Finally! 'The World Where Yesternight You Died' - part 15
I know it's been a *very* long time, and i am so very sorry. Things in my life are making me not focus on - or not be rally *able* to focus on - writing as much as i want (and need), and that sucks.
And i may post about these things, or i may not, but rest assured, this story *will* finish. Thank you, all, my loyal readers - i do appreciate it.
And thank you, darkhavens for always coming through on the beta.
(Extra-special love and hugs for sweptawaybayou, because....)
Also at AO3
so.
having no need to speak
You sent Your tongue
splintered into angels.
even i,
with my little piece of it
have said too much.
to ask You to explain
is to deny You.
before the word
You were.
You kiss my brother mouth.
the rest is silence. - Lucille Clifton, 'Brothers'
"I did," Jensen said, and Kane's face crumpled into a kind of horror, his blue eyes going wide. Jensen made a frustrated sort of sound, hissing between his teeth. " I didn't stay dead," he said, and Jared snorted in nervous amusement. Five pairs of eyes flicked to him and then away, dismissing him, and Jared felt that go through Jensen, felt him withdraw almost completely, a sudden shock of cold. And then he felt him creep back, shame, in the 'net, and sorrow, and a kind of desperate need that slipped around the edges, no matter that Jensen kept trying to push it down. Jared ground his teeth together, hating that. Angry, because fucking hell, Jensen shouldn't feel like that....
Jared reached out and took Jensen's hand again, thumb rubbing distractedly along Jensen's knuckles. Deliberately, he loosened his jaw, inching a little closer, so the heat of their bodies mingled a little in the chill vault of the dock. Physical closeness, in the hopes of shoring up the 'net, and Jared saw that go through the Angels, a kind of outrage and then...panic? Kane looked like Jensen looked, when he realized his 'net - his connection - was gone, and Jared felt a moment's pity for him. For them all. But he still squeezed Jensen's hand.
"You're...not here," Kane said, and Jared felt that, too, the longing and the new-old twist of grief, dull-edged, scraping. "Can't suss you, Quemuel," Kane said, and his voice was rough, shaky.
"I know. I thought if...the 'net-" Jensen rubbed his hand back through his shorn hair, scrubbing a little, dislodging the lap of scarf he'd hooded himself in even more, pushing it down the back of his neck. He gestured to Jared and Jared felt Jensen's frustration; so used to the 'net, so used to sending a torrent of information in seconds that he was lost, now. Trying to find the right words was reducing him to tongue-tied stammering. "We have a 'net. Us two," Jensen said, and the five pair of eyes shifted to Jared's face again, all of them intense, assessing.
"But Angels don't live," one of the women said. Sinna, who had liquid black eyes in a flat oval of a face, and lashes of startling length.
"I know. I was on the Nightingale, and then Reveille, and then...hu-hospital, a place-" Jared caught the flurry of information; the rows of beds and the cold, moulded-plastic floors. The chemical reek of generation gel, the frigid isolation of the rescue tube, the hot-cold slice of steel through flesh as Jensen tried again, again...the drowsy leadenness of near-death, blood slippery between Jensen's fingers. Jared shuddered out of that, breathing hard, and Jensen shot a feathery stroke of warmth through the 'net. Apology.
"Psych ward. Lock down," Jensen said finally, his rough voice so low it was almost inaudible, and Jared saw anger flare in Malik's expression, in Five's. Something else in Jinx's thin-lipped stare; familiarity. "Patched me up, shipped me out. Out here. No 'net, just...junkie on a come-down, every fuckin' day. No down-pack."
"But you're clean," Malik rumbled. "Aren't you? Ready-steady?"
"Ready-steady," Jensen echoed, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "I wasn't…. Kill-switch, but it kept rebooting and…then I got here and this-" Jensen's hand went out, an indescribable gesture, and the look he turned on Jared was agonized, frustration in the 'net like acid and sand.
Jared squeezed his fingers again and looked at the Angels, seeing confusion and frustration that echoed Jensen's. "We figured a way to fix it. Advocatus Diaboli. Our Doc - she healed it, his 'net. She had to kill it first; it was crippled and dying and it was taking Jensen with it, like they wanted it to do. I think- They were surprised he was still alive. They were watching him here, monitoring…. They wanted to see."
"Lab rat," Kane said, his voice all but dripping with loathing, and "Suits", Sinna hissed. Jared nodded.
"Yeah. He was...dying. Kill switch, cancers, addiction…. But our Doc, she figured out his 'net was trying to reboot, just, with all the shit the Company put in there, it couldn't. So she had to kill it, had to scour it down to the basic components, stuff so deep...it's part of all of us, grown in...it takes over."
Jensen's hand in Jared's was cold, now, and Jared squeezed a little harder, rubbed at rough knuckles, pushing out calm, pushing out okay, all good, I'm here.
"So that fixed it?" Jinx asked, and Jared lifted a shoulder.
"Not really? He fixed himself. His 'net did. It was already...different; already mutated, somehow. It should never have been able to reset after the kill-switch crap shut it down, but it did. Every time. Once Doc cleared all that stuff out, it was...ready. It regrew itself. It fixed itself, and it went right back to what it...what the Company made it, but it was clean this time. Is clean. He's his own, now. No kill-switch and no cancers and no drugs, nothing. He's free of them. We both are."
"You're no Angel," Kane objected, not sneering, just positive, and Jared huffed out a little laugh.
"Hell, no. I'd never make it. I'm Company indenture. Was. Kin-Gin survivor," he added, but Kane only looked bewildered, same as Malik, same as Sinna and Jinx. Only Five's eyes went wide in recognition, blue, shaved brows going up.
"Lottery," she said, and Jared could see whatever she knew hitting the 'net, filtering to the others, as their expressions mirrored the information flow and they all took a moment to stare at Jared, sizing him up.
"Fixed you, too?"
"Yeah. With Jensen's....like a vaccine. Doc made a vaccine, from Jensen. Killed the Company shit. Now my 'net's clean as his."
"That's why," Kane said, as if answering a question, and Jensen nodded.
"Mirror. Or echo, or...fuck if I know. I'm him, he's me, it works."
"Glad for it," Kane murmured, and Jensen's hand clenched on Jared's and then slid free. He took a step or two forward, right up close to Kane. Kneeling, the Angel was level with Jensen, and Jensen cupped a hand around the back of Kane's neck and leaned in, forehead to forehead. A moment of stillness, and Jared could feel Jensen reaching out again, pushing, searching, trying to find some flicker of Kane - of his Angels - anywhere.
"Miss you," Jensen murmured back, and the others moved, just a little, a swaying in, all their attention fixed on Jensen for a moment, an internal yearning and reaching that was almost tangible. And then a klaxon blared, deafening, and the Angels - Jensen included - startled hard, the five from the ship coming up off their resting stance, face plates snapping shut, weapons manifesting from the armor, rifles building out from extended arms and hands.
Jensen was half-crouched beside Jared, his gaze skimming over the room, his own hand out and down, holding that palm knife at ready. Sit-rep through the 'net, cataloguing the accesses again, the lines of sight, the places where a sniper could be concealed, the best place to put their backs if a squad of Security burst in.
Jared was left standing there, feeling exposed and panicky and useless, until Jensen reached out and twisted his fist into Jared's jacket, yanking him forward and propelling him into the midst of the Angels, who stepped aside for him. For Jensen.
No armor, no weapons, gotta stay low, stay tight, keep close, stay with me, trust my Angels, don't fucking panic. Words and images and emotions; impulse and order; military jargon cutting into the flow of Jensen's desires. Jared didn't fight him, just nodded and put his hand on Jensen's back, between his shoulderblades, signalling his presence, letting Jensen know he was there, he was safe. Less distracting than a constant ping in the 'net, though Jared was feeling pretty damn twitchy despite Jensen's steadiness, despite the wall of armor around them neither of them could see over.
The lift was rumbling, moving out there in the ship - to or from, Jared had no idea - and the Angels turned as one to face it, fanning out, the bigger ones Gibborim, bunker-busters, heavy armor, take the brunt forward, the weapons that manifested from the armor supplemented with packs of some kind, power cells or something, Jensen didn't know, he just knew take you out, rock and hard place. Kane was in front of Jensen and Jared both, Naphaim, his rifle different looking, sleeker. Fire, Jensen thought, pure satisfaction, and Jared saw some kind of plasma discharge, some kind of cauterizing, razor-like effect that would breach the walls of the dock, if Kane missed. Hell, if any of them did.
They know. Not the first time…. Jensen showed Jared a brief, hectic flurry of images, of Angels taking some other dock, some other station, some other where. They knew what they were doing. Jared still wanted to duck and run, to find a pressure-lock to get on the other side of, instincts drilled into him from years of living on ships and stations. Jinx and Five were moving sideways, the furthest back, finding toeholds and handholds on the walls and girders, moving up, gaining height and advantage. Snipers, watchers, sappers, those were Enim, that was me, that's me, squad leader, we see the far-view, we make the call.
Jensen shut the 'net down hard, and Jared glanced over at him. He watched Jensen just breathe, crushing overwhelming emotions down, putting them away, focusing. And even as Jared pushed tentatively, Jensen opened the 'net back up, and this time it was cool and quiet and nearly silent, just information, just numbers, ticking over problems and solutions, plotting trajectories and contingencies.
And then the lift opened again, this time spilling out more armored figures, and some not in armor, coughing, staggering, smoke and blood everywhere, and Jared felt his chest go tight, his heart leap and pound. Jinx was talking through suit-com, his voice rapping out orders, and the dazed, staggering people were stumbling away from the lift and across the dock. The lift shut behind them and rumbled away, vibrations felt more than heard, and Jared stared at the bedraggled people it had let out.
"What is it, what is it, fuck, fuck, fuck-" Jensen was breathing fast, his body rock-hard with tension under Jared's palm. Kane's com clicked on with a little hiss and they could both hear it, whatever communications was going on between the soldiers and the ship.
"...let them pass. We told them they'd be put off the ship, safe passage."
"Where are the Nephilim? Where's the LT, damnit? Report-"
"LT's gone. Nephilim are staying. So are Dominions, Archangels, Seraphim, most of Ophanim, some of Demons...crew's coming out to you, we got about half the drop-ship crews, a couple LT's, four other Sargeants."
"Morrigan," Jensen murmured, and the emotions that cascaded through the 'net were complicated at best. At worst, they made Jared flinch, anger and disgust and regret flooding him in rapid succession. Jensen gave Jared a quick, hard look over his shoulder.
"Don't."
"Can't help it. What the fuck is going on?" The first of the people - men and women - were walking past, now, giving Kane a wide berth, staring confused at Jensen and Jared. Heading for the back of the dock, for the access there and Jared felt a sudden shiver of cold. "They- they'll get Security, they can't just go-"
"Got it. We got dock control. Just getting them out of the way."
"Getting who out of the way? Jensen, who are these people? What's going on?"
"Shut it fucking down," Kane snapped, distorted through the com, and Jared opened his mouth to snap back but then the lift was clashing open again, disgorging more people, some on stretchers, some in armor that had no tell-tales at all. Lights all out, the armors themselves moved stiffly, faceplates open wide, showing shocked or furious or simply void expressions on faces eerily similar. Pale, or that strange, ashen pallor that dark-skinned people got, in space. Hairless, tattooed, some with bruises or smears of blood.
"Jensen," Jared said, furious and panicked and utterly confused, and Jensen clenched his jaw tight (twinge of it in the 'net', headache starting), and reached up, touching one hand to Kane's armor.
"Gimme com, Kane, fucking hell, need to talk to the Morrigan."
"Yeah," Kane said, distracted, and then a small panel petaled open in the shoulder of his suit, exposing an ear bud with a short, hair-fine filament of antenna, which Jensen lifted free. He jerked out the one the Jo's had given him and passed it back to Jared, who tucked it into his own ear, hearing one of the Jo's saying something, his voice exasperated and tight with stress.
"...what in hell's going on? Stat-Con's going nuts, Jensen, what the fuck-?"
"Jo, Jo, it's me, it's Jared. Listen, something big's happening here, I don't know, I- Jensen's finding out. We're okay, just - sit tight. I'll tell you soon's I know."
"Fuck's sake, Jared," Jo - Two? - said, but the com shut down to standby, a barely audible hum, and Jared watched as Jensen pushed the little bud in more firmly and then just listened, his head cocked to one side, his gaze still tracking every person, every movement, every twitch. The 'net was on a sort of stand-by, too, and Jared watched the stretcher-bearers settle their wounded cargo on the dock, watched the darkened suits clump past, no grace in them, maybe on stand-by, too.
Jensen said something, jargon so impenetrable, Jared had no idea what it meant. Whoever was on com - Morrigan, the Gunny, Sergeant Morgan - seemed to say something back, and Jensen questioned him once, twice, a third time. Then he turned to look at Jared, and Jared felt the 'net gape wide, and information flooded in.
How is this possible, how, how, how…. Jensen's thoughts were chaos, nothing seemed real, and the delirious, giddy flush of seeing his Angels was being steadily eroded by confusion and bewilderment and anger. Anger at Morgan. Jeff. Anger at the Company, anger at the Angels who were taking the wrong damn side....
The Tiamat was out of Company hands and out of their control, the bridge manned by drop-ship pilots and Angels alike, the corridors scoured by weapons fire and blood. Morgan was Diaboli, Morgan always had been, and Jensen getting mustered out and living was his catalyst.
He'd maneuvered to have the Tiamat be the ship to take the call; had gathered in the crew and Sergeants and Lieutenants who would listen and told them his plan. He'd told the Nephilim, and, to a soldier, they'd agreed. And they had taken the Tiamat. First just quarters, section by section, gathering up those Angels that wanted out, wanted free.
And some hadn't wanted it; too scared or too broken or too gone. And some had fought back, like the Powers, like the Cherubim. They were mostly gone. Bits and pieces of Thrones, Principalities and Virtues had come over, as well. Bits and pieces had not, and were either dead in state in quarters, or were here on the dock, in their armor but locked out, in stand-down mode used for repair, for transfers. They couldn't access their weapons, and they couldn't fight back. All of Grigori were gone, dead, and Jensen was fiercely pleased at his Angels for having taken them out...and horrified. Devastated.
Fighting our own, why are we doing that? We should all want...to be free, why don't they-?
But he knew. He knew that some had nothing, had come from nothing. Had only ever known family as an ARCHAngel. Had only ever fought, and bled, and lived, and loved in the Company barracks, by Company rules. Had no other way of thinking, had no other thing to be, and were terrified. Jensen...might just have fought, if Morgan had told him what he was. What they were going to be. He might have fought to stay….
Jensen shook his head, hard, getting rid of that thought, and focussed on feeding the last of Morgan's information through to Jared, knowing he was telling the Jo boys. Knowing they would have their own questions. Unless they'd known all along….
Jensen felt Jared's shock and dismay at that thought - at the anger that followed it - and he could hear him rapidly questioning whatever Jo he was talking to. Jensen dismissed that, too, and instead concentrated on the flow of Angels and crew that were coming out of the ship, maybe one hundred already, and more still coming, crowding the dock. Five hundred all told on Tiamat, Angels and crew together, and less than half were heading for the deck, under guard, under guns. Demons and Archangels filtered out with the others, taking up guard positions, securing access points, faceless in their armors but, oh, so familiar, and Jensen wanted his own Angels there. Wanted to see them all. But there was something in what Morgan was saying; names, the jargon of command, someone missing….
"Where's Kee?" he asked, interrupting Morgan, and there was a long moment of humming silence.
"Stick base out in the Sisters. She got caught in one of their webs. Fried her suit."
"Shit," Jensen muttered, sick at the thought. A suit going down like that… Well, Kee had died with her armor, squad leader going out and protecting her own, and that was about all you could ask. "She been replaced?"
No. We were gonna hit up Reveille, do a little R&R and get her replacement, but we got the call at Turn Around and headed here instead."
"Was…? You get a replacement for me, too?"
Another long pause. "No. Sinna was stepping up. Thought we'd just move her, get a new Gibborum instead. She's a good Corporal."
So his Angels were only one down, not two. No new and untried face in quarters, no questionable loyalties. Safer, that way, known, and Jensen felt a moment's relief. Relief that was swamped with grief, mourning for Kee, who out of all them could sing; strange old songs nobody else had ever heard, about ships and seas and brave-heart crews. Kane, catching some of what Morgan said, shared a long look with Jensen, and once again, Jensen ached for a 'net broader than just he and Jared.
Not your fault, you're good, don't be mad, I just….
"It's okay," Jared said, and Jensen could feel him reeling, still, from the data-flow; from knowing so much in such a short amount of time, and knowing it. It was something to get used to, that was sure. Jensen could barely remember a time when the 'net had been so new and different, almost frightening in its intimacy. Seeing it echoed through Jared was...strange.
"Okay, okay...how many more? What kind of timeline we on, Gunny? Station's not gonna be happy, this many troops stranded here.”
"We're on a push. Got...five more loads to come out, then we got to seal up and go. Nebuchadnezzar is a two-jump from Axis and we gotta hit Tripoli and get on to ports unknown."
"What about the Jo boys?" Jared asked, catching some of that, and Jensen thought fast.
"We can get them. Morgan, listen, gotta pick-up, down at station-nadir-"
"The Jos, yeah. I was...made aware of them. We can grab them if they got vac-suits. Tell 'em suit up; tell them be ready, we won't have much time."
"Got it, I'm on it," Jared murmured, and Jensen felt a burst of pride and giddy affection for Jared, for how damn fast he was, how steady; just learning, going, in step with Jensen in a way Jensen hadn't anticipated or hoped for, and Jensen turned to him with a grin, watching as his emotions hit the 'net and startled Jared into silence, stuttering to a halt mid-sentence. And he was…beautiful, standing there, his hair curling around his jaw and his hazel-green eyes all but glowing, reflecting the lights all around. A sudden grin mirrored Jensen's, Jared’s dimples showing.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Jensen said, and he leaned in and kissed Jared, hard. Felt shock and surprise, felt oh! and yes and more, and Jensen got his fingers up into that silk-shiny hair and tugged, lightly.
"Later. Gotta board. Gotta get the Jos. and then-"
"Go, go, go," Jared breathed, against Jensen's mouth, through the 'net. Go, go, go.
Then it was go - getting the last of the hold-outs off the ship, getting the station notified of casualties and ArchANGELS who were going to need not only temporary quarters but Company 'assistance' (drugs, and lots of them) sooner rather than later.
Jared clung to a hand-hold in the lift, watching as the doors slid shut on the docks, on the wounded and dying and grounded. The lift jolted and then moved, fast enough to make him feel it, a solid push. Beside him, Jensen hung on, grinning fiercely, his presence in the 'net somehow like light, just...a glowing Jared could almost see. Warmth and affection, fierce protection, excitement, absolutely. The armors surrounding them hissed and whirred softly as the lift oriented and settled, and Jared could feel them pulled again, slightly different, station and ship rotation the same, but down was here, on the ship, and they had to adjust a little, watching the arrows.
Then the lift stopped with another jolting crash, and the doors slid wide, and there were more suits waiting, and a last contingent of prisoners. Information pinged through the 'net with force as Jensen recognized the ship’s Captain, a tall, white-haired woman standing with deceptive ease in a group of similar men and women, all older, some scarred, in the blue and gray uniform of their profession. Someone was on a stretcher beside them - Major Tapping from Jensen - close-cropped blonde hair, a thick bandage on her shoulder and upper chest, a little compact array of monitors and machinery tethered to her.
Her pain-clouded gaze caught Jared's, and then slid over to Jensen, and she lifted her head a half-inch from the stretcher.
"Good luck, Angel," she said, slurring a little as a machine beeped alarmingly. Jensen stiffened into something like attention and then they were both moving, the Captain and crew in, Jared and Jensen and the Nephilim out, and the lift door shut with a resounding clang. They marched down a corridor of grey, grey, and more grey, creased with carbon-scoring from weapons’ fire, a panel hanging askew, showing wires that were being feverishly worked on by a crewman in coveralls and fire-suppressant foam.
Someone's voice Virtues LT, ugly damn fucker, big as a house was snapping directions and orders and info over the PA, all of it incomprehensible gibberish to Jared, even with Jensen filtering it. Something about imminent push, strap in, lock down, no time.
"Listen, it's just-" moving fast, Jos, gotta go, strap in, safety "-here, auxiliary monitoring, we just gotta get secured to move, we'll sort out later. We're gonna-" illegal, needle-and-eye, Axis and us and traffic "-uncouple and drop to get the Jos, snake 'em out of the null zone down there and then go for Tripoli-" burn across incoming vectors, chance of collision, combat maneuver, fuck are you gonna? "-Jared? You gonna be sick?"
"Huh?" Jared snapped back into focus, glancing around and seeing they were in some kind of room now, with monitors and panels and padded, movable benches, safety webbing and harnesses hanging everywhere. He shoved the images and sensations Jensen was pushing at him to the back of his brain out of sheer desperation.
The ship, the whole, huge fucking ship, was going to perform some kind of insanely dangerous and frankly insane roll-and-dive that Jared might have considered doing in a skimmer in a low-traffic zone, in a dead time. Some kind of game of dodge and dart around ships static and moving, without Station Control's guidance or knowledge. So they could do a flying swoop, and scoop up the Jos, who would be drifting in evac suits somewhere between the old emergency evacuation docks and the rest of the fucking system....
The whole idea made Jared's stomach heave just to think of it, and he gritted his teeth and turned to Jensen with the most pleasant look he could force onto his face. "Jensen. Fuck knows you're trying to help, but, please, stop...showing me- Fuck, I think I am-"
"No, you're not," somebody said. It was Sinna, faceplate folded back, her voice coolly amused. The gauntlet on her left hand opened and her real hand, slim-fingered and pale, plucked something from behind a panel on the chest of her suit. She reached out, too quick for Jared to dodge, and he felt a little sting in his throat and jerked away.
"Hey! What the fuck!"
"Keep you from heaving. Never seen a mess 'til you seen somebody lose it in zero-g. Tell him, Quemuel." She moved off, hiss and click, to lock her suit into place with the rest, while Jensen grabbed Jared and bodily shoved him down, yanking webbing across him and belting him in.
"She's right, fucking mess. That was just antiemetic, standard, low dose to keep you level. C'mon, Jared, it's fine." Jensen settled himself, webbing clicking into place, and Jared twisted for a moment in the tangle of harness and then just slumped back, sighing.
"Could have asked."
Amusement, in the 'net, Jensen grinning at him. Spooked greenie and surprise works better. A klaxon gave off a nerve-rattling blast, and the Angels shouted. Jensen did too, a whooping howl, excitement coursing through the 'net, adrenaline in Jared kicking up to meet what Jensen was sending out as the whole ship shivered and then hummed, bone-deep and bass-heavy.
Engines, ship's engines, here we go, go "Ready-steady?" Jensen yelled, and was met with a roar from the Nephilim around them, Kane and Malik, Sinna and Jinx and Five, three others, all of them shouting through com, oriented on Jensen, who looked….
In his element. He looked happy, at long last, in a way that was thoroughly uncomplicated. Home home home was sparking the 'net, sheer giddy joy, and Jared gripped the padding and the harness tight in his fingers and braced his feet on the deck and just...gave in.
"Ready-steady, go go go!"
Part sixteen.
Originally entered at http://tabaqui.dreamwidth.org/188566.html - comment where you please!
And i may post about these things, or i may not, but rest assured, this story *will* finish. Thank you, all, my loyal readers - i do appreciate it.
And thank you, darkhavens for always coming through on the beta.
(Extra-special love and hugs for sweptawaybayou, because....)
Also at AO3
so.
having no need to speak
You sent Your tongue
splintered into angels.
even i,
with my little piece of it
have said too much.
to ask You to explain
is to deny You.
before the word
You were.
You kiss my brother mouth.
the rest is silence. - Lucille Clifton, 'Brothers'
"I did," Jensen said, and Kane's face crumpled into a kind of horror, his blue eyes going wide. Jensen made a frustrated sort of sound, hissing between his teeth. " I didn't stay dead," he said, and Jared snorted in nervous amusement. Five pairs of eyes flicked to him and then away, dismissing him, and Jared felt that go through Jensen, felt him withdraw almost completely, a sudden shock of cold. And then he felt him creep back, shame, in the 'net, and sorrow, and a kind of desperate need that slipped around the edges, no matter that Jensen kept trying to push it down. Jared ground his teeth together, hating that. Angry, because fucking hell, Jensen shouldn't feel like that....
Jared reached out and took Jensen's hand again, thumb rubbing distractedly along Jensen's knuckles. Deliberately, he loosened his jaw, inching a little closer, so the heat of their bodies mingled a little in the chill vault of the dock. Physical closeness, in the hopes of shoring up the 'net, and Jared saw that go through the Angels, a kind of outrage and then...panic? Kane looked like Jensen looked, when he realized his 'net - his connection - was gone, and Jared felt a moment's pity for him. For them all. But he still squeezed Jensen's hand.
"You're...not here," Kane said, and Jared felt that, too, the longing and the new-old twist of grief, dull-edged, scraping. "Can't suss you, Quemuel," Kane said, and his voice was rough, shaky.
"I know. I thought if...the 'net-" Jensen rubbed his hand back through his shorn hair, scrubbing a little, dislodging the lap of scarf he'd hooded himself in even more, pushing it down the back of his neck. He gestured to Jared and Jared felt Jensen's frustration; so used to the 'net, so used to sending a torrent of information in seconds that he was lost, now. Trying to find the right words was reducing him to tongue-tied stammering. "We have a 'net. Us two," Jensen said, and the five pair of eyes shifted to Jared's face again, all of them intense, assessing.
"But Angels don't live," one of the women said. Sinna, who had liquid black eyes in a flat oval of a face, and lashes of startling length.
"I know. I was on the Nightingale, and then Reveille, and then...hu-hospital, a place-" Jared caught the flurry of information; the rows of beds and the cold, moulded-plastic floors. The chemical reek of generation gel, the frigid isolation of the rescue tube, the hot-cold slice of steel through flesh as Jensen tried again, again...the drowsy leadenness of near-death, blood slippery between Jensen's fingers. Jared shuddered out of that, breathing hard, and Jensen shot a feathery stroke of warmth through the 'net. Apology.
"Psych ward. Lock down," Jensen said finally, his rough voice so low it was almost inaudible, and Jared saw anger flare in Malik's expression, in Five's. Something else in Jinx's thin-lipped stare; familiarity. "Patched me up, shipped me out. Out here. No 'net, just...junkie on a come-down, every fuckin' day. No down-pack."
"But you're clean," Malik rumbled. "Aren't you? Ready-steady?"
"Ready-steady," Jensen echoed, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "I wasn't…. Kill-switch, but it kept rebooting and…then I got here and this-" Jensen's hand went out, an indescribable gesture, and the look he turned on Jared was agonized, frustration in the 'net like acid and sand.
Jared squeezed his fingers again and looked at the Angels, seeing confusion and frustration that echoed Jensen's. "We figured a way to fix it. Advocatus Diaboli. Our Doc - she healed it, his 'net. She had to kill it first; it was crippled and dying and it was taking Jensen with it, like they wanted it to do. I think- They were surprised he was still alive. They were watching him here, monitoring…. They wanted to see."
"Lab rat," Kane said, his voice all but dripping with loathing, and "Suits", Sinna hissed. Jared nodded.
"Yeah. He was...dying. Kill switch, cancers, addiction…. But our Doc, she figured out his 'net was trying to reboot, just, with all the shit the Company put in there, it couldn't. So she had to kill it, had to scour it down to the basic components, stuff so deep...it's part of all of us, grown in...it takes over."
Jensen's hand in Jared's was cold, now, and Jared squeezed a little harder, rubbed at rough knuckles, pushing out calm, pushing out okay, all good, I'm here.
"So that fixed it?" Jinx asked, and Jared lifted a shoulder.
"Not really? He fixed himself. His 'net did. It was already...different; already mutated, somehow. It should never have been able to reset after the kill-switch crap shut it down, but it did. Every time. Once Doc cleared all that stuff out, it was...ready. It regrew itself. It fixed itself, and it went right back to what it...what the Company made it, but it was clean this time. Is clean. He's his own, now. No kill-switch and no cancers and no drugs, nothing. He's free of them. We both are."
"You're no Angel," Kane objected, not sneering, just positive, and Jared huffed out a little laugh.
"Hell, no. I'd never make it. I'm Company indenture. Was. Kin-Gin survivor," he added, but Kane only looked bewildered, same as Malik, same as Sinna and Jinx. Only Five's eyes went wide in recognition, blue, shaved brows going up.
"Lottery," she said, and Jared could see whatever she knew hitting the 'net, filtering to the others, as their expressions mirrored the information flow and they all took a moment to stare at Jared, sizing him up.
"Fixed you, too?"
"Yeah. With Jensen's....like a vaccine. Doc made a vaccine, from Jensen. Killed the Company shit. Now my 'net's clean as his."
"That's why," Kane said, as if answering a question, and Jensen nodded.
"Mirror. Or echo, or...fuck if I know. I'm him, he's me, it works."
"Glad for it," Kane murmured, and Jensen's hand clenched on Jared's and then slid free. He took a step or two forward, right up close to Kane. Kneeling, the Angel was level with Jensen, and Jensen cupped a hand around the back of Kane's neck and leaned in, forehead to forehead. A moment of stillness, and Jared could feel Jensen reaching out again, pushing, searching, trying to find some flicker of Kane - of his Angels - anywhere.
"Miss you," Jensen murmured back, and the others moved, just a little, a swaying in, all their attention fixed on Jensen for a moment, an internal yearning and reaching that was almost tangible. And then a klaxon blared, deafening, and the Angels - Jensen included - startled hard, the five from the ship coming up off their resting stance, face plates snapping shut, weapons manifesting from the armor, rifles building out from extended arms and hands.
Jensen was half-crouched beside Jared, his gaze skimming over the room, his own hand out and down, holding that palm knife at ready. Sit-rep through the 'net, cataloguing the accesses again, the lines of sight, the places where a sniper could be concealed, the best place to put their backs if a squad of Security burst in.
Jared was left standing there, feeling exposed and panicky and useless, until Jensen reached out and twisted his fist into Jared's jacket, yanking him forward and propelling him into the midst of the Angels, who stepped aside for him. For Jensen.
No armor, no weapons, gotta stay low, stay tight, keep close, stay with me, trust my Angels, don't fucking panic. Words and images and emotions; impulse and order; military jargon cutting into the flow of Jensen's desires. Jared didn't fight him, just nodded and put his hand on Jensen's back, between his shoulderblades, signalling his presence, letting Jensen know he was there, he was safe. Less distracting than a constant ping in the 'net, though Jared was feeling pretty damn twitchy despite Jensen's steadiness, despite the wall of armor around them neither of them could see over.
The lift was rumbling, moving out there in the ship - to or from, Jared had no idea - and the Angels turned as one to face it, fanning out, the bigger ones Gibborim, bunker-busters, heavy armor, take the brunt forward, the weapons that manifested from the armor supplemented with packs of some kind, power cells or something, Jensen didn't know, he just knew take you out, rock and hard place. Kane was in front of Jensen and Jared both, Naphaim, his rifle different looking, sleeker. Fire, Jensen thought, pure satisfaction, and Jared saw some kind of plasma discharge, some kind of cauterizing, razor-like effect that would breach the walls of the dock, if Kane missed. Hell, if any of them did.
They know. Not the first time…. Jensen showed Jared a brief, hectic flurry of images, of Angels taking some other dock, some other station, some other where. They knew what they were doing. Jared still wanted to duck and run, to find a pressure-lock to get on the other side of, instincts drilled into him from years of living on ships and stations. Jinx and Five were moving sideways, the furthest back, finding toeholds and handholds on the walls and girders, moving up, gaining height and advantage. Snipers, watchers, sappers, those were Enim, that was me, that's me, squad leader, we see the far-view, we make the call.
Jensen shut the 'net down hard, and Jared glanced over at him. He watched Jensen just breathe, crushing overwhelming emotions down, putting them away, focusing. And even as Jared pushed tentatively, Jensen opened the 'net back up, and this time it was cool and quiet and nearly silent, just information, just numbers, ticking over problems and solutions, plotting trajectories and contingencies.
And then the lift opened again, this time spilling out more armored figures, and some not in armor, coughing, staggering, smoke and blood everywhere, and Jared felt his chest go tight, his heart leap and pound. Jinx was talking through suit-com, his voice rapping out orders, and the dazed, staggering people were stumbling away from the lift and across the dock. The lift shut behind them and rumbled away, vibrations felt more than heard, and Jared stared at the bedraggled people it had let out.
"What is it, what is it, fuck, fuck, fuck-" Jensen was breathing fast, his body rock-hard with tension under Jared's palm. Kane's com clicked on with a little hiss and they could both hear it, whatever communications was going on between the soldiers and the ship.
"...let them pass. We told them they'd be put off the ship, safe passage."
"Where are the Nephilim? Where's the LT, damnit? Report-"
"LT's gone. Nephilim are staying. So are Dominions, Archangels, Seraphim, most of Ophanim, some of Demons...crew's coming out to you, we got about half the drop-ship crews, a couple LT's, four other Sargeants."
"Morrigan," Jensen murmured, and the emotions that cascaded through the 'net were complicated at best. At worst, they made Jared flinch, anger and disgust and regret flooding him in rapid succession. Jensen gave Jared a quick, hard look over his shoulder.
"Don't."
"Can't help it. What the fuck is going on?" The first of the people - men and women - were walking past, now, giving Kane a wide berth, staring confused at Jensen and Jared. Heading for the back of the dock, for the access there and Jared felt a sudden shiver of cold. "They- they'll get Security, they can't just go-"
"Got it. We got dock control. Just getting them out of the way."
"Getting who out of the way? Jensen, who are these people? What's going on?"
"Shut it fucking down," Kane snapped, distorted through the com, and Jared opened his mouth to snap back but then the lift was clashing open again, disgorging more people, some on stretchers, some in armor that had no tell-tales at all. Lights all out, the armors themselves moved stiffly, faceplates open wide, showing shocked or furious or simply void expressions on faces eerily similar. Pale, or that strange, ashen pallor that dark-skinned people got, in space. Hairless, tattooed, some with bruises or smears of blood.
"Jensen," Jared said, furious and panicked and utterly confused, and Jensen clenched his jaw tight (twinge of it in the 'net', headache starting), and reached up, touching one hand to Kane's armor.
"Gimme com, Kane, fucking hell, need to talk to the Morrigan."
"Yeah," Kane said, distracted, and then a small panel petaled open in the shoulder of his suit, exposing an ear bud with a short, hair-fine filament of antenna, which Jensen lifted free. He jerked out the one the Jo's had given him and passed it back to Jared, who tucked it into his own ear, hearing one of the Jo's saying something, his voice exasperated and tight with stress.
"...what in hell's going on? Stat-Con's going nuts, Jensen, what the fuck-?"
"Jo, Jo, it's me, it's Jared. Listen, something big's happening here, I don't know, I- Jensen's finding out. We're okay, just - sit tight. I'll tell you soon's I know."
"Fuck's sake, Jared," Jo - Two? - said, but the com shut down to standby, a barely audible hum, and Jared watched as Jensen pushed the little bud in more firmly and then just listened, his head cocked to one side, his gaze still tracking every person, every movement, every twitch. The 'net was on a sort of stand-by, too, and Jared watched the stretcher-bearers settle their wounded cargo on the dock, watched the darkened suits clump past, no grace in them, maybe on stand-by, too.
Jensen said something, jargon so impenetrable, Jared had no idea what it meant. Whoever was on com - Morrigan, the Gunny, Sergeant Morgan - seemed to say something back, and Jensen questioned him once, twice, a third time. Then he turned to look at Jared, and Jared felt the 'net gape wide, and information flooded in.
How is this possible, how, how, how…. Jensen's thoughts were chaos, nothing seemed real, and the delirious, giddy flush of seeing his Angels was being steadily eroded by confusion and bewilderment and anger. Anger at Morgan. Jeff. Anger at the Company, anger at the Angels who were taking the wrong damn side....
The Tiamat was out of Company hands and out of their control, the bridge manned by drop-ship pilots and Angels alike, the corridors scoured by weapons fire and blood. Morgan was Diaboli, Morgan always had been, and Jensen getting mustered out and living was his catalyst.
He'd maneuvered to have the Tiamat be the ship to take the call; had gathered in the crew and Sergeants and Lieutenants who would listen and told them his plan. He'd told the Nephilim, and, to a soldier, they'd agreed. And they had taken the Tiamat. First just quarters, section by section, gathering up those Angels that wanted out, wanted free.
And some hadn't wanted it; too scared or too broken or too gone. And some had fought back, like the Powers, like the Cherubim. They were mostly gone. Bits and pieces of Thrones, Principalities and Virtues had come over, as well. Bits and pieces had not, and were either dead in state in quarters, or were here on the dock, in their armor but locked out, in stand-down mode used for repair, for transfers. They couldn't access their weapons, and they couldn't fight back. All of Grigori were gone, dead, and Jensen was fiercely pleased at his Angels for having taken them out...and horrified. Devastated.
Fighting our own, why are we doing that? We should all want...to be free, why don't they-?
But he knew. He knew that some had nothing, had come from nothing. Had only ever known family as an ARCHAngel. Had only ever fought, and bled, and lived, and loved in the Company barracks, by Company rules. Had no other way of thinking, had no other thing to be, and were terrified. Jensen...might just have fought, if Morgan had told him what he was. What they were going to be. He might have fought to stay….
Jensen shook his head, hard, getting rid of that thought, and focussed on feeding the last of Morgan's information through to Jared, knowing he was telling the Jo boys. Knowing they would have their own questions. Unless they'd known all along….
Jensen felt Jared's shock and dismay at that thought - at the anger that followed it - and he could hear him rapidly questioning whatever Jo he was talking to. Jensen dismissed that, too, and instead concentrated on the flow of Angels and crew that were coming out of the ship, maybe one hundred already, and more still coming, crowding the dock. Five hundred all told on Tiamat, Angels and crew together, and less than half were heading for the deck, under guard, under guns. Demons and Archangels filtered out with the others, taking up guard positions, securing access points, faceless in their armors but, oh, so familiar, and Jensen wanted his own Angels there. Wanted to see them all. But there was something in what Morgan was saying; names, the jargon of command, someone missing….
"Where's Kee?" he asked, interrupting Morgan, and there was a long moment of humming silence.
"Stick base out in the Sisters. She got caught in one of their webs. Fried her suit."
"Shit," Jensen muttered, sick at the thought. A suit going down like that… Well, Kee had died with her armor, squad leader going out and protecting her own, and that was about all you could ask. "She been replaced?"
No. We were gonna hit up Reveille, do a little R&R and get her replacement, but we got the call at Turn Around and headed here instead."
"Was…? You get a replacement for me, too?"
Another long pause. "No. Sinna was stepping up. Thought we'd just move her, get a new Gibborum instead. She's a good Corporal."
So his Angels were only one down, not two. No new and untried face in quarters, no questionable loyalties. Safer, that way, known, and Jensen felt a moment's relief. Relief that was swamped with grief, mourning for Kee, who out of all them could sing; strange old songs nobody else had ever heard, about ships and seas and brave-heart crews. Kane, catching some of what Morgan said, shared a long look with Jensen, and once again, Jensen ached for a 'net broader than just he and Jared.
Not your fault, you're good, don't be mad, I just….
"It's okay," Jared said, and Jensen could feel him reeling, still, from the data-flow; from knowing so much in such a short amount of time, and knowing it. It was something to get used to, that was sure. Jensen could barely remember a time when the 'net had been so new and different, almost frightening in its intimacy. Seeing it echoed through Jared was...strange.
"Okay, okay...how many more? What kind of timeline we on, Gunny? Station's not gonna be happy, this many troops stranded here.”
"We're on a push. Got...five more loads to come out, then we got to seal up and go. Nebuchadnezzar is a two-jump from Axis and we gotta hit Tripoli and get on to ports unknown."
"What about the Jo boys?" Jared asked, catching some of that, and Jensen thought fast.
"We can get them. Morgan, listen, gotta pick-up, down at station-nadir-"
"The Jos, yeah. I was...made aware of them. We can grab them if they got vac-suits. Tell 'em suit up; tell them be ready, we won't have much time."
"Got it, I'm on it," Jared murmured, and Jensen felt a burst of pride and giddy affection for Jared, for how damn fast he was, how steady; just learning, going, in step with Jensen in a way Jensen hadn't anticipated or hoped for, and Jensen turned to him with a grin, watching as his emotions hit the 'net and startled Jared into silence, stuttering to a halt mid-sentence. And he was…beautiful, standing there, his hair curling around his jaw and his hazel-green eyes all but glowing, reflecting the lights all around. A sudden grin mirrored Jensen's, Jared’s dimples showing.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Jensen said, and he leaned in and kissed Jared, hard. Felt shock and surprise, felt oh! and yes and more, and Jensen got his fingers up into that silk-shiny hair and tugged, lightly.
"Later. Gotta board. Gotta get the Jos. and then-"
"Go, go, go," Jared breathed, against Jensen's mouth, through the 'net. Go, go, go.
Then it was go - getting the last of the hold-outs off the ship, getting the station notified of casualties and ArchANGELS who were going to need not only temporary quarters but Company 'assistance' (drugs, and lots of them) sooner rather than later.
Jared clung to a hand-hold in the lift, watching as the doors slid shut on the docks, on the wounded and dying and grounded. The lift jolted and then moved, fast enough to make him feel it, a solid push. Beside him, Jensen hung on, grinning fiercely, his presence in the 'net somehow like light, just...a glowing Jared could almost see. Warmth and affection, fierce protection, excitement, absolutely. The armors surrounding them hissed and whirred softly as the lift oriented and settled, and Jared could feel them pulled again, slightly different, station and ship rotation the same, but down was here, on the ship, and they had to adjust a little, watching the arrows.
Then the lift stopped with another jolting crash, and the doors slid wide, and there were more suits waiting, and a last contingent of prisoners. Information pinged through the 'net with force as Jensen recognized the ship’s Captain, a tall, white-haired woman standing with deceptive ease in a group of similar men and women, all older, some scarred, in the blue and gray uniform of their profession. Someone was on a stretcher beside them - Major Tapping from Jensen - close-cropped blonde hair, a thick bandage on her shoulder and upper chest, a little compact array of monitors and machinery tethered to her.
Her pain-clouded gaze caught Jared's, and then slid over to Jensen, and she lifted her head a half-inch from the stretcher.
"Good luck, Angel," she said, slurring a little as a machine beeped alarmingly. Jensen stiffened into something like attention and then they were both moving, the Captain and crew in, Jared and Jensen and the Nephilim out, and the lift door shut with a resounding clang. They marched down a corridor of grey, grey, and more grey, creased with carbon-scoring from weapons’ fire, a panel hanging askew, showing wires that were being feverishly worked on by a crewman in coveralls and fire-suppressant foam.
Someone's voice Virtues LT, ugly damn fucker, big as a house was snapping directions and orders and info over the PA, all of it incomprehensible gibberish to Jared, even with Jensen filtering it. Something about imminent push, strap in, lock down, no time.
"Listen, it's just-" moving fast, Jos, gotta go, strap in, safety "-here, auxiliary monitoring, we just gotta get secured to move, we'll sort out later. We're gonna-" illegal, needle-and-eye, Axis and us and traffic "-uncouple and drop to get the Jos, snake 'em out of the null zone down there and then go for Tripoli-" burn across incoming vectors, chance of collision, combat maneuver, fuck are you gonna? "-Jared? You gonna be sick?"
"Huh?" Jared snapped back into focus, glancing around and seeing they were in some kind of room now, with monitors and panels and padded, movable benches, safety webbing and harnesses hanging everywhere. He shoved the images and sensations Jensen was pushing at him to the back of his brain out of sheer desperation.
The ship, the whole, huge fucking ship, was going to perform some kind of insanely dangerous and frankly insane roll-and-dive that Jared might have considered doing in a skimmer in a low-traffic zone, in a dead time. Some kind of game of dodge and dart around ships static and moving, without Station Control's guidance or knowledge. So they could do a flying swoop, and scoop up the Jos, who would be drifting in evac suits somewhere between the old emergency evacuation docks and the rest of the fucking system....
The whole idea made Jared's stomach heave just to think of it, and he gritted his teeth and turned to Jensen with the most pleasant look he could force onto his face. "Jensen. Fuck knows you're trying to help, but, please, stop...showing me- Fuck, I think I am-"
"No, you're not," somebody said. It was Sinna, faceplate folded back, her voice coolly amused. The gauntlet on her left hand opened and her real hand, slim-fingered and pale, plucked something from behind a panel on the chest of her suit. She reached out, too quick for Jared to dodge, and he felt a little sting in his throat and jerked away.
"Hey! What the fuck!"
"Keep you from heaving. Never seen a mess 'til you seen somebody lose it in zero-g. Tell him, Quemuel." She moved off, hiss and click, to lock her suit into place with the rest, while Jensen grabbed Jared and bodily shoved him down, yanking webbing across him and belting him in.
"She's right, fucking mess. That was just antiemetic, standard, low dose to keep you level. C'mon, Jared, it's fine." Jensen settled himself, webbing clicking into place, and Jared twisted for a moment in the tangle of harness and then just slumped back, sighing.
"Could have asked."
Amusement, in the 'net, Jensen grinning at him. Spooked greenie and surprise works better. A klaxon gave off a nerve-rattling blast, and the Angels shouted. Jensen did too, a whooping howl, excitement coursing through the 'net, adrenaline in Jared kicking up to meet what Jensen was sending out as the whole ship shivered and then hummed, bone-deep and bass-heavy.
Engines, ship's engines, here we go, go "Ready-steady?" Jensen yelled, and was met with a roar from the Nephilim around them, Kane and Malik, Sinna and Jinx and Five, three others, all of them shouting through com, oriented on Jensen, who looked….
In his element. He looked happy, at long last, in a way that was thoroughly uncomplicated. Home home home was sparking the 'net, sheer giddy joy, and Jared gripped the padding and the harness tight in his fingers and braced his feet on the deck and just...gave in.
"Ready-steady, go go go!"
Part sixteen.
Originally entered at http://tabaqui.dreamwidth.org/188566.html - comment where you please!