her panic, he merely chuckles low in his throat. He begins to pace back and forth outside of her enclosure, studying her like she’s a fish in one his fetish-fulfilling aquariums.
One of which she happens to spy behind him as he paces. The electric pump of the tank circulates the water with the same low buzz she heard moments before.
“Wh-what…” Kristen struggles to make her tongue work correctly. She shakes her head to clear it, tries to concentrate. “What did you-what did you to me?”
“The sedative seems to be wearing off,” he notes. “They said it worked like a charm. Knocked you out in less than ten seconds. Impressive, huh? Now, fun little Tom Cruise Trivia Fact for you: I never graduated high school. Can’t pretend I know too much about this chemical science garbage. But from what I’m told, it’s a newly formulated tranquilizer, developed by top Scientologist medical researchers right here in these very laboratories. Once it gets FDA approval… and trust me, it will… ka-ching, ka-ching! ”
He punctuates the cash register sound effects with two giddy pumps of his arm.
Laboratories. Tranquilizers. She rubs her hip absently, the spot still sore from what she has just deduced as the prick of a needle. How long has she been knocked out?
Kristen attempts to peer through the glass at her surroundings, but everything is cloaked in darkness; there’s no natural light, just the dull illumination of fluorescent bulbs. Has she been in here for hours? Days? The fog in her brain is dissipating with each passing second, leaving her with nothing but paralyzing fear.
Tom Cruise comes to a stop inches away from the glass, frowning.
“You’re actually the first human subject to be tested with it, so, hopefully any side effects aren’t too long-term.” He pauses to make a face of faux-consternation. “But no, really, I wouldn’t worry. From what I’m told, they’ve done some extensive animal testing, and I’d wager you’re not all that different from a small dog.”
Her stomach turns, and she tries to steady herself against the glass, keep her voice even and calm. She’s an actress, dammit. She can do this.
“Have you resorted to kidnapping in order to get a captive audience?” she questions with a wrinkle of her nose. “I know you’ve probably forgotten what having one is like, being so long and all, but you’re not supposed to take it so literally. How’s that whole ‘being-dropped-from-Paramount’ deal working out for you?”
For a second something dark and dangerous flashes in Tom Cruise’s eyes, but then they’re bright again, bright and manic.
“So, we’ve got a mouthy one, have we?” He lets out a loud laugh and leans in as close to the barrier between them as possible, his breath fogging the glass. “Well. That’s going to make this more interesting.”
The leer he shoots her after that is like a pin piercing the balloon of her false bravado, deflating it instantly. She hates the way she instinctively cowers back, but her body is still working to catch up with her brain and she has no clue in hell how she’s going to get herself out of this tight spot.
Quite literally.
“Stupid move, the two of you coming here alone without backup,” he tells her with a smug grin. “With the way he’s talked about around here, I thought Dohring, at least, would be smarter than that.”
Wait. He didn’t mention Josh or Craww. They must’ve been able to get away undetected. There’s hope, there’s hope, not all is lost. If they just go for reinforcements, if she can just buy time for her and Jason--
“Jason,” she remembers suddenly, heart racing again. “Where is he? Did you--?”
She can’t even say it. Several scenarios run through her mind at once, all tangling with each other, and none of them end well.
“If it were up to me… but no, sadly, he’s fine. Wait, let me rephrase that.” He sets his fingers into a steeple under his chin. “He’s alive. Been wide awake quite a bit longer than you, since we didn’t use such heavy sedatives. Want him to be nice and alert for what we’ve got in store for him.”
“In store?” Kristen echoes.
“We’re going to-well, you’ll see,” he finishes vaguely, waving her off with his hand as he turns away from her. “Now that you’ve chosen to deign us with your consciousness, we can get to the fun part.”
The queasy feeling in her gut only heightens as Tom Cruise strolls over to a man at the doorway in a dark blue uniform standing guard. She can’t see much but she is pretty sure there’s a gun holster on his belt.
Tom glances back at her once, smirking, and says, “Tell them we’re ready.”
The guard disappears, and Kristen feels her stomach sinking. She is doomed. Doomed to die at the hands of Tom Cruise, or become impregnated with a turkey baster, or some other equally hideous alternative-and to think, she used to find him kind of attractive, back in his Jerry Maguire days. Before he started with all the crazy. Or, at least, started exhibiting it in public venues and on Oprah’s couch.
Times, they have changed.
Okay. She has to do something. Maybe-maybe she can appeal to his paternal side; amidst the bizarro behavior and psychosis, there has to be some tiny thread of humanity lurking underneath.
“I don’t get it,” Kristen blurts out, watching him from behind the glass. “How can you do this? How can you let them do this to your daughter? Don’t you love anything?”
Tom whirls around, eyes blazing.
“Suri is my child!” he snaps furiously. “We were family, until you came along and ruined everything! And now. Now she can fulfill her greater purpose, and then I can raise her as my own.”
She scoffs. “What makes you think they’ll ever give her back to you?”
“Promises have been made. They’ll keep their end of the bargain.”
His voice isn’t quite certain as he speaks the words. Sensing his doubt, Kristen jumps on it.
“It’s not possible! Don’t you even know? The ceremony is going to kill everything in Suri that makes her who she is. She’ll just be, like, a vegetable. If they go through with it, she might as well be dead.” She tries to sound more sure of that than she actually feels. “They’re lying to you, don’t you see that? You’re just a pawn--”
"They wouldn’t lie!” he bellows, with such force that a cord in his neck pops out from the strain. “I didn't know who I was. What I was. Not before I came to them. They showed me! They need me. You’ll see that."
He wags his finger in a menacing fashion, then backs away, nodding like he’s convinced himself of something.
“You are deluded!” she shouts with one last pound of her closed fist against the glass.
But it’s an exercise in futility, since he’s already turning and walking away from her.
Dammit. The tiny flicker of hope that had sparked inside her at detecting the trace of doubt in Tom Cruise’s eyes dies out as fast as it had been ignited. No sense trying to reason with crazies, she supposes, slumping against the glass in despair. If she could just stop panicking on the inside and think, maybe, maybe she could figure a way out of this-
Fuck. She never should’ve fucking left theater. FUCK!
The door the guard had disappeared through earlier creaks open, allowing in a shaft of cool white light. She blinks against it and sees two figures dragging something-no, wait, someone-through.
More lights overheard flicker on and illuminate the lab. Seconds later and she realizes that someone is Jason, being shoved forward by two burly uniformed guards who keep a vice-like hold on both of his arms, looking worse for wear. From her vantage point she can see a jagged cut over one temple, a smear of blood across his swollen bottom lip. He looks thrashed, like if he was released he would hardly be able to stand on his own two feet.
“Jason!” she cries out, unhinged, and fuck, she doesn’t want to cry but the tears are thick in her throat, choking her, and oh god, oh god-
His head snaps up at the sound of his name, and it’s then that she sees it: the look in his eyes. Clear and alert, more alert than they should be, given his state. His entire body jolts, straining suddenly against his captors.
“No,” he mumbles, “no, not her, she doesn’t-she doesn’t know-“
“Save it!” barks Tom Cruise. “Shut up and sit down.”
The guards roughly shove Jason across the room until he’s seated in the single chair at the empty table about fifteen feet in front of her. They stand at both of his sides, silent and perfectly still, like gargoyles.
Tom swaggers over and leans across the table.
“You’re in my territory now, Dohring. My game, my rules.”
“How long have you been practicing that one?” asks Jason snidely. “Because you’ve really nailed the cartoonish, villainy response. I’m sure Michael Bay would be impressed.”
Even though Kristen can only see his back, she can tell Tom has tensed, his rigid shoulders squaring.
“You think I’m the villain in this piece?” he snaps. “You are the one who stole Suri! You tore my family apart! We finally recover her, bring her back to where she belongs, and you think I’m gonna hand her over to you and your little whore? Not. Happening.”
Jasons stares back at him, unflinching.
“If you so much as lay one hand on her,” he vows in a low, frigid tone, “I will rip your throat out.”
“Oh, really?” Tom chuckles. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats.”
“Think of it as a promise, then.”
The laugh that bubbles out of Tom then is nothing short of condescending. He retreats from his position across the table from Jason and swivels back to face Kristen.
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for that,” he says with a cluck of his tongue. “See, while your partner here was unconscious, our researchers took a little blood. Had her tested, and turns out, she's a prime candidate for the same procedure Kate underwent.”
A chill runs through Kristen as she notices for the first time the white bandage encasing her right forearm. Blood? Candidate? Procedure? None of it sounds remotely good.
“Now, see, you and your little cockroaches blew up the Center, and I’ll admit-for a bunch of amateurs, you guys pretty effectively destroyed our research for this project,” he continues, gaze glued to her. “So while we wouldn’t be able to replicate the initial method, I’m willing to subject her to the insemination phase myself.” His eyes travel up and down the length of her body, and she shudders. “Manually.”
Her eyes grow wide as she realizes the implication of Tom Cruise’s words.
“Maybe I'll even allow our Sea Org members to... warm her up a bit." He glances back at the guards. “You boys would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Over my dead body,” she spits at him, a mixture of fury and fear surging up in her chest.
They may be strong, but she can run fast. Plus, it’s been awhile since she’s seen her manicurist, so her nails are nice and long and kind of jagged. And there was that time in fourth grade when Bobby McMillan spilled bleach on her favorite sweater on purpose in art class and she punched him in the face so hard it gave him a nosebleed.
Yeah, she can get her way out of this one, what with her wiliness, sharp nails and mean right hook. Toss in her sparkling personality, and she’s totally got the upper hand here.
Right.
“And what a fine body it is,” drawls Tom with a lewd smirk. His face darkens. “Oh, I think I’m going to have fun, playing with you.”
There’s the sound of chair legs scraping on concrete flooring as Jason leaps up from the table, lunging for Tom.
“If you touch her, I swear to god I will-" he roars, face red with rage, but he doesn’t get to finish before the Org guards automatically seize him by the shoulders.
They slam him back against the far wall, and Kristen gasps as one of them grabs him in a choke hold, thumb digging into his windpipe. Jason makes a strangled, pained cry, struggling under their hold, his eyes bulging.
“Stop! Stop, god, please don’t-" she pleads. “Please, whatever you want, just leave him alone.”
Tom waves one hand and the guards release Jason on command. He pitches forward, coughing and sputtering, holding one hand to his throat.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” sneers Tom to Kristen. “There’s nothing you possibly have to bargain with. No, it’s Dohring here who has a decision to make. He already knows the score. It’s up to him to make the deal or not.”
“Deal?” Kristen stares at him. “What deal? What are you talking about?”
Jason’s face remains impassive, and Tom just smirks in response.
“Looks like you two lovebirds have something to chat about,” he sing-songs. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk it over.” He turns to one of the guards. “Put his chair up to the glass so they can work this out more intimately.”
The guards jostle Jason out of the chair and move it so it is perpendicular to Kristen’s glass enclosure, then shove him down, strapping him in with several binds. She watches as they fasten them tightly on the arms and ankles, pinning him down. He's only inches away, and now she can examine the damage done to him up close and personal. Jesus, they've done a number on him.
“Me and the boys will step outside and leave you two a moment of privacy,” Tom tells them with another smirk. “Give us a holler if you need anything.”
With that, Tom and the two guards exit out the door, shutting it with an echoing slam.
There’s a long moment of mutual silence, Jason in the chair and Kristen behind the glass, before she breaks the ice.
"I'm surprised they didn't do a better job of securing us,” she comments sarcastically, eyeing the abundance of ties strapping him down. "So. Krav Maga didn't teach you anything about escaping underground lairs, did it?"
She lets out a nervous half-laugh, but Jason doesn’t react. He’s staring at the binds on his wrists, flexing his hands up against the restraints as far as possible. She clears her throat awkwardly.
"No, seriously; what's the plan? Other than, you know. Be scared and die."
Jason doesn’t meet her eyes. “There is no plan.”
“But there’s always a plan,” she responds, bewildered. “I mean, sure, sometimes they’re half-assed ones that nearly get us killed, but there are still plans. There has to be a plan--”
This is the same Jason who saved a fucking baby from a collapsing building! He's like Superman! But not in a vacant Tom Welling way. He's supposed to be the one who saves her. Logan and Veronica, Kristen and Jason-- he's always the one who's got her back when things get messy.
"Kristen. I have to do this. I can't let them hurt you.” He’s still gazing intently at his wrists, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “I can't let them do to you what they've done to me."
"What have they DONE to you, Jason? What’s going on?” she demands. “What are they asking you to do? Tell me, please, tell me."
"It's all in motion, I feel it. There's not enough time."
“Time for what? What do you-"
"This room's bugged, you know that?” he cuts in. He glances her way, his eyes frenzied and mad. “They're waiting for me to say something that can be used against me. Listening to us. Learning our secrets. The things that make us bleed quicker, the things that make us burn harder. That's what they do."
"I don't know what you're saying!” she cries in frustration.
Ignoring her, he twists as much as is allowed in his chair to face the door.
"SHE DOESN'T MATTER, TOM!" he yells. "NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO TO HER, IT WON'T CHANGE MY MIND!"
“Jason, you’re scaring me!” Kristen’s voice cracks. “Please, just-- what's going on? What do they want from you? Talk to me!"
He looks at her, finally, and she sees the wetness glimmering in his eyes, the barely perceptible trembling of his mouth.
“They knew I couldn’t choose,” he says plaintively. “You. Her. The mission, it was always the mission. Default. Nothing else. Used to be so easy, you know?”
“What used to be so easy?” she whispers.
“It. Everything.” He lets out a strangled sound, like a laugh that flirts on the edge of a broken sob. “And then. There was you.”
All at once she understands: He values her, more than his own well-being. More than the mission.
She is his Achilles heel.
“I have to do this,” he tells her soberly. “I’m sorry.”
His voice catches, and he tilts forward, resting his head up against the glass barrier, eyes closing.
“You don’t. Whatever it is you think you have to do, you don’t.” Kristen lowers herself to his level, leans so that her forehead is touching the same point as his. “Just… hold on, okay? We’ll get through this. We will.”
“Kristen, I." Jason opens his eyes and swallows hard. I lo-"
He breaks off suddenly, like he can’t bear to finish, and scoots away from the glass, straining to turn back to the door.
“TOM, I’M READY TO TALK.”
A second later the door swings open, Tom Cruise swaggering through, trailed by both of the guards.
“So you’ve come to your senses and decided to agree to the deal?” he questions. “Her freedom for yours. I think that’s a rather generous offer, considering.”
Wait, what? No. No, that is not how it works. Tom Cruise does not get to blackmail Jason into becoming their prisoner with rape dollars.
“Fine,” he agrees. “Whatever you want. Keep me, just… let her go. Don’t hurt her.”
“I won’t let you do this!” Kristen calls out, and her entire body is shaking when Jason locks eyes with her. “I won’t. Not because of me.”
“This is all very romantic,” interrupts Tom Cruise with a glance at his watch, “but we really are running on a tight schedule here. So if you could hurry up this little heartbreaking-goodbye, lovers-torn-apart-by-destiny scene, it’d be appreciated. I do have fish that need feeding. So unless you plan on changing your mind…”
His voice trails off as he looks to Jason, who shakes his head.
“No. I’ve made up my mind.”
She shivers with the raspy intensity of his voice.
“Good!” Tom clasps his hands together and turns around. When he sees Kristen, his mouth twists downward in a mock-pout. “While I regret missing the opportunity to… get to know you better, I’m sure you’re relieved to know your freedom has been secured.”
If blood could actually boil, hers would be steaming right about this second. Now, it’s personal, and there is going to be hell to pay. As soon as she gets out of this stupid box, that is.
“Take him away,” Tom commands the Org appointed guards.
They immediately hurry to the chair, undoing the fastenings holding him down. Once they’re loosened, they clutch Jason’s upper arms and begin to drag him off. Kristen beats on the glass as they shuffle him toward the door. It’s too much, too much, and a sob rips from her throat. Jason doesn’t fight back, or say a word-but his gaze never leaves her.
“Don’t do this!” she sobs, clawing at the glass in vain. “Jason, you can’t do this-- god, please-- I won’t-I won’t-"
I won’t be able to live with myself if you do.
That is, of course, when the lights go out.
Blackness engulfs her so suddenly that she thinks she went blind, or died, or something, all in the blink of an eye. But she can hear her own uneven, heavy breathing as she continues to fight back tears, and the glass is still cool and solid under her hands, even if she can’t see it.
“Don’t move!” It’s Tom Cruise’s voice she hears barking out the order; he sounds alarmed, unnerved. This is not part of the plan. “Get him back here!”
“The main line must’ve gone out,” a voice says out loud-one of the guards, she assumes. “Could be because of the shock treatment; maybe it overloaded.”
Shock treatment. The idea of Jason strapped down to some table in a white room, and them doing god-knows-what-she thinks she is going to be sick.
“Maybe,” Tom replies, but he sounds doubtful.
“The backup generators should fire up in a minute,” the guard continues. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried!” he shoots back testily.
“You should be.”
Kristen instantly recognizes the voice as Jason’s-low, dangerous. Tinged with something like… hope.
Yes. Hope. She decides to cling to that feeling, however blindly.
The generators must kick into gear, because less than a minute later the overheard fluorescent lights flicker on, illuminating the room in a dim glow. The guards are still holding onto Jason, looking confused, and Tom is practically twitching, his eyes brightened with anxiety.
There’s a loud thunk, metal hitting metal. Tom scrambles toward the guards.
“You!” he snaps, pointing to the smaller one. “Go patrol outside. NOW!”
The guard salutes and rushes out the door. Seconds later, there’s the sound of footsteps thudding outside of the lab door, more metallic clanks.
“What is that?!” he shrieks.
“That would be your imminent demise,” Kristen smartasses, feeling like her entire body is buzzing with the idea of some way out of this mess, that someone might be coming for them.
"Silence! Or I swear to Xenu I'll slit your throat!" Tom threatens.
Okay, so that shuts her up pretty effectively. Not that it matters-anything she possibly could have retorted with would have been drowned out by the sound of something exploding outside the door.
Tom begins to flail, breaking into a heavy sweat. "Call all units for backup! Backup!"
"I can't!" The guard shakes his walkie talkie uselessly. "All radio connections are down. I repeat, all radio connections are down!"
Another explosion sounds off, so loud Kristen fears her eardrums are splitting open, and as she covers them she looks up and sees that the door has been blown cleanly off of its hinges. A group of figures decked in black come swarming in, smoke and fire in their wake.
Before she can start to scream or beat on the walls for attention, someone tosses another grenade. The bomb explodes, the impact of it shaking the glass of her enclosure and sending her diving to the floor for cover. Overhead the lights flicker on and off.
When she picks herself up, she throws her body against the glass, hammering her fists on it over and over.
“I’m in here!” she screams. “Please! I’m in here! Get me out!”
The problem is that she can barely hear herself over the chaos going on outside, and when she looks out she can't see anything but smoke.
But then: Josh's face. Slick with sweat and cinder, nothing but determined.
“Josh!” she gasps, shocked, heart in her throat.
He’s mouthing something at her-she can’t tell what-but then he holds up a long, thick club and gestures with it. Kristen gets the idea; she flattens herself against the opposite wall, watching as he brings one arm back and swings the solid stick at the glass in one motion. It cracks, and then gives way after the third blow, shards piecing off and falling to the floor.
Within a few minutes, he’s created enough space for her to duck through. As she does, her gown top catches and tears on a splintered glass edge, and she rips it off entirely. Balls it up and tosses it aside so she's wearing only her dark skinny-strapped camisole and the scrub pants.
“Here,” Josh offers, and his arm wraps around her waist, scooping her up and over the scattered glass.
He sets her down, steadies her for a moment, then steps back.
“You okay?” he asks.
She nods, righting herself on the cool cement, coughing at the sudden onslaught of black smoke.
“Good,” he says, right before spinning on one heel and smashing his baton straight through the glass of the aquarium behind them.
The aquarium shatters instantly, the water gushing out through the large gaping hole. It bubbles out in a steady burble, and she jumps back in surprise as some of it sloshes onto her bare feet.
“Why did you do that?” Kristen shouts.
“I’ve always hated those things,” he explains with a shrug.
Well, Kristen thinks, if PETA found out, they'd totally revoke her Sexiest Vegetarian Alive award. But then, knowing Tom Cruise's bizarre fetishes, Josh probably did the fish a favor.
Right then, one of the overhead lamps explodes, a spray of electric sparks showering down. She gasps as Josh yanks her into a shadowed corner.
“Listen, you gotta get the hell out of here!” he yells, grabbing her by the shoulders. “The Scientology Storm Troopers are gonna be coming in, so move!”
“But-" she starts.
“Just GO!” He shoves her toward the exit and then disappears back into the fray.
With a deep breath Kristen plunges forward, the billowing smoke engulfing her, stinging her eyes and cloaking everything. There are bright orange-yellow fires crackling in several places; the intense heat makes it difficult to draw in air. More people are swarming around in all kinds of directions, some in all black like the Resistance team and others wearing the same dark uniforms as the Org guards had been, but no one seems to take notice of her in the cover of smoke.
Jason. She has to find Jason, get to him, make sure he’s okay and--
As she comes to a short stop to catch her breath, she snaps her head around and finds him. Standing on his own, stumbling to the side and squinting through the smoke, far across the other side of the lab. He catches her gaze a second after she's located him and holds it.
The rest of the world slides away as they both push through the carnage and chaos, her eyes locked on his, unwavering.
By the time she reaches him, she’s broken into a flat-out run, and they crash into one another at full speed. Neither of them miss a beat-- their mouths meet instinctively, kissing like they're drowning as the roaring fire raging around them intensifies. She crushes her body to his as if she can bury herself in his solidity. If this were being filmed, the camera would be circling around them dizzingly, doing a three-sixty right now.
But it’s not-- it's real, so real, he's here and alive and she clutches to him desperately, hands traveling up to his matted hair, pulling him in closer. Even as another furious explosion sends the ground underneath their feet shuddering violently, bright flame flaring in her vision, they hold on. Tongues tangling as she kisses him with all of the breath in her body.
Finally they break apart for air, and he must see the question in her eyes, because he grabs her wrist, leans in and says, "Run."
They do.