Mano a Mano (Except With Paws)
Title: Mano a Mano (Except With Paws)
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: David/Rachel
Spoilers: #48: The Return
Words: 1294
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: She can be herself around him, she can be as cruel and twisted and violent as she wants when it’s just the two of them, because he’s going to die soon, so who is he going to tell?
His head lolls to one side, and a little trickle of scarlet has found its way from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, but he’s grinning, laughing, despite the throttle hold she has on his neck and the dirty stone wall pressed up against his back.
“Do it then,” he says, and spits in her face, a cold spit that’s more blood than saliva. “I fucking dare you.”
She looks at him, at the dark hair hanging in darker eyes and the scarlet blood, vivid against too-pale skin. And her hands drop.
She steps back. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. You’re right. I don’t kill people in cold blood. Not even bloodstained murderous fucking traitors.”
“No,” he says, and he’s still laughing at her, still laughing like he’s not about to die, like he has a chance. “No, you just turn them into rats and leave them on deserted islands to die all on their own. You just make me go all fuzzy and warm inside.”
She lunges forward, takes him by surprise. He slams against the wall again, her perfect white teeth a hairsbreadth away from his skin as she hisses, “I didn’t turn you into a rat, David. You already were one.”
He grins again, chuckles, laughs until he’s wheezing. “Just letting the outside reflect the twisted soul within, right? So if you’re not going to kill me, what are you going to do? You can’t force me to morph, you know. You can kill me if you want but I’m never going back to that fucking island.”
She drops her hands again, moves back, takes a deep breath. “Let’s do this your way, then. Morph on morph. Whatever you choose. But I’m warning you,” and now it’s her turn to grin coldly, “if you demorph, I will kill you.”
He smiles back, but a different smile than before, a saner smile. More intelligent. Scrutinizing, calculating. “I don’t doubt it.” And there’s a long moment of silence, broken only by the drip drip drip of a leaky pipe somewhere down the tunnel and the sound of their breathing echoing off the walls. “Well?” he says finally, lifting his chin. “What are you waiting for? You already know all my morphs. At least give me a boost up.”
Her expression darkens. “No way I’m letting you go second.”
“Oh.” His features shift, rearranging into the perfect example of innocence and mild surprise. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Like hell you didn’t.”
“Okay then. On the count of three?” He still looks perfectly innocent, exactly like that scared little orphan they’d accepted into the most secret of secret inner circles, except for the dried blood at the corner of his mouth that reminds her of what he’s done. She doesn’t trust him.
“Okay,” she agrees. “One. Two. Three.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You didn’t morph.”
“Neither did you.”
“Better do it soon; I’ve got one hell of a headache.” He indicates the back of his head where she’s slammed it against the wall.
“Okay, fine.” She shrugs with one shoulder. “I’ll go first. But if I’m fully morphed and you aren’t, well.” She flashes another perfect smile in his direction. “Let’s just say I have fewer second thoughts about killing when it isn’t being done with my own hands.” She starts to morph but moves well out of reach and keeps her eyes open, not trusting him to keep his side of the deal when she’s defenseless and a half-jellified mass of legs and trunk and leathery gray skin.
She’s fighting as an elephant today. She’s going to fight him as an elephant because she doesn’t want to dishonor the innocent hosts she fights as a grizzly by killing them with the same claws that touched this scum. She’s going to fight him as an elephant because she wants to stomp on the little traitor like the rat he is. And she’s going to fight him as an elephant because she’s done some reading and healthy adult elephants are some of the only animals on the African savannah that a lion won’t touch. And if her elephant morph isn’t both healthy and adult she isn’t about to fucking kill this boy.
There’s a flash of gold fur, claws raking at the skin on her flank, and she whips around, cuffing him over the head with her trunk to knock him loose.
< Nice choice, Rachel, > he says, already back on his paws and looking far too satisfied at having drawn first blood for her tastes. < Been doing your homework, I see. >
< Yeah, teach. Do I get an A? >
< I’d say . . . B+. After all, first rule of battle: never let your opponent get behind you. >
But she’s already there, turning with the morph’s startling speed and lunging forward with her tusks. The lion’s agile feline reflexes are all that save him, only just barely getting him out of the way in time to escape with nothing but a small nick to the side.
< Rule number two, > she says. < Don’t fall for such an obvious trap. It just makes you look like an idiot. >
She knows him well enough to know that if he’d been human, he would have been smirking, despite the near miss. < I’ll remember that for next time. > And he’s moving again, a streak of yellow fur along the ground. She whips out her trunk, aiming to knock him off balance. Suddenly she realizes his feint, but too late--! His teeth sink into the skin at the end of the trunk and she trumpets, hreee-EEEEE-uh!, and lifts him off his paws in an attempt to shake him free. It only makes him hold on tighter, though, front claws digging into the thick trunk along with the teeth.
< What was that you were saying about obvious traps? > he says, and he sounds eager now, fired up now that he’s tasted blood. But so is she, and that’s why he should be scared.
She slams him against the floor, as hard as she can. Once, twice. Then she turns, smacks him against the same wall she had him pressed up against not ten minutes before. The floor again, once, and finally his grip loosens and he drops back to the ground. He makes a valiant effort to stay upright, but he’s dazed, and his paws tangle beneath him and he falls, spitting out half-coherent curse words and several teeth as he struggles to rise.
She lifts a foot, half a meter wide and easily capable of crushing his skull with a single blow.
< Do it, > he says, and he just sounds tired now. His arrogant façade dissolving in the face of death. < Just fucking do it. >
< Okay, > she says, and she’s glad she’s not human because if she was she might have been laughing. She doesn’t want to laugh. < I’ll do it. > It’s a mean-spirited twist on her usual bravado and it makes her stomach turn.
< But before you do, > he says suddenly, as she raises her foot again. < There’s one last thing I want to say. > He whispers three words and, shutting down the part of her brain that’s whispering cold cold murderer cold she stomps him down and he doesn’t speak again.
But his final words still haunt her as she demorphs and crawls out of the sewers, a dirty beaten mess of a girl who isn’t sure why she isn’t happy that it’s over, even though he’s nothing but a traitor whose last words were I’m not sorry.
Fandom: Animorphs
Characters: David/Rachel
Spoilers: #48: The Return
Words: 1294
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: She can be herself around him, she can be as cruel and twisted and violent as she wants when it’s just the two of them, because he’s going to die soon, so who is he going to tell?
His head lolls to one side, and a little trickle of scarlet has found its way from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, but he’s grinning, laughing, despite the throttle hold she has on his neck and the dirty stone wall pressed up against his back.
“Do it then,” he says, and spits in her face, a cold spit that’s more blood than saliva. “I fucking dare you.”
She looks at him, at the dark hair hanging in darker eyes and the scarlet blood, vivid against too-pale skin. And her hands drop.
She steps back. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. You’re right. I don’t kill people in cold blood. Not even bloodstained murderous fucking traitors.”
“No,” he says, and he’s still laughing at her, still laughing like he’s not about to die, like he has a chance. “No, you just turn them into rats and leave them on deserted islands to die all on their own. You just make me go all fuzzy and warm inside.”
She lunges forward, takes him by surprise. He slams against the wall again, her perfect white teeth a hairsbreadth away from his skin as she hisses, “I didn’t turn you into a rat, David. You already were one.”
He grins again, chuckles, laughs until he’s wheezing. “Just letting the outside reflect the twisted soul within, right? So if you’re not going to kill me, what are you going to do? You can’t force me to morph, you know. You can kill me if you want but I’m never going back to that fucking island.”
She drops her hands again, moves back, takes a deep breath. “Let’s do this your way, then. Morph on morph. Whatever you choose. But I’m warning you,” and now it’s her turn to grin coldly, “if you demorph, I will kill you.”
He smiles back, but a different smile than before, a saner smile. More intelligent. Scrutinizing, calculating. “I don’t doubt it.” And there’s a long moment of silence, broken only by the drip drip drip of a leaky pipe somewhere down the tunnel and the sound of their breathing echoing off the walls. “Well?” he says finally, lifting his chin. “What are you waiting for? You already know all my morphs. At least give me a boost up.”
Her expression darkens. “No way I’m letting you go second.”
“Oh.” His features shift, rearranging into the perfect example of innocence and mild surprise. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Like hell you didn’t.”
“Okay then. On the count of three?” He still looks perfectly innocent, exactly like that scared little orphan they’d accepted into the most secret of secret inner circles, except for the dried blood at the corner of his mouth that reminds her of what he’s done. She doesn’t trust him.
“Okay,” she agrees. “One. Two. Three.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You didn’t morph.”
“Neither did you.”
“Better do it soon; I’ve got one hell of a headache.” He indicates the back of his head where she’s slammed it against the wall.
“Okay, fine.” She shrugs with one shoulder. “I’ll go first. But if I’m fully morphed and you aren’t, well.” She flashes another perfect smile in his direction. “Let’s just say I have fewer second thoughts about killing when it isn’t being done with my own hands.” She starts to morph but moves well out of reach and keeps her eyes open, not trusting him to keep his side of the deal when she’s defenseless and a half-jellified mass of legs and trunk and leathery gray skin.
She’s fighting as an elephant today. She’s going to fight him as an elephant because she doesn’t want to dishonor the innocent hosts she fights as a grizzly by killing them with the same claws that touched this scum. She’s going to fight him as an elephant because she wants to stomp on the little traitor like the rat he is. And she’s going to fight him as an elephant because she’s done some reading and healthy adult elephants are some of the only animals on the African savannah that a lion won’t touch. And if her elephant morph isn’t both healthy and adult she isn’t about to fucking kill this boy.
There’s a flash of gold fur, claws raking at the skin on her flank, and she whips around, cuffing him over the head with her trunk to knock him loose.
< Nice choice, Rachel, > he says, already back on his paws and looking far too satisfied at having drawn first blood for her tastes. < Been doing your homework, I see. >
< Yeah, teach. Do I get an A? >
< I’d say . . . B+. After all, first rule of battle: never let your opponent get behind you. >
But she’s already there, turning with the morph’s startling speed and lunging forward with her tusks. The lion’s agile feline reflexes are all that save him, only just barely getting him out of the way in time to escape with nothing but a small nick to the side.
< Rule number two, > she says. < Don’t fall for such an obvious trap. It just makes you look like an idiot. >
She knows him well enough to know that if he’d been human, he would have been smirking, despite the near miss. < I’ll remember that for next time. > And he’s moving again, a streak of yellow fur along the ground. She whips out her trunk, aiming to knock him off balance. Suddenly she realizes his feint, but too late--! His teeth sink into the skin at the end of the trunk and she trumpets, hreee-EEEEE-uh!, and lifts him off his paws in an attempt to shake him free. It only makes him hold on tighter, though, front claws digging into the thick trunk along with the teeth.
< What was that you were saying about obvious traps? > he says, and he sounds eager now, fired up now that he’s tasted blood. But so is she, and that’s why he should be scared.
She slams him against the floor, as hard as she can. Once, twice. Then she turns, smacks him against the same wall she had him pressed up against not ten minutes before. The floor again, once, and finally his grip loosens and he drops back to the ground. He makes a valiant effort to stay upright, but he’s dazed, and his paws tangle beneath him and he falls, spitting out half-coherent curse words and several teeth as he struggles to rise.
She lifts a foot, half a meter wide and easily capable of crushing his skull with a single blow.
< Do it, > he says, and he just sounds tired now. His arrogant façade dissolving in the face of death. < Just fucking do it. >
< Okay, > she says, and she’s glad she’s not human because if she was she might have been laughing. She doesn’t want to laugh. < I’ll do it. > It’s a mean-spirited twist on her usual bravado and it makes her stomach turn.
< But before you do, > he says suddenly, as she raises her foot again. < There’s one last thing I want to say. > He whispers three words and, shutting down the part of her brain that’s whispering cold cold murderer cold she stomps him down and he doesn’t speak again.
But his final words still haunt her as she demorphs and crawls out of the sewers, a dirty beaten mess of a girl who isn’t sure why she isn’t happy that it’s over, even though he’s nothing but a traitor whose last words were I’m not sorry.