'The World Where Yesternight You Died' - part 14
Hullo! And at last, eh? Hehe. As always, my apologies, but...it is what it is.
Beta'd by the lovely darkhavens, as always. And, again - thanks, everyone, for being so patient.
Also at AO3
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake - 'The Tiger'
They had five days, but Raleigh and Doc and the rest were leaving sooner. Raleigh and his crew were rapidly and completely dismantling most of their network, leaving only a small cell, a scattered handful of contacts to keep information flowing. In total, seventeen people were leaving, including Jared and Jensen, but thirteen of them were leaving within 30 hours. They had a ship; that merc's crew had agreed to take them, out of Axis and out of that system; one longish jump to Tripoli, a dark little spot of mass in the middle of nothing. Owned by nobody, just big enough to pull a ship down out of jump, and close enough to three different systems to be the perfect jumping-off point for a longer journey.
At Tripoli, they were transferring to the Diomedes, a ship owned and run by the Advocatus Diaboli, though filtered through layers of shell companies and hollow IDs. The Diomedes would take them...elsewhere, for as long as necessary; until Doc and the rest had cracked the code, synthesized a vaccine, and were ready to distribute it.
The whole plan made Jared nervous, because while his life had been ruled by the Company, he'd always had a destination, a schedule, a fucking job. Now he was going to be flung into the great unknown in pretty much every sense of the word, and it just made him...antsy.
Which made Jensen really, really irritated, because Jensen could feel Jared, and that kind of hyped-up, nervous, adrenaline-fueled emotion through the 'net translated in Jensen's mind (and body) to gogogo. To fight, pre-drop, pre-battle tension that made him snap and snarl and lash out. Doc finally took Jared aside and forced a handful of derms on him, told him if he didn't figure out a way to calm himself the hell down, Jensen was going to lose it, but seriously.
Jared stood there and watched Jensen utterly destroy a balky resistance machine in the gym with his bare hands, leaving bits and hydraulic fluid scattered everywhere like some kind of murder scene, his hands smeared purple with the stuff. His tattoos were surreally bright against his pale skin, and the ghostly tracery of the 'net were like lines of faint blue smoke, cross-hatching everywhere under his skin. Jared had them too, now that his new 'net was fully integrated, instead of just in his spine and brain.
Jensen looked on the verge of something. Not a complete breakdown, but his eyes were wide and wild and he was so damn tense it hurt to look at his shoulders. So Jared smoothed a derm onto his forearm, took some long, deep breaths and did his best to get himself under control. Because on top of Jared's nerves, Jensen was having his own. Jared could feel them, and that kind of fed his own, and it was a crazy loop of emotion and intention that made Jared wonder if this was why the Angels were all so fucking crazy, because to have this times ten or fifty or however many Angels made up a...whatever it was...was damn overwhelming.
"Platoon, for fuck's sake," Jensen said, wiping sweat and hydraulic fluid off his arms. "There were thirty-six of us, and the 'net was only keyed to us. We weren't linked into Dominions or Seraphim or anything." Jared felt a shuddery wave of aggression, when Jensen thought of those other Angels, and got a brief, reeling kind of flashback, to us and them and fight.
"But, I thought- You're all Angels. How could-? Why did you hate them?'
"We didn't-" Jensen stopped, and Jared felt bewilderment and loss, that we that colored every memory and informed every thought about his Angels just driving home, over and over, that that we didn't exist any more. "We didn't hate them. They were...different. Not us. Not Nephilim."
Jared felt the trembly ache of that loss twist in the 'net and then turn back to rage. Jensen hissed through his teeth and turned, pivoting smoothly, then lashed out with his fists at a padded sort of tree-thing, pummeling it.
"Right, okay, fuck," Jared muttered. He sat down on the padded floor, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and tried to just breath, slow and even. His brain searched for some kind of distraction and eventually settled on a vid he'd seen once of a distant planet that was mostly water and crazy rock spires, with three moonlets that pulled the water up into humps and dragged it back and forth, endlessly. The whole of the surface was a strange, silvery-blue-green, webbed with pale-pink foam, swirling and lifting and falling.
He played the vid over and over in his head, trying to remember all of it, trying to remember the music that had accompanied it. Something breathy and mournful, something a little lost sounding. He concentrated on it, trying to block out Jensen's rage, or at least not react to it; trying to damp down his own anxiety - hell, his outright terror. Feeling, too, the slow, soothing wave of whatever was in the derm curl all through him.
He sat there for he didn't know how long, until he felt the warm, flitting touch of Jensen's attention, and then felt Jensen, sitting down opposite him, breathing hard. Question question in the 'net, and Jared felt his mouth turning up a little, a hesitant smile.
"Kepler. It's a...a waterworld. Or, some water. I don't remember. Mostly liquid, rocky core, some rocky formations that are tall enough to get above the surface. It's kind of pretty."
"Fucking nightmare," Jensen muttered, and Jared caught a brief flash of some memory, some training exercise. Underwater maneuvers, feeling nauseated and unnervingly out of place, creeping along under a kilometer of liquid, nothing but blackness all around them, and pressure enough to kill, if a suit breached.
Deep, open expanses of liquid were as foreign to Jared as they had been to Jensen, but Jared had never considered what it would be like to be under all that.
"Jesus." Jared shivered, and then opened his eyes. Jensen was so close their knees were practically touching, slick with sweat, shirt gone, bruised hands on his thighs and his chest still working hard, dragging in air in hard gulps. But his gaze was steady, he felt better. The loop no longer fed them both in a twisting, rising spiral but just hummed contentedly, exhaustion and a soothing kind of blankness, now that they'd both settled down.
Jensen was watching Jared, his head tipped to the side just a little, his eyes brilliantly green in the overhead lights, his face just so damn beautiful, a collection of angles and shadows, curves and hollows that was perfect in a way that people just weren't.
"I'm a person," Jensen said, his eyes wide, and Jared felt his mouth sag open for a moment.
"I know that! I-I'm...sorry, I-"
Same, Jensen insisted, a little hurt and a little irritation bleeding through, chosen, and Jared shook his head.
"No. I mean - yes. Glorianna stock, I know, they chose our gene-donors for a reason but...you...I think mine was more for...brains."
Jensen just stared at him, and then he grinned, unnerving and amazing, and reached out to cup his fingers around Jared's cheek, stroking the flat of his thumb over Jared's lower lip, a feather-touch that sent a bolt of sensation through Jared from mouth to groin. Idiot, and affection, and an underlying current of arousal that made Jared blush. He'd heard about Angels, and what they did. Everyone knew-
"Not fucking whores," Jensen said, everything warm snapping off like a light, and Jared twitched at the loss.
"Fuck, fuck, I know, I'm sorry, fuck, I can't- This is really hard, Jensen."
"Fuck you," Jensen growled, and he twisted, moving to get up. Jared leaned right into him and grabbed his wrist, only to find himself flat on his belly a moment later, his arm twisted painfully up between his shoulder blades, Jensen's knee in his thigh, pressing hard enough to cut off the circulation and make the muscle throb. Jared yelped and Jensen froze for a long, long moment, breathing hard, and then he was up and gone, back to the machines, back to hurting himself, and it was Jared's fault again.
Jared didn't bother sitting up, this time. He just lay there on his face, smelling disinfectant and plastic, casting sorry sorry sorry, and thinking hard, this time about the tilapia fish they'd had on Kin-Gin, in the tank; how as a kid he'd watch their effortless circling and darting. How the cool, silvery blues and greens had mesmerized him, soothed him, and made him achingly envious, because he had not - could never - move with that grace and ease. Never would, he thought, until the lottery...until the 'net.
And now here he was, with everything of Kin-Gin, at long last, purged from him, and it felt like he'd lost his moms all over again; like he'd lost his home and his past and his self. He'd been remade so many times, he was barely still there, and now he was something new all over again, and it was just...so damn hard, sometimes. So fucking hard.
He felt more than heard Jensen circling back to him - circling him, like the fish had circled the tank, curious and a little sorry, but still a little mad, too.
"What...were those things?"
"Fish," Jared said. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at Jensen, who looked thoughtful. "They lived in the tank, in the greenhouse. Fertilizer and food for the stuff we grew; moisture."
"You liked them," Jensen said, hesitant, and Jared nodded. "But you ate them."
"That's what they were there for. But they were pretty."
"You're pretty," Jensen said, utterly nonsensical, and Jared gaped up at him for a moment, and then had to laugh, curling a little on the mat. Jensen folded down next to him, reaching out a slow hand to pat at Jared's hair.
"I'm an idiot," Jared muttered, his face half an inch from Jensen's thigh, and Jensen patted him again.
"It's okay, I don't mind," Jensen said, and Jared snorted. "Want me to show you that move?" Flash in the 'net, of twist push pressure, and Jared winced.
"Yeah, okay."
It took a while. Jensen had to show Jared how to fall, first, and how to hold without hurting himself; how to not overextend, not twist too far. But he got it, eventually. The muscle-memory from the 'net helped, Jensen's training bleeding through, moving Jared's body without any conscious thought of his own, sometimes, just doing, and Jared would mess it up, then, in pure astonishment.
But Jensen laughed at him, a deep and happy laugh, throwing his head back, and that was a first. It made Jared feel like he was glowing, like he was lit up on the inside, all smoldering warmth and sparks. Jensen, obviously feeling it too, looked at Jared with that blinding grin, eyes so very alive and full of affection and…. It was good. It was really good. Finally.
Jared just hoped it would last.
Raleigh, Doc and the rest were finally gone, leaving just Jensen and Jared and the Jo boys, inhabiting a last couple of bare rooms in the winding corridors behind Purgatory. The merc ship - the Falcon - planned a stop-and-turn, heading straight back to Axis after dropping off the rest. If the Tiamat let them go, if she let them live. Jensen had made it clear it would just be him and Jared, the Jo boys weren't linked in, they weren't Angels in the slightest, and it would just be too much distraction for the soldiers, hyped on go-packs and maybe not actually willing, much less able, to stop and listen.
The Jo boys didn't like it, but they were too busy dismantling the last of the Diaboli's presence on Axis to argue about it much.
One of the people who'd stayed was up in Station Control, third-tier scanner, linked in to everything, but low enough to be mostly ignored. And a little over two days after that first alert, another came whispering down, and Jared looked up from the game he was half-heartedly playing on his data-spot to see Jo One in the doorway, looking pale.
"Stat-Con just called. The Tiamat...she's here. Just dropped, nadir of Axis. She's fucking six hours out."
"Shit," Jared said, his heart leaping in his chest. He heard a muffled thump from next door and then Jensen was there, his eyes red-rimmed and his hair a mess, question and alarm in the 'net.
"What-?"
"Tiamat. She's here. How is that fucking possible?" Jo said, and Jensen shrugged, looking away.
"Troopships are faster than they say," Jensen said finally, as if giving up the deepest of secrets, and maybe he was, Jared didn't know. He knew he felt longing and hope and mine mine mine from Jensen; a desperation to have those people back, a want so strong it hurt.
It hurt Jared, who had thought, maybe, that since Jensen could hear him now, that they could hear each other, 'nets linked and Jensen not alone anymore, that it might be...enough.
"They're my Nephilim," Jensen said, hurt in his voice at Jared's hurt, and Jo made an irritated sound, used to the weird conversations Jared and Jensen had now, but still annoyed by them.
"Get your shit together, now, 'cause we gotta go. Jo's getting somebody to meet us down at one of the old evac docks. They'll get us away, take us out to system edge to wait for the Falcon. No matter what happens with the ship, we still gotta be able to disappear." The 'with or without you' was unspoken, but heard.
"Okay," Jared said, staring at Jensen. He felt a little sick, and a little lost, because he'd just realized that when you got right down to the bottom of things - down to the bone - a whole lot of Jensen was still and would forever be that boy on a tomb of a ship, fighting with his every breath to keep his sibs, his family, alive.
And the Nephilim, they were family, too; his to protect. The only family he'd had for a very long time, that he'd remembered, because standard op for every Angel recruited was a psy-block that suppressed your memories, kept you from repeating old patterns. Helped you form new ones. And what with the 'net and the drugs and the training...those new patterns were damn-near impossible to break.
"I hope they remember that," Jared said to Jensen, and Jensen rubbed the backs of his fingers over his tired eyes.
"I gotta-" Clean up be ready see me, nerves and anticipation and some impulse Jared didn't quite get. Jensen pushed away from the door jamb and headed back to his room, and Jared cursed softly under his breath and got up, dragging his half-full duffle out from under the bunk. Gotta move, gotta go. Get this done.
Jared shoved the last of his clothing into his duffle, and glanced around the room, checking. Nothing was left that he wanted or needed, and so he shouldered his bag and lifted the duffle and stepped out. Jensen's door was open, his own duffle lying half-empty half-in, half-out of the doorway. Jared had bought Jensen clothes: military-style pants with pockets all down the legs, basic underwear, tee shirts with short and long sleeves, a couple sweaters. A toiletry kit, the duffle, his own data-spot. Jensen had taken his little collection of shiny trash and tucked it away into an inner pocket of the duffle first thing; it had looked a little bigger, like he'd added to it. More bits of polychrome wrapping paper, another row of bright, cartoon sandwich stickers.
He'd noticed Jared noticing with a little shame, and wariness, but mostly a warm kind of satisfaction in the 'net, and Jared certainly hadn't thought for a moment to tell him leave it, or make fun. He was getting that same feeling, now, from Jensen, and Jared stopped in the doorway, looking in, wondering what he was going to see.
He saw Jensen, shirtless in the closet of the bathroom, looking at Jared with wide, ever-so-green eyes, both hands braced on the edge of the stainless sink. His hair was gone. Well - not gone, Jared amended, blinking. He'd just clipped all that long, slightly curling hair off, cutting it close to his skull. It was uneven, a little longer at the top and toward the front, spiked up gently with water. Water on his shoulders, and it looked like he'd just finished cleaning up stray hairs. He looked...older, just a little - the clean, square line of his jaw more pronounced, the strong cords of his neck not hidden under that dark fall. He looked military, and capable, and dangerous, and Jensen smirked at him, still that uncertain, shivery nerves in the 'net.
"Wow," Jared said softly. "It's good." Good, nice, like it, and Jensen snorted, turning back to the mirror, calm again, mostly; nerves and longing for the Angels a constant thrum just under his (their) skin. Jensen made a face, then scrubbed a towel over his shoulders and neck and head, spiking his hair a little more, before staring at himself in the mirror and then back at Jared.
"I need- They have to...recognize me. See me." Me, Quemel, Jensen thought, a flash of sleek bodies uncoupling from shadow, pulling free of their armor, pale, hairless skin gleaming.
"They'll know you," Jared said, and Jensen looked in the mirror one more time, and then shoved the towel into the 'cycler, clipped the sink back up into its niche and stepped out, sliding the door to behind him. He finished dressing in quick, economical movements: tee-shirt and sweater and then his coat and scarf, looping it around his throat and even once up and over his skull, hooding himself. Gloves with the tips of the fingers cut off, and sharpened spines of glassine worked into the palms and fingers, mostly-invisible cutting edges that would pass a metal detector and not even register until they were slicing across your skin. He stomped his feet down into the steel-toed, reinforced boots Jared had given him, buckled the straps, and then checked them over before resettling his scarf. Purposeful. Steady.
It felt like he was donning the armor again, wrapping himself up in glassine and titanium-tungsten alloy, ceramic and steel. It was comfort, and it filtered through the 'net and down Jared's spine, making his shoulders slump a little and his hands unknot from their white-knuckled fists. It was something. Jensen glanced around him one last time and then hoisted up the duffle, clipping it shut and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Jo boys are gonna take our stuff down, stow it for us. And they'll wait for us down there. Long as they can."
"Sure," Jensen said, distracted, and the 'net was just a steady hum of energy, nerves, excitement, anticipation. But all of it battened down, locked up. As if Jensen were steeling himself against too much emotion, too much hope. Jared latched onto that armored up, comfort-feeling and tried to project it back; tried to give Jensen and himself some small bubble of calm and rationality, before….well, before.
They walked out of the room and down the corridor, turn and turn again, a faint beat of noise from Purgatory, bass and voices and feet dancing, bodies moving. Just a whisper in the still, warm air. And then they were at the bank of service mag-lifts, the Jo boys standing by the nearest, hung with gear and looking antsy.
"Here we go," Jared said, slinging their stuff at the Jo boys feet, little nod of acknowledgement sent their way, and then he and Jensen stepped into the other lift and...went.
Tiamat's dock was in 20-E, the docking level closest to the 'top' of the station, just below Carousel. It was exclusively for military use - not even Company security got to dock there - and the umbilicals and machinery that provided the docking coupling, recycling and waste removal, and all other functions, could all be taken over by the switcher on board a troopship, rendering any docking assistance unnecessary. Few ships would go that route, though, as it was unnecessarily hazardous in all but the most desperate of times.
Tiamat had declared a hands-off, according to the whisper sent down to Jo One, relayed to the com-plug in Jensen's ear. So Jared knew they wouldn't be encountering any docking crews. No security or customs, either, though Jared was sure that had to grate. But Axis wouldn't dare dispute her.
The lift took them down, and they trod deserted, shadowy corridors, power-save shutting down all but the most basic of lighting; ready-lights glowing above hatches, orientation arrows in glowing paint, for the never-to-be-entertained occasion that Axis might lose gravity. The air was warm and a little dusty, ozone and that hot plastic smell that came from the auto-cleaners.
They finally reached a dock hatch, a pressure seal door that could keep a person safe if a dock was breached, if decompression had sucked out the atmosphere. The light above it was a steady, deep purple-blue color that made Jared squint. Jensen swiped the disposable entry card over the sensor and the light blinked before turning a deep red, and the hatch unsealed with a huff, sliding into the wall. Beyond was a lock big enough for three or four people, and they waited while the door behind sealed, and the atmosphere was checked, and then the dock-access door opened, a blink of lights from red to green. They stepped out into cold damp air, instant shock and chill, and Jared hunched into his jacket even as he looked up and around, seeing catwalks and gantries fifty meters or more up, crisscrossed with light and shadow. Umbilicals and cables hung like gut in cradles of webbing and sight lines, ours, theirs, cold because volatiles, friction, damp because static, that's water, waste, oxy-mix, 'cycling through that bay door there, ship access there, three exits for us, only two for them, troops and officers and crew no difference.
"Fuck," Jared said, rattled, and Jensen grinned at him.
"Sit-rep. You gotta know."
Jared nodded, breathing as he allowed the cascade of information to flow over him and settle into his brain and bones. The ‘net was a continuous murmur as they paced forward across the rubberized dock floor, up to the hazard line’s black and yellow diagonals. Beyond was for ship personnel and dock crew only.
"Tiamat just pinged the docking arm," came through the 'net, through Jensen from Jo Two, and the flow of observation cut off and a wave of excitement and apprehension slammed through Jensen into Jared. It was tinged with longing, with love, and Jared reached out, blindly, and found Jensen's hand, gripping it tight.
Jensen gasped softly and squeezed back, his hand warm, his fingers trembling. Something was whirring and humming, somewhere in the towering wall of the outer skin of the dock, and lights were flashing now, amber and red and blue, and a soft, chiming alert came from everywhere.
Dock, docking, arm's got them, pulling them in, here we go, here we go- "Ready-steady?" Jensen said, looking over at Jared, squeezing his hand still, and Jared breathed in and gulped and nodded hard.
"Go, go, go," he said, echo in Jensen's head, yes and confirmation and happy in the 'net. The whole dock seemed to shudder then, sub-sonic noise, coming up through their feet. And then...a whisper, a rumble, a roar, and the lights over the access strobed, slow and then fast, red to amber to green. The ship lift was moving along the track, exiting the hull at the last moment to mate with Axis's lock. The lights steadied on green and there was a clanging, clashing sound of machinery, lift and lock mating, sealing.
Jared wondered who would come out, who Tiamat would send for one lost Angel.
Captain maybe, LT, Morrigan, Jensen thought, a welter of emotions around that name that surged up and were pushed away too quickly for Jared to analyze.
Company rep? Jared wondered, and got a flash of disgust and derision from Jensen.
"Climb up your asshole to count your teeth," Jensen muttered, and Jared sputtered out a shocked laugh. His heart was pounding and he was all but panting, and Jensen's hand in his was gripping so tight he could barely feel his fingers.
And then the black-and-yellow striped access door slid up, and the one behind it slid aside, and air puffed out, mis-matched atmo, steam or condensation or something. There was no light, just gleams. Color on metal, movement, far back in shadow, and then...
"Angels," Jared breathed, and the 'net went abruptly to static overload, too much, too fast, too loud, and all Jared could do was stare.
Five of them, monstrous machines of armor that moved with a disturbing, fluid grace, all hiss and whir and tick. Giant wind-up toys but oh, fuck, no, not toys. Never toys. Jared felt Jensen's grip on his hand crushing even tighter; felt his own heart leap and race as Jensen's did, the 'net still disturbingly blank, so much input it had fuzzed into nothing, a static-shock hiss in Jared's brain, and all he could do was breathe, and breathe, and try to keep his knees from going out from under him.
Two of the armors were black, with polished-copper edges and joins that glowed a vivid, acid green. Swirling patterns had been etched into the chest plates, and tiny blue-white lights glowed, scattershot, on the arms and legs, the torsos, where eyes should be, and mouths. Thin blades of silver-edged metal rattled and lifted and settled again, from shoulders and neck, ribs and thighs, like the agitated ruffling of a bird's feathers. They came first, slender compared to the others, taller than Jared, and moving with deceptive speed.
Behind and between them was a bulkier armor, this one silver-grey, edged in gold and livid purple. The tiny lights gleamed the pink-orange of a Kin-Gin sunrise, and the patterns etched into this armor was a little more angular, sharper.
The last two were huge, coming up on the outside, a head above the others, broader and thicker but still as graceful as fish in water, nothing clumsy in their impossibly long strides. Those armors were a glowing, smutted ruby red, edged in silver and frost-blue, tiny lights gleaming gold. Jared could feel when those armored feet came down, shaking up through his bones.
Gibborim, Jensen thought, the 'net clearing abruptly. Naphaim, Enim. Nephilim, my Angels, mine -
The armor - the Angels - stopped just the other side of the hazard line, and Jared had to look up at faceplates half a meter or more above his own head. Close up, the armor exuded heat and hot-metal smell, and a rich tang of hydraulics, oil, something…. A hand lifted, then an arm, and Jared felt Jensen yank him back and move in front of him, letting go of Jared's hand.
Blood rushed back into his fingers, tingling, and Jared tucked that hand up under his jacket, biting his lip as he watched Jensen. The 'net was a blur again, emotions too fast, too intense, just want mine family lonely need, shuddering through them both, making Jared's eyes sting with sudden tears, because 'net or no, Jensen missed them, needed them...felt adrift, cut off, diminished.
There was a moment of utter stillness, and then the faceplates lifted, folding back and down, leaving five faces free of armor. Pale faces, all but one; hairless except for brows and lashes; sex indeterminate in three. The dark one and the one in the middle, those were men, the others were just...inhuman, smooth and too perfect.
Names tumbled through the net, stutter-flash of knowledge, images, bodies and mouths and voices and touch, kiss, love brother sister mine.
"Kane, Jensen said, the word torn out of him, his voice knife-edged, and that one in silver-grey and gold and purple, that one suddenly grinned, white teeth and blue, blue eyes, and tear-tracks. He pushed forward, and Jensen stepped closer and then up, onto some bit of armor that folded out, making a spike for Jensen's foot. And then Jensen was clinging to the armor, fists wrapped around some other parts, kissing. Gasping for air and Jared could feel the tears on Jensen's face, the clench of his belly and ache in his throat.
He could feel Kane's mouth, and he bit his own lip, hard, to get out of that loop.
"Jen, Jensen, Quemuel," the others said, all of them at once, crowding as close as the armor would allow, and Jensen was laughing, leaning out, kissing the dark one Malik and then the other in red armor Sinna, fuck, so beautiful and then Jinx, Jinx, another squad leader, like Jensen had been, Jinx and Five, different from Jinx only in that her brows were shaved, deep blue cut with skin, diagonal lines, where Jinx's were startling black on his pale, pale skin.
They each got in near enough to kiss, for Jensen to touch - a hand on a cheek, curving around a shaved skull - and then he kissed Kane again, hard, before slipping down, stepping back a pace, and the five all went down, with eerie synchronicity, to one knee.
"Jensen," Kane said, and he looked furious, but also utterly bewildered. "They said you died."
Part fifteen.
Originally entered at http://tabaqui.dreamwidth.org/188407.html - comment where you please!
Beta'd by the lovely darkhavens, as always. And, again - thanks, everyone, for being so patient.
Also at AO3
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake - 'The Tiger'
They had five days, but Raleigh and Doc and the rest were leaving sooner. Raleigh and his crew were rapidly and completely dismantling most of their network, leaving only a small cell, a scattered handful of contacts to keep information flowing. In total, seventeen people were leaving, including Jared and Jensen, but thirteen of them were leaving within 30 hours. They had a ship; that merc's crew had agreed to take them, out of Axis and out of that system; one longish jump to Tripoli, a dark little spot of mass in the middle of nothing. Owned by nobody, just big enough to pull a ship down out of jump, and close enough to three different systems to be the perfect jumping-off point for a longer journey.
At Tripoli, they were transferring to the Diomedes, a ship owned and run by the Advocatus Diaboli, though filtered through layers of shell companies and hollow IDs. The Diomedes would take them...elsewhere, for as long as necessary; until Doc and the rest had cracked the code, synthesized a vaccine, and were ready to distribute it.
The whole plan made Jared nervous, because while his life had been ruled by the Company, he'd always had a destination, a schedule, a fucking job. Now he was going to be flung into the great unknown in pretty much every sense of the word, and it just made him...antsy.
Which made Jensen really, really irritated, because Jensen could feel Jared, and that kind of hyped-up, nervous, adrenaline-fueled emotion through the 'net translated in Jensen's mind (and body) to gogogo. To fight, pre-drop, pre-battle tension that made him snap and snarl and lash out. Doc finally took Jared aside and forced a handful of derms on him, told him if he didn't figure out a way to calm himself the hell down, Jensen was going to lose it, but seriously.
Jared stood there and watched Jensen utterly destroy a balky resistance machine in the gym with his bare hands, leaving bits and hydraulic fluid scattered everywhere like some kind of murder scene, his hands smeared purple with the stuff. His tattoos were surreally bright against his pale skin, and the ghostly tracery of the 'net were like lines of faint blue smoke, cross-hatching everywhere under his skin. Jared had them too, now that his new 'net was fully integrated, instead of just in his spine and brain.
Jensen looked on the verge of something. Not a complete breakdown, but his eyes were wide and wild and he was so damn tense it hurt to look at his shoulders. So Jared smoothed a derm onto his forearm, took some long, deep breaths and did his best to get himself under control. Because on top of Jared's nerves, Jensen was having his own. Jared could feel them, and that kind of fed his own, and it was a crazy loop of emotion and intention that made Jared wonder if this was why the Angels were all so fucking crazy, because to have this times ten or fifty or however many Angels made up a...whatever it was...was damn overwhelming.
"Platoon, for fuck's sake," Jensen said, wiping sweat and hydraulic fluid off his arms. "There were thirty-six of us, and the 'net was only keyed to us. We weren't linked into Dominions or Seraphim or anything." Jared felt a shuddery wave of aggression, when Jensen thought of those other Angels, and got a brief, reeling kind of flashback, to us and them and fight.
"But, I thought- You're all Angels. How could-? Why did you hate them?'
"We didn't-" Jensen stopped, and Jared felt bewilderment and loss, that we that colored every memory and informed every thought about his Angels just driving home, over and over, that that we didn't exist any more. "We didn't hate them. They were...different. Not us. Not Nephilim."
Jared felt the trembly ache of that loss twist in the 'net and then turn back to rage. Jensen hissed through his teeth and turned, pivoting smoothly, then lashed out with his fists at a padded sort of tree-thing, pummeling it.
"Right, okay, fuck," Jared muttered. He sat down on the padded floor, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and tried to just breath, slow and even. His brain searched for some kind of distraction and eventually settled on a vid he'd seen once of a distant planet that was mostly water and crazy rock spires, with three moonlets that pulled the water up into humps and dragged it back and forth, endlessly. The whole of the surface was a strange, silvery-blue-green, webbed with pale-pink foam, swirling and lifting and falling.
He played the vid over and over in his head, trying to remember all of it, trying to remember the music that had accompanied it. Something breathy and mournful, something a little lost sounding. He concentrated on it, trying to block out Jensen's rage, or at least not react to it; trying to damp down his own anxiety - hell, his outright terror. Feeling, too, the slow, soothing wave of whatever was in the derm curl all through him.
He sat there for he didn't know how long, until he felt the warm, flitting touch of Jensen's attention, and then felt Jensen, sitting down opposite him, breathing hard. Question question in the 'net, and Jared felt his mouth turning up a little, a hesitant smile.
"Kepler. It's a...a waterworld. Or, some water. I don't remember. Mostly liquid, rocky core, some rocky formations that are tall enough to get above the surface. It's kind of pretty."
"Fucking nightmare," Jensen muttered, and Jared caught a brief flash of some memory, some training exercise. Underwater maneuvers, feeling nauseated and unnervingly out of place, creeping along under a kilometer of liquid, nothing but blackness all around them, and pressure enough to kill, if a suit breached.
Deep, open expanses of liquid were as foreign to Jared as they had been to Jensen, but Jared had never considered what it would be like to be under all that.
"Jesus." Jared shivered, and then opened his eyes. Jensen was so close their knees were practically touching, slick with sweat, shirt gone, bruised hands on his thighs and his chest still working hard, dragging in air in hard gulps. But his gaze was steady, he felt better. The loop no longer fed them both in a twisting, rising spiral but just hummed contentedly, exhaustion and a soothing kind of blankness, now that they'd both settled down.
Jensen was watching Jared, his head tipped to the side just a little, his eyes brilliantly green in the overhead lights, his face just so damn beautiful, a collection of angles and shadows, curves and hollows that was perfect in a way that people just weren't.
"I'm a person," Jensen said, his eyes wide, and Jared felt his mouth sag open for a moment.
"I know that! I-I'm...sorry, I-"
Same, Jensen insisted, a little hurt and a little irritation bleeding through, chosen, and Jared shook his head.
"No. I mean - yes. Glorianna stock, I know, they chose our gene-donors for a reason but...you...I think mine was more for...brains."
Jensen just stared at him, and then he grinned, unnerving and amazing, and reached out to cup his fingers around Jared's cheek, stroking the flat of his thumb over Jared's lower lip, a feather-touch that sent a bolt of sensation through Jared from mouth to groin. Idiot, and affection, and an underlying current of arousal that made Jared blush. He'd heard about Angels, and what they did. Everyone knew-
"Not fucking whores," Jensen said, everything warm snapping off like a light, and Jared twitched at the loss.
"Fuck, fuck, I know, I'm sorry, fuck, I can't- This is really hard, Jensen."
"Fuck you," Jensen growled, and he twisted, moving to get up. Jared leaned right into him and grabbed his wrist, only to find himself flat on his belly a moment later, his arm twisted painfully up between his shoulder blades, Jensen's knee in his thigh, pressing hard enough to cut off the circulation and make the muscle throb. Jared yelped and Jensen froze for a long, long moment, breathing hard, and then he was up and gone, back to the machines, back to hurting himself, and it was Jared's fault again.
Jared didn't bother sitting up, this time. He just lay there on his face, smelling disinfectant and plastic, casting sorry sorry sorry, and thinking hard, this time about the tilapia fish they'd had on Kin-Gin, in the tank; how as a kid he'd watch their effortless circling and darting. How the cool, silvery blues and greens had mesmerized him, soothed him, and made him achingly envious, because he had not - could never - move with that grace and ease. Never would, he thought, until the lottery...until the 'net.
And now here he was, with everything of Kin-Gin, at long last, purged from him, and it felt like he'd lost his moms all over again; like he'd lost his home and his past and his self. He'd been remade so many times, he was barely still there, and now he was something new all over again, and it was just...so damn hard, sometimes. So fucking hard.
He felt more than heard Jensen circling back to him - circling him, like the fish had circled the tank, curious and a little sorry, but still a little mad, too.
"What...were those things?"
"Fish," Jared said. He rolled over onto his back, looking up at Jensen, who looked thoughtful. "They lived in the tank, in the greenhouse. Fertilizer and food for the stuff we grew; moisture."
"You liked them," Jensen said, hesitant, and Jared nodded. "But you ate them."
"That's what they were there for. But they were pretty."
"You're pretty," Jensen said, utterly nonsensical, and Jared gaped up at him for a moment, and then had to laugh, curling a little on the mat. Jensen folded down next to him, reaching out a slow hand to pat at Jared's hair.
"I'm an idiot," Jared muttered, his face half an inch from Jensen's thigh, and Jensen patted him again.
"It's okay, I don't mind," Jensen said, and Jared snorted. "Want me to show you that move?" Flash in the 'net, of twist push pressure, and Jared winced.
"Yeah, okay."
It took a while. Jensen had to show Jared how to fall, first, and how to hold without hurting himself; how to not overextend, not twist too far. But he got it, eventually. The muscle-memory from the 'net helped, Jensen's training bleeding through, moving Jared's body without any conscious thought of his own, sometimes, just doing, and Jared would mess it up, then, in pure astonishment.
But Jensen laughed at him, a deep and happy laugh, throwing his head back, and that was a first. It made Jared feel like he was glowing, like he was lit up on the inside, all smoldering warmth and sparks. Jensen, obviously feeling it too, looked at Jared with that blinding grin, eyes so very alive and full of affection and…. It was good. It was really good. Finally.
Jared just hoped it would last.
Raleigh, Doc and the rest were finally gone, leaving just Jensen and Jared and the Jo boys, inhabiting a last couple of bare rooms in the winding corridors behind Purgatory. The merc ship - the Falcon - planned a stop-and-turn, heading straight back to Axis after dropping off the rest. If the Tiamat let them go, if she let them live. Jensen had made it clear it would just be him and Jared, the Jo boys weren't linked in, they weren't Angels in the slightest, and it would just be too much distraction for the soldiers, hyped on go-packs and maybe not actually willing, much less able, to stop and listen.
The Jo boys didn't like it, but they were too busy dismantling the last of the Diaboli's presence on Axis to argue about it much.
One of the people who'd stayed was up in Station Control, third-tier scanner, linked in to everything, but low enough to be mostly ignored. And a little over two days after that first alert, another came whispering down, and Jared looked up from the game he was half-heartedly playing on his data-spot to see Jo One in the doorway, looking pale.
"Stat-Con just called. The Tiamat...she's here. Just dropped, nadir of Axis. She's fucking six hours out."
"Shit," Jared said, his heart leaping in his chest. He heard a muffled thump from next door and then Jensen was there, his eyes red-rimmed and his hair a mess, question and alarm in the 'net.
"What-?"
"Tiamat. She's here. How is that fucking possible?" Jo said, and Jensen shrugged, looking away.
"Troopships are faster than they say," Jensen said finally, as if giving up the deepest of secrets, and maybe he was, Jared didn't know. He knew he felt longing and hope and mine mine mine from Jensen; a desperation to have those people back, a want so strong it hurt.
It hurt Jared, who had thought, maybe, that since Jensen could hear him now, that they could hear each other, 'nets linked and Jensen not alone anymore, that it might be...enough.
"They're my Nephilim," Jensen said, hurt in his voice at Jared's hurt, and Jo made an irritated sound, used to the weird conversations Jared and Jensen had now, but still annoyed by them.
"Get your shit together, now, 'cause we gotta go. Jo's getting somebody to meet us down at one of the old evac docks. They'll get us away, take us out to system edge to wait for the Falcon. No matter what happens with the ship, we still gotta be able to disappear." The 'with or without you' was unspoken, but heard.
"Okay," Jared said, staring at Jensen. He felt a little sick, and a little lost, because he'd just realized that when you got right down to the bottom of things - down to the bone - a whole lot of Jensen was still and would forever be that boy on a tomb of a ship, fighting with his every breath to keep his sibs, his family, alive.
And the Nephilim, they were family, too; his to protect. The only family he'd had for a very long time, that he'd remembered, because standard op for every Angel recruited was a psy-block that suppressed your memories, kept you from repeating old patterns. Helped you form new ones. And what with the 'net and the drugs and the training...those new patterns were damn-near impossible to break.
"I hope they remember that," Jared said to Jensen, and Jensen rubbed the backs of his fingers over his tired eyes.
"I gotta-" Clean up be ready see me, nerves and anticipation and some impulse Jared didn't quite get. Jensen pushed away from the door jamb and headed back to his room, and Jared cursed softly under his breath and got up, dragging his half-full duffle out from under the bunk. Gotta move, gotta go. Get this done.
Jared shoved the last of his clothing into his duffle, and glanced around the room, checking. Nothing was left that he wanted or needed, and so he shouldered his bag and lifted the duffle and stepped out. Jensen's door was open, his own duffle lying half-empty half-in, half-out of the doorway. Jared had bought Jensen clothes: military-style pants with pockets all down the legs, basic underwear, tee shirts with short and long sleeves, a couple sweaters. A toiletry kit, the duffle, his own data-spot. Jensen had taken his little collection of shiny trash and tucked it away into an inner pocket of the duffle first thing; it had looked a little bigger, like he'd added to it. More bits of polychrome wrapping paper, another row of bright, cartoon sandwich stickers.
He'd noticed Jared noticing with a little shame, and wariness, but mostly a warm kind of satisfaction in the 'net, and Jared certainly hadn't thought for a moment to tell him leave it, or make fun. He was getting that same feeling, now, from Jensen, and Jared stopped in the doorway, looking in, wondering what he was going to see.
He saw Jensen, shirtless in the closet of the bathroom, looking at Jared with wide, ever-so-green eyes, both hands braced on the edge of the stainless sink. His hair was gone. Well - not gone, Jared amended, blinking. He'd just clipped all that long, slightly curling hair off, cutting it close to his skull. It was uneven, a little longer at the top and toward the front, spiked up gently with water. Water on his shoulders, and it looked like he'd just finished cleaning up stray hairs. He looked...older, just a little - the clean, square line of his jaw more pronounced, the strong cords of his neck not hidden under that dark fall. He looked military, and capable, and dangerous, and Jensen smirked at him, still that uncertain, shivery nerves in the 'net.
"Wow," Jared said softly. "It's good." Good, nice, like it, and Jensen snorted, turning back to the mirror, calm again, mostly; nerves and longing for the Angels a constant thrum just under his (their) skin. Jensen made a face, then scrubbed a towel over his shoulders and neck and head, spiking his hair a little more, before staring at himself in the mirror and then back at Jared.
"I need- They have to...recognize me. See me." Me, Quemel, Jensen thought, a flash of sleek bodies uncoupling from shadow, pulling free of their armor, pale, hairless skin gleaming.
"They'll know you," Jared said, and Jensen looked in the mirror one more time, and then shoved the towel into the 'cycler, clipped the sink back up into its niche and stepped out, sliding the door to behind him. He finished dressing in quick, economical movements: tee-shirt and sweater and then his coat and scarf, looping it around his throat and even once up and over his skull, hooding himself. Gloves with the tips of the fingers cut off, and sharpened spines of glassine worked into the palms and fingers, mostly-invisible cutting edges that would pass a metal detector and not even register until they were slicing across your skin. He stomped his feet down into the steel-toed, reinforced boots Jared had given him, buckled the straps, and then checked them over before resettling his scarf. Purposeful. Steady.
It felt like he was donning the armor again, wrapping himself up in glassine and titanium-tungsten alloy, ceramic and steel. It was comfort, and it filtered through the 'net and down Jared's spine, making his shoulders slump a little and his hands unknot from their white-knuckled fists. It was something. Jensen glanced around him one last time and then hoisted up the duffle, clipping it shut and slinging it over his shoulder.
"Jo boys are gonna take our stuff down, stow it for us. And they'll wait for us down there. Long as they can."
"Sure," Jensen said, distracted, and the 'net was just a steady hum of energy, nerves, excitement, anticipation. But all of it battened down, locked up. As if Jensen were steeling himself against too much emotion, too much hope. Jared latched onto that armored up, comfort-feeling and tried to project it back; tried to give Jensen and himself some small bubble of calm and rationality, before….well, before.
They walked out of the room and down the corridor, turn and turn again, a faint beat of noise from Purgatory, bass and voices and feet dancing, bodies moving. Just a whisper in the still, warm air. And then they were at the bank of service mag-lifts, the Jo boys standing by the nearest, hung with gear and looking antsy.
"Here we go," Jared said, slinging their stuff at the Jo boys feet, little nod of acknowledgement sent their way, and then he and Jensen stepped into the other lift and...went.
Tiamat's dock was in 20-E, the docking level closest to the 'top' of the station, just below Carousel. It was exclusively for military use - not even Company security got to dock there - and the umbilicals and machinery that provided the docking coupling, recycling and waste removal, and all other functions, could all be taken over by the switcher on board a troopship, rendering any docking assistance unnecessary. Few ships would go that route, though, as it was unnecessarily hazardous in all but the most desperate of times.
Tiamat had declared a hands-off, according to the whisper sent down to Jo One, relayed to the com-plug in Jensen's ear. So Jared knew they wouldn't be encountering any docking crews. No security or customs, either, though Jared was sure that had to grate. But Axis wouldn't dare dispute her.
The lift took them down, and they trod deserted, shadowy corridors, power-save shutting down all but the most basic of lighting; ready-lights glowing above hatches, orientation arrows in glowing paint, for the never-to-be-entertained occasion that Axis might lose gravity. The air was warm and a little dusty, ozone and that hot plastic smell that came from the auto-cleaners.
They finally reached a dock hatch, a pressure seal door that could keep a person safe if a dock was breached, if decompression had sucked out the atmosphere. The light above it was a steady, deep purple-blue color that made Jared squint. Jensen swiped the disposable entry card over the sensor and the light blinked before turning a deep red, and the hatch unsealed with a huff, sliding into the wall. Beyond was a lock big enough for three or four people, and they waited while the door behind sealed, and the atmosphere was checked, and then the dock-access door opened, a blink of lights from red to green. They stepped out into cold damp air, instant shock and chill, and Jared hunched into his jacket even as he looked up and around, seeing catwalks and gantries fifty meters or more up, crisscrossed with light and shadow. Umbilicals and cables hung like gut in cradles of webbing and sight lines, ours, theirs, cold because volatiles, friction, damp because static, that's water, waste, oxy-mix, 'cycling through that bay door there, ship access there, three exits for us, only two for them, troops and officers and crew no difference.
"Fuck," Jared said, rattled, and Jensen grinned at him.
"Sit-rep. You gotta know."
Jared nodded, breathing as he allowed the cascade of information to flow over him and settle into his brain and bones. The ‘net was a continuous murmur as they paced forward across the rubberized dock floor, up to the hazard line’s black and yellow diagonals. Beyond was for ship personnel and dock crew only.
"Tiamat just pinged the docking arm," came through the 'net, through Jensen from Jo Two, and the flow of observation cut off and a wave of excitement and apprehension slammed through Jensen into Jared. It was tinged with longing, with love, and Jared reached out, blindly, and found Jensen's hand, gripping it tight.
Jensen gasped softly and squeezed back, his hand warm, his fingers trembling. Something was whirring and humming, somewhere in the towering wall of the outer skin of the dock, and lights were flashing now, amber and red and blue, and a soft, chiming alert came from everywhere.
Dock, docking, arm's got them, pulling them in, here we go, here we go- "Ready-steady?" Jensen said, looking over at Jared, squeezing his hand still, and Jared breathed in and gulped and nodded hard.
"Go, go, go," he said, echo in Jensen's head, yes and confirmation and happy in the 'net. The whole dock seemed to shudder then, sub-sonic noise, coming up through their feet. And then...a whisper, a rumble, a roar, and the lights over the access strobed, slow and then fast, red to amber to green. The ship lift was moving along the track, exiting the hull at the last moment to mate with Axis's lock. The lights steadied on green and there was a clanging, clashing sound of machinery, lift and lock mating, sealing.
Jared wondered who would come out, who Tiamat would send for one lost Angel.
Captain maybe, LT, Morrigan, Jensen thought, a welter of emotions around that name that surged up and were pushed away too quickly for Jared to analyze.
Company rep? Jared wondered, and got a flash of disgust and derision from Jensen.
"Climb up your asshole to count your teeth," Jensen muttered, and Jared sputtered out a shocked laugh. His heart was pounding and he was all but panting, and Jensen's hand in his was gripping so tight he could barely feel his fingers.
And then the black-and-yellow striped access door slid up, and the one behind it slid aside, and air puffed out, mis-matched atmo, steam or condensation or something. There was no light, just gleams. Color on metal, movement, far back in shadow, and then...
"Angels," Jared breathed, and the 'net went abruptly to static overload, too much, too fast, too loud, and all Jared could do was stare.
Five of them, monstrous machines of armor that moved with a disturbing, fluid grace, all hiss and whir and tick. Giant wind-up toys but oh, fuck, no, not toys. Never toys. Jared felt Jensen's grip on his hand crushing even tighter; felt his own heart leap and race as Jensen's did, the 'net still disturbingly blank, so much input it had fuzzed into nothing, a static-shock hiss in Jared's brain, and all he could do was breathe, and breathe, and try to keep his knees from going out from under him.
Two of the armors were black, with polished-copper edges and joins that glowed a vivid, acid green. Swirling patterns had been etched into the chest plates, and tiny blue-white lights glowed, scattershot, on the arms and legs, the torsos, where eyes should be, and mouths. Thin blades of silver-edged metal rattled and lifted and settled again, from shoulders and neck, ribs and thighs, like the agitated ruffling of a bird's feathers. They came first, slender compared to the others, taller than Jared, and moving with deceptive speed.
Behind and between them was a bulkier armor, this one silver-grey, edged in gold and livid purple. The tiny lights gleamed the pink-orange of a Kin-Gin sunrise, and the patterns etched into this armor was a little more angular, sharper.
The last two were huge, coming up on the outside, a head above the others, broader and thicker but still as graceful as fish in water, nothing clumsy in their impossibly long strides. Those armors were a glowing, smutted ruby red, edged in silver and frost-blue, tiny lights gleaming gold. Jared could feel when those armored feet came down, shaking up through his bones.
Gibborim, Jensen thought, the 'net clearing abruptly. Naphaim, Enim. Nephilim, my Angels, mine -
The armor - the Angels - stopped just the other side of the hazard line, and Jared had to look up at faceplates half a meter or more above his own head. Close up, the armor exuded heat and hot-metal smell, and a rich tang of hydraulics, oil, something…. A hand lifted, then an arm, and Jared felt Jensen yank him back and move in front of him, letting go of Jared's hand.
Blood rushed back into his fingers, tingling, and Jared tucked that hand up under his jacket, biting his lip as he watched Jensen. The 'net was a blur again, emotions too fast, too intense, just want mine family lonely need, shuddering through them both, making Jared's eyes sting with sudden tears, because 'net or no, Jensen missed them, needed them...felt adrift, cut off, diminished.
There was a moment of utter stillness, and then the faceplates lifted, folding back and down, leaving five faces free of armor. Pale faces, all but one; hairless except for brows and lashes; sex indeterminate in three. The dark one and the one in the middle, those were men, the others were just...inhuman, smooth and too perfect.
Names tumbled through the net, stutter-flash of knowledge, images, bodies and mouths and voices and touch, kiss, love brother sister mine.
"Kane, Jensen said, the word torn out of him, his voice knife-edged, and that one in silver-grey and gold and purple, that one suddenly grinned, white teeth and blue, blue eyes, and tear-tracks. He pushed forward, and Jensen stepped closer and then up, onto some bit of armor that folded out, making a spike for Jensen's foot. And then Jensen was clinging to the armor, fists wrapped around some other parts, kissing. Gasping for air and Jared could feel the tears on Jensen's face, the clench of his belly and ache in his throat.
He could feel Kane's mouth, and he bit his own lip, hard, to get out of that loop.
"Jen, Jensen, Quemuel," the others said, all of them at once, crowding as close as the armor would allow, and Jensen was laughing, leaning out, kissing the dark one Malik and then the other in red armor Sinna, fuck, so beautiful and then Jinx, Jinx, another squad leader, like Jensen had been, Jinx and Five, different from Jinx only in that her brows were shaved, deep blue cut with skin, diagonal lines, where Jinx's were startling black on his pale, pale skin.
They each got in near enough to kiss, for Jensen to touch - a hand on a cheek, curving around a shaved skull - and then he kissed Kane again, hard, before slipping down, stepping back a pace, and the five all went down, with eerie synchronicity, to one knee.
"Jensen," Kane said, and he looked furious, but also utterly bewildered. "They said you died."
Part fifteen.
Originally entered at http://tabaqui.dreamwidth.org/188407.html - comment where you please!